himself, and throwing out his arms he shouted at the top of his voice,
"Go away!"
And away with a scream he went, for it was only a little grey burrowing
owl after all! Martin laughed a little at his own foolishness in
mistaking that common bird he was accustomed to see every day for a
little old man.
By-and-by, feeling very tired, he sat down to rest, and just where he
sat grew a plant with long white flowers like tall thin goblets in
shape. Sitting on the grass he could see right into one of the
flower-tubes, and presently he noticed a little, old, grey, shrivelled
woman in it, very, very small, for she was not longer than the nail of
his little finger. She wore a grey shawl that dragged behind her, and
kept getting under her feet and tripping her up. She was most active,
whisking about this way and that inside the flower; and at intervals she
turned to stare at Martin, who kept getting nearer and nearer to watch
her until his face nearly touched the flower; and whenever she looked at
him she wore an exceedingly severe expression on her small dried-up
countenance. It seemed to Martin that she was very angry with him for
some reason. Then she would turn her back on him, and tumble about in
the tube of the flower, and gathering up the ends of her shawl in her
arms begin dusting with great energy; then hurrying out once more she
would shake the dust from her big, funny shawl in his eyes. At last he
carefully raised a hand and was just going to take hold of the queer,
little, old dame with his forefinger and thumb when up she flew. It was
only a small, grey, twilight moth!
Very much puzzled and confused, and perhaps a little frightened at these
curious deceptions, he laid himself down on the grass and shut his eyes
so as to go to sleep; but no sooner had he shut his eyes than he heard a
soft, soft little voice calling, "Martin! Martin!"
He started up and listened. It was only a field cricket singing in the
grass. But often as he lay down and closed his eyes the small voice
called again, plainly as possible, and oh, so sadly, "Martin! Martin!"
It made him remember his beautiful mother, now perhaps crying alone in
the cave on the mountain, no little Martin resting on her bosom, and he
cried to think of it. And still the small voice went on, calling,
"Martin! Martin!" sadder than ever, until, unable to endure it longer,
he jumped up and ran away a good distance, and at last, too tired to go
any further, he crept into a tussock of tall grass and went to sleep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_Chapter Seventeen_
_The Old Man of the Sea_
Next day Martin journeyed on in the old way, jumping up and taking a
good long run, then dropping into a trot, then a walk, and finally
sitting down to rest. Then up again and another run, and so on. But
although feeling hungry and thirsty, he was so full of the thought of
the great blue water he was going to see, so eager to look upon it at
last after wishing for it so long, that he hardly gave himself any time
to hunt for food. Nor did he think of his mother of the hills, alone
today, and grieving at his loss, so excited was he at the prospect of
what lay before him.
A little past noon he began to hear a low murmuring sound that seemed in
the earth beneath him, and all about him, and in the air above him; but
he did not know that it was the sound of the sea. At length he came to a
place where the earth rose up in long ridges of yellow sand, on which
nothing grew but scattered tufts of stiff, yellow grass. As he toiled
over the loose sand, sometimes sinking ankle-deep in it, the curious
deep murmuring sound he had heard for so long grew louder and louder,
until it was like the sound of a mighty wind in a wood, but deeper and
hoarser, rising and falling, and at intervals broken by great throbs, as
of thunder echoed and re-echoed among the distant hills. At length he
had toiled over the last ridge of sand; and then all at once the
world--his world of solid earth at all events--came to an abrupt end;
for no more ground on which to set a foot was before him, but only the
ocean--that ocean which he had wanted so badly, and had loved at a
distance more than the plains and hills, and all they contained to
delight him! How wide, how vast it was, stretching away to where it
melted into the low sky, its immense grey-blue surface broken into ten
thousand thousand waves, lit with white crests that came in sight and
vanished like lightning flashes! How tremendous, how terrible it was in
its agitation--O the world had nothing to compare with it, nothing to
hold his heart after it; and it was well that the earth was silent, that
it only gazed upon it with the sun and moon and stars, listening day and
night for ever to the great voice of the sea!
Only by lying flat on his chest could Martin look down over the edge of
the awful cliff, which is one of the highest in the world; and then the
sight of the sea swirling and beating at the foot of that stupendous
black precipice, sending up great clouds of spray in its fury, made him
shudder, it was so awful to look upon. But he could not stir from that
spot; there he stayed lying flat on his chest, gazing and gazing,
feeling neither hunger nor thirst, forgetful of the beautiful woman he
had called mother, and of everything besides. And as he gazed, little by
little, that great tumult of the waves grew less; they no longer lifted
themselves up, wave following wave, to beat upon the cliff, and make it
tremble; but sank lower and lower; and at last drew off from the
precipice, leaving at its foot a long narrow strip of sand and shingle
exposed to sight. A solemn calm fell upon the waste of waters; only near
the shore it continued to move a little, rising and falling like the
chest of a sleeping giant, while along the margin small waves continued
to form and break in white foam on the shingle with a perpetual low,
moaning sound. Further out it was quite calm, its surface everywhere
flushed with changing violet, green, and rosy tints: in a little while
these lovely colours faded as from a sunset cloud, and it was all deep
dark blue: for the sun had gone, and the shadows of evening were over
land and sea. Then Martin, his little heart filled with a great awe and
a great joy, crept away a few yards from the edge of the cliff and
coiled himself up to sleep in a hollow in the soft warm sand.
On the following morning, after satisfying his hunger and thirst with
some roots which he had not to go very far to find, he returned to watch
the sea once more, and there he remained, never removing his eyes from
the wonderful scene until the sun was directly over his head; then,
when the sea was calm once more, he got up and started to walk along the
cliff.
Keeping close to the edge, occasionally stopping to lie down on his
chest and peer over, he went on and on for hours, until the afternoon
tide once more covered the strip of shingled beach, and the waves rising
high began to beat with a sound like thunder against the tremendous
cliff, making the earth tremble under him. At length he came to a spot
where there was a great gap in the line of the cliff, where in past
times a portion of it had tumbled down, and the stupendous masses of
rock had rolled far out into the sea, and now formed islands of black
jagged rock, standing high above the water. Here among the rocks the sea
boiled and roared its loudest, churning its waters into masses of white
froth. Here a fresh wonder met his sight: a number of big animals unlike
any creature he had ever seen before were lying prone on the rocks just
out of reach of the waves that beat round them. At first they looked
like cows, then he saw that they had neither horns nor legs, that their
heads were like dog's but without ears, and that they had two great
flapper-shaped feet on their chests with which they walked or crawled
upon the rocks whenever a wave broke on them, causing them to move a
little higher.
They were sea-lions, a very big sort of seal, but Martin had never heard
of such a creature, and being anxious to look more closely at them he
went into the gap, and began cautiously climbing down over the broken
masses of rock and clay until he got quite near the sea. Lying there on
a flat rock he became absorbed in watching these strange dog-headed
legless cattle of the sea; for he now had them near, and they could see
him, and occasionally one would lift his head and gaze earnestly at him
out of large dark eyes that were soft and beautiful like the eyes of the
doe that came to him on the hills. O how glad he was to know that the
sea, the mighty waters roaring so loud as if in wrath, had its big
beasts too for him to love, like the hills and plains with their cattle
and deer and horses!
But the tide was still rising, and very soon the biggest waves began to
come quite over the rocks, rolling the big beasts over and even washing
them off, and it angered them when the waves struck them, and they
roared aloud, and by-and-by they began to go away, some disappearing
beneath the water, others with heads above the surface swimming away out
into the open sea, until all were gone. Martin was sorry to lose them,
but the sight of the sea tumbling and foaming on the rocks still held
him there, until all the rocks but one had been covered by the waters,
and this one was a great black jagged rock close to the shore, not above
twenty or thirty yards from him. Against this mass of rock the waves
continued to dash themselves with a mighty noise, sending up a cloud of
white foam and spray at every blow. The sight and sound fascinated him.
The sea appeared to be talking, whispering, and murmuring, and crying
out aloud to him in such a manner that he actually began trying to make
out what it was saying. Then up would come a great green wave rushing
and moaning, to dash itself to pieces right before his face; and each
time it broke against the rock, and rose high up it took a fantastic
shape that began to look more and more the shape of a man. Yes, it was
unmistakably like a monstrous grey old man, with a vast snow-white
beard, and a world of disordered white hair floating over and around its
head. At all events it was white for a moment, then it looked green--a
great green beard which the old man took with his two hands and twisted
just as a washerwoman twists a blanket or counterpane, so as to wring
the water out of it.
Martin stared at this strange uncouth visitor from the sea; while he in
turn, leaning over the rock, stared back into Martin's face with his
immense fishy eyes. Every time a fresh wave broke over him, lifting up
his hair and garments, which were of brown seaweed and all rags and
tatters, it seemed to annoy him somewhat; but he never stirred; and when
the wave retired he would wring the water out once more and blow a cloud
of sea-spray from his beard. At length, holding out his mighty arms
towards Martin, he opened his great, cod-fish mouth, and burst into a
hoarse laugh, which sounded like the deep laughter-like cries of the
big, black-backed gulls. Still, Martin did not feel at all afraid of
him, for he looked good-natured and friendly.
"Who are you?" shouted Martin at last.
"Who be I?" returned the man-shaped monster in a hoarse, sea-like
voice. "Ho, ho, ho,--now I calls that a good un! Why, little Martin,
that I've knowed all along, I be Bill. Leastways, that's what they
called me afore: but I got promotion, and in consekence I'm called the
Old Man of the Sea."
"And how did you know I was Martin?"
"How did I know as you was Martin? Why, bless your innocent heart, I
knowed it all along of course. How d'ye think I wouldn't know that? Why,
I no sooner saw you there among them rocks than I says to myself,
'Hullo,' says I, bless my eyes if that ain't Martin looking at my cows,
as I calls 'em. Of course I knowed as you was Martin."
"And what made you go and live in the sea, Old--Bill?" questioned
Martin, "and why did you grow so big?"
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the giant, blowing a great cloud of spray from his
lips. "I don't mind telling you that. You see, Martin, I ain't pressed
for time. Them blessed bells is nothing to me now, not being in the
foc'sle trying to git a bit of a snooze. Well, to begin, I were born
longer ago than I can tell in a old town by the sea, and my father he
were a sailor man, and was drowned when I were very small; then my
mother she died just becoz every man that belonged to her was drowned.
For those as lives by the sea, Martin, mostly dies in the sea. Being a
orphan I were brought up by Granny. I were very small then, and used to
go and play all day in the marshes, and I loved the cows and water-rats
and all the little beasties, same as you, Martin. When I were a bit
growed Granny says to me one day, 'Bill, you go to sea and be a
sailor-boy,' she says, 'becoz I've had a dream,' she says, 'and it's
wrote that you'll never git drowned.' For you see, Martin, my Granny
were a wise woman. So to the sea I goes, and boy and man, I was on a
many voyages to Turkey and Injy and the Cape and the West Coast and
Ameriky, and all round the world forty times over. Many and many's the
time I was ship-wrecked and overboard, but I never got drowned. At last,
when I were gitting a old man, and not much use by reason of the
rheumatiz and stiffness in the jints, there was a mutiny in our ship
when we was off the Cape; and the captain and mate they was killed. Then
comes my turn, becoz I went again the men, d'ye see, and they wasn't
a-going for to pardon me that. So out they had me on deck and began to
talk about how they'd finish me--rope, knife, or bullet. 'Mates,' says
I, 'shoot me if you like and I'll dies comfortably; or run a knife into
me, which is better still; or string me up to the yard-arm, which is the
most comforble thing I know. But don't you go and put me into the sea,'
says I, 'becoz it's wrote that I ain't never going to git drowned, and
you'll have all your trouble for nothing,' says I. That made 'em larf a
most tremenjous larf. 'Old Bill,' says they, 'will have his little
joke.' Then they brings up some iron stowed in the hold, and with ropes
and chains they ties well-nigh half a ton of it to my legs and arms,
then lowers me over the side. Down I went, in course, which made 'em
larf louder than afore; and I were fathoms and fathoms under water
afore I stopped hearing them larf. At last I comes down to the bottom of
the sea, and glad I were to git there, becoz now I couldn't go no
further. There I lies doubled up like a old sea-sarpint along of the
rocks, but warm and comfortable like. Last of all, the ropes and chains
they got busted off becoz of my growing so big and strong down there,
and up I comes to blow like a grampus, for I were full of water by
reason that it had soaked into me. So that's how I got to be the Old Man
of the Sea, hundreds and hundreds of years ago."
"And do you like to be always in the sea, Old Bill?" asked Martin.
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the monster. "That's a good un, little Martin! Do
I like it? Well, it's better than being a sailor man in a ship, I can
tell 'ee. That were a hard life, with nothing good except perhaps the
baccy. I were very fond of baccy once before the sea put out my pipe.
Likewise of rum. Many's the time I've been picked up on shore that
drunk, Martin, you wouldn't believe it, I were that fond of rum.
Sometimes, down here, when I remember how good it tasted, I open my
mouth wide and takes down a big gulp of sea water, enough to fill a
hogshead; then I comes up and blows it all out again just like a old
grampus."
And having said this, he opened his vast cavernous mouth and roared out
his hoarse ho, ho, ho! louder than before, and at the same time he rose
up higher above the water and the black rock he had been leaning on,
until he stood like a stupendous tower above Martin--a man-shaped tower
of water and spray, and white froth and brown seaweed. Then he slowly
fell backwards out upon the sea, and falling upon the sea caused so
mighty a wave that it went high over the black rock and washed the face
of the cliff, sweeping Martin back among the rocks.
When the great wave retired, and Martin, half-choked with water and
half-dazed, struggled on to his feet, he saw that it was night, and a
cloudy, black sky was above, and the black sea beneath him. He had not
seen the light fade, and had perhaps fallen asleep and seen and talked
with that old sea monster in a dream. But now he could not escape from
his position down in the gap, just above the roaring waves. There he had
to stay, sheltered in a cavity in the rock, and lying there, half
sleeping and half waking, he had that great voice of the sea in his ears
all night.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_Chapter Eighteen_
_Martin Plays With the Waves_
After a night spent in the roar of the sea, a drenched and bruised
prisoner among the rocks, it was nice to see the dawn again. No sooner
was it light than Martin set about trying to make his escape. He had
been washed by that big wave into a deep cleft among the rocks and
masses of hard clay, and shut in there he could not see the water nor
anything excepting a patch of sky above him. Now he began climbing over
the stones and crawling and forcing himself through crevices and other
small openings, making a little progress, for he was sore from his
bruises and very weak from his long fast, and at intervals, tired and
beaten, he would drop down crying with pain and misery. But Martin was
by nature a very resolute little boy, and after two or three minutes'
rest his tears would cease, and he would be up struggling on
determinedly as before. He was like some little wild animal when it
finds itself captive in a cage or box or room, who tries without ceasing
to find a way out. There may be no way, but it will not give up trying
to find one. And at last, after so trying, Martin's efforts were
rewarded: he succeeded in getting into the steep passage by which he had
come down to the sea on the previous day, and in the end got to the top
of the cliff once more. It was a great relief, and after resting a
little while he began to feel glad and happy at the sight before him:
there was the glorious sea again, not as he had seen it before, its wide
surface roughened by the wind and flecked with foam; for now the water
was smooth, but not still; it rose and fell in vast rollers, or long
waves that were like ridges, wave following wave in a very grand and
ordered manner. And as he gazed, the clouds broke and floated away, and
the sky grew clear and bright, and then all at once the great red sun
came up out of the waters!
But it was impossible for him to stay there longer when there was
nothing to eat; his extreme hunger compelled him to get up and leave the
cliff and the sandy hills behind it; and then for an hour or two he
walked feebly about searching for sweet roots, but finding none. It
would have gone hard with him then if he had not seen some low,
dark-looking bushes at a distance on the dry, yellow plain, and gone to
them. They looked like yew-bushes, and when he got to them he found that
they were thickly covered with small berries; on some bushes they were
purple-black, on others crimson, but all were ripe, and many small
birds were there feasting on them. The berries were pleasant to the
taste, and he feasted with the little birds on them until his hunger was
satisfied; and then, with his mouth and fingers stained purple with the
juice, he went to sleep in the shade of one of the bushes. There, too,
he spent the whole of that day and the night, hearing the low murmur of
the sea when waking, and when morning came he was strong and happy once
more, and, after filling himself with the fruit, set off to the sea
again.
Arrived at the cliff, he began walking along the edge, and in about an
hour's time came to the end of it, for there it sloped down to the
water, and before him, far as he could see, there was a wide, shingled
beach with low sand-hills behind it. With a shout of joy he ran down to
the margin, and the rest of that day he spent dabbling in the water,
gathering beautiful shells and seaweed and strangely-painted pebbles
into heaps, then going on and on again, still picking up more beautiful
riffraff on the margin, only to leave it all behind him at last. Never
had he spent a happier day, and when it came to an end he found a
sheltered spot not far from the sea, so that when he woke in the night
he would still hear the deep, low murmur of the waves on the beach.
Many happy days he spent in the same way, with no living thing to keep
him company, except the little white and grey sanderlings that piped so
shrill and clear as they flitted along the margin before him; and the
great sea-gulls that uttered hoarse, laughter-like cries as they soared
and hovered above his head. "Oh, happy birds!" exclaimed Martin,
clapping his hands, and shouting in answer to their cries.
Every day Martin grew more familiar with the sea, and loved it more, and
it was his companion and playmate. He was bolder than the little
restless sanderlings that ran and flitted before the advancing waves,
and so never got their pretty white and grey plumage wet: often he would
turn to meet the coming wave, and let it break round and rush past him,
and then in a moment he would be standing knee-deep in the midst of a
great sheet of dazzling white foam, until with a long hiss as it fled
back, drawing the round pebbles with it, it would be gone, and he would
laugh and shout with glee. What a grand old play-fellow the sea was! And
it loved him, like the big spotted cat of the hills, and only pretended
to be angry with him when it wanted to play, and would do him no harm.
And still he was not satisfied, but grew bolder and bolder, putting
himself in its power and trusting to its mercy. He could play better
with his clothes off; and one day, chasing a great receding wave as far
as it would go, he stood up bravely to encounter the succeeding wave,
but it was greater than the last, and lifting him in its great green
arms it carried him high up till it broke with a mighty roar on the
beach; then instead of leaving him stranded there it rushed back still
bearing him in its arms out into the deep. Further and further from the
shore it carried him, until he became terrified, and throwing out his
little arms towards the land, he cried aloud, "Mother! Mother!"
He was not calling to his own mother far away on the great plain; he had
forgotten her. Now he only thought of the beautiful woman of the Hills,
who was so strong, and loved him and made him call her "Mother"; and to
her he cried in his need for help. Now he remembered her warm,
protecting bosom, and how she had cried every night at the fear of
losing him; how when he ran from her she followed him, calling to him to
return. Ah, how cold was the sea's bosom, how bitter its lips!
Struggling still with the great wave, struggling in vain, blinded and
half-choked with salt water, he was driven violently against a great
black object tumbling about in the surf, and with all the strength of
his little hands he clung to it. The water rolled over him, and beat
against him, but he would not lose his hold; and at last there came a
bigger wave and lifted him up and cast him right on to the object he was
clinging to. It was as if some enormous monster of the sea had caught
him up and put him in that place, just as the Lady of the Hills had
often snatched him up from the edge of some perilous precipice to set
him down in a safe place.
There he lay exhausted, stretched out at full length, so tossed about on
the billows that he had a sensation of being in a swing; but the sea
grew quiet at last, and when he looked up it was dark, the stars
glittering in the dim blue vault above, and the smooth, black water
reflecting them all round him, so that he seemed to be floating
suspended between two vast, starry skies, one immeasurably far above,
the other below him. All night, with only the twinkling, trembling stars
for company, he lay there, naked, wet, and cold, thirsty with the bitter
taste of sea-salt in his mouth, never daring to stir, listening to the
continual lapping sound of the water.
Morning dawned at last; the sea was green once more, the sky blue, and
beautiful with the young fresh light. He was lying on an old raft of
black, water-logged spars and planks lashed together with chains and
rotting ropes. But alas! there was no shore in sight, for all night long
he had been drifting, drifting further and further away from land.