WILLIAM AND THE ARCHERS
William and Ginger and Douglas (Henry was staying with an aunt) were
engaged on their usual Monday morning pastime. A stream ran through the
centre of the village, and flowed under the road at a point where the
village worthies used to collect on fine Sunday afternoons and evenings
to discuss local affairs, or to stand leaning against the railings
gazing silently in front of them, deep, presumably, in thought, till
bed-time. This little space by the railings was on Monday morning
thickly covered with the matches with which the village worthies had
lit their pipes or cigarettes. Ginger and William and Douglas carefully
collected the matches. Then Ginger stood at one side of the road and
put the matches into the stream, where it entered the large pipe which
guided it beneath the road, and William stood at the other side with a
little heap of stones and tried to hit the matches as they came out.
Douglas stood by and acted as umpire. “Got it!” “Missed it!” he sang
out blithely at intervals. Occasionally the game was held up by a
dispute between William and Douglas as to whether some particular throw
had been a hit or a miss. After a short time William changed rôles with
Ginger, and Ginger tried to hit the matches as they came out. Spirited
recrimination, insult and counter-insult, were hurled over the road.
“Fancy not hittin’ _that_ one!” said William. “Well, I c’n hardly
_believe_ you din’t hit _that_ one. It’s the biggest match I’ve ever
seen in all my life. I don’t see how you could _help_ hittin’ that
one. Almost as big as a rollin’ pin.”
“_Well!_” said Ginger. “Well, I like that. I’ve hit _hundreds_ more’n
you hit. _Thousands._ An’ that--why, it was the _teeniest, teeniest_
match I’ve ever seen. Not much bigger’n a pin.”
“Well, jus’ fancy not hittin’ that great big, enormous match.
Butter-fingers!”
They met joyfully in the middle of the road and were only separated by
a motor car, which took the corner at a terrific speed and narrowly
missed putting an end to all further exploits of the Outlaws. They
picked themselves up from the road, their original quarrel forgotten in
a joint fury against the driver of the car.
“Serve him right if he’d killed us,” said Ginger, “an’ got hung for it.”
“No,” said William. “I bet it’d be more fun for him not to get
hung--but for us to haunt him. I bet if he’d killed us an’ we’d
turned into ghosts, we could have had awful fun haunting him----
I say”--warming to his theme--“I bet it would be as much fun as
_anythin’_ we’ve ever done, hauntin’ someone, groanin’ an’ rattlin’
chains an’ scarin’ ’em an’ jumpin’ out at ’em an’ such like.”
“Wouldn’t he be _mad_?” chuckled Ginger, “an’ he cun’t _do_ anything
to us ’cause you can’t to a ghost. When you hit ’em, the hit sort of
goes through ’em, an’ if they run after you, an’ catch you, the catch
sort of goes through you, an’ anyway they’re all scared stiff of jus’
_lookin’_ at you. Won’t it be _fun_ to have everyone scared stiff of
jus’ _lookin’_ at you. I can think,” he went on meditatively, “of quite
a lot of people I’d like to haunt when I’m dead--Ole Markie an’ Farmer
Jenks an’ people like that. I bet it’d be more _fun_ bein’ a ghost than
_anythin’_--even a pirate.”
“I dunno,” said Douglas, “they can’t _eat_. Jus’ _think_ of not bein’
able to eat. Jus’ _think_ of seein’ sweet shop windows full of sweets
an’ being able to get through doors an’ things so’s you could go into
sweet shops at night when there was no one there lookin’ after ’em and
yet not be able to _eat_.”
“Are you sure you can’t eat,” said Ginger anxiously.
“Yes,” said Douglas with great solemnity, “I _know_ you can’t. You put
out your hand to take up a sweet an’ your hand sort of keeps goin’
through ’em and can’t pick ’em up.”
The Outlaws shuddered at this horrible prospect.
“If you’re a pirate or a robber chief or even a Red Injun,” went on
Douglas, “it’s jus’ as excitin’ an’ you _can_ eat.”
The Outlaws agreed that on the whole it would be better to be pirates
or robber chiefs or Red Indians than ghosts and returned to the pastime
in which the passage of the motor car had disturbed them.
“Now go on,” William admonished Ginger, “see if you c’n hit a match
what’s almost as big as--a--as a--as a--telegraph pole,” he said with a
burst of inspiration; “see if----”
Douglas interrupted.
“I’m gettin’ a bit sick of umpirin’,” he said.
“All right,” said William generously. “All right. You can change places
with Ginger an’ Ginger umpire for a bit an’ you hit--I bet you c’n hit
better’n _him_.”
Ginger showed proper spirit in resenting this insult till the passage
of another motor--at a more leisurely pace--again separated them. The
driver leant over his seat, cursed them soundly and shook his fist at
them. The Outlaws sitting in the dust by the roadside whither they had
rolled on the approach of the car sat and gazed after it in horror and
indignation. William found his voice first.
“_Well!_” he said. “Well! _fancy_ nearly _killin’_ folks an’ then
talkin’ like that to ’em. Coo--I’d like to haunt _him_.”
“Oh, come on,” said Douglas. “Gimme the stones and start puttin’ the
matches in an’ I bet I hit every one.”
But it was suddenly discovered that there were only two matches left
and that Ginger and William were tired of the game. Despite Douglas’
passionate protests they walked away from the stream, Douglas remarking
bitterly:
“That’s always the way. Always. _Always_ with _everythin’_! The minute
my turn for anythin’ comes it stops.”
“What shall we do?” said Ginger when they had walked aimlessly to the
end of the road.
“Let’s get out the bows and arrers an’ practise,” said William. “We’ve
not done that for quite a long time.”
So they got out their bows and arrows, fixed up a target on a tree in
William’s back garden and for some time practised happily enough. Only
Douglas was still gloomy.
“Always the way,” he muttered bitterly as he listlessly strung his bow.
“Umpire for hours an’ hours an’ _hours_ an’ when my time comes only two
matches left.”
“You can have first go hittin’ next Monday,” said William generously.
“Yes,” said Douglas, still bitter, “an’ it’ll be wet Sunday night an’
they’ll all stay indoors an’ there won’t be any matches. Oh, I _know_!”
He was further annoyed by the fact that he failed to score a bull.
“Always the same!” he said, “somethin’ wrong with my arrers now.
’S’enough for me to get hold of a thing for everything to go wrong--an’
anyway it’s a silly sort of thing to do--shootin’ with bows and arrers.
Bow and arrer shootin’ isn’t any use to anyone but Normans an’ Red
Indians an’ such like.”
William who had scored several bulls spiritedly opposed this view.
“I bet it is,” he said. “I bet it’s more use than any other sort of
shootin’!”
Douglas gave vent to his general sense of bitterness and disappointment
by a derisive laugh. “Huh!” he said, “_Huh!_ D’you mean to say that bow
an’ arrer shootin’s more use than _gun_ shootin’ an’ _pistol_ shootin’?
What about the war? Was there any bow an’ arrer shootin’ in the war?
No. They only did gun shootin’ an’ pistol shootin’ ’cause those is the
only kinds of shootin’ what’s any good. D’you think that they’d have
had only gun shootin’ if bow an’ arrer shootin’ was any good?”
William, having taken up any position, was seldom at a loss in
defending it.
“Huh!” he said repeating Douglas’ derisive laugh, “_Huh!_ Well, jus’
at first gun shootin’s better, of course. _Anyone_ knows that. Jus’
at _first_. Because they shoot with gunpowder and nat’rally gunpowder
shoots _further_ than string. Yes, but you listen ... what about when
all the gunpowder’s used up? What about a war what goes on so long that
all the gunpowder’s used up? What’ll they do _then_? They’ll _have_ to
start shootin’ with bows an’ arrers _then_. Yes, an’ they’ll be in a
nice mess too ’cause none of ’em’ll know how to shoot ’em an’ it’s not
as easy as it looks. Yes, they’ll be jolly glad of _us_ to teach ’em
_then_. It’s jolly lucky for them _we_ know how to do it. I bet we’ll
all be made generals an’ commander-in-chiefs then. I bet if there’s
another war they’ll soon use up all the gunpowder ’cause with all the
lot they used up in the last war there can’t be much left an’ _then
we’ll_ come in with our bows an’ arrers.”
“Well, there’s not many of us to fight against a whole foreign army,”
said Douglas gloomily. “Jus’ you an’ me an’ Ginger an’ Henry against a
whole foreign army.”
“Y-yes,” admitted William reluctantly. Then he brightened. “But we
could _train_ some more. We could start trainin’ ’em now so as to be
ready.”
It was not in William’s nature, however, to spend much time preparing
for remote contingencies. He added hastily, “’S not as if we’d have
to wait till we were grown up. I think that we ought to have a bow
an’ arrer army all ready an’ it doesn’t matter not bein’ grown up for
bows an’ arrers. You can shoot ’em jus’ as hard not grown up. Look at
me,” he swaggered, “two bulls’ eyes straight after each other. Well,
wot I think is this, that we oughter start right away makin’ a bow an’
arrer army. Wot I think is”--William was unconsciously lapsing into
his platform manner--“that people aren’t as careful as what they ought
to be about foreign armies landin’. There’s nothin’ to stop ’em. They
can jus’ get into a ship an’ sail over to England an’ land same as
anyone else an’ here’ll they be right in the middle of us before we
know anythin’ about it. Wot I say is that we oughter _do_ somethin’ now
’stead of waitin’ an’ waitin’ an’ _waitin’_ till it’s too late. Wot I
say is that we might wake up to-morrow an’ find the fields here full
of foreign enemies what have sailed over in the night an’ think what a
long time it’d take to get our soldiers together an’ to get gunpowder
for their guns. Before they’d have time to do that the foreign enemy’d
have conquered ’em. Well, wot I say is that if _we’re_ here with an
army of bow and arrer shooters it’ll be all right. Bows an’ arrers
don’t need a lot of gettin’ ready like guns---- If they break you can
easy make another, an’ we can go on usin’ ’em long after they’ve used
up all their gunpowder an’ got nothin’ left to shoot with. Well, wot
I say is”--William, worked up for an oratorical climax, sought about
in his mind for some striking and original remark and finding none
repeated--“Wot I say is we’ve gotta get a bow an’ arrer army.”
Ginger and Douglas, carried away by this flow of eloquence, cheered
loudly.
William collected his “bow an’ arrer army” with surprising speed.
The holidays were drawing to a close and most of his school friends
and acquaintances were growing tired of their own resources and were
willing to follow William wherever he led them. Some of them already
possessed bows and arrows. Others bought them. Others made them.
William assembled them on the first day on which they were fully
equipped and harangued them.
“Soldiers,” he said, “we’ve all gotter learn bow and arrer shootin’ so
as to be ready for when all the gunpowder in the world gets finished up
which, of course, it must do sometime, same as coal, we’ve gotter be
ready for when a foreign enemy comes suddenly over in ships by night
an’ is here right in the middle of England before anyone finds out.
They’d be disguised, of course, till they started fightin’. Well, we’ve
gotter be ready with our bows and arrers to fight ’em an’ hold ’em at
bay till the real army’s got together, an’ got its guns an’ gunpowder
an’ things, an’ then we’ve gotter be ready to fight ’em again when all
the gunpowder’s used up. That’s what we’ve gotter do, we’ve gotter be
_ready_,” William as ever was at this point fired by his own eloquence,
“we’ve gotter be ready to save our country from the enemy, same as
people like Moses an’ Napoleon did....”
“Napoleon din’t,” said a small child in the rear.
“Moses din’t neither,” said another.
“Oh, they din’t, din’t they?” said William threateningly, annoyed at
the interruption.
They looked at William. William after all was more real than Moses and
Napoleon. It didn’t matter what Moses and Napoleon had done. It did
matter what William might do.
“All right then,” they agreed pacifically, “they did then.”
“Course they did,” said William, “an’ that’s what we’ve gotter do. Save
the country from the foreign enemies.”
His faithful band waved their bows and arrows and cheered
enthusiastically.
At first all went well. The Bow and Arrow Army practised diligently
under William’s leadership. They set up a target on a tree, stood in
a long line one behind another, and as each came to the front on the
word of command from William shot at the target, while the result was
noted on a slate by Ginger. So far so good. But the archers with the
perversity of human nature soon began to grow tired of it. They weren’t
content to stand in a row, step forward at William’s word of command,
shoot, and have the result noted on a slate by Ginger. It was all
right just at first, but after an hour or so it became boring. True,
the small boy who had challenged the historical truth of William’s
reference to Napoleon introduced a diversion by shooting William calmly
and deliberately by a well aimed arrow in the middle of his stomach
and running off, leaving William writhing in agony on the ground.
William, however, quickly recovered and was on the point of furiously
pursuing his assailant when he was held back by Ginger who pointed out,
truly enough, that if William were to leave them the bored archers
would probably straggle off to other diversions. So William, ever an
opportunist, turned the incident to account. He made another speech.
“Soldiers,” he said. “You can jus’ see from me being nearly killed
then, what a deadly weapon a bow’n arrer is. That’s what you’ve gotter
do to the foreign enemies of the country, hit them in the stomach
nearly killin’ ’em like what John Francis did me. And,” he ended
simply, “when I catch John Francis I’ll jolly well _show_ him.”
The archers, because cheering is a change from shooting at a target,
cheered.
But the fact remained that the archers were growing bored. They
preferred William as leader of lawless expeditions to William as
Commander-in-Chief of a disciplined band of archers. Shooting at a
target is thrilling enough for the first day, becomes less thrilling
on the second and is boring in the extreme on the third. None of them
dared to vary the monotony as had John Francis by shooting William.
John Francis, it transpired, had acted thus quite safely in the
knowledge that he was going away the next day on a fortnight’s visit to
an aunt, and it was a known fact that no insult ever lived in William’s
memory for longer than a week. William’s life was too full to admit of
his cherishing vengeance against anyone for longer than a week.
* * * * *
The scarecrows were William’s idea. It was indeed such an idea as could
have been no one’s but William’s. William realised that his band of
warriors was growing daily more listless and discontented, that it was
held together solely by the hope--daily diminishing--that something
exciting really was going to happen soon, and they only did not desert
in a body because they were afraid of finding afterward that they had
missed an adventure.
So William thought of the scarecrows.
He realised that a target lacked human interest and he realised that in
almost every neighbouring field stood a fairly lifelike scarecrow which
might well serve to represent the foreign enemy to whose destruction
he had so often urged his gallant band. Moreover all the fields were
“trespass fields,” and between William and the neighbouring farmers
there waged a deadly feud which would lend to the expedition that
element of lawlessness and adventure without which William as well as
the archer band was feeling the whole thing to be rather flat.
Upon hearing this the archer band brightened perceptibly and set
off behind their leader lovingly fingering their bows and chanting
joyous songs of battle. The adventure did not disappoint them. They
had a glorious day, a day that glowed brightly in their memories
for many months. They surrounded every scarecrow in every field and
shot at it with bow and arrow till it collapsed realistically and
blood-curdlingly into a heap on the ground. When the result did not
take place quickly enough, they hastened it by a few discreetly placed
stones. A scarecrow, as an enemy, possesses the supreme advantage (to
its assailant) of not being able to do anything back. From two or three
of the fields they were chased by irate farmers which gave the game the
piquant edge of excitement they had all hoped for.
William would have liked his men to shoot at the farmer enemy as they
retreated but even he had to admit that this was more difficult than
it sounds. He tried it, hit Ginger by mistake and fell over a ploughed
furrow at the same time. William had never heard of the Parthians but
if he had, would have had a deep, deep respect for them. They retired,
however, fleetly and in good order, leaving none of their number in the
hands of the enemy who finally gave up the chase, and purple-faced with
breathlessness and fury, contented themselves with standing and shaking
their fists at them till they were out of sight. It was altogether
a glorious and thrilling day. But William realised with something
of apprehension that it could not be repeated indefinitely. It was
doubtful even whether it could be repeated once. The scarecrows were
completely demolished and if new ones were set up it was pretty certain
that they would be closely guarded. No, the band must not expect a day
like this every day. They must be content with routine work for some
time after this--with drilling and shooting at targets. Before they
disbanded William delivered one of his stirring speeches.
“Now we’ve seen to-day,” he said, “what we can do to a foreign enemy if
one lands an’ comes right into the middle of England. We can knock ’em
to pieces same as we did the scarecrows,” he ignored the convenient
passivity of the scarecrow enemy which had assured the victory, and
continued, “an’ then if they start runnin’ after us we can get out
of their way same as we did out of Farmer Jenks’ an’ Farmer Hodges’,
and then when they’re too tired to run any more, we can shoot at ’em
again same as we could have done at Farmer Jenks an’ Farmer Hodges if
it hadn’t been tea-time. An’--an’ now we’ve gotter go on practising
quietly for a bit so’s to be ready, ’cause--’cause we never know when
we’ll wake up one mornin’ an’ find all the fields full of foreign
enemies what have come over in the night.”
The band of archers, inspirited by the events of the day, cheered
enthusiastically.
* * * * *
The next morning William woke early and looked out of the window. His
eyes opened wider and wider and wider. He rubbed them and looked again.
It was true. The fields near the house were full of soldiers and tents.
He dressed himself in a state of stupefied amazement. It had really
happened. A foreign enemy had really crossed over in the night and had
entrenched itself in the fields about his home. William descended to
breakfast still feeling dazed.
“I say,” he said, “there’s soldiers. All over the field.”
“It’ll be the manœuvres,” said his sister Ethel casually.
“How do you _know_ it’s the mou--what you said?” said William sternly.
Ethel looked at him.
“There’d be a fortune,” she said, “for anyone who would invent a
hairbrush that would make a boy’s hair look tidy.”
“But they’d never use it even if anyone did,” said William’s mother
gloomily.
William snorted and sat down before his porridge plate. That was just
like his family. A foreign enemy only a few yards away and all they
could talk about was his hair. Probably when the foreign enemy started
shooting at them and killing them they’d still be going on at him about
his hair or his face or something. Nothing--nothing--could ever stop
them. Bitterly William wondered whether such people were worth saving.
After a hasty breakfast he hurried out to his archer band. He found
them mildly excited.
“But they’re English soldiers,” said one with a certain disappointment
in his voice. “I’ve heard ’em talkin’ English.”
“_Course_ they talk English, silly,” said William crushingly, “but
that doesn’t _prove_ they’re English. _Course_ they taught ’em English
before they brought ’em over. Do you think they’d bring ’em over
talking foreign langwidges an’ arousin’ everyone’s suspicions? _Course
not._ _Course_ they c’n talk English. I bet they saw you listening
an’ started talkin’ English jus’ so’s not to arouse your suspicions.”
William had come across this phrase in a Secret Service story the night
before and was proud of having an opportunity of using it, “But you
go’n listen to them when they don’t think anyone’s listenin’ an’ I
_bet_ you’ll find ’em talkin’ foreign langwidges.”
Obviously the majority of the Archer band was impressed by this. But
one small doubting warrior piped up:
“Well, when I told my father this mornin’ that I’d seen ’em, he said,
‘Oh, yes. It’ll be the manooverers’--or something like that--‘an’ I
don’t suppose they’ll be here more than a day or two.’”
“Yes,” said William excitedly, “that’s _jus’_ it. That’s jus’ what they
_knew_ people’d say. They come here dressed like English soldiers an’
talkin’ English so as not to arouse suspicion and they know that the
English people’ll jus’ take for granted that they’re English till they
start fightin’ ’em and then it’ll be too late. English people are
like that. They look out of their windows an’ see a lot of soldiers
in English clothes talkin’ the English langwidge an’ they say, ‘Oh,
yes, it’ll be the--the--mooverers’--same as what George’s father said,
an’ Ethel said, and they start talkin’ about my hair jus’ as if they
weren’t goin’ to be killed the next minute.”
“What does it mean?” piped up a small archer in the background.
“What does what mean?” said William to gain time.
“That word you said--Mooverers.”
William cleared his throat.
“It’s--it’s a French word meanin’ English Soldier,” he said. His stern
eye wandered among his Archers daring any of them to deny it. No one
did deny it because everyone believed it implicitly.
“Well, that’s wot I say,” went on William relieved, “they knew that
when English people saw they were dressed like English soldiers an’
talkin’ the English langwidge they’d say, ‘Oh, they’re jus’ mooverers,’
an’ not do anythin’ to stop ’em. They’ll stay here till they’ve learnt
all about the country, then they’ll conquer the village an’ then
they’ll go on an’ conquer all the rest of England. But--we’ve--gotter
_stop_ ’em.”
The Archers waved their bows and arrows and cheered enthusiastically.
This was better than practising at a target. This was better even than
shooting scarecrows.
“Let’s go now,” said William and added cautiously, “jus’ to have a look
at ’em first. We mus’ make plans careful before we start fightin’ ’em.”
The band of Archers marched joyously down the road still cheering and
waving bows and arrows.
At the gate of the large field they stopped and gazed at the scene.
There were small tents and big tents, and everywhere soldiers were
hurrying to and fro or standing talking in groups.
“There’s some officers in that tent,” said William, “an’ I bet if you
went up to it you’d find ’em talkin’ foreign langwidges.”
“Well, go up to it an’ see,” challenged Ginger.
“All right, I will,” said William promptly accepting the challenge.
Watched in a thrilled silence by his Archers he went further down the
road till he was just behind the tent, then he wriggled through the
hedge. William had through long experience brought wriggling through
hedges to a fine art. Then he crawled up to the tent and daringly
lifted it an inch or so, placing his ear to the aperture. Inside were
two young officers. The first had just said:
“I saw the old man coming out of the ‘Blue Boar’ this morning.” And
just as William lifted the flap and applied his ear to it, the other
was replying:
“_Honi soit qui mal y pense._”
William replaced the flap, crawled back to the hedge, and wriggled
through to the road.
“They were talkin’ foreign langwidges,” he said excitedly, “foreign
langwidges wot I couldn’t understand a word of----”
The Archers cheered loudly. So stimulated were they by the prospect of
adventure, that they would have been bitterly disappointed had William
brought back any other report.
“Well, we’ve gotta make _plans_,” said William, assuming a stern and
thoughtful demeanour.
“’Sno good _rushin’_ at ’em, straight away. There’s more of them than
what there is of us. We’ve found out--_I’ve_ found out, I mean--that
they’re a foreign enemy. Well, we’ve gotter save the country from ’em.
That’s what we’ve gotter do. But it’s no good _rushin’_ at ’em before
we’ve made plans. We’ve gotta make _plans_ first. An’ we’ve gotter be
_cunnin’_ as well as brave ’cause there’s so many more of them than
what there is of us. We’ve gotter find out first who’s the head of ’em
an’ we’ve gotter do it without--without arousin’ their suspicions.”
The Archers cheered again lustily.
They would have cheered William now whatever he had said. The
longed-for adventure had come. They were willing to trust themselves
blindly and joyously to William’s sole leadership. Ginger felt that
William was having rather more than his fair share of the limelight.
“I’ll find out who’s the head of ’em,” he offered. “I bet it’s a
dang’rous thing to do but I bet I do it all right.”
The Archers cheered Ginger.
“I bet it’s no more dang’rous than seein’ if they were talkin’ in
foreign langwidges,” challenged William.
Ginger’s proud spirit had been assuaged by the Archers’ cheers. He felt
that he could afford to be generous.
“No, it’s just about the same,” he conceded.
He wriggled through the hole which had been left in the hedge by the
passage of William’s solid body and began to creep very cautiously
along the tents, peeping under each to see their interior. At one he
evidently made a discovery of a sensational nature. He turned round,
made excited but incomprehensible signs to the Outlaws who were
watching over the hedge, then began to crawl back. He plunged through
the hole and began at once.
“I’ve found the head of ’em. He’s a big fat man with a red face an’ a
white moustache an’ he’s sittin’ at a table lookin’ at a map.”
“Well, that _proves_ it,” said William equally excited, “that _proves_
it. If he wasn’t foreign he wun’t need to be lookin’ at a map, would
he? If he was really English like what they pretend to be he wun’t need
to be lookin’ at a map of England. He’d’ve done England at school in
Geography.”
The Archers agreed that the logic of this was unassailable.
[Illustration: GENERAL BASTOW RECEIVED THE FULL FORCE OF WILLIAM’S
BULLET-HEAD IN HIS STOMACH.]
William continued:
“Well, now that’s the first thing we’ve gotter do. We’ve gotter take
his map off him. I said it was no use _rushin’_ at ’em an’ we’d gotter
be cunnin’. Well, that’s the first cunnin’ thing we’ve gotter do. We’ve
gotter take his map off him an’ then you see he won’t know what to do
or where he is or anythin’.”
“Well,” said Ginger hastily, “I’ve done enough findin’ out about who
he is. I’m not goin’ to take his map off him.”
“No,” said William; “it’s time Douglas did something.”
[Illustration: THE ARCHERS, CROUCHING IN THE DITCH, LOOKED ON,
HORROR-STRICKEN.]
The Archers cheered this.
It was well known that Douglas did not care to expose himself
unnecessarily to danger. But Douglas received the suggestion with stoic
courage. Despite his preference for a quiet life, Douglas was no coward.
“All right,” he said resignedly, “jus’ tell me how to do it, an’ I’ll
do it.”
But the discussion was interrupted by the sight of the big fat man with
the red face and white moustache emerging from his tent, map in hand.
“There he is!” hissed Ginger. “Din’ I _tell_ you? Map’n all!”
With eyes starting out of their heads the Archers watched the progress
of the red-faced warrior as he came slowly down the field, his eyes
still fixed on the map outspread in his hands.
“Wonder what he’s thinkin’ about,” said Ginger.
“Whatever he’s thinkin’ about,” said William knowingly, “I bet he’s
thinkin’ about it in a foreign langwidge.”
The fat, red-faced man was coming to the gate of the field. His eyes
still fixed on the map, he came out into the road.
The Archers, looking round for a hiding-place, saw none but the
ditch into which they hastily precipitated themselves. The man came
slowly down the road, still looking at the map. He passed the Archers
crouching in the ditch. The sight of the enemy thus within his grasp
was too much for William. Without waiting to consider or reason William
acted.
General Bastow, walking peaceably down the road studying his map as he
went, was amazed to see a boy suddenly scramble up out of the ditch by
the roadside. A moment later he was still more amazed to receive the
full force of the boy’s bullet-head in his stomach, and to be forced by
its sheer iron weight into a sitting posture in the dust. For a moment
physical agony blinded him to everything but the outrage committed by
that dastardly boy upon his digestive organs. Then his vision cleared.
He found his map gone and a boy disappearing on the horizon. It was not
General Bastow’s habit to receive any outrage sitting down (except as
in this case inadvertently). With a roar of fury he set off in pursuit,
less in order to recover his map (of which he had other copies) than in
order to inflict condign punishment upon the person of his assailant.
But it was not for nothing that William was pursued regularly and
unavailingly by all the local farmers. William’s life had perforce
been largely spent in throwing off pursuers. When General Bastow,
plum-coloured and panting, had reached the cross-roads, there was no
sign of William anywhere. It seemed futile to continue the pursuit, so
the elderly warrior, panting and rumbling like a threatening volcano,
returned slowly back along the road to the gate, which led into the
field, and back into his tent. When he had finally disappeared, still
rumbling furiously, into his tent, the Archers scrambled out of the
ditch in an awestruck silence and went towards the cross-roads where
William had vanished.
There they saw William emerging, jaunty and unshaken, from behind a
hayrick in a neighbouring field, carrying the map. He joined them on
the road.
“Well,” he chuckled, “_now_ they’ll be in a nice fix. They jolly well
won’t know what to do without the map. They won’t know where they are
or anythin’. I say”--with a reminiscent chuckle--“din’t he go down with
a flop?” Then with his own inimitable swagger: “My head’s jolly strong.
I bet there’s jolly well no one I can’t knock over with my head.”
“What’ll we do next?” said Ginger joyfully.
“Oh, jus’ watch ’em for a bit,” said William, “they won’t know what to
do without their map.”
Next day every movement of the innocent company of territorials was
interpreted by William as one of utter bewilderment and despair.
“Look at ’em, marchin’ down there, cause that’s where they saw me go
off with the map an’ they’re tryin’ to find it. They dunno what to do
without it. Look at that one goin’ into the village. He’s goin’ to
try’n buy another map an’ he won’t be able to ’cause they don’t keep
’em. Look at that one postin’ a letter. He’s writin’ off to the foreign
country they come from to tell ’em that they’ve had the map took and to
ask ’em what to do.”
The great discovery was when he found a company of them digging a
trench, at the end of the field.
“Look at ’em. They’re givin’ up tryin’ to conquer England now they’ve
had their map took off them an’ they daren’t go home by ship, same as
they came, because they know now that someone knows about ’em with
getting their map stole--so look at ’em. I bet they live at the other
side of the world an’ they’re tryin’ to dig themselves through back to
their homes, you know, ’cause of the world bein’ round like what they
say it is in geography.”
The Archers were so pleased with his idea that they cheered again
lustily. Its only drawback was that few of them had really in their
hearts ever subscribed to the theory that the earth is round. As
Douglas said--when they began now to discuss the idea afresh:
“Stands to reason, dun’t it, that folks can’t walk about upside down
like flies. They’d drop off the earth altogether. Even if they tried
holdin’ on by trees an’ things they’d be sure to drop off in the end.
Ships couldn’t stay in the sea either. They’d drop out.”
“And the sea cun’t stay there neither,” said Ginger, elaborating the
theme. “You can’t have water stayin’ in a place upside down without
anythin’ to keep it in. It’d spill out.”
“Well, what’re we goin’ to do about this foreign army?” said an Archer
who was not interested in the problematical shape of the earth.
“Jus’ wait an’ watch ’em for a bit still,” said William. “We’ve got
their map. They can’t do anythin’ without their map.”
But by the end of the next day both William and his Archers had tired
of waiting and watching.
They felt that the time was ripe for some decisive coup, and so they
met in William’s back garden to decide what form exactly the coup
should take. William led the discussion.
“I votes,” he said, “that we get the general man away from them
somehow. Then when we attack them they’ll have no one to tell’m what to
do. They’ll be without a leader an’ we’ll easy be able to put ’em to
flight.”
“Yes, but _how_’ll we get the ole general away from them?” demanded the
Archers.
“Well, we’ll talk about that now,” said William.
So they talked about that.
* * * * *
The next evening was the last evening of the manœuvres and there was a
relaxed atmosphere about the camp. General Bastow set off to dine with
an acquaintance who lived at the further end of the village, though
the General wasn’t quite sure where, as he’d never visited him before
at home. Dusk was falling as he walked along the road. He had been
terribly bored by the manœuvres and he still hadn’t forgotten that
brutal attack perpetrated upon him in broad daylight by that dastardly
young ruffian. He was certain that his liver had never been the same
since. He still had hopes of meeting that young ruffian face to face.
He’d never come across a place with so many boys in it. Crowds of boys
seemed to have been watching the camp ever since they settled there,
peeping over the hedge, following men and officers about. He was rather
short-sighted, and he hadn’t had time to look for that young ruffian
again, but he’d know him if he saw him. He turned a corner of the
road and suddenly came across a small boy crying bitterly. It was the
youngest Archer, but the General, of course, could not know this, nor
could the General know that the whole body of Archers was concealed in
the muddy ditch, watching the encounter. The General did not like small
boys, but he felt that he could not pass by a small boy in such deep
distress without some offer of assistance.
“Well, well, well,” he bellowed irritably, “what’s the matter with you,
my little man?”
“I’m lo--o--o--o--ost!” sobbed his little man.
“Oh, nonsense! nonsense!” boomed the General. “Nonsense! We’ll soon
find your home for you!”
“T--thank you,” sobbed his little man, slipping his hand confidingly in
his. “T--thank you.”
The General had not quite bargained for this. He had not meant to spend
his evening finding a home for a lost boy, but fate seemed to have
thrust the situation upon him.
“Where do you think you live, my little man?” he said testily.
“D--down this road, I think,” sobbed his little man.
In the gathering dusk he led his rescuer down the road.
“Will you recognise the house when you see it?” said the General.
“Y--yes, I think so,” sobbed the youngest Archer.
“Well, stop crying, my good child, stop crying. Try to be a man. Crying
won’t do any good.”
The youngest Archer stopped crying. He was glad to be told to stop
crying. It is quite easy to sob convincingly for a minute or two
but difficult to continue it indefinitely. He was afraid that his
performance was beginning to lack realism. At each house along the road
the General said, “Do you think you live here, my little man?” and his
little man said with a break in his voice of which he was secretly
proud, “No--no. N--not here.” Till they got to the large house at the
end of the road, then, when the General said, “Do you live here, my
little man?” the youngest Archer said, brightly, “Why, yes, I think--I
_think_ it’s here.”
They entered the wrought iron gates together, and walked half-way
up the drive. Then the youngest Archer gently withdrew his hand and
disappeared in the dusk. The General stood gazing around, his eyes
and mouth wide open. The child had vanished as completely as if the
earth had opened to swallow him up. Behind him he heard a clang of
metal as the iron gates swung to. As he was standing there, amazed and
indecisive, the front door opened and a voice said:
“That you, General?”
With relief the General recognised the voice of the friend with whom he
was going to dine.
“Found your way to the house all right?” went on the friend.
“Well, a curious chance led me here,” said the General, “as a matter of
fact, I’d no idea it was your house till you spoke. A little boy who
said he was lost--but he was probably playing a trick on me, the young
ruffian. All boys are the same. Why, only the other day on the main
road in broad daylight----”
Talking volubly he entered the hall with his host who shut the front
door behind him.
When the General and the realistically sobbing youngest Archer had
turned the bend of the road, the main body of Archers with their bows
and arrows climbed out of the ditch and clustered round William.
“Well,” said William, “I mus’ say he did that jolly well--_jolly_
well---- Now let’s sep’rate. Ginger an’ Douglas and half of you go
after them an’ me ’n’ the others’ll go back an’ charge the soldiers an’
with him not bein’ there they won’t know what to do, an’ they’ll have
no one to lead ’em. Come on!”
With a flourish he led his half army away and Ginger and his little
band set off cautiously down the road in the wake of the General and
the youngest Archer.
Soon they saw the youngest Archer come out of the gates, shut them
behind him, and run excitedly down the road to meet them.
“I’ve shut him in,” he said in a shrill whisper, “he’s in all right.”
They approached the iron gate and clustered around it, watching and
listening. All was as still and silent as it had been when the youngest
Archer left it. He could not know, of course, that he had led the
General to his host nor that in that brief interval during which he
ran to greet and report to his friends, the General had been received
and admitted by the master of the house. They gazed and listened. All
was still--all was silent--and it was growing dark.
“He’s creepin’ about the garden, I bet,” said the youngest Archer,
“tryin’ to find a way out---- Look, I believe I c’n see him. Over
there.”
The more imaginative of the Archers said that they thought they could
see him too.
“Well, half of us’ll stay here guardin’ this gate,” said Ginger, “an’
shoot him if he tries to come out, an’ half go round to the back gate,
an’ guard that an’ shoot him if he tries to come out. He won’t _dare_
to try’n take refuge in the house, ’cause it’s Mr. Hunter’s, an he’s a
magistrate an’ he’d know at once that he was a foreign enemy an’ put
him in prison. He’ll either stay hidin’ in the garden or else try’n’
get out of this gate when we’ll shoot him or else try’n’ get out of the
other gate when the others’ll shoot him.”
The others had already gone round to the side gate. Ginger and his
little band pressed their noses against the wrought iron and gazed
intently into the garden.
It was a windy night and black shadows moved with the swaying trees.
“Look, there he is,” Ginger would say, “crouchin’ down there! Look! He
moved! D’you see!”
The Archers saw. With every minute that passed their imaginations grew
keener and there was not one of them who did not distinctly see the
dark shadow of General Bastow, creeping round the corners of the house
and beneath the trees.
“He’s gettin’ desperater an’ desperater,” said Ginger, “he daren’t go
in ’cause he knows it’s a magistrate livin’ there, an’ he daren’t come
out ’cause he knows we’re waitin’ to shoot him, an’ he’s jus’ creepin’
about gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.”
It happened that in Mr. Hunter’s garden was a pond much frequented
by frogs. Suddenly through the night air came the sound of a frog’s
croak--then another--then another.
“Listen to him moanin’ an’ groanin’,” interpreted Ginger, “gettin’
desperater an’ desperater.”
There came the sound of a splash as a frog jumped into the pond and
then silence.
“He’s drowned himself,” said Ginger in an awestruck voice. “He’s got
desperater an’ desperater till he’s drowned himself.”
There was another silence.
“He must have,” said Ginger. “I don’t see him creepin’ about anywhere
now, do you?”
The Archers didn’t.
“Let’s go’n’ look,” said a specially bold one.
They opened the gate cautiously and crept up the drive past the house
to the pond. It was perhaps as well that they could not see through
the dining-room blind the figure of their supposed victim sitting at a
table, stout and red-faced as ever, eating and drinking heartily.
They clustered round the pond. Dark shadows lay at the bottom of it.
“I can see his dead body,” said Ginger, “can’t you? Over there. Under
that tree. Right at the bottom.”
The more imaginative Archers said that they could see his dead body
quite plainly. The less imaginative ones said that they thought they
could.
“Well, we’d better go,” said Ginger. “Now he’s drowned hisself there’s
no use stayin’ here keepin’ guard. Let’s get over the side gate an’
go’n’ help William.”
* * * * *
Meanwhile William and his band had walked back to the field where
the “foreign enemy” was still entrenched. Just behind the trench was
the high wall which bounded a garden belonging to Miss Milton, an
inveterate enemy of William’s. But--fortunately for William--Miss
Milton was away on her holiday and a caretaker occupied the house.
William had little fear or respect for caretakers. He knew by long
experience that they spent most of their time sleeping, were generally
deaf and short-sighted and always short-winded. Heartened by this
thought he collected and addressed his followers.
“_Now’s_ the time for us to attack ’em,” he said flourishing his bow
and arrows in a warlike manner. “_Now’s_ the time, while they haven’t
got their leader to tell ’em what to do. We’ll go into Miss Milton’s
garden--careful, ’cause the old woman mightn’t be asleep, but anyway
she’s sure to be deaf so it’ll be all right. We’ll climb up behind
the wall an’ lean over an’ attack ’em with the bow an’ arrers an’ I
bet you--I jolly well bet you _anythin’_ you like that we put ’em to
flight.”
The Archers cheered in shrill excitement and marched off gaily in
their leader’s wake. William knew the best hole through the hedge into
Miss Milton’s garden. William knew the best holes through the hedges
into most of his neighbours’ gardens. This was not unnatural as most
of them had been made by the frequent furtive passage of William’s
body. The other Archers followed less nimbly being less accustomed
than their leader to such means of entrance. In the garden William
stood and looked about him. All was silent and empty. There was not
even a serpent in the garden in the shape of a gardener. And the
windows at the back of the house were reassuringly blank. No suspicious
caretaker’s face was visible at any of them. William heaved a sigh of
relief.
“_That’s_ all right,” he said to his army. “Now come along--_creep_--to
the bottom where the wall is.”
They crept to the bottom of the garden, William creeping at their head.
They imitated faithfully William’s manner of creeping, but none of
them approached William’s creeping form. William was justly proud of
his creeping. Not for nothing had he practised being a Red Indian and
a robber chief and a cinema villain painstakingly and for many years.
He had brought creeping to a fine art. The finest villain on the cinema
stage might have learnt something from William’s creeping. It was not
perhaps a very unobtrusive mode of procedure but it was dramatic.
He suited his expression to his walk and assumed an air of furtive
cunning. So wrapt up was he in fulfilling his rôle of creeper to his
own satisfaction that it was not till he reached the bottom of the
garden that he realised that the wall was too high for them and that
they could not possibly see over it, much less launch an attack from
the top of it. The other Archers were taken aback, but William assumed
his stern frown of leadership.
“We’ll jus’ have to get somethin’ to stand on,” he hissed in a dramatic
whisper.
A small Archer attempted a cheer but was muffled and cuffed by an older
one.
So they set about finding something to stand on. Under William’s
direction, and still creeping with melodramatic furtiveness to and fro,
they fetched a table from a summer-house and put upon it a row of large
plant pots upside down. As this did not hold them all, others moved
forward a cucumber frame, stood it up sideways and balanced plant plots
upon it. Then laboriously and, miraculously, without accident, they
mounted the precarious erection and peeped cautiously over the top of
the wall. Yes, the soldiers were still in the trench below them.
“Get your bows an’ arrers ready,” hissed William.
They got them ready as best they could, holding on to the wall with
one hand while the erection of table and cucumber frame and plant pots
rocked beneath them.
“One, two, three--_fire!_” said William.
They fired.
[Illustration: “ONE, TWO, THREE--_FIRE!_” SAID WILLIAM. THEY FIRED.]
It is one thing to stand on firm ground and take careful aim at a
target affixed to a tree near you and quite another to shoot over
the top of a wall on to which you have to hold with your chin while
an unsteady erection of plant pots and cucumber frame rocks beneath
you. Most of the arrows went rather wild. But it happened that as the
_grande finale_ of the manœuvres the soldiers were practising an “over
the top” charge out of the trench and across the field, and just as
William’s band shot their arrows the officer gave the signal to charge.
The soldiers swarmed up out of the trench and began to rush across the
field.
“We’ve put ’em to flight,” roared William triumphantly, “we’ve p----”
[Illustration: THE SOLDIERS SWARMED UP OUT OF THE TRENCH AND BEGAN TO
RUSH ACROSS THE FIELD.]
But at this point the whole erection of plant pots, table and cucumber
frame collapsed with a terrific clatter of breaking glass and pots.
Shaken and apprehensive the Archers picked themselves up from the
débris. Their apprehensions were not unfounded for immediately the
kitchen door burst open and caretaker and gardener rushed out in
avenging fury. The Archers, leaving their weapons ignominiously behind
in the enemies’ territory, scrambled precipitately through the hedge
and were not a moment too soon. In fact the gardener seized the foot of
the last Archer, who, with great presence of mind, wriggled his foot
out of his shoe and, leaving his shoe in the gardener’s hand, fled
after the others down the road pursued by the shoe which the gardener
flung after them, and which hit William neatly on the head. William
was just about to throw it back and see if he could hit the gardener
equally neatly on the head when its owner, who had been trying to
invent a plausible explanation of its absence for his mother, snatched
it from William’s hand and put it on as he ran. The Archers did not
dare to go down the road again towards the field where the irate
gardener and caretaker presumably awaited them. So they marched down
the road where they had left Ginger and his band, chanting pæans of
victory. It was almost dark when they met Ginger and his band. They
also were coming down the road chanting pæans of victory.
“We put ’em to flight,” yelled William as soon as he caught sight of
his friend.
“He’s drowned hisself,” yelled Ginger joyously. They met and began
excitedly to exchange reports.
“We just fired once,” said William, “an’----”
“We shut the gate on him,” said Ginger, “an’----”
“They went dashin’ out of their hole terrified an’----”
“He went moanin’ an’ groanin’ about the garden----”
“Simply _terrified_----”
“Gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.”
“An’ went tearin’ away over the field.”
“An’ at last went an’ drowned himself in a pond....”
“We saw ’em _tearin’_ away over the field.”
“We heard a big splash and then saw his dead body in the pond an’----”
The Archers would have liked to have gone back to the field to see
whether there were any traces of the routed enemy, but the thought of
the caretaker and gardener, who probably still lay in wait for them
with hostile intent, deterred them.
“We’d better not go back,” said William, “they may’ve left bombs or--or
snipers or somethin’, but,” he ended impressively, “I can jolly well
tell you that there won’t be _one_ of ’em left to-morrow mornin’.
They’ll all go back home in their ships to-night.”
And William was right in the first part of his prophecy. There was not
one of them left in the morning. They had, as originally arranged,
departed with praiseworthy dispatch and smartness in the early hours of
the morning.
* * * * *
It was the next week and they were in William’s back garden. William
was still discussing the affair. The other Outlaws were beginning
to get rather bored with the airs William put on about it. William
seemed not to have stopped talking about it since it happened, and his
boasting grew more unbearable every day.
“I oughter have a statchoo put up to me,” he said. “I did it. It was
all my idea. I’ve saved the country an’ conquered a foreign enemy an’ I
oughter have a statchoo put up to me.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Ginger, “so ought I too, anyway, an’ anyway I’m
jolly well tired of it an’ let’s go fishin’ again.”
“All right,” said William, taking up the stick which bore a bent pin
attached to it by a length of damp string. “All right. I don’t mind.
But wot I say is that I ought to have a statchoo put up to me for
savin’ the country. Yes, you ought to, too,” he concluded hastily as
Ginger began to speak, “you ought to, too, but I oughter have the
biggest one because it was my idea anyway. I oughter be put up on a
tall piller like Nelson. I ought----”
He stopped abruptly and stood as if petrified, his eyes staring in
horror and amazement at a figure which was just coming in at the front
gate.
General Bastow had returned after the manœuvres to spend a few days
with his friend, Mr. Hunter, had met Mr. Brown there and had to-day
been invited to the Browns’ to lunch. William did not know this. Ginger
and Douglas were equally petrified. The three of them stood transfixed
with horror--eyes and mouths open wide. The visitor strode jauntily up
to the front door. He did not see the three boys who were crouching
behind the bushes.
William recovered from his stupor first. He turned to Ginger and hissed:
“Thought you said he’d drowned himself ... thought you said you’d seen
his dead body.”
Ginger’s face was pale with horror.
“I did,” he gasped, “I did honest. This must be his ghost.”
“It can’t be,” said Douglas. “You can’t see through it.”
“You c-can’t always see through them,” said Ginger faintly.
“Dun’t _look_ like a ghost,” said William grimly.
“It _mus’_ be,” said Ginger recovering gradually his normal manner. “It
mus’ be. I tell you I _sor_ his dead body in the pond. He’s haunting us
’cause we made him kill himself same as you said you’d haunt the man
what nearly killed you with a motor car. I bet you _anythin’_ that if
you went up an’ gave him a good hit the hit’d go right through him.”
General Bastow had reached the front door and rung the bell. He stood
there twirling his white moustaches still unaware of the three boys
behind him.
“All right,” said William, “go’n do it. Go’n give him a good hit and
see if it goes through him.”
“All right, I will,” said Ginger unexpectedly.
Ginger had been so convinced that the black shadow at the bottom of the
pond was General Bastow’s dead body that he had no doubt at all that
this apparition was General Bastow’s ghost come back to haunt him. He
had decided to show it once for all that he was not afraid of it. _He_
would jolly well teach it to come haunting _him_.
Before either William or Douglas could stop him he had crept up behind
the gallant warrior and dealt him a sound punch in the small of his
back. The General started round, purple-faced and snorting with
anger. The impact of his fist with the solid flesh of the General had
convinced Ginger at once that this was no ghostly visitant from another
world, and panic-stricken he had darted off into the bushes like a
flash of lightning. Douglas, with admirable presence of mind, had
followed him, and when the General turned, purple-faced and snorting,
only William was there standing behind him, rooted to the spot in
sheer horror. And at that moment William’s father opened the door. The
General pointed a fierce finger at William.
“Th-a-t boy’s just hit me,” he spluttered, going a still more terrific
purple.
At this monstrous accusation the power of speech returned to William.
“I d-didn’t,” he gasped, “Ginger did. Ginger hit you b-because he
thought you were a ghost.”
The enormous figure of the General seemed to grow more enormous still
and his purple face more purple still. His eyes were bulging.
“Thought I was a g---- Thought I was a _what_?”
“A ghost,” said William.
“A GHOST?” roared the General.
“Yes, a ghost,” said William; “he thought he’d drowned you and you’d
come back to haunt him.”
“He thought--WHAT?” bellowed the General.
“He thought he’d drowned you and you’d come back to haunt him. He was
hitting you to see if the hit would go through you.”
The General stared at him and stared and stared. And a memory came back
to him--a memory of a dusty road, a bullet-head in his stomach and an
unavailing pursuit. He looked as if he were going to have an apoplectic
fit. He pointed a trembling finger at William.
“Why--_you’re_ the boy,” he sputtered, “who----”
William’s father intervened quietly.
“Yes,” he said. “Come and tell me what he did indoors.”
* * * * *
It was evening. William and Ginger and Douglas sat gloomily in
William’s back garden.
“That’s all one gets,” said William bitterly, “for savin’ one’s
country. That’s all one gets for puttin’ a foreign enemy to flight.
Bein’ treated like that. Oh, no, no one believes me, do they? Oh, no.
They’ll believe any lies any foreign enemy tells them, won’t they? but
not me, not me what’s saved the country. They won’t believe anythin’ I
say. Oh, no. I can save the country from a foreign enemy, but _that_
doesn’t make any difference. Oh, no. They won’t listen to a word I
say. Oh, no. But they’ll listen to a foreign enemy all right. Oh, yes.
Well, I’ve jolly well finished with ’em and _now--now_”--impressively
he brought out his terrible threat--“if they came to me on their knees
_beggin’_ to put up a statchoo to me, I wouldn’t let ’em.”