a similar character from that large class of persons who always tell
one after an event has happened that they perfectly well knew it would
occur, and had often prophesied it beforehand. He did not deem it
necessary to make any answer, but accepted all the compliments offered
him with becoming modesty, and told his friends plainly that he had
acted for the general benefit, and was very thankful that success had
crowned his efforts. Many rewards were, of course, bestowed upon the
hero: he was made a knight of several orders, which conferred the right
to wear certain stars and crosses at court, which was accounted a great
privilege in those days, and was all the more valued because it was
always so uncertain to whom {178}it would be given, some persons who had
done nothing to deserve it being frequently thus decorated, while
others were left out who had fairly earned it by service rendered to the
public. But everybody rejoiced in the honours showered upon Sir Hans,
and tailoring immediately grew fashionable and has so continued ever
since.
“From that time forth there is but little of interest to relate to
you concerning the giant Bramble-buffer. He honestly and diligently
performed his duty to his masters, making and altering mountains for
them when required, holding a gigantic umbrella over particular crops
which the rain would have damaged when a storm happened to break over
them, and performing very many other offices for the performance of
which brute strength was required. In short, he proved a most faithful,
useful, and obedient servant, never grumbled at being required to rise
early, complained of his victuals, or said that, ‘it wasn’t his place’
to do any particular service asked of him, but did his duty like a true
and good giant, and was consequently happy and contented during the
whole of his remaining life. I cannot tell you precisely when that life
terminated, but I rather fancy his head got confused when two great
nations took to quarrelling as to which of them had the best claim to
my river, and consequently to the giant who served the population of the
country near, and if this absurdity on the part of mortals turned with
them into madness, it is not a matter of surprise that the same disease
fell upon the less powerful intellect of the poor giant, and that he put
an end to himself when, like the nations themselves, he was labouring
under ‘temporary insanity.’ At all events, I have told you his legend
as {179}far as it has been well authenticated, and will now leave you to
pass your opinion thereupon.”
“A good tale, indeed, Brother Rhine,” remarked Father Thames at the
conclusion of this story.
“I am glad you approve of it,” replied the other. “Have you never had
giants of this kind in your own country, Brother Thames?”
Thus addressed, the old king pondered for awhile, and then made answer
as follows:--“Yes, we have had giants, of one sort or another, in old
England, but rarely of the size, and scarce even of the mischievous
character, of your Daddyroarers. But since you have told me a tale of
the giant, let me give you a legend of the small people;” and so saying
Father Thames commenced the history of--
THE MANNIKINS’ CASTLE
I don’t pretend, Brother Rhine, to have as many haunted castles upon my
banks as you have on and about the sides of your famous river. I have
always denied that the chief merit of a castle consists in its being
haunted, and the simple-minded people who inhabit this old England of
ours look to the circumstance of their houses being comfortable to live
in, free from draughts and bad smells, large enough to entertain their
friends, and possessed of good kitchen arrangements, rather than to
their being the residence of any supernatural beings such as those of
which you and your castles appear to be so proud. Moreover I have often
observed that the presence of such creatures is constantly connected
with the commission of some frightful {180}crime at a distant period of
time, the perpetrator of which appears desirous to perpetuate its
memory by haunting the place where it was performed as much as he or she
conveniently can. We islanders, on the contrary, when any of us happen
to commit a crime, prefer that it should be forgotten as soon as
possible, and think it very indecent and improper of any member of a
respectable family who may have distinguished himself in the paths of
vice if he seeks to keep up the remembrance thereof, and throw a stain
upon the escutcheon of his house by coming back again to earth after he
has once left it for the benefit of the survivors. There are exceptions,
of course, to this rule, but I state what I believe to be the popular
feeling here upon the subject; and although I am going to tell you a
story which concerns a castle, and also beings not strictly mortal or
ordinary, I may at once tell you that, so far as I know, no murder was
ever committed there, and no ghost or demon of an unpleasant character
ever entered the place, except under the casual circumstances which I
shall presently relate.
It was an old castle, however; a very old castle, built much more
massively than the structures of modern times, and full of curious old
bits of wall, over which antiquaries would puzzle nowadays to determine
their date, and having here and there wonderful windows with huge stone
mullions set into the great, deep walls, and apparently built with the
intention of lasting until the end of the world. In the chief window
of this old ruin--for a ruin it was at the time of my story--there
habitually sat a large black owl, who was generally supposed to be the
lord and ruler of the place.
[Illustration: 181]
[Illustration: 198]
Perhaps _he_ was a spirit if one only knew it, but as no one _did_ know
{182}it, it never entered anybody’s head to say so. He was hardly mortal
though, for he not only hooted like an ordinary owl, but spoke like
a Christian; at least so I suppose, or how would he have made himself
understood by other beings who were _not_ owls, and who yet had to
communicate with him? For beings more extraordinary than owls inhabited
the old castle. A large number of mannikins had taken possession of it
some years after its abandonment by mortals, and here the merry little
creatures would sport and gambol all the livelong day. They used to
clamber about the strong ivy-trees that grew up the sides of the old
walls, playing at hide and seek among the thick leaves, and making the
place re-echo with their joyous shouts. They were wont to sport and play
with the large lizards which basked upon the walls when the sun came out
with rays bright and strong, and warm enough to tempt them to do so, and
they would scamper up and down the whole place, trying their skill in
ascending and descending the steepest and most perpendicular places in
the old walls, where the stone was crumbling away from sheer age, and
where no being of mortal frame and mould could have found a secure
footing for a moment. Oh, they were merry little chaps, those mannikins!
Within the precincts of the castle itself, in the ancient courtyards
which once reverberated with the shrill blast of trumpets calling men
forth to war; where men-at-arms formerly strode boldly along, filled
with warlike ardour, and where martial sounds rang out loud and oft in
the days of old, grass was now growing long and rank, which was trodden
under foot only by the lively mannikins in their daily and nightly
dances, whilst their shrill and merry cries replaced those sterner
sounds which had long {183}since ceased, and those who had caused them
had passed for ever from mortal ken and mortal vision. All was indeed
changed; but I am not prepared to say that the change was not for the
better, for I was never fond of the old feudal times myself; and the
barons who used to possess such castles, and send forth their retainers
to fight, were much more troublesome people to the world at large,
and their neighbours in particular, than were the little mannikins who
played around the old place, or the wise old owl who blinked his eyes
cosily and comfortably in the stone window.
You would have thought that such innocent creatures as owls and
mannikins could have had no enemies, but must have been on good terms
with all their fellow-creatures of every description. True, they
sometimes made themselves disagreeable in the way of taking new-laid
eggs from farmyards which were within temptingly easy reach of their own
abode, and now and then they were shrewdly suspected of having milked a
cow with which they had no business, and stolen cream when the dairymaid
had been careless enough to leave the dairy-door unlocked. In these
particulars, though, they were, after all, no worse than mortals have
frequently been, and in fact not half so bad, inasmuch as they made
what return they could to the country people who might have now and then
suffered from their depredations, sometimes going out in the moonlight
nights and making their hay for them or finishing the cutting of a
cornfield, and even condescending so far, on more than one occasion, as
to sweep a chimney and thoroughly dust a kitchen floor. For they were
very active little fellows, those mannikins, and could turn their hands
to almost anything if they saw fit to do so.
They {184}had some enemies no doubt, in wild and evil-disposed animals,
for they loved to warn the lamb when the wolf was lying in wait for him,
and often saved the poultry by a timely notice that the fox was coming,
whereby they incurred the wrath and hatred of these midnight marauders.
But the chief and principal of their enemies were the witches, who have
during all ages been a plague to this otherwise favoured land. I say
advisedly, in all ages, because this is indeed the truth, although in
their form and shape, as well as in their method of doing mischief,
persons of this class have wonderfully changed. In old times they were
generally of repulsive appearance, oftentimes clad in a red cloak,
generally with a stick in one hand, and almost invariably humpbacked or
misshapen in some way, and attended by a familiar in the shape of a cat.
They were consulted only on serious affairs, or when somebody wanted to
be revenged upon somebody else; they were malicious in their words
and actions; hated everything good, respectable, and handsome; and, if
possible, transformed it as soon as they could into something quite the
reverse. Nowadays, our English witches are entirely different: their
shape is usually beautiful, their figure perfect, their eyes bright and
full of expression, and their dress made in admirable good taste and
after an exceedingly becoming fashion. They have no familiar spirit, and
the best of them allow no one to be too familiar with them; neither
do they change the form and shape of mankind into those of hideous
creatures, but, on the contrary, rather prefer that men should be
handsome and well shaped; but they still exercise over them an almost
resistless sway, which, however, is far more {185}willingly obeyed
than was the power of the witches of the old times; and they are now
consulted, not so much on matters of hate and revenge, as on those which
concern feelings far more desirable to be cherished in the human breast.
But the witches of whom I have to speak to-day hated the mannikins as
much as a certain person is said to hate holy water. The reason of
this was sufficiently obvious, and arose from the entire and radical
difference between the views of the two sets of beings. The mannikins
were, as I have said, although mischievous, the friends of mankind; the
witches were the enemies of everything human which was not as wicked
as themselves: the mannikins found pleasure in the most innocent
amusements; the witches had no satisfaction in anything which did
not injure or give pain to somebody else: the mannikins were gay and
cheerful, the witches dull and morose, save when under the influence of
strong drink: the mannikins generally ran about on their own legs; the
witches habitually rode broomsticks, or toads, or whatever else came in
their way and could be made to serve as a horse--in fine, the mannikins
and witches did not, could not, and were never likely to, agree upon any
one point or in any one feature of resemblance, and therefore it was not
unnatural that they should be animated by feelings of hostility the one
against the other. I am bound to say, however, that the mannikins never
wished to interfere with or annoy the witches, and would have been well
content to keep out of their way altogether if they could only have
managed to do so. It was the witches who went out of their way to tease
and bully the mannikins whenever they could, and who were {186}entirely
responsible for all the troubles which occurred in consequence.
Not far from the owl’s castle was a large forest, in which all kinds
of creatures dwelt, and of which the little people from the castle made
great and frequent use. They dearly loved to wander amongst the enormous
trees, climbing over their branches, and playing around their gigantic
trunks. One tree in particular there was which they held very precious.
It had fallen down, and lay in the forest, covering a prodigious space
of ground. On, under, and around it, wherever they could do so, the
little mannikins planted a large number of fungi, under which they
sought shelter from the rays of the sun or the pelting of the storm, and
which they called their summer palace. Here they would spend hour after
hour when the weather was favourable, and I have often wandered up from
my river to have a sly peep at the merry little creatures sporting and
playing whilst the distant moon shone upon them from afar, lighting up
the walls of the old castle in the distance, and bathing with a flood
of light the forest and fallen tree and the mannikins’ playground around
the latter. There they would be, sure enough, night after night, running
one after the other round the tree and under the fungi, having sometimes
coaxed a butterfly or two, a big blue-bottle fly, or some other lively
insect, to sit up with them and make a night of it.
One would have thought that it would have been scarcely worth the
witches’ while to have troubled themselves with these harmless people,
when there was so much more mischief of a practical character to be done
in the world without. But there is no accounting for tastes, {187}and
when the evil passion of malice once seizes upon any one, whether mortal
or witch, no one can tell to what extremities it will lead. Accordingly,
several of the most notorious witches in that part of the country (and
ever since England was a country, Berkshire and Buckinghamshire have
been the favourite abodes of witches) resolved to harass and worry the
mannikins by every means within their power.
[Illustration: 204]
Dame Stokes, Mother Wandle, and old Goody Tickleback {188}were the names
of the three principal plotters, and a rare bad lot they were when you
came to know them. Dame Stokes lived at Datchet, whence she generally
sallied forth upon one of the biggest broomsticks ever known in that
part of the country.
[Illustration: 205]
Mother Wandle frequently assumed the shape of a large bat, under
which disguise she flitted about all over the country; whilst Goody
Tickleback, who resided not far from the playing-fields at Eton,
habitually rode the carcase of a fearful antediluvian monster whose
skeleton she had found in some queer place, and which, animated by her
particular evil spirit, made her a capital horse, and struck terror
{189}into the souls of all those who were unfortunate enough to see
it. These foul creatures, having secured the aid of others as bad as
themselves, determined to root out the family of mannikins if they
possibly could, or at all events drive them once for all from the castle
and its neighbourhood.
They first endeavoured to obtain as allies the nymphs who frequented
my banks, coming down oftentimes to bathe from their homes in the shady
recesses of Windsor Forest, where their dances were most beautiful to
behold, showing off their graceful figures to perfection, and making me
anxious that they should become permanent residents within the waters
of my river. These ladies, however, would have nothing to say to the
witches, whom they declared to be frightful as well as disreputable
people, not fit for the society of well-conducted females who had any
respect for themselves. They stated, moreover, that, in their opinion,
the mannikins had done nothing for which they deserved to be punished,
but were inoffensive and gentlemanlike little people, who ought rather
to be encouraged than the reverse. Then the witches tried to cajole my
elves, and to persuade them to splash, duck, and, if possible, drown
their enemies when they came down to play upon the river banks. But
the elves were exceedingly indignant at the request, remarking that the
witches had nothing whatever to do with _them_, whilst the mannikins
were their first cousins once removed, and that “blood was thicker than
water.”
So, as they could get no other allies, the old hags were obliged to
content themselves with the snakes and bats, the inferior class of
toads, rats, hedgehogs, and other {190}low-lived and despicable animals.
And, first of all, they determined to try and get rid of the old owl,
who was the guardian and protector of the mannikins, and the extent of
whose power was very little known. So they began by spreading all kinds
of false and wicked reports about the worthy bird. They caused it to be
said that he had been seen carrying off young chickens, that he had been
detected in robbing several pheasants’ nests, and that his private life
was no better than it should be. Unfortunately, however, for the
success of this scheme, the owl took no newspapers and saw no company.
Consequently, he never heard or read of the reports in question, and
therefore of course never took the trouble to contradict them. The
result was that, as is usually the case under similar circumstances,
people, seeing that the individual attacked took no notice of what was
said, thought they had better take the same course, and the reports
dropped gradually out of circulation, until no one believed them at all.
It was thus made evident to the witches that they must resort to more
active measures if they desired to disturb the owl. So they poisoned
a young rabbit, and put it near the window in which the ancient bird
commonly sat. But the owl was too many for them. A fox came and looked
at the rabbit, but having done so, although its appearance was tender
and tempting, he winked his eye and passed on. Then the owl slowly
raised his claws to his beak, chuckled a little in a sepulchral tone,
and told a couple of mannikins to bury that carcass out of the way,
and watch any one who came and brought such an article again, and, if
possible, bring them to his presence.
It {191}was plain that the owl was not to be caught asleep, and the
witches must betake themselves to some new plan. So they sent for some
hawks, and persuaded them that the owl was the natural and terrible
enemy of their race, and that by a combined attack upon him, they might
get rid of him at once and for ever. The hawks went to take a look at
the bird and the place, and, after a careful inspection, came to the
conclusion that there was nothing to be gained by attacking either.
Their eyes were so sharp, that they saw through the plan of the witches,
and were perfectly certain that they had some end of their own in view.
So they told the old ladies that they had been entirely mistaken in the
matter, that the owl was by no means a bad sort of person, and that they
could not interfere in any way in the private quarrels of other people.
Disappointed at this, the three witches next went to the jays, and
easily succeeded in inducing these mischievous birds to make such a
frightful and discordant screaming around the owl’s abode as would, in
all probability, oblige him to leave it. But the owl did no such thing.
He simply told the mannikins to tell the jays that unless their noise
instantly ceased, and was not again renewed, a birdsnesting party should
be organized by the little people as soon as ever the nesting season
should arrive, and that every jay in or near the wood should have to
deplore the loss of eggs and young. This was most alarming news to the
jays, who knew pretty well that the owl had full power to carry out his
threat, and that if he did so, the mannikins, who had eyes like needles,
and could climb with so much ease and agility, would certainly take
every jay’s egg in the place, and thus {192}wreak a fearful vengeance on
the disturbers of their monarch’s rest. So the birds desisted forthwith
from their noise, and observed that they had only done it for a “lark,”
and meant no harm; to which the wise bird replied, that there was a
great difference between an owl and a lark, which difference they had
better fully recognise before troubling him again in such a manner.
Still the witches would not desist from their attempt to obtain, by
secret cunning, the result which they feared to seek by open attack.
They hired bats to flit around the castle walls by night, with the
intention of pulling out the owl’s tail and wing-feathers, and thus
crippling him in his sleep, when he might be attacked with less fear
of evil consequences to the aggressors. The attempt, however, miserably
failed. The worthy bats, who really belonged to the castle, had
experienced such great and unvarying kindness from the owl, that they
had neither reason nor desire to prove faithless to him. They easily and
immediately detected the strange birds who entered the precincts of
the castle, and, having forced them to declare the object of their
intrusion, drove them out with blows and insults, so that they retired
in the utmost confusion.
Then the witches began to see that the owl was not to be outwitted by
cunning, or destroyed by fraud. War, open war, was the only resource
left; and the next question would be how it could be carried on with the
best chance of success. They had the impudence to send a deputation of
little witchlings to me, calmly asking me to overflow and put the castle
and its grounds under water, so that it might become too damp for
the mannikins to dwell in any longer. This, however, I naturally
{193}refused to do, having much better use to make of the waters of my
river than to employ them upon any such purpose to suit the pleasure of
such low and wicked creatures, and, moreover, I told them that, if they
dared to come to me any more with such base proposals, I would drown
half-a-dozen of them by way of teaching them manners.
They retired somewhat discomfited; but, knowing that I was too
good-natured to do them any injury as long as they left me quiet,
very soon came down to my banks again, and entered into successful
negotiations with a large number of water-rats. These creatures they
hired, with a bribe of moorhens’ eggs, which they took from the poor
birds in a cruel and reckless manner, to join with a number of land-rats
in an attack upon the castle. The rat-contingent was to unite on the
banks of the river, and thence to advance upon the castle through that
part of the wood which lay nearest the stream. They were to be supported
by a strong auxiliary force of frogs and toads of the worst character,
and a body of snakes would simultaneously creep upon the doomed place
from the other side. A number of bats, hooded crows, night-hawks, and
such evil birds and beasts as they could obtain for the service, would
constitute the reserve, which the three witches themselves would command
in person. The plan was that the castle should be invested on all
sides at once by the noxious reptiles and animals which constituted the
witches’ army, and that a bold, and it was hoped decisive, effort should
be made to destroy the whole race of mannikins.
Some difficulty was experienced from the fact of the frogs, toads, and
rats objecting to fight side by side with the {194}snakes, who were
not averse to them as food, and might perhaps remember their natural
instincts if overtaken by hunger in the hour of battle. The witches had
foreseen this probable objection on the part of the weaker animals, and
took measures to remove it without delay. Each of them was made to pass
before the great witch, Goody Tickleback, who dropped upon the body of
every one a single drop of magic fluid of extraordinary virtue, which
was warranted to prevent the creature so touched from being eaten by
any other. As she performed this strange process, she pronounced these
words:--
“This wondrous sign of magic art
From hurting thee each snake shall stop
For forty hours. If out of heart,
Come back and take another drop.”
This went on until the whole of that part of the army which had
entertained fears, founded upon the habits and natures of those with
whom they were about to serve as comrades, had passed before the witch,
and been treated in the manner which I have described.