when he saw the Moors gallop in pursuit and about to close on Don
Gayferos and Melisendra, he could keep quiet no longer. Starting up,
"It shall never be said," cried he, "that in my presence I suffered
such a wrong to be done to so famous a knight as Don Gayferos. Stop
your unjust pursuit, ye base rascals! Stop! or prepare to meet me in
battle."
Then, drawing his sword, with one spring he fell with fury on the
Moors, hacking some in pieces, beheading others, and sending the rest
flying into every corner. And had not Master Peter ducked and squatted
down on the ground behind part of the show, Don Quixote would
certainly have chopped off his head also.
"Hold! hold, sir!" cried Master Peter, "for mercy's sake, hold! These
are not real Moors. You will ruin me if you destroy my show."
But Don Quixote paid not the slightest heed. He went on slashing and
hacking till the whole show was a wreck. Everybody ran to get out of
harm's way, and the ape scampered, chattering, on to the roof of the
house. Sancho himself quaked with fear, for he had never before seen
his master in such a fury.
All the puppet Moors being now cut to pieces, Don Quixote became
calmer, saying aloud, "How miserable had been the fate of poor Don
Gayferos and Melisendra his wife if I had not been in time to save
them from those infidel Moors! Long live knight-errantry!"
"Ay, ay," moaned Master Peter in a doleful voice, "it may live long
enough. As for me, I may as well die, for I am a ruined man and a
beggar now."
Sancho Panza took pity on the showman.
"Come, come! Master Peter," said he, "don't cry. Don't be cast down.
My master will pay you when he comes to know that he has done you an
injury."
"Truly," said Peter, "if his honor will pay for my puppets.'ll ask no
more."
"How!" cried Don Quixote. "I do not see that I have injured you, good
Master Peter."
"Not injured me!" cried Master Peter. "Do but look at those figures
lying there, all hacked to bits."
"Well," said Don Quixote, "now I know for certain a truth I have
suspected before, that those accursed enchanters do nothing but put
before my eyes things as they are, and then presently after change
them as they please. Really and truly gentlemen, I vow and protest
that all that was acted here seemed to me to be real. I could not
contain my fury, and I acted as I thought was my duty. But if Master
Peter will tell me the value of the figures, I will pay for them all."
"Heaven bless your worship!" whined Master Peter. But had Don Quixote
known that this same Master Peter was the very man who stole Sancho
Panza's ass, perhaps he might have paid him in another way.
VII
THE BATTLE WITH THE BULLS; THE FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE
MOON; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE DIED
Soon after this, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza rode forth in search of
other adventures.
They had ridden no great way when they happened upon some young people
who had gaily dressed themselves as shepherds and shepherdesses, and
were having a picnic in the woods. These people invited Don Quixote
and Sancho to join their feast.
When they had eaten and drunk, the Knight rose, and said that there
was no sin worse than that of ingratitude, and that to show how
grateful he was for the kindness that had been shown to him and to
Sancho, he had only one means in his power.
"Therefore," said he, "I will maintain for two whole days, in the
middle of this high road leading to Saragossa, that these ladies here,
disguised as shepherdesses, are the most beautiful damsels in the
world, except only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the mistress of
my heart."
So, mounting "Rozinante" he rode into the middle of the highway and
there took his stand, ready to challenge all comers. He had sat there
no long time when there appeared on the road coming towards him a
number of riders, some with spears in their hands, all riding very
fast and close together. In front of them thundered a drove of wild
bulls, bellowing and tossing their horns. At once all the shepherds
and the shepherdesses ran behind trees, but Don Quixote sat bravely
where he was.
When the horsemen came near, "Get out of the way!" bawled one of them.
"Stand clear, or these bulls will have you in pieces in no time."
"Halt, scoundrels!" roared the Knight. "What are bulls to Don Quixote
de la Mancha, if they were the fiercest that ever lived? Stop,
hangdogs!"
But the herdsmen had no time to answer, nor Don Quixote to get out of
the way had he wanted to do so, for before any one knew what was
happening, the bulls had run right over him and "Rozinante," leaving
them and Sancho and "Dapple," his ass, stunned and bruised, rolling in
the dust.
As soon as Don Quixote came to his senses he got up in great haste,
stumbling here and falling there, and began to run after the herd.
"Stop, you scoundrels!" he bawled. "Stop! It is a single knight that
defies you."
But no one took the least notice of him, and he sat sadly down on the
road, waiting till Sancho brought "Rozinante" to him. Then master and
man went on their way, Don Quixote sore ashamed of his defeat, hurt as
much in mind as in body.
That evening they dismounted at the door of an inn, and put up
"Rozinante" and "Dapple" in the stable. Sancho asked the landlord what
he could give them for supper.
"Why," said the man, "you may have anything you choose to call for.
The inn can provide fowls of the air, birds of the earth, and fishes
of the sea."
"There's no need for all that," said Sancho. "If you roast a couple of
chickens it will be enough, for my master eats but little, and for
myself, I have no great appetite."
"Chickens?" said the host. "I am sorry I have no chickens just now.
The hawks have killed them all."
"Well, then, roast us a pullet, if it be tender."
"A pullet? Well, now, that is unlucky. I sent away fifty to the market
only yesterday. But, putting pullets aside, ask for anything you
like."
"Why, then," said Sancho, pondering, "let us have some veal, or a bit
of kid."
"Sorry sir, we are just out of veal and kid also. Next week we shall
have enough and to spare."
"That helps us nicely," said Sancho. "But at any rate, let us have
some eggs and bacon."
"Eggs!" cried the landlord. "Now didn't I tell him I had no hens or
pullets, and how then can I have eggs? No, no! Ask for anything you
please in the way of dainties, but don't ask for hens."
"Body o' me!" said Sancho, "let us have something. Tell me what you
have, and have done."
"Well, what I really and truly have is a pair of cow-heels that look
like calves'-feet, or a pair of calves'-feet that look like cow-heels.
You can have that and some bacon."
"They are mine," cried Sancho. "I don't care whether they are feet or
heels."
And as Don Quixote had supper with some other guests who carried with
them their own cook and their own larder, Sancho and the landlord
supped well on the cow-heels.
Some days after this, the Knight and his squire reached Barcelona.
Neither of them had ever before been near the sea, and the galleys
that they saw in the distance being rowed about in the bay sorely
puzzled Sancho, who thought that the oars were their legs, and that
they must be some strange kind of beast.
Now, one morning, when Don Quixote rode out, fully armed as usual, to
take the air on the seashore, he saw a knight riding towards him,
armed like himself, and having a bright moon painted on his shield. As
soon as this knight came within hearing he halted, and in a loud voice
called out:
"Illustrious Don Quixote de la Mancha, I am the Knight of the White
Moon, of whose doings you may have heard. I am come to fight with you
and to make you own that the Lady of my Heart, whoever she may be, is
more beautiful by far than the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. Which truth,
if you will confess, I will not slay you. And if we fight, and I
should conquer you, then I ask no more than that you shall go to your
own home, and for the space of one year give up carrying arms or
searching for adventures. But if you should conquer me, then my head
shall be at your disposal, my horse and arms shall be your spoils, and
the fame of my deeds shall be yours. Consider what I say, and let your
answer be quick."
Don Quixote was amazed at hearing these words.
"Knight of the White Moon," said he very solemnly, "the fame of whose
doings has not yet come to my ears, I dare swear that thou hast never
seen the beautiful Dulcinea, for hadst thou ever viewed her, thou
wouldst have been careful not to make this challenge. The sight of her
would have made thee know that there never has been, nor can be,
beauty to match hers. And therefore, without giving thee the lie, I
only tell thee thou art mistaken. I accept your challenge, on your
conditions, and at once, except that I am content with the fame of my
own deeds, and want not yours. Choose then whichever side of the field
you please, and let us set to."
The two knights then turned their horses to take ground for their
charge, but at this moment up rode, with some friends, the Governor of
the city of Barcelona, who knew Don Quixote, and who fancied that
perhaps this was some new trick being played on him. The Governor,
seeing both knights ready to turn for their charge, asked the Knight
of the White Moon what was the cause of the combat, and having heard
his answer, could not believe that the affair was not a joke, and so
stood aside.
Instantly the two knights charged at top speed. But the horse of the
Knight of the White Moon was by far the bigger and heavier and faster,
and he came with such a shock into poor old "Rozinante" that Don
Quixote and his horse were hurled to the ground with terrible force,
and lay stunned and helpless. In a moment the Knight of the White Moon
was off his horse and holding his spear at Don Quixote's throat.
"Yield, Sir Knight!" he cried, "or you are a dead man."
Don Quixote, sorely hurt, but with steadfast look, gasped in a faint
voice:
"I do not yield. Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in
the whole world. Press on with your spear, Sir Knight, and kill me."
"Nay," said the Knight of the White Moon. "That will I not do. I am
content if the great Don Quixote return to his home for a year, as we
agreed before we fought."
And Don Quixote answered very faintly that as nothing was asked of him
to the hurt of Dulcinea, he would carry out all the rest faithfully
and truly. The Knight of the White Moon then galloped away toward the
city, where one of the Governor's friends followed him, in order to
find out who he was. The victorious knight was Samson Carrasco, who,
some months before, had fought with and had been beaten by Don
Quixote. And he explained to the Governor's friend that all he wanted
in fighting was, not to harm Don Quixote, but to make him promise to
go home, and stop there for a year, by which time he hoped that his
madness about knight-errantry might be cured.
They raised Don Quixote and took off his helmet. His face was very
pale, and he was covered with a cold sweat. "Rozinante" was in as bad
plight as his master, and lay where he had fallen. Sancho, in great
grief, could speak no word, and knew not what to do; to him it was all
as a bad dream.
Don Quixote was carried on a stretcher to the town, where for a week
he lay in bed without ever raising his head, stricken to the soul by
the disgrace of his defeat.
Sancho tried to comfort him.
"Pluck up your heart and be of good cheer, sir," he cried, "and thank
Heaven you have broken no bones. They that give must take. Let us go
home and give up looking for adventures."
"After all, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "it is only for a year. After
that I can begin again, and perhaps then I may be able to make thee an
Earl."
"Heaven grant it" said Sancho.
So when the Knight was once more able to move they set out for home,
Don Quixote riding "Rozinante" Sancho walking, for "Dapple" carried
the armor.
But all the way Don Quixote did not recover from his melancholy, and
when at last they reached his village:
"Help me to bed," he said, "for I think that I am not very well."
He was put to bed, and carefully nursed. But a fever had taken hold of
him, and for many days Sancho Panza never left his master's bedside.
On the sixth day, the doctor told him he was in great danger. Don
Quixote listened very calmly, and then asked that he might be left by
himself for a little--he had a mind to sleep. His niece and Sancho
left the room weeping bitterly, and Don Quixote fell into a deep
sleep.
When he awoke, with a firm voice he cried:
"Blessed be God! My mind is is now clear, and the clouds have rolled
away which those detestable books of knight-errantry cast over me. Now
can I see their nonsense and deceit. I am at the point of death, and I
would meet it so that I may not leave behind me the character of a
madman. Send for the lawyer, that I may make my will."
Excepting only a small sum of money which he gave to Sancho Panza, he
left all to his niece.
Thereafter he fell back in bed, and lay unconscious and without
movement till the third day, when death very gently took him.
So died Don Quixote de la Mancha, a good man and a brave gentleman to
the end.
GULLIVER'S TRAVELS
_VOYAGE TO LILLIPUT_
By JONATHAN SWIFT
ADAPTED BY JOHN LANG
I
GULLIVER'S BIRTH AND EARLY VOYAGES
Two hundred years ago, a great deal of the world as we now know it was
still undiscovered; there were yet very many islands, small and great,
on which the eyes of white men had never looked, seas in which nothing
bigger than an Indian canoe had ever sailed.
A voyage in those days was not often a pleasant thing, for ships then
were very bluff-bowed and slow-sailing, and, for a long voyage, very
ill-provided with food. There were no tinned meats two hundred years
ago, no luxuries for use even in the cabin. Sailors lived chiefly on
salt junk, as hard as leather, on biscuit that was generally as much
weevil as biscuit, and the water that they drank was evil-smelling and
bad when it had been long in the ship's casks.
So, when a man said good-by to his friends and sailed away into the
unknown, generally very many years passed before he came back--if ever
he came back at all. For the dangers of the seas were then far greater
than they now are, and if a ship was not wrecked some dark night on an
unknown island or uncharted reef, there was always the probability of
meeting a pirate vessel and of having to fight for life and liberty.
Steam has nowadays nearly done away with pirates, except on the China
coast and in a few other out-of-the-way places. But things were
different long ago, before steamers were invented; and sailors then,
when they came home, had many very surprising things to tell their
friends, many astonishing adventures to speak of, among the strange
peoples that they said they had met in far-off lands. One man, who saw
more wonderful things than any one else, was named Lemuel Gulliver,
and I will try to tell you a little about one of his voyages.
Gulliver was born in Nottinghamshire, and when he was only fourteen
years old he was sent to Emanuel College, Cambridge. There he remained
till he was seventeen, but his father had not money enough to keep him
any longer at the University. So, as was then the custom for those who
meant to become doctors, he was bound apprentice to a surgeon in
London, under whom he studied for four years. But all the time, as
often as his father sent him money, he spent some of it in learning
navigation (which means the art of finding your way across the sea,
far from land). He had always had a great longing to travel, and he
thought that a knowledge of navigation would be of use to him if he
should happen to go a voyage.
After leaving London, he went to Germany, and there studied medicine
for some years, with the view of being appointed surgeon of a ship.
And by the help of his late master in London, such a post he did get
on board the "Swallow" on which vessel he made several voyages. But
tiring of this, he settled in London, and, having married, began
practise as a doctor.
He did not, however, make much money at that, and so for six years he
again went to sea as a surgeon, sailing both to the East and to the
West Indies.
Again tiring of the sea, he once more settled on shore, this time at
Wapping, because in that place there are always many sailors, and he
hoped to make money by doctoring them.
But this turned out badly, and on May 4, 1699, he sailed from Bristol
for the South Seas as surgeon of a ship named the "Antelope."
II
GULLIVER IS WRECKED ON THE COAST OF LILLIPUT
At first, everything went well, but after leaving the South Seas, when
steering for the East Indies, the ship was driven by a great storm far
to the south. The gale lasted so long that twelve of the crew died
from the effects of the hard work and the bad food, and all the others
were worn out and weak. On a sailing ship, when the weather is very
heavy, all hands have to be constantly on deck, and there is little
rest for the men. Perhaps a sail, one of the few that can still be
carried in such a gale, may be blown to ribbons by the furious wind,
and a new one has to be bent on.
The night, perhaps, is dark, the tattered canvas is thrashing with a
noise like thunder, the ship burying her decks under angry black seas
every few minutes. The men's hands are numb with the cold and the wet,
and the hard, dangerous work aloft. There is no chance of going below
when their job is done, to "turn in" between warm, dry blankets in a
snug berth. Possibly even those who belong to the "watch below" may
have to remain on deck. Or, if they have the good fortune to be
allowed to go below, they may no sooner have dropped off asleep
(rolled round in blankets which perhaps have been wet ever since the
gale began) than there is a thump, thump overhead, and one of the
watch on deck bellows down the forecastle-hatch, "All hands shorten
sail." And out they must tumble again, once more to battle with the
hungry, roaring seas and the raging wind. So, when there has been a
long spell of bad weather, it is no wonder that the men are worn out.
And when, as was the case with Gulliver's ship, the food also is bad,
it is easy to understand why so many of the crew had died.
It was on the 5th of November, the beginning of summer in latitudes
south of the equator. The storm had not yet cleared off, and the
weather was very thick, the wind coming in furious squalls that drove
the ship along at great speed, when suddenly from the lookout man came
a wild cry--"Breakers ahead!"
But so close had the vessel come to the rocks before they were seen
through the thick driving spray, that immediately, with, a heavy
plunge, she crashed into the reef, and split her bows.
Gulliver and six of the crew lowered a boat and got clear of the wreck
and of the breakers. But the men were so weak from overwork that they
could not handle the boat in such a sea, and very soon, during a
fierce squall, she sank. What became of the men Gulliver never knew,
for he saw none of them again. Probably they were drowned at once,
for they were too weak to keep long afloat in a sea breaking so
heavily.
And indeed, Gulliver himself was like to have been lost. He swam till
no strength or feeling was left in his arms and legs, swam bravely,
his breath coming in great sobs, his eyes blinded with the salt seas
that broke over his head. Still he struggled on, utterly spent, until
at last, in a part where the wind seemed to have less force, and the
seas swept over him less furiously, on letting down his legs he found
that he was within his depth. But the shore shelved so gradually that
for nearly a mile he had to wade wearily through shallow water, till,
fainting almost with fatigue, he reached dry land.
By this time darkness was coming on, and there were no signs of houses
or of people. He staggered forward but a little distance, and then, on
the short, soft turf, sank down exhausted and slept.
When he woke, the sun was shining, and he tried to rise; but not by
any means could he stir hand or foot. Gulliver had fallen asleep lying
on his back, and now he found that his arms and legs were tightly
fastened to the ground. Across his body were numbers of thin but
strong cords, and even his hair, which was very long, was pegged down
so securely that he could not turn his head.
All round about him there was a confused sound of voices, but he could
see nothing except the sky, and the sun shone so hot and fierce into
his eyes that he could scarcely keep them open.
Soon he felt something come gently up his left leg, and forward on to
his breast almost to his chin. Looking down as much as possible, he
saw standing there a very little man, not more than six inches high,
armed with a bow and arrows.
Then many more small men began to swarm over him. Gulliver let out
such a roar of wonder and fright that they all turned and ran, many of
them getting bad falls in their hurry to get out of danger. But very
quickly the little people came back again.
This time, with a great struggle Gulliver managed to break the cords
that fastened his left arm, and at the same time, by a violent wrench
that hurt him dreadfully, he slightly loosened the strings that
fastened his hair, so that he was able to turn his head a little to
one side. But the little men were too quick for him, and got out of
reach before he could catch any of them.
Then he heard a great shouting, followed by a shrill little voice that
called sharply, "_Tolgo phonac_," and immediately, arrows like needles
were shot into his hand, and another volley struck him in the face.
Poor Gulliver covered his face with his hand, and lay groaning with
pain.
Again he struggled to get loose. But the harder he fought for freedom,
the more the little men shot arrows into him, and some of them even
tried to run their spears into his sides.
When he found that the more he struggled the more he was hurt,
Gulliver lay still, thinking to himself that at night at least, now
that his left hand was free, he could easily get rid of the rest of
his bonds. As soon as the little people saw that he struggled no more,
they ceased shooting at him; but he knew from the increasing sound of
voices that more and more of the little soldiers were coming round
him.
Soon, a few yards from him, on the right, he heard a continued sound
of hammering, and on turning his head to that side as far as the
strings would let him, he saw that a small wooden stage was being
built. On to this, when it was finished, there climbed by ladders four
men, and one of them (who seemed to be a very important person, for a
little page boy attended to hold up his train) immediately gave an
order. At once about fifty of the soldiers ran forward and cut the
strings that tied Gulliver's hair on the left side, so that he could
turn his head easily to the right.
Then the person began to make a long speech, not one word of which
could Gulliver understand, but it seemed to him that sometimes the
little man threatened, and sometimes made offers of kindness.
As well as he could, Gulliver made signs that he submitted. Then,
feeling by this time faint with hunger, he pointed with his fingers
many times to his mouth, to show that he wanted something to eat.
They understood him very well. Several ladders were put against
Gulliver's sides, and about a hundred little people climbed up and
carried to his mouth all kinds of bread and meat. There were things
shaped like legs, and shoulders, and saddles of mutton. Very good they
were, Gulliver thought, but very small, no bigger than a lark's wing;
and the loaves of bread were about the size of bullets, so that he
could take several at a mouthful. The people wondered greatly at the
amount that he ate.
When he signed that he was thirsty, they slung up on to his body two
of their biggest casks of wine, and having rolled them forward to his
hand they knocked out the heads of the casks. Gulliver drank them both
off at a draught, and asked for more, for they held only about a small
tumblerful each. But there was no more to be had.
As the small people walked to and fro over his body, Gulliver was
sorely tempted to seize forty or fifty of them and dash them on the
ground, and then to make a further struggle for liberty. But the pain
he had already suffered from their arrows made him think better of it,
and he wisely lay quiet.