AN ADVENTURE
But Miss Lake did not always accompany him on these excursions into the
night; sometimes he took long flights by himself, and she rather
encouraged him in this, saying it would give him confidence in case he
ever lost her and was obliged to find his way about alone.
"But I couldn't get really lost," he said once to her. "I know the winds
perfectly now and the country round for miles, and I never go out in
fog----"
"But these are only practice flights," she replied. "The flight of
escape is a very different matter. I want you to learn all you possibly
can so as to be prepared for anything."
Jimbo felt vaguely uncomfortable when she talked like this.
"But you'll be with me in the Escape Flight--the final one of all," he
said; "and nothing ever goes wrong when you're with me."
"I should like to be always with you," she answered tenderly, "but it's
well to be prepared for anything, just the same."
And more than this the boy could never get out of her.
On one of these lonely flights, however, he made the unpleasant
discovery that he was being followed.
At first he only imagined there was somebody after him because of the
curious vibrations of the very rarefied air in which he flew. Every time
his flight slackened and the noise of his own wings grew less, there
reached him from some other corner of the sky a sound like the
vibrations of large wings beating the air. It seemed behind, and
generally below him, but the swishing of his own feathers made it
difficult to hear with distinctness, or to be certain of the direction.
Evidently it was a long way off; but now and again, when he took a spurt
and then sailed silently for several minutes on outstretched wings, the
beating of distant, following feathers seemed unmistakably clear, and he
raced on again at full speed more than terrified. Other times, however,
when he tried to listen, there was no trace of this other flyer, and
then his fear would disappear, and he would persuade himself that it had
been imagination. So much on these flights he knew to be
imagination--the sentences, voices, and laughter, for instance, that
filled the air and sounded so real, yet were actually caused by the wind
rushing past his ears, the rhythm of the wing-beats, and the tips of the
feathers occasionally rubbing against the sides of his body.
But at last one night the suspicion that he was followed became a
certainty.
He was flying far up in the sky, passing over some big city, when the
sound rose to his ears, and he paused, sailing on stretched wings, to
listen. Looking down into the immense space below, he saw, plainly
outlined against the luminous patch above the city, the form of a large
flying creature moving by with rapid strokes. The pulsations of its
great wings made the air tremble so that he both heard and felt them. It
may have been that the vapours of the city distorted the thing, just as
the earth's atmosphere magnifies the rising or setting of the moon; but,
even so, it was easy to see that it was something a good deal larger
than himself, and with a much more powerful flight.
Fortunately, it did not seem this time to be actually on his trail, for
it swept by at a great pace, and was soon lost in the darkness far
ahead. Perhaps it was only searching for him, and his great height had
proved his safety. But in any case he was exceedingly terrified, and at
once turned round, pointed his head for the earth, and shot downwards in
the direction of the Empty House as fast as ever he could.
But when he spoke to the governess she made light of it, and told him
there was nothing to be afraid of. It might have been a flock of
hurrying night-birds, she said, or an owl distorted by the city's light,
or even his own reflection magnified in water. Anyhow, she felt sure it
was not chasing him, and he need pay no attention to it.
Jimbo felt reassured, but not quite satisfied. He knew a flying monster
when he saw one; and it was only when he had been for many more flights
alone, without its reappearance, that his confidence was fully restored,
and he began to forget about it.
Certainly these lonely flights were very much to his taste. His Older
Self, with its dim hauntings of a great memory somewhere behind him,
took possession then, and he was able to commune with nature in a way
that the presence of the governess made impossible. With her his Older
Self rarely showed itself above the surface for long; he was always the
child. But, when alone, Nature became alive; he drew force from the
trees and flowers, and felt that they all shared a common life together.
Had he been imprisoned by some wizard of old in a tree-form, knowing of
the sunset and the dawn only by the sweet messages that rustled in his
branches, the wind could hardly have spoken to him with a more intimate
meaning; or the life of the fields, eternally patient, have touched him
more nearly with their joys and sorrows. It seemed almost as if, from
his leafy cell, he had gazed before this into the shining pools with
which the summer rains jewelled the meadows, sending his soul in a
stream of unsatisfied yearning up to the stars. It all came back dimly
when he heard the wind among the leaves, and carried him off to the
woods and fields of an existence far antedating this one----
And on gentle nights, when the wind itself was half asleep and dreaming,
the pine trees drew him most of all, for theirs was the song he loved
above all others. He would fly round and round the little grove by the
mountain lake, listening for hours together to their sighing voices. But
the governess was never told of this, whatever she may have guessed; for
it seemed to him a joy too deep for words, the pains and sweetness being
mingled too mysteriously for him ever to express in awkward sentences.
Moreover, it all passed away and was forgotten the moment the child took
possession and usurped the older memory.
One night, when the moon was high and the air was cool and fragrant
after the heat of the day, Jimbo felt a strong desire to get off by
himself for a long flight. He was full of energy, and the space-craving
cried to be satisfied. For several days he had been content with slow,
stupid expeditions with the governess.
"I'm off alone to-night," he cried, balancing on the window ledge, "but
I'll be back before dawn. Good-bye!"
She kissed him, as she always did now, and with her good-bye ringing in
his ears, he dropped from the window and rose rapidly over the elms and
away from earth.
This night, for some reason, the stars and the moon seemed to draw him,
and with tireless wings he mounted up, up, up, to a height he had never
reached before. The intoxication of the strong night air rose into his
brain and he dashed forward ever faster, with a mad delight, into the
endless space before him.
Mile upon mile lay behind him as he rushed onwards, always pointing a
little on the upward slope, drunk with speed. The earth faded away to a
dark expanse of shadow beneath him, and he no longer was conscious of
the deep murmur that usually flowed steadily upwards from its surface.
He had often before risen out of reach of the earth noises, but never so
far that this dull reverberating sound, combined of all the voices of
the world merged together, failed to make itself heard. To-night,
however, he heard nothing. The stars above his head changed from yellow
to diamond white, and the cold air stung his cheeks and brought the
water to his eyes.
But at length the governess's warning, as he explored these forbidden
regions, came back to him, and in a series of gigantic bounds that took
his breath away completely, he dropped nearer to the earth again and
kept on at a much lower level.
The hours passed and the position of the moon began to alter
noticeably. Some of the constellations that were overhead when he
started were now dipping below the horizon. Never before had he ventured
so far from home, and he began to realise that he had been flying much
longer than he knew or intended. The speed had been terrific.
The change came imperceptibly. With the discovery that his wings were
not moving quite so easily as before, he became suddenly aware that this
had really been the case for some little time. He was flying with
greater effort, and for a long time this effort had been increasing
gradually before he actually recognised the fact.
Although no longer pointing towards the earth he seemed to be sinking.
It became increasingly difficult to fly upwards. His wings did not seem
to fail or weaken, nor was he conscious of feeling tired; but something
was ever persuading him to fly lower, almost as if a million tiny
threads were coaxing him downwards, drawing him gradually nearer to the
world again. Whatever it was, the earth had come much closer to him in
the last hour, and its familiar voices were pleasant to hear after the
boundless heights he had just left.
But for some reason his speed grew insensibly less and less. His wings
moved apparently as fast as before, but it was harder to keep up. In
spite of himself he kept sinking. The sensation was quite new, and he
could not understand it. It almost seemed as though he were being
_pulled_ downwards.
Jimbo began to feel uneasy. He had not lost his bearings, but he was a
very long way from home, and quite beyond reach of the help he was so
accustomed to. With a great effort he mounted several hundred feet into
the air, and tried hard to stay there. For a short time he succeeded,
but he soon felt himself sinking gradually downwards again. The force
drawing him was a constant force without rise or fall; and with a deadly
feeling of fear the boy began to realise that he would soon have to
yield to it altogether. His heart beat faster and his thoughts turned to
the friend who was then far away, but who alone could save him.
She, at least, could have explained it and told him what best to do. But
the governess was beyond his reach. This problem he must face alone.
Something, however, had to be done quickly, and Jimbo, acting more as
the man than as the boy, turned and flew hurriedly forward in another
direction. He hoped this might somehow counteract the force that still
drew him downwards; and for a time it apparently did so, and he flew
level. But the strain increased every minute, and he looked down with
something of a shudder as he realised that before very long he would be
obliged to yield to this deadly force--and drop!
It was then for the first time he noticed a change had come over the
surface of the earth below. Instead of the patchwork of field and wood
and road, he saw a vast cloud stretching out, white and smooth in the
moonlight. The world was hidden beneath a snowy fog, dense and
impenetrable. It was no longer even possible to tell in what direction
he was flying, for there was nothing to steer by. This was a new and
unexpected complication, and the boy could not understand how the change
had come about so quickly; the last time he had glanced down for
indications to steer by, everything had been clear and easily visible.
It was very beautiful, this carpet of white mist with the silver moon
shining upon it, but it thrilled him now with an unpleasant sense of
dread. And, still more unpleasant, was a new sound which suddenly broke
in upon the stillness and turned his blood into ice. He was certain that
he heard wings behind him. He was being followed, and this meant that it
was impossible to turn and fly back.
There was nothing now to do but fly forwards and hope to distance the
huge wings; but if he was being followed by the powerful flyer he had
seen a few nights before, the boy knew that he stood little chance of
success, and he only did it because it seemed the one thing possible.
The cloud was dense and chill as he entered it; its moisture clung to
his wings and made them heavy; his muscles seemed to stiffen, and motion
became more and more difficult. The wings behind him meanwhile came
closer.
He was flying along the surface of the mist now, his body and wings
hidden, and his head just above the level. He could see along its white,
even top. If he sank a few more inches it would be impossible to see at
all, or even to judge where he was going. Soon it rose level with his
lips, and at the same time he noticed a new smell in the air, faint at
first, but growing every moment stronger. It was a fresh, sweet odour,
yet it somehow added to his alarm, and stirred in him new centres of
uneasiness. He tried vainly to increase his speed and distance the wings
which continued to gain so steadily upon him from behind.
The cloud, apparently, was not everywhere of the same density, for here
and there he saw the tops of green hills below him as he flew. But he
could not understand why each green hill seemed to have a little lake on
its summit--a little lake in which the reflected moon stared straight up
into his face. Nor could he quite make out what the sounds were which
rose to his ears through the muffling of the cloud--sounds of tumultuous
rushing, hissing, and tumbling. They were continuous, these sounds, and
once or twice he thought he heard with them a deep, thunderous roar that
almost made his heart stop beating as he listened.
Was he, perhaps, over a range of high mountains, and was this the sound
of the tumbling torrents?
Then, suddenly, it came to him with a shock that the ordinary sounds of
the earth had wholly ceased.
Jimbo felt his head beginning to whirl. He grew weaker every minute;
less able to offer resistance to the remorseless forces that were
sucking him down. Now the mist had closed over his head, and he could no
longer see the moonlight. He turned again, shaking with terror, and
drove forward headlong through the clinging vapour. A sensation of
choking rose in his throat; he was tired out, ready to drop with
exhaustion. The wings of the following creature were now so close that
he thought every minute he would be seized from behind and plunged into
the abyss to his death.
It was just then that he made the awful discovery that the world below
him was not stationary: the _green hills were moving_. They were
sweeping past with a rushing, thundering sound in regular procession;
and their huge sides were streaked with white. The reflection of the
moon leaped up into his face as each hill rolled hissing and gurgling
by, and he knew at last with a shock of unutterable horror that it was
THE SEA!
He was flying over the sea, and the waters were drawing him down. The
immense, green waves that rolled along through the sea fog, carrying the
moon's face on their crests, foaming and gurgling as they went, were
already leaping up to seize him by the feet and drag him into their
depths.
He dropped several feet deeper into the mist, and towards the sea,
terror-stricken and blinded. Then, turning frantically, not knowing what
else to do, he struck out, with his last strength, for the upper surface
and the moonlight. But as he did so, turning his face towards the sky he
saw a dark form hovering just above him, covering his retreat with huge
outstretched wings. It was too late; he was hemmed in on all sides.
At that moment a huge, rolling wave, bigger than all the rest, swept
past and wet him to the knees. His heart failed him. The next wave would
cover him. Already it was rushing towards him with foaming crest. He was
in its shadow; he heard its thunder. Darkness rushed over him--he saw
the vast sides streaked with grey and white--when suddenly, the owner of
the wings plucked him in the back, mid-way between the shoulders, and
lifted him bodily out of the fog, so that the wave swept by without even
wetting his feet.
The next minute he saw a dim, white sheet of silvery mist at his feet,
and found himself far above it in the sweet, clean moonlight; and when
he turned, almost dead with terror, to look upon his captor, he found
himself looking straight into the eyes of--the governess.
The sense of relief was so great that Jimbo simply closed his wings, and
hung, a dead weight, in the air.
"Use your wings!" cried the governess sharply; and, still holding him,
while he began to flap feebly, she turned and flew in the direction of
the land.
"You!" he gasped at last. "It was you following me!"
"Of course it was me! I never let you out of my sight. I've always
followed you--every time you've been out alone."
Jimbo was still conscious of the drawing power of the sea, but he felt
that his companion was too strong for it. After fifteen minutes of
fierce flight he heard the sounds of earth again, and knew that they
were safe.
Then the governess loosened her hold, and they flew along side by side
in the direction of home.
"I won't scold you, Jimbo," she said presently, "for you've suffered
enough already." She was the first to break the silence, and her voice
trembled a little. "But remember, the sea draws you down, just as
surely as the moon draws you up. Nothing would please Him better than to
see you destroyed by one or the other."
Jimbo said nothing. But, when once they were safe inside the room again,
he went up and cried his eyes out on her arm, while she folded him in to
her heart as if he were the only thing in the whole world she had to
love.