50. The Doings at Home 139
51. The Ingenuity of Vanderdecken 141
52. How they passed over the River 142
53. Boot and Saddle 144
54. The First Day’s March 145
55. The Mysterious Castle again 146
56. How Gorbo gathered Mandrakes 151
57. The Cozening of Gorbo 158
58. A Fearful Bargain 162
59. Captives on the Road 165
60. King Kul I 167
61. A Change of Clothes at last 171
62. Another Meal with Royalty 173
63. A Stinger 174
64. The Morning after 177
65. The Invasion 179
66. An Historic Meeting 181
67. Necessary Explanations 182
68. Baldry’s Sentence 184
69. Royal Clemency 187
70. The Next Day 189
71. And the Day after that 190
72. Captives again 194
73. The Barren Rocks 200
74. How Gorbo found the Way 203
75. The Reform of Golithos 206
76. Mother Meldrum goes 208
77. All Troubles over 210
78. Back across the River 213
79. Back to the Town 214
80. Back to Watkyns Bay 215
81. To finish up 217
The Marvellous Land of Snergs
_Part I_
A PLACE APART
If any seafaring person, such as a yachtsman, were to sail round the
corner of Watkyns Bay in the morning, he would find large numbers of
children playing in the water, and would be either pleased or depressed
at the sight according to the way his nature was originally formed.
Certainly he would wonder how they came to be there, in such a lonely
place and so very much at home, the little ones splashing about in the
shallow parts and chasing each other over the sand, and the bigger
ones swimming out to rafts and diving from them, and all shouting and
squeaking. But this is a case of supposing, for no yacht or any other
vessel will ever round the corner of the bay and no sail will ever
be seen on the skyline, the reason being that it is the land of the
S.R.S.C. and therefore a place set apart. If a yachtsman were ever
tempted to sail in that direction he would be met by baffling winds
from the nor’-east, alternating with baffling winds from the sou’-west,
and this, combined with the prevalence of waterspouts, would make him
repent of his purpose, and he could consider himself lucky if he got
out of those waters lashed to what was left of the mast.
There is one exception to the rule that no outsider can sail near
there, and that is the case of Vanderdecken and his men, who put in and
camped some two and a half miles north of the bay. Owing to his rash
oath that he would beat round the Cape of Good Hope if he beat round
it till Doomsday he found himself doing so, and though this was rough
luck on his crew, who had not made any rash oaths, naturally they had
to beat round with him. It is supposed that the curse wore thin after a
few hundred years; at any rate they managed to slip into the waters of
the S.R.S.C. during the vernal equinox, and there they are now, camped
in little huts, with the ship anchored in the mouth of a river and in a
shocking state of barnacles.
MISS WATKYNS
The bay is named after Miss Watkyns, who is not only the Principal
but the originator of the S.R.S.C., or Society for the Removal of
Superfluous Children. Like a good many ladies who have no children
of their own she was greatly interested in them, and being a little
interfering in her ways she became in time a noted figure in police
courts and was often laughed at by the public. This brought her in
contact with other ladies similarly disposed and finally the Society
was formed, its object being the removal of children who are obviously
not wanted by their parents, or parent, as the case may be. The
greatest care is taken to avoid mistakes, but once a child is removed
it is never returned, and it soon forgets what happened when it was
with its parents (or parent) for the air of the place is splendid for
forgetting. There are cases where, after some years with the Society
(or what would be some years if time counted there in the ordinary
way), a child is delivered over to some person who ardently desires
one; but the selection of such a person needs even greater care to
avoid mistakes.
[Illustration]
Miss Watkyns is a lady of intelligence far above the ordinary, and
in addition to being a great organizer she has no mean knowledge of
the sciences. These qualities enabled her not only to discover the
existence of the Land of the Snergs (in itself a marvellous piece of
brain work) but also how to get there without a nasty spill. I do not
propose to go into details of how she managed this (as it would take a
book twice as long as this one) but will merely state that she admitted
into the Society twenty-two carefully selected ladies (each of whom had
four or five children ready to be removed from their homes without
notice) and made the most careful preparations for transferring them
all to the new land.
It was arranged that each lady should come with one well wrapped up
superfluous child, as this would be all that they could carry at one
time and the rest could be fetched later. They were to bring also for
each one a bundle containing blankets, woollies, and two combination
suits of wear-resisting fabric, and to use their discretion with regard
to small extras, such as wash rags, fine tooth combs and the like.
All went excellently. They met on Hampstead Heath one blowy October
night at 11.30, and by 12.15 Miss Watkyns had inspected and passed all
bundles and seen that all hands had taken a cup of hot milk or cocoa.
Then she gave the word and away they all went on a high wind.
From this slight beginning grew the organization of the S.R.S.C. as
it is to-day, with 478 superfluous children under its care and more
coming. As this is purely a narrative of the extraordinary adventures
that befell two of the children owing to their foolish disregard of the
laws so wisely made for their benefit (a narrative which should not be
without improving effect on the minds of my younger readers), I will
not give more than a brief account of the ways and means by which the
Society attains its object.
WAYS AND MEANS
The children are divided into two classes, according to size and age.
The little ones wear one-piece garments known as the “slip-on,” which
have the advantage that they can be slipped off for bathing with one
wriggle. The older ones wear two-piece garments; the boys having shorts
and shirts and the girls skirts and blouses. Woolly coats are worn
in the cold weather, which lasts only for a few seasonable weeks at
Christmas time. For most of the year they do not wear shoes, but what
are called slinkers.
The houses are on the higher ground just behind Watkyns Bay, and are
all of one story. They are made of a criss-cross framework of timbers,
with walls of clay mixed with little mashed-up shells in between the
timbers, very strong and neat in appearance. Inside, the walls are
plastered and painted light pink or blue. Behind the houses there
is a wide stretch of turf, on which are swings and arrangements for
healthful games such as net-ball and bumble-puppy. Not far away the
forest begins with few trees at first and mostly bushes, where they
play at pretence Indians and Robin Hood and so forth; but the trees
soon grow thicker and thicker until it is quite shady even at midday
in some parts. A pleasant place, with soft lawns here and there and a
variety of ferns, but it is not wise to let the children roam about
there too much for it is quite easy to get lost. Beyond the forest, a
long day’s march away, is the town of the Snergs, who built the houses
for the Society as well as doing other useful things of which I will
give an account later.
Each house has a protecting fence twelve feet from the walls to
keep away the cinnamon bears, who live in the forest and who form
friendships with the children when on their walks. This is all very
well in its way, but the bears had the habit of trying to get into
the houses at night, and, when they found the doors shut, of lying
down outside and rubbing against the walls at intervals, which kept
the children awake and made them giggle and whisper in a silly way,
so the fence was put up. The bears are of fair size, with softish
fur smelling slightly of cinnamon, hence the name. They must not be
confused with the large grizzly bears which, rumour has it, live beyond
the deep river on the other side of the Snerg country, as also tigers,
unicorns, a dragon or two, and other creatures full of original sin.
With the exception of the very little ones each child has to attend
to its own bed, and on Saturdays to refill the mattresses with little
buds like hops, which have a pleasant aromatic smell and induce sleep.
The old hops are thrown out on the beach at high tide. Saturday is the
clean-up time. Lockers are tidied, pinafores are ironed, and puppies
and other animals that need it are washed with soap; altogether there
is a good deal of what the Gentlemen of the Life Guards call spit and
polish, so as to be ready for Sunday. The smallest children have beds
with rockers, Miss Watkyns having little patience with new-fangled
ideas about not rocking children.
A good deal of worry and argument has been caused by the amount of
animal life in and round about the houses. There is a craze for pets,
and Miss Watkyns’ attempt to limit at the rate of one pet animal to
each three children resulted in quarrels and sulking in corners, and
finally it came to the rule of one child one animal. Puppies, kittens
and small rabbits are the most popular; badgers are discouraged. At one
time the elder children got excited over a recitation from the poets
concerning a girl who owned a lamb which followed her about everywhere,
even to school, where it made the other scholars laugh, and after that
it was nothing but lambs. At length Miss Watkyns decided that only
those who showed perfect behaviour for a month could have one, and that
limited the number right enough. At the end of the month only two smug
little girls had qualified for lambs, and by that time the rage for
mongeese had come up.
Another source of trouble over animals is the food question. The
ladies as a rule are rather sentimental in their ideas and it needed
all the firmness and common sense of Miss Watkyns to prevent a wave
of sloppiness passing over the Society and damaging the children’s
character and insides. Some even went to the length of proposing that
the food should consist entirely of bread, butter, milk, and green
stuff; and the experiment was actually tried for a time, with the
result that the children broke out in pimples. Then fish diet was
added, it being supposed that fish feel no pain when they are caught,
only a little regret, but this was also a failure; the little ones’
systems still cried out for meat and gravy in moderation. Finally, Miss
Watkyns put her foot down firmly and arranged that a supply of sheep
and hares, etc., be delivered at regular intervals by the Snergs, who
are not at all sentimental about killing animals; in fact they rather
like it, being great hunters.
THE SNERGS
The Snergs are a race of people only slightly taller than the average
table but broad in the shoulders and of great strength. Probably
they are some offshoot of the pixies who once inhabited the hills
and forests of England, and who finally disappeared about the reign
of Henry VIII. Their language is not very difficult and the children
especially learn to speak it in a few weeks, which helps to strengthen
my theory of their origin. The ladies, however, never learn to speak
the language with fluency, and the little slang expressions are quite
beyond them; but owing to the untiring energy of Miss Watkyns, that
brainy woman, they now have a little Snerg grammar, with a vocabulary
and some easy exercises.
The Snergs took a great interest in the Society’s development and
offered their services at an early date. It soon came to pass that they
did all the heavy work, such as building (at which they are expert),
gardening, painting and decorating, and the more troublesome part of
the housework, such as swabbing floors. They come in batches and spend
some weeks at work; then they say they are homesick, which means they
have got tired of it, and they go home as soon as another batch can
take their place. In return for these services they receive instruction
in up-to-date methods from Miss Watkyns’ Encyclopædia, little presents
from London or some other large town when one of the ladies has gone
there on business, and those little general advantages, difficult to
specify in words, which come from intercourse with refined females.
If the children go to the woods to collect berries or mushrooms or
whatever else happens to be in season, or to play at outlaws or a
little scalping party, a Snerg or two goes with them to shoo away
obtrusive bears. When they are bathing a Snerg or two sits on a rock
ready to dive in and pick out any child that has got into trouble. It
is interesting to see how they reach such a one with a few vigorous
strokes, take it to land, up-end it by the heels to let the water run
out, and lay it on the grass to dry.
The Snergs dress in tight-fitting woollen hose, with a jerkin of the
same material and a leather belt, and little round leather caps rather
like the deeper kinds of saucers. When at home most of them live
in the town; some few have their mills and farms a little distance
away, but they come in pretty often for they are gregarious people,
loving company. The town has one main street which goes rambling
round corners, with one or two little alleys branching off from it
through archways and so forth, and the houses are three or four or
more stories in height, built in an irregular way of timber and clay
and plaster, top-heavy in appearance though sound in reality even if
a bit elastic. If a house leans over more than it should they prop it
up by timbers reaching across to the house opposite, this generally
giving them an excuse for making a little covered-in passage way on
the timbers so that they can visit one another without all the fuss of
going downstairs and up again, they being great on visits. You never
know when a Snerg will finish with his house because he is always
making additions to it, such as throwing out bay windows, or carrying a
balcony on stilts to one of the big trees near by and then building a
spare bedroom in the tree itself, and the like fool tricks.
[Illustration]
They are long-lived people; roughly speaking they live as long as
oaks. For instance those Snergs who remember the excitement caused
by the landing of William the Conqueror (1066) are old, old gaffers,
opinionated, sitting in arm-chairs. The men who remember the Wars of
the Roses are middle-aged and of ripe judgment (in so far as a Snerg
ever has judgment), while those born about the time of the Gunpowder
Plot have still something of the gay insouciance of youth. The babies
date from Trafalgar and upwards.
They are great on feasts, which they have in the open air at long
tables joined end on and following the turns of the street. This
is necessary because nearly everybody is invited--that is to say,
commanded to come, because the King gives the feasts, though each
person has to bring his share of food and drink and put it in the
general stock. Of late years the procedure has changed owing to the
enormous number of invitations that had to be sent; the commands are
now understood and only invitations to stay away are sent to the people
who are not wanted on the particular occasion. They are sometimes hard
up for a reason for a feast, and then the Master of the Household,
whose job it is, has to hunt for a reason, such as its being somebody’s
birthday. Once they had a feast because it was nobody’s birthday that
day.
The King presides at the head of the table, with the best people on
either hand, and there they sit in the mellow evening light and tell
tales of the brave days of old and listen to the sound of harps. But at
the other end of the table, round the corner and out of sight, there
is often a good deal of reckless behaviour and talk, since there is no
one to check the number of cups of mead they drink; and the truth is
they get slightly tiddleums, and laugh far too much and grab off each
other’s caps and throw them in other fellow’s faces, and so on. Queer
people.
The tale is going to start very soon but it will be necessary to give
some account of the two children, Sylvia and Joe, who got mixed up with
the strange doings I have mentioned, and also of Vanderdecken and his
men, because if it had not been for them I really don’t know how things
would have come out as well as they did. Let us begin with Sylvia.
SYLVIA
Sylvia’s mother was a widow who lived in a commodious house in
London and who was much admired, and whom we will call Mrs Walker
because it was not her name. Though she was rather proud of Sylvia
in a way, because she was a pretty little girl with hair that curled
naturally, she never bothered about her very much owing to her Society
engagements. She never, for example, made her laugh with the business
of the little pigs, or pretended to eat her, beginning with the feet,
and she never bored people by exhibiting her little frocks to show
how she was growing out of them; in fact, she never saw her at all
except sometimes when she spared a moment to run upstairs before going
to dinners and dances and the like. But she provided a capable nurse
called Norah who was skilled in all things necessary for young ones,
including interesting tales, and this worked finely until Norah had to
go away and marry a young man in the sausage business. The new nurse
who came had her own society engagements to attend to (though not such
classy ones) and could not spare very much time for Sylvia.
One day Sylvia got wet through in the park and the nurse (Gwendoline)
forgot to change her things, so that she got ill. She got more and
more ill and the doctor was sent for, but he was absolutely rude to
Mrs Walker because he had not been sent for before and this upset her
as she was not accustomed to rudeness. But what made her more upset
was the sight of a dowdy, middle-aged woman who had got in somehow and
was sitting by Sylvia’s bed, and when she asked her what she was doing
there she got no answer but a snort, so she went away. And half an hour
later there was a real trouble, for the dowdy person and Sylvia were
missing.
[Illustration]
There was a good deal of excitement because there had been one or two
cases of this kind lately, and there were head-lines in the papers
about it; but nothing more happened and the little bed was empty for
keeps. In time--that is to say, in three weeks--the matter had blown
over, and Mrs Walker went into mourning and looked so absolutely sweet
and lovely that Sir Samuel Gollop (Biscuits) asked for her hand and got
it and serve him right, and she is now my Lady Gollop, with a house in
one of the best parts and two cars and a Pekinese which has taken a
prize. But no Sylvia, never again.
And Sylvia was learning to play a new kind of water-polo in which seals
take part and was fast forgetting all about her former life except the
tales Norah used to tell her.
JOE
Joe is a sturdy boy of about the same age as Sylvia who has caused the
Society more anxiety and exasperation than any ten other boys of his
weight and size. When he first arrived he was by no means sturdy; his
legs and arms were thin, and on all corners of him there was either a
bruise or a place breaking out. This was owing to his father, a circus
rider, who used to train Joe to do dexterous tricks with ropes and
poles so that he would in time be able to earn money and help support
the family--which, by the way, now consisted only of Father; his mother
had been worn out long ago.
Every time Joe missed doing the tricks dexterously it meant trouble for
him, for his father used to drink as much as his wages allowed and this
impaired his judgment and led him many times to nearly overdo what he
used to do to Joe in the evenings at home. Joe never complained to the
other circus people because he believed that boys came into the world
for the purpose of being hammered by their parents; also he worked it
out that if he did complain his father would do him in as he had often
promised to do and, ridiculous as it may seem to us, Joe wanted to go
on living.
Matters came to a finish one evening when he had made a deplorable mess
of some gymnastics and his father was greatly annoyed with him, and, as
he said he would, “put it acrost him” properly. He was interrupted by
the sudden appearance of a grim elderly lady bigger than he was, whom
he had noticed several times lately in the one-and-threepence seats,
and who now burst open his private kitchen door in defiance of the law
and picked up the tongs, not by the handle but by the other end. Then
Father knew no more for hours.
And when he did know more it was very unsatisfactory. His skull seemed
loose like a jig-saw puzzle, and he was in a horrid mess. And Joe was
gone. There were no head-lines in the paper about this case because no
one cared anything about it--except Father--and by the time his skull
was fitted close together again by the great skill of surgeons (his
nose they could do nothing with) Joe was becoming justly celebrated
among the other children for his reckless way of riding bucking bears
bare-backed, and doing other things contrary to regulations.
VANDERDECKEN AND HIS MEN
As the strange adventures of Joe and Sylvia were primarily due to what
Joe did to Vanderdecken’s crew’s soup, it is advisable to give here a
short account of these interesting foreigners.
As I have said, Vanderdecken (vulgarly known as the Flying Dutchman)
had come in some time before and camped on the bank of a river north
of Watkyns Bay. They had had so much tossing about the seas since they
started out from Holland in the seventeenth century that it was quite
a nice change for them, and they were in no hurry to go away, even
though they were very anxious to see their wives and babies again. And
it was just as well that they were in no hurry to go, for their wives
and babies had all died hundreds of years ago and it would have been a
distressing shock to them if they had managed to reach home, this in
itself a doubtful matter.
[Illustration]
Each man had his hut, made of stout reeds with a roof of palm branches.
They stood in a semicircle, with a double-sized one in the middle for
Vanderdecken, and there was a garden in front in which was planted some
sweet-peas and a few simple bulbs. There was also a large general hut
where they had their meals and sat about the table afterwards, smoking
their long pipes and talking about how they really must think of
getting busy with the old ship and cleaning her up for the voyage. She
was in a bad way, with the sails all patched and the carved dolphins
on her bows all worn smooth with the seas she had dived into for so
many weary years; but the most they ever did towards getting her ready
was to lighten her by taking the heavy things out and putting them on
shore--quaint old cannon and the two spare anchors, and bales of spices
and elephants’ tusks, and casks of salt beef all hard as horn from
age, and so forth. Each seaman took his chest and hammock ashore and
made his hut neat with a floor of little mashed-up shells, and perhaps
a shelf or two and a rack for pipes and pannikins and other small
matters. Vanderdecken’s parrot was still going strong, for the curse
had come on him too (not that that troubled him) and he sat on a perch
outside in the sun with a tin pot full of nuts beside him, swearing in
High Dutch.
It is to be regretted that their relations with the Society, though
friendly, were not at all enthusiastic. In the first place, they
were, like all Dutchmen, phlegmatic and not given to gush. In the
second place, England was at war with Holland when they started out
and they did not like the sight of the British flag flying over the
main building in Watkyns Bay. It was of course Miss Watkyns’ duty to
make the first call, so she went with six of the ladies and told them
that she had no objection to their staying there--which seemed rather
superfluous as they had already settled down very comfortably--and
that she hoped they would find the rest and change beneficial. No
refreshments were offered, for Vanderdecken had no tea but only
Schnapps, a heady liquor calculated to make an unaccustomed man
climb trees and therefore obviously unsuited to ladies. The call
was returned in due time by Vanderdecken and his mate and two washed
seamen; and from then on there were little formal calls at intervals,
but, as I say, no real cordiality; mostly talk about the weather.
But the Dutchmen get on famously with the Snergs, who visit them
frequently and invite them over to the town for week-ends, this giving
a nice excuse for a feast. Then they introduced them to a special
kind of mead made from wild bees’ honey, with a little distillation
of ginger added to give it a kick. This was glad news to the weary
mariners, for though they had started out with a good supply of
Schnapps they had of course not taken the curse into account and the
supply was getting alarmingly low, and there had been many wrinkled
brows over the matter. Hunting parties are organized very often; the
Dutchmen go with strangely carved muskets and the Snergs with bows and
arrows, and they come home with mixed bags. This, however, has caused
trouble with the Society, for Miss Watkyns said she could not allow
promiscuous slaying of animals in the forest land between the coast
and the Snerg country; that if they liked (she meant this ironically)
they could go to the country beyond the deep river, where rumour had
it there were fierce beasts worthy of their skill, and kill as many
as they liked. She gave a list of animals that were prohibited; among
these were cinnamon bears, young deer and various sorts of birds.
Vanderdecken objected strongly to this, and he came over to argue the
matter; but there was breeding in the man and he finally gave way. They
now hunt only large deer, hares, duck, and wobsers, a swift-running,
graminivorous animal something between a platypus and a pig, but with a
prehensile tail. Cooked with bay leaves they are delicious.
[Illustration]
But though there was no great cordiality between the ladies of the
Society and the Dutchmen, there was no friction to speak of. Miss
Watkyns would often send over a few dozen eggs or a basket of plums
from the orchard and the like, and Vanderdecken sent one of his men to
plant tulips in the way they should be planted, the Dutch being very
skilful at this. When the ladies’ bathing kiosk blew over in a high
wind he and his men came and put it right side up by brute force, and
last Christmas he sent two sacks of little carved windmills for the
children. On the whole relations could be called satisfactory.
HOW THE ADVENTURE STARTED
Having given a short general statement of conditions, it is now time
to recount what happened to Sylvia and Joe owing to her impulsiveness
and his disobedience and cheek, and I say again (for it is a point that
will bear repetition) that I hope the tale will not be without due
effect on my young readers.
I have already said that Joe caused the Society anxiety and
exasperation. This was chiefly owing to his insatiable curiosity to
know what would be the effect of certain acts, particularly those that
were forbidden, and though the lady who was responsible for his arrival
(Miss Gribblestone) had lectured him and read him moral tales, such as
the one about the boy who was devoured by curiosity and finished by
getting devoured by a serpent, and though Miss Watkyns had told him
that at his rate of going severe punishment was only a matter of time,
all this had little or no effect. And the really serious part was that
he and Sylvia were firm chums and she, being impulsive, would aid and
abet him in his enterprises.
They could not live apart, these two. They shared everything they had,
including secrets, and any little extra snacks that came into their
possession. They even shared a puppy (whom they named Tiger owing to
his ferocity with slippers and other small matters, and who was pure
white all over except on one ear and the left side of the head where
he looked as if he had been well rubbed in a tin of blacking) and this
is the only known case of dual ownership since Miss Watkyns made that
excellent rule of one child, one animal.
Many were the remedies proposed for their improvement, but the
difficulty was that the Misses Scadging and Gribblestone could not
agree to any particular method. Miss Scadging was the one who had
taken Sylvia away from her mother, and she said that Joe had an evil
influence on the little girl and that he alone should be punished.
Miss Gribblestone on the other hand was of opinion that if it were not
for Sylvia’s encouragement Joe would be a pattern boy like that Edgar
of the story-book who went out before breakfast and gathered fresh
groundsel for his aunt’s canary. And so the matter stood, for Miss
Watkyns made it a rule never to interfere except in very urgent cases.
That Sylvia encouraged the boy there was no doubt. She had blue eyes
and a quantity of fluffy gold curls, and consequently, when she giggled
and told him he would never dare to do what he said would be a choice
thing to do, he usually went at once and did it, whatever it happened
to be. And when the deed was done and some of the ladies went forth to
pick up the bits or to do whatever else needed doing and to bring in
Joe and Sylvia for immediate explanation, they would find them at the
time harmless and lovable, perhaps sitting on the shore with their arms
round each other’s necks as good as gold, or else engaged in some deed
of kindness, such as swimming out to the Penguins’ Rock with a little
string bag full of snails.
HOW IT REALLY BEGAN
To come to how it really began, one bright morning the two went
over to Vanderdecken’s camp without leave, and there Joe was wicked
enough and foolish enough to heave half a brick into the cauldron of
soup preparing for the mariners. It was a wicked thing to do because
they had never harmed him, and a foolish thing because detection was
certain. But he had bragged that he would do it, and Sylvia had giggled
in the usual way and said she didn’t believe him, so he hunted up the
half-brick and off they went.
Speaking of the act entirely apart from its moral aspect I may say that
it was a good shot. Six mariners were standing about the cauldron,
sniffing the fragrant steam and speaking in praise of the cook, when
the missile arrived from a high neighbouring rock, and its impact
caused the hot, glutinous liquid to bespatter their faces and clothing.
On the next instant Joe, Sylvia and Tiger started home at a brisk run.
Arriving breathless they proceeded at once, and in sight of some of
the ladies, to be kind to animals. They gathered handfuls of grass and
offered them to some overfed sheep, and their expression while doing
so was something like that on the faces of angels in the pictures of
Murillo, that great painter.
In due time the six mariners and the cook arrived to make their
complaint. Their annoyance was so great that, though fluent, they were
unintelligible; I am inclined to think that at first they could only
articulate expletives in use among Dutch seamen of the seventeenth
century. But at length they were calmed sufficiently to enable them to
state their case and to demand that Joe, whom they had recognized, be
delivered over to them for the punishment of keel-hauling, a term which
was not understood by any of the ladies.
Miss Watkyns was sympathetic, but she could not, of course, allow
them to take the law into their own hands. She soothed them down with
diplomatic words, promised that the boy should receive castigation
proportional to his offence, and gave them each a ball of some
composition warranted to remove grease stains without injuring the
fabric.
Then she went for the Handy Encyclopædia to see what it had to say
about keel-hauling. It was as follows:
“_Keel-hauling._ A form of discipline once in great vogue among
seamen. The usual method of application was to attach ropes to the
four limbs of the delinquent, lower him over the bows of the ship,
and drag him to the stern post and up again, the process being
repeated as many times as was considered necessary to expiate the
offence. In very serious cases it was the custom to continue the
operation until such barnacles as had accumulated on the ship’s keel
had been scraped off. See _Shell Fish_.”
“I gather that they are vexed,” observed Miss Watkyns to herself as
she replaced the volume. Then--for in spite of her high ideals she was
human--“I should have liked to see that half-brick arriving.”
In the conference that followed Miss Scadging proposed that Joe should
be considered the sole culprit, since he was a boy and therefore it
was his duty to set an example to the weaker sex. Miss Gribblestone
objected to this on principle; she was by no means convinced that women
were the weaker sex and she recounted again how she had laid out Joe’s
father; also she quoted Police Court instances of crimes committed by
men at the instigation of females. Miss Watkyns was of opinion that a
good and quick way to settle the matter would be to hand Joe six or
ten of the very best with the back of a hairbrush before the assembled
children; but Miss Gribblestone objected strongly to this as tending to
break the boy’s spirit. She made the counter-suggestion of an appeal to
his pride.
It is no exaggeration to say that I could keep on like this for pages,
but I will not risk wearying the reader with a disquisition on the
arguments for and against corporal punishment. I will merely state that
it was finally decided to let Sylvia off for just this once, but to
incarcerate Joe for the rest of the day in the Turret Chamber on a diet
of bread and water.
THE TURRET CHAMBER
The Turret Chamber was, as its name implies, a chamber in a turret.
I have previously explained that the erection of the buildings was
done by the Snergs; also that their natural tendency was to indulge in
wild architectural freaks. By careful watching, however, Miss Watkyns
had managed to keep them building according to the neat plans she had
prepared, and to subdue their inclination to spoil the symmetry of the
houses by fantastic and unnecessary additions. But during her absence
one day on a picnic the Snergs broke loose and built a swift tower
in a corner of the main building, with some scalloped fancy work on
the walls and a twisting flight of stairs in the interior leading to
the chamber in question, and by the time she arrived home they were
already roofing it in. In appearance it resembled the more despicable
forms of lighthouses, and it was quite useless for anything practical,
being so narrow that a grown-up person ascending the stairs had to
writhe up like a snake, and the chamber atop being so small that Miss
Watkyns had considered the question of turning the whole business into
a pigeon-house. However, it did very well as a lock-up for Master Joe.
HOW JOE BORE CAPTIVITY
Hours had passed. The sun was not now so very high in the heavens.
From the direction of the beach came the sounds of happy shrieks; the
children were having a great time there. On the window-sill of the
turret chamber sat Joe, his hands in his shorts’ pockets and his feet
dangling outside, looking forth disconsolately. Behind him on the floor
was a platter with odd bits of dry bread, and a pitcher of clear cold
water from the pump. There was nothing else behind him but a little
wooden bench; the chamber was as bare and smooth as an empty jam-pot.
Above him was the bright blue sky. Before him was green grass and
waving forest. Below him was a nasty drop of twenty-seven feet. I don’t
think I have left anything out.
Joe started suddenly and looked about, for from somewhere he had heard
the hoot of the Aviola, or small downy owl, which by rights should
be still asleep at that hour. He replied with the half-whistle,
half-bleat of the Crested Grebe (these were secret signals), and Sylvia
came worming her way out from the neighbouring herbaceous border,
accompanied by their small but faithful hound. She parted her mass
of curls, which had fallen across her face in the passage, and stood
having a good look at him.
[Illustration]
“Oh, Joe,” she said in the low voice of pity, “are you very beastly
lonely up there?”
“Yes, Sylvia, I’m just as lonely and miserable! And I’ve had nothing to
eat but some dry bread. I think they dried it on purpose.”
“And Tiger’s been wondering what’s the matter, Joe.” She held him up,
and Tiger caught sight of Joe and wriggled and made moans, as of a
puppy that wanted comfort. “But I’ve got something for you.”
She put down Tiger and produced a handkerchief. “I’ve got some apple
sauce on bits of bread that aren’t so dry, and a piece of seedy cake.
And some pears. I suppose you haven’t got a piece of string?”
“Yes I have,” he answered joyfully. “I’ve got my fishing line. Here it
is. I’ve been fishing for hours and hours trying to fish up something
to play with, but all I got was some bits of twigs and I couldn’t do
much with them.”
Sylvia hooked her handkerchief with the provisions on to the line, and
a moment later Joe was eating busily.
“You’re just like a captive princess in a tower,” she said after a
time. “Like Rapunzel.”
“Except I haven’t got such long hair. I feel like an old cat up a
pole--except I can’t get down. When are they going to let me out?”
“Miss Watkyns said when all of us are in bed. Isn’t she vicious?”
“But that’s hours and hours! Oh, Sylvia, I _must_ get out!” He bounced
up and down on the window-sill, and Sylvia squawked.
“Oh, Joe, you ass, you’ll fall!”
“Not me, don’t you think it.” He bounced up and down again to show his
skill.
“Look here, Joe, shall I hook on Tiger? I’ll tie him in my hankie so
that he won’t fall and then you can play with him for a bit--No, you
_keep_ him up there with you, and then won’t Miss Watkyns be surprised
when she finds him there! She’ll think he’s got wings somehow.”
“Yes, that’d be fine. But I’ve got a much better idea, Sylvia. You just
bring me that clothes-line over there.”
“What for? And it’s got nighties drying on it.”
“I don’t want them, I want only the rope. Do, Sylvia, it’s something
delicious. If you don’t I’ll show you how to hang out of a window head
downwards.”
“No, _don’t_!” cried Sylvia. “I’ll bring it.” She ran off and came
back a minute later with the clothes-line, which she fastened to his
fish-hook. “Nighties all over the grass. There’ll be a fine row over it
if they catch me. You are a headstrong boy, Joe.”
Joe did not answer, for he was busy. He hauled up the rope and fastened
one end of it to the bench, and then managed to jam the bench across
the window frame. Then he called to Sylvia to stand from under.
“Because,” he said, “it’s rather a rotten piece of rope, and besides, I
don’t think this silly old bench is going to stand much jerking about.
But we’ll soon see.”
On the next instant, Sylvia gave a screech, for there was Joe outside
the window, spinning round on the rope. But before you could count ten
he had slid down to the ground and Tiger was leaping and trying to get
at his face so as to lick it. Not a very wonderful trick for a circus
boy, but then Sylvia didn’t know anything about circuses. She put her
arms round his neck and hugged him.
“Oh, Joe,” she said, “you are a brave boy! You looked just like a clean
monkey coming down--except that you haven’t got a tail. But how are you
going to get the rope put back?”
“I’m not bothering about the rope,” said Joe. “You see we’re just going
to run away.”
“Run away! What for?”
“For fun. I’m not going to be locked up by anybody. I’m going over to
see the Snergs, and you’ve got to come with me. Tiger’s coming, too, of
course. We’ll have a glorious time!”
“What do you mean, you contentious infant?” (She sometimes used words
she had heard from Miss Watkyns and other ladies.) “It’s miles and
miles and miles! And you don’t know the way there.”
[Illustration]
“Yes I do. It’s straight over there, just a little bit this side of
where the sun goes under. We’ll just go that way until we can’t see it,
and then we’ll sleep in a nice place in the forest.”
“Yes, Clever, and what about to-morrow? The sun’s always over the sea
in the morning.”
“Then all we’ve got to do is to go the _other_ way. Can’t you see?”
Sylvia was rather impressed by his resourcefulness. “Yes, but what
about afterwards, Joe,” she said after a moment. “What will Miss
Watkyns do when she knows about it?”
“Yes, but what happens afterwards will happen _afterwards_. Can’t
you see? Come along, Sylvia, it’s adventures, like those tales your
nurse told you about. And it’s much better _being_ a tale than just
hearing it. We’ll sleep in the forest to-night--it’s nice and warm--and
to-morrow sometime we’ll be at the Snerg’s place and have a jolly time
with them. Just think what the other kids will think of us. Won’t they
be jealous!”
How it happened Sylvia could never quite make out, but she found
herself running along hand-in-hand with Joe over the soft turf, with
Tiger bouncing alongside of them and sometimes tumbling over his own
barks, drawing nearer and nearer to the trees which looked so cool and
inviting on that warm afternoon.
“Oh, Joe,” she panted as she ran, “_what_ an absurd mite you are!”
THE FOREST LAND
It seemed to these precocious infants that the forest was deeper and
shadier and more silent, and the grass softer than they had ever
known it before; but perhaps that was because before they had always
gone with troops of young ones, which would at least do away with the
quietness. In parts where the trees were not so very thick the grass
was all dappled with spots of sun, and sometimes there were great
shafts of light through the trees to make a guide for them, for all
they had to do so far was to go as fast as they could in the direction
of the sun. And they ran on and on and on, with the pretence idea that
they were fleeing from enemies who knew no touch of mercy and they must
get as far as possible while they could.
At length they had to stop running and walk, but they walked hard
because Joe said they must keep on for hours and hours. But it was
not so very long before they had to sit down and rest, for they were
all hot and sticky and getting very hungry. Joe opened Sylvia’s
handkerchief, in which he carried the rest of the pears she had
brought. There were five left, rather soft with the jolting, being
ripe, but they ate them, squashed parts and peel and all, and then
they had a draught from a stream, lying down on their stomachs and
drinking like hunters. Tiger’s share of the meal was as much water as
he liked to drink, and the sight of him sitting up and thinking after
this meagre diet brought into Sylvia’s head an idea that perhaps they
had been a tiny bit rash. But Joe said that Tiger could make up for it
to-morrow by a good blow-out, entirely omitting to consider the many
weary miles that lay between them and the country of the Snergs and the
slim chance they had of ever finding their way there at all. He said it
was really adventures, like the one her nurse had told her of, and he
pointed out how very likely it was that something exciting would happen
at any moment. Sylvia gave her opinion that they were rather too small
to be of much use if anything exciting did occur and said she hoped it
wouldn’t. She asked him if he thought it would be cold when the dark
came, and he said, “No, only nice and cool,” for he was an optimist
always.
They got up and went on again, following the gleam of the sun as well
as they could, until at last it went altogether and they could only
see a red glow from the open parts where there were mostly bushes. And
still they went on and on and on, until Sylvia said her legs began
to feel all wobbly and she had to sit down. There it was: those silly
things were deep in the lonely woods and the shadows were creeping up
from the far places.
Joe climbed a tree to see if he could see something worth seeing, such
as the smoke from an honest wood-cutter’s hut or the like, as in the
tales of forests; though really he hadn’t much expectation of finding
anything, for he had been told there was little else but billions of
trees between the sea and the Snerg country. All he could see was a
little speck of red which he said might be the last of the sunset, or
might be a fire made by Indians or cannibals; though of course he did
not mean the last part nor did Sylvia believe it or take any interest
in it. What she wanted was a bite of real supper and a bed; the forest
had been growing darker and more serious and a little shiver went
through her as if a lot of the fun had suddenly gone.
“It’s getting more and more like one of those tales,” said Joe in a
satisfied way--as will have been seen, he had a good deal of what is
known as the bulldog breed in him. “Specially that part over there
where it’s like a dark passage. Suppose an old witch was to come along
there, flop, flop, flop, and tell us to go home with her.”
“Oh, don’t, Joe! We don’t want it _too_ much like those tales. It’s
getting awfully lonely. I wish I hadn’t come.”
“But it’s only lonely enough to be nice, Sylvia. Besides, it’s great
fun. There’s nobody to tell us we mustn’t do things, or to tell us when
to go to bed. We jolly well go to bed when we like.”
“Yes, but _where_ are we to go to bed?”
“Oh, somewhere or other. I know! We’ll get some fallen leaves, like in
the babes in the wood, and cover ourselves up.”
“But it’s summer time and there aren’t any fallen leaves.”
“More there are. Then what we’ve got to do is to cuddle up close. I’ll
look after you, never fear, and if any old witch was to----” here he
stopped suddenly and looked round at the deepening shadows.
“Oh, Joe!” cried Sylvia, getting close up to him and rather behind him.
The sound they heard was a nasty, soft, flopping sound, and it came
from the part which Joe had said looked like a dark passage. He wished
he had brought a sword with him somehow, or a bow and arrows, or else
one of old Vanderdecken’s guns even if it did knock him over backwards
as the one did that he got hold of one day (but nobody found out who it
was). Alas, he had nothing but his wooden scalping knife; but he got it
out because it seemed better than nothing.
Then, to the surprise and joy of these infants, a great cinnamon bear
hove in sight and came up to them, wagging his head from side to side,
and, so to speak, gently barging at them. It took some time to prove
to him that they were in no mood for play, but by dint of strenuous
pushing at him on one side he got it into his thick head that they
wanted him to lie down, and he flopped over. Then they got close up
to him, Sylvia on the inside so as to give her as much of the fur as
possible, and Tiger curled up in a little hollow space by her neck;
and they were soon asleep, for they were very tired, what with the
long tramp and the novelty of everything. But what a change! From
their nicely prepared supper of warm milk and rusks to cold pears and
water. From their clean, decorously tinted dormitory to the lonely
wind-sighing forest. From their little cots, with clean sheets spread
over resilient aromatic hops, to the lee-side of a bear. And the bear
had bad dreams and kept waking them up by moaning and shuddering
sounds, and more than once he turned over, forgetting all about them,
and Joe had to punch him and pull his fur hard to let him know that
there were young folks and a puppy underneath. It was a long, hard,
disagreeable night, and they were right glad when, after a week as it
seemed, the dawn came.
THE DAWN
There was nothing special about the dawn when it did come. It was cold
and grey and shivery, with a mist that hid the trees a little distance
away, and Sylvia felt very discontented and hungry and really wished
she hadn’t listened to Joe. He on the other hand was very brave and
strong, and he rubbed her hands and feet to warm them and then turned
somersaults backwards to warm himself; to the great surprise of the
bear, who sat up on his hind legs and stared, as cinnamons will at
anything new. There was nothing to eat except some chilly berries all
covered with dew, and these did not appeal to the children’s stomachs
at that hour. But the bear ate large quantities of them and they had to
kick him to make him stop stuffing and come on.
Joe helped Sylvia on to the bear’s back, and she sat there with Tiger
clasped to her because he was now a very silent pup owing to his having
had nothing to eat for such a long time, and they went on their way
for some miles--that is to say, they went on in an opposite direction
to where they could see signs of sunrise over the trees. But the bear
did not understand that they wanted him to go as near due west as
possible, and he kept turning up sylvan glades at right angles and Joe
had continuously to push his head round in the way he should go.
[Illustration]
They parted with him suddenly and in a surprising way. He caught sight
of a hollow tree in the middle distance, from which issued bees in
large numbers though peacefully, and he intimated by grunts that there
was food for all hands and to spare. Before they quite realized what he
meant he was charging up to the tree, and Sylvia had just time to slip
from his back. In another instant he was tearing away at the rotten
part of the tree to get at the honey, and clouds of bees came out in
a horrible rage to see about it. Joe caught Sylvia’s hand and dragged
her into a clump of bushes just in time, and they went tearing through
it and then as hard as they could pelt over the grass until they were
a long way off. They could hear, subdued by distance, the hum of bees
like the rich deep note of a church organ, and the mixed grunting and
howling of the bear; though whether the latter sounds were those of joy
or grief was a doubtful question. Sylvia said that bears did not feel
pain from bees’ stings except on the tip of the nose because their fur
protected them, but Joe was of opinion that they got stung furiously
all over but that they considered the honey was worth the pain, hence
the mixed quality of the howls.
They went on and on and on, and at last the sun got up and sent beams
of cheerful light through the leaves and drove away the mist, so that
Sylvia began to feel much better, though hungry, and hungrier as time
went on. And just when the question of breakfast had become a really
serious and mournful subject, they roused a shout of joy, for they saw
coming towards them down the woodland ways one Gorbo, a Snerg.
GORBO THE SNERG
Gorbo was a well-known, utterly irresponsible Snerg who occasionally
came over to Watkyns Bay to do a job of work, and who was quite
celebrated for his habit of doing it very badly and getting tired of
it almost at once and wandering off again. He was of average size for
a Snerg and fairly young--possibly two hundred and fifty--and though
good-natured to excess he had little intelligence of the useful kind.
He had given it out that he was a potter by trade--he had indeed some
superficial knowledge of the business--and he had induced Miss Watkyns
to let him start a little kiln in order to supply the Society with
pots. But there was no particular shape to his pots when he had made
them and many of them fell to bits when they were handled, so Miss
Watkyns told him plainly that he was a fraud; and to this he agreed
heartily for he did not like to contradict people. She told him to go
away--to potter off was her bitter expression--so he had gone to spend
a day or two with Vanderdecken’s men, who rather liked his face but I
don’t know why, and then he had come across the forest on his way to
the town, where he had a little house of one room and a kitchen. And
that is why the children met him that morning, grinning all over his
face and carrying his bow and arrows, and a little bundle containing
his few potter’s tools and his other shirt and a bunch of wheat-cakes.
He had slept in a thicket of ferns, some of which he had chopped up to
form a sort of nest, and what with the odds and ends of fern sticking
to his clothes and his wild hair straggling out from his saucer cap, he
looked as disreputable a person as you might expect to meet even among
the Snergs, who are not over particular about their personal appearance
at the best.
But he was a welcome sight to Sylvia and Joe. All three took hands and
made two little dancing steps first to one side and then to the other,
which is the Snerg manner of greeting, and which all the children
had taken to (in spite of Miss Watkyns’ objection to it as absurd
and unnecessary) and he was then asked if he had anything to eat. He
produced his wheat-cakes and then made a little fire in order to warm
them up on his potter’s trowel, which he cleaned first with a bunch
of grass. Before they sat down to eat he sneaked up to a herd of deer
which came into sight a little distance away and somehow blarneyed one
of them into letting him milk her. He came back with a good deal of
milk in a silver-tipped horn that he had, and the children divided it
between them. They did not reflect of course that they were causing
some small deer to go short that morning. But it was a very jolly
breakfast. It was quite a joy to the children to note Tiger’s figure
showing signs of sleekness and roundness again; he being of an age when
it shows quickly.
When Gorbo heard that they had the nerve to run away he was not at
all shocked at their folly but highly delighted with their sporting
character, which is just what would be expected of him. But he said
it was lucky they had met him, because left to themselves it was very
doubtful if they would ever reach the town; and there was always the
danger that they might wander into the parts where the trees grew
closer and closer and are all twisted until at last there is no going
forwards or backwards, and then they would be lost for keeps and a fine
to-do. This, by the way, is the only thing with a touch of sense in it
that he ever said to them, on that day at least.
Feeling tremendously refreshed with this wholesome meal, they started
off again on their journey, Gorbo leading the way and showing nice
little short-cuts through clumps of bracken and so forth, and sometimes
carrying Sylvia over rough ground and through swampy places and the
like. They had the luck to meet another large cinnamon bear, which
carried both children for several miles; but at length it intimated in
the usual way that it had had enough (this is done by crouching on the
ground with all four paws tucked underneath, laying the head sideways,
and emitting a long, loud, melancholy howl). So they got off and the
bear sprang up and went swiftly away, and they never found another.
It was the time of the annual migration of bears to the country of
slug-nuts, and that is why so few bears were seen on this trip.
It was a long journey and both children got very tired; Gorbo had at
last to carry Sylvia pick-a-back, while Joe had to carry the puppy, who
was getting his pads sore with so much travel. But just when it seemed
to them that there would never be any end to the journey, to their
great joy they saw from a slight eminence a cluster of high-peaked red
roofs, which Gorbo told them (rather unnecessarily I think) was the
town.
THE TOWN
As none of the children had ever been seen in the town before, the
arrival of Joe and Sylvia was the signal for a good deal of fuss and
feathers. Snergs rushed out of their houses into the street and swarmed
on the roofs and climbed about, and babies were held on high so that
they might see. Some clever ones rushed to the town belfry and rang a
peal, others got busy with strips of coloured cloth and had them rigged
across the street in no time. The four brightest got out the town drums
and went to meet them.
The crowd became dense, and considerate persons shouted “Stand back!
Give them air!” Joe and Sylvia felt rather shy and uncomfortable at
all the display, but Gorbo stepped out proudly for he was beginning to
think this was a far, far better thing than he had ever done. And so,
amid the shouts of the populace, with music before them, they went up
the street.
Gorbo was full of hope that the King would see great merit in this his
doing and that he would get a decoration for it. Nearly everybody had
one of some sort or another, and though he did not go so far as to
expect one of the best he hoped he would at least get the Order of
the Brazen Nutmeg. He was soon undeceived. The Master of the Household
came up to him with a stern look and bade him follow him to the King’s
presence and explain what was his little game. Then he gave a hand to
each of the children and led them to the Royal House.
[Illustration]
THE ROYAL HOUSE
The Royal House is the only building in the town that stands without
being propped up by another building, and naturally this gives it an
imposing appearance. Picture to yourself columns of quaintly carved
oak surrounding an audience chamber on the ground floor and supporting
the spreading-out part of the stories above. On the first floor are
the private apartments, the dining-hall (with a sufficient minstrel’s
gallery giving elbow room for four minstrels to perform the most
energetic pieces) and the room where the regalia is kept in a padded
box. On the floor above live the Court officials, three of them, and
on the third or attic floor, are rooms for the domestic staff and
one large room containing odd matters that are bound to collect in
any large household, such as chairs wanting a leg, damaged pieces of
armour, swords with loose hilts, old pairs of bellows, and the like.
The kitchen is in another building, connected to the dining-hall by an
overhead passage which is covered in so that the victuals will not get
chilled on the way. Altogether a neat and commodious dwelling for a
king in a small way of business.
THE KING OF THE SNERGS
The King, Merse II, was quite an agreeable looking man, with the
typical chubby face of the Snergs framed in a fringe of black whiskers
that resembled chinchilla. He was fully four feet in height, broad and
inclined to stoutness. He bade the children be seated on either side of
him and spoke to them kindly, hoping that they were not too tired with
the journey and inquiring politely after the health of Miss Watkyns and
the other ladies. Joe and Sylvia were rather shy but very pleased;
it now seemed to them that they had acted quite wisely in making this
absurd expedition.
[Illustration]
Then the King turned to Gorbo, who stood cap in hand, still holding on
to his bundle and other matters. I will endeavour to give as literal a
translation of the talk as possible.
“Hail, Gorbo, cleverest and brightest of the Snergs we don’t think,”
said the King.
“Hail, King. May your shadow be ever a wide one.” (This is the formal
reply to a Royal salutation.)
“And what doest thou here with these young ones, O Ornament to the race
the other way round?”
“I met them in the woodland, O King,” replied Gorbo, now getting very
nervous.
“Yes. And in what part of that wide address didst thou find them, thou
first-class brain perhaps not?”
“Er--just this side of Toadstool Hollow, O King.”
“Ha! And had’st thou, thou nimble lout, any hand in inducing them to
wander further from their home?”
Gorbo went down upon his knees, as a good safe position. “No, O King,
not at all. They said they were coming here, so I--I showed them the
way.”
“Excellent! And it did not occur to thee, thou farthing rascal, to lead
them back to their little home by the sea?”
“N--no, O King, I--I didn’t think.”
“That we believe, thou worse than worm.”
The King crossed his legs and meditated, with his chin resting on
his hand. “And what,” he asked at length, turning to Joe, “will Miss
Watkyns (on whom be peace) think of these thy wanderings?”
“I don’t know, O King,” replied Joe, hoping he was saying it
correctly. “We just scooted. For fun,” he added to make it sound more
reasonable.
“For fun, sayest thou, small man! And had’st thou wandered with this
golden-haired babe into parts where the trees are locked like twisted
serpents and there is no light, wouldst thou then have found thy fun?”
Joe wriggled and felt horribly uncomfortable. The King then turned to
the Master of the Household, who was standing by the kneeling Gorbo,
contemptuously snipping at his ears.
“And what thinkest thou of this strange matter?” he asked.
“I think,” replied the officer, “that it were a good excuse for a
feast.”
“Excellently said!” exclaimed the King. “So be it. We will first
dispatch fleet messengers to Miss Watkyns to calm her fears, and then
celebrate the visit of these tiny ones” (they were nearly as tall as he
was) “by a banquet of the best. But,” he added, pointing the finger of
scorn at Gorbo, “give to this all but black-beetle a courteous loving
invitation to stay away from it.”
“Please, O King,” began Sylvia timidly. Then she stopped suddenly, for
everybody had turned to look at her.
“Speak on, pretty one,” said the King, encouragingly, laying his hand
upon her curls. “What hair!”
“Please, it wasn’t Gorbo’s fault,” went on Sylvia. “You see--er--O King,
Joe and I ran away--for fun--and Gorbo found us when we were hungry and
he gave us lots to eat. And he got some milk from a deer for us, and
found us a bear to ride part of the way.”
“Gorbo’s a jolly good sort, O King,” added Joe.
“Oh, then that alters the case,” said the King briskly. (He was rather
impulsive). “Rise, Gorbo. We cancel the invitation and command you to
feast with us this day--but not too near us. The safe arrival of these
little ones across the forest,” he added in a general way to everybody,
“together with the discovery of a gleam of sense in that varlet, make
this indeed a day of strange happenings.”
Sylvia and Joe were then taken charge of by the Queen, a fat, smiling
person who came into the audience chamber at this point. They had
first a good wash, and then a toothsome little snack of bean fritters
mixed with honey, and a cup of milk, to carry on with until the time
of the feast, and Tiger had a large plate of bread sop with meat in
it, after which he went to sleep for hours. While they were eating the
Queen came with a comb and fluffed out Sylvia’s hair and put some fancy
extra curls in it. Then, after a little rest, they went to watch the
preparations outside.
It was an interesting sight. The people had not had a feast for more
than a week and it came as a welcome change. Men were staggering about
with tables and joining them end on in the proper way, and placing
stools and benches in position. There were 38 tables altogether and
each one was about 12 feet long--38 × 12 = 456 feet--so you will see
that a noble spread it was going to be; it reached from the Royal House
to as far as beyond the market-place. From every kitchen came the smell
of savoury baked meats. At the open windows little stout women could
be seen rolling out pastry. Grave, responsible Snergs measured the
mead into jars and placed them at the proper intervals on the tables.
Harpers put new strings to their harps. The Court jester went to his
attic and got out a little secret volume from beneath the mattress and
mugged up some merry jests.
THE FEAST
At the appointed hour horns sounded and all sat down to table in the
calm evening light. At the head were the King and Queen, side by side.
To the right and left sat Sylvia and Joe, and after them came the best
people, then the ordinary Snergs in order of importance. At the extreme
end of the table, somewhere in the suburbs, sat Gorbo. That’s what they
thought of _him_.
I am happy to report that the Queen kept a careful watch on what the
two children ate or else there might have been serious trouble for them
later, the food being of a very grown-up sort. They were given each a
very tiny mug of mead and she told them to go slow with it. (The Snerg
youngsters, by the way, can put away an imperial pint and still behave.
Use is everything). It was all very jolly for them to find themselves
treated with so much pomp and circumstance, and they felt that they
had some glorious things to tell the other kids when they arrived
home. There occurred one unfortunate incident, however, which helped
to reduce any tendency towards swelled heads. They had heard before
that the Snergs considered it shocking bad form to feed dogs when at
table--every race has its own peculiar ideas on behaviour--but when
two nice friendly dogs, rather like retrievers, came one on each side
of Sylvia and watched every mouthful that she took, she was greatly
tempted to give them a bit, especially as their mouths watered so much
that she could actually hear the drips. It was when one of them began
a gentle moaning sound that she could stand it no longer, so just when
she thought the King and Queen were looking the other way she slipped
a piece of meat into his mouth. He snapped it up and lashed the floor
with his tail; the other dog instantly sprang up and put two paws on
her lap and gazed into her eyes. In an instant all the talk had stopped
and everybody stared at her.
[Illustration]
It was a horrible moment, and she became crimson. But the King came
to her aid with true politeness. He cut a piece of knuckle end of
lamb and flung it to his favourite hound, and the situation was
saved. (The Prince of Wales, I believe, once took a good swig out of
his finger-bowl to put an unpolished guest at his ease.) But it was
necessary to have all dogs removed after this, as they came crowding
up, full of hope.
There was some good music from harps, and the jester asked some clever
riddles, one of which was new. A young Snerg who had a really fine
tenor voice sang, “Give me thy gold, I ask no more,” very movingly. But
perhaps the most delightful (though slightly embarrassing) moment was
when, at a given signal, the whole push stood up and drained a cup of
mead to “Our Guests.”
The declining sun shone round a corner of the street; the scene was
now in mellow light and shade. Snergs began to loll against each other
and reach lazily for the nut-crackers. From the end of the table, 486
feet away, came shouts of unseemly mirth: Gorbo, that ass, had made a
bet that he would stand on his head on a pyramid of mead pots, and the
crash was terrific. The King sent a stern word that there was to be
not so much of it. The sudden discovery that Joe and Sylvia were both
sound asleep in their little arm-chairs caused no particular break in
the proceedings. They were carried to the Royal House by motherly old
Snergs and tucked up in bed, and the feasting and joviality went on.
A MORNING WALK
Will it be thought by the readers at this point that the promised
moral lesson is long in coming? It is not improbable. So far I have
chronicled a comparatively glorious result of the two children’s
mutinous behaviour. They had arrived safely, after a journey which,
though tiring, was full of interest, and had been received, dined, and
wined in the manner of foreign potentates, and to their simple minds it
seemed that all they had to do now was to go comfortably home and brag
about it. But read on; the moral lesson is coming.
It was one of the quaint old customs of the Snergs to rise an hour or
two later on the day after a feast. Consequently, when Joe and Sylvia
woke up refreshed and happy, and with none of the sense of guilt
befitting children who had wantonly run away from wise and kind rule,
they found the whole place very quiet, the only sounds being those of
swallows outside the open lattice of their room, and from the adjoining
room (the Royal bedchamber), two different kinds of snores.
They crept downstairs and found a smiling old female person sifting
cinders outside the kitchen door, and they asked her if she could
please tell them when breakfast would be ready. She said it would
not be for a long time but she could get them something to help them
wait, and she took them into the kitchen and gave them each a warm
cake, rather like a rusk only softer, and some milk. They talked about
whales, in which she was much interested for she had never seen the
ocean; few of the female Snergs ever travel.
They went for a walk down the deserted street and suddenly, in the
paved yard where the pump is, they saw Gorbo. He had just soused his
head and was drying it on a little coarse towel. They greeted joyfully
and sat down on three buckets that happened to be there and talked of
the news while Gorbo combed his wild head with a piece of comb that he
had.
The news was this. A Snerg messenger had come on the run from Miss
Watkyns late in the evening, saying that they had disappeared and would
the King please turn all hands out at once to hunt for them, taking
something to eat and a bottle of milk in case. Vanderdecken’s men in
the meantime were ranging along the seashore, poking into caverns and
places to see if they could find them, and sweeping the horizon for
anything new, such as a raft flying the black flag--for they believed
almost anything possible of Joe. Apparently there was great trouble
and excitement over the matter at Watkyns Bay, and both children were
very proud to be the cause of it all. They would be; they were just
that kind.
Of course, as the fleet messengers dispatched by the King must have
arrived and calmed Miss Watkyns’ fears by this time, there was no need
to bother any more, and it had been arranged that Joe and Sylvia were
to leave some time after breakfast on two domestic bears, with an
escort of six Snergs who would carry four small blankets, two pillows,
a kettle, a frying-pan, and some provisions; all these of course
because they would have to spend the night in the forest. Joe felt
rather upset that the adventures were coming to an end, but Sylvia was
pleased. She had had a good deal of fun out of the trip and she felt
it would be nice to get back again and be pardoned and petted in due
course and tell all the other kids what a riotous time they had had.
They went for a walk with Gorbo across some fields, with Tiger
careering ahead of them, for his long rest had done his paws good
and he was feeling refreshed and full of prunes. Gorbo pointed out
various objects of interest, such as the mill that belonged to his
half-brother, and the hillside where the last dragon was killed, long
ago when he was a tiny fellow. He remembered quite well some men
rushing back and calling out “More arrows! More arrows!” when they
had the dragon badly wounded and unable to fly, and how they went
dashing back with the fresh supply of arrows and all shot at it until
it looked like a pincushion and they could get near enough to stick
it with spears and finish it. More than a hundred Snergs lost their
lives on that occasion. He was too young to remember the fierce fights
that took place when a wandering band of Kelps (possibly a corruption
of Kelpies) came through the country, setting fire to the woods and
robbing and slaying, but he took them on to rising ground and showed
them the dark line that crossed the trees a mile or so away and which
marked the deep river, and pointed out more or less the spot where the
last battle had been fought. The Kelps had made a stand on a high rock,
but the Snergs had gone solidly for them and pierced them with showers
of arrows and cut them to bits with swords and pitched the rest into
the river. And that, as Gorbo said, was that.
The most interesting feature of the forest land, he said, was the
region of twisted trees, which reached to within a short distance
of the town. It was not healthy to go too far in among these trees,
but if they liked he would show them a few just on the outskirts, as
breakfast wouldn’t be ready for at least another hour. The children
were delighted at the chance of seeing these strange natural objects,
so off they went into the woods.
THE TWISTED TREES
It did not take long to reach the spot where the first few twisted
trees were growing. They were wonderful things, with thick smooth grey
trunks and smooth grey branches that touched the ground here and there
like great quiet serpents. Leaves grew only on the higher parts, but
they were thick and matted like a thatch and made it rather dark and
creepy underneath. Gorbo led them along to where there were more and
much better specimens of this wonderful flora, and Sylvia and Joe were
proud that they of all the children had had a chance of seeing them.
Gorbo said it was time to get back and he turned and led the way.
Suddenly he stopped and looked about under the writhing grey branches
and over them; then he turned in another direction. Again he stopped,
and this time he had a particularly silly smile.
[Illustration]
“I’d better be careful,” he said, “or we’ll get lost.”
He went on again and the children followed him, hoping that he would
find the way out soon, as breakfast was a thing they wanted quickly.
But it was getting dark; the sky was now hidden by a roof of matted
leaves, and on all sides and above them the thick smooth branches
twisted and crossed and locked together. The air was damp and smelt
of mould and old moss, and there was a horrid silence. A great
leather-skinned bat flickered past them, almost brushing against
Sylvia’s hair, so that she ducked and gave out a little squeal.
Gorbo at last swarmed up one of the bigger trees and, after a lot of
struggling, managed to force his way out through the leaves, disturbing
numbers of bats that came flopping and wheeling about. Joe had to put
his arms round Sylvia’s head and hide it as well as he could until the
foul things had gone to settle elsewhere. A minute or two later, Gorbo
came sliding down.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I couldn’t see much else but leaves, but I
saw the sun so I know which way to go now. The sun is just over”--here
he stopped and thought and scratched his head. “Yes, I _think_ it’s
over that way. You see I got twisted round a bit coming down.”
They followed him again, working their way over and under the branches.
After a time he stopped and thought again, and then began climbing and
creeping in another direction--it was all climbing and creeping now.
Then he stopped and looked at them in dismay. The horrible writhing
grey trunks surrounded them on all sides like an ugly giant net, in
a gloom so deep that their shapes were lost to the eye a dozen yards
away. Gorbo, the clever one, the woodsman, had done this thing. They
were lost.
He did not look at them for long; the sight of Sylvia’s scared face as
she crept from under one of the grey limbs roused him up.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” he said. “They’ll find we’re missing, and
this is the first place they’ll look for us in. You see they’ll start
shouting and yelling, and then we’ll start shouting and yelling and
work our way to where we hear them. It’s quite easy. But won’t the King
go for me! No Brazen Nutmeg for poor old Gorbo. There’s a little bigger
space over there; let’s go and see if we can find a place to sit down
comfortably.”
They worked their way on, and sure enough there was a little space
ahead that was more open owing to there being a huge tree which had, so
to speak, pushed all smaller ones out of its way. It was gloomy enough,
but there was at least room to stand upright and move about if they
felt like it.
“Look!” said Sylvia and Joe suddenly, both together.
Gorbo turned and then stared. In the big tree was a door about four
feet high, a queer looking door with mighty iron hinges and clasps, all
red with rust or green with moss. In the deep shadow and at a little
distance away it was difficult to distinguish it from the trunk.
Gorbo scratched his head and continued to stare. “I’ve never heard of
any door,” he said at length. “The Kelps never made any door; they
hadn’t sense enough; all biting and screaming and killing, I’ve heard.
And it’s ever so much too small for Golithos.”
“Who’s Golithos?” asked Joe quickly.
“Golithos’ an ogre,” replied Gorbo, truthfully, but like the silly fool
he was. Sylvia gave a scream and clutched hold of Joe.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” said Gorbo in a hurry. “He _was_ an ogre, but
he’s not now. He’s reformed. Besides, he’s been on the other side of
the river for ever so long. Don’t be frightened.”
He went to the door and gave a good pull at a great iron knob. The door
swung open quite easily. He poked his head inside.
“Very dark and smells of cheese,” he said after a moment.
He went in a little way. “No, it’s not quite dark; there’s a light
coming from somewhere. There’s a little flight of steps going down.
Come and look.”
[Illustration]
Joe picked up Tiger and, taking Sylvia by the hand, stepped with her
inside the door.
“See,” said Gorbo, “there’s the steps. Shall we go down and see what we
can see?”
“Yes,” said Joe eagerly. “Let’s!”
“N--n--no,” said Sylvia at the same time. “I don’t like it.”
“Anyway,” went on Gorbo, “we’ll make sure that the door doesn’t shut
behind us. I’ll push it wide open and then----”
He did not finish what he was going to say, for the door had gently
closed. He flung himself furiously at it, but, strong as he was, made
no more impression on it than if it had been a stone wall.
Gorbo, that lout, had really done it this time.
_Part II_
TROUBLE AT WATKYNS BAY
Bitter was the grief and deep the perplexity of Miss Watkyns and all
the ladies when news came by other fleet messengers that Sylvia and
Joe had disappeared again, and this time in a quite unaccountable way.
A little while later King Merse II himself came to Watkyns Bay and
explained how bands of responsible Snergs had been sent to explore
everywhere and especially in the region of twisted trees, taking with
them little sacks of lime to mark their trails, and how they had
shouted and yelled until they were hoarse, but without avail, since no
answer had come from anywhere, and they had returned home with sore
hearts and sore throats. He tried to cheer them up by saying that the
children would certainly be found in time, but he did not say anything
about his real fear, which was that they had somehow got mixed up with
one or other of the magic snares which, tradition had it, were very
plentiful among the twisted trees. He quoted old sayings to comfort
them, such as it is best not to meet trouble half-way, and that care
killed the cat when there was really nothing amiss with the animal.
He added that as Providence looked after fools there was cause for
cheerful hopes, since Gorbo was the biggest fool even among the Snergs,
who, though having many good qualities, are not celebrated for brain
waves.
These kind efforts had some effect in restoring confidence and the
ladies were able to discuss the matter with comparative calm. Miss
Gribblestone had at first wondered whether by some untoward combination
of chances the children had slipped back to the scene of their former
life, and she drew a pathetic picture of Sylvia and Joe wandering
about the streets of London with bare legs and only slinkers on their
feet, and possibly starving, and she suggested the advisability of
her instant departure for London with a bundle of warm underthings
and two woolly coats. Miss Watkyns reproved her with some sharpness,
pointing out the impossibility of such a thing: leaving out fifty other
reasons the moon was only a quarter full and the air currents would
be in opposition, and this alone made the suggestion absurd. Miss
Scadging advanced an even wilder theory that the children had suffered
such mental anguish from the reproof and punishment given that they
had wandered away and died of broken hearts, and at this Miss Watkyns
begged her to consider the extravagance of such a suggestion applied
to either Sylvia or Joe and to give her energies to a more practical
solution of the problem.
When the rest of the children heard the news they were slightly
awe-struck but not immoderately grieved, for their experience of Joe
and Sylvia had led them to believe they were capable of coming safely
out of any trouble, and the general opinion was that they were having a
continuation of their surprising and interesting adventures somewhere
and would return in due time, full of glory and slightly swollen
headed. Poor things, they knew little of the harsh, real world; they
had forgotten what happened to them in the past; as has been said, the
air of the place was grand for forgetting.
The King next went over to see Vanderdecken and had a long conference
with him, and then returned across the forest with his retinue. He
had left word with Miss Watkyns that he and a band of picked men would
leave next day on an expedition, but for the present he preferred not
to say where to, in order to avoid raising either fears or hopes. On
his arrival at the town he made a short speech, and then personally
superintended preparations. Swords and axes were sharpened, quivers
were stuffed with arrows, steel casques had old dents knocked out,
cuirasses had the buckles put in order, provisions were packed into
little wallets. The air smelt of war, as in the brave days of old.
[Illustration]
Miss Watkyns, pacing with knitted brow on her verandah, was disturbed
by the sound of shrieks and expletives. Looking up in anger, she
saw Vanderdecken and all his men coming up the path, the foremost
seaman bearing the parrot’s cage--this accounting for the noise,
for the bird was enraged. All had their sea-boots on, and they bore
muskets, powder-horns, pouches with slugs and bullets, cutlasses
and snickersnees; each man had also a bag containing pickled beef,
biscuits, a cake of tobacco, and a small bottle of Schnapps.
Vanderdecken said that they were going away for an indefinite period
and asked Miss Watkyns if she would kindly give an eye to the camp in
their absence and see that things were aired occasionally and the weeds
kept down in the garden. Also, if it was not too much trouble, would
she see to it that the Snergs did at least half an hour’s pumping of
the old ship every morning and evening. He then handed over the parrot
with a request that it be supplied with nuts and fruit, and a bit of
sulphur in its water to prevent it getting scaly feet, and begged
her to pardon any of its verbal lapses. She agreed readily to these
requests, and they departed across the forest and joined King Merse and
his men on the following morning. An hour later they were all trooping
together over the hillside beyond the town.
BEYOND THE DOOR
While Gorbo was battering himself against the heavy little door, which
had closed so gently and firmly as if pushed to from without, Sylvia
clung to Joe and hid her face and trembled. Joe held her tight without
speaking; he, too, tough and adventurous as he was, had received a
shock.
Gorbo turned round at last, and in the faint light that came from
somewhere below they could see a badly scared look on his face, and
it was all twisted as if he were going to cry. He was thinking of the
horrid mess he had got the little ones into.
“I’ve done it this time,” he said. “So the old woman was right after
all.”
“Which old woman?” asked Joe.
“An old woman who told my mother that she would only have one son and
that he would be the biggest fool among the Snergs.”
“Then it isn’t your fault,” said Joe, to comfort him. “If it was all
settled before you were born.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Gorbo. “I must be a fool not to think of that
before. But then if I had thought of it,” he added mournfully, “I
wouldn’t be a fool and the old woman would have been wrong; so it works
out all right.”
“But you’re sometimes quite sensible,” said Joe. “Isn’t he, Sylvia?”
“Y--y--yes,” agreed Sylvia. “But I wish we could get out.”
“It seems to me,” said Gorbo, “--not that _I_ am much of a man to
listen to--that we should see what we can see down these steps.”
“Well, we can’t stay here for ever,” said Joe, “so let’s go.”
“I’ll go ahead,” said Gorbo. “If there are any fierce things that bite
below, they can have first bite at me and serve me right.”
With this cheerful remark he started off. Joe went next and Sylvia came
close behind him. The way was very narrow and so low that their heads
nearly touched the roof, small as they were. And they went down and
down and down, and the more they went down the lighter it got with a
sickly yellowish-green light that seemed to come from a little growth
on the walls, like fungus. There was absolutely nothing to see but
steps and walls, very neatly cut out of solid rock. It must have been
an awful job for those who did all this work, whoever they were.
“Do you think these steps go on for ever and ever?” asked Joe after a
time.
“No,” replied Gorbo, stopping suddenly. “They’ve come to an end.” He
was standing in a little flat place, from which five narrow passages
branched out like the fingers of a hand. The question of which passage
to take was indeed a hard one.
“We’d better start with the first one,” said Gorbo. “Then if it’s a
wrong one we’ll try the next, and so on.”
“But suppose we go miles and miles before we find it’s a wrong one,”
objected Joe. “We’d be hours over it, wouldn’t we?”
Gorbo scratched his head. “That sounds sound,” he observed.
“I know!” cried Joe. “We’ll see which one is ‘out.’ Let Sylvia try. She
knows all the out poems.”
“All right.” Sylvia began to take great interest in the matter now.
“Which one shall I try it with?”
“Try the cat one,” suggested Joe, after consideration.
So Sylvia pointed her finger at the little tunnels one after the other
and repeated:
“If you want to stroke a cat
Lay it flat upon a mat.
Hold it firmly by the tail
Smack it if it starts to wail.
If it starts to spit and shout
Pick it up and throw it OUT.”
She stopped with her finger pointing at the fourth tunnel and she
looked excitedly at the others, because it was becoming like a game.
“Here we go,” said Gorbo, making his way into the fourth tunnel.
They went on and on and on along the tunnel, and just at the exact
moment when they agreed that it would never have any end, they fetched
up against a blank wall. But on either side was a passage going at
right angles, and the question was of course, which was the right one
to take?
Sylvia repeated her little mystic rhyme, and “out” was the left-hand
turning, so they went along it. After a dozen steps it turned to the
right, and a little further on to the left; then it went straight on
until it came to an end, with a smooth wall in front and on both sides.
There was nothing for it but to go back and take the other turning.
They wondered why the people who had done all this work had made
this extra blind passage. Joe said they had done it to make it more
interesting and adventurous. Sylvia said they had done it because they
were pigs. Gorbo said it was merely because they were worse fools than
he was and it quite cheered him up.
The other road soon began to turn gently to the left; then without
rhyme or reason it turned gently to the right; then to the right and
left alternately in very sharp turns. And just when they were convinced
that it would go on turning idiotically for ever and ever they came
suddenly into what appeared to be a mighty cavern, lighted by the same
yellowish-green light of the tunnels, only more so, and full of monster
mushrooms.
THE MUSHROOM CAVERN
When I say that the mushrooms were monsters, it hardly gives a correct
idea of their size. Under the moderately small ones the three could
stand upright, and the large ones were as high as a good-sized cottage
and reached nearly to the roof of the cavern. The floor was hard and
dry and perfectly flat, and the huge stalks of the mushrooms could
be seen like a forest of giant skittles, going into the far distance
on all sides. Above, the pink underneaths of those strange specimens
showed like an unnecessarily large assortment of giant fancy umbrellas,
opened. These, of course, accounted for the cheese-like smell that
Gorbo had observed when he first put his head in the little door and
sniffed. (It was not exactly like cheese, of course, but cheese is near
enough.)
Gorbo showed himself a man of resource in a way. He said that, after
all, mushrooms were mushrooms and good breakfast food, and that they
might at least have a meal, whatever else happened afterwards. This
cheered up Sylvia tremendously and she helped to gather heaps of dried
stalks from the floor, and Gorbo got out his flint and steel from his
bundle--he rarely went anywhere without his little bundle of tools
and other matters and his bow and arrows--and soon had a fire going
(to those who may object that mushroom stalks do not burn I have only
to say that these did). With the aid of his useful trowel he provided
an appetizing series of mushroom steaks, which they all enjoyed
tremendously.
They found that the smaller ones were on the whole of a better flavour,
and it was while they were searching for some tiny specimens, scarcely
as high as a table, in order to cook some more, that they all got a
sudden shock. They found that certain mushrooms had large semicircular
pieces bitten out of them; the mouth that did it must have been a foot
wide, with tremendous teeth. A very disturbing discovery you will say.
They looked about them fearfully; and then they heard what sounded like
heavy, shuffling footsteps, and a satisfied purring, as of a giant cat.
[Illustration]
Gorbo put the children behind him in a hurry and fitted an arrow to
his bow (the Snergs’ bows are on the small size, but they can send
an arrow through a two-inch board at close range). Then to their
horror appeared an animal that I can only describe as resembling a
blonde four-footed walrus walking on its hind legs. It was covered
with sleek, ginger-coloured hair, and it had goggling eyes, a mouth
that corresponded closely with the estimate they had formed of it
from the big bites, and a white drooping moustache. Strange to say,
it was a marsupial--that is to say, it had a pouch--but no young ones
were peeping out of the pouch as in the case of kangaroos and other
marsupials. No, it seemed full of large chunks of mushroom, and the
animal was walking upright because it was evidently the only way he
could carry them in his pouch without tipping them out. He waddled
clumsily up to one of the biggest mushrooms, sniffed at it, purred
horribly with delight, bit a large section out of it, and bent his head
carefully so as to place it in his pouch. And then Sylvia let out a
loud scream.
I do not blame her; perhaps I should have screamed myself if I had
been there. But the effect was marvellous. The animal turned its head
smartly and stared at them, its fore-paws held up as if in fear and
astonishment. The big mouth drooped, giving it a weak appearance;
bits of mushroom dribbled from the corners. Then, with a sound like
a roaring sob, the animal turned and scuttled away on all fours,
scattering sections of mushroom from its pouch as it went.
The sounds of scuttling feet and sobs died away in the far distance and
all was silent as before. Gorbo put his arrow back into his quiver.
“There’s a cowardly custard for you,” he remarked, using an expression
he had heard from the children. They went back to the fire and had
some more breakfast, greatly relieved to find that the denizens of this
strange part, so far as they could judge from this sample, were not
ferocious ones.
Joe was apparently the bright one: he discovered that there was
something like a path going more or less straight through the forest of
monstrous fungi, and suggested that it would be a wise idea to follow
it. They did so, walking on and on until they were weary of the sight
of the thick white stalks, and a good long time afterwards. Strange,
is it not, that here Nature should be so lavish of mushrooms, while in
England they are so rare that hard-worked men are forced by their wives
to rise from their beds before they have had their fill of sleep in
order to gather a few poor specimens?
The path came to an end at a blank face of rock. They had reached the
other side of the cavern. Sylvia repeated her little poem again, and
“out” was to the left, so to the left they went. This time they did
not go so very far before they were rewarded by the strange sight of a
stone seat, and in front of it, a stone table, both very neatly carved.
[Illustration]
What was it doing here? What strange forgotten race had gone to the
trouble of chopping a stone seat and table out of hard rock--and not
only chopping them out but carving some strange figures on them and
smoothing the legs down? They all looked carefully at the carvings; so
far as they could judge they were intended to represent rabbits walking
upright. Why?
“This cheers me up,” said Gorbo. “I _can’t_ be the biggest fool.
When I consider that people have gone to the length of making this
difficult table and bench and carving rabbits on it for the sole
purpose--apparently--of eating mushrooms in this dismal cavern, I feel
that there is hope for me.”
“But _we_ don’t think you’re a fool, Gorbo,” said Sylvia soothingly.
“No, Sylvia,” replied Gorbo with a sigh. “But you haven’t seen me at my
best.”
“But there must be some way out close by here!” exclaimed Joe. “Of
course they’d put this table near the coming-in place, wouldn’t they?”
“You’ve got it, Joe,” said Gorbo. “Unless the people who did it were
much worse than me.”
Joe was right; at a very little distance away they found a tunnel. It
was as narrow as the tunnel they had passed through on the other side
and it was just as smooth, but it had this difference, that it sloped
upwards, on a gentle slope. They went up it until they were sick and
tired of the monotony, and at last they had to sit down, for Sylvia was
getting very tired.
When they started off again Gorbo picked up Sylvia in his arms and
carried her. “This beastly tunnel’s going on like this for about five
miles,” he said, as he walked on with her. After about twenty steps he
put her down again.
“We get fooled every time,” he observed bitterly. They had arrived at a
little flat place, like a room. Two passages branched out from it, and
there was a stone bench on either side, highly finished and each with
what appeared to be a pig carved on it.
“Pigs, you see,” remarked Gorbo. “However, I suppose they couldn’t help
it.”
Again Sylvia repeated the rhyme and they took the right-hand passage.
It went winding about with bold curves for a long distance and then
came to a sudden end, but this time, to their great joy, it ended in a
small door, iron bound and rusty; like the one they had unfortunately
found under the twisted trees. They raised a shout of joy, for surely
their long strange journey was over--that is, the underground part of
it.
Gorbo pushed at the door, but it did not move. Then he pushed harder.
Then he put his shoulder to it and shoved with all his might. And still
the door remained shut hard and fast.
“I’ll do it!” he cried. “Luckily there’s plenty of room for a run.”
With that, he ran and hurled himself at the door with a mighty crash.
And he might as well have flung himself against Westminster Abbey.
He sat down and looked mournfully at the children and they looked
mournfully back at him.
There seemed nothing for it but to try what the left-hand passage would
show them. So they went back and followed it through devious twists and
turns until it ended in a small bare chamber, on the walls of which
were carved what was undoubtedly meant to represent goats. There was
absolutely nothing else to see.
“Goats this time,” said Gorbo sourly. “Well, well, well! Yes, it’s
clear to me that I’m not the worst.”
They sat down on the floor and thought melancholy thoughts, for the
adventure was beginning to have a very black look. Sylvia hugged the
small dog to her, feeling very unhappy. At last Gorbo sprang up and
said he was going to have another try at that door if he broke his back
at it.
He examined the door all over very carefully. In the sickly greenish
light he could see huge iron hinges and plates; certainly it was a very
massive type of door for its size. He bent down and put his eye to a
tiny chink on one side.
“I can see daylight,” he cried excitedly. “We’ve _got_ to get out! Just
watch me this time.”
He took a good long run and then came against it with a terrific smash.
Then he did it again. After that he did it again. It takes a good deal
of bumping to hurt a Snerg, but Sylvia was frightened that he would
overdo it.
“Don’t, Gorbo!” she cried. “You’ll hurt yourself badly.”
“I deserve it,” said Gorbo. “Yes, I _am_ the worst.” He sat down and
buried his face in his hands.
“I wonder whether----” began Sylvia. Then she stopped and thought.
“You wonder what?” asked Joe.
“Just an idea of mine. Perhaps--yes I’ll try.”
She got up and went to the door and grabbed hold of a piece of
iron-work where it stuck out a little. Then she pulled as well as she
could with her little fingers.
The door opened inwards smoothly and sweetly, and a flood of daylight
poured in.
Gorbo looked up, and then smote his head with his clenched fist.
“Never mind,” said Sylvia, going up to him and stroking his head
tenderly. “_Poor_ old Gorbo!”
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER
The first glance that Gorbo gave as he came out into the warm sunlight
showed him that they were now (as the reader will have guessed from the
heading of this piece) on the other side of the river.
This was more serious news to him than to Sylvia or Joe. To them it
meant daylight, freedom from the subterranean gloom; possibly the
prelude to new adventures (it was). To him it meant trouble and danger
and the fear of unknown things. The wide deep river, rushing far below
between steep cliffs, had been a barrier keeping the Snergs secure
from a horror-haunted land, a land of distressful legends of dragons
and other fierce monsters, of Kelps and giants, and a ruthless king
who tyrannized over his people. No wonder he gazed sadly at the fair
green woods on the other side and wished--chiefly for the sake of the
children--that he was less of a fathead.
“It isn’t such a nice part on this side,” said Sylvia, looking about at
a dull landscape, dotted here and there with patches of coarse grass
and clumps of thorny trees. “But it’s jolly to get out of that dark
place.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” agreed Joe contentedly. At his age the present time
lasts quite a good bit. “I’m jolly glad we got here. Perhaps we’ll have
some real adventures now.”
“I’m thinking we will,” said Gorbo.
They went on a little way and, coming to the top of a gentle slope,
saw before them a round grey tower some half-mile or so away. It was
surrounded by a high outer wall and looked very lonely and dreary.
Gorbo stared long and hard at it.
“Yes,” he said at length, “that’s old Golithos’ tower. I can see him
outside, doing something to the wall. I know him by his whiskers.”
[Illustration]
“Then,” said Joe logically, “we’d better scoot. Come along, Sylvia!”
“No, don’t scoot,” said Gorbo; “it’s safe enough. Golithos is quite
harmless now because he’s reformed. We’d better go over and see if he
can tell us how to get back. Don’t be frightened, Sylvia, I’ve heard
he’s quite kind-hearted now. In fact they say he’s rather overdoing it.”
Though they were not exactly at their ease (what child is at the
thought of visiting an ogre?) they were impressed by Gorbo’s
confidence, and they went on hand-in-hand with him towards the tower,
Joe carrying the puppy.
GOLITHOS THE OGRE
A huge man, about seven feet high, was working with a heap of mortar
and some big stones, repairing a loose part of the wall. As they drew
near he turned and saw them; then he smacked his hands together to
knock the mortar off and rubbed them in his hair and waited for them
with a friendly but weak-looking smile. He had a great silly face and
coarse hair and whiskers like bits of a cheap goatskin rug. His dress
was the usual shabby dress of ogres in books. It is perhaps slightly
unfair to call him an ogre, for as Gorbo had said, he was reformed. Not
a child had passed his lips for years, and his diet was now cabbage,
turnip-tops, cucumbers, little sour apples and thin stuff like that.
“Aha!” he said as they came up, “you are all heartily welcome. It is
long since I had any nice visitors. How are _you_, my little maid? And
_you_, my little man? And you also, my dear Snerg? Let me see, have I
had the pleasure of meeting you before?” He shook hands with them in a
very friendly way.
“I don’t think so,” replied Gorbo. “You see,” he added delicately, “I
was quite a boy when they--I mean when you--well, when you changed your
address.”
“Exactly,” said Golithos, with a conscious blush. “Well, come inside
and make yourselves at home.”
There seemed nothing for it but to go on through his door, though all
Gorbo wanted was to ask the way back across the river, not to make
morning calls. When they were inside Golithos slammed the heavy door
and locked it.
“I get so nervous if I leave it open,” he explained. “But come in and
I’ll have a meal ready for you. You must be tired and hungry after your
long journey from wherever you have come.”
“Look here,” said Gorbo, “we don’t want to trouble you too much. All we
want to know is how to get back across the river.”
“To get back across the river,” replied Golithos, bending down and
placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder, “is easier than you
think. Much easier. In fact I think I am right in saying that however
easy you think it is it will prove to be easier still.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Gorbo.
“Naturally you would be. But come inside and make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks, but I should really like to know the way.”
“The way?” Golithos looked a bit puzzled.
“Yes, the way across the river of course.”
“Oh, yes, of course. What am I thinking of? Well, it’s perfectly easy.
All you have to do is to--but one thing at a time. Come inside and make
yourselves at home.”
He led the way up some steep steps to a door in the wall of the tower
and into a large round room which took the whole of one story. It was
big enough, but the most comfortless room possible. At one side was a
great four-foot post bedstead, and in the middle was a big heavy table
and one big heavy chair. And that was all the furniture, unless you
count an accumulation of mixed litter--old clothes and gardening tools
and pots and pans and sacks and barrels and so forth scattered on the
floor. Some wooden steps led to a trap-door in the ceiling and in the
stone floor was another trap-door, with a big iron ring to lift it by,
which led apparently to a cellar. There was only one window, with
little round panes of dull green glass.
“This is my kitchen-dining room,” he said with a look of pride. “I
sleep here too--that structure over there is my bed--so it is a bedroom
as well. Please take chairs--I mean, one of you take the chair and the
others sit on the floor. But whatever you do, make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks,” said Gorbo. “But what about the way across the river?”
“The river?” Golithos did not seem to grasp his meaning.
“Yes, the river outside. All that wet stuff over there. We want to get
back.”
“Undoubtedly. Well, you needn’t worry about _that_, because it’s a very
simple matter. I’ll show you how it can be done in the easiest way.
But first let’s see about dinner.” He picked up a pan and a knife and
rushed blunderingly down the steps.
“I’ve heard it said that he’s getting very slow since he reformed,”
said Gorbo after a minute’s thinking, “but he’s worse than I expected.
Somehow or other he makes me feel that I want to contradict him. And
I’m not like that usually.”
“But he’s going to give us something to eat,” Joe observed.
“Yes, Joe. But I don’t think it will be very strengthening. That’s the
worst of reformed people. Here he comes.”
Golithos came in like a mighty bumble bee, bumping against things
and getting his feet entangled with things on the floor and dropping
vegetables about and stooping to pick them up and dropping others as
he did so. “I’m going to give you the feed of your lives,” he said,
chopping up lettuce and smiling in his feeble way. “I always think
there’s nothing so appetizing as fine fresh lettuce and raw onions,
especially if they have lots of salt.”
DINNER WITH GOLITHOS
In a minute or so he placed a large pan on the table, and then he got
two empty barrels and laid a plank across them to make a seat for the
children. Sylvia whispered rather anxiously to Gorbo, who had been
watching their host with a discontented expression, and indicated that
Tiger’s contour was losing its curves.