something to eat?”
Golithos scratched his head. “Let me see--I suppose he doesn’t eat
salad?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s a dog, not a grasshopper. Haven’t you got any
bread?”
“I may have some odd bits in a sack somewhere. You see I don’t eat
bread very much. I find its heating to the blood. But I’ll try to find
some nice bits for him later. In the meantime, let us eat heartily.
Would you like the chair or do you prefer standing?”
“Chair for me, thanks,” replied Gorbo, seating himself. “Look here,
Golithos, this is all very kind and considerate and jolly of you, but
these young ones will want something a bit solider than this.”
“No solids here,” said Golithos quickly. “It wouldn’t do.”
“Well, you’ve got a cow outside. Why don’t you give them some milk?”
[Illustration]
“Milk? Yes, but do you think it would be good for them? It’s rather
heady stuff.”
Gorbo clapped the table smartly. “You hop out and milk that old cow of
yours!” he said loudly. “These children want milk. They can’t live on
lip and lettuce.”
Golithos looked fearfully abashed. “Yes, yes, I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t
be violent.” He blundered out and down the steps.
“Can’t quite make him out,” said Gorbo. “He was a wicked old rascal
once, but if he was rough he was ready--and a bit interesting if you’re
not too particular. But I think the watercress diet has weakened his
brain.”
He felt his responsibility in the matter keenly; if he had not been a
born fool he would not have got the children into this mess; and his
easy-going disposition seemed to have suddenly disappeared with regard
to his host. After a minute he jumped out of the big chair and ran to
the window and poked his head out. “Golithos!” he called in a warning
voice. “Waiting!”
Golithos appeared, bearing a pitcher of milk and looking highly
flustered. “Shall I put some water in it?” he asked.
“Give it to me,” ordered Gorbo, taking the pitcher. He looked round the
littered table and found two earthenware mugs. “Wash them,” he said,
passing them over his shoulder to Golithos. “Dear, dear, this is barely
decent!”
The milk at any rate was nice and warm, and the children felt greatly
refreshed by it. A small bowlful was given to Tiger, who lapped it
up and then went to sleep on a sack. Then all set to on the salad,
Golithos standing by and pressing them to take more whenever they
paused. Gorbo took his portion in a dissatisfied way, sometimes looking
at a morsel with scorn before putting it into his mouth (I may mention
that they were eating with their fingers; there were no forks in this
disgusting ménage). After a time he made a crude attempt at polite
conversation.
“Doing well here, Golithos?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thank you. Oh, yes. It’s lonely, of course; people seem
to shun me so. But I have plenty of time to meditate on my past sins.”
“Ah, that ought to fill in the time. Keeping pretty fit, Golithos?”
“Tolerably so, thank you. I suffer from stomach trouble occasionally.”
“Only occasionally, eh? That’s strange. Sleep well, Golithos?”
“Fairly well, I thank you. I have nightmares sometimes.”
“What do you expect? This all you’re going to give us, Golithos?”
“I’m really afraid I haven’t anything else--Yes, I have! I can give you
a fine fresh young cucumber.”
“Keep it, Golithos.” Gorbo stretched himself and yawned and turned to
the children. “Well, Sylvia, what do you think of _this_ for a hole?”
Sylvia glanced at the feeble though gigantic face of the once
child-eater and felt some pity for him. “Oh, it’s very nice,” she
answered, though not, I am afraid, very truthfully. “Isn’t it, Joe?”
“It’s fine,” said Joe. Then he put his hands before his mouth and
spluttered, for his manners were not good. Their host looked very
unhappy.
“Just fancy it on a rainy day,” went on Gorbo. “Well, Golithos, what’s
the country like in these parts?”
“I don’t know very much about it, because I don’t go about very much,
but I’ve heard it’s very bad. You see there’s the land of King Kul not
so very far off, and he’s got a very bad character.”
“Yes, we’ve heard of him. What does he do especially?”
“Well, he persecutes the people. You see he makes a hobby of it.
And from what I’ve heard they’re the sort of people who ought to be
persecuted. But I don’t really know much about them because I don’t
often see any of them. And when I do I lock myself up tight until
they’ve gone. Old Mother Meldrum comes over to see me sometimes and she
tells me about the goings-on.”
“And who’s old Mother Meldrum?”
“Well, she’s a witch, that’s what she is. She says nothing will go
right until King Kul is laid out, and she keeps trying to get me to go
for it. But somehow or other I don’t feel up to violent exercise since
I got reformed.”
“You’re losing your nerve, Golithos. But why doesn’t somebody else try
to do him in?”
“I think it’s because they’re afraid. It’s risky, you see. Mother
Meldrum says that his castle is three-quarters dungeons. And he keeps
six headsmen busy all the time except on Saturday afternoons and
Sundays.”
“That fits in with what I’ve heard of him myself,” said Gorbo, looking
anxiously at Sylvia and Joe, who were taking all this in. “But cheer
up, Sylvia, we’ll soon get out of it. Now, Golithos, what about how to
get across the river?”
GOLITHOS EXPLAINS
The giant took Gorbo by the arm and led him to the window. “Do you see
that tree?” he asked, pointing out a tall pine standing far off.
“Yes, Golithos.”
“Well, that tree’s close by the river, and I pointed it out because
it’s quite useless your trying to get across the river at that point.
Or for the matter of that, at any other point, if you understand me.”
“Well, I don’t, if you understand me. I can tell you fifty ways how
_not_ to get across the river. Rouse your wits, Golithos!”
“You make me nervous. And if you do that you’ll drive all the fine
ideas out of my head. You see the fact is that you don’t get _across_
the river at all. But, notwithstanding, it’s a perfectly easy matter to
get to the other side if you know the way how. Now do you see my point?”
“I thought I was something of a born fool, Golithos, but since I’ve met
you I’m quite proud of myself.”
“_Don’t_ speak to me like that; it gives me the all-overs. Look here,
all you have to do is to go _under_ the river. You go through a little
door.”
“I thought so. You’ve been a long time coming to it, Golithos. As a
matter of fact we came that way, but the little door shut up tight as
soon as we got out of it. And there’s another door on the other side.
How do we get them open?”
“It’s quite easy. But I don’t quite remember how it’s done--now don’t
get violent! You see it’s not exactly difficult; it’s only something to
do with some little magic spells. You make a circle on the ground and
divide it into six parts--or sixteen parts, I forget which. And then
you bring some simple little charms--twenty-eight altogether, I think.
I know one of them is the toe-nail of the seventh son of a seventh son
born on a Friday. And then you repeat something out of a book--oh, if
you’re going to look at me like that I shall get thoroughly nervous and
forget the rest.”
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “do you think Mother Meldrum has
more sense than you?”
“Oh, yes, she’s got ever so much more! _She_ knows the way to get the
door open.”
“Oh, does she? Then where can we find her?”
“She may come here at any time. You see she comes because I amuse
her--at least that’s what she says--and if you wait here a day or two
she’s bound to turn up. I can give you a lovely room upstairs. I’ll
move the turnips to one side and give you some nearly clean straw to
sleep on. I’d give my own bed to the little ones, but I’m afraid the
mattress is rather bumpy; I think some brickbats must have got into
it. You see I air the mattress every November, and last November I was
doing some building, and as there were a few holes in it, you see----”
“Don’t worry, Golithos, we’ll take your upstairs room. So come and move
the turnips.”
THE UPSTAIRS ROOM
The upstairs room was much worse than the one below, which is saying
something. It was furnished chiefly with turnips and sacks of lime, and
these Golithos began to move to one side in a muddle-headed way, while
Gorbo sat on the window-ledge and watched him. At length there was a
clear space for the straw, which was spread out in the manner advocated
for sick horses.
“There!” said Golithos proudly, resting on his hay-fork, _“There’s_ a
bed for you!”
Gorbo only snorted and said nothing, and there was silence for a time.
“Those are dear little children,” remarked Golithos, trying to be
amiable and interesting.
“Yes,” said Gorbo shortly.
“It’s a long time since I saw any. In my bad old days I saw plenty, as
you know, but I thought it best--after I reformed--to keep away from
them for a good long time.”
[Illustration]
“Sound idea.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? But as I say, these are very dear little things,
especially the little girl. Do you know,” he went on chattily, “it used
to be a saying amongst us in the bad old days that the lighter the hair
the tenderer the meat--however, I don’t suppose that interests you.”
“Not a bit.”
“Of course not. But I have taken quite a strong liking to these little
ones. The little girl is very pretty, and they are both well formed.
Not fat exactly. I should describe them as well filled out. Chubby, if
you understand my meaning.”
Gorbo slipped down from the window and went down the ladder in a
leisurely way. “Tidy up the place properly,” he ordered as he went.
Golithos obediently went on messing about, crooning a little song about
a rose that loved a butterfly and faded away.
GORBO’S DOUBTS
It will probably occur to the thoughtful reader at this point that a
change had come over the character of Gorbo. A sense of responsibility,
mingled with self-reproach, had brought forth qualities hitherto
unsuspected, and though he was to some extent losing his natural desire
to please all whom he met by conciliatory speech and helpful ways,
he was gaining in ability to make quick decisions, as also in verbal
fluency and a capacity for what is known among our famed comedians as
back-chat.
He found the children in the cabbage patch trying to amuse themselves
with Tiger, but not succeeding very well because they were getting
very tired of this dismal place. Their surroundings were horrible--all
nettles and cheap-looking vegetables and rank grass and stones, and
a high wall (on which were lots of snails) shutting out everything
but the sky. Sylvia took the puppy to show to the cow, which was the
only nice thing in the place and which lived in a rotten old shed in a
corner, and Gorbo then had a chance to talk to Joe.
“Joe,” he said, “I don’t want to frighten Sylvia, but you’re a man like
me. It seems to me that this is not a healthy place to stay in very
long. In the first place we’ll get bored to screaming fits, and in the
second place I’m having doubts of old Golithos.”
[Illustration]
“Oo-er!” said Joe, now thoroughly startled.
“Yes, I’m beginning to think he’s not so reformed as he thinks he is.
Of course it may be only my fancy, but I’m not going to take any risks,
and you and Sylvia must keep close by me always. We’ll have to stay
here a little while because, though it’s plain that he won’t be able
to tell us how to get those little doors open, that old witch may come
along at any time, and then I can get it out of her. I’ll give her my
drinking-horn to tell us how; it’s the only thing I’ve got that’s worth
anything, but it’s got silver on it and perhaps it’ll do. But if it’s
not enough I’m afraid Sylvia will have to give over her little coral
necklace. I don’t know what witchs’ charges are, but I should say the
two together would be plenty.”
“But won’t it be awfully risky staying here?” asked Joe. This was
becoming rather more of an adventure than he had bargained for.
“Not so much, because you won’t go out of my sight and I’ve always
got my bow tucked under my arm. Of course I could make it quite safe
by sending an arrow through his hairy old throat, but somehow I don’t
quite like to do it until I’m dead certain sure. But don’t you worry,
Joe. And don’t let Sylvia know.”
The day wore on. They had a light supper of cold sliced turnips and
some of the milk that was left over from the midday feast. They gave
a third part of the milk to Tiger in order to moisten some very hard
crusts that Golithos found for him. Tiger did not worry, it was
quantity he wanted, not quality, and his little abdomen began to take
on bold curves again.
GOLITHOS IS TEMPTED
The night passed without trouble. The children slept soundly on their
straw; Gorbo had made his bed on top of the trap-door so they felt safe
enough. But in the morning there was more than a hint that some good
old-fashioned trouble was coming.
Said Golithos to Gorbo (taking him quietly aside by the arm), “Would
you oblige me by keeping these dear little children always close by
you?”
Said Gorbo to Golithos (removing his arm), “I’m going to. But not
particularly to oblige you. What’s the little game?”
“It is no little game; it is something more serious. You see I have a
horrid fear that I may go back to my old disgraceful ways. The sight of
these dear little plump things is a very, very great temptation to me,
and I want you to help me to fight against it. I don’t want you to go
away, because if I don’t have the temptation there will be no credit in
conquering it--and I really hope and believe that I will be able to. Do
you know that last night I wanted to have a look at them asleep, but I
couldn’t open the trap-door. There seemed to be something heavy on it.”
“There was,” said Gorbo.
“I thought so. And then, do you know, I came down and sat thinking
about them, and after a time I found myself sharpening a big knife in
an absent-minded way. It gave me quite a shock. Now promise me that you
will help me to overcome this temptation.”
“Oh, I’ll help you,” replied Gorbo.
He called to Sylvia and Joe to come down and to bring Tiger, and then
he went with them down the steps to the door in the outer wall.
“Come and open this door, Golithos,” he called.
“Oh, you’re surely not thinking of leaving me!” exclaimed Golithos,
clumping down after them. “I shall be greatly upset if you run away
like that.”
Gorbo jerked out an arrow and laid it on his bow.
“You’ll be more upset in a moment perhaps,” he said, “if that door
isn’t opened before I count ten there’ll be three of these sticking out
of your silly fat head.”
Golithos jumped for the door and had it open just as Gorbo had counted
up to six. As the children passed out, shrinking away from him, he bent
down and held out his hand to them.
[Illustration]
“Good-bye, little dears,” he said. “Won’t you shake hands with an old
reformed person? Oh, this _is_ unkind!”
Gorbo put his arrow back in the quiver and stood for a moment looking
up at him. “You stick to watercress,” he said tauntingly. “Watercress
and cold water. A slice of mangel-wurzel for Christmas. That’s about
your form.”
“You have hurt me,” said Golithos, drawing himself to his full height
(seven feet, one inch). His tone was not without a certain dignity.
“Get inside!” shouted Gorbo, slipping out an arrow again. “I’m not so
sure I shan’t----”
But Golithos had scuttled in and banged the door and locked it. They
walked along a narrow stony track that led towards some rising ground.
Looking back, they saw the head of Golithos peeping over the top of his
wall. So far as they could judge at that distance it had a wistful look.
BEYOND THE TOWER
When they had got to the other side of the rising ground and the tower
was hidden from view, Gorbo paused in order to take off his cap and
tear his hair a little. Then he embraced both children remorsefully,
and they gave him such words of comfort as occurred to them.
“The next question,” he said, rousing himself, “is the question of
what we are to do next. If I knew where Mother Meldrum lived, we’d go
straight there at once. But I don’t know, and it’d be hopeless my going
back to ask Golithos. I’ve scared what little wits he had clean out of
him.”
“Perhaps we’ll meet somebody if we go on walking,” suggested Sylvia.
“Then we can ask where she lives.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Joe. “I’d like to meet a witch. We’ve just had one
nice adventure and perhaps we’ll have another. Think of it, Sylvia!
We are the only two kids in the world who have ever been in an ogre’s
castle--I mean the only two who have ever got out of it afterwards.
Won’t the others be jealous!”
“Yes, Joe, but I wish we could go back to them. It’s getting too
beastly like one of those tales Norah told me.”
They walked on and on and on, over a plain which was dotted here and
there with clumps of trees but which showed nothing else of interest,
until they came to what looked like a road, and this they followed for
a couple of hours. Then, suddenly, they saw coming across the plain
a man on a horse. The strange thing was that both man and horse were
shining all over in the bright morning sun, and they stopped and looked
in wonder.
“It’s a knight!” Joe exclaimed. “Look, Sylvia! Look at his shining
armour and his long lance! I’ll bet it’s swift and keen.” (Miss Watkyns
used to sing “I fear no foe” at the Saturday evening concerts.)
“I hope his heart is pure,” said Sylvia, rather anxiously. (Miss
Ffolijambe used to recite “Sir Galahad”.)
Gorbo said nothing, but he tried his bowstring to see if it was all
right.
THE KNIGHT-ERRANT
The man in armour pulled up his horse when he reached the road a
little way ahead and waited for them. Both children found him rather a
disappointment when they came near for he did not seem quite up to the
standard of knights in books. It is true that he had shining armour and
the lance as long as a barge pole and so forth, but it seemed that his
mail suit had not been made to measure. The breastplate was tied on to
the back part with what looked like bootlaces, and they did not join
well; bits of cloth showed at the sides. The armour on his legs was on
the large size and rattled whenever he moved. His helmet also was much
too big and it wobbled. The plume, though not a bad plume, should have
been smaller to give a good effect. The horse was big and white and
hairy, and had a thing like a spiked saucepan lid on its brow.
[Illustration]
As they came near he raised the visor of his helmet and stared
haughtily at them. From what they could see of his face he had peepy
eyes, a long nose and rather puddingy cheeks.
“Who are ye?” he asked in an important way, “and wherefore come ye----”
here his voice was cut off suddenly, for the visor had slipped down
like a trap and he had to struggle with it.
He got it up at last: “As I was saying, wherefore come ye thus
unattended on the King’s ways, two children and a dwarf?”
“Who are you calling a dwarf?” said Gorbo disagreeably. “Dwarf
yourself!”
The knight gave him a long contemptuous stare in reply, a stare that
might have lasted a long time if the visor had not come down again and
put an end to it.
“Temper!” said the knight sharply when he had got his visor open.
“But we will let it pass. Tell me, have you any wrongs to redress?
Sir Percival am I, sworn to succour damsels, to slay giants, wasters,
caitiffs and perishers, to rescue----”
“As I was saying,” he went on lifting his visor again and propping it
up with one hand, “I am sworn to rescue the oppressed, to right wrongs,
and to--well, to generally make things happy all round.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Gorbo. “Then perhaps you’ll kindly tell
us the way to the witch----”
“Which witch?” interrupted Sir Percival.
“Mother Meldrum. If you’ll kindly----”
“Ay, she is known as a parlous witch. She lives in the dark woods where
fly the large black bats, all alone with her large black cats, and she
gathers herbs o’ moonlight nights and brews foul potions to harm honest
folk. Which means that I am not going there with you.”
“Who asked you to?” said Gorbo. “I only want to know the way there.”
“Then in that case you had better travel with me, for I am going within
a mile or so of the dark woods. And if anybody should try to oppress
you on the way, why, I shall be there to defend you.”
“That will be jolly,” said Gorbo. “Many thanks. But what about these
little ones? Can’t you give them a lift--one in front and one behind?”
“H’m!” The knight thought over this for a time. “I’d like to oblige, of
course--especially as I am sworn to do good deeds--but wouldn’t that
make me look rather ridiculous?”
“Not a bit,” said Gorbo. “As a matter of fact you’d look rather sweet.
Come Sylvia, I’ll lift you up.”
Before Sir Percival could make any further objection he found that
Sylvia had been hoisted up and placed in front of him. The saddle was a
roomy one and well padded, so it made quite a comfortable seat for her.
“Catch hold of his belt,” said Gorbo. “Then you’ll be quite safe. Now
then, Joe.”
Joe, as a circus-trained boy should, took a run and a flying leap on to
the horse’s crupper, where he sat at his ease.
“I say,” said Sir Percival peevishly, “aren’t you rather taking
liberties with me?”
“I beg your pardon?” replied Gorbo, who was busy with Sylvia, making a
comfortable pair of stirrups for her out of some odd bits of straps on
the saddle.
“I said, ‘Aren’t you rather taking liberties with me?’”
“No, not a bit. Are you quite comfortable, Sylvia?”
“Yes, it’s lovely,” replied Sylvia.
“And you, Joe?”
“I’m fine. This is a _real_ adventure!”
“I hope this is not incommoding you at all,” said Gorbo politely,
struck with a sudden idea.
“Oh, no,” replied Sir Percival with bitter irony. He couldn’t hold his
lance properly and he had to reach right round Sylvia to handle the
reins. “Who _would_ be incommoded by a little thing like this?” Then
his visor fell down again and he roared angrily, though in a muffled
way. But Sylvia’s handy little fingers soon propped it open again,
and she asked Gorbo to find a little bit of stick and sharpen it with
his knife. Then she deftly wedged the stick between the visor and the
helmet.
“There,” she said, patting his steel-cased cheek, “now it will keep up
nicely. But what you really need is some large hooks and eyes.” She had
seen, with the unerring instinct of childhood, that not only was Sir
Percival’s heart pure but that his head was rather soft.
His perhaps excusable irritation was soothed by this attention, and he
smiled at her.
“If any enemies come,” she explained, “all you have to do is to pull
out this bit of stick and there you are, ready for battle.”
Sir Percival was aroused at the mention of battle. “If any caitiffs
should oppress you, little golden-haired maid,” he said proudly,
“I will show you how great a man with his hands is Sir Percival.
Evil-doers shake at the mention of my name.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Sylvia, giggling. The child was actually
trying on with this belted knight the same ways that had tempted Joe
to such flagrant acts of folly and disobedience, and to which their
present position might be directly traced. Minx.
“I suppose you can’t find room for this little dog?” said Gorbo,
holding up Tiger.
“No,” replied Sir Percival with stern decision. “I draw the line at
little dogs.” He then shook the reins and the big white horse started
off at a quick comfortable walk.
SIR PERCIVAL’S JOB
Sir Percival seemed to have settled down to inconvenience and (I must
own) grotesque appearance due to his having children fore and aft of
him on the saddle, and he was quite ready to talk about himself. He was
out looking for adventures because he had become enamoured of a young
lady, and she had told him that if he would go forth as a knight-errant
for one year and conquer a reasonable number of knights and caitiffs
and slay some dragons and the like, she would have something to say
to him, but she did not say what. So far he had not conquered anybody
because he hadn’t met anybody who would fight, and as for dragons he
really believed they had all left the country. One man, a miller, had
told him where there was a dragon, but it turned out that the ribald
fellow meant his own wife, who used to go for him with ferocity, and
probably with plenty of reason. But he told them he had now great
hopes, for he was on his way to a castle he had heard about as being
likely--though he didn’t know whose it was--for in a castle there were
always knights, and knights were always spoiling for a fight. This
was very good news to Gorbo because he worked it out that in a castle
there was always something to eat, and the children were delighted when
he told them this, for the sun was now getting high and they had had
nothing to eat since last night’s turnips.
In time they came to nice wooded country, which was a pleasant change
from the rather bare plain. Then they caught sight of battlemented
towers peeping above the tree-tops, and a little later they halted
by the outer wall of a small cosy castle, all alone by itself. There
seemed to be nobody about, inside or outside, and everything was very
peaceful and sunny and still. And hanging on the outer gate was a
slug-horn like the one outside the Dark Tower that Childe Roland came
to.
THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE
“I am going to wind this horn,” said Sir Percival to Gorbo (he meant,
to blow it). “And if you will oblige me by pretending to be my squire,
I shall think it very nice of you.”
“Yes, I’ll be your squire,” replied Gorbo, quite interested. He lifted
Sylvia down to get her out of the way in case battle should take place
suddenly. “I’d like to--Jump down, Joe--I’ll tell them you’ll take on
any six of them and----”
“Not so brisk, please,” said the knight. “What I want you to do is to
say that I am the famed Sir Percival and--and so on and so forth. Give
them the idea that I am something of a terror. Don’t know what fear is,
and that sort of thing. You see I don’t want to injure anybody if it
can be avoided, and if any knight prefers to give in without fighting,
why, let him do so by all means and save needless bloodshed. Do you get
the idea?”
“Yes, I think so. Hot stuff, as it were. Now blow hard.”
Sir Percival blew at the small end of the slug-horn and a long
melancholy note came out of the other end. Then there was silence for
a time; but at length they heard the sound of slow shuffling footsteps
coming to the gate.
“Nothing to-day, thank you kindly,” said a weak and quavering voice.
“Open, varlet!” cried Sir Percival angrily. “What discourtesy is this
to keep a champion waiting at your gate? Open, I say, lest I believe
that the knights of this castle fear to meet me.”
“Save you, good sir!” replied the quavering voice, “here are no
knights, none at all, nor indeed anybody but me and my old dame Margery
who look after the castle while the family are away visiting cousins,
though we should be glad if they had taken us too for a change of air
would do us both good who have been in this same castle until we are
sick and tired of the shape of it, to say nothing of the damp which has
settled in old Margery’s bones so that she goes ever doubled up and----”
“Look here,” interrupted Gorbo, putting his hands to his mouth and
shouting through the keyhole, “this is the valiant Sir Percival, who
has slain so many knights that he has forgotten how many, to say
nothing of dragons and such like. And I am his valiant squire, Gorbo,
who is famed for a big appetite, and we have with us two children and
a little dog who are also hungry, and the question is whether you are
going to be a sport and give us something to eat or whether you are
simply going to drive us into smashing up this castle.”
“Nay, be not rash, good squire,” replied the voice. “I’ll open the gate
and let you in, for my master hath bidden me give food and drink to
wayfarers that need it and especially to those who are liable to damage
his stronghold if it be denied them.”
The door opened, and to their astonishment there appeared before
them, not a doddering old henchman, but a pert young man dressed in
the brilliant and fantastic costume of a jester, with one leg of his
tights red and the other yellow, and who seemed, from his immoderate
laughter, to be having the time of his life.
“Ha, ha!” he cried, joyously, leaping out and slapping Sir Percival on
the nose with a bladder tied to the end of a stick. “Did I not befool
thee, thou pumpkin face? Even now your jaw is dropped and your eyes
goggle with wonder and you have a general resemblance (saving your
presence) to a parboiled codfish. Laugh, thou jingling hundredweight
of ill-fitting harness”--hitting him again--“and grant this to be a
pleasing jest.”
[Illustration]
SIR PERCIVAL’S ANNOYANCE
Sir Percival recovered from his astonishment and prepared to do what
seemed the only fitting thing to in a case like this. He heaved up his
lance to smite this gay young man to the earth.
“For shame!” The young man had dexterously leapt out of the way and
crouched down with Sylvia and Joe caught to his bosom. “Would you
strike a child?”
“Malapert insect!” said Sir Percival. “Unhand those young ones that I
may cudgel you.”
“Listen to reason!” bellowed the other, now grovelling on the earth.
“This castle is deserted, and I alone know where the larder is. Without
my help you will go away an hungered!”
“There is something in that,” said Sir Percival, lowering his lance.
“There is a whole lot in it,” shouted Gorbo. “Don’t hit the poor man!”
The jester bounded up like a tennis ball and flew at Gorbo, enfolding
him in his arms. “By this kiss” (kissing him daintily on the top of his
head) “I swear eternal friendship.”
“Lead on, thou nimble loon,” said Sir Percival. “I pardon you if you
will take us to the larder without delay.”
The jester turned swiftly to the children. “You see yonder door,” he
said, pointing to a small open door in the main building of the castle,
“I’ll give you a start of half-way and race you there. Are you ready?
_Go!_”
Sylvia and Joe went off at top speed, and when they were half-way the
jester gave a shrill whoop and flew after them, catching up with them
just as they reached the door.
THE CASTLE KITCHEN
“This is glorious!” cried the jester, taking a hand of each and leading
them into a large comfortable kitchen. Then he turned and looked
anxiously at the top of the open door. “No, there’s no time to make a
booby-trap. Come along and put on aprons.”
Sylvia and Joe, both highly delighted with these joyous happenings,
were soon dressed in little aprons and caps made out of napkins and
busily helping their new friend. He sliced up a ham and got two large
frying-pans going, while they put stools round a big table in the
middle of the floor and laid plates and mugs and so on.
“Do you think forty eggs will be enough?” asked the young man.
“I think it will be almost more than enough,” replied Sylvia, doing a
quick sum in her head. “It will be eight each.”
“I’ll make it fifty then,” said the strange being, breaking them thick
and fast into the frying-pans.
A heavy clanging sound without indicated that Sir Percival was coming;
he and Gorbo had been attending to the horse, supplying it with hay and
so forth. As the knight entered the door, the jester turned with an egg
poised ready to throw at his head. But he hesitated; then broke it into
the pan instead. “I dare not,” he said to Joe. “_What_ a pity!”
Gorbo paused as he came in and stood sniffing the delicious smell. He
went across to the jester. “Bend low towards me,” he said. And when the
other had done so Gorbo kissed him on the top of _his_ head. “I also
swear a friendship. What are you going to give us to drink?”
“I have here,” replied the other, making a flying leap over the table
to a rough sideboard, “both milk for these little ones and beer for us
men. Kindly pledge me,” he added, filling up two mugs.
While these two sportsmen were clinking their mugs and gossiping,
Sylvia, standing on a stool by the stove, was dripping hot butter on
the eggs to give them a choice flavour, and Joe was on another stool
pronging out the slices of ham and laying them on a hot dish. They were
very happy, because this was a really superior adventure, with food
and cheerful things taking place. The castle, too, judging from the
kitchen, was a self-respecting place, clean and well kept, and a nice
change from the beast of a tower they had spent the night in.
BREAKFAST
Sir Percival was given a stool at one of the tables and Sylvia was put
at the other--to serve the food, as she was the only lady present. The
ham and eggs were perfect, and they had in addition buttered toast and
a pot of damson preserve which the jester said they really must taste
as he had made it himself. Tiger had a large plateful of everything and
was busily engaged in putting his shape as it should be. (It may be
noticed that almost all the news I have to give of this little dog is
of the rotundity or otherwise of his stomach.)
“Tell me,” said Sir Percival at length, coming to business, “to whom
does this castle belong?”
“It belongs to my master,” replied the jester. “One Gunthorn, a fierce
and rather unscrupulous baron who is something of a scourge to the
countryside. I am his privy jester--Baldry is my name--and I ought to
know. Many knights have come here, striving to joust with him--but they
have all gone, alas!”
“Oh! Where did they go to?”
[Illustration]
“Not far, sir knight. There is a graveyard some furlong or so beyond
these walls, and there they lie at peace, to each his little headstone.
Will you pass your plate for another morsel of ham and some extra egg?”
“No, thank you,” answered Sir Percival. “I seem to have lost my
appetite. And where is the baron Gunthorn at this moment?”
“Why, sir knight, he may be many, many long leagues from here, and----”
“If I can change my mind,” interrupted Sir Percival cheerfully, “I
think I could eat another rasher.”
“And on the other hand,” continued Baldry, passing up the plate, “he
may come home at any moment. He went off this morning to look for a
wandering knight he had heard about, taking with him his men-at-arms
and his cook and household varlets, as is his quaint custom. He left me
in charge of his stronghold, knowing that no man dare set foot within
these walls, so famed is he for ruthlessness. He has another quaint
custom of sneaking in by the postern gate, so that he may observe if
all is kept well in his household when he is away. But you do not eat,
sir knight.”
Sir Percival pushed away his plate and thought deeply. “And what will
he do if he finds you entertaining guests during his absence?”
“Good sir,” said Baldry earnestly, “I prithee talk of cheerful things
while we may. Were he to--but pardon me a moment, _did_ I hear sounds?”
A TERRIBLE MOMENT
He sprang to his feet and stood an instant anxiously listening. Then he
bounded over to a door in the corner of the kitchen, flung it open, and
disappeared up a spiral stone staircase.
A moment later they heard the distant clanking of mail and a harsh
roaring voice raised in anger. The sounds came nearer and nearer and
they heard mighty feet descending the stone stairs. Gorbo snatched
up his bow and pushed the children towards the door. Sir Percival was
struggling to get his helmet on, and making heavy weather of it.
“Good, my lord,” they heard the voice of Baldry saying, “if you will
but listen to reason----”
“Reason me no reason,” interrupted the roaring voice. “If I find
unbidden guests in my kitchen I’ll first flay them and afterwards slay
them----”
The door was flung open and Baldry appeared alone, sweetly smiling and
smiting together two pot-lids to imitate the tread of mailed feet.
“Be seated, I pray you,” he said with a ringing laugh. “Now was not
this a pretty jest?”
“Ay, a right joyous jape,” said Sir Percival, pulling his helmet
off with violence and displaying a pale and angry face. “Thou art
altogether a choice merry varlet. Though how you manage to go on day by
day without getting slain passes my understanding.”
MORE TROUBLE
“Look!” exclaimed Baldry, suddenly pointing through the open doorway.
They could see across the courtyard to the door in the outer wall, and
this having been left open showed a perspective of white road leading
through the woods. And not so very far along the road horsemen could be
seen coming up.
“Now this is no jest at all,” continued Baldry, “for here comes the
ruthless baron. Let us all go far away and quickly.”
“I’m on,” said Gorbo, grabbing Sylvia’s hand. “But what do _you_ want
to go for if you belong to the place?”
“Alas! I never saw or heard of the place before this morning,” said
Baldry sadly. “I was a-tramping the high road, when by ill-chance I
saw that door open and nobody about, and I had just gone in and helped
myself to a snack when up comes this valiant knight, thundering at the
door and blowing the horn--But all is well!” he cried joyfully, leaping
into the air. “He will protect us! Come along, little ones, and let’s
find a nice spot to see from. Now for the shock of steeds! Now for
splintering of lances! Oh, this is heavenly!”
“Well, I don’t know so much about that,” said Sir Percival
disagreeably. He had now managed to get his helmet fixed on and was
leading his horse through the door in the outer wall. “You see I don’t
want to take an unfair advantage of this Gunthorn. He is tired from his
journey, belike, and there is no honour in conquering a man who is not
fresh and lively. Nay, that were a coward’s deed!” He blundered about,
trying to mount his horse.
“But, sir knight,” pleaded Baldry piteously, throwing himself in front
of him, “why spoil the fun? Here is my dear friend Gorbo, who would
love to see a jousting. And these little ones, too, see their eager
faces! Come, sir, here hangs the horn. One blast and Gunthorn will come
spurring up to give you your heart’s desire!”
“I know my job better than you,” said Sir Percival coldly. “Stand
aside, fellow, you will not induce me to take advantage of a weary
man--And _now_ you’ve done it!” he wailed, for Baldry had jumped for
the horn and let out a blast that made the echoes ring.
A moment later they saw a man detach himself from the little group of
approaching horsemen and speed towards them, handling the longest kind
of lance in a manner that bespoke both strength and dexterity. Sir
Percival muttered something that sounded like an oath (though I hope it
was not) and by a desperate effort managed to get into the saddle. He
went in a bumping and jangling gallop in one direction under the trees,
and Gorbo and Baldry and Sylvia and Joe and the puppy went swiftly in
the opposite direction.
[Illustration]
THE SORROWS OF BALDRY
They heard distant shouts, as of annoyed people, which naturally
encouraged them to keep up a good speed. Gorbo and Baldry helped the
children along with great leaps and bounds, and they were soon deep
in the silent woods, far from risk of pursuit. There they rested on a
mossy bank and took things easily for a time.
“That was a jolly breakfast, you know,” said Baldry, to start the talk
well.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Gorbo. “But what will this Gunthorn person say
when he finds out about your making so free with the place?”
“I don’t know. And another strange thing about it is I don’t care. And
his name’s not Gunthorn--at least I don’t suppose it is. You see I just
made it up suddenly.”
“It’s quite a good name for a pretence baron,” said Sylvia.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Baldry was highly pleased at this remark. “It sounds
so ruthless. I’m rather good at making up things.”
“I’m glad of that,” Gorbo said, “because perhaps you can make up some
way of getting out of this mess. Do you know the way to get across the
river?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t know anybody who knows. And I don’t know
anybody who knows anybody who knows. I wish I did, because I’d like to
go with you and see Life. It’s very dull in these parts; the people
have no sense of humour. And that makes it so difficult for me,” he
added sadly. “I’m always misunderstood.”
“Never mind, poor thing,” said Sylvia, who had taken a great liking to
him.
“The hollow world,” continued Baldry, with a suspicion of tears in
his eyes, “believes a jester’s job to be all jollity; but little do
they think that there may be an aching heart beneath what I must term
superficial gaiety.”
Sylvia stroked his hand soothingly.
“But on the other hand,” he went on in a brighter tone, “there may not
be. There isn’t in my case at any rate; though I have had a peck of
trouble lately. You see, only yesterday I was the King’s High Jester,
and now I am wandering the earth with only three friends to love me.
Four to be exact, because I include this little dog.”
“Did you get turned out?” asked Joe.
“No, not exactly; I ran too fast for that. And yet,” he went on, with a
return to melancholy musing, “it was a quaint conceit, one that might
have pleased. Who would have thought that the King was so obtuse. But
that is the worst of tyrants, you never know how they’ll take things.”
“Tell us about it,” said Gorbo, “then you’ll feel better.”
“Well, it was merely a little idea of mine to brighten up Court life,
which has a tendency to become dull and stuffy sometimes. You see it is
the King’s custom to walk alone through the streets on the day before
his birthday so as to show himself to his subjects, and to show that
he is willing to unbend from State ceremonial, and so forth. It also
serves to brisken their memories with regard to presents.”
“What does he do?” asked Sylvia.
“He just walks along, wearing a crown and in his best robes. And he
speaks to people here and there--in a dignified way, of course--and he
pats children on the head and asks their mothers how old they are, and
if they had mumps--and all that sort of thing.”
“He seems quite a nice king,” Sylvia observed.
“You wait,” said Baldry, with dark meaning. “It’s only once a year
that he bothers about mumps. Well, to go on with my unhappy story, I
thought out a scheme for making the whole affair brighter. Though I
am young and thin and have no hair to my chin, and though the King is
middle-aged and fat and has a flowing beard, I so padded myself up with
straw and so painted and behorsehaired myself that when I appeared in
the public ways, clad in furred and tinselled robes and wearing a brass
crown, there were none that did not take the jester for the king.”
“I say, this sounds rather good!” Gorbo exclaimed.
“Oh, it was very good. But listen. In lieu of the customary stately
strut of His Majesty, I proceeded in a lively dance, which I have
invented myself and which I have named ‘The fawn at play.’ There is in
it a great deal of fanciful gesture and nimble leg work. In my right
hand I bore a six-hooped pot; my left hand held my robe on high to
give free play for my gambols. And thus, with shrill whoops of joy, I
pranced among the amazed citizens.”
“Did they laugh?” asked Joe.
“Some few of the keener spirits did; but the general expression was of
stolid wonder. I redoubled my efforts. Suddenly, on the completion of
a series of backward somersaults, I found myself face to face with the
King himself. There was that in his countenance that caused me to turn
and flee, but I tripped over my robe and fell. In another instant I was
seized by the guards and hurried to a dungeon.”
[Illustration]
“What beasts!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Yes, Sylvia, that’s what they were. And when my gossip, the jailer,
told me that the King was frothing at the mouth and had sent for his
High Executioner, it seemed to me a choice moment to leave his service
if it could be done. My prison was in a tower which had, by great good
luck, a drain-pipe outside the window, so I washed off all traces of
my kingly colour and slipped down. I reached the ground without other
mishap than a rasping of my knees and knuckles and fled afar. Better to
roam the cold world than to await the vengeance of a tyrant. So here I
am, alone with you dear things in the greenwood. And very nice too.”
“Is the King _very_ ruthless?” asked Sylvia anxiously.
“Ruthless! Oh, my! However, I’m not going to go into details because
that would only frighten you and serve no useful purpose.”
“We’ve heard that things are pretty bad on this side,” said Gorbo. “And
Golithos said the same.”
“Oh, yes, dear old Golithos. You told me you’d stayed a night with him.
I’ve never seen him myself, but I thought of paying him a visit.”
“Don’t you do it,” said Gorbo. “He’ll bore you stiff--and there’s
nothing to eat at his place but the stuff rabbits eat.”
“Then that settles _that_,” said Baldry. “Well, where shall we go?”
“We’d better try to find Mother Meldrum somehow. She’ll be able to tell
us how to get back home.”
“Dear old Mother Meldrum!” exclaimed Baldry. “Yes, let’s go and find
her; she lives somewhere in the dark woods, which are somewhere about
here. I’ve always wanted to meet that dear old lady, and now I shall!”
“Is she nice then?” asked Sylvia, rather relieved at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. She’s a witch, and she’s rather
noted for blighting crops and injuring folks generally and she makes a
fairly good living by selling curses and nobody of any sense will go
near her. But she may have her good points. Let’s go at once!”
“Look here, my dear friend,” said Gorbo, “this is all very well for you
and me, but what about Sylvia and Joe? You stay here and look after
them and I’ll go and see her. There’s no need for all of us to come.”
“No, Gorbo,” cried Sylvia, “we’re going where you go.”
“Of course we are,” said Joe. “Besides, it’d be rather fun to meet a
real witch.”
“That’s my way of looking at it,” said Baldry. “Fun is the correct
word. Come along, Joe, let’s look for the dark woods. I’ll race you to
the top of that tree.”
He ran to an enormous tree a little distance away and Joe ran after
him. In another minute the two disappeared among the leaves. Then cries
of joy were heard from aloft.
“It’s lovely up here,” called Joe. “Swinging about like Billy O!”
“And the dark woods!” called Baldry. “Miles and miles and miles
and miles of dark woods. Oh, this makes life really worth living!”
(Certainly he seemed the kind that is easily pleased.) “Come down, Joe,
we’ll show them the way.”
The two came scrambling down, and they all went on and on until the
trees came to an end at a wide stretch of turf that sloped gently away
before them. And about half a mile or so away there were other woods,
stretching as far as they could see on either hand. Undoubtedly the
dark woods, for nothing in the shape of woods could be darker or more
dismal looking.
THE DARK WOODS
They went on and soon reached the edge of the sombre trees on the
opposite side, and then the question was, of course, which way were
they to go. Gorbo was of opinion that they had better go as straight
as they could and keep their eyes open for anything like a witch’s
house, but Baldry suggested that they should sit down comfortably and
shout for Mother Meldrum at intervals and see if she would turn up. And
considering the vast extent of the dark woods both proposals seem to me
ridiculous.
The question was settled for them by the sudden appearance of a man who
came walking out from the wood. He was dressed in a woollen jerkin and
hose and instead of a hat he had a hood with a cape to it, as in the
pictures of the cheaper sorts of mediæval people, and he carried in his
hand a little packet done up in leaves. From the expression of his face
they judged he was not a nice man. He stared at them for an instant and
then spoke angrily:
“Oh, yes, a man can’t buy a little curse without a lot of busybodies
following him about! I’m not going to use it on _you_, am I?”
“We hope better things of you, sweet chuck,” replied Baldry. “All we
want is the way to Mother Meldrum’s place.”
“Oh, then all you have to do is to follow this little path.” The man
appeared to be greatly relieved. “But she’s out of curses; I got the
last one. You see there’s been rather a run on them lately.”
“We’ve only come for a couple of blessings,” said Baldry, as he took
Sylvia’s hand and ran along the little path, followed by the others.
They heard the man shouting that in that case they were going to the
wrong shop, but they did not stop to argue the matter, and in a few
minutes they found themselves deep in the shadow of tall mournful trees
that shut out all but little chance glimpses of the sky. On either hand
they could see patches of black swampy water, but the track was fairly
plain (giving a hint that Mother Meldrum did a brisk business) and
they went along at a good rate. There were no birds or cheerful little
animals in this horrid place, but there were--as they soon became
aware--bats.
[Illustration]
Compared to these the bats of the twisted trees were little pets.
These measured six feet or more across the wings and they had beaks
of enormous size, from which issued hoarse bubbling sounds. Sylvia,
who liked bats as much as she liked black-beetles, pulled her napkin
cap over her eyes (she still wore this little stolen head-dress) and
shuddered; but it was too late to think of turning back now however
much she would have liked to. She kept close under Gorbo’s arm, and in
time she began to be more used to them; after all they only flopped
about and bubbled, and did not bite, which is the main thing.
At length, late in the afternoon, after a journey that was very tiring
to the young ones, they came to a part where the forest seemed a little
clearer and lighter and not so swampy. The track went on for another
half-hour’s travel and then they saw before them a house which they
knew must be Mother Meldrum’s, if only because nobody but a witch would
select it for a home.
MOTHER MELDRUM’S HOUSE
There was a little shabby patch of grass in front of the house, but
behind and at the sides it was closely surrounded by trees and thick
bushes. It seemed to be mostly roof--an untidy roof of thatch that
reached nearly to the ground in some places and twisted up into gables
here and there over ugly little windows like eyes. Although it was by
no means a big house it looked somehow as if it had rather a lot of
little lopsided secret rooms, and it had what I may call a generally
wicked appearance. One could not imagine kind silver-haired people
living in it and doing good deeds to the poor. It had its effect on
Sylvia, who hung back a little as they came near; and even Joe showed
no anxiety to get inside.
“I think we’d better tie Tiger up in one of these napkins,” said
Sylvia. “You see Sir Percival said she had black cats, and if Tiger
takes to chasing them about she may get angry.”
“Yes, Sylvia,” said Gorbo. “That’s a good idea. We must keep her in a
good temper.”
So the puppy was tied up carefully in a napkin, with only his nose out,
and carried in Sylvia’s arms. Then Baldry--who suggested that he should
be the spokesman because of his ready wit--rapped smartly at the door.
“Who knocks?” called a disagreeable voice.
“I, good mother, Baldry the King’s High Jester. And I have with me my
dear old friend Gorbo and my dear little friends, Sylvia and Joe, to
say nothing of their small hound. And we have come a long, long way to
pay our respects to you.”
“Pull the string of the latch and come in,” said the voice.
Baldry did as he was told and they all went into a fairly large
low-ceilinged room which looked like a kitchen. At the chimney-place a
tall old woman was standing, stirring up a pot. She turned and looked
at them, and Sylvia gave a little squawk at the sight of her face,
which was indeed horrible.
“Here we are again!” cried Baldry, cutting a swift caper and then
striking an attitude calculated to put anybody into a good humour.
“What do you mean by ‘again’?” asked the old woman with a scowl.
“You’ve never been here before.”
“Well, good dame, it means--well, it means ‘Here we are and let’s be
jolly’ or words to that effect. It’s an expression in common use among
jesters,” he added lamely, for the old woman merely turned round and
went on stirring the pot.
“So that’s what it means.” She tasted a spoonful of soup from the pot
in a leisurely way. “I see. And does the King laugh when you say that?”
“Yes--sometimes.”
“Ah!” she said, “I’ve heard he’s not quite in his right mind.”
Now this was an unsatisfactory reception, and they all four felt very
uncomfortable standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the old
woman’s back turned to them as she went on stirring. The room was very
dark, for there was only one small window at one end, shaded with
thatch, and there was not too much light outside owing to the trees.
But every now and then the fire would flicker up and give them glimpses
of articles such as a witch would be likely to have about her--bundles
of herbs that looked poisonous and a stuffed alligator hanging from the
rafters, and so forth. Poor Sylvia need not have worried about Tiger
chasing the witch’s cats, for things were the other way about. Six or
seven of the biggest and blackest cats that ever lashed a tail came
crawling out of corners and rubbing themselves against her so that she
could hardly keep her feet, all the while purring like horrible snores,
their green eyes fixed on the napkin that held the shivering Tiger.
After a couple of minutes or so the old woman turned round and seated
herself on a stool and looked at them. “Are you the one who squealed
just now?” she asked Sylvia.
“Ye--yes, Mrs Meldrum,” replied Sylvia faintly.
“You’d better not do it again. Now then, one of you! What do you want?”
“We only want to know how to get back across the river, please, Mum,”
said Gorbo politely.
“Ah, you’re a Snerg, I see. How did you get here?”
Gorbo gave her a brief account of the result of his fatheadedness, and
Mother Meldrum chuckled.
“What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked after a while.
Gorbo brought out his silver-tipped horn and laid it on the table. “If
this little christening present will do, Mum----”
“What else?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t anything else really valuable, Mum. But Sylvia
here has a little coral necklace----”
“Let’s see your necklace, Sylvia,” said Mother Meldrum.
Sylvia took it off and gave it to Gorbo, who handed it to the old
woman. She glanced contemptuously at it and threw it on the table.
“What else?”
“That’s all we’ve got, Mum--except clothes.”
She looked at the clothes of all of them in a general way. Then she
reached out her arm and fingered the material of Sylvia’s frock. Then
she sniffed.
“This little lot,” she said, nodding at the horn and necklace, “will
just about pay a tenth part of what I want to show you the way.”
There was an unpleasant silence for a time. Even Baldry appeared to
have mislaid his blithe disposition. Though he had expressed a desire
to meet the witch, now that he had the opportunity he did not seem
to enjoy it. The truth is he was overwhelmed by what is known as the
personality of the old lady.
“Make me laugh,” she said, suddenly turning to him.
MORE SORROW FOR BALDRY
“Er--laugh, good mother?” he replied. “Oh, yes, of course. Would you
like----”
“I want to be amused,” she interrupted angrily rapping on the table.
“It’s your job, isn’t it? Don’t stand there like a pump but say amusing
things!”
[Illustration]
“I’ll do my best, dame,” said Baldry, rousing himself. “Perhaps a few
rib-tickling conundrums will please you. If so, tell me the difference
between an unripe gooseberry----”
“Shan’t!” shouted Mother Meldrum.
“Oh--then would you like a merry song?”
“Not a bit.”
“Oh--then perhaps--perhaps a jolly tale would please you.”
“Let’s hear your jolly tale,” she said, after a moment’s consideration.
“Well, then, good dame,” said Baldry, making a special effort, “there
was once an honest collector of the King’s taxes who----”
“Don’t believe it.”
“But this one _was_ honest,” pleaded Baldry.
“Then why didn’t you say he was a freak? Go on.”
“And this collector of taxes was on his way home after the day’s toil,
riding on his ass, when he met three beggars, who begged of him----”
“Well, that’s what they usually do, isn’t it? What’s there funny about
that?”
“Nothing very much,” replied Baldry. “But it will get better as I go
on.”
“Go on, then, what are you waiting for?”
“And so, good dame, being charitable as well as honest, he gave to the
first beggar a penny, to the second a piece of sausage, and to the
third a small loaf of bread. But the first beggar, having had a full
meal some half-hour before----”
“Excuse me for stopping you,” interrupted Mother Meldrum, “but I don’t
think I care to hear any more. You say it _is_ meant to be a funny
tale, don’t you?”
“It is generally so considered,” replied Baldry sulkily.
“To _me_,” said the old woman, “it’s about as funny as a bilious
attack.”
To those who know from experience--as I confess I do--how painful it
is to have one’s verbal efforts to be sparkling received with cold,
unappreciative looks or smiles in which pity lurks behind a mere
pretence at mirth, will appreciate how Baldry suffered from this
really pointed rudeness. He stood looking miserably at the venomous
old person, too distressed to notice that Sylvia was endeavouring to
console him by patting his hand. His profession was to make laughter,
to spread good humour, to (at meal times) set the table in a roar; yet
he was roaming the earth, an outcast, because of the ill-success of his
late jest with the King, and now he had failed again. Was he losing his
power to captivate? That is what troubled him.
A CHANGE OF TONE
Mother Meldrum got up and went back to her cooking, leaving them
standing, with Sylvia still knee deep in black cats.
“Look here, Mum,” said Gorbo, after an uncomfortable interval of
silence, “Golithos told me you’d be kind enough to tell me----”
“Golithos?” The old woman turned round smartly. “So you saw Golithos,
did you?”
“Yes, Mum, we stayed one night at his place. He said you came to see
him sometimes, and he told us to wait there for you.”
“Then what made you leave him?”
“Because--well, because----” Gorbo felt that perhaps, if she was
friendly to Golithos, she might not think highly of his offer to send
three arrows through his head.
Mother Meldrum went to her stool and sat thinking and thinking, with
her eyes wandering from Gorbo to the children. Suddenly she gave a
tremendous chuckle that made them all jump. Then she jumped up briskly
and patted Sylvia on the shoulder and told her to sit down.
“And sit down, all of you,” she went on. “What are you all standing
for? There are stools enough. You must be hungry too, but I’ll soon
have some dinner ready. I wouldn’t like you to go away saying that old
Mother Meldrum didn’t feed you properly.”
Though they did not understand this very decided change of manner
(who would?) it was very welcome. Gorbo put his bundle and his bow
and arrows in a corner, and got a basin of water for the children to
wash in. Then he washed his own piece of comb and gave it to Sylvia to
put her hair in order, and when she had done this Joe had a turn at
the comb. Tiger was put by Mother Meldrum’s advice in a little coarse
basket and hung up on a hook in the ceiling, and there he sat moaning a
little while the fierce black cats roamed to and fro and looked up at
him with shining green eyes and sniffed as if he smelt good to them.
DINNER WITH A WITCH
In a little while Mother Meldrum began to slap platters on the table,
and into each platter she put two large ladle-fulls of stewed hare,
with potatoes, carrots, peas and onions, which had a most delicious
smell, and told them to pitch in. A flask of wine--of a rather harsh
flavour but not bad--was placed on the table for the grown-ups, and the
children were given a little taste in water. Mother Meldrum was now
quite kind and considerate: when Joe spilled a lot of his stew on the
table she said it didn’t matter, that these things would happen. Baldry
plucked up his spirits with the good food and drink and the agreeable
change of manner, and told a couple of short tales which were well
received by all present, Mother Meldrum being especially tickled.
When dinner was over the bits were given to the cats, who gnawed and
growled like lions, and to Tiger, who had his ration aloft in the
basket. The children offered to help by washing up, and they and Baldry
were soon busy outside with a small tub of water and some kitchen
cloths, putting a polish on the plates and things.
“And now let’s talk,” said Mother Meldrum to Gorbo. “You want to get
back across the river. Very well, I’ll settle it for you. What’s more
I’ll only charge you that horn and that measly little necklace for
doing it.”
“Oh, thank you, Mum!” cried Gorbo gratefully.
“I always like to help when I can. But before I can do it you’ll have
to give me a hand. I’m clean out of mandrakes, and I’ll need six or
eight to work the spell, so you’ll have to go and get me some to-night,
because you can only get them when the moon’s shining. The place is
about a couple of miles from here.”
“I’ll bring you back a barrow load of them,” said Gorbo, who did not
know what they were. “Just show me the place and----”
“Not so fast,” said the old woman snappishly. “Mandrakes don’t grow
like bluebells. You’ll likely have to spend all the night looking for
them. You see they’re little roots shaped like persons, but there’s the
true mandrake and the spurious mandrake. There’s about ten thousand of
the real ones to one of the others.”
“Oh! Then how do I tell the difference, Mum?” asked Gorbo.
“When you pull them up. The real ones squeak.”
“Oh!” Gorbo did not relish the idea of a night alone in the moonlight
in these distressful woods, pulling up things that squeaked. But there
was no way out of it. “Very well, Mum,” he said. “And what shall I do
with Sylvia and Joe?”
“They can stay here with me. The funny man can stay too and look after
them. Your job is to come back in the morning with at least six nice
lively mandrakes. It’s rather a swampy place where they grow, but you
won’t mind that. If any things come and look at you don’t be worried,
but don’t speak if you can help it because it’s best not to.”
“What sort of things?” asked Gorbo.
“Well, mostly things rather like people, only with big ears and
slobbering mouths. Oh, and take a stick with you on account of the
bats. As a rule they’re harmless, but they’ve been known to bite when
you’re not looking--stooping and so forth. As it’s getting on to night
you’d better get ready to go now, so here’s a basket. I’ll go with you
and show you the place.”
Gorbo shivered and took the basket, but he did not look enthusiastic.
“None of your sulky looks!” cried the old woman with sudden fury. “Just
put on those airs and I won’t do a thing for you!”
“I didn’t mean to be sulky, Mum,” said Gorbo. “I’ll go at once.
You’ll--you’ll look after the little ones, won’t you?” The poor chap
felt very doubtful about leaving them for the night; Baldry and he had
sworn a friendship, but he did not have much belief in his power to
protect them. But there really seemed no way out of it.
“That’s better,” said Mother Meldrum. “Yes, I’ll look after them very
nicely. You come with me and I’ll show you where they are to sleep;
then you’ll feel easy in your mind.”
THE SPARE BEDROOM
She called the others and then took a candle and went to a door in the
darkest corner of the kitchen, which led to a flight of narrow stairs,
and then to a dark passage above. There were two or three little closed
doors on either side of the passage, but there were no windows anywhere
and they had to be careful how they walked, for the floor was very
uneven and at one place there were two steps up and at another three
steps down. At the end it turned round a corner, and there was another
door which led to another narrow flight of stairs and up to a big room,
full of what seemed to be bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters,
and with only one tiny window high up near the roof. She went quickly
over to a door at one end of the room and slammed and locked it, as if
there was something inside that she didn’t want to come out, then she
took them to another door at the other end and told them to come in.
They found themselves in a little room, dark like every other part
of this horrible house, as it had only a small window half hidden by
creepers and thatch. There was absolutely no furniture in it but a
four-post bedstead, and a little pair of steps to use when going to
bed, so high was it from the floor. From the window they could see only
the gloomy tree-tops fading away in the dusk that was coming on, and a
glimpse of the moon peeping out from a stormy cloud.
Sylvia stood with Tiger in one arm and held tightly to Gorbo. Baldry
was doubtfully swinging his bladder stick which with the exception of
his clothes was his only possession. Nobody looked cheerful except old
Mother Meldrum, who was quite brisk.
“Now you dear little things can go to bed at once,” she said. “There’s
enough moonlight for you to see by. This funny man can have a bed in
the kitchen and the Snerg will come with me for a little walk.”
“Are you going to leave us alone, Gorbo?” asked Sylvia in a whisper.
[Illustration]
“Yes, Sylvia,” he replied, putting his arms round her, “but I’ll be
back early in the morning. You see I’ve got to go and help Mother
Meldrum get some things she wants to help us get across the river and
back home, so you do as she says and go to sleep.”
“Oh, come along with you!” cried Mother Meldrum impatiently. “I can’t
stay here all night. Tumble into bed, both of you!”
It really seemed that there was nothing else to do. Sylvia took off
her slinkers and then looked round to see if there was anything in the
shape of a nightie; but there wasn’t, and the old woman let out such a
snarl at the delay that both children bolted into bed, all standing,
as sailors say. Gorbo tucked them up with a patchwork quilt and kissed
them both very sorrowfully and put the puppy at the foot of the bed;
then he went out after the others.
“There’s _your_ bed,” said Mother Meldrum to Baldry, pointing to a
large box with straw in it in the corner of the kitchen. “Curl up and
go to sleep. Dream of some funny things for to-morrow.”
“It’s full of cats,” said Baldry discontentedly, as he looked into the
box.
“Heave them out then, you helpless loon!” shouted Mother Meldrum.
Baldry sighed deeply and began removing cats. They all growled and spat
at him, and one bit him finely in the fleshy part of the thumb. Gorbo
whispered to him to keep a good look out for the children, and then
picked up his bow and basket and so forth and went out after the old
woman.
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT
Strange to say, the children dropped off to sleep almost at once. They
were tired with the long walk and the bed was fairly comfortable, and
Joe, who, as I have said, was always the true optimist, had comforted
Sylvia by cheering remarks about everything coming out all right even
if it was a beast of a house.
Joe woke out of a sound sleep with a start. It seemed to him that he
had heard a loud crack somewhere. He sat up and looked about him,
wondering where he was. Then he remembered the shape of the little
window, through which the moonlight was now streaming brightly, just
touching Sylvia’s curls as she slept peacefully beside him with the
puppy curled up in a ball behind her neck. He lay down again, and was
just dropping off again into a delicious sleep when he heard another
crack, and this time he was out of bed with a jump, for there was a
dark shadow at the window and the lattice was wide open.
“Joe!” called a whisper, “it’s me, poor old Baldry. Don’t make a sound.”
“What’s wrong,” whispered Joe, creeping to the window.
“Everything. Wake up Sylvia and tell her to come quietly.” Baldry was
climbing carefully through the window. “We’ve got to get away quickly.”
Joe was a sensible boy (in some ways) and he wasted no time in
questions but shook Sylvia carefully and then put his hand over her
mouth and whispered to her not to speak. She rubbed her eyes and stared
at Baldry. Then she became fully awake.
“Yes, Joe,” she said, not trembling very much, “I’ll be a sport.” She
jumped out of bed and put on her slinkers (there were the elements of
greatness as well of flirtatiousness in that child). Baldry put his
arms about them so that he could whisper what he had to say.
“There’s a man that’s come in with Mother Meldrum--a giant--and they’re
down below talking. And I’m pretty sure it’s Golithos.”
“Oo--er!” said Joe with a jump.
[Illustration]
“Yes, it’s a great big man with lots of hair and whiskers and a great
silly face, just as you told me. They came in through a back door
somewhere, so that they wouldn’t wake me I suppose, and they sat
talking and talking in a back room. So I crept up and looked through a
little chink and I saw him quite plain, Joe. Horrid sight. And she got
furious with him and called him a cowardly lubber and said if he didn’t
do it he shouldn’t have a single bite at them.”
“What did she mean?” asked Joe.
“Well, I don’t know what she wanted _him_ to do. But about the biting,
Joe, I think she meant you and Sylvia.”
“Let’s scoot!” said Joe.
In a minute or two they had the sheets torn into long strips and
knotted together, and Sylvia was tied with this handy rope under the
arms and lowered gently out of the window, holding Tiger tightly to
her. Joe in the meantime was going down by way of a big creeper that
grew against the wall, and by which Baldry had climbed up to them. As
soon as he was on the ground Baldry’s red and yellow legs shot out of
the window, and in another minute he was down beside them.
“Come along,” he said, grabbing a hand of each one, and running with
them into the trees, “there’s enough moonlight to find the path, I
think. But in any case we’ve got to get somewhere else quick.”
“But what about Gorbo?” asked Joe, stopping suddenly. “What’ll he say
when he finds we’re gone?”
“Yes, we can’t leave Gorbo behind,” cried Sylvia. “Oh, what are we to
do?”
“We’ve _got_ to go,” said Baldry. “Golithos has come after you, that’s
plain. And I’m afraid I’m not much use in a fight; I’ve only got my
little bladder stick. But Gorbo’s a hard little man with lots of fight
in him, and he’s got his bow and arrows. He’ll be able to look after
himself all right, and when he finds we’re gone he’ll chase after
us, you can be sure of that. We’ll go on and hide just outside these
beastly woods and wait for him to come.”
This seemed reasonable enough, and they started off again at a run.
But though the moonlight was bright enough when it shone on the path
there were long stretches where it was quite dark, and Baldry had often
to walk ahead of the children and feel the way. They moved on slowly,
sometimes running a bit but more often crawling along, always with the
thought that they might at any moment hear that dreadful couple coming
after them and shouting to them to stop; and it shows what a plucky
girl Sylvia was that she could keep up without a murmur, even though
her little heart was heavy with fear.
[Illustration]
At last they found the moonlight giving place to the grey light of
dawn, and they were filled with joy and thankfulness, for things that
are terrible in the night seem almost harmless when the day comes. And,
feeble though the light was yet, it enabled them to pick the path much
more easily: however bright the moon shines it casts black shadows, but
the light of day gets behind things.
“Do you think they will come after us?” asked Joe. With the little bit
of light and the extra speed they were making he felt that the subject
was at least bearable.
“No,” replied Baldry, “not yet awhile I think. Old Mother Meldrum’s too
busy jawing and Golithos is too busy eating.”
“What is he eating?” asked Joe, struck with a sudden idea. “Salad?”
“No, Joe, he’d got a lot of big beef bones in his bag and he was biting
hard at them while he listened to that old beast.”
“Oh, he’s killed that nice cow!” cried Sylvia. And though she had borne
all the terrors so bravely she burst out crying at the fate of the
patient animal that had been so friendly to them and given them milk in
their sore need.
THE GREEN RIDE
When at last they came to the end of the dark woods the sun was over
the tree-tops and everything looked delightfully bright and cheering.
They raced across the wide stretch of turf that separated them from
the nice friendly-looking forest on the other side, and they were soon
resting in a warm spot just at the outskirts of some spreading oaks,
far from the horrible house and the haunted woods.
Baldry said it was best to stay exactly where they were and keep a good
look out for Gorbo, who would certainly chase after them as soon as he
came back and found they were gone. Of course if Golithos or the old
hag came out first it would be necessary to hide closer, and he looked
round and found a nice place, deep in a thicket of bracken, where fifty
people could be safely hidden, and to which they could do a bolt at a
moment’s notice.
But now that they had their minds at rest to some degree, the
conversation turned on things to eat and drink; there is nothing like
exercise and fright to give one an appetite. Sylvia said how nice it
would be to have a hot cup of tea with plenty of milk, and Baldry, who
belonged to mediæval times and therefore did not know of tea, asked if
it was anything like hot spiced ale. This led the talk to hot ham, to
eggs cooked in various ways, and buttered toast. And the result was
they got ravenous.
Baldry was knitting his brow over the question of how to get breakfast
when suddenly they heard clanging sounds and the clump of horses’ feet.
And looking about them they saw a cavalcade of some ten or twelve
men-at-arms, coming along the green ride with much pomp and glittering
of steel and high stepping of fine horses. Baldry stared earnestly at
them and then he gave a satisfied chortle.
“These blokes,” he said (blokes is not the word he used of course, but
it is the nearest I can get to it in translation), “are the same ones
who rode up to the castle yesterday and frightened dear Percy away. But
they didn’t see us, because we got away so quickly, so I think we had
better see if they can spare us a trifle. Men-at-arms generally have
some bits of food about their persons--cold fried fish and sausage and
the like--and they’re generally good-natured on a fine morning. And
if they give us some little pieces of money instead we can buy some
breakfast somewhere--if there’s a house anywhere in these wild parts.”
“All right,” said Joe, starting up. “Come along, Sylvia.”
“No, wait a bit,” said Baldry, “this wants thinking out. To make this
thing a success we have to appeal to them in some quaint way. I’ve got
it! You go first, Joe, turning somersaults; that will make them stop
and wonder. Then you go next, Sylvia, and drop a nice little curtsey
and smile at them; that will put them in a good humour. Then I’ll come
along walking on my hands, and that will make it a sure thing and they
should unbelt at once. First of all let’s make ourselves look nice.”
The children were highly interested and Sylvia asked him if he had a
comb. But he had not, so she fluffed out her curls with her fingers
and then knelt over a little forest pool close by to make sure that
she looked rather fetching. (She was her mother’s daughter all right
enough.) Joe tucked his shirt in neatly and tightened his belt, and
Baldry practised an expression of attractive mirth.
The horsemen approached at an easy walk and they could see the face
of the leader, an able-looking person whose well-fitting and polished
mail and golden spurs proclaimed him a knight in a prosperous line of
business. He rode with his visor raised, talking to one whose plain
steel spurs and armour devoid of fancy trimmings showed that he was as
yet but a squire. In the still morning air their voices came clearly to
the little waiting group.
“In sooth, good Baldwin,” he was saying, “there is now little chance of
honourable adventure in the land. But yester morn I had hope of running
a course with the scurril Sir Percival, who has dared to raise his
lobster eyes to my mistress and to brag forsooth that she has sent him
forth seeking advancement to grace her name. But the pestilent knave
fled and my hope was dashed to the ground--which is a pity, because
that’s what I meant to do to him.”
“Good, my lord,” said the squire, “’tis likely that the Lady Gwendoline
did but tell him to chase himself. So at least went the gossip at the
buttery hatch.”
“My lady has a pretty wit, and perchance she put her answer in such
wise that the moth-eaten rascal has construed it to his own undoing--or
at least to his grievous waste of time. But what mummery have we here,
good Baldwin?”
It was Joe, turning brisk somersaults, and the leader halted his horse
and stared down at him. Joe sprang at him and clasped his mailed leg
with his arms, as Baldry had told him to, and loudly asked for charity.
“Unhand my left leg, thou wanton!” cried the leader. “Who told you to
behave like this?--But whom else have we here?”
This was Sylvia, who came tripping up and dropped a dainty curtsey,
smiling very prettily at him.
“By my hilt, a right winsome little lass! Is she not, Baldwin?”
“Ay, my lord, she has hair like ripe corn and merry blue eyes, and her
cheeks are like rose leaves in the morn. A pretty maid--and a saucy, I
warrant me.”
“You silly thing!” said Sylvia, pretending to be coy; “I don’t believe
you.” (This sort of behaviour came quite naturally to her.)
[Illustration]
“Nay, little lass,” said the leader, smiling good-humouredly, “for the
sake of your pretty looks I have here a silver groat”--he pulled off
his mailed glove and fished about in a little steel pocket in his
_cuisses_, or thigh armour--a quaint little pocket that shut with a
spring. “I _know_ I had a groat somewhere--Ah, here we have it!” He
bent down and placed the coin in Sylvia’s little palm and patted her
cheek. “And if you are hungered my good squire has half a fat capon
which he borrowed--But whom _else_ have we here?”
Whom else they had was of course Baldry, who came along, walking
upside-down and singing “When woods are green and foules sing,” a truly
difficult feat before breakfast you will say. When opposite the knight
he sprang right side up and cut a dexterous caper--and then stared in
horror.
“Scurril rogue!” roared the knight, catching him by the collar with a
grip of iron. “At last we have thee who dared to put so scandalous a
jest upon His Majesty! Ho, there, seize me this knave and loose him not
till he be safe in the royal dungeon.”
CAPTIVES
Words cannot describe the dismay and mental confusion of Joe and Sylvia
at this unhappy change of fortune, or I should certainly try for it.
Their pleadings that Baldry be allowed to remain with them met with no
satisfactory response from the leader, and when they exclaimed against
his conduct in taking away their companion and protector and leaving
them alone in the forest, he merely stated that all this talk was
unnecessary for they were coming along too. I will pass briefly over
their indignation at this new tyranny; of how Joe in the first flush
of his wrath called the knight “Blighter!” or how Sylvia stroked his
mail-clad hand and implored him not to be a beast. Suffice it to say
that all was of no avail and that they were lifted up and placed each
in front of a stalwart man-at-arms, while Baldry was ordered to mount a
spare horse they had with them.
Strange to say, now that Baldry was captured and there was no way out
of it, he took the matter with more philosophy than might be expected.
He climbed up on the horse as he was told, loudly calling all to
witness that he was doing so under protest, and seated himself facing
the tail; and when the squire, Baldwin, sternly reproved him for his
folly he apologized in such ironical terms that the men-at-arms were
forced to turn away their heads to hide a smile. Encouraged by this he
broke loudly into song, but here the knight took a hand in the matter
and ordered them to tie his mouth up with a kerchief. Then he placed
himself at the head of his men, gave an order, and the troop turned
round and went back over the green ride.
Truly a bitter result of the children’s folly and disobedience to find
themselves borne far from their faithful friend Gorbo, to become the
captives of a king of ruthless fame.
And as the troop rode on, two and two, old Mother Meldrum was standing,
out of breath, at the edge of the dark wood, glaring at them from under
her hand and muttering deep curses.
_Part III_
THE DOINGS AT HOME
It will be well at this point of the narrative to return to the land
of the Snergs and consider the doings of King Merse II and his friend
Vanderdecken.
During their conference they had come to the decision that the children
and Gorbo must have got by some strange chance to the other side of the
river and were wandering about in the unknown country beyond, where not
even a Snerg had penetrated, or, for the matter of that, ever wished
to penetrate. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to devise some
means of following them there in force and rescuing them; though from
what dangers they were to be rescued no man could say.
Vanderdecken had considered carefully and asked whether, as the river
must reach the sea at some point, they could go along the coast and
cross it at its mouth. But King Merse told him that not only was it
very far to where the river came to the sea, but the country between
was all chasms and inaccessible cliffs, or else wild, matted jungle
coming down to the shore (which was full of quicksands) and that it
would take a week’s hard travel to get half-way there--that is to say,
to the part where it began to be really difficult--which put the lid on
that suggestion.
Then Vanderdecken asked if there was any narrow part of the river, and
he was told there was one point, some league or so from the town, where
the cliffs were not so very wide apart. But to make up for that they
were very high, and more than steep because they leaned over the river,
which rushed fiercely below almost in darkness, so far down was it.
Short of flying over, said the King, there was no way to pass there.
But Vanderdecken asked him to step out on the ground what he thought
would be about the distance across, and when this was done he nodded in
a satisfied way. Then he asked if there were trees on the farther side,
and being told there were many trees on both sides, growing close to
the edge of the cliffs he said, “This will be like drinking Schnapps,”
and (his own words reminding him) took the King in to have some. After
a little more conference, he arranged to meet him at the town on the
following morning as I have already related.
[Illustration]
THE INGENUITY OF VANDERDECKEN
In addition to their weapons and personal belongings the Dutchmen had
taken some ship’s gear with them. It consisted of the following:
1 long stout rope (spare topsail halyard).
1 coil of thin rope.
1 small anchor (belonging to the longboat).
1 stout iron bar (spare handle of deck pump).
1 strong net of rope (used for hoisting out of the hold).
2 saws.
3 axes.
4 adzes.
1 two-inch auger.
1 big hammer.
1 bag of nails and other small matters.
On arriving at the narrow part of the river, Vanderdecken walked to
and fro with his mate, looking at all points. At length he stopped and
said, “This is where we get busy.”
The opposite cliff was not very far away (possibly about two hundred
feet) and there were many trees about, growing close to the edge, as
the King had said. Far below could be seen flashes of white where the
torrent broke into foam as it roared on in the gloom.
A tall young tree, of a springy character, was cut down and the
branches were lopped off. Two sides were then cut away until it looked
something like a very long thick plank; the Snergs working at it with
great fury, so that the air was full of chips. Then they....
No, on second thoughts I consider it inadvisable to give a detailed
description of the device which Vanderdecken made. It would be to turn
from a narrative of adventure (with a moral) to a cheap treatise on
mechanics. Let it suffice to say that with great labour of all hands he
made a fairly good imitation of a Roman _balista_, which was so useful
in inducing besieged peoples to be reasonable by heaving tons of rock
at them. This shows the advantage of a classical education.
Instead of rock he was going to heave the anchor, with the rope
attached to it and neatly coiled up, to the other side of the river.
The other end of the rope was tied to a tree, and all that had to be
done was to cut another rope that acted as the trigger of this deadly
arrangement.
HOW THEY PASSED OVER THE RIVER
Vanderdecken carefully inspected the completed arrangements and, after
warning some enthusiastic Snergs to stand a little further off, drew
his cutlass. One dexterous slash and the rope parted, there was a
terrific jarr that shook some of the lighter Snergs off their feet,
and the anchor flew across the river like an ungainly bird, the rope
uncoiling in the air behind it, and crashed into the trees on the
opposite side. The Snergs raised a joyful cheer, but the Dutchmen,
being phlegmatic, did not. Instead, they grabbed the rope and hauled it
in. A dozen pairs of extra hands had it in a moment, and hauled with a
will to the tune of “Fifteen men.” The rope grew taut--then slipped.
They hauled away, and it caught again--slipped once more, and caught
again. And this time it had caught firmly, for all hands were pulling
and the rope was as taut as a rod. It was belayed smartly round a tree
and lashed securely, and a moment later a Snerg was hanging on to it
and going across with swift jerks.
He disappeared in the foliage (the first Snerg to arrive on the other
side; he got a decoration for it). A minute later he came running to
the edge of the cliff and shouted that all was well; the anchor had
caught firmly, with each fluke round a small but sufficient tree trunk.
The job was done. Here was a road to the unknown land quite good enough
for seamen, and more than good enough for Snergs, who can climb like
startled cats.
Vanderdecken expressed his satisfaction at the successful result, for
if the anchor trick had proved a failure it would have been necessary
to pad a Snerg up with lots of straw and shoot him across with a line
attached so that he could haul the rope over after arrival. There was a
great deal of resource and determination about this sea captain.
It was waxing late, for the construction of the device had taken the
greater part of the day, and there was no time to be lost if they
were all to get over before night. The rope was only as thick as a
fair-sized broom handle so it was decided that they would have to pass
over at long distances apart in order not to put too great a strain on
it, but they were told to move in lively fashion. Vanderdecken and the
King went first, and then the others--thirty-three Dutch seamen and two
hundred and one Snergs (the odd one was the trumpeter)--each carrying
his weapons and kit securely lashed to him because the position of
travel was of course upside-down, and it was quite dark before the
last one got over. Camp fires were soon burning brightly and each
man prepared his bed, of chopped-up ferns. Sentries were posted in an
orderly way, steel casques and breastplates being compulsory. Then,
after a hasty supper, they turned in for the night.
BOOT AND SADDLE
This heading is not quite correct because, though they had boots they
had no saddles, but it means that they were off. The trumpet blew a
full hour before daybreak, and by the time the dawn came they had
had some breakfast and were all ready. King Merse, who had something
of Napoleon’s ability, left full directions with a crowd of fifty
Snergs who had remained for the night on the Snerg side of the river.
They were to divide into two lots, one for each side, and the lot on
the enemy side was to dig a deep semicircular trench and make a high
semicircular wall to defend the point where the rope was anchored. The
lots were to change places every third day. And until they saw the
Expeditionary Force returning they were to send a daily messenger to
the town to say that all was well--meaning that nothing had happened
so far--and this message was to be forwarded on to Miss Watkyns by
a special runner. It is indeed terrible to think that all this fuss
should be caused by the folly and disobedience of two shrimps like
Sylvia and Joe.
The force started off in the direction of some rising ground, from
which they would be able to reconnoitre the country. Four agile
Snergs went some quarter of a mile ahead, and behind came the main
body, in fours, led by Vanderdecken and the King. The former wore
wide boots with tops like buckets and a sea-cap of fur, and carried
a long deadly-looking musket. The latter wore an inlaid cuirass and
steel casque and a sword of proof. In his hand he swung a double-edged
battle-axe and altogether he looked very serviceable for his size. The
Snergs that remained behind watched them marching away into the unknown
land, until the trees hid them from view and they could be seen no
more, and even the clumping of the Dutchmen’s sea-boots died away.
THE FIRST DAY’S MARCH
It was late in the afternoon when the Expeditionary Force halted on a
hill and surveyed with interest a little distant cluster of towers.
It was the first sign of habitation they had met with in a long, hard
march.
Their preliminary inspection of the country in the morning had shown
them only gently rolling plains, with patches of dense woods here
and there, which seemed to be quite uninhabited, so it was a toss-up
which way they should take. Vanderdecken had said that since they did
not know the proper course to steer it was best to make one and stick
to it; even if it led them away from the lost ones the same might be
said of any course, and they had to go somewhere. So they selected
sou’west-by-west and tramped it steadily for many hours, marvelling at
the strange absence of natives or roads or houses. Nor were there signs
of dragons or unicorns or other fierce fauna rumoured to be in the land
beyond the river. The fiercest thing they saw was a huge rabbit, with
claws; and all that it did was to make a nasty face at them and run
away.
The course was changed after a midday rest and they went
sou’east-by-south, Vanderdecken having given his opinion that since
they had met with nothing to guide them in the search it would be
best to go about on the other tack, which means to go zigzag. And so
at last they came to the hill-top and saw the distant towers, deep in
waving woods. The direction was taken, and they went down and through
the trees, and another couple of hours’ march brought them to the same
compact little stronghold in which, two days before, the wanderers they
were searching for had made themselves so much at home.
[Illustration]
THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE AGAIN
King Merse did not leave things to chance. He sent Snergs ahead in
pairs, as is advocated by militarists, and the main body came behind.
The scouts reported that the castle, though prosperous-looking, did not
appear to be a scene of activity. With the exception of smoke coming
from what they thought (and hoped) was a kitchen chimney, there was no
sign of life about it.
The Dutchmen re-primed their muskets and the Snergs got their bows
ready, and all approached and halted by the door in the outer wall;
then King Merse ordered his trumpeter to blow the horn which hung
outside.
I may mention that it had been decided that, to save time and
provisions, the country should be treated as an enemy country until the
contrary was proved.
The trumpeter blew (not inaptly) the Snerg equivalent of “Come to the
cookhouse door,” and after a brief interval a face appeared looking
down at them from the wall. It was a fat, pompous face, to which all
hands took an instinctive, but perhaps slightly unreasonable, dislike.
“What want ye, my masters?” said the face, looking contemptuously at
them.
“It would take too long to tell all we want,” replied King Merse, “but
just at this moment we want to come in and eat. We will tell you the
rest later.”
“And that may not be,” said the man, “for my lord is away and he has
given me strict orders to admit no one except on business.”
“But eating is right good business,” replied the King. “Come, good
fellow, do not keep us waiting.”
“I fear you will have to eat elsewhere,” the man said. “This castle
seems to be getting too popular with vagrants. But two days agone
some scurril knaves came in my temporary absence and ate a few scores
of eggs and a ham and left me to wash up after them. Be advised,
therefore, and go before I become an angered.”
King Merse, who was not the sort to waste time in unprofitable chat,
turned to his men.
“Burst me open this door,” he said.
“Nay, if you be so hardy in your ways,” cried the man with a sudden
change of tone, “I’ll even open to you. But I warn you that my lord is
terrible in his wrath.”
The door opened and there appeared before them a stout person, wearing
a long gown and a chain and carrying a wand of office, who was
evidently the steward of the castle. “Ay, terrible,” he went on. “If
he comes back and finds you here--oh, well, if you won’t listen, you
won’t.” He concluded on a peevish note, for the King and Vanderdecken
were going ahead of their men towards the wide stone steps that led to
the main door of the building, which stood open.
Within they found a commodious hall furnished with long tables and
benches, and with a raised dais at the end on which was a table of
superior finish and several carved arm-chairs.
“And now, good fellow,” said the King, after removing his steel
headpiece and seating himself at his ease, “to whom does this castle
belong?”
“To the famed Sir Bevis, Lord of the King’s marches,” replied the
steward, who had followed him in and who now seemed to think this a
case for discretion. “He guards the land against chance attack from the
fierce and cruel Snergs, who live on the other side of the deep river.
And now I must ask who you are and why----”
“And now tell me if you have seen two children wandering in these
parts, or if you have heard of two children wandering here. They should
be with a man of about my size.”
“I have seen no dwarf--I mean, no gentleman of your size. But I have
seen two children this very morning.”
“Where?” demanded the King, starting up.
“In the woods, gathering berries. But perchance it were an error to
call them children, for the youngest is sixteen and a stout varlet
for his age, and the other is some two years older and has a slight
beard. They are the sons of my gossip Hugh, the miller, and idle
vagabonds both as I have often said to Hugh and advised him to try what
rods will do, for if a child----”