THE KING OF THE WOODCOCK
That night Fiona told her father that she believed she had found the
way to go. They also discussed the question of catching a woodcock;
with the result that Fiona was up at dawn and off to the kennels
behind the big house, where the Urchin's father kept his dogs. She
understood that she must take advantage both of the night frost and
the habits of the keeper, who was apt to lie in bed awhile when no one
was about.
The two setters stood on their hind legs to greet her, and pawed at
the bars, whining and dancing with joy. Artemis was white and brown
and Apollo was white and black. Fiona threw open the door, and they
were out in a moment, tumbling over each other as they made wild
rings round the grass, and dashing back in between to lick her hand.
She had to sit down and wait till the first exuberance was over, and
they came and lay down at her feet with their tongues out.
"It is good to be out so early," said Apollo.
"It's so slow in the kennel," said Artemis. "And we can't even talk to
each other, because Apollo was broken in English and doesn't know any
Gaelic, and I was broken by another man in Gaelic and don't know any
English."
"You'll interpret, won't you?" said Apollo. "Of course we've the
international code, but it doesn't take one much further than the
passwords."
So for the rest of the morning Fiona had not only to interpret but to
make every remark twice over, once in each language. But it will do if
the reader takes this for granted.
"What are we going to do?" asked Apollo.
So Fiona explained to them that she wanted to catch a woodcock and ask
him a question, and she hoped they would help her.
"Of course we will," said Artemis. "We know all about woodcock. When
we go out with himself, we find them for him and stand still, and then
he makes a noise and they fall down dead."
"Sometimes," said Apollo.
"Generally," corrected Artemis, loyally. "Will you make them fall down
dead?"
Fiona explained that she only wanted to catch one and talk to it.
"We never saw that done," said Apollo. "But we will find one, and then
you can catch it."
"It's very early for woodcock," said Artemis. "There won't be any in
the heather on the second of October. But there may be an early pair
in the ferns."
"The first ones always pitch in the ferns on Glenollisdal," said
Apollo.
So to Glenollisdal they went, down the shore road and across the
little bridge and then by the shepherd's track along the top of the
black cliffs, over grass and stones all rough and white with the
frost. The cold morning air was like new wine, and Fiona had to shade
her eyes from the low sun. Then the track left the cliffs and began to
climb up a sunless valley, across little burns beautiful with fading
ferns, till between two great moorland crags it reached the pass, more
a watercourse now than a track; and then came the cairn at the summit
of the pass, with its glorious view of sea and mountain, and down at
one's very feet the deep narrow valley that was Glenollisdal, seamed
from crest to foot by its deep burn, which ran half its length through
faded brown heather and then out to sea through a huge bed of dying
bracken, the whole bathed in the bright morning sun.
"We always come here the first day," said Apollo. "Oh, we are going to
have fun."
The three followed the track down to where it passed the top of the
fern bed. There was a good deal of grass there, dotted with sheep, and
in one place, looking well out to sea, a curious little hard circle
in the grass, where no sheep ever came.
"That is the fairy ring," said Artemis. "Where they dance, you know."
"They dance on All Hallows E'en," said Apollo. "But no one ever sees
them."
"Because everyone's afraid to go and look," said Artemis.
"Please, may we start?" said Apollo.
"All you have to do is to wait till we point," said Artemis, "and then
come to us."
And the two dogs dashed off into the great fern bed, crossing each
other backwards and forwards like a pair of scissors as they quartered
it.
They were not long about it. Apollo's gallop became a sort of run, a
yard or two of stealthy crawl, and he stopped dead, tail stiff and
throat distended, like a dog of marble, and looked round for Fiona.
Artemis was just crossing him; she whipped round in her stride as if
shot and became a second marble image where she stood.
Fiona walked down to Apollo. But the ferns rustled a good deal as she
made her way through, and as she reached the dog's side the cock rose,
five yards away, with a lazy careless flap as if it felt only the
bother of being disturbed. For a moment she had a vivid impression of
the white patches at the end of its fan of tail feathers, and then it
gradually gathered speed and swept away over the side of the valley;
for an instant it showed black as it crossed the sky line, and then it
was gone.
Apollo turned to Fiona with unhappy eyes and licked her hand. But
Artemis never moved a muscle.
"Come to me," she said in a low whisper.
Very quietly Fiona reached her side.
"The other bird is here," whispered Artemis, "just under my nose.
Stoop down."
Fiona bent down between the stalks of the bracken. The woodcock was
sitting with its back to her, a little brown bunch of feathers. Very
gently she put her hand out, and even as she did so she became aware
of a wise black eye looking at her, though the bird faced the other
way. Her hand closed on the empty air, and the woodcock, with a
wonderful spring, was well on its way to seek its mate.
"I believe I could have put a foot on it," said Artemis regretfully.
"But of course we are not allowed to."
"I don't know how I came to be so foolish," said Fiona. "I ought to
have spoken to it instead of trying to catch it. But I forgot."
"Better luck next time," said Apollo; "we must try again."
But though the dogs worked the whole of the ferns carefully, there was
no other bird there.
They came back and lay down beside Fiona, tongues out and panting.
"It's no use trying the heather yet, I know," said Artemis. "Birds are
never in it at this time of year."
"There are some more ferns two miles on," said Apollo doubtfully. "I
saw a bird there once, three years ago."
"I wish I knew what to do," said Fiona.
"We can leave it for a day or two and come back," said Artemis. "Those
two birds will be back again to look for each other."
"But they won't be so confiding again," added Apollo.
They were all so preoccupied that they never noticed the shepherd till
he was quite close to them. He was striding down the track, a big,
raw-boned man with red hair; a plaid was thrown loosely across his
shoulder; at his heels followed a jet black collie.
The dogs saw him first. It would seem that they did not like him.
Every hair on their necks bristled; they shrank close to Fiona, making
little moaning noises in their throats, and flattening themselves as
if they were trying to burrow into the ground. Their eyes were full of
terror.
"Why, Artemis, Apollo, what's the matter?" said Fiona. Then she looked
up and saw the shepherd. "Why, it's only the new shepherd and his
collie. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"Collie!" said Apollo. "That thing's not a collie. Can't you see?"
"Shepherd!" echoed Artemis. "That thing's not a shepherd. Oh, can't
you see?"
The shepherd came up to Fiona, and said that Miss Fiona was out early
and was there anything he could be doing for her. He spoke in the soft
correct English of the Gael.
"I came out to catch a woodcock to talk to it," said Fiona, "and we
can't catch one."
It occurred to her, even as she spoke, that the statement sounded a
little out of the ordinary. But the rough shepherd never let the least
sign of this show on his face. He answered in the most matter-of-fact
way, with the gentle courtesy of the west coast, that there would not
be many woodcock in yet, and would he try to catch one for Miss Fiona?
"Oh, do you think you could?" said Fiona eagerly. "I should be so
grateful."
Then the shepherd saw the trouble of the dogs. He said something to
them in a language that was neither English nor Gaelic, and waved his
own dog to go. The collie went straight off up the moor, and sat down
on the top of the nearest rock ledge, an odd little blot of black on
the brown and yellow moorland. Apollo and Artemis got up and shook
themselves violently.
"It was the international password," said Apollo. "Goodness knows
where he got it from. But we have to recognize it."
"I'm not happy," said Artemis. "I was well brought up. I never
associated with this sort of thing before."
Fiona, who knew that a new shepherd had been coming, could make
nothing of their trouble, and did her best to smooth them down. The
shepherd led the way up the hill, and on to a little rough plateau
broken with rocks and bits of heather, lying under the main rise of
the hill where it rounds away toward the Glenollisdal burn. "I am
thinking that there should be a woodcock about here," he said.
"This is one of the earliest places in all the heather," whispered
Artemis to Fiona. "He must know this moor very well."
"It's too early yet, all the same, even for here," said Apollo.
It looked as if Apollo were right. For when at the shepherd's request
Fiona threw the dogs off, they quartered the whole plateau and found
nothing.
But the shepherd stuck to his guns.
"I am thinking that there should be a bird here," he said. "Will Miss
Fiona give me leave to try my own dog?"
Fiona nodded and called the setters to heel; the shepherd waved his
hand, and the black collie came racing to him. Some collies will work
a ground like a spaniel, and some will even do a little pointing, but
the black collie troubled himself neither with one nor the other. When
the shepherd spoke to him, he just cantered straight forward to a
small patch of heather on the sunless side of a rock, where the frost
still lingered, and there sat down quite unconcerned, as though the
matter in hand were altogether beneath the scope of his talents.
"I think he has a bird," said the shepherd.
"I tried that place," said Apollo. "There's nothing there."
But the shepherd had gone up to his dog and was peering carefully into
the heather. Then he beckoned Fiona.
"Does Miss Fiona see the bird?" he asked, pointing.
Fiona looked long before she saw. The woodcock had squeezed himself
right into the roots of a frost-covered clump of heather, and even
when the heather was parted nothing showed but his little orange tail,
with its white and black points.
"Shall I catch him for Miss Fiona?" asked the shepherd; and Fiona
said, "Oh yes, please, if you will."
The shepherd knelt down and brought his two great hands slowly to
either side of the tuft of heather; then he closed them with a snap,
and drew out the largest woodcock Fiona had ever seen. It struggled
and thrashed at his wrists with its powerful wings.
"Will Miss Fiona take the bird now?" he said. "Just behind the wings,
with her thumbs on its back."
So Fiona took her bird, and as she did so its back-seeing eye caught
the glint of her copper bangle. It stopped thrashing with its wings
and lay quite still in her hands.
"Oh, I say," he said, "why didn't you say before, instead of employing
these people and frightening an honest bird out of his senses?"
"My dogs couldn't find you," said Fiona. "And I think it was so good
of the shepherd to find you for me."
"Shepherd!" said the woodcock. "That wasn't a shepherd. And it wasn't
a collie either."
Fiona suddenly recollected that she had not yet thanked the shepherd,
and turned to do so. But the shepherd and collie were gone. They must
have walked very quickly to have turned the corner of the hill
already.
"Where did he go?" she asked Artemis. Artemis shivered.
"To his own place, I hope," said Artemis severely. "Well brought up
dogs should not be asked to associate with things like that."
"But it was only the new shepherd," said Fiona.
"There's the new shepherd," said Artemis, nodding toward a distant
slope, where a figure with a brown collie could be seen gathering
sheep.
"What were they, then?" asked Fiona.
"Two of the Little People, of course," said Apollo. "Oh dear, oh dear,
I'm afraid you'll have trouble."
"One generally dies," said Artemis, with cheerful consolation.
"But they were very nice to me indeed," said Fiona.
"Of course they were," said the woodcock. "You're privileged, you
know. _We_ all know it. And don't you mind the dogs, my dear. They
are good creatures, but they and their forbears have lived so long
with humans that they have forgotten most of the things we know. They
are nearly as blind as humans now, saving your presence, my dear. And
now what is it you want with me?"
"I want to find the King of the Woodcock," said Fiona.
"Bless your heart," said the bird, "and who do you suppose We are? You
never saw a woodcock Our size before, did you?" And indeed Fiona never
had; for he was as big as a young grouse.
"Eighteen and a half ounces, if I'm a pennyweight," said the woodcock.
"I am the heaviest king that we have ever had. Will you please put me
down if you want to talk to me? It is hardly consonant with my royal
dignity to be held. I shan't fly away; _noblesse oblige_, you know."
So Fiona put him down, and he arranged himself like a bunch of
feathers on the ground, his head well back between his shoulders and
his beady black eyes looking all round him at once.
"Why didn't Apollo find you?" asked Fiona.
"No scent," said the woodcock, proudly. "I am not like a common bird.
No dog can find a king woodcock; and no dog ever has. We can be beaten
out of a wood, of course; my great-great-grandfather was shot like
that when the family lived in Norfolk, many years ago. So we came up
here to the open heather, and have been quite safe ever since. And now
what do you want, my dear?"
"I was told you could let me into Fairyland," said Fiona.
"I can let you in by the back door," the bird said. "But are you
really going to Fairyland? You'll need some courage, you know, if you
are going the back way."
"Is there another way?" asked Fiona.
"There's the front door, of course," said the bird. "But no one can go
that way without an invitation. Have you an invitation?"
"No," said Fiona.
"A pity," said the woodcock. "There is no danger that way. But without
an invitation you could not even find the door. As it is, you'll have
to go in by the back way and take your risks."
"I have to go, whatever they are," said Fiona.
"_Noblesse oblige_," said the woodcock. "Quite so, quite so. Have you
been told about the wish?"
"Yes," said Fiona. "I know about that."
"The other thing," continued the bird, "is that you must stick to the
main path. Remember that. You must not turn out of it for any reason
of any kind. You'll see lots of side paths, and you'll see other
things too; but if you once leave the main path by so much as one step
you'll never get home again. There are no short cuts to Fairyland."
"Thank you so much," said Fiona. "But how shall I know the main path?"
With his long bill the woodcock tweaked the point feather out of one
of his wings and gave it to her.
"This will take you through," he said. "It will point the right way
for you; that's why it is called the point feather. Just follow it. If
you are frightened and want to leave your search and come home, tap on
the ground with it and you will be back in Glenollisdal. But somehow I
don't think you will. And whatever you do, don't lose it. When you
reach the fairy grove, show it to the guardian, and he will let you
in; and mind you don't go in unless he shows you its fellow. Oh, I'm
all right, thank you; I'll have grown others long before they are
needed. There is no great rush to Fairyland on the part of people who
haven't _got_ to go, my dear."
"It all sounds so much more difficult than I thought," said poor
Fiona.
"Nothing worth while is ever easy," said the woodcock. "And now I'll
show you where to start. By the bye, you can't take the dogs with
you."
"This dog wouldn't go," said Artemis, shivering. "That black collie's
there somewhere."
"Don't bother about us," said Apollo. "We'll be home long before the
keeper is out of bed."
So Fiona took a warm farewell of the two dogs, who lamented her sad
fate and wished her luck all in one breath, and then set off homeward
with their long swinging gallop.
"And now, if you want to be in time for the great gathering, which you
humans call Hallow E'en, you'll have to hurry," said the woodcock.
"But it's nearly a month to Hallow E'en," said Fiona.
"You'll want every minute of it," said the bird. "Come on."
And they started off for the fairy ring, the woodcock pattering along
on his little feet at a pace which would have surprised anyone who had
never seen a woodcock do it.
"How come you to be doorkeeper?" asked Fiona, as they went.
"Hereditary," said the bird. "We used to go to all the lost lands, you
know, like Lyonesse and Lemuria and Bresil and Atlantis. We still
cross Ireland once a year and pass on into the Atlantic to salute the
site of Plato's island, before we settle in Britain. And Fairyland is
only another of the lost lands. Here we are."
They had come to the fairy ring.
"There's nothing more I can do now," said the woodcock. "A straight
step and a stout heart, my dear."
Fiona took the feather in her hand and stood in the fairy ring.