That very evening the little King bade Plunk knit him a nice set of
silken reins. “First thing to-morrow morning I shall harness you to my
little carriage, and you shall give me a ride on the golden sands.”
Dearie me, considered poor Plunk, and where was he to hide from the
Dawn-Maiden when she would go down into the sea in the morning and
behold him thus to-morrow harnessed to a cart by his own son?
All the Sea King’s court slept. The Sea King slept. The wilful little
King slept—only Plunk was awake and knitting away at the reins. He
knitted fiercely, like one who is thinking hard. When it seemed to him
that the strings were strong enough, Plunk said to himself:
“I never asked anyone’s counsel when I was making a fool of myself, nor
shall I do so now that I have come to my senses.”
And as he said this he went softly up to the cradle where his son lay
fast asleep, wound the reins round and round the rockers of the cradle,
lashed the cradle to his own back, and started to run away with his son.
Softly Plunk strode over the golden sand—strode through the mighty Hall,
spacious as a wide meadow; slipped through the golden hedge, parting the
branches of pearls; and when he came to where the sea stood up like a
wall, nothing daunted, Plunk dived into the water with his boy.
But it is far—terribly far—from the Sea King’s fastness to the world of
day above! Plunk swam and swam; but how was a poor fisherman to swim
when he was weighed down by the little King—golden cradle, golden apple
and all—on his back?
Plunk felt as if the sea was piling itself up above him, higher and
higher, and heavier and heavier!
And just as Plunk was at the last gasp, he felt something scrape along
the golden cradle, something that caught in the rocker of the cradle;
and when it had caught fast, it began to haul them along apace!
“Now it’s all up with me!” said poor Plunk to himself. “Here’s a
sea-monster carrying me away on his tusk.”
But it wasn’t the tusk of a sea-monster; it was a bone fish-hook, the
very hook that Plunk’s wife had let down.
When the Woman felt that her hook had caught, she joyfully summoned all
her strength, pulling and hauling with all her might, for fear of losing
the great Big Bass.
As she began to haul in her catch the golden rocker began to show above
the water. The Woman could not distinguish it rightly by moonlight, but
thought: “It is the golden fin of the Bass.”
Next came up the child with the golden apple. Again the Woman thought:
“It is the golden apple on the fish’s fin.” And when at last Plunk’s
head came up, the Woman cried out joyfully: “And here is the head of the
great Big Bass.”
And as she cried out she hauled in her catch, and when she had hauled it
close alongside—why, dearie mine, how am I to tell you rightly how
overjoyed were those three when they met again in the boat, all in the
moonlight, in the middle of the Unknown Sea?
But they dare not lose any time. They had to pass through the three
caverns ere the monstrous watchers should awaken. So they took out the
oars and rowed with all their might and main.
But oh dear! the bad luck they had! When the little King awoke and saw
his mummy, he remembered her at once. He threw both his little arms
round his mummy’s neck—and the golden apple fell out of his hand. Down
fell the apple into the sea, down to the very bottom and into the Sea
King’s Castle, and hit the Sea King right on his shoulder!
The Sea King woke up, and bellowed with rage. All the court jumped to
their feet. They saw at once that the little King and his servant were
missing!
They gave chase. The mermaids swam out under the moonlight; the light
foam fairies flew out over the water; runners were sent out to rouse the
watchers in the caverns.
But the boat had already passed through the caverns, and so they had to
pursue it farther on. Plunk and the Woman were rowing—rowing for dear
life, their pursuers close in their wake. The mermaids whipped up the
waters; the swift foam fairies darted after the boat; the angry waves
rose up in wrath behind them; the wind howled from the clouds. Nearer
and nearer came the pursuers. The finest ship afloat would not have had
a chance, and how could a tiny two-oared boat? For hours and hours the
boat flew on before the tempest, and just as the day began to break, lo,
terror gathered from all sides around the boat.
For the hurricane beat upon the boat; the crested billows towered above
it; the mermaids joined in a ring around it. The ring heaved and swayed
around the boat; the mermaids raised their linked hands high to let the
mountainous waves pass through, but never let the little craft escape
the waves. Sea and storm whistled and roared.
The fear of death was upon Plunk, and in his dire need he cried out:
“Oh, fair Dawn-Maiden, help!”
The Dawn-Maiden arose from the sea. She saw Plunk, but never looked at
him. She looked at the little King, but no gift had she for him; but to
the faithful Wife she swiftly gave her gift—a broidered kerchief and a
pin.
Quickly they hoisted the kerchief, and it became a white sail, and the
pin turned into a rudder. The wind filled the sail, so that it bulged
like a ripe apple, and the Woman gripped the rudder with a strong hand.
The mermaids’ ring round the boat was broken; the boat rode upon the
azure sea like a star across the blue heavens! A wonder of wonders, it
flew over the sea before its terrible pursuers; the fiercer the pursuit,
the greater help it was to them; for the swifter the wind blew, the more
swiftly yet flew the boat before the wind, and the swifter the sea, the
more swiftly rode the boat upon the sea.
Already the rock-bound shore loomed afar, and upon the shore Plunk’s
little cottage and the bar of white sand before it.
As soon as the land hove in sight, the pursuit slackened. The foam
fairies fear the shore; the mermaids keep away from the coast. Wind and
waves stayed on the high seas, and only the boat flew straight ahead to
land like a child to its mother’s lap.
The boat flew to land over the white sand bar, and struck on a rock. The
boat split on the rock. Down went sail and rudder; down went the golden
cradle; away flew the Golden-winged Bee; and Plunk and his wife and
child were left alone on the beach outside their cottage.
When they sat down that night to their supper of wild spinach, they had
clean forgotten all that had happened. And but for those twin pipes,
there’s not a soul would remember it now. But whoever starts to play on
the pipes, the fat pipe at once begins to drone out about Plunk:
Harum-scarum Plunk would go
Where the pearls and corals grow;
There he found but grief and woe.
And then the little pipe reminds us of the Woman:
Rise, O Dawn, in loveliness!
Here is new-born happiness;
Were it three times drown’d in ill.
Faith and Love would save it still!
And that is the twin pipes’ message to the wide, wide world.
[Illustration]
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