A KNIGHT OF KING ARTHUR
And so Danny was alone as he walked across the village green towards
the circus field. He was keen to see those jugglers and the marvellous
conjurer, for tricks appealed to the detective instinct in him, and he
was wonderfully good at discovering how they were done.
The sun had just set, leaving in the sky a red glow that was fading
quickly into green. In the soft purple dusk the flaring lights away
ahead in the circus field looked very weird. Black figures hurried
about, making a confused shouting. The boat swing swayed regularly like
the pendulum of a huge clock. And over all there was the monotonous
sound of the organ in the roundabout, playing the same tune over and
over again.
Danny had the strange feeling in him which said, “Something is going
to happen.” But _what_ he did not know. Before long he was through
the gate, and himself one of the figures moving about between the
flaring lights. He could hear now what the shouting was. It was the
cocoanut-shy man persuading people to have a shy, while the lady at the
toffee-stall tried to shout him down and make them spend their money
with her instead.
Many other people were shouting, too, and stalking about in the
field Danny noticed Black Bill. He was giving final orders before
the performance began. Presently he went up to a big yellow caravan,
mounted the steps, and banged on the door. Someone inside opened it--a
very ugly old woman.
Black Bill spoke a few words to her, and she brought out someone else,
all shrouded up in a big black shawl. Taking this figure rather roughly
by the arm, Black Bill led it through the crowd towards the performers’
entrance of the big tent. Just then a bell was clanged and clashed, and
the crowd began to surge into the performance.
Danny went with it. He had one of the reserved seats in the front row.
It was the same performance as he had seen in the morning, but at
last came the time for the troupe of Indian Jugglers. They entered
amidst loud applause. There were two jugglers, a conjurer, and the
famous dancing girl. They all had dark-brown faces, and were dressed
in gorgeous colours, and much gold lace. The jugglers performed first,
juggling with plates and balls and knives. Then came the dancer. Danny
thought he was going to be rather bored with her, but as soon as she
began he was spellbound. He had never before seen anything so quick or
active or graceful. And she was cheered and encored again and again,
and each time her dance was different. At last she sank down tired out,
and Danny had a chance of looking at her face.
The first thing that struck him was that she looked frightened. He saw
her glance anxiously at Black Bill. Then it struck him that if she had
not been dark brown she would have been very pretty. Then he noticed
that she had grey eyes, and he began to feel sure that she was a white
girl painted brown. He had just come to these conclusions when the
conjurer stepped forward and began his tricks.
Unlike an English conjurer, he had no table, but kept all his
things--strange baskets, silk cords, bangles, knives--on the floor.
Behind sat the dancing girl on a cushion, and also the jugglers.
Presently the conjurer asked for a volunteer to come and help with the
trick.
Before any one had time to move Danny was over the balustrade, and
had stepped up and offered his services. He always did this at
entertainments, and had been able to discover many a trick by keeping
his eyes open. It was a difficult trick; another volunteer was called
for, and the two jugglers were also used to hold out a big Turkish rug.
When Danny had done what was required of him for the moment he was told
to sit down on one of the cushions and wait till he was wanted again.
It was as he sat here, not far from the dancing girl, that something
began to happen.
While the conjurer talked and the people laughed he heard a voice say
in a faint whisper:
“Don’t turn your head, Scout, but listen to me.”
“Yes?” he said.
“I am being kept prisoner by Black Bill. I am miserable. Oh, rescue me,
rescue me!”
“I will--but how?” said Danny, keeping his eyes on the conjurer, and
pretending to laugh as if he was amused at his jokes.
“Come to the big yellow caravan at midnight. Knock three times. Black
Bill will be out. The old woman sleeps sound. Then we can make a plan.”
Danny’s heart beat wildly. Here was an adventure such as he loved. And
the chivalry of rescuing a maiden in distress made him feel he was like
one of Arthur’s knights. Then a thought flashed into his mind--the
tramp’s missing daughter!
As Danny sat in the centre of the circus ring with the gas-lights
flaring and the band playing, it all seemed to him like some strange
dream, or as if he had stepped back into the past and was part of a
fairy tale. And there was a “princess” in the fairy tale, too. The
frightened grey eyes of the poor little dancer, with her brown face and
gleaming jewels, had awakened a chivalrous sense in him, that said, “I
will save her, or die in the attempt!”
Before long the time came for him to step forward and help the conjurer
once again--she had whispered her instructions only just in time. Danny
cared no longer for the tricks; he scarcely noticed what was happening
during the rest of the performance; his mind was working hard, turning
over plans by which he could save the girl from the clutches of Black
Bill, and get her out of the gipsy camp unseen.
The conjurer having finished all his tricks the Indian troupe went off,
and ladies in pink tights came on, riding white horses. But Danny had
no eyes for these; through a crack in the canvas he watched Black Bill
throw a cloak around the dancer and lead her out.
At last the show was over. The crowd surged out, and Danny with it.
In such a crush it would be easy to get near the yellow caravan,
unnoticed. Then it struck him that his scout uniform would make him a
marked figure. He must look as ordinary as possible, so as to attract
no one’s attention. Slipping into a dark corner between the big tent
and the lion’s cage, he began to disguise himself as best he could.
Taking off his hat he hid it under a heap of dirty straw. His red
neckerchief he folded up and put in his pocket. Taking off his shirt
he turned it inside out and put it on again, thus hiding from sight
his badges, Leader’s stripes, shoulder names, etc. He pulled up his
stockings over his knees, and then, as a last bright idea, tied an old
piece of sacking round his waist, like an apron. He had noticed that
the boy who cleaned out the animals’ cages wore just such an apron.
Now, by the flickering light of the gas flares, he would pass as one of
the circus hands.
Mingling with the crowd, he made his way towards the yellow caravan.
It stood a little apart; there was no cover near enough to conceal his
approach. What should he do? He stood looking about him. He _must_ hide
somewhere, for it was not quite eleven yet; there was over an hour
to wait until the coast would be clear for him to go to the yellow
caravan. At eleven all the people would be turned out of the circus
field, and only the gipsies would be left. Then, to his relief, he
noticed that the cart belonging to the boat swings was the nearest one
to the yellow caravan. It was empty save for the big tarpaulins used
for covering the swings when they were packed up. It would be a perfect
hiding place. He waited until some of the crowd moved that way, and
then he went too. Climbing quickly up by the wheel he slipped softly
inside and drew the tarpaulin over him. Breathlessly he listened, but
there was no sound of any one following him.
Presently a clock struck eleven, and a bell, like a very loud muffin
bell, clanged above the other circus noises, and Danny listened to the
sound of the crowd going out at the gate and making its way homewards
along the country roads. Then, very stealthily, he managed to peer out.
He saw a crowd of the gipsies collected round the big camp fire. The
red glow lit up their faces. Others hurried about, clearing up. And
among them Black Bill strode to and fro, giving orders.
Danny had managed to arrange himself in such a way that he could see
out quite easily, and yet not be seen. He watched anxiously while the
gipsies moved about, and one by one retired to their caravans. At last
there was no one left but the two night watchmen by the fire. Black
Bill had also retired to his caravan, which was drawn up alongside the
yellow one. At about a quarter to twelve Danny saw him come out and
walk towards the gate. The two watch men were evidently good scouts,
for they both turned at once and watched him go.
“Now’s my time,” said Danny to himself, with a queer feeling within
him, half of excitement, half of fear. The question of how he should
cross the open space from his hiding-place to the yellow caravan
troubled him, for the two night watchmen might very easily see him.
“If only a cloud would pass across the moon, I would make a dash for
it,” he told himself. Then he noticed something. The moon was throwing
the black shadow of the boat swings right across the open space to the
caravan. It was a narrow strip of shadow, but a good Scout can make use
of the smallest cover.
Slipping softly down from the cart on the side farthest from the
watchmen, Danny crawled round and lay quite flat for a moment in the
shadow. But the men did not move or turn their heads--they had not
heard him. Then, dragging himself along on his elbows, he slipped like
a snake along the black line, which made him invisible. When he was
half-way across, one of the ponies grazing near started, with a snort
of surprise. The two men turned at once and looked straight in Danny’s
direction. Instantly he dropped his head, hiding his face in the
grass; it was the only white thing about him, and might attract their
attention. With pounding heart he waited, not moving a muscle. But
there was no sound of approaching footsteps. Slowly he raised his head
and looked. Thank God, the men had not seen him!
Slowly, slowly he crept on, until he passed under the caravan. At last
he was safe on the other side. Standing up on the hub of the wheel he
tapped gently on the window. It was opened at once and he found himself
face to face with the dancing girl.