Once more I grow tired of the quiet pleasures of home. The elder Baron
opposes my leaving the land. His reasons. How I freed the ancestral
estates from the pests of moles, meadow-mice and ground-squirrels;
and how I set out for the Indies with my faithful Bulger. I enter a
wild and untrodden territory. Wonderful transformation of day into
night, and night into day. The huge fire-flies. My capture of one
and what it brought forth. How I reached the borders of
Palin-mâ-Talin, the Great Gloomy Forest. Benè-agâ the blind guide.
My sojourn in his cave. I enter Palin-mâ-Talin under his guidance.
Strange adventures in the Great Gloomy Forest. Benè-agâ takes leave
of me. My advance is blocked by Bōga-Drappa, the Dread Staircase. My
flight down its treacherous steps. I enter the land of the
Umi-Lobas, or Man-Hoppers. Am carried a prisoner to their king.
Something about him and his people. King Gâ-roo’s affection for me.
His gift to me of copies of all the books in the royal library—All
about the princess Hoppâ-Hoppâ. I am condemned to a life-long
imprisonment among the Umi-Lobas. I plan an escape. How it was done.
Efforts of King Gâ-roo to capture me. Farewell of little princess
Hoppâ-Hoppâ. How I sailed away from the land of the Umi-Lobas, and
made my way back across India. My return home.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF ONE OF MY MOUSERS IN RUBBER BOOTS.]
Like all lovers of a roving life, I was not long in growing tired of the
quiet ways and simple pursuits of the inmates of the old baronial hall.
At times, I felt like an intruder, when I caught myself sitting with
eyes riveted upon the pages of some musty, old volume of strange
adventure in far-away lands, while the elder baron, the gracious
baroness, my loving mother, and several cousins from the neighboring
estate, gave themselves up to the sweet pleasures of the fireside,
feasting upon honey-cake, drinking hot spiced wine, playing at draughts,
dominoes, or cards, now chatting in the most animated manner of the
trivial things of every-day life, now bursting out into uproarious
laughter at some unexpected victory won at cards or at some fireside
game.
Silently closing my book, and still more silently stealing away, I
sought the quiet of my apartments, where, with no other companions, save
faithful Bulger, I gave myself up to unrestrained indulgence in waking
dreams of life in a storm-rocked ship, landings on strange shores,
parleyings with curious beings, battling with the wild-visaged typhoon,
or hurrying with sails close-reefed and hatches battened down, to gain a
safe port ere the storm king’s ebon chargers could rattle their hoofs
over our heads.
My dear mother, the gracious baroness, made extraordinary exertions to
drive away my low spirits.
Knowing my fondness for coffee cake, she suffered no one to make it for
me excepting herself. And at dinner she took care to place a professor
or, some learned person beside me, so that I might not find myself
condemned to silence for the want of a gifted mind to measure mental
swords with.
But all to no purpose. I grew daily more taciturn, absent-minded, and
plunged into meditation. With my eyes fixed upon vacancy, I sat like one
with unbalanced mind amidst the lightest-hearted merry-makers. In vain
the company besought me to relate past adventures, to tell them tales
already thrice told. I only shook my head with a mournful smile, and
made good my escape from scenes which were painful to me.
Bulger felt that his little master was suffering, and coaxed with
plaintive whining to have me make known to him the cause of my grief.
His joy was wild and boisterous when he saw my body-servant enter my
apartments, bearing an empty traveling chest upon his shoulders.
To tell the truth, life at the baronial hall pleased Bulger not a whit
more than it did me.
The house dogs annoyed him with their attentions, and he was wont to
retire from the dining hall with a look of utter disgust upon his face,
when one of the family cats, in the most friendly spirit, drew near and
tasted a bit of his dinner.
All caresses, too, from other hands than mine were distasteful to him;
and, although for my sake he would permit the gracious baroness to
stroke his silken ears, yet any familiarity on the part of the elder
baron was firmly, but respectfully, declined.
The very moment I saw my chests placed here and there in my apartments,
my spirits rose. I became like another being. The color returned to my
cheeks, the gleam to my eye, the old-time ring to my voice.
From lip to lip, the word was passed: “The little baron is making ready
for another journey!”
From early morn to deepening shadows of twilight, I busied myself with
superintending the packing of my boxes. It was a labor of love with me.
I never was born for a calm life beneath the time-stained tiles of
paternal halls! My heart was filled with redder, warmer blood than
ordinary mortals. My brain never slept. Night and day, shadowy forms of
men and things, strange and curious, swept along before me in
never-ending files.
One morning, while at work with my boxes, a low knock at my chamber door
fell upon my ear. Bulger, scenting an enemy, gave a low growl. I swung
the door open. It was the elder baron.
“Honored father,” I cried gayly, “act as if thou wert master here! Be
sad, be gay; sit, stand, drink, eat, or fast!”
“Little baron,” began my father in a solemn voice, “I beseech thee give
over thy jesting. When thou hast heard the object of my visit, grief
will chase every vestige of mirth from thy light heart.”
“Speak baron!”
“Art thou a dutiful and loving son?” asked my father, fixing his dark,
mournful eyes full upon me.
“I am!”
“’Tis well!” he replied, “then arrest this making ready to abandon thy
parents in their hour of misfortune. Put an end to all this unseemly
hurlyburly, and to thy longing to be gone from beneath the paternal
roof.”
The clouded face, trembling and tear-filled eyes of the elder baron
shocked me. I could feel the blood leaving my cheeks, where, till then,
it had bloomed like the glow of ripening fruit.
But I checked myself; and, motioning the baron to be seated, said in a
calm—though spite of me—trembling voice:
“Noble father, it is thine to command; mine to obey! Speak, I pray thee,
and speak too, plainly—if need be, harshly. Bare thy most secret
thoughts. What aileth thee? What sends these dark shadows to rest on
that calm, smooth brow?”
“Thanks, little baron,” was my father’s reply, “for thy promise of
obedience. This is the weight which presses on my heart: Since thou hast
taken up this rambling, roving life, robbed of thy counsel and
co-operation, I have seen our ancestral estate hastening to ruin. Last
year our tenantry scarcely harvested enough to keep body and soul
together. This year promises to turn out worse yet. Desolation sits upon
the broad acres once the prize of our family! Crops fail, grass withers,
trees turn yellow! The poor cattle moan for sustenance as they winder
about in the dried-up pastures. I look upon all this wreck and ruin, but
am helpless as a babe to stay it! Speak, my son; wilt thou, hast thou
the heart, canst thou be so cruel as to turn thy back upon these pitiful
scenes without raising thy hand to avert the impending doom?”
“Baron!” I interposed mildly, but firmly, “facts first! eloquence
thereafter! Impart unto me, in plain, King’s speech, the cause of all
this ruin! What hath wrought it? What hath desolated our fair fields?
What hath carried this rapine among our flocks and herds? Speak!”
“I will, little baron, give attentive ear!” rejoined my father with
stately bend of the body:
“As ancient Egypt was visited with scourge and plague, so have been our
ancestral acres! In pasture and grain fields, myriads of moles feed upon
the tender rootlets; in grass lands, swarms of meadow-mice fatten on the
herbage; in orchards and nurseries, countless numbers of
ground-squirrels spread destruction far and near! Such are the terrible
scourges now laying waste our once fair estates, your pride and mine,
and the envy of all beholders!
“Little baron, I feel, I know that thou canst help me; that somewhere in
the vast storehouse of thy mind, rest plans and devices potent enough to
restore these broad lands to all their former beauty and
productiveness.”
“Baron!” was my reply, “when was there a time that thou foundst me
wanting in my duty to thee or lacking in power to assist thee?”
“Never!” ejaculated the elder baron with great emphasis.
“Then, betake thee to my gentle mother—the baroness—thy consort, comfort
her. Bid her take heart! Say I will not go abroad until these pests are
driven from our ancestral domain!”
The elder baron rose. I accompanied him to the door, then, we saluted
each other with dignity and he withdrew to bear the glad message of my
promised assistance to my sorrowing mother.
Alone in my apartments, a terrible feeling of disappointment came over
me. I felt that it would be useless to continue in my preparations to
leave home in the face of these dire misfortunes now threatening my
family. For, as I reasoned—and I think with great clearness—the name of
our family would dwindle to a shadow, were we robbed of these broad
acres of pasture and meadow-land, forest and orchard.
To me, a landless nobleman had something very ludicrous about him; and I
fully made up my mind that I would either save my ancestral estate from
ruin, or lay aside forever my title of baron, as a gem which had lost
its radiance, even as a pearl, which the stolid rustic ruins for the
sake of a meal of victuals!
That night I partook of no food, so that I might lie down with unclouded
mind.
Bulger noticing this, concluded that his little master was ailing, and
likewise refused to touch food, although I ordered his favorite
dish—roasted cocks’ combs—to be prepared.
Till midnight I lay awake in deepest thought over the arduous task which
confronted me. At the stroke of twelve from the old clock on the stair,
I determined to let my mind work out the problem itself, and turned over
and went to sleep.
The baron and baroness entered the breakfast-room with unclouded brows
the next morning. I greeted them very cordially. The conversation was
enlivened by one or two of the elder baron’s ancient anecdotes which he
furbished up for the occasion with several new characters and an
entirely new ending. I laughed heartily—as I was in duty bound to do.
Breakfast over Bulger and I sallied forth to begin work. I resolved to
attack the moles first.
To get rid of pest number one was not at all a difficult matter for me,
when once I set about thinking it over. In fact, I may say right here,
that this task, set me by the elder baron, would have been an impossible
one had it not been for my intimate acquaintance with the natures,
habits and peculiarities of animal life. Always a close student of
natural history there was little about the four-footed tenants of the
fields which had escaped my observation.
Accompanied by Bulger; armed with a pair of short, wooden tongs; and
carrying a basket, I set out for the grain fields.
Bulger was in high glee for he had already made up his mind that there
was sport ahead for him.
In less than an hour, with him to point out their hiding places and to
unearth them, I had captured a hundred moles. Returning to the
overseer’s lodge, with his help I cut off the nails of each mole’s fore
feet close to the flesh and then gave orders to have the lot carried
back to the grain fields and released. Turning my attention now to the
meadow-mice, I realized at once that to get rid of pest number two would
be the most difficult task of all.
The unthinking reader has doubtless already cried out in thought: “Why
not turn a troop of cats into the meadows, and let them make short work
of the destructive little creatures?”
Ah how easy it is to plan, how difficult to execute! Know then, my
clever friend, that the meadows were wet and that though often tried the
cats absolutely refused to enter them.
The merest tyro in natural history is aware of a cat’s aversion to
wetting its fur; and, above all, of stepping into water. Even moisture
is disagreeable to a cat’s feet and she will willingly walk a mile
rather than cross a plot of dew-moistened green sward. However, I
determined to begin my operations at once.
Knowing the wonderful changes which the pangs of hunger will work in an
animal’s nature, forcing the meat-eaters to turn to the herbage of the
field for sustenance—I hoped for favorable results.
Selecting half a dozen vigorous young cats from the cottages of our
tenantry, and providing myself with a lot of India rubber caps used for
drawing down over the necks of bottles, in order to make them air-tight,
I proceeded to encase the legs of each cat in these coverings, cutting a
hole in each one, however, so as to allow the paws to pass through. I
wished to accustom them to these leggings before covering the feet
entirely. My next step was to subject the cats to twenty-four hours
fast. After which, I caused some of their favorite food—broiled fish to
be placed at the other end of a long room, covering the intervening
space with long-napped rugs, which I had first dipped into water.
In spite of their hunger, they absolutely refused to cross the dripping
rugs.
Advancing to the edge, they tested the condition of the obstacles which
blocked their advance upon the savory food feeling here and there for a
dry spot; and then retreating with piteous mewing, as they shook the wet
from their feet.
Drawing the rubber caps completely over the feet of one of the cats, I
now placed her on the wet rug, encouraging her to remain there by
feeding her a few dainty bits of the fish. Finding that her feet did not
get wet, she consented to walk here and there over the wet surface, in
order to secure toothsome bits of food. I made the same experiment with
the other cats, and everything went as well as I could wish.
The next day I continued my instruction, and to my great joy, succeeded
in schooling the whole lot, not only to make no objection to having
their feet encased in the rubber boots, but even to wade through an inch
or more of water, in order to secure a particularly dainty bit of food.
I was now ready to make a practical test of my trained hunters.
The day preceding the trial they were again subjected to a prolonged
fast.
I must frankly confess that my heart beat rather nervously as I, with
the overseer and two other assistants set out for the low lands,
carrying the trained mousers—already shod in their rubber boots—in three
baskets.
We advanced cautiously upon the meadow-land, but so far as the mice were
concerned, our caution was useless, for they ran about under our very
feet.
As I stood gazing over the long stretch of devastated meadow-land, once
so famous for its thick, velvety grass, the tears gathered in my eyes
and my voice choked. Now or never, thought I, must the attempt be made
to save these fair fields from utter ruin. At a wave of my hand, my
assistants stooped and released the somewhat startled cats. They were
not long, however, in collecting their wits and getting ready for
business.
Sharp hunger is an excellent sauce! As the six monsters leaped among
those troops of tiny creatures—till that moment nibbling, playing or
teasing one another, without a thought of harm or danger—the wildest
consternation seized upon them.
Not only near by us, but as far as the eye could reach, panic and
disorder spread among these, till then peaceful little beings. Those
which sought safety in their holes were hurled back by others rushing
frantically out into the open air.
The cats kept at their work like avenging furies. They killed for the
mere pleasure of killing, passing like a death-dealing blast here and
there over the meadows.
After the work of destruction had been kept up for half an hour, I
directed that the trained six should be carried back to their quarters,
for I was too good a general to let my troops get their fill of sack and
plunder.
The next day another attack was made upon the enemy. The trained six, if
anything, spread death right and left with greater fury than at first.
The wet lands no longer had any terrors for them. They splashed through
the puddles like mischievous boys through roadside brooks and ponds.
I now bethought me of turning my attention to the ground squirrels. My
first step was to send to town for several bushels of the smallest
marbles that could be purchased. Then, having, with the assistance of my
ever-faithful and loving friend and helper—my dear, dumb brother
Bulger—located the whereabouts of several hundred burrows of the
ground-squirrels, I gave orders to have a half-dozen or more of the
marbles rolled down into each one of those holes.
These labors completed, I withdrew to my apartments and set about
amusing myself in several ways, while awaiting a report from the
overseer.
Many of the tenants who had watched my operations against the moles,
meadow-mice and ground-squirrels, even ventured openly to denounce them
as “wild whims”, “a dreamer’s ideas” “silly workings of a diseased
mind.”
Poor creatures! They had lost their all. They had seen the labor of long
weary months ruined by these pests. They were embittered and skeptical.
I had not the heart to notice their rather impertinent utterances. While
awaiting the developments, I plunged into the delights of some tales of
a bold traveler written in the ancient Assyrian tongue in the
wedge-shaped letter.
Three days went by and no news from the superintendent!
Two more, made five full days!
On the sixth came nothing.
At last, with the dawn of the seventh I was awakened by loud and long
continued cheering beneath my windows. Springing from my bed and drawing
aside the curtains, I was astonished to see long lines of our tenantry,
men, women and children bearing banners, wreaths, garlands, etc.
One company of children carried long, thin rods from the end of which
dangled dead moles, meadow-mice and ground-squirrels.
The moment I presented myself at the window, there was an outburst of
cheering, so sturdy that the windows rattled before it. A tap at my door
called me in another direction. It was the elder baron!
“Haste! little baron!” he cried eagerly “descend to the castle platform,
the people are beside themselves with joy! Canst thou catch their cries?
Not a mole, nor a mouse, nor a squirrel is alive on the broad acres of
thy estate. I say “thy” because it is justly thine! Thou hast saved it
from utter ruin. Henceforth for the few years which kind Providence may
will that I should tarry with thee, let it be as thy guest.”
“Nay, nay, baron!” I replied laughingly, “that may not be! Till thou
sleepest with the noble dead of our long and honored line, thou art
master here!”
I pressed his hand reverently to my lips and sent him to talk to the
people until I should be ready to take my place at his side.
I can well fancy how impatient the reader is to hear something more
about the manner in which I rid my ancestral estate of these noisome
pests. With regard to the meadow-mice that needs no explanation, but,
the disappearance of the moles and ground-squirrels seems somewhat
mysterious.
Well and good. I’ll make it clear! Gentle reader, if you had been as
close a student of the natures and habits of these animals as I, you
could have done the same thing yourself. You must know, then, that the
mole’s body bears about the same relation to his forefeet, as a boiler
does to a steam engine, which is admirably adjusted in all its parts,
working smoothly and noiselessly, like a thing of life—polished and
beautiful in all its bearings and put together so skillfully that no
human thought could better it. That is to say, the only wonderful thing
about a mole is his hand.
That is a delight to a student of natural history.
I have sat for hours and studied the marvelous shape of this hand. And
strange though it may seem to you, no one knows better than the mole
himself, that therein lies his hold on life.
You’ll bear in mind, that I caused the nails to be clipped off the
forefeet of the hundred moles, close to the flesh, and then turned them
loose. In other words, without absolutely destroying their marvellous
hands, I completely destroyed their usefulness.
Now another thing you must be taught, that in the busy communities of
these little animals, there are no sluggards. Every one must work. Only
one thing stops him from using his hands.
That is death. When a mole sees his fellow stop work, he knows what has
happened.
Upon the return of the hundred captives to their burrows, there was joy
mingled with terror!
Whose turn might come next?
But, when the moment arrived to fall into line and set to work, there
was consternation!
What! alive, and not able to dig?
Immediately, the wildest panic seizes upon the community. They abandon
their homes! With frantic haste, they pierce new burrows in every
direction, leaving their ill-fated companions behind them to die a
lingering death—literally buried alive. Weeks, months will elapse ere
they recover from this wild fear. Then they will be miles away.
And the ground-squirrels, you ask. The ground-squirrel is as conceited,
inquisitive, persistent and hard-headed as he is hard-toothed. If he
knew that the world was round he would claim that it was simply a huge
nut and wish that he were big enough to get at its kernel.
When the marbles first came rolling down his burrow, he was pleased.
They were so smooth, so round! He rolled them hither and thither, as
content as a child with a new toy. Then he stored them away for another
day’s amusement. Pretty soon he began to tire of them. They were
dreadfully in his way. They annoyed him greatly. And yet, he couldn’t
bear to think of parting with them. Finally the question arose in his
mind: What are they, anyway? Surely they must have a kernel! And so he
set to work gnawing upon them. They were terribly hard, but he was
determined to get at the pit. Day after day, he kept at the thankless
task, gnawing, gnawing, until, one fine morning, he awoke to make the
awful discovery that his teeth were gone!
Now, a ground-squirrel may be said to consist of four teeth, and nothing
else. These gone there is no way to keep the other part alive.
True, he may, after infinite labor struggle through a nutshell, but it
is too slow work to keep up his strength. Every nut becomes a harder
task.
And so it was with the vast colony in our orchards. The first few days
quite a number made their appearance as usual. Then, fewer and fewer
came out of their holes, and they looked thin and feeble and showed no
inclination to gambol and chatter. At the end of the week, the work was
done. They had wrought their own destruction. The entire colony had
perished from starvation.
Thus it was, I restored the fair lands of our family to their old-time
productiveness and removed all the obstacles which stood between me and
my immediate departure from home.
In a few days all was ready.
The elder baron and the gracious baroness, my mother, parted from me
with a gentle rain of tears, and a refreshing shower of blessings.
Accompanied by my dumb brother—the ever faithful Bulger—and one trusty
servant, I set out by extra post for Vienna.
Thence at break-neck speed, I journeyed to Buda-Pesth and reached the
Black Sea via Bucharest.
Traversing that body of water in a swift vessel, commanded by an old
sailing-master of mine, I skirted the foot hills of the Caucasus
Mountains, and made my way to Teheran.
Here I tarried several days, long enough to purchase a few camels and
horses and join a caravan, soon to leave that city on a trading
expedition.
The proprietor of the trading company renewed his welcome in heartier
terms when he was informed that I had brought a goodly collection of
European trinkets with me.
To clinch his good will—so to speak—I gave him a pair of fine German
pistols.
We were now sworn friends.
I remained with the expedition until it reached Cabul. The proprietor
was astounded to learn that I did not contemplate returning westward
with him. After a whole day spent in eloquent pleadings, he gave in,
fell upon my neck, wept, and wished me good speed.
I was glad to be rid of him, for I was in no humor to form friendships
with men whose souls never rose above a sharp bargain. Attended only by
my faithful Bulger and a single guide, I set out from Cabul; crossed
northern Hindoostan, and entered Thibet to the north of the Himalayas.
This was the land of which I had long dreamed—a land absolutely unknown
to the outside world.
I never had any inclination to pass over beaten tracks. By nature and
education, a lover of the strange and marvellous, my soul expanded
beneath the skies of this far-away and curious land, like a flower
beneath the sunlight of a warm May morning.
Scarcely had I penetrated more than a dozen leagues into this wild
untrodden territory than I made the astonishing discovery that the sun’s
light was obscured the entire day; while the sky, by night, was flooded
with a soft, mysterious light, quite bright enough to enable me to read
the finest print with perfect ease. In other words, the natural order of
things was exactly reversed. So, I—always quick to accommodate myself to
existing circumstances—made use of the dark days for rest and sleep, and
pursued my journey by night.
One morning, however, the mystery was explained. The impenetrable
clouds, which had been veiling the heavens like a pall, suddenly sank
earthward; and, to my almost unspeakable astonishment, I discovered that
this blanket of inky blackness was made up of living creatures—gigantic
fire-flies, quite as large as our ordinary bat, and far blacker in both
body and wing.
When night came, this living tissue was changed into a robe of
sparkling, shimmering glow, mantling the heavens like a garment of
burnished gold spangles, upon which a burst of soft light, as if from
ten times ten thousand waxen tapers, fell in dazzling effulgence. It was
something to see and die for. Bulger’s poor startled mind made him look
up, half in dread, half in wonder at this mysterious fire, which
enveloped everything in its flame, and yet consumed nothing. I had but
one thought. It was to capture several of these huge fire-flies. Night
after night I watched patiently for an opportunity.
It came at last.
I was preparing some coffee, and my back was turned. Suddenly, I was
startled by a piteous outburst, half whine, half bark, from poor Bulger.
A cluster of these living stars had fallen at his very feet. Quicker
than thought, I sprang forward and threw my blanket over them. Then,
with the greatest care, I transferred them to one of my wicker hampers.
Bulger, upon seeing this basket on fire and yet feeling no heat, was
most painfully nonplused. He walked round and round the improvised cage,
keeping at a safe distance, however, now sniffing the air, now looking
up to me with a most imploring glance—as if to say:
“Dear little master, do explain this thing to me! Why doesn’t it burn
up?”
To my great disappointment, the three captives died after a few days’
imprisonment, not, however, until they had laid a number of eggs—about
the size of robins’ eggs—which I packed away most carefully in my boxes
of specimens.
I may say, right here, that, upon my return home, I subjected these eggs
to a gentle warmth and was charmed to see emerge from each one of them a
larva about the size of a pipe-stem; but, to my delight—and to Bulger’s
absolute terror—this pipe-stem affair had, inside twenty-four hours,
become as large round as a Frankfort sausage.
In due time, they passed into the chrysalis state. But this apparent
death seemed to become a real one.
Weeks went by and there were no signs of a metamorphosis.
I was cruelly disappointed.
More important matters, however, arose to occupy my thoughts. The
sleeping fire-flies of the Orient were quite forgotten, when, one
evening, the women servants of the manor house, with blanched faces and
piercing shrieks came literally tumbling headlong down the main
stairway.
Fortunately I was sitting on the first terrace of the park. With a bound
I gained the hall-way, and snatching down a brace of fire-arms from the
wall, throw myself in front of the wildly shrieking troop of women,
calling out in stentorian tones, for silence.
“Has murder been committed?” I cried, “Is there revolt among the
tenantry? Has blood been shed?”
“No! no! little baron!” they exclaimed, with wild eyes and clasped
hands, “but the castle is on fire! Your rooms are in flames! Your
treasures will be consumed! Quick! little baron; save them! save us!
save the gracious lady and venerable master!”
Quicker than it takes to tell it, I laid hold of the rope of the alarm
bell and set it pealing.
The retainers answered with a will. A score of them burst into the
hall-way ready for the word of command.
“Seize the fire-buckets, my lads!” I called out calmly, but in a tone of
sufficient dignity to inspire perfect confidence.
“Man ladders to the windows of my apartments.”
By this time another gang of the tenantry came rushing in upon the
scene. I met them with an order to unhang the portraits in the baronial
dining-hall, and store them in a place of safety. Then, having spoken a
few words of comfort to the gracious baroness, my mother, I seized a
fire-bucket and led the line up the stairway. Laying my shoulder against
the door of my apartments, I burst it open; and, with head lowered
before the blaze of light dashed in, followed by the bucket-bearers.
“Halt!” I cried.
It was too late! some of my finest hangings and rugs were spoiled by
half a dozen buckets of water emptied upon them.
The mystery was solved! The blaze of light that fairly flooded my
apartments proceeded from the huge fire-flies which had hatched out
without being noticed by me. But I didn’t begrudge my ruined hangings.
There was my recompense clinging to the walls.
I need hardly say, that the giant fire-flies were the wonder of their
day, and brief as it was it sufficed to cover my name with a glory as
resplendent, as their mysterious fire.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE BARON READING BY THE LIGHT OF THE GIGANTIC
FIRE-FLIES.]
I caused a huge lamp of exquisite oriental pattern to be constructed,
and having placed the light-bearers beneath its dome of polished glass,
passed several nights in the most perfect happiness, seated in its soft,
white light, poring over musty volumes of travel, written in tongues
long-forgotten, save by a few of the most learned scholars. But, my
delight was short-lived. The gigantic fire-flies absolutely refused to
eat anything, although I tempted them with a hundred different kinds of
food. Little by little, their mysterious flame lost its bright
effulgence—burning lower and lower until it went out in death.
* * * * *
To resume the thread of my story:
I was growing impatient to reach the table-lands of the Himalayas, and
taxed the powers of endurance of my guide to their uttermost.
In our bivouacs at times he would encircle my slender ankle-joints with
his thumb and index finger and exclaim: “All the gods helped make thee,
little baron!” meaning that there dwelt great will-power and strength in
my small body.
The skies now cleared up. The living pall rolled backward, toward the
horizon, and naught remained to tell of the mighty flood of light which
so lately overran the heavens save a faint shimmering streak of fire in
far distant Western sky.
Soon it went out altogether. Thus far, our journey had been through an
open country, with here and there a clump of forest trees which, at last
grew so frequent that I felt sure we must be approaching the confines of
some extensive piece of woodland.
In this I was not mistaken.
As we reached the summit of a range of hills, I could see in the
distance a long, dark line of forests. My guide, who had pushed on
ahead, in search of water, came galloping wildly back.
I paid no particular attention to him, until I noticed that he had
dismounted in great haste and was running towards me.
“Turn back! turn back! little master!” he exclaimed, throwing himself at
my feet, and clasping my legs with his arms!
“Enter not in the Palin-mâ-Talin! (Home of Darkness.) A hundred pilgrims
have laid their bones in the moss-grown depths of the Great Gloomy
Forest! It is as pathless as the ocean! It is as silent as death. It is
as limitless as the heavens! Nor man nor beast can breathe its cool,
moist air, and live! Turn back! I beseech thee, little baron; tempt not
the Palin-mâ-Talin!”
“Palin-mâ-Talin! Palin-mâ-Talin!” I repeated, as if awakening from a
dream, “why, it must be—ay, there can be no doubt of it—the Great Aryan
Forest, in which, countless centuries ago, the human race having
abandoned their holes in the clay banks, first learned to hunt the wild
beast, feed on his flesh and clothe themselves in his skins.”
In my joy at this discovery I threw a handful of gold pieces into the
lap of my astonished guide.
Bulger, always ready to share my happiness, came bounding to my side,
barking loud and shrill. To my infinite surprise, the answering bark of
a dog came floating on the morning breeze.
“Hark!” I exclaimed, in a whisper. This time it was unmistakable.
“’Tis one of Benè-agâ’s dogs!” was my guide’s reply. “Come, little
master, let me lead thee to his cave. It is beneath the very shadow of
the Great Gloomy Forest. He can tell thee of its dangers, for he hath
crossed it!”
“And come safely back?” I asked.
“While life lasts he will sit in the gloom of Palin-mâ-Talin!” murmured
the man.
“What meanest thou?” I cried.
“I mean, that the noonday sun cannot chase the shadows from his eyes.”
“He is blind?”
“Ay, little master, blind!” was the guide’s reply, “and yet save this
blind hermit, there lives no human creature who can lead thee safely
through the Great Gloomy Forest!”
“Have done with thy jesting!” I cried.
“Nay, little master!” was the man’s answer. “I speak in all truth and
reverence, for Benè-agâ is a holy man, and in him dwells such a radiant
spirit, that his path is illumined and his footsteps are sure when other
men would walk to their destruction!”
“O, lead me to him!” I exclaimed with ill-concealed joy. “A thousand
pieces of gold are thine, if the blind hermit consents to be my guide.”
“A thousand pieces of gold!” repeated the guide with a gleam in his dark
eyes. “Ah, little baron, no one can earn that princely reward, excepting
thee thyself! Who am I, poor, miserable, ignorant slave that I am, that
I should attempt to move this saintly and learned man in thy behalf? He
would heed the cry of one of his dogs far more quickly than he would my
chatter!”
“Is he so unlike his kind,” I asked, as we rode slowly along, “as not to
love gold?”
“Ay, little baron! if every dried leaf in his forest path were a coin of
burnished gold, he would not stoop to pick one up!”
“Are his ears closed to flattery?”
“As closed as his eyes are to the sun’s rays.”
“Loves he not some savory dish?”
“Fruits and berries content him!”
“Surely a draught of rare old wine, mellow with age, fragrant as crushed
roses, purple within the beaker, would warm his heart to quicker
beating, and incline him to serve me!”
“Nay, nay, little baron! a gourd full of water from the sparkling rill
near his home in the rocks, is sweeter to him than any nectar ever
distilled by the hands of man!”
“They say he is learned! Then shall my gift be a score of rare old
books, priceless parchments filled with thoughts so noble, so deep, so
subtle, that, to read therein, means to live a thousand years in one!”
“Ah, little master,” replied my guide, with a mournful smile, “thou art
still astray. This dweller ’mid the rocks, this lover of solitude, the
measure of whose life, they say, is full three hundred years, knows no
other books than the pages of his own soul! On these he has turned his
thoughts so long and so diligently, that the foolish outpourings of
so-called authors seem like the merest prattle of childhood.”
“But look, little master, we are drawing near the home of the blind
hermit.”
I turned my eyes in the direction indicated.
A rocky ledge, wild, craggy, broken, seamed and twisted, crowned with a
growth of pine trees having knotted, gnarled and fantastically-shaped
trunks and boughs, shut in our view. As we drew near the entrance to
Benè-agâ’s cave, a troop of dogs, of various ages and species, came
bounding forward with loud barkings.
Bulger advanced to meet them boldly, after first glancing at my face to
see whether I objected or not.
It was a long while since he had met any of the members of his race, and
then again, he doubtless wished to get a good look at these residents of
such a distant land.
The feeling seemed to be mutual, for in an instant the barking ceased,
and the hermit’s dogs gathered about Bulger in silent wonderment.
After a series of salutations, which plainly ended in the best of
fellowships, the hermit’s dogs endeavored to lure Bulger away for a run
in the forest and fields, but in this they were, I need scarcely say,
entirely unsuccessful. Bulger gave them to understand in very decided
terms that he would talk with them, and even romp with them, but that it
must all be done under the eyes of his master.
We now halted and dismounted.
“This is the place,” said my guide in a low tone. “Through that deep
fissure in the rocks thou wilt find a path that leads to Benè-agâ’s
cave. Enter it boldly, little master. At the entrance to the cave thou
wilt find a dried gourd hanging on the rocky wall. Seize it! When
shaken, its seeds will give forth a loud, rattling sound. This done,
move not, though the shadows of evening find thee still standing at the
door of Benè-agâ’s cave. Farewell, little master; Heaven make good to
thee tenfold thy kindness to me! I will await thee three days. If by
that time I do not hear thy voice calling me to serve thee again, I
shall return to my kindred!”
Advancing to the cleft in the rocky wall, I found the gourd hanging by a
leathern thong.
The loud rattling of the seeds, as it broke the deep silence of this
wild and lonely place—fit vestibule to a temple devoted to silence,
solitude and meditation—startled me painfully.
Restoring the gourd to its place, I leaned forward to catch the faintest
sound of the hermit’s voice which might reach my ear.
It came not.
The silence grew more oppressive than before.
The broken, twisted rocks, overhanging and surrounding me, took on
fantastic forms.
In every dark cavity I saw some misshapen creature stirring about.
A dreadful feeling of loneliness crept over me.
No sound came, save the loud throbbing of my own heart.
A half hour went by!
Benè-agâ spake not a word.
“Perhaps he sleeps!” I whispered to myself.
My words awakened the echoes of the rocky recesses, and the word
“sleeps” came back to my ears in a hundred different tones, now loud and
hissing, now soft and sibilant.
At last a full hour had now gone by since I had rattled the seeds of the
dried gourd, and yet the blind hermit spake no word.
Again the death-like stillness sank upon the place, and the gathering
shadows grew deeper and deeper.
Could the guide have played me false? I asked myself.
Nay, that cannot be!
And yet why comes there no sound from Benè-agâ’s cave?
Shall I summon him once more? May he not have gone forth to gather food?
Am I doomed to be turned back when I have reached the very threshold of
my long-wished-for desire?
These and a hundred other questions flitted through my mind as I stood
in the dark and gloomy corridor that led to Benè-agâ’s cave.
By the shadows on the rocky wall I could see that I had now been
standing at least two hours awaiting summons to draw nearer.
But hush!
He speaks at last!
My heart bounded joyfully, and yet as if with a leaden weight upon it.
“Who is it that disturbs my meditation?” were the hermit’s words.
“A stranger! A brother! One who needs thy guidance!” I replied in a
firm, yet humble tone.
“No human creature is stranger to me! Thou art too young to be my
brother! The light that is left me shines only for my own feet!” came
slowly from the hermit’s cave in a full, deep, rich voice.
“True, great master,” I replied, “but then, may I not be thy son, and
follow thy footsteps?”
“Thou art very wise for thy years,” spake Benè-agâ.
“Not so wise, great master,” was my reply, “as I shall be when I have
sat at thy feet.”
“Come somewhat closer; thy child-voice sounds like an echo,” continued
the blind hermit. “And yet thou art not a child! Some great spirit plays
in sportive mood behind thy face! I see that thou art blue-eyed and
flaxen-haired. Thine eyes are set wide asunder, and above them towers a
dome of thought. Thy home is in the land of the Norseman. At least thy
fathers dwelt there. On thy cheek glows the crimson which, in the peach
and apple-land, stains the autumn foliage!”
As I had not yet even stepped within Benè-agâ’s cave, these words of the
blind hermit caused a strange feeling, half of fear, half of dread
fascination, to creep over me.
My heart throbbed violently.
His ear, far keener than birds’ or beasts’, caught the sound.
“Fear not, little one!” said he, in deep, rich tones, full and swelling
like the voice of organ pipes, “if thou canst content thyself with a
handful of berries when thou art hungry, with a draught from the
neighboring rill when thou art thirsty; if thy young limbs are sturdy
enough to wrest repose from a rocky couch, then art thou welcome! If
not, go thy way! For twenty years I’ve been busy with a certain problem,
and have no time to stop and spread a more bountiful repast!”
“But season thy frugal fare with thy wisdom, great master,” I returned,
“and it will be sweeter to my palate than stall-fed ox and mellow wine.”
“Come somewhat nearer, little traveler, so that I may see thee better!”
spake the blind hermit, kindly and gently.
I did not wait for further summons, but stepped boldly into Benè-agâ’s
cave.
It was, in truth, little more than a lofty cleft in the rocks, with
several deeper recesses, in which the shadows lay undisturbed. Its roof
of jagged, broken and blackened masses of stone, was arched and lofty.
In and about it, flocks of small swallow-like birds nested, and at times
broke out in musical twitterings. Barren, gloomy and utterly forlorn as
the place was, without chair, mat, bed or blanket, every thought of its
awful loneliness and abject surroundings vanished from my mind, as I
fixed my eyes upon its occupant.
As I had stepped within the limit of Benè-agâ’s cave, he had slowly
risen from his bench of stone, and now stood erect before me. Of
powerful build, tall and majestic, with long snow-white hair and snowy
beard, he towered like a statue of Parian marble in the dim twilight, to
which now, however, my eyes had become accustomed.
I gazed upon him, half in fear, half in delight.
I could feel my breath coming fast and faster, as I riveted my gaze upon
his wonderful face, so full of love, patience, courage and contentment.
Had he bent his eyes upon me, I would never have believed him blind, for
they were unclouded, full and lustrous. And yet, on second look, I saw
that their gleam was like the brightness of the polished gem, that lacks
the softness of living, sensitive orbs.
Benè-agâ was clad in a rude garb of dried skins, from which the hair had
been skilfully scraped. Tossed back from his broad and massive brow, his
white locks hung in heavy ringlets on his broad shoulders, while his
wonderful beard, as white and glistening as spun glass—around his body
twice entwined—clung like a snow-wreath twisted about a sturdy oak by
the circling gale.
[Illustration: BENÈ-AGÂ, THE BLIND GUIDE.]
So, like a mighty son of earth he towered, rude, yet noble; untaught yet
learned, human yet godlike that I stood transfixed. My tongue forgot its
tricks of speech. I felt that I should turn to stone, if he did not
speak to me.
While standing thus speechless, robbed of power to move a limb, Bulger
broke the spell!
At Benè-agâ’s feet lay a sick dog, infirm thro’ age and not ailment;
blind like his master, his head pillowed on some soft dry leaves—the
only semblance of bed within the hermit’s cave.
Bulger’s gaze fell upon this pitiful spectacle. With cautious step,
outstretched neck, and wide-opened eyes, he approached his sick brother,
sniffed him over, licked his face and ears, whined piteously and then
fixed a pleading look upon me as if to ask: “Dear little master, canst
thou do nothing to help my poor, sick brother? Canst thou not make him
well again, so that I may coax him out into the warm sunshine to play
with him?”
Benè-agâ spake: “I see that thou art not alone, little wanderer, thou
bringest a companion with thee. He is welcome. His tenderness and
sympathy will carry joy and gladness to the heart of my suffering
friend, whose head I’ve pillowed upon some soft grass! I, too, love
dogs! Thou seest they are my sole companions. Their love is less
exacting than human love. They require no pledge or promise. They
understand my silence, read my thoughts and are content!”
“But, come! little traveler, time presses. Speak! What brings thee to
Benè-agâ’s cave? If it be idle curiosity, depart! But, if thou seekest
counsel; if thou comest with honest intent to ask my advice in some
arduous matter, I am ready to serve thee!”
“I thank thee, great master!” I replied, humbly. “Know then that I would
traverse the Great Gloomy Forest and that report hath reached mine ear
that thou alone, of all human beings, canst guide me through its
never-lifting shadows, shield me from its poisonous vapors and let me
not follow my own foot-prints in ever-widening circles, until reason
itself feels the dreaded spell of that vast, trackless, pathless
wilderness!”
“’Tis true!” gave answer Benè-agâ in deep, sad tones. “I can perform the
service thou askest! But, O, my son! thou must know that a most sacred
vow holds me in its mysterious power, securely locked, that I should
lead no fellow-creature through that pathless wood, save on certain
conditions!”
“Name them, great master!” I cried.
“That he who asks this service,” continued Benè-agâ, “shall tarry thirty
days and nights with me in my rocky home, to inure him to the burden of
awful gloom and silence; that he, in all that time, taste of no food
save the berries, on which I feed; slake his thirst with no draught
other than that which I bring him from the neighboring rill and sleep on
the bare rock, even as I do! Reflect! the apprenticeship is severe. Deem
it not dishonorable, nor weak, to shrink from so hard a task! Pause,
reflect, ere thou answerest. I’ll resume my meditations for an hour and
then question thee again!”
“Be it so, great master!” I made answer; and, Benè-agâ’s sightless eyes
seem to turn to the shrunken form of the dying dog.
Silence filled the cave, and feeble twilight struggled against the
gathering gloom. My thoughts turned homewards! I could hear the gentle
voice of the baroness, my mother. The castle windows were lighted, and
the tall lindens shook a rich perfume from their blossoming boughs. All
seemed so sweet and peaceful. My mother’s voice reached me—I caught its
every word: “Set forth my son’s repast!” said she in soft, mild tones.
“See that his favorite dishes are kept warm. Choose none but the
choicest wine for him; and, take good care that his bed be soft and
even, and his pillow’s smooth!” My breath came only with painful effort
as these words rang in my ears.
I started up with a bound. In spite of myself, I took a step toward the
portal of Benè-agâ’s cave, where the last rays of the setting sun tipped
the angry, jagged, broken rocks with gold.
“Well, my son!” spake the blind hermit. “Art thou still resolute?”
“Ay, great master!” I cried, turning back and drawing near to him.
“Fear naught! Though puny in body, yet was I born with the strength of
steel in my limbs, and the will power of a score of common men.”
“Lead thou on! I will follow thee.”
A faint smile spread over the noble countenance of the blind hermit, as
he replied:
“I have not told thee all, my son! Till we pass from these walls of
stone, and stand in the open air, thou must not speak a word aloud. Nay,
nor in a whisper, either. I will set thy food and drink before thee, and
that,” he continued, pointing to a projecting shelf of rock, “shall be
thy bed! On its bare surface, rest thy limbs when nature bids thee
sleep. Art thou still resolute?”
“Ay, great master!” I replied with loud and buoyant voice, “I will do
thy bidding!”
“’Tis well!” said Benè-agâ. “I like thy brave and steadfast soul! But
hold me not hard of heart in condemning thee to this gloom and silence!
Temper the bitterness of thy fate by giving thyself over to deep and
earnest meditation, during the few brief hours that it shall last.
Forget the so-called world—a bubble that bursts when thou thinkest to
grasp it; a shadow, which thou pursuest with eager pace, and yet canst
never overtake; a mirage, rising before the weary traveler’s gaze, with
visions of delicious gardens, watered by limpid rills and cooled by
sparkling fountains, only to melt away and leave him more weak and
fainting than before. Look within thyself! Thou art the temple of an
immortal soul! Enter its portals! Fix thine eyes on the mysterious
writings there unrolled! Grow not weary and discouraged if thou canst
not decipher their meaning as easily as thou wouldst the books of man!
And O, my son, should the gloom and silence of Benè-agâ’s cave weigh too
heavily on thy young soul, raise thine eyes to some one of the many
lines which I have carved upon these rocky walls, in my hours of
recreation. They will guide thee back to sweet contentment; give thee
strength to persevere unto the end! And now, my son, farewell! Though
with thee, near thee, even by thy side, yet remember, I am far from
thee. Ay, farther than earthly staff can measure! Be hopeful, be strong,
and thou wilt conquer! Again, farewell!”
“Farewell, great master, farewell!” I exclaimed; and, as my words echoed
through the vast, rocky chamber, the last ray of light fled before the
thickening gloom, and all was inky blackness.
I had noticed, ere the darkness came, that I was standing near the
projecting shelf of rock which was to serve me as a bed, when nature
called me to rest.
Turning now softly, I groped my way toward it and stretched myself at
full length on its bare surface. For a few moments all went well. Such a
conflict of thought was raging in the chambers of my mind, that I took
no note of the chill which this couch of stone sent creeping through my
limbs. I closed my eyes, thinking to coax sleep to them, and thus forget
the ever-increasing pang!
In vain! It seemed as if death itself had seized my feet between his icy
palms!
Sharp pains leapt from one joint to another, and wherever my body came
into contact with that couch of stone, it seemed as if a thousand
needles pricked my flesh. Half-crazed by the ever-increasing agony, I
tossed from side to side, like one in delirium. At times I sat up to
escape from stupefying dizziness which caught me in its swift,
encircling whirl! My heated pulse beat at the thin walls of my temple,
until it seemed as if I should go mad! A rushing, soughing, gurgling
sound of many waters roared in my ears, while strange, fantastic forms,
in lines of fire on inky background, flitted to and fro before my eyes,
until I began to fear I should soon be doomed to sit in eternal gloom
like Benè-agâ himself.
And now heat and cold held alternate sway within my tired and broken
frame. Vainly I strove to wet my parched lips with my tongue! The fever
had dried it to a chip. For a few brief moments the torture ceased!
I breathed more freely!
My limbs, thought I, are getting used to their couch of stone! I shall
full asleep and forget my sufferings!
But no! With redoubled fury they came back to their work.
I dared not cry out so soon to Benè-agâ, for mercy, for release from the
cruel conditions he had imposed upon me! Rather death than yield so
quickly; shrink so like a coward who stands motionless and trembling on
the battle field, as a spent ball strikes his breast.
I slept at last!
But O, what a broken, fevered sleep it was! A sleep with unclosed eyes,
full of dark and dismal sights. I could stand no more. I yielded and
longed for death. In thought, I kissed my parents’ hands and felt their
soft caresses on my brow and face. And then, it seemed the gracious
baroness, my mother, caught my hand in hers and pressed it fervently on
her lips. The kiss was so warm, so tender, so life-like, that I started
up like one awakening from a long delirium. It cannot be a dream, I
murmured, I am awake!
Tossing my racked form over on its side, so that I could touch my right
hand—the one on which I had felt the kiss, with my left the mystery was
explained.
’T was Bulger!
He was beside my couch of stone. It was he who had licked my cold, numb
hand and turned my thoughts homeward. I caressed his head and ears and
sought to make him lie down lest the rustle might disturb the blind
hermit. He refused to obey, altho’ I thrice let him know my wishes. It
was his first act of disobedience and for an instant drove all thoughts
of pain from my mind. To all my suffering now came this new grief.
Aroused from my stupor at last, by his persistent refusal to obey I
collected my thoughts sufficiently to realize that he was bent upon
leaping on my couch. His forefeet were already resting upon its edge. I
dared not resist lest he should break the solemn stillness of Benè-agâ’s
cave by giving vent to some sound of entreaty. No sooner had he sprung
upon the rocky shelf than I felt him crouching on its edge, and reaching
down as if in the act of seizing something in his teeth, something so
heavy, too, that it called for violent exertion. Whatever it was, I was
not slow in discovering that he was endeavoring to drag it upon my rocky
couch. Half rising, I stretched out my hand to solve the mystery.
O beloved Bulger!
In an outburst of affection I pressed my lips repeatedly upon his body.
He took no note of my caresses, but only tugged the harder at the thing
he held within his teeth. It was my blanket!
Taught in his early years to fetch my slippers, my gloves, my cap to me,
when he found them lying here or there, he had never forgotten to render
me these petty services. And thus, noticing that my blanket had,
apparently, been forgotten, he seized it, heavy as it was and dragged it
to his little master’s bed.
Regardless of Benè-agâ’s ire; unmindful of the fact that to accept
Bulger’s gift was plainly an open breach of the compact between the
blind hermit and me, I wrapped my bruised and aching body in the thick,
warm covering and fell into a long refreshing sleep.
Such was my first night in Benè-agâ’s cave. The next day was bright and
clear and the rocky chamber seemed less dismal to me. My eyes were
becoming accustomed to the gloom.
From morn till night, I shunned that bed of torture, passing my time
studying out the hidden meaning of the words which Benè-agâ has carved
on the rocky walls; watching the birds as they flitted in with food for
their nestlings or standing near the blind hermit with my gaze riveted
upon his noble features, thick, clustering hair and far-flowing beard!
From this time forth all went well. I soon forgot the long hours of that
terrible night of silence and despair. Indeed, I was astounded to find
how swiftly the time sped along when one gives himself up to deep and
all-absorbing meditation.
Days and nights flitted by like alternate hours of light and darkness.
I was startled from a deep sleep by hearing the full round voice of
Benè-agâ saying: “Up! up! little traveler, up! my son, the morn is
breaking. The appointed hour has come! To-day we must enter
Palin-mâ-Talin or all thy apprenticeship shall have been in vain!”
I sprang up; and, approaching Benè-agâ, related in tones of unfeigned
grief, how I had disregarded the sacred compact between us; and, that,
altho’ it cut me to the heart, to be obliged to turn back, when I stood
upon the very confines of the Great Gloomy Forest, yet I was not worthy
to follow him, and was firmly resolved not to plead for mercy!
All! I told him all! how my frame had been so racked by pain that I was
upon the very point of crying out for release from the terrible compact,
when my beloved Bulger came to my relief, and saved me from that
degradation. He heard me in silence, his noble countenance giving no
sign or hint of what was going on within that lofty soul.
At last, a sad and almost imperceptible smile spread over his face and
he spake as follows: “Take heart, my son. All is forgiven. Thou art but
a child and I should have lightened the burden of this apprenticeship.
Nor can I hold thee worthy of blame for yielding to such a touching
proof of thy dog’s love for thee! Hadst thou repulsed him he would have
lain in wakeful sorrow by thy bedside all that night—dear, faithful
soul! Would he belonged to me!”
So saying, Benè-agâ bent his towering form and caressed Bulger’s head
and ears.
Nor was Bulger slow in returning the hermit’s caresses. They had become
the best of friends. Bulger felt the fascination of Benè-agâ’s
mysterious power from the very first.
When the hour arrived for us to leave the rocky chamber of gloom and
silence, and step out into the sunlight once more, my heart broke out
into its old-time beat. Had I not been in the presence of the venerable
Benè-agâ, I should have leapt and danced for joy, as we emerged from
that dreary abode, and I felt the warm air fan my cheek once more. But,
one thing struck me now most forcibly. It was the wonderful change which
I noted in the blind hermit himself, when he stood in the sunlight and
the morning breezes tossed the curls of his white, silken hair, like
April winds making merry with a flock of snowflakes. First, his
appearance was quite different from that to which I had become
accustomed. A leathern cap crowned his massive head, and held his thick,
rebellious hair somewhat in control. His wide-flowing beard had entirely
disappeared beneath his rude garb, save where it clothed his face and
neck. I saw at once that he was clad for work—for toilsome progress
through Palin-mâ-Talin’s thick growth. In his right hand he carried a
curious rod or wand, long, slender, polished and extremely flexible. I
soon learned to wonder at his extraordinary skill in using this staff to
guide his steps or discover the nature of any object not within the
reach of his hands. A rude pouch or leather bag was swung across his
shoulder.
The change in Benè-agâ’s manner was still more noticeable. To me, this
change was as pleasing as it was unexpected. In a brief half hour he
became another man. His deep, rich voice, soft and round as the sound of
an organ-pipe took on a mellower tone! A faint smile wreathed his noble
features, as the sunlight fell upon them. His step became quick and
elastic, his movements brisk and agile. So wonderfully keen were his
remaining senses that only the closest observer could have guessed that
he was blind.
Turning in the direction of the spot where his dogs were at play, he
startled me by breaking out into a joyous,—
“Yo ho! my children! Yo ho! my brothers! Here to me! Here to me!”
His dogs—Bulger among them—bounded forward with a loud chorus of
barking. Benè-agâ caught the stranger’s voice. “It pains me deeply,” he
cried, “to rob him of his playfellows, for I see him gamboling and
sporting with my children!”
As the blind hermit stooped, his dogs, with loud cries of sorrow at
parting, sprang up to lick his face and hands.
“Go, my children! Go, my brothers!” said Benè-agâ. “Content yourselves.
I’ll come again soon, very soon, with love warmed by absence!”
All was now ready for the start. Beneath the rising sun I could see a
long, dark line, far away, where earth and sky came together. It was
Palin-mâ-Talin. Home of Darkness! The Great Gloomy Forest!
Thither Benè-agâ now directed his footsteps with astonishing rapidity of
gait, tapping the ground with his long, polished wand as he hurried
along!
Awe-struck, I followed my blind guide!
In comparison with such miraculous powers of hearing, smelling and
feeling, my eyes were worthless. Ever and anon he called out to me:
“Guard thee well, my son, a viper stirred in the grass to thy left!
Guard thee well, my son, to touch the leaves of the flowering shrub
through which we are passing now—they are poisonous.”
“Guard thee well, my son, to taste the waters of the rivulet to which we
are coming, until I have made trial of its purity.”
“Guard thee well, my son, to pluck one of the flowers which now delight
thy eye, and charm thee with their odor. ’Tis next to death to breath
their perfume close to thy nostrils.”
“Guard thee well, my son, to crush upon thy skin one of the little
insects which now fill the air, lest thou spread a subtle poison o’er
thy flesh!”
As we drew near to the outer edge of the Great Gloomy Forest, a strange
joy lit up Benè-agâ’s face. He beat the air with his polished wand in
graceful curves and circles, as he poured forth, half singing, half
reciting, a sort of chant, invocation, or mysterious greeting to
Palin-mâ-Talin, Home of Darkness!
As if charmed by the rich music of his own voice, his spirits ran higher
and higher. At times he halted to catch the soft echoes as they came
floating back on the wings of the morning air.
As nearly as I can remember Benè-agâ’s chant was something like this:
“O, la, la, la, la, l-a-a-a-a! Hail to thee, Palin-mâ-Talin. Shadowy
Land! La, la! Lu, la, lo, li! Lu, la, lo, li! We are coming to thee,
beloved Temple of Silence and Gloom! Let us into thy dark corridors,
Palin-mâ-Talin Lo-il-la! Lo-il-la! Thou art victor! Palin-mâ-Talin, my
beautiful! From thy buckler of darkness fall the Sun’s arrows,
splintered and broken! O, la, la, la, la, la, l-a-a-aa-a-a! We are
coming King of Gloom and Stillness! Palin-mâ-Talin. O silent domain! Let
us in from the roar and the glare! Let us in from the roofless world. We
are near at hand, Palin-mâ-Talin! Swing open thy black portals! Lift thy
veil of Gloom! Admit thy children into thy silent chambers. O,
Palin-mâ-Talin, Lo-il-lo! Lo-il-lo! Lo-il-lo! Lo-il-l-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
At last we stood by the very edge of Palin-mâ-Talin.
Benè-agâ swept his polished wand against the foliage of one of the
low-hanging, far-reaching branches; then, sprang forward and seizing a
handful of the leaves, crushed them in his grasp and raised them to his
nostrils. “This is not the gateway, my son” he cried, “we must turn
farther northward!”
After about half an hour, he again halted and reaching out for a handful
of the leaves inhaled their odor.
“Not yet! not yet!” he murmured. “Somewhat northward still! Be not
troubled, my son. Thou see’st Palin-mâ-Talin with thine outward eye! Not
so Benè-agâ! He must lay his hand upon the very walls of this Temple of
Silence and Gloom ere he can see it!”
Suddenly the blind hermit paused. His thin nostrils quivered, his
massive breast heaved convulsively. “We are almost there!” he spoke in
measured tones. “I catch the perfume of the foliage which clothes the
two ebon columns of the gateway.” I looked and saw before me two
towering trees, whose wide-reaching branches swept the very ground. Side
by side they stood, alike in size and grandeur. Benè-agâ passed his hand
caressingly over the first branch which brushed his cheek and pressed
its leaves to his lips; then, broke out into his wild chant once more.
I stood looking at the blind hermit and listening to his song of
greeting, hardly knowing what to expect next when, suddenly, he threw
himself upon his knees and crept under the far-reaching branches of one
of these gigantic sentinels of the Great Gloomy Forest.
Bulger and I followed him! Thus it was we entered the domain of
Palin-mâ-Talin, Home of Darkness. I shall not try to describe to you the
solemn stillness, the mysterious twilight of the Great Gloomy Forest,
nor to paint for you the wonderful beauty of the deep green mosses which
covered rocks and trees: trailed from the swaying branches, carpeted the
floorway, or hung like heavy canopies, from tree to tree, above our
heads, and increased the gloom caused by the thick, interlacing foliage.
I had followed Benè-agâ’s noiseless footsteps about half a mile into the
stilly depths of Palin-mâ-Talin when, I began to feel a strange chill
creep over me; beginning at my very finger tips and pursuing its
insidious way toward my very vitals. So rapidly did it run its benumbing
course that I was upon the point of calling out to the Benè-agâ, when he
halted; and having broken a twig from a tree with foliage of dark green
and polished leaves, bade me eat them, saying:
“Palin-mâ-Talin does no harm to those that know him!”
I found the leaves pungent and agreeable to the taste. Their effect was
magical. My limbs at once forgot their numbness and my step lost its
heaviness.
We had now been several hours in the Great Gloomy Forest; and, thus far,
Benè-agâ had advanced into its ever-increasing gloom—for night was
falling, without a halt.
Had Benè-agâ had as many eyes as Argus and each of lynx’s power, he
could not have pursued his way thro’ Palin-mâ-Talin’s gloomy corridors
more easily and more securely. His polished wand flashed like a thing of
life in his miraculously trained hand, touching everything, vibrating,
swinging, advancing, retreating, with a rapidity, that my eyes could not
follow.
“O, great master!” I called out to him, “let me not be presumptuous
enough to speak to thee of things which should be left unstirred in the
chambers of thy mind, but if it be permitted to me to know, tell me how
thy rayless eyes can pierce this gloom and find a path thro’ this
trackless forest, wrapt in the gloom and silence of ten thousand years!”
“It shall be as thou wishest, son;” replied the blind hermit “the little
there is to know thou shall hear! But surely, thy young limbs must be
weary. First let me make ready a bed for the night and spread some food
and drink!”
So saying, he swung his leathern bag off his shoulder, took from it a
roll of dried skin and spread it on the ground; then, wrenching four
pine boughs from a tree near by, he thrust them in the earth one at each
corner of a square, and striking a spark with his tinder-box, set fire
to the pitch which trickled down the boughs.
The flickering flames cast a thousand weird shadows on the trailing
mosses and black shrouded trees, and filled the air with a grateful
warmth.
Benè-agâ now drew forth some dried fruit and berries.
We ate in silence.
Bulger sniffed at the food but nothing more.
Our frugal repast concluded, the blind hermit took from his leathern
pouch a sharp-pointed piece of flint with which he pierced the bark of a
tree near our bivouac. Into the hole he thrust a slender reed. I was
astonished to see a limpid liquid flow from the end of the reed. He
filled a gourd with it and placing the drinking vessel in my hand said
in a low, caressing voice:
“Drink, my son! ’Twill refresh and strengthen thee!”
I raised the gourd to my lips. The liquid was cool and sweet, and very
pleasing to the taste.
“Drink as deep as thou wilt, my son,” cried Benè-agâ, “for
Palin-mâ-Talin could slake the thirst of an army.”
Again I placed the gourd to my lips. This time I drank long and deep. A
gentle warmth now coursed thro’ my limbs. My eye-lids sank downward,
oppressed with a most delicious longing for sleep. Pillowing my head on
Benè-agâ’s pouch, with my hand resting on my faithful Bulger’s head, I
was soon wrapped in slumber.
When I awoke, it was still night. The pine knots had burned nearly out.
There sat the blind hermit beside me. I could see that he was keeping
watch. His head turned as I stirred.
“Thou hast asked me,” he began, to tell thee how I am able to find my
way thro’ Palin-mâ-Talin’s gloom. Here, in this trackless home of shadow
no outward eyes would avail me aught. Thou hast seen how the floor of
this vast Temple is everywhere alike. For it, nature has woven a carpet
of thick, velvet moss which, in the flight of centuries, takes on no
change of hue. ’Tis ever the same! Tear a pathway in it, in a few short
days the rent will be made whole. Blaze the trees, the encircling mosses
will, in a brief period hide the marks, and all thy labor will be in
vain. Even supposing that thou couldst succeed in leaving a lasting
trail behind thee, the deadly poison which lurks in this damp air would
chill thy life blood ere thou couldst cross from outer wall to outer
wall of this vast Temple, with its roof of interwoven moss and foliage,
impenetrable to the noonday sun.
“Thou hast felt the first touch of that deadly chill, which curdles the
warmest blood and sends a sleep of death upon the rash intruder! But to
me, O, my son, Palin-mâ-Talin is all light and glow! I cannot see that
gloom which strikes such terror to thy soul. And thou must know, my son,
that Palin-mâ-Talin has no shadows deep enough to hide the north star
from my sight. I always know which way it was the sun went down, and
which way it will be that he will rise; for all the winds are known to
me, and whence they blow. To thy cheek the air appears to sleep at
times. To mine, never! ’Tis no more a task for me to catch the
breath-like zephyr—unfelt by thee—than it is for thy faithful dog to
take up the trail of his master’s footsteps and follow it through the
crowded mart. Then again, thou must bear in mind that for a hundred
years and more I’ve been a shadowless figure in this, home of shadows;
that the trees of Palin-mâ-Talin have taken me to their hearts, and I
them to mine; that not only do I know how and where they grow, but it
hath been revealed to me that these towering children of Palin-mâ-Talin
are not scattered helter-skelter, here and there, in orderless manner;
but, that in a certain measure, they are ranged in lines from the rising
toward the setting sun, each species forming a belt to itself, not like
a grove by man’s hand planted, but in a wild, yet orderly confusion. To
thee, this would be a useless guide, for thou hast seen how the trunks
are swathed up in garbs of moss, and how the gloom gives all the foliage
the same deep-dark hue of green. To thine eye, here, all these trees
seem alike, the countless offspring of a single sire! And yet it is not
so! For, when in my progress through these lofty corridors of gloom and
silence I sway too far northward or southward, a single handful of
leaves crushed in my grasp, gives up the secret of my whereabouts. But,
even this sure guiding string has failed me at times, and I have gone
astray in the home of my friend! And yet in such moments, Palin-mâ-Talin
had no terrors for me! When thus, an aimless wanderer in this trackless
wood, I learned to draw aside this garb of green which decks
Palin-mâ-Talin’s breast, and lay my hand upon his very heart!
“So has kind nature sharpened my sense of feeling that by the simple
touch of the clay beneath our feet I can set my erring footsteps right
and regain my lost path. Be thou, my son, in coming years, as steadfast
in thy search for truth as I have been in my endeavors to change this
gloom and silence into living light and speech, and thou wilt walk
through life’s devious paths as easily as I thread my way through the
trackless chambers of Palin-mâ-Talin!”
As Benè-agâ ceased speaking, he lifted his song, making the trailing
mosses sway with the vigor of his notes, now deep and solemn, now clear
and far-reaching.
The echoes came back softened down to flute notes. He listened
breathlessly.
“O wonderful man!” thought I, “even the sleeping echoes rouse themselves
to guide thy footsteps aright.”
“Come, my son!” he cried in tones of gladness, “our torches go to their
end. Let us push on! Though the sun be not yet high enough to chase the
inky darkness out of Palin-mâ-Talin’s depths, still, with this guiding
string thou canst follow me!”
Saying this, he placed the end of a leather thong in my hand, and we set
out once more.
After we had been an hour or so under way, the sun’s rays began so to
temper the darkness of the Great Gloomy Forest, that my eyes were of
some slight use to me!
Again Benè-agâ broke out in a wild chant, and paused to catch the echo.
“Ah,” murmured the blind hermit, half in soliloquy “that was a greeting
from the drowsy waters of Lool-pâ-Tool!”
Imagine the feeling of utter helplessness which came over me an hour or
so later when, suddenly I found myself standing upon the banks of a
broad streamlet, of hue blacker than the wings of night, apparently
stagnant; or, at least so sluggish as to seem well deserving of the
title “Drowsy Waters.”
“This is Lool-pâ-Tool!” said Benè-agâ, as he rested his chin on his hand
and seemed to be gazing down on its inky surface.
But how to cross it, for no bark was moored in sight—was now the
bewildering thought which oppressed my mind! Surely it cannot be forded,
for to the eye it seemed as deep as it was silent and mysterious. Nor
yet, would it be otherwise than inviting death itself to plunge into its
stagnant waters and swim to the other side.
While I stood thus wrapped in a cloud of anxious thought, Benè-agâ
himself seemed scarcely less perplexed. His usual calmness had deserted
him.