At first the three brothers lived so forlorn and solitary together they
could scarcely eat. Everything they saw or handled told them only over
and over again that their mother was dead. But there was work to be
done, and brave hearts must take courage, else sorrow and trouble would
be nothing but evil. This, too, was no time for sitting idle and
doleful. For a little before the gathering of the rains there began to
seem a strangeness in the air. After the great heat had flown up a
tempest of wind and lightning of such a brightness that Nod, peering out
of his little tangled window-hole, could see beneath the gleaming rods
of rain and the huge, bowed, groaning trees no less than three leopards
crouching for shelter beneath the Portingal's sturdy little hut. He
could hear them, too, in the pauses of the tempest, mewling, spitting,
and swearing, and the lash of their angry tails against the wall of the
hut. After the tempest, it fell cold and very still, with sometimes a
moaning in the air. Strange weather was in the sky at rise and set of
sun. And the three brothers, looking out, and seeing the numberless
flights of birds winging with cries all in one direction, and hearing
this moaning, hardly knew what to be doing. They went out every day to
gather great bundles of wood and as many nuts and fruits and roots as
they could carry. And they found everywhere wise creatures doing the
same--I mean, of course, collecting food--for none beside the Minimuls,
the Gungas, and the Mulla-mulgars have fire-sticks, and most of them
fear even the sight and smell of flames.
And Nod, having his mother's quick hand, made a great store of
Manaka-cake and Sudd-bread. He dried some fruits, pulped others. And
some he poured with honey or Ummuz-juice into the Portingal's little
earthen pots, many of which were still unbroken, while he who had first
used them was but a bony shadow-trap in the corner. And Nod and Thumb
made two great gourds of Subbub, very sweet and potent, so that, because
of the sweet smell of it, the four-clawed Weddervols came barking about
their hut all night. But the Manga-cheese their mother had made melted
in the heat of the great fires they burned, and most of it ran down out
of the cupboard. They filled the wood-hole with firewood, and stacked it
outside, above Nod's shoulder, all against the hut.
And it was about the nineteenth week after Mutta's death that Thumb, as
he came stooping to the door one night, saw fires of Tishnar on the
ground. Over the swamp stood a shaving of moon, clear as a bow of
silver. And all about, on every twig, on every thorn, and leaf, and
pebble; all along the nine-foot grasses, on every cushion and touch of
bark, even on the walls of their hut, lay this spangling fiery meal of
Tishnar--frost. He called his brothers. Their breath stood round them
like smoke. They stared and snuffed, they coughed in the cold air.
Never, since birds wore feathers--never had hoar-frost glittered on
Munza-mulgar before.
These Mullas danced; they crouched down in the dreadful cold, thinking
to warm their hands at these uncountable fires. And, lo and behold! in a
little while, looking at one another, each was a Mulgar, white and
sparkling too. Their very hairs, down-arm and up-arm, every tuft stood
stiff and white with frost. Like millers they stood, all blazing in the
night.
And that was the beginning of Witzaweelw[=u]lla (the White Winter). For
it was only three days after Tishnar's fires were kindled that Nod first
saw snow. Now one, two, three, a scatter of flakes, just a few.
"Feathers," thought Nod.
But faster, faster; twirling, rustling, hovering. "Butterflies," thought
Nod.
And then it seemed the sky, the air, was all aflock. He ran out snuffing
and frightened. He clapped his hands; he leapt and frisked and shouted.
And there, coming up out of the swamp, were his brothers, laden with
rushes, and as woolly with snow as sheep. Because it looked so white and
crisp and beautiful Nod even brought out a pot and filled it with snow
to cook for their supper. But there, when he lifted the lid, was only a
little steaming water.
By-and-by they began to wonder and to fear no more. How glad they were
of all the wood they had brought in, and of their great cupboardful of
victuals! They made themselves long poles, and would go leaping about to
keep themselves warm. They built such roaring fires on the hearth they
squatted round that the sparks flew up like fireflies under the black,
starry sky. Snug in their hut, the brothers would sit of an evening on
their three stools, with their smoking bowls between their legs. And
they would open their great mouths and drone and sing the songs their
father had taught them, beating to the notes with their flat feet on the
earth floor. But, nevertheless, they pined for the cold and the snow to
be over and gone, so that they might start on their journey! Every
morning broke bleak and sparkling. Often of a night new snow came, till
they walked between low white walls on their little path to the forest.
But in spite of the cold which made them ache and shiver, and their toes
and fingers burn and itch, they went out searching for frozen nuts and
fruits every morning, and still fetched in faggots.
Often while they squatted, toasting themselves round their fire, Nod
would look up, blinking his eyes, to see the faces of the Forest-mulgars
peeping in at the window, envying the Mullas their warmth, though afraid
of their fire, and calling softly one to another: "Ho, ho! look at the
Mulla-sluggas [lazy princes] sitting round their fire!" And Thumb and
Thimble would grin and softly scratch their hairy knees. Thumb, indeed,
made up a Mulgar drone, which he used to buzz to himself when the
Munza-mulgars came miching and mocking and peeping. (But it was a bad
and dull drone, and I will not make it worse by turning it into my poor
English from Mulgar-royal.)
Nod often sat watching the Forest-mulgars frisking in the forest, though
every morning the light shone through on many perched frozen in the
boughs. The Mullabruks and Manquabees made huddles in the snow. But the
tiny Squirrel-tails, with their dark, grave, beautiful eyes and silken
amber coats, still roosted high where the frost-wind stirred in the
dark. Sometimes on a crusted branch of snow Nod would see
five--seven--nine of these tiny, frost-powdered Mulgars cuddling
together in a row, poor little frozen and empty boxes, their gay lives
fled away. And when his brothers were gathering sticks in the forest, he
would smuggle out for them two or three handfuls of nuts and pieces of
cake and Sudd-bread. All the crusts and husks and morsels he kept in a
shallow grass-basket, which his mother had plaited, to feed these
pillowy Squirrel-tails, the lean Skeetoes, and the spindle-legged
flycatchers.
Birds of all colours and many other odd little beasts came in the snow
to Nod to be fed. He summoned them with the clapping of two sticks of
ivory together, till his brothers began to wonder how it was their
victuals were dwindling so fast. But once, when Thumb and Thimble were
away in the forest with their jumping-poles, and he had ventured out on
this errand with his basket full of scraps, he forgot to put up the door
behind him. When he returned, skipping as fast as his fours would carry
him, wild pigs and long-snouted Brackanolls, Weddervols, and hungry
birds had come in and eaten more than half their store. The last of
their mother's treasured cheese was gone, and all their Ummuz-cane. That
night Thumb and Thimble went very sulky to bed. And for the next few
days all three brothers sallied out together, with their poles,
searching and grubbing after every scrap of victuals they could find
with which to fill their larder again.
Some time after this, so hard and sharp grew the cold that Thumb and
Thimble were minded to put on their red metal-hooked jackets when they
went out stick-gathering. They took their knives and nut-sacks over
their shoulders, and muffled and bunched themselves up close, with
cotton-leaves wound round their stomachs, and their skin caps pulled low
over their round frost-enticing ears. And they told Nod to cook them a
smoking hot supper against the dark, for now the snow was so deep it was
a hard matter to find and carry sticks, and they meant to look for more
before matters worsened yet. So Nod at once set to his cookery.
He made up a great fire on the hearthstone. But in spite of its flames,
so louring with gathering snow-clouds was the day that he had to keep
the door down to give him clearer light; and, though he kept scuttling
about, driving out the thieving Brackanolls and Peekodillies that came
nosing into the hut, and scaring away the famished birds that kept
hopping in through the window-hole, even then he could not keep himself
warm. So at last he went to the lower cupboard, under the dangling
Portingal, and took out his sheepskin coat. He put away the dried
kingfisher which his mother had wrapped in the fleece to keep it sweet,
and buttoned the ivory buttons, and skipped about nimbly over his
cooking in that. Then he heaped more wood on--logs and brush and
smoulder-wood--higher and higher, till the flames leapt red, gold, and
lichen-green out of the chimney-hole. Then he said to himself, flinging
yet another armful on: "Now Nod will go down and get some ice to melt
for water to make Sudd-bread." So he went down to the water-spring.
And he stood watching the Mulgars frisking at the edge of the forest,
vain that they should see him with his pole and basket, standing in his
sheep's jacket. He broke up some ice and put in into his basket. Then he
plodded over to his mother's grave and cleared away the hardened snow
that had fallen during the night on her little heap of stones. "Kara,
kara Mutta, Mutta-matutta," he whispered, laying his bony cheek on the
stones--"dearest Mutta!" And while he stood there thinking of his
mother, and of how he would go and bring down a pot of honeycomb for her
death-shadow; and then of his father; and then of the strange journey
they were all going to set out on when Tishnar returned to her
mountains; and then of his Wonderstone; and then of Assasimmon, Prince
of the Valleys, his peacocks and Ummuz-cane, and Ummuz-cane, and
Ummuz-cane--while he was thus softly thinking of all these happy things,
he suddenly saw the gigantic Ukka-tree above him, lit up marvellously
red, and glowing as if with the setting of the sun. He shut his eyes
with dread, for he saw all the forest monkeys lit up too, stock-still,
staring, staring; and he heard a curious crackle and whs-s-s-ss.
Nod turned his little head and looked back over his shoulder. And
against the snowy gloom of the forest he saw not only sparks, but
flames, wagging up out of the chimney-hole. The door of the hut was like
the frame of a furnace. And a trembling fear came over him, so that for
a moment he could neither breathe nor move. Then, throwing down his
basket of ice, and calling softly, "Mutta, O Mutta!" he scrambled over
the snow as fast as he could and rushed into the hut. But he was too
late; before he could jump, spluttering and choking, out of the door
again, with just an armful of anything he could see, its walls were
ablaze. Dry and tangled, its roof burnt like straw--a huge red fire
pouring out smoke and flame, hissing, gushing, crackling, bubbling,
roaring. And presently after, while Nod ran snapping his fingers,
dancing with horror in the snow, and calling shriller and shriller,
"Thumb, Thimble; Thimble, Thumb,
Leave your sticks and hurry home:
Thicker and thicker the smoke do come!
Thumb, Thimble; Thimble, Thumb!"
he heard above the flames a multitudinous howling and squealing, and he
looked over his shoulder, and saw hundreds upon hundreds of faces in the
forest staring out between the branches at the fire. By the time that
Thimble and Thumb in their red jackets were scampering on all fours,
helter-skelter, downhill out of the forest, a numberless horde of the
Forest-mulgars were frisking and howling round the blaze, and the flames
were floating half as high as Glint's great Ukka-tree. They squealed,
"Walla, walla!" (water), grinning and gibbering one to another as they
came tumbling along; but they might just as well have called
"Moonshine!" for every drop was frozen. Nor would twenty flowing springs
and all Assasimmon's slaves have quenched that fire now. And when the
Forest-mulgars saw that the Mulla-mulgars had given up hope of putting
the fire out, they pelted it with snowballs, and scampered about,
gathering up every stick and straw and shred they could find, and did
their utmost to keep it in. For at last, in their joy that the little
Portingal's bones were in the burning, and in their envy of the
Mulla-mulgars, their fear of fire was gone.
And so Night came down, and there they all were, hand-in-hand in a huge
monkey-ring, dancing and prancing round the little Portingal's burning
hut, and squealing at the top of their voices; while countless beasts of
Munza-mulgar, too frightened of fire to draw near, prowled, with
flame-emblazoned eyes, staring out of the forest. And this was the
Forest-mulgars' dancing-song:
"Bhoor juggub duppa singlee--duppa singlee--duppa singlee;
Bhoor juggub duppa singlee;
Sal rosen ghar Bh[=o][=o]sh!"
They sing at first in a kind of droning zap-zap, and through their
noses, these Munza-mulgar, their yelps gradually gathering in speed and
volume, till they lift their spellbound faces in the air and howl aloud.
And with such a resounding shout and clamour on the Bh[=o][=o]sh you
would think they were in pain.
For the best part of that night the fire flared and smouldered, while
the stars wheeled in the black sky above the forest; and still round and
round the Mulgars jigged and danced in the glistening snow. For the
frost was so hard and still, not even this great fire could melt it
fifteen paces distant from its flames. And Thimble and Thumb in their
red jackets, and Nod in his cotton breeches and sheepskin coat, shivered
and shook, because they weren't hardened, like the Forest-mulgars, to
the icy night-wind that stole fitfully abroad.
When morning broke, the fire had burned down to a smother, and most of
the dancing Mulgars had trooped back, tired out and sleepy, to their
tree-houses and huddles and caverns and hanging ropes in the forest. But
no sleep stole over those Mulla-sluggas, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod,
sitting on their stones in the snow, watching their home-smoke drooping
down and down. Nod stared and stared at the embers, his teeth
chattering, ashamed and nearly heart-broken. But his brothers looked now
at the smoke, and now at him, and whenever they looked at Nod they
muttered, "Foh! Mulla-jugguba, foh!"--that is to say, "Foh!
Royal-Flame-Shining One!" or "Your Highness Firebright!" or "What think
you now, Prince of Bonfires?" But they were too sullen and angry, and
Nod was too downcast, even to get up to drive away the little
mole-skinned Brackanolls and the Peekodillies which came nosing and
grunting and scratching in the ashes, in search of the scorched oil-nuts
and the charred Sudd and Manaka-cake.
The three Mulla-mulgars sat there until the sun began to be bright on
their faces and to make a splendour of the snow; then they did not feel
quite so cold and miserable. And when they had nibbled a few nuts and
berries which a friendly old Manquabee brought down to them, they began
to think and talk over what they had best be doing now--at least, Nod
listened, while Thumb and Thimble talked. And at length they decided
that, their hut being burnt, and they without refuge from the cold, or
any hoard of food, they would wait no longer, but set off at once into
the forest on the same long journey as their father Seelem had gone, to
seek out their Uncle Assasimmon, Prince of the Valleys of Tishnar.
This once said, Thumb lifted his fat body stiffly from his stone, and
took his jumping-pole, and frisked high, leaping to and fro to make
himself warm again. Soon he began to tingle, and laughed out to cheer
the others when he tumbled head over heels into a snowdrift. And they
combed themselves, and stood up to their trouble, and thought
stubbornly, as far as their monkey-wits would let them, only of the
future (which is easier to manage than the past). Then they searched
close in the cooling ashes and embers of the hut, and found a few beads
undimmed by the heat, and all the Margarita stones, which, like the
Salamander, no flame can change; also, one or two unbroken pots and jars
and an old stone kettle or Ghôb. Nod, indeed, found also a piece of gold
that had lain hid in the Portingal's rags. But all the little
Traveller's bones except his left thumb knuckle-bone were fallen to
ashes. Nod gave Thumb the noddle of gold, and himself kept the
knuckle-bone. "S[=o][=o]tli,"[5] he whispered, touched his nose with it,
and put it secretly into his pocket. And glad were they to think that
only that morning they had fetched out their red jackets and Nod his
wool coat.
[5] That is, Magic, or Strangeness. When the Mulgars of Munza
see anything strange or unknown, they will whimper to one
another, as they stand with eyes fixed, "S[=o][=o]tli,
S[=o][=o]tli, S[=o][=o]tli," or some such sound.
When the Forest-mulgars heard that the three brothers were setting out
on their long journey, they came trooping down from their leafy
villages, carrying presents, two skin water-bags (for the longed-for
time when the ice should bestir itself), a rough stone knife, a wild-bee
honeycomb, a plaited bag of dried Nanoes and nuts, and so on. But of
these Mulgar tribes few, like ants, or bees, or squirrels, make any
store, and none uses fire, nor, save one or two solitaries here and
there, can any walk upright or carry a cudgel. They munch and frisk and
chatter, and scratch and quarrel and mock, having their own ways and
wisdom and their own musts and mustn'ts. There are few, too, that
cherish not some kindness, if not for all, at least for one another--the
leopard to her cubs, the Coccadrillo to her eggs. But back to our
Mulla-mulgars.
The forest of Munza-mulgar saw a feast upon its borders that day. The
Forest-mulgars sat in a great ring, and ate and drank, and when the sun
had ascended into the middle of the sky and the snow-piled branches
shone white as Tishnar's lambs, Thumb, Thimble, and Nod, rose up and
sang, "Gar Mulgar Dusangee"--the Mulgars' Farewell. While they sang, all
the Forest-mulgars, in their companies and tribes, sat solemnly around
them, furred and coloured and pouched and tailed. Shave their chops and
put them in breeches, they might well be little men. And they waved
slowly palm-branches and greenery to the time of the tune; some even
moaned and grunted, too.
"Far away in Nanga-noon
Lived an old and grey Baboon,[6]
Ah-mi, Sulâni!
Once a Prince among his kind,
Now forsaken, left behind,
Feeble, lonely, all but blind:
Sulâni, ghar magleer.
"Peaceful Tishnar came by night,
In the moonbeams cold and white;
Ah-mi, Sulâni!
'Far away from Nanga-noon,
Thou old and grey Baboon;
Is a journey for thee soon!'
Sulâni, ghar magleer.
"'Be not frightened, shut thine eye;
Comfort take, nor weep, nor sigh;
Solitary Tishnar's nigh!'
Sulâni, ghar magleer.
"Old Baboon, he gravely did
All that peaceful Tishnar bid;
Ah-mi, Sulâni!
In the darkness cold and grim
Drew his blanket over him;
Closed his old eyes, sad and dim:
Sulâni, ghar magleer."
[6] So I have translated "Babbabooma."
And here the Mulgars all lay flat, with their faces in the snow, and put
the palms of their hands on their heads; while the three Mulla-mulgars
paced slowly round, singing the last verse, which, after the doggerel I
have made of the others, I despair of putting into English:
"Talaheeti sul magloon
Olgar, ulgar Nanga-noon;
Ah-mi, Sulâni!
Tishnar s[=o][=o]tli maltmahee,
Ganganareez soongalee,
Manni Mulgar sang suwhee:
Sulâni, ghar magleer."
Then the Mulla-mulgars cut down stout boughs to make cudgels, and,
having tied up their few possessions into three bundles and filled their
pockets with old nuts, they took palm-leaves and honey-comb and withered
scarlet and green berries, with which they canopied as best they could
their mother's grave, nor forgot poor gluttonous Glint's. They stood
there in the snow, and raised their hands in lamentable salutation. And
each took up a stone and jerked it (for they cannot throw as men do) as
far as he could towards the forest, as if to say, "Go with us!" Then,
with one last sorrowful look at the befrosted ashes of their hut, they
took up their bundles and started on their journey.
At first, as I have said, the Mulgar-track is wide, and even in this
continually falling snow was beaten clear by hundreds of hand and foot
prints. But after a while the lofty branches began to knit themselves
above, and to hang thickly over the travellers, and to shut out the
light. And the path grew faint and narrow.
One by one their friends waved good-bye and left them, until only Noll
and Nunga (Mutta-matutta's only sister's only children) accompanied
them. Just before sunset, when the forest seemed like a cage of music
with the voices of the birds that now sang, many of them desperately
from cold and hunger rather than for delight, Noll, too, and Nunga
raised their hands, touched noses, and said good-bye. And the three
brothers stood watching them till they had waved their branches for the
last time. Then they went on.
[Illustration]