Bevis Part 24

Bevis stopped, tired, and putting his hand on the smooth surface found it quite warm, so that they had no doubt they could do it in time. Mark tried next, and then Bevis again, and Mark followed him; but though the wood became warm it would not burst into flame, as it ought to have done.

Volume One, Chapter XIII.

SAVAGES CONTINUED--THE MAST FITTED.

"This is very stupid," said Bevis, throwing himself back at full length on the gra.s.s, and crossing his arms over his face to shield his eyes from the sun.

"They ought not to tell us such stupid things," said Mark. "We might rub all day."

"I know," said Bevis, sitting up again. "It's a drill; it's done with a drill. Give me my bow--there, don't you know how Jonas made the hole in Tom's gun?"

Jonas the blacksmith, a clever fellow in his way, drilled out a broken nipple in the bird-keeper's muzzle-loading gun, working the drill with a bow. Bevis and Mark, always on the watch everywhere, saw him do it.

They cut a notch or hole in the hard surface of the thicker bough, and shaped another piece of wood to a dull point to fit in it. Bevis took this, placed it against the string of his bow, and twisted the string round it. Then he put the point of the stick in the hole; Mark held the bough firm on the ground, but immediately he began to work the bow backwards and forwards, rotating the drill alternate ways, he found that the other end against which he pressed with his chest would quickly fray a hole in his jacket. They had to stop and cut another piece of wood with a hole to take the top of the drill, and Bevis now pressed on this with his left hand (finding that it did not need the weight of his chest), and worked the bow with his right.

The drill revolved swiftly, it was really very near the savages'

fire-drill; but the expected flame did not come. The wood was not dry enough, or the point of friction was not accurately adjusted; the wood became quite hot, but did not ignite. You may have the exact machinery and yet not be able to use it, the possession of the tools does not make the smith. There is an indefinite something in the touch of the master's hand which is wanting.

Bevis flung down the bow without a word, heaving a deep sigh of rage.

"Flint and steel," said Mark presently.

"Hum!"

"There's a flint in the gateway," continued Mark. "I saw it just now; and you can knock it against the end of your knife--"

"You stupe; there's no tinder."

"No more there is."

"I hate it--it's horrid," said Bevis. "What's the use of trying to do things when everything can't be done?"

He sat on his heels as he knelt, and looked round scowling. There was the water--no fire to be obtained from thence; there was the broad field--no fire there; there was the sun overhead.

"Go home directly, and get a burning-gla.s.s--unscrew the telescope."

"Is it proper?" said Mark, not much liking the journey.

"It's not matches," said Bevis sententiously.

Mark knew it was of no use, he had to go, and he went, taking off his jacket before he started, as he meant to run a good part of the way. It was not really far, but as his mind was at the hollow all the while the time seemed twice as long. After he had gone Bevis soon found that the sunshine was too warm to sit in, though while they had been so busy and working their hardest they had never noticed it. Directly the current of occupation was interrupted the sun became unbearable. Bevis went to the shadow of the sycamores, taking the skinned bird with him, lest a wandering beast of prey--some weasel or jackal--should pounce on it.

He thought Mark was a very long time gone; he got up and walked round the huge trunk of the sycamore, and looked up into it to see if any immense boa-constrictor was coiled among its great limbs. He thought they would some day build a hut up there on a platform of poles. Far out over the water he saw the Unknown Island, and remembered that when they sailed there in the ship there was no knowing what monsters or what enchantments they might encounter. So he walked out from the trees into the field to look for some moly to take with them, and resist Circe.

The bird's-foot lotus he knew was not it. There was one blue spot of veronica still, and another tiny blue flower which he did not know, besides the white honeysuckle clover at which the grey bees were busy, and would scarce stir from under his footsteps. He found three b.u.t.ton mushrooms, and put them in his pocket. Wandering on among the b.u.t.tercup stalks and bunches of gra.s.s, like a b.u.t.terfly drawn hither and thither by every speck of colour, he came to a little white flower on a slender stem a few inches high, which he gathered for moly. Putting the precious flower--good against sorcery--in his breast-pocket for safety, he rose from his knees, and saw Mark coming by the sycamores.

Mark was hot and tired with running, yet he had s.n.a.t.c.hed time enough to bring four cherries for Bevis. He had the burning-gla.s.s--a lens unscrewed from the telescope, and sitting on the gra.s.s they focussed the sun's rays on a piece of paper. The lens was powerful and the summer sun bright, so that in a few seconds there was a tiny black speck, then the faintest whiff of bluish smoke, then a leap of flame, and soon another, till the paper burned, and their fire was lit. As the little hut blazed up they put some more boughs on, and the dead leaves attached to them sent up a thin column of smoke.

"The savages will see that," said Mark, "and come swarming down from the hills."

"We ought to have made the fire in a hole," said Bevis, "and put turf on it."

"What ever shall we do?" said Mark. "They'll be here in a minute."

"Fetich," said Bevis. "I know, cut that stick sharp at the end, tie a handful of gra.s.s on it--be quick--and run down towards the elms and stick it up. Then they'll think we're doing fetich, and won't come any nearer."

"First-rate," said Mark, and off he went with the stick, and thrust it into the sward with a wisp of gra.s.s tied to the top. Bevis piled on the branches, and when he came back there was a large fire. Then the difficulty was how to cook the bird? If they put it on the ashes, it would burn and be spoiled; if they hung it up, they could not make it twist round and round, and they had no iron pot to boil it; or earthenware pot to drop red-hot stones in, and so heat the water without destroying the vessel. The only thing they could do was to stick it on a stick, and hold it to the fire till it was roasted, one side at a time.

"The harpoon will do," said Bevis. "Spit him on it."

"No," said Mark; "the bone will burn and get spoiled--spit him on your arrow."

"The nail will burn out and spoil my arrow, and I've lost one in the elms. Go and cut a long stick."

"You ought to go and do it," said Mark; "I've done everything this morning."

"So you have; I'll go," said Bevis and away; he went to the nut-tree hedge. He soon brought back a straight hazel-rod to which he cut a point, the bird was spitted, and they held it by turns at the fire, sitting on the sward.

It was very warm in the round, bowl-like hollow, the fire at the bottom and the sun overhead, but they were too busy to heed it. Mark crept on hands and knees up the side of the hollow while Bevis was cooking, and cautiously peered over the edge to see if any savages were near. There were none in sight; the fetich kept them at a distance.

"We must remember to take the burning-gla.s.s with us when we go on our voyage," said Bevis.

"Perhaps the sun won't shine."

"No. Mind you tell me, we will take some matches, too; and if the sun shines use the gla.s.s, and if he doesn't, strike a match."

"We shall want a camp-fire when we go to war," said Mark.

"Of course we shall."

"Everybody keeps on about the war," said Mark. "They're always at me."

"I found these b.u.t.tons," said Bevis; "I had forgotten them."

He put the little mushrooms, stems upwards, on some embers which had fallen apart from the main fire. The branches as they burned became white directly, coated over with a film of ash, so that except just in the centre they did not look red, though glowing with heat under the white layer. Even the flames were but just visible in the brilliant sunshine, and were paler in colour than those of the hearth. Now and then the thin column of grey smoke, rising straight up out of the hollow, was puffed aside at its summit by the light air wandering over the field. As the b.u.t.terflies came over the edge of the hollow into the heated atmosphere, they fluttered up high to escape it.

"I'm sure it's done," said Mark, drawing the stick away from the fire.

The bird was brown and burnt in one place, so they determined to eat it and not spoil it by over-roasting. When Bevis began to carve it with his pocket-knife he found one leg quite raw, the wings were burnt, but there was a part of the breast and the other leg fairly well cooked.

These they ate, little pieces at a time, slowly, and in silence, for it was proper to like it. But they did not pick the bones clean.

"No salt," said Mark, putting down the piece he had in his hand.

"No bread," said Bevis, flinging the leg away.

"We don't do it right somehow," said Mark. "It takes such a long time to learn to be savages."

"Years," said Bevis, picking a mushroom from the embers, it burned his fingers and he had to wait till it was cooler. The mushrooms were better, their cups held some of the juice as they cooked, retaining the sweet flavour. They were so small, they were but a bite each.