Bevis Part 88

Volume Three, Chapter IX.

NEW FORMOSA--THE SOMETHING COMES AGAIN.

About the middle of the night Pan moved, sat up, gave a low growl, then rushed outside to the full length of his cord, and set up a barking.

"Pan! Pan!" said Bevis, awakened.

"What is it?" said Mark.

Hearing their voices and feeling himself supported, Pan increased his uproar. Bevis ran outside with Mark and looked round the stockade. It was still night, but night was wending to the morn. The moon was low behind the trees. The stars shone white and without scintillating.

They could distinctly see every corner of the courtyard; there was nothing in it.

"It's the something," said Mark. Together they ran across to the gateway in the stockade, though they had no boots on. They looked outside; there was nothing. Everything was perfectly still, as if the very trees slept.

"We left the gate open," said Bevis.

"I don't believe it's ever been locked but once," said Mark.

Neither had it. On the boards the wizard's foot was drawn to keep out the ethereal genii, but they had neglected to padlock the door to keep out the material. They locked it now, and returned to the hut. Pan wagged his tail, but continued to give short barks as much as to say, that _he_ was not satisfied, though they had seen nothing.

"What can it be?" said Mark. "If Pan used to swim off every night, he could not have had all the things."

"No. We'll look in the morning and see if there are any marks on the ground."

They sat up a little while talking about it, and then reclined; in three minutes they were firm asleep again. Pan curled up, but outside the hut now; once or twice he growled inwardly.

In the morning they remembered the incident the moment they woke, and before letting Pan loose, carefully examined every foot of the ground inside the stockade. There was not the slightest spoor. Nor was there outside the gate; but it was possible that an animal might pa.s.s there without leaving much sign in the thin gra.s.s. When Pan was let free he ran eagerly to the gate, but then stopped, looked about him, and came back seeming: to take no further interest. The scent was gone.

"No cooking," said Mark, as they sat down to breakfast. "Glad I'm not a girl to have to do that sort of thing."

"I wish there was some wind," said Bevis, "so that we could have a sail."

There was a little air moving, but not sufficient to make sailing pleasant in so c.u.mbrous a craft as the Calypso. They had their bath, but did not cross to Serendib, lest Pan should follow and disturb the water-fowl. So soon as they had dressed, the matchlock was loaded--it was Mark's day--and they brought the raft round.

Mark sat on the deck in front with the match lit, and the barrel balanced on a fixed rest they had put up for it, not the movable staff.

Bevis poled the raft across to Serendib, and then very quietly round the northern end of that island, where the water was deep enough to let the raft pa.s.s close to the blue gum boughs. Coming round to the other side, Mark moved his left hand, which was the signal that they had agreed on, when Bevis kept his pole on the ground, dragging so as to almost anchor the Calypso.

In a quarter of a minute Mark fired, and Pan instantly jumped overboard.

The force of his fall carried him under water, but he rose directly and brought the moorhen back to them. Bevis dragged him on board--the moorhen in his mouth--by the neck, for he could not climb over the bulwarks from the water. After the gun was loaded Bevis pushed on again slowly, but the report had frightened the others, and there were no more out feeding. They stayed therefore under the blue gum boughs and waited. Pan wanted to leap ash.o.r.e and play havoc, but they would not let him, for it was impossible to shoot flying with their heavy gun.

Some time pa.s.sed, and then Bevis caught sight of a neck and a head; there was nothing more visible, near the sh.o.r.e along which they had come. It was a dab-chick or lesser grebe. At that, the stern end of the raft, there was no rest, but Mark sat down and put the barrel on the bulwarks. Bevis whispered to him to wait till the dab-chick turned its head, for this bird, which swims almost flush with the water, goes under in an instant, having only to get his head down to disappear. He will dive at the faintest sound or movement that he does not recognise, but soon comes up again, and will often duck at the flash of a gun too quick for the shot to strike him. Mark waited his chance and instantly fired, and Pan brought them the grebe.

They waited what seemed a very long time, but nothing appeared, so Pan was thrown ash.o.r.e by his neck crash in among the "gix" and meadowsweet.

He did not care for that, he went to work in an instant. Mark got ready, for though he could not shoot flying he thought some of them would perhaps swim off. This happened, two moorhens came rushing out, one flew, the other swam as hastily as he could, and Mark shot the latter. But before he could load again Pan had disturbed the whole island, some went this way, some that, and all the fowl were scattered.

It was some time before they could get the excited spaniel on board; so soon as they could, Bevis poled the raft along to Bamboo Island, where several coots and moorhens had taken refuge. As they came near these being now on the alert began to move off. Mark aimed at one, but he was he thought not quite near enough: Bevis poled faster, when the moorhen at the splash began to rise, scuttling and dragging the long hanging legs along the surface.

Mark drew the match down into the priming, the shot widening as it went, struck up the water like a shower round the moorhen, which though only hit by one pellet, fell and dived: Pan following. The bird came up to breathe. Pan saw her, and yelped. He touched ground and ran plunging in the water, cantering, lifting his fore-paws and beating the water, for he could not run in the same way as ash.o.r.e. He caught another glimpse of the bird, dashed to the spot, and thrust his nose and head right under, but missed her. By now the raft had come up, and they beat the weeds with their poles. The moorhen doubled into the bamboos and sedges, but they were so thick they hindered her progress, and Pan snapped her up in a moment.

From Bamboo Island, Bevis poled round to five or six banks covered with sedges, and Mark had another shot, but this time, perhaps a little too confident, he missed altogether. There did not seem any probability of their shooting any more, so they returned towards New Formosa, when Mark wanted to have one more look round the lower and more level end of that island. Bevis poled that way, and Mark, seeing something black with a white bill moving in the weeds, fired--a very long shot--and felt sure that he had wounded the bird, though for a minute it disappeared.

Presently Pan brought them a young coot.

Mark had now shot three moorhens, a coot, and a dab-chick, but what pleased him most was the moorhen he had hit while flying, though but one shot had taken effect. He could not have shot so many with so c.u.mbrous a gun had not the water-fowl been nearly all young, and had not some time gone by since the last raid had been made upon these sedgy covers; so that, as is the case on all uninhabited islands, the birds were easy to approach.

Finding that the sun-dial still only gave the time as half-past twelve, Mark wanted to try spinning again for jack if Bevis was not too tired of poling on the raft. Bevis was willing, so they started again, and he poled slowly along the edge of the broad bands of weeds, while Mark drew the bait through the water. He had one success, bringing a jack of about two pounds on deck, but no more.

Then, returning to New Formosa, they visited the wires set for kangaroos, which had been forgotten. One had been pushed down, but nothing was caught. The wires were moved and set up in other runs, with more caution not to touch the gra.s.s or the run--the kangaroo's footpath--with the hand, and the loops were made a little larger. If the loop is too small the rabbit pushes the wire aside; so that it had better be just a little too large, that the head may be certain to go through, when the shoulders will draw the noose tight. They did not sit down to dinner till past two o'clock, having had a long morning, no part of which had been lost in cooking.

Watching for Charlie in the afternoon, they reclined on the cliff under the oak, resting, and talking but little. The light of the sun was often intercepted, not entirely shut off, but intercepted by thin white clouds slowly drifting over, which like branches held back so much of the rays that the sun could occasionally be looked at. Then he came out again and lit up the waters in gleaming splendour. There was enough ripple to prevent them from seeing any basking fish, but the shifting, uncertain air was not enough to be called a breeze.

Lying at full length inside the shadow of the oak, Bevis gazed up at the clouds, which were at an immense height, and drifted so slowly as to scarcely seem to move, only he saw that they did because he had a fixed point in the edge of the oak boughs. So thin and delicate was the texture of the white sky-lace above him that the threads scarcely hid the blue which the eye knew was behind and above it. It was warm without the pressure of heat, soft, luxurious; the summer like them reclined, resting in the fulness of the time.

The summer rested before it went on to autumn. Already the tips of the reeds were brown, the leaves of the birch were specked, and some of the willows dropped yellow ovals on the water; the acorns were bulging in their cups, the haws showed among the hawthorn as their green turned red; there was a gloss on the blue sloes among the "wait-a-bit"

blackthorns, red threads appeared in the moss of the canker-roses on the briars. A sense of rest, the rest not of weariness, but of full growth, was in the atmosphere; tree, plant, and gra.s.sy things had reached their fulness and strength.

The summer shadow lingered on the dial, the sun slowed his pace, pausing on his way, in the rich light the fruits filled. The earth had listened to the chorus of the birds, and as they ceased gave them their meed of berry, seed, and grain. There was no labour for them; their granaries were full. Ethereal gold floated about the hills, filling their hollows to the brim with haze. Like a grape the air was ripe and luscious, and to breathe it was a drowsy joy. For Circe had smoothed her garment and slumbered, and the very sun moved slow.

They remained idle under the oak for some time after Charlie had made the usual signal; but when the shadow of the wood came out over the brambles towards the fence Mark reloaded the matchlock, and they went into ambush by Kangaroo Hill among the hazel bushes this time on the opposite side. The hazel bushes seemed quite vacant, only one bird pa.s.sed while they were there, and that was a robin, come to see what they were doing and if there was anything for him. In the butchery of the Wars of the Roses, that such flowers should be stained with such memories! it is certain as the murderers watched the robin perched hard by. He listened to the voice of fair Rosamond; he was at the tryst when Amy Robsart met her lover. Nothing happens in the fields and woods without a robin.

Mark had a shot at last at a kangaroo, but though Pan raced his hardest it escaped into the bury. It was of no use to wait any longer, so they walked very slowly round the island, waiting behind every bush, and looking out over the water. There was nothing till, as they returned the other side, they saw the parrots approach and descend into the ivy-grown oak. Bevis held Pan while Mark crept forward from tree-trunk to tree-trunk till he was near enough, when he put the heavy barrel against a tree, in the same way Bevis had done. His aim was true, and the parrot fell.

It had been agreed that Bevis should have the gun at night, for he wished to go on the mainland and see if he could shoot anything in the Waste, but still unsatisfied Mark wanted yet another shot. The thirst of the chase was on him; he could not desist. Since there was nothing else he fired at and killed a thrush they found perched on the top of the stockade. Mark put down the gun with a sigh that his shooting was over.

Bevis waited till it was full moonlight, putting down a few things in his journal, while Mark skinned three of his finest perch, which he meant to have for supper. To be obliged to cook was one thing, to cook just for the pleasure of the taste was a different thing. He skinned them because he knew the extreme difficulty of sc.r.a.ping the thickset hard scales. Presently Bevis loaded the gun; he was going to do so with ball, when Mark pointed out that he could not be certain of a perfectly accurate aim by moonlight. This was true, so he reluctantly put shot.

Mark's one desire was to fetch down his game; Bevis wished to kill with the precision of a single bullet.

They poled the raft ash.o.r.e, and both landed, but Mark stayed among the bramble thickets holding Pan, while Bevis went out into the Waste. He did not mean to stay in ambush long anywhere, but to try and get a shot from behind the bushes. Crouching in the brambles, Mark soon lost sight of him, so soon that he seemed to have vanished; the ant-hills, the tall thistles, and the hawthorns concealed him.

Bevis stepped noiselessly round the green ant-hills, sometimes startling a lark, till, when he looked back, he scarcely knew which way he had come. In a meadow or a cornfield the smooth surface lets the glance travel at once to the opposite hedge, and the shape of the enclosure or one at least of its boundaries is seen, so that the position is understood. But here the ant-hills and the rush-bunches, the thickets of thistles and brambles gave the ground an uneven surface, and the hawthorn-trees hid the outline.

There was no outline; it was a dim uncertain expanse with shadows, and a grey mist rising here and there, and slight rustlings as pads pressed the sward, or wings rose from roost. Once he fancied he saw a light upon the ground not so far off; he moved that way, but the thistles or bushes hid it. A silent owl startled him as it slipped past; he stamped his foot with anger that he should have been startled. Twice he caught a glimpse of white tails, but he could not shoot running with the matchlock.

Incessantly winding round and round the ant-hills, he did not know which way he was going, except that he tried to keep the moon a little on his left hand, thinking he could shoot better with the light like that.

After some time he reached a boulder, another one not so large as that they had examined together; this was about as high as his chest.

He leaned against it and looked over; there was a green waggon track the other side, which wound out from the bushes, and again disappeared among them. Though he knew that Mark could not be far, and that a whistle would bring him, he felt utterly alone. It was wilder than the island-- the desolate thistles, the waste of rushes, the thorns, the untouched land which the ants possessed and not man, the cold grey boulder, the dots of mist here and there, and the pale light of the moon. Something of the mystery of the ancient days hovers at night over these untilled places. He leaned against the stone and looked for the flicker of light which he had seen, and supposed must be a will-o'-the-wisp, but he did not see it again.

Suddenly something came round the corner of the smooth green waggon track, and he knew in an instant by the peculiar amble that it was a hare. The long barrel of the matchlock was cautiously placed on the stone, and he aimed as well as he could, for when looked at along a barrel objects have a singular way of disappearing at night. Then he paused, for the hare still came on. Hares seem to see little in front; their eyes sweep each side, but straight ahead they are blind till the air brings them the scent they dread.

All at once the hare sat up--he had sniffed Bevis, and the same minute the flash rushed from the muzzle. Bevis ran directly and found the hare struggling; almost as soon as he had lifted him up Pan was there. Then Mark came leaping from ant-hill to ant-hill, and crushing through the thistles in his haste. As Mark had come direct from the sh.o.r.e he knew the general direction, and they hurried back to the raft, fearing some of the savages might come to see who was shooting on the mainland. Once on the island, as the perch were cooking, the game was spread out on the table--three moorhens, a coot, a dab-chick, a wood-pigeon, a hare, and the jack Mark had caught.

Of all the hare, or rather leveret, for it was a young one, was the finest. His black-tipped ears, his clean pads, his fur--every separate hair with three shades of colour--it was a pleasure to smooth his fur down with the hand.

"This is the jolliest day we've had," said Mark. "All shooting and killing and real hunting--real island--and no work and no cooking, except just what we like. It's splendid."

"If only Val and Cecil could see," said Bevis, handling the ears of his hare for the twentieth time. "Won't they go on when we tell them?"

"Don't talk about that," said Mark; "don't say anything about going home; that's the Other Side, you know."