Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and Men Part 13

Besides which, he was naturally a very stately bird himself in appearance, and had a splendid blackish-green tail and a golden speckled hackle, which shone and glistened in the sun. He had also won many sharp battles with certain young c.o.c.ks in the neighbourhood, whom curiosity about the tufted foreigners had attracted to the yard. The consequence of these triumphs was that he held undisputed dominion as far as the second fence from the farmyard, and whenever he shut his eyes and sounded his war-clarion, the whole of his rivals made off as fast as wings and legs could carry them.

So the five sat or stood by themselves in the yard, dozing in the sunshine, and they felt bored.

During the middle of the day they had managed to get some winks of sleep, but now the farmer's men began to thresh in a barn close by, making noise enough to wake the dead, so there was small chance of well-organized fowls being able to sleep through the din.

"I wish some one would tell a story," said one of the common hens, as she ruffled all her feathers up on end, and then shook them straight again, for coolness. "I am tired of scrabbling in the dust, and fly-catching is an amus.e.m.e.nt only suited to sparrows and such vulgar birds."

This was a hit at one of the foreign hens, who had wandered away a little and was pecking at flies on the wall. The two common hens were very fond of vexing the foreign ones, for their feelings were hurt at being reckoned less beautiful and rare.

The tufted fair one heard the remark, and called out spitefully from a distance: "If certain people were not ignorant country b.u.mpkins, they would be able to tell a good story themselves."

"That remark can't apply to me, for I know a great number of stories,"

replied the common hen, turning her head on one side to show her contempt. "For instance: once upon a time there was a hen who laid nothing but soft-sh.e.l.led eggs--"

"You can't mean _me_ by that story," said the tufted one, "for I have only laid one soft-sh.e.l.led egg in my whole life. So there! But do tell me how your interesting story ends--I am so anxious to hear the end."

"You know that best yourself," retorted the other.

"Now I'm sure, dear Father c.o.c.k, you could tell us something really amusing if you would be so kind," said the second common hen, who was standing near him. "Those two make one's life a burthen, with their everlasting wrangling and bickering."

"Hush!" said the c.o.c.k, who was standing motionless with one leg in the air, an att.i.tude he often a.s.sumed when any very hard thinking had to be done; "I was just trying to recollect one."

After a pause, he said in a solemn voice: "I will tell you the terrible tale of the troubles of 'The Hens of Hencastle.'

"Once upon a time--it was the village fair week, when, as you know, every one eats and drinks as much as he possibly can, and consequently a great many animals are killed,--the farmer's cook came into the fowlyard, and after carefully looking over all the chickens, remarked that seven of them would be twisting merrily on the spit next morning.

On hearing this, all the fowls were plunged into the deepest despair, for no one felt sure that he would not be of the seven, and no one could guess how the victims would be chosen. Two young c.o.c.kerels, in their deep perplexity, at last went to the yard-dog, Flaps by name, who was a very great friend of theirs, and to him they cackled out their woes.

"'Why do you stop here?' asked Flaps. 'If you had any pluck at all you would run away.'

"'Ah! Perhaps so--but who has enough courage for such a desperate step?'

sighed the young c.o.c.kerels. 'Why, you yourself are no more courageous than we, else why do you stop here chained up all day, and allow those tiresome children to come and tease you?'

"'Well,' replied the dog, 'I earn a good livelihood by putting up with these small discomforts, and besides that, _I_ am not going to be set twisting on a spit. However, if you particularly wish it, we can go away somewhere together; but if we do, I may as well tell you at once, that you will have to feed me.'

"The c.o.c.kerels, fired by this bold advice, betook themselves at once to the henroost with the courage of young lions; and after a short but animated discussion, persuaded the whole of the c.o.c.ks and hens to run away and to take Flaps as protector of the community.

"When darkness fell, the dog was unchained for the night as usual, and as soon as the coast seemed clear, he went to the henhouse, pushed back the sliding door with his nose, and let them all out.

"Then he and the whole company stole away as quietly as possible through the yard-gate, away out into the open country.

"The fowls flew and wandered on, the livelong night, perfectly happy in their freedom, and feeding themselves from the sheaves of corn that stood in the stubble-fields.

"Whenever Flaps felt hungry, the hens laid him a couple of eggs or so which he found far nicer than barley-meal and dog-biscuit.

"When they pa.s.sed through thinly-populated places where they were not likely to be observed, they marched gaily forward; but whenever there was a chance of danger, they only travelled by night.

"Meanwhile the cook went early in the morning to kill the chickens; but on finding the whole place as empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard, she fell into a violent fit of hysterics, and the kitchen-maid and pig-boy had to put her under the pump, and work it hard for a quarter of an hour before they could revive her.

"After some days' journeying, the wanderers arrived at a large desolate-looking heath, in the middle of which stood an old weather-beaten house, apparently uninhabited. Flaps was sent forward to examine it, and he searched from garret to cellar without finding a trace of a human being. The fowls then examined the neighbourhood for two whole days and nights with a like result, and so they determined to take up their abode in the dwelling.

"In they trooped, and set themselves to work to turn it into a strong castle, well fortified against all danger. They stopped up the holes and cracks with tufts of gra.s.s, and piled a wall of big and little stones right round the house. When the repairs were completed they called it Hencastle.

"During the autumn some of the fowls ventured forth into the cornfields that lay near the haunts of men, and collected a store of grain to supply them with food during the winter. They kept it on the floor of a loft, and when spring came they sowed the remainder of the stock in a field, where it produced such an abundant crop that they had plenty of provisions for the following winter.

"Thus they lived a peaceful and happy life, which was so uneventful that it has no history; and Mark, the watchman, who always stood on the coping-stone of the highest chimney to act as sentinel, used constantly to fall asleep, partly from sheer boredom, and partly from the combined effects of old age, good living, and having nothing on earth to do.

Flaps, too, who had undertaken to guard the castle against intruders, and who at first used to patrol the house carefully inside and out every night, soon came to the conclusion that the game was not worth the candle.

"One chilly evening, about the time of the first snows, when the wind was beginning to whistle over the heath and make strange noises in the castle, two old hens were up in the loft having a chat and picking up a few stray grains of corn for supper. All of a sudden they heard a mysterious 'Piep.' 'Hollo!' said one, 'what's that? no one can be hatching out at this time of the year--it's impossible; yet surely something said "Piep" down there in the corner.'

"Just then another 'Piep' was heard.

"'I don't think it sounds _quite_ like a young chicken,' replied the other hen.

"In the middle of their discussion on this knotty point, they descried a couple of mice at the edge of the corn-heap. One of them was sitting on his hind-legs, washing his ears and whiskers with his fore-paws, but his wife was gobbling up corn at a rapid rate, and in this sight the wise and far-seeing old hens discerned the probability of future troubles.

"'Hollo there! that's our corn,' they cried; 'you mustn't steal it. Of course you may have a few grains in the depth of winter to keep you from starving; but remember, when spring comes again, this sort of thing must stop, and you must go away and never come here any more.'

"'Piep,' said the mice, and vanished.

"The two hens told the rest what had happened, but n.o.body troubled themselves about such an insignificant matter, and some said that the poor old things made mountains out of molehills. Anyhow, in two days everybody, including the wise hens themselves, had forgotten all about it. Later on, that winter, the mice had seven young ones--seven such skinny, thread-limbed, beady-eyed little beasts that no one noticed their arrival.

"Very soon after, almost before any hen had time to look round or think, behold! mice were squeaking in every corner, and there were holes behind every wainscot, plank, and rafter.

"A year pa.s.sed away, and when winter returned again the mice came and took the stored corn away in such quant.i.ties that everybody saw none would be left to sow in the spring.

"Matters had come to a crisis; many and anxious discussions were held amongst the fowls, for good counsel was a thing much sought after at Hencastle.

"At first they took very energetic measures, and many a mouse fell a victim to a well-aimed peck from a c.o.c.k's beak; but alas! the mice took energetic measures also, and resisted to the death, so that many a fowl's leg was bitten to the bone. Much had been said, and much was done, but the mice were more numerous than before.

"The commonwealth then decided on sending three experienced c.o.c.ks out into the world, to try and find some means for getting rid of the plague of mice.

"The c.o.c.ks journeyed for one whole day without finding anything to help them in their trouble, but towards evening they came to a wild, rocky mountainside, full of caves and clefts, and made up their minds to stay there for the night; so they crept into a hole under a ledge of rock, put their heads under their wings, and went to sleep.

"In the middle of the night they were roused by the sound of flapping wings, followed by a whispering voice, saying, 'whish--ish,' which soon broke out into a loud 'Whoo--hoo! whoo--hoo!' They popped their heads out of the hole to see what was the matter, and they perceived a great owl sitting on a stump, flapping its wings up and down, and rolling its great round eyes about, which glared like red-hot coals in its head.

"'Mice here! Mice here! Whoo--hoo!' it shrieked.

"On hearing this the c.o.c.ks nudged one another, and said, 'We are in luck's way at last.' Then as the owl still continued to call for mice, one of them plucked up courage and addressed it: 'If you will only come with us, sir, you shall have as many mice as you can eat--a whole house-full, if you like.'

"'Who may you be?' hissed the owl, and glared with its fiery eyes into the cleft.

"'We come from Hencastle, where there are hundreds of mice, who devour our corn day and night.

"'Whoo--hoo! I'll come, I'll come,' screamed the owl, snapping its beak with pleasure.

"In the grey of the dawn the fowls sat on the roof-tree, listening to Mark, the watchman, who stood on the top of, his chimney, and cried,

"'What do I see?

Here come the three!