by John Grant
“But,” said Dad, “the Straightnoses don’t usually hunt or travel in this part of the country. We shouldn’t meet them until we’ve crossed the Great Moss.”
“That just proves what I’ve always said,” went on the first man. “The Straightnoses are unreliable. We must be on our guard from now on.”
Luckily there were no emergencies during that night. They started off again after breakfast, and it was not long before Littlenose began to sense that something was different. The sky was still grey, but seemed lower. The air was definitely colder. They were now walking on damp grass, and ground that sometimes squelched underfoot. They passed stagnant ponds, and often they had to wade through long stretches of shallow water.
Two days later, towards late afternoon, Dad pointed ahead. “There they are,” he said. “We’ll soon be there.”
“There are what?” said Littlenose.
“The trees,” said Dad. “We’ll make our last camp there before crossing the Moss. This is just the edge of it. Tomorrow we do the difficult bit.”
Littlenose looked ahead, and could just make out a dark blob in the mist. The trees, when they reached them, turned out to be a group of ancient willows. They grew on a little island of raised ground, but even here the earth was damp and chilly. Dad came over to him.
“You must be very careful, now, Littlenose,” he said. “And do exactly as you are told. First, hang your things up clear of the ground.”
Littlenose did this, slinging his gear from a stump of tree branch.
“Now,” continued Dad, “you are Fire Boy. You must get a fire lit while we work.”
Littlenose wondered what the work could be, but he set about collecting firewood. Most of it was damp, and some of it was very wet. At first the fire was all smoke, but gradually, some flames appeared.
The men finished their work. One had been fishing, and a fine fish supper was set grilling over the fire. The others, however, seemed to have been doing something very strange. They had cut bundles of long, straight willow twigs which they had then stripped of their bark. Littlenose wondered of what use they could possibly be, but before he could ask, someone shouted, “Time to eat!” Some of the men stood to eat. Some squatted. Nobody sat – the ground was too wet. Littlenose wondered where they would sleep.
The meal over, Dad said, “We’ve a hard day ahead of us tomorrow. It’s time to get some sleep.”
“On the wet grass?” asked Littlenose.
“No, in our hammocks,” replied Dad.
“But I haven’t got a hammock, whatever that is,” said Littlenose in a bewildered voice.
“Yes you have,” said Dad. And he lifted down the bundle which Mum had given Littlenose. Dad untied it, and Littlenose saw that it was a long wide strip of skin with rawhide ropes at each end. Dad tied the ropes on one end to the trunk of a tree. Then he stretched out the skin and tied the other end to a second tree. The skin now hung clear of the ground.
“That,” said Dad, “is your hammock. Get in.” And he lifted Littlenose up. The hammock swung gently, and was very comfortable indeed. Across the glade, other hammocks were being slung, and in a few moments the whole party was snug and dry and calling “Goodnight” to one another.
Littlenose looked up. A few stars had appeared. As he watched, the stars seemed to blink. He watched, and they did it again.
“How very odd,” he thought. Then he saw why. The hammock was swinging gently, and he was seeing the sky through the branches of the willow tree. It was the twigs and leaves coming in front of the stars that made them seem to blink. Littlenose wriggled so that the hammock swung faster. This was fun. He swung faster and faster, while the stars blinked and winked furiously. Then he swung just a little too far. With a yell and a thump he tumbled to the ground. Immediately, the camp was in an uproar. Men grabbed for their spears, and Littlenose found himself in the middle of a circle of very unfriendly faces.
“I fell out,” he said.
“You were fidgeting,” said Dad. He lifted Littlenose back into the hammock and wagged a finger at him. “One more piece of nonsense from you, and you sleep on the ground. All right?”
“All right,” said Littlenose, and he lay down and fell fast asleep.
The hunters set off very early next morning. Each man carried his spear and a small bag to hold the special leaves for medicine. In addition, each held a bundle of the peeled willow sticks. The hunters moved in single file, and quickly reached the edge of the Great Moss. It was just as Dad had described it. A sad, lonely place; just marsh and bog. The line of hunters stopped and then started again. Littlenose, bringing up the rear, saw one of the white twigs sticking upright in the soft ground. Dad called back to him, “Keep to the line of sticks, otherwise you will be drowned. We must feel our way across, and these will show us how to get back.”
Peering ahead, Littlenose could see the leading hunter prodding the ground carefully in front of him with his spear. Only when he found firm footing did he move forward. Every so often, he stuck in a willow twig to mark the route, and slowly and steadily the little party zigzagged its dangerous way across the Moss. Behind them, a winding line of white sticks showed where they had passed. Half the day was gone before the last stick was pushed in, and they were walking on dry turf up a gentle slope.
After a pause for a rest and something to eat, the plant picking began. The yellow flowers of the bogweed were easy to spot, but it was the thick fleshy leaves which the doctor required. It was back-breaking work. Littlenose was luckier than the others in that he didn’t have so far to stoop. All the same, he was glad when he had filled his bag with leaves and could straighten up. He looked all around. It was a very depressing spot. Then a movement caught his eye. It was near a low ridge of land a short distance off. Was it a large animal? A mammoth, perhaps? He saw a line of small shapes, dark against the grey sky.
He watched for a moment longer, then dashed over to Dad.
“Look,” he said, pointing.
Dad looked, dropped flat into the grass and whistled softly. At his signal, the others also dropped into cover, and watched where he pointed. The shapes were coming closer. They were men. Tall and erect, carrying spears, and getting nearer every moment.
“Hunters,” said Littlenose.
“Straightnoses,” said Dad. “We must get out of here fast.”
“When I give the word,” whispered the leader, “make a run for it. Follow the willow twigs. Don’t try taking short-cuts.”
He took a last look towards the Straightnoses, then shouted, “NOW!” and raced helter-skelter for the Moss. The rest followed. Littlenose found himself bringing up the rear once again, as he slipped and stumbled over the quaking ground from one stick to the next. They were well into the Moss before they paused for breath. Then they had a terrible surprise. Neanderthal people were not very bright, and they had imagined that crossing the Moss would somehow bring them to safety. But, to their horror, the Straightnoses were doing as they were, and following the sticks. In panic, the hunters fled on. Except Littlenose, that is.
“How silly can we get?” he thought.
Running to the nearest twig, he pulled it out, then he ran after the hunters, pulling out each twig as he came to it, and throwing it into the Moss so that no one could tell where they had been.
Very quickly a gap grew in the trail. When the Straightnoses reached the last willow stick they shouted with rage. One tried to dash after Littlenose, and was only saved because another grabbed him by the hair as he sank into the marsh. A Straightnose threw a spear which hit the ground behind Littlenose with a plop and vanished.
Disappointed, the Straightnoses turned back towards solid ground.
When the Neanderthal hunters reached their camp, Littlenose was treated as a hero. After all he had saved them from the Straightnoses. He was allowed to sit in his hammock and swing in it, while the fire was made by one man and his supper brought to him by another.
When they reached home, many days later, he was again treated
as a hero. Littlenose wasn’t sure how long it would last but one thing was certain – he was going to make the most of it!
Littlenose the Fisherman
Although Littlenose was an apprentice hunter, and often went with the men of the tribe to hunt, the Neanderthal folk didn’t eat meat all the time. They had wild fruit, roots and bulbs, nuts in the autumn, and honey in the summer. And in spring, when the ice had vanished from the ponds and streams, the Neanderthal folk became fishermen.
One day, Littlenose’s father announced that it was time Littlenose was taught to fish.
“But he can’t keep still!” said Mum. “He’s so noisy every fish will disappear when Littlenose reaches the river.”
“I know,” said Dad gloomily, “but he must learn. Starting tomorrow.”
Neanderthal fishermen needed to be very quiet and patient as well as skilful. They would crouch by the river bank or wade into the shallows, stay very still, and when a fish appeared lunge down with their special fishing spears.
First Dad tried to teach his son how to use a fishing spear on dry ground. But Littlenose became confused and managed to spear his own foot. It didn’t hurt much, luckily, because he’d made such a bad job of sharpening the spear.
Next day Dad took him on a real fishing trip. All morning Littlenose waited quietly and watched Dad, who was patient and careful, and, one by one, caught six trout.
“Now it’s your turn,” said Dad. “Do as I did, and you can’t go wrong.”
Littlenose lay on the bank until his head and shoulders were over the water and took a firm grip on the spear.
“Whatever you do,” whispered Dad, “don’t let go of the spear.”
Littlenose waited; a fisherman must have patience. He peered into the water until a wide open mouth and dark body shot towards the surface. Then he plunged downward with his spear as hard as he could. Too hard! He lost his balance and, with a yell and wildly-kicking legs, fell headlong into the water.
Calmly, Dad caught him by the hair and pulled him onto the grass. It was minutes before Littlenose could recover his breath. Then he held up the spear and said proudly, “I didn’t let go!”
Back at the cave, Mum wrapped Littlenose in a warm fur rug, while Dad sat muttering to himself.
Suddenly, Littlenose looked up. “Dad,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.”
Dad laughed. The idea of Littlenose thinking was very amusing. Mum was somewhat taken aback, too, but she said, “Go on, Littlenose. Tell us.”
“Well,” said Littlenose, “Dad went to a lot of bother just for six trout. I’ve got a better idea.”
“I suppose you could do better,” snorted Dad. “Let’s hear this wonderful idea, then.”
“Catch bigger fish,” said Littlenose.
“Eh?” said Dad.
“Yes,” said Littlenose. “If those trout had been six times as big you need only to have caught one.”
Dad sat for a moment with his mouth hanging open then he laughed and laughed. The tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t speak. “Oh ho!” he shouted. “All we need is one giant trout and our troubles are over!”
“Not trout,” said Littlenose. “Salmon.”
Dad stopped laughing. “Now you’re not being funny,” he said. “Just plain silly.”
“No, I’m not,” said Littlenose. “We’ve had salmon to eat before.”
“Just think for a moment,” said Dad. “Every spring the salmon pass up the river from the sea. You’ve seen them. They’re as big as you are. They leap and race through the water as fast as a galloping buffalo. They stay right out in the deep water. They don’t come near to the surface waiting to be speared. They’re much too clever! The ones we’ve eaten were injured and washed up on the sand. Nobody catches salmon.”
“But Uncle Redhead told me . . .” began Littlenose.
“Uncle Redhead tells you far too much,” said Dad. “Mainly nonsense!”
Dad didn’t care much for his brother-in-law. He thought he was more clever than was proper in a Neanderthal man.
“Uncle Redhead says,” continued Littlenose, “that the bears catch salmon. Upstream the river becomes very rocky, with rapids and little waterfalls. The bears wade out to the rocks and catch the salmon as they rest, or as they jump clear of the water. Uncle Redhead says the ones we get are those that the bears couldn’t keep hold of and that are washed downstream by the current.”
Dad said nothing for a moment, then he nodded his head wisely. “All we have to do, then, is grow claws like the bears, wade into the river and pick out as many salmon as we need. Littlenose, you’re impossible!” And he walked out of the cave in disgust.
“Never mind, dear,” said Mum. “I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea, but it’s time for bed.”
Littlenose spent most of the night lying awake thinking. Dawn was breaking when he did fall asleep, but by then his plans were made.
No one mentioned fishing at breakfast, and when Littlenose strolled out of the cave with Two-Eyes his pet mammoth, Mum didn’t even notice that he was carrying his hunter spear and some food. Littlenose had given a lot of thought to the matter of a spear. Fish spears were light and delicate for catching small fish, but to use one on a salmon would be like throwing stones at a woolly rhinoceros. Littlenose had his own spear, a real hunting spear, but boy-size.
Littlenose decided that Two-Eyes had better come to help him carry his catch. Even one salmon was likely to be too big for Littlenose.
Soon Littlenose and Two-Eyes had left the caves behind, and were in strange country. Few of the tribe ever ventured farther than this, and Littlenose imagined that any moment he would come to the place where the bears fished.
The sun rose higher, Littlenose trudged on, and still the river flowed wide and smooth.
At midday he stopped by the water’s edge and had a picnic. Even as he sat and ate, salmon could be seen far out in the river. The great fish were leaping head and shoulders out of the water and falling back in showers of spray. The sun glinted on their scaly bodies, and Littlenose wondered how he could ever hope to catch one. But sitting looking wasn’t going to do much good. If he didn’t reach the rocky place soon he would have to go home empty-handed.
The afternoon wore on.
Littlenose and Two-Eyes were by now very tired. Several times they had to leave the river bank to make their way around the cliffs and marshes, and Littlenose hoped that they hadn’t missed the bears’ fishing place. But soon he realised they were not going to reach their destination that day, and it was too late to go home. There was only one thing to do. He found a sheltered corner between two rocks, and lighting a fire with his flints to keep away wild animals, he snuggled down against Two-Eyes’ shaggy coat for the night.
Littlenose woke with the birds’ dawn chorus, and had the remains of his meat. Two-Eyes ate some grass, then the two of them continued their journey. The river swung round a bend at this point, and as they turned the corner Littlenose cried, “Look, Two-Eyes!”
Below, the river narrowed, and in the gap between the banks were several large rocks around which the water swirled and frothed. As they watched, a salmon leapt high out of the water, over the rocks, and into the smooth river upstream. Then another salmon splashed its way up one of the small waterfalls, almost completely out of the water.
Without wasting any time, Littlenose climbed down the bank and made for the slippery rocks, while Two-Eyes watched. By the time he reached the middle of the river he was breathless. He found a rock that was fairly flat, and carefully stood upright. Gripping his spear, he waited. Nothing happened. There were no salmon. The last one must have gone!
Suddenly a movement caught his eye. There were salmon all around him! Only the occasional fish leapt above the rocks. Many more were swimming through the channels between the boulders. Looking down, he could see huge dark shapes weaving their way past the rocks. Now and again one would break the surface, and Littlenose had a glimpse of large eyes and great hooked jaws.
H
e waited no longer. Trying to remember all that Dad had told him, he gripped his spear firmly, took careful aim, and struck downwards with all his strength.
A jarring shock almost broke his arm, and next moment he was in the river. He clung on to the spear as it was wrenched this way and that. He was buffeted and bruised by a large tail and dragged hither and thither through the water. Then he was clutching something, and the river was carrying him along, sometimes on top, but more often under the surface.
It seemed hours later that Littlenose felt sand under him. He shook the water from his eyes and staggered ashore . . . dragging behind him the most enormous salmon. It was quite dead, and he could see where his spear had struck, but of the spear itself there was no sign. There was also no sign of Two-Eyes. He would have to get his fish home all by himself.
Meanwhile, back at the caves, a search party had just returned.
“There’s no sign of him,” said the leader. “We can’t think of anywhere else to look. Do you have any ideas?”
“No,” said Mum, sobbing, “he was such a good boy, never any trouble.”
“Probably been eaten,” said a neighbour. “It’s always happening.” He broke off as one of the hunters ran up.
“This has just come down with the current.” He held out a boy-sized hunting spear.
“It’s Littlenose’s,” wailed Mum. “He was talking of catching a salmon, and now they’ve eaten him.”
For the rest of the day, the tribe watched the river as if waiting for Littlenose himself to come floating by like the spear.
“If only he hadn’t gone off by himself,” they said. “There wasn’t a nicer boy in the whole tribe. He was so kind! So generous! Always willing to help. Never disobedient. An example to everyone.”