It happened now one afternoon, when the crows had already got their nests in order on Kråkåsen, that they made a remarkable find. Wind-Ile, Fumle-Drumle and a few others had flown down into a large hollow which was in one corner of the moor. The hollow was nothing but a gravel pit, but the crows could not be content with such a simple explanation. Instead they kept flying down into it, turning over every grain of sand to figure out why humans had dug it. While the crows were there, a mass of gravel tumbled down from one side. They hurried and had the good fortune to find among the fallen stones and tufts of grass a rather large clay pot, which was closed with a wooden lid. Naturally they wanted to know if there was anything in it, and they tried both hacking holes in the pot and prising up the lid, but neither succeeded.
They stood there quite perplexed and observed the pot, when they heard someone say, ‘Shall I come down and help you, crows?’ They looked up quickly. On the edge of the hollow a fox sat looking down at them. He was one of the most beautiful foxes they had ever seen, in both colour and shape. The only fault with him was that he had lost one ear.
‘If you want to do us a favour,’ said Wind-Ile, ‘we won’t say no.’ At the same time both he and the others flew up out of the hollow. The fox jumped down in their place, bit on the pot and pulled on the lid, but he could not open it either.
‘Can you figure out what’s in it?’ Wind-Ile said. The fox rolled the pot back and forth and listened attentively. ‘It can’t be anything other than silver coins,’ he said.
This was more than the crows had expected. ‘Do you think it can be silver?’ they said, and their eyes were about to pop out of their heads with greed, because, however strange it may sound, there is nothing in the world that crows love as much as silver coins.
‘Hear how they jingle!’ the fox said, rolling the pot around again. ‘I just can’t understand how we’re going to get at them.’
‘No, it’s probably impossible,’ said the crows.
The fox stood and rubbed his head with his left leg and thought. Perhaps he would succeed now with the crows’ help to be master over that imp who always evaded him. ‘I think I know someone who would be able to open the pot for you,’ the fox said.
‘Say it, then! Say it!’ the crows called and were so eager that they fluttered down into the hollow.
‘I’ll do that, only first you have to agree to my terms,’ he said.
The fox now told the crows about Thumbkin and said to them that if they could bring him to the moor he could probably open the pot for them. But as reward for this advice he demanded that they turn Thumbkin over to him as soon as he had got them the silver coins. The crows had no reason to spare Thumbkin, so they immediately agreed.
This was all easily settled, but it was harder to find out where Thumbkin and the wild geese were.
Wind-Ile himself took off with fifty crows and said that he would soon be back. But one day passed after the next, without the crows on Kråkåsen seeing a glimpse of him.
KIDNAPPED BY CROWS
Wednesday, 13 April
The wild geese were up at the crack of dawn to have time to get a little food before starting their journey towards Östergötland. The islet in Gåsfjärden they had slept on was small and bare, but in the water around it there were plants they could fill up on. It was worse for the boy. He was unable to find anything edible.
As he stood that morning, hungry and cold, looking around in all directions, his eyes fell on a couple of squirrels playing on a tree-covered promontory right in front of the rocky islet. He wondered whether the squirrels did not still have some of their winter stores left, and he asked the white gander to carry him over to the promontory so that he could beg a couple of hazelnuts from them.
The large white gander swam at once across the sound with him, but as bad luck would have it, the squirrels were having so much fun chasing each other from tree to tree that they did not bother to listen to the boy. Instead they went farther into the grove. He hurried after and soon went out of sight of the gander, who was still by the shore.
The boy waded forth between some wood anemone plants, which were so tall they reached all the way up to his chin, when he felt someone take hold of him from behind and try to lift him up. He turned around and saw that a crow had seized hold of his neckband. He tried to tear himself loose, but before he had succeeded another crow hurried up, took hold of his one sock and pulled him down.
If Nils Holgersson had immediately called for help, the white gander would certainly have been able to free him, but the boy probably thought that he ought to be able to manage alone against a couple of crows. He kicked and hit, but the crows did not let go, and they succeeded in getting up in the air with him. In doing so they proceeded so carelessly that his head struck against a branch. He got a hard blow across the top of his head, it turned black before his eyes and he lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes again he found himself high above the ground. He slowly returned to consciousness and at first he did not know either where he was or what he was seeing. When he looked down, he thought that below him an incredibly large, woolly carpet spread out, which was woven from green and brown in large, irregular shapes. The carpet was very thick and strong, but he thought it was a shame it was so much the worse for wear. It was really ragged, long tears ran along it and in some places large pieces were torn away. And the strangest thing was that it seemed to be lying over a mirrored floor, because under the holes and tears in the carpet shiny, glistening glass shimmered forth.
What the boy noticed next was that the sun came rolling up in the sky. Immediately the mirrored glass under the holes and tears in the carpet started to glisten in red and gold. It looked very splendid and the beautiful shifts in colour pleased the boy, although he did not really understand what it was he was seeing. But now the crows descended and at once he noticed that the large carpet under him was the earth, which here was clad with green pine forest and brown, bare deciduous forest, and that the holes and tears were glistening fjords and small lakes.
He recalled that the first time he had travelled up in the air he thought that the ground in Skåne looked like a piece of chequered cloth. But this, which resembled a torn carpet, what kind of country could it be?
He started asking himself a lot of questions. Why wasn’t he sitting on the gander’s back? Why was a large swarm of crows flying around him? And why was he being jerked and tossed here and there, so that he was about to fall off?
Then it all became clear to him at once. He had been kidnapped by a couple of crows. The white gander was still waiting by the shore and the wild geese would be travelling up to Östergötland today. He himself was being taken to the south-west, which he understood because the sun was behind him. And the large forest carpet which lay below him was surely Småland.
‘What will happen to the white gander when I can’t take care of him?’ the boy thought, and he started shouting at the crows that they should take him back to the wild geese at once. He was not a bit worried for his own sake. He thought it was out of sheer mischief that they carried him away.
The crows did not respond to his requests at all, but instead flew ahead as fast as they were able. But after a while one of them flapped its wings in the way that means, ‘Look out! Danger!’ Right after that they dived down into a spruce forest, squeezed between the scrubby branches all the way to the forest floor and set the boy down under a dense spruce, where he was so well hidden that not even a hawk could have caught sight of him.
Fifty crows lined up around the boy with their beaks aimed towards him to guard him. ‘Now, crows, maybe I can find out what your intentions are in taking me away,’ he said. But he had h
ardly finished what he was saying before a big crow hissed at him, ‘Just keep quiet! Otherwise I’ll peck your eyes out!’
It was clear the crow meant what he said, and the boy could do nothing other than obey. So he sat there and stared at the crows, and the crows stared at him.
The longer he looked at them, the less he liked them. It was terrible how dusty and badly battered their plumage was, as if they didn’t know about either bathing or oiling. Their toes and claws were soiled with dried dirt, and the corners of their mouths were covered with food scraps. This was a different sort of bird than the wild geese, he noticed. He felt they had a cruel, greedy, watchful and bold appearance, just like scoundrels and tramps.
‘I’ve definitely fallen into the hands of a band of robbers,’ he thought.
Just then he heard the call of the wild geese above him. ‘Where are you? Here am I! Where are you? Here am I!’
He realized that Akka and the others had gone out to search for him, but before he had time to answer them, the big crow, who seemed to be the leader of the band, hissed in his ear, ‘Think about your eyes!’ And there was nothing for him to do other than to keep silent.
The wild geese could not have known that he was so close to them, but instead only by chance happened to fly over this forest. He heard their calls a few more times, then they died away. ‘Yes, now you have to manage on your own, Nils Holgersson,’ the boy then said to himself. ‘Now you get to show whether you’ve learned anything during these weeks in the wilderness.’
Shortly thereafter the crows made signs of departing, and as they now seemed intent on carrying him with one holding on to his neckband and one on to his sock, the boy said, ‘Aren’t any of you crows strong enough to carry me on her back? You’ve already treated me so roughly that it feels as if I were torn in two. Just let me ride! I won’t throw myself down from a crow’s back, I promise you that.’
‘You shouldn’t think we care about how you feel,’ the leader said, but now the biggest of the crows, a dishevelled and ungainly one with a white feather on his wing, came up and said, ‘It would probably be better for us all, Wind-Ile, if Thumbkin arrived whole rather than in half, and for that reason I will try to carry him on my back.’
‘If you’re able, Fumle-Drumle, then I have nothing against it,’ said Wind-Ile. ‘But don’t lose him!’
This in itself was a major gain and the boy felt satisfied once more. ‘It’s not worth it to lose my temper because I’ve been kidnapped by the crows,’ he thought. ‘I think I’ll get the better of these wretches.’
The crows were still flying towards the south-west over Småland. It was a splendid morning, sunny and calm, and the birds down on the ground were busy singing their best courting songs. In a high, dark forest the thrush himself sat with drooping wings and thickened throat up in the top of a spruce and warbled over and over. ‘How lovely you are! How lovely you are! How lovely you are!’ he sang. ‘No one is so lovely! No one is so lovely! No one is so lovely!’ And as soon as he had finished this song, he started it again.
But the boy was riding over the forest just then, and when he had heard the song a few times and noticed that the thrush did not know any others, he put both his hands around his mouth like a horn and called downwards, ‘We’ve heard that before! We’ve heard that before!’
‘Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who’s making fun of me?’ the thrush asked, trying to catch sight of whoever was calling.
‘It’s Abducted-by-Crows who’s making fun of your song!’ the boy answered. The crow chieftain turned his head at once and said, ‘Watch your eyes, Thumbkin!’ But the boy thought, ‘No, I don’t care about that. I just want to show you that I’m not afraid of you.’
They were travelling farther up country and there were forests and lakes everywhere. In a birch grove the stock dove was sitting on a bare branch and in front of her stood the male. He puffed up his feathers, crooked his neck and raised and lowered his body, so that his breast feathers buzzed against the branch. All the while he cooed, ‘You, you, you are the loveliest in the forest! No one in the forest is as lovely as you, you, you!’
But up in the air the boy went past, and when he heard the male dove he could not keep quiet. ‘Don’t believe him! Don’t believe him!’ he shouted.
‘Who, who, who is it who is lying about me?’ the male dove cooed, trying to catch sight of whoever had yelled at him.
‘It’s Taken-by-Crows who is lying about you!’ the boy answered. Once again Wind-Ile turned his head towards the boy and ordered him to be silent, but Fumle-Drumle, who was carrying him, said, ‘Let him talk, then the small birds will think that we crows have become quick-witted, funny birds!’
‘Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,’ said Wind-Ile, but he must have liked the idea, because then he let the boy shout as much as he wanted.
It was mostly forest and woodland that they flew over, but of course there were also churches and villages and small cottages at the forest edge. In one place they saw a nice old estate. It was situated with the forest behind it and the lake in front of it, with red walls and a gambrel roof, massive maple trees around the yard and large, scrubby gooseberry bushes in the garden. At the top of the weathervane the starling sat and sang so that every note was heard by the female, who was sitting on eggs in the nesting box over in the pear tree. ‘We have four beautiful little eggs!’ the starling sang. ‘We have four beautiful, round little eggs! We have a whole nesting box full of splendid eggs!’
As the starling was singing the song for the thousandth time, the boy passed over the farm. He put his hands around his mouth and shouted, ‘The magpie will take them! The magpie will take them!’
‘Who is it who wants to frighten me?’ the starling asked, worriedly flapping his wings.
‘It’s Captured-by-Crows who is scaring you!’ the boy said. This time the crow chieftain did not try to silence him. Instead, both he and the whole flock were having such fun that they cawed with contentment.
The farther up country they came, the larger the lakes became, and the richer they became in islands and promontories. And on one lakeshore a drake was standing, fawning for the female duck. ‘I will be faithful to you for all my days! I will be faithful to you for all my days!’ the drake said.
‘Won’t last beyond the end of summer!’ the boy shouted as they passed.
‘Who is that?’ the drake called.
‘My name is Stolen-by-Crows!’ the boy shouted.
At midday the crows landed in an enclosed pasture. They went around gathering food, but none of them thought about giving the boy anything. Then Fumle-Drumle came rushing up to the chieftain with a twig from a briar bush, on which there were some red rose hips. ‘Here you go, Wind-Ile,’ he said. ‘This is some nice food just for you.’
Wind-Ile snorted contemptuously. ‘Do you think I want to eat old, dried-up rose hips?’ he said.
‘And here I thought you’d be happy about them!’ Fumle-Drumle said, tossing away the rose-hip twig as if in dejection. But it fell down right in front of the boy, and he was not slow to take hold of it and eat until he was full.
When the crows had eaten, they started talking. ‘What are you thinking about, Wind-Ile? You’re so quiet today,’ one of them said to the leader.
‘I’m thinking that once in this area lived a hen who was very fond of her mistress and to really please her she went and laid a batch of eggs, which she hid under a barn floor. The whole time she sat on the eggs she delighted in the thought of how happy her mistress would be about the chicks. Her mistress wondered, of course, where the hen was keeping herself for such a long time. She searched for her, but didn’t find her. Can you guess,
Long-Beak, who found her and the eggs?’
‘I think I can guess, Wind-Ile, but now that you mention it, I’ll tell you something similar. Do you remember the big, black cat in Hinneryd parsonage? She was dissatisfied with the master and mistress, because they always took her newborn kittens from her and drowned them. She managed to keep them hidden no more than once and that was when she placed them in a haystack out in the field. She was probably very satisfied with those kittens, but I think I got more joy from them than she did.’
Now they all got so excited that they started talking at once. ‘What art is there in stealing eggs and kittens?’ said one. ‘Once I chased a young hare who was almost full-grown. I had to follow him from thicket to thicket.’ She got no further, before another took over. ‘It may be fun to annoy hens and cats, but I find it even more remarkable that a crow can cause a human trouble. Once I stole a silver spoon—’
But now the boy thought that he was too good to sit and listen to such talk. ‘No, listen up, crows!’ he said. ‘I think you ought to be ashamed, talking about all your meanness. I have lived among wild geese for three weeks and I have never seen or heard anything but good from them. You must have a bad chieftain, who lets you rob and murder like this. You all ought to change your ways, because I can tell you that the humans are so sick and tired of your evil that they are trying with all their might to eradicate you. And then it will probably soon be the end of you.’
When Wind-Ile and the crows heard this, they became so angry that they intended to throw themselves on to the boy and tear him apart. But Fumle-Drumle laughed and cawed and placed himself in front of him. ‘No, no, no!’ he said, seeming to be quite terrified. ‘What do you think Wind-Kåra will say if you tear Thumbkin apart before he has got us the silver coins?’
‘Fumle-Drumle, you should be the one who is afraid of womenfolk,’ Ile said, but in any event both he and the others left Thumbkin alone.
The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson Page 18