A Little Boy Lost

by W. H. Hudson

  CHAPTER XVIII

  MARTIN PLAYS WITH THE WAVES

  After a night spent in the roar of the sea, a drenched and bruisedprisoner among the rocks, it was nice to see the dawn again. Nosooner was it light than Martin set about trying to make his escape.He had been washed by that big wave into a deep cleft among therocks and masses of hard clay, and shut in there he could not see thewater nor anything excepting a patch of sky above him. Now he beganclimbing over the stones and crawling and forcing himself throughcrevices and other small openings, making a little progress, for hewas sore from his bruises and very weak from his long fast, and atintervals, tired and beaten, he would drop down crying with pain andmisery. But Martin was by nature a very resolute little boy, andafter two or three minutes' rest his tears would cease, and he wouldbe up struggling on determinedly as before. He was like some littlewild animal when it finds itself captive in a cage or box or room,who tries without ceasing to find a way out. There may be no way,but it will not give up trying to find one. And at last, after somuch trying, Martin's efforts were rewarded: he succeeded in gettinginto the steep passage by which he had come down to the sea on theprevious day, and in the end got to the top of the cliff once more.It was a great relief, and after resting a little while he began tofeel glad and happy at the sight before him: there was the glorioussea again, not as he had seen it before, its wide surface roughenedby the wind and flecked with foam; for now the water was smooth, butnot still; it rose and fell in vast rollers, or long waves that werelike ridges, wave following wave in a very grand and ordered manner.And as he gazed, the clouds broke and floated away, and the sky grewclear and bright, and then all at once the great red sun came up outof the waters!

  But it was impossible for him to stay there longer when there wasnothing to eat; his extreme hunger compelled him to get up and leavethe cliff and the sandy hills behind it; and then for an hour or twohe walked feebly about searching for sweet roots, but finding none.It would have gone hard with him then if he had not seen some low,dark-looking bushes at a distance on the dry, yellow plain, and goneto them. They looked like yew-bushes, and when he got to them hefound that they were thickly covered with small berries; on somebushes they were purple-black, on others crimson, but all were ripe,and many small birds were there feasting on them. The berries werepleasant to the taste, and he feasted with the little birds on themuntil his hunger was satisfied; and then, with his mouth and fingersstained purple with the juice, he went to sleep in the shade of oneof the bushes. There, too, he spent the whole of that day and thenight, hearing the low murmur of the sea when waking, and whenmorning came he was strong and happy once more, and, after fillinghimself with the fruit, set off to the sea again.

  Arrived at the cliff, he began walking along the edge, and in aboutan hour's time came to the end of it, for there it sloped down tothe water, and before him, far as he could see, there was a wide,shingled beach with low sand-hills behind it. With a shout of joy heran down to the margin, and the rest of that day he spent dabblingin the water, gathering beautiful shells and seaweed andstrangely-painted pebbles into heaps, then going on and on again,still picking up more beautiful riffraff on the margin, only to leave,it all behind him at last. Never had he spent a happier day, andwhen it came to an end he found a sheltered spot not far from the sea,so that when he woke in the night he would still hear the deep, lowmurmur of the waves on the beach.

  Many happy days he spent in the same way, with no living thing tokeep him company, except the little white and grey sanderlings thatpiped so shrill and clear as they flitted along the margin before him;and the great sea-gulls that uttered hoarse, laughter-like cries asthey soared and hovered above his head. "Oh, happy birds!" exclaimedMartin, clapping his hands, and shouting in answer to their cries.

  Every day Martin grew more familiar with the sea, and loved it more,and it was his companion and playmate. He was bolder than the littlerestless sanderlings that ran and flitted before the advancing waves,and so never got their pretty white and grey plumage wet: often hewould turn to meet the coming wave, and let it break round and rushpast him, and then in a moment he would be standing knee-deep in themidst of a great sheet of dazzling white foam, until with a longhiss as it fled back, drawing the round pebbles with it, it would begone, and he would laugh and shout with glee. What a grand oldplay-fellow the sea was! And it loved him, like the big spotted catof the hills, and only pretended to be angry with him when it wantedto play, and would do him no harm. And still he was not satisfied,but grew bolder and bolder, putting himself in its power and trustingto its mercy. He could play better with his clothes off; and one day,chasing a great receding wave as far as it would go, he stood upbravely to encounter the succeeding wave, but it was greater thanthe last, and lifting him in its great green arms it carried him highup till it broke with a mighty roar on the beach; then instead ofleaving him stranded there it rushed back still bearing him in itsarms out into the deep. Further and further from the shore itcarried him, until he became terrified, and throwing out his littlearms towards the land, he cried aloud, "Mother! Mother!"

  He was not calling to his own mother far away on the great plain; hehad forgotten her. Now he only thought of the beautiful woman of theHills, who was so strong, and loved him and made him call her"Mother"; and to her he cried in his need for help. Now heremembered her warm, protecting bosom, and how she had cried everynight at the fear of losing him; how when he ran from her shefollowed him, calling to him to return. Ah, how cold was the sea'sbosom, how bitter its lips!

  Struggling still with the great wave, struggling in vain, blindedand half-choked with salt water, he was driven violently against agreat black object tumbling about in the surf, and with all thestrength of his little hands he clung to it. The water rolled overhim, and beat against him, but he would not lose his hold; and atlast there came a bigger wave and lifted him up and cast him righton to the object he was clinging to. It was as if some enormousmonster of the sea had caught him up and put him in that place, justas the Lady of the Hills had often snatched him up from the edge ofsome perilous precipice to set him down in a safe place.

  There he lay exhausted, stretched out at full length, so tossedabout on the billows that he had a sensation of being in a swing;but the sea grew quiet at last, and when he looked up it was dark,the stars glittering in the dim blue vault above, and the smooth,black water reflecting them all round him, so that he seemed to befloating suspended between two vast, starry skies, one immeasurablyfar above, the other below him. All night, with only the twinkling,trembling stars for company, he lay there, naked, wet, and cold,thirsty with the bitter taste of sea-salt in his mouth, never daringto stir, listening to the continual lapping sound of the water.

  Morning dawned at last; the sea was green once more, the sky blue,and beautiful with the young, fresh light. He was lying on an oldraft of black, water-logged spars and planks lashed together withchains and rotting ropes. But alas! there was no shore in sight, forall night long he had been drifting, drifting further and furtheraway from land.

  A strange habitation for Martin, the child of the plain, was thatold raft! It had been made by shipwrecked mariners, long, long ago,and had floated about the sea until it had become of the sea, like ahalf-submerged floating island; brown and many-coloured seaweeds hadattached themselves to it; strange creatures, half plant and halfanimal, grew on it; and little shell-fish and numberless slimy,creeping things of the sea made it their dwelling-place. It wasabout as big as the floor of a large room, all rough, black, andslippery, with the seaweed floating like ragged hair many yards longaround it, and right in the middle of the raft there was a largehole where the wood had rotted away. Now, it was very curious thatwhen Martin looked over the side of the raft he could see down intothe clear, green water a few fathoms only; but when he crept to theedge of the hole and looked into the water there, he was able to seeten times further down. Looking in this hole, he saw far down astrange, fish-shaped creature, striped like a zebra, with longspines on its back, mo
ving about to and fro. It disappeared, and then,very much further down, something moved, first like a shadow, thenlike a great, dark form; and as it came up higher it took the shapeof a man, but dim and vast like a man-shaped cloud or shadow thatfloated in the green translucent water. The shoulders and headappeared; then it changed its position and the face was towards himwith the vast eyes, that had a dim, greyish light in them, gazing upinto his. Martin trembled as he gazed, not exactly with fear, butwith excitement, because he recognized in this huge water-monsterunder him that Old Man of the Sea who had appeared and talked to himin his dream when he fell asleep among the rocks. Could it be,although he was asleep at the time, that the Old Man really hadappeared before him, and that his eyes had been open just enough tosee him?

  By-and-by the cloud-like face disappeared, and did not return thoughhe watched for it a long time. Then sitting on the black, rottenwood and brown seaweed he gazed over the ocean, a vast green, sunlitexpanse with no shore and no living thing upon it. But after a whilehe began to think that there was some living thing in it, which wasalways near him though he could not see what it was. From time totime the surface of the sea was broken just as if some huge fish hadrisen to the surface and then sunk again without showing itself. Itwas something very big, judging from the commotion it made in thewater; and at last he did see it or a part of it--a vast brownobject which looked like a gigantic man's shoulder, but it mighthave been the back of a whale. It was no sooner seen than gone, butin a very short time after its appearance cries as of birds wereheard at a great distance. The cries came from various directions,growing louder and louder, and before long Martin saw many birdsflying towards him.

  On arrival they began to soar and circle round above him, allscreaming excitedly. They were white birds with long wings and longsharp beaks, and were very much like gulls, except that they had aneasier and swifter flight.

  Martin rejoiced at seeing them, for he had been in the greatestterror at the strangeness and loneliness of the sea now that therewas no land in sight. Sitting on the black raft he was constantlythinking of the warning words his mother of the hills had spoken--that the sea would kiss him with cold salt lips and take him downinto the depths where he would never see the light again. O howstrange the sea was to him now, how lonely, how terrible! But birdsthat with their wings could range over the whole world were of theland, and now seemed to bring the land near him with their whiteforms and wild cries. How could they help him? He did not know, hedid not ask; but he was not alone now that they had come to him, andhis terror was less.

  And still more birds kept coming; and as the morning wore on thecrowd of birds increased until they were in hundreds, then inthousands, perpetually wheeling and swooping and rising and hoveringover him in a great white cloud. And they were of many kinds, mostlywhite, some grey, others sooty brown or mottled, and some whollyblack. Then in the midst of the crowrd of birds he saw one of greatsize wheeling about like a king or giant among the others, with wingsof amazing length, wild eyes of a glittering yellow, and a yellowbeak half as long as Martin's arm, with a huge vulture-like hook atthe end. Now when this mighty bird swooped close down over his head,fanning him with its immense wings, Martin again began to be alarmedat its formidable appearance; and as more and more birds came, withmore of the big kind, and the wild outcry they made increased, hisfear and astonishment grew; then all at once these feelings rose toextreme terror and amazement at the sight of a new bird-likecreature a thousand times bigger than the largest one in thecircling crowd above, coming swiftly towards him. He saw that it wasnot flying but swimming or gliding over the surface of the sea; andits body was black, and above the body were many immense white wingsof various shapes, which stood up like a white cloud.

  Overcome with terror he fell flat on the raft, hiding his face inthe brown seaweed that covered it; then in a few minutes the seabecame agitated and rocked him in his raft, and a wave came over himwhich almost swept him into the sea. At the same time the outcry ofthe birds were redoubled until he was nearly deafened by theirscreams, and the screams seemed to shape themselves into words."Martin! Martin!" the birds seemed to be screaming. "Look up, Martin,look up, look up!" The whole air above and about him seemed to befull of the cries, and every cry said to him, "Martin! Martin! lookup!lookup!"

  ]

  Although dazed with the awful din and almost fainting with terrorand weakness, he could not resist the command. Pressing his hands onthe raft he at last struggled up to his knees, and saw that thefeared bird-like monster had passed him by: he saw that it was aship with a black hull, its white sails spread, and that the motionof the water and the wave that swept over him had been created bythe ship as it came close to the raft. It was now rapidly glidingfrom him, but still very near, and he saw a crowd of strange-lookingrough men, with sun-browned faces and long hair and shaggy beards,leaning over the bulwarks staring at him. They had seen withastonishment the corpse, as they thought, of a little naked whiteboy lying on the old black raft, with a multitude of sea-birdsgathered to feed on him; now when they saw him get up on his kneesand look at them, they uttered a great cry, and began rushingexcitedly hither and thither, to pull at ropes and lower a boat.Martin did not know what they were doing; he only knew that theywere men in a ship, but he was now too weak and worn-out to look ator think of more than one thing at a time, and what he was looking atnow was the birds. For no sooner had he looked up and seen the shipthan their wild cries ceased, and they rose up and up like a whitecloud to scatter far and wide over sky and sea. For some moments hecontinued watching them, listening to their changed voices, whichnow had a very soft and pleasant sound, as if they were satisfiedand happy. It made him happy to hear them, and he lifted his handsup and smiled; then, relieved of his terror and overcome withweariness, he closed his eyes and dropped once more full length uponhis bed of wet seaweed. At that the men stared into each other's face,a very strange startled look coming into their eyes. And no wonder!For long, long months, running to years, they had been cruising inthose lonely desolate seas, thousands of miles from home, seeing noland nor any green thing, nor dear face of woman or child: and nowby some strange chance a child had come to them, and even while theywere making all haste to rescue it, putting their arms out to takeit from the sea, its life had seemingly been snatched from them!

  But he was only sleeping.

  ]

  NOTE

  _When I arranged with Mr. Hudson for the publication of anAmerican Edition of_ A Little Boy Lost, _I asked him to write aspecial foreword to his American readers. He replied with acharacteristic letter, and, taking him at his word. I am printing iton the following pages_.

  ALFRED A. KNOPF.

  _Dear Mr. Knopf_:

  Your request for a Foreword to insert in the American reprint of the little book worries me. A critic on this side has said that my Prefaces to reprints of my earlier works are of the nature of parting kicks, and I have no desire just now to kick this poor innocent. That evil-tempered old woman, Mother Nature, in one of her worst tantrums, has been inflicting so many cuffs and blows on me that she has left me no energy or disposition to kick anything--even myself.

  The trouble is that I know so little about it. Did I write this book? What then made me do it?

  In reading a volume of Fors Clavigera I once came upon a passage which sounded well but left me in a mist, and it relieved me to find a footnote to it in which the author says: "This passage was written many years ago and what I was thinking about at the time has quite escaped my memory. At all events, though I let it stand, I can find no meaning in it now."

  Little men may admire but must not try to imitate these gestures of the giants. And as a result of a little quiet thinking it over I seem able to recover the idea I had in my mind when I composed this child's story and found a title for it in Blake. Something too of the semi-wild spirit of the child hero in the lines:

  "Naught loves another as itself..
.. And, father, how can I love you Or any of my brothers more? I love you like the little birds That pick up crumbs about the door."

  There nature is, after picking up the crumbs to fly away.

  A long time ago I formed a small collection of children's books of the early years of the nineteenth century; and looking through them, wishing that some of them had fallen into my hands when I was a child I recalled the books I had read at that time--especially two or three. Like any normal child I delighted in such stories as the Swiss Family Robinson, but they were not the books I prized most; they omitted the very quality I liked best--the little thrills that nature itself gave me, which half frightened and fascinated at the same time, the wonder and mystery of it all. Once in a while I got a book with something of this rare element in it, contained perhaps in some perfectly absurd narrative of animals taking human shape or using human speech, with such like transformations and vagaries; they could never be too extravagant, fantastic and incredible, so long as they expressed anything of the feeling I myself experienced when out of sight and sound of my fellow beings, whether out on the great level plain, with a glitter of illusory water all round me, or among the shadowy trees with their bird and insect sounds, or by the waterside and bed of tall dark bullrushes murmuring in the wind.

  These ancient memories put it in my mind to write a book which, I imagined, would have suited my peculiar taste of that early period, the impossible story to be founded on my own childish impressions and adventures, with a few dreams and fancies thrown in and two or three native legends and myths, such as the one of the Lady of the Hills, the incarnate spirit of the rocky Sierras on the great plains, about which I heard from my gaucho comrades when on the spot--the strange woman seldom viewed by human eyes who is jealous of man's presence and is able to create sudden violent tempests to frighten them from her sacred haunts.

  That's the story of my story, and to the question in your publisher's practical mind, I'm sorry to have to say I don't know. I have no way of finding out, since children are not accustomed to write to authors to tell them what they think of their books. And after all these excuses it just occurs to me that children do not read forewords and introductions; they have to be addressed to adults who do not read children's books, so that in any case it would be thrown away. Still if a foreword you must have, and from me, I think you will have to get it out of this letter.

  I remain,

  Yours cordially, W. H. HUDSON.

  November 14,1917.