by Tove Jansson
‘What has happened to the Muskrat?’ said Moominmamma, anxiously. ‘He was always so calm and dignified!’
‘To get into such a state just because the hammock cord broke!’ said Moominpappa shaking his head.
‘I think he was angry because we forgot to take food to him,’ said Sniff. ‘Now we can eat it ourselves.’
They continued their way to the beach a bit disturbed in their thoughts. But Moomintroll and Snufkin sneaked off in front of the others and took a short cut to the cave.
‘We daren’t go in through the door – perhaps the Thing is still there!’ said Snufkin. ‘We’ll climb up on top and look down through the crack in the roof.’
Quietly they crawled up, worming their way like Red Indians towards the opening in the roof, and looked down into the cave. There stood the Hogoblin’s Hat, and it was empty. The rug was thrown in one corner – the book in another. The cave was deserted. But everywhere in the sand strange footprints could be seen, as if someone had been dancing and jumping about.
‘It wasn’t the Muskrat’s paws that made those footprints,’ said Moomintroll.
‘I wonder if it was some other paws,’ said Snufkin. ‘It looks awfully queer.’ They clambered down again and looked nervously around.
But nothing alarming happened.
They never found out what had frightened the Muskrat so terribly, because he refused to talk about it.*
But meanwhile the others had arrived on the beach. They all stood in a bunch down by the water’s edge chattering and waving their arms.
‘They’ve found a boat!’ cried Snufkin. ‘Come on! Let’s run and see!’
It was true. A lovely big sailing-boat, complete with oars and fishing-tackle, and painted in white and mauve!
‘Whose is it?’ panted Moomintroll when he had reached them.
‘Nobody’s!’ said Moominpappa, triumphantly. ‘It has been washed up on our beach, so we have a right to keep it as wreckage!’
‘It must have a name!’ cried the Snork Maiden. ‘Wouldn’t The Pee-wit be rather sweet?’
‘Pee-wit yourself,’ said the Snork rudely. ‘I prefer The Sea Eagle.’
‘No, it must be Latin,’ cried the Hemulen. ‘Moominates Maritima.’
‘I saw it first!’ squeaked Sniff, ‘I must choose a name for it. Wouldn’t it be fun to call it Sniff? That’s so short and sweet.’
‘Just like you – I don’t think!’ said Moomintroll, jeeringly.
‘Hush, children!’ said Moominpappa. ‘Quiet, quiet! Obviously Mamma will choose the name. It’s her excursion.’
Moominmamma blushed a little. ‘If only I could!’ she said, shyly. ‘Snufkin has such an imagination. I’m sure he will choose much better.’
Snufkin was rather flattered. ‘Well! I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But to tell you the truth, I thought from the beginning that Lurking Wolf would be rather nice.’
‘Get away with you,’ said Moomintroll. ‘Mother shall choose.’
‘Yes dears,’ said Moominmamma. ‘Only you mustn’t think I’m stupid and old-fashioned. I think the boat should be called something to remind us all of what we are going to do with her – and so I think The Adventure would be a good name.’
‘Marvellous!’ shouted Moomintroll. ‘We’ll christen her! Have you anything we can use for a bottle of champagne, mother?’
Moominmamma hunted in all her baskets for a bottle of raspberry juice.
‘Oh dear, how sad!’ she burst out. ‘I think I’ve forgotten the raspberry juice!’
‘Well, I asked you if you had everything, didn’t I, my dear?’ said Moominpappa, virtuously.
They all looked at each other sadly. To sail away in a boat that hasn’t been properly christened can mean the worst possible luck.
Then Moomintroll had a brilliant idea. ‘Give me a saucepan,’ he said. Then he filled it with sea water and carried it up to the cave and the Hobgoblin’s Hat. When he came back he handed some raspberry juice to his father and said: ‘Taste this!’
Moominpappa took a gulp and looked very pleased. ‘Where did you get this from, my boy?’ he asked.
But Moomintroll said it was a secret, so they filled a bottle with the juice and broke it against the prow of the sailing boat, while Moominmamma proudly proclaimed: ‘Herewith I christen you now and forever The Adventure.’
Everybody cheered, and then they put the baskets, blankets, umbrella, fishing rod, cushions, saucepans and bathing suits on board, and the Moomin family and their friends set sail for the wild, green sea.
*
It was a fine day. Perhaps not quite clear, because a gold haze lay over the sun, but The Adventure spread her white sails and headed out to sea at a good speed. The waves slapped the sides of the boat and the wind sang, and mermaids and mermen danced around the bows, while big white birds circled up above.
Sniff had tied his six little boats in a line, one after the other, and now the whole fleet sailed in The Adventure’s wake. Moominpappa steered and Moominmamma sat dozing. It was seldom she had such peace around her.
‘Where shall we go?’ asked the Snork.
‘Let’s go to an island!’ begged the Snork Maiden. ‘I’ve never been to a little island before.’
‘You shall do it now,’ said Moominpappa. ‘We’ll land on the first island we see.’
Moomintroll was sitting farthest up in the bows keeping a look-out for reefs. It was so wonderful to stare down into the green depths and watch The Adventure’s prow cutting through the white foam.
‘Pee-hoo!’ shouted Moomintroll. ‘We’re going to an island!’
Far out to sea lay the Hattifatteners’ Lonely Island, surrounded by reefs and breakers. (Once a year the Hattifatteners collect there before setting out again on their endless foraging expedition round the world. They come from all points of the compass, silent and serious with their small, white empty faces, and why they hold this yearly meeting it is difficult to say, as they can neither hear nor speak, and have no object in life but the distant goal of their journey’s end. Perhaps they like to have a place where they feel at home and can rest a little and meet friends. The yearly meeting is always in June, and thus it was that the Moomin family and the Hattifatteners arrived on Lonely Island at about the same time.) Wild and tempting it rose from the sea, wreathed in white breakers and crowned with green trees as if dressed for a gala.
‘Land ahead!’ shouted Moomintroll, and they all hung over the rail to look. ‘There’s a sandy beach,’ cried the Snork Maiden.
‘And a fine harbour!’ cried Moominpappa, steering skilfully into land between the reefs. The Adventure ran deep into the sand, and Moomintroll jumped ashore with the painter.
The beach was soon seething with activity. Moominmamma dragged up some stones to make a fireplace to warm up the pancakes; she collected wood and spread out the tablecloth with a little stone on each corner to stop it blowing away; she put out all the cups and sank the butter jar in the wet sand in the shade of a stone, and finally she arranged a bouquet of beach-lilies in the middle of the table.
‘Can we help you with anything?’ asked Moomintroll, when everything was ready.
‘You can explore the island,’ said Moominmamma (who knew that was what they were longing to do). ‘It’s important to know where we’ve landed. It could be dangerous, couldn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ said Moomintroll. And off he went with the Snork Maiden and her brother and Sniff towards the south shore, while Snufkin, who loved to discover things alone, set off for the north. The Hemulen took his botanizing-spade, his green collecting tin and his magnifying glass, and wandered into the wood. He thought he might find some wonderful vegetation that nobody had yet discovered.
Meanwhile Moominpappa sat down on a stone to fish. And the sun sank slowly down while the golden haze blotted out the sea.
In the middle of the island lay a green glade with a smooth floor, surrounded by flowering shrubs. Here the Hattifatteners had their secret meeting place where they forgat
hered once a year at midsummer. About three hundred of them had already found their way there and at least four hundred more were expected. In the middle of the glade they had put up a high pole, painted blue. On this hung a barometer. They skimmed silently over the grass bowing haughtily to each other, and every time they passed the barometer they bowed deeply to it. (This looked a bit ridiculous.)
All this time the Hemulen was rambling about in the wood, enraptured by the masses of rare flowers. They were not like the flowers that grew in Moomin Valley – oh, far from it! Heavy, silvery-white clusters which looked as if they were made of glass; crimson-black kingcups like royal crowns, and sky-blue roses.
But the Hemulen didn’t see much of their beauty – he was too busy counting the stamens and leaves, and muttering to himself: ‘This is the two hundred-and-nineteenth specimen in my collection!’
Eventually he reached the Hattifatteners’ hideout and wandered into it peering eagerly around for rare specimens. He didn’t look up until he bumped into the blue pole, which startled him very much. He had never in his life seen so many Hattifatteners! They swarmed over everything and their pale little eyes stared through him. ‘I wonder if they’re in a bad temper,’ the Hemulen thought to himself. ‘They’re small, but there are horribly many of them!’
He looked at the big, shiny mahogany barometer. It stood at ‘Rain and Wind’. ‘Extraordinary,’ said the Hemulen, blinking at the sunshine, and he tapped the barometer which sank quite a bit. Then the Hattifatteners rustled threateningly and took a step towards him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said in alarm. ‘I won’t take your barometer!’
But the Hattifatteners didn’t hear him. They just came nearer, rustling and waving their hands. The Hemulen, with his heart in his mouth, watched for an opportunity to make his escape, but the enemy stood like a wall around him and always came nearer. And between the trees came still more Hattifatteners, with their staring eyes and silent tread. ‘Go away!’ screamed the Hemulen: ‘Shoo! Shoo!’
But still they came silently nearer. Then the Hemulen picked up his skirts and began to climb up the pole. It was nasty and slippery, but terror gave him un-Hemulenish strength, and at last he reached the top and got hold of the barometer.
The Hattifatteners had now reached the foot of the pole and there they waited. The whole glade was thick with them, like a white carpet, and the Hemulen felt quite ill when he thought of what would happen if he fell down.
‘Help!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Help! Help!’ But the wood was silent.
Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Three short, three long, three short. S.O.S.
*
Snufkin, who had wandered along the beach, heard the Hemulen’s signal of distress and lifted his head to listen. When he had got the direction clear he dashed to the rescue. The call became louder, and Snufkin, realizing that now it was quite near, crept cautiously forward. It became lighter between the trees, and then he saw the glade, the Hattifatteners, and the Hemulen clutching on tightly to the pole. ‘This is a terrible situation,’ he muttered to himself, and then louder to the Hemulen: ‘Hi! However did you get the peaceful Hattifatteners into such a warlike frame of mind?’
‘I only tapped their barometer,’ moaned the poor Hemulen. ‘And it sank. Try to take the nasty creatures away, dear Snufkin!’
‘I must think a bit,’ said Snufkin.
(The Hattifatteners heard nothing of these remarks because they hadn’t any ears.)
After a time the Hemulen shouted: ‘Think quickly Snufkin, because I’m beginning to slip down!’
‘Listen!’ said Snufkin. ‘Do you remember the time when those voles came into the garden? Moominpappa dug a lot of poles into the ground and put windmills on them. And when the wheels went round the earth shook so much that the voles were nervous and gave up!’
‘Your stories are always very interesting,’ said the Hemulen, bitterly. ‘But I can’t understand what they have to do with my sad predicament!’
‘A good deal!’ said Snufkin. ‘Don’t you see? The Hattifatteners can neither talk nor hear, and they see very badly. But they can feel extremely well! Try to jerk the pole backwards and forwards. The Hattifatteners will feel it in the ground and be frightened. It goes right up into their tummies, you see! They’re like wireless sets!’
The Hemulen tried to swing to and fro on the pole.
‘I’m falling down!’ he burst out in alarm.
‘Faster, faster!’ cried Snufkin. ‘Tiny little movements.’
The Hemulen managed a few more desperate rocks, and then the Hattifatteners began to feel uncomfortable in the soles of their feet. They began to rustle and to move anxiously about. And the next minute, just as the voles had done, they took to their heels and ran.
In a couple of seconds the glade was empty. Snufkin felt them against his legs as they scattered into the wood, and they stung him rather like nettles.
The Hemulen slid down on to the grass completely exhausted.
‘Oh!’ he moaned. ‘There has never been anything but trouble and danger since I came into the Moomin family.’
‘Do calm yourself, Hemul,’ said Snufkin. ‘After all you’ve been pretty lucky.’
‘Wretched Hatti-creatures,’ grumbled the Hemulen. ‘I shall take their barometer with me anyhow, to punish them.’
‘Better let it be,’ warned Snufkin.
But the Hemulen unhooked the big, shiny barometer from the pole and stuck it triumphantly under his arm.
‘Now we’ll go back to the others,’ he said. ‘I’m awfully hungry.’
When they arrived all the others were eating pancakes, and tunnyfish which Moominpappa had caught in the sea.
‘Hi!’ cried Moomintroll. ‘We’ve been round the whole island, and on the farther side there is a dreadful wild cliff that goes right down into the sea.’
‘And we’ve seen a mass of Hattifatteners!’ Sniff told them. ‘At least a hundred!’
‘Don’t mention those creatures again,’ said the Hemulen with deep feeling. ‘I can’t stand it. But here, come and see my war trophy.’ And he proudly put the barometer in the middle of the tablecloth.
‘Oh! So bright and beautiful!’ exclaimed the Snork Maiden. ‘Is it a clock?’
‘No, it’s a barometer,’ said Moominpappa. ‘It tells you if the weather will be fine or stormy. Sometimes it’s quite right.’ And he tapped the barometer. Then he put his face into a serious crease and said: ‘It is stormy!’
‘A big storm?’ asked Sniff anxiously.
‘Look for yourself,’ replied Moominpappa. ‘The barometer points to “00” and that is the lowest a barometer can point to – if it isn’t fooling us.’
But it certainly didn’t look as if it were fooling. The golden mist had thickened to a yellow-grey fog, and out towards the horizon the sea was strangely black.
‘We must go home!’ said the Snork.
‘Not yet!’ begged the Snork Maiden. ‘We haven’t had time to explore the cliff on the other side properly! We haven’t even bathed!’
‘We can wait a little and see what happens, can’t we?’ said Moomintroll. ‘It would be such a pity to go home just when we’ve discovered this island!’
‘But if there’s a storm we shan’t be able to go at all!’ said the Snork, brightly.
‘That would be wonderful!’ burst out Sniff. ‘We could stay here for ever and ever.’
‘Quiet children, I must think,’ said Moominpappa. He went down to the beach and sniffed the air, turned his head in all directions and wrinkled his forehead.
There was a rumble in the distance.
‘Thunder!’ said Sniff. ‘Ooh, how awful!’
Over the horizon loomed a threatening bank of cloud. It was dark blue and drove little light puffy clouds in front of it. Now and then a great flash of lightning lit up the sea.
‘We stay’ decided Moominpappa.
‘The whole night?’ squeaked Sniff.
‘I thin
k so,’ Moominpappa replied. ‘Hurry up now and build a house, as the rain will come soon.’
The Adventure was dragged high up on to the sand, and on the edge of the wood they quickly made a house with the sail and some blankets. Moominmamma filled up the gaps with moss, and the Snork dug a ditch round it so that the rainwater would have somewhere to go. Everybody ran to and fro putting their things safely under cover, while the thunder rolled nearer and a little wind came sighing anxiously through the trees.
‘I’ll go and see what the weather’s like out on the point,’ said Snufkin, and, pulling his hat firmly down over his ears, he set off. Alone and happy he ran out to the farthermost point of rock and put his back against a large boulder.
The sea had changed. It was dark green now with white-horses, and the rocks shone yellow like phosphorus. Rumbling solemnly the thunderstorm came up from the south. It spread its black sail over the sea; it spread over half the sky and the lightning flashed with an ominous glint.
‘It’s coming right over the island,’ thought Snufkin with a thrill of joy and excitement. He stood facing the storm as it advanced over the sea. And suddenly he saw a small black rider on something black, like a horse with short legs. Only for a moment were they visible against the creamy white crest of the cloud-bank, the rider’s cloak billowed out like a wing, they rose higher… Then they were lost in a blinding network of lightning, the clouds obscured the sun and rain was driving like a grey curtain over the sea. I have seen the Hobgoblin! thought Snufkin. It must have been the Hobgoblin and his black panther! They really exist, they aren’t just an old fairy-tale.
Snufkin turned, and skipped back over the stones. He just reached the tent in time, for heavy drops of rain were already hitting the sail-cloth and it was being whipped about in the wind. Sniff had rolled himself completely in a blanket as he was rather afraid of thunder, and the others sat hunched-up next to one another. The tent smelt strongly of the Hemulen’s botanical specimens.