by Edith Nesbit
‘Will you go by ark?’ Mr. Noah asked, rolling up his yellow mat to make an elbow rest and leaning on it; ‘I shall be delighted.’
‘I thought,’ said Philip, ‘we might go in the Lightning Loose. I’ve never sailed her yet, you know. Do you think I could?’
‘Of course you can,’ said Mr. Noah; ‘and if not, Lucy can show you. Your charming yacht is steered on precisely the same principle as the ark. And in this land all the winds are favourable. You will find the yacht suitably provisioned. And I may add that you can go most of the way to your next deed by water — first the sea and then the river.’
‘And what,’ asked Philip, ‘is the next deed?’
‘In the extreme north of Polistarchia,’ said Mr. Noah instructively, ‘lies a town called Somnolentia. It used to be called Briskford in happier days. A river then ran through the town, a rapid river that brought much gold from the mountains. The people used to work very hard to keep the channel clear of the lumps of gold which continually threatened to choke it. Their fields were then well-watered and fruitful, and the inhabitants were cheerful and happy. But when the Hippogriff was let out of the book, a Great Sloth got out too. Evading all efforts to secure him, the Great Sloth journeyed northward. He is a very large and striking animal, and by some means, either fear or admiration, he obtained a complete ascendancy over the inhabitants of Briskford. He induced them to build him a temple of solid gold, and while they were doing this the river bed became choked up and the stream was diverted into another channel far from the town. Since then the place is fallen into decay. The fields are parched and untilled. Such water as the people need for drinking is drawn by great labour from a well. Washing has become shockingly infrequent.’
‘Are we to teach the dirty chaps to wash?’ asked Philip in disgust.
‘Do not interrupt,’ said Mr. Noah. ‘You destroy the thread of my narrative. Where was I?’
‘Washing infrequent,’ said Lucy; ‘but if the fields are dried up, what do they live on?’
‘Pine-apples,’ replied Mr. Noah, ‘which grow freely and do not need much water. Gathering these is the sole industry of this degraded people. Pine-apples are not considered a fruit but a vegetable,’ he added hastily, seeing another question trembling on Philip’s lips. ‘Whatever of their waking time can be spared from the gathering and eating of the pine-apples is spent in singing choric songs in honour of the Great Sloth. And even this time is short, for such is his influence on the Somnolentians that when he sleeps they sleep too, and,’ added Mr. Noah impressively, ‘he sleeps almost all the time. Your deed is to devise some means of keeping the Great Sloth awake and busy. And I think you’ve got your work cut out. When you’ve disposed of the Great Sloth you can report yourself to me here. I shall remain here for some little time. I need a holiday. The parrot will accompany you. It knows its way about as well as any bird in the land. Good-night. And good luck! You will excuse my not being down to breakfast.’
And the next morning, dewy-early, Philip and Lucy and the parrot went aboard the yacht and loosed her from her moorings, and Lucy showed Philip how to steer, and the parrot sat on the mast and called out instructions.
They made for the mouth of a river. (‘I never built a river,’ said Philip. ‘No,’ said the parrot, ‘it came out of the poetry book.’) And when they were hungry they let down the anchor and went into the cabin for breakfast. And two people sprang to meet them, almost knocking Lucy down with the violence of their welcome. The two people were Max and Brenda.
He induced them to build him a temple of solid gold.
‘Oh, you dear dogs,’ Lucy cried, and Philip patted them, one with each hand, ‘how did you get here?’
‘It was a little surprise of Mr. Noah’s,’ said the parrot.
Max and Brenda whined and barked and gushed.
‘I wish we could understand what they’re saying,’ said Lucy.
‘If you only knew the magic word that the Hippogriff obeys,’ said the parrot, ‘you could say it, and then you’d understand all animal talk. Only, of course, I mustn’t tell it you. It’s one of the eleven mysteries.’
‘But I know it,’ said Philip, and at once breathed the word in the tiny silky ear of Brenda and then in the longer silkier ear of Max, and instantly —
‘Oh, my dears!’ they heard Brenda say in a softly shrill excited voice; ‘oh, my dearie dears! We are so pleased to see you. I’m only a poor little faithful doggy; I’m not clever, you know, but my affectionate nature makes me almost mad with joy to see my dear master and mistress again.’
‘Very glad to see you, sir,’ said Max with heavy politeness. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here. There’s no comfort for a dog like being with his master.’
And with that he sat down and went to sleep, and the others had breakfast. It is rather fun cooking in yachts. And there was something new and charming in Brenda’s delicate way of sitting up and begging and saying at the same time, ‘I do hate to bother my darling master and mistress, but if you could spare another tiny bit of bacon — Oh, thank you, how good and generous you are!’
They sailed the yacht successfully into the river which presently ran into the shadow of a tropical forest. Also out of a book.
‘You might go on during the night,’ said the parrot, ‘if the dogs would steer under my directions. You could tie one end of a rope to their collars and another to the helm. It’s easier than turning spits.’
‘Delighted!’ said Max; ‘only, of course, it’s understood that we sleep through the day?’
‘Of course,’ said everybody. So that was settled. And the children went to bed.
It was in the middle of the night that the parrot roused Philip with his usual gentle beak-touch. Then —
‘Wake up,’ it said; ‘this is not the right river. It’s not the right direction. Nothing’s right. The ship’s all wrong. I’m very much afraid some one has been opening a book and this river has got out.’
Philip hurried out on deck, and by the light of the lamps from the cabin, gazed out at the banks of the river. At least he looked for them. But there weren’t any banks. Instead, steep and rugged cliffs rose on each side, and overhead, instead of a starry sky, was a great arched roof of a cavern glistening with moisture and dark as a raven’s feathers.
‘We must turn back,’ said Philip. ‘I don’t like this at all.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said the parrot, ‘there is no room to turn back, and the Lightning Loose is not constructed for going backwards.’
‘Oh, dear,’ whispered Brenda, ‘I wish we hadn’t come. Dear little dogs ought to be taken comfortable care of and not be sent out on nasty ships that can’t turn back when it’s dangerous.’
‘My dear,’ said Max with slow firmness, ‘dear little dogs can’t help themselves now. So they had better look out for chances of helping their masters.’
‘But what can we do, then?’ said Philip impatiently.
‘I fear,’ said the parrot, ‘that we can do nothing but go straight on. If this river is in a book it will come out somewhere. No river in a book ever runs underground and stays there.’
‘I shan’t wake Lucy,’ said Philip; ‘she might be frightened.’
‘You needn’t,’ said Lucy, ‘she’s awake, and she’s no more frightened than you are.’
(‘You hear that,’ said Max to Brenda; ‘you take example by her, my dear!’)
‘But if we are going the wrong way, we shan’t reach the Great Sloth,’ Lucy went on.
‘Sooner or later, one way or another, we shall come to him,’ said the parrot; ‘and time is of no importance to a Great Sloth.’
It was now very cold, and our travellers were glad to wrap themselves in the flags of all nations with which the yacht was handsomely provided. Philip made a sort of tabard of the Union Jack and the old Royal Arms of England, with the lilies and leopards; and Lucy wore the Japanese flag as a shawl. She said the picture of the sun on it made her feel warm. But Philip shivered under his complicated crosses
and lions, as the Lightning Loose swept on over the dark tide between the dark walls and under the dark roof of the cavern.
‘Cheer up,’ said the parrot. ‘Think what a lot of adventures you’re having that no one else has ever had: think what a lot of things you’ll have to tell the other boys when you go to school.’
‘The other boys wouldn’t believe a word of it,’ said Philip in gloom. ‘I wouldn’t unless I knew it was true.’
‘What I think is,’ said Lucy, watching the yellow light from the lamps rushing ahead along the roof, ‘that we shan’t want to tell people. It’ll be just enough to know it ourselves and talk about it, just Philip and me together.’
‘Well, as to that — —’ the parrot was beginning doubtfully, when he broke off to exclaim:
‘Do my claws deceive me or is there a curious vibration, and noticeable acceleration of velocity?’
‘Eh?’ said Philip, which is not manners, and he knew it.
‘He means,’ said Max stolidly, ‘aren’t we going rather fast and rather wobbly?’
We certainly were. The Lightning Loose was going faster and faster along that subterranean channel, and every now and then gave a lurch and a shiver.
‘Oh!’ whined Brenda; ‘this is a dreadful place for dear little dogs!’
‘Philip!’ said Lucy in a low voice, ‘I know something is going to happen. Something dreadful. We are friends, aren’t we?’
‘Yes,’ said Philip firmly.
‘Then I wish you’d kiss me.’
‘I can like you just as much without that,’ said Philip uneasily. ‘Kissing people — it’s silly, don’t you think?’
‘Nobody’s kissed me since daddy went away,’ she said, ‘except Helen. And you don’t mind kissing Helen. She said you were going to adopt me for your sister.’
‘Oh! all right,’ said Philip, and put his arm round her and kissed her. She felt so little and helpless and bony in his arm that he suddenly felt sorry for her, kissed her again more kindly and then, withdrawing his arm, thumped her hearteningly on the back.
Plunged headlong over the edge.
‘Be a man,’ he said in tones of comradeship and encouragement. ‘I’m perfectly certain nothing’s going to happen. We’re just going through a tunnel, and presently we shall just come out into the open air again, with the sky and the stars going on as usual.’
He spoke this standing on the prow beside Lucy, and as he spoke she clutched his arm.
‘Oh, look,’ she breathed, ‘oh, listen!’
He listened. And he heard a dull echoing roar that got louder and louder. And he looked. The light of the lamps shone ahead on the dark gleaming water, and then quite suddenly it did not shine on the water because there was no longer any water for it to shine on. Only great empty black darkness. A great hole, ahead, into which the stream poured itself. And now they were at the edge of the gulf. The Lightning Loose gave a shudder and a bound and hung for what seemed a long moment on the edge of the precipice down which the underground river was pouring itself in a smooth sleek stream, rather like poured treacle, over what felt like the edge of everything solid.
The moment ended, and the little yacht, with Philip and Lucy and the parrot and the two dogs, plunged headlong over the edge into the dark unknown abyss below.
‘It’s all right, Lu,’ said Philip in that moment. ‘I’ll take care of you.’
And then there was silence in the cavern — only the rushing sound of the great waterfall echoed in the rocky arch.
CHAPTER X. THE GREAT SLOTH
You have heard of Indians shooting rapids in their birch-bark canoes? And perhaps you have yourself sailed a toy boat on a stream, and made a dam of clay, and waited with more or less patience till the water rose nearly to the top, and then broken a bit of your dam out and made a waterfall and let your boat drift over the edge of it. You know how it goes slowly at first, then hesitates and sweeps on more and more quickly. Sometimes it upsets; and sometimes it shudders and strains and trembles and sways to one side and to the other, and at last rights itself and makes up its mind, and rushes on down the stream, usually to be entangled in the clump of rushes at the stream’s next turn. This is what happened to that good yacht, the Lightning Loose. She shot over the edge of that dark smooth subterranean waterfall, hung a long breathless moment between still air and falling water, slid down like a flash, dashed into the stream below, shuddered, reeled, righted herself and sped on. You have perhaps been down the water chute at Earl’s Court? It was rather like that.
‘It’s — it’s all right,’ said Philip, in a rather shaky whisper. ‘She’s going on all right.’
‘Yes,’ said Lucy, holding his arm very tight; ‘yes, I’m sure she’s going on all right.’
‘Are we drowned?’ said a trembling squeak. ‘Oh, Max, are we really drowned?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Max replied with caution. ‘And if we are, my dear, we cannot undrown ourselves by screams.’
‘Far from it,’ said the parrot, who had for the moment been rendered quite speechless by the shock. And you know a parrot is not made speechless just by any little thing. ‘So we may just as well try to behave,’ it said.
The lamps had certainly behaved, and behaved beautifully; through the wild air of the fall, the wild splash as the Lightning Loose struck the stream below, the lamps had shone on, seemingly undisturbed.
‘An example to us all,’ said the parrot.
‘Yes, but,’ said Lucy, ‘what are we to do?’
‘When adventures take a turn one is far from expecting, one does what one can,’ said the parrot.
‘And what’s that?’
‘Nothing,’ said the parrot. ‘Philip has relieved Max at the helm and is steering a straight course between the banks — if you can call them banks. There is nothing else to be done.’
There plainly wasn’t. The Lightning Loose rushed on through the darkness. Lucy reflected for a moment and then made cocoa. This was real heroism. It cheered every one up, including the cocoa-maker herself. It was impossible to believe that anything dreadful was going to happen when you were making that soft, sweet, ordinary drink.
‘I say,’ Philip remarked when she carried a cup to him at the wheel, ‘I’ve been thinking. All this is out of a book. Some one must have let it out. I know what book it’s out of too. And if the whole story got out of the book we’re all right. Only we shall go on for ages and climb out at last, three days’ journey from Trieste.’
‘I see,’ said Lucy, and added that she hated geography. ‘Drink your cocoa while it’s hot,’ she said in motherly accents, and ‘what book is it?’
‘It’s The Last Cruise of the Teal,’ he said. ‘Helen gave it me just before she went away. It’s a ripping book, and I used it for the roof of the outer court of the Hall of Justice. I remember it perfectly. The chaps on the Teal made torches of paper soaked in paraffin.’
‘We haven’t any,’ said Lucy; ‘besides our lamps light everything up all right. Oh! there’s Brenda crying again. She hasn’t a shadow of pluck.’
She went quickly to the cabin where Max was trying to cheer Brenda by remarks full of solid good sense, to which Brenda paid no attention whatever.
‘I knew how it would be,’ she kept saying in a whining voice; ‘I told you so from the beginning. I wish we hadn’t come. I want to go home. Oh! what a dreadful thing to happen to dear little dogs.’
‘Brenda,’ said Lucy firmly, ‘if you don’t stop whining you shan’t have any cocoa.’
Brenda stopped at once and wagged her tail appealingly.
‘Cocoa?’ she said, ‘did any one say cocoa? My nerves are so delicate. I know I’m a trial, dear Max, it’s no use your pretending I’m not, but there is nothing like cocoa for the nerves. Plenty of sugar, please, dear Lucy. Thank you so much! Yes, it’s just as I like it.’
‘There will be other things to eat by and by,’ said Lucy. ‘People who whine won’t get any.’
‘I’m sure nobody would dream of whining,’
said Brenda. ‘I know I’m too sensitive; but you can do anything with dear little dogs by kindness. And as for whining — do you know it’s a thing I’ve never been subject to, from a child, never. Max will tell you the same.’
Max said nothing, but only fixed his beautiful eyes hopefully on the cocoa jug.
And all the time the yacht was speeding along the underground stream, beneath the vast arch of the underground cavern.
‘The worst of it is we may be going ever so far away from where we want to get to,’ said Philip, when Max had undertaken the steering again.
‘All roads,’ remarked the parrot, ‘lead to Somnolentia. And besides the ship is travelling due north — at least so the ship’s compass states, and I have no reason as yet for doubting its word.’
‘Hullo!’ cried more than one voice, and the ship shot out of the dark cavern into a sheet of water that lay spread under a white dome. The stream that had brought them there seemed to run across one side of this pool. Max, directed by the parrot, steered the ship into smooth water, where she lay at rest at last in the very middle of this great underground lake.
‘This isn’t out of The Cruise of the Teal,’ said Philip. ‘They must have shut that book.’
‘I think it’s out of a book about Mexico or Peru or Ingots or some geographical place,’ said Lucy; ‘it had a green-and-gold binding. I think you used it for the other end of the outer justice court. And if you did, this dome’s solid silver, and there’s a hole in it, and under this dome there’s untold treasure in gold incas.’
‘What’s incas?’
‘Gold bars, I believe,’ said Lucy; ‘and Mexicans come down through the hole in the roof and get it, and when enemies come they flood it with water. It’s flooded now,’ she added unnecessarily.
‘I wish adventures had never been invented,’ said Brenda. ‘No, dear Lucy, I am not whining. Far from it. But if a dear little dog might suggest it, we should all be better in a home, should we not?’
All eyes now perceived a dark hole in the roof, a round hole exactly in the middle of the shining dome. And as they gazed the dark hole became light. And they saw above them a white shining disk like a very large and very bright moon. It was the light of day.