by E. Nesbit
CHAPTER 10. THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL AND JULIUS CAESAR
A great city swept away by the sea, a beautiful country devastated byan active volcano--these are not the sort of things you see every day ofthe week. And when you do see them, no matter how many other wondersyou may have seen in your time, such sights are rather apt to take yourbreath away. Atlantis had certainly this effect on the breaths of Cyril,Robert, Anthea, and Jane.
They remained in a breathless state for some days. The learned gentlemanseemed as breathless as anyone; he spent a good deal of what littlebreath he had in telling Anthea about a wonderful dream he had. 'Youwould hardly believe,' he said, 'that anyone COULD have such a detailedvision.'
But Anthea could believe it, she said, quite easily.
He had ceased to talk about thought-transference. He had now seen toomany wonders to believe that.
In consequence of their breathless condition none of the childrensuggested any new excursions through the Amulet. Robert voiced the moodof the others when he said that they were 'fed up' with Amulet for abit. They undoubtedly were.
As for the Psammead, it went to sand and stayed there, worn out bythe terror of the flood and the violent exercise it had had to take inobedience to the inconsiderate wishes of the learned gentleman and theBabylonian queen.
The children let it sleep. The danger of taking it about among strangepeople who might at any moment utter undesirable wishes was becomingmore and more plain.
And there are pleasant things to be done in London without any aid fromAmulets or Psammeads. You can, for instance visit the Tower of London,the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery, the Zoological Gardens,the various Parks, the Museums at South Kensington, Madame Tussaud'sExhibition of Waxworks, or the Botanical Gardens at Kew. You can go toKew by river steamer--and this is the way that the children would havegone if they had gone at all. Only they never did, because it was whenthey were discussing the arrangements for the journey, and what theyshould take with them to eat and how much of it, and what the wholething would cost, that the adventure of the Little Black Girl began tohappen.
The children were sitting on a seat in St James's Park. They had beenwatching the pelican repulsing with careful dignity the advances of theseagulls who are always so anxious to play games with it. The pelicanthinks, very properly, that it hasn't the figure for games, so it spendsmost of its time pretending that that is not the reason why it won'tplay.
The breathlessness caused by Atlantis was wearing off a little. Cyril,who always wanted to understand all about everything, was turning thingsover in his mind.
'I'm not; I'm only thinking,' he answered when Robert asked him what hewas so grumpy about. 'I'll tell you when I've thought it all out.'
'If it's about the Amulet I don't want to hear it,' said Jane.
'Nobody asked you to,' retorted Cyril mildly, 'and I haven't finished myinside thinking about it yet. Let's go to Kew in the meantime.'
'I'd rather go in a steamer,' said Robert; and the girls laughed.
'That's right,' said Cyril, 'BE funny. I would.'
'Well, he was, rather,' said Anthea.
'I wouldn't think, Squirrel, if it hurts you so,' said Robert kindly.
'Oh, shut up,' said Cyril, 'or else talk about Kew.'
'I want to see the palms there,' said Anthea hastily, 'to see if they'reanything like the ones on the island where we united the Cook and theBurglar by the Reverend Half-Curate.'
All disagreeableness was swept away in a pleasant tide of recollections,and 'Do you remember...?' they said. 'Have you forgotten...?'
'My hat!' remarked Cyril pensively, as the flood of reminiscence ebbed alittle; 'we have had some times.'
'We have that,' said Robert.
'Don't let's have any more,' said Jane anxiously.
'That's what I was thinking about,' Cyril replied; and just then theyheard the Little Black Girl sniff. She was quite close to them.
She was not really a little black girl. She was shabby and not veryclean, and she had been crying so much that you could hardly see,through the narrow chink between her swollen lids, how very blue hereyes were. It was her dress that was black, and it was too big and toolong for her, and she wore a speckled black-ribboned sailor hat thatwould have fitted a much bigger head than her little flaxen one. And shestood looking at the children and sniffing.
'Oh, dear!' said Anthea, jumping up. 'Whatever is the matter?'
She put her hand on the little girl's arm. It was rudely shaken off.
'You leave me be,' said the little girl. 'I ain't doing nothing to you.'
'But what is it?' Anthea asked. 'Has someone been hurting you?'
'What's that to you?' said the little girl fiercely. 'YOU'RE all right.'
'Come away,' said Robert, pulling at Anthea's sleeve. 'She's a nasty,rude little kid.'
'Oh, no,' said Anthea. 'She's only dreadfully unhappy. What is it?' sheasked again.
'Oh, YOU'RE all right,' the child repeated; 'YOU ain't agoin' to theUnion.'
'Can't we take you home?' said Anthea; and Jane added, 'Where does yourmother live?'
'She don't live nowheres--she's dead--so now!' said the little girlfiercely, in tones of miserable triumph. Then she opened her swolleneyes widely, stamped her foot in fury, and ran away. She ran no furtherthan to the next bench, flung herself down there and began to crywithout even trying not to.
Anthea, quite at once, went to the little girl and put her arms as tightas she could round the hunched-up black figure.
'Oh, don't cry so, dear, don't, don't!' she whispered under the brim ofthe large sailor hat, now very crooked indeed. 'Tell Anthea all aboutit; Anthea'll help you. There, there, dear, don't cry.'
The others stood at a distance. One or two passers-by stared curiously.
The child was now only crying part of the time; the rest of the time sheseemed to be talking to Anthea.
Presently Anthea beckoned Cyril.
'It's horrible!' she said in a furious whisper, 'her father was acarpenter and he was a steady man, and never touched a drop except on aSaturday, and he came up to London for work, and there wasn't any, andthen he died; and her name is Imogen, and she's nine come nextNovember. And now her mother's dead, and she's to stay tonight withMrs Shrobsall--that's a landlady that's been kind--and tomorrow theRelieving Officer is coming for her, and she's going into the Union;that means the Workhouse. It's too terrible. What can we do?'
'Let's ask the learned gentleman,' said Jane brightly.
And as no one else could think of anything better the whole party walkedback to Fitzroy Street as fast as it could, the little girl holdingtight to Anthea's hand and now not crying any more, only sniffinggently.
The learned gentleman looked up from his writing with the smile that hadgrown much easier to him than it used to be. They were quite at homein his room now; it really seemed to welcome them. Even the mummy-caseappeared to smile as if in its distant superior ancient Egyptian way itwere rather pleased to see them than not.
Anthea sat on the stairs with Imogen, who was nine come next November,while the others went in and explained the difficulty.
The learned gentleman listened with grave attention.
'It really does seem rather rough luck,' Cyril concluded, 'because I'veoften heard about rich people who wanted children most awfully--though Iknow _I_ never should--but they do. There must be somebody who'd be gladto have her.'
'Gipsies are awfully fond of children,' Robert hopefully said. 'They'realways stealing them. Perhaps they'd have her.'
'She's quite a nice little girl really,' Jane added; 'she was onlyrude at first because we looked jolly and happy, and she wasn't. Youunderstand that, don't you?'
'Yes,' said he, absently fingering a little blue image from Egypt. 'Iunderstand that very well. As you say, there must be some home where shewould be welcome.' He scowled thoughtfully at the little blue image.
Anthea outside thought the explanation was taking a very long time.
She wa
s so busy trying to cheer and comfort the little black girl thatshe never noticed the Psammead who, roused from sleep by her voice, hadshaken itself free of sand, and was coming crookedly up the stairs. Itwas close to her before she saw it. She picked it up and settled it inher lap.
'What is it?' asked the black child. 'Is it a cat or a organ-monkey, orwhat?'
And then Anthea heard the learned gentleman say--
'Yes, I wish we could find a home where they would be glad to have her,'and instantly she felt the Psammead begin to blow itself out as it saton her lap.
She jumped up lifting the Psammead in her skirt, and holding Imogen bythe hand, rushed into the learned gentleman's room.
'At least let's keep together,' she cried. 'All hold hands--quick!'
The circle was like that formed for the Mulberry Bush or Ring-o'-Roses.And Anthea was only able to take part in it by holding in her teeththe hem of her frock which, thus supported, formed a bag to hold thePsammead.
'Is it a game?' asked the learned gentleman feebly. No one answered.
There was a moment of suspense; then came that curious upside-down,inside-out sensation which one almost always feels when transportedfrom one place to another by magic. Also there was that dizzy dimness ofsight which comes on these occasions.
The mist cleared, the upside-down, inside-out sensation subsided,and there stood the six in a ring, as before, only their twelve feet,instead of standing on the carpet of the learned gentleman's room, stoodon green grass. Above them, instead of the dusky ceiling of the FitzroyStreet floor, was a pale blue sky. And where the walls had been and thepainted mummy-case, were tall dark green trees, oaks and ashes, and inbetween the trees and under them tangled bushes and creeping ivy. Therewere beech-trees too, but there was nothing under them but their owndead red drifted leaves, and here and there a delicate green fern-frond.
And there they stood in a circle still holding hands, as though theywere playing Ring-o'-Roses or the Mulberry Bush. Just six people hand inhand in a wood. That sounds simple, but then you must remember that theydid not know WHERE the wood was, and what's more, they didn't know WHENthen wood was. There was a curious sort of feeling that made the learnedgentleman say--
'Another dream, dear me!' and made the children almost certain that theywere in a time a very long while ago. As for little Imogen, she said,'Oh, my!' and kept her mouth very much open indeed.
'Where are we?' Cyril asked the Psammead.
'In Britain,' said the Psammead.
'But when?' asked Anthea anxiously.
'About the year fifty-five before the year you reckon time from,' saidthe Psammead crossly. 'Is there anything else you want to know?' itadded, sticking its head out of the bag formed by Anthea's blue linenfrock, and turning its snail's eyes to right and left. 'I've been herebefore--it's very little changed.' 'Yes, but why here?' asked Anthea.
'Your inconsiderate friend,' the Psammead replied, 'wished to find somehome where they would be glad to have that unattractive and immaturefemale human being whom you have picked up--gracious knows how. InMegatherium days properly brought-up children didn't talk to shabbystrangers in parks. Your thoughtless friend wanted a place where someonewould be glad to have this undesirable stranger. And now here you are!'
'I see we are,' said Anthea patiently, looking round on the tall gloomof the forest. 'But why HERE? Why NOW?'
'You don't suppose anyone would want a child like that in YOUR times--inYOUR towns?' said the Psammead in irritated tones. 'You've gotyour country into such a mess that there's no room for half yourchildren--and no one to want them.'
'That's not our doing, you know,' said Anthea gently.
'And bringing me here without any waterproof or anything,' said thePsammead still more crossly, 'when everyone knows how damp and foggyAncient Britain was.'
'Here, take my coat,' said Robert, taking it off. Anthea spread the coaton the ground and, putting the Psammead on it, folded it round so thatonly the eyes and furry ears showed.
'There,' she said comfortingly. 'Now if it does begin to look like rain,I can cover you up in a minute. Now what are we to do?'
The others who had stopped holding hands crowded round to hear theanswer to this question. Imogen whispered in an awed tone--
'Can't the organ monkey talk neither! I thought it was only parrots!'
'Do?' replied the Psammead. 'I don't care what you do!' And it drew headand ears into the tweed covering of Robert's coat.
The others looked at each other.
'It's only a dream,' said the learned gentleman hopefully; 'something issure to happen if we can prevent ourselves from waking up.'
And sure enough, something did.
The brooding silence of the dark forest was broken by the laughter ofchildren and the sound of voices.
'Let's go and see,' said Cyril.
'It's only a dream,' said the learned gentleman to Jane, who hung back;'if you don't go with the tide of a dream--if you resist--you wake up,you know.'
There was a sort of break in the undergrowth that was like a sillyperson's idea of a path. They went along this in Indian file, thelearned gentleman leading.
Quite soon they came to a large clearing in the forest. There were anumber of houses--huts perhaps you would have called them--with a sortof mud and wood fence.
'It's like the old Egyptian town,' whispered Anthea.
And it was, rather.
Some children, with no clothes on at all, were playing what looked likeRing-o'-Roses or Mulberry Bush. That is to say, they were dancing roundin a ring, holding hands. On a grassy bank several women, dressed inblue and white robes and tunics of beast-skins sat watching the playingchildren.
The children from Fitzroy Street stood on the fringe of the forestlooking at the games. One woman with long, fair braided hair sat alittle apart from the others, and there was a look in her eyes as shefollowed the play of the children that made Anthea feel sad and sorry.
'None of those little girls is her own little girl,' thought Anthea.
The little black-clad London child pulled at Anthea's sleeve.
'Look,' she said, 'that one there--she's precious like mother; mother's'air was somethink lovely, when she 'ad time to comb it out. Motherwouldn't never a-beat me if she'd lived 'ere--I don't suppose there'se'er a public nearer than Epping, do you, Miss?'
In her eagerness the child had stepped out of the shelter of the forest.The sad-eyed woman saw her. She stood up, her thin face lighted upwith a radiance like sunrise, her long, lean arms stretched towards theLondon child.
'Imogen!' she cried--at least the word was more like that than any otherword--'Imogen!'
There was a moment of great silence; the naked children paused in theirplay, the women on the bank stared anxiously.
'Oh, it IS mother--it IS!' cried Imogen-from-London, and rushed acrossthe cleared space. She and her mother clung together--so closely, sostrongly that they stood an instant like a statue carved in stone.
Then the women crowded round. 'It IS my Imogen!' cried the woman.
'Oh it is! And she wasn't eaten by wolves. She's come back to me. Tellme, my darling, how did you escape? Where have you been? Who has fed andclothed you?'
'I don't know nothink,' said Imogen.
'Poor child!' whispered the women who crowded round, 'the terror of thewolves has turned her brain.'
'But you know ME?' said the fair-haired woman.
And Imogen, clinging with black-clothed arms to the bare neck,answered--
'Oh, yes, mother, I know YOU right 'nough.'
'What is it? What do they say?' the learned gentleman asked anxiously.
'You wished to come where someone wanted the child,' said the Psammead.'The child says this is her mother.'
'And the mother?'
'You can see,' said the Psammead.
'But is she really? Her child, I mean?'
'Who knows?' said the Psammead; 'but each one fills the empty place inthe other's heart. It is enough.'
'Oh,' s
aid the learned gentleman, 'this is a good dream. I wish thechild might stay in the dream.'
The Psammead blew itself out and granted the wish. So Imogen's futurewas assured. She had found someone to want her.
'If only all the children that no one wants,' began the learnedgentleman--but the woman interrupted. She came towards them.
'Welcome, all!' she cried. 'I am the Queen, and my child tells me thatyou have befriended her; and this I well believe, looking on your faces.Your garb is strange, but faces I can read. The child is bewitched, Isee that well, but in this she speaks truth. Is it not so?'
The children said it wasn't worth mentioning.
I wish you could have seen all the honours and kindnesses lavished onthe children and the learned gentleman by those ancient Britons.
You would have thought, to see them, that a child was something to makea fuss about, not a bit of rubbish to be hustled about the streets andhidden away in the Workhouse. It wasn't as grand as the entertainment atBabylon, but somehow it was more satisfying.
'I think you children have some wonderful influence on me,' said thelearned gentleman. 'I never dreamed such dreams before I knew you.'
It was when they were alone that night under the stars where the Britonshad spread a heap Of dried fern for them to sleep on, that Cyril spoke.
'Well,' he said, 'we've made it all right for Imogen, and had a jollygood time. I vote we get home again before the fighting begins.'
'What fighting?' asked Jane sleepily.
'Why, Julius Caesar, you little goat,' replied her kind brother. 'Don'tyou see that if this is the year fifty-five, Julius Caesar may happen atany moment.'
'I thought you liked Caesar,' said Robert.
'So I do--in the history. But that's different from being killed by hissoldiers.'
'If we saw Caesar we might persuade him not to,' said Anthea.
'YOU persuade CAESAR,' Robert laughed.
The learned gentleman, before anyone could stop him, said, 'I only wishwe could see Caesar some time.'
And, of course, in just the little time the Psammead took to blow itselfout for wish-giving, the five, or six counting the Psammead, foundthemselves in Caesar's camp, just outside Caesar's tent. And they sawCaesar. The Psammead must have taken advantage of the loose wording ofthe learned gentleman's wish, for it was not the same time of day asthat on which the wish had been uttered among the dried ferns. It wassunset, and the great man sat on a chair outside his tent gazing overthe sea towards Britain--everyone knew without being told that it wastowards Britain. Two golden eagles on the top of posts stood on eachside of the tent, and on the flaps of the tent which was very gorgeousto look at were the letters S.P.Q.R.
The great man turned unchanged on the newcomers the august glance thathe had turned on the violet waters of the Channel. Though they hadsuddenly appeared out of nothing, Caesar never showed by the faintestmovement of an eyelid, by the least tightening of that firm mouth, thatthey were not some long expected embassy. He waved a calm hand towardsthe sentinels, who sprang weapons in hand towards the newcomers.
'Back!' he said in a voice that thrilled like music. 'Since when hasCaesar feared children and students?'
To the children he seemed to speak in the only language they knew;but the learned gentleman heard--in rather a strange accent, but quiteintelligibly--the lips of Caesar speaking in the Latin tongue, and inthat tongue, a little stiffly, he answered--
'It is a dream, O Caesar.'
'A dream?' repeated Caesar. 'What is a dream?'
'This,' said the learned gentleman.
'Not it,' said Cyril, 'it's a sort of magic. We come out of another timeand another place.'
'And we want to ask you not to trouble about conquering Britain,' saidAnthea; 'it's a poor little place, not worth bothering about.'
'Are you from Britain?' the General asked. 'Your clothes are uncouth,but well woven, and your hair is short as the hair of Roman citizens,not long like the hair of barbarians, yet such I deem you to be.' 'We'renot,' said Jane with angry eagerness; 'we're not barbarians at all. Wecome from the country where the sun never sets, and we've read aboutyou in books; and our country's full of fine things--St Paul's, and theTower of London, and Madame Tussaud's Exhibition, and--' Then the othersstopped her.
'Don't talk nonsense,' said Robert in a bitter undertone.
Caesar looked at the children a moment in silence. Then he called asoldier and spoke with him apart. Then he said aloud--
'You three elder children may go where you will within the camp. Fewchildren are privileged to see the camp of Caesar. The student and thesmaller girl-child will remain here with me.'
Nobody liked this; but when Caesar said a thing that thing was so, andthere was an end to it. So the three went.
Left alone with Jane and the learned gentleman, the great Roman found iteasy enough to turn them inside out. But it was not easy, even for him,to make head or tail of the insides of their minds when he had got atthem.
The learned gentleman insisted that the whole thing was a dream, andrefused to talk much, on the ground that if he did he would wake up.
Jane, closely questioned, was full of information about railways,electric lights, balloons, men-of-war, cannons, and dynamite.
'And do they fight with swords?' asked the General.
'Yes, swords and guns and cannons.'
Caesar wanted to know what guns were.
'You fire them,' said Jane, 'and they go bang, and people fall downdead.'
'But what are guns like?'
Jane found them hard to describe.
'But Robert has a toy one in his pocket,' she said. So the others wererecalled.
The boys explained the pistol to Caesar very fully, and he looked at itwith the greatest interest. It was a two-shilling pistol, the one thathad done such good service in the old Egyptian village.
'I shall cause guns to be made,' said Caesar, 'and you will be detainedtill I know whether you have spoken the truth. I had just decided thatBritain was not worth the bother of invading. But what you tell medecides me that it is very much worth while.'
'But it's all nonsense,' said Anthea. 'Britain is just a savage sort ofisland--all fogs and trees and big rivers. But the people are kind. Weknow a little girl there named Imogen. And it's no use your makingguns because you can't fire them without gunpowder, and that won't beinvented for hundreds of years, and we don't know how to make it, andwe can't tell you. Do go straight home, dear Caesar, and let poor littleBritain alone.'
'But this other girl-child says--' said Caesar.
'All Jane's been telling you is what it's going to be,' Antheainterrupted, 'hundreds and hundreds of years from now.'
'The little one is a prophetess, eh?' said Caesar, with a whimsicallook. 'Rather young for the business, isn't she?'
'You can call her a prophetess if you like,' said Cyril, 'but whatAnthea says is true.'
'Anthea?' said Caesar. 'That's a Greek name.'
'Very likely,' said Cyril, worriedly. 'I say, I do wish you'd give upthis idea of conquering Britain. It's not worth while, really it isn't!'
'On the contrary,' said Caesar, 'what you've told me has decided me togo, if it's only to find out what Britain is really like. Guards, detainthese children.'
'Quick,' said Robert, 'before the guards begin detaining. We had enoughof that in Babylon.'
Jane held up the Amulet away from the sunset, and said the word. Thelearned gentleman was pushed through and the others more quickly thanever before passed through the arch back into their own times and thequiet dusty sitting-room of the learned gentleman.
It is a curious fact that when Caesar was encamped on the coast ofGaul--somewhere near Boulogne it was, I believe--he was sitting beforehis tent in the glow of the sunset, looking out over the violet watersof the English Channel. Suddenly he started, rubbed his eyes, and calledhis secretary. The young man came quickly from within the tent.
'Marcus,' said Caesar. 'I have dreamed a very wonderful dream. Someof i
t I forget, but I remember enough to decide what was not beforedetermined. Tomorrow the ships that have been brought round from theLigeris shall be provisioned. We shall sail for this three-corneredisland. First, we will take but two legions.
This, if what we have heard be true, should suffice. But if my dream betrue, then a hundred legions will not suffice. For the dream I dreamedwas the most wonderful that ever tormented the brain even of Caesar. AndCaesar has dreamed some strange things in his time.'
'And if you hadn't told Caesar all that about how things are now, he'dnever have invaded Britain,' said Robert to Jane as they sat down totea.
'Oh, nonsense,' said Anthea, pouring out; 'it was all settled hundredsof years ago.'
'I don't know,' said Cyril. 'Jam, please. This about time being onlya thingummy of thought is very confusing. If everything happens at thesame time--'
'It CAN'T!' said Anthea stoutly, 'the present's the present and thepast's the past.'
'Not always,' said Cyril.
'When we were in the Past the present was the future. Now then!' headded triumphantly.
And Anthea could not deny it.
'I should have liked to see more of the camp,' said Robert.
'Yes, we didn't get much for our money--but Imogen is happy, that's onething,' said Anthea. 'We left her happy in the Past. I've often seenabout people being happy in the Past, in poetry books. I see what itmeans now.'
'It's not a bad idea,' said the Psammead sleepily, putting its head outof its bag and taking it in again suddenly, 'being left in the Past.'
Everyone remembered this afterwards, when--