THE UNDERGROUND LAKE

“EATING THE BERRIES.”

The Underground Lake.

Tom Jones went to stay with his uncle at Mount Gambier during the Christmas holidays, and, as he said when he wrote to his father, “he was enjoying every minute of his visit to the land of lakes.”

The people who lived in and around the Mount were arguing about the Blue Lake. Was it really part of a great underground river, or was it just the crater of a worn-out volcano that had got filled up with water? They had argued about this for years, and Tom liked to listen to both sides, although he knew that all the arguing that would ever be done could never make him believe anything but the underground river belief.

There was the beautiful blue water, shut in by high banks which made it look like a big basin, half full of blue water. The water was always fresh and sweet, no bottom could befound in the middle of the Lake, there was always a strong current too, oh, of course it was one of the wonderful underground rivers!

One day Tom went down to see the man in charge of the pumping station, with whom he was a great chum. They had been friends ever since Tom, soon after he came to the Mount, had helped to clean the boat that was wanted in a hurry to take a visitor across the Lake. There was only one boat kept, and it had to be as clean as man could make it before it could go on the Blue Lake, as the people of the town used the water for drinking.

Tom went very often to the Blue Lake. He meant to be an explorer when he grew up, and he was trying to fit himself for that work because he believed that whatever you meant to be as a man you should train yourself for while still a boy. On this special day (a day Tom never forgot because of what happened later through something he heard then at the pumping station) he had been exploring the country as usual, and on his way home called in to see his friend, the man-in-charge. There were several men talking to his friend, and just as Tom drew near them he heard an old man say—

“Well, I tell you what Iknow, not what I’ve heard; the Blue Lake is an underground river, and when you hear my reason for saying that,you’ll agree with me. Let me see, it was about twenty years ago, when, instead of being a grey-headed old fellow as I am now, I was a black-headed young fellow, and I had the best pair of grey horses in this district. I didn’t believe in the underground river theory then, because I didn’t know then what I did a little while after. One day I was driving my pair of greys along the edge of the Blue Lake, when one of them slipped down the bank, fell into the water and sank. I soon got some men to help me drag the Lake, but no horse could we find; so I sadly set off for home with my one grey horse. I hadn’t got very far along the road towards McDonald’s Bay when a friend of mine met me, leading my lost grey horse. ‘This is yours, is it not?’ said my friend. It was mine, I knew it by the brand on him. Now, where do you think my friend found him? Why, in the water, on the other side of the hill that separates the Blue Lake from McDonald Bay. So I knew that if my horse got underground in that way from Blue Lake to McDonald Bay, there must be a river flowing under there.”

When the old man finished telling his story, he went away chuckling to himself, and every one laughed at his joke, every one, that is, but Tom, who went towards his uncle’s houseslowly, thinking, thinking, thinking about the underground river.

When Tom reached home tea had long been over, and to explain why he was so late he told them the story of the grey horse as it had been told by the old grey-headed man. Tom’s uncle said he also thought the Blue Lake was part of an underground river, and Tom then determined to explore and find the hidden openings where the river entered and went out of the big basin.

Next morning Tom set to work at once to explore the Blue Lake. First he made a map of that part of the country. Then he drew a straight line from McDonald Bay to the Lake, then marked it straight across to the opposite end of the Lake. This done, he made a sounding line of a long rope with heavy lead tied at the end, and leaning over the edge of the bank he tried banging his line against the place where he hoped the opening might be. Many times he struck with his leaded line, but each time it hit against the bank. Tom sighed sadly, thinking that if only he lived in England instead of in Australia, there would come a little fairy, most likely the Queen of the Fairies herself, and she would take him down into the water and show him the hidden openings and other wonders. But Australia was a newcountry, and very few people here believed there were fairies anywhere.

Just as Tom had sadly given up all hope of fairy aid, he felt the line pulled gently, oh so gently at first, then harder and harder, until at last he could scarcely hold it in his hands.

“I won’t give up,” thought Tom, “the worst that can happen if I fall in is a wetting. I can easily swim out.”

He held on and was gradually drawn down beneath the water; deeper and deeper he went, until at last he was jerked on one side, and found himself on the bank of a fiercely rushing torrent.

Tom’s first thought was one of triumph. “I knew it was an underground river,” he cried aloud. He jumped around as if a pistol shot had been fired, when a voice near by said, “The least you might do is to thank me for bringing you here.” There stood a tiny gnome dressed all in green. “I pulled the leaded line that you threw down into the water, and I must say that for a boy who has the sense to try and find the opening of the river, you know very little about your country. Australia a new country indeed? It was thousands of years old before Britain was in existence. Oh, I know what I’m talking about, for I havelived underground for a good many hundred years.”

Tom was so thoroughly surprised that he stood quite still, and stared at the little gnome, who continued: “No fairies either? Oh indeed, I could tell a different story. No one to help the poor little Australians? The helpers are here right enough, but most little Australians not only don’t want the help of the gnomes and fairies, but don’t believe there are such beings anywhere. Why, even the one I have just helped has not a word of thanks for what I have done for him.”

“Oh, I do thank you, how much I can’t say; I wanted to prove that the Blue Lake is a river, yes, I wanted to prove that more than anything else in the world, and I am so glad you have let me come to see it. Please may I explore some more of the river?”

Not only did the kind gnome allow Tom to see the wonders underground, but he offered to act as guide. As soon as Tom had eaten a bunch of wild cherries that the gnome gave him, he was not only dry and comfortable, but had become as small as the gnome, and could understand the talk of bird, beast and fish.

Tom was surprised at the great change, and told the gnome he had often enough eaten wild cherries before, and nothing strange had takenplace; but the gnome explained that only cherries picked by a gnome, and by him given to a human being, had the power to so change the one who ate them.

“Now,” said the gnome, “you shall see the source of this underground river. It would take rather long to get there by walking, so we shall go on my airship.”

He gave a strange cry, and at once was answered by a bird which was something like an albatross. It flew down by the gnome.

“Come,” said the little fellow, at the same time jumping on the back of the big bird. Tom took his place next to his guide, and at the gnome’s bidding the bird rose and flew upstream. It was a delightful sensation of rushing, swooping, then rising again, making Tom just a little frightened at first; but the bird had such a broad back, with such a comfortable hollow place for Tom to nestle into, that he soon enjoyed his sail through the air.

“Don’t bother to look at the places we pass, just get used to this way of travel, and on our return journey I shall point out the things of interest.”

Tom obeyed, for he did not care to look down from his lofty perch; and by the time they reached the source of the river he had become quite used to the rapid rush and could lookabout fearlessly. Now the river came bubbling out of the hills far away in the north of a South Australian spring which flowed along for a few miles and then seemed to trickle back into the earth; but instead of doing that it trickled down into a cave, a big wonderful cave, lighted up by thousands of strange white glistening things, some hanging from the roof, others standing upright on the floor.

“Oh,” cried Tom, clapping his hands joyously, “it’s the fairies’ palace, I know.” The gnome told him it was only one of many, for Australia was just honeycombed with them. A few had been found by the human beings, for instance, the Narracoorte Caves and the Buchan Caves, both of which were really far too near the surface of the earth for safety, that is, for the safety of the fairies.

“There are no human beings living near this cave for miles and miles,” said Tom’s guide; “indeed, we feel sure some of our caves will never be found, and this is one of them.”

“Why are no fairies here now?” began Tom; but his question ended in a shriek, for first he felt some invisible hands pull his hair on one side, then on the other, while some one else tickled his sides and tweaked his ears and nose. All done so gently, that, after the first shriek, Tom felt ashamed of his fear, especially as hesaw the gnome grinning at him in a friendly way. Tom entered into the joke too. “I know who you are, you need not hide; please, oh please let me see you.”

“Shut your eyes,” said a sweet voice.

Tom obeyed. He felt something pass swiftly near his face, but he remained quite still with eyes closed. “Open,” cried the same voice. He had not to be told twice, and the sight that met his eyes kept him as still and silent as when he had been surprised at seeing the gnome. The place seemed to be just full of fairies, all dressed in green and gold, some sitting on the beautiful standing crystal, others floating in the air, others peeping from behind the hanging crystals, while in front of Tom stood the Queen surrounded by her fairies in waiting. He knew she was the Queen by the crown on her head, and the sceptre in her hand.

“Do homage,” whispered the gnome; so down on one knee went Tom and kissed the tiny hand held out by Her Majesty.

“Oh, you are beautiful, beautiful,” said Tom. “You are as beautiful as the golden wattle blossom on the green trees.” What a laugh rang through the crystal cave! A laugh like the tinkling of hundreds of tiny golden bells.

“Little boy, if you had the magic sight withwhich to look at the wattle trees, you would see that often when people think they are looking at wattle blossom they are really looking at the Fairies of the Sunny South.”

“Why does the wattle blossom die so soon?” said the Queen.

“Indeed,” said Tom, “I have often wondered why it lasts so short a time when once it is picked.”

“Because the fairies, who play amongst it, fly away from every branch the humans break off from the trees.”

“I shan’t pick any more,” said Tom; “but, oh, I do hope I shall have the magic sight and be able to see you among the blossom next wattle time.”

“Unless we give you the power, you will not be able to see us. We were here when you came into the cave, and we meant to let you see us because we know about the Magic Gun. We know too that you believe in and love fairies.”

“Now you shall join in a game with my subjects. After that we must say good-bye, for I and my fairies have much work to do.”

Tom enjoyed the fairy game very much. The fairy by a wave of her sceptre, gave him the power to float through the air, and the game was one of hide and seek among thecrystals. All too soon for Tom, the fairies, in obedience to a word from Her Majesty, ceased their play, and stood before her. She gave her commands, they said good-bye to Tom, and, in a moment he and the gnome were alone once more.

“Don’t look so sad,” said the gnome, “for I have good news for you. Just listen to this. The fairy Queen was so pleased with you to-day, that she has consented to a plan of mine for you to see just where the water enters and leaves the place known as the Blue Lake. When we get down to the place where I pulled you into the water, I have permission to turn you into a fish. You may stay in the Blue Lake for a whole day, and, as soon as you swim through the place where the river flows into the sea, you will turn into a boy again, and just swim to land.”

Tom thanked the gnome, you may be sure, and was eager to be off at once. So getting on to the big bird’s back again, they flew quickly away on the return journey. This time Tom had no fear. He looked down at the water below, and at the banks of the river without the least tremble; but he could not properly enjoy the wonderful things he saw because he was thinking all the time of the treat in store for him.

Arrived at the entrance to the lake, Tom was given to eat nothing more than a blade of grass picked from the bank of the river. He felt a shudder pass through him, and it seemed as if the water called and beckoned to him—he could not keep back.

“Good-bye, kind little gnome, I must jump into the water. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

He found himself floating through the water murmuring “Thank you, thank you,” but already he was some distance across the Lake. What fun it was floating about without the least effort! He swam across to the landing stage where the caretaker keeps the very boat Tom helped, one day, to clean. He poked his nose out to look at things.

“A fish! a fish! I’m positive I saw a fish,” exclaimed a man who was standing on the steps talking to the caretaker.

“I’m positive you did not see a fish, sir,” answered the other. “I have lived here long enough, and at first I fished often enough, but I never saw a fish or felt a bite; nothing lives in this water.”

Tom poked up his nose again, this time to see who was talking to the man-in-charge, for the voice of the man seemed familiar to him. The man was his uncle. It was such a surpriseto see his uncle there, that Tom gave a jump in the water. Both men were looking at the spot, and this time it was the man-in-charge who cried, “A fish! a fish! I’m positive I saw a fish.” Then he darted away to a place from which he drew forth a rod, baited it, jumped into his boat, and with Tom’s uncle rowed to a spot where Tom had been just a few minutes before.

“Now for some fun,” thought Tom. “I’ll nibble the line some distance above the hook, and they will get wild after a time.” And they did get wild when time after time the line was dragged down, and yet the bait was never touched. Tom at last grew quite careless, he nibbled nearer and nearer the hook, and at last was caught. How it happened he did not know, but he was firmly hooked; it hurt his lip when he tried to back away, so he at last allowed the man to pull him up into the boat. “If there is one fish there must be more,” cried his uncle; “unhook him and bait again.”

It hurt Tom worse still when the hook was dragged out of his lip, but what his uncle said hurt the worst: it was, “I’ll put the poor thing out of its misery, give me your pocket knife.” He held Tom, the fish, in his left hand, took the knife, and was just going to stab when Tom cried out in agony, “Uncle, uncle, don’t you know me.”

Both men stopped what they were doing to look at the fish! “It spoke,” said Tom’s uncle. In his surprise he did not hold the poor fish so tightly. Tom gave a flap, a jump, and as he reached the water, he cried aloud, “Hurrah! hurrah!”

“No more fishing here for me,” said Tom’s uncle. “Nor for me,” said the man-in-charge, and they rowed quickly to land.

Tom lost no time in getting away, right away, from the place where he had so nearly met his death.

“I won’t be inquisitive again as long as I’m a fish,” he said, and swam straight for the place he had marked as the part where the river ran out from the Lake to join the sea. Ugh! as he floated through the big opening into the underground river, he seemed to be able to feel the darkness, because it was so black, but after a little while his eyes got used to it, and presently he saw on either side of the river many beautiful crystals which glowed softly. He knew he was now passing through another cave, and he wondered if any fairies were watching him. Then the river wound round again, and, lo! there was still another cave shining brightly on all sides, for its wall roof and floor were almost covered with fungi.

“THE FISH GAVE A FLAP, A JUMP, AND REACHED THE WATER.”

“Some of us are here,” cried a sweet voice, “and you shall have just a glimpse of us at our work.” At the same instant he saw fairies in all directions, all hard at work, making the fungi grow brighter and brighter.

“Tell me what you are doing,” said Tom. “How do you make it all glow like that?”

“The fairies’ secret, little man. Good-bye! Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” answered Tom. “Thank you for the glimpse.”

He had scarcely finished speaking when he felt himself being borne along at an awful pace; the water was rushing to meet the sea. They met, and Tom felt himself hurled down ever so far below the surface of the water, then tossed up again. He had gone down as a fish, but he came up as a boy, and his wet clothes kept him from swimming very easily. Just as he thought he would not have strength to swim much further, he heard a voice say—“There is a boy sinking, pull over and take him in the boat.”

In a few minutes he was safe among a boatload of picnickers who had driven from the Mount to Dingley Dell, the beautiful place where Adam Lindsay Gordon lived for many years.

“Why, it is young Tom Jones,” cried one of the rowers. “Did you walk all the way herefrom your uncle’s place in the Mount? It is a good nineteen miles.”

“No,” answered truthful Tom. “I swam from the Blue Lake.”

But no one would listen to his tale of adventures. They hurried him to “Adam Lindsay Gordon’s” Cottage, wrapped him in shawls, and soon drove away with him to a doctor, because, they said, he was raving. In vain Tom pointed to a nasty jagged cut in his lip, and told them he had been a fish for a time. They would not listen, and even to this day, if he begins to tell his wondrous adventures, they smile so broadly that Tom gives up the attempt to make them know the truth about the river theory.

Tom knows what he knows, however, and he is certain he has not seen the last of the fairies, but that in the wattle blossom season they will allow him to see them among the golden blossoms on the river banks.

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