CHAPTER VII.
Once more I grow tired of the quiet pleasures of home. The elder Baron opposes my leaving the land. His reasons. How I freed the ancestral estates from the pests of moles, meadow-mice and ground-squirrels; and how I set out for the Indies with my faithful Bulger. I enter a wild and untrodden territory. Wonderful transformation of day into night, and night into day. The huge fire-flies. My capture of one and what it brought forth. How I reached the borders of Palin-mâ-Talin, the Great Gloomy Forest. Benè-agâ the blind guide. My sojourn in his cave. I enter Palin-mâ-Talin under his guidance. Strange adventures in the Great Gloomy Forest. Benè-agâ takes leave of me. My advance is blocked by Bōga-Drappa, the Dread Staircase. My flight down its treacherous steps. I enter the land of the Umi-Lobas, or Man-Hoppers. Am carried a prisoner to their king. Something about him and his people. King Gâ-roo’s affection for me. His gift to me of copies of all the books in the royal library—All about the princess Hoppâ-Hoppâ. I am condemned to a life-long imprisonment among the Umi-Lobas. I plan an escape. How it was done. Efforts of King Gâ-roo to capture me. Farewell of little princess Hoppâ-Hoppâ. How I sailed away from the land of the Umi-Lobas, and made my way back across India. My return home.
PORTRAIT OF ONE OF MY MOUSERS IN RUBBER BOOTS.
PORTRAIT OF ONE OF MY MOUSERS IN RUBBER BOOTS.
PORTRAIT OF ONE OF MY MOUSERS IN RUBBER BOOTS.
Like all lovers of a roving life, I was not long in growing tired of the quiet ways and simple pursuits of the inmates of the old baronial hall.
At times, I felt like an intruder, when I caught myself sitting with eyes riveted upon the pages of some musty, old volume of strange adventure in far-away lands, while the elder baron, the gracious baroness, my loving mother, and several cousins from the neighboring estate, gave themselves up to the sweet pleasures of the fireside, feasting upon honey-cake, drinking hot spiced wine, playing at draughts, dominoes, or cards, now chattingin the most animated manner of the trivial things of every-day life, now bursting out into uproarious laughter at some unexpected victory won at cards or at some fireside game.
Silently closing my book, and still more silently stealing away, I sought the quiet of my apartments, where, with no other companions, save faithful Bulger, I gave myself up to unrestrained indulgence in waking dreams of life in a storm-rocked ship, landings on strange shores, parleyings with curious beings, battling with the wild-visaged typhoon, or hurrying with sails close-reefed and hatches battened down, to gain a safe port ere the storm king’s ebon chargers could rattle their hoofs over our heads.
My dear mother, the gracious baroness, made extraordinary exertions to drive away my low spirits.
Knowing my fondness for coffee cake, she suffered no one to make it for me excepting herself. And at dinner she took care to place a professor or, some learned person beside me, so that I might not find myself condemned to silence for the want of a gifted mind to measure mental swords with.
But all to no purpose. I grew daily more taciturn, absent-minded, and plunged into meditation. With my eyes fixed upon vacancy, I sat like one with unbalanced mind amidst the lightest-hearted merry-makers. In vain the company besought me to relate past adventures, to tell them tales already thrice told. I only shook my head with a mournful smile, and made good my escape from scenes which were painful to me.
Bulger felt that his little master was suffering, and coaxed with plaintive whining to have me make known to him the cause of my grief.
His joy was wild and boisterous when he saw my body-servant enter my apartments, bearing an empty traveling chest upon his shoulders.
To tell the truth, life at the baronial hall pleased Bulger not a whit more than it did me.
The house dogs annoyed him with their attentions, and he was wont to retire from the dining hall with a look of utter disgust upon his face, when one of the family cats, in themost friendly spirit, drew near and tasted a bit of his dinner.
All caresses, too, from other hands than mine were distasteful to him; and, although for my sake he would permit the gracious baroness to stroke his silken ears, yet any familiarity on the part of the elder baron was firmly, but respectfully, declined.
The very moment I saw my chests placed here and there in my apartments, my spirits rose. I became like another being. The color returned to my cheeks, the gleam to my eye, the old-time ring to my voice.
From lip to lip, the word was passed: “The little baron is making ready for another journey!”
From early morn to deepening shadows of twilight, I busied myself with superintending the packing of my boxes. It was a labor of love with me.
I never was born for a calm life beneath the time-stained tiles of paternal halls! My heart was filled with redder, warmer blood than ordinary mortals. My brain never slept. Night and day, shadowy forms of men and things, strange and curious, swept along before me in never-ending files.
One morning, while at work with my boxes, a low knock at my chamber door fell upon my ear. Bulger, scenting an enemy, gave a low growl. I swung the door open. It was the elder baron.
“Honored father,” I cried gayly, “act as if thou wert master here! Be sad, be gay; sit, stand, drink, eat, or fast!”
“Little baron,” began my father in a solemn voice, “I beseech thee give over thy jesting. When thou hast heard the object of my visit, grief will chase every vestige of mirth from thy light heart.”
“Speak baron!”
“Art thou a dutiful and loving son?” asked my father, fixing his dark, mournful eyes full upon me.
“I am!”
“’Tis well!” he replied, “then arrest this making ready to abandon thy parents in their hour of misfortune. Put an end to all this unseemly hurlyburly, and to thy longing to be gone from beneath the paternal roof.”
The clouded face, trembling and tear-filled eyes of the elder baron shocked me. I could feel the blood leaving my cheeks, where, till then, it had bloomed like the glow of ripening fruit.
But I checked myself; and, motioning the baron to be seated, said in a calm—though spite of me—trembling voice:
“Noble father, it is thine to command; mine to obey! Speak, I pray thee, and speak too, plainly—if need be, harshly. Bare thy most secret thoughts. What aileth thee? What sends these dark shadows to rest on that calm, smooth brow?”
“Thanks, little baron,” was my father’s reply, “for thy promise of obedience. This is the weight which presses on my heart: Since thou hast taken up this rambling, roving life, robbed of thy counsel and co-operation, I have seen our ancestral estate hastening to ruin. Last year our tenantry scarcely harvested enough to keep body and soul together. This year promises to turn out worse yet. Desolation sits upon the broad acres once the prize of our family! Crops fail, grass withers, trees turn yellow! The poor cattle moan for sustenance as they winder about in the dried-up pastures. I look upon all this wreck and ruin, but am helpless as a babe to stay it! Speak, my son; wilt thou, hast thou the heart, canst thou be so cruel as to turn thy back upon these pitiful scenes without raising thy hand to avert the impending doom?”
“Baron!” I interposed mildly, but firmly, “facts first! eloquence thereafter! Impart unto me, in plain, King’s speech, the cause of all this ruin! What hath wrought it? What hath desolated our fair fields? What hath carried this rapine among our flocks and herds? Speak!”
“I will, little baron, give attentive ear!” rejoined my father with stately bend of the body:
“As ancient Egypt was visited with scourge and plague, so have been our ancestral acres! In pasture and grain fields, myriads of moles feed upon the tender rootlets; in grass lands, swarms of meadow-mice fatten on the herbage; in orchards and nurseries, countless numbers of ground-squirrels spread destruction far and near! Such are the terrible scourges now laying waste our once fair estates, your pride and mine, and the envy of all beholders!
“Little baron, I feel, I know that thou canst help me; that somewhere in the vast storehouse of thy mind, rest plans and devices potent enough to restore these broad lands to all their former beauty and productiveness.”
“Baron!” was my reply, “when was there a time that thou foundst me wanting in my duty to thee or lacking in power to assist thee?”
“Never!” ejaculated the elder baron with great emphasis.
“Then, betake thee to my gentle mother—the baroness—thy consort, comfort her. Bid her take heart! Say I will not go abroad until these pests are driven from our ancestral domain!”
The elder baron rose. I accompanied him to the door, then, we saluted each other with dignity and he withdrew to bear the glad message of my promised assistance to my sorrowing mother.
Alone in my apartments, a terrible feeling of disappointment came over me. I felt that it would be useless to continue in my preparations to leave home in the face of these dire misfortunes now threatening my family. For, as I reasoned—and I think with great clearness—the name of our family would dwindle to a shadow, were we robbed of these broad acres of pasture and meadow-land, forest and orchard.
To me, a landless nobleman had something very ludicrous about him; and I fully made up my mind that I would either save my ancestral estate from ruin, or lay aside forever my title of baron, as a gem which had lost its radiance, even as a pearl, which the stolid rustic ruins for the sake of a meal of victuals!
That night I partook of no food, so that I might lie down with unclouded mind.
Bulger noticing this, concluded that his little master was ailing, and likewise refused to touch food, although I ordered his favorite dish—roasted cocks’ combs—to be prepared.
Till midnight I lay awake in deepest thought over the arduous task which confronted me. At the stroke of twelve from the old clock on the stair, I determined to let my mind work out the problem itself, and turned over and went to sleep.
The baron and baroness entered the breakfast-room withunclouded brows the next morning. I greeted them very cordially. The conversation was enlivened by one or two of the elder baron’s ancient anecdotes which he furbished up for the occasion with several new characters and an entirely new ending. I laughed heartily—as I was in duty bound to do.
Breakfast over Bulger and I sallied forth to begin work. I resolved to attack the moles first.
To get rid of pest number one was not at all a difficult matter for me, when once I set about thinking it over. In fact, I may say right here, that this task, set me by the elder baron, would have been an impossible one had it not been for my intimate acquaintance with the natures, habits and peculiarities of animal life. Always a close student of natural history there was little about the four-footed tenants of the fields which had escaped my observation.
Accompanied by Bulger; armed with a pair of short, wooden tongs; and carrying a basket, I set out for the grain fields.
Bulger was in high glee for he had already made up his mind that there was sport ahead for him.
In less than an hour, with him to point out their hiding places and to unearth them, I had captured a hundred moles. Returning to the overseer’s lodge, with his help I cut off the nails of each mole’s fore feet close to the flesh and then gave orders to have the lot carried back to the grain fields and released. Turning my attention now to the meadow-mice, I realized at once that to get rid of pest number two would be the most difficult task of all.
The unthinking reader has doubtless already cried out in thought: “Why not turn a troop of cats into the meadows, and let them make short work of the destructive little creatures?”
Ah how easy it is to plan, how difficult to execute! Know then, my clever friend, that the meadows were wet and that though often tried the cats absolutely refused to enter them.
The merest tyro in natural history is aware of a cat’s aversion to wetting its fur; and, above all, of stepping into water. Even moisture is disagreeable to a cat’s feet and she will willingly walk a mile rather than cross a plot of dew-moistened greensward. However, I determined to begin my operations at once.
Knowing the wonderful changes which the pangs of hunger will work in an animal’s nature, forcing the meat-eaters to turn to the herbage of the field for sustenance—I hoped for favorable results.
Selecting half a dozen vigorous young cats from the cottages of our tenantry, and providing myself with a lot of India rubber caps used for drawing down over the necks of bottles, in order to make them air-tight, I proceeded to encase the legs of each cat in these coverings, cutting a hole in each one, however, so as to allow the paws to pass through. I wished to accustom them to these leggings before covering the feet entirely. My next step was to subject the cats to twenty-four hours fast. After which, I caused some of their favorite food—broiled fish to be placed at the other end of a long room, covering the intervening space with long-napped rugs, which I had first dipped into water.
In spite of their hunger, they absolutely refused to cross the dripping rugs.
Advancing to the edge, they tested the condition of the obstacles which blocked their advance upon the savory food feeling here and there for a dry spot; and then retreating with piteous mewing, as they shook the wet from their feet.
Drawing the rubber caps completely over the feet of one of the cats, I now placed her on the wet rug, encouraging her to remain there by feeding her a few dainty bits of the fish. Finding that her feet did not get wet, she consented to walk here and there over the wet surface, in order to secure toothsome bits of food. I made the same experiment with the other cats, and everything went as well as I could wish.
The next day I continued my instruction, and to my great joy, succeeded in schooling the whole lot, not only to make no objection to having their feet encased in the rubber boots, but even to wade through an inch or more of water, in order to secure a particularly dainty bit of food.
I was now ready to make a practical test of my trained hunters.
The day preceding the trial they were again subjected to a prolonged fast.
I must frankly confess that my heart beat rather nervously as I, with the overseer and two other assistants set out for the low lands, carrying the trained mousers—already shod in their rubber boots—in three baskets.
We advanced cautiously upon the meadow-land, but so far as the mice were concerned, our caution was useless, for they ran about under our very feet.
As I stood gazing over the long stretch of devastated meadow-land, once so famous for its thick, velvety grass, the tears gathered in my eyes and my voice choked. Now or never, thought I, must the attempt be made to save these fair fields from utter ruin. At a wave of my hand, my assistants stooped and released the somewhat startled cats. They were not long, however, in collecting their wits and getting ready for business.
Sharp hunger is an excellent sauce! As the six monsters leaped among those troops of tiny creatures—till that moment nibbling, playing or teasing one another, without a thought of harm or danger—the wildest consternation seized upon them.
Not only near by us, but as far as the eye could reach, panic and disorder spread among these, till then peaceful little beings. Those which sought safety in their holes were hurled back by others rushing frantically out into the open air.
The cats kept at their work like avenging furies. They killed for the mere pleasure of killing, passing like a death-dealing blast here and there over the meadows.
After the work of destruction had been kept up for half an hour, I directed that the trained six should be carried back to their quarters, for I was too good a general to let my troops get their fill of sack and plunder.
The next day another attack was made upon the enemy. The trained six, if anything, spread death right and left with greater fury than at first. The wet lands no longer had any terrors for them. They splashed through the puddles like mischievous boys through roadside brooks and ponds.
I now bethought me of turning my attention to the groundsquirrels. My first step was to send to town for several bushels of the smallest marbles that could be purchased. Then, having, with the assistance of my ever-faithful and loving friend and helper—my dear, dumb brother Bulger—located the whereabouts of several hundred burrows of the ground-squirrels, I gave orders to have a half-dozen or more of the marbles rolled down into each one of those holes.
These labors completed, I withdrew to my apartments and set about amusing myself in several ways, while awaiting a report from the overseer.
Many of the tenants who had watched my operations against the moles, meadow-mice and ground-squirrels, even ventured openly to denounce them as “wild whims”, “a dreamer’s ideas” “silly workings of a diseased mind.”
Poor creatures! They had lost their all. They had seen the labor of long weary months ruined by these pests. They were embittered and skeptical. I had not the heart to notice their rather impertinent utterances. While awaiting the developments, I plunged into the delights of some tales of a bold traveler written in the ancient Assyrian tongue in the wedge-shaped letter.
Three days went by and no news from the superintendent!
Two more, made five full days!
On the sixth came nothing.
At last, with the dawn of the seventh I was awakened by loud and long continued cheering beneath my windows. Springing from my bed and drawing aside the curtains, I was astonished to see long lines of our tenantry, men, women and children bearing banners, wreaths, garlands, etc.
One company of children carried long, thin rods from the end of which dangled dead moles, meadow-mice and ground-squirrels.
The moment I presented myself at the window, there was an outburst of cheering, so sturdy that the windows rattled before it. A tap at my door called me in another direction. It was the elder baron!
“Haste! little baron!” he cried eagerly “descend to the castle platform, the people are beside themselves with joy! Canstthou catch their cries? Not a mole, nor a mouse, nor a squirrel is alive on the broad acres of thy estate. I say “thy” because it is justly thine! Thou hast saved it from utter ruin. Henceforth for the few years which kind Providence may will that I should tarry with thee, let it be as thy guest.”
“Nay, nay, baron!” I replied laughingly, “that may not be! Till thou sleepest with the noble dead of our long and honored line, thou art master here!”
I pressed his hand reverently to my lips and sent him to talk to the people until I should be ready to take my place at his side.
I can well fancy how impatient the reader is to hear something more about the manner in which I rid my ancestral estate of these noisome pests. With regard to the meadow-mice that needs no explanation, but, the disappearance of the moles and ground-squirrels seems somewhat mysterious.
Well and good. I’ll make it clear! Gentle reader, if you had been as close a student of the natures and habits of these animals as I, you could have done the same thing yourself. You must know, then, that the mole’s body bears about the same relation to his forefeet, as a boiler does to a steam engine, which is admirably adjusted in all its parts, working smoothly and noiselessly, like a thing of life—polished and beautiful in all its bearings and put together so skillfully that no human thought could better it. That is to say, the only wonderful thing about a mole is his hand.
That is a delight to a student of natural history.
I have sat for hours and studied the marvelous shape of this hand. And strange though it may seem to you, no one knows better than the mole himself, that therein lies his hold on life.
You’ll bear in mind, that I caused the nails to be clipped off the forefeet of the hundred moles, close to the flesh, and then turned them loose. In other words, without absolutely destroying their marvellous hands, I completely destroyed their usefulness.
Now another thing you must be taught, that in the busy communities of these little animals, there are no sluggards. Every one must work. Only one thing stops him from using his hands.
That is death. When a mole sees his fellow stop work, he knows what has happened.
Upon the return of the hundred captives to their burrows, there was joy mingled with terror!
Whose turn might come next?
But, when the moment arrived to fall into line and set to work, there was consternation!
What! alive, and not able to dig?
Immediately, the wildest panic seizes upon the community. They abandon their homes! With frantic haste, they pierce new burrows in every direction, leaving their ill-fated companions behind them to die a lingering death—literally buried alive. Weeks, months will elapse ere they recover from this wild fear. Then they will be miles away.
And the ground-squirrels, you ask. The ground-squirrel is as conceited, inquisitive, persistent and hard-headed as he is hard-toothed. If he knew that the world was round he would claim that it was simply a huge nut and wish that he were big enough to get at its kernel.
When the marbles first came rolling down his burrow, he was pleased. They were so smooth, so round! He rolled them hither and thither, as content as a child with a new toy. Then he stored them away for another day’s amusement. Pretty soon he began to tire of them. They were dreadfully in his way. They annoyed him greatly. And yet, he couldn’t bear to think of parting with them. Finally the question arose in his mind: What are they, anyway? Surely they must have a kernel! And so he set to work gnawing upon them. They were terribly hard, but he was determined to get at the pit. Day after day, he kept at the thankless task, gnawing, gnawing, until, one fine morning, he awoke to make the awful discovery that his teeth were gone!
Now, a ground-squirrel may be said to consist of four teeth, and nothing else. These gone there is no way to keep the other part alive.
True, he may, after infinite labor struggle through a nutshell, but it is too slow work to keep up his strength. Every nut becomes a harder task.
And so it was with the vast colony in our orchards. The first few days quite a number made their appearance as usual. Then, fewer and fewer came out of their holes, and they looked thin and feeble and showed no inclination to gambol and chatter. At the end of the week, the work was done. They had wrought their own destruction. The entire colony had perished from starvation.
Thus it was, I restored the fair lands of our family to their old-time productiveness and removed all the obstacles which stood between me and my immediate departure from home.
In a few days all was ready.
The elder baron and the gracious baroness, my mother, parted from me with a gentle rain of tears, and a refreshing shower of blessings. Accompanied by my dumb brother—the ever faithful Bulger—and one trusty servant, I set out by extra post for Vienna.
Thence at break-neck speed, I journeyed to Buda-Pesth and reached the Black Sea via Bucharest.
Traversing that body of water in a swift vessel, commanded by an old sailing-master of mine, I skirted the foot hills of the Caucasus Mountains, and made my way to Teheran.
Here I tarried several days, long enough to purchase a few camels and horses and join a caravan, soon to leave that city on a trading expedition.
The proprietor of the trading company renewed his welcome in heartier terms when he was informed that I had brought a goodly collection of European trinkets with me.
To clinch his good will—so to speak—I gave him a pair of fine German pistols.
We were now sworn friends.
I remained with the expedition until it reached Cabul. The proprietor was astounded to learn that I did not contemplate returning westward with him. After a whole day spent in eloquent pleadings, he gave in, fell upon my neck, wept, and wished me good speed.
I was glad to be rid of him, for I was in no humor to form friendships with men whose souls never rose above a sharpbargain. Attended only by my faithful Bulger and a single guide, I set out from Cabul; crossed northern Hindoostan, and entered Thibet to the north of the Himalayas.
This was the land of which I had long dreamed—a land absolutely unknown to the outside world.
I never had any inclination to pass over beaten tracks. By nature and education, a lover of the strange and marvellous, my soul expanded beneath the skies of this far-away and curious land, like a flower beneath the sunlight of a warm May morning.
Scarcely had I penetrated more than a dozen leagues into this wild untrodden territory than I made the astonishing discovery that the sun’s light was obscured the entire day; while the sky, by night, was flooded with a soft, mysterious light, quite bright enough to enable me to read the finest print with perfect ease. In other words, the natural order of things was exactly reversed. So, I—always quick to accommodate myself to existing circumstances—made use of the dark days for rest and sleep, and pursued my journey by night.
One morning, however, the mystery was explained. The impenetrable clouds, which had been veiling the heavens like a pall, suddenly sank earthward; and, to my almost unspeakable astonishment, I discovered that this blanket of inky blackness was made up of living creatures—gigantic fire-flies, quite as large as our ordinary bat, and far blacker in both body and wing.
When night came, this living tissue was changed into a robe of sparkling, shimmering glow, mantling the heavens like a garment of burnished gold spangles, upon which a burst of soft light, as if from ten times ten thousand waxen tapers, fell in dazzling effulgence. It was something to see and die for. Bulger’s poor startled mind made him look up, half in dread, half in wonder at this mysterious fire, which enveloped everything in its flame, and yet consumed nothing. I had but one thought. It was to capture several of these huge fire-flies. Night after night I watched patiently for an opportunity.
It came at last.
I was preparing some coffee, and my back was turned. Suddenly, I was startled by a piteous outburst, half whine, half bark, from poor Bulger. A cluster of these living stars had fallen at his very feet. Quicker than thought, I sprang forward and threw my blanket over them. Then, with the greatest care, I transferred them to one of my wicker hampers.
Bulger, upon seeing this basket on fire and yet feeling no heat, was most painfully nonplused. He walked round and round the improvised cage, keeping at a safe distance, however, now sniffing the air, now looking up to me with a most imploring glance—as if to say:
“Dear little master, do explain this thing to me! Why doesn’t it burn up?”
To my great disappointment, the three captives died after a few days’ imprisonment, not, however, until they had laid a number of eggs—about the size of robins’ eggs—which I packed away most carefully in my boxes of specimens.
I may say, right here, that, upon my return home, I subjected these eggs to a gentle warmth and was charmed to see emerge from each one of them a larva about the size of a pipe-stem; but, to my delight—and to Bulger’s absolute terror—this pipe-stem affair had, inside twenty-four hours, become as large round as a Frankfort sausage.
In due time, they passed into the chrysalis state. But this apparent death seemed to become a real one.
Weeks went by and there were no signs of a metamorphosis.
I was cruelly disappointed.
More important matters, however, arose to occupy my thoughts. The sleeping fire-flies of the Orient were quite forgotten, when, one evening, the women servants of the manor house, with blanched faces and piercing shrieks came literally tumbling headlong down the main stairway.
Fortunately I was sitting on the first terrace of the park. With a bound I gained the hall-way, and snatching down a brace of fire-arms from the wall, throw myself in front of the wildly shrieking troop of women, calling out in stentorian tones, for silence.
“Has murder been committed?” I cried, “Is there revolt among the tenantry? Has blood been shed?”
“No! no! little baron!” they exclaimed, with wild eyes and clasped hands, “but the castle is on fire! Your rooms are in flames! Your treasures will be consumed! Quick! little baron; save them! save us! save the gracious lady and venerable master!”
Quicker than it takes to tell it, I laid hold of the rope of the alarm bell and set it pealing.
The retainers answered with a will. A score of them burst into the hall-way ready for the word of command.
“Seize the fire-buckets, my lads!” I called out calmly, but in a tone of sufficient dignity to inspire perfect confidence.
“Man ladders to the windows of my apartments.”
By this time another gang of the tenantry came rushing in upon the scene. I met them with an order to unhang the portraits in the baronial dining-hall, and store them in a place of safety. Then, having spoken a few words of comfort to the gracious baroness, my mother, I seized a fire-bucket and led the line up the stairway. Laying my shoulder against the door of my apartments, I burst it open; and, with head lowered before the blaze of light dashed in, followed by the bucket-bearers.
“Halt!” I cried.
It was too late! some of my finest hangings and rugs were spoiled by half a dozen buckets of water emptied upon them.
The mystery was solved! The blaze of light that fairly flooded my apartments proceeded from the huge fire-flies which had hatched out without being noticed by me. But I didn’t begrudge my ruined hangings.
There was my recompense clinging to the walls.
I need hardly say, that the giant fire-flies were the wonder of their day, and brief as it was it sufficed to cover my name with a glory as resplendent, as their mysterious fire.
THE LITTLE BARON READING BY THE LIGHT OF THE GIGANTIC FIRE-FLIES.
THE LITTLE BARON READING BY THE LIGHT OF THE GIGANTIC FIRE-FLIES.
THE LITTLE BARON READING BY THE LIGHT OF THE GIGANTIC FIRE-FLIES.
I caused a huge lamp of exquisite oriental pattern to be constructed, and having placed the light-bearers beneath its dome of polished glass, passed several nights in the most perfect happiness, seated in its soft, white light, poring over musty volumes of travel, written in tongues long-forgotten, save by a few of the most learned scholars. But, my delight was short-lived. The gigantic fire-flies absolutely refused to eat anything, although I tempted them with a hundred different kinds of food. Little by little, their mysterious flame lost its bright effulgence—burning lower and lower until it went out in death.
To resume the thread of my story:
I was growing impatient to reach the table-lands of the Himalayas, and taxed the powers of endurance of my guide to their uttermost.
In our bivouacs at times he would encircle my slender ankle-joints with his thumb and index finger and exclaim: “All the gods helped make thee, little baron!” meaning that there dwelt great will-power and strength in my small body.
The skies now cleared up. The living pall rolled backward, toward the horizon, and naught remained to tell of the mighty flood of light which so lately overran the heavens save a faint shimmering streak of fire in far distant Western sky.
Soon it went out altogether. Thus far, our journey had been through an open country, with here and there a clump of forest trees which, at last grew so frequent that I felt sure we must be approaching the confines of some extensive piece of woodland.
In this I was not mistaken.
As we reached the summit of a range of hills, I could see in the distance a long, dark line of forests. My guide, who had pushed on ahead, in search of water, came galloping wildly back.
I paid no particular attention to him, until I noticed that he had dismounted in great haste and was running towards me.
“Turn back! turn back! little master!” he exclaimed, throwing himself at my feet, and clasping my legs with his arms!
“Enter not in the Palin-mâ-Talin! (Home of Darkness.) A hundred pilgrims have laid their bones in the moss-grown depths of the Great Gloomy Forest! It is as pathless as theocean! It is as silent as death. It is as limitless as the heavens! Nor man nor beast can breathe its cool, moist air, and live! Turn back! I beseech thee, little baron; tempt not the Palin-mâ-Talin!”
“Palin-mâ-Talin! Palin-mâ-Talin!” I repeated, as if awakening from a dream, “why, it must be—ay, there can be no doubt of it—the Great Aryan Forest, in which, countless centuries ago, the human race having abandoned their holes in the clay banks, first learned to hunt the wild beast, feed on his flesh and clothe themselves in his skins.”
In my joy at this discovery I threw a handful of gold pieces into the lap of my astonished guide.
Bulger, always ready to share my happiness, came bounding to my side, barking loud and shrill. To my infinite surprise, the answering bark of a dog came floating on the morning breeze.
“Hark!” I exclaimed, in a whisper. This time it was unmistakable.
“’Tis one of Benè-agâ’s dogs!” was my guide’s reply. “Come, little master, let me lead thee to his cave. It is beneath the very shadow of the Great Gloomy Forest. He can tell thee of its dangers, for he hath crossed it!”
“And come safely back?” I asked.
“While life lasts he will sit in the gloom of Palin-mâ-Talin!” murmured the man.
“What meanest thou?” I cried.
“I mean, that the noonday sun cannot chase the shadows from his eyes.”
“He is blind?”
“Ay, little master, blind!” was the guide’s reply, “and yet save this blind hermit, there lives no human creature who can lead thee safely through the Great Gloomy Forest!”
“Have done with thy jesting!” I cried.
“Nay, little master!” was the man’s answer. “I speak in all truth and reverence, for Benè-agâ is a holy man, and in him dwells such a radiant spirit, that his path is illumined and his footsteps are sure when other men would walk to their destruction!”
“O, lead me to him!” I exclaimed with ill-concealed joy. “A thousand pieces of gold are thine, if the blind hermit consents to be my guide.”
“A thousand pieces of gold!” repeated the guide with a gleam in his dark eyes. “Ah, little baron, no one can earn that princely reward, excepting thee thyself! Who am I, poor, miserable, ignorant slave that I am, that I should attempt to move this saintly and learned man in thy behalf? He would heed the cry of one of his dogs far more quickly than he would my chatter!”
“Is he so unlike his kind,” I asked, as we rode slowly along, “as not to love gold?”
“Ay, little baron! if every dried leaf in his forest path were a coin of burnished gold, he would not stoop to pick one up!”
“Are his ears closed to flattery?”
“As closed as his eyes are to the sun’s rays.”
“Loves he not some savory dish?”
“Fruits and berries content him!”
“Surely a draught of rare old wine, mellow with age, fragrant as crushed roses, purple within the beaker, would warm his heart to quicker beating, and incline him to serve me!”
“Nay, nay, little baron! a gourd full of water from the sparkling rill near his home in the rocks, is sweeter to him than any nectar ever distilled by the hands of man!”
“They say he is learned! Then shall my gift be a score of rare old books, priceless parchments filled with thoughts so noble, so deep, so subtle, that, to read therein, means to live a thousand years in one!”
“Ah, little master,” replied my guide, with a mournful smile, “thou art still astray. This dweller ’mid the rocks, this lover of solitude, the measure of whose life, they say, is full three hundred years, knows no other books than the pages of his own soul! On these he has turned his thoughts so long and so diligently, that the foolish outpourings of so-called authors seem like the merest prattle of childhood.”
“But look, little master, we are drawing near the home of the blind hermit.”
I turned my eyes in the direction indicated.
A rocky ledge, wild, craggy, broken, seamed and twisted, crowned with a growth of pine trees having knotted, gnarled and fantastically-shaped trunks and boughs, shut in our view. As we drew near the entrance to Benè-agâ’s cave, a troop of dogs, of various ages and species, came bounding forward with loud barkings.
Bulger advanced to meet them boldly, after first glancing at my face to see whether I objected or not.
It was a long while since he had met any of the members of his race, and then again, he doubtless wished to get a good look at these residents of such a distant land.
The feeling seemed to be mutual, for in an instant the barking ceased, and the hermit’s dogs gathered about Bulger in silent wonderment.
After a series of salutations, which plainly ended in the best of fellowships, the hermit’s dogs endeavored to lure Bulger away for a run in the forest and fields, but in this they were, I need scarcely say, entirely unsuccessful. Bulger gave them to understand in very decided terms that he would talk with them, and even romp with them, but that it must all be done under the eyes of his master.
We now halted and dismounted.
“This is the place,” said my guide in a low tone. “Through that deep fissure in the rocks thou wilt find a path that leads to Benè-agâ’s cave. Enter it boldly, little master. At the entrance to the cave thou wilt find a dried gourd hanging on the rocky wall. Seize it! When shaken, its seeds will give forth a loud, rattling sound. This done, move not, though the shadows of evening find thee still standing at the door of Benè-agâ’s cave. Farewell, little master; Heaven make good to thee tenfold thy kindness to me! I will await thee three days. If by that time I do not hear thy voice calling me to serve thee again, I shall return to my kindred!”
Advancing to the cleft in the rocky wall, I found the gourd hanging by a leathern thong.
The loud rattling of the seeds, as it broke the deep silenceof this wild and lonely place—fit vestibule to a temple devoted to silence, solitude and meditation—startled me painfully.
Restoring the gourd to its place, I leaned forward to catch the faintest sound of the hermit’s voice which might reach my ear.
It came not.
The silence grew more oppressive than before.
The broken, twisted rocks, overhanging and surrounding me, took on fantastic forms.
In every dark cavity I saw some misshapen creature stirring about.
A dreadful feeling of loneliness crept over me.
No sound came, save the loud throbbing of my own heart.
A half hour went by!
Benè-agâ spake not a word.
“Perhaps he sleeps!” I whispered to myself.
My words awakened the echoes of the rocky recesses, and the word “sleeps” came back to my ears in a hundred different tones, now loud and hissing, now soft and sibilant.
At last a full hour had now gone by since I had rattled the seeds of the dried gourd, and yet the blind hermit spake no word.
Again the death-like stillness sank upon the place, and the gathering shadows grew deeper and deeper.
Could the guide have played me false? I asked myself.
Nay, that cannot be!
And yet why comes there no sound from Benè-agâ’s cave?
Shall I summon him once more? May he not have gone forth to gather food?
Am I doomed to be turned back when I have reached the very threshold of my long-wished-for desire?
These and a hundred other questions flitted through my mind as I stood in the dark and gloomy corridor that led to Benè-agâ’s cave.
By the shadows on the rocky wall I could see that I had now been standing at least two hours awaiting summons to draw nearer.
But hush!
He speaks at last!
My heart bounded joyfully, and yet as if with a leaden weight upon it.
“Who is it that disturbs my meditation?” were the hermit’s words.
“A stranger! A brother! One who needs thy guidance!” I replied in a firm, yet humble tone.
“No human creature is stranger to me! Thou art too young to be my brother! The light that is left me shines only for my own feet!” came slowly from the hermit’s cave in a full, deep, rich voice.
“True, great master,” I replied, “but then, may I not be thy son, and follow thy footsteps?”
“Thou art very wise for thy years,” spake Benè-agâ.
“Not so wise, great master,” was my reply, “as I shall be when I have sat at thy feet.”
“Come somewhat closer; thy child-voice sounds like an echo,” continued the blind hermit. “And yet thou art not a child! Some great spirit plays in sportive mood behind thy face! I see that thou art blue-eyed and flaxen-haired. Thine eyes are set wide asunder, and above them towers a dome of thought. Thy home is in the land of the Norseman. At least thy fathers dwelt there. On thy cheek glows the crimson which, in the peach and apple-land, stains the autumn foliage!”
As I had not yet even stepped within Benè-agâ’s cave, these words of the blind hermit caused a strange feeling, half of fear, half of dread fascination, to creep over me.
My heart throbbed violently.
His ear, far keener than birds’ or beasts’, caught the sound.
“Fear not, little one!” said he, in deep, rich tones, full and swelling like the voice of organ pipes, “if thou canst content thyself with a handful of berries when thou art hungry, with a draught from the neighboring rill when thou art thirsty; if thy young limbs are sturdy enough to wrest repose from a rocky couch, then art thou welcome! If not, go thy way! For twenty years I’ve been busy with a certain problem, and have no time to stop and spread a more bountiful repast!”
“But season thy frugal fare with thy wisdom, great master,” I returned, “and it will be sweeter to my palate than stall-fed ox and mellow wine.”
“Come somewhat nearer, little traveler, so that I may see thee better!” spake the blind hermit, kindly and gently.
I did not wait for further summons, but stepped boldly into Benè-agâ’s cave.
It was, in truth, little more than a lofty cleft in the rocks, with several deeper recesses, in which the shadows lay undisturbed. Its roof of jagged, broken and blackened masses of stone, was arched and lofty. In and about it, flocks of small swallow-like birds nested, and at times broke out in musical twitterings. Barren, gloomy and utterly forlorn as the place was, without chair, mat, bed or blanket, every thought of its awful loneliness and abject surroundings vanished from my mind, as I fixed my eyes upon its occupant.
As I had stepped within the limit of Benè-agâ’s cave, he had slowly risen from his bench of stone, and now stood erect before me. Of powerful build, tall and majestic, with long snow-white hair and snowy beard, he towered like a statue of Parian marble in the dim twilight, to which now, however, my eyes had become accustomed.
I gazed upon him, half in fear, half in delight.
I could feel my breath coming fast and faster, as I riveted my gaze upon his wonderful face, so full of love, patience, courage and contentment.
Had he bent his eyes upon me, I would never have believed him blind, for they were unclouded, full and lustrous. And yet, on second look, I saw that their gleam was like the brightness of the polished gem, that lacks the softness of living, sensitive orbs.
Benè-agâ was clad in a rude garb of dried skins, from which the hair had been skilfully scraped. Tossed back from his broad and massive brow, his white locks hung in heavy ringlets on his broad shoulders, while his wonderful beard, as white and glistening as spun glass—around his body twice entwined—clung like a snow-wreath twisted about a sturdy oak by the circling gale.