Part 2

It is to be regretted that their relations with the Society, though friendly, were not at all enthusiastic. In the first place, they were, like all Dutchmen, phlegmatic and not given to gush. In the second place, England was at war with Holland when they started out and they did not like the sight of the British flag flying over the main building in Watkyns Bay. It was of course Miss Watkyns’ duty to make the first call, so she went with six of the ladies and told them that she had no objection to their staying there--which seemed rather superfluous as they had already settled down very comfortably--and that she hoped they would find the rest and change beneficial. No refreshments were offered, for Vanderdecken had no tea but only Schnapps, a heady liquor calculated to make an unaccustomed man climb trees and therefore obviously unsuited to ladies. The call was returned in due time by Vanderdecken and his mate and two washed seamen; and from then on there were little formal calls at intervals, but, as I say, no real cordiality; mostly talk about the weather.

But the Dutchmen get on famously with the Snergs, who visit them frequently and invite them over to the town for week-ends, this giving a nice excuse for a feast. Then they introduced them to a special kind of mead made from wild bees’ honey, with a little distillation of ginger added to give it a kick. This was glad news to the weary mariners, for though they had started out with a good supply of Schnapps they had of course not taken the curse into account and the supply was getting alarmingly low, and there had been many wrinkled brows over the matter. Hunting parties are organized very often; the Dutchmen go with strangely carved muskets and the Snergs with bows and arrows, and they come home with mixed bags. This, however, has caused trouble with the Society, for Miss Watkyns said she could not allow promiscuous slaying of animals in the forest land between the coast and the Snerg country; that if they liked (she meant this ironically) they could go to the country beyond the deep river, where rumour had it there were fierce beasts worthy of their skill, and kill as many as they liked. She gave a list of animals that were prohibited; among these were cinnamon bears, young deer and various sorts of birds. Vanderdecken objected strongly to this, and he came over to argue the matter; but there was breeding in the man and he finally gave way. They now hunt only large deer, hares, duck, and wobsers, a swift-running, graminivorous animal something between a platypus and a pig, but with a prehensile tail. Cooked with bay leaves they are delicious.

But though there was no great cordiality between the ladies of the Society and the Dutchmen, there was no friction to speak of. Miss Watkyns would often send over a few dozen eggs or a basket of plums from the orchard and the like, and Vanderdecken sent one of his men to plant tulips in the way they should be planted, the Dutch being very skilful at this. When the ladies’ bathing kiosk blew over in a high wind he and his men came and put it right side up by brute force, and last Christmas he sent two sacks of little carved windmills for the children. On the whole relations could be called satisfactory.

HOW THE ADVENTURE STARTED

Having given a short general statement of conditions, it is now time to recount what happened to Sylvia and Joe owing to her impulsiveness and his disobedience and cheek, and I say again (for it is a point that will bear repetition) that I hope the tale will not be without due effect on my young readers.

I have already said that Joe caused the Society anxiety and exasperation. This was chiefly owing to his insatiable curiosity to know what would be the effect of certain acts, particularly those that were forbidden, and though the lady who was responsible for his arrival (Miss Gribblestone) had lectured him and read him moral tales, such as the one about the boy who was devoured by curiosity and finished by getting devoured by a serpent, and though Miss Watkyns had told him that at his rate of going severe punishment was only a matter of time, all this had little or no effect. And the really serious part was that he and Sylvia were firm chums and she, being impulsive, would aid and abet him in his enterprises.

They could not live apart, these two. They shared everything they had, including secrets, and any little extra snacks that came into their possession. They even shared a puppy (whom they named Tiger owing to his ferocity with slippers and other small matters, and who was pure white all over except on one ear and the left side of the head where he looked as if he had been well rubbed in a tin of blacking) and this is the only known case of dual ownership since Miss Watkyns made that excellent rule of one child, one animal.

Many were the remedies proposed for their improvement, but the difficulty was that the Misses Scadging and Gribblestone could not agree to any particular method. Miss Scadging was the one who had taken Sylvia away from her mother, and she said that Joe had an evil influence on the little girl and that he alone should be punished. Miss Gribblestone on the other hand was of opinion that if it were not for Sylvia’s encouragement Joe would be a pattern boy like that Edgar of the story-book who went out before breakfast and gathered fresh groundsel for his aunt’s canary. And so the matter stood, for Miss Watkyns made it a rule never to interfere except in very urgent cases.

That Sylvia encouraged the boy there was no doubt. She had blue eyes and a quantity of fluffy gold curls, and consequently, when she giggled and told him he would never dare to do what he said would be a choice thing to do, he usually went at once and did it, whatever it happened to be. And when the deed was done and some of the ladies went forth to pick up the bits or to do whatever else needed doing and to bring in Joe and Sylvia for immediate explanation, they would find them at the time harmless and lovable, perhaps sitting on the shore with their arms round each other’s necks as good as gold, or else engaged in some deed of kindness, such as swimming out to the Penguins’ Rock with a little string bag full of snails.

HOW IT REALLY BEGAN

To come to how it really began, one bright morning the two went over to Vanderdecken’s camp without leave, and there Joe was wicked enough and foolish enough to heave half a brick into the cauldron of soup preparing for the mariners. It was a wicked thing to do because they had never harmed him, and a foolish thing because detection was certain. But he had bragged that he would do it, and Sylvia had giggled in the usual way and said she didn’t believe him, so he hunted up the half-brick and off they went.

Speaking of the act entirely apart from its moral aspect I may say that it was a good shot. Six mariners were standing about the cauldron, sniffing the fragrant steam and speaking in praise of the cook, when the missile arrived from a high neighbouring rock, and its impact caused the hot, glutinous liquid to bespatter their faces and clothing. On the next instant Joe, Sylvia and Tiger started home at a brisk run. Arriving breathless they proceeded at once, and in sight of some of the ladies, to be kind to animals. They gathered handfuls of grass and offered them to some overfed sheep, and their expression while doing so was something like that on the faces of angels in the pictures of Murillo, that great painter.

In due time the six mariners and the cook arrived to make their complaint. Their annoyance was so great that, though fluent, they were unintelligible; I am inclined to think that at first they could only articulate expletives in use among Dutch seamen of the seventeenth century. But at length they were calmed sufficiently to enable them to state their case and to demand that Joe, whom they had recognized, be delivered over to them for the punishment of keel-hauling, a term which was not understood by any of the ladies.

Miss Watkyns was sympathetic, but she could not, of course, allow them to take the law into their own hands. She soothed them down with diplomatic words, promised that the boy should receive castigation proportional to his offence, and gave them each a ball of some composition warranted to remove grease stains without injuring the fabric.

Then she went for the Handy Encyclopædia to see what it had to say about keel-hauling. It was as follows:

“_Keel-hauling._ A form of discipline once in great vogue among seamen. The usual method of application was to attach ropes to the four limbs of the delinquent, lower him over the bows of the ship, and drag him to the stern post and up again, the process being repeated as many times as was considered necessary to expiate the offence. In very serious cases it was the custom to continue the operation until such barnacles as had accumulated on the ship’s keel had been scraped off. See _Shell Fish_.”

“I gather that they are vexed,” observed Miss Watkyns to herself as she replaced the volume. Then--for in spite of her high ideals she was human--“I should have liked to see that half-brick arriving.”

In the conference that followed Miss Scadging proposed that Joe should be considered the sole culprit, since he was a boy and therefore it was his duty to set an example to the weaker sex. Miss Gribblestone objected to this on principle; she was by no means convinced that women were the weaker sex and she recounted again how she had laid out Joe’s father; also she quoted Police Court instances of crimes committed by men at the instigation of females. Miss Watkyns was of opinion that a good and quick way to settle the matter would be to hand Joe six or ten of the very best with the back of a hairbrush before the assembled children; but Miss Gribblestone objected strongly to this as tending to break the boy’s spirit. She made the counter-suggestion of an appeal to his pride.

It is no exaggeration to say that I could keep on like this for pages, but I will not risk wearying the reader with a disquisition on the arguments for and against corporal punishment. I will merely state that it was finally decided to let Sylvia off for just this once, but to incarcerate Joe for the rest of the day in the Turret Chamber on a diet of bread and water.

THE TURRET CHAMBER

The Turret Chamber was, as its name implies, a chamber in a turret. I have previously explained that the erection of the buildings was done by the Snergs; also that their natural tendency was to indulge in wild architectural freaks. By careful watching, however, Miss Watkyns had managed to keep them building according to the neat plans she had prepared, and to subdue their inclination to spoil the symmetry of the houses by fantastic and unnecessary additions. But during her absence one day on a picnic the Snergs broke loose and built a swift tower in a corner of the main building, with some scalloped fancy work on the walls and a twisting flight of stairs in the interior leading to the chamber in question, and by the time she arrived home they were already roofing it in. In appearance it resembled the more despicable forms of lighthouses, and it was quite useless for anything practical, being so narrow that a grown-up person ascending the stairs had to writhe up like a snake, and the chamber atop being so small that Miss Watkyns had considered the question of turning the whole business into a pigeon-house. However, it did very well as a lock-up for Master Joe.

HOW JOE BORE CAPTIVITY

Hours had passed. The sun was not now so very high in the heavens. From the direction of the beach came the sounds of happy shrieks; the children were having a great time there. On the window-sill of the turret chamber sat Joe, his hands in his shorts’ pockets and his feet dangling outside, looking forth disconsolately. Behind him on the floor was a platter with odd bits of dry bread, and a pitcher of clear cold water from the pump. There was nothing else behind him but a little wooden bench; the chamber was as bare and smooth as an empty jam-pot. Above him was the bright blue sky. Before him was green grass and waving forest. Below him was a nasty drop of twenty-seven feet. I don’t think I have left anything out.

Joe started suddenly and looked about, for from somewhere he had heard the hoot of the Aviola, or small downy owl, which by rights should be still asleep at that hour. He replied with the half-whistle, half-bleat of the Crested Grebe (these were secret signals), and Sylvia came worming her way out from the neighbouring herbaceous border, accompanied by their small but faithful hound. She parted her mass of curls, which had fallen across her face in the passage, and stood having a good look at him.

“Oh, Joe,” she said in the low voice of pity, “are you very beastly lonely up there?”

“Yes, Sylvia, I’m just as lonely and miserable! And I’ve had nothing to eat but some dry bread. I think they dried it on purpose.”

“And Tiger’s been wondering what’s the matter, Joe.” She held him up, and Tiger caught sight of Joe and wriggled and made moans, as of a puppy that wanted comfort. “But I’ve got something for you.”

She put down Tiger and produced a handkerchief. “I’ve got some apple sauce on bits of bread that aren’t so dry, and a piece of seedy cake. And some pears. I suppose you haven’t got a piece of string?”

“Yes I have,” he answered joyfully. “I’ve got my fishing line. Here it is. I’ve been fishing for hours and hours trying to fish up something to play with, but all I got was some bits of twigs and I couldn’t do much with them.”

Sylvia hooked her handkerchief with the provisions on to the line, and a moment later Joe was eating busily.

“You’re just like a captive princess in a tower,” she said after a time. “Like Rapunzel.”

“Except I haven’t got such long hair. I feel like an old cat up a pole--except I can’t get down. When are they going to let me out?”

“Miss Watkyns said when all of us are in bed. Isn’t she vicious?”

“But that’s hours and hours! Oh, Sylvia, I _must_ get out!” He bounced up and down on the window-sill, and Sylvia squawked.

“Oh, Joe, you ass, you’ll fall!”

“Not me, don’t you think it.” He bounced up and down again to show his skill.

“Look here, Joe, shall I hook on Tiger? I’ll tie him in my hankie so that he won’t fall and then you can play with him for a bit--No, you _keep_ him up there with you, and then won’t Miss Watkyns be surprised when she finds him there! She’ll think he’s got wings somehow.”

“Yes, that’d be fine. But I’ve got a much better idea, Sylvia. You just bring me that clothes-line over there.”

“What for? And it’s got nighties drying on it.”

“I don’t want them, I want only the rope. Do, Sylvia, it’s something delicious. If you don’t I’ll show you how to hang out of a window head downwards.”

“No, _don’t_!” cried Sylvia. “I’ll bring it.” She ran off and came back a minute later with the clothes-line, which she fastened to his fish-hook. “Nighties all over the grass. There’ll be a fine row over it if they catch me. You are a headstrong boy, Joe.”

Joe did not answer, for he was busy. He hauled up the rope and fastened one end of it to the bench, and then managed to jam the bench across the window frame. Then he called to Sylvia to stand from under.

“Because,” he said, “it’s rather a rotten piece of rope, and besides, I don’t think this silly old bench is going to stand much jerking about. But we’ll soon see.”

On the next instant, Sylvia gave a screech, for there was Joe outside the window, spinning round on the rope. But before you could count ten he had slid down to the ground and Tiger was leaping and trying to get at his face so as to lick it. Not a very wonderful trick for a circus boy, but then Sylvia didn’t know anything about circuses. She put her arms round his neck and hugged him.

“Oh, Joe,” she said, “you are a brave boy! You looked just like a clean monkey coming down--except that you haven’t got a tail. But how are you going to get the rope put back?”

“I’m not bothering about the rope,” said Joe. “You see we’re just going to run away.”

“Run away! What for?”

“For fun. I’m not going to be locked up by anybody. I’m going over to see the Snergs, and you’ve got to come with me. Tiger’s coming, too, of course. We’ll have a glorious time!”

“What do you mean, you contentious infant?” (She sometimes used words she had heard from Miss Watkyns and other ladies.) “It’s miles and miles and miles! And you don’t know the way there.”

“Yes I do. It’s straight over there, just a little bit this side of where the sun goes under. We’ll just go that way until we can’t see it, and then we’ll sleep in a nice place in the forest.”

“Yes, Clever, and what about to-morrow? The sun’s always over the sea in the morning.”

“Then all we’ve got to do is to go the _other_ way. Can’t you see?”

Sylvia was rather impressed by his resourcefulness. “Yes, but what about afterwards, Joe,” she said after a moment. “What will Miss Watkyns do when she knows about it?”

“Yes, but what happens afterwards will happen _afterwards_. Can’t you see? Come along, Sylvia, it’s adventures, like those tales your nurse told you about. And it’s much better _being_ a tale than just hearing it. We’ll sleep in the forest to-night--it’s nice and warm--and to-morrow sometime we’ll be at the Snerg’s place and have a jolly time with them. Just think what the other kids will think of us. Won’t they be jealous!”

How it happened Sylvia could never quite make out, but she found herself running along hand-in-hand with Joe over the soft turf, with Tiger bouncing alongside of them and sometimes tumbling over his own barks, drawing nearer and nearer to the trees which looked so cool and inviting on that warm afternoon.

“Oh, Joe,” she panted as she ran, “_what_ an absurd mite you are!”

THE FOREST LAND

It seemed to these precocious infants that the forest was deeper and shadier and more silent, and the grass softer than they had ever known it before; but perhaps that was because before they had always gone with troops of young ones, which would at least do away with the quietness. In parts where the trees were not so very thick the grass was all dappled with spots of sun, and sometimes there were great shafts of light through the trees to make a guide for them, for all they had to do so far was to go as fast as they could in the direction of the sun. And they ran on and on and on, with the pretence idea that they were fleeing from enemies who knew no touch of mercy and they must get as far as possible while they could.

At length they had to stop running and walk, but they walked hard because Joe said they must keep on for hours and hours. But it was not so very long before they had to sit down and rest, for they were all hot and sticky and getting very hungry. Joe opened Sylvia’s handkerchief, in which he carried the rest of the pears she had brought. There were five left, rather soft with the jolting, being ripe, but they ate them, squashed parts and peel and all, and then they had a draught from a stream, lying down on their stomachs and drinking like hunters. Tiger’s share of the meal was as much water as he liked to drink, and the sight of him sitting up and thinking after this meagre diet brought into Sylvia’s head an idea that perhaps they had been a tiny bit rash. But Joe said that Tiger could make up for it to-morrow by a good blow-out, entirely omitting to consider the many weary miles that lay between them and the country of the Snergs and the slim chance they had of ever finding their way there at all. He said it was really adventures, like the one her nurse had told her of, and he pointed out how very likely it was that something exciting would happen at any moment. Sylvia gave her opinion that they were rather too small to be of much use if anything exciting did occur and said she hoped it wouldn’t. She asked him if he thought it would be cold when the dark came, and he said, “No, only nice and cool,” for he was an optimist always.

They got up and went on again, following the gleam of the sun as well as they could, until at last it went altogether and they could only see a red glow from the open parts where there were mostly bushes. And still they went on and on and on, until Sylvia said her legs began to feel all wobbly and she had to sit down. There it was: those silly things were deep in the lonely woods and the shadows were creeping up from the far places.

Joe climbed a tree to see if he could see something worth seeing, such as the smoke from an honest wood-cutter’s hut or the like, as in the tales of forests; though really he hadn’t much expectation of finding anything, for he had been told there was little else but billions of trees between the sea and the Snerg country. All he could see was a little speck of red which he said might be the last of the sunset, or might be a fire made by Indians or cannibals; though of course he did not mean the last part nor did Sylvia believe it or take any interest in it. What she wanted was a bite of real supper and a bed; the forest had been growing darker and more serious and a little shiver went through her as if a lot of the fun had suddenly gone.

“It’s getting more and more like one of those tales,” said Joe in a satisfied way--as will have been seen, he had a good deal of what is known as the bulldog breed in him. “Specially that part over there where it’s like a dark passage. Suppose an old witch was to come along there, flop, flop, flop, and tell us to go home with her.”

“Oh, don’t, Joe! We don’t want it _too_ much like those tales. It’s getting awfully lonely. I wish I hadn’t come.”

“But it’s only lonely enough to be nice, Sylvia. Besides, it’s great fun. There’s nobody to tell us we mustn’t do things, or to tell us when to go to bed. We jolly well go to bed when we like.”

“Yes, but _where_ are we to go to bed?”

“Oh, somewhere or other. I know! We’ll get some fallen leaves, like in the babes in the wood, and cover ourselves up.”

“But it’s summer time and there aren’t any fallen leaves.”

“More there are. Then what we’ve got to do is to cuddle up close. I’ll look after you, never fear, and if any old witch was to----” here he stopped suddenly and looked round at the deepening shadows.

“Oh, Joe!” cried Sylvia, getting close up to him and rather behind him.

The sound they heard was a nasty, soft, flopping sound, and it came from the part which Joe had said looked like a dark passage. He wished he had brought a sword with him somehow, or a bow and arrows, or else one of old Vanderdecken’s guns even if it did knock him over backwards as the one did that he got hold of one day (but nobody found out who it was). Alas, he had nothing but his wooden scalping knife; but he got it out because it seemed better than nothing.

Then, to the surprise and joy of these infants, a great cinnamon bear hove in sight and came up to them, wagging his head from side to side, and, so to speak, gently barging at them. It took some time to prove to him that they were in no mood for play, but by dint of strenuous pushing at him on one side he got it into his thick head that they wanted him to lie down, and he flopped over. Then they got close up to him, Sylvia on the inside so as to give her as much of the fur as possible, and Tiger curled up in a little hollow space by her neck; and they were soon asleep, for they were very tired, what with the long tramp and the novelty of everything. But what a change! From their nicely prepared supper of warm milk and rusks to cold pears and water. From their clean, decorously tinted dormitory to the lonely wind-sighing forest. From their little cots, with clean sheets spread over resilient aromatic hops, to the lee-side of a bear. And the bear had bad dreams and kept waking them up by moaning and shuddering sounds, and more than once he turned over, forgetting all about them, and Joe had to punch him and pull his fur hard to let him know that there were young folks and a puppy underneath. It was a long, hard, disagreeable night, and they were right glad when, after a week as it seemed, the dawn came.

THE DAWN

There was nothing special about the dawn when it did come. It was cold and grey and shivery, with a mist that hid the trees a little distance away, and Sylvia felt very discontented and hungry and really wished she hadn’t listened to Joe. He on the other hand was very brave and strong, and he rubbed her hands and feet to warm them and then turned somersaults backwards to warm himself; to the great surprise of the bear, who sat up on his hind legs and stared, as cinnamons will at anything new. There was nothing to eat except some chilly berries all covered with dew, and these did not appeal to the children’s stomachs at that hour. But the bear ate large quantities of them and they had to kick him to make him stop stuffing and come on.