Part 9
"That I can do, right easily," said the mermaid, coquettishly; "for I have a sister in the band of especial hand-maidens set apart by the king to wait on the bride-betrothed. The fresh violets sent every day to Lady Emma by his majesty, have the power to make her forgetful, and indifferent to all save her present surroundings."
"I knew she had not really grown cold," cried John, in a burst of gratitude. "Here is your harp, pretty one, but answer me one question more. How can I find the entrance to the grotto?"
The little mermaid stood on tip-tail to receive her harp, and, as she once more clasped it in her arms, whispered, in a frightened tone: "When the moon is at the full, its rays strike a white cliff over against yonder dark coast-line. Steer your boat evenly along the path traced by those rays upon the water, and you may see the wedding procession go in at the state entrance. But, of all things, take care not to let yourself be perceived, for on this occasion all the monsters of the deep will be on guard, and your life would not be worth a broken clam-shell."
John bade the mermaid good-by, and from that moment all his thoughts turned upon how he might obtain admission to the wedding festival. He cast his nets diligently, but with no success. All the fishes seemed to have deserted their usual haunts; and no wonder, for the entire population of the sea was in a state of preparation for the great event.
At last the night of the full moon came, and you may be sure John was abroad and watchful, as he cast his nets in feverish anxiety. A sudden pull made him haul in rapidly, and this time he was rewarded by a catch that cost him the most tremendous struggle. What was his surprise to drag into the boat a huge fish, six feet long, with a tall fin nearly the length of its body. The most curious part of it was that the tips of this fin, and also a patch on the creature's head, shone with imprisoned fire. Along the sides of the body were a double row of luminous spots. The fish made no further fight, and John gazed at him in admiration.
"In the name of wonder, what have we here?" he said.
"My good sir," answered the fiery fish, "if you had the least idea of the nature of my business, I am sure you would not interrupt me for a moment. I am one of his majesty's torch-bearers, and the procession is already forming to go to the grotto of the bride-betrothed."
"Hurrah!" said John. "If you will manage to take me with you, I will let you go, but not else."
In vain the torch-bearer protested and begged. John was inexorable. In the end, the torch-bearer demanded time for reflection, and at last spoke as follows:
"I and four of my brothers lead the way, and by going with me you would certainly be seen and punished. But at the very tail-end of the procession, my old father and mother will jog along, accompanied by a swarm of their younger grandchildren. These pretty little creatures, as you may not know, are called Bombay ducks, and their whole bodies glow with light. They are very good-natured, and if we can but win over the other family who help to light the court festivals, the Chiasmodos, I believe we might smuggle you in unobserved between the old people."
"Who are the Chiasmodos?" asked John.
"They are a tribe of deep-sea light-givers," said the torch-bearer, "who consist entirely of a mouth and a stomach. The latter organ swells to an enormous size, and floats beneath like a transparent balloon, while above their great, wide-grinning mouth is worn a crown of light. They are rather snappishly inclined, these Chiasmodos, and may give us trouble; but we must run the risk, if you insist. So, come along, young man, there's no time to waste in talking."
John did not hesitate, but overboard he went, swimming after the released torch-bearer, who proved a friendly fellow after all. It was a beautiful summer's night, and the moon shed a path of radiant light upon the ocean, lying calm and serene beneath her spell. John and the torch-bearer swam along a track of liquid silver, and opposite the white cliff they saw a marvellous array.
The procession was formed, and about to take up its line of march. The drum-fishes were already beating a roll-call; the fiddler crabs fiddled wildly; while the sea-lions roared and rumbled, the whales blew their trumpets, the porpoise puffed, and the electric eel, who was the court jester, wriggled along the line, playing foolish tricks and giving unexpected shocks to those who did not pay attention. Such a multitude! To describe them all would fill many pages of this book; and besides, you would never be able to remember the hard names. The pilot-fish cruised around in front, the torch-bearers came next, then the mermaid musicians, and a host of sea politicians with banners, preceding the whales who sailed majestically ahead of the king's chariot of pearl, drawn by twelve milk-white dolphins with jewelled harness.
After them, every conceivable kind of fish, in regular order, according to their dignity. The octopus party was a sight to make one shudder, but they were in a good humor for once, and comparatively beaming. The sea-serpent swam alone, considering himself too much of a rarity to associate with every-day folk. The sword-fish saluted, and the skates tried to smile, but only succeeded in looking more hideous than before, very much as if they had pains under their waistcoats. The brilliant angel-fishes and the fairy nautilus made the most lovely show it is possible to imagine; though it is hardly fair to single out one or two for praise, when all did so well. Even the herrings from the public schools, and the vulgar little porgies, had clean faces and were allowed to tag after the procession. And, last of all, came the cross Chiasmodos, fortunately swimming before the old father and mother torch-bearers, who, between them, carried John along, and were followed by a gleaming myriad of little Bombay ducks, true glow-worms of the sea.
Led by the moon rays to the white cliff on the coast, the procession came to a halt; and immediately a pair of hidden doors flew back and revealed a long tunnel glittering with lights, which opened directly into John's well-remembered grotto.
There, within, stood Emma, decked in bridal lace, worked by ancient mermaids thousands of years before, to be worn by the queen at her bridal; and on her head was a fragrant crown of violets. She smiled as the king approached, and gave him her hand; the wedding at once began. John, hidden behind a projecting crag, saw, with despair in his heart, the ceremony go on.
The entire walls were lined with ranks of octopi and sharks on guard. To defy them would be death to Emma and himself. He leaned further forward than he intended, and was seen by one of the Chiasmodos, who, flashing her lantern in his face, at once informed on him to her neighbor. Immediately a new monster swam toward John. This was another of the deep-sea torch-bearers, the Chanliodus, appointed to act as chief sentry to the cave. A more ferocious countenance cannot be imagined than was his. The wide mouth bristled with sharp fangs, and his fins were tipped with flame, while all along his sides extended a row of spots like little windows in a ship, through which light was shining.
John saw that in another moment he would be lost. So long as the bridal procession was going on, no one dared to speak; and, beckoning the fierce creature to come behind the rock, John met it with an open knife, aiming so skilfully as to cut the fish open its entire length. The idea now occurred to him to place himself within the body of his dead enemy, which he promptly did, and to his joy, could swim out unobserved, and take his place at the bride's right hand. Just as Emma was about to say "I will," the sentry-fish managed to place in her hand the little gold cross that was once her mother's. The queen-elect looked at the cross in surprise, and as all had passed so quickly, not even the king understood why her head drooped forward, and she seemed about to faint. The sentry-fish whispered in her ear:
"It is I--John--your brother; be brave, and find some excuse for putting off the wedding, and we may yet be saved."
So long as Emma wore the crown of violets, she was unable entirely to break the charm they cast over her. But the little cross was a powerful reminder of her life on earth; and while she held it, she appeared to be awakening from a trance. Excusing herself to the king on the ground of illness, she was supported to her coral couch, and was surrounded by her mermaidens. The king ordered the crowd to withdraw, and soon the disappointed revellers went away, feeling blue and cross, while his majesty himself was in a terrible way, tramping up and down, tearing his green locks, and casting himself on his knees beside Emma, imploring her to speak to him once more.
In vain! Emma's eyes were now obstinately closed, and her cheeks were like marble. The faithful sentry-fish, whose duty it was to patrol the grotto, swam up and down before the couch, and every time he passed near Emma he whispered, "Be brave. I am here. Soon I will rescue you. Give no sign of life."
At last the king took the advice of an old dowager mermaid, and left Emma to herself, consenting to go outside the grotto and smoke a seaweed cigarette, until his bride should be ready to go on with the interrupted wedding.
John spied in the train of mermaidens the little creature whose harp he had restored, and very cautiously, for fear of alarming her, he made himself known. The pretty mermaid laughed and cried hysterically, when she heard his story, and consented to aid him still further by removing the crown of violets from Emma's head. Soon there was heard a great whispering among the mermaid band, and one of the boldest of them ventured to suggest to the dowager lady-in-waiting, that one reason for her majesty's continued swoon might be that her hair was plaited too tight. The dowager, for a wonder, took the suggestion in good part. She ordered the attendants to unpin her majesty's long golden braids, and in so doing the fatal crown fell to the ground unnoticed.
The blood rushed into Emma's face; she sighed, and opening her eyes, looked about her. There was the band of anxious mermaids, and a solitary sentry-fish swimming up and down. In next passing her, he whispered, "Order your attendants to withdraw." This was soon done, only the friendly little mermaid remaining at Emma's side. John, throwing off his disguise, clasped his sister in his arms, and warm tears of human happiness rushed from Emma's eyes. Trampling under foot the crown of violets, and keeping firm hold of her mother's cross, she begged John to bear her back to their own world without delay. Cautiously putting on his fish garb, John swam to the door to reconnoitre the situation. He found there, on guard, only one of the shark sentries, who had taken so much sea-beer, in honor of the king's wedding-day, that John's knife made quick work in despatching him.
And now the way seemed open for their flight. The brother and sister bade farewell to the friendly mermaid, who pledged herself never to reveal the secret of Emma's escape, and started to leave the grotto. Suddenly, lashing the sea in his wrath and fury, both of his fierce mouths spiked with rows of terrible teeth, came the other double-headed shark! John still wore his Chanliodus disguise, and, without a moment's hesitation, dashed bravely to meet the foe. Wielding his trusty knife, he stabbed the shark again and again through the body, darting aside before the monster could get the advantage of him. The shark, wounded mortally and mad with rage, darted forward in a final effort, but John planted his knife in its open jaws. Uttering a horrid death-shriek, the creature lay without motion upon the threshold of the cave.
John lost no time, for the noise of the conflict had already attracted to the scene a number of curious loungers; and, as he feared, the king himself, attended by his body-guard of monsters, now came in sight. Darting swiftly through the waves, with Emma clinging bravely to his shoulders, the assumed Chanliodus drove his sharp fin abruptly into the middle of a party of squids. These poor fellows were the disappointed reporters of a submarine newspaper, going home _without_ an account of the wedding for their journals! The suddenness of the attack caused the squids promptly to spill the contents of the ink-pots they always carry with them, forming a dense black cloud, under cover of which the fugitives safely reached the surface of the sea.
The sun was rising, its rosy light lying upon the bright ocean like a veil. Now, they knew they were secure, for so long as the sun rules in heaven, the sea-king dares not show himself above the waves. John and Emma gazed upon the shore, finding themselves but a little distance from their boat at anchor, and wept tears of joy and thanksgiving for their deliverance from the horrors of the deep. When they had clambered into the boat, John begged his sister to cast away the embroideries and the ropes of pearl she had brought from the sea-king's dominion. Even as he spoke, they saw Emma's finery vanishing like a wisp of burnt paper, while her lovely pearls had turned into strings of common pebbles. Of all her ornaments only the little golden cross remained, and that shone with new lustre. With the full force of his stalwart arm, John cast the sea-king's tokens far into the water; and as they sank, both brother and sister fancied they saw a huge hand arise to seize them with an angry grasp, and heard a growl of baffled rage beneath the waves. Wrapping his sister in his fisherman's cloak, John hastened to sail back to the humble hut beneath the sand-drift, which had never looked so lovely in their eyes.
There they dwelt, loving and serene, until in due time a good husband came for Emma, and John took to himself a fair young wife. From that day forth, prosperity attended them, and John sailed his own ships across the ocean, while Emma lived in a beautiful home near the shore. Strangely enough, never again did John succeed in entrapping one of the talking creatures of which, as we have clearly seen, there are plenty in the sea, if one has luck to find them! And another curious thing is, that never again was Emma able to lift her voice in song. The beautiful gift which had brought about her strange adventure, and had well-nigh proved so fatal to them both, had been lost forever!
THE WILD WOODSMAN.
Once there lived a peasant whose only daughter, Martha, had eyes as blue as corn-flowers and long hair like the silk around an ear of corn. All the lads of the village were after her, but she cared only for John, a young huntsman, who was called by her father an idle vagabond, and sent away from his cottage in disdain. Now, the village where they lived was at the foot of a high mountain covered with a dense forest, into certain portions of which few were found to venture, so wild and lonely they were. One day Martha went, unknown to her father and mother, to ramble in the forest. She said to some of her friends that she meant to gather flowers and pick berries, to sell to a rich lady who lived near them; but the truth was, that a week had passed without John having set foot in the village, and she was anxious and uneasy, and wished to visit some of her lover's favorite haunts, to see if he might be there. It was no uncommon thing for John to be absent for several days, while trapping and hunting. He could sleep as well on a bank of moss as on his pallet at home, and he loved to go to rest under the broad canopy of the sky, studded with bright stars, and to be lulled by the music of falling waters.
Martha, dressed in her brown cotton frock, with the scarlet handkerchief knotted over her fair hair, was seen to go up a rocky pathway on the mountain-side, where the firs and larches made a bower overhead; but that night she did not come home, and next day, when John came into the village with a splendid string of birds he had shot miles away from there, in an opposite direction to the one Martha had taken, it was to hear the sad news of the poor girl's disappearance.
John's face grew pale and his stout heart grew faint; he thought of what all the others were thinking of--the Wild Woodsman, against whose magic his gun and staff might avail nothing!
The mountain above was believed to be the haunt of a mysterious being, half man, half brute, fierce and cruel, from whose den no living creature might ever be rescued. The Wild Woodsman, for so the natives called him, took many a shape to trap unwary travellers, and a fair young girl like Martha would be a rich prize for him. John had long vowed to capture the Wild Woodsman; and now he was filled with a mad thirst to seek him at once. Without stopping to hear more, the young man rushed off up the steep mountain path, bounding like a chamois from rock to rock, as the villagers, awe-struck and tearful, gazed after him and crossed themselves in superstitious fear.
Through brake and brier, John darted on; he was soon in the dark recesses of the forest, where the undergrowth was like a jungle. His fleet foot never tired in the chase, and, erelong, he spied a little red handkerchief upon the ground. Recognizing this to be Martha's, he gazed about him, and saw, by the token of broken bushes, that the girl had been dragged away from that spot up a rocky wall, which it seemed to him no foot could scale.
Struggling to keep down his sickening dread, John determined to follow. He began to climb the steep rock. His faithful dog, who had kept close beside him, suddenly gave a low fierce growl, and the hair on its back bristled up in fury. John was already half-way up the cliff, when, on looking down, there, just where he had picked up the handkerchief, he saw a queer little old fellow, making shoes as quietly as if nothing at all had happened.
"Hallo, there!" roared John, for he suspected mischief.
The old man looked up, and John saw that he had a young and rosy face with hair as gray as a badger's. The odd creature made signs that he was stone deaf, and beckoned John to come down. All this time, the dog was growling fearfully, and John took warning from the sign. He levelled his gun without more ado, and said:
"Answer, you fellow. Who are you that have cheeks so fair, and an old man's locks?"
"I?" said the old man, hopping up with a dreadful grin, "you will know me soon enough, sirrah, for I am the devil's grandfather."
He stretched out an arm that grew longer every minute, and his hands changed to the claws of a beast. John lost no time, but taking aim fired at the Wild Woodsman, for he it was, and none other. Bang! The friendly bullet made straight for the creature's heart, and though it did not kill him outright, the Wild Woodsman was sorely wounded. He fell over a log, groaning pitifully, and prayed John to come to the aid of a poor old man. John said, "That I will with another bullet," when the Wild Woodsman darted from the spot, and was lost in the thicket.
After him went the dog, after the dog went John. Such a hunt there never was! Through spots in the woods where man's foot had never penetrated, into bogs, and into serpents' lairs, past the caves where bears were lurking; but no animal would touch John, for the Wild Woodsman was their deadly enemy.
At last they came to a cleft in a little green hillock. Here was a hut covered with moss, and the Wild Woodsman, uttering a frantic yell, fell dead upon the threshold. John heard a shriek within the hut, and, dashing down the door, saw Martha, lying, bound with ropes made of plaited willow, in a corner.
He flew to set her free; but, to his surprise, Martha did not appear to know him. She let him take her by the hand and lead her from the fearful spot where the inner walls were built of the bones of the Wild Woodsman's victims. She looked up into his face and smiled, and John saw she had lost her reason. He did not stop to pick up the jewels and gold, stolen from murdered travellers, with which the hut was strewn, but made all speed to leave behind the horrid place. He lifted Martha in his strong arms and carried her down a path along the far side of the mountain. A great storm arose, and the earth trembled under his feet; but he kept bravely on his way, and looking back saw the cleft in the hills widen; then a great gulf opened, fire and smoke burst forth, and the hut of the Wild Woodsman was swallowed forever from sight.
John gave a shout of joy, and began singing a hymn in his clear young voice. The storm ceased. The clouds parted. Down in the valley below was their own peaceful village, and the sound of the evening bells came floating up to him. Martha, who had lain in his arms as if asleep, stirred, and recognized him. Her strength returned, and she asked to walk beside him. Strangely enough, she said nothing of her late adventure, then or ever afterward. Not a trace of it remained in her memory.
When they reached the village, all the people came out to meet them, rejoicing. John told them he had rescued the lost girl, but the true history of his chase of the Wild Woodsman he kept to himself. Martha's father and mother greeted her with tears of thankfulness; and before another year had gone by John and Martha were married in the village church. From that day forth, peace reigned upon the mountain-side; but when stories of the Wild Woodsman were told to Martha's grandchildren, they little knew the share their hale old grandsire had in ridding the country-side of such a scourge.
THE FROZEN HEARTH-FAIRY.
Once upon a time, there were a poor couple who lived in a little cottage overgrown with vines. From roof-tree to cellar, their home was as clean as hands could make it, and the table and chairs were scoured every day till they were as white as snow. The man went out into the woods to tie up fagots, and the woman kept a few bees, and sold the honey. In this way they managed to live, and were happy, till a great storm came, and swept off the roof of their house; then the lightning set it on fire, and it was soon burned to the ground. The man came running from the forest, and found his wife crying as if her heart would break, beside her bee-hives, which the wind had upset, scattering all their busy inmates, and destroying the honey.
"Where shall we sleep to-night?" said the wife.
"Let us search till we find," answered the husband. So they set off and wandered into the woods, while the storm raged over them. Long did they stray, until night came. At last they saw a ruined hut, left by some charcoal-burners, and thankfully entered it. There was dry straw in one corner, and here the poor woman laid down, half dead with fright and fatigue. Both of them were hungry, and the man putting his hand in his pouch was glad to find there a bit of bread, which he was about to give to his wife, when a queer little black object sprang down the wall and seized the crust, running nimbly off with it.
"Who are you?" cried the poor man.
"I'm a lost hearth-fairy," said the little creature, in a piping voice. "If you had made me a fire to warm my poor bones, I should not have taken your food."
The hearth-fairy's teeth were chattering, and the man pulled together some sticks and straw, and lighted them with his flint and steel. The smoke curled up, the flames sparkled merrily. The hearth-fairy slid down and warmed himself.
"Hallo there! give me back my crust," said the poor man, whose wife kept pulling him by the sleeve, to remind him of her hunger.
"Now that I think of it, I want this crust myself," said the hearth-fairy. "I am off on a journey to seek a warm fireside, and I need something to strengthen me. But here is a duck instead, only you had better not kill her!"