CHAPTER VII

“And Nature, the old Nurse, took

The child upon her knee,

Saying, ‘Here is a story book

Thy father hath written for thee.

“‘Come wander with me,’ she said,

‘Into regions yet untrod,

And read what is still unread

In the Manuscripts of God.’

“And he wandered away and away

With Nature, the dear old Nurse,

Who sang to him night and day

The rhymes of the universe.”

LONGFELLOW.

[Picture: Tom about to dive] “NOW,” said Tom, “I am ready be off, if it’s

to the world’s end.”

“Ah!” said the fairy, “that is a brave, good boy. But you must go

farther than the world’s end, if you want to find Mr. Grimes; for he is

at the Other-end-of-Nowhere. You must go to Shiny Wall, and through the

white gate that never was opened; and then you will come to Peacepool,

and Mother Carey’s Haven, where the good whales go when they die. And

there Mother Carey will tell you the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere, and

there you will find Mr. Grimes.”

“Oh, dear!” said Tom. “But I do not know my way to Shiny Wall, or where

it is at all.”

“Little boys must take the trouble to find out things for themselves, or

they will never grow to be men; so that you must ask all the beasts in

the sea and the birds in the air, and if you have been good to them, some

of them will tell you the way to Shiny Wall.”

“Well,” said Tom, “it will be a long journey, so I had better start at

once. Good-bye, Miss Ellie; you know I am getting a big boy, and I must

go out and see the world.”

“I know you must,” said Ellie; “but you will not forget me, Tom. I shall

wait here till you come.”

And she shook hands with him, and bade him good-bye. Tom longed very

much again to kiss her; but he thought it would not be respectful,

considering she was a lady born; so he promised not to forget her: but

his little whirl-about of a head was so full of the notion of going out

to see the world, that it forgot her in five minutes: however, though his

head forgot her, I am glad to say his heart did not.

So he asked all the beasts in the sea, and all the birds in the air, but

none of them knew the way to Shiny Wall. For why? He was still too far

down south.

Then he met a ship, far larger than he had ever seen—a gallant

ocean-steamer, with a long cloud of smoke trailing behind; and he

wondered how she went on without sails, and swam up to her to see. A

school of dolphins were running races round and round her, going three

feet for her one, and Tom asked them the way to Shiny Wall: but they did

not know. Then he tried to find out how she moved, and at last he saw

her screw, and was so delighted with it that he played under her quarter

all day, till he nearly had his nose knocked off by the fans, and thought

it time to move. Then he watched the sailors upon deck, and the ladies,

with their bonnets and parasols: but none of them could see him, because

their eyes were not opened,—as, indeed, most people’s eyes are not.

At last there came out into the quarter-gallery a very pretty lady, in

deep black widow’s weeds, and in her arms a baby. She leaned over the

quarter-gallery, and looked back and back toward England far away; and as

she looked she sang:

I.

“_Soft soft wind_, _from out the sweet south sliding_,

_Waft thy silver cloud-webs athwart the summer sea_;

_Thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining_

_Weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me_.

II.

“_Deep deep Love_, _within thine own abyss abiding_,

_Pour Thyself abroad_, _O Lord_, _on earth and air and sea_;

_Worn weary hearts within Thy holy temple hiding_,

_Shield from sorrow_, _sin_, _and shame my helpless babe and me_.”

Her voice was so soft and low, and the music of the air so sweet, that

Tom could have listened to it all day. But as she held the baby over the

gallery rail, to show it the dolphins leaping and the water gurgling in

the ship’s wake, lo! and behold, the baby saw Tom.

[Picture: The lady]

He was quite sure of that for when their eyes met, the baby smiled and

held out his hands; and Tom smiled and held out his hands too; and the

baby kicked and leaped, as if it wanted to jump overboard to him.

“What do you see, my darling?” said the lady; and her eyes followed the

baby’s till she too caught sight of Tom, swimming about among the

foam-beads below.

She gave a little shriek and start; and then she said, quite quietly,

“Babies in the sea? Well, perhaps it is the happiest place for them;”

and waved her hand to Tom, and cried, “Wait a little, darling, only a

little: and perhaps we shall go with you and be at rest.”

And at that an old nurse, all in black, came out and talked to her, and

drew her in. And Tom turned away northward, sad and wondering; and

watched the great steamer slide away into the dusk, and the lights on

board peep out one by one, and die out again, and the long bar of smoke

fade away into the evening mist, till all was out of sight.

And he swam northward again, day after day, till at last he met the King

of the Herrings, with a curry-comb growing out of his nose, and a sprat

in his mouth for a cigar, and asked him the way to Shiny Wall; so he

bolted his sprat head foremost, and said:

“If I were you, young Gentleman, I should go to the Allalonestone, and

ask the last of the Gairfowl. She is of a very ancient clan, very nearly

as ancient as my own; and knows a good deal which these modern upstarts

don’t, as ladies of old houses are likely to do.”

[Picture: The King of the Herrings]

Tom asked his way to her, and the King of the Herrings told him very

kindly, for he was a courteous old gentleman of the old school, though he

was horribly ugly, and strangely bedizened too, like the old dandies who

lounge in the club-house windows.

But just as Tom had thanked him and set off, he called after him: “Hi! I

say, can you fly?”

“I never tried,” says Tom. “Why?”

“Because, if you can, I should advise you to say nothing to the old lady

about it. There; take a hint. Good-bye.”

And away Tom went for seven days and seven nights due north-west, till he

came to a great codbank, the like of which he never saw before. The

great cod lay below in tens of thousands, and gobbled shell-fish all day

long; and the blue sharks roved above in hundreds, and gobbled them when

they came up. So they ate, and ate, and ate each other, as they had done

since the making of the world; for no man had come here yet to catch

them, and find out how rich old Mother Carey is.

[Picture: The Gairfowl]

And there he saw the last of the Gairfowl, standing up on the

Allalonestones all alone. And a very grand old lady she was, full three

feet high, and bolt upright, like some old Highland chieftainess. She

had on a black velvet gown, and a white pinner and apron, and a very high

bridge to her nose (which is a sure mark of high breeding), and a large

pair of white spectacles on it, which made her look rather odd: but it

was the ancient fashion of her house.

And instead of wings, she had two little feathery arms, with which she

fanned herself, and complained of the dreadful heat; and she kept on

crooning an old song to herself, which she learnt when she was a little

baby-bird, long ago—

“_Two little birds they sat on a stone_,

_One swam away_, _and then there was one_,

_With a fal-lal-la-lady_.

“_The other swam after_, _and then there was none_,

_And so the poor stone was left all alone_;

_With a fal-lal-la-lady_.”

It was “flew” away, properly, and not “swam” away: but, as she could not

fly, she had a right to alter it. However, it was a very fit song for

her to sing, because she was a lady herself.

Tom came up to her very humbly, and made his bow; and the first thing she

said was—

“Have you wings? Can you fly?”

“Oh dear, no, ma’am; I should not think of such thing,” said cunning

little Tom.

“Then I shall have great pleasure in talking to you, my dear. It is

quite refreshing nowadays to see anything without wings. They must all

have wings, forsooth, now, every new upstart sort of bird, and fly. What

can they want with flying, and raising themselves above their proper

station in life? In the days of my ancestors no birds ever thought of

having wings, and did very well without; and now they all laugh at me

because I keep to the good old fashion. Why, the very marrocks and

dovekies have got wings, the vulgar creatures, and poor little ones

enough they are; and my own cousins too, the razor-bills, who are

gentlefolk born, and ought to know better than to ape their inferiors.”

And so she was running on, while Tom tried to get in a word edgeways; and

at last he did, when the old lady got out of breath, and began fanning

herself again; and then he asked if she knew the way to Shiny Wall.

“Shiny Wall? Who should know better than I? We all came from Shiny

Wall, thousands of years ago, when it was decently cold, and the climate

was fit for gentlefolk; but now, what with the heat, and what with these

vulgar-winged things who fly up and down and eat everything, so that

gentlepeople’s hunting is all spoilt, and one really cannot get one’s

living, or hardly venture off the rock for fear of being flown against by

some creature that would not have dared to come within a mile of one a

thousand years ago—what was I saying? Why, we have quite gone down in

the world, my dear, and have nothing left but our honour. And I am the

last of my family. A friend of mine and I came and settled on this rock

when we were young, to be out of the way of low people. Once we were a

great nation, and spread over all the Northern Isles. But men shot us

so, and knocked us on the head, and took our eggs—why, if you will

believe it, they say that on the coast of Labrador the sailors used to

lay a plank from the rock on board the thing called their ship, and drive

us along the plank by hundreds, till we tumbled down into the ship’s

waist in heaps; and then, I suppose, they ate us, the nasty fellows!

Well—but—what was I saying? At last, there were none of us left, except

on the old Gairfowlskerry, just off the Iceland coast, up which no man

could climb. Even there we had no peace; for one day, when I was quite a

young girl, the land rocked, and the sea boiled, and the sky grew dark,

and all the air was filled with smoke and dust, and down tumbled the old

Gairfowlskerry into the sea. The dovekies and marrocks, of course, all

flew away; but we were too proud to do that. Some of us were dashed to

pieces, and some drowned; and those who were left got away to Eldey, and

the dovekies tell me they are all dead now, and that another

Gairfowlskerry has risen out of the sea close to the old one, but that it

is such a poor flat place that it is not safe to live on: and so here I

am left alone.”

This was the Gairfowl’s story, and, strange as it may seem, it is every

word of it true.

“If you only had had wings!” said Tom; “then you might all have flown

away too.”

“Yes, young gentleman: and if people are not gentleman and ladies, and

forget that _noblesse oblige_, they will find it as easy to get on in the

world as other people who don’t care what they do. Why, if I had not

recollected that _noblesse oblige_, I should not have been all alone

now.” And the poor old lady sighed.

“How was that, ma’am?”

“Why, my dear, a gentleman came hither with me, and after we had been

here some time, he wanted to marry—in fact, he actually proposed to me.

Well, I can’t blame him; I was young, and very handsome then, I don’t

deny: but you see, I could not hear of such a thing, because he was my

deceased sister’s husband, you see?”

“Of course not, ma’am,” said Tom; though, of course, he knew nothing

about it. “She was very much diseased, I suppose?”

“You do not understand me, my dear. I mean, that being a lady, and with

right and honourable feelings, as our house always has had, I felt it my

duty to snub him, and howk him, and peck him continually, to keep him at

his proper distance; and, to tell the truth, I once pecked him a little

too hard, poor fellow, and he tumbled backwards off the rock, and—really,

it was very unfortunate, but it was not my fault—a shark coming by saw

him flapping, and snapped him up. And since then I have lived all alone—

‘_With a fal-lal-la-lady_.’

And soon I shall be gone, my little dear, and nobody will miss me; and

then the poor stone will be left all alone.”

“But, please, which is the way to Shiny Wall?” said Tom.

“Oh, you must go, my little dear—you must go. Let me see—I am sure—that

is—really, my poor old brains are getting quite puzzled. Do you know, my

little dear, I am afraid, if you want to know, you must ask some of these

vulgar birds about, for I have quite forgotten.”

And the poor old Gairfowl began to cry tears of pure oil; and Tom was

quite sorry for her; and for himself too, for he was at his wit’s end

whom to ask.

But by there came a flock of petrels, who are Mother Carey’s own

chickens; and Tom thought them much prettier than Lady Gairfowl, and so

perhaps they were; for Mother Carey had had a great deal of fresh

experience between the time that she invented the Gairfowl and the time

that she invented them. They flitted along like a flock of black

swallows, and hopped and skipped from wave to wave, lifting up their

little feet behind them so daintily, and whistling to each other so

tenderly, that Tom fell in love with them at once, and called them to

know the way to Shiny Wall.

“Shiny Wall? Do you want Shiny Wall? Then come with us, and we will

show you. We are Mother Carey’s own chickens, and she sends us out over

all the seas, to show the good birds the way home.”

Tom was delighted, and swam off to them, after he had made his bow to the

Gairfowl. But she would not return his bow: but held herself bolt

upright, and wept tears of oil as she sang:

“_And so the poor stone was left all alone_;

_With a fal-lal-la-lady_.”

But she was wrong there; for the stone was not left all alone: and the

next time that Tom goes by it, he will see a sight worth seeing.

The old Gairfowl is gone already: but there are better things come in her

place; and when Tom comes he will see the fishing-smacks anchored there

in hundreds, from Scotland, and from Ireland, and from the Orkneys, and

the Shetlands, and from all the Northern ports, full of the children of

the old Norse Vikings, the masters of the sea. And the men will be

hauling in the great cod by thousands, till their hands are sore from the

lines; and they will be making cod-liver oil and guano, and salting down

the fish; and there will be a man-of-war steamer there to protect them,

and a lighthouse to show them the way; and you and I, perhaps, shall go

some day to the Allalonestone to the great summer sea-fair, and dredge

strange creatures such as man never saw before; and we shall hear the

sailors boast that it is not the worst jewel in Queen Victoria’s crown,

for there are eighty miles of codbank, and food for all the poor folk in

the land. That is what Tom will see, and perhaps you and I shall see it

too. And then we shall not be sorry because we cannot get a Gairfowl to

stuff, much less find gairfowl enough to drive them into stone pens and

slaughter them, as the old Norsemen did, or drive them on board along a

plank till the ship was victualled with them, as the old English and

French rovers used to do, of whom dear old Hakluyt tells: but we shall

remember what Mr. Tennyson says: how

“_The old order changeth_, _giving place to the new_,

_And God fulfils himself in many ways_.”

And now Tom was all agog to start for Shiny Wall; but the petrels said

no. They must go first to Allfowlsness, and wait there for the great

gathering of all the sea-birds, before they start for their summer

breeding-places far away in the Northern Isles; and there they would be

sure to find some birds which were going to Shiny Wall: but where

Allfowlsness was, he must promise never to tell, lest men should go there

and shoot the birds, and stuff them, and put them into stupid museums,

instead of leaving them to play and breed and work in Mother Carey’s

water-garden, where they ought to be.

So where Allfowlsness is nobody must know; and all that is to be said

about it is, that Tom waited there many days; and as he waited, he saw a

very curious sight. On the rabbit burrows on the shore there gathered

hundreds and hundreds of hoodie-crows, such as you see in Cambridgeshire.

And they made such a noise, that Tom came on shore and went up to see

what was the matter.

[Picture: Crows]

And there he found them holding their great caucus, which they hold every

year in the North; and all their stump-orators were speechifying; and for

a tribune, the speaker stood on an old sheep’s skull.

And they cawed and cawed, and boasted of all the clever things they had

done; how many lambs’ eyes they had picked out, and how many dead

bullocks they had eaten, and how many young grouse they had swallowed

whole, and how many grouse-eggs they had flown away with, stuck on the

point of their bills, which is the hoodie-crow’s particularly clever

feat, of which he is as proud as a gipsy is of doing the hokany-baro; and

what that is, I won’t tell you.

And at last they brought out the prettiest, neatest young lady-crow that

ever was seen, and set her in the middle, and all began abusing and

vilifying, and rating, and bullyragging at her, because she had stolen no

grouse-eggs, and had actually dared to say that she would not steal any.

So she was to be tried publicly by their laws (for the hoodies always try

some offenders in their great yearly parliament). And there she stood in

the middle, in her black gown and gray hood, looking as meek and as neat

as a Quakeress, and they all bawled at her at once—

And it was in vain that she pleaded—

_That she did not like grouse-eggs_;

_That she could get her living very well without them_;

_That she was afraid to eat them_, _for fear of the gamekeepers_;

_That she had not the heart to eat them_, _because the grouse were

such pretty_, _kind_, _jolly birds_;

_And a dozen reasons more_.

For all the other scaul-crows set upon her, and pecked her to death there

and then, before Tom could come to help her; and then flew away, very

proud of what they had done.

Now, was not this a scandalous transaction?

But they are true republicans, these hoodies, who do every one just what

he likes, and make other people do so too; so that, for any freedom of

speech, thought, or action, which is allowed among them, they might as

well be American citizens of the new school.

But the fairies took the good crow, and gave her nine new sets of

feathers running, and turned her at last into the most beautiful bird of

paradise with a green velvet suit and a long tail, and sent her to eat

fruit in the Spice Islands, where cloves and nutmegs grow.

And Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid settled her account with the wicked hoodies.

For, as they flew away, what should they find but a nasty dead dog?—on

which they all set to work, peeking and gobbling and cawing and

quarrelling to their hearts’ content. But the moment afterwards, they

all threw up their bills into the air, and gave one screech; and then

turned head over heels backward, and fell down dead, one hundred and

twenty-three of them at once. For why? The fairy had told the

gamekeeper in a dream, to fill the dead dog full of strychnine; and so he

did.

And after a while the birds began to gather at Allfowlsness, in thousands

and tens of thousands, blackening all the air; swans and brant geese,

harlequins and eiders, harolds and garganeys, smews and goosanders,

divers and loons, grebes and dovekies, auks and razor-bills, gannets and

petrels, skuas and terns, with gulls beyond all naming or numbering; and

they paddled and washed and splashed and combed and brushed themselves on

the sand, till the shore was white with feathers; and they quacked and

clucked and gabbled and chattered and screamed and whooped as they talked

over matters with their friends, and settled where they were to go and

breed that summer, till you might have heard them ten miles off; and

lucky it was for them that there was no one to hear them but the old

keeper, who lived all alone upon the Ness, in a turf hut thatched with

heather and fringed round with great stones slung across the roof by

bent-ropes, lest the winter gales should blow the hut right away. But he

never minded the birds nor hurt them, because they were not in season;

indeed, he minded but two things in the whole world, and those were, his

Bible and his grouse; for he was as good an old Scotchman as ever knit

stockings on a winter’s night: only, when all the birds were going, he

toddled out, and took off his cap to them, and wished them a merry

journey and a safe return; and then gathered up all the feathers which

they had left, and cleaned them to sell down south, and make feather-beds

for stuffy people to lie on.

[Picture: The Scotchman]

Then the petrels asked this bird and that whether they would take Tom to

Shiny Wall: but one set was going to Sutherland, and one to the

Shetlands, and one to Norway, and one to Spitzbergen, and one to Iceland,

and one to Greenland: but none would go to Shiny Wall. So the

good-natured petrels said that they would show him part of the way

themselves, but they were only going as far as Jan Mayen’s Land; and

after that he must shift for himself.

And then all the birds rose up, and streamed away in long black lines,

north, and north-east, and north-west, across the bright blue summer sky;

and their cry was like ten thousand packs of hounds, and ten thousand

peals of bells. Only the puffins stayed behind, and killed the young

rabbits, and laid their eggs in the rabbit-burrows; which was rough

practice, certainly; but a man must see to his own family.

And, as Tom and the petrels went north-eastward, it began to blow right

hard; for the old gentleman in the gray great-coat, who looks after the

big copper boiler, in the gulf of Mexico, had got behindhand with his

work; so Mother Carey had sent an electric message to him for more steam;

and now the steam was coming, as much in an hour as ought to have come in

a week, puffing and roaring and swishing and swirling, till you could not

see where the sky ended and the sea began. But Tom and the petrels never

cared, for the gale was right abaft, and away they went over the crests

of the billows, as merry as so many flying-fish.

And at last they saw an ugly sight—the black side of a great ship,

waterlogged in the trough of the sea. Her funnel and her masts were

overboard, and swayed and surged under her lee; her decks were swept as

clean as a barn floor, and there was no living soul on board.

The petrels flew up to her, and wailed round her; for they were very

sorry indeed, and also they expected to find some salt pork; and Tom

scrambled on board of her and looked round, frightened and sad.

And there, in a little cot, lashed tight under the bulwark, lay a baby

fast asleep; the very same baby, Tom saw at once, which he had seen in

the singing lady’s arms.

He went up to it, and wanted to wake it; but behold, from under the cot

out jumped a little black and tan terrier dog, and began barking and

snapping at Tom, and would not let him touch the cot.

Tom knew the dog’s teeth could not hurt him: but at least it could shove

him away, and did; and he and the dog fought and struggled, for he wanted

to help the baby, and did not want to throw the poor dog overboard: but

as they were struggling there came a tall green sea, and walked in over

the weather side of the ship, and swept them all into the waves.

“Oh, the baby, the baby!” screamed Tom: but the next moment he did not

scream at all; for he saw the cot settling down through the green water,

with the baby, smiling in it, fast asleep; and he saw the fairies come up

from below, and carry baby and cradle gently down in their soft arms; and

then he knew it was all right, and that there would be a new water-baby

in St. Brandan’s Isle.

And the poor little dog?

[Picture: The dog]

Why, after he had kicked and coughed a little, he sneezed so hard, that

he sneezed himself clean out of his skin, and turned into a water-dog,

and jumped and danced round Tom, and ran over the crests of the waves,

and snapped at the jelly-fish and the mackerel, and followed Tom the

whole way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere.

Then they went on again, till they began to see the peak of Jan Mayen’s

Land, standing-up like a white sugar-loaf, two miles above the clouds.

And there they fell in with a whole flock of molly-mocks, who were

feeding on a dead whale.

“These are the fellows to show you the way,” said Mother Carey’s

chickens; “we cannot help you farther north. We don’t like to get among

the ice pack, for fear it should nip our toes: but the mollys dare fly

anywhere.”

[Picture: Mother Carey’s chickens]

So the petrels called to the mollys: but they were so busy and greedy,

gobbling and peeking and spluttering and fighting over the blubber, that

they did not take the least notice.

“Come, come,” said the petrels, “you lazy greedy lubbers, this young

gentleman is going to Mother Carey, and if you don’t attend on him, you

won’t earn your discharge from her, you know.”

“Greedy we are,” says a great fat old molly, “but lazy we ain’t; and, as

for lubbers, we’re no more lubbers than you. Let’s have a look at the

lad.”

And he flapped right into Tom’s face, and stared at him in the most

impudent way (for the mollys are audacious fellows, as all whalers know),

and then asked him where he hailed from, and what land he sighted last.

And, when Tom told him, he seemed pleased, and said he was a good plucked

one to have got so far.

“Come along, lads,” he said to the rest, “and give this little chap a

cast over the pack, for Mother Carey’s sake. We’ve eaten blubber enough

for to-day, and we’ll e’en work out a bit of our time by helping the

lad.”

So the mollys took Tom up on their backs, and flew off with him, laughing

and joking—and oh, how they did smell of train oil!

“Who are you, you jolly birds?” asked Tom.

“We are the spirits of the old Greenland skippers (as every sailor

knows), who hunted here, right whales and horse-whales, full hundreds of

years agone. But, because we were saucy and greedy, we were all turned

into mollys, to eat whale’s blubber all our days. But lubbers we are

none, and could sail a ship now against any man in the North seas, though

we don’t hold with this new-fangled steam. And it’s a shame of those

black imps of petrels to call us so; but because they’re her grace’s

pets, they think they may say anything they like.”

“And who are you?” asked Tom of him, for he saw that he was the king of

all the birds.

“My name is Hendrick Hudson, and a right good skipper was I; and my name

will last to the world’s end, in spite of all the wrong I did. For I

discovered Hudson River, and I named Hudson’s Bay; and many have come in

my wake that dared not have shown me the way. But I was a hard man in my

time, that’s truth, and stole the poor Indians off the coast of Maine,

and sold them for slaves down in Virginia; and at last I was so cruel to

my sailors, here in these very seas, that they set me adrift in an open

boat, and I never was heard of more. So now I’m the king of all mollys,

till I’ve worked out my time.”

And now they came to the edge of the pack, and beyond it they could see

Shiny Wall looming, through mist, and snow, and storm. But the pack

rolled horribly upon the swell, and the ice giants fought and roared, and

leapt upon each other’s backs, and ground each other to powder, so that

Tom was afraid to venture among them, lest he should be ground to powder

too. And he was the more afraid, when he saw lying among the ice pack

the wrecks of many a gallant ship; some with masts and yards all

standing, some with the seamen frozen fast on board. Alas, alas, for

them! They were all true English hearts; and they came to their end like

good knights-errant, in searching for the white gate that never was

opened yet.

But the good mollys took Tom and his dog up, and flew with them safe over

the pack and the roaring ice giants, and set them down at the foot of

Shiny Wall.

“And where is the gate?” asked Tom.

“There is no gate,” said the mollys.

“No gate?” cried Tom, aghast.

“None; never a crack of one, and that’s the whole of the secret, as

better fellows, lad, than you have found to their cost; and if there had

been, they’d have killed by now every right whale that swims the sea.”

“What am I to do, then?”

“Dive under the floe, to be sure, if you have pluck.”

“I’ve not come so far to turn now,” said Tom; “so here goes for a

header.”

“A lucky voyage to you, lad,” said the mollys; “we knew you were one of

the right sort. So good-bye.”

“Why don’t you come too?” asked Tom.

But the mollys only wailed sadly, “We can’t go yet, we can’t go yet,” and

flew away over the pack.

So Tom dived under the great white gate which never was opened yet, and

went on in black darkness, at the bottom of the sea, for seven days and

seven nights. And yet he was not a bit frightened. Why should he be?

He was a brave English lad, whose business is to go out and see all the

world.

And at last he saw the light, and clear clear water overhead; and up he

came a thousand fathoms, among clouds of sea-moths, which fluttered round

his head. There were moths with pink heads and wings and opal bodies,

that flapped about slowly; moths with brown wings that flapped about

quickly; yellow shrimps that hopped and skipped most quickly of all; and

jellies of all the colours in the world, that neither hopped nor skipped,

but only dawdled and yawned, and would not get out of his way. The dog

snapped at them till his jaws were tired; but Tom hardly minded them at

all, he was so eager to get to the top of the water, and see the pool

where the good whales go.

And a very large pool it was, miles and miles across, though the air was

so clear that the ice cliffs on the opposite side looked as if they were

close at hand. All round it the ice cliffs rose, in walls and spires and

battlements, and caves and bridges, and stories and galleries, in which

the ice-fairies live, and drive away the storms and clouds, that Mother

Carey’s pool may lie calm from year’s end to year’s end. And the sun

acted policeman, and walked round outside every day, peeping just over

the top of the ice wall, to see that all went right; and now and then he

played conjuring tricks, or had an exhibition of fireworks, to amuse the

ice-fairies. For he would make himself into four or five suns at once,

or paint the sky with rings and crosses and crescents of white fire, and

stick himself in the middle of them, and wink at the fairies; and I

daresay they were very much amused; for anything’s fun in the country.

And there the good whales lay, the happy sleepy beasts, upon the still

oily sea. They were all right whales, you must know, and finners, and

razor-backs, and bottle-noses, and spotted sea-unicorns with long ivory

horns. But the sperm whales are such raging, ramping, roaring,

rumbustious fellows, that, if Mother Carey let them in, there would be no

more peace in Peacepool. So she packs them away in a great pond by

themselves at the South Pole, two hundred and sixty-three miles

south-south-east of Mount Erebus, the great volcano in the ice; and there

they butt each other with their ugly noses, day and night from year’s end

to year’s end.

[Picture: Mother Carey]

But here there were only good quiet beasts, lying about like the black

hulls of sloops, and blowing every now and then jets of white steam, or

sculling round with their huge mouths open, for the sea-moths to swim

down their throats. There were no threshers there to thresh their poor

old backs, or sword-fish to stab their stomachs, or saw-fish to rip them

up, or ice-sharks to bite lumps out of their sides, or whalers to harpoon

and lance them. They were quite safe and happy there; and all they had

to do was to wait quietly in Peacepool, till Mother Carey sent for them

to make them out of old beasts into new.

Tom swam up to the nearest whale, and asked the way to Mother Carey.

“There she sits in the middle,” said the whale.

Tom looked; but he could see nothing in the middle of the pool, but one

peaked iceberg: and he said so.

“That’s Mother Carey,” said the whale, “as you will find when you get to

her. There she sits making old beasts into new all the year round.”

“How does she do that?”

“That’s her concern, not mine,” said the old whale; and yawned so wide

(for he was very large) that there swam into his mouth 943 sea-moths,

13,846 jelly-fish no bigger than pins’ heads, a string of salpæ nine

yards long, and forty-three little ice-crabs, who gave each other a

parting pinch all round, tucked their legs under their stomachs, and

determined to die decently, like Julius Cæsar.

“I suppose,” said Tom, “she cuts up a great whale like you into a whole

shoal of porpoises?”

At which the old whale laughed so violently that he coughed up all the

creatures; who swam away again very thankful at having escaped out of

that terrible whalebone net of his, from which bourne no traveller

returns; and Tom went on to the iceberg, wondering.

And, when he came near it, it took the form of the grandest old lady he

had ever seen—a white marble lady, sitting on a white marble throne. And

from the foot of the throne there swum away, out and out into the sea,

millions of new-born creatures, of more shapes and colours than man ever

dreamed. And they were Mother Carey’s children, whom she makes out of

the sea-water all day long.

[Picture: Mother Carey]

He expected, of course—like some grown people who ought to know better—to

find her snipping, piecing, fitting, stitching, cobbling, basting,

filing, planing, hammering, turning, polishing, moulding, measuring,

chiselling, clipping, and so forth, as men do when they go to work to

make anything.

But, instead of that, she sat quite still with her chin upon her hand,

looking down into the sea with two great grand blue eyes, as blue as the

sea itself. Her hair was as white as the snow—for she was very very

old—in fact, as old as anything which you are likely to come across,

except the difference between right and wrong.

And, when she saw Tom, she looked at him very kindly.

“What do you want, my little man? It is long since I have seen a

water-baby here.”

Tom told her his errand, and asked the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere.

“You ought to know yourself, for you have been there already.”

“Have I, ma’am? I’m sure I forget all about it.”

“Then look at me.”

And, as Tom looked into her great blue eyes, he recollected the way

perfectly.

Now, was not that strange?

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tom. “Then I won’t trouble your ladyship any

more; I hear you are very busy.”

“I am never more busy than I am now,” she said, without stirring a

finger.

“I heard, ma’am, that you were always making new beasts out of old.”

“So people fancy. But I am not going to trouble myself to make things,

my little dear. I sit here and make them make themselves.”

“You are a clever fairy, indeed,” thought Tom. And he was quite right.

That is a grand trick of good old Mother Carey’s, and a grand answer,

which she has had occasion to make several times to impertinent people.

There was once, for instance, a fairy who was so clever that she found

out how to make butterflies. I don’t mean sham ones; no: but real live

ones, which would fly, and eat, and lay eggs, and do everything that they

ought; and she was so proud of her skill that she went flying straight

off to the North Pole, to boast to Mother Carey how she could make

butterflies.

But Mother Carey laughed.

“Know, silly child,” she said, “that any one can make things, if they

will take time and trouble enough: but it is not every one who, like me,

can make things make themselves.”

But people do not yet believe that Mother Carey is as clever as all that

comes to; and they will not till they, too, go the journey to the

Other-end-of-Nowhere.

“And now, my pretty little man,” said Mother Carey, “you are sure you

know the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere?”

Tom thought; and behold, he had forgotten it utterly.

“That is because you took your eyes off me.”

Tom looked at her again, and recollected; and then looked away, and

forgot in an instant.

“But what am I to do, ma’am? For I can’t keep looking at you when I am

somewhere else.”

“You must do without me, as most people have to do, for nine hundred and

ninety-nine thousandths of their lives; and look at the dog instead; for

he knows the way well enough, and will not forget it. Besides, you may

meet some very queer-tempered people there, who will not let you pass

without this passport of mine, which you must hang round your neck and

take care of; and, of course, as the dog will always go behind you, you

must go the whole way backward.”

“Backward!” cried Tom. “Then I shall not be able to see my way.”

“On the contrary, if you look forward, you will not see a step before

you, and be certain to go wrong; but, if you look behind you, and watch

carefully whatever you have passed, and especially keep your eye on the

dog, who goes by instinct, and therefore can’t go wrong, then you will

know what is coming next, as plainly as if you saw it in a

looking-glass.”

Tom was very much astonished: but he obeyed her, for he had learnt always

to believe what the fairies told him.

“So it is, my dear child,” said Mother Carey; “and I will tell you a

story, which will show you that I am perfectly right, as it is my custom

to be.

“Once on a time, there were two brothers. One was called Prometheus,

because he always looked before him, and boasted that he was wise

beforehand. The other was called Epimetheus, because he always looked

behind him, and did not boast at all; but said humbly, like the Irishman,

that he had sooner prophesy after the event.

“Well, Prometheus was a very clever fellow, of course, and invented all

sorts of wonderful things. But, unfortunately, when they were set to

work, to work was just what they would not do: wherefore very little has

come of them, and very little is left of them; and now nobody knows what

they were, save a few archæological old gentlemen who scratch in queer

corners, and find little there save Ptinum Furem, Blaptem Mortisagam,

Acarum Horridum, and Tineam Laciniarum.

“But Epimetheus was a very slow fellow, certainly, and went among men for

a clod, and a muff, and a milksop, and a slowcoach, and a bloke, and a

boodle, and so forth. And very little he did, for many years: but what

he did, he never had to do over again.

“And what happened at last? There came to the two brothers the most

beautiful creature that ever was seen, Pandora by name; which means, All

the gifts of the Gods. But because she had a strange box in her hand,

this fanciful, forecasting, suspicious, prudential, theoretical,

deductive, prophesying Prometheus, who was always settling what was going

to happen, would have nothing to do with pretty Pandora and her box.

“But Epimetheus took her and it, as he took everything that came; and

married her for better for worse, as every man ought, whenever he has

even the chance of a good wife. And they opened the box between them, of

course, to see what was inside: for, else, of what possible use could it

have been to them?

“And out flew all the ills which flesh is heir to; all the children of

the four great bogies, Self-will, Ignorance, Fear, and Dirt—for instance:

_Measles_, _Famines_,

_Monks_, _Quacks_,

_Scarlatina_, _Unpaid bills_,

_Idols_, _Tight stays_,

_Hooping-coughs_, _Potatoes_,

_Popes_, _Bad Wine_,

_Wars_, _Despots_,

_Peacemongers_, _Demagogues_,

_And_, _worst of all_, _Naughty Boys

and Girls_.

But one thing remained at the bottom of the box, and that was, Hope.

“So Epimetheus got a great deal of trouble, as most men do in this world:

but he got the three best things in the world into the bargain—a good

wife, and experience, and hope: while Prometheus had just as much

trouble, and a great deal more (as you will hear), of his own making;

with nothing beside, save fancies spun out of his own brain, as a spider

spins her web out of her stomach.

“And Prometheus kept on looking before him so far ahead, that as he was

running about with a box of lucifers (which were the only useful things

he ever invented, and do as much harm as good), he trod on his own nose,

and tumbled down (as most deductive philosophers do), whereby he set the

Thames on fire; and they have hardly put it out again yet. So he had to

be chained to the top of a mountain, with a vulture by him to give him a

peck whenever he stirred, lest he should turn the whole world upside down

with his prophecies and his theories.

“But stupid old Epimetheus went working and grubbing on, with the help of

his wife Pandora, always looking behind him to see what had happened,

till he really learnt to know now and then what would happen next; and

understood so well which side his bread was buttered, and which way the

cat jumped, that he began to make things which would work, and go on

working, too; to till and drain the ground, and to make looms, and ships,

and railroads, and steam ploughs, and electric telegraphs, and all the

things which you see in the Great Exhibition; and to foretell famine, and

bad weather, and the price of stocks and (what is hardest of all) the

next vagary of the great idol Whirligig, which some call Public Opinion;

till at last he grew as rich as a Jew, and as fat as a farmer, and people

thought twice before they meddled with him, but only once before they

asked him to help them; for, because he earned his money well, he could

afford to spend it well likewise.

“And his children are the men of science, who get good lasting work done

in the world; but the children of Prometheus are the fanatics, and the

theorists, and the bigots, and the bores, and the noisy windy people, who

go telling silly folk what will happen, instead of looking to see what

has happened already.”

Now, was not Mother Carey’s a wonderful story? And, I am happy to say,

Tom believed it every word.

[Picture: Old Mother Shipton]

For so it happened to Tom likewise. He was very sorely tried; for

though, by keeping the dog to heels (or rather to toes, for he had to

walk backward), he could see pretty well which way the dog was hunting,

yet it was much slower work to go backwards than to go forwards. But,

what was more trying still, no sooner had he got out of Peacepool, than

there came running to him all the conjurors, fortune-tellers,

astrologers, prophesiers, projectors, prestigiators, as many as were in

those parts (and there are too many of them everywhere), Old Mother

Shipton on her broomstick, with Merlin, Thomas the Rhymer, Gerbertus,

Rabanus Maurus, Nostradamus, Zadkiel, Raphael, Moore, Old Nixon, and a

good many in black coats and white ties who might have known better,

considering in what century they were born, all bawling and screaming at

him, “Look a-head, only look a-head; and we will show you what man never

saw before, and right away to the end of the world!”

But I am proud to say that, though Tom had not been to Cambridge—for, if

he had, he would have certainly been senior wrangler—he was such a little

dogged, hard, gnarly, foursquare brick of an English boy, that he never

turned his head round once all the way from Peacepool to the

Other-end-of-Nowhere: but kept his eye on the dog, and let him pick out

the scent, hot or cold, straight or crooked, wet or dry, up hill or down

dale; by which means he never made a single mistake, and saw all the

wonderful and hitherto by-no-mortal-man-imagined things, which it is my

duty to relate to you in the next chapter.

[Picture: Tom and dog]