‘Wonder what he’s thinkin’ about,’ said Ginger.
‘Whatever he’s thinkin’ about,’ said William knowingly, ‘I bet he’s thinkin’ about it in a foreign langwidge.’
The fat, red-faced man was coming to the gate of the field. His eyes still fixed on the map, he came out into the road.
The Archers, looking round for a hiding-place, saw none but the ditch into which they hastily precipitated themselves. The man came slowly down the road, still looking at the map. He passed the Archers crouching in the ditch. The sight of the enemy thus within his grasp was too much for William. Without waiting to consider or reason William acted.
General Bastow, walking peaceably down the road studying his map as he went, was amazed to see a boy suddenly scramble up out of the ditch by the roadside. A moment later he was still more amazed to receive the full force of the boy’s bullet-head in his stomach, and to be forced by its sheer iron weight into a sitting posture in the dust. For a moment physical agony blinded him to everything but the outrage committed by that dastardly boy upon his digestive organs. Then his vision cleared. He found his map gone and a boy disappearing on the horizon. It was not General Bastow’s habit to receive any outrage sitting down (except as in this case inadvertently). With a roar of fury he set off in pursuit, less in order to recover his map (of which he had other copies) than in order to inflict condign punishment upon the person of his assailant. But it was not for nothing that William was pursued regularly and unavailingly by all the local farmers. William’s life had perforce been largely spent in throwing off pursuers. When General Bastow, plum-coloured and panting, had reached the crossroads, there was no sign of William anywhere. It seemed futile to continue the pursuit, so the elderly warrior, panting and rumbling like a threatening volcano, returned slowly back along the road to the gate, which led into the field, and back into his tent. When he had finally disappeared, still rumbling furiously, into his tent, the Archers scrambled out of the ditch in an awestruck silence and went towards the crossroads where William had vanished.
There they saw William emerging, jaunty and unshaken, from behind a hayrick in a neighbouring field, carrying the map. He joined them on the road.
‘Well,’ he chuckled, ‘now they’ll be in a nice fix. They jolly well won’t know what to do without the map. They won’t know where they are or anythin’. I say’ – with a reminiscent chuckle – ‘din’t he go down with a flop?’ Then with his own inimitable swagger: ‘My head’s jolly strong. I bet there’s jolly well no one I can’t knock over with my head.’
‘What’ll we do next?’ said Ginger joyfully.
‘Oh, jus’ watch ’em for a bit,’ said William, ‘they won’t know what to do without their map.’
GENERAL BRISTOW RECEIVED THE FULL FORCE OF WILLIAM’S BULLET-HEAD IN HIS STOMACH.
Next day every movement of the innocent company of territorials was interpreted by William as one of utter bewilderment and despair.
‘Look at ’em, marchin’ down there, ’cause that’s where they saw me go off with the map an’ they’re tryin’ to find it. They dunno what to do without it. Look at that one goin’ into the village. He’s going’ to try’n buy another map an’ he won’t be able to ’cause they don’t keep ’em. Look at that one postin’ a letter. He’s writin’ off to the foreign country they come from to tell ’em that they’ve had the map took and to ask ’em what to do.’
THE ARCHERS, CROUCHING IN THE DITCH, LOOKED ON, HORROR-STRICKEN.
The great discovery was when he found a company of them digging a trench, at the end of the field.
‘Look at ’em. They’re givin’ up tryin’ to conquer England now they’ve had their map took off them an’ they daren’t go home by ship, same as they came, because they know now that someone knows about ’em with getting their map stole – so look at ’em. I bet they live at the other side of the world an’ they’re tryin’ to dig themselves through back to their homes, you know, ’cause of the world bein’ round like what they say it is in Geography.’
The Archers were so pleased with his idea that they cheered again lustily. Its only drawback was that few of them had really in their hearts ever subscribed to the theory that the earth is round. As Douglas said – when they began now to discuss the idea afresh:
‘Stands to reason, dun’t it, that folks can’t walk about upside down like flies. They’d drop off the earth altogether. Even if they tried holdin’ on by trees an’ things they’d be sure to drop off in the end. Ships couldn’t stay in the sea either. They’d drop out.’
‘And the sea can’t stay there neither,’ said Ginger, elaborating the theme. ‘You can’t have water stayin’ in a place upside down without any thin’ to keep it in. It’d spill out.’
‘Well, what’re we going’ to do about this foreign army?’ said an Archer who was not interested in the problematical shape of the earth.
‘Jus’ wait an’ watch ’em for a bit still,’ said William. ‘We’ve got their map. They can’t do anythin’ without their map.’
But by the end of the next day both William and his Archers had tired of waiting and watching.
They felt that the time was ripe for some decisive coup, and so they met in William’s back garden to decide what form exactly the coup should take. William led the discussion.
‘I votes,’ he said, ‘that we get the general man away from them somehow. Then when we attack them they’ll have no one to tell’m what to do. They’ll be without a leader an’ we’ll easy be able to put ’em to flight.’
‘Yes, but how’ll we get the ole general away from them?’ demanded the Archers.
‘Well, we’ll talk about that now,’ said William. So they talked about that.
The next evening was the last evening of the manoeuvres and there was a relaxed atmosphere about the camp. General Bastow set off to dine with an acquaintance who lived at the further end of the village, though the General wasn’t quite sure where, as he’d never visited him before at home. Dusk was falling as he walked along the road. He had been terribly bored by the manoeuvres and he still hadn’t forgotten that brutal attack perpetrated upon him in broad daylight by that dastardly young ruffian. He was certain that his liver had never been the same since. He still had hopes of meeting that young ruffian face to face. He’d never come across a place with so many boys in it. Crowds of boys seemed to have been watching the camp ever since they settled there, peeping over the hedge, following men and officers about. He was rather short-sighted, and he hadn’t had time to look for that young ruffian again, but he’d know him if he saw him. He turned a corner of the road and suddenly came across a small boy crying bitterly. It was the youngest Archer, but the General, of course, could not know this, nor could the General know that the whole body of Archers was concealed in the muddy ditch, watching the encounter. The General did not like small boys, but he felt that he could not pass by a small boy in such deep distress without some offer of assistance.
‘Well, Well, well,’ he bellowed irritably, ‘what’s the matter with you, my little man?’
‘I’m lo-o-o-o-ost!’ sobbed his little man.
‘Oh, nonsense! nonsense!’ boomed the General. ‘Nonsense! We’ll soon find your home for you!’
‘Th-thank you,’ sobbed his little man, slipping his hand confidently in his. ‘Th-thank you.’
The General had not quite bargained for this. He had not meant to spend his evening finding a home for a lost boy, but fate seemed to have thrust the situation upon him.
‘Where do you think you live, my little man?’ he said testily.
‘D-down this road, I think,’ sobbed his little man.
In the gathering dusk he led his rescuer down the road.
‘Will you recognise the house when you see it?’ said the General.
‘Y-yes, I think so,’ sobbed the youngest Archer.
‘Well, stop crying, my good child, stop crying. Try to be a man. Crying won’t do any good.’
The youngest Arch
er stopped crying. He was glad to be told to stop crying. It is quite easy to sob convincingly for a minute or two but difficult to continue it indefinitely. He was afraid that his performance was beginning to lack realism. At each house along the road the General said, ‘Do you think you live here, my little man?’ and his little man said with a break in his voice of which he was secretly proud. ‘No – no. N-not here.’ Till they got to the large house at the end of the road, then, when the General said, ‘Do you live here, my little man?’ the youngest Archer said, brightly, ‘Why, yes, I think – I think it’s here.’
They entered the wrought-iron gates together, and walked halfway up the drive. Then the youngest Archer gently withdrew his hand and disappeared in the dusk. The General stood gazing around, his eyes and mouth wide open. The child had vanished as completely as if the earth had opened to swallow him up. Behind him he heard a clang of metal as the iron gates swung to. As he was standing there, amazed and indecisive, the front door opened and a voice said:
‘That you, General?’
With relief the General recognised the voice of the friend with whom he was going to dine.
‘Found your way to the house all right?’ went on the friend.
‘Well, a curious chance led me here,’ said the General, ‘as a matter of fact, I’d no idea it was your house till you spoke. A little boy who said he was lost – but he was probably playing a trick on me, the young ruffian. All boys are the same. Why, only the other day on the main road in broad daylight –’
Talking volubly he entered the hall with his host who shut the front door behind him.
When the General and the realistically sobbing youngest Archer had turned the bend of the road, the main body of Archers with their bows and arrows climbed out of the ditch and clustered round William.
‘Well,’ said William, ‘I mus’ say he did that jolly well – jolly well— Now let’s sep’rate. Ginger an’ Douglas and half of you go after them an’ me’n’ the others’ll go back an’ charge the soldiers an’ with him not bein’ there they won’t know what to do, an’ they’ll have no one to lead ’em. Come on!’
With a flourish he led his half army away and Ginger and his little band set off cautiously down the road in the wake of the General and the youngest Archer.
Soon they saw the youngest Archer come out of the gates, shut them behind him, and run excitedly down the road to meet them.
‘I’ve shut him in,’ he said in a shrill whisper, ‘he’s in all right.’
They approached the iron gate and clustered around it, watching and listening. All was as still and silent as it had been when the youngest Archer left it. He could not know, of course, that he had led the General to his host nor that in that brief interval during which he ran to greet and report to his friends, the General had been received and admitted by the master of the house. They gazed and listened. All was still – all was silent – and it was growing dark.
‘He’s creepin’ about the garden, I bet,’ said the youngest Archer, ‘tryin’ to find a way out – Look, I believe I c’n see him. Over there.’
The more imaginative of the Archers said that they thought they could see him too.
‘Well, half of us’ll stay here guardin’ this gate,’ said Ginger, ‘an’ shoot him if he tries to come out, an’ half go round to the back gate, an’ guard that an’ shoot him if he tries to come out. He won’t dare to try’n take refuge in the house, ’cause it’s Mr Hunter’s, an’ he’s a magistrate an’ he’d know at once that he was a foreign enemy an’ put him in prison. He’ll either stay hidin’ in the garden or else try’n’ get out of this gate when we’ll shoot him or else try’n’ get out of the other gate when the others’ll shoot him.’
The others, had already gone round to the side gate. Ginger and his little band pressed their noses against the wrought iron and gazed intently into the garden.
It was a windy night and black shadows moved with the swaying trees.
‘Look, there he is,’ Ginger would say, ‘crouchin’ down there! Look! He moved! D’you see!’
The Archers saw. With every minute that passed their imaginations grew keener and there was not one of them who did not distinctly see the dark shadow of General Bastow, creeping round the corners of the house and beneath the trees.
‘He’s gettin’ desperater an’ desperater,’ said Ginger, ‘he daren’t go in ’cause he knows it’s a magistrate livin’ there, an’ he daren’t come out ’cause he knows we’re waitin’ to shoot him, an’ he’s jus’ creepin’ about gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.’
It happened that in Mr Hunter’s garden was a pond much frequented by frogs. Suddenly through the night air came the sound of a frog’s croak – then another – then another.
‘Listen to him moanin’ an’ groanin’,’ interpreted Ginger, ‘gettin’ desperater an’ desperater.’
There came the sound of a splash as a frog jumped into the pond and then silence.
‘He’s drowned himself,’ said Ginger in an awestruck voice. ‘He’s got desperater an’ desperater till he’s drowned himself.’
There was another silence.
‘He must have,’ said Ginger, ‘I don’t see him creepin’ about anywhere now, do you?’
The Archers didn’t.
‘Let’s go’n’ look,’ said a specially bold one.
They opened the gate cautiously and crept up the drive past the house to the pond. It was perhaps as well that they could not see through the dining-room blind the figure of their supposed victim sitting at a table, stout and red-faced as ever, eating and drinking heartily.
They clustered round the pond. Dark shadows lay at the bottom of it.
‘I can see his dead body,’ said Ginger, ‘can’t you? Over there. Under that tree. Right at the bottom.’
The more imaginative Archers said they could see his dead body quite plainly. The less imaginative ones said that they thought they could.
‘Well, we’d better go,’ said Ginger. ‘Now he’s drowned hisself there’s no use stayin’ here keepin’ guard. Let’s go over the side gate an’ go’n’ help William.’
Meanwhile William and his band had walked back to the field where the ‘foreign enemy’ was still entrenched. Just behind the trench was the high wall which bounded a garden belonging to Miss Milton, an inveterate enemy of William’s. But – fortunately for William – Miss Milton was away on her holiday and a caretaker occupied the house. William had little fear or respect for caretakers. He knew by long experience that they spent most of their time sleeping, were generally deaf and short-sighted and always short-winded. Heartened by this thought he collected and addressed his followers.
‘Now’s the time for us to attack ’em,’ he said flourishing his bow and arrows in a warlike manner. ‘Now’s the time, while they haven’t got their leader to tell ’em what to do. We’ll go into Miss Milton’s garden – careful, ’cause the old woman mightn’t be asleep, but anyway she’s sure to be deaf so it’ll be all right. We’ll climb up behind the wall an’ lean over an’ attack ’em with the bows an’ arrers an’ I bet you – I jolly well bet you anythin you like that we put ’em to flight.’
The Archers cheered in shrill excitement and marched off gaily in their leader’s wake. William knew the best hole through the hedge into Miss Milton’s garden. William knew the best holes through the hedges into most of his neighbours’ gardens. This was not unnatural as most of them had been made by the frequent furtive passage of William’s body. The other Archers followed less nimbly being less accustomed than their leader to such means of entrance. In the garden William stood and looked about him. All was silent and empty. There was not even a serpent in the garden in the shape of a gardener. And the windows at the back of the house were reassuringly blank. No suspicious caretaker’s face was visible at any of them. William heaved a sigh of relief.
‘That’s all right,’ he said to his army. ‘Now come along – creep – to the bottom where the wall is.’
They
crept to the bottom of the garden, William creeping at their head. They imitated faithfully William’s manner of creeping, but none of them approached William’s creeping form. William was justly proud of his creeping. Not for nothing had he practised being a Red Indian and a robber chief and a cinema villain painstakingly and for many years. He had brought creeping to a fine art. The finest villain on the cinema stage might have learnt something from William’s creeping. It was not perhaps a very unobtrusive mode of procedure but it was dramatic. He suited his expression to his walk and assumed an air of furtive cunning. So wrapt up was he in fulfilling his role of creeper to his own satisfaction that it was not till he reached the bottom of the garden that he realised that the wall was too high for them and that they could not possibly see over it, much less launch an attack from the top of it. The other Archers were taken aback, but William assumed his stern frown of leadership.
‘We’ll jus’ have to get somethin’ to stand on,’ he hissed in a dramatic whisper.
A small Archer attempted a cheer but was muffled and cuffed by an older one.
So they set about finding something to stand on. Under William’s direction, and still creeping with melodramatic furtiveness to and fro, they fetched a table from a summer-house and put upon it a row of large plant pots upside down. As this did not hold them all, others moved forward a cucumber frame, stood it up sideways and balanced plant pots upon it. Then laboriously and, miraculously, without accident, they mounted the precarious erection and peeped cautiously over the top of the wall. Yes, the soldiers were still in the trench below them.
‘Get your bows an’ arrers ready,’ hissed William.
They got them ready as best they could, holding on to the wall with one hand while the erection of table and cucumber frame and plant pots rocked beneath them.
‘One, two, three – fire!’ said William.
They fired.
It is one thing to stand on firm ground and take careful aim at a target affixed to a tree near you and quite another to shoot over the top of a wall on to which you have to hold with your chin while an unsteady erection of plant pots and cucumber frame rocks beneath you. Most of the arrows went rather wild. But it happened that as the grande finale of the manoeuvres the soldiers were practising an ‘over the top’ charge out of the trench and across the field, and just as William’s band shot their arrows the officer gave the signal to charge. The soldiers swarmed up out of the trench and began to rush across the field.
William the Good Page 7
