Complete Novels of E Nesbit

by Edith Nesbit

  And we asked, and found they had never even heard of them. I think myself he meant some other word, but he was quite positive.

  So then we got a sheet off Oswald’s bed, and we all took our shoes and stockings off, and we tried to see if the sheet would drag the bottom of the moat, which is shallow at that end. But it would keep floating on the top of the water, and when we tried sewing stones into one end of it, it stuck on something in the bottom, and when we got it up it was torn. We were very sorry, and the sheet was in an awful mess; but the girls said they were sure they could wash it in the basin in their room, and we thought as we had torn it any way, we might as well go on. That washing never came off.

  “No human being,” Noël said, “knows half the treasures hidden in this dark tarn.”

  And we decided we would drag a bit more at that end, and work gradually round to under the dairy window where the milk-pan was. We could not see that part very well, because of the bushes that grow between the cracks of the stones where the house goes down into the moat. And opposite the dairy window the barn goes straight down into the moat too. It is like pictures of Venice; but you cannot get opposite the dairy window anyhow.

  We got the sheet down again when we had tied the torn parts together in a bunch with string, and Oswald was just saying:

  “Now then, my hearties, pull together, pull with a will! One, two, three,” when suddenly Dora dropped her bit of the sheet with a piercing shriek and cried out:

  “Oh! it’s all wormy at the bottom. I felt them wriggle.” And she was out of the water almost before the words were out of her mouth. The other girls all scuttled out too, and they let the sheet go in such a hurry that we had no time to steady ourselves, and one of us went right in, and the rest got wet up to our waistbands. The one who went right in was only H. O.; but Dora made an awful fuss and said it was our fault. We told her what we thought, and it ended in the girls going in with H. O. to change his things. We had some more gooseberries while they were gone. Dora was in an awful wax when she went away, but she is not of a sullen disposition though some times hasty, and when they all came back we saw it was all right, so we said:

  “What shall we do now?”

  Alice said, “I don’t think we need drag any more. It is wormy. I felt it when Dora did. And besides, the milk-pan is sticking a bit of itself out of the water. I saw it through the dairy window.”

  “Couldn’t we get it up with fish-hooks?” Noël said. But Alice explained that the dairy was now locked up and the key taken out.

  So then Oswald said:

  “Look here, we’ll make a raft. We should have to do it some time, and we might as well do it now. I saw an old door in that corner stable that they don’t use. You know. The one where they chop the wood.”

  We got the door.

  We had never made a raft, any of us, but the way to make rafts is better described in books, so we knew what to do.

  We found some nice little tubs stuck up on the fence of the farm garden, and nobody seemed to want them for anything just then, so we took them. Denny had a box of tools some one had given him for his last birthday; they were rather rotten little things, but the gimlet worked all right, so we managed to make holes in the edges of the tubs and fasten them with string under the four corners of the old door. This took us a long time. Albert’s uncle asked us at dinner what we had been playing at, and we said it was a secret, and it was nothing wrong. You see we wished to atone for Dicky’s mistake before anything more was said. The house has no windows in the side that faces the orchard.

  The rays of the afternoon sun were beaming along the orchard grass when at last we launched the raft. She floated out beyond reach with the last shove of the launching. But Oswald waded out and towed her back; he is not afraid of worms. Yet if he had known of the other things that were in the bottom of that moat he would have kept his boots on. So would the others, especially Dora, as you will see.

  At last the gallant craft rode upon the waves. We manned her, though not up to our full strength, because if more than four got on the water came up too near our knees, and we feared she might founder if over-manned.

  Daisy and Denny did not want to go on the raft, white mice that they were, so that was all right. And as H. O. had been wet through once he was not very keen. Alice promised Noël her best paint-brush if he’d give up and not go, because we knew well that the voyage was fraught with deep dangers, though the exact danger that lay in wait for us under the dairy window we never even thought of.

  So we four elder ones got on the raft very carefully; and even then, every time we moved the water swished up over the raft and hid our feet. But I must say it was a jolly decent raft.

  Dicky was captain, because it was his adventure. We had hop-poles from the hop-garden beyond the orchard to punt with. We made the girls stand together in the middle and hold on to each other to keep steady. Then we christened our gallant vessel. We called it the Richard, after Dicky, and also after the splendid admiral who used to eat wine-glasses and died after the Battle of the Revenge in Tennyson’s poetry.

  Then those on shore waved a fond adieu as well as they could with the dampness of their handkerchiefs, which we had had to use to dry our legs and feet when we put on our stockings for dinner, and slowly and stately the good ship moved away from shore, riding on the waves as though they were her native element.

  We kept her going with the hop-poles, and we kept her steady in the same way, but we could not always keep her steady enough, and we could not always keep her in the wind’s eye. That is to say, she went where we did not want, and once she bumped her corner against the barn wall, and all the crew had to sit down suddenly to avoid falling overboard into a watery grave. Of course then the waves swept her decks, and when we got up again we said that we should have to change completely before tea.

  But we pressed on undaunted, and at last our saucy craft came into port under the dairy window, and there was the milk-pan, for whose sake we had endured such hardships and privations, standing up on its edge quite quietly.

  The girls did not wait for orders from the captain, as they ought to have done; but they cried out, “Oh, here it is!” and then both reached out to get it. Any one who has pursued a naval career will see that of course the raft capsized. For a moment it felt like standing on the roof of the house, and the next moment the ship stood up on end and shot the whole crew into the dark waters.

  We boys can swim all right. Oswald has swum three times across the Ladywell Swimming Baths at the shallow end, and Dicky is nearly as good; but just then we did not think of this; though, of course, if the water had been deep we should have.

  As soon as Oswald could get the muddy water out of his eyes he opened them on a horrid scene.

  Dicky was standing up to his shoulders in the inky waters; the raft had righted itself, and was drifting gently away towards the front of the house, where the bridge is, and Doar and Alice were rising from the deep, with their hair all plastered over their faces — like Venus in the Latin verses.

  There was a great noise of splashing. And besides that a feminine voice, looking out of the dairy window and screaming:

  “Lord love the children!”

  It was Mrs. Pettigrew. She disappeared at once, and we were sorry we were in such a situation that she would be able to get at Albert’s uncle before we could. Afterwards we were not so sorry.

  Before a word could be spoken about our desperate position, Dora staggered a little in the water, and suddenly shrieked, “Oh, my foot! oh, it’s a shark! I know it is — or a crocodile!”

  The others on the bank could hear her shrieking, but they could not see us properly; they did not know what was happening. Noël told me afterwards he never could care for that paint-brush.

  Of course we knew it could not be a shark, but I thought of pike, which are large and very angry always, and I caught hold of Dora. She screamed without stopping. I shoved her along to where there was a ledge of brickwork, and shoved her up, till she cou
ld sit on it, then she got her foot out of the water, still screaming.

  It was indeed terrible. The thing she thought was a shark came up with her foot, and it was a horrid, jagged, old meat-tin, and she had put her foot right into it. Oswald got it off, and directly he did so blood began to pour from the wounds. The tin edges had cut it in several spots. It was very pale blood, because her foot was wet, of course.

  She stopped screaming, and turned green, and I thought she was going to faint, like Daisy did on the jungle day.

  Oswald held her up as well as he could, but it really was one of the least agreeable moments in his life. For the raft was gone, and she couldn’t have waded back anyway, and we didn’t know how deep the moat might be in other places.

  But Mrs. Pettigrew had not been idle. She is not a bad sort really.

  Just as Oswald was wondering whether he could swim after the raft and get it back, a boat’s nose shot out from under a dark archway a little further up under the house. It was the boathouse, and Albert’s uncle had got the punt and took us back in it. When we had regained the dark arch where the boat lives we had to go up the cellar stairs. Dora had to be carried.

  There was but little said to us that day. We were sent to bed — those who had not been on the raft the same as the others, for they owned up all right, and Albert’s uncle is the soul of justice.

  Next day but one was Saturday. Father gave us a talking to — with other things.

  The worst, though, was when Dora couldn’t get her shoe on, so they sent for the doctor, and Dora had to lie down for ever so long. It was indeed poor luck.

  When the doctor had gone Alice said to me:

  “It is hard lines, but Dora’s very jolly about it. Daisy’s been telling her about how we should all go to her with our little joys and sorrows and things, and about the sweet influence from a sick bed that can be felt all over the house, like in What Katy Did, and Dora said she hoped she might prove a blessing to us all while she’s laid up.”

  Oswald said he hoped so, but he was not pleased. Because this sort of jaw was exactly the sort of thing he and Dicky didn’t want to have happen.

  The thing we got it hottest for was those little tubs off the garden railings. They turned out to be butter-tubs that had been put out there “to sweeten.”

  But as Denny said, “After the mud in that moat not all the perfumes of somewhere or other could make them fit to use for butter again.”

  I own this was rather a bad business. Yet we did not do it to please ourselves, but because it was our duty. But that made no difference to our punishment when father came down. I have known this mistake occur before.

  BILL’S TOMBSTONE

  There were soldiers riding down the road, on horses, two and two. That is the horses were two and two, and the men not. Because each man was riding one horse and leading another. To exercise them. They came from Chatham Barracks. We all drew up in a line outside the church-yard wall, and saluted as they went by, though we had not read Toady Lion then. We have since. It is the only decent book I have ever read written by Toady Lion’s author. The others are mere piffle. But many people like them.

  In Sir Toady Lion the officer salutes the child.

  There was only a lieutenant with those soldiers, and he did not salute me. He kissed his hand to the girls; and a lot of the soldiers behind kissed theirs too. We waved ours back.

  Next day we made a Union Jack out of pocket-handkerchiefs and part of a red flannel petticoat of the White Mouse’s, which she did not want just then, and some blue ribbon we got at the village shop.

  Then we watched for the soldiers, and after three days they went by again, by twos and twos as before. It was A1.

  We waved our flag, and we shouted. We gave them three cheers. Oswald can shout loudest. So as soon as the first man was level with us (not the advance guard, but the first of the battery) — he shouted:

  “Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!”

  And then we waved the flag, and bellowed. Oswald stood on the wall to bellow better, and Denny waved the flag because he was a visitor, and so politeness made us let him enjoy the fat of whatever there was going.

  The soldiers did not cheer that day; they only grinned and kissed their hands.

  The next day we all got up as much like soldiers as we could. H. O. and Noël had tin swords, and we asked Albert’s uncle to let us wear some of the real arms that are on the wall in the dining-room. And he said, “Yes,” if we would clean them up afterwards. But we jolly well cleaned them up first with Brooke’s soap and brick dust and vinegar, and the knife polish (invented by the great and immortal Duke of Wellington in his spare time when he was not conquering Napoleon. Three cheers for our Iron Duke!), and with emery paper and wash leather and whitening. Oswald wore a cavalry sabre in its sheath. Alice and the Mouse had pistols in their belts, large old flint-locks, with bits of red flannel behind the flints. Denny had a naval cutlass, a very beautiful blade, and old enough to have been at Trafalgar. I hope it was. The others had French sword-bayonets that were used in the Franco-German War. They are very bright, when you get them bright, but the sheaths are hard to polish. Each sword-bayonet has the name on the blade of the warrior who once wielded it. I wonder where they are now. Perhaps some of them died in the war. Poor chaps! But it is a very long time ago.

  I should like to be a soldier. It is better than going to the best schools, and to Oxford afterwards, even if it is Balliol you go to. Oswald wanted to go to South Africa for a bugler, but father would not let him. And it is true that Oswald does not yet know how to bugle, though he can play the infantry “advance,” and the “charge” and the “halt” on a penny whistle. Alice taught them to him with the piano, out of the red book father’s cousin had when he was in the Fighting Fifth. Oswald cannot play the “retire,” and he would scorn to do so. But I suppose a bugler has to play what he is told, no matter how galling to the young boy’s proud spirit.

  The next day, being thoroughly armed, we put on everything red, white, and blue that we could think of — night-shirts are good for white, and you don’t know what you can do with red socks and blue jerseys till you try — and we waited by the church-yard wall for the soldiers. When the advance-guard (or whatever you call it of artillery — it’s that for infantry, I know) came by we got ready, and when the first man of the first battery was level with us Oswald played on his penny whistle the “advance” and the “charge” — and then shouted:

  “Three cheers for the Queen and the British Army!”

  This time they had the guns with them. And every man of the battery cheered too. It was glorious. It made you tremble all over. The girls said it made them want to cry — but no boy would own to this, even if it were true. It is babyish to cry. But it was glorious, and Oswald felt different to what he ever did before.

  Then suddenly the officer in front said, “Battery! Halt!” and all the soldiers pulled their horses up, and the great guns stopped too. Then the officer said, “Sit at ease,” and something else, and the sergeant repeated it, and some of the men got off their horses and lit their pipes, and some sat down on the grass edge of the road, holding their horses’ bridles.

  We could see all the arms and accoutrements as plain as plain.

  Then the officer came up to us. We were all standing on the wall that day, except Dora, who had to sit, because her foot was bad, but we let her have the three-edged rapier to wear, and the blunderbuss to hold as well — it has a brass mouth, and is like in Mr. Caldecott’s pictures.

  He was a beautiful man the officer. Like a Viking. Very tall and fair, with mustaches very long, and bright blue eyes.

  He said:

  “Good-morning.”

  So did we.

  Then he said:

  “You seem to be a military lot.”

  We said we wished we were.

  “And patriotic,” said he.

  Alice said she should jolly well think so.

  Then he said he had noticed us there for se
veral days, and he had halted the battery because he thought we might like to look at the guns.

  Alas! there are but too few grown-up people so far-seeing and thoughtful as this brave and distinguished officer.

  We said, “Oh yes,” and then we got off the wall, and that good and noble man showed us the string that moves the detonator, and the breech-block (when you take it out and carry it away, the gun is in vain to the enemy, even if he takes it); and he let us look down the gun to see the rifling, all clean and shiny; and he showed us the ammunition boxes, but there was nothing in them. He also told us how the gun was unlimbered (this means separating the gun from the ammunition carriage), and how quick it could be done — but he did not make the men do this then, because they were resting. There were six guns. Each had painted on the carriage, in white letters, 15 Pr., which the captain told us meant fifteen-pounder.

  “I should have thought the gun weighed more than fifteen pounds,” Dora said. “It would if it was beef, but I suppose wood and gun are lighter.”

  And the officer explained to her very kindly and patiently that 15 Pr. meant the gun could throw a shell weighing fifteen pounds.

  When we had told him how jolly it was to see the soldiers go by so often, he said:

  “You won’t see us many more times. We’re ordered to the front; and we sail on Tuesday week; and the guns will be painted mud-color, and the men will wear mud-color too, and so shall I.”

  The men looked very nice, though they were not wearing their busbies, but only Tommy caps, put on all sorts of ways.

  We were very sorry they were going, but Oswald, as well as others, looked with envy on those who would soon be allowed — being grown up, and no nonsense about your education — to go and fight for their Queen and country.

  Then suddenly Alice whispered to Oswald, and he said:

  “All right; but tell him yourself.”

  So Alice said to the captain:

  “Will you stop next time you pass?”