by Edith Nesbit
To wake next morning on a bed of soft, dry, sweet-smelling seaweed, and to know that the day was to be spent in having a good time with the jolliest set of children she had ever met, was delightful to Lucy. Philip’s delight was dashed by the knowledge that he must, sooner or later, think. But the day passed most agreeably. They all bathed in the rock pools, picked up shell-fish for dinner, played rounders in the afternoon, and in the evening danced to the music made by the M.A.’s who most of them carried flutes in their pockets, and who were all very flattered at being asked to play.
So the pleasant days went on. Every morning Philip said to himself, ‘Now to-day I really must think of something,’ and every night he said, ‘I really ought to have thought of something.’ But he never could think of anything to take away the fear of the gentle islanders.
It was on the sixth night that the storm came. The wind blew and the sea roared and the castle shook to its very foundations. And Philip, awakened by the noise and the shaking, sat up in bed and understood what the fear was that spoiled the happiness of the Dwellers by the Sea.
‘Suppose the sea did sweep us all away,’ he said; ‘and they haven’t even got a boat.’
And then, when he was quite far from expecting it, he did think of something. And he went on thinking about it so hard that he couldn’t sleep any more.
And in the morning he said to the parrot:
‘I’ve thought of something. And I’m not going to tell the others. But I can’t do it all by myself. Do you think you could get Perrin for me?’
‘I will try with pleasure,’ replied the obliging bird, and flew off without further speech.
That afternoon, just as a picnic tea was ending, a great shadow fell on the party, and next moment the Hippogriff alighted with Mr. Perrin and the parrot on its back.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Philip, and led Mr. Perrin away and began to talk to him in whispers.
‘No, sir,’ Mr. Perrin answered suddenly and aloud. ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t think of it.’
‘Don’t you know how?’ Philip asked.
‘I know everything as is to be known in my trade,’ said Mr. Perrin, ‘but carpentry’s one thing, and manners is another. Not but what I know manners too, which is why I won’t be a party to no such a thing.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ said Philip, trying to keep up with Mr. Perrin’s long strides. ‘What I want to do is for you to build a Noah’s ark on the top of the highest tower. Then when the sea’s rough and the wind blows, all the Sea-Dwellers can just get into their ark and then they’ll be quite safe whatever happens.’
‘You said all that afore,’ said Mr. Perrin, ‘and I wonder at you, so I do.’
‘I thought it was such a good idea,’ said poor Philip in gloom.
‘Oh, the idea’s all right,’ said Mr. Perrin; ‘there ain’t nothing to complain of ‘bout the idea.’
‘Then what is wrong?’ Philip asked impatiently.
‘You’ve come to the wrong shop,’ said Mr. Perrin slowly. ‘I ain’t the man to take away another chap’s job, not if he was to be in the humblest way of business; but when it comes to slapping the government in the face, well, there, Master Pip, I wouldn’t have thought it of you. It’s as much as my place is worth.’
‘Look here,’ said Philip, stopping short in despair, ‘will you tell me straight out why you won’t help me?’
‘I’m not a-going to go building arks, at my time of life,’ said Mr. Perrin. ‘Mr. Noah’d break his old heart, so he would, if I was to take on his job over his head.’
‘Oh, you mean I ought to ask him?’
‘‘Course you ought to ask him. I don’t mind lending a hand under his directions, acting as foreman like, so as to make a good job of it. But it’s him you must give your order to.’
The parrot and the Hippogriff between them managed to get Mr. Noah to the castle by noon of the next day.
‘Would you have minded,’ Philip immediately asked him, ‘if I’d had an ark built without asking you to do it?’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Noah mildly, ‘I might have been a little hurt. I have had some experience, you know, my Lord.’
‘Why do you call me that?’ Philip asked.
‘Because you are, of course. Your deed of slaying the lions counts one to you, and by virtue of it you are now a Baron. I congratulate you, Lord Leo,’ said Mr. Noah.
He approved of Philip’s idea, and he and Perrin were soon busy making plans, calculating strains and selecting materials.
Then Philip made a speech to the islanders and explained his idea. There was a great deal of cheering and shouting, and every one agreed that an ark on the topmost tower would meet a long-felt want, and that when once that ark was there, fear would for ever be a stranger to every gentle island heart.
And now the great work of building began. Mr. Perrin kindly consented to act as foreman and set to work a whole army of workmen — the M.A.’s of course. And soon the sound of saw and hammer mingled with the plash of waves and cries of sea-birds, and gangs of stalwart M.A.’s in their seaweed tunics bent themselves to the task of shaping great timbers and hoisting them to the top of the highest tower, where other gangs, under Mr. Noah’s own eye, reared a scaffolding to support the ark while the building went on.
The children were not allowed to help, but they loved looking on, and almost felt that, if they looked on earnestly enough, they must, in some strange mysterious way, be actually helping. You know the feeling, I daresay.
The Hippogriff, who was stabled in the castle, flew up to wherever he was wanted, to assist in the hauling. Mr. Noah only had to whisper the magic word in his ear and up he flew. But what that magic word was the children did not know, though they asked often enough.
And now at last the ark was finished, the scaffolding was removed, and there was the great Noah’s ark, firmly planted on the topmost tower. It was a perfect example of the ark-builder’s craft. Its boat part was painted a dull red, its sides and ends were blue with black windows, and its roof was bright scarlet, painted in lines to imitate tiles. No least detail was neglected. Even to the white bird painted on the roof, which you must have noticed in your own Noah’s ark.
They loved looking on.
A great festival was held, speeches were made, and every one who had lent a hand in the building, even the humblest M.A., was crowned with a wreath of fresh pink and green seaweed. Songs were sung, and the laureate of the Sea-Dwellers, a young M.A. with pale blue eyes and no chin, recited an ode beginning —
Now that we have our Noble Ark
No more we tremble in the dark
When the great seas and the winds cry out,
For we are safe without a doubt.
At undue risings of the tide
Within our Ark we’ll safely hide,
And bless the names of those who thus
Have built a painted Ark for us.
There were three hundred and seventeen more lines, very much like these, and every one said it was wonderful, and the laureate was a genius, and how did he do it, and what brains, eh? and things like that.
And Philip and Lucy had crowns too. The Lord High Islander made a vote of thanks to Philip, who modestly replied that it was nothing, really, and anybody could have done it. And a spirit of gladness spread about among the company so that every one was smiling and shaking hands with everybody else, and even the M.A.’s were making little polite old jokes, and slapping each other on the back and calling each other ‘old chap,’ which was not at all their habit in ordinary life. The whole castle was decorated with garlands of pink and green seaweed like the wreaths that people were wearing, and the whole scene was the gayest and happiest you can imagine.
And then the dreadful thing happened.
Philip and Lucy were standing in their seaweed tunics, for of course they had, since the first day, worn the costume of the country, on the platform in the courtyard. Mr. Noah had just said, ‘Well, then, we will enjoy this enjoyable day to the very end and re
turn to the city to-morrow,’ when a shadow fell on the group. It was the Hippogriff, and on its back was — some one. Before any one could see who that some one was, the Hippogriff had flown low enough for that some one to catch Philip by his seaweed tunic and to swing him off his feet and on to the Hippogriff’s back. Lucy screamed, Mr. Perrin said, ‘Here, I say, none of that,’ and Mr. Noah said, ‘Dear me!’ And they all reached out their hands to pull Philip back. But they were all too late.
‘I won’t go. Put me down,’ Philip shouted. They all heard that. And also they heard the answer of the person on the Hippogriff — the person who had snatched Philip on to its back.
‘Oh, won’t you, my Lord? We’ll soon see about that,’ the person said.
Three people there knew that voice, four counting Philip, six counting the dogs. The dogs barked and growled, Mr. Noah said ‘Drop it;’ and Lucy screamed, ‘Oh no! oh no! it’s that Pretenderette.’ The parrot, with great presence of mind, flew up into the air and attacked the ear of the Pretenderette, for, as old books say, it was indeed that unprincipled character who had broken from prison and once more stolen the Hippogriff. But the Pretenderette was not to be caught twice by the same parrot. She was ready for the bird this time, and as it touched her ear she caught it in her motor veil which she must have loosened beforehand, and thrust it into a wicker cage that hung ready from the saddle of the Hippogriff who hovered on his wide white wings above the crowd of faces upturned.
‘Now we shall see her face,’ Lucy thought, for she could not get rid of the feeling that if she could only see the Pretenderette’s face she would recognise it. But the Pretenderette was too wily to look down unveiled. She turned her face up, and she must have whispered the magic word, for the Hippogriff rose in the air and began to fly away with incredible swiftness across the sea.
‘Oh, what shall I do?’ cried Lucy, wringing her hands. You have often heard of people wringing their hands. Lucy, I assure you, really did wring hers. ‘Oh! Mr. Noah, what will she do with him? Where will she take him? What shall I do? How can I find him again?’
‘I deeply regret, my dear child,’ said Mr. Noah, ‘that I find myself quite unable to answer any single one of your questions.’
‘But can’t I go after him?’ Lucy persisted.
‘I am sorry to say,’ said Mr. Noah, ‘that we have no boats; the Pretenderette has stolen our one and only Hippogriff, and none of our camels can fly.’
‘But what can I do?’ Lucy stamped her foot in her agony of impatience.
‘Nothing, my child,’ Mr. Noah aggravatingly replied, ‘except to go to bed and get a good night’s rest. To-morrow we will return to the city and see what can be done. We must consult the oracle.’
‘But can’t we go now,’ said Lucy, crying.
‘No oracle is worth consulting till it’s had its night’s rest,’ said Mr. Noah. ‘It is a three days’ journey. If we started now — see it is already dusk — we should arrive in the middle of the night. We will start early in the morning.’
But early in the morning there was no starting from the castle of the Dwellers by the Sea. There was indeed no one to start, and there was no castle to start from.
A young blugraiwee, peeping out of its hole after a rather disturbed night to see whether any human beings were yet stirring or whether it might venture out in search of yellow periwinkles, which are its favourite food, started, pricked its spotted ears, looked again, and, disdaining the cover of the rocks, walked boldly out across the beach. For the beach was deserted. There was no one there. No Mr. Noah, no Lucy, no gentle islanders, no M.A.’s — and what is more there were no huts and there was no castle. All was smooth, plain, bare sea-combed beach.
For the sea had at last risen. The fear of the Dwellers had been justified. Whether the sea had been curious about the ark no one knows, no one will ever know. At any rate the sea had risen up and swept away from the beach every trace of the castle, the huts and the folk who had lived there.
A bright parrot, with a streamer of motor veiling hanging to one claw, called suddenly from the clear air to the little blugraiwee.
‘What’s up?’ the parrot asked; ‘where’s everything got to?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said the little blugraiwee; ‘these human things are always coming and going. Have some periwinkles? They’re very fine this morning after the storm,’ it said.
CHAPTER VIII. UPS AND DOWNS
We left Lucy in tears and Philip in the grasp of the hateful Pretenderette, who, seated on the Hippogriff, was bearing him away across the smooth blueness of the wide sea.
‘Oh, Mr. Noah,’ said Lucy, between sniffs and sobs, ‘how can she! You did say the Hippogriff could only carry one!’
‘One ordinary human being,’ said Mr. Noah gently; ‘you forget that dear Philip is now an earl.’
‘But do you really think he’s safe?’ Lucy asked.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Noah. ‘And now, dear Lucy, no more questions. Since your arrival on our shores I have been gradually growing more accustomed to being questioned, but I still find it unpleasant and fatiguing. Desist, I entreat.’
So Lucy desisted and every one went to bed, and, for crying is very tiring, to sleep. But not for long.
Lucy was awakened in her bed of soft dry seaweed by the sound of the castle alarm bell, and by the blaring of trumpets and the shouting of many voices. A bright light shone in at the window of her room. She jumped up and ran to the window and leaned out. Below lay the great courtyard of the castle, a moving sea of people on which hundreds of torches seemed to float, and the sound of shouting rose in the air as foam rises in the wind.
‘The Fear! The Fear!’ people were shouting. ‘To the ark! to the ark!’ And the black night that pressed round the castle was loud with the wild roar of waves and the shriek of a tumultuous wind.
Lucy ran to the door of her room. But suddenly she stopped.
‘My clothes,’ she said. And dressed herself hastily. For she perceived that her own petticoats and shoes were likely to have better wearing qualities than seaweed could possess, and if they were all going to take refuge in the ark, she felt she would rather have her own clothes on.
‘Mr. Noah is sure to come for me,’ she most sensibly told herself. ‘And I’ll get as many clothes on as I can.’ Her own dress, of course, had been left at Polistopolis, but the ballet dress would be better than the seaweed tunic. When she was dressed she ran into Philip’s room and rolled his clothes into a little bundle and carried it under her arm as she ran down the stairs. Half-way down she met Mr. Noah coming up.
‘Ah! you’re ready,’ he said; ‘it is well. Do not be alarmed, my Lucy. The tide is rising but slowly. There will be time for every one to escape. All is in train, and the embarkation of the animals is even now in progress. There has been a little delay in sorting the beasts into pairs. But we are getting on. The Lord High Islander is showing remarkable qualities. All the big animals are on board; the pigs were being coaxed on as I came up. And the ant-eaters are having a late supper. Do not be alarmed.’
‘I can’t help being alarmed,’ said Lucy, slipping her free hand into Mr. Noah’s, ‘but I won’t cry or be silly. Oh, I do wish Philip was here.’
‘Most unreasonable of girl children,’ said Mr. Noah; ‘we are in danger and you wish him to be here to share it?’
‘Oh, we are in danger, are we?’ said Lucy quickly. ‘I thought you said I wasn’t to be alarmed.’
‘No more you are,’ said Mr. Noah shortly; ‘of course you’re in danger. But there’s me. And there’s the ark. What more do you want?’
‘Nothing,’ Lucy answered in a very small voice, and the two made their way to a raised platform overlooking the long inclined road which led up to the tower on which the ark had been built. A long procession toiled slowly up it of animals in pairs, urged and goaded by the M.A.’s under the orders of the Lord High Islander.
The wild wind blew the flames of the torches out like golden streamers, and the sound of the
waves was like thunder on the shore.
Down below other M.A.’s were busy carrying bales tied up in seaweed. Seen from above the busy figures looked like ants when you kick into an ant-hill and the little ant people run this way and that way and every way about their little ant businesses.
The Lord High Islander came in pale and serious, with all the calm competence of Napoleon at a crisis.
‘Sorry to have to worry you, sir,’ he said to Mr. Noah, ‘but of course your experience is invaluable just now. I can’t remember what bears eat. Is it hay or meat?’
‘It’s buns,’ said Lucy. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Noah. Of course I ought to have waited for you to say.’
‘In my ark,’ said Mr. Noah, ‘buns were unknown and bears were fed entirely on honey, the providing of which kept our pair of bees fully employed. But if you are sure bears like buns we must always be humane, dear Lucy, and study the natural taste of the animals in our charge.’
‘They love them,’ said Lucy.
‘Buns and honey,’ said the Lord Islander; ‘and what about bats?’
‘I don’t know what bats eat,’ said Mr. Noah; ‘I believe it was settled after some discussion that they don’t eat cats. But what they do eat is one of the eleven mysteries. You had better let the bats fast.’
‘They are, sir,’ said the Lord High Islander.
‘And is all going well? Shall I come down and lend a personal eye?’
‘I think I’m managing all right, sir,’ said the Lord High Islander modestly. ‘You see it’s a great honour for me. The M.A.’s are carrying in the provisions, the boys are stowing them and also herding the beasts. They are very good workers, sir.’
‘Are you frightened?’ Lucy whispered, as he turned to go back to his overseeing.
A long procession toiled slowly up it of animals in pairs.
‘Not I,’ said the Lord High Islander. ‘Don’t you understand that I’ve been promoted to be Lord Vice-Noah of Polistarchia? And of course the hearts of all Vice-Noahs are strangers to fear. But just think what a difficult thing Fear would have been to be a stranger to if you and Philip hadn’t got us the ark!’
