by Edith Nesbit
The first regiment they saw was, as it happened, the 23rd Lobsters.
If you can imagine a Lobster as big as a Guardsman, and rather stouter, you will have some idea of the splendid appearance of this regiment. Only don’t forget that Lobsters in their natural regimentals are not red. They wear a sort of steel-blue armour, and carry arms of dreadful precision. They are terrible fellows, the 23rd, and they marched with an air at once proud and confident.
Then came the 16th Sword-fish — in uniform of delicate silver, their drawn swords displayed.
The Queen’s Own Gurnards were magnificent in pink and silver, with real helmets and spiked collars; and the Boy Scouts—”The Sea-urchins” as they were familiarly called — were the last of the infantry.
Then came Mermen, mounted on Dolphins and Sea-horses, and the Cetacean Regiments, riding on their whales. Each whale carried a squadron.
“They look like great trams going by,” said Francis. And so they did. The children remarked that while the infantry walked upright like any other foot soldiers, the cavalry troops seemed to be, with their mounts, suspended in the air about a foot from the ground.
“And that shows it’s water,” said Bernard.
“No, it doesn’t,” said Francis.
“Well, a whale’s not a bird,” said Bernard.
“And there are other things besides air and water,” said Francis.
The Household Brigade was perhaps the handsomest. The Grand Salmoner led his silvery soldiers, and the 100th Halibuts were evidently the sort of troops to make the foes of anywhere “feel sorry they were born.”
It was a glorious review, and when it was over the children found that they had been quite forgetting their desire to get home.
But as the back of the last Halibut vanished behind the seaweed trees the desire came back with full force. Princess Maia had disappeared. Their own Princess was, they supposed, still performing her source-service.
Suddenly everything seemed to have grown tiresome.
“Oh, I do wish we could go home,” said Kathleen. “Couldn’t we just find the door and go out.”
“We might look for the door,” said Bernard cautiously, “but I don’t see how we could get up into the cave again.”
“We can swim all right, you know,” Mavis reminded them.
“I think it would be pretty low down to go without saying good-bye to the Princesses,” said Francis. “Still, there’s no harm in looking for the door.”
They did look for the door. And they did not find it. What they did find was a wall — a great grey wall built of solid stones — above it nothing could be seen but blue sky.
“I do wonder what’s on the other side,” said Bernard; and some one, I will not say which, said: “Let’s climb up and see.”
It was easy to climb up, for the big stones had rough edges and so did not fit very closely, and there was room for a toe here and a hand there. In a minute or two they were all up, but they could not see down on the other side because the wall was about eight feet thick. They walked towards the other edge, and still they could not see down; quite close to the edge, and still no seeing.
“It isn’t sky at all,” said Bernard suddenly. “It’s a sort of dome — tin I shouldn’t wonder, painted to look like sky.”
“It can’t be,” said someone.
“It is though,” said Bernard.
“There couldn’t be one so big,” said someone else.
“But there is,” said Bernard.
And then someone — I will not tell you who — put out a band, and, quite forgetting the Princess’s warning, touched the sky. That hand felt something as faint and thin as a bubble — and instantly this something broke, and the sea came pouring into the Mer-people’s country.
“Now you’ve done it,” said one of those whose hand it wasn’t. And there was no doubt about it; the person who owned the hand had done it — and done it very thoroughly. It was plain enough now that what they had been living in was not water, and that this was. The first rush of it was terrible — but in less than a moment the whole kingdom was flooded, and then the water became clear and quiet.
The children found no difficulty in breathing, and it was as easy to walk as it is on land in a high wind. They could not run, but they walked as fast as they could to the place where they had left the Princess pouring out the water for all the rivers in all the world.
And as they went, one of them said, “Oh don’t, don’t tell it was me. You don’t know what punishments they may have here.”
The others said of course they wouldn’t tell. But the one who had touched the sky felt that it was despised and disgraced.
They found the pedestal, but what had been the pool was only part of the enormous sea, and so was the little marble channel.
The Princess was not there, and they began to look for her, more and more anxious and wretched.
“It’s all your fault,” said Francis to the guilty one who had broken the sky by touching it; and Bernard said, “You shut up, can’t you?”
It was a long time before they found their Princess, and when they did find her they hardly knew her. She came swimming towards them, and she was wearing her tail, and a cuirass and helmet of the most beautiful mother-of-pearl — thin scales of it overlapping; and the crest on her helmet was one great pearl, as big as a billiard ball. She carried something over her arm.
“Here you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you. The future is full of danger. The water has got in.”
“Yes, we noticed that,” said Bernard.
And Mavis said: “Please, it was us. We touched the sky.”
“Will they punish us?” asked Cathay.
“There are no punishments here,” said the pearly Princess gravely, “only the consequences of your action. Our great defence against the Under Folk is that thin blue dome which you have broken. It can only be broken from the inside. Our enemies were powerless to destroy it. But now they may attack us at any moment. I am going to command my troops. Will you come too?”
“Rather,” said Reuben, and the others, somewhat less cordially, agreed. They cheered up a little when the Princess went on:
“It’s the only way to make you safe. There are four posts vacant on my staff, and I have brought you the uniforms that go with the appointments.” She unfolded five tails, and four little pearly coats like her own, with round pearls for buttons, pearls as big as marbles. “Put these on quickly,” she said, “they are enchanted coats, given by Neptune himself to an ancestor of ours. By pressing the third button from the top you can render yourself invisible. The third button below that will make you visible again when you wish it, and the last button of all will enable you to become intangible as well as invisible.”
“Intangible?” said Cathay.
“Unfeelable, so you’re quite safe.”
“But there are only four coats,” said Francis.
“That is so,” said the Princess. “One of you will have to take its chance with the Boy Scouts. Which is it to be?”
Each of the children always said, and thought that it meant to say “I will,” but somehow or other the person who spoke first was Reuben. The instant the Princess had said “be,” Reuben shouted: “Me,” adding however almost at once, “please.”
“Right,” said the Princess kindly,—”off with you! The Sea-urchins’ barracks are behind that rock. Off with you! Here, don’t forget your tail. It enables you to be as comfortable in the water as any fish.”
Reuben took the tail and hastened away.
“Now,” said the Princess. And they all began putting on their tails. It was like putting both your feet into a very large stocking. Then came the mail coats.
“Don’t we have swords?” Francis asked, looking down at his slim and silvery extremity.
“Swords? In the Crustacean Brigade? Never forget, children, that you belong to the Princess’s Own Oysters. Here are your weapons.” She pointed to a heap of large oyster-shells, as big as Roman shiel
ds.
“See,” she said, “you hold them this way as a rule. A very powerful spring is released when you hold them that way.”
“But what do you do with it?” Mavis asked.
“Nip the feet of the enemy,” said the Princess, “and it holds on. Under Folk have no tails. You wait till they are near a rock; then nip a foeman’s foot with your good weapon, laying the other end on the rock. The oyster-shell will at once attach itself to the rock and...”
A terrible shout rang out, and the Princess stopped.
“What is it; oh, what is it?” said the children. And the Princess shuddered.
Again that shout — the most terrible sound the children had ever heard.
“What is it?” they said again.
The Princess drew herself up, as if ashamed of her momentary weakness, and said:
“It is the war-cry of the Under Folk.”
CHAPTER VIII. THE WATER-WAR.
AFTER the sound of that terrible shouting there came silence — that is, there was silence where the children were, but all above they could hear the rush and rustle of a quick arming.
“The war-cry of the People of the Depths,” said the Princess.
“I suppose,” said Kathleen forlornly, “that if they’re so near as that all is lost.”
“Lost? No, indeed,” cried the Princess. “The People of the Depths are very strong, but they are very heavy. They cannot rise up and come to us from the water above. Before they can get in they must scale the wall.”
“But they will get over the wall — won’t they?”
“Not while one of the Royal Halibuts still lives. The Halibuts have manned the wall; they will keep back the foe. But they won’t attack yet. They’ll send out their scouts and skirmishers. Till they approach, the Crustacean Brigade can do nothing. It is a hard thing to watch a fight in which you may not share. I must apologise for appointing you to such an unsatisfactory position.”
“Thank you, we don’t mind,” said Cathay hastily. “What’s that?”
It was a solid, gleaming sheet of silver that rose above them like a great carpet — which split and tore itself into silver threads.
“It is the Sword-fish Brigade,” said the Princess. “We could swim up a little and watch them, if you’re not afraid. You see, the first attack will probably be delivered by one of their Shark regiments. The 7th Sharks have a horrible reputation. But our brave Sword-fish are a match for them,” she added proudly.
The Sword-fish, who were slowly swimming to and fro above, seemed to stiffen as though to meet some danger at present unseen by the others. Then, with a swift, silent, terrible movement, the Sharks rushed on the noble defenders of Merland.
The Sword-fish with their deadly weapons were ready — and next moment all the water was a wild whirl of confused conflict. The Sharks fought with a sort of harsh, rough courage, and the children, who had drawn away to a little distance, could not help admiring their desperate onslaught. But the Swordfish were more than their match. With more skill, and an equally desperate gallantry, they met and repulsed the savage onslaught of the Sharks.
Shoals of large, calm Cod swept up from the depths, and began to shoulder the dead Sharks sideways towards the water above the walls — the dead Sharks and, alas! many a brave, dead Sword-fish, too. For the victory had not been a cheap one.
The children could not help cheering as the victorious Sword-fish re-formed.
“Pursuit is unnecessary,” said the Princess. “The Sharks have lost too heavily to resume the attack.”
A Shark in terror-stricken retreat passed close by her, and she clipped its tail with her oyster-shell.
The Shark turned savagely, but the Princess with one tail-swish was out of danger, hushing the children before her outspread arms, and the Shark began to sink, still making vain efforts to pursue them.
“The shell will drag him down,” said the Princess; “and now I must go and get a fresh shield. I wish I knew where the next attack would be delivered.”
They sank slowly through the water.
“I wonder where Reuben is?” said Bernard.
“Oh, he’s quite safe,” said the Princess. “The Boy Scouts don’t go outside the walls — they just do a good turn for anybody who wants it, you know — and help the kind Soles to look after the wounded.”
They had reached the great flooded garden again and turned towards the Palace, and as they went a Sea-urchin shell suddenly rose from behind one of the clipped hedges-a Sea-urchin shell and behind it a long tail.
The shell was raised, and the face under it was Reuben’s.
“Hi, Princess!” he shouted. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We’ve been scouting. I got a lot of seaweed, and they thought I was nothing but seaweed; and so I got quite close to the enemy.”
“It was very rash,” said the Princess severely.
“The others don’t think so,” he said, a little hurt. “They began by saying I was only an irregular Sea-urchin, because I’ve got this jolly tail” — he gave it a merry wag—”and they called me Spatangus, and names like that. But they’ve made me their General now — General Echinus. I’m a regular now, and no mistake, and what I was going to say is the enemy is going to attack the North Tower in force in half an hour.”
“You good boy,” said the Princess. I do believe if it hadn’t been for his Sea-urchin’s uniform she would have kissed him. “You’re splendid. You’re a hero. If you could do it safely — there’s heaps of seaweed — could you find out if there’s any danger from the Book People? You know — the ones in the cave. It’s always been our fear that they might attack, too: and if they did — well, I’d rather be the slave of a Shark than of Mrs Fairchild.” She gathered an armful of seaweed from the nearest tree, and Reuben wrapped himself in it and drifted off — looking less like a live Boy Scout than you could believe possible.
The defenders of Merland, now acting on Reuben’s information, began to mass themselves near the North Wall.
“Now is our time,” said the Princess. “We must go along the tunnel, and when we hear the sound of their heavy feet shaking the flow of ocean we must make sallies, and fix our shell shields in their feet. Major, rally your men.”
A tall merchild in the Crustacean uniform blew a clear note, and the soldiers of the Crustacean Brigade, who having nothing particular to do had been helping anyone and everyone as best they could, which is the way in Merland, though not in Europe, gathered about their officers.
When they were all drawn up before her, the Princess addressed her troops.
“My men,” she said, “we have been suddenly plunged into war. But it has not found us unprepared. I am proud to think that my regiments are ready to the last pearl-button. And I know that every man among you will be as proud as I am that our post is, as tradition tells us it has always been, the post of danger. We shall go out into the depths of the sea to fight the enemies of our dear country, and to lay down our lives, if need be, for that country’s sake.”
The soldiers answered by cheers, and the Princess led the way to one of those little buildings, like Temples of Flora in old pictures, which the children had noticed in the gardens. At the order given a sergeant raised a great stone by a golden ring embedded in it and disclosed a dark passage leading underground.
A splendid captain of Cockles, six feet high if he was an inch, with a sergeant and six men, led the way. Three Oyster officers followed, then a company of Oysters, the advance guard. At the head of the main body following were the Princess and her Staff. As they went the Princess explained why the tunnel was so long and sloped so steeply.
“You see,” she said, “the inside of our wall is only about ten feet high, but it goes down on the other side for forty feet or more. It is built on a hill. Now, I don’t want you to feel obliged to come out and fight. You can stay inside and get the shields ready for us to take. We shall keep on rushing back for fresh weapons. Of course the tunnel’s much too narrow for the Under Folk to get in, but they h
ave their regiment of highly-trained Sea-serpents, who, of course, can make themselves thin and worm through anything.”
“Cathay doesn’t like serpents,” said Mavis anxiously.
“You needn’t be afraid,” said the Princess. “They’re dreadful cowards. They know the passage is guarded by our Lobsters. They won’t come within a mile of the entrance. But the main body of the enemy will have to pass quite close. There’s a great sea mountain, and the only way to our North Tower is in the narrow ravine between that mountain and Merland.”
The tunnel ended in a large rocky hall with the armoury, hung with ten thousand gleaming shields, on the one side, and the guard-room crowded with enthusiastic Lobsters on the other. The entrance from the sea was a short, narrow passage, in which stood two Lobsters in their beautiful dark coats of mail.
Since the moment when the blue sky that looked first so like sky and then so like painted tin had, touched, confessed itself to be a bubble — confessed, too, in the most practical way, by bursting and letting the water into Merland — the children had been carried along by the breathless rush of preparations for the invasion, and the world they were now in had rapidly increased in reality, while their own world, in which till to-day they had always lived, had been losing reality at exactly the same rate as that by which the new world gained it. So it was that when the Princess said “You needn’t go out and attack the enemy unless you like,” they all answered, in some astonishment:
“But we want to.”
“That’s all right,” said the Princess. “I only wanted to see if they were in working order.”
“If what were?”
“Your coats. They’re coats of valour, of course.”
“I think I could be brave without a coat,” said Bernard, and began to undo his pearlbuttons.
“Of course you could,” said the Princess. “In fact, you must be brave to begin with, or the coat couldn’t work. It would be no good to a coward. It just keeps your natural valour warm and your wits cool.”
