The Marvellous Land of Snergs

by Edward Wyke Smith

  Gorbo showed himself a man of resource in a way. He said that, after all, mushrooms were mushrooms and good breakfast food, and that they might at least have a meal, whatever else happened afterwards. This cheered up Sylvia tremendously and she helped to gather heaps of dried stalks from the floor, and Gorbo got out his flint and steel from his bundle—he rarely went anywhere without his little bundle of tools and other matters and his bow and arrows—and soon had a fire going (to those who may object that mushroom stalks do not burn I have only to say that these did). With the aid of his useful trowel he provided an appetizing series of mushroom steaks, which they all enjoyed tremendously.

  They found that the smaller ones were on the whole of a better flavour, and it was while they were searching for some tiny specimens, scarcely as high as a table, in order to cook some more, that they all got a sudden shock. They found that certain mushrooms had large semicircular pieces bitten out of them; the mouth that did it must have been a foot wide, with tremendous teeth. A very disturbing discovery you will say. They looked about them fearfully; and then they heard what sounded like heavy, shuffling footsteps, and a satisfied purring, as of a giant cat.

  Gorbo put the children behind him in a hurry and fitted an arrow to his bow (the Snergs bows are on the small size, but they can send an arrow through a two-inch board at close range). Then to their horror appeared an animal that I can only describe as resembling a blonde four-footed walrus walking on its hind legs. It was covered with sleek, ginger-coloured hair, and it had goggling eyes,. a mouth that corresponded closely with the estimate they had formed of it from the big bites, and a white drooping moustache. Strange to say, it was a marsupial—that is to say, it had a pouch—but no young ones were peeping out of the pouch as in the case of kangaroos and other marsupials. No, it seemed full of large chunks of mushroom, and the animal was walking upright because it was evidently the only way he could carry them in his pouch without tipping them out. He waddled clumsily up to one of the biggest mushrooms, sniffed at it, purred horribly with delight, bit a large section out of it, and bent his head carefully so as to place it in his pouch. And then Sylvia let out a loud scream.

  I do not blame her; perhaps I should have screamed myself if I had been there. But the effect was marvellous. The animal turned its head smartly and stared at them, its fore-paws held up as if in fear and astonishment. The big mouth drooped, giving it a weak appearance; bits of mushroom dribbled from the corners. Then, with a sound like a roaring sob, the animal turned and scuttled away on all fours, scattering sections of mushroom from its pouch as it went.

  The sounds of scuttling feet and sobs died away in the far distance and all was silent as before. Gorbo put his arrow back into his quiver.” There’s a cowardly custard for you,” he remarked, using an expression he had heard from the children. They went back. to the fire and had some more breakfast, greatly relieved to find that the denizens of this strange part, so far as they could judge from this sample, were not ferocious ones.

  Joe was apparently the bright one: he discovered that there was something like a path going more or less straight through the forest of monstrous fungi, and suggested that it would be a wise idea to follow it. They did so, walking on and on until they were weary of the sight of the thick white stalks, and a good long time afterwards. Strange, is it not, that here Nature should be so lavish of mushrooms, while in England they are so rare that hard-worked men are forced by their wives to rise from their beds before they have had their fill of sleep in order to gather a few poor specimens?

  The path came to an end at a blank face of rock. They had reached the other side of the cavern. Sylvia repeated her little poem again, and “out” was to the left, so to the left they went. This time they did not go so very far before they were rewarded by the strange sight of a stone seat, and in front of it, a stone table, both very neatly carved.

  What was it doing here? What strange forgotten race had gone to the trouble of chopping a stone seat and table out of hard rock-and not only chopping them out but carving some strange figures on them and smoothing the legs down? They all looked carefully at the carvings; so far as they could judge they were intended to represent rabbits walking upright. Why?

  “This cheers me up, ”said Gorbo.” I can’t be the biggest fool. When I consider that people have gone to the length of making this difficult table and bench and carving rabbits on it for the sole purpose—apparently—of eating mushrooms in this dismal cavern, I feel that there is hope for me.”

  “But we don’t think you’re a fool, Gorbo,”said Sylvia soothingly.

  “No, Sylvia,” replied Gorbo with a sigh.” But you haven’t seen me at my best.”

  “But there must be some way out close by here!” exclaimed Joe.” of course they’d put this table near the coming-in place, wouldn’t they?”

  “You’ve got it, Joe,” said Gorbo.” Unless the people who did it were much worse than me.”

  Joe was right; at a very little distance away they found a tunnel. It was as narrow as the tunnel they had passed through on the other side and it was just as smooth, but it had this difference, that it sloped upwards, on a gentle slope. They went up it until they were sick and tired of the monotony, and at last they had to sit down, for Sylvia was getting very tired.

  When they started off again Gorbo picked up Sylvia in his arms and carried her.” This beastly tunnel’s going on like this for about five miles,” he said, as he walked on with her. After about twenty steps he put her down again.” We get fooled every time,” he observed bitterly. They had arrived at a little flat place, like a room. Two passages branched out from it, and there was a stone bench on either side, highly finished and each with what appeared to be a pig carved on it.

  “Pigs, you see,” remarked Gorbo.” However, I suppose they couldn’t help it.”

  Again Sylvia repeated the rhyme and they took the right hand passage. It went winding about with bold curves for a long distance and then came to a sudden end, but this time, to their great joy, it ended in a small door, iron bound and rusty; like the one they had unfortunately found under the twisted trees. They raised a shout of joy, for surely their long strange journey was over—that is, the underground part of it.

  Gorbo pushed at the door, but it did not move. Then he pushed harder. Then he put his shoulder to it and shoved with all his might. And still the door remained shut hard and fast.

  “I’ll do it! “he cried.” Luckily there’s plenty of room for a run.” With that, he ran and hurled himself at the door with a mighty crash. And he might as well have flung himself against Westminster Abbey. He sat down and looked mournfully at the children and they looked mournfully back at him.

  There seemed nothing for it but to try what the left-hand passage would show them. So they went back and followed it through devious twists and turns until it ended in a small bare chamber, on the walls of which were carved what was undoubtedly meant to represent goats. There was absolutely nothing else to see.

  “Goats this time,” said Gorbo sourly.” Well, well, well! Yes, it’s clear to me that I’m not the worst.” They sat down on the floor and thought melancholy thoughts, for the adventure was beginning to have a very black look. Sylvia hugged the small dog to her, feeling very unhappy. At last Gorbo sprang up and said he was going to have another try at that door if he broke his back at it.

  He examined the door all over very carefully. In the sickly greenish light he could see huge iron hinges and plates; certainly it was a very massive type of door for its size. He bent down and put his eye to a tiny chink on one side.

  “I can see daylight,” he cried excitedly.” We’ve got to get out! Just watch me this time.”

  He took a good long run and then came against it with a terrific smash. Then he did it again. After that he did it again. It takes a good deal of bumping to hurt a Snerg, but Sylvia was frightened that he would overdo it.

&nbs
p; “Don’t, Gorbo! “she cried.” You’ll hurt yourself badly.”

  “I deserve it,” said Gorbo.” Yes, I am the worst.” He sat down and buried his face in his hands.

  “I wonder whether—”began Sylvia. Then she stopped and thought.

  “You wonder what? “asked Joe.

  “Just an idea of mine. Perhaps—yes I’ll try.”

  She got up and went to the door and grabbed hold of a piece of iron-work where it stuck out a little. Then she pulled as well as she could with her little fingers.

  The door opened inwards smoothly and sweetly, and a flood of daylight poured in.

  Gorbo looked up, and then smote his head with his clenched fist.

  “Never mind,” said Sylvia, going up to him and stroking his head tenderly.” Poor old Gorbo!

  The Other Side of the River

  The first glance that Gorbo gave as he came out into the warm sunlight showed him that they were now (as the reader will have guessed from the heading of-this piece) on the other side of the river.

  This was more serious news to him than to Sylvia or Joe. To them it meant daylight, freedom from the subterranean gloom; possibly the prelude to new adventures (it was). To him it meant trouble and danger and the fear of unknown things. The wide deep river, rushing far below between steep cliffs, had been a barrier keeping the Snergs secure from a horror-haunted land, a land of distressful legends of dragons and other fierce monsters, of Kelps and giants, and a ruthless king who tyrannized over his people. No wonder he gazed sadly at the fair green woods on the other side and wished—chiefly for the sake of the children—that he was less of a fathead.

  “It isn’t such a nice part on this side,” said Sylvia, looking about at a dull landscape, dotted here and there with patches. of coarse grass and clumps of thorny trees.” But it’s jolly to get out of that dark place.”

  “Yes, isn’t it,” agreed Joe contentedly. At his age the present time lasts quite a good bit.” I’m jolly glad we got here. Perhaps we’ll have some real adventures now.”

  “I’m thinking we will,” said Gorbo.

  They went on a little way and, coming to the top of a gentle slope, saw before them a round grey tower some half mile or so away. It was surrounded by a high outer wall and looked very lonely and dreary. Gorbo stared long and hard at it.

  “Yes,” he said at length, “that’s old Golithos’s tower. I can see him outside, doing something to the wall. I know him by his whiskers.”

  “Then,” said Joe logically, “we’d better scoot. Come along, Sylvia! “

  “No, don’t scoot, ”said Gorbo; “it’s safe enough. Golithos is quite harmless now because he’s reformed. We’d better go over and see if he can tell us how to get back. Don’t be frightened, Sylvia, I’ve heard he’s quite kind-hearted now. In fact they say he’s rather overdoing it.”

  Though they were not exactly at their ease (what child is at the thought of visiting an ogre?) they were impressed by Gorbo’s confidence, and they went on hand in hand with him towards the tower, Joe carrying the puppy.

  Golithos the Ogre

  A huge man, about seven feet high, was working with a heap of mortar and some big stones, repairing a loose part of the wall. As they drew near he turned and saw them; then he smacked his hands together to knock the mortar off and rubbed them in his hair and waited for them with a friendly but weak-looking smile. He had a great silly face and coarse hair and whiskers like bits of a cheap goatskin rug. His dress was the usual shabby dress of ogres in books. It is perhaps slightly unfair to call him an ogre, for as Gorbo had said, he was reformed. Not a child had passed his lips for years, and his diet was now cabbage, turnip-tops, cucumbers, little sour apples and thin stuff like that.

  “Aha! “he said as they came up, “you are all heartily welcome. It is long since I had any nice visitors. How are you, my little maid? And you, my little man? And you also, my dear Snerg? Let me see, have I had the pleasure of meeting you before?” He shook hands with them in a very friendly way.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Gorbo.” You see,” he added delicately, “I was quite a boy when they—I mean when you—well, when you changed your address.”

  “Exactly,” said Golithos, with a conscious blush.” Well, come inside and make yourselves at home.”

  There seemed nothing for it but to go on through his door, though all Gorbo wanted was to ask the way back across the river, not to make morning calls. When they were inside Golithos slammed the heavy door and locked it.

  “I get so nervous if I leave it open,” he explained.” But come in and I’ll have a meal ready for you. You must be tired and hungry after your long journey from wherever you have come.”

  “Look here,” said Gorbo, “we don’t want to trouble you too much. All we want to know is how to get back across the river.”

  “To get back across the river,” replied Golithos, bending down and placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder, “is easier than you think. Much easier. In fact I think I am right in saying that however easy you think it is it will prove to be easier still.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that,” said Gorbo.

  “Naturally you would be. But come inside and make yourselves at home.”

  “Thanks, but I should really like to know the way.”

  “The way? “Golithos looked a bit puzzled.

  “Yes, the way across the river of course.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. What am I thinking of? Well, it’s perfectly easy. All you have to do is to—but one thing at a time. Come inside and make yourselves at home.”

  He led the way up some steep steps to a door in the wall of the tower and into a large round room which took the whole of one story. It was big enough, but the most comfortless room possible. At one side was a great four-foot post bedstead, and in the middle was a big heavy table and one big heavy chair. And that was all the furniture, unless you count an accumulation of mixed litter—old clothes and gardening tools and pots and pans and sacks and barrels and so forth scattered on the floor. Some wooden steps led to a trap-door in the ceiling and in the stone floor was another trap-door, with a big iron ring to lift it by, which led apparently to a cellar. There was only one window, with little round panes of dull green glass.

  “This is my kitchen-dining room,” he said with a look of pride.” I sleep here too—that structure over there is my bed—so it is a bedroom as well. Please take chairs—I mean, one of you take the chair and the others sit on the floor. But whatever you do, make yourselves at home.”

  “Thanks,” said Gorbo.” But what about the way across the river? “

  “The river? “Golithos did not seem to grasp his meaning.

  “Yes, the river outside. All that wet stuff over there. We want to get back.”

  “Undoubtedly. Well, you needn’t worry about that, because it’s a very simple matter. I’ll show you how it can be done in the easiest way. But first let’s see about dinner.” He picked up a pan and a knife and rushed blunderingly down the steps.

  “I’ve heard it said that he’s getting very slow since he reformed,” said Gorbo after a minute’s thinking, “but he’s worse than I expected. Somehow or other he .makes me feel that I want to contradict him. And I’m not like that usually.”

  “But he’s going to give us something to eat,” Joe observed.

  “Yes, Joe. But I don’t think it will be very strengthening. That’s the worst of reformed people. Here he comes.”

  Golithos came in like a mighty bumble bee, bumping against things and getting his feet entangled with things on the floor and dropping vegetables about and stooping to pick them up and dropping others as he did so.” I’m going to give you the feed of your lives,” he said, chopping. up lettuce and smiling in his feeble way.” I always think there’s nothing so appetizing as fine fresh lettuce and raw onions, especially i
f they have lots of salt.”

  Dinner With Golithos

  In a minute or so he placed a large pan on the table, and then he got two empty barrels and laid a plank across them to make a seat for the children. Sylvia whispered rather anxiously to Gorbo, who had been watching their host with a discontented expression, and indicated that Tiger’s contour was losing its curves.