in the water."
"Feel how warm he is."
"Look at the thick red on his bill."
"See his claws."
"Hurrah!"
"Let's eat him."
"Raw?"
"No. Cook him."
"All right. Make a fire."
Thus the savages gloated over their prey. They went back up the bankand through the firs to the sward.
"Where shall we make the fire?" said Mark. "In the quarry?"
"That old stupe may come for sand."
"So he may. Let's make it here."
"Everybody would see."
"By the hedge towards the elms then."
"No. I know, in the hollow."
"Of course, nobody would come there."
"Pick up some sticks."
"Come and help me."
"I shall dress--there are brambles."
So they dressed, and then found that Mark had broken a nail, and Bevishad cut his foot with the sharp edge of a fossil shell projecting fromone of the stones. But that was nothing, they could think of nothingbut the bird. While they were gathering armsful of dead sticks fromamong the trees, they remembered that John Young, who always paunchedthe rabbits and hares and got everything ready for the kitchen, saidcoots and moorhens must be skinned, they could not be plucked because ofthe "dowl."
Dowl is the fluff, the tiny featherets no fingers can remove. So afterthey had carried the wood they had collected to the round hollow in thefield beyond the sycamore-trees, they took out their knives, and haggledthe skin off. They built their fire very skilfully; they had made somany in the Peninsula (for there is nothing so pleasant as making a fireout of doors), that they had learnt exactly how to do it. Two shortsticks were stuck in the ground and a third across to them, like atriangle. Against this frame a number of the smallest and driest stickswere leaned, so that they made a tiny hut. Outside these there was asecond layer of longer sticks; all standing, or rather leaning againstthe first.
If a stick is placed across, lying horizontally, supposing it catchesfire, it just burns through the middle and that is all, the ends go out.If it is stood nearly upright, the flame draws up it; it is certain tocatch; it burns longer and leaves a good ember. They arranged the restof their bundles ready to be thrown on when wanted, and then put somepaper, a handful of dry grass, and a quantity of the least and driesttwigs, like those used in birds'-nests, inside the little hut. Thenhaving completed the pile they remembered they had no matches.
"It's very lucky," said Bevis. "If we had we should have to throw themaway. Matches are not proper."
"Two pieces of wood," said Mark. "I know; you rub them together tillthey catch fire, and one piece must be hard and the other soft."
"Yes," said Bevis, and taking out his knife he cut off the end of one ofthe larger dead branches they had collected, and made a smooth side toit. Mark had some difficulty in finding a soft piece to rub on it, forthose which touched soft crumbled when rubbed on the hard surface Bevishad prepared.
A bit of willow seemed best, and Bevis seizing it first, rubbed it toand fro till his arm ached and his face glowed. Mark, lying on thegrass, watched to see the slight tongue of flame shoot up, but it didnot come.
Bevis stopped, tired, and putting his hand on the smooth surface foundit quite warm, so that they had no doubt they could do it in time. Marktried next, and then Bevis again, and Mark followed him; but though thewood became warm it would not burst into flame, as it ought to havedone.
Volume One, Chapter XIII.
SAVAGES CONTINUED--THE MAST FITTED.
"This is very stupid," said Bevis, throwing himself back at full lengthon the grass, and crossing his arms over his face to shield his eyesfrom the sun.
"They ought not to tell us such stupid things," said Mark. "We mightrub all day."
"I know," said Bevis, sitting up again. "It's a drill; it's done with adrill. Give me my bow--there, don't you know how Jonas made the hole inTom's gun?"
Jonas the blacksmith, a clever fellow in his way, drilled out a brokennipple in the bird-keeper's muzzle-loading gun, working the drill with abow. Bevis and Mark, always on the watch everywhere, saw him do it.
They cut a notch or hole in the hard surface of the thicker bough, andshaped another piece of wood to a dull point to fit in it. Bevis tookthis, placed it against the string of his bow, and twisted the stringround it. Then he put the point of the stick in the hole; Mark held thebough firm on the ground, but immediately he began to work the bowbackwards and forwards, rotating the drill alternate ways, he found thatthe other end against which he pressed with his chest would quickly fraya hole in his jacket. They had to stop and cut another piece of woodwith a hole to take the top of the drill, and Bevis now pressed on thiswith his left hand (finding that it did not need the weight of hischest), and worked the bow with his right.
The drill revolved swiftly, it was really very near the savages'fire-drill; but the expected flame did not come. The wood was not dryenough, or the point of friction was not accurately adjusted; the woodbecame quite hot, but did not ignite. You may have the exact machineryand yet not be able to use it, the possession of the tools does not makethe smith. There is an indefinite something in the touch of themaster's hand which is wanting.
Bevis flung down the bow without a word, heaving a deep sigh of rage.
"Flint and steel," said Mark presently.
"Hum!"
"There's a flint in the gateway," continued Mark. "I saw it just now;and you can knock it against the end of your knife--"
"You stupe; there's no tinder."
"No more there is."
"I hate it--it's horrid," said Bevis. "What's the use of trying to dothings when everything can't be done?"
He sat on his heels as he knelt, and looked round scowling. There wasthe water--no fire to be obtained from thence; there was the broadfield--no fire there; there was the sun overhead.
"Go home directly, and get a burning-glass--unscrew the telescope."
"Is it proper?" said Mark, not much liking the journey.
"It's not matches," said Bevis sententiously.
Mark knew it was of no use, he had to go, and he went, taking off hisjacket before he started, as he meant to run a good part of the way. Itwas not really far, but as his mind was at the hollow all the while thetime seemed twice as long. After he had gone Bevis soon found that thesunshine was too warm to sit in, though while they had been so busy andworking their hardest they had never noticed it. Directly the currentof occupation was interrupted the sun became unbearable. Bevis went tothe shadow of the sycamores, taking the skinned bird with him, lest awandering beast of prey--some weasel or jackal--should pounce on it.
He thought Mark was a very long time gone; he got up and walked roundthe huge trunk of the sycamore, and looked up into it to see if anyimmense boa-constrictor was coiled among its great limbs. He thoughtthey would some day build a hut up there on a platform of poles. Farout over the water he saw the Unknown Island, and remembered that whenthey sailed there in the ship there was no knowing what monsters or whatenchantments they might encounter. So he walked out from the trees intothe field to look for some moly to take with them, and resist Circe.
The bird's-foot lotus he knew was not it. There was one blue spot ofveronica still, and another tiny blue flower which he did not know,besides the white honeysuckle clover at which the grey bees were busy,and would scarce stir from under his footsteps. He found three buttonmushrooms, and put them in his pocket. Wandering on among the buttercupstalks and bunches of grass, like a butterfly drawn hither and thitherby every speck of colour, he came to a little white flower on a slenderstem a few inches high, which he gathered for moly. Putting theprecious flower--good against sorcery--in his breast-pocket for safety,he rose from his knees, and saw Mark coming by the sycamores.
Mark was hot and tired with running, yet he had snatched time enough tobring four cherries for Bevis. He had the burning-glass--a lensunscrewed from the tele
scope, and sitting on the grass they focussed thesun's rays on a piece of paper. The lens was powerful and the summersun bright, so that in a few seconds there was a tiny black speck, thenthe faintest whiff of bluish smoke, then a leap of flame, and soonanother, till the paper burned, and their fire was lit. As the littlehut blazed up they put some more boughs on, and the dead leaves attachedto them sent up a thin column of smoke.
"The savages will see that," said Mark, "and come swarming down from thehills."
"We ought to have made the fire in a hole," said Bevis, "and put turf onit."
"What ever shall we do?" said Mark. "They'll be here in a minute."
"Fetich," said Bevis. "I know, cut that stick sharp at the end, tie ahandful of grass on it--be quick--and run down towards the elms andstick it up. Then they'll think we're doing fetich, and won't come anynearer."
"First-rate," said Mark, and off he went with the stick, and thrust itinto the sward with a wisp of grass tied to the top. Bevis piled on thebranches, and when he came back there was a large fire. Then thedifficulty was how to cook the bird? If they put it on the ashes, itwould burn and be spoiled; if they hung it up, they could not make ittwist round and round, and they had no iron pot to boil it; orearthenware pot to drop red-hot stones in, and so heat the water withoutdestroying the vessel. The only thing they could do was to stick it ona stick, and hold it to the fire till it was roasted, one side at atime.
"The harpoon will do," said Bevis. "Spit him on it."
"No," said Mark; "the bone will burn and get spoiled--spit him on yourarrow."
"The nail will burn out and spoil my arrow, and I've lost one in theelms. Go and cut a long stick."
"You ought to go and do it," said Mark; "I've done everything thismorning."
"So you have; I'll go," said Bevis and away; he went to the nut-treehedge. He soon brought back a straight hazel-rod to which he cut apoint, the bird was spitted, and they held it by turns at the fire,sitting on the sward.
It was very warm in the round, bowl-like hollow, the fire at the bottomand the sun overhead, but they were too busy to heed it. Mark crept onhands and knees up the side of the hollow while Bevis was cooking, andcautiously peered over the edge to see if any savages were near. Therewere none in sight; the fetich kept them at a distance.
"We must remember to take the burning-glass with us when we go on ourvoyage," said Bevis.
"Perhaps the sun won't shine."
"No. Mind you tell me, we will take some matches, too; and if the sunshines use the glass, and if he doesn't, strike a match."
"We shall want a camp-fire when we go to war," said Mark.
"Of course we shall."
"Everybody keeps on about the war," said Mark. "They're always at me."
"I found these buttons," said Bevis; "I had forgotten them."
He put the little mushrooms, stems upwards, on some embers which hadfallen apart from the main fire. The branches as they burned becamewhite directly, coated over with a film of ash, so that except just inthe centre they did not look red, though glowing with heat under thewhite layer. Even the flames were but just visible in the brilliantsunshine, and were paler in colour than those of the hearth. Now andthen the thin column of grey smoke, rising straight up out of thehollow, was puffed aside at its summit by the light air wandering overthe field. As the butterflies came over the edge of the hollow into theheated atmosphere, they fluttered up high to escape it.
"I'm sure it's done," said Mark, drawing the stick away from the fire.The bird was brown and burnt in one place, so they determined to eat itand not spoil it by over-roasting. When Bevis began to carve it withhis pocket-knife he found one leg quite raw, the wings were burnt, butthere was a part of the breast and the other leg fairly well cooked.These they ate, little pieces at a time, slowly, and in silence, for itwas proper to like it. But they did not pick the bones clean.
"No salt," said Mark, putting down the piece he had in his hand.
"No bread," said Bevis, flinging the leg away.
"We don't do it right somehow," said Mark. "It takes such a long timeto learn to be savages."
"Years," said Bevis, picking a mushroom from the embers, it burned hisfingers and he had to wait till it was cooler. The mushrooms werebetter, their cups held some of the juice as they cooked, retaining thesweet flavour. They were so small, they were but a bite each.
"I am thirsty," said Mark. Bevis was the same, so they went downtowards the water. Mark began to run down the slope, when Bevissuddenly remembered.
"Stop," he cried; "you can't drink there."
"Why not?"
"Why of course it's the New Sea. We must go round to the Nile; it'sfresh water there."
So they ran through the firs to the Nile, and lapped from the brook. Onthe way home a little boy stepped out from the trees on the bank whereit was high, and he could look down at them.
"I say!"--he had been waiting for them--"say!"
"Well!" growled Mark.
"Bevis," said the boy. Bevis looked up, he could not demean himself toanswer such a mite. The boy looked round to see that he was sure of hisretreat through the trees to the gap in the hedge he could crawlthrough, but they would find it difficult. Besides, they would have torun up the bank, which was thick with brambles. He got his couragetogether and shouted in his shrill little voice,--
"I say, Ted says he shan't play if you don't have war soon."
Mark picked up a dead branch and hurled it at the mite; the mite dodgedit, and it broke against a tree, then he ran for his life, but they didnot follow. Bevis said nothing till they reached the blue summer-houseat home and sat down. Then he yawned.
"War is a bother," he said, putting his hands in his pockets, andleaning back in an attitude of weary despair at having to do something.If the rest would not have played, he would have egged them on withfurious energy till they did. As they were eager he did not care.
"O! well!" said Mark, nodding his head up and down as he spoke, as muchas to indicate that he did not care personally; but still, "O! well! allI know is, if you don't go to war Ted will have one all to himself, andhave a battle with somebody else. I believe he sent Charlie." Charliewas the mite.
"Did he say he would have a war all to himself?" said Bevis, sittingupright.
"I don't know," said Mark, nodding his head. "They say lots of things."
"What do they say?"
"O! heaps; perhaps you don't know how to make war, and perhaps--"
"I'll have the biggest war," said Bevis, getting up, "that was everknown, and Ted's quite stupid. Mind, he doesn't have any more cherries,that's certain. I hate him--awfully! Let's make the swords."
"All right," said Mark, jumping up, delighted that the war was going tobegin. He was as eager as the others, only he did not dare say so.Most of the afternoon they were cutting sticks for swords, and measuringthem so as to have all the same length.
Next morning the governor went with them to bathe, as he wanted to seehow they were getting on with their swimming. They had the punt, andthe governor stopped it about twenty yards from the shore, to which theyhad to swim. Bevis dived first, and with some blowing and splutteringand splashing managed to get to where he could bottom with his feet. Hecould have gone further than that, but it was a new feeling to know thathe was out of his depth, and it made him swim too fast and splash. Markhaving seen that Bevis could do it, and knowing he could swim as far asBevis could, did it much better.
The governor was satisfied and said they could now have the blue boat,but on two conditions, first, that they still kept their promise not togo out of their depth, and secondly, that they were to try and see everyday how far they could swim along the shore. He guessed they had ratherneglected their swimming; having learnt the art itself they had nottried to improve themselves. He said he should come with them once ortwice a week, and see them dive from the punt so as to get used to deepwater.
If they would practise along the shore in their depth till th
ey couldswim from the rocky point to the rails, about seventy yards, he wouldgive them each a present, and they could then go out of their depth. Hewas obliged to be careful about the depth till they could swim a goodway, because he could not be always with them, and fresh water is not sobuoyant as the sea, so that young swimmers soon tire.
The same day they carried the mast up, and fitted it in the hole in thethwart. The mast was a little too large, but that was soon remedied.The bowsprit was lashed to the ring to which the painter was fastened,and at its inner end to the seat and mast. Next the gaff was tried, anddrew up and down fairly well through the curtain-ring. But one thingthey had overlooked--the sheets, or ropes for the jib, must work throughsomething, and they had not provided any staples. Besides this, therewas the rudder to be fitted with a tiller instead of the ropes. Somehowthey did not like ropes; it did not look like a ship. This instinct wasright, for ropes are not of much use when sailing; you have no power onthe rudder as with a tiller.
After fitting the mast and bowsprit they unshipped them, and carriedthem home for safety till the sails were ready. Bevis wanted Mark to goand ask Frances to be quick, but Mark was afraid to return just yet, asFrances would now know from Jack that he had forgotten the