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The Second Jungle Book
By
Rudyard Kipling
Contents
T=
he
stream is shrunk--the pool is dry, And we be comrades, thou and I; With fevered jowl and dusty flank Each jostling each along the bank; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And by one drouthy fear made still, =
Forgoing thought of quest or kill. <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see,=
The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And the tall buck, unflinching, note=
The fangs that tore his father's thr=
oat. The pools are shrunk--the streams ar=
e dry,
And we be playmates, thou and =
I, Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--lo=
ose The rain that breaks our Water Truce=
.
The Law of the Jungle--which is by far the old=
est
law in the world--has arranged for almost every kind of accident that may
befall the Jungle People, till now its code is as perfect as time and custom
can make it. You will remember that Mowgli spent a great part of his life in
the Seeonee Wolf-Pack, learning the Law from Baloo, the Brown Bear; and it =
was
Baloo who told him, when the boy grew impatient at the constant orders, that
the Law was like the Giant Creeper, because it dropped across every one's b=
ack
and no one could escape. "When thou hast lived as long as I have, Litt=
le
Brother, thou wilt see how all the Jungle obeys at least one Law. And that =
will
be no pleasant sight," said Baloo.
This talk went in at one ear and out at the ot=
her,
for a boy who spends his life eating and sleeping does not worry about anyt=
hing
till it actually stares him in the face. But, one year, Baloo's words came
true, and Mowgli saw all the Jungle working under the Law.
It began when the winter Rains failed almost
entirely, and Ikki, the Porcupine, meeting Mowgli in a bamboo-thicket, told=
him
that the wild yams were drying up. Now everybody knows that Ikki is
ridiculously fastidious in his choice of food, and will eat nothing but the
very best and ripest. So Mowgli laughed and said, "What is that to
me?"
"Not much NOW," said Ikki, rattling =
his
quills in a stiff, uncomfortable way, "but later we shall see. Is there
any more diving into the deep rock-pool below the Bee-Rocks, Little
Brother?"
"No. The foolish water is going all away,=
and
I do not wish to break my head," said Mowgli, who, in those days, was
quite sure that he knew as much as any five of the Jungle People put togeth=
er.
"That is thy loss. A small crack might le=
t in
some wisdom." Ikki ducked quickly to prevent Mowgli from pulling his
nose-bristles, and Mowgli told Baloo what Ikki had said. Baloo looked very
grave, and mumbled half to himself: "If I were alone I would change my
hunting-grounds now, before the others began to think. And yet--hunting amo=
ng
strangers ends in fighting; and they might hurt the Man-cub. We must wait a=
nd
see how the mohwa blooms."
That spring the mohwa tree, that Baloo was so =
fond
of, never flowered. The greeny, cream-coloured, waxy blossoms were heat-kil=
led
before they were born, and only a few bad-smelling petals came down when he
stood on his hind legs and shook the tree. Then, inch by inch, the untemper=
ed heat
crept into the heart of the Jungle, turning it yellow, brown, and at last
black. The green growths in the sides of the ravines burned up to broken wi=
res
and curled films of dead stuff; the hidden pools sank down and caked over,
keeping the last least footmark on their edges as if it had been cast in ir=
on;
the juicy-stemmed creepers fell away from the trees they clung to and died =
at
their feet; the bamboos withered, clanking when the hot winds blew, and the
moss peeled off the rocks deep in the Jungle, till they were as bare and as=
hot
as the quivering blue boulders in the bed of the stream.
The birds and the monkey-people went north ear=
ly in
the year, for they knew what was coming; and the deer and the wild pig broke
far away to the perished fields of the villages, dying sometimes before the
eyes of men too weak to kill them. Chil, the Kite, stayed and grew fat, for=
there
was a great deal of carrion, and evening after evening he brought the news =
to
the beasts, too weak to force their way to fresh hunting-grounds, that the =
sun
was killing the Jungle for three days' flight in every direction.
Mowgli, who had never known what real hunger m=
eant,
fell back on stale honey, three years old, scraped out of deserted
rock-hives--honey black as a sloe, and dusty with dried sugar. He hunted, t=
oo,
for deep-boring grubs under the bark of the trees, and robbed the wasps of
their new broods. All the game in the jungle was no more than skin and bone,
and Bagheera could kill thrice in a night, and hardly get a full meal. But =
the
want of water was the worst, for though the Jungle People drink seldom they
must drink deep.
And the heat went on and on, and sucked up all=
the
moisture, till at last the main channel of the Waingunga was the only stream
that carried a trickle of water between its dead banks; and when Hathi, the
wild elephant, who lives for a hundred years and more, saw a long, lean blu=
e ridge
of rock show dry in the very centre of the stream, he knew that he was look=
ing
at the Peace Rock, and then and there he lifted up his trunk and proclaimed=
the
Water Truce, as his father before him had proclaimed it fifty years ago. The
deer, wild pig, and buffalo took up the cry hoarsely; and Chil, the Kite, f=
lew
in great circles far and wide, whistling and shrieking the warning.
By the Law of the Jungle it is death to kill at
the drinking-places when once the Water Truce has been declared. The reason=
of
this is that drinking comes before eating. Every one in the Jungle can scra=
mble
along somehow when only game is scarce; but water is water, and when there =
is but
one source of supply, all hunting stops while the Jungle People go there for
their needs. In good seasons, when water was plentiful, those who came down=
to
drink at the Waingunga--or anywhere else, for that matter--did so at the ri=
sk
of their lives, and that risk made no small part of the fascination of the
night's doings. To move down so cunningly that never a leaf stirred; to wade
knee-deep in the roaring shallows that drown all noise from behind; to drin=
k,
looking backward over one shoulder, every muscle ready for the first desper=
ate
bound of keen terror; to roll on the sandy margin, and return, wet-muzzled =
and
well plumped out, to the admiring herd, was a thing that all tall-antlered =
young
bucks took a delight in, precisely because they knew that at any moment
Bagheera or Shere Khan might leap upon them and bear them down. But now all
that life-and-death fun was ended, and the Jungle People came up, starved a=
nd
weary, to the shrunken river,--tiger, bear, deer, buffalo, and pig, all
together,--drank the fouled waters, and hung above them, too exhausted to m=
ove
off.
The deer and the pig had tramped all day in se=
arch
of something better than dried bark and withered leaves. The buffaloes had
found no wallows to be cool in, and no green crops to steal. The snakes had
left the Jungle and come down to the river in the hope of finding a stray f=
rog.
They curled round wet stones, and never offered to strike when the nose of a
rooting pig dislodged them. The river-turtles had long ago been killed by
Bagheera, cleverest of hunters, and the fish had buried themselves deep in =
the
dry mud. Only the Peace Rock lay across the shallows like a long snake, and=
the
little tired ripples hissed as they dried on its hot side.
It was here that Mowgli came nightly for the c=
ool
and the companionship. The most hungry of his enemies would hardly have car=
ed
for the boy then, His naked hide made him seem more lean and wretched than =
any
of his fellows. His hair was bleached to tow colour by the sun; his ribs st=
ood out
like the ribs of a basket, and the lumps on his knees and elbows, where he =
was
used to track on all fours, gave his shrunken limbs the look of knotted
grass-stems. But his eye, under his matted forelock, was cool and quiet, for
Bagheera was his adviser in this time of trouble, and told him to go quietl=
y,
hunt slowly, and never, on any account, to lose his temper.
"It is an evil time," said the Black
Panther, one furnace-hot evening, "but it will go if we can live till =
the
end. Is thy stomach full, Man-cub?"
"There is stuff in my stomach, but I get =
no
good of it. Think you, Bagheera, the Rains have forgotten us and will never=
come
again?"
"Not I! We shall see the mohwa in blossom
yet, and the little fawns all fat with new grass. Come down to the Peace Ro=
ck
and hear the news. On my back, Little Brother."
"This is no time to carry weight. I can s=
till
stand alone, but--indeed we be no fatted bullocks, we two."
Bagheera looked along his ragged, dusty flank =
and
whispered. "Last night I killed a bullock under the yoke. So low was I
brought that I think I should not have dared to spring if he had been loose.
WOU!"
Mowgli laughed. "Yes, we be great hunters
now," said he. "I am very bold--to eat grubs," and the two c=
ame
down together through the crackling undergrowth to the river-bank and the
lace-work of shoals that ran out from it in every direction.
"The water cannot live long," said
Baloo, joining them. "Look across. Yonder are trails like the roads of
Man."
On the level plain of the farther bank the sti=
ff
jungle-grass had died standing, and, dying, had mummied. The beaten tracks =
of
the deer and the pig, all heading toward the river, had striped that colour=
less
plain with dusty gullies driven through the ten-foot grass, and, early as i=
t was,
each long avenue was full of first-comers hastening to the water. You could
hear the does and fawns coughing in the snuff-like dust.
Up-stream, at the bend of the sluggish pool ro=
und
the Peace Rock, and Warden of the Water Truce, stood Hathi, the wild elepha=
nt,
with his sons, gaunt and gray in the moonlight, rocking to and fro--always =
rocking.
Below him a little were the vanguard of the deer; below these, again, the p=
ig
and the wild buffalo; and on the opposite bank, where the tall trees came d=
own
to the water's edge, was the place set apart for the Eaters of Flesh--the
tiger, the wolves, the panther, the bear, and the others.
"We are under one Law, indeed," said
Bagheera, wading into the water and looking across at the lines of clicking
horns and starting eyes where the deer and the pig pushed each other to and
fro. "Good hunting, all you of my blood," he added, lying own at =
full
length, one flank thrust out of the shallows; and then, between his teeth,
"But for that which is the Law it would be VERY good hunting."
The quick-spread ears of the deer caught the l=
ast
sentence, and a frightened whisper ran along the ranks. "The Truce!
Remember the Truce!"
"Peace there, peace!" gurgled Hathi,=
the
wild elephant. "The Truce holds, Bagheera. This is no time to talk of
hunting."
"Who should know better than I?"
Bagheera answered, rolling his yellow eyes up-stream. "I am an eater of
turtles--a fisher of frogs. Ngaayah! Would I could get good from chewing
branches!"
"WE wish so, very greatly," bleated a
young fawn, who had only been born that spring, and did not at all like it.
Wretched as the Jungle People were, even Hathi could not help chuckling; wh=
ile
Mowgli, lying on his elbows in the warm water, laughed aloud, and beat up t=
he
scum with his feet.
"Well spoken, little bud-horn," Bagh=
eera
purred. "When the Truce ends that shall be remembered in thy favour,&q=
uot;
and he looked keenly through the darkness to make sure of recognising the f=
awn
again.
Gradually the talking spread up and down the
drinking-places. One could hear the scuffling, snorting pig asking for more
room; the buffaloes grunting among themselves as they lurched out across the
sand-bars, and the deer telling pitiful stories of their long foot-sore
wanderings in quest of food. Now and again they asked some question of the
Eaters of Flesh across the river, but all the news was bad, and the roaring=
hot
wind of the Jungle came and went between the rocks and the rattling branche=
s,
and scattered twigs, and dust on the water.
"The men-folk, too, they die beside their
ploughs," said a young sambhur. "I passed three between sunset and
night. They lay still, and their Bullocks with them. We also shall lie stil=
l in
a little."
"The river has fallen since last night,&q=
uot;
said Baloo. "O Hathi, hast thou ever seen the like of this drought?&qu=
ot;
"It will pass, it will pass," said
Hathi, squirting water along his back and sides.
"We have one here that cannot endure
long," said Baloo; and he looked toward the boy he loved.
"I?" said Mowgli indignantly, sittin=
g up
in the water. "I have no long fur to cover my bones, but--but if THY h=
ide
were taken off, Baloo----"
Hathi shook all over at the idea, and Baloo sa=
id
severely:
"Man-cub, that is not seemly to tell a
Teacher of the Law. Never have I been seen without my hide."
"Nay, I meant no harm, Baloo; but only th=
at
thou art, as it were, like the cocoanut in the husk, and I am the same coco=
anut
all naked. Now that brown husk of thine----" Mowgli was sitting
cross-legged, and explaining things with his forefinger in his usual way, w=
hen
Bagheera put out a paddy paw and pulled him over backward into the water.
"Worse and worse," said the Black
Panther, as the boy rose spluttering. "First Baloo is to be skinned, a=
nd
now he is a cocoanut. Be careful that he does not do what the ripe cocoanuts
do."
"And what is that?" said Mowgli, off=
his
guard for the minute, though that is one of the oldest catches in the Jungl=
e.
"Break thy head," said Bagheera quie=
tly,
pulling him under again.
"It is not good to make a jest of thy
teacher," said the bear, when Mowgli had been ducked for the third tim=
e.
"Not good! What would ye have? That naked
thing running to and fro makes a monkey-jest of those who have once been go=
od
hunters, and pulls the best of us by the whiskers for sport." This was
Shere Khan, the Lame Tiger, limping down to the water. He waited a little to
enjoy the sensation he made among the deer on the opposite to lap, growling:
"The jungle has become a whelping-ground for naked cubs now. Look at m=
e, Man-cub!"
Mowgli looked--stared, rather--as insolently a=
s he
knew how, and in a minute Shere Khan turned away uneasily. "Man-cub th=
is,
and Man-cub that," he rumbled, going on with his drink, "the cub =
is
neither man nor cub, or he would have been afraid. Next season I shall have=
to
beg his leave for a drink. Augrh!"
"That may come, too," said Bagheera,
looking him steadily between the eyes. "That may come, too--Faugh, She=
re
Khan!--what new shame hast thou brought here?"
The Lame Tiger had dipped his chin and jowl in=
the
water, and dark, oily streaks were floating from it down-stream.
"Man!" said Shere Khan coolly, "=
;I
killed an hour since." He went on purring and growling to himself.
The line of beasts shook and wavered to and fr=
o,
and a whisper went up that grew to a cry. "Man! Man! He has killed
Man!" Then all looked towards Hathi, the wild elephant, but he seemed =
not
to hear. Hathi never does anything till the time comes, and that is one of =
the
reasons why he lives so long.
"At such a season as this to kill Man! Wa=
s no
other game afoot?" said Bagheera scornfully, drawing himself out of the
tainted water, and shaking each paw, cat-fashion, as he did so.
"I killed for choice--not for food."=
The
horrified whisper began again, and Hathi's watchful little white eye cocked
itself in Shere Khan's direction. "For choice," Shere Khan drawle=
d.
"Now come I to drink and make me clean again. Is there any to
forbid?"
Bagheera's back began to curve like a bamboo i=
n a
high wind, but Hathi lifted up his trunk and spoke quietly.
"Thy kill was from choice?" he asked;
and when Hathi asks a question it is best to answer.
"Even so. It was my right and my Night. T=
hou
knowest, O Hathi." Shere Khan spoke almost courteously.
"Yes, I know," Hathi answered; and,
after a little silence, "Hast thou drunk thy fill?"
"For to-night, yes."
"Go, then. The river is to drink, and not=
to
defile. None but the Lame Tiger would so have boasted of his right at this
season when--when we suffer together--Man and Jungle People alike. Clean or
unclean, get to thy lair, Shere Khan!"
The last words rang out like silver trumpets, =
and
Hathi's three sons rolled forward half a pace, though there was no need. Sh=
ere
Khan slunk away, not daring to growl, for he knew--what every one else
knows--that when the last comes to the last, Hathi is the Master of the Jun=
gle.
"What is this right Shere Khan speaks
of?" Mowgli whispered in Bagheera's ear. "To kill Man is always,
shameful. The Law says so. And yet Hathi says----"
"Ask him. I do not know, Little Brother.
Right or no right, if Hathi had not spoken I would have taught that lame
butcher his lesson. To come to the Peace Rock fresh from a kill of Man--and=
to
boast of it--is a jackal's trick. Besides, he tainted the good water."=
Mowgli waited for a minute to pick up his cour=
age,
because no one cared to address Hathi directly, and then he cried: "Wh=
at
is Shere Khan's right, O Hathi?" Both banks echoed his words, for all =
the
People of the Jungle are intensely curious, and they had just seen something
that none except Baloo, who looked very thoughtful, seemed to understand.
"It is an old tale," said Hathi; &qu=
ot;a
tale older than the Jungle. Keep silence along the banks and I will tell th=
at
tale."
There was a minute or two of pushing a shoulde=
ring
among the pigs and the buffalo, and then the leaders of the herds grunted, =
one
after another, "We wait," and Hathi strode forward, till he was
nearly knee-deep in the pool by the Peace Rock. Lean and wrinkled and yello=
w-tusked
though he was, he looked what the Jungle knew him to be--their master.
"Ye know, children," he began,
"that of all things ye most fear Man;" and there was a mutter of
agreement.
"This tale touches thee, Little
Brother," said Bagheera to Mowgli.
"I? I am of the Pack--a hunter of the Free
People," Mowgli answered. "What have I to do with Man?"
"And ye do not know why ye fear Man?"
Hathi went on. "This is the reason. In the beginning of the Jungle, and
none know when that was, we of the Jungle walked together, having no fear of
one another. In those days there was no drought, and leaves and flowers and
fruit grew on the same tree, and we ate nothing at all except leaves and
flowers and grass and fruit and bark."
"I am glad I was not born in those days," said Bagheera. "Bark is only good to sharpen claws."<= o:p>
"And the Lord of the Jungle was Tha, the
First of the Elephants. He drew the Jungle out of deep waters with his trun=
k;
and where he made furrows in the ground with his tusks, there the rivers ra=
n;
and where he struck with his foot, there rose ponds of good water; and when=
he
blew through his trunk,--thus,--the trees fell. That was the manner in which
the Jungle was made by Tha; and so the tale was told to me."
"It has not lost fat in the telling,"
Bagheera whispered, and Mowgli laughed behind his hand.
"In those days there was no corn or melon=
s or
pepper or sugar-cane, nor were there any little huts such as ye have all se=
en;
and the Jungle People knew nothing of Man, but lived in the Jungle together,
making one people. But presently they began to dispute over their food, tho=
ugh there
was grazing enough for all. They were lazy. Each wished to eat where he lay=
, as
sometimes we can do now when the spring rains are good. Tha, the First of t=
he
Elephants, was busy making new jungles and leading the rivers in their beds=
. He
could not walk in all places; therefore he made the First of the Tigers the
master and the judge of the Jungle, to whom the Jungle People should bring
their disputes. In those days the First of the Tigers ate fruit and grass w=
ith
the others. He was as large as I am, and he was very beautiful, in colour a=
ll
over like the blossom of the yellow creeper. There was never stripe nor bar
upon his hide in those good days when this the Jungle was new. All the Jung=
le
People came before him without fear, and his word was the Law of all the
Jungle. We were then, remember ye, one people.
"Yet upon a night there was a dispute bet=
ween
two bucks--a grazing-quarrel such as ye now settle with the horns and the f=
ore-feet--and
it is said that as the two spoke together before the First of the First of =
the
Tigers lying among the flowers, a buck pushed him with his horns, and the F=
irst
of the Tigers forgot that he was the master and judge of the Jungle, and,
leaping upon that buck, broke his neck.
"Till that night never one of us had died,
and the First of the Tigers, seeing what he had done, and being made foolis=
h by
the scent of the blood, ran away into the marshes of the North, and we of t=
he
Jungle, left without a judge, fell to fighting among ourselves; and Tha hea=
rd the
noise of it and came back. Then some of us said this and some of us said th=
at,
but he saw the dead buck among the flowers, and asked who had killed, and w=
e of
the Jungle would not tell because the smell of the blood made us foolish. We
ran to and fro in circles, capering and crying out and shaking our heads. T=
hen
Tha gave an order to the trees that hang low, and to the trailing creepers =
of
the Jungle, that they should mark the killer of the buck so that he should =
know
him again, and he said, 'Who will now be master of the Jungle People?' Then=
up
leaped the Gray Ape who lives in the branches, and said, 'I will now be mas=
ter
of the Jungle.'"
At this Tha laughed, and said, "So be
it," and went away very angry.
"Children, ye know the Gray Ape. He was t=
hen
as he is now. At the first he made a wise face for himself, but in a little
while he began to scratch and to leap up and down, and when Tha came back he
found the Gray Ape hanging, head down, from a bough, mocking those who stoo=
d below;
and they mocked him again. And so there was no Law in the Jungle--only fool=
ish
talk and senseless words.
"Then Tha called us all together and said:
'The first of your masters has brought Death into the Jungle, and the second
Shame. Now it is time there was a Law, and a Law that ye must not break. No=
w ye
shall know Fear, and when ye have found him ye shall know that he is your
master, and the rest shall follow.' Then we of the jungle said, 'What is Fe=
ar?'
And Tha said, 'Seek till ye find.' So we went up and down the Jungle seeking
for Fear, and presently the buffaloes----"
"Ugh!" said Mysa, the leader of the
buffaloes, from their sand-bank.
"Yes, Mysa, it was the buffaloes. They ca=
me
back with the news that in a cave in the Jungle sat Fear, and that he had no
hair, and went upon his hind legs. Then we of the Jungle followed the herd =
till
we came to that cave, and Fear stood at the mouth of it, and he was, as the
buffaloes had said, hairless, and he walked upon his hinder legs. When he s=
aw
us he cried out, and his voice filled us with the fear that we have now of =
that
voice when we hear it, and we ran away, tramping upon and tearing each other
because we were afraid. That night, so it was told to me, we of the Jungle =
did
not lie down together as used to be our custom, but each tribe drew off by
itself--the pig with the pig, the deer with the deer; horn to horn, hoof to
hoof,--like keeping to like, and so lay shaking in the Jungle.
"Only the First of the Tigers was not with
us, for he was still hidden in the marshes of the North, and when word was
brought to him of the Thing we had seen in the cave, he said. 'I will go to
this Thing and break his neck.' So he ran all the night till he came to the
cave; but the trees and the creepers on his path, remembering the order that
Tha had given, let down their branches and marked him as he ran, drawing th=
eir
fingers across his back, his flank, his forehead, and his jowl. Wherever th=
ey
touched him there was a mark and a stripe upon his yellow hide. AND THOSE
STRIPES DO THIS CHILDREN WEAR TO THIS DAY! When he came to the cave, Fear, =
the
Hairless One, put out his hand and called him 'The Striped One that comes by
night,' and the First of the Tigers was afraid of the Hairless One, and ran
back to the swamps howling."
Mowgli chuckled quietly here, his chin in the
water.
"So loud did he howl that Tha heard him a=
nd
said, 'What is the sorrow?' And the First of the Tigers, lifting up his muz=
zle
to the new-made sky, which is now so old, said: 'Give me back my power, O T=
ha.
I am made ashamed before all the Jungle, and I have run away from a Hairless
One, and he has called me a shameful name.' 'And why?' said Tha. 'Because I=
am
smeared with the mud of the marshes,' said the First of the Tigers. 'Swim,
then, and roll on the wet grass, and if it be mud it will wash away,' said =
Tha;
and the First of the Tigers swam, and rolled and rolled upon the grass, till
the Jungle ran round and round before his eyes, but not one little bar upon=
all
his hide was changed, and Tha, watching him, laughed. Then the First of the
Tigers said: 'What have I done that this comes to me?' Tha said, 'Thou hast
killed the buck, and thou hast let Death loose in the Jungle, and with Death
has come Fear, so that the people of the Jungle are afraid one of the other=
, as
thou art afraid of the Hairless One.' The First of the Tigers said, 'They w=
ill
never fear me, for I knew them since the beginning.' Tha said, 'Go and see.'
And the First of the Tigers ran to and fro, calling aloud to the deer and t=
he
pig and the sambhur and the porcupine and all the Jungle Peoples, and they =
all
ran away from him who had been their judge, because they were afraid.
"Then the First of the Tigers came back, =
and
his pride was broken in him, and, beating his head upon the ground, he tore=
up
the earth with all his feet and said: 'Remember that I was once the Master =
of
the Jungle. Do not forget me, O Tha! Let my children remember that I was on=
ce
without shame or fear!' And Tha said: 'This much I will do, because thou an=
d I
together saw the Jungle made. For one night in each year it shall be as it =
was
before the buck was killed--for thee and for thy children. In that one nigh=
t,
if ye meet the Hairless One--and his name is Man--ye shall not be afraid of
him, but he shall be afraid of you, as though ye were judges of the Jungle =
and
masters of all things. Show him mercy in that night of his fear, for thou h=
ast
known what Fear is.'
"Then the First of the Tigers answered, '=
I am
content'; but when next he drank he saw the black stripes upon his flank and
his side, and he remembered the name that the Hairless One had given him, a=
nd
he was angry. For a year he lived in the marshes waiting till Tha should ke=
ep his
promise. And upon a night when the jackal of the Moon [the Evening Star] st=
ood
clear of the Jungle, he felt that his Night was upon him, and he went to th=
at
cave to meet the Hairless One. Then it happened as Tha promised, for the
Hairless One fell down before him and lay along the ground, and the First of
the Tigers struck him and broke his back, for he thought that there was but=
one
such Thing in the Jungle, and that he had killed Fear. Then, nosing above t=
he
kill, he heard Tha coming down from the woods of the North, and presently t=
he
voice of the First of the Elephants, which is the voice that we hear
now----"
The thunder was rolling up and down the dry,
scarred hills, but it brought no rain--only heat--lightning that flickered
along the ridges--and Hathi went on: "THAT was the voice he heard, and=
it
said: 'Is this thy mercy?' The First of the Tigers licked his lips and said=
: 'What
matter? I have killed Fear.' And Tha said: 'O blind and foolish! Thou hast
untied the feet of Death, and he will follow thy trail till thou diest. Tho=
u hast
taught Man to kill!'
"The First of the Tigers, standing stiffl=
y to
his kill, said. 'He is as the buck was. There is no Fear. Now I will judge =
the
Jungle Peoples once more.'
"And Tha said: 'Never again shall the Jun=
gle
Peoples come to thee. They shall never cross thy trail, nor sleep near thee,
nor follow after thee, nor browse by thy lair. Only Fear shall follow thee,=
and
with a blow that thou canst not see he shall bid thee wait his pleasure. He
shall make the ground to open under thy feet, and the creeper to twist abou=
t thy
neck, and the tree-trunks to grow together about thee higher than thou canst
leap, and at the last he shall take thy hide to wrap his cubs when they are
cold. Thou hast shown him no mercy, and none will he show thee.'
"The First of the Tigers was very bold, f=
or
his Night was still on him, and he said: 'The Promise of Tha is the Promise=
of
Tha. He will not take away my Night?' And Tha said: 'The one Night is thine=
, as
I have said, but there is a price to pay. Thou hast taught Man to kill, and=
he
is no slow learner.'
"The First of the Tigers said: 'He is here
under my foot, and his back is broken. Let the Jungle know I have killed Fe=
ar.'
"Then Tha laughed, and said: 'Thou hast
killed one of many, but thou thyself shalt tell the Jungle--for thy Night is
ended.'
"So the day came; and from the mouth of t=
he
cave went out another Hairless One, and he saw the kill in the path, and the
First of the Tigers above it, and he took a pointed stick----"
"They throw a thing that cuts now," =
said
Ikki, rustling down the bank; for Ikki was considered uncommonly good eatin=
g by
the Gonds--they called him Ho-Igoo--and he knew something of the wicked lit=
tle
Gondee axe that whirls across a clearing like a dragon-fly.
"It was a pointed stick, such as they put=
in
the foot of a pit-trap," said Hathi, "and throwing it, he struck =
the
First of the Tigers deep in the flank. Thus it happened as Tha said, for the
First of the Tigers ran howling up and down the Jungle till he tore out the
stick, and all the Jungle knew that the Hairless One could strike from far =
off,
and they feared more than before. So it came about that the First of the Ti=
gers
taught the Hairless One to kill--and ye know what harm that has since done =
to
all our peoples--through the noose, and the pitfall, and the hidden trap, a=
nd
the flying stick and the stinging fly that comes out of white smoke [Hathi
meant the rifle], and the Red Flower that drives us into the open. Yet for =
one
night in the year the Hairless One fears the Tiger, as Tha promised, and ne=
ver
has the Tiger given him cause to be less afraid. Where he finds him, there =
he
kills him, remembering how the First of the Tigers was made ashamed. For the
rest, Fear walks up and down the Jungle by day and by night."
"Ahi! Aoo!" said the deer, thinking =
of
what it all meant to them.
"And only when there is one great Fear ov=
er
all, as there is now, can we of the Jungle lay aside our little fears, and =
meet
together in one place as we do now."
"For one night only does Man fear the
Tiger?" said Mowgli.
"For one night only," said Hathi.
"But I--but we--but all the Jungle knows =
that
Shere Khan kills Man twice and thrice in a moon."
"Even so. THEN he springs from behind and
turns his head aside as he strikes, for he is full of fear. If Man looked at
him he would run. But on his one Night he goes openly down to the village. =
He
walks between the houses and thrusts his head into the doorway, and the men
fall on their faces, and there he does his kill. One kill in that Night.&qu=
ot;
"Oh!" said Mowgli to himself, rolling
over in the water. "NOW I see why it was Shere Khan bade me look at hi=
m!
He got no good of it, for he could not hold his eyes steady, and--and I
certainly did not fall down at his feet. But then I am not a man, being of =
the
Free People."
"Umm!" said Bagheera deep in his fur=
ry
throat. "Does the Tiger know his Night?"
"Never till the Jackal of the Moon stands
clear of the evening mist. Sometimes it falls in the dry summer and sometim=
es
in the wet rains--this one Night of the Tiger. But for the First of the Tig=
ers,
this would never have been, nor would any of us have known fear."
The deer grunted sorrowfully and Bagheera's li=
ps
curled in a wicked smile. "Do men know this--tale?" said he.
"None know it except the tigers, and we, =
the
elephants--the children of Tha. Now ye by the pools have heard it, and I ha=
ve
spoken."
Hathi dipped his trunk into the water as a sign
that he did not wish to talk.
"But--but--but," said Mowgli, turnin=
g to
Baloo, "why did not the First of the Tigers continue to eat grass and
leaves and trees? He did but break the buck's neck. He did not EAT. What led
him to the hot meat?"
"The trees and the creepers marked him,
Little Brother, and made him the striped thing that we see. Never again wou=
ld
he eat their fruit; but from that day he revenged himself upon the deer, and
the others, the Eaters of Grass," said Baloo.
"Then THOU knowest the tale. Heh? Why hav=
e I
never heard?"
"Because the Jungle is full of such tales=
. If
I made a beginning there would never be an end to them. Let go my ear, Litt=
le
Brother."
Just to give you an idea of the immense variet=
y of
the Jungle Law, I have translated into verse (Baloo always recited them in a
sort of sing-song) a few of the laws that apply to the wolves. There are, o=
f course,
hundreds and hundreds more, but these will do for specimens of the simpler
rulings.
N=
ow
this is the Law of the Jungle--as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may
prosper, but the Wolf that =
shall
break it must die.
A=
s the
creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back-- For the strength of the Pack is the =
Wolf,
and the strength of the Wol=
f is
the Pack.
W=
ash
daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep; And remember the night is for huntin=
g, and
forget not the day is for s=
leep.
T= he jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown, Remember the Wolf is a hunter--go fo= rth and get food of thine own.<= o:p>
K=
eep
peace with the Lords of the Jungle--the Tiger, the Panther, the Bear; And trouble not Hathi the Silent, an=
d mock
not the Boar in his lair.
W=
hen
Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail, Lie down till the leaders have spoke=
n--it
may be fair words shall pre=
vail.
W=
hen ye
fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar, Lest others take part in the quarrel=
, and
the Pack be diminished by w=
ar.
T=
he
Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home, Not even the Head Wolf may enter, no=
t even
the Council may come.
T=
he
Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain, The Council shall send him a message=
, and
so he shall change it again=
.
I=
f ye
kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay, Lest ye frighten the deer from the c=
rops,
and the brothers go empty a=
way.
Y=
e may
kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can; But kill not for pleasure of killing=
, and
SEVEN TIMES NEVER KILL MAN.=
I=
f ye
plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride; Pack-Right is the right of the meane=
st; so
leave him the head and the =
hide.
T=
he
Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies; And no one may carry away of that me=
at to
his lair, or he dies.
T=
he
Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will, But, till he has given permission, t=
he
Pack may not eat of that Ki=
ll.
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim Full-gorge when the killer has eaten=
; and
none may refuse him the sam=
e.
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim One haunch of each kill for her litt=
er,
and none may deny her the s=
ame.
Cave-Right is the right of the Father--to hunt by himself for his own. He is freed of all calls to the Pack=
; he
is judged by the Council al=
one.
B=
ecause
of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw, In all that the Law leaveth open, th=
e word
of the Head Wolf is Law.
N=
ow
these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they; But the head and the hoof of the Law=
and
the haunch and the hump is-=
-Obey!
THE M=
IRACLE
OF PURUN BHAGAT
T= he night we felt the earth would move We stole and plucked him by the ha= nd, Because we loved him with the love <= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> That knows but cannot understand.<= o:p>
A=
nd
when the roaring hillside broke, And all our world fell down in rai=
n, We saved him, we the Little Folk; But lo! he does not come again!
M=
ourn
now, we saved him for the sake Of
such poor love as wild ones may. =
Mourn ye! Our brother will not wake, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And his own kind drive us away!
Dirge of the
Langurs.
There=
was
once a man in India who was Prime Minister of one of the semi-independent
native States in the north-western part of the country. He was a Brahmin, so
high-caste that caste ceased to have any particular meaning for him; and his
father had been an important official in the gay-coloured tag-rag and bobta=
il
of an old-fashioned Hindu Court. But as Purun Dass grew up he felt that the=
old
order of things was changing, and that if any one wished to get on in the w=
orld
he must stand well with the English, and imitate all that the English belie=
ved
to be good. At the same time a native official must keep his own master's
favour. This was a difficult game, but the quiet, close-mouthed young Brahm=
in, helped
by a good English education at a Bombay University, played it coolly, and r=
ose,
step by step, to be Prime Minister of the kingdom. That is to say, he held =
more
real power than his master the Maharajah.
When the old king--who was suspicious of the
English, their railways and telegraphs--died, Purun Dass stood high with his
young successor, who had been tutored by an Englishman; and between them,
though he always took care that his master should have the credit, they
established schools for little girls, made roads, and started State
dispensaries and shows of agricultural implements, and published a yearly
blue-book on the "Moral and Material Progress of the State," and =
the
Foreign Office and the Government of India were delighted. Very few native
States take up English progress altogether, for they will not believe, as P=
urun
Dass showed he did, that what was good for the Englishman must be twice as =
good
for the Asiatic. The Prime Minister became the honoured friend of Viceroys,=
and
Governors, and Lieutenant-Governors, and medical missionaries, and common
missionaries, and hard-riding English officers who came to shoot in the Sta=
te
preserves, as well as of whole hosts of tourists who travelled up and down
India in the cold weather, showing how things ought to be managed. In his s=
pare
time he would endow scholarships for the study of medicine and manufactures=
on
strictly English lines, and write letters to the "Pioneer", the
greatest Indian daily paper, explaining his master's aims and objects.
At last he went to England on a visit, and had=
to
pay enormous sums to the priests when he came back; for even so high-caste a
Brahmin as Purun Dass lost caste by crossing the black sea. In London he met
and talked with every one worth knowing--men whose names go all over the
world--and saw a great deal more than he said. He was given honorary degree=
s by
learned universities, and he made speeches and talked of Hindu social refor=
m to
English ladies in evening dress, till all London cried, "This is the m=
ost
fascinating man we have ever met at dinner since cloths were first laid.&qu=
ot;
When he returned to India there was a blaze of
glory, for the Viceroy himself made a special visit to confer upon the Maha=
rajah
the Grand Cross of the Star of India--all diamonds and ribbons and enamel; =
and
at the same ceremony, while the cannon boomed, Purun Dass was made a Knight=
Commander
of the Order of the Indian Empire; so that his name stood Sir Purun Dass,
K.C.I.E.
That evening, at dinner in the big Viceregal t=
ent,
he stood up with the badge and the collar of the Order on his breast, and
replying to the toast of his master's health, made a speech few Englishmen
could have bettered.
Next month, when the city had returned to its sun-baked quiet, he did a thing no Englishman would have dreamed of doing; = for, so far as the world's affairs went, he died. The jewelled order of his knighthood went back to the Indian Government, and a new Prime Minister was appointed to the charge of affairs, and a great game of General Post began = in all the subordinate appointments. The priests knew what had happened, and t= he people guessed; but India is the one place in the world where a man can do as he pleases and nobody asks why; and the fact that Dewan Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.= E., had resigned position, palace, and power, and taken up the begging-bowl and ochre-coloured dress of a Sunnyasi, or holy man, was considered nothing extraordinary. He had been, as the Old Law recommends, twenty years a youth, twenty years a fighter,--though he had never carried a weapon in his life,-= -and twenty years head of a household. He had used his wealth and his power for = what he knew both to be worth; he had taken honour when it came his way; he had = seen men and cities far and near, and men and cities had stood up and honoured h= im. Now he would let those things go, as a man drops the cloak he no longer needs.<= o:p>
Behind him, as he walked through the city gate=
s,
an antelope skin and brass-handled crutch under his arm, and a begging-bowl=
of
polished brown coco-de-mer in his hand, barefoot, alone, with eyes cast on =
the ground--behind
him they were firing salutes from the bastions in honour of his happy
successor. Purun Dass nodded. All that life was ended; and he bore it no mo=
re
ill-will or good-will than a man bears to a colourless dream of the night. =
He
was a Sunnyasi--a houseless, wandering mendicant, depending on his neighbou=
rs
for his daily bread; and so long as there is a morsel to divide in India,
neither priest nor beggar starves. He had never in his life tasted meat, and
very seldom eaten even fish. A five-pound note would have covered his perso=
nal
expenses for food through any one of the many years in which he had been
absolute master of millions of money. Even when he was being lionised in Lo=
ndon
he had held before him his dream of peace and quiet--the long, white, dusty
Indian road, printed all over with bare feet, the incessant, slow-moving
traffic, and the sharp-smelling wood smoke curling up under the fig-trees in
the twilight, where the wayfarers sit at their evening meal.
When the time came to make that dream true the
Prime Minister took the proper steps, and in three days you might more easi=
ly
have found a bubble in the trough of the long Atlantic seas, than Purun Dass
among the roving, gathering, separating millions of India.
At night his antelope skin was spread where the
darkness overtook him--sometimes in a Sunnyasi monastery by the roadside;
sometimes by a mud-pillar shrine of Kala Pir, where the Jogis, who are anot=
her
misty division of holy men, would receive him as they do those who know wha=
t castes
and divisions are worth; sometimes on the outskirts of a little Hindu villa=
ge,
where the children would steal up with the food their parents had prepared;=
and
sometimes on the pitch of the bare grazing-grounds, where the flame of his
stick fire waked the drowsy camels. It was all one to Purun Dass--or Purun
Bhagat, as he called himself now. Earth, people, and food were all one. But
unconsciously his feet drew him away northward and eastward; from the south=
to Rohtak;
from Rohtak to Kurnool; from Kurnool to ruined Samanah, and then up-stream
along the dried bed of the Gugger river that fills only when the rain falls=
in
the hills, till one day he saw the far line of the great Himalayas.
Then Purun Bhagat smiled, for he remembered th=
at
his mother was of Rajput Brahmin birth, from Kulu way--a Hill-woman, always
home-sick for the snows--and that the least touch of Hill blood draws a man=
in
the end back to where he belongs.
"Yonder," said Purun Bhagat, breasti=
ng
the lower slopes of the Sewaliks, where the cacti stand up like seven-branc=
hed
candlesticks-"yonder I shall sit down and get knowledge"; and the
cool wind of the Himalayas whistled about his ears as he trod the road that=
led
to Simla.
The last time he had come that way it had been=
in
state, with a clattering cavalry escort, to visit the gentlest and most aff=
able
of Viceroys; and the two had talked for an hour together about mutual frien=
ds
in London, and what the Indian common folk really thought of things. This t=
ime
Purun Bhagat paid no calls, but leaned on the rail of the Mall, watching th=
at
glorious view of the Plains spread out forty miles below, till a native
Mohammedan policeman told him he was obstructing traffic; and Purun Bhagat
salaamed reverently to the Law, because he knew the value of it, and was
seeking for a Law of his own. Then he moved on, and slept that night in an
empty hut at Chota Simla, which looks like the very last end of the earth, =
but
it was only the beginning of his journey. He followed the Himalaya-Thibet r=
oad,
the little ten-foot track that is blasted out of solid rock, or strutted ou=
t on
timbers over gulfs a thousand feet deep; that dips into warm, wet, shut-in
valleys, and climbs out across bare, grassy hill-shoulders where the sun
strikes like a burning-glass; or turns through dripping, dark forests where=
the
tree-ferns dress the trunks from head to heel, and the pheasant calls to his
mate. And he met Thibetan herdsmen with their dogs and flocks of sheep, each
sheep with a little bag of borax on his back, and wandering wood-cutters, a=
nd
cloaked and blanketed Lamas from Thibet, coming into India on pilgrimage, a=
nd
envoys of little solitary Hill-states, posting furiously on ring-streaked a=
nd
piebald ponies, or the cavalcade of a Rajah paying a visit; or else for a l=
ong,
clear day he would see nothing more than a black bear grunting and rooting
below in the valley. When he first started, the roar of the world he had le=
ft still
rang in his ears, as the roar of a tunnel rings long after the train has pa=
ssed
through; but when he had put the Mutteeanee Pass behind him that was all do=
ne,
and Purun Bhagat was alone with himself, walking, wondering, and thinking, =
his
eyes on the ground, and his thoughts with the clouds.
One evening he crossed the highest pass he had=
met
till then--it had been a two-day's climb--and came out on a line of snow-pe=
aks
that banded all the horizon--mountains from fifteen to twenty thousand feet
high, looking almost near enough to hit with a stone, though they were fift=
y or
sixty miles away. The pass was crowned with dense, dark forest--deodar, wal=
nut,
wild cherry, wild olive, and wild pear, but mostly deodar, which is the
Himalayan cedar; and under the shadow of the deodars stood a deserted shrin=
e to
Kali--who is Durga, who is Sitala, who is sometimes worshipped against the
smallpox.
Purun Dass swept the stone floor clean, smiled=
at
the grinning statue, made himself a little mud fireplace at the back of the=
shrine,
spread his antelope skin on a bed of fresh pine-needles, tucked his bairagi=
--his
brass-handled crutch--under his armpit, and sat down to rest.
Immediately below him the hillside fell away,
clean and cleared for fifteen hundred feet, where a little village of
stone-walled houses, with roofs of beaten earth, clung to the steep tilt. A=
ll
round it the tiny terraced fields lay out like aprons of patchwork on the k=
nees
of the mountain, and cows no bigger than beetles grazed between the smooth =
stone
circles of the threshing-floors. Looking across the valley, the eye was
deceived by the size of things, and could not at first realise that what se=
emed
to be low scrub, on the opposite mountain-flank, was in truth a forest of
hundred-foot pines. Purun Bhagat saw an eagle swoop across the gigantic hol=
low,
but the great bird dwindled to a dot ere it was half-way over. A few bands =
of
scattered clouds strung up and down the valley, catching on a shoulder of t=
he
hills, or rising up and dying out when they were level with the head of the
pass. And "Here shall I find peace," said Purun Bhagat.
Now, a Hill-man makes nothing of a few hundred
feet up or down, and as soon as the villagers saw the smoke in the deserted
shrine, the village priest climbed up the terraced hillside to welcome the
stranger.
When he met Purun Bhagat's eyes--the eyes of a=
man
used to control thousands--he bowed to the earth, took the begging-bowl wit=
hout
a word, and returned to the village, saying, "We have at last a holy m=
an. Never
have I seen such a man. He is of the Plains--but pale-coloured--a Brahmin of
the Brahmins." Then all the housewives of the village said, "Think
you he will stay with us?" and each did her best to cook the most savo=
ury
meal for the Bhagat. Hill-food is very simple, but with buckwheat and Indian
corn, and rice and red pepper, and little fish out of the stream in the val=
ley,
and honey from the flue-like hives built in the stone walls, and dried
apricots, and turmeric, and wild ginger, and bannocks of flour, a devout wo=
man
can make good things, and it was a full bowl that the priest carried to the
Bhagat. Was he going to stay? asked the priest. Would he need a chela--a
disciple--to beg for him? Had he a blanket against the cold weather? Was the
food good?
Purun Bhagat ate, and thanked the giver. It wa=
s in
his mind to stay. That was sufficient, said the priest. Let the begging-bow=
l be
placed outside the shrine, in the hollow made by those two twisted roots, a=
nd daily
should the Bhagat be fed; for the village felt honoured that such a man--he
looked timidly into the Bhagat's face--should tarry among them.
That day saw the end of Purun Bhagat's wanderi=
ngs.
He had come to the place appointed for him--the silence and the space. After
this, time stopped, and he, sitting at the mouth of the shrine, could not t=
ell whether
he were alive or dead; a man with control of his limbs, or a part of the hi=
lls,
and the clouds, and the shifting rain and sunlight. He would repeat a Name
softly to himself a hundred hundred times, till, at each repetition, he see=
med
to move more and more out of his body, sweeping up to the doors of some
tremendous discovery; but, just as the door was opening, his body would drag
him back, and, with grief, he felt he was locked up again in the flesh and
bones of Purun Bhagat.
Every morning the filled begging-bowl was laid
silently in the crutch of the roots outside the shrine. Sometimes the priest
brought it; sometimes a Ladakhi trader, lodging in the village, and anxious=
to
get merit, trudged up the path; but, more often, it was the woman who had
cooked the meal overnight; and she would murmur, hardly above her breath. &=
quot;Speak
for me before the gods, Bhagat. Speak for such a one, the wife of
so-and-so!" Now and then some bold child would be allowed the honour, =
and
Purun Bhagat would hear him drop the bowl and run as fast as his little legs
could carry him, but the Bhagat never came down to the village. It was laid=
out
like a map at his feet. He could see the evening gatherings, held on the ci=
rcle
of the threshing-floors, because that was the only level ground; could see =
the
wonderful unnamed green of the young rice, the indigo blues of the Indian c=
orn,
the dock-like patches of buckwheat, and, in its season, the red bloom of the
amaranth, whose tiny seeds, being neither grain nor pulse, make a food that=
can
be lawfully eaten by Hindus in time of fasts.
When the year turned, the roofs of the huts we=
re
all little squares of purest gold, for it was on the roofs that they laid o=
ut
their cobs of the corn to dry. Hiving and harvest, rice-sowing and husking,
passed before his eyes, all embroidered down there on the many-sided plots =
of fields,
and he thought of them all, and wondered what they all led to at the long l=
ast.
Even in populated India a man cannot a day sit
still before the wild things run over him as though he were a rock; and in =
that
wilderness very soon the wild things, who knew Kali's Shrine well, came bac=
k to
look at the intruder. The langurs, the big gray-whiskered monkeys of the
Himalayas, were, naturally, the first, for they are alive with curiosity; a=
nd
when they had upset the begging-bowl, and rolled it round the floor, and tr=
ied
their teeth on the brass-handled crutch, and made faces at the antelope ski=
n,
they decided that the human being who sat so still was harmless. At evening,
they would leap down from the pines, and beg with their hands for things to
eat, and then swing off in graceful curves. They liked the warmth of the fi=
re,
too, and huddled round it till Purun Bhagat had to push them aside to throw=
on
more fuel; and in the morning, as often as not, he would find a furry ape
sharing his blanket. All day long, one or other of the tribe would sit by h=
is
side, staring out at the snows, crooning and looking unspeakably wise and s=
orrowful.
After the monkeys came the barasingh, that big
deer which is like our red deer, but stronger. He wished to rub off the vel=
vet
of his horns against the cold stones of Kali's statue, and stamped his feet
when he saw the man at the shrine. But Purun Bhagat never moved, and, littl=
e by
little, the royal stag edged up and nuzzled his shoulder. Purun Bhagat slid=
one
cool hand along the hot antlers, and the touch soothed the fretted beast, w=
ho
bowed his head, and Purun Bhagat very softly rubbed and ravelled off the
velvet. Afterward, the barasingh brought his doe and fawn--gentle things th=
at
mumbled on the holy man's blanket--or would come alone at night, his eyes g=
reen
in the fire-flicker, to take his share of fresh walnuts. At last, the
musk-deer, the shyest and almost the smallest of the deerlets, came, too, h=
er
big rabbity ears erect; even brindled, silent mushick-nabha must needs find=
out
what the light in the shrine meant, and drop out her moose-like nose into P=
urun
Bhagat's lap, coming and going with the shadows of the fire. Purun Bhagat
called them all "my brothers," and his low call of "Bhai!
Bhai!" would draw them from the forest at noon if they were within ear
shot. The Himalayan black bear, moody and suspicious--Sona, who has the V-s=
haped
white mark under his chin--passed that way more than once; and since the Bh=
agat
showed no fear, Sona showed no anger, but watched him, and came closer, and
begged a share of the caresses, and a dole of bread or wild berries. Often,=
in
the still dawns, when the Bhagat would climb to the very crest of the pass =
to
watch the red day walking along the peaks of the snows, he would find Sona
shuffling and grunting at his heels, thrusting, a curious fore-paw under fa=
llen
trunks, and bringing it away with a WHOOF of impatience; or his early steps
would wake Sona where he lay curled up, and the great brute, rising erect,
would think to fight, till he heard the Bhagat's voice and knew his best
friend.
Nearly all hermits and holy men who live apart
from the big cities have the reputation of being able to work miracles with=
the
wild things, but all the miracle lies in keeping still, in never making a h=
asty
movement, and, for a long time, at least, in never looking directly at a
visitor. The villagers saw the outline of the barasingh stalking like a sha=
dow through
the dark forest behind the shrine; saw the minaul, the Himalayan pheasant,
blazing in her best colours before Kali's statue; and the langurs on their
haunches, inside, playing with the walnut shells. Some of the children, too,
had heard Sona singing to himself, bear-fashion, behind the fallen rocks, a=
nd
the Bhagat's reputation as miracle-worker stood firm.
Yet nothing was farther from his mind than
miracles. He believed that all things were one big Miracle, and when a man
knows that much he knows something to go upon. He knew for a certainty that
there was nothing great and nothing little in this world: and day and night=
he
strove to think out his way into the heart of things, back to the place whe=
nce
his soul had come.
So thinking, his untrimmed hair fell down about
his shoulders, the stone slab at the side of the antelope skin was dented i=
nto
a little hole by the foot of his brass-handled crutch, and the place between
the tree-trunks, where the begging-bowl rested day after day, sunk and wore=
into
a hollow almost as smooth as the brown shell itself; and each beast knew his
exact place at the fire. The fields changed their colours with the seasons;=
the
threshing-floors filled and emptied, and filled again and again; and again =
and
again, when winter came, the langurs frisked among the branches feathered w=
ith
light snow, till the mother-monkeys brought their sad-eyed little babies up
from the warmer valleys with the spring. There were few changes in the vill=
age.
The priest was older, and many of the little children who used to come with=
the
begging-dish sent their own children now; and when you asked of the village=
rs
how long their holy man had lived in Kali's Shrine at the head of the pass,
they answered, "Always."
Then came such summer rains as had not been kn=
own
in the Hills for many seasons. Through three good months the valley was wra=
pped
in cloud and soaking mist--steady, unrelenting downfall, breaking off into =
thunder-shower
after thunder-shower. Kali's Shrine stood above the clouds, for the most pa=
rt,
and there was a whole month in which the Bhagat never caught a glimpse of h=
is
village. It was packed away under a white floor of cloud that swayed and
shifted and rolled on itself and bulged upward, but never broke from its
piers--the streaming flanks of the valley.
All that time he heard nothing but the sound o=
f a
million little waters, overhead from the trees, and underfoot along the gro=
und,
soaking through the pine-needles, dripping from the tongues of draggled fer=
n,
and spouting in newly-torn muddy channels down the slopes. Then the sun came
out, and drew forth the good incense of the deodars and the rhododendrons, =
and
that far-off, clean smell which the Hill people call "the smell of the
snows." The hot sunshine lasted for a week, and then the rains gathered
together for their last downpour, and the water fell in sheets that flayed =
off
the skin of the ground and leaped back in mud. Purun Bhagat heaped his fire
high that night, for he was sure his brothers would need warmth; but never a
beast came to the shrine, though he called and called till he dropped aslee=
p,
wondering what had happened in the woods.
It was in the black heart of the night, the ra=
in
drumming like a thousand drums, that he was roused by a plucking at his
blanket, and, stretching out, felt the little hand of a langur. "It is
better here than in the trees," he said sleepily, loosening a fold of
blanket; "take it and be warm." The monkey caught his hand and pu=
lled
hard. "Is it food, then?" said Purun Bhagat. "Wait awhile, a=
nd I
will prepare some." As he kneeled to throw fuel on the fire the langur=
ran
to the door of the shrine, crooned and ran back again, plucking at the man's
knee.
"What is it? What is thy trouble,
Brother?" said Purun Bhagat, for the langur's eyes were full of things
that he could not tell. "Unless one of thy caste be in a trap--and none
set traps here--I will not go into that weather. Look, Brother, even the
barasingh comes for shelter!"
The deer's antlers clashed as he strode into t=
he
shrine, clashed against the grinning statue of Kali. He lowered them in Pur=
un
Bhagat's direction and stamped uneasily, hissing through his half-shut
nostrils.
"Hai! Hai! Hai!" said the Bhagat,
snapping his fingers, "Is THIS payment for a night's lodging?" But
the deer pushed him toward the door, and as he did so Purun Bhagat heard the
sound of something opening with a sigh, and saw two slabs of the floor draw
away from each other, while the sticky earth below smacked its lips.
"Now I see," said Purun Bhagat. &quo=
t;No
blame to my brothers that they did not sit by the fire to-night. The mounta=
in
is falling. And yet--why should I go?" His eye fell on the empty
begging-bowl, and his face changed. "They have given me good food daily
since--since I came, and, if I am not swift, to-morrow there will not be one
mouth in the valley. Indeed, I must go and warn them below. Back there,
Brother! Let me get to the fire."
The barasingh backed unwillingly as Purun Bhag=
at
drove a pine torch deep into the flame, twirling it till it was well lit.
"Ah! ye came to warn me," he said, rising. "Better than that=
we
shall do; better than that. Out, now, and lend me thy neck, Brother, for I =
have
but two feet."
He clutched the bristling withers of the baras=
ingh
with his right hand, held the torch away with his left, and stepped out of =
the
shrine into the desperate night. There was no breath of wind, but the rain
nearly drowned the flare as the great deer hurried down the slope, sliding =
on
his haunches. As soon as they were clear of the forest more of the Bhagat's=
brothers
joined them. He heard, though he could not see, the langurs pressing about =
him,
and behind them the uhh! uhh! of Sona. The rain matted his long white hair =
into
ropes; the water splashed beneath his bare feet, and his yellow robe clung =
to
his frail old body, but he stepped down steadily, leaning against the
barasingh. He was no longer a holy man, but Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., Prime
Minister of no small State, a man accustomed to command, going out to save
life. Down the steep, plashy path they poured all together, the Bhagat and =
his brothers,
down and down till the deer's feet clicked and stumbled on the wall of a
threshing-floor, and he snorted because he smelt Man. Now they were at the =
head
of the one crooked village street, and the Bhagat beat with his crutch on t=
he
barred windows of the blacksmith's house, as his torch blazed up in the she=
lter
of the eaves. "Up and out!" cried Purun Bhagat; and he did not kn=
ow
his own voice, for it was years since he had spoken aloud to a man. "T=
he
hill falls! The hill is falling! Up and out, oh, you within!"
"It is our Bhagat," said the
blacksmith's wife. "He stands among his beasts. Gather the little ones=
and
give the call."
It ran from house to house, while the beasts,
cramped in the narrow way, surged and huddled round the Bhagat, and Sona pu=
ffed
impatiently.
The people hurried into the street--they were =
no
more than seventy souls all told--and in the glare of the torches they saw
their Bhagat holding back the terrified barasingh, while the monkeys plucked
piteously at his skirts, and Sona sat on his haunches and roared.
"Across the valley and up the next
hill!" shouted Purun Bhagat. "Leave none behind! We follow!"=
Then the people ran as only Hill folk can run,=
for
they knew that in a landslip you must climb for the highest ground across t=
he
valley. They fled, splashing through the little river at the bottom, and pa=
nted
up the terraced fields on the far side, while the Bhagat and his brethren f=
ollowed.
Up and up the opposite mountain they climbed, calling to each other by
name--the roll-call of the village--and at their heels toiled the big
barasingh, weighted by the failing strength of Purun Bhagat. At last the de=
er
stopped in the shadow of a deep pinewood, five hundred feet up the hillside.
His instinct, that had warned him of the coming slide, told him he would he
safe here.
Purun Bhagat dropped fainting by his side, for=
the
chill of the rain and that fierce climb were killing him; but first he call=
ed
to the scattered torches ahead, "Stay and count your numbers"; th=
en,
whispering to the deer as he saw the lights gather in a cluster: "Stay
with me, Brother. Stay--till--I--go!"
There was a sigh in the air that grew to a mut=
ter,
and a mutter that grew to a roar, and a roar that passed all sense of heari=
ng,
and the hillside on which the villagers stood was hit in the darkness, and =
rocked
to the blow. Then a note as steady, deep, and true as the deep C of the org=
an
drowned everything for perhaps five minutes, while the very roots of the pi=
nes
quivered to it. It died away, and the sound of the rain falling on miles of
hard ground and grass changed to the muffled drum of water on soft earth. T=
hat
told its own tale.
Never a villager--not even the priest--was bold
enough to speak to the Bhagat who had saved their lives. They crouched under
the pines and waited till the day. When it came they looked across the vall=
ey
and saw that what had been forest, and terraced field, and track-threaded g=
razing-ground
was one raw, red, fan-shaped smear, with a few trees flung head-down on the
scarp. That red ran high up the hill of their refuge, damming back the litt=
le
river, which had begun to spread into a brick-coloured lake. Of the village=
, of
the road to the shrine, of the shrine itself, and the forest behind, there =
was
no trace. For one mile in width and two thousand feet in sheer depth the
mountain-side had come away bodily, planed clean from head to heel.
And the villagers, one by one, crept through t=
he
wood to pray before their Bhagat. They saw the barasingh standing over him,=
who
fled when they came near, and they heard the langurs wailing in the branche=
s, and
Sona moaning up the hill; but their Bhagat was dead, sitting cross-legged, =
his
back against a tree, his crutch under his armpit, and his face turned to the
north-east.
The priest said: "Behold a miracle after a
miracle, for in this very attitude must all Sunnyasis be buried! Therefore
where he now is we will build the temple to our holy man."
They built the temple before a year was ended-= -a little stone-and-earth shrine--and they called the hill the Bhagat's hill, = and they worship there with lights and flowers and offerings to this day. But t= hey do not know that the saint of their worship is the late Sir Purun Dass, K.C= .I.E., D.C.L., Ph.D., etc., once Prime Minister of the progressive and enlightened State of Mohiniwala, and honorary or corresponding member of more learned a= nd scientific societies than will ever do any good in this world or the next.<= o:p>
O=
h,
light was the world that he weighed in his hands! Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and =
his
lands! He has gone from the gu=
ddee
and put on the shroud, And dep=
arted
in guise of bairagi avowed!
N=
ow the
white road to Delhi is mat for his feet, The sal and the kikar must guard him=
from
heat; His home is the camp, an=
d the
waste, and the crowd-- He is s=
eeking
the Way as bairagi avowed!
H=
e has
looked upon Man, and his eyeballs are clear (There was One; there is One, and bu=
t One,
saith Kabir); The Red Mist of =
Doing
has thinned to a cloud-- He has
taken the Path for bairagi avowed!
To
learn and discern of his brother the clod, Of his brother the brute, and his br=
other
the God. He has gone from the
council and put on the shroud ("Can ye hear?" saith Kabi=
r), a
bairagi avowed!
=
Veil
them, cover them, wall them round-- Blossom, and creeper, and weed-- =
Let us forget the sight and the sou=
nd, The smell and the touch of the br=
eed!
=
Fat black
ash by the altar-stone, Her=
e is
the white-foot rain, And the =
does
bring forth in the fields unsown, And none shall affright them agai=
n; And the blind walls crumble, unknow=
n,
o'erthrown And none shall i=
nhabit
again!
You w=
ill
remember that after Mowgli had pinned Shere Khan's hide to the Council Rock=
, he
told as many as were left of the Seeonee Pack that henceforward he would hu=
nt
in the Jungle alone; and the four children of Mother and Father Wolf said t=
hat
they would hunt with him. But it is not easy to change one's life all in a
minute--particularly in the Jungle. The first thing Mowgli did, when the
disorderly Pack had slunk off, was to go to the home-cave, and sleep for a =
day
and a night. Then he told Mother Wolf and Father Wolf as much as they could
understand of his adventures among men; and when he made the morning sun
flicker up and down the blade of his skinning-knife,--the same he had skinn=
ed
Shere Khan with,--they said he had learned something. Then Akela and Gray B=
rother
had to explain their share of the great buffalo-drive in the ravine, and Ba=
loo
toiled up the hill to hear all about it, and Bagheera scratched himself all
over with pure delight at the way in which Mowgli had managed his war.
It was long after sunrise, but no one dreamed =
of
going to sleep, and from time to time, during the talk, Mother Wolf would t=
hrow
up her head, and sniff a deep snuff of satisfaction as the wind brought her=
the
smell of the tiger-skin on the Council Rock.
"But for Akela and Gray Brother here,&quo=
t;
Mowgli said, at the end, "I could have done nothing. Oh, mother, mothe=
r!
if thou hadst seen the black herd-bulls pour down the ravine, or hurry thro=
ugh
the gates when the Man-Pack flung stones at me!"
"I am glad I did not see that last,"
said Mother Wolf stiffly. "It is not MY custom to suffer my cubs to be
driven to and fro like jackals. I =
would have taken a price from the Man-Pa=
ck;
but I would have spared the woman who gave thee the milk. Yes, I would have
spared her alone."
"Peace, peace, Raksha!" said Father
Wolf, lazily. "Our Frog has come back again--so wise that his own fath=
er
must lick his feet; and what is a cut, more or less, on the head? Leave Men
alone." Baloo and Bagheera both echoed: "Leave Men alone."
Mowgli, his head on Mother Wolf's side, smiled
contentedly, and said that, for his own part, he never wished to see, or he=
ar,
or smell Man again.
"But what," said Akela, cocking one
ear--"but what if men do not leave thee alone, Little Brother?"
"We be FIVE," said Gray Brother, loo=
king
round at the company, and snapping his jaws on the last word.
"We also might attend to that hunting,&qu=
ot;
said Bagheera, with a little switch-switch of his tail, looking at Baloo.
"But why think of men now, Akela?"
"For this reason," the Lone Wolf
answered: "when that yellow chief's hide was hung up on the rock, I we=
nt
back along our trail to the village, stepping in my tracks, turning aside, =
and
lying down, to make a mixed trail in case one should follow us. But when I =
had
fouled the trail so that I myself hardly knew it again, Mang, the Bat, came
hawking between the trees, and hung up above me." Said Mang, "The
village of the Man-Pack, where they cast out the Man-cub, hums like a horne=
t's
nest."
"It was a big stone that I threw,"
chuckled Mowgli, who had often amused himself by throwing ripe paw-paws int=
o a
hornet's nest, and racing off to the nearest pool before the hornets caught
him.
"I asked of Mang what he had seen. He said
that the Red Flower blossomed at the gate of the village, and men sat about=
it
carrying guns. Now I know, for I have good cause,"--Akela
looked down at the old dry scars on his flank and side,--"that men do =
not
carry guns for pleasure. Presently, Little Brother, a man with a gun follows
our trail--if, indeed, he be not already on it."
"But why should he? Men have cast me out.
What more do they need?" said Mowgli angrily.
"Thou art a man, Little Brother," Ak=
ela
returned. "It is not for US, the Free Hunters, to tell thee what thy
brethren do, or why."
He had just time to snatch up his paw as the
skinning-knife cut deep into the ground below. Mowgli struck quicker than an
average human eye could follow but Akela was a wolf; and even a dog, who is
very far removed from the wild wolf, his ancestor, can be waked out of deep
sleep by a cart-wheel touching his flank, and can spring away unharmed befo=
re that
wheel comes on.
"Another time," Mowgli said quietly,
returning the knife to its sheath, "speak of the Man-Pack and of Mowgl=
i in
TWO breaths--not one."
"Phff! That is a sharp tooth," said
Akela, snuffing at the blade's cut in the earth, "but living with the
Man-Pack has spoiled thine eye, Little Brother. I could have killed a buck
while thou wast striking."
Bagheera sprang to his feet, thrust up his hea=
d as
far as he could, sniffed, and stiffened through every curve in his body. Gr=
ay
Brother followed his example quickly, keeping a little to his left to get t=
he wind
that was blowing from the right, while Akela bounded fifty yards up wind, a=
nd,
half-crouching, stiffened too. Mowgli looked on enviously. He could smell
things as very few human beings could, but he had never reached the
hair-trigger-like sensitiveness of a Jungle nose; and his three months in t=
he
smoky village had set him back sadly. However, he dampened his finger, rubb=
ed
it on his nose, and stood erect to catch the upper scent, which, though it =
is
the faintest, is the truest.
"Man!" Akela growled, dropping on his
haunches.
"Buldeo!" said Mowgli, sitting down.
"He follows our trail, and yonder is the sunlight on his gun. Look!&qu=
ot;
It was no more than a splash of sunlight, for a
fraction of a second, on the brass clamps of the old Tower musket, but noth=
ing
in the Jungle winks with just that flash, except when the clouds race over =
the
sky. Then a piece of mica, or a little pool, or even a highly-polished leaf=
will
flash like a heliograph. But that day was cloudless and still.
"I knew men would follow," said Akela
triumphantly. "Not for nothing have I led the Pack."
The four cubs said nothing, but ran down hill =
on
their bellies, melting into the thorn and under-brush as a mole melts into a
lawn.
"Where go ye, and without word?" Mow=
gli
called.
"H'sh! We roll his skull here before
mid-day!" Gray Brother answered.
"Back! Back and wait! Man does not eat
Man!" Mowgli shrieked.
"Who was a wolf but now? Who drove the kn=
ife
at me for thinking he might be Man?" said Akela, as the four wolves tu=
rned
back sullenly and dropped to heel.
"Am I to give reason for all I choose to,
do?" said Mowgli furiously.
"That is Man! There speaks Man!"
Bagheera muttered under his whiskers. "Even so did men talk round the
King's cages at Oodeypore. We of the Jungle know that Man is wisest of all.=
If
we trusted our ears we should know that of all things he is most foolish.&q=
uot;
Raising his voice, he added, "The Man-cub is right in this. Men hunt in
packs. To kill one, unless we know what the others will do, is bad hunting.
Come, let us see what this Man means toward us."
"We will not come," Gray Brother
growled. "Hunt alone, Little Brother. WE know our own minds. The skull
would have been ready to bring by now."
Mowgli had been looking from one to the other =
of
his friends, his chest heaving and his eyes full of tears. He strode forwar=
d to
the wolves, and, dropping on one knee, said: "Do I not know my mind? L=
ook
at me!"
They looked uneasily, and when their eyes
wandered, he called them back again and again, till their hair stood up all
over their bodies, and they trembled in every limb, while Mowgli stared and
stared.
"Now," said he, "of us five, wh=
ich
is leader?"
"Thou art leader, Little Brother," s=
aid
Gray Brother, and he licked Mowgli's foot.
"Follow, then," said Mowgli, and the
four followed at his heels with their tails between their legs.
"This comes of living with the
Man-Pack," said Bagheera, slipping down after them. "There is mor=
e in
the Jungle now than Jungle Law, Baloo."
The old bear said nothing, but he thought many
things.
Mowgli cut across noiselessly through the Jung=
le,
at right angles to Buldeo's path, till, parting the undergrowth, he saw the=
old
man, his musket on his shoulder, running up the trail of overnight at a
dog-trot.
You will remember that Mowgli had left the vil=
lage
with the heavy weight of Shere Khan's raw hide on his shoulders, while Akela
and Gray Brother trotted behind, so that the triple trail was very clearly
marked. Presently Buldeo came to where Akela, as you know, had gone back an=
d mixed
it all up. Then he sat down, and coughed and grunted, and made little casts
round and about into the Jungle to pick it up again, and, all the time he c=
ould
have thrown a stone over those who were watching him. No one can be so sile=
nt
as a wolf when he does not care to be heard; and Mowgli, though the wolves
thought he moved very clumsily, could come and go like a shadow. They ringed
the old man as a school of porpoises ring a steamer at full speed, and as t=
hey
ringed him they talked unconcernedly, for their speech began below the lowe=
st
end of the scale that untrained human beings can hear. [The other end is
bounded by the high squeak of Mang, the Bat, which very many people cannot
catch at all. From that note all the bird and bat and insect talk takes on.=
]
"This is better than any kill," said
Gray Brother, as Buldeo stooped and peered and puffed. "He looks like a
lost pig in the Jungles by the river. What does he say?" Buldeo was
muttering savagely.
Mowgli translated. "He says that packs of
wolves must have danced round me. He says that he never saw such a trail in=
his
life. He says he is tired."
"He will be rested before he picks it up
again," said Bagheera coolly, as he slipped round a tree-trunk, in the
game of blindman's-buff that they were playing. "NOW, what does the le=
an
thing do?"
"Eat or blow smoke out of his mouth. Men
always play with their mouths," said Mowgli; and the silent trailers s=
aw
the old man fill and light and puff at a water-pipe, and they took good not=
e of
the smell of the tobacco, so as to be sure of Buldeo in the darkest night, =
if
necessary.
Then a little knot of charcoal-burners came do=
wn
the path, and naturally halted to speak to Buldeo, whose fame as a hunter
reached for at least twenty miles round. They all sat down and smoked, and
Bagheera and the others came up and watched while Buldeo began to tell the
story of Mowgli, the Devil-child, from one end to another, with additions a=
nd inventions.
How he himself had really killed Shere Khan; and how Mowgli had turned hims=
elf
into a wolf, and fought with him all the afternoon, and changed into a boy
again and bewitched Buldeo's rifle, so that the bullet turned the corner, w=
hen
he pointed it at Mowgli, and killed one of Buldeo's own buffaloes; and how =
the
village, knowing him to be the bravest hunter in Seeonee, had sent him out =
to
kill this Devil-child. But meantime the village had got hold of Messua and =
her
husband, who were undoubtedly the father and mother of this Devil-child, and
had barricaded them in their own hut, and presently would torture them to m=
ake
them confess they were witch and wizard, and then they would be burned to
death.
"When?" said the charcoal-burners,
because they would very much like to be present at the ceremony.
Buldeo said that nothing would be done till he
returned, because the village wished him to kill the Jungle Boy first. After
that they would dispose of Messua and her husband, and divide their lands a=
nd
buffaloes among the village. Messua's husband had some remarkably fine
buffaloes, too. It was an excellent thing to destroy wizards, Buldeo though=
t;
and people who entertained Wolf-children out of the Jungle were clearly the=
worst
kind of witches.
But, said the charcoal-burners, what would hap=
pen
if the English heard of it? The English, they had heard, were a perfectly m=
ad
people, who would not let honest farmers kill witches in peace.
Why, said Buldeo, the head-man of the village
would report that Messua and her husband had died of snake-bite. THAT was a=
ll
arranged, and the only thing now was to kill the Wolf-child. They did not
happen to have seen anything of such a creature?
The charcoal-burners looked round cautiously, =
and
thanked their stars they had not; but they had no doubt that so brave a man=
as
Buldeo would find him if any one could. The sun was getting rather low, and
they had an idea that they would push on to Buldeo's village and see that
wicked witch. Buldeo said that, though it was his duty to kill the Devil-ch=
ild,
he could not think of letting a party of unarmed men go through the Jungle,
which might produce the Wolf-demon at any minute, without his escort. He,
therefore, would accompany them, and if the sorcerer's child appeared--well=
, he
would show them how the best hunter in Seeonee dealt with such things. The
Brahmin, he said, had given him a charm against the creature that made
everything perfectly safe.
"What says he? What says he? What says he=
?"
the wolves repeated every few minutes; and Mowgli translated until he came =
to
the witch part of the story, which was a little beyond him, and then he said
that the man and woman who had been so kind to him were trapped.
"Does Man trap Man?" said Bagheera.<= o:p>
"So he says. I cannot understand the talk.
They are all mad together. What have Messua and her man to do with me that =
they
should be put in a trap; and what is all this talk about the Red Flower? I =
must
look to this. Whatever they would do to Messua they will not do till Buldeo=
returns.
And so----" Mowgli thought hard, with his fingers playing round the ha=
ft
of the skinning-knife, while Buldeo and the charcoal-burners went off very
valiantly in single file.
"I go hot-foot back to the Man-Pack,"
Mowgli said at last.
"And those?" said Gray Brother, look=
ing
hungrily after the brown backs of the charcoal-burners.
"Sing them home," said Mowgli, with a
grin; "I do not wish them to be at the village gates till it is dark. =
Can
ye hold them?"
Gray Brother bared his white teeth in contempt.
"We can head them round and round in circles like tethered goats--if I
know Man."
"That I do not need. Sing to them a littl=
e,
lest they be lonely on the road, and, Gray Brother, the song need not be of=
the
sweetest. Go with them, Bagheera, and help make that song. When night is sh=
ut
down, meet me by the village--Gray Brother knows the place."
"It is no light hunting to work for a
Man-cub. When shall I sleep?" said Bagheera, yawning, though his eyes
showed that he was delighted with the amusement. "Me to sing to naked =
men!
But let us try."
He lowered his head so that the sound would
travel, and cried a long, long, "Good hunting"--a midnight call in
the afternoon, which was quite awful enough to begin with. Mowgli heard it =
rumble,
and rise, and fall, and die off in a creepy sort of whine behind him, and
laughed to himself as he ran through the Jungle. He could see the
charcoal-burners huddled in a knot; old Buldeo's gun-barrel waving, like a
banana-leaf, to every point of the compass at once. Then Gray Brother gave =
the
Ya-la-hi! Yalaha! call for the buck-driving, when the Pack drives the nilgh=
ai,
the big blue cow, before them, and it seemed to come from the very ends of =
the
earth, nearer, and nearer, and nearer, till it ended in a shriek snapped off
short. The other three answered, till even Mowgli could have vowed that the
full Pack was in full cry, and then they all broke into the magnificent
Morning-song in the Jungle, with every turn, and flourish, and grace-note t=
hat
a deep-mouthed wolf of the Pack knows. This is a rough rendering of the son=
g,
but you must imagine what it sounds like when it breaks the afternoon hush =
of
the Jungle:--
O=
ne
moment past our bodies cast =
No
shadow on the plain; Now clear=
and
black they stride our track, And
we run home again. In morning =
hush,
each rock and bush Stands ha=
rd,
and high, and raw: Then give t=
he
Call: "Good rest to all That
keep The Jungle Law!"
N=
ow
horn and pelt our peoples melt In covert to abide; Now, crouched and still, to cave and=
hill Our Jungle Barons glide. Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen str=
ain, That draw the new-yoked plough; Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is=
red Above the lit talao.
H=
o! Get
to lair! The sun's aflare Be=
hind
the breathing grass: And crack=
ing
through the young bamboo The
warning whispers pass. By day =
made
strange, the woods we range =
With
blinking eyes we scan; While d=
own the
skies the wild duck cries "The Day--the Day to Man!&quo=
t;
T=
he dew
is dried that drenched our hide Or
washed about our way; And wher=
e we
drank, the puddled bank Is
crisping into clay. The traito=
r Dark
gives up each mark Of stretched or hooded claw; Then hear the Call: "Good rest =
to all
That keep the Jungle Law!&qu=
ot;
But no translation can give the effect of it, =
or
the yelping scorn the Four threw into every word of it, as they heard the t=
rees
crash when the men hastily climbed up into the branches, and Buldeo began
repeating incantations and charms. Then they lay down and slept, for, like =
all
who live by their own exertions, they were of a methodical cast of mind; an=
d no
one can work well without sleep.
Meantime, Mowgli was putting the miles behind =
him,
nine to the hour, swinging on, delighted to find himself so fit after all h=
is
cramped months among men. The one idea in his head was to get Messua and he=
r husband
out of the trap, whatever it was; for he had a natural mistrust of traps. L=
ater
on, he promised himself, he would pay his debts to the village at large.
It was at twilight when he saw the well-rememb=
ered
grazing-grounds, and the dhak-tree where Gray Brother had waited for him on=
the
morning that he killed Shere Khan. Angry as he was at the whole breed and
community of Man, something jumped up in his throat and made him catch his
breath when he looked at the village roofs. He noticed that every one had c=
ome in
from the fields unusually early, and that, instead of getting to their even=
ing
cooking, they gathered in a crowd under the village tree, and chattered, and
shouted.
"Men must always be making traps for men,=
or
they are not content," said Mowgli. "Last night it was Mowgli--but
that night seems many Rains ago. To-night it is Messua and her man. To-morr=
ow,
and for very many nights after, it will be Mowgli's turn again."
He crept along outside the wall till he came to
Messua's hut, and looked through the window into the room. There lay Messua,
gagged, and bound hand and foot, breathing hard, and groaning: her husband =
was
tied to the gaily-painted bedstead. The door of the hut that opened into the
street was shut fast, and three or four people were sitting with their back=
s to
it.
Mowgli knew the manners and customs of the
villagers very fairly. He argued that so long as they could eat, and talk, =
and
smoke, they would not do anything else; but as soon as they had fed they wo=
uld
begin to be dangerous. Buldeo would be coming in before long, and if his es=
cort
had done its duty, Buldeo would have a very interesting tale to tell. So he=
went
in through the window, and, stooping over the man and the woman, cut their
thongs, pulling out the gags, and looked round the hut for some milk.
Messua was half wild with pain and fear (she h=
ad
been beaten and stoned all the morning), and Mowgli put his hand over her m=
outh
just in time to stop a scream. Her husband was only bewildered and angry, a=
nd
sat picking dust and things out of his torn beard.
"I knew--I knew he would come," Mess=
ua
sobbed at last. "Now do I KNOW that he is my son!" and she hugged
Mowgli to her heart. Up to that time Mowgli had been perfectly steady, but =
now
he began to tremble all over, and that surprised him immensely.
"Why are these thongs? Why have they tied
thee?" he asked, after a pause.
"To be put to the death for making a son =
of
thee--what else?" said the man sullenly. "Look! I bleed."
Messua said nothing, but it was at her wounds =
that
Mowgli looked, and they heard him grit his teeth when he saw the blood.
"Whose work is this?" said he.
"There is a price to pay."
"The work of all the village. I was too r=
ich.
I had too many cattle. THEREFORE she and I are witches, because we gave thee
shelter."
"I do not understand. Let Messua tell the
tale."
"I gave thee milk, Nathoo; dost thou
remember?" Messua said timidly. "Because thou wast my son, whom t=
he
tiger took, and because I loved thee very dearly. They said that I was thy
mother, the mother of a devil, and therefore worthy of death."
"And what is a devil?" said Mowgli.
"Death I have seen."
The man looked up gloomily, but Messua laughed.
"See!" she said to her husband, "I knew--I said that he was =
no
sorcerer. He is my son--my son!"
"Son or sorcerer, what good will that do
us?" the man answered. "We be as dead already."
"Yonder is the road to the
Jungle"--Mowgli pointed through the window. "Your hands and feet =
are
free. Go now."
"We do not know the Jungle, my son, as--as
thou knowest," Messua began. "I do not think that I could walk
far."
"And the men and women would be upon our
backs and drag us here again," said the husband.
"H'm!" said Mowgli, and he tickled t=
he
palm of his hand with the tip of his skinning-knife; "I have no wish t=
o do
harm to any one of this village--YET. But I do not think they will stay the=
e.
In a little while they will have much else to think upon. Ah!" he lift=
ed
his head and listened to shouting and trampling outside. "So they have=
let
Buldeo come home at last?"
"He was sent out this morning to kill
thee," Messua cried. "Didst thou meet him?"
"Yes--we--I met him. He has a tale to tell
and while he is telling it there is time to do much. But first I will learn
what they mean. Think where ye would go, and tell me when I come back."=
;
He bounded through the window and ran along ag=
ain
outside the wall of the village till he came within ear-shot of the crowd r=
ound
the peepul-tree. Buldeo was lying on the ground, coughing and groaning, and
every one was asking him questions. His hair had fallen about his shoulders;
his hands and legs were skinned from climbing up trees, and he could hardly
speak, but he felt the importance of his position keenly. From time to time=
he
said something about devils and singing devils, and magic enchantment, just=
to
give the crowd a taste of what was coming. Then he called for water.
"Bah!" said Mowgli.
"Chatter--chatter! Talk, talk! Men are blood-brothers of the Bandar-lo=
g.
Now he must wash his mouth with water; now he must blow smoke; and when all
that is done he has still his story to tell. They are very wise people--men.
They will leave no one to guard Messua till their ears are stuffed with
Buldeo's tales. And--I grow as lazy as they!"
He shook himself and glided back to the hut. J=
ust
as he was at the window he felt a touch on his foot.
"Mother," said he, for he knew that
tongue well, "what dost THOU here?"
"I heard my children singing through the
woods, and I followed the one I loved best. Little Frog, I have a desire to=
see
that woman who gave thee milk," said Mother Wolf, all wet with the dew=
.
"They have bound and mean to kill her. I =
have
cut those ties, and she goes with her man through the Jungle."
"I also will follow. I am old, but not yet
toothless." Mother Wolf reared herself up on end, and looked through t=
he
window into the dark of the hut.
In a minute she dropped noiselessly, and all s=
he
said was: "I gave thee thy first milk; but Bagheera speaks truth: Man =
goes
to Man at the last."
"Maybe," said Mowgli, with a very
unpleasant look on his face; "but to-night I am very far from that tra=
il.
Wait here, but do not let her see."
"THOU wast never afraid of ME, Little
Frog," said Mother Wolf, backing into the high grass, and blotting her=
self
out, as she knew how.
"And now," said Mowgli cheerfully, a=
s he
swung into the hut again, "they are all sitting round Buldeo, who is
saying that which did not happen. When his talk is finished, they say they =
will
assuredly come here with the Red--with fire and burn you both. And then?&qu=
ot;
"I have spoken to my man," said Mess=
ua.
"Khanhiwara is thirty miles from here, but at Khanhiwara we may find t=
he
English--"
"And what Pack are they?" said Mowgl=
i.
"I do not know. They be white, and it is =
said
that they govern all the land, and do not suffer people to burn or beat each
other without witnesses. If we can get thither to-night, we live. Otherwise=
we
die."
"Live, then. No man passes the gates
to-night. But what does HE do?" Messua's husband was on his hands and
knees digging up the earth in one corner of the hut.
"It is his little money," said Messu=
a.
"We can take nothing else."
"Ah, yes. The stuff that passes from hand=
to
hand and never grows warmer. Do they need it outside this place also?"
said Mowgli.
The man stared angrily. "He is a fool, an=
d no
devil," he muttered. "With the money I can buy a horse. We are too
bruised to walk far, and the village will follow us in an hour."
"I say they will NOT follow till I choose;
but a horse is well thought of, for Messua is tired." Her husband stoo=
d up
and knotted the last of the rupees into his waist-cloth. Mowgli helped Mess=
ua
through the window, and the cool night air revived her, but the Jungle in t=
he starlight
looked very dark and terrible.
"Ye know the trail to Khanhiwara?"
Mowgli whispered.
They nodded.
"Good. Remember, now, not to be afraid. A=
nd
there is no need to go quickly. Only--only there may be some small singing =
in
the Jungle behind you and before."
"Think you we would have risked a night in
the Jungle through anything less than the fear of burning? It is better to =
be
killed by beasts than by men," said Messua's husband; but Messua looke=
d at
Mowgli and smiled.
"I say," Mowgli went on, just as tho=
ugh
he were Baloo repeating an old Jungle Law for the hundredth time to a fooli=
sh
cub--"I say that not a tooth in the Jungle is bared against you; not a
foot in the Jungle is lifted against you. Neither man nor beast shall stay =
you
till you come within eye-shot of Khanhiwara. There will be a watch about
you." He turned quickly to Messua, saying, "HE does not believe, =
but
thou wilt believe?"
"Ay, surely, my son. Man, ghost, or wolf =
of
the Jungle, I believe."
"HE will be afraid when he hears my people
singing. Thou wilt know and understand. Go now, and slowly, for there is no
need of any haste. The gates are shut."
Messua flung herself sobbing at Mowgli's feet,=
but
he lifted her very quickly with a shiver. Then she hung about his neck and
called him every name of blessing she could think of, but her husband looked
enviously across his fields, and said: "IF we reach Khanhiwara, and I =
get
the ear of the English, I will bring such a lawsuit against the Brahmin and=
old
Buldeo and the others as shall eat the village to the bone. They shall pay =
me
twice over for my crops untilled and my buffaloes unfed. I will have a great
justice."
Mowgli laughed. "I do not know what justi=
ce
is, but--come next Rains. and see what is left."
They went off toward the Jungle, and Mother Wo=
lf
leaped from her place of hiding.
"Follow!" said Mowgli; "and loo=
k to
it that all the Jungle knows these two are safe. Give tongue a little. I wo=
uld
call Bagheera."
The long, low howl rose and fell, and Mowgli s=
aw
Messua's husband flinch and turn, half minded to run back to the hut.
"Go on," Mowgli called cheerfully.
"I said there might be singing. That call will follow up to Khanhiwara=
. It
is Favour of the Jungle."
Messua urged her husband forward, and the dark=
ness
shut down on them and Mother Wolf as Bagheera rose up almost under Mowgli's
feet, trembling with delight of the night that drives the Jungle People wil=
d.
"I am ashamed of thy brethren," he s=
aid,
purring. "What? Did they not sing sweetly to Buldeo?" said Mowgli=
.
"Too well! Too well! They made even ME fo=
rget
my pride, and, by the Broken Lock that freed me, I went singing through the
Jungle as though I were out wooing in the spring! Didst thou not hear us?&q=
uot;
"I had other game afoot. Ask Buldeo if he
liked the song. But where are the Four? I do not wish one of the Man-Pack to
leave the gates to-night."
"What need of the Four, then?" said
Bagheera, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes ablaze, and purring louder t=
han
ever. "I can hold them, Little Brother. Is it killing at last? The sin=
ging
and the sight of the men climbing up the trees have made me very ready. Who=
is
Man that we should care for him--the naked brown digger, the hairless and
toothless, the eater of earth? I have followed him all day--at noon--in the
white sunlight. I herded him as the wolves herd buck. I am Bagheera! Baghee=
ra! Bagheera!
As I dance with my shadow, so danced I with those men. Look!" The great
panther leaped as a kitten leaps at a dead leaf whirling overhead, struck l=
eft
and right into the empty air, that sang under the strokes, landed noiseless=
ly,
and leaped again and again, while the half purr, half growl gathered head as
steam rumbles in a boiler. "I am Bagheera--in the jungle--in the night,
and my strength is in me. Who shall stay my stroke? Man-cub, with one blow =
of
my paw I could beat thy head flat as a dead frog in the summer!"
"Strike, then!" said Mowgli, in the
dialect of the village, NOT the talk of the Jungle, and the human words bro=
ught
Bagheera to a full stop, flung back on haunches that quivered under him, his
head just at the level of Mowgli's. Once more Mowgli stared, as he had star=
ed
at the rebellious cubs, full into the beryl-green eyes till the red glare b=
ehind
their green went out like the light of a lighthouse shut off twenty miles
across the sea; till the eyes dropped, and the big head with them--dropped
lower and lower, and the red rasp of a tongue grated on Mowgli's instep.
"Brother--Brother--Brother!" the boy
whispered, stroking steadily and lightly from the neck along the heaving ba=
ck.
"Be still, be still! It is the fault of the night, and no fault of
thine."
"It was the smells of the night," sa=
id
Bagheera penitently. "This air cries aloud to me. But how dost THOU
know?"
Of course the air round an Indian village is f=
ull
of all kinds of smells, and to any creature who does nearly all his thinking
through his nose, smells are as maddening as music and drugs are to human
beings. Mowgli gentled the panther for a few minutes longer, and he lay dow=
n like
a cat before a fire, his paws tucked under his breast, and his eyes half sh=
ut.
"Thou art of the Jungle and NOT of the
Jungle," he said at last. "And I am only a black panther. But I l=
ove
thee, Little Brother."
"They are very long at their talk under t=
he
tree," Mowgli said, without noticing the last sentence. "Buldeo m=
ust
have told many tales. They should come soon to drag the woman and her man o=
ut
of the trap and put them into the Red Flower. They will find that trap spru=
ng.
Ho! ho!"
"Nay, listen," said Bagheera. "=
The
fever is out of my blood now. Let them find ME there! Few would leave their
houses after meeting me. It is not the first time I have been in a cage; an=
d I
do not think they will tie ME with cords."
"Be wise, then," said Mowgli, laughi=
ng;
for he was beginning to feel as reckless as the panther, who had glided into
the hut.
"Pah!" Bagheera grunted. "This
place is rank with Man, but here is just such a bed as they gave me to lie =
upon
in the King's cages at Oodeypore. Now I lie down." Mowgli heard the
strings of the cot crack under the great brute's weight. "By the Broken
Lock that freed me, they will think they have caught big game! Come and sit
beside me, Little Brother; we will give them 'good hunting' together!"=
"No; I have another thought in my stomach.
The Man-Pack shall not know what share I have in the sport. Make thine own
hunt. I do not wish to see them."
"Be it so," said Bagheera. "Ah,=
now
they come!"
The conference under the peepul-tree had been
growing noisier and noisier, at the far end of the village. It broke in wild
yells, and a rush up the street of men and women, waving clubs and bamboos =
and sickles
and knives. Buldeo and the Brahmin were at the head of it, but the mob was
close at their heels, and they cried, "The witch and the wizard! Let us
see if hot coins will make them confess! Burn the hut over their heads! We =
will
teach them to shelter wolf-devils! Nay, beat them first! Torches! More torc=
hes!
Buldeo, heat the gun-barrels!"
Here was some little difficulty with the catch=
of
the door. It had been very firmly fastened, but the crowd tore it away bodi=
ly,
and the light of the torches streamed into the room where, stretched at full
length on the bed, his paws crossed and lightly hung down over one end, bla=
ck as
the Pit, and terrible as a demon, was Bagheera. There was one half-minute of
desperate silence, as the front ranks of the crowd clawed and tore their way
back from the threshold, and in that minute Bagheera raised his head and
yawned--elaborately, carefully, and ostentatiously--as he would yawn when he
wished to insult an equal. The fringed lips drew back and up; the red tongue
curled; the lower jaw dropped and dropped till you could see half-way down =
the hot
gullet; and the gigantic dog-teeth stood clear to the pit of the gums till =
they
rang together, upper and under, with the snick of steel-faced wards shootin=
g home
round the edges of a safe. Next instant the street was empty; Bagheera had
leaped back through the window, and stood at Mowgli's side, while a yelling,
screaming torrent scrambled and tumbled one over another in their panic has=
te
to get to their own huts.
"They will not stir till day comes,"
said Bagheera quietly. "And now?"
The silence of the afternoon sleep seemed to h=
ave
overtaken the village; but, as they listened, they could hear the sound of
heavy grain-boxes being dragged over earthen floors and set down against do=
ors.
Bagheera was quite right; the village would not stir till daylight. Mowgli =
sat still,
and thought, and his face grew darker and darker.
"What have I done?" said Bagheera, at
last coming to his feet, fawning.
"Nothing but great good. Watch them now t=
ill
the day. I sleep." Mowgli ran off into the Jungle, and dropped like a =
dead
man across a rock, and slept and slept the day round, and the night back ag=
ain.
When he waked, Bagheera was at his side, and t=
here
was a newly-killed buck at his feet. Bagheera watched curiously while Mowgli
went to work with his skinning-knife, ate and drank, and turned over with h=
is
chin in his hands.
"The man and the woman are come safe with=
in
eye-shot of Khanhiwara," Bagheera said. "Thy lair mother sent the
word back by Chil, the Kite. They found a horse before midnight of the night
they were freed, and went very quickly. Is not that well?"
"That is well," said Mowgli.
"And thy Man-Pack in the village did not =
stir
till the sun was high this morning. Then they ate their food and ran back
quickly to their houses."
"Did they, by chance, see thee?"
"It may have been. I was rolling in the d=
ust
before the gate at dawn, and I may have made also some small song to myself.
Now, Little Brother, there is nothing more to do. Come hunting with me and
Baloo. He has new hives that he wishes to show, and we all desire thee back
again as of old. Take off that look which makes even me afraid! The man and
woman will not be put into the Red Flower, and all goes well in the Jungle.=
Is it
not true? Let us forget the Man-Pack."
"They shall be forgotten in a little whil=
e.
Where does Hathi feed to-night?"
"Where he chooses. Who can answer for the
Silent One? But why? What is there Hathi can do which we cannot?"
"Bid him and his three sons come here to
me."
"But, indeed, and truly, Little Brother, =
it
is not--it is not seemly to say 'Come,' and 'Go,' to Hathi. Remember, he is=
the
Master of the Jungle, and before the Man-Pack changed the look on thy face,=
he
taught thee the Master-words of the Jungle."
"That is all one. I have a Master-word for
him now. Bid him come to Mowgli, the Frog: and if he does not hear at first,
bid him come because of the Sack of the Fields of Bhurtpore."
"The Sack of the Fields of Bhurtpore,&quo=
t;
Bagheera repeated two or three times to make sure. "I go. Hathi can bu=
t be
angry at the worst, and I would give a moon's hunting to hear a Master-word
that compels the Silent One."
He went away, leaving Mowgli stabbing furiously
with his skinning-knife into the earth. Mowgli had never seen human blood in
his life before till he had seen, and--what meant much more to him--smelled
Messua's blood on the thongs that bound her. And Messua had been kind to hi=
m,
and, so far as he knew anything about love, he loved Messua as completely a=
s he
hated the rest of mankind. But deeply as he loathed them, their talk, their
cruelty, and their cowardice, not for anything the Jungle had to offer coul=
d he
bring himself to take a human life, and have that terrible scent of blood b=
ack
again in his nostrils. His plan was simpler, but much more thorough; and he
laughed to himself when he thought that it was one of old Buldeo's tales to=
ld
under the peepul-tree in the evening that had put the idea into his head.
"It WAS a Master-word," Bagheera
whispered in his ear. "They were feeding by the river, and they obeyed=
as
though they were bullocks. Look where they come now!"
Hathi and his three sons had arrived, in their
usual way, without a sound. The mud of the river was still fresh on their
flanks, and Hathi was thoughtfully chewing the green stem of a young
plantain-tree that he had gouged up with his tusks. But every line in his v=
ast
body showed to Bagheera, who could see things when he came across them, tha=
t it
was not the Master of the Jungle speaking to a Man-cub, but one who was afr=
aid coming
before one who was not. His three sons rolled side by side, behind their
father.
Mowgli hardly lifted his head as Hathi gave him
"Good hunting." He kept him swinging and rocking, and shifting fr=
om
one foot to another, for a long time before he spoke; and when he opened his
mouth it was to Bagheera, not to the elephants.
"I will tell a tale that was told to me by
the hunter ye hunted to-day," said Mowgli. "It concerns an elepha=
nt,
old and wise, who fell into a trap, and the sharpened stake in the pit scar=
red
him from a little above his heel to the crest of his shoulder, leaving a wh=
ite
mark." Mowgli threw out his hand, and as Hathi wheeled the moonlight
showed a long white scar on his slaty side, as though he had been struck wi=
th a
red-hot whip. "Men came to take him from the trap," Mowgli contin=
ued,
"but he broke his ropes, for he was strong, and went away till his wou=
nd
was healed. Then came he, angry, by night to the fields of those hunters. A=
nd I
remember now that he had three sons. These things happened many, many Rains
ago, and very far away--among the fields of Bhurtpore. What came to those
fields at the next reaping, Hathi?"
"They were reaped by me and by my three
sons," said Hathi.
"And to the ploughing that follows the
reaping?" said Mowgli.
"There was no ploughing," said Hathi=
.
"And to the men that live by the green cr=
ops
on the ground?" said Mowgli.
"They went away."
"And to the huts in which the men
slept?" said Mowgli.
"We tore the roofs to pieces, and the Jun=
gle
swallowed up the walls," said Hathi.
"And what more?" said Mowgli.
"As much good ground as I can walk over in
two nights from the east to the west, and from the north to the south as mu=
ch
as I can walk over in three nights, the Jungle took. We let in the Jungle u=
pon
five villages; and in those villages, and in their lands, the grazing-ground
and the soft crop-grounds, there is not one man to-day who takes his food f=
rom the
ground. That was the Sack of the Fields of Bhurtpore, which I and my three =
sons
did; and now I ask, Man-cub, how the news of it came to thee?" said Ha=
thi.
"A man told me, and now I see even Buldeo=
can
speak truth. It was well done, Hathi with the white mark; but the second ti=
me
it shall be done better, for the reason that there is a man to direct. Thou
knowest the village of the Man-Pack that cast me out? They are idle, sensel=
ess,
and cruel; they play with their mouths, and they do not kill the weaker for=
food,
but for sport. When they are full-fed they would throw their own breed into=
the
Red Flower. This I have seen. It is not well that they should live here any
more. I hate them!"
"Kill, then," said the youngest of
Hathi's three sons, picking up a tuft of grass, dusting it against his
fore-legs, and throwing it away, while his little red eyes glanced furtively
from side to side.
"What good are white bones to me?"
Mowgli answered angrily. "Am I the cub of a wolf to play in the sun wi=
th a
raw head? I have killed Shere Khan, and his hide rots on the Council Rock;
but--but I do not know whither Shere Khan is gone, and my stomach is still
empty. Now I will take that which I can see and touch. Let in the Jungle up=
on
that village, Hathi!"
Bagheera shivered, and cowered down. He could
understand, if the worst came to the worst, a quick rush down the village
street, and a right and left blow into a crowd, or a crafty killing of men =
as
they ploughed in the twilight; but this scheme for deliberately blotting ou=
t an
entire village from the eyes of man and beast frightened him. Now he saw wh=
y Mowgli
had sent for Hathi. No one but the long-lived elephant could plan and carry
through such a war.
"Let them run as the men ran from the fie=
lds
of Bhurtpore, till we have the rain-water for the only plough, and the nois=
e of
the rain on the thick leaves for the pattering of their spindles--till Bagh=
eera
and I lair in the house of the Brahmin, and the buck drink at the tank behi=
nd the
temple! Let in the Jungle, Hathi!"
"But I--but we have no quarrel with them,=
and
it needs the red rage of great pain ere we tear down the places where men
sleep," said Hathi doubtfully.
"Are ye the only eaters of grass in the
Jungle? Drive in your peoples. Let the deer and the pig and the nilghai loo=
k to
it. Ye need never show a hand's-breadth of hide till the fields are naked. =
Let
in the Jungle, Hathi!"
"There will be no killing? My tusks were =
red
at the Sack of the Fields of Bhurtpore, and I would not wake that smell
again."
"Nor I. I do not wish even their bones to=
lie
on the clean earth. Let them go and find a fresh lair. They cannot stay her=
e. I
have seen and smelled the blood of the woman that gave me food--the woman w=
hom
they would have killed but for me. Only the smell of the new grass on their=
door-steps
can take away that smell. It burns in my mouth. Let in the Jungle, Hathi!&q=
uot;
"Ah!" said Hathi. "So did the s=
car
of the stake burn on my hide till we watched the villages die under in the
spring growth. Now I see. Thy war shall be our war. We will let in the
jungle!"
Mowgli had hardly time to catch his breath--he=
was
shaking all over with rage and hate before the place where the elephants had
stood was empty, and Bagheera was looking at him with terror.
"By the Broken Lock that freed me!" =
said
the Black Panther at last. "Art THOU the naked thing I spoke for in the
Pack when all was young? Master of the Jungle, when my strength goes, speak=
for
me--speak for Baloo--speak for us all! We are cubs before thee! Snapped twi=
gs
under foot! Fawns that have lost their doe!"
The idea of Bagheera being a stray fawn upset
Mowgli altogether, and he laughed and caught his breath, and sobbed and lau=
ghed
again, till he had to jump into a pool to make himself stop. Then he swam r=
ound
and round, ducking in and out of the bars of the moonlight like the frog, h=
is namesake.
By this time Hathi and his three sons had turn=
ed,
each to one point of the compass, and were striding silently down the valle=
ys a
mile away. They went on and on for two days' march--that is to say, a long
sixty miles--through the Jungle; and every step they took, and every wave o=
f their
trunks, was known and noted and talked over by Mang and Chil and the Monkey
People and all the birds. Then they began to feed, and fed quietly for a we=
ek
or so. Hathi and his sons are like Kaa, the Rock Python. They never hurry t=
ill
they have to.
At the end of that time--and none knew who had
started it--a rumour went through the Jungle that there was better food and
water to be found in such and such a valley. The pig--who, of course, will =
go
to the ends of the earth for a full meal--moved first by companies, scuffli=
ng
over the rocks, and the deer followed, with the small wild foxes that live =
on the
dead and dying of the herds; and the heavy-shouldered nilghai moved parallel
with the deer, and the wild buffaloes of the swamps came after the nilghai.=
The
least little thing would have turned the scattered, straggling droves that
grazed and sauntered and drank and grazed again; but whenever there was an
alarm some one would rise up and soothe them. At one time it would be Ikki =
the
Porcupine, full of news of good feed just a little farther on; at another M=
ang
would cry cheerily and flap down a glade to show it was all empty; or Baloo,
his mouth full of roots, would shamble alongside a wavering line and half
frighten, half romp it clumsily back to the proper road. Very many creatures
broke back or ran away or lost interest, but very many were left to go forw=
ard.
At the end of another ten days or so the situation was this. The deer and t=
he
pig and the nilghai were milling round and round in a circle of eight or ten
miles radius, while the Eaters of Flesh skirmished round its edge. And the
centre of that circle was the village, and round the village the crops were
ripening, and in the crops sat men on what they call machans--platforms like
pigeon-perches, made of sticks at the top of four poles--to scare away birds
and other stealers. Then the deer were coaxed no more. The Eaters of Flesh =
were
close behind them, and forced them forward and inward.
It was a dark night when Hathi and his three s=
ons
slipped down from the Jungle, and broke off the poles of the machans with t=
heir
trunks; they fell as a snapped stalk of hemlock in bloom falls, and the men
that tumbled from them heard the deep gurgling of the elephants in their ea=
rs.
Then the vanguard of the bewildered armies of the deer broke down and flood=
ed
into the village grazing-grounds and the ploughed fields; and the sharp-hoo=
fed,
rooting wild pig came with them, and what the deer left the pig spoiled, and
from time to time an alarm of wolves would shake the herds, and they would =
rush
to and fro desperately, treading down the young barley, and cutting flat the
banks of the irrigating channels. Before the dawn broke the pressure on the
outside of the circle gave way at one point. The Eaters of Flesh had fallen
back and left an open path to the south, and drove upon drove of buck fled
along it. Others, who were bolder, lay up in the thickets to finish their m=
eal next
night.
But the work was practically done. When the
villagers looked in the morning they saw their crops were lost. And that me=
ant
death if they did not get away, for they lived year in and year out as near=
to
starvation as the Jungle was near to them. When the buffaloes were sent to
graze the hungry brutes found that the deer had cleared the grazing-grounds=
, and
so wandered into the Jungle and drifted off with their wild mates; and when
twilight fell the three or four ponies that belonged to the village lay in
their stables with their heads beaten in. Only Bagheera could have given th=
ose
strokes, and only Bagheera would have thought of insolently dragging the la=
st
carcass to the open street.
The villagers had no heart to make fires in the
fields that night, so Hathi and his three sons went gleaning among what was
left; and where Hathi gleans there is no need to follow. The men decided to
live on their stored seed-corn until the rains had fallen, and then to take=
work
as servants till they could catch up with the lost year; but as the
grain-dealer was thinking of his well-filled crates of corn, and the prices=
he
would levy at the sale of it, Hathi's sharp tusks were picking out the corn=
er
of his mud-house, and smashing open the big wicker chest, leeped with cow-d=
ung,
where the precious stuff lay.
When that last loss was discovered, it was the
Brahmin's turn to speak. He had prayed to his own Gods without answer. It m=
ight
be, he said, that, unconsciously, the village had offended some one of the =
Gods
of the Jungle, for, beyond doubt, the Jungle was against them. So they sent=
for
the head-man of the nearest tribe of wandering Gonds--little, wise, and very
black hunters, living in the deep Jungle, whose fathers came of the oldest =
race
in India--the aboriginal owners of the land. They made the Gond welcome with
what they had, and he stood on one leg, his bow in his hand, and two or thr=
ee
poisoned arrows stuck through his top-knot, looking half afraid and half
contemptuously at the anxious villagers and their ruined fields. They wishe=
d to
know whether his Gods--the Old Gods--were angry with them and what sacrific=
es
should be offered. The Gond said nothing, but picked up a trail of the Kare=
la,
the vine that bears the bitter wild gourd, and laced it to and fro across t=
he
temple door in the face of the staring red Hindu image. Then he pushed with=
his
hand in the open air along the road to Khanhiwara, and went back to his Jun=
gle,
and watched the Jungle People drifting through it. He knew that when the Ju=
ngle
moves only white men can hope to turn it aside.
There was no need to ask his meaning. The wild
gourd would grow where they had worshipped their God, and the sooner they s=
aved
themselves the better.
But it is hard to tear a village from its
moorings. They stayed on as long as any summer food was left to them, and t=
hey
tried to gather nuts in the Jungle, but shadows with glaring eyes watched t=
hem,
and rolled before them even at mid-day; and when they ran back afraid to th=
eir walls,
on the tree-trunks they had passed not five minutes before the bark would be
stripped and chiselled with the stroke of some great taloned paw. The more =
they
kept to their village, the bolder grew the wild things that gambolled and
bellowed on the grazing-grounds by the Waingunga. They had no time to patch=
and
plaster the rear walls of the empty byres that backed on to the Jungle; the
wild pig trampled them down, and the knotty-rooted vines hurried after and
threw their elbows over the new-won ground, and the coarse grass bristled
behind the vines like the lances of a goblin army following a retreat. The
unmarried men ran away first, and carried the news far and near that the
village was doomed. Who could fight, they said, against the Jungle, or the =
Gods
of the Jungle, when the very village cobra had left his hole in the platform
under the peepul-tree? So their little commerce with the outside world shru=
nk
as the trodden paths across the open grew fewer and fainter. At last the
nightly trumpetings of Hathi and his three sons ceased to trouble them; for
they had no more to be robbed of. The crop on the ground and the seed in the
ground had been taken. The outlying fields were already losing their shape,=
and
it was time to throw themselves on the charity of the English at Khanhiwara=
.
Native fashion, they delayed their departure f=
rom
one day to another till the first Rains caught them and the unmended roofs =
let
in a flood, and the grazing-ground stood ankle deep, and all life came on w=
ith
a rush after the heat of the summer. Then they waded out--men, women, and
children--through the blinding hot rain of the morning, but turned naturally
for one farewell look at their homes.
They heard, as the last burdened family filed
through the gate, a crash of falling beams and thatch behind the walls. They
saw a shiny, snaky black trunk lifted for an instant, scattering sodden tha=
tch.
It disappeared, and there was another crash, followed by a squeal. Hathi had
been plucking off the roofs of the huts as you pluck water-lilies, and a
rebounding beam had pricked him. He needed only this to unchain his full
strength, for of all things in the Jungle the wild elephant enraged is the =
most
wantonly destructive. He kicked backward at a mud wall that crumbled at the
stroke, and, crumbling, melted to yellow mud under the torrent of rain. The=
n he
wheeled and squealed, and tore through the narrow streets, leaning against =
the
huts right and left, shivering the crazy doors, and crumpling up the caves;
while his three sons raged behind as they had raged at the Sack of the Fiel=
ds
of Bhurtpore.
"The Jungle will swallow these shells,&qu=
ot;
said a quiet voice in the wreckage. "It is the outer wall that must lie
down," and Mowgli, with the rain sluicing over his bare shoulders and
arms, leaped back from a wall that was settling like a tired buffalo.
"All in good time," panted Hathi.
"Oh, but my tusks were red at Bhurtpore; To the outer wall, children! =
With
the head! Together! Now!"
The four pushed side by side; the outer wall
bulged, split, and fell, and the villagers, dumb with horror, saw the savag=
e,
clay-streaked heads of the wreckers in the ragged gap. Then they fled,
houseless and foodless, down the valley, as their village, shredded and tos=
sed
and trampled, melted behind them.
A month later the place was a dimpled mound,
covered with soft, green young stuff; and by the end of the Rains there was=
the
roaring jungle in full blast on the spot that had been under plough not six
months before.
I=
will
let loose against you the fleet-footed vines-- I will call in the Jungle to stamp o=
ut
your lines! The roofs shal=
l fade
before it, The house-bea=
ms
shall fall, And the Karela=
, the
bitter Karela, Shall cov=
er it
all!
I=
n the
gates of these your councils my people shall sing, In the doors of these your garners t=
he
Bat-folk shall cling; And =
the
snake shall be your watchman, By a hearthstone unswept; For the Karela, the bitter Karel=
a, Shall fruit where ye slept!
Ye
shall not see my strikers; ye shall hear them and guess; By night, before the moon-rise, I wi=
ll
send for my cess, And the =
wolf
shall be your herdsman B=
y a
landmark removed, For the
Karela, the bitter Karela, Shall seed where ye loved!
I=
will
reap your fields before you at the hands of a host; Ye shall glean behind my reapers, fo=
r the
bread that is lost, And th=
e deer
shall be your oxen By a
headland untilled, For the
Karela, the bitter Karela, Shall leaf where ye build!
I=
have
untied against you the club-footed vines, I have sent in the Jungle to swamp o=
ut
your lines. The trees--the=
trees
are on you! The house-be=
ams
shall fall, And the Karela=
, the
bitter Karela, Shall co=
ver
you all!
THE
UNDERTAKERS
When
ye say to Tabaqui, "My Brother!" when ye call the Hyena to meat, Ye may cry the Full Truce with
Jacala--the Belly that runs on four feet. =
Jungle
Law
"Respect the aged!"
"It was a thick voice--a muddy voice that
would have made you shudder--a voice like something soft breaking in two. T=
here
was a quaver in it, a croak and a whine.
"Respect the aged! O Companions of the
River--respect the aged!"
Nothing could be seen on the broad reach of the
river except a little fleet of square-sailed, wooden-pinned barges, loaded =
with
building-stone, that had just come under the railway bridge, and were drivi=
ng
down-stream. They put their clumsy helms over to avoid the sand-bar made by=
the
scour of the bridge-piers, and as they passed, three abreast, the horrible
voice began again:
"O Brahmins of the River--respect the aged
and infirm!"
A boatman turned where he sat on the gunwale,
lifted up his hand, said something that was not a blessing, and the boats
creaked on through the twilight. The broad Indian river, that looked more l=
ike
a chain of little lakes than a stream, was as smooth as glass, reflecting t=
he sandy-red
sky in mid-channel, but splashed with patches of yellow and dusky purple ne=
ar
and under the low banks. Little creeks ran into the river in the wet season,
but now their dry mouths hung clear above water-line. On the left shore, and
almost under the railway bridge, stood a mud-and-brick and thatch-and-stick
village, whose main street, full of cattle going back to their byres, ran
straight to the river, and ended in a sort of rude brick pier-head, where
people who wanted to wash could wade in step by step. That was the Ghaut of=
the
village of Mugger-Ghaut.
Night was falling fast over the fields of lent=
ils
and rice and cotton in the low-lying ground yearly flooded by the river; ov=
er
the reeds that fringed the elbow of the bend, and the tangled jungle of the=
grazing-grounds
behind the still reeds. The parrots and crows, who had been chattering and
shouting over their evening drink, had flown inland to roost, crossing the
out-going battalions of the flying-foxes; and cloud upon cloud of water-bir=
ds
came whistling and "honking" to the cover of the reed-beds. There
were geese, barrel-headed and black-backed, teal, widgeon, mallard, and
sheldrake, with curlews, and here and there a flamingo.
A lumbering Adjutant-crane brought up the rear,
flying as though each slow stroke would be his last.
"Respect the aged! Brahmins of the
River--respect the aged!"
The Adjutant half turned his head, sheered a
little in the direction of the voice, and landed stiffly on the sand-bar be=
low
the bridge. Then you saw what a ruffianly brute he really was. His back view
was immensely respectable, for he stood nearly six feet high, and looked ra=
ther
like a very proper bald-headed parson. In front it was different, for his A=
lly Sloper-like
head and neck had not a feather to them, and there was a horrible raw-skin
pouch on his neck under his chin--a hold-all for the things his pick-axe be=
ak
might steal. His legs were long and thin and skinny, but he moved them
delicately, and looked at them with pride as he preened down his ashy-gray
tail-feathers, glanced over the smooth of his shoulder, and stiffened into
"Stand at attention."
A mangy little Jackal, who had been yapping
hungrily on a low bluff, cocked up his ears and tail, and scuttered across =
the
shallows to join the Adjutant.
He was the lowest of his caste--not that the b=
est
of jackals are good for much, but this one was peculiarly low, being half a
beggar, half a criminal--a cleaner-up of village rubbish-heaps, desperately
timid or wildly bold, everlastingly hungry, and full of cunning that never =
did him
any good.
"Ugh!" he said, shaking himself
dolefully as he landed. "May the red mange destroy the dogs of this
village! I have three bites for each flea upon me, and all because I
looked--only looked, mark you--at an old shoe in a cow-byre. Can I eat
mud?" He scratched himself under his left ear.
"I heard," said the Adjutant, in a v=
oice
like a blunt saw going through a thick board--"I HEARD there was a
new-born puppy in that same shoe."
"To hear is one thing; to know is
another," said the Jackal, who had a very fair knowledge of proverbs,
picked up by listening to men round the village fires of an evening.
"Quite true. So, to make sure, I took car=
e of
that puppy while the dogs were busy elsewhere."
"They were VERY busy," said the Jack=
al.
"Well, I must not go to the village hunting for scraps yet awhile. And=
so
there truly was a blind puppy in that shoe?"
"It is here," said the Adjutant,
squinting over his beak at his full pouch. "A small thing, but accepta=
ble
now that charity is dead in the world."
"Ahai! The world is iron in these days,&q=
uot;
wailed the Jackal. Then his restless eye caught the least possible ripple on
the water, and he went on quickly: "Life is hard for us all, and I dou=
bt
not that even our excellent master, the Pride of the Ghaut and the Envy of =
the
River----"
"A liar, a flatterer, and a Jackal were a=
ll
hatched out of the same egg," said the Adjutant to nobody in particula=
r;
for he was rather a fine sort of a liar on his own account when he took the
trouble.
"Yes, the Envy of the River," the Ja=
ckal
repeated, raising his voice. "Even he, I doubt not, finds that since t=
he
bridge has been built good food is more scarce. But on the other hand, thou=
gh I
would by no means say this to his noble face, he is so wise and so virtuous=
--as
I, alas I am not----"
"When the Jackal owns he is gray, how bla=
ck
must the Jackal be!" muttered the Adjutant. He could not see what was
coming.
"That his food never fails, and in
consequence----"
There was a soft grating sound, as though a bo=
at
had just touched in shoal water. The Jackal spun round quickly and faced (i=
t is
always best to face) the creature he had been talking about. It was a twent=
y-four-foot
crocodile, cased in what looked like treble-riveted boiler-plate, studded a=
nd
keeled and crested; the yellow points of his upper teeth just overhanging h=
is
beautifully fluted lower jaw. It was the blunt-nosed Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut,
older than any man in the village, who had given his name to the village; t=
he
demon of the ford before the railway bridge, came--murderer, man-eater, and
local fetish in one. He lay with his chin in the shallows, keeping his plac=
e by
an almost invisible rippling of his tail, and well the Jackal knew that one=
stroke
of that same tail in the water would carry the Mugger up the bank with the =
rush
of a steam-engine.
"Auspiciously met, Protector of the
Poor!" he fawned, backing at every word. "A delectable voice was
heard, and we came in the hopes of sweet conversation. My tailless presumpt=
ion,
while waiting here, led me, indeed, to speak of thee. It is my hope that
nothing was overheard."
Now the Jackal had spoken just to be listened =
to,
for he knew flattery was the best way of getting things to eat, and the Mug=
ger
knew that the Jackal had spoken for this end, and the Jackal knew that the
Mugger knew, and the Mugger knew that the Jackal knew that the Mugger knew,=
and
so they were all very contented together.
The old brute pushed and panted and grunted up=
the
bank, mumbling, "Respect the aged and infirm!" and all the time h=
is
little eyes burned like coals under the heavy, horny eyelids on the top of =
his
triangular head, as he shoved his bloated barrel-body along between his
crutched legs. Then he settled down, and, accustomed as the Jackal was to h=
is ways,
he could not help starting, for the hundredth time, when he saw how exactly=
the
Mugger imitated a log adrift on the bar. He had even taken pains to lie at =
the
exact angle a naturally stranded log would make with the water, having rega=
rd
to the current of the season at the time and place. All this was only a mat=
ter
of habit, of course, because the Mugger had come ashore for pleasure; but a
crocodile is never quite full, and if the Jackal had been deceived by the
likeness he would not have lived to philosophise over it.
"My child, I heard nothing," said the
Mugger, shutting one eye. "The water was in my ears, and also I was fa=
int
with hunger. Since the railway bridge was built my people at my village have
ceased to love me; and that is breaking my heart."
"Ah, shame!" said the Jackal. "=
So
noble a heart, too! But men are all alike, to my mind."
"Nay, there are very great differences
indeed," the Mugger answered gently. "Some are as lean as boat-po=
les.
Others again are fat as young ja--dogs. Never would I causelessly revile me=
n.
They are of all fashions, but the long years have shown me that, one with
another, they are very good. Men, women, and children--I have no fault to f=
ind
with them. And remember, child, he who rebukes the World is rebuked by the =
World."
"Flattery is worse than an empty tin can =
in
the belly. But that which we have just heard is wisdom," said the
Adjutant, bringing down one foot.
"Consider, though, their ingratitude to t=
his
excellent one," began the Jackal tenderly.
"Nay, nay, not ingratitude!" the Mug=
ger
said. "They do not think for others; that is all. But I have noticed,
lying at my station below the ford, that the stairs of the new bridge are
cruelly hard to climb, both for old people and young children. The old, ind=
eed,
are not so worthy of consideration, but I am grieved--I am truly grieved--on
account of the fat children. Still, I think, in a little while, when the ne=
wness
of the bridge has worn away, we shall see my people's bare brown legs brave=
ly splashing
through the ford as before. Then the old Mugger will be honoured again.&quo=
t;
"But surely I saw Marigold wreaths floati=
ng
off the edge of the Ghaut only this noon," said the Adjutant.
Marigold wreaths are a sign of reverence all I=
ndia
over.
"An error--an error. It was the wife of t=
he
sweetmeat-seller. She loses her eyesight year by year, and cannot tell a log
from me--the Mugger of the Ghaut. I saw the mistake when she threw the garl=
and,
for I was lying at the very foot of the Ghaut, and had she taken another st=
ep I
might have shown her some little difference. Yet she meant well, and we mus=
t consider
the spirit of the offering."
"What good are marigold wreaths when one =
is
on the rubbish-heap?" said the Jackal, hunting for fleas, but keeping =
one
wary eye on his Protector of the Poor.
"True, but they have not yet begun to make
the rubbish-heap that shall carry ME. Five times have I seen the river draw
back from the village and make new land at the foot of the street. Five tim=
es
have I seen the village rebuilt on the banks, and I shall see it built yet =
five
times more. I am no faithless, fish-hunting Gavial, I, at Kasi to-day and P=
rayag
to-morrow, as the saying is, but the true and constant watcher of the ford.=
It
is not for nothing, child, that the village bears my name, and 'he who watc=
hes
long,' as the saying is, 'shall at last have his reward.'"
" I have watched long--very long--nearly all=
my
life, and my reward has been bites and blows," said the Jackal.
"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the Adjutant.
"In August was the Jackal born; The Rains fell in September; 'Now such a fearful flood as this,' =
Says he, 'I can't remember!'"=
;
There is one very unpleasant peculiarity about=
the
Adjutant. At uncertain times he suffers from acute attacks of the fidgets or
cramp in his legs, and though he is more virtuous to behold than any of the=
cranes,
who are all immensely respectable, he flies off into wild, cripple-stilt
war-dances, half opening his wings and bobbing his bald head up and down; w=
hile
for reasons best known to himself he is very careful to time his worst atta=
cks
with his nastiest remarks. At the last word of his song he came to attention
again, ten times adjutaunter than before.
The Jackal winced, though he was full three
seasons old, but you cannot resent an insult from a person with a beak a ya=
rd
long, and the power of driving it like a javelin. The Adjutant was a most
notorious coward, but the Jackal was worse.
"We must live before we can learn," =
said
the Mugger, "and there is this to say: Little jackals are very common,
child, but such a mugger as I am is not common. For all that, I am not prou=
d,
since pride is destruction; but take notice, it is Fate, and against his Fa=
te
no one who swims or walks or runs should say anything at all. I am well
contented with Fate. With good luck, a keen eye, and the custom of consider=
ing
whether a creek or a backwater has an outlet to it ere you ascend, much may=
be done."
"Once I heard that even the Protector of =
the
Poor made a mistake," said the Jackal viciously.
"True; but there my Fate helped me. It was
before I had come to my full growth--before the last famine but three (by t=
he
Right and Left of Gunga, how full used the streams to be in those days!). Y=
es,
I was young and unthinking, and when the flood came, who so pleased as I? A
little made me very happy then. The village was deep in flood, and I swam a=
bove
the Ghaut and went far inland, up to the rice-fields, and they were deep in
good mud. I remember also a pair of bracelets (glass they were, and trouble=
d me
not a little) that I found that evening. Yes, glass bracelets; and, if my
memory serves me well, a shoe. I should have shaken off both shoes, but I w=
as
hungry. I learned better later. Yes. And so I fed and rested me; but when I=
was
ready to go to the river again the flood had fallen, and I walked through t=
he
mud of the main street. Who but I? Came out all my people, priests and women
and children, and I looked upon them with benevolence. The mud is not a goo=
d place
to fight in. Said a boatman, 'Get axes and kill him, for he is the Mugger of
the ford.' 'Not so,' said the Brahmin. 'Look, he is driving the flood before
him! He is the godling of the village.' Then they threw many flowers at me,=
and
by happy thought one led a goat across the road."
"How good--how very good is goat!" s=
aid
the Jackal.
"Hairy--too hairy, and when found in the
water more than likely to hide a cross-shaped hook. But that goat I accepte=
d,
and went down to the Ghaut in great honour. Later, my Fate sent me the boat=
man
who had desired to cut off my tail with an axe. His boat grounded upon an o=
ld shoal
which you would not remember."
"We are not ALL jackals here," said =
the
Adjutant. "Was it the shoal made where the stone-boats sank in the yea=
r of
the great drouth--a long shoal that lasted three floods?"
"There were two," said the Mugger;
"an upper and a lower shoal."
"Ay, I forgot. A channel divided them, and
later dried up again," said the Adjutant, who prided himself on his
memory.
"On the lower shoal my well-wisher's craft
grounded. He was sleeping in the bows, and, half awake, leaped over to his
waist--no, it was no more than to his knees--to push off. His empty boat we=
nt
on and touched again below the next reach, as the river ran then. I followe=
d,
because I knew men would come out to drag it ashore."
"And did they do so?" said the Jacka=
l, a
little awe-stricken. This was hunting on a scale that impressed him.
"There and lower down they did. I went no
farther, but that gave me three in one day--well-fed manjis (boatmen) all, =
and,
except in the case of the last (then I was careless), never a cry to warn t=
hose
on the bank."
"Ah, noble sport! But what cleverness and
great judgment it requires!" said the Jackal.
"Not cleverness, child, but only thought.=
A
little thought in life is like salt upon rice, as the boatmen say, and I ha=
ve
thought deeply always. The Gavial, my cousin, the fish-eater, has told me h=
ow
hard it is for him to follow his fish, and how one fish differs from the ot=
her,
and how he must know them all, both together and apart. I say that is wisdo=
m;
but, on the other hand, my cousin, the Gavial, lives among his people. MY
people do not swim in companies, with their mouths out of the water, as Rewa
does; nor do they constantly rise to the surface of the water, and turn ove=
r on
their sides, like Mohoo and little Chapta; nor do they gather in shoals aft=
er
flood, like Batchua and Chilwa."
"All are very good eating," said the
Adjutant, clattering his beak.
"So my cousin says, and makes a great to-=
do
over hunting them, but they do not climb the banks to escape his sharp nose=
. MY
people are otherwise. Their life is on the land, in the houses, among the
cattle. I must know what they do, and what they are about to do; and adding=
the
tail to the trunk, as the saying is, I make up the whole elephant. Is there=
a
green branch and an iron ring hanging over a doorway? The old Mugger knows =
that
a boy has been born in that house, and must some day come down to the Ghaut=
to
play. Is a maiden to be married? The old Mugger knows, for he sees the men
carry gifts back and forth; and she, too, comes down to the Ghaut to bathe
before her wedding, and--he is there. Has the river changed its channel, an=
d made
new land where there was only sand before? The Mugger knows."
"Now, of what use is that knowledge?"
said the Jackal. "The river has shifted even in my little life."
Indian rivers are nearly always moving about in their beds, and will shift,
sometimes, as much as two or three miles in a season, drowning the fields on
one bank, and spreading good silt on the other.
"There is no knowledge so useful," s=
aid
the Mugger, "for new land means new quarrels. The Mugger knows. Oho! t=
he
Mugger knows. As soon as the water has drained off, he creeps up the little
creeks that men think would not hide a dog, and there he waits. Presently c=
omes
a farmer saying he will plant cucumbers here, and melons there, in the new =
land
that the river has given him. He feels the good mud with his bare toes. Anon
comes another, saying he will put onions, and carrots, and sugar-cane in su=
ch
and such places. They meet as boats adrift meet, and each rolls his eye at =
the
other under the big blue turban. The old Mugger sees and hears. Each calls =
the
other 'Brother,' and they go to mark out the boundaries of the new land. The
Mugger hurries with them from point to point, shuffling very low through the
mud. Now they begin to quarrel! Now they say hot words! Now they pull turba=
ns!
Now they lift up their lathis (clubs), and, at last, one falls backward into
the mud, and the other runs away. When he comes back the dispute is settled=
, as
the iron-bound bamboo of the loser witnesses. Yet they are not grateful to =
the
Mugger. No, they cry 'Murder!' and their families fight with sticks, twenty
a-side. My people are good people--upland Jats--Malwais of the Bet. They do=
not
give blows for sport, and, when the fight is done, the old Mugger waits far
down the river, out of sight of the village, behind the kikar-scrub yonder.
Then come they down, my broad-shouldered Jats--eight or nine together under=
the
stars, bearing the dead man upon a bed. They are old men with gray beards, =
and
voices as deep as mine. They light a little fire--ah! how well I know that =
fire!--and
they drink tobacco, and they nod their heads together forward in a ring, or
sideways toward the dead man upon the bank. They say the English Law will c=
ome
with a rope for this matter, and that such a man's family will be ashamed,
because such a man must be hanged in the great square of the Jail. Then say=
the
friends of the dead, 'Let him hang!' and the talk is all to do over
again--once, twice, twenty times in the long night. Then says one, at last,
'The fight was a fair fight. Let us take blood-money, a little more than is
offered by the slayer, and we will say no more about it.' Then do they hagg=
le
over the blood-money, for the dead was a strong man, leaving many sons. Yet
before amratvela (sunrise) they put the fire to him a little, as the custom=
is,
and the dead man comes to me, and HE says no more about it. Aha! my childre=
n, the
Mugger knows--the Mugger knows--and my Malwah Jats are a good people!"=
"They are too close--too narrow in the ha=
nd
for my crop," croaked the Adjutant. "They waste not the polish on=
the
cow's horn, as the saying is; and, again, who can glean after a Malwai?&quo=
t;
"Ah, I--glean--THEM," said the Mugge=
r.
"Now, in Calcutta of the South, in the old
days," the Adjutant went on, "everything was thrown into the stre=
ets,
and we picked and chose. Those wore dainty seasons. But to-day they keep th=
eir
streets as clean as the outside of an egg, and my people fly away. To be cl=
ean
is one thing; to dust, sweep, and sprinkle seven times a day wearies the ve=
ry
Gods themselves."
"There was a down-country jackal had it f=
rom
a brother, who told me, that in Calcutta of the South all the jackals were =
as
fat as otters in the Rains," said the Jackal, his mouth watering at the
bare thought of it.
"Ah, but the white-faces are there--the
English, and they bring dogs from somewhere down the river in boats--big fat
dogs--to keep those same jackals lean," said the Adjutant.
"They are, then, as hard-hearted as these
people? I might have known. Neither earth, sky, nor water shows charity to a
jackal. I saw the tents of a white-face last season, after the Rains, and I
also took a new yellow bridle to eat. The white-faces do not dress their
leather in the proper way. It made me very sick."
"That was better than my case," said=
the
Adjutant. "When I was in my third season, a young and a bold bird, I w=
ent
down to the river where the big boats come in. The boats of the English are
thrice as big as this village."
"He has been as far as Delhi, and says all
the people there walk on their heads," muttered the Jackal. The Mugger
opened his left eye, and looked keenly at the Adjutant.
"It is true," the big bird insisted.
"A liar only lies when he hopes to be believed. No one who had not seen
those boats COULD believe this truth."
"THAT is more reasonable," said the =
Mugger.
"And then?"
"From the insides of this boat they were
taking out great pieces of white stuff, which, in a little while, turned to
water. Much split off, and fell about on the shore, and the rest they swift=
ly
put into a house with thick walls. But a boatman, who laughed, took a piece=
no
larger than a small dog, and threw it to me. I--all my people--swallow with=
out reflection,
and that piece I swallowed as is our custom. Immediately I was afflicted wi=
th
an excessive cold which, beginning in my crop, ran down to the extreme end =
of
my toes, and deprived me even of speech, while the boatmen laughed at me. N=
ever
have I felt such cold. I danced in my grief and amazement till I could reco=
ver
my breath and then I danced and cried out against the falseness of this wor=
ld;
and the boatmen derided me till they fell down. The chief wonder of the mat=
ter,
setting aside that marvellous coldness, was that there was nothing at all i=
n my
crop when I had finished my lamentings!"
The Adjutant had done his very best to describe
his feelings after swallowing a seven-pound lump of Wenham Lake ice, off an
American ice-ship, in the days before Calcutta made her ice by machinery; b=
ut as
he did not know what ice was, and as the Mugger and the Jackal knew rather
less, the tale missed fire.
"Anything," said the Mugger, shutting
his left eye again--"ANYTHING is possible that comes out of a boat thr=
ice
the size of Mugger-Ghaut. My village is not a small one."
There was a whistle overhead on the bridge, and
the Delhi Mail slid across, all the carriages gleaming with light, and the
shadows faithfully following along the river. It clanked away into the dark=
again;
but the Mugger and the Jackal were so well used to it that they never turned
their heads.
"Is that anything less wonderful than a b=
oat
thrice the size of Mugger-Ghaut?" said the bird, looking up.
"I saw that built, child. Stone by stone I
saw the bridge-piers rise, and when the men fell off (they were wondrous
sure-footed for the most part--but WHEN they fell) I was ready. After the f=
irst
pier was made they never thought to look down the stream for the body to bu=
rn.
There, again, I saved much trouble. There was nothing strange in the buildi=
ng of
the bridge," said the Mugger.
"But that which goes across, pulling the
roofed carts! That is strange," the Adjutant repeated. "It is, pa=
st
any doubt, a new breed of bullock. Some day it will not be able to keep its
foothold up yonder, and will fall as the men did. The old Mugger will then =
be
ready."
The Jackal looked at the Adjutant and the Adju=
tant
looked at the Jackal. If there was one thing they were more certain of than
another, it was that the engine was everything in the wide world except a
bullock. The Jackal had watched it time and again from the aloe hedges by t=
he
side of the line, and the Adjutant had seen engines since the first locomot=
ive ran
in India. But the Mugger had only looked up at the thing from below, where =
the
brass dome seemed rather like a bullock's hump.
"M--yes, a new kind of bullock," the
Mugger repeated ponderously, to make himself quite sure in his own mind; and
"Certainly it is a bullock," said the Jackal.
"And again it might be----" began the
Mugger pettishly.
"Certainly--most certainly," said the
Jackal, without waiting for the other to finish.
"What?" said the Mugger angrily, for=
he
could feel that the others knew more than he did. "What might it be? <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I never
finished my words. You said it was a bullock."
"It is anything the Protector of the Poor
pleases. I am HIS servant--not the servant of the thing that crosses the
river."
"Whatever it is, it is white-face work,&q=
uot;
said the Adjutant; "and for my own part, I would not lie out upon a pl=
ace
so near to it as this bar."
"You do not know the English as I do,&quo=
t;
said the Mugger. "There was a white-face here when the bridge was buil=
t,
and he would take a boat in the evenings and shuffle with his feet on the
bottom-boards, and whisper: 'Is he here? Is he there? Bring me my gun.' I c=
ould
hear him before I could see him--each sound that he made--creaking and puff=
ing and
rattling his gun, up and down the river. As surely as I had picked up one of
his workmen, and thus saved great expense in wood for the burning, so surely
would he come down to the Ghaut, and shout in a loud voice that he would hu=
nt
me, and rid the river of me--the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut! ME! Children, I ha=
ve
swum under the bottom of his boat for hour after hour, and heard him fire h=
is
gun at logs; and when I was well sure he was wearied, I have risen by his s=
ide
and snapped my jaws in his face. When the bridge was finished he went away.=
All
the English hunt in that fashion, except when they are hunted."
"Who hunts the white-faces?" yapped =
the
Jackal excitedly.
"No one now, but I have hunted them in my
time."
"I remember a little of that Hunting. I w=
as
young then," said the Adjutant, clattering his beak significantly.
"I was well established here. My village =
was
being builded for the third time, as I remember, when my cousin, the Gavial,
brought me word of rich waters above Benares. At first I would not go, for =
my
cousin, who is a fish-eater, does not always know the good from the bad; bu=
t I
heard my people talking in the evenings, and what they said made me
certain."
"And what did they say?" the Jackal
asked.
"They said enough to make me, the Mugger =
of
Mugger-Ghaut, leave water and take to my feet. I went by night, using the
littlest streams as they served me; but it was the beginning of the hot
weather, and all streams were low. I crossed dusty roads; I went through ta=
ll
grass; I climbed hills in the moonlight. Even rocks did I climb,
children--consider this well. I crossed the tail of Sirhind, the waterless,
before I could find the set of the little rivers that flow Gungaward. I was=
a
month's journey from my own people and the river that I knew. That was very=
marvellous!"
"What food on the way?" said the Jac=
kal,
who kept his soul in his little stomach, and was not a bit impressed by the
Mugger's land travels.
"That which I could find--COUSIN," s=
aid
the Mugger slowly, dragging each word.
Now you do not call a man a cousin in India un=
less
you think you can establish some kind of blood-relationship, and as it is o=
nly
in old fairy-tales that the Mugger ever marries a jackal, the Jackal knew f=
or what
reason he had been suddenly lifted into the Mugger's family circle. If they=
had
been alone he would not have cared, but the Adjutant's eyes twinkled with m=
irth
at the ugly jest.
"Assuredly, Father, I might have known,&q=
uot;
said the Jackal. A mugger does not care to be called a father of jackals, a=
nd
the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut said as much--and a great deal more which there =
is
no use in repeating here.
"The Protector of the Poor has claimed
kinship. How can I remember the precise degree? Moreover, we eat the same f=
ood.
He has said it," was the Jackal's reply.
That made matters rather worse, for what the
Jackal hinted at was that the Mugger must have eaten his food on that
land-march fresh and fresh every day, instead of keeping it by him till it =
was
in a fit and proper condition, as every self-respecting mugger and most wild
beasts do when they can. Indeed, one of the worst terms of contempt along t=
he
River-bed is "eater of fresh meat." It is nearly as bad as callin=
g a
man a cannibal.
"That food was eaten thirty seasons
ago," said the Adjutant quietly. "If we talk for thirty seasons m=
ore
it will never come back. Tell us, now, what happened when the good waters w=
ere
reached after thy most wonderful land journey. If we listened to the howlin=
g of
every jackal the business of the town would stop, as the saying is."
The Mugger must have been grateful for the
interruption, because he went on, with a rush:
"By the Right and Left of Gunga! when I c=
ame
there never did I see such waters!"
"Were they better, then, than the big flo=
od
of last season?" said the Jackal.
"Better! That flood was no more than comes
every five years--a handful of drowned strangers, some chickens, and a dead
bullock in muddy water with cross-currents. But the season I think of, the
river was low, smooth, and even, and, as the Gavial had warned me, the dead
English came down, touching each other. I got my girth in that season--my g=
irth
and my depth. From Agra, by Etawah and the broad waters by Allahabad----&qu=
ot;
"Oh, the eddy that set under the walls of=
the
fort at Allahabad!" said the Adjutant. "They came in there like
widgeon to the reeds, and round and round they swung--thus!"
He went off into his horrible dance again, whi=
le
the Jackal looked on enviously. He naturally could not remember the terrible
year of the Mutiny they were talking about. The Mugger continued:
"Yes, by Allahabad one lay still in the
slack-water and let twenty go by to pick one; and, above all, the English w=
ere
not cumbered with jewellery and nose-rings and anklets as my women are
nowadays. To delight in ornaments is to end with a rope for a necklace, as =
the
saying is. All the muggers of all the rivers grew fat then, but it was my F=
ate to
be fatter than them all. The news was that the English were being hunted in=
to
the rivers, and by the Right and Left of Gunga! we believed it was true. So=
far
as I went south I believed it to be true; and I went down-stream beyond Mon=
ghyr
and the tombs that look over the river."
"I know that place," said the Adjuta=
nt.
"Since those days Monghyr is a lost city. Very few live there now.&quo=
t;
"Thereafter I worked up-stream very slowly
and lazily, and a little above Monghyr there came down a boatful of
white-faces--alive! They were, as I remember, women, lying under a cloth sp=
read
over sticks, and crying aloud. There was never a gun fired at us, the watch=
ers
of the fords in those days. All the guns were busy elsewhere. We could hear=
them
day and night inland, coming and going as the wind shifted. I rose up full
before the boat, because I had never seen white-faces alive, though I knew =
them
well--otherwise. A naked white child kneeled by the side of the boat, and,
stooping over, must needs try to trail his hands in the river. It is a pret=
ty
thing to see how a child loves running water. I had fed that day, but there=
was
yet a little unfilled space within me. Still, it was for sport and not for =
food
that I rose at the child's hands. They were so clear a mark that I did not =
even
look when I closed; but they were so small that though my jaws rang true--I=
am
sure of that--the child drew them up swiftly, unhurt. They must have passed=
between
tooth and tooth--those small white hands. I should have caught him cross-wi=
se
at the elbows; but, as I said, it was only for sport and desire to see new
things that I rose at all. They cried out one after another in the boat, and
presently I rose again to watch them. The boat was too heavy to push over. =
They
were only women, but he who trusts a woman will walk on duckweed in a pool,=
as
the saying is: and by the Right and Left of Gunga, that is truth!"
"Once a woman gave me some dried skin fro=
m a
fish," said the Jackal. "I had hoped to get her baby, but horse-f=
ood
is better than the kick of a horse, as the saying is. What did thy woman
do?"
"She fired at me with a short gun of a ki=
nd I
have never seen before or since. Five times, one after another" (the
Mugger must have met with an old-fashioned revolver); "and I stayed
open-mouthed and gaping, my head in the smoke. Never did I see such a thing.
Five times, as swiftly as I wave my tail--thus!"
The Jackal, who had been growing more and more
interested in the story, had just time to leap back as the huge tail swung =
by
like a scythe.
"Not before the fifth shot," said the
Mugger, as though he had never dreamed of stunning one of his
listeners--"not before the fifth shot did I sink, and I rose in time to
hear a boatman telling all those white women that I was most certainly dead.
One bullet had gone under a neck-plate of mine. I know not if it is there
still, for the reason I cannot turn my head. Look and see, child. It will s=
how
that my tale is true."
"I?" said the Jackal. "Shall an
eater of old shoes, a bone-cracker, presume, to doubt the word of the Envy =
of
the River? May my tail be bitten off by blind puppies if the shadow of such=
a
thought has crossed my humble mind! The Protector of the Poor has condescen=
ded
to inform me, his slave, that once in his life he has been wounded by a wom=
an.
That is sufficient, and I will tell the tale to all my children, asking for=
no proof."
"Over-much civility is sometimes no better
than over-much discourtesy, for, as the saying is, one can choke a guest wi=
th
curds. I do NOT desire that any children of thine should know that the Mugg=
er
of Mugger-Ghaut took his only wound from a woman. They will have much else =
to
think of if they get their meat as miserably as does their father."
"It is forgotten long ago! It was never s=
aid!
There never was a white woman! There was no boat! Nothing whatever happened=
at
all."
The Jackal waved his brush to show how complet=
ely
everything was wiped out of his memory, and sat down with an air.
"Indeed, very many things happened,"
said the Mugger, beaten in his second attempt that night to get the better =
of
his friend. (Neither bore malice, however. Eat and be eaten was fair law al=
ong
the river, and the Jackal came in for his share of plunder when the Mugger =
had
finished a meal.) "I left that boat and went up-stream, and, when I had
reached Arrah and the back-waters behind it, there were no more dead Englis=
h. The
river was empty for a while. Then came one or two dead, in red coats, not
English, but of one kind all--Hindus and Purbeeahs--then five and six abrea=
st,
and at last, from Arrah to the North beyond Agra, it was as though whole
villages had walked into the water. They came out of little creeks one after
another, as the logs come down in the Rains. When the river rose they rose =
also
in companies from the shoals they had rested upon; and the falling flood
dragged them with it across the fields and through the Jungle by the long h=
air.
All night, too, going North, I heard the guns, and by day the shod feet of =
men
crossing fords, and that noise which a heavy cart-wheel makes on sand under
water; and every ripple brought more dead. At last even I was afraid, for I
said: 'If this thing happen to men, how shall the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut es=
cape?'
There were boats, too, that came up behind me without sails, burning
continually, as the cotton-boats sometimes burn, but never sinking."
"Ah!" said the Adjutant. "Boats
like those come to Calcutta of the South. They are tall and black, they bea=
t up
the water behind them with a tail, and they----"
"Are thrice as big as my village. MY boats
were low and white; they beat up the water on either side of them and were =
no
larger than the boats of one who speaks truth should be. They made me very
afraid, and I left water and went back to this my river, hiding by day and
walking by night, when I could not find little streams to help me. I came t=
o my
village again, but I did not hope to see any of my people there. Yet they w=
ere
ploughing and sowing and reaping, and going to and fro in their fields, as
quietly as their own cattle."
"Was there still good food in the
river?" said the Jackal.
"More than I had any desire for. Even I--=
and
I do not eat mud--even I was tired, and, as I remember, a little frightened=
of
this constant coming down of the silent ones. I heard my people say in my
village that all the English were dead; but those that came, face down, with
the current were NOT English, as my people saw. Then my people said that it=
was
best to say nothing at all, but to pay the tax and plough the land. After a
long time the river cleared, and those that came down it had been clearly
drowned by the floods, as I could well see; and though it was not so easy t=
hen
to get food, I was heartily glad of it. A little killing here and there is =
no
bad thing--but even the Mugger is sometimes satisfied, as the saying is.&qu=
ot;
"Marvellous! Most truly marvellous!"
said the Jackal. "I am become fat through merely hearing about so much
good eating. And afterward what, if it be permitted to ask, did the Protect=
or
of the Poor do?"
"I said to myself--and by the Right and L=
eft
of Gunga! I locked my jaws on that vow--I said I would never go roving any
more. So I lived by the Ghaut, very close to my own people, and I watched o=
ver
them year after year; and they loved me so much that they threw marigold
wreaths at my head whenever they saw it lift. Yes, and my Fate has been very
kind to me, and the river is good enough to respect my poor and infirm
presence; only----"
"No one is all happy from his beak to his
tail," said the Adjutant sympathetically. "What does the Mugger of
Mugger-Ghaut need more?"
"That little white child which I did not
get," said the Mugger, with a deep sigh. "He was very small, but I
have not forgotten. I am old now, but before I die it is my desire to try o=
ne
new thing. It is true they are a heavy-footed, noisy, and foolish people, a=
nd
the sport would be small, but I remember the old days above Benares, and, if
the child lives, he will remember still. It may be he goes up and down the =
bank
of some river, telling how he once passed his hands between the teeth of the
Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut, and lived to make a tale of it. My Fate has been ve=
ry
kind, but that plagues me sometimes in my dreams--the thought of the little
white child in the bows of that boat." He yawned, and closed his jaws.
"And now I will rest and think. Keep silent, my children, and respect =
the
aged."
He turned stiffly, and shuffled to the top of =
the
sand-bar, while the Jackal drew back with the Adjutant to the shelter of a =
tree
stranded on the end nearest the railway bridge.
"That was a pleasant and profitable
life," he grinned, looking up inquiringly at the bird who towered above
him. "And not once, mark you, did he think fit to tell me where a mors=
el
might have been left along the banks. Yet I have told HIM a hundred times of
good things wallowing down-stream. How true is the saying, 'All the world
forgets the Jackal and the Barber when the news has been told!' Now he is g=
oing
to sleep! Arrh!"
"How can a jackal hunt with a Mugger?&quo=
t;
said the Adjutant coolly. "Big thief and little thief; it is easy to s=
ay
who gets the pickings."
The Jackal turned, whining impatiently, and was
going to curl himself up under the tree-trunk, when suddenly he cowered, and
looked up through the draggled branches at the bridge almost above his head=
.
"What now?" said the Adjutant, openi=
ng
his wings uneasily.
"Wait till we see. The wind blows from us=
to
them, but they are not looking for us--those two men."
"Men, is it? My office protects me. All I=
ndia
knows I am holy." The Adjutant, being a first-class scavenger, is allo=
wed
to go where he pleases, and so this one never flinched.
"I am not worth a blow from anything bett=
er
than an old shoe," said the Jackal, and listened again. "Hark to =
that
footfall!" he went on. "That was no country leather, but the shod
foot of a white-face. Listen again! Iron hits iron up there! It is a gun!
Friend, those heavy-footed, foolish English are coming to speak with the
Mugger."
"Warn him, then. He was called Protector =
of
the Poor by some one not unlike a starving Jackal but a little time ago.&qu=
ot;
"Let my cousin protect his own hide. He h=
as
told me again and again there is nothing to fear from the white-faces. They
must be white-faces. Not a villager of Mugger-Ghaut would dare to come after
him. See, I said it was a gun! Now, with good luck, we shall feed before
daylight. He cannot hear well out of water, and--this time it is not a
woman!"
A shiny barrel glittered for a minute in the
moonlight on the girders. The Mugger was lying on the sand-bar as still as =
his
own shadow, his fore-feet spread out a little, his head dropped between the=
m,
snoring like a--mugger.
A voice on the bridge whispered: "It's an=
odd
shot--straight down almost--but as safe as houses. Better try behind the ne=
ck.
Golly! what a brute! The villagers will be wild if he's shot, though. He's =
the
deota [godling] of these parts."
"Don't care a rap," another voice
answered; "he took about fifteen of my best coolies while the bridge w=
as
building, and it's time he was put a stop to. I've been after him in a boat=
for
weeks. Stand by with the Martini as soon as I've given him both barrels of
this."
"Mind the kick, then. A double four-bore'=
s no
joke."
"That's for him to decide. Here goes!&quo=
t;
There was a roar like the sound of a small can=
non
(the biggest sort of elephant-rifle is not very different from some artille=
ry),
and a double streak of flame, followed by the stinging crack of a Martini,
whose long bullet makes nothing of a crocodile's plates. But the explosive
bullets did the work. One of them struck just behind the Mugger's neck, a h=
and's-breadth
to the left of the backbone, while the other burst a little lower down, at =
the
beginning of the tail. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mortally-wou=
nded
crocodile can scramble to deep water and get away; but the Mugger of
Mugger-Ghaut was literally broken into three pieces. He hardly moved his he=
ad
before the life went out of him, and he lay as flat as the Jackal.
"Thunder and lightning! Lightning and
thunder!" said that miserable little beast. "Has the thing that p=
ulls
the covered carts over the bridge tumbled at last?"
"It is no more than a gun," said the
Adjutant, though his very tail-feathers quivered. "Nothing more than a
gun. He is certainly dead. Here come the white-faces."
The two Englishmen had hurried down from the
bridge and across to the sand-bar, where they stood admiring the length of =
the
Mugger. Then a native with an axe cut off the big head, and four men dragge=
d it
across the spit.
"The last time that I had my hand in a
Mugger's mouth," said one of the Englishmen, stooping down (he was the=
man
who had built the bridge), "it was when I was about five years old--co=
ming
down the river by boat to Monghyr. I was a Mutiny baby, as they call it. Po=
or
mother was in the boat, too, and she often told me how she fired dad's old
pistol at the beast's head."
"Well, you've certainly had your revenge =
on
the chief of the clan--even if the gun has made your nose bleed. Hi, you
boatmen! Haul that head up the bank, and we'll boil it for the skull. The
skin's too knocked about to keep. Come along to bed now. This was worth sit=
ting
up all night for, wasn't it?"
*****
Curiously enough, the Jackal and the Adjutant =
made
the very same remark not three minutes after the men had left.
O=
nce a
ripple came to land In the g=
olden
sunset burning-- Lapped agains=
t a
maiden's hand, By the ford
returning.
D=
ainty
foot and gentle breast-- Her=
e,
across, be glad and rest. "Maiden, wait," the ripple
saith. "Wait awhile, fo=
r I am
Death!"
"Where my lover calls I go-- Shame it were to treat him coldly-=
- 'Twas a fish that circled so, Turning over boldly."
Dainty foot and tender heart, Wait the loaded ferry-cart. "Wait, ah, wait!" the ripp=
le
saith; "Maiden, wait, f=
or I
am Death!"
"When my lover calls I haste-- Dame Disdain was never wedded!&quo=
t; Ripple-ripple round her waist, Clear the current eddied.
F=
oolish
heart and faithful hand, Lit=
tle
feet that touched no land. Far=
away
the ripple sped, Ripple--ripple--running red!
T=
hese
are the Four that are never content, that have never been filled since the Dews began=
-- Jacala's mouth, and the glut of the =
Kite,
and the hands of the Ape, =
and
the Eyes of Man. Jungle S=
aying.
Kaa, the big Rock Python, had changed his skin=
for
perhaps the two-hundredth time since his birth; and Mowgli, who never forgot
that he owed his life to Kaa for a night's work at Cold Lairs, which you ma=
y perhaps
remember, went to congratulate him. Skin-changing always makes a snake moody
and depressed till the new skin begins to shine and look beautiful. Kaa nev=
er
made fun of Mowgli any more, but accepted him, as the other Jungle People d=
id,
for the Master of the Jungle, and brought him all the news that a python of=
his
size would naturally hear. What Kaa did not know about the Middle Jungle, as
they call it,--the life that runs close to the earth or under it, the bould=
er,
burrow, and the tree-bole life,--might have been written upon the smallest =
of
his scales.
That afternoon Mowgli was sitting in the circl=
e of
Kaa's great coils, fingering the flaked and broken old skin that lay all lo=
oped
and twisted among the rocks just as Kaa had left it. Kaa had very courteous=
ly
packed himself under Mowgli's broad, bare shoulders, so that the boy was re=
ally
resting in a living arm-chair.
"Even to the scales of the eyes it is
perfect," said Mowgli, under his breath, playing with the old skin.
"Strange to see the covering of one's own head at one's own feet!"=
;
"Ay, but I lack feet," said Kaa;
"and since this is the custom of all my people, I do not find it stran=
ge.
Does thy skin never feel old and harsh?"
"Then go I and wash, Flathead; but, it is
true, in the great heats I have wished I could slough my skin without pain,=
and
run skinless."
"I wash, and ALSO I take off my skin. How
looks the new coat?"
Mowgli ran his hand down the diagonal checkeri=
ngs
of the immense back. "The Turtle is harder-backed, but not so gay,&quo=
t;
he said judgmatically. "The Frog, my name-bearer, is more gay, but not=
so
hard. It is very beautiful to see--like the mottling in the mouth of a
lily."
"It needs water. A new skin never comes to
full colour before the first bath. Let us go bathe."
"I will carry thee," said Mowgli; an=
d he
stooped down, laughing, to lift the middle section of Kaa's great body, just
where the barrel was thickest. A man might just, as well have tried to heav=
e up
a two-foot water-main; and Kaa lay still, puffing with quiet amusement. Then
the regular evening game began--the Boy in the flush of his great strength,=
and
the Python in his sumptuous new skin, standing up one against the other for=
a
wrestling match--a trial of eye and strength. Of course, Kaa could have cru=
shed
a dozen Mowglis if he had let himself go; but he played carefully, and never
loosed one-tenth of his power. Ever since Mowgli was strong enough to endur=
e a
little rough handling, Kaa had taught him this game, and it suppled his lim=
bs
as nothing else could. Sometimes Mowgli would stand lapped almost to his th=
roat
in Kaa's shifting coils, striving to get one arm free and catch him by the
throat. Then Kaa would give way limply, and Mowgli, with both quick-moving
feet, would try to cramp the purchase of that huge tail as it flung backward
feeling for a rock or a stump. They would rock to and fro, head to head, ea=
ch
waiting for his chance, till the beautiful, statue-like group melted in a w=
hirl
of black-and-yellow coils and struggling legs and arms, to rise up again and
again. "Now! now! now!" said Kaa, making feints with his head that
even Mowgli's quick hand could not turn aside. "Look! I touch thee her=
e,
Little Brother! Here, and here! Are thy hands numb? Here again!"
The game always ended in one way--with a strai=
ght,
driving blow of the head that knocked the boy over and over. Mowgli could n=
ever
learn the guard for that lightning lunge, and, as Kaa said, there was not t=
he least
use in trying.
"Good hunting!" Kaa grunted at last;=
and
Mowgli, as usual, was shot away half a dozen yards, gasping and laughing. He
rose with his fingers full of grass, and followed Kaa to the wise snake's p=
et
bathing-place--a deep, pitchy-black pool surrounded with rocks, and made
interesting by sunken tree-stumps. The boy slipped in, Jungle-fashion, with=
out
a sound, and dived across; rose, too, without a sound, and turned on his ba=
ck, his
arms behind his head, watching the moon rising above the rocks, and breakin=
g up
her reflection in the water with his toes. Kaa's diamond-shaped head cut the
pool like a razor, and came out to rest on Mowgli's shoulder. They lay stil=
l,
soaking luxuriously in the cool water.
"It is VERY good," said Mowgli at la= st, sleepily. "Now, in the Man-Pack, at this hour, as I remember, they laid them down upon hard pieces of wood in the inside of a mud-trap, and, having carefully shut out all the clean winds, drew foul cloth over their heavy he= ads and made evil songs through their noses. It is better in the Jungle."<= o:p>
A hurrying cobra slipped down over a rock and
drank, gave them "Good hunting!" and went away.
"Sssh!" said Kaa, as though he had
suddenly remembered something. "So the Jungle gives thee all that thou
hast ever desired, Little Brother?"
"Not all," said Mowgli, laughing;
"else there would be a new and strong Shere Khan to kill once a moon. =
Now,
I could kill with my own hands, asking no help of buffaloes. And also I have
wished the sun to shine in the middle of the Rains, and the Rains to cover =
the
sun in the deep of summer; and also I have never gone empty but I wished th=
at I
had killed a goat; and also I have never killed a goat but I wished it had =
been
buck; nor buck but I wished it had been nilghai. But thus do we feel, all of
us."
"Thou hast no other desire?" the big
snake demanded.
"What more can I wish? I have the Jungle,=
and
the favour of the Jungle! Is there more anywhere between sunrise and
sunset?"
"Now, the Cobra said----" Kaa began.
"What cobra? He that went away just now said nothing. He was
hunting."
"It was another."
"Hast thou many dealings with the Poison
People? I give them their own path. They carry death in the fore-tooth, and
that is not good--for they are so small. But what hood is this thou hast sp=
oken
with?"
Kaa rolled slowly in the water like a steamer =
in a
beam sea. "Three or four moons since," said he, "I hunted in
Cold Lairs, which place thou hast not forgotten. And the thing I hunted fled
shrieking past the tanks and to that house whose side I once broke for thy
sake, and ran into the ground."
"But the people of Cold Lairs do not live=
in
burrows." Mowgli knew that Kaa was telling of the Monkey People.
"This thing was not living, but seeking to
live," Kaa replied, with a quiver of his tongue. "He ran into a
burrow that led very far. I followed, and having killed, I slept. When I wa=
ked
I went forward."
"Under the earth?"
"Even so, coming at last upon a White Hoo=
d [a
white cobra], who spoke of things beyond my knowledge, and showed me many
things I had never before seen."
"New game? Was it good hunting?" Mow=
gli
turned quickly on his side.
"It was no game, and would have broken al=
l my
teeth; but the White Hood said that a man--he spoke as one that knew the
breed--that a man would give the breath under his ribs for only the sight of
those things."
"We will look," said Mowgli. "I=
now
remember that I was once a man."
"Slowly--slowly. It was haste killed the
Yellow Snake that ate the sun. We two spoke together under the earth, and I
spoke of thee, naming thee as a man. Said the White Hood (and he is indeed =
as
old as the Jungle): 'It is long since I have seen a man. Let him come, and =
he
shall see all these things, for the least of which very many men would
die.'"
"That MUST be new game. And yet the Poison
People do not tell us when game is afoot. They are an unfriendly folk."=
;
"It is NOT game. It is--it is--I cannot s=
ay
what it is."
"We will go there. I have never seen a Wh=
ite
Hood, and I wish to see the other things. Did he kill them?"
"They are all dead things. He says he is =
the
keeper of them all."
"Ah! As a wolf stands above meat he has t=
aken
to his own lair. Let us go."
Mowgli swam to bank, rolled on the grass to dry
himself, and the two set off for Cold Lairs, the deserted city of which you=
may
have heard. Mowgli was not the least afraid of the Monkey People in those d=
ays,
but the Monkey People had the liveliest horror of Mowgli. Their tribes, how=
ever,
were raiding in the Jungle, and so Cold Lairs stood empty and silent in the
moonlight. Kaa led up to the ruins of the queens' pavilion that stood on the
terrace, slipped over the rubbish, and dived down the half-choked staircase
that went underground from the centre of the pavilion. Mowgli gave the
snake-call,--"We be of one blood, ye and I,"--and followed on his
hands and knees. They crawled a long distance down a sloping passage that
turned and twisted several times, and at last came to where the root of some
great tree, growing thirty feet overhead, had forced out a solid stone in t=
he
wall. They crept through the gap, and found themselves in a large vault, wh=
ose
domed roof had been also broken away by tree-roots so that a few streaks of
light dropped down into the darkness.
"A safe lair," said Mowgli, rising to
his firm feet, "but over-far to visit daily. And now what do we see?&q=
uot;
"Am I nothing?" said a voice in the
middle of the vault; and Mowgli saw something white move till, little by
little, there stood up the hugest cobra he had ever set eyes on--a creature
nearly eight feet long, and bleached by being in darkness to an old
ivory-white. Even the spectacle-marks of his spread hood had faded to faint
yellow. His eyes were as red as rubies, and altogether he was most wonderfu=
l.
"Good hunting!" said Mowgli, who car=
ried
his manners with his knife, and that never left him.
"What of the city?" said the White
Cobra, without answering the greeting. "What of the great, the walled
city--the city of a hundred elephants and twenty thousand horses, and cattle
past counting--the city of the King of Twenty Kings? I grow deaf here, and =
it
is long since I heard their war-gongs."
"The Jungle is above our heads," said
Mowgli. "I know only Hathi and his sons among elephants. Bagheera has
slain all the horses in one village, and--what is a King?"
"I told thee," said Kaa softly to the
Cobra,--"I told thee, four moons ago, that thy city was not."
"The city--the great city of the forest w=
hose
gates are guarded by the King's towers--can never pass. They builded it bef=
ore
my father's father came from the egg, and it shall endure when my son's sons
are as white as I! Salomdhi, son of Chandrabija, son of Viyeja, son of
Yegasuri, made it in the days of Bappa Rawal. Whose cattle are YE?"
"It is a lost trail," said Mowgli,
turning to Kaa. "I know not his talk."
"Nor I. He is very old. Father of Cobras,
there is only the Jungle here, as it has been since the beginning."
"Then who is HE," said the White Cob=
ra,
"sitting down before me, unafraid, knowing not the name of the King,
talking our talk through a man's lips? Who is he with the knife and the sna=
ke's
tongue?"
"Mowgli they call me," was the answe=
r.
"I am of the Jungle. The wolves are my people, and Kaa here is my brot=
her.
Father of Cobras, who art thou?"
"I am the Warden of the King's Treasure.
Kurrun Raja builded the stone above me, in the days when my skin was dark, =
that
I might teach death to those who came to steal. Then they let down the trea=
sure
through the stone, and I heard the song of the Brahmins my masters."
"Umm!" said Mowgli to himself. "=
;I
have dealt with one Brahmin already, in the Man-Pack, and--I know what I kn=
ow.
Evil comes here in a little."
"Five times since I came here has the sto=
ne
been lifted, but always to let down more, and never to take away. There are=
no
riches like these riches--the treasures of a hundred kings. But it is long =
and
long since the stone was last moved, and I think that my city has
forgotten."
"There is no city. Look up. Yonder are ro=
ots
of the great trees tearing the stones apart. Trees and men do not grow
together," Kaa insisted.
"Twice and thrice have men found their way
here," the White Cobra answered savagely; "but they never spoke t=
ill
I came upon them groping in the dark, and then they cried only a little tim=
e.
But ye come with lies, Man and Snake both, and would have me believe the ci=
ty
is not, and that my wardship ends. Little do men change in the years. But I
change never! Till the stone is lifted, and the Brahmins come down singing =
the songs
that I know, and feed me with warm milk, and take me to the light again, I-=
-I--
I , and no other, am the Warden of the King's Treasure! The city is dead, ye
say, and here are the roots of the trees? Stoop down, then, and take what ye
will. Earth has no treasure like to these. Man with the snake's tongue, if =
thou
canst go alive by the way that thou hast entered it, the lesser Kings will =
be
thy servants!"
"Again the trail is lost," said Mowg=
li
coolly. "Can any jackal have burrowed so deep and bitten this great Wh=
ite
Hood? He is surely mad. Father of Cobras, I see nothing here to take
away."
"By the Gods of the Sun and Moon, it is t=
he
madness of death upon the boy!" hissed the Cobra. "Before thine e=
yes
close I will allow thee this favour. Look thou, and see what man has never =
seen
before!"
"They do not well in the Jungle who speak=
to
Mowgli of favours," said the boy, between his teeth; "but the dark
changes all, as I know. I will look, if that please thee."
He stared with puckered-up eyes round the vaul=
t,
and then lifted up from the floor a handful of something that glittered.
"Oho!" said he, "this is like t=
he
stuff they play with in the Man-Pack: only this is yellow and the other was
brown."
He let the gold pieces fall, and move forward.=
The
floor of the vault was buried some five or six feet deep in coined gold and
silver that had burst from the sacks it had been originally stored in, and,=
in
the long years, the metal had packed and settled as sand packs at low tide.=
On
it and in it and rising through it, as wrecks lift through the sand, were j=
ewelled
elephant-howdahs of embossed silver, studded with plates of hammered gold, =
and
adorned with carbuncles and turquoises. There were palanquins and litters f=
or
carrying queens, framed and braced with silver and enamel, with jade-handled
poles and amber curtain-rings; there were golden candlesticks hung with pie=
rced
emeralds that quivered on the branches; there were studded images, five feet
high, of forgotten gods, silver with jewelled eyes; there were coats of mai=
l,
gold inlaid on steel, and fringed with rotted and blackened seed-pearls; th=
ere were
helmets, crested and beaded with pigeon's-blood rubies; there were shields =
of
lacquer, of tortoise-shell and rhinoceros-hide, strapped and bossed with red
gold and set with emeralds at the edge; there were sheaves of diamond-hilted
swords, daggers, and hunting-knives; there were golden sacrificial bowls and
ladles, and portable altars of a shape that never sees the light of day; th=
ere
were jade cups and bracelets; there were incense-burners, combs, and pots f=
or
perfume, henna, and eye-powder, all in embossed gold; there were nose-rings,
armlets, head-bands, finger-rings, and girdles past any counting; there wer=
e belts,
seven fingers broad, of square-cut diamonds and rubies, and wooden boxes,
trebly clamped with iron, from which the wood had fallen away in powder,
showing the pile of uncut star-sapphires, opals, cat's-eyes, sapphires, rub=
ies,
diamonds, emeralds, and garnets within.
The White Cobra was right. No mere money would=
begin
to pay the value of this treasure, the sifted pickings of centuries of war,
plunder, trade, and taxation. The coins alone were priceless, leaving out of
count all the precious stones; and the dead weight of the gold and silver a=
lone
might be two or three hundred tons. Every native ruler in India to-day, how=
ever
poor, has a hoard to which he is always adding; and though, once in a long
while, some enlightened prince may send off forty or fifty bullock-cart loa=
ds
of silver to be exchanged for Government securities, the bulk of them keep
their treasure and the knowledge of it very closely to themselves.
But Mowgli naturally did not understand what t=
hese
things meant. The knives interested him a little, but they did not balance =
so
well as his own, and so he dropped them. At last he found something really =
fascinating
laid on the front of a howdah half buried in the coins. It was a three-foot
ankus, or elephant-goad--something like a small boat-hook. The top was one
round, shining ruby, and eight inches of the handle below it were studded w=
ith
rough turquoises close together, giving a most satisfactory grip. Below them
was a rim of jade with a flower-pattern running round it--only the leaves w=
ere
emeralds, and the blossoms were rubies sunk in the cool, green stone. The r=
est
of the handle was a shaft of pure ivory, while the point--the spike and hoo=
k--was
gold-inlaid steel with pictures of elephant-catching; and the pictures
attracted Mowgli, who saw that they had something to do with his friend Hat=
hi
the Silent.
The White Cobra had been following him closely=
.
"Is this not worth dying to behold?"=
he
said. "Have I not done thee a great favour?"
"I do not understand," said Mowgli.
"The things are hard and cold, and by no means good to eat. But
this"--he lifted the ankus--"I desire to take away, that I may se=
e it
in the sun. Thou sayest they are all thine? Wilt thou give it to me, and I =
will
bring thee frogs to eat?"
The White Cobra fairly shook with evil delight.
"Assuredly I will give it," he said. "All that is here I will
give thee--till thou goest away."
"But I go now. This place is dark and col=
d,
and I wish to take the thorn-pointed thing to the Jungle."
"Look by thy foot! What is that there?&qu=
ot;
Mowgli picked up something white and smooth. "It is the bone of a man's
head," he said quietly. "And here are two more."
"They came to take the treasure away many
years ago. I spoke to them in the dark, and they lay still."
"But what do I need of this that is called
treasure? If thou wilt give me the ankus to take away, it is good hunting. =
If
not, it is good hunting none the less. I do not fight with the Poison Peopl=
e,
and I was also taught the Master-word of thy tribe."
"There is but one Master-word here. It is
mine!"
Kaa flung himself forward with blazing eyes.
"Who bade me bring the Man?" he hissed.
"I surely," the old Cobra lisped.
"It is long since I have seen Man, and this Man speaks our tongue.&quo=
t;
"But there was no talk of killing. How ca= n I go to the Jungle and say that I have led him to his death?" said Kaa.<= o:p>
"I talk not of killing till the time. And=
as
to thy going or not going, there is the hole in the wall. Peace, now, thou =
fat
monkey-killer! I have but to touch thy neck, and the Jungle will know thee =
no
longer. Never Man came here that went away with the breath under his ribs. =
I am
the Warden of the Treasure of the King's City!"
"But, thou white worm of the dark, I tell
thee there is neither king nor city! The Jungle is all about us!" cried
Kaa.
"There is still the Treasure. But this ca=
n be
done. Wait awhile, Kaa of the Rocks, and see the boy run. There is room for
great sport here. Life is good. Run to and fro awhile, and make sport,
boy!"
Mowgli put his hand on Kaa's head quietly.
"The white thing has dealt with men of the
Man-Pack until now. He does not know me," he whispered. "He has a=
sked
for this hunting. Let him have it." Mowgli had been standing with the
ankus held point down. He flung it from him quickly and it dropped crossways
just behind the great snake's hood, pinning him to the floor. In a flash, K=
aa's
weight was upon the writhing body, paralysing it from hood to tail. The red
eyes burned, and the six spare inches of the head struck furiously right an=
d left.
"Kill!" said Kaa, as Mowgli's hand w=
ent
to his knife.
"No," he said, as he drew the blade;
"I will never kill again save for food. But look you, Kaa!" He ca=
ught
the snake behind the hood, forced the mouth open with the blade of the knif=
e,
and showed the terrible poison-fangs of the upper jaw lying black and withe=
red
in the gum. The White Cobra had outlived his poison, as a snake will.
"THUU" ("It is dried
up"--Literally, a rotted out tree-stump), said Mowgli; and motioning K=
aa
away, he picked up the ankus, setting the White Cobra free.
"The King's Treasure needs a new
Warden," he said gravely. "Thuu, thou hast not done well. Run to =
and
fro and make sport, Thuu!"
"I am ashamed. Kill me!" hissed the
White Cobra.
"There has been too much talk of killing.=
We
will go now. I take the thorn-pointed thing, Thuu, because I have fought and
worsted thee."
"See, then, that the thing does not kill =
thee
at last. It is Death! Remember, it is Death! There is enough in that thing =
to
kill the men of all my city. Not long wilt thou hold it, Jungle Man, nor he=
who
takes it from thee. They will kill, and kill, and kill for its sake! My
strength is dried up, but the ankus will do my work. It is Death! It is Dea=
th!
It is Death!"
Mowgli crawled out through the hole into the
passage again, and the last that he saw was the White Cobra striking furiou=
sly
with his harmless fangs at the stolid golden faces of the gods that lay on =
the
floor, and hissing, "It is Death!"
They were glad to get to the light of day once
more; and when they were back in their own Jungle and Mowgli made the ankus
glitter in the morning light, he was almost as pleased as though he had fou=
nd a
bunch of new flowers to stick in his hair.
"This is brighter than Bagheera's eyes,&q=
uot;
he said delightedly, as he twirled the ruby. "I will show it to him; b=
ut
what did the Thuu mean when he talked of death?"
"I cannot say. I am sorrowful to my tail's
tail that he felt not thy knife. There is always evil at Cold Lairs--above
ground or below. But now I am hungry. Dost thou hunt with me this dawn?&quo=
t;
said Kaa.
"No; Bagheera must see this thing. Good
hunting!" Mowgli danced off, flourishing the great ankus, and stopping
from time to time to admire it, till he came to that part of the Jungle
Bagheera chiefly used, and found him drinking after a heavy kill. Mowgli to=
ld
him all his adventures from beginning to end, and Bagheera sniffed at the a=
nkus
between whiles. When Mowgli came to the White Cobra's last words, the Panth=
er
purred approvingly.
"Then the White Hood spoke the thing which
is?" Mowgli asked quickly.
"I was born in the King's cages at Oodeyp= ore, and it is in my stomach that I know some little of Man. Very many men would kill thrice in a night for the sake of that one big red stone alone."<= o:p>
"But the stone makes it heavy to the hand=
. My
little bright knife is better; and--see! the red stone is not good to eat. =
Then
WHY would they kill?"
"Mowgli, go thou and sleep. Thou hast liv=
ed
among men, and----"
"I remember. Men kill because they are not
hunting;--for idleness and pleasure. Wake again, Bagheera. For what use was
this thorn-pointed thing made?"
Bagheera half opened his eyes--he was very
sleepy--with a malicious twinkle.
"It was made by men to thrust into the he=
ad
of the sons of Hathi, so that the blood should pour out. I have seen the li=
ke
in the street of Oodeypore, before our cages. That thing has tasted the blo=
od
of many such as Hathi."
"But why do they thrust into the heads of
elephants?"
"To teach them Man's Law. Having neither
claws nor teeth, men make these things--and worse."
"Always more blood when I come near, even=
to
the things the Man-Pack have made," said Mowgli disgustedly. He was
getting a little tired of the weight of the ankus. "If I had known thi=
s, I
would not have taken it. First it was Messua's blood on the thongs, and now=
it
is Hathi's. I will use it no more. Look!"
The ankus flew sparkling, and buried itself po=
int
down thirty yards away, between the trees. "So my hands are clean of
Death," said Mowgli, rubbing his palms on the fresh, moist earth.
"The Thuu said Death would follow me. He is old and white and mad.&quo=
t;
"White or black, or death or life, I am
going to sleep, Little Brother. I cannot hunt all night and howl all day, a=
s do
some folk."
Bagheera went off to a hunting-lair that he kn=
ew,
about two miles off. Mowgli made an easy way for himself up a convenient tr=
ee, knotted
three or four creepers together, and in less time than it takes to tell was=
swinging
in a hammock fifty feet above ground. Though he had no positive objection to
strong daylight, Mowgli followed the custom of his friends, and used it as
little as he could. When he waked among the very loud-voiced peoples that l=
ive
in the trees, it was twilight once more, and he had been dreaming of the
beautiful pebbles he had thrown away.
"At least I will look at the thing
again," he said, and slid down a creeper to the earth; but Bagheera was
before him. Mowgli could hear him snuffing in the half light.
"Where is the thorn-pointed thing?"
cried Mowgli.
"A man has taken it. Here is the trail.&q=
uot;
"Now we shall see whether the Thuu spoke
truth. If the pointed thing is Death, that man will die. Let us follow.&quo=
t;
"Kill first," said Bagheera. "An
empty stomach makes a careless eye. Men go very slowly, and the Jungle is w=
et
enough to hold the lightest mark."
They killed as soon as they could, but it was
nearly three hours before they finished their meat and drink and buckled do=
wn
to the trail. The Jungle People know that nothing makes up for being hurried
over your meals.
"Think you the pointed thing will turn in=
the
man's hand and kill him?" Mowgli asked. "The Thuu said it was
Death."
"We shall see when we find," said
Bagheera, trotting with his head low. "It is single-foot" (he mea=
nt
that there was only one man), "and the weight of the thing has pressed=
his
heel far into the ground."
"Hai! This is as clear as summer lightnin=
g,"
Mowgli answered; and they fell into the quick, choppy trail-trot in and out
through the checkers of the moonlight, following the marks of those two bare
feet.
"Now he runs swiftly," said Mowgli.
"The toes are spread apart." They went on over some wet ground.
"Now why does he turn aside here?"
"Wait!" said Bagheera, and flung him=
self
forward with one superb bound as far as ever he could. The first thing to do
when a trail ceases to explain itself is to cast forward without leaving, y=
our
own confusing foot-marks on the ground. Bagheera turned as he landed, and f=
aced
Mowgli, crying, "Here comes another trail to meet him. It is a smaller=
foot,
this second trail, and the toes turn inward."
Then Mowgli ran up and looked. "It is the
foot of a Gond hunter," he said. "Look! Here he dragged his bow on
the grass. That is why the first trail turned aside so quickly. Big Foot hid
from Little Foot."
"That is true," said Bagheera.
"Now, lest by crossing each other's tracks we foul the signs, let each
take one trail. I am Big Foot, Little Brother, and thou art Little Foot, the
Gond."
Bagheera leaped back to the original trail,
leaving Mowgli stooping above the curious narrow track of the wild little m=
an
of the woods.
"Now," said Bagheera, moving step by
step along the chain of footprints, "I, Big Foot, turn aside here. Now=
I
hide me behind a rock and stand still, not daring to shift my feet. Cry thy
trail, Little Brother."
"Now, I, Little Foot, come to the rock,&q=
uot;
said Mowgli, running up his trail. "Now, I sit down under the rock,
leaning upon my right hand, and resting my bow between my toes. I wait long,
for the mark of my feet is deep here."
"I also," said Bagheera, hidden behi=
nd
the rock. "I wait, resting the end of the thorn-pointed thing upon a
stone. It slips, for here is a scratch upon the stone. Cry thy trail, Little
Brother."
"One, two twigs and a big branch are brok=
en
here," said Mowgli, in an undertone. "Now, how shall I cry THAT? =
Ah!
It is plain now. I, Little Foot, go away making noises and tramplings so th=
at
Big Foot may hear me." He moved away from the rock pace by pace among =
the
trees, his voice rising in the distance as he approached a little cascade.
"I--go, far--away--to--where--the--noise--of--falling-water--covers--m=
y--noise;
and--here--I--wait. Cry thy trail, Bagheera, Big Foot!"
The panther had been casting in every directio=
n to
see how Big Foot's trail led away from behind the rock. Then he gave tongue=
:
"I come from behind the rock upon my knee=
s,
dragging the thorn-pointed thing. Seeing no one, I run. I, Big Foot, run
swiftly. The trail is clear. Let each follow his own. I run!"
Bagheera swept on along the clearly-marked tra=
il,
and Mowgli followed the steps of the Gond. For some time there was silence =
in
the Jungle.
"Where art thou, Little Foot?" cried
Bagheera. Mowgli's voice answered him not fifty yards to the right.
"Um!" said the Panther, with a deep
cough. "The two run side by side, drawing nearer!"
They raced on another half-mile, always keeping about the same distance, till Mowgli, whose head was not so close to the gr= ound as Bagheera's, cried: "They have met. Good hunting--look! Here stood Little Foot, with his knee on a rock--and yonder is Big Foot indeed!"<= o:p>
Not ten yards in front of them, stretched acro=
ss a
pile of broken rocks, lay the body of a villager of the district, a long,
small-feathered Gond arrow through his back and breast.
"Was the Thuu so old and so mad, Little
Brother?" said Bagheera gently. "Here is one death, at least.&quo=
t;
"Follow on. But where is the drinker of
elephant's blood--the red-eyed thorn?"
"Little Foot has it--perhaps. It is
single-foot again now."
The single trail of a light man who had been
running quickly and bearing a burden on his left shoulder held on round a l=
ong,
low spur of dried grass, where each footfall seemed, to the sharp eyes of t=
he
trackers, marked in hot iron.
Neither spoke till the trail ran up to the ash=
es
of a camp-fire hidden in a ravine.
"Again!" said Bagheera, checking as
though he had been turned into stone.
The body of a little wizened Gond lay with its
feet in the ashes, and Bagheera looked inquiringly at Mowgli.
"That was done with a bamboo," said =
the
boy, after one glance. "I have used such a thing among the buffaloes w=
hen
I served in the Man-Pack. The Father of Cobras--I am sorrowful that I made a
jest of him--knew the breed well, as I might have known. Said I not that men
kill for idleness?"
"Indeed, they killed for the sake of the =
red
and blue stones," Bagheera answered. "Remember, I was in the King=
's
cages at Oodeypore."
"One, two, three, four tracks," said
Mowgli, stooping over the ashes. "Four tracks of men with shod feet. T=
hey
do not go so quickly as Gonds. Now, what evil had the little woodman done to
them? See, they talked together, all five, standing up, before they killed =
him.
Bagheera, let us go back. My stomach is heavy in me, and yet it heaves up a=
nd
down like an oriole's nest at the end of a branch."
"It is not good hunting to leave game afo=
ot.
Follow!" said the panther. "Those eight shod feet have not gone
far."
No more was said for fully an hour, as they wo=
rked
up the broad trail of the four men with shod feet.
It was clear, hot daylight now, and Bagheera s=
aid,
"I smell smoke."
Men are always more ready to eat than to run,
Mowgli answered, trotting in and out between the low scrub bushes of the new
Jungle they were exploring. Bagheera, a little to his left, made an
indescribable noise in his throat.
"Here is one that has done with
feeding," said he. A tumbled bundle of gay-coloured clothes lay under a
bush, and round it was some spilt flour.
"That was done by the bamboo again,"
said Mowgli. "See! that white dust is what men eat. They have taken the
kill from this one,--he carried their food,--and given him for a kill to Ch=
il,
the Kite."
"It is the third," said Bagheera.
"I will go with new, big frogs to the Fat=
her
of Cobras, and feed him fat," said Mowgli to himself. "The drinke=
r of
elephant's blood is Death himself--but still I do not understand!"
"Follow!" said Bagheera.
They had not gone half a mile farther when they
heard Ko, the Crow, singing the death-song in the top of a tamarisk under w=
hose
shade three men were lying. A half-dead fire smoked in the centre of the
circle, under an iron plate which held a blackened and burned cake of
unleavened bread. Close to the fire, and blazing in the sunshine, lay the r=
uby-and-turquoise
ankus.
"The thing works quickly; all ends
here," said Bagheera. "How did THESE die, Mowgli? There is no mar=
k on
any."
A Jungle-dweller gets to learn by experience as
much as many doctors know of poisonous plants and berries. Mowgli sniffed t=
he
smoke that came up from the fire, broke off a morsel of the blackened bread,
tasted it, and spat it out again.
"Apple of Death," he coughed. "=
The
first must have made it ready in the food for THESE, who killed him, having
first killed the Gond."
"Good hunting, indeed! The kills follow
close," said Bagheera.
"Apple of Death" is what the Jungle =
call
thorn-apple or dhatura, the readiest poison in all India.
"What now?" said the panther. "=
Must
thou and I kill each other for yonder red-eyed slayer?"
"Can it speak?" said Mowgli in a
whisper. "Did I do it a wrong when I threw it away? Between us two it =
can
do no wrong, for we do not desire what men desire. If it be left here, it w=
ill
assuredly continue to kill men one after another as fast as nuts fall in a =
high
wind. I have no love to men, but even I would not have them die six in a
night."
"What matter? They are only men. They kil=
led
one another, and were well pleased," said Bagheera. "That first
little woodman hunted well."
"They are cubs none the less; and a cub w=
ill
drown himself to bite the moon's light on the water. The fault was mine,&qu=
ot;
said Mowgli, who spoke as though he knew all about everything. "I will
never again bring into the Jungle strange things--not though they be as
beautiful as flowers. This"--he handled the ankus gingerly--"goes
back to the Father of Cobras. But first we must sleep, and we cannot sleep =
near
these sleepers. Also we must bury HIM, lest he run away and kill another si=
x. Dig
me a hole under that tree."
"But, Little Brother," said Bagheera,
moving off to the spot, "I tell thee it is no fault of the blood-drink=
er.
The trouble is with the men."
"All one," said Mowgli. "Dig the
hole deep. When we wake I will take him up and carry him back."
*****
Two nights later, as the White Cobra sat mourn=
ing
in the darkness of the vault, ashamed, and robbed, and alone, the turquoise
ankus whirled through the hole in the wall, and clashed on the floor of gol=
den
coins.
"Father of Cobras," said Mowgli (he =
was
careful to keep the other side of the wall), "get thee a young and ripe
one of thine own people to help thee guard the King's Treasure, so that no =
man
may come away alive any more."
"Ah-ha! It returns, then. I said the thing
was Death. How comes it that thou art still alive?" the old Cobra mumb=
led,
twining lovingly round the ankus-haft.
"By the Bull that bought me, I do not kno=
w!
That thing has killed six times in a night. Let him go out no more."
E=
re Mor
the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry, Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a fu=
rlong
sheer, Through the Jungle very
softly flits a shadow and a sigh-- He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is=
Fear!
V=
ery
softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, And the whisper spreads and widens=
far
and near; And the sweat is on =
thy
brow, for he passes even now-- He
is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
E=
re the
moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light, When the downward-dipping trails a=
re
dank and drear, Comes a breath=
ing
hard behind thee--snuffle-snuffle through the night-- It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is=
Fear!
O=
n thy
knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go; In the empty, mocking thicket plun=
ge the
spear; But thy hands are loose=
d and
weak, and the blood has left thy cheek-- It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is=
Fear!
W=
hen the
heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall, When the blinding, blaring rain-sq=
ualls
lash and veer; Through the war=
-gongs
of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all-- It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is=
Fear!
N=
ow the
spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap-- Now the lightning shows each littl=
est
leaf-rib clear-- But thy throa=
t is
shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is =
Fear!
T=
he
People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow-- They beg for coffee and sugar; they =
go
where the white men go. The Pe=
ople
of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight; "They sell their furs to the
trading-post: they sell their souls to the white. The People of the Southern Ice, they=
trade
with the whaler's crew; Their women have many ribbons, but t=
heir
tents are torn and few. But the
People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's ken-- Their spears are made of the narwhal=
-horn,
and they are the last of t=
he
Men! =
Translation.
"He has opened his eyes. Look!"
"Put him in the skin again. He will be a
strong dog. On the fourth month we will name him."
"For whom?" said Amoraq.
Kadlu's eye rolled round the skin-lined snow-h=
ouse
till it fell on fourteen-year-old Kotuko sitting on the sleeping-bench, mak=
ing
a button out of walrus ivory. "Name him for me," said Kotuko, wit=
h a
grin. "I shall need him one day."
Kadlu grinned back till his eyes were almost
buried in the fat of his flat cheeks, and nodded to Amoraq, while the puppy=
's
fierce mother whined to see her baby wriggling far out of reach in the litt=
le
sealskin pouch hung above the warmth of the blubber-lamp. Kotuko went on wi=
th
his carving, and Kadlu threw a rolled bundle of leather dog-harnesses into =
a tiny
little room that opened from one side of the house, slipped off his heavy
deerskin hunting-suit, put it into a whalebone-net that hung above another
lamp, and dropped down on the sleeping-bench to whittle at a piece of frozen
seal-meat till Amoraq, his wife, should bring the regular dinner of boiled =
meat
and blood-soup. He had been out since early dawn at the seal-holes, eight m=
iles
away, and had come home with three big seal. Half-way down the long, low sn=
ow
passage or tunnel that led to the inner door of the house you could hear
snappings and yelpings, as the dogs of his sleigh-team, released from the d=
ay's
work, scuffled for warm places.
When the yelpings grew too loud Kotuko lazily
rolled off the sleeping-bench, and picked up a whip with an eighteen-inch
handle of springy whalebone, and twenty-five feet of heavy, plaited thong. =
He dived
into the passage, where it sounded as though all the dogs were eating him
alive; but that was no more than their regular grace before meals. When he
crawled out at the far end, half a dozen furry heads followed him with their
eyes as he went to a sort of gallows of whale-jawbones, from which the dog's
meat was hung; split off the frozen stuff in big lumps with a broad-headed
spear; and stood, his whip in one hand and the meat in the other. Each beast
was called by name, the weakest first, and woe betide any dog that moved ou=
t of
his turn; for the tapering lash would shoot out like thonged lightning, and
flick away an inch or so of hair and hide. Each beast growled, snapped, cho=
ked
once over his portion, and hurried back to the protection of the passage, w=
hile
the boy stood upon the snow under the blazing Northern Lights and dealt out
justice. The last to be served was the big black leader of the team, who ke=
pt
order when the dogs were harnessed; and to him Kotuko gave a double allowan=
ce
of meat as well as an extra crack of the whip.
"Ah!" said Kotuko, coiling up the la=
sh,
"I have a little one over the lamp that will make a great many howling=
s.
SARPOK! Get in!"
He crawled back over the huddled dogs, dusted =
the
dry snow from his furs with the whalebone beater that Amoraq kept by the do=
or,
tapped the skin-lined roof of the house to shake off any icicles that might
have fallen from the dome of snow above, and curled up on the bench. The do=
gs
in the passage snored and whined in their sleep, the boy-baby in Amoraq's d=
eep
fur hood kicked and choked and gurgled, and the mother of the newly-named p=
uppy
lay at Kotuko's side, her eyes fixed on the bundle of sealskin, warm and sa=
fe
above the broad yellow flame of the lamp.
And all this happened far away to the north,
beyond Labrador, beyond Hudson's Strait, where the great tides heave the ice
about, north of Melville Peninsula--north even of the narrow Fury and Hecla
Straits--on the north shore of Baffin Land, where Bylot's Island stands abo=
ve
the ice of Lancaster Sound like a pudding-bowl wrong side up. North of Lanc=
aster
Sound there is little we know anything about, except North Devon and Ellesm=
ere
Land; but even there live a few scattered people, next door, as it were, to=
the
very Pole.
Kadlu was an Inuit,--what you call an
Esquimau,--and his tribe, some thirty persons all told, belonged to the
Tununirmiut--"the country lying at the back of something." In the
maps that desolate coast is written Navy Board Inlet, but the Inuit name is
best, because the country lies at the very back of everything in the world.=
For
nine months of the year there is only ice and snow, and gale after gale, wi=
th a
cold that no one can realise who has never seen the thermometer even at zer=
o.
For six months of those nine it is dark; and that is what makes it so horri=
ble.
In the three months of the summer it only freezes every other day and every
night, and then the snow begins to weep off on the southerly slopes, and a =
few
ground-willows put out their woolly buds, a tiny stonecrop or so makes beli=
eve
to blossom, beaches of fine gravel and rounded stones run down to the open =
sea,
and polished boulders and streaked rocks lift up above the granulated snow.=
But
all that is gone in a few weeks, and the wild winter locks down again on th=
e land;
while at sea the ice tears up and down the offing, jamming and ramming, and=
splitting
and hitting, and pounding and grounding, till it all freezes together, ten =
feet
thick, from the land outward to deep water.
In the winter Kadlu would follow the seal to t=
he
edge of this land-ice, and spear them as they came up to breathe at their
blow-holes. The seal must have open water to live and catch fish in, and in=
the
deep of winter the ice would sometimes run eighty miles without a break from
the nearest shore. In the spring he and his people retreated from the floes=
to
the rocky mainland, where they put up tents of skins, and snared the sea-bi=
rds,
or speared the young seal basking on the beaches. Later, they would go south
into Baffin Land after the reindeer, and to get their year's store of salmon
from the hundreds of streams and lakes of the interior; coming back north in
September or October for the musk-ox hunting and the regular winter sealery.
This travelling was done with dog-sleighs, twenty and thirty miles a day, or
sometimes down the coast in big skin "woman-boats," when the dogs=
and
the babies lay among the feet of the rowers, and the women sang songs as th=
ey
glided from cape to cape over the glassy, cold waters. All the luxuries that
the Tununirmiut knew came from the south--driftwood for sleigh-runners,
rod-iron for harpoon-tips, steel knives, tin kettles that cooked food much
better than the old soap-stone affairs, flint and steel, and even matches, =
as well
as coloured ribbons for the women's hair, little cheap mirrors, and red clo=
th
for the edging of deerskin dress-jackets. Kadlu traded the rich, creamy,
twisted narwhal horn and musk-ox teeth (these are just as valuable as pearl=
s)
to the Southern Inuit, and they, in turn, traded with the whalers and the
missionary-posts of Exeter and Cumberland Sounds; and so the chain went on,
till a kettle picked up by a ship's cook in the Bhendy Bazaar might end its
days over a blubber-lamp somewhere on the cool side of the Arctic Circle.
Kadlu, being a good hunter, was rich in iron
harpoons, snow-knives, bird-darts, and all the other things that make life =
easy
up there in the great cold; and he was the head of his tribe, or, as they s=
ay,
"the man who knows all about it by practice." This did not give h=
im
any authority, except now and then he could advise his friends to change th=
eir
hunting-grounds; but Kotuko used it to domineer a little, in the lazy, fat
Inuit fashion, over the other boys, when they came out at night to play bal=
l in
the moonlight, or to sing the Child's Song to the Aurora Borealis.
But at fourteen an Inuit feels himself a man, =
and
Kotuko was tired of making snares for wild-fowl and kit-foxes, and most tir=
ed
of all of helping the women to chew seal-and deer-skins (that supples them =
as nothing
else can) the long day through, while the men were out hunting. He wanted t=
o go
into the quaggi, the Singing-House, when the hunters gathered there for the=
ir
mysteries, and the angekok, the sorcerer, frightened them into the most
delightful fits after the lamps were put out, and you could hear the Spirit=
of
the Reindeer stamping on the roof; and when a spear was thrust out into the
open black night it came back covered with hot blood. He wanted to throw his
big boots into the net with the tired air of the head of a family, and to
gamble with the hunters when they dropped in of an evening and played a sor=
t of
home-made roulette with a tin pot and a nail. There were hundreds of things
that he wanted to do, but the grown men laughed at him and said, "Wait
till you have been in the buckle, Kotuko. Hunting is not ALL catching."=
;
Now that his father had named a puppy for him,
things looked brighter. An Inuit does not waste a good dog on his son till =
the
boy knows something of dog-driving; and Kotuko was more than sure that he k=
new more
than everything.
If the puppy had not had an iron constitution =
he
would have died from over-stuffing and over-handling. Kotuko made him a tiny
harness with a trace to it, and hauled him all over the house-floor, shouti=
ng:
"Aua! Ja aua!" (Go to the right). "Choiachoi! Ja
choiachoi!" (Go to the left). "Ohaha!" (Stop). The puppy did=
not
like it at all, but being fished for in this way was pure happiness beside
being put to the sleigh for the first time. He just sat down on the snow, a=
nd
played with the seal-hide trace that ran from his harness to the pitu, the =
big
thong in the bows of the sleigh. Then the team started, and the puppy found=
the
heavy ten-foot sleigh running up his back, and dragging him along the snow,=
while
Kotuko laughed till the tears ran down his face. There followed days and da=
ys
of the cruel whip that hisses like the wind over ice, and his companions all
bit him because he did not know his work, and the harness chafed him, and he
was dot allowed to sleep with Kotuko any more, but had to take the coldest
place in the passage. It was a sad time for the puppy.
The boy learned, too, as fast as the dog; thou=
gh a
dog-sleigh is a heart-breaking thing to manage. Each beast is harnessed, the
weakest nearest to the driver, by his own separate trace, which runs under =
his
left fore-leg to the main thong, where it is fastened by a sort of button a=
nd
loop which can be slipped by a turn of the wrist, thus freeing one dog at a
time. This is very necessary, because young dogs often get the trace between
their hind legs, where it cuts to the bone. And they one and all WILL go
visiting their friends as they run, jumping in and out among the traces. Th=
en
they fight, and the result is more mixed than a wet fishing-line next morni=
ng.
A great deal of trouble can be avoided by scientific use of the whip. Every
Inuit boy prides himself as being a master of the long lash; but it is easy=
to
flick at a mark on the ground, and difficult to lean forward and catch a
shirking dog just behind the shoulders when the sleigh is going at full spe=
ed.
If you call one dog's name for "visiting," and accidentally lash
another, the two will fight it out at once, and stop all the others. Again,=
if
you travel with a companion and begin to talk, or by yourself and sing, the
dogs will halt, turn round, and sit down to hear what you have to say. Kotu=
ko was
run away from once or twice through forgetting to block the sleigh when he
stopped; and he broke many lashings, and ruined a few thongs before he coul=
d be
trusted with a full team of eight and the light sleigh. Then he felt himsel=
f a
person of consequence, and on smooth, black ice, with a bold heart and a qu=
ick
elbow, he smoked along over the levels as fast as a pack in full cry. He wo=
uld
go ten miles to the seal-holes, and when he was on the hunting-grounds he w=
ould
twitch a trace loose from the pitu, and free the big black leader, who was =
the
cleverest dog in the team. As soon as the dog had scented a breathing-hole,
Kotuko would reverse the sleigh, driving a couple of sawed-off antlers, that
stuck up like perambulator-handles from the back-rest, deep into the snow, =
so
that the team could not get away. Then he would crawl forward inch by inch,=
and
wait till the seal came up to breathe. Then he would stab down swiftly with=
his
spear and running-line, and presently would haul his seal up to the lip of =
the ice,
while the black leader came up and helped to pull the carcass across the ic=
e to
the sleigh. That was the time when the harnessed dogs yelled and foamed with
excitement, and Kotuko laid the long lash like a red-hot bar across all the=
ir
faces, till the carcass froze stiff. Going home was the heavy work. The loa=
ded
sleigh had to be humoured among the rough ice, and the dogs sat down and lo=
oked
hungrily at the seal instead of pulling. At last they would strike the
well-worn sleigh-road to the village, and toodle-kiyi along the ringing ice,
heads down and tails up, while Kotuko struck up the "An-gutivaun tai-na
tau-na-ne taina" (The Song of the Returning Hunter), and voices hailed=
him
from house to house under all that dim, star-littern sky.
When Kotuko the dog came to his full growth he
enjoyed himself too. He fought his way up the team steadily, fight after fi=
ght,
till one fine evening, over their food, he tackled the big, black leader
(Kotuko the boy saw fair play), and made second dog of him, as they say. So=
he
was promoted to the long thong of the leading dog, running five feet in adv=
ance
of all the others: it was his bounden duty to stop all fighting, in harness=
or
out of it, and he wore a collar of copper wire, very thick and heavy. On
special occasions he was fed with cooked food inside the house, and sometim=
es
was allowed to sleep on the bench with Kotuko. He was a good seal-dog, and
would keep a musk-ox at bay by running round him and snapping at his heels.=
He
would even--and this for a sleigh-dog is the last proof of bravery--he would
even stand up to the gaunt Arctic wolf, whom all dogs of the North, as a ru=
le,
fear beyond anything that walks the snow. He and his master--they did not c=
ount
the team of ordinary dogs as company--hunted together, day after day and ni=
ght after
night, fur-wrapped boy and savage, long-haired, narrow-eyed, white-fanged,
yellow brute. All an Inuit has to do is to get food and skins for himself a=
nd
his family. The women-folk make the skins into clothing, and occasionally h=
elp
in trapping small game; but the bulk of the food--and they eat enormously--=
must
be found by the men. If the supply fails there is no one up there to buy or=
beg
or borrow from. The people must die.
An Inuit does not think of these chances till =
he
is forced to. Kadlu, Kotuko, Amoraq, and the boy-baby who kicked about in
Amoraq's fur hood and chewed pieces of blubber all day, were as happy toget=
her
as any family in the world. They came of a very gentle race--an Inuit seldo=
m loses
his temper, and almost never strikes a child--who did not know exactly what
telling a real lie meant, still less how to steal. They were content to spe=
ar
their living out of the heart of the bitter, hopeless cold; to smile oily
smiles, and tell queer ghost and fairy tales of evenings, and eat till they
could eat no more, and sing the endless woman's song: "Amna aya, aya a=
mna,
ah! ah!" through the long lamp-lighted days as they mended their cloth=
es
and their hunting-gear.
But one terrible winter everything betrayed th=
em.
The Tununirmiut returned from the yearly salmon-fishing, and made their hou=
ses
on the early ice to the north of Bylot's Island, ready to go after the seal=
as
soon as the sea froze. But it was an early and savage autumn. All through
September there were continuous gales that broke up the smooth seal-ice whe=
n it
was only four or five feet thick, and forced it inland, and piled a great
barrier, some twenty miles broad, of lumped and ragged and needly ice, over
which it was impossible to draw the dog-sleighs. The edge of the floe off w=
hich
the seal were used to fish in winter lay perhaps twenty miles beyond this
barrier, and out of reach of the Tununirmiut. Even so, they might have mana=
ged
to scrape through the winter on their stock of frozen salmon and stored
blubber, and what the traps gave them, but in December one of their hunters
came across a tupik (a skin-tent) of three women and a girl nearly dead, wh=
ose
men had come down from the far North and been crushed in their little skin =
hunting-boats
while they were out after the long-horned narwhal. Kadlu, of course, could =
only
distribute the women among the huts of the winter village, for no Inuit dare
refuse a meal to a stranger. He never knows when his own turn may come to b=
eg.
Amoraq took the girl, who was about fourteen, into her own house as a sort =
of
servant. From the cut of her sharp-pointed hood, and the long diamond patte=
rn
of her white deer-skin leggings, they supposed she came from Ellesmere Land.
She had never seen tin cooking-pots or wooden-shod sleighs before; but Kotu=
ko
the boy and Kotuko the dog were rather fond of her.
Then all the foxes went south, and even the
wolverine, that growling, blunt-headed little thief of the snow, did not ta=
ke
the trouble to follow the line of empty traps that Kotuko set. The tribe lo=
st a
couple of their best hunters, who were badly crippled in a fight with a
musk-ox, and this threw more work on the others. Kotuko went out, day after
day, with a light hunting-sleigh and six or seven of the strongest dogs,
looking till his eyes ached for some patch of clear ice where a seal might
perhaps have scratched a breathing-hole. Kotuko the dog ranged far and wide,
and in the dead stillness of the ice-fields Kotuko the boy could hear his
half-choked whine of excitement, above a seal-hole three miles away, as pla=
inly
as though he were at his elbow. When the dog found a hole the boy would bui=
ld
himself a little, low snow wall to keep off the worst of the bitter wind, a=
nd
there he would wait ten, twelve, twenty hours for the seal to come up to
breathe, his eyes glued to the tiny mark he had made above the hole to guide
the downward thrust of his harpoon, a little seal-skin mat under his feet, =
and
his legs tied together in the tutareang (the buckle that the old hunters had
talked about). This helps to keep a man's legs from twitching as he waits a=
nd
waits and waits for the quick-eared seal to rise. Though there is no excite=
ment
in it, you can easily believe that the sitting still in the buckle with the
thermometer perhaps forty degrees below zero is the hardest work an Inuit
knows. When a seal was caught, Kotuko the dog would bound forward, his trace
trailing behind him, and help to pull the body to the sleigh, where the tir=
ed
and hungry dogs lay sullenly under the lee of the broken ice.
A seal did not go very far, for each mouth in =
the
little village had a right to be filled, and neither bone, hide, nor sinew =
was
wasted. The dogs' meat was taken for human use, and Amoraq fed the team with
pieces of old summer skin-tents raked out from under the sleeping-bench, an=
d they
howled and howled again, and waked to howl hungrily. One could tell by the
soap-stone lamps in the huts that famine was near. In good seasons, when
blubber was plentiful, the light in the boat-shaped lamps would be two feet
high--cheerful, oily, and yellow. Now it was a bare six inches: Amoraq
carefully pricked down the moss wick, when an unwatched flame brightened fo=
r a
moment, and the eyes of all the family followed her hand. The horror of fam=
ine
up there in the great cold is not so much dying, as dying in the dark. All =
the
Inuit dread the dark that presses on them without a break for six months in
each year; and when the lamps are low in the houses the minds of people beg=
in
to be shaken and confused.
But worse was to come.
The underfed dogs snapped and growled in the
passages, glaring at the cold stars, and snuffing into the bitter wind, nig=
ht
after night. When they stopped howling the silence fell down again as solid=
and
heavy as a snowdrift against a door, and men could hear the beating of their
blood in the thin passages of the ear, and the thumping of their own hearts=
, that
sounded as loud as the noise of sorcerers' drums beaten across the snow. On=
e night
Kotuko the dog, who had been unusually sullen in harness, leaped up and pus=
hed
his head against Kotuko's knee. Kotuko patted him, but the dog still pushed
blindly forward, fawning. Then Kadlu waked, and gripped the heavy wolf-like
head, and stared into the glassy eyes. The dog whimpered and shivered betwe=
en
Kadlu's knees. The hair rose about his neck, and he growled as though a
stranger were at the door; then he barked joyously, and rolled on the groun=
d,
and bit at Kotuko's boot like a puppy.
"What is it?" said Kotuko; for he was
beginning to be afraid.
"The sickness," Kadlu answered. &quo=
t;It
is the dog sickness." Kotuko the dog lifted his nose and howled and ho=
wled
again.
"I have not seen this before. What will he
do?" said Kotuko.
Kadlu shrugged one shoulder a little, and cros=
sed
the hut for his short stabbing-harpoon. The big dog looked at him, howled
again, and slunk away down the passage, while the other dogs drew aside rig=
ht
and left to give him ample room. When he was out on the snow he barked furi=
ously,
as though on the trail of a musk-ox, and, barking and leaping and frisking,=
passed
out of sight. His trouble was not hydrophobia, but simple, plain madness. T=
he
cold and the hunger, and, above all, the dark, had turned his head; and when
the terrible dog-sickness once shows itself in a team, it spreads like
wild-fire. Next hunting-day another dog sickened, and was killed then and t=
here
by Kotuko as he bit and struggled among the traces. Then the black second d=
og,
who had been the leader in the old days, suddenly gave tongue on an imagina=
ry
reindeer-track, and when they slipped him from the pitu he flew at the thro=
at
of an ice-cliff, and ran away as his leader had done, his harness on his ba=
ck.
After that no one would take the dogs out again. They needed them for somet=
hing
else, and the dogs knew it; and though they were tied down and fed by hand,
their eyes were full of despair and fear. To make things worse, the old wom=
en
began to tell ghost-tales, and to say that they had met the spirits of the =
dead
hunters lost that autumn, who prophesied all sorts of horrible things.
Kotuko grieved more for the loss of his dog th=
an
anything else; for though an Inuit eats enormously he also knows how to sta=
rve.
But the hunger, the darkness, the cold, and the exposure told on his streng=
th, and
he began to hear voices inside his head, and to see people who were not the=
re,
out of the tail of his eye. One night--he had unbuckled himself after ten
hours' waiting above a "blind" seal-hole, and was staggering back=
to
the village faint and dizzy--he halted to lean his back against a boulder w=
hich
happened to be supported like a rocking-stone on a single jutting point of =
ice.
His weight disturbed the balance of the thing, it rolled over ponderously, =
and
as Kotuko sprang aside to avoid it, slid after him, squeaking and hissing on
the ice-slope.
That was enough for Kotuko. He had been brough=
t up
to believe that every rock and boulder had its owner (its inua), who was
generally a one-eyed kind of a Woman-Thing called a tornaq, and that when a
tornaq meant to help a man she rolled after him inside her stone house, and
asked him whether he would take her for a guardian spirit. (In summer thaws=
the
ice-propped rocks and boulders roll and slip all over the face of the land,=
so
you can easily see how the idea of live stones arose.) Kotuko heard the blo=
od
beating in his ears as he had heard it all day, and he thought that was the
tornaq of the stone speaking to him. Before he reached home he was quite
certain that he had held a long conversation with her, and as all his people
believed that this was quite possible, no one contradicted him.
"She said to me, 'I jump down, I jump down
from my place on the snow,'" cried Kotuko, with hollow eyes, leaning
forward in the half-lighted hut. "She said, 'I will be a guide.' She s=
aid,
'I will guide you to the good seal-holes.' To-morrow I go out, and the torn=
aq
will guide me."
Then the angekok, the village sorcerer, came i=
n,
and Kotuko told him the tale a second time. It lost nothing in the telling.=
"Follow the tornait [the spirits of the
stones], and they will bring us food again," said the angekok.
Now the girl from the North had been lying near
the lamp, eating very little and saying less for days past; but when Amoraq=
and
Kadlu next morning packed and lashed a little hand-sleigh for Kotuko, and
loaded it with his hunting-gear and as much blubber and frozen seal-meat as
they could spare, she took the pulling-rope, and stepped out boldly at the =
boy's
side.
"Your house is my house," she said, =
as the
little bone-shod sleigh squeaked and bumped behind them in the awful Arctic
night.
"My house is your house," said Kotuk=
o;
"but I think that we shall both go to Sedna together."
Now Sedna is the Mistress of the Underworld, a=
nd
the Inuit believe that every one who dies must spend a year in her horrible
country before going to Quadliparmiut, the Happy Place, where it never free=
zes
and the fat reindeer trot up when you call.
Through the village people were shouting:
"The tornait have spoken to Kotuko. They will show him open ice. He wi=
ll
bring us the seal again!" Their voices were soon swallowed up by the c=
old,
empty dark, and Kotuko and the girl shouldered close together as they strai=
ned
on the pulling-rope or humoured the sleigh through the ice in the direction=
of the
Polar Sea. Kotuko insisted that the tornaq of the stone had told him to go
north, and north they went under Tuktuqdjung the Reindeer--those stars that=
we
call the Great Bear.
No European could have made five miles a day o=
ver
the ice-rubbish and the sharp-edged drifts; but those two knew exactly the =
turn
of the wrist that coaxes a sleigh round a hummock, the jerk that nearly lif=
ts
it out of an ice-crack, and the exact strength that goes to the few quiet s=
trokes
of the spear-head that make a path possible when everything looks hopeless.=
The girl said nothing, but bowed her head, and=
the
long wolverine-fur fringe of her ermine hood blew across her broad, dark fa=
ce.
The sky above them was an intense velvety black, changing to bands of India=
n red
on the horizon, where the great stars burned like street-lamps. From time to
time a greenish wave of the Northern Lights would roll across the hollow of=
the
high heavens, flick like a flag, and disappear; or a meteor would crackle f=
rom
darkness to darkness, trailing a shower of sparks behind. Then they could s=
ee
the ridged and furrowed surface of the floe tipped and laced with strange
colours--red, copper, and bluish; but in the ordinary starlight everything
turned to one frost-bitten gray. The floe, as you will remember, had been
battered and tormented by the autumn gales till it was one frozen earthquak=
e.
There were gullies and ravines, and holes like gravel-pits, cut in ice; lum=
ps
and scattered pieces frozen down to the original floor of the floe; blotche=
s of
old black ice that had been thrust under the floe in some gale and heaved up
again; roundish boulders of ice; saw-like edges of ice carved by the snow t=
hat
flies before the wind; and sunken pits where thirty or forty acres lay below
the level of the rest of the field. From a little distance you might have t=
aken
the lumps for seal or walrus, overturned sleighs or men on a hunting
expedition, or even the great Ten-legged White Spirit-Bear himself; but in
spite of these fantastic shapes, all on the very edge of starting into life,
there was neither sound nor the least faint echo of sound. And through this
silence and through this waste, where the sudden lights flapped and went out
again, the sleigh and the two that pulled it crawled like things in a night=
mare--a
nightmare of the end of the world at the end of the world.
When they were tired Kotuko would make what the
hunters call a "half-house," a very small snow hut, into which th=
ey
would huddle with the travelling-lamp, and try to thaw out the frozen seal-=
meat.
When they had slept, the march began again--thirty miles a day to get ten m=
iles
northward. The girl was always very silent, but Kotuko muttered to himself =
and
broke out into songs he had learned in the Singing-House--summer songs, and
reindeer and salmon songs--all horribly out of place at that season. He wou=
ld
declare that he heard the tornaq growling to him, and would run wildly up a
hummock, tossing his arms and speaking in loud, threatening tones. To tell =
the
truth, Kotuko was very nearly crazy for the time being; but the girl was su=
re
that he was being guided by his guardian spirit, and that everything would =
come
right. She was not surprised, therefore, when at the end of the fourth marc=
h Kotuko,
whose eyes were burning like fire-balls in his head, told her that his torn=
aq
was following them across the snow in the shape of a two-headed dog. The gi=
rl
looked where Kotuko pointed, and something seemed to slip into a ravine. It=
was
certainly not human, but everybody knew that the tornait preferred to appea=
r in
the shape of bear and seal, and such like.
It might have been the Ten-legged White
Spirit-Bear himself, or it might have been anything, for Kotuko and the girl
were so starved that their eyes were untrustworthy. They had trapped nothin=
g,
and seen no trace of game since they had left the village; their food would=
not
hold out for another week, and there was a gale coming. A Polar storm can b=
low
for ten days without a break, and all that while it is certain death to be
abroad. Kotuko laid up a snow-house large enough to take in the hand-sleigh
(never be separated from your meat), and while he was shaping the last
irregular block of ice that makes the key-stone of the roof, he saw a Thing
looking at him from a little cliff of ice half a mile away. The air was haz=
y,
and the Thing seemed to be forty feet long and ten feet high, with twenty f=
eet
of tail and a shape that quivered all along the outlines. The girl saw it t=
oo,
but instead of crying aloud with terror, said quietly, "That is Quique=
rn.
What comes after?"
"He will speak to me," said Kotuko; =
but
the snow-knife trembled in his hand as he spoke, because however much a man=
may
believe that he is a friend of strange and ugly spirits, he seldom likes to=
be
taken quite at his word. Quiquern, too, is the phantom of a gigantic toothl=
ess dog
without any hair, who is supposed to live in the far North, and to wander a=
bout
the country just before things are going to happen. They may be pleasant or
unpleasant things, but not even the sorcerers care to speak about Quiquern.=
He
makes the dogs go mad. Like the Spirit-Bear, he has several extra pairs of
legs,--six or eight,--and this Thing jumping up and down in the haze had mo=
re
legs than any real dog needed. Kotuko and the girl huddled into their hut
quickly. Of course if Quiquern had wanted them, he could have torn it to pi=
eces
above their heads, but the sense of a foot-thick snow-wall between themselv=
es
and the wicked dark was great comfort. The gale broke with a shriek of wind
like the shriek of a train, and for three days and three nights it held, ne=
ver
varying one point, and never lulling even for a minute. They fed the stone =
lamp
between their knees, and nibbled at the half-warm seal-meat, and watched the
black soot gather on the roof for seventy-two long hours. The girl counted =
up
the food in the sleigh; there was not more than two days' supply, and Kotuko
looked over the iron heads and the deer-sinew fastenings of his harpoon and=
his
seal-lance and his bird-dart. There was nothing else to do.
"We shall go to Sedna soon--very soon,&qu= ot; the girl whispered. "In three days we shall lie down and go. Will your tornaq do nothing? Sing her an angekok's song to make her come here."<= o:p>
He began to sing in the high-pitched howl of t=
he
magic songs, and the gale went down slowly. In the middle of his song the g=
irl
started, laid her mittened hand and then her head to the ice floor of the h=
ut.
Kotuko followed her example, and the two kneeled, staring into each other's=
eyes,
and listening with every nerve. He ripped a thin sliver of whalebone from t=
he
rim of a bird-snare that lay on the sleigh, and, after straightening, set it
upright in a little hole in the ice, firming it down with his mitten. It was
almost as delicately adjusted as a compass-needle, and now instead of liste=
ning
they watched. The thin rod quivered a little--the least little jar in the
world; then it vibrated steadily for a few seconds, came to rest, and vibra=
ted
again, this time nodding to another point of the compass.
"Too soon!" said Kotuko. "Some =
big
floe has broken far away outside."
The girl pointed at the rod, and shook her hea=
d.
"It is the big breaking," she said. "Listen to the ground-ic=
e.
It knocks."
When they kneeled this time they heard the most
curious muffled grunts and knockings, apparently under their feet. Sometime=
s it
sounded as though a blind puppy were squeaking above the lamp; then as if a
stone were being ground on hard ice; and again, like muffled blows on a dru=
m; but
all dragged out and made small, as though they travelled through a little h=
orn
a weary distance away.
"We shall not go to Sedna lying down,&quo=
t;
said Kotuko. "It is the breaking. The tornaq has cheated us. We shall
die."
All this may sound absurd enough, but the two =
were
face to face with a very real danger. The three days' gale had driven the d=
eep
water of Baffin's Bay southerly, and piled it on to the edge of the
far-reaching land-ice that stretches from Bylot's Island to the west. Also,=
the
strong current which sets east out of Lancaster Sound carried with it mile =
upon
mile of what they call pack-ice--rough ice that has not frozen into fields;=
and
this pack was bombarding the floe at the same time that the swell and heave=
of
the storm-worked sea was weakening and undermining it. What Kotuko and the =
girl
had been listening to were the faint echoes of that fight thirty or forty m=
iles
away, and the little tell-tale rod quivered to the shock of it.
Now, as the Inuit say, when the ice once wakes
after its long winter sleep, there is no knowing what may happen, for solid
floe-ice changes shape almost as quickly as a cloud. The gale was evidently=
a
spring gale sent out of time, and anything was possible.
Yet the two were happier in their minds than
before. If the floe broke up there would be no more waiting and suffering.
Spirits, goblins, and witch-people were moving about on the racking ice, and
they might find themselves stepping into Sedna's country side by side with =
all
sorts of wild Things, the flush of excitement still on them. When they left=
the
hut after the gale, the noise on the horizon was steadily growing, and the
tough ice moaned and buzzed all round them.
"It is still waiting," said Kotuko.<= o:p>
On the top of a hummock sat or crouched the
eight-legged Thing that they had seen three days before--and it howled
horribly.
"Let us follow," said the girl. &quo=
t;It
may know some way that does not lead to Sedna"; but she reeled from
weakness as she took the pulling-rope. The Thing moved off slowly and clums=
ily
across the ridges, heading always toward the westward and the land, and the=
y followed,
while the growling thunder at the edge of the floe rolled nearer and nearer.
The floe's lip was split and cracked in every direction for three or four m=
iles
inland, and great pans of ten-foot-thick ice, from a few yards to twenty ac=
res
square, were jolting and ducking and surging into one another, and into the=
yet
unbroken floe, as the heavy swell took and shook and spouted between them. =
This
battering-ram ice was, so to speak, the first army that the sea was flinging
against the floe. The incessant crash and jar of these cakes almost drowned=
the
ripping sound of sheets of pack-ice driven bodily under the floe as cards a=
re
hastily pushed under a tablecloth. Where the water was shallow these sheets
would be piled one atop of the other till the bottommost touched mud fifty =
feet
down, and the discoloured sea banked behind the muddy ice till the increasi=
ng
pressure drove all forward again. In addition to the floe and the pack-ice,=
the
gale and the currents were bringing down true bergs, sailing mountains of i=
ce,
snapped off from the Greenland side of the water or the north shore of Melv=
ille
Bay. They pounded in solemnly, the waves breaking white round them, and
advanced on the floe like an old-time fleet under full sail. A berg that se=
emed
ready to carry the world before it would ground helplessly in deep water, r=
eel
over, and wallow in a lather of foam and mud and flying frozen spray, while=
a
much smaller and lower one would rip and ride into the flat floe, flinging =
tons
of ice on either side, and cutting a track half a mile long before it was
stopped. Some fell like swords, shearing a raw-edged canal; and others
splintered into a shower of blocks, weighing scores of tons apiece, that
whirled and skirted among the hummocks. Others, again, rose up bodily out of
the water when they shoaled, twisted as though in pain, and fell solidly on
their sides, while the sea threshed over their shoulders. This trampling and
crowding and bending and buckling and arching of the ice into every possible
shape was going on as far as the eye could reach all along the north line of
the floe. From where Kotuko and the girl were, the confusion looked no more
than an uneasy, rippling, crawling movement under the horizon; but it came
toward them each moment, and they could hear, far away to landward a heavy
booming, as it might have been the boom of artillery through a fog. That sh=
owed
that the floe was being jammed home against the iron cliffs of Bylot's Isla=
nd,
the land to the southward behind them.
"This has never been before," said
Kotuko, staring stupidly. "This is not the time. How can the floe break
NOW?"
"Follow THAT!" the girl cried, point=
ing
to the Thing half limping, half running distractedly before them. They
followed, tugging at the hand-sleigh, while nearer and nearer came the roar=
ing
march of the ice. At last the fields round them cracked and starred in every
direction, and the cracks opened and snapped like the teeth of wolves. But
where the Thing rested, on a mound of old and scattered ice-blocks some fif=
ty feet
high, there was no motion. Kotuko leaped forward wildly, dragging the girl
after him, and crawled to the bottom of the mound. The talking of the ice g=
rew
louder and louder round them, but the mound stayed fast, and, as the girl
looked at him, he threw his right elbow upward and outward, making the Inuit
sign for land in the shape of an island. And land it was that the eight-leg=
ged,
limping Thing had led them to--some granite-tipped, sand-beached islet off =
the
coast, shod and sheathed and masked with ice so that no man could have told=
it
from the floe, but at the bottom solid earth, and not shifting ice! The
smashing and rebound of the floes as they grounded and splintered marked the
borders of it, and a friendly shoal ran out to the northward, and turned as=
ide the
rush of the heaviest ice, exactly as a ploughshare turns over loam. There w=
as danger,
of course, that some heavily squeezed ice-field might shoot up the beach, a=
nd
plane off the top of the islet bodily; but that did not trouble Kotuko and =
the
girl when they made their snow-house and began to eat, and heard the ice ha=
mmer
and skid along the beach. The Thing had disappeared, and Kotuko was talking
excitedly about his power over spirits as he crouched round the lamp. In the
middle of his wild sayings the girl began to laugh, and rock herself backwa=
rd
and forward.
Behind her shoulder, crawling into the hut cra=
wl
by crawl, there were two heads, one yellow and one black, that belonged to =
two
of the most sorrowful and ashamed dogs that ever you saw. Kotuko the dog was
one, and the black leader was the other. Both were now fat, well-looking, a=
nd quite
restored to their proper minds, but coupled to each other in an extraordina=
ry
fashion. When the black leader ran off, you remember, his harness was still=
on
him. He must have met Kotuko the dog, and played or fought with him, for his
shoulder-loop had caught in the plaited copper wire of Kotuko's collar, and=
had
drawn tight, so that neither could get at the trace to gnaw it apart, but e=
ach
was fastened sidelong to his neighbour's neck. That, with the freedom of
hunting on their own account, must have helped to cure their madness. They =
were
very sober.
The girl pushed the two shamefaced creatures
towards Kotuko, and, sobbing with laughter, cried, "That is Quiquern, =
who
led us to safe ground. Look at his eight legs and double head!"
Kotuko cut them free, and they fell into his a=
rms,
yellow and black together, trying to explain how they had got their senses =
back
again. Kotuko ran a hand down their ribs, which were round and well clothed=
. "They
have found food," he said, with a grin. "I do not think we shall =
go
to Sedna so soon. My tornaq sent these. The sickness has left them."
As soon as they had greeted Kotuko, these two,=
who
had been forced to sleep and eat and hunt together for the past few weeks, =
flew
at each other's throat, and there was a beautiful battle in the snow-house.=
"Empty
dogs do not fight," Kotuko said. "They have found the seal. Let us
sleep. We shall find food."
When they waked there was open water on the no=
rth
beach of the island, and all the loosened ice had been driven landward. The
first sound of the surf is one of the most delightful that the Inuit can he=
ar,
for it means that spring is on the road. Kotuko and the girl took hold of h=
ands
and smiled, for the clear, full roar of the surge among the ice reminded th=
em
of salmon and reindeer time and the smell of blossoming ground-willows. Eve=
n as
they looked, the sea began to skim over between the floating cakes of ice, =
so
intense was the cold; but on the horizon there was a vast red glare, and th=
at
was the light of the sunken sun. It was more like hearing him yawn in his s=
leep
than seeing him rise, and the glare lasted for only a few minutes, but it
marked the turn of the year. Nothing, they felt, could alter that.
Kotuko found the dogs fighting over a fresh-ki=
lled
seal who was following the fish that a gale always disturbs. He was the fir=
st
of some twenty or thirty seal that landed on the island in the course of th=
e day,
and till the sea froze hard there were hundreds of keen black heads rejoici=
ng
in the shallow free water and floating about with the floating ice.
It was good to eat seal-liver again; to fill t=
he
lamps recklessly with blubber, and watch the flame blaze three feet in the =
air;
but as soon as the new sea-ice bore, Kotuko and the girl loaded the
hand-sleigh, and made the two dogs pull as they had never pulled in their
lives, for they feared what might have happened in their village. The weath=
er
was as pitiless as usual; but it is easier to draw a sleigh loaded with goo=
d food
than to hunt starving. They left five-and-twenty seal carcasses buried in t=
he
ice of the beach, all ready for use, and hurried back to their people. The =
dogs
showed them the way as soon as Kotuko told them what was expected, and thou=
gh
there was no sign of a landmark, in two days they were giving tongue outside
Kadlu's house. Only three dogs answered them; the others had been eaten, and
the houses were all dark. But when Kotuko shouted, "Ojo!" (boiled
meat), weak voices replied, and when he called the muster of the village na=
me
by name, very distinctly, there were no gaps in it.
An hour later the lamps blazed in Kadlu's hous=
e;
snow-water was heating; the pots were beginning to simmer, and the snow was
dripping from the roof, as Amoraq made ready a meal for all the village, and
the boy-baby in the hood chewed at a strip of rich nutty blubber, and the
hunters slowly and methodically filled themselves to the very brim with sea=
l-meat.
Kotuko and the girl told their tale. The two dogs sat between them, and
whenever their names came in, they cocked an ear apiece and looked most
thoroughly ashamed of themselves. A dog who has once gone mad and recovered,
the Inuit say, is safe against all further attacks.
"So the tornaq did not forget us," s=
aid
Kotuko. "The storm blew, the ice broke, and the seal swam in behind the
fish that were frightened by the storm. Now the new seal-holes are not two =
days
distant. Let the good hunters go to-morrow and bring back the seal I have
speared--twenty-five seal buried in the ice. When we have eaten those we wi=
ll
all follow the seal on the floe."
"What do YOU do?" said the sorcerer =
in
the same sort of voice as he used to Kadlu, richest of the Tununirmiut.
Kadlu looked at the girl from the North, and s=
aid
quietly, "WE build a house." He pointed to the north-west side of
Kadlu's house, for that is the side on which the married son or daughter al=
ways
lives.
The girl turned her hands palm upward, with a
little despairing shake of her head. She was a foreigner, picked up starvin=
g,
and could bring nothing to the housekeeping.
Amoraq jumped from the bench where she sat, and
began to sweep things into the girl's lap--stone lamps, iron skin-scrapers,=
tin
kettles, deer-skins embroidered with musk-ox teeth, and real canvas-needles
such as sailors use--the finest dowry that has ever been given on the far e=
dge
of the Arctic Circle, and the girl from the North bowed her head down to the
very floor.
"Also these!" said Kotuko, laughing =
and
signing to the dogs, who thrust their cold muzzles into the girl's face.
"Ah," said the angekok, with an
important cough, as though he had been thinking it all over. "As soon =
as
Kotuko left the village I went to the Singing-House and sang magic. I sang =
all
the long nights, and called upon the Spirit of the Reindeer. MY singing made
the gale blow that broke the ice and drew the two dogs toward Kotuko when t=
he
ice would have crushed his bones. MY song drew the seal in behind the broken
ice. My body lay still in the quaggi, but my spirit ran about on the ice, a=
nd guided
Kotuko and the dogs in all the things they did. I did it."
Everybody was full and sleepy, so no one
contradicted; and the angekok, by virtue of his office, helped himself to y=
et
another lump of boiled meat, and lay down to sleep with the others in the w=
arm,
well-lighted, oil-smelling home.
*****
Now Kotuko, who drew very well in the Inuit
fashion, scratched pictures of all these adventures on a long, flat piece of
ivory with a hole at one end. When he and the girl went north to Ellesmere =
Land
in the year of the Wonderful Open Winter, he left the picture-story with Ka=
dlu,
who lost it in the shingle when his dog-sleigh broke down one summer on the=
beach
of Lake Netilling at Nikosiring, and there a Lake Inuit found it next spring
and sold it to a man at Imigen who was interpreter on a Cumberland Sound
whaler, and he sold it to Hans Olsen, who was afterward a quartermaster on
board a big steamer that took tourists to the North Cape in Norway. When the
tourist season was over, the steamer ran between London and Australia, stop=
ping
at Ceylon, and there Olsen sold the ivory to a Cingalese jeweller for two
imitation sapphires. I found it under some rubbish in a house at Colombo, a=
nd
have translated it from one end to the other.
'ANGU=
TIVAUN
TAINA'
[This is a very free translation of the Song of
the Returning Hunter, as the men used to sing it after seal-spearing. The I=
nuit
always repeat things over and over again.]
=
Our
gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, Our furs with the drifted snow, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> As we come in with the seal--the se=
al! In from the edge of the floe.
=
Au
jana! Aua! Oha! Haq! And the
yelping dog-teams go, And the=
long
whips crack, and the men come back, Back from the edge of the floe!
=
We
tracked our seal to his secret place, We heard him scratch below, We made our mark, and we watched be=
side, Out on the edge of the floe.
=
We
raised our lance when he rose to breathe, We drove it downward--so! And we played him thus, and we kill=
ed him
thus, Out on the edge of the
floe.
=
Our
gloves are glued with the frozen blood, Our eyes with the drifting snow; =
But we come back to our wives again=
, Back from the edge of the floe!
=
Au
jana! Aua! Oha! Haq! And the
loaded dog-teams go, And the =
wives
can hear their men come back. Back from the edge of the floe!
F=
or our
white and our excellent nights---for the nights of swift running. Fair ranging, far seeing, good
hunting, sure cunning! For the
smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has departed! For the rush through the mist, and t=
he
quarry blind-started! For the =
cry of
our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and is standing at bay, For the risk and the riot =
of
night! For the sleep=
at
the lair-mouth by day, It
is met, and we go to the fight. Bay! O Bay!
It was after the letting in of the Jungle that=
the
pleasantest part of Mowgli's life began. He had the good conscience that co=
mes
from paying debts; all the Jungle was his friend, and just a little afraid =
of
him. The things that he did and saw and heard when he was wandering from on=
e people
to another, with or without his four companions, would make many many stori=
es,
each as long as this one. So you will never be told how he met the Mad Elep=
hant
of Mandla, who killed two-and-twenty bullocks drawing eleven carts of coined
silver to the Government Treasury, and scattered the shiny rupees in the du=
st;
how he fought Jacala, the Crocodile, all one long night in the Marshes of t=
he
North, and broke his skinning-knife on the brute's back-plates; how he foun=
d a
new and longer knife round the neck of a man who had been killed by a wild
boar, and how he tracked that boar and killed him as a fair price for the
knife; how he was caught up once in the Great Famine, by the moving of the =
deer,
and nearly crushed to death in the swaying hot herds; how he saved Hathi the
Silent from being once more trapped in a pit with a stake at the bottom, and
how, next day, he himself fell into a very cunning leopard-trap, and how Ha=
thi
broke the thick wooden bars to pieces above him; how he milked the wild
buffaloes in the swamp, and how----
But we must tell one tale at a time. Father and
Mother Wolf died, and Mowgli rolled a big boulder against the mouth of their
cave, and cried the Death Song over them; Baloo grew very old and stiff, and
even Bagheera, whose nerves were steel and whose muscles were iron, was a s=
hade
slower on the kill than he had been. Akela turned from gray to milky white =
with
pure age; his ribs stuck out, and he walked as though he had been made of w=
ood,
and Mowgli killed for him. But the young wolves, the children of the disban=
ded
Seeonee Pack, throve and increased, and when there were about forty of them,
masterless, full-voiced, clean-footed five-year-olds, Akela told them that =
they
ought to gather themselves together and follow the Law, and run under one h=
ead,
as befitted the Free People.
This was not a question in which Mowgli concer=
ned
himself, for, as he said, he had eaten sour fruit, and he knew the tree it =
hung
from; but when Phao, son of Phaona (his father was the Gray Tracker in the =
days
of Akela's headship), fought his way to the leadership of the Pack, accordi=
ng
to the Jungle Law, and the old calls and songs began to ring under the stars
once more, Mowgli came to the Council Rock for memory's sake. When he chose=
to
speak the Pack waited till he had finished, and he sat at Akela's side on t=
he
rock above Phao. Those were days of good hunting and good sleeping. No stra=
nger
cared to break into the jungles that belonged to Mowgli's people, as they c=
alled
the Pack, and the young wolves grew fat and strong, and there were many cub=
s to
bring to the Looking-over. Mowgli always attended a Looking-over, rememberi=
ng
the night when a black panther bought a naked brown baby into the pack, and=
the
long call, "Look, look well, O Wolves," made his heart flutter. O=
therwise,
he would be far away in the Jungle with his four brothers, tasting, touchin=
g,
seeing, and feeling new things.
One twilight when he was trotting leisurely ac= ross the ranges to give Akela the half of a buck that he had killed, while the F= our jogged behind him, sparring a little, and tumbling one another over for joy= of being alive, he heard a cry that had never been heard since the bad days of Shere Khan. It was what they call in the Jungle the pheeal, a hideous kind of shr= iek that the jackal gives when he is hunting behind a tiger, or when there is a= big killing afoot. If you can imagine a mixture of hate, triumph, fear, and despair, with a kind of leer running through it, you will get some notion of the pheeal that rose and sank and wavered and quavered far away across the Waingunga. The Four stopped at once, bristling and growling. Mowgli's hand = went to his knife, and he checked, the blood in his face, his eyebrows knotted.<= o:p>
"There is no Striped One dare kill
here," he said.
"That is not the cry of the Forerunner,&q=
uot;
answered Gray Brother. "It is some great killing. Listen!"
It broke out again, half sobbing and half
chuckling, just as though the jackal had soft human lips. Then Mowgli drew =
deep
breath, and ran to the Council Rock, overtaking on his way hurrying wolves =
of
the Pack. Phao and Akela were on the Rock together, and below them, every n=
erve
strained, sat the others. The mothers and the cubs were cantering off to th=
eir
lairs; for when the pheeal cries it is no time for weak things to be abroad=
.
They could hear nothing except the Waingunga
rushing and gurgling in the dark, and the light evening winds among the
tree-tops, till suddenly across the river a wolf called. It was no wolf of =
the
Pack, for they were all at the Rock. The note changed to a long, despairing
bay; and "Dhole!" it said, "Dhole! dhole! dhole!" They
heard tired feet on the rocks, and a gaunt wolf, streaked with red on his
flanks, his right fore-paw useless, and his jaws white with foam, flung him=
self
into the circle and lay gasping at Mowgli's feet.
"Good hunting! Under whose Headship?"
said Phao gravely.
"Good hunting! Won-tolla am I," was =
the
answer. He meant that he was a solitary wolf, fending for himself, his mate,
and his cubs in some lonely lair, as do many wolves in the south. Won-tolla
means an Outlier--one who lies out from any Pack. Then he panted, and they
could see his heart-beats shake him backward and forward.
"What moves?" said Phao, for that is=
the
question all the Jungle asks after the pheeal cries.
"The dhole, the dhole of the Dekkan--Red =
Dog,
the Killer! They came north from the south saying the Dekkan was empty and
killing out by the way. When this moon was new there were four to me--my ma=
te
and three cubs. She would teach them to kill on the grass plains, hiding to=
drive
the buck, as we do who are of the open. At midnight I heard them together, =
full
tongue on the trail. At the dawn-wind I found them stiff in the grass--four,
Free People, four when this moon was new. Then sought I my Blood-Right and
found the dhole."
"How many?" said Mowgli quickly; the
Pack growled deep in their throats.
"I do not know. Three of them will kill no
more, but at the last they drove me like the buck; on my three legs they dr=
ove
me. Look, Free People!"
He thrust out his mangled fore-foot, all dark =
with
dried blood. There were cruel bites low down on his side, and his throat was
torn and worried.
"Eat," said Akela, rising up from the
meat Mowgli had brought him, and the Outlier flung himself on it.
"This shall be no loss," he said hum=
bly,
when he had taken off the first edge of his hunger. "Give me a little
strength, Free People, and I also will kill. My lair is empty that was full
when this moon was new, and the Blood Debt is not all paid."
Phao heard his teeth crack on a haunch-bone and
grunted approvingly.
"We shall need those jaws," said he.
"Were there cubs with the dhole?"
"Nay, nay. Red Hunters all: grown dogs of
their Pack, heavy and strong for all that they eat lizards in the Dekkan.&q=
uot;
What Won-tolla had said meant that the dhole, =
the
red hunting-dog of the Dekkan, was moving to kill, and the Pack knew well t=
hat
even the tiger will surrender a new kill to the dhole. They drive straight
through the Jungle, and what they meet they pull down and tear to pieces.
Though they are not as big nor half as cunning as the wolf, they are very s=
trong
and very numerous. The dhole, for instance, do not begin to call themselves=
a
pack till they are a hundred strong; whereas forty wolves make a very fair =
pack
indeed. Mowgli's wanderings had taken him to the edge of the high grassy do=
wns
of the Dekkan, and he had seen the fearless dholes sleeping and playing and
scratching themselves in the little hollows and tussocks that they use for
lairs. He despised and hated them because they did not smell like the Free
People, because they did not live in caves, and, above all, because they had
hair between their toes while he and his friends were clean-footed. But he
knew, for Hathi had told him, what a terrible thing a dhole hunting-pack wa=
s.
Even Hathi moves aside from their line, and until they are killed, or till =
game
is scarce, they will go forward.
Akela knew something of the dholes, too, for he
said to Mowgli quietly, "It is better to die in a Full Pack than
leaderless and alone. This is good hunting, and--my last. But, as men live,
thou hast very many more nights and days, Little Brother. Go north and lie
down, and if any live after the dhole has gone by he shall bring thee word =
of
the fight."
"=
;Ah,"
said Mowgli, quite gravely, "must I go to the marshes and catch little
fish and sleep in a tree, or must I ask help of the Bandar-log and crack nu=
ts,
while the Pack fight below?"
"It is to the death," said Akela.
"Thou hast never met the dhole--the Red Killer. Even the Striped
One----"
"Aowa! Aowa!" said Mowgli pettingly.
"I have killed one striped ape, and sure am I in my stomach that Shere
Khan would have left his own mate for meat to the dhole if he had winded a =
pack
across three ranges. Listen now: There was a wolf, my father, and there was=
a
wolf, my mother, and there was an old gray wolf (not too wise: he is white =
now)
was my father and my mother. Therefore I--" he raised his voice, "=
;I
say that when the dhole come, and if the dhole come, Mowgli and the Free Pe=
ople
are of one skin for that hunting; and I say, by the Bull that bought me--by=
the
Bull Bagheera paid for me in the old days which ye of the Pack do not remem=
ber--
I say, that the Trees and the Rive=
r may
hear and hold fast if I forget; I =
say that this my knife shall be as a too=
th to
the Pack--and I do not think it is so blunt. This is my Word which has gone=
from
me."
"Thou dost not know the dhole, man with a
wolf's tongue," said Won-tolla. "I look only to clear the Blood D=
ebt against
them ere they have me in many pieces. They move slowly, killing out as they=
go,
but in two days a little strength will come back to me and I turn again for=
the
Blood Debt. But for YE, Free People, my word is that ye go north and eat but
little for a while till the dhole are gone. There is no meat in this huntin=
g."
"Hear the Outlier!" said Mowgli with=
a
laugh. "Free People, we must go north and dig lizards and rats from the
bank, lest by any chance we meet the dhole. He must kill out our hunting-gr=
ounds,
while we lie hid in the north till it please him to give us our own again. =
He
is a dog--and the pup of a dog--red, yellow-bellied, lairless, and haired
between every toe! He counts his cubs six and eight at the litter, as thoug=
h he
were Chikai, the little leaping rat. Surely we must run away, Free People, =
and
beg leave of the peoples of the north for the offal of dead cattle! Ye know=
the
saying: 'North are the vermin; south are the lice. WE are the Jungle.' Choo=
se
ye, O choose. It is good hunting! For the Pack--for the Full Pack--for the =
lair
and the litter; for the in-kill and the out-kill; for the mate that drives =
the
doe and the little, little cub within the cave; it is met!--it is met!--it =
is
met!"
The Pack answered with one deep, crashing bark=
that
sounded in the night like a big tree falling. "It is met!" they
cried. "Stay with these," said Mowgli to the Four. "We shall
need every tooth. Phao and Akela must make ready the battle. I go to count =
the
dogs."
"It is death!" Won-tolla cried, half
rising. "What can such a hairless one do against the Red Dog? Even the
Striped One, remember----"
"Thou art indeed an Outlier," Mowgli
called back; "but we will speak when the dholes are dead. Good hunting
all!"
He hurried off into the darkness, wild with ex=
citement,
hardly looking where he set foot, and the natural consequence was that he
tripped full length over Kaa's great coils where the python lay watching a
deer-path near the river.
"Kssha!" said Kaa angrily. "Is =
this
jungle-work, to stamp and tramp and undo a night's hunting--when the game a=
re
moving so well, too?"
"The fault was mine," said Mowgli,
picking himself up. "Indeed I was seeking thee, Flathead, but each tim=
e we
meet thou art longer and broader by the length of my arm. There is none lik=
e thee
in the Jungle, wise, old, strong, and most beautiful Kaa."
"Now whither does THIS trail lead?"
Kaa's voice was gentler. "Not a moon since there was a Manling with a
knife threw stones at my head and called me bad little tree-cat names, beca=
use
I lay asleep in the open."
"Ay, and turned every driven deer to all =
the
winds, and Mowgli was hunting, and this same Flathead was too deaf to hear =
his
whistle, and leave the deer-roads free," Mowgli answered composedly,
sitting down among the painted coils.
"Now this same Manling comes with soft,
tickling words to this same Flathead, telling him that he is wise and strong
and beautiful, and this same old Flathead believes and makes a place, thus,=
for
this same stone-throwing Manling, and--Art thou at ease now? Could Bagheera
give thee so good a resting-place?"
Kaa had, as usual, made a sort of soft
half-hammock of himself under Mowgli's weight. The boy reached out in the
darkness, and gathered in the supple cable-like neck till Kaa's head rested=
on
his shoulder, and then he told him all that had happened in the Jungle that
night.
"Wise I may be," said Kaa at the end;
"but deaf I surely am. Else I should have heard the pheeal. Small wond=
er
the Eaters of Grass are uneasy. How many be the dhole?"
"I have not yet seen. I came hot-foot to
thee. Thou art older than Hathi. But oh, Kaa,"--here Mowgli wriggled w=
ith
sheerjoy,--"it will be good hunting. Few of us will see another
moon."
"Dost THOU strike in this? Remember thou =
art
a Man; and remember what Pack cast thee out. Let the Wolf look to the Dog. =
THOU
art a Man."
"Last year's nuts are this year's black
earth," said Mowgli. "It is true that I am a Man, but it is in my
stomach that this night I have said that I am a Wolf. I called the River and
the Trees to remember. I am of the Free People, Kaa, till the dhole has gone
by."
"Free People," Kaa grunted. "Fr=
ee
thieves! And thou hast tied thyself into the death-knot for the sake of the
memory of the dead wolves? This is no good hunting."
"It is my Word which I have spoken. The T=
rees
know, the River knows. Till the dhole have gone by my Word comes not back to
me."
"Ngssh! This changes all trails. I had
thought to take thee away with me to the northern marshes, but the Word--ev=
en
the Word of a little, naked, hairless Manling--is the Word. Now I, Kaa,
say----"
"Think well, Flathead, lest thou tie thys=
elf
into the death-knot also. I need no Word from thee, for well I know----&quo=
t;
"Be it so, then," said Kaa. "I =
will
give no Word; but what is in thy stomach to do when the dhole come?"
"They must swim the Waingunga. I thought =
to
meet them with my knife in the shallows, the Pack behind me; and so stabbing
and thrusting, we a little might turn them down-stream, or cool their
throats."
"The dhole do not turn and their throats =
are
hot," said Kaa. "There will be neither Manling nor Wolf-cub when =
that
hunting is done, but only dry bones."
"Alala! If we die, we die. It will be most
good hunting. But my stomach is young, and I have not seen many Rains. I am=
not
wise nor strong. Hast thou a better plan, Kaa?"
"I have seen a hundred and a hundred Rain=
s.
Ere Hathi cast his milk-tushes my trail was big in the dust. By the First E=
gg,
I am older than many trees, and I have seen all that the Jungle has done.&q=
uot;
"But THIS is new hunting," said Mowg=
li.
"Never before have the dhole crossed our trail."
"What is has been. What will be is no more
than a forgotten year striking backward. Be still while I count those my
years."
For a long hour Mowgli lay back among the coil=
s,
while Kaa, his head motionless on the ground, thought of all that he had se=
en
and known since the day he came from the egg. The light seemed to go out of=
his
eyes and leave them like stale opals, and now and again he made little stiff
passes with his head, right and left, as though he were hunting in his slee=
p.
Mowgli dozed quietly, for he knew that there is nothing like sleep before
hunting, and he was trained to take it at any hour of the day or night.
Then he felt Kaa's back grow bigger and broader
below him as the huge python puffed himself out, hissing with the noise of a
sword drawn from a steel scabbard.
"I have seen all the dead seasons," =
Kaa
said at last, "and the great trees and the old elephants, and the rocks
that were bare and sharp-pointed ere the moss grew. Art THOU still alive,
Manling?"
"It is only a little after moonset,"
said Mowgli. "I do not understand----"
"Hssh! I am again Kaa. I knew it was but a
little time. Now we will go to the river, and I will show thee what is to be
done against the dhole."
He turned, straight as an arrow, for the main
stream of the Waingunga, plunging in a little above the pool that hid the P=
eace
Rock, Mowgli at his side.
"Nay, do not swim. I go swiftly. My back,
Little Brother."
Mowgli tucked his left arm round Kaa's neck, d=
ropped
his right close to his body, and straightened his feet. Then Kaa breasted t=
he
current as he alone could, and the ripple of the checked water stood up in a
frill round Mowgli's neck, and his feet were waved to and fro in the eddy u=
nder
the python's lashing sides. A mile or two above the Peace Rock the Waingunga
narrows between a gorge of marble rocks from eighty to a hundred feet high,=
and
the current runs like a mill-race between and over all manner of ugly stone=
s.
But Mowgli did not trouble his head about the water; little water in the wo=
rld
could have given him a moment's fear. He was looking at the gorge on either
side and sniffing uneasily, for there was a sweetish-sourish smell in the a=
ir,
very like the smell of a big ant-hill on a hot day. Instinctively he lowere=
d himself
in the water, only raising his head to breathe from time to time, and Kaa c=
ame
to anchor with a double twist of his tail round a sunken rock, holding Mowg=
li
in the hollow of a coil, while the water raced on.
"This is the Place of Death," said t=
he
boy. "Why do we come here?"
"They sleep," said Kaa. "Hathi =
will
not turn aside for the Striped One. Yet Hathi and the Striped One together =
turn
aside for the dhole, and the dhole they say turn aside for nothing. And yet=
for
whom do the Little People of the Rocks turn aside? Tell me, Master of the
Jungle, who is the Master of the Jungle?"
"These," Mowgli whispered. "It =
is
the Place of Death. Let us go."
"Nay, look well, for they are asleep. It =
is
as it was when I was not the length of thy arm."
The split and weatherworn rocks of the gorge of
the Waingunga had been used since the beginning of the Jungle by the Little
People of the Rocks--the busy, furious, black wild bees of India; and, as
Mowgli knew well, all trails turned off half a mile before they reached the
gorge. For centuries the Little People had hived and swarmed from cleft to =
cleft,
and swarmed again, staining the white marble with stale honey, and made the=
ir
combs tall and deep in the dark of the inner caves, where neither man nor b=
east
nor fire nor water had ever touched them. The length of the gorge on both s=
iaes
was hung as it were with black shimmery velvet curtains, and Mowgli sank as=
he
looked, for those were the clotted millions of the sleeping bees. There were
other lumps and festoons and things like decayed tree-trunks studded on the
face of the rock, the old combs of past years, or new cities built in the
shadow of the windless gorge, and huge masses of spongy, rotten trash had
rolled down and stuck among the trees and creepers that clung to the rock-f=
ace.
As he listened he heard more than once the rustle and slide of a honey-load=
ed
comb turning over or failing away somewhere in the dark galleries; then a
booming of angry wings, and the sullen drip, drip, drip, of the wasted hone=
y,
guttering along till it lipped over some ledge in the open air and sluggish=
ly
trickled down on the twigs. There was a tiny little beach, not five feet br=
oad,
on one side of the river, and that was piled high with the rubbish of uncou=
nted
years. There were dead bees, drones, sweepings, and stale combs, and wings =
of
marauding moths that had strayed in after honey, all tumbled in smooth pile=
s of
the finest black dust. The mere sharp smell of it was enough to frighten an=
ything
that had no wings, and knew what the Little People were.
Kaa moved up-stream again till he came to a sa=
ndy
bar at the head of the gorge.
"Here is this season's kill," said h=
e.
"Look!" On the bank lay the skeletons of a couple of young deer a=
nd a
buffalo. Mowgli could see that neither wolf nor jackal had touched the hone=
s,
which were laid out naturally.
"They came beyond the line; they did not =
know
the Law," murmured Mowgli, "and the Little People killed them. Le=
t us
go ere they wake."
"They do not wake till the dawn," sa=
id Kaa.
"Now I will tell thee. A hunted buck from the south, many, many Rains =
ago,
came hither from the south, not knowing the Jungle, a Pack on his trail. Be=
ing
made blind by fear, he leaped from above, the Pack running by sight, for th=
ey
were hot and blind on the trail. The sun was high, and the Little People we=
re many
and very angry. Many, too, were those of the Pack who leaped into the
Waingunga, but they were dead ere they took water. Those who did not leap d=
ied
also in the rocks above. But the buck lived."
"How?"
"Because he came first, running for his l=
ife,
leaping ere the Little People were aware, and was in the river when they
gathered to kill. The Pack, following, was altogether lost under the weight=
of
the Little People."
"The buck lived?" Mowgli repeated
slowly.
"At least he did not die THEN, though none
waited his coming down with a strong body to hold him safe against the wate=
r,
as a certain old fat, deaf, yellow Flathead would wait for a Manling--yea,
though there were all the dholes of the Dekkan on his trail. What is in thy
stomach?" Kaa's head was close to Mowgli's ear; and it was a little ti=
me
before the boy answered.
"It is to pull the very whiskers of Death,
but--Kaa, thou art, indeed, the wisest of all the Jungle."
"So many have said. Look now, if the dhole
follow thee----"
"As surely they will follow. Ho! ho! I ha=
ve
many little thorns under my tongue to prick into their hides."
"If they follow thee hot and blind, looki=
ng
only at thy shoulders, those who do not die up above will take water either
here or lower down, for the Little People will rise up and cover them. Now =
the
Waingunga is hungry water, and they will have no Kaa to hold them, but will=
go
down, such as live, to the shallows by the Seeonee Lairs, and there thy Pac=
k may
meet them by the throat."
"Ahai! Eowawa! Better could not be till t=
he
Rains fall in the dry season. There is now only the little matter of the run
and the leap. I will make me known to the dholes, so that they shall follow=
me
very closely."
"Hast thou seen the rocks above thee? From
the landward side?"
"Indeed, no. That I had forgotten."<= o:p>
"Go look. It is all rotten ground, cut and
full of holes. One of thy clumsy feet set down without seeing would end the
hunt. See, I leave thee here, and for thy sake only I will carry word to the
Pack that they may know where to look for the dhole. For myself, I am not of
one skin with ANY wolf."
When Kaa disliked an acquaintance he could be =
more
unpleasant than any of the Jungle People, except perhaps Bagheera. He swam =
down-stream,
and opposite the Rock he came on Phao and Akela listening to the night nois=
es.
"Hssh! Dogs," he said cheerfully.
"The dholes will come down-stream. If ye be not afraid ye can kill the=
m in
the shallows."
"When come they?" said Phao. "A=
nd
where is my Man-cub?" said Akela.
"They come when they come," said Kaa.
"Wait and see. As for THY Man-cub, from whom thou hast taken a Word an=
d so
laid him open to Death, THY Man-cub is with ME, and if he be not already de=
ad
the fault is none of thine, bleached dog! Wait here for the dhole, and be g=
lad
that the Man-cub and I strike on thy side."
Kaa flashed up-stream again, and moored himsel=
f in
the middle of the gorge, looking upward at the line of the cliff. Presently=
he
saw Mowgli's head move against the stars, and then there was a whizz in the
air, the keen, clean schloop of a body falling feet first, and next minute =
the
boy was at rest again in the loop of Kaa's body.
"It is no leap by night," said Mowgli
quietly. "I have jumped twice as far for sport; but that is an evil pl=
ace
above--low bushes and gullies that go down very deep, all full of the Little
People. I have put big stones one above the other by the side of three gull=
ies.
These I shall throw down with my feet in running, and the Little People wil=
l rise
up behind me, very angry."
"That is Man's talk and Man's cunning,&qu=
ot;
said Kaa. "Thou art wise, but the Little People are always angry."=
;
"Nay, at twilight all wings near and far =
rest
for a while. I will play with the dhole at twilight, for the dhole hunts be=
st
by day. He follows now Won-tolla's blood-trail."
"Chil does not leave a dead ox, nor the d=
hole
the blood-trail," said Kaa.
"Then I will make him a new blood-trail, =
of
his own blood, if I can, and give him dirt to eat. Thou wilt stay here, Kaa=
, till
I come again with my dholes?"
"Ay, but what if they kill thee in the
Jungle, or the Little People kill thee before thou canst leap down to the
river?"
"When to-morrow comes we will kill for
to-morrow," said Mowgli, quoting a Jungle saying; and again, "Whe=
n I
am dead it is time to sing the Death Song. Good hunting, Kaa!"
He loosed his arm from the python's neck and w=
ent
down the gorge like a log in a freshet, paddling toward the far bank, where=
he
found slack-water, and laughing aloud from sheer happiness. There was nothi=
ng Mowgli
liked better than, as he himself said, "to pull the whiskers of
Death," and make the Jungle know that he was their overlord. He had of=
ten,
with Baloo's help, robbed bees' nests in single trees, and he knew that the
Little People hated the smell of wild garlic. So he gathered a small bundle=
of
it, tied it up with a bark string, and then followed Won-tolla's blood-trai=
l,
as it ran southerly from the Lairs, for some five miles, looking at the tre=
es
with his head on one side, and chuckling as he looked.
"Mowgli the Frog have I been," said =
he
to himself; "Mowgli the Wolf have I said that I am. Now Mowgli the Ape
must I be before I am Mowgli the Buck. At the end I shall be Mowgli the Man.
Ho!" and he slid his thumb along the eighteen-inch blade of his knife.=
Won-tolla's trail, all rank with dark blood-sp=
ots,
ran under a forest of thick trees that grew close together and stretched aw=
ay
north-eastward, gradually growing thinner and thinner to within two miles of
the Bee Rocks. From the last tree to the low scrub of the Bee Rocks was ope=
n country,
where there was hardly cover enough to hide a wolf. Mowgli trotted along un=
der
the trees, judging distances between branch and branch, occasionally climbi=
ng
up a trunk and taking a trial leap from one tree to another till he came to=
the
open ground, which he studied very carefully for an hour. Then he turned,
picked up Won-tolla's trail where he had left it, settled himself in a tree
with an outrunning branch some eight feet from the ground, and sat still,
sharpening his knife on the sole of his foot and singing to himself.
A little before mid-day, when the sun was very
warm, he heard the patter of feet and smelt the abominable smell of the
dhole-pack as they trotted pitilessly along Won-tolla's trail. Seen from ab=
ove,
the red dhole does not look half the size of a wolf, but Mowgli knew how st=
rong
his feet and jaws were. He watched the sharp bay head of the leader snuffin=
g along
the trail, and gave him "Good hunting!"
The brute looked up, and his companions halted
behind him, scores and scores of red dogs with low-hung tails, heavy should=
ers,
weak quarters, and bloody mouths. The dholes are a very silent people as a
rule, and they have no manners even in their own Jungle. Fully two hundred =
must
have gathered below him, but he could see that the leaders sniffed hungrily=
on
Won-tolla's trail, and tried to drag the Pack forward. That would never do,=
or
they would be at the Lairs in broad daylight, and Mowgli meant to hold them
under his tree till dusk.
"By whose leave do ye come here?" sa=
id
Mowgli.
"All Jungles are our Jungle," was the
reply, and the dhole that gave it bared his white teeth. Mowgli looked down
with a smile, and imitated perfectly the sharp chitter-chatter of Chikai, t=
he
leaping rat of the Dekkan, meaning the dholes to understand that he conside=
red
them no better than Chikai. The Pack closed up round the tree-trunk and the=
leader
bayed savagely, calling Mowgli a tree-ape. For an answer Mowgli stretched d=
own
one naked leg and wriggled his bare toes just above the leader's head. That=
was
enough, and more than enough, to wake the Pack to stupid rage. Those who ha=
ve
hair between their toes do not care to be reminded of it. Mowgli caught his
foot away as the leader leaped up, and said sweetly: "Dog, red dog! Go
back to the Dekkan and eat lizards. Go to Chikai thy brother--dog, dog--red,
red dog! There is hair between every toe!" He twiddled his toes a seco=
nd
time.
"Come down ere we starve thee out, hairle=
ss
ape!" yelled the Pack, and this was exactly what Mowgli wanted. He laid
himself down along the branch, his cheek to the bark, his right arm free, a=
nd
there he told the Pack what he thought and knew about them, their manners,
their customs, their mates, and their puppies. There is no speech in the wo=
rld
so rancorous and so stinging as the language the Jungle People use to show =
scorn
and contempt. When you come to think of it you will see how this must be so=
. As
Mowgli told Kaa, he had many little thorns under his tongue, and slowly and
deliberately he drove the dholes from silence to growls, from growls to yel=
ls,
and from yells to hoarse slavery ravings. They tried to answer his taunts, =
but
a cub might as well have tried to answer Kaa in a rage; and all the while
Mowgli's right hand lay crooked at his side, ready for action, his feet loc=
ked
round the branch. The big bay leader had leaped many times in the air, but
Mowgli dared not risk a false blow. At last, made furious beyond his natural
strength, he bounded up seven or eight feet clear of the ground. Then Mowgl=
i's
hand shot out like the head of a tree-snake, and gripped him by the scruff =
of
his neck, and the branch shook with the jar as his weight fell back, almost
wrenching Mowgli to the ground. But he never loosed his grip, and inch by i=
nch
he hauled the beast, hanging like a drowned jackal, up on the branch. With =
his
left hand he reached for his knife and cut off the red, bushy tail, flinging
the dhole back to earth again. That was all he needed. The Pack would not go
forward on Won-tolla's trail now till they had killed Mowgli or Mowgli had
killed them. He saw them settle down in circles with a quiver of the haunch=
es
that meant they were going to stay, and so he climbed to a higher crotch,
settled his back comfortably, and went to sleep.
After three or four hours he waked and counted=
the
Pack. They were all there, silent, husky, and dry, with eyes of steel. The =
sun
was beginning to sink. In half an hour the Little People of the Rocks would=
be
ending their labours, and, as you know, the dhole does not fight best in th=
e twilight.
"I did not need such faithful watchers,&q=
uot;
he said politely, standing up on a branch, "but I will remember this. =
Ye
be true dholes, but to my thinking over much of one kind. For that reason I=
do
not give the big lizard-eater his tail again. Art thou not pleased, Red
Dog?"
"I myself will tear out thy stomach!"
yelled the leader, scratching at the foot of the tree.
"Nay, but consider, wise rat of the Dekka=
n.
There will now be many litters of little tailless red dogs, yea, with raw r=
ed
stumps that sting when the sand is hot. Go home, Red Dog, and cry that an a=
pe
has done this. Ye will not go? Come, then, with me, and I will make you ver=
y wise!"
He moved, Bandar-log fashion, into the next tr=
ee,
and so on into the next and the next, the Pack following with lifted hungry
heads. Now and then he would pretend to fall, and the Pack would tumble one
over the other in their haste to be at the death. It was a curious sight--t=
he
boy with the knife that shone in the low sunlight as it sifted through the =
upper
branches, and the silent Pack with their red coats all aflame, huddling and
following below. When he came to the last tree he took the garlic and rubbed
himself all over carefully, and the dholes yelled with scorn. "Ape wit=
h a
wolf's tongue, dost thou think to cover thy scent?" they said. "We
follow to the death."
"Take thy tail," said Mowgli, flingi=
ng
it back along the course he had taken. The Pack instinctively rushed after =
it.
"And follow now--to the death."
He had slipped down the tree-trunk, and headed
like the wind in bare feet for the Bee Rocks, before the dholes saw what he
would do.
They gave one deep howl, and settled down to t=
he
long, lobbing canter that can at the last run down anything that runs. Mowg=
li
knew their pack-pace to be much slower than that of the wolves, or he would
never have risked a two-mile run in full sight. They were sure that the boy=
was
theirs at last, and he was sure that he held them to play with as he please=
d.
All his trouble was to keep them sufficiently hot behind him to prevent the=
ir
turning off too soon. He ran cleanly, evenly, and springily; the tailless
leader not five yards behind him; and the Pack tailing out over perhaps a
quarter of a mile of ground, crazy and blind with the rage of slaughter. So=
he
kept his distance by ear, reserving his last effort for the rush across the=
Bee
Rocks.
The Little People had gone to sleep in the ear=
ly
twilight, for it was not the season of late blossoming flowers; but as Mowg=
li's
first foot-falls rang hollow on the hollow ground he heard a sound as thoug=
h all
the earth were humming. Then he ran as he had never run in his life before,
spurned aside one--two--three of the piles of stones into the dark,
sweet-smelling gullies; heard a roar like the roar of the sea in a cave; saw
with the tail of his eye the air grow dark behind him; saw the current of t=
he
Waingunga far below, and a flat, diamond-shaped head in the water; leaped
outward with all his strength, the tailless dhole snapping at his shoulder =
in mid-air,
and dropped feet first to the safety of the river, breathless and triumphan=
t.
There was not a sting upon him, for the smell of the garlic had checked the
Little People for just the few seconds that he was among them. When he rose
Kaa's coils were steadying him and things were bounding over the edge of th=
e cliff--great
lumps, it seemed, of clustered bees falling like plummets; but before any l=
ump
touched water the bees flew upward and the body of a dhole whirled down-str=
eam.
Overhead they could hear furious short yells that were drowned in a roar li=
ke
breakers--the roar of the wings of the Little People of the Rocks. Some of =
the
dholes, too, had fallen into the gullies that communicated with the undergr=
ound
caves, and there choked and fought and snapped among the tumbled honeycombs,
and at last, borne up, even when they were dead, on the heaving waves of be=
es
beneath them, shot out of some hole in the river-face, to roll over on the
black rubbish-heaps. There were dholes who had leaped short into the trees =
on
the cliffs, and the bees blotted out their shapes; but the greater number of
them, maddened by the stings, had flung themselves into the river; and, as =
Kaa
said, the Waingunga was hungry water.
Kaa held Mowgli fast till the boy had recovered
his breath.
"We may not stay here," he said.
"The Little People are roused indeed. Come!"
Swimming low and diving as often as he could,
Mowgli went down the river, knife in hand.
"Slowly, slowly," said Kaa. "One
tooth does not kill a hundred unless it be a cobra's, and many of the dholes
took water swiftly when they saw the Little People rise."
"The more work for my knife, then. Phai! =
How
the Little People follow!" Mowgli sank again. The face of the water was
blanketed with wild bees, buzzing sullenly and stinging all they found.
"Nothing was ever yet lost by silence,&qu=
ot;
said Kaa--no sting could penetrate his scales--"and thou hast all the =
long
night for the hunting. Hear them howl!"
Nearly half the pack had seen the trap their
fellows rushed into, and turning sharp aside had flung themselves into the
water where the gorge broke down in steep banks. Their cries of rage and th=
eir
threats against the "tree-ape" who had brought them to their shame
mixed with the yells and growls of those who had been punished by the Little
People. To remain ashore was death, and every dhole knew it. Their pack was
swept along the current, down to the deep eddies of the Peace Pool, but eve=
n there
the angry Little People followed and forced them to the water again. Mowgli
could hear the voice of the tailless leader bidding his people hold on and =
kill
out every wolf in Seeonee. But he did not waste his time in listening.
"One kills in the dark behind us!"
snapped a dhole. "Here is tainted water!"
Mowgli had dived forward like an otter, twitch=
ed a
struggling dhole under water before he could open his mouth, and dark rings
rose as the body plopped up, turning on its side. The dholes tried to turn,=
but
the current prevented them, and the Little People darted at the heads and e=
ars,
and they could hear the challenge of the Seeonee Pack growing louder and de=
eper
in the gathering darkness. Again Mowgli dived, and again a dhole went under,
and rose dead, and again the clamour broke out at the rear of the pack; some
howling that it was best to go ashore, others calling on their leader to le=
ad
them back to the Dekkan, and others bidding Mowgli show himself and be kill=
ed.
"They come to the fight with two stomachs=
and
several voices," said Kaa. "The rest is with thy brethren below
yonder, The Little People go back to sleep. They have chased us far. Now I,
too, turn back, for I am not of one skin with any wolf. Good hunting, Little
Brother, and remember the dhole bites low."
A wolf came running along the bank on three le=
gs,
leaping up and down, laying his head sideways close to the ground, hunching=
his
back, and breaking high into the air, as though he were playing with his cu=
bs.
It was Won-tolla, the Outlier, and he said never a word, but continued his =
horrible
sport beside the dholes. They had been long in the water now, and were swim=
ming
wearily, their coats drenched and heavy, their bushy tails dragging like
sponges, so tired and shaken that they, too, were silent, watching the pair=
of
blazing eyes that moved abreast.
"This is no good hunting," said one,
panting.
"Good hunting!" said Mowgli, as he r=
ose
boldly at the brute's side, and sent the long knife home behind the shoulde=
r,
pushing hard to avoid his dying snap.
"Art thou there, Man-cub?" said
Won-tolla across the water.
"Ask of the dead, Outlier," Mowgli
replied. "Have none come down-stream? I have filled these dogs' mouths
with dirt; I have tricked them in the broad daylight, and their leader lacks
his tail, but here be some few for thee still. Whither shall I drive
them?"
"I will wait," said Won-tolla. "=
;The
night is before me."
Nearer and nearer came the bay of the Seeonee
wolves. "For the Pack, for the Full Pack it is met!" and a bend in
the river drove the dholes forward among the sands and shoals opposite the
Lairs.
Then they saw their mistake. They should have
landed half a mile higher up, and rushed the wolves on dry ground. Now it w=
as
too late. The bank was lined with burning eyes, and except for the horrible
pheeal that had never stopped since sundown, there was no sound in the Jung=
le.
It seemed as though Won-tolla were fawning on them to come ashore; and
"Turn and take hold!" said the leader of the dholes. The entire P=
ack
flung themselves at the shore, threshing and squattering through the shoal =
water,
till the face of the Waingunga was all white and torn, and the great ripples
went from side to side, like bow-waves from a boat. Mowgli followed the rus=
h,
stabbing and slicing as the dholes, huddled together, rushed up the river-b=
each
in one wave.
Then the long fight began, heaving and straini=
ng
and splitting and scattering and narrowing and broadening along the red, wet
sands, and over and between the tangled tree-roots, and through and among t=
he bushes,
and in and out of the grass clumps; for even now the dholes were two to one=
. But
they met wolves fighting for all that made the Pack, and not only the short,
high, deep-chested, white-tusked hunters of the Pack, but the anxious-eyed
lahinis--the she-wolves of the lair, as the saying is--fighting for their
litters, with here and there a yearling wolf, his first coat still half woo=
lly,
tugging and grappling by their sides. A wolf, you must know, flies at the
throat or snaps at the flank, while a dhole, by preference, bites at the be=
lly;
so when the dholes were struggling out of the water and had to raise their
heads, the odds were with the wolves. On dry land the wolves suffered; but =
in
the water or ashore, Mowgli's knife came and went without ceasing. The Four=
had
worried their way to his side. Gray Brother, crouched between the boy's kne=
es,
was protecting his stomach, while the others guarded his back and either si=
de,
or stood over him when the shock of a leaping, yelling dhole who had thrown
himself full on the steady blade bore him down. For the rest, it was one
tangled confusion--a locked and swaying mob that moved from right to left a=
nd
from left to right along the bank; and also ground round and round slowly on
its own centre. Here would be a heaving mound, like a water-blister in a
whirlpool, which would break like a water-blister, and throw up four or five
mangled dogs, each striving to get back to the centre; here would be a sing=
le
wolf borne down by two or three dholes, laboriously dragging them forward, =
and
sinking the while; here a yearling cub would be held up by the pressure rou=
nd
him, though he had been killed early, while his mother, crazed with dumb ra=
ge, rolled
over and over, snapping, and passing on; and in the middle of the thickest
press, perhaps, one wolf and one dhole, forgetting everything else, would be
manoeuvring for first hold till they were whirled away by a rush of furious
fighters. Once Mowgli passed Akela, a dhole on either flank, and his all but
toothless jaws closed over the loins of a third; and once he saw Phao, his
teeth set in the throat of a dhole, tugging the unwilling beast forward till
the yearlings could finish him. But the bulk of the fight was blind flurry =
and
smother in the dark; hit, trip, and tumble, yelp, groan, and worry-worry-wo=
rry,
round him and behind him and above him. As the night wore on, the quick,
giddy-go-round motion increased. The dholes were cowed and afraid to attack=
the
stronger wolves, but did not yet dare to run away. Mowgli felt that the end=
was
coming soon, and contented himself with striking merely to cripple. The yea=
rlings
were growing bolder; there was time now and again to breathe, and pass a wo=
rd
to a friend, and the mere flicker of the knife would sometimes turn a dog
aside.
"The meat is very near the bone," Gr=
ay
Brother yelled. He was bleeding from a score of flesh-wounds.
"But the bone is yet to be cracked,"
said Mowgli. "Eowawa! THUS do we do in the Jungle!" The red blade=
ran
like a flame along the side of a dhole whose hind-quarters were hidden by t=
he
weight of a clinging wolf.
"My kill!" snorted the wolf through =
his
wrinkled nostrils. "Leave him to me."
"Is thy stomach still empty, Outlier?&quo=
t;
said Mowgli. Won-tolla was fearfully punished, but his grip had paralysed t=
he
dhole, who could not turn round and reach him.
"By the Bull that bought me," said
Mowgli, with a bitter laugh, "it is the tailless one!" And indeed=
it
was the big bay-coloured leader.
"It is not wise to kill cubs and
lahinis," Mowgli went on philosophically, wiping the blood out of his
eyes, "unless one has also killed the Outlier; and it is in my stomach
that this Won-tolla kills thee."
A dhole leaped to his leader's aid; but before=
his
teeth had found Won-tolla's flank, Mowgli's knife was in his throat, and Gr=
ay
Brother took what was left.
"And thus do we do in the Jungle," s=
aid
Mowgli.
Won-tolla said not a word, only his jaws were
closing and closing on the backbone as his life ebbed. The dhole shuddered,=
his
head dropped, and he lay still, and Won-tolla dropped above him.
"Huh! The Blood Debt is paid," said
Mowgli. "Sing the song, Won-tolla."
"He hunts no more," said Gray Brothe=
r;
"and Akela, too, is silent this long time."
"The bone is cracked!" thundered Pha=
o,
son of Phaona. "They go! Kill, kill out, O hunters of the Free
People!"
Dhole after dhole was slinking away from those
dark and bloody sands to the river, to the thick Jungle, up-stream or
down-stream as he saw the road clear.
"The debt! The debt!" shouted Mowgli. "Pay the debt! They have slain the Lone Wolf! Let not a dog go!"<= o:p>
He was flying to the river, knife in hand, to
check any dhole who dared to take water, when, from under a mound of nine d=
ead,
rose Akela's head and fore-quarters, and Mowgli dropped on his knees beside=
the
Lone Wolf.
"Said I not it would be my last fight?&qu=
ot;
Akela gasped. "It is good hunting. And thou, Little Brother?"
"I live, having killed many."
"Even so. I die, and I would--I would die=
by
thee, Little Brother."
Mowgli took the terrible scarred head on his
knees, and put his arms round the torn neck.
"It is long since the old days of Shere K=
han,
and a Man-cub that rolled naked in the dust."
"Nay, nay, I am a wolf. I am of one skin =
with
the Free People," Mowgli cried. "It is no will of mine that I am a
man."
"Thou art a man, Little Brother, wolfling=
of
my watching. Thou art a man, or else the Pack had fled before the dhole. My
life I owe to thee, and to-day thou hast saved the Pack even as once I saved
thee. Hast thou forgotten? All debts are paid now. Go to thine own people. I
tell thee again, eye of my eye, this hunting is ended. Go to thine own peop=
le."
"I will never go. I will hunt alone in the
Jungle. I have said it."
"After the summer come the Rains, and aft=
er
the Rains comes the spring. Go back before thou art driven."
"Who will drive me?"
"Mowgli will drive Mowgli. Go back to thy
people. Go to Man."
"When Mowgli drives Mowgli I will go,&quo=
t;
Mowgli answered.
"There is no more to say," said Akel=
a.
"Little Brother, canst thou raise me to my feet? I also was a leader of
the Free People."
Very carefully and gently Mowgli lifted the bo=
dies
aside, and raised Akela to his feet, both arms round him, and the Lone Wolf
drew a long breath, and began the Death Song that a leader of the Pack shou=
ld
sing when he dies. It gathered strength as he went on, lifting and lifting,=
and
ringing far across the river, till it came to the last "Good hunting!&=
quot;
and Akela shook himself clear of Mowgli for an instant, and, leaping into t=
he
air, fell backward dead upon his last and most terrible kill.
Mowgli sat with his head on his knees, careles=
s of
anything else, while the remnant of the flying dholes were being overtaken =
and
run down by the merciless lahinis. Little by little the cries died away, and
the wolves returned limping, as their wounds stiffened, to take stock of th=
e losses.
Fifteen of the Pack, as well as half a dozen lahinis, lay dead by the river,
and of the others not one was unmarked. And Mowgli sat through it all till =
the
cold daybreak, when Phao's wet, red muzzle was dropped in his hand, and Mow=
gli
drew back to show the gaunt body of Akela.
"Good hunting!" said Phao, as though
Akela were still alive, and then over his bitten shoulder to the others:
"Howl, dogs! A Wolf has died to-night!"
But of all the Pack of two hundred fighting
dholes, whose boast was that all jungles were their Jungle, and that no liv=
ing thing
could stand before them, not one returned to the Dekkan to carry that word.=
CHIL'=
S SONG
[This is the song that Chil sang as the kites
dropped down one after another to the river-bed, when the great fight was
finished. Chil is good friends with everybody, but he is a cold-blooded kin=
d of
creature at heart, because he knows that almost everybody in the Jungle com=
es
to him in the long-run.]
T=
hese
were my companions going forth by night-- (For Chil! Look you, for Chil!=
) Now come I to whistle them the endin=
g of
the fight. (Chil! Vangua=
rds of
Chil!) Word they gave me overh=
ead of
quarry newly slain, Word I gav=
e them
underfoot of buck upon the plain. Here's an end of every trail--they s=
hall
not speak again!
T=
hey
that called the hunting-cry--they that followed fast-- (For Chil! Look you, for Chil!=
) They that bade the sambhur wheel, or
pinned him as he passed-- (Chil! Vanguards of Chil!)
M=
an
goes to Man! Cry the challenge through the Jungle! He that was our Brother goes away.=
Hear, now, and judge, O ye People of=
the
Jungle,-- Answer, who shall =
turn
him--who shall stay?
M=
an goes
to Man! He is weeping in the Jungle: He that was our Brother sorrows so=
re! Man goes to Man! (Oh, we loved him i=
n the
Jungle!) To the Man-Trail wh=
ere we
may not follow more.
The second year after the great fight with Red=
Dog
and the death of Akela, Mowgli must have been nearly seventeen years old. He
looked older, for hard exercise, the best of good eating, and baths wheneve=
r he
felt in the least hot or dusty, had given him strength and growth far beyond
his age. He could swing by one hand from a top branch for half an hour at a
time, when he had occasion to look along the tree-roads. He could stop a yo=
ung
buck in mid-gallop and throw him sideways by the head. He could even jerk o=
ver
the big, blue wild boars that lived in the Marshes of the North. The Jungle
People who used to fear him for his wits feared him now for his strength, a=
nd
when he moved quietly on his own affairs the mere whisper of his coming cle=
ared
the wood-paths. And yet the look in his eyes was always gentle. Even when he
fought, his eyes never blazed as Bagheera's did. They only grew more and mo=
re interested
and excited; and that was one of the things that Bagheera himself did not
understand.
He asked Mowgli about it, and the boy laughed =
and
said. "When I miss the kill I am angry. When I must go empty for two d=
ays
I am very angry. Do not my eyes talk then?"
"The mouth is hungry," said Bagheera,
"but the eyes say nothing. Hunting, eating, or swimming, it is all
one--like a stone in wet or dry weather." Mowgli looked at him lazily =
from
under his long eyelashes, and, as usual, the panther's head dropped. Baghee=
ra
knew his master.
They were lying out far up the side of a hill
overlooking the Waingunga, and the morning mists hung below them in bands of
white and green. As the sun rose it changed into bubbling seas of red gold,
churned off, and let the low rays stripe the dried grass on which Mowgli and
Bagheera were resting. It was the end of the cold weather, the leaves and t=
he
trees looked worn and faded, and there was a dry, ticking rustle everywhere
when the wind blew. A little leaf tap-tap-tapped furiously against a twig, =
as a
single leaf caught in a current will. It roused Bagheera, for he snuffed the
morning air with a deep, hollow cough, threw himself on his back, and struck
with his fore-paws at the nodding leaf above.
"The year turns," he said. "The
Jungle goes forward. The Time of New Talk is near. That leaf knows. It is v=
ery
good."
"The grass is dry," Mowgli answered,
pulling up a tuft. "Even Eye-of-the-Spring [that is a little
trumpet-shaped, waxy red flower that runs in and out among the grasses]--ev=
en
Eye-of-the Spring is shut, and... Bagheera, IS it well for the Black Panthe=
r so
to lie on his back and beat with his paws in the air, as though he were the
tree-cat?"
"Aowh?" said Bagheera. He seemed to =
be
thinking of other things.
"I say, IS it well for the Black Panther =
so
to mouth and cough, and howl and roll? Remember, we be the Masters of the
Jungle, thou and I."
"Indeed, yes; I hear, Man-cub." Bagh=
eera
rolled over hurriedly and sat up, the dust on his ragged black flanks. (He =
was
just casting his winter coat.) "We be surely the Masters of the Jungle!
Who is so strong as Mowgli? Who so wise?" There was a curious drawl in=
the
voice that made Mowgli turn to see whether by any chance the Black Panther =
were
making fun of him, for the Jungle is full of words that sound like one thin=
g, but
mean another. "I said we be beyond question the Masters of the Jungle,=
"
Bagheera repeated. "Have I done wrong? I did not know that the Man-cub=
no
longer lay upon the ground. Does he fly, then?"
Mowgli sat with his elbows on his knees, looki=
ng
out across the valley at the daylight. Somewhere down in the woods below a =
bird
was trying over in a husky, reedy voice the first few notes of his spring s=
ong.
It was no more than a shadow of the liquid, tumbling call he would be pouri=
ng
later, but Bagheera heard it.
"I said the Time of New Talk is near,&quo=
t;
growled the panther, switching his tail.
"I hear," Mowgli answered.
"Bagheera, why dost thou shake all over? The sun is warm."
"That is Ferao, the scarlet woodpecker,&q=
uot;
said Bagheera. "HE has not forgotten. Now I, too, must remember my
song," and he began purring and crooning to himself, harking back
dissatisfied again and again.
"There is no game afoot," said Mowgl=
i.
"Little Brother, are BOTH thine ears stop=
ped?
That is no killing-word, but my song that I make ready against the need.&qu=
ot;
"I had forgotten. I shall know when the T=
ime
of New Talk is here, because then thou and the others all run away and leav=
e me
alone." Mowgli spoke rather savagely.
"But, indeed, Little Brother," Baghe=
era
began, "we do not always----"
"I say ye do," said Mowgli, shooting=
out
his forefinger angrily. "Ye DO run away, and I, who am the Master of t=
he
Jungle, must needs walk alone. How was it last season, when I would gather
sugar-cane from the fields of a Man-Pack? I sent a runner--I sent thee!--to
Hathi, bidding him to come upon such a night and pluck the sweet grass for =
me
with his trunk."
"He came only two nights later," said
Bagheera, cowering a little; "and of that long, sweet grass that pleas=
ed
thee so he gathered more than any Man-cub could eat in all the nights of the
Rains. That was no fault of mine."
"He did not come upon the night when I se=
nt
him the word. No, he was trumpeting and running and roaring through the val=
leys
in the moonlight. His trail was like the trail of three elephants, for he w=
ould
not hide among the trees. He danced in the moonlight before the houses of t=
he Man-Pack.
I saw him, and yet he would not come to me; and I am
the Master of the Jungle!"
"It was the Time of New Talk," said =
the
panther, always very humble. "Perhaps, Little Brother, thou didst not =
that
time call him by a Master-word? Listen to Ferao, and be glad!"
Mowgli's bad temper seemed to have boiled itse=
lf
away. He lay back with his head on his arms, his eyes shut. "I do not
know--nor do I care," he said sleepily. "Let us sleep, Bagheera. =
My
stomach is heavy in me. Make me a rest for my head."
The panther lay down again with a sigh, becaus=
e he
could hear Ferao practising and repractising his song against the Springtim=
e of
New Talk, as they say.
In an Indian Jungle the seasons slide one into=
the
other almost without division. There seem to be only two--the wet and the d=
ry;
but if you look closely below the torrents of rain and the clouds of char a=
nd
dust you will find all four going round in their regular ring. Spring is th=
e most
wonderful, because she has not to cover a clean, bare field with new leaves=
and
flowers, but to drive before her and to put away the hanging-on, over-survi=
ving
raffle of half-green things which the gentle winter has suffered to live, a=
nd
to make the partly-dressed stale earth feel new and young once more. And th=
is
she does so well that there is no spring in the world like the Jungle sprin=
g.
There is one day when all things are tired, and
the very smells, as they drift on the heavy air, are old and used. One cann=
ot
explain this, but it feels so. Then there is another day--to the eye nothing
whatever has changed--when all the smells are new and delightful, and the
whiskers of the Jungle People quiver to their roots, and the winter hair co=
mes
away from their sides in long, draggled locks. Then, perhaps, a little rain=
falls,
and all the trees and the bushes and the bamboos and the mosses and the
juicy-leaved plants wake with a noise of growing that you can almost hear, =
and
under this noise runs, day and night, a deep hum. THAT is the noise of the
spring--a vibrating boom which is neither bees, nor falling water, nor the =
wind
in tree-tops, but the purring of the warm, happy world.
Up to this year Mowgli had always delighted in=
the
turn of the seasons. It was he who generally saw the first Eye-of-the-Spring
deep down among the grasses, and the first bank of spring clouds, which are
like nothing else in the Jungle. His voice could be heard in all sorts of w=
et, star-lighted,
blossoming places, helping the big frogs through their choruses, or mocking=
the
little upside-down owls that hoot through the white nights. Like all his
people, spring was the season he chose for his flittings--moving, for the m=
ere
joy of rushing through the warm air, thirty, forty, or fifty miles between
twilight and the morning star, and coming back panting and laughing and
wreathed with strange flowers. The Four did not follow him on these wild
ringings of the Jungle, but went off to sing songs with other wolves. The
Jungle People are very busy in the spring, and Mowgli could hear them grunt=
ing
and screaming and whistling according to their kind. Their voices then are
different from their voices at other times of the year, and that is one of =
the
reasons why spring in the Jungle is called the Time of New Talk.
But that spring, as he told Bagheera, his stom=
ach
was changed in him. Ever since the bamboo shoots turned spotty-brown he had
been looking forward to the morning when the smells should change. But when=
the
morning came, and Mor the Peacock, blazing in bronze and blue and gold, cri=
ed
it aloud all along the misty woods, and Mowgli opened his mouth to send on =
the
cry, the words choked between his teeth, and a feeling came over him that b=
egan
at his toes and ended in his hair--a feeling of pure unhappiness, so that he
looked himself over to be sure that he had not trod on a thorn. Mor cried t=
he
new smells, the other birds took it over, and from the rocks by the Waingun=
ga
he heard Bagheera's hoarse scream--something between the scream of an eagle=
and
the neighing of a horse. There was a yelling and scattering of Bandar-log in
the new-budding branches above, and there stood Mowgli, his chest, filled t=
o answer
Mor, sinking in little gasps as the breath was driven out of it by this
unhappiness.
He stared all round him, but he could see no m=
ore
than the mocking Bandar-log scudding through the trees, and Mor, his tail
spread in full splendour, dancing on the slopes below.
"The smells have changed," screamed =
Mor.
"Good hunting, Little Brother! Where is thy answer?"
"Little Brother, good hunting!" whis=
tled
Chil the Kite and his mate, swooping down together. The two baffed under
Mowgli's nose so close that a pinch of downy white feathers brushed away.
A light spring rain--elephant-rain they call
it--drove across the Jungle in a belt half a mile wide, left the new leaves=
wet
and nodding behind, and died out in a double rainbow and a light roll of
thunder. The spring hum broke out for a minute, and was silent, but all the
Jungle Folk seemed to be giving tongue at once. All except Mowgli.
"I have eaten good food," he said to
himself. "I have drunk good water. Nor does my throat burn and grow sm=
all,
as it did when I bit the blue-spotted root that Oo the Turtle said was clean
food. But my stomach is heavy, and I have given very bad talk to Bagheera a=
nd
others, people of the Jungle and my people. Now, too, I am hot and now I am
cold, and now I am neither hot nor cold, but angry with that which I cannot
see. Huhu! It is time to make a running! To-night I will cross the ranges; =
yes,
I will make a spring running to the Marshes of the North, and back again. I
have hunted too easily too long. The Four shall come with me, for they grow=
as
fat as white grubs."
He called, but never one of the Four answered.
They were far beyond earshot, singing over the spring songs--the Moon and
Sambhur Songs--with the wolves of the pack; for in the spring-time the Jung=
le
People make very little difference between the day and the night. He gave t=
he
sharp, barking note, but his only answer was the mocking maiou of the littl=
e spotted
tree-cat winding in and out among the branches for early birds' nests. At t=
his
he shook all over with rage, and half drew his knife. Then he became very
haughty, though there was no one to see him, and stalked severely down the
hillside, chin up and eyebrows down. But never a single one of his people a=
sked
him a question, for they were all too busy with their own affairs.
"Yes," said Mowgli to himself, thoug= h in his heart he knew that he had no reason. "Let the Red Dhole come from = the Dekkan, or the Red Flower dance among the bamboos, and all the Jungle runs whining to Mowgli, calling him great elephant-names. But now, because Eye-of-the-Spring is red, and Mor, forsooth, must show his naked legs in so= me spring dance, the Jungle goes mad as Tabaqui.... By the Bull that bought me= ! am I the Master of the Jungle, or am I not? Be silent! What do ye here?"<= o:p>
A couple of young wolves of the Pack were
cantering down a path, looking for open ground in which to fight. (You will
remember that the Law of the Jungle forbids fighting where the Pack can see=
.)
Their neck-bristles were as stiff as wire, and they bayed furiously, crouch=
ing
for the first grapple. Mowgli leaped forward, caught one outstretched throa=
t in
either hand, expecting to fling the creatures backward as he had often done=
in games
or Pack hunts. But he had never before interfered with a spring fight. The =
two
leaped forward and dashed him aside, and without word to waste rolled over =
and
over close locked.
Mowgli was on his feet almost before he fell, =
his
knife and his white teeth were bared, and at that minute he would have kill=
ed
both for no reason but that they were fighting when he wished them to be qu=
iet,
although every wolf has full right under the Law to fight. He danced round =
them
with lowered shoulders and quivering hand, ready to send in a double blow w=
hen
the first flurry of the scuffle should be over; but while he waited the
strength seemed to ebb from his body, the knife-point lowered, and he sheat=
hed
the knife and watched.
"I have surely eaten poison," he sig= hed at last. "Since I broke up the Council with the Red Flower--since I ki= lled Shere Khan--none of the Pack could fling me aside. And these be only tail-wolves in the Pack, little hunters! My strength is gone from me, and presently I shall die. Oh, Mowgli, why dost thou not kill them both?"<= o:p>
The fight went on till one wolf ran away, and
Mowgli was left alone on the torn and bloody ground, looking now at his kni=
fe,
and now at his legs and arms, while the feeling of unhappiness he had never
known before covered him as water covers a log.
He killed early that evening and ate but littl=
e,
so as to be in good fettle for his spring running, and he ate alone because=
all
the Jungle People were away singing or fighting. It was a perfect white nig=
ht, as
they call it. All green things seemed to have made a month's growth since t=
he
morning. The branch that was yellow-leaved the day before dripped sap when
Mowgli broke it. The mosses curled deep and warm over his feet, the young g=
rass
had no cutting edges, and all the voices of the Jungle boomed like one deep
harp-string touched by the moon--the Moon of New Talk, who splashed her lig=
ht
full on rock and pool, slipped it between trunk and creeper, and sifted it
through a million leaves. Forgetting his unhappiness, Mowgli sang aloud with
pure delight as he settled into his stride. It was more like flying than
anything else, for he had chosen the long downward slope that leads to the
Northern Marshes through the heart of the main Jungle, where the springy gr=
ound
deadened the fall of his feet. A man-taught man would have picked his way w=
ith many
stumbles through the cheating moonlight, but Mowgli's muscles, trained by y=
ears
of experience, bore him up as though he were a feather. When a rotten log o=
r a
hidden stone turned under his foot he saved himself, never checking his pac=
e,
without effort and without thought. When he tired of ground-going he threw =
up
his hands monkey-fashion to the nearest creeper, and seemed to float rather
than to climb up into the thin branches, whence he would follow a tree-road
till his mood changed, and he shot downward in a long, leafy curve to the
levels again. There were still, hot hollows surrounded by wet rocks where h=
e could
hardly breathe for the heavy scents of the night flowers and the bloom along
the creeper buds; dark avenues where the moonlight lay in belts as regular =
as
checkered marbles in a church aisle; thickets where the wet young growth st=
ood
breast-high about him and threw its arms round his waist; and hilltops crow=
ned
with broken rock, where he leaped from stone to stone above the lairs of the
frightened little foxes. He would hear, very faint and far off, the chug-dr=
ug
of a boar sharpening his tusks on a bole; and would come across the great g=
ray
brute all alone, scribing and rending the bark of a tall tree, his mouth dr=
ipping
with foam, and his eyes blazing like fire. Or he would turn aside to the so=
und
of clashing horns and hissing grunts, and dash past a couple of furious
sambhur, staggering to and fro with lowered heads, striped with blood that
showed black in the moonlight. Or at some rushing ford he would hear Jacala=
the
Crocodile bellowing like a bull, or disturb a twined knot of the Poison Peo=
ple,
but before they could strike he would be away and across the glistening
shingle, and deep in the Jungle again.
So he ran, sometimes shouting, sometimes singi=
ng
to himself, the happiest thing in all the Jungle that night, till the smell=
of
the flowers warned him that he was near the marshes, and those lay far beyo=
nd
his farthest hunting-grounds.
Here, again, a man-trained man would have sunk
overhead in three strides, but Mowgli's feet had eyes in them, and they pas=
sed
him from tussock to tussock and clump to quaking clump without asking help =
from
the eyes in his head. He ran out to the middle of the swamp, disturbing the=
duck
as he ran, and sat down on a moss-coated tree-trunk lapped in the black wat=
er.
The marsh was awake all round him, for in the spring the Bird People sleep =
very
lightly, and companies of them were coming or going the night through. But =
no
one took any notice of Mowgli sitting among the tall reeds humming songs
without words, and looking at the soles of his hard brown feet in case of
neglected thorns. All his unhappiness seemed to have been left behind in his
own Jungle, and he was just beginning a full-throat song when it came back
again--ten times worse than before.
This time Mowgli was frightened. "It is h=
ere
also!" he said half aloud. "It has followed me," and he look=
ed
over his shoulder to see whether the It were not standing behind him.
"There is no one here." The night noises of the marsh went on, but
never a bird or beast spoke to him, and the new feeling of misery grew.
"I have surely eaten poison," he sai=
d in
an awe-stricken voice. "It must be that carelessly I have eaten poison,
and my strength is going from me. I was afraid--and yet it was not I that
was afraid--Mowgli was afraid when the two wolves fought. Akela, or even Ph=
ao,
would have silenced them; yet Mowgli was afraid. That is true sign I have e=
aten
poison.... But what do they care in the Jungle? They sing and howl and figh=
t,
and run in companies under the moon, and I--Hai-mai!--I am dying in the
marshes, of that poison which I have eaten." He was so sorry for himse=
lf
that he nearly wept. "And after," he went on, "they will fin=
d me
lying in the black water. Nay, I will go back to my own Jungle, and I will =
die
upon the Council Rock, and Bagheera, whom I love, if he is not screaming in=
the
valley--Bagheera, perhaps, may watch by what is left for a little, lest Chil
use me as he used Akela."
A large, warm tear splashed down on his knee, =
and,
miserable as he was, Mowgli felt happy that he was so miserable, if you can
understand that upside-down sort of happiness. "As Chil the Kite used
Akela," he repeated, "on the night I saved the Pack from Red
Dog." He was quiet for a little, thinking of the last words of the Lone
Wolf, which you, of course, remember. "Now Akela said to me many fooli=
sh
things before he died, for when we die our stomachs change. He said... None=
the
less, I AM of the Jungle!"
In his excitement, as he remembered the fight =
on
Waingunga bank, he shouted the last words aloud, and a wild buffalo-cow amo=
ng
the reeds sprang to her knees, snorting, "Man!"
"Uhh!" said Mysa the Wild Buffalo
(Mowgli could hear him turn in his wallow), "THAT is no man. It is only
the hairless wolf of the Seeonee Pack. On such nights runs he to and fro.&q=
uot;
"Uhh!" said the cow, dropping her he=
ad
again to graze, "I thought it was Man."
"I say no. Oh, Mowgli, is it danger?"
lowed Mysa.
"Oh, Mowgli, is it danger?" the boy
called back mockingly. "That is all Mysa thinks for: Is it danger? But=
for
Mowgli, who goes to and fro in the Jungle by night, watching, what do ye
care?"
"How loud he cries!" said the cow.
"Thus do they cry," Mysa answered contemptuously, "who, havi=
ng
torn up the grass, know not how to eat it."
"For less than this," Mowgli groaned=
to
himself, "for less than this even last Rains I had pricked Mysa out of=
his
wallow, and ridden him through the swamp on a rush halter." He stretch=
ed a
hand to break one of the feathery reeds, but drew it back with a sigh. Mysa
went on steadily chewing the cud, and the long grass ripped where the cow
grazed. "I will not die HERE," he said angrily. "Mysa, who i=
s of
one blood with Jacala and the pig, would see me. Let us go beyond the swamp=
and
see what comes. Never have I run such a spring running--hot and cold togeth=
er. Up,
Mowgli!"
He could not resist the temptation of stealing
across the reeds to Mysa and pricking him with the point of his knife. The
great dripping bull broke out of his wallow like a shell exploding, while
Mowgli laughed till he sat down.
"Say now that the hairless wolf of the
Seeonee Pack once herded thee, Mysa," he called.
"Wolf! THOU?" the bull snorted, stam=
ping
in the mud. "All the jungle knows thou wast a herder of tame cattle--s=
uch
a man's brat as shouts in the dust by the crops yonder. THOU of the Jungle!
What hunter would have crawled like a snake among the leeches, and for a mu=
ddy
jest--a jackal's jest--have shamed me before my cow? Come to firm ground, a=
nd I
will--I will..." Mysa frothed at the mouth, for Mysa has nearly the wo=
rst
temper of any one in the Jungle.
Mowgli watched him puff and blow with eyes that
never changed. When he could make himself heard through the pattering mud, =
he
said: "What Man-Pack lair here by the marshes, Mysa? This is new Jungl=
e to
me."
"Go north, then," roared the angry b=
ull,
for Mowgli had pricked him rather sharply. "It was a naked cow-herd's
jest. Go and tell them at the village at the foot of the marsh."
"The Man-Pack do not love jungle-tales, n= or do I think, Mysa, that a scratch more or less on thy hide is any matter for= a council. But I will go and look at this village. Yes, I will go. Softly now= . It is not every night that the Master of the Jungle comes to herd thee."<= o:p>
He stepped out to the shivering ground on the =
edge
of the marsh, well knowing that Mysa would never charge over it and laughed=
, as
he ran, to think of the bull's anger.
"My strength is not altogether gone,"=
; he
said. "It may be that the poison is not to the bone. There is a star
sitting low yonder." He looked at it between his half-shut hands. &quo=
t;By
the Bull that bought me, it is the Red Flower--the Red Flower that I lay be=
side
before--before I came even to the first Seeonee Pack! Now that I have seen,=
I
will finish the running."
The marsh ended in a broad plain where a light
twinkled. It was a long time since Mowgli had concerned himself with the do=
ings
of men, but this night the glimmer of the Red Flower drew him forward.
"I will look," said he, "as I d=
id
in the old days, and I will see how far the Man-Pack has changed."
Forgetting that he was no longer in his own
Jungle, where he could do what he pleased, he trod carelessly through the
dew-loaded grasses till he came to the hut where the light stood. Three or =
four
yelping dogs gave tongue, for he was on the outskirts of a village.
"Ho!" said Mowgli, sitting down
noiselessly, after sending back a deep wolf-growl that silenced the curs.
"What comes will come. Mowgli, what hast thou to do any more with the
lairs of the Man-Pack?" He rubbed his mouth, remembering where a stone=
had
struck it years ago when the other Man-Pack had cast him out.
The door of the hut opened, and a woman stood
peering out into the darkness. A child cried, and the woman said over her
shoulder, "Sleep. It was but a jackal that waked the dogs. In a little
time morning comes."
Mowgli in the grass began to shake as though he
had fever. He knew that voice well, but to make sure he cried softly, surpr=
ised
to find how man's talk came back, "Messua! O Messua!"
"Who calls?" said the woman, a quive=
r in
her voice.
"Hast thou forgotten?" said Mowgli. =
His
throat was dry as he spoke.
"If it be THOU, what name did I give thee?
Say!" She had half shut the door, and her hand was clutching at her
breast.
"Nathoo! Ohe, Nathoo!" said Mowgli, =
for,
as you remember, that was the name Messua gave him when he first came to the
Man-Pack.
"Come, my son," she called, and Mowg=
li
stepped into the light, and looked full at Messua, the woman who had been g=
ood
to him, and whose life he had saved from the Man-Pack so long before. She w=
as
older, and her hair was gray, but her eyes and her voice had not changed. W=
oman-like,
she expected to find Mowgli where she had left him, and her eyes travelled
upward in a puzzled way from his chest to his head, that touched the top of=
the
door.
"My son," she stammered; and then,
sinking to his feet: "But it is no longer my son. It is a Godling of t=
he
Woods! Ahai!"
As he stood in the red light of the oil-lamp,
strong, tall, and beautiful, his long black hair sweeping over his shoulder=
s,
the knife swinging at his neck, and his head crowned with a wreath of white=
jasmine,
he might easily have been mistaken for some wild god of a jungle legend. The
child half asleep on a cot sprang up and shrieked aloud with terror. Messua
turned to soothe him, while Mowgli stood still, looking in at the water-jars
and the cooking-pots, the grain-bin, and all the other human belongings tha=
t he
found himself remembering so well.
"What wilt thou eat or drink?" Messua
murmured. "This is all thine. We owe our lives to thee. But art thou h=
im I
called Nathoo, or a Godling, indeed?"
"I am Nathoo," said Mowgli, "I =
am
very far from my own place. I saw this light, and came hither. I did not kn=
ow
thou wast here."
"After we came to Khanhiwara," Messua
said timidly, "the English would have helped us against those villagers
that sought to burn us. Rememberest thou?"
"Indeed, I have not forgotten."
"But when the English Law was made ready,=
we
went to the village of those evil people, and it was no more to be found.&q=
uot;
"That also I remember," said Mowgli,
with a quiver of his nostril.
"My man, therefore, took service in the
fields, and at last--for, indeed, he was a strong man--we held a little land
here. It is not so rich as the old village, but we do not need much--we
two."
"Where is he the man that dug in the dirt
when he was afraid on that night?"
"He is dead--a year."
"And he?" Mowgli pointed to the chil=
d.
"My son that was born two Rains ago. If t=
hou
art a Godling, give him the Favour of the Jungle, that he may be safe among
thy--thy people, as we were safe on that night."
She lifted up the child, who, forgetting his
fright, reached out to play with the knife that hung on Mowgli's chest, and
Mowgli put the little fingers aside very carefully.
"And if thou art Nathoo whom the tiger
carried away," Messua went on, choking, "he is then thy younger
brother. Give him an elder brother's blessing."
"Hai-mai! What do I know of the thing cal=
led
a blessing? I am neither a Godling nor his brother, and--O mother, mother, =
my
heart is heavy in me." He shivered as he set down the child.
"Like enough," said Messua, bustling
among the cooking-pots. "This comes of running about the marshes by ni=
ght.
Beyond question, the fever had soaked thee to the marrow." Mowgli smil=
ed a
little at the idea of anything in the Jungle hurting him. "I will make=
a
fire, and thou shalt drink warm milk. Put away the jasmine wreath: the smel=
l is
heavy in so small a place."
Mowgli sat down, muttering, with his face in h=
is
hands. All manner of strange feelings that he had never felt before were
running over him, exactly as though he had been poisoned, and he felt dizzy=
and
a little sick. He drank the warm milk in long gulps, Messua patting him on =
the shoulder
from time to time, not quite sure whether he were her son Nathoo of the long
ago days, or some wonderful Jungle being, but glad to feel that he was at l=
east
flesh and blood.
"Son," she said at last,--her eyes w=
ere
full of pride,--"have any told thee that thou art beautiful beyond all
men?"
"Hah?" said Mowgli, for naturally he=
had
never heard anything of the kind. Messua laughed softly and happily. The lo=
ok
in his face was enough for her.
"I am the first, then? It is right, thoug=
h it
comes seldom, that a mother should tell her son these good things. Thou art
very beautiful. Never have I looked upon such a man."
Mowgli twisted his head and tried to see over =
his
own hard shoulder, and Messua laughed again so long that Mowgli, not knowing
why, was forced to laugh with her, and the child ran from one to the other,
laughing too.
"Nay, thou must not mock thy brother,&quo=
t;
said Messua, catching him to her breast. "When thou art one-half as fa=
ir
we will marry thee to the youngest daughter of a king, and thou shalt ride
great elephants."
Mowgli could not understand one word in three =
of
the talk here; the warm milk was taking effect on him after his long run, s=
o he
curled up and in a minute was deep asleep, and Messua put the hair back from
his eyes, threw a cloth over him, and was happy. Jungle-fashion, he slept o=
ut
the rest of that night and all the next day; for his instincts, which never=
wholly
slept, warned him there was nothing to fear. He waked at last with a bound =
that
shook the hut, for the cloth over his face made him dream of traps; and the=
re
he stood, his hand on his knife, the sleep all heavy in his rolling eyes, r=
eady
for any fight.
Messua laughed, and set the evening meal before
him. There were only a few coarse cakes baked over the smoky fire, some ric=
e,
and a lump of sour preserved tamarinds--just enough to go on with till he c=
ould
get to his evening kill. The smell of the dew in the marshes made him hungr=
y and
restless. He wanted to finish his spring running, but the child insisted on
sitting in his arms, and Messua would have it that his long, blue-black hair
must be combed out. So she sang, as she combed, foolish little baby-songs, =
now
calling Mowgli her son, and now begging him to give some of his jungle powe=
r to
the child. The hut door was closed, but Mowgli heard a sound he knew well, =
and
saw Messua's jaw drop with horror as a great gray paw came under the bottom=
of
the door, and Gray Brother outside whined a muffled and penitent whine of
anxiety and fear.
"Out and wait! Ye would not come when I
called," said Mowgli in Jungle-talk, without turning his head, and the
great gray paw disappeared.
"Do not--do not bring thy--thy servants w=
ith
thee," said Messua. "I--we have always lived at peace with the
Jungle."
"It is peace," said Mowgli, rising.
"Think of that night on the road to Khanhiwara. There were scores of s=
uch
folk before thee and behind thee. But I see that even in springtime the Jun=
gle
People do not always forget. Mother, I go."
Messua drew aside humbly--he was indeed a
wood-god, she thought; but as his hand was on the door the mother in her ma=
de
her throw her arms round Mowgli's neck again and again.
"Come back!" she whispered. "So=
n or
no son, come back, for I love thee--Look, he too grieves."
The child was crying because the man with the
shiny knife was going away.
"Come back again," Messua repeated.
"By night or by day this door is never shut to thee."
Mowgli's throat worked as though the cords in =
it
were being pulled, and his voice seemed to be dragged from it as he answere=
d,
"I will surely come back."
"And now," he said, as he put by the
head of the fawning wolf on the threshold, "I have a little cry against
thee, Gray Brother. Why came ye not all four when I called so long ago?&quo=
t;
"So long ago? It was but last night.
I--we--were singing in the Jungle the new songs, for this is the Time of New
Talk. Rememberest thou?"
"Truly, truly."
"And as soon as the songs were sung,"
Gray Brother went on earnestly, "I followed thy trail. I ran from all =
the
others and followed hot-foot. But, O Little Brother, what hast THOU done,
eating and sleeping with the Man-Pack?"
"If ye had come when I called, this had n=
ever
been," said Mowgli, running much faster.
"And now what is to be?" said Gray
Brother. Mowgli was going to answer when a girl in a white cloth came down =
some
path that led from the outskirts of the village. Gray Brother dropped out of
sight at once, and Mowgli backed noiselessly into a field of high-springing
crops. He could almost have touched her with his hand when the warm, green
stalks closed before his face and he disappeared like a ghost. The girl
screamed, for she thought she had seen a spirit, and then she gave a deep s=
igh.
Mowgli parted the stalks with his hands and watched her till she was out of=
sight.
"And now I do not know," he said,
sighing in his turn. "WHY did ye not come when I called?"
"We follow thee--we follow thee," Gr=
ay
Brother mumbled, licking at Mowgli's heel. "We follow thee always, exc=
ept
in the Time of the New Talk."
"And would ye follow me to the
Man-Pack?" Mowgli whispered.
"Did I not follow thee on the night our o=
ld
Pack cast thee out? Who waked thee lying among the crops?"
"Ay, but again?"
"Have I not followed thee to-night?"=
"Ay, but again and again, and it may be
again, Gray Brother?"
Gray Brother was silent. When he spoke he grow=
led
to himself, "The Black One spoke truth."
"And he said?"
"Man goes to Man at the last. Raksha, our
mother, said----"
"So also said Akela on the night of Red
Dog," Mowgli muttered.
"So also says Kaa, who is wiser than us
all."
"What dost thou say, Gray Brother?"<= o:p>
"They cast thee out once, with bad talk. =
They
cut thy mouth with stones. They sent Buldeo to slay thee. They would have
thrown thee into the Red Flower. Thou, and not I, hast said that they are e=
vil
and senseless. Thou, and not I--I follow my own people--didst let in the Ju=
ngle
upon them. Thou, and not I, didst make song against them more bitter even t=
han
our song against Red Dog."
"I ask thee what THOU sayest?"
They were talking as they ran. Gray Brother
cantered on a while without replying, and then he said,--between bound and
bound as it were,--"Man-cub--Master of the Jungle--Son of Raksha,
Lair-brother to me--though I forget for a little while in the spring, thy t=
rail
is my trail, thy lair is my lair, thy kill is my kill, and thy death-fight =
is
my death-fight. I speak for the Three. But what wilt thou say to the Jungle=
?"
"That is well thought. Between the sight =
and
the kill it is not good to wait. Go before and cry them all to the Council
Rock, and I will tell them what is in my stomach. But they may not come--in=
the
Time of New Talk they may forget me."
"Hast thou, then, forgotten nothing?"
snapped Gray Brother over his shoulder, as he laid himself down to gallop, =
and
Mowgli followed, thinking.
At any other season the news would have called=
all
the Jungle together with bristling necks, but now they were busy hunting and
fighting and killing and singing. From one to another Gray Brother ran, cry=
ing,
"The Master of the Jungle goes back to Man! Come to the Council
Rock." And the happy, eager People only answered, "He will return=
in
the summer heats. The Rains will drive him to lair. Run and sing with us, G=
ray Brother."
"But the Master of the Jungle goes back to
Man," Gray Brother would repeat.
"Eee--Yoawa? Is the Time of New Talk any =
less
sweet for that?" they would reply. So when Mowgli, heavy-hearted, came=
up
through the well-remembered rocks to the place where he had been brought in=
to
the Council, he found only the Four, Baloo, who was nearly blind with age, =
and
the heavy, cold-blooded Kaa coiled around Akela's empty seat.
"Thy trail ends here, then, Manling?"
said Kaa, as Mowgli threw himself down, his face in his hands. "Cry thy
cry. We be of one blood, thou and I--man and snake together."
"Why did I not die under Red Dog?" t=
he
boy moaned. "My strength is gone from me, and it is not any poison. By
night and by day I hear a double step upon my trail. When I turn my head it=
is
as though one had hidden himself from me that instant. I go to look behind =
the
trees and he is not there. I call and none cry again; but it is as though o=
ne
listened and kept back the answer. I lie down, but I do not rest. I run the=
spring
running, but I am not made still. I bathe, but I am not made cool. The kill
sickens me, but I have no heart to fight except I kill. The Red Flower is i=
n my
body, my bones are water--and--I know not what I know."
"What need of talk?" said Baloo slow=
ly,
turning his head to where Mowgli lay. "Akela by the river said it, that
Mowgli should drive Mowgli back to the Man-Pack. I said it. But who listens=
now
to Baloo? Bagheera--where is Bagheera this night?--he knows also. It is the
Law."
"When we met at Cold Lairs, Manling, I kn=
ew
it," said Kaa, turning a little in his mighty coils. "Man goes to=
Man
at the last, though the Jungle does not cast him out."
The Four looked at one another and at Mowgli,
puzzled but obedient.
"The Jungle does not cast me out, then?&q=
uot;
Mowgli stammered.
Gray Brother and the Three growled furiously, = beginning, "So long as we live none shall dare----" But Baloo checked them.<= o:p>
"I taught thee the Law. It is for me to
speak," he said; "and, though I cannot now see the rocks before m=
e, I
see far. Little Frog, take thine own trail; make thy lair with thine own bl=
ood
and pack and people; but when there is need of foot or tooth or eye, or a w=
ord
carried swiftly by night, remember, Master of the Jungle, the Jungle is thi=
ne
at call."
"The Middle Jungle is thine also," s=
aid
Kaa. "I speak for no small people."
"Hai-mai, my brothers," cried Mowgli,
throwing up his arms with a sob. "I know not what I know! I would not =
go;
but I am drawn by both feet. How shall I leave these nights?"
"Nay, look up, Little Brother," Baloo
repeated. "There is no shame in this hunting. When the honey is eaten =
we
leave the empty hive."
"Having cast the skin," said Kaa,
"we may not creep into it afresh. It is the Law."
"Listen, dearest of all to me," said
Baloo. There is neither word nor will here to hold thee back. Look up! Who =
may
question the Master of the Jungle? I saw thee playing among the white pebbl=
es
yonder when thou wast a little frog; and Bagheera, that bought thee for the
price of a young bull newly killed, saw thee also. Of that Looking Over we =
two
only remain; for Raksha, thy lair-mother, is dead with thy lair-father; the=
old
Wolf-Pack is long since dead; thou knowest whither Shere Khan went, and Ake=
la
died among the dholes, where, but for thy wisdom and strength, the second
Seeonee Pack would also have died. There remains nothing but old bones. It =
is
no longer the Man-cub that asks leave of his Pack, but the Master of the Ju=
ngle
that changes his trail. Who shall question Man in his ways?"
"But Bagheera and the Bull that bought
me," said Mowgli. "I would not----"
His words were cut short by a roar and a crash=
in
the thicket below, and Bagheera, light, strong, and terrible as always, sto=
od
before him.
"Therefore," he said, stretching out=
a
dripping right paw, "I did not come. It was a long hunt, but he lies d=
ead
in the bushes now--a bull in his second year--the Bull that frees thee, Lit=
tle
Brother. All debts are paid now. For the rest, my word is Baloo's word.&quo=
t;
He licked Mowgli's foot. "Remember, Bagheera loved thee," he crie=
d,
and bounded away. At the foot of the hill he cried again long and loud,
"Good hunting on a new trail, Master of the Jungle! Remember, Bagheera
loved thee."
"Thou hast heard," said Baloo.
"There is no more. Go now; but first come to me. O wise Little Frog, c=
ome
to me!"
"It is hard to cast the skin," said =
Kaa
as Mowgli sobbed and sobbed, with his head on the blind bear's side and his
arms round his neck, while Baloo tried feebly to lick his feet.
"The stars are thin," said Gray Brot=
her,
snuffing at the dawn wind. "Where shall we lair to-day? for from now, =
we
follow new trails."
*****
And this is the last of the Mowgli stories.
[This is the song that Mowgli heard behind him=
in
the Jungle till he came to Messua's door again.]
B=
aloo
F=
or the
sake of him who showed One wis=
e Frog
the Jungle-Road, Keep the Law =
the
Man-Pack make-- For thy blind =
old
Baloo's sake! Clean or tainted=
, hot
or stale, Hold it as it were t=
he
Trail, Through the day and thr=
ough
the night, Questing neither le=
ft nor
right. For the sake of him who=
loves
Thee beyond all else that move=
s, When thy Pack would make thee pain, =
Say: "Tabaqui sings again."=
; When thy Pack would work thee ill, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Say: "Shere Khan is yet to
kill." When the knife is =
drawn
to slay, Keep the Law and go t=
hy
way. (Root and honey, palm and
spathe, Guard a cub from harm =
and
scathe!) Wood and Water, Wind =
and
Tree, Jungle-Favour go with th=
ee!
Kaa
A=
nger
is the egg of Fear-- Only lidl=
ess
eyes are clear. Cobra-poison n=
one
may leech. Even so with
Cobra-speech. Open talk shall =
call
to thee Strength, whose mate is
Courtesy. Send no lunge beyond=
thy
length; Lend no rotten bough t=
hy
strength. Gauge thy gape with =
buck
or goat, Lest thine eye should=
choke
thy throat, After gorging, wou=
ldst
thou sleep? Look thy den is hi=
d and
deep, Lest a wrong, by thee fo=
rgot, Draw thy killer to the spot. East and West and North and South, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Wash thy hide and close thy mouth. <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> (Pit and rift and blue pool-brim, Middle-Jungle follow him!) Wood and Water, Wind and Tree, Jungle-Favour go with thee!
Bagheera
I=
n the
cage my life began; Well I kno=
w the
worth of Man. By the Broken Lo=
ck
that freed-- Man-cub, 'ware the
Man-cub's breed! Scenting-dew =
or
starlight pale, Choose no tang=
led
tree-cat trail. Pack or counci=
l,
hunt or den, Cry no truce with
Jackal-Men. Feed them silence =
when
they say: "Come with us a=
n easy
way." Feed them silence w=
hen
they seek Help of thine to hur=
t the
weak. Make no banaar's boast of
skill; Hold thy peace above the
kill. Let nor call nor song no=
r sign
Turn thee from thy hunting-lin=
e. (Morning mist or twilight clear,
The Three
O=
n the
trail that thou must tread To =
the
thresholds of our dread, Where=
the
Flower blossoms red; Through t=
he
nights when thou shalt lie Pri=
soned
from our Mother-sky, Hearing u=
s, thy
loves, go by; In the dawns whe=
n thou
shalt wake To the toil thou ca=
nst
not break, Heartsick for the
Jungle's sake: Wood and Water,=
Wind
and Tree, Wisdom, Strength, and
Courtesy, Jungle-Favour go with
thee!