The Little Grey Men Go Down the Bright Stream, page 2
Dodder called the poor anxious voles and waterhens together and told them not to worry but to come and help spring-clean the Jeanie Deans. Soon some Bubms (rabbits) joined them and a tit or two, and Squirrel. The latter being most agile and strong, made himself very useful.
They fetched a ladder from the stores in the Oak Tree so that Dodder could climb aboard and the voles could get up and down without any difficulty. Many beaks and paws make light work and in a very short while the Jeanie Deans was looking quite smart again. They worked so hard they forgot all about the Folly and the voles forgot about their ruined homes and their neatly tunnelled galleries which were now high and dry. Nobody heeded the constant procession of fish which were passing endlessly downstream; they even forgot the King of Fishers. Baldmoney went on all fours and scrubbed like any old seasoned charwoman until his little face was the colour of a bilbery. Sneezewort scraped off all the red rust from the hull. Cloudberry went to and fro with an empty snail shell, baling out all the water which had collected in the hold and once, just out of spite, he emptied the contents down Sneezewort’s neck, and the latter squeaked indignantly like a mouse. The watervoles got busy on the green slime, gnawing it off with their sharp teeth and the tits flew in and out of the cabin with dead leaves in their bills.
In the middle of all this bustle and activity the King of Fishers miraculously appeared on the oak branch above. For a moment or two he surveyed the scene without speaking. Nobody noticed him sitting there.
Then he whistled once, loud and long, and instantly everyone stopped work.
They crowded round the shingle underneath him, nobody said a word.
Then the Kingfisher spoke. ‘Well, Stream People, I’ve got bad news for you. I’ve been up above the Mill and you wouldn’t recognise the place. There’s a whole gang of men, clearing the Folly Brook and digging an underground drain. There isn’t a bush or a tree along the banks all the way to Crow Wood. They are taking the water right under the hill to the new reservoir beyond Collinson. That’s where our Folly’s going. In another week there won’t be enough water in the brook to float a fiddler, so it looks as if we shall all have to make a move. The bank where my wife and I have built our nest for generations just isn’t there!’
‘We are all in the same boat then,’ said Dodder, after a horrified gasp had gone up from everyone. ‘You’ll have to move too.’
Baldmoney, who had said no word, put down his frog-skin bucket and mopped his forehead. ‘You’ve said it, Dodder, we’re all m the same boat and that boat is the Jeanie Deans! In another day there won’t be enough water to float her at the rate the stream’s dropping. We must all get away tonight!’
‘Come on!’ shouted Dodder, suddenly galvanised to life. All hands to work on the Jeanie Deans! Squirrel, you and Sneezewort start getting the stores on board. Baldmoney and I will get the contents of the cellar down to the hold. I’m not going to leave all that wine to go to waste, every scrap of food must be under hatches by sunset! And you voles and moorhens had better lend a hand too, if you’ve the time to spare.’
‘I’ll be getting downstream to tell my wife and the rest of the Stream People,’ exclaimed the Kingfisher, who was now very sobered at what he had seen and a little ashamed of himself too for his earlier boorish behaviour.
‘Good luck to your Majesty,’ said Dodder, polite for the first time that day, ‘and thank you for helping us.’
After the King of Fishers had gone everybody set to with a will. They put out two more gang-planks from the shingle to the hull and there was a constant procession of animals and gnomes up and down it. Some carried leaf sacks of acorn bread and wheaten ears, others bundles of dried sticklebacks; Squirrel carried little bags of nuts (popping a nut into his mouth on the sly).
Reverently the snail shells, sealed, and full of Dodder’s precious vintage berry wines, were laid all a-row on the shingle. Dodder would not let anyone save himself carry them aboard for fear they would be shaken up. He held the shells in a certain way, for he was an experienced connoisseur of wine.
By nightfall all stores were safely under hatches. It only now remained to get the ship down the bank and into the stream.
Already Baldmoney’s tell-tale stick was high and dry, the Folly had dropped a foot since morning. There was not a moment to lose!
Chapter 2
THE EXODUS
NOMES AS WELL AS MORTALS MUST have sleep even though they prefer going about their business at night, for the very good reason that during daylight they might be seen. This especially applies to the early part of the year when there are few leaves on the bushes and the grass, flowers and weeds have not begun to grow.
The Little Men would normally have only just begun to think about stirring. They had been aroused from their deep hibernation a week too soon and they had hardly time to collect their wits. This dreadful calamity was so sudden and upsetting. Without warning they found themselves faced with a complete up-rooting of their home, where they had dwelt for nearly five hundred years, and all because a few miles away some men had been told to dig a new bed for the Folly!
It was indeed lucky for the gnomes that the weather was kind. It was early March and had there been snow on the ground and hard frost it would be hard to say what would have happened to Dodder and his brothers. Perhaps they would have perished like all the other gnomes who used to live among the fields and forests of medieval Britain.
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The Little Men had been working all day loading the Jeanie Deans and they were tired out. When darkness fell the voles and other Stream People went away downstream and the gnomes were left alone. They decided that they must have a short sleep before trying to launch the ship and Dodder asked Ben the owl, who lived up in the oak, to wake them before midnight, otherwise they might have overslept. Ben had been terribly upset when he had heard the news. But he said he was going to stay on in the oak tree whatever happened. He and his forebears had lived there since the oak tree was three hundred years old and he did not depend on the Folly for a living. It is true he liked the stream, indeed he had once said that he would never live out of the sound of water, but he had talked the whole thing over with his wife and they had decided to stay.
The four weary little creatures, and Squirrel too, huddled up inside the tree for their last nap in the old home.
They were too upset to talk very much. Sneezewort of course snuffled a good deal, but the others managed to control their feelings and Cloudberry seemed to treat the whole affair as rather a joke.
He kept on saying ‘Of course we (meaning the wild geese and himself) WE would think nothing of this out in Spitzbergen,’ and then he began a long story of how once an Arctic fox stole all the eggs out of a goose’s nest and the mother goose had to find another site and how he helped her. Dodder soon shut him up.
They scraped together the dead bracken to make a bed and in a few moments everybody was asleep and had forgotten all about the happenings of the last few hours. When at last Ben’s voice came hooting down inside the hollow oak they awoke quite fresh and ready.
‘Don’t worry, gnomes,’ said old Ben kindly. ‘I’ll bet you three fat field mice that you’ll come back one day and we shall all meet again in this old tree, and that the Folly will come to life again.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ faltered Dodder, trying very hard to keep a tremor from his voice. ‘It’s awful leaving the old place, and you too, Ben. You’ve been a true friend to us, we can’t ever repay you. You’ve found us skins for our clothes and done us many a good turn one way and another.’
‘Oh, I’ve done nothing,’ said Ben gruffly, and there was a shake in his voice too, ‘I shall miss you no end in the old tree, even though you did smoke me out sometimes! And here’s a little present, Dodder, for all of you. My wife and I couldn’t let you go without something to remember us by.’ From the darkness above four lovely velvety mole skins dropped down and fell at Dodder’s feet. They’ll keep out the cold,’ added Ben, more gruffly still, and he turned abruptly and vanished back into his nesting hole above.
Dodder and his brothers took up the skins. They were beauties and would make them grand coats which would last for years. ‘Well, that’s very nice of you, Ben,’ Dodder called out. ‘They certainly will remind us of you, every time we wear them.’
The gnomes never killed warm-blooded animals, for the voles, mice, birds and four-footed beasts — with the sole exception of wood dogs (foxes) and stoats — were their very good friends. But skins were the best possible clothing and there’s nothing like mole skin for keeping a gnome nice and warm. Every time they came across a mouse or mole and saw him looking suspiciously at their coats they had to explain how they had come by them. Now, without Ben as a fur trapper, what would they do? One consolation was that these fine new skins which Ben had given them would last for a very long time. Their old mouse and mole skins had seen good service and were wearing very thin.
With one last look round the oak root they trooped down the shingle to the Jeanie Deans.
She was now about two feet from the water but the sand and shingle sloped fairly steeply and with Squirrel’s help they soon pushed her down. She went into the stream stern first in the approved style and in a moment or two all were aboard.
‘Goodbye Ben!’ they shouted, as the ship began to feel the current. ‘GOOOOD BOOOOO!’ quavered Ben and there was a very pronounced shake in his voice. ‘GOOOOD BOOOOO! GOO GOOO BOOOOO!’
As they slowly drifted away down the dark stream they heard Ben’s voice growing fainter and fainter until it died away. Dodder sighed. ‘He was a grand old chap was Ben.’
‘He was indeed,’ replied Baldmoney ‘As fine a bird as ever gulped a mouse.’
‘Ben was a good sort, I don’t deny,’ said Cloudberry, ‘but I don’t think you can compare a bird like that to a—’
‘I know, a wild goose!’ burst out Dodder. ‘I do wish you’d shut up about the Heaven Hounds. Old Ben had a heart of gold.’
‘Can’t see why he wanted to stick in one place though,’ said Cloudberry. ‘You should see the Snowy owls now, they’re twice the size of Ben, and as white as snow. I once—’
‘Oh! shut up, Cloudberry!’ snapped Dodder again. ‘I’m just about sick of hearing about all your wonderful doings. Go below and help Sneezewort with the supper, I m starving.’
Cloudberry moved sulkily away, muttering to himself and Dodder stared into the darkness.
The great masses of the elms and pollarded willows, the dense thorn bushes on the banks loomed darkly over them. Even though they were as yet bare of leaves they seemed vast and heavy in the dim light.
Dodder sighed deeply. There was no elation in his breast such as when they were last aboard the Jeanie Deans. And then he had a curious feeling that, after all, this ghastly happening was all for the best, that it had all been planned. Supposing they had not gone up the Folly last year to hunt for Cloudberry, why, they would never have found the Jeanie Deans! And if they hadn’t got the Jeanie Deans, even though her engines were useless, what would have become of them? They would have had to set out on foot, and at this time of year the dangers would have been great. At any time the weather might turn cold and there was no cover along the banks. Perhaps Pan was still watching over them, perhaps he had sent them the boat for this very purpose. Dodder sighed again.
He leant his arms on the rail in front of him and and stared at the stars. What a beautiful calm night it was! Scarce a cloud to be seen and a sickle moon hung among the fretted willow wands which glided so softly past.
He heard the very low and secret chuckle of the dying Folly as it swirled around some projecting root. Where would they be by morning? They would have to tie up somewhere, of course. Would the water still be deep enough to float them? Already the current had borne them beyond familiar places. Dodder noted trees and bushes he had never seen before. The Folly took unfamiliar turns and twists. He hoped there were no waterfalls or weirs.
Now and again he heard the plop of a water vole and once he saw three of them swimming alongside. They, like themselves, were refugees. Dodder called softly into the darkness and asked them if they were making downstream. But the voles only shook their muzzles and went on swimming.
The Jeanie Deans was slowly turning round and round as she drifted in the current. If they had had the engines going this would not have happened, but without power she was at the mercy of the stream. Now and again she bumped gently against some protruding branch or sunken snag, once she stuck for a moment on a mass of floating reed, but the current of the Folly had her in safe keeping and wheeled her out and on.
With one last look at the stars Dodder turned and went below. He found a cosy sight there. Sneezewort had lit the little lamp over the cabin table and had drawn the curtains. Supper was laid, nuts for Squirrel, and fried mushrooms and fish for themselves. As a great treat Dodder produced a snail-shell full of blackberry wine, some of his best.
It was surprising how much better they felt when the meal was done. Dodder made up his mind he would not worry any more, they were in Pan’s keeping, they must trust him.
They crawled into the little bunks and tucked themselves in and soon all but Dodder were asleep. He lay long awake. Not worrying; oh dear no, his mind was at peace now, a curious comfortable peace enveloped him. He felt the gentle movement of the boat and heard now and again the faint sound of weeds brushing the hull and the chuckle and gurgle of the stream bearing them on. Why worry? What was the use? Something shook the bunk opposite. It was Squirrel scratching. Perhaps he had caught a flea. Good old Squirrel! It was cosy having him with them. It shows to what desperate straits the gnomes had been driven, to abandon themselves to the mercy of the stream in this way, without even keeping a watch on board. It was all very well to trust to Pan, but Pan only helps those animals who help themselves.
So all through that long night the Folly bore them on. The Jeanie Deans swung and gyrated solemnly in the current. Many times she was swept into a miniature whirlpool and there she stayed, circling for several minutes. And all the time the level was dropping and dropping. Once the foremast caught against a fallen branch and there the ship stuck fast, with a dangerous list. Still the occupants of the cabin slept peacefully on.
It may have been the finger of Pan which lifted that twig and let the ship drift free, or it may have been the drop of the water level, but at last the Jeanie Deans got clear once more and floated gently on, on an even keel.
The light in the cabin went out (the gnomes used nut oil for burning) and the little lantern smoking and smelling abominably, swung faintly creaking to and fro in the darkened cabin. Now and again a slight jar passed through the ship, but the mariners never woke.
Chapter 3
THE DEATH OF THE FOLLY
ODDER OPENED HIS EYES SLOWLY. His brain was fogged with dreams, strange, disturbing dreams, in which their Oak Tree house had been uprooted by a violent gale, leaving them as naked and defenceless as beetles disturbed from under a stone.
What had happened? Where was he? He stared around him at the cabin. A faint light, coming down the companion-way, shone on the pictures on the walls opposite. Slowly the events of the preceding day and night came back to him. Of course! this was the cabin of the Jeanie Deans, they were refugees without a home now that the old oak tree was no longer able to shelter and protect them.
How far had they drifted since last night? Dodder sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. The others were sleeping soundly. He could see no visible trace of them under the skin rugs in the opposite bunks and only the fluffy tip of Squirrel’s tail protruded from his blanket.
There was no motion in the ship, no sense of movement. Quickly he pulled aside one of the little curtains and looked out. His heart sank. They were aground! Opposite was a red bank of earth drilled with old sand-martins’ holes. Three small ash trees grew precariously on that steep little cliff.
A swift run of muddy water still flowed a few yards away but he could see shingle and sand just below the port-hole and, even as he looked, the Jeanie Deans gave a sickening lurch to starboard and all the plates and crockery slid off the cabin table on to the floor with a loud crash.
The noise awoke the others. Baldmoney jumped from his bunk wild-eyed, his hand on his knife. Cloudberry and Sneezewort were tipped right out of their bunks under the cabin table where they rolled among the plates and bedding.
Squirrel managed somehow to hold on to the side of his bunk and with one spring he was out of the cabin door. Dodder had been prepared for the worst. His hand clutched the edge of his bunk and he just saved himself.
‘Wha-what’s up?’ stuttered Sneezewort, his eyes big with fear.
‘Aground I guess,’ said Dodder. ‘Hard and fast too. Let’s get up on deck.’
Picking their way along the sloping floor they joined Squirrel on the tilted bridge.
Dodder was right. Aground they were, ‘good and proper’, right in mid-stream too and in full view of either bank. Moreover, day was breaking and it was bitterly cold. The Jeanie Deans had gone aground on a shingle bed, right in the centre of the stream. At normal water level the ship would have passed over with inches to spare but with the falling stream she had not had a chance. One thing was in their favour, they were still among meadows, and bushes and trees grew plentifully along either bank.
Downstream, beyond the tail of the shingle bed, he could see a good deal of water. If only they could get the Jeanie Deans over the obstruction they might at least gain the deeper stream and float on to some safe hiding place.
As they stood all together there they spied several watervoles with bundles on their backs, coming downstream. They appeared in a fearful hurry and were strangers, obviously refugees from the upper waters. When they saw the stranded steamer they took to the banks and scurried by, despite the fact that Dodder called to them in their own language.
