The Hot Swamp

Chapter Five

After the Wreck

It was on the southern shore of what is now known as France that our hero and his comrades in misfortune were cast.

At the time we write of, we need hardly say, the land was nameless. Even her old Roman name of Gaul had not yet been given to her, for Rome itself had not been founded. The fair land was a vast wilderness, known only—and but slightly—to the adventurous mariners of the east, who, with the spirit of Columbus, had pushed their discoveries and trade far beyond the Pillars of Hercules.

Of course the land was a vast solitude, inhabited, sparsely, by a few of those wandering tribes which had been driven westward—by conquest or by that desire for adventure which has characterised the human race, we suppose, ever since Adam and Eve began to explore the regions beyond Eden. Like the great wilderness lying to the north of Canada at the present time, it was also the home of innumerable wild animals which afforded to its uncivilised inhabitants both food and clothing.

Captain Arkal was the only one of the three survivors of the wreck who had seen that coast before or knew anything about it, for, when Bladud had entered the Mediterranean many years before, he had passed too far to the southward to see the northern land.

As they staggered up the beach to a place where the thundering waves sent only their spray, Bladud looked round with some anxiety.

“Surely,” he said, “some of the crew must have escaped. It can hardly be that we three are the only survivors out of so many.”

The party halted and looked back at the seething waves from which they had just escaped.

“It would be foul shame to us,” said the captain, “if we did not try to lend a helping hand to our comrades; but we shall find none of them here. I observed when they started that, in spite of my warning, they made straight for the land, instead of keeping well to windward to avoid being swept round that point of rock to the west. I led you in the right direction, and that is why we alone are here. If any of the others have been saved, they must be on the other side of that point.”

While he was speaking, the captain had hurried into the woods, intending to cross the neck of land which separated them from the bay beyond the point referred to.

Their strength returned as they ran, for their intense desire to render aid to those of their late comrades who might stand in need of it seemed to serve them in the stead of rest.

“Come, quick!” cried little Maikar, whose catlike activity and strength enabled him to outrun his more bulky companions. “We may be too late; and some of them can’t swim—I know.”

They reached the crest of a ridge a few minutes later, and, halting, looked at each other in dismay, for the bay beyond the point was full of great rocks and boulders, among which the waves rushed with such fury that they spouted in jets into the air, and covered the sea with foam.

“No living soul can have landed there,” said the captain, in a tone that showed clearly he had given up all hope.

“But some may have been swept round the next point,” suggested Maikar eagerly, commencing to run forward as he spoke.

Bladud followed at once, and so did the captain, but it was evident that he regarded any further effort as useless.

It proved a longer and more toilsome march than they had expected to pass beyond the second point, and when at last it was reached, there was not a speck at all resembling a human being to be seen on the coast, in all its length of many miles.

“No hope,” murmured Bladud.

“None,” returned the captain.

Little Maikar did not speak, but the expression of his countenance showed that he was of the same opinion.

“Now,” resumed the captain, after a brief silence, “if we would not starve we must go straight back, and see whether any provisions have been washed ashore.”

They did not, however, return to the spot where they had landed, for they knew that the same current which had carried their hapless comrades to the westward must have borne the remains of the wreck in the same direction. Descending, therefore, to the foam-covered bay before referred to, they searched its margin carefully, but for some time found nothing—not even a scrap of wreck.

At last, just as they were about to give up in despair, and turn to some other method of obtaining food, they observed a portion of the wreck that had been driven high up on the beach into a cleft of rock. Running eagerly towards it, they found that it was only a plank.

Bladud and the captain looked at it for a moment or two in silence, and Maikar gave vent to a groan of disappointment.

“Never mind,” said the prince, lifting the plank and laying it on his shoulder, in the quiet thoughtful way that was peculiar to him, “it will serve to make a fire and keep us warm.”

“But we need not to be kept warm, for the weather is fine and hot,” said Maikar, with a rueful expression. “Moreover, we need food, and we cannot eat a plank!”

The prince did not reply, but led the way towards a neighbouring cliff.

“Don’t you think we had better make our fire in the woods, Bladud?” asked the captain.

“That would oblige one of us to watch in case natives or wolves should attack us, and none of us are in a fit state to watch. We must sleep.”

“But I can’t sleep without first eating,” said Maikar in a remonstrative tone. “Should we not go to the woods first and try to catch something?”

“Can you on foot run down the hare, the deer, the bear, the wild-boar, or even the rabbit?”

“Not I. My legs are swift enough, though short, but they are not equal to that.”

“Well, then, as we have neither bow nor shaft, and my good sword would be of little use against such game, why waste our time and strength in the woods?”

“But we might find honey,” suggested Maikar.

“And if we did not find honey, what then?”

“Berries,” answered the little man.

“Berries are not nearly ripe yet.”

“True, I forgot that.”

“Say you did not know it, man,” interposed the captain with a laugh; “never be ashamed of confessing ignorance in regard to things that you’re not bound to know. Lead on, Bladud, we will follow. You know more of woodcraft than either of us. If it were the sea we had to do battle with I would claim to lead. On land, being only a babe, I freely resign the helm to one who knows how to steer.”

Agreeing to this arrangement, Bladud led his companions up the steep face of a cliff until a projecting ledge was reached, which was just wide enough to form a camping-ground with a perpendicular cliff at the back, and with its other sides so precipitous as to render the approach of enemies—whether two or four-legged—exceedingly difficult. By piling a few stones at the head of the path by which it was reached, they rendered it impossible for any one to approach without awakening the sleepers.

Bladud then, using his sword as a hatchet, chipped off some pieces of the plank, and directed his companions to cut away the wet parts of these and reduce the dry parts to shavings.

They obeyed this order in silence, and wonderingly, for a fire seemed useless, their encampment being well sheltered from the wind, and, as we have said, the weather was warm. By means of a cord, a rude bow, and a drill made of a piece of dry wood, their leader soon procured fire, and, in a few minutes, a bright flame illumined their persons and the cliff behind them.

As the shades of evening were falling by that time, the aspect of things was much improved by the change.

“Now, comrades,” said the prince, undoing the breast of his tunic, and drawing from either side a flat mass of dark substance that resembled old dried cow-hide, “we shall have supper, and then—to rest.”

“Dried meat!” exclaimed little Maikar, his eyes—and indeed his whole visage—blazing with delighted surprise.

“Right. Maikar. I knew that you would be hungry when we got ashore, so I caught up two pieces of meat and stuffed them into my breast just as we were leaving—one for Arkal and me; the other for you. It may not be quite enough, perhaps, but will do, I hope, to keep you quiet till morning.”

“Nay, I shall content me with my fair share, it I may claim a share at all of what I had no hand in procuring. It was wise of you to do this. How came you to think of it?”

“To say truth, I can lay claim to neither wisdom nor forethought,” answered the prince, dividing the food into equal portions. “The meat chanced to be lying close to my hand as I was about to leap into the sea. Had I seen it sooner, I would have advised all to take some in the same way. There, now, set to and cook it. For myself, I feel so sleepy that I’m half inclined to eat it raw.”

The jerked or dried meat which had been thus opportunely brought away, may be said to have been half cooked in the drying process, and indeed, was sometimes eaten in its dried condition, when it was inconvenient to cook it. In a few minutes, therefore, the supper was ready, and, in a few minutes more, it was disposed of—for strong jaws, sound teeth and good appetite make short work of victuals.

By that time the night had set in; the gale was moderating; the stars had come out, and there seemed every prospect of a speedy and favourable change in the weather. With darkness came the wolves and other creatures of the night, both furred and feathered. Against the former the party was protected by the steep ascent and the barricade, but the latter kept swooping down out of darkness, ever and anon, glaring at them for a moment with round inquiring eyes and sweeping off, as if affrighted, in unearthly silence.

Little heed was paid to these sights and sounds, however, by our adventurers, who were filled with sadness at the loss of their ship and comrades.

They spoke but little during the meal, and, after partially drying themselves, lay down with their feet towards the fire, and almost instantly fell asleep. Being trained to a hardy life, they did not feel the want of couch or covering, and healthy exhaustion prevented dreams from disturbing their repose.

Gradually the fire died down; the howling of the wolves ceased; the night-birds betook them to their haunts, and no sound was heard in or around the camp except the soft breathing of the sleepers and the booming of the distant waves.

Chapter Six

First Anxieties and Troubles

The day that followed the wreck was well advanced before the sleepers awakened.

Their first thoughts were those of thankfulness for having escaped with life. Then arose feelings of loneliness and sorrow at the sad fate of the crew of the Penelope, for though it was just possible that some of their comrades had reached the shore on the beach that extended to the westward, such an event was not very probable. Still the bare hope of this induced them to rise in haste. After a hurried breakfast on the remnants of the previous night’s supper, they proceeded along the coast for several miles, carefully searching the shores of every bay.

About noon they halted. A few scraps of the dried meat still remained, and on these they dined, sitting on a grassy slope, while they consulted as to their future proceedings.

“What is now to be done?” asked the captain of Bladud, after they had been seated in silence for some minutes.

“I would rather hear your opinion first,” returned his friend. “You must still continue to act as captain, for it is fitting that age should sit at the helm, while I will act the part of guide and forester, seeing that I am somewhat accustomed to woodcraft.”

“And the remainder of our band,” said little Maikar, wiping his mouth after finishing the last morsel, “will sit in judgment on your deliberations.”

“Be it so,” returned Bladud. “Wisdom, it is said, lies in small compass, so we should find it in you.”

Captain Arkal, whose knitted brows and downcast eyes showed that his thoughts were busy, looked up suddenly.

“It is not likely,” he said, “that any ships will come near this coast, for the gale has driven us far out of the usual track of trading ships, and there are no towns here, large or small, that I know of. It would be useless, therefore, to remain where we are in the hope of being picked up by a passing vessel. To walk back to our home in the east is next to impossible, for it is not only far distant, but there lie between us and Hellas far-reaching gulfs and bays, besides great mountain ranges, which have never yet been crossed, for their tops are in the clouds and covered, summer and winter, with eternal snow.”

“Then no hope remains to us,” said Maikar, with a sigh, “except to join ourselves to the wild people of the land—if there be any people at all in it—and live and die like savages.”

“Patience, Maikar, I have not yet finished.”

“Besides,” interpolated Bladud, “a wise judge never delivers an opinion until he has heard both sides of a question.”

“Now, from my knowledge of the lie of coast-lands, I feel sure that the Isles of the Cassiterides must lie there,” continued the captain, pointing westward, “and if we travel diligently, it is not unlikely that we shall come down upon the coast of this land almost opposite to them. There we may find, or perhaps make, a boat in which we could cross over—for the sea at that part is narrow, and the white cliffs of the land will be easily distinguished. Once there, I have no doubt that we shall find a ship belonging to one of my countrymen which will take Maikar and me back to our homes, while you, prince, will doubtless be able to return to your father’s court on foot.”

It will be seen from this speech that the Phoenician captain included the southern shore of England in his idea of the Cassiterides. His notion of the direction in which the islands lay, however, was somewhat incorrect, being founded partly on experience, but partly also on a misconception prevalent at the time that the islands referred to lay only a little way to the north of Spain.

“Your plan seems to me a good one,” said Bladud, after some thought, “but I cannot help thinking that you are not quite right in your notion as to the direction of the tin islands. When I left Albion, I kept a careful note of our daily runs—being somewhat curious on such points—and it is my opinion that they lie there.”

He pointed almost due north. The captain smiled and shook his head. Bladud looked at Maikar, who also smiled and shook his head.

“If you want my opinion,” said the little man, gravely, “it is that when two great, good and wise men differ so widely, it is more than likely the truth lies somewhere between them. In my judgment, therefore, the Cassiterides lie yonder.”

He pointed with an air of confidence in a north-west direction.

“It does seem to me,” said Bladud, “that Maikar is right, for as you and I seem to be equally confident in our views, captain, a middle course may be the safest. However, if you decide otherwise, I of course submit.”

“Nay,” returned the captain, “I will not abuse the power you have given me. Let us decide the matter by lot.”

“Ay, let us draw lots,” echoed Maikar, “and so shove the matter off our shoulders on to the shoulders of chance.”

“There is, there can be, no such thing as chance,” said Bladud in a soliloquising tone. “However, let it be as you wish. I recognise the justice of two voices overriding one.”

Lots were drawn accordingly, and the longest fell to the little seaman. Without further discussion, therefore, the course suggested by him was adopted.

“And now, comrades,” said the prince, rising and drawing his knife—which, like his sword, had been procured in Egypt, and was of white metal—“we must set to work to make bows and arrows, for animals are not wont to walk up to man and request to be killed and cooked, and it won’t be long before Maikar is shouting for food.”

“Sorry am I that the good javelin of my grandfather went down in the carcase of the pirate chief,” remarked the captain, also rising, “for it seems to me by the way you handled it, Bladud, that you could have killed deer with it as well as men.”

“I have killed deer with such before now, truly, but the arrow is handier and surer.”

“Ay, in a sure hand, with a good eye to direct it,” returned Arkal, “but I make no pretence to either. A ship, indeed, I can manage to hit—when I am cool, which is not often the case in a fight—and if there are men in it, my shafts are not quite thrown away, but as to deer, boars, and birds, I can make nothing of them. If I mistake not, Maikar is not much better than myself with the bow.”

“I am worse,” observed the little man quietly.

“Well then,” said Bladud, with a laugh, “you must make me hunter to the party.”

While conversing thus they had entered the forest, and soon found trees suitable to their purpose, from which they cut boughs,—using their swords as hatchets.

We have already shown that the prince had brought his sword, shield, and knife on shore with him. Captain Arkal and Maikar had also saved their swords and knives, these having been attached to their girdles at the time they leaped from the wreck. They were somewhat inferior weapons to those worn by Bladud, being made of bronze. The swords of the seamen, unlike that of the prince, were short and double-edged, shaped somewhat like those used long afterwards by the Romans, and they made up in weight for what they lacked in sharpness.

It did not take many hours for the party, under the direction of the prince, to form three strong and serviceable bows, with several arrows, the latter being feathered with dropped plumes, and shod with flint, according to the fashion of the times. Bowstrings had to be made at first out of the tough fibrous roots of a tree, split into threads and plaited together.

“Of course they are not so good as deer-sinews for the purpose,” remarked Bladud, stringing one of the bows and fitting an arrow to it, “but we must be content until we kill a deer or some other animal. Perhaps we shall have an opportunity soon.”

The remark seemed to have been prophetic, for, as the last word passed his lips, a fawn trotted out of a glade right in front of the party and stood as if paralysed with surprise. The captain and Maikar were reduced to much the same condition, for they made no attempt to use their bows.

“Ho!—” exclaimed the former, but he got no further, for at the moment Bladud’s bow twanged, and an arrow quivered in the breast of the fawn, which fell dead without a struggle.

“Well done!” exclaimed the captain heartily. “If such luck always attends you, prince, we shall fare well on our journey.”

“It was not altogether luck,” returned the other. “See you that spot on the bark of yonder tree—about the size of Maikar’s mouth as it now gapes in astonishment?”

“I see it, clear enough—just over the—”

He stopped abruptly, for while he was yet speaking an arrow quivered in the centre of the spot referred to.

After that the captain talked no more about “luck,” and Maikar, shutting his mouth with a snap, as if he felt that no words could do justice to his feelings, sprang up and hastened to commence the operation of flaying and cutting up the fawn.

Having thus provided themselves with food, they spent the rest of the day in preparing it for the journey by drying it in the sun; in making tough and serviceable bowstrings out of the sinews of the fawn, fitting on arrow-heads and feathers, and otherwise arranging for a prolonged march through a country which was entirely unknown to them, both as to its character and its inhabitants.

“It comes into my head,” said the captain, “that Maikar and I must provide ourselves with shields and spears of some sort, for if the people of the land are warlike, we may have to defend ourselves.”

“That is as you say,” returned the prince, rising as he spoke and going towards a long straight bough of a neighbouring tree, on which he had fixed a critical gaze.

With one sweep of his heavy sword he severed it from the stem and returned to his companions.

“Have you taken an ill-will at that tree, or were you only testing the strength of your arm?” asked Maikar.

“Neither, my friend; but I must have a javelin to make my equipment complete, and I would advise you and the captain to provide yourselves with like weapons, for we may meet with four-footed as well as two-legged foes in these parts. I will show you how to point the things with flint.”

“That is well said,” returned the seaman, rising and going into the woods in search of a suitable branch, followed by the captain.

It was late that night before the weapons were shaped and pointed with flint and all ready for a start on the following morning—the only thing wanting to complete their armament being a couple of shields.

“We are sure to meet with a wild boar or a bull before long, or it may be a bear,” said Maikar, “and the hides of any of these will serve our purpose well.”

“That is, if we use them well,” remarked the captain.

“No one said otherwise,” retorted Maikar. “Some people are so full of wise thoughts that they blurt them out, without reason, apparently to get rid of them.”

“Just so, Maikar, therefore blurt out no more, but hold thy tongue and go to sleep. Good-night.”

Chapter Seven

Converse and Adventures by the Way

Day was just beginning to break in the east when the prince raised his head from the bundle of leaves that had formed his pillow, and looked sleepily around him.

His companions lay still, sound asleep and sprawling, in all the abandon characteristic of the heroes of antiquity.

Some of these characteristics were wonderfully similar to those of modern heroes. For instance, the captain lay flat on his back with his mouth wide open, and a musical solo proceeding from his nose; while Maikar lay on his side with his knees doubled up, his arms extended at full length in front of him, and his hands tightly clasped as if, while pleading with some one for mercy, he was suddenly petrified and had fallen over on his side.

Rising softly, Bladud took up his bow and quiver, and, buckling on his sword, left the encampment without disturbing the sleepers. He had not proceeded more than a mile when he startled several wild turkeys or birds of that species from their rest. One of these he instantly brought down. Following them up he soon shot another, and returned to camp, where he found his comrades as he had left them—the musical nose being if anything more emphatic than before.

Although naturally a grave man, Bladud was by no means destitute of a sense of humour, or disinclined on occasion to perpetrate a practical joke. After contemplating the sleepers for a moment he retired a few paces and concealed himself in the long grass, from which position he pitched one of the huge birds into the air, so that it fell on the captain’s upturned visage. The snore changed at once into a yell of alarm, as the mariner sprang up and grasped his sword, which, of course, lay handy beside him.

Electrified by the yell, Maikar also leaped to his feet, sword in hand.

“What d’ye mean by that?” cried the captain, turning on him fiercely.

“What mean you by it?” replied Maikar with equal ferocity.

He had barely uttered the words, when the second turkey hit him full in the face and tumbled him over the ashes of the fortunately extinguished fire.

“Come, come!” interposed the prince, stepping forward with a deprecating smile; “there should be no quarrelling among friends, especially at the beginning of a long journey. See, I have fetched your breakfast for you. Instead of tumbling on the fire and putting it out, Maikar, I think it would be wiser to see if there is a spark left and blow it into a flame. Quick! I am hungry.”

It need hardly be said that these orders were received with a laugh and a prompt obedience on the part of the little man.

“Yes—there is fire,” he said, blowing with tremendous energy until flame was produced. “And, do you know, there is something within me that has a loud voice, but only utters one word—‘Food! food! food!’ There, now, you may get the birds ready, for the fire will be ready for them in two winks.”

There was no occasion, however, to give this advice to his friends, for already the birds had been plucked, split open at the breast, laid flat, and their interiors scraped out in a summary manner. The plucking was not, indeed, all that could be wished, but what fingers failed to do a singe in the flames accomplished to the perfect satisfaction of men who were in no way particular. Sharp-pointed sticks were then thrust through the expanded carcases, and they were stuck up in front of the blaze to roast.