ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 5.—The Lost Axe, concluded

(continued from Part 1).

The rest of the voyage toward the Horn was uneventful; a light typhoon off Madagascar did not dampen our spirits, and the few pirates we encountered treated us with the utmost deference, apparently under the impression that we were the Ghost Galleon of the Maldives, a legendary apparition noted for its extraordinarily colorful sails. We reached the port of Cor Anglais in better time than we had expected, and we immediately made contact with a man who, we had been told, was the best guide in the French Horn.

Our only difficulty was in communicating with the gentleman. He did not speak our language, so I tried a few words of French, describing in the simplest possible language the monastery we hoped to find. His face lit up with recognition, and he immediately informed us, with perfect French pronunciation, that his aunt’s pen was on his uncle’s table. This, however, was not the information we had been looking for, and it seemed to be useless to attempt any other form of conversation with him.

Fortunately, however, we were able to secure the services of an interpreter, whose only detriment was that he suffered immoderately from agoraphobia. He had no difficulty in performing the functions for which we had engaged him in the small rooms we had hired in Cor Anglais, but as soon as he came out into the outside world, even in the narrow streets of this ancient port, he was overcome by terror and flung his cloak over his head. For our journey, we had to construct a portable tent; and whenever we had need of his interpretive services, we retreated to the dark interior of the tent, where our interpreter felt secure enough to perform his duties. This made our progress rather slow, as we had to set up the tent whenever we needed to communicate with our guide. The rest of the time, our interpreter kept his cloak over his head, and my junior officers carried him.

I shall not weary you with the details of our progress overland. We settled into a tedious routine of stopping at every fork in the trail, setting up our tent, posing our questions to the interpreter, waiting for him to pose them to the guide and receive his responses, listening to his translation, and then folding the tent and following the directions we had received until the next time we needed guidance.

At last we came within sight of a curious flat-topped mountain, on the top of which we could see a few ancient constructions and one tall spire.

“Voilà!” our guide shouted excitedly, without waiting for our interpreter. “Voilà la Plume de ma tante!” He pointed toward the top of the mountain. “C’est vraiment comme je vous ai dit! La Plume de ma tante est sur la Table de mon oncle!”

Here we made a rather embarrassing discovery. Our guide indeed spoke perfect French; we had simply misunderstood him the first time we spoke to him. The mountain, from its extraordinary flat top and sheer sides, was called “My Uncle’s Table” by the locals, and the monastery at the top of it was known as “My Aunt’s Feather.” (The words for “feather” and “pen” are the same in French—a fact I had not considered back in Cor Anglais.) I must admit that I felt rather silly about all the effort we had put into maintaining our interpreter; but what’s done is done, and the important thing was that we had reached our destination.

That is to say, we had nearly reached our destination; but there still remained the nearly insurmountable problem of climbing the sheer rock face of the mountain. We agreed that it could not be done without a rope. I therefore went up to the top and tied our rope to a stout stump, and then came down, letting out the rope as I came. Once I had returned to the base, we began our laborious ascent, clinging to the rope; and indeed I was grateful that we had thought to bring it, since without our rope the climb would have been clearly impossible.

At the top we were greeted by the abbot, who made us welcome with signs and gestures, and shared with us the simple fare that was the monks’ daily sustenance. We were grateful enough to get it, and once our stomachs were full I made signs that I should like to see the interior of the church. The abbot was glad to show me, and once my eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cavernous nave, I saw, hanging behind the altar, the very reliquary that had been described to me in Admiral Blanderson’s chambers.

This was the thing I had sought; but how to get my hands on it? I was a determined young man, but I was not a monster; nothing could induce me even to show disrespect for the holy monks who were the relic’s keepers, let alone to turn my strength against them in a contest over the relic.

I decided at length to make a simple honest appeal to the abbot’s better nature. By elaborate signs I indicated how much better and more virtuous we were than the Spanish, and that the power of the relic behind the altar might do much good in the world if it were placed in the custody of a nation so strictly moral as our own; and, on the other hand, that it might be the cause of much evil if it fell into the hands of the perfidious Spaniards. Needless to say, the effort of communicating all these ideas by gestures was exceedingly fatiguing. I was disappointed, therefore, to discover that the abbot seemed not to understand anything I had attempted to convey to him. He only understood that I wanted to take the reliquary, and he did not want to give it to me. I had no choice but to call on the services of our interpreter once more.

The interpreter was brought into the church; but having briefly glanced out from under his cloak and seen the vast dim space within the church, he let out an unearthly howl and flung the cloak over his head again.

This howl caught the attention of the abbot. He turned, and, in the dim light, beheld the spectral figure of our interpreter stumbling toward him, his cloak over his head, looking very much like a shapeless spirit from the other world. The abbot gave voice to an unearthly howl of his own, and immediately took down the reliquary and gave it to me, pleading with me by animated gestures to depart as quickly as practicable and take the horrible specter with me.

This was as good an outcome as could be expected under the circumstances, and I gladly accepted his gift of the reliquary.

The journey back to Cor Anglais was a good bit easier than the journey thence had been, as we were now able to communicate with our guide directly; and the long sea voyage was interrupted by few incidents, the only one of any note being our meeting with the real Ghost Galleon of the Maldives, whose spectral crew merely congratulated us on our taste in fabric.

Thus I was in good spirits when I returned home, and it was with a jaunty step that I entered Admiral Blanderson’s chambers to present him with the Axe of the Apostles. He received me warmly and congratulated me on my success; then, very carefully, he set the ancient reliquary on his capacious desk and delicately pulled the pins out of the latches. Slowly he opened the lid of the reliquary to reveal, nestled amongst the costliest jewels and gold filigree, a four-string banjo.

This was not quite what we had anticipated, but we decided to make the best of it. I suggested that we could give the banjo as a goodwill gift to the Spanish ambassador. And so we did; the ambassador was much pleased, and soon taught himself to play “I’ve Been Floating Down the Old Green River” on the instrument in a rather aggressive ragtime style. This ambassador later became his country’s foreign minister; and I flatter myself that the good relations we established with this gift were in no small measure responsible for the cordial understanding that currently obtains between our nation and the Spanish. I consider, therefore, that my mission was on the whole a success.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 4.—The Lost Axe, Part 1.

CERTAINLY THE MOST unusual of my assignments as captain came shortly after the end of the Spanish War. The successful conclusion I had brought to that conflict had increased my reputation enormously in the admiralty, and it was decided—by whom I do not know to this day—that I was to be trusted with a great secret, a mission of such importance that it could well change the history of the world. So, at any rate, I was told when Admiral Blanderson spoke to me in his private rooms.

“Captain Hornswoggle,” he said gravely, “what I am about to reveal to you is a great secret. The mission on which you are to be sent is of such importance that it could well change the history of the world. I must remind you, therefore, that nothing you hear within these walls may ever go beyond them.”

I swore the most powerful oath I knew, which as I recall was “cross my heart and hope to die,” that I should never reveal what I heard in this chamber; and indeed if the details of the mission had not long since been published far and wide under the Freedom of Information Act, thus releasing me from my oath, I should have taken the memory to my grave.

“It is not often,” the Admiral continued, “that the naval forces are sent in search of holy relics; but such indeed is your mission, which you may regard almost as a kind of crusade.”

The Admiral reached for an ancient manuscript bound in crusty leather. Opening it to a marked page, he turned it to face me. There was a good bit of writing in the old Gothic style, and a remarkably vivid illumination of a jewel-encrusted double-bladed axe.

“This,” the Admiral explained, “is the Axe of the Apostles. It is said to have been blessed by St. Thaddeus himself, whose blessing endowed it with such potency that with it any good Christian, no matter how weak or infirm, will be able to chop enough wood to keep a family of four moderately well supplied through the winter, provided they are not too prodigal with it.”

He looked both ways, as though, even in the privacy of his private chambers, he could not trust that we were unobserved. Then he leaned closer and continued.

“Although your prompt action in the Battle of Batter Bay brought peace with Spain on very advantageous terms (in addition, you must recall, to saving my own life), I need hardly tell you that vigilance is necessary to keep the peace. Were the Spanish to possess this remarkable instrument, there is no telling how they might turn it to their advantage. With so much wood at their disposal, they might perhaps even be in a position to reverse our victory, and dictate to us the terms of the peace.”

This, I agreed, would be a catastrophe for us, and I was willing to do anything in my power to keep the perfidious Spaniards from forcing paella down our throats. The voyage, the Admiral told me, would not be without danger; but in those youthful days I laughed at danger. (Since that time my sense of humor has become more refined.) I assured the Admiral that, wherever the Axe of the Apostles might be hidden, I was the man to find it. The Admiral assured me, in turn, that he had complete confidence in my abilities.

The Axe, he explained to me, had been lost since the time of the Apostolic Fathers; but recent research in ancient records suggested that it had been transported to the Horn of Africa by Abyssinian converts. The Horn in my youth, you may recall, was divided between English and French territories; and it was unfortunately in the French Horn that the Axe of the Apostles would most probably be found. A certain ancient monastery was said to have been its last known location, and a recent visitor to that monastery had reported seeing a large reliquary directly behind the altar which, from its form, most probably held either a double-bladed axe or a banjo.

No time was to be lost. I was assigned a merry frigate, the Indifferent, which was outfitted with everything necessary for a voyage around the Cape—for such was to be our route, in hopes that the Spanish and other unfriendly powers might assume that we were merely another ship bound for the Cape Colony. To make that assumption even more plausible, we brought with us a considerable cargo of silk capes, the profitable trade in which with the fashion-conscious natives gave the colony its name. There was no time for long goodbyes: we set out within two days after my meeting with Admiral Blanderson, and it was just as well that I had no family to speak of, or at least none that would acknowledge me.

We encountered no trouble until we came near the Cape Colony. Then a vicious storm arose from the south so suddenly that we had no chance to prepare for it. The Indifferent was a brave ship and could hold her own in nearly any seas, but no one on board had ever suffered through such a storm as this. The waves appeared as so many Alpine peaks capped with snow, and our ship, which had seemed so generously large when we left port, looked hardly bigger than a dinghy as it was now tossed up to the highest peak, now with dizzying rapidity plunged into the deepest valley. The sturdy crew did what they could to furl the sails; but the howling wind tore the ropes out of their hands, and shredded our sails like excelsior.

By the mercy of heaven we made it through the storm with no loss of life. Our ship, however, was dead in the water, every last one of our sails reduced to tatters, and most of the tatters carried off by wind and wave to parts unknown.

Although we gave thanks for our delivery from the storm, we were in danger of exchanging a quick death for a long and unpleasant one. We had provisions for a while, but without our sails we would drift aimlessly until they ran out.

At this point I bethought myself of our cargo. Inquiring amongst the crew, I found one young sailor whose mother had sent him off to sea with a sewing kit, in case he should damage his fresh uniform during the occasional bouts of vigorous activity which are common to the nautical life. With gratitude and the promise of a speedy promotion, I commandeered his sewing kit, and I put the entire crew to work sewing the capes together into sails. I had to teach most of them to sew, but within a few days we had the most colorful ship in the fleet; and, more to the point, we were moving again, continuing once more our voyage toward the French Horn.

Proceed to the Conclusion.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 3.―Across the Piso Mojado by Balloon.

IT HAPPENED ONCE when I was a young commander aboard the Conundrum, a frigate of the third class, that we received orders to take the city of Taquito from the Spanish garrison there. The orders had come from the very highest levels of the Admiralty. Vain it was to protest that Taquito was far in the interior of the colony and thus out of reach of the Conundrum; the thing had to be done by some means or other.

Since the captain appeared to be in a quandary, I volunteered to lead an expedition into the interior, across the treacherous Piso Mojado, which (as a glance at any comprehensive atlas will tell you) separates Taquito from the coastal plain. The captain warned me that it was a suicide mission at best, but I was full of youthful bravado, and filled with a confidence that was probably unjustified by my experience. I was given a small number of handpicked men; two, in fact, one of them the ship’s cook’s assistant and the other a stowaway who had been kept in the brig. With this force I was ordered to expel the Spanish garrison, which our best sources estimated to consist of roughly two thousand men.

After a trifling incident in which I was mistaken for an incarnation of the demon-god Picante, who is invariably represented with a prominent mustache similar to the one I have always worn, we received a friendly reception at the port of Basso Profundo;―for the rebellion had entirely succeeded in banishing the Spanish from the coast. The native Mayor, or Mayor as they say in the local dialect, welcomed us heartily, and insisted on opening his own house to me. There his good wife regaled us with a hearty dinner of pise con cuidado, the well-known local delicacy, and in the course of our conversation I learned something singularly to our advantage.

It seemed that there was a young man in the town who not only was an accomplished aeronaut, but also possessed his own balloon, in which he frequently took honeymoon couples for an aerial view of the municipal wire works. He was a strange fellow, the Mayor told us, and a bit of an occultist, but of a friendly and pliant disposition. With this balloon, and its owner as our guide, we might effect a crossing of the Piso Mojado with no need for the climbing gear, salad tongs, Phillips-head screwdrivers, and phenakistoscopes normally required by travelers in that inhospitable region.

We wasted no time: the next morning we contracted with the aeronaut to carry the three of us across the Piso Mojado. Even after we had established to his satisfaction that I was not the demon-god Picante, his deficient knowledge of our language, and our equal ignorance of his barbarous dialect, made it a little difficult for us to communicate our intentions; but eventually we came to an understanding, the aeronaut being under the impression that we were a honeymoon couple and their manservant. I am to this day not entirely sure which one of us he thought was the bride.

Our flight went well at first, and I allowed myself some premature satisfaction at the apparent success of my plan. Just as we had almost reached Taquito, however, we suddenly heard shots from below; and you can imagine our consternation when we looked down and beheld on the ground a number of swift horsemen pursuing our balloon. It seems that the local tribal elders, or Jussars, had also mistaken me for the demon-god Picante, against whom they had an ancient grudge, and who was frequently represented as flying across the sky suspended from a giant beetle. Even as our aeronaut guide was conveying this information by means of the most animated gestures, one of the shots penetrated our balloon. It was not enough to bring us down, but two or three more like it would be enough.

 

I could think of only one thing to do. Communicating my meaning by elaborate hand signals, accompanied by such scraps of Wagner as I could recall, I persuaded our guide to make use of his occult knowledge. Once he grasped my meaning, the aeronaut set to work with a will, and in short order had a circle drawn on the floor of the balloon. He then chanted some barbarous phrases in a low monotone, and in only a few moments we were rewarded with an apparition of the real demon-god Picante in all his terrifying malevolence. The fiery face of the angry deity filled half the sky, and the Jussars, his natural enemies and the ones against whom he directed his wrath, turned and fled immediately, pursued over hill and valley by the awful supernatural manifestation.

When we arrived in Taquito, we discovered that the Spanish garrison, terrified at the sight of the angry demon, had fled in confusion into the jungle, where I understand that the demon-god Picante turned them all into okapis, an animal until then unknown in those parts. The natives, who were more accustomed to the occasional manifestations of the demon, had simply covered their ears until the noise was over; and so we were welcomed as heroes who had liberated them from the Spanish yoke. It was on the strength of this victory that I was given the rank of captain, and some of you may already have read the story of my first command, in which I ended the Spanish War once and for all. In this case, however, I must say that, although honesty forbids me to discount my part in the affair altogether, I owed some of my success to the demonic powers: a thing that has always prevented me from feeling that entire satisfaction that ought to come from a job well done.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 2.—Onward to the Pole.

IT SEEMS AS if it were but yesterday (though in fact it was last Thursday) that I returned from my successful expedition to the Pole and faced those sincere expressions of admiration, which, heartfelt though they were, caused me no little discomfort, my native modesty being of such a quality that even faint praise is a considerable embarrassment to me. Nevertheless, my innate candor and my strict regard for the truth, no matter how inconvenient it may be to myself, compel me to confess that the praises heaped upon me were not entirely undeserved.

For the purpose of our expedition, we had been assigned the Margaret Cavendish, a small but adequate surveying ship. She had begun life as a brigantine in the Royal Navy under the name Prosperity; later she was re-rigged as a brig and rechristened the Elephant Shrew; and then, after considerable refurbishment, she reappeared as a barque under the name Abstraction. Some years later, owing to a clerical error, she was re-rigged as an omnibus and rechristened the 53H Homestead-Duquesne Via Homeville. Eventually she was rebuilt as a frigate and assigned to our expedition.

The Margaret Cavendish was, as I have indicated before, rather small for a frigate, and the space for our equipment and supplies was limited. Under the circumstances, some of my junior officers objected when I insisted on including a company of caterers, with all the tools of their profession; but I assured them that, in the bleak and icy wastelands of the north, we should all be much cheered by a well-catered meal now and then.

We set northward in late June, and for the occasion of our departure our caterers had made up a memorable feast, at the center of which they placed a decorative ice sculpture of the Margaret Cavendish herself. In order to prepare us for our northward voyage, the food was made entirely of blubber of the various sorts we might be expected to encounter.

The first few weeks of the voyage were uneventful, other than my having to quell a slight mutiny when the crew discovered that our caterers had brought nothing but blubber for the entire voyage. Eventually, however, we reached the frozen limit of liquid sea. We were forced to leave the Margaret Cavendish behind with a skeleton crew of caterers and cover the remainder of the distance by dogsled. Since we had brought no dogs, I dressed four ensigns in shaggy raccoon coats and hitched them to the sled that carried our supplies; the rest of the crew and I followed on foot.

I shall not weary you with the details of our long trek to the Pole. Suffice it to say that, when we finally reached it, we were somewhat dismayed to find a small band of Esquimaux already using it to string up their laundry. However, we were able to bribe them with a few trinkets, and they allowed us to place His Majesty’s flag at the top, above three pairs of knickers and a small tablecloth.

We went back by the same route; but you may imagine our dismay when we returned to discover that the Margaret Cavendish was no more! Caught between the edge of the ice pack and a floating iceberg, she had been crushed to splinters. The few men we had left behind had only just managed to salvage their kitchen equipment, which they had employed in fabricating a large tent from the sails, and furnishing it with folding chairs and a banquet table made from the splintered wood of the ship.

At this point my crew were of the opinion that all was lost, and we should doubtless perish in this frozen wasteland. I, however, retained my customary optimism; and to it I added a quality which I have sometimes been flattered to hear called good sense. Looking out to sea, I spied another iceberg, and it put me in mind of the feast we had enjoyed on our first night out of port. Turning to the caterers, I explained my idea, and they set to work at once.

It took a good two days of concerted effort, but the skills of the caterers were up to the task; for after all it was, but for the scale, no different from what I had already seen them accomplish. At the end of that time, they had carved an exact replica of the Margaret Cavendish from the ice all around us. We loaded our equipment on the new ship and set sail once again. I need not tell you, what everyone already knows; viz., that our sturdy ice-frigate made it as far as the extreme northern coasts of our own country, and that from there we were swiftly conveyed to face popular acclaim in the capital.

From this voyage I learned an important lesson, which is that, no matter how long the journey or how inhospitable the country, one should never deny oneself the comforts of home. I shall be certain to insist on a company of caterers in all my future voyages.

 

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

 

No. 1.—The Battle of Batter Bay.

TRUTHFULLY I WAS a callow young man when I was given my first command, which was many years ago near the end of the last Spanish War. Doubtless it was the influence of my illustrious family, rather than any demonstration of extraordinary ability on my part, that had elevated me to that position. I had been given the sloop Tomtit, which was armed with but a single cannon, though a rather large one, and I frankly admit that neither I nor the other officers expected any great things from me.

Admiral Blanderson had orders to take the island of San Itario, which was of great strategic value owing to the abundant deposits of soapstone in the interior. The fleet that controlled this island would command the cleanest sailors on the seven seas, and such an honor must at all costs belong to our great and glorious King, whom God save.

The only natural harbor in the island, which was otherwise ringed by inaccessible cliffs, was a commodious inlet known as Batter Bay. This was defended by a Spanish fleet of half a dozen well-armed galleons currently anchored in the bay itself. I had instructions to follow our fleet into the bay, and once there to stay out of the way as much as possible; for it was obvious that Admiral Blanderson placed no great confidence in my abilities. The Admiral himself led the fleet in his flagship, the Ineluctable.

The battle commenced as soon as we rounded the head and entered the bay; the Spanish ships hurriedly drew themselves into battle array, and the deafening blasts of the cannon echoed from the surrounding hills. I, however, followed Admiral Blanderson’s orders to the letter, keeping the Tomtit behind our fleet and well clear of the battle, though I commanded my crew of eight to keep our single cannon loaded and ready to fire in case we should unexpectedly come within range of a Spanish ship.

I had, therefore, a certain degree of leisure not shared by the other commanders in our fleet, and I employed that leisure in scanning the land around the bay for enemy installations. You may imagine my horror, then, when I discerned with my keen eye (which is the left one) a perfidious Spaniard (see Fig. 1), well hidden among the trees at the edge of the bay, training a cannon on the prow of the Ineluctable, and preparing to fire on our flagship!

Figure 1.

We attempted to signal the Ineluctable, but all her attention was on the battle opposite, and no one was looking in our direction. The Spanish gun was out of range of our cannon, though perfectly capable of hitting the Ineluctable. There seemed to be nothing I could do: in a few seconds the cannon on shore would blast a hole in the prow of the Ineluctable, doubtless sinking her and Admiral Blanderson with her.

Losing no time, I quickly sent my first mate for paper and pencil. Plotting a trajectory, I quickly calculated how long it would take the shot from the shore to reach our flagship; then I ordered the first mate to train our cannon directly on the prow of the Ineluctable. He almost refused to obey; but I told him in no uncertain terms that, if he rebelled against my authority, I should be very cross with him for the remainder of his service aboard the Tomtit.

We had only moments to aim precisely, and we had only one shot. If we failed, the Admiral would go to his watery grave, and I should be responsible.

Just as we finished maneuvering the cannon into position, a flash from the shore told us that the perfidious Spaniard had fired. Before we even heard the report, I gave the order to fire, and our cannon fired with a deafening blast.

Moments later we saw a puff of dust and debris from the prow of the Ineluctable; but, marvelous to tell, there was no apparent damage. A glance through the spyglass confirmed that my calculations had been perfectly correct. The cannonball from the shore had struck the prow of the ship at exactly the same time as the cannonball from the Tomtit; and the two balls, striking each other with considerable momentum, had fused on the prow of the Ineluctable, forming a strong iron plate where the wood of the hull had been. This was the effect I had calculated. We had saved the Ineluctable.

It did not take the Spaniards very long to figure out what had happened. When they discovered what we had done, they quite naturally surrendered; and this was the end of the last Spanish war. Since then there has been peace with Spain, and for that I do take some credit. I am a modest man, but I merely state what must be regarded as simple fact.

 

A HISTORY OF THE REMARKABLE VOYAGE LATELY UNDERTAKEN ON BOARD THE CELEBRATED LEVIATHAN.

Written by Sir John M——, from his own journals.

 

Continuing the narrative which began here.

 

The Ninth Day: How We First Set Foot on the Cannibal Coast and Received an Unexpected Welcome.

THE YELLOWISH HAZE of the dawn foretold an exceptionally hot day as our two boats left home—for so I had already learned to think of our leviathan—and headed for the unknown shores of the Cannibal Coast. The Duke himself came to see us off and to dispense a few sage words of advice; but he was laboring under the impression that we were off the coast of Alsace, and his remarks, therefore, dwelt mostly on the subject of how best to deal with the Alsatians, whom he described as an honest but easily offended race.

There is nothing so thrilling as approaching an unknown shore for the first time, though I recognize that there is probably nothing duller than the narration of such an approach. As the boat comes closer to land, a thousand thoughts crowd into the minds of the passengers. What strange creatures live in this new land? Will the native inhabitants be friendly or hostile? Will our names be enrolled in the lists of great explorers in history?

With all these questions running through our minds, we made a gentle landing on the sandy shore. A wide beach of reddish sand separated the sea from a low forest, over which occasional palms towered like sentinels and from which (when the wind blew that way) came the most delightful scents of flowers and spices. It appeared to have all the makings of a terrestrial paradise; yet we had heard that the most savage and ferociously uncivilized tribes of men, if indeed they could be called men, inhabited those unexplored forests. It is also said that the land has such an abundance of gold that the natives place no value on that metal, and indeed (I must suppose) those rumors were at least in part our reason for stopping in such a place: for if the rumors could be verified, the profit to be made by future colonists would be more than compensation for any dangers to which they might be exposed.

Having reassembled our party on the beach, we paused to examine our surroundings. That there were native inhabitants was at once obvious from a number of foot tracks farther up the beach; as the tracks all appeared to funnel into a gap in the margin of the forest, we decided that a trail must lead thence into the forest and whatever settlements might be there.

It had been my understanding that our first business would be to make contact with the native inhabitants on friendly terms, and indeed that was my primary reason for wishing to be part of the expedition. Now, however, there was some debate as to whether such a course was advisable. At least, certain members of the party advised us, let us seek some high ground from which we can survey the land as a whole before making a final decision. I pointed out, with considerable justice (I thought), that we could see no high ground from where we stood, and the mountains we had glimpsed from the sea must be many miles distant, so that we should have to traverse the forest anyway to get to them. This reasoning did not satisfy certain of the more timorous members of the party, among them Lord Darkwood, whom indeed I now suspected of grasping at any excuse to abandon our explorations and return to the safety and comfort of the leviathan.

Although the Count of the Lower Ridings was nominally in charge of our expedition, he is a changeable soul unused to authority, and the arguments of so eminent a man as Lord Darkwood, meritless as they were, appeared to sway him. As the senior diplomat of the party, therefore, I took it upon myself to assure the rest that the Duke would be in no wise pleased if we turned back before we began. This immediately brought the lower orders to my side, for they regard the Duke with a kind of superstitious reverence. With a clear majority in favor of proceeding, the Count was willing to take our chances with the path into the forest.

We formed ourselves into a more or less orderly array, with two soldiers in front, and myself and the Count behind them, and so two by two into the woods. After we had passed through the shrubby and overgrown margin of the forest along the beach, we found the path broad and inviting. It was, however, oppressively hot away from the ocean breezes, and even in the shade of the forest we were soon perspiring liberally.

We had walked about half an hour when we heard voices ahead of us. The soldiers immediately drew their swords; but I admonished them to put them away at once, reminding them that we were to meet any natives on friendly terms if possible. Nevertheless, my heart beat faster, for what we had heard of the natives did not dispose us to regard them with trust.

The natives were not long in appearing; but, far from the half-naked savages I had anticipated, they appeared to be a party of remarkably well-dressed men and women (for there were women among them), and their bearing displayed a cultured refinement. The garments they wore reminded me of nothing so much as the elaborate drapery seen on classical statues, though infinitely more colorful.

By elaborate and obviously respectful gestures they conveyed their greetings to us. We returned their greetings with the best show of respect we could devise, after which I presented a few gifts we had brought with us to the one who appeared to be the chief of the party. He accepted the trinkets with a grateful bow, and handed them to a woman who stood behind him, who handed them to a man who stood behind her. These formalities having been concluded successfully, the chief indicated that we should follow his party; and I could not help feeling, with a certain degree of surprise and perhaps apprehension, that we had somehow been expected.

For hours we walked, and Lord Darkwood began to complain that we were being led to our doom God knew where. I told the Count that the path was well-marked, and we should have no difficulty finding our way back to our boats when the occasion arose. The natives continued to smile and lead us onward through the forest, at one point crossing a river on a terrifying but well-made rope bridge. At last, when the sun was well along in its descent toward the horizon, we came to a clearing at the foot of the mountains, and our astonishment almost deprived us of speech. Here was nothing less than a great city, although like no other city I had ever seen. The dwellings were made of palm fronds and other large leaves woven together and stretched over a skeleton of poles; they were laid out in good order, with straight and capacious streets between the rows. There was something about the place, however, that made it seem hastily constructed; and I reflected that it would hardly be possible for such structures to stand very long without constant reconstruction.

Along the streets were moving men and women of all descriptions, wearing the most splendid variety of costumes. A moment’s survey of the scene was sufficient to determine that the people were mostly moving in groups distinguished by their similar costumes, and a moment’s reflection convinced me that this transitory city was some sort of gathering of travelers or pilgrims from many nations. Perhaps it was the equivalent of one of our great markets or fairs.

Our guides brought us to a group of thatched huts at the fringes of the city, where, after a number of attempts, they at last succeeded in making us understand by gestures that we were to consider ourselves at home. The huts were dry and spacious inside, furnished abundantly with artistically woven mats, and moreover provisioned generously with baskets of strange tropical fruits and unleavened bread. That they had prepared accommodations for us was very strange; but, as it was near the end of the day, we were glad of such unexpected comfort.

Once the guides left us to ourselves, we had quite a lively discussion. Lord Darkwood and his faction (for he seemed to have assumed the leadership of a small but vocal group of noblemen) were of the opinion that we should leave at once and march back to the leviathan, hinting darkly that we were being fattened up for a cannibal feast. I, on the other hand, was certain that these people were not savage cannibals, and I invoked the Duke’s name again to rally the majority to my side. This satisfied the Count, who agreed that we should stay at least one night and attempt to make contact with the leaders of these people.

This evening, before dark, I strolled through the city. Toward the center are a number of large permanent buildings made of wood and stone, and in the very center is a high mound with what appears to be a temple or other public building at the top of it. No one I passed took any notice of my pale skin and strange clothes, which confirmed my impression that this was a gathering where visitors from many nations were expected.

Along my way back I heard a great commotion, and following the noise found my way to a broad thoroughfare leading in to the center of the city. Here I saw a procession, with many spectators lining the way to catch a glimpse of the participants. There were soldiers in exceptionally colorful costume; then rows of dignitaries in costumes even more colorful; and then, in the center of it all, a girl or young woman in chains, dressed simply in yellow drapery. This girl, who appeared to find the whole proceeding most unpleasant, was evidently the reason for the whole procession, and the crowds cheered as she went by. She did not acknowledge their cheers, but stared straight ahead as she walked, or rather was pulled, through the assembled multitude.

I simply did not know what to think of this spectacle. Having returned to our hut, I arranged some of the mats into a passable bed, and was one of the last to retire. On the morrow I might find out more about this convocation of nations, and perhaps about the young woman who so incongruously seemed to be at the center of it.

FROM THE CRITICAL EDITION.

A History of the Remarkable Voyage Lately Undertaken On Board the Celebrated Leviathan.

Written by Sir John ——,[1] from his own journals.

 

The First Day: Our Departure, and My First Encounter with the Duke.

We set sail from the greenish[2] coasts of home on the last day of spring in the year ——, and I do truthfully believe the whole country had turned out to see our departure;—though whether in delight at the new thing we were attempting or in eagerness to be rid of us I cannot say.[3] There was certainly feasting and drunkenness enough on both sides of the affair, among those of us who went and those who stayed. I myself refused most of the wine[4] that flowed so prodigiously, so that I might retain enough of my senses to enjoy the sight of our mighty Leviathan[5] drifting away from the shore for the first time.

That nothing like our expedition has ever been attempted, and that nothing like it will ever be attempted again: of these two things I am equally sure.[6] For the common sense[7] of the scribblers and the talkers at court is that we failed. Yet of that I am not entirely certain. I suppose the memory of our ignominious return is fresher in most minds than the memory of our departure. But our departure was glorious. In all our thousands of years of history, no human eye[8] had ever beheld such a spectacle. We were doing a thing that our wisest heads had told us could never be done; and if we did not make it to the end of our journey, remember that it was the beginning that was said to be impossible.

When at last the gigantic signal flags unfurled and gave the command, and two thousand giant oars, worked in perfect unison by the most ingenious contrivance, began to beat the water with a mighty roar, the cheer that erupted from six thousand throats on our floating city was nearly deafening.[9] Yet it was not so loud that we could not hear the even greater cheer from the land. And when, after perhaps a quarter-hour of rowing, the great sails began to billow, we could still hear the cheering from the coast. Bank after bank of sails unfurled, all brilliantly colored according to their functions, so that the hardy[10] seamen charged with maintaining them could find their way in the forest of canvas.[11] There were red[12] sails, yellow sails, blue sails, and white sails, thousands of them, and as they caught the wind our Leviathan surged forward with a majestic deliberateness that well became her. The cheering on the coast continued, but from us there was only awed silence.[13]

I must have stood silently admiring the spectacle for a good half hour. I might have stood longer, but[14] a carriage arrived with a summons for me to speak with the Duke. One does not refuse the Duke’s invitation, of course, so I immediately boarded the carriage.[15]

 

---

[1] The identity of the author, though hidden behind a modest dash, is of course to well known to need any explanation.

[2] E. G. Athelstan chides the author for lack of patriotism, insisting that the coasts of home are simply green and ought straightforwardly to be called green.

[3] It is to be regretted that scientific opinion polls, which might have shed some light on this question, had not yet become as common as they are today.

[4] The fermented juice of Vitis vinifera, the common cultivated grape. Sometimes said to have an intoxicating effect when consumed in quantity.

[5] The choice of a Biblical name for the vessel appears to have aroused some controversy. See, e.g., E. G. Athelstan, Who the H— Do They Think They Are?

[6] I. E. Godwin argues persuasively that this statement is in error, citing numerous accounts of other voyages made in ships of various sorts.

[7] Meant in the Vichian meaning, rather than in any other meaning that might have occurred to you.

[8] Athelstan asks several rather sneering questions about canine, avian, and reptilian eyes, the substance of which need not be repeated here.

[9] Godwin points out that there are no medical records from the voyage indicating an unusual number of auditory complaints, and accuses Sir John of exaggeration.

[10] Meaning that they survive the winter and continue to grow for multiple seasons, as opposed to annual seamen.

[11] Godwin objects that a “forest of canvas” is a botanical impossibility. Williburton emends it to “flourish of canvas.”

[12] Another account of the voyage gives the color of these sails as carmine; research so far has not been able to reconcile the discrepancy.

[13] Williburton emends this to odd silence. Parchefleur reads pawed silence, and believes the allusion is to the silent footsteps of a cat or other feline creature.

[14] Godwin cautions against taking this conjunction too literally.

[15] This very carriage is still preserved in the Museum of Preserved Carriages in Dumpcester.

A HISTORY OF THE REMARKABLE VOYAGE LATELY UNDERTAKEN ON BOARD THE CELEBRATED LEVIATHAN.

Written by Sir John M——, from his own journals.

 

The Sixth Day.

UNRELIEVEDLY HOT AND sunny; and though the high sails caught wind enough to keep us moving, not even the slightest breeze was perceptible on the promenades. The sailors took advantage of the calm to catch up on their gambling, but most of the rest of us kept to the shade and remained as inert as possible. I had my supper alone in the evening and retired with Bonsecours, whose Voyages I read till well past midnight, after which the heat abated just enough to allow a fitful slumber.

 

The Seventh Day: Tea with the Duke.

More heat today, and the wise or fortunate among us restricted our activity to the minimum; but the rest of us had an invitation from the Duke for tea, and one cannot decline the Duke’s invitation for any reason short of death. Not that the Duke would ever have remembered whether I had been present or not, but there were others who would have noted my absence, and it is the business of a diplomat always to make a good impression.

“Ah! Sir John,” the Duke greeted me when I was presented to him. “I believe we may have met once before.”

“I believe so,” I replied.

“Thought so. I never forget a face. Fine weather today, isn’t it?”

“Very fine,” I agreed.

“No clouds and no pirates,” he continued. “That’s the sort of weather we like. Nasty business with those pirates the other day, what? Good thing we had one of our diplomat chappies on the spot to sort it all out.”

“Good thing,” I agreed again.

That was as much of me as the Duke had time for before he had to repeat the same performance with some other humble functionary; but I observed him from time to time, noting that he appeared to be the only one of us completely unaffected by the heat. He simply refused to perspire. The rest of us more than made up what he lacked in moisture. I mentioned the Duke’s cool nature, with some expression of admiration, to his butler.

“His Grace does perspire on some occasions,” the butler replied, “but more frequently he forgets to perspire.”

“Forgets?”

“Yes, sir. Perspiration requires a certain mental concentration on his part.”

This evening a light breeze brought almost the whole citizenry over to the starboard promenade, where I met Lord and Lady Darkwood. Lady Darkwood made cheerful conversation as always; but her husband was more than usually gloomy, and more than once glowered at me with an unsettling frown.

I retired with Bonsecours again. Tomorrow we should be in sight of the Cannibal Coast, and then our explorations begin in earnest.

 

The Eighth Day.

Storms last night, and fog all day. We had expected our first view of the Cannibal Coast this morning, but in fact I could hardly make out the railing along the promenade, and the sea itself was entirely invisible. I sat outside my door on the promenade and read Bonsecours, though the pages began to curl in the dampness. Just about an hour before sunset, the fog cleared rather quickly, and the golden light of the declining sun illuminated a shore lined with palms, with rolling hills behind and a hint of towering mountains in the distance. Tomorrow we shall send a landing party, and I have asked the Duke that I may be included.

 

 

From Dr. Boli’s Encyclopedia of Misinformation.

Misinformation. The line between information and misinformation is much more permeable than generally supposed.

Neutron. Science has at last succeeded in splitting the neutron into subparticles that are even more neutral.

Squid. Giant squid are really quite small except for the tentacles and head.

 

 

A HISTORY OF THE REMARKABLE VOYAGE LATELY UNDERTAKEN ON BOARD THE CELEBRATED LEVIATHAN.

Written by Sir John M——, from his own journals.

 

The Third Day.

NOTHING WORTH RECORDING happened today. The weather was clear and hot, and most of us had the sense to remain in the shade. Toward evening, however, a cool breeze from the west brought many of us over to the starboard promenade. I happened to meet Lady Darkwood, who was out walking with another lady. She asked forgiveness for her husband’s behavior the previous evening. I told her that I always enjoyed her husband’s conversation (which was not strictly true) and that I wished only that I might have heard more of her own (which would have made the evening more bearable).

More Henricus tonight, and then early to bed.

 

The Fourth Day.

Storms last night, and more storms throughout the day; and yet in spite of high seas, no motion at all was perceptible on our Leviathan. After one of the storms I took a brief walk on the promenade. Scarcely anyone was out, but I did meet Lady Darkwood again. We spoke a few words of pleasant conversation until the next storm chased us indoors to our several habitations.

 

The Fifth Day: How the Awful Pirates of Tobermantle Boarded and Looted Our Leviathan.

The grayish light of a cloudy dawn revealed a ship of some sort to the east of us; and as the morning grew lighter, the ship grew nearer. We knew that we were entering waters infested with pirates, but we had flattered ourselves that the size of our vessel would deter even the most desperate pirates. We were mistaken. The ship closed in on us; hooks suddenly appeared on the rail of our port promenade; and with fantastic speed a dozen pirates suddenly leaped on the deck, their swords drawn.

Certainly there was no hope of their defeating the entire armed force of our Leviathan—a circumstance of which they must have been well aware, since they immediately seized hostages. As the attack was made very near my house, I happened to be on hand, and I decided that it would be best if I were to exercise my diplomatic functions at once without waiting for instructions from the Duke.

“What is the purpose of this intrusion?” I demanded. It was best, I thought, to let them see that we had no fear of them.

One of the pirates stepped forward. He was a large man with an unkempt black beard, and he was dressed rather more showily than the others. “Have you not heard of us, then?” he asked me.

“We have heard that there are lawless pirates in these waters,” I said with what I hoped was an icy glare.

“Well, my good man, you have heard correctly!” And he laughed a laugh that was like a bellow. “We are the awful Pirates of Tobermantle, and these are our waters you’re passing through.”

I have never found it useful to prolong a confrontation. “State your demands, then,” I said, supposing that their demands would be such as we could in no wise meet.

“Just to start with,” the pirate king responded with a hungry grin, “this little trinket has caught my eye.” He greedily fondled a bejeweled clasp belonging to one of the hostages.

“I see,” I said coldly. “And I suppose you want—”

“I’ll give you a hundred crowns for it,” the pirate king declared.

“I beg your pardon—?”

“A hundred fifty, then.”

The conversation had taken such an unexpected turn that I was momentarily struck dumb. But here the owner of the clasp spoke up. “Absurd! The ruby alone is worth that.”

“Two hundred fifty, then,” the pirate continued. Meanwhile, a number of the other pirates had also opened negotiations for the purchase of various items from the hostages and some of the bystanders.

It was not long before the word began to spread that the awful Pirates of Tobermantle were offering ready money for articles of small value. For it must be said that they were very poor traders. Soon quite a number of ambitious persons had gathered around the pirates, and those who succeeded in pushing their way through the crowd often managed to unload worthless trinkets for remarkably generous prices.

For two or three hours the pirates negotiated; then at last the pirate king sent for me (for I had long since given up watching the curious spectacle).

“Well, friend,” he said when I arrived, “we’ve done our looting for the day, so it’s time for us to let the hostages go and be on our way. And, mind you, there will be no reprisals—do you understand me? Any action taken against us will be punished by an attack even more ruthless than the one you have witnessed today.”

I assured the pirate king that we understood him perfectly, and on that condition he directed the others to set the hostages free. Then the pirates loaded their purchases into their little ship, took a friendly leave of us, and sailed away.

Later I was informed that the Duke, having been told about the morning’s events, was very pleased with my conduct, which I suppose was gratifying.

As the afternoon wore on, there was some grumbling from those, especially among the merchants, who had not been able to trade with the pirates. It was their opinion that we should pursue the pirates and so provoke the threatened second attack. Our Leviathan, however, is not well adapted to such a pursuit, and I do not believe that the Duke will consent to an alteration in our course.

I have finished Henricus tonight, and I found many of his conclusions disagreeable. Tomorrow night I think I shall begin Bonsecours’ Voyages of the Ancients, which seems more appropriate to my current situation.

A HISTORY OF THE REMARKABLE VOYAGE LATELY UNDERTAKEN ON BOARD THE CELEBRATED LEVIATHAN.

Written by Sir John M——, from his own journals.

 

The Second Day: A Great Naval Engagement, in Which the Leviathan Wins a Glorious Victory Over the Entire Fleet of the Mad Earl of Deira.

ON THE MORROW I woke early, as the reddish rays of dawn were streaming into my chamber. Aelfric had procured some excellent pastries from a baker’s shop nearby; I had just finished a simple but satisfying breakfast when a messenger arrived summoning me to the Duke’s presence again. A carriage was waiting for me, and I was told it was a matter of some urgency.

This morning the trip took less time, since there were no milling crowds to part. All the way I wondered whether the Duke would remember why he summoned me, or whether once again I should be dismissed after a few short pleasantries.

“Ah! Sir John,” the Duke greeted me in his drawing-room. “The man of the hour, as one might say. I believe we may have met once before.”

“Yes indeed, your grace,” I replied. “Yesterday, in this very room.”

“Ah, yes, that must have been it. I never forget a face. Well, Sir John, someone told me that you were pretty good at languages.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Splendid. We’ll need that. More to the point, we need it right now. Are you at all familiar with the peculiar dialect they speak in Deira?”

I chose my words carefully: I did not wish the Duke to suppose that I was accusing him of ignorance. “As far as I know, your grace, the language is little different from our own, though spoken with a more pronounced accent.”

“Yes, that was precisely what I had always thought. But the thing is, you see, early this morning a little boat hailed us, and we can’t make heads or tails of what the fellows are trying to say. We sat them down in my library—that’s where they are now—and gave them something to nibble on. Pleasantest fellows you can imagine, but they seem to talk absolute gibberish. I could make out that they were from Deira well enough, but after that nothing.”

“I should be happy to place my own small skill at your disposal,” I said, “although I cannot warrant you that I shall have any more success than your grace had.”

“Well, we can give it a try, can’t we?” the Duke responded cheerfully. He led me to his library, which was singularly free of books but was furnished with a pair of scruffy sailors. The Duke spoke to them slowly and loudly, as though they were deaf children.

“This…is…Sir…John…. He…will…speak…with…you…now.”

“We are honored to make your acquaintance, Sir John,” said one of the sailors. He might have had a trace of an accent, but otherwise his command of our language was perfect. I hardly knew what to say next.

“His grace the Duke has asked me to inquire what you would like from us,” I told the two men.

“Oh, yes,” said the one who had spoken before. “In the name of his highness the Earl of Deira, we demand the unconditional surrender of your vessel.”

The Duke leaned toward me. “You see what I mean,” he said in a confidential undertone. “It sounds as though they’re saying something about unconditional surrender, but I know that can’t be right.”

“Let us assume for the moment that it is what they said,” I told the Duke. Then I turned back to the sailors. “And what,” I asked, “will be the consequences if we refuse to surrender?”

“Then you will face the wrath of the entire Deiran navy.”

“I see. And just what sort of navy is this we shall have to face?”

“Well, sir,” said the sailor, “you can see our ship from this window.”

The window he indicated had a view of the sea, and through it I could see a rickety little vessel with two masts. It might have carried a dozen sailors; certainly no more.

“I think I see it,” I said, peering out the window. Then I turned to face our guests. “And is that a fair example of the ships that make up the Deiran navy?”

“No, sir,” the sailor who did all the speaking answered. “That is the Deiran navy.”

“You mean that is the only ship in your navy?”

“The only one,” the sailor admitted.

“I see. Were you aware that there are more than two thousand men on board our Leviathan, not to mention the women and children?”

“We were not aware of the exact figures, but we did have an approximate idea.”

“Well, then, what would you say if I told you that we are not prepared to surrender?”

“We should hardly be surprised,” the sailor answered.

Now the other Deiran sailor spoke for the first time. “The fact is, Admiral Ecgfrith” (he indicated his companion) “and I had orders from the Earl to capture your Leviathan. Well, they don’t call him the Mad Earl of Deira for no reason. So Admiral Ecgfrith and I knew better than to question his orders. We’ve obeyed, and here we are, and it is under such circumstances that we demand the surrender of your vessel.”

“I see,” I said. I turned to the Duke, who had evidently been paying no attention to our conversation. “They demand the unconditional surrender of our Leviathan,” I informed him.

“Never!” cried the Duke. “We’ll die to the last man first!”

“You have your answer,” I told the sailors.

“Ah, well,” Admiral Ecgfrith responded. “We expected no better. But I wonder if we might ask a favor of you.”

Now that I knew something of his plight, I felt a twinge of pity for the bedraggled admiral. “Anything within reason,” I answered.

“Do you suppose you could threaten us a little? The Earl might be more lenient with us if we tell him we faced overwhelming opposition.”

It seemed a reasonable request under the circumstances. I conveyed it to the Duke, who persisted in believing that he could not comprehend the Deirans’ language and needed me to translate. It took some explaining to make the Duke understand the reason for the request, but once he understood he was not unwilling to comply.

“Well, then,” he said after some thought, “tell them they must depart from our Leviathan at once or—or I shall thrash them.”

The Deirans politely objected that the Duke’s threat did not seem overwhelming enough. After all, they pointed out, the Duke was but one man, whereas there were ten of the Deirans all told, including the eight who remained on their ship.

I saw no reason to annoy the Duke with these small details: it seemed to me that I was perfectly capable of handling the matter myself. “Then report to your Earl,” I told the Deirans, “that we had more than two thousand men at arms, and that, if you had refused to leave, we should have divided our forces and assigned two hundred men to thrash each individual Deiran on your vessel, with a few dozen men held back in reserve in case any of the first group should weary themselves with thrashing. Will that be suitable?”

The Deirans assured me that it would be, and they thanked me heartily for my kindness. I sent them off with the Duke’s compliments, and they rowed back to their little ship.

The rest of the day was uneventful. In the evening I dined with Lord Darkwood and his wife. Lady Darkwood is a cheerful soul, and her conversation is always worth recording. However, her husband dominated the conversation this evening, and his conversation is always gloomy, without wither wit or perception. I came to bed late and considered the evening wasted.