Bevis Part 83

"Let's go there," said Mark, after a pause, "you and me, and take some powder and blow the door open."

"If we could find it."

"O! we could find it; let's go to Thibet."

"So we will."

"And blow the bronze door open."

"And read the magic leaves."

"And go on down the footpath."

"And talk to the people under the golden dome flowers."

"I'm sure _we_ could find the door."

"We _will_ find it."

"Very soon."

"Some day."

Watching the swan among the glittering ripples, they cracked the rest of the nuts, and did not get up to go till the sun was getting low. It was not a wild swan, but one whose feathers had not been clipped. The wind rose a little, and sighed dreamily through the tops of the tall firs as they walked under them. They returned along the sh.o.r.e where the weeds came to the island, and had gone some way, when Mark suddenly caught hold of Bevis and drew him behind a bush.

Volume Three, Chapter VI.

NEW FORMOSA--THE MATCHLOCK.

"What is it?" said Bevis.

"I saw a savage."

"Where?"

"In the sedges on the sh.o.r.e there," pointing across the weeds. "I saw his head--he had no hat on."

"Quite sure?" Bevis looked, but could not see anything.

"Almost very nearly quite sure."

They watched the sedges a long time, but saw nothing.

"Was it Charlie, or Val, or Cecil?"

"No, I don't think so," said Mark.

"They could not get round either," said Bevis. "If they crossed the Nile like we did, they could not get round."

"No."

"It could not have been anybody."

"I thought it was; but perhaps it was a crow flew up--it looked black."

"Sure to have been a crow. The sedges do not move."

"No, it was a mistake--they couldn't get here."

They went on again and found a wild bullace.

"This is the most wonderful island there ever was," said Bevis; "there's always something new on or about it. The swan--I shall shoot the swan.

No, most likely it's sacred, and the king of the country would have us hunted down if we killed it."

"And tied to a stake and tortured."

"Melted lead poured into our mouths, because we shot the sacred swan with leaden bullets."

"Awful. No, don't shoot it. There are currant-trees on the island too--I've seen them, and there's a gooseberry bush up in the top of an old willow that I saw," said Mark. "Of course there are bananas; are there any breadfruit-trees here?"

"Certain to be some somewhere."

"Melons and oranges."

"Of course, and grapes--those are grapes," pointing to bryony-berries, "and pomegranates and olives."

"Yams and everything."

"Everything. I wonder if Pan will bark this time--I wonder if anything is gone," said Bevis as they reached the stockade. Pan did not bark, and there was nothing missing.

They set to work now to make some tea and roast the moorhens, having determined to have tea and supper together. The tea was ready long before the moorhens, and by the time they had finished the moon was s.h.i.+ning brightly, though there were some flecks of cloud. They could not of course play cards, so Bevis got out his journal; and having put down about the honey-bird, and the swan, and the discoveries they had made, went on to make a list of the trees and plants on the island, and the birds that came to it. They had seen a small flock of seven or eight missel-thrushes pa.s.s in the afternoon, and Mark said that all the birds came from the unknown river, and flew on towards the north-north-west. This was the direction of the waste, or wild pasture.

"Then there must be mainland that way," said Bevis; "and I expect it is inhabited and ploughed, and sown with corn, for that's what the birds like at this time of the year."

"And the other way--where they come from--must be a pathless jungle,"

said Mark. "And they rest here a moment as they cross the ocean. It is too far for one fly."

"My journal ought to be written on palm leaves," said Bevis, "a book like this is not proper: let's get some leaves to-morrow and see if we can write on them."

"Don't s.h.i.+pwrecked people write on their s.h.i.+rts," said Mark, "and people who are put in prison?"

"So they do--of course: but our s.h.i.+rts are flannel, how stupid!"

"I know," said Mark, "there's the collars." He went into the hut and brought out their linen collars, which they had ceased to wear. Bevis tried to write on these, but the ink ran and sank in, and it did not do at all.

"Wrong ink," he said, "we must make some of charcoal--lampblack--and oil. You use it just like paint, and you can't blot it, you must wait till it dries on."

"No oil," said Mark. "I wanted to rub the gun with some and looked, but there is none--we forgot it."