Part 88 (1/2)
Volume Three, Chapter IX.
NEW FORMOSA--THE SOMETHING COMES AGAIN.
About the middle of the night Pan moved, sat up, gave a low growl, then rushed outside to the full length of his cord, and set up a barking.
”Pan! Pan!” said Bevis, awakened.
”What is it?” said Mark.
Hearing their voices and feeling himself supported, Pan increased his uproar. Bevis ran outside with Mark and looked round the stockade. It was still night, but night was wending to the morn. The moon was low behind the trees. The stars shone white and without scintillating.
They could distinctly see every corner of the courtyard; there was nothing in it.
”It's the something,” said Mark. Together they ran across to the gateway in the stockade, though they had no boots on. They looked outside; there was nothing. Everything was perfectly still, as if the very trees slept.
”We left the gate open,” said Bevis.
”I don't believe it's ever been locked but once,” said Mark.
Neither had it. On the boards the wizard's foot was drawn to keep out the ethereal genii, but they had neglected to padlock the door to keep out the material. They locked it now, and returned to the hut. Pan wagged his tail, but continued to give short barks as much as to say, that _he_ was not satisfied, though they had seen nothing.
”What can it be?” said Mark. ”If Pan used to swim off every night, he could not have had all the things.”
”No. We'll look in the morning and see if there are any marks on the ground.”
They sat up a little while talking about it, and then reclined; in three minutes they were firm asleep again. Pan curled up, but outside the hut now; once or twice he growled inwardly.
In the morning they remembered the incident the moment they woke, and before letting Pan loose, carefully examined every foot of the ground inside the stockade. There was not the slightest spoor. Nor was there outside the gate; but it was possible that an animal might pa.s.s there without leaving much sign in the thin gra.s.s. When Pan was let free he ran eagerly to the gate, but then stopped, looked about him, and came back seeming: to take no further interest. The scent was gone.
”No cooking,” said Mark, as they sat down to breakfast. ”Glad I'm not a girl to have to do that sort of thing.”
”I wish there was some wind,” said Bevis, ”so that we could have a sail.”
There was a little air moving, but not sufficient to make sailing pleasant in so c.u.mbrous a craft as the Calypso. They had their bath, but did not cross to Serendib, lest Pan should follow and disturb the water-fowl. So soon as they had dressed, the matchlock was loaded--it was Mark's day--and they brought the raft round.
Mark sat on the deck in front with the match lit, and the barrel balanced on a fixed rest they had put up for it, not the movable staff.
Bevis poled the raft across to Serendib, and then very quietly round the northern end of that island, where the water was deep enough to let the raft pa.s.s close to the blue gum boughs. Coming round to the other side, Mark moved his left hand, which was the signal that they had agreed on, when Bevis kept his pole on the ground, dragging so as to almost anchor the Calypso.
In a quarter of a minute Mark fired, and Pan instantly jumped overboard.
The force of his fall carried him under water, but he rose directly and brought the moorhen back to them. Bevis dragged him on board--the moorhen in his mouth--by the neck, for he could not climb over the bulwarks from the water. After the gun was loaded Bevis pushed on again slowly, but the report had frightened the others, and there were no more out feeding. They stayed therefore under the blue gum boughs and waited. Pan wanted to leap ash.o.r.e and play havoc, but they would not let him, for it was impossible to shoot flying with their heavy gun.
Some time pa.s.sed, and then Bevis caught sight of a neck and a head; there was nothing more visible, near the sh.o.r.e along which they had come. It was a dab-chick or lesser grebe. At that, the stern end of the raft, there was no rest, but Mark sat down and put the barrel on the bulwarks. Bevis whispered to him to wait till the dab-chick turned its head, for this bird, which swims almost flush with the water, goes under in an instant, having only to get his head down to disappear. He will dive at the faintest sound or movement that he does not recognise, but soon comes up again, and will often duck at the flash of a gun too quick for the shot to strike him. Mark waited his chance and instantly fired, and Pan brought them the grebe.
They waited what seemed a very long time, but nothing appeared, so Pan was thrown ash.o.r.e by his neck crash in among the ”gix” and meadowsweet.
He did not care for that, he went to work in an instant. Mark got ready, for though he could not shoot flying he thought some of them would perhaps swim off. This happened, two moorhens came rus.h.i.+ng out, one flew, the other swam as hastily as he could, and Mark shot the latter. But before he could load again Pan had disturbed the whole island, some went this way, some that, and all the fowl were scattered.
It was some time before they could get the excited spaniel on board; so soon as they could, Bevis poled the raft along to Bamboo Island, where several coots and moorhens had taken refuge. As they came near these being now on the alert began to move off. Mark aimed at one, but he was he thought not quite near enough: Bevis poled faster, when the moorhen at the splash began to rise, scuttling and dragging the long hanging legs along the surface.
Mark drew the match down into the priming, the shot widening as it went, struck up the water like a shower round the moorhen, which though only hit by one pellet, fell and dived: Pan following. The bird came up to breathe. Pan saw her, and yelped. He touched ground and ran plunging in the water, cantering, lifting his fore-paws and beating the water, for he could not run in the same way as ash.o.r.e. He caught another glimpse of the bird, dashed to the spot, and thrust his nose and head right under, but missed her. By now the raft had come up, and they beat the weeds with their poles. The moorhen doubled into the bamboos and sedges, but they were so thick they hindered her progress, and Pan snapped her up in a moment.
From Bamboo Island, Bevis poled round to five or six banks covered with sedges, and Mark had another shot, but this time, perhaps a little too confident, he missed altogether. There did not seem any probability of their shooting any more, so they returned towards New Formosa, when Mark wanted to have one more look round the lower and more level end of that island. Bevis poled that way, and Mark, seeing something black with a white bill moving in the weeds, fired--a very long shot--and felt sure that he had wounded the bird, though for a minute it disappeared.