Chapter I: HAD been down to spend a summer’s day at Eton. Dear old Eton! There is (6)

“Seeing his enemy thus completely prostrate in body and {170}soul, and evidently perfectly conscious of the helplessness of his position, the acute brain of Hans began immediately to consider whether there might not be some better way of turning the giant to account than by either killing him or leaving him to die, especially as there would be considerable practical inconvenience in getting rid of so huge a carcase, which would moreover attract all the wolves, foxes, vultures, crows, and other disagreeable animals from far and near, and render the place unbearable for months to come. A happy thought struck him, and he instantly struck the giant in consequence, climbing back again on to his lip in order to do so. ‘Listen to me, Daddy roarer!’ he cried at the top of his voice. ‘You can purchase your life if you wish it. What do you say to that?’

“Fastened as he was, and unable to speak or move his mouth, the old fellow could only signify his delight by {171}winking his eyes, which he forthwith did with as much expression as could be expected from a person of his intellectual capacity. Hans perfectly understood that an affirmative reply was intended, and he thus proceeded to explain his meaning to the giant. ‘Now, look here, old chap! you must confess that you have been a regular ruffian: destroying crops, throwing down houses, bagging sheep and cattle, stamping upon people who never did _you_ any harm, and generally playing Old Harry with the whole country. Now, if I and my mates let you off this time, and spare your life, you must vow, promise, and solemnly declare that you will do just exactly the reverse and opposite of all you have hitherto done. You must watch over the interests of mankind, and, in fact, you must be our slave, perform the tasks which we shall impose upon you, and yield a ready and implicit obedience to all commands which shall be laid upon you by properly constituted authorities among mankind, from the Emperor of Germany down to the parish constable. If you’re game for this, old fellow, wink your eye again, and it’s a bargain.’

“It may perhaps be objected to our hero Hans, Brother Thames, that his language was somewhat of what is termed a ‘slang’ character; but if critics make, as critics will, such remarks, they should remember that, in the days of which I am speaking, tailors were not, as now, upon an equality with educated gentlemen, and their language was not unnaturally somewhat less polished and refined than might otherwise have been the case. I should willingly put into the mouth of Hans expressions of a nature better calculated to please the superlatively well-conditioned gentlemen who, in these days {172}when all men are equal, speak with acknowledged accuracy of taste and grammar, whether they chance to have been half, wholly, or not at all educated, and cannot endure in the mouths of others anything which falls short of their own high standard; but I speak of things and people as they really were in those old days, and I cannot alter the truth for anybody.

“Hans was only a tailor, and perhaps a little vulgar into the bargain, and he certainly accosted the old giant with more slang expressions and less respect than his age and rank might have entitled him to expect. So it was, however, and, what is more, the result was the same as it would probably have been if Hans had used other and better language to express his meaning.

“Old Bramble-buffer no sooner heard the conditions imposed than he winked his eye again without the smallest hesitation, in order to signify that he agreed to the bargain. Upon this our friend Hans immediately summoned his companions, who came at once, and, being ordered by him to do so, climbed upon the face of the still-prostrate foe, and, at Hans’ further commands, took up the positions which he indicated. Three of them sat quietly upon his forehead, whilst two others sat, one over each of his eyes, holding in their hands a sharp dagger which they kept suspended just above his eyelids.

“‘Now, old boy,’ shouted Hans again, right into the ear of the giant, ‘look here; I am going to keep my part of the bargain, and begin to set you free. If, when your mouth is open, you cry out for help, or say or do anything unpleasant, straight into your eyes go these two daggers, and you will find that you will fare much {173}worse than if you had kept your word. As soon as your voice is free, you will swear the Big Oath of the giants to be the slave of our people henceforth; and you shall then be set free from the other bonds by which you are now constrained.’

“Having said these words, Hans boldly descended once more into the huge mouth of his former enemy, accompanied by his remaining companions, who carried a lantern. Then, taking up his spear, which he had removed from its position in the giant’s jaws as soon as the beams and rafters had been all fixed and securely built in, he carefully moved one of these, which was the key {174}to the whole edifice, and then, jumping out of the mouth, told the owner thereof that he could do the rest himself. This, indeed, was the case, for with a vigorous crunch of his jaws, Bramble-buffer now smashed beams, rafters, joists, and planks all into one shapeless mass, which he forthwith spat out of his mouth as fast as he could, and afterwards indulged in a long, deep sigh of relief. It was a moment of agonizing suspense to the men. Suppose the giant should play false? They might indeed put out his eyes, but his roars would probably bring other giants to his aid before long, and, when free, his vengeance would be terrible. A very few seconds, however, put an end to their doubts, and dissipated all their fears. The race of giants are a curious combination of good and evil, and if the latter generally predominates, it is really not so much from natural or inherent vice as from defective education, there being a sad want of elementary schools among giants, and few people big enough to undertake the instruction of their youth. But no well-born giant of average respectability breaks the great giant oath, and this was what Bramble-buffer had promised to take. Nor was he false to his promise: as soon as he had recovered his powers of speech, his very first words were as follows, pronounced in rhyme, doubtless for the sake of emphasis:--

‘By the mountains of the earth;
By the ground which gave me birth;
By the streams which here do flow;
By the cots I’ve oft laid low;

By the woods and forests great;
By the woven web of Fate;
By the waters of the Rhine,
Swear I now this oath of mine:--

War with man henceforth t’ eschew,
To their cause for e’er be true,
All their mandates to obey,
Willing slave by night or day,

To their will submissive bow,
Since they grant my freedom now!’

“It {175}is but doing justice to the estimation in which the character of the giants as vow-keepers stood, to say that from the moment that old Bramble-buffer pronounced these words, not one of the seven heroes who stood on and about his face at the time of his dozing had the smallest fear for themselves, or for those to whom he had just vowed obedience. They felt, on the contrary, such entire confidence in the moral probity of their old enemy, and in his honest intention to observe his oath in the most religious manner, that they immediately threw down their daggers (in such a reckless manner as might have proved serious to the face of the old giant if they had not fortunately fallen in his whiskers), and proceeded without delay to climb down and set free the hairs which they had so securely fastened with cords and ropes. Little by little they separated those disagreeable knots and ties, and the emancipated Bramble-buffer at last rose once more from the ground a free giant.

“As soon as he was upon his legs, the first thing he did was to shake himself violently, and in so doing cause the earth to tremble beneath him as from the shock of an earthquake. He then spoke humbly to Hans, and asked his will; but as in doing this he employed his ordinary voice, which was not unlike thunder, his conqueror made the first use of his power by desiring his slave to speak in a whisper for the future, {176}unless he should happen to be standing at a great distance from the person addressed. He next directed the captive Bramble-buffer to carry him and his companions to the cave in which they had left the rest of the mortals. This cave was formed out of rocks, close to the vast ruins of an ancient castle, which at some distant time had been built in a very strong position, but which age or giants had long ago partially demolished. In front of the cave huge rocks jutted out on all sides, and on a plateau of rock there came out several of the mortals to receive Hans and his prisoner, as soon as the news had spread that they were near at hand.

“Bramble-buffer had meekly obeyed the commands of his master, and brought him and his six volunteers safely to the place they desired. Then Hans, having directed that he should be placed upon a table of rock just opposite that on which the other mortals were standing, and which was about on a level with the giant’s head as he stood below, introduced their new slave to his fellow-men, and related to them the perils and adventures through which he and his six friends had passed, and the successful issue to which they had brought the affair which had been entrusted to them. Upon this the men all set up a shout of joy, as they gazed with unfeigned delight upon their old enemy, humbled and brought low as he was.

“Then there followed the usual course of action in such matters. Everybody praised Hans, and everybody pretended that _they_ had known his talents, skill, and bravery from the first, and had always been in favour of the expedition which he had planned and executed.

One {177}would have thought that the old gentleman, at least, would have remained silent, but this was far from being the case. On the contrary, he was foremost in offering his congratulations to the triumphant Hans, and even went so far as to say that he could not help taking some credit to himself in the matter, for that, highly approving of his scheme from the first moment he heard it, and being most anxious for its success, he had known that a little pretended opposition was the only way to get up a feeling in favour of it among the general throng, and had therefore spoken doubtfully in order to secure this result. His wisdom, he added, had been amply justified; Hans had succeeded as he, the old gentleman, had always known he must and would succeed, and he hoped he would ever be grateful to those whose age and experience had assisted him at the first beginning of the affair.

“Hans listened with respectful attention to this speech, and to many of a similar character from that large class of persons who always tell one after an event has happened that they perfectly well knew it would occur, and had often prophesied it beforehand. He did not deem it necessary to make any answer, but accepted all the compliments offered him with becoming modesty, and told his friends plainly that he had acted for the general benefit, and was very thankful that success had crowned his efforts. Many rewards were, of course, bestowed upon the hero: he was made a knight of several orders, which conferred the right to wear certain stars and crosses at court, which was accounted a great privilege in those days, and was all the more valued because it was always so uncertain to whom {178}it would be given, some persons who had done nothing to deserve it being frequently thus decorated, while others were left out who had fairly earned it by service rendered to the public. But everybody rejoiced in the honours showered upon Sir Hans, and tailoring immediately grew fashionable and has so continued ever since.

“From that time forth there is but little of interest to relate to you concerning the giant Bramble-buffer. He honestly and diligently performed his duty to his masters, making and altering mountains for them when required, holding a gigantic umbrella over particular crops which the rain would have damaged when a storm happened to break over them, and performing very many other offices for the performance of which brute strength was required. In short, he proved a most faithful, useful, and obedient servant, never grumbled at being required to rise early, complained of his victuals, or said that, ‘it wasn’t his place’ to do any particular service asked of him, but did his duty like a true and good giant, and was consequently happy and contented during the whole of his remaining life. I cannot tell you precisely when that life terminated, but I rather fancy his head got confused when two great nations took to quarrelling as to which of them had the best claim to my river, and consequently to the giant who served the population of the country near, and if this absurdity on the part of mortals turned with them into madness, it is not a matter of surprise that the same disease fell upon the less powerful intellect of the poor giant, and that he put an end to himself when, like the nations themselves, he was labouring under ‘temporary insanity.’ At all events, I have told you his legend as {179}far as it has been well authenticated, and will now leave you to pass your opinion thereupon.”

“A good tale, indeed, Brother Rhine,” remarked Father Thames at the conclusion of this story.

“I am glad you approve of it,” replied the other. “Have you never had giants of this kind in your own country, Brother Thames?”

Thus addressed, the old king pondered for awhile, and then made answer as follows:--“Yes, we have had giants, of one sort or another, in old England, but rarely of the size, and scarce even of the mischievous character, of your Daddyroarers. But since you have told me a tale of the giant, let me give you a legend of the small people;” and so saying Father Thames commenced the history of--

THE MANNIKINS’ CASTLE

I don’t pretend, Brother Rhine, to have as many haunted castles upon my banks as you have on and about the sides of your famous river. I have always denied that the chief merit of a castle consists in its being haunted, and the simple-minded people who inhabit this old England of ours look to the circumstance of their houses being comfortable to live in, free from draughts and bad smells, large enough to entertain their friends, and possessed of good kitchen arrangements, rather than to their being the residence of any supernatural beings such as those of which you and your castles appear to be so proud. Moreover I have often observed that the presence of such creatures is constantly connected with the commission of some frightful {180}crime at a distant period of time, the perpetrator of which appears desirous to perpetuate its memory by haunting the place where it was performed as much as he or she conveniently can. We islanders, on the contrary, when any of us happen to commit a crime, prefer that it should be forgotten as soon as possible, and think it very indecent and improper of any member of a respectable family who may have distinguished himself in the paths of vice if he seeks to keep up the remembrance thereof, and throw a stain upon the escutcheon of his house by coming back again to earth after he has once left it for the benefit of the survivors. There are exceptions, of course, to this rule, but I state what I believe to be the popular feeling here upon the subject; and although I am going to tell you a story which concerns a castle, and also beings not strictly mortal or ordinary, I may at once tell you that, so far as I know, no murder was ever committed there, and no ghost or demon of an unpleasant character ever entered the place, except under the casual circumstances which I shall presently relate.

It was an old castle, however; a very old castle, built much more massively than the structures of modern times, and full of curious old bits of wall, over which antiquaries would puzzle nowadays to determine their date, and having here and there wonderful windows with huge stone mullions set into the great, deep walls, and apparently built with the intention of lasting until the end of the world. In the chief window of this old ruin--for a ruin it was at the time of my story--there habitually sat a large black owl, who was generally supposed to be the lord and ruler of the place.

Perhaps _he_ was a spirit if one only knew it, but as no one _did_ know {182}it, it never entered anybody’s head to say so. He was hardly mortal though, for he not only hooted like an ordinary owl, but spoke like a Christian; at least so I suppose, or how would he have made himself understood by other beings who were _not_ owls, and who yet had to communicate with him? For beings more extraordinary than owls inhabited the old castle. A large number of mannikins had taken possession of it some years after its abandonment by mortals, and here the merry little creatures would sport and gambol all the livelong day. They used to clamber about the strong ivy-trees that grew up the sides of the old walls, playing at hide and seek among the thick leaves, and making the place re-echo with their joyous shouts. They were wont to sport and play with the large lizards which basked upon the walls when the sun came out with rays bright and strong, and warm enough to tempt them to do so, and they would scamper up and down the whole place, trying their skill in ascending and descending the steepest and most perpendicular places in the old walls, where the stone was crumbling away from sheer age, and where no being of mortal frame and mould could have found a secure footing for a moment. Oh, they were merry little chaps, those mannikins!

Within the precincts of the castle itself, in the ancient courtyards which once reverberated with the shrill blast of trumpets calling men forth to war; where men-at-arms formerly strode boldly along, filled with warlike ardour, and where martial sounds rang out loud and oft in the days of old, grass was now growing long and rank, which was trodden under foot only by the lively mannikins in their daily and nightly dances, whilst their shrill and merry cries replaced those sterner sounds which had long {183}since ceased, and those who had caused them had passed for ever from mortal ken and mortal vision. All was indeed changed; but I am not prepared to say that the change was not for the better, for I was never fond of the old feudal times myself; and the barons who used to possess such castles, and send forth their retainers to fight, were much more troublesome people to the world at large, and their neighbours in particular, than were the little mannikins who played around the old place, or the wise old owl who blinked his eyes cosily and comfortably in the stone window.

You would have thought that such innocent creatures as owls and mannikins could have had no enemies, but must have been on good terms with all their fellow-creatures of every description. True, they sometimes made themselves disagreeable in the way of taking new-laid eggs from farmyards which were within temptingly easy reach of their own abode, and now and then they were shrewdly suspected of having milked a cow with which they had no business, and stolen cream when the dairymaid had been careless enough to leave the dairy-door unlocked. In these particulars, though, they were, after all, no worse than mortals have frequently been, and in fact not half so bad, inasmuch as they made what return they could to the country people who might have now and then suffered from their depredations, sometimes going out in the moonlight nights and making their hay for them or finishing the cutting of a cornfield, and even condescending so far, on more than one occasion, as to sweep a chimney and thoroughly dust a kitchen floor. For they were very active little fellows, those mannikins, and could turn their hands to almost anything if they saw fit to do so.

They {184}had some enemies no doubt, in wild and evil-disposed animals, for they loved to warn the lamb when the wolf was lying in wait for him, and often saved the poultry by a timely notice that the fox was coming, whereby they incurred the wrath and hatred of these midnight marauders. But the chief and principal of their enemies were the witches, who have during all ages been a plague to this otherwise favoured land. I say advisedly, in all ages, because this is indeed the truth, although in their form and shape, as well as in their method of doing mischief, persons of this class have wonderfully changed. In old times they were generally of repulsive appearance, oftentimes clad in a red cloak, generally with a stick in one hand, and almost invariably humpbacked or misshapen in some way, and attended by a familiar in the shape of a cat. They were consulted only on serious affairs, or when somebody wanted to be revenged upon somebody else; they were malicious in their words and actions; hated everything good, respectable, and handsome; and, if possible, transformed it as soon as they could into something quite the reverse. Nowadays, our English witches are entirely different: their shape is usually beautiful, their figure perfect, their eyes bright and full of expression, and their dress made in admirable good taste and after an exceedingly becoming fashion. They have no familiar spirit, and the best of them allow no one to be too familiar with them; neither do they change the form and shape of mankind into those of hideous creatures, but, on the contrary, rather prefer that men should be handsome and well shaped; but they still exercise over them an almost resistless sway, which, however, is far more {185}willingly obeyed than was the power of the witches of the old times; and they are now consulted, not so much on matters of hate and revenge, as on those which concern feelings far more desirable to be cherished in the human breast.

But the witches of whom I have to speak to-day hated the mannikins as much as a certain person is said to hate holy water. The reason of this was sufficiently obvious, and arose from the entire and radical difference between the views of the two sets of beings. The mannikins were, as I have said, although mischievous, the friends of mankind; the witches were the enemies of everything human which was not as wicked as themselves: the mannikins found pleasure in the most innocent amusements; the witches had no satisfaction in anything which did not injure or give pain to somebody else: the mannikins were gay and cheerful, the witches dull and morose, save when under the influence of strong drink: the mannikins generally ran about on their own legs; the witches habitually rode broomsticks, or toads, or whatever else came in their way and could be made to serve as a horse--in fine, the mannikins and witches did not, could not, and were never likely to, agree upon any one point or in any one feature of resemblance, and therefore it was not unnatural that they should be animated by feelings of hostility the one against the other. I am bound to say, however, that the mannikins never wished to interfere with or annoy the witches, and would have been well content to keep out of their way altogether if they could only have managed to do so. It was the witches who went out of their way to tease and bully the mannikins whenever they could, and who were {186}entirely responsible for all the troubles which occurred in consequence.

Not far from the owl’s castle was a large forest, in which all kinds of creatures dwelt, and of which the little people from the castle made great and frequent use. They dearly loved to wander amongst the enormous trees, climbing over their branches, and playing around their gigantic trunks. One tree in particular there was which they held very precious. It had fallen down, and lay in the forest, covering a prodigious space of ground. On, under, and around it, wherever they could do so, the little mannikins planted a large number of fungi, under which they sought shelter from the rays of the sun or the pelting of the storm, and which they called their summer palace. Here they would spend hour after hour when the weather was favourable, and I have often wandered up from my river to have a sly peep at the merry little creatures sporting and playing whilst the distant moon shone upon them from afar, lighting up the walls of the old castle in the distance, and bathing with a flood of light the forest and fallen tree and the mannikins’ playground around the latter. There they would be, sure enough, night after night, running one after the other round the tree and under the fungi, having sometimes coaxed a butterfly or two, a big blue-bottle fly, or some other lively insect, to sit up with them and make a night of it.

One would have thought that it would have been scarcely worth the witches’ while to have troubled themselves with these harmless people, when there was so much more mischief of a practical character to be done in the world without. But there is no accounting for tastes, {187}and when the evil passion of malice once seizes upon any one, whether mortal or witch, no one can tell to what extremities it will lead. Accordingly, several of the most notorious witches in that part of the country (and ever since England was a country, Berkshire and Buckinghamshire have been the favourite abodes of witches) resolved to harass and worry the mannikins by every means within their power.

Dame Stokes, Mother Wandle, and old Goody Tickleback {188}were the names of the three principal plotters, and a rare bad lot they were when you came to know them. Dame Stokes lived at Datchet, whence she generally sallied forth upon one of the biggest broomsticks ever known in that part of the country.

Mother Wandle frequently assumed the shape of a large bat, under which disguise she flitted about all over the country; whilst Goody Tickleback, who resided not far from the playing-fields at Eton, habitually rode the carcase of a fearful antediluvian monster whose skeleton she had found in some queer place, and which, animated by her particular evil spirit, made her a capital horse, and struck terror {189}into the souls of all those who were unfortunate enough to see it. These foul creatures, having secured the aid of others as bad as themselves, determined to root out the family of mannikins if they possibly could, or at all events drive them once for all from the castle and its neighbourhood.

They first endeavoured to obtain as allies the nymphs who frequented my banks, coming down oftentimes to bathe from their homes in the shady recesses of Windsor Forest, where their dances were most beautiful to behold, showing off their graceful figures to perfection, and making me anxious that they should become permanent residents within the waters of my river. These ladies, however, would have nothing to say to the witches, whom they declared to be frightful as well as disreputable people, not fit for the society of well-conducted females who had any respect for themselves. They stated, moreover, that, in their opinion, the mannikins had done nothing for which they deserved to be punished, but were inoffensive and gentlemanlike little people, who ought rather to be encouraged than the reverse. Then the witches tried to cajole my elves, and to persuade them to splash, duck, and, if possible, drown their enemies when they came down to play upon the river banks. But the elves were exceedingly indignant at the request, remarking that the witches had nothing whatever to do with _them_, whilst the mannikins were their first cousins once removed, and that “blood was thicker than water.”

So, as they could get no other allies, the old hags were obliged to content themselves with the snakes and bats, the inferior class of toads, rats, hedgehogs, and other {190}low-lived and despicable animals. And, first of all, they determined to try and get rid of the old owl, who was the guardian and protector of the mannikins, and the extent of whose power was very little known. So they began by spreading all kinds of false and wicked reports about the worthy bird. They caused it to be said that he had been seen carrying off young chickens, that he had been detected in robbing several pheasants’ nests, and that his private life was no better than it should be. Unfortunately, however, for the success of this scheme, the owl took no newspapers and saw no company. Consequently, he never heard or read of the reports in question, and therefore of course never took the trouble to contradict them. The result was that, as is usually the case under similar circumstances, people, seeing that the individual attacked took no notice of what was said, thought they had better take the same course, and the reports dropped gradually out of circulation, until no one believed them at all.

It was thus made evident to the witches that they must resort to more active measures if they desired to disturb the owl. So they poisoned a young rabbit, and put it near the window in which the ancient bird commonly sat. But the owl was too many for them. A fox came and looked at the rabbit, but having done so, although its appearance was tender and tempting, he winked his eye and passed on. Then the owl slowly raised his claws to his beak, chuckled a little in a sepulchral tone, and told a couple of mannikins to bury that carcass out of the way, and watch any one who came and brought such an article again, and, if possible, bring them to his presence.

It {191}was plain that the owl was not to be caught asleep, and the witches must betake themselves to some new plan. So they sent for some hawks, and persuaded them that the owl was the natural and terrible enemy of their race, and that by a combined attack upon him, they might get rid of him at once and for ever. The hawks went to take a look at the bird and the place, and, after a careful inspection, came to the conclusion that there was nothing to be gained by attacking either. Their eyes were so sharp, that they saw through the plan of the witches, and were perfectly certain that they had some end of their own in view. So they told the old ladies that they had been entirely mistaken in the matter, that the owl was by no means a bad sort of person, and that they could not interfere in any way in the private quarrels of other people.

Disappointed at this, the three witches next went to the jays, and easily succeeded in inducing these mischievous birds to make such a frightful and discordant screaming around the owl’s abode as would, in all probability, oblige him to leave it. But the owl did no such thing. He simply told the mannikins to tell the jays that unless their noise instantly ceased, and was not again renewed, a birdsnesting party should be organized by the little people as soon as ever the nesting season should arrive, and that every jay in or near the wood should have to deplore the loss of eggs and young. This was most alarming news to the jays, who knew pretty well that the owl had full power to carry out his threat, and that if he did so, the mannikins, who had eyes like needles, and could climb with so much ease and agility, would certainly take every jay’s egg in the place, and thus {192}wreak a fearful vengeance on the disturbers of their monarch’s rest. So the birds desisted forthwith from their noise, and observed that they had only done it for a “lark,” and meant no harm; to which the wise bird replied, that there was a great difference between an owl and a lark, which difference they had better fully recognise before troubling him again in such a manner.

Still the witches would not desist from their attempt to obtain, by secret cunning, the result which they feared to seek by open attack. They hired bats to flit around the castle walls by night, with the intention of pulling out the owl’s tail and wing-feathers, and thus crippling him in his sleep, when he might be attacked with less fear of evil consequences to the aggressors. The attempt, however, miserably failed. The worthy bats, who really belonged to the castle, had experienced such great and unvarying kindness from the owl, that they had neither reason nor desire to prove faithless to him. They easily and immediately detected the strange birds who entered the precincts of the castle, and, having forced them to declare the object of their intrusion, drove them out with blows and insults, so that they retired in the utmost confusion.

Then the witches began to see that the owl was not to be outwitted by cunning, or destroyed by fraud. War, open war, was the only resource left; and the next question would be how it could be carried on with the best chance of success. They had the impudence to send a deputation of little witchlings to me, calmly asking me to overflow and put the castle and its grounds under water, so that it might become too damp for the mannikins to dwell in any longer. This, however, I naturally {193}refused to do, having much better use to make of the waters of my river than to employ them upon any such purpose to suit the pleasure of such low and wicked creatures, and, moreover, I told them that, if they dared to come to me any more with such base proposals, I would drown half-a-dozen of them by way of teaching them manners.

They retired somewhat discomfited; but, knowing that I was too good-natured to do them any injury as long as they left me quiet, very soon came down to my banks again, and entered into successful negotiations with a large number of water-rats. These creatures they hired, with a bribe of moorhens’ eggs, which they took from the poor birds in a cruel and reckless manner, to join with a number of land-rats in an attack upon the castle. The rat-contingent was to unite on the banks of the river, and thence to advance upon the castle through that part of the wood which lay nearest the stream. They were to be supported by a strong auxiliary force of frogs and toads of the worst character, and a body of snakes would simultaneously creep upon the doomed place from the other side. A number of bats, hooded crows, night-hawks, and such evil birds and beasts as they could obtain for the service, would constitute the reserve, which the three witches themselves would command in person. The plan was that the castle should be invested on all sides at once by the noxious reptiles and animals which constituted the witches’ army, and that a bold, and it was hoped decisive, effort should be made to destroy the whole race of mannikins.

Some difficulty was experienced from the fact of the frogs, toads, and rats objecting to fight side by side with the {194}snakes, who were not averse to them as food, and might perhaps remember their natural instincts if overtaken by hunger in the hour of battle. The witches had foreseen this probable objection on the part of the weaker animals, and took measures to remove it without delay. Each of them was made to pass before the great witch, Goody Tickleback, who dropped upon the body of every one a single drop of magic fluid of extraordinary virtue, which was warranted to prevent the creature so touched from being eaten by any other. As she performed this strange process, she pronounced these words:--

“This wondrous sign of magic art
From hurting thee each snake shall stop
For forty hours. If out of heart,
Come back and take another drop.”

This went on until the whole of that part of the army which had entertained fears, founded upon the habits and natures of those with whom they were about to serve as comrades, had passed before the witch, and been treated in the manner which I have described.

All now seemed ready, and at the appointed time the attacking force moved forward in the order which had been previously arranged. It was a lovely evening; not a breath was stirring in the sky above, the moon was shining clearly, and everything was calm and peaceful, save the hearts of the wicked creatures who were plotting and endeavouring to accomplish the utter ruin and destruction of the innocent mannikins. They, meanwhile, would very likely have been taken by surprise if they had been left to their own unassisted strength. Such was the simplicity of their nature, that they suspected {195}no evil, even when preparations against them were being made so actively and openly that they might easily have guessed that mischief was brewing. Nevertheless, they paid no attention whatever to what was going on, but played about just the same as usual until the enemy had matured his plans and was almost ready for action. Then, indeed, they were roused by the wise and powerful protector whose authority they acknowledged.

The owl summoned them from their sports upon the very day for which the witches had appointed the assault upon the castle, and informed them that they must prepare to defend themselves against an enemy who was about to attack them. He gave minute instructions as to what was to be done, and how the castle was to be saved, if possible, from its enemies; and pointed out to his subjects that upon the result of the combat their happiness for the future, nay, their very lives, depended. Should the witches be successful, the mannikins would be either killed or driven away, unless, indeed, they suffered the still worse fate of being taken prisoners, in which case they would probably be transformed into ugly and loathsome creatures by their victorious enemies, whom they would have to serve in abject and miserable slavery for the remainder of their existence. It therefore behoved them to be up and stirring, in order to save themselves and their friends from so cruel a fate.

The little people required no further words in order to awaken their martial enthusiasm: they had already suffered enough from the cruel and unprovoked enmity of the witches, and this daring attempt to destroy their beloved {196}home and themselves was enough to excite the spirit of the quietest and most peaceable mannikin. So without delay they began their preparations for resistance to the coming attack, and implicitly obeyed the directions of their monarch in each and every particular. They were hurrying to and fro all the day, but by nightfall all was ready, and the inhabitants of the castle awaited with calmness and confidence the approach of the hostile army.

The wood around the castle seemed alive that night. The eyes of the numerous creeping animals glittered like fireballs as they crawled through the leaves, and the rustling of the bats’ wings sounded like the wind among the trees as they hastened forward. On all sides the castle was surrounded by its enemies, and the witches gave the signal for an immediate assault. With marvellous rapidity the snakes glided in at every hole and crevice of the old walls; the rats scampered up them in every direction, squeaking violently; whilst the hoarse croaking of the frogs, mingled with the spitting of the toads, sounded fearfully through the forest in the stillness of that summer’s night.

The attacking party found their first obstacle to be one of an unexpected character. Hardly had any of the snakes insinuated his wriggling body into a hole before he found that it was in every instance full of minute fragments of broken glass, with the sharp points upwards, which so lacerated his skin that he could hardly move backwards or forwards without considerable pain, and some of those who had dashed forward with the greatest impetuosity, so injured themselves in the passage that they never reached the interior of the castle, but {197}remained fixed in the holes which they had attempted to pass, lingering until sunset next day (at which time alone snakes can die), and then perishing miserably. The rats found a similar difficulty, but, being resolute and crafty, ran over the walls where they could not creep through, and arrived in the courtyard of the castle without losing any considerable number of their forces. But the toads and frogs had a rough time of it. To them it would have been a long and tedious business to climb over the walls, and the few breaches which were left temptingly open and undefended on their side of the attack were the only mode of entrance which they could try with any hopes of success. These, however, were entirely flooded with liquid tar, which the mannikins had poured with great care upon the flat stones and hard ground, and which caused the attacking party the greatest possible difficulty, a great many of them remaining fast stuck in the disagreeable mixture, until death by starvation terminated their sufferings. After a time, however, by dint of clambering over each other’s bodies, a large number of them succeeded in obtaining an entrance, and the courtyards of the castle were filled with noxious creatures of all sorts.

All this time not a mannikin had shown himself, and no visible sign, other than the obstacles which I have mentioned, had been given that the castle was defended by any one. The witches, who of course were close at hand, scarcely liked the ominous silence which prevailed on the part of their enemies; there was something mysterious about it which they did not understand. They knew, however, that their friends within must not be left unsupported, and accordingly sounded the advance {198}of the reserve. Mother Wandle, heading a large force of bats, flew gallantly forward on one side; Dame Stokes, with a body of Cats and evil animals, charged on the other; whilst old Goody Tickleback hovered about close by on her awful steed, surrounded by the hooded crows and other wicked birds who had joined the witches’ army; for the wary old woman, who knew more about magic than any of her mates, had her own suspicions as to the possible strength of the powers arrayed against her, and had always determined from the first that she would throw as much of the hard work of fighting as she could upon the others, and, Under pretence of keeping a small force in reserve for contingencies, would remain outside the walls of the owl’s castle. You will presently judge of her wisdom by the events which followed.

Scarcely had the bats On one side, and the cats on the other, passed the castle walls, when a voice, the loud and clear accents of which were distinctly heard above the cries of the assaulting party, exclaimed, “Light the gas!” and in another moment a blaze of light illuminated the whole place with a brightness beyond that of the sun’s own rays. Every corner and crevice was lighted up with wondrous brilliancy, and no concealment was any longer possible for any mortal being. Then, in every niche of the old walls, upon the old staircases, at the windows, and on the crumbling ledges around, a quantity of armed mannikins were seen standing ready for action, whilst one window alone remained unlit and mysteriously dark, and there were those present who knew at that moment, if they had never known before, that the owl who sat in that window was a mighty magician, {199} and that a Power unseen and unfelt as yet, but too terrible for evil witches and their followers, dwelt within those old walls.

The effect of the light upon the unhappy bats was perfectly marvellous; dazzled and blinded, they knew not what to do nor where to fly; some dashed themselves up against the walls and put an end to their own lives; others flew straight up to the mannikins, and fell an easy prey to the latter, who, with their little swords drawn, stood ready to strike down each foeman as he approached, and dealt stout blows upon the blinded bats who came within their reach. Mother Wandle herself by no means relished her reception; she was nearly overwhelmed by her own retreating forces, and at the same time the light, to which she had a great objection, annoyed her extremely, and she began to consider that her best course would be to retreat as fast as possible. As she did so, however, she felt, to her great disgust and horror, an invisible hand, or rather claw, laid upon her neck, whilst a voice whispered in low but perfectly audible tones close to her ear--

“Vile daughter of evil, who wast not afraid
The mighty Owl’s castle and home to invade,
Do thou and thy sisters look well to this text--.
_A whipping the first time; beware of the next!_”

And, as the voice ceased, the claw was loosened from her neck, and she instantly felt upon her bat’s body severe strokes as of a birch-rod aimed by the strong arm and unerring eye of a resolute head-master: quick and sharp the blows descended upon the luckless old hag, and as the skin of a witch (these creatures being, from the evil consciences which prevent their getting fat, {200}rarely burdened with much flesh) is proverbially tender, she suffered considerably more than any of my boys here at Eton would have done under similar circumstances. Mother Wandle, however, shrieked and fled as fast as she could, followed by as many of her bats as were destined to escape at all from that ill-fated day.

Dame Stokes and her cats fared but little better on their side. Although the light had not the same effect upon this party as upon the bats, they found it exceedingly disagreeable, whilst there was something else which affected their nerves even in a still greater degree. The mannikins who stood upon a portion of the inner walls of the castle exactly opposite to that outer wall upon which the cats had climbed to the assault, opened upon the latter a fire, so to speak, of a novel character. They had arranged and brought to bear upon this part of the wall several garden watering-engines of great power, numerous squirts, and the special engine of the Windsor Fire Brigade of that day. By means of these instruments they received the invaders with such a continuous volley and volume of water as would have checked persons to whom the element is more agreeable than is the case with cats. These animals have, as is well known to the student of natural history, an instinctive aversion to wetting their fur. Under the peculiar circumstances of the case, they might have put up with a shower of rain, or have endured a casual wetting, followed by facilities for drying themselves immediately afterwards. But to be received by a heavy and violent shower of water right in their faces, drenching them at once through and through, {201}and being immediately repeated, and continued without any intermission, was more than the bravest cat could bear; and as soon as they found what kind of reception they were to experience, no thought of shame or disgrace deterred the feline contingent from turning tail and retreating as fast as ever they could by the same way they had come, only some twenty or thirty dropping down within the castle wall. As they fled in this manner, the same mysterious voice whispered to Dame Stokes the identical words of warning which had greeted the ears of her sister-witch, Mother Wandle; and although, having assumed no other form than her own, her sex might have protected her from so great an indignity, I grieve to say that precisely the same punishment was administered to the old creature, and that so efficaciously that she presently fled, shrieking and rubbing herself with pain as she left the castle, which she devoutly wished she had never entered.

The results which I have just described occupied barely ten minutes, and within a quarter of an hour the three witches, with their attendant bats, cats, hooded crows, and other animals who had constituted the reserve, were in full flight from the castle. A certain number of the snakes also made their escape in a curious manner. A strange-looking being, in the shape of a man, with a huge vessel before him, had mysteriously appeared near the castle wall just as the assault began, and as soon as it was plain that the day was going against the attacking party, he gathered up as many of the snakes as he could from their painful position on and about the walls, filled the aforesaid vessel with them (handling them all the while with the greatest tenderness), and throwing it on his {202}shoulders, joined the witches in their headlong flight, keeping up with them in a manner which would have been marvellous, had not his love for the reptiles under whose form mankind was first tempted to sin, his wild glances, and, above all, the tail with which he was adorned, shown pretty clearly that he was Someone whom no good people can think of without hoping he is very far from themselves.

As the most formidable of their adversaries thus dashed off in headlong flight from the castle, a ringing cheer arose from the mannikins within, and a clear hoot of triumph proceeding from the owl {203}evinced his sympathy with the victory of his subjects and friends.

All, however, was not over yet. A certain quantity of snakes, who had either wriggled through holes in which the broken glass had been less plentifully strewn, or the superior toughness of whose skin had protected them better than that of their comrades, were still hissing frightfully in the outer courtyard, which was also occupied by a considerable number of rats, frogs, and toads. These evil creatures, being left without the guidance of the witches who had lured them to the place, were in considerable difficulty what, to do, and their alarm and horror were great indeed when, loud sounding through the air, the same voice which had given orders for the lighting up of the castle pronounced the following words:--

“Those who have sought to enter here,
Protected by the witches’ charm,
May learn that nought can interfere
With power of Owl to work them harm.

Within this castle’s sacred wall,
Though mighty may the witches seem,
Their magic has no might at all--
The Owl and Nature reign supreme.

So, creatures foul, who crouch below,
Your usual instincts quickly take;
Cats, recognise your rat-like foe;
Frogs, tremble at the fangs of snake!”

Even as the voice ceased the creatures to whom the above words were addressed seemed to feel their effects and to act at once upon the instructions given. Without any delay, the cats who had dropped down inside the castle walls on receiving the watery deluge with which the mannikins had greeted them, rushed with fury upon the {204}unhappy rats whom they saw before them, apparently forgetful of everything except those natural instincts which led them to destroy and eat animals whom they had ever been accustomed to regard as fit objects wherewith to satisfy their hungry appetites. At the same instant it seemed to strike the snakes that a perfectly legitimate opportunity had arisen for feasting upon those frogs who were congregated in their immediate vicinity, and, acting at once upon the idea, they commenced to swallow the wretched creatures without any unnecessary delay.