Chapter III: Part 3

It was a low and dirty cage. On the floor lay some filthy straw and a few bones. The side which was turned to the spectators consisted of thick, rusty iron bars. In the far corner lay the lion, with his head resting on his paws. His yellow eyes stared at the onlookers with a dull expression. There was straw in his tangled mane; and he was terribly thin. Now and again, he gave a nasty hollow cough.

The man stood with a long stick in his hand, talking and explaining. The visitors to the fair stared round-eyed at the great beast that lay there so quietly. Sick and feeble as he was, they could see, nevertheless, that he was the lion, the king of beasts; and they felt cold in their backs at the thought that he might break loose. But, when he did not make a single movement, one of the spectators said, at last:

“I believe he’s dead!”

Then the showman pushed his long stick through the bars and poked the lion with it. The lion slowly turned his head and looked at him, but gave no further sign of life. Then the man poked him again and again; and, at last, the lion sprang up and gave such a roar that the tent shook with it and the people fell back in affright.

“He ate his former owner,” said the man. “I bought him of the widow. He is terrible and intractable. He’s dreaming of his native land, you see, where he used to hunt in the wild forest and all the animals honoured and feared him. But now you must go please, so that others may come and see the most extraordinary sight ever exhibited in this village. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen! Only twopence each! The king of the forest, the terrible lion!”

And so it went on until late that evening. Not until the market-place was empty and there were no more visitors left to listen to him did the man shut up his tent, after counting the day’s takings:

“This has been a bad day,” he said, with an angry look at the lion. “You haven’t really earned your supper!”

He flung a small piece of half-rotten meat into the cage. Then he shut the door and locked it and went to the inn, where he sat and drank and caroused till early morning.

3

The lion did not touch the putrid meat. With his head on his paws, he lay staring at the little paraffin-lamp that hung in the tent and flickered feebly. Suddenly, he heard a sound and raised his head and looked about him:

“Can’t I have peace even at night?” he said.

“It’s only I,” replied a squeaky little voice. “I have been locked in by accident. I want to get out! I want to get out! My mistress will die of fright for me.”

It was a tiny little dog, with a collar and bells round his neck and an embroidered rug on his back. He tripped to and fro, whined and cried and scratched at the door, but no one heard him. All was silent in the market-place outside.

“Well, I never!” said the lion. “You’re the dog: I can see that. Gracious me, what a sight they’ve made of you!”

“I want to get out! I want to get out!” whined the dog.

The lion laid his head on his paws again and looked at the dog:

“What’s the use of whimpering like that?” he asked. “No one’s hurting you. I couldn’t eat you if I wanted to.... The iron bars are strong, believe me. I used to shake them at first. I have to travel in my cage from place to place and let people look at me for money, submit to their scorn and teasing and roar when I am told to, so that they may shudder and yet feel quite safe from my teeth.”

“Let me out!” cried the dog.

“I can’t,” replied the lion. “But I am not so contemptible as you. I am here against my will, caught in a trap. You voluntarily entered Two-Legs’ service, betrayed your fellows and helped him against them.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said the dog. “I know no one called Two-Legs. I am in service with human beings. My mistress is a great baroness and she will die of fright if I don’t come home to her soon.”

“Just so,” said the lion. “Human beings, that’s what Two-Legs’ confounded descendants call themselves. They have subdued the whole earth. There is hardly a place left where an honest lion can go hunting in royal style. I know the whole story: it has been handed down in my house, from father to son. I heard it all, the night before I was captured, in the desert to which the men had driven us: how Two-Legs and his wife came naked and unarmed to the forest; how my ancestor protected them; how they gradually outwitted all the animals: you alone entered their service of your own free will. The others they caught and tamed and dulled their senses until they no longer knew how to lead the lives of free animals and resigned themselves to slavery. Finally, Two-Legs killed my ancestor with his spear: yes, yes, I know the whole shameful story.”

“I don’t,” said the dog. “And I don’t mind if I never know it. I only know that I have a cosy little basket at home with my mistress and that she pets and kisses me and gives me the loveliest food. I want to get out! I want to go home!”

The lion made no reply, but thought to himself:

“When I lie here in my cage, where I shall soon die of sorrow and coughing, it is a comfort to me to see how wretched Two-Legs’ descendants have grown. For he was lithe and slender and fair to look upon: he was an animal! But these people here! One can hardly see a morsel of their bodies, they are so wrapped up. Two-Legs could bound through the forest and climb trees: these people here can hardly stir hand or foot. He was a fighter; and it’s really amusing to watch the terror in these fellows’ eyes as I get up and move to the bars when I roar. They shake like aspen leaves, though they know that I am only a wretched prisoner.”

“I want to get out! I want to go home!” whined the dog.

The lion rose and went to the bars of his cage. He lashed his lean flanks with his tail and opened his jaws till his terrible teeth gleamed and glistened. The little dog trembled with fear before his yellow eyes.

“And you!” said the lion. “Ha, ha, ha! It’s better to be a captive lion in a cage than a miserable little lap-dog, with bells and a rug.”

He gave such a roar that all the people in the village started up in their beds. Then he lay down at the far end of the cage, turned on one side and slept.

The little dog shivered and whined until some one came and let him out.

TWO-LEGS CONQUERS THE WIND

1

Now you who have read this story will remember how Two-Legs, many years ago, mastered all the animals on earth.

Those which he could use and which obeyed him as they should he tamed and took into his service. Those which he could not employ he let alone, provided only that they left him and his in peace. If they did not, then he waged war upon them, nor ceased until he had prevailed against them. He always ended by prevailing, for he was the cleverest, you see, and therefore the strongest.

And, little by little, the tame animals grew so much accustomed to being with him and so completely lost the qualities with which they had been wont to shift for themselves that they could no longer do without their bondage. When, once in a way, they escaped and tried to live like the other, free, wild animals, they could not manage at all, but perished miserably.

But the wild animals which Two-Legs had no use for lurked round about in their hiding-places and cavilled and muttered and made no progress and did themselves no good.

2

At the time when this particular story begins, Two-Legs had put up a new summer tent in a green meadow, not far from the beach.

He was sitting outside it one evening, while the twilight was closing in. All the family had gone to bed and were sleeping soundly after the exertions of the day. All the cattle lay in the grass, munching and chewing the cud. The dog, his faithful servant, lay on the ground before him, pricking up his ears at every sound, sleeping with one eye and watching with the other.

Two-Legs did not sleep himself.

He was old now and no longer needed so much rest. And he was not tired either as in former days, for he now had so many children and grandchildren that they were able to do most of the work. Himself, he loved best to sit quietly, to think of what had happened to him in his life and to meditate on the things that were yet to come.

When he sat like that, he often seemed to hear voices on either side of him. They came from the spring that rippled past him, from the tree whose leaves whispered over his head, from the evening breeze that cooled his brow:

“Two-Legs ... the lord of the earth ... the cleverest ... the strongest,” rippled the spring.

“Two-Legs ... the vanquisher of the lion ... the terror of the wild animals ... the protector of the tame,” whispered the tree.

“Two-Legs ... whom no one can understand ... to whom all things belong,” sang the evening breeze.

Two-Legs sat and listened. He liked to hear that sort of thing, the more the better.

But, as the evening wore on, the wind grew stronger and shook the tent. The gentle whispering in the leaves sounded less home-like than before. The billows in the brook did not babble softly, but made a mighty uproar and sent their foam splashing right over his feet.

“What’s the matter?” asked Two-Legs, who was beginning to feel cold, and wrapped his cloak round him.

“Yes, who knows what’s the matter?” whispered the leaves.

“Who can tell what’s at the bottom of it?” rippled the spring.

“There is more between heaven and earth than Two-Legs knows of,” said the wind.

Two-Legs leant back against the tent and looked about him proudly:

“Then let it come,” he said. “I have vanquished the lion and subdued the horse and the wild ox; so I daresay I can conquer what remains.”

Just as he said this, there came a terrible gust of wind.

It knocked Two-Legs over, till he rolled along the ground and fell into the brook. It tore three great deer-skins from the tent and woke all those who were lying asleep inside. They started up and screamed and did not know what was happening. The dog howled at the top of his voice, with his tail between his legs. Two-Legs crawled out of the brook, dripping wet.

The moment he tried to rise to his feet, another gust came ... and another ... and another.

Two-Legs crept along the ground on all fours. The whole tent was blown down and the people inside ran and fell over one another and shouted and wailed so that it was horrible to hear.

But no one heard it, for each had enough to do to think of saving his own life. The cows and the goats and the sheep lowed and bleated with fright and ran up against one another and trampled on one another. Many of them fell down the slope and broke their legs. The horses galloped off over the meadow and ran till they dropped from exhaustion far away inland. The big tree above Two-Legs’ tent snapped in two like a stalk of grass.

3

When day broke, Two-Legs sat and wept at all the destruction which he saw around him. He let the family drive the cattle together and set up the tent again. He himself sat huddled in his cloak and brooded and stared before him. Then he said:

“You bad Wind!”

And he raised his clenched fist in the direction from which it was still blowing violently.

“You destroyed my property last night,” he cried, “and might easily have killed me and mine. Now, we are setting up the tent and collecting the cattle; but you may come back, to-night or to-morrow night, and ruin everything once more.”

“So I may,” said the wind.

“You bad Wind!”

“I am not bad,” said the wind.

“Would you have me call you good, after the way you’ve treated me?” asked Two-Legs.

“I am not good,” said the wind.

“Very well, you are neither bad nor good,” said Two-Legs.

“Just so,” said the wind. “You’ve hit it.”

“I don’t know,” said Two-Legs. “But can you tell me what use it is for me to vanquish the lion and tame the ox and the horse, the camel and the elephant, when a puff of wind can destroy all that I have done? Can you tell me how I can get you into my service and what I am to use you for?”

“I can tell you nothing,” said the wind. “Catch me, conquer me, use me!”

He darted across the fields and took with him a great piece of skin that belonged to the old tent, blew it out, lifted it high in the air and carried it far away over the water. Two-Legs sat and watched it until it was out of sight.

4

Then the eldest son came:

“We can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “The storm has destroyed both the corn and the grass; and our cattle have nothing to eat. It was the same wherever I rode this morning, for miles around. I don’t know what we shall do.”

Two-Legs sat and looked out over the water, where the wind had carried the skin away. Far in the distance lay a great land that was ever so green.

“There’s good grass over there,” he said.

“What use is that to us?” replied the son. “There’s deep water and a rapid current in between. We could never get across.”

“Which way is the wind blowing?” asked Two-Legs.

“Towards the island,” said his son. “Is it your intention that he should blow us across?”

“Just so,” said Two-Legs, throwing off his cloak and standing up. “I have decided to take the wind into my service.”

The son stared at him without understanding a word of what his father said. But Two-Legs called all his family together and bade them put aside any work that they were doing. He set them to saw planks, to drag the planks down to the sea and to bind them firmly together into a big raft. Next he told the men to put up a tall mast made of a young oak-tree, while the women sat and sewed hides together into a great sail. Then they hoisted the sail to the top of the mast and fastened the ends below to the raft. The wind filled the sail, but the raft was tied to the shore with strong ropes, so that it could not get loose.

Two-Legs made all his family and all his cattle go on the raft. When the last had come on board, he let go. The wind stretched the big sail and bore them swiftly over the water. Towards evening, they landed, rejoicing, on the good green land.

5

Henceforward, one of Two-Legs’ sons devoted himself entirely to the raft. He rebuilt it and improved it, hit upon new methods of setting sail and invented a rudder to steer with. He made the raft taper in front, so that it cut more easily through the water. He put ballast at the bottom of it, so that it could not be readily upset by a sudden squall. He learnt to make use of the wind, even if it did not blow exactly the way it should. By degrees, he ventured to sail far out to sea and caught fish and came home again safe and sound.

But Two-Legs sat outside his tent again and thought:

“So I got you into my service after all,” he said to the wind, who was fanning his cheek. “But the end is not yet. You just wait. You will have to toil for me like the ox and the horse.”

“I have no objection,” said the wind. “I am what I am and what I do I must. Catch me, conquer me, use me!”

Two-Legs sat and watched them bruise corn in the mill, so that it could be used for baking.

Once, many years ago, he had hollowed out a stone and taught the women to bruise the corn in it with another stone. Since then, he had thought of letting two stones grind one against the other. He had fixed a pole and harnessed an ox to it, who went round, turning the mill. At that time, he was awfully proud of his invention.

The ox was now going round and round patiently. But, as it happened, one of Two-Legs’ sons came and asked if the grinding could not wait, for he had a use for all the cattle out in the fields. The women said that this would not do, for they were short of flour for the baking. Two-Legs let them fight it out among themselves and sat and looked at the mill until evening.

“What are you thinking about?” asked the wind, who came and blew over his forehead as usual.

“That’s it!” said Two-Legs, springing up. “I have it! I put you to the raft and you carried me and all my belongings across to this green land. Why should I not also put you to the mill?”

“Catch me if you can!” said the wind.

6

Next morning early, Two-Legs set to work. He built a big scaffold, which rose high in the air. At the top, he fixed four broad sails, which were covered with hides and fastened to an axle, so that they could whirl round and round easily. That was the cap of the mill. The mill-stones were put down at the bottom and were connected with the sails, by means of poles and ropes, in such a way that, when the sails whirled round and round, the stones turned. Two-Legs’ children stood wondering and looking at it.

“We are not ready yet,” said Two-Legs.

He arranged the cap so that it could turn and the sails catch the wind, whichever side it came from:

“Now we’ll grind,” said Two-Legs.

And the wind came and turned the sails; and the mill ground that it was a joy to see. They poured the grain into the top of the mill and the fine, white flour dropped into sacks which they fastened underneath.

“I caught you again, friend Wind,” said Two-Legs.

“I shall blow the other way to-morrow,” said the wind.

“Indeed, I thought of that,” said Two-Legs. “I don’t mind if you do.”

When evening came, he turned the cap round. The next morning the wind came from the other side and had to grind just as briskly as the day before.

“I shall go down to-morrow,” said the wind.

“It’s only right that you should take a rest now and then,” said Two-Legs, pleasantly. “The horse and the ox do as much and so do the other beasts of burden in my service. I daresay you will get up again when you must.”

“Who says I must?” said the wind.

“I don’t know,” said Two-Legs. “Not yet. But I am meditating upon it and I shall find out sooner or later. You see, one hits upon everything by degrees, when one sits and looks at things. I know this much already, that it’s the sun that gives you your orders.”

“How do you know that?” asked the wind.

“I’ve noticed it,” said Two-Legs. “Whenever it changes from cold to warm or from warm to cold, you blow from a fresh quarter.”

“What a clever man you are!” said the wind.

“It helps,” said Two-Legs.

“But there is still a hard nut for you to crack,” said the wind. “For, even if you can’t put me to your ship and your mill, I can come rushing up, for all that, as I did once before, and knock down the mill and smash up the ship and scatter your cattle all over the country.”

“You can,” said Two-Legs. “And I can’t be angry with you for it either, for you are neither bad nor good, as you said.”

“Well, well, now I’m going down,” said, the wind. “And I don’t think I shall get up again for ever so many days. Then your mill will stand still.”

“So it will,” said Two-Legs. “But I have thought of that, too. Come over here and see.”

He went down to the brook and showed, the wind another mill which he had built. It had no sails, but a big wheel with wide floats, which went down into the water. The wheel was connected with the mill-stones in the same way as the sails and, as the water ran, the wheel turned and the mill-stones ground.

“That’s my water-mill,” said Two-Legs, proudly.

Then he went into his tent and lay down to sleep, for it was late and all the others had gone to bed.

The wind lay down too, as he had said, and so they all lay and slept.

TWO-LEGS CONQUERS STEAM

1

Two-Legs was now a very old man.

His race was constantly increasing. It lived dispersed over a large and glorious plain, where the rich corn waved in the fields and the cattle waded through the tall and luscious grass. Some of the men followed the sea, others tilled the soil and tended the cattle, others felled timber in the forests. The women kept house and weaved and span.

Wherever the plain rose into a little hill, a wind-mill strutted. Every brook that ran turned the wheel of a water-mill.

Two-Legs himself constantly sat and observed what went on around him in nature and pondered upon it. All looked up to him with respect, as the eldest of the race and the cleverest man in the world. All came to him for advice and help and seldom went away unaided.

In the middle of the plain rose a tall, cone-shaped mountain. From its top, off and on, came a column of smoke. Two-Legs often looked at this mountain. Once he rode up to the top and stood and stared into the hole whence the smoke ascended, but the heat that came out of it was so great that he could not endure it or remain there.

Then he rode back to his house again and sat and gazed at the mountain and thought and wondered what there could be in its depths. He knew mountains that contained gold and iron and other metals; and he taught his children to extract the ore and smelt it and shape the metal into tools and ornaments. But a mountain like this, which smoked at the top, he had never seen before.

2

Now, one day, as he was sitting plunged in thought, he heard voices round about him, as he was wont to do. They whispered in the stately palm-tree that raised its crown high above his head:

“Two-Legs is mighty ... greater than any other in the world ... he rules the earth and all that is upon it.”

They sang in the river that ran down to the sea:

“Two-Legs rules the waters ... they carry his ships wherever he will ... they breed fish for his table.”

The warm wind blew over his face:

“Two-Legs is greater than any other ... he rules me ... I have to toil in his service, like the ox and the horse.... Blow east, blow west, he catches me and uses me.”

Two-Legs passed his hand down his long, white beard and nodded with pride and contentment.

At that moment, a peculiar thundering noise was heard. It was as though it came from the interior of the earth; and, indeed, one could not imagine where else it should come from. For the sky was cloudless and clear and the sun shone bright and warm, just at noonday.

“What was that?” said Two-Legs.

“Who knows?” said the palm-tree, trembling right down to its roots. “Who can fathom the forces that prevail in nature?”

“Who can say?” said the river, tossing its waves in terror, like a rearing horse. “What do any of us know, after all?”

“Who has so much as an idea?” said the wind, dropping suddenly, like a tiger preparing to spring. “The earth is full of mighty forces, which not one of us knows anything about.”

There came another booming sound. Two-Legs rose. He looked at the mountain in the middle of the plain and saw that the column of smoke had turned into a great black cloud, which grew and spread faster than his eyes could follow it.

Now, it masked the sun; now, the waves in the river foamed and met the waves of the sea, which came dashing over the land; now, the wind rose, in a moment, into a furious gale.

And, before Two-Legs could look round, it was suddenly black as midnight.

He saw, just as the light disappeared, that something dropped from the sky, but could not see what it was. He groped his way to the stable, where his horse stood tethered, jumped on its back and darted away from the region where danger lay. The beast was mortally frightened, like himself, and ran for its life.

He could not see his hand before his eyes, but thought he heard a wailing and crying through the storm, all over the plain, wherever he came. He was able to tell a voice here and there, but he merely rushed on and on, until his horse dropped under him.

Then he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbled and fell and got up again and ran and ran, while the cries rang out around him, when they were not drowned in the roar of the storm and the thundering noise from the mountain.

He was struck by a stone on the back of the head and felt the blood trickle down his neck. His foot trod in something that was like boiling water. He drew it back with a cry and ran the other way. At last, he lost consciousness and had not himself the least idea how he had managed to escape. When he recovered, he was lying on a knoll, right at the end of the plain. Round about him lay half a score of people of his family, bewildered and exhausted like himself. They did not speak, but gazed at one another in dismay and wept, with trembling hands.

3

Two-Legs shaded his brows with his hand and looked out over the plain.

It had become light again, suddenly, even as it had become dark. The black clouds had drifted away and the sun was setting in crimson and gold as on the most perfect summer’s evening.

Here and there, on the neighbouring hillocks, were some of his family, who had saved themselves as he had. They also had a few of the tame animals with them; and Two-Legs suddenly noticed that his faithful dog was licking his hand.

But the whole country, except the few hillocks, was buried under an ocean of boiling and bubbling mud that soon stiffened to a hard crust. All the houses and mills were destroyed and drowned in the sea of mud. All the people and animals lay dead and buried under it. All the rich and glorious plain looked like a desert in which nothing had ever lived; and in its midst stood the mountain, tall and calm, with the column of smoke on its top.

Two-Legs’ kinsmen set to work to collect what had been saved.

With wailing and lamentation, they withdrew from the ruined country where they had made their home, together with the poor remnants of their wealth. The women carried in their arms the babes which they had saved and cried over those which were dead. The herdsmen counted the few head of cattle that had been spared. The sailors scanned the sea in vain for a single ship that had escaped unhurt.

“Come, Father Two-Legs,” they said. “Let us leave this accursed land. There must be some place in the world where we can find peace and begin afresh to build up all that these terrible hours have destroyed.”

But Two-Legs shook his head:

“Do you go,” he said. “I will follow you.”

4

They went; and he did not so much as look after them, but only sat and gazed at the strange mountain from which the disaster had come. He sat far into the night, which was clear and mild, and had none with him but the dog, who would not leave him. The smoke from the mountain was carried past him, now and then, by the wind; but now it was only like a light, thin stream.

“Who caused that? Who caused it?” said Two-Legs and gazed before him.

“I did,” said Steam.

“You?” said Two-Legs. “Who are you? You are flowing past me like a mist. How did you have the strength to do it? Who are you?... Where do you come from?”

“I am Steam,” he said. “I come from the mountain up there. I was shut in until I grew mad and furious and had to get air. Then I broke out and destroyed the whole country. Now that’s over and I have found peace and am as you see me.”

“You bad Steam,” said Two-Legs.

“I am not bad,” said Steam.

“Would you have me call you good?” asked Two-Legs. “You have destroyed my rich land and killed nearly all my children and grandchildren and most of my cattle. All that I invented so cleverly and successfully to make life easy and pleasant for me and mine you have spoilt in a few hours, though I have done nothing to offend you. Are you good?”

“I am not good,” said Steam.

“Very well, you are neither bad nor good,” said Two-Legs. “I seem to have heard that nonsense once before. Wait a bit: it was the wind who made the same remark, when he too had been the cause of my misfortune.”

“Exactly,” said Steam. “I am neither bad nor good. It is just as the wind said. Didn’t you see, at the time, that the wind was right?”

“Yes,” said Two-Legs, quietly.

“Didn’t you take the wind into your service?” asked Steam. “You caught him and put him to your boat and your mill. You watched him and learnt to know his ways, so that you could use him as he came. Am I not right?”

“Aye,” said Two-Legs. “I became the wind’s master. But I do not understand how I am to conquer you, who are mightier than the wind, or how to employ your formidable power in my service.”

“Catch me, use me!” said Steam. “I serve the strongest.”

5

Two-Legs sat and gazed and thought. He looked at the ruined land, at the sun, which shone as mildly as though nothing had happened, at Steam, who floated quietly over the wilderness. There was not a house left standing, not a tree; and not a bird was singing.

Once, he turned round and looked after his kinsmen. He saw them far away on the horizon, but still it did not occur to him to follow them. Then he said to Steam:

“Who are you? Tell me something about yourself.”

“I am like this at present,” said Steam. “You see me now and you saw me a little while ago. Look out across the sea and you shall see me there, too.”

“I don’t see you there,” said Two-Legs.

“That’s because you don’t know,” said Steam. “As a matter of fact I am water, to start with.”

“Tell me about it,” said Two-Legs.

“It’s easily told,” said Steam. “You see, I am the sea water, which soaks through the ground into the mountain yonder. I ooze in through a thousand underground passages. But inside the mountain there is a tremendous fire, which smoulders everlastingly and never goes out. Now, when the water rises above the fire, it turns to steam; and the steam is collected in great cavities down the mountain, so long as there is room for it. At last, there is so much of it that it can’t exist there. Then the mountain bursts. Rocks and stones ... the whole mountain-lake up there, which is boiling because of the fire in the ground ... mud and sludge, boiling water and scalding steam come rushing out over the land, as you have just seen. I burst everything, when I am tortured beyond endurance. There is not a wall that can imprison me, not a door which I cannot open ... do you understand?”

Two-Legs nodded.

“You have seen the column of smoke that rises from the mountain every day,” said Steam. “There is always a little opening, you know, an air-hole through which some of me can escape. But at last it is no longer big enough and then I burst the whole concern. Now learn from what has happened to you to-day that you must never build your abode where you see a smoking mountain, for you can never be safe there.”

“It’s not enough for me to be safe,” said Two-Legs. “I don’t want to avoid you. I want to rule you. You are the strongest force I know in the world. You must be my servant, like the horse and the ox and the wind.”

“Catch me and use me, if you can!” said Steam.

“Well,” said Two-Legs, “I will try. But first tell me what becomes of you when you float through the air, as you are doing now.”

“Then I turn cold,” said Steam. “And, when I have turned cold, I become water ... rain ... mist ... whatever you please.”

“And then you fall into the sea,” said Two-Legs. “And then you soak into the mountain, where the fire is, and become steam again; and so on and so on, for ever and ever.”

“That’s it,” said Steam.

Then he floated on across the wilderness and disappeared out at sea. Two-Legs gazed after him and then stared at the mountain again, which was smoking peacefully, as it had done before.

He sat the whole night and pondered. Then he rose, called the dog and went after the others.

6

Two-Legs and his family had discovered a new country.

They built their houses again and tilled the soil and reaped corn and raised cattle. They cut timber in the forests and the seamen built new ships. Many years passed before the disaster was overcome, but at last the whole tribe was recovered to such an extent that they forgot about it, all excepting Two-Legs.

He was always sitting and pondering and thinking about it. That is to say, it was not the disaster itself he thought about: he had forgotten that, like the others. He had forgotten the dead, for he now had so many descendants that he no longer knew their number or their names. It was Steam he thought about.

When he saw how the wind turned the sails of the mill or carried the ships across the sea, he gave a scornful smile. It went so terribly slowly, he considered. And then a storm might come, when they could neither sail nor grind, or a head-wind so strong that they had to divert their course for it, or a calm, when everything had to stand still.

“You’re only a second-rate servant, friend Wind,” he said. “Ah, Steam! Now there’s a fellow for you!”

He remembered how the captive steam broke out and, in a moment, obscured the sun and turned day into night, how it scattered far and wide over the land great stones and mud and ashes and all that the fiery mountain or volcano contained. In a few hours, the plain was transformed into a wilderness. It was all done so quickly and with such force that no one could possibly imagine it who had not seen it. Surely, Steam must be the strongest power on earth.

He thought of what the steam had said, how it came into existence when the water got above the fire.

“That’s right,” he said.

He sat and looked at the pot, which was boiling. As soon as the water grew hot enough, the white steam floated above it.

He took a piece of glass and held it over the steam. The steam settled on the glass in clear drops.

“That’s right, too,” he said. “The steam turns to water again.”

He saw them put a lid on the pot to keep in the heat. They made up the fire and more steam came, so that the lid began to jump.

“Now it’s getting too close in there,” he said. “Just as Steam told me about the volcano.”

They put a stone on the lid to hold it down. Two-Legs added more and more fuel and more and more steam came. At last it flung off the lid with the stone and darted out into the room.

“The mountain is splitting,” said Two-Legs, rubbing his hands.

7

He built himself a big boiler and a great furnace. Here he kept up a constant fire and tried the strength of the steam and pondered how to make use of it. He had only one person with him, one of his grandsons, who was cleverer than the others, and with whom he often talked of the thought that dwelt in him.

Many a time they two would sit long into the night and work and talk, always of the same thing. It was the question of making the steam work the way it should and no other and as strongly as it should and no more. No one ventured to disturb them. All the rest of the tribe looked upon Two-Legs’ house with awe and reverence, for they knew how clever he was and that he was working alone for the good of the whole race. Some of them, also, believed that he would at last succeed in mastering Steam, but many thought that it would never come to pass and that it would end in terror, as though he were fighting the most secret and powerful forces in nature.

But, whether they held this view or that, they all preferred to keep away from Two-Legs’ house, because they understood how great the danger was to which he exposed himself. All those who had survived the calamity of the volcano were long since dead; but the legend of that terrible day still lingered in the tribe and Two-Legs’ kinsmen could not help thinking what terrible things might happen if Steam should suddenly, one day, turn bad again.

Two-Legs took no heed of what they thought or said.

Now and again, the elders came to him to report on what was happening, good or bad, in the family: the number of children born, the losses suffered or the gain in prosperity. He looked up hastily from his work, nodded to them and then bade them go and leave him alone.

Sometimes, a young man would come running up, radiantly happy at some discovery he had made, to gather praise from the old, wise man whom they all honoured above any other. Two-Legs scarcely looked up from his work and did not hear him to the end. He knew that the ideas with which he himself was busied were far greater and more important and longed impatiently for the day when they should be realized.

He built new boilers of strange shapes and bigger, so that they could hold more steam, and stronger, so that the steam could not burst them. He made his people dig coal from the mountains and used it for fuel, because he had discovered that it gave greater heat and therefore more quickly turned the water into steam. As each year passed, he thought he was nearing the goal, but as yet he had not reached it and sometimes he was despairing.

One day, the boiler burst. He himself was struck on the forehead by a fragment of iron and received a deep wound; but his grandson and assistant was killed before his eyes.

They all came running up with wailing and lamentations. But Two-Legs wiped the blood from his face and stood long and gazed at the burst boiler. Then he turned and looked at the dead man:

“Poor fellow!” he said. “He would so much have liked to live and see the great work finished. Now he had to die; and indeed he had a fine death, for he died for the greater prosperity of his brethren. Bury him and set a monument over his grave.”

They took him and were about to carry him away, but Two-Legs stopped them and said:

“Wait a minute ... I must have one in the place of him who died: is there any of you that will help me? He knows the lot that awaits him: death, perhaps, and disappointment for many years, before we succeed, and scorn from the blockheads who do not understand.”

Seven at once applied. For, though they were certainly afraid, they felt attracted by the mystery and the danger; and there was no greater honour in the tribe than to stand by Two-Legs.

So he chose one of them, took him into his house and initiated him into his secrets, while the others carried the dead man away and buried him.

8

The years passed. One day, the people saw Two-Legs stand outside his house and wave his arms and shout aloud. They ran from every side to hear what he wanted.

“I have found it, I have found it,” he shouted.

He took the elders indoors and showed them a great iron cylinder which he had constructed. At the top of the cylinder was a hole which joined another cylinder. In the first cylinder was a piston, also of iron, which fitted so accurately that it could just slide up and down; and it was smeared with oil so that it might slide as easily as possible. At the bottom of the cylinder was the boiler with the water and under the boiler the furnace.

Two-Legs lit a fire in the furnace, the water turned to steam and the steam went up to the top cylinder and lifted the piston right up to the top end of the cylinder. There it escaped through the hole into the cylinder beside it, where it was cooled and became water again and ran down into the boiler and was once more heated by the fire and turned into steam.

But, when the steam had escaped through the hole, the piston slid down again to the bottom of the cylinder, was lifted up by fresh steam and rose and fell again; and this went on as long as the fire burnt in the furnace.

“Look, look!” said Two-Legs; and his eyes beamed with pride and delight. “See, I have caught Steam and imprisoned him in this cylinder. When I make a fire in the furnace, he rises out of the water and lifts the piston to the top of the cylinder. Then he has done my bidding and turns to water in the other cylinder until I once more bid him turn to steam and lift the piston. See ... see ... I have caught Steam and made him my servant, like the ox and the horse and the wind!”

“We see it right enough, Father Two-Legs,” said one of the tribe. “But we don’t understand what you mean to use your servant for. Tell us, was it worth while, on this account, for you to live shut up in your house for so many years, while we have had to dispense with your wise counsel?”

“You do not understand,” said Two-Legs. “Go away and come back again this day twelvemonth: then you shall see what I use my new servant for. When I have shown you, you can continue the work yourselves. I tell you, so great is the new servant’s strength and cleverness that, if you learn to use him properly, the whole face of the earth will be changed.”

Thereupon he went into the house and shut his door.

He sat contentedly and looked at his new engine:

“Ho, ho, dear Steam!” he said. “I have you now. I can call you forth and turn you off. I can make you strong and I can make you weak. The more fire, the more water, the more steam. And you must always remain inside the cylinder and do my bidding. I can make the cylinder long and I can make it short; I can make the piston heavy and I can make it light: you must needs draw it up and down, my good Steam.”

“You call me good,” said the steam. “On the day when I burst the mountain and destroyed all your land, you called me bad. Now I told you that I was neither good nor bad. I am what I am. You have caught me and, if you can use me, then use me!”

Two-Legs laughed merrily and rubbed his hands. He lit the furnace and poured water into the boiler and sat and watched how the piston slid up and down:

“Yes, what shall we use you for now?” he said. “Shall we put you to the carriage instead of the horse? I think you might get along the road at a very different pace. Shall I use you to draw the ship? Then you can run close to the wind and need not care a pin for him. Shall I let you turn the stones in the mill?... Oh, there are a thousand things that you must do for me!”

Two-Legs put out the fire. Then he fastened a rod to the piston and to the rod he joined another, which was fastened to the axle of a wheel. He lit the fire under the boiler and, behold, the piston went up and down, the rod moved and the wheel whirred!

He made a carriage, put the whole steam-engine on the carriage and connected the rod with the wheel. He himself stood at the back of the carriage, where the furnace was, lit the fire and heaped on coal. The wheels turned and the carriage ran along the road.

The people of the tribe came hurrying from everywhere and stared in amazement at the strange turn-out. Most of them ran to one side and screamed in terror of the dangerous monster and said that it must end badly. Only the cleverest understood the value of it and looked at the new carriage and talked about it.

“Father Two-Legs,” said one of the elders, “you must not drive that carriage. We fear that it will go badly and the steam burst the engine and kill you, as it once killed your assistant.”

“It was just his death that taught me to be careful,” said Two-Legs. “Come and see.”

Then he explained to them how he had calculated the strength of the steam and the quantity of the steam which he should use to drive his carriage.

The more steam there was, the faster the piston slid up and down, the faster the wheels turned, the faster the carriage moved. The stronger the boiler was and the cylinder, the more steam it could hold without bursting.

But in one part of the boiler there was a hole, which was covered with a valve, fastened by a hinge. The valve was just so heavy that the steam could not lift it when there was as much as there should be and as the engine could bear. But, as soon as more steam came, then the valve became too light and rose and the superfluous steam rushed out of the hole.

“Father Two-Legs is the cleverest of us all,” they said.

But Two-Legs stepped down from the carriage:

“I give it to you,” he said. “Now you can settle for yourselves how you mean to use it. Some of you can go on searching, as I did, and invent new things. The smiths can bring their tools and their ingenuity. The steam-engine is yours and you can do with it what you please.”

Then he went into his house and sat down anew to look out over the world and think.

But the cleverest of the tribe set to work on the steam-engine. As the years passed, they invented first one improvement and then another, so that it worked ever more safely and smoothly.

They laid rails over the ground, so that the steam-carriage ran at a pace of which none had ever seen the like and drew a number of heavily loaded coaches after it. A man could now make a journey in a few days or weeks which formerly had taken him months and years. The produce that grew at one end of the earth was now sent quickly and cheaply to the other.

They put the steam-engine in ships, where it turned paddle-wheels, so that the ships ran against wind and current. They used it to thrash the corn in the barn, to grind it in the mill: there was no end to the objects for which they were able to use it.

The steam-engine had changed the face of the earth, as Two-Legs had foretold.

TWO-LEGS CONQUERS ELECTRICITY

1

Two-Legs had grown so old that no one now knew his age.

His family was constantly increasing and dispersed over the whole earth. When people thought that they were becoming too many in one place, then some of them broke up and moved to others, where the land was new. They reclaimed it, extracted metals from the mountains and sailed on the rivers and the sea. Railways and steamboats ran from one end of the earth to the other.

People went so far apart that they spoke different languages and no longer knew one another. In every country there were clever men who made new and marvellous discoveries that lightened the work of their brethren and made them richer and happier.

Each time that a man made one of these discoveries, he went off to Two-Legs, wherever he might happen to be, to show it to him and receive his praise, for he was honoured by them all as the father of the whole race and the wisest of all who lived on earth.

Two-Legs himself no longer had any idea of the number of his descendants; and it seemed as if he simply did not care. He lived now with one tribe of his people and now with the other, always alone in a house to himself, where he could quietly indulge in thought. Often, young men came to him to learn from him. Then he gave them of his wisdom and sent them out into the world again; but what he thought of in his inmost self he talked about to no one.

When he sat outside his house and gazed and pondered, the voices spoke to him as before:

“Two-Legs ... the lord of the earth ... the vanquisher of the animals....”

“Two-Legs ... who conquered the wind and made it his servant, as he did with the ox and the horse....”

“Two-Legs ... who tamed the wild steam and imprisoned it in the engine, which now has to obey his commands and do his errands....”

Two-Legs listened to the voices.

He patted the dog, who lay at his feet:

“You were once a wild and fierce animal and now you are gentle and serve me faithfully,” he said.

He listened to the wind, who was whispering in the trees:

“You can cool my forehead on a hot day and you can rush over the earth like a wild monster,” he said. “I know you and I use you.”

He looked across the meadow, where the mist was rising and the fine white steam floated to and fro:

“You, too,” he said and nodded. “You are as light as a veil and dainty and white and innocent. The poets sing of you and you make little children cough. But you are the same that burst the mountain and destroyed my land. I watched you and discovered you and caught you and put you in my engine; and now you must toil for my descendants the wide world over.”

The thunder rolled in the distance. There came long and deep peals. Now and again, a flash of lightning gleamed and lit up the darkness. And the voices spoke again:

“It is thunder, Two-Legs ... it is lightning.... You do not know what that is. No one knows what it is.”

“The world is full of mighty, secret forces ... mightier than the wind ... harder to understand than steam.”