Chapter VI

TAKING TEA INSIDE A WHALE--THE STRANGE STORY OF
THE STRANDED LEVIATHAN.

There were two persons who on this particular afternoon considered themselves of the very greatest importance. One was Bunko, the other Tippetty. And the most perfect understanding existed betwixt the two. Next to his little mistress, I feel certain that Tip loved Bunko above all people, and Bunko loved Tip, and admired him too. Like many peasants of his class, Bunko was fond of adorning his conversation with Biblical phraseology, always, however, with the greatest reverence and veneration. Half-daft Bunko might have been, but the Scriptures were indeed to him the Book of books, and the beautiful and simple stories of the New Testament were not beyond his childlike comprehension.

Therefore Bunko was really paying Tip a compliment when he told that doggie he was more "subtle than any other beast of the field," and like the serpent in the book of Genesis.

Nevertheless, although Bunko made a companion of "Tippie," as he called him, whenever he could get him to make a companion of, he would not have permitted anyone to say the dog had reason.

"I have na muckle reason mysel'," he told the old fisherman one day, "but poor Tippie's only a breet" [brute].

Then he scratched his head as he looked at his four-footed friend. "Ma! conscience though," he added, "just look at they bewitchin' brown een [eyes] o' his. What a lot o' wisdom the Good Lord _has lent him_!"

The fisherman thought this was certainly a new light in which to view the controversy of Reason versus Instinct.

Well, both the friends went to the igloo, as Fred called the whale-house, early that afternoon, for Bunko had caught Tippitty and carried him off in triumph. It was no easy matter either, to carry Tip; for if Tip chose to wriggle you couldn't hold him in one arm as you might a terrier, you required both, and even then if the doggie made up his mind to wallop but once, he was out of your grasp and off like an eel.

"You're no goin' to the woods the day, I can tell you, Tippie," Bunko had told him. "We have gentry folks comin' to tea, so you maun come and help me."

Bunko was dressed in his best, in his Sunday clothes in fact, and a fearful and wonderful rig it was--a Scotch bonnet as broad as a griddle with an immense red top on it, a soldier's scarlet coat, and a pair of tartan trowsers rather frayed at the bottom.

If you had told Bunko that the bonnet was too big for him he would probably have replied: "If ye dinna like it, ye can look the ither road. Anything sets [becomes] a weel-faured face, if it were only the dish-clout."

In that great rugged wall of rocks that went stretching away out into the western sea there was just one break, and this occurred a little beyond the poet's cave. A kind of glen or small ravine it formed. At low-water you could approach it from the sea between two tall frowning rocks, but if the tide were up you must descend into it by a perilous little pathway leading from the cliff above. Only once, in the memory of the villagers then living, had this glen been invaded by a high-tide. This had occurred some years before the date of the commencement of our story, and, strange to say, when the sea receded it left behind it a stranded whale.

This whale was a Godsend to the poor fisher folks. One way or another, what with its whalebone, its oil, and its great jaws, it had been sold piecemeal. But there still remained leaning against the cliff the huge ribs of the leviathan, and here the children used to play till one day it occurred to Bunko to make these ribs the framework of a good house.

Eean, the bard, took up the idea at once, and what with the help of an idle hand or two, always easily to be had in a village, the ribs were roofed and covered in all round, and when a floor and door had been put in, not to mention a fire-place and a little window, why surely never on earth was there a better or more romantic children's play-house.

The bottom of the glen or gap in this wall of rocks was grass, so Bunko's "mother-wit" came in handy once again.

"What for no' have a bit garden round the house?" Bunko had said.

"Certainly," said Eean; "but the soil isn't deep."

"Bide a wee, sir."

And, spade in hand, up he clambered to the cliff top. It was well for the old fisherman that he had divined Bunko's intentions and stood clear from under, for presently the earth began to descend in avalanches. Bunko in his excitement had evidently quite forgotten that anyone stood beneath. In less than a quarter of an hour a heap of mould big enough for the purpose lay alongside the igloo.

Meanwhile Eean had wandered round the corner, deeply absorbed in the beauties of Ossian. When he returned, much to his astonishment he found that poor Bunko had descended, and was digging into that heap of earth with his coat off as if his future life depended on it. Eean walked quietly up behind him, for Bunko was talking aloud, a word or two to each spadeful that he threw aside.

It is said listeners never hear any good of themselves. This case, however was an exception.

"O, poor Eean--O, poor dear old man--the best--and the wisest--and the bonniest--auld man--'tween here and Perth--and I've--buried him alive."

Eean had to laugh aloud now, and the look of astonishment blended with joy on the half-witted lad's face, as he looked about, was comical in the extreme.

Down went the spade, and Bunko seized Eean's hand and burst into tears. Poor fellow, never a word could he think of to utter at that moment except his grace after meals:

"For these and a' Thy other mercies, Good Father, make us truly thankfu'."

Having so far relieved his feelings, he picked up his broad bonnet and threw it in the air, and as soon as it descended he leapt nimbly on top of it, and cracking his thumbs danced the tenth step of the Lonach Hielan' fling without ever getting off.

"D'ye feel better now?" said Eean, much amused.

"That I do; but, O, sir, if I'd killed ye, I'd----"

"What, Bunko?"

"Flung my body o'er the cliff for the partans [crabs] to pick."

But the garden was laid out with a rustic railing round it, and all the summer through lovely flowers always bloomed therein, with roses and honeysuckle, and wild convolvulus trailing over the fence.

On this autumn afternoon, the bright crimson Scotch tropæolum, that refuses to grow out well of its native land, encircled the igloo doorway with its masses of flame-like flowers.

"Tippie, Tippie, here's the gentry. Run and meet them, Tip."

Yes, there they come--Fred and Frank and Toddie, and the sturdy old weird-looking bard himself.

Bunko stood by the garden gate, pole in hand, as the party approached. "Shoulder arms," he shouted. "Present arms."

And in due military style he stood there at the present till they all filed past.

"Fancy taking tea in a whale!" cried Frank delightedly. "And such a tea! Crisp oat-cakes, scones, butter, and honey. Dear me, how mother would enjoy this!"

Eean took off his bonnet, and holding it before his face asked a humble blessing, and then the meal proceeded right merrily, Bunko waiting as sedately as a butler, and Tippetty sitting on a stool with a bib on him--Toddie's doings--as solemn as a judge.

Conversation never slackened all the time.

"What made you call it an igloo?" said Frank.

"Well, you know," Fred replied, "I wasn't sure what to call it at first. A wigwam puts you in mind of Red Indians, and there's no wild Indians here except Toddie there. A toldo is the tent that the Patagonian tribes dwell in."

"Big men the Patadonians," Toddie told Frank confidentially, "all diants, you know."

"Hush, Todd. Well, I didn't like kraal because ito puts you in mind of Hottentots, and Daddy Pop there said an igloo was the house the Eskimos lived in, and as this whale must have come from there I thought I----"

"Oh, I see now!" Frank interrupted. "Good idea too."

Toddie was looking very much absorbed. At last she turned to Eean.

"Daddy," she said, "oo don't think, does oo, that the whale will ever tome alive adain?"

Then her bright eyes sparkled with merriment as she clapped her wee pink hands.

"Oh, what fun," she cried, "if the whale would tome alive adain dust now, and do [go] away to sea wi' us all sittin' here!"

Frank laughed and Fred too. The idea was even too much for Bunko's gravity, so he gave vent to a loud guffaw; and Tip took the opportunity of barking for another piece of buttered scone, and got it too.

Then, tea being over, they all sat round the fire, and the bard took out his pipe.

"I'se dust wonderin'," said Toddie, looking wisely at the blazing peats, "wherever this poor whale tame from. Plaps," she added sadly, "he had no mammy Mop to look after him."

"Oh, yes!" said Daddy, "he had a mother, Toddie."

"Tell us; oh, tell us," cried Frank, "another story!"

"No, no, master Frank; I'll only just talk a bit."

"You've been to Greenland, sir?"

"Oh, yes, Frank! I've been blown about all over the world, and got stranded on the beach here at last, just like the whale in which we're now sitting so cosily."

"Yes," Eean continued, "with all due respect for Toddie's wisdom, I must differ from her; the probability is, that this whale had a mother.

"You know, children, that whales are not fish, but great beasts. They couldn't live long beneath the water without being drowned; half an hour at most. When they are chased by boats and harpooned they go through the water at a terrible speed, so quickly indeed that the sea rises up from each of the boats' bows like two sheets of green glass. But the whale soon gets so breathless that he can't go under water at all.

"The male or he-whale is called a bull, the she one a cow, and the young one a calf, and it takes milk from its mother just as any other calf does from its mother.

"Now the bulls are very kind to the cows. They are good-natured, kind husbands. So we may suppose that after this whale that we are now sitting in was born, and was strong enough to swim funnily round and round his big mammy, and knew enough to creep under her flipper if he saw a ship coming, the bull said to the cow----"

"O Daddie," cried Toddie, "whales tan't talk."

"Yes, Toddie, they talk with their eyes, and their tails."

"Of tourse, of tourse," said Toddie, "dust like Tippetty does. Do [go] on, Daddy Pop."

"Says the bull to his wife--

"'What would you think of a little run to the south, my dear? You've been looking rather pale about the nose of late, and it would do you good, and little Johnnie too.'

"'Little Johnnie was the calf, you know.'

"'But I don't really care to leave you,' says the cow.

"'O, nonsense, dear, go by all means. Mind you, Johnnie isn't a strong child, I don't believe he weighs more than ten tons now, and he hasn't cut his whale-bone teeth quite yet.'

"'Well, my dear,' says the cow, 'I'll just go to please you.'

"So straight away down south comes the cow and her calf. It was a long, long journey for them. Sometimes Johnnie, her big baby, would fall sound asleep, and then his mother would spread one great loving flipper over him, and paddle along with the other so quietlike as if afraid of waking her darling.

"Then by-and-bye Johnnie would awake, and, like any other calf, begin sucking at once, and nudging his mother all the time with his bottle of a nose, raising her a little above the clear blue waves at every nudge. Yes, boys, I've often seen what I'm trying to describe to you.

"South and south went the mother and her calf, and aye and aye the weather and the water grew warmer. What gladsome times the two had together in these sunlit seas! but Johnnie always kept close beside his mother when sharks appeared, because the sharks would have killed and eaten Johnnie. But one stroke of the whale cow's tail would kill five of the biggest sharks that ever swam, and the sharks knew that and kept well away.

"When the holiday was over, back the two went to their own cold home in the north. The cow swam homewards as straight as an arrow. She had no compass to steer by, and the stars, if she went by those, were often obscured; but the wonderful instinct implanted in her by God, who makes and rules all creatures and things, never deserted her, but guided her on and on and on, till the tall icebergs once more loomed out of the dark sea, with stars and aurora shining and dancing above.

"Of course the husband was glad to see her.

"'How well you look, dear!' he said, as they rubbed noses.

"'Yes,' she answered; 'and hasn't Johnnie grown wonderfully!'

"'I hardly knew him, indeed,' said the bull.

"Well, now, when Johnnie was about a year old, a whales' ball took place in Baffin's Bay.

"Yes, Frank. Mind, this is not a fairy tale. I'm speaking from the great book of Nature.

"Well, it isn't a real ball, you know, Toddie, only Greenland sailors call it so because the young whales all meet and dance about, and leap and jump, and whack the water with their awful tails, till the whole sea around is like a whirlpool, and covered with froth and foam. It is an interesting and a terrible sight. Ships may view it from afar off, but they know better than to go too close with boats, else these boats would be smashed into match-wood in less than a minute.

"Well, I suppose Johnnie danced too much at this ball, or ate too many gallons of the little shrimp things that whales feed on. Anyhow, next day he didn't feel at all well.

"'I tell you what it is, Johnnie,' said Johnnie's mother, 'you must take a run south, it will quite brace you up again.'

"'What, all by myself?' cried Johnnie, wagging his tail. 'Oh, that will be fun!'

"Johnnie's mother was very sorry to part with him, but she thought it would be all for the best. Ah! little did she think she would never see her boy any more.

"Johnnie started off in great glee at first; but when he was fairly clear of the ice, and the last white berg had disappeared behind the horizon; when as he rose on the great tumbling billows he could see nothing around him but an illimitable expanse of ocean, without a vestige of life in or over it, then he began to feel very lonely indeed, and half repented having come away at all. There was Providence, however, to guide and to guard him too, so he went steadily on and on, south, south, south, by night and by day. It was dreariest at night, when the stars were all shimmering above, and not a sound to be heard save now and then a sullen boom or plash, that told Johnnie plainly enough there were his enemies the sharks plunging about in the darkling sea not far off. Sometimes he slept and dreamt ugly dreams, and awoke with a start, to find terrible-looking ocean monsters with awful eyes staring up at him from the dark depths. He could see them because they were all covered over with a silvery, ghost-like light called phosphorescence, which is very common up in these wild northern latitudes. By day sharks often met him--the huge hammer-headed sort--and pretended to be friendly, and tried to lure him away into shallow water, where they could easily have devoured him.

"But Johnnie thanked them, and said, 'No.' He knew his way, and would stick to it.

"Johnnie had many other enemies to encounter, such as the sea unicorn, with its long spiral ivory horn--a bold beast that will scarcely go out of its way even for a ship. He tried to stab Johnnie to the heart, and if he had done so the sharks would have come to the banquet, and eaten the pair of them. But Johnnie avoided the deadly thrust, and with one blow of his tail pitched the unicorn nearly up to the moon. At least so the beast himself told the other unicorns he met soon after.

"But Johnnie escaped all his enemies, and arrived at last within sight of the Faröe Islands, where the water was delightfully mild and the sun very bright.

"Now, had Johnnie done what his mother told him, and not gone a mile further, all would have been well. But these sunny summer seas were so blue and pleasant that Johnnie went on and on. His life passed like a happy dream, the Shetland Islands hove in sight, bold black rocky isles crowned with green fields, with millions of sea birds all around them, then the lonesome Orkney, and then Scotland itself. There were strange birds in the air that cried to Johnnie, 'Go away, go away, away, away, away!' but Johnnie would not be warned and wouldn't obey his mother, and so----"

Eean was not allowed to complete his story.

"Oh!" cried Toddie gleefully, "I know what is toming, Daddy Pop."

"Well, then," said Frank, "can you complete the story?"

"I don't know, you know," said Toddie, "if I tan 'plete the stoly, but I tan feenis' it. The Dood God rosed a dleat stolm, and poor Johnnie was dliven on shore, and touldn't get back again to see his mammy."

"That's it, Toddie," said Eean.

And with that up jumped Frank.

"It is getting near gloaming," he said. "I'm sorry I must go; but, Toddie, I must do as my mother told me."

"Of tourse oo must, or plaps oo be deaded too, like the poor Johnnie whale."

Half an hour afterwards Frank Fielding had said adieu to his kindly though humble fisher friends, and was rattling along through the moonlit woods towards his home at Benshee.