Part 14

“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.