whether or not the great owl went on shouting o look! look! look! and asking what's that? and who's that? all night, martin did not know. he was fast asleep until the morning sun shone on his face and woke him, and as he had no clothes and shoes to put on he was soon up and out. first he took a drink of water, then, feeling very hungry he went back to the place where he had found the ripe fruit and made a very good breakfast. after that he set out once more through the wood towards sunrise, still following the stream. before long the wood became still more open, and at last to his great joy he found that he had got clear of it, and was once more on the great open plain. and now the hills were once more in sight—those great blue hills where he wished to be, looking nearer and larger than before, but they[87] still looked blue like great banks of cloud and were a long distance away. but he was determined to get to them, to climb up their steep sides, and by and by when he found the stream bent away to the south, he left it so as to go on straight as he could to the hills. away from the water-side the ground was higher, and very flat and covered with dry yellow grass. over this yellow plain he walked for hours, resting at times, but finding no water and no sweet roots to quench his thirst, until he was too tired to walk any further, and so he sat down on the dry grass under that wide blue sky. there was not a cloud on it—nothing but the great globe of the sun above him; and there was no wind and no motion in the yellow grass blades, and no sight or sound of any living creature.
martin lying on his back gazed up at the blue sky, keeping his eyes from the sun, which was too bright for them, and after a time he did see something moving—a small black spot no bigger than a fly moving in a circle. but he knew it was something big, but at so great a height from the earth as to look like a fly. and then he caught sight of a second black speck, then another and another, until he could make out a dozen or twenty, or more, all moving in wide circles at that vast height.
martin thought they must be the black people of the sky; he wondered why they were black and not white, like white birds, or blue, and of other brilliant colours like the people of the mirage.
now it was impossible for martin to lie like that, following[88] those small black spots on the hot blue sky as they wheeled round and round continuously, without giving his eyes a little rest by shutting them at intervals. by-and-by he kept them shut a little too long; he fell asleep, and when he woke he didn't wake fully in a moment; he remained lying motionless just as before, with eyes still closed, but the lids just raised enough to enable him to see about him. and the sight that met his eyes was very curious. he was no longer alone in that solitary place. there were people all round him, dozens and scores of little black men about two feet in height, of a very singular appearance. they had bald heads and thin hatchet faces, wrinkled and warty, and long noses; and they all wore black silk clothes—coat, waistcoat and knickerbockers, but without shoes and stockings; their thin black legs and feet were bare; nor did they have anything on their bald heads. they were gathered round martin in a circle, but a very wide circle quite twenty to thirty feet away from him, and some were walking about, others standing alone or in groups, talking together, and all looking at martin. only one who appeared to be the most important person of the company kept inside the circle, and whenever one or more of the others came forward a few steps he held up his hand and begged them to go back a little.
"we must not be in a hurry," he said. "we must wait."
"wait for what?" asked one.
"for what may happen," said the important one. "i must ask you again to leave it to me to decide when it is time to[89] begin." then he strutted up and down in the open space, turning now towards his fellows and again to martin, moving his head about to get a better sight of his face. then, putting his hand down between his coat and waistcoat he drew out a knife with a long shining blade, and holding it from him looked attentively at it. by and by he breathed gently on the bright blade, then pulling out a black silk pocket handkerchief wiped off the stain of his breath, and turning the blade about made it glitter in the sun. then he put it back under his coat and resumed his walk up and down.
"we are getting very hungry," said one of the others at length.
"very hungry indeed!" cried another. "some of us have not tasted food these three days."
"it certainly does seem hard," said yet another, "to see our dinner before us and not be allowed to touch it."
"not so fast, my friends, i beg," exclaimed the man with the knife. "i have already explained the case, and i do think you are a little unfair in pressing me as you do."
thus rebuked they consulted together, then one of them spoke. "if, sir, you consider us unfair, or that we have not full confidence in you, would it not be as well to get some other person to take your place?"
"yes, i am ready to do that," returned the important one promptly; and here, drawing forth the knife once more, he held it out towards them. but instead of coming forward to take it[90] they all recoiled some steps, showing considerable alarm. and then they all began protesting that they were not complaining of him, that they were satisfied with their choice, and could not have put the matter in abler hands.
"i am pleased at your good opinion," said the important one. "i may tell you that i am no chicken. i first saw the light in september, 1739, and, as you know, we are now within seven months and thirteen days of the end of the first decade of the second half of the nineteenth century. you may infer from this that i have had a pretty extensive experience, and i promise you that when i come to cut the body up you will not be able to say that i have made an unfair distribution, or that any one has been left without his portion."
all murmured approval, and then one of the company asked if he would be allowed to bespeak the liver for his share.
"no, sir, certainly not," replied the other. "such matters must be left to my discretion entirely, and i must also remind you that there is such a thing as the carver's privilege, and it is possible that in this instance he may think fit to retain the liver for his own consumption."
after thus asserting himself he began to examine the blade of his knife which he still held in his hand, and to breathe gently on it, and wipe it with his handkerchief to make it shine brighter in the sun. finally, raising his arm, he flourished it and then made two or three stabs and lunges in the air, then walking on tip-toe he advanced to martin lying so still on the yellow grass[91] in the midst of that black-robed company, the hot sun shining on his naked white body.
the others all immediately pressed forward, craning their necks and looking highly excited: they were expecting great things; but when the man with a knife had got quite close to martin he was seized with fear and made two or three long jumps back to where the others were; and then, recovering from his alarm, he quietly put back the knife under his coat.
"we really thought you were going to begin," said one of the crowd.
"oh, no; no indeed; not just yet," said the other.
"it is very disappointing," remarked one.
the man with the knife turned on him and replied with dignity, "i am really surprised at such a remark after all i have said on the subject. i do wish you would consider the circumstances of the case. they are peculiar, for this person—this martin—is not an ordinary person. we have been keeping our eyes on him for some time past, and have witnessed some remarkable actions on his part, to put it mildly. let us keep in mind the boldness, the resource, the dangerous violence he has displayed on so many occasions since he took to his present vagabond way of life."
"it appears to me," said one of the others, "that if martin is dead we need not concern ourselves about his character and desperate deeds in the past."
"if he is dead!" exclaimed the other sharply. "that is the[92] very point,—is he dead? can you confidently say that he is not in a sound sleep, or in a dead faint, or shamming and ready at the first touch of the knife to leap up and seize his assailant—i mean his carver—by the throat and perhaps murder him as he once murdered a spoonbill?"
"that would be very dreadful," said one.
"but surely," said another, "there are means of telling whether a person is dead or not? one simple and effectual method, which i have heard, is to place a hand over the heart to feel if it still beats."
"yes, i know, i have also heard of that plan. very simple, as you say; but who is to try it? i invite the person who makes the suggestion to put it in practice."
"with pleasure," said the other, coming forward with a tripping gait and an air of not being in the least afraid. but on coming near the supposed corpse he paused to look round at the others, then pulling out his black silk handkerchief he wiped his black wrinkled forehead and bald head. "whew!" he exclaimed, "it's very hot today."
"i don't find it so," said the man with the knife. "it is sometimes a matter of nerves."
it was not a very nice remark, but it had the effect of bracing the other up, and moving forward a little more he began anxiously scrutinizing martin's face. the others now began to press forward, but were warned by the man with a knife not to come too near. then the bold person who had undertaken[93] to feel martin's heart doubled back the silk sleeve of his coat, and after some further preparation extended his arm and made two or three preliminary passes with his trembling hand at a distance of a foot or so from the breast of the corpse. then he approached it a little nearer, but before it came to the touching point a sudden fear made him start back.
"what is it? what did you see?" cried the others.
"i'm not sure there wasn't a twitch of the eyelid," he replied.
"never mind the eyelid—feel his heart," said one.
"that's all very well," he returned, "but how would you like it yourself? will you come and do it?"
"no, no!" they all cried. "you have undertaken this, and must go through with it."
thus encouraged, he once more turned to the corpse, and again anxiously began to examine the face. now martin had been watching them through the slits of his not quite closed eyes all the time, and listening to their talk. being hungry himself he could not help feeling for them, and not thinking that it would hurt him to be cut up in pieces and devoured, he had begun to wish that they would really begin on him. he was both amused and annoyed at their nervousness, and at last opening wide his eyes very suddenly he cried, "feel my heart!"
it was as if a gun had been fired among them; for a moment they were struck still with terror, and then all together turned and fled, going away with three very long hops, and then opening wide their great wings they launched themselves on the air.[94]
for they were not little black men in black silk clothes as it had seemed, but vultures—those great, high-soaring, black-plumaged birds which he had watched circling in the sky, looking no bigger than bees or flies at that vast distance above the earth. and when he was watching them they were watching him, and after he had fallen asleep they continued moving round and round in the sky for hours, and seeing him lying so still on the plain they at last imagined that he was dead, and one by one they closed or half-closed their wings and dropped, gliding downwards, growing larger in appearance as they neared the ground, until the small black spots no bigger than flies were seen to be great black birds as big as turkeys.
but you see martin was not dead after all, and so they had to go away without their dinner.
