Chapter 12
One day, Tom asked the fairy, “Where can I find Mr. Grimes?
“Ah!” said the fairy, “that is a brave, good boy. But you must go farther than the world’s end, if you want to find Mr. Grimes. He is at the Other-end-of-Nowhere. You must go to the Shiny Wall, and through the white gate that never was opened. Then you will come to Peacepool, and Mother Carey’s Haven, where the good whales go when they die. There, Mother Carey will tell you the way to the Other-end-of-Nowhere, and there you will find Mr. Grimes.”
“Oh dear!” said Tom, “But I do not know my way to Shiny Wall, or where it is at all.”
“Little boys must take the trouble to find out things for themselves, or they will never grow to be men. So that you must ask all the beasts in the sea and the birds in the air, and if you have been good to them, some of them will tell you the way to the Shiny Wall.”
“Well,” said Tom, “it will be a long journey. So I had better start at once. Good-bye, Miss Ellie.”
Away Tom went for seven days and seven nights due north-west, till he came to a great codbank, the like of which he never saw before. The great cod lay below in tens of thousands, and gobbled shell-fish all day long. The blue sharks roved above in hundreds, and gobbled them when they came up. So they ate, and ate, and ate each other, as they had done since the making of the world. No man had come here yet to catch them, and find out how rich old Mother Carey was.
And there he saw the last of the Gairfowl, standing up on the Allalonestone, all alone. A very grand old lady she was, full three feet high, and bolt upright, like some old Highland chieftainess. She had on a black velvet gown, and a white pinner and apron, and a very high bridge to her nose (.which is a sure mark of high breeding), and a large pair of white spectacles on it, which made her look rather odd. But it was the ancient fashion of her house.
And instead of wings, she had two little feathery arms, with which she fanned herself, and complained of the dreadful heat. She kept on crooning an old song to herself, which she learnt when she was a little baby-bird, long ago.
It was ‘flew’ away, properly, and not ‘swam’ away: but, as she could not fly, she had a right to alter it. However, it was a very fit song for her to sing, because she was a lady herself.
Tom came up to her very humbly, and made his bow. The first thing she said was—“Have you wings? Can you fly?”
“Oh, dear, no, ma’am; I should not think of such a thing,” said cunning little Tom.
“Then I shall have great pleasure in talking to you, my dear. It is quite refreshing nowadays to see anything without wings. They must all have wings, forsooth, now, every new upstart sort of bird, and fly. What can they want with flying, and raising themselves above their proper station in life? In the days of my ancestors no birds ever thought of having wings, and did very well without. Now they all laugh at me because I keep to the good old fashion.”
So she was running on, while Tom tried to get in a word edgeways. At last he did, when the old lady got out of breath, and began fanning herself again. Then he asked if she knew the way to the Shiny Wall.
“Shiny Wall? Who should know better than I? We all came from the Shiny Wall, thousands of years ago, when it was decently cold, and the climate was fit for gentlefolk. But now, I am the last of my family. A friend of mine and I came and settled on this rock when we were young, to be out of the way of low people. Once we were a great nation, and spread over all the Northern Isles. But men shot us so, and knocked us on the head, and took our eggs, until at last there were none of us left except on the old Gairfowlskerry, just off the Iceland coast, up which no man could climb. Even there we had no peace. One day, when I was quite a young girl, the land rocked and the sea boiled, and the sky grew dark. All the air was filled with smoke and dust, and down tumbled the old Gairfowlskerry into the sea. The dovekies and marrocks, of course, all flew away; but we were too proud to do that. Some of us were dashed to pieces, and some drowned; and those who were left got away to Eldey. The dovekies tell me they are all dead now, and so here I am left alone. And soon I shall be gone, my little dear, and nobody will miss me. Then the poor stone will be left all alone.”
“But, please, which is the way to the Shiny Wall? said Tom.
“Oh, you must go, my little dear—you must go. Let me see. I am sure—that is really, my poor old brains are getting quite puzzled. Do you know, my little dear, I am afraid, if you want to know? You must ask some of these vulgar birds about, for I have quite forgotten.”
Now Tom was all agog to start for the Shiny Wall. But the petrels said no. They must go first to Allfowlsness, and wait there for the great gathering of all the seabirds, before they started for their summer breeding-places far away in the Northern Isles. There they would be sure to find some birds which were going to the Shiny Wall. But where Allfowlsness was, he must promise never to tell, lest men should go there, shoot the birds, stuff them, and put them into stupid museums, instead of leaving them to play and breed and work in Mother Carey’s water garden where they ought to be.
So where Allfowlsness is nobody must know; and all that is to be said about it is, that Tom waited there many days.
After a while the birds began to gather at Allfowlsness, in thousands and tens of thousands, blackening all the air. They paddled and washed and splashed and combed and brushed themselves on the sand, till the shore was white with feathers. They quacked and clucked and gabbled and chattered and screamed and whooped as they talked over matters with their friends, and settled where they were to go and breed that summer, till you might have heard them ten miles off. Lucky it was for them that there was no one to hear them but the old keeper. He lived all alone upon the Ness, in a turf hut thatched with heather and fringed round with great stones slung across the roof by bent-ropes, lest the winter gales should blow the hut right away. But he never minded the birds nor hurt them. Only, when all the birds were going, he toddled out, and took off his cap to them, and wished them a merry journey and a safe return. Then he gathered up all the feathers which they had left, and cleaned them to sell down south, and make feather-beds for stuffy people to lie on.
Then the petrels asked this bird whether they would take Tom to the Shiny Wall. But one set was going to Sutherland, and one to the Shetlands, and one to Norway, and one to Spitzbergen, and one to Iceland, and one to Greenland. But none would go to the Shiny Wall. So the good-natured petrels said that they would show him part of the way themselves, but they were only going as far as Jan Mayen’s Land. After that he must shift for himself.
Then all the birds rose up, and streamed away in long black lines, north, and north-east, and north-west, across the bright blue summer sky. Their cry was like ten thousand packs of hounds, and ten thousand peals of bells. Only the puffins. stayed behind, killed the young rabbits, and laid their eggs in the rabbit-burrows.
As Tom and the petrels went north-eastward, it began to blow right hard, till you could not see where the sky ended and the sea began. But Tom and the petrels never cared, for the gale was right abaft, and away they went over the crests of the billows, as merry as so many flying-fish.
At last they saw an ugly sight—the black side of a great ship, water-logged in the trough of the sea. Her funnel and her masts were overboard, and swayed and surged under her lee. Her decks were swept as clean as a barn floor, and there was no living soul on board.
The petrels flew up to her, and wailed round her; for they were very sorry indeed. Also, they expected to find some salt pork. Tom scrambled on board of her and looked round, frightened and sad.
And there, in a little cot, lashed tight under the bulwark, lay a baby fast asleep—the very same baby, Tom saw at once, which he had seen in the singing lady’s arms.
He went up to it, and wanted to wake it. But behold, from under the cot out jumped a little black and tan terrier dog. He began barking and snapping at Tom, and would not let him touch the cot.
Tom knew the dog’s teeth could not hurt him. But at least it could shove him away, and did. He and the dog fought and struggled, for he wanted to help the baby, and did not want to throw the poor dog overboard. But as they were struggling, there came a tall green sea, over the side of the ship, and swept them all into the waves.
“Oh, the baby, the baby!” screamed Tom. But the next moment, he did not scream at all, for he saw the cot settling down through the green water, with the baby, smiling in it, fast asleep. He saw the fairies come up from below, and carry baby and cradle gently down in their soft arms. Then he knew it was all right, and that there would be a new water-baby in St. Brandan’s Isle.
And what happened to the poor little dog?
After he had kicked and coughed a little, he sneezed so hard that he sneezed himself clean out of his skin. He turned into a water-dog, jumped and danced round Tom, ran over the crests of the waves, snapped at the jelly-fish and the mackerel, and followed Tom the whole way to the Other-end of-Nowhere.
Then they went on again, till they began to see the peak of Jan Mayen’s Land, standing up like a white sugar-loaf, two miles above the clouds.
There they fell in with a whole flock of mollymocks, who were feeding on a dead whale.
“These are the fellows to show you the way,” said Mother Carey’s chickens, “we cannot help you farther north. We don’t like to get among the ice-pack, for fear it should nip our toes but the mollys dare fly anywhere.”
So the petrels called to the mollys. But they were so busy and greedy, gobbling and pecking and spluttering and fighting over the blubber, that they did not take the least notice.
“Come, come,” said the petrels, “you lazy greedy lubbers, this young gentleman is going to Mother Carey, and if you don’t attend on him, you won’t earn your discharge from her, you know.”
“Greedy we are,” says a great fat old molly, “but lazy we aren’t. As for lubbers, we’re no more lubbers than you. Let’s have a look at the lad.”
He flapped right into Tom’s face, and stared at him in the most impudent way. Then he asked him where he hailed from, and what land he sighted last.
When Tom told him, he seemed pleased, and said he was a good plucked one to have got so far.
“Come along, lads,” he said to the rest, “and give this little chap a cast over the pack, for Mother Carey’s sake. We’ve eaten blubber enough for today, and we’ll even work out a bit of our time by helping the lad.”
So the mollys took Tom up on their backs, and flew off with him, laughing and joking. Oh, how they did smell of train oil!
Now they came to the edge of the pack. Beyond it they could see Shiny Wall looming, through mist, snow and storm. But the pack rolled horribly upon the swell, and the ice giants fought and roared, and leapt upon each other’s backs, and ground each other to powder, so that Tom was afraid to venture among them, lest he should be ground to powder too. And he was the more afraid, when he saw lying among the ice pack the wrecks of many a gallant ship; some with masts and yards all standing, some with the seamen frozen fast on board. Alas, alas, for them! They were all true English hearts.
But the good mollys took Tom and his dog up, and flew with them safe over the pack and the roaring ice giants. They set them down at the foot of Shiny Wall.
“And where is the gate?” asked Tom.
“There is no gate,” said the mollys.
“No gate?” cried Tom, aghast.
“None; never a crack of one.”
“What am I to do, then?”
“Dive under the floe, to be sure, if you have pluck.”
“I’ve not come so far to turn now,” said Tom, “so here goes for a header.”
“A lucky voyage to you, lad,” said the mollys, “we knew you were one of the right sort. So good-bye.”
“Why don’t you come too?” asked Tom.
But the mollys only wailed sadly, “We can’t go yet; we can’t go yet,” and flew away over the pack.
So Tom dived the under the great white gate which never was opened yet. He went on in black darkness at the bottom of the sea for seven days and seven nights. And yet he was not a bit frightened. Why should he be? He was a brave English lad, whose business was to go out and see all the world.
