Men of the Deep Waters - William Hope Hodgson (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📗

THE SEA HORSES

“An’ we’s under the sea, b’ys,

Where the Wild Horses go,

Horses wiv tails

As big as ole whales

All jiggin’ around in a row,

An’ when you ses Whoa!

Them divvils does go!”

“How was it you catched my one, granfer?” asked Nebby, as he had asked the same question any time during the past week, whenever his burly, blue-guernseyed grandfather crooned out the old Ballade of the Sea-Horses, which, however, he never carried past the portion given above.

“Like as he was a bit weak, Nebby b’y; an’ I gev him a smart clip wiv the axe, ‘fore he could bolt off,” explained his grandfather, lying with inimitable gravity and relish.

Nebby dismounted from his curious-looking go-horse, by the simple method of dragging it forward from between his legs. He examined its peculiar, unicorn-like head, and at last put his finger on a bruised indentation in the black paint that covered the nose.

“‘S that where you welted him, granfer?” he asked, seriously.

“Aye,” said his granfer Zacchy, taking the strangely-shaped go-horse, and examining the contused paint. “Aye, I shore hit ‘m a tumble welt.”

“Are he dead, granfer?” asked the boy.

“Well,” said the burly old man, feeling the go-horse all over with an enormous finger and thumb, “betwixt an’ between, like.” He opened the cleverly hinged mouth, and looked at the bone teeth with which he had fitted it, and then squinted earnestly, with one eye, down the red-painted throat. “Aye,” he repeated, “betwixt an’ between, Nebby. Don’t you never let ‘m go to water, b’y; for he’d maybe come alive ag’in, an’ ye’d lose ‘m sure.”

Perhaps old Diver-Zacchy, as he was called in the little sea-village, was thinking that water would prove unhealthy to the glue, with which he had fixed-on the big bonito’s tail, at what he termed the starn-end of the curious looking beast. He had cut the whole thing out of a nice, four-foot by ten-inch piece of soft, knot-less yellow pine; and, to the rear, he had attached, thwart-ship, the afore-mentioned bonito’s tail; for the thing was no ordinary horse, as you may think; but a gen-u-ine (as Zacchy described it) Sea-Horse, which he had brought up from the sea bottom for his small grandson, whilst following his occupation as diver.

The animal had taken him many a long hour to carve, and had been made during his spell-ohs, between dives, aboard the diving-barge. The creature itself was a combined production of his own extremely fertile fancy, plus his small grandson’s Faith. For Zacchy had manufactured unending and peculiar stories of what he saw daily at the bottom of the sea, and during many a winter’s evening, Nebby had “cut boats” around the big stove, whilst the old man smoked and yarned the impossible yarns that were so marvellously real and possible to the boy. And of all the tales that the old diver told in his whimsical fashion, there was none that so stirred Nebby’s feelings as the one about the Sea-Horses.

At first it had been but a scrappy and a fragmentary yarn, suggested as like as not, by the old ballade which Zacchy so often hummed, half-unconsciously. But Nebby’s constant questionings had provided so many suggestions for fresh additions, that at last it took nearly the whole of a long evening for the Tale of the Sea-Horses to be told properly, from where the first Horse was seen by Zacchy, eatin’ sea-grass as nat’rel as ye like, to where Zacchy had seen li’l Martha Tullet’s b’y ridin’ one like a reel cow-puncher; and from that tremendous effort of imagination, the Horse Yarn had speedily grown to include every child that wended the Long Road out of the village.

“Shall I go ridin’ them Sea-Horses, Granfer, when I dies?” Nebby had asked, earnestly.

“Aye,” Granfer Zacchy had replied, absently, puffing at his corn-cob. “Aye, like’s not, Nebby. Like as not.”

“Mebbe I’ll die middlin’ soon, Granfer?” Nebby had suggested, longingly. “There’s plenty li’l boys dies ‘fore they gets growed up.”

“Husht! b’y! Husht!” Granfer had said, wakening suddenly to what the child was saying.

Later, when Nebby had many times betrayed his exceeding high requirement of death, that he might ride the Sea-Horses all round his Granfer at work on the sea-bottom, old Zacchy had suddenly evolved a less drastic solution of the difficulty.

“I’ll ketch ye one, Nebby, sure,” he said, “an’ ye kin ride it round the kitchen.”

The suggestion pleased Nebby enormously, and practically nullified his impatience regarding the date of his death, which was to give him the freedom of the sea and all the Sea-Horses therein.

For a long month, old Zacchy was met each evening by a small and earnest boy, desirous of learning whether he had “catched one” that day, or not. Meanwhile, Zacchy had been dealing honestly with that four-foot by ten-inch piece of yellow pine, already described. He had carved out his notion of what might be supposed to constitute a veritable Sea-Horse, aided in his invention by Nebby’s illuminating questions as to whether Sea-Horses had tails like a real horse or like real fishes; did they wear horse-shoes; did they bite?

These were three points upon which Nebby’s curiosity was definite; and the results were definite enough in the finished work; for Granfer supplied the peculiar creature with “reel” bone teeth and a workable jaw; two squat, but prodigious legs, near what he termed the “bows”; whilst to the “starn” he affixed the bonito-tail which has already had mention, setting it the way Dame Nature sets it on the bonito, that is, “thwart-ships,” so that its two flukes touched the ground when the go-horse was in position, and thus steadied it admirably with this hint taken direct from the workmanship of the Great Carpenter.

There came a day when the horse was finished and the last coat of paint had dried smooth and hard. That evening, when Nebby came running to meet Zacchy, he was aware of his Grandfather’s voice in the dusk, shouting:—“Whoa, Mare! Whoa, Mare!” followed immediately by the cracking of a whip.

Nebby shrilled out a call, and raced on, mad with excitement, towards the noise. He knew instantly that at last Granfer had managed to catch one of the wily Sea-Horses. Presumably the creature was somewhat intractable; for when Nebby arrived, he found the burly form of Granfer straining back tremendously upon stout reins, which Nebby saw vaguely in the dusk were attached to a squat, black monster:—

“Whoa, Mare!” roared Granfer, and lashed the air furiously with his whip. Nebby shrieked delight, and ran round and round, whilst Granfer struggled with the animal.

“Hi! Hi! Hi!” shouted Nebby, dancing from foot to foot. “Ye’ve catched ‘m, Granfer! Ye’ve catched ‘m, Granfer!”

“Aye,” said Granfer, whose struggles with the creature must have been prodigious; for he appeared to pant. “She’ll go quiet now, b’y. Take a holt!” And he handed the reins and the whip over to the excited, but half-fearful Nebby. “Put y’r hand on ‘er, Neb,” said old Zacchy. ” That’ll quiet ‘er.”

Nebby did so, a little nervously, and drew away in a moment.

“She’s all wet ‘s wet!” he cried out.

“Aye,” said Granfer, striving to hide the delight in his voice. “She’m straight up from the water, b’y.”

This was quite true; it was the final artistic effort of Granfer’s imagination; he had dipped the horse overside, just before leaving the diving barge. He took his towel from his pocket, and wiped the horse down, hissing as he did so.

“Now, b’y,” he said, “welt ‘er good, an’ make her take ye home.”

Nebby straddled the go-horse, made an ineffectual effort to crack the whip, shouted:—“Gee-up! Gee-up!” And was off—two small, lean bare legs twinkling away into the darkness at a tremendous rate, accompanied by shrill and recurrent “Gee-ups!”

Granfer Zacchy stood in the dusk, laughing happily, and pulled out his pipe. He filled it slowly, and as he applied the light, he heard the galloping of the horse, returning. Nebby dashed up, and circled his Granfer in splendid fashion, singing in a rather breathless voice:—

“An’ we’s under the sea, b’ys.

Where the Wild Horses go,

Horses wiv tails

As big as ole whales

All jiggin’ around in a row,

An’ when you ses Whoa!

Them debbils does go!”

And away he went again at the gallop.

This had happened a week earlier; and now we have Nebby questioning Granfer Zacchy as to whether the Sea-Horse is really alive or dead.

“Should think they has Sea-Horses ‘n heaven, Granfer?” said Nebby, thoughtfully, as he once more straddled the go-horse.

“Sure,” said Granfer Zacchy.

“Is Martha Tullet’s li’l b’y gone to heaven?” asked Nebby.

“Sure,” said Granfer again, as he sucked at his pipe.

Nebby was silent a good while, thinking. It was obvious that he confused heaven with the Domain of the Sea-Horses; for had not Granfer himself seen Martha Tullet’s li’l b’y riding one of the Sea-Horses. Nebby had told Mrs. Tullet about it; but she had only thrown her apron over her head, and cried, until at last Nebby had stolen away, feeling rather dumpy.

“Has you ever seed any angels wiv wings on the Sea-Horses, Granfer?” Nebby asked, presently; determined to have further information with which to assure his ideas.

“Aye,” said Granfer Zacchy. “Shoals of ‘em. Shoals of ‘em, b’y.”

Nebby was greatly pleased.

“Could they ride some, Granfer?” he questioned.

“Sure,” said old Zacchy, reaching for his pouch.

“As good ‘s me?” asked Nebby, anxiously.

“Middlin’ near. Middlin’ near, b’y,” said Granfer Zacchy. “Why, Neb,” he continued, waking up with a sudden relish to the full possibilities of the question, “thar’s some of them lady ayngels as c’ud do back-somersaults an’ never take a throw, b’y.”

It is to be feared that Granfer Zacchy’s conception of a lady angel had been formed during odd visits to the circus. But Nebby was duly impressed, and bumped his head badly the same day, trying to achieve the rudiments of a back-somersault.

Some evenings later, Nebby came running to meet old Zacchy, with an eager question:—

“Has you seed Jane Melly’s li’l gel ridin’ the Horses, Granfer?” he asked, earnestly.

“Aye,” said Granfer. Then, realising suddenly what the question portended:—

“What’s wrong wiv Mrs. Melly’s wee gel?” he queried.

“Dead,” said Nebby, calmly. “Mrs. Kay ses it’s the fever come to the village again, Granfer.”

Nebby’s voice was cheerful; for the fever had visited the village some months before, and Granfer Zacchy had taken Nebby to live on the barge, away from danger of infection. Nebby had enjoyed it all enormously, and had often prayed God since to send another fever, with its attendant possibilities of life again aboard the diving-barge.

“Shall we live in the barge, Granfer?” he asked, as he swung along with the old man.

“Maybe! Maybe!” said old Zacchy, absently, in a somewhat troubled voice.

Granfer left Nebby in the kitchen, and went on up the village to make inquiries; the result was that he packed Nebby’s clothes and toys into a well-washed sugar-bag, and the next day took the boy down to the barge, to live. But whereas Granfer walked, carrying the sack of gear, Nebby rode all the way, most of it at an amazing gallop. He even rode daringly down the narrow, railless gang-plank. It is true that Granfer Zacchy took care to keep close behind, in as unobtrusive a fashion as possible; but of this, or the need of such watchfulness, Nebby was most satisfactorily ignorant. He was welcomed in the heartiest fashion by Ned, the pump-man, and Binny, who attended to the air-pipe and life-line when Granfer Zacchy was down below.

Life aboard the diving-barge was a very happy time for Nebby. It was a happy time also for Granfer Zacchy and his two men; for the child, playing constantly in their midst, brought back