STRAIGHT off, we were in the
country. It was most lovely and
pleasant in those sylvan solitudes
in the early cool morning in
the first freshness of autumn.
From hilltops we saw fair green
valleys lying spread out below,
with streams winding through
them, and island groves of trees
here and there, and huge lonely
oaks scattered about and casting
black blots of shade; and beyond
the valleys we saw the ranges
of hills, blue with haze, stretching
away in billowy perspective to
the horizon, with at wide intervals
a dim fleck of white or gray
on a wave-summit, which we knew
was a castle. We crossed broad
natural lawns sparkling with
dew, and we moved like spirits,
the cushioned turf giving out
no sound of footfall; we dreamed
along through glades in a mist
of green light that got its tint
from the sun-drenched roof of
leaves overhead, and by our feet
the clearest and coldest of runlets
went frisking and gossiping over
its reefs and making a sort of
whispering music, comfortable
to hear; and at times we left
the world behind and entered
into the solemn great deeps and
rich gloom of the forest, where
furtive wild things whisked and
scurried by and were gone before
you could even get your eye on
the place where the noise was;
and where only the earliest birds
were turning out and getting
to business with a song here
and a quarrel yonder and a mysterious
faroff hammering and drumming
for worms on a tree trunk away
somewhere in the impenetrable
remotenesses of the woods. And
by and by out we would swing
again
into the glare.
About the third or fourth or
fifth time that we swung out
into the glare -- it was along
there somewhere, a couple of
hours or so after sun-up -- it
wasn't as pleasant as it had
been. It was beginning to get
hot. This was quite noticeable.
We had a very long pull, after
that, without any shade. Now
it is curious how progressively
little frets grow and multiply
after they once get a start.
Things which I didn't mind at
all, at first, I began to mind
now -- and more and more, too,
all the time. The first ten or
fifteen times I wanted my handkerchief
I didn't seem to care; I got
along, and said never mind, it
isn't any matter, and dropped
it out of my mind. But now it
was different; I wanted it all
the time; it was nag, nag, nag,
right along, and no rest; I couldn't
get it out of my mind; and so
at last I lost my temper and
said hang a man that would make
a suit of armor without any pockets
in it. You see I had my handkerchief
in my helmet; and some other
things; but it was that kind
of a helmet that you can't take
off by yourself. That hadn't
occurred to me when I put it
there; and in fact I didn't know
it. I supposed it would be particularly
convenient there. And so now,
the thought of its being there,
so handy and close by, and yet
not get-at-able, made it all
the worse and the harder to bear.
Yes, the thing that you can't
get is the thing that you want,
mainly; every one has noticed
that. Well, it took my mind off
from everything else; took it
clear off, and centered it in
my helmet; and mile after mile,
there it stayed, imagining the
handkerchief, picturing the handkerchief;
and it was bitter and aggravating
to have the salt sweat keep trickling
down into my eyes, and I couldn't
get at it. It seems like a little
thing, on paper, but it was not
a little thing at all; it was
the most real kind of misery.
I would not say it if it was
not so. I made up my mind that
I would carry along a reticule
next time, let it look how it
might, and people say what they
would. Of course these iron dudes
of the Round Table would think
it was scandalous, and maybe
raise Sheol about it, but as
for me, give me comfort first,
and style afterwards. So we jogged
along, and now and then we struck
a stretch of dust, and it would
tumble up in clouds and get into
my nose and make me sneeze and
cry; and of course I said things
I oughtn't to have said, I don't
deny that. I am not better than
others.
We couldn't seem to meet anybody
in this lonesome Britain, not
even an ogre; and, in the mood
I was in then, it was well for
the ogre; that is, an ogre with
a handkerchief. Most knights
would have thought of nothing
but getting his armor; but so
I got his bandanna, he could
keep his hardware, for all of
me.
Meantime, it was getting hotter
and hotter in there. You see,
the sun was beating down and
warming up the iron more and
more all the time. Well, when
you are hot, that way, every
little thing irritates you. When
I trotted, I rattled like a crate
of dishes, and that annoyed me;
and moreover I couldn't seem
to stand that shield slatting
and banging, now about my breast,
now around my back; and if I
dropped into a walk my joints
creaked and screeched in that
wearisome way that a wheelbarrow
does, and as we didn't create
any breeze at that gait, I was
like to get fried in that stove;
and besides, the quieter you
went the heavier the iron settled
down on you and the more and
more tons you seemed to weigh
every minute. And you had to
be always changing hands, and
passing your spear over to the
other foot, it got so irksome
for one hand to hold it long
at a time.
Well, you know, when you perspire
that way, in rivers, there comes
a time when you -- when you --
well, when you itch. You are
inside, your hands are outside;
so there you are; nothing but
iron between. It is not a light
thing, let it sound as it may.
First it is one place; then another;
then some more; and it goes on
spreading and spreading, and
at last the territory is all
occupied, and nobody can imagine
what you feel like, nor how unpleasant
it is. And when it had got to
the worst, and it seemed to me
that I could not stand anything
more, a fly got in through the
bars and settled on my nose,
and the bars were stuck and wouldn't
work, and I couldn't get the
visor up; and I could only shake
my head, which was baking hot
by this time, and the fly --
well, you know how a fly acts
when he has got a certainty --
he only minded the shaking enough
to change from nose to lip, and
lip to ear, and buzz and buzz
all around in there, and keep
on lighting and biting, in a
way that a person, already so
distressed as I was, simply could
not stand. So I gave in, and
got Alisande to unship the helmet
and relieve me of it. Then she
emptied the conveniences out
of it and fetched it full of
water, and I drank and then stood
up, and she poured the rest down
inside the armor. One cannot
think how refreshing it was.
She continued to fetch and pour
until I was well soaked and thoroughly
comfortable.
It was good to have a rest
-- and peace. But nothing is
quite perfect in this life, at
any time. I had made a pipe a
while back, and also some pretty
fair tobacco; not the real thing,
but what some of the Indians
use: the inside bark of the willow,
dried. These comforts had been
in the helmet, and now I had
them again, but no matches.
Gradually, as the time wore
along, one annoying fact was
borne in upon my understanding
-- that we were weather-bound.
An armed novice cannot mount
his horse without help and plenty
of it. Sandy was not enough;
not enough for me, anyway. We
had to wait until somebody should
come along. Waiting, in silence,
would have been agreeable enough,
for I was full of matter for
reflection, and wanted to give
it a chance to work. I wanted
to try and think out how it was
that rational or even half-rational
men could ever have learned to
wear armor, considering its inconveniences;
and how they had managed to keep
up such a fashion for generations
when it was plain that what I
had suffered to-day they had
had to suffer all the days of
their lives. I wanted to think
that out; and moreover I wanted
to think out some way to reform
this evil and persuade the people
to let the foolish fashion die
out; but thinking was out of
the question in the circumstances.
You couldn't think, where Sandy
was.
She was a quite biddable creature
and good-hearted, but she had
a flow of talk that was as steady
as a mill, and made your head
sore like the drays and wagons
in a city. If she had had a cork
she would have been a comfort.
But you can't cork that kind;
they would die. Her clack was
going all day, and you would
think something would surely
happen to her works, by and by;
but no, they never got out of
order; and she never had to slack
up for words. She could grind,
and pump, and churn, and buzz
by the week, and never stop to
oil up or blow out. And yet the
result was just nothing but wind.
She never had any ideas, any
more than a fog has. She was
a perfect blatherskite; I mean
for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk, talk,
talk, jabber, jabber, jabber;
but just as good as she could
be. I hadn't minded her mill
that morning, on account of having
that hornets' nest of other troubles;
but more than once in the afternoon
I had to say:
"Take a rest,
child; the way you are using
up all the domestic
air, the kingdom will have to
go to importing it by to-morrow,
and it's a low enough treasury
without that." |