A Little Boy Lost

Chapter 9

THE BLACK PEOPLE OF THE SKY

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 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 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 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 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 tiptoe he

adyanced to Martin lying so still on the yellow grass 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 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 to-day."

"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 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.

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.