Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey
but to my surprise the next day about the same hour it occurred again.
My curiosity was now thoroughly aroused; and laying down Don Fum’s musty
manuscript, I hastened to the window to learn the cause of Bulger’s
irritation.
Lo, the secret was out! There stood half a dozen mongrel curs belonging
to the tenantry of the baronial lands, looking up to the window, and by
their barking and antics endeavoring to entice Bulger out for a romp.
Dear friends, need I assure you that such familiarity was extremely
distasteful to Bulger? Their impudence was just a little more than he
could stand. Ringing my bell, I directed my servant to hunt them away.
Whereupon Bulger consented to resume his seat by the window.
The next morning, just as I had settled myself down for a good long
read, I was almost startled by Bulger bounding into the room with eyes
flashing fire and teeth laid bare in anger. Laying hold of the skirt of
my dressing-gown, he gave it quite a savage tug, which meant, “Put thy
book aside, little master, and follow me.”
I did so. He led me down-stairs across the hallway and into the
dining-room, and then this new cause of discontent on his part became
very apparent to me. There grouped around his silver breakfast plate sat
an ancient tabby cat and four kittens, all calmly licking or lapping
away at his breakfast. Looking up into my face, he uttered a sharp,
complaining howl, as much as to say, “There, little master, look at
that. Isn’t that enough to roil the patience of a saint? Canst thou
wonder that I am not happy with all these disagreeable things happening
to me? I tell thee, little master, it is too much for flesh and blood to
put up with.”
And I thought so too, and did all in my power to comfort my unhappy
little friend; but judge of my surprise upon reaching my room and
directing him to take his place on his cushion, to see him refuse to
obey.
It was something extraordinary, and set me to thinking. He noticed this
and gave a joyful bark, then dashed into my sleeping apartment. He was
gone for several moments, and then returned bearing in his mouth a pair
of Oriental shoes which he laid at my feet. Again and again he
disappeared, coming back each time with some article of clothing in his
mouth. In a few moments he had laid a complete Oriental costume on the
floor before my eyes; and would you believe me, dear friends, it was the
identical suit which I had worn on my last travels in far-away lands,
when he and I had been wrecked on the Island of Gogulah, the land of the
Round Bodies. What did it all mean? Why, this, to be sure:—
“Little master, canst thou not understand thy dear Bulger? He is weary
of this dull and spiritless existence. He is tired of this increasing
familiarity on the part of these mongrel curs of the neighborhood and of
the audacity of these kitchen tabbies and their families. He implores
thee to break away from this life of revery and inaction, and for the
honor of the Trumps to be up and away again.” Stooping down and winding
my arms around my dear Bulger, I cried out,—
“Yes, I understand thee now, faithful companion; and I promise thee that
before this moon has filled her horns we shall once more turn our backs
on Castle Trump, up and away in search of the portals to Don Fum’s World
within a World.” Upon hearing these words, Bulger broke out into the
wildest, maddest barking, bounding hither and thither as if the very
spirit of mischief had suddenly nestled in his heart. In the midst of
these mad gambols a low rap on my chamber door caused me to call out,—
“Peace, peace, good Bulger, some one knocks. Peace, I say.”
It was the elder baron. With sombre mien and stately tread he advanced
and took a seat beside me on the canopy.
“Welcome, honored father!” I exclaimed as I took his hand and raised it
to my lips. “I was upon the very point of seeking thee out.”
He smiled and then said,—
“Well, little baron, what thinkest thou of Don Fum’s World within a
World?”
“I think, my lord,” was my reply, “that Don Fum is right: that such a
world must exist; and with thy consent it is my intention to set out in
search of its portals with all safe haste and as soon as my dear mother,
the gracious baroness, may be able to bring her heart to part with me.”
The elder baron was silent for a moment, and then added: “Little baron,
much as thy mother and I shall dread to think of thy being again out
from under the safe protection of this venerable roof, the moss-grown
tiles of which have sheltered so many generations of the Trumps, yet
must we not be selfish in this matter. Heaven forbid that such a thought
should move our souls to stay thee! The honor of our family, thy fame as
an explorer of strange lands in far-away corners of the globe, call unto
us to be strong hearted. Therefore, my dear boy, make ready and go forth
once more in search of new marvels. The learned Don Fum’s chart will
stand thee by like a safe and trusty counsellor. Remember, little baron,
the motto of the Trumps, Per Ardua ad Astra—the pathway to glory is
strewn with pitfalls and dangers—but the comforting thought shall ever
be mine, that when thy keen intelligence fails, Bulger’s unerring
instinct will be there to guide thee.”
As I stooped to kiss the elder baron’s hand, the gracious baroness
entered the room.
Bulger hastened to raise himself upon his hind legs and lick her hand in
token of respectful greeting. The tears were pressing hard against her
eyelids, but she kept them back, and encircling my neck with her loving
arms, she pressed many and many a kiss upon my cheeks and brow.
“I know what it all means, my dear son,” she murmured with the saddest
of smiles; “but it never shall be said that Gertrude Baroness von Trump
stood in the way of her son adding new glories to the family ’scutcheon.
Go, go, little baron, and Heaven bring thee safely back to our arms and
to our hearts in its own good time.”
At these words Bulger, who had been listening to the conversation with
pricked-up ears and glistening eyes, gave one long howl of joy, and then
springing into my lap, covered my face with kisses. This done, he vented
his happiness in a string of earsplitting barks and a series of the
maddest gambols. It was one of the happiest and proudest days of his
life, for he felt that he had exerted considerable influence in screwing
to the sticking-point my resolution to set out on my travels once again.
And now the patter of hurrying feet and the loud murmur of anxious
voices resounded through the castle corridors, while inside and out ever
and anon I could hear the cry now whispered and now outspoken,—
“The little baron is making ready to leave home again.”
Bulger ran hither and thither, surveying everything, taking note of all
the preparations, and I could hear his joyous bark ring out as some
familiar article used by me on my former journeys was dragged from its
hiding-place.
Twenty times a day my gentle mother came to my room to repeat some good
counsel or reiterate some valuable caution. It seemed to me that I had
never seen her so calm, so stately, so lovable.
She was very proud of my great name and so, in fact, were every man,
woman, and child in the castle. Had I not gotten off as I did, I should
have been literally killed with kindness and Bulger slain with
sweet-cake.
CHAPTER II
DON FUM’S MYSTERIOUS DIRECTIONS.—BULGER AND I SET OUT FOR
PETERSBURG, AND THENCE PROCEED TO ARCHANGEL.—THE STORY OF OUR
JOURNEY AS FAR AS ILITCH ON THE ILITCH.—IVAN THE TEAMSTER.—HOW WE
MADE OUR WAY NORTHWARD IN SEARCH OF THE PORTALS TO THE WORLD
WITHIN A WORLD.—IVAN’S THREAT.—BULGER’S DISTRUST OF THE MAN AND
OTHER THINGS.
According to the learned Don Fum’s manuscript, the portals to the World
within a World were situated somewhere in Northern Russia, possibly, so
he thought, from all indications, somewhere on the westerly slope of the
upper Urals. But the great thinker could not locate them with any
accuracy. “The people will tell thee” was the mysterious phrase that
occurred again and again on the mildewed pages of this wonderful
writing. “The people will tell thee.” Ah, but what people will be
learned enough to tell me that? was the brain-racking question which I
asked myself, sleeping and waking, at sunrise, at high noon, and at
sunset; at the crowing of the cock, and in the silent hours of the
night.
“The people will tell thee,” said learned Don Fum.
“Ah, but what people will tell me where to find the portals to the World
within a World?”
Hitherto on my travels I had made choice of a semi-Oriental garb, both
on account of its picturesqueness and its lightness and warmth, but now
as I was about to pass quite across Russia for a number of months, I
resolved to don the Russian national costume; for speaking Russian
fluently, as I did a score or more of languages living and dead, I would
thus be enabled to come and go without everlastingly displaying my
passport, or having my trains of thought constantly disturbed by
inquisitive travelling companions—a very important thing to me, for my
mind possessed the extraordinary power of working out automatically any
task assigned to it by me, provided it was not suddenly thrown off its
track by some ridiculous interruption. For instance, I was upon the very
point one day of discovering perpetual motion, when the gracious
baroness suddenly opened the door and asked me whether I had pared the
nails of my great toes lately, as she had observed that I had worn holes
in several pairs of my best stockings.
It was about the middle of February when I set out from the Castle
Trump, and I journeyed night and day in order to reach Petersburg by the
first of March, for I knew that the government trains would leave that
city for the White Sea during the first week of that month. Bulger and I
were both in the best of health and spirits, and the fatigue of the
journey didn’t tell upon us in the least. The moment I arrived at the
Russian capital I applied to the emperor for permission to join one of
the government trains, which was most graciously accorded. Our route lay
almost directly to the northward for several days, at the end of which
time we reached the shores of Lake Ladoga. This we crossed on the ice
with our sledges, as a few days later we did Lake Onega. Thence by land
again, we kept on our way until Onega Bay had been reached, crossing it,
too, on the ice, and so reaching the station of the same name, where we
halted for a day to give our horses a well-deserved rest. From this
point we proceeded in a straight line over the snow fields to Archangel,
an important trading-post on the White Sea.
As this was the destination of the government train, I parted with its
commandant after a few days’ pleasant sojourn at the government house,
and set out, attended only by my faithful Bulger and two servants, who
had been assigned to me by the imperial commissioner.
My course now carried me up the River Dwina as far as Solvitchegodsk;
thence I proceeded on my way over the frozen waters of the Witchegda
River until we had reached the government post of Yarensk, and from here
on we headed due East until our hardy little horses had dragged us into
the picturesque village of Ilitch on the Ilitch. Here we were obliged to
abandon our sledges, for the snows had disappeared like magic,
uncovering long vistas of green fields, which in a few days the May sun
dotted with flowers and sweet shrubs. At Ilitch I was obliged to
relinquish from my service the two faithful government retainers who had
accompanied me from Archangel, for they had now reached the most
westerly point which they had been commissioned to visit. I had become