Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey
back-hand blow at me with the loaded end of his whipstock.
It took me full in the right temple, and sent me to the bottom of the
tarantass like a piece of lead.
For an instant the terrible blow robbed me of my senses, but then I saw
that the cowardly villain had turned in his seat and had swung the heavy
handled whip aloft with intent to despatch me with a second and a surer
blow.
Poor fool! he reckoned without his host; for with a shriek of rage,
Bulger leaped at his throat like a stone from a catapult, and struck his
teeth deep into the fellow’s flesh.
He roared with agony and attempted to shake off this unexpected foe, but
in vain.
By this time I had come to a full realizing sense of the terrible danger
Bulger and I were both in, for Ivan had dropped his whip and was
reaching for his sheath-knife.
But he never gripped it, for a well-aimed shot from one of my pistols
struck him in the forearm, for I had no wish to take the man’s life, and
broke it.
The shock and the pain so paralyzed him that he fell over against the
dashboard half in a faint, and then rolled completely out of the wagon,
dragging Bulger with him. The horses now began to rear and plunge. I saw
no more. There was a noise as of the roar of angry waters in my ears,
and then the light of life went out of my eyes entirely. I had swooned
dead away.
It seemed to me hours that I lay there on my back in the bottom of the
tarantass with my head hanging over the side, but of course it was only
minutes. I was aroused by a prickling sensation in my left cheek, and as
I slowly came to myself I discovered that it proceeded from the gravel
thrown up against it by one of the front wheels of the tarantass, for
the horses were galloping along at the top of their speed, and there on
the driver’s seat sat my faithful Bulger, the reins in his teeth,
bracing himself so as to keep them taut over the horses’ backs; and as I
sat up and pressed my hand against my poor hurt head, the whole truth
broke upon me:—
The moment Ivan had struck the ground Bulger had released his hold upon
the fellow’s throat, and ere he had had a chance to revive had leaped up
into the driver’s seat, and, catching up the reins in his teeth, had
drawn them taut and thus put an end to the rearing and plunging of the
frightened beasts and started them on their way, leaving the enraged
Ivan brandishing his knife and uttering imprecations upon mine and
Bulger’s heads as he saw his horses and wagon disappear in the distance.
Now was it that a mad shouting assailed my ears and I caught a glimpse
of half a dozen peasants who, seeing this, as they thought, empty
tarantass come nearer and nearer with its galloping horses, had
abandoned their work and rushed out to intercept it.
Judge of their amazement, dear friends, as their eyes fell upon the calm
and skilful driver bracing himself on the front seat, and with oft
repeated backward tosses of his head urging those horses to bear his
beloved master farther and farther away from the treacherous Ivan’s
sheath-knife.
As the peasants seized the animals by the heads and brought them to a
standstill, I staggered to my feet, and threw my arms around my dear
Bulger. He was more than pleased with what he had done, and licked my
bruised brow with many a piteous moan.
“St. Nicholas, save us!” cried one of the peasants, devoutly making the
sign of the cross; “but if I should live long enough to fill the Giants’
Well with pebbles, I never would expect to see the like of this again.”
“The Giants’ Well, the Giants’ Well!” I murmured to myself as I followed
one of the peasants to his cot, standing a little back from the highway,
for I stood sore in need of rest after the terrible experience I had
just had. The blow of Ivan’s whip-handle had jarred my brain, and I was
skilled enough in surgery to know that the hurt called for immediate
attention. As good luck would have it, I found beneath the peasant’s
roof one of those old women, half witches perhaps, who have recipes for
everything and who know an herb for every ailment. After she had
examined the cut made by the loaded whip-handle, she muttered out,—
“It is not as broad as the mountain, nor as deep as the Giants’ Well,
but it’s bad enough, little master.”
“The Giants’ Well again,” thought I, as I laid me down on the best bed
they could make up for me. “I wonder where it may be, that Giants’ Well,
and how deep it is, and who drinks the water that is drawn from it?”
CHAPTER IV
MY WOUND HEALS.—YULIANA TALKS ABOUT THE GIANTS’ WELL.—I RESOLVE TO
VISIT IT.—PREPARATIONS TO ASCEND THE MOUNTAINS.—WHAT HAPPENED TO
YULIANA AND TO ME.—REFLECTION AND THEN ACTION.—HOW I CONTRIVED TO
CONTINUE THE ASCENT WITHOUT YULIANA FOR A GUIDE.
It was a day or so before I could walk steadily, and meantime I made
unusual efforts to keep my brain quiet, but in spite of all I could do
every mention of the Giants’ Well by one of the peasants sent a strange
thrill through me, and I would find myself suddenly pacing up and down
the floor, and repeating over and over again the words, “Giants’ Well!
Giants’ Well!”
Bulger was greatly troubled in his mind, and sat watching me with a most
bewildered look in his loving eyes. He had half a suspicion, I think,
that that cruel blow from Ivan’s whip-handle had injured my reasoning
powers, for at times he uttered a low, plaintive whine. The moment I
took notice of him, however, and acted more like myself, he gamboled
about me in the wildest delight. As I had directed the peasants to drive
Ivan’s horses back towards Ilitch on the Ilitch, until they should meet
that miscreant and deliver them to him, I was now without any means of
continuing my journey northward, unless I set out, like many of my
famous predecessors, on foot. They had longer legs than I, however, and
were not loaded with so heavy a brain in proportion to their size, and a
brain, too, that scarcely ever slept, at least not soundly. I was too
impatient to reach the portals to the World within a World to go
trudging along a dusty highway. I must have horses and another
tarantass, or at least a peasant’s cart. I must push on. My head was
quite healed now, and my fever gone.
“Hearken, little master,” whispered Yuliana; such was the name of the
old woman who had taken care of me, “thou art not what thou seemst. I
never saw the like of thee before. If thou wouldst, I believe thou
couldst tell me how high the sky is, how thick through the mountains
are, and how deep the Giants’ Well is.”
I smiled, and then I said,—
“Didst ever drink from the Giants’ Well, Yuliana?”
At which she wagged her head and sent forth a low chuckle.
“Hearken, little master,” she then whispered, coming close to me, and
holding up one of her long, bony fingers, “thou canst not trick me—thou
knowest that the Giants’ Well hath no bottom.”
“No bottom?” I repeated breathlessly, as Don Fum’s mysterious words,
“The people will tell thee!” flashed through my mind. “No bottom,
Yuliana?”
“Not unless thine eyes are better than mine, little master,” she
murmured, nodding her head slowly.
“Listen, Yuliana,” I burst out impetuously, “where is this bottomless
well? Thou shalt lead me to it; I must see it. Come, let’s start at
once. Thou shalt be well paid for thy pains.”
“Nay, nay, little master, not so fast,” she replied. “It’s far up the
mountains. The way is steep and rugged, the paths are narrow and
winding, a false step might mean instant death, were there not some
strong hand to save thee. Give up such a mad thought as ever getting
there, except it be on the stout shoulders of some mountaineer.”
“Ah, good woman,” was my reply, “thou hast just said that I am not what
I seem, and thou saidst truly. Know, then, thou seest before thee the
world-renowned traveller, Wilhelm Heinrich Sebastian von Troomp,
commonly called ‘Little Baron Trump,’ that though short of stature and
frail of limb, yet what there is of me is of iron. There, Yuliana,
there’s gold for thee; now lead the way to the Giants’ Well.”
“Gently, gently, little baron,” almost whispered the old peasant woman,
as her shrivelled hand closed upon the gold piece. “I have not told thee
all. For leagues about, I ween, no living being excepting me knows where
the Giants’ Well is. Ask them and they’ll say, “It’s up yonder in the
mountains, away up under the eaves of the sky.” That’s all. That’s all
they can tell thee. But, little master, I know where it is, and the very
herb that cured thy hurt head and saved thee from certain death by
cooling thy blood, was plucked by me from the brink of the well!” These
words sent a thrill of joy through me, for now I felt that I was on the
right road, that the words of the great master of all masters, Don Fum,
had come true.
“The people will tell thee!”
Ay, the people had told me, for now there was not the faintest shadow of
doubt in my mind that I had found the portals to the World within a
World! Yuliana should be my guide. She knew how to thread her way up the
narrow pass, to turn aside from overhanging rocks which a mere touch
might topple over, to find the steps which nature had hewn in the sides
of the rocky parapets, and to pursue her way safely through clefts and
gorges, even the entrance to which might be invisible to ordinary eyes.
However, in order that the superstitious peasants might be kept friendly
to me, I gave it out that I was about to betake myself to the mountains
in search of curiosities for my cabinet, and begged them to furnish me
with ropes and tackle, with two good stout fellows to carry it for me,
promising generous payment for the services.
They made haste to provide me with all I asked for, and we set out for
the mountain path at daybreak. Yuliana, in order not to seem to be of
the party, had gone on ahead by the light of the moon, telling her
people that she wished to gather certain herbs before the sun’s rays
struck them and dried the healing dew that beaded their leaves.
All went well until the sun was well up over our heads, when suddenly I
heard a woman, who proved to be Yuliana, utter a piercing scream. In a
moment or so the mystery was solved. The old beldam came rushing down
the mountain, her thin wisp of gray hair fluttering in the wind. Her
hands were tied behind her, and two young peasants with birchen rods
were beating her every chance they got.
“Turn back, turn back, brothers,” they cried to my two men. “The little
wizard there has struck hands with this old witch. They’re on their way
to the Giants’ Well. They’ll loosen a band of black spirits about our
ears. We shall all be bewitched. Quick! Quick! Cast off the loads ye’re
bearing and follow us.”
The two men didn’t wait for a second bidding, and throwing the tackle on
the ground, they all disappeared like a flash, but for several moments I
could hear the screams of poor Yuliana as these young wretches beat the
old woman with their birchen rods.
Well, dear readers, what say ye to this? Was I not in a pleasant
position truly? Alone with Bulger in that wild and gloomy mountain
region, the black rocks hanging like frowning giants and ogres over our
heads, with the dwarf pines for hair, clumps of white moss for eyes,
vast, gaping cracks for mouths, and gnarled and twisted roots for
terrible fingers, ready to reach down for my poor little weazen frame.
Did I fall a-trembling? Did I make haste to follow those craven spirits
down the mountain side? Did I shift the peg of my courage a single hole
lower?
Not I. If I had I wouldn’t have been worthy of the name I bore. What I
did do was to throw myself at full length on a bed of moss, call Bulger
to my side, and close my eyes to the outer world.