The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (room on the broom read aloud TXT) 📕

Poor Branwen! it was an unfortunate day for her when, in her youthful ignorance and recklessness, she took to the wild woods, resolved to follow Bladud to his destination and secretly wait there and watch over him like a guardian angel, as it were, until the terrible disease should lay him on his deathbed, when she would reveal herself and nurse him to the end!

Let not the reader suppose there was any lack of maiden modesty in this resolve. It must be borne in mind that Branwen was little more than a child in experience; that she was of an age at which the world, with all its affairs, is enveloped in a halo of romance; that her soul had been deeply stirred by the story of the rescue of the leprous old woman, and her pity powerfully aroused by the calm, though hopeless, tones of the doomed man when he spoke of his blighted prospects. Rather than leave him to die in absolute solitude she would sacrifice everything, and, in spite of infection and disfigurement, and the horrible nature of a disease which eats away the features before it kills, she would soothe his dying hours. Besides this, it must be remembered that our ancestors’ notions of propriety were somewhat different from ours, and—well, it was about eight hundred years B.C!

Whether love was a factor in her resolve we cannot say, but we are firmly convinced that, if it were, she was ignorant of the fact.

It is, however, one thing to resolve—quite another thing to carry resolution into effect. Branwen had, in an incidental way, obtained from her protector, Beniah, information as to the direction in which the hunter of the Hot Swamp lived, and the distance to his dwelling; but when she actually found herself in the forest, with nothing to guide her save the position of the sun—and, on cloudy days not even that—she began to realise somewhat of the difficulties that attended her enterprise, and when, on the first night, she crouched among the forked branches of an old oak, and heard the cries of wolves and other wild creatures, and even saw them prowling about by the light of the moon as it flickered through the foliage, she began to appreciate the dangers.

She had not, indeed, been so foolish as to set out on her expedition without a certain amount of forethought—what she deemed careful and wise consideration. She knew that by noting the position of the sun when at its highest point in the sky she could follow pretty closely the direction which Beniah had pointed out to her. She was quite aware that food was absolutely necessary to life, and had packed up a large bundle of dried meat, and also provided herself with one of her host’s bows and a sheaf of arrows. Besides this, she knew, like every girl of the period, how to snare rabbits, and was even expert in throwing stones, so that, if it should come to the worst, she could manage to subsist on little birds. As to sleeping at night, she had been accustomed, as a little girl, to climb trees, which faculty had not yet departed from her, and she knew well that among the branches of many kinds of trees there were cosy resting-places where neither man nor beast would be likely to discover her. She had also some idea of what it is to follow a trail, for she had often heard the king’s chief hunter refer to the process. As it was certain that Bladud, being an enormously big man, would leave a very obvious trail behind him, she would follow that—of course keeping well in the rear, so that he might never dream of her existence or intentions until the fatal time arrived when she should have to appear like a guardian angel and nurse him till he died.

Poor Branwen felt dreadfully depressed when she thought of this termination, and was quite unlike her gay reckless self for a time; but a vague feeling of unbelief in such a catastrophe, and a determination to hope against hope kept her from giving way to absolute despair, and nerved her to vigorous exertion.

It was in this state of mind that she had set the Hebrew’s house in order; carried everything of value to the inner cave; removed the plank bridge; closed the outer door, and had taken her departure.

As already said, she concealed herself among the branches of an old oak the first night, and, although somewhat alarmed by the cries of wild animals, as well as by the appalling solitude and darkness around, she managed to make a fair supper of the dried meat. Then,—she could not tell when,—she fell into a profound slumber, which was not broken until the sun had risen high, and the birds were whistling gaily among the branches—some of them gazing at her in mute surprise, as if they had discovered some new species of gigantic acorn.

She arose with alacrity, her face flushed with abounding health, and her eyes dancing with a gush of youthful hope. But memory stepped in, and the thought of her sad mission caused a sudden collapse. The collapse, however, did not last long. Her eyes chanced to fall on the bundle of dried meat. Appetite immediately supervened. Falling-to, she made a hearty breakfast, and then, looking cautiously round to see that no danger was near, she slipped down from her perch, took up the bow and quiver and bundle of food, threw her blanket, or striped piece of Phoenician cloth, over her shoulder, and resumed her journey.

It was soon after this that Branwen found out the misfortune of ignorance and want of experience. Ere long she began to feel the cravings of thirst, and discovered that she had forgotten to take with her a bottle, or any other sort of receptacle for water. About noon her thirst became so great that she half repented having undertaken the mission. Then it became so intolerable that she felt inclined to sit down and cry. But such an act was so foreign to her nature that she felt ashamed; pursed her lips; contracted her brows; grasped her bow and strode bravely on.

She was rewarded. The tinkling of water broke upon her senses like celestial music. Running forward she came to a little spring, at which she fell on her knees, put her lips to the pool, and drank with thankfulness in her heart. Arising refreshed, she glanced upward, and observed a bird of the pheasant species gazing fixedly down.

“How fortunate!” exclaimed the maiden, fitting an arrow to her bow.

It was not fortunate for the pheasant, evidently, whatever Branwen may have meant, for next moment the bird fell dead—transfixed with an arrow.

Being high noon by that time, the demands of nature made our huntress think of a mid-day meal. And now it was that she became aware of another omission—the result, partly, of inexperience. Having plucked and cleaned the bird, she prepared to roast it, when a sudden indescribable gaze overspread her pretty face. For a moment she stood as if petrified. Then she suddenly laughed, but the laugh was not gleeful, for it is trying to human nature to possess a good appetite and a good dinner without the means of cooking! She had forgotten to take with her materials for producing fire. She knew, indeed, that sticks and friction and fungus were the things required, but she knew not what sort of sticks, or where to find the right kind of fungus, or tinder. Moreover, she had never tried her hand at such work before, and knew not how to begin.

Laying the bird on a bank, therefore, she dined off the dried meat—not, however, so heartily as before, owing to certain vague thoughts about supply and demand—the rudimentary ideas of what now forms part of the science of Political Economy. The first fittings of a careworn expression across her smooth brow, showed, at all events, that domestic economy had begun to trouble her spirit.

“For,” she thought to herself, “the dried meat won’t last long, and I can’t eat raw things—disgusting!—and I’ve a long, long way to go.”

Even at this early period of her mission, her character was beginning to develop a little and to strengthen.

For several days she continued her journey through the great solitudes lying to the north-west of King Hudibras’ town, keeping carefully out of the way of open places, lest wandering hunters should find her, and sleeping in the forked branches of trees at night. Of course the necessity of thus keeping to the dense woods, and making her way through thorny thickets, rendered her journey very fatiguing; but Branwen was unusually strong and healthy, though the grace of her slender frame gave her a rather fragile appearance, and she did not find herself exhausted even at the end of a long day’s march; while her dressed-deerskin skirt and leggings bid defiance to thorns. So did the rude but serviceable shoes which her friend Beniah had constructed for her out of raw hide.

One thing that troubled the poor girl much was the fact that she had not yet discovered the trail of Bladud. In reality, she had crossed it more than once, but, not being possessed of the keen eye of the hunter, she had not observed it, until she came to a muddy swamp, on the edge of which there was an unmistakable track—a trail which a semi-blind man could hardly have missed. Stopping for a few minutes to take particular note of it, she afterwards went on with renewed hope and energy.

But this state of things did not last, for the trail became to her indistinguishable the moment the swamp was passed, and at last, during a very dark wet day, she lost herself as well as the trail. At evening of the same day she climbed into a tree. Opening out her bundle of dried meat, she began to eat and bemoan her fate. Tears were in her eyes, and there was a slight tendency to sob in her voice, as she muttered to herself—

“I—I wouldn’t mind being lost so much, if I only knew what to do or where to go. And this meat won’t hold out another week at the rate I’ve been eating. But I could hardly help it—I have been so hungry. Indeed, I’m hungry now, but I must not eat so much. Let me see. I shall divide it into two parts. That will last me twelve days or so, by which time I should be there—if I’m still going in the right direction. And now, divide the half into six—there—each of these will do for— Oh! but I forgot, that’s only enough for breakfast. It will need two portions for each day, as it will be impossible to do without supper. I must just eat half of to-night’s portion, and see how it feels.”

With this complicated end in view, she dried her eyes and began supper, and when she had finished it she seemed to “see” that it didn’t “feel” enough, for, after much earnest consideration, she quietly began to eat the second portion, and consumed it.

She was putting away the remnants, and feeling altogether in a more satisfactory state of mind, when her eyes fell upon an object which caused her heart to bound with alarm, and drove all the colour from her cheeks.

At the foot of the tree, looking up at her in blank amazement—open-eyed and mouthed—stood a man; a big, rough-looking man, in hairy garments and with a hairy face, which was topped by a head of hair that rendered a cap needless. He stood with his feet apart and an arrow across his bow, like one who sees a lovely bird which he is about to