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

me to the Hot Swamp and helping to carry out a grand scheme that I have in my brain.”

The Hebrew shook his head.

“I love not your grand schemes,” he said, somewhat sternly. “The last grand scheme that your father had was one which, if successfully carried out, would have added a large portion of Albion to his dominions, and would have swept several tribes off the face of the earth. As it was, the mere effort to carry it out cost the lives of many of the best young men on both sides, and left hundreds of mothers, wives, sisters, and children to mourn their irreparable losses, and to wonder what all the fighting was about. Indeed, there are not a few grey-bearded men who share that wonder with the women and children, and who cannot, by any effort of their imagination, see what advantage is gained by either party when the fight is over.”

“These grey-beards must be thick-skulled, then,” replied the prince with a smile, “for does not the victor retain the land which he has conquered?”

“Yea, truly, and he also retains the tombs of the goodly young men who have been slain, and also the widows and sweethearts, and the national loss resulting from the war—for all which the land gained is but a paltry return. Moreover, if the All-seeing One cared only for the victors, there might be some understanding of the matter—though at the cost of justice—but, seeing that He cares for the vanquished quite as much as for the victorious, the gain on one side is counterbalanced by the loss on the other side, while the world at large is all the poorer, first, by the loss of much of its best blood, second, by the creation of a vast amount of unutterable sorrow and bitter hatred, and, third, by a tremendous amount of misdirected energy.

“Look, for instance, at the Hot Swamp. Before the late war it was the abode of a happy and prosperous population. Now, it is a desolation. Hundreds of its youth are in premature graves, and nothing whatever has been gained from it by your father that I can see.”

“But surely men must defend themselves and their women and children against foes?” said Bladud.

“Verily, I did not say they should not,” replied Beniah. “Self-defence is a duty; aggressive war, in most cases (I do not say in all), is a blunder or a sin.”

“I think that my mind runs much on the same line with yours, Beniah, as to these things, but I am pretty sure that a good many years will pass over us before the warriors of the present day will see things in this light.”

One is apt to smile at Bladud’s prophetic observation, when one reflects that about two thousand seven hundred years have elapsed since that day, and warriors, as well as many civilians, have not managed to see it in this light yet!

“However,” continued the prince, “the scheme which runs in my head is not one of war—aggressive or defensive—but one of peace, for the betterment of all mankind. As you know, I have begun to build a city at the Hot Swamp, so that all who are sick may go to that beautiful country and find health, as I did. And I want your help in this scheme.”

“That is well, prince, but I see not how I can aid you. I am not an engineer, who could carry out your devices, nor an architect who could plan your dwellings. And I am too old for manual labour—though, of course, it is not for that you want me.”

“You are right, Beniah. It is not for that. I have as many strong and willing hands to work as I require, but I want wise heads, full of years and experience, which may aid me in council and guard me from the blunders of youth and inexperience. Besides, man was not, it seems to me, put into this world merely to enjoy himself. If he was, then are the brutes his superiors, for they have no cares, no anxieties about food or raiment, or housing, and they enjoy themselves to the full as long as their little day lasts. There is surely some nobler end for man, and as you have given much study to the works and ways and reputed words of the All-seeing One, I want you to aid me in helping men to look upward—to soar like the eagle above the things of earth, as well as to consider the interests of others, and so, as far as may be, unlearn selfishness. Will you join me for this end?”

“That will I, with joy,” answered the Hebrew with kindling eye; “but your ambition soars high, prince. Have you spoken to Branwen on these subjects?”

“Of course I have, and she, like a true woman, enters heartily into my plans. Like myself, she does not think that being wedded and happy is the great end of life, but only the beginning of it. When the wedding is over, our minds will then be set free to devote ourselves to the great work before us.”

“And what duties in the work will fall to the lot of Branwen?” asked Beniah, with an amused look.

“The duties of a wife, of course,” returned the prince. “She will lend a sympathetic ear to all plans and proposals; her ingenious imagination will suggest ideas that might escape my grosser mind; her brilliant fancy will produce combinations that my duller brain would never think of; her hopeful spirit will encourage me to perseverance where accident or disaster has a tendency to demoralise, and her loving spirit will comfort me should failure, great or small, be permitted to overtake me. All this, I admit, sounds very selfish, but you asked me what part Branwen should play in regard to my schemes. If you had asked me what part I am to play in her life and work, the picture might be inverted to some extent—for our lives will be mutual—though, of course, I can never be to her what she will be to me.”

With this exalted idea of the married state, Prince Bladud looked forward to his wedding. Whether Dromas was imbued with similar ideas we cannot tell; but of this we are sure, that he was equally devoted to the princess—as far as outward appearance went—and he entered with keenest zest and appreciation into the plans and aspirations of his friend, with regard to the welfare of mankind in general, and the men of Albion in particular.

Not many days after that there was a double wedding at Hudibras town, which created a tremendous sensation throughout all the land. For, although news travelled slowly in those days, the fame of Bladud and his wonderful cure, and his great size and athletic powers, coupled with his Eastern learning, and warlike attainments and peaceful proclivities, not to mention the beauty and romantic adventures of his bride, had made such an impression on what may be styled the whole nation, that noted chiefs came from all parts far and near, to his wedding, bringing as many of their distinguished followers with them as they deemed necessary to safe travelling in an unsettled country. Some even came from the great western island called Erin, and others from the remote isle of the north which lay beyond Gadarn’s country, and was at a later period named Ultima Thule.

“I wonder when they’re going to stop coming,” remarked Gadarn to King Hudibras, as the self-invited guests came pouring in.

“Let them come,” replied the jovial king, with the air of a man of unlimited means. “The more the merrier. There’s room for all, and the forests are big.”

“Some of them, I see,” rejoined Gadarn, “are my mortal foes. We shall now have a chance of becoming mortal friends.”

It might be supposed that the assemblage of such a host from all points of the compass would, as it is sometimes expressed, eat King Hudibras out of house and home; but this was not so, for it was the custom at that time for visitors at royal courts to hunt for their victuals—to go in, as it were, for a grand picnic on a continuous basis, so that the palace of our king, instead of being depleted, became surfeited with food. As his preserves were extensive, and game of all kinds abundant, the expense attendant on this kind of hospitality was nil.

It would have been very much the reverse had it been necessary to supply drink, but the art of producing liquids which fuddle, stupefy, and madden, had not yet been learnt in this country. Consequently there was no fighting or bloodshed at those jovial festivities, though there was a certain amount of quarrelling—as might be expected amongst independent men who held different opinions on many subjects, although politics and theology had not yet been invented.

Great were the rejoicings when it was discovered, by each band as it arrived, that there was to be a double wedding; that the Princess Hafrydda was to be one of the brides, and that the fortunate man who had won her was a famous warrior of the mysterious East, and one of the victors at the great games of that part of the world.

How the ceremony of marriage was performed we have not, after the most painstaking research, been able to ascertain; but that it was performed somehow, and to the satisfaction of all concerned, we are absolutely certain, from the fact that Bladud and Branwen, Dromas and Hafrydda, lived happily together as man and wife for many years afterwards, and brought up large families of stalwart sons and daughters to strengthen the power and increase the prestige of Old Albion.

This, however, by the way. Of course the chief amusement of the guests was games, followed by songs and dancing in the evenings. And one of the favourite amusements at the games was scientific boxing, for that was an entirely new art to the warriors, alike of Albion, Erin, and Ultima Thule.

It first burst upon their senses as a new and grand idea when Bladud and Dromas, at the urgent request of their friends, stepped into the arena and gave a specimen of the manner in which the art was practised in Hellas. Of course they did not use what we call knuckle-dusters, nor did they even double their fists, except when moving round each other, and as “gloves” were unknown, they struck out with the hands half open, for they had no wish to bleed each other’s noses or black each other’s eyes for mere amusement.

At the beginning it was thought that Dromas was no match at all for the gigantic Bladud, but when the wonderful agility of the former was seen—the ease with which he ducked and turned aside his head to evade blows, and the lightning speed with which he countered, giving a touch on the forehead or a dig in the ribs, smiling all the time as if to say, “How d’ye like it?” men’s minds changed with shouts of surprise and satisfaction. And they highly approved of the way in which the champions smilingly shook hands after the bout was over—as they had done before it began.

They did not, however, perceive the full value of the art until an ambitious young chief from Ultima Thule—a man of immense size and rugged mould with red hair—insisted on Dromas giving him a lesson. The man from Hellas declined at first, but the man from Thule was urgent, and there seemed to be a feeling among the warriors that the young Hellene was afraid.

“It is so difficult,” he explained, “to hit lightly and swiftly that sometimes an unintentionally hard blow is given, and men are apt to lose their tempers.”

This was received with a loud laugh by the Thuler.

“What! I lose my temper on account of a friendly buffet! Besides, I shall take care not to hit hard—you need not fear.”

“As you will,” returned Dromas, with a good-humoured