WHISKERKISS

WHISKERKISS.

CHAPTER I.

THE MYSTERIOUS JOURNEY.

In the heart of the far Australian wild—away from traces of civilisation, and beyond the hope of help, a brave youth, faint with travel and with hunger, reclines completely exhausted by the bank of a broad river. He is the last of a band of nine who have attempted to explore the central portion of our vast continent, where on the Atlas we read, written right across the great blank, Unexplored. All his companions have perished of want and thirst, and Roland Trent, although he has reached water, and has quenched his burning thirst, feels that he also must follow his comrades ere long. He is very weak and so fatigued that he cannot stand; but he can see the flowing stream and the sunlit landscape, which anon becomes o’erclouded in his vicinity by the shadow of some moving object between him and the river. What could it be?

The explorer looked up in wonder, and beheld a small and very ugly old man standing and grinning at him. The creature was most outrageously grotesque in form—having, by some freak of nature, the body of a child with the head of a giant. No one, not even Mr. Punch, could boast a finer hump than protruded from between the shoulders of the intruder. From out a circular hole in his jerkin the hump rose bare, behind the big round skull, like a sugar loaf. He had small eyes, but they were infinitely more terrible than all his other deformity put together; at one moment they glowed with a phosphorescent sheen, which changed again to a vivid purple light, and from that to diamond flashes, without the closing of an eyelid.

“Ho! Ho! Who is more powerful than fire, stronger then the wind, and deeper than the streams? Whiskerkiss—I am he.”

The voice of the old fellow was dreadful, and echoed with a sullen roar like the growl of a lion, “I am Whiskerkiss, King of the Mountain Barrier, and Lord of Birds and Beasts. Who art thou?”

The lips of the fainting youth answered, “An unfortunate explorer.”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed the grim sprite in mimicry. “Thou puny mortal! Thou an explorer! Why, thy poor breath is nearly spent, ere thou hast reached the threshold of the great Unknown. Ho! Ho!”

Roland Trent shuddered.

“Wouldst thou see the wonders of this vast division of the globe? Come with Whiskerkiss, and he will show thee fertile lands, great lakes, and powerful nations in this unexplored interior. Come! here is my boat, and Starmoon, my slave, lashes the stream impatiently.”

As the dwarf spoke, he lifted Roland in his arms and placed him in a skiff upon the river, which immediately shot along the watery way with the speed of an express train. It was some time before Roland Trent recovered from the half unconscious state in which he had been conveyed to the boat; by-and-by, however, his vision became more clear, and he saw a sight he had never seen before. The skiff was nothing but a frail canoe, at the stern of which stood Whiskerkiss steering; but in front, a great, strange fish was harnessed to the bow, and plunging through the stream with immense velocity.

No pearl diver ever encountered such a quaint-looking denizen of the deep, as Starmoon the goblin fish of Whiskerkiss. It was in shape like an alligator, only its legs were as those of a grasshopper, which it used in place of fins while swimming. Fully twenty feet in length, it had a body as thick as a bullock, and a long spike projecting out of the top of its head. The face of the monster was hideous to behold—the rolling eyes, dreadful mouth, filled with a row of sharp, glistening teeth, and above all, it appeared to jibber, and make faces at our hero, as he looked at it in its swift course.

And now the river widened into a deep black gulf, and the shore receded from their gaze; not a ripple broke over the sullen surface, for the waters were like thick oil. Dark objects, in rapid motion, darted along like dolphins, and played leap-frog over the skiff. Roland Trent put his hand over the side; to his astonishment the water felt quite hot. He dipped a little up in the hollow of his palm, and tasted it. Pah! It was not salt, nor fresh, but worse than either, as it instantly produced a horrible nauseous feeling in him akin to stupor.

Onward went Starmoon at increased speed, urged by his master Whiskerkiss, until Roland beheld a great mountain range in the distance, which they rapidly approached. Abrupt and perpendicular, the summit of these high hills was lost in the clouds. The canoe sped onwards, and it seemed as if the frail barque would be dashed to atoms against their rugged sides. Daylight faded away as they drew near, and a distant roaring noise shook the sluggish waters. Were they hurrying to some fatal mäelstrom, or going headlong into some tremendous cavity in the bowels of the mountains? Roland’s spirit quailed within him at the thought. In the dim twilight, he saw the boat had entered an enormous cavern, where a dense wall of black rock, or rather boulders, were piled in wild disorder one above the other, and terminating in a flat roof of the same description.

“Ho, ho! I am Whiskerkiss, King of Woods and Stream,” and the voice of the steersman awoke the slumbering echoes of the dreary place with ten thousand vibrations.

“Who sails through rocks and hills, and guides the torrent in its course? I, Whiskerkiss. Ho! Starmoon. Ho! my slave, delve, delve!”

Gradually the darkness became more opaque around them. Roland cast himself down at the bottom of the canoe, and awaited his fate. He closed his eyes in horror at the vision of that dread abyss.

The time passed on, and still the same ghastly darkness prevailed. Our hero knew not whether it was night or day, or how many hours had passed since they had entered that dreadful passage under the mountain. From a sort of torpor into which he had fallen Roland was at length aroused by a touch on his cheek. It was not the touch which animated him so quickly, but the intensely pleasing sensation which it caused. Like that warm, thrilling emotion caused by the infusion of laughing gas, Roland felt a vigorous glow pervade his whole frame in an instant. He opened his eyes, but the bright rush of the noon-day light which burst unexpectedly upon his sight completely blinded him.

He shaded his eyes at first, until he should become accustomed to the glare. When at length he looked up, lo! where were Starmoon and Whiskerkiss, and the black unclean waters of the murky cavern below the mountains? Gone! With his hearing more acute, his sight much keener, and with every other faculty braced and quickened, the explorer found himself the occupant of a beautiful boat canopied with gold and silver network of rare design and workmanship. The sides and bottom of the skiff were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, while a large outspread fan, at the stern, of the same material, gave the resemblance of a gorgeous peacock floating on a silver stream. A dozen creatures, dazzlingly fair, and dressed superbly, propelled the boat with ivory paddles; while one who appeared robed in roseate splendour stood at his side, and pointed out to him a glorious country.

Yonder shone an immense valley, shut in by Alpine hills, of a deep, rich green, spangled with flowers. Birds of every hue and shade flitted from tree to tree, and filled the air with melody. At the foot of the hills a clear lake sparkled in the sunlight, and beyond the lake rose the towers, peaks, and domes of a beautiful city of white marble, which flashed back the sun’s rays in a million shafts of different coloured lights. The magnificence of this scene grew each moment yet more glowing and brilliant as Roland Trent gazed. Soon there smote upon his ear most ravishing sounds—sounds that seemed as the tinkle of silver bells, mingled with the soft murmurs of the Æolian harp. To his astonishment Roland discovered the melody proceeded from his companions, who were conversing with each other, and in his own language. Next to the gratification of finding himself in such an enchanting region, the explorer was delighted to find these people could understand and converse with him.

“Gentlemen,” said he, bowing politely, “will you have the goodness to tell me what country this is I now gaze upon for the first time?”

The rowers ceased rowing at the sound of his voice, and the nearest to him answered,—

“O! adored mortal, we are thy slaves. This is the kingdom of Bo-Peep, and is called Dreamland. No feet of soul-lit mortal hath ever trodden our soil before. Hail to thee! immortal one!”

“Are you the King of this fair land?” inquired our hero.

“Nay, I am but his Majesty’s messenger—my name is Pop-Corn. What shall we call thee?”

“Roland, the Explorer.”

“Welcome, then, to our shores. Thou shalt see Bo-Peep and his daughter Princess Golden Hair.”

The rowers resumed their paddles, and the fairy boat shot down the shining stream into the lovely sheen of the lake by the marble city.

Moments in Dreamland are as days with us. Therefore it will take a week of our time to prepare the charming Princess Golden Hair to receive our hero. Next Saturday the bold explorer shall be ushered into her presence at the Court of Bo-Peep.

CHAPTER II.

PRINCESS GOLDEN HAIR.

The metropolis of Dreamland presented a most glorious spectacle of magnificence and beauty to the wondering eyes of Roland Trent, as the fairy boat glided into the lake near the city. Beneath a fine marble colonnade, supported by pillars of jasper, he beheld a crowd of people, composed chiefly of Ministers of State and the nobles of the King, standing ready to give him welcome, while beyond these dignitaries a great square was filled with his Majesty’s Guards, armed cap-à-pié in silver armour, and surrounded by lithe, gay figures, who flitted to and fro like gorgeous butterflies in the sunlight.

The Australian youth was amazed at the dazzling beauty of the ladies, who gathered round him as he landed, with loud cries. Some of them even went so far out of the rule of good breeding and etiquette in their reception as to embrace and almost smother him with kisses. But there are no Mrs. Grundys in Elfland, and so the dames enjoyed themselves with the freedom and the innocence of children. With waving banners and bands of music, which sounded to his ears like so many tinkling musical boxes, our hero was escorted by a troop of silver-clad Guards to the palace of Bo-Peep. Grander than anything that ever entered the mind of that famous architect, Sir Christopher Wren, rose the glittering domes and lofty peaks of the fairy King’s palace. Through a labyrinth of budding roses perfuming the air around; by gold and silver fountains in full play, and whose soft cadence fell upon the ear like angels’ whispers; beneath a natural arch of mighty trees, every one of which held a thronged choir of winged choristers warbling forth a jubilee; and onward, amid glories and beauties unknown to the hosts of the waking world, into the presence of Bo-Peep. No comparison in this sea-bordered city would help to convey the faintest conception of the pomp and splendour of the King’s reception-hall. Nature and Art had here combined, and the blended effect was sublime. Not the array of nobles nor the throng of superbly dressed ladies, through whom he passed, nay, not even the throne itself, ablaze with jewels and precious stones, which circled in the elfin monarch as the ring of a magic lantern, had any attraction for the young stranger. His eyes had fallen upon a young creature of enchanting loveliness at the King’s side, and he had become spellbound thereby.

Poet or painter never dreamed of such a vision of beauty. Not the sunset glow had a richer tint than the long glossy hair of Bo-Peep’s only daughter. She was named “Princess Golden Hair”; and well did she merit the name, for it was the most glorious golden hair that mortal eye had ever seen. So Roland Trent thought as he was led forward and seated by her side.

Here where the laws of Nature (as we recognise them) are altered and suspended, the Princess and the mortal wanderer became enamoured of each other instantly.

Oh! the power, the irresistible charm of love! How it glowed in the eyes of Princess Golden Hair, and made the bewitching face yet more charming! Like the clear notes of a flute, only infinitely softer and more thrilling, her voice came upon his ears: “Welcome, oh, my Prince—lord of my being!—welcome to Dreamland!”

What mattered the cheers of the people and the great speech from the fairy King, and the grand banquet that followed—what mattered the thousand surprises and the wonderful things that encountered him at every turn? There was no fascination like the lovely Princess.

Glorious light and sunshine reigned here eternally. Roland watched in vain for the approach of eve and darkness; but gloom came not. It was one never-ceasing day.

By order of Bo-Peep, our hero was attired in rich robes softer than silken velvet, which emitted a rose-coloured glow, mingled with a delicious perfume, that by some mysterious power gave him a keener zest for pleasure and enjoyment. Go where he would, the King’s daughter was ever at his side.

“SEATED BENEATH A CANOPY OF ROSES.”

What bliss to be with her on the bright lake, seated beneath a canopy of roses in the royal barge; what sensations he felt with his head pillowed on her lap, and her snow-white fingers toying with his curls!

“The sun never fades in this enchanting valley?” he asked.

“No,” she replied softly. “The great light is our life. Dulness is destruction in Dreamland. We are only creatures of an hour, that is all.”

Oh, what witchery in the low, thrilling voice! Creatures of an hour, forsooth. Take care, Princess Golden hair! Take care.

“Your people are very beautiful, my Princess; but thou art fairer than a summer dream,” he responded gaily.

“Flatterer, I and my people are but as dreams,” she answered, smiling. “All thou see’st here of brightness and splendour are merely passing visions, nothing more.”

“Thou art more real and enchanting, dear Rosebud, than any dream that has haunted me.”

“Nay, adored stranger, mock me not,” said Golden Hair. “I am as the wind, which fills our sail—here, there, then gone for ever. Life with me is but a breath. But thou—thou wilt live when the wind and the vast sun, which giveth our race life and motion, are fled for ever.”

“Dear Princess,” and he caught her hand within his own, looking into her eyes the while, “Love is not a breath, a sunbeam. It is mightier than the wind, and more powerful than the combined forces of sea and air. Didst thou ever love, sweet maiden?”

What soft diffused light, glinting from the rich window of some ancient cathedral, ever shed such a rosy glow as was seen for one brief instant upon her face?

“Oh, Love has come with thee from beyond the Western Mountain,” she answered quietly.

“And thou hast felt its presence?”

“Ay, in thee. Yet thou hast brought a demon with thee also,” she replied.

“The sprite Whiskerkiss; of course, I remember.”

“Nay, not Whiskerkiss; but a gnome a thousand times more terrible than the monster of the Barrier.”

“And what is that, Princess?”

“Pain,” replied Golden Hair.

“What! has Pain never entered into this realm?” he inquired with amazement.

“Never.”

“Wonderful!” he ejaculated. “Had my charming Princess ever the toothache?”

The ringing laugh which burst from her lips was like the carol of a canary on a June morning.

“Nor the whooping-cough or—or the measles?” he added, smiling at her excessive merriment.

“Stop, stop!” she cried, looking at him with a wilful light in her large eyes, that held him as a spell. “The words thou hast uttered are unknown to me, even as Pain was unknown to me ere I saw thee.”

A cloud fell over his handsome face at her words, which did not escape Golden Hair, for she added quickly, “Lord of my life, Love and Pain are twinborn, and go hand-in-hand, but the one is so beautiful that it destroys even while it creates the other. Thou seemest to me all love. Tell me, are all thy race like thee?”

“Fair Princess,” he replied gravely, “beyond the Mountain Barrier from whence I came the people are as varied as the hues on yonder peak. Some there are who feel not love. Many suffer pain willingly in the service of a powerful world-god called Money. Amid the many fetishes who are honoured and exalted, none are more esteemed than this. At his word mighty empires rise in the wilderness, oceans are bridged, space changed into a willing slave.”

“Money is a mighty demon,” answered Princess Golden Hair.

“Yes, lady,” continued Roland. “Money is mighty, but ere now he has lent his power to an evil spirit called Hate, who going broadcast among the races of men has incited them to gather together and destroy each other without cause.”

“Hate is a monster, uglier than Pain,” replied the fairy.

“Ay, and he is invariably assisted by three other wicked powers known as Murder, Slander, and Malice.”

“Poor lost people!” cried the gentle Princess. “Is there no good genii to do battle with these wicked ones?”

“Oh yes; the renowned champion Sympathy has unfurled his banner to meet the hosts of evil in the world; and by-and-by the people who have groaned groans from their birth shall live as serene and peaceful as the shadows on this lake. And now, sweet love, I would fain close my eyes in repose, under the melody of thy lute.”

Sweetly fell the cadence over the still waters. Goldenly shone the domes and peaks of the marble palaces, as Roland Trent dreamed.

Shall we wake him out of his glorious vision? Nay; let him slumber on. He will open his eyes soon enough upon the realities of this sober empire at the Antipodes.