THE RED CAPS and THE HUNTERS

THE RED CAPS AND THE HUNTERS

Once upon a time there was an enormous creature that lived in the Land of Sentiment, called The Lion of the Netherlands. It was as big as the two countries, Holland and Belgium put together. Its lower limbs and haunches extended down, into the southern part of the Seventeen Provinces, and rested upon the high grounds of the Ardennes, upon the crags on which, a burg, or castle, was usually built. So this portion of the earth, which the lion straddled, with his lower limbs, was called Limburg.

When the mighty beast stood up, to make a rampant position, it poked its nose so far north and towards the pole, that it was nearly frozen. So they called that part of the country Friesland; or, as the boys used to spell it—Freezeland! Now the Dutch and Flemish for lion, is Leeuw; and there, the chief city was Leeuwarden, or the Lion City of the North.

The middle part of this creature, that is, the Lion of the Map, lay between France and Germany. To find room for its long tail, Leeuw had to whisk his tip-tuft almost up to Scotland, while the root end, and bulging curve of the long tail, nearly touched England. It made faces at Germany, but its back was toward the British Isles. Its eyes were very near, what the Dutch call their eilanden, and its grinning mouth opened near a place called Leer.

When this Lion was angry, and got its back up, like a monstrous cat, its roaring could be heard in Denmark.

In this Country of Seventeen Provinces, comprising Dutch folks, the Flemings, and the Walloons, there were also fifty places named, in one way or another, after the king of beasts. There were lion castles, lion hills, lion mountains, lion dykes, caves, corners, lanes, stones, nooks, valleys and capes. It seemed as if every pretty place, in Belgic, Dutch and Walloon geography had a lion for a namesake.

The Netherlanders, however, were not satisfied with only a geographical lion. Nor were they happy in having a lion that lies down only in an atlas, or that lives in fairy land, or of which kings and noblemen are so fond, when they make use of him in heraldry; that is, they put the beast on their banners, seals, crests, and coats of arms. Oldest in Europe is this Belgian lion.

Of these heraldic lions, that were never seen either in cages, or at the circus, nor even in Africa, or Asia, there were too many, already. They were crowned, or double-headed, as if a crown could put more brains in one’s noddle! or, as if two heads on the same beast were better than one! Some of them even had two tails, though what a lion, any more than a cow, wanted with more than one tail, was not clear.

Moreover, some of these heraldic beasts had tufted, or floriated tails, like gilliflowers. Or, they were curled in the middle, or frizzed all the way down. These lions were made to wear chains, jewelry, or flowers, or to stand on their hind legs, holding a shield, or coat of arms, or a flaming advertisement, of beer, or turnips, or waffles, or cookies. Besides these, some others had to stand up and wiggle their fore paws, like puppies asking for a dog biscuit. Worse than this, a few had to snicker and smirk, and grin, or leer, as if hearing good news, from their dams or cubs in Africa; or, as if they were reading a comic supplement to a Sunday newspaper. In fact, such lions, except in stone, or wood, or paint, or calico, were never heard of, in the jungles of Asia, or the veldts of Africa.

Now the Belgians wanted a lion, that was not on the map, nor in heraldry, or on a duke’s crest, or cut in stone or wood, or in a picture, but a live one, that could snarl, and bite, and roar, and go on a rampage. Yet, how should they capture a genuine male lion, a real beast, with a big beard and mane? Only one that could growl, and roar, and stand, and leap, or jump ten feet, and be able to eat up a calf, and pick its bones, or swallow ten pounds of mutton, or beef, at a meal, would fill the bill. Besides making faces, and swishing its tail around, and rearing up on its hind legs, and scratching with its four paws, it must have a tufted tail, at least a yard long. Nothing else would suit the Belgians, who are very proud of their country. They wanted a lion that would beat all creation.

Now there were two hunters, who were reckoned the bravest in all the Belgic realm. One was a Fleming and spoke Dutch. The other was a Walloon, and his speech was French; but the talk of both was about wild game, and how to get it. Happily, both understood each other’s language, when, in conversation about lions, or any other subject that related to the chase.

In these old days, before guns or powder, or bullets or cannon, they hunted wild animals with spears; and, with their arrows, they could bring down any bears, boars, or aurochs in the land. They had trapped all sorts of smaller animals, such as deer, foxes, rabbits, hares, and weasels, beside every variety of wild ducks, geese, and other birds, that were good to eat.

But a lion! Even if they went to Africa, how could they lure one out of the bush into the veldt, or get at him, when near a water hole? Their idea was to bring one alive to Belgium, in order to exhibit him. Then, the people would know what the real king of beasts was. Then, the artists and sculptors, also, could make pictures or statues. They might thus be able to learn, and to show, the difference between an imaginary or a paper lion, and the genuine monarch of the jungle.

These two hunters met at a place called Kabouterberg, or the Hill of the Elves, or fairies, called Kabouters; though the Belgian fairies that live in caves, are called Klabbers, or Red Caps. In this hill, which is near Gelrode village, one may see a number of little caves, where they used to live long ago. The two hunters and the elves were great friends. It is even commonly reported among the peasants, that these brave fellows could often see the Klabbers, when no one else could lay eyes on them; for they had unusually sharp eyesight. Though these hunters killed birds and animals for food, or fur, or to sell them, for a living, they were never once cruel. So the little Klabbers, liked the hunters, and never played any quellen, or bad tricks, on them, or their traps; though the imps often vexed mean and naughty people. Then these angry folks would call these Red Caps “quel-duivels,” or plaguey rascals, but for this, the Klabbers did not care a copper.

These two hunters having finished their long tramp, the one from the Ardennes and the other from the Campine, met late in the afternoon, at Gelrode. Being hungry, each pulled out of his bag, some sausages and bread; and there they sat eating until twilight.

“I hope we shall see the Klabbers, tonight,” said one fellow to the other. “I wonder if they are likely to come out.”

“I think it probable,” said the other. “The little Red Caps play around here very often. I’ve seen them before. They are always up to some tricks, or play, and I like to see them at it.”

The hunters had not long to wait, for no sooner had the shades of evening fallen, than out of the small caves in the hill, issued the funniest sort of a procession of little people, of all colors. Some had green faces and hands and others had blue. Each bore a tiny lantern, hardly as big as a glow worm; so that they looked like a line of fireflies. They made a sort of parade, several hundreds of feet long. Each one had, stuck in his belt, a little roll of something.

A Klabber is about half as high as a yard stick. As to their bodies, some were all red, from top to bottom, some yellow, some pink, and some blue.

There were a few white and black ones, but all had either green or blue hands and faces, with red caps on their heads.

Having come out for a frolic, they soon ranged themselves, in two long opposite rows, one against the other.

Then they began to dance, and caper, and tumble head over heels, and pull each other’s noses, which made the two hunters laugh heartily.

But pretty soon, with the many colors of their bodies and bright caps, and green hands and red faces, they made such a medley of tints and hues, that the hunters laughed still more uproariously at the jolly sight. They could not tell which was which. From being puzzled, the two men got so confused, that they suffered from a real brain storm. It was as though a hundred rainbows had been all smashed together, or were wobbling about. By and bye, there seemed no color at all, and the men actually became dizzy.

The next bit of fun, on the Red Caps’ program, was to tear up the bits of paper, which they carried in their belts, and roll them round. Or they made their little torches, out of dead twigs and leaves. Then, when all was ready, they ranged themselves into two lines again, as if two parties were trying to see which could beat the other in a game of smoke.

Each Red Cap pulled out his lantern and lighted the little roll of paper and leaves. Then he tried to blow the smoke into the face of a rival, on the opposite side. All the time, they kept up their laughing and chattering, like a lot of monkeys.

These Klabbers, were playing the game called camouflet, or smoke-blow. By the time the game was half over, the eyes of most of them were full of smoke, so that hardly any could see where they were going. In their glee, they tumbled over each other, making such a mess of colors, that the hunters were themselves so stupefied, that they began to wonder whether they had any brains left; for they could neither distinguish one color, or one Klabber, from another. When the men thought of rainbows, they wondered if rainbows ever got drunk.

At last, when all were tired out, and the fun lagged, the general of the Klabbers called off the game, and announced which side had gained the victory. The Green Faces had won over the Blues.

Then all the Klabbers picked up their lanterns, and, marching back up the hill, disappeared, in the little holes, or caves.

“Saint Christopher, help me! I have it,” said the Flemish hunter. “We’ll go to Africa and play the camouflet game on the lions. We’ll give them a brain storm of color, and then we’ll catch them, when their heads are upset.”

“By Saint Hubert, yes,” said the Walloon. “Come on! Let us make a big thing of it and call it camouflage. We’ll capture our lion with paintpots and brushes. The bigger the lion, the easier he will be fooled.”

When the hunters lay down to sleep, they dreamed of camouflaged houses, ships, lions and men and of their voyage to Africa.