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.