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.

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.