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Marvellous legends, however, have been told of the great Sea-serpent since that day, and those who know the circumstances which I have related are able to judge of their truth better than the ignorant and unlearned.
At times, when, far out at sea, the waves are running mountains high, the ship can scarce weather the storm, and some of the affrighted sailors have betaken themselves to their boats in hopes to preserve their lives, a hideous monster is said to rise from the deep, encircling and crushing the boat with its gigantic coil, and striking with its cruel fangs the drowning mariners. At other times, when all is calm, and the surface of the ocean ripples softly, like a lake stirred by the zephyrs’ softest breath, a huge and awful form may be seen floating on the waves, slowly making its way through the waters, and ever and anon raising its hideous serpent-head aloft, as if in search of something to injure or destroy. Wonderful tales do the sailor men bring home of this extraordinary creature, and wise folk oftentimes shake their heads and affect to disbelieve in its existence. But we, Brother Rhine, who know this chronicle of early days which I have just been telling, shake no heads over the matter, and entertain no doubt of the reality of the sight which the sons of Neptune aver that they have seen. Old Goody Tickleback is the great Sea-serpent, and my only wonder is that, when the great owl-fairy was about it, he did not put her out of the way altogether, instead of leaving her in a position in which she could still work so much mischief to mortal men. I suppose, however, that fairies, like other people, know their own business best; and there was probably some reason against this self-evidently wise course which does not occur to those who do not happen themselves to be fairies.
In this manner, anyhow, the three witches were comfortably disposed of, and, to my mind, there never was a clearer case of “a good riddance of bad rubbish.” Having accomplished his task, the owl-fairy now reentered his carriage, and directed the troops to pass before him, which they accordingly did, each company saluting as it passed. The review being finished, the whole procession returned to the wood in the same order as that in which they had emerged from it, and in a very short time the banks of the river were as quiet as if nothing unusual had happened. The mannikins were never afterwards molested by witches or any such nefarious customers, and, as long as they chose to inhabit the castle, they were perfectly free from disturbance or attack. Time at last did its work upon the old walls, and when the hum of the steam-engine began to be heard in the land this was no longer a place for mannikins. They flitted I know not where, and the owl-fairy doubtless went with them. I could perhaps tell you more, but melancholy thoughts come over me as I speak of the departure of old friends and neighbours, and I think, with your good leave, I will here bring my legend to a conclusion.
“Thanks, good brother,” said the Monarch of the Rhine, as Father Thames ceased speaking. “Yet would I fain inquire who or what was this great owl-fairy?”
His companion smiled grimly. “Hast thou so soon forgotten thine own objection to questions concerning our legends when finished?” he asked. “Nevertheless I would tell thee if I could, but I fear to speak with certainty upon a subject which has ever been shrouded in doubt. Most authorities agree that this mighty being could be none other than he of whom mention was made in my first legend—that of the Wild Boar of Windsor Forest. But the great fairy, Toddlekins, did not announce himself on the occasion of the transformation of the three witches; and the only proof that it was he who reigned over the mannikins and delivered them from their enemies consists in the similarity of his appearance with that of the rescuer of Smith in the Druid days. I incline to think it may have been him; and we know that wherever Toddlekins has power good prevails and evil flies from his presence; but more I cannot tell you.”
“Be it so, brother,” returned he of the Rhine; “the matter, anyhow, ended well, and I would that my Rhineland had a fairy Toddlekins as well as thy favoured country.”
Father Thames smiled grimly. “There never could be two such as Toddlekins in this world,” replied he; “and it is a blessing for me and mine that there has been one. But come, Brother Rhine, there is yet time for another legend. Hast thou none of the old war times, and of the brave German barons who fought so oft and so fiercely?”
“Ay, that have I, many an one,” responded the other. “I bethink me, moreover, of one which is not strictly or wholly of mine own land, nor in truth do I know precisely to what land it can be said entirely to belong. It is one, however, which has been handed down to us in verse, if you object not to a tale told in such fashion.”
“Object, indeed!” cried jolly old Father Thames in a pleasant voice. “How or why should I object? Are not some of our very best English legends told in verse? Witness that excellent old story of—
‘Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And so was old King Tudor;
But merrier still was Miss Mary Cole,
When the Earl of Pembroke woo’d her.’
That is a fine legend, if you please! I heard it all told by a descendant of the Cole family, who stumbled on the story in an old manuscript, and instantly went out to Cannes, in the South of France, where he studied it carefully with a view to producing it for the benefit of the English public, and was only prevented from doing so by his sisters, who insisted upon it that the wooing done in their family, even at a remote period, was a matter of private history which should never be allowed to become public property. Perhaps they had some affair of the same kind in hand themselves, and did not want to establish an inconvenient precedent.”
“Very likely,” remarked the Rhine King somewhat sulkily; “but if you go on like this I shall never get away. Pray give a fellow a chance, and don’t keep all the talk to yourself—you and your Coles.”
“Hold hard!” cried Father Thames at this. “I am not going to be ‘called over the coals’ by any foreigner.”
“A truce to your puns!” said he of the Rhine; and as Father Thames said no more, he at once began the song of:—