The water-babies; a fairy tale for a land baby

Preface

Sixty years ago Charles Kingsley dedicated “Water Babies” to his son Grenville — then five years old — “and all other good little boys,” showing very plainly that he intended it for the entertainment of very small people. Yet he used the book as a medium through which to attack certain political and social conditions and such petty tyrannies as helped to rob little children of a happy childhood ; and to ridicule and satirize many of the fads, foibles, and fashions of the day.

These digressions — often of considerable length — are so far beyond the comprehension of a child that it is hard to believe they were intended for him at all, but rather for those grown-up people who might be called upon to read the book to him. In this edition, I have eliminated them almost entirely. What remains is the story of Tom, the chimney-sweep and water-baby, his adventures on land and under sea, just as it was written down by Charles Kingsley, himself, years ago. In truth, this edition of “Water-Babies” is a child’s edition of that fairy tale for a land-baby. ”

B. E. W.

Walbrook, Baltimore, Md.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Charles Kingsley, clergyman, poet and writer of prose, was born at Holne, Dartmoor, Devonshire, England, June 12, 1819. He was the son of the Reverend Doctor Charles Kingsley, rector of St. Luke’s, Chelsea.

Mrs. Kingsley in her “Memoirs” says that it was from his father’s side that he inherited his love of art, his great fondness for sports, and his fighting blood, the men of his family having been soldiers for generations. From his mother’s side came his love of travel, science and literature, and the romance of his nature, as well as his keen sense of humor.

It seems that he was a most precocious child, for he wrote his first poem and his first sermon at the age of four years. He had a habit of arranging a pulpit in his playroom, with the chairs grouped about as if for a congregation, while his pinafore served him as a surplice. His mother took down one of his little sermons, and showed it to the Bishop of Peterborough, who predicted for the child a brilliant future. Time proved the truth of this prediction. Kingsley was one of the most noted preachers of his day, and this in face of the fact that he was afflicted with a hesitation in his speech, and a constitutional shyness which the hesitation naturally increased.

From boyhood he was a keen observer of the world around him, and became a great lover of natural history. He had a habit of taking long rambles over the moors or along the seacoast. One who often accompanied him on these walks says, No bird or beast, or insect, scarcely a drifting cloud, passed by him unnoticed or unwelcomed.” He was possessed of great bodily activity. Once, as a young man, he walked from Cambridge to London in one day, a distance of fifty-two miles. A walk of twenty-five miles was a pleasure in which he indulged quite often.

In 1842 he was graduated from Cambridge, and two years

VI later, at the age of twenty-three, he became the rector of a church at Eversley, Hampshire, England. Though he kept this living until his death he was also Canon of the Cathedral of Chester, from 1869 to 1873, and of Westminster from 1873 until he died. He was also chaplain in ordinary to the Queen.

At the beginning of his ministry at Eversley there was not a man or woman among his parishioners who could read and write. At an early age the boys and girls went into the fields to labor for a living. Moreover they had had very little religious instruction. Kingsley, a man of wide, ready and tender sympathy, was deeply touched by these conditions, and set himself to work to remedy them. He established shoe and coal clubs, a loan fund, a lending library, and a night school for adults which met at the rectory for want of another place. His influence over these poor people was very great, — more especially, he tells us, over “wild young fellows.” This was largely due to the fact that he “could swing a flail with the threshers in the barn, turn his swath with the mowers in the meadow, pitch hay with the hay-makers in the pasture. From knowing every fox earth on the moor, the reedy ^over’ of the pike, the still hole where the chub lay, he had a word of sympathy for the huntsman and old poacher, with the farmer he discussed the rotation of crops, and with the laborer the science of hedging and ditching.”

The condition in which he found the laboring people of his own little parish brought him to a realization of the wrongs the working class all over England had to endure ; and he became their champion, fighting their cause with tongue and pen as long as his life lasted. He endeavored through his writings to improve their condition, having in mind the idea of securing for them better homes and better wages. He unhesitatingly attacked any law that, to him, seemed inimical to their welfare. He gave much thought to the laws of health and made frequent appeals to the government to improve the laws of sanitation. He believed that cleanliness of- body was not next to but part of godliness. He preached it to rich and poor alike. His sermons and writings had an enormous influence. They brought him many friends — and sometimes enemies — and a correspondence with people far and near seeking his advice.

I

Vll

He wrote many short articles under the pen name of Parson Lot.”

In “Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet” he showed some of the wrongs of the working class, and the book was largely instrumental in arousing the upper classes to a realization of their responsibilities. In “Yeast: A Problem,” he considered the moral questions that confronted rural communities and the problems that resulted.

“Hypatia ” was a book that brought him much censure, particularly from the clergy of his own denomination. It was condemned by many as immoral, yet it is recognized now, by nearly every one, as a valuable bit of history and a work of art.

Among the most important of his other works are: The Saint’s Tragedy” published in 1848; “Twenty Five Village Sermons” published the same year as “Alton Locke” and “Yeast.” Then came a period of three years during which he produced nothing of particular note. In 1852 he brought out “Phaeton” and “Sermons on National Subjects.” The second series of these sermons appeared in 1854, as did “Alexandria and Her Schools.” In 1855 he wrote “Westward Ho ! ” and “ Sermons For the Times” ; in 1856, “The Heroes”; in 1857, “Two Years Ago”; and in 1858, “Andromeda” and other poems. In 1860 he wrote Limits of Exact Science Applied to History”; in 1863, “Water Babies ”, and “Sermons on the Pentateuch.” In 1864 came “The Roman and the Teuton.” This book was really a course of lectures delivered at Cambridge, while Professor of History. In 1866 he produced David and Other Sermons,” and “ Hereward the Wake ” ; in 1867, a book of lectures and another of sermons. In 1869 he wrote another child story, “ Madam How and Lady Why.”

In 1871 he visited the West Indies, his mother’s birthplace. The result of this visit was “At Last: A Christmas In the West Indies.” Between 1871 and 1875 he gave the world “Town Geology”; “Discipline and Other Sermons” ; “Prose Idylls”; “Plays and Puritans”; “Health and Education”; “Westminster Sermons.” In 1873-4 he visited the United States, traveling from coast to coast, and in 1875 appeared “Lectures Delivered In America.”

Scattered through his prose writings are many poems of a high viii order. One critic says of him, “ His genius was essentially that of a poet.” He did not give himself up to writing poetry, however, for he believed that the world at that time needed something to turn men’s minds to morality, religion and scientific truths. The condition in which he found many of his parishioners at Eversley had made a lasting impression upon him.

Charles Kingsley was the most distinguished member of a talented family. His brothers, George and Henry, were writers also, while his daughter, Mrs. Harrison, was well known in the literary world under the name Lucas Malet.

He was a versatile and prolific writer, a bold thinker, a brilliant conversationalist, a wide reader, and a man of great modesty. He possessed wonderful energy, throwing himself heart and soul into whatever he undertook, breaking down many times from over work. He loved to be out in the open; many of his books were planned while sitting beside a trout stream.

His home life was ideal. He was a companion to his children. Several of his books were written for, and dedicated to them. He was a great lover of animals and believed they had a future state. He knew the note of every bird that nested about Eversley, and speaks of them and the beetles and the crickets, as “ God’s choir. ”

He died January 23, 1875. His body might have rested in Westminster but it lies instead in the little churchyard at Eversley. He had chosen the place himself, years before. On the cross above his grave is written the keynote of his faith, God is Love.”

IX

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

1. Soon they came up with a poor Irish-woman . . 7

2. The room was all dressed in white . . . 17

3. Something went oft in his face 27

4. “Water,” said poor little Tom, quite faint . . 38

5. “I’m a dragon-fly, now” 61

6. Tom looked around for water-babies ... 86

7. “It’s a water-baby,” cried Ellie .... 96

8. “Come along,” said Tom; “don’t you see she is

9. But she took Tom in her arms .119

10. “There he is,” said the fairy; “and you must teach

him to be good” 128

11. And the poor old Gairfowl began to cry tears of

pure oil 150

12. He saw the fairies come up from below . . 157

13. “What do you want, my little man?” . . . 164

14. Tom held on tight to its claws .... 172

15. Tom thought he was crying 182

16. “I’ll get you one,” said Tom; and he took up a live

coal 192

17. They stood and looked for seven years more, and

neither spoke nor stirred 200

xi

Water- Babies

Chapter I

Once upon a time there was a little chimney-sweep, and his name was Tom. That is a short name, and you have heard it before, so you will not have much trouble in remembering it.

He lived in a great town in the North country, where there were plenty of chimneys to sweep, and plenty of money for Tom to earn and his master to spend. He could not read nor write, and did not care to do either ; and he never washed himself, for there was no water up the court where he lived. He had never been taught to say his prayers.

He cried half his time and laughed the other half. He cried when he had to climb the dark flues, rubbing his poor knees and elbows raw ; and when the soot got in his eyes, which it did every day in the week ; and when his master beat him, which he did every day in the week ; and when he had not enough to eat, which happened every day in the week likewise. And he laughed the other half of the day, when he was tossing half-pennies with the other boys, or playing leap-frog over posts, or bowling stones at the horses’ legs as they trotted by, — which last was excellent fun, when there was a wall at hand behind which to hide.

As for chimney-sweeping, and being hungry, and being beaten, he took all that for the way of the world, like the rain and snow and thunder, and stood manfully with his back to it till it was over, as his old donkey did to the hail-storm ; and then shook his ears and was as jolly as ever; and thought of the fine times coming, when he would be a man, and a master sweep, and sit in the public-house with a quart of beer and a long pipe, and play cards for silver money, and wear velveteens and ankle-jacks, and keep a white bull-dog with one gray ear, and carry her puppies in his pocket, just like a man. And he would have apprentices, one, two, three, if he could. How he would bully them, and knock them about, just as his master did to him ; and make them carry home the soot sacks while he rode before them on his donkey, with a pipe in his mouth and a flower in his button-hole, like a king at the head of his army. Yes, there were good times coming; and when his master let him have a pull at the leavings of his beer, Tom was the j oiliest boy in the whole town.

One day a smart little groom rode into the court where Tom lived. Tom was just hiding behind a wall, to heave half a brick at his horse’s legs, as is the custom of that country when they welcome strangers ; but the groom saw him, and hallooed to him to know where Mr. Grimes lived. Now, Mr. Grimes was Tom’s own master, and Tom was a very good man of business, and always civil to customers, so he put the half-brick down quietly behind the wall, and proceeded to take orders.

Mr. Grimes was to come up next morning to Sir John Harthover’s, at the Place, for his old chimney-sweep was gone to prison, and the chimneys wanted sweeping. And so he rode away, not giving Tom time to ask what the sweep had gone to prison for, which was a matter of interest to Tom, as he had been in prison once or twice himself. Moreover, the groom looked so very neat and clean, with his drab gaiters, drab breeches, drab jacket, snow-white tie with a smart pin in it, and clean, round, ruddy face, that Tom was quite offended and disgusted at his appearance, and considered him a stuck-up fellow, who gave himself airs because he wore smart clothes, and other people paid for them ; and he went behind the wall to fetch the half-brick after all, but did not, remembering that he had come in the way of business, and was, as it were, under a flag of truce.

His master was so delighted at the new customer that he knocked Tom down out of hand, and drank more beer that night than he usually did in two, in order to be sure of getting up in time the next morning; for the more a man’s head aches when he wakes, the more glad he is to turn out and have a breath of fresh air. And when he did get up at four the next morning, he knocked Tom down again, in order to teach him (as young gentlemen used to be taught at public schools) that he must be an extra good boy that day, as they were going to a very £reat house, and might make a very good thing of it, if they could but give satisfaction.

Tom thought so likewise, and indeed would have done and behaved his best, even without being knocked down. For of all places upon earth, Harthover Place (which he had never seen) was the most wonderful, and of all men on earth, Sir John (whom he had seen, having been sent to gaol by him twice) was the most awful.

Harthover was really a grand place, even for the rich North country; with a house so large that in the frame-breaking riots, which Tom could just remember, the Duke of Wellington, and ten thousand soldiers to match, were easily housed therein ; at least so Tom believed ; with a park full of deer, which Tom believed to be monsters who were in the habit of eating children; with miles of game preserves, in which Mr. Grimes and the collier lads poached at times, on which occasions Tom saw pheasants, and wondered what they tasted like ; with a noble salmonriver, in which Mr. Grimes and his friends would have liked to poach ; but then they must have got into cold water, and that they did not like at all.

In short, Harthover was a grand place, and Sir John a grand old man, whom even Mr. Grimes respected ; for not only could he send Mr. Grimes to prison when he deserved it, as he did once or twice a week; not only did he own all the land about for miles; not only was he as jolly, honest, sensible a squire, as ever kept a pack of hounds, who would do what he thought right by his neighbors, as well as get what he thought right for himself; but, what was more, he weighed full fifteen stone, was nobody knew how many inches round the chest, and could have thrashed Mr. Grimes himself in a fair fight, which very few folk round there could do, and which, my dear little boy, would not have been right for him to do, as a great many things are not which one both can do, and would like very much to do. So Mr. Grimes touched his hat to him when he rode through the town, and called him a “buirdly awd chap”, and his young ladies “gradely lassies”, which are two high compliments in the North country ; and thought that made up for his poaching Sir John’s pheasants.

Now, I dare say, you never got up at three o’clock on a midsummer morning. Some people get up then because they want to catch salmon : and some because they want to climb the Alps; and a great many more because they must, like Tom. But, I assure you, that three o’clock on a midsummer morning is the pleasantest time of all the twenty-four hours, and all the three hundred and sixty-five days ; and why every one does not get up then, I never could tell, save that they are all determined to spoil their complexions by doing all night what they might just as well do all day. But Tom, instead of going out to dinner at half-past eight at night, and to a ball at ten, and finishing off somewhere between twelve and four, went to bed at seven, when his master went to the public-house, and slept like a dead pig ; for which reason he was as pert as a game-cock (who always gets up early to wake the maids), and just ready to get up, when the fine gentlemen and ladies were just ready to go to bed.

So he and his master set out ; Grimes rode the donkey in front, and Tom and the brushes walked behind ; out of the court, and up the street, past the closed window-shutters, and the winking, weary policemen, and the roofs all shining gray in the gray dawn.

They passed through the pit-men’s village, all shut up and silent now, and through the turnpike; and then they were out in the real country, and plodding along the black dusty road, between black slag walls, with no sound but the groaning and thumping of the pit-engine in the next field. But the road soon grew white, and the walls likewise; and at the wall’s foot grew long grass and gay flowers, all drenched with dew; and instead of the groaning of the pit-engine, they heard the skylark saying his matins high up in the air, and the pit-bird warbling in the sedges, as he had warbled all night long.

All else was silent. For old Mother Earth was still fast asleep, and like many pretty people, she looked still prettier asleep than awake. The great elm-trees in gold-green meadows were fast asleep above, and the cows fast asleep beneath them ; nay, the few clouds which were about were fast asleep likewise,

SOON THEY" CAME UP WITH A POOR IRISH WOMAN and so tired that they had Iain down on the earth to rest, in long white flakes and bars, among the stems of the elm-trees, and along the tops of the alders by the stream, waiting for the sun to bid them rise, and go about their day’s business in the clear blue overhead.

On they went ; and Tom looked and looked, for he had never been so far into the country before ; and longed to get over a gate, and pick buttercups, and look for bird’s nests in the hedge; but Mr. Grimes was a man of business, and would not have heard of that.

Soon they came up with a poor Irish woman trudgin g along with a bundle on her back. She had a gray shawl over her head, and a crimson madder petticoat ; so you may be sure she came from Galway. She had neither shoes or stockings, and limped along as if she were tired and footsore ; but she was a very tall and handsome woman, with bright gray eyes, and heavy black hair hanging about her cheeks. And she took Mr. Grimes’ fancy so much, that when he came along side, he called out to her:

“This is a hard road for a gradely foot like that. Will ye up, lass, and ride behind me ? ”

But perhaps she did not admire Mr. Grimes’ look and voice; for she said quietly:

“No, thank you : I’d rather walk with your little lad here.”

“You may please yourself,” growled Grimes, and went on smoking.

So she walked beside Tom, and talked to him, and asked him where he lived, and what he knew, and all about himself, till Tom thought he had never met such a pleasant-spoken woman. And she asked him at last if he said his prayers ! and seemed sad when he told her that he knew no prayers to say.

Then he asked her where she lived, and she said far away by the sea. And Tom asked her about the sea ; and she told him how it rolled and roared over the rocks in winter nights, and lay still in the bright summer days, for the children to bathe and play in it ; and many a story more, till Tom longed to go and see the sea, and bathe in it likewise.

At last, at the bottom of a hill, they came to a spring ; not such a spring as you see here, which soaks up out of the white gravel in the bog, among red fly catchers, and pink bottle heath, and sweet white orchis; nor such a one as you n ay see here, too, which bubbles up under the warm sand bank in the hollow lane, by the great tuft of lady ferns, and makes the sand dance reels at the bottom, day and night, all the year round; not such a spring as either of those; but a real North country lime-stone fountain, like one of those in Sicily or Greece, where the old heathen fancied the nymphs sat cooling themselves the hot summer’s day. Out of a low cave of rock, at the foot of a lime-stone crag, the great fountain rose, quelling, and bubbling, and gurgling, so clear that you could not tell where the water ended and the air began; and ran away under the road, a stream large enough to turn a mill ; among the blue geranium, and golden globe flower, and wild raspberry, and the bird cherry with its tassels of snow.

And there Grimes stopped and looked; and Tom looked, too. Tom was wondering whether anything lived in that dark cave, and came out at night to fly in the meadows. But Grimes was not wondering at all. Without a word he got off his donkey, and clambered over the low road wall, and knelt down, and began dipping his ugly head into the spring — and very dirty he made it.

Tom was picking the flowers as fast as he could. The Irish-woman helped him, and showed him how to tie them up; and a very pretty nosegay they had made between them. But when he saw Grimes actually wash, he stopped, quite astonished ; and when Grimes had finished, and began shaking his ears to dry them, he said :

“Why, master, I never saw you do that before.”

“Nor will again, most likely, ’Twasn’t for cleanliness 1 did it, but for coolness. J’d be ashamed to want washing every week or so, like any smutty collier lad. ”

“ I wish I might go and dip my head in,” said poor little Tom. “It must be as good as putting it under the town pump; and there is no beadle here to drive a chap away. ”

“Thou come along,” said Grimes; “what dost want with washing thyself? Thou didst not drink a half gallon of beer last night, like me.”

“ I don’t care for you,” said naughty Tom, and he ran down to the stream, and began washing his face.

Grimes was very sulky, because the woman preferred Tom’s company to his; so he dashed at him with horrid words, and tore him from his knees and began beating him. But Tom was accustomed to that, and got his head safe between Mr. Grimes’ legs, and kicked his shins with all his might.

“Are you not ashamed of yourself, Thomas Grimes?” cried the Irish-woman over the wall.

Grimes looked up, startled at her knowing his name; but all he answered was, “No, nor never was yet; ” and went on beating Tom.

“True for you. If you ever had been ashamed of yourself, you would have gone over into Vendale long ago.”

“What do you know about Vendale?” shouted Grimes; but he left off beating Tom.

“I know about Vendale, and I know about you, too. I know, for instance, what happened in Aldermire Copse, by night, two years ago come Martinmas. ”

“You do?” shouted Grimes, and leaving Tom, he climbed up over the wall, and faced the woman. Tom thought he was going to strike her; but she looked him too full and fierce in the face for that.

“Yes, I was there,” said the Irish-woman quietly.

“You are no Irish-woman by your speech,” said Grimes, after many bad words.

“Never mind who I am. I saw what I saw; and if you strike that boy again, I’ll tell what I know.”

Grimes seemed quite cowed, and got on his donkey without another word.

“Stop!” said the Irish-woman. “I have one more word for you both ; for you will both see me again before it is all over. Those that wish to be clean, clean they will be ; and those that wish to be foul, foul they will be. Remember.”

And she turned away, and through a gate into the meadow. Grimes stood still a moment, like a man who had been stunned. Then he rushed after her, shouting, “You come back.” But when he got into the meadow, the woman was not there.

Had she hidden away? There was no place to hide in. But Grimes looked about, and Tom also, for he was as puzzled as Grimes himself at her disappearing so suddenly; but look where they would, she was not there.

Grimes came back again, as silent as a post, for he was a little frightened ; and getting on his donkey, filkd a fresh pipe, and smoked away, leaving Tom in peace.

And now they had gone three miles and more, and came to Sir John’s lodge gates.

Very grand lodges they were, with very grand iron gates and stone gate posts, and on the top of each a most dreadful bogey all teeth, horns, and tail, which was the crest Sir John’s ancestors wore in the War of the Roses; and very prudent men they were to wear it, for all their enemies must have run for their lives at the very first sight of them.

Grimes rang at the gate, and out came a keeper on the spot, and opened it.

“I was told to expect thee,” he said. “Now thou’ It be so good as to keep to the main avenue, and not let me find a hare or a rabbit on thee when thou comest back. I shall look sharp for one, I tell thee.”

“Not if it’s in the bottom of the soot-bag,” quoth Grimes, and at that he laughed; and the keeper laughed and said: “If that’s thy sort I may as well walk up with thee to the hall. ’ ’

“I think thou best had. It’s thy business to see after thy game, man, and not mine.*’

So the keeper went with them; and to Tom’s surprise, he and Grimes chatted together all the way quite pleasantly. He did not know that a gamekeeper is only a poacher turned outside in, and a poacher a keeper turned inside out.

They walked up a great lime avenue, a full mile long, and between their stems Tom peeped trembling at the horns of the sleeping deer, which stood up among the ferns. Tom had never seen such enormous trees, and as he looked up he fancied that the blue sky rested on their heads. But he was puzzled very much by a strange murmuring noise, which followed them all the way. So much puzzled, that at last he took courage to ask the keeper what it was.