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The Worlds of Gilbert and Sullivan

Francis Drake's Story! :-

Chapter III: A Night Visitor!

Francis remembered that Liz was a good singer and a natural artist. She often sang folksongs for him - she also sang Italian and Latin solos in the Catholic church she attended with her mother. Above all she loved sketching. Whenever she could obtain some paper and a piece of charcoal from the metal workers on the moor or some colours from a retired brother from the old abbey she would make drawings of people and of the flowers, birds, dogs, horses and other animals on the farm or on Dartmoor.

Frankie would sit enthralled while she sketched him, Prince, Bess, or members of the family. And she had the facility for presenting her pictures in a humorous manner, which was not only entertaining but also eclectic¹ and didactic².(ooOh Clever-clogs! You're only showing off, pretending to be knowledgeable. However they're words worth looking up sometime - like now perhaps!). Liz introduced Frankie to the art of drawing and painting and found in him a willing and able pupil. He quickly took to this gentle craft, and although he never acquired the natural talents that Liz possessed he mastered a skill which he practised to the end of his days. She also tried to get him to sing. But, although he became a lover of music, he never acquired a personal expertise.

Whilst 'caving', climbing and rambling the two children asked each other searching questions  about their books and the never-ending miracles they observed in nature. (I'm sure they didn't know all the answers. But it  seemed important for them to have the freedom to pose the questions.)

Fascinated, they sometimes lingered and watched fluffy white clouds in the sky changing their shapes in the high altitude winds. Each would describe what they saw in the metamorphosing formations. One cloud might begin like a horse, then grow horns to look like a cow. Next, shoulders bulging and head lowered, it would transform into a snorting bull. Fire and smoke would ultimately belch from its mouth as it evolved into a dragon, and finally it would silently disintegrate and fade into shrouds of mist, leaving the pair perplexed about the depths of human imagination. Francis was also intrigued by the different wind directions and speeds at the various altitudes. Liz, meanwhile, was silently planning her next picture of the witnessed scene. What an enormous number of questions there are within the magic of childhood! 'And', they puzzled, 'does the magic remain in adulthood?'

All this, however, was now abruptly and brutally relegated to the past. We were watchful, and thus far remained safe in our cave. Papa and Francis were ever on the alert, and Prince stood sentinel (actually, he lay down with his snout poking through the screening-bushes) and regularly forewarned us about potential dangers with his almost imperceptible, but thunderously low, growl. On one occasion he alerted us to a wolf across the clearing which might have picked up our scent. Is it . . . could it be . . . the same lame young wolf Liz had rescued in the woods some months before? Francis recalled the incident:

One evening Frankie, Liz and Prince were on their way home when they heard a low whimpering sound coming from the edge of the wood. They stopped and listened - there it was again. It was obviously an animal in distress. Prince gave an un-committed growl and Frankie reminded Liz the she mustn't interfere, it could be dangerous, so they hurried onward. But wait . . . there it was once more, like a puppy in pain. They stopped, re-traced their steps and tentatively entered the wood to locate the sound. There lying on the ground on the bank of a stream was a young she-wolf (not much more than a cub) In the fading light they noticed that the animal had a very swollen and obviously painful foot. Frankie took out his sling but his hand was stayed by Liz. Prince growled uncomfortably when Frankie quietly ordered him to sit. The cub looked at Liz appealingly and softly whimpered a distress-call for help.

Whilst Frankie kept a careful watch Liz approached the cub very gingerly speaking soothingly to the animal. She then spotted a large thorn embedded in the wolf's foot and exclaimed:  "Oh you poor, poor thing". This was slowly poisoning the foot, causing the animal great distress. It was obviously the source of the trouble and unless it was removed would be fatal. In the gathering gloom Liz tore off a strip of her undergarment and soaked it in the stream. She stroked the cub's head and trickled some water into the animal's mouth to calm it and help quench its thirst. She then, very gently, took the wolf's paw in her hand and bathed the wound with the cooling water. Next, very, very carefully and tenderly, she drew out the offending thorn. Finally she bathed the paw again and bandaged it loosely with her cloth strip.

Throughout this deed they were aware of a hundred eyes watching them from the deepening shadows in the undergrowth. Soon the wolf recovered sufficiently to lift its head and gratefully lick her hand. She gave it another small drink from her cupped hand. No more could be done by Liz to help so they retreated from the wood and resumed their journey. Francis was full of admiration for her courage and compassion. And her mother told her later that it was an act of bravery (or foolhardiness) that might earn her another life-long friend; but what if she had been attacked by the rest of the pack? She reflected for a moment and looked at Frankie. They both now wondered about at least some of the owners of those hundred hidden eyes!

'However', thought Francis, 'this wolf detected by Prince across the clearing may not be the same animal. But is it . . . could it be . . . is it limping slightly? Is it trying to give us a signal? Or is it imagination?' However, before these questions could be answered the animal wandered off after a few sniffs at the air and all was quiet again.

Meanwhile I decided to check the interior of the mine. (My feline instincts demand that ). There was a flow of fresh air which, although healthy, implied another exit. I discovered its source - a fissure leading up through the tor above. I made a point of checking this and satisfying myself that it couldn't be infiltrated, even if it could be located. (Prince isn't the only one who can guard the cave. Don't let on, but he's a bit of a softy really!)

We were lucky and remained undiscovered and relatively comfortable, surviving on the biscuits and cold food that Mama had prepared and fresh water collected under cover of night from a nearby stream. Francis also surreptitiously took some nightly oats and barley to Bess. He gave her the accustomed three note owl-call-sign he and Liz used (one long hoot followed by two short ones - blown through thumbs into cupped hands), she recognised the signal and answered with a soft whinny. He then gently brushed her down, fed her and had a consoling word to comfort her before returning to the cave. (I was able to look after myself, and went about my nightly hunting forays without let or hindrance!)

On the tenth night we heard Bess's insistent nearby whinny, Prince whined a soft but excited response. We peered out across the marsh and in the starlight saw Bess with a very hungry, dishevelled and frightened Liz. She was obviously relieved to find us. Francis rushed out to bring her into the cave. When danger struck, she told us, she had  run terrified from her home into nearby woods, was separated from her family and now didn't know where they were. 

Liz explained that she survived on wild nuts, seeds, fruits and stream-water. During the second week she espied Goldie through the trees, glowing in the moonlight, and was convinced that the deer was beckoning her to follow. Tracking the hind for two days, she eventually heard Francis' owl-call to Bess in the distance and, overjoyed, struck off towards its source. Ultimately she came across Bess (or Bess scented her drawing near). The horse returned Liz's affectionate advances then led her to the secret cave.

Mama comforted Liz, gave her something to eat and drink and some dry clean clothes, and gently welcomed her into our 'family'. A delighted Francis walked Bess quietly back to her copse with some extra oats and loving pats as a reward. In the distance the wolf-pack was calling - he could swear they were cheering! His mind wandered to the wolf's visit - was she really trying to tell them something? On his return journey to the cave he noticed a golden shimmer over to his right in the trees. He started to softly call "Thank you Goldie." but before he could get the words out she gave a little deer-snort - as if to say: 'That's OK. Keep her safe'; then swiftly and silently disappeared.

Click the galleon's quarter-deck (abaft the main mast) to advance further into the thrilling . . .

Francis Drake's Story! :-

Chapter IV: A Trip to Morwellham Quay!

Footnote i:    If you would like to see the meaning of eclectic, double-click the strip below:-

eclectic means:      ChoosingTheBestOfEverything   Return to Story

Footnote ii:    If you would like to see the meaning of didactic, double-click the strip below:-

didactic means:      InstructiveOrIntendedToTeach   Return to Story

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