Mew and Rover went along the shore and up the cliff, Mew flying slowly and Rover trotting along very sad. They stopped outside the little boys’ father’s house; and Rover even went in at the gate, and sat in a flower-bed under the boys’ window. It was still very early, but he barked and barked hopefully. The little boys were either still fast asleep or away, for nobody came to the window. Or so Rover thought. He had forgotten that things are different on the world from the back-garden of the moon, and that Artaxerxes’ bewitchment was still on his size, and the size of his bark.
After a little while Mew took him mournfully back to the cove. There an altogether new surprise was waiting for him. Psamathos was talking to a whale! A very large whale, Uin the oldest of the Right Whales. He looked like a mountain to little Rover, lying with his great head in a deep pool near the water’s edge.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get anything smaller at a moment’s notice,’ said Psamathos. ‘But he is very comfortable!’ ‘Walk in!’ said the whale.
‘Good-bye! Walk in!’ said the seagull.
‘Walk in!’ said Psamathos; ‘and be quick about it! And don’t bite or scratch about inside; you might give Uin a cough, and that you would find uncomfy.’
This was almost as bad as being asked to jump into the hole in the Man-in-the-Moon’s cellar, and Rover backed away, so that Mew and Psamathos had to push him in. Push him they did, too, without a coax; and the whale’s jaws shut to with a snap.
Inside it was very dark indeed, and fishy. There Rover sat and trembled; and as he sat (not daring even to scratch his own ears) he heard, or thought he heard, the swish and beating of the whale’s tail in the waters; and he felt, or thought he felt, the whale plunge deeper and downer towards the bottom of the Deep Blue Sea.
But when the whale stopped and opened his mouth wide again (delighted to do so: whales prefer going about trawling with their jaws wide open and a good tide of food coming in, but Uin was a considerate animal) and Rover peeped out, it was deep, altogether immeasurably deep, but not at all blue. There was only a pale green light; and Rover walked out to find himself on a white path of sand winding through a dim and fantastic forest.
‘Straight along! You haven’t far to go,’ said Uin.
Rover went straight along, as straight as the path would allow, and soon before him he saw the gate of a great palace, made it seemed of pink and white stone that shone with a pale light coming through it; and through the many windows lights of green and blue shone clear. All round the walls huge sea-trees grew, taller than the domes of the palace that swelled up vast, gleaming in the dark water. The great indiarubber trunks of the trees bent and swayed like grasses, and the shadow of their endless branches was thronged with goldfish, and silverfish, and redfish, and bluefish, and phosphorescent fish like birds. But the fishes did not sing. The mermaids sang inside the palace. How they sang! And all the sea-fairies sang in chorus, and the music floated out of the windows, hundreds of mer-folk playing on horns and pipes and conches of shell.
Sea-goblins were grinning at him out of the darkness under the trees, and Rover hurried along as fast as he could—he found his steps slow and laden deep down under the water. And why didn’t he drown? I don’t know, but I suppose Psamathos Psamathides had given some thought to it (he knows much more about the sea than most people would think, even though he never sets toe in it, if he can help it), while Rover and Mew had gone for a walk, and he had sat and simmered down and thought of a new plan.
Anyway Rover did not drown; but he was already wishing he was somewhere else, even in the whale’s wet inside, before he got to the door: such queer shapes and faces peered at him out of the purple bushes and the spongey thickets beside the path that he felt very unsafe indeed. At last he got to the enormous door—a golden archway fringed with coral, and a door of mother-of-pearl studded with sharks’ teeth. The knocker was a huge ring encrusted with white barnacles, and all the barnacles’ little red streamers were hanging out; but of course Rover could not reach it, nor could he have moved it anyway. So he barked, and to his surprise his bark came quite loud. The music inside stopped at the third bark, and the door opened.
Who do you think opened it? Artaxerxes himself, dressed in what looked like plum-coloured velvet, and green silk trousers; and he still had a large pipe in his mouth, only it was blowing beautiful rainbow-coloured bubbles instead of tobacco-smoke; but he had no hat.
‘Hullo!’ he said. ‘So you’ve turned up! I thought you would get tired of old P-samathos’ (how he snorted over that exaggerated P) ‘before long. He can’t do quite every-thing. Well, what have you come down here for? We are just having a party, and you’re interrupting the music.’
‘Please, Mr Arterxaxes, I mean Ertaxarxes,’ began Rover, rather flustered and trying to be very polite.
‘O never mind about getting it right! I don’t mind!’ said the wizard rather crossly. ‘Get on to the explanation, and make it short; I’ve no time for long rigmaroles.’ He had become rather full of his own importance (with strangers), since his marriage to the rich mer-king’s daughter, and his appointment to the post of Pacific and Atlantic Magician (the PAM they called him for short, when he was not present). ‘If you want to see me about anything pressing, you had better come in and wait in the hall; I might find a moment after the dance.’
He closed the door behind Rover and went off. The little dog found himself in a huge dark space under a dimly-lighted dome. There were pointed archways curtained with seaweed all round, and most of them were dark; but one of them was full of light, and music came loudly through it, music that seemed to go on and on for ever, never repeating and never stopping for a rest.
Rover soon got very tired of waiting, so he walked along to the shining doorway and peeped through the curtains. He was looking into a vast ballroom with seven domes and ten thousand coral pillars, lit with purest magic and filled with warm and sparkling water. There all the golden-haired mermaids and the darkhaired sirens were dancing interwoven dances as they sang—not dancing on their tails, but wonderful swim-dancing, up and down, as well as to and fro, in the clear water.
Nobody noticed the little dog’s nose peeping through the seaweed at the door, so after gazing for a while he crept inside. The floor was made of silver sand and pink butterfly shells, all open and flapping in the gently swirling water, and he had picked his way carefully among them for some way, keeping close to the wall, before a voice said suddenly above him:
‘What a sweet little dog! He’s a land-dog, not a sea-dog, I’m sure. How could he have got here—such a tiny mite!’
Rover looked up and saw a beautiful mer-lady with a large black comb in her golden hair, sitting on a ledge not far above him; her regrettable tail was dangling down, and she was mending one of Artaxerxes’ green socks. She was, of course, the new Mrs Artaxerxes (usually known as Princess Pam; she was rather popular, which was more than you could say for her husband). Artaxerxes was at the moment sitting beside her, and whether he had the time or not for long rigmaroles, he was listening to one of his wife’s. Or had been, before Rover turned up. Mrs Artaxerxes put an end to her rigmarole, and to her sockmending, as soon as she caught sight of him, and floating down picked him up and carried him back to her couch. This was really a window-seat on the first floor (an indoors window)—there are no stairs in sea-houses, and no umbrellas, and for the same reason; and there is not much difference between doors and windows, either.
The mer-lady soon settled her beautiful (and rather capacious) self comfortably on her couch again, and put Rover on her lap; and immediately there was an awful growl from under the window-seat.
‘Lie down, Rover! Lie down, good dog!’ said Mrs Artaxerxes. She was not talking to our Rover, though; she was talking to a white mer-dog who came out now, in spite of what she said, growling and grumbling and beating the water with his little web-feet, and lashing it with his large flat tail, and blowing bubbles out of his sharp nose.
‘What a horrible little thing!’ the new dog s
aid. ‘Look at his miserable tail! Look at his feet! Look at his silly coat!’
‘Look at yourself,’ said Rover from the mer-lady’s lap, ‘and you won’t want to do it again! Who called you Rover?—a cross between a duck and a tadpole pretending to be a dog!’ From which you can see that they took rather a fancy to one another at first sight.
Indeed, they soon made great friends—not quite such friends, perhaps, as Rover and the moon-dog, if only because Rover’s stay under the sea was shorter, and the deeps are not such a jolly place as the moon for little dogs, being full of dark and awful places where light has never been and never will be, because they will never be uncovered till light has all gone out. Horrible things live there, too old for imagining, too strong for spells, too vast for measurement. Artaxerxes had already found that out. The post of PAM is not the most comfortable job in the world.
‘Now swim away and amuse yourselves!’ said his wife, when the dog-argument had died down and the two animals were merely sniffing at one another. ‘Don’t worry the fire-fish, don’t chew the sea-anemones, don’t get caught in the clams; and come back to supper!’
‘Please, I can’t swim,’ said Rover.
‘Dear me! What a nuisance!’ she said. ‘Now Pam!’—she was the only one so far that called him this to his face—‘here is something you can really do, at last!’
‘Certainly, my dear!’ said the wizard, very anxious to oblige her, and pleased to be able to show that he really had some magic, and was not an entirely useless official (limpets they call them in sea-language). He took a little wand out of his waistcoat-pocket—it was really his fountain-pen, but it was no longer any use for writing: mer-folk use a queer sticky ink that is absolutely no use in fountain-pens—and he waved it over Rover.
Artaxerxes was, in spite of what some people have said, a very good magician in his own way (or Rover would never have had these adventures)—rather a minor art, but still needing a deal of practice. Anyway after the very first wave Rover’s tail began to get fishy and his feet to get webby, and his coat to get more and more like a mackintosh. When the change was over, he soon got used to it; and he found swimming a good deal easier to pick up than flying, very nearly as pleasant, and not so tiring—unless you wanted to go down.
The first thing he did, after a trial swim round the ballroom, was to bite at the other dog’s tail. In fun, of course; but fun or not, there was nearly a fight on the spot, for the mer-dog was a bit touchy-tempered. Rover only saved himself by making off as fast as possible; nimble and quick he had to be, too. My word! there was a chase, in and out of windows, and along dark passages, and round pillars, and out and up and round the domes; till at last the merdog himself was exhausted, and his bad temper too, and they sat down together on the top of the highest cupola next to the flag-pole. The mer-king’s banner, a seaweed streamer of scarlet and green, spangled with pearls, was floating from it.
‘What’s your name?’ said the mer-dog after a breathless pause. ‘Rover?’ he said. ‘That’s my name, so you can’t have it. I had it first!’
‘How do you know?’
‘Of course I know! I can see you are only a puppy, and you have not been down here hardly five minutes. I was enchanted ages and ages ago, hundreds of years. I expect I’m the first of all the dog Rovers.
‘My first master was a Rover, a real one, a sea-rover who sailed his ship in the northern waters; it was a long ship with red sails, and it was carved like a dragon at the prow, and he called it the Red Worm and loved it. I loved him, though I was only a puppy, and he did not notice me much; for I wasn’t big enough to go hunting, and he didn’t take dogs to sail with him. One day I went sailing without being asked. He was saying farewell to his wife; the wind was blowing, and the men were thrusting the Red Worm out over the rollers into the sea. The foam was white about the dragon’s neck; and I suddenly felt that I should not see him again after that day, if I didn’t go too. I sneaked on board somehow, and hid behind a waterbarrel; and we were far at sea and the landmarks low in the water before they found me.
‘That’s when they called me Rover, when they dragged me out by my tail. “Here’s a fine sea-rover!” said one. “And a strange fate is on him, that turns never home,” said another with queer eyes. And indeed I never did go back home; and I have never grown any bigger, though I have grown much older—and wiser, of course.
‘There was a sea-fight on that voyage, and I ran up on the fore-deck while the arrows fell and sword clashed upon shield. But the men of the Black Swan boarded us, and drove my master’s men all over the side. He was the last to go. He stood beside the dragon’s head, and then he dived into the sea in all his mail; and I dived after him.
‘He went to the bottom quicker than I did, and the mermaids caught him; but I told them to carry him swift to land, for many would weep, if he did not come home. They smiled at me, and lifted him up, and bore him away; and now some say they carried him to the shore, and some shake their heads at me. You can’t depend on mermaids, except for keeping their own secrets; they’re better than oysters at that.
‘I often think they really buried him in the white sand. Far away from here there lies still a part of the Red Worm that the men of the Black Swan sank; or it was there when last I passed. A forest of weed was growing round it and over it, all except the dragon’s head; somehow not even barnacles were growing on that, and under it there was a mound of white sand.
‘I left those parts long ago. I turned slowly into a seadog—the older sea-women used to do a good deal of witchcraft in those days, and one of them was kind to me. It was she that gave me as a present to the mer-king, the reigning one’s grandfather, and I have been in and about the palace ever since. That’s all about me. It happened hundreds of years ago, and I have seen a good deal of the high seas and the low seas since then, but I have never been back home. Now tell me about you! I suppose you don’t come from the North Sea by any chance, do you?—we used to call it England’s Sea in those days—or know any of the old places in and about the Orkneys?’
Our Rover had to confess that he had never heard before of anything but just ‘the sea’, and not much of that. ‘But I have been to the moon,’ he said, and he told his new friend as much about it as he could make him understand.
The mer-dog enjoyed Rover’s tale immensely, and believed at least half of it. ‘A jolly good yarn,’ he said, ‘and the best I have heard for a long time. I have seen the moon. I go on top occasionally, you know, but I never imagined it was like that. But my word! that sky-pup has got a cheek. Three Rovers! Two’s bad enough, but three’s impossible! And I don’t believe for a moment he is older than I am; if he is a hundred yet, I should be mighty surprised.’
He was probably quite right too. The moon-dog, as you noticed, exaggerated a lot. ‘And anyway,’ went on the merdog, ‘he only gave himself the name. Mine was given me.’
‘And so was mine,’ said our little dog.
‘And for no reason at all, and before you had begun to earn it any way. I like the Man-in-the-Moon’s idea. I shall call you Roverandom, too; and if I were you I should stick to it—you never do seem to know where you are going next! Let’s go down to supper!’
It was a fishy supper, but Roverandom soon got used to that; it seemed to suit his webby feet. After supper he suddenly remembered why he had come all the way to the bottom of the sea; and off he went to look for Artaxerxes. He found him blowing bubbles, and turning them into real balls to please the little mer-children.
‘Please, Mr Artaxerxes, could you be bothered to turn me—’ began Roverandom.
‘O! go away!’ said the wizard. ‘Can’t you see I can’t be bothered? Not now, I’m busy.’ This is what Artaxerxes said all too often to people he did not think were important. He knew well enough what Rover wanted; but he was not in a hurry himself.
So Roverandom swam off and went to bed, or rather roosted in a bunch of seaweed growing on a high rock in the garden. There was the old whale resting just underneath; and i
f anyone tells you that whales don’t go down to the bottom or stop there dozing for hours, you need not let that bother you. Old Uin was in every way exceptional.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘How have you got on? I see you are still toy-size. What’s the matter with Artaxerxes? Can’t he do anything, or won’t he?’
‘I think he can,’ said Roverandom. ‘Look at my new shape! But if ever I try to get onto the matter of size, he keeps on saying how busy he is, and he hasn’t time for long explanations.’
‘Umph!’ said the whale, and knocked a tree sideways with his tail—the swish of it nearly washed Roverandom off his rock. ‘I don’t think that PAM will be a success in these parts; but I shouldn’t worry. You’ll be all right sooner or later. In the meanwhile there are lots of new things to see tomorrow. Go to sleep! Good-bye!’ And he swam off into the dark. The report that he took back to the cove made old Psamathos very angry all the same.
The lights of the palace were all turned off. No moon or star came down through that deep dark water. The green got gloomier and gloomier, until it was all black, and there was not a glimmer, except when big luminous fish went by slowly through the weeds. Yet Roverandom slept soundly that night, and the next night, and several nights after. And the next day, and the day after, he looked for the wizard and couldn’t find him anywhere.
One morning when he was beginning already to feel quite a sea-dog and to wonder if he had come to stay there for ever, the mer-dog said to him: ‘Bother that wizard! Or rather, don’t bother him! Give him a miss today. Let’s go off for a really long swim!’
Off they went, and the long swim turned into an excursion lasting for days. They covered a terrific distance in the time; they were enchanted creatures, you must remember, and there were few ordinary things in the seas that could keep up with them. When they got tired of the cliffs and mountains at the bottom, and of the racing runs in the middle heights, they rose up and up and up, right through the water for a mile and a bit; and when they got to the top, no land was to be seen.