The Admiral’s Caravan/Chapter IX

Chapter IX. The Camel’s Complaint. Dorothy ran along until she thought she was quite safe, and then stopped to look back and listen. There was a confused sound of shouts and cries in the distance, but nothing seemed to be coming after her, so, after waiting a moment to get her breath, she walked quietly away through the wood.

“What a scene of turmoil it was!” she said to herself. (You see, she was trying to express herself in a very dignified and composed manner, as if she hadn’t been in the least disturbed by what had happened.) “I presume—” she went on, “I presume it was something like a riot, although I really don’t see what it was all about. Of course I’ve never been in a riot, but if it’s anything like that, I shall never have anything to do with one”;—which certainly was a very wise resolution for a little girl to make; but as Dorothy was always making wise resolutions about things that were never going to happen, I really don’t think that this particular one was a matter of any consequence.

She was so much pleased with these remarks that she was going on to say a number of very fine things, when she came suddenly upon the Caravan hiding behind a large tree. They were sitting in a little bunch on the grass, and, as Dorothy appeared, they all put on an appearance of great unconcern, and began staring up at the branches of the tree, as if they hadn’t seen her.

“They’ve certainly been doing something they’re ashamed of,” she said to herself, “but they can’t deceive me with any such behavior as that”; and just then the Admiral pretended he had just caught sight of her and said, with a patronizing air, “Ah! How d’ ye do? How d’ ye do?” as if they hadn’t met for quite a while.

“You know perfectly well how I do, and I consider that a very foolish remark,” replied Dorothy, speaking in a very dignified manner, and not feeling at all pleased with this reception; and then noticing that Humphrey was nowhere to be seen, she said severely, “Where’s your Camel?”

“Camels is no good,” said the Admiral, evasively. “Leastwise he wasn’t.”

“Why not?” said Dorothy. She said this very sternly, for she felt morally certain that the Admiral was trying to conceal something from her.

“Well, you see,” said the Admiral, uneasily, “he talked too much. He was always grumbling.”

“Grumbling about what?” said Dorothy.

“Oh, about a wariety of things,” said the Admiral. “Meals and lodgings and all that, you know. I used to try to stop him. ‘Cammy,’ I says—”

“‘Cammy’ is short for camel,” explained Sir Walter, and Dorothy laughed and nodded, and the Admiral went on—

“‘Cammy,’ I says, ‘don’t scold so much’; but lor! I might as well have talked to a turnpike-gate.”

“Better,” put in Sir Walter. “That shuts up sometimes, and he never did.”

“Oh, jummy!” said the Highlander, with a chuckle, “that’s a good one!”

“But what was it all about?” persisted Dorothy.

“You tell her, Ruffles,” said the Admiral.

“Well,” said Sir Walter, “it was all the same thing, over and over again. He had it all in verses so he wouldn’t forget any of it. It went like this:

“Canary-birds feed on sugar and seed, Parrots have crackers to crunch; And, as for the poodles, they tell me the noodles Have chickens and cream for their lunch. But there’s never a question About digestion— does for me!

“Cats, you’re aware, can repose in a chair, Chickens can roost upon rails; Puppies are able to sleep in a stable, And oysters can slumber in pails. But no one supposes A poor Camel dozes— does for me!

“Lambs are inclosed where it’s never exposed, Coops are constructed for hens; Kittens are treated to houses well heated, And pigs are protected by pens. But a Camel comes handy Wherever it’s sandy— does for me!

“People would laugh if you rode a giraffe, Or mounted the back of an ox; It’s nobody’s habit to ride on a rabbit, Or try to bestraddle a fox. But as for a Camel, he’s Ridden by families— does for me!

“A snake is as round as a hole in the ground, And weasels are wavy and sleek; And no alligator could ever be straighter Than lizards that live in a creek. But a Camel’s all lumpy And bumpy and humpy— does for me!”

Now, Dorothy was a very tender-hearted little child, and by the time these verses were finished she hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry. “Poor old, feeble-minded thing!” she said, compassionately. “And what became of him at last?”

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then the Admiral said solemnly:

“We put him in a pond.” The caravan discipline the camel “Why, that’s the most unhuman thing I ever heard of in all my life!” exclaimed Dorothy, greatly shocked at this news.

“Well,” said the Admiral, in a shamefaced sort of way, “we thought it was a good thing to do—for us, you know.”

“And I call it proud and unforgiving,” said Dorothy, indignantly. “Did the poor creature say anything?”

“Not at first,” said the Admiral; “but after he got in he said things.”

“Such as what?” said Dorothy.

“Oh, we couldn’t make out what he said,” replied the Admiral, peevishly. “It was perfectly unintellijibbergibble.”

“Kind of gurgly,” put in the Highlander.

“Did he go right down?” inquired Dorothy, very anxiously.

“Not a bit of it,” said the Admiral, flippantly. “He never went down at all. He floated, just like a cork, you know.”

“Round and round and round,” added Sir Walter.

“Like a turnip,” put in the Highlander.

“What do you mean by that?” said Dorothy, sharply.

“Nothing,” said the Highlander, looking very much abashed; “only I thought turnips turned round.”

Dorothy was greatly provoked at all this, and felt that she really ought to say something very severe; but the fact was that the Caravan looked so innocent, sitting on the grass with their sunbonnets all crooked on their heads, that it was as much as she could do to keep from laughing outright. “You know,” she said to herself, “if it wasn’t for the Highlander’s whiskers, it’d be precisely like a’ infant class having a picnic; and after all, they’re really nothing but graven images”—so she contented herself by saying, as severely as she could:

“Well, I’m extremely displeased, and I’m very much ashamed of all of you.”

The Caravan received this reproof with great cheerfulness, especially the Admiral, who took a look at Dorothy through his spy-glass, and then said with much satisfaction: “Now we’re each being ashamed of by three persons”; but Dorothy very properly took no notice of this remark, and walked away in a dignified manner.