J. Dunne - St. George and the Witches

Then came a long wail, “Oh, my elephant! my elephant! my Hannibal!” Then a mingled shriek of rage from the mahouts. “Ride her down! Ride her down!” The bells broke out again, and the crashing of the elephants’ feet could be heard anew; but these were drowned in an awful, ear-splitting howl.

“W-a-a-h hoo! W-a-a-h hoo! W-a-a-h hoo hoo hoo hoo h-o-o-o!”

“Danger forward! Danger! Mind! Mind!” screamed the beaters. Something was coming, thud, thud, thud, through the wood; and, as it approached, it howled like a lost soul.

The next moment, St. George saw a most extraordinary sight. Bounding through the air, in great, flying leaps of forty yards or more, there came an old woman—a hideous hag who showed long yellow tusks as she snarled over her shoulder at the angry mahouts behind. Her skinny arms were held high over her head, and in each of her clenched fists she grasped a handful of leaves. She saw St. George, and swerved toward him, hissing like a snake.

St. George had faced many unexpected dangers, and was quick to perceive the important point in any new situation. He realized promptly that the leaves must be this hag’s weapons; and, as she bounded, yelling anew, over his head, he sprang forward and threw himself flat on his face. The leaves pattered to the ground behind him. Then he rose on one knee, turned, and loosed an arrow after the disgusting creature. It struck her squarely between the shoulder blades—and rebounded, shattered to fragments. She laughed shrilly, and continued her course, speeding down the slope in leaps which no wild animal could have accomplished. As she fled, she broke out again into her dreadful howling, shrieking as if fiends were tearing her piecemeal. She was lost to view in the dip of the valley; but the howls continued, and, presently, they sighted her again, bounding up the opposite slope until, at last, she disappeared in one of the wooded gullies of Queen Sophia’s land. Then her yelling ceased.

“A witch!” breathed Cleodolinda. She had run forward to St. George’s side and was looking rather white.

“Of course,” said the King. He, also, had run forward, but appeared to be more angry than alarmed. “The point is,” he went on, “what is she doing here? We have not had a witch in my country for sixty years.”

“Ah!” cried an old peasant, who had appeared unobserved, “you may well ask that. It were from Queen Sophy’s land she come, and it were I as seed her coming. Five months ago it were. She come, and she settled in that there wood among all they dragons. And on nights when the moon’s on the wane she comes to the edge of the trees there, and she howls like a mad dog. And whenever she does that, something bad happens to we poor farmers. ‘Howling Harriet,’ we calls her; and what I says is: She oughter be stopped by law.”

“But why was I not told of this before?” cried the angry King.

“Eh, it don’t do no good to tell tales of witches,” said the old man, shaking his head.

“Well, you are telling them now,” snapped the King.

“Why, bless my soul, so I be,” cried the other, in evident dismay. He turned and hobbled off.

“Howling Harriet!” said the King. “A pretty creature. I wonder if Sophia knows she is there.”

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” cried a voice. The King turned and saw a kneeling mahout. “My elephant,” sobbed the man. Tears were streaming down his face, and he appeared incapable of further speech. But he pointed toward the wood.

“Come on,” said the King shortly. He entered the trees, followed by the remainder of the party.

The elephant line had halted; but the great beasts, though uneasy, appeared to have suffered no injury. The King’s attention, however, was caught immediately by a group of mahouts and beaters clustered about something white behind the line, and he ran swiftly toward the spot.

There, towering among the trees, stood a magnificent elephant sculptured in purest white marble. It held one foot raised, as if to trample upon something venomous; its trunk was curled up and back as if trumpeting in wrath; and its whole expression bore token to a noble indignation, as if the beast were looking upon something unspeakably vile. The King gazed in admiration for a moment, and then horror spread slowly over his countenance.

“Heavens!” he gasped, “it is Hannibal! . . . My favorite elephant,” he added, for the benefit of St. George. He turned to the weeping mahout. “How did this happen?”

“The noble beast was about to trample upon the witch,” sobbed the man, “when she (may jackals howl on her grandmother’s grave) cast a handful of leaves upon him, and this—this calamity followed in the twinkling of an eye.”

The King laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder. “Hannibal shall stand in my courtyard,” he said. “He shall stand upon a pedestal of marble bearing in letters of pure gold the story of how he died doing his duty in battle with an evil thing.” He turned, frowning, to St. George. “But that woman, Howling Harriet, seems to be really dangerous. Queen Sophia should be warned at once.”

“Yes,” said the Knight, ruefully, “I suppose that a creature with an unpierceable hide, who can spring at you from forty yards distance and turn you immediately into a monument, may be called without exaggeration ‘dangerous.’ In fact,” he added, “I do not see for the moment how there can be any defense against her at all.”

“She may have an unpierceable skin without possessing a set of unbreakable bones,” answered the King. “I should judge that she can be crushed. See how she fled from the elephants. I should like greatly to test her skull with a heavy mace.”

“A pleasant fancy,” agreed St. George, “but she is too agile for that, and her flung leaves would make stone of the mace wielder while he was trying to get within striking distance.”

Walter stepped forward. “Will you permit me, sire,” he begged, “to carry a warning to your Majesty’s sister?”

“No,” said the King, sharply, “I shall go myself. I must talk this matter over with the Queen. Her court magician must be utterly worthless to have allowed her land to become the refuge of a hag like that.”

“She is watching us now!” cried one of the archers. “I saw her move.”

“What of it?” said the King. “I am not proposing to cross the border here, but at the river bridge ten miles to the south.”

“But suppose—” Walter hesitated. “Suppose she guesses at your Majesty’s intention and lies in wait for you there. It would be useless to flee: she can travel faster than any deer.”

“Suppose! suppose! suppose!” cried the King angrily. “I tell you that I am going. But you mean well, I know, Walter; and I shall travel with the greatest secrecy. More, you shall come with me.”

“And I also, I trust, sire?” asked St. George.

“Of course, my dear fellow,” replied the King. “I and, I am sure, my sister also will be delighted to have your assistance.”

The Princess Cleodolinda bit her lip, but she said nothing. She knew that there are times when it is useless for a mere woman to talk to a lot of men.

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