Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (5 page)

“Forgotten!” exclaimed the eagle. “Ha, you should hear my young Waldemar recite those glowing stanzas. How does it go?

“
O eagle, mightiest of all living things
,

Nor Death, nor Destiny, has longer stings—
”

“—spreads stronger wings,” corrected Freddy.

“Of course. And then:

“
Thy claws of steel, thy beak of burnished brass Make malefactor pigs chew up the grass
.”

“That's not just exactly as I wrote it,” said Freddy. “Though very nice. But I wrote:

“
Thy claws of brass, thy beak of burnished steel Make malefactor pigs in terror squeal
.”

“Ah, yes,” said the eagle. “But in either version, most complimentary. And while written, as I am given to understand, specifically for my brother Pinckney, a most elegant compliment to the entire eagle race.”

“Pinckney is your brother?” inquired Freddy. “I trust you will present him my compliments, and ask him, when he has leisure, if he will do me the honor of paying me a short call. There are matters on which I wish to consult him.”

“Ah, I do remember,” said the eagle, “that there were certain business transactions between Pinckney and various of your associates. Concerning a goose, was it?—or a—”

“
If
you please,” interrupted Freddy quickly, and with a gesture indicated the two ducks, who were pretending to be powder puffs, with their heads under their wings.

The eagle cocked his head and stared at them with his left eye. “Eh?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Ah, I see. The nieces? Ha, yes; you can trust me.” He lowered his voice. “There is a farm in South Pharisee owned by a Mr. Pratt. I fancy that inquiries there may be fruitful.—And now, my friend,” he said aloud, “in what can I serve you? Your high poetic talent, and your remarkably true and exact portrayal of eagle character, command my service. Instruct me, I pray.”

So Freddy told him what he wanted. It took a lot of language, which would occupy too many pages here, so I will not repeat it. But when the eagle finally took his leave, he had promised to tell the animals at the farm of their plight, and to arrange somehow for them to get something to eat. After that Freddy felt better.

Chapter 5

The eagle, whose name was Breckenridge, had told Freddy that they were now over the northern Adirondacks and headed for Lake Champlain. But the wind was almost gone. Slowly and more slowly they drifted, and at last hung nearly motionless over a long narrow lake, the wooded shores of which were almost solid rows of summer cottages and camps. Pretty soon people caught sight of the balloon, and came running down off their porches with opera glasses and telescopes, and shouted and waved. But this was getting to be an old story to the balloonists now, and they hardly troubled to wave back.

Early in the afternoon Freddy saw a speck in the southern sky which he at first took to be an airplane, but which, as it grew steadily larger, he saw was the eagle.

“Look, Alice—Emma,” he said excitedly. “Here comes Pinckney's brother. Oh, I do hope … Yes, he's got a hamper.” And sure enough, in his strong talons the eagle was carrying a large hamper whose contents were covered with a white napkin.

“How's he going to give it to us?” asked Alice. “If he perches on the edge of this thing, he'll have to let go of the hamper first. And if he keeps hold of the hamper, he can't stop.”

Apparently Breckenridge had just had the same thought. He soared in circles around the balloon two or three times, then shouting hoarsely to Freddy to catch hold, he came in closer, beating his wings in swift strokes to hover motionless beside them. Freddy leaned out as far as he dared, but he couldn't reach the hamper, for Breckenridge's wings were so big that he couldn't come in any closer without hitting the ropes.

He dropped away from them on a long slant, then came past again. “Devise something, pig; devise something,” he called.

“My goodness,” said Freddy, “what can I devise? Oh, dear, there's our dinner right in plain sight, and it might just as well be in California.—Oh, wait!” he exclaimed suddenly. “The grapnel!” He picked up the four-pronged anchor and lowered it over the side until it hung some ten feet below them, then took a turn of the rope around a cleat and waited. The eagle, with a harsh scream of approval, swooped down and hung the hamper on one of the hooks, then flew up to perch beside Freddy and help him haul it up.

The hamper tipped dangerously as they pulled it over the side. “Careful, pig,” said Breckenridge. “Let not your native greed overmaster caution. No need to share these viands, prepared for you by the capable spouse of the worthy Bean, with the finny folk in the waters below us.

“You are indeed an accomplished porker,” he went on, as they swung the hamper to the floor. “I feared for a time that my errand was in vain.”

“You're pretty accomplished yourself,” said Freddy modestly; “and pretty kind, too, to take all this trouble for us.” He was so hungry that he could hardly talk, but he felt it wouldn't be very polite to start eating until he had thanked Breckenridge.

But the eagle snatched the napkin off the hamper with his beak. “Your courtesy,” he said, “should be a lesson to all quadrupeds. But now let courtesy give place to appetite.”

There was a note under the napkin. It said:

Dear Freddy:

I am sending just what I could get together quickly. I would have baked a cake, but if you are hungry you would not want to wait. Come home as soon as you can. We miss you. Mr. Bean sends kindest regards
.

Your friend
,

Mrs. Bean
.

“Well, that is nice,” said Freddy. “And now what have we got? H'm, cookies, doughnuts, peach preserves, a pail of milk, deviled eggs—” But I am sorry to say that when he had got this far in his catalogue of the hamper's contents, his mouth was so full that the rest of what he said was not understandable.

The ducks had overcome their fear of the eagle, and they each began nibbling a cookie.

“Won't you join us, Mr. Breckenridge?” said Emma timidly.

“I would consider it an honor,” replied the eagle, and immediately gobbled up six deviled eggs, one after the other, whole. “Very tasty,” he remarked, and ate four doughnuts. “A most accomplished culinary artist, the excellent Mrs. Bean,” he added, and spearing a jelly sandwich with his beak, tossed it in the air, caught it and swallowed it in one motion.

“How clever!” exclaimed Emma. She tried to do the same trick, but the sandwich flew out of her bill and over the side.

“Careful,” said Freddy. “We may be up here a long time, and we'll need all this food.”

But the eagle, flattered by Emma's admiration, continued to do the trick until eight jelly sandwiches, four bananas, and six slabs of gingerbread had disappeared.

Freddy began to be worried. At this rate they'd be out of supplies again before supper time. Yet he didn't like to say anything, when Breckenridge had been so helpful. Fortunately the eagle himself began to realize that he was eating more than his share, and suddenly putting down a cinnamon bun that he was about to toss up, he said with some embarrassment: “My good friends, I make you my apologies. I am presuming upon your hospitality.”

“Not at all, not at all,” said Freddy. “It is a very slight return for your great kindness.”

“You are the very pattern of politeness,” replied Breckenridge, and for several minutes they continued to exchange compliments. It was probably one of the most polished exchanges which has ever taken place in a balloon. Indeed Freddy was so exceedingly courteous that he almost persuaded the eagle to eat up the rest of the provisions. At this point, luckily, Alice interposed. Perhaps, she suggested, they could make Breckenridge some return for his service which would be not quite as ordinary as just something to eat.

Freddy couldn't think of any reward for any service which could be better than something to eat, but he saw the point. “I have it,” he said. “I will write another verse for him to my Ode to the Eagle.”

Breckenridge was delighted with the idea, and Freddy, who was always at his best as a poet after a good meal, began thinking. And in a few minutes had his verse.

“
The fearless eagle cleaves the stormy air;

With mighty wings he sweeps the clouds asunder;

He screams defiance at the lightning's glare,

And at the thunder's crash he laughs like thunder.”

Breckenridge had Freddy repeat the verse several times before he would make any comment. Then he said: “My friend, aside from being one of the finest compliments ever paid our race, I do not believe that Shakespeare himself could have achieved a loftier flight of fancy. ‘Flight of fancy'—ha! Not bad, eh? ‘The fearless eagle tum te-tum te-tum—” What rhythm! What sweep! And that phrase: ‘at the thunder's crash—'”

A distant low grumble interrupted his words. He turned sharply and peered up at the sky. Black clouds were piling up over the wooded hills, and a gust of wind sung through the ropes and set the basket swaying.

“Thunder!” muttered Breckenridge. “I—ah, h'm, dear me; I'm afraid I must be going. My little Waldemar—alone in his nest, you know. Mother away. Visiting her aunt this weekend. Well, see you later.” And he spread his wings and dropped from the edge of the basket. In a minute or two he had vanished in the northern sky.

“That's funny,” said Freddy. “Fearless eagle, eh? And scared of thunderstorms. He was scared, you know.”

“And so am I, Freddy,” said Emma, as she watched fearfully the boiling cloud masses that crept over the sun.

“Well, I am too,” said Freddy. “But there's nowhere to go. We'll just have to ride it out. We'd better snug down as well as we can. I'll call the Webbs.”

The spiders came up over the edge of the basket, and Freddy found them a cozy refuge from the storm in one of the oiled paper envelopes the sandwiches had been wrapped in. He put the envelope in the hamper, then he and the ducks covered themselves up with blankets and ponchos, and having tucked themselves in carefully, waited for the storm to break. Which it presently did with a blinding flash and a crash as if the whole sky had fallen in on them. The basket gave a lurch as the wind struck it; the rain pelted like hundreds of drums on the stretched rubber of the balloon; and then swaying and jerking crazily, balloon and basket, pig and ducks and spiders, went careering off through the lightning slashed darkness.

Chapter 6

It was a wild ride the animals had through that thunderstorm, and it lasted a long time. For of course they went along with it. When you're on the ground, a storm will come up in one part of the sky and drive pouring and roaring above you, and then go grumbling off over the hills in another part of the sky. But when you are in a balloon, you drive along with it. It seemed to Freddy as if there were a dozen thunderstorms, and that the balloon would be carried like a football by one of them for a while, and then passed to another, and then another. It lurched and swung dizzily, with ominous creaks and crackings that could be heard plainly above the hiss and rattle of wind and rain. Freddy expected any minute to have the whole thing torn to pieces around them.