Basil and the Pygmy Cats
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By Eve Titus
Illustrated by Paul Galdone

(c) 1971 by Eve Titus and Paul Galdone

13
The Semloh Scrolls
----------------------

Within a half hour we were plodding up a hill at the other end of the island, on a winding path that led to the caves of the pygmy cats.

Many of them peeped out of their caves to see who was coming, and when they saw Basil, flung themselves down as usual, eyes covered, remaining on the ground until he passed. They were still convinced that the mouse detective was their long-awaited king.

The Chief's cave was the highest on the hill. We followed him inside and helped him remove a large flat stone from the rear wall. Through the opening we entered a smaller cave, where stood an enormous jar, as tall as ourselves. I held a lantern for Basil while he read the writing on the jar.



"Incredible!" cried he. "In this jar are scrolls that tell of Elyod's wanderings since he left his native land. Kahlúa, who cannot read, says that the jar has always stood here, even in his grandfather's time, but he'll allow us to remove it."

Enlarging the opening, we eased the heavy jar through. Getting it downhill was difficult, but it finally stood in Basil's tent, undamaged.

"Pray excuse me," said he. "I wish to translate some of the scrolls. I must place them under glass, lest they tear or crumble, and prefer to be alone for this delicate task. Meanwhile, it might be a good idea for Young Richard to make a map of the island."

So saying, Basil vanished into his tent.

We watched Richard draw a large map showing bays, beaches, lakes, the volcano, and other geographical features. Then we discussed place-names, which led to much merriment.

Tillary Quinn, our Australian, said, "There's a place in New Zealand the Maoris call TAUMATAWHAKATANGIHANGAKOAVAVOTAMATEAPOKAIWHENUAKITANATAHU. Fifty-seven letters--it must be the world's longest name."

"Ah, but you're wrong," exclaimed Lord Adrian. "There's a charming village in Wales. It's called LLANFAIRPWLLGWYNGYLLGOGERYCHWYRNDRDBWLLLLANDYSILIAGOGOGACH. Fifty-eight letters!"

"Well!" said Richard. "In America we have short Indian names. In Massachusetts there's CHARGOGGAGOGGMANCHAUGAGOGGCHAUBUNAGUNGAMAUGG, in New York MANHANSICHAHAQUASHAWAMUCH, and in New Hampshire QUOQUINAPASSAKESSANANNAQUAG."

It was some time before we could stop laughing.

"Canada has a town called PUNKEYDOODLES CORNER," said Dr. Wolff.

"Australia has WAGGA WAGGA!" said Tillary.

"America has WALLA WALLA!" said Richard.

"How about our own names?" I asked. "BASIL BAY? STARRETTI STREET? ADRIAN AVENUE? Let's vote!"

We wrote down our choices. When the votes were counted, Young Richard printed the winning names on the map.

Surprisingly, only one long name won. The rest were--see for yourself! I reproduce the completed map, an odd one indeed:



The map sent us off into gales of laughter.

"Mice will be mice!" cried Cherbou, and then our gay mood changed, for Basil appeared and spoke to us in a voice filled with emotion.

"I have read the first two scrolls and the last," he said. "Semloh was not only a great poet but a historian and a philosopher.

"The first scroll tells how the Euphorians were royally recieved by Far Eastern mice. They sailed for home, their ship laden with rare spices and exotic Oriental cheeses. The second scroll describes the storm that cast them upon Kataarh. The pygmy cats welcomed them. They had never seen mice before Elyod came. All lived happily together."

He paused, his eyes somber. "The last scroll is a long epic poem. Only the literary mice of London could do justice to Semloh's poetic gifts. With apologies for my poor translation, I will read the closing lines, the last he ever wrote:

Now all is calm, and I can scarce believe
That yesterday a rain of ash and fire
From yon volcano poured. All fled in fear
And on the shore sought refuge in canoes
We paddled far, and from the blue-green sea
Saw fiery lava pouring down the slopes,

A stream that ever widened, flowing fast,
And in its path our beauteous city stood!
Then suddenly the stream of lava slowed
And halted just before the city gates.
So did the dread volcano spare us all.

Yet there's a tale oft told by pygmy cats.
Two angry gods fought fiercely, night and day--
The god who in the great volcano dwells
And he who rules the waters of the sea.
One spat forth flame and lava, fiery-hot,
The other sent high waves across the isle,
And all who lived there perished! None escaped,
Save for some pygmy cats high on a hill.

Today the monster sleeps, but when it wakes,
Will none of us survive, will naught remain?
I tremble at the thought of what may be!
My scrolls! I'll store them in a hillside cave
Far from the feared volcano! This I vow--
Should this fair isle be one day lost to view,
My royal father shall not be forgot--
The Semloh Scrolls shall tell his deathless deeds.

Thus, I reflected, had Elyod's story ended--the Euphorian mice had all been victims of the volcano.

But I had no time for further thought--there was an ominous rumbling sound, and the earth shook.

"The volcano had awakened!" cried Basil.

Next?
Back?
Back to Omake?