Bedtime Tale: The Water Babies Ch 5/Part1

Enjoy this bedtime tale to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 5/Part 1 of the classic, The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley. This reading describes when Tom finally finds what he is looking for: The Water Babies!

This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or find adventure before a great night's sleep.

Trigger Warning: This practice may include references to death, dying, and the departed.

Transcript

The Water Babies,

A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby,

By Charles Kingsley,

Chapter 5,

Part 1.

But what became of little Tom?

He slipped away off the rocks into the water,

As I said before,

But he could not help thinking of little Ellie.

He did not remember who she was,

But he knew that she was a little girl,

Though she was a hundred times as big as he.

That is not surprising.

Size has nothing to do with kindred.

A tiny weed may be first cousin to a great tree,

And a little dog like Vic knows that Lioness is a dog too,

Though she is twenty times larger than herself.

So Tom knew that Ellie was a little girl.

And thought about her all that day,

And longed to have had time to play with her.

But he had very soon to think of something else.

And here is the account of what happened to him,

As it was published next morning in the Waterproof Gazette,

On the finest watered paper,

For the use of the great fairy,

Miss Be Done By As You Did,

Who reads the news very carefully every morning.

And especially the police cases,

As you will hear very soon.

He was going along the rocks in Three Fathom Water,

Watching the pollock catch prawns and the wrasses nibble barnacles off the rocks,

Shells and all,

When he saw a round cage of green withes.

And inside it,

Looking very much ashamed of himself,

Sat his friend the lobster,

Twiddling his horns.

Instead of his thumbs.

What?

Have you been naughty?

And have they put you in the lockup?

Asked Tom.

The lobster felt a little indignant at such a notion.

But he was too much depressed in spirits to argue.

So he only said,

I can't get out.

Why did you get in?

After that nasty piece of dead fish,

He had thought it looked and smelled very nice when he was out.

And so it did.

For a lobster.

But now he turned round and abused it because he was angry with himself.

Where did you get in?

Through that round hole at the top.

Then why don't you get out through there?

Because I can't,

Said the lobster,

Twiddling his horns more fiercely than ever.

But he was forced to confess.

I have jumped upwards,

Downwards,

Backwards and sideways.

At least four thousand times.

And I can't get out.

I always get up underneath there and can't find the hole.

Tom looked at the trap and having more wit than the lobster,

He saw plainly enough what was the matter.

As you may well look at the lobster pot.

Stop a bit,

Said Tom.

Turn your tail up to me and I'll pull you through hind foremost.

And then you won't stick in the spikes.

But the lobster was so stupid and clumsy that he couldn't hit the hole.

Like a great many fox hunters,

He was very sharp as long as he was in his own country.

But as soon as they get out of it,

They lose their heads.

And so the lobster,

So to speak,

Lost his tail.

Tom reached and clawed down the hole after him till he caught hold of him.

And then,

As was to be expected,

The clumsy lobster pulled him in head foremost.

Hello.

Here is a pretty business,

Said Tom.

Now take your great claws and break the points off those spikes.

And then we shall both get out easily.

Dear me,

I never thought of that,

Said the lobster.

And after all the experience of life that I have had.

You see.

You see,

Experience is of little good use unless a man or a lobster has wit enough to make use of it.

For a good many people,

Like old Polonius,

Have seen all the world and yet remain little better than children after all.

But they had not got half the spikes away when they saw a great dark cloud over them.

And lo and behold,

It was the otter.

How she did grin and grin when she saw Tom.

Yarr,

Said she.

You little meddlesome wretch.

I have you now.

I will serve you out for telling the salmon where I was.

And she crawled all over the pot to get in.

Tom was horribly frightened.

And still more frightened when she found the hole in the top and squeezed herself right down through it.

All eyes and teeth.

But no sooner was her head inside than valiant Mr.

Lobster caught her by the nose.

And held on.

And there they were,

All three in the pot,

Rolling over and over.

And very tight packing it was.

And the lobster tore at the otter.

And the otter tore at the lobster.

And both squeezed and thumped poor Tom till he had no breath left in his body.

And I don't know what would have happened to him if he had not at last got the otter's back and safe out of the hole.

He was right glad when he got out.

But he could not desert his friend who had saved him.

And the first time he saw his tail uppermost he caught hold of it and pulled with all his might.

But the lobster would not let go.

Come along,

Said Tom.

Don't you see she is dead?

And so she was,

Quite drowned and dead.

And that was the end of the wicked otter.

But the lobster would not let go.

Come along,

You stupid old stick in the mud.

Ride,

Tom,

Or the fisherman will catch you.

And that was true.

For Tom felt someone above beginning to haul up the pot.

But the lobster would not let go.

Tom saw the fisherman haul him up on the boat side.

And thought it was all up with him.

But when Mr.

Lobster saw the fisherman,

He gave such a furious and tremendous snap.

And he snapped out of his hand and out of the pot and safe into the sea.

But he left his knobbed claw behind him.

For it never came back into his stupid head to let go after all.

So he just shook his claw off as the easier method.

Tom asked the lobster why he never thought of letting go.

He said very determinedly that it was a point of honor among lobsters.

And so it is.

As the mayor of Plymouth found out once to his cost,

Eight or nine hundred years ago,

It was a point of honor among lobsters.

And so it is.

For if it happened lately,

It would be personal to mention it.

For one day he was so tired with sitting on a hard chair,

In a grand furred gown with a gold chain round his neck,

Hearing one policeman after another come in and sing,

What shall we do with the drunken sailor so early in the morning?

And answering them each exactly alike,

Put him in the roundhouse till he gets sober so early in the morning.

That,

When it was over,

He jumped up and played leapfrog with the town clerk till he burst his buttons and then had his luncheon and burst some more buttons and then said,

It is a low spring tide.

I shall go out this afternoon and cut my capers.

Now,

He did not mean to cut such capers as you eat with boiled mutton.

It was the commandant of artillery at Valletta who used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

He used to amuse himself with cutting the capers.

And then he grew all colors at once and turned his eyes up like a duck in thunder for the water was up to his chin and still the lobster held on.

And then came a man-of-war's boat round the mewstone and saw his head sticking up out of the water.

One said it was a keg of brandy,

The other thought it was a coconut,

And another thought it was a buoy loose.

But just then such a yell came out of the great hole in the middle of it.

That the midshipman in charge guessed what it was and bade pull up to it as fast as they could.

So somehow or another the jacktars got the lobster out and set the mare free and put him ashore at the barbican.

He never went lobster catching again and we will hope he put no more salt in the tobacco,

Not even to sell his brother's beer.

And that is the story of the mare of Plymouth,

Which has two advantages.

First,

That of being quite true,

And second,

That of having,

As folks say all good stories ought to have,

No moral whatsoever.

No more indeed as any part of this book,

Because it's a fairy tale,

You know.

And now happened to Tom a most wonderful thing.

For he had not left the lobster five minutes before he came upon a water baby.

A real lobster.

It was a live water baby sitting on the white sand,

Very busy about a little point of rock.

And when it saw Tom,

It looked up for a moment and then cried,

Why?

You are not one of us.

You are a new baby.

Oh,

How delightful.

And it ran to Tom and Tom ran to it and they hugged and kissed each other for so long.

They did not know why,

But they did not know why.

They did not know why,

But they did not know why.

They did not know why,

But they did not know why.

But they did not want any introductions there under the sea.

At last,

Tom said,

Oh,

Where have you been all this while?

I've been looking for you so long and I've been so lonely.

We've been here for days and days.

There are hundreds of us about the rocks.

How was it you did not see us or hear us when we sing and romp every evening before we go home?

Tom looked at the baby again and then he said,

Well,

This is wonderful.

I have seen things just like you again and again,

But I thought you were shells or sea creatures.

I never took you for water babies like myself.

Now,

Was that not very odd?

So odd indeed that you will no doubt want to know how it happened and why Tom could never find a water baby till after he had the lobster and got him out of the pot.

And if you will read the story nine times over,

And then think for yourself,

You will find out why.

It is not good for little boys to be told everything and never to be forced to use their own wits.

They would learn then no more than they do at Dr.

Dulcimer's famous suburban establishment for the idler members of the youthful aristocracy where the masters learn the lessons and the boys hear them,

Which saves a great deal of trouble for the time being.

Now,

Said the baby,

Come and help me or I shall not have finished before my brothers and sisters come and it is time to go home.

What shall I help you at?

At this poor little rock.

A great clumsy boulder came rolling by it in the storm and knocked all its head off and rubbed off all the flowers.

And now I must plant it again with seaweeds and coralline and anemones.

And I will make it the prettiest little rock garden on all the shore.

And they worked away at the rock and planted it and smoothed the sand down round it and capital fun they had till the tide began to turn.

And then Tom heard all the other babies coming,

Laughing and singing and shouting and romping.

And the noise they made was just like the noise of the ripple.

So he knew that he had been hearing and seeing the water babies all along.

Only he did not know them because his eyes and ears were not opened.

And in they came dozens and dozens of them,

Some bigger than Tom and some smaller,

All in the neatest little white bathing dresses.

And when they found he was a new baby,

They hugged him and kissed him and then put him in the middle and danced round him on the sand.

And there was no one ever so happy as poor little Tom.

Now then,

They cried all at once,

We must come away home.

We must come away home or the tide will leave us dry.

We have mended all the broken seaweed and put all the rock pools in order and planted all the shells again in the sand.

And nobody will see where the ugly storm swept in last week.

And this is the reason why the rock pools are always so neat and clean.

Because the water babies come inshore after every storm to sweep them out and comb them down and put them all to rights again.

Only where men are wasteful and dirty and let sewers run into the sea instead of putting the stuff upon the fields like thrifty,

Reasonable souls,

Or throw herrings,

Head and dead dogfish or any other refuse into the water or in any way make a mess upon the clean shore.

There the water babies will not come.

Sometimes not for hundreds of years for they cannot abide anything smelly or foul but leave the sea anemones and the crabs to clear away everything till the good tidy sea has covered all the dirt and soft mud and clean sand.

Where the water babies can plant live cockles and whelks and razor shells and sea cucumbers and golden combs and make a pretty live garden again after man's dirt is cleared away.

And that I suppose is the reason why there are no water babies at any watering place which I have ever seen.

And where is the home of the water babies?

In St.

Brandon's Ferry Isle.

Did you never hear of the blessed St.

Brandon?

How he preached to the wild Irish on the wild,

Wild Kerry coast?

He and five other hermits till they were weary and long to rest.

For the wild Irish would not listen to them or come to confession at the mass.

But liked better to brew potting and dance like Pater O'Pee and knock each other over the head with shillelays and shoot each other from behind turf dikes and steal each other's cattle and burn each other's homes till St.

Brandon and his friends were wary of them.

For they would not learn to be peaceable Christians at all.

So St.

Brandon went out to the point of old Dunmore and looked over the tideway roaring round the blaskets at the end of all the world and away into the ocean and sighed.

Ah,

That I had wings as a dove.

And far away before the setting sun he saw a blue fairy sea and golden fairy islands and he said,

Those are the islands of the blessed.

Then he and his friends got into a hooker and sailed away and away to the westward and were never heard of more.

But the people who would not hear him were changed into gorillas and gorillas they are until this day.

And when St.

Brandon and the hermits came to the fairy isle they found it overgrown with cedars and full of beautiful birds.

And he sat down under the cedars and preached to all the birds in the air and they liked his sermon so well that they told the fishes in the sea and they came and St.

Brandon preached to them and the fishes told the water babies who live in the caves under the isle and they came up by hundreds every Sunday and St.

Brandon got quite a neat little Sunday school and there he taught the water babies for a great many hundred years.

Till his eyes grew too dim to see and his beard grew so long that he dared not walk for fear of treading on it and then he might have tumbled down.

And at last he and the five hermits fell fast asleep under the cedar shades and there they sleep until this day.

But the fairies took to the water babies and taught them their lessons themselves.

And some say that St.

Brandon will awake and begin to teach the babies once more but some think that he will sleep on for better or worse.

But on still clear summer evenings when the sun sinks down into the sea among golden cloud capes and cloud islands and locks and friths of azure sky the sailors fancy that they see a way to the westward St.

Brandon's fairy island.

But whether men can see it or not St.

Brandon's Isle once actually stood there a great land out in the ocean which has sunk and sunk beneath the waves.

Old Plato called it Atlantis and told strange tales of the wise men who lived there and of the wars they fought in the old times and from off that island came strange flowers which still linger about this island.

The Cornish Heath the Cornish Moneywort and the delicate Venus's hair and the London Pride which covers the Kerry Mountains and the little pink Butterwort of Devon and the great blue Butterwort of Ireland and the bristle fern of the Turk waterfall and many a strange plant more all fairy tokens left for wise men and good children from off sea.

St.

Brandon's Isle Now when Tom got there he found that the isle stood all on pillars and that its roots were full of caves.

There were pillars of black basalt and pillars of green and crimson serpentine and pillars ribboned with red and white and yellow sandstone and there were blue grottoes all curtained and draped with seaweeds purple and crimson.

Green and brown and strewn with soft white sand on which the water babies sleep every night.

But to keep the place clean and sweet the crabs picked up all the scraps off the floor and ate them like so many monkeys while the rocks were covered with ten thousand sea anemones and corals who scavenged the water all day long and kept it nice and pure.

But to make up for them for having to do such nasty work they were not left black and dirty as poor chimney sweeps and dustmen are.

No,

The fairies are more considerate and just than that and have dressed them all in the most beautiful colors and patterns till they look like vast flower beds of gay blossoms.

If you think I'm talking nonsense I can only say that it is true and that an old gentleman named Forer used to say that we ought to do the same by chimney sweeps and dustmen and honor them instead of despising them.

And he was a very clever old gentleman but unfortunately for him and the world as mad as a march hare.

And instead of watchmen and policemen to keep out nasty things at night there were thousands and thousands of water snakes and most wonderful creatures they were.

They were dressed in green velvet and black velvet and purple velvet and were all jointed in rings and some of them had three hundred brains a piece so that they must have been uncommonly shrewd detectives.

And some had eyes in their tails and some had eyes in every joint so that they kept a very sharp lookout and when they wanted a baby snake they just grew one at the end of their own tails and when it was able to take care of itself it dropped off so that they brought up their families very cheaply.

But if any nasty thing came by out they rushed upon it and then out of each of their hundreds of feet there sprang a whole cutler's shop in which stabbed shot poked pricked scratched ripped pink and crimped those naughty beasts so terribly that they had to run for their lives or else be chopped into small pieces and then be eaten afterwards.

And if that is not all every word true then there is no faith in microscopes.

And there were the water babies in thousands more than Tom or you either could count.

All the little children whom the good fairies take to because their cruel mothers and fathers will not all who are untaught and brought up heathens and all who come to grief by ill usage or ignorance or neglect all the little children who are overlaid or given gin when they were young or are let to drink out of hot kettles or to fall into the fire all the little children in alleys and courts and tumble down cars and cottages who die by fever and cholera and measles and nasty complaints which no one has any business to have and which no one will have some day when folks have common sense and all the little children who have been killed by cruel masters and wicked soldiers they were all there except of course the babes of Bethlehem who were killed by wicked King Herod for they were taken straight to heaven long ago as everybody knows and we call them the holy innocents but I wish Tom had given up all his naughty tricks and left off tormenting dumb animals now that he had plenty of playfellows to amuse him instead of that I'm sorry to say he would meddle with the creatures all but the water snakes for they would stand no nonsense so he tickled the madrepores to make them shut up and frightened the crabs to make them hide in the sand and peep out of them with the tips of their eyes and put stones in the anemones mouths to make them fancy that their dinner was coming the other children warned him about it and said take care what you are at miss be done by as you did is coming but Tom never heeded them being quite riotous with high spirits and good luck till one Friday morning early miss be done by as you did came indeed and that is the end of our story this evening until next time sweet dreams