ON WILD ISLAND.
Pantagruel, without further word, rushed from the table to scour the thicket. The whole company rose and followed him. It was not long before he had, with great strides, reached the top of the ridge, whence he could see a dark line, unbroken, save here and there by black banners, of gigantic forms half lost in the shadows of the thicket. The moment the dark shapes saw Pantagruel on the ridge, they began to utter loud cries, and more than one mighty form stepped out from the line to threaten. But when Friar John, Xenomanes, and the rest appeared on the ridge, a howl of defiance broke from the thicket. The dark masses seemed beside themselves with rage, and all at once the line was broken.
"By my faith," said Pantagruel, "they are demons, Xenomanes! Look, they have wings, and their wings are as black as their banners!"
This was true. The dark masses had only broken so as to give themselves space to raise their wings in triumph at seeing so many wretched mortals ready for destruction. Often and often had crews, thrown by shipwreck upon Wild Island, reached the shore and had never been heard of more.
"These are demons; bless us, Friar John," whispered Pantagruel. "What can sinful men do against them?"
And, even while saying this, and without knowing it, the prayerful Giant was making the Sign of the Cross.
At the sacred sign there was, of a sudden, a lifting of black banners. Then, with a flapping of heavy wings, a great stir of mighty bodies leaving the thickets and rising into the air; the dark masses came sweeping over the very ridge where Pantagruel was, on their way to the sea, casting a blacker shadow than the coming night, shrieking and wailing as they passed.
From that blessed day, shipwrecked sailors have wandered in safety through the forest, and never met a demon.
For Wild Island is wild no more.