THE VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER
THE PICTURE IN THE BEDROOM
THERE was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. His
parents called him Eustace Clarence and masters called him Scrubb. I can't tell you how
his friends spoke to him, for he had none. He didn't call his Father and Mother "Father"
and "Mother", but Harold and Alberta. They were very up-to-date and advanced people.
They were vegetarians, non-smokers and teetotallers and wore a special kind of
underclothes. In their house there was very little furniture and very few clothes on beds
and the windows were always open.
Eustace Clarence liked animals, especially beetles, if they were dead and pinned on a
card. He liked books if they were books of information and had pictures of grain
elevators or of fat foreign children doing exercises in model schools.
Eustace Clarence disliked his cousins the four Pevensies, Peter, Susan, Edmund and
Lucy. But he was quite glad when he heard that Edmund and Lucy were coming to stay.
For deep down inside him he liked bossing and bullying; and, though he was a puny little
person who couldn't have stood up even to Lucy, let alone Edmund, in a fight, he knew
that there are dozens of ways to give people a bad time if you are in your own home and
they are only visitors.
Edmund and Lucy did not at all want to come and stay with Uncle Harold and Aunt
Alberta. But it really couldn't be helped. Father had got a job lecturing in America for
sixteen weeks that summer, and Mother was to go with him because she hadn't had a real
holiday for ten years. Peter was working very hard for an exam and he was to spend the
holidays being coached by old Professor Kirke in whose house these four children had
had wonderful adventures long ago in the war years. If he had still been in that house he
would have had them all to stay. But he had somehow become poor since the old days
and was living in a small cottage with only one bedroom to spare. It would have cost too
much money to take the other three all to America, and Susan had gone.
Grown-ups thought her the pretty one of the family and she was no good at school work
(though otherwise very old for her age) and Mother said she "would get far more out of a
trip to America than the youngsters". Edmund and Lucy tried not to grudge Susan her
luck, but it was dreadful having to spend the summer holidays at their Aunt's. "But it's far
worse for me," said Edmund, "because you'll at least have a room of your own and I shall
have to share a bedroom with that record stinker, Eustace."
The story begins on an afternoon when Edmund and Lucy were stealing a few precious
minutes alone together. And of course they were talking about Narnia, which was the
name of their own private and secret country. Most of us, I suppose, have a secret country
but for most of us it is only an imaginary country. Edmund and Lucy were luckier than
other people in that respect. Their secret country was real. They had already visited it
twice; not in a game or a dream but in reality. They had got there of course by Magic,
which is the only way of getting to Narnia. And a promise, or very nearly a promise, had
been made them in Narnia itself that they would some day get back. You may imagine
that they talked about it a good deal, when they got the chance.
They were in Lucy's room, sitting on the edge of her bed and looking at a picture on the
opposite wall. It was the only picture in the house that they liked. Aunt Alberta didn't like
it at all (that was why it was put away in a little back room upstairs), but she couldn't get
rid of it because it had been a wedding present from someone she did not want to offend.
It was a picture of a ship - a ship sailing straight towards you. Her prow was gilded and
shaped like the head of a dragon with wide-open mouth. She had only one mast and one
large, square sail which was a rich purple. The sides of the ship - what you could see of
them where the gilded wings of the dragon ended-were green. She had just run up to the
top of one glorious blue wave, and the nearer slope of that wave came down towards you,
with streaks and bubbles on it. She was obviously running fast before a gay wind, listing
over a little on her port side. (By the way, if you are going to read this story at all, and if
you don't know already, you had better get it into your head that the left of a ship when
you are looking ahead, is port, and the right is starboard.) All the sunlight fell on her from
that side, and the water on that side was full of greens and purples. On the other, it was
darker blue from the shadow of the ship.
"The question is," said Edmund, "whether it doesn't make things worse, looking at a
Narnian ship when you can't get there."
"Even looking is better than nothing," said Lucy. "And she is such a very Narnian ship."
"Still playing your old game?" said Eustace Clarence, who had been listening outside the
door and now came grinning into the room. Last year, when he had been staying with the
Pevensies, he had managed to hear them all talking of Narnia and he loved teasing them
about it. He thought of course that they were making it all up; and as he was far too
stupid to make anything up himself, he did not approve of that.
"You're not wanted here," said Edmund curtly.
"I'm trying to think of a limerick," said Eustace. "Something like this:
"Some kids who played games about Narnia Got gradually balmier and balmier-"
"Well Narnia and balmier don't rhyme, to begin with," said Lucy.
"It's an assonance," said Eustace.
"Don't ask him what an assy-thingummy is," said Edmund. "He's only longing to be
asked. Say nothing and perhaps he'll go away."
Most boys, on meeting a reception like this, would either have cleared out or flared up.
Eustace did neither. He just hung about grinning, and presently began talking again.
"Do you like that picture?" he asked.
"For heaven's sake don't let him get started about Art and all that," said Edmund
hurriedly, but Lucy, who was very truthful, had already said, "Yes, I do. I like it very
"It's a rotten picture," said Eustace.
"You won't see it if you step outside," said Edmund.
"Why do you like it?" said Eustace to Lucy.
"Well, for one thing," said Lucy, "I like it because the ship looks as if it was really
moving. And the water looks as if it was really wet. And the waves look as if they were
really going up and down."
Of course Eustace knew lots of answers to this, but he didn't say anything. The reason
was that at that very moment he looked at the waves and saw that they did look very
much indeed as if they were going up and down. He had only once been in a ship (and
then only as far as the Isle of Wight) and had been horribly seasick. The look of the
waves in the picture made him feel sick again. He turned rather green and tried another
look. And then all three children were staring with open mouths.
What they were seeing may be hard to believe when you read it in print, but it was almost
as hard to believe when you saw it happening. The things in the picture were moving. It
didn't look at all like a cinema either; the colours were too real and clean and out-of-
doors for that. Down went the prow of the ship into the wave and up went a great shock
of spray. And then up went the wave behind her, and her stern and her deck became
visible for the first time, and then disappeared as the next wave came to meet her and her
bows went up again. At the same moment an exercise book which had been lying beside
Edmund on the bed flapped, rose and sailed through the air to the wall behind him, and
Lucy felt all her hair whipping round her face as it does on a windy day. And this was a
windy day; but the wind was blowing out of the picture towards them. And suddenly with
the wind came the noises-the swishing of waves and the slap of water against the ship's
sides and the creaking and the overall high steady roar of air and water. But it was the
smell, the wild, briny smell, which really convinced Lucy that she was not dreaming.
"Stop it," came Eustace's voice, squeaky with fright and bad temper. "It's some silly trick
you two are playing. Stop it. I'll tell Alberta - Ow!"
The other two were much more accustomed to adventures, but, just exactly as Eustace
Clarence said "Ow," they both said "Ow" too. The reason was that a great cold, salt
splash had broken right out of the frame and they were breathless from the smack of it,
besides being wet through.
"I'll smash the rotten thing," cried Eustace; and then several things happened at the same
time. Eustace rushed towards the picture. Edmund, who knew something about magic,
sprang after him, warning him to look out and not to be a fool. Lucy grabbed at him from
the other side and was dragged forward. And by this time either they had grown much
smaller or the picture had grown bigger. Eustace jumped to try to pull it off the wall and
found himself standing on the frame; in front of him was not glass but real sea, and wind
and waves rushing up to the frame as they might to a rock. He lost his head and clutched
at the other two who had jumped up beside him. There was a second of struggling and
shouting, and just as they thought they had got their balance a great blue roller surged up
round them, swept them off their feet, and drew them down into the sea. Eustace's
despairing cry suddenly ended as the water got into his mouth.
Lucy thanked her stars that she had worked hard at her swimming last summer term. It is
true that she would have got on much better if she had used a slower stroke, and also that
the water felt a great deal colder than it had looked while it was only a picture. Still, she
kept her head and kicked her shoes off, as everyone ought to do who falls into deep water
in their clothes. She even kept her mouth shut and her eyes open. They were still quite
near the ship; she saw its green side towering high above them, and people looking at her
from the deck. Then, as one might have expected, Eustace clutched at her in a panic and
down they both went.
When they came up again she saw a white figure diving off the ship's side. Edmund was
close beside her now, treading water, and had caught the arms of the howling Eustace.
Then someone else, whose face was vaguely familiar, slipped an arm under her from the
other side. There was a lot of shouting going on from the ship, heads crowding together
above the bulwarks, ropes being thrown. Edmund and the stranger were fastening ropes
round her. After that followed what seemed a very long delay during which her face got
blue and her teeth began chattering. In reality the delay was not very long; they were
waiting till the moment when she could be got on board the ship without being dashed
against its side. Even with all their best endeavours she had a bruised knee when she
finally stood, dripping and shivering, on the deck. After her Edmund was heaved up, and
then the miserable Eustace. Last of all came the stranger - a golden-headed boy some
years older than herself.
"Ca - Ca - Caspian!" gasped Lucy as soon as she had breath enough. For Caspian it was;
Caspian, the boy king of Narnia whom they had helped to set on the throne during their
last visit. Immediately Edmund recognized him too. All three shook hands and clapped
one another on the back with great delight.
"But who is your friend?" said Caspian almost at once, turning to Eustace with his
cheerful smile. But Eustace was crying much harder than any boy of his age has a right to
cry when nothing worse than a wetting has happened to him, and would only yell out,
"Let me go. Let me go back. I don't like it."
"Let you go?" said Caspian. "But where?"
Eustace rushed to the ship's side, as if he expected to see the picture frame hanging above
the sea, and perhaps a glimpse of Lucy's bedroom. What he saw was blue waves flecked
with foam, and paler blue sky, both spreading without a break to the horizon. Perhaps we
can hardly blame him if his heart sank. He was promptly sick.
"Hey! Rynelf," said Caspian to one of the sailors. "Bring spiced wine for their Majesties.
You'll need something to warm you after that dip." He called Edmund and Lucy their
Majesties because they and Peter and Susan had all been Kings and Queens of Narnia
long before his time. Narnian time flows differently from ours. If you spent a hundred
years in Narnia, you would still come back to our world at the very same hour of the very
same day on which you left. And then, if you went back to Narnia after spending a week
here, you might find that a thousand Narnian years had passed, or only a day, or no time
at all. You never know till you get there. Consequently, when the Pevensie children had
returned to Narnia last time for their second visit, it was (for the Narnians) as if King
Arthur came back to Britain, as some people say he will. And I say the sooner the better.
Rynelf returned with the spiced wine steaming in a flagon and four silver cups. It was just
what one wanted, and as Lucy and Edmund sipped it they could feel the warmth going
right down to their toes. But Eustace made faces and spluttered and spat it out and was
sick again and began to cry again and asked if they hadn't any Plumptree's Vitaminized
Nerve Food and could it be made with distilled water and anyway he insisted on being
put ashore at the next station.
"This is a merry shipmate you've brought us, Brother," whispered Caspian to Edmund
with a chuckle; but before he could say anything more Eustace burst out again.
"Oh! Ugh! What on earth's that! Take it away, the horrid thing." .
He really had some excuse this time for feeling a little surprised. Something very curious
indeed had come out of the cabin in the poop and was slowly approaching them. You
might call it - and indeed it was - a Mouse. But then it was a Mouse on its hind legs and
stood about two feet high. A thin band of gold passed round its head under one ear and
over the other and in this was stuck a long crimson feather. (As the Mouse's fur was very
dark, almost black, the effect was bold and striking.) Its left paw rested on the hilt of a
sword very nearly as long as its tail. Its balance, as it paced gravely along the swaying
deck, was perfect, and its manners courtly. Lucy and Edmund recognized it at once
Reepicheep, the most valiant of all the Talking Beasts of Narnia, and the Chief Mouse. It
had won undying glory in the second Battle of Beruna. Lucy longed, as she had always
done, to take Reepicheep up in her arms and cuddle him. But this, as she well knew, was
a pleasure she could never have: it would have offended him deeply. Instead, she went
down on one knee to talk to him.
Reepicheep put forward his left leg, drew back his right, bowed, kissed her hand,
straightened himself, twirled his whiskers, and said in his shrill, piping voice:
"My humble duty to your Majesty. And to King Edmund, too." (Here he bowed again.)
"Nothing except your Majesties' presence was lacking to this glorious venture."
"Ugh, take it away," wailed Eustace. "I hate mice. And I never could bear performing
animals. They're silly and vulgar and-and sentimental."
"Am I to understand," said Reepicheep to Lucy after a long stare at Eustace, "that this
singularly discourteous person is under your Majesty's protection? Because, if not-"
At this moment Lucy and Edmund both sneezed.
"What a fool I am to keep you all standing here in your wet things," said Caspian. "Come
on below and get changed. I'll give you my cabin of course, Lucy, but I'm afraid we have
no women's clothes on board. You'll have to make do with some of mine. Lead the way,
Reepicheep, like a good fellow."
"To the convenience of a lady," said Reepicheep, "even a question of honour must give
way - at least for the moment -" and here he looked very hard at Eustace. But Caspian
hustled them on and in a few minutes Lucy found herself passing through the door into
the stern cabin. She fell in love with it at once - the three square windows that looked out
on the blue, swirling water astern, the low cushioned benches round three sides of the
table, the swinging silver lamp overhead (Dwarfs' work, she knew at once by its exquisite
delicacy) and the flat gold image of Aslan the Lion on the forward wall above the door.
All this she took in in a flash, for Caspian immediately opened a door on the starboard
side, and said, "This'll be your room, Lucy. I'll just get some dry things for myself-" he
was rummaging in one of the lockers while he spoke - "and then leave you to change. If
you'll fling your wet things outside the door I'll get them taken to the galley to be dried."
Lucy found herself as much at home as if she had been in Caspian's cabin for weeks, and
the motion of the ship did not worry her, for in the old days when she had been a queen in
Narnia she had done a good deal of voyaging. The cabin was very tiny but bright with
painted panels (all birds and beasts and crimson dragons and vines) and spotlessly clean.
Caspian's clothes were too big for her, but she could manage. His shoes, sandals and sea-
boots were hopelessly big but she did not mind going barefoot on board ship. When she
had finished dressing she looked out of her window at the water rushing past and took a
long deep breath. She felt quite sure they were in for a lovely time.
ON BOARD THE DAWN TREADER
"AH, there you are, Lucy," said Caspian. "We were just waiting for you. This is my
captain, the Lord Drinian."
A dark-haired man went down on one knee and kissed her hand. The only others present
were Reepicheep and Edmund.
"Where is Eustace?" asked Lucy.
"In bed," said Edmund, "and I don't think we can do anything for him. It only makes him
worse if you try to be nice to him."
"Meanwhile," said Caspian, "we want to talk."
"By Jove, we do," said Edmund. "And first, about time. It's a year ago by our time since
we left you just before your coronation. How long has it been in Narnia?"
"Exactly three years," said Caspian.
"All going well?" asked Edmund.
"You don't suppose I'd have left my kingdom and put to sea unless all was well,"
answered the King. "It couldn't be better. There's no trouble at all now between
Telmarines, Dwarfs, Talking Beasts, Fauns and the rest. And we gave those troublesome
giants on the frontier such a good beating last summer that they pay us tribute now. And I
had an excellent person to leave as Regent while I'm away Trumpkin, the Dwarf. You
"Dear Trumpkin," said Lucy, "of course I do. You couldn't have made a better choice."
"Loyal as a badger, Ma'am, and valiant as - as a Mouse," said Drinian. He had been going
to say "as a lion" but had noticed Reepicheep's eyes fixed on him.
"And where are we heading for?" asked Edmund.
"Well," said Caspian, "that's rather a long story. Perhaps you remember that when I was a
child my usurping uncle Miraz got rid of seven friends of my father's (who might have
taken my part) by sending them off to explore the unknown , Eastern Seas beyond the
"Yes," said Lucy, "and none of them ever came back."
"Right. Well, on, my coronation day, with Aslan's approval, I swore an oath that, if once I
established peace in Narnia, I would sail east myself for a year and a day to find my
father's friends or to learn of their deaths and avenge them if I could. These were their
names - the Lord Revilian, the Lord Bern, the Lord Argoz, the Lord Mavramorn, the
Lord Octesian, the Lord Restimar, and - oh, that other one who's so hard to remember."
"The Lord Rhoop, Sire," said Drinian.
"Rhoop, Rhoop, of course," said Caspian. "That is my main intention. But Reepicheep
here has an even higher hope." Everyone's eyes turned to the Mouse.
"As high as my spirit," it said. "Though perhaps as small as my stature. Why should we
not come to the very eastern end of the world? And what might we find there? I expect to
find Aslan's own country. It is always from the east, across the sea, that the great Lion
comes to us."
"I say, that is an idea," said Edmund in an awed voice.
"But do you think," said Lucy, "Aslan's country would be that sort of country - I mean,
the sort you could ever sail to?"
"I do not know, Madam," said Reepicheep. "But there is this. When I was in my cradle, a
wood woman, a Dryad, spoke this verse over me:
"Where sky and water meet, Where the waves grow sweet, Doubt not, Reepicheep, To
find all you seek, There is the utter East.
"I do not know what it means. But the spell of it has been on me all my life."
After a short silence Lucy asked, "And where are we now, Caspian?"
"The Captain can tell you better than I," said Caspian, so Drinian got out his chart and
spread it on the table.
"That's our position," he said, laying his finger on it. "Or was at noon today. We had a
fair wind from Cair Paravel and stood a little north for Galma, which we made on the
next day. We were in port for a week, for the Duke of Galma made a great tournament for
His Majesty and there he unhorsed many knights-"
"And got a few nasty falls myself, Drinian. Some of the bruises are there still," put in
"- And unhorsed many knights," repeated Drinian with a grin. "We thought the Duke
would have been pleased if the King's Majesty would have married his daughter, but
nothing came of that-"
"Squints, and has freckles," said Caspian.
"Oh, poor girl," said Lucy.
"And we sailed from Galma," continued Drinian, "and ran into a calm for the best part of
two days and had to row, and then had wind again and did not make Terebinthia till the
fourth day from Galma. And there their King sent out a warning not to land for there was
sickness in Terebinthia, but we doubled the cape and put in at a little creek far from the
city and watered. Then we had to lie off for three days before we got a south-east wind
and stood out for Seven Isles. The third day out a pirate (Terebinthian by her rig)
overhauled us, but when she saw us well armed she stood off after some shooting of
arrows on either part -"
"And we ought to have given her chase and boarded her and hanged every mother's son
of them," said Reepicheep.
"- And in five days more we were insight of Muil, which, as you know, is the
westernmost of the Seven Isles. Then we rowed through the straits and came about
sundown into Redhaven on the isle of Brenn, where we were very lovingly feasted and
had victuals and water at will. We left Redhaven six days ago and have made
marvellously good speed, so that I hope to see the Lone Islands the day after tomorrow.
The sum is, we are now nearly thirty days at sea and have sailed more than four hundred
leagues from Narnia."
"And after the Lone Islands?" said Lucy.
"No one knows, your Majesty," answered Drinian. "Unless the Lone Islanders themselves
can tell us."
"They couldn't in our days," said Edmund.
"Then," said Reepicheep, "it is after the Lone Islands that the adventure really begins."
Caspian now suggested that they might like to be shown over the ship before supper, but
Lucy's conscience smote her and she said, "I think I really must go and see Eustace.
Seasickness is horrid, you know. If I had my old cordial with me I could cure him."
"But you have," said Caspian. "I'd quite forgotten about it. As you left it behind I thought
it might be regarded as one of the royal treasures and so I brought it - if you think it ought
to be wasted on a thing like seasickness."
"It'll only take a drop," said Lucy.
Caspian opened one of the lockers beneath the bench and brought out the beautiful little
diamond flask which Lucy remembered so well. "Take back your own, Queen," he said.
They then left the cabin and went out into the sunshine.
In the deck there were two large, long hatches, fore and aft of the mast, and both open, as
they always were in fair weather, to let light and air into the belly of the ship. Caspian led
them down a ladder into the after hatch. Here they found themselves in a place where
benches for rowing ran from side to side and the light came in through the oarholes and
danced on the roof. Of course Caspian's ship was not that horrible thing, a galley rowed
by slaves. Oars were used only when wind failed or for getting in and out of harbour and
everyone (except Reepicheep whose legs were too short) had often taken a turn. At each
side of the ship the space under the benches was left clear for the rowers' feet, but all
down the centre there was a kind of pit which went down to the very keel and this was
filled with all kinds of things - sacks of flour, casks of water and beer, barrels of pork,
jars of honey, skin bottles of wine, apples, nuts, cheeses, biscuits, turnips, sides of bacon.
From the roof - that is, from the under side of the deck - hung hams and strings of onions,
and also the men of the watch offduty in their hammocks. Caspian led them aft, stepping
from bench to bench; at least, it was stepping for him, and something between a step and
a jump for Lucy, and a real long jump for Reepicheep. In this way they came to a
partition with a door in it. Caspian opened the door and led them into a cabin which filled
the stern underneath the deck cabins in the poop. It was of course not so nice. It was very
low and the sides sloped together as they went down so that there was hardly any floor;
and though it had windows of thick glass, they were not made to open because they were
under water. In fact at this very moment, as the ship pitched they were alternately golden
with sunlight and dim green with the sea.
"You and I must lodge here, Edmund," said Caspian. "We'll leave your kinsman the bunk
and sling hammocks for ourselves."
"I beseech your Majesty-" said Drinian.
"No, no shipmate," said Caspian, "we have argued all that out already. You and Rhince"
(Rhince was the mate) "are sailing the ship and will have cares and labours many a night
when we are singing catches or telling stories, so you and he must have the port cabin
above. King Edmund and I can lie very snug here below. But how is the stranger?"
Eustace, very green in the face, scowled and asked whether there was any sign of the
storm getting less. But Caspian said, "What storm?" and Drinian burst out laughing.
"Storm, young master!" he roared. "This is as fair weather as a man could ask for."
"Who's that?" said Eustace irritably. "Send him away. His voice goes through my head."
"I've brought you something that will make you feel better, Eustace," said Lucy.
"Oh, go away and leave me alone," growled Eustace. But he took a drop from her flask,
and though he said it was beastly stuff (the smell in the cabin when she opened it was
delicious) it is certain that his face came the right colour a few moments after he had
swallowed it, and he must have felt better because, instead of wailing about the storm and