Chapter VIII

The Major and the Miner

Down, down, down Alice ran, following the staircase to its end. She ran past bookcases and bedpans, grandfather clocks and goffering-tongs1, quills and quilting needles, and all sorts of things on shelves built into the stairs’ panelling. She ducked under the roots of trees, and hopped over ornamental frogs that stood guard at each stair-well, until finally she came to the last step of all. It faced another blue door, alike the first in every respect.

    “Well, here’s a to do,” she thought to herself, “I do hope it leads somewhere interesting,” and quickly she turned the door’s handle, and pushed it open, so that she could step through.

    Alice found herself standing on a pebbly beach. In front of her the waves lapped at the shore, and a short distance to either side she could see a pier. The beach echoed with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and every now and again little snippets of seaside organ music were carried across from the piers by the wind.

    “Come,” she declared. “Which pier to visit? The one to the right looks the more magnificent, but it is the one to the left which appears to be accepting visitors.” Indeed, the left-hand pier did exhibit a good deal more activity than its partner, so Alice chose to walk in that direction.

She had not travelled far before she spied a commotion. A way down the shingle there stood a very strange looking man2 wearing a frock coat and tails, and holding an abacus, a ledger and a collapsible umbrella. He was trying to balance these on the back of a large raven which perched in front of him, while making entries in the ledger. However, the raven refused to stand still long enough for anything to balance (“And who can blame it?” thought Alice, “I’m sure that I would not stand still if someone were treating me in that way either,”) so that the man had to continually drop his pen in order to catch one of the items as it fell off. He looked for all the world like a juggler who didn’t really know how to juggle, and who probably would not have been a very good juggler even if he did know how, but who refused to give up trying anyway.

    At last he managed to balance the abacus on the ledger, and the both of them on the handle of the umbrella, whose tip he placed on the nape of his neck. He, meanwhile, sat on the raven’s head in order to keep it from moving, and attempted to write a note to himself on that poor unfortunate’s beak. The raven, however, at last decided that enough was enough, and with one strong sweep of its wings flew away from under the little man. He made a valiant attempt to catch his things as they fell, but only managed to bat each of them out of the way, so that the umbrella flew in one direction, the pen and ledger in another, and the abacus in a third still, while he himself landed in a small heap muttering: “Oh dear! Oh dear!” in stage whispers.

    “Excuse me, sir,” enquired Alice, “but are you hurt?”

    The little man looked up in surprise, apparently only just noticing that Alice was there with him; but in a moment he had jumped up, brushed himself down, and adopted an air of suave sophistication. “Never better, my dear, never better,” he said. “Why, there’s nothing I enjoy more that to dance a gavotte when balancing my books, nothing more! Well, there. How’s that for an account of myself?” And he said this with such heavy emphasis on the word ‘account,’ and with such a smirk, that Alice knew at once that he must be an accountant.

    “Please, sir,” she inquired again, for she was a very inquisitive sort of girl, “could you tell me why you were attending your ledgers on the back of a raven?”

    “A raven?” demanded the Accountant, looking up in surprise at a part of the sky past which the raven had long since flown. “Did you say a raven?” he asked again.

    “Well, bless my boots and buttons,” he continued, “I had no idea it was a raven. Why, I was so sure it was a writing desk, I would have been prepared to wager a cheese thimble on it. Although,” he admitted, “I did wonder why it wobbled so.” He wandered over to the umbrella, and carefully checked to see that it was still in working order. Satisfied, he picked it up and swung it over his shoulder, at which point the end flew off with a loud twang and hit a flagpole. “Not a writing desk, then, but a raven,” the Accountant said. “But those two are so similar in so many ways, don’t you find?”

    He sat down, cross-legged on the shingle, and opened his ledger in front of him. By peering over his shoulder Alice could see that every page was empty. Indeed, the Accountant seemed currently to be struggling with the problem of simply writing the date, and after only a few moments he jumped to his feet, and cried: “Name your months3, child!”

    “January, February,” Alice began, but before she could continue the Accountant had interrupted. “No, no, no,” he said. “All wrong, that will never do. Here, our months are named entirely differently.” He wandered up and down the beach some, drawing little designs for bookcases on his collar, until he suddenly turned to the girl and demanded: “What about the days, then? Can you name those? Quick, quick!”

    Obediently, Alice set to the task. “Monday, Tuesday,” she began, but before she had a chance to get to Wednesday the Accountant had interrupted her again.

    “Not at all right,” he said. “Why, on this beach we name our days quite differently. First comes Moanday, on account of the fact that we have to go to work.” And he jumped up onto a rock to continue the eulogy.

    “Next is Choresday, when we actually start the work we should have begun on Moanday,” - he wobbled a little, but just managed to retain his balance - “followed by Winceday, when we open one eye to look at the work and realise that we shall have to start it again.”

    By now the Accountant was wobbling so much that Alice was sure he would fall from the rock. However, by sticking one leg out straight behind him, and spreading his arms wide, he managed to stay where he was.

    “After Winceday,” he continued, “come Fearsday and Frightday, when whatever work we’ve managed to complete turns blue and falls over in a most terrifying manner. Then there’s Sadderday, during which we feel extremely sorry for ourselves, and Sullenday when we just sit and sulk.” And here, at the end of the speech, the Accountant’s balance finally failed, so that he fell head first into a rock-pool. Alice ran over to help him up once again; he was sitting in a damp pile of seaweed, with a crab on his head and a stream of water spouting out of his mouth. “And those are the names of our days,” he said, when he had got his breath back. “What do you call your weeks?”

    Alice was rather taken aback by this question, since it had never occurred to her that weeks should have names. However, the Accountant spoke again before she had a chance to reason the question out.

    “Don’t know the names of your weeks?” he asked incredulously. “Then how do you tell them apart?”

    “Well,” said Alice, “one can tell which is the week one is in, since part of it has gone and part of it is still to come. And one can tell which weeks have passed, since the Sunday lunches are always memorable.”

    “And the weeks that have not yet been?” inquired the Accountant. “How do you know which they are?”

    “Well, one doesn’t, of course,” Alice answered.

    “We do, here,” the Accountant said. “We know them all personally. Why, often we have them round to dinner!”

    “What do you name the weeks, then?” the girl asked.

    “The first week in a month we call ‘As-You-Will,”’ said the Accountant, “and the second is ‘Like-As-Not.’ The third and fourth weeks are ‘Now-And-Then’ and ‘Old-As-The-Hills.’ And should there be a fifth week in the month - and, of course, there always is - we call it ‘Hangs-A-Tale.’ It really is frightfully easy.”

    Alice thought about this a while, and eventually decided that it might be a good plan after all. “In any case,” she thought, “it can surely be no sillier than to give names to months.” This started her wondering about the names of the months thereabouts, and she turned back to the Accountant to ask, only to find him standing back up on the rock in an even stranger posture than before.

    “I believe I can see them!” he cried, putting a telescope to his eyes. “Yes, there they are, playing ottoman4 by the looks of things.”

    “Who are playing ottoman, pray?” asked Alice.

    “Why, two friends of mine,” the Accountant replied, climbing down from the rock and motioning along the shore with his hand. “Splendid fellows5, both,” he continued. “The first is a Major, and a very fine fellow he is too, although he will insist on swinging from the flying-trapeze whenever he can. And the second is a Miner, the salt of the earth, other than for the fact that he refuses to go down a mine. He says he hasn’t the time.”

    “They sound to be awfully strange,” said Alice solemnly, and the Accountant nodded his head in agreement.

    “So they are,” he said. “They love each other dearly; only, they will squabble so, and over the most simple of things. They do not give a fig for the outside world at all. All each wishes is disagree with the other. And the joke is, why, they are both exactly the same. Inside and out!”

    Alice was not entirely sure what to make of this remark, but the Accountant quickly offered the girl his arm, and started to promenade her down the beach. “If we are lucky,” he said, “we shall be able to find them before they have finished their game. It is such a joy to watch.”

    Sure enough, they came across the pair just along the shore. The Major was wearing a huge, military hat whose feathers kept falling into his eyes and making him sneeze, while the Miner sported overalls and a helmet fitted with a lamp. They were sitting at an ottoman board, and were obviously in the middle of a game. It seemed to be proceeding at a rate of knots, and it was not long before Alice discovered why. Each player allowed the other to pick up any piece at any time and place it anywhere on the board, and after each round he would loudly shout his undying thanks to the other, and claim they were the best of friends. Then he would hide the other’s pieces, and hit him over the head with the board when he wasn’t looking.

    Just as the Accountant had said, the scene was most amusing. Alice could not help but laugh, and as she watched there started to dance in her head a little poem, which she later remembered thus:

The Major and the Miner
Would sing in different keys.
One sang bass, as low as low,
The other high as he could go,
And both attempted stereo,
Hoping everyone to please.

The Major and the Miner
Held views in great profusion.
The price of ham in Turkistan,
The reason fish were made of jam,
The total height of half a man—
Though neither drew conclusion.

The Major and the Miner
Both claimed to have a vision.
The Major of the chink of change,
The Miner of the rearrange-
Ment of the world; both were deranged,
For nobody would listen.

The Major and the Miner
Would sing in different keys.
One sang bass, as low as low,
The other high as he could go
(Though neither managed stereo);
They failed anyone to please.

The Major looked up at the sound of Alice’s giggles, and leaned over to the Miner. “I say,” he said, tapping the other’s shoulder, “I do believe we have visitors.”

    “Look now, so we do,” replied the Miner, and both jumped up from the table, sending pieces flying in all directions. The Miner took the Accountant by the hand and vigorously shook it, saying: “My dear fellow, so good of you to come,” until the latter was quite tired out. The Major, meanwhile, bowed low to Alice, and similarly shook her hand. Then the pair swapped positions, and then again, and another full minute of hand-shaking and welcomes ensued during which everyone was introduced to everyone else. (In fact, Alice was introduced to the Accountant twice before either of them had noticed.)

    “Now then,” said the Miner, when all introductions had been completed. “Let’s sit and talk about Important Matters.” (Alice knew that he had said ‘Important Matters’ with capitals, although she was not entirely sure how.)

    The Major motioned for the other three to sit down - which they did - and then took position on his little swing so that he could sway to and fro as the conversation progressed. “Did you know,” he said, pointing to the Miner, “that he wants to paint the town red tonight? Why, he doesn’t seem to realise that such a thing would cause bread to boil over, and earthquakes!”

    “Not so! Not so!” cried the Miner in reply, and he jumped to his feet. “It would be better than to party till we’re blue in the face, which is what he wants to do!” The Miner pointed to the Major (who did his best to look completely innocent), and continued: “Why, that would make the cats sneeze; we’d all have to hide under bushes!”

    Now the Major jumped up also, and shouted: “Well, he hates nail polish!” to which the Miner replied: “Well, he is scared of emus!”6 At this point, the two little men hugged each other and shook hands quite violently for several minutes.

    Suddenly, the Major swung round to the Accountant, and shouted in his face: “You! How would you vote?” But the Accountant was too convulsed in giggles by this stage to reply, so instead the Miner rounded on Alice to demand: “How about you, child?”

    “Me?” asked Alice. “I have no idea about such things.” And she busied herself arranging her skirts, and hoped that the two would leave her in peace.

    “Come, come, child,” the Major said. “You must have some idea. Would you vote for he or I?” He jumped back up onto his swing, and pushed it back and forth, so that it eventually went so high it almost flew round in a circle. “What about this?” he shouted from the top of the arc. “Surely you’d vote for someone who could do this?”

    “Well,” said Alice, “I shall say I would vote for you, if you wish. Only, please stop swinging so. To fall from such a height can be awfully disagreeable.”

    “But how about this?” the Miner entreated, switching his lamp on and off rapidly. “Wouldn’t you vote for someone who could lead you from the darkness?”

    “Well, of course,” replied Alice, trying to keep him happy, “I should like to vote for you also.”    

    At this the Major came down from the swing, and the Miner switched off the lamp, and they both said together: “You can only vote for one of us, you know.”

    “But I don’t know,” Alice pleaded. “I really don’t know at all. Could I vote for one of you one time, and one of you another?”

    “Well, why didn’t you say so?” the Major laughed, and he sat down beside the girl to put his arm around her. (Alice did not find this at all pleasant, but she said nothing since he seemed to be happier, all told.)

    “It’s obvious now,” the Miner continued, “that you are a Floating Voter!” And he sat down on her other side, and put his arm around her too. Alice felt less than comfortable, since the two men continually tried to push themselves closer to her, and each would insist on pinching the other behind her back.

    “Do you know what a Floating Voter is?” the Miner asked at length.

    “She doesn’t know?” the Major exclaimed, before Alice could reply. “Oh dear! Oh dear! Shall we show her, do you think?” And he grinned a mischievous grin.

    “I feel that we ought,” the Miner said, and he grinned also, in a way which Alice found most disturbing. “After all, education is our responsibility.”

    Suddenly, Alice was lifted up by the Major and the Miner, an arm and a leg each, and carried apace down the beach. Within minutes they arrived at the shore, where they started to swing her back and forth, the Miner counting the swings. “A Floating Voter . . .” explained the Major (and the Miner counted: “One!”), “. . . is just a voter . . .” (the Miner happily shouted: “Two!”), “. . . who floats!” And with that, just as the Miner cried: “Three!” they heaved the shrieking girl as high and far as they could.

    Before Alice knew what was happening she was being pulled up, up, up again. She flew past seagulls, past the Helter-Skelter and the cast-iron legs of the pier, and within seconds she was landed in a heap on its deck, all flustered and blustered, and seemingly tied up with string.

Chapter VII - Panicking Chapter VII - Panicking | Chapter IX - A Bill for a Bombay Duck Chapter IX - A Bill for a Bombay Duck