The 101 Dalmatians

Christmas Eve

Meanwhile, the Dalmatian army was swinging along the road in fine style. Though cold, the night was very still. The pups were rested and hopeful. And the fact that a tired little dog could take a rest with the Cadpig in her cart made tired little dogs feel less tired. Indeed, Missis at first had to insist that the smaller pups take turns to rest. But progress was not really fast. There were so many pauses while the pups who pulled the cart were changed, pauses while pups got in and out of the cart; and every half-mile the whole army had a rest. Still, all went wonderfully well until they were within half a mile of the village where they were to spend the day.

There was a hint of dawn in the sky now, but Pongo felt sure they could reach the village before it was dangerously light. He quickened the pace slightly and told the pups to think of breakfast ahead of them at the bakery.

It was soon after this that the Cadpig called out, “Look! Little painted houses on wheels!”

Pongo saw them at the same moment, and he knew they were not houses. They were caravans.

He had seen them once when out with Mr. Dearly and had heard Mr. Dearly say that gipsies lived in caravans and gipsies sometimes stole valuable dogs.

“Halt!” said Pongo instantly.

Could they get past the caravans without being seen? He wasn’t going to risk it. Between them and the nearest caravan was an open gate. He would lead the puppies through it and take them through the fields until they were well past the caravans. Swiftly he gave his instructions, which were handed on from pup to pup: “We are to keep dead quiet and follow Pongo through the gate.”

And thus did the owner of one of the keenest brains in Dogdom make one of his few mistakes. For in the caravan nearest to them an old gipsy woman was awake and looking out of the little back window. She saw the approaching Dalmatians and at once woke her husband. He was beside her at the window just as Pongo led the way into the field.

The old gipsy woman never read newspapers, so she knew nothing about the stolen puppies. But she knew that here were many valuable dogs. And she knew something else, which Pongo did not know. There is a connection between Dalmatians and gipsies. Many people believe that it was the gipsies who first brought Dalmatians to England, long, long ago. And nothing like as long ago as that, there were gipsies who travelled round England with Dalmatians trained to do tricks. And these performing dogs earned money for the gipsies. The old woman could remember such dogs, and she thought how splendid it would be if all these Dalmatians could be trained as money-earners.

“Quick! Close the gate!” she said to her husband. She spoke in the strange gipsy language, which is called Romany. “The only other way out of that field is through a break in the hedge. I will rouse the camp, and we will all stop the dogs there and catch them.”

In less than two minutes the whole gipsy encampment was awake. Children cried, dogs barked, horses neighed. It was still so dark that it took Pongo five minutes to find the break in the hedge. And when he found it, he also found the way barred. All the gipsies were there, with sticks and ropes.

“Back to the gate, as fast as you can!” he cried to the pups. But when they reached the gate it was closed. They were trapped.

Pongo barked loudly, hoping that some gipsy dog might help him. Many gipsy dogs barked in answer, but they had all been shut up in the caravans in case they should fight the Dalmatians. In any case, they barked only in Romany, so they could not understand a word Pongo said.

But someone else did. Suddenly Pongo heard the high neigh of a horse close at hand—and, oh, most wonderful, the horse could neigh normally, as well as in Romany. It understood Pongo, and he understood it. Horses are nearly always friendly to Dalmatians—perhaps because of those days when Dalmatians were trained to follow carriages. This horse was not old enough to remember such days, but he took an instant liking to Pongo, Missis, and all the pups. If these pleasant creatures wished to come out of the field, nothing could be easier. He strolled up, opened the gate with his long, strong teeth, and swung it back. Out poured the puppies.

“Lead them past the caravans as fast as you can!” Pongo shouted to Missis, and waited to see the last pup out of the field.

“What a very large family you and your wife have,” said the horse. “My wife and I have never had more than the one. Well, good luck to you.”

He waved aside Pongo’s thanks and then, being a very tidy horse, he carefully closed the gate again. So never did the gipsies—all waiting at the break in the hedge—know how their prisoners got away.

Helter-skelter along the road went Missis, the puppies, and, finally, Pongo. (The pups who drew the Cadpig’s cart stuck faithfully to their task.) The shut-in Romany dogs heard them and shook the caravans in their efforts to get out. Volleys of furious barking came from the little windows.

“The caravans bark but the dogs move on,” remarked Pongo when he felt they were out of danger.

A few minutes later they reached the village where they were to sleep. The Sheepdog’s friend, a handsome Collie, was waiting to welcome them.

“No talk until you’re safely hidden,” he said. “It’s almost light.”

Quickly they followed him across the village green to three old gabled houses. The baker’s was in the middle, between the butcher’s and the chimney-sweep’s. The baker and the butcher and the sweep were all windowers and, as it was Sunday, had already gone to spend Christmas with their married daughters, which was just as well.

The baker’s shop would not have been nearly big enough to house all the pups, but luckily there was a large bakehouse at the back. And soon every pup was safely in and enjoying a splendid sausage roll. Pongo and Missis chatted to the Collie while they ate. He shook his head worriedly when he heard about the gipsies.

“A narrow escape,” he said. “The trouble is that Dalmatians are such noticeable dogs. Ninety-nine of you together are spectacular—though I mean it as a compliment. You’d be much safer if you were black.”

“Like that nice little pup over there,” said Missis.

“What pup?” The Collie looked across the bakehouse, then said sharply, “That pup doesn’t belong in this village. Who are you, my lad? Where have you come from?”

The black pup did not answer. Instead, he came running to Missis and butted her in the stomach.

“Here, hold hard, young man!” said Missis. Then she gasped. “Goodness, it is! It isn’t! It is Roly Poly!”

The fat puppy who was always getting into mischief had found his way into a shed at the back of the sweep’s house and had a fight with a bag of soot.

“Mercy, you’ll need some washing!” said his mother.

Then it was that one of the keenest brains in Dogdom had one of its brainiest waves.

“Roly Poly,” said Pongo, “was there a lot of soot at the sweep’s?”

“Bags and bags,” said Roly Poly.

“Then we are all going to be black dogs,” said Pongo.

“Your husband is a genius,” said the Collie to Missis as he showed them all into the sweep’s shed.

There was any amount of soot—waiting to have done with it whatever sweeps do do with soot.

“Ten dogs forward at a time!” commanded Pongo. “Pups roll! Pups rub noses!”

In a very short time there were ninety-seven pitch-black pups.

“And now, my love,” said Pongo to Missis. “Let us take a roll in the soot.”

Frankly, Missis did not fancy it. She hated soiling her gleaming white hair and losing its smart contrast with her beautiful black spots. But when Pongo had helped her with the final touches he said: “Why, Missis, as a black dog, you’re slimmer than ever. You’re positively svelte!” and then she felt much better.

Then Pongo said, “How does soot suit me?”

“Suit soots you beautifully,” said Missis, and all the pups roared with laughter at her mistake.

Then they all went back to the bakehouse and settled down to sleep. The Collie said he would call them as soon as it was dark. They would have only five miles to go—to another bakery—but he felt they should get the journey over early as he had heard there might be snow.

“But there may be cars on the road until late, as it is Christmas Eve—and Sunday,” he told them. “So you must go by the fields. I shall escort you. Rest well now.”

Poor Missis! When she awoke in the late afternoon and looked around her, she dissolved into sooty tears.

“I can’t tell one pup from the other now they’re black,” she moaned. But she soon found she could, though she could never have explained how she managed it.

Another meal had been organized, but it was not all that could have been wished, because the butcher had meanly locked up his shop.

“This clears the bakery out,” said the Collie, carrying in the last stale loaf. “But there will be a good supper waiting for you. And the journey oughtn’t take more than three or four hours.” He then went off to see if there was any news coming in by the Twilight Barking.

After half an hour or so, Pongo began to feel anxious. It was quite dark now; they ought to be off. What was delaying the Collie?

“Listen!” said Missis suddenly.

Very, very faintly, they could hear the Collie barking. He was calling Pongo’s name, again and again.

Pongo and Missis ran out of the bakehouse to the little yard at the back. Now they could hear the Collie more clearly. But he was obviously some way off. Pongo barked in answer to him. Then swiftly the Collie told them what had happened.

He was locked in a house across the green, with no hope of getting out. The postmistress had promised to look after him while the baker was away for Christmas. She had decided it was too cold a night for a dog to be out, hauled him in, and gone out for the evening. He had tried every door and every window but could undo none of them. It was impossible for him to escort the Dalmatians, as he had promised.

“But you can’t miss your way, Pongo,” he barked. “Out over the field at the back of the bakehouse and straight on for five miles.”

Pongo told him not to worry. But the poor Collie was most unhappy. “Here I am, locked in with a warm fire and a good supper—and powerless to help you.”

Both Pongo and Missis told him to eat the supper and enjoy the fire, and thanked him for all he had done.

“And now, off we go,” said Pongo, bringing the pups out of the bakehouse. “And no straggling! Because it would be very easy to lose a black pup on a dark night.”

But it was not really a very dark night, for already the moon was rising and the stars were out. There was one specially large, bright star.

“The Collie said straight ahead, and that star is straight ahead,” said Pongo. “So we’ll steer by it.” He was thankful they were going by way of the fields and not by the road—for he remembered that Cruella had told the Baddun brothers she would come down “tomorrow night” to count the bodies. Now it was “tomorrow night” and the great zebra-striped car would be somewhere on the road from London to Suffolk. How terrible it would be to meet it! He imagined the glare from the headlights, imagined Cruella driving straight at the army of panic-stricken puppies. Yes, he would certainly avoid the roads! But, even so, it was frightening to know that Cruella might be quite near. He put the thought from his mind as he and Missis got the pups into marching order.

Their way lay through grassy meadows over which the Cadpig’s cart trundled smoothly. At every hedge and ditch Pongo paused and counted the pups to see none had strayed, and Missis changed the pups who drew the cart and the pups who rested in it. Already even the smallest puppies were getting hardier—even the Cadpig got out of the cart and walked three fields before getting in again.

“Soon we shall be able to do ten miles a day,” said Pongo. They had travelled about three miles when the first disaster of the night happened. There was a sudden bump, and a wild squeal from the Cadpig. A wheel had come off the little blue cart.

Pongo saw at once that the cart could be mended. A wooden peg which fixed the hub of the wheel to the axle had come out. But could he ever, using his teeth, put this peg back? He tried—and failed.

“Could the Cadpig manage without the cart?” he whispered to Missis.

Missis shook her head. Walking three fields had been enough for her smallest daughter. And her other daughters could not walk more than a mile without a rest.

“Then mend the cart I must,” said Pongo. “And you must help me, by holding the wheel in position.”

They tried and tried, without success. Then, while they were resting for a moment, Missis noticed that many of the pups were shivering.

“They’d better keep warm by running races,” said Pongo.

“But that would tire them,” said Missis. “Couldn’t they all go to that barn over there?”

They could just see a big tiled roof, two short fields away—not very clearly, because the moon was behind clouds; it was this lack of light which made it so hard to mend the cart.

“That’s a good idea,” said Pongo. “And when the cart’s mended, we can bring it along and call for them all.”

Missis said the Cadpig had better stay in the cart and keep warm in the hay, but the Cadpig wanted to go with the others and see the barn—she felt sure she could walk two short fields. So Missis let her go. Two strong pups the right size to draw the cart stayed behind. They said they did not mind the cold.

So ninety-five pups, led by Lieutenant Lucky, set off briskly for the barn. But when they got there it did not look at all like the barn at the Sheepdog’s farm. It was built of grey stone and had long windows, some with coloured glass in them, and at one end was a tower.

“Why, there’s a Folly!” said the Cadpig, remembering the tower of the Folly at Hell Hall.

Lucky was looking for a door, but when he found one it was firmly shut. He told the pups to wait for him while he want round the building looking for some other way in.

The Cadpig did not wait. “Come on,” she said to her devoted brother Patch. “I want to look at that Folly.”

And when they got to the tower they saw a narrow door that was not quite closed. It was too heavy for them to push, but they could—just—just—squeeze through.

Inside, this tower was nothing like the one at Hell Hall. And it opened into the grey stone building.

“No hay in this barn,” said the Cadpig. She had counted on the hay for warmth, but she soon found she was warm enough without it, for there was a big stove alight. It had a long iron pipe for a chimney, which went right up through the raftered ceiling. The moon was out again now, and its light was streaming in through the tall windows, so that the clear glass made silver patterns on the stone floor and the coloured glass made blue, gold, and rose patterns. The Cadpig patted one of the coloured patterns with a delicate paw.

“I love this barn,” she said.

Patch said, “I don’t think it is a barn.” But he liked it as much as the Cadpig did.

They wandered around—and suddenly they made a discovery. Whatever this mysterious place was, it was certainly intended for puppies. For in front of every seat—and there were many seats—was a puppy-sized dog-bed, padded and most comfortable.

“Why, it’s just meant for us all to sleep in!” said the Cadpig.

“I’ll tell the other pups,” said Patch, starting for the door. A glad cry from the Cadpig called him back.

“Look, Look! Television!”

But it was not like the television at Hell Hall. It was much larger. And the figures on the screen did not move or speak. Indeed, it was not a screen. The figures were really there, on a low platform, humans and animals, most lifelike, though smaller than in real life. They were in a stable, above which was one bright star.

“Look at the little humans, kneeling,” said Patch.

“And there’s a kind of a cow,” said the Cadpig, remembering the cows at the farm, who had given all the pups milk.

“And a kind of a horse,” said Patch, remembering the helpful horse who had let them all out of the field.

“No dogs,” said the Cadpig. “What a pity! But I like it much better than ordinary television. Only I don’t know why.”

Then they heard Lucky and the others, who had found their way in. Soon every pup was lying curled up on a comfortable dog-bed and fast asleep—except the Cadpig. She had dragged along one of the dog-beds by its most convenient little carpet ear, and was sitting on it, wide awake, gazing and gazing at this new and far more beautiful television.

Once the moon came out from behind the clouds Pongo managed to mend the wheel—oh, the feeling of satisfaction when the peg slipped into place! Missis too felt proud. Had she not held the wheel? She, a dog who had never understood machinery! Quickly the two waiting pups seized the crossbar in their mouths. Then off they all went to the barn.

But as they drew nearer, Pongo saw this was no barn.

“Surely they can’t have gone in there? “ he said to Missis.

“Why not, if they were cold?” said Missis. “And they are far too young to know they would not be welcome.”

Pongo and Missis both knew that humans did not like dogs to go into buildings which had towers and tall, narrow windows. They had no idea why, and had at first been a little hurt when told firmly to wait outside. But Mrs. Dearly had once said, “We would love you to come in if it was allowed. And I would go in far oftener if you could.” So it was obviously one of those mysterious things such as no one—not even humans—ever being allowed to walk on certain parts of the grass in Regent’s Park.

“We must get them out quickly,” said Pongo, “and go on with our journey.”

They soon found the door in the tower—which the biggest pups had pushed wide open. Because Missis had always been left outside, she disliked these curious buildings with towers and high windows; but the minute she got inside she changed her mind. This was a wonderful place—so peaceful and, somehow, so welcoming.

“But where are the pups?” she said, peering all around.

She saw lots of black patches on the moonlit floor but had quite forgotten that all the pups were now black. Then she remembered and as she drew nearer to the sleeping pups, tears sprang to her eyes.

“Look, look at all the puppy-beds!” she cried. “What good people must live here!”

“It can’t be the kind of place I thought it was,” said Pongo.

He was about to wake the puppies when Missis stopped him. “Let me sit by the stove for a little while,” she said.

“Not too long, my dear,” said Pongo.

He need not have worried. Missis sat still for only a few minutes. Then she got up, shook herself, and said brightly, “Let us start now. Things are going to be all right.”

An hour or so later, just before the evening service, the Verger said to the Vicar, “I think there must be something wrong with the stove, sir.”

On every hassock he had found a small circular patch of soot.