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13 pages

English

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When good King Arthur reigned with Guinevere his Queen, there lived, near the Land's End in Cornwall, a farmer who had one only son called Jack. Now Jack was brisk and ready; of such a lively wit that none nor nothing could worst him.

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Publié par	Interactive Media
Date de parution	21 juin 2017
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781787242692
Langue	English

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Flora Steel
Jack The Giant-Killer
Published by Sovereign
This edition first published in 2017
Copyright © 2017 Sovereign
All Rights Reserve
ISBN: 9781787242692
Contents
JACK THE GIANT-KILLER
JACK THE GIANT-KILLER
I
When good King Arthur reigned with Guinevere his Queen, there lived, near the Land’s End in Cornwall, a farmer who had one only son called Jack. Now Jack was brisk and ready; of such a lively wit that none nor nothing could worst him.
In those days, the Mount of St. Michael in Cornwall was the fastness of a hugeous giant whose name was Cormoran.
He was full eighteen feet in height, some three yards about his middle, of a grim fierce face, and he was the terror of all the country-side. He lived in a cave amidst the rocky Mount, and when he desired victuals he would wade across the tides to the mainland and furnish himself forth with all that came in his way. The poor folk and the rich folk alike ran out of their houses and hid themselves when they heard the swish-swash of his big feet in the water; for if he saw them, he would think nothing of broiling half-a-dozen or so of them for breakfast. As it was, he seized their cattle by the score, carrying off half-a-dozen fat oxen on his back at a time, and hanging sheep and pigs to his waistbelt like bunches of dip-candles. Now this had gone on for long years, and the poor folk of Cornwall were in despair, for none could put an end to the giant Cormoran.
It so happened that one market day Jack, then quite a young lad, found the town upside down over some new exploit of the giant’s. Women were weeping, men were cursing, and the magistrates were sitting in Council over what was to be done. But none could suggest a plan. Then Jack, blithe and gay, went up to the magistrates, and with a fine courtesy-for he was ever polite-asked them what reward would be given to him who killed the giant Cormoran.
“The treasures of the Giant’s Cave,” quoth they.
“Every whit of it?” quoth Jack, who was never to be done.
“To the last farthing,” quoth they.
“Then will I undertake the task,” said Jack, and forthwith set about the business.
It was winter-time, and having got himself a horn, a pickaxe, and a shovel, he went over to the Mount in the dark evening, set to work, and before dawn he had dug a pit, no less than twenty-two feet deep and nigh as big across. This he covered with long thin sticks and straw, sprinkling a little loose mould over all to make it look like solid ground. So, just as dawn was breaking, he planted himself fair and square on the side of the pit that was farthest from the giant’s cave, raised the horn to his lips, and with full blast sounded:
“Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy!”
just as he would have done had he been hunting a fox.
Of course this woke the giant, who rushed in a rage out of his cave, and seeing little Jack, fair and square blowing away at his horn, as calm and cool as may be