THE SIXTEENTH TALE OF THE MERRY MEN OF GOTHAM
One fine summer’s day twelve men of Gotham strolled down to the river to fish. As the day was warm, some waded into the river while others cast their lines from the bank. They had an excellent day and as the sun began to set they left the river with their catch over their shoulders and headed for home.
As they were strolling home, one of them said, Some of us waded quite far today and the river was deep in places – we were lucky that none of us drowned.’ ‘Hang on,’ said another. ‘Are we sure that none of us did drown? Twelve of us set out this morning – how many of us are there now?’
Each man stopped and counted how many other men were standing there – and every one of them counted eleven – and forgot to count themselves!
‘Oh no!’ cried one, ‘One of us has drowned!!’ and they all rushed back to the river and wandered up and down the bank in the failing light calling out for their missing fellow.
A traveller came riding by and as he crossed the bridge he saw the men calling and rushing about on the riverbank and asked them what was the matter. ‘One of us has surely drowned,’ said one of the villagers, ‘For 12 of us arrived here this morning and there are only 11 here now.’ At that, the man turned to his friends who were scouring the riverbank and counted to 11.
The traveller soon realised the man’s mistake and decided to have a bit of fun at the expense of these foolish villagers. ‘I’m very skilled at finding things that are lost. If I can find you 12th man, safe and well, what will you give me?’ The villagers were gathering round by now and they agreed he could have all their day’s catch if only he’d find their missing friend. ‘Then line up all of you, and I will find the missing man.’
So the fishermen all stood beside the traveller, who didn’t even get off his horse but said to them: ‘Now I will tap each one of you on the shoulder with my whip. As I do so, call out. We’ll count the number of calls and I promise you, there will be twelve.’ The men of Gotham stood in a row upon the bridge. As he walked his horse along the line, the traveller gave each such a sharp whack on the shoulder that the moaned loudly – and together they counted the number that called out – and lo and behold, there were 12 loud yells.
The villagers were delighted and happily loaded all their fish onto the traveller’s horse. ‘God bless you sir,’ they cried, ‘For you found our friend who was lost.’
Happy to be safely reunited, the villagers made their way home to Gotham – while the delighted traveller chuckled to himself all the way to his home in Bexhill, where he sold the fish to an inn keeper and pocketed a healthy profit.