Fritz and I pursued our way up the stream until we reached a point where the waters fell from a considerable height in a cascade, and where several large rocks lay half covered by the water; by means of these we succeeded in crossing the stream in safety. We thus had the sea on our left, and a long line of rocky heights, here and there adorned with clumps of trees, stretching away inland to the right.
We had forced our way scarcely fifty yards through the long rank grass, which was here partly withered by the sun and much tangled, when we were much alarmed on hearing behind us a rustling, and on looking round, we saw the grass waving to and fro, as if some animal were passing through it. Fritz instantly turned and brought his gun to his shoulder, ready to fire the moment the beast should appear.
I was much pleased with my son's coolness and presence of mind, for it showed me that I might thoroughly rely upon him on any future occasion when real danger might occur. This time, however, no savage beast rushed out, but our trusty dog Turk, whom, in our anxiety at parting, we had forgotten, and who had been sent after us doubtless by my thoughtful wife. I did not fail to com-
mend both the bravery and the discretion of my son, in not yielding to even a rational alarm, and for waiting until he was sure of the object before he resolved to fire.
From this little incident, however, we saw how dangerous was our position, and how difficult escape would be should any fierce beast steal upon us unawares: we therefore hastened to make our way to the open seashore. Here the scene which presented itself was indeed delightful. A background of hills, the green waving grass, the pleasant groups of trees stretching here and there to the very water's edge, formed a lovely prospect.
On the smooth sand we searched carefully for any trace of our hapless companions, but not the mark of a footstep could we find.
`Shall I fire a shot or two?' said Fritz. `That would bring our companions, if they are within hearing.'
`It would indeed,' I replied, `or any savages that may be here. No, no; let us search diligently, but as quietly as possible.'
`But why, father, should we trouble ourselves about them at all? They left us to shift for ourselves, and I for one don't care to set eyes on them again.'
10
`You are wrong, my boy,' said I. `In the first place, we should not return evil for evil; then, again, they might be of great assistance
to us in building a house of some sort; and lastly, you must remember that they took nothing with them from the vessel, and may be perishing of hunger.'
`But father, while we are wandering here and losing our time almost without a hope of benefit to them, why should we not instead return to the vessel and save the animals on board?'
`When a variety of duties present themselves for our choice, we should always give the preference to that which can confer the most solid advantage,' I replied. `The saving of the life of a man is a more exalted action than contributing to the comfort of a few quadrupeds, whom we have already supplied with food for a few days. Also, the sea is so calm at present that we need not fear that the ship will sink or break up entirely before we can return.'
Thus talking, we pushed on until we came to a pleasant grove which stretched down to the water's edge; here we halted to rest, seat-
ing ourselves under a large tree, by a rivulet which murmured and splashed along its pebbly bed into the great ocean before us.
A thousand gaily plumaged birds flew twittering above us, and Fritz and I gazed up at them. My son suddenly started up. `A monkey,'
he exclaimed, `I am nearly sure I saw a monkey.'
As he spoke he sprang round to the other side of the tree, and in doing so stumbled over a small round object which he handed to me, remarking, as he did so, that it was a round bird's nest, of which he had often heard.
`You may have done so,' said I, laughing, `but you need not necessarily conclude that every round hairy thing is a bird's nest; this, for instance, is not one, but a cocoanut. Do you not remember reading that a cocoanut is enclosed within a round, fibrous covering over a hard shell, which again is surrounded by a bulky green hull? In the one you hold in your hand, the outer hull has been destroyed by time, which is the reason that the twisted fibers of the inner covering are so apparent. Let us now break the shell, and you will see
the nut inside.'
Not without difficulty, we split open the nut, but, to our disgust, found the kernel dry and uneatable.
`Hullo,' cried Fritz, `I always thought a cocoanut was full of delicious sweet liquid, like almond milk.'
`So it is,' I replied, `when young and fresh, but as it ripens the milk becomes congealed, and in course of time is solidified into a ker-nel. This kernel then dries as you see here, but when the nut falls on favourable soil, the germ within the kernel swells until it bursts through the shell, and, taking root, springs up a new tree.'
`I do not understand,' said Fritz, `how the little germ manages to get through this great thick shell, which is not like an almond or hazel-nut shell, that is divided down the middle already.'
`Nature provides for all things,' I answered, taking up the pieces. `Look here, do you see these three round holes near the stalk; it is through them that the germ obtains egress. Now let us find a good nut if we can.'
As cocoanuts must be over-ripe before they fall naturally from the tree, it was not without difficulty that we obtained one in which the kernel was not dried up. It was a little oily and rancid, but this was not the time to be too particular. We were so refreshed by the fruit that we could defer the repast we called our dinner* until later in the day, and so spare our stock of provisions.
* In this book, 'dinner' refers to the midday meal.
Continuing our way through a thicket, which was so densely overgrown with lianas that we had to clear a passage with our hatchets, we again emerged on the seashore beyond, and found an open view, the forest sweeping inland, while on the space before us stood at intervals single trees of remarkable appearance. These at once attracted Fritz's observant eye, and he pointed to them, exclaiming:
`Oh, what absurd-looking trees, father! See what strange bumps there are on the trunks.'
We approached to examine them, and I recognized them as calabash trees, the fruit of which grows in this curious way on the stems, and is a species of gourd, from the hard rind of which bowls, spoons, and bottles can be made. `The savages,' I remarked, `are said to form these things most ingeniously, using them to contain liquids: indeed, they actually cook food in them.'
`Oh, but that is impossible,' returned Fritz. `I am quite sure this rind would be burnt through directly if it was set on the fire.'
11
`I did not say it was set on the fire at all. When the gourd has been divided in two, and the shell or rind emptied of its contents, it is filled with water, into which the fish, or whatever is to be cooked, is put; red-hot stones are added until the water boils; the food becomes fit to eat, and the gourd-rind remains uninjured.'
`That is a very clever plan: very simple too. I daresay I should have hit on it, if I had tried,' said Fritz.
`The friends of Columbus thought it very easy to make an egg stand upon its end when he had shown them how to do it. But now suppose we prepare some of these calabashes, that they may be ready for use when we take them home.'
Fritz instantly took up one of the gourds, and tried to split it equally with his knife, but in vain: the blade slipped, and the calabash was cut jaggedly. `What a nuisance!' said Fritz, flinging it down, `The thing is spoiled; and yet it seemed so simple to divide it properly.'
`Stay,' said I, `you are too impatient, those pieces are not useless. Do you try to fashion from them a spoon or two while I provide a dish.' I then took from my pocket a piece of string, which I tied tightly round a gourd, as near one end of it as I could; then tapping the string with the back of my knife, it penetrated the outer shell. When this was accomplished,