Kitabı oku: «Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago», sayfa 8
He yelled rather than sang this at the top of his tuneful voice, and waved his hand as the sharp craft shot away over the sea.
Fortunately the sea was calm, for it was growing dark when they reached the shores of Borneo and entered the mouth of a small stream, up which they proceeded to paddle. The banks of the stream were clothed with mangrove trees. We have said the banks, but in truth the mouth of that river had no distinguishable banks at all, for it is the nature of the mangrove to grow in the water—using its roots as legs with which, as it were, to wade away from shore. When darkness fell suddenly on the landscape, as it is prone to do in tropical regions, the gnarled roots of those mangroves assumed the appearance of twining snakes in Nigel’s eyes. Possessing a strongly imaginative mind he could with difficulty resist the belief that he saw them moving slimily about in the black water, and, in the dim mysterious light, tree-stems and other objects assumed the appearance of hideous living forms, so that he was enabled to indulge the uncomfortable fancy that they were traversing some terrestrial Styx into one of Dante’s regions of horror.
In some respects this was not altogether a fancy, for they were unwittingly drawing near to a band of human beings whose purposes, if fully carried out, would render the earth little better than a hell to many of their countrymen.
It is pretty well-known that there is a class of men in Borneo called Head Hunters. These men hold the extraordinary and gruesome opinion that a youth has not attained to respectable manhood until he has taken the life of some human being.
There are two distinct classes of Dyaks—those who inhabit the hills and those who dwell on the sea-coast. It is the latter who recruit the ranks of the pirates of those eastern seas, and it was to the camp of a band of such villains that our adventurers were, as already said, unwittingly drawing near.
They came upon them at a bend of the dark river beyond which point the mangroves gave place to other trees—but what sort of trees they were it was scarcely light enough to make out very distinctly, except in the case of the particular tree in front of which the Dyaks were encamped, the roots of which were strongly illuminated by their camp fire. We say roots advisedly, for this singular and gigantic tree started its branches from a complexity of aerial roots which themselves formed a pyramid some sixty feet high, before the branches proper of the tree began.
If our voyagers had used oars the sharp ears of the pirates would have instantly detected them.
As it was, the softly moving paddles and the sharp cutwater of the canoe made no noise whatever. The instant that Van der Kemp, from his position in the bow, observed the camp, he dipped his paddle deep, and noiselessly backed water. There was no need to give any signal to his servant. Such a thorough understanding existed between them that the mere action of the hermit was sufficient to induce the negro to support him by a similar movement on the opposite side, and the canoe glided as quickly backward as it had previously advanced. When under the deep shadow of the bank Moses thrust the canoe close in, and his master, laying hold of the bushes, held fast and made a sign to him to land and reconnoitre.
Creeping forward to an opening in the bushes close at hand, Moses peeped through. Then he turned and made facial signals of a kind so complicated that he could not be understood, as nothing was visible save the flashing of his teeth and eyes. Van der Kemp therefore recalled him by a sign, and, stepping ashore, whispered Nigel to land.
Another minute and the three travellers stood on the bank with their heads close together.
“Wait here for me,” said the hermit, in the lowest possible whisper. “I will go and see who they are.”
“Strange,” said Nigel, when he was gone; “strange that in so short a time your master should twice have to stalk strangers in this way. History repeats itself, they say. It appears to do so rather fast in these regions! Does he not run a very great risk of being discovered?”
“Not de smallest,” replied the negro, with as much emphasis as was possible in a whisper. “Massa hab ride wid de Vaquieros ob Ameriky an’ hunt wid de Injuns on de Rockies. No more fear ob deir ketchin’ him dan ob ketchin’ a streak o’ lightnin’. He come back bery soon wid all de news.”
Moses was a true prophet. Within half-an-hour Van der Kemp returned as noiselessly as he had gone. He did not keep them long in uncertainty.
“I have heard enough,” he whispered, “to assure me that a plot, of which I had already heard a rumour, has nearly been laid. We fell in with the chief plotters on the islet the other night; the band here is in connection with them and awaits their arrival before carrying out their dark designs. There is nothing very mysterious about it. One tribe plotting to attack another—that is all; but as a friend of mine dwells just now with the tribe to be secretly attacked, it behoves me to do what I can to save him. I am perplexed, however. It would seem sometimes as if we were left in perplexity for wise purposes which are beyond our knowledge.”
“Perhaps to test our willingness to do right,” suggested Nigel.
“I know not,” returned the hermit, as if musing, but never raising his voice above the softest whisper. “My difficulty lies here; I must go forward to save the life of my friend. I must not leave you at the mouth of a mangrove river to die or be captured by pirates, and yet I have no right to ask you to risk your life on my account!”
“You may dismiss your perplexities then,” said Nigel, promptly, “for I decline to be left to die here or to be caught by pirates, and I am particularly anxious to assist you in rescuing your friend. Besides, am I not your hired servant?”
“The risk we run is only at the beginning,” said Van der Kemp. “If we succeed in passing the Dyaks unseen all will be well. If they see us, they will give chase, and our lives, under God, will depend on the strength of our arms, for I am known to them and have thwarted their plans before now. If they catch us, death will be our certain doom. Are you prepared?”
“Ready!” whispered Nigel.
Without another word the hermit took his place in the bow of the canoe. Moses stepped into the stern, and our hero sat down in the middle.
Before pushing off, the hermit drew a revolver and a cutlass from his store-room in the bow and handed them to Nigel, who thrust the first into his belt and fastened the other to the deck by means of a strap fixed there on purpose to prevent its being rolled or swept off. This contrivance, as well as all the other appliances in the canoe, had previously been pointed out and explained to him. The hermit and negro having armed themselves in similar way, let go the bushes which held them close to the bank and floated out into the stream. They let the canoe drift down a short way so as to be well concealed by the bend in the river and a mass of bushes. Then they slowly paddled over to the opposite side, and commenced to creep up as close to the bank as possible, under the deep shadow of overhanging trees, and so noiselessly that they appeared in the darkness like a passing phantom.
But the sharp eyes of the pirates were too much accustomed to phantoms of every kind to be easily deceived. Just as the canoe was about to pass beyond the line of their vision a stir was heard in their camp. Then a stern challenge rolled across the river and awoke the slumbering echoes of the forest—perchance to the surprise and scaring away of some prowling beast of prey.
“No need for concealment now,” said Van der Kemp, quietly; “we must paddle for life. If you have occasion to use your weapons, Nigel, take no life needlessly. Moses knows my mind on this point and needs no warning. Any fool can take away life. Only God can give it.”
“I will be careful,” replied Nigel, as he dipped his paddle with all the muscular power at his command. His comrades did the same, and the canoe shot up the river like an arrow.
A yell from the Dyaks, and the noise of jumping into and pushing off their boats told that there was no time to lose.
“They are strong men, and plenty of them to relieve each other,” said the hermit, who now spoke in his ordinary tones, “so they have some chance of overhauling us in the smooth water; but a few miles further up there is a rapid which will stop them and will only check us. If we can reach it we shall be safe.”
While he was speaking every muscle in his broad back and arms was strained to the uttermost; so also were the muscles of his companions, and the canoe seemed to advance by a series of rapid leaps and bounds. Yet the sound of the pursuers’ oars seemed to increase, and soon the proverb “it is the pace that kills” received illustration, for the speed of the canoe began to decrease a little—very little at first—while the pursuers, with fresh hands at the oars, gradually overhauled the fugitives.
“Put on a spurt!” said the hermit, setting the example.
The pirates heard the words and understood either them or the action that followed, for they also “put on a spurt,” and encouraged each other with a cheer.
Moses heard the cheer, and at the same time heard the sound of the rapid to which they were by that time drawing near. He glanced over his shoulder and could make out the dim form of the leading boat, with a tall figure standing up in the bow, not thirty yards behind.
“Shall we manage it, Moses?” asked Van der Kemp, in that calm steady voice which seemed to be unchangeable either by anxiety or peril.
“No, massa. Unpossable—widout dis.”
The negro drew the revolver from his belt, slewed round, took rapid aim and fired.
The tall figure in the bow of the boat fell back with a crash and a hideous yell. Great shouting and confusion followed, and the boat dropped behind. A few minutes later and the canoe was leaping over the surges of a shallow rapid. They dashed from eddy to eddy, taking advantage of every stone that formed a tail of backwater below it, and gradually worked the light craft upward in a way that the hermit and his man had learned in the nor’-western rivers of America.
“We are not safe yet,” said the former, resting and wiping his brow as they floated for a few seconds in a calm basin at the head of the rapid.
“Surely they cannot take a boat up such a place as that!”
“Nay, but they can follow up the banks on foot. However, we will soon baffle them, for the river winds like a serpent just above this, and by carrying our canoe across one, two, or three spits of land we will gain a distance in an hour or so that would cost them nearly a day to ascend in boats. They know that, and will certainly give up the chase. I think they have given it up already, but it is well to make sure.”
“I wonder why they did not fire at us,” remarked Nigel.
“Probably because they felt sure of catching us,” returned the hermit, “and when they recovered from the confusion that Moses threw them into we were lost to them in darkness, besides being pretty well beyond range. I hope, Moses, that you aimed low.”
“Yes, massa—but it’s sca’cely fair when life an’ def am in de balance to expect me to hit ’im on de legs on a dark night. Legs is a bad targit. Bullet’s apt to pass between ’em. Howseber, dat feller won’t hop much for some time to come!”
A couple of hours later, having carried the canoe and baggage across the spits of land above referred to, and thus put at least half-a-day’s journey between themselves and their foes, they came to a halt for the night.
“It won’t be easy to find a suitable place to camp on,” remarked Nigel, glancing at the bank, where the bushes grew so thick that they overhung the water, brushing the faces of our travellers and rendering the darkness so intense that they had literally to feel their way as they glided along.
“We will encamp where we are,” returned the hermit. “I’ll make fast to a bush and you may get out the victuals, Moses.”
“Das de bery best word you’ve said dis day, massa,” remarked the negro with a profound sigh. “I’s pritty well tired now, an’ de bery t’ought ob grub comforts me!”
“Do you mean that we shall sleep in the canoe?” asked Nigel.
“Ay, why not?” returned the hermit, who could be heard, though not seen, busying himself with the contents of the fore locker. “You’ll find the canoe a pretty fair bed. You have only to slip down and pull your head and shoulders through the manhole and go to sleep. You won’t want blankets in this weather, and, see—there is a pillow for you and another for Moses.”
“I cannot see, but I can feel,” said Nigel, with a soft laugh, as he passed the pillow aft.
“T’ank ee, Nadgel,” said Moses; “here—feel behind you an’ you’ll find grub for yourself an’ some to pass forid to massa. Mind when you slip down for go to sleep dat you don’t dig your heels into massa’s skull. Dere’s no bulkhead to purtect it.”
“I’ll be careful,” said Nigel, beginning his invisible supper with keen appetite. “But how about my skull, Moses? Is there a bulkhead between it and your heels?”
“No, but you don’t need to mind, for I allers sleeps doubled up, wid my knees agin my chin. It makes de arms an’ legs feel more sociable like.”
With this remark Moses ceased to encourage conversation—his mouth being otherwise engaged.
Thereafter they slipped down into their respective places, laid their heads on their pillows and fell instantly into sound repose, while the dark waters flowed sluggishly past, and the only sound that disturbed the universal stillness was the occasional cry of some creature of the night or the flap of an alligator’s tail.
Chapter Fourteen
A New Friend found—New Dangers encountered and New Hopes Delayed
When grey dawn began to dispel the gloom of night, Nigel Roy awoke with an uncomfortable sensation of having been buried alive. Stretching himself as was his wont he inadvertently touched the head of Van der Kemp, an exclamation from whom aroused Moses, who, uncoiling himself, awoke Spinkie. It was usually the privilege of that affectionate creature to nestle in the negro’s bosom.
With the alacrity peculiar to his race, Spinkie sprang through the manhole and sat down in his particular place to superintend, perhaps to admire, the work of his human friends, whose dishevelled heads emerged simultaneously from their respective burrows.
Dawn is a period of the day when the spirit of man is calmly reflective. Speech seemed distasteful that morning, and as each knew what had to be done, it was needless. The silently conducted operations of the men appeared to arouse fellow-feeling in the monkey, for its careworn countenance became more and more expressive as it gazed earnestly and alternately into the faces of its comrades. To all appearance it seemed about to speak—but it didn’t.
Pushing out from the shore they paddled swiftly up stream, and soon put such a distance between them and their late pursuers that all risk of being overtaken was at an end.
All day they advanced inland without rest, save at the breakfast hour, and again at mid-day to dine. Towards evening they observed that the country through which they were passing had changed much in character and aspect. The low and swampy region had given place to hillocks and undulating ground, all covered with the beautiful virgin forest with its palms and creepers and noble fruit-trees and rich vegetation, conspicuous among which magnificent ferns of many kinds covered the steep banks of the stream.
On rounding a point of the river the travellers came suddenly upon an interesting group, in the midst of a most beautiful woodland scene. Under the trees on a flat spot by the river-bank were seated round a fire a man and a boy and a monkey. The monkey was a tame orang-utan, youthful but large. The boy was a Dyak in light cotton drawers, with the upper part of his body naked, brass rings on his arms, heavy ornaments in his ears, and a bright kerchief worn as a turban on his head. The man was a sort of nondescript in a semi-European shooting garb, with a wide-brimmed sombrero on his head, black hair, a deeply tanned face, a snub nose, huge beard and moustache, and immense blue spectacles.
Something not unlike a cheer burst from the usually undemonstrative Van der Kemp on coming in sight of the party, and he waved his hand as if in recognition. The nondescript replied by starting to his feet, throwing up both arms and giving vent to an absolute roar of joy.
“He seems to know you,” remarked Nigel, as they made for a landing-place.
“Yes. He is the friend I have come to rescue,” replied the hermit in a tone of quiet satisfaction. “He is a naturalist and lives with the Rajah against whom the pirates are plotting.”
“He don’t look z’if he needs much rescuin’,” remarked Moses with a chuckle, as they drew to land.
The man looked in truth as if he were well able to take care of himself in most circumstances, being of colossal bulk although somewhat short of limb.
“Ah! mein frond! mine brodder!” he exclaimed, in fairly idiomatic English, but with a broken pronunciation that was a mixture of Dutch, American, and Malay. His language therefore, like himself, was nondescript. In fact he was an American-born Dutchman, who had been transported early in life to the Straits Settlements, had received most of his education in Hong Kong, was an old school-fellow of Van der Kemp, became an enthusiastic naturalist, and, being possessed of independent means, spent most of his time in wandering about the various islands of the archipelago, making extensive collections of animal and vegetable specimens, which he distributed with liberal hand to whatever museums at home or abroad seemed most to need or desire them. Owing to his tastes and habits he had been dubbed Professor by his friends.
“Ach! Van der Kemp,” he exclaimed, while his coal-black eyes glittered as they shook hands, “vat a bootterfly I saw to-day! It beat all creation! The vay it flew—oh! But, excuse me—v’ere did you come from, and vy do you come? An’ who is your frond?”
He turned to Nigel as he spoke, and doffed his sombrero with a gracious bow.
“An Englishman—Nigel Roy—who has joined me for a few months,” said the hermit. “Let me introduce you, Nigel, to my good friend, Professor Verkimier.”
Nigel held out his hand and gave the naturalist’s a shake so hearty, that a true friendship was begun on the spot—a friendship which was rapidly strengthened when the professor discovered that the English youth had a strong leaning towards his own favourite studies.
“Ve vill hont an’ shot togezzer, mine frond,” he said, on making this discovery, “ant I vill show you v’ere de best bootterflies are to be fount—Oh! sooch a von as I saw to—but, excuse me, Van der Kemp. Vy you come here joost now?”
“To save you,” said the hermit, with a scintillation of his half-pitiful smile.
“To safe me!” exclaimed Verkimier, with a look of surprise which was greatly intensified by the rotundity of the blue spectacles. “Vell, I don’t feel to vant safing joost at present.”
“It is not that danger threatens you so much as your friend the Rajah,” returned the hermit. “But if he falls, all under his protection fall along with him. I happen to have heard of a conspiracy against him, on so large a scale that certain destruction would follow if he were taken by surprise, so I have come on in advance of the conspirators to warn him in time. You know I have received much kindness from the Rajah, so I could do no less than warn him of impending danger, and then the fact that you were with him made me doubly anxious to reach you in time.”
While the hermit was saying this, the naturalist removed his blue glasses, and slowly wiped them with a corner of his coat-tails. Replacing them, he gazed intently into the grave countenance of his friend till he had finished speaking.
“Are zee raskils near?” he asked, sternly.
“No. We have come on many days ahead of them. But we found a party at the river’s mouth awaiting their arrival.”
“Ant zey cannot arrife, you say, for several veeks?”
“Probably not—even though they had fair and steady winds.”
A sigh of satisfaction broke through the naturalist’s moustache on hearing this.
“Zen I vill—ve vill, you and I, Mister Roy,—go after ze bootterflies to-morrow!”
“But we must push on,” remonstrated Van der Kemp, “for preparations to resist an attack cannot be commenced too soon.”
“You may push on, mine frond; go ahead if you vill, but I vill not leave zee bootterflies. You know vell zat I vill die—if need be—for zee Rajah. Ve must all die vonce, at least, and I should like to die—if I must die—in a goot cause. What cause better zan frondship? But you say joost now zere is no dancher. Vell, I vill go ant see zee bootterflies to-morrow. After zat, I will go ant die—if it must be—with zee!”
“I heartily applaud your sentiment,” said Nigel, with a laugh, as he helped himself to some of the food which the Dyak youth and Moses had prepared, “and if Van der Kemp will give me leave of absence I will gladly keep you company.”
“Zank you. Pass round zee victuals. My appetite is strong. It always vas more or less strong. Vat say you, Van der Kemp?”
“I have no objection. Moses and I can easily take the canoe up the river. There are no rapids, and it is not far to the Rajah’s village; so you are welcome to go, Nigel.”
“Das de most ’straord’nary craze I eber know’d men inflicted wid!” said Moses that night, as he sat smoking his pipe beside the Dyak boy. “It passes my compr’ension what fun dey find runnin’ like child’n arter butterflies, an’ beetles, an’ sitch like varmint. My massa am de wisest man on eart’, yet he go a little wild dat way too—sometimes!”
Moses looked at the Dyak boy with a puzzled expression, but as the Dyak boy did not understand English, he looked intently at the fire, and said nothing.
Next morning Nigel entered the forest under the guidance of Verkimier and the Dyak youth, and the orang-utan, which followed like a dog, and sometimes even took hold of its master’s arm and walked with him as if it had been a very small human being. It was a new experience to Nigel to walk in the sombre shade beneath the tangled arches of the wilderness. In some respects it differed entirely from his expectations, and in others it surpassed them. The gloom was deeper than he had pictured it, but the shade was not displeasing in a land so close to the equator. Then the trees were much taller than he had been led to suppose, and the creeping plants more numerous, while, to his surprise, the wild-flowers were comparatively few and small. But the scarcity of these was somewhat compensated by the rich and brilliant colouring of the foliage.
The abundance and variety of the ferns also struck the youth particularly.
“Ah! zey are magnificent!” exclaimed Verkimier with enthusiasm. “Look at zat tree-fern. You have not’ing like zat in England—eh! I have found nearly von hoondred specimens of ferns. Zen, look at zee fruit-trees. Ve have here, you see, zee Lansat, Mangosteen, Rambutan, Jack, Jambon, Blimbing ant many ozers—but zee queen of fruits is zee Durian. Have you tasted zee Durian?”
“No, not yet.”
“Ha! a new sensation is before you! Stay, you vill eat von by ant by. Look, zat is a Durian tree before you.”
He pointed as he spoke to a large and lofty tree, which Mr A.R. Wallace, the celebrated naturalist and traveller, describes as resembling an elm in general character but with a more smooth and scaly bark. The fruit is round, or slightly oval, about the size of a man’s head, of a green colour, and covered all over with short spines which are very strong and so sharp that it is difficult to lift the fruit from the ground. Only the experienced and expert can cut the tough outer rind. There are five faint lines extending from the base to the apex of the fruit, through which it may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand, so as to get to the delicious creamy pulp inside.
There is something paradoxical in the descriptions of this fruit by various writers, but all agree that it is inexpressibly good! Says one—writing of the sixteenth century—“It is of such an excellent taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits of the world.” Another writes: “This fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions! but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food.” Wallace himself says of it: “When brought into the house, the smell is so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste it. This was my own case in Malacca, but in Borneo I found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, I at once became a confirmed Durian-eater!”
This was exactly the experience of Nigel Roy that day, and the way in which the fruit came to him was also an experience, but of a very different sort. It happened just as they were looking about for a suitable spot on which to rest and eat their mid-day meal. Verkimier was in front with the orang-utan reaching up to his arm and hobbling affectionately by his side—for there was a strong mutual affection between them. The Dyak youth brought up the rear, with a sort of game-bag on his shoulders.
Suddenly Nigel felt something graze his arm, and heard a heavy thud at his side. It was a ripe Durian which had fallen from an immense height and missed him by a hairbreadth.
“Zank Got, you have escaped!” exclaimed the professor, looking back with a solemn countenance.
“I have indeed escaped what might have been a severe blow,” said Nigel, stooping to examine the fruit, apparently forgetful that more might follow.
“Come—come avay. My boy vill bring it. Men are sometimes killed by zis fruit. Here now ve vill dine.”
They sat down on a bank which was canopied by ferns. While the boy was arranging their meal, Verkimier drew a heavy hunting-knife from his belt and, applying it with an unusually strong hand to the Durian, laid it open. Nigel did not at all relish the smell, but he was not fastidious or apt to be prejudiced. He tasted—and, like Mr Wallace, “became a confirmed Durian-eater” from that day.
“Ve draw near to zee region vere ve shall find zee bootterflies,” said the naturalist, during a pause in their luncheon.
“I hope we shall be successful,” said Nigel, helping himself to some more of what may be styled Durian cream. “To judge from the weight and hardness of this fruit, I should think a blow on one’s head from it would be fatal.”
“Sometimes, not always. I suppose zat Dyak skulls are strong. But zee wound is terrible, for zee spikes tear zee flesh dreadfully. Zee Dyak chief, Rajah, with whom I dwell joost now, was floored once by one, and he expected to die—but he did not. He is alife ant vell, as you shall see.”
As he spoke a large butterfly fluttered across the scene of their festivities. With all the energy of his enthusiastic spirit and strong muscular frame the naturalist leaped up, overturned his dinner, rushed after the coveted specimen, tripped over a root, and measured his length on the ground.
“Zat comes of too much horry!” he remarked, as he picked up his glasses and returned, humbly, to continue his dinner. “Mine frond, learn a lesson from a foolish man!”
“I shall learn two lessons,” said Nigel, laughing—“first, to avoid your too eager haste, and, second, to copy, if I can, your admirable enthusiasm.”
“You are very goot. Some more cheekin’ if you please. Zanks. Ve most make haste viz our meal ant go to vork.”
The grandeur and novelty of the scenery through which they passed when they did go to work was a source of constant delight and surprise to our hero, whose inherent tendency to take note of and admire the wonderful works of God was increased by the unflagging enthusiasm and interesting running commentary of his companion, whose flow of language and eager sympathy formed a striking contrast to the profound silence and gravity of the Dyak youth, as well as to the pathetic and affectionate selfishness of the man-monkey.
It must not, however, be supposed that the young orang-utan was unworthy of his victuals, for, besides being an amusing and harmless companion, he had been trained to use his natural capacity for climbing trees in the service of his master. Thus he ascended the tall Durian trees, when ordered, and sent down some of the fruit in a few minutes—an operation which his human companions could not have accomplished without tedious delay and the construction of an ingenious ladder having slender bamboos for one of its sides, and the tree to be ascended for its other side, with splinters of bamboo driven into it by way of rounds.
“Zat is zee pitcher-plant,” said Verkimier, as Nigel stopped suddenly before a plant which he had often read of but never seen. He was told by his friend that pitcher-plants were very numerous in that region; that every mountain-top abounded with them; that they would be found trailing along the ground and climbing over shrubs and stunted trees, with their elegant pitchers hanging in every direction. Some of these, he said, were long and slender, others broad and short. The plant at which they were looking was a broad green one, variously tinted and mottled with red, and was large enough to hold two quarts of water.
Resuming the march Nigel observed that the group of orchids was abundant, but a large proportion of the species had small inconspicuous flowers. Some, however, had large clusters of yellow flowers which had a very ornamental effect on the sombre forest. But, although the exceptions were striking, he found that in Borneo, as elsewhere, flowers were scarcer than he had expected in an equatorial forest. There were, however, more than enough of striking and surprising things to engage the attention of our hero, and arouse his interest.
One tree they came to which rendered him for some moments absolutely speechless! to the intense delight of the professor, who marched his new-found sympathiser from one object of interest to another with the secret intention of surprising him, and when he had got him to the point of open-mouthed amazement he was wont to turn his spectacles full on his face, like the mouths of a blue binocular, in order to witness and enjoy his emotions!
