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Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. Amongst Nature's Treasures |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. AMONGST NATURE'S TREASURES It was a land of marvels to me, as now for the first time I saw in all their beauty the tall cocoa-nut trees and other palms, like vast ferns, towering up on their column-like stems and spreading their enormous feathery leaves so gracefully towards the earth. Then after a few steps we came upon bananas, with their long ragged leaves and mighty clusters of curiously-shaped fruit, with hundreds of other trees, such as I had never even heard of before, and among which, every now and then, we heard the sharp harsh cry of some bird of the parrot tribe. These cries set us both on the _qui vive_, but though we walked for some little distance we did not obtain a shot nor see a single bird, but we found that there was plenty of forest land full of vast trees with here and there patches of beautiful undergrowth, so that, as Uncle Dick said, it was only a matter of time. "I feel as excited over it, Nat, as you seem to be, my boy; for it is intensely interesting always to me, this search for unknown birds. What's that?" We stopped to listen, but could not make out what the noise was that kept falling upon our ears. It was a kind of soft pleasant croak, ending in a kind of deep hum, sometimes coming from one direction, sometimes from another. "It can't be a bull-frog, Nat, for we are not near any marsh or water as far as I can see." "Are there tree bull-frogs, uncle?" I said, "because that noise comes out of one of the tall trees. Oh! look, there's a big bird," I cried, and raising my gun I took quick aim and fired, when far above us there was a heavy flapping noise of wings amongst the trees, and then silence. "A miss, or a hit too weak to bring him down, Nat," said my uncle smiling. "Better luck next time. Load again, my boy." I hastily reloaded, and we went on again, rising higher and higher over very difficult ground; and then we entered another grove of high trees and heard the same soft croaking noise as before. "Pigeons, Nat, without doubt," said my uncle. "No other birds, I think, would have made that curious flapping of the wings." "But that bird I shot at was too big for a pigeon, uncle," I replied. "You'll find pigeons out here, Nat, four times as big as you have seen at home. Look, my boy, on the top branches of that great tree there is quite a cluster of them. Steal up softly; you round that way, I will go this. We shall one of us get a shot, I dare say." I made a little circuit in obedience to my uncle's orders, and we crept up softly towards where a huge tree rose like a pillar to a tremendous height before sending out a branch, and there, just dimly seen in the soft twilight beneath the canopy of leaves, were several huge birds, which took flight with a great rattle of wings as we came near. There was the quick report of my uncle's gun, closely followed by mine, and one bird fell heavily to the ground, the others disappearing from view beyond the trees; but just then our companion uttered a shout and dashed on ahead, to return in a few minutes with a second bird which his quick eyes had detected as wounded, and he had seen it drop into a tree some distance off, and then fall, to lead him a long chase before he secured it and brought it back. Meanwhile we were both kneeling beside the first, which had fallen in a patch of open ground where the sun came down, and I shall never forget the delight with which I gazed at its wonderfully beautiful plumage. "A pigeon, you see, Nat," said my uncle; "and a fine one too." "Is that a pigeon, uncle?" I said wonderingly. "To be sure it is, my boy, and--" _Crack_! "That was a thrush, if I am not mistaken." I ran and picked up a bird that he shot in the middle of his speech, as it flew over some low bushes, and brought it back in triumph. "No, uncle, it is not a thrush," I cried. "It is a lovely blue and grey bird." "What is it, then, Nat?" he said, smiling. "Have you forgotten all I told you about the representatives of our home birds being bright in colour?" "But I did not think a thrush could be all of a lovely pale blue, uncle," I said; "and I never saw such a pigeon as that. Why, its back and wings are almost as green as those cuckoos--the trogons--and what beautiful feet and eyes! Oh! uncle," I said, "I am glad we came." He smiled as he knelt down and carefully smoothed the feathers of the great pigeon, thrusting a little cotton-wool into its beak to soak up any moisture that might escape and damage the feathers. "We shall, I believe, find plenty of magnificent pigeons out here, Nat," he said, as I eagerly watched his acts, so as to know what to do next time. "But I never expected to find pigeons, uncle, with gold and violet reflections on their feathers." "Why not, Nat," he replied laughing, "when in dull, foggy old England, where there is so little sunshine, the pigeons and doves have beautiful iris-like reflections on their necks and breasts? Now for the thrush. There, Nat, that is a beauty. I should have felt that I had done a good day's work if I had only secured that dainty prize with its delicately harmonious coat of soft grey and blue." "And it is a thrush, uncle?" "Certainly. Look at the beak. This is one of the Pittas or ground-thrushes, Nat, of which there are a good many out in these islands. Some of them are, I believe, much more brightly coloured than this; but bright plumage is not all we want, my boy; it is new specimens, Nat. We must be discoverers as well as collectors." By this time the lovely thrush was hung with the two pigeons carefully by the beaks to a long bamboo, and after we had explained to our black companion, by means of a little dumb-show, that he must carry the bamboo carefully, a task which, after a few skips and bounds to show his delight, he undertook to perform. We went on again, trusting to him to find the way back through the wilderness of great tree trunks, some of which rose, without a branch, to a vast height above our heads, but only to make up for it afterwards, for the branches then clustered so thickly that all the sunshine was shut out, and we walked in the deep shadow, save where here and there we found an opening which looked quite dazzling by contrast. Here it was that we found flowers growing, and saw traces enough of insects to make us determine to bring collecting-boxes another time, on purpose to obtain the glorious beetles and butterflies that we saw here and there. "Look, uncle," I cried; "there's another, and another. Oh, if I had my butterfly-net!" For I kept seeing beetles of dazzling lustre, and butterflies marked with such brilliant colours, that I was ready to throw down my gun and rush off in chase. "Yes, this is a better collecting ground than Clapham Common, Nat," said my uncle. "We ought to have plenty of pinning out to do to-morrow night. To-day I hope to be busy enough making skins. Hist! Look at the black." I had just time to save the bamboo with the birds from being thrown down upon the ground by our companion, who went upon hands and knees, and crawled forward a short distance to the shelter of some bushes at the edge of a bright opening, where the sun poured down like showers of silver light. "He has found something," I whispered. "Then you run forward, Nat, and see. Be cool, and take a good quick aim. I'll mind the birds." He took the bamboo, and I ran forward to where the black was waving me on; but went more cautiously as I drew nearer, and a few moments later I was crouching in the shadow of the bushes at the edge of the opening, watching the objects at which the black was pointing. I knew by means of my ears what birds he had found, before I caught sight of them, for every now and then a harsh shrill scream was uttered, and before long I could see across the opening quite a little flock of beautiful scarlet lories busily feeding on the clustering fruit of a tall forest tree, which, being close to the sunny opening, was covered with leaves and twigs, from the top to the very ground. I was so utterly taken up by the beauty of the sight that I forgot all about my gun, but knelt there watching the lovely little long-tailed birds, climbing by the help of their beaks, in and out amongst the branches, sometimes hanging by their strong curved bills, sometimes head downwards by one or both legs, and always busily hunting for food. I had seen stuffed specimens before, but they seemed so poor and common-looking beside the velvety softness and brilliant colouring of these smooth-feathered, lively, rounded birds, and I kept on enjoying the sight to so great an extent that I am sure the flock would have escaped had not my black companion shook my arm violently, and pointed to my gun, when, recalling the object of my journey, I raised it, took careful aim, and fired. There was a shrill cry from the birds, and the flock took flight, but not until I had managed to get another shot, the result being that I secured three very beautiful specimens to take back to my uncle, showing them to him with a glow of pride. "I want to be of some use, uncle," I said, for I had been afraid that he would think I could not shoot. "Use, Nat! why, you shot one of those pigeons this morning." "Did I, uncle?" I said. "To be sure, my boy. At all events I did not, so it must have been you." He was delighted with the three specimens I had secured, and saying that these would be as many as he could comfortably preserve that day, we went on exploring more than collecting, in what was to me quite a fairyland of wonders. Perhaps long confinement on shipboard had something to do with it; but all the same, every place we came to had its beauties of some kind or another. Now it was a noisy stream leaping from the rocks in a feathery cascade; at another time, a grove full of curious orchids. Every now and then some lovely butterfly would start from flower or damp spot in the openings, but it was of no use to chase them then, my uncle said, for we had no means of preserving them. "Let's collect, Nat," he said, "and make a splendid set of cases of birds and insects; but let's have no wanton destruction. I hate to see birds shot except for a purpose." "We shall have to look out, uncle," I said, laughing, "for it is hard enough work to walk on this ground; I don't know how we shall run." In fact, when we got back to our hut, after shooting a couple more pigeons, our shoes were showing already how sharp the rocks were that formed a great part of the ground over which we tramped. I almost wondered at my uncle shooting two more pigeons, as we had already a couple, but I found out the reason when we reached home, as we called it, to find that everything was in its place; no one apparently having entered the hut, from which our black guide now took his spear, and without another word hurried away. _ |
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