Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas > This page
Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 21. Feeding In The Wilderness |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. FEEDING IN THE WILDERNESS "I hope Master Ebony is not offended," said my uncle, wiping his face. "Perhaps it is only his way. Now, Nat, get some sticks and make a good fire, while I lay the cloth and cook. That's the evil of being alone, we have to prepare and cook for ourselves; but we'll have a treat to-day." I soon had a fire burning, and then watched Uncle Dick as with sharp knife and clever fingers he quickly skinned the four pigeons, placing their skins where they would not dry, and then busying himself over the birds. "Won't you have some dinner first, uncle?" I said, for I was terribly hungry. "First? No, my boy, not till we have cooked it. You don't want to eat your birds raw, do you?" "What! are you going to eat those--those--" "Pigeons?" he said, as I hesitated. "To be sure, Nat; why not? Do you suppose that because birds have bright feathers they are not good to eat?" "Well, no, uncle," I replied, as I thought of pheasants, and that at one time people used to eat the peacock; "but these birds have green feathers." It was a very stupid remark, but it seemed the only thing I could then say. "Ah! they'll be none the worse for that, my boy," he said, laughing, as he removed the birds' crops on to a great leaf which I held for him. "We'll examine those after dinner, Nat, so as to see on what the birds feed. If I'm not mistaken they eat the large fruit of the nutmeg for one thing." "Then they ought to taste of spice, uncle," I said, laughing. "Wait a bit, Nat, and you'll see how good these fruit-pigeons are. Now, cut with that great jack-knife of yours a good sharp pair of bamboo skewers, or spits, and we'll soon have the rascals roasting. We can't eat the insects, but we can the birds, and a great treat they will be after so much shipboard food." "That they will be, uncle," I said, as the pigeons, each quite double or three times the size of one of our home birds, were stuck before the fire, and began to send out a nice appetising smell. "Then you won't be too prejudiced to eat them?" he said, laughing. "Oh, uncle!" I said, "I'm so hungry I could eat anything now." "Well done, Nat. Well, my boy, as long as we get plenty of specimens to skin we sha'n't starve. Turn that skewer round. That's right; stick it tightly into the sand, and now let's have on a little more wood. Pick up those old cocoa-nut shells and husks, and put on, Nat." "Will they burn well?" I said. "I was afraid of putting out the fire." "Splendidly, my boy. The shells are full of oil, and will send out a capital heat." We were obliged to nibble a biscuit while we waited, and anxiously watched the frizzling and browning birds, for we were terribly hungry. "I hope they won't be long, uncle," I said. "So do I, Nat," he replied; "but what a splendid dining-room we have got out here! Isn't it lovely, my boy, under this blue sky and shading trees?" "Hundreds of times better than going to a picnic at Bushey Park, uncle," I said. "But you talked of eating the birds we shot. Thrushes would be good, wouldn't they?" "Delicious, Nat, only so very small." "But you wouldn't eat parrots, uncle, lories, and paroquets, and these sort of birds?" "Why not?" he replied, turning his skewer, while I imitated him, it seeming to be settled that we were each to have a couple of pigeons for our dinner. "I don't know why not, uncle," I said thoughtfully, "only it seems so queer to eat a Poll parrot;" and as I spoke I could not help thinking of poor Humpty Dumpty, and all the trouble I had had. "It seems queer," I said again. "But why does it seem queer, Nat?" he said, smiling. "Come, my boy, you must throw aside prejudices." "Well, you see, uncle, they have got such hooked beaks," I said, in a helpless sort of way. "Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed. "Why, what a reason, Nat! I might as well say I would not eat snipe, or woodcock, because it has such a long straight beak. Turn your skewer, Nat. They are beginning to smell maddeningly nice. They're as fat as butter. Nothing like a walk such as ours to give you an appetite. There, take the big tin and go and fill it with Adam's ale." I ran to the rock pool and filled the tin with the cool clear water, and came back to the fire. "They'll soon be done, Nat," said my uncle. "Yes, my boy, I should eat parrots, and shall eat a good many, I hope. Why, look here, Nat, what do parrots eat?" "Sop and seed and sugar," I said. "Yes, when they are shut up in a cage at home, Nat; but fruit, my boy, in their native state. There, you may take that as a rule, that all birds that live on seed or fruit are good for food." "And those that live on prey, uncle, are bad," I said. "Well, no; that won't do, Nat. Parrots are delicious. I've eaten dozens. And so are some birds that live on small prey--ducks and geese, for instance, eat a great many live things; and the birds that live on insects are, some of them, very good. I think we may say birds of light diet are all good, and draw the line at all carrion or raptorial birds. I should not like to eat hawk, owl, or anything of the crow family; but there is no knowing, Nat, what we might do if half-starved, and that's what I am now. Nat, my boy, the birds are done. Now for a glorious feast! I'm sure I shall pick the bones of my two." "And I'm sure I shall, uncle. I was never so hungry in my life." "Then now to begin, my boy; give me that tin plate and say grace, if we are in the wilds. What's become of all the savages?" "Oh, uncle!" I cried, "here comes our guide. He wasn't offended." "Thunder!" cried Uncle Dick, with a comical look of disgust; "he has come back to dinner." "Yes, uncle," I groaned, as I looked at the pigeons; "and he has brought two great hungry fellows with him." "Fetch the guns, Nat," cried my uncle in comical wrath; "let's fight in defence of our prey. No, don't; we must bribe them with biscuits to go." Uncle Dick looked at me in a miserably resigned way, and it all seemed so droll that these blacks should come up just as we were preparing for such a feast, that I leaned back against the cocoa-nut tree by the fire and laughed till I cried. _ |
||