Nat the Naturalist Part 34

"It seems a foolish thing to do, perhaps, Nat," said my uncle, "but I should very much like to try a little more exploration to-day. I don't think we will shoot any more birds, but examine the land instead, so as to be a little at home with its shape, ready for making a trip here and there in the future. We shall be able to mark down good spots, too, for finding specimens in the future."

"But shall you stay here long, uncle?" I asked.

"That I cannot answer, Nat," he replied, as we shouldered our guns and trudged on. "It all depends upon the number of specimens we find, and so far it seems to me that we might travel far before we hit again upon such a wild paradise."

"I wonder how Uncle Joe would like to live here!" I said laughing.

"What a garden he might have, and how things would grow! Oh, how I should like to help him build the house and get the garden in order!"

"Your Uncle Joe would be happy anywhere, Nat," said my uncle. "He is one of those contented amiable men who are always at rest; but I'm afraid your Aunt Sophia would soon find it dull, and be grumbling because there was no gas, no pavement, no waterworks, no omnibuses, no cabs, no railroads. No, Nat, my boy, your Aunt Sophia would be miserable here."

"And yet it is such a lovely place," I cried enthusiastically.

"Everything is so beautiful. Oh! uncle, I could stay here forever."

"No, Nat, you could not," he replied laughing; "but it is very beautiful all the same. I have travelled a great deal, and have seen some wonderful scenery, but I have never met with so much beauty condensed in so small a s.p.a.ce."

We kept on walking, but it was only to stop every now and then before some fresh find--sometimes it would be a curiously-shaped orchid, or a pitcher-plant half full of dead insects. Then some great forest tree full of sweet-scented blossoms, and alive with birds and insects, would arrest our attention; or down in some moist hollow, where a tiny stream trickled from the rocks, there would be enormous tree-ferns springing up twelve or fifteen feet above us, and spreading their beautiful fronds like so much glorious green lace against the sky. A fern is always a beautiful object, but these tree-ferns were more than beautiful--they were grand.

The farther we went the more beauties we found, and we kept on noting down places to visit again where there were palm and other trees full of fruit, which evidently formed the larder of various kinds of beautiful birds. We could have shot enough in that walk to have kept us busy making skins for days, but we kept to the determination my uncle had made, not to shoot any more that day, except once, when the curious hoa.r.s.e cry of some bird of paradise, answered by others at a distance, tempted us away.

"Birds of paradise are exceptions, Nat," said my uncle, smiling. "We must get them when we can."

I immediately seemed to see the beautiful bird flying amongst the trees, with its lovely buff plumes trailing behind like so much live suns.h.i.+ne, and glancing once at my gun to see that the cartridges were in all right, I crept cautiously on amongst the trees on one side as Uncle d.i.c.k made a bit of a curve round in another, so that we had a good many great forest trees between us, whose foliage we carefully watched as we went cautiously on.

Every now and then, after a silence that made us think that our labour was all in vain, and we were about to give up, the loud harsh cry would come echoing from amongst the trees, and always seeming so near that I thought I must get a shot at the bird in a moment or two, and I bent down and crept on as quietly as I could, till the tree from which the sound seemed to come was reached.

Then I would stand ready to fire, watching carefully for a shot, peering amongst the boughs, and fancying a dozen times over that I could catch glimpses of the bird amongst the leaves, when, as if laughing at me for my pains, the cry would come again from a couple of hundred yards away, and the chase went on.

I did not shout to Uncle d.i.c.k, for by stopping to listen now and then I could hear the rustling of the leaves and twigs as he went on, besides every now and then catching through the dim light a glimpse of his face.

Once or twice, when a beautiful bird sprang up between us, my heart began to beat more quickly, for I thought that if uncle was tempted to shoot at it he might hit me; but by degrees I grew more confident and walked boldly on, feeling that I had nothing to fear.

That bird must have led us for miles. Every time we were ready to give up, the hoa.r.s.e cry rang out again, and we followed once more, feeling sure that sooner or later we must get a shot at it, or at one of the others which kept answering from a distance; but at last I heard a peculiar whistle from where my uncle would be, and I forced my way through the undergrowth and joined him.

"Nat," he said, wiping the perspiration from his face, "that must have been a wild-goose instead of a bird of paradise. Have you heard it lately?"

"No, uncle; not for quite a quarter of an hour. I think it must have taken a longer flight this time."

"_Yawk, yawk--wok, wok, wok, wok, wok_," rang out close behind us, and we both fired simultaneously at a faint gleam of what seemed to be yellow light as it flitted through the glade, running forward to get beyond the smoke in the hope that we might have hit it.

But even if we had we should not have been able to find it, for in the eagerness of our pursuit we had come now into one of the densest parts of the forest that we had found, and after wandering on through a faint warm glow caused by the setting sun s.h.i.+ning through the tree trunks, a sudden dull greyness had come upon us, followed almost at once by darkness, and we knew that we were lost.

"I ought to have known better, Nat," said my uncle, with an exclamation of impatience. "I have not the most remote idea where our camp is, and Ebo will be expecting us back."

"Oh! never mind, uncle," I said; "let's have a try. I dare say we can find the way back."

"My dear boy, it would be sheer folly," he replied. "How is it possible? We are tired out now, and it would be only exhausting ourselves for nothing, and getting a touch of fever, to go striving on through the night."

"What are we to do then, uncle?"

"Do, my boy? Do as Adam did, make ourselves as comfortable as we can beneath a tree. We can do better, for we can cut some wood and leaves to make ourselves a shelter."

"What, build a hut, uncle?" I said in dismay; for I was now beginning to find out how tired I really was.

"No; we won't take all that trouble; but what we do we must do quickly.

Come along."

I followed him up a slope to where the ground seemed to be a trifle more open and the trees larger, and as we forced our way on my uncle drew his great hunting-knife and chopped down a straight young sapling, which, upon being topped and trimmed, made a ten-feet pole about as thick as my arm was then.

This he fixed by resting one end in the fork of a tree and tying the other to a branch about five feet from the ground.

"Now then, Nat," he cried, "get your big sheath-knife to work and clear the ground here. Does it seem dry?"

"Yes, uncle, quite," I said.

"Well, then, you chop off plenty of soft twigs and leaves and lay them thickly for a bed, while I make a roof over it."

We worked with a will, I for my part finding plenty of tree-ferns, whose fronds did capitally, and Uncle d.i.c.k soon had laid sloping against the pole a sufficiency of leafy branches to form an ample shelter against the wind and rain should either come.

"So far, so good, Nat," he said; "now are you very hungry?"

"I'm more tired than hungry, uncle," I said.

"Then I think we will light a fire and then have as good a night's rest as we can."

There was no difficulty in getting plenty of dried wood together, and after a few failures this began to blaze merrily, lighting up the leaves of the trees with a rich red glow; and when it was at its height setting a good many birds flitting about in the strange glow, so that we could have procured more specimens here. But after sitting talking by the fire for some time we crept in under our leafy shed, and it seemed to me that no sooner had I stretched myself out than I fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

ANOTHER NIGHT HORROR.

I had no idea how long I had been asleep when all at once I started into wakefulness, feeling that we were in danger.

I did not know what the danger might be, but that there was something about to happen I was sure.

It was very dark in our narrow shed, and nearly dark out beyond our feet, only that a faint glow from our fire made one or two tree trunks stand out like dark sentinels just on the other side.

My uncle was so near that I could have wakened him by just moving one hand, but remembering that other night I shrank from wakening him without cause.

"I've got another fever fit coming on," I said to myself; but all the same I did not feel so, only startled and timid, and to encourage myself I thought that I must have had a bad dream.

But no; I could remember no dream. It seemed as if I had sunk at once into a profound sleep from which I had just wakened fancying that we were in danger.

Then I lay quite still listening to my uncle's breathing, and thinking how helpless and unprotected we were out in that wild place, not even having Ebo with us now.

But what was there to fear, I asked myself as I recalled my uncle's words, that he was certain there were no wild beasts in such an island as this, and there were no other inhabitants than ourselves.

Yes, I could think of all this, and it ought to have made me more comfortable; but no, there was still that curious feeling of being in danger, and I felt as certain as if I could see it, that something was coming to attack us.