Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago, R. M. Ballantyne [any book recommendations .txt] 📗

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!

Nigel found this out at last and was rather embarrassed in consequence.

“Zat,” exclaimed the naturalist, after gazing at his friend for some time in silence, “zat is a tree vitch planted itself in mid-air and zen sent its roots down to zee ground and its branches up to zee sky!”

“It looks as if it had,” returned Nigel; “I have seen a tree of the same kind near the coast. How came it to grow in this way?”

“I know not. It is zought zat zey spring from a seed dropped by a bird into zee fork of anozer tree. Zee seed grows, sends his roots down ant his branches up. Ven his roots reach zee ground he lays hold, ant, ven strong enough, kills his support—zus returning efil for good, like a zankless dependent. Ah! zere is much resemblance between plants and animals! Com’, ve must feed here,” said the professor, resting his gun against one of the roots, “I had expected to find zee bootterflies sooner. It cannot be helped. Let us make zis our banqueting-hall. Ve vill have a Durian to refresh us, ant here is a handy tree which seems to have ripe vones on it.—Go,” he added, turning to the orang-utan, “and send down von or two.”

The creature looked helplessly incapable, pitifully unwilling, scratching its side the while. Evidently it was a lazy monkey.

“Do you hear?” said Verkimier, sternly.

The orang moved uneasily, but still declined to go.

Turning sharply on it, the professor bent down, placed a hand on each of his knees and stared through the blue goggles into the animal’s face.

This was more than it could stand. With a very bad grace it hobbled off to the Durian tree, ascended it with a sort of lazy, lumbering facility, and hurled down some of the fruit without warning those below to look out.

“My little frond is obstinate sometimes,” remarked the naturalist, picking up the fruit, “but ven I bring my glasses to bear on him he always gives in, I never found zem fail. Come now; eat, an’ ve vill go to vork again. Ve must certainly find zee bootterflies somevere before night.”

But Verkimier was wrong. It was his destiny not to find the butterflies that night, or in that region at all, for he and his companion had not quite finished their meal when a Dyak youth came running up to them saying that he had been sent by the Rajah to order their immediate return to the village.

“Alas! ve most go. It is dancherous to disobey zee Rajah—ant I am sorry—very sorry—zat I cannot show you zee bootterflies to-day. No matter.—Go,” (to the Dyak youth), “tell your chief ve vill come. Better lock zee next time!”