Part 14

You may wonder how the sailor and the bear got off on this ice-floe together; as you, no doubt, feel sure they did not make an appointment to meet there. The sailor told how he came there. It happened this way: The day before, he had lost a small wallet, containing some of his valuables, among the ice hummocks near the shore. As soon as he discovered his loss he searched for the bag, and his companions aided him. It could not be found, and, this day, while the men were occupied in packing up the last of their effects, he went out on the ice to look once more among the hummocks for his wallet. He wandered some distance out, but the ice was solid and firm. Suddenly he heard a noise like a sharp thunder clap, and the next instant he was floating out into the open sea, with blocks of ice swirling and tumbling about him in all directions. The ice had broken loose, and there was no way for him to reach the shore. He called and shouted, but his cries did not reach the ship, or the men in the tent. He was afraid the floe he was on would go to pieces before he could be rescued, and he knew it would be impossible for him to swim through the masses of loose ice. His swift course was fortunately arrested by the ice-pack, and he hoped there would be time to rescue him before it was all swept away by the waves, as he was sure he must soon be missed by his companions in the tent. Just as he was comforting himself with this thought, he turned, and saw a large polar bear sitting upon its haunches very near him, and regarding him attentively.

As the polar bear is dead, and as he was not able to tell his own story, either living or dead, in any language that we could understand, I cannot inform you how he came to be sailing out to sea on a cake of ice. But there he was, and greatly alarmed was the sailor when he caught sight of him. He had the presence of mind, however, not to make any sudden motion, and hoped by keeping very still, to persuade the bear that he was only an inanimate object. But the creature knew better than that. It is probable he had been observing the sailor for some time, and the reason the man did not notice the beast was because it was so nearly the color of the ice hummocks. It soon crossed over to his ice-floe, and it was then that the men in the tent first saw what had happened to their companion.

You may be sure the sailor was deeply grateful to the Esquimaux boy. He had nothing to give his preserver, but he wanted to take him home with him to New England, and take care of him ever after. But nothing would induce Polargno to leave his beloved Greenland. The captain, and such of the crew as had anything to give, loaded Polargno and his parents with gifts. The parents took them all, but I think they were very much surprised at this munificence, and at the praise that the white men showered upon the boy for his brave deed. They were very much pleased that he should have behaved so well when called upon to do his duty; but it did not occur to them, apparently, that he could possibly have done otherwise than he did, though they admitted that it was a bold deed to go out single-handed to fight a polar bear. The Esquimaux are a very brave people. Courage is such a common quality among them that it excites no surprise. But, of all their foes, the one they dread most is the polar bear. But then here was a man in danger of being killed by a bear, and the boy went to his assistance as a matter of course. That was the way they looked at it.

They all had plenty of time to talk this over, for the ship did not get away for a week after the hunting party returned. The ice closed around it again; and again the sailors made up their minds to winter there. The Esquimaux had told them of two ships that had remained there too late the years before, and had become enclosed in icebergs. Great masses of these icy mountains, descended upon the doomed ships. The crews worked hard to get the ships free, even dragging them out from among the icebergs on one occasion with ropes. But it was all in vain. The vessels were destroyed, and the crews lost all they had. The Esquimaux took them in their sledges to a lower settlement, where they found a whaling ship that conveyed them home. The ships were probably all gone now, and if this vessel was in like manner destroyed, these sailors would be compelled to stay all the season with the Esquimaux.

But, one day, the ice broke up with a great noise, and disappeared as suddenly as it came, and the vessel sailed out of the bay in a clear channel, the sailors having promised to return next year if they could.

And, in a short time, snow and ice, and winter, and darkness enveloped the place.

But the Esquimaux did not care. They were used to it. They did what work they could. They had abundant stores for the winter. And they sat around their lamps, and told stories of the wonderful adventures they had passed through, or heard of.

Polargno, we are agreed, is not handsome to our American eyes; and he does not know how to read and write; and never even heard of geography and arithmetic. And yet, I wonder how many well-taught American boys would so bravely and unselfishly risk their lives to save the life of another.

TURTLES AND THEIR EGGS.

How would you like this pretty creature for a pet? He can be domesticated, and will stay with you very contentedly, if you put him in a place where he can’t get away. If you leave an open gateway, however, the chances are he will walk out of it some day, and return no more. He does not go away because he is tired of being petted, for he likes that; or because he does not like you, for perhaps, in his heart, (if he has one) he is sorry to part from you. He goes simply because he can. This restless disposition moves him to extend his travels; and, no doubt, he intends to return at some future day. But he never does.

If you have him in any place where he can do mischief you had better keep an eye on him; otherwise he will be poking his long nose into things that do not concern him in the least.

His two ends are not well balanced, his neck being so very long, and his tail so very short! The fringe-like appendage hanging from his neck gives it somewhat the appearance of a great centipede.

His small eyes have not a very intelligent expression, but our matamata has quite sense enough to take very good care of himself.

His shell is really very pretty. It looks as if it were hung loosely upon him for a canopy, and as if he might be just as well off without it, especially as it must be somewhat heavy to carry around on all occasions. But, if you consulted him upon the matter of removing it, he would, at once, object. Probably he would draw his long neck instantly within his shell, leaving not so much as the tip of his sharp nose visible; then he would whisk in his ridiculous tail; and, lastly, in would go his fat legs and feet; and there he would have as tight and snug a house as possible.

Did you ever eat any turtles’ eggs? If not, I advise you to do so on the first opportunity, for they are very good.

The turtles lay their eggs in the sand that the heat of the sun and sand combined may hatch them at the proper time. As soon as they are hatched the young turtles make their way to the water, where they know how to provide their own living, without instruction. But, in the warm countries, where turtles abound, it is a wonder that any young ones manage to get out of their eggs.

For the eggs are esteemed such a luxury, that, as soon as the laying season of the turtles is over, the natives turn out in great numbers, and search the sands for eggs, which they collect by the thousands, for sale, and for their own eating.

It is at this laying season that the South American Indians capture great numbers of turtles. The turtles come out of the water at night, in crowds, for the purpose of depositing their eggs. They dig trenches in the sand; and, having placed their eggs in these, and covered them, they all make a grand rush back to the water. Then the Indians, who are on the watch, run after them, seize as many as they can get hold of by the tails, and throw them over on their backs. In this position a turtle is helpless, and the Indians can easily kill them.

The flesh is excellent food; but what the Indians chiefly desire to possess is the fine yellow fat with which the turtles are well supplied. From this fat the Indians manufacture a superior kind of oil, for which they find a ready sale.

If these turtles were as large as some of the West Indian turtles that have been brought to this country, the Indians would not have an easy task in turning them over.

A FEW VOLCANOES.

A mountain with its great cone smoking like a chimney, or sending up into the clouds a grand sheaf of flame, must be a splendid sight, and one never to be forgotten. But when it begins to pour forth rivers of hot lava it is time to get entirely out of sight of it, if you can. For these streams of lava are sometimes very long.

A hundred years ago Etna poured forth such an immense river of fiery stones, and liquid lava, and threw it out with such violence that it rushed in cascades and whirling torrents for fifteen miles, burning up everything in its course, until it finally plunged into the sea.

This volcano has an eruption once in a while, but does not often give the world such a terrible one as this. Sometimes the lava only destroys the fields and vineyards near the mountain. It is a small volcano, but it has done a good deal of damage. Two hundred years ago it entirely destroyed the town of Catania.

At a short distance from it stands another small volcano, which is famous for the ruin it has caused. You have no doubt read of the destruction of the city of Pompeii; and how it was entirely buried under the ashes thrown from Vesuvius during an eruption. Nearly everybody in the place at that time perished, and now people have to dig many feet under the ground to find the houses of the buried city. A smaller city in the neighborhood, Herculaneum, was buried at the same time, by the shower of ashes.

This happened eighteen hundred years ago. But Vesuvius has not been quiet ever since that time. There have been several eruptions. In 1794 it hurled out torrents of fire from its top which rolled over a town, a few miles distant, and burned it into ruins. Strange to say, the town was rebuilt; and, a few years ago, Vesuvius visited it again with a fiery flood, which, however, only destroyed part of the town.

A very much larger volcano, Cotopaxi, has, at different times, had most frightful eruptions, but on account of its situation, has not done so much damage as Etna and Vesuvius.

Just before an eruption occurs dull roars are heard inside of the mountain, which seems to shake with the action of the lava boiling up within it. Presently columns of smoke shoot up, then sheafs of flame rise into the air with masses of cinders, and burning rocks. And then the lava-streams pour over the sides, and roll down into the plains.

Some volcanoes are always smoking when not in active eruption, but the active volcanoes usually take long rests. The people who live on, or near these burning mountains rely upon this fact for safety. But it is not a very safe reliance, for their periods of rest are very irregular; and they may break forth when least expected.

The greater number of these mountains throw out flames and lava, but some send out hot mud instead, and others boiling water.

There are volcanoes that seem to have burned themselves out, and are said to be extinct. Men can go down into the craters of these, from whence the flames, and lava formerly issued, and examine them. Some of these immense holes, or craters are now filled with forests, and in others there are lakes. Others again are nothing but rocky ravines.

Orizaba, in Mexico, is an extinct volcano, with a monstrous crater. Persons standing on the opposite sides of this crater can barely see each other, the distance between them is so great.

The small volcanoes are more active than the large ones. Little Stromboli is nearly always sending up flames, while the lofty Cotopaxi is quiet sometimes for a century.

THE ABSENT-MINDED BOTANIST.

The learned Mr. Nathaniel P. Reed, a native of New Jersey, and a man well known to all the botanical and agricultural societies of the civilized world, had, in the course of some thirty years spent in patient and careful investigation into the structure and habits of plants, acquired the power of completely abstracting his mind from all its surroundings while engaged in his favorite pursuit. This was often a very fortunate thing for him. But then, again, sometimes it was very unfortunate.

He traveled everywhere, searching for specimens of plants. He never seemed to get tired of this study. Over hot, sandy deserts, and through savage forests he went undaunted; and, if he found a new flower, or tree, he felt he was fully rewarded.

At last, he reached Cape Town in Southern Africa, a region he had never before visited. A party of European hunters was just on the point of starting on an expedition into the woods and jungles, and, in an evil hour for them, asked Mr. Reed to join them. He at once accepted the invitation, for it was a fine opportunity to hunt up new plants.

I say it was in an evil hour that the hunters asked him because he gave them so much trouble through his absent-mindedness. He was a very entertaining traveling companion when not engaged in his botanical studies, and so good-humored, and obliging that his comrades did not grumble very much at the trouble he gave them. But, nevertheless, he did cause them great anxiety, for they found out that when he was searching for plants, or had a flower in his hand analyzing it, he would put himself into situations of great peril without knowing anything about it. And so, at least one of their number always had to be on the lookout for Mr. Reed, to keep him out of mischief.

For one thing, he _would_ stray away from the main body. This was against the rules of the expedition, for, in a forest full of wild beasts it was necessary to keep together. Generally, when he wandered off this way, he would be missed, and brought back before he had got entirely out of sight. But, on three occasions, he managed to get lost, without intending anything of the kind, and each time, he met with a remarkable adventure.

The party had been out but a few days when he was lost for the first time. He must have been absent two hours, when his companions first missed him. At least no one could remember having seen him for that length of time. What might not have happened to him in those two hours, everywhere surrounded by dangers? They immediately commenced the search for him.

They went back over the route they had traveled, and, at last, found the place where Mr. Reed had left the caravan. They knew it by the trampled bushes, and by the twigs broken off here and there, and plants pulled up by the roots. Following these marks of his progress they suddenly came out upon the banks of a river. And there they saw the botanist. And, at the same time, all were struck with horror at his situation. He, alone, was happily serene, unconscious that any danger was near him.

Seated on a mossy bank, in the midst of tall reeds, on a peninsula that extended pretty far out into the river, was their botanist. He had an umbrella over his head to shield him from the sun, and was busily engaged, arranging some “specimens” in his book of plants, which he called an Herbarium. His back was towards the river, and so absorbed was he in his occupation that he had not discovered that a whole colony of crocodiles had come to pay him a visit. Neither did he hear or see his companions although his face was turned directly towards them.

The crocodiles had arranged themselves in a long row, with their heads above the water, watching the botanist with great interest, and evidently, meditating an attack upon him. How long they had been there could not, of course, be known, but, in a few moments after the hunters appeared upon the scene, the nearest crocodile seemed to have made up his mind that a botanist was good to eat, and made straight towards the land, followed by another huge beast.

Mr. Reed continued calmly to arrange his specimens.

Two men from the hunting party at once rushed forward upon the peninsula, and fired upon the crocodiles. It was quite time, for two of the foremost ones had reached the land. They rolled over into the water, and all of the great beasts at once disappeared under the surface of the river.

The shots did arouse Mr. Reed’s attention, or else he had finished his work; for he looked up, and said to his companions, who now surrounded him:

“I have found one of the rarest of plants—the _Iscodextiana_—and it has twelve stamens, just as I have always maintained.”

“I wonder if it would have agreed with the stomach of a crocodile!” said one of the hunters.

Mr. Reed was so alarmed at the account of the peril to which he had exposed himself, that it was a long time before he again wandered from the caravan. The party had then formed a camp on what was considered good hunting ground—that is in a forest frequented by wild beasts. The hunters were successful in killing a good many of these, and enjoyed the dangerous sport very greatly. Meanwhile Mr. Reed continued his peaceful hunting of the wild flowers, which grew all around in the most lavish profusion.

There were always some men left in the camp to guard it. One day, when the hunters had returned, and were gathering around the supper table, they missed Mr. Reed. On questioning the men who had had charge of the camp, they could not remember when they had last seen him. It was evident that he had wandered off to a distance. If he got into one of his fits of abstraction there was no knowing when he would ever find out he was lost, and try to get back again.

Hastily swallowing some supper, a party of men went out in search of the lost botanist, but were obliged to return to the camp without him, for night came on, and the darkness was intense, and they could not continue the search.

They retired to rest with heavy hearts, for they greatly feared their very troublesome but very pleasant companion would fall a prey to some wild beast. The sentinels on guard kept peering out into the black forest, hoping to see the figure of their missing companion. They kept up great fires as beacons to guide him to the camp.

In the middle of the night the whole camp was aroused by the cries of the sentinels. The forest to the south of them was on fire. The wind was high, and as there were many dead trees, and a great deal of dry wood lying on the ground, the flames spread with great rapidity. The hunters were not afraid that it would come their way, as the wind blew it in an opposite direction. So they enjoyed the grand spectacle.

In an hour the fire had extended through the woods for several miles. The howls, and shrieks, and bellowings of hyenas, jackals, lions, and tigers filled the air, as the frightened animals rushed out of the flaming forest. A huge black form would sometimes loom up against the red sky, and then seem to sink away into the darkness. This was an elephant seeking refuge from the flames.

The hunters had watched the conflagration some time, when they saw the figure of a man running towards them from the burning woods. It was Mr. Reed! He had not been able to find the camp, he said, until the fiery forest had made everything so bright that he clearly saw the huts and tents from a long distance.

It appeared that he had lost his way while botanizing, but had started on his return, confident he could follow his own trail back. But he soon saw what he considered to be a flower. If so, it was larger than any known to botanists. However he was not sure but it might be a brilliantly colored mushroom. He forgot everything while examining this, until, to his surprise, he found he could not see it. Night had come on! He collected a quantity of dry wood into a heap, and taking a match from his pocket applied it to the wood. This gave him a bright light for the further examination of the plant.

He did not know how long it was after this that he discovered he was nearly surrounded by burning wood, and that the forest was roaring and crackling in front of him. He beat a retreat with all speed.

And so it was, our absent-minded botanist who had got up this mighty conflagration, and frightened all the wild beasts out of their senses. It was lucky for him that he lighted the fire, otherwise it is more than probable some one of the wild beasts would have made short work of him in the course of the night.

His next adventure was a very serious one, and yet it was very funny too. It happened when the expedition was returning to Cape Town. By that time Mr. Reed’s herbarium was filled with specimens. It was of more value, he said, than diamonds. He expected to astonish and delight the scientific world with that book of plants. He would never trust it to any one else for more than a few moments at a time. He slept with it under his pillow.

And yet he allowed this precious book to be stolen from him.

And by whom?

By a baboon!

In one of his fits of abstraction he had again wandered out of sight of his companions. He had the herbarium open, and, as he walked along, was studying his contents. Suddenly a great, black, hairy paw was thrust right under his nose, and the book snatched out of his hand in a twinkling.

Looking up, he saw in the tree far above his head, a large baboon, grinning and chattering, and turning over the leaves of his beloved herbarium with no gentle hand. But Mr. Reed had no idea of losing his book, and immediately began to climb the tree. The baboon grasped his stolen property, firmly, and swung himself lightly to the next tree.

Seeing the folly of attempting to follow the animal, Mr. Reed returned to his companions, finding his way with some difficulty; and implored them to recover for him this lost treasure.

They laughed at him, but good-naturedly accompanied him to the place of the theft, though they did not expect to find the monkey there; much less did they suppose the book to be still entire.

But, on reaching the spot, there, on a low branch of a tree, was the baboon, busily engaged in turning the book over and over, as if anxious to make out what manner of thing he had got hold of.

He did not take any notice of the party of men, and it would have been easy to have shot him. But the botanist made this impossible, for no sooner did he get a sight of the thief, thus displaying his booty, than he rushed forward to seize his precious volume; in this way getting between the gun and the animal.

The baboon, instead of retreating, as he had done before, sprang to the ground, and rushed upon the botanist. A fierce battle ensued. Sometimes the baboon was uppermost, and sometimes Mr. Reed. But the monkey had weapons in its claws, whereas the man had nothing but his fists, and great physical strength. The hunters tried to shoot the baboon, but this they found they could not do without danger to Mr. Reed.

Finally one of them, watching his chance, when the beast was uppermost, split its head with a hatchet, and ended the combat.

Early in the fight Mr. Reed had got hold of his book. It was somewhat crushed, and a few of the specimens destroyed, but, on the whole, it was in pretty good condition.