NATURALISTS' TREASURES
There were a few words exchanged with the King as the hunters were
about to descend, but he bade them keep their seats in the howdahs,
saying that they must be very tired, and after ordering the mahouts to
take their elephants to the gentlemen's quarters, he bade them
good-night and went in.
"Then we must part here, Cameron," said Mr. Kenyon.
"Yes; good-night, and better luck next time."
The doctor's elephant rose and began to shuffle off, its companion
following its example and uttering an angry trumpeting sound upon
being checked.
"Here, Hal," said Mr. Kenyon, "you may as well ride."
"Yes, of course, father. Good-night, Phra." Then mischievously,
"They'll have to send us if they want that tiger shot."
"Yes, Mr. Kenyon, we don't think much of you and Doctor Cameron as
tiger-hunters."
The merchant laughed, as the elephant knelt once more and Harry
scrambled up into the howdah, Sree, who was holding on behind, giving
the boy a hand. Then there was a heave and a pitch to and fro, and the
huge beast was on its legs again, shambling off towards the bungalow,
a pleasant enough sight in the moonlight, and welcome enough to Harry,
who was pretty well tired out.
"Didn't you see the tiger at all, father?" he asked.
"No, or most likely I should have shot it," replied Mr. Kenyon. "The
brute has evidently gone off to the country on the slope of the
mountains and saved his stripes this time. What have you been doing
with yourself?"
Harry briefly told of his adventures.
"Then you have some decent specimens for me?"
"Yes, father; beauties."
"You have done better than we did, my boy. We have only brought back
sore bones. There, I am not in much of a humour for talking to-night;
I want a good rest."
"You must be tired, father."
"Yes, too tired to think of anything but sleep. Not quite, though;
there are those birds. Sree, can you come first thing in the morning
and skin them?"
"Yes, Sahib. I was going to ask if I might come."
No more was said till the elephant had stopped of its own accord at
the gateway of the bungalow garden for as soon as it had got over its
irritation at being separated from its companion it had gone steadily
enough.
After this the mahout was so liberally rewarded that he wanted to get
down from the elephant's neck to prostrate himself, and of course was
not allowed, but sent back, Harry stopping to watch his great, grey,
shambling mount till it disappeared, with Sree still hanging by the
back of the howdah.
Breakfast was late the next morning, both the merchant and his son
sleeping very soundly; and when at last Harry dragged himself from his
light bamboo bedstead and had refreshed himself, not with a good swim
in the river,--a luxury too dangerous to attempt,--but by squatting in
a large, open tub and pouring jars of cold water over his head, he
went out into the verandah, to find Sree just finishing the skin of
the last of the birds by painting the fleshy side all over with
preserving paste before turning it back and filling it with cotton
wool.
"How quick you have been, Sree!" said Harry. "I meant to have come and
helped you."
"The young Sahib must have been tired."
"I'm tired now," said the boy, with a yawn. "But I say, they are all
good birds, aren't they?"
"Some of the best I have ever seen, Sahib; there is hardly a feather
gone. Look at this one," said the man, taking hold of the bird's long,
thick beak and giving it a dexterous shake, with the result that the
feathers fluffed up and then fell gently back into place, lying so
lightly and naturally that it was hard to believe that nothing but the
skull, leg and wing bones were left of the little creature which
animated the skin so short a time before.
"Beautiful," said Harry, examining it and the others already prepared
in turn. "I wish you had been with us, though. We had capital sport."
"Yes, Sahib, I wish I had been with you," said Sree. "My heart felt
heavy for you when I found you were not to come. I like to be with the
young Sahibs. We had no sport at all."
"Ah, you should have been with us. The crocodile must have been
fourteen feet long."
"Ah! but they would not be so big up the little river. I hope, though,
the Sahib will not shoot any more."
"Not shoot any more!" cried Harry. "Are you friends with the
wretches?"
"No, Sahib," said the man solemnly; "but they are dangerous beasts,
and I fear if the young Sahib goes after them much there may be an
accident."
"Hardly likely," said Harry contemptuously.
"I don't know, Sahib; they are very dangerous beasts. A hungry mugger,
as they call them over yonder on the Ganges, will rush at any one in
the water, or try to sweep him off the shore into the river. If he is
wounded he is mad with rage, and strikes about furiously with his
tail. One hard blow would break or overturn a sampan, and a man in the
water is no match for one of these beasts."
"Oh, but I shall be careful, Sree," cried Harry; "and I can't help
hating the monsters."
"We all hate them, Sahib, except some of the foolish people who would
think it a sin to hurt a crocodile. Do not be rash."
"Oh no, I shan't be rash," said Harry; "but you should have been with
us yesterday; it was rare fun with the little grey-whiskered monkey.
It was frightened nearly to death, what with the noise of the gun and
the fall plump into the water, and the ducking, and then being so
nearly snapped up by the crocodile."
"It would be frightened, too, on finding it was a prisoner, Sahib."
"He looked just like a withered-up old man, not much bigger than a
baby."
"Yes, Sahib; they are strange little beasts," said Sree, who was still
busy with the skins, giving delicate touches here and there to the
plumage, with a small needle made of ivory. "I never kill one if I can
help it, because they are so much like very wild old men."
"That is a lovely skin, Sree," said Harry, bending over the blue and
grey thrush.
"Yes, and these are hard to find, Sahib."
"Father will be delighted with those, I'm sure," said Harry. Then
turning off to the old hunter's last remarks, "So you don't like
shooting monkeys?"
"No, Sahib, I never do."
"It does seem a shame, for they're such merry, happy-looking little
chaps, swinging and playing about in the trees. How they enjoy the
fruit, too! They seem to have quite a jolly life."
"Oh no, Sahib; they have their troubles too," said Sree seriously,
"and many of them."
"Monkeys do?" cried Harry, laughing. "Why, what troubles can they
have?"
"Muggers waiting under the trees to catch any that fall, Sahib."
"Then they ought to know better than to play in the branches which
overhang the river."
"That is where the best fruit grows, in the open sunshine, Sahib, and
it is often when they go down to drink that the muggers catch them or
sweep them into the water with their tails."
"Ugh! the beasts!" cried Harry.
"Then there are the leopards lying in wait up in the trees, and some
of the big wild cats, too, staring at them. Monkeys are very quick,
but the leopards are sometimes quicker."
"Yes, it's wonderful how active those spotted, cat-like creatures are.
I say, Sree, have you ever seen one of the very big monkeys that live
in the islands?"
"Only once, Sahib. It was when I went to Borneo with a Sahib from
India. We were a long time hunting in the woods before we found one,
and then it was high up in a tree, going along hanging by his hands.
He seemed to be a very quiet, tame sort of beast, only trying to get
away; but the Sahib shot him, and he hung from a great bough, oh, very
high up, till the Sahib shot again, and then he let go and came down,
dropping from bough to bough till he fell dead, nearly at our feet."
"Was it very big, Sree?"
"Very, very big, Sahib; nearly twice as big as I am."
"Really?"
"Oh yes, Sahib. Not so tall as I am, not higher than the Prince Phra,
but so big and broad--big head--big face with great swellings behind
the cheeks--big shoulder, and big arms that reached down nearly to his
feet. And such hands and feet, Sahib! so big and strong."
"Much like a man, Sree?"
"Like what a wild man might be, Sahib. And yet no, not like a man; he
was more like a wild beast, all hairy. The poor people here, some of
them, believe that when we die, if we have been wicked we shall turn
to monkeys or crocodiles."
"And do you believe that, Sree?"
The man looked up and smiled, as he shook his head.
"Oh no, Sahib; I don't believe anything of the kind. It is all
nonsense; but monkeys are very curious little things, and very
cunning. They have plenty of sense."
"Think so?"
"Oh yes. Did not you say that the one you caught was angry with the
crocodile, and danced about and called him names?"
"Well, he did something of the kind," said Harry, laughing; "and very
comical it was."
"Oh yes, Sahib, I've seen them spit at and shout and chatter at the
muggers often enough. Being so much in the jungle, watching night and
day, I often notice all that the wild things do--birds, snakes,
lizards, as well as the tigers and bears and monkeys. I have seen how
they fight, and how they play and teach their young ones to play; but
there is nothing which can play like a monkey. He is more full of fun
than a boy. A monkey always seems to think that another monkey's tail
is meant to pull, so as to tease him."
"Yes, I've seen them do that."
"But the funniest thing, Sahib," said the old hunter, "is to see a
monkey pull another one's tail, and then pretend that he did not do
it. I have seen one put his hand out behind, and give a pull, and then
snatch his hand back and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep."
"Oh, here you are," said Mr. Kenyon, coming into the verandah. "Come,
Hal, breakfast; we are very late."
"Here are the specimens Phra and I got yesterday father."
"These? Capital; excellent! That is the kind of _Pitta_ I wanted so
badly, and those two kingfishers will be a splendid addition to the
collection. Well skinned too, Sree. They are perfect."
Over the breakfast Mr. Kenyon related their adventures of the previous
day; but there was nothing much to tell save of wearisome wanderings
here and there through rugged, thorny ground where the tiger's pugs
could be traced. Hollows were carefully beaten, and patches of reed
and grass driven, while the hunters waited for the coming of the
cunning beast which was not there. Then at last they found
unmistakable traces of his having gone off, and, weary and disgusted,
they had turned back.
Harry Kenyon and his father led a very pleasant life in that curious
country, for their position was a favoured one, though a great deal
was due to the latter's enterprise.
At first their existence was lonely, but it was not long before their
position became a good deal talked about through correspondence which
followed their arrival, and by degrees a happy little colony had grown
up in the neighbourhood of the palace.
It was entirely at the King's invitation that Mr. Kenyon had first
settled there, for being himself a man who took great interest in
scientific matters and the wonders of nature, he had by accident come
in contact with the merchant, who had sought an interview, with the
object of asking certain concessions and leave to trade. The result
was that Mr. Kenyon was taken quite by surprise on discovering that
the King, whom he had expected to find much on a par with so many of
the barbaric chieftains of the East, was a man who cared nothing for
war and aggrandisement, neither for decking himself out in diamonds,
emeralds, and pearls, but who was dressed in the simplest manner,
loved to study chemistry, and surrounded himself with beautifully made
microscopes and telescopes, obtained at great expense from London and
Vienna.
That one interview was quite enough for the beginning of a friendship,
the King soon finding out that his visitor was a man of similar tastes
to himself, but immeasurably far in advance, and eager to impart his
scientific knowledge to one to whom so many things were enclosed in
what seemed to be a sealed-up book of wonder and mystery.
The consequence was that, instead of making a temporary stay in Siam,
Mr. Kenyon gladly accepted the monarch's friendship and protection,
settling down on the banks of the great river at once.
This had happened ten years before the events narrated here, but all
had not been smooth. There had been plenty of the opposition of
ignorance; the King's far-seeing brain was almost alone, and his
nobles and retainers of the blood royal looked with contempt upon the
strange things that took up so much of their ruler's time. To them
many of his studies seemed to be mere madness, and they looked at one
another and shook their heads when they learned that the King spent
the whole of some nights looking through a tube like a big bamboo, at
the moon and stars.
Then worse things happened: it was found that he was doing uncanny
things, a kind of magic by which he conjured up horrible creatures and
made them dance and whirl about in water. He showed favoured people
strange demons with teeth and horns and claws in a dark room in the
palace, where he made a great white spot of light come on the wall,
into which he conjured the aforesaid monsters.
But the worst of all was his fitting up one little room with shelves
and cabinets full of bottles and glasses. It was well known that here
he studied, by mixing and boiling up, how to make horrible poisons,
one drop of which shown to an enemy would produce madness, while if
taken it was sudden death. And all this the nobles, priests from the
great temples, and wise men generally, in secret conclave, came to the
conclusion could only have one meaning, and that was to kill off
secretly every one of the blood royal and second king's family, so
that no one except the one the King wished could by any possibility
succeed to the throne.
It was very dreadful, and they shook their heads more and more, and
there were talks about its being a sacred duty to kill such a vile
being, and make the second king the first; but so far it had all been
talk, for changes are a long time coming about among such people as
these.
Then, too, for a long time Mr. Kenyon, this foreigner of the
barbarians who came from the far West, was looked upon with sinister
eyes, for was he not a favourite with the King, helping him to prepare
his magic and his terrible poisons?
But as no one died, and no one seemed to be any the worse for the
King's magic, and above all as the great people of the country found
that Mr. Kenyon was a very pleasant gentleman, who paid great respect
to them and all their institutions, it was settled that he should not
be stabbed with krises--unless he behaved worse or did some real harm.
He did offend soon after, for upon settling down he was favoured by
the King with a grant of land on the banks of the river, this being
looked upon as a great offence, land in such a position having
heretofore been reserved for the sole benefit of the great nobles of
the land and the priesthood, for their large monastic
institutions--great walled-in enclosures of some fifteen or twenty
acres, covered with the temples, shrines, and conventual
dwelling-places of the talapoins or bonzes, as they were called, and
easily enough to distinguish by their closely shaven heads and long,
yellow robes. Ordinary people and the poor had to live, according to
law, in house-boats, with which the rivers, canals, and backwaters
were covered. These waterways were the highways--there were no proper
roads--and were thronged with dwelling-places large and small,
warehouses, shops, and places of entertainment, all built upon bamboo
rafts and moored to the banks, forming a beautifully healthy, populous
city, for the tide from the sea swept to and fro, clearing it from all
impurities day and night.
That grant of land gave great offence, for who was this strange
barbarian who had come among them with his little curly-haired boy and
a servant, that he should be treated as if he were a noble lord of the
land? And once more Mr. Kenyon's position seemed to be precarious, for
the King's favour went farther towards his new English friend and
student. For native workmen and material were supplied in abundance,
the orders given to the men being that they should build the place,
dwelling and warehouses, in accordance with Mr. Kenyon's design.
All this proved a great gain to both, for while Mr. Kenyon prospered
wonderfully in his trading ventures, and had ample opportunity for
collecting the strange products of the country in connection with his
favourite study, the King found his revenues increase and his capital
become more enlightened by the introduction of Europeans, who were
attracted there through finding that they were protected, treated with
respect, and encouraged to trade.
This was forgiven, and all went well till the doctor came, when the
native medicos grew alarmed and threatening, for this Englishman, or
Scotchman, knew better than they.
As the years went on the friendship grew firmer, and the King gladly
seized the opportunity of letting his son share young Kenyon's
studies, for his desire was that his boy should become an enlightened
ruler, who would carry on his plans for the improvement of the country
over which in all probability he would some day reign.
Mr. Kenyon, who was a highly cultivated man, gratefully entered into
the King's plans and invited a clever university man from Oxford to
come out and act as tutor to the two boys, with the result that the
young Prince Phra passed a good half of his existence with Harry at
the bungalow, sharing his studies and amusements, while Harry was
always as welcome a guest as his father at the palace, having only to
express a wish to have it gratified, whether his want took the form of
books, fishing tackle, guns, men, elephants or boats for some
expedition in jungle or open stream.
Harry's chum was a prince, and to all intents and purposes Harry led
the life of a king's son himself, though he did not realize the fact,
everything coming quite as a matter of course. His chief trouble had
to do with the climate, which was, as he told Phra, "so jolly hot."
Phra replied sadly that he could not help it.
"No," said Harry thoughtfully, "you can't help it; but it's jolly hot
all the same."