sight of the tree. It seemed my only chance. I must climb that. I
tried, but alas! As I have told you it was a slippery elm tree, and I
might as well have tried to climb a greased pole. Despite my frantic
efforts to get a grip upon the trunk I could not climb more than two
feet without slipping back. It was impossible. Nothing was left for me
to do but to take to my legs, and I took to them as well as I knew
how. My, what a run it was, and how hopeless. The beast was gaining on
me every second, and before me lay mile after mile of desert. 'Better
give up and treat the beast to a breakfast, Baron,' I moaned to
myself. 'When there's only one thing to do, you might as well do it
and be done with it. Your misery will be over the more quickly if you
stop right here.' As I spoke these words, I slowed up a little, but
the frightful roaring of the lion unnerved me for an instant, or
rather nerved me on to a spurt, which left the lion slightly more to
the rear--and which resulted in the saving of my life; for as I ran
on, what should I see about a mile ahead but another slippery elm
tree, and under it stood a giraffe who had apparently fallen asleep
while browsing among its upper branches, and filling its stomach with
its cooling cocoanuts. The giraffe had its back to me, and as I sped
on I formed my plan. I would grab hold of the giraffe's tail; haul
myself up onto his back; climb up his neck into the tree, and then
give my benefactor a blow between the eyes which would send him flying
across the desert before the lion could come along and get up into the
tree the same way I did. The agony of fear I went through as I
approached the long-necked creature was something dreadful. Suppose
the giraffe should be awakened by the roaring of the lion before I got
there and should rush off himself to escape the fate that awaited me?
I nearly dropped, I was so nervous, and the lion was now not more than
a hundred yards away. I could hear his breath as he came panting on. I
redoubled my speed; his pants came closer, closer, until at length
after what seemed a year, I reached the giraffe, caught his tail,
raised myself up to his back, crawled along his neck and dropped
fainting into the tree just as the lion sprang upon the giraffe's back
and came on toward me. What happened then I don't know, for as I have
told you I swooned away; but I do know that when I came to, the
giraffe had disappeared and the lion lay at the foot of the tree dead
from a broken neck."
"A broken neck?" demanded Sapphira.
"Yes," returned the Baron. "A broken neck! From which I concluded that
as the lion reached the nape of the giraffe's neck, the giraffe had
waked up and bent his head toward the earth, thus causing the lion to
fall head first to the ground instead of landing as he had expected in
the tree with me."
"It was wonderful," said Sapphira, scornfully.
"Yes," said Ananias, "but I shouldn't think a lion could break his
neck falling off a giraffe. Perhaps it was one of the slippery elm
cocoanuts that fell on him."
"Well, of course," said the Baron, rising, "that would all depend upon
the height of the giraffe. Mine was the tallest one I ever saw."
"About how tall?" asked Ananias.
"Well," returned the Baron, thoughtfully, as if calculating, "did you
ever see the Eiffel Tower?"
"Yes," said Ananias.
"Well," observed the Baron, "I don't think my giraffe was more than
half as tall as that."
With which estimate the Baron bowed his guests out of the room, and
with a placid smile on his face, shook hands with himself.
"Mr. and Mrs. Ananias are charming people," he chuckled, "but amateurs
both--deadly amateurs."
[Illustration: "I reached the giraffe, raised myself to his back, crawled
along his neck and dropped fainting into the tree." _Chapter VIII._]
IX
DECORATION DAY IN THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS
"Uncle Munch," said Diavolo as he clambered up into the old warrior's
lap, "I don't suppose you could tell us a story about Decoration Day
could you?"
"I think I might try," said Mr. Munchausen, puffing thoughtfully upon
his cigar and making a ring with the smoke for Angelica to catch upon
her little thumb. "I might try--but it will all depend upon whether
you want me to tell you about Decoration Day as it is celebrated in
the United States, or the way a band of missionaries I once knew in
the Cannibal Islands observed it for twenty years or more."
"Why can't we have both stories?" said Angelica. "I think that would
be the nicest way. Two stories is twice as good as one."
"Well, I don't know," returned Mr. Munchausen. "You see the trouble is
that in the first instance I could tell you only what a beautiful
thing it is that every year the people have a day set apart upon which
they especially honour the memory of the noble fellows who lost their
lives in defence of their country. I'm not much of a poet and it takes
a poet to be able to express how beautiful and grand it all is, and so
I should be afraid to try it. Besides it might sadden your little
hearts to have me dwell upon the almost countless number of heroes who
let themselves be killed so that their fellow-citizens might live in
peace and happiness. I'd have to tell you about hundreds and hundreds
of graves scattered over the battle fields that no one knows about,
and which, because no one knows of them, are not decorated at all,
unless Nature herself is kind enough to let a little dandelion or a
daisy patch into the secret, so that they may grow on the green grass
above these forgotten, unknown heroes who left their homes, were shot
down and never heard of afterwards."
"Does all heroes get killed?" asked Angelica.
"No," said Mr. Munchausen. "I and a great many others lived through
the wars and are living yet."
"Well, how about the missionaries?" said Diavolo. "I didn't know they
had Decoration Day in the Cannibal Islands."
"I didn't either until I got there," returned the Baron. "But they
have and they have it in July instead of May. It was one of the most
curious things I ever saw and the natives, the men who used to be
cannibals, like it so much that if the missionaries were to forget it
they'd either remind them of it or have a celebration of their own. I
don't know whether I ever told you about my first experience with the
cannibals--did I?"
"I don't remember it, but if you had I would have," said Diavolo.
"So would I," said Angelica. "I remember most everything you say,
except when I want you to say it over again, and even then I haven't
forgotten it."
"Well, it happened this way," said the Baron. "It was when I was
nineteen years old. I sort of thought at that time I'd like to be a
sailor, and as my father believed in letting me try whatever I wanted
to do I took a position as first mate of a steam brig that plied
between San Francisco and Nepaul, taking San Francisco canned tomatoes
to Nepaul and bringing Nepaul pepper back to San Francisco, making
several dollars both ways. Perhaps I ought to explain to you that
Nepaul pepper is red, and hot; not as hot as a furnace fire, but hot
enough for your papa and myself when we order oysters at a club and
have them served so cold that we think they need a little more warmth
to make them palatable and digestible. You are not yet old enough to
know the meaning of such words as palatable and digestible, but some
day you will be and then you'll know what your Uncle means. At any
rate it was on the return voyage from Nepaul that the water tank on
the _Betsy S._ went stale and we had to stop at the first place we
could to fill it up with fresh water. So we sailed along until we came
in sight of an Island and the Captain appointed me and two sailors a
committee of three to go ashore and see if there was a spring anywhere
about. We went, and the first thing we knew we were in the midst of a
lot of howling, hungry savages, who were crazy to eat us. My
companions were eaten, but when it came to my turn I tried to reason
with the chief. 'Now see here, my friend,' said I, 'I'm perfectly
willing to be served up at your breakfast, if I can only be convinced
that you will enjoy eating me. What I don't want is to have my life
wasted!' 'That's reasonable enough,' said he. 'Have you got a sample
of yourself along for me to taste?' 'I have,' I replied, taking out a
bottle of Nepaul pepper, that by rare good luck I happened to have in
my pocket. 'That is a portion of my left foot powdered. It will give
you some idea of what I taste like,' I added. 'If you like that,
you'll like me. If you don't, you won't.'"
"That was fine," said Diavolo. "You told pretty near the truth, too,
Uncle Munch, because you are hot stuff yourself, ain't you?"
"I am so considered, my boy," said Mr. Munchausen. "The chief took a
teaspoonful of the pepper down at a gulp, and let me go when he
recovered. He said he guessed I wasn't quite his style, and he thought
I'd better depart before I set fire to the town. So I filled up the
water bag, got into the row-boat, and started back to the ship, but
the _Betsy S._ had gone and I was forced to row all the way to San
Francisco, one thousand, five hundred and sixty-two miles distant. The
captain and crew had given us all up for lost. I covered the distance
in six weeks, living on water and Nepaul pepper, and when I finally
reached home, I told my father that, after all, I was not so sure that
I liked a sailor's life. But I never forgot those cannibals or their
island, as you may well imagine. They and their home always interested
me hugely and I resolved if the fates ever drove me that way again, I
would go ashore and see how the people were getting on. The fates,
however, were a long time in drawing me that way again, for it was not
until July, ten years ago that I reached there the second time. I was
off on a yachting trip, with an English friend, when one afternoon we
dropped anchor off that Cannibal Island.
"'Let's go ashore,' said I. 'What for?' said my host; and then I told
him the story and we went, and it was well we did so, for it was then
and there that I discovered the new way the missionaries had of
celebrating Decoration Day.
"No sooner had we landed than we noticed that the Island had become
civilised. There were churches, and instead of tents and mud-hovels,
beautiful residences appeared here and there, through the trees. 'I
fancy this isn't the island,' said my host. 'There aren't any
cannibals about here.' I was about to reply indignantly, for I was
afraid he was doubting the truth of my story, when from the top of a
hill, not far distant, we heard strains of music. We went to see
whence it came, and what do you suppose we saw? Five hundred
villainous looking cannibals marching ten abreast along a fine street,
and, cheering them from the balconies of the houses that fronted on
the highway, were the missionaries and their friends and their
children and their wives.
"'This can't be the place, after all,' said my host again.
"'Yes it is,' said I, 'only it has been converted. They must be
celebrating some native festival.' Then as I spoke the procession
stopped and the head missionary followed by a band of beautiful girls,
came down from a platform and placed garlands of flowers and beautiful
wreaths on the shoulders and heads of those reformed cannibals. In
less than an hour every one of the huge black fellows was covered with
roses and pinks and fragrant flowers of all kinds, and then they
started on parade again. It was a fine sight, but I couldn't
understand what it was all done for until that night, when I dined
with the head missionary--and what do you suppose it was?"
"I give it up," said Diavolo, "maybe the missionaries thought the
cannibals didn't have enough clothes on."
"I guess I can't guess," said Angelica.
"They were celebrating Decoration Day," said Mr. Munchausen. "They
were strewing flowers on the graves of departed missionaries."
"You didn't tell us about any graves," said Diavolo.
[Illustration: "They were celebrating Decoration Day ... strewing
flowers on the graves of departed missionaries." _Chapter IX._]
"Why certainly I did," said the Baron. "The cannibals themselves were
the only graves those poor departed missionaries ever had. Every one
of those five hundred savages was the grave of a missionary, my dears,
and having been converted, and taught that it was not good to eat
their fellow-men, they did all in their power afterwards to show their
repentance, keeping alive the memory of the men they had treated so
badly by decorating themselves on memorial day--and one old fellow,
the savagest looking, but now the kindest-hearted being in the world,
used always to wear about his neck a huge sign, upon which he had
painted in great black letters:
HERE LIES
JOHN THOMAS WILKINS,
SAILOR.
DEPARTED THIS LIFE, MAY 24TH, 1861.
HE WAS A MAN OF SPLENDID TASTE.
"The old cannibal had eaten Wilkins and later when he had been
converted and realised that he himself was the grave of a worthy man,
as an expiation he devoted his life to the memory of John Thomas
Wilkins, and as a matter of fact, on the Cannibal Island Decoration
Day he would lie flat on the floor all the day, groaning under the
weight of a hundred potted plants, which he placed upon himself in
memory of Wilkins."
Here Mr. Munchausen paused for breath, and the twins went out into the
garden to try to imagine with the aid of a few practical experiments
how a cannibal would look with a hundred potted plants adorning his
person.
X
MR. MUNCHAUSEN'S ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK
Mr. and Mrs. Henry B. Ananias.
_THURSDAYS._ _CIMMERIA._
This was the card sent by the reporter of the _Gehenna Gazette_, and
Mrs. Ananias to Mr. Munchausen upon his return from a trip to mortal
realms concerning which many curious reports have crept into
circulation. Owing to a rumour persistently circulated at one time,
Mr. Munchausen had been eaten by a shark, and it was with the
intention of learning, if possible, the basis for the rumour that
Ananias and Sapphira called upon the redoubtable Baron of other days.
Mr. Munchausen graciously received the callers and asked what he could
do for them.
"Our readers, Mr. Munchausen," explained Ananias, "have been much
concerned over rumours of your death at the hands of a shark."
"Sharks have no hands," said the Baron quietly.
"Well--that aside," observed Ananias. "Were you killed by a shark?"
"Not that I recall," said the Baron. "I may have been, but I don't
remember it. Indeed I recall only one adventure with a shark. That
grew out of my mission on behalf of France to the Czar of Russia. I
carried letters once from the King of France to his Imperial Coolness
the Czar."
"What was the nature of the letters?" asked Ananias.
"I never knew," replied the Baron. "As I have said, it was a secret
mission, and the French Government never took me into its confidence.
The only thing I know about it is that I was sent to St. Petersburg,
and I went, and in the course of time I made myself much beloved of
both the people and his Majesty the Czar. I am the only person that
ever lived that was liked equally by both, and if I had attached
myself permanently to the Czar, Russia would have been a different
country to-day."
"What country would it have been, Mr. Munchausen," asked Sapphira
innocently, "Germany or Siam?"
"I can't specify, my dear madame," the Baron replied. "It wouldn't be
fair. But, at any rate, I went to Russia, and was treated warmly by
everybody, except the climate, which was, as it is at all times, very
freezing. That's the reason the Russian people like the climate. It is
the only thing the Czar can't change by Imperial decree, and the
people admire its independence and endure it for that reason. But as I
have said, everybody was pleased with me, and the Czar showed me
unusual attention. He gave fetes in my honour. He gave the most
princely dinners, and I met the very best people in St. Petersburg,
and at one of these dinners I was invited to join a yachting party on
a cruise around the world.
"Well, of course, though a landsman in every sense of the word, I am
fond of yachting, and I immediately accepted the invitation. The yacht
we went on was the Boomski Zboomah, belonging to Prince--er--now
what was that Prince's name! Something like--er--Sheeroff or
Jibski--or--er--well, never mind that. I meet so many princes it is
difficult to remember their names. We'll say his name was Jibski."
"Suppose we do," said Ananias, with a jealous grin. "Jibski is such a
remarkable name. It will look well in print."
"All right," said the Baron, "Jibski be it. The yacht belonged to
Prince Jibski, and she was a beauty. There was a stateroom and a
steward for everybody on board, and nothing that could contribute to a
man's comfort was left unattended to. We set sail on the 23rd of
August, and after cruising about the North coast of Europe for a week
or two, we steered the craft south, and along about the middle of
September we reached the Amphibian Islands, and anchored. It was here
that I had my first and last experience with sharks. If they had been
plain, ordinary sharks I'd have had an easy time of it, but when you
get hold of these Amphibian sharks you are likely to get yourself into
twenty-three different kinds of trouble."
"My!" said Sapphira. "All those? Does the number include being struck
by lightning?"
"Yes," the Baron answered, "And when you remember that there are only
twenty-four different kinds altogether you can see what a peck of
trouble an Amphibian shark can get you into. I thought my last hour
had come when I met with him. You see when we reached the Amphibian
Islands, we naturally thought we'd like to go ashore and pick the
cocoanuts and raisins and other things that grow there, and when I got
upon dry land again I felt strongly tempted to go down upon the
beautiful little beach in the harbour and take a swim. Prince Jibski
advised me against it, but I was set upon going. He told me the place
was full of sharks, but I wasn't afraid because I was always a
remarkably rapid swimmer, and I felt confident of my ability, in case
I saw a shark coming after me, to swim ashore before he could possibly
catch me, provided I had ten yards start. So in I went leaving my gun
and clothing on the beach. Oh, it was fun! The water was quite warm,
and the sandy bottom of the bay was deliciously soft and pleasant to
the feet. I suppose I must have sported in the waves for ten or
fifteen minutes before the trouble came. I had just turned a
somersault in the water, when, as my head came to the surface, I saw
directly in front of me, the unmistakable fin of a shark, and to my
unspeakable dismay not more than five feet away. As I told you, if it
had been ten yards away I should have had no fear, but five feet meant
another story altogether. My heart fairly jumped into my mouth. It
would have sunk into my boots if I had had them on, but I hadn't, so
it leaped upward into my mouth as I turned to swim ashore, by which
time the shark had reduced the distance between us by one foot. I
feared that all was up with me, and was trying to think of an
appropriate set of last words, when Prince Jibski, noting my peril,
fired one of the yacht's cannon in our direction. Ordinarily this
would have been useless, for the yacht's cannon was never loaded with
anything but a blank charge, but in this instance it was better than
if it had been loaded with ball and shot, for not only did the sound
of the explosion attract the attention of the shark and cause him to
pause for a moment, but also the wadding from the gun dropped directly
upon my back, so showing that Prince Jibski's aim was not as good as
it might have been. Had the cannon been loaded with a ball or a shell,
you can very well understand how it would have happened that yours
truly would have been killed then and there."
"We should have missed you," said Ananias sweetly.
"Thanks," said the Baron. "But to resume. The shark's pause gave me
the start I needed, and the heat from the burning wadding right
between my shoulders caused me to redouble my efforts to get away from
the shark and it, so that I never swam faster in my life, and was soon
standing upon the shore, jeering at my fearful pursuer, who, strange
to say, showed no inclination to stop the chase now that I was, as I
thought, safely out of his reach. I didn't jeer very long I can tell
you, for in another minute I saw why the shark didn't stop chasing me,
and why Amphibian sharks are worse than any other kind. That shark had
not only fins like all other sharks to swim with, but he had likewise
three pairs of legs that he could use on land quite as well as he
could use the fins in the water. And then began the prettiest chase
you ever saw in your life. As he emerged from the water I grabbed up
my gun and ran. Round and round the island we tore, I ahead, he thirty
or forty yards behind, until I got to a place where I could stop
running and take a hasty shot at him. Then I aimed, and fired. My aim
was good, but struck one of the huge creature's teeth, broke it off
short, and bounded off to one side. This made him more angry than
ever, and he redoubled his efforts to catch me. I redoubled mine,
until I could get another shot at him. The second shot, like the
first, struck the creature in the teeth, only this time it was more
effective. The bullet hit his jaw lengthwise, and knocked every tooth
on that side of his head down his throat. So it went. I ran. He
pursued. I fired; he lost his teeth, until finally I had knocked out
every tooth he had, and then, of course, I wasn't afraid of him, and
let him come up with me. With his teeth he could have ground me to
atoms at one bite. Without them he was as powerless as a bowl of
currant jelly, and when he opened his huge jaws, as he supposed to
bite me in two, he was the most surprised looking fish you ever saw on
land or sea to discover that the effect his jaws had upon my safety
was about as great as had they been nothing but two feather bed
mattresses."
"You must have been badly frightened, though," said Ananias.
"No," said the Baron. "I laughed in the poor disappointed thing's
face, and with a howl of despair, he rushed back into the sea again. I
made the best time I could back to the yacht for fear he might return
with assistance."
"And didn't you ever see him again, Baron?" asked Sapphira.
"Yes, but only from the deck of the yacht as we were weighing anchor,"
said Mr. Munchausen. "I saw him and a dozen others like him doing
precisely what I thought they would do, going ashore to search me out
so as to have a little cold Munch for dinner. I'm glad they were
disappointed, aren't you?"
"Yes, indeed," said Ananias and Sapphira, but not warmly.
Ananias was silent for a moment, and then walking over to one of the
bookcases, he returned in a moment, bringing with him a huge atlas.
"Where are the Amphibian Islands, Mr. Munchausen?" he said, opening
the book. "Show them to me on the map. I'd like to print the map with
my story."
"Oh, I can't do that," said the Baron, "because they aren't on the map
any more. When I got back to Europe and told the map-makers about the
dangers to man on those islands, they said that the interests of
humanity demanded that they be lost. So they took them out of all the
geographies, and all the cyclopaedias, and all the other books, so that
nobody ever again should be tempted to go there; and there isn't a
school-teacher or a sailor in the world to-day who could tell you
where they are."
"But, you know, don't you?" persisted Ananias.
"Well, I did," said the Baron; "but, really I have had to remember so
many other things that I have forgotten that. All that I know is that
they were named from the fact that they were infested by Amphibious
animals, which are animals that can live on land as well as on water."
"How strange!" said Sapphira.
"It's just too queer for anything," said Ananias, "but on the whole
I'm not surprised."
And the Baron said he was glad to hear it.
[Illustration: "I laughed in the poor disappointed thing's face, and
with a howl of despair he rushed back into the sea." _Chapter X._]
XI
THE BARON AS A RUNNER
The Twins had been on the lookout for the Baron for at least an hour,
and still he did not come, and the little Imps were beginning to feel
blue over the prospect of getting the usual Sunday afternoon story. It
was past four o'clock, and for as long a time as they could remember
the Baron had never failed to arrive by three o'clock. All sorts of
dreadful possibilities came up before their mind's eye. They pictured
the Baron in accidents of many sorts. They conjured up visions of him
lying wounded beneath the ruins of an apartment house, or something
else equally heavy that might have fallen upon him on his way from his
rooms to the station, but that he was more than wounded they did not
believe, for they knew that the Baron was not the sort of man to be
killed by anything killing under the sun.
"I wonder where he can be?" said Angelica, uneasily to her brother,
who was waiting with equal anxiety for their common friend.
"Oh, he's all right!" said Diavolo, with a confidence he did not
really feel. "He'll turn up all right, and even if he's two hours late
he'll be here on time according to his own watch. Just you wait and
see."
And they did wait and they did see. They waited for ten minutes, when
the Baron drove up, smiling as ever, but apparently a little out of
breath. I should not dare to say that he was really out of breath, but
he certainly did seem to be so, for he panted visibly, and for two or
three minutes after his arrival was quite unable to ask the Imps the
usual question as to their very good health. Finally, however, the
customary courtesies of the greeting were exchanged, and the decks
were cleared for action.
"What kept you, Uncle Munch?" asked the Twins, as they took up their
usual position on the Baron's knees.
"What what?" replied the warrior. "Kept me? Why, am I late?"
"Two hours," said the Twins. "Dad gave you up and went out for a
walk."
"Nonsense," said the Baron. "I'm never that late."
Here he looked at his watch.