Now that the beasts of prey had been destroyed, or driven from about the
camp, there was no longer any danger in that quarter, and the children
could be left by themselves. Totty of course always stayed with them;
while the four hunters went forth upon the chase of the elephant--each
mounted upon his quagga.
They had done so many a time, and as no harm had happened to the
children in their absence, such a course became habitual with them. Jan
and Truey were cautioned not to stray far from the nwana, and always to
climb to the tree, should they perceive any animal that might be
dangerous. Before the destruction of the hyenas and lions, they had
been used to remain altogether in the tree, while the hunters were
absent. But this had been quite an imprisonment to them; and now that
the danger was not considered much, they were allowed to come down and
play upon the grassy plain, or wander along the shore of the little
lake.
On one occasion when the hunters were abroad, Truey had strayed down to
the edge of the water. She was alone, if we except the company of the
gazelle, which followed at her heels wherever she went. This pretty
creature had grown to full size, and had turned out a great beauty, with
large round eyes that had a lovely melting expression, like the eyes of
Truey herself.
Well, as I have said, Truey was alone. Jan was busy near the bottom of
the tree, working a new rod into his bird-cage, and Totty was out upon
the plain herding "old Graaf"--so Truey and the pet springbok went
strolling along by themselves.
Now Truey had not gone down to the water without an object. She had
one. She had gone to give her pet a drink, and collect some blue lilies
for a bouquet. All this she had done, and still continued to walk along
the shore.
On one side of the lake, and that the farthest from the nwana-tree, a
low spit of land projected into the water. It had once been but a
sand-bar, but grass had grown upon it, until a green turf was formed.
There was not over a square perch of it altogether, but it was not
square in shape. On the contrary, it was of oval form, and much
narrower nearest the land, where it formed a neck, or isthmus, not more
than three feet in width. It was, in short, a miniature peninsula,
which by a very little work with the spade could have been converted
into a miniature island--had that been desired.
Now there is nothing very remarkable about a little peninsula projecting
into a lake. In nearly every lake such a thing may be seen. But about
this one there was something remarkable.
Upon its extreme end grew a tree of singular form and foliage. It was
not a large tree, and its branches drooped downwards until their tips
almost touched the water. The pendulous boughs, and long lanceolate
silvery leaves, rendered it easy to tell what sort of tree it was. It
was the weeping or _Babylonian_ willow--so-called, because it was upon
trees of this species that the captive Jews hung their harps when they
"sat and wept by the streams of Babel." This beautiful tree casts its
waving shadow over the streams of South Africa, as well as those of
Assyria; and often is the eye of the traveller gladdened by the sight of
its silvery leaves, as he beholds them,--sure indications of water--
shining afar over the parched and thirsty desert. If a Christian, he
fails not to remember that highly poetical passage of sacred writing,
that speaks of the willow of Babylon.
Now the one which grew upon the little peninsula had all these points of
interest for little Truey--but it had others as well. Upon its branches
that overhung the water a very singular appearance presented itself.
Upon these was suspended--one upon the end of each branch--a number of
odd-shaped objects, that hung drooping down until their lower ends
nearly rested upon the surface of the water. These objects, as stated,
were of a peculiar shape. At the upper ends--where they were attached
to the branches--they were globe-shaped, but the lower part consisted of
a long cylinder of much smaller diameter, and at the bottom of this
cylinder was the entrance. They bore some resemblance to salad-oil
bottles inverted, with their necks considerably lengthened; or they
might be compared to the glass retorts seen in the laboratory of the
chemist.
They were each twelve or fifteen inches in length, and of a greenish
colour--nearly as green as the leaves of the tree itself. Were they its
fruit?
No. The weeping-willow bears no fruit of that size. They were not
fruit. They were _nests of birds_!
Yes; they were the nests of a colony of harmless finches of the genus
_Ploceus_,--better known to you under the appellation of "weaver-birds."
I am sure you have heard of weaver-birds before this; and you know that
these creatures are so-called on account of the skill which they exhibit
in the construction of their nests. They do not _build_ nests, as other
birds, but actually _weave_ them, in a most ingenious manner.
You are not to suppose that there is but one species of weaver-bird--one
kind alone that forms these curious nests. In Africa--which is the
principal home of these birds--there are many different kinds, forming
different genera, whose hard names I shall not trouble you with. Each
of these different kinds builds a nest of peculiar shape, and each
chooses a material different from the others. Some, as the _Ploceus
icterocephalus_, make their nests of a kidney-shape, with the entrance
upon the sides, and the latter not circular, but like an arched doorway.
Others of the genus _Plocepasser_ weave their nests in such a manner,
that the thick ends of the stalks stick out all around the outside,
giving them the appearance of suspended hedgehogs; while the birds of
another genus closely allied to the latter, construct their nests of
slender twigs, leaving the ends of these to project in a similar manner.
The "social gros-beak" (_Loxia socia_) fabricates a republic of nests
in one clump, and all under one roof. The entrances are in the
under-surface of this mass, which, occupying the whole top of a tree,
has the appearance of a haystack, or a dense piece of thatch.
All these weaver-birds, though of different genera, bear a considerable
resemblance to each other in their habits. They are usually
_granivorous_, though some are _insectivorous_; and one species, the
red-billed weaver-bird, (_Textor erythrorhynchus_), is a parasite of the
wild buffaloes.
It is a mistake to suppose that weaver-birds are only found in Africa
and the Old World, as stated in the works of many naturalists. In
tropical America, birds of this character are found in many species of
the genera _Cassicus_ and _Icterus_, who weave pensile nests of a
similar kind upon the trees of the Amazon and Orinoco. But the true
weaver-birds--that is to say, those which are considered the _type_ of
the class,--are those of the genus _Ploceus_; and it was a species of
this genus that had hung their pendulous habitations upon the
weeping-willow. They were of the species known as the "pensile
weaver-bird" (_Ploceus pensilis_).
There were full twenty of their nests in all, shaped as already
described, and of green colour--for the tough "Bushman's grass," out of
which they had been woven, had not yet lost its verdant hue, nor would
it for a long time. Being of this colour, they actually looked like
something that grew upon the tree,--like great pear-shaped fruits. No
doubt from this source have been derived the tales of ancient
travellers, who represented that in Africa were trees with fruits upon
them, which, upon being broken open, disclosed to view either living
birds or their eggs!
Now the sight of the weaver-birds, and their nests, was nothing new to
Truey. It was some time since the colony had established itself upon
the willow-tree, and she and they had grown well acquainted. She had
often visited the birds, had collected seeds, and carried them down to
the tree; and there was not one of the whole colony that would not have
perched upon her wrist or her pretty white shoulders, or hopped about
over her fair locks, without fear. It was nothing unusual to her to see
the pretty creatures playing about the branches, or entering the long
vertical tunnels that led upward to their nests--nothing unusual for
Truey to listen for hours to their sweet twittering, or watch their
love-gambols around the borders of the vley.
She was not thinking of them at the moment, but of something else,
perhaps of the blue water-lilies--perhaps of the springbok--but
certainly not of them, as she tripped gaily along the edge of the lake.
Her attention, however, was suddenly attracted to the birds.
All at once, and without any apparent cause, they commenced screaming
and fluttering around the tree, their cries and gestures betokening a
high state of excitement or alarm.