gale made such a noise no one heard me. I found to my surprise that the
rolling of the vessel dipped only my feet in the water, and that the
waves did not dash over me. My situation then did not seem to be quite
so hopeless, and I redoubled my cries for help.
“Soon I heard the gruff voice of the Captain calling down to me:
‘What is the matter there?’”
“‘I am overboard, and drowning,’ I shrieked in reply.
“Upon this instead of lowering a rope, he extended me his hands, and
helped me up—_out of the cabin_!
“The crash I had heard was the cabin hatchway, and I had fallen through
it into the room below, and into about two feet of water! The iron ring
was a hammock ring. No wonder I did not see the lightning flashes down
in that hole.
“The raging waves, and the tossing about in the wind, and the vessel
scudding away from me had only existed in my imagination. I was so
certain that I had fallen into the river that I imagined the rest.
“The tempest soon ceased, but not the laugh at me. That lasted all the
way to Para. Somehow my adventure seemed more ridiculous to the Captain
and the sailors than it did to me!
[Illustration: STILL WATERS.]
“We had lovely weather during the remainder of our trip. Our Bella
Donna behaved very well except that she would get on a sand-bar
occasionally. This was partly the pilot’s fault, and partly the fault
of the river in having so many sand-bars.
‘Did not the Captain try to get his sloop off the sand-bars?’ George
inquired.
“Yes, the sailors would try to work the vessel off, sometimes getting
into the water, and working like Trojans. But they never did get her
off; and we would just stick there until the next tide which invariably
floated us on our way.
“I took advantage of these detentions to visit the shores, and explore
the country. In this way I became acquainted with some very strange
Indian tribes. But I saw nothing of the Amazons—the female warriors
you have read of. Nor did I meet with any one who ever had seen any of
them. I did find a ruined fortress, but I never heard that the Amazons
had anything to do with fortresses. They trusted to their bows and
spears.
“In the place of these warlike females are gentle, inoffensive Indian
women, who will sell you delicious fruits, or make you a hammock for a
small sum of money, or a few ornaments.
“Immense forests stretch along both banks, filled with luxuriant
vegetation. To a resident, a trip on the river, sailing between these
lines of forests, is tedious, and monotonous. But a stranger is
constantly interested in the beautiful and wonderful plants around him.
“There are also farms along the river, and occasionally a white
settlement—usually a village; rarely a town.
“And, if the vessel gets on sand-bars as often as our good sloop, the
Bella Donna, the stranger will have an opportunity of seeing some of
the animals of the country, Some of them are not very pleasant to meet,
especially the jaguar. But the monkeys are amusing.
“At some of the mission stations among the Indians he will also see a
good deal to interest him. The Indians have been taught something of
agriculture, and have some very primitive machines.
“In one of my rambles I came across a sugar-cane mill, in which three
Indians were at work.
[Illustration: SUGAR-CANE MILL.]
“It was an enormous affair, but worked entirely by man-power. The great
wheels were made to revolve by a single man working in each, very much
in the style in which squirrels turn toy wheels in their cages.
“With the exception of my sad adventure during the tempest, I enjoyed
the ten days’ trip on the Bella Donna very much. But ten days is enough
for such a journey, and I was not sorry when I reached Para, and the
sea coast.”
THE BEDOUIN ARABS.
Fine stories are told of the Bedouin Arabs. We have heard a great deal
about these wandering tribes of the desert; of their hospitality to
strangers; of their generosity; of their gratitude; of their affection
for their fleet and beautiful horses; of the wild free life they lead.
They will not allow themselves to be cooped up in towns, they will not
even live in houses, but spend their lives in breezy tents, out on the
wilds.
When girls and boys read these accounts their hearts glow at the
thought of the happy life of the Arab children. No lessons to learn, no
school to attend, no work to do. They course around on splendid horses,
and their whole life is one delightful “camping out.” When they get
tired of living in one place, they go to another. They dress gorgeously
too! A loose, and gracefully flowing costume, made of “rich stuffs,”
and costly camel’s hair cloth.
And then besides the horse they have the docile and intelligent camel
to bear their burdens, and to be their companions.
Such are the pictures often drawn of Bedouin life; and, no doubt you
have thought when you read them, that if these ignorant, lazy, heathen
Arabs were so good, and so happy, why should you be sent to school,
and taught to be industrious, and trained to follow the precepts of
the Bible? To be good, and to be happy are certainly the main things,
and if these Arabs have learned the secret of commanding these we had
better take lessons from them.
Let us look at the accounts of reliable travelers, and see how far the
descriptions of the story-writers are true.
[Illustration: AN ARAB CHIEF.]
On the next page we have an Arab chief. How do you like his looks?
That long robe he has over his white cotton skirt, and the scarf on
his head are of camel’s hair—there is no doubt about that—but, if you
admire his bare legs and arms, and old slippers, it is more than I do.
And I can tell you of something that you can’t see in the picture. The
whole dress is shockingly dirty, and greasy.
Did you ever reflect how these “noble Arabs” get anything to eat? They
must eat, you know, and they won’t work; so, how do they procure their
food? Why, they _steal_ it. They despise their brethren who dwell in
houses, and plow and plant seed. They think work is degrading. But
after the farmers have got their fields in good order, and the grain
is ready to cut; down comes a tribe of Bedouins and carries off the
harvest!
They entertain strangers, but only to beg from them, and what they fail
to get by begging they will steal, if they have a chance.
Their generosity seems to be a reckless wasting and giving away of what
they ought to save; and no people can drive so hard a bargain, or cheat
more readily.
As for gratitude—well—if a man has done them a favor they perhaps tell
him fewer lies, and cheat him less than they do others.
The camel is a very important animal in the deserts where the Bedouins
live, for he can easily tread the sands, and can live a long time
without water, and can bear heavy burdens. But he is very, very stupid,
and ill-natured, and obstinate. Perhaps the poor beasts would do better
if they had better masters, for the Bedouins half starve them, and
constantly ill-treat them; and I don’t blame the camels for resenting
such conduct.
It is not likely that such a race of people would treat horses any
better than they do their camels. Horses could not bear such treatment
long, however. It would kill them. And in fact, the Bedouins have very
few horses. The fleet and beautiful Arab steeds are owned by the Arabs
who dwell in the villages and try to live somewhat as we do.
[Illustration: AN ARAB ENCAMPMENT.]
Tent life is very pleasant, for a few days, when you go out into the
green woods with a party of friends. But it would be a very different
thing, you would find, if you were compelled to spend your life that
way; sometimes under the shade of palms, but, more frequently on the
hot desert sands. Dirt and discomfort belong to an Arab tent; and
legions of fleas take up their abode there.
If you were to stay with these Bedouins for awhile I think you would
gladly go back to civilization and work; and you would come to the
conclusion that schools and wash-tubs were good institutions.
FOOL-HARDY CARL HOFER, AND THE WATER-LADY.
A good many years ago, on the banks of the Rhine, there lived a
boy named Carl Hofer. “Climbing Carl” he was often called because
he excelled in climbing; and, quite as frequently, he was called
“Fool-hardy Carl,” because he would put himself in very unsafe places,
where no sensible person would venture. Everybody said he would be
killed some day; and the wonder was that he had reached the age of
fourteen years without breaking his neck. His father and mother had
tried every means of curing him of these foolish ways; but, although he
was a pretty good boy in regard to most things, he was very disobedient
about climbing.
His parents were willing he should climb even the tallest trees; and
they were quite proud at the gymnasium to see him run lightly up
the long ladders, and across the open framework, near the roof. You
might say that this also was a dangerous thing to do. That is true,
but Carl’s skill in this art, and his long practice made it next to
impossible that he should fall. But he would go up places where no
amount of skill or practice could save him in case of accident. He
would climb a dead tree, for instance, though he knew a rotten branch
might break at any moment, and throw him headlong to the ground, or he
would go up a tottering wall. It is _courageous_ to put yourself into
_possible_ danger, for the sake of accomplishing some good. No boy can
learn to ride, or climb, or swim without incurring possible danger.
But that is very different from putting yourself into _almost certain_
danger just for the sake of doing a thing when no good is to come of
it. When people act in this way they are fool-hardy.
And Carl was not content to be courageous, which is a very good thing,
but he must also be fool-hardy, which is a very silly thing.
[Illustration: THE PLACE WAS STRANGE TO HIM.]
One day he set out alone for a long walk down the river. It was a
holiday, so he had plenty of time before him. He walked a very long
time before he sat down to rest; and then he looked around him to see
where he was. The place was strange to him, so that he knew he must
be a long way from home. There was no house near, and no person was in
sight. But Carl was not afraid, for he was used to rambling about the
woods, and he felt sure there was nothing there to hurt him.
There was nothing to hurt him but his own foolish self.
Close by him was a beautiful hill, down which fell a little cascade.
It was not very high, but rose up almost perpendicularly from where
he was sitting. He felt a great desire to see what was on the other
side of that hill. He could easily have gone around it, on the inland
side, but that did not suit his taste. He remembered that he had given
his promise to his mother, that morning, that he would not do one
fool-hardy thing that day. But was this fool-hardy? The hill was very
steep, but there were trees and saplings to help him in the ascent. He
did not hesitate long. He started up the hill. If he had continued up
the side he began upon, it would not have been so very bad, for if his
foot had slipped he might have had his fall so broken by bushes and
tufts of grass that there would have been a possibility of his reaching
the ground without any great injury. But he soon found that the side of
the hill by the river was even more steep than the one he was on, and
he swung himself round by the tree branches until he reached that side.
Up he went, digging hands and heels into the spongy turf, and catching
hold of the saplings, and bushes that came in his way. If his foot had
slipped then, he would have gone plump into the river.
But his foot did not slip, and he reached the top in safety. A little
ravine lay at his feet, and on the other side of this, close to the
river bank, there stood a stone tower. Eager to examine this curiosity,
Carl partly ran, and partly slid down the hill, which was much less
steep on that side, and ran across the ravine to the base of the tower.
It was all that was left of an old castle. Many of the stones had
fallen from the top, and some from its sides, and it was a very
shaky-looking affair. But Carl did not care for this. The walls were
very thick, and he felt sure the large broken pinnacle at the top was
broad enough for him to stand on. It would be great fun to stand on
that! He forgot his promise to his mother, and began at once to climb;
sometimes lifting himself up by taking hold of projecting stones, and
sometimes working up by putting feet and hands into crevices in the
wall.
He was not half way up when he made a mis-step. He felt that he was
slipping, and clutched frantically at a projecting stone. He grasped
the stone with both hands, but alas! it shook with the grasp, and Carl
knew that it was giving way. He hung thus but a moment, though it
seemed a long period to him, for he had time to think of his home, and
his father, and mother, and little sisters, and that he should never
see them more. He wondered if they would ever know what had become
of him, and would learn, that he did die, finally, in a fool-hardy
adventure, as everybody had always said he would. Then the stone rolled
out from the wall, and out of Carl’s hands, falling some thirty feet,
and plunging into the water with great force. And down went Carl, right
in its track.
This part of the river was the home of a kind, and beautiful
Water-Lady, called by the Germans a Nix. Looking up through the water
(for she spent nearly all her time at the bottom of the river) she saw
Carl climb the hill, and was so much pleased with his skilful climbing
and his bright face, that when he reached the top of the hill, she
floated up to the surface of the water to see what he would do next.
She watched him down the hill, and across the ravine; but, when he
stood looking up to the top of the ruined tower, the Nix guessed that
he was thinking of climbing it; and she determined to draw him away
from this dangerous place.
The Nixies play upon the harp lovely music that mortals may not hope
to play. So the Nix went down to the bottom of the river and soon
reappeared on the surface with a graceful harp, made of beaten gold.
She left the river, and, standing among the water plants at the foot
of the hill Carl had climbed, she played soft, sweet strains of fairy
music on her harp. In this way she thought she would beguile him from
the dangerous tower back to the hill; and, when he was safe, she would
disappear; for the Nixies do not care to be seen of mortals.
But Carl was so absorbed in his foolish project of scaling the wall,
and the music was so very soft, he did not heed it. Twice in his ascent
he paused to listen to what he imagined to be lovely strains of music.
This was when the Nix, on peeping around the curve made by the hill,
saw that the boy had already started on his perilous journey, and
played louder to call him back. But Carl concluded he was mistaken, and
that the melodious sound was the wind rustling among the vines.
When the Nix heard the plunge into the water she supposed that all was
over; and, standing her harp against a rock, she leaned her head upon
her hand, and thought sorrowfully of the bright boy who had come to
such a sudden end through his own folly.
But Carl was not dead. The force with which he struck the water sent
him far down into its depths, and rendered him unconscious. So that
when he rose to the surface again he lay on the water without motion,
and, apparently, without life. In this condition he floated to the spot
where the Nix was standing. For a moment she gazed at him sorrowfully,
and then her face suddenly brightened. For she saw that the boy was
still living, though he was insensible to everything around him.
Quickly she seized her harp, and played the liveliest, merriest music
that the fairies know. The notes seemed to be dancing, and jumping, and
rolling and tumbling over each other in great glee, and yet it was true
music, and perfect harmony. So penetrating and so stirring was it that
it reached Carl’s benumbed senses. He opened his eyes, and seeing a
beautiful lady in white robes, holding a golden harp, and playing this
lovely music, no wonder he thought he was in heaven.
[Illustration: THE NIX GRIEVING FOR CARL.]
This delusion lasted but a moment, however, for he soon felt himself
sinking again into the cold water. But he was able now to make an
effort to save himself, and he grasped tightly the long reed stems that
lay near him. This prevented his sinking far into the water, and the
Nix left her harp, and gliding swiftly into the river, supported Carl
so that his head and arms were out of the water, and he could make
some attempt to swim. And, in this way, the Nix helped him to the bank.
He was so weak from fright, and the long time he had been in the water,
that he could not even speak to the Nix to thank her for saving his
life. He could only look his gratitude as he lay panting on the grass.
But as soon as he revived a little and had uttered the first word to
the lady she faded from his sight, and he only saw a wreath of white
mist gliding over the reeds.
Carl sprang up in astonishment. The waves parted as if some one had
gently sunk into them, and he thought that he saw, for a moment a gleam
of bright hair. Not till then did he know that the beautiful lady, who
had preserved him, was a Nix.
Close to his side stood her harp. The Nix had forgotten it! Here was
a prize! There was gold enough in it for a moderate fortune, and Carl
was poor. Carl had always had a great desire to be a musician, and this
gold would send him to Berlin or Vienna to study at a Conservatory of
Music; and do a great deal besides for his father, and mother, and
sisters. But the boy was honest, and he knew he had no right to take
away the property of another, even if the owner was only a Nix. But he
thought he might be allowed to play upon it. He had learned to play
two or three tunes on the harp. No sooner did he touch the strings,
however, than he found he did not play his own music at all, but the
magical music the Nix played. Carl was in ecstacies, and his fingers
flew over the strings, wandering through one fairy melody after another
until his arm ached, and he saw that the sun had set, and twilight was
coming on.
He must go home. But now he felt a stronger desire than ever to take
the harp with him. How he would astonish all the town with his music!
He would give concerts in the great hall, and, perhaps, the fame of his
wonderful music would reach the king and queen, and they would come
to hear him. But all this did not make it right for him to take what
was not his own; and it would be a poor return to make the Nix for her
kindness to steal her harp.
But, perhaps she left it there, intending he should have it! How was he
to know? He called to her to tell him if the harp was his, but there
was no reply.
He resolved he would leave it where it stood, but would return to the
spot the next day. If the harp was still there he might fairly conclude
that the Nix intended he should have it.
He left the harp reluctantly, and started on his homeward journey, but
had not gone far before he had to lie down and rest. His head ached,
and all his limbs felt tired and sore. It is probable he would have
been obliged to spend the night in the forest, if some marketmen had
not come along the road, and taken him home in their wagon.
He related his adventures to the family, and the next day his father
accompanied him to the old tower. Everything was exactly as Carl had
described it. The place whence the stone had fallen out of the wall was
plainly to be seen, with the freshly loosened mortar strewn about. But
there was no golden harp. And there was neither sight nor sound of Nix
or Fairy Music.
[Illustration: FAIRY MUSIC.]
From that day Carl lost all desire for fool-hardy adventures. His love
of music grew stronger and stronger, and his parents had some trouble
in getting him to attend properly to his other studies. He said the Nix
had left her harp with him for a short time that he might take from it
an inspiration of melody that would be his forever; and that she had
then taken the harp away lest he should learn too much, and play such
music as only the angels could understand.
All the beautiful things he saw; all the sweet sounds of Nature; all
the noble thoughts that God put into his heart; he wrote down in
strains of music that were sung and played in all parts of the world,
and that charmed everybody who heard them.
Carl was famous. But men declared that he had never seen the Nix, or
played upon the golden harp, but had dreamed the whole story when he
was in a half-conscious state on the bank, after he had managed to
crawl out of the river by the help of the reeds. This narrow escape
from death, they said, had given a more serious turn to his mind, and
from thenceforth he had given up boyish frolics, and his thoughts had
naturally turned to music—the art he best loved.
But Carl, himself, always believed that the Nix had bestowed upon him
the wonderful gift of melody he possessed.
WATER AND MILK FROM PLANTS.
[Illustration: PITCHER PLANT.]
There are upon the earth great sandy tracts, where there are no
springs, or brooks. When the rain falls, which it seldom does in
these places, the parched earth drinks it all up, and no pools are
formed at which the thirsty traveler can get a drink. And yet men
are often obliged to travel over these plains to reach some place
where their business calls them. They go in companies, and take with
them provisions, and a large supply of water. This last they regard
as the most precious of their possessions, and use it as sparingly
as possible. But, notwithstanding all their care, it often gives
out before they reach the end of their journey. And then, too, they
frequently lose their way, and wander about over the hot sand, under
a burning sun until they become sick and weak from thirst, and they
sometimes die for want of water. This would happen much oftener than it
does were it not for a little plant that a kind Providence has caused
to grow in these desolate sandy plains.
The picture of this plant, which we show you, was taken from one that
grew in a garden, but it was transplanted there from the desert, where
it is found in great abundance.
This plant grows two or three feet high, and, at the end of each one
of its broad dark green leaves, there is a strong tendril that holds
up a cup of the same substance as the leaves. During the night the dew
on the plant fills the cup with pure, clear, sweet water, which slowly
evaporates during the day. You can easily imagine how glad the thirsty
traveler is to find these cups of fresh water, all filled ready for his
drinking.
The name of this plant is _Nepenthes_, but we generally call it the
Pitcher Plant.
In other parts of the earth there are great marshy forests, where the
pools of water are stagnant and impure; and, if people drink from them,
they are made sick. A man might wander through these woods for days,
and not find a drop of pure, wholesome water, were it not for the
_Sarracenia_, or Amphora-plant.
In this the leaves are the cups. They have narrow necks, and flaring
tips, from which it is easy to drink the clear water contained in the
wonderful leaves. The full grown leaves of the larger species hold a
pint of water.
[Illustration: THE SARRACENIA.]
We have this same plant, on a much smaller scale, in our own marshes.
It grows in damp, shaded places, and I advise you to look for it in
your summer rambles, for it is a very singular plant. The leaves of our
_Sarracenia_ are so small they will scarcely hold a gill of water. But
we have plenty of cool springs, and limpid brooks in our country, and
do not need the large cups of water the Amphora-plant offers to its
visitors in South America.
[Illustration: THE WEEPING TREE.]
The common name of our Sarracenia is Pitcher-plant; but, as you can
see by comparing the two, it is very unlike the Pitcher-plant of the
Eastern deserts.
But then you know pitchers are of a great many different shapes, and
sizes, and are only alike in being able to hold water.
But the most wonderful of all the plants that give men water to drink
is a tree that is said to have been found some years ago in one of the
Canary islands. It was seen at different times by different travelers,
and they all told the same story about it. The leaves grew thickly on
its spreading branches, and, from each leaf the drops fell so rapidly
that all together they formed a steady shower of rain.
It was called the Weeping Tree.
The water fell so copiously that it formed a pond at the foot of the
tree, and the people who lived in the neighborhood got from it all
the water they used. This is certainly a very wonderful tree if the
accounts of it are true.