The Pages and Ping Wang were among the first twenty to pass in at the
town gates, and the latter at once crossed over to an inn and peeped in
at the door. The glance he gave satisfied him, and he beckoned to
Charlie and Fred to enter. It was not an attractive-looking place, but
there was a smell of roast pork, that made the hungry travellers sniff
with delight.
The dining-room into which Ping Wang led the way was very dirty, and
until Charlie and Fred were told what the room was they had no idea that
it was there that they were to breakfast. They sat down on a form at a
little, bare wooden table, and before long were enjoying a hearty meal
of roast pork and tea.
'And now,' Fred said, when they had satisfied their healthy appetites,
'I should like to lie down and sleep.'
'So should I,' Charlie declared. 'What kind of beds do they have here?'
'We can lie on the floor here if we like,' Ping Wang answered.
'I'll do so,' Charlie said, and down he went on the floor, turned his
face to the wall, rested his head on his arm, and closed his eyes: Fred
followed his example at once.
Ping Wang waited until his friends were asleep, and then, having
satisfied himself that their pigtails were not slipping off, and that
there was nothing about their appearance to attract attention, he lay
down beside them.
All three slept soundly until the landlord came in and awoke Ping Wang,
who had an argument with him about the price of roast pork.
'What is our next move?' Charlie asked, quietly, when the landlord had
left the room.
'To go and see my cousin,' Ping Wang replied, 'to warn him of the danger
which threatens his brother and all other Christians.'
Ping Wang found his cousin--a fan-maker--at his shop. He had heard of
the Boxers' intentions the day before, and had already been to his
brother to warn him and his friends. This was indeed good news, and Ping
Wang was anxious to tell his friends of it, but dared not, for his
cousin's work-people were in the next room, and would probably hear
them speaking English. He told his cousin, however, that his friends,
who were standing at the door, were Englishmen, a piece of news which
caused the fan-maker much uneasiness. He begged Ping Wang not to
introduce him to the Englishmen, and urged him to get them out of the
town as quickly as possible. Ping Wang chatted with him for a few more
minutes and then departed.
The streets were now crowded with people, and Ping Wang whispered to his
friends not to speak on any account until they were safe at another inn.
He led them through numerous narrow streets, and was within a hundred
yards of the inn where he hoped to get a room when a man came running
along the street, shouting wildly, slashing about with a whip, and
driving the people back against the houses on either side. Ping Wang
pushed the Pages back quickly and stood in front of them.
A few moments later Charlie and Fred understood the cause of the
excitement. A gorgeous palanquin was borne rapidly past them, but not so
quickly that they were unable to see the occupant. He was a fat,
cruel-looking man, and took no notice whatever of the kowtowing of the
people. On his head he wore a yellow cloth, such as the Boxers had worn
on the previous evening, and this was regarded, as it was meant to be,
as a sign that he was in sympathy with the Boxer movement.
'Chin Choo,' Ping Wang muttered, as the palanquin passed out of sight,
and Charlie and Fred knew that they had seen the murderer of their
friend's father, and the possessor of the treasure which they had come
to China to secure.
The inn to which Ping Wang led his friends was the best in Kwang-ngan.
It was roomy, fairly clean, and was the only place of its kind that was
two storeys high. The other inns had but one storey.
Ping Wang took a room on the first floor, and they entered into
occupation at once.
'Let us sit in the middle of the room,' Ping Wang said, 'and then, if we
talk very quietly, there will be no fear of any one hearing that we are
not talking Chinese.'
Ping Wang then told his friends of what his cousin had said to him. They
were very much relieved to hear that the missionaries had been warned of
the danger that threatened them, but were rather worried by the
difficulties before them.
'The easiest way to get into Chin Choo's garden,' Ping Wang said, 'will
be by climbing over the wall. It is a high one, certainly, but I do not
think that we shall have much difficulty in scaling it. What I do fear
is that, as Chin Choo's house is in the busiest part of the town, we may
have to wait days, perhaps weeks, before we find the road deserted, even
at night. As soon as it is dark, we will go out and find the most
convenient spots for climbing. In the meanwhile, are either of you
hungry?'
Charlie and Fred had had such a hearty breakfast that they almost
shuddered at the mention of food.
'Well,' Ping Wang said, 'I'm not hungry either, but we shall want some
dinner.'
He went downstairs to give the order and have a chat with the
inn-keeper. He was absent about twenty minutes, and when he returned the
Pages saw that he had some news to tell them.
'What is it?' Charlie asked.
Ping Wang quietly turned the key in the door and then sat down beside
his friends.
'There is to be a feast to-night. It's to be held at the other end of
the town, and everybody who possibly can will be there. That will leave
this end of the town nearly deserted. A better opportunity for climbing
over Chin Choo's wall we could not possibly have. The road will be
deserted, and most of Chin Choo's servants will be at the feast. Perhaps
Chin Choo himself will be there. Don't let us talk about it just now.
Our dinner will not be brought up for three hours, and in the meantime
we had better get all the sleep that we can. We must be as fresh as
possible this evening.'
Charlie and Fred agreed, and five minutes later all three were sleeping
soundly.
They were aroused from their slumber by a terrific banging at their
door.
'Who's there?' Ping Wang asked in Chinese, and the reply came, from the
landlord himself, that he was their disreputable nephew, who would, if
permitted to intrude his worthless body upon their exalted presence, lay
the dinner.
Ping Wang replied instantly that if their intellectual uncle would
condescend to demean himself by waiting on such idiotic monkeys, they
would at once admit his glorious body to their ridiculous and
contemptible presence.
These flowery Chinese compliments having been exchanged, Ping Wang
opened the door to his 'uncle,' and his 'nephew' walked in and placed a
couple of ducks on the table.
As soon as they had finished their meal, the Pages and Ping Wang went to
the window and stood gazing down into the busy street. Charlie quickly
noticed that nearly all the people who were proceeding in one direction
were carrying provisions.
'Are they taking those things to give to their ancestors' ghosts?' he
inquired.
'Well, no,' Ping Wang replied. 'The feast to be given to-night has been
got up by the priests of Fo.'
'Who is Fo?'
'Buddha. Fo is our name for him. The Buddhists decided, many years ago,
that the Confucians were to be blamed for neglecting to feast the ghosts
of those who had been so unfortunate as to die without leaving any
descendants, and agreed to do the work themselves. They published
accounts of the terrible sufferings of the starving ghosts who had no
descendants, and urged the people to contribute food to relieve their
wants. The people gave willingly, and from that time the Buddhist
priests have had feasts at intervals. I think that we shall be able to
see part of this evening's performance. At dusk we will go out and
examine the wall round Chin Choo's house, and when we have found the
best place for scaling it, we will hurry off to the feast. We will stay
there a short time, and then return to finish our job. By this time
to-morrow I hope that we shall be back at Su-ching, with our pockets
full of rubies. But Chin Choo is not likely to be merciful to any one
found robbing him.'
'But we are not going to rob him,' Charlie declared. 'We are simply
going to recover what he has stolen from you.'
[Illustration: "A gorgeous palanquin was borne rapidly past."]
'That is so,' said Fred; 'but Chin Choo will think that as much stealing
as if we were taking from him something to which he had a perfect
right.'
'Oh, well, don't let us look on the gloomy side of the affair,' said
Ping Wang. 'We need not talk about it any more now. I must go out for a
few minutes. Wait for me here.'
(_Continued on page 366._)
INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.
XI.--CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.
The feebler folk among Nature's children have many enemies; against
these they are, as a rule, nearly powerless; but here and there, among
the different groups of animals, we meet with strange devices for
repelling attacks. Though these are by no means always successful, it
seems clear that they are good enough to serve as a fairly sure
protection. This is especially the case with the Caterpillars.
[Illustration: Fig. 1.--Caterpillars of Procession Moth.]
There are two methods of defence used by caterpillars. One of these is
the device of squirting noxious fluids from the body; the other is found
in the poisonous hairs and spines which are scattered more or less all
over the body.
[Illustration: Fig. 2.--Caltrops and Spines of Caterpillars.]
Those who have taken up the study of butterflies and moths, will do well
to be careful in handling hairy caterpillars, especially those of the
family known as the Bombyces. Some of the members of this family, such
as the Fox-moth and the Brown and Gold-tailed moths, when in the
caterpillar stage are thickly clothed with long stiff hairs, and these,
if the creature be handled, pierce the skin and break off. In
consequence very painful itching and irritation is set up. But this is
nothing to the pain caused by the caterpillars of the wonderful
'Procession moth' (fig. 1). In these caterpillars the poison hairs are
very loosely attached to the body, and studded with exceedingly fine
hooks that curve inwards, as may be seen in the diagram of a magnified
portion of one of the spines (fig. 2, D and E). Partly by adhering to
the skin, and partly by means of a very fine dust with which they are
covered, these hairs set up a very violent inflammation on the skin of
men and animals, which is hard to get rid of. On this account, moreover,
the neighbourhood of the nests of these larvæ is dangerous, for the
surrounding air is filled with the hairs and dust borne about by the
wind. These are thus inhaled, and give rise to internal inflammation and
swellings which have sometimes caused death.
One of the most remarkable of all hairy caterpillars is that of an
American species (fig. 3), burdened by scientific men with the terrible
name--_Megalopyga!_ The shorter hairs are poisonous.
[Illustration: Fig. 3.--Megalopyga Caterpillar.]
The caterpillar of our British 'Festoon moth' belongs to a very
remarkable family indeed. All the caterpillars of this group, which is
found in many parts of the world, are very slug-like in form, and many
have an evil reputation as poisoners, though our English species is
happily innocent. A small Australian species has the body armed with
slight reddish knobs, four in the front and four in the hind part of the
body. These knobs can be opened at will, and from them slight rays or
bunches of stings of a yellow colour are thrust out. The wounds which
these darts inflict are very painful. Of one Indian species a collector
records that 'the caterpillar stung with such horrible pain that I sat
in the room almost sick with it, and unable to keep the tears from
running down my cheeks, for more than two hours, applying ammonia all
the time.'
(_Concluded on page 364._)
A FAIR-SIZED FIELD.
Hugh Martin had come home from Canada, where his father owned a ranch,
on a visit to some English relations.
Willie Pearse was the cousin nearest him in age, and the two boys became
great friends.
'It must be a jolly life out there, and money seems to be made much more
quickly than in England,' Willie said one day. 'I wish Father would let
me go out with you.'
'You would have to make up your mind to work harder than you do here,'
Hugh told him, for he had noticed that his cousin was inclined to be
lazy.
'Oh, I like that! Why, you were telling me how little there was to do in
the winter, with everything frozen up! I thought that when you were not
having a ripping time with sleighing parties and tobogganing, you just
sat by the fire and read.'
'Compared with the summer, of course, the winter work is nothing. We
just have to feed the calves every day, and ride round the field where
our stock are wintering, to look up the cattle. But even that is more
than you seem to get through, Will.'
'Not more than just ride round a field!' cried Willie. 'I should be glad
if that ended my day's work.'
'Perhaps you do not quite realise the size of what we call a field,'
Hugh said quietly.
'How many acres?' asked his cousin.
'Oh, a matter of two thousand acres or so,' was the answer, and then
Willie began to think that if all the little jobs of work were on the
same scale, perhaps only the energetic folk were the sort to go to
Canada, and those who loved their ease had better stay at home.
M. H.
A STROLL AMONGST FERNS.
We cannot show in Britain such tall and beautiful natives of the fern
tribe as may be found growing freely in tropical countries, but still we
have some fine ferns belonging to our islands. These are much commoner
in some parts than in others, and probably, many years ago, when a great
part of the country was covered with damp forests or woods, there was a
greater abundance of ferns generally than there is now. Indeed, even in
the last few years, some ferns that used to be abundant have become
quite scarce, often owing to the fact that unwise people dig them up, to
carry the plants away from their haunts, and put them in gardens.
There are, fortunately, some ferns which such thefts do not harm,
because they are plentiful. The well-known bracken, for instance, though
quantities of it may be cut for wrapping or decoration, is not thereby
thinned much, and it covers acres and acres of ground in some woodlands,
especially about the western counties. The West of England is the home
of ferns, big and small; but some southern counties, such as Sussex and
Hampshire, have a good display. In Scotland, again, glens or copses,
often the haunts of wild deer, are green with a thick growth of bracken.
A well-known writer, who lives where ferns abound, says that the bracken
is the fern of ferns in the British Islands. The shelter of it is a
pleasure and a safeguard too, not only to the tall deer and their fawns,
but to thousands of quadrupeds and birds, whose home is amid the copses,
shady lanes, or moorlands. In sandy wastes, this fern only grows a foot
high; along the paths in woods it will attain to six or seven feet, or
grow taller still in a lofty hedge, or in a clump of supporting trees.
Even in the winter months the ferns have their uses; it is delightful,
after walking over some moist lowland, to come upon a hilly ridge of
ground, where, amongst the birches and the fragrant firs, the brown
ferns grow freely.
Grand in its growth, but only to be found in a few places, is the Osmund
or Royal Fern, which throws up a tall spike bearing the spores or seeds
of the plant. Sometimes, in moist places, the crown of the root is a
clump of more than a foot high, from which the stem rises. Of late
years, this kingly fern has become still more rare, and happy is the
fern-hunter who comes upon a specimen.
Who can help admiring the beautiful Lady Fern, which seems to be most at
home when growing near a streamlet or pond? It is stately and graceful,
with large fronds of clear green, and the tips of its sprays bend like
plumes. What is called the Male Fern grows in hedges or banks, and
indeed almost anywhere; a handsome cheery-looking plant, though of
moderate size. It will even manage to live in a London back-garden, or
area, and many cottagers have it amongst the flowers of their small
garden plots. Occasionally, by the side of a copse, we may come upon a
great bed of the male fern, which frequently keeps green all the winter.
Often, about the same spots where the male fern flourishes, the Shield
Fern displays its fronds, larger and broader, but fewer in number, and
prettily toothed along their edges. Fond of damp hollows or the sides of
ditches is the handsome Hart's-tongue Fern, which will also, now and
then, choose to grow on a cracked wall, or perhaps down a well.
We must not forget the Polypody, which delights to creep amongst the
trees and bushes of a lane, and looks very fresh in June, keeping its
fronds till some sharp frost brings them off. It took the name of
Polypody from its jagged leaves, upon which the seeds or spores appear
in bright orange spots. The humble Wall Rue and the Wall Spleenwort grow
on walls chiefly, sometimes on rocky banks. The true Maiden-hair Fern is
amongst the rarest of our native ferns. What is so commonly grown by
gardeners, and used for bouquets and buttonholes, is the Black
Maiden-hair, a rather stronger plant.
THE CONTENTED PANSY.
'I wish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been planted
To catch the full force of the wind from the east;
But, somehow, the gardener takes it for granted
That that's not a hardship I mind in the least.
'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing,
Her glittering leaves were a capital shield;
But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowing
Can whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.
'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected,
They're touched but by winds from the south and the west;
Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expected
To blossom in colours my brightest and best.
The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders,
And only when night is beginning to fall;
While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders,
He never looks twice at my corner at all.
'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses,
For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone,
I heard some one say, who was gathering posies,
"I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone."
Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing!
I don't want the wind from the south and the west,
And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing,
I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'
HOW HETAIS WORE HIS MEDAL.
A True Story.
Hetais was a French sailor, a carpenter of the _Ville de Paris_, and he
and his ship-mates took part with our soldiers in the siege of
Sebastopol in 1854, where Hetais, having shown great gallantry during
one of the sorties, was adjudged that coveted decoration, the _médaille
militaire_--a medal that is only given to privates and non-commissioned
officers.
The presentation of this medal was to be made on a certain evening, and
on the morning, as he and his mates were on duty in the trenches, the
chief subject of conversation was the honour that had befallen Hetais.
He was a modest, brave-hearted fellow, and though much pleased at the
prospect of his medal, was pleased, too, to think of the treat he meant
to give his comrades to celebrate the event.
'Look here,' he said to his particular chum, 'I have just drawn out all
the money owing to me, and I mean you fellows to have a good, hot supper
to-night at the canteen, and I foot the bill!' and as he spoke he pulled
out a handful of silver from his pocket and showed it with a laugh to
his friend.
Hot suppers were a rarity in that camp, and the very thought of such a
treat was cheering to the half-starved men.
'You are a good fellow, Hetais,' said one of the men, 'and you deserve
your luck.'
'Hold your tongue, you silly fellow,' said Hetais, with a good-natured
thump on the speaker's back. 'Get on with your coffee-making, and do not
talk nonsense!'
'All right,' said the man, cautiously lifting his head above the shelter
of the trench, so as to see what the Russians were about. 'The "Moscos"'
(so the French termed the enemy) 'seem keeping quiet to-day, and we
shall be able to enjoy our coffee in peace,' he continued.
A fire was lighted, and the water put on to boil in a saucepan, the men
all sitting round in eagerness, for it was bitterly cold in the
trenches, and a hot cup, or rather tin, of coffee seemed to warm and
cheer them better than anything else.
'Now then,' at last said the coffee-maker, 'hold out your mess-tins, and
we will divide fairly.'
Every man held out his mess-tin--but not one drop of coffee was to be
drunk by any of them, for at that very moment a bomb from the Russian
battery landed in their midst, upsetting the saucepan of coffee and
exploding in the midst of the little crowd of men.
It seemed as if none could escape! Yet, strange to say--for this is a
true story--of all that group, no one was hurt, except the brave Hetais,
whose head had been all but blown away by the bursting of the bomb.
It is impossible to describe the grief and consternation of his
comrades, who felt, one and all, that each could have been better spared
than the man who lay dead at their feet.
Just then the officer in charge of the party came up, and the senior man
told him how Hetais had met his death. The officer was no less sorry
than the men, for Hetais was popular with all ranks.
'Poor fellow! he was a brave man if there ever was one,' said the
officer. 'Carry his body back to camp, my lads; he shall be honoured in
death, if he has just missed it in life,' for the officer was thinking
of the medal and the ceremony of presentation which was to have taken
place that evening.
The men extemporised a sort of bier out of a litter on which the dead
man was lying and their muskets, and thus they reverently carried him
back to camp, the relief party presenting arms as the funeral procession
passed by them.
When the General in command was informed of the death of Hetais, he
issued the following order to the troops:
'I was to have presented Hetais, of the _Ville de Paris_, with the
_médaille militaire_, and his untimely death must not deprive him of
this honour. I shall fasten the medal on him at his burial.'
A few hours later, all the sailors and soldiers who could be spared from
the trenches were drawn up in a hollow square outside the camp around
the body of Hetais, who, wrapped in his cloak, slept his last calm sleep
on the rough litter in which he had been carried from the trenches.
The deep silence was at last broken by the loud voice of the commanding
officer: 'Present arms!' Then he took off his helmet, and followed by
another officer, who carried the medal, he advanced towards the bier,
and read out the brief account of the gallant action which had gained
Hetais his medal.
Then, taking the medal from the hand of the subaltern, he fastened it on
to the cloak of the sailor, and, turning to the assembled soldiers and
sailors, he thus addressed them:
'A glorious death has ended a noble life,' he said, in a loud, clear
voice, which could be heard by all; 'but death, though it has robbed us
of a brave comrade, shall not rob him of the honour due to his services.
In the name of the General commanding the forces in the East, I confer
on our dead comrade the _médaille militaire_!'
Then all ranks passed in turn, bare-headed, past the still figure of
Hetais, lying all unconscious of the honour done to him; and thus were
the last honours paid to a brave man.
[Illustration: "The commanding officer advanced towards the bier."]
[Illustration: "'How would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'"]
TWENTY POUNDS REWARD.
It was the visit to Dan Webster which brought it all about; but for the
fact that the handle of Charlie's bicycle got badly bent, so that only
the village blacksmith could put it right, the most exciting incident
which ever befell the boys would probably never have taken place.
It happened thus.
'Dan,' said Charlie, as he and his brother Sydney were waiting while the
blacksmith finished a job he was at work on when they arrived, 'how
would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'
'I should like it amazingly well, sir,' was the reply; 'a third of that
sum even would be a godsend to me.'
'How would you spend it?' asked Sydney, with an amused smile.
A serious look came into old Dan's face. 'I'd send my daughter away to
the seaside for a change,' he said. 'The doctor tells me it would do her
more good than all his medicines. But what's all this,' he asked, 'about
twenty pounds reward? I suppose it's some joke of yours, young
gentlemen?'
'It's no joke,' said Charlie; 'at least, Lady Winterton does not think
so. She is on a visit to our house, you know; and this morning she
discovered that she had lost a valuable necklace. Father was so angry
that such a thing should have happened that he at once offered twenty
pounds reward for the recovery of the necklace.'
Dan thought seriously awhile. Then he said, 'I wonder if the young chap
who roused me up this morning at six o'clock, because his horse had cast
a shoe, had anything to do with it?'
Both boys were instantly on the alert. 'What was he like?' they asked,
in a breath.
Dan described the stranger as minutely as he could. 'He had a small bag
slung round him,' he finished, 'and seemed in a great hurry to be off.'
'That's the thief, you may depend upon it,' said Charlie. 'If we can
only track him, Dan, you shall share the profits.'
Dan laughed. 'He didn't look much like a thief, now I come to think of
it,' said he. 'He had too honest a face for that.'
'Oh, you never know,' was Sydney's comment. 'I dare say he's a thorough
bad 'un, if the truth is known. Which way did he go, Dan, when he left
you?'
The blacksmith then told all he knew, and the boys, as soon as Charlie's
bicycle was ready, started off, as they fondly hoped, on the track of
the thief. After a good long ride, they suddenly came upon the object of
their search. He was leisurely taking photographs on the outskirts of a
wood. No horse was visible, so he had evidently been home to breakfast,
and had started forth again.
As the lads drew near he eyed them with interest, his idea being to
photograph them.
Charlie, plucking up all the courage he possessed, went straight to the
point. 'I wonder if you would mind,' said he, growing very red, 'if we
looked into that case of yours?'
'And what for, young stranger, may I ask?' was the reply, given with a
slightly American accent.
'Because--because,' stammered Charlie, 'we think you have something
there belonging to Lady Winterton.'
'Upon my word,' laughed the young fellow, 'you are a "cute" chap. As a
matter of fact, I have, but how did you know it?'
'We guessed it,' said Sydney, thinking it was time he put a spoke in the
wheel; 'and now, if you will give it up to us, without making any fuss
about it, we won't give you in charge.'
'Very kind of you, I am sure,' replied the thief. 'How am I to reward
you for your goodness?'
'Oh, Father is going to give us the reward!' cried Charlie, very pleased
with himself. 'It's twenty pounds, you know.'
'Is it, indeed?' said the young man, looking rather mystified. 'Tell me
all about it, and what you are going to do with the money?'
There was something so winning about this innocent-looking criminal that
the boys grew quite confidential, telling him the history of the whole
morning.
'Dan said you had too honest a face for a thief,' said Sydney, at the
close of the recital. 'I wonder what made you do it?'
The stranger was nearly doubled up with laughter, which he turned away
to hide. 'Well, you see,' he replied, as gravely as he could, 'Lady
Winterton left it about so temptingly that I really couldn't help it.
It's my first offence, though.'
'Yes, so I should say,' Charlie's voice was eager as he spoke, 'and we
should like you to get off, awfully. You are much too nice to go to
prison.'
'Thanks, old chap, you're very kind,' said the thief; 'if you really
mean to let me off scot-free I will be making a move. Take this
case'--here drawing forth from his satchel a small package--'to Lady
Winterton, with my regrets and apologies.'
* * * * *
'We have got the necklace!' So cried Charlie, as with flushed,
triumphant faces the boys entered the dining-room, where the whole
family party was assembled together.
'My dear boy, that's impossible,' replied Lady Winterton, 'for I found
it myself, only ten minutes ago, behind a chest of drawers.'
'Then what is this?' cried poor Charlie, looking very surprised. He then
told his story, which was certainly a very strange one. However, the
mystery was soon cleared up. The case contained nothing but photographs,
one of which was a portrait of Lady Winterton taken with her daughter,
Alice. Clearly this was the theft to which the stranger (a wealthy, if
somewhat eccentric, young American) alluded. He was Alice Winterton's
accepted lover, and, half in earnest, half in jest, had taken the
photograph for his own use.
The reward was not paid, after all. But when Mr. Hereford and Lady
Winterton heard, from Charlie's story, of the blacksmith's trouble, they
put their heads together, with the result that Dan Webster's daughter
spent a happy time in a seaside home, and came back very grateful, and
quite restored to health. The amateur detectives had done some good,
after all.
WHY THE SEA SOBS.
The Sea no father has,
Nor any mother:
A trouble quite enough
One's mind to bother.
That's why, my dear,
Where'er it be,
We sometimes hear
A sobbing Sea.
If we no fathers had,
Or loving mothers,
No little sisters fair,
No baby-brothers,
We'd shed a tear,
(Poor You, poor Me,)
And sigh, 'Oh, dear,'
Just like the Sea.
WONDERFUL CAVERNS.
XI.--THE GROTTOES OF ADELSBERG
About twenty miles north-east of Trieste, which stands at the north of
the Adriatic Sea, is the little town of Adelsberg. It is a market town,
and would have no more claim to notice than thousands of similar places
in Europe, had it not chanced to have been built within a mile of one of
the natural wonders of the world.
Thousands of years ago, when Europe was covered with dense forests, and
savage man was struggling for existence with savage man and yet more
savage beast, living in rude huts and ignorant of any kind of
civilisation, Nature was hard at work deep below the slopes of those
Adelsberg mountains. Age after age, with her simple tools of water,
lime, and carbonic acid, she dug, scooped, carved, and built, fashioning
by slow degrees vaulted chambers, halls with lofty domes, arches, and
galleries, all gleaming like frosted silver set with diamonds, far more
wonderful than Aladdin's palace, or the marble halls of the _Arabian
Nights_. And all the while, even when Christianity and civilisation
spread over the country, no one thought of the beautiful world down
below those grassy slopes; though now and again some one might wonder
why a deep basin in the hills, where according to tradition a lake once
existed, should have been turned into dry pasture, with only the little
river, Poyk or Pinka, running through it; or some more inquiring mind
might have been puzzled to know why that little river should suddenly
bury itself in the ground and vanish utterly from sight.
At last some enterprising being, a boy most likely, climbed into the
fissure down which the waters went, most probably in the summer-time
when the stream was low, and there discovered a cavern nearly three
hundred feet long, now known as the Old Grotto. For ninety years this
was one of the sights of the country; and then a large piece of
stalactite was broken from the end, and the entrance to a far more
superb cavern, known as the New Grotto, lay bare.
This New Grotto is ten times larger than the old one. It is furnished
with stalactites and stalagmites of huge size and of every imaginable
shape, forming arches, pillars, cornices, and fringes of exquisite
beauty. The roof and walls are covered with lacework and pendants of
crystals, to which great fissures, leading into narrow galleries, form
backgrounds of dense shadow. The ornamental work was effected from
outside by damp lime and carbonic acid, but the actual excavator was
simply the river Poyk, which in time drained the lake and carried its
waters through soft spots in the rock below. Every little drop that
poured in did something of the digging process, and when the snows on
the mountains melted, and great floods came to help, the river was able
to tear away the rocks above, beside, and beneath its channel.
Sometimes, for a long time together, it found itself imprisoned and
could get no further, and then it would whirl round and round, boiling
with anger and beating against its rocky walls, until it had hewn out
quite a lofty chamber. Then sooner or later it would reach some softer
formation which would yield, and the great volume of water would rush
through, tearing down everything in its way, until it last it found
itself once again in the sunshine.
Now, with its work in the Adelsberg Grottoes done, the river Poyk is
taking a well-earned rest, and flows gently through the Grottoes,
reflecting in its waters the lofty bridges and vaulted roofs hewn out by
its former toil. Not that the Poyk has grown lazy! It only desires fresh
worlds to conquer; after enjoying a little run in the daylight, it
changes its name to the Laybach, and again plunges into the Grottoes of
Reifnitz, where with all its old energy it is working as hard as ever to
make the Laybach Caves as celebrated as those of Adelsberg.
Various animals live in these caverns, of which the most celebrated is
the 'Proteus,' a creature which has greatly perplexed naturalists. At
first sight it looks like a lizard, but its movements are those of a
fish. The head, lower part of the body, and tail resemble an eel, but it
has no fins, and its breathing organs are quite unlike those of fishes.
Round its neck is a ruffle, which seems to help it to breathe, although
it has perfect lungs and can breathe, as well as move, equally
comfortably on land and in water. The front feet are like hands, and
each has three fingers, whilst the back limbs have only two. The eyes
are very tiny, like those of the rat or mole; its mouth is well set with
teeth, proving it to be a beast of prey, and its organs of smell are
fully developed. A great authority has declared its spine to be like
those of the monster animals of pre-historic ages known as Saurians. The
most extraordinary part of the Proteus' history is that it seems
perfectly able to live without food. It has never been seen to eat in
captivity, and one has been kept alive for years by occasionally
changing the water in which it lives. These animals were originally
discovered in the Grottoes of Laybach, and later on at Adelsberg, being
rare in dry seasons, but plentiful after heavy rains.
HELENA HEATH.
INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.
XI.--CATERPILLARS AND THEIR ENEMIES.
(_Concluded from page 357._)
The caterpillar of the North American Great Peacock moth (fig. 4) is
armed with numerous tufts of prickles ending in minute black points
which pierce the hand if touched, and cause severe pain. These spines,
as shown in the illustration (fig. 2, A B, on page 357) are hollow, and
filled with liquid poison. 'A' is the portion which breaks off; 'B' the
hollow base which contains the poison.
In some few caterpillars the poison spines take the form of balls armed
with short prickles and one large spike; hence they are known as caltrop
spines (fig. 2, C), from their likeness to the cruel weapons, known as
caltrops, which used to be scattered over the ground in time of war to
repel the attacks of cavalry; the spikes forced their way into the
horses' feet when trampled on, and so disabled them.
The spines of the caterpillar of our Oak Eggar moth are very brittle,
and in handling these insects, great care must be taken, as cases are
known of blindness having been caused by the spines being carried into
the eyes by the fingers.
Let us now turn to the liquid squirts with which some caterpillars are
provided. Our Spurge-hawk caterpillar, for example, when threatened,
squirts from the mouth a spray of poison. In our illustration (fig. 5)
it is shown repelling the attack of the dreaded ichneumon fly by means
of this spray. The quaint Puss moth, which many _Chatterbox_ readers
must have seen, can squirt out an irritant fluid, generally supposed to
be formic acid, from the mouth, when alarmed, and this, if it enters the
eye, causes acute pain.
[Illustration: Fig. 4.--North American Great Peacock.]
The caterpillars of the Swallow-tailed moths, when irritated, give out
an offensive smell, but they are unable to 'spray.'
Many beetles have the power of forcing drops of blood from a minute hole
in one of the legs. This blood is saturated either with a fluid which
causes a burning sensation on everything it touches, or with an
intolerable odour; in either case the result is the same--they are given
a wide berth by all who have discovered their power. The little
lady-bird beetle, for example, sends out, when frightened, a tiny drop
of a yellow fluid from the 'knee-joint,' which has a smell like opium.
The Javanese 'violin-beetle' gives off a fluid which is said to paralyse
the fingers for twenty-four hours.
[Illustration: Fig. 5.--Caterpillar of Spurge-hawk Moth fighting
Ichneumon Fly.]
W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
THE BLACK SWAN.
The Black Swan is an Australian bird, and was not known in Europe until
that continent began to be explored, although black swans had been often
spoken of before that time as a kind of fabulous monster. The ordinary
white, or mute, swan, which graces our rivers and lakes, has been
admired, and even protected by laws, for many centuries, and its plumage
is so beautifully and uniformly snowy that we can hardly be surprised if
people thought that all swans must be white, and should regard a black
swan as impossible, like the two-necked swan sometimes painted upon
inn-signs. But travellers have discovered many strange animals in
unexplored countries, and we now know that there are not only black
swans, but even swans that have a black neck and a white body.
The plumage of the black swan, with the exception of the quill
feathers, which are white, is entirely black. The bill and the skin
between the eyes are a beautiful red, which contrasts handsomely with
the black feathers. The tail of the bird is very short, and, next to the
colour of the plumage, this is the chief peculiarity which distinguishes
it from the white swan.
[Illustration: The Black Swan of Australia.]
The black swan frequents the swamps and secluded bays on the Australian
coast. It is not a very shy bird, and is frequently seen by the
sportsman and the camper-out. It enjoys the companionship of its kind,
and congregates usually in small flocks. August and September are, it is
believed, the breeding months, and shortly before this the swans leave
the swamps and seek the nesting-grounds, which are usually on the
islands in the bays. Western Port Bay, not far from Melbourne, is one of
their favourite haunts. The nest is a collection of reeds, and in this
the female swan lays five or six eggs of a whitish-grey colour, and a
little smaller than those of our white swan.
The black swan is rather strong upon the wing, and, when flying, it
frequently utters a musical cry. But, being a heavy bird, its flight is
very exhausting, and it appears to have more confidence in its webbed
feet than its wings. It is said that when it is startled it tries to
escape by swimming, if it can, rather than by taking flight. As the
birds breed upon islands on the coast, they may occasionally swim out,
or be drifted out, to sea. A short time ago, two black swans were picked
up off Norfolk Island. They were miles away from the nearest part of
Australia, and they must have been driven from their native land by
winds and currents until they were lost. They were greatly exhausted
when taken up, but a bath in fresh water and a good supply of food soon
put them right again.
This incident is not only interesting because it shows the endurance of
the swans and how long a journey they may sometimes make almost by
accident, but because it illustrates the way in which animals which are
natives of one country may be carried to a new one. If these two swans
could have continued on to Norfolk Island, which is about nine hundred
miles from Australia, and, after arriving there, could have recovered
their health, made a nest, and reared a brood of young ones, then there
might have been black swans in Norfolk Island as well as in Australia.
These swans were probably too much exhausted to have accomplished this
long journey, but we have many reasons for believing that animals have
often been unwillingly driven by winds and currents to new homes across
the seas, and have thus helped to extend their species over a larger
portion of the earth.
W. A. ATKINSON.
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 356._)