Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Plant Hunters, by Captain Mayne Reid.
The Plant Hunters--by Captain Mayne Reid
CHAPTER ONE.
THE PLANT-HUNTER.
"A Plant-Hunter! what is that?
"We have heard of fox-hunters, of deer-hunters, of bear and
buffalo-hunters, of lion-hunters, and of `boy-hunters;' of a
plant-hunter never.
"Stay! Truffles are plants. Dogs are used in finding them; and the
collector of these is termed a truffle-hunter. Perhaps this is what the
Captain means?"
No, my boy reader. Something very different from that. My plant-hunter
is no fungus-digger. His occupation is of a nobler kind than
contributing merely to the capricious palate of the gourmand. To his
labours the whole civilised world is indebted--yourself among the rest.
Yes, you owe him gratitude for many a bright joy. For the varied sheen
of your garden you are indebted to him. The gorgeous dahlia that nods
over the flower-bed--the brilliant peony that sparkles on the parterre--
the lovely camelia that greets you in the greenhouse,--the kalmias, the
azaleas, the rhododendrons, the starry jessamines, the gerania, and a
thousand other floral beauties, are, one and all of them, the gifts of
the plant-hunter. By his agency England--cold cloudy England--has
become a garden of flowers, more varied in species and brighter in bloom
than those that blossomed in the famed valley of Cashmere. Many of the
noble trees that lend grace to our English landscape,--most of the
beautiful shrubs that adorn our villas, and gladden the prospect from
our cottage-windows, are the produce of his industry. But for him, many
fruits, and vegetables, and roots, and berries, that garnish your table
at dinner and dessert, you might never have tasted. But for him these
delicacies might never have reached your lips. A good word, then, for
the plant-hunter!
And now, boy reader, in all seriousness I shall tell you what I mean by
a "plant-hunter." I mean a person who devotes all his time and labour
to the collection of rare plants and flowers--in short, one who makes
this occupation his _profession_. These are not simply "botanists"--
though botanical knowledge they must needs possess--but, rather, what
has hitherto been termed "botanical collectors."
Though these men may not stand high in the eyes of the scientific
world--though the closet-systematist may affect to underrate their
calling, I dare boldly affirm that the humblest of their class has done
more service to the human race than even the great Linnaeus himself.
They are, indeed, the botanists of true value, who have not only
imparted to us a knowledge of the world's vegetation, but have brought
its rarest forms before our very eyes--have placed its brightest flowers
under our very noses, as it were--flowers, that but for them had been
still "blushing unseen," and "wasting their sweetness on the desert
air."
My young reader, do not imagine that I have any desire to underrate the
merits of the scientific botanist. No, nothing of the sort. I am only
desirous of bringing into the foreground a class of men whose services
in my opinion the world has not yet sufficiently acknowledged--I mean
the botanical collectors--the _plant-hunters_.
It is just possible that you never dreamt of the existence of such a
profession or calling, and yet from the earliest historic times there
have been men who followed it. There were plant-collectors in the days
of Pliny, who furnished the gardens of Herculaneum and Pompeii; there
were plant-collectors employed by the wealthy mandarins of China, by the
royal sybarites of Delhi and Cashmere, at a time when our semi-barbarous
ancestors were contented with the wild flowers of their native woods.
But even in England the calling of the plant-hunter is far from being
one of recent origin. It dates as early as the discovery and
colonisation of America; and the names of the Tradescants, the Bartrams,
and the Catesbys--true plant-hunters--are among the most respected in
the botanical world. To them we are indebted for our tulip-trees, our
magnolias, our maples, our robinias, our western _platanus_, and a host
of other noble trees, that already share the forest, and contest with
our native species, the right to our soil.
At no period of the world has the number of plant-hunters been so great
as at present. Will you believe it, hundreds of men are engaged in this
noble and useful calling? Among them may be found representatives of
all the nations of Europe--Germans in greatest number; but there are
Swedes and Russ as well, Danes and Britons, Frenchmen, Spaniards, and
Portuguese, Swiss and Italians. They may be found pursuing their
avocation in every corner of the world--through the sequestered passes
of the Rocky Mountains, upon the pathless prairies, in the deep
barrancas of the Andes, amid the tangled forests of the Amazon and the
Orinoco, on the steppes of Siberia, in the glacier valleys of the
Himalaya--everywhere--everywhere amid wild and savage scenes, where the
untrodden and the unknown invite to fresh discoveries in the world of
vegetation. Wandering on with eager eyes, scanning with scrutiny every
leaf and flower--toiling over hill and dale--climbing the steep cliff--
wading the dank morass or the rapid river--threading his path through
thorny thicket, through "chapparal" and "jungle"--sleeping in the open
air--hungering, thirsting, risking life amidst wild beasts, and wilder
men,--such are a few of the trials that chequer the life of the
plant-hunter.
From what motive, you will ask, do men choose to undergo such hardships
and dangers?
The motives are various. Some are lured on by the pure love of
botanical science; others by a fondness for travel. Still others are
the _employes_ of regal or noble patrons--of high-born botanical
amateurs. Not a few are the emissaries of public gardens and
arboretums; and yet another few--perchance of humbler names and more
limited means, though not less zealous in their well-beloved calling,--
are collectors for the "nursery."
Yes; you will no doubt be astonished to hear that the plain "seedsman"
at the town end, who sells you your roots and bulbs and seedlings, keeps
in his pay a staff of plant-hunters--men of botanical skill, who
traverse the whole globe in search of new plants and flowers, that may
gratify the heart and gladden the eyes of the lovers of floral beauty.
Need I say that the lives of such men are fraught with adventures and
hair-breadth perils? You shall judge for yourself when I have narrated
to you a few chapters from the experience of a young Bavarian
botanist,--Karl Linden--while engaged in a _plant-hunting_ expedition to
the Alps of India--the stupendous mountains of the Himalaya.
CHAPTER TWO.
KARL LINDEN.
Karl Linden was a native of Upper Bavaria, near the Tyrolese frontier.
Not high-born, for his father was a gardener; but, what is of more
importance in modern days, well brought up and well educated. A
gardener's son may still be a gentleman; and so may a gardener himself,
for that matter, or he may not. There are many senses to this
much-abused title. It so happens, that young Linden was a gentleman in
the _true_ sense; that is, he was possessed of a feeling heart, a nice
sense of honesty and honour, and was, notwithstanding his humble
lineage, an educated and accomplished youth. His father, the gardener,
was a man of ambitious spirit, though quite unlettered; and, having
himself often experienced the disadvantage of this condition, he
resolved that his son never should.
In most parts of Germany, education is considered a thing of value, and
is eagerly sought after. It is provided liberally for all classes; and
the Germans, as a people, are perhaps the best educated in the world.
It is partly owing to this fact, and partly to their energetic industry,
that they exercise so great an influence in the affairs of the world; in
the arts and sciences, in music, painting, and the study of nature--
above all, in a knowledge of botany. I cannot believe that the Germans
stand highest as an _intellectual_ race, but only as an _educated_
people. What a pity I could not add, that they are a free people; but
in that their condition differs less from our own than we fondly
imagine.
At nineteen years of age, young Karl Linden did not consider them as
free as they deserved to be. He was then a student in one of the
universities; and, naturally enough, had imbibed those principles of
patriotic liberty, that, in 1848, were stirring in the German heart.
He did more than advocate his faith by empty words. Joined with his
college compatriots, he endeavoured to have it carried into practice;
and he was one of those brave students, who, in 1848, gave freedom to
Baden and Bavaria.
But the hydra league of crowned heads was too strong to be so easily
broken; and, among other youthful patriots, our hero was forced to flee
from his native land.
An exile in London--"a refugee," as it is termed--he scarce knew what to
do. His parent was too poor to send him money for his support.
Besides, his father was not over well pleased with him. The old man was
one of those who still clung to a belief in the divine right of kings,
and was contented with the "powers that be," no matter how tyrannical
they be. He was angry with Karl, for having made a fool of himself by
turning patriot, or "rebel," as it pleases crowned monsters to term it.
He had intended him for better things; a secretary to some great noble,
a post in the Custom-house, or, may be, a commission in the bodyguard of
some petty tyrant. Any of these would have fulfilled the ambitious
hopes of Karl's father. The latter, therefore, was displeased with the
conduct of his son. Karl had no hope from home, at least until the
anger of the old man should die out.
What was the young refugee to do? He found English hospitality cold
enough. He was free enough; that is, to wander the streets and beg.
Fortunately, he bethought him of a resource. At intervals, during his
life, he had aided his father in the occupation of gardening. He could
dig, plant, and sow. He could prune trees, and propagate flowers to
perfection. He understood the management of the greenhouse and
hothouse, the cold-pit and the forcing-pit; nay, more--he understood the
names and nature of most of the plants that are cultivated in European
countries; in other words, he was a botanist. His early opportunities
in the garden of a great noble, where his father was superintendent, had
given him this knowledge; and, having a taste for the thing, he had made
botany a study.
If he could do no better, he might take a hand in a garden, or a
nursery, or some such place. That would be better than wandering idly
about the streets of the metropolis, and half-starving in the midst of
its profuse plenty.
With such ideas in his mind, the young refugee presented himself at the
gate of one of the magnificent "nurseries," in which great London
abounds. He told his story; he was employed.
It was not long before the intelligent and enterprising proprietor of
the establishment discovered the botanical knowledge of his German
_protege_. He wanted just such a man. He had "plant-hunters" in other
parts of the world; in North and South America, in Africa, in Australia.
He wanted a collector for India; he wanted to enrich his stock from the
flora of the Himalayas, just then coming into popular celebrity, on
account of the magnificent forms of vegetation discovered there, by the
great "plant-hunters" Boyle and Hooker.
The splendid pine-trees, arums, and screw-pines; the varied species of
bambusa, the grand magnolias and rhododendrons, which grow so profusely
in the Himalaya valleys, had been described, and many of them introduced
into European gardens. These plants were therefore the rage; and,
consequently, the _desiderata_ of the nurseryman.
What rendered them still more interesting and valuable was, that many of
those beautiful exotics would bear the open air of high latitudes, on
account of the elevated region of their native habitat possessing a
similarity of temperature and climate to that of northern Europe.
More than one "botanical collector" was at this time despatched to
explore the chain of the Indian Alps, whose vast extent offered scope
enough for all.
Among the number of these plant-hunters, then, was our hero, Karl
Linden.
CHAPTER THREE.
CASPAR, OSSAROO, AND FRITZ.
An English ship carried the plant-hunter to Calcutta, and his own good
legs carried him to the foot of the Himalaya Mountains. He might have
travelled there in many other ways--for perhaps in no country in the
world are there so many modes of travelling as in India. Elephants,
camels, horses, asses, mules, ponies, buffaloes, oxen, zebus, yaks, and
men are all made use of to transport the traveller from place to place.
Even dogs, goats, and sheep, are trained as beasts of burden!
Had Karl Linden been a Government emissary, or the _employe_ of some
regal patron, he would very likely have travelled in grand style--either
upon an elephant in a sumptuous howdah, or in a palanquin with relays of
bearers, and a host of coolies to answer to his call.
As it was, he had no money to throw away in such a foolish manner. It
was not _public_ money he was spending, but that of private enterprise,
and his means were necessarily limited. He was not the less likely to
accomplish the object for which he had been sent out. Many a vast and
pompous expedition has gone forth regardless either of expense or
waste--ay, many a one that has returned without having accomplished the
object intended. "Too many cooks spoil the dinner," is a familiar old
adage, very applicable to exploring expeditions; and it is a question,
whether unaided individual enterprise has not effected more in the way
of scientific and geographical discovery, than has been done by the more
noisy demonstrations of governments. At all events, it is certain
enough, that the exploring expeditions to which we are most indebted for
our geognostic knowledge are those that have been fitted out with the
greatest economy. As an example, I may point to the tracing of the
northern coasts of America--which, after costing enormous sums of money,
and the lives of many brave men, has been done, after all, by the
Hudson's Bay Company with a simple boat's crew, and at an expense, that
would not have franked one of our grand Arctic exploring expeditions for
a week!
I might point to the economic mode by which the Americans are laying
open their whole continent--a _single_ officer having lately been sent
to descend the Amazon alone, and explore its extensive valley from the
Andes to the Atlantic. This was performed, and a copious report
delivered to the American government and to the world at an expense of a
few hundred dollars; whereas an English exploration of similar
importance would have cost some thousands of pounds, with perhaps a much
scantier return, for the outlay.
As with the American explorer, so was it with our plant-hunter. There
was no expensive equipment or crowd of idle attendants. He reached the
Himalayas on foot, and on foot he had resolved to climb their vast
slopes and traverse their rugged valleys.
But Karl Linden was not alone. Far from it. He was in company with him
he held dearest of all others in the world--his only brother. Yes, the
stout youth by his side is his brother Caspar, who had joined him in his
exile, and now shares the labours and perils of his expedition. There
is no great difference between them in point of size, though Caspar is
two years the younger. But Caspar's strength has not been wasted by too
much study. He has never been penned up within the walls of a college
or a city; and, fresh from his native hills, his stout build and bright
ruddy cheek present a contrast to the thinner form and paler visage of
the student.
Their costumes are in keeping with their looks. That of Karl exhibits
the sombre hue of the man of learning, while on his head he wears the
proscribed "Hecker hat." Caspar's dress is of a more lively style, and
consists of a frock of Tyrolese green, a cap of the same colour, with
long projecting peak, over-alls of blue velveteen, and Blucher boots.
Both carry guns, with the usual accoutrements of sportsmen. Caspar's
gun is a double-barrelled fowling-piece;--while that of Karl is a rifle
of the species known as a "Swiss yager."
A true hunter is Caspar, and although still but a boy, he has often
followed the chamois in its dizzy path among his native mountains. Of
letters he knows little, for Caspar has not been much to school; but in
matters of hunter-craft he is well skilled. A brave and cheerful youth
is Caspar--foot-free and untiring--and Karl could not have found in all
India a better assistant.
But there is still another individual in the train of the plant-hunter--
the guide, _Ossaroo_. It would take pages to describe Ossaroo; and he
is worthy of a full description: but we shall leave him to be known by
his deeds. Suffice it to say, that Ossaroo is a Hindoo of handsome
proportions, with his swarth complexion, large beautiful eyes, and
luxuriant black hair, which characterise his race. He is by caste a
"shikarree," or hunter, and is not only so by hereditary descent, but he
is one of the noted "mighty hunters" in the province to which he
belongs. Far and wide is his name known--for Ossaroo possesses, what is
somewhat rare among his indolent countrymen, an energy of mind, combined
with strength and activity of body, that would have given him
distinction anywhere; but among a people where such qualities are
extremely rare, Ossaroo is of course a hunter-hero--the Nimrod of his
district.
Ossaroo's costume and equipments differ entirely from those of his
fellow-travellers. A white cotton tunic, and wide trousers, sandals, a
scarlet sash around the waist, a check shawl upon the head, a light
spear in the hand, a bamboo bow, a quiver of arrows on his back, a long
knife stuck behind the sash, a shoulder-belt sustaining a pouch, with
various trinket-like implements suspended over his breast. Such is the
_coup d'oeil_ presented by the shikarree.
Ossaroo had never in his life climbed the mighty Himalayas. He was a
native of the hot plains--a hunter of the jungles--but for all that the
botanist had engaged him for a _guide_. It was not so much a guide to
enable them to find their route, as one who could assist them in their
daily duties, who knew the way of life peculiar to this part of the
world, who knew how to _keep house in, the open air_, Ossaroo was the
very man of all others.
Moreover the expedition was just to his mind. He had long gazed upon
the gigantic Himalaya from the distant plains--he had looked upon its
domes and peaks glittering white in the robes of eternal snow, and had
often desired to make a hunting excursion thither. But no good
opportunity had presented itself, although through all his life he had
lived within sight of those stupendous peaks. He, therefore, joyfully
accepted the offer of the young botanist, and became "hunter and guide"
to the expedition.
There was still another of the hunter-race in that company--one as much
addicted to the chase as either Ossaroo or Caspar. This was a quadruped
as tall as a mastiff dog, but whose black-and-tan colour and long
pendulous ears bespoke him of a different race--the race of the hound.
He was, in truth, a splendid hound, whose heavy jaws had ere now dragged
to the ground many a red stag, and many a wild Bavarian boar. A dog to
be valued was Fritz, and highly did his master esteem him. Caspar was
that master. Caspar would not have exchanged Fritz for the choicest
elephant in all India.
CHAPTER FOUR.
IS IT BLOOD?
Behold the plant-hunter and his little party _en route_!
It was the same day on which they had engaged the guide Ossaroo, and
this was their first journey together. Each carried his knapsack and
blanket strapped to his back--and as each was to be his own travelling
attendant, there was not much extra baggage. Ossaroo was some paces in
the advance, and Karl and Caspar habitually walked side by side, where
the nature of the path would permit. Fritz usually trotted along in the
rear, though he sometimes busked up to the side of the guide, as if by
instinct he recognised the born hunter. Although the acquaintance was
but a short one, already had Fritz become a favourite with the
"shikarree."
As they trudged along, the attention of Caspar was drawn to some red
spots that appeared at intervals upon the path. It was a smooth road,
and a very small object could be discerned upon it. The spots had all
the appearance of blood-spots, as if quite freshly dropped!
"Blood it is," remarked Karl, who was also observing the spots.
"I wonder whether it's been a man or a beast," said Caspar, after an
interval.
"Well, brother," rejoined Karl, "I think it must have been a beast, and
a pretty large one too; I have been noticing it for more than a mile,
and the quantity of blood I've observed would have emptied the veins of
a giant. I fancy it must have been an elephant that has been bleeding."
"But there's no trace of an elephant," replied Caspar; "at least no
tracks that are fresh; and this blood appears to be quite newly
spilled."
"You are right, Caspar," rejoined his brother.
"It cannot have been an elephant, nor a camel neither. What may it have
been, I wonder?"
At this interrogatory both the boys directed their glances along the
road, in the direction in which they were going, hoping to discover some
explanation of the matter. There was no object before them as far as
they could see except Ossaroo. The Hindoo alone was upon the road. The
blood could not be from him--surely not? Such a loss of blood would
have killed the shikarree long ago. So thought Karl and Caspar.
They had fixed their eyes, however, upon Ossaroo, and just at that
moment they saw him lean his head to one side, as though he had spat
upon the ground. They marked the spot, and what was their astonishment
on coming up and discovering upon the road another red spot exactly like
those they had been noticing. Beyond a doubt Ossaroo was spitting
blood!
To make sure, they watched him a little longer, and about a hundred
yards farther on they saw him repeat his red expectoration!
They became considerably alarmed for the life of their guide.
"Poor Ossaroo!" exclaimed they, "he cannot live much longer after the
loss of so much blood!"
And as this remark was made, both ran forward calling upon him to stop.
The guide wheeled round, and halted, wondering what was the matter. He
quickly unslung his bow and placed an arrow to the string, fancying that
they were attacked by some enemy. The hound, too, catching the alarm,
came scampering up, and was soon upon the ground.
"What's the matter, Ossaroo?" demanded Karl and Caspar in a breath.
"Matter, Sahibs! me knowee noting--matter."
"But what ails you? are you ill?"
"No, Sahibs! me not ill--why my lords askee?"
"But this blood? See?"
They pointed to the red saliva on the road.
At this the shikarree burst out laughing, still further perplexing his
interrogators. His laughter was not intended to be disrespectful to the
young "Sahibs," only that he was unable to restrain himself on
perceiving the mistake they had made.
"Pawnee, Sahibs," said he, drawing from his pouch a small roll like a
cartridge of tobacco-leaves, and taking a bite off the end of it, to
convince them that it was it--the "pawn"--which had imparted to his
saliva such a peculiar colour.
The boys at once comprehended the nature of their mistake. The roll
shown them by Ossaroo was the celebrated _betel_; and Ossaroo himself
was a "betel-chewer," in common with many millions of his countrymen,
and still more millions of the natives of Assam, Burmah, Siam, China,
Cochin China, Malacca, the Philippine, and other islands of the great
Indian Archipelago.
Of course the boys were now curious to know what the betel was, and the
shikarree proceeded to give them full information about this curious
commodity.
The "betel," or "pawn" as it is called by the Hindoos, is a compound
substance, and its component parts are a leaf, a nut, and some
quicklime. The leaf is taken from an evergreen shrub, which is
cultivated in India for this very purpose. Ossaroo stated that it is
usually cultivated under a shed made of bamboos, and wattled all around
the sides to exclude the strong rays of the sun. The plant requires
heat and a damp atmosphere, but exposure to the sun or dry winds would
wither it, and destroy the flavour and pungency of the leaf. It
requires great care in the cultivation, and every day a man enters the
shed by a little door and carefully cleans the plants. The shed where
it grows is usually a favourite lurking-place for poisonous snakes, and
this diurnal visit of the betel-grower to his crop is rather a dangerous
business; but the article is so profitable, and the mature crop yields
such a fine price, that both the labour and the danger are disregarded.
Ossaroo chanced to have some of the leaves in his pouch still in an
entire state. He only knew them as "pawn-leaves," but the botanist at
once recognised a rare hothouse plant, belonging to the pepper tribe,
_Piperacea_. It is in fact a species of _Piper_, the _Piper-betel_,
very closely allied to the climbing shrub which produces the common
black-pepper of commerce, and having deep green oval and sharply-pointed
leaves of very similar appearance to the leaves of the latter. Another
species called _Piper siriboa_ is also cultivated for the same purpose.
So much for one of the component parts of this singular Oriental "quid."
"Now," continued Ossaroo, facing to one side of the path and pointing
upwards, "if Sahibs lookee up, dey see de pawn-nut."
The boys looked as directed, and beheld with interest a grove of noble
palms, each of them rising to the height of fifty feet, with a smooth
cylindrical shank, and a beautiful tuft of pinnated leaves at the top.
These leaves were full two yards in breadth, by several in length. Even
the pinnae, or leaflets, were each over a yard long. Just below where
the leaves grew out from the stem, a large bunch of nuts of a reddish
orange colour, and each as big as a hen's egg, hung downward. These
were the famous _betel-nuts_, so long recorded in the books of Oriental
travellers. Karl recognised the tree as the _Areca catechu_, or
betel-nut palm--by many considered the most beautiful palm of India.
Of the same genus _Areca_ there are two other known species, one also a
native of India, the other an American palm, and even a still more
celebrated tree than the betel-nut, for it is no other than the great
"cabbage-palm" of the West Indies (_Areca oleracea_). This last tree
grows to the height of two hundred feet, with a trunk only seven inches
in diameter! This beautiful shaft is often cut down for the sake of the
young heart-leaves near the top, that when dressed are eaten as a
substitute for cabbage.
Ossaroo showed his young masters how the betel was prepared for chewing.
The leaves of the betel pepper are first spread out. Upon these a
layer of lime is placed, moistened so as to keep it in its place. The
betel-nut is then cut into very thin slices, and laid on top; and the
whole is rolled up like a cheroot, and deposited with other similar
rolls in a neat case of bamboo--to be taken out whenever required for
chewing.
The nut is not eatable alone. Its flavour is too pungent, and too
highly astringent on account of the tannin it contains; but along with
the pepper-leaf and the lime, it becomes milder and more pleasant.
Withal, it is too acrid for a European palate, and produces intoxication
in those not used to it. An old betel-eater like Ossaroo does not feel
these effects, and would smile at the idea of getting "tipsy" upon pawn.
A singular peculiarity of the betel-nut is that of its staining the
saliva of a deep red colour, so as to resemble blood. Ossaroo, who
possessed a large share of intelligence, and who had travelled to the
great city of Calcutta and other parts of India, narrated a good
anecdote connected with this fact. The substance of his relation was as
follows:--
A young doctor, fresh from Europe and from the university, had arrived
in one of the Indian cities in a big ship. The morning after his
arrival he was walking out on the public road near the suburbs, when he
chanced to meet a young native girl who appeared to be spitting blood.
The doctor turned and followed the girl, who continued to spit blood at
nearly every step she took! He became alarmed, thinking the poor girl
could not live another hour, and following her home to her house,
announced to her parents who he was, and assured them that, from the
symptoms he had observed, their daughter had not many minutes to live!
Her parents in their turn grew alarmed, as also did the girl herself--
for the skill of a great Sahib doctor was not to be doubted. The priest
was sent for, but before he could arrive the young girl _actually died_.
Now it was from _fear_ that the poor girl had died, and it was the
doctor who had _frightened_ her to death! but neither parents, nor
priest, nor the doctor himself, knew this at the time. The doctor still
believed the girl had died of blood-spitting, and the others remained in
ignorance that it was upon this he had founded his prognosis.
The report of such a skilful physician soon spread abroad. Patients
flocked to him, and he was in a fair way of rapidly accumulating a
fortune. But ere long he had observed other people with symptoms of the
same complaint which had caused the death of the poor girl, and had
learnt also that these symptoms proceeded from chewing the betel-nut.
Had he been discreet he would have kept his secret to himself; but,
unluckily for his good fortune he was a talker, and could not help
telling his companions the whole affair. He related it rather as a good
joke--for, sad to say, the life of a poor native is held but too lightly
by Europeans.
In the end, however, it proved no joke to the doctor. The parents of
the girl came to understand the matter, as well as the public at large,
and vengeance was vowed against him by the friends of the deceased. His
patients deserted him as rapidly as they had come; and to get rid of the
scandal, as well as to get out of the danger that surrounded him, he was
but too glad to take passage home in the same ship that had brought him
out.
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE FISHING-BIRDS.
Our travellers were following up one of the tributaries of the
Burrampooter, which, rising in the Himalayas, and running southward
joins the latter near its great bend. The plant-hunter designed to
penetrate the Bholan Himalaya, because it had not yet been visited by
any botanist, and its flora was reported to be very rich and varied.
They were still passing through a settled part of the country, where
fields of rice and sugar-cane, with groves of bananas, and various
species of palm, were cultivated; some of the latter, as the cocoa-palm
and betel, for their nuts, while others, as the large-leaved _Caryota_,
for the wine which they produce.
The opium-poppy was also seen in cultivation, and mango-trees, and the
great broad-leaved pawpaw, and black-pepper vines, with beautiful green
leaves, trained against the stems of the palms. Jack-trees with their
gigantic fruit, and figs, and nettle-trees, and the singular
screw-pines, and euphorbias, and various species of the orange, were
observed along the way.
The botanist saw many trees and plants, which he recognised as belonging
to the Chinese flora, and he could not help remarking many other things
that reminded him of what he had read about China. In fact, this part
of India--for he was very near the borders of Assam--bears a
considerable resemblance to China, in its natural productions, and even
the customs of the people assimilate somewhat to those of the Celestial
land. To make the resemblance more complete, the cultivation of the
tea-plant has been introduced into this part of the world, and is now
carried on with success.
But as our travellers proceeded, they became witnesses of a scene which
brought China more vividly, before their minds than anything they had
yet observed.
On rounding a clump of trees they came in view of a moderate-sized lake.
On the water, near the edge of this lake, they perceived a man in a
small light boat. He was standing up, and held in his hands a long
slender pole, with which he was poling the boat out towards the centre
of the lake.
Our travellers, Ossaroo excepted, uttered exclamations of surprise, and
came at once to a halt.
What had caused them such astonishment? Not the boat, nor the man in
it, nor yet the long bamboo pole. No. Such were common objects seen
every day on their journey. It was none of these that had brought them
to so sudden a stop, and caused them to stand wondering. It was the
fact that along both sides of the boat--on the very edge or gunwale--was
a row of large birds as big as geese. They were white-throated,
white-breasted birds, mottled over the wings and back with dark brown,
and having long crooked necks, large yellow bills, and broad tails
rounded at the tips.
Although the man was standing up in his boat, and working his long pole
over their heads, now on one side, then on the other, the birds appeared
so tame that they did not heed his manoeuvres; and yet not one of them
seemed to be fastened, but merely perched upon the edge of the skiff!
Now and then one would stretch its long neck over the water, turn its
head a little to one side, and then draw it in again, and resume its
former attitude. Such tame birds had never been seen. No wonder the
sight astonished the Bavarian boys. Both turned to Ossaroo for an
explanation, who gave it by simply nodding towards the lake, and
uttering the words--
"He go fishee."
"Ah! a fisherman!" rejoined the botanist.
"Yes, Sahib--you watchee, you see."
This was explanation enough. The boys now remembered having read of the
Chinese mode of fishing with cormorants; and even at the distance at
which they saw them, they could perceive that the birds on the boat were
no other than cormorants. They were the species known as _Phalacrocorax
Sinensis_; and although differing somewhat from the common cormorant,
they possessed all the characteristic marks of the tribe,--the long flat
body, the projecting breastbone, the beak curving downward at the tip,
and the broad rounded tail.
Desirous of witnessing the birds at work, our travellers remained
stationary near the shore of the lake. It was evident the fisherman had
not yet commenced operations, and was only proceeding towards his
ground.
After a short while he reached the centre of the lake; and then, laying
aside his long bamboo, he turned his attention to the birds. He was
heard giving them directions--just as a sportsman might do to his
pointer or spaniel--and the next moment the great birds spread their
shadowy wings, rose up from the edge of the boat, and after a short
flight, one and all of them were seen plunging into the water.
Now our travellers beheld a singular scene. Here a bird was observed
swimming along, with its keen eye scanning the crystal below--there the
broad tail of another stood vertically upwards, the rest of its body
hidden below the surface--yonder, a third was altogether submerged, the
ripple alone showing where it had gone down--a fourth was seen
struggling with a large fish that glittered in its pincer-like beak--a
fifth had already risen with its scaly prey, and was bearing it to the
boat; and thus the twelve birds were all actively engaged in the
singular occupation to which they had been trained. The lake, that but
the moment before lay tranquil and smooth as glass, was now covered with
ripples, with circling eddies, with bubbles and foam, where the huge
birds darted and plunged, and flapped about after their finny prey. It
was in vain the fish endeavoured to escape them--for the cormorant can
glide rapidly through the water, and swim beneath with as much rapidity
as upon the surface. Its keel-like breastbone cuts the liquid element
like an arrow, and with its strong wings for paddles, and its broad tail
acting as a rudder, the bird is able to turn sharply round, or shoot
forward with incredible rapidity.
A singular circumstance came under the observation of our travellers.
When one of the birds had succeeded in bringing up a fish, which was
larger than common, and too large for its captor to convey to the boat,
several others might be seen rushing forward, to render assistance in
carrying the fish aboard!
You will wonder that these creatures--whose food is the very prey they
were capturing for their master--did not swallow some of the fish they
were taking. In the case of the younger birds, and those not fully
trained, such little thefts do occasionally occur. But in such cases
the fisherman adopts a preventive precaution, by fastening a collar
round the necks of the birds--taking care that it shall not descend to
the thick part of the throat, where it might choke them. With
well-trained old birds this precaution is unnecessary. No matter how
hungry the latter may be, they bring all they "take" to their master,
and are rewarded for their honesty by the smaller and more worthless
fish that may have been caught.
Sometimes a bird becomes lazy, and sits upon the water without
attempting to do his duty. In such cases, the fisherman approaches with
his boat, stretches forward his bamboo, strikes with violence close to
where the indolent individual is seated, and scolds him for his
laziness. This treatment seldom fails in its effect; and the winged
fisher, once more roused by the well-known voice of its master, goes to
work with renewed energy.
For several hours this fishing scene is kept up, until the birds,
becoming tired, are allowed to return and perch themselves on the boat;
where their throat-straps are removed, and they are fed and caressed by
their master.
Our travellers did not wait for this finale, but kept on their route;
while Karl related to Caspar how that, not a great while ago, so late as
the time of King Charles the First, the common cormorant of Europe was
trained to fish in the same way in several European countries, and
especially in Holland; and that, at the present day, in some parts of
China, this mode of fishing is followed to so great an extent, that the
markets of some of the largest cities are supplied with fish caught
altogether by cormorants.
Certainly, no people exhibit more ingenuity in the training either of
plants or animals, than do these same _oblique-eyed inhabitants_ of the
Celestial Empire.
CHAPTER SIX.
THE TERAI.
In approaching any great chain of mountains from the sea-level, you will
find a large tract of country consisting of elevated hills and deep
ravines, intersected by rapid streams and torrents. This tract is more
or less broad, in proportion to the grandeur of the mountain chain; and,
in the case of mountains of the first class, it is usually from twenty
to fifty miles in breadth. Such a tract of country lies along both
sides of the great chain of the Andes in South and North America, and
also marks the approach to the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies. It
is well-known in Italy, under the Alps; and "Piedmont" is the French
appellation for this sort of country, which is designated, in our
language, by an equally appropriate phrase, "foot-hills."
The "Alps of India" are not without this geological peculiarity. Along
their whole southern flank, facing the hills of Hindustan, extends a
belt of foot-hills, often above fifty miles in breadth; and
characterised by steep ascents, deep dales and ravines, rapid foaming
torrents, difficult paths and passes, and, consequently, by wild and
picturesque scenery.
The lower part of this belt--that is, the portion which lies contiguous
to the Lot plains, is known to Europeans as the "Terai."
The Terai is an irregular strip, of from ten to thirty miles in width,
and extends along the whole base of the Himalayas, from the Sutledge
River, on the west, to Upper Assam. Its character is peculiar. It
differs both from the plains of India and from the Himalaya Mountains,
possessing a botany and zoology almost totally distinct from either. It
differs from both, in the malarious and unhealthy character of its
climate, which is one of the deadliest in the world. In consequence of
this, the Terai is almost uninhabited; the few scattered settlements of
half-savage Mechs, its only inhabitants, lying remote and distant from
each other.
Most of the Terai is covered with forest and thick jungle; and,
notwithstanding its unhealthy climate, it is the favourite haunt of the
wild beasts peculiar to this part of the globe. The tiger, the Indian
lion, the panther and leopard, the cheetah, and various other large
_Jelidae_, roam through its jungly coverts; the wild elephant, the
rhinoceros, and gyal, are found in its forests; and the sambur and axis
browse on its grassy glades. Venomous snakes, hideous lizards, and
bats, with the most beautiful of birds and butterflies, all find a home
in the Terai.
Several days' marching carried our travellers beyond the more settled
portions of the country, and within the borders of this wild,
jungle-covered district. On the day they entered the Terai, they had
made an early start of it; and, therefore, arrived at their
camping-ground some hours before sunset. But the young botanist, filled
with admiration at the many singular and novel forms of vegetation he
saw around him, resolved to remain upon the ground for several days.
Our travellers had no tent. Such an incumbrance would have been
troublesome to them, travelling, as they were, afoot. Indeed, all three
had their full loads to carry, as much as they could well manage,
without the additional weight of a tent. Each had his blanket, and
various other _impedimenta_; but one and all of them had often slept
without roof or canvas, and they could do so again.
At their present halting-place, they had no need for either. Nature had
provided them with a cover quite equal to a canvas-tent. They had
encamped under a canopy of thick foliage, the foliage of the _banyan_
tree.
Young reader, you have heard of the great banyan of India; that
wonderful tree, whose branches, after spreading out from the main trunk,
send down roots to the earth, and form fresh stems, until a space of
ground is covered with a single tree, under whose shade a whole regiment
of cavalry may bivouac, or a great public meeting be held! No doubt,
you have read of such a tree, and have seen pictures of one? I need
not, therefore, describe the banyan very particularly. Let me say,
however, that it is a fig-tree; not the one that produces the eatable
fig, of which you are so very fond, but another species of the same
genus--the genus _Ficus_. Now, of this genus there are a great many
species; as many, perhaps, as there are of any other genus of trees.
Some of them are only creeping and climbing plants; adhering to rocks
and the trunks of other trees, like vines or ivy. Others, like the
banyan, are among the largest trees of the forest. They are chiefly
confined to tropical countries, or hot regions lying on the borders of
the tropics; and they are found in both hemispheres, that is, both in
America and the Old World. Some splendid species belong also to
Australia. All of them possess, more or less, the singular habit of
throwing out roots from their branches, and forming new stems, like the
banyan; and frequently they embrace other trees in such a manner, as to
hide the trunks of the latter completely from view!
This curious spectacle was witnessed by our travellers where they had
encamped. The banyan which they had chosen as their shelter was not one
of the largest--being only a young tree, but out of its top rose the
huge fan-shaped leaves of a palm-tree of the kind known as the palmyra
palm (_Borassus flagelliformis_). No trunk of the palm-tree was
visible; and had not Karl Linden been a botanist, and known something of
the singular habit of the banyan, he would have been puzzled to account
for this odd combination. Above spread the long radiating fronds of the
palmyra directly out of the top of the trunk of the fig, and looking so
distinct from the foliage of the latter as to form a very curious sight.
The leaves of the banyan being ovate, and somewhat cordate or
heart-shaped, of course presented quite a contrast to the large stiff
fronds of the palmyra.
Now the puzzle was, how the palm got there. Naturally one would suppose
that a seed of the palm had been deposited on the top of the banyan, and
had there germinated and thrown out its fronds.
But how did the palm seed get to the top of the fig? Was it planted by
the hand of man? or carried thither by a bird? It could not well have
been by the latter mode--since the fruit of the palmyra is as large as a
child's head, and each one of the three seeds it contains as big as a
goose's egg!! No bird would be likely to carry about such a bulky thing
as that. If there were only one palm-tree growing from the top of one
banyan, it might be conjectured that some one had so planted it; but
there are many such combinations of these trees met with in the forests
of India, and also in districts entirely uninhabited. How then was this
union of the two trees to be accounted for?
Of our three travellers Caspar alone was puzzled. Not so Karl and
Ossaroo. Both were able to explain the matter, and Karl proceeded to
offer the elucidation.
"The fact is," said the botanist, "that the palm has not grown out of
the fig, but _vice versa_. The banyan is the true parasite. A bird--
wood-pigeon, or minobird, or tree-pheasant perhaps--has carried the
berries of the fig-tree, and deposited them in the axil of the palmyra.
This the smallest birds may easily do, since the fruit of the banyan is
not larger than a diminutive cherry. Once in its place the seed has
germinated, and sent its roots downward along the trunk of the palm
until they have reached the ground. These roots have then flattened
around the stem of the palm, until they have enveloped it completely,
with the exception of the top, as you see. Afterwards the fig has
thrown out lateral branches, until the whole has assumed the appearance
of a banyan-tree with a fan-palm growing out of its trunk!"
This was the true explanation. Ossaroo added some remarks stating that
the Hindoo people always regard such a union of the two trees with great
veneration, and believe it to be a holy marriage instituted by
Providence. For himself, Ossaroo--not being a very strict sectarian,
nor much given to religion in any form, laughed at the superstition, and
called it "humbug."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
TAPPING THE PALMYRA.
Almost the first thing done by Ossaroo after he had got relieved of his
baggage was to climb the banyan. This he was able to do with ease, as
the trunk, in consequence of the peculiar mode of its growth, was full
of ridges and inequalities, and moreover Ossaroo could climb like a cat.
But what wanted he up the tree? Was he after the fruit? It could not
be that, for the figs were not yet ripe, and even had they been quite
mellow, they are but poor eating. Maybe he was going up for the nuts of
the palmyra? No--it could not be that either, for these were not
shaped. The great flower-spathe had not yet opened, and was only
beginning to burst its green envelopes. Had the nuts been formed, and
still in their young state, they would have afforded delicate eating.
As already stated, the palmyra nuts grow to the size of a child's head.
They are three-cornered, rounded off at the corners, consisting of a
thick succulent yellowish rind, each containing three seeds as large as
goose-eggs. It is the seeds that are eaten when young and pulpy; but if
allowed to ripen, they become quite hard and blue-coloured, and are then
insipid and uneatable. But it could not be the seed either which
Ossaroo was after, since there were no seeds, nor nuts--only the flower,
and that still hidden in its great spadix.
The boys watched Ossaroo narrowly. He had carried up with him a
bamboo-joint which he had cut from a very thick cane. It was open at
one end, and formed a vessel that would hold rather more than a quart.
Another thing they had observed him to take with him; and that was a
stone about as big as a paving-stone. Still another implement he
carried up the tree--his long knife.