CHAPTER XIII.

Deliverance.—I see my native land again.—O Macao!—My

immortality.

I had only to sustain this siege, instigated, I was well aware, by the

purest devotion, for a very few minutes longer, to ensure being murdered

without the shadow of a doubt; everything was being destroyed and was

falling around me, when all at once three cannon-shots sounded in the

distance. Did I hear aright? I listen. Three fresh reports follow those

which have already aroused my attention.

Thank God, I am not the only one who hears them. The besiegers below have

also caught the sound.

In a moment the entire island is all attention.

The boom of the cannon is heard for the third time: there are three more

reports.

I start to my feet. It must be a vessel, then! a vessel which is arriving

at the island! a vessel which is about to disembark someone! A vessel! a

vessel! Hurrah!

The reports continue to resound.

The besiegers, confounded and uneasy at the noise of these detonations,

repeated several times over by the echoes of the island, brought their

operations to a decided standstill.

With stones in their hands, with their muzzles turned in the direction

of the wind, with outstretched necks, hair standing on end, and ears

pricked up, they sought to explain to themselves what I should have liked

exceedingly to have been able to have explained myself.

What had happened? Had this vessel come to deliver me? Still all those

reports could not be for me alone? Ah, no. Was it some ship in danger

signalling for assistance? Or rather, was it the Malay pirates about to

make another descent on the island? But what could they come to steal

here? They had already taken everything. Was it a battle between them and

some European ship of war?

Ah! my anxieties were infinite.

Half-an-hour after the first of these reports I heard drums, brass

instruments, and martial music. It was a disembarkation! a conquest! the

tune seemed to tell of victory.

My loving and hostile subjects appeared to me more and more astounded.

With many this astonishment took the nature of fear, and some were

already seeking with furtive glances favourable openings for an immediate

flight.

With these combined noises of cannons and wind instruments shouts of

enthusiasm and words of command speedily became mixed. The troops were

evidently advancing; were they coming in this direction? Surely they

were, since before long I saw glittering in the air, at the end of one

of those fine avenues which I had had opened by my subjects, muskets,

bayonets, golden sword-hilts, and brilliant uniforms. These uniforms,

which stood out in strong relief from the blue distance, were evidently

those of the English army and navy.

The reader may imagine that my sight and mind alike dwelt on the least

movements of that mass of men who advanced with such rapidity and

precision towards the spot whence my eyes were devouring them.

At a whistle, which came, I do not doubt, from the metallic lungs of

Karabouffi, my prime minister, and I believe in some degree my successor

in his own mind, ever since I had disregarded the love of my people, all

the apes, the strong, the cunning, the bold, the slow, the quick, the

subtle, the obstinate, completely disappeared; they vanished like air

through the openings: not a single one remained!

The vast space in front of the verandah was empty in the twinkling of an

eye.

An instant after the troops occupied this space left so rapidly free by

the apes.

A superior officer placed himself in the centre of the little army,

which was formed in a circle of considerable size. What a joyous and

inexpressible surprise for me! In this officer I recognised the brave

Vice-Admiral Campbell himself. I uttered a cry, but it was too far off to

be heard.

Admiral Campbell made a sign that he was about to speak; the men were all

attention, and he said:—

“Officers and men,—You all know by what a miserable snare we were carried

off from this island some five months since.

“You all know of the chastisement which our brave countrymen belonging

to the squadron which arrived so opportunely in the Indian seas some

six months sooner than it was expected have inflicted on the Sultan of

Sooloo. His capital has been burnt; the Halcyon has been retaken from

the Malay pirates who had treacherously carried her off; one hundred

and fifty of these scoundrels have suffered the punishment reserved for

pirates, and have been hung to the yard-arms of their junks and praus.

Indemnities have been paid to the families of the brave sailors who have

perished through this outrage committed in utter defiance of the law of

nations.

“A further act of reparation was due to us. To-day, officers and men,

with your assistance, I retake possession of this island, in the name of

Her Most Gracious Majesty!”

[Illustration: Covered with my tattered and well-worn skin, but still

holding sufficiently together for me to be taken for a mandrill.—_Page

147._]

Loud cheers here interrupted the vice-admiral, who, after a brief pause,

concluded with these words:—

“I plant here the noble flag of England, which I now call upon you to

salute with military honours.”

A number of simultaneous discharges responded to the vice-admiral’s

appeal, and the British flag unfurled itself in all its majesty in the

courtyard of the verandah.

The ceremony of retaking possession was about coming to a close.

It was at this moment that I left the ruins of the verandah, covered with

my tattered and well-worn skin, but still holding sufficiently together

for me to be taken for a mandrill by all the English present.

They were all struck with astonishment on seeing an ape of the largest

kind thrust himself into the midst of their solemn meeting. Their

surprise turned into laughter, which all the detachment joined in, when

they heard me speak English to the vice-admiral. A speechifying mandrill!

well, what next? thought they.

“Who are you?” inquired the admiral, thoroughly embarrassed by the nature

of the being—half man, half ape—which addressed him.

“A Christian,” I answered, “who has lived three months among the apes.”

“Are you an ape, then?”

“No, my lord. This skin is not mine.”

“We are perfectly convinced of that—perfectly sure of that,” exclaimed a

young Irish lieutenant who was standing behind me, loud enough for me to

hear.

“But how comes it that you are wearing it? How the deuce, too, have you

got here—you, whom, if I am not mistaken, I left bird-fancier at Macao,

since I think I recognise you?”

“My lord, it is a very long story, so long that I should not dare to

relate it to you if it were not intimately connected with your own.”

“With mine!”

“Yes, my lord, with yours.”

They looked at me, and then burst out in another fit of laughter.

“I shall take the liberty of relating it to you, my lord, when I am in

a more fit state of mind and body. I shall only say one word to your

lordship so as to warn you that my story is worthy of attention.”

“What is the word?”

“My lord, I am the last king of this island.”

This answer was not calculated to check the jeering laughter of my

hearers, who were for the most part very young, and consequently very

little disposed to make allowances. Besides, I must admit that this

half-naked king who stood before them clad in an ape’s tattered skin

fully justified the reception accorded to my royal words.

Admiral Campbell asked me laughingly if I had any objection, as I was

king, to his taking possession of the island of Kouparou.

I besought him not to laugh at an unhappy man who had lost everything he

possessed by his shipwreck.

The admiral, shaking my hand, then said, “Mr. Marasquin, you will have

lost nothing; England, I promise you, will indemnify you.”

England has amply fulfilled the promises of the noble sailor who, a few

days after his return to the island of Kouparou, deigned to listen to

the recital of troubles I had undergone in the midst of this community

of apes. He took such a lively interest in all my vicissitudes that he

made me promise to publish them in the unpretentious form in which I

produce them to-day; and I publish them, you may believe me, less from

an author’s pride than as an example and an encouragement to those

unfortunate beings who might be tempted to give way to discouragement

and despair if they should chance to suffer shipwreck as I did, and be

cast like I was, on an island peopled by apes. Besides, I look only for

honour and profit from my proper profession.

Thanks to the kindness of Admiral Campbell, who advanced me several sums

of money, and the sympathy of his officers, who became better customers

of mine than ever, I occupy an excellent position at Macao, where I carry

on my business of dealer in wild and tame animals.

As a sort of crown to the many kindnesses which Admiral Campbell had

already shown me, he ordered that one of the numerous isles of the Sooloo

Archipelago should be called on the last geographical charts of that part

of India _Polydorus Marasquin Island_.

To-day I am alike prosperous, happy, and respected. I may add, also, that

I have three children and a wife who loves me.

Well, would it be believed? I sometimes surprise myself murmuring between

my lips, “Ah! the old times when I was an ape!”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

HERR VON SCHLIEFFEN AND HIS MONKEYS.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

HERR VON SCHLIEFFEN AND HIS MONKEYS.

I have never elsewhere seen oaks thrust forth their gnarled branches so

proudly and vigorously in the air, nor slender shining beech-trees form

such majestic arcades overhead, as those in the little wood belonging to

the Schlieffen estate of Windhausen, about three miles to the east of

Cassel. One is struck with astonishment and admiration on beholding these

gigantic works of fertile Nature, with their sturdy trunks, often twenty

or thirty feet in girth, and their magnificent foliage, beneath the

shade of which the pathway winds through ferns and flowers, among cool

grottoes, arbours, hermitages, and monuments of various kinds.

In the midst of this little wood, and on the bank of a tiny lake, stands

a moderate-sized mansion, which has been deserted since the death of

him who erected it, and the front of which faces the rising sun. Behind

are the farm buildings, hemmed in on all sides by luxuriant foliage. So

secluded is the spot that a traveller might pass almost close to the

mansion without seeing it, while from afar the red-tile roofs are visible

only from the high ground.

There lived here not more than thirty or forty years ago, in

philosophical repose and contemplation, Lieutenant-General Martin Ernst

von Schlieffen, formerly Hessian Minister of State, an honourable old

gentleman, and a valiant German soldier, with correct ideas of honour

and right; one of the pupils of the Seven Years’ War, a lover of art

and science, himself blessed with a lively fancy, and, in addition, a

philosopher and somewhat of a character. He was born in Pomerania in

the year 1732. It was his lot to receive a defective education, and,

when scarcely more than a mere boy, the rank of ensign in a Prussian

regiment. A lingering illness, which prostrated him at the expiration of

two or three years, caused the King probably to doubt the youth’s further

fitness for service, and, instead of the extension of leave demanded,

to send him his dismissal. On recovering his health the youth remained

for some time without any occupation, till the outbreak of the Seven

Years’ War encouraged him to offer his services once more to Frederick

II. But the King would not have him, so he went, with recommendations

from Prince Henry of Prussia and of Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick in

his pocket, to Cassel, where the Landgrave made him a lieutenant in

the Hessian contingent in the pay of England. In this position he so

distinguished himself, first under the Duke of Cumberland, and then under

the latter’s successor, Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick, that, within five

years, he worked his way up to a colonelcy, and was summoned to Cassel as

Adjutant-General and Chamberlain by the Landgrave. Court life, however,

detained him captive for only a short time, and he returned to the

victorious standard of his celebrated general, who met with so deplorable

a death at Jena. Herr von Schlieffen had attracted the attention of his

hereditary King, and Frederick the Great now made an attempt to gain once

more to his service the man whom, but a few years previously, he had so

ungraciously rebuffed. But the Landgrave created him a general, and Herr

von Schlieffen continued in his service. By the advice of the Prince

he refused, also, a tempting offer from the Emperor of Russia, and, in

consideration of his so doing, the Landgrave settled upon him a life

annuity of one thousand thalers. While Fortune thus lavished her gifts

upon him, he devoted himself zealously to study, in order to make up for

his neglected education. He learned Greek and Latin, of which he acquired

such a knowledge as to be capable of reading the old classic authors in

their original language. He accompanied the Landgrave on his travels to

Paris and Berlin. He then proceeded, on business of his own, to Warsaw,

and, on his return to Cassel, entered the ministry. He subsequently

obtained the post of ambassador in London, where friends and former

brothers-in-arms essentially advanced his efforts for the benefit of

his sovereign. At length—for what is more fickle than the favour of the

great—he incurred the displeasure of the Landgrave, and obeyed a summons

to Prussia as general and governor of the fortress of Wesel. A year

later, when the Belgian provinces had torn themselves from Austria, and

created themselves into an independent State, a message was despatched

from the deputies assembled in Brussels to Herr von Schlieffen, inviting

him to assume the Stadtholdship. Consideration for Prussia, at that very

time engaged in negotiations for a reconciliation with Austria, made him

determine to refuse this honour. Hereupon the King, no longer Frederick

II., sent for him to Berlin, and offered him the portfolio of Foreign

Affairs. But Herr von Schlieffen found the Court in so unfavourable a

situation, the influence of England so predominant, and Austria attached

in so loose and ambiguous a manner to Prussia, that he refused to enter

the ministry. Though he was greatly esteemed by the King, he was, after

a short time, induced to send back his general’s staff to his majesty.

The fact is that, when Austria and Prussia agreed to take up arms against

the revolutionary party in France, Herr von Schlieffen endeavoured to

convince the King of the danger and foolishness of such intervention.

But his honest efforts were in vain; the campaign against the Republic

was resolved on, and Herr von Schlieffen, who should have been one of

the first to march out, was left behind. He pressed the King either to

alter this arrangement or allow him to retire, because he saw in it an

insulting slight. As neither the one course nor the other was taken

he resigned his posts, and retired to his estates. The King, however,

remained well disposed towards him, and, some years subsequently,

Herr von Schlieffen, in order to refute calumnies and envious Court

tittle-tattle, felt himself called on once more to place himself at

the King’s disposal; as, however, it was not yet decided whether or no

Prussia would take part in the projected campaign of 1794, the King, in

a gracious letter of thanks, declined his offer. Out of a feeling of

patriotism, he had not accepted an invitation he received in the year

1792 to join the French army as a general. At a subsequent period, when

Napoleon’s star was in the ascendant, and the relations between France

and Germany were becoming more threatening, Frederick William sought, it

is true, to obtain once again the services of the holiday-keeping hero,

but the latter, assigning his age as an excuse, repressed his desire of

reappearing as an actor upon the stage of glory and of honour. Who knows

how matters would have ended at Jena had all the other old generals of

the Prussian army then followed his example?

His career had brought him into contact with many princes and great

men, whose favour and friendship accompanied him into his seclusion.

In addition to the estate of Windhausen, he possessed a larger one,

Schlieffenberg, in Mecklenburg, but he preferred residing in Hesse, under

the standard of which country he had served with honour for thirty-two

years. Thenceforth, a robust, vigorous, and cheerful old man, he lived

in the lonely forest-residence he had built, devoting himself to his

studies, his friends, and his recollections.

When, after the Treaty of Tilsit, a decree of Napoleon, in 1807, created

the Kingdom of Westphalia, the young King Jérôme Bonaparte offered the

veteran, then seventy-five years old, a position equal to that he

formerly held. But the splendour of the new Court did not tempt him, and

he preferred continuing his anchorite’s life, to which he had become

attached, in Windhausen. He could not, however, as a landed proprietor

and former member of the Hessian Chambers, avoid obeying the command for

him to take his place in the Westphalian Diet, summoned for occasional

gay ceremonials and displays of magnificence, of little importance to the

State and yielding no remuneration to its members. He was obliged, also,

now and then to attend the Court. But he refused to appear in any other

costume than his uniform as a Prussian general, and Jérôme, suppressing

his dissatisfaction, allowed him to do so. After the return of the

Elector, in the year 1813, Herr von Schlieffen speedily perceived that he

was in great disgrace with that prince. Some one had secretly told the

latter that, in the action with the Czarmitschen Cossacks, Schlieffen had

assisted the usurper. In vain did the grey-haired general exert himself

to confound this calumny. The Elector believed it, but perhaps only for

the purpose of having an excuse for another act of injustice of which he

was guilty. He ordered that the life annuity of one thousand thalers,

granted to Schlieffen by the Landgrave Frederick, and expressly confirmed

by the Elector himself on his accession to the throne, should no longer

be paid. Moreover, Schlieffen was no more invited to Court.

Though the events of the last few years had greatly diminished his

income, he would have got over the loss of the thousand thalers a year

as easily as he consoled himself for that of Court favour. But the

reckless injustice he perceived in such conduct grieved him profoundly

and embittered the remainder of his days. He died, unmarried, at the age

of ninety two, on the 15th September, 1825, and was buried in a small

mausoleum which he had built long previously in the forest at Windhausen.

The inscriptions, also, are from his pen. On a tablet of red sandstone

let into the side looking towards the east are the following lines:—

The Sepulchre

Of the first Schlieffen,

Possessor of yonder secluded Pile,

In whose calm retreat, and in the woods surrounding it with shade,

From the irksome Life of the Court, and the Troubles of the Warrior

in time of Peace,

Escaping as frequently as possible,

He found, favoured by Fate,

And guided perhaps by his opinions,

More sweet than bitter Hours,

Thankful for the former, resigned to the latter,

Tranquil as to the Future.

On the stone over the coffin in the interior of the mausoleum is the

Schlieffen coat of arms and the annexed inscription:—

Martin Ernst

von Schlieffen,

formerly Lieutenant-General and Minister of State

of the Landgrave of Hesse,

afterwards Royal Prussian Lieutenant-General

and Governor of the Fortress

of Wesel,

Knight of the Prussian Orders of the Black and Red Eagle,

And of the Hessian Orders of the Golden Lion,

And of Merit.

Born the 30th October, 1732,

At Sudenzig, near Gallnow,

in Pomerania. Died the 15th Septb., 1825,

at Windhausen.

This life of retirement at Windhausen was passed by the “refugee from

the world,” as he was fond of calling himself, in giving a park-like

character to, and ornamenting with various buildings, the two estates

purchased with the money he had himself earned. This afforded him

frequent opportunities of being in the open air and indulging in

exercises conducive to health. Once or twice a week he rode, followed

by two servants, to Cassel, where he possessed in the Königsplatz, or

King’s Square, a house which he had built in the days of his grandeur.

The rest of his time was devoted to his friends, with whom he maintained

a correspondence; to his monkeys, whom he spoiled by petting; to his

classics, which he was never tired of reading; and to his _Memoirs_,

which he continued from year to year.

The _Memoirs_, intended only for his relations, were published in

the year 1840, at Berlin, under the title, _Some Occurrences and

Experiences in the Life of Martin Ernst von Schlieffen_. They contain

very interesting information relating to the history of his own times,

especially on account of the great number of letters printed in them.

They commence with a genealogy of the Von Schlieffen family. With

pedantic anxiety the author has avoided all foreign words. It was,

in fact, a strange hobby of the “historian of his Sept,” as he also

sometimes designated himself, never to employ a word borrowed from

another language, though he usually spoke French, and took a pleasure

in arranging Latin and Greek proverbs and inscriptions for votive

tablets, which he had hung up at his favourite spots at Windhausen

and Schlieffenberg. In his old friend, Johannes von Müller, whom, as

Ministerial Secretary of the young Kingdom of Westphalia, Fate brought

back to Cassel in the year 1807, he found nothing to blame except that,

in his immortal books, Müller would not entirely discard the horrible

foreign words. But the comic part of the business was that in the

invention of German words, which Herr von Schlieffen employed in lieu

of foreign ones generally in use, he was decidedly unfortunate, and to

understand the words invented by him we must first have a key. This was

something, however, which he felt himself, for, as a rule, he added the

foreign word in a parenthesis. In addition to this he was noted for

certain turns or rather contortions of expression which considerable

increased the difficulty experienced by the uninitiated in understanding

his book, the value of which was, however, not nullified by these

eccentricities. But there was another caprice of the old gentleman,

which annoyed, troubled, and plagued in the highest degree the inmates of

Windhausen—that is to say, the entire establishment, from the bailiff and

gamekeepers down to the dairymaid. This was his affection for his monkeys.

There was a large troop of these tailless, long-armed, brown foreigners

at Windhausen, and “the general who has sought refuge from the woods”

had placed his whole estate unconditionally at their disposal. They ran

about as they chose, and contracted marriages among themselves, so that

the oldest speedily beheld, despite the unusual climate, a hopeful circle

of healthy sons, daughters, and grandchildren assembled around them.

This circumstance was, however, observed by all the human population of

the estate, except the General, with dissatisfaction and uneasiness,

for scarcely a day passed that one person or another had not reason to

complain of the monkeys. They were regarded as a public curse, and it

needed all the intensity of the affection, gratitude, and attachment

felt towards the old gentleman, for people not to weary of looking with

indulgence on this fancy of his. The ill-behaved Africans did nothing

but mischief. They soiled the rooms, smashed plates and dishes, ruined

the gardens, waged war, frequently to their own great disadvantage, with

the beehives, and plucked the fruit from the trees, merely to throw it

away as soon as they had tasted it, or fling it at the heads of those

persons who might be passing by. No one who had to traverse the small

wood ever escaped unmolested; the monkeys would hang on to the clothes of

one person, or frighten another by suddenly dashing across his path. All

this the worthy General considered exceedingly funny. Distinguished above

all their companions, however, for slyness and a love for playing wild

pranks, were two large monkeys, Tommy and Troll.

One day a countryman came to Windhausen for the purpose of paying the

interest of a loan which the General had advanced him. The bailiff

asked him to be seated, and, having had some breakfast brought in for

him, left the room for a short time, as he had just been called away to

look at some sick beast. The countryman, meanwhile, counted his money

and drank a glass of the brandy of the country without the slightest

misgiving, when all of a sudden the door was opened gently, and in

walked Tommy. For some time he remained close to the door, staring the

unknown visitor in the face. He then walked round the table at which the

countryman was seated, and finished by placing himself exactly in front

of him, grinning and showing his teeth, with his left elbow leaning

on the table and his right one stuck in his side. The countryman was

struck dumb, and felt his hair stand on end with affright. There he sat,

as though the terrible head of Medusa had thrown its spell over him.

His face, which had become the colour of lead from superstitious fear,

appeared to amuse the brute not a little. At length Tommy had looked at

the countryman long enough; his sharp glance fell upon the bright thalers

on the table, and he was just stretching out his hand to appropriate

some, when something he considered still more desirable—namely, the

butter-dish—caught his eye. He took it, _sans façon_, off the table, and,

seating himself on a cask near the stove, devoured the lump of butter,

smacking his lips the while. He then put back the empty dish. The return

of the bailiff at last rescued the countryman from the state of fright in

which he was.

“Hulloa, my boy!” said the bailiff, laughing, and casting a glance at the

empty dish, “you seem to have liked the butter at any rate!”

“He did it, Mr. Bailiff!” groaned the countryman, nodding his head

timidly at Tommy, as though he feared being at least eaten up by the

monkey in consequence of this denunciation.

“What! has the fat blackguard dared to do such a thing?” exclaimed the

bailiff very angrily, and at the same time springing towards the window,

in the embrasure of which was a riding-whip, “Wait a moment, I’ll pay

you out!”

But Tommy, who saw the storm approaching, was in such a hurry to escape

from it, that at the door he nearly knocked over his comrade Troll,

who was coming in quite innocently. As the two monkeys were very like

each other, and the bailiff had not, in his anger, remarked the lucky

escape of the malefactor, he seized hold of old Troll by the throat, and

believing he had caught the one who had stolen the butter, gave him an

awful thrashing. During this time Tommy stood in the courtyard, wiping

his greasy mouth, and scratching himself, with a puzzled air, behind his

ear, looking up as he did so at the bailiff’s window, through which the

howling of his innocent and unjustly-castigated brother found its way to

him.

On another occasion the monkeys managed to steal a roll of ducats out

of their too indulgent master’s desk, which had been left open. They

climbed up with their spoil to the roof. Breaking the seal, they took out

a couple of coins, which were inspected on both sides with indescribable

curiosity by each monkey in succession. One of the coins accidentally

fell out of the hand of the monkey who was holding it, and, rolling over

the roof, tumbled, with a sharp ringing sound, into the tin gutter, and

thence into the pipe by which the rain-water was conveyed down the house.

This kind of music caused the monkeys such delight that they despatched

all the remaining coins after the first one. While doing so they hung

close together on the pipe, and, with open ears, listened to the sound of

the descending ducats.

But a trick played by Troll might have been attended with more disastrous

consequences. The bailiff’s wife had left an infant, almost three years

old, lying in the cradle while she was busy in the kitchen. Troll crept

upstairs, and, opening the door of the room in which the cradle stood,

obtained possession of the infant. He then ran off quickly with it. Some

maid-servants in the yard noticed him, but, instead of enticing him to

them, frightened him away by the fearful screams they uttered. At the

end of the yard was a new building of wood, finished in the frame, up

to the roof, and to this building Troll hurried off. Pressing the child

closely to his breast with one arm, and swinging himself from beam to

beam with the other, he clambered over the rafters of the roof, and

took his seat on the very ridge. The screams were really heartrending,

and enough to deafen any one, when the unhappy mother came rushing out.

Wringing her hands in despair, she kept exclaiming—“Help! help! save my

poor child!” All the inmates of the place came running to the spot, but

the men were, unfortunately, busy at work in the fields or in the wood,

and represented only by the General’s French cook, Mons. Lebrun, whose

reputation for courage and determination was not exactly the best. Troll,

however, had selected him to become the hero of the day. Dressed in his

neat white costume, with apron and cap, he sprang into the middle of the

crowd of wailing women, and cried out in a voice that would have become

a general in the din of battle—“Now you shall all be quite still, you

unreasonable womans. You make wild se monkey. I vill obtain _tout seul

votre enfant_!” With these words he stretched out his arms, and drove

back all the women into the passage of the gamekeeper’s house, the door

of which was open. The mother was the only one he could not force from

the spot, so he assigned her a place whence, without being in the way,

she might witness his campaign, having first promised him, by the value

she set upon her infant’s life, to remain quiet. Meanwhile, unconcerned

by what was going on below, the monkey was seated upon the ridge of the

roof, with his back leaning against the fir-tree, which, according to the

old custom, the carpenters had set up there the day previously on the

completion of their labours. At one instant he pressed the child with

ecstasy to his breast; at the next he rocked it on his lap. At length

he began untying and unrolling the long strip of flannel in which the

child was enveloped. The child, in happy ignorance of its danger, was

perfectly still. Directly he had pacified and sent away the women, the

cook began clambering up the ladder, and when he had reached the end of

that, climbing from one beam to another, up to the rafters of the roof.

Troll ignored him altogether, though Mons. Lebrun coaxingly held out some

preserves, for the purpose of prevailing on him to come down. In order to

properly appreciate the boldness of the undertaking, the reader must bear

in mind that Mons. Lebrun had long ceased to be a youth, that he was very

poorly, and not a practised climber. At last, in order to get quite near

the monkey, he was obliged to pursue his perilous course over the fragile

laths. Now for the first time did Troll appear to take any notice of him.

He half rose, cast an angry look at him, and, quickly grasping the child,

together with the roll of flannel, now nearly half undone, prepared to

depart. “Ah, Monsieur Troll,” said the courageous cook coaxingly, “vhy

you not come down to your _dîner_? Take _un peu de biscuit_! Monsieur

Troll is a vary good boy! Permeet that I see your _poupée_, Monsieur

Troll. Geeve me your _poupée_, and I shall geeve you dis _confiture_!”

The above and similar persuasive arguments did the worthy man employ

to prevail on the monkey to give up the infant. But Troll remained

immovable. The cook threw him a piece of biscuit. Troll did not even

stretch out his hand after it. At length Mons. Lebrun approached so

near, that the women below uttered a half-suppressed shriek. He was now

deterred from seizing the monkey by the throat only by the thought that

if he did so the monkey would instantly let the child fall. He had,

therefore, recourse once again to the sweetmeats, and held out a candied

fig.

Fearful, probably, that it would take the same road as the biscuit,

which he had allowed to fall, Troll made a snatch at it, intending to

swallow it at once. The cook felt an immense weight removed from his

breast, for he knew that the monkey could not resist these sweets if

he once tasted them. Troll actually now moved a lath’s distance nearer;

the cook retired two laths’ distance, and held out a second fig. In this

manner did the monkey follow, lath by lath, and beam by beam, still

holding the child closely, and immediately drawing back if the cook made

a movement to stretch out his hand towards it. At last he stood once

more upon the solid ground. “Move not from your place, madame,” he cried

to the mother. “Move not from your place!” Still walking backwards, he

enticed Troll over the yard into his room. After bolting the door, he

threw some sweetmeats into a white cotton nightcap, which he offered the

monkey. To draw the dainties out of the long cap it was necessary for

Troll to employ two hands. Without taking long to consider, he gently

and carefully laid down the child that had begun crying and kicking as

hard as it could. At the same moment the cook clutched him vigorously by

the nape of the neck and flung him so violently into a dark room, that

he was greatly astonished to see the prisoner come out again alone, when

the General himself released him in the evening. An instant afterwards,

delighted at the success of his stratagem, the cook placed the child in

the arms of the weeping mother, and from that day forward no one ever

again dared to cast a doubt on the courage and determination of Monsieur

Lebrun.

But it was not always that the acts of the troublesome guests ended so

well, and the old gentleman, for whose sake people winked at a good

deal, because he was kind, benevolent, and charitable towards everybody,

was often exposed by his favourites to vexation. On some occasions they

engaged in sanguinary strife with children and harmless pedestrians.

He paid liberally doctors’ bills and smart-money, when these were not

rejected; but he did not conceal from himself the fact that, if such

cases were often repeated, the authorities would take up the matter, and

compel him either to send the monkeys away or have them shut up. But he

never raised his stick against them; if they ever did anything more

extravagant than usual he read them a lesson, and was always of opinion

that they understood this better than a beating. It is very certain,

too, that they assumed a bearing and appearance as though crushed by

remorse. They might, it is true, have pleaded as an excuse for many of

their malicious tricks that they were always on the defensive, for, with

the exception of their master, every one in the place was their sworn

foe. They were beaten, inundated with cold and hot water, plagued and

baited in every possible manner by everybody who could do so unobserved.

Unfortunately, the want of speech prevented them from formulating their

complaints. Under these circumstances, all the affection and attachment

of which their apish souls were capable they concentrated on their

master, with whom they always found protection and indulgence. They

accompanied him to the borders of the wood when he rode off, as was his

custom, to Cassel; while, in the evening, they looked out impatiently

from the tops of the trees for him, and were perfectly mad with delight

as soon as they perceived him, with his two tall servants, riding through

the corn-fields.

This state of things lasted for several years, and the monkeys excited

the attention of all the country round. Great and small made pilgrimages

to Windhausen for the purpose of seeing these strangers, thus transported

fifty or sixty degrees of latitude from their tropical home, till,

one fine morning, the whole thing was quite unexpectedly brought to a

terrible termination.

A young peasant girl was attacked by one of the strongest monkeys as she

was proceeding through the forest. Half dead with fear and loathing, she

screamed for help, but some time elapsed before the people ran up from

the farmyard. They found the girl lying on the ground, and engaged in a

desperate struggle with the animal, who had now become perfectly wild.

Her long hair was dishevelled and partially torn from her head, while

her face, neck, and hands were entirely covered with blood. The monkey

was in a state of uncontrollable fury, such as he had never been seen in

before. The head ploughman, who courageously sprang forward and seized

him by the hair on the top of his head, was, in a few minutes, so bitten

and scratched, that he could no longer see or hear. The noise attracted

the other monkeys, who were scattered about the forest, as well as all

the persons belonging to the farm, and who hastened up, armed with

cudgels and flails. Among the first to reach the girl was the gamekeeper.

He no sooner perceived the magnitude of the danger than he hurried back

to procure his double-barrelled gun. The courageous ploughman was still

exposed to the furious attacks of the monkey, when a well-directed

bullet, whizzing close past his ear, crushed the animal’s head. Now,

however, followed a most strange and unexpected scene. Scarcely was the

shot fired, and the bleeding body of their companion stretched writhing

on the ground, when all the monkeys, as if at a concerted signal, rushed

with a wild howl upon the persons present. A fearful conflict ensued,

but, through all the tumult, the bailiff’s voice was distinctly heard,

crying, “Kill all the devils! I will take the responsibility on myself,

at the risk of losing my place!” It was an obstinate struggle; not a

single combatant, man or monkey, made the slightest attempt to withdraw

from the scene of action. It seemed as though long-cherished hate had

suddenly burst forth on both sides, to end in mutual destruction. But

it was not long before the matter was decided. Before the expiration of

a quarter of an hour, five monkeys lay dead upon the ground, with their

skulls shattered by bullets or blows from cudgels; about as many were

running round on the down-trodden grass, with their backs flayed or

their limbs broken. The rest were tied up and bound to trees. The lives

of these last had been provisionally spared only in compliance with the

earnest and warning persuasion of the gamekeeper. The victors, also,

were in an evil plight. The bailiff had lost the upper part of his left

ear. One of the farm-servants was stretched on the ground by a blow

intended for a monkey. He recovered, it is true, but remained, all his

life, hard of hearing. Nearly all, except the gamekeeper, had bleeding

faces and hands, and their clothes torn to rags. The girl was carried in

a swoon to the house, and given into the custody of the women. There was

still a troublesome piece of work left to be executed—namely, to place in

safe keeping the surviving monkeys, rendered more spiteful and malicious

than ever by their defeat. But this also was done. The dead, the wounded,

and the living were flung together in one barn, and the door closed upon

them.

An hour later the inmates of Windhausen assembled before the

gamekeeper’s lodge to consult as to how the “confounded business” might

be communicated in the gentlest form to the General. The latter had

set off, on horseback, an hour or two previously for Cassel, without

any presentiment of the fate awaiting his favourites on that day.

Although every person assured everybody else, for the purpose of mutual

encouragement, that, under the circumstances, they could not have acted

differently to what they had, yet everybody in that small assembly felt

as though there was a hundredweight upon his breast. It was at length

resolved that the gamekeeper, a faithful old servant, should undertake

the unthankful task of going to meet their master, and preparing him for

what had happened. With a view to this a man was stationed as an outpost

to bring information immediately the General was perceived approaching.

It was somewhere about five o’clock in the afternoon when the old

soldier, with his stereotyped attendants, the two lanky servants, came

in sight. As usual when he returned from Cassel, he had his pockets full

of sweetmeats for his monkeys. But what strangely oppressive feeling

overpowered him more and more as he neared the wood? What, was not a

single one of his merry brown rascals to be seen upon the branches? Why

did the spare form of the old gamekeeper, with his earth-coloured face

and hang-dog look, stand there, as though rooted to the spot, like some

warning notice? He felt compelled to ease his mind by speaking.

“Good evening, my old friend!” he cried to the gamekeeper.

“Thank your honour, your excellency——”

“My house is not burnt down, is it?”

“Oh, your excellency, you will pardon me——”

The strange and scared formality of the old man did not tend to put the

General at his ease. Still forcing himself to be jocular, he said—

“I hope your old dame has not run off with any one?”

The gamekeeper wished himself a thousand miles away. Once more he

attempted to draw the well-conned speech from out of his confused memory,

but stuck fast at—

“May it please your honour——”

“Well!” exclaimed the General, impatiently, “what, in the name of

fortune, has occurred? The house not burnt down, your wife not run away

from you, and yet you are making a face as if you were going to be

hanged! What other evil can possibly cross the path of two old fellows

like us?”

“A great misfortune has happened, excellency!”

“Oh, that’s it. Then you would do well to tell it me without more ado.”

“The monkeys, your honour——”

“The monkeys,” repeated the General, as though electrified; “what is the

matter with the monkeys?”

“Oh, your excellency, some of them have gone mad, and have terribly

ill-treated some of us; some have been killed, and the others made

prisoners at the risk of our lives!”

The words “Gracious Heaven!” escaped like a groan from the breast of the

grey-haired soldier. He sank together as if one of the bonds which bound

him to life was snapped in twain. The fearful news had come upon him as

the lightning strikes the oak, and one of his tall servants hurried up to

hold him in his saddle.

“Gracious Heaven!” he repeated, and a long pause ensued.

“They must all be shot,” continued the gamekeeper pitilessly, “or else

there will be murder.”

“Gracious Heaven! Gracious Heaven!”

“I am the only person who has come off with a whole skin,” pursued the

gamekeeper, after a second and longer pause. “The bailiff has one of his

ears bitten off; Wagner’s daughter, from Oberkaufunger, is at death’s

door, and the head ploughman no longer looks like a human being.”

“Gracious Heaven!” ejaculated the General, and again the words were

succeeded by a long pause.

Two or three times the General rode a few paces into the wood, but as

often turned back, quite undecided what to do. At length he plucked up

courage, rode up to the gamekeeper, down whose cheeks the hot tears were

rolling, and, seizing his arm, said in a low, tremulous voice—

“Shoot them all, old friend—shoot them all. That is the best course. But,

mind, take good aim, and let me have half-an-hour to get away. Shoot them

all, but not sooner!”

With these words he turned his horse, and trotted off in the direction of

Cassel, while the two lanky servants followed in angry mood.

After the gamekeeper had stood a good five minutes as if rooted to the

spot, shaking his head as he looked after his master, he dashed the

butt-end of his gun insolently on the ground, and said, half aloud—

“May I be cursed if I would not give one of my hands to be able to run

after him, and say it was none of it true!”

“Why, mate,” exclaimed the bailiff, who had been a secret witness from

behind the next bush of the whole scene, “what a strange fellow you are!

It must have ended so sooner or later. At present the blow has fallen;

the sorrow will pass away, and we have got rid of the confounded beasts.

Think of all the annoyances which we, our wives, and our children have

had to bear on their account.”

“He looked so happy as he came riding along.”

“Come, come,” observed the other pressingly, “let us go and see what the

wounded are doing.”

So saying he left the spot, dragging with him the gamekeeper, now grown

so tender-hearted.

It was not till late in the evening that the General returned to

Windhausen. For three days he was visible to no one. On the fourth day

he rode over, as was his wont, to Cassel, and, going to a sculptor’s,

ordered for his favourites a funeral monument, according to the design

he had himself made, and with the inscription he had himself drawn up.

When completed the monument was erected over the common grave of all the

monkeys, on that bank of the quiet lake which was opposite the mansion,

and where there is a magnificent south-western prospect. It consists of a

smooth, broken column, from seven to eight feet in height, placed upon a

square pedestal, two feet in height. The inscription on the column is as

follows:—

In this Place

There returned to the great mass of the primitive matters

constituting Human Beings, Representatives

Of a Race of Africans, long naturalised in these Meads,

After many Births.

Not Slavery,

The Lot of their Fellow-Countrymen, the Blacks,

But perfect Freedom,

Was theirs, and the Result:

Love for their Benefactor,

Who unfortunately at last,

In consequence of their being attacked by a fit of fury

As all were fighting for one,

Was compelled to sacrifice

His own pleasures to the general good.

It was decreed that Death

Should strike Sires and Sons, Grandfathers and Grandchildren,

Mothers and Babes.

Men did not quite consider them

As belonging to the Species of their fellow-men.

Them had Prometheus

Favoured with two extra hands; us with greater linguistic

capabilities.

In Cunning, in the mixture of Goodness and malicious Tricks,

And in forbidden Amusements

They appeared to be a Generation of Human Beings in the Skin of

Monkeys.

And

The Power, which is so striking, of Instinct

Should counsel the ten-fingered Observer

Indulgence towards his Fellows.

The “recluse escaped from the world” did not long survive his monkeys. He

had entailed all his estates, and, in default of nearer heirs, settled

them upon a collateral branch of his family, for which, previous to his

death, he succeeded in obtaining the title of Count. None of his heirs,

however, occupied his residence at Windhausen, and it has remained

deserted and shut up. Park, forest, and promenades have been suffered to

run wild, and the shady seats, with their magnificent views, extending

through long arched avenues of green beech-trees, have been partially

covered with the grass and weeds that have overgrown them. But the quiet

lake with the Monkeys’ monument, the gigantic trees, the grottoes and

hermitages, the viaduct and the simple Mausoleum, overshadowed by oaks,

all still exist, and are gradually becoming developed in the light mist

which legends and traditions spread around the memorials of bygone times.

[Illustration]

THE PROFESSOR AND THE CROCODILE.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE PROFESSOR AND THE CROCODILE.

A CHAPTER FROM AN UNPUBLISHED NATURAL (AND SUPERNATURAL) HISTORY.

Our title resembles that of a fable, but the story we are about to relate

bears internal evidence of its truth.

The town of Weisstadt, in Germany, is full of philosophers,

mathematicians, and _savants_ of all kinds. On entering the place, the

traveller is at once struck by the physiognomies of the inhabitants: all

the faces are more or less like geometrical figures.

Herr Dummkopf, one of the innumerable professors who adorn Weisstadt,

was rich though learned; nevertheless, something was wanting to complete

his happiness. Every morning when he rose he addressed to himself

the following remark:—“Why did the traveller Bruce never discover

the peninsula of Meroë, which Herodotus saw as plainly as he saw the

moon?” This thought at last absorbed him so completely, that he could

not refrain from packing up his shirt and starting at once for Egypt.

He passed through France, crossed the Mediterranean without observing

anything, so thoroughly occupied was he with the non-discovery of the

supposed peninsula. After remaining a few hours at Cairo, he pursued his

journey to the ruins of Carnac. He bestowed a careless glance on the

Colossus of Memnon, the crypts of Osimandias, the obelisks of Luxor, and

all the wonders of Egyptian Thebes; and as he continued to ascend the

Nile, he saw Latopolis, Elethyd, Apollinopolis, and Syene. The ruins of

these ancient towns were not honoured by a single mark of admiration: it

was humiliating for the Egypt of Sesostris!

One day the sun was so hot at noon—a very natural thing in the torrid

zone—that the learned Dummkopf allowed himself to be seduced by the cool

aspect of the Nile, and determined to make an era in his scientific life

by taking a bath in the sacred stream.

He looked around him. The desert was indeed worthy of its name. There

was not even a statue of Isis, of Ibis, of Anubis, or of Serapis to be

seen. The Nile flowed on in religious silence, and Dummkopf, reassured

by the solitude which reigned around, hastened to take off his boots and

clothes, and after arranging them carefully on the bank, plunged into the

eternal river.

Dummkopf was grateful to Mother Nature for having placed a cool

refreshing stream by the side of a burning desert. As a boy he had

been in the habit of swimming in the Rhine of his fatherland, and now

remembering the accomplishments of his youth, he struck out, turned over,

floated on his back, dived, paddled like a dog, plunged like a porpoise,

and again thanked Mother Nature for having, in her bountiful wisdom,

placed a cool refreshing stream by the side of a burning desert. He was

continuing to disport himself like a freshwater Triton when suddenly,

close to him, and in the middle of the Nile, he saw a huge green snout,

adorned with lion’s teeth, and lighted up with a pair of blood-red eyes.

Dummkopf instantly remembered that the Nile was fertile in crocodiles,

and began to chide his memory for not having thought of that fact before.

In the meanwhile the monster was bearing down on the imprudent bather,

who, though thin, by reason of excessive study, was at the same time a

very acceptable meal for a hungry crocodile.

For it was indeed a crocodile, and of the finest kind; a colossal and

amphibious lizard, more ferocious than the tiger of Bengal or the lion of

the Atlas.

Dummkopf made straight for a little island—the terror of navigators and

the salvation of swimmers. He had almost reached his place of refuge—with

the crocodile so close on his heels that he could feel its warm breath on

the soles of his feet—when he remembered that the monster was amphibious.

Another man would have been paralysed by this reflection. Not so

Dummkopf. He looked before him, and seeing a friendly palm-tree within

reach—it was the solitary ornament of the little islet—he ran to it, took

a spring, and climbed up its branches with the agility of a squirrel.

Having perched himself in safety near the summit, the learned Professor

looked down upon the Nile. The crocodile was issuing slowly from the

water, shaking, as he did so, his coat of glittering scale-armour He then

walked along the sand like a fish that had suddenly become a quadruped,

and gradually approached the foot of the palm-tree.

Dummkopf ransacked his memory for all he had ever read about crocodiles,

with the view of ascertaining whether Pliny or any other natural

historian of celebrity had ever stated that they were able to climb up

palm-trees.

It appeared to him that both Pliny and Saavers had testified to the

climbing capabilities of the crocodile.

“Oh, Philosophy!” he mentally exclaimed, “grant that my brethren, who

make mistakes in every page, may also have erred on this point.”

Suddenly he remembered with a shudder that he himself had written an

article in the _Weisstadt Review_ in which he maintained that crocodiles

were in the habit of climbing up trees like cats. He wished now that he

had thrown the article into the fire; but it was too late. All Weisstadt

had read it. It had even been translated into Arabian, and no author had

yet contradicted it, although it had penetrated to Crocodilopolis itself.

The amphibious monster approached the palm-tree, looked up, and evinced

the most lively joy at discovering Dummkopf among the branches. It walked

round and round, looked up again, and then, recognising the impossibility

of taking the stronghold by assault, sat down, as if determined to reduce

it by blockade.

Here we must render homage to true science. Dummkopf, in spite of the

preoccupation of the moment, was filled with regret when he found that,

contrary to what he had stated in the _Weisstadt Review_, crocodiles did

_not_ climb trees. He saw that he had committed a gross error in Natural

History, but he at the same time made up his mind never to correct it,

if, by a miracle, he escaped from his present perilous position. He made

the statement with a full conviction of its truth, and it added one

more fact to Natural History. Crocodiles climbed up palm-trees. It was

impossible to deny it now, even after sitting on a palm-tree up which a

crocodile had been unable to climb. The conclusions of science must not

rashly be interfered with.

In the meanwhile, the crocodile lay stretched out at the foot of the

palm-tree, in calm anticipation of Dummkopf’s inevitable descent. From

time to time the animal testified, by the wagging of its tail, to the

pleasure it experienced in looking forward to that incident.

The naturalist, to do him justice, did not lose the opportunity of

studying the habits and manners of the Egyptian crocodile, but having

reviewed the animal in a scientific spirit, he again trembled for his

life, for it was now evident that the blockade was to be kept up in

earnest.

Hours of suspense and of imprisonment consist of 240 minutes each, but

they come to an end at last. Time sometimes goes on crutches, but it

proceeds nevertheless. The sun went down as on the previous evening, and

after a very short period of dusk the last rays of departing daylight

exhibited the crocodile lying at the foot of the palm-tree, placid and

horizontal.

The Professor now searched in the storehouse of his memory for some

instance of a man who had passed the night on the top of a palm-tree.

After going through the whole of ancient and modern history, he commenced

the department of travels, and suddenly bethought him of _Robinson

Crusoe_, which, though not usually accepted as a book of travels, is

far more truthful than the great majority of works of that class. Now,

Robinson Crusoe passed the first night after his shipwreck in a tree,

and this tree was in all probability a palm-tree. “Why, then,” said Herr

Dummkopf, “should I not do the same?”

And still fortifying himself with the example of Robinson Crusoe, the

Professor drew some of the smaller branches around him, and composed

himself to sleep.

But the night was long, and Dummkopf slept but little. He dreamed that he

was at Weisstadt, delivering a lecture which proved that the crocodile

was a fabulous animal like the Sphinx, when suddenly a shower of

crocodile’s tears fell on his face. He awoke with a start, and was very

near falling down on to the tail of his besieger.

The crocodile was now, in all probability, fast asleep, and Dummkopf

resolved to play him a trick. “If,” said the Professor, “I could slip

down the tree, and swim across the Nile without its hearing me, it would

be nicely caught when it awoke in the morning and found me gone.” But

having reflected that he might be caught himself, he abandoned this

desperate project, and merely resolved not to go to sleep again that

night.

When day broke the Professor saw that the crocodile had not been idle

during the night. Instead of sleeping he had been fishing on the banks of

the Nile, and the bones with which the ground was strewed showed that he

had not fished in vain. The monster had now had his first course, and he

looked upwards towards his intended victim as if to say that he was quite

ready for the second.

The Professor had certainly a terrible future before him. The contest

between the besieger and the besieged was by no means equal, for the

former could find as much food as he required in the waters of the

adjacent Nile, while the latter saw no prospect of obtaining the

slightest nourishment, and would in all probability either die from

starvation or fall fainting into the jaws of his voracious assailant.

In the meanwhile Dummkopf’s stomach, a machine which in some respects

is quite independent of the brain, began to murmur loudly, for it had

been deprived of two meals—the supper of the previous evening and the

morning’s breakfast.

Among a great many other things of which the learned Professor was

ignorant, he did not know that palm-trees produced dates, a rich pulpy

fruit on which the Arabs have contrived to live very well since the

time of Adam, the first colonist of Arabia. However, a short time after

sunrise a ray chanced to fall upon a large bunch of these valuable

articles of food, which the Professor at once recognised from having seen

them in the grocers’ shops of his fatherland. In Germany he had been in

the habit of breakfasting on beef and sausages, supported by several

slices of bread, and washed down by several glasses of wine. But in the

desert he was obliged to content himself with whatever manna he could

get, and to be thankful, moreover, that Providence had sent him any. He

ate dates by the handful, and felt much strengthened by his repast.

After breakfast a strange and superstitious idea occurred to the

Professor. He had read somewhere that crocodiles were the natural

avengers of all the insults offered to Egypt by barbarian travellers.

It appeared to him that there was some sense in this, for if crocodiles

didn’t serve to avenge something or other he was convinced they could

serve no purpose at all. Then he reflected that he had passed without

notice the statue of Memnon, the colossal tenor who had just commenced

his morning cavatina under the influence of the sun’s rays. The divine

Osimandias and the Pharaohs, as represented by the sublime pyramids, had

been treated with similar disrespect; and the Professor now repented his

irreverence, and vowed to kiss the big toe of Memnon, the tallest tenor

in the world, if he only escaped his present danger.

After this vow the illustrious Dummkopf became more tranquil. He looked

down at the crocodile, but the vow had produced no effect upon him.

He did not even seem to have heard it. There he was still, watching

patiently for his prey.

Dummkopf was now dying for a mouthful of cold water. Dates possess the

property of producing thirst. Hence they are very desirable at dessert if

the host wishes his guests to pass the bottle freely, but not otherwise.

For a professor at the top of a palm-tree from which he is unable to

descend, they form the most unsuitable food that can be conceived; but

Herr Dummkopf had no choice—he had either to eat dates or to die of

inanition. He was like Tantalus: the river was flowing at his feet, and

he was unable to get a drop of water wherewith to moisten his parched

lips. He again compared his position with that of Robinson Crusoe, and

found that all the advantage was on the side of the latter. It was true

Robinson Crusoe passed a night on a tree, but he came down the next

morning, killed parrots, made them into fricasseed fowl, drank rum and

water, walked about with an umbrella over his head, met no crocodiles,

and found a man Friday. “Happy Robinson Crusoe!” exclaimed Dummkopf; “and

yet he complained. I should like to know what he’d have done in my place,

on the top of a palm-tree.”

Suddenly the sky became overcast, and the Professor was filled with a

joyful anticipation of rain. He had already joined his hands so as to

form as large a receptacle as possible for the drops, and was promising

himself a regular aquatic orgie, when all at once he remembered that in

Egypt it never rains.

The crocodile seemed to understand the sufferings of the Weisstadt

Tantalus. He walked to the edge of the river and swallowed several quarts

of water, at the same time casting ironical glances at the unfortunate

Professor. The pleasantry of masters is always intolerable. Dummkopf was

disgusted and enraged; but this only increased his thirst.

He cast his eyes along the Nile, in hopes of discovering some

providential sail. But then he remembered that in that part of the river,

above the rapids, there was scarcely a chance of meeting with a boat of

any kind. A death-like solitude reigned around, and nothing was to be

seen but dark ruins, among which an occasional ibis, motionless, like a

mark of admiration, was perched.

Again the Professor turned his thoughts towards Robinson Crusoe.

“Certainly,” he said to himself, “if Crusoe had been in my position, at

the top of a palm-tree, he would somehow or other have found means to

obtain a drop of water. Come now, how would he have done it?”

Dummkopf’s mouth was on fire, and there was the great Nile rolling calmly

and majestically before him.

At last Necessity, who is known to be the mother of Invention, brought

her ingenious child to his aid.

The Professor clapped his hands. He had discovered an hydraulic process

which would enable him to appease his thirst. How little is required to

give joy to poor humankind! Here is a man on a palm-tree—a dying man who

cannot escape from the jaws of a crocodile—and because he has discovered

a very equivocal means of obtaining a few drops of brackish water with

which to moisten his parched lips, he is convulsed with delight.

Dummkopf was proud of competing with Defoe’s hero, and set to work

without delay. He began by breaking off from his palm-tree several long

branches, which he spliced together by means of fibres. He then waited

until the crocodile entered the water for a few minutes—by way of keeping

up its character as an amphibious animal—and extended his apparatus

towards the river. The leaves at the extremity of the machine imbibed

a considerable quantity of water, and the Professor, drawing back his

improvised pump, refreshed his calcined lips by means of the saturated

foliage. He repeated the experiment several times, and, in fact, gave

himself up to all the excesses of intemperance. This was an ingenious

device, for which Tantalus would have given his eyes!

But, above all, Dummkopf was amused at the notion of mystifying his

crocodile, who, as for that, richly deserved it.

Having no longer any anxiety as to the means of satisfying the two chief

wants of existence—hunger and thirst—the Professor now began to think how

he should manage for his clothes. His aboriginal costume was admirably

suited to a tropical climate during the day, but remembering that during

the night he had felt rather chilly, he resolved to make himself without

delay a garment of green leaves. Besides, how was he to appear before the

public without clothes, if by chance a boat should present itself?

Dummkopf accordingly gathered in his aërial alcove a certain quantity of

the largest leaves he could find, and crossing his legs like a tailor,

proceeded to make them into a vegetable paletôt, which could not be said

to belong to the latest fashion, but which, on the other hand, had a

primitive cut about it that was highly picturesque. Two leaves sufficed

for the nightcap, which, original or not as its appearance may have been,

at all events looked much better than the hats we wear in open day.

Here was Dummkopf now lodged, fed, and clothed at the expense of Nature.

Happiness is altogether relative; and, for a time, Dummkopf was happy

indeed. He was proud of his inventions, and from the height of his

palm-tree looked down upon Robinson Crusoe with contempt.

As he was reflecting calmly on his happiness he saw the monster, no

longer horizontal, at the foot of the tree. He was making one last

endeavour to take it by storm, but failing in the attempt had forthwith

recourse to sapping and mining. He went to work with the air of a

crocodile who had made up his mind, and who had said to himself, “There

must be an end to this.”

Dummkopf shuddered as he heard the teeth of the monster grinding against

the bark of the tree.

But the molars and incisors of the crocodile are so arranged that they

can do no serious harm to the palm-tree; they can tear the bark off, but

cannot pierce or crush the trunk. Dummkopf, however, was ignorant of this

fact, and expected every minute that his asylum would fall to the ground,

and leave him a prey to the horrid monster into whose scaly body he would

enter as into a tomb of shell, but without the smallest epitaph to inform

the world of the numerous virtues he possessed.

The crocodile next attacked the tree with his tail as with a

battering-ram. How the Professor quivered when the tree shook! And the

worst of it was, that, independently of the most terrible result that

could possibly take place, there was the certainty that the Professor

would lose a large portion if not the whole of his provisions, unless the

monster desisted from his sanguinary assault; for with each blow from the

crocodile’s tail down came a bunch of dates, and when, as often happened,

the fruit fell on the animal’s back, his fury redoubled.

At last Dummkopf could stand it no longer. Convinced that life was not

worth defending at such a cost, he resolved to throw himself from the

top of the palm-tree in order to find repose in death. Full of this

desperate idea he stood up, put aside the branches which might have kept

him back at the edge of the precipice, and thrusting one foot resolutely

forward kept the other firmly in its place. An honourable thought checked

him on the very brink of the abyss. Dummkopf had no family, no wife, no

children, no nephews; it was his duty then to remain in the world as the

sole representative of the Dummkopfs. Man is ingenious, even in the midst

of his despair. If he has a wife and children, he wants to live for their

sake; if he is alone in the world, he will live for his own benefit.

Dummkopf was very grateful to himself after coming to this heroic

resolution. He even called himself a coward for having entertained for an

instant the idea of offering himself up as a sacrifice to the voracity of

an amphibious monster.

As he was now determined not to die if he could by any means avoid it,

the Professor began to consider whether it would be possible to enjoy,

at the top of his palm-tree, that sort of happiness which a civilised

man has a right to expect. The crocodile had expended all his force in

vain. It was evident that the palm-tree was an impregnable fortress as

far as his attacks were concerned. The climate was superb. At the foot

of the house—that is to say, of the palm-tree—ran a magnificent river.

Thanks to the hydraulic apparatus there could never be any want of water;

and as for food, there were dates in abundance. The crocodile instead

of being terrible was now only amusing, and as it was clearly proved

that the palm-tree could suffer no injury from the monster’s wrath, the

Professor, in his lively moments, sometimes went so far as to pelt him

with date-stones.

Every morning when the sun rose, Dummkopf bent his ear towards the desert

and listened to the cavatina of Memnon, the colossal tenor. Then after

breakfast, if he was pleased with the crocodile, he threw him down a few

rotten dates, and was amused to see how voraciously the monster devoured

them. Between breakfast and dinner he read in the library of his memory,

and studied the mysterious monuments by which he was surrounded. When a

profound thought occurred to him, he took a stylus, formed out of a twig,

and jotted it down on a leaf which served as papyrus. Then he read it

over several times, and put it away in a place of safety.

There were no neighbours to watch his conduct, no journals to criticise

his thoughts, no tax-gatherers to trouble him about overdue rates. He was

as free as the air, and only wondered why the misanthropes of society did

not imitate Simon Stylites or himself, and retire for the rest of their

lives to the top of some column or palm-tree.

We must now leave our anchorite in his palm-tree, and proceed to the

opposite bank of the Nile, where Herr von Thorigkeit, the celebrated

botanist of Berlin, was engaged in a hopeless search after yellow

lotuses. Herodotus, it is true, saw yellow lotuses, but then Herodotus

possessed the peculiarity of seeing things that did not exist. At all

events, since his time the yellow lotus has not been met with, and for

that reason conscientious botanists are perpetually looking for it.

Herr von Thorigkeit, then, was searching for the yellow lotus, and he was

accompanied by two Arabs armed with carbines.

There are some things, ordinary enough in themselves, which have an

overpowering effect on the imagination when they are seen in the

desert. What, for instance, would be the feelings of a traveller who

should discover in the midst of the Sahara a neat little house with

the words—“Reading room, admission one penny,” over the entrance? Von

Thorigkeit was behaving naturally enough when he uttered a cry of dismay

which resounded along the left bank of the Nile.

He had seen two boots, one proud and erect, the other bent down as if

with fatigue. Dummkopf’s clothes had disappeared, carried away by the

stream, or perhaps swallowed by some omnivorous crocodile, but there

were the boots standing on a ledge of rock.

The legitimate dismay of the botanist will now be understood. He had seen

two boots on the left bank of the Nile: one proud and erect, the other

bent down as if with fatigue.

The faithful Arabs, who had never seen a pair of boots in their lives,

became terrified with the terror of the botanist, and bravely fired at

the wellingtons, which fell riddled with balls.

From the top of his palm-tree the Professor heard the report, and at

first felt inclined to curse the troublesome individual who had come to

disturb him in his solitude and meditation. But human weakness at last

gained the day, and he resolved to make signals of distress to the three

men whom he now perceived on the left bank of the Nile.

He broke off a long branch from the palm-tree, stripped it of its leaves

everywhere but at the end, where he left a large tuft, and waved it

vigorously above his head with one hand, while with the other he threw

into the Nile a quantity of dates, the only projectiles at his command.

The botanist, who was surrounded by that silence which is known to

aëronauts alone, turned round at the sound of the dates falling into

the water, and this time experienced a surprise which was greater even

than the former one. The apparition of the boots was forgotten: he saw a

palm-tree with a lofty crest, which waved to and fro in the midst of a

perfectly calm atmosphere! After the first shock, this discovery caused

him infinite delight, and he would have given all the yellow lotuses in

the world for this phenomenon of a palm-tree.

Von Thorigkeit opened his note-book and wrote in it the following lines:

“In Upper Egypt there exists a kind of palm-tree, which possesses the

peculiarities of the aloe; with this difference, however, that the stem

of the aloe attains an elevation of twenty feet above the level of

the soil, and remains motionless, while the palm-tree of Upper Egypt

agitates the top of its stem vertically and with a movement of prodigious

regularity. We have named this tree the Von Thorigkeit palm.”

Having written this, the botanist made a sketch of the palm-tree and

showed it to the two Arabs, having no other public to exhibit it to. The

children of the desert, with their lynx-like eyes, had just discovered a

human form beneath the thick foliage of the island palm-tree, and they

resorted to the most energetic gestures in order to make the botanist see

it too. But Von Thorigkeit could think of nothing but the grandeur of

his discovery and the beauty of his drawing. He paid no attention to the

gestures of the Arabs, and thought only of the sensation that would be

produced in the learned world by the Von Thorigkeit palm.

The two Arabs persisted in their pantomime, which said as plainly as

possible: “Look there on that little island; there is a human being there

up in the palm-tree; he is in danger; he is making signals, and we must

go to his aid at once.”

Von Thorigkeit pulled out a pocket telescope, shrugging his shoulders at

the same time with the air of a man who makes a concession merely from

politeness, and looked carelessly towards the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree.

He had now his third surprise within the hour—the last completely

absorbing the two others. He had seen distinctly a human face, and even

a German face, surrounded by leaves; and a human hand shaking a naked

branch with a tuft of foliage at the end. He replaced his telescope in

his pocket with regret, read his article again, cast another glance at

his drawing, and after reflecting, like Brutus, whether he should destroy

his two children or let them live, decided at length upon the latter

course. “Well, so much the worse,” he said to himself: “what is written

is written, and I shall not cut out a single word. Besides, as the aloe

exists the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree might have existed, if Nature had

only seen its utility; I see its utility, and I shall let it remain.”

This resolution having been taken, the three men held a council. The

first thing to do was to find a boat, which, after two hours’ walking,

they met with. It was a fishing vessel, and the botanist had only to

hold out a piece of gold and to point to the river in order to make the

fisherman understand what was required of him. He then pointed down the

stream, and said, in a haughty voice, as if the fisherman was likely to

understand him—

“The island of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree!”

The pantomimic direction would have sufficed.

They descended the Nile. The island of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree was

soon visible; and, as they approached it, the Arabs, with their lynx-like

eyes, manifested some uneasiness, and exchanged signs of intelligence.

After a quarter of an hour’s rowing, doubt was no longer possible. They

had really seen an enormous crocodile keeping watch beneath the palm-tree.

They imparted their discovery to the botanist, who now received his

fourth surprise in the course of the day, and trembled with cold in a

temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. However, for the honour of his

fatherland, the learned German endeavoured to conceal his alarm, which,

it must be admitted, was natural enough on the part of a botanist, who

was accustomed only to hunt for flowers, and who had nothing whatever to

say to the amphibious monsters of the Nile.

The Arabs were talking quietly among themselves, like men accustomed to

hunt crocodiles. They put fresh caps on the nipples of their guns, stood

up firmly in the fore part of the boat, and told the fisherman to be

careful with his oars.

The crocodile saw the boat approaching, but did not know whether it

brought prey or peril to his shore. In the meanwhile he made ready either

for defence or flight, according to the number and importance of the

invaders. He lay stretched out at the edge of the river, as motionless

as a crocodile in a museum; but he kept his mouth wide open, ready to

swallow the first enemy who landed.

The two Arabs, who were thoroughly acquainted with the habits and

manners of the animal, took aim, uttered a syllable at the same moment,

and their two shots sounded as one. The bullets entered, at the only

vulnerable spot, the open mouth, and went through the whole length of the

crocodile’s body.

The monster shook his head with contortions so comic, that they called

forth shouts of laughter from the first floor of the palm-tree. Then,

casting forth a torrent of blood upon the sand, he closed his tearful

eyes and moved no more.

Dummkopf arranged his vegetable costume the best way he could, looked

for his gloves merely through habit, and not finding them, came down

as he was. The Arabs, like all their race, were grave men, but their

seriousness disappeared in the wildest laughter when they saw Dummkopf’s

costume. The botanist himself, now reassured by the death of the

crocodile, could scarcely restrain his hilarity; but he bit his lips, and

after shaking hands with his fellow-countryman, begged him to communicate

his adventures. Dummkopf commenced by requesting his learned friend to

check the unbecoming mirth of the Arabs, who were threatened with the

vengeance of the Prussian consul in case they did not instantly desist.

Then Von Thorigkeit in the most generous manner offered Dummkopf his

paletôt, which Dummkopf naturally accepted, retiring for some minutes

behind the palm-tree in order to change his clothes, as he expressed it,

though he might have said to dress himself.

Having taken a solemn farewell of his palm-tree, Dummkopf got into

the boat, taking with him the crocodile and the coat of leaves as

reminiscences of his adventures, and also as corroborative proofs. These

precious relics were destined for the “Neue Museum” at Berlin, and Herr

von Thorigkeit, who was attached to the Berlin University, hastened to

thank Herr Dummkopf in the name of the Prussian capital.

Dummkopf was equally courteous to the worthy botanist. He thanked him in

the name of science for his discovery of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree,

which added another member to the already numerous family of palms. He

even promised to write a notice in the _Weisstadt Review_, to prove that

the palm-tree just discovered through the indefatigable zeal of Von

Thorigkeit belonged to the same species as the aloe of Ceylon.

At the nearest village a complete Arab costume was procured for Dummkopf,

who, with the honesty which always distinguishes true science, restored

the paletôt to Von Thorigkeit.

The two friends returned to Germany together, and soon afterwards an

article signed Dummkopf appeared in the _Weisstadt Review_, in which full

justice was done to the labours of the intrepid botanist and traveller,

Von Thorigkeit, who had discovered the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree at the

risk of his life, and not until he had killed two black reptiles of the

cobra capella species. The article was illustrated with a wood-cut, which

represented the new tree agitating its tuft in the air.

Von Thorigkeit also did his duty, for as soon as he reached Berlin he

made known to the world that Herr Dummkopf, who had ventured above the

third cataract, had rectified the errors of all the previous maps, and

that in the course of his expedition he had killed two crocodiles by

means of electricity.

Those who have meditated on the nature of man will not be astonished to

hear the end of this true story. Dummkopf is at present the proprietor of

the _Weisstadt Review_. He is a lecturer in the Weisstadt University, and

in addition to all this, he has a wife and six children. Well, in spite

of the Review, in spite of the lectureship, in spite even of his wife

and six children, Dummkopf, at certain moments, regrets the peaceful life

he led in his aërial apartment at the top of the palm-tree.

Such is man! a being full of contradictions!

[Illustration]

TREE LIFE IN GENERAL, AND MONKEYS IN PARTICULAR.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

TREE LIFE IN GENERAL, AND MONKEYS IN PARTICULAR.

The world has scarcely seen a worthier traveller or better naturalist

than Charles Waterton. In an eminent degree he possessed the qualities

essential to the study of the animal world. A good eye, a sympathy with

moving nature, untiring patience, and a contempt for the comfortable and

luxurious things of the earth—endued with these qualities, he had the

necessary parts of a man who was sure to observe and note the admirable

works of the Creator. His “Wanderings” in North and South America contain

original descriptions of the objects to be seen in that magnificent

continent, which have never been surpassed for their clearness and

distinctness. In this volume we shall only refer to a few of his notes,

which have more particular reference to those animals whose lives, like

the monkeys, are spent more or less in the branches or under the leaves

of the sheltering trees, the monarchs of the stupendous forests. Of

Guiana he writes that four-footed animals are scarce there, considering

how very thinly the forests are inhabited by man. The leopard, who is

very much in the trees, and is called there a tiger, is found, and so

are tiger-cats, fiercest and cruellest of all the feline race. The red

monkey, erroneously called the baboon, is heard there oftener than he is

seen; while the common brown monkey, the bisa, and sacawinki rove from

tree to tree and amuse the stranger as he journeys. In the trees, too,

you will see the polecat, the opossum, and now and then you will find a

porcupine on a branch above your head. To some readers the famous story

of the Coon may not be known, so we will tell it. An American colonel

had become very famous for his skill in shooting the opossum, and it was

said that the knowledge of his prowess had extended even to the animals

he shot so well. It is very difficult for a novice to shoot opossum,

because they lie upon the branch so closely to it, that it is with great

difficulty an unpractised observer can see the animal. Nevertheless, the

marksman became so known to the coons, as opossum are vulgarly called,

that they gave themselves up as lost directly they espied him on their

trail. “Is that you, colonel?” “Yes,” would reply the great shot. “Then

I’ll come down,” rejoined the coon, who thought it more prudent to be

taken captive and have a chance hereafter of escape, than to be shot

there and then to death by the unerring tube of the colonel’s rifle.

Now listen to Mr. Waterton, as he describes that extraordinary animal,

the sloth:—

“This, too, is the native country of the sloth. His looks, his gestures,

and his cries, all conspire to entreat you to take pity on him. These

are the only weapons of defence which nature hath given him. While other

animals assemble in herds, or in pairs range through these boundless

wilds, the sloth is solitary, and almost stationary; he cannot escape

from you. It is said, his piteous moans make the tiger relent, and turn

out of the way. Do not, then, level your gun at him, or pierce him with

a poisoned arrow; he has never hurt one living creature. A few leaves,

and those of the commonest and coarsest kind, are all he asks for

his support. On comparing him with other animals, you would say that

you could perceive deficiency, deformity, and superabundance in his

composition. He has no cutting teeth, and, though four stomachs, he

still wants the long intestines of ruminating animals. He has only one

inferior aperture, as in birds. He has no soles to his feet, nor has he

the power of moving his toes separately. His hair is flat, and puts you

in mind of grass withered by the wintry blast. His legs are too short;

they appear deformed by the manner in which they are joined to the body;

and when he is on the ground, they seem as if only calculated to be used

in climbing trees. He has forty-six ribs, while the elephant has only

forty; and his claws are disproportionately long. Were you to mark down,

upon a graduated scale, the different claims to superiority amongst the

four-footed animals, this poor ill-formed creature’s claim would be last

upon the lowest degree. His native haunts have hitherto been little

known, and probably little looked into. Those who have written on this

singular animal have remarked that he is in a perpetual state of pain,

that he is proverbially slow in his movements, that he is a prisoner in

space, and that as soon as he has consumed all the leaves of the tree

upon which he had mounted, he rolls himself up in the form of a ball, and

then falls to the ground. This is not the case.

“If the naturalists who have written the history of the sloth had gone

into the wilds, in order to examine his haunts and economy, they would

not have drawn the foregoing conclusions; they would have learned, that

though all other quadrupeds may be described while resting on the ground,

the sloth is an exception to this rule, and that his history must be

written while he is in the tree.

“This singular animal is destined by nature to be produced, to live,

and to die in the trees; and to do justice to him, naturalists must

examine him in this his upper element. He is a scarce and solitary

animal, and being good food, he is never allowed to escape. He inhabits

remote and gloomy forests, where snakes take up their abode, and where

cruelly-stinging ants and scorpions, and swamps, and innumerable thorny

shrubs and bushes, obstruct the steps of civilised man. Were you to draw

your own conclusions from the descriptions which have been given of the

sloth, you would probably suspect that no naturalist has actually gone

into the wilds with the fixed determination to find him out and examine

his haunts, and see whether nature has committed any blunder in the

formation of this extraordinary creature, which appears to us so forlorn

and miserable, so ill put together, and so totally unfit to enjoy the

blessings which have been so bountifully given to the rest of animated

nature; for, as it has formerly been remarked, he has no soles to his

feet, and he is evidently ill at ease when he tries to move on the

ground, and it is then that he looks up in your face with a countenance

that says, ‘Have pity on me, for I am in pain and sorrow.’

“It mostly happens that Indians and negroes are the people who catch the

sloth, and bring it to the white man: hence it may be conjectured that

the erroneous accounts we have hitherto had of the sloth have not been

penned down with the slightest intention to mislead the reader, or give

him an exaggerated history, but that these errors have naturally arisen

by examining the sloth in those places where nature never intended that

he should be exhibited.

“However, we are now in his own domain. Man but little frequents these

thick and noble forests, which extend far and wide on every side of us.

This, then, is the proper place to go in quest of the sloth. We will

first take a near view of him. By obtaining a knowledge of his anatomy,

we shall be enabled to account for his movements hereafter, when we see

him in his proper haunts. His fore-legs, or, more correctly speaking, his

arms, are apparently much too long, while his hind-legs are very short,

and look as if they could be bent almost to the shape of a corkscrew.

Both the fore and hind-legs, by their form, and by the manner in which

they are joined to the body, are quite incapacitated from acting in a

perpendicular direction, or in supporting it on the earth as the bodies

of other quadrupeds are supported, by their legs. Hence, when you place

him on the floor, his belly touches the ground. Now, granted that he

supported himself on his legs like other animals, nevertheless he would

be in pain, for he has no soles to his feet, and his claws are very sharp

and long, and curved; so that, were his body supported by his feet, it

would be by their extremities, just as your body would be, were you to

throw yourself on all fours, and try to support it on the ends of your

toes and fingers—a trying position. Were the floor of glass, or of a

polished surface, the sloth would actually be quite stationary; but as

the ground is generally rough, with little protuberances upon it, such

as stones, or roots of grass, &c., this just suits the sloth, and he

moves his fore-legs in all directions, in order to find something to lay

hold of; and when he has succeeded he pulls himself forward, and is thus

enabled to travel onwards, but at the same time in so tardy and awkward a

manner as to acquire him the name of sloth.

“Indeed, his looks and his gestures evidently betray his uncomfortable

situation; and as a sigh every now and then escapes him, we may be

entitled to conclude that he is actually in pain.

“Some years ago I kept a sloth in my room for several months. I often

took him out of the house and placed him upon the ground, in order to

have an opportunity of observing his motions. If the ground were rough,

he would pull himself forwards, by means of his fore-legs, at a pretty

good pace; and he invariably immediately shaped his course to the nearest

tree; but if I put him on a smooth and well-trodden part of the road, he

appeared to be in trouble and distress. His favourite abode was the back

of a chair; and after getting all his legs in a line upon the topmost

part of it, he would hang there for hours together, and often, with a low

and inward cry, would seem to invite me to take notice of him.

“The sloth, in its wild state, spends its whole life in trees, and never

leaves them but through force, or by accident. An all-ruling Providence

has ordered man to tread on the surface of the earth, the eagle to soar

in the expanse of the skies, and the monkey and squirrel to inhabit the

trees: still these may change their relative situations without feeling

much inconvenience; but the sloth is doomed to spend his whole life in

the trees; and what is more extraordinary, not _upon_ the branches, like

the squirrel and the monkey, but _under_ them. He moves suspended from

the branch, he rests suspended from it, and he sleeps suspended from it.

To enable him to do this, he must have a very different formation from

that of any other known quadruped.

“Hence his seemingly bungled conformation is at once accounted for; and

in lieu of the sloth leading a painful life, and entailing a melancholy

and miserable existence on its progeny, it is but fair to surmise that it

just enjoys life as much as any other animal, and that its extraordinary

formation and singular habits are but further proofs to engage us to

admire the wonderful works of Omnipotence.

“It must be observed that the sloth does not hang head downwards like the

vampire. When asleep he supports himself from a branch parallel to the

earth. He first seizes the branch with one arm, and then with the other;

and after that, brings up both his legs, one by one, to the same branch,

so that all four are in a line: he seems perfectly at rest in this

position. Now, had he a tail, he would be at a loss to know what to do

with it in this position: were he to draw it up within his legs, it would

interfere with them; and were he to let it hang down, it would become the

sport of the winds. Thus his deficiency of tail is a benefit to him; it

is merely an apology for a tail, scarcely exceeding an inch and a half in

length.

“I observed, when he was climbing, that he never used his arms both

together, but first one and then the other, and so on alternately. There

is a singularity in his hair, different from that of all other animals,

and, I believe, hitherto unnoticed by naturalists; his hair is thick

and coarse at the extremity, and gradually tapers to the root, where it

becomes fine as a spider’s web. His fur has so much the hue of the moss

which grows on the branches of the trees, that it is very difficult to

make him out when he is at rest.

“The male of the three-toed sloth has a longitudinal bar of very fine

black hair on his back, rather lower than the shoulder-blades; on each

side of this black bar there is a space of yellow hair, equally fine;

it has the appearance of being pressed into the body, and looks exactly

as if it had been singed. If we examine the anatomy of his fore-legs,

we shall immediately perceive, by their firm and muscular texture, how

very capable they are of supporting the pendent weight of his body, both

in climbing and at rest; and, instead of pronouncing them a bungled

composition, as a celebrated naturalist has done, we shall consider them

as remarkably well calculated to perform their extraordinary functions.

“As the sloth is an inhabitant of forests within the tropics, where the

trees touch each other in the greatest profusion, there seems to be no

reason why he should confine himself to one tree alone for food, and

entirely strip it of its leaves. During the many years I have ranged the

forests, I have never seen a tree in such a state of nudity; indeed, I

would hazard a conjecture, that, by the time the animal had finished the

last of the old leaves, there would be a new crop on the part of the tree

he had stripped first, ready for him to begin again, so quick is the

process of vegetation in these countries.

“There is a saying amongst the Indians, that when the wind blows the

sloth begins to travel. In calm weather he remains tranquil, probably

not liking to cling to the brittle extremity of the branches, lest they

should break with him in passing from one tree to another; but, as

soon as the wind rises, the branches of the neighbouring trees become

interwoven, and then the sloth seizes hold of them, and pursues his

journey in safety. There is seldom an entire day of calm in these

forests. The trade-wind generally sets in about ten o’clock in the

morning, and thus the sloth may set off after breakfast, and get a

considerable way before dinner. He travels at a good round pace; and were

you to see him pass from tree to tree, as I have done, you would never

think of calling him a sloth.

“Thus it would appear that the different histories we have of this

quadruped are erroneous on two accounts: first, that the writers of them,

deterred by difficulties and local annoyances, have not paid sufficient

attention to him in his native haunts; and secondly, they have described

him in a situation in which he was never intended by nature to cut a

figure—I mean on the ground. The sloth is as much at a loss to proceed on

his journey upon a smooth and level floor as a man would be who had to

walk a mile in stilts upon a line of feather beds.

“One day, as we were crossing the Essequibo, I saw a large two-toed sloth

on the ground upon the bank; how he had got there nobody could tell: the

Indian said he had never surprised a sloth in such a situation before:

he would hardly have come there to drink, for both above and below the

place the branches of the trees touched the water, and afforded him an

easy and safe access to it. Be this as it may, though the trees were not

above twenty yards from him, he could not make his way through the sand

time enough to escape before we landed. As soon as we got up to him he

threw himself upon his back, and defended himself in gallant style with

his fore-legs. “Come, poor fellow,” said I to him, “if thou hast got into

a hobble to-day, thou shalt not suffer for it: I’ll take no advantage of

thee in misfortune; the forest is large enough both for thee and me to

rove in: go thy ways up above, and enjoy thyself in these endless wilds:

it is more than probable thou wilt never have another interview with

man. So fare thee well.” On saying this, I took a long stick which was

lying there, held it for him to hook on, and then conveyed him to a high

and stately mora. He ascended with wonderful rapidity, and in about a

minute he was almost at the top of the tree. He now went off in a side

direction, and caught hold of a branch of a neighbouring tree; he then

proceeded towards the heart of the forest. I stood looking on, lost in

amazement at his singular mode of progress. I followed him with my eye

till the intervening branches closed in betwixt us: and then I lost sight

for ever of the two-toed sloth. I was going to add, that I never saw a

sloth take to his heels in such earnest; but the expression will not do,

for the sloth has no heels.

“That which naturalists have advanced of his being so tenacious of life

is perfectly true. I saw the heart of one beat for half an hour after

it was taken out of the body. The wourali poison seems to be the only

thing that will kill it quickly. On reference to a former part of these

Wanderings, it will be seen that a poisoned arrow killed the sloth in

about ten minutes.

“So much for this harmless, unoffending animal. He holds a conspicuous

place in the catalogue of the animals of the New World. Though

naturalists have made no mention of what follows, still it is not less

true on that account. The sloth is the only quadruped known which spends

its whole life from the branch of a tree, suspended by his feet. I have

paid uncommon attention to him in his native haunts. The monkey and

squirrel will seize a branch with their fore-feet, and pull themselves

up, and rest or run upon it; but the sloth, after seizing it, still

remains suspended, and suspended moves along under the branch, till he

can lay hold of another. Whenever I have seen him in his native woods,

whether at rest, or asleep, or on his travels, I have always observed

that he was suspended from the branch of a tree. When his form and

anatomy are attentively considered, it will appear evident that the

sloth cannot be at ease in any situation where his body is higher or

above his feet.”

Another tree-inhabitant is that curious, almost fabulous, creature, the

vampire. Mr. Waterton says of them—“At the close of day, the vampires

leave the hollow trees, whither they had fled at the morning’s dawn, and

scour along the river’s banks in quest of prey. On waking from sleep,

the astonished traveller finds his hammock all stained with blood. It is

the vampire that hath sucked him. Not man alone, but every unprotected

animal, is exposed to his depredations; and so gently does this nocturnal

surgeon draw the blood, that, instead of being roused, the patient is

lulled into a still profounder sleep. There are two species of vampire

in Demerara, and both suck living animals: one is rather larger than the

common bat; the other measures about two feet from wing to wing extended.

As there was a free entrance and exit to the vampire, in the loft near

the Essequibo where I slept, I had many a fine opportunity of paying

attention to this winged lancer. He does not always live on blood. When

the moon shone bright, and the fruit of the banana-tree was ripe, I could

see him approach and eat it. He would also bring into the loft, from the

forest, a green round fruit, something like the wild guava, and about the

size of a nutmeg. There was something also, in the blossom of the sawarri

nut-tree, which was grateful to him; for on coming up Waratilla creek, in

a moonlight night, I saw several vampires fluttering round the top of the

sawarri-tree, and every now and then the blossoms, which they had broken

off, fell into the water. They certainly did not drop off naturally, for

on examining several of them, they appeared quite fresh and blooming. So

I concluded the vampires pulled them from the tree, either to get at the

incipient fruit, or to catch the insects which often take up their abode

in flowers.

“The vampire, in general, measures about twenty-six inches from wing

to wing extended, though I once killed one which measured thirty-two

inches. He frequents old abandoned houses and hollow trees; and sometimes

a cluster of them may be seen in the forest hanging head downwards from

the branch of a tree.

“Goldsmith seems to have been aware that the vampire hangs in clusters;

for in the _Deserted Village_, speaking of America, he says—

“‘And matted woods, where birds forget to sing,

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.’

“The vampire has a curious membrane, which rises from the nose, and gives

it a very singular appearance. It has been remarked before, that there

are two species of vampire in Guiana, a larger and a smaller. The larger

sucks men and other animals; the smaller seems to confine himself chiefly

to birds. I learnt from a gentleman, high up in the river Demerara, that

he was completely unsuccessful with his fowls, on account of the small

vampire. He showed me some that had been sucked the night before, and

they were scarcely able to walk.

“Some years ago I went to the river Paumaron with a Scotch gentleman, by

name Tarbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter’s

house. Next morning I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, and

now and then letting fall an imprecation or two, just about the time he

ought to have been saying his morning prayers. ‘What is the matter, sir?’

said I, softly; ‘is anything amiss?’ ‘What’s the matter!’ answered he,

surlily; ‘why, the vampires have been sucking me to death.’ As soon as

there was light enough, I went to his hammock, and saw it much stained

with blood. ‘There,’ said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, ‘see

how these infernal imps have been drawing my life’s blood.’ On examining

his foot, I found the vampire had tapped his great toe: there was a wound

somewhat less than that made by a leech; the blood was still oozing from

it; I conjectured he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood.

Whilst examining it, I think I put him into a worse humour by remarking

that a European surgeon would not have been so generous as to have

blooded him without making a charge. He looked up in my face, but did not

say a word; I saw he was of opinion that I had better have spared this

piece of ill-timed levity.

“I had often wished to have been once sucked by the vampire, in order

that I might have it in my power to say it had really happened to me.

There can be no pain in the operation, for the patient is always asleep

when the vampire is sucking him; and as for the loss of a few ounces of

blood, that would be a trifle in the long run. Many a night have I slept

with my foot out of the hammock to tempt this winged surgeon, expecting

that he would be there; but it was all in vain; the vampire never

sucked me, and I could never account for his not doing so, for we were

inhabitants of the same loft for months together.”

The naturalist’s description of the river Demerara is a beautiful piece

of writing:—

“He whose eye can distinguish the various beauties of uncultivated

nature, and whose ear is not shut to the wild sounds in the woods, will

be delighted in passing the river Demerara. Every now and then the maam

or tinamou sends forth one long and plaintive whistle from the depth of

the forest, and then stops; whilst the yelping of the toucan, and the

shrill voice of the bird called pi-pi-yo, are heard during the interval.

The campanero never fails to attract the attention of the passenger: at a

distance of nearly three miles you may hear this snow-white bird tolling

every four or five minutes like the distant convent-bell. From six to

nine in the morning, the forests resound with the mingled cries and

strains of the feathered race; after this they gradually die away. From

eleven to three all nature is hushed as in a midnight silence, and scarce

a note is heard, saving that of the campanero and the pi-pi-yo; it is

then that, oppressed by the solar heat, the birds retire to the thickest

shade, and wait for the refreshing cool of evening.

“At sundown the vampires, bats, and goat-suckers dart from their lonely

retreat, and skim along the trees on the river’s bank. The different

kinds of frogs almost stun the ear with their hoarse and hollow-sounding

croaking, while the owls and goat-suckers lament and mourn all night long.

“About two hours before daybreak you will hear the red monkey moaning

as though in deep distress; the houtou, a solitary bird, and only found

in the thickest recesses of the forest, distinctly articulates “houtou,

houtou,” in a low and plaintive tone, an hour before sunrise; the maam

whistles about the same hour; the hannaquoi, pataca, and maroudi announce

his near approach to the eastern horizon, and the parrots and the

parroquets confirm his arrival there.

“The crickets chirp from sunset to sunrise, and often during the day

when the weather is cloudy. The beterouge is extremely numerous in these

extensive wilds, and not only man, but beasts and birds, are tormented

by it. Mosquitoes are very rare after you pass the third island in the

Demerara, and sand-flies but seldom appear.

“Courteous reader, here thou hast the outlines of an amazing landscape

given thee; thou wilt see that the principal parts of it are but faintly

traced, some of them scarcely visible at all, and that the shades are

wholly wanting. If thy soul partakes of the ardent flame which the

persevering Mungo Park’s did, these outlines will be enough for thee:

they will give thee some idea of what a noble country this is; and if

thou hast but courage to set about giving the world a finished picture

of it, neither materials to work on, nor colours to paint it in its true

shades, will be wanting to thee. It may appear a difficult task at a

distance; but look close at it, and it is nothing at all; provided thou

hast but a quiet mind, little more is necessary, and the genius which

presides over these wilds will kindly help thee through the rest. She

will allow thee to slay the fawn and cut down the mountain-cabbage for

thy support, and to select from every part of her domain whatever may be

necessary for the work thou art about; but having killed a pair of doves

in order to enable thee to give mankind a true and proper description

of them, thou must not destroy a third through wantonness, or to show

what a good marksman thou art: that would only blot the picture thou art

finishing, not colour it.

“Though retired from the haunts of men, and even without a friend with

thee, thou would not find it solitary. The crowing of the hannaquoi will

sound in thine ears like the daybreak town-clock; and the wren and thrush

will join thee in thy matin hymn to thy Creator, to thank Him for thy

night’s rest.

“At noon the Genius will lead thee to the troely, one leaf of which will

defend thee from both sun and rain. And if, in the cool of the evening,

thou hast been tempted to stray too far from thy place of abode, and art

deprived of light to write down the information thou hast collected, the

fire-fly, which thou wilt see in almost every bush around thee, will be

thy candle. Hold it over thy pocket-book, in any position which thou

knowest will not hurt it, and it will afford thee ample light. And when

thou hast done with it, put it kindly back again on the next branch to

thee. It will want no other reward for its services.