Cotton Nuts--Terrific Encounter with Lion and
Lioness--A Savage--Parley, and Recognition
of a Friend
Our first care, on rising the next morning, was to set about the
preparation of the boar. Jack had recovered from his fear, and,
accompanied by the dogs, we set out to look for the dead boar. He
was enormous--between a boar and a buffalo in size, and his head was
indeed frightfully large.
“I fear,” said I, “that the flesh of this old African is not better
than a European boar. My advice is, that instead of dragging the
immense carcass away, we cut off what we want, and let the rest
alone.”
My sons agreed with me, and we began to cut off the hams and head of
the wild boar. Some branches of trees furnished us with sleds to put
the pieces on, and we made the dogs draw them to the shore.
While we were occupied in disposing of our hams, chance made known
to us an important discovery. Ernest remarked on the branches we had
cut to make our sleds a sort of nut; he opened one, but, instead of
a kernel, it contained a beautiful fine cotton, of a deep yellow,
which I recognized as being the real Nankin cotton. This cotton owes
its name to a province of China, where it grows abundantly, and is
cultivated with much care. We made a large provision of these nuts,
and dug up two young trees to carry to Felsenheim.
Jack shrank with fright from the head of his terrible enemy,
and appeared quite overjoyed that it was going to figure in our
museum; but, on the observation of Ernest that it would be very
difficult to prepare, and having heard that boar’s head was very
fine eating, we resolved to cook it with truffles, in the Otaheitan
manner; consequently Fritz and Ernest set to work, and dug a deep
ditch, while I cleaned the head and heated some stones. When these
preparations were finished, we placed the head, stuffed with
truffles, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, in a ditch, and
covered it with red-hot stones and a thick layer of earth. While our
supper was cooking, we suspended the hams over the smoke of the fire,
and tranquilly sat down to talk over the events of the day, when
suddenly a deep, prolonged cry rang through the forest. It was the
first time we had ever heard such unearthly tones: the rocks echoed
it, and we felt seized with sudden terror; the dogs and the jackal
also commenced howling horribly.
“What a diabolical concert!” said Fritz, jumping up and seizing his
gun; “some danger must be near. Build up the fire,” continued he,
“and while I try to discover the danger in my cajack, you retire to
the canoe.”
This plan appeared the best we could pursue, and I adopted it. We
threw on the fire all the wood we could find ready cut, and, without
losing time, we regained the canoe. Fritz jumped into the cajack, and
was soon lost in the obscurity.
During all this time the roarings continued, and they appeared to
approach nearer to us. Our dogs gathered around the fire, uttering
plaintive moans. Our poor little monkey seemed to suffer painfully
from fear. I imagined that it was a leopard or a panther, which had
been attracted by the remains of the wild boar in the wood. My doubts
did not last long, for we soon discovered by the pale light of our
fires a terrible lion, considerably larger and stronger than those I
had seen in the royal menageries of Europe. In two or three leaps he
bounded over the space which separated the wood from the shore; he
stood immovable for a moment, and then commenced lashing his flanks
with his tail, and roaring furiously, every moment crouching down
as if to spring on us. This frightful pantomime did not last long:
every moment he would run to the stream, lap up some water, and then
return. I remarked with mortal anguish that the animal came nearer
and nearer to the shore; and at length he lay crouched down, his
flaming eyes fixed directly on us. Half in fear, half in despair, I
raised my gun, and was about to fire, when suddenly I heard a report;
the animal bounded up, gave a tremendous yell, and fell lifeless on
the earth.
“’Tis Fritz,” murmured my poor Ernest, pale with terror. “O God!
protect my brother.”
“Yes, it is he,” I cried, “our brave Fritz: he has saved us from a
terrible death; let us go to him.” In two strokes of the oars we were
on shore; but our dogs, with an admirable instinct, began to bark
terribly. I did not neglect this indication; we threw more wood on
the fire, and again jumped into the boat. It was time; for scarcely
were we secure, when a second enemy rushed from the forest: it was
not so large as the first, but its roar was frightful. This time it
was a lioness, probably the companion of the superb animal which
we had just killed. How grateful I felt that both had not appeared
together; what could we have done? The lioness ran straight up to
the corpse of her late partner, smelled it, and licked up the blood,
which had flowed from the wound; and when she was convinced that
he no longer lived, she set up a howl of rage that pen could not
describe; she lashed her sides and opened her enormous mouth, as if
she would devour us all.
Again Fritz fired, and the shot, less fortunate than the first, only
broke the shoulder of the animal. The wounded lioness commenced
rolling on the sand, foaming with rage; but all three of our dogs
rushed upon her. Braun and Folb seized the animal in the flanks, and
Flora caught hold of the throat. Another shot would have put an end
to the combat, but I was afraid of wounding the dogs; so I jumped
from the boat, and, running up to the animal, who was held fast by
the dogs, I plunged my hunting-knife direct to her heart: the blood
spouted out, and the lioness fell; but the victory had cost us dear,
for there lay our poor Flora, dead under the terrible wounds she had
received from the fangs of the monster.
Fritz now ran up and threw himself into my arms, as did Ernest and
poor Jack, who trembled with mortal agony. We lighted our torches,
and directed our course toward the field of battle; we found poor
Flora, with her teeth yet clutching the throat of her enemy, while
the royal couple lay majestically extended on the sand, and we could
hardly suppress a sentiment of fear which struck us as we gazed on
the terrific beasts.
“What a terrible range of teeth!” said Ernest, as he raised up the
head of the lion.
“Yes, and what frightful claws!” said Jack; “wouldn’t they make nice
holes in your skin?”
“Yes, my friends,” observed I, “let us thank God that He has saved us
from the danger; thank Him for the wisdom with which He has endowed
men, so that they may be able to conquer such terrible beasts.”
“Poor Flora!” said Fritz, as he detached the dead body of our dear
dog from that of the lioness; “she has done for us to-day what our
old ass did in the case of the boa. Come, Ernest, see if you cannot
induce your muse to fabricate an epitaph.”
“Ah! my muse, I must confess, has been too terribly frightened to
make any rhymes.”
“Tush! go and meditate while we dig the grave of our poor hunter, and
be sure to be ready when we are done.”
Flora received the honours of a funeral by torchlight; we dug a
grave, and silently placed in it the remains of the faithful animal,
and a flat stone served to mark her resting-place. Ernest composed
the following legend, which he read to us, saying that he was too
frightened for poetry, and Flora must be contented with prose:
Here Lies
FLORA, A DOG
remarkable
for her courage and devotion.
She died
under the claws of a lion,
on whom
she also inflicted death.
“Admirable,” said Fritz. “It must be confessed, Ernest, you write
full as good prose as poetry.”
At sunrise next morning we were up, and our first care was to
deprive our noble prey of their superb furs. Jack wanted to make a
mantle of the lion’s skin, such as Hercules wore after his victory
in the Nemæan forest; but I adjourned all arrangements about their
appropriation till a more convenient time.
The heat of the sun had commenced to corrupt the oysters heaped upon
the bank, and the effluvia which they exhaled induced us to return
to Felsenheim, and early in the morning we set sail. Fritz set off
before us, as if to serve as pilot; but when he had conducted us
through the vault, and over the shoals, he rowed up to our canoe,
and, handing me a paper, shot off again like an arrow. I opened the
paper quickly, and imagine my surprise when I found that, instead of
having forgotten the albatross and the smoking rock, he informed me
in the letter that he was going in search of the unfortunate being! I
had a thousand objections to make to this romantic project; but Fritz
rowed so fast, I could barely halloo through the speaking-trumpet,
“Return soon, and be prudent,” before he was out of sight. We gave
to the cape where he left us the name of the “Adieu Cape.” We prayed
that our adventurer might return safe, and I begged my rowers
to redouble their endeavours, so that we could arrive early at
Felsenheim, for I suspected that my good Elizabeth would be worried
at our long absence of three days.
We finally arrived without accident, and the different treasures we
had brought were joyfully received; the truffles, the lion-skins, the
pearls, the Nankin, became the objects of a thousand questions, but
they could not drive away the thoughts of Fritz; and my wife said she
would willingly give up all our cargo of pearls, etc., if she could
only see her beloved son.
I had not yet spoken to my wife concerning the reason of Fritz’s
absence, as I did not wish to give rise to hopes which were so
unlikely to be realized; but now I thought that it was my duty to do
so. I therefore confided to her the secret of the albatross; and the
dear woman, to my surprise, was calm and resigned; she only prayed
with me that he might be successful.
Five days had thus passed away and still Fritz had not returned, and
his mother was so anxious and worried that I proposed to launch the
pinnace and make a new excursion to the Bay of Pearls. We lost no
time; the pinnace was prepared, and early the next day we bade adieu
to Felsenheim, and soon were in sight of the promontory of the bay,
when suddenly the vessel ran against a black mass, and was nearly
thrown over by the shock. My wife and sons uttered a cry of terror;
but the boat soon righted, and I perceived that the obstacle was not
a point of rock, as I had thought, but a marine monster of the family
of blowers, for we soon saw him throw up into the air two spouts of
water mingled with blood. I instantly pointed the cannons of the
pinnace, and a discharge of artillery prevented the huge monster
from overturning us, which he certainly would have done if the blow
had not stunned him. We saw with pleasure that the waves carried the
enormous body to a sand-bank a little distance from the shore, and
there it lay like a stranded ship.
Suddenly Ernest uttered a loud scream. “A man! a savage!” said he,
and he pointed out to us in the distance a sort of canoe dancing over
the waves. The person who conducted it seemed to have perceived us,
for he advanced and then made towards a projecting point, as if to
communicate his discovery to his companions. I leave our sensations
to the imagination of the reader. I had not the slightest doubt that
we had fallen in with a band of savages, and we began to fortify our
boat against their arrows, by making a bulwark of the stalks of maize
and corn we had brought with us. We loaded our cannons, guns, and
pistols, and, everything arranged, we stood ready behind our rampart,
resolved to defend it as long as we were able. We dared not advance,
for there was the savage; and Ernest, growing tired of the pantomime,
observed that, if we used the speaking-trumpet, possibly our savage
might understand some words of the half-dozen languages we were
familiar with.
The advice appeared good. I took up the speaking-trumpet and bellowed
out with all my force some words of Malay; but still the canoe
remained immovable, as if its master had not comprehended us.
“Instead of Malay,” said Jack, “suppose we try English.” So saying,
he caught up the trumpet, and in his clear, loud tone pronounced some
common sailor-phrases, well known to all who have ever been on board
ship. The device succeeded, and we saw the savage advancing toward
us, holding a green branch in his hand. Nearer and nearer he came,
and at last we recognized in the painted savage our own dear Fritz.