We went to the grotto early in the morning, and found our two invalids
much improved: my wife had slept better, and Mr. Willis found Jack’s
wound going on well. Madame _Mimi_ told her daughters to prepare
breakfast: they went out and soon returned, with a native woman and a
boy of four or five years old, carrying newly-made rush baskets filled
with all sorts of fruit: figs, guavas, strawberries, cocoa-nuts, and the
bread-fruit.
“I must introduce you,” said Emily, “to the rest of my family: this is
Canda, the wife of your friend Parabéry, and this is their son,
_Minou-minou_, whom I regard as my own. Your Elizabeth is already
attached to them, and bespeaks your friendship for them. They will
follow us to the Happy Island.”
“Oh, if you knew,” said Francis, “what a well-behaved boy Minou is! He
can climb trees, run, and leap, though he is less than I am. He must be
my friend.”
“And Canda,” said Elizabeth, “shall be our assistant and friend.”
She gave her hand to Canda, I did the same, and caressed the boy, who
seemed delighted with me, and, to my great surprise, spoke to me in very
good German—the mother, too, knew several words of the language. They
busied themselves with our breakfast: opened the cocoa-nuts, and poured
the milk into the shells, after separating the kernel; they arranged the
fruits on the trunk of a tree, which served for a table, and did great
credit to the talent of their instructress.
“I should have liked to have offered you coffee,” said Madame Hirtel,
“which grows in this island, but having no utensils for roasting,
grinding, or preparing it, it has been useless to me, and I have not
even gathered it.”
“Do you think, my dear, that it would grow in our island?” said my wife
to me, in some anxiety.
I then recollected, for the first time, how fond my wife was of coffee,
which, in Europe, had always been her favourite breakfast. There would
certainly be in the ship some bags, which I might have brought away; but
I had never thought of it, and my unselfish wife, not seeing it, had
never named it, except once wishing we had some to plant in the garden.
Now that there was a probability of obtaining it, she confessed that
coffee and bread were the only luxuries she regretted. I promised to try
and cultivate it in our island; foreseeing, however, that it would
probably not be of the best quality, I told her she must not expect
Mocha; but her long privation from this delicious beverage had made her
less fastidious, and she assured me it would be a treat to her. After
breakfast, we begged Madame Hirtel to resume her interesting narrative.
She continued:
“After the reflections on my situation, which I told you of last night,
I determined only to return to the sea-shore, when our food failed us in
the woods; but I acquired other means of procuring it. Encouraged by
the success of my fishing, I made a sort of net from the filaments of
the bark of a tree and a plant resembling hemp. With these I succeeded
in catching some birds: one, resembling our thrush, was very fat, and of
delicious flavour. I had the greatest difficulty in overcoming my
repugnance to taking away their life; nothing but the obligation of
preserving our own could have reconciled me to it. My children plucked
them; I then spitted them on a slender branch and roasted them before
the fire. I also found some nests of eggs, which I concluded were those
of the wild ducks which frequented our stream. I made myself acquainted
with all the fruits which the monkeys and parroquets eat, and which were
not out of my reach. I found a sort of acorn which had the flavour of a
nut. The children also discovered plenty of large strawberries, a
delicious repast; and I found a quantity of honeycomb in the hollow of a
tree, which I obtained by stupifying the bees with a smoking brand.
“I took care to mark down every day on the blank leaves of my
pocket-book. I had now marked thirty days of my wandering life on the
border of the river, for I never strayed beyond the sound of its waters.
Still I kept continually advancing towards the interior of the island. I
had yet met with nothing alarming, and the weather had been most
favourable; but we were not long to enjoy this comfort. The rainy season
came on: and one night, to my great distress, I heard it descend in
torrents. We were no longer under our fig-tree, which would have
sheltered us for a considerable time. The tree under which we now were
had tempted me by having several cavities between the roots, filled with
soft moss, which formed natural couches, but the foliage was very thin,
and we were soon drenched completely. I crept near my poor children to
protect them a little, but in vain; our little bed was soon filled with
water, and we were compelled to leave it. Our clothes were so heavy with
the rain that we could scarcely stand; and the night was so dark that we
could see no road, and ran the risk of falling, or striking against some
tree, if we moved. My children wept, and I trembled for their health,
and for my own, which was so necessary to them. This was one of the most
terrible nights of my pilgrimage. My children and I knelt down, and I
prayed to our Heavenly Father for strength to bear this trial, if it was
his will to continue it. I felt consolation and strength from my
prayers, and rose with courage and confidence; and though the rain
continued unabated, I waited with resignation the pleasure of the
Almighty. I reconciled my children to our situation; and Sophia told me
she had asked her father, who was near the gracious God, to entreat Him
to send no more rain, but let the sun come back. I assured them God
would not forget them; they began to be accustomed to the rain, only
Sophia begged they might take off their clothes, and then it would be
like a bath in the brook. I consented to this, thinking they would be
less liable to suffer than by wearing their wet garments.
“The day began to break, and I determined to walk on without stopping,
in order to warm ourselves by the motion; and to try to find some cave,
some hollow tree, or some tree with thick foliage, to shelter us the
next night.
“I undressed the children, and made a bundle of their clothes, which I
would have carried myself, but I found they would not be too heavy for
them, and I judged it best to accustom them early to the difficulties,
fatigue, and labour, which would be their lot; and to attend entirely on
themselves; I, therefore, divided the clothes into two unequal bundles,
proportioned to their strength, and having made a knot in each, I passed
a slender branch through it, and showed them how to carry it on their
shoulders.
“When I saw them walking before me in this savage fashion, with their
little white bodies exposed to the storm, I could not refrain from
tears. I blamed myself for condemning them to such an existence, and
thought of returning to the shore, where some vessel might rescue us;
but we were now too far off to set about it. I continued to proceed with
much more difficulty than my children, who had nothing on but their
shoes and large hats. I carried the valuable box, in which I had placed
the remains of our last night’s supper, an act of necessary prudence, as
there was neither fishing nor hunting now.
“As the day advanced, the rain diminished, and even the sun appeared
above the horizon.
“‘Look, my darlings,’ said I, ‘God has heard us, and sent his sun to
warm and cheer us. Let us thank him,’
“‘Papa has begged it of him!’ said Matilda. ‘Oh! mamma, let us pray him
to send Alfred back!’
“My poor little girl bitterly regretted the loss of her brother. Even
now she can scarcely hear his name without tears. When the savages
brought Francis to us, she at first took him for her brother. ‘Oh, how
you have grown in heaven!’ cried she; and, after she discovered he was
not her brother, she often said to him, ‘How I wish your name
was Alfred!’
“Forgive me for dwelling so long on the details of my wretched journey,
which was not without its comforts, in the pleasure I took in the
development of my children’s minds, and in forming plans for their
future education. Though anything relating to science, or the usual
accomplishments, would be useless to them, I did not wish to bring them
up like young savages; I hoped to be able to communicate much useful
knowledge to them, and to give them juster ideas of this world and
that to come.
“As soon as the sun had dried them, I made them put on their dresses,
and we continued our walk by the brook, till we arrived at the grove
which is before this rock. I removed the branches to pass through it,
and saw beyond them the entrance to this grotto. It was very low and
narrow; but I could not help uttering a cry of joy, for this was the
only sort of retreat that could securely shelter us. I was going to
enter it without thought, not reflecting there might be in it some
ferocious animal, when I was arrested by a plaintive cry, more like that
of a child than a wild beast; I advanced with more caution, and tried to
find out what sort of an inhabitant the cave contained. It was indeed a
human being!—an infant, whose age I could not discover; but it seemed
too young to walk, and was, besides, tied up in leaves and moss,
enclosed in a piece of bark, which was much torn and rent. The poor
infant uttered the most piteous cries, and I did not hesitate a moment
to enter the cave, and to take the innocent little creature in my arms;
it ceased its cries as soon as it felt the warmth of my cheek; but it
was evidently in want of food, and I had nothing to give it but some
figs, of which I pressed the juice into its mouth; this seemed to
satisfy it, and, rocking it in my arms, it soon went to sleep. I had
then time to examine it, and to look round the cave. From the size and
form of the face, I concluded it might be older than I had first
thought; and I recollected to have read that the savages carried their
children swaddled up in this way, even till they could walk. The
complexion of the child was a pale olive, which I have since discovered
is the natural complexion of the natives, before the exposure to the
heat of the sun gives them the bronze hue you have seen; the features
were good, except that the lips were thicker and the mouth larger than
those of the Europeans. My two girls were charmed with it, and caressed
it with great joy. I left them to rock it gently in its cradle of bark,
till I went round this cave, which I intended for my palace, and which I
have never quitted. You see it—the form is not changed; but, since
Heaven has sent me a friend,” looking at the missionary, “it is adorned
with furniture and utensils which have completed my comforts. But
to return.
“The grotto was spacious, and irregular in form. In a hollow I found,
with surprise, a sort of bed, carefully arranged with moss, dry leaves,
and small twigs. I was alarmed. Was this grotto inhabited by men or by
wild beasts? In either case, it was dangerous to remain here. I
encouraged a hope, however, that, from the infant being here, the mother
must be the inhabitant, and that, on her return, finding me nursing her
child, she might be induced to share her asylum with us. I could not,
however, reconcile this hope with the circumstance of the child being
abandoned in this open cave.
“As I was considering whether I ought to remain, or leave the cave, I
heard strange cries at a distance, mingled with the screams of my
children, who came running to me for protection, bringing with them the
young savage, who fortunately was only half awaked, and soon went to
sleep again, sucking a fig. I laid him gently on the bed of leaves, and
told my daughters to remain near him in a dark corner; then, stepping
cautiously, I ventured to look out to discover what was passing, without
being seen. The noise approached nearer, to my great alarm, and I could
perceive, through the trees, a crowd of men armed with long pointed
lances, clubs, and stones; they appeared furious, and the idea that they
might enter the cave froze me with terror. I had an idea of taking the
little native babe, and holding it in my arms, as my best shield; but
this time my fears were groundless. The whole troop passed outside the
wood, without even looking on the same side as the grotto; they appeared
to follow some traces they were looking out for on the ground. I heard
their shouts for some time, but they died away, and I recovered from my
fears. Still, the dread of meeting them overcame even hunger. I had
nothing left in my box but some figs, which I kept for the infant, who
was satisfied with them, and I told my daughters we must go to bed
without supper. The sleeping infant amused them so much, that they
readily consented to give up the figs. He awoke smiling, and they gave
him the figs to suck. In the mean time, I prepared to release him from
his bondage to make him more comfortable; and I then saw that the outer
covering of bark was torn by the teeth of some animal, and even the skin
of the child slightly grazed. I ventured to carry him to the brook, into
which I plunged him two or three times, which seemed to give him
great pleasure.
“I ran back to the cave, which is, you see, not more than twenty yards
distant, and found Sophia and Matilda very much delighted at a treasure
they had found under the dry leaves in a corner. This was a great
quantity of fruits of various kinds, roots of some unknown plant, and a
good supply of beautiful honey, on which the little gluttons were
already feasting. They came directly to give some on their fingers to
their little doll, as they called the babe. This discovery made me very
thoughtful. Was it possible that we were in a bear’s den! I had read
that they sometimes carried off infants and that they were very fond of
fruits and of honey, of which they generally had a hoard. I remarked on
the earth, and especially at the entrance, where the rain had made it
soft, the impression of large paws which left me no doubt. The animal
would certainly return to his den, and we were in the greatest danger;
but where could we go? The sky, dark with clouds, threatened a return of
the storm; and the troop of savages might still be wandering about the
island. I had not courage, just as night set in, to depart with my
children; nor could I leave the poor infant, who was now sleeping
peacefully, after his honey and figs. His two nurses soon followed his
example; but for me there was no rest; the noise of the wind among the
trees, and of the rain pattering on the leaves,—the murmur of the
brook,—the light bounds of the kangaroo,—all made my heart beat with
fear and terror; I fancied it was the bear returning to devour us. I had
cut and broken some branches to place before the entrance; but these
were but a weak defence against a furious and probably famished animal;
and if he even did no other harm to my children, I was sure their terror
at the sight of him would kill them. I paced backwards and forwards,
from the entrance to the bed, in the darkness, envying the dear sleepers
their calm and fearless rest; the dark-skinned baby slept soundly,
nestled warmly between my daughters, till day broke at last, without
anything terrible occurring. Then my little people awoke, and cried out
with hunger. We ate of the fruits and honey brought us by our unknown
friend, feeding, also, our little charge, to whom my daughters gave the
pet name of _Minou_, which he still keeps.
“I busied myself with his _toilette_. There was no need to go to the
brook for a bath, for the rain came down incessantly. I then folded
Matilda’s apron round him, which pleased her greatly. The rain ceased
for a while, and they set off for flowers to amuse him. They were
scarcely gone when I heard the cries of the savages again; but this
time they seemed rather shouts of joy and triumph; they sung and
chaunted a sort of chorus; but were still at such distance that I had
time to recall my daughters, and withdrew them out of sight. I took
_Minou_ with me as a mediator, and placed myself in an angle of the
rock, where I could see without being seen. They passed, as before,
beyond the wood, armed, and two of them bore at the end of their
lances something very large and dark, which I could not distinguish,
but thought might be some wild beast they had destroyed; afterwards,
I flattered myself it might be the bear, whose return I so greatly
dreaded. Following the train was a woman, naked, with her hair hanging
down, uttering loud cries, and tearing her face and breast. No one
attempted to soothe her; but occasionally one of the bearers of the
black mass pointed it out to her; she then became furious, threw
herself on it, and tried to tear it with her teeth and nails. I was
quite overcome with horror and pity.
“That woman, my friends, was Canda, whom you have just seen. Canda,
usually so mild and gentle, was rendered frantic by the loss of her
child,—her first-born,—whom she believed was devoured by the bear.
Parabéry, her husband, tried to console her, but was himself in great
sorrow. These bears, as I have since learnt, for there were two of them,
had come from a mountain, at the foot of which was Parabéry’s hut. They
had only this son, and Canda, according to the custom of the country,
tying it in a piece of bark, carried it on her back. One morning, after
having bathed him in the stream, which has its source near their abode,
she placed him on the turf a few moments, while she was employed in
some household duties. She soon heard his cries, mingled with a sort of
growl; she ran to the spot, and saw a frightful beast holding her child
in its mouth, and running off with it. It was then more than twenty
yards off; her cries brought her husband; she pointed to the horrible
animal, and darted after it, determined to save her child or perish. Her
husband only stopped to seize his javelin, and followed her, but did not
overtake her till fatigue and the heat of the day made her fall, almost
senseless, on the ground. Stopping for a moment to raise and encourage
her, he lost sight of the bear, and could not recover the track. All the
night,—that dreadful night of rain, when I was weeping and murmuring,
thinking myself the most unfortunate of women,—was Canda exposed,
without clothes, to that frightful storm, hopelessly seeking her only
child, and not even feeling that it did rain. Parabéry, not less
afflicted, but more composed, went to relate his misfortune to his
neighbours, who, arming themselves, set out, with Parabéry at their
head, following the track of the animal over the wet ground. They
discovered it next morning with another bear, so busy devouring a swarm
of bees and their honey, that the savages were able to draw near them.
Parabéry pierced one with his spear, and despatched him with a blow of
his club; one of his comrades killed the other, and Parabéry tasted the
truly savage joy of vengeance. But the poor mother could not be so
comforted. After wandering through the rain all night, she reached the
party as they were skinning the bear and dividing the flesh. Parabéry
only asked and obtained the skins, to recompense him for the loss of his
son. They returned home in triumph, Canda following them with bitter
cries, tearing her face with a shark’s tooth. From observation of these
circumstances, I concluded that Canda must be the mother of my little
_protégé_. My heart sympathized with her, and I even made some steps
forward to restore him; but the sight of the savage crowd, with their
tattooed bodies, filled me with such terror, that I retreated
involuntarily to the grotto, where my children, alarmed by the noise,
were hiding themselves.
“‘Why do the people cry out so?’ said Sophia, ‘they frighten me. Don’t
let them come here, mamma, or they may carry Minou away,’
“‘Certainly,’ said I; ‘and I should have no right to forbid them. I
think they are his friends who are distressed at losing him; I wish I
could restore him to them.’
“‘Oh, no! mamma,’ said Matilda. ‘Pray don’t give him back; we like him
so much, and we will be his little mammas. He will be far happier with
us than with those ugly savages, who tied him up like a parcel in the
bark, with the moss which pricked him so much; he is much more
comfortable in my apron. How he moves his legs as if he wanted to walk;
Sophia and I will teach him. Do let us keep him, mimi.’
“Even if I had decided, it was now too late; the savages had passed on
to some distance. I, however, explained to Matilda the beauty of the
divine precept, ‘Do unto others as you would they should do unto you,’
asking her how she would have liked to be detained by the savages, and
what, then, would be the suffering of her own mamma? She was thoughtful
for a moment, and then, embracing Minou and me, ‘You are right, mamma
mimi; but if she loves her baby, let her come and seek him,’ said the
little rebel. In the mean time, Sophia had been out, and returned with
some brilliant flowers, fresh after the rain, with which they made
garlands to dress up the infant. ‘Oh! if his mamma saw him, she would be
glad to let us have him,’ said Matilda. She then explained to her sister
who this mamma was, and Sophia shed tears to think of the sorrow of the
poor mother. ‘But how do you know, mamma, that she was Minou’s mother?’
demanded she. This question proved that her judgment was forming, and I
took the opportunity of teaching her what information one may derive
from observation. She understood me very well; and when I told her on
what I had founded my idea, she trembled to think he had been brought
here by a bear, and asked me if the bear would have eaten him.
“‘I cannot answer for it,’ said I, ‘if it had been pressed by hunger;
they tell us, that the bear does no harm to man unless attacked, and is
especially fond of children. But, notwithstanding this, I should not
like to trust it. At all events, the poor babe would have died, if we
had not found him.’
“‘Poor babe, he shall not die of hunger now,’ said she. ‘Let us give him
some figs; but these are not good; we must go and seek some more.’
“The rain having ceased, I consented, passing through the grove, where
there are no fig-trees, to search farther. My daughters had fed the
child with honey and water; it appeared quite reconciled to us, and had
ceased to cry. I judged it might be about eight months old. We soon
found some trees covered with the violet-coloured figs. Whilst I
gathered them, the girls made a pretty bed of moss, adorned with
flowers, for their little favourite, and fed him with the fresh fruit,
which he enjoyed much; and with their fair hair and rosy faces, and the
little negro between them, with his arch, dark countenance, they formed
a charming picture, which affected me greatly.”
* * * * *