It was getting late, and while we were enjoying our supper before our tent, our donkey, whom the boys had named Grizzle, had been quietly browsing near us. Suddenly he set up a loud bray, and, without the least apparent cause, pricked up his ears, threw up his heels, and galloped off into the thicket of bamboos. We followed for a short distance, and I sent the dogs in chase, but they returned without our friend, and, as it was late, we were obliged to abandon the chase.
I was annoyed by this incident, and even alarmed; for not only had we lost Grizzle—the donkey, but I knew not what had occasioned his sudden flight. I knew not whether he was aware, by instinct, of the approach of some fierce wild beast. I said nothing of this to my family, but, making up an unusually large fire, I bade them sleep with their arms by their sides, and we all lay down.
A bright morning awoke us early, and I rose and looked out, thinking that perhaps our poor Grizzle might have been attracted by the light of the fires, and had returned. Alas! not a sign of him was to be seen. As we could not afford to lose so valuable a beast, I determined to leave no attempt untried to regain him. We hurriedly breakfasted, and, as I required the dogs to assist me in the search, I left my elder sons to protect their mother, and bade Jack get ready for a day’s march. This arrangement delighted him, and we quickly set out.
For an hour or more we trudged onward, directed by the print of Grizzle’s hoofs. Sometimes we lost the track for a while, and then again discovered it as we reached softer soil. Finally this guide failed us altogether, for the donkey seemed to have joined in with a herd of some larger animals, with whose hoofprints his had mingled. I now almost turned back in despair, but Jack urged me to continue the search. “For,” said he, “if we once get upon a hill we shall see such a large herd, as this must be, at almost any distance. Do let us go on, father.”
I consented, and we again pushed forward, through bushes and over torrents, sometimes cutting our way with an ax and sometimes plunging knee-deep through a swamp. We at length reached the border of a wide plain, and on it, in the distance, I could see a herd of animals browsing on the rich grass.
It struck me that it might be the very herd to which our good donkey had joined himself. And, wishing to ascertain whether this was so, I resolved to make a detour through a bamboo marsh, and get as near as possible to the animals without disturbing them. The bamboos were huge, many of them over thirty feet in height. As we made our way through them, I remembered an account of the giant cane of South America, which is greatly prized by the Indians on account of its extreme usefulness. The reeds themselves make masts for their canoes, while each joint will form a cask or box. I was delighted, for I had little doubt that the bamboos we were among were of the same species. I explained this to Jack, and as we discussed the possibility of cutting one down and carrying a portion of it home, we reached the border of the marsh, and emerged upon the plain.
There we suddenly found ourselves face to face with the herd which we sought—a herd of buffaloes. They looked up and stared at us inquisitively, but without moving. Jack would have fired, but I checked him. “Back to the thicket,” I said, “and keep back the dogs!”
We began to retreat, but before we were again under cover the dogs joined us. In spite of our shouts and efforts to restrain them, however, they dashed forward and seized a buffalo calf. This was a signal to the whole herd to attack us. They bellowed loudly, pawed the ground, and tore it up with their horns, and then dashed madly toward us. We had not time to step behind a rock before the leader was upon us. So close was he that my gun was useless. I drew a pistol and fired. He fell dead at my feet. His fall checked the advance of the rest. They halted, snuffed the air, turned tail, and galloped off across the plain.
They were gone, but the dogs still held gallantly to the calf. They dragged and tussled with him, but with their utmost efforts they could not bring him to the ground. How to assist them without shooting the poor beast I knew not. This I was unwilling to do, for I hoped that, if we could but capture him alive, we might in time manage to tame him, and use him as a beast of burden.
Jack’s clever little head, however, suddenly devised a plan, and with his usual promptitude, he at once put it into execution. He unwound the lasso, which was coiled round his body, and, as the young bull flung up his heels, he cast it and caught him by his hind legs. The noose drew tight, and in a twinkling the beast was upon the ground. We fastened the other end of the cord round a stout bamboo, called off the dogs, and the animal was at our mercy.
“Now we have got him,” said Jack, as he looked at the poor beast lying panting on the ground, “what are we to do with him?”
“I will show you,” said I. “Help me to fasten his forelegs together, and you shall see the next operation.”
The bull, thus secured, could not move. And while Jack held his head I drew my knife and pierced the cartilage of his nose, and when the blood flowed less freely, passed a stout cord through the hole. I felt some repugnance at thus paining the animal, but it was a case of necessity, and I could not hesitate. We united the ends of the cord, freed the animal, set him upon his legs, and, subdued and overawed, he followed us without resistance.
I now turned my attention to the dead buffalo, but as I could not then skin it, I contented myself with cutting off the most delicate parts, its tongue, and a couple of steaks, and, packing them in salt in my wallet, abandoned the rest to the dogs. They fell upon it greedily, and we retired under the shade to enjoy a meal after our hard work.
It was now getting late, so I determined to give up for the present the search for the ass, and to return to our camp.
We again made our way through the bamboos, but before we left the thicket I cut down one of the smallest of the reeds, the largest of whose joints would form capital little barrels, while those near the tapering top would serve as molds for our next batch of candles.
The buffalo, with a dog on either side and the rope through his nose, was following us passively, and we presently induced him to submit to a package of our goods laid upon his back. We pushed rapidly forward, Jack eager to display our latest acquisition. As we repassed the rocky bed of a stream we had crossed in the morning, Juno dashed ahead, and was about to rush into a cleft between the rocks when the appearance of a large jackal suddenly checked her further progress. Both dogs instantly flew at the animal, and though she fought desperately, quickly overpowered and throttled her. From the way the beast had shown fight, I concluded that her young must be close by, probably within the very cleft Juno was about to enter.
Directly Jack heard this, he wished to creep in and bring out the young jackals. I hesitated to allow him to do so, for I thought it possible that the male jackal might be lying in wait within the cave. We peered into the darkness, and, after a while, Jack declared he could discern the little yellow jackals, and that he was quite sure the old one was not there. He then crept in, followed closely by the dogs, and presently emerged, bearing in his arms a handsome cub of a beautiful golden yellow and about the size of a small cat.
He was the only one of the brood he had managed to save, for Turk and Juno, without pity for their youth or beauty, had worried all the rest. I did not much regret this, however, for I firmly believe that, had he saved them, Jack would have insisted upon bringing up the whole litter. As it was, I considered that one jackal was, with our young bull, quite sufficient an addition to our livestock.
The sight of the new animals delighted the children immensely, and in their opinion amply compensated for the loss of our poor donkey. Jack had to answer a host of questions concerning their capture. and to give a minute account of the affray with the buffaloes. This he did, with graphic power certainly, but with so much boasting and self-glorification that I was obliged to check him and give a plain and unvarnished account of the affair.
Suppertime arrived, and as we sat at that meal, for which Jack and I were heartily thankful, my wife and her party proceeded to give an account of their day’s work.
Ernest had discovered a sago palm, and had, after much labor, contrived to fell it. Franz and his mother had collected dry wood, of which a huge heap now stood before the tent, sufficient to keep up a fire all the rest of the time we should stay on the spot. Fritz had gone off shooting and had secured a good bag. While they had been thus variously employed, a troop of apes had visited the tent, and when they returned, they found the place ransacked and turned upside down.
The provisions were eaten and gnawed, the potatoes thrown about, the milk drunk and spilt. Every box had been peeped into, every pot and pan had been divested of its lid; the palisade round the hut had been partly destroyed, nothing had been left untouched. Industriously had the boys worked to repair the damage, and when we returned not a sign was to be seen of the disorder.
After matters had been again arranged, Fritz had gone down to the shore and, among the rocks at Cape Disappointment, had discovered a young eaglet which Ernest declared to be a Malabar, or Indian, eagle. He was much pleased with his discovery, and I recommended him to bring the bird up and try to train it to hunt as a falcon.
“Look here, though, boys,” said I, “you are now collecting a good many pets, and I am not going to have your mother troubled with the care of them all. Each must look after his own, and if I find one neglected, whether beast or bird, I will set it at liberty. Mark that and remember it!”
My wife looked greatly relieved at this announcement, and the boys promised to obey my directions. Before we retired for the night I prepared the buffalo meat I had brought. I lit a large fire of green wood, and in the smoke of this thoroughly dried both tongue and steaks. We then properly secured all the animals. Jack took his little pet in his arms, and we lay down and were soon fast asleep.
At daybreak we were on foot, and began to prepare for a return to Falconhurst.
“You are not going to despise my sago, I hope,” said Ernest. “You have no idea what a trouble it was to cut it down, and I have been thinking too that, if we could but split the tree, we might make a couple of long useful troughs, which might, I think, be made to carry water from Jackal River to Tentholm. Is my plan worth consideration?”
“Indeed it is,” I replied; “and at all events we must not abandon such a valuable prize as a sago palm. I would put off our departure for a day rather than leave it behind.”
We went to the palm, and with the tools we had with us attempted to split the trunk. We first sawed off the upper end, and then with an ax and saw managed to insert a wedge. This accomplished, our task was less difficult, for with a heavy mallet we forced the wedge in farther and farther, until at length the trunk was split in twain. From one half of the trunk we then removed the pith, disengaging it, with difficulty, from the tough wood fibers. At each end, however, I left a portion of the pith untouched, thus forming a trough in which to work the sago.
“Now, boys,” said I, when we had removed the pith from the other half of the trunk, “off with your coats and turn up your shirt sleeves. I am going to teach you to knead.”
They were all delighted, and even little Franz begged to be allowed to help. Ernest brought a couple of pitchers of water, and throwing it in among the pith, we set to work quite heartily. As the dough was formed and properly kneaded, I handed it to the mother, who spread it out on a cloth in the sun to dry.
This new occupation kept us busy until the evening, and when it was at length completed we loaded the cart with the sago, a store of coconuts, and our other possessions, that we might be ready to start early on the following morning. As the sun rose above the horizon, we packed up our tent and set forth, a goodly caravan.
I thought it unfair to the cow to make her drag such a load alone, and determined if possible to make the young buffalo take the place of our lost donkey. After some persuasion he consented, and soon put his strength to the work and brought the cart along famously. As we had the trough slung under the cart we had to chose the clearest possible route, avoiding anything like a thicket. We, therefore, could not pass directly by the candleberry and caoutchouc trees, and I sent Ernest and Jack aside to visit the store we had made on our outward journey.
They had not been gone long when I was alarmed by a most terrible noise, accompanied by the furious barking of the dogs and shouts from Jack and Ernest. Thinking that the boys had been attacked by some wild beasts, I ran to their assistance. A most ludicrous scene awaited me when I reached the spot. They were dancing and shouting round and round a grassy glade, and I as nearly as possible followed their example, for in the center, surrounded by a promising litter, lay our old sow, whose squeals, previously so alarming, were now subsiding into comfortable grunts of recognition.
I did not join my boys in their triumphal dance, but I was nevertheless very much pleased at the sight of the flourishing family, and immediately returned to the cart to obtain biscuits and potatoes for the benefit of the happy mother. Jack and Ernest meanwhile pushed farther on and brought back the sack of candleberries and the caoutchouc, and as we could not then take the sow with us, we left her alone with her family and proceeded to Falconhurst.
The animals were delighted to see us back again, and received us with manifestations of joy, but looked askance at the new pets. The eagle especially came in for shy glances, and promised to be no favorite. Fritz, however, determined that his pet should at present do no harm, secured him by the leg to a root of a fig tree and uncovered his eyes. In a moment the aspect of the bird was changed. With his sight returned all his savage instincts, he flapped his wings, raised his head, darted to the full length of his chain, and before anyone could prevent him seized one of the fowl, which stood near, and tore it to pieces. Fritz’s anger rose at the sight, and he was about to put an end to the savage bird.
“Stop,” said Ernest, “don’t kill the poor creature, he is but following his natural instincts. Give him to me, and I will tame him.”
Fritz hesitated. Then he said: “Tell me how to tame him, and you shall have Master Knips.”
“Very well,” replied Ernest, “I will tell you my plan, and if it succeeds, I will accept Knips as a mark of your gratitude. Take a pipe and tobacco, and send the smoke all around his head, so that he must inhale it. By degrees he will become stupefied, and his savage nature from that moment subdued.”
Fritz was rather inclined to ridicule the plan, but, knowing that Ernest generally had a good reason for anything of the sort that he proposed, he consented to make the attempt. He soon seated himself beneath the bird, who still struggled furiously, and puffed cloud after cloud upward, and as each cloud circled round the eagle’s head he became quieter and quieter, until he sat quite still, gazing stupidly at the young smoker.
“Capital!” cried Fritz, as he hooded the bird, “capital, Ernest. Knips is yours.”
