Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  I FIND MYSELF A BROTHER NATURALIST.

  I stood looking very hard at our visitor, Doctor Burnett, and thoughthow very different he was to Aunt Sophia. Only a little while before, Ihad felt as if I must hate him for behaving so badly to Nap, and fortalking to me in such a cold, contemptuous way. It had seemed as if hewould join with Aunt Sophia in making me uncomfortable, and I thought itwould have been so much pleasanter if he had stayed away.

  But now, as I stood watching him, he was becoming quite a hero in myeyes, for not only had he been abroad seeing the wonders of the world,but he had suddenly shown a liking for me, and his whole manner waschanged.

  When he had spoken to me in the house it had been in a pooh-poohing sortof fashion, as if I were a stupid troublesome boy, very much in the way,and as if he wondered at his sister and brother-in-law's keeping me uponthe premises; but now the change was wonderful. The cold distant mannerhad gone, and he began to talk to me as if he had known me all my life.

  "Shall we go round the garden again, Dick?" said my uncle, afterstanding there nodding and smiling at me, evidently feeling very proudthat his brother-in-law should take so much notice of the collection.

  "No," said our visitor sharply. "There, get your pipe, Joe, and you cansit down and look on while I go over Nat's collection. We naturalistsalways compare notes--eh, Nat?"

  I turned scarlet with excitement and pleasure, while Uncle Joseph rubbedhis hands, beaming with satisfaction, and proceeded to take down hislong clay pipe from where it hung upon two nails in the wall, and hislittle tobacco jar from a niche below the rafters.

  "That's what I often do here, Dick," he said; "I sit and smoke and giveadvice--when it is asked, and Nat goes on with his stuffing andpreserving."

  "Then now, you may sit down and give advice--when it is asked," said ourvisitor smiling, "while Nat and I compare notes. Who taught you how tostuff birds, Nat?"

  "I--I taught myself, sir," I replied.

  "Taught yourself?" he said, pinching one of my birds--a starling that Ihad bought for a penny of a man with a gun.

  "Yes, sir; I pulled Polly to pieces."

  "You did what?" he cried, bursting into a roar of laughter. "Why, whowas Polly--one of the maids?"

  "Oh no, sir! Aunt Sophy's stuffed parrot."

  "Well, really, Nat," he said, laughing most heartily, "you're thestrangest boy I ever met."

  "Am I, sir?" I said, feeling a little chilled again, for he seemed tobe laughing unpleasantly at me.

  "That you are, Nat; but I like strange boys. So you pulled Polly topieces, eh? And found out where the naturalists put the wires, eh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And how do you preserve the skins?"

  "With arsenical soap, sir."

  "That's right; so do I."

  "But it's very dangerous stuff, sir," I said eagerly.

  "Not if it is properly used, my boy," he said, taking up bird after birdand examining it carefully. "A fire is a very dangerous thing if youthrust your hand into it, and Uncle Joe's razors are dangerous things ifthey are not properly used. You see I don't trouble them much," headded smiling.

  "No, indeed, sir," I said, as I glanced at his long beard.

  "I don't have hot water for shaving brought to me, Nat, when I'm at sea,my boy, or out in the jungle. It's rough work there."

  "But it must be very nice, sir," I said eagerly.

  "Very, my boy, when you lie down to sleep beneath a tree, so hungry thatyou could eat your boots, and not knowing whether the enemy that attacksyou before morning will be a wild beast, a poisonous serpent, or adeadly fever."

  "But it must be very exciting, sir," I cried.

  "Very, my boy," he said drily. "Yes: that bird's rough, but I like theshape. There's nature in it--at least as much as you can get byimitation. Look, Joe, there's a soft roundness about that bird. Itlooks alive. Some of our best bird-stuffers have no more notion of whata bird is like in real life than a baby. What made you put that tomtitin that position, Nat?" he said, turning sharply to me.

  "That?--that's how they hang by the legs when they are picking the buds,sir," I said nervously, for I was quite startled by his quick, suddenway.

  "To be sure it is, Nat, my boy. That's quite right. Always take natureas your model, and imitate her as closely as you can. Some of thestuffed birds at the British Museum used to drive me into a rage. Gladto see you have the true ring in you, my boy."

  I hardly knew what he meant by the "true ring", but it was evidentlymeant kindly, and I felt hotter than ever; but my spirits rose as I sawhow pleased Uncle Joe was.

  "You can stuff birds, then, sir?" I said, after a pause, during whichour visitor made himself very busy examining everything I had.

  "Well, yes, Nat, after a fashion. I'm not clever at it, for I neverpractise mounting. I can make skins."

  "Make skins, sir?"

  "Yes, my boy. Don't you see that when I am in some wild place shootingand collecting, every scrap of luggage becomes a burden."

  "Yes, sir; of course," I said, nodding my head sagely, "especially ifthe roads are not good."

  "Roads, my boy," he said laughing; "the rivers and streams are the onlyroads in such places as I travel through. Then, of course, I can't usewires and tow to distend my birds, so we make what we call skins. Thatis to say, after preparing the skin, all that is done is to tie the longbones together, and fill the bird out with some kind of wild cotton,press the head back on the body by means of a tiny paper cone orsugar-paper, put a band round the wings, and dry the skin in the sun."

  "Yes, I know, sir," I cried eagerly; "and you pin the paper round thebird with a tiny bamboo skewer, and put another piece of bamboo throughfrom head to tail."

  "Why, how do you know?" he said wonderingly.

  "Oh! Nat knows a deal," said Uncle Joe, chuckling. "We're not suchstupid people as you think, Dick, even if we do stay at home."

  "I've got a skin or two, sir," I said, "and they were made like that."

  As I spoke I took the two skins out of an old cigar-box.

  "Oh! I see," he said, as he took them very gently and smoothed theirfeathers with the greatest care. "Where did you get these, Nat?"

  "I bought them with my pocket-money in Oxford Street, sir," I said, asUncle Joe, who had not before seen them, leaned forward.

  "And do you know what they are, my boy?" said our visitor.

  "No, sir; I have no books with pictures of them in, and the man who soldthem to me did not know. Can you tell me, sir?"

  "Yes, Nat, I think so," he said quietly. "This pretty dark bird withthe black and white and crimson plumage is the rain-bird--theblue-billed gaper; and this softly-feathered fellow with the bristles atthe side of his bill is a trogon."

  "A trogon, sir?"

  "Yes, Nat, a trogon; and these little bamboo skewers tell me directlythat the birds came from somewhere in the East."

  I looked at him wonderingly.

  "Yes, Nat," he continued, "from the East, where the bamboo is used forendless purposes. It is hard, and will bear a sharp point, and is soabundant that the people seem to have no end to the use they make ofit."

  "And have you seen birds like these alive, sir?"

  "No, Nat, but I hope to do so before long. That blue-billed gaperprobably came from Malacca, and the trogon too. See how beautifully itswings are pencilled, and how the bright cinnamon of its back featherscontrasts with the bright crimson of its breast. We have plenty oftrogons out in the West; some of them most gorgeous fellows, with tailsa yard long, and of the most resplendent golden metallic green."

  "And humming-birds, sir?"

  "Thousands, my boy; all darting through the air like living gems. Thespecimens brought home are very beautiful, but they are as nothingcompared to those fairy-like little creatures, full of life and action,with the sun flashing from their plumage."

  "And are there humming-birds, sir, in the East?" I cried, feeling mymouth grow dry with excitemen
t and interest.

  "No, my boy; but there is a tribe of tiny birds there that we know assun-birds, almost as beautiful in their plumage, and of very similarhabit. I hope to make a long study of their ways, and to get a goodcollection. I know nothing, however, more attractive to a man who lovesnature than to lie down beneath some great plant of convolvulus, or anytrumpet-shaped blossom, and watch the humming-birds flashing to and froin the sunlight. Their scale-like feathers on throat and head reflectthe sun rays like so many gems, and their colours are the most gorgeousthat it is possible to conceive. But there, I tire you. Why, Joe, yourpipe's out!"

  "Please go on, sir," I said in a hoarse whisper, for, as he spoke, Ifelt myself far away in some wondrous foreign land, lying beneath thetrumpet-flowered tree or plant, gazing at the brilliant little creatureshe described.

  "Do you like to hear of such things, then?" he said smiling.

  "Oh! so much, sir!" I cried; and he went on.

  "I believe some of them capture insects at certain times, but as a rulethese lovely little birds live upon the honey they suck from thenectaries of these trumpet-shaped blossoms; and their bills are long andthin so that they can reach right to the end. Some of these littlecreatures make quite a humming noise with their wings, and after dartinghere and there like a large fly they will seem to stop midway in theair, apparently motionless, but with their wings all the while beatingso fast that they are almost invisible. Sometimes one will stop likethis just in front of some beautiful flower, and you may see it hangsuspended in the air, while it thrusts in its long bill and drinks thesweet honey that forms its food."

  "And can you shoot such little things, sir?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes, my boy; it is easy enough to shoot them," he replied. "Thedifficulty is to bring them down without hurting their plumage, which isextremely delicate. The Indians shoot them with a blow-pipe and pelletsand get very good specimens; but then one is not always with theIndians; and in those hot climates a bird must be skinned directly, so Igenerally trust to myself and get my own specimens."

  "With a blow-pipe, sir?"

  "No, Nat; I have tried, but I never got to be very clever with it. Onewants to begin young to manage a blow-pipe well. I always shot myhumming-birds with a gun."

  "And shot, sir?"

  "Not always, Nat. I have brought them down with the disturbance of theair or the wad of the gun. At other times I have used sand, or inplaces where I had no sand I have used water."

  "Water!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes, and very good it is for the purpose, Nat. A little poured intothe barrel of the gun after the powder is made safe with a couple ofwads, is driven out in a fine cutting spray, which has secured me many alovely specimen with its plumage unhurt."

  "But don't it seem rather cruel to shoot such lovely creatures, Dick?"said Uncle Joe in an apologetic tone.

  "Well, yes, it has struck me in that light before now," said ourvisitor; "but as I am working entirely with scientific views, and forthe spread of the knowledge of the beautiful occupants of this world, Ido not see the harm. Besides, I never wantonly destroy life. And then,look here, my clear Joe, if you come to think out these things you willfind that almost invariably the bird or animal you kill has passed itslife in killing other things upon which it lives."

  "Ye-es," said Uncle Joe, "I suppose it has."

  "You wouldn't like to shoot a blackbird, perhaps?"

  "Well, I don't know," said Uncle Joe. "They are the wickedest thievesthat ever entered a garden; aren't they, Nat?"

  "Yes, uncle, they are a nuisance," I said.

  "Well, suppose you killed a blackbird, Joe," continued our visitor; "hehas spent half his time in killing slugs and snails, and lugging poorunfortunate worms out of their holes; and it seems to me that the slugor the worm is just as likely to enjoy its life as the greedy blackbird,whom people protect because he has an orange bill and sings sweetly inthe spring."

  "Ye-es," said my uncle, looking all the while as if he were terriblypuzzled, while I sat drinking in every word our visitor said, feelingthat I had never before heard any one talk like that.

  "For my part," continued our visitor, "I never destroy life wantonly;and as for you, young man, you may take this for a piece of goodadvice--never kill for the sake of killing. Let it be a work ofnecessity--for food, for a specimen, for your own protection, but neverfor sport. I don't like the word, Nat; there is too much cruelty inwhat is called sport."

  "But wouldn't you kill lions and tigers, sir?" I said.

  "Most decidedly, my boy. That is the struggle for life. I'd soonerkill a thousand tigers, Nat, than one should kill me," he said laughing;"and for my part--"

  "Joseph, I'm ashamed of you. Nathaniel, this is your doing, you naughtyboy," cried my aunt, appearing at the door. "It is really disgraceful,Joseph, that you will come here to sit and smoke; and as for you,Nathaniel, what do you mean, sir, by dragging your un--, I mean avisitor, down into this nasty, untidy place, and pestering him with yourrubbish?"

  "Oh, it was not Nathaniel's doing, Sophy," said our visitor smiling, ashe rose and drew aunt's arm through his, "but mine; I've been making theboy show me his treasures. There, come along and you and I will have agood long chat now. Nat, my boy, I sha'n't forget what we said."