Swiss Family Robinson - Johann David Wyss (poetry books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Johann David Wyss
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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 axe
and saw managed to insert a wedge. This accomplished, our task was less
difficult, for with a heavy mallet we forced the wedge in further and
further, 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 fibres; 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
amongst the pith, we set to work right heartily. As the dough was
formed and properly kneaded, I handed it to my wife 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 cocoanuts 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 as we now had 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 choose 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 long been gone when I was alarmed by a most terrible
noise accompanied by the furious barking of the dog and shouts from
Jack and Ernest. Thinking that the boys had been attacked by some wild
beast, 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 centre, 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
further 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
favourite. Fritz, however, determined that his pet should at present do
no harm, secured him by the leg to a root of the 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 the unfortunate parrot 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. `No, no,’ he said, `I don’t want really to kill the
bird, but I can’t give him up; 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 round 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 upwards, 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.’
Next morning the boys and I started with the cart laden with our
bundles of bamboos to attend to the avenue of fruit trees. The buffalo
we left behind, for his services were not needed, and I wished the
wound in his nostrils to become completely cicatrized before I again
put him to work.
We were not a moment too soon; many of the young trees which before
threatened to fall had now fulfilled their promise, and were lying
prostrate on the ground, others were bent, some few only remained
erect. We raised the trees, and digging deeply at their roots, drove in
stout bamboo props, to which we lashed them firmly with strong broad
fibres.
`Papa,’ said Franz, as we were thus engaged, and he handed me the
fibres as I required them, `are these wild or tame trees?’
`Oh, these are wild trees, most ferocious trees,’ laughed Jack, `and we
are tying them up lest they should run away, and in a little while we
will untie them and they will trot about after us and give us fruit
wherever we go. Oh, we will tame them; they shall have a ring through
their noses like the buffalo!’
`That’s not true,’ replied Franz, gravely, `but there are wild and tame
trees, the wild ones grow out in the woods like the crab-apples, and
the tame ones in the garden like the pears and peaches at home. Which
are these, papa?’
`They are not wild,’ I replied, `but grafted or cultivated or, as you
call them, tame trees. No European tree bears good fruit until it is
grafted!’ I saw a puzzled look come over the little boy’s face as he
heard this new word, and I hastened to explain it.
`Grafting,’ I continued, `is the process of inserting a slip or twig of
a tree into what is called an eye; that is, a knot or hole in the
branch of another. This twig or slip then grows and produces, not such
fruit as the original stock would have borne, but such as the tree from
which it was taken would have produced. Thus, if we have a sour crab
tree, and an apple tree bearing fine ribston pippins, we would take a
slip of the latter, insert it in an eye of the former, and in a year or
two the branch which it would then grow would be laden with good
apples.’
`But,’ asked Ernest, `where did the slips of good fruit come from, if
none grow without grafting?’
`From foreign countries,’ I replied. `It is only in the cold climate of
our part of the world that they require this grafting; in many parts of
the world, in more southern latitudes than ours, the most luscious
fruit trees are indigenous to the soil, and flourish and bear sweet,
wholesome fruit, without the slightest care of attention being bestowed
upon them; while in England and Germany, and even in France, these same
trees require the utmost exertion of horticultural skills to make them
bring forth any fruit whatever.
`Thus, when the Romans invaded England they found nothing in the way of
fruit trees but the crab-apple, nut bushes, and bramble bushes, but by
grafting on these, fine apples, filberts, and raspberries were
produced, and it was the same in our own dear Switzerland—all our
fruit trees were imported.’
`Were cherries, father? May we not even call cherries Swiss? I always
thought they grew nowhere else.’
`I am afraid we cannot even claim cherries as our own, not even the
name of them; they are called cherries from Cerasus, a state of Pontus,
in Asia, whence they were brought to Europe by Lucullus, a Roman
general, about seventy years before Christ.
`Hazelnuts also come from Pontus; walnuts, again, came originally from
Persia. As for grapes, they are of the greatest antiquity. We hear, if
you remember, of Noah cultivating vines, and they have been brought
from one place to another until they now are to be found in most parts
of the civilized world.’
`Do you think all these trees will grow?’ asked Fritz, as we crossed
Jackal River and entered our plantation at Tentholm. `Here are lemons,
pomegranates, pistachio nuts, and mulberries.’
`I have little doubt of it,’ I replied, `we are evidently within the
tropics, where such trees as these are sure to flourish.
`These pines, now, come from France, Spain, and Italy; the olives from
Armenia and Palestine; the figs originally from the island of Chios;
the preaches and apricots from Persia; plums from Damascus in Syria,
and the pears of all sorts from Greece.
`However, if our countries have not been blessed in the same way with
fruit, we have been given wisdom and skill, which has enabled us to
import and cultivate the trees of other lands.’
We thus talked and worked until every tree that required the treatment
was provided with a stout bamboo prop, and then, with appetites which a
gourmand might well have envied, we returned to Falconhurst.
I think my good wife was almost alarmed at the way we fell upon the
corned beef and palm-cabbage she set before us, but at length these
good things produced the desired effect, and one after another declared
himself satisfied. As we sat reclining after our labour and digesting
our dinner we discussed the various projects we had in contemplation.
`I wish,’ said my wife, `that you would invent some other plan for
climbing to the nest above us; I think that the nest itself is perfect,
I really wish for nothing better, but I should like to be able to get
to it without scaling that dreadful ladder every time; could you not
make a flight of steps to reach it?’
I carefully thought over the project, and turned over every plan for
its accomplishment.
`It would be impossible, I am afraid,’ said I, `to make stairs
outside, but within the trunk it might be done. More than once have I
thought that this trunk might be hollow or partly so, and if such be
the case our task would be comparatively easy. Did you not tell me the
other day that you noticed bees coming from a hole in the tree?’
`Oh, yes,’ said little Franz, `and I went to look at them and one flew
right against my face and
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