Swiss Family Robinson - Johann David Wyss (poetry books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Johann David Wyss
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so cleverly that she induced her to return to the eggs, and in a few
days, to our great delight, we had fifteen beautiful little Canadian
chicks.
Franz was greatly pleased with the ‘swords’ his brother brought him;
but having no small companion on whom to exercise his valour, he amused
himself for a short time in hewing down imaginary foes, and then cut
the reeds in slips, and plaited them to form a whip for Lightfoot.
The leaves seemed so pliable and strong, that I examined them to see to
what further use they might be put. Their tissue was composed of long
silky fibres. A sudden thought struck me—this must be New Zealand
flax. I could not rest till I had announced this invaluable discovery
to my wife. She was no less delighted than I was.
`Bring me the leaves!’ she exclaimed. `Oh, what a delightful
discovery! No one shall now be clothed in rags; just make me a
spindle, and you shall soon have shirts and stockings and trousers, all
good homespun! Quick, Fritz, and bring your mother more leaves!’
We could not help smiling at her eager zeal; but Fritz and Ernest
sprang on their steeds, and soon the onager and buffalo were galloping
home again, each laden with a great bundle of flax. The boys dismounted
and deposited their offering at their mother’s feet.
`Capital!’ she exclaimed. `I shall now show you that I am not at all
behindhand in ingenuity. This must be retted, carded, spun and woven,
and then with scissors, needle and thread I will make you any article
of clothing you choose.’
We decided that Flamingo Marsh would be the best spot for the
operation of steeping or `retting’ the flax, and next morning we set
out thither; the cart drawn by the ass, and laden with the bundles,
between which sat Franz and Knips, while the rest of us followed with
spades and hatchets.
I described to my boys as we went along the process of retting, and
explained to them how steeping the flax leaves destroys the useless
membrane, while the strong fibres remain.
As we were employed in making beds for the flax and placing it in
them, we observed several nests of the flamingo. These are most
curiously and skilfully made of glutinous clay, so strong that they can
neither be overturned nor washed away. They are formed in the shape of
blunted cones, and placed point downwards; at the upper and broader end
is built a little platform to contain the eggs, on which the female
bird sits, with her long legs in the water on either side, until the
little birds are hatched and can take to the water.
For a fortnight we left the flax to steep, and then taking it out and
drying it thoroughly in the sun, stored it for future use at
Falconhurst.
Daily did we load our cart with provisions to be brought to our
winter-quarters: manioc, potatoes, cocoanuts, sweet acorns,
sugarcanes, were all collected and stored in abundance—for grumbling
thunder, lowering skies, and sharp showers warned us that we had no
time to lose. Our corn was sowed, our animals housed, our provisions
stored, when down came the rain.
To continue in our nest we found impossible, and we were obliged to
retreat to the trunk, where we carried such of our domestic furniture
as might have been injured by the damp. Our dwelling was indeed
crowded: the animals and provisions below, and our beds and household
goods around us, hemmed us in on every side; by degrees, by dint of
patience and better packing, we obtained sufficient room to work and
lie down in; by degrees, too, we became accustomed to the continual
noise of the animals and the smell of the stables.
The smoke from the fire, which we were occasionally obliged to light,
was not agreeable; but in time even that seemed to become more
bearable.
To make more space, we turned such animals as we had captured, and who
therefore might be imagined to know how to shift for themselves,
outside during the daytime, bringing them under the arched roots only
at night. To perform this duty Fritz and I used to sally forth every
evening, and as regularly every evening did we return soaked to the
skin.
To obviate this, my wife, who feared these continual wettings might
injure our health, contrived waterproofs: she brushed on several layers
of caoutchouc over stout shirts, to which she attached hoods; she then
fixed to these duck trousers, and thus prepared for each of us a
complete waterproof suit, clad in which we might brave the severest
rain.
In spite of our endeavours to keep ourselves busy, the time dragged
heavily. Our mornings were occupied in tending the animals; the boys
amused themselves with their pets, and assisted me in the manufacture
of carding-combs and a spindle for their mother. The combs I made with
nails, which I placed head downwards on a sheet of tin about an inch
wide; holding the nails in their proper positions I poured solder round
their heads to fix them to the tin, which I then folded down on either
side of them to keep them perfectly firm.
In the evening, when our room was illuminated with wax candles, I
wrote a journal of all the events which had occurred since our arrival
in this foreign land; and, while my wife was busy with her needle and
Ernest making sketches of birds, beasts and flowers with which he had
met during the past months, Fritz and Jack taught little Franz to read.
Week after week rolled by. Week after week saw us still close
prisoners. Incessant rain battered down above us, constant gloom hung
over the desolate scene.
The winds at length were lulled, the sun shot his brilliant rays
through the riven clouds, the rain ceased to fall—spring had come. No
prisoners set at liberty could have felt more joy than we did as we
stepped forth from our winter abode, refreshed our eyes with the
pleasant verdure around us, and our ears with the merry songs of a
thousand happy birds, and drank in the pure balmy air of spring.
Our plantations were thriving vigorously. The seed we had sown was
shooting through the moist earth. All nature was refreshed.
Our nest was our first care: filled with leaves and broken and torn by
the wind, it looked indeed dilapidated. We worked hard, and in a few
days it was again habitable. My wife begged that I would now start her
with the flax, and as early as possible I built a drying-oven, and then
prepared it for her use; I also, after some trouble, manufactured a
beetle-reel and spinning-wheel, and she and Franz were soon hard at
work, the little boy reeling off the thread his mother spun.
I was anxious to visit Tentholm, for I feared that much of our
precious stores might have suffered. Fritz and I made an excursion
thither. The damage done to Falconhurst was as nothing compared to the
scene that awaited us. The tent was blown to the ground, the canvas
torn to rags, the provisions soaked, and two casks of powder utterly
destroyed. We immediately spread such things as we hoped yet to
preserve in the sun to dry.
The pinnace was safe, but our faithful tub-boat was dashed in pieces,
and the irreparable damage we had sustained made me resolve to contrive
some safer and more stable winter-quarters before the arrival of the
next rainy season. Fritz proposed that we should hollow out a cave in
the rock, and though the difficulties such an undertaking would present
appeared almost insurmountable, I yet determined to make the attempt;
we might not, I thought, hew out a cavern of sufficient size to serve
as a room, but we might at least make a cellar for the more valuable
and perishable of our stores.
Some days afterwards we left Falconhurst with the cart laden with a
cargo of spades, hammers, chisels, pickaxes and crowbars, and began our
undertaking. On the smooth face of the perpendicular rock I drew out in
chalk the size of the proposed entrance, and then, with minds bent on
success, we battered away.
Six days of hard and incessant toil made but little impression; I do
not think that the hole would have been a satisfactory shelter for even
Master Knips; but we still did not despair, and were presently rewarded
by coming to softer and more yielding substance; our work progressed,
and our minds were relieved.
On the tenth day, as our persevering blows were falling heavily, Jack,
who was working diligently with a hammer and crowbar, shouted:
`Gone, father! Fritz, my bar has gone through the mountain!’
`Run round and get it,’ laughed Fritz, `perhaps it has dropped into
Europe—you must not lose a good crowbar.’
`But, really, it is through; it went right through the rock; I heard it
crash down inside. Oh, do come and see!’ he shouted excitedly.
We sprang to his side, and I thrust the handle of my hammer into the
hole he spoke of; it met with no opposition, I could turn it in any
direction I chose. Fritz handed me a long pole; I tried the depth with
that. Nothing could I feel. A thin wall, then, was all that intervened
between us and a great cavern.
With a shout of joy, the boys battered vigorously at the rock; piece by
piece fell, and soon the hole was large enough for us to enter. I
stepped near the aperture, and was about to make a further examination,
when a sudden rush of poisonous air turned me giddy, and shouting to my
sons to stand off, I leaned against the rock.
When I came to myself I explained to them the danger of approaching any
cavern or other place where the air has for a long time been stagnant.
`Unless air is incessantly renewed it becomes vitiated,’ I said, `and
fatal to those who breathe it. The safest way of restoring it to its
original state is to subject it to the action of fire; a few handfuls
of blazing hay thrown into this hole may, if the place be small,
sufficiently purify the air within to allow us to enter without
danger.’ We tried the experiment. The flame was extinguished the
instant it entered. Though bundles of blazing grass were thrown in, no
difference was made.*
* What actually happens is that the oxygen supply becomes
low. If there is sufficient oxygen to maintain a flame, the
action of the flame increases air circulation, which then
brings in more oxygen. The flame goes out if the oxygen
supply is insufficient for its supply; in this case, it
takes the fireworks to create adequate circulation. The next
torch is able to blaze not because the air is purified, but
because the oxygen is now sufficient to feed the fire.
I saw that we must apply some more efficacious remedy, and sent the
boys for a chest of signal-rockets we had brought from the wreck. We
let fly some dozens of these fiery serpents, which went whizzing in and
disappeared at apparently a vast distance from us. Some flew like
radiant meteors round, lighted up the mighty circumference and
displayed, as by a magician’s wand, a sparkling glittering roof. They
looked like avenging dragons driving a foul malignant fiend out of a
beauteous palace.
We waited for a little while after these experiments, and I then again
threw in lighted hay. It burned clearly; the air was purified.
Fritz and I enlarged the opening, while Jack, springing on his
buffalo, thundered away
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