Swiss Family Robinson - Johann David Wyss (poetry books to read txt) 📗

ready

for a start.

 

`Stop!” I exclaimed, `we have still left something very

important undone.’

 

`Surely not,’ said Fritz.

 

`Yes,’ said I, `we have not yet joined in morning prayer. We are

only too ready, amid the cares and pleasures of this life, to

forget the God to whom we owe all things.’ Then having commended

ourselves to his protecting care, I took leave of my wife and

children, and bidding them not wander far from the boat and tent,

we parted not without some anxiety on either side, for we knew

not what might assail us in this unknown region.

 

We now found that the banks of the stream were on both sides so

rocky that we could get down to the water by only one narrow

passage, and there was no corresponding path on the other side.

I was glad to see this, however, for I now knew that my wife

and children were on a comparatively inaccessible spot, the other

side of the tent being protected by steep and precipitous cliffs.

 

Fritz and I pursued our way up the stream until we reached a point

where the waters fell from a considerable height in a cascade, and

where several large rocks lay half covered by the water; by means

of these we succeeded in crossing the stream in safety. We thus

had the sea on our left, and a long line of rocky heights, here

and there adorned with clumps of trees, stretching away inland

to the right.

 

We had forced our way scarcely fifty yards through the long rank

grass, which was here partly withered by the sun and much tangled,

when we were much alarmed on hearing behind us a rustling, and on

looking round, we saw the grass waving to and fro, as if some

animal were passing through it. Fritz instantly turned and brought

his gun to his shoulder, ready to fire the moment the beast

should appear.

 

I was much pleased with my son’s coolness and presence of mind,

for it showed me that I might thoroughly rely upon him on any

future occasion when real danger might occur. This time, however,

no savage beast rushed out, but our trusty dog Turk, whom, in

our anxiety at parting, we had forgotten, and who had been sent

after us doubtless by my thoughtful wife. I did not fail to

commend both the bravery and the discretion of my son, in not

yielding to even a rational alarm, and for waiting until he was

sure of the object before he resolved to fire.

 

From this little incident, however, we saw how dangerous was our

position, and how difficult escape would be should any fierce

beast steal upon us unawares: we therefore hastened to make our

way to the open seashore. Here the scene which presented itself

was indeed delightful. A background of hills, the green waving

grass, the pleasant groups of trees stretching here and there

to the very water’s edge, formed a lovely prospect.

 

On the smooth sand we searched carefully for any trace of our

hapless companions, but not the mark of a footstep could we find.

`Shall I fire a shot or two?’ said Fritz. `That would bring our

companions, if they are within hearing.’

 

`It would indeed,’ I replied, `or any savages that may be here.

No, no; let us search diligently, but as quietly as possible.’

 

`But why, father, should we trouble ourselves about them at all?

They left us to shift for ourselves, and I for one don’t care to

set eyes on them again.’

 

`You are wrong, my boy,’ said I. `In the first place, we should

not return evil for evil; then, again, they might be of great

assistance to us in building a house of some sort; and lastly,

you must remember that they took nothing with them from the

vessel, and may be perishing of hunger.’

 

`But father, while we are wandering here and losing our time

almost without a hope of benefit to them, why should we not

instead return to the vessel and save the animals on board?’

 

`When a variety of duties present themselves for our choice,

we should always give the preference to that which can confer

the most solid advantage, ” I replied. `The saving of the life

of a man is a more exalted action than contributing to the

comfort of a few quadrupeds, whom we have already supplied with

food for a few days. Also, the so is so calm at present that we

need not fear that the ship will sink or break up entirely before

we can return.”

 

Thus talking, we pushed on until we came to a pleasant grove

which stretched down to the water’s edge; here we halted to

rest, seating ourselves under a large tree, by a rivulet which

murmured and splashed along its pebbly bed into the great o

cean before us.

 

A thousand gaily plumaged birds flew twittering above us, and

Fritz and I gazed up at them. My son suddenly started up. `A

monkey,’ he exclaimed, `I am nearly sure I saw a monkey.’

 

As he spoke he sprang round to the other side of the tree, and

in doing so stumbled over a small round object which he handed

to me, remarking, as he did so, that it was a round bird’s nest,

of which he had often heard.

 

`You may have done so,’ said I, laughing, `but you need not

necessarily conclude that every round hairy thing is a bird’s

nest; this, for instance, is not one, but a cocoanut. Do you not

remember reading that a cocoanut is enclosed within a round,

fibrous covering over a hard shell, which again is surrounded

by a bulky green hull? In the one you hold in your hand, the

outer hull has been destroyed by time, which is the reason that

the twisted fibers of the inner covering are so apparent. Let

us now break the shell, and you will see the nut inside.’

 

Not without difficulty, we split open the nut, but, to our

disgust, found the kernel dry and uneatable.

 

`Hullo,’ cried Fritz, `I always thought a cocoanut was full

of delicious sweet liquid, like almond milk.’

 

`So it is,’ I replied, `when young and fresh, but as it ripens

the milk becomes congealed, and in course of time is solidified

into a kernel. This kernel then dries as you see here, but when

the nut falls on favourable soil, the germ within the kernel s

wells until it bursts through the shell, and, taking root, springs

up a new tree.’

 

`I do not understand,’ said Fritz, `how the little germ manages

to get through this great thick shell, which is not like an almond

or hazel-nut shell, that is divided down the middle already.’

 

`Nature provides for all things,’ I answered, taking up the

pieces. `Look here, do you see these three round holes near the

stalk; it is through them that the germ obtains egress. Now let

us find a good nut if we can.’

 

As cocoanuts must be over-ripe before they fall naturally from

the tree, it was not without difficulty that we obtained one in

which the kernel was not dried up. It was a little oily and

rancid, but this was not the time to be too particular. We were

so refreshed by the fruit that we could defer the repast we

called our dinner* until later in the day, and so spare our stock

of provisions.

 

* In this book, ‘dinner’ refers to the midday meal.

 

Continuing our way through a thicket, which was so densely

overgrown with lianas that we had to clear a passage with our

hatchets, we again emerged on the seashore beyond, and found an

open view, the forest sweeping inland, while on the space before

us stood at intervals single trees of remarkable appearance.

These at once attracted Fritz’s observant eye, and he pointed

to them, exclaiming: `Oh, what absurd-looking trees, father!

See what strange bumps there are on the trunks.’

 

We approached to examine them, and I recognized them as calabash

trees, the fruit of which grows in this curious way on the stems,

and is a species of gourd, from the hard rind of which bowls,

spoons, and bottles can be made. `The savages,’ I remarked, `are

said to form these things most ingeniously, using them to contain

liquids: indeed, they actually cook food in them.’

 

`Oh, but that is impossible,’ returned Fritz. `I am quite sure

this rind would be burnt through directly it was set on the fire.’

 

`I did not say it was set on the fire at all. When the gourd has

been divided in two, and the shell or rind emptied of its contents,

it is filled with water, into which the fish, or whatever is to

be cooked, is put; red-hot stones are added until the water boils;

the food becomes fit to eat, and the gourd-rind remains uninjured.’

 

`That is a very clever plan: very simple too. I daresay I should

have hit on it, if I had tried,’ said Fritz.

 

`The friends of Columbus thought it very easy to make an egg

stand upon its end when he had shown them how to do it. But now

suppose we prepare some of these calabashes, that they may be

ready for use when we take them home.’

 

Fritz instantly took up one of the gourds, and tried to split it

equally with his knife, but in vain: the blade slipped, and the

calabash was cut jaggedly. `What a nuisance!’ said Fritz, flinging

it down, `The thing is spoiled; and yet it seemed so simple to

divide it properly.’

 

`Stay,’ said I, `you are too impatient, those pieces are not

useless. Do you try to fashion from them a spoon or two while

I provide a dish.’ I then took from my pocket a piece of string,

which I tied tightly round a gourd, as near one end of it as I

could; then tapping the string with the back of my knife, it

penetrated the outer shell. When this was accomplished, I tied

the string yet tighter; and drawing the ends with all my might,

the gourd fell, divided exactly as I wished.

 

`That is clever!’ cried Fritz. `What in the world put that plan

into your head?’

 

`It is a plan,’ I replied, `which savages adopt, as I have learned

from reading books of travel.’

 

`Well, it certainly makes a capital soup-tureen, and a soup-plate

too,’ said Fritz, examining the gourd. `But supposing you had

wanted to make a bottle, how would you have set to work?’

 

`It would be an easier operation than this, if possible. All that

is necessary, is to cut a round hole at one end, then to scoop

out the interior, and to drop in several shot or stones; when

these are shaken, any remaining portions of the fruit are detached,

and the gourd is thoroughly cleaned, and the bottle completed.’

 

`That would not make a very convenient bottle though, father; it

would be more like a barrel.’

 

`True, my boy; if you want a more shapely vessel, you must take

it in hand when it is younger. To give it a neck, for instance,

you must tie a bandage round the young gourd while it is still

on the tree, and then all will swell but that part which you have

checked.’ As I spoke, I filled the gourds with sand, and left

them to dry; marking the spot that we might return for them on

our way back.

 

`Are the bottle-shaped gourds I have seen in Europe trained

similarly?’

 

`No, they are of another species, and what you