CHAPTER XIII

Conversation, and a Walk

Jack had finished the trial of his arrows: they flew to admiration; and he practised his new art incessantly. Little Francis waited with impatience for the moment when he should try also, and followed with his eyes every stroke I made. But when I had finished my bow, and prepared some little arrows for him, I must next undertake to make him a quiver. I took some bark from the branch of a tree, which came off in a round form; and folding the edges over each other, I stuck them together with some glue produced from our soup-cakes. I next stuck on a round piece to serve for the bottom; and then tied to it a loop of string which I hung round his neck. He put his arrows into it: and, quite happy, took his bow in his hand, and ran to try his skill by the side of his brother. Fritz had also cleaned and prepared his materials for the cases, when his mother summoned us to dinner. We cheerfully placed ourselves under the shade of our tree, round the table I had manufactured. At the end of the repast, I made the following proposition to the boys, which I was sure would give them pleasure.

“What think you, my good friends,” said I, “of giving a name to the place of our abode, and to the different parts of the country which are known to us? I do not mean a general name to the whole islands, but to the objects we are most concerned with.”

They all exclaimed, joyfully, that the idea was excellent.

Father.—We shall naturally begin with the bay by which we entered this country. What shall we call it? What say you, Fritz? You must speak first, for you are eldest.

Fritz.—Let us call it Oyster Bay: you remember what quantity of oysters we found in it.

Jack.—Oh, no; let it rather be called Lobster Bay: for you cannot have forgotten what a large one it was that caught hold of my leg, and which I carried home to you.

My Wife.—My advice would be, that, out of gratitude to God, who conducted us hither in safety, we ought to call it Providence Bay, or the Bay of Safety.

Father.—These words are both appropriate and sonorous, and please me extremely. But what name shall we give to the spot where we first set up our tent?

Fritz.—Let us simply call it Tent House.

Father.—That will do very well. And the little islet at the entrance of Providence Bay, in which we found so many planks and beams that enabled us to make our bridge, how shall it be named?

Ernest.—It may be called Sea-Gull Island, or Shark Island; for it was here we saw those animals.

Father.—I am for the last of these names, Shark Island; for it was the shark that was the cause of the sea-gulls being there; and thus we shall also have a means of commemorating the courage and the triumph of Fritz, who killed the monster.

Jack.—For the same reason, we will call the marsh, in which you cut the canes for our arrows, Flamingo Marsh.

Father.—Quite right, I think. But now comes the great question: What name shall we give to our present abode?

Ernest.—It ought to be called simply Tree Castle.

Fritz.—No, no, that will not do at all; that is the same as if, when we wanted to name a town, we called it The Town. Let us invent a more noble name.

Jack.—Yes, so we will. I say Fig Town.

Fritz.—Ha, ha, ha! a noble name, it must be confessed! Let us call it the Eagle’s Nest, which I am sure has a much better sound. Besides, our habitation in the tree is really much more like a nest than a town, and the eagle cannot but ennoble it, since he is the king of birds.

Father.—Will you let me decide the question for you? I think our abode should be called The Falcon’s Nest; for you are not arrived at the dignity of eagles, but are, too truly, poor simple birds of prey: and like the falcon, you also are, I trust, obedient, docile, active and courageous. Ernest can have no objection to this; for, as he knows, falcons make their nests in large trees.

All exclaimed, clapping their hands, “Yes, yes; we will have it The Falcon’s Nest! the sound is quite chivalrous; so health to Falcon’s Nest Castle!” cried they, all looking up to the tree, and making low bows. I poured out a small quantity of sweet wine, and presented it to each, to solemnize our baptism. “Now then,” said I, “for the promontory, where Fritz and I in vain wearied our eyes in search of our companions of the vessel;—I think it may properly be called Cape Disappointment.”

All.—Yes, this is excellent. And the river with the bridge—

Father.—If you wish to commemorate one of the greatest events of our history, it ought to be called The Jackal’s River; for these animals crossed it when they came and attacked us, and it was there that one of them was killed. The bridge I should name Family Bridge, because we were all employed in its construction, and all crossed it together on our way to this place. Let me ask you all, if it will not be a great pleasure to converse about the country we inhabit, now that we have instituted names as if everything belonged to us?

Ernest.—It will be just as if we had farms and country houses, all dependent upon our castle.

In this pleasing kind of chat, the time of dinner passed agreeably away. We settled the basis of a geography of this our new country; and amused ourselves with saying it must go by the first post to Europe.

As the evening advanced, and the intense heat of the day began to diminish, I invited all my family to take a walk. “Leave your work for this time, my boys,” said I, “and let us make a short excursion; let us seek, in the beautiful face of nature, the traces of the wisdom and goodness of the Creator. Which way shall we direct our steps?”

Fritz.—Let us go to Tent House, father; we are in want of powder and shot for the little consumers of our figs; nor must we miss our dinner for to-morrow, or forget that we are to secure a supply for winter.

My Wife.—I too vote for Tent House; my butter is nearly gone, for Fritz took an unreasonable share for his new trade of tanning.

Father.—To Tent House, then, we will go; but we will not take our accustomed road along the seashore, but rather vary our pleasure, by trying to explore some other way. We will keep along our own little stream as far as the wall of rocks; it will be easy for us to cross it by jumping from stone to stone, and so to get to Tent House: we will return with our provisions by the road of Family Bridge, and along the seashore. This new route may possibly furnish some additional discoveries.

My idea was highly applauded, and all was soon arranged for our setting out. Our route along the stream was at first extremely agreeable, being sheltered by the shade of large trees, while the ground under our feet was a short and soft kind of grass. To prolong the pleasure of our walk, we proceeded slowly, amusing ourselves with looking about us to the right and left; the eldest boys made frequent escapes on before, so that we sometimes lost sight of them. In this manner we reached the end of the wood; but the country now appearing to be less open, we thought it would be prudent to bring our whole company together.

On looking forward, we saw the boys approaching us full gallop, and this time, for a wonder, the grave Ernest was first. He reached me panting for breath, and so full of joy and eagerness that he could not pronounce a single word distinctly: the rest soon came up, and our expedition was resumed.