CHAPTER LVII

Cotton Nuts—Terrific Encounter with Lion and Lioness—A Savage—Parley, and Recognition of a Friend

Our first care, on rising the next morning, was to set about the preparation of the boar. Jack had recovered from his fear, and, accompanied by the dogs, we set out to look for the dead boar. He was enormous—between a boar and a buffalo in size, and his head was indeed frightfully large.

“I fear,” said I, “that the flesh of this old African is not better than a European boar. My advice is, that instead of dragging the immense carcass away, we cut off what we want, and let the rest alone.”

My sons agreed with me, and we began to cut off the hams and head of the wild boar. Some branches of trees furnished us with sleds to put the pieces on, and we made the dogs draw them to the shore.

While we were occupied in disposing of our hams, chance made known to us an important discovery. Ernest remarked on the branches we had cut to make our sleds a sort of nut; he opened one, but, instead of a kernel, it contained a beautiful fine cotton, of a deep yellow, which I recognized as being the real Nankin cotton. This cotton owes its name to a province of China, where it grows abundantly, and is cultivated with much care. We made a large provision of these nuts, and dug up two young trees to carry to Felsenheim.

Jack shrank with fright from the head of his terrible enemy, and appeared quite overjoyed that it was going to figure in our museum; but, on the observation of Ernest that it would be very difficult to prepare, and having heard that boar’s head was very fine eating, we resolved to cook it with truffles, in the Otaheitan manner; consequently Fritz and Ernest set to work, and dug a deep ditch, while I cleaned the head and heated some stones. When these preparations were finished, we placed the head, stuffed with truffles, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and nutmeg, in a ditch, and covered it with red-hot stones and a thick layer of earth. While our supper was cooking, we suspended the hams over the smoke of the fire, and tranquilly sat down to talk over the events of the day, when suddenly a deep, prolonged cry rang through the forest. It was the first time we had ever heard such unearthly tones: the rocks echoed it, and we felt seized with sudden terror; the dogs and the jackal also commenced howling horribly.

“What a diabolical concert!” said Fritz, jumping up and seizing his gun; “some danger must be near. Build up the fire,” continued he, “and while I try to discover the danger in my cajack, you retire to the canoe.”

This plan appeared the best we could pursue, and I adopted it. We threw on the fire all the wood we could find ready cut, and, without losing time, we regained the canoe. Fritz jumped into the cajack, and was soon lost in the obscurity.

During all this time the roarings continued, and they appeared to approach nearer to us. Our dogs gathered around the fire, uttering plaintive moans. Our poor little monkey seemed to suffer painfully from fear. I imagined that it was a leopard or a panther, which had been attracted by the remains of the wild boar in the wood. My doubts did not last long, for we soon discovered by the pale light of our fires a terrible lion, considerably larger and stronger than those I had seen in the royal menageries of Europe. In two or three leaps he bounded over the space which separated the wood from the shore; he stood immovable for a moment, and then commenced lashing his flanks with his tail, and roaring furiously, every moment crouching down as if to spring on us. This frightful pantomime did not last long: every moment he would run to the stream, lap up some water, and then return. I remarked with mortal anguish that the animal came nearer and nearer to the shore; and at length he lay crouched down, his flaming eyes fixed directly on us. Half in fear, half in despair, I raised my gun, and was about to fire, when suddenly I heard a report; the animal bounded up, gave a tremendous yell, and fell lifeless on the earth.

“’Tis Fritz,” murmured my poor Ernest, pale with terror. “O God! protect my brother.”

“Yes, it is he,” I cried, “our brave Fritz: he has saved us from a terrible death; let us go to him.” In two strokes of the oars we were on shore; but our dogs, with an admirable instinct, began to bark terribly. I did not neglect this indication; we threw more wood on the fire, and again jumped into the boat. It was time; for scarcely were we secure, when a second enemy rushed from the forest: it was not so large as the first, but its roar was frightful. This time it was a lioness, probably the companion of the superb animal which we had just killed. How grateful I felt that both had not appeared together; what could we have done? The lioness ran straight up to the corpse of her late partner, smelled it, and licked up the blood, which had flowed from the wound; and when she was convinced that he no longer lived, she set up a howl of rage that pen could not describe; she lashed her sides and opened her enormous mouth, as if she would devour us all.

Again Fritz fired, and the shot, less fortunate than the first, only broke the shoulder of the animal. The wounded lioness commenced rolling on the sand, foaming with rage; but all three of our dogs rushed upon her. Braun and Folb seized the animal in the flanks, and Flora caught hold of the throat. Another shot would have put an end to the combat, but I was afraid of wounding the dogs; so I jumped from the boat, and, running up to the animal, who was held fast by the dogs, I plunged my hunting-knife direct to her heart: the blood spouted out, and the lioness fell; but the victory had cost us dear, for there lay our poor Flora, dead under the terrible wounds she had received from the fangs of the monster.

Fritz now ran up and threw himself into my arms, as did Ernest and poor Jack, who trembled with mortal agony. We lighted our torches, and directed our course toward the field of battle; we found poor Flora, with her teeth yet clutching the throat of her enemy, while the royal couple lay majestically extended on the sand, and we could hardly suppress a sentiment of fear which struck us as we gazed on the terrific beasts.

“What a terrible range of teeth!” said Ernest, as he raised up the head of the lion.

“Yes, and what frightful claws!” said Jack; “wouldn’t they make nice holes in your skin?”

“Yes, my friends,” observed I, “let us thank God that He has saved us from the danger; thank Him for the wisdom with which He has endowed men, so that they may be able to conquer such terrible beasts.”

“Poor Flora!” said Fritz, as he detached the dead body of our dear dog from that of the lioness; “she has done for us to-day what our old ass did in the case of the boa. Come, Ernest, see if you cannot induce your muse to fabricate an epitaph.”

“Ah! my muse, I must confess, has been too terribly frightened to make any rhymes.”

“Tush! go and meditate while we dig the grave of our poor hunter, and be sure to be ready when we are done.”

Flora received the honours of a funeral by torchlight; we dug a grave, and silently placed in it the remains of the faithful animal, and a flat stone served to mark her resting-place. Ernest composed the following legend, which he read to us, saying that he was too frightened for poetry, and Flora must be contented with prose:

Here Lies FLORA, A DOG remarkable for her courage and devotion. She died under the claws of a lion, on whom she also inflicted death.

“Admirable,” said Fritz. “It must be confessed, Ernest, you write full as good prose as poetry.”

At sunrise next morning we were up, and our first care was to deprive our noble prey of their superb furs. Jack wanted to make a mantle of the lion’s skin, such as Hercules wore after his victory in the Nemæan forest; but I adjourned all arrangements about their appropriation till a more convenient time.

The heat of the sun had commenced to corrupt the oysters heaped upon the bank, and the effluvia which they exhaled induced us to return to Felsenheim, and early in the morning we set sail. Fritz set off before us, as if to serve as pilot; but when he had conducted us through the vault, and over the shoals, he rowed up to our canoe, and, handing me a paper, shot off again like an arrow. I opened the paper quickly, and imagine my surprise when I found that, instead of having forgotten the albatross and the smoking rock, he informed me in the letter that he was going in search of the unfortunate being! I had a thousand objections to make to this romantic project; but Fritz rowed so fast, I could barely halloo through the speaking-trumpet, “Return soon, and be prudent,” before he was out of sight. We gave to the cape where he left us the name of the “Adieu Cape.” We prayed that our adventurer might return safe, and I begged my rowers to redouble their endeavours, so that we could arrive early at Felsenheim, for I suspected that my good Elizabeth would be worried at our long absence of three days.

We finally arrived without accident, and the different treasures we had brought were joyfully received; the truffles, the lion-skins, the pearls, the Nankin, became the objects of a thousand questions, but they could not drive away the thoughts of Fritz; and my wife said she would willingly give up all our cargo of pearls, etc., if she could only see her beloved son.

I had not yet spoken to my wife concerning the reason of Fritz’s absence, as I did not wish to give rise to hopes which were so unlikely to be realized; but now I thought that it was my duty to do so. I therefore confided to her the secret of the albatross; and the dear woman, to my surprise, was calm and resigned; she only prayed with me that he might be successful.

Five days had thus passed away and still Fritz had not returned, and his mother was so anxious and worried that I proposed to launch the pinnace and make a new excursion to the Bay of Pearls. We lost no time; the pinnace was prepared, and early the next day we bade adieu to Felsenheim, and soon were in sight of the promontory of the bay, when suddenly the vessel ran against a black mass, and was nearly thrown over by the shock. My wife and sons uttered a cry of terror; but the boat soon righted, and I perceived that the obstacle was not a point of rock, as I had thought, but a marine monster of the family of blowers, for we soon saw him throw up into the air two spouts of water mingled with blood. I instantly pointed the cannons of the pinnace, and a discharge of artillery prevented the huge monster from overturning us, which he certainly would have done if the blow had not stunned him. We saw with pleasure that the waves carried the enormous body to a sand-bank a little distance from the shore, and there it lay like a stranded ship.

Suddenly Ernest uttered a loud scream. “A man! a savage!” said he, and he pointed out to us in the distance a sort of canoe dancing over the waves. The person who conducted it seemed to have perceived us, for he advanced and then made towards a projecting point, as if to communicate his discovery to his companions. I leave our sensations to the imagination of the reader. I had not the slightest doubt that we had fallen in with a band of savages, and we began to fortify our boat against their arrows, by making a bulwark of the stalks of maize and corn we had brought with us. We loaded our cannons, guns, and pistols, and, everything arranged, we stood ready behind our rampart, resolved to defend it as long as we were able. We dared not advance, for there was the savage; and Ernest, growing tired of the pantomime, observed that, if we used the speaking-trumpet, possibly our savage might understand some words of the half-dozen languages we were familiar with.

The advice appeared good. I took up the speaking-trumpet and bellowed out with all my force some words of Malay; but still the canoe remained immovable, as if its master had not comprehended us.

“Instead of Malay,” said Jack, “suppose we try English.” So saying, he caught up the trumpet, and in his clear, loud tone pronounced some common sailor-phrases, well known to all who have ever been on board ship. The device succeeded, and we saw the savage advancing toward us, holding a green branch in his hand. Nearer and nearer he came, and at last we recognized in the painted savage our own dear Fritz.