CHAPTER XIII.

_Conversation, a walk, and important discoveries._

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 do the same, 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; for, said he, an archer can no
more be without a quiver, than a sportsman without a game-bag.
I found I must submit. 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
the soup cakes, and which answered the purpose extremely well.
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, happy as a chevalier in full armour,
he 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
island, for who knows, but that some illustrious European traveller
may have already bestowed on it the name either of a great navigator,
or of some saint; and that our island may not already make a
figure in certain maps of geography? But this need not prevent
us from also giving names to the objects we are concerned with,
and which will make us better understand each other, when we
are conversing about them: this ceremony will also present to
us the soothing illusion, of inhabiting a country already known
and peopled.

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

_Jack._—Oh! pray, papa, let us invent some very long names, and
that are very difficult to be pronounced. I should be glad that
those who shall read about us, should be a little puzzled to
remember the names of the places and things that belonged to
us. What pains has it not cost me to remember their _Monomolapa_,
their _Zanguebar_, their _Coromandel_, and many other still more
difficult appellations! Ah! now we shall take our revenge of
them.

_Father._—This would all be very well, if it were probable that
our history in this country, and the names we shall have bestowed,
were likely to be objects of public curiosity; but in the mean
while, you forget that our own organs will be fatigued, by frequently
pronouncing such barbarous names as you propose.

_Jack._—How shall we manage then? What pretty names can we find?

_Father._—We will do as all sorts of nations have done before
us. We will name the places by different words from our own language,
that shall express some particular circumstance with which we
have been concerned.

_Jack._—Well, so we will; I shall like this still better. Where
shall we begin?

_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 the eldest.

_Fritz._—Let us call it _Oyster Bay_: you remember what quantities
of oysters we found in it.

_Jack._—Oh, no! let it rather be called _Lobster Bay_; for you
cannot have forgot what a large one it was that caught hold of
my leg, and which I carried home to you.

_Ernest._—Why then we may as well call it the _Bay of Tears_,
for you must remember that you roared loud enough for all of
us to hear 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._—This name is both appropriate and sonorous, and pleases
me extremely. But what name shall we give to the spot where we
first set up our tent?

_Fritz._—Let us call it simply _Tent House_.

_Father._—That name 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 both 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 it will also be a means of commemorating the courage and
the triumph of Fritz, who had 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; and the plain, through which we
passed on our way to this place, _Porcupine Field_, in memory of your
skilful encounter with him. 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, my boys,
you are not yet arrived at the dignity of eagles, but are simply,
poor 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.
And how, said I, shall we name 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 Jackall’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 in our way to this place. It will
be quite a pleasure to converse about the country we inhabit,
now that we have instituted names as if every thing belonged
to us.

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

_Francis._—It is the same as if we were kings.

_My Wife._—And the queen-mother is not without hope, that her little
slips of majesty will conduct themselves mercifully towards their
subjects,—the birds, the agoutis, the geese, and the flamingoes;
the . . . . . What more shall I say? for I do not know the family
name of all your vassals. Let me, therefore, end, by hoping that
you will not depopulate your kingdom.

_Fritz._—No, mother, we will take care of that. We will endeavour
to extirpate, only those among our subjects, who are wicked.

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

After dinner, Fritz again set to work upon his case; and, to
my great astonishment, he had possession of one of the cork-jackets,
and was preparing to cut it to pieces, and use it as a lining
to the cylinders. In the name of Heaven, cried I, where did you
get the jacket? I was quite sure we had left them all at Tent
House; and when I gave you leave this morning, to take one of
them, it was in the hope that, tired with waiting, you would
use some other wood, and that the jacket would escape. As it
is, I must shut my eyes while you cut it, for I will not retract
my word. But tell me where you got it? It was I, said my wife,
who placed it as a saddle on the ass’s back, for little Francis
to sit upon. You, it seems, did not observe it; but nothing escapes
that lynx-eyed boy of ours, called Fritz.

Well, well, since it is thus, replied I, let him make use of
it if he can; the cutting it will at least exercise his patience.
I shall soon find how to manage it, said Fritz, by holding it
near the fire. We let him do as he liked, and I went out to look
for Jack, whom I met, dragging the skin of his porcupine with
great difficulty along; for it was still armed with all the quills,
with the exception of about a dozen, which we had taken for the
arrows. He spread it at my feet, entreating me to assist him
in making some coats of mail, or cuirasses, of it, for the dogs,
as I had before recommended to him, and which he had taken care
not to forget. After making him clean the skin completely on
the inside, with some cinders and sand mixed together, I assisted
him in cutting it, and his mother helped him in the sewing. When
this was done, we put the first that was dried on the back of
the patient Turk, which gave him a respectable warlike sort of
an appearance, and no one could doubt that he was sufficiently
well armed to encounter even an hyæna.

His companion, Ponto, had less reason to be pleased with this
new kind of spiked accoutrement. Turk, unconsious of one particular
quality in his new dress, approached near to Ponto and lay down
by his side, who sprang off in a fright, searching about, for some
place where he might be sheltered from the perforating familiarities
of his companion. Jack’s concluding business, was, stripping
the skin from the head of the porcupine, and stretching it on
one of the roots of our trees to dry, intending to make a cap
of it, like those worn by the savages, which, he said, would
frighten our enemies should they approach; while, in the mean
time, his friends, if they liked it, might set it on a pole and
make merry with it.

During our employment, Ernest and Francis had been exercising
themselves in shooting their arrows: the evening was advancing,
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; and, as a
suitable conclusion to the day, let us seek in the beautiful
face of Nature, for 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;
also, I have never failed to observe, that those who most zealously
preach a life of frugality and œconomy, are at least as well
satisfied as the rest, when I take care to present them with
an excellent and well dressed dinner.

_Ernest._—If we go to Tent House, let us try to bring away some
of the geese and ducks with us: they will look very well swimming
about in our stream here, by Falcon’s Nest.

_Jack._—I will undertake to catch them, if any one will help
to bring them home.

_Francis._—And I will catch my handkerchief full of lobsters
in the Jackall’s River, and we will put them into Falcon’s Stream,
where, no doubt, they will thrive to admiration.

_Father._—You really all of you assign such good reasons, that
I see I must yield to them. To Tent House, then, we will go;
but we will not take our accustomed road along the sea-shore,
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, whose agreeable shade will accompany us almost as far
as the cascade formed by Jackall’s River: it will, I hope, as
we have no burden to carry, 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
sea-shore; the sun, if not gone down, will then be at our backs.
This new route may possibly furnish some additional discoveries.

My idea was highly applauded, and all was soon arranged for our
setting out. Fritz was adorned with his fine tiger-cat-made belt,
but he had not been able to finish his cases in time. Jack walked
gravely on, his porcupine cap upon his head, and his jackall
belt, armed with his two pistols, round his waist. Each carried
a gun and a game-bag; even little Francis had his bow in his
hand, and his quiver on his shoulder; and being both pretty and
of a fair complexion, he resembled a little Cupid. Their mother
was the only person not burdened with a gun; but she carried
her large butter-pot, to fill it at our store-house. Turk marched
before us with his coat of mail studded with spikes, but it was
apparent that he felt intimidated and ill at ease; his step was
therefore slow and quiet. The monkey also, having a great desire
to accompany us, leaped without ceremony on his accustomed seat,
the back of Turk. But when he perceived the formidable saddle
and the projecting spikes, he sprang four times forward, making
the most comical grimaces imaginable. He was not long, however,
in choosing what to do. Ponto, he saw, was without such a frightful
instrument; so he jumped upon him in a trice, and clung so closely
to his back, that the dog could not shake him off: he therefore
gave up the endeavour, and quietly submitted to carry him. Even
our new friend, the flamingo, seemed to understand that some
extraordinary movement was in agitation, and prepared to make
one of the party. The pretty kind-tempered animal had become
every day more tame, and attached himself to us with a confidence
which increased our goodwill towards him. The boys, enchanted
by the manner in which he placed himself in the ranks with us,
all contended for being his companion; but the flamingo adopted
the prudent measure of coming up to me, and showing his reliance
on my protection, by walking gravely by my side.

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; but he held out his hand, which contained
three little balls of a light green colour.

We have found a prize indeed, father, cried he at last, when
he had recovered his voice; we have found some potatoe seed!

What say you? potatoe seed? inquired I joyfully; have you really
been so fortunate? Come near, every one of you, and let me look
at your little balls; for I scarcely dared believe in so happy
an event, as the discovery of a plant which would place us for
ever beyond the reach of hunger, and even of apprehension. It
was you then, Ernest, who found the prize, and our grateful thanks
are your due.

_Jack._—I do not see any great merit there was in the case. I
should have found them as soon as he, if I had been in the right
place. I see no great talent in what he has done.

_My Wife._—But, Jack, there is still less talent in your attempt
to undervalue the useful discovery your brother has made, and
in seeking to diminish the obligation, which we ought rather
to feel a pleasure in acknowledging. This little movement of
envy in your bosom occasions me uneasiness; I must add, that
it is by no means certain that, even if you had been in the same
place, you would have remarked the potatoes; that you, who are
so thoughtless and unobserving, would have known the leaves for
those of the potatoe plant. Ernest gives more attention to what
he sees, and his discoveries are not merely the effect of hazard,
but of observation also. Perhaps, too, you do not know a potatoe
when you see it; and it is even possible that we may ourselves
mistake the plant, from our great eagerness to meet the confirmation
of our wishes; for there are, no doubt, other plants which also
produce small green round balls upon their stalks.

_Francis._—Why, do potatoe plants bear fruit on their branches
as well as at the roots?

_Ernest._—Little blockhead! do you think, then, that the roots
bear blossoms? Do you not know that the vegetable called the
potatoe, is only the root of the plant, or at least a part of the
root, and not a fruit? The fruit, in all plants, is the depository
of the seed, which must ripen in the sun, and consequently above
ground: these little green balls, therefore, are the real fruit
which succeed to the blossom, and contain the seed.

I did not fail to applaud Ernest for this clear and sensible
explanation. We all hastened to the place where he had seen these
tubercles, and, with extreme joy, we found there a large plantation
of potatoe plants; a part of them were covered with their lilac
and yellow blossoms, the sight of which conveyed more pleasure
to our hearts than if they had been the most fragrant roses;
another portion of the plantation was in seed; and in several
places, some younger plants were pushing through the earth. Our
petulant Jack bawled out, jumping for joy, They are really potatoes!
and though it was not I who discovered them, at least it shall
be I who will dig them up. Saying this, he knelt down and began
to scratch up the earth with all ten fingers of his feeble hands.
He would not, however, have made much progress, if the monkey,
excited by his example, had not also set himself to work. He
dug up several with great dexterity; and after smelling at them,
he was going to throw them to a distance: but Jack snatched them
eagerly out of his paws, and gave them to his mother; and afterwards
the monkey and he continued digging up the potatoes together,
and soon obtained enough to serve up for a dinner. The rest of
us, unwilling to be idle spectators, set to work also; with our
knives and sticks we soon procured a sufficient number, to fill
our bags and our pockets. When we were well loaded, we again
began to think of our walk to Tent House. Some of our company raised
their voices in favour of returning immediately to Falcon Stream,
to unload our cargo, and prepare our booty for a delicious meal;
but so many pressing motives presented themselves for proceeding
to our store-house, that it was decided we should continue our
route, which we accordingly resumed.

My children, said I, as we pursued our way, this discovery of
the potatoes is one of inestimable value; it reminds me of a passage
in the Bible, which is strikingly applicable to our situation, and
ought to awaken a sentiment of the warmest gratitude in our hearts,
towards our heavenly Father: it is a part of the hundred-and-seventh
psalm, and these are the words:

“They wandered in the wilderness, in a solitary way; they found
no city to dwell in: hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within
them: then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he
delivered them out of their distress: he led them forth by the
right way, that they might go to the place of their habitation.
He satisfieth the longing spirit, and filleth the hungry soul
with his goodness.”

_Fritz._—This is truly applicable to our situation, and we will
all return thanks to God for so inestimable a gift.

_Father._—There are, no doubt, different kinds of vegetables,
more succulent and more delicate than the potatoe; but it is
precisely this plain tasteless kind of sustenance, that can be
eaten for the longest time together, without satiety: accordingly,
food of this nature, such as bread, rice, potatoes, obtains,
on the whole, a preference over provisions possessing a higher
flavour. Can you tell me, boys, the reason of this?

_Ernest._—I know; it is because they are more wholesome.

_Jack._—And because they occasion no disgust; could eat potatoes
every day of my life, without being tired of them.

_Father._—All you say is true; in future they will serve us for
bread, and often indeed for our whole dinner. But let us for
the present dismiss the subject of our unexpected good fortune,
and resume our expedition.