CHAPTER IX
NATURALISTS' TREASURES
There were a few words exchanged with the King as the hunters were about to descend, but he bade them keep their seats in the howdahs, saying that they must be very tired, and after ordering the mahouts to take their elephants to the gentlemen's quarters, he bade them good-night and went in.
"Then we must part here, Cameron," said Mr. Kenyon.
"Yes; good-night, and better luck next time."
The doctor's elephant rose and began to shuffle off, its companion following its example and uttering an angry trumpeting sound upon being checked.
"Here, Hal," said Mr. Kenyon, "you may as well ride."
"Yes, of course, father. Good-night, Phra." Then mischievously,
"They'll have to send us if they want that tiger shot."
"Yes, Mr. Kenyon, we don't think much of you and Doctor Cameron as tiger-hunters."
The merchant laughed, as the elephant knelt once more and Harry scrambled up into the howdah, Sree, who was holding on behind, giving the boy a hand. Then there was a heave and a pitch to and fro, and the huge beast was on its legs again, shambling off towards the bungalow, a pleasant enough sight in the moonlight, and welcome enough to Harry, who was pretty well tired out.
"Didn't you see the tiger at all, father?" he asked.
"No, or most likely I should have shot it," replied Mr. Kenyon. "The brute has evidently gone off to the country on the slope of the mountains and saved his stripes this time. What have you been doing with yourself?"
Harry briefly told of his adventures.
"Then you have some decent specimens for me?"
"Yes, father; beauties."
"You have done better than we did, my boy. We have only brought back sore bones. There, I am not in much of a humour for talking to-night; I want a good rest."
"You must be tired, father."
"Yes, too tired to think of anything but sleep. Not quite, though; there are those birds. Sree, can you come first thing in the morning and skin them?"
"Yes, Sahib. I was going to ask if I might come."
No more was said till the elephant had stopped of its own accord at the gateway of the bungalow garden for as soon as it had got over its irritation at being separated from its companion it had gone steadily enough.
After this the mahout was so liberally rewarded that he wanted to get down from the elephant's neck to prostrate himself, and of course was not allowed, but sent back, Harry stopping to watch his great, grey, shambling mount till it disappeared, with Sree still hanging by the back of the howdah.
Breakfast was late the next morning, both the merchant and his son sleeping very soundly; and when at last Harry dragged himself from his light bamboo bedstead and had refreshed himself, not with a good swim in the river,—a luxury too dangerous to attempt,—but by squatting in a large, open tub and pouring jars of cold water over his head, he went out into the verandah, to find Sree just finishing the skin of the last of the birds by painting the fleshy side all over with preserving paste before turning it back and filling it with cotton wool.
"How quick you have been, Sree!" said Harry. "I meant to have come and helped you."
"The young Sahib must have been tired."
"I'm tired now," said the boy, with a yawn. "But I say, they are all good birds, aren't they?"
"Some of the best I have ever seen, Sahib; there is hardly a feather gone. Look at this one," said the man, taking hold of the bird's long, thick beak and giving it a dexterous shake, with the result that the feathers fluffed up and then fell gently back into place, lying so lightly and naturally that it was hard to believe that nothing but the skull, leg and wing bones were left of the little creature which animated the skin so short a time before.
"Beautiful," said Harry, examining it and the others already prepared in turn. "I wish you had been with us, though. We had capital sport."
"Yes, Sahib, I wish I had been with you," said Sree. "My heart felt heavy for you when I found you were not to come. I like to be with the young Sahibs. We had no sport at all."
"Ah, you should have been with us. The crocodile must have been fourteen feet long."
"Ah! but they would not be so big up the little river. I hope, though, the Sahib will not shoot any more."
"Not shoot any more!" cried Harry. "Are you friends with the wretches?"
"No, Sahib," said the man solemnly; "but they are dangerous beasts, and I fear if the young Sahib goes after them much there may be an accident."
"Hardly likely," said Harry contemptuously.
"I don't know, Sahib; they are very dangerous beasts. A hungry mugger, as they call them over yonder on the Ganges, will rush at any one in the water, or try to sweep him off the shore into the river. If he is wounded he is mad with rage, and strikes about furiously with his tail. One hard blow would break or overturn a sampan, and a man in the water is no match for one of these beasts."
"Oh, but I shall be careful, Sree," cried Harry; "and I can't help hating the monsters."
"We all hate them, Sahib, except some of the foolish people who would think it a sin to hurt a crocodile. Do not be rash."
"Oh no, I shan't be rash," said Harry; "but you should have been with us yesterday; it was rare fun with the little grey-whiskered monkey. It was frightened nearly to death, what with the noise of the gun and the fall plump into the water, and the ducking, and then being so nearly snapped up by the crocodile."
"It would be frightened, too, on finding it was a prisoner, Sahib."
"He looked just like a withered-up old man, not much bigger than a baby."
"Yes, Sahib; they are strange little beasts," said Sree, who was still busy with the skins, giving delicate touches here and there to the plumage, with a small needle made of ivory. "I never kill one if I can help it, because they are so much like very wild old men."
"That is a lovely skin, Sree," said Harry, bending over the blue and grey thrush.
"Yes, and these are hard to find, Sahib."
"Father will be delighted with those, I'm sure," said Harry. Then turning off to the old hunter's last remarks, "So you don't like shooting monkeys?"
"No, Sahib, I never do."
"It does seem a shame, for they're such merry, happy-looking little chaps, swinging and playing about in the trees. How they enjoy the fruit, too! They seem to have quite a jolly life."
"Oh no, Sahib; they have their troubles too," said Sree seriously, "and many of them."
"Monkeys do?" cried Harry, laughing. "Why, what troubles can they have?"
"Muggers waiting under the trees to catch any that fall, Sahib."
"Then they ought to know better than to play in the branches which overhang the river."
"That is where the best fruit grows, in the open sunshine, Sahib, and it is often when they go down to drink that the muggers catch them or sweep them into the water with their tails."
"Ugh! the beasts!" cried Harry.
"Then there are the leopards lying in wait up in the trees, and some of the big wild cats, too, staring at them. Monkeys are very quick, but the leopards are sometimes quicker."
"Yes, it's wonderful how active those spotted, cat-like creatures are. I say, Sree, have you ever seen one of the very big monkeys that live in the islands?"
"Only once, Sahib. It was when I went to Borneo with a Sahib from India. We were a long time hunting in the woods before we found one, and then it was high up in a tree, going along hanging by his hands. He seemed to be a very quiet, tame sort of beast, only trying to get away; but the Sahib shot him, and he hung from a great bough, oh, very high up, till the Sahib shot again, and then he let go and came down, dropping from bough to bough till he fell dead, nearly at our feet."
"Was it very big, Sree?"
"Very, very big, Sahib; nearly twice as big as I am."
"Really?"
"Oh yes, Sahib. Not so tall as I am, not higher than the Prince Phra, but so big and broad—big head—big face with great swellings behind the cheeks—big shoulder, and big arms that reached down nearly to his feet. And such hands and feet, Sahib! so big and strong."
"Much like a man, Sree?"
"Like what a wild man might be, Sahib. And yet no, not like a man; he was more like a wild beast, all hairy. The poor people here, some of them, believe that when we die, if we have been wicked we shall turn to monkeys or crocodiles."
"And do you believe that, Sree?"
The man looked up and smiled, as he shook his head.
"Oh no, Sahib; I don't believe anything of the kind. It is all nonsense; but monkeys are very curious little things, and very cunning. They have plenty of sense."
"Think so?"
"Oh yes. Did not you say that the one you caught was angry with the crocodile, and danced about and called him names?"
"Well, he did something of the kind," said Harry, laughing; "and very comical it was."
"Oh yes, Sahib, I've seen them spit at and shout and chatter at the muggers often enough. Being so much in the jungle, watching night and day, I often notice all that the wild things do—birds, snakes, lizards, as well as the tigers and bears and monkeys. I have seen how they fight, and how they play and teach their young ones to play; but there is nothing which can play like a monkey. He is more full of fun than a boy. A monkey always seems to think that another monkey's tail is meant to pull, so as to tease him."
"Yes, I've seen them do that."
"But the funniest thing, Sahib," said the old hunter, "is to see a monkey pull another one's tail, and then pretend that he did not do it. I have seen one put his hand out behind, and give a pull, and then snatch his hand back and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep."
"Oh, here you are," said Mr. Kenyon, coming into the verandah. "Come,
Hal, breakfast; we are very late."
"Here are the specimens Phra and I got yesterday father."
"These? Capital; excellent! That is the kind of Pitta I wanted so badly, and those two kingfishers will be a splendid addition to the collection. Well skinned too, Sree. They are perfect."
Over the breakfast Mr. Kenyon related their adventures of the previous day; but there was nothing much to tell save of wearisome wanderings here and there through rugged, thorny ground where the tiger's pugs could be traced. Hollows were carefully beaten, and patches of reed and grass driven, while the hunters waited for the coming of the cunning beast which was not there. Then at last they found unmistakable traces of his having gone off, and, weary and disgusted, they had turned back.
Harry Kenyon and his father led a very pleasant life in that curious country, for their position was a favoured one, though a great deal was due to the latter's enterprise.
At first their existence was lonely, but it was not long before their position became a good deal talked about through correspondence which followed their arrival, and by degrees a happy little colony had grown up in the neighbourhood of the palace.
It was entirely at the King's invitation that Mr. Kenyon had first settled there, for being himself a man who took great interest in scientific matters and the wonders of nature, he had by accident come in contact with the merchant, who had sought an interview, with the object of asking certain concessions and leave to trade. The result was that Mr. Kenyon was taken quite by surprise on discovering that the King, whom he had expected to find much on a par with so many of the barbaric chieftains of the East, was a man who cared nothing for war and aggrandisement, neither for decking himself out in diamonds, emeralds, and pearls, but who was dressed in the simplest manner, loved to study chemistry, and surrounded himself with beautifully made microscopes and telescopes, obtained at great expense from London and Vienna.
That one interview was quite enough for the beginning of a friendship, the King soon finding out that his visitor was a man of similar tastes to himself, but immeasurably far in advance, and eager to impart his scientific knowledge to one to whom so many things were enclosed in what seemed to be a sealed-up book of wonder and mystery.
The consequence was that, instead of making a temporary stay in Siam, Mr. Kenyon gladly accepted the monarch's friendship and protection, settling down on the banks of the great river at once.
This had happened ten years before the events narrated here, but all had not been smooth. There had been plenty of the opposition of ignorance; the King's far-seeing brain was almost alone, and his nobles and retainers of the blood royal looked with contempt upon the strange things that took up so much of their ruler's time. To them many of his studies seemed to be mere madness, and they looked at one another and shook their heads when they learned that the King spent the whole of some nights looking through a tube like a big bamboo, at the moon and stars.
Then worse things happened: it was found that he was doing uncanny things, a kind of magic by which he conjured up horrible creatures and made them dance and whirl about in water. He showed favoured people strange demons with teeth and horns and claws in a dark room in the palace, where he made a great white spot of light come on the wall, into which he conjured the aforesaid monsters.
But the worst of all was his fitting up one little room with shelves and cabinets full of bottles and glasses. It was well known that here he studied, by mixing and boiling up, how to make horrible poisons, one drop of which shown to an enemy would produce madness, while if taken it was sudden death. And all this the nobles, priests from the great temples, and wise men generally, in secret conclave, came to the conclusion could only have one meaning, and that was to kill off secretly every one of the blood royal and second king's family, so that no one except the one the King wished could by any possibility succeed to the throne.
It was very dreadful, and they shook their heads more and more, and there were talks about its being a sacred duty to kill such a vile being, and make the second king the first; but so far it had all been talk, for changes are a long time coming about among such people as these.
Then, too, for a long time Mr. Kenyon, this foreigner of the barbarians who came from the far West, was looked upon with sinister eyes, for was he not a favourite with the King, helping him to prepare his magic and his terrible poisons?
But as no one died, and no one seemed to be any the worse for the King's magic, and above all as the great people of the country found that Mr. Kenyon was a very pleasant gentleman, who paid great respect to them and all their institutions, it was settled that he should not be stabbed with krises—unless he behaved worse or did some real harm.
He did offend soon after, for upon settling down he was favoured by the King with a grant of land on the banks of the river, this being looked upon as a great offence, land in such a position having heretofore been reserved for the sole benefit of the great nobles of the land and the priesthood, for their large monastic institutions—great walled-in enclosures of some fifteen or twenty acres, covered with the temples, shrines, and conventual dwelling-places of the talapoins or bonzes, as they were called, and easily enough to distinguish by their closely shaven heads and long, yellow robes. Ordinary people and the poor had to live, according to law, in house-boats, with which the rivers, canals, and backwaters were covered. These waterways were the highways—there were no proper roads—and were thronged with dwelling-places large and small, warehouses, shops, and places of entertainment, all built upon bamboo rafts and moored to the banks, forming a beautifully healthy, populous city, for the tide from the sea swept to and fro, clearing it from all impurities day and night.
That grant of land gave great offence, for who was this strange barbarian who had come among them with his little curly-haired boy and a servant, that he should be treated as if he were a noble lord of the land? And once more Mr. Kenyon's position seemed to be precarious, for the King's favour went farther towards his new English friend and student. For native workmen and material were supplied in abundance, the orders given to the men being that they should build the place, dwelling and warehouses, in accordance with Mr. Kenyon's design.
All this proved a great gain to both, for while Mr. Kenyon prospered wonderfully in his trading ventures, and had ample opportunity for collecting the strange products of the country in connection with his favourite study, the King found his revenues increase and his capital become more enlightened by the introduction of Europeans, who were attracted there through finding that they were protected, treated with respect, and encouraged to trade.
This was forgiven, and all went well till the doctor came, when the native medicos grew alarmed and threatening, for this Englishman, or Scotchman, knew better than they.
As the years went on the friendship grew firmer, and the King gladly seized the opportunity of letting his son share young Kenyon's studies, for his desire was that his boy should become an enlightened ruler, who would carry on his plans for the improvement of the country over which in all probability he would some day reign.
Mr. Kenyon, who was a highly cultivated man, gratefully entered into the King's plans and invited a clever university man from Oxford to come out and act as tutor to the two boys, with the result that the young Prince Phra passed a good half of his existence with Harry at the bungalow, sharing his studies and amusements, while Harry was always as welcome a guest as his father at the palace, having only to express a wish to have it gratified, whether his want took the form of books, fishing tackle, guns, men, elephants or boats for some expedition in jungle or open stream.
Harry's chum was a prince, and to all intents and purposes Harry led the life of a king's son himself, though he did not realize the fact, everything coming quite as a matter of course. His chief trouble had to do with the climate, which was, as he told Phra, "so jolly hot."
Phra replied sadly that he could not help it.
"No," said Harry thoughtfully, "you can't help it; but it's jolly hot all the same."