His Royal Highness replied to him,—
“That he and all his friends present had been highly pleased with their appearance and amusements to-day, and most of all with the reverential manner in which he had just spoken of the Great Spirit, before whom we must all, whether red or white, soon appear. He thanked the chiefs for the efforts they had made to entertain them, and trusted that the Great Spirit would be kind to them in restoring them safe home to their friends again.”
At this moment, when all were rising and wrapping their robes around them preparing to start, the lady appeared among them, with a large plate in her hands, bearing on it a variety of beautiful trinkets, which she dispensed among them according to their various tastes; and with a general shake of the hand, they retired from the grounds to take their carriage for town. The parrots and cockatoos all bowed their heads in silence as they passed by them; but as the old Doctor (who always lingers behind to bestow and catch the last smile, and take the second shake of the hand where there are ladies in question) extended his hand to the kind lady, to thank her the second and last time, there was a tremendous cry of “There! there!! there!!!” and “Cockatoo! cockatoo!”—the last of which the poor Doctor, in his confusion, had mistaken for “Chickabobboo! chickabobboo!” He, however, kept a steady gait between the din of “There! there!! there!!!” and “Cockatoo!” that was behind him, and the inconceivable laughter of his party in the carriage, who now insisted on it (and almost made him believe), that his ugly face had been the sole cause of the alarm of the birds and monkeys since the Indians entered the ground.[19]
This was theme enough, to ensure them a merry ride home, where they arrived in time, and in the very best of humour, for their accustomed evening amusements at the Hall; and after that, of taking their suppers and chickabobboo in their own apartments, which resounded with songs and with encomiums on the kind lady and her chickabobboo, until they got to sleep.
The next morning we had an appointment to visit the Surrey Zoological Gardens, and having the greatest curiosity to witness the mutual surprise there might be exhibited at the meeting of wild men and wild animals, I was one of the party. The interview, in order to avoid the annoyance of a crowd, had been arranged as a private one: we were, therefore, on the spot at an early hour; and as we were entering (the Doctor, with his jingling dress and red face, being in advance of the party, as he was sure to be in entering any curious place, though the last to leave if there were ladies behind), we were assailed with the most tremendous din of “There! there!! there!!!” “Cockatoo! cockatoo!” and “God dam!” and fluttering of wings of the poor affrighted parrots, that were pitching down from their perches in all directions. I thought it best that we should retreat a few moments, until Mr. Cross could arrange the front ranks of his aviary a little, which he did by moving back some of their outposts to let us pass. We had been shown into a little office in the meantime, where Mr. Melody had very prudently suggested that they had better discharge as many of their rattling gewgaws as possible, and try to carry into the ground as little of the frightful as they could. Amusing jokes were here heaped upon the Doctor for his extreme ugliness, which, as Jim told him, had terrified the poor birds almost to death. The Doctor bore it all patiently, however, and with a smile; and partially turned the laugh upon Jim with the big mouth, by replying that it was lucky for the gentleman owning the parrots that Jim did not enter first; for if he had, the poor man would have found them all dead, instead of being a little alarmed, as they then were.
We were now entering upon the greatest field for the speculations and amusement (as well as astonishment) of the Indians that they were to meet in the great metropolis. My note-book was in my hand and my pencil constantly employed; and the notes that I then and in subsequent visits made, can be allowed very little space in this work. All were ready, and we followed Mr. Cross; the Indians, fourteen in number, with their red faces and red crests, marching in single file. The squalling of parrots and barking of dogs seemed to have announced to the whole neighbourhood that some extraordinary visitation was at hand; and when we were in front of the lions’ cage, their tremendous bolts against its sides, and unusual roar, announced to the stupidest animal and reptile that an enemy was in the field. The terrible voice of the king of beasts was heard in every part, and echoed back in affrighted notes of a hundred kinds. Men as well as beasts were alarmed, for the men employed within the grounds were retreating, and at every turn they made amidst its bewildering mazes, they imagined a roaring lion was to spring upon their backs. The horrid roaring of the lions was answered by lions from another part of the garden. Hyenas and panthers hissed, wolves were howling, the Indians (catching the loved inspiration of nature’s wildness) sounded their native war-whoop, the buffaloes bellowed, the wild geese stretched their necks and screamed; the deer, the elk, and the antelopes were trembling, the otters and beavers dived to the bottom of their pools, the monkeys were chattering from the tops of their wire cages, the bears were all at the summit of their poles, and the ducks and the geese whose wings were not cropped, were hoisting themselves out of their element into quieter regions.
The whole establishment was thus in an instant “brushed up,” and in their excitement, prepared to be seen to the greatest possible advantage; all upon their feet, and walking their cages to and fro, seemingly as impatient to see what they seemed to know was coming, as the visiting party was impatient to see them.
I explained to the Indians that the lion was the king of beasts—and they threw tobacco before him as a sacrifice. The hyenas attracted their attention very much, and the leopards and tigers, of the nature of all of which I promised to give them some fuller account after we got home. They met the panther, which they instantly recognized, and the recognition would seem to have been mutual, from its evident alarm, evinced by its hissing and showing its teeth. Jim called for the Doctor “to see his brother,” the wolf. The Doctor’s totem or arms was the wolf—it was therefore medicine to him. The Doctor advanced with a smile, and offering it his hand, with a smirk of recognition, he began, in a low and soft tone, to howl like a wolf. All were quiet a moment, when the poor animal was led away by the Doctor’s “distant howlings,” until it raised up its nose, with the most pitiable looks of imploration for its liberty, and joined him in the chorus. He turned to us with an exulting smile, but to his “poor imprisoned brother,” as he called it, with a tear in his eye, and a plug of tobacco in his hand, which he left by the side of its cage as a peace-offering.
The ostrich (of which there was a noble specimen there) and the kangaroo excited the admiration and lively remarks of the Indians; but when they met the poor distressed and ragged prisoner, the buffalo from their own wild and free prairies, their spirits were overshadowed with an instant gloom; forebodings, perhaps, of their own approaching destiny. They sighed, and even wept, for this worn veteran, and walked on. With the bears they would have shaken hands, if they could have done it, “and embraced them too,” said the Little-wolf, “for he had hugged many a one.” They threw tobacco to the rattlesnake, which is medicine with them, and not to be killed. The joker, Jim, made us white men take off our hats as we passed the beaver, for it was his relation; and as he had learned a little English, when he heard the ducks cry “quack,” he pointed to them and told the Doctor to go there—he was called for.
Thus rapid were the transitions from surprise to pity, and to mirth, as we passed along, and yet to wonder and astonishment, which had been reserved for the remotest and the last. Before the massive elephant little or nothing was said; all hands were over their mouths; their tobacco was forgotten, they walked quietly away, and all of us being seated under an arbour, to which we were conducted, our kind guide said to Jeffrey, “Tell the Indians that the immense arch they see now over their heads is made of the jaw-bones of a whale, and they may now imagine themselves and the whole party sitting in its mouth.” “Well, now,” said Jeffrey, “you don’t say so?” “Yes, it’s even so.” “Well, I declare! why, the elephant would be a mere baby to it.” Jeffrey explained it to the Indians, and having risen from their seats, and being satisfied, by feeling it, that it was actually bone, they wished to go home, and “see the rest at a future time.” We were then near the gate, where we soon took our carriage, and returned to their quarters in St. James’s Street.