“Yonder,” said Lyell, “is where oysters grow on trees.”
There was a laugh at this; but next morning the captain verified his statement, and he took Frank with him in the little boat, and they brought off a bucketful. The explanation is this: the roots of the mangrove trees grow among the water, to these the oysters cling, and at low water can be gathered.
Now here they are at the mouth of a great river; they can hear the thundering of the breakers on the terrible bar as they approach it, over these mountain waves their boat must go, and it is lucky for them that they have so experienced a sailor as Lyell at the helm. But beyond all is peace; the peace that reigns on the broad bosom of a great river whose waters roll slowly seaward. On each side the banks are wooded to the water’s edge. The trees are mangroves, but here and there are bunches of feathery palms.
After dinner they land among a clump of these to drink cool delicious cocoa-nut milk. (This glorious nectar can only be had in perfection in lands where the cocoa palms grow. Each green nut before the fruit is formed contains about a quart of it.) In Africa, wherever you find cocoa-nut trees you find human beings, and here was a negro village, but at sight of the white faces of the travellers the natives fled screaming into the dark depths of the forest. So they had to help themselves. Onward again, and now a thick fog envelopes them, and in a few minutes the Bluebell has run aground and refuses to budge. Then it is all hands to strip and get overboard to lighten ship; all save the little engineer; he stays aboard to go all speed astern. All speed astern means no speed at all for ten minutes at least, during which time it comes on to rain in fearful torrents, and the surface of the river becomes all at once so hot, that they are glad when the Bluebell moves again, and they can get up out of it. They hadn’t bargained for a warm bath. But the mist rolls off presently, and they can once more see their way. But this running aground becomes an almost every day occurrence, so that at last they quite look forward to the order to strip and plunge.
They have left the last Portuguese settlement, and the last Arab encampment, leagues and leagues behind them; they have passed the countries of many different tribes of natives. Most of these fled on their approach, but the warriors of some lined the shores, yelling maniacally, and brandishing their war spears. They have come at last to a portion of the stream where they are but little troubled with the presence of the aborigines, a few only being seen in their log canoes peacefully fishing. But where mankind does not abound in Africa birds and beasts hold sway; and one day, on rounding a point of land, they came upon a scene of such animation, as my poor pen would fail in any attempt to describe. It was noontide on the river; countless herds of zebus and zebras had come down to drink, hippopotami wallowed in the shallows, and the sky above was alive with myriads of strange and beautiful birds, that floated screaming around, or perched on the trees, deafening the ear with their noise and chatter; parrots and lories, ibises, flamingoes and storks—some of these as they circled high in the air being arrayed in plumage of pure white and scarlet, looked strangely beautiful against the sky’s azure blue.
“O!” cried Chisholm, “we mustn’t let such an opportunity as this pass for a big shoot.”
“Give them time to drink,” said Fred; “it would be a shame to disturb them yet a little.”
This was agreed to, and the Bluebird lay still for two hours, which gave ample time to watch the strange manners and customs of these curious specimens of animal life, and after this shooting began. The larger game were wilder than they imagined, and soon made themselves very scarce indeed; but the birds took hardly any heed of their presence, and even when dozens of them fluttered down dead, instead of being afraid, the majority seemed to look upon the matter as a very pretty joke, and the parrots in particular shrieked and laughed till the very welkin rang.
