I have thought—but long after that time—I have thought that if King Dingo Bingo had but set his poor captives, and his bloody myrmidons as well, to gather that golden crop, to press the oil from those pulpy pericarps, what a fortune he might have been honestly the master of, and what unhappiness he might have spared to thousands in whose misery alone he was now making traffic!
Chapter Nineteen.
For more than a mile we walked through this wonderful wood, and, although we had admired it so much on first entering it, we were now very desirous of getting out of it. It was not that it was a gloomy forest: on the contrary, it was rather cheerful, for the light, pinnated leaves permitted the sun to shine through, and just screened his rays sufficiently to make it pleasant and cool. It was, therefore, rather cheerful than gloomy. The reason why we so soon grew tired of it was, that it was anything but agreeable under foot. The ground, as I have already remarked was strewed with the fallen fruits. The whole surface was literally covered with them, just like an an apple-orchard after a stormy night, only that the palm-nuts lay thicker upon the ground than I had ever seen apples—so thick that there was no picking of steps among them, and in some places it was impossible to set down the foot without treading upon and crushing them. Now the pulpy outer part, when thus crushed, is almost as gummy and sticky as cobblers’ wax, and the consequence was, that walking over the nuts was no easy matter—in short it was both difficult and disagreeable. Sometimes a whole cluster of them would adhere to the soles of our shoes, or, slipping from under our feet, would threaten us with a fall, and thus our advance was continuously impeded or interrupted. It was quite as difficult to make way as it would have been through deep snow or over ice, and it must have taken us a full hour to get to the other side of the wood.
We reached it at length, and were very glad to see trees of another kind, which, although far less beautiful than the palms, and with far more gloomy shadows beneath them, grew upon ground that offered us good footing, and we were now able to proceed without the danger of falling at every step, or spraining our ankles.
Through this shadowy forest we kept on, but as no game of any kind was seen we soon became tired of it, as we had been of the palms. In fact, travelling through thick timber is very tiresome to persons who are not used to it—that is, to those who have not been reared in a forest-covered country, or used to a forest life. To such, the scene, however striking at first, however picturesque it may be, soon appears tame and monotonous. There is a great sameness in it—the trees are alike, the vistas that now and then open out all resemble one another; the ground, bare of grass or covered with withered leaves, presents but little attractions, either to the foot or the eye, and the traveller wearies of listening to his own tracks, oft repeated, and longs for a piece of open ground where he may look upon the blue sky above him, and press the green carpet of grass beneath his feet.
Just in this wise did my companion and myself long to get out of the deep wood and into some more open kind of country, where we might see to a good distance around us, and where Ben thought we should be far more likely to find game.
Our longings were gratified. We had advanced about a quarter of a mile beyond the palm-wood, when the forest appeared to end in front of us. We saw the sun streaming through the trees, and a bit of blue sky as big as a main-sail, and from this we knew there was an opening in the timber.
We hastened forward with joyful anticipations; and a hundred yards farther on came out upon the edge of a beautiful plain, that stretched as far beyond as the eye could reach, with scarcely a tree to intercept the prospect. Here and there only stood single trees, or little clumps, just as if the plain was a great park and these had been planted; but there was no house within sight nor any sign of the presence of man.