“The big bulrushes are bamboos.” He meant the reed-mace.
“Yes, bamboos. I’ve put it down. There ought to be a list of everything that grows here—cedars of course; that’s something else. Huge butterflies—”
“Very huge.”
“Heaps of flies.”
“And a tiger somewhere.”
“Then there ought to be the names of all the fossils, and metals, and if there’s any coal,” said Bevis; “and when we have the raft we must dredge up the anemones and pearl oysters, and—”
“And write down all the fish.”
“And everything. The language of the natives will be a bother. I must make a new alphabet for it. Look! that will do for A,”—he made a tiny circle; “that’s B, two dots.”
“They gurgle in their throats,” said Mark.
“That’s a gurgle,” said Bevis, making a long stroke with a dot over and under it; “and they click with their tongues against the roofs of their mouths. No: it’s awkward to write clicks. I know: there, CK, that’s for click, and this curve under it means a tongue—the way you’re to put it to make a click.”