“It is a magnificent hornbill!” exclaimed our uncle—“Buceros bicornis.”
Merlin had killed the bird in bringing it on shore, and it now lay stretched out before us. My uncle eagerly went forward to the tree, and looking up about fifteen feet from the ground, we saw a small hole surrounded by mud. Directly afterwards, out came the white end of a beak, which seemed to gape as if expecting to have some food put into it. We were silent for an instant, and then heard the harsh croaking of a bird, which seemed to come from the interior of the tree. How to get at it, however, was the question.
“We will soon be up there,” said Tarbox. “I have seen the way the black fellows get up a tree, and I think we can do the same.”
He soon cut down some bamboos, which, cutting into pieces about a foot and a half in length, he drove into the tree, we all assisting him. He then secured some upright bamboos to the pieces which had thus been stuck in one above another. As soon as he had stuck them in as high as he could reach, he mounted on the first, and then put in some more above his head, and thus in a very short time got up to a level with the hole.
“I have no fancy, though, for having my eyes picked out, which they might very quickly be if the creature inside has got as big a beak as the one you killed, sir,” he observed.
He accordingly got somewhat higher up. He then with his axe began to knock away the mud, and in a short time cleared out a large hole, when not only the beak but the head of a bird similar to the one which had been killed was poked out.
Dick seized it by the neck in spite of its furious struggles, and giving it a swing, threw it down to the ground, where the rest of us pounced upon it, when it commenced uttering the most tremendously loud, hoarse screaming I ever heard.
“There is something else in the nest, though!” he exclaimed; and putting in his hand he drew out an extraordinary little lump of vitality, which, however, was evidently a young bird. “I will bring it down to its mother,” he said; “for if I threw it, the poor little creature would be killed.”
Holding the creature in one hand with as much care as if it had been a young child, he descended with the other. It was a bird as large as a pigeon, but without a single feather on any part of its body. It was wonderfully plump and soft, with a skin almost transparent, so that it looked more like a bag of jelly than any living thing, with a head and feet and commencement of wings stuck on to it. The little creature seemed in no way frightened, but opened its mouth as if expecting to be fed. We brought it to its mother, who immediately recognised it, and when we handed her a piece of fruit she took it and gave a portion to her offspring, who lifted up its beak to receive it.
“Oh, I will carry it!” cried Grace. “I should not like the poor little thing to be hurt.”