Nat the Naturalist Part 32

"Yes," he said with a peculiar smile; and then, as the cry rang out again, apparently nearer, he signified to Ebo that he should try and guide us in the direction of the sounds.

The black understood him well enough, and taking the lead he went on swiftly through the twilight of the forest, for it was easy walking here beneath the vast trees, where nothing grew but fungi and a few pallid-looking little plants.

And so we went on and on, with the trees seeming to get taller and taller, and of mightier girth. Now and then we caught a glimpse of the blue sky, but only seldom, the dense foliage forming a complete screen.

Every now and then we could hear the hoa.r.s.e harsh cry; but though we went on and on for a tremendous distance, we seemed to get no nearer, till all at once Ebo stopped short, there was the hoa.r.s.e cry just overhead, and I saw something sweep through the great branches a hundred and fifty feet away.

I had not time to fire, for my uncle's gun made the forest echo, though nothing fell.

"I missed it, Nat," he said, "for the branches were in my way; but I thought I would not let the slightest chance go by."

"What was it, uncle?" I said.

"One of your crows," he replied, laughing; and Ebo went on again.

Just then my uncle glanced at his compa.s.s, and saw that we were travelling in the right direction--due south--so it did not matter how far we went; but though we kept hearing the cries of the crow-birds, as I eventually called them, we saw no more, and felt disappointed for a time, but not for long; there were too many fresh objects for our notice.

At last daylight appeared ahead, and we came out from amongst the trunks, which had risen up on every side of us like pillars, into a beautiful open valley dotted with trees, some of which were green with luxuriant branches right to the ground.

We did not spend many moments gazing at the beautiful landscape, so lovely that I half expected to see houses there, and that it was the result of clever gardening; but it was nature's own work, and in every tree there were so many birds, and of such lovely kinds, that we seemed to have come to the very place of all in the world to make our collection.

"There, Nat, look!" said my uncle, pointing to where, in the full sunshine, a great bird with a train of soft amber plumage flew across the opening, to disappear amongst the trees; "there goes one of your crows."

"That lovely buff bird, uncle?" I said; "why, it looked like what I should think a bird of paradise would be."

"And that's what it was, undoubtedly, Nat," he said, "though I never before saw one on the wing."

"But you said crow, uncle," I said. "Oh! of course, you said the birds of paradise belonged to the crow family. I wish you could have shot it."

"It would have required a rifle to hit it at that distance, Nat; but wait a bit. We have learned one thing, and that is the fact that we have birds of paradise here, and that satisfies me that we cannot do better than keep to our present quarters. This place exceeds my highest hopes for a collecting ground. There, look at that bird by the great hollow-looking tree."

"I was looking at it, uncle. It is one of those great birds with the big bill and a thing upon it like a deck-house."

"Yes," said my uncle, "and there is something more. Look, Ebo has gone on. He seems to understand by our looks when he cannot make out our words."

For Ebo had trotted forward towards the tree that had taken our attention, where the great hornbill had flown to a dead trunk some ten-feet from the ground, and then flapped away.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

A CURIOUS MARRIED COUPLE.

As Ebo reached the tree he turned back to us laughing and pointing with his spear, and then signed to us to come, though even when we were close up to him I could see nothing but a tiny hole in the trunk of the great tree.

"It can't be a nest, uncle," I said, "because it is not big enough.

Perhaps it is a wild bees' hive."

"I don't know yet," said my uncle. "I'm like you, Nat, a little bit puzzled. If it were not so small I should say it was a nest from the way that great hornbill keeps flapping about and screeching."

"Shall I shoot it, uncle?" I said eagerly.

"Well, no, Nat, I hardly like to do that. If it is as I think, it would be too cruel, for we should be starving the young, and it will be easy to get a specimen of a hornbill if we want one, though really it is such a common bird that it is hardly worth carriage as a skin."

Just then, to show us, Ebo began to poke at the hole with the point of his spear, and we saw the point of a bill suddenly pop out and dart in again, while the great hornbill shrieked and shouted, for I can call it nothing else, so queerly sounded its voice.

"Why, it can't be the hornbill's nest, uncle!" I said. "Look how small it is."

"Yes, it is small, but it is the hornbill's nest after all," said my uncle, as Ebo kept on poking at the hole and bringing down pieces of what seemed to be clay. Then, seeing how interested we were, he took off his basket, lay down his spear, and taking a hatchet from his waistband cut a few nicks for his toes, and began to climb up, the big hornbill screeching horribly the while, till Ebo was level with the hole, from out of which the end of a bill kept on peeping.

Then the hornbill flew off and Ebo began to chop away a large quant.i.ty of dry clay till quite a large hole was opened, showing the original way into the hollow tree; and now, after a great deal of hoa.r.s.e shrieking the black got hold of the great bird that was inside, having quite a fight before he could drag it out by the legs, and then dropping with it, flapping its great wings, to the ground.

"Undoubtedly the female hornbill," said my uncle. "How singular! The male bird must have plastered her up there and fed her while she has been sitting. That was what we saw, Nat."

"Then there must be eggs, uncle," I cried, with my old bird-nesting propensities coming to the front.

But Ebo was already up the tree again as soon as he had rid himself of the great screaming bird, and in place of bringing down any eggs he leaped back to the earth with a young hornbill, as curious a creature as it is possible to imagine.

It was like a clear leather bag or bladder full of something warm and soft, and with the most comical head, legs, and wings, a good-sized soft beak, a few blue stumps of feathers to represent the tail, and nothing else. It was, so to speak, a horribly naked skin of soft jelly with staring eyes, and it kept on gaping helplessly for more food, when it was evidently now as full as could be.

"Are there more birds?" said Uncle d.i.c.k pointing to the hole; but Ebo shook his head, running up, thrusting in his hand, and coming down again.

"Very curious, Nat," said my uncle. "The male bird evidently shuts his wife up after she has laid an egg, to protect her from other birds and perhaps monkeys till she has hatched, and then he goes on feeding her and her young one."

"And well too, uncle; he is as fat as b.u.t.ter."

"Feeding both well till the young one is fit to fly."

"Which won't be yet, uncle, for he hasn't a feather."

"No, my boy. Well, what shall we do with them?" said my uncle, still holding the screeching mother, while I nursed the soft warm bird baby, her daughter or son.

"Let's put the little--no, I mean the big one back, uncle," I said, laughing.

"Just what I was thinking. Climb up and do it."

I easily climbed to the nest and was glad to get the young bird in again without cracking its skin, which seemed so tender; and no sooner had I rolled it softly in and climbed down than my uncle let the mother go, and so strong was her love of her young that she immediately flew to the hole and crept in, croaking and screaming in an uneasy, angry way, as if she was scolding us for interfering with her little one, while from a distance amongst the trees the c.o.c.k bird kept on answering her with the noisiest and most discordant cries.

Every now and then it came into sight, flying heavily across the openings between the trees, its great cream-coloured, clumsy-looking bill shining and looking bright in the sun, while the cries it uttered tempted one to put one's fingers into one's ears.

And all the time the hen bird inside the tree kept answering it peevishly, as much as to say, Look here: what a shame it is! Why don't you come and drive these people away?

"This is one of the most singular facts in natural history that I have met with," said Uncle d.i.c.k, who was still gazing curiously up at the tree and watching the female hornbill's head as she kept shuffling herself about uneasily, and seemed to object to so much light.

"I think I know what it is, uncle," I said, laughing.

"Do you, Nat," he replied. "Well, you are cleverer than I am if you do know. Well, why is it?"

"The hen hornbill must be like Uncle Joe's little bantam, who never would sit till she was shut up in the dark, and that's why Mr Hornbill fastened up his wife."