The Land of Fire Part 4

"The gum plant, sure," he replies.

"Well, what then? What's the good of it?" they further interrogate.

"You don't suppose that green thing will burn--wet as a fish, too?"

"That's jest what I do suppose," replied the old sailor, deliberately.

"You young ones wait, an' you'll see. Mebbe you'll lend a hand, an'

help me to gather some of it. We want armfuls; an' there's plenty o'

the plants growin' all about, you see."

They do see, and at once begin tearing at them, breaking off the branches of some, and plucking up others by the roots, till Seagriff cries, "Enough!" Then, with arms full, they return to the beach in high spirits and with joyful faces.

Arrived there, Seagriff selects some of the finest twigs, which he rubs between his hands till they are reduced to a fine fibre and nearly dry.

Rolling these into a rounded shape, resembling a bird's nest, click!

goes his flint and steel--a piece of "punk" is ignited and slipped into the heart of the ball. This, held on high, and kept whirling around his head, is soon ablaze, when it is thrust in among the gathered heap of green plants. Green and wet as these are, they at once catch fire and flame up like kindling-wood.

All are astonished and pleased, and not the least delighted is Caesar, who dances over the ground in high glee as he prepares to resume his vocation.

Note 1. The _Fucus giganteus_ of Solander. The stem of this remarkable seaweed, though but the thickness of a man's thumb, is often over one hundred and thirty yards in length, perhaps the longest of any known plant. It grows on every rock in Fuegian waters, from low-water mark to a depth of fifty or sixty fathoms, and among the most violent breakers.

Often loose stones are raised up by it, and carried about, when the weed gets adrift. Some of these are so large and heavy that they can with difficulty be lifted into a boat. The reader will learn more of it further on.

Note 2. _Dactylis caespitosa_. The leaves of this singular gra.s.s are often eight feet in length, and an inch broad at the base, the flower-stalks being as long as the leaves. It bears much resemblance to the "pampas gra.s.s," now well known as an ornamental shrub.

CHAPTER SIX.

A BATTLE WITH BIRDS.

Through Caesar's skilful manipulations the sea-water is extracted from the ham, and the coffee, which is in the berry and unroasted, after a course of judicious washing and scorching, is also rendered fit for use.

The biscuits also turn out better than was antic.i.p.ated. So their breakfast is not so bad, after all--indeed, to appet.i.tes keen as theirs, it seems a veritable feast.

While they are enjoying it, Seagriff tells them something more about the plant which has proved of such opportune service. They learn from him that it grows in the Falkland Islands, as well as in Tierra del Fuego, and is known as the "gum plant," [_Hydrocelice gummifera_], because of a viscous substance it exudes in large quant.i.ties; this sap is called "balsam," and is used by the natives of the countries where it is found as a cure for wounds. But its most important property, in their eyes, is the ease with which it can be set on fire, even when green and growing, as above described--a matter of no slight consequence in regions that are deluged with rain five days out of every six. In the Falkland Islands, where there are no trees, the natives often roast their beef over a fire of bones, the very bones of the animal from which, but the moment before, the meat itself was stripped, and they avail themselves of the gum plant to kindle this fire.

Just as Seagriff finishes his interesting dissertation, his listeners have their attention called to a spectacle quite new to them, and somewhat comical. Near the spot where they have landed, a naked sand-bar projects into the water, and along this a number of odd-looking creatures are seen standing side by side. There are quite two hundred of them, all facing the same way, mute images of propriety and good deportment, reminding one of a row of little charity children, all in white bibs and tuckers, ranged in a row for inspection.

But very different is the behaviour of the birds--for birds they are.

One or another, every now and then, raises its head aloft, and so holds it, while giving utterance to a series of cries as hoa.r.s.e and long-drawn as the braying of an a.s.s, to which sound it bears a ludicrous resemblance.

"Jacka.s.s penguins," [Note 1] Seagriff p.r.o.nounces them, without waiting to be questioned; "yonder 're more of 'em," he explains, "out among the kelp, divin' after sh.e.l.l-fish, the which are their proper food."

The others, looking off toward the kelp, then see more of the birds.

They had noticed them before, but supposed them to be fish leaping out of the water, for the penguin, on coming up after a dive, goes down again with so quick a plunge that an observer, even at short distance, may easily mistake it for a fish. Turning to those on the sh.o.r.e, it is now seen that numbers of them are constantly pa.s.sing in among the tussac-gra.s.s and out again, their mode of progression being also very odd. Instead of a walk, hop, or run, as with other birds, it is a sort of rapid rush, in which the rudimentary wings of the birds are used as fore legs, so that, from even a slight distance, they might easily be mistaken for quadrupeds.

"It is likely they have their nests yonder," observed Mrs Gancy, pointing to where the penguins kept going in and out of the tussac.

The remark makes a vivid impression on her son and the young Englishman, neither of whom is so old as to have quite outgrown a boyish propensity for nest-robbing.

"Sure to have, ma'am," affirms Seagriff, respectfully raising his hand to his forelock; "an' a pity we didn't think of it sooner. We might 'a'

hed fresh eggs for breakfast."

"Why can't we have them for dinner, then?" demands the second mate; the third adding, "Yes; why not?"

"Sartin we kin, young masters. I knows of no reason agin it," answers the old sealer.

"Then let's go egg-gathering," exclaimed Ned, eagerly.

The proposal is accepted by Seagriff, who is about to set out with the two youths, when, looking inquiringly round, he says, "As thar ain't anything in the shape of a stick about, we had best take the boat-hook an' a couple of oars."

"What for?" ask the others, in some surprise.

"You'll larn, by-an'-bye," answers the old salt, who, like most of his kind, is somewhat given to mystification.

In accordance with this suggestion, each of the boys arms himself with an oar, leaving Seagriff the boat-hook.

They enter among the tussac, and after tramping through it a hundred yards or so, they come upon a "penguinnery," sure enough. It is a grand one, extending over acres, with hundreds of nests--if a slight depression in the naked surface of the ground deserves to be so called.

But no eggs are in any of them, fresh or otherwise; instead, in each sits a young, half-fledged bird, and one only, as this kind of penguin lays and hatches but a single egg. Many of the nests have old birds standing beside them, each occupied in feeding its solitary chick, duckling, gosling, or whatever the penguin offspring may be properly called. This being of itself a curious spectacle, the disappointed egg-hunters stop awhile to witness it, for they are still outside the bounds of the "penguinnery," and the birds have as yet taken no notice of them. By each nest is a little mound, on which the mother stands perched, from time to time projecting her head outward and upward, at the same time giving forth a queer chattering noise, half quack, half bray, with the air of a stump orator haranguing an open-air audience.

Meanwhile, the youngster stands patiently waiting below, evidently with a fore-knowledge of what is to come. Then, after a few seconds of the quacking and braying, the mother bird suddenly ducks her head, with the mandibles of her beak wide agape, between which the fledgling thrusts its head, almost out of sight, and so keeps it for more than a minute.

Finally, withdrawing it, up again goes the head of the mother, with neck craned out, and oscillating from side to side in a second spell of speech-making. These curious actions are repeated several times, the entire performance lasting for a period of nearly a quarter of an hour.

When it ends, possibly from the food supply having become exhausted, the mother bird leaves the little glutton to itself and scuttles off seaward to replenish her throat larder with a fresh stock of molluscs.

Although during their long four years' cruise Edward Gancy and Henry Chester have seen many a strange sight, they think the one now before their eyes as strange as any, and unique in its quaint comicality. They would have continued their observations much longer but for Seagriff, to whom the sight is neither strange nor new. It has no interest for him, save economically, and in this sense he proceeds to utilise it, saying, after an interrogative glance sent all over the breeding-ground, "Sartin, there ain't a single egg in any o' the nests. It's too late in the season for them now, an' I might 'a' known it. Wal, we won't go back empty-handed, anyhow. The young penguins ain't sech bad eatin', though the old 'uns taste some'at fishy, b'sides bein' tough as tan leather. So let's heave ahead, an' grab a few of the goslin's. But look out, or you'll get your legs nipped!"

At which all three advance upon the "penguinnery," the two youths still incredulous as to there being any danger--in fact, rather under the belief that the old salt is endeavouring to impose on their credulity.

But they are soon undeceived. Scarcely have they set foot within the breeding precinct, when fully half a score of old penguins rush fiercely at each of the intruders, with necks outstretched, mouths open, and mandibles snapping together with a clatter like that of castanets.

Then follows a laying about with oars and boat-hook, accompanied by shouts on the side of the attacking party, and hoa.r.s.e, guttural screams on that of the attacked. The racket is kept up till the latter are at length beaten off, though but few of them are slain outright; for the jacka.s.s penguin, with its thick skull and dense coat of feathers, takes as much killing as a cat.

The young birds, too, make resistance against being captured, croaking and hissing like so many little ganders, and biting sharply. But all this does not prevent our determined party from finally securing some ten or twelve of the featherless creatures, and subsequently carrying them to the friends at the sh.o.r.e, where they are delivered into the eager hands of Caesar.

Note 1. _Aptenodytes Patachonica_. This singular bird has been christened "Jacka.s.s penguin" by sailors, on account of its curious note, which bears an odd resemblance to the bray of an a.s.s. "King penguin" is another of its names, from its superior size, as it is the largest of the auk or penguin family.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A WORLD ON A WEED.

A pair of penguin "squabs" makes an ample dinner for the entire party, nor is it without the accompaniment of vegetables; these being supplied by the tussac-gra.s.s, the stalks of which contain a white edible substance, in taste somewhat resembling a hazel-nut, while the young shoots boiled are almost equal to asparagus. [Note 1.]

While seated at their midday meal, they have before their eyes a moving world of nature, such as may be found only in her wildest solitudes.

All around the kelp-bed, porpoises are ploughing the water, now and then bounding up out of it; while seals and sea-otters show their human-like heads, swimming among the weeds. Birds hover above in such numbers as to darken the air, some at intervals darting down and going under with a plunge that sends the spray aloft in showers white as a snow-drift.

Others do their fishing seated on the water; for there are many different kinds of water-fowl here represented--gulls, s.h.a.gs, cormorants, gannets, noddies, and petrels, with several species of _Anativae_, among them the beautiful black-necked swan. Nor are they all seabirds, or exclusively inhabitants of the water. Among those wheeling in the air above is an eagle and a small black vulture, with several sorts of hawks--the last, the Chilian _jota_ [Note 2]. Even the gigantic condor often extends its flight to the Land of Fire, whose mountains are but a continuation of the great Andean chain.

The ways and movements of this teeming ornithological world are so strange and varied that our castaways, despite all anxiety about their own future, cannot help being interested in observing them. They see a bird of one kind diving and bringing to the surface a fish, which another, of a different species, s.n.a.t.c.hes from it and bears aloft, in its turn to be attacked by a third equally rapacious winged hunter, that, swooping at the robber, makes him forsake his ill-gotten prey, while the prey itself, reluctantly dropped, is dexterously re-caught in its whirling descent long ere it reaches its own element--the whole incident forming a very chain of tyranny and destruction! And yet a chain of but few links compared with that to be found in and under the water, among the leaves and stalks of the kelp itself. There the destroyers and the destroyed are legion, not only in numbers, but in kind. A vast world in itself, so densely populated and of so many varied organisms that, for a due delineation of it, I must again borrow from the inimitable pen of Darwin. Thus he describes it:--