Fig. 3.—Megalopyga Caterpillar.Fig. 3.—Megalopyga Caterpillar.
The caterpillar of our British 'Festoon moth' belongs to a very remarkable family indeed. All the caterpillars of this group, which is found in many parts of the world, are very slug-like in form, and many have an evil reputation as poisoners, though our English species is happily innocent. A small Australian species has the body armed with slight reddish knobs, four in the front and four in the hind part of the body. These knobs can be opened at will, and from them slight rays or bunches of stings of a yellow colour are thrust out. The wounds which these darts inflict are very painful. Of one Indian species a collector records that 'the caterpillar stung with such horrible pain that I sat in the room almost sick with it, and unable to keep the tears from running down my cheeks, for more than two hours, applying ammonia all the time.'
(Concluded on page 364.)
Hugh Martin had come home from Canada, where his father owned a ranch, on a visit to some English relations.
Willie Pearse was the cousin nearest him in age, and the two boys became great friends.
'It must be a jolly life out there, and money seems to be made much more quickly than in England,' Willie said one day. 'I wish Father would let me go out with you.'
'You would have to make up your mind to work harder than you do here,' Hugh told him, for he had noticed that his cousin was inclined to be lazy.
'Oh, I like that! Why, you were telling me how little there was to do in the winter, with everything frozen up! I thought that when you were not having a ripping time with sleighing parties and tobogganing, you just sat by the fire and read.'
'Compared with the summer, of course, the winter work is nothing. We just have to feed the calves every day, and ride round the field where our stock are wintering, to look up the cattle. But even that is more than you seem to get through, Will.'
'Not more than just ride round a field!' cried Willie. 'I should be glad if that ended my day's work.'
'Perhaps you do not quite realise the size of what we call a field,' Hugh said quietly.
'How many acres?' asked his cousin.
'Oh, a matter of two thousand acres or so,' was the answer, and then Willie began to think that if all the little jobs of work were on the same scale, perhaps only the energetic folk were the sort to go to Canada, and those who loved their ease had better stay at home.
M. H.
We cannot show in Britain such tall and beautiful natives of the fern tribe as may be found growing freely in tropical countries, but still we have some fine ferns belonging to our islands. These are much commoner in some parts than in others, and probably, many years ago, when a great part of the country was covered with damp forests or woods, there was a greater abundance of ferns generally than there is now. Indeed, even in the last few years, some ferns that used to be abundant have become quite scarce, often owing to the fact that unwise people dig them up, to carry the plants away from their haunts, and put them in gardens.
There are, fortunately, some ferns which such thefts do not harm, because they are plentiful. The well-known bracken, for instance, though quantities of it may be cut for wrapping or decoration, is not thereby thinned much, and it covers acres and acres of ground in some woodlands, especially about the western counties. The West of England is the home of ferns, big and small; but some southern counties, such as Sussex and Hampshire, have a good display. In Scotland, again, glens or copses, often the haunts of wild deer, are green with a thick growth of bracken.
A well-known writer, who lives where ferns abound, says that the bracken is the fern of ferns in the British Islands. The shelter of it is a pleasure and a safeguard too, not only to the tall deer and their fawns, but to thousands of quadrupeds and birds, whose home is amid the copses, shady lanes, or moorlands. In sandy wastes, this fern only grows a foot high; along the paths in woods it will attain to six or seven feet, or grow taller still in a lofty hedge, or in a clump of supporting trees. Even in the winter months the ferns have their uses; it is delightful, after walking over some moist lowland, to come upon a hilly ridge of ground, where, amongst the birches and the fragrant firs, the brown ferns grow freely.
Grand in its growth, but only to be found in a few places, is the Osmund or Royal Fern, which throws up a tall spike bearing the spores or seeds of the plant. Sometimes, in moist places, the crown of the root is a clump of more than a foot high, from which the stem rises. Of late years, this kingly fern has become still more rare, and happy is the fern-hunter who comes upon a specimen.
Who can help admiring the beautiful Lady Fern, which seems to be most at home when growing near a streamlet or pond? It is stately and graceful, with large fronds of clear green, and the tips of its sprays bend like plumes. What is called the Male Fern grows in hedges or banks, and indeed almost anywhere; a handsome cheery-looking plant, though of moderate size. It will even manage to live in a London back-garden, or area, and many cottagers have it amongst the flowers of their small garden plots. Occasionally, by the side of a copse, we may come upon a great bed of the male fern, which frequently keeps green all the winter. Often, about the same spots where the male fern flourishes, the Shield Fern displays its fronds, larger and broader, but fewer in number, and prettily toothed along their edges. Fond of damp hollows or the sides of ditches is the handsome Hart's-tongue Fern, which will also, now and then, choose to grow on a cracked wall, or perhaps down a well.
We must not forget the Polypody, which delights to creep amongst the trees and bushes of a lane, and looks very fresh in June, keeping its fronds till some sharp frost brings them off. It took the name of Polypody from its jagged leaves, upon which the seeds or spores appear in bright orange spots. The humble Wall Rue and the Wall Spleenwort grow on walls chiefly, sometimes on rocky banks. The true Maiden-hair Fern is amongst the rarest of our native ferns. What is so commonly grown by gardeners, and used for bouquets and buttonholes, is the Black Maiden-hair, a rather stronger plant.
'Iwish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been plantedTo catch the full force of the wind from the east;But, somehow, the gardener takes it for grantedThat that's not a hardship I mind in the least.'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing,Her glittering leaves were a capital shield;But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowingCan whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected,They're touched but by winds from the south and the west;Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expectedTo blossom in colours my brightest and best.The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders,And only when night is beginning to fall;While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders,He never looks twice at my corner at all.'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses,For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone,I heard some one say, who was gathering posies,"I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone."Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing!I don't want the wind from the south and the west,And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing,I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'
'Iwish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been plantedTo catch the full force of the wind from the east;But, somehow, the gardener takes it for grantedThat that's not a hardship I mind in the least.'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing,Her glittering leaves were a capital shield;But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowingCan whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.
'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected,They're touched but by winds from the south and the west;Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expectedTo blossom in colours my brightest and best.The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders,And only when night is beginning to fall;While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders,He never looks twice at my corner at all.
'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses,For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone,I heard some one say, who was gathering posies,"I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone."Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing!I don't want the wind from the south and the west,And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing,I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'
Hetais was a French sailor, a carpenter of theVille de Paris, and he and his ship-mates took part with our soldiers in the siege of Sebastopol in 1854, where Hetais, having shown great gallantry during one of the sorties, was adjudged that coveted decoration, themédaille militaire—a medal that is only given to privates and non-commissioned officers.
The presentation of this medal was to be made on a certain evening, and on the morning, as he and his mates were on duty in the trenches, the chief subject of conversation was the honour that had befallen Hetais.
He was a modest, brave-hearted fellow, and though much pleased at the prospect of his medal, was pleased, too, to think of the treat he meant to give his comrades to celebrate the event.
'Look here,' he said to his particular chum, 'I have just drawn out all the money owing to me, and I mean you fellows to have a good, hot supper to-night at the canteen, and I foot the bill!' and as he spoke he pulled out a handful of silver from his pocket and showed it with a laugh to his friend.
Hot suppers were a rarity in that camp, and the very thought of such a treat was cheering to the half-starved men.
'You are a good fellow, Hetais,' said one of the men, 'and you deserve your luck.'
'Hold your tongue, you silly fellow,' said Hetais, with a good-natured thump on the speaker's back. 'Get on with your coffee-making, and do not talk nonsense!'
'All right,' said the man, cautiously lifting his head above the shelter of the trench, so as to see what the Russians were about. 'The "Moscos"' (so the French termed the enemy) 'seem keeping quiet to-day, and we shall be able to enjoy our coffee in peace,' he continued.
A fire was lighted, and the water put on to boil in a saucepan, the men all sitting round in eagerness, for it was bitterly cold in the trenches, and a hot cup, or rather tin, of coffee seemed to warm and cheer them better than anything else.
'Now then,' at last said the coffee-maker, 'hold out your mess-tins, and we will divide fairly.'
Every man held out his mess-tin—but not one drop of coffee was to be drunk by any of them, for at that very moment a bomb from the Russian battery landed in their midst, upsetting the saucepan of coffee and exploding in the midst of the little crowd of men.
It seemed as if none could escape! Yet, strange to say—for this is a true story—of all that group, no one was hurt, except the brave Hetais, whose head had been all but blown away by the bursting of the bomb.
It is impossible to describe the grief and consternation of his comrades, who felt, one and all, that each could have been better spared than the man who lay dead at their feet.
Just then the officer in charge of the party came up, and the senior man told him how Hetais had met his death. The officer was no less sorry than the men, for Hetais was popular with all ranks.
'Poor fellow! he was a brave man if there ever was one,' said the officer. 'Carry his body back to camp, my lads; he shall be honoured in death, if he has just missed it in life,' for the officer was thinking of the medal and the ceremony of presentation which was to have taken place that evening.
The men extemporised a sort of bier out of a litter on which the dead man was lying and their muskets, and thus they reverently carried him back to camp, the relief party presenting arms as the funeral procession passed by them.
When the General in command was informed of the death of Hetais, he issued the following order to the troops:
'I was to have presented Hetais, of theVille de Paris, with themédaille militaire, and his untimely death must not deprive him of this honour. I shall fasten the medal on him at his burial.'
A few hours later, all the sailors and soldiers who could be spared from the trenches were drawn up in a hollow square outside the camp around the body of Hetais, who, wrapped in his cloak, slept his last calm sleep on the rough litter in which he had been carried from the trenches.
The deep silence was at last broken by the loud voice of the commanding officer: 'Present arms!' Then he took off his helmet, and followed by another officer, who carried the medal, he advanced towards the bier, and read out the brief account of the gallant action which had gained Hetais his medal.
Then, taking the medal from the hand of the subaltern, he fastened it on to the cloak of the sailor, and, turning to the assembled soldiers and sailors, he thus addressed them:
'A glorious death has ended a noble life,' he said, in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by all; 'but death, though it has robbed us of a brave comrade, shall not rob him of the honour due to his services. In the name of the General commanding the forces in the East, I confer on our dead comrade themédaille militaire!'
Then all ranks passed in turn, bare-headed, past the still figure of Hetais, lying all unconscious of the honour done to him; and thus were the last honours paid to a brave man.
"The commanding officer advanced towards the bier.""The commanding officer advanced towards the bier."
"'How would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'""'How would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'"
It was the visit to Dan Webster which brought it all about; but for the fact that the handle of Charlie's bicycle got badly bent, so that only the village blacksmith could put it right, the most exciting incident which ever befell the boys would probably never have taken place.
It happened thus.
'Dan,' said Charlie, as he and his brother Sydney were waiting while the blacksmith finished a job he was at work on when they arrived, 'how would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'
'I should like it amazingly well, sir,' was the reply; 'a third of that sum even would be a godsend to me.'
'How would you spend it?' asked Sydney, with an amused smile.
A serious look came into old Dan's face. 'I'd send my daughter away to the seaside for a change,' he said. 'The doctor tells me it would do her more good than all his medicines. But what's all this,' he asked, 'about twenty pounds reward? I suppose it's some joke of yours, young gentlemen?'
'It's no joke,' said Charlie; 'at least, Lady Winterton does not think so. She is on a visit to our house, you know; and this morning she discovered that she had lost a valuable necklace. Father was so angry that such a thing should have happened that he at once offered twenty pounds reward for the recovery of the necklace.'
Dan thought seriously awhile. Then he said, 'I wonder if the young chap who roused me up this morning at six o'clock, because his horse had cast a shoe, had anything to do with it?'
Both boys were instantly on the alert. 'What was he like?' they asked, in a breath.
Dan described the stranger as minutely as he could. 'He had a small bag slung round him,' he finished, 'and seemed in a great hurry to be off.'
'That's the thief, you may depend upon it,' said Charlie. 'If we can only track him, Dan, you shall share the profits.'
Dan laughed. 'He didn't look much like a thief, now I come to think of it,' said he. 'He had too honest a face for that.'
'Oh, you never know,' was Sydney's comment. 'I dare say he's a thorough bad 'un, if the truth is known. Which way did he go, Dan, when he left you?'
The blacksmith then told all he knew, and the boys, as soon as Charlie's bicycle was ready, started off, as they fondly hoped, on the track of the thief. After a good long ride, they suddenly came upon the object of their search. He was leisurely taking photographs on the outskirts of a wood. No horse was visible, so he had evidently been home to breakfast, and had started forth again.
As the lads drew near he eyed them with interest, his idea being to photograph them.
Charlie, plucking up all the courage he possessed, went straight to the point. 'I wonder if you would mind,' said he, growing very red, 'if we looked into that case of yours?'
'And what for, young stranger, may I ask?' was the reply, given with a slightly American accent.
'Because—because,' stammered Charlie, 'we think you have something there belonging to Lady Winterton.'
'Upon my word,' laughed the young fellow, 'you are a "cute" chap. As a matter of fact, I have, but how did you know it?'
'We guessed it,' said Sydney, thinking it was time he put a spoke in the wheel; 'and now, if you will give it up to us, without making any fuss about it, we won't give you in charge.'
'Very kind of you, I am sure,' replied the thief. 'How am I to reward you for your goodness?'
'Oh, Father is going to give us the reward!' cried Charlie, very pleased with himself. 'It's twenty pounds, you know.'
'Is it, indeed?' said the young man, looking rather mystified. 'Tell me all about it, and what you are going to do with the money?'
There was something so winning about this innocent-looking criminal that the boys grew quite confidential, telling him the history of the whole morning.
'Dan said you had too honest a face for a thief,' said Sydney, at the close of the recital. 'I wonder what made you do it?'
The stranger was nearly doubled up with laughter, which he turned away to hide. 'Well, you see,' he replied, as gravely as he could, 'Lady Winterton left it about so temptingly that I really couldn't help it. It's my first offence, though.'
'Yes, so I should say,' Charlie's voice was eager as he spoke, 'and we should like you to get off, awfully. You are much too nice to go to prison.'
'Thanks, old chap, you're very kind,' said the thief; 'if you really mean to let me off scot-free I will be making a move. Take this case'—here drawing forth from his satchel a small package—'to Lady Winterton, with my regrets and apologies.'
'We have got the necklace!' So cried Charlie, as with flushed, triumphant faces the boys entered the dining-room, where the whole family party was assembled together.
'My dear boy, that's impossible,' replied Lady Winterton, 'for I found it myself, only ten minutes ago, behind a chest of drawers.'
'Then what is this?' cried poor Charlie, looking very surprised. He then told his story, which was certainly a very strange one. However, the mystery was soon cleared up. The case contained nothing but photographs, one of which was a portrait of Lady Winterton taken with her daughter, Alice. Clearly this was the theft to which the stranger (a wealthy, if somewhat eccentric, young American) alluded. He was Alice Winterton's accepted lover, and, half in earnest, half in jest, had taken the photograph for his own use.
The reward was not paid, after all. But when Mr. Hereford and Lady Winterton heard, from Charlie's story, of the blacksmith's trouble, they put their heads together, with the result that Dan Webster's daughter spent a happy time in a seaside home, and came back very grateful, and quite restored to health. The amateur detectives had done some good, after all.
The Sea no father has,Nor any mother:A trouble quite enoughOne's mind to bother.That's why, my dear,Where'er it be,We sometimes hearA sobbing Sea.If we no fathers had,Or loving mothers,No little sisters fair,No baby-brothers,We'd shed a tear,(Poor You, poor Me,)And sigh, 'Oh, dear,'Just like the Sea.
The Sea no father has,Nor any mother:A trouble quite enoughOne's mind to bother.That's why, my dear,Where'er it be,We sometimes hearA sobbing Sea.
If we no fathers had,Or loving mothers,No little sisters fair,No baby-brothers,We'd shed a tear,(Poor You, poor Me,)And sigh, 'Oh, dear,'Just like the Sea.
A
bout twenty miles north-east of Trieste, which stands at the north of the Adriatic Sea, is the little town of Adelsberg. It is a market town, and would have no more claim to notice than thousands of similar places in Europe, had it not chanced to have been built within a mile of one of the natural wonders of the world.
Thousands of years ago, when Europe was covered with dense forests, and savage man was struggling for existence with savage man and yet more savage beast, living in rude huts and ignorant of any kind of civilisation, Nature was hard at work deep below the slopes of those Adelsberg mountains. Age after age, with her simple tools of water, lime, and carbonic acid, she dug, scooped, carved, and built, fashioning by slow degrees vaulted chambers, halls with lofty domes, arches, and galleries, all gleaming like frosted silver set with diamonds, far more wonderful than Aladdin's palace, or the marble halls of theArabian Nights. And all the while, even when Christianity and civilisation spread over the country, no one thought of the beautiful world down below those grassy slopes; though now and again some one might wonder why a deep basin in the hills, where according to tradition a lake once existed, should have been turned into dry pasture, with only the little river, Poyk or Pinka, running through it; or some more inquiring mind might have been puzzled to know why that little river should suddenly bury itself in the ground and vanish utterly from sight.
At last some enterprising being, a boy most likely, climbed into the fissure down which the waters went, most probably in the summer-time when the stream was low, and there discovered a cavern nearly three hundred feet long, now known as the Old Grotto. For ninety years this was one of the sights of the country; and then a large piece of stalactite was broken from the end, and the entrance to a far more superb cavern, known as the New Grotto, lay bare.
This New Grotto is ten times larger than the old one. It is furnished with stalactites and stalagmites of huge size and of every imaginable shape, forming arches, pillars, cornices, and fringes of exquisite beauty. The roof and walls are covered with lacework and pendants of crystals, to which great fissures, leading into narrow galleries, form backgrounds of dense shadow. The ornamental work was effected from outside by damp lime and carbonic acid, but the actual excavator was simply the river Poyk, which in time drained the lake and carried its waters through soft spots in the rock below. Every little drop that poured in did something of the digging process, and when the snows on the mountains melted, and great floods came to help, the river was able to tear away the rocks above, beside, and beneath its channel. Sometimes, for a long time together, it found itself imprisoned and could get no further, and then it would whirl round and round, boiling with anger and beating against its rocky walls, until it had hewn out quite a lofty chamber. Then sooner or later it would reach some softer formation which would yield, and the great volume of water would rush through, tearing down everything in its way, until it last it found itself once again in the sunshine.
Now, with its work in the Adelsberg Grottoes done, the river Poyk is taking a well-earned rest, and flows gently through the Grottoes, reflecting in its waters the lofty bridges and vaulted roofs hewn out by its former toil. Not that the Poyk has grown lazy! It only desires fresh worlds to conquer; after enjoying a little run in the daylight, it changes its name to the Laybach, and again plunges into the Grottoes of Reifnitz, where with all its old energy it is working as hard as ever to make the Laybach Caves as celebrated as those of Adelsberg.
Various animals live in these caverns, of which the most celebrated is the 'Proteus,' a creature which has greatly perplexed naturalists. At first sight it looks like a lizard, but its movements are those of a fish. The head, lower part of the body, and tail resemble an eel, but it has no fins, and its breathing organs are quite unlike those of fishes. Round its neck is a ruffle, which seems to help it to breathe, although it has perfect lungs and can breathe, as well as move, equally comfortably on land and in water. The front feet are like hands, and each has three fingers, whilst the back limbs have only two. The eyes are very tiny, like those of the rat or mole; its mouth is well set with teeth, proving it to be a beast of prey, and its organs of smell are fully developed. A great authority has declared its spine to be like those of the monster animals of pre-historic ages known as Saurians. The most extraordinary part of the Proteus' history is that it seems perfectly able to live without food. It has never been seen to eat in captivity, and one has been kept alive for years by occasionally changing the water in whichit lives. These animals were originally discovered in the Grottoes of Laybach, and later on at Adelsberg, being rare in dry seasons, but plentiful after heavy rains.
Helena Heath.
(Concluded from page 357.)
The caterpillar of the North American Great Peacock moth (fig.4) is armed with numerous tufts of prickles ending in minute black points which pierce the hand if touched, and cause severe pain. These spines, as shown in the illustration (fig.2,a b, on page357) are hollow, and filled with liquid poison. 'a' is the portion which breaks off; 'b' the hollow base which contains the poison.
In some few caterpillars the poison spines take the form of balls armed with short prickles and one large spike; hence they are known as caltrop spines (fig.2,c), from their likeness to the cruel weapons, known as caltrops, which used to be scattered over the ground in time of war to repel the attacks of cavalry; the spikes forced their way into the horses' feet when trampled on, and so disabled them.
The spines of the caterpillar of our Oak Eggar moth are very brittle, and in handling these insects, great care must be taken, as cases are known of blindness having been caused by the spines being carried into the eyes by the fingers.
Let us now turn to the liquid squirts with which some caterpillars are provided. Our Spurge-hawk caterpillar, for example, when threatened, squirts from the mouth a spray of poison. In our illustration (fig.5) it is shown repelling the attack of the dreaded ichneumon fly by means of this spray. The quaint Puss moth, which manyChatterboxreaders must have seen, can squirt out an irritant fluid, generally supposed to be formic acid, from the mouth, when alarmed, and this, if it enters the eye, causes acute pain.
Fig. 4.—North American Great Peacock.Fig. 4.—North American Great Peacock.
The caterpillars of the Swallow-tailed moths, when irritated, give out an offensive smell, but they are unable to 'spray.'
Many beetles have the power of forcing drops of blood from a minute hole in one of the legs. This blood is saturated either with a fluid which causes a burning sensation on everything it touches, or with an intolerable odour; in either case the result is the same—they are given a wide berth by all who have discovered their power. The little lady-bird beetle, for example, sends out, when frightened, a tiny drop of a yellow fluid from the 'knee-joint,' which has a smell like opium. The Javanese 'violin-beetle' gives off a fluid which is said to paralyse the fingers for twenty-four hours.
Fig. 5.—Caterpillar of Spurge-hawk Moth fighting Ichneumon Fly.Fig. 5.—Caterpillar of Spurge-hawk Moth fighting Ichneumon Fly.
W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
The Black Swan is an Australian bird, and was not known in Europe until that continent began to be explored, although black swans had been often spoken of before that time as a kind of fabulous monster. The ordinary white, or mute, swan, which graces our rivers and lakes, has been admired, and even protected by laws, for many centuries, and its plumage is so beautifully and uniformly snowy that we can hardly be surprised if people thought that all swans must be white, and should regard a black swan as impossible, like the two-necked swan sometimes painted upon inn-signs. But travellers have discovered many strange animals in unexplored countries, and we now know that there are not only black swans, but even swans that have a black neck and a white body.
The plumage of the black swan, with the exception of the quill feathers, which are white, is entirely black. The bill and the skin between the eyes are a beautiful red, which contrasts handsomely with the black feathers. The tail of the bird is very short, and, next to the colour of the plumage, this is the chief peculiarity which distinguishes it from the white swan.
The Black Swan of Australia.The Black Swan of Australia.
The black swan frequents the swamps and secluded bays on the Australian coast. It is not a very shy bird, and is frequently seen by the sportsman andthe camper-out. It enjoys the companionship of its kind, and congregates usually in small flocks. August and September are, it is believed, the breeding months, and shortly before this the swans leave the swamps and seek the nesting-grounds, which are usually on the islands in the bays. Western Port Bay, not far from Melbourne, is one of their favourite haunts. The nest is a collection of reeds, and in this the female swan lays five or six eggs of a whitish-grey colour, and a little smaller than those of our white swan.
The black swan is rather strong upon the wing, and, when flying, it frequently utters a musical cry. But, being a heavy bird, its flight is very exhausting, and it appears to have more confidence in its webbed feet than its wings. It is said that when it is startled it tries to escape by swimming, if it can, rather than by taking flight. As the birds breed upon islands on the coast, they may occasionally swim out, or be drifted out, to sea. A short time ago, two black swans were picked up off Norfolk Island. They were miles away from the nearest part of Australia, and they must have been driven from their native land by winds and currents until they were lost. They were greatly exhausted when taken up, but a bath in fresh water and a good supply of food soon put them right again.
This incident is not only interesting because it shows the endurance of the swans and how long a journey they may sometimes make almost by accident, but because it illustrates the way in which animals which are natives of one country may be carried to a new one. If these two swans could have continued on to Norfolk Island, which is about nine hundred miles from Australia, and, after arriving there, could have recovered their health, made a nest, and reared a brood of young ones, then there might have been black swans in Norfolk Island as well as in Australia. These swans were probably too much exhausted to have accomplished this long journey, but we have many reasons for believing that animals have often been unwillingly driven by winds and currents to new homes across the seas, and have thus helped to extend their species over a larger portion of the earth.
W. A. Atkinson.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(Continued from page 356.)
When Ping Wang returned, he locked the door and signed to his friends to come and sit in the middle of the room.
'I have bought some offerings for us to make to the ghosts,' he said, and produced from his pocket a handful of pieces of coloured paper.
'It doesn't look very satisfying food,' Charlie remarked, 'but I dare say that it is good enough for ghosts.'
'This is not food,' Ping Wang replied—and, as he spoke, he took from the heap several round pieces of paper—'it is money. Our ghosts, according to the belief of our wise men, lead a life, in some invisible world, which is very much like what they lived here; but, as they don't appear to have a mint, we offer them money—this money. To-night we shall have the pleasure of burning those pieces of round paper, which my countrymen believe pass in the form of money into the ghosts' possession as they disappear from our sight. We will not, however, confine our gifts to money. Here are houses, carts, wheelbarrows, horses, and suits of clothes, all made of paper, to be burnt. The ghosts, my countrymen think, will find them very useful.'
Ping Wang was now in the humour for talking, and held his friends interested nearly the whole of the afternoon. Just before darkness came on they had some tea, and then paid the landlord and departed.
The people by now were flocking, or had already gone, to that part of the town where the feast was to be given, and consequently the Pages and Ping Wang found the track round the ten-foot wall of Chin Choo's house almost deserted. For this they were very thankful indeed, as it gave them a better opportunity for examining the wall.
'This will be the place,' Ping Wang said when they had gone about half-way round the wall. He pointed to several holes in it just large enough to insert the toes or fingers.
After taking note of the surroundings so that they would be able to find the spot again, they continued their journey until they reached the place from which they had started.
'Now for the feast,' Ping Wang said, quietly, and they started off in the direction of the ghosts' feast. It was a merry, jovial crowd they joined. Most of the people were carrying provisions as well as offerings for the ghosts, and Ping Wang, not wishing that he and his friends should be conspicuous, purchased three legs of pork. Then they walked on again, but, before long, came to a large and excited crowd gathered round a poster on the outside wall of a joss-house or temple. Ping Wang, leaving the Pages in a dark corner, hurried forward to read the placard, and, to his horror, found that his fears were realised. It was an anti-foreign poster, and the following is what he read:—
'We publicly announce that the foreigners who entered our Middle Kingdom many years ago have made plans to seize our territory. They ignore the teachings of Confucius, and have already taught the people their false religion, and have practised their sorceries upon them. Now the right-minded and superior men of our land are boiling with rage at the harm which the foreigners have done, and are determined to kill them. Every foreigner must be killed, and every house, shop, and church which they inhabit must be destroyed. Any one who shelters a foreigner will be killed, and all converts to the foreign religion who do not recant immediately will be executed. Kill the foreigners who are hoping to seize our country and introduce their barbarian customs! Kill the men who have made friends with them! Kill the foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'
Ping Wang turned away. He knew that the placard would have the desired effect of rousing the people to a state of frenzy. Already hundreds of people were shouting, 'Kill the foreigners!'
The cry was, by this time, familiar to Charlie and Fred, and there was no need for them to ask Ping Wang what was printed on the poster.
By a slight movement of his head, Ping Wang signed to the Pages to follow him. He walked a few yards down the crowded street, fearing every moment that his friends would be detected by the mob and killed before his eyes, and then turned into a narrow lane, dark and almost deserted. The people had evidently flocked into the main road. He sighed with thankfulness, and, having glanced round and seen that the Pages were following, he quickened his speed. It was some years since he had traversed the bye-streets of his native town, but they were not changed to any great extent, and he had no difficulty in finding his way. He led his friends through street after street—gloomy and squalid places, but happily deserted by the residents. At last they came into a main road which led to the town-gates; not the ones at which they had entered early that morning, but those on the other side. He could see them in the distance. They were open, and he was tempted to lead his friends straight out into the country, and away from the danger which threatened them. At any rate, it seemed to him that he would be doing an unfriendly action if he did not tell them that escape was still easy.
'There are the gates,' he said in an undertone. 'Shall we go out and hurry off to Barton?'
'No,' Charlie said, firmly; 'not until we have got your treasure.'
'But do you know what was on that poster?'
'We have a very good idea, I fancy. An order to kill all foreigners, was it not?'
'Yes. Shall we escape?'
'No. Hurry on to Chin Choo's.'
Ping Wang again led them through narrow, dirty streets until they caught sight of Chin Choo's house. When they were about fifty yards from it, they saw the gates thrown open and the mandarin's palanquin borne out. From the shouts of the man with the whip who ran ahead of it, they knew that Chin Choo was inside.
'That is good,' Ping Wang whispered. 'Now that Chin Choo is out, the servants will start gambling and smoking opium. We need not fear being disturbed by them.'
In less than five minutes they arrived at the spot where they had decided to start their undertaking. They looked up and down the road, and, seeing no one about, Ping Wang climbed the wall.
'It is very easy,' he said, when he reached the top; 'the drop on the other side is only about six feet.'
He disappeared into Chin Choo's grounds and Fred at once scaled the wall. Charlie was about to follow him, and had already climbed five or six feet from the ground, when he heard some one approaching, and, before he was able to decide whether to jump down or continue climbing, his left foot was seized and tugged so viciously that he came down with a rush on top of his assailant.
In an instant he was on his feet again, ready to defend himself from any further attack. Looking down at the person on whom he had fallen, he saw to his astonishment that it was the cart-woman who had caused him so much annoyance before.
She lay glaring at Charlie, speechless and panting. But he had barely recognised her when he heard a shout of 'Foreigners!' and looking round saw the woman's husband running at him. He jumped quickly aside, and to defend himself snatched up one of the legs of pork, which had been left on the ground.
He rushed at the Chinaman, who, being a great coward, immediately turned about and fled. But Charlie was upon him in a moment, and with the leg of pork dealt him a blow on the back of the head, which sent him sprawling on the ground. A knife fell from his hand and Charlie at once seized it. The woman, seeing what had befallen her husband, scrambled to her feet and toddled to him shouting, 'Foreigners!' as she went. To prevent her being heard Fred clapped his hand over her mouth, and, in spite of her biting it, kept it there.
Meanwhile Ping Wang and Fred had scrambled back, hearing the noise. They joined Charlie, and between them managed to tie the Chinaman's pigtail round the woman's neck, so that neither could move without difficulty.
'Now let us leave them,' Ping Wang said, and they started running. But before they had gone many yards they heard the Chinaman and his wife shouting frantically, 'Foreigners! Kill the foreigners!'
Their shouts were heard by others, also, and a man rushed forward to stop them, but Charlie raised his knife threateningly and the fellow ran. Nevertheless, he too shouted 'Foreigners!' and, gathering together some friends, started in pursuit. At every few yards others joined in the chase.
'Where are you going to take us?' Charlie asked of Ping Wang, after glancing back at the mob pursuing them.
'To the gates,' Ping Wang answered. 'This is our way.'
They turned into one of the narrow streets which they had traversed earlier in the evening, and, as they ran at full speed along it, here and there men came out of their houses to see what the noise meant. They heard the shouts of 'Foreigners!' but the average Chinaman has a great respect for his skin, and consequently not one of the men who saw the Pages and Ping Wang rush by attempted to stop them.
'I'm done up,' Ping Wang gasped before long; 'our only chance is to hide.'
The next street was a short one, and the Pages were surprised after what Ping Wang had said about being tired to see him sprint along it. They followed close on his heels, and when he stopped at the end of it, they did the same. Instead of crossing the wide road which faced them, Ping Wang turned to the right, and after walking quickly for about thirty yards made another turn to the right which brought them into a narrow street running parallel with the one down which they had sprinted. There was no one visible; all the residents were evidently at the feast. Ping Wang stopped at the second house and pressed his hand against the door, which opened. He peeped into the place, and, seeing no one, entered stealthily, the Pages following quickly and equally cautiously. As soon as they were in, Ping Wang shot the bolt of the door. It was a dark and dirty room in which the fugitives found themselves, and by the faint light of a lantern they could see that it was a poverty-stricken place.
(Continued on page 374.)