Chapter XIII (2)

Suddenly he remembered with a shudder that he himself had written an article in the _Weisstadt Review_ in which he maintained that crocodiles were in the habit of climbing up trees like cats. He wished now that he had thrown the article into the fire; but it was too late. All Weisstadt had read it. It had even been translated into Arabian, and no author had yet contradicted it, although it had penetrated to Crocodilopolis itself.

The amphibious monster approached the palm-tree, looked up, and evinced the most lively joy at discovering Dummkopf among the branches. It walked round and round, looked up again, and then, recognising the impossibility of taking the stronghold by assault, sat down, as if determined to reduce it by blockade.

Here we must render homage to true science. Dummkopf, in spite of the preoccupation of the moment, was filled with regret when he found that, contrary to what he had stated in the _Weisstadt Review_, crocodiles did _not_ climb trees. He saw that he had committed a gross error in Natural History, but he at the same time made up his mind never to correct it, if, by a miracle, he escaped from his present perilous position. He made the statement with a full conviction of its truth, and it added one more fact to Natural History. Crocodiles climbed up palm-trees. It was impossible to deny it now, even after sitting on a palm-tree up which a crocodile had been unable to climb. The conclusions of science must not rashly be interfered with.

In the meanwhile, the crocodile lay stretched out at the foot of the palm-tree, in calm anticipation of Dummkopf’s inevitable descent. From time to time the animal testified, by the wagging of its tail, to the pleasure it experienced in looking forward to that incident.

The naturalist, to do him justice, did not lose the opportunity of studying the habits and manners of the Egyptian crocodile, but having reviewed the animal in a scientific spirit, he again trembled for his life, for it was now evident that the blockade was to be kept up in earnest.

Hours of suspense and of imprisonment consist of 240 minutes each, but they come to an end at last. Time sometimes goes on crutches, but it proceeds nevertheless. The sun went down as on the previous evening, and after a very short period of dusk the last rays of departing daylight exhibited the crocodile lying at the foot of the palm-tree, placid and horizontal.

The Professor now searched in the storehouse of his memory for some instance of a man who had passed the night on the top of a palm-tree. After going through the whole of ancient and modern history, he commenced the department of travels, and suddenly bethought him of _Robinson Crusoe_, which, though not usually accepted as a book of travels, is far more truthful than the great majority of works of that class. Now, Robinson Crusoe passed the first night after his shipwreck in a tree, and this tree was in all probability a palm-tree. “Why, then,” said Herr Dummkopf, “should I not do the same?”

And still fortifying himself with the example of Robinson Crusoe, the Professor drew some of the smaller branches around him, and composed himself to sleep.

But the night was long, and Dummkopf slept but little. He dreamed that he was at Weisstadt, delivering a lecture which proved that the crocodile was a fabulous animal like the Sphinx, when suddenly a shower of crocodile’s tears fell on his face. He awoke with a start, and was very near falling down on to the tail of his besieger.

The crocodile was now, in all probability, fast asleep, and Dummkopf resolved to play him a trick. “If,” said the Professor, “I could slip down the tree, and swim across the Nile without its hearing me, it would be nicely caught when it awoke in the morning and found me gone.” But having reflected that he might be caught himself, he abandoned this desperate project, and merely resolved not to go to sleep again that night.

When day broke the Professor saw that the crocodile had not been idle during the night. Instead of sleeping he had been fishing on the banks of the Nile, and the bones with which the ground was strewed showed that he had not fished in vain. The monster had now had his first course, and he looked upwards towards his intended victim as if to say that he was quite ready for the second.

The Professor had certainly a terrible future before him. The contest between the besieger and the besieged was by no means equal, for the former could find as much food as he required in the waters of the adjacent Nile, while the latter saw no prospect of obtaining the slightest nourishment, and would in all probability either die from starvation or fall fainting into the jaws of his voracious assailant.

In the meanwhile Dummkopf’s stomach, a machine which in some respects is quite independent of the brain, began to murmur loudly, for it had been deprived of two meals—the supper of the previous evening and the morning’s breakfast.

Among a great many other things of which the learned Professor was ignorant, he did not know that palm-trees produced dates, a rich pulpy fruit on which the Arabs have contrived to live very well since the time of Adam, the first colonist of Arabia. However, a short time after sunrise a ray chanced to fall upon a large bunch of these valuable articles of food, which the Professor at once recognised from having seen them in the grocers’ shops of his fatherland. In Germany he had been in the habit of breakfasting on beef and sausages, supported by several slices of bread, and washed down by several glasses of wine. But in the desert he was obliged to content himself with whatever manna he could get, and to be thankful, moreover, that Providence had sent him any. He ate dates by the handful, and felt much strengthened by his repast.

After breakfast a strange and superstitious idea occurred to the Professor. He had read somewhere that crocodiles were the natural avengers of all the insults offered to Egypt by barbarian travellers. It appeared to him that there was some sense in this, for if crocodiles didn’t serve to avenge something or other he was convinced they could serve no purpose at all. Then he reflected that he had passed without notice the statue of Memnon, the colossal tenor who had just commenced his morning cavatina under the influence of the sun’s rays. The divine Osimandias and the Pharaohs, as represented by the sublime pyramids, had been treated with similar disrespect; and the Professor now repented his irreverence, and vowed to kiss the big toe of Memnon, the tallest tenor in the world, if he only escaped his present danger.

After this vow the illustrious Dummkopf became more tranquil. He looked down at the crocodile, but the vow had produced no effect upon him. He did not even seem to have heard it. There he was still, watching patiently for his prey.

Dummkopf was now dying for a mouthful of cold water. Dates possess the property of producing thirst. Hence they are very desirable at dessert if the host wishes his guests to pass the bottle freely, but not otherwise. For a professor at the top of a palm-tree from which he is unable to descend, they form the most unsuitable food that can be conceived; but Herr Dummkopf had no choice—he had either to eat dates or to die of inanition. He was like Tantalus: the river was flowing at his feet, and he was unable to get a drop of water wherewith to moisten his parched lips. He again compared his position with that of Robinson Crusoe, and found that all the advantage was on the side of the latter. It was true Robinson Crusoe passed a night on a tree, but he came down the next morning, killed parrots, made them into fricasseed fowl, drank rum and water, walked about with an umbrella over his head, met no crocodiles, and found a man Friday. “Happy Robinson Crusoe!” exclaimed Dummkopf; “and yet he complained. I should like to know what he’d have done in my place, on the top of a palm-tree.”

Suddenly the sky became overcast, and the Professor was filled with a joyful anticipation of rain. He had already joined his hands so as to form as large a receptacle as possible for the drops, and was promising himself a regular aquatic orgie, when all at once he remembered that in Egypt it never rains.

The crocodile seemed to understand the sufferings of the Weisstadt Tantalus. He walked to the edge of the river and swallowed several quarts of water, at the same time casting ironical glances at the unfortunate Professor. The pleasantry of masters is always intolerable. Dummkopf was disgusted and enraged; but this only increased his thirst.

He cast his eyes along the Nile, in hopes of discovering some providential sail. But then he remembered that in that part of the river, above the rapids, there was scarcely a chance of meeting with a boat of any kind. A death-like solitude reigned around, and nothing was to be seen but dark ruins, among which an occasional ibis, motionless, like a mark of admiration, was perched.

Again the Professor turned his thoughts towards Robinson Crusoe. “Certainly,” he said to himself, “if Crusoe had been in my position, at the top of a palm-tree, he would somehow or other have found means to obtain a drop of water. Come now, how would he have done it?”

Dummkopf’s mouth was on fire, and there was the great Nile rolling calmly and majestically before him.

At last Necessity, who is known to be the mother of Invention, brought her ingenious child to his aid.

The Professor clapped his hands. He had discovered an hydraulic process which would enable him to appease his thirst. How little is required to give joy to poor humankind! Here is a man on a palm-tree—a dying man who cannot escape from the jaws of a crocodile—and because he has discovered a very equivocal means of obtaining a few drops of brackish water with which to moisten his parched lips, he is convulsed with delight.

Dummkopf was proud of competing with Defoe’s hero, and set to work without delay. He began by breaking off from his palm-tree several long branches, which he spliced together by means of fibres. He then waited until the crocodile entered the water for a few minutes—by way of keeping up its character as an amphibious animal—and extended his apparatus towards the river. The leaves at the extremity of the machine imbibed a considerable quantity of water, and the Professor, drawing back his improvised pump, refreshed his calcined lips by means of the saturated foliage. He repeated the experiment several times, and, in fact, gave himself up to all the excesses of intemperance. This was an ingenious device, for which Tantalus would have given his eyes!

But, above all, Dummkopf was amused at the notion of mystifying his crocodile, who, as for that, richly deserved it.

Having no longer any anxiety as to the means of satisfying the two chief wants of existence—hunger and thirst—the Professor now began to think how he should manage for his clothes. His aboriginal costume was admirably suited to a tropical climate during the day, but remembering that during the night he had felt rather chilly, he resolved to make himself without delay a garment of green leaves. Besides, how was he to appear before the public without clothes, if by chance a boat should present itself?

Dummkopf accordingly gathered in his aërial alcove a certain quantity of the largest leaves he could find, and crossing his legs like a tailor, proceeded to make them into a vegetable paletôt, which could not be said to belong to the latest fashion, but which, on the other hand, had a primitive cut about it that was highly picturesque. Two leaves sufficed for the nightcap, which, original or not as its appearance may have been, at all events looked much better than the hats we wear in open day.

Here was Dummkopf now lodged, fed, and clothed at the expense of Nature. Happiness is altogether relative; and, for a time, Dummkopf was happy indeed. He was proud of his inventions, and from the height of his palm-tree looked down upon Robinson Crusoe with contempt.

As he was reflecting calmly on his happiness he saw the monster, no longer horizontal, at the foot of the tree. He was making one last endeavour to take it by storm, but failing in the attempt had forthwith recourse to sapping and mining. He went to work with the air of a crocodile who had made up his mind, and who had said to himself, “There must be an end to this.”

Dummkopf shuddered as he heard the teeth of the monster grinding against the bark of the tree.

But the molars and incisors of the crocodile are so arranged that they can do no serious harm to the palm-tree; they can tear the bark off, but cannot pierce or crush the trunk. Dummkopf, however, was ignorant of this fact, and expected every minute that his asylum would fall to the ground, and leave him a prey to the horrid monster into whose scaly body he would enter as into a tomb of shell, but without the smallest epitaph to inform the world of the numerous virtues he possessed.

The crocodile next attacked the tree with his tail as with a battering-ram. How the Professor quivered when the tree shook! And the worst of it was, that, independently of the most terrible result that could possibly take place, there was the certainty that the Professor would lose a large portion if not the whole of his provisions, unless the monster desisted from his sanguinary assault; for with each blow from the crocodile’s tail down came a bunch of dates, and when, as often happened, the fruit fell on the animal’s back, his fury redoubled.

At last Dummkopf could stand it no longer. Convinced that life was not worth defending at such a cost, he resolved to throw himself from the top of the palm-tree in order to find repose in death. Full of this desperate idea he stood up, put aside the branches which might have kept him back at the edge of the precipice, and thrusting one foot resolutely forward kept the other firmly in its place. An honourable thought checked him on the very brink of the abyss. Dummkopf had no family, no wife, no children, no nephews; it was his duty then to remain in the world as the sole representative of the Dummkopfs. Man is ingenious, even in the midst of his despair. If he has a wife and children, he wants to live for their sake; if he is alone in the world, he will live for his own benefit.

Dummkopf was very grateful to himself after coming to this heroic resolution. He even called himself a coward for having entertained for an instant the idea of offering himself up as a sacrifice to the voracity of an amphibious monster.

As he was now determined not to die if he could by any means avoid it, the Professor began to consider whether it would be possible to enjoy, at the top of his palm-tree, that sort of happiness which a civilised man has a right to expect. The crocodile had expended all his force in vain. It was evident that the palm-tree was an impregnable fortress as far as his attacks were concerned. The climate was superb. At the foot of the house—that is to say, of the palm-tree—ran a magnificent river. Thanks to the hydraulic apparatus there could never be any want of water; and as for food, there were dates in abundance. The crocodile instead of being terrible was now only amusing, and as it was clearly proved that the palm-tree could suffer no injury from the monster’s wrath, the Professor, in his lively moments, sometimes went so far as to pelt him with date-stones.

Every morning when the sun rose, Dummkopf bent his ear towards the desert and listened to the cavatina of Memnon, the colossal tenor. Then after breakfast, if he was pleased with the crocodile, he threw him down a few rotten dates, and was amused to see how voraciously the monster devoured them. Between breakfast and dinner he read in the library of his memory, and studied the mysterious monuments by which he was surrounded. When a profound thought occurred to him, he took a stylus, formed out of a twig, and jotted it down on a leaf which served as papyrus. Then he read it over several times, and put it away in a place of safety.

There were no neighbours to watch his conduct, no journals to criticise his thoughts, no tax-gatherers to trouble him about overdue rates. He was as free as the air, and only wondered why the misanthropes of society did not imitate Simon Stylites or himself, and retire for the rest of their lives to the top of some column or palm-tree.

We must now leave our anchorite in his palm-tree, and proceed to the opposite bank of the Nile, where Herr von Thorigkeit, the celebrated botanist of Berlin, was engaged in a hopeless search after yellow lotuses. Herodotus, it is true, saw yellow lotuses, but then Herodotus possessed the peculiarity of seeing things that did not exist. At all events, since his time the yellow lotus has not been met with, and for that reason conscientious botanists are perpetually looking for it.

Herr von Thorigkeit, then, was searching for the yellow lotus, and he was accompanied by two Arabs armed with carbines.

There are some things, ordinary enough in themselves, which have an overpowering effect on the imagination when they are seen in the desert. What, for instance, would be the feelings of a traveller who should discover in the midst of the Sahara a neat little house with the words—“Reading room, admission one penny,” over the entrance? Von Thorigkeit was behaving naturally enough when he uttered a cry of dismay which resounded along the left bank of the Nile.

He had seen two boots, one proud and erect, the other bent down as if with fatigue. Dummkopf’s clothes had disappeared, carried away by the stream, or perhaps swallowed by some omnivorous crocodile, but there were the boots standing on a ledge of rock.

The legitimate dismay of the botanist will now be understood. He had seen two boots on the left bank of the Nile: one proud and erect, the other bent down as if with fatigue.

The faithful Arabs, who had never seen a pair of boots in their lives, became terrified with the terror of the botanist, and bravely fired at the wellingtons, which fell riddled with balls.

From the top of his palm-tree the Professor heard the report, and at first felt inclined to curse the troublesome individual who had come to disturb him in his solitude and meditation. But human weakness at last gained the day, and he resolved to make signals of distress to the three men whom he now perceived on the left bank of the Nile.

He broke off a long branch from the palm-tree, stripped it of its leaves everywhere but at the end, where he left a large tuft, and waved it vigorously above his head with one hand, while with the other he threw into the Nile a quantity of dates, the only projectiles at his command.

The botanist, who was surrounded by that silence which is known to aëronauts alone, turned round at the sound of the dates falling into the water, and this time experienced a surprise which was greater even than the former one. The apparition of the boots was forgotten: he saw a palm-tree with a lofty crest, which waved to and fro in the midst of a perfectly calm atmosphere! After the first shock, this discovery caused him infinite delight, and he would have given all the yellow lotuses in the world for this phenomenon of a palm-tree.

Von Thorigkeit opened his note-book and wrote in it the following lines: “In Upper Egypt there exists a kind of palm-tree, which possesses the peculiarities of the aloe; with this difference, however, that the stem of the aloe attains an elevation of twenty feet above the level of the soil, and remains motionless, while the palm-tree of Upper Egypt agitates the top of its stem vertically and with a movement of prodigious regularity. We have named this tree the Von Thorigkeit palm.”

Having written this, the botanist made a sketch of the palm-tree and showed it to the two Arabs, having no other public to exhibit it to. The children of the desert, with their lynx-like eyes, had just discovered a human form beneath the thick foliage of the island palm-tree, and they resorted to the most energetic gestures in order to make the botanist see it too. But Von Thorigkeit could think of nothing but the grandeur of his discovery and the beauty of his drawing. He paid no attention to the gestures of the Arabs, and thought only of the sensation that would be produced in the learned world by the Von Thorigkeit palm.

The two Arabs persisted in their pantomime, which said as plainly as possible: “Look there on that little island; there is a human being there up in the palm-tree; he is in danger; he is making signals, and we must go to his aid at once.”

Von Thorigkeit pulled out a pocket telescope, shrugging his shoulders at the same time with the air of a man who makes a concession merely from politeness, and looked carelessly towards the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree. He had now his third surprise within the hour—the last completely absorbing the two others. He had seen distinctly a human face, and even a German face, surrounded by leaves; and a human hand shaking a naked branch with a tuft of foliage at the end. He replaced his telescope in his pocket with regret, read his article again, cast another glance at his drawing, and after reflecting, like Brutus, whether he should destroy his two children or let them live, decided at length upon the latter course. “Well, so much the worse,” he said to himself: “what is written is written, and I shall not cut out a single word. Besides, as the aloe exists the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree might have existed, if Nature had only seen its utility; I see its utility, and I shall let it remain.”

This resolution having been taken, the three men held a council. The first thing to do was to find a boat, which, after two hours’ walking, they met with. It was a fishing vessel, and the botanist had only to hold out a piece of gold and to point to the river in order to make the fisherman understand what was required of him. He then pointed down the stream, and said, in a haughty voice, as if the fisherman was likely to understand him—

“The island of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree!”

The pantomimic direction would have sufficed.

They descended the Nile. The island of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree was soon visible; and, as they approached it, the Arabs, with their lynx-like eyes, manifested some uneasiness, and exchanged signs of intelligence. After a quarter of an hour’s rowing, doubt was no longer possible. They had really seen an enormous crocodile keeping watch beneath the palm-tree.

They imparted their discovery to the botanist, who now received his fourth surprise in the course of the day, and trembled with cold in a temperature of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. However, for the honour of his fatherland, the learned German endeavoured to conceal his alarm, which, it must be admitted, was natural enough on the part of a botanist, who was accustomed only to hunt for flowers, and who had nothing whatever to say to the amphibious monsters of the Nile.

The Arabs were talking quietly among themselves, like men accustomed to hunt crocodiles. They put fresh caps on the nipples of their guns, stood up firmly in the fore part of the boat, and told the fisherman to be careful with his oars.

The crocodile saw the boat approaching, but did not know whether it brought prey or peril to his shore. In the meanwhile he made ready either for defence or flight, according to the number and importance of the invaders. He lay stretched out at the edge of the river, as motionless as a crocodile in a museum; but he kept his mouth wide open, ready to swallow the first enemy who landed.

The two Arabs, who were thoroughly acquainted with the habits and manners of the animal, took aim, uttered a syllable at the same moment, and their two shots sounded as one. The bullets entered, at the only vulnerable spot, the open mouth, and went through the whole length of the crocodile’s body.

The monster shook his head with contortions so comic, that they called forth shouts of laughter from the first floor of the palm-tree. Then, casting forth a torrent of blood upon the sand, he closed his tearful eyes and moved no more.

Dummkopf arranged his vegetable costume the best way he could, looked for his gloves merely through habit, and not finding them, came down as he was. The Arabs, like all their race, were grave men, but their seriousness disappeared in the wildest laughter when they saw Dummkopf’s costume. The botanist himself, now reassured by the death of the crocodile, could scarcely restrain his hilarity; but he bit his lips, and after shaking hands with his fellow-countryman, begged him to communicate his adventures. Dummkopf commenced by requesting his learned friend to check the unbecoming mirth of the Arabs, who were threatened with the vengeance of the Prussian consul in case they did not instantly desist.

Then Von Thorigkeit in the most generous manner offered Dummkopf his paletôt, which Dummkopf naturally accepted, retiring for some minutes behind the palm-tree in order to change his clothes, as he expressed it, though he might have said to dress himself.

Having taken a solemn farewell of his palm-tree, Dummkopf got into the boat, taking with him the crocodile and the coat of leaves as reminiscences of his adventures, and also as corroborative proofs. These precious relics were destined for the “Neue Museum” at Berlin, and Herr von Thorigkeit, who was attached to the Berlin University, hastened to thank Herr Dummkopf in the name of the Prussian capital.

Dummkopf was equally courteous to the worthy botanist. He thanked him in the name of science for his discovery of the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree, which added another member to the already numerous family of palms. He even promised to write a notice in the _Weisstadt Review_, to prove that the palm-tree just discovered through the indefatigable zeal of Von Thorigkeit belonged to the same species as the aloe of Ceylon.

At the nearest village a complete Arab costume was procured for Dummkopf, who, with the honesty which always distinguishes true science, restored the paletôt to Von Thorigkeit.

The two friends returned to Germany together, and soon afterwards an article signed Dummkopf appeared in the _Weisstadt Review_, in which full justice was done to the labours of the intrepid botanist and traveller, Von Thorigkeit, who had discovered the Von Thorigkeit palm-tree at the risk of his life, and not until he had killed two black reptiles of the cobra capella species. The article was illustrated with a wood-cut, which represented the new tree agitating its tuft in the air.

Von Thorigkeit also did his duty, for as soon as he reached Berlin he made known to the world that Herr Dummkopf, who had ventured above the third cataract, had rectified the errors of all the previous maps, and that in the course of his expedition he had killed two crocodiles by means of electricity.

Those who have meditated on the nature of man will not be astonished to hear the end of this true story. Dummkopf is at present the proprietor of the _Weisstadt Review_. He is a lecturer in the Weisstadt University, and in addition to all this, he has a wife and six children. Well, in spite of the Review, in spite of the lectureship, in spite even of his wife and six children, Dummkopf, at certain moments, regrets the peaceful life he led in his aërial apartment at the top of the palm-tree.

Such is man! a being full of contradictions!

TREE LIFE IN GENERAL, AND MONKEYS IN PARTICULAR.

TREE LIFE IN GENERAL, AND MONKEYS IN PARTICULAR.

The world has scarcely seen a worthier traveller or better naturalist than Charles Waterton. In an eminent degree he possessed the qualities essential to the study of the animal world. A good eye, a sympathy with moving nature, untiring patience, and a contempt for the comfortable and luxurious things of the earth—endued with these qualities, he had the necessary parts of a man who was sure to observe and note the admirable works of the Creator. His “Wanderings” in North and South America contain original descriptions of the objects to be seen in that magnificent continent, which have never been surpassed for their clearness and distinctness. In this volume we shall only refer to a few of his notes, which have more particular reference to those animals whose lives, like the monkeys, are spent more or less in the branches or under the leaves of the sheltering trees, the monarchs of the stupendous forests. Of Guiana he writes that four-footed animals are scarce there, considering how very thinly the forests are inhabited by man. The leopard, who is very much in the trees, and is called there a tiger, is found, and so are tiger-cats, fiercest and cruellest of all the feline race. The red monkey, erroneously called the baboon, is heard there oftener than he is seen; while the common brown monkey, the bisa, and sacawinki rove from tree to tree and amuse the stranger as he journeys. In the trees, too, you will see the polecat, the opossum, and now and then you will find a porcupine on a branch above your head. To some readers the famous story of the Coon may not be known, so we will tell it. An American colonel had become very famous for his skill in shooting the opossum, and it was said that the knowledge of his prowess had extended even to the animals he shot so well. It is very difficult for a novice to shoot opossum, because they lie upon the branch so closely to it, that it is with great difficulty an unpractised observer can see the animal. Nevertheless, the marksman became so known to the coons, as opossum are vulgarly called, that they gave themselves up as lost directly they espied him on their trail. “Is that you, colonel?” “Yes,” would reply the great shot. “Then I’ll come down,” rejoined the coon, who thought it more prudent to be taken captive and have a chance hereafter of escape, than to be shot there and then to death by the unerring tube of the colonel’s rifle.

Now listen to Mr. Waterton, as he describes that extraordinary animal, the sloth:—

“This, too, is the native country of the sloth. His looks, his gestures, and his cries, all conspire to entreat you to take pity on him. These are the only weapons of defence which nature hath given him. While other animals assemble in herds, or in pairs range through these boundless wilds, the sloth is solitary, and almost stationary; he cannot escape from you. It is said, his piteous moans make the tiger relent, and turn out of the way. Do not, then, level your gun at him, or pierce him with a poisoned arrow; he has never hurt one living creature. A few leaves, and those of the commonest and coarsest kind, are all he asks for his support. On comparing him with other animals, you would say that you could perceive deficiency, deformity, and superabundance in his composition. He has no cutting teeth, and, though four stomachs, he still wants the long intestines of ruminating animals. He has only one inferior aperture, as in birds. He has no soles to his feet, nor has he the power of moving his toes separately. His hair is flat, and puts you in mind of grass withered by the wintry blast. His legs are too short; they appear deformed by the manner in which they are joined to the body; and when he is on the ground, they seem as if only calculated to be used in climbing trees. He has forty-six ribs, while the elephant has only forty; and his claws are disproportionately long. Were you to mark down, upon a graduated scale, the different claims to superiority amongst the four-footed animals, this poor ill-formed creature’s claim would be last upon the lowest degree. His native haunts have hitherto been little known, and probably little looked into. Those who have written on this singular animal have remarked that he is in a perpetual state of pain, that he is proverbially slow in his movements, that he is a prisoner in space, and that as soon as he has consumed all the leaves of the tree upon which he had mounted, he rolls himself up in the form of a ball, and then falls to the ground. This is not the case.

“If the naturalists who have written the history of the sloth had gone into the wilds, in order to examine his haunts and economy, they would not have drawn the foregoing conclusions; they would have learned, that though all other quadrupeds may be described while resting on the ground, the sloth is an exception to this rule, and that his history must be written while he is in the tree.

“This singular animal is destined by nature to be produced, to live, and to die in the trees; and to do justice to him, naturalists must examine him in this his upper element. He is a scarce and solitary animal, and being good food, he is never allowed to escape. He inhabits remote and gloomy forests, where snakes take up their abode, and where cruelly-stinging ants and scorpions, and swamps, and innumerable thorny shrubs and bushes, obstruct the steps of civilised man. Were you to draw your own conclusions from the descriptions which have been given of the sloth, you would probably suspect that no naturalist has actually gone into the wilds with the fixed determination to find him out and examine his haunts, and see whether nature has committed any blunder in the formation of this extraordinary creature, which appears to us so forlorn and miserable, so ill put together, and so totally unfit to enjoy the blessings which have been so bountifully given to the rest of animated nature; for, as it has formerly been remarked, he has no soles to his feet, and he is evidently ill at ease when he tries to move on the ground, and it is then that he looks up in your face with a countenance that says, ‘Have pity on me, for I am in pain and sorrow.’

“It mostly happens that Indians and negroes are the people who catch the sloth, and bring it to the white man: hence it may be conjectured that the erroneous accounts we have hitherto had of the sloth have not been penned down with the slightest intention to mislead the reader, or give him an exaggerated history, but that these errors have naturally arisen by examining the sloth in those places where nature never intended that he should be exhibited.

“However, we are now in his own domain. Man but little frequents these thick and noble forests, which extend far and wide on every side of us. This, then, is the proper place to go in quest of the sloth. We will first take a near view of him. By obtaining a knowledge of his anatomy, we shall be enabled to account for his movements hereafter, when we see him in his proper haunts. His fore-legs, or, more correctly speaking, his arms, are apparently much too long, while his hind-legs are very short, and look as if they could be bent almost to the shape of a corkscrew. Both the fore and hind-legs, by their form, and by the manner in which they are joined to the body, are quite incapacitated from acting in a perpendicular direction, or in supporting it on the earth as the bodies of other quadrupeds are supported, by their legs. Hence, when you place him on the floor, his belly touches the ground. Now, granted that he supported himself on his legs like other animals, nevertheless he would be in pain, for he has no soles to his feet, and his claws are very sharp and long, and curved; so that, were his body supported by his feet, it would be by their extremities, just as your body would be, were you to throw yourself on all fours, and try to support it on the ends of your toes and fingers—a trying position. Were the floor of glass, or of a polished surface, the sloth would actually be quite stationary; but as the ground is generally rough, with little protuberances upon it, such as stones, or roots of grass, &c., this just suits the sloth, and he moves his fore-legs in all directions, in order to find something to lay hold of; and when he has succeeded he pulls himself forward, and is thus enabled to travel onwards, but at the same time in so tardy and awkward a manner as to acquire him the name of sloth.

“Indeed, his looks and his gestures evidently betray his uncomfortable situation; and as a sigh every now and then escapes him, we may be entitled to conclude that he is actually in pain.

“Some years ago I kept a sloth in my room for several months. I often took him out of the house and placed him upon the ground, in order to have an opportunity of observing his motions. If the ground were rough, he would pull himself forwards, by means of his fore-legs, at a pretty good pace; and he invariably immediately shaped his course to the nearest tree; but if I put him on a smooth and well-trodden part of the road, he appeared to be in trouble and distress. His favourite abode was the back of a chair; and after getting all his legs in a line upon the topmost part of it, he would hang there for hours together, and often, with a low and inward cry, would seem to invite me to take notice of him.

“The sloth, in its wild state, spends its whole life in trees, and never leaves them but through force, or by accident. An all-ruling Providence has ordered man to tread on the surface of the earth, the eagle to soar in the expanse of the skies, and the monkey and squirrel to inhabit the trees: still these may change their relative situations without feeling much inconvenience; but the sloth is doomed to spend his whole life in the trees; and what is more extraordinary, not _upon_ the branches, like the squirrel and the monkey, but _under_ them. He moves suspended from the branch, he rests suspended from it, and he sleeps suspended from it. To enable him to do this, he must have a very different formation from that of any other known quadruped.

“Hence his seemingly bungled conformation is at once accounted for; and in lieu of the sloth leading a painful life, and entailing a melancholy and miserable existence on its progeny, it is but fair to surmise that it just enjoys life as much as any other animal, and that its extraordinary formation and singular habits are but further proofs to engage us to admire the wonderful works of Omnipotence.

“It must be observed that the sloth does not hang head downwards like the vampire. When asleep he supports himself from a branch parallel to the earth. He first seizes the branch with one arm, and then with the other; and after that, brings up both his legs, one by one, to the same branch, so that all four are in a line: he seems perfectly at rest in this position. Now, had he a tail, he would be at a loss to know what to do with it in this position: were he to draw it up within his legs, it would interfere with them; and were he to let it hang down, it would become the sport of the winds. Thus his deficiency of tail is a benefit to him; it is merely an apology for a tail, scarcely exceeding an inch and a half in length.

“I observed, when he was climbing, that he never used his arms both together, but first one and then the other, and so on alternately. There is a singularity in his hair, different from that of all other animals, and, I believe, hitherto unnoticed by naturalists; his hair is thick and coarse at the extremity, and gradually tapers to the root, where it becomes fine as a spider’s web. His fur has so much the hue of the moss which grows on the branches of the trees, that it is very difficult to make him out when he is at rest.

“The male of the three-toed sloth has a longitudinal bar of very fine black hair on his back, rather lower than the shoulder-blades; on each side of this black bar there is a space of yellow hair, equally fine; it has the appearance of being pressed into the body, and looks exactly as if it had been singed. If we examine the anatomy of his fore-legs, we shall immediately perceive, by their firm and muscular texture, how very capable they are of supporting the pendent weight of his body, both in climbing and at rest; and, instead of pronouncing them a bungled composition, as a celebrated naturalist has done, we shall consider them as remarkably well calculated to perform their extraordinary functions.

“As the sloth is an inhabitant of forests within the tropics, where the trees touch each other in the greatest profusion, there seems to be no reason why he should confine himself to one tree alone for food, and entirely strip it of its leaves. During the many years I have ranged the forests, I have never seen a tree in such a state of nudity; indeed, I would hazard a conjecture, that, by the time the animal had finished the last of the old leaves, there would be a new crop on the part of the tree he had stripped first, ready for him to begin again, so quick is the process of vegetation in these countries.

“There is a saying amongst the Indians, that when the wind blows the sloth begins to travel. In calm weather he remains tranquil, probably not liking to cling to the brittle extremity of the branches, lest they should break with him in passing from one tree to another; but, as soon as the wind rises, the branches of the neighbouring trees become interwoven, and then the sloth seizes hold of them, and pursues his journey in safety. There is seldom an entire day of calm in these forests. The trade-wind generally sets in about ten o’clock in the morning, and thus the sloth may set off after breakfast, and get a considerable way before dinner. He travels at a good round pace; and were you to see him pass from tree to tree, as I have done, you would never think of calling him a sloth.

“Thus it would appear that the different histories we have of this quadruped are erroneous on two accounts: first, that the writers of them, deterred by difficulties and local annoyances, have not paid sufficient attention to him in his native haunts; and secondly, they have described him in a situation in which he was never intended by nature to cut a figure—I mean on the ground. The sloth is as much at a loss to proceed on his journey upon a smooth and level floor as a man would be who had to walk a mile in stilts upon a line of feather beds.

“One day, as we were crossing the Essequibo, I saw a large two-toed sloth on the ground upon the bank; how he had got there nobody could tell: the Indian said he had never surprised a sloth in such a situation before: he would hardly have come there to drink, for both above and below the place the branches of the trees touched the water, and afforded him an easy and safe access to it. Be this as it may, though the trees were not above twenty yards from him, he could not make his way through the sand time enough to escape before we landed. As soon as we got up to him he threw himself upon his back, and defended himself in gallant style with his fore-legs. “Come, poor fellow,” said I to him, “if thou hast got into a hobble to-day, thou shalt not suffer for it: I’ll take no advantage of thee in misfortune; the forest is large enough both for thee and me to rove in: go thy ways up above, and enjoy thyself in these endless wilds: it is more than probable thou wilt never have another interview with man. So fare thee well.” On saying this, I took a long stick which was lying there, held it for him to hook on, and then conveyed him to a high and stately mora. He ascended with wonderful rapidity, and in about a minute he was almost at the top of the tree. He now went off in a side direction, and caught hold of a branch of a neighbouring tree; he then proceeded towards the heart of the forest. I stood looking on, lost in amazement at his singular mode of progress. I followed him with my eye till the intervening branches closed in betwixt us: and then I lost sight for ever of the two-toed sloth. I was going to add, that I never saw a sloth take to his heels in such earnest; but the expression will not do, for the sloth has no heels.

“That which naturalists have advanced of his being so tenacious of life is perfectly true. I saw the heart of one beat for half an hour after it was taken out of the body. The wourali poison seems to be the only thing that will kill it quickly. On reference to a former part of these Wanderings, it will be seen that a poisoned arrow killed the sloth in about ten minutes.

“So much for this harmless, unoffending animal. He holds a conspicuous place in the catalogue of the animals of the New World. Though naturalists have made no mention of what follows, still it is not less true on that account. The sloth is the only quadruped known which spends its whole life from the branch of a tree, suspended by his feet. I have paid uncommon attention to him in his native haunts. The monkey and squirrel will seize a branch with their fore-feet, and pull themselves up, and rest or run upon it; but the sloth, after seizing it, still remains suspended, and suspended moves along under the branch, till he can lay hold of another. Whenever I have seen him in his native woods, whether at rest, or asleep, or on his travels, I have always observed that he was suspended from the branch of a tree. When his form and anatomy are attentively considered, it will appear evident that the sloth cannot be at ease in any situation where his body is higher or above his feet.”

Another tree-inhabitant is that curious, almost fabulous, creature, the vampire. Mr. Waterton says of them—“At the close of day, the vampires leave the hollow trees, whither they had fled at the morning’s dawn, and scour along the river’s banks in quest of prey. On waking from sleep, the astonished traveller finds his hammock all stained with blood. It is the vampire that hath sucked him. Not man alone, but every unprotected animal, is exposed to his depredations; and so gently does this nocturnal surgeon draw the blood, that, instead of being roused, the patient is lulled into a still profounder sleep. There are two species of vampire in Demerara, and both suck living animals: one is rather larger than the common bat; the other measures about two feet from wing to wing extended. As there was a free entrance and exit to the vampire, in the loft near the Essequibo where I slept, I had many a fine opportunity of paying attention to this winged lancer. He does not always live on blood. When the moon shone bright, and the fruit of the banana-tree was ripe, I could see him approach and eat it. He would also bring into the loft, from the forest, a green round fruit, something like the wild guava, and about the size of a nutmeg. There was something also, in the blossom of the sawarri nut-tree, which was grateful to him; for on coming up Waratilla creek, in a moonlight night, I saw several vampires fluttering round the top of the sawarri-tree, and every now and then the blossoms, which they had broken off, fell into the water. They certainly did not drop off naturally, for on examining several of them, they appeared quite fresh and blooming. So I concluded the vampires pulled them from the tree, either to get at the incipient fruit, or to catch the insects which often take up their abode in flowers.

“The vampire, in general, measures about twenty-six inches from wing to wing extended, though I once killed one which measured thirty-two inches. He frequents old abandoned houses and hollow trees; and sometimes a cluster of them may be seen in the forest hanging head downwards from the branch of a tree.

“Goldsmith seems to have been aware that the vampire hangs in clusters; for in the _Deserted Village_, speaking of America, he says—

“‘And matted woods, where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.’

“The vampire has a curious membrane, which rises from the nose, and gives it a very singular appearance. It has been remarked before, that there are two species of vampire in Guiana, a larger and a smaller. The larger sucks men and other animals; the smaller seems to confine himself chiefly to birds. I learnt from a gentleman, high up in the river Demerara, that he was completely unsuccessful with his fowls, on account of the small vampire. He showed me some that had been sucked the night before, and they were scarcely able to walk.

“Some years ago I went to the river Paumaron with a Scotch gentleman, by name Tarbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter’s house. Next morning I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, and now and then letting fall an imprecation or two, just about the time he ought to have been saying his morning prayers. ‘What is the matter, sir?’ said I, softly; ‘is anything amiss?’ ‘What’s the matter!’ answered he, surlily; ‘why, the vampires have been sucking me to death.’ As soon as there was light enough, I went to his hammock, and saw it much stained with blood. ‘There,’ said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, ‘see how these infernal imps have been drawing my life’s blood.’ On examining his foot, I found the vampire had tapped his great toe: there was a wound somewhat less than that made by a leech; the blood was still oozing from it; I conjectured he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood. Whilst examining it, I think I put him into a worse humour by remarking that a European surgeon would not have been so generous as to have blooded him without making a charge. He looked up in my face, but did not say a word; I saw he was of opinion that I had better have spared this piece of ill-timed levity.

“I had often wished to have been once sucked by the vampire, in order that I might have it in my power to say it had really happened to me. There can be no pain in the operation, for the patient is always asleep when the vampire is sucking him; and as for the loss of a few ounces of blood, that would be a trifle in the long run. Many a night have I slept with my foot out of the hammock to tempt this winged surgeon, expecting that he would be there; but it was all in vain; the vampire never sucked me, and I could never account for his not doing so, for we were inhabitants of the same loft for months together.”

The naturalist’s description of the river Demerara is a beautiful piece of writing:—