CHAPTER ELEVEN.
MY HOPES.
It was a long task, the emptying of those cases, even to get to the endof the birds, and I could not help thinking, as day after day crept by,what a wonderfully patient collector my Uncle Richard must have been.Certainly he had been away for years and had travelled thousands ofmiles, but the labour to obtain all these birds, and then carefullyskin, prepare, and fill them with wool, must have been tremendous.
"And did you shoot them all, uncle?" I asked one day.
"With very few exceptions, my boy," he replied, laying down his pen fora minute to talk. "I might have bought here and there specimens of thenatives, but they are very rough preservers of birds, and I wanted myspecimens to be as perfect as could be, as plenty of poor ones come intothis country, some of which are little better than rubbish, and givenaturalists a miserable idea of the real beauty of the birds in theirnative homes. But no one can tell the immense amount of labour it costme to make this collection, as you will see, Nat, when we open this nextcase."
Uncle Dick was right. I was astonished as we emptied the next case,which was full of tiny specimens, hundreds upon hundreds ofhumming-birds, with crests and throats like beautiful precious stones,and all so small that it seemed wonderful how they could have beenskinned and preserved.
The more I worked with Uncle Dick the more I wondered, and the strongergrew my desire to follow in his steps. So when we had all the birds outso that they could dry in the warm air of the room, there were the casesfull of beetles of all kinds, with glistening horny wing-cases;butterflies so large and beautiful that I used to lean over them, feastmy eyes on their colours, and then go into day-dreams, in which Ipictured to myself the wonderful far-off lands that produced suchcreatures, and think and think how it would be possible to go out thereall alone, as my uncle had gone, and spend years in collecting thesevarious objects to bring home.
Then I used to wake up again and work hard with my uncle, writing outnames in his lists, all as carefully as I could, but of course makingplenty of mistakes in the Latin names, while Uncle Joe used to sit andsmoke and look on, rarely speaking for fear of interrupting us, tillUncle Dick looked up and started a conversation by way of a rest.
Then all the different birds when thoroughly dry had to be repacked inthe boxes, with plenty of camphor and other preservative spices and gumsto keep the various insects away, and quite a couple of months hadslipped away before we were nearly done.
I ought to have been back at school, but Uncle Dick would not hear of mygoing, and he seemed to have such influence over my aunt that his wordwas quite law.
"No, Sophy, I have not half done with him," he said one evening. "Idon't want to flatter the boy, but he is very valuable to me. I couldeasily get a clerk or copyist to make out my lists and help me selectand rearrange my specimens; but he would do it mechanically. Nat takesan interest in what he is doing, and is a naturalist at heart."
"But he ought to be going on with his studies," said Aunt Sophia. "Itis quite time he was back at school."
"He is learning a great deal more than he would at school," said UncleDick; "and his handwriting is a good deal improved. It is more free andquicker."
"But there are his other studies," said Aunt Sophia, who was in a badhumour.
"Well, Sophy, he has picked up a great deal of Latin since he has beenhelping me; knows ten times as much as he did about America and the WestIndian Islands, and has picked up a host of little natural historyfacts, for he is always asking questions."
"Oh yes," said my aunt tartly, "he can ask questions enough! so can allboys."
"But not sensible questions, my dear," said Uncle Dick smiling; but myaunt kept looking angrily at me as I sat hearing all that was going on.
"Sensible questions, indeed!" she said; "and pray, of what use is itgoing to be to him that he knows how to stick a pin through a butterflyand leave the poor thing to wriggle to death."
"Naturalists do not stick pins through butterflies and leave them towriggle to death," said Uncle Dick, looking at me and smiling. "Supposethey did, Nat, what would happen?"
"It would be very cruel, uncle, and would spoil the specimen," I saidpromptly.
"To be sure it would, Nat."
"It's all waste of time, Richard, and the boy shall go back to school."
"I have not done with Nat yet, Sophy, and I shall be obliged by yourceasing to talk nonsense. It worries me."
This was said in so quiet and decided a way, and in the voice of one soaccustomed to command, that my aunt said:
"Well, Richard, I suppose it must be as you wish."
"Yes, if you please," he said quietly. "I have the boy's interest atheart as much as you."
As the time went on my aunt and Uncle Dick had two or three littleencounters over this, in all of which Aunt Sophy was worsted; Uncle Dickquietly forcing her to let him have his own way in everything.
This set me thinking very much about the future, for I knew that in lessthan two months' time Uncle Dick would be off upon his new expedition;one that was to be into the most unfrequented regions of the East IndianIslands, though he had said very little about it in my presence.
"I should like to know all about where you are going, Uncle Dick," Isaid one afternoon, as we were working together.
"Why, my boy?"
"Because it is so interesting to know all about foreign lands, uncle."
"Well, my boy, I think of going from here straight away to Singapore,either with or without a stay at Ceylon. From Singapore I mean totraverse most of the islands along the equator, staying longest at suchof them as give me plenty of specimens. Then I shall go on and on toNew Guinea, collecting all the time, spending perhaps four or five yearsout there before I return; that is, if the Malays and Papuans will bekind enough to leave me alone and not throw spears at me."
"You will go where all the most beautiful birds are plentiful, uncle?"I said.
"Yes, my boy, collecting all the time."
"Shall you go alone, uncle?" I ventured to say after a pause.
"Yes, my boy, quite alone, except that I shall engage one or two nativeservants at the places where I stay, and perhaps I shall buy a boat formy own special use to cruise from island to island. Why, what are yousighing about, boy?"
"I was thinking about your going out there, uncle, all alone."
"Well, my boy, do you suppose I shall be frightened?"
"No, uncle, of course not; but won't you be dull?"
"I shall be too busy to be dull, my boy. The only likely time for me tobe dull is of an evening, and then I shall go to sleep."
He went on with his work until it grew dark, and then at his request Ilit the lamp, placed it down close to his writing, and remained standingthere by his elbow wanting to speak but not daring to do so, till hesuddenly turned round and looked me in the face.
"Why, Nat, my boy, what's the matter? Are you unwell?"
"No, uncle," I said slowly.
"What then? Is anything wrong?"
"I--I was thinking about when you are gone, uncle."
"Ah! yes, my boy; you'll have to go back to school then and work away atyour ciphering and French. I shall often think about you, Nat, when Iam busy over the birds I have shot, skinning and preserving them; andwhen I come back, Nat, you must help me again."
"When you come back?" I said dolefully.
"Yes, my lad. Let me see--you are fourteen now. In four or five yearsyou will have grown quite a man. Perhaps you will not care to help methen."
"Oh, uncle!" I cried; for I could keep it back no longer. It had beenthe one great thought of my mind night and day for weeks now, and if myprayer were not gratified the whole of my future seemed to be too blankand miserable to be borne.
"Why, what is it, my boy?" he said. "Nat, my lad, don't be afraid tospeak out. Is anything wrong?"
"Yes, uncle," I panted; for my words seemed to choke me.
"Speak out then, my boy, what is it?"
"You--yo
u are going away, uncle."
"Well, Nat, you've known that for months," he said, with a smile.
"Yes, uncle; but don't go by yourself," I cried. "Take me with you; Iwon't want much to eat--I won't give you any trouble; and I'll work sovery, very hard to help you always, and I could be useful to you.Pray--pray, uncle, take me too."
He pushed his chair away from the table and sat gazing at me with afrown upon his face, then he jumped up and began walking swiftly up anddown the room.
"I would hardly let you know that I was with you, uncle, and thereshould be nothing you wanted that I would not do. Don't be angry withme for asking to go, for I do want to go with you so very, very much."
"Angry, my boy! No, not angry," he cried; "but no, no; it isimpossible."
"Don't say that, uncle," I cried; "I would work so hard."
"Yes, yes, my boy, I know that; but it would not be just to you to dragyou away there to those wild lands to live like a savage half yourtime."
"But I should like that, uncle," I cried excitedly.
"To expose you to risks of voyaging, from the savages, and from disease.No, no, Nat, you must not ask me. It would not do."
"Oh, uncle!" I cried, with such a pitiful look of disappointment on myface, that he stopped and laid his hand upon my shoulder.
"Why, Nat, my boy," he said in a soft, gentle way, very different to hisusual mode of speaking, "nothing would be more delightful to me than tohave you for my companion; not for my servant, to work so hard, but tobe my friend, helpmate, and counsellor in all my journeyings. Why, itwould be delightful to have you with me, boy, to enjoy with me thediscovery of some new specimen."
"Which we had hunted out in some wild jungle where man had never beenbefore, uncle!"
"Bird or butterfly, it would be all the same, Nat; we should prize itand revel in our discovery."
"Yes, and I'd race you, uncle, and see which could find most new sorts."
"And of an evening we could sit in our tent or hut, and skin andpreserve, or pin out what we had found during the day, Nat, eh?"
"Oh, uncle, it would be glorious!" I cried excitedly. "And I say--birds of paradise! We would make such a collection of all the loveliestkinds."
"Then we should have to hunt and fish, Nat, for the pot, for there wouldbe no butchers' and fishmongers' shops, lad."
"Oh! it would be glorious, uncle!" I cried.
"Glorious, my boy!" he said as excitedly as I; "why, we should get onsplendidly, and--tut, tut, tut! what an idiot am I! Hold your tongue,sir, it is impossible!"
"Uncle!"
"Here have I been encouraging the boy, instead of crushing the idea atonce," he cried impatiently. "No, no, no, Nat, my boy. It was veryfoolish of me to speak as I did. You must not think of it any more."
"Oh! uncle, don't talk to me like that," I cried. "Pray, pray take mewith you."
"I tell you no, boy," he said impatiently. "It would be unjust to youto encourage you to lead such a vagabond life as mine. Say no moreabout it, sir," he added harshly. "It is impossible!"
A deep sigh escaped my lips, and then I was silent, for my uncle turnedto his writing again, and for the next week he was cold and distant tome, while I went on with my task in a dull, spiritless manner, feelingso miserable that I was always glad to go and hide myself away, to sitand think, and wonder what I should do when my uncle had gone.