XXVIII
RUDOLF DUNBAR’S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF
CAL and Larry were right. Both out of a sense of duty to hisentertainers and because of a not unnatural impulse to tell of hisunusual mode of life, Dunbar began the very next morning to talk freelyof his experiences.
“It is proper that I explain to you how I came to be here without themeans of getting away again,” he said at breakfast. “Indeed, I was alittle troubled in my mind last night when I remembered that I hadreceived your kindly offer of rescue without telling you that. But inmy anxiety to get away from your bivouac and let you sleep, I forgot it.
“You see my entire life is spent in the woods or upon the water. Igo wherever there is promise of anything to reward the labors of anaturalist, and when I heard of this long-abandoned plantation, wherefor twenty-five years or so Nature has had things all her own way, Iknew a visit would be richly worth while. So I purchased a littlerowboat and came over here about three or four weeks ago. I cannot fixthe time more definitely because I never can keep accurate accountof the days or weeks, living alone in the woods as I do and havingno engagements to fulfill. I pulled my boat up on the beach a littleway, selected a place in which to live, and proceeded to remove mythings from the boat to the place chosen. Unfortunately, just as Ihad finished doing so, a peculiar moth attracted my attention—a mothnot mentioned or described in any of the books, and quite unknown toscience, I think. I went at once in chase of it, but it led me a merrydance through the thickets, and it was two hours, I should say—thoughI carry no timepiece—before I caught the creature. In the meanwhile Ihad forgotten all about my boat, and when I got back I saw it driftingout to sea with quite a strong breeze to aid the tide in carryingit away. It seems the tide had reached the flood during my absence,setting the boat afloat, and had then begun to ebb, carrying her away.
“There was nothing to be done, of course, but hoist my little flag,union down, and go on with the very interesting task of studying thehabits of my new moth, of which I have since found several specimens,besides three cocoons which I am hatching in the hope that they willprove to belong to the species. I’ve been hard at work at that taskever since, and I have made some very interesting discoveries withregard to that moth’s choice of habitat. I made the most important onethe night before you arrived. That is why I got no sleep that night.”
“Let us hope,” said Cal, “that the excitement of it did not interferewith your rest last night.”
“Oh, not at all. I am never excited, and I can sleep whenever I choose.I have only to lie down and close my eyes in order to accomplish that.”
“Then you have a shelter or hut up there somewhere—though we saw none?”
“Oh, no. I never sleep under shelter of any kind; I haven’t done sofor more than twenty years past. Indeed, that is one of the conditionsupon which I live at all. My health is good now, but it would fail merapidly if I slept anywhere under a roof.”
“But when these heavy subtropical rains come?” asked Dick.
“Ah, I am prepared for them. I have only to spread one rubber cloth onthe ground and a much thinner one over my blanket, and I take no harm.”
“Your specialty then is the study of butterflies and moths?” askedDick.
“No, not at all. Indeed I have no specialty. When I was teaching I heldthe chair of Natural History, with several specialists as tutors undermy general direction. When my health broke down—pray, don’t suppose Iam going to weary you with a profitless catalogue of symptoms—I simplyhad to take to the woods. I had nobody dependent upon me—nobody forwhom it was my duty to provide then or later. I had a little money,very little, but living as I do I need very little, and my work yieldsme a good deal more than I need or want. The little rifle I always havewith me provides me with all the food I want, so that I am rarely underexpense on that account.”
“But you must have bread or some substitute,” said Tom.
“I do not find it necessary. When I have access to starchy foods—ofwhich there are many in tropical and subtropical forests if one knowshow to find and utilize them—I eat them with relish, but when theyare not to be had I get on very well without them. You see man is anomnivorous animal, and can live in health upon either starchy or fleshfoods. It is best to have both, of course, unless the starchy foods areperverted as they so often are in civilized life, and made ministers todepraved appetites.”
“May I ask just how you mean that?” asked Dick.
“Yes, certainly. The starch we consumed last night in the form of sweetpotatoes was altogether good for us; so is that we are taking now inthese ship biscuits. But if the flour we are eating had been mixed withlard, sugar, eggs, milk and the like, and made into pastry, we shouldbe greatly the better without it.
“However, I’m not a physician, equipped to deliver a lecture onfood stuffs and their preparation. I was betrayed into that by yourquestion. I was explaining the extreme smallness of my personal needs.After food, which costs me nothing, comes clothing, which costs me verylittle.”
“Why certainly you are expensively dressed for woodland wandering,”said Dick. Then instantly he began an apology for the reference to sopurely personal a matter, but Rudolf Dunbar interrupted him.
“No apology is due. I was voluntarily talking of my own personalaffairs, and your remark was entirely pertinent. My garments are madeof very costly fabrics, but as such materials endure all sorts of hardusage and last for a very long time, I find it cheaper in the end tobuy only such; more important still is the convenience of it, to oneleading the sort of life I do. Instead of having to visit a tailorthree or four times a year, I have need of his services only at longintervals. The garments I now have on were made for me in London threeyears or so ago, and I have worn no others since. In the meanwhileI have been up the Amazon for thousands of miles, besides visitingLabrador and the southern coast of Greenland.
“That brings me to my principal item of expense, which is the passagemoney I must pay in order to get to the regions I wish to explore. Thatcosts me a good deal at each considerable removal, but in the meanwhileI have earned greatly more by my work.
“But pardon me for prosing so about myself. I’ll say not another wordnow, so that you young gentlemen may be free to make whatever useyou wish of this superb day. I shall spend the greater part of it infiguring some specimens with my colored crayons. Good morning!”