Adventures of a Young Naturalist. Lucien Biart

of the night?" I cried, as he came into sight.

      "I felt bound to give these screeching animals a lesson, señor; if I hadn't done so, they would have come back to disturb us every night," answered the Indian, gravely.

      "Have you killed any of them?"

      "I only managed to wound one. I followed it – "

      "At the risk of falling into some pit. You can't see at night – at least, as far as I know."

      "Not very well; but that is all your fault," replied l'Encuerado, in a reproachful tone.

      "What! my fault?"

      "The brujos (sorcerers) have many a time offered me an ointment made of cats' eyes and fat; but they wanted too much for it. You knew much more about it than the sorcerers; and if you would only have told me the way to make the ointment, and how to use it, I should have been able to see at night, long enough ago, which would be quite as useful to you as to me."

      This was an old story, and all that I could have said to the Indian would not have convinced him that I could not make him see in the dark.

      It was broad daylight when Sumichrast awoke us. The brook, which we could cross at a leap, sometimes rippled over pebbles, and sometimes glided silently over a sandy bottom. The plants which grew on its two banks fraternally intertwined their green branches, and their flowers seemed to exchange their perfumes. From the boughs of the large trees hung gray mosses, which made them look like gigantic old men; the sun gilded their black trunks with its rising beams, and from the tops of the trees the sweet chant of birds rose up towards heaven. Our eyes, which had become accustomed to the comparatively barren places we had traversed the day before, dwelt with delight upon this lovely and glorious scene; our hearts rejoiced in the midst of this calm and luxuriant aspect of nature. It was with feelings of regret we got ready to move on again.

      "Suppose we weren't to go till the afternoon," said Sumichrast.

      "Suppose we don't go till to-morrow," I answered.

      These ideas seemed so thoroughly to respond to the wish of all, that, in a moment, our travelling gear was scattered again on the ground. The first thing we did was to take a bath; then the thought struck us that we had better wash our clothes. Lucien, helped by l'Encuerado, who had nothing to wash for himself, as he wore his leather garment next to his skin, laughed heartily at seeing us turned into washerwomen; still he did not do his part of the work at all badly. He then undertook to wash Gringalet, whose white coat, spotted with black, was sadly in want of cleansing. Unfortunately, the dog was hardly out of the water when he began rolling himself in the dust, and, as dirty as ever, came frisking around his disappointed little master.

      We were roaming about in every direction, in the hope of collecting some insects, when Gringalet pricked up his ears and showed his teeth. The rustling of dry leaves attracted our attention to a slope opposite to us, on which an armadillo was seen.

      Generally speaking, these animals only go out for food in the night. This one, which we saw in broad daylight, was about the size of a large rabbit. Pricking up its ears, it raised its tapering muzzle so as to snuff closer to the branches. Its head, which was very small, gave it a very grotesque appearance. Suddenly it began scratching up the earth with its front paws, furnished with formidable claws, and now and then poked its pointed nose into the hole it had dug. I had crossed the stream, and was advancing cautiously towards the animal, when I saw it leave off its work, and, bending down its head uneasily, as quick as lightning it rolled itself up into a ball and glided down the slope. Just at my feet it stopped, and I only had to stoop down in order to pick it up. Gringalet, who then appeared at the top of the slope, was evidently the cause of its sudden flight.

      I rejoined my companions, carrying my prisoner, who tried neither to defend itself nor to escape. Lucien examined with curiosity the scales which crossed the back of the armadillo, and its pink transparent skin. I told him that this inoffensive animal, which feeds on insects and roots, belonged to the order Edentata – mammals in which the system of teeth is incomplete.

      "But," said he, "I have seen pictures in which armadillos are represented with armor formed of small squares."

      "That is another species, which also lives in Mexico," replied Sumichrast.

      When we talked about killing the animal, Lucien opposed the idea with great vehemence. He wanted either to carry it away alive or to let it go – both being plans which could not be allowed. Gringalet, however, cut short the discussion by strangling it, l'Encuerado's carelessness having left it in his way. The boy, both angry and distressed, was astonished at the cruelty of his dog, and was going to beat him.

      "He has only yielded to instinct," said Sumichrast.

      "A fine instinct, truly," replied Lucien, in tears, "to kill a poor beast that never did him any harm!"

      "He has saved us the trouble of killing it. Men, and all carnivorous animals, can not live except on the condition of sacrificing other creatures. Didn't you shoot a squirrel yesterday? And you did not refuse your share of those beautiful birds, the plumage of which so delighted you."

      "Yes, but I did not strangle the squirrel with my teeth. It's a very different thing."

      "For you, very probably; but it was much the same to the squirrel. However, if there's another chance, you shall lend your gun to Gringalet."

      Lucien smiled through his tears, and his indignation gradually calmed down. Certainly the result is the same, whether you wring a fowl's neck or shoot it; yet I could never make up my mind to the former operation. Lucien, who was endowed with almost feminine sensibility, was often angry with l'Encuerado, who could scarcely resist the temptation of firing at any thing alive, useful or not, which came within reach of his gun. We had spoken often enough to the Indian on the subject, but he always asserted that if God had allowed man to kill for the purpose of food, He had also ordered him to destroy hurtful animals, as they were the allies of the demon. Unfortunately, horses and dogs excepted, all animals were hurtful in l'Encuerado's eyes.

      Gun on shoulder, we made our way up the bed of the stream, often being obliged to cut our path through a thicket of plants. I noticed a fine tree-fern, the leaves of which, not yet developed, assumed the shape of a bishop's crosier. Lucien remarked this.

      "You are right," said I, "it is very curious. Do you know Jussieu divided all vegetables into three great orders —Acotyledons, Monocotyledons, and Dicotyledons. Ferns belong to the first;11 they have no visible flowers, and are allied to the sea-weed and mushroom tribe. It is only under the tropics that ferns attain the dimensions of the one you are looking at; in colder regions their height seldom exceeds a few feet. Ferns formed almost the sole vegetation of the primitive world, and we frequently find evidence of some gigantic species which are now extinct."

      Lucien, being desirous to examine the crosier-shaped stalks, allowed us to get in front of him, then crept under the fern.

      As the leaves of this shrub are furnished underneath with long prickles, when he wanted to rejoin us he found himself caught. The more he struggled the worse he became entangled. He cried out to me in a most distressed voice, and not knowing what had happened, I lost no time in going back to him. I found him fighting hard against the thorns which were scratching his face and hands. L'Encuerado and Sumichrast also came to his assistance.

      I disentangled the boy as quickly as I could; but already he had several scratches over his face and hands.

      "How came you not to think," I said, "that by struggling in this way you would only the more entangle yourself?"

      "I saw you all leaving me; I scarcely knew what held me back, and I got quite frightened; but I'm not crying, papa, and yet the fern-prickles scratch terribly."

      L'Encuerado turned up his sleeves, and, seizing his machete, rushed at the fern.

      "Are not you ashamed to attack a child?" he cried. "It's all very fine to display your bishop's crosier and then behave in this way! Try and tear my coat! I know you wouldn't dare to do it! Never mind, though! I'll punish you for your malice."

      The poor plant, alas! was soon cut down; thus the growth of years was destroyed in a few minutes.

      After

11

That is, a plant devoid of lobes.