Chapter II: Part 2

Iturim proved the truth of this very early in life. He was a young Antis who had been so successful in his various journeys to the cities on the coast, where he sold apes and birds, that he was able to build and furnish a fine house; to adorn his person bravely; and to take a wife.

This lucky fellow did not even have to make a clearing in the woods for his house. He found in the forest, just in the right place, an open space, containing only a small grove of palms. These graceful trees would make a pleasant shade for his dwelling, and the forest was sufficiently distant not to make it close and hot.

If this clearing had been upon the bank of the river it would not have answered his purpose. For the Antis always make the clearings for their dwellings at a little distance from a water-course, taking care to have a thick growth between them and a river. Otherwise Indians who are not friendly to them would see the houses while paddling by in their canoes, and seize upon the first opportunity to steal everything they contained.

Iturim’s house, or _ajoupa_, as he called it, was very large, because he owned so much property. Stakes were driven into the ground for supports to a long, sloping roof, thatched with straw. The sides were made of mud, hardened in the sun. He had a large assortment of pots, pans, kettles, knives, &c., that he had brought up from the coast from time to time. He made a net-work of strong vine stalks near the roof, on which to hang provisions. Otherwise the ants which were sure to invade the premises would make sad havoc with the eatables. On the earthen floor he spread beautifully prepared tapir skins. There was not so handsome a residence in all the Antis region.

For his personal adornment, he had tattooed his face with three dotted blue lines across each cheek, and a purple star in his forehead. He dressed partly in the European style, having learned this on the coast. His trowsers were of blue cotton, and his jacket of red cotton; on state occasions, he wore a long scarf cloak of white cotton about him, and put a conical cap on his head. I must not forget what he considered the most elegant part of his toilette—a small plate of highly polished silver, which hung from his nose. He daubed patches of red and black paint on his face, and thus attired, he went for his wife. She was slightly tattooed on her forehead and chin in blue and red plaids. Usually she was dressed in a long white sacque, but, on this occasion she wore a full skirt of white with a gay scarf wound around her shoulders. Her ornaments were colored seeds, and tapirs’ claws. She also put on a conical cap that Iturim had given her, ignorant of the fact that it was not a proper head-dress for a woman.

Miniqui, the bride, lived on the opposite side of the river from the palm grove; and, after the wedding feast, Iturim conducted her to her new home.

They crossed the river on a rude suspension bridge, made of osiers; and you may be sure Miniqui was pleased with the large, sumptuously furnished house she found in the palm grove. They were welcomed by a large pet ape, named Simuco. He was a very wise creature, and devotedly attached to his master.

For a short time all three lived together in the happiest manner. Iturim hunted and fished; Miniqui did the housework; and Simuco amused them both with his funny tricks.

But a tribe of Antis came up from the lower river, and challenged the Upper Antis to a canoe race. The elderly men were in favor of declining the challenge; but the younger ones, at the head of whom was Iturim, were eager for the contest; and so it was determined upon.

The rivers in the Antis country are mountain torrents. Even in the places where the water seems to flow smoothly there are strong under-currents that call for a great degree of skill in navigation. And every few miles, the rivers dash over rocks, and form dangerous rapids. The Indians are very expert in managing their canoes in this kind of boating, which is called “shooting the rapids;” but with all their skill and practice, they cannot help fatal accidents occurring quite frequently. The mere upsetting of a boat is nothing, for the Antis is almost as much at home in the water as on the land; but it is impossible to swim in the whirling waters of the rapids, and the danger consists in being dashed against the rocks, or violently sucked under the waves.

The prize, to be given to the man who should first reach the goal in this race was one of those ingenious pocket knives that contain a number of tools in a small compass.

These savages had never seen anything like it until now when one was displayed; and to their ambition to distinguish themselves, was added a keen desire to possess this treasure.

The race was three miles long, and there were two rapids to “shoot.” The second one was very dangerous, and was full of jagged rocks. At some distance below this rapid the women and children of the two tribes assembled to watch the boats rush over the fall, and to see them come up to the goal. With them were the few men who did not join in the sport. There were eight canoes, with three men in each. One of these men was the leader; and it was his business to guide the boat with a paddle safely and swiftly through the rapids. These eight leaders were the candidates for the prize. The one whose boat first touched the beach at Toucan Point was to have the knife. It was the duty of the other men to row the boats until they approached the rapids. It seems to me that these men were also entitled to a prize; for, of course, the boats that first reached the rapids were most likely to win; and on the calm stretches of the river everything depended upon the skill of the rowers. But the Antis have their own rules for boat racing.

It was a pretty sight to see the eight light, gracefully-pointed canoes abreast, at the start. But nobody was there to witness it, unless we allow Simuco, the monkey, to be a person. He sat upon the bank, and gravely watched the scene. What he thought of it I don’t know, but he perfectly understood that he was not to be of the party. He made no attempt to enter any of the boats, but as soon as the signal was given, and the canoes started off, he darted off also, running swiftly along the shore, or scrambling over rocks.

Where the boats started the river widened into a sort of lake, but it soon became too narrow for the boats to keep abreast. The Indians knew this, but they knew that they would not long keep abreast in any case. Before the first mile was passed the boats were much scattered. Four canoes went over the first rapid side by side. Two of them were so close that they came near crashing together, and their leaders yelled and scolded at each other furiously. One of these was Iturim, and the other a young man of the lower Antis, Altisquo. But the four canoes went over together, and swept into the calmer water with their bows in a straight line with each other.

During the next mile and a half of quiet water two of these canoes fell back, and were passed by some that had come over the rapid more slowly. The rowers of Iturim and Altisquo kept an even stroke with their oars. Occasionally a boat would pass them, but would soon give out, and the two canoes were still side by side when the last, and most dangerous rapid came in sight.

The rowers drew in their oars. Their task was done. Iturim and Altisquo stood each in the stern of his boat, and dexterously guided their frail crafts among the black rocks, turning aside from the whirling eddies that threatened to suck them in. Each was anxious to be the first to reach the narrowest and most perilous part of the voyage.

Iturim shot into this vortex of waters more than a boat’s length ahead of Altisquo. It was impossible now for the latter to pass him. The prize was virtually won. Iturim was full of joy, though the spray from the waves wet him from head to foot, and his canoe often grated against the rocks, or was tossed from side to side.

Altisquo saw that the swift rush of waters would now bear his rival over the fall before he could hope to overtake him; and his heart was filled with rage and hate. Suddenly an opportunity presented itself to him. His quick eye saw that he had one chance more. It was a wicked chance, but that did not matter to him. To the left of Iturim’s boat was a whirlpool. The waters swirled furiously around a rock, throwing up blinding sheets of spray. By a sudden movement Altisquo turned the stern of his boat around at the risk of breaking it against the rocks. This brought him into swift collision with the stern of Iturim’s boat, and turned the latter violently around towards the whirlpool, while his own canoe swung into the current, and rushed over the fall, stern foremost. It spun around two or three times after this fearful leap, then darted off bow foremost, and Altisquo was the first man who beached his boat at Toucan Point.

Fortunately Iturim’s boat was not quite as near the whirlpool as Altisquo supposed, and did not get drawn into it, as he had hoped. The shock it received sent it violently over the fall, dashing it against a rock, where it was broken to pieces, and the two rowers tumbled out. But they were in comparatively still water, and succeeded in swimming to the shore.

But, as Iturim was standing in the stern when the collision took place, he was thrown out of the boat with such violence that he fell into the whirlpool. He clutched fast hold of a projecting rock, but the waters were too strong for him. He could not drag himself out by the slippery rocks, and he would certainly have been sucked under and drowned, but for Simuco. The ape had reached the lower rapid before the boats, and was watching the scene with a lively interest when the fatal collision occurred. He comprehended at once his master’s situation, and, springing quickly from rock to rock, seized Iturim by the hair, and held him with so firm a grip that he was enabled with some difficulty to scramble upon the rock, and was taken off by a boat.

The leaders, who were steering the two boats not far behind Altisquo, were too much occupied in making their own way through the dangerous pass to observe closely what had been done. But the four rowers of these canoes were not deceived by Altisquo’s quick movements. They saw very clearly how unfairly he had won the race, and the spectators suspected foul play from what they could observe of his manœuvres. After hearing all the testimony, the judges awarded the prize to Iturim. He had, virtually, won the race before the accident, and, as this was the result of a malicious assault, and not brought about by his own carelessness, it was decreed that the marvelous tool-knife should be his.

But alas for Iturim’s fine clothes! He had arrayed himself in his very best European costume in order to show off before the strangers, and now he was clad in rags. Simuco had snatched the high-pointed cap from the waves, and put it again on his master’s head, but its ambitious peak hung down, limp and forlorn. Iturim was rather crestfallen, at first, at the ridiculous figure he cut. He certainly did not look like a hero. But the knife consoled him, and he was in a jolly humor when he walked home with his prize in his pocket, and his faithful ape perched upon his shoulder.

This was at the end of the day, after a great feast in honor of his victory, in which both tribes of Antis had joined. The Lower Antis had bidden farewell, however, some time before, and were now on their way back to their own country.

Miniqui had left the river with the women and children, and had gone home before Iturim. What was his surprise then when he met her in the woods some distance from the house. She came flying towards him, with her arms outstretched, and shrieking as she ran.

“Everything is gone!” she cried, as soon as she saw Iturim.

“What has happened?” he asked. “I don’t know,” said Miniqui, “but it is all gone—house and all! When I got home there was nothing there!”

Iturim ran to his grove at his best speed. His house had been torn to pieces, the stakes broken up, and the straw trampled in the mud. All his possessions, which he had been collecting for so many years, his pots, pans, baskets, beads, silver ornaments, clothes, tapir skins, everything had been taken away. The thieves had not left him so much as an old shoe.

He knew very well who had done it. Altisquo and his two rowers had been missed from the feast at an early hour, and it was supposed that they were too angry to remain, and had returned quietly home; and everybody was glad they had gone. But instead of that, they had been executing this vengeance upon their successful rival.

Iturim was now the poorest man in the Antis tribe, and only a few hours before he had been the richest.

“Only a flea-leap from happiness to misfortune,” he muttered.

You might suppose that this mean and shameful deed of Altisquo would arouse the whole tribe of the Upper Antis to make war upon the Lower Antis. That would have been the case with many Indian tribes. In civilized communities the friends of Iturim would have demanded that Altisquo should be tried, and properly punished. But the Antis did neither of these things. I am sorry to say that theft is so common among them, that robbing a house is considered rather a fine thing to do, provided, of course, that the house robbed is not one’s own. If an Antis, on returning home, finds his things have been stolen, he says nothing, but watches his chance to make good his loss by stealing from any house belonging to another Antis tribe.

So Altisquo was not punished at that time for his theft, and he felt that he had compensated himself for the loss of the prize.

Iturim and Miniqui found shelter in her father’s house until they should be able to have another house of their own. Iturim set at once to work snaring birds, and catching monkeys, that he might take them down the river and sell them at a large settlement, whence they would be carried over the mountains to the coast. This was a profitable business, provided he was able to get his birds and monkeys there safely.

When he had got together some twenty birds, and three or four monkeys, he made up his mind it was time for him to start upon his journey, and he considered what would be the best way to carry his menagerie. He hit upon the brilliant idea of building a raft, and taking them down the river in this way.

It seemed as if Iturim was again to be lucky in his ventures after fortune, for just as he had everything prepared to start, two English travelers arrived in the Antis country, and were glad enough to make a bargain with Iturim for a passage down the river for their baggage. He, on his part, was very glad to take the cargo, for there were a great many bundles and packages, and the sum paid him was as much as he expected to make from the sale of his animals.

He embarked at a place several miles below the Antis settlements, and, from that point, had a river clear of rapids, and made a safe and prosperous voyage. He had no difficulty in disposing of his birds and monkeys, and the proceeds of this sale, with the money the two Englishmen paid him, enabled him to load his raft with a variety of cooking utensils and other things for his house, and he returned safely to Miniqui with all the merchandise.

So, when the new house was built under the palms, it was almost as richly furnished as the first one had been, and Iturim came to the conclusion that he had again made his fortune. And he was right. He had all he wanted, and that is a fortune, always.

LARGE HOUSES FOR SMALL TENANTS.

In Australia there is a bird—the Megapodius—that builds for its family an enormous dwelling. It is not a large bird, being about the size of our partridge, but it seems to have very lofty ideas. If a man built a house in the same proportion to his size, as that of this bird is to its size, his house would be twice as large as the Great Pyramid of Egypt. It would be very inconvenient to have such residences as these, and they would be very difficult to keep clean, to say nothing of the great expense of building them. A man would have to call in the aid of hundreds of workmen, and pay them well, and years would be required to complete such a mansion, and a great many different instruments would be called into use. Whereas two of these birds will build their huge dwelling in a few weeks, with no tools but their own beaks and claws, and with no expense whatever.

The Megapodius does not believe in gay clothes, and is always dressed in plain and sombre brown. It is an intelligent, patient, industrious, persevering little creature, as you will see from the way it constructs its nest.

It begins by gathering together a mass of leaves, branches, and plants. With these it spreads out on the ground, in the place it has selected for its nest, a thick bed of a circular form. Upon this it heaps up earth and stones, and packs them well together, continuing to labor perseveringly until it raises a mound from eight to fourteen feet high. Some of these mounds measure a hundred and fifty feet round the base, and as much as twenty-four feet up the slope. A circular opening is left in the center of this mound, and extends from the top to the ground.

In this opening herbs and leaves are heaped up; and, on this the Megapodius places its eggs, eight in number, arranged in a circle, at equal distances from each other, with the points downward.

After the female has performed this task of arranging the eggs, both of the parent birds leave the nest, for they are of no use whatever to the young birds after they are hatched. So you see this great labor, in which they have shown so much skill is not for themselves, but for their children.

The leaves and herbs, enclosed in this great mass of compact earth, become so heated after a time that fermentation commences, and this heat hatches the eggs. How does the Megapodius know this? And how does it know what plants will produce poisonous vapors, so that it never brings these to its nest?

Most birds, you know, are born naked, or covered with a soft down, and they have to be fed for several weeks until their feathers grow, and they can be taught to fly. But the young Megapodius, we are told by travelers, comes out of its shell fully provided with feathers. They say that it throws off the hot leaves that surround it, and mounts to the top of the mound, looks about for a few minutes, flaps its wings, and then, at once, soars up in the air, and comes back to its nest no more. If this be true, it knows where to look for food, and how to take care of itself as soon as it is born.

Another Australian bird, the Telegalla, also builds a large nest, though, by no means equal in size to that of the Megapodius. The bird is larger, too. It is about the size of a turkey, and, like that fowl, carries itself with quite an important air. It works in the grassy fields. It cuts down grass by the handful; or rather, I should say, by the clawful. For, after it has gathered a small bunch of grass, it grasps it with one claw, and hops proudly along on the other claw to the spot it has chosen for its nest.

The male and female bird work for a long time in this way, and make a vast number of journeys to and fro, always bearing to the nest a little bundle of grass. They heap this up, as haymakers build up their haycocks. In fact a Telegalla’s nest is not unlike a haycock, and is about the size of one.

Having reared up their nest as high as they think proper, the female carefully places her eggs in the center; and then, with her mate, takes her departure. They do not trouble their minds any more about either eggs or nest. They know, in some mysterious way, that the grass they have piled up will dry, when exposed to the sun, and that it will be heated by this process. And they know that this heat will hatch the eggs; and that the young birds will be able to take care of themselves as soon as they issue from the shell. So, why should they worry themselves about the matter?

In the Cape of Good Hope, Southern Africa, there are birds, not larger than our sparrows, that build cities to live in. They belong to the family of Grossbeaks, and these are called Social Grossbeaks, because they live in communities. Hundreds of birds will unite in building an immense nest, high up the trunk of some tree. They work away with twigs, and sticks, and grass, and feathers, and moss. And, when the structure is completed, it looks at a little distance as if men had built some great timber work around the tree trunk. It is in reality a city, consisting of rows of single nests, each one inhabited by a pair of birds.

There they lay their eggs, and hatch them, and raise their children, and teach them how to fly, and to get their living. Hundreds of families live thus peaceably together, and have a good time helping and visiting each other. Policemen do not seem to be necessary in these cities, where each bird behaves just as well as he knows how.

No doubt, after their hard work is done, they have fine fun at their parties, and merry-makings. Whether they have “town meetings,” and public lectures, and parades, I know not. Private lectures, and concerts, I am sure they must have! And the liveliest jigs and waltzes among the branches of the trees!

A traveler in Africa once brought one of these nests away with him. It contained 340 little nests. So it had been inhabited by 340 pairs of birds, and their families. It was so heavy that several men were necessary to remove it from the tree; and it was taken away in a wagon.

THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF GUTEFUNDUS.

Once upon a time—it was four hundred years ago—the great Gutefundus, of blessed memory, made up his mind that he would go all over the world, and do good to everybody. A great part of the world as we know it, had not then been discovered, and there were not so many people in those times as there are now. But still it was something of an undertaking to go all over the world, and do good to everybody.

Nevertheless, Gutefundus resolved to do it.

He decided, in the first place, that he would kill the great Sea Serpent. This was a snake three or four miles long, which amused itself by winding its coils around ships, thus crunching them up, after which it would eat the crews at its leisure. If it were not very hungry it would follow a ship a long time, rising out of the water occasionally, and picking off a man or two at a time, until it had made an end of the whole ship’s company.

Nobody ever knew where to find this snake, for it traveled all over the ocean with incredible swiftness; and, it had such an extremely hard and horny skin, that no dart or knife could pierce it. It was therefore not an easy thing either to find the Sea Serpent, or to kill it.

Nevertheless Gutefundus determined to find it and kill it.

He embarked on this expedition in mid-summer, in the very best vessel that could be made in those days, and with a crew of picked men. Fortune favored him, and in the second month of the cruise, the great Sea Serpent was after the ship of Gutefundus, little dreaming that that very ship was after him.

The sailors were frightened nearly out of their wits when they first saw the long line of this monster’s body rising and falling on the waves, far in their rear. But the stout heart of Gutefundus knew no fear. He took in sail, and waited for his foe. But the serpent was in no hurry. He kept his distance for a couple of days, and then he sank into the water and disappeared. Gutefundus feared the snake had escaped him; but, a few days afterwards, it unexpectedly popped its head out of the water, close to the ship’s sides, and, in an instant, seized a sailor in its enormous jaws, and went down again with a tremendous splash.

At that moment Gutefundus thought that, so far, he had done no good to any body, and had been the means of leading the poor sailor to his death.

But he did not despair. The Sea Serpent would come again, he felt sure, and now that he knew the enemy’s tactics, he made his preparations. The next time the Sea Serpent reared his head over the ship’s side Gutefundus was ready for it. Barrels filled with water were arranged all along the sides of the deck, and the moment the great head was level with the deck, Gutefundus was in front of it; and, in a twinkling, he rolled a barrel into the gaping mouth of the creature. The astonished snake gulped down this unusual morsel with some difficulty; and Gutefundus took advantage of this interval of choking to plunge his long spear into one of the eyes of the monster. It sank heavily into the water; and, for several days, the ship sailed over a sea reddened with its blood.

And that was the last of the great Sea Serpent. It is a pity that the Serpent’s body never rose to the surface, so that our hero might have had its skin.

The next expedition of Gutefundus was to the Orkney Islands. Wonderful trees grew in the marshes of those distant isles. They bore eggs for fruit! At the proper season these egg-like fruits opened, and out dropped little ducks into the water, where they immediately began to swim about. These trees were called Bird Trees.

It was rather a singular thing that, although the learned men wrote full accounts of these trees, and all the common people talked about them, nobody had ever seen one of them.

Now, in Gutefundus’ country it sometimes happened that the poor people had nothing to eat, and there would be a famine. He wisely thought that if he could get some roots and slips of this Duck Tree, and plant them along all the water courses, in a few years there would be ducks enough for the very poorest family.

It was considered a very dangerous thing to take a voyage to these savage islands, but Gutefundus decided he would do it.

And he did it. He met with some fearful adventures on the way, but, after many weary months, he arrived at the Orkneys. And there, sure enough, right before his eyes, was the wonderful Bird Tree! Its long trunk stretched far out over the water. Its branches were loaded with fruit. Some of this fruit was as close shut as an egg; but some of it was splitting open, and the little ducks coming out. Some of the ducks were just ready to drop into the water, and others had only a small piece of bill stuck out of the egg. Hundreds had already fallen, and were swimming gaily about.

The delighted Gutefundus plucked some of the fruit that had not yet opened, and stored it away to take home to show to his countrymen. His next proceeding was to take measures for introducing the culture of bird-trees into his country. He concluded he would cut off some of the smaller branches, and some little twigs, and would put some of their native soil in tubs on the ship, and in these he would root his slips. From these few slips bird-trees could be spread over the country in a few years.

The task of choosing and cutting these slips he took upon himself, and climbed the tree for that purpose. But, no sooner had he cut the first little twig than he felt a great shudder running all through the tree. It shook from top to bottom. The roots tore themselves loose from the soil with such a wrench that the whole tree fell violently forward into the water, and sank beneath the waves as if it were made of iron. The ducks that were swimming around went down with it, and were seen no more. Gutefundus, entangled in the branches, would inevitably have gone down also with the tree, had he not caught fast hold of some sedges on the shore, and, by a great effort, got his feet free from the branches.

He, and the ship’s company knew then that this was a magic tree. The gathered fruit they had, was therefore accursed, and they immediately threw it all overboard. On touching the water it burst with a great explosion. They then sailed away from the spot as quickly as possible.

From that day to this there has never been another bird tree found anywhere. And the poor people of Gutefundus’ country lived and died without ever tasting tree-ducks.

His next expedition was the greatest of all the undertakings of Gutefundus. Immense stores of gold, silver, and precious stones lay buried in the rocks of certain caverns in the mountains. But men could not go there to dig out the treasures, because the entrance to these caverns was guarded by a terrible dragon. A few daring individuals had ventured near this entrance, and, peeping in, had seen heaps of bones. These, no doubt, were all that was left of men, who, in some previous time had attempted to get the treasures. They even got a sight of the dragon, and represented it as a gigantic creature, partly beast, partly bird, and partly serpent.

These venturesome men were thankful to have escaped from the neighborhood without going any nearer the cave; and, from that time, no one had ever been within miles of it. But Gutefundus resolved that these treasures should no longer lie there useless. Mankind should have the benefit of them. Nobody believed he could conquer this dragon. Nobody would accompany him on such a mad enterprise. It did seem like going to certain death. Nevertheless Gutefundus made up his mind to do it.

He set out alone. It took him three years to reach the forest that surrounded the mountain, of which he was in search. He had passed through strange countries, and had taken part in many a good fight, but he arrived at the edge of the forest, a day’s journey only from the caverns, well and in good spirits for the fight with the dragon.

But here something befell him more wonderful than all he had gone through in his life.

Night was approaching, and he looked about for a resting-place. He heard the tinkling sound of a little bell, and bent his steps in that direction. It led him some distance into the forest to a small hut, made of dried mud. A little wooden belfry was built upon this, and the bell was ringing at the close of day. Gutefundus, believing it to be the dwelling of some hermit, entered it to ask for a night’s lodging. There was no one there, and he wondered by what contrivance the bell rang itself. While waiting for the owner to appear, he stretched himself upon a couch of dried moss; and, being very tired, he soon fell asleep.

When he awoke, he started up, and looked around in surprise. He was still alone. His clothes were in rags; his feet were bare, for his shoes had fallen to pieces on the floor; the hut had crumbled until it was only a shattered mound; the wooden belfry lay around in broken bits; the little bell was half buried in the dried mud, by his side, and was nearly eaten up with rust. This reminded him of his sword, and he looked anxiously for it. He saw it directly, on the earthen floor close by him. It had, evidently, just fallen out of the scabbard, which, all full of rents, was still attached to his rusty belt. The sword was as bright as ever. He remembered now that it was the clattering it had made in falling that had awakened him. Just then the gleam of something white crossed his eyes. It was his beard, grown very long, and perfectly grey. He was conscious then that his head felt cold. He clapped his hands there, and found he was bald!

He understood the whole matter now. He had been in a magic sleep! How many years he had slept he could not guess. Maybe two or three hundred years. Such instances were not so very uncommon. He recalled the names of several great men, who had slept for a hundred years and more. Some of them were sleeping still. It was clear that the dragon was a magician, and had led him into the wood to put him into a magic sleep.

Gutefundus, upon this, arrived at two comfortable reflections. Firstly, that the dragon was afraid of him, or it would not have sent this sleep upon him; and, secondly, that it had no power over his trusty sword, which was there by him unharmed. He took it up, felt the edge, and found it sharp and keen.

He walked out of the wood, and sought the nearest town. His appearance at first alarmed the people in the market place; but when he told who he was, and on what errand he had come, and what had befallen him, they received him with joy. They had heard all about him, but everybody supposed he had been killed by the dragon twenty years before.

He had slept for twenty years! He went into the hut a man in the prime of life. He came out of it an old, bald-headed man.

But he was as courageous as ever. The dragon, it appeared, was still alive, and no mortal man dared go near the treasures he guarded. No one would go with Gutefundus to attack the fearful beast. He could get no kind of armor in the town; and no suit to wear except a blouse, and a pair of baggy trowsers. Such was the costume of the place.

But he had his bright and trusty sword that had never yet failed him, and he marched boldly into the wood again after the dragon.

He entered the cavern, and had proceeded unmolested for some distance, when he heard a fearful roar, and out upon him rushed the dragon. It stretched its beast’s body; opened its huge jaws; ran out its hissing, serpent tongue; flapped loudly its bird’s wings; and curled its snake tail.

But Gutefundus stood his ground undaunted. He felt from the tips of his toes to his bald crown that that serpent’s time had come. He swung his sword on high. Up rushed the dragon; down came the sword, whack! and cut the terrible head into two parts! The beast was stunned, but not killed. Another stroke severed the body; and the third cut off its tail.

The dragon was dead, and the treasures thus became the property of mankind.

Gutefundus contented himself with a small share of the spoils, and passed the rest of his days quietly at home. He had been pretty much all over the world; and, if he had not done good to everybody, he had certainly taken some of the evil out of the earth.

I suppose none of my readers believe that these adventures actually befell any man who ever lived upon the face of the earth. But I have told you nothing that was not held to be true at the time Gutefundus lived; and at a much later period too. Such wild legends were fully credited, and not by ignorant people only. The three pictures I have given in the story were drawn by the most learned men of that olden time; and they had no doubt whatever of the existence of the Dragon, the Sea Serpent, and the Bird Tree.

SOME BIG GUNS.

Ever since the invention of gunpowder, the men who have been devoting their attention to the science of gunnery for purposes of war have been making their cannon larger and larger.

This is not the case with the weapons that are carried by soldiers; for our rifles and muskets are much smaller than those used by our ancestors. A hundred or two years ago, the great flint-lock muskets and blunderbusses were twice as large as the rifles now used, although they did not carry a ball half the distance, or with any thing like the accuracy of our improved arms.

But the cannon that used to be in fashion were but little things compared to those of the present day.

You might put one of the old-fashioned cannon into one of our great columbiads and fire it out of it instead of a ball.

And while the cannon have been growing larger and larger, the defenses against cannon-shot are growing stronger and stronger.

Now our men-of-war are generally what are called “iron-clads.” The hull is covered with immense plates of iron or steel, which it is almost impossible to pierce with the heaviest balls or conical shot. And the forts are so constructed that the great masses of metal that are sometimes hurled against them in time of war seem to have but little effect upon their massive sides. And so the competition between the weapons of offense and the means of defense goes on. As the cannon are made larger, the iron plates on the ships are made thicker and stronger, and the forts are built with walls that are more massive and more thoroughly ball-proof.

Which party will succeed in this contest it is impossible to say.

If walls and ships could be constructed that would be impervious to the heaviest cannon balls, warfare would probably soon come to an end, for if a nation could have such forts and such ships it would be useless for any other nation to make attacks upon it.

And if cannon could be made that would send balls through the sides of any iron-clad, or through the walls of any fortification, war would probably soon cease, for no country could resist a hostile nation thus armed.

Therefore it is almost to be hoped that one of these parties—the manufacturers of great cannon or the builders of ships and forts will so far surpass the other that the trials between them in time of war will be considered useless.

But it seems very doubtful if a limit to the size and force of cannon, and the strength of iron-clads and forts will soon be found.

Although our cannon are so large, we hear stories of guns of the kind that were very large and yet not at all modern.

It is said that the Knights of the island of Malta had a tremendous cannon, which, when it was fired off, made everybody, even old gunners stop their ears for fear that they would be deafened by the terrific noise.

And the Chinese, who certainly invented gunpowder long before we thought of it, have a tradition that their country once possessed a most enormous cannon. It was constructed of pieces that were fastened together by great bands, like the hoops on our barrels and casks.

It is said that this enormous cannon, the bore of which was so large that you might sleep inside of it if you felt sure it was not to be used before you came out, was never fired but once, and the inhabitants of the locality where it stood (or still stands, for all I know,) believe that the ball is flying yet.

It would certainly be unpleasant if any of us happened to be taking a walk through a pleasant country, to meet this ball so suddenly that there would be no time to turn out for it.

But one of our great American guns, that carry a five-hundred pound ball for five or six miles, would certainly be able to knock this Chinese cannon into a thousand splinters, if it could but once get a fair crack at it.

I wonder what the ancients, with their battering rams, and catapults, and javelins, and slings, and arrows, would have thought, if an American field-battery had opened upon one of their bravest armies.

In that case I think that even Achilles would have thought it as necessary to take the same care of his whole body as he had before taken of his heel—which you remember was the only part of him that was vulnerable to the weapons of that day.

TOM REYNOLDS AND MORIYAMA.

“Fun,” exclaimed Tom Reynolds, “You couldn’t have more fun than I had. No boy could stand it.”

This was said to a boy-friend after Tom had come home from Japan.

And Tom was right. He had had a splendid time.

Tom Reynolds was an American boy, whose father was engaged in business which made it necessary for him to visit Yokohama in Japan. It is probable that he would not have thought of taking Tom with him on this trip if it had not been for Moriyama. This yellow youth put the idea into Tom’s head, and Tom, who was as good a talker as he was a walker, which is saying a great deal, managed to convince his father that nothing would be of as great advantage to him as a journey to Japan.

School was nothing to a trip like this, Tom argued, and he argued so much that the end of it was he went to Japan.

Moriyama was a Japanese boy, and a first-rate fellow. He was one of the many Japanese youths who came to America to be educated, and he went to Tom’s school.

There these two boys became great friends. Moriyama was a very quick, bright youth. He could speak English very well, and he was rather better at English grammar than most of the other fellows in that school. The other fellows explained this by saying that Moriyama didn’t know anything about our grammar except what he had learned from books, and of course the books were right. But they had learned their grammar from all sorts of people, ever since they were little bits of chaps. And so they had learned all sorts of grammar, and had a good deal to unlearn when they came to the school.

But the fact was that Moriyama was as thoroughly in earnest about his studies as most boys are about base-ball. So it was no wonder that he succeeded.

He was not a large boy nor was he very young. As Tom put it, he was a good deal smaller than he was young. There were plenty of fellows in the school who could have whipped him, if they had wanted to, but they didn’t want to, for two reasons. He was a quiet, obliging boy, who seldom offended any one, and if any one had tried to whip him they would first have had to whip Tom Reynolds, which was no easy job. Tom had a fist as heavy as one end of a dumb-bell, and the muscles on his arms swelled up a good deal like the other end of a dumb-bell.

Moriyama’s time at school was up, and he had to go to Japan. Tom’s time wasn’t up, but he promised to study ever so hard when he came back—with his mind improved by travel—and so the three of them, Tom, Tom’s father, and Moriyama, sailed for Yokohama.

This story will not be long enough for me to tell anything about the journey—how they sailed from New York to Aspinwall, and went across the Isthmus of Panama by railroad, and then took another steamship and crossed the Pacific Ocean; and how, at last they steamed up the bay of Yedo, and saw towering up to the sky, the great extinct volcano, Fusi-yama, the sacred mountain of Japan.

I cannot even tell about their landing at Yokohama, nor even very much about Tom’s adventures in Japan, but I can give you some of his experiences, and if you ever meet him, he can tell you the rest. And he will be very apt to do it, too, if you are the right kind of a boy or girl, for Tom is a great talker, and very sociable.

When they arrived at Yokohama Tom’s father took lodgings for himself and his son at the house of an American merchant in the town, but Moriyama went into the country where his family lived.

Of course it was very natural that he should want to see his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, but Tom could not help feeling sorry about it. It would have been such a capital thing to have had Moriyama to take him around at the very beginning of his visit, and tell him about all the curious things he saw.

But Tom had to do his sight-seeing pretty much by himself, at first, for his father was very busy, and the Americans that he met did not have much time to go about with a boy.

But Tom was not a bad fellow to take care of himself, and as his father engaged for him a horse and a _betto_, as a man who attends horses in Japan is called, he had every opportunity of going about as much as he wanted to.

When Tom’s horse was brought out for him the first time there were two bettos in attendance. One of them had clothes enough on, but the other one looked as if he were just ready to take a swim.

This fellow was the one who accompanied Tom wherever he went. He was a good-natured man and very ready to talk, and if Tom could have understood a word he said, he might have been very interesting.

But they got along capitally together, and Tom rode about Yokohama all day, and came home at night, and asked questions of his father. In this way he got some information about the things he had seen, but in many cases he had to make up theories of his own about things. And some very curious theories he made.

There was a porter who had a lodge at the door of the house where they lived, and he used to strike on a gong every time any one entered. Sometimes he struck once, and sometimes two or three times, and Tom could not imagine what he did it for. He might have asked his father about this, but he made up his mind that he would find it out for himself.

You must not suppose that Tom’s father was not a good-natured man, or that he objected to giving information to his son. But the truth was that Mr. Reynolds was not only very busy all day, and very often at night, with his merchant friends, but he did not know a great deal about Japanese life himself.

As soon as he had got through with the most pressing part of his business, he intended to go about and see Japan. He had never been there before.

At first Tom thought that when he heard one crack on the gong it meant that that was the first time he had come in. But when he heard only one stroke the second and the third time, while some other people got two taps the first time they came, he knew that this must be a mistake.

Before he found out what these taps really meant Moriyama returned to town. Tom greeted him heartily enough, and as they went into the house together that morning the porter struck, first two taps, then one.

“What is that banging for?” cried Tom. “I’ve been trying to find out ever so long, but it’s too much for me.”

“Why two taps are for me and one is for you,” said Moriyama.

“How’s that?”

“He taps once for a citizen or a merchant,” said Moriyama, “and twice for an officer or an interpreter—I didn’t tell you I had been appointed an interpreter since I returned—and for a governor or a consul he’d strike three times, and four times for an admiral or higher officer.”

“Once for me and twice for you,” said Tom. “What a fool the man must be!”

“He does what he has to do, according to our laws,” said Moriyama.

“But anybody ought to know better than that,” cried Tom. “Look here! I’m going to talk to him and then you can interpret what I say, Mr. Two-taps.”

So Tom stepped up to the porter and remarked:

“I say old shaven head——how many bangs would he give for the Prince of Wales, Moriyama?”

“Four, I think.”

“Well then, old fellow, princes belong to the set that they take kings from, and I belong to the set that they take presidents from, and so we’re even, and I want you to pound four times every time I come in the house. Do you hear that? Tell him it, upside down, Moriyama.”

Moriyama, who was laughing at this speech, said something to the porter in Japanese, but I do not think that he translated Tom’s words.

But Tom never got but one bang when he came in, though he used to shake his fist at the porter every time he heard it.

Moriyama was very anxious that Tom should visit Yedo with him, and so after a few days spent in further sight-seeing in Yokohama, the two friends set off for the metropolis of Japan.

They traveled on horseback accompanied by their bettos and other servants. They rode along the Tokaido, or great highway of Japan, and they were by no means the only travelers, for the road was crowded with foot passengers, men on horseback, and people in palanquins. The whole road was one lively scene, and to Tom it was a very interesting one. And the best of it was, that there was nothing, no matter how curious or outlandish, that Moriyama could not explain to him.

They stopped on the way at a tavern, which was rather different from anything of the kind that Tom had ever imagined.

When they reached the door they found a group of three or four persons examining the goods of a man who seemed to be a peddler. He was very anxious that his goods—and he did not seem to have many of them—should be appreciated, and the bystanders were quietly and earnestly listening to what he had to say.

But no one took notice of the newly arrived party.

After a little while, the landlord made his appearance, and though he seemed glad to see them, and brought them a few eggs and some other trifling refreshments, he soon went away again, and they saw no more of him until several hours later when they took their leave.

But their own servants cooked them a good dinner of things they had with them, and seemed to make themselves perfectly at home in the household of the tavern.

Tom said it was a good deal like working your passage on a ship, but Moriyama could see no objection to it. He was sure, he said, that he would rather be waited on by his own servants than by any one likely to be found at a roadside tavern, and he was sure their own provisions were better than anything likely to be found there.