Фредерик Марриет
Masterman Ready

Chapter Fifty Three.

As soon as they had carried up the whole of the cargo, they secured the boat, and went up to the house to sleep. Just as they went in, Remus came bounding up to them with a letter round his neck.

“Here’s the dog, William,” said Ready; “he won’t go home after all.”

“How provoking! I made sure he would go back; I really am disappointed. We will give him nothing to eat, and then he will; but, dear me, Ready! this is not the paper I tied round his neck. I think not. Let me see.” William took the paper, opened it, and read—

“Dear William:— Your letter arrived safe, and we are glad you are well. Write every day, and God bless you; it was very clever of you and Remus. Your affectionate mother, Selina Seagrave.”

“Well, it is clever,” said Ready; “I’m sure I had no idea he had gone; and his coming back again, too, when he was ordered.”

“Dear Remus, good dog,” said William, caressing it: “now I’ll give you a good supper, for you deserve it.”

“So he does, sir. Well, you’ve established a post on the island, which is a great improvement. Seriously, William, it may prove very useful.”

“At all events it will be a great comfort to my mother.”

“Yes, especially as we shall be obliged all three to be here when we fit up the storehouse, and make the proposed alterations. Now I think we had better go to bed, for we must be up with the lark to-morrow.”

“Here I suppose we ought to say, up with the parrots; for they are the only land birds on the island.”

“You forget the pigeons; I saw one of them in the wood the other day. Good night!”

The next morning, they were off before breakfast. The boat was soon loaded, and they returned under sail. They then breakfasted, and having left the things they had brought on the beach, that they might lose no time, they set off again, and returned with another cargo two hours before dusk; this they landed, and then secured the boat. As soon as they were in the house, William wrote on a piece of paper:—

“Dear Mamma:— We have brought round two cargoes to-day. All well, and very tired. Yours, William.”

Remus did not require any teaching this time. William patted him, and said, “Good dog. Now, Remus, go back—go home, sir;” and the dog wagged his tail, and set off immediately.

Before they were in bed, the dog returned with the answer.

“How fast he must run, Ready! he has not been away more than two hours.”

“No. So, now, Remus, you shall have plenty of supper, and plenty of patting and coaxing, for you are a clever, good little dog.”

The next day, as they had to take the two cargoes up to the house, they could only make one trip to the cove. On Saturday they only made one trip, as they had to return to the tents, which they did by water, having first put a turtle into the boat; on their arrival, they found them all at the little harbour, waiting to receive them.

“Well, William, you did keep your promise and send me a letter by post,” said Mrs Seagrave. “How very delightful it is! I shall have no fear now when you are all away.”

“I must teach Romulus and Vixen to do the same, mamma.”

“And I’ll teach the puppies,” said Tommy.

“Yes, Tommy; by the time you can write a letter, the puppies will be old enough to carry it,” said Ready. “Come, Albert, I’ll carry you up; you and I haven’t had a game of play for a long while. How does the ditch and hedge get on, Mr Seagrave?”

“Pretty well, Ready,” replied Mr Seagrave; “I have nearly finished two sides. I think by the end of next week I shall have pretty well inclosed it.”

“Well, sir, you must not work too hard, there is no great hurry; William and I can get through a great deal together.”

“It is my duty to work, Ready; and I may add, it is a pleasure.”

As they were at supper the conversation turned upon the cleverness shown by the dog Remus.

Mr Seagrave narrated many instances of the sagacity of animals, when William asked the question of his father: “What is the difference then between reason and instinct?”

“The difference is very great, William, as I will explain to you; but I must first observe, that it has been the custom to say that man is governed by reason, and animals by instinct, alone. This is an error. Man has instinct as well as reason; and animals, although chiefly governed by instinct, have reasoning powers.”

“In what points does man show that he is led by instinct?”

“When a child is first born, William, it acts by instinct only: the reasoning powers are not yet developed; as we grow up, our reason becomes every day more matured, and gains the mastery over our instinct, which decreases in proportion.”

“Then when we have grown to a good old age, I suppose we have no instinct left in us?”

“Not so, my dear boy; there is one and a most powerful instinct implanted in man which never deserts him on this side of the grave. It is the fear, not of death, but of utter annihilation, that of becoming nothing after death. This instinctive feeling could not have been so deeply implanted in us, but as an assurance that we shall not be annihilated after death, but that our souls shall still exist, although our bodies shall have perished. It may be termed the instinctive evidence of a future existence.”

“That is very true, Mr Seagrave,” observed Ready.

“Instinct in animals, William,” continued Mr Seagrave, “is a feeling which compels them to perform certain acts without previous thought or reflection; this instinct is in full force at the moment of their birth; it was therefore perfect in the beginning, and has never varied. The swallow built her nest, the spider its web, the bee formed its comb, precisely in the same way four thousand years ago, as they do now. I may here observe, that one of the greatest wonders of instinct is the mathematical form of the honeycomb of the bee, which has been proved by demonstration to be that by which is given the greatest possible saving of time and labour.”

“But that is all pure instinct, papa; now you said that animals had reasoning powers. Will you point out to me how they show that they have?”

“I will, my dear boy; but we had better defer it till another evening. It is now time to go to bed.”

Chapter Fifty Four.

The following day, being Sunday, was devoted to the usual religious exercises. Tommy stole away out of the tent, while Mr Seagrave was reading a sermon, to have a peep at the turtle-soup, which was boiling on the fire; however, Juno suspected him, and had hold of him just as he was taking the lid off the pot. He was well scolded, and very much frightened lest he should have no soup for his dinner; however, as it was not a very heavy offence, he was forgiven.

In the evening, William requested his father to renew the conversation about the reasoning powers of animals.

“With pleasure, William,” replied Mr Seagrave; “it is a fit discourse for a Sunday evening. Let us, however, first examine the various mental faculties discoverable in animals. In the first place, they have memory, especially memory of persons and places, quite as tenacious as our own. A dog will recognise an old master after many years absence. An elephant, who had again escaped into the woods, after twenty years remaining in a wild state, recognised his old mahoot, or driver. A dog will find his way back when taken more than a hundred miles from his master’s residence. Another proof of memory in animals, were it required, is that they dream. Now, a dream is a confused recollection of past events; and how often do you not hear Romulus and Remus growling, barking, and whining in their sleep!”

“Very true, papa.”

“Well, then, they have attention. See how patiently a cat will remain for hours before a hole, in watch for the mouse to come out. A spider will remain for months watching for the fly to enter its web; but this quality is to be observed in every animal in the pursuit of its prey. They have also association of ideas, which is, in fact, reasoning. A dog proves that; he will allow a gentleman to come up to the door, but fly at a beggar. When he is in charge of any property he will take no notice of a passer-by; but if a man stops, he barks immediately. In the elephant this association of ideas is even more remarkable; indeed, he understands what is said to him better than any other animal; his reasoning powers are most extraordinary. Promise him rewards, and he will make wonderful exertion. He is also extremely alive to a sense of shame. The elephants were employed to transport the heavy artillery in India. One of the finest attempted in vain to force a gun through a swamp. ‘Take away that lazy beast,’ said the director ‘and bring another.’ The animal was so stung with the reproach, that it used so much exertion to force the gun on with its head, as to fracture its skull, and it fell dead. When Chunee, the elephant which was so long in Exeter Change, was ordered as usual to take up a sixpence with his trunk, it happened one day that the sixpence rolled against the skirting-board, out of his reach. Chunee stopped, and reflected a little while, and then, drawing the air into his trunk, he threw it out with all his force against the skirting-board; the rebound of the air from the skirting-board blew the sixpence towards him, and he was enabled to reach it.”

“That was very clever of him,” replied William.

“Yes; it was a proof of thought, with a knowledge of cause and effect. There was a curious instance of a horse, which, by the bye, I consider the most noble animal of creation, which was ridden round by his master, to deliver newspapers. He invariably stopped at the doors where papers were to be left; but it happened that two people, living at different houses, took in a weekly newspaper between them; and it was agreed, that one should have the first reading of it on one week, and the other on the following. After a short time the horse became accustomed to this arrangement, and stopped at the one house on the one week, and at the other house on the following, never making a mistake.”

“That was very curious; what a sagacious animal he must have been!” observed William.

“Animals also are, as you know, capable of receiving instruction, which is another proof of reasoning powers. The elephant, the horse, the dog, the pig, even birds may be taught a great deal.”

“But then, papa, I still wish to know where the line is to be drawn between reason and instinct.”

“I was about to come to that very point, William. When animals follow their instinct in providing their food, bringing up their young, and in their precautions against danger, they follow certain fixed rules, from which they never deviate. But circumstances may occur against which their instinct can afford them no regular provision; then it is that their reasoning powers are called into action. I will explain this by stating a fact relative to the bee, one of the animals upon which instinct is most powerful in its action. There is a certain large moth, called the Death’s-head moth, which is very fond of honey. It sometimes contrives to force its way through the aperture of the hive, and gain an entrance. The bees immediately attack it, and it is soon destroyed by their stings; but the carcass is so large, that they cannot carry it out of the hive, as they invariably do the bodies of the smaller insects which may have intruded, and it appears that their sense of smell is very acute. What, then, do they do to avoid the stench arising from the dead body of this large moth? Why, they embalm it, covering it entirely with wax, by which it no longer becomes offensive to them.”

“But, papa, might not their instinct have provided for such an event?” observed William.

“If such an event could have occurred to the bees in their wild state, you certainly might have raised the question; but recollect, William, that bees in their wild state live in the hollows of trees, and that the hole by which they enter is never more than sufficiently large to admit one bee at a time; consequently, no animal larger than a bee could gain entrance, and if it did, could of course have been easily removed from the hive; but the bees were here in a new position, in an artificial state, in a hive of straw with a large aperture, and therefore met with an exigence they were not prepared for, and acted accordingly.”

“Yes, papa, I perceive the difference.”

“I will conclude my observations with one remark. It appears to me, that although the Almighty has thought proper to vary the intellectual and the reasoning powers of animals in the same way that he has varied the species and the forms, yet even in this arrangement he has not been unmindful of the interest and welfare of man. For you will observe, that the reasoning powers are chiefly, if not wholly, given to those animals which man subjects to his service and for his use—the elephant, the horse, and the dog; thereby making these animals of more value, as the powers given to them are at the service and under the control of man.”

Chapter Fifty Five.

On the Monday morning, William and Ready went away in the boat, as before, to bring round the various articles from the cove. It had been arranged that they were not to return till the Saturday evening, and that the dog Remus was to bring intelligence of them and their welfare every afternoon. They worked hard during the week, and on Saturday they had completed their task; with the exception of a portion of the timbers of the ship, everything had been brought round, but had not been carried up to the storehouse, as that required more time.

On Saturday morning, they went for the last time to the cove, and Ready selected some heavy oak timber out of the quantity which was lying on the beach, part of which they put into the boat, and the remainder they towed astern. It was a heavy load, and although the wind was fair to sail back again to the bay, the boat went but slowly through the water.

“Well, William,” said Ready, “we have done a good week’s work, and I must say it is high time that it is done; for the boat is in rather a crazy condition, and I must contrive to patch her up by and by, when there is time.”

“We shall not want to use her very much after this, Ready,” replied William; “a few trips round to the little harbour will be all that will be required before we come back again to our old quarters.”

“That’s true, William; but she leaks very much, and at all events I’ll give her a coat of pitch as soon as possible. For a slight-built little thing as she is, she has done hard duty.”

“Pray, Ready, why, when you speak of a ship or boat, do you always call it she?”

“Well, William, I don’t know why, but it is certain that we sailors always do so. I believe it is because a sailor loves his ship. His ship is his wife, is a very common saying with us; and then you see, Master William, a vessel is almost a thing of life in appearance. I believe that’s the reason, and of course if a vessel is she, a little boat must be a she also.”

“Well, I think you have explained it very well, Ready. I suppose on Monday we shall set to at the storehouse, and alter it for our future residence?”

“Can’t begin too soon, William,” replied Ready; “I don’t doubt but Mr Seagrave has finished the hedge and ditch round the yams by this time, and if so, I expect Madam will not like to be left in the tents alone with Juno and the children, and so we shall all move back to the house again until we have altered the storehouse; I must say that I would rather your mamma remained in the tents until all was finished.”

“Because you are afraid of a visit from the savages, Ready?”

“I am, sir, and that’s the truth.”

“But, Ready, if they do come, we shall see them coming, and would it not be better that we should all be together, even if we are obliged to conceal ourselves in consequence of not being prepared? Suppose the savages were to overrun the island, and find my mother, my little brother, and sister, defenceless, at the time we were obliged to retreat from our house; how dreadful that would be!”

“But I counted upon retreating to the tents.”

“So we can all together, unless we are surprised in the night.”

“That we must take care not to be. There’s not three hours’ dark in this season of the year. Well, William, I doubt not you may be right, and if they are all with us, Juno will be a great help, and we shall get through our work the faster.”

“We had better let the question be decided by my father and mother.”

“Very true, William; here’s the point at last. We will haul the timber on the beach, and then be off as fast as we can, for it is getting late.”

It was, indeed, much later than they had usually arrived at the little harbour, owing to the heavy load, which made the boat so long in coming round from the cove; and when they pulled in, they found Mr and Mrs Seagrave and the children all waiting for them.

“You are very late, William,” said Mrs Seagrave. “I was quite uneasy till I saw the boat at a distance.”

“Yes, mamma; but we could not help it; we had a heavy load to bring round, and now our work is done.”

“I am delighted to hear it, William; for I cannot bear you being away so long.”

“And my work is done,” said Mr Seagrave; “the hedge and ditch were finished this morning.”

“Well, then,” observed Ready, “we must hold another council, but I presume it will not take very long.”

“No; I expect not; it seldom does when people are of the same mind. Mrs Seagrave won’t be left here, Ready, and I don’t want to leave her, so I presume on Monday we all start home again.”

“Yes, sir; if you please,” replied Ready.

“Juno, I hope you have a good supper,” said William; “for I’m very hungry.”

“Yes, Massa William; plenty fried fish; Massa catch ’em this morning.”

Chapter Fifty Six.

The next day being Sunday was a day of repose, and as they had all worked so hard, they felt the luxury of a day of rest. In the afternoon, they agreed that on Monday they should make every preparation for quitting the tents, and returning to the house at the bay. They decided that the live stock should all be left there, as the pasturage was so plentiful and good, with the exception of one goat, which they would take back with them, to supply them with milk; and they also agreed that the tents should be left standing, with some cooking utensils, that in case William and Ready went round for the bananas or yams, or to examine the live stock, they should not be compelled to sleep in the open air, and should have the means of dressing their dinner. William and Ready were to carry the beds, etcetera, round to the bay in the boat, which they could do in two trips, and Mr and Mrs Seagrave, with the family, were to walk through the woods after taking a very early breakfast.

All these points being arranged, they had finished their supper, when William again brought up the conversation about animals, as he was delighted to bear Mr Seagrave talk on the subject. The conversation had not commenced more than a few minutes, when William said—

“Papa, they always say ‘as stupid as an ass.’ Is an ass such a stupid animal?”

“No, William; it is a very sagacious one; but the character has been given to the animal more on account of its obstinacy and untractableness, than on any other account. It is usual to say, as stupid as an ass, or as stupid as a pig, or a goose. Now, these three animals are very much maligned, for they are all sagacious animals. But the fact is that, as regards the ass, we have only very sorry specimens of the animal in England; they are stunted and small, and, from want of corn and proper food, besides being very ill-treated, are slow and dull-looking animals. The climate of England is much too cold for the ass; in the south of France and the Mediterranean, where it is much warmer, the ass is a much finer animal; but to see it in perfection we must go to the Torrid Zone in Guinea, right on the equator, the hottest portion of the globe, where the ass, in its native state and in its native country, is a handsome creature and as fleet as the wind; indeed, supposed to be, and mentioned in the Scriptures as the fleetest animal in creation. The fact is, that in Asia, especially in Palestine and Syria, asses were in great repute, and used in preference to horses. We must see an animal in its own climate to form a true estimate of its value.”

“Does climate, then, make so great a difference?” said William.

“Of course it does, not only with animals, but with trees, plants, and even man, until he is accustomed to the change. With respect to animals, there are some which can bear the different varieties of climate, and even change of food. The horse, for instance, although originally indigenous to Arabia, lives as well in the Temperate, and even in the Frigid Zones it may be said, for they endure the hard winters of Russia and North America; so will domestic cattle, such as cows, sheep, pigs, etcetera. It is a curious fact that, during the winter in Canada, a large proportion of the food of cattle consists of fish.”

“Fish, papa! Cows eat fish?”

“Yes, my dear boy, such is the fact. It is a remarkable instance of a graminivorous or grass-eating animal being changed for a time into a flesh-eating, or rather into fish-eating animal. But there are other animals which can live under any temperature, as the wolf, the fox, the hare, and rabbit. It is a curious provision,—that the sheep and goats in the hottest climates throw off their warm covering of wool, and retain little better than hair; while, removed to a cold climate, they recover their warm covering immediately.”

“But a goat has no wool, papa.”

“What are Cashmere shawls made of, William?”

“Very true, papa.”

“Most animals have a certain increase of covering as they recede further from the warm climates to the cold ones. Wolves and foxes, hares and rabbits, change the colour of their skins to white when they get far north. The little English stoat, which is destroyed by the gamekeepers, becomes the beautiful snow-white ermine in Russia and other cold countries.”

“Well, papa, I think it a great advantage to man, and a proof of the Almighty’s care of him and kindness to him, in permitting all the animals most useful to him to be able to live in any country; but I don’t know whether I am wrong in saying so, papa: I cannot see why an animal like the wolf should not have been kept to his own climate, like the lion and tiger, and other ferocious animals.”

“You have started a question, William, which I am glad you have done, rather than it should have remained on your mind, and have puzzled you. It is true that the shepherd might agree with you, that the wolf is a nuisance; equally true that the husbandman may exclaim, What is the good of thistles, and the various weeds which choke the soil? But, my dear boy, if they are not, which I think they are, for the benefit of man, at all events they are his doom for the first transgression. ‘Cursed is the ground for thy sake—thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to thee—and by the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread,’ was the Almighty’s sentence; and it is only by labour that the husbandman can obtain his crops, and by watchfulness that the shepherd can guard his flocks. Labour is in itself a benefit: without exercise there would be no health, and without health there would be no enjoyment.”

“I see now, papa. You have mentioned the animals which can live in all climates; will you not tell us something about other animals?”

“There is but one remark to make, William, which is, that animals indigenous to, that is, originally to be found in, any one portion of the globe, invariably are so fashioned as to be most fit for that country, and have the food also most proper for them growing or to be obtained in that country. Take, for instance, the camel, an animal fashioned expressly for the country to which he is indigenous, and without whose aid all communication must have been stopped between Asia and Africa. He is called the ‘Ship of the Desert;’ for the desert is a ‘sea of sand.’ His feet are so fashioned that he can traverse the sands with facility; he can live upon the coarsest vegetable food and salt plants which are found there, and he has the capacity of carrying water in a sort of secondary stomach, for his own supply where no water is to be found. Here is an animal wonderfully made by the Almighty for an express locality, and for the convenience of man in that country; for, in England, or elsewhere, he would be of no value. But it is late, my dear William; so we will first thank Him for all his mercies, and then to bed.”