Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 3Sylvester, Charles Herbert
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Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 3
Sylvester, Charles Herbert
Children's literature; Literature -- Collections
To make more space, we turned such animals as we had captured, and who
therefore might be imagined to know how to shift for themselves,
outside during the daytime, bringing them under the arched roots only
at night. To perform this duty Fritz and I used to sally forth every
evening, and as regularly every evening did we return soaked to the
skin. To obviate this, the mother, who feared these continual wettings
might injure our health, contrived waterproofs; she brushed on several
layers of caoutchouc over stout shirts, to which she attached hoods;
she then fixed to these duck trousers, and thus prepared for each of
us a complete water-proof suit, clad in which we might brave the
severest rain.
In spite of our endeavors to keep ourselves busy, the time dragged
heavily. Our mornings were occupied in tending the animals; the boys
amused themselves with their pets, and assisted me in the manufacture
of carding-combs and a spindle for the mother. The combs I made with
nails, which I placed head downward on a sheet of tin about an inch
wide; holding the nails in their proper positions I poured solder
round their heads to fix them to the tin, which I then folded down on
either side of them to keep them perfectly firm. In the evening, when
our room was illuminated with wax candles, I wrote a journal of all
the events which had occurred since our arrival in this foreign land;
and, while the mother was busy with her needle and Ernest making
sketches of birds, beasts and flowers with which he had met during the
past months, Fritz and Jack taught little Franz to read.
Week after week rolled by. Week after week saw us still close
prisoners. Incessant rain battered down above us; constant gloom hung
over the desolate scene.
VI
ROCK HOUSE
The winds at length were lulled, the sun shot his brilliant rays
through the riven clouds, the rain ceased to fall--spring had come. No
prisoners set at liberty could have felt more joy than we did as we
stepped forth from our winter abode, refreshed our eyes with the
pleasant verdure around us, and our ears with the merry songs of a
thousand happy birds, and drank in the pure, balmy air of spring.
Our plantations were thriving vigorously. The seed we had sown was
shooting through the moist earth. All nature was refreshed.
Our nest was our first care; filled with leaves and broken and torn by
the wind, it looked dilapidated. We worked hard, and in a few days it
was again habitable. My wife now begged that I would start her with
the flax, and as early as possible I built a drying-oven, and then
prepared the flax for her use; I also, after some trouble,
manufactured a beetle-reel and spinning wheel, and she and Franz were
soon hard at work, the little boy reeling off the thread his mother
spun.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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