Chapter 44 - The Plant Hunters by Mayne Reid

New Hopes.

That night was passed without much sleep. Painful reflections filled the minds of all and kept them awake—the thoughts that follow disappointed hopes. When they did sleep it was more painful than waking. Their dreams were fearful. They dreamt of yawning gulfs and steep precipices—of being suspended in the air, and every moment about to fall into vast depths where they would be crushed to atoms. Their dreams, that were only distorted pictures of the day’s experience, had all the vividness of reality, and far more vivid in their horror. Often when one or other of them was awakened by the approaching climax of the dream, he endeavoured to keep awake rather than go through even in a vision such horrible scenes.

Even the dog Fritz was not free from similar sufferings. His mournful whimpering told that his sleep like theirs was troubled and uneasy.

A bright sunshiny morning had its beneficial effect upon all of them. It aided the reaction—consequent on a night of such a dismal character—and as they ate their breakfasts of broiled meat they were again almost cheerful. The buoyancy of Caspar’s spirits had well-nigh returned, and his fine appetite showed itself in full vigour. Indeed all of them ate heartily, for on the preceding day they had scarce allowed themselves time to taste food.

“If we must remain here always,” said Caspar, “I see no reason why we need starve ourselves! There’s plenty to eat, and a variety of it, I can say. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some fish. I am sure I have seen trout leap in the lake. Let us try a fly to-day. What say you, Karl?”

Caspar said this with the intention of cheering his brother.

“I see no harm in it,” answered the quiet botanist. “I think there are fish in the lake. I have heard there is a very eatable kind of fish in all the rivers of the Himalayas, known as the ‘Himalayan trout’—though it is misnamed, for it is not a trout but a species of carp. It may be found here, I dare say; although it is difficult, to imagine how fish could get into this sequestered lake.”

“Well,” rejoined Caspar, “we must think of some plan to get them out of it. We have neither nets, rods, hooks, nor lines. What’s to be done? Can you think of any way of taking the fish, Ossaroo?”

“Ah! Sahib,” replied the shikarree, “give me bamboo, me soon make net to takee fish—no bamboo—no net—no matter for net—Ossaroo poison the water—get all da fish.”

“What! poison the water? how would you do that? Where is the poison?”

“Me soon find poison—bikh poison do.”

“‘Bikh’ poison—what is that?”

“Come, Sahib! me show you bikh plant—plenty grow here.”

Both Karl and Caspar rose and followed the shikarree.

They had not gone many paces when their guide stooped and pointed to a plant that grew in plenty about the place. It was an herbaceous plant, having a stem nearly six feet high, and rather broad digitate leaves, with a loose spike of showy yellow flowers at the top.

Caspar rather hastily took hold of one of the plants; and, plucking off the spike, held it to his nose, to see whether the flowers had any perfume. But Caspar dropped the nosegay as hastily as he had seized it, and with an exclamation of terror turned towards his brother, into whose arms he staggered half swooning! Fortunately he had taken but a very slight “sniff” of that dangerous perfume, else he might have been laid up for days. As it was he felt giddy for hours after.

Now this singular plant the botanist Karl recognised at a glance. It was a species of aconite, or wolf’s-bane, and very similar to the kindred species, Aconitum napellus, or “monk’s hood,” of Europe, whose roots furnish the most potent of poisons.

The whole plant—leaves, flowers, and stem—is of a poisonous nature, but the roots, which resemble small turnips, contain the essence of the poison. There are many species of the plant found in different parts of the world, and nearly a dozen kinds in the Himalaya Mountains themselves; but the one pointed out by Ossaroo was the Aconitum ferox of botanists, the species from which the celebrated “bikh” poison of the Hindoos is obtained.

Ossaroo then proposed to poison the fish by throwing a sufficient quantity of the roots and stems of the plant into the lake.

This proposal, however, was rejected by Karl, who very properly observed, that although by that means they might obtain a plentiful supply of fish, they would destroy more than they could use at the time, and perhaps leave none for the future. Karl had already begun to talk about a “future” to be spent on the shores of this lovely lake. The belief that they might never go out of the valley was already taking shape in the minds of all three, though they did not care to give expression to such sad imaginings.

Karl tried to be cheerful, as he saw that Caspar was gay.

“Come,” said he, “let us not mind the fish to-day. I own that fish is usually the first course, but go along with me. Let us see what kind of vegetables our garden has got. I am sure we may live better if we only try. For my part I am getting tired of broiled meat, and neither bread nor vegetables to eat along with it. Here I dare say we shall find both; for whether it be due to the birds, or its peculiar climate—or a little to both most likely—our valley has a flora such as you can only meet with in a botanic garden. Come then! let us see what we can find for the pot.”

So saying Karl led the way, followed by Caspar, Ossaroo, and the faithful Fritz.

“Look up there!” said the botanist, pointing to a tall pine that grew near. “See those large cones. Inside them we shall obtain seeds, as large as pistachio-nuts, and very good to eat. By roasting them, we can make an excellent substitute for bread.”

“Ha, indeed!” exclaimed Caspar, “that is a pine-tree. What large cones! They are as big as artichokes. What sort of pine is it, brother?”

“It is one of the kind known as the ‘edible pines,’ because their seeds are fit for food. It is the species called by botanists Pinus Gerardiana, or the ‘neosa’ pine. There are pines whose seeds are eatable in other parts of the world, as well as in the Himalaya Mountains,—for instance, the Pinus cembra of Europe, the ‘ghik’ of Japan, the ‘Lambert’ pine of California, and several species in New Mexico, known among the people as ‘piñon’ trees. So you perceive that besides their valuable timber—to say nothing of their pitch, turpentine, and resin—the family of the pines also furnishes food to the human race. We shall get some bread from those cones whenever we desire it!”

So saying, Karl continued on in the direction of the lake.

“There again!” said he, pointing to a gigantic herbaceous plant, “rhubarb, you see!”

It was, in fact, the true rhubarb, which grows wild among the Himalaya Mountains, and whose great broad red-edged leaves, contrasting with its tall pyramid of yellow bracts, render it one of the most striking and beautiful of herbaceous plants. Its large acid stems—which are hollow and full of pure water—are eaten by the natives of the Himalayas, both raw and boiled, and its leaves when dried are smoked as tobacco. But there was a smaller species that grew near, which Ossaroo said produced much better tobacco; and Ossaroo was good authority, since he had already dried some of the leaves, and had been smoking them ever since their arrival in the valley. In fact, Ossaroo was quite out of betel-nut, and suffered so much from the want of his favourite stimulant, that he was glad to get any thing to smoke; and the “chula,” or wild rhubarb-leaves, answered his purpose well. Ossaroo’s pipe was an original one certainty; and he could construct one in a few minutes. His plan was to thrust a piece of stick into the ground, passing it underneath the surface—horizontally for a few inches, and then out again—so as to form a double orifice to the hole. At one end of this channel he would insert a small joint of reed for his mouth-piece, while the other was filled with the rhubarb tobacco, which was then set on fire. It was literally turning the earth into a tobacco-pipe!

This method of smoking is by no means uncommon among the half-civilised inhabitants of India as well as Africa, and Ossaroo preferred a pipe of this kind to any other.

Karl continued onward, pointing out to his companions several species of edible roots, fruits, and vegetables which the valley contained. There were wild leeks among the number. These would assist them in making soup. There were fruits too,—several species of currants, and cherries, and strawberries, and raspberries,—kinds that had long been introduced to European gardens, and that to Karl and Caspar looked like old acquaintances.

“And there!” continued Karl, “see the very water produces food for us. Look at the lotus, (Nelumbium speciosum). Those large pink and white flowers are the flowers of the famed lotus. Its stalks may be eaten, or, if you will, their hollow tubes will serve us as cups to drink, out of. There, too, is the horned water root (Trapa bicornis), also excellent eating. Oh! we should be thankful. We are well provided with food.”

Yet the heart of Karl was sore while thus endeavouring to talk cheerfully.