20000-Leagues-Under-the-Seas-2nd-version-92

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creatures,	none	terribly	edible.
However,	one	bird	unique	to	these	shores,	which	never	passes	beyond	the
boundaries	of	the	Aru	and	Papuan	Islands,	was	missing	from	this	collection.	But
I	was	given	a	chance	to	marvel	at	it	soon	enough.
After	crossing	through	a	moderately	dense	thicket,	we	again	found	some	plains
obstructed	by	bushes.	There	I	saw	some	magnificent	birds	soaring	aloft,	the
arrangement	of	their	long	feathers	causing	them	to	head	into	the	wind.	Their
undulating	flight,	the	grace	of	their	aerial	curves,	and	the	play	of	their	colors
allured	and	delighted	the	eye.	I	had	no	trouble	identifying	them.
“Birds	of	paradise!”	I	exclaimed.
“Order	Passeriforma,	division	Clystomora,”	Conseil	replied.
“Partridge	family?”	Ned	Land	asked.
“I	doubt	it,	Mr.	Land.	Nevertheless,	I’m	counting	on	your	dexterity	to	catch	me
one	of	these	delightful	representatives	of	tropical	nature!”
“I’ll	give	it	a	try,	professor,	though	I’m	handier	with	a	harpoon	than	a	rifle.”
Malaysians,	who	do	a	booming	business	in	these	birds	with	the	Chinese,	have
various	methods	for	catching	them	that	we	couldn’t	use.	Sometimes	they	set
snares	on	the	tops	of	the	tall	trees	that	the	bird	of	paradise	prefers	to	inhabit.	At
other	times	they	capture	it	with	a	tenacious	glue	that	paralyzes	its	movements.
They	will	even	go	so	far	as	to	poison	the	springs	where	these	fowl	habitually
drink.	But	in	our	case,	all	we	could	do	was	fire	at	them	on	the	wing,	which	left
us	little	chance	of	getting	one.	And	in	truth,	we	used	up	a	good	part	of	our
ammunition	in	vain.
Near	eleven	o’clock	in	the	morning,	we	cleared	the	lower	slopes	of	the
mountains	that	form	the	island’s	center,	and	we	still	hadn’t	bagged	a	thing.
Hunger	spurred	us	on.	The	hunters	had	counted	on	consuming	the	proceeds	of
their	hunting,	and	they	had	miscalculated.	Luckily,	and	much	to	his	surprise,
Conseil	pulled	off	a	right-and-left	shot	and	insured	our	breakfast.	He	brought
down	a	white	pigeon	and	a	ringdove,	which	were	briskly	plucked,	hung	from	a
spit,	and	roasted	over	a	blazing	fire	of	deadwood.	While	these	fascinating
animals	were	cooking,	Ned	prepared	some	bread	from	the	artocarpus.	Then	the
pigeon	and	ringdove	were	devoured	to	the	bones	and	declared	excellent.
Nutmeg,	on	which	these	birds	habitually	gorge	themselves,	sweetens	their	flesh
and	makes	it	delicious	eating.
“They	taste	like	chicken	stuffed	with	truffles,”	Conseil	said.
“All	right,	Ned,”	I	asked	the	Canadian,	“now	what	do	you	need?”
“Game	with	four	paws,	Professor	Aronnax,”	Ned	Land	replied.	“All	these
pigeons	are	only	appetizers,	snacks.	So	till	I’ve	bagged	an	animal	with	cutlets,	I
won’t	be	happy!”
“Nor	I,	Ned,	until	I’ve	caught	a	bird	of	paradise.”
“Then	let’s	keep	hunting,”	Conseil	replied,	“but	while	heading	back	to	the	sea.
We’ve	arrived	at	the	foothills	of	these	mountains,	and	I	think	we’ll	do	better	if
we	return	to	the	forest	regions.”
It	was	good	advice	and	we	took	it.	After	an	hour’s	walk	we	reached	a	genuine
sago	palm	forest.	A	few	harmless	snakes	fled	underfoot.	Birds	of	paradise	stole
off	at	our	approach,	and	I	was	in	real	despair	of	catching	one	when	Conseil,
walking	in	the	lead,	stooped	suddenly,	gave	a	triumphant	shout,	and	came	back
to	me,	carrying	a	magnificent	bird	of	paradise.
“Oh	bravo,	Conseil!”	I	exclaimed.
“Master	is	too	kind,”	Conseil	replied.
“Not	at	all,	my	boy.	That	was	a	stroke	of	genius,	catching	one	of	these	live	birds
with	your	bare	hands!”
“If	master	will	examine	it	closely,	he’ll	see	that	I	deserve	no	great	praise.”
“And	why	not,	Conseil?”
“Because	this	bird	is	as	drunk	as	a	lord.”
“Drunk?”
“Yes,	master,	drunk	from	the	nutmegs	it	was	devouring	under	that	nutmeg	tree