This barricade was formed by the interlacing of a sticky plant with
glossy leaves, which twists as it is pressed together, and becomes
very resisting. They call it "tikatika," and it will allow people to
cross watercourses dry-shod, if they are not afraid to plunge twelve
inches into its green apron. Magnificent ramifications of the lotus
covered the surface of this barrier.
It was already dark. Hercules could, without imprudence, quit the
boat, and he managed his hatchet so skilfully that two hours afterward
the barrier had given way, the current turned up the broken pieces on
the banks, and the boat again took the channel.
Must it be confessed! That great child of a Cousin Benedict had hoped
for a moment that they would not be able to pass. Such a voyage seemed
to him unnecessary. He regretted Alvez's factory and the hut that
contained his precious entomologist's box. His chagrin was real, and
indeed it was pitiful to see the poor man. Not an insect; no, not one
to preserve!
What, then, was his joy when Hercules, "his pupil" after all, brought
him a horrible little beast which he had found on a sprig of the
tikatika. Singularly enough the brave black seemed a little confused
in presenting it to him.
But what exclamations Cousin Benedict uttered when he had brought this
insect, which he held between his index finger and his thumb, as near
as possible to his short-sighted eyes, which neither glasses nor
microscope could now assist.
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