The Gorilla Hunters by R. M. Ballantyne (early readers TXT) 📖

compelled to abandon our canoe, and cut across the country in as straight a line as its nature would permit. But this was not easy, for the grass, which was bright green, was so long as to reach sometimes higher than our shoulders.

In this species of country Jack’s towering height really became of great use, enabling him frequently to walk along with his head above the surrounding herbage, while we were compelled to grope along, ignorant of all that was around us save the tall grass at our sides. Occasionally, however, we came upon more open ground, where the grass was short, and then we enjoyed the lovely scenery to the full. We met with a great variety of new plants and trees in this region. Many of the latter were festooned with wild vines and other climbing plants. Among others, I saw several specimens of that curious and interesting tree the banyan, with its drop-shoots in every state of growth—some beginning to point towards the earth, in which they were ultimately destined to take root; some more than half-way down; while others were already fixed, forming stout pillars to their parent branches—thus, as it were, on reaching maturity, rendering that support which it is the glory as well as the privilege of youth to accord to age. Besides these, there were wild dates and palmyra trees, and many others too numerous to mention, but the peculiar characteristics of which I carefully jotted down in my note-book. Many small water-courses were crossed, in some of which Mak pointed out a number of holes, which he said were made by elephants wading in them. He also told us that several mud-pools, which seemed to have been recently and violently stirred up, were caused by the wallowing of the rhinoceros; so we kept at all times a sharp lookout for a shot.

Lions were also numerous in this neighbourhood, and we constantly heard them roaring at night, but seldom saw them during our march.

Well, as I have already remarked, one day we were travelling somewhat slowly through the long grass of this country, when, feeling oppressed by the heat, as well as somewhat fatigued with my load, I called to Jack, who was in advance, to stop for a few minutes to rest.

“Most willingly,” he replied, throwing down his load, and wiping away the perspiration which stood in large drops on his brow. “I was on the point of calling a halt when you spoke.—How do you get on down there, Peterkin?”

Our friend, who had seated himself on the bale he had been carrying, and seemed to be excessively hot, looked up with a comical expression of countenance, and replied—

“Pretty well, thank’ee. How do you get on up there?”

“Oh, capitally. There’s such a nice cool breeze blowing, I’m quite sorry that I cannot send a little of it down.”

“Don’t distress yourself, my dear fellow; I’ll come up to snuff it.”

So saying, Peterkin sprang nimbly upon Jack’s shoulders, and began to gaze round him.

“I say, Peterkin,” said Jack, “why are you a very clever fellow just now?”

“Don’t know,” replied Peterkin. “I give it up at once. Always do. Never could guess a riddle in all my life.”

“Because,” said Jack, “you’re ‘up to snuff.’”

“Oh, oh! that certainly deserves a pinch; so there’s for you.”

Jack uttered a roar, and tossed Peterkin off his shoulders, on receiving the punishment.

“Shabby fellow!” cried Peterkin, rubbing his head. “But, I say, do let me up again. I thought, just as you dropped me, that I saw a place where the grass is short. Ay, there it is, fifty yards or so ahead of us, with a palmyra tree on it. Come, let us go rest there, for I confess that I feel somewhat smothered in this long grass.”

We took up our packs immediately, and carried them to the spot indicated, which we found almost free from long grass. Here we lay down to enjoy the delightful shade of the tree, and the magnificent view of the country around us. Our negroes also seemed to enjoy the shade, but they were evidently not nearly so much oppressed with the heat as we were, which was very natural. They seemed to have no perception of the beautiful in nature, however, although they appreciated fully the agreeable influences by which they were surrounded.

While I lay at the foot of that tree, pondering this subject, I observed a very strange-looking insect engaged in a very curious kind of occupation. Peterkin’s eye caught sight of it at the same instant with mine.

“Hollo! Jack, look here!” he cried in a whisper. “I declare, here’s a beast been and shoved its head into a hole, and converted its tail into a trap!”

We all three lay down as quietly as possible, and I could not but smile when I thought of the literal correctness of my friend’s quaint description of what we saw.

The insect was a species of ant-eater. It was about an inch and a quarter long, as thick as a crow-quill, and covered with black hair. It put its head into a little hole in the ground, and quivered its tail rapidly. The ants, which seemed to be filled with curiosity at this peculiar sight, went near to see what the strange thing could be; and no sooner did one come within the range of the forceps on the insect’s tail, than it was snapped up.

“Now, that is the most original trapper I ever did see or hear of,” remarked Peterkin, with a broad grin. “I’ve seen many things in my travels, but I never expected to meet with a beast that could catch others by merely wagging its tail.”

“You forget the hunters of North America,” said Jack, “who entice little antelopes towards them by merely wagging a bit of rag on the end of a ramrod.”

“I forget nothing of the sort,” retorted Peterkin. “Wagging a ramrod is not wagging a tail. Besides, I spoke of beasts doing it; men are not beasts.”

“Then I hold you self-convicted, my boy,” exclaimed Jack; “for you have often called me a beast.”

“By no means, Jack. I am not self-convicted, but quite correct, as I can prove to the satisfaction of any one who isn’t a philosopher. You never can prove anything to a philosopher.”

“Prove it, then.”

“I will. Isn’t a monkey a beast?”

“Certainly.”

“Isn’t a gorilla a monkey?”

“No doubt it is.”

“And aren’t you a gorilla?”

“I say, lads, it’s time to be going,” cried Jack, with a laugh, as he rose and resumed his load.

At that moment Mak uttered an exclamation, and pointed towards a particular spot in the plain before us, where, close by a clump of trees, we saw the graceful head and neck and part of the shoulders of a giraffe. We were naturally much excited at the sight, this being the first we had fallen in with.

“You’d better go after it,” said Jack to Peterkin, “and take Mak with you.”

“I’d rather you’d go yourself,” replied Peterkin; “for, to say truth, I’m pretty well knocked up to-day. I don’t know how it is—one day one feels made of iron, as if nothing could tire one; and the next, one feels quite weak and spiritless.”

“Well, I’ll go; but I shall not take any one with me.—Take observation of the sun, Mak, and keep a straight course as you are now going until night. D’ye see yonder ridge?”

“Yes, massa.”

“Then hold on direct for that, and encamp there. I’ll not be long behind you, and hope to bring you a giraffe steak for supper.”

We endeavoured to dissuade Jack from going out alone, but he said truly that his load distributed among us all was quite sufficient, without adding to it by taking away another member of the party. Thus we parted; but I felt a strange feeling of depression, a kind of foreboding of evil, which I could not shake off, despite my utmost efforts. Peterkin, too, was unusually silent, and I could not avoid seeing that he felt more anxiety on account of Jack’s rashness than he was willing to allow. Our friend took with him one of our large-bore rifles, and a double-barrel of smaller bore slung at his back.

Shortly after parting with him, we descried an ostrich feeding in the plain before us. I had long desired to meet with a specimen of this gigantic bird in its native wilds, and Peterkin was equally anxious to get a shot at it; so we called a halt, and prepared to stalk it. We were aware that the ostrich is a very silly and very timid bird, but not being aware of the best method of hunting it, we asked Makarooroo to explain how he was in the habit of doing it.

“You mus’ know,” he began, “dat bird hims be a mos’ ex’roroninary beast. When hims run hims go fasterer dan—oh! it be dumpossobable for say how much fast hims go. You no can see him’s legs; dey go same as legs ob leetle bird. But hims be horrobably stupid. Suppose he see you far, far away, goin’ to de wind’ard ob him, he no run ’way to leeward; hims tink you wants to get round him, so off him start to git past you, and before hims pass he sometimes come close ’nuff to be shooted or speared. Me hab spear him dat way, but him’s awful differcult to git at for all dat.”

“Well then, Mak, after that lucid explanation, what d’you propose that we should do?” inquired Peterkin, examining the locks of his rifle.

“Me pruppose dat you go far ober dere, Massa Ralph go not jist so far, and me go to de wind’ard and gib him fright.”

Acting upon this advice, we proceeded cautiously to the several spots indicated, and our guide set off towards an exposed place, where he intended to show himself. In a few minutes we observed the gigantic bird look up in alarm, and then we saw Makarooroo running like a deer over the plain. The ostrich instantly rushed off madly at full speed, not, as might have been expected, in a contrary direction, or towards any place of shelter, but simply, as it appeared to me, with no other end in view than that of getting to windward of his supposed enemy. I observed that he took a direction which would quickly bring him within range of my companion’s rifle, but I was so amazed at the speed with which he ran that I could think of nothing else.

Every one knows that the ostrich has nothing worthy of the name of wings—merely a small tuft of feathers at each side, with which he cannot make even an attempt to fly; but every one does not know, probably, that with his stout and long legs he can pass over the ground nearly at the ordinary speed of a locomotive engine. I proved this to my own satisfaction by taking accurate observation. On first observing the tremendous speed at which he was going, I seized my note-book, and pulling out my watch, endeavoured to count the number of steps he took in a minute. This, however, I found was totally impossible; for his legs, big though they were, went so fast that I could no more count them than I could count the spokes of a carriage-wheel. I observed, however, that there were two bushes on the plain in the direction of his flight, which he would soon have to pass. I therefore laid down my note-book and rifle, and stood with my watch in hand, ready to note the precise instants at which he should pass the first and second. By afterwards counting the number of footsteps on the ground between the bushes, and comparing the result with the time occupied in passing between the two, I thus proposed to myself to ascertain his rate of speed.

Scarcely had I conceived this idea when the bird passed the first bush, and I glanced at my watch; then he passed the second, and I glanced again. Thus