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

me almost entirely the love of study, as well as the power of observation. Nevertheless, one or two things that I saw were so curious that they could not but make a deep impression on my memory.

I discovered a spider of a very remarkable kind, which was such an ingenious creature as to be capable of making a door to the entrance of its house. I came upon the animal one day while taking a stroll a short distance from our camp. It was as large as a shilling, reddish in colour, and from the fierce, rapid way in which it ran about hither and thither as if in search of prey, it had an exceedingly horrible and voracious aspect. The hole of this creature is visible only when its owner is absent from home. It is quite evident either that there are no thieves among the lower animals there, or that there is nothing in the hole to steal, for when he goes out he leaves the door open behind him. When he returns he shuts the door, and the hole becomes invisible, in consequence of the door being coated with earth on the outside. Its inside is lined with a pure white silky substance, which at once attracted my attention as I passed. On trying to pick up the door, I found that it was attached by a hinge to the hole, and on being shut it fitted exactly.

Perhaps the most singular discovery I made was a tree, the stem of which had been so completely surrounded by spiders’ webs that it could not be seen, and I had to cut through the network with my knife in order to get at the tree. The lines of those webs were as thick as coarse threads, and pretty strong, as I had reason to know; for when walking back to camp the same evening, meditating deeply on our unfortunate detention, I ran my head into the middle of a spider’s web, and was completely enveloped in it, so much so that it was with considerable difficulty I succeeded in clearing it away. I was as regularly netted as if a gauze veil had been thrown over me.

On our third morning after the accident we set forth again, and continued our journey by forced marches as Peterkin could bear it. Although the two past days and nights had been absolutely lost, and could not now be recalled, yet the moment we set out and left our camp behind us, the load of anxiety was at once lifted off our minds, and we hurried forward with an elasticity of step and spirit that was quite delightful. We felt like prisoners set free, and kept up a continual flow of conversation, sometimes in reference to the scenery and objects around us, at other times in regard to our future plans or our past experiences.

“It seems to me,” said Jack, breaking silence at the end of a long pause which had succeeded an animated discussion as to whether it were better to spend one’s life in the civilised world or among the wilds of Africa, in which discussion Peterkin, who advocated the wild life, was utterly, though not admittedly, beaten—“it seems to me that, notwithstanding the short time we stayed in the gorilla country, we have been pretty successful. Haven’t we bagged thirty-three altogether?”

“Thirty-six, if you count the babies in arms,” responded Peterkin.

“Of course we are entitled to count these.”

“I think you are both out in your reckoning,” said I, drawing out my note-book; “the last baby that I shot was our thirty-seventh.”

“What!” cried Peterkin, “the one with the desperately black face and the horrible squint, that nearly tore all the hair out of Jack’s head before he managed to strangle him? That wasn’t a baby; it was a big boy, and I have no doubt a big rascal besides.”

“That may be so,” I rejoined; “but whatever he was, I have him down as number thirty-seven in my list.”

“Pity we didn’t make up the forty,” observed Jack.

“Ah! yes indeed,” said Peterkin. “But let me see: could we not manage to make it up to that yet?”

“Impossible,” said I. “We are far away from the gorilla land now, I know; for, in addition to the fact that we have seen no traces of gorillas for a long time, we have, within the last few days, seen several lions, which, you are well aware, do not exist in the gorilla country.”

“True; but you mistake me,” rejoined Peterkin. “I do not mean to make up the number to forty by killing three more, but by proving, almost to demonstration, that we have already been the death of that number, in addition to those noted down.”

“You’ll find that rather difficult,” said Jack, laughing.

“Not at all,” cried Peterkin. “Let me think a minute. You remember that enormously big, hairy fellow, that looked so like an ugly old man that Ralph refused point-blank to fire at him, whereupon you fired at him point-blank and wounded him in the shoulder as he was running away?”

“We treated several big fellows in that way,” replied Jack; “which of them do you allude to?—the one that roared so loud and terrified you so much that you nearly ran away?”

“No, no; you know well enough which one I mean. The one that ran along the edge of the stagnant pool into which you tumbled as we were coming back.”

“Oh yes! I remember,” said Jack, laughing.

“Well, that fellow flew into such a horrible rage when he was wounded,” continued Peterkin, “that I am perfectly certain he went straight home and murdered his wife in a passion; which brings up the number to thirty-eight. Then there was that old woman-gorilla that I brought down when we were descending yon hill that was covered with such splendid vines. You remember? Well, I’m quite certain that the young man-gorilla beside her, who ran off and escaped, was her son, and that he went home straightway and died of grief. That makes thirty-nine. Then—”

“Oh, do be quiet, Peterkin, please,” said I, with a shudder. “You put things in such a fearfully dark and murderous light that I feel quite as if I were a murderer. I feel quite uneasy, I assure you; and if it were not that we have killed all these creatures in the cause of science, I should be perfectly miserable.”

“In the cause of science!” repeated Peterkin; “humph! I suspect that a good deal of wickedness is perpetrated under the wing of science.”

“Come, come,” said Jack; “don’t you begin to grow sarcastic, Master Peterkin. I abominate sarcasm, and cannot tolerate sarcastic people. If you adopt that style, I shall revert to my natural habits as a gorilla, and tear you in pieces.”

“There you exhibit your unnatural ignorance of your own natural habits,” retorted Peterkin; “for you ought to know that gorillas never tear men in pieces—their usual mode being to knock you down with a blow of their huge paws.”

“Well, I will knock you down if you prefer it.”

“Thank you; I’d rather not. Besides, you have almost knocked me up already; so pray call a halt and let me rest a bit.”

We were all very willing to agree to this request, having walked the last two or three miles at a very quick pace. Seating ourselves on the trunk of a fallen tree, we enjoyed the beautiful prospect before us. An open vista enabled us to see beyond the wood in which we were travelling into an extensive sweep of prairie-land on which the sinking sun was shedding a rich flood of light. It happened to be a deliciously cool evening, and the chattering of numerous parrots as well as the twittering songs of other birds—less gorgeous, perhaps, but more musical than they—refreshed our ears as the glories of the landscape did our eyes. While we were gazing dreamily before us in silent enjoyment, Jack suddenly interrupted our meditations by exclaiming—

“Hist! look yonder!”

He pointed as he spoke to a distant part of the plain on which the forest closely pressed.

“A zebra!” cried I, with delight; for besides the feeling of pleasure at seeing this splendid creature, I entertained a hope that we might shoot him and procure a steak for supper, of which at that time we stood much in need.

“I’m too tired to stalk it now,” said Peterkin, with an air of chagrin.—“Are you up to it, Jack?”

“Quite; but I fear he’s an animal that’s very difficult to stalk in such an open country.—What say you, Mak?”

“Hims no be cotched dis yer night, massa; hims too far away an’ too wide ’wake.”

“What say you to a long shot, Peterkin? Your rifle is sighted for four hundred yards, and he seems to be little more than six hundred off.”

“I’ll try,” said our friend, going down on one knee and adjusting the sight of his piece. Taking a long, steady aim, he fired, and in another instant the zebra lay dead on the plain. I need hardly add that our amazement was excessive. Even Peterkin himself could scarcely believe his eyes. Had his rifle been sighted for such a distance, the shot, although a splendid one, would not have amazed us so much, because we knew that our friend’s aim was deadly; but as he had to elevate the muzzle above the object fired at and guess the amount of elevation, the shot was indeed wonderful. It was a long time before our guide could move, but when he did recover himself he danced and shouted like a madman with delight, and then, setting off with a bound, sped across the plain like a deer.

“Come along,” cried Jack with a laugh—“let’s follow; for Mak looked so rabid when he went off that I believe he’ll eat the beast raw before we can claim our share, if we don’t look sharp.”

We all of us set off at a smart trot, and soon came to the spot where our prize lay. It was a splendid creature, and in prime condition. After examining it carefully, and descanting on the beauty of its striped skin, I sat down beside it and pulled out my note-book, while my comrades entered the forest to search for a suitable place on which to encamp, and to kindle a fire. A spot was quickly found, and I had scarcely finished making notes when they returned to carry the zebra into the encampment. We accomplished this with some difficulty, and laid it beside the fire. Then cutting four large steaks from its flanks we proceeded to sup, after which we made our arrangements for spending the night there. We little knew the startling surprise that was in store for us that night.

As the forest in that place happened to be swarming with wild animals of every kind, we deemed it prudent to set a watch as well as to keep up a blazing fire. Jack and I and the negro kept watch by turns; Peterkin, being still sufficiently an invalid to claim exemption from laborious duties, was permitted to rest undisturbed.

About midnight I aroused Jack, and having made him sit up, in order to show that he was thoroughly awake, I lay down and went to sleep.

How long I slept I cannot tell, but I was suddenly awakened by one of the most tremendous roars I ever heard. It was so chose to me that, in the confusion of my sleepy brain, it seemed to be far more terrible than that even of the gorilla. I was mistaken in this, however, and no doubt my semi-somnolent condition tended to increase its awfulness.

Springing into a sitting posture, and by an involuntary impulse reaching out my hand for my gun which lay close to me, I beheld a sight that was calculated to appal the stoutest heart. A lion of the largest size was in the very act of springing over the bushes and alighting on the zebra, which, as I have said, lay on the other side