WE SET OUT FOR BRISTOL
I looked at this man Stringer more closely, and was surprised to find
that he had now assumed a more normal and human appearance. It was
as if our initial handshake had liberated some hidden fountain of
fiendishness in him, and now that it was all over we were quite good
friends again.
As I studied him I couldn't help feeling that I had seen his face
before. And then I suddenly saw the reason of it. He had that peculiar,
much married, walrus-moustached appearance of Bairnsfather's "Old
Bill." He was a rather short, thick-set man, too, and wore the "Old
Bill" expression of eternal, philosophical contentment. Sitting there
in the arm-chair, with one stumpy leg crossed over the other, he might
easily have been this terrible "Fragment of the Great War" come to
life. But the moment he spoke, the similarity vanished. His moustache
bristled until it stood out nearly at right angles, his eyes flamed
with that hidden fire, and his whole attitude became one of extreme
animation. He seemed to _compel_ the listener's attention. And yet,
the very second he ceased speaking, the fire died down, the moustache
subsided and drooped, his body became listless. Once more, he was poor
"Old Bill"--harmless, inoffensive, and soothing to the senses. It was
certainly an extraordinary accomplishment and had no doubt taken years
to acquire; but I failed to see exactly what all this had to do with
hunting apes in Africa.
Gran'pa watched these signs of facial birth and decay with enthusiastic
approval.
"D'you see the idea, George?" he asked.
"I'm bothered if I do."
"It's as old as the hills--and yet it's new."
I racked my brains for an explanation, but found none.
"The only thing I can think of," I said at last, "is that you intend
hypnotically suggesting to the aged that they should hand themselves
over body and soul to the pioneers of this new Rejuvenation Cult."
"By Jove!" he laughed. "That's not bad, Stringer! Eh?"
"Old Bill" bristled--and then grinned expansively. This expression of
gentle mirth looked very quaint--the most anti-Old Billish thing one
could imagine. It was uncanny.
"Why not enlighten me?" I asked, somewhat testily.
"I'd rather not--just at present," answered Gran'pa. "You know how I
hate the thought of failure, George. There's a possibility that this
may end in failure. . . . I hope not, because, if it succeeds, it will
be the keystone of the whole system. Still, I'll tell you what we'll
do. You shall come down to Bristol with us this evening and see how the
theory works."
Beyond this I could not get. Gran'pa was adamant, and Stringer was
sphinx-like. To see them, one would have thought that I was a mere
outsider and that they had been life-long friends. I was tired,
however, of showing my incessant curiosity in Gran'pa's plans, and so I
acquiesced.
"Very well," I said. "I'll come!"
Gran'pa nodded.
"At the same time, George," he remarked, "I think that you might hand
in your resignation at the office to-day. We're going to be very busy
during the next few weeks. Now that Mr. Stringer has arrived, there is
no time to be lost."
I said very little more after that. I ate my breakfast quickly,
explained to Nanny that we should be away for a day or two, packed my
bag, came downstairs again, arranged to meet Gran'pa and Stringer in
town at about five o'clock, kissed Molly "Good-bye," and set out to
catch a train half-an-hour or so later than usual.
After the startling revelations of the previous evening, the horrible
dreams of the night, and the strange hypnotic shock of the early
morning I felt excited and desperate. Events had moved so swiftly that
I could hardly believe that less than twenty-four hours previously I
had not even heard of Gaboon, I had known next to nothing of gorillas
(beyond our old friend Alfred), and I certainly hadn't the remotest
idea of ever chasing and capturing them.
Naturally, I had realized that I should soon shake the dust of the
Government offices from my eager feet. I had known, too, that, with
a man like Gran'pa in the family, life could not much longer run in
the old, accustomed rut. But I had not expected the climax to come so
suddenly.
It was a glorious spring morning, and as I left the house I felt myself
possessed of a new body and mind.
I came through the town like a man in a dream--everything looked so
bright and fresh and clean--so different!
At "The King's Head" Hotel I paused. A 'bus was coming over the bridge,
all aglow with yellow sunlight, and I saw a girl in a bright blue
jumper standing on the pavement there, looking upstream. Another who
passed me had gold in her hair, and another had the whitest teeth I've
ever seen.
"Away with the office!" I thought. "Why should I bother myself?"
The river called me. I had no deep desire to go on it, but I wanted
very much to walk by it, and hear its merry gurgle and chatter. Why
should I catch the next train?
I crossed over to the tobacconist's shop at the corner, replenished my
pouch, and left my suit-case with him for awhile. Then I went down the
steps and on the riverside, where the boatmen were busy cleaning and
painting their punts and skiffs. Everywhere was warm sunlight, and the
smell of fresh air, and the pleasant sound of running water.
As I continued my way downstream something within me sang for joy. It
was a sort of _requiem_. Dead was the stodgy, stuffy old office! Dead
the daily train journey! Dead the scramble for mid-day lunch in the
dust of the city! Dead, at last, was the unending sameness of every
to-morrow. . . .
I smoked like fury! By the time I reached the Old Deer Park, I found
myself knocking out my pipe and filling and lighting it again. Onwards
I went, until I reached and entered Kew Gardens. In there, I watched
the wild ducks disporting themselves on the pond, and began wondering
if any of them came from Africa.
I even searched for and found trees which grew on the Dark
Continent. . . .
How green and sweet the grass was! (Better than the carpet in the
office.) I sat down on it and then turned over and lay with my
chin resting in cupped hands. Through half-closed eyes, I studied
the largest of the islands in the pond and speculated as to whether
anyone--other than the unappreciative officials--had ever ventured into
its jungle-like foliage.
A little black duck came out from one of the miniature bays in the
island, dived, and reappeared a dozen yards further out. It dived
again; and I pictured it beneath the green water, searching for fat
worms in the mud at the bottom.
"The open-air and--freedom!" I thought. "How good it is to be alive!"
Another pipe of tobacco gone!
When I had refilled it, I got up and crossed over to one of the
drinking fountains and swallowed a great draught of ice cold water.
(The water is wonderful at Kew! So clear and fresh and cold!)
I visited the green-houses and hot-houses. Still more visions of
Africa. . . . The heat was a little stifling, perhaps; but, who cared?
I spent over a quarter of an hour in the orchid house--until the
attendants apparently grew suspicious and the perfume half intoxicated
me.
Then, the open air again and still another pipe!
It was now eleven o'clock and the sun shone from a cloudless blue
sky--the same old sun that I should see in Gaboon and through the tree
tops of the African forests. . . . (A strange but comforting thought,
that--how the dear old sun follows its children into the uttermost
parts of the earth. Thank Heaven gorillas didn't live at the North
Pole! I hated cold.)
Homewards I came at last. Down the gravel pathways and across smooth
green lawns--(No "_Keep off the Grass_" notices in Kew Gardens!)--and
between bushes laden with white, glistening blossoms, and by the
side of tulip and hyacinth beds. And, everywhere, was the song of
birds. . . .
I tried, in a moment of voluntarily-imposed melancholy, to think of
the office and clerkdom. But I couldn't grip or visualize it. And yet
Africa seemed extraordinarily near and real.
Behind some bushes on the left, I caught a glimpse of the African
Crane--"Freddy," as Molly called him. He came striding along in that
haughty and lady-like way of his--an ash-gray symbol of the true poetry
of motion. I wondered if I should ever see his brothers and sisters in
their native habitat.
I strolled towards him, but he moved gracefully and disdainfully away.
Probably, he despised me. What did I, a wretched civil servant, know
of his life and ambitions? What right had I to pay a penny to come and
gaze at him as if he was some curio in a museum?
I agreed with him. When I reached Africa it was I who would be a
curiosity--I who would be an object of scrutiny and, possibly,
amusement. I recalled those wicked and cunning little monkey-eyes in my
dreams of the previous night, and I couldn't help laughing. It seemed
so ludicrous to think that presently the measure of my importance in a
Government office would be turned topsy-turvy and have to adjust itself
to the ape standard of the African jungle. What would be the value
of my civilized brain when pitted against their natural cunning and
cruelty and physical strength? Would they be impressed by the position
I took in that infernal entrance examination? Which would win--brains
or beef?
As I came out of the Gardens into the main road I heard the sound of
an aeroplane engine, looked up, and saw the black speck of machinery
travelling slowly up river. The pavements, the houses, the busses and
motor cars, and the people around me took on an air of unreality. In an
instant I was in Gaboon, setting out to fetch our daily cargo of live
gorillas.
"Whoa--guv'nor!" cried a voice.
I lowered my gaze just in time to avert a collision with a ladder and
innumerable pots and pans, and once more the paraphernalia of modern
civilization obtruded itself into my consciousness.
"Better 'phone to the office," I thought, "and let them know I'm not
coming to-day. I wonder who'll have to tackle that Wilson file now?
What a mess! What a conglomeration of correspondence and Board's
orders! What a fuss over nothing! Why do civil servants and their
overlords spend their lives in writing and talking and arguing with one
another?"
I didn't bother to answer the question--it all seemed such a feeble
waste of time and energy.
When I reached the station I entered a telephone box, got through to
the office at last, and broke the news to one of my colleagues--a tall,
thin, dyspeptic individual called Swanson--a "promotion" man who took
work very seriously, in the hope of some ultimate and earthly reward
for his industry and intelligence.
"Hello!" I said. "That you, Swanson? This is Barnett speaking."
"Anything the matter?" he asked. "Not ill, I hope."
"Yes! I'm taking sick leave at once. I'm sick of the work, sick of the
office, sick of the Civil Service--dead beat!"
A horrified pause. Then:
"You sound very cheerful in spite of it! What's happened? Any message
for the chief?"
"My love and blessings! Tell him that I'm going for a sea voyage--for
the good of my soul!"
"You're joking. . . ."
"Not a bit! I'm going to Gaboon."
"_Where?_"
"Gaboon! It's a health resort on the west coast of Equatorial Africa--a
favorite spot for day trips into the heart of the Gorilla Country."
Another pause. Poor old Swanson! Then:
"Are you really sending in a sick note, Barnett?"
"Dozens of 'em! I left the service at nine-thirty this morning,
relinquished my prospects of promotion, sacrificed my pension at sixty!
Isn't it exciting?"
"Been left some money?"
"Not a cent! I've merely found another job."
"You're pulling my leg!"
I detected a distinct note of envy in the exclamation. Even the
industrious Swanson felt that he would have been better off in the
business world than in the Civil Service.
"I'm an explorer!" I said. "If you're good, I shall send you some tusks
and things when I get to Gaboon."
"You don't mean to say that you actually are going to Africa?"
"All the way--and then some!"
At this point the exchange butted in with the simple explanation that
my time limit was up.
"Bye-bye!" I said. "I'll drop you a line. . . ."
I hung up the receiver, emerged from my box, and hurried out into the
sunlight again.
So that was _that_!
When I was in my right mind again I would write to my Lords the
Commissioners, and confirm my telephone message, but in my present mood
I should have found it impossible to sit down and subscribe myself as
their obedient servant, George Barnett. It was so palpably untrue. I
was nobody's servant this morning--nobody's!
Back in the town again the whim seized me to go into the Public Library
and glean a few interesting tit-bits about the gentle gorilla and its
playful ways. So I consulted the librarian, borrowed Du Chaillu's
"Equatorial Africa," and sat down and commenced reading.
It was an absorbing book; and on that bright, adventurous morning it
gripped me more fiercely than the finest love story ever written. Parts
of it made me shiver, and yet they fascinated. The description of one
disastrous encounter with a gorilla ran as follows:--
"We picked him (a native) up and I dressed his wounds as well as I
could with rags torn from my clothes. When I had given him a little
brandy he came to himself and was able, but with great difficulty,
to speak. He said that he had met the gorilla suddenly and face to
face, and that it had not attempted to escape. It was, he said, a
huge male, and seemed very savage. It was in a very gloomy part
of the wood, and the darkness, I suppose, made him miss. He said
he took good aim, and fired when the beast was only about eight
yards off. The ball merely wounded it in the side. It at once began
beating its breasts, and with the greatest rage advanced upon him.
"To run away was impossible. He would have been caught in the
jungle before he had gone a dozen steps.
"He stood his ground, and, as quickly as he could, reloaded his
gun. Just as he raised it to fire the gorilla dashed it out of his
hands, the gun going off in the fall; and then in an instant, and
with a terrible roar, the animal gave him a tremendous blow with
its immense open paw, frightfully lacerating the abdomen and with
this single blow laying bare part of the intestines. As he sank
bleeding to the ground, the monster seized the gun, and the poor
hunter thought he would have his brains dashed out with it. But the
gorilla seemed to have looked upon this as an enemy, and in his
rage almost flattened the barrel between his strong jaws.
"This is their mode when attacked--to strike one or two blows, and
then leave the victims of their rage on the ground and go off into
the woods. . . ."
I was impressed. And, when I thought of Gran'pa's intention of taking
these huge, muscular, six-foot brutes alive and unharmed, I was almost
stupefied. It seemed impossible. Indeed, the writer of the book I was
reading said that up to that time (1860) no fully grown male gorilla
had ever been taken alive.
The more I pondered on the matter, the more was I struck by the
dangerous novelty of our undertaking. Elephants might be shot for their
tusks, tigers and leopards for their skins, bears for their fur, and
hundreds of other animals for the love of the chase. But we were far
superior to this form of sport. We were going out with the express
intention of getting "the goods"--these terrible monarchs of the
African jungle--in all their living and ferocious glory. I had little
doubt that Gran'pa had already thought out some method, but I didn't
see how it could be of the slightest use unless backed by actual,
practical experience--of which he had none.
I closed the book I had been reading, handed it back to the librarian,
mentally shook myself, and emerged once more into the sunny streets
of civilization. For the first time that day I found the sight of my
fellow creatures comforting and soothing. My enthusiasm was as great
as ever, but it was tinctured by a grim realization of the extreme
difficulty of our task.
I could see that a gorilla in the bush was far worse than two in a
menagerie. Alfred, for all his ferocity, had been no more than a pale
ghost of his wild brothers in the woods. Confinement and our wretched
English climate must have softened his physique, even if they hadn't
softened his temper. And yet I shuddered at the thought of meeting
Alfred loose, in Richmond Park, say, and having to capture him
alive. _Jiujitsu_ would be useless; so would lassoing, or boxing, or
wrestling. The strength of even half a dozen men rolled into one would
be no match for such a colossal and muscular mechanism.
I could think of no reliable method save the very one which was
taboo--a steady aim, the right moment, a sudden explosion, and the
deadly bullet. What could Gran'pa's plan be? I gave it up. Neither my
brains (nor my glands) were equal to the solution of such a problem,
and so I cast about for something of more immediate interest--and had
lunch.
After that, I felt much quieter, and the African jungle temporarily
receded to its proper position in suburban life.
The afternoon was still before me, but I felt too much like a truant
schoolboy to venture home--Molly would have been so inquisitive and
Nanny so curious. Strange it was, especially at such a time as this,
that I should be afraid of two mere women; but even big game hunters
are human. . . .
I went across Petersham Common and back along the river side. Then I
picked up my suit-case at the tobacconist's, got a 'bus to the station
and proceeded to town.
Gran'pa and Stringer met me, as arranged. They were very excited and
the hypnotist was bristling with animation.
"Most interesting, George!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "But I shan't be
satisfied until we've been to the menagerie at Bristol."
My brain suddenly cleared.
"I can half guess!" I said.
"Has it only just dawned on you?" he cried.
I bowed my head, ashamed of my previous dulness.
"You're going to hypnotize them!" I gasped.
Gran'pa was in excellent form and as merry as a youth of twenty. It was
absurd to think that he was nearly a hundred.
"In common parlance, George, we intend putting the 'fluence' on
'em. Calling them, staring them into submission, and then suddenly
_commanding_ them. It's the old story of the lion-tamer and the lions,
with this difference. Instead of having to deal with the lower and less
intelligent order of animals, we have the great advantage of applying
the same method to brutes which are second only to men. What the
politician does to the crowd, the tub-thumper to the mob, the religious
revivalist to the sinner--_we_ shall do to the apes. Man-mind against
monkey-mind. It's _brains_ that count, my boy! Brains! . . ."
"Did it work at the Zoo?" I asked.
"Partly. But what can one expect there? The poor wretches are half
stupefied. There isn't a really wild, alert animal in the place. Their
minds are drugged with captivity and monotony and unnatural food.
A test like this is of little value until we try it under normal
conditions."
We had dinner and, at Gran'pa's instigation, Stringer gave the order.
It was astounding to see the masterful way he glanced round the room,
beckoned the appropriate waiter to our table and sent him rushing away
again.
A few minutes later, the first course was before us--as if by magic!
Never have I had such a quick, well-served dinner, or encountered such
a courteous, electrified waiter. The man's soul was not his own. It was
simply a pawn in the hand of a skilful player.
"The ball no question makes of ayes or noes,
But right or left, as strikes the player, goes."
Even the God of Omar shrank into insignificance by the side of ours.
"I'm sorry for that waiter," whispered Gran'pa to me. "But I'm sorrier
for those gorillas. We have them like that!"
He took up a crisp roll of bread and broke it in two.
"There's a vast difference between a tame waiter and a wild African
gorilla," I pointed out, thinking of some of the gruesome accounts I
had been reading that morning.
"Give me the gorilla!" laughed Gran'pa. "Much more intelligent and
useful. It could fetch and carry every bit as well as that man; eh,
Stringer?"
Stringer nodded and went on eating.
He looked as if he had a weight on his mind. Like all great men, he
seemed to hold himself a little aloof from his fellow creatures.
Possibly, his soul was too busy at the switchboard of his mental
machinery to notice external trifles. I pictured it dashing
perspiringly up and down the corridors of his brain, pulling first this
lever and then that--turning on the various currents required to subdue
his weaker brethren. And yet he was not all soul. His colossal appetite
dispelled any such illusion as that. He ate ravenously, quickly, and a
trifle piggishly. He also kept a watchful eye on the wine bottle.
When we had finished, Gran'pa tipped the waiter twice as much as
usual--conscience money!
"How do you feel?" he asked, gently.
The poor, exhausted wretch looked startled and puzzled for a moment, as
if someone had suddenly probed into one of the most cherished secrets
of his life.
"Like . . . that!" he gasped, dropping his hands limply to his side.
"But why did you hurry so much?" persisted Gran'pa, in an undertone.
"Dunno, sir! Couldn't help it. . . . It was like as if something had
'old of me."
"Where?"
". . . Right down . . . inside!"
Gran'pa chuckled to himself.
"You'll feel better in the morning," he said. "Don't let it worry you.
You'll be able to take it quietly again to-morrow night. . . ."
We emerged into the street and commenced walking towards Piccadilly
Circus.
"_That's the stuff to give 'em!_" quoted Gran'pa. "It's very wonderful,
George! The sort of thing one can't explain. Call it Animal Magnetism,
Hypnotism, 'Fluence' or what you like, and you're still no nearer.
It must be a _force_, as inexplicable and yet as undefinable as the
ability some men have of immediately making friends with other men or
even animals. The thing is, can we turn it on the gorilla? Can we call
him in his own language, or entice him into the magnetic field in some
other way, and then suddenly take all the wind out of his sails and
render him inert and submissive?"
"I don't think you realize the kind of brute we're up against," I said.
"It's the most ferocious and dangerous animal in the jungle. It is
absolutely fearless, and it possesses the strength of half-a-dozen men
at least. What chance will a parrot cry and a hypnotic 'glare' have
against such a creature?"
"That's what we're going to find out. The gorilla has many advantages
over us, but, in the end, we have _the_ advantage--a human brain. To
begin with, I'll guarantee that I could disguise myself so that no
gorilla could tell me from one of its own kind at half-a-dozen yards
away."
I forewent the obvious and flippant retort to this. I said, instead:
"Your idea is to dress up Mr. Stringer as a sort of hypnotic
super-gorilla?"
"Precisely!"
Stringer was trotting along by our side as though quite oblivious
of the fact that he would play such a vital part in our plans. He
certainly listened to our talk, but he listened as if only out of
mere politeness. He made no comment and gave no sign of emotion.
Sphinx-like--Old-Bill-like--he was one of the most uncanny specimens of
humanity I had met. I don't think he had spoken a dozen words during
the whole evening. Was he brooding over a secret sorrow; or was he
merely taciturn and unsociable?
At Piccadilly Circus, we took the Tube to Paddington Station and, about
half-an-hour later, were _en route_ to Bristol.
It was then that Stringer spoke.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, "I think I'll have a little nap. I'm
very tired."
"Do so by all means!" answered Gran'pa.
We had the carriage to ourselves, and Stringer immediately stretched
himself out on the opposite seat, placed my suit-case under his head
and dropped off to sleep as easily and naturally as a child.
"Queer chap . . ." whispered Gran'pa. "But what can one expect? A man
with a power like his must be abnormal."
"Yes. . . . I suppose so!"
"He simply doesn't know what fear is. He handled that gorilla and
chimpanzee at the Zoo like a mother of ten managing her latest arrival.
And yet he'd never seen anything bigger than a pet monkey before."
I was astonished--but refused to show it in front of Gran'pa.
"How did you discover him?" I asked.
"Advertised, and then wrote and arranged an interview. He used to be a
lion-tamer. At the same time, I fixed up with those menagerie people at
Bristol to allow me a few minutes intercourse with their gorilla. They
have what is supposed to be one of the finest specimens in Europe; and,
what is better still, it's wild. Every attempt at taming it has proved
useless."
"A sort of Alfred the Second," I suggested.
"By jove!" he murmured, reminiscently. "It seems twenty or thirty years
ago since . . . that affair. To tell the truth, I can't recollect much
about the brute. Was it very ferocious?"
I remembered how it had torn at the bars of its cage in a mad endeavor
to get at Gran'pa, and how it had nearly removed a handful of his beard.
"It is not seemly that we should speak ill of the departed," I said,
"but Alfred was the most vindictive-looking and malicious-minded beast
I've ever seen."
"Anyway, _I_ can never repay the debt I owe him . . ." mused Gran'pa.
"It's strange to think that millions of years ago we severed our
connection with the apes and strode upwards into manhood; and now . . .
we're returning to them again to save the aged of our race."
"It's like making brothers of our first cousins," I observed.
Our conversation trickled on for some time in this speculative vein
until, at last, Gran'pa said that he would follow Stringer's example.
"It's been a very busy day," he said, with a yawn. "And I'm not as
young as I used to be, George. . . ."
If ever a truth sounded like an untruth, that phrase certainly did.
He made himself comfortable in the corner of the seat and was soon
asleep. On the other hand, I was more wide awake than I had been for
years. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy. Who would have thought,
twelve months ago, that I should ever travel in the same railway
carriage as a mental magnetist and a middle-aged man of ninety-five?
Who could have guessed that I, George Barnett, of His Majesty's
Civil Service, would ever have the opportunity of seeking fame and
monkey-glands in the jungles of Africa?
For a long time I thus ruminated on the past. And then I suddenly
turned to the future.
The train had stopped. I looked out of the window.
"Bristol!" I cried. "Wake up!"