THE GORILLA COUNTRY
Sally Rebecca having at last surrendered, Gran'pa became his usual
energetic self again, and in no more than three days after that
touching scene in the hall we were ready to set sail for Africa.
The name of the ship which we had chartered was "The Pilgrim Father."
This, together with the cargo of eighty-seven aged optimists, gazing
pensively over the vessel's side as it steamed out of Plymouth Sound,
must have made the watching townspeople imagine that we were in the
moving picture trade. They may even have thought that, presently, we
should commence some sort of "stunt."
We managed, however, to get nearly half-a-dozen miles away from land
before anything exciting happened.
The trouble commenced in bunk 64, which was occupied by an ancient and
retired stockbroker, known as William Garton.
On boarding the vessel he had immediately gone below, suffering from
the quaint delusion that the best preventive of sea-sickness was to
commence a voyage deep in slumber. In this way, he argued, one became
unconsciously acclimatized to the motion, and when one at last awoke
the danger was passed.
It certainly wasn't in this particular case; for he awoke with a start
(possibly from the throes of some evil nightmare), sprang out of his
bunk and came tearing up on deck, clad only in pajamas and nightcap.
"Stop the ship!" he cried wildly. "Stop it at once!"
Fortunately, Gran'pa was near and was able to deal with the matter
before a panic ensued.
"What's happened now?" he asked, with a murderous look in his eyes.
"I've changed my mind! I want to go back!"
"Don't be absurd!"
William Garton drew himself up to the full extent of his five-feet-four
(or thereabouts).
"Will you kindly put me ashore, sir?"
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "You've signed on for this
voyage--and you're coming."
"This . . . this . . ." he stormed, . . . "is abduction--forcible
abduction!"
"Nothing of the sort! You may have changed your mind, but that's no
reason why I should change the course of this boat. Run back to bed
like a sensible fellow, before you catch cold."
"If you don't stop this infernal ship and turn round I'll . . . jump
overboard."
He dashed to the rail and commenced mounting it--apparently with every
intention of fulfilling his threat.
But Gran'pa was too quick for him. He sprang forward, gripped the
little man by the pajama jacket, and hauled him back to safety again.
"This is mutiny, sir!" cried Gran'pa. "I won't have such rebellious
behavior on board of my ship. For two pins, I'd clap you in irons!"
"Let me go! . . . I'll have you prosecuted! . . . D'you hear that?"
"It--leaves--me--cold!" panted Gran'pa, struggling with him. "George!
Give me a hand!"
I elbowed my way through the surrounding crowd of other old men and
tried to persuade our excitable friend that he was making himself very
ridiculous.
"Do remember where you are!" I scolded. "There are ladies aboard." (I
couldn't see them, by the way.) "You might at least go and get decently
dressed before continuing this discussion."
"I'll give you a thousand pounds to put me back," he half sobbed.
"I wouldn't do it for twenty!" cried Gran'pa. "It's a matter of
principle. You're a coward, sir! _Pah! . . ._"
Without further ado, we took hold of him very firmly by each arm and
led him, still struggling and shouting, down below.
"Now!" said Gran'pa, when the three of us were alone. "What the devil
do you mean by making this infernal fuss? You've upset everyone aboard.
What sort of an impression do you think those other old men will get?
They'll be imagining all manner of unnerving things. If you don't shut
up, I'll . . . wring your neck!"
"You're a . . . damned great bully!" whimpered the rebel, feebly
attempting to show some spirit.
"Possibly! But someone has to be master here--and it's going to be
me. Just get that into your thick skull. When we reach Africa you can
go to blazes as far as I'm concerned. _I_ don't want to force you
into rejuvenation. There are too many others deserving of it, without
wasting our precious glands on a miserable coward who gets the wind up
at the very commencement. Now get out of my sight, before I kick you
out . . . !"
As he crept shamefacedly away, I felt a little sorry for him.
"After all," I said to Gran'pa, "there's some excuse--at his age."
"Nonsense! The man's at least fifteen to twenty years younger than I
am. Either he's beginning to feel sea-sick, or else he's funking the
whole thing. Whatever it is, we can't have him demoralizing the rest of
the old boys by such insane antics. Some of them were scared to death.
An ill-balanced man like that aboard is a constant menace to the peace.
He ought to have brought his nurse. . . . I must get Stringer to have a
quiet little chat with him."
So we put him into Stringer's capable hands--with the astounding result
that next day the old man came and apologized to Gran'pa.
"I . . . er . . . suddenly became very homesick. . . ." he explained,
sheepishly.
"I thought you were just . . . _sea_-sick," snapped Gran'pa. "However,
you're all right now?"
"Quite, thank you! I ask your pardon, Mr. Hadley."
Gran'pa's features relaxed and he extended a hand of brotherly
forgiveness.
"Not another word, laddie!" he beamed. "I should have felt just the
same at your age. . . ."
It sounded like a father talking to a son--but it looked exactly the
opposite.
When the old man had gone, Gran'pa winked at me and said:
"You'll find that he'll be as good as gold for the rest of the voyage.
A great man is Stringer. . . . He's like a bromide draught. Hope he
has the same effect on the gorillas. . . . Meanwhile, we might get him
to have a chat with the others. They all look a bit nervy. It's the
change, I expect."
Stringer thus became a sort of institution for soothing the worries
of the aged. With remarkable tact and perseverance, he took them in
hand one by one, quelled their naturally quarrelsome dispositions,
eliminated their homesickness, and even comforted them when they
were sea-sick. He was here, there, and everywhere--far more like a
ministering angel than a gorilla hunter--and I really believe that the
old people at last grew to love him.
It became an interesting speculation as to whether Stringer hoped to
be remembered in some of their wills, or whether he behaved as he did
purely from a deep sense of duty. Gran'pa maintained that he was not as
simple as he looked. On the other hand, Sally Rebecca thought that he
was the noblest man she had ever met--a confession that made Gran'pa
childishly jealous.
The main thing, however, was that the voyage was a great success. Once
we were well out at sea, no one quarrelled (except Gran'pa and I); no
one was seriously ill; and no one exhibited any desire to "back out."
We evolved into a brotherhood. There were card parties, chess and
domino matches, smoking concerts, and even dances. Perhaps the less
said about the dancing the better. The spirit of the old men was
certainly willing, but the flesh was very weak--and the partners of the
opposite sex were limited to two only, so the "boys" mostly shuffled
about with one another--a jerky, gyrating mass of black clothes, white
whiskers, and shiny, bald heads.
Thus the days passed.
When we at last sighted the northwest coast of Africa, Captain
Morgan--a thin, taciturn individual--crept out of his shell and began
to give us fatherly advice. It appeared that he knew almost every inch
of the country we intended visiting, and he strongly urged us to set
up the sanatorium for the aged at Windhuk, and to make the Island of
Corisco the headquarters of the expedition itself.
As the climate there was more healthy and equable than on the mainland,
we changed our plans accordingly and despatched a wireless to
Libreville telling Oakley, our air chief, to arrange for the 'planes to
be taken over to the island. We also informed the old men that their
rendezvous would now be at Windhuk and not the Kalahari.
Six days later we received the businesslike reply:
"_Aerodrome and 'planes ready. Corisco._" And on the morning of the
third day after this we sighted the Promised Land.
All hands and passengers came on deck and let up three mighty cheers.
"Hurrah! . . . _Hurrah!_ . . . HURRAH!"
Molly was delirious with excitement and Sally Rebecca, who had only
just recovered from a long spell of sea-sickness, stood beside her, now
and then glancing at Gran'pa's stern, sentinel-like figure standing
for'ard in pensive majesty. Even Stringer showed some emotion as that
little smudge of dark purple rose above the horizon's edge; and Dr.
Croft behaved like a schoolboy and insisted on going up the rigging.
After lunch, our excitement increased. Someone had seen a dark speck
hovering over the island, and it was immediately rumored that one of
our 'planes was coming out to meet us.
Rumor was right. Against the background of the deep, tropical, blue
sky we watched that latest example of man's mastery over Mother Earth.
Defiant of the mighty tug of gravitation and the rude thrust of the
wind, the great bird came gliding towards our boat, as straight
and steady as an arrow. We approached one another with incredible
swiftness--at the combined rate of probably 120 to 150 miles an
hour--and, in less than ten minutes from the time we had first sighted
it, the machine was looping, banking, swooping and curvetting round us
like a thing distraught.
With a deep-throated roar, it would shoot by us on the starboard,
proceed half a mile ahead, sweep gracefully round, and then come
rushing straight back again at double speed--only to commence vaulting
over us when within twenty yards of the bows. Up and up it would go, in
a great spluttering spiral. Then silence; and down again, in playful
loops and dives and side-slips. It did our hearts good to watch it; but
it made our necks ache abominably. . . .
As I watched the old men, the crew, the captain, the doctor, the
hypnotist, the interpreter, the ladies (Molly and Sally Rebecca),
and Gran'pa, all staring heavenwards and entranced, I could not
help feeling a justifiable pride in being the person who had found
the incomparable and indomitable Oakley. It was very thoughtful and
magnanimous of him to give us such a spectacular welcome. Had we been
Cabinet Ministers, _en route_ to a naval review, we could not have been
treated to a finer display of aerial courtesy and playfulness. It gave
me great faith, too, in Oakley's initiative and daring, and intensified
my almost painful eagerness to start out on our first flight into the
African jungle.
For nearly fifteen minutes, Oakley continued gambolling round our ship
and then, with a sudden leap upwards, he passed over us and headed
straight for the island.
An hour later we landed, amidst a great hullabaloo of native
excitement, shook hands with the Rev. William Watkins, who had come
to welcome us ashore, and thereupon proceeded to his mission station,
followed by the half-dozen hefty negroes who were carrying our personal
belongings.
"Well!" I said to Oakley. "You got here safely?"
"So--so! Across France and the Mediterranean it was easy going,
but North Africa was the devil. We were nearly buffeted to
pieces--especially about mid-day. So, towards the latter end of our
flight, we went up only in the mornings and evenings."
"Good! You've picked up plenty of useful knowledge of the air
conditions out here?"
"Yes! I don't think we're likely to have much trouble if we start an
hour or so before sunrise each day and come back about sunset."
"What's the aerodrome like?"
"Excellent . . . considering . . ."
"No illness among the others?"
"Fitter than ever they've been!"
Chatting thus, we came at last to the mission station, which was
a cluster of bamboo buildings, consisting of three houses for the
whites, a church, a storehouse, a school, several lodging-houses for
the children, detached kitchens, and numerous pens for fowl. The whole
was surrounded by a hedge of fragrant lime trees, and the cocoanut and
mango provided plenty of welcome shade--and fruit!
As a healthy, residential quarter it appeared to be immensely superior
to the average suburban street in London. There was certainly no
picture palace or public-house round the corner, and our neighbors
hardly belonged to the worthy and dignified middle class of England,
but in spite of all these drawbacks I liked the place the moment I saw
it. It had an air of complete freedom from all the worry and turmoil
of a workaday world; it was restful to tired eyes; and yet it seemed to
hold the promise of untold excitements and adventures.
Molly had already made friends with the missionaries and their wives,
and Sally Rebecca with a group of fat little native children who
clustered round her like a brood of affectionate chickens. It was a
pretty picture and reminded me of a film of royalty "slumming"--in the
heart of Africa! So I levelled my Kodak at the scene, and snapped it.
Afterwards, we inspected the island, found many beautiful shells on the
seashore, watched the fishhawks and eagles swooping down from the rocks
on to their finny prey below, feasted our eyes on the bright-feathered
parrots and the squirrels, and threw stones at the yellow nuts of the
palm.
Then we went back to the ship and bade farewell to its cargo of
ancients before they resumed their journey to Swakopmund, _en route_ to
Windhuk.
"Next time I see you," I said to one melancholy-looking victim, "I hope
it'll be with a pocketful of good, powerful glands."
"I trust that will be soon," he mumbled. "I've enjoyed this voyage, but
it's nearly been the death of me."
"Oh, you'll be all right as soon as you reach Swakopmund. Anyway, good
luck until we meet again."
Thus we went about--Gran'pa, Dr. Croft, Stringer and I--scattering a
few words of hope and comfort to the aged of our race.
And, when they had set out to sea again, we wandered homewards to food
and a quiet smoke.
"Oakley and I are going out first thing in the morning for a trial
flight over the Gorilla country," I said to Gran'pa, just before we
retired. "We want to get the lay of the land--and air."
"That's the spirit, George! No grass growing under your feet, nowadays,
eh?"
"Not a blade! I'd go to-night--if we could persuade the sun to
reappear."
We wished one another good-night and, after what seemed only a few
hours in bed, I was awakened by a nudge from Oakley.
"We're late," he said, "You'll have to bustle."
I sprang out of bed, dressed, and accompanied him to the aerodrome,
where in less than another ten minutes we were sitting in the machine
ready for our first flight into the Great Unknown.
Watkins, a greasy but competent little man belonging to the new
profession of air mechanics, swung the propeller, and the natives held
on to the 'planes and tail until the engine was running full out. Then
the human anchor was weighed by the natives simply letting go, and the
machine began to move slowly forward over the uneven ground.
I had had an idea that we should rise almost immediately, but instead
of this the machine seemed to scuttle through the grass as if its wings
were too stiff for flight, and it was not until we had nearly reached
the end of the aerodrome that the wheels at last left the earth. Even
then we were apparently in difficulties, for less than fifty yards away
the tops of the cocoanut palms rose above our heads in a threatening
barrier of dark green. Could we clear them, I wondered, my heart
thumping with excitement?
Suddenly, the machine shot upwards, leapt over the tree tops, dived
again on the other side--into what was fortunately a glade-like
clearing in the wood--and then, with a shudder, settled into a steady
climb.
As the solid old world sank slowly away from us, I gave a deep sigh of
relief and turned my thoughts to the splendid panorama which had now
sprung into view. In less than another minute we saw the land beneath
us as it actually was--an island, bounded on every side by the silver
gray of the sea--while before us lay the great, dull green expanse of
the African Continent, fringed at its farthest extremity by the pink to
crimson glow of the dawn.
The keen morning air was exhilarating, and the grass and foliage
sparkled with diamonds of dew. Never have I seen anything to equal the
magnificence of the scenery on this trial flight of ours in Africa. As
we passed swiftly over the white shell-strewn beach, backed by its palm
groves and native huts and plantations of corn, I experienced a real
sense of mastery over Nature. The world on which we little humans so
painfully crawl and die became something impersonal--but, at the same
time, something surprisingly beautiful. And the sea, as placid as a
sheltered, inland pool, had turned into a huge mirror, where a couple
of native craft, which were making for the mainland, seemed, to be
suspended in the air--so clear was the water, and so still.
Behind us, Corisco, only twelve miles in circumference, was visible
as a little self-contained world of hills and valleys, forests and
prairies, cliffs and sandy beaches, and even a tiny glass-like lake.
Dotted along the shore were the villages, with the smoke from them
curling above the tree tops like trailing blue-gray veils.
To the right and left, lay the shores of the beautiful Bay of Corisco,
converging gradually into the thin, silver threads of the River
Moondah, which wound its way backwards into the haze of distant verdure.
It was towards this river that we steered a straight course. There was
no wind and, except for the vibration of the engines, we travelled
smoothly and swiftly, at a gradual incline, until, when we at last
reached the mainland, our altimeter registered just over 600 feet.
As we approached the land the machine banked steeply and I watched the
altimeter-hand creeping slowly forward--625 . . . 650 . . . 675 . . .
up to 1500 feet. Onwards and upwards we raced, while from beneath the
horizon's edge, the sun came up to meet us with incredible swiftness
and glory. The planes turned to crimson and gold, a new tonic seemed to
be added to the air, and a distant chain of mountains suddenly glowed
with the fire of dawn.
For fully a minute I could only gaze ahead at the great ball of light.
Then I closed my eyes for awhile, and at last looked below.
The river Moondah had entered a vast mangrove swamp and showed itself
only here and there as a chain of tiny, disconnected lakes. But 15 to
20 miles away to the right I caught sight of the mighty mouth of the
Gaboon--a miniature sea, nearly as large as the Bay of Corisco.
I knew that the upper reaches of this estuary constituted the
approximate boundary of the Gorilla Country, and a thrill of expectancy
ran through me like cold quicksilver. The salvation of the aged became
a matter of minor importance, and in its place there grew an almost
bloodthirsty lust for conquest. In spite of our ninety miles an hour
the quivering machine seemed to be dragging like lead. The country
below was slipping away from us far too slowly. I wanted to feel
myself suddenly leap forward like a hound in the chase. Already, the
actual sensation of flight was beginning to lose its spice and the only
danger I feared was that of humdrum safety.
As the sun rose, however, the air became more and more bumpy and the
banks of clouds lying over the distant Crystal Mountains began to break
and scatter. Oakley evidently anticipated a storm, for he commenced
climbing again, up and up, to 5,000 feet. At this height it was
bitterly cold, but the flying was straight and steady.
We were now passing over the River Gaboon and as I looked to the left I
saw that there were bearing down on us from the mountains no less than
four distinct storms--each of which consisted of a huge cloud, whence
the rain fell in great sheets.
Once more we began climbing, and as one of the storms passed within
a quarter of a mile or so of us, the machine was shaken with gusts
of wind which seemed to be snatching and tearing at our 'planes like
invisible giant hands. Continually rising and dodging as we were,
it was impossible to escape wholly from such a turmoil, and twice
we passed through the tail end of a storm. As we did so, big heavy
rain-drops struck the 'planes and wind screen like a cascade of bullets.
At 8,000 feet we got above a mighty cloud, stretching as far as one
could see, and for nearly twenty minutes we flew above this great
expanse of dazzling white--so glaringly bright that it made one's eyes
and head ache.
And then the engine suddenly stopped, the machine tilted, and a second
later we were dropping earthwards like a stone. Right into the
heart of the great cloud we sped, where everything grew dark and the
rain beat against the machine in a hurricane of fury. The bumps were
terrific and at times it became impossible to say whether we were on
our heads or our heels. It was too dark to see, too noisy to think, too
exciting even to fear. . . .
We must have been dropping through this black and unholy turmoil for
nearly three or four minutes when suddenly it became light again, a
great, ragged opening appeared in the cloud, and the green earth slid
up swiftly to meet us.
In the glare of the sun I saw Oakley making a last effort to save us;
but I knew it was hopeless. I held my breath, waited for the crash,
and then let forth a loud cry of joy--for with a last and almost human
effort the machine gave a lurch, flattened out and gracefully glided to
earth. After a spinning, nose-diving and side-slipping career of over
8,000 feet we had alighted as gently as if our whole object had been to
disturb not even a blade of grass.
"Well!" I cried to Oakley. "We seem to have landed all right. But,
where?"
He unfastened his belt, alighted, wiped his forehead, and said:
"God knows! It's earth--good, solid earth. And that's all that matters
for the moment."
I clambered down on this comforting bit of green _terra firma_ and
looked heavenwards at the tail end of the departing cloud in which we
had spent that agonizing eternity of unrest.
"My godfather's trousers!" exclaimed Oakley. "I dunno how we scraped
through!"
"I don't know how _you_ did! All I could do was to sit tight and wait
for the thud."
"And I waited for the light--then shoved the nose up and trusted to
luck. . . . This looks like a sort of clearing in the middle of a
forest."
I made a cursory inspection of the aerodrome which Mother Nature had
so thoughtfully provided for us, and saw that we were hemmed in on all
sides by giant trees and dense and gloomy foliage. The sunlight fell on
us slantwise, like limelight on a stage--as dramatic a setting as one
could desire for a first landing in a new country. The earth beneath us
was wet, but firm and even, a spot probably never before trodden by the
foot of man. I felt immensely important--and yet terribly little the
moment I looked upwards at that silent, _watching_ ring of trees.
I use the word "watching," because I could not dispel the conviction
that unseen eyes followed our every movement. Oakley must have felt
it, too, for neither of us spoke. We looked--and, as we did so, we
slipped the revolvers from our belts. The touch of the cool butt was
comforting. It just saved me from panic and gave me back my manhood.
After all, were we not Lords of Creation, even in this desolate place?
We had the means of defence, the means of escape, and the brains to
utilize both. I reasoned all this out swiftly, and gradually the
thumping in my chest subsided and I became calmer. In spite of this my
hand shook and I saw that Oakley had noticed it.
"Nerves!" I said to him. "How're yours?"
"Rotten! I'd much rather be up in that hell in the heavens again! . . .
_What's that?_"
Behind me, there was a sudden noise as of someone breaking twigs and
branches--a stealthy and steady crackle of splitting wood.
We swung round in the direction of the sound and I saw the underbrush
sway and part.
A second later there appeared an immense gorilla on all fours. The
moment he caught sight of us he stood erect and stared malevolently in
our faces--the most unforgettably ferocious brute it is possible to
imagine.
The trivial encounters with gorillas in England paled into nothingness
compared with this, for the animal was less than a dozen yards away.
Quite six feet in height, with immense body, grotesquely inflated chest
and huge muscular arms, he stood before us as the indisputable monarch
of the African jungle.
He showed not the least trace of fear, but immediately let forth roar
upon roar of defiance and hate.
A cold sweat broke out over my whole body, followed by a paralyzing
sensation of sickness. All the blind brutality of Nature "red in tooth
and claw," all its vindictiveness, all its strength and cunning, seemed
to be centred in that dreadful cry, which began as a sharp bark and
glided swiftly into a deep roll. It came up in great gusts of rage from
the brute's chest like the sound of distant thunder. Then it shut off
as suddenly as it began.
Oakley and I stood in horrified silence, literally unable to move,
and the beast advanced a few steps--then stopped to emit that hideous
roar--advanced again, and finally halted at a distance of some
half-dozen yards from us. A crest of short hair on its forehead was
twitching rapidly up and down, and its powerful fangs were bared, and
glistening white in the sunshine. It was a repulsive and thrilling
exhibition of stark animal brutality, and yet in some strange way it
no longer filled me with fear. The attitude of the beast, menacing
as it was, seemed to be too humanly blustering, too exaggerated, too
"stagey."
But when it began advancing again, a real panic seized me, I stepped
swiftly back, pointed my revolver point blank at the animal's huge
chest and cried a warning to Oakley. As my forefinger closed over
the trigger of the automatic, it seemed to require every scrap of my
strength to exert the necessary pressure. There was a sharp double
crack as Oakley and I fired almost simultaneously, then two more in
quick succession from my own revolver, and a deep groan which had
something terribly human in it.
The gorilla had fallen face forward on the grass, where it was
twitching convulsively, and a minute later it was dead.
If ever a man felt like a murderer I did.
"By my godfather's . . ." breathed Oakley, "that was a thundering near
thing. Why didn't you fire before?"
"Why didn't _you_?" I gasped.
"I couldn't!"
"Neither could I. I had to be driven to it by sheer desperation and
danger. I don't like the look of the brute; it's too human. Let's get
away again, before its brothers and cousins arrive. We're out here to
catch 'em, not kill 'em, and I don't want any more blood on my hands
to-day."
Oakley gave a short, high-strung laugh, and without further delay
crossed over to the machine.
After a quarter of an hour's examination he made some startling
discovery which he tried to explain to me in the usual technical
jargon.
"What's the cause?" I asked, trying to sound intelligent.
"Can't think--and, anyway, it's no use puzzling it out now. I've
managed to put it right and so we'd better get away before another
storm comes."
He clambered into the pilot's seat. I swung the propeller, dashed after
the slowly moving machine, ducked and dodged, tried to scramble aboard,
failed--and fell. . . .
When I had collected my senses again and stumbled to my feet, the
machine was gracefully gliding into the air. Shouting and waving my
arms, I tried to attract Oakley's attention, but without the least
effect. Up and up went the machine, then it suddenly dipped from view,
and I was alone with that dead and evil-looking gorilla and the great
encircling jungle.
What had happened? Had Oakley crashed, or had he landed again in the
hope that I would follow? Or was he continuing his flight under the
impression that I was safely aboard? I kept very still, and listened;
but there was not the faintest sound of the engine still running. The
world was terribly and cruelly silent. Once, I caught the sharp crack
of some twig, as if life was moving in the depths of the forest, and I
clutched my revolver and backed into the middle of the grass arena. I
also heard a deep and distant roll of anger, followed by a series of
staccato barks, which I instantly recognised as the cry of the gorilla.
"Where in heaven's name is Oakley?" clamored my mind, a little
hysterically.
A shrill squeal from the tree tops on my right was the only answer and,
as I swung round with raised revolver, I caught sight of a small brown
body dropping swiftly from branch to branch. The temptation to try a
sporting shot was great, but reason prevailed and I lowered my hand.
Cartridges were too valuable to waste on mere monkeys. . . .
For nearly a quarter of an hour, this nerve torture continued.
Everywhere seemed to be hidden and malignant forms of life, crying
warnings to one another, or hurling threats at me! Then they were
suddenly drowned in the deep and magnificent roar of our aeroplane
as it came gliding over the tree tops again in search of its lost
passenger.
"Hey!" I cried, frantically waving my cap.
The great bird spluttered, abruptly became silent, circled round twice,
and gracefully slid to earth.
"Lord!" I exclaimed, as I ran up to Oakley. "I thought you'd forgotten
me!"
"I couldn't look round for the first three or four minutes," he said.
"Too busy! These trees are a damned nuisance and the air's like a
cauldron."
Without wasting further time in talking, we backed the machine to one
corner of the "aerodrome," started the engine and, this time, got away
with both of us safely aboard.
An hour later we were back in Corisco telling Gran'pa of our first
encounter with a wild gorilla.
"It's a great pity you had to shoot it, George," he said.
"If I hadn't, neither of us would have been here now!" I exclaimed,
irritably.
"Oh, I'm not complaining. But we shall have to be careful not to let it
occur again. These brutes must be taken alive--or not at all. I suppose
you couldn't have frightened it away?"
"Yes!" I breathed. "As easily as you could scare off an elephant with a
pop-gun."
"H'm! . . . Well, tomorrow we must get to work on that portable cage.
It's no use going out again until we are properly prepared and can rely
on making a capture. By the way, while you were away Stringer has been
busy hypnotizing half-a-dozen blacks. He said very little to them; but
his gaze seemed to work wonders. They behaved like docile children."
"Did they? I wish we'd taken him with us to-day," I answered, still
incensed at the casual way Gran'pa had treated our escape. "He might
have put the 'fluence' on that gorilla and persuaded the brute to swing
the propeller when we were safely aboard. I'm beginning to think,
however, that the only effective weapon against these gentlemen of the
jungle will be hand grenades."
But I spoke, as so many of us do, without knowledge of what the future
had in store. I suppose that it is natural for every pioneer to have
his moments of doubt and anxiety.