A GORILLA BREAKS LOOSE
In spite of Gran'pa's optimism and my reputed good luck, we captured
only eight more gorillas in the next two months. Little Willie also
escaped by intelligently pulling up his peg and making a sudden dash
for the jungle--an act of gross ingratitude after all we had done for
him.
To add to our gloomy forebodings of the future, we lost one of the
finest males through illness. I am convinced that its trouble was
mental. For nearly a week it refused to eat, but merely sat brooding
over what may well have been its lost kingship of the jungle--a truly
touching picture of a banished anthropoid Bonaparte.
This suicide by hunger-striking was only one instance of the many
psychological complexities with which we had to contend. The male
gorilla is a bundle of crude and intense emotions--such as rage,
hatred, egotism, churlishness and depression. Its mind has no half
tones. The emotions which prompt a smile, a handshake, or a tender
embrace would be unthinkable. And yet the brute can hunger strike!
"What I'm afraid of," said Gran'pa, "is that--monkey-like--the others
will start imitating, and that they'll all become passive resisters."
It was a terrible thought, and knowing what a powerful weapon the
hunger-strike had been in the happy, pre-war days of the suffragette,
we were naturally alarmed.
"I'm strongly of the opinion," continued Gran'pa, "that it's time
we packed up what we _have_ got--and went. We shall never capture
eighty-seven of the brutes."
I pointed out to him that, although no actual census had been taken
of the anthropoid apes, a learned professor had once estimated their
numbers as 200,000 chimpanzees, 200,000 gibbons, 50,000 orangs and
30,000 gorillas--the whole population being confined to the jungle
lands of the equatorial zone, which was less than a fifteenth part of
the earth's surface.
"You must admit," I added, "that twenty-two gorillas out of thirty
thousand is rather a poor show."
"Thirty thousand!" he exclaimed, "I should put it at about thirty
dozen, from what we've seen--or _haven't_ seen--of them!"
"Anyway, eighty-seven into twenty-two won't go."
"If you knock off sixty-five, it will!" he retaliated.
"It's hard lines on the old chaps you're going to 'knock off.'"
"That's their business. We've done our best. If we caught the whole lot
of the anthropoids in existence--and such a thing may happen any day if
gland-grafting becomes popular--we should still find we hadn't enough
to satisfy everyone. There wouldn't even be sufficient glands for the
septuagenarians in England alone. I believe that there are about one
thousand five hundred million human beings on the earth, George--an
absolute glut of people--and possibly thirty millions of them are ripe
for monkey glands. The demand for the latter, at any rate, will always
be fifty times greater than the supply. In our case it will be only
four times greater. That's logic, isn't it?"
"Yes," I admitted. "Cold, hard logic for men who have travelled seven
thousand miles for--nothing."
"Nonsense! The voyage will have done them good. So will the 'physical
jerks' they're going through at present. _I_ don't see what they'll
have to complain about."
"You will when you try to explain matters."
Gran'pa was determined, however.
"You leave it to me!" he boasted.
"I've no intention of doing otherwise."
He contemplated me for awhile.
"So you think we ought to go on--and on--and on?" he said, at last.
"I certainly think that we should do what we can until the dry season
is over."
Gran'pa thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and strode up and
down the veranda of our bungalow. He was a man who always hated the
idea of giving up a task to which he had once put his hand, and I knew
that there was some unconfessed reason behind this sudden desire to
leave Corisco.
I asked him what it was.
"It's simply the realization of defeat," he replied evasively.
"I don't believe it, Gran'pa. You're the last man on earth to realize
such a thing--still less to admit it."
He said that he was pleased to hear me say so.
"Why not be frank?" I persisted.
"Well--it's like this, George. . . . I'm worried over Sally. She is
going back. . . ."
"_What!_" I exclaimed. "Returning to England?"
"No! No! I mean . . . receding. All the good she's got out of the life
over here is rapidly being undone. After all, she's an old woman,
George--and I have the feeling that--we must be quick. At her age,
strange things happen. Something slips--and suddenly the wheels slow
down. You must have noticed the difference in her during the last two
or three weeks."
I had to admit that she certainly seemed very depressed and listless
of late. At the same time, I thought that it was nothing to be alarmed
about.
"I'm not alarmed!" said Gran'pa. "I'm merely taking precautions. It
may be selfish of me to consider her before the rest of these old
people--but it is natural, George!"
"Quite so! Then why not take her to Windhuk and let us follow later
with as many gorillas as we can get by then?"
"It is not practicable."
"You and Sally could 'plane it, accompanied by the necessary lady
gorilla."
"No! It is too late in the day to start doing things by instalments,
like that. We must all go together. If you've any respect for my
feelings, George, give in like a good fellow."
"Very well!" I sighed. "It's your expedition--not mine. And perhaps
you're right. . . ."
"You might admit it less grudgingly. . . . I don't want to seem a
killjoy. . . ."
"Killjoy!" I exclaimed. "You don't think that I'm fooling with these
gorillas for the joy of the thing. The novelty wore off months ago.
It's simply a matter of patience, followed by hard work if you're
lucky, and a fit of depression if you aren't. What glamour is there
in sitting in a cage, muffled up in a monkey skin, with your hand on
the gas tap--waiting for some fool gorilla to stray by? It's as bad as
being a spider. If only we could go in for a little genuine hunting
. . . a few hippo, or elephants. . . . But no! We should scare away
these precious apes. Pampered brutes!"
"You're very bitter, George!"
"Naturally I am when you suggest that I want to finish this job because
I like it."
"Come now! Even you have your moments of gayety. There's always some
new thrill in the jungle. That snake, for instance. . . . One isn't
always sitting and waiting. . . . Still, the point is that you agree
with me in the main. Capturing gorillas is a long and tedious business.
We shall never get enough. Therefore, let us take what we have before
any more of them die."
So at last, after many hardships and adventures, we came to the
beginning of the end.
That same evening we called a board meeting, with Gran'pa, as managing
director, in the chair. Dr. Croft was in favor of "closing down"
immediately; so was Stringer. The only one who opposed Gran'pa (beside
myself) was Obongi, our native interpreter. His reason was simple. He
didn't want us to go because everyone on Corisco would miss us!
It is only fair to admit that Gran'pa had a very strong case. He
pointed out that we should never overcome the initial difficulty caused
by the unsociableness of the male gorilla, who sought food and shelter
only in the company of a few wives and children. Unhandicapped, too,
by any housing problems, the brute moved from spot to spot at will,
and seemed seldom to visit the same place twice in succession. It also
preferred the gloomiest, unhealthiest and most inaccessible parts of
the jungle. Taking all these facts into consideration, had we not been
extraordinarily lucky? What other body of men could have captured over
twenty full grown gorillas in such a short time?
"Supposing," said Gran'pa, "that the news was flashed through to
civilization at this moment. How many people do you think would believe
it? I'm convinced that we've accomplished little short of a miracle.
Let us be grateful, then, and not ruin everything by a spirit of
overreaching greed."
I asked precisely what he intended doing.
"I shall explain matters fully," he replied, easily. "Then I shall
suggest the drawing of lots. There will be white beans for the
gorillas, and red beans for . . . those who are compelled to end their
lives naturally."
As if this were the solution of the simplest problem imaginable,
Gran'pa rose to his feet and announced:
"We'll weigh anchor to-morrow, gentlemen! Meanwhile, I'll go and see
Captain Morgan."
Thus did our sojourn in Corisco draw to its inevitable close, and
when the dawn came we crept aboard "The Pilgrim Father" with sorrow
in our hearts. Most of us wanted to go--and yet we didn't. Molly was
particularly reluctant to leave.
"I do think it's a shame!" she said, tearfully.
"Must we go to-day, Charles?" pleaded Sally Rebecca.
"Alas!" murmured Gran'pa. "We must, my dear! . . . Time is always on
the wing. It waits for no one. And, here, our task is finished. . . ."
I leant over the deck rail and gazed pensively at the white cliffs
rising from the blue green sea. Corisco the Beautiful! The romance of
the happy days which we had spent there awoke tender memories and we
were filled with the sadness of parting farewells. Obongi broke down
completely, as did many of the other negroes. Even the missionaries
and their wives could not conceal their grief. Molly had been to them
everything that Gran'pa had prophesied--a ray of light in a dark world
of ignorance and superstition; a link with "old times;" a glimpse of
all they had left behind them in the countries of the civilized; a
spirit of feminine youthfulness and abandon--such as is only understood
and tolerated by the whites.
"When you come to England," said Molly to the Rev. William Watkins,
"you'll bring Joey, _won't you_?"
Joey was her white-haired old "nigger man"--her particular pet--her
swimming instructor--her bodyguard--her right hand. . . .
"Certainly, I will, if possible," he answered.
"Daddy will pay for his fare to London," she explained.
I hadn't the heart to protest against this new form of extravagance at
such a moment. In fact, I almost suggested taking Joey with us there
and then, and was greatly surprised that Molly had not thought of it
herself!
"All ashore!" cried Captain Morgan, breezily.
The handshakings, the embraces and the kisses ceased; the gangway
was drawn up; the engines throbbed; and the good ship swung slowly
round and pointed its bow to the south. From the eastern horizon the
sun suddenly shot its golden arrows of light. At the same moment our
two aeroplanes rose from the centre of the island and came roaring
overhead. All was commotion and noise. Below deck, we even heard the
sharp bark of a male gorilla and the shrill cry of a female.
The 'planes sped swiftly out to sea, until they were mere specks; the
land, with its cheering and gesticulating crowd of blacks, slipped
slowly away; the native craft contracted into tiny toy boats--now
peeping at us from the tops of white crests of foam, now hiding in the
trough of the waves. Gradually, we became a little, isolated community,
afloat on the open sea. The terrors and hardships of the jungle and
the queer, half-dream-like quality of the life we had led on Corisco
resolved themselves into mere memories. Our mental outlook changed with
the physical. We might almost have been aboard a steamer _en route_
from England to France! Romance was dying; the glory of conquest was
departing; adventure was dead. Henceforth, our task would be merely the
commonplace one of spectators. Except for Sally Rebecca, we should now
have to be content with watching others tread the paths of danger and
excitement. And when that was finished--what then? Would life become
ordinary and respectable and safe again, or would it open into vistas
of still greater accomplishments?
"You look miserable, George!" said Gran'pa, breaking into my thoughts.
"I am! I'm loath to leave. It is as if Fate has written '_Finis_' and
only blank pages are left in the Book of Life. . . ."
"Nonsense! This is merely the 'Introduction.'"
"It's all very well for you," I complained. "You and Sally Rebecca are
just beginning."
"Your time will come later!"
"The zest will have gone by then."
"Did it with me?"
"No! But you're different. . . ."
"We're of the same flesh, George! You'll be just as keen when you're my
age. Cheer up, old man!"
It was poor comfort to suggest that I ought to look forward to
growing old in order that I might become young again, but it was
typical of Gran'pa's strange outlook on life. He revelled in his aged
youthfulness, and I believe that he felt really sorry for merely young
people.
"It's such an anticlimax," I complained. "Sneaking back with only a
couple of dozen pairs of monkey glands after all our adventures and
excitements."
"Don't you worry," he said. "There'll be plenty of excitement at
Windhuk when I tell those old people. I wouldn't be surprised at a
riot. You don't know how obstinate and querulous octogenarians are when
they're in danger of being robbed of their rights. They hate sporting
chances. We shall wish we were peacefully back amongst the gorillas
yet."
Touching at Swakopmund, we despatched Sally Rebecca and Stringer by
rail to Windhuk, a distance of about 240 miles. Molly, who insisted on
going there by 'plane, remained on board.
When we reached Walfisch Bay, "The Pilgrim Father" was anchored some
distance out from the land to prevent any troublesome questions being
asked by the port authorities.
It was our intention eventually to convey the glands by rowboat to the
mainland and thence by aeroplane to Windhuk. Meanwhile, Gran'pa, Dr.
Croft and I went ashore to make final arrangements with Oakley and
Newland, who were awaiting us with their machines. The crew, anxious to
get a glimpse of "civilization" again, followed in another boat. Thus
it came about that Molly, Captain Morgan and the gorillas were left on
board alone--one of those foolish arrangements which never reveal their
importance until it is too late.
We were met by Oakley and Newland the moment we landed and at once
inspected the "town"--a miserable looking collection of corrugated iron
buildings, an uninviting hotel, and a few stores--all dumped down in
a great expanse of bare, flat sand. A terrible example of how not to
develop one of the finest natural harbors on the East Coast of Africa.
Oppressed by the gloomy aspect of the place, Dr. Croft and I decided to
return to the ship, leaving Gran'pa to come back later with the crew.
Anchored about half a mile out, "The Pilgrim Father" looked very
picturesque and romantic, standing silhouetted against the faint
yellowish-gray glow of the twilight sky.
As we approached, we heard sounds of music stealing over the quiet
waters, "March of the Men of Harlech!"
"Captain Morgan's busy with his concertina," remarked Croft.
"Yes! He sounds a little erratic, though," I replied.
The music stopped and the gentle splash of the oars took its place.
From the shore came the sound of a sudden burst of human cries in the
still night air, and then the sharp yelp-yelp of a dog.
Then more music--quick and rollicking--of the "hi-tiddly-hi-ti!"
variety. It lasted for about a minute and was immediately succeeded by
a man's deep laugh.
Silence again. A star winked here and there, and presently a bright
yellow light sprang out of the ship's side, casting a moon-like image
on the water.
"How peaceful!" I thought.
Once more the concertina spoke to us--but with a different, steadier
and surer voice than before.
"Ah! This is the _real_ Captain Morgan!" I said to Croft. "But the
other. . . . I wouldn't be surprised if the old sinner hasn't been
teaching Molly to play!"
We were now within about a hundred yards of the ship's side and I could
see the silhouette of Molly's pretty little girlish head moving swiftly
hither and thither as if she were dancing. Snatches of song also came
from her lips--half-remembered lines and phrases, little animal-like
grunts of joy, weird hummings. . . .
"Ho! . . . Ho! . . . That fas-cin-a-ting,
Ju-ust so glide,
It's a tum-tum tum-tum tum-tum. . . .
Ju-ust so slide,
There's a rumor that the _Puma_ do-oes it now,
_Monkeys_ have taken to it . . . la-da-da-dah-dee
do it . . . !"
The deliciously cool sea air, the lapping of the water against our
boat, a swaying lantern on "The Pilgrim Father," the hushed stillness
of Nature, and the great gray shroud of mist creeping down on us from
the horizon, all imparted to the scene a vague dream-like quality.
Molly became a nymph, a will-o'-the-wisp, a sprite. Youth indeed! What
nonsense this business of rejuvenation was compared with the care-free
ecstasy of those who were young in soul! What a terrible mockery of the
real joy of life were we instituting in that awful hospital for the
aged at Windhuk!
As I watched her swiftly-moving and gyrating figure, I was filled
with pity for myself and others--for all that vast multitude of
humans who could never again recover the fine, free Spirit of Youth.
In our blindness we might seek palliatives against pain, and foolish
stimulants for jaded nerves and waning appetites and diminishing
pleasures, but our greatest endeavors would always be in vain. One by
one, we were creeping onwards and downwards. Here and there, a little
rise on Life's roadway; here and there, a whiff of fresh keen air
again; here and there a shaft of sunlight in a slowly darkening world;
but always that view of the straight pathway which leads down to a
"ripe old age."
The Song of Youth, with its rippling, flute-like accompaniment, grew
faster and faster until at last it suddenly stopped and I heard Molly
cry out in a loud (and almost breathless) voice:
"Oh! . . . You are mean! . . . How can I keep up with that?"
The concertina slackened its speed into a mere drawl and then changed
into a terrible discord of squeaks and grunts.
"I believe Molly's shaking the old chap!" whispered Croft.
We brought our boat to a standstill, anxious to remain an unseen
audience for a little while longer.
"Do stop playing!" cried Molly.
"I have!" answered Taffy.
"I don't mean _that_ playing--I mean being so silly! Do you know any
Irish jigs?"
Evidently he did, for the next moment the concertina broke out into a
wild, Celtic dance tune.
I saw Molly spin round with sheer delirious joy, extend her arms, throw
back her head, and proceed to give an unauthorized version of an Irish
dancer.
"Begorrah!" she cried; and "Och!" (apparently under the impression that
all primitive people emitted weird noises when executing a national
dance.)
Croft turned to say something to me, but before the words had time to
leave his mouth a dull, muffled thud seemed to shake the whole ship. It
was as if someone had struck a blow with a great hammer, away down in
the deepest and darkest part of the hold.
The next moment the music ceased, and I saw a light in one of the
port-holes flicker out into nothingness. There followed the sharp,
rending crash of breaking wood-work, a roar like distant thunder, a
heavy plump on deck, and a deep-throated animal cry of triumph.
"My God!" I cried. "It's one of those gorillas! Row, man! . . . _Row!_"
We must have been some thirty to forty yards from the ship's side,
but in the pandemonium which followed it seemed as inaccessible as
if we had been that many miles away. Everything happened so quickly.
Everything was so indeterminate and phantomlike in the dusk.
I heard Molly and Captain Morgan give a shout of dismay and terror
and saw them turn their heads swiftly in the direction of the hatch.
A second later they were running for their lives in the opposite
direction.
"Jump!" I shouted at the top of my voice. "Molly! Jump!"
Whether the poor distracted child heard me I do not know, but she
certainly took no heed. As she and the Captain disappeared round the
other side of the ship there was a sudden and uncanny silence, broken
presently by another blood-curdling roar from the gorilla.
I stood up in the rocking boat, shouted again, raised my revolver in
the air, and fired into the starlit sky.
"Molly!" I cried, in anguish of soul.
She heard this time--thank God!--for there was an immediate answering
long-drawn cry of: "Dad-dee!" from the bows. We rowed quickly in that
direction and saw a huddled shape drop from the rigging and run along
the deck like the shadow of a little old man. I fired, missed the
brute, and heard a sudden scream of terror from Molly as it rushed on
all fours towards her.
"_Jump!_" I bellowed.
Another cry from the bows, the sudden appearance of a slight, girlish
figure on the deck rail, a splash, a bump as our canoe struck the
ship's side--and Molly was saved!
With my own hands, I hauled her in--surely the most precious burden
that a man ever landed from the dark, mysterious sea.
"Daddy!" she wept, as she clung to me in her dripping clothes. "Oh! I
am glad you were here!" And then, with a swift dismissal of all thought
of her own plight: "Where's Captain Morgan?"
Without waiting for a reply, she raised her hands, cup-shaped, to her
mouth.
"Captain Morgan!" she called. . . . "Here we are!"
No answer. But as we strained our ears for some sound of life on the
dark and silent vessel which loomed above us, we heard a thud and
the muffled curse of a man in difficulties. Then something hard and
metallic struck the mast and fell to the deck with a crash.
Thrusting the canoe away from the ship's side, I shouted again:
"Jump, man!"
The words were no sooner out of my mouth than over he came, striking
the water within a couple of yards of our boat.
We dragged him aboard, as though he were some huge, wet fish, thrown up
unexpectedly from the deep; and then we held a council of war.
To have attempted to locate and shoot an enraged gorilla on board a
vessel which was a hive of shelters and shadows would have been running
risks that no one but a lunatic would have faced. Far simpler and safer
to wait until morning. The gorilla is not an animal which will swim,
even under the greatest provocation. Consequently, there was no fear of
his taking his glands away with him in the dead of night.
"Do you think any of the others have escaped?" I asked Captain Morgan.
"Can't say! That fellow was most likely the one we had to put by
himself because of his vile temper. If he is one of the twenty in the
big cage, then the rest of them must be free--or soon will be!"
This seemed logical enough.
"It will be a pity if we have to kill the whole lot of the brutes,"
said Croft. "We could never capture them alive."
I agreed. Shooting gorillas is not sport; it seems too much like
murdering one's fellow creatures--a form of enlightenment laudable
only in human warfare. Quite apart from this, it was our intention
to replace the gorilla's glands with live goat glands--an absurd,
unfruitful operation to perform on a dead animal.
"Hadn't we better get ashore?" asked Captain Morgan rather abruptly. "I
don't like hanging about in these wet clothes."
We commenced rowing again, but before we had gone a couple of dozen
yards, I heard the sound of the other boat returning.
"That you, George?" came Gran'pa's voice out of the darkness.
Molly and I let up a joint shout of affirmation.
Unaware of what had happened, Gran'pa drew near to us and announced
boisterously:
"Well, George--we've got our goats all right!"
"Yes!" I said, "and I've something else that'll get your goat. One of
those confounded gorillas has escaped and is in possession of the ship."
"_What's that?_" he barked.
I repeated the information and gave him lurid details of Molly's and
Captain Morgan's miraculous escape.
"If we'd stopped with you," I observed, "instead of returning when we
did, God knows what would have happened. There's a streak of luck even
in our worst misfortunes."
Seldom have I seen Gran'pa as excited as he was at that moment. He
spluttered inarticulately, stood up in the boat, and nearly fell
overboard.
"Hell!" he exploded. "What are we going to do if the brute starts
running amok--and letting out the others? Anything may happen.
There may be a free fight--murder--_anything_! . . . Those females,
too. . . ."
He broke off dramatically and I could see at once that his real fear
was that the gorilla (and consequently the glands) chosen for Sally
Rebecca might be damaged.
"We can't do anything to-night. . . ." I began.
"Can't we?" he cried. "If you think I'm going to leave that hulking
brute in charge of the ship you were never more mistaken in your life.
Who'll come with me?"
Silence! Who, indeed, would board that vessel and face heaven knew what
horrible peril?
"Listen to me, Gran'pa. . . ."
"Very well!" he snapped. "I'll go myself! _I_'m not afraid! . . . Come
alongside. . . . That's right!"
In spite of our remonstrances and arguments, Gran'pa clambered into
our boat, turned Captain Morgan and Molly out into the other one, and
ordered the crew to take them ashore at once.
A couple of minutes later, Croft and Gran'pa and I were staring up at
the dark hull of "The Pilgrim Father"--surely one of the most strangely
manned vessels which ever rode the seas.
For all we knew to the contrary, its crew consisted solely of over
twenty escaped gorillas--lying in wait, watching, scheming. The first
human being to board such a ship might be torn to pieces in an instant,
and yet--
"Keep the damned boat still, George!" whispered Gran'pa, hoarsely. "I
can see something. . . ."
So could I. The vessel was filled with weird, fantastic shapes, every
one of which might be a gorilla. Some of them seemed to move like
stealthy ghosts in a phantom world; some were statuesque, corpselike;
and all rose and fell with the gentle sway of the ocean. But there
was not a sound anywhere, save the lap, lap of the water against the
ship's side. From a solitary port-hole came the gleam of a light which
only intensified the surrounding darkness, whilst on deck a lantern
flickered and then went out.
It was the spectre-like quality of the scene which made it so
gruesome and unnerving. One felt afraid not so much of gorillas as
of--_Things_. . . .
Only a man like Gran'pa--driven to desperation by an exaggerated
sense of danger to something he valued--would have dared to face such
unknown, terrifying perils. But he never hesitated for one moment.
Unable to locate anything at which we could fire with the certainty
that it was a gorilla, Gran'pa insisted on our rowing round to the
bows, where he removed his boots, swarmed up the anchor chain, and
dropped silently aboard. Conscious of the intensely dramatic aspect of
the situation, Croft and I backwatered our boat a dozen yards or so,
and waited.
We saw Gran'pa creep along, in a crouching attitude, until he reached a
dense, black shadow, where he suddenly vanished, as if he had dropped
to his hands and knees. A second later something moved on the captain's
bridge.
"See that?" I whispered to Croft. "It couldn't possibly be Gran'pa.
Shall we fire?"
"No! There's a chance that it might be he--he's so quick! Shout,
instead!"
"_Look on the bridge!_" we cried, as in one voice.
The words of warning had hardly left our lips when a little red spurt
of flame leaped out of the darkness, a crash rent the still air and a
shrill yell of pain told us immediately that the bullet had found its
mark.
A medley of vague, half muffled sounds followed. We heard a heavy thud
as the gorilla flung himself straight from the bridge to the deck; then
the rush of padded feet; another thud; a groan, which might have been
either human or simian--and, finally, a sudden, breathless silence.
I was horrified by the imaginative but vivid picture of Gran'pa lying
helpless, with perhaps a broken limb or neck, and the wounded gorilla
seeking some ghastly revenge.
"Gran'pa!" I shouted. "I'm coming aboard!"
"Stop where you are, you fool . . . !" came the reply.
Pandemonium ensued. The gorilla roared; Gran'pa fired; and the whole
deck seemed to be suddenly alive with bustle and noise. I was convinced
that not one, but a dozen apes were loose. Cries, bumps, yells and
roars ascended into the night air as if the lid had been taken off some
hidden inferno of lost and tortured souls. Every gorilla on board,
whether free or captive, must have been contributing to that chorus of
rage and hatred.
At times, individual cries followed one another in quick succession,
culminating in a unanimous roar that seemed to shake the vessel from
stem to stern.
No man but Gran'pa could have lived and retained his sanity through
such an ordeal; and yet never once did he cry for help. Single-handed,
he went aboard "The Pilgrim Father," and fought--and won.
"George!" he yelled, during the first lull.
"Yes?" I shouted back.
"It's all right, laddie! He's dead!"
He actually had the temerity to strike a match, and we then saw that he
was bending down, looking at something.
"Aren't there any others loose?" I cried, in amazement.
"I don't think so!" he replied coolly. "I'll just go and see!"
Once more a deep silence had fallen on the vessel and, tense with
anxiety, we waited while he went below.
"He simply doesn't know what fear is," said Croft.
"I don't think he ever did," I answered. "Certainly, not since he was
rejuvenated."
"If those old men at Windhuk start complaining, it would be as well to
mention this affair."
"Don't worry!" I observed. "Gran'pa will be the first to rub it in, if
necessary. His accomplishments are many--and he never forgets the fact."
A minute or so later, Gran'pa was on deck again, serenely explaining
that everyone below was quite comfortable and safe.
"A little excited, perhaps," he joked. "But that is only to be
expected."
He was about to return to our boat when he suddenly thought of the dead
gorilla.
"We'd better have this fellow's glands put into cold storage. A pity to
waste them. . . . If you'll just wait a moment I'll light up and you
can come aboard. It's quite safe now, George. . . ."
I held my peace--mainly because I had no adequate reply--but even when
we did go aboard I could feel cold shivers running up and down my back.
"Did you _count_ the gorillas below?" I asked.
"What a man you are!" laughed Gran'pa. "Yes! I read the roll call
twice. There was a full attendance."
I could see that he was in a taunting mood, so I flattered him a little.
"You had nerve," I said, "to come on this deck in the dark."
He put his hand on my shoulder good-humoredly.
"George," he replied, "you never seem able to see both sides of the
question. That gorilla had scores of hiding-places; but I had just as
many, minus one--the one being the particular spot he was in at any
given moment. He may have had the beef, too; but I had the brains--and
a loaded revolver. I was sorry for that poor, misguided brute the
second my socks touched the deck."
How simple everything always was when Gran'pa explained!
All I desired now was that he would be able to use the same species of
disarming logic on the morrow, when eighty-seven eager old men began
clamoring for their new glands.