The Gorilla Hunters, R. M. Ballantyne [chrysanthemum read aloud .TXT] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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The moon was shining full in Jack’s face, which wore an expression of intense ferocity I had never before witnessed, and had not believed it possible that such a look could have been called up by him. The lower part of his face, being shrouded in his black beard, was undiscernible; but his cheeks and forehead were like cold marble. His dark brows were compressed so tightly that they seemed knotted, and beneath them his eyes glittered with an intensity that seemed to me supernatural. Not a muscle moved; his gaze was fixed; and it was not difficult to fancy that he was actually, instead of apparently, petrified.
I could not, of course, observe the visage of the lion, and, to say truth, I had no curiosity on that point; for just then it occurred to me that I was directly in the line of fire, and that if my friend missed the lion there was every probability of his killing me. I was now in an agony of uncertainty. I knew not what to do. If I were to endeavour to get out of the way, I might perhaps cause Jack to glance aside, and so induce the lion to spring. If, on the other hand, I should remain where I was, I might be shot. In this dilemma it occurred to me that, as Jack was a good shot and the lion was very close, it was extremely unlikely that I should be hit; so I resolved to bide my chance, and offering up a silent prayer, awaited the issue.
It was not long of coming. The fixed gaze of a bold human eye cowed at last even the king of the woods. The lion slowly and almost imperceptibly rose, and sidled gently round, with the intention, doubtless, of bounding into the jungle. I saw that if it did so it would pass very close to me so I cocked both barrels and held my piece in readiness.
The click of my locks attracted the lion’s attention; its head turned slightly round. At that instant Jack’s rifle sprang to his shoulder, and the loud crack of its report was mingled with and drowned by the roar of the lion, as he sprang with a terrible bound, not past me, but straight towards me. I had no time to aim, but throwing the gun quickly to my shoulder, drew both triggers at once.
I had forgotten, in my perturbation, that I carried Peterkin’s heavy elephant rifle, charged with an immense quantity of powder and a couple of six-ounce balls. My shoulder was almost dislocated by the recoil, and I was fairly knocked head over heels. A confused sound of yells and roars filled my ear for a moment. I struggled to collect my faculties.
“Hollo! Jack!—Ralph! where are you?” shouted a voice that I well knew to be that of Peterkin. “Hurrah I’m coming. Don’t give in! I’ve killed him! The rhinoceros is dead as a door-nail! Where have you—”
I heard no more, having swooned away.
When my consciousness returned, I found myself lying on my back beside our camp-fire, with my head resting on Peterkin’s knee; and the first sound I heard was his pleasant voice, as he said—
“All right, Jack; he’s coming round. I’m quite certain that no serious damage is done. I know well what sort o’ rap he must have got. It’ll bother him a little at first, but it won’t last long.”
Comforted not a little by this assurance, I opened my eyes and looked up.
“What has happened?” I inquired faintly.
“Ah! that’s right, Ralph. I’m glad to hear your voice again. D’you know, I thought at first it was all over with you?”
“Over with him!” echoed Peterkin; “it’s only begun with him. Ralph’s days of valorous deeds are but commencing.—Here, my boy; put this flask to your mouth. It’s lucky I fetched it with us. Here, drink.”
“No, not until you tell me what has occurred,” said I, for I still felt confused in my brain.
“Then I won’t tell you a word until you drink,” repeated my friend, as he looked anxiously in my face and held the flask to my lips.
I sipped a mouthful, and felt much revived.
“Now,” continued Peterkin, “I’ll tell you what has happened. We’ve floored a rhinoceros and a giraffe and a lion, which, to my thinking, is a pretty fair bag to make after dusk of a Saturday night! And my big rifle has floored you, which is the least satisfactory part of the night’s entertainment, but which wouldn’t have occurred had you remembered my instructions, which you never do.”
“Oh, I recollect now,” said I, as the spirits revived me. “I’m all right.—But, Jack, I trust that you have not received damage?”
“Not a scratch, I’m thankful to say; though I must confess I was near catching an ugly wound.”
“How so?” I inquired quickly, observing a peculiar smile on Jack’s face as he spoke.
“Oh, make your mind easy,” put in Peterkin; “it was just a small bit of an escape he made. When you let drive at the lion so effectively, one of the balls went in at his mouth and smashed its way out at the back of his skull. The other ball shaved his cheek, and lodged in a tree not two inches from Jack’s nose.”
“You don’t mean it!” cried I, starting up, regardless of the pain occasioned to my injured shoulder by the movement, and gazing intently in Jack’s face.
“Come, come,” said he, smiling; “you must not be so reckless, Ralph. Lie down again, sir.”
“Peterkin, you should not talk lightly of so narrow an escape,” said I reproachfully. “The fact that such a terrible catastrophe has nearly occurred ought to solemnise one.”
“Granted, my dear boy; but the fact that such a catastrophe did not occur, ought, I hold, to make us jolly. There’s no managing a fellow like you, Ralph. I knew that if I told you of this gravely, you would get into such a state of consternational self-reproachativeness, so to speak, that you would infallibly make yourself worse. And now that I tell it to you ‘lightly,’ as you call it, you take to blowing me up.”
I smiled as my friend said this, and held out my hand, which he grasped and squeezed. Feeling at the moment overcome with drowsiness, I unconsciously retained it in my grasp, and thus fell sound asleep.
Three days after this misadventure I was nearly as well as ever, and we were once more journeying by forced marches towards the south. Two days more, we calculated, would bring us to Mbango’s village. As the end of our journey approached, we grew more desperately anxious to push forward, lest we should be too late to give them timely warning of the slave-dealer’s approach. We also became more taciturn, and I could see plainly that the irrepressible forebodings that filled my own heart, were shared by my companions. Poor Makarooroo never spoke, save in reply to questions addressed pointedly to himself; and seeing the state of his mind, we forbore to trouble him with conversation.
Yet, even while in this anxious state, I could not avoid noticing the singular variety and beauty of both the animal and the vegetable kingdom in the regions through which we passed.
In one part of our journey we had to cross a portion of what is called desert country, but which, notwithstanding its name, was covered with grass, and in many places with bushes, and even trees. Its vegetation, however, as compared with other parts of the country, was light; and it was almost entirely destitute of water, there being no rivers or springs; only a few pools of rain-water were to be found in the hard beds of ancient river-courses. This desert land was inhabited by numbers of bushmen and other natives, as well as by large quantities of game of various kinds. But what struck me as being most singular was the great variety of tuberous roots with which the region was supplied, and which were evidently designed by our beneficent Creator to make up to the inhabitants in a great degree for the want of a full supply of water.
I also observed, with much interest, a species of plant which, like man, is capable of being, as it were, acclimatised. It is not by nature a tuber-bearing plant; yet here it had become so, in order to be able to retain a sufficiency of moisture during the dry season. Makarooroo also dug up for us several tuber-roots, which were the size of a large turnip, and filled with a most delicious juice, which, as we were much oppressed with thirst at the time, appeared to us like nectar. Besides these, we also procured water-melons in abundance at certain spots, which were a great treat, not only to us, but also to elephants, rhinoceroses, antelopes, and many other animals, whose footprints we found in great numbers, and whose depredations among the water-melons were very evident.
During the whole of this journey we made a point, as I have already remarked, of avoiding man; not that we were indifferent to him, but anxious not to be detained at that particular time. We were very fortunate in this matter, for we succeeded in eluding the observation of the natives of many villages that we passed, in escaping others by flight, and in conciliating those who caught us by making them liberal gifts of beads.
One day we came to a halt under the most magnificent tree I ever saw. It was a mowano tree, whose trunk consisted of six stems united in one. The circumference a yard or so from the ground was eighty-four feet—upwards of nine yards in diameter.
“What a tree for a nobleman’s park!” said Jack, as we gazed at it, lost in admiration.
“Ay; and behold a gentleman worthy to take up his residence under it,” said Peterkin, pointing as he spoke to a living creature that sat among the grass near its roots.
“What can it be?” I exclaimed.
“The original father of all frogs!” replied Peterkin, as he darted forward and killed the thing with a stick.
“I believe it is a frog,” said Jack.
We all burst into a fit of laughter, for undoubtedly it was a frog, but certainly the largest by far that any of us had ever seen. It was quite as large as a chicken!
“What a shame to have killed it!” said I. “Why did you do it?”
“Shame! It was no shame. In the first place, I killed it because I wish you to make scientific inspection of it; and in the second place, I wanted to eat it. Why should not we as well as Frenchmen eat frogs? By the way, that reminds me that we might introduce this giant species into France, and thereby make our fortunes.”
“You greedy fellow,” cried Jack, who was busying himself in lighting the fire, “your fortune is made already. How many would you have?”
“D’ye know, Jack, I have been in possession of my fortune, as you call it, so short a time that I cannot realise the fact that I have it.—Hollo! Mak, what’s wrong with you?”
Peterkin thus addressed our guide because he came into the camp at that moment with a very anxious expression of countenance.
“Dere hab bin fight go on here,” said he, showing several broken arrows, stained with blood, which he had picked up near our encampment.
“Ha! so there has, unless these have been shot at wild beasts,” said Jack, examining the weapons carefully.
“No, massa; no shot at wild beast. De wild beast hab bin here too, but dey come for to eat mans after he
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