The day following that on which we shot our first gorilla was a great and memorable day in our hunting career in Africa, for on that day we saw no fewer than ten gorillas: two females, seven young ones—one of which was a mere baby gorilla in its mother’s arms—and a huge lone male, or bachelor gorilla, as Peterkin called him. And of these we killed four—three young ones, and the old bachelor. I am happy to add that I saved the lives of the infant gorilla and its mother, as I shall presently relate.
The portion of country through which we travelled this day was not so thickly wooded as that through which we had passed the day before, so that we advanced more easily, and enjoyed ourselves much as we went along. About the middle of the day we came to a spot where there were a number of wild vines, the leaves of which are much liked by the gorilla, so we kept a sharp lookout for tracks.
Soon we came upon several, as well as broken branches and twigs, in which were observed the marks of teeth, showing that our game had been there. But we passed from the wood where these signs were discovered, out upon an open plain of considerable extent. Here we paused, undecided as to whether we should proceed onward or remain there to hunt.
“I vote for advancing,” said Peterkin, “for I observe that on the other side of this plain the wood seems very dense, and it is probable that we may find Mister Gorilla there.—What think you, Mak?”
The guide nodded in reply.
“I move,” said Jack, “that as the country just where we stand is well watered by this little brook, besides being picturesque and beautiful to look upon, we should encamp where we are, and leaving our men to guard the camp, cross this plain—we three take Mak along with us, and spend the remainder of the day in hunting.”
“I vote for the amendment,” said I.
“Then the amendment carries,” cried Jack, “for in all civilised societies most votes always carry; and although we happen to be in an uncivilised region of the earth, we must not forget that we are civilised hunters. The vote of two hunters ought certainly to override that of one hunter.”
Peterkin demurred to this at once, on the ground that it was unfair.
“How so?” said I.
“In the first place,” replied he, looking uncommonly wise, and placing the point of his right finger in the palm of his left hand—“in the first place, I do not admit your premises, and therefore I object to your conclusion. I do not admit that in civilised societies most votes carry; on the contrary, it too frequently happens that, in civilised societies, motions are made, seconded, discussed, and carried without being put to the vote at all; often they are carried without being made, seconded, or discussed—as when a bottle-nosed old gentleman in office chooses to ignore the rights of men, and carry everything his own way. Neither do I admit that we three are civilised hunters; for although it is true that I am, it is well-known that you, Ralph, are a philosopher, and Jack is a gorilla. Therefore I object to your conclusion that your two votes should carry; for you cannot but admit that the vote of one hunter ought to override that of two such creatures, which would not be the case were there an equality existing between us.”
“Peterkin,” said I, “there is fallacy in your reasoning.”
“Can you show it?” said he.
“No; the web is too much ravelled to disentangle.”
“Not at all,” cried Jack; “I can unravel it in a minute, and settle the whole question by proving that there does exist an equality between us; for it is well-known, and generally admitted by all his friends, and must be acknowledged by himself, that Peterkin is an ass.”
“Even admitting that,” rejoined Peterkin, “it still remains to be proved that a philosopher, a gorilla, and an ass are equal. Of course I believe the latter to be superior to both the former animals; but in consideration of the lateness of the hour, and the able manner in which you have discussed this subject, I beg to withdraw my motion, and to state that I am ready to accompany you over the plain as soon as you please.”
At this point our conversation was interrupted by the shriek of a small monkey, which had been sitting all the time among the branches of the tree beneath which we stood.
“I declare it has been listening to us,” cried Peterkin.
“Yes, and is shouting in triumph at your defeat,” added Jack.
As he spoke, Makarooroo fired, and the monkey fell to the ground almost at our feet.
“Alas! it has paid a heavy price for its laugh,” said Peterkin, in a tone of sadness.
The poor thing was mortally wounded; so much so that it could not even cry. It looked up with a very piteous expression in our faces. Placing its hand on its side, it coughed once or twice, then lying down on its back and stretching itself out quite straight, it closed its eyes and died.
I never could bear to shoot monkeys. There was something so terribly human-like in their sufferings, that I never could witness the death of one without feeling an almost irresistible inclination to weep. Sometimes, when short of provisions, I was compelled to shoot monkeys, but I did so as seldom as possible, and once I resolved to go supperless to bed rather than shoot one whose aspect was so sad and gentle that I had not the heart to kill it. My companions felt as I did in this matter, and we endeavoured to restrain Makarooroo as much as possible; but he could not understand our feelings, and when he got a chance of a shot, almost invariably forgot our injunctions to let monkeys alone unless we were absolutely ill off for food. To do him justice, however, I must add that we were at this particular time not overburdened with provisions, and the men were much pleased to have the prospect of a roast monkey for supper.
Having given our men a little tobacco, a gift which caused their black faces to beam with delight, we shouldered our rifles and set off across the plain towards the thick wood, which was not more than five miles distant, if so much.
It was a beautiful scene, this plain with its clumps of trees scattered over it like islands in a lake, and its profusion of wild flowers. The weather, too, was delightful—cooler than usual—and there was a freshness in the air which caused us to feel light of heart, while the comparative shortness of the grass enabled us to proceed on our way with light steps. As we walked along for some time in silence, I thought upon the goodness and the provident care of the Creator of our world; for during my brief sojourn in Africa I had observed many instances of the wonderful exactness with which things in nature were suited to the circumstances in which they were placed, and the bountiful provision that was made everywhere for man and beast. Yet I must confess I could not help wondering, and felt very much perplexed, when I thought of the beautiful scenes in the midst of which I moved being inhabited only by savage men, who seemed scarcely to appreciate the blessings by which they were surrounded, and who violated constantly all the laws of Him by whom they were created. My meditations were interrupted by Jack saying—
“I cannot help wondering why that poor monkey kept so still all the time we were talking. One would think that it should have been frightened away just as we came under the tree.”
“I have no doubt,” said I, “that although of course it could not understand what we said, yet it was listening to us.”
“I’m not so certain that it did not understand,” observed Peterkin. “You know that sailors believe that monkeys could speak if they chose, but they don’t for fear that they should be made to work!”
“Well, whatever truth there may be in that, of this I am certain, they are the most deceptive creatures that exist.”
“I don’t agree with you,” rejoined Peterkin. “It’s my opinion that little boys are the greatest deceivers living.”
“What! all little boys!” exclaimed Jack.
“No, not all. I have not so bad an opinion of the race as that. I’ve had a good deal to do with boys during my naval career, and among the middies of her Majesty’s navy I have met with as fine little chaps as one would wish to see—regular bricks, afraid of nothing (except of doing anything that would be thought sneaking or shabby), ready to dare anything—to attack a seventy-four single-handed in a punt or a bumboat if need be; nevertheless, I’ve met boys, and a good many of them too, who would beat all the monkeys in Africa at sneaking and deceiving. I remember one rascal, who went to the same school with me, who was a wonderfully plausible deceiver. I can’t help laughing yet when I think of the curious way he took to free himself of the restraint of school.”
“How was it?” cried Jack; “tell us about it—do.”
“Well, you must know,” began Peterkin, “that this boy was what Jack tars would call a ‘great, stupid, lubberly fellow.’ He was a very fair-haired, white eyelashed sort of chap, that seemed to grow at such a rate that he was always too big for his clothes, and showed an unusual amount of wrist and ankle even for a boy. Most people who met him thought him a very stupid boy at first; but those who came to know him well found that he was rather a sharp, clever fellow, but a remarkably shy dog. We called him Doddle.
“His mother was a widow, and he was an only son, and had been spoiled, of course, so that he was not put to school till he was nearly twelve years of age. He had been at several schools before coming to ours, but had been deemed by each successive schoolmaster a hopeless imbecile. And he was so mischievous that they advised his poor mother to take him away and try if she could not instil a little knowledge into him herself. The old lady was a meek, simple body, and quite as stupid as her hopeful son appeared to be. Hearing that our master was a sharp fellow, and somewhat noted as a good manager of obstreperous boys, she brought him to our school as a last resource, and having introduced him to the master, went her way.
“It was near the end of play-hour when she brought him, so he was turned out into the playground, and stood there looking like a mongrel cur turned unexpectedly into a kennel of pointers.
“‘Well, Doddle,’ said one of the sixth-form boys, going up to him and addressing him for the first time by the name which stuck to him ever after, ‘where did you grow; and who cut you down and tossed you in here?’
“‘Eh?’ said Doddle, looking sheepish.
“‘What’s your name, man, and where did you come from, and how old are you, and how far can you jump without a race? and in fact I want to know all about you.’
“‘My name’s Tommy Thompson,’ replied the boy, ‘and I—’
“At that moment the bell rang, and the remainder of his sentence was drowned in the rush of the rest of us to the classroom.
“When all was quiet the master called Doddle up, and said, ‘Well, Thompson, my boy, your mother tells me you have learned a little grammar and a little arithmetic. I hope that we shall instil into you a good deal of those branches of learning, and of many others besides, ere long. Let me hear what you can do.’
“‘I can play hockey and dumps,’ began Doddle, in a sing-song tone, and with the most uncommonly innocent expression of visage; ‘an’ I can—’
“‘Stay, boy,’ interrupted the master, smiling; ‘I do not want to know what you can play at. Keep silence until I put a few questions to you. What is English grammar?’
“‘Eh?’
“‘Don’t say “Eh!” When you fail to understand me, say “Sir?” interrogatively. What is English grammar?’
“‘It’s a book.’
“The master looked over the top of his spectacles at Doddle in surprise.
“‘English grammar,’ said he, slowly, and with a slight touch of sternness, ‘is indeed contained in a book; but I wish to know what it teaches.’
“‘Eh?—a—I mean sir interrogatively.’
“‘What does English grammar teach, boy?’ cried the master angrily.
“Doddle laid hold of his chin with his right hand, and looked down at the floor with an air of profound thought, saying slowly, in an undertone to himself, ‘What—does—English—grammar—teach—teach—grammar—teach? It—teaches—a—I don’t know what it teaches. Perhaps you can tell me, sir?’
“He looked up, and uttered the last sentence with such an air of blank humility that we all had to cram our pocket handkerchiefs into our mouths to prevent a universal explosion. The master looked over his spectacles again at Doddle with an expression of unutterable amazement. We looked on with breathless interest, not unmingled with awe, for we expected some awful outbreak on the part of the master, who seemed quite unable to make up his mind what to do or say, but continued to stare for nearly a minute at the boy, who replied to the stare with a humble, idiotic smile.
“Suddenly the master said sharply, ‘How much are seven times nine?’
“‘Five hundred and forty-two and a half,’ answered Doddle, without a moment’s hesitation.
“The master did not look surprised this time, but he took Doddle by the shoulder, and drawing him towards his chair, looked earnestly into his face. Then he said quietly, ‘That will do, Thompson; go to your seat.’
“This was all that occurred at that time. During a whole week the master tried by every means to get Doddle to learn something; but Doddle could learn nothing. Yet he seemed to try. He pored over his book, and muttered with his lips, and sometimes looked anxiously up at the ceiling, with an expression of agony on his face that seemed to indicate a tremendous mental effort. Every species of inducement was tried, and occasionally punishment was resorted to. He was kept in at play-hours, and put in a corner during school-hours; and once, the master having lost patience with him, he was flogged. But it was all one to Doddle. All the methods tried proved utterly unavailing. He could not be got to acquire a single lesson, and often gave such remarkable answers that we all believed him to be mad.
“On the Monday forenoon of his second week at the school, the master called him up again for examination.
“‘Now, Thompson,’ he began, ‘you have been a long time over that lesson; let us see how much of it you have learned. What is etymology?’
“‘Etymology,’ answered Doddle, ‘is—is—an irregular pronoun.’
“‘Boy!’ cried the master sternly.
“‘Please, sir,’ pleaded Doddle, with deprecatory air, ‘I—I suppose I was thinkin’ o’ one o’ the other mologies, not the etty one.’
“‘Ha!’ ejaculated the master; ‘well, tell me, how many parts of speech are there?’
“‘Nineteen,’ answered the boy, quite confidently.
“‘Oh!’ exclaimed the master, with a good deal of sarcasm in his tone; ‘pray, name them.’
“In a very sing-song voice, and with an air of anxious simplicity, Doddle began, ‘Article, noun, adjective, pronoun, verb, adverb, preposition, conjunction, interjection, outerjection, beginning with ies in the plural—as, baby, babies; lady, ladies; hady, hadies. Please, sir, isn’t that last one a bad word?’
“‘The boy is a lunatic!’ muttered the master.
“The boys in the class were far past laughing now; we were absolutely stunned. The master seemed perplexed, for Doddle was gazing at him with a look of mild self-satisfaction.
“‘I say, Peterkin,’ whispered the boy next to me, ‘as sure as you’re alive that boy’s shamming stupid.’
“Presently the master, who had been turning over the leaves of the grammar in a way that showed he was not conscious of what he was about, looked up, and said abruptly, ‘What is a proper noun?’
“‘A well-behaved one,’ replied Doddle.
“At this the whole school tittered violently.
“‘Silence, boys,’ cried the master, in a tone that produced the desired effect so thoroughly that you might have heard a pin drop. Then laying his hand on Doddle’s shoulder, he looked him full in the face, and said solemnly, ‘Thompson, I have found you out. Go, sir, to your seat, and remain behind when the other boys go to the playground.’
“We observed that Doddle grew very red in the face as he came back to his seat, and during the rest of the hour he never once looked up.
“During the whole of the play-hour the master and he remained shut up together in the schoolroom. We never discovered what took place there between them, for neither threats nor coaxing could induce Doddle afterwards to speak on the subject; but from that day forward he was a changed boy. He not only learned his lessons, but he learned them well, and in the course of time became one of the best scholars in the school; so that although he never would admit it, we all came to the conclusion he had been shamming stupid—attempting to deceive the master into the belief that he was incurable, and thus manage to get rid of lessons and school altogether.”
“A most remarkable boy,” observed Jack when Peterkin concluded. “Certainly he beat the monkeys hollow.”
“I wonder,” said I, “what the master said or did to him that wrought such a mighty change.”
“Don’t know,” replied Peterkin; “I suppose he told him that now he had found him out, he would flay him alive if he didn’t give in, or something of that sort.”
We had now entered the dark forest that edged the plain over which we had been walking, and further conversation on this subject was stopped, and the subject itself banished utterly from our minds by the loud, startling cry of a gorilla at no great distance from us.
“Hist! that’s him,” whispered Peterkin.
Instantly throwing our rifles into a position of readiness we pushed rapidly through the underwood in the direction whence the cry had come.
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