The Gorilla Hunters

We had now gained so much on the fugitives that we had reason to hope that we might by signs enable them to understand that we were not enemies. We had to make the attempt rather abruptly, for as Jack uttered his last remark, the man in the stern of the canoe we were chasing, having reloaded his gun, turned round to aim at us again. At the same time the rest of the crew suddenly ceased to paddle, in order to enable their comrade to take a steady aim. It was evident that they rested all their hopes upon that shot disabling one of our number, and so enabling them to escape. Seeing this, Makarooroo in desperation seized his rifle and levelled it.

“No, no,” said Peterkin, hastily holding up his hand. “Give me your rifle, Mak; and yours, Ralph. Now then, stop paddling for a moment; I’ll try an experiment.”

So saying, he sprang to his feet, and grasping a rifle in each hand, held them high above his head, intending thus to show that we were well-armed, but that we did not intend to use our weapons.

The device was happily successful: the man in the other canoe lowered the gun with which he was in the act of taking aim at us.

“Now, boys, paddle slowly towards the bank,” cried Peterkin, laying down the rifles quickly and standing erect again with his empty hands extended in the air, to confirm the fugitives in regard to our good intentions. They understood the sign, and also turned toward the bank, where in a few minutes both parties landed, at the distance of about two hundred yards from each other.

“Mak, you had better advance alone,” said Jack. “If it is Mbango and his friends, they will know you at once. Don’t carry your rifle; you won’t need it.”

“Nay, Jack,” I interposed; “you do not act with your usual caution. Should it chance not to be Mbango, it were well that Mak should have his rifle and a companion to support him.”

“O most sapient Ralph,” said Peterkin, “don’t you know that Jack and I have nothing to do but sit down on this bank, each with a double-barrel in his hand, and if anything like foul play should be attempted, four of the enemy should infallibly bite the dust at the same time? But you’d better go with Mak, since you’re so careful of him. We will engage to defend you both.—Hollo, Puggy! take the line of our canoe here and fasten it to yonder bush.”

The latter part of this remark was addressed to Njamie’s little boy, whose name we had never learned, and who had been called Puggy by Peterkin—not, let me remark, in anything approaching to a contemptuous spirit. He evidently meant it as a title of endearment. We had tacitly accepted it, and so had the lad, who for some time past had answered to the name of Puggy, in utter ignorance, of course, as to its signification.

Mak and I now advanced unarmed towards the negroes, and in a few seconds we mutually recognised each other. I was overjoyed to observe the well-known face of Okandaga, who no sooner recognised her lover than she uttered a joyful shout and ran towards him. I at the same time advanced to Mbango, and grasping his hand shook it warmly; but that good-hearted chief was not satisfied with such a tame expression of good will. Seizing me by the shoulders, he put forward his great flat nose and rubbed mine heartily therewith. My first impulse was to draw back, but fortunately my better judgment came to my aid in time, and prevented me from running the risk of hurting the feelings of our black friend. And I had at that time lived long enough to know that there is nothing that sinks so bitterly into the human heart as the repulse, however slightly, of a voluntary demonstration of affection. I had made up my mind that if the dirtiest negro in all Africa should offer to rub noses with me, I would shut my eyes and submit.

I observed among the crew of Mbango’s canoe a female figure who instantly attracted my attention and awakened my sympathy. She was seated on a rock, paying no attention whatever to the events that were occurring so near to her, and which, for aught she could tell, might be to her matter of life or death. Her hands hung idly by her side; her body was bowed forward; her head drooped on her breast; and her whole appearance indicated a depth of woe such as I have never before seen equalled.

I pointed to her and looked at Mbango in surprise. He looked first at the woman and then at me, and shook his head mournfully; but being unable to speak to me, or I to him, of course I could not gather much from his looks.

I was about to turn to our guide, when the woman raised her head a little, so that her face was exposed. I at once recognised the features of Njamie, Mbango’s favourite wife, and I was now at no loss to divine the cause of her grief.

Starting up in haste, I ran away back at full speed towards the spot where our canoe lay. Jack and Peterkin, seeing how matters stood, were by that time advancing to meet us, and the little boy followed. I passed them without uttering a word, seized the boy by the wrist, and dragged him somewhat violently towards the place where his mother sat.

“Hollo, Ralph,” shouted Peterkin as I passed, “see that you don’t damage my Puggy, else you’ll have to—”

I heard no more. The next instant I stood beside Njamie, and placed her boy before her. I have never in my life witnessed such a mingling of intense eagerness, surprise, and joy, as was expressed by the poor woman when her eyes fell on the face of her child. For one moment she gazed at him, and the expressions I have referred to flitted, or rather flashed, across her dusky countenance; then giving utterance to a piercing shriek, she sprang forward and clasped her son to her bosom.

I would not have missed that sight for the world. I know not very well what my thoughts were at the time, but the memory of that scene has often since, in my musings, filled me with inexpressible gladness; and in pondering the subject, I have felt that the witnessing of that meeting has given additional force to the line in Scripture wherein the word “love” alone is deemed sufficiently comprehensive to describe the whole character of the Almighty.

Here, on the one hand, I beheld unutterable, indescribable woe; on the other hand, unutterable, inconceivable joy—both, I should suppose, in their extremest degree, and both resulting from pure and simple love. I pondered this much at the time; I have pondered it often since. It is a subject of study which I recommend to all who chance to read this page.

Chapter Twenty Five.

I Have a Desperate Encounter and a Narrow Escape

The happiness that now beamed in the faces of Makarooroo, Okandaga, and Njamie was a sufficient reward to us for all the trouble we had taken and all the risk we had run on their account. Poor Njamie was exceedingly grateful to us. She sought by every means in her power to show this, and among other things, hearing us call her son by the name of Puggy, she at once adopted it, to the immense amusement and delight of Peterkin.

After the first excitement of our meeting had subsided somewhat, we consulted together as to what we should now do. On the one hand, we were unwilling to quit the scene of our hunting triumphs and adventures; on the other hand, Makarooroo and his bride were anxious to reach the mission stations on the coast and get married in the Christian manner.

“Our opposing interests are indeed a little perplexing,” said Jack, after some conversation had passed on the subject.—“No doubt, Mak, you and Mbango with his friends might reach the coast safely enough without us; but then what should we do without an interpreter?”

Our poor guide, whose troubles seemed as though they would never end, sighed deeply and glanced at his bride with a melancholy countenance as he replied—

“Me’ll go wid you, massa, an’ Okandaga’ll go to coast an’ wait dere for me come.”

“Ha!” ejaculated Peterkin, “that’s all very well, Mak, but you’ll do nothing of the sort. That plan won’t do, so we’ll have to try again.”

“I agree with you, Peterkin,” observed Jack. “That plan certainly will not do; but I cannot think of any other that will, so we must just exercise a little self-denial for once, give up all further attacks on the wild beasts of Africa, and accompany Mak to the coast.”

“Could we not manage a compromise?” said I.

“What be a cumprumoise?” asked Makarooroo, who had been glancing anxiously from one to the other as we conversed.

Peterkin laid hold of his chin, pursed up his mouth, and looked at me with a gleeful leer.

“There’s a chance for you, Ralph,” said he; “why don’t you explain?”

“Because it’s not easy to explain,” said I, considering the best way in which to convey the meaning of such a word.—“A compromise, Mak, is—is a bargain, a compact—at least so Johnson puts it—”

“Yes,” interposed Peterkin; “so you see, Mak, when you agree with a trader to get him an elephant-tusk, that’s a cumprumoise, according to Johnson.”

“No, no, Mak,” said I quickly; “Peterkin is talking nonsense. It is not a bargain of that kind; it’s a—a—You know every question has two sides?”

“Yis, massa.”

“Well, suppose you took one side.”

“Yis.”

“And suppose I took the other side.”

“Then suppose we were to agree to forsake our respective sides and meet, as it were, half-way, and thus hold the same middle course—”

“Ay, down the middle and up again; that’s it, Mak,” again interrupted Peterkin—“that’s a cumprumoise. In short, to put it in another and a clearer light, suppose that I were to resolve to hit you an awful whack on one side of your head, and suppose that Ralph were to determine to hit you a frightful bang on the other side, then suppose that we were to agree to give up those amiable intentions, and instead thereof to give you, unitedly, one tremendous smash on the place where, if you had one, the bridge of your nose would be—that would be a cumprumoise.”

“Ho! ha! ha! hi!” shouted our guide, rolling over on the grass and splitting himself with laughter; for Makarooroo, like the most of his race, was excessively fond of a joke, no matter how bad, and was always ready on the shortest notice to go off into fits of laughter, if he had only the remotest idea of what the jest meant. He had become so accustomed at last to expect something jocular from Peterkin, that he almost invariably opened his mouth to be ready whenever he observed our friend make any demonstration that gave indication of his being about to speak.

From the mere force of sympathy Mbango began to laugh also, and I know not how long the two would have gone on, had not Jack checked them by saying—

“I suspect we are not very well fitted to instruct the unenlightened mind,” (“Ho—hi!” sighed Makarooroo, gathering himself up and settling down to listen), “and it seems to me that you’ll have to try again, Peterkin, some other mode of explanation.”

“Very good, by all means,” said our friend.—“Now, Mak, look here. You want to go there” (pointing to the coast with his left hand), “and we want to go there” (pointing to the interior with his right hand). “Now if we both agree to go there,” (pointing straight before him with his nose), “that will be a cumprumoise. D’ye understand?”

“Ho yis, massa, me compiperhend now.”

“Exactly so,” said I; “that’s just it. There is a branch of this river that takes a great bend away to the north before it turns towards the sea, is there not? I think I have heard yourself say so before now.”

“Yis, massa, hall right.”

“Well, let us go by that branch. We shall be a good deal longer on the route, but we shall be always nearing the end of our journey, and at the same time shall pass through a good deal of new country, in which we may hope to see much game.”

“Good,” said Jack; “you have wisdom with you for once, Ralph—it seems feasible.—What say you, Mak? I think it a capital plan.”

“Yis, massa, it am a copitle plan, sure ’nuff.”