The Gorilla Hunters by R. M. Ballantyne (classic book list .TXT) 📕

I noted that he took exactly ten seconds to pass from one bush to the other. While I was in the act of jotting this down I heard the report of Peterkin’s rifle, and looking up hastily, saw the tail-feathers of the ostrich knocked into the air, but the bird itself passed on uninjured. I was deeply mortified at this failure, and all the more so that, from past experience, I had been led to believe that my friend never missed his mark. Hurrying up, I exclaimed—

“Why, my dear fellow, what can have come over you?”

Poor Peterkin seemed really quite distressed; he looked quite humbled at first.

“Ah!” said he, “it’s all very well for you to say, ‘What has come over you?’ but you ought to make allowance for a man who has carried a heavy load all the forenoon. Besides, he was almost beyond range. Moreover, although I have hunted a good deal, I really have not been in the habit of firing at animal locomotives under full steam. Did you ever see such a slapping pace and such an outrageous pair of legs, Ralph?”

“Never,” said I. “But come with me to yonder bushes. I’m going to make a calculation.”

“What’s a calcoolashun?” inquired our guide, who came up at that moment, panting violently.

“It’s a summation, case of counting up one, two, three, etcetera—and may be multiplying, subtracting, and dividing into the bargain.”

“Ho! dat’s what me been do at de missionary school.”

“Exactly; but what sort of calculation Ralph means to undertake at present I know not. Perhaps he’s going to try to find out whether, if we were to run at the rate of six miles an hour till doomsday, in the wrong direction, there would be any chance of our ever sticking that ostrich’s tail again on his big body. But come along; we shall see.”

On reaching the spot I could scarcely believe my eyes. Each step this bird had taken measured fourteen feet in length! I always carried a rolled-up yard-measure about with me, which I applied to the steps, so that I could make no mistake. There were exactly thirty of those gigantic paces between the two bushes. This multiplied by six gave 180 steps, or 2,520 feet in one minute, which resulted in 151,200 feet, or 50,400 yards, or very nearly thirty miles in the hour.

“No wonder I only knocked his tail off,” said Peterkin.

“On the contrary,” said I, “the wonder is that under the circumstances you hit the bird at all.”

On further examination of the place where we had seen the ostrich before it was alarmed, we ascertained that his ordinary walking pace varied from twenty to twenty-six inches in length.

After this unsuccessful hunt we returned to our comrades, and proceeded to the rendezvous where we expected to find Jack; but as he was not there, we concluded that he must have wandered farther than he intended, so, throwing down our packs, we set about preparing the camp and a good supper against his return. Gradually the sun began to sink low on the horizon; then he dipped below it, and the short twilight of those latitudes was rapidly merging into night; but Jack did not return, and the uneasiness which we had all along felt in regard to him increased so much that we could not refrain from showing it.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Ralph,” cried Peterkin, starting up suddenly: “I’m not going to sit here wasting the time when Jack may be in some desperate fix. I’ll go and hunt for him.”

“Me tink you right,” said our guide; “dere is ebery sort ob ting here—beasties and mans. P’raps Massa Jack am be kill.”

I could not help shuddering at the bare idea of such a thing, so I at once seconded my companion’s proposal, and resolved to accompany him.

“Take your double-barrel, Ralph, and I’ll lend our spare big gun to Mak.”

“But how are we to proceed? which way are we to go? I have not the most distant idea as to what direction we ought to go in our search.”

“Leave that to Mak. He knows the ways o’ the country best, and the probable route that Jack has taken. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Shall we take some brandy?”

“Ay; well thought of. He’ll perhaps be the better of something of that sort if anything has befallen him. Now, then, let’s go.”

Leaving our men in charge of the camp, with strict injunctions to keep good watch and not allow the fires to go down, lest they should be attacked by lions, we three set forth on our nocturnal search. From time to time we stood still and shouted in a manner that would let our lost friend know that we were in search of him, should he be within earshot, but no answering cry came back to us; and we were beginning to despair, when we came upon the footprints of a man in the soft soil of a swampy spot we had to cross. It was a clear moonlight night, so that we could distinguish them perfectly.

“Ho!” exclaimed our guide, as he stooped to examine the marks.

“Well, Mak, what do you make of it?” inquired Peterkin anxiously.

Mak made no reply for a few seconds; then he rose, and said earnestly, “Dat am Massa Jack’s foot.”

I confess that I was somewhat surprised at the air of confidence with which our guide made this statement; for after a most careful examination of the prints, which were exceedingly indistinct, I could discern nothing to indicate that they had been made by Jack.

“Are you sure, Mak?” asked Peterkin.

“Sartin sure, massa.”

“Then push on as fast as you can.”

Presently we came to a spot where the ground was harder and the prints more distinct.

“Ha! you’re wrong, Mak,” cried Peterkin, in a voice of disappointment, as he stooped to examine the footsteps again. “Here we have the print of a naked foot; Jack wore shoes. And, what’s this? blood!”

“Yis, massa, me know dat Massa Jack hab shoes. But dat be him’s foot for all dat, and him’s hurt somehow for certain.”

The reader may imagine our state of mind on making this discovery. Without uttering another word, we quickened our pace into a smart run, keeping closely in the track of Jack’s steps. Soon we observed that these deviated from side to side in an extraordinary manner, as if the person who made them had been unable to walk straight. In a few minutes more we came on the footprints of a rhinoceros—a sight which still further increased our alarm. On coming out from among a clump of low bushes that skirted the edge of a small plain, we observed a dark object lying on the ground about fifty yards distant from us. I almost sank down with an undefinable feeling of dread on beholding this.

We held our rifles in readiness as we approached it at a quick pace, for we knew not whether it was not a wild animal which might spring upon us the moment we came close enough. But a few seconds dispelled our dread of such an attack and confirmed our worst fears, for there, in a pool of blood, lay Jack’s manly form. The face was upturned, and the moon, which shone full upon it, showed that it was pale as death and covered with blood. His clothes were rent and dishevelled and covered with dust, as if he had struggled hard with some powerful foe, and all round the spot were footprints of a rhinoceros, revealing too clearly the character of the terrible monster with which our friend had engaged in unequal conflict.

Peterkin darted forward, tore open Jack’s shirt at the breast, and laid his hand upon his heart.

“Thank God,” he muttered, in a low, subdued tone, “he’s not dead! Quick, Ralph—the brandy-flask.”

I instantly poured a little of the spirit into the silver cup attached to the flask, and handed it to Peterkin, who, after moistening Jack’s lips, began assiduously to rub his chest and forehead with brandy. Kneeling down by his side I assisted him, while I applied some to his feet. While we were thus engaged we observed that our poor friend’s arms and chest had received several severe bruises and some slight wounds, and we also discovered a terrible gash in his right thigh which had evidently been made by the formidable horn of the rhinoceros. This, and the other wounds which were still bleeding pretty freely, we stanched and bound up, and our exertions were at length rewarded by the sight of a faint tinge of colour returning to Jack’s cheeks. Presently his eyes quivered, and heaving a short, broken sigh, he looked up.

“Where am I, eh? Why, what’s wrong? what has happened?” he asked faintly, in a tone of surprise.

“All right, old boy. Here, take a swig of this, you abominable gorilla,” said Peterkin, holding the brandy-flask to his mouth, while one or two tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.

Jack drank, and rallied a little.

“I’ve been ill, I see,” he said gently. “Ah! I remember now. I’ve been hurt—the rhinoceros; eh, have you killed it? I gave it a good shot. It must have been mortal, I think.”

“Whether you’ve killed it or not I cannot tell,” said I, taking off my coat and putting it under Jack’s head for a pillow, “but it has pretty nearly killed you. Do you feel worse, Jack?”

I asked this in some alarm, observing that he had turned deadly pale again.

“He’s fainted, man; out o’ the way!” cried Peterkin, as he applied the brandy again to his lips and temples.

In a few seconds Jack again rallied.

“Now, Mak, bestir yourself,” cried Peterkin, throwing off his coat. “Cut down two stout poles, and we’ll make some sort of litter to carry him on.”

“I say, Ralph,” whispered Jack faintly, “do look to my wounds and see that they are all tightly bound up. I can’t afford to lose another drop of blood. It’s almost all drained away, I believe.”

While I examined my friend’s wounds and readjusted the bandages, my companions cut down two poles. These we laid on the ground parallel to each other and about two feet apart, and across them laid our three coats, which we fastened in a rough fashion by means of some strong cords which I fortunately happened to have with me. On this rude litter we laid our companion, and raised him on our shoulders. Peterkin and I walked in rear, each supporting one of the poles; while Makarooroo, being the stoutest of the three, supported the entire weight of the other ends on his broad shoulders. Jack bore the moving better than we had expected, so that we entertained sanguine hopes that no bones were broken, but that loss of blood was all he had to suffer from.

Thus slowly and with much difficulty we bore our wounded comrade to the camp.