We wended our way through the litter and commotion and smell, until we found some responsible-looking person who conducted us to the proprietor's caravan, a travelling palace of yellow and black, with its brasswork shining in the morning sun like burnished gold. There we met the strange man who amassed wealth by the simple method of exhibiting wild animals in cages, freaks on platforms, ladies and gentlemen on galloping horses. He shook hands with us, looked curiously at Stringer for a few moments, and then led the way to an isolated cage situated in one corner of the field.
"I had it brought up here into a quiet spot where you won't be disturbed," he said.
A canvas curtain was hung over the front of the van and when this had been removed we found ourselves confronted by a sheet of plate glass, behind which were the steel bars that kept our friend the gorilla at bay.
"Consumption is the greatest danger we have to face," said the proprietor. "Next to that, we have to guard against cold. You'll notice the cage is specially made for keeping contaminated air out and the heat in—particularly during the performances and in cold weather. The atmosphere is kept moist by means of an electric heater in that pool of salt water, and the four radiators you see maintain a temperature varying from about 60 to 90 degrees each day—which is the average variation in the jungle. Nothing is worse for the gorilla than a constant degree of heat, which one never finds under natural conditions.
"Over nursing and pampering is another danger. Given careful attention to all these details, there seems to be no reason why gorillas shouldn't live for twenty or thirty years in captivity. We've had this one over ten years, and he's as strong and healthy as the day he landed at Southampton. He's a very fine fellow and weighs two hundred and fifty pounds and measures six foot one—in his socks!"
During the whole of this instructive little speech I had been watching the brute carefully—as carefully (but not as maliciously) as he watched us—and I was astounded at the formidable and muscular immensity of his frame. Alfred seemed but a child compared with the specimen before us. One sensed the capacity for merciless cruelty and cunning behind those alert, dark gray eyes, terrific strength in the long arms, and horrible, crushing properties in the tremendous, projecting jaws. "Monarch of the Jungle" was a feeble expression for such a creature. Fiend Incarnate would have been more appropriate. When I glanced at Stringer through the corner of my eyes I half shuddered. The contrast between these two antagonists was ludicrous—as ludicrous as Charlie Chaplin versus Carpentier.
Gran'pa was the first of us to break the silence.
"I congratulate you, sir!" he said in quiet and dignified phraseology. "Your knowledge of the treatment of these animals in captivity should prove of very great assistance to me later. Meanwhile—is it possible to remove the plate glass?"
It was! In less than ten minutes half-a-dozen men had taken down the great metal framework in which it was set (and clamped to the cage), and there was nothing between us and the gorilla save a row of metal bars.
We heard the beast give a deep sigh, as if it appreciated a greater sense of freedom. It raised itself on the layer of earth which covered the bottom of the cage, stretched its immense arms to their fullest extent, inflated its chest, and then came waddling across to the corner nearest to Stringer, swinging its arms to preserve its balance. Clutching at the bars with its hands, it squatted down, drew back its flap-like lips in an expression of intense hatred, and began glaring steadily and evilly at "Old Bill's" double. Call it merely imagination if you like, but I am certain that it instinctively sensed him as an enemy of its race.