It was a mild attack, and quinine and Sally Rebecca soon pulled me through; but it left me weak and depressed for many days. To add to my depression, the others experienced a spell of very bad luck in the jungle. The gorillas had apparently "got the wind up," as Gran'pa said. They not only avoided our cages, but even migrated from the whole of the surrounding country. Negroes went out reconnoitering, hoping to discover their line of retreat; the cages were moved by aeroplane to spots fifty or sixty miles further inland; and the hangar was transferred to a new aerodrome. By these means we managed to capture another eight gorillas, making a grand total of eleven (not counting the one lost in transit).
Already the first two of the six months dry season had nearly passed.
"This will never do," I said to Gran'pa, who had just returned from spending the day in Libreville. "Even if we maintain the same rate of capture we can't collect more than thirty or forty before the wet season sets in."
I was sitting on the veranda of our bungalow, overlooking the deep blue Bay of Corisco. It was evening, and from the shore came the sound of negro merriment.
"You'll be able to join us again next week," said Gran'pa. "I hope for better luck then. . . ."
"That's very nice of you!"
"Besides, we now have half the neighboring tribes searching for new hunting grounds. These blacks will do anything for a trip in a 'plane. It gives them a big social status, you know—like a knighthood in your country."
Molly and Sally Rebecca entered.
"Hello, Mollikins!" greeted Gran'pa. "Been for a swim?"
"Rather!" cried Molly. "It was lovely!"