A couple of hours later we were all safely back in Corisco.
In one day we had demonstrated beyond question that not only could baby gorillas communicate with their own people, but also that the female adults were creatures capable of exhibiting an astonishing depth of devotion towards the young. Furthermore, our total number of live and serviceable gorillas had leapt from eleven to fifteen—a progress sufficiently noteworthy to impress Gran'pa with a sense of even my importance.
That same evening, he said:
"We're getting on, George, although it's a much longer job than I expected when we first came out here. We must be patient, however. At any moment there may be a new idea come along which will cause a landslide—and we shall capture a whole jungleful of 'em. I feel much more hopeful now you've joined up again. . . ."
[CHAPTER XV]
A GORILLA BREAKS LOOSE
In spite of Gran'pa's optimism and my reputed good luck, we captured only eight more gorillas in the next two months. Little Willie also escaped by intelligently pulling up his peg and making a sudden dash for the jungle—an act of gross ingratitude after all we had done for him.
To add to our gloomy forebodings of the future, we lost one of the finest males through illness. I am convinced that its trouble was mental. For nearly a week it refused to eat, but merely sat brooding over what may well have been its lost kingship of the jungle—a truly touching picture of a banished anthropoid Bonaparte.
This suicide by hunger-striking was only one instance of the many psychological complexities with which we had to contend. The male gorilla is a bundle of crude and intense emotions—such as rage, hatred, egotism, churlishness and depression. Its mind has no half tones. The emotions which prompt a smile, a handshake, or a tender embrace would be unthinkable. And yet the brute can hunger strike!
"What I'm afraid of," said Gran'pa, "is that—monkey-like—the others will start imitating, and that they'll all become passive resisters."