Little Jonathan Abbott was hilarious with joy the instant we got on deck, and was so eager to view the convalescent gorillas that I shouldn't have been surprised to see him embrace them.
"Poor, dumb brutes!" he murmured, gazing through the bars of the great cage.
"Not so much of the dumb!" I warned him, as one of the huge males inflated its chest, preparatory to a deafening roar.
As I expected, the noise nearly scared the onlookers out of their lives. Until this moment none of them had guessed the fund of animal fury and power on which those innocent looking glands had thriven.
"Imagine meeting that fellow in the open," said Dr. Croft. "It could tear any one of you into shreds in half a minute."
A glance at their faces showed me that the old people did not doubt the statement. They were very quiet and timid looking. Fear of wild gorillas (and respect for their captors) had already produced a great change in their demeanor. They behaved as children who have been intimidated by weird stories of the "bogie-man." In the presence of such terrifying forces they became quite plastic and obedient—until the thrilling moment when two of the males flung themselves at the bars. Panic-stricken, the old men stampeded up to the deck.
"It's done them good," said Croft.
I cordially agreed with him, and prophesied a quiet, homely voyage back.
But I was mistaken. South of the Gaboon, we liberated the gorillas on a lonely shore which was backed by dense woodland, and a few hours later the trouble broke out anew. The unrejuvenated began pestering us like a large family of greedy children.
Couldn't we all stay at Corisco awhile and capture a few more gorillas? Failing that, what about chimpanzees, or even the smaller monkeys?