Ben believed it was a turkey—a wild one, of course; but I could not agree with him in this point, for I remembered having read that wild turkeys are found only in America and Australia, and that there are none in Africa; though there are bustards and floricans, and several other kinds that bear considerable resemblance to turkeys, and hence are often called by the name. It might be one of these we concluded, and, therefore, just as good to eat as a turkey. So, with this idea, my companion tied the huge bird across his shoulders, and, once more loading his musket, we kept on.
We had not proceeded more than ten paces farther when we came upon the carcass of an animal, badly torn and partially devoured. It looked like it had been a deer, and Ben said that it was one; but, as I observed that its horns were without antlers, and as I had also read that there are no deer in Africa, except one species far north of where we were, I told Ben that I thought, the carcass must be that of an antelope; for these animals take the place of deer on the African continent, and sailors, who know no better, call them deer. Ben had never heard of an antelope, though he had of a gazelle; and if I had called it by this name he might have agreed with me.
An “ant’lope,” however, he knew nothing about; and as his hunter-pride would have been offended by contradiction, I allowed him to persist in calling it a deer.
“Ay, ay! it be a deer, Will,” he said, emphatically, as we walked away from it—“nothin’ else, my boy. What a pity we can’t scare up a livin’ ’un—that ’ud be a nice cargo for our return-trip, w’udn’t, my lad?”
“Yes,” I answered, mechanically, without hearing what Ben said; for I was at that moment thinking of something else.
We had observed how the carcass of the antelope—for antelope it was—had been mangled and half eaten by some preying creature. Ben said it was wolves or jackals. Likely one or more of these had made a meal upon it; but there was one thing I had particularly noticed, and that was the eyes. I should rather say the places where the eyes had been; for the eyes themselves were quite gone, and the sockets cleaned out to the very bottom. Now, I reasoned that no quadruped could do this. The holes were too small even for a jackal to get his slender snout into. The work must have been done by the beak of a bird; and what sort of bird. Why, a vulture, of course!
Now, what kind of bird was Ben carrying upon his back? Beyond all doubt it was a vulture! The locality in which we had found it, with the carcass near at hand; its stupid behaviour in allowing the hunter to approach so near; its general appearance, with the naked head and neck; all these points confirmed my suspicion. I had read that such is the habit of vultures; that they are so tame in some parts of the world, that one can get near enough to knock them over with a stick; and this is especially the case immediately after they have gorged themselves with carrion. Now, the appearance of the carcass indicated that this very bird had just finished its breakfast, and that would account for its tameness. Beyond a doubt our game was a vulture!
I had arrived at this conviction, but disliked to declare it to my companion, and walked on after him saying nothing. I thought I would leave him to find it out for himself.
I had not long to wait for this event. Before we had advanced a hundred paces, I saw Ben suddenly untie the cord by which the bird was fastened, and, lifting it over his shoulders, hold the body up nearer his nose—then, uttering a loud exclamation, he pitched the game as far from him as he could, at the same time crying out:—
“Turkey, i’deed—dang it, Will, ’tan’t no turkey. Shiver my timbers if ’tan’t a stinking vulture!”