The Country of the Dwarfs

by Paul B. Du Chaillu

Hanging from her bosom was a baby gorilla (her child). The little creature was a female but a few months old, and now and then, after feeding from its mother's breast, it would give a plaintive wail. By the side of both stood a young live male gorilla, a fierce-looking fellow, which seemed afraid of nothing, and looked around with its deep grayish, fiendish eyes as if to say, "What does all this mean? I have not seen this sight in the woods before." Not far off lay the corpse of a large female gorilla, quiet in the embrace of death, her face yet distorted by the death-agony.

It was dark, as I have told you, and the scene was so strange and so wild that I will never forget it. The fiendish countenances of the living calibanish trio, one of them—the wounded one—with a face distorted by pain, were lit up by the ruddy glare of the native's torches, and they seemed even more repulsive than their dead companion. "What a commotion this sight would create," I said to myself, "in a civilized land!"

There was no sleep for me that night; the terrific screams of the wounded mother kept me awake. Two or three times I got up and went out to see what was the matter, for I was in constant dread of the big gorilla's untying the cords.

The next morning I immediately prepared my photographic apparatus, and took an excellent photograph of the wounded mother with her child on her lap. As for Master Tom (I gave that name to the fierce-looking young male), I could not succeed in taking a very good likeness of him; he would not keep still long enough. I untied his hands and feet after putting a chain round his neck, and to show his gratitude he immediately made a rush at me to the length of his chain, screaming with all his might. Happily, the chain was too short for him to reach me, or I should have come off minus a little piece of the calf of my leg.

The night after I had taken the photograph of the mother her moanings were more frequent, and in the morning they gradually became weaker as her life ebbed out, and about ten o'clock she died. Her death was painfully like that of a human being, and her child clung to her to the last, and even tried to obtain milk after she was dead. How still was that fierce, scowling black face! There was something so vindictive in it, and at the same time so human, that I almost shrunk from the sight as I contemplated that wonderful creature which God has made almost in the image of man.

Now all I had to do was to take care of Tom and of Minnie. Tom gave me no trouble, for he was quite old enough to feed upon the nuts and the berries that were gathered for him; but with little Minnie it was a different thing, as she was too young to eat berries. Happily, I had a goat that gave milk, and I fed her on that milk, but I am sorry to say that she lived only three days after her mother's death. She died the fourth day toward noon, having taken an unconquerable dislike to the goat's milk. She died gently; her tiny legs and arms had become shriveled, her ribs could all be seen, and her small hands had wasted almost to nothing. She died on the little bed of straw I made for her as if she went to sleep, without a struggle.

PHOTOGRAPHING GORILLAS.

So no one was now left of my family of gorillas but Master Tom, and he was healthy and strong enough, and ate all the berries, nuts, and fruits we brought to him. For days I tried to take the little demon's photograph, but all in vain. The pointing of the camera toward him threw him into a perfect rage, and I was several times on the point of giving him a severe thrashing. At last I succeeded in taking two views, not very perfect; but this was better than nothing.

The place where these gorillas had been captured was about thirty miles above my settlement, up the river; at this point a low, narrow promontory projects into the stream. This spot was my favorite hunting-ground for gorillas, which came there to eat the wild pine-apple, and it was there I intended to take my good friend Captain Burton, the great African traveler, the man who made the pilgrimage to Mecca, for he was now at Fernando Po, and had promised to make me a visit.