Wild life under the equator

by Paul B. Du Chaillu

We turned the meat on the other side on the orala, and left our three native dogs, Kambi, Goa and Andeko, to take care of the premises (they were now lying by the fires, enjoying the heat thoroughly), and then we went to sleep.

During the night I woke, thinking I heard a booming sound like that of heavy footsteps, when the dogs began to bark, and soon I heard a crash through the forest. It was a herd of elephants which was wandering not far from us, and then the forest resumed its wonted stillness.

Now I had remained a long time at the head-waters of the Ovenga—a long time has gone by since the last chapter. Months had been spent in that region, and I thought now of descending the river to visit my settlement of Washington on the sea-side. It was high time. I was still suffering from fever attacks, and had not quinine enough left for a large dose.

DESIRE TO RETURN.

Not only was I sick, but also poor and ragged. My clothes were torn and patched, and I looked in reality very little better than my negro friends. My stock of powder was small, my bullets were nearly exhausted, and my small shot were almost gone. I was wearing my last pair of shoes. My goods were all gone, and skins of animals made a great part of my garments.

The numerous hardships of this long trip; the sleeping night after night in wet clothes; the tramping through rain, through rivers, and under the hot sun; the sufferings from the intolerable gouamba, and the still less tolerable starvation; the attacks of fever that followed one upon the other—all these had done their work upon me. Food had been scarce, very scarce for a long time, and I began to feel as if I wanted a long rest. I wanted to breathe the salt air; I wanted to see the deep blue sea, and to look at the waves which came in heavy surfs upon the beach; I wanted to see that sea on which I expected to sail one day for home.

Do you not think that I deserved to go back? I had worked hard, very hard. I had made beautiful collections; and I was to carry with me gorillas, hippopotami, manatee, nshiego-mbouvé, kooloo-kamba, no end of birds (more than two thousand), a great many monkeys, and the skins of several hundreds of animals. I had worked hard to kill them, and worked still harder to stuff them, hunting them during the day, and preparing their skins during the night. So I told friend Quengueza we must go.

I called the Bakalai together and told friend Obindji that his Ntangani must leave him. As soon as I said this, the old chief said, “Neshi (no). What will Obindji do without his Ntangani?” They all shouted, “What shall we do without our Ntangani?” The women shouted, “Chaillee, you must not go!”

Gambo, Malaouen, and Querlaouen made long faces and were sad, for we had a real affection for each other, we were such great friends, and how could it be otherwise? We had braved danger together; we had gone through hardships and starvation together; many and many a night had we spent together in the forest. Of any wild animal they killed I was sure to have a piece; the best plantains were sure to be mine; the nicest fishes their women caught they brought to me. How kind they were to me, how gentle! No children could have been more docile, and yet how fierce, how brave, when the day of battle or of danger came!

I was sorry to leave, for I had come to love these wild men who had never seen a white man before. I had also a kind of affection for the country, where, in the discovery of new and strange animals, I had enjoyed one of the greatest pleasures a naturalist can have. The rough life was forgotten when I looked at my precious collections, and the thought of a gorilla even now enabled me to shake off the fever, and gave strength to my feeble limbs.