Gerald Durrell - The Overloaded Ark

On returning to camp I found that the bird trapper had made the first two captures: one was a Forest robin, which was not exciting as I knew that John had plenty of them, and the other was a drab little bird with a speckled breast, which was almost indistinguishable from an ordinary English thrush. It was, in fact, so uninteresting that I was on the point of letting it go again, but I thought that I would send it down to John for him to look at, so I packed up both birds and sent the carrier post-haste down the mountain to Bakebe, with instructions that he was to be back again early next morning.

The next day he appeared neck and neck with my morning tea, bringing a note from John. From this it transpired that the drab little bird I had sent was, in reality, a Ground Thrush of great rarity, and an important addition to the collection, and my companion exhorted me to get as many as I could. When I remembered how close I had been to releasing what now turned out to be a bird that rejoiced in the name of Geokichla camerunensis, my blood ran cold. I hastily called for the bird trapper and informed him that he would get extra pay for each of the Ground Thrushes he procured.

“Masa mean dat bird ’e get red for ’e front?” he inquired.

“No, no, dat one ’e get mark mark for ’e front.”

“But,” pointed out the bird trapper, with some justification, “Masa done tell me he no want um again.”

“Yes, I know, But now I want um . . . plenty plenty, you hear?”

“I hear, sah,” said the youth dismally, and wandered off to cogitate on the curious ways of the white man.

As I was eating breakfast the Tailor appeared, and with him was a stocky young man with a lean, intelligent face, and curious pale yellow eyes. At his heels followed a pack of four piebald, lanky, unkempt-looking dogs, with suspicious eyes.

“This is the hunter man, sir,” said the Tailor, “he done bring dogs.”

After greeting the man, I asked how he hunted with the dogs. For answer he rummaged in the bag that hung from his shoulder and produced four little wooden bells, and these he hung round the necks of his dogs, and as they moved the bells gave out a pleasant “clonking” sound.

“Dis dog,” said the hunter, “ ’e go for bush and ’ego smell de road for de beef and ’ego run quickly quickly. In de bush you no get chance for seeum, but you go hear dis ting make noise and you go follow. So we go catch beef.”

It sounded a vague and extremely exhausting process, but I was willing to try anything once.

“All right,” I said, “we go for bush and try. . . ”

We set off into the forest, Tailor, Yellow-Eyes, myself, and three others who were laden down with bags and nets, the dogs running ahead of us through the trees sniffing wildly in all directions. For an hour we walked and nothing happened. One of the dogs found some mess or other, and a disgraceful fight broke out as to which of the pack should roll in the delicacy. In the end they shared it, and we proceeded amid a strong and nauseating odour. I was just beginning to wonder if hunting with dogs was all the Tailor had made it out to be, when the smallest of our pack put her nose to the ground, uttered a series of shrill yaps, and rushed headlong into the thickest tangle of undergrowth she could find. The rest of the pack, all giving tongue, followed her, and they were soon out of sight. With a loud cry, which was presumably meant as an encouragement to his dogs, Yellow-Eyes plunged into the tangle of thorns and lianas, and the Tailor and the rest of the retinue followed. Unless I wanted to be left behind it was obvious that I should have to do the same; so, cursing the dog for finding the scent in such an overgrown bit of forest, I pushed my way into the undergrowth, tripping and stumbling, and getting stabbed by thorns and twigs. At last I caught up with the others who were running easily and swiftly, ducking and twisting between the trees and the creepers. Ahead of us the pack was silent except for an occasional yap, but we could hear the little wooden bells clonking like mad.

We ran for what seemed hours and at last came to a gasping and perspiring halt; we listened, between gulps for air, but there was no sound from the dogs, not even the clonking of the bells. Yellow-Eyes gave a few shrill falsetto screeches, but there was no response: we had lost our pack. I lay on the ground, thankful for this respite, filling my lungs with air, and wondering if my heart was going to jump through my ribs. Yellow-Eyes and the Tailor disappeared into the forest, and some time after faint yodels brought us to our feet; when we caught up with them we could hear in the distance the clonking of the bells. We ran on and each moment the sound of the bells grew clearer, and we could hear the dogs yapping frenziedly. We were running downhill now, and the ground was covered with great boulders and fallen trees which made the going more difficult and dangerous. Suddenly we came to a small clearing, and an astonishing sight met my eyes: the dogs were grouped round the base of a small cliff some thirty feet high, its surface speckled with moss and begonias, and, yapping and snarling, they were leaping wildly in the air in an attempt to reach a ledge some ten feet above them, and on it, hissing like a train and lashing with its tail, lay a huge Monitor. Whatever else I thought we should get I had not thought of Monitors, for I had been under the impression that these huge lizards frequented the larger rivers. But there was no mistaking this one for, with its tail, it measured about five feet long. Its great body was raised on its stumpy legs, and its long tapering tail curved ready to strike; its throat swelled with the hissing exhalations of breath, and its long black, forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth.

It had apparently run up the rock face when pursued, using its long claws to obtain a foothold where no dog could follow. Having reached this narrow ledge it found that the cliff above bulged out, so it could go no further. The dogs were mad with excitement, giving great twisting leaps into the air in an attempt to reach the ledge, frothing at the mouth and yapping loudly. Yellow-Eyes called them off and tied them to a small tree, which they made quiver and bend with their barking and straining. Then we stretched the toughest net we had on to two long poles and, running forward, flung the net over the ledge. As it landed the Monitor leapt forward to meet it, tail lashing, mouth open, and it became intricately entangled in the mesh of the net, and both net and lizard fell to the ground with a crash. We jumped forward, but the reptile was not finished yet, for the net had fallen about him in loose folds, and he had plenty of room to bite and lash with his tail. With some difficulty we got him out of the net, wrapped him in sacks, bound him with cords, and then slung him between two poles. His skin was rough and black, with a scattering of golden spots, pin-head size, here and there; his eyes were a fierce filigree of gold and black. His strong curved claws would have been envied by a large bird of prey. We carried him back to the camp in triumph, and I worked far into the night with the Tailor, fashioning a rough wooden cage out of poles, in which to send him down the mountain to Bakebe.

The next morning, exhilarated and encouraged by the previous day’s success, we set off to hunt early in the morning, and the dogs found a fresh scent almost at once. We ran with them for perhaps a mile and then, as before, they were suddenly swallowed in the vastness of the forest, and we could neither see nor hear them. For a long time we wandered around in circles, trying to find trace of them; then I saw Yellow-Eyes cock his head on one side and, listening carefully, I heard the distant purring of a waterfall.

“Eh, sometime they done go for water,” panted Yellow-Eyes, “and then we no go hear um.”