Gerald Durrell - The Overloaded Ark

“Eh . . . aehh! Abo, nearly Masa done shoot you. Eh . . . aehh! Abo, you be fine tiger . . ” he chortled.

Abo climbed down from the rocks and held out for my inspection a small rat.

“I tink I done wound him small, Masa,” he said, which proved to be an understatement for the rat was very dead.

While we were looking around to see if we could catch any more of these rats, we heard a rumble of thunder from the outside world, which echoed ominously along the caves and passages. When we reached the gorge we found it dark and gloomy, for above us, along the sides of the huge cliffs, swollen black rain clouds were coiling and shifting. We hauled each other out of the gorge as quickly as possible, and started to pack the equipment in the bags. Suddenly the thunder crashed directly overhead, seeming to shake the very foundations of the mountain, and the next minute the clouds swept low over us and an icy sheet of rain descended. I have never seen rain so thick and heavy; almost before we realized what was happening our flimsy clothes were drenched, and our teeth chattering with cold. The sky was scarred by a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a tremendous regurgitation of thunder, and somewhere to our left in the forest I could hear the chimpanzees screaming and hooting a shrill protest at the weather.

The men picked up their bundles and we started off down the hill-side for camp; we had not gone fifty feet when my feet slipped on a rain-soaked rock, and I fell and went bouncing and rolling down the slope, ending up against the trunk of a tree, bruised and scratched, with my right leg doubled up under me and hurting badly. For a moment I thought I had broken it until I straightened it out, and then I realized I had only wrenched my ankle. But this was bad enough, for I could not stand on it for the pain. I lay there among the rain-lashed drooping trees, with a shivering group of men about me, trying to rub some life back into my leg. We were a good four miles from camp and my ankle was swelling visibly. It was obvious that we could not stay there indefinitely, and to add to my discomfiture I realized that the storm clouds hanging low over the mountain would bring darkness upon us more quickly than we had anticipated. I sent the Tailor to cut me a sapling, and this he fashioned into a rough crutch. Using this, and with the Tailor supporting me on one side, I managed to hobble along, albeit painfully, and so we progressed slowly through the dripping trees. Soon we reached a more or less level area of forest, and the sound of running water came to us. I was surprised, for the only stream we had crossed on the way up had been a wide shallow one, barely covering our ankles, and yet this one sounded like a well-fed stream. I looked at the Tailor for an explanation.

“Dat small water done fillup,” he said.

It was my first experience of how quickly a stream, especially a mountain stream, could “fillup” in a good downpour of rain. The stream we had crossed, shallow as a bird-bath, was now a foaming yellow torrent nearly waist deep, and in this roaring broth, branches, roots, leaves and bruised flowers were swept and whirled among the rocks. The shallowest point to cross was where this stream left the level forest floor and plunged down the steep mountain-side over a great sheet of rock, which had been stripped of its covering of leaf-mould by the waters. The other men went first, and when they were safely across the Tailor and I followed. Slowly we edged our way across, I testing each step with my stick. We reached the centre, and here the force of the water was greatest for it was squeezed between two big rocks. It was here that I placed my stick on a small stone that tilted, my stick was twitched away from my grasp, and I had a momentary glimpse of it sweeping down the slope, bobbing on the surface, before I fell fiat on my face in the water.

It was the grip the Tailor had on my arm that prevented me from being swept down the hill-side in company with my stick. As it was, when I landed in the water I felt myself being swept down, until I was brought up with a jerk by the Tailor’s hand, but this jerk nearly threw him alongside me into the water. Bent almost double to keep his balance he roared for help, and the others jumped back into the stream and laid hold of whatever bits of my anatomy they could see, and hauled us both to safety. Panting and shivering and sodden, we continued our way to camp.

The last half-mile was the worst, for we had to clamber down the escarpment, crawling from boulder to boulder, until we reached the level strip where the camp awaited us. Only visions of dry clothes, a hot meal and a drink kept me going. But when we reached the camp a dreadful sight met our eyes: the tiny unassuming stream that had whispered and twinkled so modestly twenty feet from my tent, was now a lusty roaring cataract, Swollen with its own power it had burst its tiny banks and leapt upon the camp. The carriers’ flimsy huts had been swept away as though they had never existed; half the kitchen was a wreck and the floor knee-deep in water. Only my tent was safe, perched as it was on a slight hillock, but even so the ground under and around it was soggy and shuddery with water. There was no firewood and the only means of heating food was the solitary Tilly lamp. Under these conditions there was only one thing to do: we all crawled into the tent . . . myself and twelve Africans in a tent that had originally been designed to accommodate two at the most! We boiled pints of hot, sweet chocolate over the lamp, and drank it out of a strange variety of dishes ranging from tin mugs to animal plates. For three hours we sat there, while the rain drummed on the taut, damp canvas, then gradually it died away, and the mountain was enveloped in great drifts of white cloud. The carriers became busy rebuilding their little shelters, and as I watched them I suddenly thought for the first time of the ju-ju. Well, the first round certainly belonged to it: my leg was very bad, and the rain made everything more difficult, and hunting almost impossible. I had a bad night, and the next day it rained solidly and dismally from dawn to nightfall, and my leg showed no improvement. Reluctantly I came to the conclusion that it would be more sensible to call it a day and give in to the ju-ju: down in Bakebe, at least, I could rest my leg in comfort and be doing some useful work, but sitting up on top of N’da Ali was not doing anyone any good. So I gave the orders to pack up and said we would leave the next morning, whereupon everyone except myself looked very pleased.

The next morning was radiant: as we set off the sun shone down on us, and there was not a cloud in the sky. A mass of tiny sandflies, which appeared from nowhere, accompanied us down, biting us unmercifully and, I thought, a little triumphantly. When we reached the level forest at the foot of N’da Ali they disappeared as mysteriously as they had come.

As I hobbled down the road to Bakebe I comforted myself with the thought that I had, at least, got a few nice specimens from the mountain. I turned to look at her: in that clear morning light she seemed so near that you could stretch out your hand and run your fingers through that thick pelt of forest. Her cliffs blushed pink and gleaming in the sun, with here and there on their surfaces a pale, twisting thread of waterfall, the only sign of the storm.

SHORTLY before we left our hill-top hut at Bakebe and travelled down to our last camp at Kumba, we had to stay with us a most unusual guest in the shape of Cholmondeley, known to his friends at Chumley.

Chumley was a full-grown chimpanzee; his owner, a District Officer, was finding the ape’s large size rather awkward, and he wanted to send him to London Zoo as a present, so that he could visit the animal when he was back in England on leave. He wrote asking us if we would mind taking Chumley back with us when we left, and depositing him at his new home in London, and we replied that we would not mind at all. I don’t think that either John or myself had the least idea how big Chumley was: I know that I visualized an ape of about three years old, standing about three feet high. I got a rude shock when Chumley moved in.