Gerald Durrell - The Overloaded Ark

We found, to our dismay, that we had arrived several hours too early, and we could not get the collection aboard for some time; so we left the animals in the lorries, as it was at least a protection from the rain, and there was no sun to make the cages too hot. No sooner had we decided on this than the sun broke through the clouds and shone down on us fiercely, and the rain dwindled and died away. So we set to and unloaded all the crates, piling them in the shade along the side of the train track, peering anxiously into each to make sure its occupant was still all right. When everything was unloaded John and I compared notes.

“I’ve lost two sunbirds, fortunately not the best ones. I think they were frightened off the perches and just flew around madly, you know, when we went over that very bad bit of road. Everything else seems fairly steady, but I’ll be glad to get them on board and feed and water them. How are your things?”

“One Drill’s got his hand bashed rather badly, stupid little fool. I think he pushed it through the wire just as we went over a bump, and got it crushed by another crate. But that will heal up O.K. That’s my only casualty, thank God. The Angwantibos are all right, but they seem a bit scared.”

After a delay that to us seemed interminable, for we could not feed or clean any of our beasts, a train dragging a row of empty carriages drew alongside, and we were told that we could load our crates on it. As we hoisted the last crate on to the train it started to rain again, but not the gentle drifting drizzle that it had been before. No, as we were out in the open and unprotected, the Cameroons decided to show us what she could do in the way of rain. Within seconds all our crates were running with water and the staff, John and myself looked as though we had been dipped in a water tank. Slowly the train jerked its way along the lines, dragging us nearer and nearer to the ship; at last we were alongside, and with all speed the crates were got aboard. I was shivering again and felt like death. Remembering the doctor’s warning about a relapse, I hurried down to our cabin and changed into some dry clothes, and then went in search of the chief steward. That understanding man took me into his cabin and poured me out a whisky that could have knocked out a horse, and I felt the warmth of it spreading along my veins. I took some of the tablets the doctor had given me and literally staggered up on deck. Every one of my cages was sopping wet, and the inmates as well. I had to set to and clean each one, scraping out the sodden sawdust and replacing it with dry, and then throwing handfuls of sawdust over the monkeys to try and dry some of the moisture from their dripping fur. Then I made them hot milk and fed them on fruit and bread, for the poor little things were shivering with cold, and I knew that unless I got them dry before nightfall some would most certainly catch pneumonia. After the monkeys I cleaned and fed the Angwantibos, which fortunately had escaped the full force of the rain as they had been sheltered by other crates.

By this time the effects of the whisky had worn off and I began to feel worse and worse. The deck appeared to be heaving and twisting, and my head felt as big as a pumpkin and ready to burst with the pain and throbbing inside it. I began to feel really frightened for the first time: having got on board the ship I did not want to pass out gracefully and be carried off to hospital, leaving John to face the voyage home with two men’s work to do. I crawled down to our cabin and flung myself on to the bunk. Presently John came down to tell me that he had more or less got his birds under control, and within half an hour he would be able to give me a hand with the animals, but I had sunk into a deep and restful sleep. When I awoke I felt a different person, and I sallied up on deck still feeling a bit dizzy, but now quite sure that I was not going to die. I finished off the night feed, hung blankets over the front of the monkeys’ and the Angwantibos’ cages, and then prepared Sue’s evening bottle. She screamed lustily when she saw it coming, so the wetting did not appear to have done her any harm. At last everything was done for the night and I could relax, easy in my mind for the first time in two days. I leant on the rail and gazed at the dank and forbidding view of the banana groves and mangrove swamps, and the rain drummed incessantly on the canvas awning above me. Presently John joined me, having completed his tasks, and we smoked in silence, gazing out into the rain.

“I don’t think people realize what a job collecting is,” said John reflectively, glancing at the dark bulk of his cages, “they don’t know the difficulties. Now look at us to-day: we might quite easily have lost the whole collection in that shower of rain. But they never think of that when they see the things in the zoo.”

“Well, you can’t really expect them to. They think that it’s as easy as it apparently was for Noah.”

“Noah!” snorted John in disgust. “If Noah had a fifth part of what he was supposed to have carried the Ark would have sunk.”

“All those different species of birds and mammals we’ve seen and collected! If he had only confined himself to what he could get here the Ark would have been overloaded.”

“It strikes me”, said John, yawning, “that we’ve got an overloaded Ark on our hands with just the few things we’ve got.” He gestured at our hundred-odd crates. “Well, I’m going to bed. What time do we sail?”

“About midnight, I think. I’ll follow you down in a minute.”

John went below, and I stood gazing out into the darkening and rain-striped landscape. Suddenly, between the trees, I saw a small fire spring up, glowing like a red heart in the darkness. Presently, very softly, someone started to play a drum, and I could hear the husky voices of the banana loaders take up the theme. The fire flickered, heart-like, and the drum throbbed, heart-like, in the darkness and the rain. The voices sang softly, chanting a song that was as old as the great forests. A song that was harsh and primitive, yet plaintive and sweet, a song such as the god Pan must have sung. As I watched the pulsing fire among the trees, and heard the beat of the drum merge and tremble with the voices, forming an intricate pattern of sound, I knew that some day I would have to return, or be haunted forever by the beauty and mystery that is Africa.

THE voyage home is not the easiest part of a collecting trip, though one might be inclined to think so. It was fourteen days of extremely hard work for us, but our reward was that we lost only two specimens: one was a bird that had been unwell when we came on the ship, and so its death was no surprise; the second loss was a mongoose which somehow escaped from its cage and, for no apparent reason, walked straight through the rails and into the sea before I could grab it.

I have heard it said that all you have to do is to slip a pound to a member of the crew and then more or less forget your collection until you dock. But even supposing you were to find a member of the crew with that amount of time on his hands (which is unlikely), you would have none of your rarest and most delicate specimens left alive when you arrived, for the man, with all the goodwill in the world, would not know how to look after them. No, I’m afraid it’s not as easy as that. You have to crawl out of your bunk at some unearthly hour of the morning to start the first feed, and from then on there is not a moment of the day that you have free.

Sue was my great problem on the voyage: while in camp she had spent all day sprawled on my bed, getting plenty of fresh air and sunshine. I did not want to keep her closed up in her little wooden cage all the time, yet I was afraid to let her lie on deck for she had just started to crawl, and I did not want her to follow the mongoose through the rails and into the Atlantic. So I had a conference with the chief steward and explained my problem. After some thought he disappeared and returned shortly afterwards carrying a large babies’ play-pen. Apparently some lady travelling with her child had left it on board, and I blessed her for this kind if unintentional action. It was duly erected on deck in a nice sheltered position, filled with blankets, and Sue placed within. She thought it was grand fun, and after a few days could stand upright by holding on to the top bar. True, she fell heavily on to her ample bottom each time the ship roiled, but she could stand upright for a few seconds at a time, and she felt this was quite an achievement. There was also a delightful arrangement let into the side of the pen: several rows of coloured beads that slid up and down on wire. Sue thought these were marvellous, and would spend hours shooting them up and down, or sucking them hopefully.