Gerald Durrell (27 page)

I had to move
slowly and cautiously for the rocks were slippery with moisture where exposed,
and the moss slid off the surface like slime under my feet. At length I reached
the small promontory above our quarry and, squatting on my haunches, I
fashioned a slip-knot at the end of a long thin cord. Then I lowered it towards
the head of the reptile some six feet below me. In my excitement I did not
fasten the loose end of the rope to anything, and then added to my stupidity by
kneeling on the coil of rope . . . which made my downfall doubly ignominious.

Lowering the
noose to within a foot of the lizard’s head I flipped it over very neatly and
pulled it tight, feeling the rosy glow of pride that goes before a fall. As he
felt the noose tighten the Monitor shot forward in a great wiggling dash that
jerked the cord from my hands and whipped my knees from under me, so that I
toppled over and slid down the rocks, in the most undignified position and with
ever-increasing speed. In the brief moment before I landed, with a spine-shattering
crash, in the miniature canyon below, I offered up a prayer that my descent
would frighten the reptile into the nets. I had no desire to engage him in a
wrestling match after seeing what he had done to the dog. Luckily, he was
scared and tried to make a dash for it, and his fore quarters were enfolded in
a heap of netting. The Tailor and Yellow-Eyes leapt forward on to his lashing
tail and hind quarters and pulled the net over completely. As soon as he was
well trussed up in sacking and cord I examined the bite on his neck, but I
found that the dog’s teeth had only just broken the skin. These two giant
lizards were a very welcome addition to the collection, principally because of
their size. In the collection at Bakebe I had a number of youngsters, but they
were insignificant in comparison. When they are young these Monitors are slim
and neat, their skin a peculiar shade of greeny-black, thickly dotted with
groups of bright golden-yellow spots. As they grow older the skin becomes a
deep, dusty black, and the yellow spots fade and disappear until only a faint
scattering of them remains. They were not difficult feeders, eating anything in
the way of dead animals or birds. The things they adored above all else were
eggs, and with the use of these delicacies they soon became quite tame, and
allowed me to massage their rough backs and pull the dry flakes of skin off
when they were sloughing.

When, much
later, we returned to camp, I found the traps had yielded a mixed bag of birds,
and to my delight it included two of the Ground Thrushes. Although it was so
late I felt that the sooner John had these precious birds in his hands the
better, so I packed them up and sent them off down the mountain with the
Monitor. The carriers moaned and complained at being sent off at that hour,
protesting that it would be dark very soon and that the lower slopes of the
mountain were notorious for the size and ferocity of its leopards and the
cunning and malignancy of its
ju-jus
. So I gave them an extra lantern to
ward off these dangers, and watched them out of sight.

Later, while
there was still enough light left to see by, I went for a stroll about half a
mile from the camp, and presently I found that I was at the edge of a cliff
about a hundred feet high. The tops of the trees that grew below were on a
level with the top of the cliff, and their lower branches interlaced with the
undergrowth growing there. By crawling to the edge of the cliff, in amongst the
curling roots and twisted hedge of low growth, I found I was in an excellent
position for, being on a level with the massive tree-tops that grew from below,
it was as though I had suddenly been transported to the top layer of the
forest. I concealed myself beneath a large bush, unhitched my field-glasses and
scanned the leaves for a sign of life.

I lay there for
a long time, but nothing happened. Faintly, far away down the mountain, I could
hear some hornbills honking. Then I heard a faint rustle that seemed to come
from somewhere behind me. I had half-turned to see what was making the noise
when something landed with a crash of leaves in the bush under which I lay. I
lay as still as possible and waited. For a few seconds there was silence, and
then from above me came a loud, deep cry: “Oink! . . . Oink!”, and I realized
that it was a troop of Mona guenons. For the next half-hour I was treated to
the most delightful close-up of monkey life that anyone could wish for.

The monkey in
the tree above me was presumably the leader, for he was a male of huge
proportions. Having surveyed the forest below the cliff and seen no danger, he
had uttered his “all clear” cry to the rest of the troop, and then he leapt
from his bush above me and plummeted downwards like a stone over the edge of
the cliff, hands and legs outstretched, to land among the top branches of a
tree-top just opposite to where I was lying. He disappeared among the leaves
for a few seconds, and then reappeared walking along a branch. When he reached
a comfortable fork he seated himself, looked about him, and uttered a few deep
grunts.

Immediately the
bush above me swayed and shook as another monkey landed in it, and almost in
the same movement leapt off again to drop down over the cliff into the tree-top
where the old male was waiting. Their progression was very orderly: as one
landed in the tree below another would arrive in the bush above me. I counted
thirty adults as they jumped, and many of the females had young clinging to
their bodies. I could hear these babies giving shrill squeaks, either of fear
or delight, as their parents hurtled downwards. When the whole troop was
installed in the tree they spread out and started to feed on a small black
fruit that was growing there. They walked along the branches, plucking the
fruit and stuffing it into their mouths, continuously glancing a-round them in
the quick nervous way that all monkeys have. Some of the bigger babies had now
unhooked themselves from their mothers’ fur and followed them through the trees
uttering their plaintive cries of “Weeek! . . . Weeek!” in shrill, quavering
voices. The adults exchanged comments in deep grunts. I saw no fights break
out; occasionally a particularly fine fruit would be snatched by one monkey
from the paws of a smaller individual, but beyond a yarring grunt of
indignation from the victim, nothing happened to disturb their peaceful
feeding.

Suddenly there
was a great harsh swishing of wind and a series of wild honking cries as two
hornbills flew up from the forest below, and with the air of drunken imbecility
common to their kind crashed to rest among the branches, in the noisy
unbalanced way that is the hornbill’s idea of a perfect landing. They clung to
the branches, blinking delightedly at the Monas from under the great swollen
casques that ornamented their heads, like elongated balloons. Then they hopped
crabwise along the branches and plucked the black fruit with the tips of their
beaks most delicately. Then they would throw back their heads and toss the
fruit down their throats. After each gulp they would squat and stare roguishly
at the monkeys from their great black eyes, fluttering their heavy eyelashes.
The Monas ignored these tattered clowns with their Cyrano de Bergerac profiles,
and continued to feed quietly. They were used to hornbills, for what the
vulture is to the lion, the hornbill is to the monkeys in the Cameroons.
Whenever there is a troop of monkeys feeding, there, sooner or later, you will
find some hornbills, giving the whole position away with their loud honking and
the swish of their wings, which can be heard a mile away. How the monkeys must
have hated the company of these great birds, and yet they had to suffer it.

Presently the
hornbills flew off with a great thrashing of wings, and soon after the leader
of the Monas decided that it was time they were moving. He grunted a few times,
and the mothers clasped their young to their bellies, and then they leapt, one
by one, down into the foliage below, and were swallowed up in a sea of leaves.
For some little time I could hear their progress through the forest below, the
surging crash of leaves as they jumped from tree to tree sounding like slow
heavy breakers on a rocky shore. When I could no longer hear them I rose from
my hiding place, cramped and stiff, picked the twigs and the ants from my
person, and blundered my way back to camp through the darkening forest.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

THE
JU-JU
THAT WORKED

THE next two
days were spent hunting with the dogs, and we had exceptionally good luck. The
first day we caught a young Monitor and a full-grown Duiker, but it was on the
second day that we secured a real prize. We had spent some hours rushing madly
up and down the mountain following the dogs, who were following trails that
seemed to lead nowhere, and at length we had halted for a rest among some huge
boulders. We squatted on the rocks, gasping and sweating, while our dauntless
pack lay at our feet, limp and panting. Soon, when we had all regained our
breath somewhat, one of the dogs got up and wandered off into some neighbouring
bushes, where we could hear it sniffing around, its bell clonking. Suddenly it
let out a wild yelp, and we could hear it rushing off through the bushes;
immediately the rest of the pack was galvanized into action and followed
quickly with much yelping. We gathered up our things hastily, flung away our
half-smoked cigarettes, and followed the pack with all speed. At first the
trail led downhill, and we leapt wildly among the boulders and roots as we
rushed down the steep incline. At one point there was a flimsy sapling hanging
low over our path, and instead of ducking beneath it as the others had done, I
brushed it aside with one hand. Immediately a swarm of black dots appeared
before my eyes and an agonizing pain spread over my neck and cheek. On the
branch which I had so carelessly thrust aside there was hanging a small forest
wasps’ nest, a thing the size of an apple hanging concealed beneath the leaves.
The owners of these nests are swift and angry, and do not hesitate to attack,
as I now realized. As I rushed on, clutching my cheek and neck and cursing
fluently, it occurred to me that the hunters had seen the nest and had
instinctively ducked to avoid disturbing it, and they presumably thought I
would do the same. From then on I imitated their actions slavishly, while my
head ached and throbbed.

It was the
longest chase we had had to date; we must have run for nearly an hour, and
towards the end I was so exhausted and in such pain that I did not really care
if we captured anything or not. But eventually we caught up with the pack, and
we found them grouped around the end of a great hollow tree trunk thaat
stretched across the forest floor. The sight of the animal that crouched
snarling gently at the dogs in the mouth of the trunk revived my interest in
life immediately; it was the size of an English fox, with a heavy, rather
bear-like face, and neat round ears. Its long sinuous body was cream coloured,
as were its head and tail. Its slim and delicate legs were chocolate brown. It
was a Black-legged Mongoose, probably the rarest of the mongoose family in West
Africa. On our arrival this rarity cast us a scornful glance and retreated into
the interior of the trunk, and as soon as he had disappeared the dogs regained
their courage and flung themselves at the opening and hurled abuse at him, though
none of them, I noticed, tried to follow him.