Forest Royalties

Gorilla. By Ben Burbridge. (Harrap. 10s. 6d.) IN the very centre of Africa on a plateau surrounded by snow-capped extinct volcanoes, the great mountain gorilla has his home. Only the leopard shares with him these foggy and freezing solitudes. The vegetation is dense and the limbs of the big trees of the hobgoblin forest are festooned with strange orchids.

Into this fantastic world, Mr. Burbridge went to photograph gorillas and to capture their young. He is a good writer and makes us hear the thunder which alternates with the terrifying drum beat of angry apes ; he gives us also some ghastly

pictures of dead gorillas propped up by sticks, sometimes snarling defiance at their killers and sometimes gazing at mankind with contempt.

Before recounting Mr. Burbridge's adventures with our African cousins, we must glance at his conquest of other game.

Buffalo are among the most dangerous of beasts. One twilight, in British East Africa, he came upon a buffalo within half a dozen gun lengths, and heard the soft crunching of his cud. Just as he was firing the brute charged. Mr. Bur-

bridge's aim was true and he brought the old bull low. Later on his skinners discovered a small steel arrow-head buried in the socket of its eye, shot into him by a native hunter. As the author says, it is not to be wondered at that the mere scent of man sent him into a fury of rage. There is a remarkable account, also, of the killing of a lion and lioness. He shot.

crippling the lioness which dashed to cover, but only grazed the lion.

" Out there in the dusky grey of the morning, the big male lowered his head. His tail for a moment lashed the air. Then he crouched flat and gave a little coughing grunt. The lioness sprang to his side, and on they came in a charge. They rushed ?Ton us at terrific speed, not bounding as the story-book tells, but in a low gliding run, shoulder blades working high above their bodies, heads outstretched, jaws open—just as a cat approaches a bird. The charge was made in deadly silence, without roar or growl. The big lion was leading."

Re shot the lion and followed the wounded lioness until late in the afternoon and found her at last dead on her back, Paws in the air. There is much more of this sort of thing- a catalogue of killing, excellently done in its way. With the gorillas, Mr. Burbridge's first object was to secure some photographs of them and he ran very considerable risks in attempting it :

" Several peculiarities of the gorilla were very noticeable. One, that before flight they invariably paused in the forest to roar and beat their chests with the apparent intention of combat. Then, niter they had disappeared, sometimes from behind, a shaggy head would arise to peer silently over a leafy screen. At discovery, a hard derisive bark from the eavesdropper announced the departure of the band through' the jungle." On one occasion he succeded in getting an excellent view of his quarry :

" Often had I heard accompanying the muffled drum of a gorilla beating his chest in the forest another, metallic and penetrating, like that a small boy makes when he beats with sticks upon a tin can. Until now I had supposed this sound was produced by a small gorilla beating its chest. Usually there are about sixteen beats, then a pause. A gorilla stands upright, man-like, when producing these sounds. My gorilla in the window suddenly demonstrated. He arose in plain view, mouth open, cheeks drawn taut, and beat a rapid tattoo on each cheek with his open palms. The sound was metallic and far-carrying. Another gorilla, like a jack-in-the-box, popped up into an adjacent opening and drummed on his chin with a rapid circular motion, striking the chin with the backs of his fingers. Often before I had heard this teeth-rattling without seeing the performer. Whether it was a signal or a note of defiance is a matter of conjecture. At least, its effect was electric."

With the squeal of baby apes and the crash of adults in the under-brush, with the chatter of angry teeth, chest beats, and howls, screaming peacocks above and elephants trumpeting in the valley below, the taking of motion pictures must have been enough to try the stoutest nerves. Once a mob of apes charged his camera, then hesitated and fled before the one-eyed monster turned upon them. What a pity that Mr. Burbridge did not confine himself to such heroic and useful explorations Gorillas are grave and deliberate in all that they do, the author tells us. The chief of the family assembles his females and his young before a march. They go in single file, females in the van, young following and the chief male

in the rear, an orderly sensible band of people who would put to shame the travellers in any great city at the six o'clock

rush hour. But what must our civilized man do but think of how he could capture some of these grave and kindly creatures, to exhibit them in our disgusting zoos ! Could he snatch a young gorilla from the middle of some happy ape family ? He thought it over carefully (in the interests of science, of course) and even imagined himself as a kidnapper in a modem town :

" dashing out into a crowded thoroughfare, firing pistols right and left into the air, snatching a babe from its mother."

The law would get the kidnapper, Mr. Burbridge knew, but " here, in the jungle," he adds, " there is no law." Comment is needless.

He followed a family of gorillas for a long time until at last a young one, weighing a hundred and twenty-six pounds (the author weighs a hundred and eighty-five), who had loitered to feed, passed him so close that he was able to fling himself on it :

" It was at these catch-weights we fought. Had this one been muzzled and hand-cuffed, perhaps the battle would have been more nearly equal, and he would not have all but captured me. A moment of contact with those powerful arms and I knew I had grabbed a handful. Whether by accident or instinct of gorilla- capturing, I clutched his throat and hung on with desperation born of the knowledge that I was battling for my life. The din of snarls

and the thrashing of under-brush as we rolled over and over aroused my men to rush to my assistance. Twice I tore out of the gorillit's teeth and left a part of my clothing as a peace offering. Again and again I broke from clutches that dragged my head and throat downward toward his open jaws. My gunboy, racing through the jungle ahead of them all, flung himself into the fray. One after another piled on top of the young gorilla, who fought with the fury of a madman as he heaved and bucked under the weight of his enemies, refusing to accept defeat until spread-eagled and his hands and feet tied."

Firmly swaddled in sacks, breathing heavily, and looking like a huge sausage, he was put into a cage and carried towards the coast. He seemed to know he was leaving his jungle home. All through the long night hours, a torch bearer walked beside his cage, menacing him each time he attacked the wooden bars in an effort to escape. But he met a death more terrible even than that he would have died in captivity in Europe, for after about a month of torture, an army of marching ants stung him to death.

Mr. Burbridge used baby gorillas to lure their parents out of the jungle in order to photograph them. One six-foot monster charged him and he had to kill it.

His face, which a moment before had been convulsed, horrible to see, now was placid, almost kindly in the repose of death. . . . Feeling as if I had killed a man, I photographed, then skinned him hurriedly.

Out of eight gorillas captured, only three survived. Two went to the Antwerp Zoo and one to America, where she seems to have had a happy home while Dr. Yerkes conducted a series of psychological experiments on her. The other five poor brutes all died miserably.

Mr. Burbridge is a brave man and no bully or braggart. At times the horror of the things he has done seems to dawn on him. If his book serves to stimulate our reverence and wonder for life created, it will do good. Even more good will it do if public opinion crystallizes out on the subject of keeping wild animals in captivity at all. If captive apes and monkeys are amusing (which I doubt) as a spectacle for

an idle afternoon, would that justify the cost and cruelty

of exhibiting them ? Why not the cinema and the sound recorder to let us see and hear what they are really like in their kingles ? Why all the misery and massacre of which Mr. Burbridge tells ? His book is a dreadful commentary on our civilization.

F. Y-B.