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The World of the Great Forest

“Here I am, dear, waiting for you”

The
World of the Great Forest
How Animals, Birds, Reptiles, Insects Talk, Think, Work, and Live

By

Paul Du Chaillu

Author of “The Viking Age,” “The Land of the Long Night,” “Ivar the Viking,” “The Land of the Midnight Sun,” “Explorations in Equatorial Africa,” “Stories of the Gorilla Country,” “Wild Life under the Equator,” “Lost in the Jungle,” “My Apingi Kingdom,” “The Country of the Dwarfs,” etc., etc.

WITH OVER FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS

BY

C. R. KNIGHT AND J. M. GLEESON

New York

Charles Scribner’s Sons

1900

Copyright, 1900

By Charles Scribner’s Sons

UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

TO

CHARLES SCRIBNER AND ARTHUR H. SCRIBNER

Dear Friends,—Remembering the uniform courtesy and consideration it has been my good fortune to experience at your hands for a series of years, and recollecting the delightful relations that have always been reciprocal between us, and that have contributed so much to my happiness, I take infinite pleasure in dedicating this volume, “The World of the Great Forest,” to you both, as a slight evidence of the sincere esteem entertained by me, an author, for you, my publishers.

PAUL DU CHAILLU.

Introduction

The World of the Great Central African Forest is a remarkable one. Its denizens range from the huge elephant to the smallest ant, and in its dark recesses and almost impenetrable jungle I have studied the life of these creatures.

From close observation and persistent study I have arrived at the conclusion that animals, birds, reptiles, ants, spiders, etc., possess great power of apprehension and prevision; that creatures of the same species have understanding with one another, either by voice, sign, or other ways unknown to man; otherwise they could not act with such harmony and deliberation.

It is not reasonable to say that animals do not converse because we do not understand or hear the sounds they make. The fault is ours, not theirs. Do we not always say, when we are learning a foreign language and begin to speak with the natives, that they talk so fast we cannot follow them? The articulation and the words seem to be blended together, and it is only after a time that we catch separate words.

Everything that lives is born with wonderful gifts suited to its mode of life. The shape and appearance of animals are designed to enable them to lead their special lives. Many have great power of scent, much keener than that of man. This particular attribute enables them to approach their prey and avoid danger. For example, the animal that preys upon others knows enough to move against the wind on his predatory expeditions. Those that feed on fruits and nuts know exactly at what season, in what month or week of the year, these are good to eat, and where they are to be found. They know how far distant is their feeding-ground, and the time needed to reach it. They all know their way, whether through the air or in the jungle, and nothing escapes their observation.

When animals or birds are taught to speak, or to do special tricks, it is clear that they must exercise memory, and memory means thought, and thought means reason.

The destruction of life, the battles that take place among the creatures of that great African Forest, the millions that are killed and eaten up every day, are beyond computation. Life, to sustain itself, must destroy life; such is the economy of nature. It is a struggle for existence among all. So the great gift given to every creature is knowledge of how to protect itself from its enemies, and how to approach its prey. If it were not for constant destruction, the animal world would increase so fast that there would be room and food left for none.

To enable the reader to enter into the life of the great African Forest, I have made the animals tell their own stories and explain their own actions as if they were endowed with the power of speech. And I have given to them native names. A number of the animals mentioned, I discovered myself.

PAUL DU CHAILLU.

August 15, 1900.

Contents

List of Full-Page Illustrations

The World of the Great Forest

CHAPTER I
THE GUANIONIEN, OR GIANT EAGLE

A guanionien, as he soared between the great forest and the sun, said to himself: “I am the lord of the air; I am the largest and most powerful of all the eagles of the land. I am called the leopard of the air. I feed on monkeys.”

Then he chuckled, the way the guanioniens do, and rose higher and higher in the sky at each circle that he made. It seemed as if he were going directly toward the sun. At last he flew so high that no eyes from the forest could see him.

After a while he reappeared; he was coming down again in a series of circles to the forest. At times his huge wings spread their full length and then stood still. He seemed to hang motionless in the air. When he had come down near enough, he scanned the great sea of trees all over, to see if their branches were moving, for this would show that there were monkeys upon them feeding upon their fruit, nuts, or berries. But all was still; not a branch stirred, and there was no wind. His eyes looked down perpendicularly and could see any object right under him. There was no monkey in sight.

He said to himself: “Why have the monkeys been so shy of late, and kept themselves in the middle of the trees, never coming to their tops? Surely other guanioniens must have been here before me and scared all the monkeys: they are afraid and keep out of sight; they know that we cannot pounce upon them. How cunning they are!”

He saw a giant tree about four hundred feet high, rising twice as high as the other trees of the forest, and meditated: “The creatures of the forest know the favorite trees upon which I perch and eat my prey, only by the skulls and bones of the monkeys I have torn to pieces and devoured lying at their feet on the ground.—But,” he added, “it is not every day that I get a meal.”

He laughed: “No harm can ever befall me, for no enemy can frighten me; no bird is strong enough to fight against me; the spears and arrows of human beings can never reach me and hurt me, for I fly and perch so high; men cannot even see the tops of my trees on account of the thick foliage which shuts off from them even the sun and the sky.”

After he had rested, he flew away and soared over the dark green forest, which was so large that it seemed to have no beginning nor end, and once more he watched for monkeys. But his piercing, far-sighted eyes saw nothing,—not a branch of a tree was moving. Then he thought it was time to seek his mate, for they had agreed when they parted in the morning to meet on a certain tree upon which they were accustomed to rest during the day after their noon search for prey, and tell each other what had happened.

Before long he saw the tree he sought. It was easily recognizable by the peculiar shape of its branches. Soon he was soaring over it, uttering peculiar sounds belonging to the language of the guanioniens, and meaning, “Are you there, dear? I am coming;” and his mate, already at the rendezvous, replied, “Here I am, dear, waiting for you.”

Soon after, the big guanionien had alighted upon a branch close to hers, and the two looked at each other with affection, for they had not seen each other since they had parted a little after daylight.

They uttered sounds which seemed strange, for these were words belonging to the guanionien language, which meant, “How glad, dear, I am to see you! How are you?” or, “How have you been since this morning?”

After their greeting there was a short silence, then the big guanionien said to his mate, “Dear, what is the news? Have you been lucky to-day? Have you had a meal?”

“No,” she replied. “Not a monkey came in sight to-day. They were afraid to come to the tops of the trees to feed, though I heard many of them talking among themselves several times. I am starving. Surely guanioniens have been in the region before us, and that is the reason why the monkeys keep away.”

In her turn she inquired, “Have you good news to tell me? Have you discovered a place where monkeys are plentiful? Have you had a good meal?”

“Only bad news have I to tell,” he replied. “I have seen no troops of monkeys. Bad luck continues to follow us. I am starving, too. For three days we have soared over this great forest and have seen and caught nothing.” And with a sigh, “How hard we have to work for our living!” said both at the same time. “Oh, how fortunate it is that we guanioniens are so constituted that we can starve for days without dying! This great gift has been given to us to suit our mode of life. Hunger is our enemy; but old age is our greatest one.”

They left their tree and agreed to come back in the evening to sleep upon it, as had been their custom for some little time. They flew a long way off, in a bee-line at first, keeping in sight of each other for a while, then parted.

Toward sunset they were once more perched on the tree, and each inquired for the afternoon’s news.

The big guanionien said: “Several times I saw branches moving, with monkeys upon them. At this sight my appetite grew more voracious than before, and I thought that I was going to have a good meal. I soared over the trees, but the monkeys never came to the tops so that I could swoop down upon them. They seemed to dread danger, although I was so high in the air that they could not see me. But experience has taught them that it is not safe for them to be on the tops of the trees; ugly, suspicious monkeys, we have to be very cunning to capture them.”

After he had finished, he asked his mate what she had to tell. She replied: “During my flight I came to a place where I saw the tops of several trees covered with big red fruit. Surely, I thought, monkeys will be tempted when they see this, and will come out to eat. I soared over them until it was time to leave to meet you, for sunset was fast coming on. At the dawn of the day we must fly to that place, for I believe that some wandering troops of monkeys will surely come there to feed.”

“If I capture a monkey, he will never drop from my claws,” said her mate.

“Neither will one from mine,” she replied. “Oh, dear, how hard it is to work for nothing!”

The sun had set, and darkness came over the land, and the two guanioniens fell asleep. They felt safe, for the tree was large, and its first branch was so high above the forest that nothing but winged creatures could get to them.

At daybreak the two guanioniens left, travelling in the direction of the fruit trees as fast as they could. They remained in sight of each other, but did not talk or hail each other, as was their wont, for fear the monkeys might hear them and become more wary than ever.

At last, to their great satisfaction, after travelling about one hundred miles, they saw in the distance the bright red tops of the fruit trees they sought. At the sight the two guanioniens came together and whispered: “Surely some troops of monkeys will come and feed upon these trees. Let us soar above them all day, if necessary. Patience is often rewarded. Sometimes the prey comes when we are ready to give up.”

Then they flew very high and soared above the fruit-bearing trees. They soared a long time, looking down in that peculiar manner which belongs to the eagle, their eyeballs moving so that they can see directly under them. Suddenly they heard monkeys chattering among themselves. The reason of this loud talk was that two troops of different species of monkeys were quarrelling, daring each other and ready to fight. One troop was trying to drive the other away.

The two guanioniens, by peculiar motions of their wings and other silent ways of communication only known to their species, told each other the news about the monkeys.

Great indeed was the joy of the guanioniens at the prospect of a good hearty meal. They bided their time and watched for their opportunity. They were not going to be rash and run the chance of missing their prey.

It happened that two or three days before, troops of monkeys had come to those same trees and had eaten up all the fruit that was on their lower and middle branches, thus leaving that on the top. The monkeys looked up, and when they saw the bright red, juicy fruit, they forgot all about guanioniens, and soon were all over the tops of several trees eating away to their hearts’ content, unaware of the presence of their enemies soaring above them and waiting for the opportune moment to pounce upon them.

Suddenly, like a flash, the two guanioniens swooped down perpendicularly from their height, and before the monkeys were aware of their presence, they had seized the two largest in their talons, clutched firmly by the neck and back, and rose in the air with them.

CHAPTER II
THE GUANIONIENS’ DEPARTURE FOR THE LAND OF PLENTY

One evening after the guanioniens had returned to their tree to spend the night, and as they stood close together on a branch upon which they had perched, the big guanionien said to his mate: “Dear, it is time to prepare ourselves for the long journey we take every year at this season, to go to our nest and repair it. The country where we have built our nest will soon be a land of plenty; there will be berries, nuts, and fruits in abundance. By that time little guanioniens will break out of their shells into the world. The monkeys will come in great numbers to feed on the ripened fruits or nuts, and,” with a laugh peculiar to guanioniens, “then we shall be able to feed ourselves and our dear little ones quite well.”

“It is so,” replied his mate. “The height of the sun, the intense heat, dry moons and rainy moons that have passed away since we were in the Land of Plenty tell us that it is time for us to go to our nest, repair it, and raise a brood of guanioniens.”

Then came a long silence; the guanioniens were fast asleep.

The following morning they greeted each other, then started for the Land of Plenty to visit their nest, which they had done every year for a long time past. They flew in a bee-line. They knew their way perfectly well through the air; but how, no one in the forest could tell but guanioniens themselves. They had to travel over a thousand miles before reaching their nest. Now and then they looked down upon the forest to see if any branches were moving at the tops of the trees. This would be a sign that monkeys were there. When they suspected that it was so, they would soar above them, peeping deeply into the branches, but that day they were unsuccessful.

Toward sunset they saw two giant trees growing close together, well known to them, and upon these they perched for the night. After they alighted they looked all around. They saw some nut-bearing trees, and the big guanionien said to his mate, “Let us soar over these trees to-morrow morning; perhaps we shall discover monkeys feeding on their tops. We shall have to be patient, for as you know, dear, prey sometimes shows itself at the last hour and when least expected. We cannot well undertake this long journey without food.”

Then they went to sleep. Early the next morning they saw from their resting-place branches of trees moving in several places, and knew that troops of monkeys were feeding. At once they left and soared over the monkeys and succeeded in capturing two, which they carried to the tree where they had spent the night, and devoured them.

After this bountiful repast they said, “Now that we have had a fine meal we can reach our destination without difficulty.”

In the afternoon a small black spot rose above the horizon in the east. It gradually grew larger and larger against the sky, in spite of the wind which blew against it.

The old guanionien flew to his mate and said: “Dear, by the look of the sky a tornado will soon be upon us; the wind will blow fiercely. Let us find a tree upon which we can shelter ourselves, for we are not strong enough to fly against the tornado, and we could not possibly go with the wind, for we do not know where it would take us. It might carry us to a country we do not know.”

They looked around them and saw a tall tree, and flew toward it as fast as their wings could carry them, and soon were perched in its centre, being protected thus by its big trunk and many branches. They knew that these would partly break the force of the fearful wind. They had met with many tornadoes during their lives.

They faced the black spot, for they knew that the tornado was to blow from that direction, then sunk their huge talons deeply into the wood on the branch on which they were perched, so as to have a powerful hold and not be carried away when the tornado fell upon them. They made themselves as small as they could by bending their legs, and shortening their necks.

They had hardly prepared themselves for their conflict with the tornado when the wind blowing against the black spot stopped, then came a calm, the precursor of the tornado. A white spot rose from the horizon under the now huge black mass that had gathered. It was the tornado. In the twinkling of an eye with terrific force it struck the tree upon which the guanioniens were. The wind hissed through branches, many of which bent as if ready to break, but the guanioniens had chosen a good place. Nevertheless, they had a hard time to hold on and not to be blown away.

Then the wind subsided, and terrific vivid lightning accompanied by claps of thunder filled the open spaces and the great forest. It rained in torrents and such rain as is only known under the mountainous equatorial regions of that great forest. It stormed and thundered the rest of the day and during almost the whole of the night.

The guanioniens had pressed their feathers close together. Fortunately they were well oiled and the rain ran off over them, so that their skins escaped a drenching.

In spite of the great storm, the guanioniens had short naps, at times being awakened by the vivid lightning and terrific peals of thunder, re-echoed from mountain to mountain.

At daybreak they awoke, and one said, “Dear, we have had a very uncomfortable night, but at this season of the year we shall meet many more of them.” Before leaving their tree for their journey, they made their toilet, and it took them quite a while.

Not only the guanioniens, but all the birds have a bag or pouch just at the end of the spinal column near the tail, full of an oily or fatty soft substance, which they take from the opening with their beak and with which they oil their feathers. The guanioniens had a big one indeed, making a large protuberance.

They began to take the oily substance from their pouches, and their beaks went through almost every feather, these being placed one upon another as shingles on a roof. They were, in a word, combing themselves. When no more oil was left, then they went back to their pouches for more. They had plenty to do, for the heavy rain of the night had taken almost all the oily matter from their feathers. When they had finished they said to each other, “Now our skins are protected against the rain.” It was just as good as if they had had on india-rubber coats.

After their toilets, the guanioniens continued their journey, looking for prey as they went along, soaring after a long time above the place where monkeys were likely to come.

One day they saw and recognized in the distance the giant tree upon which was their nest. They flew toward it and shortly afterward perched upon one of its branches with much satisfaction.

Looking at their nest, the big guanionien said to his mate: “Dear, our nest requires much repairing: it is terribly weather-beaten; it is getting quite old, and soon we shall have to make a new one. We have raised many little guanioniens in this dear old nest of ours, two or three at a time. Since we mated we have been true and faithful to each other, for we guanioniens always keep true to our mates. What care these little ones have given us! How we have had to protect them with our wings from cold and from the rain! How hard we have had to work to feed them, and to raise them until they could get a living for themselves! I wonder where they all are now, and if they sometimes think of their parents.”

The following day they began to work in earnest at repairing their nest. They went in search of small twigs of trees and interlaced them and put them where they were needed. Then three eggs were laid in it by Mrs. Guanionien.

The guanioniens had a hard time while they hatched their eggs, and became quite thin, for only one could go after monkeys at a time, and these were not plentiful.

They watched the trees and could see the fruits, berries, and nuts getting larger every day, and saw them changing color and coming to maturity, and they were overjoyed, for their lives had indeed been hard since they had come to their nest.

CHAPTER III
THE NGOZOS, OR GRAY PARROTS WITH RED TAILS

There are many kinds of birds in the great forests. Among the most numerous and most intelligent are the gray ngozos with red tails.

These ngozos, when young, have very black eyes, but as they grow older a yellow-whitish ring forms itself round the black. Many of them live to be more than a hundred years old.

They live in flocks of tens, twenties, thirties, sometimes even fifties, though seldom more. Each flock has its leader, whom it obeys implicitly. He is chosen to be chief because he is supposed to be wise, and to know the forest and where food is to be found at the different months or seasons of the year. Hence he is old and has had more experience, and is the first to give the signal of danger.

It is the custom of the ngozos to meet every evening, sometimes before sunset, to tell the news,—what has happened and where food is to be found. Then after this they go to sleep.

The ngozos and the monkeys are not good friends. The ngozos hate the monkeys with all their hearts, and have good reason to do so, for they both are fond of fruits, berries, and nuts; and it often happens that when a flock of ngozos is upon a tree, enjoying its delicious meal and very happy, a troop of monkeys suddenly makes its appearance, succeeds in driving the ngozos away, takes possession of the tree, and eats up the fruit so that when the ngozos return they find nothing left.

Sometimes they have regular fights, but the ngozos generally get the worst of it, and have to fly away, saying all kinds of saucy things to the monkeys.

One evening, flock after flock of ngozos arrived at their place of meeting, which was on an island situated in a large river. There they felt more secure from their enemies in the forest. Many had travelled a long way, but they knew exactly how long it would take them for their homeward journey, and though their wings were tired, they were not exhausted.

After they had alighted, all the ngozos greeted one another, exclaiming, “Glad to see you! Glad to see you! Welcome to our place of meeting.”

Such a pandemonium of ngozos’ voices was heard far and wide in the forest, for at least ten thousand of them were there perched on three or four trees that were close together. They jabbered away at a great rate. A stranger would have thought that they made too much noise to understand one another, as their voices were so confused, and as they were apparently all speaking at the same time. But to the ngozos it was not so; they held a conversation, and one ngozo was talking to one of several of his friends who were listening to him.

Though there were five or six hundred leaders of flocks in this great army of ngozos, each leader knew every member of his flock, and every ngozo knew his leader and recognized his voice, just as he recognized their voices also. He knew the number of his flock, and if one were missing he could tell which, and the other members of the flock likewise. No doubt each ngozo had a name known to the others of the flock.

As they were telling the news, the leader of one flock of ngozos said: “We have come back hungry this evening, for when we came to the trees we had seen loaded with our food of berries and nuts, we found they were all gone, for the monkeys had been there and eaten everything in sight. We were very angry, and during the day we had to fly over the forest and alight here and there to pick what we could. But almost everywhere the monkeys had been before us, and left only unripened berries or nuts, and we had to content ourselves with these, and few at that.”

After hearing this tale of woe, all the ngozos with one voice cried, “We hate the monkeys; ugly monkeys!” The noise was terrific when they said this, for they said these words all at the same time and they repeated them several times in succession, with anger. Oh, what a noise they made!

The ngozos of another flock, when they heard this, said: “We are sorry for you, dear ngozos; it is too bad that you came home hungry. We came to a part of the forest where all the tops of the trees were covered with beautiful ripened fruits; they were fine, and we ate them all day long, and no horrid monkeys came to disturb us. They were busy somewhere else eating our food.”

They called it “our food,” for the parrots considered the berries, nuts, and fruits of the forest as their own, and thought that the monkeys had no business to eat them. The monkeys thought likewise of the ngozos.

Then some ngozos belonging to another flock said: “We flew over a village of human beings, and saw a number of our kin in the place. They could not fly; their wings were cut; we spoke to them, but they could not understand us, neither could we understand them.”

The reason they could not understand each other was because the ngozos in the village of the human beings had been captured in their nests when their bodies were covered with down, and had only learned the language of the human beings. They had no ngozos to teach them the language of their kin living in the forest. They had invented a jargon of their own, which they used when they did not speak the human language.

Some flocks advised others not to go where they had been, for there was very little food to be found; others told where monkeys were numerous, or where they were not.

It was getting late, near sunset, and all the flocks ought to have arrived; but the ngozos noticed that two were still absent. They were very much excited, and began to be afraid some great misfortune had happened to the missing ones, and talked loudly to one another. They wondered why no stragglers had arrived.

Suddenly they heard voices above them. It was one of the flocks arriving. “We are coming!” said the belated ones; “we are coming!” and they alighted. “Welcome!” said all the ngozos at the same time.

“What makes you so late?” cried all the ngozos.

“Well, we have come from a long way off, and our wings are tired. We had great trouble to find food enough to-day to satisfy our hunger, for the monkeys had been there before us this morning. We went a great distance, and, guided by our leader, we came to a region in which food was plentiful, and which the monkeys had not found out. Several flocks can find plenty of food there to-morrow, provided the ugly monkeys do not find the place.”

“Horrid monkeys!” chattered all the ngozos at once.

The ngozos waited anxiously for the only flock missing. They were much distressed. Had the flock left them to go to another place? The sun had set, and it was fast growing dark, for in the forest darkness comes soon after sunset. Soon, to their great joy, they heard above their heads the voices of the missing ones, and a great cry arose among them. “Welcome!” they shouted with one voice.

The flock alighted. “What makes you so late? It is almost dark,” cried the ngozos together.

“Don’t speak of it,” cried the belated flock. “Don’t speak of it. We had an awful fight with the monkeys, and we are lucky to have escaped with our lives from their clutches.”

“Hateful monkeys!” cried all the ngozos.

“See how dilapidated some of us look,” said one of the late comers; and one of the flock, turning her back, cried, “Look at me. I am almost without a tail. An ugly monkey plucked it off. It was hard for me to fly and reach our meeting-place, for having hardly any tail I flew with difficulty.”

“Look at me,” said a second one, as he also turned his back to the ngozos. “My feathers are all gone between my wings. I wonder how I escaped from that savage monkey.”

All the ngozos listened silently when they heard this tale of woe.

A third one said, “Look at me, ngozos. See the state of my poor feathers and how many have been plucked by one of those monkeys. But I succeeded in giving him a bite and cut off one of his fingers, and he had to let me go. He gave such a cry of pain.”

“Good for you!” shouted all the parrots; “good for you, ngozos!”

“How did the fight happen?” asked one of the wise ones who had been listening. “Tell us.”

Then the chief of the flock said: “Our flock was on a tree feasting on delicious fruits, when suddenly we heard a troop of monkeys coming. Soon they leaped on our tree and wanted to drive us away, and attacked us. We tried to resist, but the monkeys are so quick of motion, and they have hands and feet that can clutch, while we ngozos can only bite. The combat was unequal. One of our number was killed by them. The reason that we are so late is that we had to fly slowly on account of our disabled ones. We did not want to leave them behind, for we are all good comrades and we love one another dearly.”

“That was right. You are true ngozos,” cried they all.

Then came a shrill chorus, and all the ngozos shrieked again, “We hate the monkeys.” But soon the jabbering among the ngozos became less and less, for many were getting sleepy. Then quiet settled down on the army. All had fallen asleep, after, however, having first agreed where the flocks should go to the next morning.

Long before dawn, between three and four o’clock, all the ngozos were awake and talked to one another. When ready for their journey, each leader said to his flock, “Be ready, ngozos; we must hurry.” His flock would answer, “We are ready.” “Follow me, then,” would say the leader as he flew away, followed by all the numbers that belonged to him.

Flock after flock of ngozos left one after another, after saying, “Good-by,” “Good luck to you.” “Good luck to you,” was the answer, and in less than ten minutes they all had left. Some flocks flew toward the north, others to the east, west, south, to some particular part of the forest where they thought they would find plenty of food. They were all in a great hurry to reach the different places, so as to be there before the monkeys, the small flocks going where there were only a few fruit-bearing trees to be found, and the flock that had been so badly beaten by the monkeys going to the nearest food place.

The ngozos possess the wonderful gift of knowing their way through the air; the trees are their landmarks, as they fly above the forest and look down to discover any fruit-bearing trees.

A very old ngozo, about eighty years old, with powdered feathers and deep yellow eyes (which is a sign of old age), who was the last to go away, said to his flock: “I know of a place where at this time of the year there are trees that must be loaded with fruit [and he named the fruit]. I will lead you there.”

“Good for you, our chief!” cried all the ngozos. “You are a good chief. With you we shall find plenty of food.”

After a journey of about twenty miles, the old leader said to his flock, “Look yonder. Do you see the tree-tops red with fruit?” And they looked in that direction and saw trees red with fruit, and all uttered cries of joy, saying, “What a good-morning’s meal we are going to have!” They flew with still greater rapidity and soon alighted upon the trees. “We are here just in season,” they all exclaimed at the same time. Then they remained perfectly silent, so as not to attract other ngozos, and also so as not to let the monkeys know where they were. The fruits were very dainty. Soon every ngozo was enjoying his meal, holding the fruit in his claw (for they use their feet as we do our hands) and peeling it with his beak.

After having had a good meal, they flew away to another part of the forest, where their leader thought they would find a kind of nut they liked very much.

Halfway they settled upon a tree to feed, when suddenly a stranger alighted among them. They looked at the new-comer, and at once wanted to drive him away, for he did not belong to their flock. Great cries of rage were heard among them; but as they were preparing to fight the poor wanderer, the chief of the flock cried with a very piercing and commanding voice: “Do not drive him away. He is lost. For some reason or another he is solitary. Don’t you see that he belongs to our kin, and has a gray body and a red tail? Let us welcome him.” The ngozos did so at once in a chorus. But, to their utter astonishment, they found that the stranger could not understand what they said to him; and when he spoke to them they could not understand what he said, and they marvelled at that, and looked at their new friend with amazement and did not know what to make of him.

The fact was that the poor ngozo had escaped from a village of human beings, one of whom had taken him away from his nest when he was a baby ngozo. He had given him to his wife, who fed him and raised him tenderly and taught him to speak or listen to her words. Consequently, he had not learned the language of the ngozos, not having lived among them. He spoke at times a queer kind of jargon which he and two or three captive ngozos of the village had invented for use among themselves.

In the evening the stranger followed them. He had been admitted as one of the members of the flock, and when they arrived at a certain place they met other ngozos. All marvelled at the new-comer, who was exactly like themselves, but could not understand them, as they could not understand him. But nevertheless they were soon friends.

The hour came when the flock thought it was time to return to the island where all the ngozos met, and they started and before long reached the place with the new friend they had adopted that day. As usual they had their talk out and then went to sleep.

That night this ngozo stranger thought of the home he had left, of his mistress who had been so kind to him, and how much he was petted by the people. The next morning he followed the flock that had received him. He had no one to bring him his breakfast, and henceforth he would have to work for his living. It was a new life before him, but after a while he found that it was much better to be free, even if you had to work for a living, instead of having some one to take care of you and be a slave.

Often the adopted stranger, when his people (the other ngozos) were resting on a tree, would talk the language of the human beings who had brought him up. While he did so, the other ngozos listened in silence. It did not take them long to learn the language of the human beings through their new friend. He wondered why and how they could learn so quickly from him, while it had taken him so long to learn the same language. The reason was that the ngozos learn much more quickly from one another.

He also learned quickly the speech of his kin, and after a while could talk the language of wild gray ngozos as well as the rest of them. Nevertheless, though years passed away, he never forgot some of the words his master and mistress had taught him, and he remembered them to his death.

One evening after all the flocks had arrived, the ngozos’ chiefs said, “Now it is time for us to start for the Land of Plenty.”

“Yes,” cried all the ngozos, “it is time for us to start for the Land of Plenty. A grand time we will all have there.”

“This is the moon of tornadoes, thunder, lightning, of great heat,” said one chief. “Fruit and nuts will soon be ripe in that far-off country.” And all the ngozos kept repeating over and over again, “It is time for us to travel toward the Land of Plenty.”

It was agreed among them that this should be the last day of the season they were all to stay and sleep at the dear old place, where they had had so many chats together, and they were sad; but the glorious time they were to have in the Land of Plenty from morning to night made them feel that they must go, for of late they had had a hard time to get food.

The ngozos are very wise, and they agreed to scatter and take different ways, for otherwise they would starve, there were so many of them.

As usual when daylight came, flock after flock left, bidding each other good-by, to meet again in the Land of Plenty.

In the evening only a few flocks returned to the old place of meeting. But the trees did not seem the same to them. There was a look of sadness among the ngozos,—so many dear friends and faces were missing. There was less bustle, less chattering, less noise, less laughing (for the ngozos laugh).

Three days afterward not one ngozo was to be seen on the trees. They all had left for their promised land. Flock after flock were spread over a vast extent of country, flying over the trees. They saw once in a while a troop of monkeys and bore them no good will.

When the ngozos saw any nut- or fruit-bearing trees, they alighted upon them, and after they had fed, continued their journey. Several flocks had trouble with the monkeys while feeding. When they came near, the ngozos made fearful noises, their feathers rose on their backs, and their tails spread, showing how angry they were. They gave all kinds of bad names to the monkeys.

The monkeys did not know what the ngozos said to them, as they did not understand their language. But they knew they were angry, and every time the poor ngozos had to get out of their way when they had made up their minds to climb on their tree.

CHAPTER IV
THE NKEMAS, OR MONKEYS, TRAVEL TOWARD THE LAND OF PLENTY

While the guanioniens were hatching their eggs, the monkeys began to think that it was time to start on their journey to the Land of Plenty, a journey which they took every year. They remembered the great time they had in that land, and how loaded many of the trees were with berries, nuts, and fruits. What feasts they had, and how fat they had become while there, even before they had eaten up everything in sight!

From many distant parts of the great forest north and south, east and west, troops of monkeys accordingly were travelling to the Land of Plenty.

Among those were the white-mustached miengai, the red-headed nkago, the jet-black, long-haired mondi, the white-nosed ndova, the bluish black oganagana, the nchegai, and the mpondai.

Each troop was hurrying as fast as possible, so as to reach the Land of Plenty before all the other monkeys, and even before the ngozos. All the creatures of the forest do likewise; hence they all start at the dawn of the day.

Each species of monkey has a distinct language of its own, and so easily recognizable that the other creatures of the forest can tell which kind of monkey is talking. The various species do not mingle with one another. The number in each troop is from ten to twenty or thirty; sometimes, but rarely, even as many as fifty. Every troop has its leader, chosen for his cunning and knowledge of the places where food is to be found at different seasons, months, and sometimes even in different weeks in the forest.

The monkeys never eat any kind of new food without first smelling it to find out whether or no it is poisonous, for the forests abound in poisonous fruits, which are sometimes most tempting and deceiving in appearance, and, if bad, the monkeys throw them away at once.

They know all the trees, rocks, brooks, and other landmarks. They choose a track or path where they can find food on their way.

Among the monkeys who were thus travelling was a troop of white-nosed ndovas, numbering about twenty-five. Their leader was a very knowing old fellow, who had by his quick sight and acute hearing and cunning warned them many a time of danger, so that they could escape. All the troop believed in his wisdom and had great confidence in his judgment.

For nearly fifteen consecutive years the old ndova had made the trip to the Land of Plenty.

One evening before going to sleep, the chief said to his followers: “Strange is our life. The trees are our home; we never sleep twice on the same one; we have to travel all the year round in search of food, and sometimes food is so scarce that we have to go long distances and then get only a scant living. Indeed, at certain times of the year we have to work hard for our living. We have even to walk on the ground to pick up what we can get. When we are walking we are timid, for it is only when we are in the trees that we feel at home. Leaping from one tree to another, we can travel very fast.”

“That is so,” said all the ndovas, when they heard their leader speak these words of wisdom; “we are glad to have you for a chief.”

“Yes,” he replied, “but I am getting old, and soon the younger ndovas will drop me and choose another chief.”

“Not yet, not yet; not for a long time yet,” cried all the younger ndovas.

Soon deep silence reigned among them. They all had fallen asleep.

At daylight they got ready for their long journey. And their chief said to his followers, “We shall have to travel fast to-day, for food will be scarce on our way.”

Soon after the ndovas started on their journey, the old chief leading, while four or five of the strongest were almost abreast of him, the others following. They did not run or walk on the branches of trees, but travelled as they always do on such occasions when they make a long journey. They took flying leaps, falling on the end of the branches they reached, their weight bringing down with great force the limbs of the tree upon which they fell, ten or twelve feet and sometimes more, the limbs then rebounding with great force.

On the rebound with astonishing quickness and unerring eyes they sprang to the extremity of another branch.

These leaps varied in length from ten to fifteen or twenty feet. Their feet and hands caught with great firmness and precision the flexible limb upon which they landed. Their eyes measured instantly the space to be leaped over and the branch to be reached. Their quick ways are one of the gifts given to many of the monkey tribe. On their journey the ndovas found themselves sometimes on trees higher than all the surrounding ones. Then they had to leap down some forty or fifty feet, and the limbs upon which they fell, bent with a great crash and rebounded with amazing force.

Thus they went on incessantly for several hours, all keeping silent, never uttering a cry, and at the rate of about fifteen miles an hour. The sound of the bending and rebounding of the branches of trees, the rustle of their leaves, was heard by many creatures of the forest, who said, “The monkeys are travelling.”

At last they came to several trees covered with nuts. There was great joy among all the ndovas at the sight. The leader had taken them to the right place. They might have passed the spot either on the right or on the left without knowing it, for the trees were so thick.

They were there before any other troop of monkeys or flock of parrots. So they had it all to themselves, and soon were cracking nuts and eating them as fast as they could.

After the ndovas had eaten until they could eat no more, they were somewhat lazy. They moved quietly, and leaped gently from one branch of a tree to another to amuse themselves. They played with and ran after one another.

Some of the old ones were by themselves. There was one hanging to a branch of a tree by one arm. Suddenly one of his companions, getting hold of his legs, hung by them, the branch bending heavily down with the combined weight of the two. “Let go! Get away!” shouted the upper one with all his lungs. “You are too heavy. I am going to drop. My hands cannot hold the branch much longer.” When the other heard this, he laughed at his friend and let go and dropped. Another one would raise himself with his arms, climb over his fellow, and then run off pursued by the angry ndova, who did not like to have such tricks played on him. Then both would stop, glare at each other, and peace was made.

Some of the ndovas were hanging downward, looking at their friends underneath, who were quiet and holding a conversation. Others were looking searchingly in the skin of a comrade who was lying on his back on a big limb of a tree and picking out any little thing they saw in his fur. They all seemed to enjoy this immensely, especially the one lying on his back. He had the best of it. He loved to be scratched.

A number were very lively, and were running after one another, to see which could run the fastest and escape. They shouted: “You cannot catch me. I dare you.” They would leap from one branch to another, then stop and grin at their companions who could not catch them. These were the young members of the troop. A good meal did not make them lazy.

Some ndovas made queer grimaces at each other. Others were quarrelling for one reason and another. They uttered sounds of defiance and were full of fight, daring and tantalizing one another, their angry eyes almost sticking out of their sockets.

One or two ndovas lay on their backs, quietly resting on a heavy limb of a tree, holding to a branch to steady themselves or so as not to tumble down. Suddenly they were seen by some other ndovas above, who came and disturbed them. Then came a short fight.

Their chief was quietly looking on at his followers. All at once he gave a cry of alarm well known among the ndovas, which meant, “Let us be off; there is danger.” There was a cry of fear from the other ndovas and a general stampede, all going to the left from the danger, for that peculiar cry of the chief meant they were to run from the right.

It was which among them could run the fastest. They leaped from tree to tree, from the extremity of one branch to the end of another branch, and so the whole troop went on. They were in full flight and going as fast as they could. It did not take them long to get out of the supposed danger and far from the place. When they thought they were safe, they slackened their speed.

Suddenly a peculiar sound or cry was uttered by their chief, which meant for them to stop. Then when they had come together he said to them, “We had a narrow escape. A huge tree omemba [serpent] was coming toward us.” They rested a little while and then continued their journey toward the Land of Plenty. They came to a cluster of trees loaded with nuts and all uttered cries of joy at the sight. Their chief had led them right; they were not to starve. They broke the shells and ate the kernels with great avidity. When their appetites were satisfied they filled the pouches inside of their cheeks until the skin of these was so distended that they could hold no more.

“If we do not find food,” said they, “we will eat the nuts that we have stored in our pouches. How nice it is for us to have such pouches, so that we can carry provisions with us and eat them on the way when hungry!”

Then they resumed their journey, for the Land of Plenty was still far away. “Let us hurry as fast as we can,” they said, “so as to be the first on the spot.”

But an hour or two afterward, they slackened their speed and stopped, walking leisurely on the branches of trees. They were hungry, and began to eat the food they had stored in their pouches. These were so full that they had to use their hands outside to press out the pieces of nuts.

After this they continued their journey, and when it was nearly sunset stopped, and prepared for their night’s rest. Some quarrelled for places. But soon all were seated comfortably on their haunches with their legs bent, their heads gradually fell on their breasts, and they were ere long fast asleep. They remained undisturbed the whole of the night.

Early the following day the ndovas were again on the march. During the day, while they were resting and chattering, the whistling of several arrows was heard among them, and two of their number were pierced and killed and fell to the ground with a great crash. All the ndovas, giving a cry of alarm, fled with the greatest speed. They knew that those arrows had been shot by human beings, for several of their number had been killed in that manner before. They were not afraid of the apes, or “men of the woods,” but they knew well what human beings were like, and every time they saw them they fled.

Having run a long way, they stopped. They were all sad and mourned greatly the death of their two companions. The chief said, “We never know where these human beings are lying in wait for us. They are so sly. They are under trees on which we feed before we know it, and often they take us unawares, though we watch and are on the lookout for them.”

After a pause another wise ndova said: “Next the human beings our greatest enemy is the guanionien. He swoops down upon us, seizes us in his powerful claws, carries us up in the air, and then alights upon a tree and devours us. How we dread him! He is worse than a human being. We have to be constantly on the lookout for him, for we can never scent him, and before we know it one of us is carried away. So we have to watch above our heads for the guanioniens, and under the trees for the human beings. Fortunately there are not very many of these horrid guanioniens.”

A third ndova, after listening to this, asked: “What about the big tree snakes? Has no one seen one of them after us on this journey?”

“Here is a huge manga”

In the course of the day the ndovas came to a stream and followed its banks until it became narrow enough for them to leap to the other side.

They stopped to rest on a tree overlooking the river, when suddenly they spied a strange creature swimming along the banks. At first they could only see his head. “Here is a huge manga [manatee],” said the chief of the ndovas to his followers. “He is feeding on the leaves of the trees that hang with their branches touching the water. Look at him! how big he is! [the monster weighs sometimes fifteen hundred pounds]. What a clumsy animal! He is eating leaves, and yet he never gets out of the water, never lands on the shore. How small his eyes are!”

The manga is indeed wonderful! on his sides are fins, or hands without nails, which he uses as oars to swim with, and his tail is flat, and with the help of his paddles he can raise his body up vertically, and this enables him to feed on the leaves of the trees, while the gentle motion of his paddles or hands help him to keep his upright position. His body, ten or twelve feet long, is dark gray with a few bristles about one inch in length here and there on the skin.

The stream was clear, and the movements of the manga could be easily seen as he swam and moved along eating the leaves. The ndovas watched the manga with great curiosity; they were not afraid, for they knew he could not climb trees. Then they continued their journey.

That evening the ndovas all went to sleep with a sorrowful heart, especially the two that had lost their companions.

At daybreak they continued their journey. They met soon after their departure with a great adventure. They came to a tree in one of whose hollows was a beehive. Immediately the bees attacked the ndovas with great fierceness and stung several of them. They uttered loud cries of pain, and all fled with the greatest haste, shouting in the language of the ndovas, “Horrid bees! Horrid bees!”

Toward noon the troop came to a number of trees covered with nice fruit. As they were eating quietly, they heard the sound of a moving branch, telling them that another troop of monkeys was coming. The noise became more distinct; evidently the strangers were coming in their direction. They remained silent, so as not to give them a clew to their whereabouts, for fear of having to divide their find of fruit with them.

They heard the loud voices of the long, black shaggy-haired mondi, the largest of the monkey tribe. Soon they were on a tree near them. The mondis were furious when they found out that the ndovas were there first, for they knew the place, and had hoped to reach it before any other troop of monkeys.

The mondis uttered their war-cry. It is indeed a fearful one,—one that can be heard at a great distance.

This was answered by the war-cry of the ndovas, but the latter was faint compared with that of the mondis. The hair of the ndovas stood erect, their eyes glared at their enemies, and the mondis’ eyes glared at the ndovas.

The ndovas were more numerous than the mondis, but these were more heavily built, and far stronger. They had immense canine teeth, which could go deep into the flesh; and though the ndovas had good ones also, they were not so large. It is true the ndovas had quicker motions and were far more agile.

The mondis came nearer and nearer. Their looks were fiercer and fiercer. The mondis defied the ndovas, and the ndovas defied the mondis. The noise both troops made was fearful. At last the mondis leaped upon the trees where the ndovas were, and attacked them. The ndovas were soon routed and had to flee, leaving the fruit-bearing tree in complete possession of the long black-haired mondis.

The mondis started at once to eat, for they were very hungry. They had hardly begun their meal, however, the ndovas looking at them from a tree near by, full of anger, when there appeared upon the scene two nshiegos (large full-grown apes), who also knew these trees and came to eat their fruit. They were very angry when they saw the mondis were there before them, for they too had come from a long distance. They gave tremendous yells, and the frightened mondis fled in great haste, for the nshiegos, with their long, powerful arms, would have made short work of them.

“Good for you!” shouted the ndovas to the nshiegos when they saw they had driven away the mondis. The nshiegos ate everything in sight.

The ndovas travelled every day toward the Land of Plenty, and had to pass through a part of the forest where nuts, fruits, and berries were very scarce, for the fruit season had passed. Other troops of monkeys, large flocks of toucans (a bird with a huge bill), and other large birds had been there before them.

They agreed to travel in squads, so that they could get food more easily,—for there was not enough for all of them when they were together,—and then to meet at a certain place before sunset, the leader of each squad having been in the country before, on their way to the Land of Plenty. They had a hard time to get their living on that day. Fortunately the Land of Plenty was not far off, and at last they entered its borders.

CHAPTER V
ARRIVAL OF THE NGOZOS AND NKEMAS IN THE LAND OF PLENTY

Flocks of ngozos and troops of nkemas began to enter the Land of Plenty one after another. Many squirrels had also made their appearance.

Among the ngozos that had arrived was the flock which had had a fight with the ndovas. The one whose tail had been plucked, and the other whose feathers had been pulled out between his wings, and who had bitten off the monkey’s finger, had not forgotten the horrid ndovas. Among the monkeys was the troop of ndovas which had attacked the ngozos, and with them the one that had had his finger cut off. He had cause to remember the horrid ngozos.

Day after day the monkeys gradually worked their way toward the guanioniens’ nest. But the ngozos knew of the nest, and when one day they recognized the ndovas that had attacked them, they hoped that the guanioniens would kill many of them.

The time came when, to the great joy of the old birds, three little guanioniens broke through their shells. They looked so cunning with only down on their bodies. Their parents loved them dearly and took great care of them.

The old guanioniens were watching the fruits and nuts every day and said, “These are growing fast, they will soon ripen, and we must expect the arrival of the monkeys very soon.”

One fine morning, just at daybreak, the guanioniens heard for the first time the jabbering of numerous troops of monkeys. “Do you hear the talk of the ndovas, nkagos, mpondais, and mondis?” said the big guanionien to his mate, for they could tell the species they heard talking.

“I hear,” she replied.

Both gave a chuckle of pleasure, for now they knew that they would have food in plenty.

The old birds had worked very hard every day to get food for their young ones, for they were getting bigger and bigger, and their appetites increased in proportion to their size. And Mrs. Guanionien said to her mate, “Now with plenty of food our little ones will grow up quickly and become strong.”

The guanioniens left their tree, and soon after were soaring high in the air above a troop of ndovas, waiting for their opportunity to pounce down upon them. But somehow the ndovas would not go to the top of the trees, but kept in the thick middle part. The two guanioniens circled near each other, and the big one said to his mate: “These ndovas are knowing ones. They do not come to the tops of the trees, and we are not to have our meal as soon as we expected.”

The ndovas, having plucked and eaten the best fruit, moved away a little farther on and soon came to two other trees heavily laden. The fruits were big and ripe, but were all at the top, those on the lower branches having been eaten already by other monkeys. The ndovas chuckled with pleasure at the sight. The temptation was so great that, forgetting to be prudent and all about their enemies, the guanioniens, they ascended the branches and began to eat in silence.

The guanioniens from their great height saw the branches of the trees, upon which the ndovas were, moving, and they came down and soared above the place ready to pounce upon them.

The ndovas were unaware that their great enemies, the guanioniens, were so near them, and were watching them with eyes made sharper by hunger. They were enjoying their feast with great relish, and said to each other, “This is the best fruit we have had for a long time. It is so sweet and so juicy. What luck we have!” “I hope,” said one of them, “that those horrid mondis, who are stronger than we are, will not make their appearance, for they will drive us away. Let us make haste and eat all we can.”

The guanioniens delayed their attack, for they watched their opportunity and wanted to make sure not to miss their prey. The ndovas had not quite reached the very top of the trees, and the birds could not swoop down upon them if they had to go through the branches, for not only would the branches stop their flight, but would break their wings, as they struck with great force against them.

The two guanioniens soared nearer the ndovas, watching with their keen eyes the trees upon which they were feeding. Suddenly they saw several ndovas come to the very top of the trees. They watched with fierce and expectant eyes, swooped down with terrific speed, seized two of the biggest ndovas and rose in the air, each with his talons firmly imbedded in the back and the neck of his victim, so that he could not turn. One of the monkeys was the chief of the troop; the other was the one whose finger had been cut off by the ngozo. The eagles flew with their prey toward their tree, and the first thing they did was to tear their eyes out, and then kill them by disembowelling them. They fed first, and then, tearing off small bits, they fed their young ones with them.

It happened that not far off from where the ndovas had been carried away, on a tall tree, was the flock of ngozos which had been so badly treated by those same ndovas. They were feeding on nuts. Suddenly they heard the cries of pain uttered by the ndovas as the guanioniens rose in the air with them. Looking up, they saw the ndova whose finger had been cut off by one of them, and jabbered with joy. “Good for you, guanioniens, good for you! kill all the monkeys you can;” and in chorus, “We hate the monkeys, we hate the monkeys! we hate the ndovas more than the rest, for they have done us the most harm.”

The troop uttered fearful cries of dismay and dread when they saw that the guanioniens had been among them and had carried away their chief and one of their number. They fled in terror to some safer place.

In the evening they looked at one another with deep sorrow and mourned greatly the loss of their chief and of one of their comrades. One of the ndovas was especially sad, for it was his beloved mate that had been carried away by one of the guanioniens.

Still monkeys, parrots, and guanioniens had a good time in the Land of Plenty, and all became very fat. But the guanioniens made great havoc among the monkeys. At the foot of their trees the ground was covered with a great number of skulls and bones of those they had eaten up.

The time came at last when the fruits, berries, and nuts became scarce. They had either been eaten or had fallen to decay on the ground, and the monkeys and parrots left for other parts of the forest.

The guanioniens and their brood, who had begun to fly, also left. The old ones were going to a partly open country to teach their young how to capture prey, and then the goats and gazelles would have a bad time.

The Land of Plenty became deserted until the following year, when it would become again full of life. After their departure the parrots mated, built their nests in the hollows of the trees, and did not come together again into flocks until their young began to fly. A few flocks came at first to the old meeting-place; the same number of flocks that came in the evening went off in the morning, with the same chief. At first the flocks and their number of ngozos could be easily counted; but in a few days they became so numerous that it was impossible to number them.

CHAPTER VI
THE NIGHT ANIMALS

Strange as it may appear, in the night the great forest is more alive with animals than during the day. These night prowlers can only see well when it is dark, and the darker it is the better they can see. They generally have short legs and walk so lightly that their footsteps cannot be heard when they go through the jungle.

They are very sly and most dangerous to other creatures. Most of them feed on animals that have warm blood, for they love blood, which is to them as water. They sleep during the day, which is their night, and roam about during the darkest part of the night, which is their day. It is at that time that they seek for prey, so they are much dreaded by the animals that sleep during the night.

Their abodes are in the deep hollows of trees, in holes or gloomy recesses under their roots, in caverns, in crevasses found among the rocks, in burrows under fallen trees, and where fallen limbs are piled upon each other. In a word, they like the places where the light cannot penetrate, for the light blinds them. They cannot bear the bright sunshine.

These prowlers do not come out of their abodes to attack their prey until the night is far advanced, for then the sleep of the day animals is heaviest, and they do not easily awaken and scent their enemies. One of the gifts of these night creatures is that they know the hours of the night just as well as if they had watches or clocks, and they seldom emerge from their abodes for their raids and depredations before midnight, and generally return to their dens towards four o’clock in the morning. If they go out earlier, or return later, it is because hunger obliges them to do so.

Almost invariably they make their raids singly, so that the pair have more chance to capture prey. It is wonderful how these night creatures know their way. They see so well that they go through the thick jungle as if the sun were shining, and through the intense darkness, they note every sapling, every branch, every thorny bush, every leaf, every ant, and, no matter how far they go, they know their way back to their lairs.

This gift of theirs is not possessed by human beings, who have to make special marks, such as breaking young branches of trees, marking them back, or putting heaps of leaves, or sticking sticks into the ground to find their way back.

There are only a few night winged creatures, such as owls, vampires, bats, flying squirrels, and a few birds; but there are many night snakes.

CHAPTER VII
THE NJEGO, OR LEOPARD

The njego, or leopard, is the most dreaded of all the night prowlers by all the animals of the great forest.

One night a njego, looking at his beautiful spotted skin, his long tail beating his flanks, exclaimed to himself: “Many creatures of the great forest hate and fear me, for I love blood. I thrive and live chiefly on kambis [antelopes] and ncheris [gazelles]. I have no friends. All think I am not to be trusted.

“I am the biggest of the night prowlers. I have to be cunning in seeking my prey. No large creature can walk in the forest and through the underbrush with a lighter step than mine, and if I make a slight rustling going through the thicket of the jungle, the beasts of the forest think the wind is the cause of it.

“I can also see in the daytime, but the light makes me wink. I can spring farther than any animal. This is one of the gifts I possess, otherwise I could not get my living. How I love the flesh of the kambis and of the ncheris!” As he thought of them his eyes glittered and shone like fire, and he licked his chops.

“When animals see me close to them, my eyes often paralyze them, and they cannot run away.” Then he grinned as njegos do, and added, “No wonder that the animals of the forest dread the njego, for often he makes a prodigious leap, falling in the midst of them when they are not aware of his presence, and then he gloats over the victim he has chosen.”

Suddenly the njego heard the trumpeting of a njokoo (elephant), and the terrible and appalling roar of a ngina (gorilla), and he listened a while, and said, “These creatures I do not attack.”

Soon after he met his mate near their lair, and they went inside, for the day was coming, and they were soon asleep. The njegos have a peculiar, silent way of communicating with each other by looks, movements of the tail, and other signs only known to them. So in this way after they had slept all day long and well into the next night the big njego said to his mate as they were lying in their lair: “Dear, the night is far advanced; it is time for us to go out in search of prey, and the day animals will be in their heaviest sleep and will not hear or scent us.”

It was then about midnight. After coming out of their lair, they rejoiced when they saw that the night was so dark. They said to each other, “How well we shall see to-night!” Then they looked at each other with great affection, the big njego licking the skin of his mate to show her how much he loved her.

They said good-by to each other, for njegos, like all night prowlers, as already said, go in search of prey by themselves, and they wished each other good luck. “I hope, dear,” said the big njego to his mate, “that you will find a kambi [antelope] to-night.” “I hope so,” she replied, “and I wish you the same.”

After this they parted, each going his own way, walking as noiselessly as still air, their lithe bodies passing through the jungle with a suppleness that was wonderful. The glow of their eyes was sometimes such that they looked like two bright burning pieces of charcoal.

The big njego, as he walked along, would stop now and then to scent better or to hear if some prey was moving in the forest. But in spite of all his cunning, power of scent, and good sight, he had bad luck, and did not get any prey. Toward four o’clock in the morning, the two njegos thought it was about time to return home.

When the big njego came to his lair, his mate had not yet arrived, and he waited for her outside. Soon after, he scented her, and then he paced to and fro, his long tail beating his flanks, and his eyes glaring like fire from excitement and pleasure at the prospect of her coming.

Soon she made her appearance, and he received her with great delight. He looked at her and said: “I see by your hollow flanks, dear, that you have had nothing to eat to-night.”

“You are right,” she replied, “my stomach is empty; I am starving.”

Then, looking at him, she said: “I see also by your flanks that you did not kill anything to-night. You have had no flesh to eat, no blood to drink.”

“You are right,” he replied. “I also am starving. Well, we have to work hard for our living. It is not every day that we get prey.” They spoke of the animals they had met that night. “I saw a herd of njokoos,” said the big njego. “I thought it was wiser to let them alone. I might have sprung upon one and made fast to his trunk and lain between his tusks, but he would have run through the forest and dashed his head against the trunk of a tree and killed me.

“A little after, I scented a kambi; but the creature scented me also, and, though I followed her with all the cunning I possess, she succeeded in crossing and swimming to the other side of a large stream. I had to give up the pursuit, for unfortunately we njegos are afraid of crossing rivers, as we do not swim.”

They entered their lair. Then they went to sleep; but they were restless, for they were hungry. Every time they awoke, each said, “I wish night would come.” It came at last. They awoke, gave several yawns, and opened their mouths, showing their strong, sharp teeth. Their terrible retractile claws like those of a cat moved as if ready to sink deeply into the body of some animal. “If I catch a kambi to-night, what a feast I shall have!” thought each njego at the same time; and at the thought of blood both licked their chops with their prickly tongues.

They left their lair and parted, as was their custom both prowling in the dark, gloomy, and silent forest, for all the birds were asleep as well as the day animals.

Afar off there were two kambis together, when suddenly one said to the other: “We are in danger. I scent a njego. Let us flee, for the wicked creature is coming our way. Let us hasten. Yes, the scent is becoming stronger and stronger every moment.” They fled in the opposite direction from the scent, and after a long run came to a large river and swam across. Then they felt safe, as the broad stream was between them and the njego; for kambis know that the njegos never swim across a river.

After a while the njego scented the two kambis. He followed the scent until he came to the place where they had lain down. Here it was quite strong. He thought they were very near, and crouched on the ground, his belly touching it. Never had he been more wary, though he was intensely excited at the prospect of a good meal, and his eyes glistened as if they were fires.

Slowly he advanced, but his sharp eyes saw no kambis. He followed the scent, walking with great rapidity, and was gaining upon them very fast. At last the scent grew very strong, and he made sure he was to have a meal. Soon he came to a river where he saw their footprints on the bank. He gave a fearful growl of disappointment and rage when he found the water of the wide stream between him and his prey. He knew they were beyond his reach. Then he walked along the banks of the river, trying to find a place where two trees opposite each other had branches spreading far over the river, so that after climbing he could make a prodigious bound from one to the other, and thus span the chasm that separated him from the two kambis.

As he was looking for such a place, he said to himself: “I will make the greatest leap I ever made, for I must kill one of those kambis. I am so hungry. I have had no food for three days. How hard I have to work for my living!”

At last he saw two such trees, and grinned with joy. He rose on his hind legs and imbedded his terrible claws in the bark, and ascended one of the trees just like a cat. When he reached its longest transverse thick branch, he walked over it, and looked across to the other side. But, to his disappointment and dismay, he saw that the gap between the trees was so great that he could not leap over the chasm.

He looked down with dread at the swift deep water of the stream under him, and exclaimed: “I can never leap over this big gap, for if I try I shall surely fall into the stream. I have a horror of falling into the water. This has never happened to me in my life.” But before coming down from the tree he uttered another growl of rage, when he saw that he could not follow the kambis. His roar was so loud that he awoke the day creatures that were asleep in the neighborhood, and they fled in every direction.

The njego had travelled a very long way from his lair, pursuing the kambis, and it was time for him to go back to meet his mate. As he walked, he was very despondent and said: “Again another day without a meal. But luck may come before I reach my lair. It often happens that at the last moment I find prey.”

True enough, as he was going along he suddenly scented a kambi. His eyes once more flashed fire. He hurried on. Nearer and nearer he came toward his prey, who was nipping leaves, unaware that her life was in such danger, for the night breeze was blowing from her direction in that of the njego, so that she could not scent him.

At last the njego, as sly as a snake, came within sight of the kambi. At that moment the kambi for the first time scented danger and fled in terror, for it was the scent of the njego, her most dreaded enemy. The njego, seeing his prey running away, made a tremendous bound. He missed, and the kambi fled as fast as her legs could carry her; but he made spring after spring, and each leap brought him nearer and nearer his quarry. He gave growls of rage every time he missed his prey, fearing that it would escape him.

The poor kambi was so terrified that she ran in a wild, erratic way, and became paralyzed with fear. At last the njego, with a prodigious bound, landed on her neck. His teeth were immediately imbedded in the flesh of the panting creature, and his claws sank deep into her body. The struggle was soon over. The njego made a great feast on the warm body of his victim.

While eating, the njego was silent for fear of attracting other njegos toward his prey. It was terrible to see his glaring, treacherous-looking eyes while he was feasting. If another njego had come near, he would have been attacked with great fierceness. After eating until he could eat no more, he continued his way toward his lair, too surfeited to attack another kambi, even if he had met one on his way.

His mate was waiting for him before their lair. After he arrived, she looked at him, and said: “Dear, I see blood around your mouth and on your paws. This is the blood of a kambi. Your flanks are also so swollen that your stomach must be filled with flesh.”

“Yes,” he replied, “I have been lucky. I came upon a kambi; you are right.”

“I have also been fortunate,” she said. “I had a ncheri for my meal, but, as you know, a ncheri is small compared with a kambi. So I had only a good meal and nothing to spare. But I am thankful for this, for I am not hungry any more.”

The two njegos were soon fast asleep, and did not wake during the day.

After the njego had left the remains of the kambi, a pack of hyenas came just in time, before the ants arrived to eat the rest, and they feasted on what the leopard had left of the kambi.

CHAPTER VIII
BIRTH OF THREE LITTLE NJEGOS

One day, three tiny little njegos were born, and the old ones were delighted.

They watched over their little ones with great care, and when Mamma Njego would go in search of prey, Papa Njego remained behind to take care of the little ones. Now and then he had a hard time, for they cried when they wanted Mamma Njego to nurse them. But mamma wanted an outing sometimes, and had to go after prey.

“What made you so late?” Papa Njego would sometimes say when his mate returned.

“If I am late,” she would reply, “it is because I have had a hard time to find prey,” or, “Well, dear, I am famished; I found nothing.”

When Papa Njego went out and was successful, he would bring food to his mate, for she had to be nearly all the time with their dear little ones.

So the old leopards were kept busy. After a while they would leave the little njegos alone, saying, “We can leave them now, for they are still afraid to go out of our lair when we are not with them.”

The little njegos grew fast, feeding only from the breast of their mother, and began to roam around their lair. One day, as their parents were looking at them playing about, the mother said to her mate: “Look how big our little ones are! How much they have grown lately! We must soon give them a taste of blood.”

Two or three nights afterward both were successful, and returned each with a gazelle, and almost at the same time.

They tore the gazelles to pieces, and called their little ones out, and put before them the pieces they had torn off. The little njegos looked at them first, and as if they did not seem to care, for they did not know what blood was, or raw flesh. They came and smelt the meat, but did not lick it, and went back to be nursed by their mamma.

The next day the njegos went after prey and were again successful. Again they tore off pieces of the flesh and put them before the little ones. This time they smelled the meat and licked it two or three times, to the great joy of the old ones. The third time meat was put before them, they licked the meat until no vestige of blood was left on it.

When their parents saw this, they were delighted and said: “Our little ones are doing well. They now enjoy the taste of blood. They are going to be true njegos.”

The little njegos, who had now licked blood, wanted more, and were very restless and cried for it, though they could not yet talk the njego language, for they were too young. The next day Papa Njego was luckier, and brought a young kambi to their lair. This time the eyes of the little njegos fairly glared when they saw the bloody pieces of meat, and they precipitated themselves upon them and licked off the blood with great gusto, for they loved blood more every time they tasted it, to the great delight of the old njegos.

Soon after, as their teeth grew, they began not only to lick the blood, but to eat the meat. One day the big njego said to his mate: “Our little ones are getting big, and soon we shall have to work harder and harder to feed them, for their appetites increase more and more as they grow larger and larger.” Then he rubbed his head against her neck to show how much he loved her.