"No!" said Rogers (who swore dreadfully in
conversation), "it is the Gorillas!" And he fired both barrels of his
gun, bringing down the little one first, and the female afterwards.
The male, who was untouched, gave a howl that you might have heard
a league off; advanced towards us as if he would attack us, and then
turned and ran away with inconceivable celerity towards the wood.
We went up towards the fallen brutes. The little one by the female
appeared to be about two years old. It lay bleating and moaning on the
ground, stretching out its little hands, with movements and looks
so strangely resembling human, that my heart sickened with pity. The
female, who had been shot through both legs, could not move. She howled
most hideously when I approached the little one.
"We must be off," said Rogers, "or the whole Gorilla race may be down
upon us." "The little one is only shot in the leg," I said. "I'll bind
the limb up, and we will carry the beast with us on board."
The poor little wretch held up its leg to show it was wounded, and
looked to me with appealing eyes. It lay quite still whilst I looked for
and found the bullet, and, tearing off a piece of my shirt, bandaged
up the wound. I was so occupied in this business, that I hardly heard
Rogers cry "Run! run!" and when I looked up--
When I looked up, with a roar the most horrible I ever heard--a roar?
ten thousand roars--a whirling army of dark beings rushed by me.
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