ick,
the wrists bound to the upper part and the ankles to the lower, so that
she could not reach to tear the cords with her teeth. It was dark, and
the scene was one so wild and strange that I shall never forget it. The
fiendish countenances of the Calibanish trio, one of them distorted by
pain, for the mother gorilla was severely wounded, were lit up by the
ruddy glare of native torches. The thought struck me, what would I not
give to have the group in London for a few days!

[Illustration: GORILLA WITH HER YOUNG]

The young male I secured by a chain which I had in readiness, and gave
him henceforth the name of Tom. We untied his hands and feet; to show
his gratitude for this act of kindness he immediately made a rush at me,
screaming with all his might; happily the chain was made fast, and I
took care afterwards to keep out of his way. The old mother gorilla was
in an unfortunate plight. She had an arm broken and a wound in the
chest, besides being dreadfully beaten on the head. She groaned and
roared many times during the night, probably from pain.

I noticed next day, and on many occasions, that the vigorous young male
whenever he made a rush at any one and missed his aim, immediately ran
back. This corresponds with what is known of the habits of the large
males in their native woods; when attacked they make a furious rush at
their enemy, break an arm or tear his bowels open, and then beat a
retreat, leaving their victim to shift for himself.

The wounded female died in the course of the next day; her moanings were
more frequent in the morning, and they gradually became weaker as her
life ebbed out. Her death was like that of a human being, and afflicted
me more than I could have thought possible. Her child clung to her to
the last, and tried to obtain milk from her breast after she was dead. I
photographed them both when the young one was resting in its dead
mother's lap. I kept the young one alive for three days after its
mother's death. It moaned at night most piteously. I fed it on goat's
milk, for it was too young to eat berries. It died the fourth day,
having taken an unconquerable dislike to the milk. It had, I think,
begun to know me a little. As to the male, I made at least a dozen
attempts to photograph the irascible little demon, but all in vain. The
pointing of the camera towards him threw him into a perfect rage, and I
was almost provoked to give him a sound thrashing. The day after,
however, I succ