“How are the birds bearing up?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said John gloomily, “we’ve been over some frightful bumps. I really daren’t look in the back until we reach Tiko.”
“I know, I feel the same about mine. Still, we can’t do anything until we unload, so let’s keep praying.”
As we skirted the lower slopes of the Cameroon Mountain and the road dipped towards the sea, a thin cold drizzle started to fall, obscuring still further the landscape that was veiled in the dawn mist. We came to the first of the palm plantations as the rising sun was struggling to shine through the grey clouds that hung low over the mountain. Soon, driving along the edge of the escarpment, we could see stretched below us the great area of flat land that lies around Tiko. This was a bit of civilized Africa, and I shivered as I looked at it: mile upon mile of nothing but banana trees in a great characterless sheet, arranged in neat rows like a green chess-board. Hideous regimentation, a thousand million banana trees standing in serried ranks, obediently bearing fruit that was plucked from them, still green, and carried aboard the waiting ships. Nothing to see but flapping wet banana leaves, like great green shields, sodden and dangling, in endless lines. Occasionally the monotony of this would be broken by a clearing containing a white bungalow, in which lived a European overseer; or a row of horrible corrugated iron sheds, in which lived the banana pickers. Our lorries squelched onwards in the fine drifting rain, and at last came to a standstill alongside a miniature railway. Up and down the tiny track shuffled chuffing engines pulling flat coaches behind them piled high with stems of green bananas. The trains had to cross a swampy area on to the quayside where the ship, with gaping holds, awaited the fruit.
We found, to our dismay, that we had arrived several hours too early, and we could not get the collection aboard for some time; so we left the animals in the lorries, as it was at least a protection from the rain, and there was no sun to make the cages too hot. No sooner had we decided on this than the sun broke through the clouds and shone down on us fiercely, and the rain dwindled and died away. So we set to and unloaded all the crates, piling them in the shade along the side of the train track, peering anxiously into each to make sure its occupant was still all right. When everything was unloaded John and I compared notes.
“I’ve lost two sunbirds, fortunately not the best ones. I think they were frightened off the perches and just flew around madly, you know, when we went over that very bad bit of road. Everything else seems fairly steady, but I’ll be glad to get them on board and feed and water them. How are your things?”
“One Drill’s got his hand bashed rather badly, stupid little fool. I think he pushed it through the wire just as we went over a bump, and got it crushed by another crate. But that will heal up O.K. That’s my only casualty, thank God. The Angwantibos are all right, but they seem a bit scared.”
After a delay that to us seemed interminable, for we could not feed or clean any of our beasts, a train dragging a row of empty carriages drew alongside, and we were told that we could load our crates on it. As we hoisted the last crate on to the train it started to rain again, but not the gentle drifting drizzle that it had been before. No, as we were out in the open and unprotected, the Cameroons decided to show us what she could do in the way of rain. Within seconds all our crates were running with water and the staff, John and myself looked as though we had been dipped in a water tank. Slowly the train jerked its way along the lines, dragging us nearer and nearer to the ship; at last we were alongside, and with all speed the crates were got aboard. I was shivering again and felt like death. Remembering the doctor’s warning about a relapse, I hurried down to our cabin and changed into some dry clothes, and then went in search of the chief steward. That understanding man took me into his cabin and poured me out a whisky that could have knocked out a horse, and I felt the warmth of it spreading along my veins. I took some of the tablets the doctor had given me and literally staggered up on deck. Every one of my cages was sopping wet, and the inmates as well. I had to set to and clean each one, scraping out the sodden sawdust and replacing it with dry, and then throwing handfuls of sawdust over the monkeys to try and dry some of the moisture from their dripping fur. Then I made them hot milk and fed them on fruit and bread, for the poor little things were shivering with cold, and I knew that unless I got them dry before nightfall some would most certainly catch pneumonia. After the monkeys I cleaned and fed the Angwantibos, which fortunately had escaped the full force of the rain as they had been sheltered by other crates.
By this time the effects of the whisky had worn off and I began to feel worse and worse. The deck appeared to be heaving and twisting, and my head felt as big as a pumpkin and ready to burst with the pain and throbbing inside it. I began to feel really frightened for the first time: having got on board the ship I did not want to pass out gracefully and be carried off to hospital, leaving John to face the voyage home with two men’s work to do. I crawled down to our cabin and flung myself on to the bunk. Presently John came down to tell me that he had more or less got his birds under control, and within half an hour he would be able to give me a hand with the animals, but I had sunk into a deep and restful sleep. When I awoke I felt a different person, and I sallied up on deck still feeling a bit dizzy, but now quite sure that I was not going to die. I finished off the night feed, hung blankets over the front of the monkeys’ and the Angwantibos’ cages, and then prepared Sue’s evening bottle. She screamed lustily when she saw it coming, so the wetting did not appear to have done her any harm. At last everything was done for the night and I could relax, easy in my mind for the first time in two days. I leant on the rail and gazed at the dank and forbidding view of the banana groves and mangrove swamps, and the rain drummed incessantly on the canvas awning above me. Presently John joined me, having completed his tasks, and we smoked in silence, gazing out into the rain.
“I don’t think people realize what a job collecting is,” said John reflectively, glancing at the dark bulk of his cages, “they don’t know the difficulties. Now look at us to-day: we might quite easily have lost the whole collection in that shower of rain. But they never think of that when they see the things in the zoo.”
“Well, you can’t really expect them to. They think that it’s as easy as it apparently was for Noah.”
“Noah!” snorted John in disgust. “If Noah had a fifth part of what he was supposed to have carried the Ark would have sunk.”
“All those different species of birds and mammals we’ve seen and collected! If he had only confined himself to what he could get here the Ark would have been overloaded.”
“It strikes me”, said John, yawning, “that we’ve got an overloaded Ark on our hands with just the few things we’ve got.” He gestured at our hundred-odd crates. “Well, I’m going to bed. What time do we sail?”
“About midnight, I think. I’ll follow you down in a minute.”
John went below, and I stood gazing out into the darkening and rain-striped landscape. Suddenly, between the trees, I saw a small fire spring up, glowing like a red heart in the darkness. Presently, very softly, someone started to play a drum, and I could hear the husky voices of the banana loaders take up the theme. The fire flickered, heart-like, and the drum throbbed, heart-like, in the darkness and the rain. The voices sang softly, chanting a song that was as old as the great forests. A song that was harsh and primitive, yet plaintive and sweet, a song such as the god Pan must have sung. As I watched the pulsing fire among the trees, and heard the beat of the drum merge and tremble with the voices, forming an intricate pattern of sound, I knew that some day I would have to return, or be haunted forever by the beauty and mystery that is Africa.