sleeping together like that, that they were either in the
process of mating or had just mated. It turned out that I was right, for some
weeks later the female laid five white eggs the size of a sparrow’s, in the
bottom of her cage.
By the time we
had bagged the chameleons I was in such an elated mood that I would have hurled
myself unhesitatingly into a single-handed battle with a leopard if one had
happened along. Luckily, the great cats in the Cameroons are retiring in the
extreme. What did make their appearance in the torch beams, shortly afterwards,
was a diminutive pair of galagos or bush-babies. There are three species of
galago found in the Cameroons, and two of these are rare and have not, to the
best of my knowledge, been represented in any zoological collection in England.
Accurate identification as to species when an animal is twenty feet above you, and
only lit by a torch beam, becomes impossible, so the rule was that any animal
remotely resembling a galago was always pursued with determination and vigour.
This we proceeded to do with this pair, who were dancing about on some lianas,
occasionally looking down at us so that their enormous eyes glowed like outsize
rubies. It was definitely a two-man job, so, leaving Andraia to shine the torch
on the prey, Elias and I went aloft in different parts of the tree, and started
to converge on the animals. They looked not unlike a pair of fluffy grey
kittens dancing about from creeper to creeper with a fairy-like grace and
lightness, their eyes glowing as they moved. Slowly Elias and I drew nearer,
and I manoeuvred the butter-fly net into position for capture. After catching
two chameleons and a porcupine, I felt that this was going to be child’s play.
Just as I leant forward to swipe at them, three things happened with startling
suddenness:
my hand I placed
on something long and thin and cold which wriggled vigorously, making me let go
of the branch with rapidity, at the same time letting go of the net which
sailed downwards to the forest floor. The galagos took fright at this and leapt
wildly out into space and disappeared. I crouched very still on my branch for I
was not certain of the location of the snake I had leant on, nor was I certain
of its species.
“Andraia,” I
shouted down, “give me some light here. Na snake for dis stick and he go chop
me if I no get light.”
Andraia moved
round and shone the battery of torches at the place where I clung, and I saw
the snake. It was coiled round a bunch of twigs and leaves about a foot from my
hand. I surveyed it cautiously: the hind end of its body was tangled and
twisted round the twigs, but the forequarters were hung forward in the shape of
a letter S, apparently ready for action. It was very slender, with a brown skin
and darker markings, and a short blunt head furnished with an enormous pair of
eyes. It was about two feet long. I watched it, and it watched me, with
approximately the same amount of suspicion. I had nothing with which to capture
it, except a small length of string which a frantic search through my pockets
disclosed. I fashioned a slip-knot out of this and then broke off a large twig
to tie my improvised trap to. At this the snake decided to depart, and
proceeded to glide through the branches with a fluid rapidity. Hanging on with
one hand and my knees, I made three attempts to get the noose over its slender
neck, and with the fourth attempt I succeeded. I drew it tight, and the snake
hissed and bunched itself into a knot at the end of the string. I tied my
handkerchief round the twig to act as a marker and dropped it down to Andraia
with instructions. By the time I had reached the ground he had got it safely
into a bag. I was extremely annoyed at the loss of the galagos, for we never
saw any more specimens in spite of numerous night hunts.
CHAPTER
FIVE
THE FOSSIL THAT BITES
ONE of the chief
charms of collecting is its uncertainty. One day you will go out loaded
process of mating or had just mated. It turned out that I was right, for some
weeks later the female laid five white eggs the size of a sparrow’s, in the
bottom of her cage.
By the time we
had bagged the chameleons I was in such an elated mood that I would have hurled
myself unhesitatingly into a single-handed battle with a leopard if one had
happened along. Luckily, the great cats in the Cameroons are retiring in the
extreme. What did make their appearance in the torch beams, shortly afterwards,
was a diminutive pair of galagos or bush-babies. There are three species of
galago found in the Cameroons, and two of these are rare and have not, to the
best of my knowledge, been represented in any zoological collection in England.
Accurate identification as to species when an animal is twenty feet above you, and
only lit by a torch beam, becomes impossible, so the rule was that any animal
remotely resembling a galago was always pursued with determination and vigour.
This we proceeded to do with this pair, who were dancing about on some lianas,
occasionally looking down at us so that their enormous eyes glowed like outsize
rubies. It was definitely a two-man job, so, leaving Andraia to shine the torch
on the prey, Elias and I went aloft in different parts of the tree, and started
to converge on the animals. They looked not unlike a pair of fluffy grey
kittens dancing about from creeper to creeper with a fairy-like grace and
lightness, their eyes glowing as they moved. Slowly Elias and I drew nearer,
and I manoeuvred the butter-fly net into position for capture. After catching
two chameleons and a porcupine, I felt that this was going to be child’s play.
Just as I leant forward to swipe at them, three things happened with startling
suddenness:
my hand I placed
on something long and thin and cold which wriggled vigorously, making me let go
of the branch with rapidity, at the same time letting go of the net which
sailed downwards to the forest floor. The galagos took fright at this and leapt
wildly out into space and disappeared. I crouched very still on my branch for I
was not certain of the location of the snake I had leant on, nor was I certain
of its species.
“Andraia,” I
shouted down, “give me some light here. Na snake for dis stick and he go chop
me if I no get light.”
Andraia moved
round and shone the battery of torches at the place where I clung, and I saw
the snake. It was coiled round a bunch of twigs and leaves about a foot from my
hand. I surveyed it cautiously: the hind end of its body was tangled and
twisted round the twigs, but the forequarters were hung forward in the shape of
a letter S, apparently ready for action. It was very slender, with a brown skin
and darker markings, and a short blunt head furnished with an enormous pair of
eyes. It was about two feet long. I watched it, and it watched me, with
approximately the same amount of suspicion. I had nothing with which to capture
it, except a small length of string which a frantic search through my pockets
disclosed. I fashioned a slip-knot out of this and then broke off a large twig
to tie my improvised trap to. At this the snake decided to depart, and
proceeded to glide through the branches with a fluid rapidity. Hanging on with
one hand and my knees, I made three attempts to get the noose over its slender
neck, and with the fourth attempt I succeeded. I drew it tight, and the snake
hissed and bunched itself into a knot at the end of the string. I tied my
handkerchief round the twig to act as a marker and dropped it down to Andraia
with instructions. By the time I had reached the ground he had got it safely
into a bag. I was extremely annoyed at the loss of the galagos, for we never
saw any more specimens in spite of numerous night hunts.
CHAPTER
FIVE
THE FOSSIL THAT BITES
ONE of the chief
charms of collecting is its uncertainty. One day you will go out loaded
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