The Gorilla Hunters | Page 4

you to come and
help me, Ralph; he's quite in your way. A bit of natural history, I
suppose, although he seems by all accounts to be a very unnatural
monster. And Jack shall go too--I'm resolved on that; and we three shall
roam the wild woods again, as we did in days of yore, and--"
"Hold, Peterkin," said I, interrupting. "How do you know that Jack will
go?"
"How do I know? Intuitively, of course. I shall write to him to-night;
the post does not leave till ten. He'll get it to-morrow at breakfast, and
will catch the forenoon coach, which will bring him down here by two
o'clock, and then we'll begin our preparations at once, and talk the
matter over at dinner. So you see it's all cut and dry. Give me a sheet of
paper and I'll write at once. Ah! here's a bit; now a pen. Bless me,
Ralph, haven't you got a quill? Who ever heard of a philosophical
naturalist writing with steel. Now, then, here goes:--`B'luv'd Jack,'--will
that do to begin with, eh? I'm afraid it's too affectionate; he'll think it's
from a lady friend. But it can't be altered,--`Here I am, and here's
Ralph--Ralph Rover!!!!!! think of that,' (I say, Ralph, I've put six marks
of admiration there); `I've found him out. Do come to see us.
Excruciatingly important business. Ever thine--Peterkin Gay.' Will that
bring him, d'ye think?"
"I think it will," said I, laughing.
"Then off with it, Ralph," cried my volatile friend, jumping up and
looking hastily round for the bell-rope. Not being able to find it, my
bell-pull being an unobtrusive knob and not a rope, he rushed to the
door, unlocked it, darted out, and uttered a tremendous roar, which was
followed by a clatter and a scream from old Agnes, whom he had upset
and tumbled over.
It was curious to note the sudden change that took place in Peterkin's
face, voice, and manner, as he lifted the poor old woman, who was very
thin and light, in his arms, and carrying her into the room, placed her in
my easy-chair. Real anxiety was depicted in his countenance, and he set

her down with a degree of care and tenderness that quite amazed me. I
was myself very much alarmed at first.
"My poor dear old woman," said Peterkin, supporting my landlady's
head; "my stupid haste I fear you are hurt."
"Hech! it's nae hurt--it's deed I am, fair deed; killed be a
whaumlskamerin' young blagyird. Oh, ma puir heed!"
The manner and tone in which this was said convinced me that old
Agnes was more frightened than injured. In a few minutes the soothing
tones and kind manner of my friend had such an effect upon her that
she declared she was better, and believed after all that she was only a
"wee bit frichtened." Nay, so completely was she conciliated, that she
insisted on conveying the note to the post-office, despite Peterkin's
assurance that he would not hear of it. Finally she hobbled out of the
room with the letter in her hand.
It is interesting to note how that, in most of the affairs of humanity,
things turn out very different, often totally different, from what we had
expected or imagined. During the remainder of that evening Peterkin
and I talked frequently and much of our old friend Jack Martin. We
recalled his manly yet youthful countenance, his bold, lion-like courage,
his broad shoulders and winning gentle smile, and although we knew
that six years must have made an immense difference in his personal
appearance--for he was not much more than eighteen when we last
parted-- we could not think of him except as a hearty, strapping
sailor-boy. We planned, too, how we would meet him at the coach;
how we would stand aside in the crowd until he began to look about for
us in surprise, and then one of us would step forward and ask if he
wished to be directed to any particular part of the town, and so lead him
on and talk to him as a stranger for some time before revealing who we
were. And much more to the same effect. But when next day came our
plans and our conceptions were utterly upset.
A little before two we sauntered down to the coach-office, and waited
impatiently for nearly twenty minutes. Of course the coach was late; it
always is on such occasions.

"Suppose he does not come," said I.
"What a fellow you are," cried Peterkin, "to make uncomfortable
suppositions! Let us rather suppose that he does come."
"Oh, then, it would be all right; but if he does not come, what then?"
"Why, then, it would be all wrong, and we should have to return home
and