Encounters With Animals Read online

  On reaching the edge of the forest, the leader of the monkeys would climb to a vantage-point and, uttering suspicious grunts, survey the grassfield in front of him with the greatest care. Behind him the troop, numbering perhaps fifty individuals, would be silent except for the wheezy cry now and again from some tiny baby. Presently, when he was satisfied that the clearing contained nothing, the old male would stalk along a branch slowly and gravely, his tail curled up over his back like a question-mark, and then give a prodigious leap that sent him crashing into the fig-tree leaves. Here he paused again and once more examined the grassfield; then he plucked the first fruit and uttered a series of loud imperative calls: oink, oink, oink. Immediately, the still forest behind him was alive with movement, branches swishing and roaring like giant waves on a beach as the monkeys leapt out of cover and landed in the fig-trees, grunting and squeaking to each other as they plummeted through the air. Many of the female monkeys carried tiny babies which clung under their bellies, and as their mothers jumped you could hear the infant squeaking shrilly, though whether from fear or excitement it was difficult to judge.

  The monkeys settled down on the branches to feed on the ripe figs, and presently, with loud swishings and honks of delight, the hornbills discovered their whereabouts and came crashing among the branches in the wild disorderly way in which hornbills always land. Their great round eyes, thickly fringed with heavy eyelashes, stared roguishly and slightly idiotically at the monkeys, while with their enormous and apparently cumbersome beaks they delicately and with great precision plucked the fruit and tossed it carelessly into the air, so that it fell back into their gaping mouths and disappeared. The hornbills were by no means such wasteful feeders as the monkeys, for they would invariably eat each fruit they plucked, whereas the monkeys would take only one bite from a fruit before dropping it to the ground below and moving along the branch to the next delicacy.

  The arrival of such rowdy feeding companions was evidently distasteful to the giant plantain-eaters, for they moved off as soon as the monkeys and hornbills arrived. After half an hour or so the ground beneath the fig-trees was littered with half-eaten fruit, and the monkeys then made their way back into the forest, calling oink-oink to each other in a self-satisfied kind of way. The hornbills paused to have just one more fig and then flew excitedly after the monkeys, and as the sound of their wings faded away the next customers for the fig-tree arrived on the scene. They were so small and appeared so suddenly and silently out of the long grass that unless you had field-glasses and kept a careful watch they would come and go without giving a sign of their presence. They were the little striped mice whose homes were amongst the tussocks of grass, the tree-roots, and the boulders along the edge of the forest. Each about the size of a house mouse, with a long and delicately tapering tail, they were clad in sleek, fawny-grey fur which was boldly marked with creamy white stripes from nose to rump. They would drift out from among the grass stalks, moving in little fits and starts, with many long pauses when they sat on their haunches, their tiny pink paws clenched into fists, their noses and whiskers quivering as they tested the wind for enemies. When they froze thus into immobility against the grass stalks, their striped coats, which when they were moving seemed so bright and decorative, acted like an invisible cloak and made them almost disappear.

  Having assured themselves that the hornbills had really left (for a hornbill is occasionally partial to a mouse), they set about the serious task of eating the fruit that the monkeys had so lavishly scattered on the ground. Unlike a lot of the other forest mice and rats, these little creatures were of a quarrelsome disposition and would argue over the food, sitting up on their hind legs and abusing each other in thin, reedy squeaks of annoyance. Sometimes two of them would come upon the same fruit and both lay hold of it, one at either end, digging their little pink paws into the leaf-mould and tugging frantically in an effort to break the other’s grip. If the fig were exceptionally ripe, it generally gave way in the middle so that both mice fell over backwards, each clutching his share of the trophy. They then sat quite peacefully within six inches of one another, each eating his portion. At times, if some sudden noise alarmed them, they all leapt vertically into the air six inches or even more as though suddenly plucked upwards by strings, and on landing they sat quivering and alert until they were sure the danger had passed, when they once more started bickering and fighting over the food.

  Once I saw a tragedy enacted among these striped mice as they squabbled amongst the monkeys’ left-overs. Suddenly a genet appeared out of the forest. This is perhaps one of the most lithe and beautiful animals to be seen in the forest, with its long sinuously weasel-shaped body and cat-like face, handsome golden fur heavily blotched with a pattern of black spots and long tail banded in black and white. It is not an animal you generally see in the early morning, for its favourite hunting time is in the evenings or at night. I presume this particular one must have had a fruitless night’s hunting, and so when morning arrived he was still searching for something to fill his stomach. When he appeared at the edge of the grassfield and saw the striped mice, he flattened close to the ground and then launched himself as smoothly as a skimming stone across the intervening space, and was in amongst the rodents before they knew what was happening. As usual, they all leapt perpendicularly into the air and then fled, looking like portly little business men in their striped suits, rushing through the grass stems; but the genet had been too quick and he walked off into the forest, carrying in his mouth two limp little bodies which had so recently been abusing each other as to the sole ownership of a fig and had consequently left it too late to retreat.

  Towards midday the whole country fell quiet under the hot rays of the sun, and even the incessant cries of the cicadas seemed to take on a sleepy note. This was siesta-time, and very few creatures were to be seen. In the grassfield only the skinks, who loved the sun, emerged to bask on the rocks or to stalk the grasshoppers and locusts. These brilliant lizards, shining and polished as though freshly painted, had skins like mosaic work, made up of hundreds of tiny scales coloured cherry-red, cream and black. They would run swiftly through the grass stalks, their bodies glinting in the sun, so that they looked like some weird firework. Apart from these reptiles, there was practically nothing to be seen until the sun dipped and the day became a trifle cooler, so it was during this period of inactivity that I used to eat the food I had brought with me and smoke a much-needed cigarette.

  Once during my lunch break I witnessed an extraordinary comedy that was performed almost, I felt, for my special benefit. On the tree-trunk where I was sitting, not six feet away, out of a tangle of thick undergrowth, up over the bark of the trunk, there glided slowly and laboriously and very regally a giant land-snail, the size of an apple. I watched it as I ate, fascinated by the way the snail’s body glided over the bark, apparently without any muscular effort whatever, and the way its horns with the round, rather surprised eyes on top, twisted this way and that as it picked its route through the miniature landscape of toadstools and moss. Suddenly I realized that as the snail was making its slow and rather vague progress along the trunk it was leaving behind it the usual glistening trail, and this trail was being followed by one of the most ferocious and bloodthirsty animals, for its size, to be found in the West African forest.

  The twining convolvulus was thrust aside, and out on to the log strutted a tiny creature only as long as a cigarette, clad in jet-black fur and with a long slender nose that it kept glued to the snail’s track, like a miniature black hound. It was one of the forest’s shrews, whose courage is incredible and whose appetite is prodigious and insatiable. If anything lives to eat, this forest shrew does. They will even in a moment of peckishness think nothing of eating one another. Chittering to himself, the shrew trotted rapidly after the snail and very soon overtook it. Uttering a high-pitched squeak, it flung itself on that portion of the snail which protruded from the rear of the shell and sank its teeth into it. The snail, finding itself so sudde
nly and unceremoniously attacked from the rear, did the only possible thing and drew its body rapidly back inside its shell. This movement was performed so swiftly and the muscular contraction of the snail was so strong, that as the tail disappeared inside the shell the shrew’s face was banged against it and his grip was broken. The shell, having now nothing to balance it, fell on its side, and the shrew, screaming with frustration, rushed forward and plunged his head into the interior, in an effort to retrieve the retreating mollusc. However, the snail was prepared for this attack and as soon as the shrew’s head was pushed into the opening of the shell it was greeted by a sudden fountain of greenish-white froth that bubbled out and enveloped nose and head. The shrew leapt back with surprise, knocking against the shell as it did so. The snail teetered for a moment and then rolled sideways and dropped into the undergrowth beneath the log. The shrew meanwhile was sitting on its hind legs, almost incoherent with rage, sneezing violently and trying to wipe the froth from its face with its paws. The whole thing was so ludicrous that I started to laugh, and the shrew, casting a hasty and frightened glance in my direction, leapt down into the undergrowth and hurried away. It was not often during the forest’s siesta-time that I could enjoy such a scene as this.

  At mid-afternoon, when the heat had lessened, the life of the forest would start again. There were new visitors to the fig-trees, in particular the squirrels. There was one pair who obviously believed in combining business with pleasure, for they ran and leapt among the fig-tree branches, playing hide-and-seek and leap-frog, courting each other in this way, and occasionally breaking off their wild and exuberant activities to sit very quietly and solemnly, their tails draped over their backs, eating figs. As the shadows grew longer, you might, if you were lucky, see a duiker coming down to drink at the stream. These small antelopes, clad in shining russet coats, with their long, pencil-slim legs, would pick their way slowly and suspiciously through the forest trees, pausing frequently while their large liquid eyes searched the path ahead, and their ears twitched backwards and forwards, picking up the sounds of the forest. As they drifted their way without a sound through the lush plants bordering the stream, they would generally disturb some of the curious aquatic mice who were feeding there. These little grey rodents have long, rather stupid-looking faces, big semi-transparent ears shaped like a mule’s, and long hind legs on which they would at times hop like miniature kangaroos. At this hour of the evening it was their habit to wade through the shallow water, combing the water-weed with their slender front paws and picking out tiny water-insects, baby crabs and water-snails. At this time rats of another type would also come out, and these were probably the most fussy, pompous and endearing of the rodents. They were clad all over in greenish fur, with the exception of their noses and their behinds which were, rather incongruously, a bright foxy red, and made them look rather as though they were wearing red running shorts and masks. Their favourite hunting-ground was in the soft leaf-mould between the towering buttress roots of the great trees. Here they would waddle about, squeaking to each other, turning over leaves and bits of rock and twigs for the insects which were concealed underneath. Occasionally they would stop and hold conversations, sitting on their hind legs, facing each other, their whiskers trembling as they chittered and squeaked very rapidly and in a complaining sort of tone as though commiserating with one another on the lack of food in that particular part of the forest. There were times when, sniffing about in certain patches, they became terribly excited, squeaking loudly and digging, like terriers, down into the soft leaf-mould. Eventually they would triumphantly unearth a big chocolate-coloured beetle, almost as large as themselves. These insects were horny and very strong, and it took the rats a good deal of effort to subdue them. They would turn them on to their backs and then rapidly nip off the spiky, kicking legs. Once they had immobilized their prey, a couple of quick bites and the beetle was dead. Then the little rat would sit up on its hind legs, clasping the body of the beetle in both hands and proceed to eat it, as though it were a stick of rock, with loud scrunchings and occasional muffled squeaks of delight.

  By now, although still light in the grassfield, it was gloomy and difficult to see in the forest itself. You might, if you were fortunate, catch a glimpse of some of the nocturnal animals venturing out on their hunting: perhaps a brush-tailed porcupine would trot past, portly and serious, his spines rustling through the leaves as he hurried on his way. Now the fig-trees would once again become the focal-point, as these nocturnal animals appeared. The galagos, or bush-babies, would materialize magically, like fairies, and sit among the branches, peering about them with their great saucer-shaped eyes, and their little incredibly human-looking hands held up in horror, like a flock of pixies who had just discovered that the world was a sinful place. They would feed on the figs and sometimes take prodigious leaps through the branches in pursuit of a passing moth, while overhead, across a sky already flushed with sunset colours, pairs of grey parrots flew into the forest to roost, whistling and cooing to each other, shrilly, so that the forest echoed. Far away in the distance a chorus of hoots suddenly rose, screams and wild bursts of maniacal laughter, the hair-raising noise of a troop of chimpanzees going to bed. The galagos would now have disappeared as quickly and as silently as they had come, and through the darkening sky the fruit-bats would appear in great tattered clouds, flapping down, giving their ringing cries, diving into the trees to fight and flutter round the remains of the fruit, so that the sound of their wings was like a hundred wet umbrellas being shaken amongst the trees. There would be one more shrill and hysterical outburst from the chimpanzees, and then the forest was completely dark, but still alive and vibrating with a million little rustles, squeaks, patters and grunts, as the night creatures took over.

  I rose to my feet, cramped and stiff, and stumbled off through the forest, the glow of my torch seeming pathetically frail and tiny among the great silent tree-trunks. This, then, was the tropical forest that I had read about as savage, dangerous and unpleasant. To me it seemed a beautiful and incredible world made up of a million tiny lives, plants and animals, each different and yet dependent on the other, like the many parts of a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. It seemed to me such a pity that people should still cling to their old ideas of the unpleasantness of the jungle when here was a world of magical beauty waiting to be explored, observed and understood.

  Lily-Trotter Lake

  British Guiana, lying in the northern part of South America, is probably one of the most beautiful places in the world, with its thick tropical forest, its rolling savannah land, its jagged mountain ranges and giant foaming waterfalls. To me, however, one of the most lovely parts of Guiana is the creek lands. This is a strip of coastal territory that runs from Georgetown to the Venezuelan border; here a thousand forest rivers and streams have made their way down towards the sea, and on reaching the flat land have spread out into a million creeks and tiny waterways that glimmer and glitter like a flood of quicksilver. The lushness and variety of the vegetation is extraordinary, and its beauty has turned the place into an incredible fairyland. In 1950 I was in British Guiana collecting wild animals for zoos in England, and during my six months there I visited the savannah lands to the north, the tropical forest and, of course, the creek lands, in pursuit of the strange creatures living there.

  I had chosen a tiny Amerindian village near a place called Santa Rosa as my headquarters in the creek lands, and to reach it required a two-day journey. First by launch down the Essequibo River and then through the wider creeks until we reached the place where the launch could go no farther, for the water was too shallow and too choked with vegetation. Here we took to dugout canoes, paddled by the quiet and charming Indians who were our hosts, and leaving the broad main creek we plunged into a maze of tiny waterways on one of the most beautiful journeys I can remember.

  Some of the creeks along which we travelled were only about ten feet wide, and the surface of the water was completely hidden under a thick layer of great creamy wa
ter-lilies, their petals delicately tinted pink, and a small fern-like water-plant that raised, just above the surface of the water, on a slender stem, a tiny magenta flower. The banks of the creek were thickly covered with undergrowth and great trees, gnarled and bent, leant over the waters to form a tunnel; their branches were festooned with long streamers of greenish-grey Spanish moss and clumps of bright pink-and-yellow orchids. With the water so thickly covered with vegetation, you had the impression, when sitting in the bows of the canoe, that you were travelling smoothly and silently over a flower-studded green lawn that undulated gently in the wake of your craft. Great black woodpeckers, with scarlet crests and whitish beaks, cackled loudly as they flipped from tree to tree, hammering away at the rotten bark, and from the reeds and plants along the edges of the creek there would be a sudden explosion of colour as we disturbed a marsh bird which flew vertically into the air, with its hunting-pink breast flashing like a sudden light in the sky.

  The village, I discovered, was situated on an area of high ground which was virtually an island, for it was completely surrounded by a chessboard of creeks. The little native hut that was to be my headquarters was some distance away from the village and placed in the most lovely surroundings. On the edge of a tiny valley an acre or so in extent, it was perched amongst some great trees which stood round it like a group of very old men with long grey beards of Spanish moss. During the winter rains the surrounding creeks had overflowed so that the valley was now drowned under some six feet of water out of which stuck a number of large trees, their reflections shimmering in the sherry-coloured water. The rim of the valley had grown a fringe of reeds and great patches of lilies. Sitting in the doorway of the hut, one had a perfect view of this miniature lake and its surroundings, and it was sitting here quietly in the early morning or evening that I discovered what a wealth of animal life inhabited this tiny patch of water and its surrounding frame of undergrowth.