Both Stringer and Croft afterwards stated that, at this point, the powers of human reason and kindliness forsook them. They became mere machines behind the gleaming barrels of the guns--sportsmen, relentlessly driven into action by the spirit of the chase--or the spirit of self-defence--or, what you will.
They fired almost simultaneously, and both the adult gorillas fell mortally wounded, the baby still clinging to its mother and crying pitifully. "_Hoo! . . . Hoo! . . ._"
Ashamed and trembling, Stringer and Croft waited in ambush for a few moments, before they prepared to take the little one from its dead mother.
Still clutching her neck and body, it kept its face half-buried in her chest; but the moment its enemies came into the open it turned and screamed at them with all the inherited savagery of its race.
Then, with extraordinary courage, it suddenly rushed at one of the natives, bit him in the leg, and rapidly retreated to a small tree.
A second later, it was sitting aloft, shouting vindictive threats at its aggressors.
A council of war was held. No one showed the least inclination to try and capture this mere two-year-old baby boy. Apart from its biting capacity, it was probably much stronger than a full grown man--and certainly twice as nimble.
But in the end, as Gran'pa had so often insisted, brains will tell. Stringer, who had secretly profited by his circus experience in the old lion-taming days, gave a little exhibition in the gentle art of lassoing--under difficulties.
After an extremely thrilling performance, lasting over half-an-hour, Little Willie, as he was eventually called, was brought home, ignominiously and under great protest, in a sack.
Never have I met such a two-foot bundle of savagery and cunning. Four men could hold him more or less comfortably; three, uncomfortably; two, with the utmost difficulty; and, one--I shudder to think what would have happened. . . .
When he and Gran'pa were first introduced to one another, Little Willie was sitting peacefully at the end of his fully extended chain, deeply absorbed in one of his toe-nails.
"Poor little fellow! I expect he's pretty homesick, George!"
No doubt Gran'pa's intentions were of the best. He merely wanted to be friendly and, at the same time, to examine our little captive more closely. So, after carefully satisfying himself that there was no risk of being bitten, Gran'pa approached still nearer, stooped, and made further remarks signifying comradeship.