The New Noah (3 page)

Strangely enough, one of the easiest creatures to obtain in this way is the baby crocodile. These reptiles live in small, shallow streams which crisscross through the forest, and at night come
out on to the miniature sandbanks and lie there, waiting hopefully in case some small creature should come down to drink there, and they could catch it.

We used to follow the courses of the streams, wading sometimes waist-deep in the water, shining our torches ahead of us. Quite suddenly, on a sandbank, there would appear what looked like two
red-hot coals gleaming in my torch beam, and, keeping the light steady, I would approach cautiously and, eventually, see the baby crocodile lying on the sand, his head raised suspiciously, glaring
at me. I would direct the torch beam carefully into his eyes, so that he would be dazzled by its light and not notice me behind it. Then I would edge close enough to lean forward and pin him down
by the back of his neck with the aid of a forked stick.

Most of these beasts were only about eighteen inches or two feet long, but occasionally I found some that were a bit bigger, being four feet or more in length. They would put up quite a struggle
when I pinned them down with this forked stick, lashing out with their tails and trying to get back into the water, uttering deep rumbling roars, rather as though they were lions instead of
crocodiles.

When picking up a crocodile, I not only had to watch his mouth, but his tail as well, for a big one has so much strength in his tail that a whipping blow from it could quite easily break your
arm. Another trick they had was lying quite still and allowing me to pick them up by the back of the neck; then, without warning, they would give a terrific wriggle and slap me furiously with their
tails, and this sudden movement would be so unexpected that my hold would be broken and I would drop the crocodile back into the water. So we made it a rule never to pick up a crocodile unless we
had a firm grip on the back of the neck and on the tail.

One of the most difficult and painful night hunts I had, occurred when I was staying at a small village called Esholi.

We had been hunting nearly the whole night without very much luck, when one of the hunters suggested that we make our way to a certain place of which he knew where there was a cliff with a great
number of caves in it. Here, we thought we should be able to find some sort of creature.

We set off and came eventually to a wide river which we had to cross. We waded through the cold water, waist-deep, and when we were in the middle, the hunter behind me switched on his torch, and
there all around us were dozens of water snakes, swimming to and fro, watching us with their bright eyes, their necks sticking out of the water like submarine periscopes. These snakes are not
poisonous, although they can give a bite when they get angry. However, the Africans are convinced that every kind of snake is poisonous, and so they treat them all with great caution. My hunter,
when he saw that he was stuck in the middle of a river surrounded on all sides by what seemed to be the entire water-snake population of the Cameroons, uttered loud yelps of fright and tried to run
to the bank. Trying to run in water that is waist deep is not very easy and the current caught him off balance and he fell back into the water with a splash, dropping all the equipment that he had
been carrying on his head.

The water snakes, frightened by this sudden commotion, all dived for cover.

When the hunter rose again, spluttering and gasping, and his companions asked him what was the matter, he said that the river was full of snakes, whereupon they switched on their torches and
shone them on the surface of the water, but not a single water snake was to be seen. After a bit of an argument, I managed to persuade them all to stand still in the middle of the river and we
switched off our torches and waited quietly for half an hour or so. When we all switched on our lights again, there were the water snakes once more, weaving silvery patterns in the water around us.
With the aid of our long-handled butterfly nets, we succeeded in catching four or five of these snakes and dropping them wriggling and squirming into our collecting bags. Then we went on our
way.

We reached the cliffs at last and found they were literally honeycombed with caves of all different shapes and sizes, the entrances of which were almost hidden by great masses of boulders and
short undergrowth. We each took a section of the cliff and set to work to see what we could find.

As I was pushing along through the rocks, shining my torch hopefully here and there, I saw a peculiar shape jump out of a bush, scuttle across the ground and then dive into a small hole in the
cliff face. I hurried forward, and kneeling down by the mouth of the cave, shone my torch up it, but there was nothing to be seen. The passage was about as wide as a door, but only some two feet
high, and in order to get inside to where the animal had gone, I had to lie flat on my tummy, hold the torch in my mouth and pull myself slowly along. This was extremely uncomfortable, as the floor
of the passage was sprinkled with sharp-edged rocks of various shapes, and so my progress was slow and painful.

I found that this tunnel ended in a small circular room from which another led off, still deeper into the interior of the cliff. Crawling through this second passage I shone my torch down and
discovered that it, too, ended in a little room, only far smaller than the one in which I was lying. As I was flashing my torch around, I heard two thumps, followed by a crisp rustling sound,
rather like a rattle. Before I could see what had produced this noise, there was another burst of rattling and something hurled itself out of the gloom of the cave, knocked the torch out of my
hand, and ran what felt like fifty needles into my wrist. I retrieved the torch and retreated hastily to examine my wrist which was scratched and pricked as though I had plunged it into a
blackberry bush.

Crawling back up the tunnel again I shone the torch round and the beam picked out the animal which had attacked me. It was a fully-grown bush-tailed porcupine. These curious-looking animals, the
hindquarters of which are covered with long, sharp quills, have a naked tail which ends in a bunch of prickles, rather like an ear of wheat. By shaking this bunch of quills on the end of their
tails, they produce a strange rattling noise, which was the sound I had heard.

The porcupine had turned his back on me and erected all his quills and was peering over his shoulder with bulging and indignant eyes and stamping his feet warningly. I decided that the only part
of his anatomy I could grasp without much risk of being pricked by his spikes was his tail. So I wrapped my hand in a thick canvas bag, reached forward, and grabbed him just below the tuft of
spikes on his tail. The first thing he did was to run backwards, crushing my hand against the rocks, his spikes going through the canvas bag like a knife through butter. However, I hung on and
tried to pull him out and push him into another bag which I held in my other hand. I was so cramped in that narrow passage that it was impossible to manoeuvre the bag successfully over the
porcupine’s head, and every movement he made seemed to jab yet another of his quills into me. It ended up by him backing into my chest, and, as I was only wearing a thin shirt, this was very
painful, to say the least.

I decided that the best thing to do was to try to pull the porcupine outside the cave before endeavouring to get him into the bag, and so, taking a firmer grip on his tail, I proceeded to crawl
backwards, slowly and carefully, pulling the reluctant porcupine after me. It seemed to take hours before I eventually reappeared in the open air and all the fight seemed to go out of him, for he
dangled there quite limply. I shouted for the hunters and when they joined me we succeeded in getting him into a bag. I was scratched and bruised from head to foot and felt that the porcupine had
made me pay very dearly for his capture.

There were, of course, many other methods which we employed in collecting our specimens. We set great numbers of traps, for example, in different parts of the forest, but this had to be very
carefully done, for most of the forest animals have their own particular area in which they live, and they seldom venture outside this territory. They follow certain paths, both on the ground and
in the treetops, and so, unless your trap has been set in exactly the right place, it is more than likely that the creature will never come anywhere near it. Most people think that in the great
forests the animals wander far and wide all the time, but this is not so. Each picks the territory that suits it best and sticks to it, and sometimes these areas are large, but more often than not
they are amazingly small, and in a lot of instances an animal inhabits a patch of ground which is very little bigger than a large cage in a zoo. Provided that an animal can find a good supply of
food and water, and a safe place to sleep, within a limited area, he will not venture out of it.

A lot of people seem to think that catching wild animals is a very dangerous task, but that to go off into the forest at night in search of specimens is nothing short of madness. Actually, the
depths of the forests are not dangerous, and they are no more dangerous by night than they are by day. You will find that all wild animals are only too eager to get out of your way when they hear
you coming. Only if you have them cornered will they attack you, and you can hardly blame them for that. But in the forest you will find that all the creatures which live there (and this includes
snakes) are very well behaved and only want to be left alone. If you don’t harm them they most certainly are not going to go out of their way to try to hurt you.

So, collecting wild animals is not as dangerous as some people imagine. Generally, it is only as dangerous as your own stupidity allows it to be: in other words, if you take silly risks you must
expect unpleasant consequences. Sometimes, of course, in the heat of the moment, you take a risk without realizing it, and it is only afterwards that you find out how stupid you were.

On my second trip to West Africa I met a young man on board the ship, going out there to take up a job on a banana plantation. He confessed to me that the only thing he was really afraid of was
snakes. I told him that snakes were, as a rule, only too anxious to get out of the way, and in any case, they were few and far between, and it was unlikely that he would see many of them. He
appeared greatly encouraged by this information, and promised that while I was up country he would try to get some specimens for me. I thanked him, and forgot all about it.

When I had made my collection, I travelled down to the coast with it to board the ship. The night before we sailed, my young friend turned up in his car, very excited, to tell me that he had got
the specimens he had promised. He said that on the banana plantation where he worked he had discovered a pit which was full of snakes, and they were all mine, provided I went and got them out!

Without bothering to inquire what this pit was like, I agreed, and we set off in his car to the plantation. On arrival at his bungalow I found that my friend had invited several other people to
watch my snake hunt. Then, while we were having a drink, I noticed that my friend was searching round for something, and when I asked him what he was looking for he told me it was some rope. I
asked him what he wanted the rope for, and he explained that it was to lower me into the pit with. This made me inquire for the first time what sort of pit it was, for I had imagined something
about thirty feet square and about three feet deep.

I discovered to my dismay that the pit resembled a large grave, being about twelve feet long, about three feet wide and some ten feet deep. My friend had decided that the only way for me to get
down there was to lower me on the end of a rope, like a pantomime fairy! I hastily explained that in order to catch snakes in a pit like that I would have to have a torch, which I had not got. None
of the other members of the party had a torch either, but my friend solved the problem.

He tied the big paraffin pressure lamp on to the end of a long string, and explained that he would lower this into the pit with me. I could not protest, for, as my friend rightly pointed out, it
gave a much better light than any torch. Then we all walked out through the moonlit banana plantation towards the pit, and I remember thinking to myself on the way that there was just a chance the
snakes might turn out to be a harmless variety. But when we reached the edge of the pit and lowered the light into it I saw that it was full of baby Gaboon vipers, perhaps one of the most deadly
snakes in West Africa, and all of them seemed very annoyed at being disturbed, and lifted their spade shaped heads and hissed at us.

Now I had not thought that I would have to go down into the pit with the snakes in order to catch them, and so I was wearing the wrong sort of clothes. Thin trousers and a pair of Plimsoll shoes
are no protection at all against the inch-long fangs of a Gaboon viper. I explained this to my friend, and he very kindly lent me his trousers and shoes, which were quite thick and strong. So, as I
could think of no more excuses, they tied the rope round my waist and started to lower me into the pit.

I very soon discovered that the rope had been fastened round my waist with a slip-knot, and the lower I got into the pit the tighter grew the slip-knot round my waist, until I could hardly
breathe. Just before I landed at the bottom I called up and told my friends to stop lowering me: I wanted to examine the ground that I was going to land on, to make sure there were no snakes in the
way. The area being clear, I shouted to them to lower away, and at that moment two things happened.

First, the light, which no one had remembered to pump up in the excitement, went out; secondly, one of the shoes which I had borrowed off my friend, and which were too large for me, came off. So
there was I, standing at the bottom of a ten-foot deep pit, with no light and no shoe on one foot, surrounded by seven or eight deadly and extremely irritated Gaboon vipers. I have never been more
frightened. I had to wait in the dark, without daring to move, while my friends hauled the lamp out, pumped it up, relit it and lowered it into the pit again. Then I could see to retrieve my
shoe.