The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul

by Albert Robida

The effect was more rapid than he expected. Two gorillas, plunging noisily through the foliage, let themselves fall as far as his branch and began a strange dialogue with him, while devoting themselves in the same furious swinging. They were two superb specimens of the gorilla race, more than seven feet tall, equipped with immense arms of vast proportions, covered with coarse and tangled hair that would make the most intrepid wig-maker recoil.

  The two gorillas seemed to be asking the newcomer numerous questions and ascertaining the purpose of his visit. Farandoul, glad to be understood, multiplied evidences of amity.

  The conversation lasted a long time. What evident superiority animal races have to the mediocre human race! An unfortunate Patagonian transported to China would be in a very sad state; not a single word of his language would be understood by the most learned mandarin, and to him, the simplest words of the Chinese language would be no more than incomprehensible sounds. In this case, though, the language of a tribe of monkeys lost in the depths of Oceania was comprehensible to the monkeys of an entirely different race living in the center of the African continent!

  The four stupefied queens watched in amazement the gestures of amity exchanged between their friend and the horrible monkeys. A sign from Farandoul warned them to keep out of it; our hero, seated in the midst of the gorillas on a pile of leaves, resumed the interrupted conversation. The gorillas seemed rather surprised; they examined Farandoul attentively, touching his boots and occasionally pulling his hair.

  Farandoul’s costume was what surprised them most. They did not take him for a man, seeing that he was very different from the scantily-dressed negroes that they glimpsed from time to time, but they were astonished at not having encountered a specimen of his species before. Farandoul, as we have said, was still in his lion-hunting costume; the steel spikes won the admiration of the gorillas, who took them for simple bristles. To cut short the friendly gestures they were making to him, Farandoul communicated that he was hungry by means of a few grunts. The gorillas raced to their food-store—a heap of figs, dates and bananas lying in a hollow in the baobab—and they all set about eating sitting in a circle. Farandoul soon interrupted his meal, though, and thumped his forehead with his fist. The gorillas raised their heads.

  Farandoul pointed at the group of four queens and seemed to interrogate them in his turn. Seeing the gorillas scratching themselves in an embarrassed manner, and not replying, Farandoul addressed himself directly to the oldest of the band, an obese and grizzled gorilla who was the acknowledged governor of the colony.

  The old gorilla seemed rather irritated, and tried to interrupt Farandoul’s speech with a few grunts of protest. Our hero imposed silence on him and, suddenly standing up, hurled vigorous abuse at him while wagging his finger. The others seemed stunned; the boldest scarcely dared to attempt to deflect their guest’s anger with attentions of the smoothest politeness—for example, by passing him peeled coconuts or scratching his back.

  Their guest was no longer listening to them, though. In truth, he was kicking up quite a fuss! Who could have expected to see such a welcome and well-commenced feast troubled like this? It was visibly hurting them, for the most sensitive were already holding back tears.

  Because the four queens still did not understand, the event caused them the greatest possible anxiety. What did it all mean: Farandoul’s arrival, the hearty welcome given to him, and that long conversation sustained by their friend in the language of the gorillas? Strange! Strange!

  By dint of observation, however, at least they succeeded in understanding the pantomime accompanying the speech. Farandoul was speaking—or, rather, squealing—monkey-language, but his gestures were comprehensible for humans. It soon became clear to them that their friend was addressing violent reproaches to his gorilla hosts, while frequently waving his hand in the direction of the prisoners.

  Yes, Farandoul was giving the gorillas a moral lecture, and these huge creatures seemed to be deeply affected by his speech. Their confusion increased with every passing minute; only the old monkey continued to defend himself—weakly, to be sure. Our hero, seeing the ascendancy that he had over these primitive natures increasing with each interjection, multiplied his grunts and crushed his adversary with eloquent phrases, punctuated with thumps of his fist on the floor of the cabin.

  When Farandoul finally fell silent, a concert of groans resounded in the baobab. The old gorilla seemed devastated, the she-monkeys were weeping and the little ones were winding themselves around the legs of our hero, who had crossed his arms and was looking at his hosts, rolling his eyes wildly.

  Suddenly, the old gorilla seemed to make an important decision. He leapt to his feet and headed toward the group of four queens. Farandoul had not budged. Feeling the hand of a monkey timidly touch his shoulder, however, he finally turned round in a surly fashion.

  The old gorilla, shamefacedly holding one of the four queens by the hand, returned his four protégées to him.

  “Don’t speak—try to grunt like me,” Farandoul had time to whisper to them between his teeth—and he began uttering cries of satisfaction and shaking the gorillas’ hands.

  Let no one continue to deny the good influence of moral determination; scarcely having embarked upon the path of virtue for five minutes, the gorillas seemed radiant; they had become gentle friends to their prisoners, and heaped little attentions upon them, peeling dates and coconuts for them.

  Farandoul decided to take advantage of these good dispositions to take his leave of the honest family and return to the hippopotamus. The great difficulty was the descent; they were more than 40 meters above the ground—trivial for the monkeys, but a considerable height for ladies unused to climbing. It was the gorillas who settled the matter; seeing the ladies looking anxiously over the edge of the platform of foliage, they offered to transport them to the base of the baobab themselves.

  The affair was simple; each queen was calmly grasped by a male gorilla, who put her under his arm or on his back with the utmost delicacy and let himself glide down from branch to branch. Five minutes later, all the tenants of the baobab were on the ground.

  Perched in the braches of a neighboring tree, Niam-Niam and Désolant had watched this descent attentively, not knowing what they ought to do. Their embarrassment did not last long; the gorillas, having discovered their presence and motivated by a desire to behave well, came to collect them from their tree. Taking the astonished duo by surprise, they grabbed them by the feet and carried them triumphantly to Farandoul.

  “Don’t speak—grunt!” Farandoul instructed them in a low voice. “We’re leaving!”

  Niam-Niam alone was not an object of gorilla respect; they had recognized a negro, a enemy. Farandoul, seeing their attitude to the boy, put him in Désolant’s arms. The gorillas believed him to be a captive and seemed satisfied.

  Farandoul had made the caravan of four queens and Désolant go ahead of him; he followed them, surrounded by the entire family of gorillas, still engaging them in conversation with a few grunts. In this manner, they took a little trip along the bank of the N’kari.

  The reawakened hippopotamus snorted noisily, as if to demand food. Farandoul explained the situation to the gorillas with a few grunts; happy to ender their friend this small service, they immediately set about plundering the reed-beds enthusiastically, and tying up their harvest in bundles.

  Within a few minutes they had gathered enough for a week and all the bundles formed a long chaplet solidly attached to the foredeck of the hippopotamus. Then Farandoul gave the signal to embark, and the four queens leapt into the water to get to the boat. Désolant departed next, with Niam-Niam still tucked under his arm.

  Farandoul remained on the bank, sitting with his gorillas. Finally he got up and renewed his farewells. The old monkey, humble and repentant, proffered profound apologies and ardently begged his pardon. The ever-generous Farandoul no longer treated him severely; he shook the hand that was held out to him vigorously, and after having stroked the cheeks of the
little ones, he descended in his turn to the river-bed.

  Everything was ready. The hippopotamus began to swim while savoring an enormous bundle of reeds. The fugitives uttered joyful cheers, to which the gorillas replied as best they could. Within two minutes, the boat reached the middle of the stream.

  The gorillas were then seen to race rapidly to the baobab, climb up it, come back down and then hasten, still running and squealing loudly, to a place where the river, framed by high banks, was less than half as wide. Having arrived there, they stopped and waited for the hippopotamus, still squealing.

  “Hang on!” exclaimed Farandoul. “It looks as if our friends are regretting letting us leave. Do they intend to engage us in a naval battle? Look out, Majesties!”

  The queens, Niam-Niam and Désolant grabbed their weapons and prepared to mount a vigorous defense. The hippopotamus drew nearer to the difficult pass. The gorillas standing on the bank also made ready.

  “Wait!” said Farandoul. “The moment will come.”

  He was still speaking when a hail of projectiles fell upon them, thrown with skill and prodigious force. The hippopotamus started, and increased its speed, but the gorillas were running along the banks and showering the boat with further ammunition. The queens could scarcely protect themselves; they were about to reply with arrows when Farandoul stopped them.

  “Don’t fire!” he cried. “They’re coconuts and dates that our friends are sending us!”

  The bombardment took its course, Farandoul and Désolant gathering up the projectiles. As for Niam-Niam, he had been knocked overboard by a coconut and was swimming to starboard to protect himself from any further accident.

  Finally the last munitions were exhausted. The monkeys shouted a final farewell, to which Farandoul replied with energetic thanks in their own language. Niam-Niam, reassured, came aboard again too soon; he as scarcely installed at his post when a final volley of coconuts, conserved by the gorillas with that intention, fell upon his body.

  V.

  The fugitives, tranquil now, dined on figs. They had only covered a few leagues on the N’kari when an exclamation released by Niam-Niam brought them out of their serenity. Niam-Niam pointed to a black mass floating in the river a few kilometers ahead of them.

  Farandoul had keen eyes; he too made out the ominous object, and released a second exclamation. “It’s my boat!” he cried. “It’s the Solitaire!”

  The matter was serious. Was the Solitaire manned by Makalolo warriors? Might they not all back into their hands?

  “It’s hardly probable!” Farandoul said, after thinking about it for some time. “The warrior women must have abandoned all pursuit. The Solitaire has simply been carried away by the flow. Let’s try to catch up with it!”

  The hippopotamus, spurred on, set off at top speed; in half an hour it had reached the boat.

  The Solitaire was quite empty. The warrior women had ransacked it and had not left anything that might be useful. Even as it was, however, it still offered more comforts than the awkward hippopotamus and Farandoul decided to have the latter take it in tow. In consequence, the ladies left the tent and installed themselves on board—and the Solitaire, attached by a cable, set off to follow the hippopotamus. In order not to overburden it and slow its progress, Farandoul restored the Solitaire’s engine to a working state and loaded it with wood. Soon, a few puffs of smoke emerged from the chimney and the Solitaire caught up with the hippopotamus, which increased its speed.

  Let us leave the hippopotamus and the Solitaire to pursue their course along the N’kari for six days, the former sometimes pulling the latter and the latter sometimes pushing the former, and rejoin them thereafter.

  How much progress have they made during those six days of traveling at top speed? How much, in total? Just six leagues, alas.

  They have covered about 150 leagues, journeying through a tangle of rocks, islets, islands, near-islands, around innumerable curves and infinite meanders traced by the capricious N’kari. Farandoul is furious, and with good reason; to the tedium of continually going around and around, describing circles, ellipses and improbable parabolas has been added another annoyance: Farandoul and the four queens have hardly had anything to eat for four days.

  The monkeys’ provisions were rapidly exhausted and hunting has only furnished meager resources to the famished travelers. Game is not abundant in this rocky chaos, and the fishing-lines put out all day have only caught the occasional meager pike. The only game that they can find is the occasional crocodile, but these hideous and cowardly creatures flee as soon as Farandoul gets close enough to put a bullet in their eye; they dive and return underwater to try to steal a piece of the poor hippopotamus-boat, which has difficulty defending itself.

  But why have Farandoul and his companions not sacrificed their faithful servant for the common good? It is quite simply because there is also a shortage of wood in this desolate region, and that if the hippopotamus were eaten, the fugitives would be stranded on their useless Solitaire.

  For four days, the starvelings’ only meals have consisted of a few omelets. Niam-Niam has a flair for detecting the sand-banks where crocodiles lay their eggs and, in spite of the pronounced musky taste of such omelets, they have been very welcome aboard the Solitaire.

  That is the situation.

  Fortunately, Farandoul is hopeful. He has conducted a reconnaissance on land and has perceived that the N’kari resumes a straight course a few leagues further on. They will, therefore, eventually emerge from this region of sand and rock.

  That day, even omelets were lacking. Hope was the only nourishment the fugitives had had for 24 hours, but trees and vegetation were beginning to become less rare. At 6 p.m., after 33 hours of dieting, Farandoul leapt upon his rifle and shot a pelican that he had glimpsed in a hole in the rock. What a stroke of luck! And what a welcome indication of their imminent arrival in a country more favored by the heavens!

  The sleeping hippopotamus was swimming anyway; they continued sailing for part of the night. At 2 a.m., a few fires became visible in the distance. After half an hour of searching, an absolutely secure mooring was discovered in a narrow channel in the middle of an archipelago of little wooded islands.

  O joy! The arrival of the boat in the islands was the signal for a frightful concert; the honking of pelicans, wild geese and cranes burst forth around the fugitives, accompanied by the beating of wings, cries of terror and jostling.

  The queens clapped their hands. In the blink of an eye, Désolant, Niam-Niam and Farandoul were wringing the necks of two dozen birds.

  This windfall made the travelers forget any anxiety that might have been caused by the fires glimpsed in the night. Only Farandoul gave them any thought; he was eager to see daylight, in order to clarify the situation.

  Everyone slept with closed fists. It was nearly 9 a.m. when the fugitives were woken up by the deafening sound of a new concert. The most astonishing spectacle awaited them. The hippopotamus and the boat were in a narrow channel squeezed between two wooded islands, the foliage of whose large trees joined up above their heads like a leafy arbor. Beneath that tranquil vault, thousands of large birds were frolicking placidly; the banks were covered by them, and in the trees numerous large black patches indicated numerous families of birds established on every branch. The fugitives found themselves, so to speak, in the midst of a vast aviary, in which pelicans, cranes, pink flamingoes, geese, ibises and ducks, grouped in families, were living in perfect harmony.

  As far as the eye could see, there was nothing visible but long rows of aquatic birds in the process of exercising their throats with all kinds of discordant screeches.

  It was Kalunda who provided an explanation. “The Kabirko Isles!” she said.

  The white queens had heard mention of them. At the beginning of their reign, they had led an expedition against the Kabirkos—difficult neighbors who occasionally ravaged the western frontiers of the realm of the Makalolos—but they had never pushed on as far as the sacred isles
, situated in the middle of an impenetrable region, which sheltered the divinities adored by that primitive people.

  “And what are these Kabirkos?” asked Farandoul.

  “Worse than the Niam-Niams!” the black queens exclaimed. “Frightful marauders, bandits perpetually at war with their neighbors.”

  “Damn! It seems to me that we’re in grave danger here. Evidently, the fires we glimpsed last night are those of their villages. We’ll have difficulty getting past them. Fortunately, we’ve found this pass where we’re presently hidden; the main thing is not to be discovered before we’ve found a means of getting out. I’ll undertake a reconnaissance of the surroundings. You must all stay in the boat and wait for me. In case of danger, seal the hatches and defend yourselves until I come back.”

  Farandoul, his revolvers in his belt and his rifle in his hand, went ashore and plunged into the forest. His companions waited for him until 6 p.m., and were already growing anxious when he reappeared, moving with infinite precaution. He gave them a signal to remain silent, and went with them into the Solitaire’s cabin.

  “I can’t explain,” he said, “how we were able to attain this refuge yesterday without being heard. The darkness prevented us from seeing two or three large villages established on the river bank, and the fires that are ahead of us are those of another, more important, village situated on the same bank. The N’kari forms a sort of lake here that extends for two leagues behind these islands. I’ve explored the shore of this lake; superb vegetation covers them as far as the eye can see. We’ll stay here for a few days—time to reconnoiter the course of the river in order not to launch ourselves at hazard into the middle of the Kabirko villages. Besides, this little resting-place will allow us to recover from our fatigue and renew our provisions.”

  Two days passed quietly enough. Farandoul, departing each morning, extended his reconnaissance over a considerable distance, but he had not yet discovered a passage permitting the avoidance of the villages lined up along the lake.