THE DRILL BABOON 9 



ing air and settles on the fig trees, which suddenly 

 seem laden with jewelled fruit. A troop of hornbills 

 flap heavily across the river and begin to scramble 

 along the boughs of the thicket ; touracos and 

 plantain-eaters are already shrieking and playing 

 amongst the branches. 



Uttering now and then a surly bark, the drill 

 begin to descend the precipitous cliffs and, arrived 

 on the level ground, search industriously for break- 

 fast, walking on all fours like hideous dogs. Stones 

 are overturned for the sake of the scorpions or the 

 lizards they may conceal ; tubers are carefully sought 

 out, and grubbed up by sable hands. Two or three 

 of the older animals continue to mount guard, 

 perching on a fallen-tree trunk or any similar object; 

 infant drill are seen clinging under their devoted if 

 ugly mothers, or perched on their backs. A small 

 buck trips along ; suddenly with a snort and a stamp 

 of its taper foot it stands motionless, and in another 

 instant has dived into the bush, like a penguin into 

 the breakers, saving its life by the quickness of its 

 flight. The drill gradually traverse the thicket, and 

 continue to explore the bare ground far away from 

 cover; the youngsters can be plainly seen scampering 

 about their elders and playing a thousand pranks. 

 Far in the baking heavens swings a solitary vulture, 

 a sable speck against the blue. 



Evening. The drill are retiring to their rocky 

 dormitories. Shadowy in the fast-falling darkness 



