Keys, Locks and Open Doors
by Jane Wallis Hicks



"Quiet the dog, house the pony and bar the doors against the dark."

Each night we heard and obey Pa's telling and each morning we woke safe, forgetting the terrors of the night in the new sun's warm shine and our breakfast bread.

Then Ma sickened and Pa carted her to Biddy Makepeace's for a laying on of hands.

"Remember," he instructed Rory, "Be sure and lock up tight come nightfall."

"I promise faithful Pa," I heard my oldest brother say.

But come the dark, he was out sparking Lucy Lovedance and Sim was left in charge. And Sim paid no heed to tellings.

"Waste of time, locking every door. Sick of pissing in pee-pots, me. And double sick of cleaning them each morn."

I begged him do as our father said, but he only laughed, did Sim. So I took the bairns to bed with me, making certain sure my door was locked and the shutters firmly barred. And in the morning on rising to oven the bread I found the outer door wide open and no sight of Sim.

When Rory rolled in lazy-eyed and rough I told him all and he went in search. He was still out when Pa arrived home at noon. I recounted Pa the tale and he heard me out grim faced, but shook his head when I asked if he was going hunting for our Sim.

"No point," he said. "Now get dinner served."

Rory came back as we were finishing stew. Pa cuffed him hard about the head and wouldn't let him speak or eat the portion I'd kept by. Then Pa coughed and cleared his throat, and when we looked at him he told us Ma had died with the sinking of the day. Padre Filtonhad her resting in the church, he said, to be dug in on the morrow.

Then he handed me the ring of household keys. And Rory watched all squint eyed and pinched, knowing that by right as eldest they should have passed to him. I held on to the keys, my two hands fighting the cold heavy weight that tried to drag them to the beaten earth. And as I clutched them so I studied them. I saw that each key large or small was welded firmly to the iron circlet. I held there in my hands the keys to every chest and every door within Pa's holding.

They were my responsibility till Father relieved me of the charge. I was now the guardian, he said, seeing as I had a mind to keep the young 'uns safe and obey his words full strength, unlike some who should know better.

At first light Pa stowed the spades and lifted the girls into the cart. May took charge of the reins while me and Pa and Rory walked holding to the sides. When we reached the graveyard, me and Pa and Rory took turns to open up the flinty ground while the bairns ranged about for pretties to place inside the grave.

Then Pa and Padre place her in. Padre said the binding words, my three sisters mewling and moaning and dropping in daisy buds onto the muslim shroud. Then my brother and I filled back the gritty soil and watched Pa and Padre Filton lay the blessed iron stone slab athwart her lying place to keep her safe. And when it was all done and Pa had paid the burial toll, we set out straight for home.

This time Eve and Silence held the reins and all else walked to save the ageing mule. Once home I warmed the stew pot and we ate. After food, Pa and Rory worked the land while I, with my sisters' help, cleaned and sewed and baked. At day's end, Pa watched to see how I locked the doors and shutters against the coming of the night and nodded satisfied when I had it done.

And that night with the keys hard beneath my thin flcok pillow, I heard the voices clearly for the first time. They sounded loud and plain outside my shuttered window, begging me to open up and come to them. And one of the voices was my brother Sim's. Another a lighter sound, like my Ma's. But mindful of my father's words I held to the keys and kept the shutters barred. And gradually the voices drifted quiet and sleep took me down.

And ever after, it was as if Ma and Sim had never been. Pa never spoke of them and turned aside all questions and he never again spoke to Rory save of yes and no. After a month of this silence, Rory left to marry Lucy Makepeace and spend his strength in her father's flourmill. I watched Pa's face set harder, carven lines of wrinkles digging valleys in his leathered skin and I went outside all day to take my brother's work-share then cooked and baked all eve. My sister May took duty for the house and twins all day.

From the very time Rory left our home, Pa shifted all his custom to Marlin's mill. Though being over in the next valley it was a longer trek to take the grain and the mule was far form strong.

For me, most nights, the voices came; the voices Pa said were only in my head. He gave me quintain boiled in honey to make me sleep but the taste was harsh and cast a dullness over me the following day. But I pretended to drink to keep from causing strife.

And my question grew, filling my brain to bursting point till at last I took my thoughts to Padre Filton in the secrecy of Disclosing Hour. He refused to look me in the eye and talked of devils and temptations. Then he broke the holy pact and betrayed the questions to my Pa. And Pa bound my mouth with garlic cloth and he beat me till my skin was bruised and split and he snatched back the keys till I could walk again.

And with the keys in Pa's hands, I found that I slept quiet, nights. I heard no sounds, quested not for dimly recognised voices, but only slept soft sleep.

When I was fit again, he gave me back my guardianship of the keys and the first night I slept upon their bulk, I heard scratchings at my wooden shutters and the moaning of what might have been the wind. Aft first light on going to the running spring to cleanse my chamber pot, I walked the long way round, past my chamber window and saw score marks bit deep into the ebony-wood shutters.

I felt the chill of night come on me despite the warming of the sun. But I kept my counsel and Pa had replaced the wood by noon. That night I kept the dog inside my room, putting him at the foot of my bed. And though I heard a lone voice keening and crying out my name, the dog, he didn't stir.

The weeks turned and I learned to sleep with stopping in my ears. May and the bairns cast off their childhood with frightening speed and Pa rarely spoke outside the meeting houseand took to reading sermon books. But I would not go to meetings any more and Pa ignored my backsliding. As long as I did my work and kept safety on my mind, he seemed satisfied.

Then Widow Range took sick. She and her daughter lived a scant two fields away from us and Tildy asked my help to nurse her and Pa said I was to go. So I gave him back the keys and went to sit with Tildy. But like my Ma, the widow sank fast and died swift as the sun did sink. Tildy begged for me to go to church with her and stand vigil till the morn and I went with her and Padre Filton into the church as night fell upon us. That long night passed in dull-dead numbing coldness. I heard no outside sounds, no moans, no skirl of wind but only the praying Padre thanking his god for the ironwood and ironstone that kept us safe from harm.

We buried Widow Range, like Ma, soon as we could when the sun had risen above the mountains. Me and Tildy did the digging but it took all three of us to drag the heaven holding stone across the grave. Padre wore his leather gauntlets, but me and Tildy had to do without, and sore rough bleeding work it was. But still he the full toll into his strong-gloved hands when the burial was done.

He then took us in his wagon and dropped us to our homes as he went on his praying rounds. And that night with the keys once again beneath my head, I heard voices calling in the dark and the loudest one sounded like Widow Range.

I took care to go to the Meeting with Pa and the bairns the next meeting morn but left the serive before time, pleading my bowels. I walked then to Widow Range's grave and saw her capping stone was out of line. I'd helped lay it and knew full well it was not the same.

And now, tonight, I sit and wait the voices. My shutters are opened wide, my bedroom door unlocked, my binding keys thrown deep within the spring. The house is open to what may come and I am also ready. I will heed this call. I will leave the confines of my father's house and join that which waits outside.

As I go, I call to the bairns, my sisters, to come and join the free...

Hansel and Gretel
Not the Originals
By the Brothers Grimm

Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.

Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, "What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?"

"I'll tell you what, husband," answered the woman, "early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them."

"No, wife," said the man, "I will not do that. How can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest? The wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces."

"Oh! you fool," said she, "then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our coffins," and she left him no peace until he consented.

"But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same," said the man.

The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, "Now all is over with us."

"Be quiet, Gretel," said Hansel, "do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us." And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside.

The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel, "Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us," and he lay down again in his bed.

When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying, "Get up, you sluggards. We are going into the forest to fetch wood." She gave each a little piece of bread, and said, "There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else."

Gretel took the bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the way to the forest.

When they had walked a short time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again. His father said, "Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs."

"Ah, father," said Hansel, "I am looking at my little white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me."

The wife said, "Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is shining on the chimneys."

Hansel, however, had not been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.

When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, "Now, children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be cold."

Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very high, the woman said, "Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away."

Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.

When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said, "How are we to get out of the forest now?"

But Hansel comforted her and said, "Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find the way." And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.

They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to their father's house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said, "You naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest? We thought you were never coming back at all."

The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.

Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father, "Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. There is no other means of saving ourselves."

The man's heart was heavy, and he thought, "It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your children." The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says a must say be, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time also.

The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation. When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little sister, and said, "Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God will help us."

Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.

"Hansel, why do you stop and look round?" Said the father. "Go on."

"I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me, answered Hansel.

"Fool." Said the woman, "That is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the chimney."

Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before.

Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, "Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little. We are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away."

When it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to the poor children.

They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, "Just wait, Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again."

When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to Gretel, "We shall soon find the way."

But they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.

It was now three mornings since they had left their father's house. They began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. And when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.

"We will set to work on that," said Hansel, "and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window, it will taste sweet."

Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes.
Then a soft voice cried from the parlor -
"Nibble, nibble, gnaw
who is nibbling at my little house?"
The children answered -
"The wind, the wind,
the heaven-born wind,"
and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.

Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands.

The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, "Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you."

She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.

The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly, "I have them, they shall not escape me again."

Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself, that will be a dainty mouthful.

Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, "Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him."

Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded. And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, "Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon be fat."

Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel's finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him.

When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.

"Now, then, Gretel," she cried to the girl, "stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook him."

Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks. "Dear God, do help us," she cried. "If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together."

"Just keep your noise to yourself," said the old woman, "it won't help you at all."

Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with the water, and light the fire.

"We will bake first," said the old woman, "I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough." She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. "Creep in," said the witch, "and see if it properly heated, so that we can put the bread in." And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.

But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said, "I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?"

"Silly goose," said the old woman, "the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself." And she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.

Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh. Then she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death. Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, "Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead."

Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch's house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.

"These are far better than pebbles." Said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in.

And Gretel said, "I, too, will take something home with me," and filled her pinafore full.

"But now we must be off," said Hansel, "that we may get out of the witch's forest."

When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water

"We cannot cross," said Hansel, "I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.

"And there is also no ferry," answered Gretel, "but a white duck is swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over."
Then she cried -
"Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee.
There's never a plank, or bridge in sight
take us across on thy back so white."

The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him.

"No," replied Gretel, "that will be too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the other."

The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father's house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves round their father's neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness...

Adventures of Professor Von Borgengruft
by Tom Lipscombe

Professer Von Borgengruft travels the world and sends back emails telling of his adventures in the wild. Enjoy and learn with these jungle tales!



Gorilla from Gabon

In the midst of tropical vegetation, the Simiae, or Monkey and Ape tribes, lead a free forest life, for which they might be well envied. The green canopy of the woods protects them at every season from the burning rays of a vertical sun, flowers of the most delicate fragrance embalm the air they breathe, and an endless supply of fruit and nuts never allows them to know want, for should the stores near at hand be exhausted, an easy migration to some other district soon restores them to abundance.

With an agility far surpassing that with which the sailor ascends the rigging, and climbs even to the giddy top of the highest mast, they leap from bush- rope to bush-rope, and from bough to bough, mocking the tiger-cat and the boa, which are unable to follow them in their rapid evolutions.

Formed to live on trees, and not upon the ground, they are as excellent climbers as they are bad pedestrians. Both their fore and hind feet are shaped as hands, generally with four fingers and a thumb, so that they can sieze or grasp a bough with all alike.

The Chimpanzee attains a height of about five feet, but seems much smaller from his stooping attitude. He inhabits the dense forests on the west coast of africa, particularly near the river ogooué in Gabonese Republic.

One of the finest specimens ever displayed in captivity was kept in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, where the mild climate, agreeable diet (he drank a pint of Bordeaux daily), and lively society of the French, maintained him in wonderful health and spirits.

However, putting the Chimpanzees aside for the moment; the encounter yesterday with an adult GORILLA; is another story altogether!!

Our Safari was merrily trekking along the jungle path, enjoying the exotic sights, sounds and smells of the dense African rain forest, when, to our surprise, the underbrush suddenly swayed rapidly just ahead, and presently before us stood an immense Male Gorilla!

He had gone through the jungle on his all-fours, but when he saw our party he erected himself, and looked us boldly in the face. He stood about a dozen yards from us, and was a sight I think I shall never forget.

Nearly six feet high with immense body, huge chest, and great muscular arms, with fiercely glaring, large, deep-grey eyes, and a hellish expression of face, which seemed to me like some nightmare vision; thus stood before us the King of the African forest.

He was not afraid of us. He stood there and beat his breast with his huge fists, till it resounded like an immense bass-drum, which is their mode of offering defiance, meantime giving vent to roar after roar.

The roar of the Gorilla is the most singular and awful noise heard in these African woods. It begins with a sharp bark like an angry dog, then glides into a deep bass roll, which literally and closely resembles the roll of distant thunder along the sky.

His eyes began to flash deeper fire as we stood motionless on the defensive, and the crest of short hair which stands on his forehead began to twitch rapidly up and down, while his powerful fangs were shown as he again sent forth a thunderous roar.

For reasons known only to the Gorilla and the Almighty, he suddenly turned around and hastily departed back into the jungle growth, leaving us rather shaken and extremely grateful for the mercies of Providence.



Lion from Gabon

During the daytime the lion seldom attacks man, and sometimes even when meeting a traveler he is said to pass by him unnoticed; but when the shades of evening descend, his mood undergoes a change. After sunset it is dangerous to venture out of camp, for the lion lies in wait.

It is then, that dramatic scenes of absorbing interest not infrequently take place.

One such event, which I am about to relate, took place last night, after we had retired to our respective tents for a well deserved sleep. The frightful experience with the male Gorilla earlier in the day had left most of us rather edgy and sleep doesn't come easy in this humid tropical climate, at the best of times.

After an hour or so, of tossing and turning, I decided to take a little walk around the camp to calm my nerves and overcome this dreadful insomnia.

The pleasant sound of rushing water coming from the mountain spring, a few hundred feet from the camp, made me realise that I was indeed very thirsty for a draught of that cool sparkling water. I looked carefully around the peaceful moonlit scene and listened intently for any strange sounds before venturing cautiously towards the brook.

Having assured myself that 'all was well', and kneeling beside the stream, I began to drink the sweet cold water with cupped hands. A small herd of Wildebeasts were also watering a little further downstream......an idyllic African scene, to be sure!

However, my enjoyment was cut short in an instant, when I spied out of the corner of my eye an ominous sight......Less than twenty yards from me, crouched in the low shrubbery and ready to spring, was a huge lion.

Terrified at the unexpected sight of such a beast, that seemed to have it's eyes fixed on me, I instantly took to my heels. In doing so, I had the presence of mind enough to run through the herd of Wildebeasts, concluding that if the lion should pursue, he would take up with the first beast that presented itself.

In this, however, I was mistaken. The lion broke through the herd, making directly after yours truly, who after turning around and perceiving that the monster had singled him out, breathless and half dead with fear, scrambled up one of the nearby trees. At the same moment the lion made a spring , but missing his aim, fell upon the ground.

In surly silence he walked around the tree, casting at times a dreadful look towards your poor old Professor, who screened himself from his sight behind the branches. Having remained silent and motionless for a length of time, I ventured to peep, hoping that the lion had taken his departure, when to my great terror and astonishment, my eyes met those of the animal, which flashed fire at me.

In short, the lion laid himself down at the foot of the tree, and did not remove from the place for twenty-four hours. At the end of this time, becoming parched with thirst, he went back to the spring in order to drink.

With trepidation, I ventured to descend, and scampered off back to camp as fast as my feet would carry me.

My hands are still shaking as I type these words on my trusty laptop computer.

After so many Safaris into the heart of darkest Africa, this old trekker should have known better, than to leave camp after nightfall.

And, it is a well known fact, that if a traveler encounters a lion by daylight, he turns tail and sneaks out of sight like a scared greyhound. All the talk about his majestic roar is sheer twaddle. It takes a keen ear to distinguish the voice of the lion from that of the silly Ostrich.

When the lion grows old, he leads a miserable life. Unable to master the larger game, he prowls about the villages in hopes to pick up a stray goat. When the natives hear one prowling about the villages, they say: "His teeth are worn out; he will soon kill men", and thereupon turn out and put an end to him.

This is the only foundation for the common belief that when the lion has once tasted human flesh he will eat nothing else. When an aged lion lives far from human habitation so that he cannot get goats or children, he is often reduced to such straits as to be obliged to make his meals of mice and such small prey.

Upon the whole, in the dark, or at all hours when breeding, the lion is an ugly enough customer; but if a man will stay home by night, and not go out of his way to attack him, he runs less risk in Africa of being devoured by a lion, than he does in New York City of being run over by a skateboard...

Gorilla From Gabon" and "Lion from Gabon"
Copyright © 1999 by Tom Lipscombe,
All Rights Reserved.