Mavovo, who had the courage of a buffalo, charged at it and drove the copper spear he carried into its side.  They all charged like berserkers, except myself, for even then, thank Heaven!  I knew a trick worth two of that.  In three seconds there was a struggling mass in the centre of the clearing.  Brother John, Stephen, Mavovo and Hans were all stabbing at the enormous gorilla, for it was a gorilla, although their blows seemed to do it no more harm than pinpricks.  Fortunately for them, for its part, the beast would not let go of Jerry, and having only one sound arm, could but snap at its assailants, for if it had lifted a foot to rend them, its top-heavy bulk would have caused it to tumble over.

At length it seemed to realise this, and hurled Jerry away, knocking down Brother John and Hans with his body.  Then it leapt on Mavovo, who, seeing it come, placed the copper socket of the spear against his own breast, with the result that when the gorilla tried to crush him, the point of the spear was driven into its carcase.  Feeling the pain, it unwound its arm from about Mavovo, knocking Stephen over with the backward sweep.  Then it raised its great hand to crush Mavovo with a blow, as I believe gorillas are wont to do.

This was the chance for which I was waiting.  Up till that moment I had not dared to fire, fearing lest I should kill one of my companions.  Now for an instant it was clear of them all, and steadying myself, I aimed at the huge head and let drive.  The smoke thinned, and through it I saw the gigantic ape standing quite still, like a creature lost in meditation.

Then it threw up its sound arm, turned its fierce eyes to the sky, and uttering one pitiful and hideous howl, sank down dead.  The bullet had entered just behind the ear and buried itself in the brain.

The great silence of the forest flowed in over us, as it were; for quite a while no one did or said anything.  Then from somewhere down amidst the mosses I heard a thin voice, the sound of which reminded me of air being squeezed out of an indiarubber cushion.

“Very good shot, Baas,” it piped up, “as good as that which killed the king-vulture at Dingaan’s kraal, and more difficult.  But if the Baas could pull the god off me I should say—­Thank you.”

The “thank you” was almost inaudible, and no wonder, for poor Hans had fainted.  There he lay under the huge bulk of the gorilla, just his nose and mouth appearing between the brute’s body and its arm.  Had it not been for the soft cushion of wet moss in which he reclined, I think that he would have been crushed flat.

We rolled the creature off him somehow and poured a little brandy down his throat, which had a wonderful effect, for in less than a minute he sat up, grasping like a dying fish, and asked for more.

Leaving Brother John to examine Hans to see if he was really injured, I bethought me of poor Jerry and went to look at him.  One glance was enough.  He was quite dead.  Indeed, he seemed to be crushed out of shape like a buck that has been enveloped in the coils of a boa-constrictor.  Brother John told me afterwards that both his arms and nearly all his ribs had been broken in that terrible embrace.  Even his spine was dislocated.