“And it has saved our lives,” I ejaculated. “The hand of Providence is in it, Sir. We were helpless, and it has saved us by a miracle, for the lion is half-crushed and will be dead shortly, while I can hear Thompson, moaning, not as if in any greater pain than the lion’s teeth must have occasioned. Come in, Sir, and aid me to look.”
Mr Ferguson instantly sprang down, when I with my clasp-knife soon despatched the now powerless and fainting lion; then we groped about for Jack. We quickly discovered him, and found it was the second narrow escape from death that he had had in the last hour, for the rock was scarcely an inch from his head. Drawing him away we bound up his shoulder as well as we could with our handkerchiefs. When this was done and he had recovered consciousness I said—
“I have been thinking, Mr Ferguson, that the unpleasant visit we have had to-night may be repeated. So what do you say to trying to get down to the edge of the sea? The wild animals will hardly come there.”
“You are right, Galbraith; but I doubt if poor Thompson could manage it.”
“Yes, Sir, I think I can,” he answered. “I’m precious weak and faint, sartinly; that beggar’s teeth were rather large skewers and nearly did for me, so I would sooner try to walk to where we shall be safe than risk such another rough style of trussing.”
This being agreed upon, Mr Ferguson and I lent our aid to get Jack over the rock, from whence we began to make our way to the shore. Once the poor fellow fainted, and I thought we should have to stop where we were, but he managed to proceed after a while, and on reaching the sea was much refreshed by having his wounds bathed in the water. After which, as neither of us felt inclined to sleep, we sat down to wait for dawn, though what fresh perils it might bring us was a question we did not care to contemplate.
We had been lying on the beach for, I should imagine, nearly two hours, in silence watching the ocean alight in the trough of every wave with brilliant flashing phosphorescence and silver moonlight, and thinking of our terrible position, when Mr Ferguson, who had remained so motionless that I had believed him to be asleep, and naturally after his two nights’ fatigue, spoke—
“Galbraith,” he said, “I have been reflecting that our wisest plan after all will be to make across the country, for, unarmed as we are, we are like to find the animals about here as dangerous as the natives, who possibly might be friendly and hospitable should we fall in with them.”
I hadn’t much trust in the latter hope, for I had heard many travellers’ tales respecting the Kaffirs, but I answered—
“You know best, Sir; and I think you are right.”