“She did move, my boy,” answered Lethbridge; “she twitched her head when your bullet struck her, but she had no time for more, for you killed her on the spot, just as she lay. An uncommonly neat shot I call it—for a sailor.”
Mildmay laughed.
“Yes,” he said, “it’s not half bad—for a sailor, as you say, Colonel. We sailors don’t claim to be crack rifle-shots, you know; we leave that for the soldiers. But when it comes to shooting with a nine-point-two, or a twelve-inch gun, I believe there are some of us who could show the red-coats a trick or two.”
These two—Mildmay and Lethbridge—had not wholly escaped the feeling of professional jealousy that even to this day lingers in a more or less modified form between the navy and the army; and if the occasion happened to be peculiarly favourable, they sometimes exchanged a chaffing remark or two at each other’s expense. But the sparring was always perfectly good-natured, and absolutely devoid of all trace of ill-feeling, for, first of all, both were gentlemen in the highest sense of the term; and, in the next place, the friendship that subsisted between them was far too thorough and whole-hearted for either ever willingly to wound, though ever so slightly, the susceptibilities of the other.
It now became necessary again to bring the ship to earth, in order to secure the skins of the lion and lioness; and, the ground being favourable, this was done quite close to the spot where the two carcases lay. A few minutes later the men were once more busily engaged on the task of removing the pelts, both of which were exceedingly valuable of their kind, the animals being exceptionally fine specimens, and in perfect condition. The lion, indeed, was unanimously pronounced to be the finest that any of them had ever seen, being quite a young beast, but full-grown, with a magnificently thick, black mane, and a truly formidable set of perfect teeth and claws. Colonel Sziszkinski was in high feather at having been so fortunate as to secure so splendid a specimen, and expressed a very keen desire to secure the skull as well as the skin, if possible. At this von Schalckenberg remarked that nothing could be easier, provided that Sir Reginald was willing to remain in the neighbourhood of the rocks for the night; for there was a huge ants’ nest close at hand, and all that was necessary was to place the skinned head alongside the nest, and he would guarantee that the insects would clean the skull bare of every vestige of flesh by the following morning. Of course, Sir Reginald, who was the very personification of courtesy, readily agreed to this, and the Flying Fish was berthed for the night on the sand, a mile or two to windward of the rocks—that their slumbers might not be disturbed by the quarrelsome cries of the vultures over the carcases; and when, after breakfast next morning, they returned to ascertain the result of the experiment, it was found to be as the professor had said. The skull was picked so clean of absolutely every particle of flesh that it could safely be stowed away without the least risk of becoming offensive.
Chapter Eleven.
An Elephant and Rhinoceros Duel.
The skull of the lion having been secured, the Flying Fish rose into the air, immediately after breakfast, and an hour was devoted to the thorough examination of the remaining extent of the patch of rocks, to ascertain whether any further specimens of the big carnivora had taken up their abode upon it. But no more were to be found, and the southward journey was therefore resumed at the leisurely speed of about fifteen knots, the noon observation for latitude showing that the ship had entered the tropic of Cancer shortly after eleven o’clock that morning.