Wild beasts

by J. Hampden Porter

It happens, however, that one man, and only one to the writer’s knowledge, the Hon. W. H. Drummond, chanced to see what Gérard has depicted in colors furnished by his own fancy. His narrative of the incident from first to last is much more in accordance with the style of manners taught in the struggle for existence than the former one. One day while watching the motions of some antelopes from the summit of a grassy and rock-strewn ridge, Drummond suddenly became aware that he was not the only hunter interested in the game of that vicinity. A lioness with her whelps crouched among the herbage at a little distance, and so intent were they upon the movements of their expected prey, that he was entirely unnoticed. While awaiting events a band of quaggas passed close to some bushes at the foot of the slope, and then a lion’s form was launched upon the leading stallion, and he fell dead from a blow with the beast’s forearm.

Without any delay the lion proceeded to help himself, his family drawing near, but waiting until his appetite had been stayed. “The sultan of the desert” has a short temper when he is feeding, and on many occasions has been known to eat his wife, either in the way of reproof to her importunity at such times, or because he did not have food enough. It would seem that this lioness suspected something of the kind might occur, for she kept herself and the young ones in the background until his highness had finished, which he, not being particularly hungry, did very soon. When he had walked away and stretched himself out, the rest pressed forward, and the mother treated her offspring with scant curtesy. She pounced upon those parts she preferred, and boxed the little ones, who were struggling for a bite, out of the way whenever they incommoded her.

Thus far in the catalogue of leonine gifts and graces we have not discovered any that are peculiarly their own; on the contrary, when examined closely, those with which lions are accredited turn out to be counterfeits. Gordon Cumming says of the lion, in company with his mate and whelps, that, “at this time he knows no fear,” and in defence of his family “he will face a thousand men.” This is a rhetorical flourish, and yet now when it has become the fashion to call the creature a poltroon, the statement as it stands is better supported by proof than almost any other that has been made concerning its character. If this animal is not brave, nobody is in a position to call it cowardly. All the evidence tends the other way. Taken as it is, looked upon as a brute to whom heroism, sentiment, and high resolve must be as impossible as righteousness, the lion preserves the demeanor of courage better than any other member of the Felidæ.

Moffat, Lichtenstein, Freeman, Rath, Galton, say with W. C. Kerr (“The Far Interior”) that “when a lion is thoroughly hungry there is no limit to his audacity and daring.” Every being must have some incitement to action, and those motives which are most powerful with lions appear to be anger and appetite.

Postponing for the moment his relations with mankind, let us see what kinds of game the lion is accustomed to prey upon. No coercion can be exercised in this direction. Actual starvation might take away liberty of choice, but, as a rule, it must be admitted that a selection of this kind is significant of the opinion which an animal has of its own powers, as it also is of its boldness. The giraffe, which lions occasionally kill, is entirely defenceless: so with elands and all antelopes. This is likewise the case with those domestic animals which are devoured. It has been said that the elephant is sometimes attacked, but this is one of those stories which only display the ignorance of those who propagate them. The black and white rhinoceros is never assailed, although Delgorgue actually refers to the latter, a beast second only to the elephant in size and most formidably armed, as if it were commonly destroyed. “Maintes fois trouvai-je des rhinocéros de la plus haute taille, que ni leur poids, ni leur force, ni leur fureur, n’avaient pu préserver de la mort.” If anything were needed to set off this pleasant statement, it could be found in Delgorgue’s roundly declared opinion that lions are all “abject cowards.”

But in Africa the lion constantly preys upon the buffalo, and without going so far as Andersson in saying that he principally lives on this species, the fact that it is continually killed is beyond question. Many famous hunters suppose that an African buffalo is the most dangerous creature to be found on the “Dark Continent.” It is of immense size and strength, active, brave, and fierce.

No account is known to the writer of a single lion that was seen to slay a full-grown buffalo, and several authorities doubt whether this be possible. The latter have, however, often been shot while bearing the scars of combats with one or more lions. According to the evidence as it exists, the case stands in this way. One lion may attack a buffalo, it is impossible to say whether he will or not; two of them certainly do so, and the battles that ensue are of the most desperate description. It is known, also, that these conflicts do not always end in favor of the assailants.

“The lion kills only for food,” says Major Leveson, meaning that in mature life he does not commit useless murders, or show the same love of blood for its own sake as some other members of his family. Without doubt, this animal is not sanguinary when compared with a panther or puma, but it is quite as likely that he is restrained from unnecessary carnage by economic views, as by any sentiment of generosity or mercy.

A lion when surprised does not usually dash away incontinently; if his retreat is not interfered with, and he has learned that firearms are more effective than his own weapons of offence, he falls back slowly. When so placed that they cannot escape, some lions die like curs, but the majority of accounts represent them as perishing gallantly. Such is the case also when for any reason the creature has resolved to fight. Then it seems to make no difference to him how many foes he encounters. Numerous narratives very similar in detail have been written by different observers of such scenes. No other wild beast confronts a body of armed men after his manner. That last parade in face of a horde of savages beneath whose assagais he is about to die, is so striking that false inferences from the sight can scarcely be avoided. It is not the “deliberate valor” of Milton we see, nor even heroic despair; it is nothing perhaps with which humanity in its nobler emotions can sympathize; but it looks as if it were, and men have yielded to their feelings and believed that it was. “Life,” says Professor Robinson, “has but one end for a lion—enjoyment. He is incapable of forgetting that he is only a huge cat, or flying in the face of nature by pretending to be anything else.... He makes no claim to invincible courage; on the contrary, he prefers, as a rule, to enjoy life rather than to die heroically. But when death is inevitable, he is always heroic, or even when danger presses him too closely ... a lion in the shadow of death remains a lion still.”

All things being equal, lions conduct themselves towards mankind according to the suggestions of the time being and their previous experiences. One that had just eaten an antelope might pass by a man; another might kill him. The former, by all accounts, is the more likely to occur, and it is said that Bushmen and other natives can tell by the voice whether he is full or fasting; and in the first case have no fear that he will become aggressive without provocation. When forbearance is not a matter of repletion, it is no doubt, in some measure, the result of sloth. A lion never does anything he can avoid doing.