The only thing of which we really stood in need, was something to eat. We had not a morsel of either biscuit or meat, and we had both become as hungry as hawks. There was not the slightest prospect of a supper, and we should have to go with empty stomachs until we could reach the barque—perhaps not before noon of the following day.
We had grown so hungry that my companion now wished he had brought along with him a piece of the lion’s flesh, declaring he could have eaten a collop of it well enough. We had still with us the skin, but that was too tough for us, hungry as we were.
We sat down near the spring, and began to consider what preparations we should make for passing the night. We thought it would be best to gather a quantity of sticks and make a roaring fire—not that we were afraid of the cold, for there was no such thing as cold. On the contrary, although it was near sundown, the air was still quite hot and sultry. Our object in talking about a fire was, in order to frighten off any wild beasts that might approach our sleeping-place during the night.
While we talked we grew hungrier, and at length our stomachs became so craving that we could almost have eaten the grass! Fortune, however, proved kind to us, and saved us from becoming grass-eaters. Just as we were wondering what we could find to eat, we chanced to see a large bird stepping out of some trees into the open ground. It did not see us, for it was every moment coming nearer. It appeared to be browsing upon the grass, as it moved along; and thus busy seeking its own food, took no notice of anything else.
Ben had reloaded the “Queen Anne,” after killing the lion. The ramrod had been crooked badly, but we had managed to get it straight again, so that it would serve; and in order to be prepared for anything, a fresh load had been rammed into the barrel.
Seeing the great bird coming so near, we quietly lay down, so as to hide our bodies in the grass—while Ben placed himself behind a small bush, through which he protruded the long barrel of the musket.
It seemed as if Providence had sent the bird for our supper; for the foolish creature walked straight on, until it was hardly a dozen yards from the muzzle of the “Queen Anne.” Just then Ben pulled the trigger; and, notwithstanding the smallness of the shot, the great bustard—for it proved to be a bustard—was rolled over on the grass, as dead as a nail in a door. So said Ben as he picked it up, and brought it into our camp.
We now set to work upon the bird; and, after plucking, and cleaning it, we kindled a fire, and placed it in the blaze to roast. We might not have cooked it in the most elegant manner, and perhaps it was a little smoked; but if so, we did not notice this while eating it, for we both ate heartily, and thought it the most delicious morsel we had ever tasted. Certainly after the salt meat, to which we had been so long accustomed, a fresh bustard—which is one of the richest flavoured of game birds—could not be otherwise than a delicacy; and so much did we relish it, that before going to sleep we made a fresh onset upon the bird, and very nearly finished it, large as it was.
We washed the supper down with a drink of cool water from the crystal spring; and then we began to consider where we should stretch our bodies for the night.