Hunting the Lions

by R. M. Ballantyne

“Something there,” muttered Hicks, leaping up and seizing his gun.

The major, Tom Brown, Wilkins, Pearson, and the others were immediately on their feet and wide awake. There was just light enough to distinguish objects dimly when close at hand; but the surrounding woods resembled a wall of impenetrable darkness. Close to the wagon in which our hero lay the natives had erected a temporary hut of grass, about six feet high. On the top of this he saw a dark form, which, by the sound of his voice, he recognised to be that of a native named Jumbo, who was more noted for good nature and drollery than for courage. He was shouting lustily for a percussion-cap. Tom sprang on the top of the hut and supplied him with several caps, at the same time exclaiming:—

“Hallo! Jumbo, don’t make such a row. You’ll scare everything away.”

“Ho! Me wish um could,” said Jumbo, his teeth chattering in his head with fear as he listened to the dying groans of a poor ox, and heard the lions growling and roaring beside him. They were not more than fourteen yards off, but so dark was the night that they could not be seen. The ox, however, which was a black one, was faintly distinguishable; Tom Brown therefore aimed, as near as he could guess, about a foot above him and fired. No result followed. He had evidently missed. While he was re-loading, the major and Wilkins rushed forward and leaped on the hut, exclaiming eagerly, “Where are they? have you hit?” Immediately afterwards, Pearson, Brand, Ogilvie, and Anson rushed up and attempted to clamber on the hut.

“No room here,” cried the major, resisting them, “quite full outside—inside not safe!”

“But there’s no room on the wagon,” pleaded Pearson; “the niggers are clustering on it like monkeys.”

“Can’t help it,” replied the major, “there’s not an inch of—”

Here a tremendous roar interrupted him, and a loud report followed, as Jumbo and Wilkins, having caught sight of “something” near the carcass, fired simultaneously. Pearson and his companions in trouble vanished like smoke, while the major, failing to see anything, fired in the direction of the lions on chance. Tom also fired at what he felt convinced was the head of a lioness. Still the animals appeared to be unhurt and indifferent! The sportsmen were busy loading when Tom became aware, for one instant, that something was moving in the air. Next moment he was knocked backwards off the hut, head over heels, several times, having been struck full in the chest by a lion’s head. Half inclined to believe that he was killed he scrambled to his feet, still holding fast to his gun, however, like a true hunter, and rushed towards the wagon, where he found all the Caffres who could not get inside sticking on the outside, as Pearson had said, like monkeys. There was literally no room for more, but Tom cared not for that. He seized legs, arms, and hair indiscriminately, and in another moment was on the top of the living mass. He had leaped very smartly to this point of vantage, nevertheless he found Jumbo there before him, chattering worse than ever! The major and and Wilkins came up breathless next moment, clambered halfway up, slipped, and fell to the ground with a united roar; but making a second attempt, they succeeded in getting up. Wilkins at once presented in the direction of the lions and again fired. Whether any of them fell is a matter of dispute, but certain it is that Wilkins fell, for the recoil of the gun knocked him back, his footing being insecure, and he went down on the top of a tent which had been pitched on the other side of the wagon, and broke the pole of it. After this several more shots were fired, apparently without success. While they were reloading a lion leaped on a goat, which was tethered to the grass-hut, and carried it away before any one could fire. Not daring to descend from their places of security, there the whole party sat in the cold during the remainder of that night, listening to the growling of the lions as they feasted on their prey. It was not till grey dawn appeared that the enemy beat a retreat, and allowed the shivering travellers to get once more between the blankets. They had not lain long, however, when a double shot aroused them all, and they rushed out to find that Mafuta had killed a lioness! She was a splendid creature, and had succumbed to a bullet sent through her ribs. It was found on examination that another ball had hit her just behind the head, and travelling along the spine, had stuck near the root of the tail.

“Me no hab fire at head,” said Mafuta, with a disappointed look. “Me hit him in ribs wid wan bar’l, an’ miss him wid tother.”

“What is that you say?” cried Tom Brown examining the bullet-hole; “ha! I claim that lioness, because I fired at her head last night, and there you have the bullet-hole.”