It was a very cold day. We crossed the river, and at once took up the fresh spoor of a troop of bull elephants. These bulls unfortunately joined a troop of cows, and the bulls were off in a moment, before we could even see them. One remarkably fine old cow charged the dogs. I hunted this cow and finished her with two shots from the saddle. Being anxious to return to my people before night, I did not attempt to follow the troop.
My followers were not a little gratified to see me returning, for terror had taken hold of their minds, and they expected that the lion would return, and, emboldened by the success of the preceding night, would prove still more daring in his attack. The lion would most certainly have returned, but fate had otherwise ordained. My health had been better in the last three days: my fever was leaving me, but I was, of course, still very weak. It would still be two hours before the sun would set, and feeling refreshed by a little rest, and able for further work, I ordered the steeds to be saddled, and went in search of the lion.
I took John and Carey as after-riders, armed, and a party of the natives followed up the spoor and led the dogs. The lion had dragged the remains of poor Hendrick along a native footpath that led up the river's side. We found fragments of his coat all along the spoor, and at last the mangled coat itself. About six hundred yards from our camp a dry river's course joined the Limpopo. At this spot was much cover, and heaps of dry reeds and trees deposited by the Limpopo in some great flood. The lion had left the footpath and entered this secluded spot. I at once felt convinced that we were upon him, and ordered the natives to make loose the dogs. These walked suspiciously forward on the spoor, and next minute began to spring about, barking angrily, with all their hair bristling on their backs: a crash upon the dry reeds immediately followed—it was the lion bounding away.
Several of the dogs were extremely afraid of him, and kept rushing continually backwards springing aloft to obtain a view. I now pressed forward and urged them on; old Argyll and Bles took up his spoor in gallant style and led on the other dogs. Then commenced a short but lively and glorious chase, whose conclusion was the only small satisfaction that I could obtain to answer for the horrors of the preceding evening. The lion held up the river's bank for a short distance and took away through some wait-a-bit thorn cover, the best he could find, but nevertheless open. Here, in two minutes, the dogs were up with him, and he turned and stood at bay. As I approached, he stood, his horrid head right to me, with open jaws growling fiercely, his tail waving from side to side.
On beholding him my blood boiled with rage. I wished that I could take him alive and torture him, and setting my teeth, I dashed my steed forward within thirty yards of him and shouted, "Your time is up, old fellow." I halted my horse, and, placing my rifle to my shoulder, I waited for a broadside. This, the next moment, he exposed, when I sent a bullet through his shoulder and dropped him on the spot. He rose, however, again, when I finished him with a second in the breast. The Bakalahari now came up with wonder and delight. I ordered John to cut off his head and forepaws and bring them to the wagons, and mounting my horse I galloped home, having been absent about fifteen minutes. When the Bakalahari women heard that the man-eater was dead, they all commenced dancing about with joy, calling me their father.
Thrilling Adventures of Mr. Butler.
The early history of Kentucky is one continued series of daring and romantic adventures. Had the founder of that state lived in the days of chivalric yore, his exploits would have been sung in connection with those of Arthur and Orlando; and his followers, in the same region, would certainly have been knights of the Round Table.
The hero of our story was one of these. Those who desire to inspect his adventure, by the light of romance, will not be displeased at learning that his choice of a hunter's life was determined by a disappointment in the object of his early love.
He was then only nineteen, yet he fearlessly left his native state, and sought, amid the uncultivated wilds of Kentucky, the stirring enjoyment of a western hunter. After rendering valuable service to the Virginia colony, as a spy and pioneer, he undertook a voyage of discovery to the country north of the Ohio. It was while thus engaged that he was taken prisoner by the Indians.
He was, no doubt, known to the Indians as an active and dangerous enemy; and they now prepared to avenge themselves upon him. They condemned him to the fiery torture, painted his body black, and marched him toward Chilicothe. By way of amusement on the road, he was manacled hand and foot, tied to an unbridled and unbroken horse, and driven off amid the shouts and whoops of the savages; poor Butler thus played the part of an American Mazeppa. The horse, unable to shake him off galloped with terrific speed toward the wood, jarring and bruising the rider at every step; but at length, exhausted and subdued, it returned to camp with its burden, amid the exulting shouts of the savages. When within a mile of Chilicothe, they took Butler from the horse, and tied him to a stake, where, for twenty-four hours, he remained in one position. He was then untied to run the gauntlet. Six hundred Indians, men, women, and children, armed with clubs and switches, arranged themselves in two parallel lines, to strike him as he passed. It was a mile to the council-house, which if he reached, he was to be spared. A blow started him on this encouraging race; but he soon broke through the files and had almost reached the council-house, when he was brought to the ground by a club. In this position he was severely beaten and again taken into custody.