The Major took an axe and a length of cord. He handed me a billy-can,
two cups and some coffee. He selected a double .303 from his battery. I
took the only rifle I possessed, namely, a single Martini Metford.
Without more ado we set off to cover the ten miles back to Makululumi.
There was no path, of course, merely the overgrown waggon track through
the forest. The traffic on that road was insufficient to cope with the
suckers which had sprung up round the stump of every tree felled in the
cutting of this so-called road. The men who originally made the road had
not troubled to stump it. The going was tiresome, and, lightly loaded as
I was, I soon found the little I had to carry an increasing burden to
me.
About a mile from our destination we met the rest of our natives driving
the cattle along. We stopped for a few minutes to question them. They
had kept the vultures off the fourth ox, which was still intact, but
the birds had eaten up the other three almost entirely. A bushman had
arrived shortly before they came away, attracted by the circling
vultures. They made him stand guard over the yet untouched ox in case we
came back for the lion.
All this was satisfactory, so, telling the boys to inspan the waggons
when they reached them, and make as long a trek as they could through
the heavy sand, we pushed on.
We had no difficulty in finding the spot where the oxen had been killed.
Hundreds of vultures, gorged with meat, sat on the upper branches of a
clump of trees. A little further on an unusually tall bushman stood up
as we approached.
The Major examined the lie of the land with an experienced eye, and
quickly made his plans.
The Makululumi water holes are really a series of pools strung out along
the otherwise dry bed of a small river. Of three of the slaughtered oxen
little remained but the bones and hide; they had been killed in the bed
of the river. The fourth lay on the far bank, where the river made a
very sharp hairpin bend and narrowed to not more than a dozen feet.
The Major selected a point as near as possible to the bank and
immediately opposite the dead ox. He didn't waste much time in
explanation, but, taking the axe, told me to follow him. The sun was
just beginning to set. He hurried to the nearest clump of small trees
and felled them rapidly, trimming off the branches and cutting them into
poles about six feet long.
My part of the work was to carry the poles to the hairpin bend. Twenty
in all were cut, varying in thickness from two to five inches in
diameter. Then we built our moral support, for it was no more. I held
the tops of three poles while the Major tied them together with the
piece of cord which he had brought from the waggon. Then, standing them
on end, he spread them to form a tripod. This he reinforced with
additional poles, which he made fast with strips of bark. The finished
shelter looked like a skeleton bell-tent. It had neither strength nor
stability, for we had no time to sink the ends of the poles in the
sun-baked ground.
By that time the sun had set, and the bushman, who had been watching us
silently all this time, said something in that strange clicking language
of his and hurried off, presumably to a place of safety.
The Major thought a meal would do us good, and, going back along the
river until we came to a dry place where the banks were high, he lit a
fire. At the sight of a blaze I realised that I was cold. We did not
think of our coats in the heat of the midday sun. However, there was
nothing for it but to see the matter through.
I felt quite comfortable after some bully-beef and bread, washed down
with two or three cups of hot coffee.
At eight o'clock we returned to our fort as quietly as possible,
surprising on the way a hyena in the act of dragging off the hide of one
of the oxen. We had to crawl very carefully into our shelter for fear of
disturbing a pole and bringing the whole thing down about our ears.
Once inside, I had ample time for reflection. We sat within three yards
of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. A
yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a
hundred yards, the grass had been burnt short; beyond that again was
long grass and thick bush.
The moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five
hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and
the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. The ox, much
distended by a day's exposure to the blazing African sun, was too near
to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the
landscape on the other side of the river. We could distinctly hear the
hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the scraps
of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures.
We sat facing the ox. The Major thought that if the lions came at all it
would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open
country for a considerable distance.
Strangely enough, I felt extremely sleepy. We held a short whispered
consultation, and it was agreed that I should sleep while I could. The
Major promised to wake me if things became interesting. He wasn't
sleepy.
I lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my
feet another. I slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the
hardness of the ground. Not only was the air at night cold by contrast
with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the
temperature.
The sound of my companion's rifle woke me. Sitting up, I saw a lion in
the air, descending upon us. The Major fired again, and the lion fell
into the water-course, literally at our feet. I could see his rump and
tail quite plainly. His rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. His
bellowing must have been heard for miles around, and doubtless many a
bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it.
I remember shouting at the top of my voice: "I can see his rump. Shall I
shoot?"
The reply, I must admit, disconcerted me: "Rump's the wrong end, but if
he shows his head shoot it off."
I watched the struggling beast so intently that I did not see that a
second lion had approached. He made his presence known to me by a roar
which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. He
was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. The Major fired and
the lion sprang forward. The noise was deafening. A chorus of two
wounded lions is something not often heard.
I now watched the second lion. He dashed off towards the bush, changed
his mind and charged us. He came in great leaps, roaring as he came,
then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of
dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. All I could see was
his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now
enveloped both the lion and the dead ox.
Again a steadying warning: "Don't shoot until you can see more of him
than that."
As the Major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the
bush, grunting savagely as he went.
"Here he comes again!" And so he did, bounding along as before and
bellowing so that I wondered whether our home of poles could stand the
vibration of sound.
Again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the
bush. We heard him crashing through it until there was silence once
more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life.
I must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. My heart thumped
like a sledge hammer. I longed to get out and stretch my legs. A great
deal of action had been compressed into a short space of time, probably
not more than ten minutes. To the Major's suggestion that we should have
a look at the dead fellow I responded with alacrity--too much
alacrity--my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came
crashing down upon his head.
After extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood
looking at the lion. I followed him.
I don't know why I did it--some sudden impulse for which I cannot
account--but I stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two
hands, looked into his eyes.
I certainly heard the Major talking, and I distinctly heard what he
said.
"What the devil are you doing, you damned young fool? Drop that head and
come away. How do you know he's dead?"
I took no notice. I couldn't. I was terrified, hypnotised. I could do
nothing but stare and stare.
No doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. It was
dying, not dead. It was a blazing, vivid, blinding light--as it were,
the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty
body.
When at length I let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; I stood
shivering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something
not meant for him to see.