The return march was not so hurried as the pursuit, and it was the
afternoon of the fifth day after their departure when the little party
arrived at the farm. Mr. Halliday was surprised that none of the
Wakamba had come to meet him, thinking that they must have descried him
from afar; and still more surprised when, on entering the enclosure, he
could not see any of his people. Surely they had not all deserted!
Passing through the second boma, however, he heard a howl, and
immediately afterwards the natives came rushing pell-mell towards him
out of their grass huts, Wasama and Lulu, Juma's wife, leading the way.
They crowded about him, all shouting together, and making such a din
that Coja himself could not at once distinguish what they were saying.
But when Mr. Halliday had sternly called for order, Coja made out that
the people were in a terrible state of fright, because a cow had been
carried away during the night without a sound.
They declared that the robber must be the devil whom Mr. Halliday had
professed to slay.
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Halliday. "It must have been a lion."
But no--Wasama declared it could not have been a lion, for he had not
heard a lion's roar, and there was no breach in the outer boma: only a
devil could have passed through it without forcing a gap.
When Mr. Halliday set Coja to question the man, however, he learnt that
neither he nor any other of the natives had stirred outside the inner
enclosure that day, so that they were hardly in a position to know
whether the boma had been broken or not. An examination of it soon
revealed a gap in the western side, and bits of tawny hide were sticking
to the thorns. Mr. Halliday insisted on Wasama following up the tracks
which even his inexperienced eye discovered, and within a quarter of a
mile he came upon some bones and a few remnants of a carcase, from which
a couple of vultures flew away. Wasama, however, persisted in his
assertion that the track was not that of a lion, and the others backing
him up, Mr. Halliday sent John and Coja to the wood to fetch the
Wanderobbo, determined to clear up the point before dark.
The Wanderobbo came bringing a small gourd of wild honey which he
offered to Mr. Halliday. The little man threw one glance on the
blood-bespattered ground, and then said that the tracks were undoubtedly
those of two lions, which would probably return to the spot during the
coming night.
"Then we'll stay and wait for them, John," said Mr. Halliday. "We
mustn't be molested in this way, and the sooner we teach the beasts a
lesson, the better."
But the Wanderobbo, when this was explained to him, earnestly advised
the white men not to do anything of the sort. There was no tree at
hand, he pointed out, in which the hunters could rest and watch for the
lions, and they, having far keener sight than men, would merely stalk
them. In the darkness they could not even see to shoot. He said that
they had better return to the settlement and watch inside the boma; and
since darkness would soon fall, he begged to be taken in for the night,
to which Mr. Halliday readily agreed.
Neither of the Englishmen slept that night. They sat at their tent
door, with their rifles within reach, listening to the distant roaring,
and awaiting with a nervous impatience the onset of the terrible beasts.
The roars drew nearer, then ceased. The men clutched their rifles, and
stole into the outer enclosure, where the sheep were huddled together in
terror. They waited for several hours, peering into the darkness, but
neither saw nor heard any more of the marauders, though when they went
out with the Wanderobbo in the morning, they traced the spoor of lions
within a few yards of the boma.
This experience was repeated for several nights following. To lessen
their fatigue, Mr. Halliday and John took turns to watch, but though
each night they heard the roars, there was no attempt to break in.
Thinking that the fires, which were kept burning all night, were proving
effectual in scaring the beasts, both father and son decided one day to
go to sleep as usual. But in the middle of the night they were startled
by a yell. Springing up, they seized their rifles, and rushed out of
the tent in their pyjamas. There was a great commotion among the
animals in the outer enclosure, and dashing through them, Mr. Halliday
saw that a gap had been broken in the boma no more than three yards from
one of the fires. The man whose turn it was to replenish it with fuel,
and whose yell had awakened the white men, said that a lion had sprung
through without warning and carried off a sheep. It was useless to
attempt to pursue the robber in the dark, and Mr. Halliday could only
swallow his vexation and return to his interrupted sleep.
Nothing disturbed the work of the settlement during the daytime. The
Indian carpenters were making good progress with the bungalow and the
other sheds which Mr. Halliday had decided to erect on the north side,
nearest the river. The soil outside the boma was being slowly prepared
for crops, and finding after a few days that his Wakamba porters were
but indifferent labourers, Mr. Halliday dismissed them, resolving to
rely upon the people of the neighbouring villages for such farm labour
as he required. He intended to bring only a small area under
cultivation at first, for the purpose of growing enough grain and
vegetables for his own consumption. Difficulties of transit would
prevent him from dealing in farm produce; the work of driving his cattle
by and by over a hundred miles to market would no doubt prove arduous
enough.
But though the days were thus placid, the nights became a horror. If a
watch was kept, the peace of the encampment was undisturbed except by
the remote and harmless roars; but as soon as the weary Englishmen
determined to enjoy a full night's rest, the thorn fence would be broken
at some new spot, and when the sheep and cattle were numbered in the
morning it was found that one or more was missing. The natives became
scared, and as for Mr. Halliday, he declared it was positively uncanny.
"One would think the beasts have the gift of second sight," he said. "I
don't wonder our village friends kept their cattle off these grounds and
believed in Gilmour's devil."
The only incident that relieved the tension and afforded a little
amusement was the discovery one morning that the lion in his haste had
snatched up a bag of rice, which was found at some little distance, the
grains scattered about as though the thief had lost his temper when he
became aware of the mistake.
It was fortunate indeed for the little community that the lions were
apparently not man-eaters. A lion that has once tasted man thenceforth
scorns lesser fare, and Coja told his employers harrowing stories of the
reign of terror under which the coolies who had been engaged in laying
the Uganda railway had lived. Night after night the terrible beasts had
crept into the native encampments and stolen forth in dead silence with
their hapless prey, ceasing their depredations for months at a time, but
returning when the men were lulled to security, and beginning their
havoc over again. Mr. Halliday had heard of this from Mr. Gillespie in
Nairobi; but the story told now by one who had actually lived in the
camps thus visited at night, and punctuated by the roaring of lions at a
distance, made a much more powerful and harrowing impression. At any
moment the lions might become man-eaters. They had only to stumble upon
a native in their nocturnal raids and then the life of no man would be
safe.
More than once Mr. Halliday set off in the daytime with John and the
Wanderobbo, who was now a frequent visitor to the farm, to track the
lions and if possible hunt them down. They found that the spoor led
into the dense scrub higher up the river, a region ten or twelve miles
in length and nearly as much in breadth. So thick was the scrub that it
was impossible to trace the beasts for more than a few yards into its
recesses. After what he had heard of the Wanderobbo's skill and prowess
as a hunter, Mr. Halliday was surprised to find how reluctant the little
man was to accompany them in their expeditions. But he had a wholesome
dread of lions. Elephants he was prepared to tackle, and indeed any
other creature of the wilds; though even them he would rather snare than
stalk; but the lion was a much more cunning and dangerous enemy. He
would talk very bravely sometimes, avowing that if he met a lion and
stared at him the beast would slink away; but he showed no readiness to
enter the probable haunts of the creatures, and admitted that they
sometimes took it into their heads to fight instead of running away, and
then they were quite as clever hunters as he was. Mr. Halliday somewhat
impatiently reminded him that rifles were very deadly weapons; but the
Wanderobbo shook his head and said that he had never hunted lions with
rifles. He had seen the Arabs do so, and pay for their temerity with
their lives. On the whole his advice was to leave the lions alone, and
he once confessed very naively that if he, bold hunter as he was, saw a
lion approaching, he would certainly go the other way.
With such half-hearted assistance it was not surprising that many days
passed before the Englishmen so much as caught a glimpse of their
tormentors. However, one morning when they had gone out with the
Wanderobbo and Coja to track the smaller game for food, they descried
two lions stalking slowly across a glade some miles up the river. In
spite of the little man's reluctance Mr. Halliday determined to go in
chase, and then the Wanderobbo, forgetting his fears when his hunting
instincts were aroused, suggested that they should tempt the lions to
come within range. He proposed that they should carry a water-buck
which John had just brought down, to a spot where the scent of it would
be wafted by the wind towards the beasts. This having been done, the
party retreated to the rear of the lions and lurked behind some trees to
watch them. The lions soon scented the game, and came slowly towards
it, moving with a majestic and yet graceful gait that extorted murmurs
of admiration from the Englishmen. But when they had come within two
hundred yards, and John was quivering with excitement at the prospect of
his first encounter with the king of beasts, one of them became
suspicious and halted, lifting his head and sniffing the air, and then
uttering a low growl as if to warn his companion. After a minute or two
they seemed to decide that they were being led into a trap, and, turning
about, stalked slowly away.
"Let's go after them, father," said John, unwilling to let this chance
slip.
The four set off stealthily to stalk the beasts, and after an hour's
fatiguing march over rough ground, saw them standing together at the
edge of a patch of bush just beyond range. Bending low, and taking
advantage of every tree and tussock of grass, and a tall ant-hill, for
cover, the two Englishmen drew nearer and nearer, and were on the point
of lifting their rifles to fire, when the animals disappeared into the
bush. There was nothing for it but to begin the stalking again. They
cautiously made the circuit of the bush, and presently saw the lions
emerge from the further end and continue their promenade. Again the
hunters followed them, at one moment flattering themselves that a few
yards further would bring them within range, the next chagrined to
perceive that the lions had quickened their pace and outdistanced them.
At length, when a thin patch of woodland enabled them to hurry their
steps and gave hope of overtaking their quarry, the lions broke into a
trot and soon disappeared from view.
"Well, if that isn't disgusting!" exclaimed John,
"How long have we been at this game, do you think?" asked his father.
"Two or three hours, perhaps."
"Five hours and a half, my boy, and I rather think we might have been
better employed."
John was too much disgusted at the failure of his first lion-hunt to say
any more; and when next morning it was found that one of the best cows
had been stolen he was still more angry.
"We must put a stop to this, father," he said. "Can't we set a trap?"
"We'll see what our friend Bill says," replied Mr. Halliday. The
Wanderobbo's name had proved so unpronounceable that he had been called
Bill for short. Bill, however, said that lions were too clever to be
caught in traps, which did not seem improbable when he explained what he
meant by a trap--a simple pit with a sharpened stick at the bottom, like
that in which Oliver Browne had been found, or a spear suspended from
the branch of a tree and brought down by the animal treading on a rope.
Mr. Halliday set to work to devise a more effective machine.
He got the mistris to cut several stout logs, out of which they
constructed a sort of gigantic rat-trap. The door was arranged so that
it was held in position by a light pole attached to a length of stout
wire, which was connected with a spring hidden under leaves on the floor
of the trap. If a lion should enter and tread on the spring, the wire
would be released and the door fall behind him down two grooves of
corrugated iron. To entice him to enter, a live goat was placed in a
compartment adjoining the trap, so strongly fenced that the bait was in
no danger.
This trap was rigged up, with the expenditure of a day's work, at one
corner of the outer boma.
"It's rather poor sport to treat the lion like a rat," said John, "but
that can't be helped. If we catch one we shan't be able to get a good
shot at him in the dark, though."
"Well, we can either keep him there till daylight, or, better still,
burn a bit of magnesium wire--I've plenty; that will not only give us a
good light, but possibly help to scare other beasts away."
The trap was set. For two nights nothing happened. On the third, just
as the two Englishmen were thinking of turning in, they heard the door
of the trap fall with a clatter, followed by a low growl of rage. They
caught up their rifles and hurried to the spot.
"Now for the wire, father," said John. "You give me a light and I'll
pot the beast."
Mr. Halliday struck a match and ignited the wire, but just as John was
taking aim it fell to the ground.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"I'm as nervous as a cat," said his father, with a rueful laugh. "And I
haven't brought a second piece, confound it!"
"Well, we'll take a shot in the dark. We can't both miss."
They fired together. The next moment there was a terrific roar, a crash
as of shattered match-wood, and they knew that the infuriated captive
had burst through the walls of the trap, stout as they were. They fired
another shot in the direction they supposed him to have taken, and then,
vexed and disappointed, returned to their tent. They found next day
that the lion had been wounded. Bill traced it by the stains of blood
upon the ground. But its injuries were plainly not very serious, for
the track failed at a patch of reeds a mile up the river, and the
Englishmen had to digest their chagrin that the troublesome beast was
still at large. Their efforts, however, had not been wholly
unsuccessful. The nocturnal visitations ceased, and since no roaring
was heard it appeared that the lions had been scared from the
neighbourhood.