"I'm jolly glad you're back, old man," said Ferrier, as John marched in
one day at the head of his safari. "Began to think you were lost. How
did you get on?"
"Splendidly," said John, cheerful after his quick journey home. "That
is, pretty well; in fact" (as his memory and his sense of veracity
awoke) "I had the rottenest time I ever had in my life. That sounds a
bit of a muddle, I know, but I'll tell you all about it presently. How
have things been going here?"
"Splendidly: that is, pretty well; and I'm glad you're back in time to
prevent me from having the rottenest time I've ever had in my life. It's
just short of that at present."
"What! Have those blackguards been bothering you?"
"Worse! Lions!"
"Oh! Is that it? I don't know that they're worse than the natives,
though."
"Yes, they are, because it doesn't come to a fair stand-up fight.
They're cowardly, skulking brutes, and so disgustingly clever."
John laughed at Ferrier's aggrieved tone and look.
"Well, I'll get a bath and a feed, and then we'll talk it over," he
said. "I hope our people have behaved well?"
"Oh yes! Lulu has been a mother to me--at a distance, of course; and
Said Mohammed has been a delight three times a day. But go and get your
bath; you'll stand here talking for ever."
Half-an-hour later John, having changed into a suit of white drill, was
sitting at table with Ferrier in the little dining-room of the bungalow.
It struck him as rather bare and cold-looking after Mr. Gillespie's
comfortable rooms, and he resolved, if things went well the second year,
to buy a few bits of furniture.
"It wants a woman, you know," said Ferrier. "She'd rig up some curtains
and make things look cheerful in no time. But you'll never get a woman
to live among lions."
"Verree true, sir--excuse the liberty," remarked Said Mohammed, as he
handed the fish. "A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for
there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living."
"That's how he goes on," said Ferrier, exploding when the Bengali had
gone for the joint. "That's Shakespeare; next time it'll be Milton."
"Did Shakespeare write that rubbish about the wild-fowl?"
"Why, that's the excellent Nick Bottom in _Midsummer Night's Dream_!"
"Never read it: we only did _Julius Caesar_ and _Henry V_. But tell me
what's happened."
"Nothing, for three weeks, except rain. My word, didn't it come down!
I'm sorry to say some of the sheep died until we thought of covering
them up at night. But a week ago I heard a lion roaring in the night,
and in the morning a calf was gone. Last night it was two sheep. The
boma's not a bit of good to keep them out. Why don't you put up some
wire fencing?"
"It's expensive, but I will by and by."
"The lion got clear away the first time, but last night I was roused by
the commotion among the animals, and managed to get a shot as he was
slinking off: it was bright moonlight. I'm afraid I missed: my right
arm isn't fit for much even yet. I wanted Bill to go and hunt him with
me; but he wouldn't. I suppose he won't visit us again now you've come
back: Coja said he's sure the lion's an afreet, which is devil, I
suppose, and knows when the coast is clear."
"I rather fancy he finds other game scarce in this rainy weather. It's
much easier to break into the boma than to hunt game in the open, and I
expect now that he's tasted blood again and got back his confidence we
shall have some more trouble. We shall have to tackle him."
"If you excuse me, sir," put in Said Mohammed, so respectfully that John
could not resent the indiscretion, "I will tell you of the machinations
of my prophetic soul my uncle. He has a small property in the
Sunderbunds; choice site, excellent amenities, et cetera. There lurks
the tiger, tiger burning bright. In my childhood innocence I resided
with my avuncular relative, and he being a great shikari I saw some A1
sport. I should esteem it a privilege to be allowed to give you a leg
up in hunting the abominable creature. The sahibs in general have
derogatory opinion of us Bengalis; but I am a Socialist, gentlemen, in
so far as believing in equality of chances, and I am cocksure that if
only I get a look in I shall prove to demonstration that I am full of
both grit and beans."
"All right, khansaman, I'll give you a rifle and you shall come with us
when we go after the beast. It may be rather exciting."
"A regular beano," said Ferrier, sotto voce. "But I want to hear all
about your droving, Halliday."
John gave him a running account of his experiences, which were more
amusing in retrospect than in actuality. They spent the rest of the day
in going over the farm together. John was very well pleased with the
signs of progress he saw everywhere. The sheep and cattle looked
healthy; the second crops were in good condition; and the only failures
among all the vegetables he had planted were the onions and artichokes,
which had produced too much stalk and gave no indication of fruiting.
That night a lion broke in and carried off a ram. John was too late to
get a shot at the beast, and next day was too much occupied about the
farm to go in search of it. But when Wasama came in with the sheep,
somewhat earlier than usual, and reported that he had seen a black-maned
lion with his mate on the edge of the bush, John determined to go out
after them at once. It was the first time lions had been seen by day,
and this sign of growing boldness convinced him that it was high time to
attempt reprisals. He was accompanied by Ferrier and Said Mohammed with
two of the Baganda, but by the time they reached the bush the lions had
disappeared, leaving, however, a trace of their depredations in the
freshly-picked bones of the stolen sheep. Roars were again heard at
night, and John kept watch with Ferrier in anticipation of another
visit; but as had happened before, no lions appeared, and they turned in
towards morning very much disgusted.
Next day John sent for Bill and asked him to lead them over the track of
the lions. Meat was required for the larder, and he had determined to
combine game-shooting with a lion hunt. News of his arrangements was
carried to the village by one of the women working on the farm, and just
as he was setting off, a dozen men arrived and begged to be allowed to
join the party, their motive being probably a desire for excitement
mingled with the hope of sharing the spoils. John's policy being to
keep on good terms with them, he made no objection, and shortly after
ten the party set off, consisting of the two white men with Bill, Said
Mohammed (very proud in the possession of a rifle), and the three
Baganda, the villagers following at a distance.
Business coming before sport, Bill led the party along the river-bank
where he expected to find the tracks of animals which had come down to
drink. The proximity of the farm had had the effect of scaring
antelopes and gazelles and the timider animals away from the
neighbourhood. Already John had had to go farther afield for game than
in the early days of the farm a year before. The Wanderobbo found his
way among the dense vegetation by following old hippo paths, which
crossed and recrossed in what seemed to the wasungu hopeless confusion.
But he came after some miles to a region where there was an abrupt gap
in the larger trees: a fairly wide and recent hippo path led through the
tall grass on the crest of the river-bank; and the party began to be on
the alert for game.
Suddenly Bill halted and took a backward leap which nearly landed him in
the arms of John.
"Faro! faro!" he cried excitedly, and on John asking where the
rhinoceros was, he pointed a few yards ahead, where, almost hidden by
the grass, lay a huge bull animal right across the path, and apparently
asleep. The white men had brought only their double-barrelled rifles,
which were not the best of weapons for shooting rhinoceros, and John,
having no licence for such big game, though Ferrier had, ordered the
natives to shout, hoping that this would scare the beast away. When it
remained unmoved he went to the river-bank on the right, and breaking
off some clods of earth, flung them at the slumberous creature, which
completely blocked the way. But this proving ineffectual ("It's like
shooting peas at a Dreadnought" said John) there was nothing for it but
to try a rifle shot.
Ferrier went forward, cocked his rifle and fired, aiming at the brain;
but though he was ordinarily a dead shot, his right arm had not yet
fully recovered, and he missed. The rhinoceros was now thoroughly
awake; snorting angrily, he sprang to his feet with extraordinary
nimbleness for so unwieldy a brute, and after a glance round came
charging full at Ferrier. He fired his second barrel, and this time
hit; but the shot had no effect except to make the beast more furious,
and Ferrier turned and bolted for his life. All the other members of
the party except John had turned tail and fled away shrieking at the
first moment of the animal's rising. John, licence or no licence, let
fly with both barrels in rapid succession; whether he hit or not he
could not tell; certainly he failed to check the charging beast, which
made with lowered head straight for Ferrier.
All this had happened in a few seconds. Ferrier was running hard, but
it was clear that the rhinoceros must soon overtake him, and John knew
that one blow from those terrible horns would inflict a fatal gash. His
hand shaking with nervous anxiety, he reloaded, but when he lifted the
rifle to his shoulder he saw that he could not strike a fatal spot, the
animal being directly between him and his friend. He ran after them,
hoping for some chance to give him a shot. At this moment Ferrier
became aware that the rhinoceros was almost within tossing distance, and
leaving the path made a sudden swerve to the right, plunging into the
long grass. The animal immediately turned to pursue him, for the first
time presenting his flank to John. It was a ticklish moment. John knew
that his friend's life probably depended on his coolness. He steadied
himself, took aim at a spot behind the beast's shoulder, and fired. He
heard the thud of the bullet, but for a moment feared it had not
penetrated the tough hide. The rhinoceros made a half-turn as if to
charge his new assailant, and John, glad that he had at least diverted
the pursuit from Ferrier, was preparing to fire his second barrel when
the great form staggered, recovered itself, made two tottering strides,
and then fell over on its side.
The air was rent with jubilant shouts as the natives emerged from their
hiding-places in the grass and ran towards the prostrate beast. They
started back in affright when it made a last convulsive effort to rise.
John put it out of pain with another shot, and the natives surrounded it
and immediately set about cutting it up.
"Thanks, old man," said Ferrier, coming up. "That's the second time."
"I say, what's the penalty for shooting a rhino without a licence?"
cried John, to cover his embarrassment.
"The same as if you shot an armed burglar breaking into your house: the
thanks of every honest man for ridding the world of a villain."
Said Mohammed, who had watched the incident from a safe distance,
wondered that two young men should talk so strangely at a time when they
ought to have been overcome with emotion. That is the English way.
John had once seen M. Perrichon in the play fling his arms round his
preserver's neck and weep with gratitude. "What sickening rot!" he had
said. "Come and have an ice."
While the natives were cutting up the rhinoceros, the others marched on.
They had no need to shoot more for the larder; there was at least a ton
of meat on the huge carcase, which would last for several days. It was
now a question of finding the track of lions. John went ahead with
Bill, Ferrier walking with Said Mohammed a few yards behind. The
Bengali was talking, and his high-pitched voice carried well in the
crisp, clear air. John heard him say--
"In my humble opinion, sir, backed by inestimable experience in the
Sunderbunds, it was deplorable error of judgment to bunk. My uncle,
sir, on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion when I shed the light of my
countenance on his tiger-hunt, he put the tiger to dumbfounder and
flight--how, sir? By standing firm as a rock, 'without or life or
motion,' as the poet Coleridge beautifully says, and staring with
unflinching gaze into the opposing optics. Moreover and in addition, he
recited with unfaltering lips the words of a charm he had learnt from
some old cock of a jogi--you have no word for that in your lovely lingo,
sir, but, without disrespect, I might say parson. Tableau! Exit tiger.
Triumph of mind over matter. 'He held him with his glittering eye,' et
cetera."
"'The man recovered from the bite,
The dog it was that died,'"
quoted Ferrier.
"Oliver Goldsmith, sir," cried the Bengali delightedly, "who wrote like
an angel but talked like poor Poll. I esteem it a glorious privilege to
hold communion, even in humble capacity of cook and bottle-washer, with
gentleman of literary taste and elegant extracts."
The river-bank had descended until the path was almost level with the
surface of the water, and passed several patches of reeds which Bill
negotiated warily, saying that any one of them might harbour a lion. The
white men followed him with growing excitement, and John confessed he
felt rather nervous, not knowing but that a lion might at any moment
spring up at their feet. He stole a glance at Said Mohammed, and
exchanged a smile with Ferrier as he saw that the cook looked decidedly
jumpy. Far in the rear came the villagers, eager not to miss the sport,
and yet fearful to approach too near.
All at once Bill halted and bent towards the ground. There were the
unmistakable pug marks. Following the track with his eyes, but without
moving from the spot, after a few moments he stretched out his spear
towards a clump of trees about a hundred yards ahead, whispering,
"Simba!" Neither John nor Ferrier could at first distinguish the lion,
but presently two lionesses sprang out of the undergrowth, and made off
with long low bounds across the plain. For a moment the white men
watched their graceful movements with admiration, forgetting that these
were the pests they had come out to slay. Then they set off in pursuit.
But they had not advanced three paces when a huge black-maned lion
showed his head among the bushes, snarling angrily. He stared at the
strangers for a moment or two, then turned with another growl and
trotted after his mates.
"Come along," said John excitedly. "We can't get a fair shot at him
yet."
They set off at a run, not troubling about Bill or Said Mohammed, who
followed at a discreet distance. They gained on the beast, but after
running some three hundred yards found themselves rather short of wind,
owing to the fact that they were in rarefied air at least 6000 feet
above sea-level.
"We shall spoil our aim if we get puffed," said Ferrier. "Better go
slow."
At this moment, however, the lion halted behind a tree, as if to check
the pursuit of the lionesses, and stood watching the huntsmen, growling
in a very threatening way. He seemed disinclined to budge, so John lay
down on the path, and bringing his rifle to his shoulder, covered the
huge head.
"Confound it, look how my hand wobbles," he whispered to Ferrier. "I
can't fix the sight on him. Be ready to shoot if I miss or just sting
him, for he'll fly at us like the wind."
He steadied his arm and pulled the trigger. The fierce head instantly
dropped out of sight, and the air was filled with such appalling roars
that John hastily fired the second barrel, in the hope of finishing the
beast before he could charge. He had to aim by guess-work, and fired
half-a-dozen shots before the roaring ceased.
"Now the others," cried John, shouting to the Wanderobbo to keep his eye
on the spot.
He ran forward with Ferrier towards the lionesses, which had halted a
quarter of a mile away, and could just be seen above the grass. At the
men's approach they cantered off, and though the chase was kept up for
nearly a mile, they always got to cover before the pursuers came within
effective range, and finally disappeared among a large patch of reeds by
the river, whence it was hopeless to attempt to dislodge them.
"Better luck next time," said John, as they retraced their steps. "You
shall have first shot, Charley."
Returning towards the spot where the lion had been shot, they found that
Bill had deserted his post. He was standing in the middle of the path
with Said Mohammed, a good hundred yards away from any bushes or trees.
The natives were chattering at a little distance.
"Why didn't you do as I told you?" cried John, vexed at the possibility
of having lost his quarry.
"Conscience made a coward of him, I fear, sir," said Said Mohammed.
"Well, go and see if you can find the lion. Get the natives to help. I
don't know which tree it was we shot him at," he added to Ferrier, "but
I'm not going back without his head."
The party split up and made a systematic search, the natives beating the
bush and long grass thoroughly with their spears. At last one of them
shouted that he had found the simba, instantly running away from the
spot at the top of his speed. There was no growling to be heard,
however, so plucking up his courage he returned to the place with his
comrades. When John reached them, he found the men grouped a yard or
two from the lion's tail, jabbering in much excitement. The beast was
stretched on his side, but John was surprised to see by the heaving of
his flanks that he was not yet dead. Judging that the chatter of the
men would have roused him if he had been able to rise, John went towards
his head, but the moment the lion caught sight of him he uttered a
terrible roar and to John's amazement sprang to his feet. Stepping
hastily backward, John stumbled against Said Mohammed, who, believing
like every one else that the beast was helpless, had become bold. The
Bengali went down like a ninepin. John recovered his footing with an
effort, and raising his rifle, fired at the lion at a range of four
yards; but he was too hurried and agitated to take a careful aim, and
the shot merely had the effect of throwing the infuriated animal on his
haunches as he prepared to spring.
All this had happened so quickly that Ferrier, who had been beating the
bush in the opposite direction from John, had not yet come up. The
sudden flight of the villagers apprised him that something was wrong,
and as he hurried to the spot he was horrified at the sight that met his
gaze. Man and beast seemed only a yard apart. He dared not shoot for
fear of hitting John, and seeing that the shot had but momentarily
checked the animal, he had given up his friend for lost when, as by a
miracle, a sudden diversion occurred. The lion was leaping on John, who
fired his second barrel with shaking hand and missed, when Said Mohammed
scrambled to his feet and flew down the path, shrieking at the top of
his voice. As if supposing that this white-clad yelling creature was
his worst enemy, the lion changed the direction of his spring, almost
grazing John as he fell, and bounded off after the Bengali, with such
enormous leaps that escape seemed impossible. John hastily reloaded and
fired, but he was trembling from head to foot; a mist seemed to rise
before his eyes; and his shot went very wide of the mark. By the time
Ferrier reached his side the chase seemed over; they thought that
nothing could save the unlucky Indian. But when almost within the
brute's clutches, Said Mohammed with the desperation of terror made a
sudden jump to the right towards the river, as if intending to fling
himself into it. The lion swerved after him, presenting his flank to
the anxious spectators. Quick as thought Ferrier raised his rifle and,
just as the beast was midway in his final spring, brought him down with
a bullet through the heart.
[Illustration: "Ferrier raised his rifle, and brought him down with a
bullet through the heart."]
John heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"Good man!" he said. "But what on earth is the fellow up to?"
Next moment both he and Ferrier were shaking their sides with laughter,
almost hysterical now that the tension was relaxed. The Bengali, too
much overcome with terror to be aware of his safety, was scrambling up a
thorn tree with an agility that would have done credit to a slimmer man.
Up he went, frantically swinging himself from bough to bough. Half way
up he lost his puggaree, snatched from his head by a long spike, and
every stage of his ascent was marked by little bits of his white cotton
dhoti left clinging to the branches. For some moments John was helpless
with laughter, but at last he managed to shout to Said Mohammed to come
down, for the beast was dead. The shout only made him climb the faster,
nor did he stop until he was perched on the topmost branch, his white
robe flapping in tatters about him. Nothing would induce him to budge
until the lion's head had been cut off, to be carried back to the farm
as a trophy. Then he descended, much more slowly than he had mounted,
and with a piteous effort to regain his dignity that was too much for
John and Ferrier, who turned their backs so that he should not see their
amusement.
These excitements were considered enough for one day, and the party set
off for home, the natives carrying the lion's head and shouting a song
of triumph. John said nothing to Said Mohammed until he thought his
composure was restored. Then he said--
"I owe you my life, khansaman. It was very plucky of you to draw the
lion after you, and I shan't forget it.--Shut up!" he whispered to
Ferrier, who emitted a sort of gurgle.
A gratified smile stole across the Bengali's face.
"I am quite bucked, sir," he said. "Your words are sweeter than honey.
When your honoured parent returns to this vale of woe, my heart will be
in my mouth when I say to him: 'Lo! here is your progeny, whom I, Said
Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, saved from the jaws of the
lion. If I had not been on the spot he would have been absolutely up a
gum-tree.'"
Ferrier guffawed.
"Why didn't you do as your uncle did in the Sunderbunds?" he asked
presently, unable to resist the temptation of a sly dig at the failed
B.A.
"The absence of one ingredient, sir, spoils the sauce. It was rotten
nuisance, but I forgot _in toto_ the words of the charm."