An exciting story told by a former official of the Gold Coast
Government. With a friend and some natives he went out to shoot
a marauding leopard. They accomplished their mission, but
before the day was over one and all of the party had received a
good deal more than they bargained for.
In 1899, while in the service of the Gold Coast Government, and
stationed at Kumasi, I received orders “per bearer, who will accompany
you,” to proceed to a point on Volta not far south of where it
debouches from among the Saraga Hills. “The bearer,” a nice young
fellow called Strange, was newly arrived in the colony, and his
pleasant home gossip was not less welcome to me than my information
about the country we were in was to him. Our rough forest journey,
then, passed as pleasantly as such journeys can, and by the time we
arrived at our destination we were the best of friends.
Akroful, a town of about seven hundred inhabitants, was the nearest
place of any size to the spot where we pitched our camp, and we were
soon on good terms with its headman, Otibu Daku, and his son, Dansani,
both of whom put us in the way of some good shooting.
We had been in this place about a fortnight, when we began to be
annoyed by the depredations of a marauding leopard, who took to
visiting our live-stock pens, and at last we decided to lie in wait
for him. I took the first watch until a snake crawled over my legs;
then I went to bed. It was a harmless one, but it reminded me of the
need of precaution, so next night found our lair surrounded by a very
uninviting floor of cactus leaves.
The fourth night after our vigil commenced Strange succeeded in
wounding our sell-invited guest, and we determined to track him down
as soon as it was light. Otibu Daku and his son willingly agreed to
help us; and I took, in addition, two of my own men who would, I
knew, “stand fire”--Ashong Tawiah, an Accra man, and Nyato, my chief
steward-boy, a Krooman.
The two Ashantis led the way, Otibu Daku carrying a “long Dane” gun;
his son, a machete. Tawiah and Nyato also carried machetes, and the
former, on leaving camp, had picked up a broad-bladed Hausa spear.
Strange and I each had a repeating rifle and a revolver, for, as Nyato
told me, “Dem headman, ’e say, plenty tiger lib dem part.”
The trail was easy to follow. There was not much blood, but the
ground was soft from recent rain. It was rough going, however, and
the machetes were constantly at work clearing a way. Up and down
small watersheds, squelching through marshy bottoms, crossing streams
on fallen trees, we frequently lost the track, but by some sort of
instinct our guides always found it again.
At last, after descending a more than usually steep incline, we found
ourselves in a valley of some size. The bush here was very thin, and we
progressed without difficulty until we came in sight of the inevitable
stream, the opposite bank of which, rising steeply, evidently formed
the commencement of the next divide. I was about a dozen yards to
Strange’s right; the ground was clear of bush between us and the
stream; and on the nearer bank, his head overhanging the water, lay
our quarry, clearly dying. But he was not alone. Stretched by his
side, licking the wound that was letting out his life, lay a fine
female leopard, evidently his consort. On seeing us she rose to her
feet, snarling; she abandoned her ministrations and became militant--a
defender-avenger. Strange fired hastily on sight, and a convulsive
heave of the prostrate body showed where the bullet struck. With a
light leap the leopardess cleared her mate, and with long, low springs
raced down towards my friend. He fired again at thirty yards, wounding
her, and she swerved slightly and came in my direction. We both fired
together, whereupon she stopped suddenly, reared straight up, pawing
the air--then fell backward, stone-dead.
[Illustration: “SHE REARED STRAIGHT UP PAWING THE AIR--THEN FELL
BACKWARD, STONE-DEAD.”]
Hardly had the double report died away when our attention was attracted
to a movement on the other side of the stream. Tawiah pointed.
“Oolah! tiger him piccin!” (“Master, the leopard’s cubs”), he cried.
Slinking away downstream, with long, stealthy strides, their muzzles to
the ground and tails trailing low, were two half-grown leopards, the
head of one level with the other’s haunch.
“Tally-ho!” cried Strange, and let fly at them. His one fault as a
sportsman was a too great eagerness to get the first shot in. The white
splinters flew from the buttress of a great cotton-wood, and the nearer
cub, startled as never before, leapt a man’s height from the ground,
and, coming down, raced away downstream after its companion.
“Come on! We’ll bag the whole family,” said Strange, jumping into the
stream. Otibu Daku was already across and I was about to follow, when
I noticed, fluttering up the farther slope, one of those beautiful
insects called the “dead leaf” butterfly. You will see one fluttering
along like a fugitive piece of rainbow--then suddenly it will alight on
a withered branch or heap of dead herbage and disappear, the underside
of the wings being in shape, colour, and even veining an exact
imitation of a withered leaf.
I was an enthusiastic collector, and never went out without a folding
net that could be fixed to any fairly straight stick. Bidding Tawiah
remain with me, then, I let the others go on after the cubs, and in a
couple of minutes was in pursuit of my own particular quarry. The slope
was nearly bare of bush, and I did not have much difficulty in making
the capture. Placing it in a flat box containing some poison-wax, I
took my rifle from Tawiah and went on up the hill, leaving him tying up
a scratch on his leg.
I was not quite easy in my mind. We had been too hasty in concluding
that the cubs we had seen belonged to the leopards we had shot. They
had been driven away too easily, and most likely were heading straight
for their own den, where, at that time of day, the old ones would
certainly be at home.
I hurried on in the hope of getting some indication of my friend’s
whereabouts. At the top of the ascent a soft breeze met me, it was
pleasant and refreshing, but it brought that with it that made me drop
flat behind a bush and throw my rifle forward. There is no mistaking
the odour given off by the larger carnivora, and the strength of the
smell that assailed my nostrils was such as to convince me that my
first hasty thought--that I had headed off the cubs--was wrong. Such an
effluvium could come only from a den, and an occupied one at that.
There were three possibilities. It might be the home of the dead
leopards, of the strange cubs we had seen, or the lair of yet a third
family. I looked back. Tawiah was not in sight, but I knew he would
follow. In front, for a hundred yards, the level crest of the ridge
was covered by a sparse, wand-like growth that was no impediment to
the view. Beyond the ground fell away again, and just on the edge, and
rather to my right, stood two enormous cotton-woods, the space between
them being a labyrinth of roots standing thigh-high from the ground.
To this point, with what speed and silence I could command, I made my
way. Midway I stopped abruptly to listen. A deep snarling, worrying
sound filled the air, coming from straight ahead. Reaching the nearest
root, I looked over. The rapidly falling ground beyond was hidden by a
far-sweeping buttress from the tree on my left, which, running parallel
with the one I stood against, made a passage about four feet wide and
two high. Stealing away to the left, where the nearer root sank below
the surface, I entered the passage, and, on all fours, reached a point
midway between the two trees. The noise I had before heard was now very
distinct, and, blending with it, yet dominating it, came a continuous
buzzing sound like the far-away roll of a drum. I knew it for the
purring of a full-grown leopard.
Looking back, I was glad enough to see Tawiah reaching the level. I
raised a warning hand, and, waiting only to see that he observed me,
turned, and very cautiously looked over the root in front. From where I
crouched the ground fell away very steeply and was bare and stony. Then
began a gentler slope covered with a low scrub and running down into a
valley similar to, but larger than, the one we had just left. Down the
centre flowed a stream, the same on whose banks, higher up, we had left
the dead leopards. I was on a kind of spur, round which the stream made
a bend away to my right. To my left it lost itself in an expanse of
shallow water covered with great water-lilies, which merged in its turn
into the stream of the Volta, half a mile away.
Just where the change of slope began was a great outcrop of rock. About
a foot above the base, and facing me, was a ragged opening, and in
this, with both paws hanging over the edge, lounged a fine she-leopard.
The air hummed with her complacent purr, as, with blinking eyes, she
watched the rough play of two well-grown cubs. Presently she rolled
over on her back, and, with downward-hanging head, struck idly with
a mighty paw at a white butterfly flitting above her. She was the
personification of soft and sinuous strength.
Suddenly, away to the right, a shot rang out. The purring ceased,
and instantly the great cat was couched, rigid as a bronze casting.
Except for the tip of her tail, not a muscle moved. Presently the
tense expression relaxed, and with a guttural sort of sigh her head
dropped on to her paws. But only for an instant. The stealthy rustling
of something approaching reached her ears, and she resumed her alert
attitude. Then her eyes half closed again, and she seemed to go smooth
all over. A suave, fawning expression came into her face; her purring
redoubled; she rolled softly on to her side and gazed intently in the
direction of the sound. The noise came nearer, and presently, as I
expected, her mate appeared. He paused for an instant to look back,
and at that moment Strange’s rifle spoke again, and the leopard sank
down, biting savagely at his hind-quarters. With one movement as it
seemed, and with a sort of deep-throated cough, his consort was by his
side, and then began an awful duet of snarls and growls, rumblings and
snufflings, with the cubs for chorus.
It was high time for me to take action; a wounded leopard and a
leopardess with young can make themselves pretty awkward. I aimed at
the female as being the more dangerous, and was about to pull the
trigger, when a movement in the valley attracted my attention. One of
the cubs we had first seen was tearing across the open, making for the
stream. Some distance behind followed the other, evidently wounded.
Close upon him ran Dansani, machete in hand. As I looked the cub turned
and Dansani struck. Nyato was close behind, and level with him, but
farther out, Otibu Daku stole swiftly with long, bent-kneed strides,
his “long Dane” gun held across his body. Strange was not in sight.
The foremost cub was nearly at the stream when he raised a howl of
fear or of warning, I do not know which. On the instant, from a clump
of bushes on the farther side, there leapt two greyish-white forms.
Clearing the stream, they charged straight down on the young Ashanti.
All this was photographed on my brain while my finger was on the
trigger. The scene was blotted out as I fired, and from that moment I
had enough on my hands to occupy my undivided attention. The leopardess
was killed outright. The next instant I fired at the male, but one of
the cubs gave a jump and received the bullet meant for his sire. How
the brute did it I do not know--for he had a broken thigh-bone--but
next moment the old leopard was tearing up the slope towards me, and
very business-like he looked. I fired again and clipped his ear; then
his claws were hooked on to the root in front of me, and all I could
do was to smash the butt, pile-driver fashion, down upon his head. He
seized it in his jaws, and the hard wood cracked like pitch-pine, while
the wrench nearly tore the weapon from my grasp. He gave me no time to
reverse it for another shot, or to draw my revolver. Four times did he
struggle to draw himself up, and but for his broken leg I could not
have prevented him. Four times, luckily for me, he allowed his fury to
vent itself on the rifle-butt. The struggle only lasted seconds, but it
seemed hours, and already the fury of it made my breath come short.
And then the cub decided to take a hand! It had been pacing to and fro,
snuffing the blood and growling; it then suddenly turned, and dashed
straight to the scene of combat. A leopard cub by itself is not more
than a man can manage, but as a reinforcement to an infuriated parent
it is a serious matter. I heard Tawiah behind me.
“Take the piccin,” I yelled, and put all my strength into an effort to
thrust my foe back. Instinctively he tried to use his injured leg, and
this time he lost grip altogether, and his claws scraped down the root,
making great furrows in the wood. I let him have the gun, and seized my
revolver in time to plant a couple of bullets in his head as he came up
again.
Meanwhile Tawiah had accounted for the cub, but he was badly clawed
down the leg. To my surprise--for I did not remember the brute using
his claws at all except to hold on by--my coat was ripped, and I had
several nasty, but not severe, scratches down chest and arms.
Our attention was now diverted to the scene below, and what we saw sent
us both down the slope as fast as we could race--Tawiah ahead. One cub
lay dead--Dansani’s victim--and a few paces from it stood the young
Ashanti, preparing to dodge the foremost of the parent leopards I had
seen break cover. He sprang aside as it reached him, but the brute
wheeled as if on a pivot and reared. Then came the crashing report
of the “long Dane,” a fearful yell, and Dansani reeled away with his
hands to his head, and fell. The leopard, roaring horribly, rolled over
and over, apparently broken in two. Its mate, swerving at the report,
turned and raced straight for Tawiah, who had just reached the level
ground. I shouted to him to come back to me, thinking that revolver and
spear together would match the furious brute, but apparently he did
not understand, for, waving me to follow, he tore off to where, midway
between him and the advancing leopard, stood a small Dequa palm. His
object, I learnt afterwards, was to hold the leopard at bay there till
help arrived. It was a mad idea, for the savage brute was covering
three yards to one of his.
Just at that moment I caught sight of Strange--hobbling along,
supported by his rifle, five hundred yards away; there was no help to
be expected from him. Nyato was rushing on to settle with the remaining
cub, that, screaming, was alternately dashing towards its wounded dam
and back to the stream. Otibu Daku was carrying Dansani to the water,
and the female leopard, her hind quarters straddling like those of a
frog, with the small of her back blown away and reared on her front
legs, was rending the air with the most awful yells.
The male passed the tree, and only about forty yards separated him from
my faithful follower. I ran on. Trusting to luck, I fired two chambers,
but without success. The distance between them decreased rapidly, and
Tawiah, seeing the hopelessness of his position, grounded his spear,
and, gripping it by the middle, backed up the butt with his knee in
the hope that the brute would impale himself. Then I saw that Strange
was kneeling, taking aim. He could never hit a running leopard at that
range, I told myself; it would appear no bigger than a cat to him.
I was twenty yards behind Tawiah, and barely ten separated him from
the leopard, when a ball of smoke floated away from Strange’s rifle.
I dared not hope, and Tawiah remained like a rock. Then, suddenly, the
leopard halted, and--for all the world like a kitten chasing its own
tail--spun round and round till we could hardly tell one end from the
other. I sent two bullets as near the centre as I could, and Tawiah,
charging in, drove his spear in at one side and out at the other. The
battle was over.
[Illustration: “DANSANI REELED AWAY WITH HIS HANDS TO HIS HEAD, AND
FELL.”]
We found that Strange’s bullet had pierced the skin of the neck just
where it joins the head, and had half stunned the animal. But what a
glorious shot! I paced the distance to him; it was four hundred and
sixty odd yards! He had made just a little too much allowance for
speed, but what of that?
Strange, it appeared, had stepped on a loose stone and strained his
ankle badly. Poor Dansani was horribly mauled. The beast had clawed him
from the crown of his head to the knee in one awful sweep. Half the
scalp overhung his face, one eye was destroyed, the muscle of the upper
arm was in ribbons, and the stroke, glancing from the elbow, had laid
open his thigh to the knee. A revolver-shot finished his assailant. We
did what we could for Dansani on the spot, and Nyato and his father
carried him home on a hastily-constructed litter. Later he recovered,
but was terribly disfigured.
Tawiah and I took it in turns to help Strange along, and when we
reached the spot where our first victims lay we found their young ones
mewling over them. They slunk away, and we did not molest them. The
cub Nyato had chased allowed self-preservation to triumph over filial
affection, and got away also. My rifle was utterly ruined. And so ended
our leopard hunt.