by L. T. Meade
*Chapter XII.*
*THE LION CAMP.*
Evening, the swift evening of Africa, was stealing on apace. The BergDamaras now left the camp, their chief warning the white men to beprepared for an assault by lions, which, he declared, were here so boldthat they feared neither thorn kraals, fires, nor assegais. Mr.Blakeney pronounced himself well prepared for any eventuality. Duringthe afternoon Jan Kokerboom and his assistants had cut down a largenumber of thorn bushes, and made a strong scherm or fence, within whichthe oxen, after grazing, were enclosed for the night. The horses werefastened up to the wagon wheels on the side close to the main camp fire.Four fires in all were lighted and kept going. They sat down to supper,therefore, all in high spirits, feeling that they were well preparedagainst the night assaults of lions or any other Carnivora.
Peter, the wild boy, was still with them. His father, as they believedhim to be, had, after the episode of the vulture's shadow, declinedresolutely to have anything further to do with him. The Berg Damaraheadman, whom Mr. Blakeney had asked to take charge of the child, hadshaken his head, and manifested extreme disinclination to add further tohis responsibilities by taking a useless encumbrance into his tribe.They could scarcely feed themselves as it was, he explained. The whitemen had found the child; they were rich and powerful; they could keephim, and take him away with them. Tom was delighted, and, backed up byGuy, begged that he might be allowed to keep Peter. He would make auseful servant some day, he pointed out. He was already becomingattached to the party, especially to Tom, whom he seemed to regard ashis master and protector. Mr. Blakeney turned over the matter in hismind. At supper time he called Poeskop, and asked him what, in hisopinion, the Berg Damaras would do if the boy was left on their hands.Poeskop's reply was readily forthcoming. He smiled grimly, and said,--
"What do I think, baas? Well, I think they will leave him to the lions.The chances are that, if he escapes the lions, he will be starved todeath. I don't think they will give him food. Already, as you can see,they are half starved themselves; and when Berg Damaras and Bushmen arein such a plight, and hard put to it, they can't afford to be kind andcompassionate like the white people. I know them well, and I know thatthe boy would die. If his mother were alive, it would be different.She would find him food somehow."
"Well, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, "you can have your way, and keep theboy. It would be a cruel thing to leave him to the mercies of thesestarving people. We'll take him with us, and make the best of the poorlittle beggar."
Tom promptly showed his contentment by taking a steinbuck cutlet fromthe frying-pan and handing it to Peter, who squatted near him, watchingwith elfish eyes the white men having their supper. The wild boysnatched eagerly at the savoury morsel. Tom drew back the cutlet, and,pointing a rebuking forefinger, said in a tone of reproof,--
"No, not that way, Peter. I've told you before. Take your food like agentleman."
The wild boy already understood much of Tom's tutelage. Still gazingwith greedy eyes, he held out his paw, and allowed Tom to hand him thefood. Then, conveying it to his mouth, he quickly made short work ofit, devouring it very much as an ape devours its food. The white menhaving supped, Peter was fed, Tom superintending the process, and seeingto it that his charge made his repast in a reasonably decent fashion.
"Peter," said Tom, when all was finished, "I have hopes of you. Youcertainly are improving. You didn't lick your plate to-night--of courseI was keeping an eye on you--and you are learning not to snatch ateverything like a beastly monkey. I do believe I shall make a man ofyou yet."
The wild boy looked at his instructor's face; it was a strange,yearning, almost pathetic look--the look of a dog trying to make out hismaster's meaning. Then he reached out a black hand, and softly laid iton Tom's arm. It was the most gentle, the most human-like, gesture hehad yet exhibited.
"Poor little chap!" said Mr. Blakeney; "I believe he begins to feel theinstincts of humanity working within him."
"Yes," said Guy, "I'm sure he does. He'll do all right, Tom. You'remaking a first-class reformer."
Tom patted the little fellow on the shoulder, and went to the wagon andtook down a blanket, which he handed to Peter. The wild boy, who nowshowed no sign of any inclination to run away, and had for the lasttwenty-four hours been allowed complete liberty, at once wrapped himselfup, snuggled close to the fire, and fell fast asleep. For another twohours the three white men sat round the fire, the boys writing up theirdiaries, Mr. Blakeney smoking and reading. Then they chatted for awhile, and at nine o'clock or thereabouts prepared to turn in for thenight. Guy went to the tent; Mr. Blakeney climbed to his wagon. Tomprepared his blanket and kaross by the fire, as he had done sincePeter's capture. He still judged it advisable to keep the boy under hiscontrol at night, and, fastening the cord to his belt, made the otherend secure round the belt which Peter wore for the purpose. Thensettling himself with his feet to the comfortable blaze, he gazed for afew minutes upwards at the brilliant array of stars, and was quicklysleeping the wonderful and refreshing sleep of the wilderness.
How long Tom had slept he knew not, but he was suddenly awakened by asharp tug at his belt. Snatching up his loaded rifle, which lay by hisside, he sat up and looked around him. Peter was crouching on his hamstwo or three yards away, his blanket fallen from his shoulders, his eyeswildly excited. He was barking fiercely, just as a baboon barks whenenraged or alarmed. In another instant there was violent commotion inthe ox kraal. The native servants, sleeping at the fire near by, hadbeen awakened by the wild boy's warning barks; they were now on theirfeet, and, rushing to the kraal with their guns and blazing fire-sticks,began letting off their rifles at some object among the oxen. Mr.Blakeney jumped down from his wagon in his pyjamas, rifle in hand. Guy,similarly equipped, burst out of his tent. Tom, unbuckling the cord athis belt, sprang up with his weapon. The three ran towards the scherm.
"A lion, baas! a lion!" cried Jan Kokerboom excitedly, as they nearedthe scene. "There he is. Shoot, boys, shoot!" Then, putting up hisgun, he again fired. Poeskop and Seleti were reloading; Mangwalaan heldup a flaming torch to give light. It was a weird scene, only fitfullyilluminated by the blazing torch and the light of the men's fire closeat hand. Another rush took place among the oxen; then a dark figurecleared the thorn fence just behind the group of affrighted animals.
"He's gone!" yelled Poeskop, who had just got another cartridge into thebreech of his Snider. "He's gone!"
It was quite clear that the warnings of the Berg Damaras had not beengiven without reason. The lions had begun their assaults. Fortunate itwas for the camp that they had confined their attentions to the oxkraal. Now, pulling aside the thorns at the entrance, and lighted byfresh firebrands, Mr. Blakeney and the rest of the party entered thekraal. On the far side lay a dark object, which a closer approachshowed to be a dying ox. The poor brute had evidently been seized uponby the lion at its first assault. Its shoulders and back had been badlyscored and bitten, and the ferocious brute, gripping the nose of the oxin one of its powerful forepaws, had evidently, by a mighty wrench,dislocated the unfortunate beast's neck. In another minute, even asthey looked, it breathed its last. The rest of the oxen stood huddledtogether in a bunch to the right hand, snorting and bellowing,manifestly in a state of intense fear and excitement.
There was not much to be done. It was, of course, far too risky tothink of cutting more thorns to make the fence higher and more secure.With lions about it would be worse than madness to venture out into thedarkness beyond the light of the camp fires. They made up and lighted afresh fire in the middle of the ox kraal, and Jan Kokerboom had strictinjunctions to keep it going all night. As for the lion, both Poeskopand Jan believed it to be wounded; probably it would scarcely venture toreturn that night. Still, as Poeskop said, with lions you never knowwhere you are, especially if they are hungry. The remaining fires werestrengthened, and the white party returned to their quarters.
"Hullo!" said Tom, on getting back to his fire, "where's Peter?"
Peter had disappeared. Just then Guy, entering his tent, cried out,--
"Here's the little beggar, cowering behind my camp bed. You'd betterhave him out."
Tom fetched him out, calmed his apprehensions, and set him by the fireagain. The wild boy seemed at last persuaded that the danger was past,and his young master having fastened the cord dangling at the child'swaist to his own belt again, Peter once more wrapped himself in hisblanket and went to sleep. Tom, lying a few feet away from him, was notslow to follow his example.
It seemed but a few minutes to the English lad, yet the space of a fullhour had certainly elapsed, when Tom was violently startled from hissleep by a wild, terrified yell, which sounded close to his ears. Therewas something so horrifying about that wild scream, violently shatteringthe previous stillness of the night, that a shudder of apprehension wentthrilling through Tom's whole person. In the same instant there was arough pull at the lad's belt; he was turned half over. and, before hehad time to snatch up the rifle by his side, he felt himself beingdragged away over the ground at a rapid pace. The lad's mind instantlygrasped the situation. Something--a lion, no doubt--had got hold of theunfortunate Peter, and was dragging him off; and Tom, being coupled tohim by the long cord, was being dragged also. In an instant Tom hadunbuckled his belt and was free. Springing to his feet and lookinground, he saw by the light of the fire a huge yellow-maned lion, whichhad Peter by the neck, and was dragging him away into the darkness.
Meanwhile, the unfortunate black boy, after uttering that first wild,terrified yell, was shrieking out for help. Poeskop was running up tothe rescue, and he afterwards affirmed that the boy had, beyond alldoubt, suddenly recovered his native tongue, and was crying out andimploring assistance in Berg Damara. Tom rushed to the fire, seizedupon a long piece of burning wood, and with that ran back to the lion,which was now dragging its unfortunate victim well beyond the circle ofthe firelight, and belaboured the brute about the head and face with theburning brand. It was a marvellously plucky act, but it was useless.The fierce brute held on grimly to its prey, and merely hastened itspace, now moving at a swift trot. Tom turned to rush for his rifle, andin the same instant something seemed to flash out from the darkness, andknocked him down. It was a lioness, which, as Poeskop and Guy camerunning up with their weapons, stood over the lad, growling horribly--afierce, throaty, menacing growl--as if daring them to come on.
Guy and the Bushman fired together, and at the twin report the lioness,shot through heart and brain, sank quietly down upon Tom, and lay starkdead. At this moment Mr. Blakeney came up to their assistance. Betweenthem they dragged the grim brute off Tom, who was by this time nearlysuffocated. A full-grown lion weighs a good deal more than twice asmuch as a heavy man, and Tom, although happily not seriously hurt, waspretty well flattened, and had most of his breath knocked out of him.They got him to his feet, felt him all over, and asked anxiously if hewas hurt.
"N--no!" gasped the lad; "I'm--all--right--I think. G--go on afterPeter. Hark! He's there somewhere. The other lion's got him. Hark!"
They listened for a moment. There came faint, agonized cries from outthe darkness. They were the unfortunate wild boy's last appeals. Theyceased. All was still.
"Bring fire-sticks," cried out Mr. Blakeney. "You, Poeskop, stay withBaas Tom, and get him to the fire. Guy, Jan, Seleti, come with me. You,Mangwalaan, stay by the oxen."
Jan Kokerboom and Seleti armed themselves with flaming brands, and thefour advanced into the darkness. They could see little beyond a dozenfeet in front of them. Again they listened. The wild boy's voice wasno more heard, but in its place there came from the outer darkness asickening scrunching of bones. It was the lion devouring his victim,apparently some forty yards away.
"Oh," cried Mr. Blakeney, "I can't stand this. We must go on." Theymoved forward ten yards, and then, from some thick bush in front ofthem, there came a low, cavernous, threatening growl from the brute,disturbed at its prey. Mr. Blakeney and Guy fired together, andreloaded. They could hear the man-killer dragging the unfortunate ladyet farther into the bush. Again they fired. Now the men's torches weregetting low. Still they advanced again, though much against the will ofthe two natives.
"Baas," whispered Jan Kokerboom, "this is madness. My fire-stick will beout in another minute, and we shall all be killed by the lions. Thereare more about. I have heard them."
Still Mr. Blakeney and Guy pushed on a few yards farther, until theiradvance was barred by thicker and stronger bush.
"It's useless, Guy," said Mr. Blakeney, in a stern voice. "We've doneall we can. We must go back. By this time the poor creature is dead,undoubtedly. It's a bad job, but we can do no more. Come!"
They turned quickly, and with the torches flickering out made their wayback to the camp fires. For the rest of that night they got littlerest. Tom first had to be attended to. The lioness in her attack hadbadly shaken him; but beyond some deep scratches inflicted by one paw onthe back of the shoulder as she held him down, he was unhurt. Thesewounds were dressed with carbolic and water, as usual. Two hours lateran attack made by another pair of lions on the cattle scherms wassuccessfully repelled, and an old, worn-out lion shot through the thornfence by Jan Kokerboom and Mangwalaan. Towards dawn the white men sleptfor a couple of hours or so.
After breakfast they prepared to take vengeance upon the murderer of theunfortunate wild boy. Mr. Blakeney wished much to persuade Tom to staybehind and help Seleti and Mangwalaan to look after the camp.
"No, pater," pleaded Tom; "this is really my business. You know what aninterest I took in the poor little chap. In a way I looked on him asbelonging to me. I'll keep behind. My shoulder is not very bad, and Ican, at all events, carry a spare rifle in case you need it."
Mr. Blakeney gave way, and the three, accompanied by Poeskop and JanKokerboom, went forth on their mission of vengeance. With them theytook the wagon dogs to aid in hunting up the lion. They had littledifficulty in finding the path of the man-eater. In the thorns, throughwhich the fierce brute had dragged its victim, were to be seen shreds ofthe poor wild boy's old flannel shirt and knickerbockers, bestowed uponhim by his young master. Here was where the monster had bitten throughthe poor little fellow's neck and finished him, and had even begun todevour some of his flesh. A large dark patch of blood and other hideoustraces marked the spot. Farther on they came to a more grisly relic.In a little clearing, among some dense bush, there lay the head and theright forearm and hand of the unfortunate boy. Both had been severedeasily from the trunk.
Tom turned with horror from these sad relics.
"Pater," he said, "if I were not so mad with the brute that did this, Ithink I should be sick. If you and Guy don't kill the monster, I will."
"We'll kill him, my boy," said his father grimly, "even if we have tofollow him all day."
They moved on in silence, and, after going three hundred yards farther,spoored the lion and its prey to a dense, triangular piece of bush lyingclose to the little stream that ran through the valley. Poeskop quicklyran round this piece of bush, and made certain that the murderous brutehad gone no farther. Mr. Blakeney now disposed his little force so asto command each side of the triangle. Poeskop and Guy crossed thestream, and guarded that side. Jan Kokerboom kept watch at the pointwhere the lion had entered, well in sight of Mr. Blakeney, who, with Tomcarrying a spare rifle, took the angle on the extreme right. Then thedogs, which had followed hot upon the trail, were cheered into thethicket. They were a plucky lot of curs, well used to this kind ofwork, and they did their duty well. Plunging into the bush andundergrowth, they quickly told that the game was afoot.
"To him, Nero! To him, Nelson! Push him up, Ponto!" cried Mr.Blakeney, in his strong, clear voice. The dogs, encouraged at the sound,renewed their attack.
"Push him out, boys!" again cried their master heartily. "Have at him,Nero!"
Nero, a huge, br
indled cross-bred, half mastiff, half greyhound, with atouch of bull--a true Boer mongrel, picked up in the Transvaal--plungesinto the fray again, well backed by the rest of the pack. The lion canstand the baiting no longer, and, creeping noiselessly through thecovert, suddenly appears within thirty paces of where Mr. Blakeneystands ready for him. Seeing his adversary, the brute, his mouth andface still darkly smeared with the blood of his victim, bares his teeth,puts his head down, growls savagely, and, lashing his tail a few timesfrom side to side, takes two or three stealthy strides right out intothe open. Then suddenly he elevates his tail, straight and rigid as apoker. Mr. Blakeney knows the danger signal well; his nerves are likeiron; he is as steady as if he were shooting at a francolin. Already heis down on one knee, the better to get his shot. Tom stands staunchlyat his flank, ready with the second rifle. Taking swift aim, Mr.Blakeney pulls the trigger; the heavy .500 bullet strikes the man-eaterfull in the chest, and, raking the body and tearing through heart andlungs, instantly finishes its career. The brute falls to the shot, andafter a convulsive struggle or two rolls over dead. Never again will heslay the shuddering Berg Damaras, or murder a harmless boy.
Tom's hat went flying up into the air.
"Hurrah!" he cried, in his high, cheery voice. "Well shot, pater!We've killed the brute, and avenged poor Peter. Hurrah!"
Guy came bursting round the corner of the covert, and, seeing thetriumph, added two more "hurrahs" to Tom's exultant shouts.
There, in truth, lay the murderous brute, and the poor, innocent wildboy was avenged. He was a huge, dark-maned lion, fat and in highcondition, and in the very prime of his strength. Poeskop and Jan nowcame running up, full of joy and congratulations.
"Ah, baas! that is a great lion," said the Bushman. "I never saw abigger or a heavier. Look at his forepaws. Why, he could kill an ox aseasily as I could kill a chicken. The Berg Damaras up yonder may wellbe glad. Two lions killed last night, and this old _mannetje_ thismorning. They will sleep in peace for a long time to come."
While Jan Kokerboom set to work to skin the lion, Poeskop, by Mr.Blakeney's directions, made his way into the thicket to see if he coulddiscover any further remains of the unfortunate Peter. Meanwhile, anumber of the Berg Damaras, guided by the rifle shot, had made their waydown to the spot. Their delight on discovering, not only that theman-eater had been slain that morning, but that a lion and lioness hadalso been killed during the night, was very great. Something of theirload of depression seemed lifted from their spirits. They even began tosmile, a thing none of the English party had observed during theprevious day. As to the death of their kinsman, the unfortunate Peter,they seemed not in the least affected; but, as Mr. Blakeney pointed outto the boys, wandering tribesfolk, such as Bushmen and Berg Damaras andthe like, lead such precarious lives, and are so often confronted bydeath, danger, and starvation, that they become callous and indifferentto suffering, whether it affects themselves or others.
Poeskop presently returned. Beyond a few bones and a piece or two offlesh, he had found no further traces of the boy. The lion had devouredhim. They returned to camp, leaving the Berg Damaras to deal as theypleased with the now flayed carcass of the dead lion. With this and theflesh of the other two lions the poor wretches seemed highly delighted.The hearts of these beasts, the headman explained, when they had eatenthem, would give them courage, and the rest of the flesh and fat wouldbe useful to them. Returning up the valley, Guy shot a fine waterbuckbull. After taking the horns and skin, this also was handed over to thetribes-people, who were now well provided with meat. The flesh of thewaterbuck is coarse and unpleasant, and not at all palatable toEuropeans; and as the hunters had plenty of meat at their camp, the BergDamaras were welcome to this fresh food supply. On reaching camp Tomtook a spade, and, with Guy, went out to bury the poor remains of Peter,the wild boy--the head and the severed arm. Tom returned from his tasksorrowful enough, and was depressed and quiet for the rest of the day.
"Poor little Peter!" he said that evening at supper. "His meeting withus, which we all thought such a fine thing for him, was but a miserablebit of luck after all. I do believe, if he had remained with thebaboons, he might have lived for years."
"Ay, Tom," rejoined his father, "it's a strange world; and humandestiny, whether in the case of the black man or the white, is one ofthe most inexplicable of all mysteries. Still, we did the right thingin rescuing poor Peter. Think of it. What an existence would have beenhis if we had not discovered him. To live with the beasts of thefield--and such beasts as baboons--surely even you, Tom, fond as youwere of the little chap, could never have wished him such a fate."
"No, pater, I suppose not," acknowledged Tom; "but it was a cruel end.I shall never forget the little fellow, and it will be a long whilebefore I shall get his death-scream out of my memory."