Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 12

Chapter XII.
THE LION CAMP

Evening, the swift evening of Africa, was stealing on apace. The Berg Damaras now left the camp, their chief warning the white men to be prepared for an assault by lions, which, he declared, were here so bold that they feared neither thorn kraals, fires, nor assegais. Mr. Blakeney pronounced himself well prepared for any eventuality. During the afternoon Jan Kokerboom and his assistants had cut down a large number of thorn bushes, and made a strong scherm or fence, within which the oxen, after grazing, were enclosed for the night. The horses were fastened 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 prepared against the night assaults of lions or any other Carnivora.

Peter, the wild boy, was still with them. His father, as they believed him to be, had, after the episode of the vulture's shadow, declined resolutely to have anything further to do with him. The Berg Damara headman, whom Mr. Blakeney had asked to take charge of the child, had shaken his head, and manifested extreme disinclination to add further to his responsibilities by taking a useless encumbrance into his tribe. They could scarcely feed themselves as it was, he explained. The white men had found the child; they were rich and powerful; they could keep him, and take him away with them. Tom was delighted, and, backed up by Guy, begged that he might be allowed to keep Peter. He would make a useful servant some day, he pointed out. He was already becoming attached to the party, especially to Tom, whom he seemed to regard as his master and protector. Mr. Blakeney turned over the matter in his mind. At supper time he called Poeskop, and asked him what, in his opinion, 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 to death. 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 are in such a plight, and hard put to it, they can't afford to be kind and compassionate like the white people. I know them well, and I know that the 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 the boy. It would be a cruel thing to leave him to the mercies of these starving people. We'll take him with us, and make the best of the poor little beggar."

Tom promptly showed his contentment by taking a steinbuck cutlet from the frying-pan and handing it to Peter, who squatted near him, watching with elfish eyes the white men having their supper. The wild boy snatched 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 a gentleman."

The wild boy already understood much of Tom's tutelage. Still gazing with greedy eyes, he held out his paw, and allowed Tom to hand him the food. Then, conveying it to his mouth, he quickly made short work of it, devouring it very much as an ape devours its food. The white men having supped, Peter was fed, Tom superintending the process, and seeing to it that his charge made his repast in a reasonably decent fashion.

"Peter," said Tom, when all was finished, "I have hopes of you. You certainly are improving. You didn't lick your plate to-night-of course I was keeping an eye on you-and you are learning not to snatch at everything like a beastly monkey. I do believe I shall make a man of you 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 his master's meaning. Then he reached out a black hand, and softly laid it on Tom's arm. It was the most gentle, the most human-like, gesture he had yet exhibited.

"Poor little chap!" said Mr. Blakeney; "I believe he begins to feel the instincts of humanity working within him."

"Yes," said Guy, "I'm sure he does. He'll do all right, Tom. You're making a first-class reformer."

Tom patted the little fellow on the shoulder, and went to the wagon and took down a blanket, which he handed to Peter. The wild boy, who now showed no sign of any inclination to run away, and had for the last twenty-four hours been allowed complete liberty, at once wrapped himself up, snuggled close to the fire, and fell fast asleep. For another two hours the three white men sat round the fire, the boys writing up their diaries, Mr. Blakeney smoking and reading. Then they chatted for a while, and at nine o'clock or thereabouts prepared to turn in for the night. Guy went to the tent; Mr. Blakeney climbed to his wagon. Tom prepared his blanket and kaross by the fire, as he had done since Peter's capture. He still judged it advisable to keep the boy under his control at night, and, fastening the cord to his belt, made the other end secure round the belt which Peter wore for the purpose. Then settling himself with his feet to the comfortable blaze, he gazed for a few minutes upwards at the brilliant array of stars, and was quickly sleeping the wonderful and refreshing sleep of the wilderness.

How long Tom had slept he knew not, but he was suddenly awakened by a sharp tug at his belt. Snatching up his loaded rifle, which lay by his side, he sat up and looked around him. Peter was crouching on his hams two or three yards away, his blanket fallen from his shoulders, his eyes wildly excited. He was barking fiercely, just as a baboon barks when enraged or alarmed. In another instant there was violent commotion in the ox kraal. The native servants, sleeping at the fire near by, had been awakened by the wild boy's warning barks; they were now on their feet, 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 at his belt, sprang up with his weapon. The three ran towards the scherm.

"A lion, baas! a lion!" cried Jan Kokerboom excitedly, as they neared the scene. "There he is. Shoot, boys, shoot!" Then, putting up his gun, he again fired. Poeskop and Seleti were reloading; Mangwalaan held up a flaming torch to give light. It was a weird scene, only fitfully illuminated by the blazing torch and the light of the men's fire close at hand. Another rush took place among the oxen; then a dark figure cleared the thorn fence just behind the group of affrighted animals.

"He's gone!" yelled Poeskop, who had just got another cartridge into the breech of his Snider. "He's gone!"

It was quite clear that the warnings of the Berg Damaras had not been given without reason. The lions had begun their assaults. Fortunate it was for the camp that they had confined their attentions to the ox kraal. Now, pulling aside the thorns at the entrance, and lighted by fresh firebrands, Mr. Blakeney and the rest of the party entered the kraal. On the far side lay a dark object, which a closer approach showed to be a dying ox. The poor brute had evidently been seized upon by the lion at its first assault. Its shoulders and back had been badly scored and bitten, and the ferocious brute, gripping the nose of the ox in one of its powerful forepaws, had evidently, by a mighty wrench, dislocated the unfortunate beast's neck. In another minute, even as they looked, it breathed its last. The rest of the oxen stood huddled together 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 to think 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 the darkness beyond the light of the camp fires. They made up and lighted a fresh fire in the middle of the ox kraal, and Jan Kokerboom had strict injunctions to keep it going all night. As for the lion, both Poeskop and Jan believed it to be wounded; probably it would scarcely venture to return that night. Still, as Poeskop said, with lions you never know where you are, especially if they are hungry. The remaining fires were strengthened, 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 better have him out."

Tom fetched him out, calmed his apprehensions, and set him by the fire again. The wild boy seemed at last persuaded that the danger was past, and his young master having fastened the cord dangling at the child's waist to his own belt again, Peter once more wrapped himself in his blanket and went to sleep. Tom, lying a few feet away from him, was not slow to follow his example.

It seemed but a few minutes to the English lad, yet the space of a full hour had certainly elapsed, when Tom was violently startled from his sleep by a wild, terrified yell, which sounded close to his ears. There was something so horrifying about that wild scream, violently shattering the previous stillness of the night, that a shudder of apprehension went thrilling through Tom's whole person. In the same instant there was a rough pull at the lad's belt; he was turned half over. and, before he had time to snatch up the rifle by his side, he felt himself being dragged away over the ground at a rapid pace. The lad's mind instantly grasped the situation. Something-a lion, no doubt-had got hold of the unfortunate Peter, and was dragging him off; and Tom, being coupled to him by the long cord, was being dragged also. In an instant Tom had unbuckled his belt and was free. Springing to his feet and looking round, he saw by the light of the fire a huge yellow-maned lion, which had 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 to the rescue, and he afterwards affirmed that the boy had, beyond all doubt, suddenly recovered his native tongue, and was crying out and imploring assistance in Berg Damara. Tom rushed to the fire, seized upon 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 of the firelight, and belaboured the brute about the head and face with the burning brand. It was a marvellously plucky act, but it was useless. The fierce brute held on grimly to its prey, and merely hastened its pace, now moving at a swift trot. Tom turned to rush for his rifle, and in the same instant something seemed to flash out from the darkness, and knocked him down. It was a lioness, which, as Poeskop and Guy came running up with their weapons, stood over the lad, growling horribly-a fierce, 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 stark dead. At this moment Mr. Blakeney came up to their assistance. Between them they dragged the grim brute off Tom, who was by this time nearly suffocated. A full-grown lion weighs a good deal more than twice as much as a heavy man, and Tom, although happily not seriously hurt, was pretty 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 he was hurt.

"N-no!" gasped the lad; "I'm-all-right-I think. G-go on after Peter. Hark! He's there somewhere. The other lion's got him. Hark!"

They listened for a moment. There came faint, agonized cries from out the darkness. They were the unfortunate wild boy's last appeals. They ceased. All was still.

"Bring fire-sticks," cried out Mr. Blakeney. "You, Poeskop, stay with Baas 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 the four advanced into the darkness. They could see little beyond a dozen feet in front of them. Again they listened. The wild boy's voice was no more heard, but in its place there came from the outer darkness a sickening 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." They moved forward ten yards, and then, from some thick bush in front of them, there came a low, cavernous, threatening growl from the brute, disturbed at its prey. Mr. Blakeney and Guy fired together, and reloaded. They could hear the man-killer dragging the unfortunate lad yet farther into the bush. Again they fired. Now the men's torches were getting low. Still they advanced again, though much against the will of the two natives.

"Baas," whispered Jan Kokerboom, "this is madness. My fire-stick will be out in another minute, and we shall all be killed by the lions. There are more about. I have heard them."

Still Mr. Blakeney and Guy pushed on a few yards farther, until their advance was barred by thicker and stronger bush.

"It's useless, Guy," said Mr. Blakeney, in a stern voice. "We've done all 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 way back to the camp fires. For the rest of that night they got little rest. Tom first had to be attended to. The lioness in her attack had badly shaken him; but beyond some deep scratches inflicted by one paw on the back of the shoulder as she held him down, he was unhurt. These wounds were dressed with carbolic and water, as usual. Two hours later an attack made by another pair of lions on the cattle scherms was successfully repelled, and an old, worn-out lion shot through the thorn fence by Jan Kokerboom and Mangwalaan. Towards dawn the white men slept for a couple of hours or so.

After breakfast they prepared to take vengeance upon the murderer of the unfortunate wild boy. Mr. Blakeney wished much to persuade Tom to stay behind and help Seleti and Mangwalaan to look after the camp.

"No, pater," pleaded Tom; "this is really my business. You know what an interest I took in the poor little chap. In a way I looked on him as belonging to me. I'll keep behind. My shoulder is not very bad, and I can, at all events, carry a spare rifle in case you need it."

Mr. Blakeney gave way, and the three, accompanied by Poeskop and Jan Kokerboom, went forth on their mission of vengeance. With them they took the wagon dogs to aid in hunting up the lion. They had little difficulty in finding the path of the man-eater. In the thorns, through which the fierce brute had dragged its victim, were to be seen shreds of the poor wild boy's old flannel shirt and knickerbockers, bestowed upon him by his young master. Here was where the monster had bitten through the poor little fellow's neck and finished him, and had even begun to devour some of his flesh. A large dark patch of blood and other hideous traces 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 the right forearm and hand of the unfortunate boy. Both had been severed easily 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, I think 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 to follow 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 lying close to the little stream that ran through the valley. Poeskop quickly ran round this piece of bush, and made certain that the murderous brute had gone no farther. Mr. Blakeney now disposed his little force so as to command each side of the triangle. Poeskop and Guy crossed the stream, and guarded that side. Jan Kokerboom kept watch at the point where the lion had entered, well in sight of Mr. Blakeney, who, with Tom carrying a spare rifle, took the angle on the extreme right. Then the dogs, which had followed hot upon the trail, were cheered into the thicket. They were a plucky lot of curs, well used to this kind of work, and they did their duty well. Plunging into the bush and undergrowth, 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, brindled cross-bred, half mastiff, half greyhound, with a touch of bull-a true Boer mongrel, picked up in the Transvaal-plunges into the fray again, well backed by the rest of the pack. The lion can stand the baiting no longer, and, creeping noiselessly through the covert, suddenly appears within thirty paces of where Mr. Blakeney stands ready for him. Seeing his adversary, the brute, his mouth and face still darkly smeared with the blood of his victim, bares his teeth, puts his head down, growls savagely, and, lashing his tail a few times from side to side, takes two or three stealthy strides right out into the open. Then suddenly he elevates his tail, straight and rigid as a poker. Mr. Blakeney knows the danger signal well; his nerves are like iron; he is as steady as if he were shooting at a francolin. Already he is down on one knee, the better to get his shot. Tom stands staunchly at his flank, ready with the second rifle. Taking swift aim, Mr. Blakeney pulls the trigger; the heavy .500 bullet strikes the man-eater full in the chest, and, raking the body and tearing through heart and lungs, instantly finishes its career. The brute falls to the shot, and after a convulsive struggle or two rolls over dead. Never again will he slay 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 the triumph, added two more "hurrahs" to Tom's exultant shouts.

There, in truth, lay the murderous brute, and the poor, innocent wild boy was avenged. He was a huge, dark-maned lion, fat and in high condition, and in the very prime of his strength. Poeskop and Jan now came running up, full of joy and congratulations.

"Ah, baas! that is a great lion," said the Bushman. "I never saw a bigger or a heavier. Look at his forepaws. Why, he could kill an ox as easily as I could kill a chicken. The Berg Damaras up yonder may well be glad. Two lions killed last night, and this old mannetje this morning. 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 could discover any further remains of the unfortunate Peter. Meanwhile, a number of the Berg Damaras, guided by the rifle shot, had made their way down to the spot. Their delight on discovering, not only that the man-eater had been slain that morning, but that a lion and lioness had also been killed during the night, was very great. Something of their load of depression seemed lifted from their spirits. They even began to smile, a thing none of the English party had observed during the previous day. As to the death of their kinsman, the unfortunate Peter, they seemed not in the least affected; but, as Mr. Blakeney pointed out to the boys, wandering tribesfolk, such as Bushmen and Berg Damaras and the like, lead such precarious lives, and are so often confronted by death, danger, and starvation, that they become callous and indifferent to suffering, whether it affects themselves or others.

Poeskop presently returned. Beyond a few bones and a piece or two of flesh, he had found no further traces of the boy. The lion had devoured him. They returned to camp, leaving the Berg Damaras to deal as they pleased with the now flayed carcass of the dead lion. With this and the flesh of the other two lions the poor wretches seemed highly delighted. The hearts of these beasts, the headman explained, when they had eaten them, would give them courage, and the rest of the flesh and fat would be useful to them. Returning up the valley, Guy shot a fine waterbuck bull. After taking the horns and skin, this also was handed over to the tribes-people, who were now well provided with meat. The flesh of the waterbuck is coarse and unpleasant, and not at all palatable to Europeans; and as the hunters had plenty of meat at their camp, the Berg Damaras were welcome to this fresh food supply. On reaching camp Tom took 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 task sorrowful enough, and was depressed and quiet for the rest of the day.

"Poor little Peter!" he said that evening at supper. "His meeting with us, which we all thought such a fine thing for him, was but a miserable bit of luck after all. I do believe, if he had remained with the baboons, he might have lived for years."

"Ay, Tom," rejoined his father, "it's a strange world; and human destiny, whether in the case of the black man or the white, is one of the most inexplicable of all mysteries. Still, we did the right thing in rescuing poor Peter. Think of it. What an existence would have been his if we had not discovered him. To live with the beasts of the field-and such beasts as baboons-surely even you, Tom, fond as you were 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 while before I shall get his death-scream out of my memory."