One Day Not
Long After We Had Settled Down In Our New Camp,
I Was Joined Quite Unexpectedly By My
Friend Dr.
Brock, who had shared the exciting adventure
with me at Tsavo the night we were attacked
in the
Goods-wagon by one of the man-eaters.
Now Brock had so far not been fortunate enough
to bag a lion, and was consequently most anxious
to do so. Shortly after his arrival, accordingly,
he suggested that we should go for a shooting
expedition on the morrow, and that I should trot
out for his benefit one of the local lions. Of
course I said I should be delighted - I was always
ready for a hunt when it was possible for me
to get away, and as just at the time we were
"held up" by the Athi River, I could manage
a day off quite easily. So we made the usual
preparations for a day's absence from camp -
filled our water-bottles with tea, put a loaf of
bread and a tin of sardines in our haversacks,
looked carefully to our rifles and ammunition;
and warned the "boys" who were to accompany
us as beaters to be ready before dawn. I decided
to make a very early start, as I knew that the
most likely place for lions lay some distance away,
and I wanted to get there if possible by daybreak.
We should thus have a better chance of catching
one of the lords of the plain as he returned
from his nightly depredations to the kindly shelter
of the tall grass and rushes which fringed the
banks of the river. We therefore retired to rest
early, and just as I was dozing off to sleep, one
of my Indian servants, Roshan Khan, put his
head through the slit at my tent door and asked
leave to accompany the "Sahibs" in the morning
so that he might see what shikar (hunting) was
like. This request I sleepily granted, thinking
that it could make little difference whether he
came with us or stayed behind in camp. As
things turned out, however, it made all the
difference in the world, for if he had not accompanied
us, my shikar would in all probability have ended
disastrously next day. He was a very dusky-coloured
young Pathan about twenty years of
age, lithe and active, and honest and pleasant-looking,
as Pathans go. He had been my "boy"
for some time and was much attached to me,
besides having a touching faith in my prowess in
shikar: probably, indeed, this was the reason
why he stuck so close to me throughout the
hunt.
We breakfasted by candle light and managed
to get several miles on our way towards the
source of the Athi before dawn. As soon as
it was thoroughly daylight, we extended in line,
Dr. Brock, as the guest, being placed in the most
likely position for a shot, while Roshan Khan
followed close behind me with the day's
provisions. In this order we trudged steadily
forward for a couple of miles without coming across
anything, though we advanced through many
patches of rushes and long grass likely to conceal
our expected quarry. It was most interesting
and exciting work all the same, as we never
knew but that a lion might the next moment
jump up at our very feet. We had just beaten
through a most hopeful-looking covert without
success and had come out on to a beautiful open
grassy glade which stretched away for some
distance ahead of us, when I noticed a big herd of
wildebeeste browsing quietly some distance to
our right. I knew that Brock also wanted a
wildebeeste, so I whistled softly to him, and
pointed out the weird-looking, bison-like antelopes.
He came across at once and started off towards
the herd, while I sat down to watch the
proceedings. He made a beautiful stalk, which was
rendered really very difficult by the open nature
of the country, but still the wildebeeste quickly
noticed his approach and kept steadily moving
on, until at last they disappeared over one of
the gentle rises which are such a feature of the
Athi Plains.
I still sat and waited, expecting every moment
to hear the sound of Brock's rifle. Some time
elapsed without a shot, however, and I was just
about to follow him up and find out how things
were going, when Roshan Khan suddenly
exclaimed excitedly: - " Dekko, Sahib, shenzi ata
hain!" ("Look, Sahib, the savages are
coming!"). I was not in the least alarmed at
this somewhat startling announcement, as the
Indians called all the natives of the interior of
Africa shenzi, or savages; and on looking round
I saw five tall, slim Masai approaching in Indian
file, each carrying a six-foot spear in his right
hand. On coming nearer, the leader of the party
eagerly asked in Swahili, "What does the Bwana
Makubwa ("Great Master") desire?"
"Simba" ("Lions"), said I.
"Come," he replied, "I will show you many."
This filled me with interest at once. "How
far away are they?" I asked.
"M'bali kidogo" (" A little distance "), came
the stereotyped reply.
I immediately had a good look round for
Brock, but could see no sign of him, so, in case the
"many" lions should get away in the meantime,
I told the Masai to lead the way, and off we
started.
As usual, the m'bali kidogo proved a good
distance - over two miles in this case. Indeed,
I began to get impatient at the long tramp, and
called out to the Masai to know where his lions
were; but he vouchsafed me no answer and
continued to walk steadily on, casting keen glances
ahead. After a little I again asked, "Where are
the lions?" This time he extended his spear
in a most dramatic manner, and pointing to a
clump of trees just ahead, exclaimed: "Look,
Master; there are the lions." I looked, and
at once caught sight of a lioness trotting off
behind the bushes.
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