The lion has been called the "king of the forest." This appears to be a misnomer. He is not properly a _forest_ animal. He cannot climb trees, and therefore in the forest would less easily procure his food than in the open plain. The panther, the leopard, and the jaguar, are all tree-climbers. They can follow the bird to its roost, and the monkey to its perch. The forest is their appropriate home. They are forest animals. Not so the lion. It is upon the open plains--where the great ruminants love to roam, and among the low bushy thickets that skirt them, that the lion affects to dwell.
He lives upon flesh,--the flesh of many kinds of animals, though he has his favourites, according to the country in which he is found. He kills these animals for himself. The story of the jackal being his "provider,"--killing them for him,--is not true. More frequently he himself provides the skulking jackals with a meal. Hence their being often seen in his company--which they keep, in order to pick up his "crumbs."
The lion "butchers" for himself, though he will not object to have it done for him; and will take away their game from wolf, jackal, or hyena--from the hunter if he can.
The lion is not a fast runner--none of the true _felidae_ are. Nearly all the ruminant animals can outrun him. How, then, does he capture them?
By stratagem, by the suddenness of his attack, and by the length and velocity of his bound. He lies in wait, or steals upon them. He springs from his crouching place. His peculiar anatomical structure enables him to spring to an immense distance--in fact, to an almost incredible distance. Sixteen paces have been alleged by writers, who say they were eye-witnesses, and carefully measured the leap!
Should he fail to capture his prey at the first bound, the lion follows it no farther, but turns and trots away in an opposite direction.
Sometimes, however, the intended victim tempts him to a second spring, and even to a third; but failing then, he is sure to give up the pursuit.
The lion is not gregarious, although as many as ten or a dozen are often seen together. They hunt in company at times, and drive the game towards one another!
They attack and destroy all other species of animals that inhabit the country around them--even the strong heavy rhinoceros is not feared by them, though the latter frequently foils and conquers them. Young elephants sometimes become their prey. The fierce buffalo, the giraffe, the oryx, the huge eland, and the eccentric gnoo, all have to succ.u.mb to their superior strength and armature.
But they are not universally victorious over these animals. Sometimes they are vanquished by one or other of them, and in turn become victims.
Sometimes both combatants leave their bodies upon the scene of the struggle.
The lion is not hunted as a profession. His spoils are worthless. His skin sells for but little, and he yields no other trophy of any value.
As hunting him is attended with great danger, and the hunter, as already stated, may avoid him if he wishes, but few lions would be destroyed, were it not for a certain offensive habit to which they are addicted-- that of robbing the vee-boor of his horses and his cattle. This brings a new pa.s.sion into play,--the vengeance of the farmer; and with such a motive to urge on the hunt, the lion in some parts is chased with great zeal and a.s.siduity.
But where there are no cattle-farms, no such motive exists; and there but little interest is felt in the chase of this animal. Nay, what is still stranger: the Bushmen and other poor wandering tribes do not kill the lion at all, or very seldom. They do not regard him with feelings of hostility. The lion acts towards _them_ as a "provider!"
Hendrik, who had heard of this, asked Swartboy if it was true.
The Bushman answered at once in the affirmative.
His people, he said, were in the habit of watching the lion, or following his spoor, until they came upon either himself, or the quarry he had killed. Sometimes the vultures guided them to it. When the "tao" chanced to be on the spot, or had not yet finished his meal, his trackers would wait, until he had taken his departure, after which they would steal up and appropriate what remained of the spoil. Often this would be the half, or perhaps three parts of some large animal, which they might have found a difficulty in killing for themselves.
Knowing the lion will rarely attack them, the Bushmen are not much afraid of these animals. On the contrary, they rather rejoice at seeing them numerous in their district, as they are then provided with hunters able to _furnish_ them with food!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE TRAVELLERS BENIGHTED.
Our travellers would have talked much more about lions, but for the condition of their horses. This made them feel uneasy. With the exception of a few hours grazing, the poor brutes had been without food since the appearance of the locusts. Horses do not travel well upon soft gra.s.s, and of course they were now suffering severely.
It would be far in the night before the hors.e.m.e.n could reach the camp-- although they were pushing on as fast as the horses could travel.
It was quite dark, when they arrived at the spot where they had halted the previous evening. In fact, it was very dark. Neither moon nor stars were to be seen in the sky; and thick black clouds covered the whole canopy of the heavens. It looked as though a rain-storm might be expected--still no rain had as yet fallen.
It was the intention of the travellers to halt at this place, and let their horses graze a while. With this view they all dismounted; but, after trying one or two places, they could find no gra.s.s!
This appeared strange, as they had certainly observed gra.s.s at that very spot the day before. Now there was none!
The horses put their noses to the ground, but raised them up again, snorting as they did so, and evidently disappointed. They were hungry enough to have eaten gra.s.s had there been any, for they eagerly s.n.a.t.c.hed at the leaves of the bushes as they pa.s.sed along!
Had the locusts been there also? No. The mimosa-bushes still retained their delicate foliage, which would not have been the case had the locusts visited the spot.
Our travellers were astonished that there was no gra.s.s. Surely there was some the day before? Had they got upon a new track?
The darkness prevented them from having a view of the ground; yet Von Bloom could not be mistaken about the route--having travelled it four times already. Though he could not see the surface, every now and again he caught a glimpse of some tree or bush, which he had marked in his former journeys, and these a.s.sured him they were still upon the right track.
Surprised at the absence of gra.s.s where they had so lately observed it, they would have examined the surface more carefully; but they were anxious to push on to the spring, and at length gave up the idea of halting. The water in their gourds had been used up long before this; and both they and their horses were once more suffering from thirst.
Besides, Von Bloom was not without some anxiety about the children at the wagon. He had been separated from them now a full day and a half, and many a change might take place--many a danger might arise in that time. In fact, he began to blame himself for having left them alone.
It would have been better to have let his cattle perish. So thought he now. A presentiment that all was not right was gradually forming in his mind; and he grew more anxious to proceed as he reflected.
They rode on in silence. It was only on Hendrik expressing a doubt about the way, that the conversation recommenced. Swartboy also thought they were taking a wrong course.
At first Von Bloom a.s.sured them they were right: but after going a little farther, he admitted that he was in doubt; and then, after another half-mile"s travelling, he declared that he had lost the track.
He could no longer recognise any one of the marks or bearings he had taken.
The proper thing to be done under these circ.u.mstances was to leave the horses to themselves; and this all three well knew. But the animals were suffering the pangs of hunger, and when left to themselves, would not journey forward, but rushed up to the mimosa-bushes, and eagerly commenced devouring their leaves.
The consequence was, that their riders were obliged to keep them going with whip and spur; and in that way there was no certainty of the horses taking the right direction.
After several hours" advancing, all the while in a state of suspense, and as yet no appearance of either wagon or camp-fire, the travellers resolved upon coming to a halt. It was of no use going forward. They believed they could not be far from the camp; but they were now as likely to be riding _from_ as _towards_ it; and they concluded at length, that it would be wiser to remain where they were until the day broke.
They all dismounted therefore, and fastened their horses to the bushes-- so that the animals could browse upon the leaves till morning--which could not now be very far off. They rolled themselves up in their karosses, and lay down upon the earth.
Hendrik and Swartboy were soon asleep. Von Bloom would have slept too, for he was tired enough; but the heart of the father was too full of anxiety to allow repose to his eyes, and he lay awake watching for the dawn.
It came at length, and at the first light his eyes swept the surface of the surrounding country. The party had by chance halted on an eminence that commanded a good view for miles on each side, but the field-cornet had not glanced half around the circle, when an object came before his eyes that brought gladness to his heart. It was the white tent of the wagon!
The joyful exclamation he uttered awoke the sleepers, who immediately sprang to their feet; and all three stood gazing at the welcome sight.
As they continued to gaze, their joy gradually gave place to feelings of surprise. Was it _their_ wagon, after all?
It certainly looked like theirs; but it was a full half-mile off, and at such a distance one wagon would look just like another. But what led them to doubt its being theirs? It was the _appearance of the place in which they saw it_. Surely it was not the same place in which they had outspanned!
Theirs had been left in an oblong valley between two gentle ridges--in such a valley was this one standing. Near a small pool formed by a spring--here, too, was the same, for they could perceive the water shining. But in all other respects the situation was different. The surface of the valley in which their wagon had been left was covered, both sides and bottom, with a verdant carpet of gra.s.s; whereas the one now before their eyes was brown and bare! not a blade of gra.s.s was to be seen--the trees seeming to be the only things that had any verdure.
Even the low bushes appeared to be dest.i.tute of leaves! The scene had no resemblance whatever to that where they had outspanned. It must be the camp of some other travellers, thought they.
They had fully arrived at this conclusion, when Swartboy, whose eyes had been rolling about everywhere, now rested upon the ground at his feet.
After a moment"s observation--which the increasing light now enabled him to make--he turned suddenly to the others, and directed their attention to the surface of the plain. This they saw was covered with tracks, as if a thousand hoofs had pa.s.sed over it. In fact, it presented the appearance of a vast sheep-pen; so vast, that as far as their sight extended, they beheld the same tracked and trampled appearance!
What could this mean? Hendrik did not know. Von Bloom was in doubt.
Swartboy could tell at the first glance. It was no new sight to him.
"All right, baas," he said, looking up in his master"s face. "Da"s da ole wagon!--da same spring an" vley--da same place--dar hab been um _trek-boken_!"
"A trek-boken!" cried Von Bloom and Hendrik, in a breath.