The Ruined Cities of Zululand. Hugh Mulleneux Walmsley
the rocks. Masheesh, Luji, and Noti making a long circuit, came upon the rear of the eland, who were quietly grazing like tame deer in a park. The old buck, who generally led the herd, would soon take the alarm, and, raising his head, gaze around. Uttering a whistling cry, the rest would gather round him, as they moved away in single file for the hill-side. The alarm would spread, and at one moment there could not have been less than a hundred and fifty eland moving near them across the plain. Still the hunter’s rifle was not heard, for the deer had taken a wrong direction. At length, a troop of ten headed straight for the rock where Captain Hughes lay; the loud report of his rifle rang out, still more startling the flying antelope, while a deer, bounding several feet into the air, fell stone dead, shot through the heart. The eland was a female, easily distinguished as such from the very great difference of colour, being of a light pale yellow, with a splendid pair of spirally-twisted horns. Without moving, the hunter waited, hoping that some of the herds, now wildly scouring the plain, would come within shot. Trotting jauntily along, his little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, a young eland came to the side of the dead mother. It was of a different colour to the female. Of a pale orange tint, the horns were short, and not twisted. There were many mouths to feed in camp, and the child eland was three parts grown. Again the sharp crack of the rifle was heard ringing across the plain, and the young antelope fell dead close to the mother, just as a herd of seven came bounding along at top speed within fifteen paces of the ambush. Seizing a spare rifle, the hunter sighted the leader of the troop, and a third sharp report woke up the echoes of the rocks. His foreleg broken, the eland still galloped on, his speed much diminished but yet considerable. Dashing after them came Masheesh, his long straight spear in his hand, his ostrich plume streaming backwards in the wind, his limbs naked save the usual ox hide round the waist. Singling out the wounded buck, the Matabele brave followed it. Its foreleg hanging useless, still the antelope struggled on, bidding fair to get away, but Noti headed it, and the animal came struggling along, in a direction which would lead it to within ten paces of the savage chief. Poising the long bright assegai, Masheesh stood for a moment motionless, while a gleam of light seemed to traverse the air, and the antelope fell heavily forward. The next, Masheesh bent over the struggling deer, the sharp curved knife flashed across the throat, a stream of blood followed, a few convulsive efforts, and all was still. This was a noble buck, measuring nine feet from the horns to the base of the tail, while the length of the horns was fully three, the deer standing nine feet high measured at the shoulder.
Sending the eland meat to camp, the hunters took their way to the river bank, searching for the spoor of the lion. Right opposite the spot where the remains of the deer lay, the river running between, a deep hole was dug, so deep that only the head and neck of a man standing in it would appear above the level ground. Between it and the remains of the deer, the stream formed a kind of pool. To the right ran the chain of mountains, while in front the plain was clear, the water a little lower down, pouring over a ledge of rock, so as to form a miniature cataract. Heavy timber grew right down to the river’s edge, the branches of some of the trees dipping into the water. The hole was dug at the foot of a tree, and all round it grew long, rank grass, and tangled brushwood, save where it was cleared away in front.
About nine o’clock that night, Captain Hughes, accompanied by Luji, who carried a spare rifle, took his way down to the river.
“I climb in tree?” asked Luji. “Master hid away in hole?” His English was plain enough, but not very grammatical.
“No, thank you, Luji,” replied the soldier, laughing; “remember the lioness of Zoutpansburgh.”
“Three lions there,” replied the other; “and Luji not know missionary in tree.”
“Well, well, just you bundle off to camp, Luji, and go to sleep. If I am not back directly after daybreak, send to look for me.”
“Luji come himself,” said the man, with the air of a hero. “Good-night, master.”
“Good-night, Luji.”
The cracking of the brush was heard, then a monotonous chaunt, as the careless fellow took his way back to camp. Both sounds died away in the distance, and the hunter felt himself alone, dependent only on himself, in the middle of the African plain. The moon was in her second quarter, but would not rise before eleven o’clock, and the darkness grew dense. The silence of the day was gradually broken into, the jackals and hyenas began their nightly music, and the watcher, though he could see nothing, became aware that animals of some kind were splashing and drinking in the water close to him. He strained his eyes, but could not make out anything. Soon the jackals scented the carrion, their peculiar wailing cry coming nearer and nearer. Time wore on, the position in the cramped-up hole, without the possibility of seeing anything, was an irksome one, and the hunter, after the fatigues of the day, felt sleep creeping over him.
He heard the jackals quarrelling and snarling over the carrion; he heard the sound of the water as it flowed, falling over the neighbouring ledge, with a continued monotonous noise; he was with the 150th, telling many a tale of African adventure; in a word, he had fallen asleep, when a soft, cold, hairy hand was laid on the back of his neck, and a thrill of horror passed through his frame, as he saw two large eyes looking through the darkness into his. At this moment the lion roared on the mountain-side, and the jackals heard it, for they left the carrion, giving a long mournful howl as they scurried away, and, taking up a position about half a mile off, filled the air with their plaintive music. Slowly the upper limb of the moon rose above the mountains, when again the cold, hairy touch was felt by the watcher, followed by a twitch at the fur cap he wore, and now by the feeble light he could distinguish an enormous monkey. It did not seem to have the slightest fear, but clutched at the sealskin cap, clashing its long teeth together, and grimacing hideously. Again the lion roared, this time much nearer, as taking up a broken branch, the hunter struck at the troublesome baboon, who, chattering with fear, dashed into the tangled brush. The lion was evidently coming up very cautiously, but presently the snapping sound of breaking branches was heard, as the animal forced its way onwards. Raising his head to see that the rifles were in position, the startled hunter received the soft, warm breeze right in his face, becoming at once aware that the wind had changed, and was bearing the scent straight down on the lion, who was advancing up the wind, perfectly aware of the presence of some enemy, while the brushwood on that side extended for miles, right up to the mouth of the pit. Another roar, this time close to. What would the ambushed man have given had even Luji been within range? The perspiration rolled down his face as he prepared to get out and meet the “lord of the mountain” on the open. It was too late, for a heavy bank of clouds rose, overshadowing the moon, and the hoarse mutterings of distant thunder came on his ear. The cracking of the brushwood, too, sounded close to the mouth of the pit, as making himself as small as possible, the unfortunate hunter crouched down at the bottom of the hole, and, a cocked revolver in his hand, prepared to meet his fate. A thrill of disgust shook him, for, with a shrill cry, the baboon, startled by the lion’s approach, leaped into the pit, alighting on the hunter’s back, clasping him round the neck. It seemed to him like a horrible nightmare, the long wail of the jackals taking the place of the cry of the fabled Banshee over the living dead. To add to the terror of the situation, the thunder was heard, peal on peal, and the lightning flashed, while the heavy rain-drops spattered on the leaves. He heard, too, the brushwood part, and a deep, hoarse growl told him the lion was looking into the ambush; he fancied he could feel his breath; and then came a shriek of pain from the baboon, as his teeth met in the back of his neck. Lying down at the mouth of the hole, like a huge Newfoundland dog, the lion had reached down with his powerful paw, endeavouring to get at the monkey. In this he had so nearly succeeded, that his long claws had scored the creature’s back, and its warm blood was pouring down the hunter’s neck. A second time the lion made the attempt, when, with a scream of agony, using the recumbent figure for its spring, the baboon leaped out of the pit. The lion was nearly as active, as, with a fierce growl and a tremendous bound, it also cleared the mouth of the hole. The hunter was saved. Covered with blood, stained with dirt, and sorely frightened, Captain Hughes arose just in time to see the animal, chattering with delight, swing himself from branch to branch of a mowanna tree. The lion having unearthed one, had not suspected the existence of another animal in the same place, and, roaring once more loudly, it took its way towards the carrion, where it began tearing and rending the flesh, the wounded