About three
weeks after my arrival, I was roused one morning
about daybreak and told that one of my jemadars,
a fine powerful Sikh named Ungan Singh, had
been seized in his tent during the night, and
dragged off and eaten.
Naturally I lost no time in making an
examination of the place, and was soon convinced that
the man had indeed been carried off by a lion,
as its "pug" marks were plainly visible in the
sand, while the furrows made by the heels of the
victim showed the direction in which he had been
dragged away. Moreover, the jemadar shared
his tent with half a dozen other workmen, and
one of his bedfellows had actually witnessed the
occurrence. He graphically described how, at
about midnight, the lion suddenly put its head in
at the open tent door and seized Ungan Singh -
who happened to be nearest the opening - by
the throat. The unfortunate fellow cried out
"Choro" ("Let go"), and threw his arms up
round the lion's neck. The next moment he
was gone, and his panic-stricken companions lay
helpless, forced to listen to the terrible struggle
which took place outside. Poor Ungan Singh
must have died hard; but what chance had he?
As a coolie gravely remarked, "Was he not
fighting with a lion?"
On hearing this dreadful story I at once set out
to try to track the animal, and was accompanied
by Captain Haslem, who happened to be staying
at Tsavo at the time, and who, poor fellow,
himself met with a tragic fate very shortly
afterwards.
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