As the lion was dragging
him over the bank, Whitehead fired again,
but without effect, and the brute quickly disappeared
into the darkness with his prey.
It was
of course, this unfortunate man whom I had heard
the lions devouring during the night. Whitehead
himself had a marvellous escape; his wounds
were happily not very deep, and caused him little
or no inconvenience afterwards.
On the same day, December 3, the forces
arrayed against the lions were further
strengthened. Mr. Farquhar, the Superintendent of
Police, arrived from the coast with a score of
sepoys to assist in hunting down the man-eaters,
whose fame had by this time spread far and
wide, and the most elaborate precautions were
taken, his men being posted on the most
convenient trees near every camp. Several other
officials had also come up on leave to join in
the chase, and each of these guarded a likely
spot in the same way, Mr. Whitehead sharing
my post inside the crib on the girder. Further,
in spite of some chaff, my lion trap was put in
thorough working order, and two of the sepoys
were installed as bait.
Our preparations were quite complete by nightfall,
and we all took up our appointed positions.
Nothing happened until about nine o'clock, when
to my great satisfaction the intense stillness
was suddenly broken by the noise of the door
of the trap clattering down. "At last," I thought,
"one at least of the brutes is done for." But the
sequel was an ignominious one.
The bait-sepoys had a lamp burning inside their
part of the cage, and were each armed with
a Martini rifle, with plenty of ammunition. They
had also been given strict orders to shoot at once
if a lion should enter the trap. Instead of doing
so, however, they were so terrified when he rushed
in and began to lash himself madly against the
bars of the cage, that they completely lost their
heads and were actually too unnerved to fire.
Not for some minutes - not, indeed, until Mr.
Farquhar, whose post was close by, shouted at
them and cheered them on - did they at all
recover themselves. Then when at last they did
begin to fire, they fired with a vengeance -
anywhere, anyhow. Whitehead and I were at
right angles to the direction in which they should
have shot, and yet their bullets came whizzing all
round us. Altogether they fired over a score of
shots, and in the end succeeded only in blowing
away one of the bars of the door, thus allowing
our prize to make good his escape. How they
failed to kill him several times over is, and always
will be, a complete mystery to me, as they could
have put the muzzles of their rifles absolutely
touching his body. There was, indeed, some
blood scattered about the trap, but it was small
consolation to know that the brute, whose capture
and death seemed so certain, had only been
slightly wounded.
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