A Lion
Almost Always Charges Home.* Slower And Slower He Comes, As The
Bullets Strike; But He Comes, Until At Last He May Be Just
Hitching Himself Along, His Face To The Enemy, His Fierce Spirit
Undaunted.
When finally he rolls over, he bites the earth in
great mouthfuls; and so passes fighting to the last.
The death of
a lion is a fine sight.
*I seem to be generalizing here, but all these conclusions must
be understood to take into consideration the liability of
individual variation.
No, I must confess, to me the lion is an object of great respect;
and so, I gather, he is to all who have had really extensive
experience. Those like Leslie Tarleton, Lord Delamere, W. N.
MacMillan, Baron von Bronsart, the Hills, Sir Alfred Pease, who
are great lion men, all concede to the lion a courage and
tenacity unequalled by any other living beast. My own experience
is of course nothing as compared to that of these men. Yet I saw
in my nine months afield seventy-one lions. None of these offered
to attack when unwounded or not annoyed. On the other hand, only
one turned tail once the battle was on, and she proved to be a
three quarters grown lioness, sick and out of condition.
It is of course indubitable that where lions have been much shot
they become warier in the matter of keeping out of trouble. They
retire to cover earlier in the morning, and they keep more than
a perfunctory outlook for the casual human being.
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