The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies Part 17

Once inside, I had ample time for reflection. We sat within three yards of the bank of the river, which was but four yards wide at this point. A yard from the opposite bank lay the dead ox; beyond the ox, for about a hundred yards, the gra.s.s had been burnt short; beyond that again was long gra.s.s and thick bush.

The moon, which was three-quarter full, would not set for another five hours; everything was almost as clear as daylight between the river and the thick bush; we could see up and down the river bed. The ox, much distended by a day's exposure to the blazing African sun, was too near to be pleasant, and, being on a level with us, blotted out much of the landscape on the other side of the river. We could distinctly hear the hyenas, jackals, and the lesser scavengers quarrelling over the sc.r.a.ps of bone, hide, and offal left by the lions and the vultures.

We sat facing the ox. The Major thought that if the lions came at all it would be from the thick bush ahead, for immediately behind us was open country for a considerable distance.

Strangely enough, I felt extremely sleepy. We held a short whispered consultation, and it was agreed that I should sleep while I could. The Major promised to wake me if things became interesting. He wasn't sleepy.

I lay down with my rifle by my side, my head touching one pole and my feet another. I slept almost immediately, in spite of the cold and the hardness of the ground. Not only was the air at night cold by contrast with the hot day, but the evaporation from the water holes lowered the temperature.

The sound of my companion's rifle woke me. Sitting up, I saw a lion in the air, descending upon us. The Major fired again, and the lion fell into the water-course, literally at our feet. I could see his rump and tail quite plainly. His rage was terrific as he tried to reach us. His bellowing must have been heard for miles around, and doubtless many a bushman and many a beast quaked at the sound of it.

I remember shouting at the top of my voice: "I can see his rump. Shall I shoot?"

The reply, I must admit, disconcerted me: "Rump's the wrong end, but if he shows his head shoot it off."

I watched the struggling beast so intently that I did not see that a second lion had approached. He made his presence known to me by a roar which sounded loud and clear above the thunder of his wounded fellow. He was standing broadside on to us, just behind the ox. The Major fired and the lion sprang forward. The noise was deafening. A chorus of two wounded lions is something not often heard.

I now watched the second lion. He dashed off towards the bush, changed his mind and charged us. He came in great leaps, roaring as he came, then thought better of it, for he stopped sharply, throwing up clouds of dust as he did so, and pulled up almost on the ox. All I could see was his head, and that very indistinctly because of the dust which now enveloped both the lion and the dead ox.

Again a steadying warning: "Don't shoot until you can see more of him than that."

As the Major spoke the lion veered off and trotted back towards the bush, grunting savagely as he went.

"Here he comes again!" And so he did, bounding along as before and bellowing so that I wondered whether our home of poles could stand the vibration of sound.

Again the lion hesitated, again he sheered off, this time entering the bush. We heard him cras.h.i.+ng through it until there was silence once more, for the first lion had now ceased to show any signs of life.

I must admit to feeling decidedly uncomfortable then. My heart thumped like a sledge hammer. I longed to get out and stretch my legs. A great deal of action had been compressed into a short s.p.a.ce of time, probably not more than ten minutes. To the Major's suggestion that we should have a look at the dead fellow I responded with alacrity--too much alacrity--my foot catching in one of the poles, the whole structure came cras.h.i.+ng down upon his head.

After extricating himself he climbed down into the river bed and stood looking at the lion. I followed him.

I don't know why I did it--some sudden impulse for which I cannot account--but I stepped forward and raising the lion's head in my two hands, looked into his eyes.

I certainly heard the Major talking, and I distinctly heard what he said.

"What the devil are you doing, you d.a.m.ned young fool? Drop that head and come away. How do you know he's dead?"

I took no notice. I couldn't. I was terrified, hypnotised. I could do nothing but stare and stare.

No doubt the lion was dead, but the light in his eyes was not. It was dying, not dead. It was a blazing, vivid, blinding light--as it were, the light of an untamed spirit reluctantly taking leave of a mighty body.

When at length I let that rugged head fall, the light had faded; I stood s.h.i.+vering, feeling little and mean, as one who had looked upon something not meant for him to see.

WHITE MEN AND BLACK.

WHITE MEN AT PLAY.

The white man is superior to the black and must show it in his manners and deportment.

This is an unwritten law, observed in the early days of any of our African settlements.

For the man who breaks this law the punishment is swift and severe: he is shunned by his caste and colour.

It is said, but it is nevertheless generally true, that as the settlement prospers, so does this excellent law fall into abeyance. Men without manners arrive and are soon in the majority.

But in the beginnng, the white man watches himself very carefully. He knows all eyes are upon him. He must not permit himself to unbend. In the observance of the law, a man is very self-conscious and is apt to seem stiff and unsympathetic.

In the very, very early days of Kazungula the natives of the place watched some white men relax, and the spectacle afforded them as much pleasurable interest as the knowledge that they had been seen caused pain to the white men.

For many a day the natives of Kazungula commanded a ready audience anywhere in the country, for had not they, and they alone, seen white men at play?

It came about in this way.

A solitary white man stood on the north bank of the Zambesi river, looking across to the other side.

It was Knight, the Native Commissioner, who had for the last fortnight expected daily the arrival of some waggons which carried his year's provisions and other stores. He had little of anything left. No sugar, very little tea, and a single bottle of gin represented his cellar.

He longed each night for the usual "sundowner," but had determined not to open his one remaining bottle, in case of accident. Just what he meant by accident he could not have said. In answer to a direct question he might have replied: "Oh, anything might happen, one never knows."

To-night, for some reason unknown to himself, he was more impatient of the sluggard waggons than usual. Would the darned things never come?

The sun was setting and small flights of duck were going down stream to the marshy feeding grounds. A goose pa.s.sed in the same direction.

The reed birds, in large noisy flocks, were choosing their roosting place for the night. It seemed that they could not make up their minds.

No sooner had they settled in one patch of reeds than they started up with much twittering in search of a better place. They had done this at least a dozen times, and their indecision irritated the man.

A plump kingfisher, sitting on a log almost at his feet, dived from time to time into the shallow water and returned to his perch again. Knight noticed that the busy bird usually returned with a tiny silver fish in his bill, and mentally commended him for his good fis.h.i.+ng.

Well, the waggons hadn't come, and wouldn't come to-night. The sun had set and it was growing dark. A chill wind sprang up and the reed birds had become silent. The watcher turned slowly and walked in the direction of his camp.

He had not gone far when he stopped, for he had caught sight of a queer-looking man hobbling towards him along the path which ran by the river side. In the dying light he saw that the stranger was a white man accompanied by a single native, that he wore a long blonde beard, that he was unusually tall, that his trousers were cut off above the knee, that he had no boots, that he was very lame and had his feet bandaged in rags. In short, he saw a fellow white man in distress.

He forgot his own little troubles and hastened towards the newcomer.

He gave the usual greeting of "Hulloa."

"Hulloa," was the reply.

"Going a bit short, I see."

"Yes, about done in."