THE LION. 119 



necessary for the attainment of its end, and if it can strike down an antelope or jaguar with a 

 blow of its paw, will be quite satisfied with its success, and will not trouble itself about such 

 difficult game as a buffalo or a giraffe. 



It is supposed by those who have had much experience of the leonine character, that the 

 terrible "man-eating" Lions owe their propensity for human flesh to the indolence of their 

 character or the infirmity of their frame, and not to their superior activity or courage. 

 Unwilling, or unable, to expend strength and patience in the pursuit of the swift-footed 

 antelope or powerful buffalo, the Lion prowls about the villages, thinking to find an easy prey 

 in the man, woman, or child that may happen to stray from the protecting guardianship of 

 the kraal and its dogs. Unarmed, man is weaker of limb, slower of foot, and less vigilant of 

 senses than any of the wild animals, and therefore is a victim that can be slain without much 

 trouble. 



It is said that the taste for human flesh is often engendered by the thoughtless conduct of 

 the very people who suffer from the "man-eaters." The Kaffirs are apt to leave their slain 

 exposed in the bush, "a prey to dogs and all kinds of birds." 



As a general rule, the Lion is no open foe. He does not come boldly out on the plain and 

 give chase to his prey, for he is by no means swift of foot, and, as has already been mentioned, 

 has no idea of running into danger without adequate cause. He can make tremendous leaps, 

 and with a single blow from his terrible paw can crush any of the smaller animals. So he 

 creeps towards his intended prey, availing himself of every bush and tree as a cover, always 

 taking care to advance against the wind, so that the pungent feline odor should give no alarm, 

 and when he has arrived within the limits of his spring, leaps on the devoted animal and 

 strikes it to the ground. 



This mode of action gives a clue to the object of the fear-instilling roar which has made 

 the Lion so famous. 



As the Lion obtains his prey by stealth, and depends for nutrition on the success of his 

 hunting, it seems strange that his voice should be of such a nature as to inspire with terror 

 the heart of every animal which hears its reverberating thunders. Yet it will be seen, that 

 the creature could find no aid so useful as that of his voice. 



If the Lion has been prowling about during the evening hours, and has found no prey, he 

 places his mouth close to the earth, and litters a terrific roar, which rolls along the ground on 

 all sides, and frightens every animal which may chance to be crouching near. Not knowing 

 from what direction the fearful sound has come, they leave their lairs, and rush frantically 

 about, distracted with terror and bewildered with the sudden arousing from sleep. In their 

 heedless career, one or two will probably pass within a convenient distance of the lurking foe. 



These nocturnal alarms cause great trouble to those who travel into the interior of Africa. 

 When night draws on, it is the custom to call a halt, and to release the draught oxen from 

 their harness. A kind of camp is then made, a blazing fire is kept alight as a defence against 

 the wild beasts, and the oxen are fastened either to the wagons or to the bushes by which 

 the encampment is made. 



The Lion comes and surveys the mingled mass of oxen, men, and wagons, but fears to 

 approach too closely, for he dreads the blaze of a fire. In vain does he prowl around the 

 encampment, for he can discover no stragglers from the protecting flame, and, moreover, finds 

 that the watchful dogs are on the alert. So he retires to some little distance, and putting his 

 mouth to the ground, pours forth his deepest roar. Struck with frantic terror, the stupid 

 oxen break away from their halters, and quitting their sole protection, gallop madly away 

 only to fall victims to the jaws and talons of the author of the panic. 



It often happens that several Lions combine in their attacks, and bring their united forces 

 to bear upon the common prey, each taking his appointed part in the matter. One of these 

 joint attacks was witnessed by two English officers engaged in the late Kaffir war, with one 

 of whom I am well acquainted. 



A small herd of zebras were quietly feeding in a plain, all unconscious of the stealthy 

 approach of several Lions, which were creeping towards them in regular order, under cover of 

 a dense reed thicket. So quietly did the Lions make their advance, that their progress was 



