The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
man, or been armed with a double-barrel rifle, 
the story might have had quite another ending. 
He had the greatest contempt for lions, and 
paid the penalty of that contempt with his life. 
Personally I should always keep my rifle loaded 
ina country fairly swarming with these beasts, and 
I proved later on the truth of my conviction. 
I had left Fontesvilla when this unfortunate 
occurrence took place, and was in Salisbury, but 
before going up there, I had occasion to go down 
to Beira. It was on a Sunday evening that I 
left Fontesvilla in the small steamer. The 
captain’s name was “ Dicky,” or, at all events, 
that is the name he went by. There was only 
one passenger besides myself, an Englishman, 
who was on his way to catch the steamer to 
Durban. We had to take down with us a large 
empty lighter, which was made fast fore and 
aft to the port side of the steamer. All went 
well until we rounded a big bend im the river 
about four miles from our starting-place. Here 
the current took charge of the lighter, which 
yawed dangerously away from our side. Jack, 
the mate, ran forrard to haul on the big hawser as 
Dicky put the helm up to bring the two together 
again, and was hauling away with all his might 
and main to take up the slack round a bollard 
on deck, when an accident happened. In order 
to get more purchase in pulling, the poor man 
put his right foot on the taffrail. At this moment 
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