IX 

 A LION STORY 



1882 



TO shoot a lion had been all along my great ambition, but 

 week after week passed in fruitless search after the king of 

 beasts. Leave was fast running to a close, but no shot had I 

 fired at the noblest of game ; no, I had not even seen a lion. It 

 certainly was very disappointing ; there they were, I heard them 

 every night growling round our camp, but never could I see 

 them. I followed their tracks every morning, but never could I 

 find them, and visits innumerable I paid to the " lions' village," 

 a dense tangled jungle of dome-palms and most disagreeably 

 thorny brushwood, but the tawny monarch was never at home. 

 Natives assured me that he had lately been seen in his " home," 

 but he was always out when I called, and the most diligent 

 search even proved fruitless. The native tracker, as a trump 

 card, would climb up a tree in the immediate neighbourhood of 

 his supposed lair, and imitate, in the most perfect manner and 

 the most persuasive tone, the low growls of a lion in love growls 

 which, in lion language, doubtless meant protestations of the 

 most sincere and undying affection. But no, not even that 

 brought forth the jealous lover or the lovesick lady. The 

 native, disgusted and out of patience, would then suddenly 

 change his love-song to abuse, and heap curses on the whole 

 lion family. That also was unsuccessful. G. had seen three 

 and wounded two, though without bagging, but I had been 

 particularly unfortunate ; no lion came to the water to drink 

 when I was watching at night, although I sometimes provided 

 food in the shape of a goat for his majesty. Of the camel which 

 had been killed over night, nothing remained but bones when I 



