March i, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
267 
these the lion is provided with the day shelter 
his safety demands. Here they lodge during 
the long hot day. From there they come forth, 
usually silently at night, to do their hunting, 
and to these they return before the first sign 
of dawn. From such cover, you can fancy, it is 
no easy matter to drive them forth. 
One such swamp we drove the other day, 
putting our fifty boys in line, and promising 
half a rupee all round bakshish for every 
lion killed. The swamp proved too wet. Our 
men struggled bravely through, but ducks and 
python were all it 'held. These last drive 
terror into all the natives of British East 
Africa. Any sort of snake seen, and there is 
a wild skelter—gunbearers ever leading the re¬ 
treat. I cannot find that python—and there 
are many hereabouts—ever really hurt anyone. 
But surely they are fearsome beasts. On an¬ 
other trip I got one twenty-two feet long. 
Driving this swamp (soon as we knew there 
were no lions, and had turned our attention to 
the ducks), I had to stand on a clump of rushes, 
waist-deep in the water, and close to a deep, 
dark pool, some twenty yards across. 
As I stood there, waiting for the ducks my 
black men were disturbing elsewhere, I learned 
a keen sympathy with my naked porters’ an¬ 
tipathy for python in a grewsome way. I saw 
the water of that deep pool move through all 
its length and breadth in big, slow ripples that 
broke silently against the tall rushes bordering 
it; a long, strong, unseen creature could alone 
make such waves. It gave me an uncanny feel¬ 
ing, and I was glad to get away from my sway¬ 
ing foot rest. Some days later we drove an¬ 
other swamp. We had camped hard by it, and 
had neither seen nor heard any sign of lions. 
Our hope therefore of getting anything for our 
trouble was not very great. 
On either side of the swamp (which was 
about a third of a mile long, and four hundred 
yards across) lay bare ridges, bare save for 
the sprinkled thorn trees growing on them. At 
the end of it all the land had been quite lately 
burned over; save for the thorn trees, cover 
there was none. 
H., mounted on a pony, lined the beaters 
up at the further end. Asyce, mounted on an¬ 
other pony, rode along the opposite side. Thus 
a lion, breaking on either side, stood a good 
chance of being ridden to bay. I hid myself at 
the further end of the swamp in a tuft of tall 
grass, some two hundred yards from the edge 
of the reed bed, which formed the real cover. 
Where the reeds ended, low yellow grass 
stretched for some hundreds of yards be¬ 
fore you came to the burnt ground. This grassy 
swamp meadow had been much grazed by game. 
Here and there tufts of tall grass stood up in 
it. but it would seem to afford no cover in 
which a good sized cat could crawl without be¬ 
ing seen from the dominating ridge at either 
side. 
When cover is thick, as it was here, your 
beaters should make a noise. When light, a 
silent drive is best down wind. The scent only 
of approaching men will be sufficient to make 
lion or leopard leave cover. 
The men came through finely, though in 
the thick stuff, unfortunately, alignment was not 
well kept. By the time they came to the end 
of the heavy reed bed, nothing lay before the 
beaters but the low waving meadow grass for 
the space of some two or three hundred yards. 
Some reed buck had come out, and these, of 
course, were let go gently; nothing else. 
H. had given up all hope, and was leisurely 
riding through the low grass toward where I 
was concealed. On the other side of the swamp, 
the gun posted there had gone after a marabout 
stork. I rose from my hiding and drew close 
to the line of moving men, which had swayed 
to a long crescent, the wings in advance of the 
center. Suddenly, though they made no sound, 
I saw the beaters sway and break in every di¬ 
rection. I rushed toward the point of dis¬ 
turbance, fancying that a chetah, or serval cat, 
had crawled out of the swamp and lay hidden 
before the line. As I did so, I caught a 
glimpse of a low yellow back. The lion burst 
right through the men and made back for the 
reeds. Men covering him everywhere, it was 
impossible to shoot for a time, and when he was 
clear, the grass covered him. H. shot a poor 
chance and missed. All this took but an 
instant to happen. As H. shot, out of the 
corner of my eye I saw another fine lion rise, 
seemingly out of the very ground, not forty 
yards further on and bound for the open. I 
shot twice, quickly as I could, and rolled him 
over. Another shot from H. finished him. And 
then there burst from all the scattered black 
men a wild yell, and the long line of them 
quickly formed in a savage impromptu dance 
round the big beast, whose sides still were heav¬ 
ing—a moving scene! 
The tuft of grass that covered that lion 
was not as big as a tent floor. How he got 
to it unseen is hard to explain. But that is 
the lion’s way, and herein lies much of the 
charm of lion hunting. No man, not even the 
most experienced hunter, can tell what he will 
do. 
Later we discovered that three lions had 
been on foot. One more had come stealthily 
out of the reeds, turned and slunk back, when 
there was a gap in the beaters’ line. 
We consulted together, and determined not 
to try the swamp again. The danger to the 
guns outside would have been small; the risk 
to the porters grave; and the cover was so 
thick, that had anything happened, we could 
not quickly have given aid. We were fortu¬ 
nate as it was, for one of the lions, as I said, 
went clean through the beaters’ line, just when 
the men were closest together, and had touched 
no one. 
Surely there is no sport that can compare 
with lion hunting. The lioness may charge, and 
without any warning, or she may do as one I 
followed hard the other day from early morn¬ 
ing to late evening did—make a clean bolt for 
it, and leave her five little cubs, no bigger than 
a setter dog, to fend for themselves. That 
lioness acted as though she had not as much 
courage as a household cat. You never can 
tell, and that is the fun of it. 
Here is the other side: Only some months 
ago H. was marching on Safari with Mr. and 
Mrs. ——■, not very far from Nairobi, and on 
a government road. About 9 o’clock they 
noticed a quite fresh lion, spoor, and by way 
of precaution H. took his double .450 from his 
gunbearer. He had scarcely done so before a 
lion rushed out of some bushes close by, com¬ 
ing for this same gunbearer. The beast charged 
very rapidly, but before he seized the man, H. 
smashed him one full in the shoulder. The 
heavy soft-nose bullet had no noticeable in¬ 
stantaneous effect, for the lion seized the man 
by the arm. H. rushed up, and at a few feet 
distance blew the beast’s brains out as it still 
held the crushed arm in its jaws. That lion’s 
jaws had to be pried open before the arm could 
be freed. 
Many natives in the neighborhood had been 
killed lately and eaten by lions. Doubtless this 
lion was a man-eater. It was an old lion with 
teeth badly worn. 
Goose-fish and Black Woodchuck. 
Brewer, Me., Feb. 20.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The pictures and notes by Horatio 
Bigelow in the Feb. 8 issue of Forest and 
Stream in regard to the goose-fish and particu¬ 
larly as to his catching sea fowl, are very in¬ 
teresting and recall and corroborate in every 
way an account related to me by a friend a few 
years ago. 
This gentleman—who happens, by the way, 
to be a well-known writer and a man with a 
most intimate knowledge of the sea and all which 
pertains to it through having spent much of his 
life upon the outer coast of Maine—told me 
once that while at Isle au Haut and busy about 
something upon the beach, he became aware of 
some strong disturbance in the shallow water 
and rock weed close to low water mark. Upon 
going down there he found a very large goose¬ 
fish, or “monk-fish,” as they are sometimes 
known on the coast, thrashing about belly up¬ 
ward, its stomach greatly distended and evi¬ 
dently in keen distress. He pulled the fish out. 
and being interested in what could cause it to 
be so bloated, cut it open. From its stomach 
he said he took—and his word is undoubtable— 
two full grown and perfectly fresh loons, and 
after these a number of very large deep-water 
sculpins. I now forget how many sculpins there 
were, only remembering that there were several. 
As for the loons, which were not the small form, 
but our great northern diver, the largest loon 
we have, he said that they were perfect in every 
way and to all appearances just killed. 
From such evidence as that by Mr. Bigelow 
and the above, it would appear that this fish, 
stupid as he would seem, is a fellow to be reck¬ 
oned with. I doubt if we begin to appreciate 
how many waterfowl are lost yearly by this and 
many another unthought-of source. 
In the same issue of the paper I notice the 
mention of a black woodchuck being taken and 
am surprised to see it referred to as a rarity. 
May I say that at this point in Maine, black 
woodchucks are not only not unusual, but com¬ 
mon. While not as plentiful as the reddish 
form, there are always some of them about, and 
I have personally killed a number and have seen 
many more. 
It would be interesting if correspondents 
throughout the range of the Eastern and Cen¬ 
tral States would report as to the coloration of 
these animals in their particular localities, the 
presence of dark ones, if any, etc., and as to 
their weight. I have been led to infer from in¬ 
formation none too well substantiated that wood¬ 
chucks to the southward are heavier than those 
here, but to what extent, if any, I cannot say. 
Notes covering such points as these might be 
of interest and value. W. M. Hardy. 
