the early morning light we crossed the deep river-bed
of the Umchingwe River, and, in doing so, we noticed
the fresh spoor of a lion in the sand. We went
on, and had a good look at the enemy’s stronghold;
and on our way back, as we approached this river-bed,
we agreed to go quietly, in case the lion should be
moving about in it. On looking down over the
bank, my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw a grand
old brute just walking in behind a bush. Jackson
could not see him, but was off his horse as quick as
I was, and ready with his gun; too ready, indeed,
for the moment that the lion appeared, walking majestically
out from behind the bush that had hidden him, Jackson
fired hurriedly, striking the ground under his foot,
and, as we afterwards discovered, knocking off one
of his claws. The lion tossed up his shaggy head
and looked at us in dignified surprise. Then
I fired and hit him in the ribs with a leaden bullet
from my Lee-Metford. He reeled, sprang round,
and staggered a few paces, when Jackson, who was firing
a Martini-Henry, let him have one in the shoulder;
this knocked him over sideways, and he turned about,
growling savagely. I could scarcely believe that
we had actually got a lion at last, but resolved to
make sure of it; so, telling Jackson not to fire unless
it was necessary (for fear of spoiling the skin with
the larger bullet of the Martini), I got down closer
to the beast, and fired a shot at the back of his
neck as he turned his head away from me. This
went through his spine, and came out through the lower
jaw, killing him dead.”
It was during the Matabele campaign that Baden-Powell
came across a fine wild boar, which, he remarks, caused
quite a flutter in his breast. “‘If I
only had you in the open, my friend,’ thought
I. ’If only you had a horse that was fit
enough to come anywhere near me,’ grinned he.
And so we parted.” A graphic incident.
It is in hunting the wild boar that Baden-Powell has
a universal reputation as a sportsman. He is
good, very good, at all sports, but it is as a pig-sticker
that he excels, and stands out clear-cut from the
rest. And pig-sticking is the sport of all sports
which entail the killing of animals in which we could
wish him to excel. Hear Major Moray Brown on
the subject of fox versus pig: “You
cannot compare the two sports together. To begin
with, in fox-hunting you are dependent on ‘scent.’
Granted the excitement of a fast burst over a grass
country, and that you are well carried by your horse,
the end—what is it? A poor little
fox worried by at least forty times its number of
hounds. Has he a chance, bar his cunning, of baffling
his pursuers? No. Now, how different is
the chase of the boar of India! There you must
depend on yourself in every way, and at the
end your quarry meets you on nearly fair and equal
terms.” Let it be remembered that the boar
is an animal of great reputation among beasts.
It is a well-ascertained fact, says Baden-Powell,