ONLY A KITTEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIX, Issue V, 24 July 1897, Page 155

ONLY A KITTEN.

We were on the deck of the steamer ’Caledonia,’ nosing our way among the coral reefs of the Red Sea. At dinner our jolly Captain, * Boe’n Bill,’ as he was affectionately called by the old timers, had announced that it would be too hot to sleep below and had advised us to keep to the deck. Accordingly a huge sail was stretched lengthwise of the promenade deck, and presently the old travellers emerged, one by one, from the companion way, dressed in the lightest of pajamas, and settled themselves in the long manila couches which are need for deck chairs in the tropics. The conversation presently turned to the subject of shooting big game. This is always the way. Start an AngloIndian of the military persuasion in a discussion of the Ten Commandments, and he will drift on to * big game ’ as inevitably as water flows down hill. I was falling into a doze, lulled by the rich, mellow monotone of the English voices about me, when I was awakened by a remark of the General.

* Oh, a lion is nothing but a big, wild pussy cat, after all. He will fight if he is hungry or attacked, but he is by no means a natural fighter, like a tiger or a grizzly.’ * Oh, come, now, General,’ objected a voice.

*lt is so,’ insisted the first speaker. * I’ll never forget my first lion ; but I’ve never been really afraid of one since.’ •How was that?' ’Tell us the story.' * Let’s have it,’ came in a chorus from the group. The General took a long pull on bis cheroot and began :— * It was when I was a junior lieutenant. We had been having some pretty stiff work in India, and when things settled down a party of us applied for leave of absence to go over to Africa lion-shooting. We got it and came down here to Aden, then crossed over to the African coast in an Arab dhow, made up our party of guides, beaters, carriers and so on, and started for a point in the foothills, where our guides assured ns the lions were thicker than dogs In Constantinople. We had been out three or four days when we pitched camp near a small river, which the guides said was in the centre of the lion district. We were all youngsters, and none of us had ever seen a lion outside the Zoo, so each one was naturally anxions to get the first glimpse of the so-called “ monarch of the forest.”

* During the afternoon I had been exploring the banks of the stream, and had discovered a rocky pool of considerable size about half a mile above the camp. Along the edge of the evening I announced my intention of walking up there for a bath The guides tried to dissuade me, and told thrilling tales of being attacked by lions and the like, but the beggars hate the very idea of a bath. So I paid no attention to them, and with my rifle over my shoulder, trudged off to the pool. 1 disrobed on the bank and plunged into the stream. The water was glorious, and I enjoyed floundering about in it to the full. * There was a clump of big boulders just in the centre of the pool, and I swam over to them and sat down on a small rock to rest. I had remained perfectly quiet for about five minutes, when the advance guard of a swarm of black flies discovered me, and I looked longingly over at my clothes. Then I nearly tumbled off the rock—for there, curiously nosing about my garments, was a lion, which, to my excited fancy, made Sir Edwin Landseer’s bronze ones in Trafalgar Square seem mere babies. * I sat very still and held my breath. The beast poked about my garments for a bit, and then, horror of horrors I be placidly lay down beside them and prepared to go to sleep. In the meantime the black flies began to arrive and settle on my naked back. I stood it as long as I could, but finally made up my mind that I would as soon be eaten by a lion as by flies; so I suddenly sprang to my feet, waved my arms wildly, and at the top of my voice yelled, * S-s-c a a t <’ ’ The Hon jumped at the same time that I did, gave just one glance at me, and then, with tail erect and inane bristling, dashed off into the forest. He never paused to look back, and I could hear him crashing through the underbrush for a quarter of a

mile, quite as frightened as I had been. I sat down and laughed, then swam over, put on my clothes and returned to camp. The next day one of our party shot a Hon which the guides claimed was the same which I had seen. He was only an ordinary sized lion; but then I had my clothes on, and he was dead.’ The story was received without a murmur of doubt, and in the discussion which followed I fell asleep. If it is true, it certainly reduces the terrors of lion hunting to a minimum.