Chapter 21 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
I communicated my convictions to Ben, who still persisted in calling the tree a palm. How should I know what sort of a tree it was, since I had never seen one before? I told Ben of the book and the picture but he was still incredulous.
“Well then,” said I, “I’ll tell you how we can prove whether I am right or no.”
“How?” demanded Ben.
“Why, if the tree bleeds it must be a dragon.”
“Bleeds?” echoed Ben, “why, my boy, ain’t you mad? who e’er heard o’ a tree bleedin’?”
“Run sap, I mean.”
“Oh that be hanged, lad! Sure you know that any sort o’ tree ’ll run sap; ’ceptin’ it be a dead ’un.”
“But not red sap!”
“What! you think yon ere tree ’ud run red sap, do ye?”
“I am almost sure of it—red as blood.”
“Well, if it do then I’ll believe ’ee, my lad; but it are precious easy to try. Let’s go up to it, and gie it a prod with the knife, and then we’ll see what sort o’ sap it’s got in its ugly veins—for dang it, it are about the ugliest piece o’ growin’ timber I e’er set eyes on; ne’er a mast nor spar to be had out o’ it, I reckon. It sartinly are ugly enough to make a gallows of. Come on, my lad!”
Ben started forward towards the tree, and I followed him. We did not walk particularly fast, as there was no need to be in a hurry. The tree was not likely to run away from us like the birds and beasts. There were no signs of motion about it; and it would have taken a strong wind to have stirred, either its leaves or branches. It had a look of great firmness, and more resembled cast-iron than a vegetable substance; but as we drew nearer, its forbidding aspect was to some extent relieved by the appearance of its flowers, the strong fragrance of which reached our nostrils from a great distance off.
Immediately around the tree, and for several yards outwards, there was a bed of tall, sedge-looking grass. It was withered, and of a yellowish colour, not unlike a piece of standing wheat, but much taller. It appeared a little trampled and tossed, as if some heavy animal had been passing through it, and in one or two places had rolled in it. This might all very naturally be, in a country where large animals abound. The antelopes might have been there, resting themselves under the shade, and taking advantage of the fine grass to couch upon.
Neither my companion nor I took any heed of these signs, but walked boldly up to the tree; and Ben, without more ado, drew his great jack-knife, and struck the blade forcibly into the bark.
Whether there came out red juice or yellow juice, or any juice at all neither of us waited to see; for as if the stroke of the knife had been a signal, a huge animal leaped up out of the grass, not twenty feet from where we stood, and remained gazing at us. To our horror we saw that it was a lion! It needed no naturalist to recognise this fellow. The dun-coloured body, with dark, shaggy mane—the broad, full face, and wrinkled jaws—the fierce, yellow eye, and bristled, cat-like snout, were not to be mistaken.
My companion and I had both seen lions in shows and menageries, as who has not? But even had we never looked on one before, it would have been all the same. A mere infant might recognise the terrible animal and point him out amidst all the beasts in the world.
Ben and I were horror-struck—perfectly paralysed by the unexpected apparition; and remained so for some seconds—in fact, so long as the lion stood his ground. To our great joy that was not a long while. The enormous beast gazed at us a few seconds—apparently more in wonderment than anger—and then, uttering a low growl to express some slight displeasure at having his rest disturbed, he dropped his tail and turned sulkily away. And thus do lions generally behave at the approach of man—especially if they are not hungry, and be not assailed by the intruder.
He moved off, however, but very slowly—at intervals crouching down and turning his head backward, as if “looking over his shoulder” to see whether we were following. We had no notion of such a thing. Not a foot did we intend to follow him, not even an inch. On the contrary, we had rather receded from our position, and placed the huge trunk of the tree between him and us. Of course this would have been no protection had he chosen to return and attack us, but, although he did not go as fast as we could have wished, he showed no signs of coming back and we began to recover confidence.
We might have retreated upon the plain, but that would have been of no use, and very probably would have been the means of drawing the lion after us. We knew very well he could soon overtake us, and of course a blow apiece from his enormous paws would have knocked us into “smithereens,” or, as my companion more elegantly expressed it, “into the middle of next week.”
It is quite probable that had this lion been let alone, he would have gone entirely away without molesting us. But was he not let alone. My companion was a bold, rash man—too bold and too rash upon that occasion. It occurred to him that the enemy was moving off too slowly; and fancying, in his foolish way, that a shot from “Queen Anne” might intimidate the brute and quicken his pace, he rested the piece upon one of the old leaf-marks of the tree, and, taking steady aim, banged away.
Likely enough the shot hit the lion—for he was not yet fifty yards from the muzzle of the gun—but what effect could a load of snipe-shot produce upon the thick hide of an enormous brute like that?
In the lion’s mind, however, it produced the very opposite effect to what my companion anticipated, for it neither caused him to run away or even quicken his pace, nor yet frightened him any way. On the contrary, almost simultaneously with the report, he uttered a loud scream, and, turning in his track, came bounding towards the tree!