Chapter 22 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
No doubt in less than another minute Ben Brace and I would have ceased to live. I had made up my mind that both of us would be torn to pieces—and certainly this would have been the result had my companion not been a man of ready resources. But fortunately, he was so, and at that crisis conceived a means of escape from the danger that threatened us. Perhaps he had thought of it before. It is most probable he had, otherwise he would scarce have acted so imprudently as he had done—for nothing could have been more imprudent than firing at a lion upon an open plain with nothing but snipe-shot in the gun!
It is likely, however, that Ben had though of his means of retreat before firing that shot, though what they were I could not imagine. We were upon the ground, with the thick trunk of a tree between us and the lion; but of course, that would be no protection since the beast saw us, and would soon come round to our side. How then were we to retreat? For my part I believed we should both be killed and devoured.
Ben was of a different opinion, and before I could do more than give utterance to an exclamation of terror, he had caught me by the legs and hoisted me high above his shoulders into the air!
“Now, lad,” shouted he, “lay hold of the branch and hoist yourself up. Quick!—quick! or the beast’ll be on us.”
I at once divined his intention; and, without waiting to make reply, I seized one of the branches of the dragon-tree, and commenced drawing myself upward. The branch was just as high as I could reach with my hands—even when held up in the arms of the tall sailor—and it was no easy matter to raise my body up to it; but during the voyage I had learned to climb like a monkey, and, after some twisting and wriggling, I succeeded in gaining a lodgment among the limbs of the tree.
Meanwhile Ben was as busy as myself in making the ascent. He had resigned his hold of me, as soon as he perceived that I caught the branch; and was now using all his energies, and all his craft too, to get out of the way of the lion. Unfortunately the limbs of the tree were too high for him to lay hold of, and he was compelled to resort to a different mode of climbing. Of course, the trunk was by far too thick for him to get his arms around it and climb by hugging—he might as readily have hugged a wall. Fortunately, however, the bark was full of irregularities—little knots and notches, the scars of the old leaf-marks, that had long ago fallen off, with some larger holes, where, perhaps, whole branches had been broken off by the wind. The quick eye of the sailor at once perceived the advantage of these marks—which would serve him as steps—and kicking off his shoes, he clutched the trunk both with fingers and toes, and commenced climbing upward like a cat.
It was sharp work, and he was obliged to take a little time and make it sure. Had he lost balance and fallen back, he would not have had time to make a second attempt before the lion should arrive upon the ground; and, well knowing this, he held on with “teeth and toe-nail.”
By good fortune I had now squared myself face downward upon the branch, and as the collar of Ben’s guernsey came within reach of my hand I was able to give him a help; so that the next moment he succeeded in getting hold of a limb, and swinging himself into the fork of the tree.
It was a close shave, however; for just as Ben drew his dangling feet among the branches the lion reached the ground, and, bounding upwards, struck his paw fiercely against the trunk, causing the bark to fly off in large pieces. There was not three inches between the tips of his claws and the soles of Ben’s feet as this stroke was given; and had he succeeded in grasping the ankle of my companion, it would have been the last bit of climbing poor Brace would ever have made; for the paw of the lion is like a hand, and he could easily have dragged his victim back to the ground again. It was a narrow escape, therefore, but as Ben afterwards remarked, “an inch of a miss was as good as a mile,” and the sequel in this case proved the justice of the adage, for we were now safe among the branches where the lion could not possibly reach us.
At the time, however, we were far from being satisfied upon this head, and for a long while entertained no very confident feeling of security. We both knew that lions cannot climb an ordinary tree. They have not the power of “hugging” with which some bears are gifted, and of course cannot ascend in that manner. Neither can they climb as cats do; for although the lion if neither more nor less than a great cat—the biggest of all cats—and is furnished with retractile claws, such as cats have, yet these last are usually so worn and blunted, that the king of beasts can make but little use of them in attempting to climb a tree. For this reason, tree-climbing is altogether out of his line, and he does not make any pretensions to the art; notwithstanding all this, he can rush a long way up the trunk by the mere strength of his elastic muscles, and particularly where the bark is rough on the surface, and the trunk large and firm as was that of the dragon-tree.
No wonder, then, that our apprehensions continued; no wonder they increased when we saw the fierce brute crouch down at some paces distant from the trunk, and, spreading out his broad paws, deliberately set himself for a spring.
Next moment he rushed forward about two lengths of his body, and then, bounding in a diagonal line, launched himself aloft. He must have leaped over ten feet in an upward direction—for his fore-paws struck the tree just under the forking of the branches—but to our great relief he was not able to retain his hold, and his huge body fell back to the ground.
He was not discouraged by his failure; and, once more running outward, he turned and cowered for a second spring. This time he appeared more determined and certain of success. There was that expression in his hideous face, combined with the extreme of rage and fury. His lips were drawn back, and his white teeth and red frothy tongue were displayed in all their horrid nakedness; a hideous sight to behold. We trembled as we looked upon it.
Another fierce growl—another rush forward—another bound—and before we had time to utter a word, we perceived the yellow paw of the lion spread over the limb of the tree with his grinning muzzle and gleaming teeth close to our feet! In another instant the brute would have swung his body up, but my companion’s presence of mind did not forsake him at this crisis. Quick as thought was his action; and, before the lion had time to raise himself, the keen blade of the sailor’s knife had passed twice through the great paw,—inflicting at each stab a deep and bloody gash. At the same instant I had drawn the pistol, which I still carried in my belt, and fired as fair as I could in the face of the monster.
Whether it was the knife or the pistol that produced the desired effect, I will not undertake to determine; but certainly an effect was produced by one or the other, or more likely both weapons deserve a share of the credit. Be this as it may, the effect was instantaneous; for the moment the shot was fired and the stabs were given, the lion dropped backward, and ran limping around the trunk of the tree, roaring and screaming in a voice that might have been heard at the distance of miles!
From the manner in which he limped, it was evident that the wounds given by the knife were painful to him, and we could perceive by the blood upon his “countenance” that the shot, small as it was, had torn him considerably about the face.
For a short time we were in hopes that after such a repulse he might take himself off, but we soon perceived that our hopes were fallacious; neither the stabs nor the shot had seriously injured him. They had only served to render him more furious and vengeful; and after tumbling about for a while, and angrily biting at his own bleeding paw, he returned once more to the attack, as before, endeavouring to spring up to the branches of the tree. I had reloaded the pistol. Ben was again ready with his blade; and, fixing ourselves firmly on our perch, we awaited the onset.
Once more the lion bounded upward and launched himself against the trunk, but to our great joy we saw that he fell far short of his former leaps. Beyond a doubt his limb was disabled.
Again and again he repeated the attempt, each time falling short as before. If fury could have availed, he would have succeeded; for he was now at the height of his rage, and making such a hideous combination of noises, that we could not hear our own voices when we spoke to each other.
After several vain essays to reach us, the brute seemed to arrive at the conviction that the feat was beyond his powers, and he desisted from the attempt.
But he had no intention of leaving the ground. On the contrary, we saw that he was determined to make us stand siege, for, to our great chagrin, we observed him trot a few paces from the trunk of the tree and crouch down in the grass—evidently with the intention of remaining there till we should be compelled to come down.