Chapter 24 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
Yes; we actually talked of descending from the tree, and risking our lives in a knife-conflict with the lion!
It is true it was a forlorn hope; but it is probable we should have attempted it in preference to enduring the terrible agony much longer. Fortunately we were not driven to this desperate alternative. At this crisis a happy idea came into the mind of my companion, and drove the thought of the knife-combat out of our heads.
It will be remembered that we had with us a musket. The great “Queen Anne” must not be forgotten; though, for the time, it would seem as though we had forgotten it. That is not exactly the case. We remembered it well enough, for it was under our eyes, lying at the bottom of the tree—where Brace had thrown it in his eagerness to get out of the way of the lion; but it was out of our reach, and, moreover, being empty, we had never thought of its being of service to us. Even could we have regained possession of, and reloaded it, we knew that the snipe-shot would not kill the lion; and, therefore, we might load and fire till we had exhausted all our ammunition, without any other result than to render the brute more furious—if that could possibly be. For these reasons we had paid no attention to the “Queen Anne,” and there it lay right under us, apparently as useless as a bar of iron.
While plotting about the means of defence and attack we might make use of in our intended final struggle, the “Queen Anne” once more came into our heads; and Brace hit upon a plan by which the great piece might serve us. In fact, there was a probability we might extricate ourselves by its aid, without the desperate conflict we had projected! and we only wondered the idea had not occurred to us before.
This plan was to get hold of the gun and reload her, then provoke the lion in some way, so that he would renew his attempts to ascend the tree, and, when thus near, place the muzzle of the musket close to his head and fire the contents right into him. Even snipe-shot might do the work, if delivered at such close quarters.
The first difficulty would be to get possession of the gun. She was lying under the tree, upon the same side where we had climbed up, and not three feet from the great trunk; but, though so near, it was evident that one or other of us must descend to the ground, before we could lay a finger upon her. Of course it would be impossible to do this without the risk—nay, the positive certainty—of being assailed by the lion. He lay only a dozen paces farther out, and, as already stated, continually kept his eyes upon us. A single bound would be enough, and there would be no chance of escaping him. How was the gun to be got at?
I have said that it was evident one or other of us would have to descend; and, as this would be going directly to destruction, the idea of doing so was not entertained for a moment.
Ben had fancied that he might “sling,” me down after the manner of monkeys, and that by this means we might get hold of the gun; but after examining the branches and calculating the distance, we saw that the height was too great, and the thing would be impossible.
Just then another idea came to our aid—an idea of Ben’s conception—and that was to make a running noose on the end of a piece of cord, endeavour to get it round the gun, and then draw her up in the loop. This would be a safe plan, if we could only accomplish it.
We had the cord—a sailor is rarely found wanting one. It was the same piece upon which the vulture had dangled; for Ben had unloosed it before pitching away his bird. It was both long enough and strong enough for the purpose, and could not have suited better if it had been chosen at a rope-factory. Ben knew how to make a loop, and a loop was soon made to his liking; and then the cord was let down slowly and gently, so as not to close the noose before it reached the ground. Guided by the adroit hand of the sailor, the loop at length rested upon the earth, just before the muzzle of the musket; and was then drawn slowly and smoothly along the grass. Fortunately, the barrel did not lie close to the surface, and the cord passed easily underneath it; but Ben was not satisfied until he had worked his loop nearly to the middle of both barrel and stock, and quite over one of the swivels. He then tightened the noose by a jerk—such only as a sailor could give—and the taut cord showed it was fast and secured. In another half-minute my companion held “Queen Anne” in his grasp!
It was but the work of a few minutes to load her, but this was done with caution, as we feared to drop either the ammunition or the ramrod. Of course, had we lost either of these, the piece would have become useless. During all these proceedings, our antagonist had not remained silent. As he saw the musket ascending so mysteriously into the tree, he seemed to fancy that some conspiracy was meditated against him, and he had risen to his all-fours, and set up a loud growling.
Ben had now finished loading, and only waited for the lion to approach the tree; but the brute showed no signs of coming nearer. He continued to growl and lash his tail angrily, but kept his ground.
Perhaps a shot from the pistol might tempt him nearer; and my companion directed me to fire. I did so, aiming at the lion. Like enough the shot only tickled him; but it partially produced the desired effect; for, on receiving it, he made one bound forward and then stopped again—still continuing to roar, and strike his sides with his long, tufted tail.
He was now within less than ten paces of the muzzle of the piece, and he was not going nearer at that time. This was evident; for, after remaining awhile upon all-fours, he squatted down upon his hips just like a cat. His broad breast was right towards us, and presented a most lurking mark to aim at.
Ben was sorely tempted to level and pull trigger; but, still fearing that even at that close distance the snipe-shot would scatter and do no hurt, he held back.
He had directed me to reload the pistol and fire again, and I was busy in doing so, when, all at once, my companion whispered me to desist. I looked at him to see what he wanted. I saw that some new purpose was in his mind. I saw him cautiously draw the huge iron ramrod from the thimbles, and then twisting a piece of oakum round its head, insert it into the barrel, where the oakum held it fast. I next saw him lower the barrel, and lay the butt to his shoulder. I saw him take aim, and soon after came the loud bang and the cloud of smoke, which filled the whole top of the tree, hiding both the earth and the sky from my sight.
Though I could not for some time tell the effect of the shot—neither could Ben—on account of the thick smoke, our ears were gratified by the sounds that reached us from below. The voice of the lion seemed all at once to have changed its triumphant roaring to a tone that expressed agony and fear, and we were convinced that he was badly hurt. We could hear the whining, and snorting, and screaming, like that made by a cat in the agonies of death, but far hoarser and louder.
All this lasted only a few seconds—while the sulphurous vapour clung around the tree—and just as this was wafted aside, and we could see the ground below, the noises ceased, and to our great joy we beheld the enormous brute stretched upon his side motionless and dead!
We waited awhile, to be sure of this fact before descending from our safe perch; but as we watched the brute and saw that he stirred not, we at length felt assured, and leaped down to the earth.
True enough, he was quite dead. The iron ramrod had done the business, and was still sticking half-buried in his breast—its point having penetrated to the heart.
A royal lion was game enough in one day. So thought Ben; and, as we had no desire to procure a second one in the same way, we agreed that this should be the termination of our hunt.
Ben, however, was not going to return without taking back some trophies of his hunter-skill; and, therefore, after we had obtained water to assuage our thirst, we returned to the spot, and under the shade of the great dragon-tree stripped the lion of his skin.
With this trophy borne upon Ben’s shoulders, while I carried the “Queen Anne,” we wended our way toward the Pandora.