Part 7

“A lion,” writes the Hon. W. H. Drummond (“The Large Game and Natural History of South and South-east Africa”) “will seldom stand much bullying. He may and often will get out of your way, nay, even leave his prey if you approach it, and should you follow him, will perhaps do so a second time, but that is about the extent of it.” If interference is pushed further, the lion, “if a male, growls deeply, and makes his mane bristle up round him; or, if a lioness, crouches down like a cat, lays her ears back, and shows her teeth, and in most such cases, when the brute is fairly roused, a charge is inevitable whether you advance or retreat.” On the other hand, “some lions make a point of attacking every human being they meet, without provocation or apparent cause.” This is unusual, but “there are many instances of lions having evidently attacked a human being from no other cause than surprise or fear at suddenly finding themselves so close to him.... In the above cases, utter immobility and coolness will often avert an attack; for if the animal, judging by your behavior, imagines that you do not want to hurt it, it will, after trying you for several minutes, and even making one or two sham charges, often walk away and allow you to do the same.... Several instances of this have occurred within my own knowledge. A large native hunting party had gone out and were scattered among the thorns, when one of my gun-bearers, who had accompanied it, suddenly found himself face to face with a full-grown male lion, without a yard between them. He had presence of mind sufficient to stand perfectly still, without attempting to take one of the spears he carried in his left hand into the other, and after a couple of minutes the brute walked away, turning its head round every second to watch him.

“This could not be attributed to the efficacy of the human eye, as the man afterwards told me that he had not dared to raise his from the ground. This lion before going far met another native, who raised his spear, as if to throw it; upon which it instantly sprang upon him, and inflicted such wounds that he died within half an hour. I have no doubt that if this man had stood still, he would have been perfectly safe.”

A still more striking example of the fact that lions, unless hungry, enraged or alarmed, often pass man by is given by Drummond as follows: “A hunter of mine was following the trail of a herd of buffalo through some dense thickets, alone, and armed only with a single barrel. Suddenly a male lion rose out of one of them, and sitting on his hind quarters, snarled at him; he had hardly seen it when another, about three-quarters grown, showed itself within a few yards on one side, while from behind he could hear the low rumbling growl of a third. Partly turning so as to watch them all, he saw that the latter was a lioness, and that three cubs not much larger than cats were following her. He had, unawares, got into the centre of a lion family. Unfortunately, one of the cubs saw him, and without exhibiting the least fear, ran up to him; upon which its mother, in terror for her offspring, rushed up, and, as he afterwards described it, fairly danced round and round him, springing to within a yard of him, sideways, backwards, and in every way but on him. Luckily he was a man of iron nerve, and bred from the cradle in scenes like this; he therefore remained quiet, taking no more notice of the frantic behavior of the lioness than if she had not existed; for, as he said, it was a hundred to one that I did not kill the mother, and, if I had, the other two would have avenged her.” It ended by her ultimately retiring into the thicket, and watching him as he cleared out; but there can be no doubt that any hesitation, nervousness, or involuntary movement on his part would have been fatal.

In his description of the lion, Buffon (“Histoire Naturelle”) has delivered a number of opinions based upon imperfect knowledge. This animal, he says, owes its characteristics to climate alone. Lions only inhabit tropical countries, and among the denizens of hot latitudes they are “le plus fort, le plus fier, le plus terrible de tous.” On the Atlas Mountains, where snow sometimes falls, these beasts have neither the strength, size, courage, nor ferocity of those who roam the southern plains, and for the same reason, the lion of America, if it deserves that name, is but an inferior beast. Man has greatly circumscribed the range of Felis leo, and the natural character of existing varieties has been greatly changed through his inventions. Formerly lions were bolder than they are at present; still, in the Sahara and other places, it happens that “un seul de ses lions du désert attaque souvent une caravane entière.” Owing to its brave and magnanimous character, a lion only takes life when compelled to do so by hunger. Certain moral qualities may be said to inhere in the species at large, but there are also individual lions that add to these endowments of their race the finest personal traits. More than one species of this genus exists, and an average lion is about twelve or thirteen feet long. He is less keen of sight, and has not so good an organ of scent as other beasts of prey, and for this reason lions make use of jackals in hunting. All animals they pursue live upon the ground, and in consequence it is not customary with them to climb trees like the tiger and puma--“il ne grimpe pas sur les arbres comme le tigre ou le puma.” Their attack is always made from an ambush, whence the victim is sprung upon and struck down; but it is not devoured until after life is extinct.

All this, it may be repeated, is erroneous. Climate alone does not form geographical varieties. Species require to be adjusted to the whole physiography of their respective regions, and to their organic environments as well. The lion inhabits temperate latitudes where the weather is often cold, and it is on those parallels which in Africa run north and south of the equatorial belt, that he attains his highest development.

With respect to the lion of the Atlas, Major Leveson (“Hunting Grounds of the Old World”), General Daumas (“Les Chevaux du Sahara”), and Gérard (“Journal des Chasseurs”) have shown that it is larger than its congener further south. Buffon’s thirteen feet lions belong to an earlier geological period than ours; no such specimens of the cat kind are at present alive, but his tribute to the courage of the king of beasts is not perhaps altogether undeserved. Of course there is nothing in his remarks about magnanimity and the like, and as for a single lion attacking a caravan, the statement is absurd. Lions and troops of lions are described by many observers--Le Vaillant, Cumming, Oswell, Harris, Davidson, Kerr--as having forayed upon encampments in various ways, but there is no authentic account of any incident such as Buffon relates.

What he says about the animal’s deficiency in sight and scenting power is not supported in any way by facts. There is nothing in the creature’s anatomy to warrant such an assertion. Its olfactory apparatus is well developed, and as it is a beast of prey, and belongs to a family distinguished for keenness of scent, there is no reason to think that this function does not correspond with its structure. Neither is there anything, so far as the writer knows, in the better class of observations made upon lions, to indicate any deficiency in this respect. With reference to sight, if Buffon meant more than that they, as being nocturnal in habit, are at a disadvantage in the sun’s glare, it was, we must believe, a mistake upon his part. Their organ of sight is structurally of a high order; it is so placed that the range of vision is large, and no good authority has disparaged the lion’s far-sightedness, or the defining power of his eye.

None of the great cats is, however, strictly nocturnal except in places where they are constantly pursued. Lions frequently stalk or drive game while the sun is up; they see perfectly well during these hours, and it is evidently a mistake to give the primary importance commonly attributed to it to a peculiarity of vision which the Felidæ have in common with other classes.

Buffon’s opinion of the use to which lions put jackals falls to the ground before facts. It is an old idea that they, and tigers also, employ them as scouts; nevertheless it would appear that the true relation has been overlooked, and that it is the jackal who uses the lion. When a lion leaves his lair he always roars, and if any jackals are in the vicinity, the sound attracts them at once; it is like an invitation to a meal, for these satellites feast upon the offal. Similarly, as the lion’s majestic form moves with long and soft but heavy tread through the gloom, every jackal that sights the grim hunter follows him.

In works on natural history lions are classed among the educabilia. There is, however, a certain ludicrousness in distinguishing this animal as one that can be taught. So can a flea. Every creature with a nervous system may be and is instructed in some manner. All living things so provided learn, though not necessarily through tuition, nor in all cases consciously. Dr. Maudsley’s remark (“Physiology and Pathology of the Mind”), that “a spinal cord without memory would be an idiotic spinal cord,” is full of meaning. Wherever a nervous arc exists, there is memory and the potentialities of mind. The central axis is nothing more than an integrated series of such connected arcs ending in a brain when the animal is sufficiently elevated.

A whelp is born in the spring, or towards the close of winter, a little sooner or later, as the latitude varies. Before this event the parents have fixed upon some solitary spot in which to establish themselves. The mother’s character undergoes a temporary change for the better during the period of maternity. While the pairing season lasts she is a shameless wanton, ready at any moment to abandon her mate for a stronger rival. Desperate combats accompany the lion’s courtship, in which both parties are frequently killed, and in almost all instances these are brought on by the lioness, who seems to take a savage pleasure in provoking such duels.

Gérard gives the following story, which is in all essentials a true picture of the behavior of both males and females at the time spoken of. “It was in the stags’ rutting season, and Mohammed, a great hunter of every kind of wild animal, perched himself at sunset in the boughs of an oak tree to watch for a doe that had been seen wandering in the vicinity, accompanied by several stags. The tree he climbed stood in the middle of a large clearing, and near it was a path which led into the neighboring forest. Towards midnight he saw a lioness enter this open space, followed by a red lion, with a full-grown mane, who carried the carcass of an ox. Soon after they were followed by another lion, a lioness, and three cubs. The first lioness strolled from the path, and came and laid herself down at the foot of the oak, while the lion remained in the path, and seemed to be listening to some sound as yet inaudible to the hunter.

“Mohammed soon heard a distant roaring in the forest, and the lioness immediately answered it. Then the lion commenced to roar with a voice so loud that the frightened man let his gun fall, and held fast to the branch with both hands lest he should tumble from the tree.

“As the voice of the animal heard in the distance gradually approached, the lioness welcomed him with renewed roarings, and the lion, restless, went and came from the path to her, as if he wished her to keep silence, and then, from the lioness to the path again, as if to say, ‘Let the vagabond come; he will meet his match.’

“In about an hour, a large lion as black as a wild boar stepped out of the forest and stood on the edge of the clearing in the full moonlight. The lioness raised herself up to go to him, but the lion anticipating her intention, rushed before her, and marched straight towards his adversary. With measured steps and slow they approached to within a dozen paces of each other; their great heads high in air, their tails slowly sweeping down the grass that grew around them. They crouched to the earth; a moment’s pause, and then they bounded with a roar high in air, and rolled upon the ground, locked in their last embrace.

“Their struggle was long and fearful to the involuntary witness of this midnight duel. The bones of the combatants cracked under their powerful jaws, their talons strewed the grass with entrails, and painted it red with blood, and their roarings, now guttural, now sharp and loud, told of their rage and agony.

“At the beginning of the conflict the lioness crouched low, with her eyes fixed on the gladiators, and all the while the battle raged, manifested, by the slow, cat-like motion of her tail, the pleasure she felt at the spectacle. When the scene closed, and all was still and quiet in the moonlit glade, she cautiously approached the spot, and snuffling at the bodies of her two lovers, walked leisurely away, without deigning to notice the gross but appropriate epithet Mohammed sent after her, instead of a bullet, as she went off.”

This otherwise excellent sketch loses something of its vraisemblance from carelessness and inaccuracy in execution, and also from an unfortunate style, which gives to most French narratives of this kind, however true, the air of romances. Gérard knew that a doe is never accompanied for any length of time by several stags, and there can be no excuse for making a lion range the woods with an ox in his mouth.

When cubs are about two months old, they begin to forage in the vicinity of their lair. This hunting, however, is more than half play, for they are sprightly little creatures whose gambols and infantile familiarities soon become distasteful to the grave and morose nature of their father. The lion then takes up his quarters out of their reach, but at the same time near enough to come to the assistance of his family if aid should be needed. Two cubs as a rule are born together, and one of these is generally a male. If the birth be single, this is said to be invariably the case, so that the fact that males considerably outnumber females is accounted for, and with it both the wantonness of the latter, and those trials to which their consorts are exposed. The race maintains its place by the sacrifice of its weaker numbers. The strongest whelps and most powerful lions live, mate, and kill or dispossess their rivals. Sexual selection on the lionesses’ part aids this process, and the result is, as everywhere and always, that the fittest survive, and transmit their traits with a result which is in every way beneficial to the species.

A great many young ones die while cutting their teeth. If this has been accomplished safely, however, their education begins immediately after that event.

A lion does not reach maturity until the eighth year, and he lives to be about forty. At the end of his second year, however, the animal has attained considerable size, strength, and agility, while his predatory tendencies are then more freely indulged than at any subsequent period of life. Up to the time at which mutual indifference separates parents and offspring, the latter have been directed and assisted in all things. Game has been found for them, and methods of capture and killing have been illustrated. Thus far experience has brought with it only assurances of success. They have been incited to take life for practice, encouraged to act when there was no necessity for acting, guarded from the consequences of temerity and incapacity. Therefore, when separation takes place and they go forth alone, it is with an undue self-confidence which often entails disaster. Young lions are notoriously daring, destructive, and dangerous.

There are many dogmatic and differing decisions with regard to the manner in which lions seize, kill, and eat their victims, as also in respect to the degree in which their natural ferocity may be tempered by fear or discretion. There must be, of course, a family likeness among them in these particulars, but no such uniformity as has been imagined can be found in their behavior when a wide enough view is taken.

The fanciful opinion that a lion disdains to eat game that he has not stricken himself, vanishes at once. Derogatory to his dignity as it may be, the fact is that he will consume anything he finds dead, that his taste is of the most indiscriminate character, and that he is very frequently a foul feeder. “Many instances,” says Andersson (“The Lion and the Elephant”), “have come to my knowledge which show that when half famished he will not only greedily devour the leavings of other beasts, but even condescend to carrion.” In another work (“Lake N’gami”) the same author states that lions eat carrion without being “half famished.” Sir Samuel Baker (“Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia”) saw several that he knew were not pressed by hunger feeding on the putrid body of a buffalo shot by himself, and Gérard (“Journal des Chasseurs”) very nearly lost his life by a lioness who had come to feed upon the carcass of a horse in the last stages of decomposition. Lions appropriate any meat they may happen to find. “I have frequently discovered them feasting on quadrupeds that had fallen before my rifle,” remarks Colonel Cumming (“A Hunter’s Life in Africa”). Major Leveson (“Sport in Many Lands”), W. H. Drummond (“The Large Game and Natural History of Southern Africa”), Colonel Delgorgue, (“Voyage dans l’Afrique Australe”), Sir W. C. Harris, (“Wild Sports in Southern Africa”), and H. C. Selous (“A Hunter’s Wanderings in Africa”), all confirm the assertion that “lions are by no means too proud to eat game killed by others.” This charge must be admitted, and it is entirely conformable with another; namely, that his majesty is one of the laziest beings alive. “Laziness, assurance, and boldness,” says Gérard, are his most conspicuous traits of character, and Moffat (“Missionary Labors and Scenes in South Africa”) adds gluttony to the list. He was “taken aback,” he assures us, by the astonishing feats in the way of gormandizing that this animal performed. It should be remembered, however, that an average beast of prey passes a life divided into alternate periods of famine and repletion, and that it is, both from habit and conformation, capable of cramming itself in a manner which almost exceeds belief.

There is hardly need to cite authorities upon the act of seizing prey, because lions do so in all those ways that different observers have severally decided to be peculiar to this beast; and it is the same with the various methods by which they kill. The whole subject of attack, whether upon man or beast, is wrapped in a mass of positive contradictions.

In India troops of lions have been known to divide themselves into sections that relieved one another at short intervals in the actual pursuit of game. As a rule, however, species belonging to this group do not, and can not, really run down prey. Their peculiar structure, adapted to bounding, climbing, and brief rushes, does not admit of a long gallop. Their limbs are too massive and short, and are not sufficiently detached from the body to give them free play. Lions have been called “the most cat-like of all cats,” and for the most part these animals ambush or stalk those creatures which they kill.

When a lion impelled by hunger leaves his lair, he sometimes has a definite object in view, but more frequently goes forth to take advantage of anything that may turn up. If the former is the case, his course is directed, as that of a man would be in like circumstances, by a previous acquaintance with the haunts and habits of the game he is after. He does not ambush a disused path to a dried-up spring, or look for a quagga in a buffalo wallow, or attempt to stalk black antelopes in the same way that he would approach cattle belonging to some Hottentot kraal.

In Africa, which is his true home, a lion “is never known to chase prey.” Having sighted it, ascertained its species, surveyed the ground, found out the direction of the wind,--preliminaries essential to any subsequent attempts to get near,--he begins to practise a set of manœuvres adapted to present conditions, and these he has learned in the literal meaning of that term. Faculty is transmitted. Knowledge is always acquired.

Having closed successfully and seized his prey, it is destroyed in a variety of ways. As a matter of fact immediate death does not invariably come to the relief of its sufferings, even in the case of those smaller creatures on which the lion preys. He does not wait, as Buffon supposed, until insensibility ensues before tearing them to pieces. Nor is it true, as Dr. Livingstone imagined, that Providence assuages the agonies of all animals thus caught, by bestowing upon the Felidæ a propensity to shake their victims, and so produce a state of insensibility. How can a lion shake an ox or an eland, a horse, giraffe, buffalo, or young rhinoceros? Andersson tells us that he mistook the groans of a zebra carried past his camp by night for those of a human being, and went to the rescue. More than this, if the brute itself has any feeling about this matter,--and there is every reason to believe that it has,--all manifestations of pain heighten the pleasurable excitement it experiences in putting an animal to death. Cruelty is organized in its brain, and to a beast of prey, pity is about as possible as poetic inspiration. Love of bloodshed, exultation in carnage, immitigable ferocity, are ingrained in them all; and so far as a lion appreciates expressions of mental anguish and physical torture, they thrill his fierce spirit with a savage joy.