sclosed
to us his position: they kept up a continued barking until the day
dawned, the lion occasionally springing after them and driving them in
upon the kraal. The horrible monster lay all night within forty yards of
us, consuming the wretched man whom he had chosen for his prey. He had
dragged him into a little hollow at the back of the thick bush beside
which the fire was kindled, and there he remained till the day dawned,
careless of our proximity.

It appeared that when the unfortunate Hendric rose to drive in the ox,
the lion had watched him to his fireside, and he had scarcely laid down
when the brute sprang upon him and Ruyter (for both lay under one
blanket), with his appalling, murderous roar, and, roaring as he lay,
grappled him with his fearful claws, and kept biting him on the breast
and shoulder, all the while feeling for his neck; having got hold of
which, he at once dragged him away backward round the bush into the
dense shade.

As the lion lay upon the unfortunate man, he faintly cried, "Help me,
help me! Oh God! men, help me!" After which the fearful beast got a hold
of his neck, and then all was still, except that his comrades heard the
bones of his neck cracking between the teeth of the lion. John Stofolus
had lain with his back to the fire on the opposite side, and on hearing
the lion he sprang up, and, seizing a large flaming brand, had belabored
him on the head with the burning wood; but the brute did not take any
notice of him. The Bushman had a narrow escape; he was not altogether
scatheless, the lion having inflicted two gashes in his seat with his
claws.

The next morning, just as the day began to dawn, we heard the lion
dragging something up the river side, under cover of the bank. We drove
the cattle out of the kraal, and then proceeded to inspect the scene of
the night's awful tragedy. In the hollow, where the lion had lain
consuming his prey, we found one leg of the unfortunate Hendric, bitten
off below the knee, the shoe still on his foot; the grass and bushes
were all stained with his blood, and fragments of his pea-coat lay
around. Poor Hendric! I knew the fragments of that old coat, and had
often marked them hanging in the dense covers where the elephant had
charged after my unfortunate after-rider. Hendric was by far the best
man I had about my wagons, of a most cheerful disposition, a first-rate
wagon-driver, fearless in the field, ever active, willing, and obliging:
his loss to