Big Game Shooting, volume 1 (of 2)Phillipps-Wolley, Clive
General
Big Game Shooting, volume 1 (of 2)
Phillipps-Wolley, Clive
Game and game-birds; Hunting
Round the dead elands there was a typical African breakfast party--two
lions, a dozen jackals, five or six hyænas, and an innumerable
company of vultures. The lions, having fed to the full, were lying
down close to the carcase, the jackals intently watching them, one of
their party every now and then, when he thought the lions’ eyes were
turned upon his companions or partly closed, running in for a hasty
mouthful till a growl sent him to his seat again. A shambling hyæna,
after many tries, for the beast wants dash, gets hold of one of the
outside strings of the entrails and, pulling it taut, backs as far as
he possibly can. Two or three of his friends invite themselves, and,
rushing into breakfast, tug different ways. Vultures of various kinds
stalk about tearing with beak and claw, and good right have they, for
the invitations to the feast have all come through them. High up in the
blue, entirely beyond your ken, they saw the game killed, and before
you left the spot, if you had looked up, you might have seen the air
alive with them. Soaring very high for an extensive view of anything
going on for their advantage upon the earth below, their keen sight
has comprehended the situation at a glance. Those immediately over the
spot begin to descend, the message of there being something ‘down’
has been aërially communicated from battalion to battalion among the
circling brotherhood, and through miles and miles of ether a game of
follow my leader is going on. It is sight, not scent. An animal killed
in a nullah, or in thick bush and covered up at once, escapes. The
jackal, hyæna, and lion follow the birds. When the beasts of prey do
not find the carcase--it may have been shot far from water--and the
animal is thick-skinned, like the rhinoceros and elephant, and even the
giraffe and buffalo, the beaks and claws cannot for some time make an
entrance into their larder supply, and the birds sit about in solemn
funereal state on the surrounding trees waiting for the softening
of putrefaction, which is well established in two days, solacing
themselves meantime with an eye or the inside of the mouth if they can
get at it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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