“Not according to the Field Museum of Chicago they didn’t,” Catherine retorted. “That was all down to Hollywood.”
“Well it sounds better than specimen number I don’t recall and specimen number I don’t give a damn,” Jericho grinned.
“You also have to remember that the natives were dismissed by Patterson as primitive and superstitious. He would not have taken the names they gave the lions very seriously,” Jelani offered. “I believe the names were those given. It is common for the people to christen animals like them as such.”
Catherine sat back, slightly annoyed. Thomas couldn’t help smiling as he watched her simmer as Jericho started his story once more.
“But as with all killers, practice makes perfect. Patterson’s problems really started when the main body of workers moved to the other side of the river, leaving him with a single encampment of just a few hundred men. It was like he’d opened up a supermarket for the man-eaters, a virtual one stop all-you-can-eat buffet. The men built huge thorn barricades, kept fires burning and set up noise makers in the trees. Nothing deterred the lions and it was then that they carried out one of their most famous attacks. When the main camp upped sticks, they left behind their old hospital, and they hit it, no doubt drawn to the smell of blood and decay within. They carried off one man and left two severely mauled in their wake. Ever practical, Patterson has a new, clean hospital constructed. Still clinging to the hope the lions will get nostalgic, he then lay in wait at the abandoned site hoping they might revisit. Alas, they did hit the hospital again, but it was the fresh new one over a mile away. Patterson’s only company that night were the mortifying screams and cries of the hospital staff and patients.”
Jericho paused for a moment, savouring the silence of his audience, who were now completely gripped by the story. He gave a quick wink to Thomas, who eyed him with a shrewd and knowing smile.
“So, up goes hospital number three. They certainly needed it by all accounts. That’s when Patterson decided to get creative. He arranges for a covered goods wagon to be placed on a siding, close to the second abandoned site. He also convinces the good Doctor, who by now probably wants to be anywhere but the hospital, to join him for an armed vigil from said wagon. They add the temptation of some cattle for bait and after dinner, walk over a mile in the dark to set up shop and get comfy. That there and then darlin’, is why I’m happy to claim Patterson would have proved positive on the idiocy spectrum,” Jericho nodded in Catherine’s direction. He continued.
“Unfortunately for Patterson and the Doctor, his workers weren’t so foolhardy, and completely ignored his orders to block the entrance to what was to be their protection, a fence of thorns known as a boma. They weren’t going out after dark it seemed. And as Patterson peers from the open top half of the goods wagon, wondering why the lions have not visited the hospital again, he thinks he sees something crawling through the darkness towards them. Only as the lion springs is it revealed, and only the double rapport of their rifles saves them, surprising the lion and causing it to swerve away back into the night. But that did enough to give the lions pause for thought, and Tsavo became a relatively peaceful area again for a while.”
“Apart from the little matter when his men tried to kill him,” Jelani added with a deep and infectious laugh.
“Can’t blame them for trying, it wasn’t like they were getting hazard pay,” Jericho shrugged.
“You mean there’s hazard pay?” Jelani exclaimed with another burst of laughter.
“No,” said Thomas and Jericho together, shaking their heads in stern mockery.
“Anyway,” Jericho continued, sitting forward, “having gotten nothing more than a good look at the man-eaters, the colonel gets serious and puts together a trap made from railway sleepers, tram rails, telegraph wire and heavy chain; basically, the raw materials he had at his disposal to build a railroad. The trap was split into two compartments, one for human bait, and the other intended for the brothers grim. Each section was separated by iron rails set three inches apart, keeping the bait safe. Patterson did offer himself up as the potential meal for several nights, but the only things interested in dining on him were mosquitoes, and he was forced to eventually seek rest. He didn’t know at the time, but the lions had taken to hitting some camps ten miles away, and didn’t return to Tsavo for a few months. But when they did, they did so in style. Every night, Patterson would lie in wait for them, listening to their murderous roars reach ever closer, only to grow suddenly silent. Then, inevitably, the night would be pierced by screams. The mangled, haunting cries of his workers, each night from a different place. He called it their reign of terror.”
Jericho let out a deep sigh as he paused and looked into the fire for a moment.
“Many hunters, as well as Naval and Army officers, ventured up from Mombasa to assist him, but all left empty handed. As for the workers, they were now absolutely convinced the lions were the devil incarnate, and pleaded with John Henry to give up trying to shoot them, seeing it as pointless like. The lions also changed their tactics. Whereas before they had been happy with a single victim between them, they now insisted on one apiece at each strike. Eventually and inevitably, the workers deserted the camp, with only Patterson’s personal staff and those of the station at Tsavo remaining. The good colonel’s nightly vigils recommenced, but the closest he got was on two occasions being within earshot of the lions as they dined. But a few nights later, with hired guns now manning his trap, one of the lions entered. Unfortunately, its reputation well and truly preceded it, and the men in the trap were so terrified that their barrage of shots did nothing, except hit the chain link that held the door in place, thus allowing Simba to escape.”
“Nice to know we’re not the only ones who have trouble with man-eaters,” Catherine whispered to Thomas.
He gave a tired shrug of acceptance in reply.
“After that, things do get a little spooky,” Jericho continued. “A few mornings after the fiasco with the trap, J.H is greeted by one of his men sprinting down the road, nervously looking behind him as he approaches. He tells the colonel that the lions sprang on a group of men just a short distance away, but missed and took one of their pack-donkeys instead. Having been left a heavy rifle by one of his comrades, he snatches it up and dashes off in the direction the man came from. He discovers the lions a little way off in the brush, but the snap of a rotten branch underfoot gives him away and they retreat into a thicket. Close to going mad at this point, John Henry gathers his men with oil drums, tin cans, and anything that can make noise so they can beat the brutes out of the thicket. He skirts the brush and waits as the beaters approach. Suddenly, out into the open steps a huge, maneless lion. Distracted by the noisemakers, the lion fails to notice him until he is about fifteen yards away and Patterson raises his rifle. Absolutely astonished, the lion throws itself back on its haunches with a savage growl. Cocky and confident, Patterson covers the beast’s brain and pulls the trigger. But nothing happens. All he hears is the cold, dull snap of a misfire.”
“This is the bit I find almost unforgiveable,” Thomas remarked to the others, leaning forward.
“And why I think the good colonel was more of a gifted idiot than a skilled hunter,” Jericho added. “So astonished and horrified by the misfire, he lowers his rifle to reload, completely forgetting he has a second barrel ready to go. The lion is so disturbed by the approaching din that he springs into the thicket instead of at John Henry, which gives the great hunter just enough time to remember why it’s called a double rifle. He gets off a shot, and it is answered by an angry roar that can only mean the lion has been hit. Patterson jumps onto the trail after him, but loses him in a rocky maze.”
“Sounds a little too familiar after today,” Catherine sighed.
“Anyway, perhaps a little maddened by the continued luck of the lions compared to the Irish, J.H decides to stake out the abandoned and only partially eaten carcass of the donkey,” Jericho added. “And to do so, he constructs
a machan, a plank of wood supported by four poles stuck into the ground and inclined towards each other at the top. Come sundown, he climbs up and settles in for the night, a mere twelve feet from the ground, which is well within a lion’s reach if it was really motivated I might add. Hours into his lonely vigil, just as he his fighting off sleep, he hears the approach of something large through the bush. Tense with nervous energy and still as a statue, he listens as it comes closer. When it lets out a deep sigh of hunger, he knows for sure it is a lion. It takes a few more steps then stops in its tracks. Silence ensues, only for the night to be penetrated by an angry and menacing growl. Patterson realises his presence has been detected. But instead of making off back into the brush, the lion begins to stalk him instead. For the next two hours, John Henry listens to the man-eater circle the machan, gradually edging closer as it does.”
A smouldering log at the bottom of the fire pit, almost reduced to just glowing embers, finally cracked with a fountain of sparks, as the pile on top broke its burnt-through fibres. It distracted Jericho, who seemed lost in thought as he stared into the flames for a moment before continuing.
“The good colonel did know enough about man-eaters not to move though. He lay as still as a statue, all the while expecting the sudden rush of the lion as it either brought the platform down to the ground, or reached for him in a leap. As he feels a jolt on the back of his head, he almost screams, thinking death has found him. But as the moments pass, he realises that his lack of movement has allowed an owl to mistake his outline for a perch. But his involuntary flinch is enough to produce a sinister snarl from close by. As John Henry turns in the direction it comes from, he can just about make out the lion’s ghostly form against the white underbrush of the acacias. He brings up his rifle and pulls the trigger without a second’s hesitation. An almighty roar shakes the platform and J. H listens as the lion tumbles and tears its way through the undergrowth, growling and gnashing as it goes. He fires shot after shot, as each snarl reveals the position of the man-eater in the brush, until he hears it collapse. A series of deep groans rumble out of the darkness, followed by a single sigh, then silence. As his men approach excitedly, the colonel decides that retreat is the better part of valour, not wishing to endanger them in case the lion is not dead. But in the morning, he finds that he has indeed killed the first of the man-eaters. Crouched and frozen in death, ready for the spring, J. H discovers at least two of his shots found their intended target. The male lion, known as the Ghost, was almost maneless, very pale in colour, and very large at nearly nine feet and nine inches in length.”
“What happened to the other man-eater?” Kelly asked.
“Oh he made his presence felt soon enough,” Jericho sighed. “After a bungled attack on a local inspector’s bungalow which resulted in the taking of a goat, Patterson re-adopted his tried and tested method of sitting up close to the kill sight. This time though, he set three new goats as bait, tied to a 250lb iron rail. After a sleepless night for J. H, the man-eater appeared just before dawn and nabbed one of the goats, pulling the other two and the iron rail to their doom with it. Patterson let a few shots off, but it was too dark to follow up.”
“He did manage to hit one of the goats as I recall though,” Thomas laughed.
“Too true,” Jericho replied with a wink. “Anyway, even Patterson was able to find the trail of three dead goats tied to an iron rail being dragged through the brush, and followed it up the next morning. A very unhappy lion charged him and his hunting party, but disappeared back into the scrub. Absolutely certain the lion will return, he has a very strong scaffold built in a tree close to where the man-eater has abandoned the goats. He sets up, with both a twin barrelled smooth bore and a magazine rifle, and accompanied by his gun bearer he settles in for another night’s vigil. Amazingly, the lion does indeed present itself, and J. H commemorates its appearance by sending slugs from both barrels into its shoulder as it passes below him. Again though, Patterson waits for the comparative safety of dawn to take to the trail. Almost unbelievably, it disappears back into the maze of rocks. For ten days, they neither see nor hear anything of the lion, and presume it has died of its wounds somewhere in the bush.”
“He’s not big on following up wounded animals, is he?” Catherine said scornfully.
“Like I said, I’m no real fan of the man,” Jericho replied, throwing up his hands in agreement.
He paused as Rhodes, the big tan boerboel, padded up to his side and laid his head contentedly on his knee. Not expecting her to be far away, Thomas looked round to catch Saka stealthily stalking him from behind. On being discovered, she let out a whining yawn and trotted past, slumping to the floor at his feet and stretching out in front of the fire.
“One evening,” Jericho continued, “the good colonel hears the terrified shouts of his men calling for him, saying a lion is trying to reach them. Having learnt from their mistakes, they hadn’t declared the lion dead yet, rather just missing in action, and were still sleeping high in trees surrounded by a thorn boma. Patterson doesn’t fancy leaving the safety of his own enclosure either, and takes a few pot shots into the darkness. This seems to at least have the desired effect, as the men are not disturbed again that night. But come the dawn, the lion’s huge and obvious pugmarks can be seen circling the tree several times, and then rather sinisterly, traipsing through each and every empty tent in the camp. Without missing a beat, J. H has another platform built high in the tree, hoping the lion will come back. Again, he takes up his post with his gun bearer, and settles in for the night. After about an hour of uncomfortable dozing, he blinks awake, certain that something isn’t right. And although his man is attentively on guard, Patterson peers into their murky surroundings. He catches a tiny flicker of movement, and drawn to it, he begins to watch in disbelief as the man-eater sinks into cover, carefully stalking them to within twenty yards. He snatches up the magazine rifle and sends home a round into the lion’s chest. The man-eater melts back into the darkness, but not before Patterson sends another three shots in his direction.”
“Had he killed it this time?” Keelson asked.
“Well, again John Henry waits for dawn to break before he decides to check,” Jericho replied. “But the plentiful splashes of blood give him some confidence. Accompanied by a tracker, J. H has the common sense to use the luxury of strength in numbers to check ahead, and about a quarter of a mile in, he finds it’s a good thing too. The party are met by an angry snarl, and Patterson sees the man-eater rise up, ready for a charge. Patterson lets off three shots, which seem to only piss the thing off further, but he reaches behind, confidently expecting to be passed the second rifle by his gun bearer. Unfortunately, both servant and said firearm are disappearing up the nearest tree, and Patterson has no choice but to join them in a hurry. John Henry swings up into its branches just as the lion reaches the foot of the tree. But as it limps back to the thicket, the gun bearer remembers what he is there for and passes J. H the gun. The single round he sends in the lion’s direction floors it immediately, and J. H scrambles down, finally sure he has finished him off. But as we know from any good horror movie, the monster always comes back one more time, and on his approach, up jumped the lion and charged again. This time, the close-fired shots to the man-eater’s chest and head did the job, and the second Tsavo man-eater died five yards from Patterson’s feet. Known as the Darkness, he too was maneless, measured nine feet six inches in length, and stood near enough four feet at the shoulder. Both big boys, as I’m sure our experts will agree,” Jericho nodded to Thomas and Catherine.
Thomas sat back and gave a sarcastic smile in reply. Catherine seemed too deep in thought to respond.
“And now their legacy lives on it seems?” Keelson asked. “That’s why you call them The Daughters of the Darkness I presume?”
“I am interested in the appearance of these lions, I have to admit,” Catherine answered out of the blue. “The ones we saw back in the cave were also unusually pale. We are presuming they are
females, but maybe the males are maneless, as the Ghost and the Darkness were. It’s not that uncommon a trait for lions that live in more arid conditions, where the weight and heat of a mane would be a hindrance. It’s also a two-way street. Lionesses in the Okavango Delta of Botswana are known to grow manes, giving their prides added protection through the perception of having more males.”
“I’m pretty sure the tracks I found were of lionesses,” Thomas interjected. “The only prints of males I’ve found so far were from the one unfortunate to encounter the so-called queen’s wrath, and the two big guys who were hanging around on the hill.”
“I’ve already spoken to the Field Museum in Chicago,” said Kelly. “They would be very interested in adding to the existing Tsavo lions exhibit if we provide the opportunity.”
“We should maybe be a little more concerned about doing what’s best for this pride as a whole,” Catherine argued, “before we make any deals to sell off all of their hides. Lions are a vulnerable species, and populations have decreased by 42% over the last twenty years. We need to take some responsibility for our actions.”
“It’s not like we can teach them to not eat people anymore,” Jericho scoffed.
“Don’t be so sure,” Catherine replied, shaking her head. “Lions are the only social cat species in the world. They hunt, kill and feed together, and follow a strict hierarchy. If you take out the leader, the pride could be forced to move and make changes to their choice of prey.”
“You’ve got yourself a regular Joy Adamson there,” Jericho sighed, nodding at Thomas. “Being friendly towards lions didn’t do her any good in the end you know?”
“What do you mean by that?” Catherine asked.
The Daughters of the Darkness Page 16
