Chapter II: The First Appearance of the Man-Eaters
Unfortunately this happy state of affairs did
not continue for long, and our work was soon
interrupted in a rude and startling manner. Two
most voracious and insatiable man-eating lions
appeared upon the scene, and for over nine
months waged an intermittent warfare against
the railway and all those connected with it in
the vicinity of Tsavo. This culminated in a
perfect reign of terror in December, 1898, when
they actually succeeded in bringing the railway
works to a complete standstill for about three
weeks. At first they were not always successful in
their efforts to carry off a victim, but as time went
on they stopped at nothing and indeed braved any
danger in order to obtain their favourite food. Their methods then became so uncanny, and their man-stalking so well-timed and so certain of success, that the workmen firmly believed that they were not real animals at all, but devils in lions' shape. Many a time the coolies solemnly assured me that it was absolutely useless to attempt to shoot them. They were quite convinced that the angry spirits of two departed native chiefs had taken this form in order to protest against a railway being made through their country, and by stopping its progress to avenge the insult thus shown to them.
I had only been a few days at Tsavo when I
first heard that these brutes had been seen in the
neighbourhood. Shortly afterwards one or two
coolies mysteriously disappeared, and I was told
that they had been carried off by night from
their tents and devoured by lions. At the time
I did not credit this story, and was more inclined
to believe that the unfortunate men had been the
victims of foul play at the hands of some of their
comrades. They were, as it happened, very good
workmen, and had each saved a fair number of
rupees, so I thought it quite likely that some
scoundrels from the gangs had murdered them
for the sake of their money. This suspicion, however, was very soon dispelled. About three weeks after my arrival, I was roused one morning about daybreak and told that one of my jemadars, a fine powerful Sikh named Ungan Singh, had been seized in his tent during the night, and dragged off and eaten.
Naturally I lost no time in making an
examination of the place, and was soon convinced that
the man had indeed been carried off by a lion, as its "pug" marks were plainly visible in the sand, while the furrows made by the heels of the victim showed the direction in which he had been dragged away. Moreover, the jemadar shared his tent with half a dozen other workmen, and one of his bedfellows had actually witnessed the occurrence. He graphically described how, at about midnight, the lion suddenly put its head in at the open tent door and seized Ungan Singh -- who happened to be nearest the opening -- by the throat. The unfortunate fellow cried out "Choro" ("Let go"), and threw his arms up round the lion's neck. The next moment he was gone, and his panic-stricken companions lay helpless, forced to listen to the terrible struggle which took place outside. Poor Ungan Singh must have died hard; but what chance had he? As a coolie gravely remarked, "Was he not fighting with a lion?"