In a few minutes an ox came out by the gate of the kraal and
walked out by the back of it. Hendrick got up and drove him in again,
and then went back to his fireside and lay down. Hendrick and Ruyter
lay on one side of the fire under one blanket, and John Stofolus lay
on the other. At this moment I was sitting taking some barley-broth;
our fire was very small, and the night was pitch-dark and windy. Owing
to our proximity to the native village the wood was very scarce, the
Bakalahari having burnt it all in their fires.
Suddenly the appalling and murderous voice of an angry blood-thirsty
lion burst upon my ears within a few yards of us, followed by the
shrieking of the Hottentots. Again and again the murderous roar of
attack was repeated. We heard John and Ruyter shriek, "The lion, the
lion!" still, for a few moments, we thought he was chasing one of the
dogs round the kraal; but, the next instant, John Stofolus rushed into
the midst of us, almost speechless with fear and terror, his eyes
bursting from their sockets, and shrieked out, "The lion, the lion! He
has got Hendrick; he dragged him away from the fire beside me. I
struck him with the burning brands upon his head, but he would not let
go his hold. Hendrick is dead! Oh, God! Hendrick is dead! Let us take
fire and seek him!"
The rest of my people rushed about shrieking and yelling as if they
were mad.
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