The Cat of Bubastes: A Tale of Ancient Egypt

“No, there is little chance of that. Should he do so and upset the boat, throw yourself among the rushes and lie there with only your face above water. I will divert his attention and come back and get you into the boat when he has made off.”

Another spear was thrown with good effect. There was a roar and a great splash. Chebron thought that the animal was upon them; but he turned off and dashed back to the pool where he had been first lying.

“I thought that was what he would do,” the hunter said. “They always seek shelter in the bottom of the deep pools; and here, you see, the water is not deep enough to cover him.”

The boat again followed the hippopotamus. Amuba was still on his raft on the pool.

“What has become of him?” Chebron asked as they passed beyond the rushes.

“He has sunk to the bottom of the pool,” Amuba replied. “He gave me a start, I can tell you. We heard him bursting through the rushes, and then he rushed out with his mouth open – a mouth like a cavern; and then, just as I thought he was going to charge us, he turned off and sank to the bottom of the pool.”

“How long will he lie there?” Chebron asked the hunter.

“A long time if he is left to himself, but we are going to stir him up.”

So saying he directed the boat toward the rushes nearest to the bank and pushed the boat through them.

“Oh, here you are, Jethro!” Chebron said, seeing the Rebu and the men he had accompanied standing on the bank.

“What has happened, Chebron – have you killed one of them? We heard a sort of roar and a great splashing.”

“We have not killed him, but there are two spear-heads sticking into him.”

The hunter handed the cords to the men and told them to pull steadily, but not hard enough to break the cords. Then he took from them the end of the rope they carried and poled back into the pool.

“Those cords are not strong enough to pull the great beast to the shore, are they?” Chebron asked.

“Oh, no, they would not move him; but by pulling on them it causes the spear-heads to give him pain, he gets uneasy, and rises to the surface in anger. Then, you see, I throw this noose over his head, and they can pull upon that.”

In two or three minutes the animal’s head appeared above the water. The instant it did so the hunter threw the noose. The aim was correct, and with a jerk he tightened it round the neck.

“Now pull!” he shouted.

The peasants pulled, and gradually the hippopotamus was drawn toward the bank, although struggling to swim in the opposite direction.

As soon, however, as he reached the shallow water and his feet touched the ground he threw his whole weight upon the rope. The peasants were thrown to the ground and the rope dragged through their fingers as the hippopotamus again made his way to the bottom of the pool. The peasants regained their feet and pulled on the rope and cords. Again the hippopotamus rose and was dragged to the shallow, only to break away again. For eight or ten times this happened.

“He is getting tired now,” the hunter said. “Next time or the time after they will get him on shore. We will land then and attack him with spears and arrows.”

The hippopotamus was indeed exhausted, and allowed itself to be dragged ashore at the next effort without opposition. As soon as it did so he was attacked with spears by the hunters, Jethro, and the boys. The latter found that they were unable to drive their weapons through the thick skin, and betook themselves to their bows and arrows. The hunters, however, knew the points at which the skin was thinnest, and drove their spears deep into the animal just behind the fore leg, while the boys shot their arrows at its mouth. Another noose had been thrown over its head as it issued from the water, and the peasants pulling on the ropes prevented it from charging. Three or four more thrusts were given from the hunters; then one of the spears touched a vital part – the hippopotamus sank on its knees and rolled over dead.

The peasants sent up a shout of joy, for the flesh of the hippopotamus is by no means bad eating, and here was a store of food sufficient for the whole neighborhood.

“Shall we search for another, my lord?” the hunter asked Chebron.

“No. I think I have had enough of this. There is no fun in killing an animal that has not spirit to defend itself. What do you think, Amuba?”

“I quite agree with you, Chebron. One might almost as well slaughter a cow. What is that?” he exclaimed suddenly as a loud scream was heard at a short distance away. “It is a woman’s voice.”

Chebron darted off in full speed in the direction of the sound, closely followed by Amuba and Jethro. They ran about a hundred yards along the bank, when they saw the cause of the outcry. An immense crocodile was making his way toward the river, dragging along with it the figure of a woman.

In spite of his reverence for the crocodile Chebron did not hesitate a moment, but rushing forward smote the crocodile on the nose with all his strength with the shaft of his spear. The crocodile dropped its victim and turned upon its assailant, but Jethro and Amuba were close behind, and these also attacked him. The crocodile seeing this accession of enemies now set out for the river, snapping its jaws together.

“Mind its tail!” one of the hunters exclaimed, running up.

But the warning was too late, for the next moment Amuba received a tremendous blow which sent him to the ground. The hunter at the same moment plunged his spear into the animal through the soft skin at the back of its leg. Jethro followed his example on the other side. The animal checked its flight, and turning round and round lashed with its tail in all directions.

“Keep clear of it!” the hunter shouted. “It is mortally wounded and will need no more blows.”

In fact, the crocodile had received its death-wound. Its movements became more languid, it ceased to lash its tail, though it still snapped at those nearest to it, but gradually this action also ceased, its head sank, and it was dead. Jethro as soon as he had delivered his blow ran to Amuba.

“Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously.

“No, I don’t think so,” Amuba gasped. “The brute has knocked all the breath out of my body; but that’s better than if he had hit me in the leg, for I think he would have broken it had he done so. How is the woman – is she dead?”

“I have not had time to see,” Jethro replied. “Let me help you to your feet, and let us see if any of your ribs are broken. I will see about her afterward.”

Amuba on getting up declared that he did not think he was seriously hurt, although unable for the time to stand upright.

“I expect I am only bruised, Jethro. It was certainly a tremendous whack he gave me, and I expect I shall not be able to take part in any sporting for the next few days. The crocodile was worth a dozen hippopotami. There was some courage about him.”

They now walked across to Chebron, who was stooping over the figure of the crocodile’s victim.

“Why, she is but a girl!” Amuba exclaimed. “She is no older than your sister, Chebron.”

“Do you think she is dead?” Chebron asked in hushed tones.

“I think she has only fainted,” Jethro replied. “Here,” he shouted to one of the peasants who were gathered round the crocodile, “one of you run down to the water and bring up a gourdful.”

“I don’t think she is dead,” Amuba said. “It seemed to me that the crocodile had seized her by the leg.”

“We must carry her somewhere,” Jethro said, “and get some woman to attend to her. I will see if there is a hut near.” He sprang up to the top of some rising ground and looked round. “There is a cottage close at hand,” he said as he returned. “I dare say she belongs there.”

Bidding two of the peasants run to fetch some women, he lifted up the slight figure and carried her up the slope, the two lads following. On turning round the foot of a sandhill they saw a cottage lying nestled behind it. It was neater and better kept than the majority of the huts of the peasants. The walls of baked clay had been whitewashed and were half-covered with bright flowers. A patch of carefully cultivated ground lay around it. Jethro entered the cottage. On a settle at the further end a man was sitting. He was apparently of great age; his hair and long beard were snowy white.

“What is it?” he exclaimed as Jethro entered. “Has the God of our fathers again smitten me in my old age, and taken from me my pet lamb? I heard her cry, but my limbs have lost their power, and I could not rise to come to her aid.”

“I trust that the child is not severely injured,” Jethro said. “We had just killed a hippopotamus when we heard her scream, and running up found a great crocodile dragging her to the river, but we soon made him drop her. I trust that she is not severely hurt. The beast seemed to us to have seized her by the leg. We have sent to fetch some women. Doubtless they will be here immediately. Ah! here’s the water.”

He laid the girl down upon a couch in the corner of the room, and taking the gourd from the peasant who brought it sprinkled some water on her face, while Amuba, by his direction, rubbed her hands. It was some minutes before she opened her eyes, and just as she did so two women entered the hut. Leaving the girl to their care, Jethro and the boys left the cottage.

“I trust that the little maid is not greatly hurt,” Amuba said. “By her dress it seems to me that she is an Israelite, though I thought we had left their land behind us on the other side of the desert. Still her dress resembles those of the women we saw in the village as we passed, and it is well for her it does so, for they wear more and thicker garments than the Egyptian peasant women, and the brute’s teeth may not have torn her severely.”

In a few minutes one of the women came out and told them that the maid had now recovered and that she was almost unhurt. “The crocodile seems to have seized her by her garments rather than her flesh, and although the teeth have bruised her, the skin is unbroken. Her grandfather would fain thank you for the service you have rendered him.”

They re-entered the cottage. The girl was sitting on the ground at her grandfather’s feet holding one of his hands in hers, while with his other he was stroking her head. As they entered, the women, seeing that their services were no longer required, left the cottage.

“Who are those to whom I owe the life of my grandchild?” the old man asked.