Again he repeated his summons to hurry. When I finally broke through the bush to the river bank, what I saw was Elsa dripping wet, sitting on top of a bull buffalo in the middle of the rapids. I could not believe my eyes; here was a buffalo helplessly forced down with his head half submerged, while Elsa tore away at its thick skin and attacked from every angle. We could only guess at what had happened since, ten minutes earlier, I first heard my ‘elephant noise’. Elsa must have disturbed the buffalo, an old bull past his prime, as we later discovered, while he was resting close to the water, and chased him towards the river. Then in his attempt to cross, he must have fallen on the slippery rock of the rapids; and Elsa had taken advantage of his predicament, jumped on him and held his head under water until he was half drowned and too exhausted to get up. After this she had attacked him at his most vulnerable spot, between the hind legs, and was doing so when we arrived.
George waited until Elsa gave him a chance to end the unfortunate animal’s agony with a merciful bullet. As soon as this coup de grâce had been delivered, we saw Nuru wade, waist deep, into the foaming rapids. He could not resist the chance of gorging himself on this mountain of meat, but, as he was a Mohammedan, he would not be able to eat the buffalo unless he had cut its throat before it died. There was no time to lose, so there he was venturing between the hidden, slippery rocks towards the kill. From her position on top of the buffalo Elsa watched his every movement with tense excitement. Although she had known Nuru since she was a tiny cub and had allowed him every sort of familiarity, she was now highly suspicious and, with flattened ears and threatening growls, defended her buffalo even against her nanny. She looked really dangerous; but Nuru, driven by gluttonous visions, paid no heed to her warnings. It was a ludicrous sight to see his fragile skinny figure staggering fearlessly towards the fiercely growling lioness, perched on the top of a dying and kicking buffalo; as he advanced he waved his first finger at her, calling out, ‘No, No.’
Incredible as it may seem, Elsa obeyed him and, sitting quietly on top of the buffalo, allowed him to cut its throat.
The next problem was to get the dead beast out of the river. We had to drag it through the rapids between the slippery rocks. To achieve moving 1,200 lb in such circumstances with an excited lioness guarding it, was no easy task.
But Elsa, intelligent as she is, soon realized what was required, and by seizing him by the root of the tail, while three men pulled at the head and legs, literally helped to get the buffalo out. Combined with much laughter at Elsa’s efforts, their joint strength succeeded in hauling out the carcase, which was then cut up. Here again, Elsa was most helpful. Each time one of the big, heavy legs was severed from the body, she at once dragged it into the shade of a bush, thus saving the boys the task of doing so later on. Luckily we were able to bring the Land Rover to within a mile of the scene and managed to get most of the meat to camp.
Elsa was exhausted: she must have swallowed quantities of water during her battle with the great beast and she had spent at least two hours up to her neck in the fast current of a river. But, tired as she was, she would not leave her kill until she knew that it was safe and that all had been cut up; only when all was finished did she retire to the shade of a bush.
When I joined her a few moments later, she licked my arm, embraced me with her paw and hugged me to her wet body. We relaxed after the morning’s excitement. I felt very touched by her gentleness and the care with which she treated my skin and avoided scratching me with claws that only a few minutes ago had been so deadly to the thick skin of a powerful buffalo.
Even for a wild lion, it would have been a remarkable achievement to kill a buffalo bull single-handed, let alone for Elsa, who had only recently learned the art of hunting from her very inferior foster parents. Although the river had been a good ally to her, it had needed considerable intelligence on her part to take advantage of it and I felt very proud of her.
Late in the afternoon on our way back to camp, we came upon a giraffe drinking on the opposite bank of the river. Forgetting her weariness, Elsa stalked it; she crossed the river, most carefully, downwind and out of view of her quarry, and, avoiding making the least splash, she disappeared into the riverine bush. The giraffe, unaware of any danger, splayed its forelegs as far as possible, and bent its long neck down to the water to drink. We held our breath, expecting that at any moment Elsa would leap out of the bush and attack, but, to our great relief, the giraffe heard, or sensed, Elsa’s presence in the nick of time and with a swift movement turned and galloped away. It was lucky for the giraffe that Elsa was so full of buffalo meat. Her adventures for the day were not yet at an end and as her motto seemed to be ‘the bigger the better’, it only remained for an elephant to appear, ambling slowly along the game path towards us. While we hurriedly retreated in order to make a detour round him, Elsa sat quietly in the middle of the path and waited until the mighty animal was nearly upon her, then sprang nimbly aside, causing him to turn and make off at high speed. After this she quietly followed us back to camp, flung herself down on George’s bed and quickly went to sleep. Not a bad record for one day.
Not long afterwards we were walking together along the shady river bank when we noticed basin-shaped circular depressions of mud about three feet in diameter, in a shallow lagoon. George told me they were the breeding-places of tilapia, a fish we had not so far seen in the river. While we investigated these mud hollows Elsa sniffed with great interest at a bush and wrinkled up her nose, a thing she often did when scenting a lion. Now we saw fresh pugmarks nearby and Elsa, who was purring distinctly, followed the spoor and disappeared. She kept away all night and the following day. When, in the afternoon, we looked for her, we detected her through field glasses outlined on her favourite rock. She must have seen us, for we heard her calling, but she made no attempt to move from her position. Thinking she might be near wild lions, we did not want to interfere, and returned home. After everyone had gone to bed, George heard the agonized cries of an animal in pain, and after a short time Elsa appeared in the tent and threw herself down next to his bed. She patted him several times with her paws as though she wanted to tell him something. Then after a few minutes she left again and was absent all night and the following day.
While we were having our dinner next evening, she walked into the tent, rubbed her head affectionately against me and then went out and spent the night away. In the morning we tracked her spoor over a long distance; it led far away. That evening she failed to come back; she had now kept away for three days, except for brief visits during which she had shown us her affection. Might this be her touching way of telling us that she had found her pride and, while she still loved us, was trying to loosen our ties?
During the night we were awakened by the most alarming lion growls mixed with the laughing of hyenas. We listened, expecting Elsa to come in at any moment, but morning dawned and she did not return. As soon as it became light, we went in the direction from which the growls had come, but stopped after a few hundred yards, startled by an unmistakable lion grunt coming from the river below us. At the same time we saw an antelope and some vervet monkeys racing in flight through the bush. Creeping cautiously through thick undergrowth down to the river, we found the fresh pugmarks of at least two or three lions in the sand; they led across the river. Wading through, we followed the still wet spoor up the opposite bank when I noticed, not fifty yards away, through the dense bush the shape of a lion. While I strained my eyes to see if it was Elsa, George called to her. She walked away from us. When George repeated his call she only trotted faster along the game path until we saw the black tuft on the end of her tail swish for the last time through the bush.
We looked at each other. Had she found her destiny? She must have heard us; by following the lions she had decided her future. Did this mean that our hopes for her to return to her natural life had been fulfilled? Had we succeeded in letting her part from us without hurting her?
We returned to camp alone, and very sad. Shoul
d we leave her now, and so close a very important chapter of our lives? George suggested that we should wait a few more days to make sure that Elsa had been accepted by the pride.
I went to my studio by the river and continued to write the story of Elsa, who had been with us until this morning. I was sad to be alone, but tried to make myself happy by imagining that at this very moment Elsa was rubbing her soft skin against another lion’s skin and resting with him in the shade, as she had often rested here with me.
9. Postscripts
To us it seemed impossible, after more than three years of such close companionship, that we should lose all touch with Elsa, so long as she was willing to keep in touch with us.
As George, in the course of his duties, is constantly travelling, we have endeavoured to pay a visit to the area where Elsa lives, at intervals of about three weeks. On arrival in camp we always fire a shot or two, or let off a thunderflash, and on nearly every occasion she has come running into camp within a few hours, giving us a great welcome and showing more affection than ever. Once it was fifteen hours before she came, and once thirty hours, when she must have been very far off and sensed our arrival in some mysterious way. During our three days’ stay she never lets us out of her sight and is touchingly glad to be with us.
When the time comes for us to leave, George goes about ten miles away and shoots a buck or a warthog as a farewell gift to Elsa while the tents are being struck and loaded up. In the meantime, I sit with her in my studio under the big tree and try to divert her mind. As soon as the buck arrives she has a good feed, though we usually find her fat and well. She obviously learned long ago to make her own kills and is quite independent of us for food. While she is eating, the loaded cars are taken about a mile away and, as she becomes drowsy after her meal, we sneak away.
For some time before the final parting she becomes noticeably aloof and turns her face away from us; although she wants desperately to be with us, yet, when she realizes we are going, she makes it easier in this touching, dignified and controlled way. As this happens every time, it can hardly be coincidence.
A short time later I went to England to arrange for the publication of Elsa’s book. During the months I have spent in London, George has written me accounts of all his visits to Elsa and her story is carried on by his letters. They prove not only her continued ability to combine the life of a wild lioness with her old relationship with us, but also that this relationship continues to be one of absolute equality quite different from that between a dog and his master.
Isiolo, 5 March, 1959
I was able to get off to see Elsa on the evening of the 25th. Fifteen minutes after my arrival, she appeared from across the river. She must have heard the diesel lorry. She was looking fit, but thin and hungry. As usual, she made a great fuss of me before going to her meat. She was nothing like as thin as on the first occasion, and in a couple of days had put on flesh and looked as fit as ever. Obviously she was much puzzled that you were not there and went several times into your boma, and looked inside the lorry, calling. However, she soon settled down into the usual routine, except that she absolutely refused to leave the camp for a walk. She would go to the studio in the morning and spend the whole day there with me. When I brought her the second buck on Sunday morning, she would not let anyone go near it and was quite fierce. But as soon as I went down to the studio she dragged the buck along, deposited it by my seat, and did not mind my cutting it up. In the afternoon when I went back to my tent, she picked up the buck and brought it along to the tent. The next afternoon I said, ‘Elsa, time to go home.’ She waited until I picked up the remains of the buck and then solemnly walked ahead to the tent. The white spots on her back had disappeared. Her friend the monitor was still there, waiting to steal what he could. Now, she seems to accept him and pays no attention when he comes to the meat. Still no sign of her contacting lions.
I left Elsa on Tuesday. I took particular care to keep her down at the studio while the camp was being packed up. But as soon as she heard the diesel go off, she knew at once that I was going to leave her and adopted the same aloof manner and would not look at me. I intend to go and see her again on the 14th.
Isiolo, 19 March, 1959
I went again to visit Elsa on the 14th. Got away about 10.15 a.m. I arrived about 6.30 p.m. – there was no sign of Elsa, no spoor. I let off three thunderflashes during the course of the night, and a Very light. Next morning at dawn I set off to look for her. Went as far as the large water pool along the track where Elsa ambushed the elephant. The pool was dry and no spoor of Elsa. I let off another thunderflash and returned along the top of the ridge to the car track, and then back to camp along the sand lugga* behind the camp. Still no signs. Got into camp about 9.15 a.m. A quarter of an hour later she suddenly appeared from across the river, looking very fit with plenty of flesh on her bones. She must have killed at least once since I left her eleven days before. She gave me a tremendous welcome. She had some scars, probably caused in the struggle with her last kill, but they were superficial and had hardly penetrated the skin. She settled down straight away to her usual routine. She was rather full of beans and twice knocked me over, once into a thornbush! She condescended to go out once for a short walk down the river, but spent most of the days with me in the studio.
Still no signs of her being in contact with wild lions. I did not hear any on this trip. The country is very dry, which probably makes it easier for Elsa to hunt, as everything has to come to the river to drink and visibility is better. As I had only the mountain tent with me, it was a bit crowded at night with Elsa in it as well, but she behaved very well and never once wetted the groundsheet! As usual she would wake me up several times at night by ‘rubbing noses’ and sitting on me. There was no trouble in leaving her, which I did on Wednesday. In fact, I think she is becoming more independent and does not mind being left alone. I really have no patience with people who maintain that an animal’s life and actions are governed by pure instinct and conditioned reflexes. Nothing except reasoning powers can explain the careful strategy used by a pride of lions in hunting, and the many examples we have had from Elsa of intelligent and thought-out behaviour.
Isiolo, 4 April, 1959
I reached camp about 8 p.m. Let off the usual thunderflashes and a Very light. But there was no sign of Elsa and she did not appear during the night. Early next morning I went to the track where we shot the guinea fowl, and found the remains of a recent camp there. I then carried out a wide half-circle on the far side of the river, hoping to find her spoor, but saw no traces. By the time I got back to camp I was almost fearing that she had been shot.
I arranged with Ken Smith to follow me, as he was very keen to see Elsa again. He was in camp when I got in and told me that he had seen Elsa on top of the big rock. He had called to her but she seemed nervous and would not come down. I went along with him and as soon as I called and Elsa recognized my voice, she came tearing down the rock and gave me a terrific welcome, and she was just as friendly to Ken. She looked the picture of health, her stomach bulging. She must have killed the previous night. Ken put his bed in your boma and Elsa did not worry him at all during the night. We even went out for a walk all together and spent the day in the studio, Elsa asleep on my bed and Ken on his, although she did sit on him once out of pure friendliness.
Thursday evening, Ken having left the previous day, I took Elsa up to the rock. As I was thinking of returning to camp, a leopard started to grunt just below. Promptly Elsa went off to stalk it, but I think it must have heard me and gone off. I left her on Friday morning with a fat warthog to keep her happy. Promptly she took it into the river and had a tremendous game with it. Elsa is now in quite perfect condition, no bones showing at all.
Isiolo, 14 April, 1959
I had intended going to see Elsa yesterday, but I had to go and chase more elephants out of gardens. However, whatever happens I am setting off tomorrow. I can’t tell you how much I always look forward to seeing her and her never-fai
ling loving welcome. If only she could find herself a mate, I would feel much happier about her. It must be very lonely for her. She must at times feel very frustrated, but it never seems to make any difference to her good nature and friendliness. What is touching is that she always knows when I am leaving her, yet accepts the fact and makes no attempt to interfere or to follow. In her dignified way she seems to know that it is unavoidable.
Isiolo, 27 April, 1959
I set off to see Elsa on the afternoon of the 15th. Arrived about 8 p.m., nearly having run into two rhino round a corner. Passed them a few feet off the track. I let off the usual thunderflashes and Very lights, but there was no sign of Elsa that night. Next morning I went to the rock and set off more flashes. No spoor to be seen anywhere. She did not turn up during the day or night. There was very heavy rain during the night with fantastic lightning and thunder and the river came down in flood. Next morning I walked to the ‘buffalo ridge’ and down into the sand lugga, which had also been in flood, in fact, I had to leave it because of the quicksands. In one place I suddenly plunged up to my waist in sand and had quite a job getting out. I then followed the game path down a ridge to near the junction of the lugga with the river. Rather farther than we went before. Had lunch on the river bank and then crossed over with the water waist deep, and red with mud. Of course the rain had washed out any spoor there might have been but, anyway, I followed the river back to camp.