XVIII[133]ON HEADS IN GENERALTheearliest human tools were weapons too, mere sticks and stones; and perhaps the earliest great discovery, before the invention of fire and in days of infinite antiquity, was the importance of heads.The value of the discovery was due to the natural weakness of our limbs and teeth and nails. The other beasts were better provided with natural weapons and neither needed tools nor made them. The importance of heads did not concern them at all. The lions and tigers, who are regularly killing men and cattle in the way of business, do it as we kill fowls, by a sudden jerk of the neck. They have other ways, but they seem to like that best, as Homer noticed, and we can see to-day.SeePope’s translation,Iliad, v. 206, etc.:“... When the lordly lion seeks his foodWhere grazing heifers range the lonely wood,He leaps among them with a furious bound,Bends their strong necks and tears them to theground....”That is exactly the principle of the improved[134]drop of the modern hangman, and swift and painless enough to please the most humane; but it needs a greatly superior force. The hangman is magnificent; but he is not war. Herein lay the importance of the discovery that hitting the head could stun and kill. Thereby the primitive sticks, by which our long-forgotten ancestors straightened their backs and stiffened their feeble knees, became clubs; and men began to face the lions in their path, and other enemies.But for this great discovery we would have remained as restricted in diet and outlook as the chimpanzees. Whether tending cattle or cultivating the ground, men must be ready and able to take the open field and hold their own against all comers.Accordingly, we find that the discovery was familiar in the remotest of recorded times. The wearing of helmets is a fashion as ancient as civilisation itself. The Rig-Veda Aryans had helmets, and the Homeric Greeks, and in the ancient classicalOdes(iv, 2, 4, 5) a Chinese poet, perhaps coeval with Homer, tells of a potentate:“He’s thirty thousand men afoot,Who handsome helmets wear,With shells and bright vermilion stringsThat flutter in the air,”[135]thus anticipating the “red coats” of England. Indeed, that is not the only coincidence of old and new. The Homeric chiefs went among their men, in times of confusion, striking right and left with effective, home-made sceptres of wood, like modern policemen with their truncheons. The helmets of the police make the likeness almost palpable.In the House of Commons a touching medieval survival is the wearing of hats. It comes down from the days when the steel-cap clapped on the head was the first step in a breach of the peace, and the head uncovered was the silent, unmistakable symbol of the peace-making speech, the soft words to turn away wrath. Little as he thinks of it, the member, who takes off his hat and stands up to speak, is led by a beautiful old custom to assume an attitude such as Themistocles has been admired for expressing, when violence was offered him in council, and he said, “Strike, but hear me.” Meanwhile, upon the table lies the unwieldy metal bauble, meant to represent the mace or loaded stick of the Speaker, who presides and makes no speech, but silently tables his tool as if intimating, “My voice keeps order and my club gives law.”Every other mace as well as his, and every sceptre and staff of office, is merely a sophisticated emblem of the original reality, which is a common[136]stick. The weapons of ancient Egyptians and Chaldeans are ancient indeed compared to anything in Europe; but they are modern things, as of yesterday, compared to the cudgel from the woods. And what is perhaps the most remarkable fact of all, while fashions change in war-tackle as in ladies’ dresses, the primitive cudgel abides the same; and under primitive conditions it is wielded to-day by the hands of contemporary men, exactly as it was wielded by our forefathers, who preceded history so far that, in our books, we speak of them as “missing.” We mean no harm, and we shall, all of us, be missing some day. So there has always appeared to me to be an antiquarian interest in what is certainly, for other reasons too, the best leopard story I know.In 1886 a Burman farmer was working in his fields, about twenty miles from Thayetmyo, in Lower Burma, and noticed a leopard seize and carry away a calf. He picked up a stick and ran after it, shouting and waving the stick. The leopard saw him and paused and looked at him; but did not drop its prey, as the man had hoped. He fingered the stick in his hands, not taking his eyes off the enemy, and felt, to his joy, that it was a “male bamboo,” a bamboo solid inside, a very strong and formidable cudgel, light enough to[137]handle quickly and heavy enough to kill a man or stun an ox.They continued to eye each other askance, he and the leopard. He would have been happy to see it drop the veal and go. It would have been well content to depart without hurting him. But to go away supperless was not its intention, and to let it take away his calf was not his.It was interesting to study how they had manoeuvred, the leopard trying to reach cover without approaching the man, and the man to prevent that, without risking an encounter face to face. This lasted long. There was plenty of active patience on both sides; and strategy so admirable that I afterwards regretted that I did not make a plan of the ground and record it all. At length the leopard ventured a bound over a bush and the man came within reach of it sideways, and lifting high his “male bamboo,” he dealt his first smashing blow on the skull. Everything turned on that. To fail to stun the leopard would have been most dangerous. But he did not fail. He stunned it; and, with a shower of rapidly-repeated blows, he killed it, and not only saved his veal, but also earned the twenty rupees reward that is always payable for killing a leopard. Surely it never was better earned.[138]I happened to be in charge of the office of the Deputy Commissioner at Thayetmyo, when he came for his reward, and held the inquiry myself. I noted the details carefully, because friends in the station, one of them a veteran who had been a quarter of a century in India, had nothing to tell to equal it; and, in the twenty-three years that have passed since then, during which I have heard on the average more than one leopard anecdote a month, I have never been able to verify anything so good as this.
Theearliest human tools were weapons too, mere sticks and stones; and perhaps the earliest great discovery, before the invention of fire and in days of infinite antiquity, was the importance of heads.
The value of the discovery was due to the natural weakness of our limbs and teeth and nails. The other beasts were better provided with natural weapons and neither needed tools nor made them. The importance of heads did not concern them at all. The lions and tigers, who are regularly killing men and cattle in the way of business, do it as we kill fowls, by a sudden jerk of the neck. They have other ways, but they seem to like that best, as Homer noticed, and we can see to-day.SeePope’s translation,Iliad, v. 206, etc.:
“... When the lordly lion seeks his foodWhere grazing heifers range the lonely wood,He leaps among them with a furious bound,Bends their strong necks and tears them to theground....”
“... When the lordly lion seeks his foodWhere grazing heifers range the lonely wood,He leaps among them with a furious bound,Bends their strong necks and tears them to theground....”
“... When the lordly lion seeks his foodWhere grazing heifers range the lonely wood,He leaps among them with a furious bound,Bends their strong necks and tears them to theground....”
“... When the lordly lion seeks his food
Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood,
He leaps among them with a furious bound,
Bends their strong necks and tears them to theground....”
That is exactly the principle of the improved[134]drop of the modern hangman, and swift and painless enough to please the most humane; but it needs a greatly superior force. The hangman is magnificent; but he is not war. Herein lay the importance of the discovery that hitting the head could stun and kill. Thereby the primitive sticks, by which our long-forgotten ancestors straightened their backs and stiffened their feeble knees, became clubs; and men began to face the lions in their path, and other enemies.
But for this great discovery we would have remained as restricted in diet and outlook as the chimpanzees. Whether tending cattle or cultivating the ground, men must be ready and able to take the open field and hold their own against all comers.
Accordingly, we find that the discovery was familiar in the remotest of recorded times. The wearing of helmets is a fashion as ancient as civilisation itself. The Rig-Veda Aryans had helmets, and the Homeric Greeks, and in the ancient classicalOdes(iv, 2, 4, 5) a Chinese poet, perhaps coeval with Homer, tells of a potentate:
“He’s thirty thousand men afoot,Who handsome helmets wear,With shells and bright vermilion stringsThat flutter in the air,”
“He’s thirty thousand men afoot,Who handsome helmets wear,With shells and bright vermilion stringsThat flutter in the air,”
“He’s thirty thousand men afoot,Who handsome helmets wear,With shells and bright vermilion stringsThat flutter in the air,”
“He’s thirty thousand men afoot,
Who handsome helmets wear,
With shells and bright vermilion strings
That flutter in the air,”
[135]thus anticipating the “red coats” of England. Indeed, that is not the only coincidence of old and new. The Homeric chiefs went among their men, in times of confusion, striking right and left with effective, home-made sceptres of wood, like modern policemen with their truncheons. The helmets of the police make the likeness almost palpable.
In the House of Commons a touching medieval survival is the wearing of hats. It comes down from the days when the steel-cap clapped on the head was the first step in a breach of the peace, and the head uncovered was the silent, unmistakable symbol of the peace-making speech, the soft words to turn away wrath. Little as he thinks of it, the member, who takes off his hat and stands up to speak, is led by a beautiful old custom to assume an attitude such as Themistocles has been admired for expressing, when violence was offered him in council, and he said, “Strike, but hear me.” Meanwhile, upon the table lies the unwieldy metal bauble, meant to represent the mace or loaded stick of the Speaker, who presides and makes no speech, but silently tables his tool as if intimating, “My voice keeps order and my club gives law.”
Every other mace as well as his, and every sceptre and staff of office, is merely a sophisticated emblem of the original reality, which is a common[136]stick. The weapons of ancient Egyptians and Chaldeans are ancient indeed compared to anything in Europe; but they are modern things, as of yesterday, compared to the cudgel from the woods. And what is perhaps the most remarkable fact of all, while fashions change in war-tackle as in ladies’ dresses, the primitive cudgel abides the same; and under primitive conditions it is wielded to-day by the hands of contemporary men, exactly as it was wielded by our forefathers, who preceded history so far that, in our books, we speak of them as “missing.” We mean no harm, and we shall, all of us, be missing some day. So there has always appeared to me to be an antiquarian interest in what is certainly, for other reasons too, the best leopard story I know.
In 1886 a Burman farmer was working in his fields, about twenty miles from Thayetmyo, in Lower Burma, and noticed a leopard seize and carry away a calf. He picked up a stick and ran after it, shouting and waving the stick. The leopard saw him and paused and looked at him; but did not drop its prey, as the man had hoped. He fingered the stick in his hands, not taking his eyes off the enemy, and felt, to his joy, that it was a “male bamboo,” a bamboo solid inside, a very strong and formidable cudgel, light enough to[137]handle quickly and heavy enough to kill a man or stun an ox.
They continued to eye each other askance, he and the leopard. He would have been happy to see it drop the veal and go. It would have been well content to depart without hurting him. But to go away supperless was not its intention, and to let it take away his calf was not his.
It was interesting to study how they had manoeuvred, the leopard trying to reach cover without approaching the man, and the man to prevent that, without risking an encounter face to face. This lasted long. There was plenty of active patience on both sides; and strategy so admirable that I afterwards regretted that I did not make a plan of the ground and record it all. At length the leopard ventured a bound over a bush and the man came within reach of it sideways, and lifting high his “male bamboo,” he dealt his first smashing blow on the skull. Everything turned on that. To fail to stun the leopard would have been most dangerous. But he did not fail. He stunned it; and, with a shower of rapidly-repeated blows, he killed it, and not only saved his veal, but also earned the twenty rupees reward that is always payable for killing a leopard. Surely it never was better earned.
[138]I happened to be in charge of the office of the Deputy Commissioner at Thayetmyo, when he came for his reward, and held the inquiry myself. I noted the details carefully, because friends in the station, one of them a veteran who had been a quarter of a century in India, had nothing to tell to equal it; and, in the twenty-three years that have passed since then, during which I have heard on the average more than one leopard anecdote a month, I have never been able to verify anything so good as this.
XIX[139]THE UNFINISHED SPEECH AND DANCEInfairness to the eloquent hero of this adventure it should be told, lest any reader does not know it, that wounded leopards are as dangerous as wounded lions or tigers. There was one that was clumsily handled by villagers in Burma a few years ago, and six men died out of those it injured; and I know a man who has told me, with a shudder, that he has twice seen a clever hunter at his side killed by a wounded leopard “charging home.”It was early in 1888, and on the plains near the mouth of the Sittang river in Burma, that I was one of about twenty men with rifles who gathered round a big and leafy tree, in which a mortally-wounded leopard had taken refuge. None could see him; and, when his growl was hushed, we could not even guess his whereabouts. It grew tedious standing there, like waiting for a train that is late. Many men fired at moving twigs, on the chance that he might be below them. “He ought[140]to be in bits by this time,” said one at last, “and falling down in detachments.” But nothing fell, not even a drop of blood. It became more and more difficult to keep the villagers surging around at a safe distance.Then out stepped a brave sepoy, and, heedless of the dissuasive shouts of his companions, he prepared to climb the tree. I shouted “stop”; and he grew eloquent, not in the style of Bengal, but in the best Indian manner, heated sincerely by seeing himself balked of a chance of distinction.“What is the danger tome? Am I afraid of anything? Let cannon and rifles thunder and rattle, I will walk into myriads of them if I am bidden. What is a leopard to the like of that?“I want toshowwhat I can do. I will show I cannot be afraid. O, let me go! Do not bid me stop! What is a little leopard? I could take a tiger by the paw!“It is a duty to slay that leopard, a duty to face and kill him, a duty to the people, a duty to theSarkar.” ...Here note two things. First, see the innate instinct of obedience, illustrated by the reference to the Sarkar or Government. Fancy any European talking of it in such a connection without derision. Among our very soldiers it would[141]raise a laugh. Well indeed do the Indians say, as they are now doing, that it is Europe that leads and pin-pricks them into anarchy. The other thing to note is the fine oratorical tact of the speaker, worthy of Demosthenes. There was not the faintest allusion to what we all knew, that the leopard was sure to be dead presently. This did not make it less dangerous to close with him, but only made it quite needless. The speech ran on:“It is a duty to slay that leopard. Through this big village he went ravenous, seeking whom to devour. He terrified the women and children, and made the men shiver, while the sky rang with shrieks. He stalked as a master through the town” (here the orator, by a sweep of one arm, included the adjoining village to the north); “and the country shuddered with horror” (here, with a sweep of both arms, he included the entire countryside).In fact, the leopard had been in search of a superfluous village dog, and when he found himself noticed and heard the people yelling, he skulked from bush to bush till he was shot, and then ran up a tree. The orator expressed the matter differently. There is a great deal in the way of putting things. What he next said was:“He left the woods, the home of his kind. He[142]came among the dwellings of men. Shall we make way for him? Shall he be suffered to ravage and run away? Shall he come and go like our master, as if we all were sheep and he the eater? No! give me but the word, and up I go, and take him by the paw, and fling him down. Danger? What do I care for danger? O, let me at him, to show how brave a man can be and make the beasts beware! For, of all the duties a brave manhas....At this moment he looked up, as if at the sky, but saw the leopard, suddenly visible, coming down the tree, and hastily ran back, and was seen and heard no more.A curious sequel is worth telling. The wounded beast ran into a bush; and a young Burman policeman, who understood of the sepoy’s speech only that he was boasting of bravery, resolved to show himself the better man, and sprang forward, dancing a beautifulpas seul, and brandishing a big knife, the Burman sword, a handier weapon than ours. “I’ll finish the leopard,” he cried, and started for its hiding-place, running past me.It was a pretty sight. We never see now in Europe the solo dances still visible in Burma, and some other eastern countries, on religious high tides. We can only read of them in the Hebrew[143]Bible, which tells of King David casting off the trappings of royalty, and leaping and dancing before the ark in a scanty garment, and so scandalising the genteelest of his wives, Saul’s daughter, Michal, who quarrelled with him about it. A dance like David’s, if you are lucky, you may yet see in Burma; but hardly again, in this new world of breechloaders and explosive acids, hardly but by some rare accident, can anyone see what we saw then, a spontaneous Pyrrhic dance done singly, so to speak, a man dancing forward, flourishing his sword, to a deadly encounter.A most deadly encounter it might have been. The leopard was shot through the lungs, and bleeding to death, inwardly. I thought I had noticed him spit blood, and anyone could see he was badly wounded. But he was only dying, not dead. His eyes flashed in the dark below the brushwood, where he lay, and he raised his head and half sat up, showing his teeth and growling, a very loud, monotonous, continuous growl.I just was in time to knock our hero down, within five yards of the leopard, and step between him and it, quickly joined by one or two others. There was nothing to do but stand ready. The uplifted head was lowered, slowly; the growl[144]grew less, and was punctuated by pauses, which grew longer and longer. There was a long pause, during which there was nothing to hear but men’s breathing; then the dread silence was broken by the voice of a young Burman, creeping past me on all fours and crying, “Just let me pull itstail....”It was an idle day that followed, which gave them leisure to enjoy themselves. About twenty-nine men spent it dividing the corpse.They quarrelled, and I quoted to them the proverb, “The lot causeth contention to cease.” Sure enough, it did so. They cast lots in peace, and told me that eating such a beast made men partake the strength and courage of the dead. I thought of many things, as I listened, such as Marco Polo’s story of tribes in Southern China, who were so sure of acquiring fine qualities in this way that, if a traveller seemed uncommonly beautiful or otherwise gifted, they sometimes killed and ate him. It is a strange belief, and, in one form or another, it has appeared in many countries. But all the same, whatever I happened to remember on this occasion, the prevailing feeling was that the next time there was such a job to be done, with such a crowd, it would be alike expedient and gracious to—delegate the leadership.
Infairness to the eloquent hero of this adventure it should be told, lest any reader does not know it, that wounded leopards are as dangerous as wounded lions or tigers. There was one that was clumsily handled by villagers in Burma a few years ago, and six men died out of those it injured; and I know a man who has told me, with a shudder, that he has twice seen a clever hunter at his side killed by a wounded leopard “charging home.”
It was early in 1888, and on the plains near the mouth of the Sittang river in Burma, that I was one of about twenty men with rifles who gathered round a big and leafy tree, in which a mortally-wounded leopard had taken refuge. None could see him; and, when his growl was hushed, we could not even guess his whereabouts. It grew tedious standing there, like waiting for a train that is late. Many men fired at moving twigs, on the chance that he might be below them. “He ought[140]to be in bits by this time,” said one at last, “and falling down in detachments.” But nothing fell, not even a drop of blood. It became more and more difficult to keep the villagers surging around at a safe distance.
Then out stepped a brave sepoy, and, heedless of the dissuasive shouts of his companions, he prepared to climb the tree. I shouted “stop”; and he grew eloquent, not in the style of Bengal, but in the best Indian manner, heated sincerely by seeing himself balked of a chance of distinction.
“What is the danger tome? Am I afraid of anything? Let cannon and rifles thunder and rattle, I will walk into myriads of them if I am bidden. What is a leopard to the like of that?
“I want toshowwhat I can do. I will show I cannot be afraid. O, let me go! Do not bid me stop! What is a little leopard? I could take a tiger by the paw!
“It is a duty to slay that leopard, a duty to face and kill him, a duty to the people, a duty to theSarkar.” ...
Here note two things. First, see the innate instinct of obedience, illustrated by the reference to the Sarkar or Government. Fancy any European talking of it in such a connection without derision. Among our very soldiers it would[141]raise a laugh. Well indeed do the Indians say, as they are now doing, that it is Europe that leads and pin-pricks them into anarchy. The other thing to note is the fine oratorical tact of the speaker, worthy of Demosthenes. There was not the faintest allusion to what we all knew, that the leopard was sure to be dead presently. This did not make it less dangerous to close with him, but only made it quite needless. The speech ran on:
“It is a duty to slay that leopard. Through this big village he went ravenous, seeking whom to devour. He terrified the women and children, and made the men shiver, while the sky rang with shrieks. He stalked as a master through the town” (here the orator, by a sweep of one arm, included the adjoining village to the north); “and the country shuddered with horror” (here, with a sweep of both arms, he included the entire countryside).
In fact, the leopard had been in search of a superfluous village dog, and when he found himself noticed and heard the people yelling, he skulked from bush to bush till he was shot, and then ran up a tree. The orator expressed the matter differently. There is a great deal in the way of putting things. What he next said was:
“He left the woods, the home of his kind. He[142]came among the dwellings of men. Shall we make way for him? Shall he be suffered to ravage and run away? Shall he come and go like our master, as if we all were sheep and he the eater? No! give me but the word, and up I go, and take him by the paw, and fling him down. Danger? What do I care for danger? O, let me at him, to show how brave a man can be and make the beasts beware! For, of all the duties a brave manhas....
At this moment he looked up, as if at the sky, but saw the leopard, suddenly visible, coming down the tree, and hastily ran back, and was seen and heard no more.
A curious sequel is worth telling. The wounded beast ran into a bush; and a young Burman policeman, who understood of the sepoy’s speech only that he was boasting of bravery, resolved to show himself the better man, and sprang forward, dancing a beautifulpas seul, and brandishing a big knife, the Burman sword, a handier weapon than ours. “I’ll finish the leopard,” he cried, and started for its hiding-place, running past me.
It was a pretty sight. We never see now in Europe the solo dances still visible in Burma, and some other eastern countries, on religious high tides. We can only read of them in the Hebrew[143]Bible, which tells of King David casting off the trappings of royalty, and leaping and dancing before the ark in a scanty garment, and so scandalising the genteelest of his wives, Saul’s daughter, Michal, who quarrelled with him about it. A dance like David’s, if you are lucky, you may yet see in Burma; but hardly again, in this new world of breechloaders and explosive acids, hardly but by some rare accident, can anyone see what we saw then, a spontaneous Pyrrhic dance done singly, so to speak, a man dancing forward, flourishing his sword, to a deadly encounter.
A most deadly encounter it might have been. The leopard was shot through the lungs, and bleeding to death, inwardly. I thought I had noticed him spit blood, and anyone could see he was badly wounded. But he was only dying, not dead. His eyes flashed in the dark below the brushwood, where he lay, and he raised his head and half sat up, showing his teeth and growling, a very loud, monotonous, continuous growl.
I just was in time to knock our hero down, within five yards of the leopard, and step between him and it, quickly joined by one or two others. There was nothing to do but stand ready. The uplifted head was lowered, slowly; the growl[144]grew less, and was punctuated by pauses, which grew longer and longer. There was a long pause, during which there was nothing to hear but men’s breathing; then the dread silence was broken by the voice of a young Burman, creeping past me on all fours and crying, “Just let me pull itstail....”
It was an idle day that followed, which gave them leisure to enjoy themselves. About twenty-nine men spent it dividing the corpse.They quarrelled, and I quoted to them the proverb, “The lot causeth contention to cease.” Sure enough, it did so. They cast lots in peace, and told me that eating such a beast made men partake the strength and courage of the dead. I thought of many things, as I listened, such as Marco Polo’s story of tribes in Southern China, who were so sure of acquiring fine qualities in this way that, if a traveller seemed uncommonly beautiful or otherwise gifted, they sometimes killed and ate him. It is a strange belief, and, in one form or another, it has appeared in many countries. But all the same, whatever I happened to remember on this occasion, the prevailing feeling was that the next time there was such a job to be done, with such a crowd, it would be alike expedient and gracious to—delegate the leadership.
XX[145]THE BIG PET CATOneevening in the nineties I went to dine at the house of a friend in Burma, and was unexpectedly greeted at the entrance by a leopard almost fully grown. He received me with the same restful manner of dignified armed neutrality that may be seen on the features of a domestic cat, or of an old family servant, observing a strange visitor.“Do the others know?” I asked the host, meaning the other dinner-guests, not yet arrived.“Yes, they all know him, but none of them like him, or maybe it is that he does not like them, I don’t exactly know what is the matter. He seems to feel by instinct that you’re a friend. Dear old fellow!” and the big cat laid its head confidentially on his thigh, and rolled its eyes dubiously in the way cats do, while a fat hand caressed its fine fur tenderly, lovingly.“It’ll be rare fun to see the rest arrive.” It was[146]indeed a pleasant entertainment to see that bachelor’s house being entered as if a very distinguished hostess were receiving the visitors. The sight of “Mr Spots” made the most free-and-easy a little constrained in manner. They kept their eyes upon him; and as he moved about at his ease, they made way for him with an agility of quick politeness more common in Frenchmen than in Englishmen. But though he engrossed their conversation as much as their thoughts, there was a lack of heartiness in their appreciation which seemed to sadden their host. He tried to keep the fine animal beside himself.“Pets should always be young and growing creatures,” he said, as he scratched its head, and with many mingled puffs and sighs went on to say, “They are a nuisance when they grow up.... You lose their affection, you see.... Women are just the same.... This beautiful beast does not heed me now, and at one time no puppy could be fonder.... He would lie on his back to be tickled by a straw, and play with me by the hour.... He hardly ever snarled, even at the servants. Look at him!” The gentle beast was made to show his teeth and opened a capacious mouth.“Yes, indeed,” said one. “I’ve done nothing[147]but look at him since I came in, and have had my hand on my pistol already, once.”“He won’t hurt you. He’shadhis dinner.”Another visitor sent his dog home, and opportunely remarked that as leopards were fond of eating dogs, they felt at home with humanity as lions or tigers never could. It was hunger only that made these bigger beasts eat men. The normal tiger or lion would run away from a child, or at any rate pass it by. But even a well-fed leopard might take to “long pig,” meaning humanity, in simple wantonness, for a change.“I hope he always has plenty of salt with his food,” said one. “Might I tell the boy to fetch some for him now?”“Why, in all the world?”“Because it is the salt in human flesh that is said to be the great attraction.”“You don’t suppose my leopard spends his time in studying chemistry, do you? I tell you he would not eat you if you offered yourself. His belly’s full.”“Mr Spots” yawned and looked round the company with an air of royal indifference. His master continued to scratch his head. In obedience to a gesture, he submitted quietly, when a servant[148]fastened a chain on his neck, and reluctantly but unresistingly he let himself be led away.“I’m very sorry,” said his master, looking after him affectionately, almost as if apologising to the pet. “That’s what is hurting his feelings,” he explained to us.“What?”“The chain—the restriction—the want of confidence is spoiling his fine temper.” After a pause he added: “As I was saying, it’s the lapse of time. Pets should always be adolescent, and women too.”“Not women,” protested one, who quoted “Age cannot whitherher nor custom stale her infinite variety.”“It’s not variety thatIwant,” cried he. “I hate change. I would like my pets never to grow up. It’s the change I object to. It’s horrid, thesetransfers....”“Hillo! Are you transferred?” we cried, more interested than surprised; for, as readers are probably aware, the Europeans of every kind in the east are at the best respectable vagabonds, globe-trotters by trade, and only a few derelicts, who are settling down to die, can have a fixed abode.“Transferred? No, no—I don’t mean that. I[149]was thinking of transfers of affection,” he explained, and he proceeded to discuss the claims of various Zoos, and the chance of poor “Mr Spots” being more happy in one than another, like a mother discussing her daughter’s suitors.Amidst the merriment that arose when all constraint was ended, he was advised to wed, and seemed to take the advice most seriously. He did send away the leopard, and did take a wife, not long afterwards; and as he was a good-hearted man, I believe she is a happy woman; but she little suspects who was her predecessor in her husband’s affections.
Oneevening in the nineties I went to dine at the house of a friend in Burma, and was unexpectedly greeted at the entrance by a leopard almost fully grown. He received me with the same restful manner of dignified armed neutrality that may be seen on the features of a domestic cat, or of an old family servant, observing a strange visitor.
“Do the others know?” I asked the host, meaning the other dinner-guests, not yet arrived.
“Yes, they all know him, but none of them like him, or maybe it is that he does not like them, I don’t exactly know what is the matter. He seems to feel by instinct that you’re a friend. Dear old fellow!” and the big cat laid its head confidentially on his thigh, and rolled its eyes dubiously in the way cats do, while a fat hand caressed its fine fur tenderly, lovingly.
“It’ll be rare fun to see the rest arrive.” It was[146]indeed a pleasant entertainment to see that bachelor’s house being entered as if a very distinguished hostess were receiving the visitors. The sight of “Mr Spots” made the most free-and-easy a little constrained in manner. They kept their eyes upon him; and as he moved about at his ease, they made way for him with an agility of quick politeness more common in Frenchmen than in Englishmen. But though he engrossed their conversation as much as their thoughts, there was a lack of heartiness in their appreciation which seemed to sadden their host. He tried to keep the fine animal beside himself.
“Pets should always be young and growing creatures,” he said, as he scratched its head, and with many mingled puffs and sighs went on to say, “They are a nuisance when they grow up.... You lose their affection, you see.... Women are just the same.... This beautiful beast does not heed me now, and at one time no puppy could be fonder.... He would lie on his back to be tickled by a straw, and play with me by the hour.... He hardly ever snarled, even at the servants. Look at him!” The gentle beast was made to show his teeth and opened a capacious mouth.
“Yes, indeed,” said one. “I’ve done nothing[147]but look at him since I came in, and have had my hand on my pistol already, once.”
“He won’t hurt you. He’shadhis dinner.”
Another visitor sent his dog home, and opportunely remarked that as leopards were fond of eating dogs, they felt at home with humanity as lions or tigers never could. It was hunger only that made these bigger beasts eat men. The normal tiger or lion would run away from a child, or at any rate pass it by. But even a well-fed leopard might take to “long pig,” meaning humanity, in simple wantonness, for a change.
“I hope he always has plenty of salt with his food,” said one. “Might I tell the boy to fetch some for him now?”
“Why, in all the world?”
“Because it is the salt in human flesh that is said to be the great attraction.”
“You don’t suppose my leopard spends his time in studying chemistry, do you? I tell you he would not eat you if you offered yourself. His belly’s full.”
“Mr Spots” yawned and looked round the company with an air of royal indifference. His master continued to scratch his head. In obedience to a gesture, he submitted quietly, when a servant[148]fastened a chain on his neck, and reluctantly but unresistingly he let himself be led away.
“I’m very sorry,” said his master, looking after him affectionately, almost as if apologising to the pet. “That’s what is hurting his feelings,” he explained to us.
“What?”
“The chain—the restriction—the want of confidence is spoiling his fine temper.” After a pause he added: “As I was saying, it’s the lapse of time. Pets should always be adolescent, and women too.”
“Not women,” protested one, who quoted “Age cannot whitherher nor custom stale her infinite variety.”
“It’s not variety thatIwant,” cried he. “I hate change. I would like my pets never to grow up. It’s the change I object to. It’s horrid, thesetransfers....”
“Hillo! Are you transferred?” we cried, more interested than surprised; for, as readers are probably aware, the Europeans of every kind in the east are at the best respectable vagabonds, globe-trotters by trade, and only a few derelicts, who are settling down to die, can have a fixed abode.
“Transferred? No, no—I don’t mean that. I[149]was thinking of transfers of affection,” he explained, and he proceeded to discuss the claims of various Zoos, and the chance of poor “Mr Spots” being more happy in one than another, like a mother discussing her daughter’s suitors.
Amidst the merriment that arose when all constraint was ended, he was advised to wed, and seemed to take the advice most seriously. He did send away the leopard, and did take a wife, not long afterwards; and as he was a good-hearted man, I believe she is a happy woman; but she little suspects who was her predecessor in her husband’s affections.
XXI[150]THE LEOPARD THAT NEEDED A DENTISTTheexcellent American dentist at Madras had me “at discretion” in 1908; and as he worked he began talking, in the kindly way some dentists have, about things in general, and in particular, when encouraged and led to that topic, he spoke about the science of his useful art.“What spoils the teeth is want of use,” said he. “Look at cats! What fine teeth tigers have!”“When they are young,” said I, “are you aware that tigers and leopards often die prematurely of starvation, because their teeth fail them? There is no kind of living creature that needs more than they do the services of a really competent dentist. See!”He looked over his shoulder with a start, as if half expecting to see some strange customer; but it was only a commonmessenger....Resuming his work, he began recalling all he[151]had heard from various patients about cats’ teeth; and suddenly ejaculated, “You’re right, you’re right! I had forgotten what a man told me he saw in the Nilgiris. From a distance, but close enough to see well, he saw a big leopard seize his dog as it played on the road. The dog got loose, in a surprising way. The leopard caught and mouthed him again, and then again; and finally let him go and disappeared as men approached. Three times that dog had been seen in its mouth, and yet there was not a scratch on the body of the dog. The leopard could not have had a tooth in its head.”
Theexcellent American dentist at Madras had me “at discretion” in 1908; and as he worked he began talking, in the kindly way some dentists have, about things in general, and in particular, when encouraged and led to that topic, he spoke about the science of his useful art.
“What spoils the teeth is want of use,” said he. “Look at cats! What fine teeth tigers have!”
“When they are young,” said I, “are you aware that tigers and leopards often die prematurely of starvation, because their teeth fail them? There is no kind of living creature that needs more than they do the services of a really competent dentist. See!”
He looked over his shoulder with a start, as if half expecting to see some strange customer; but it was only a commonmessenger....
Resuming his work, he began recalling all he[151]had heard from various patients about cats’ teeth; and suddenly ejaculated, “You’re right, you’re right! I had forgotten what a man told me he saw in the Nilgiris. From a distance, but close enough to see well, he saw a big leopard seize his dog as it played on the road. The dog got loose, in a surprising way. The leopard caught and mouthed him again, and then again; and finally let him go and disappeared as men approached. Three times that dog had been seen in its mouth, and yet there was not a scratch on the body of the dog. The leopard could not have had a tooth in its head.”
XXII[152]THE DEVIL AS A LEOPARDIn1891, in Shwegyin (pronounced Shwayjeen), then the headquarters of a district in Burma, but now decayed, because the railway went another road, I became aware as I sat in office of an unusual hush in the precincts of the public buildings. My messenger came uncalled into my room, and stood as if struggling to speak but unable to articulate. My head clerk, the excellent Babu Chowdry, followed him, though it was an uncommon time for him to come in. With obvious difficulty and hesitation, almost stammering, the Babu said, “The devil has come to town.”Ah, if I were only a fictioneer, what a brilliant opening this gives for fine writing. It might be indulged in without fear of contradiction; for, if Babu Chowdry read a thing I wrote as an account of our talk, he would not only affirm it to be true, but honestly believe it. All the King’s Counsel in London, cross-examining in partnership, could not shake him, or do anything but make everybody,[153]themselves included, believe him the more. His transparent good faith would convince them. This is not ironical, but the simple truth. If I wrote in the Kipling fashion, keeping faithful to what the Babu could recall, he would trust me for the rest, so that the story might be told in this way.“The Devil has come to town,” said the Babu.“Show him in.”“But he is not here. He’s in the town.”“Send for him then.”“But he won’t come.He ...”“Tell the police to fetch him.”“How?He ...”“You should know perfectly that no warrant is required. He can be arrested without a warrant if he won’t come quietly, were it only for being without a visible and respectable means of subsistence. Send a note to the superintendent.”“But it isn’t a man. It’s a Devil, and a leopard.”“A leopard?”“A leopard, but a Devil.”“Shoot it.”“But it’s a Devil.”“Shoot it, all the same.”“But it’s a Devil, and so the rifles won’t go off.”[154]Instead of all which, to tell the downright truth, instead of any invention, I looked in silence awhile at my excited clerk as he repeated, half mechanically, “The Devil has come to town,” and guessing that perhaps a tiger, which had been flurrying the place for some weeks, had paid a mid-day visit, I stepped outside to the verandah to see what the matter was, probably telling somebody to go for a rifle. I looked in all directions, but saw no stampeding, such as might be expected if a tiger were strolling anywhere near. There were many marks of general consternation. Everybody seemed to have stopped suddenly whatever he had been doing. The one detail capricious memory supplies is the sight of a man at a refreshment-stall, who had paused with a spoonful of food half-way to his lips, and stood as if petrified as long as I saw him, gaping and listening. Next I noticed the District Superintendent of Police, Mr W. G. Snadden, a sensible, first-rate man, coming from his office, which was in a building adjacent to mine. Without waiting to be asked, he shouted to me, “Don’t you bother. It’s only a leopard frightening people at my house, and I’ll go and see what the row is and come and let you know.”“Anybody hurt?”[155]“I believe not.”I felt Babu Chowdry watching me to see if I was satisfied. He drew a deep breath. “That’ll be all right,” we said to each other, and both returned to work. He came into my room a minute later, and said impressively, “The people do say it must be a Devil, as the rifles won’t go off.” He waited to see the effect of the announcement, but getting only, “That’ll be all right,” he returned to business.In an hour or so Snadden reappeared, looking tired with laughing. This was what he had to tell:“My wife had a fright yesterday. A leopard had been seen prowling round the house. A servant said it came upon the verandah, and stood on its hind legs and looked into the nursery, where the baby was, and also a dog.” (Mr Snadden intimated in some way that he had doubted the story.) He continued: “I told my wife it would prefer dog, but naturally she did not wish it to have a choice. So I set her mind at rest by leaving a military policeman with a rifle to hold the fort when I came to office, explaining to him what to do if the leopard returned. It came all right, about the same time as yesterday. They say the cook was[156]in the act of showing the policeman where it issued yesterday from the jungle, when they saw it reappear.“The man loaded, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The cartridge did not go off. He slipped in another noiselessly, and aimed again. There was no hurry. The leopard did not see him. It was standing still, apparently taking a deliberate view of the house and servants’ quarters; looking for a dog, I do believe. No man could want an easier target. After aiming carefully he pulled the trigger, and for the second time the shot did not go off.“This seems to have flustered him, so that he made an audible click as he put in a third cartridge, and the leopard heard it and looked round and saw him, and turned to go away. He took aim at it. It turned its head round for a parting glance at him just as he pulled the trigger again. For the third time the rifle failed to act. The shot did not go off. The man was left standing, half distracted. He said that as it disappeared the leopard swelled to the size of a tiger, and the glare of its eyes as it looked at him made his heart stand still. It could be no common leopard that bewitched his rifle so.“Everybody in the house gathered round him[157]to hear his story. That was when my wife sent a man running to me. The policeman half-walked, half-staggered to the lines” (the huts where sepoys lived, near Mr Snadden’s house), “and there he was when I went up. They had had a glorious scare. By George, how quickly the panic spread!” reflected Mr Snadden. “They were shivering with funk all round the court before the man, who was running from my house, arrived there. I had noticed something was amiss, and was making inquiries to find out what it was before he came.”“Had the man loitered on the way?”“No, I think he came straight. The panic round here was not his doing, whatever it was. It came up from the bazaar. I’ve made sure of that. It seems a miracle. I’ve been round pacifying the town. The bazaar was upside down, business was stopped, women were shrieking and running after their children a mile away from my house, within a few minutes after the leopard disappeared into the bushes. I cannot understand it.”“Was the beast seen elsewhere?”“No. The panic was all about what had happened and the rifle not going off.”Neither of us ever knew how the panic spread,[158]though Mr Snadden had a fine scientific curiosity about it, which made him take much trouble inquiring. He concluded his report on this occasion, thus:“It did not last long at the lines. The man had hardly told his story more than five times when the Subadar (the principal native officer) pushed his way into the middle of the crowd to hear him, and, listening to him, took the rifle out of his hands to examine it. He lifted the hammer, and pointing to the leather on the nipple, asked him, ‘Did you removethat?’ The man looked stupefied, shook his head, and relapsed into silence, and the excitement ended. The men were very good about it, laughing only a little and not unkindly. They did not jeer at the poor fellow, but rather pitied him, for the accidental oversight that had made him look so foolish, and given him such a fright,” and made him miss the reward of twenty rupees, more than a month’s pay, which he would have got for killing the leopard.When the truth was known it was easy to pacify the town.
In1891, in Shwegyin (pronounced Shwayjeen), then the headquarters of a district in Burma, but now decayed, because the railway went another road, I became aware as I sat in office of an unusual hush in the precincts of the public buildings. My messenger came uncalled into my room, and stood as if struggling to speak but unable to articulate. My head clerk, the excellent Babu Chowdry, followed him, though it was an uncommon time for him to come in. With obvious difficulty and hesitation, almost stammering, the Babu said, “The devil has come to town.”
Ah, if I were only a fictioneer, what a brilliant opening this gives for fine writing. It might be indulged in without fear of contradiction; for, if Babu Chowdry read a thing I wrote as an account of our talk, he would not only affirm it to be true, but honestly believe it. All the King’s Counsel in London, cross-examining in partnership, could not shake him, or do anything but make everybody,[153]themselves included, believe him the more. His transparent good faith would convince them. This is not ironical, but the simple truth. If I wrote in the Kipling fashion, keeping faithful to what the Babu could recall, he would trust me for the rest, so that the story might be told in this way.
“The Devil has come to town,” said the Babu.
“Show him in.”
“But he is not here. He’s in the town.”
“Send for him then.”
“But he won’t come.He ...”
“Tell the police to fetch him.”
“How?He ...”
“You should know perfectly that no warrant is required. He can be arrested without a warrant if he won’t come quietly, were it only for being without a visible and respectable means of subsistence. Send a note to the superintendent.”
“But it isn’t a man. It’s a Devil, and a leopard.”
“A leopard?”
“A leopard, but a Devil.”
“Shoot it.”
“But it’s a Devil.”
“Shoot it, all the same.”
“But it’s a Devil, and so the rifles won’t go off.”
[154]Instead of all which, to tell the downright truth, instead of any invention, I looked in silence awhile at my excited clerk as he repeated, half mechanically, “The Devil has come to town,” and guessing that perhaps a tiger, which had been flurrying the place for some weeks, had paid a mid-day visit, I stepped outside to the verandah to see what the matter was, probably telling somebody to go for a rifle. I looked in all directions, but saw no stampeding, such as might be expected if a tiger were strolling anywhere near. There were many marks of general consternation. Everybody seemed to have stopped suddenly whatever he had been doing. The one detail capricious memory supplies is the sight of a man at a refreshment-stall, who had paused with a spoonful of food half-way to his lips, and stood as if petrified as long as I saw him, gaping and listening. Next I noticed the District Superintendent of Police, Mr W. G. Snadden, a sensible, first-rate man, coming from his office, which was in a building adjacent to mine. Without waiting to be asked, he shouted to me, “Don’t you bother. It’s only a leopard frightening people at my house, and I’ll go and see what the row is and come and let you know.”
“Anybody hurt?”
[155]“I believe not.”
I felt Babu Chowdry watching me to see if I was satisfied. He drew a deep breath. “That’ll be all right,” we said to each other, and both returned to work. He came into my room a minute later, and said impressively, “The people do say it must be a Devil, as the rifles won’t go off.” He waited to see the effect of the announcement, but getting only, “That’ll be all right,” he returned to business.
In an hour or so Snadden reappeared, looking tired with laughing. This was what he had to tell:
“My wife had a fright yesterday. A leopard had been seen prowling round the house. A servant said it came upon the verandah, and stood on its hind legs and looked into the nursery, where the baby was, and also a dog.” (Mr Snadden intimated in some way that he had doubted the story.) He continued: “I told my wife it would prefer dog, but naturally she did not wish it to have a choice. So I set her mind at rest by leaving a military policeman with a rifle to hold the fort when I came to office, explaining to him what to do if the leopard returned. It came all right, about the same time as yesterday. They say the cook was[156]in the act of showing the policeman where it issued yesterday from the jungle, when they saw it reappear.
“The man loaded, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The cartridge did not go off. He slipped in another noiselessly, and aimed again. There was no hurry. The leopard did not see him. It was standing still, apparently taking a deliberate view of the house and servants’ quarters; looking for a dog, I do believe. No man could want an easier target. After aiming carefully he pulled the trigger, and for the second time the shot did not go off.
“This seems to have flustered him, so that he made an audible click as he put in a third cartridge, and the leopard heard it and looked round and saw him, and turned to go away. He took aim at it. It turned its head round for a parting glance at him just as he pulled the trigger again. For the third time the rifle failed to act. The shot did not go off. The man was left standing, half distracted. He said that as it disappeared the leopard swelled to the size of a tiger, and the glare of its eyes as it looked at him made his heart stand still. It could be no common leopard that bewitched his rifle so.
“Everybody in the house gathered round him[157]to hear his story. That was when my wife sent a man running to me. The policeman half-walked, half-staggered to the lines” (the huts where sepoys lived, near Mr Snadden’s house), “and there he was when I went up. They had had a glorious scare. By George, how quickly the panic spread!” reflected Mr Snadden. “They were shivering with funk all round the court before the man, who was running from my house, arrived there. I had noticed something was amiss, and was making inquiries to find out what it was before he came.”
“Had the man loitered on the way?”
“No, I think he came straight. The panic round here was not his doing, whatever it was. It came up from the bazaar. I’ve made sure of that. It seems a miracle. I’ve been round pacifying the town. The bazaar was upside down, business was stopped, women were shrieking and running after their children a mile away from my house, within a few minutes after the leopard disappeared into the bushes. I cannot understand it.”
“Was the beast seen elsewhere?”
“No. The panic was all about what had happened and the rifle not going off.”
Neither of us ever knew how the panic spread,[158]though Mr Snadden had a fine scientific curiosity about it, which made him take much trouble inquiring. He concluded his report on this occasion, thus:
“It did not last long at the lines. The man had hardly told his story more than five times when the Subadar (the principal native officer) pushed his way into the middle of the crowd to hear him, and, listening to him, took the rifle out of his hands to examine it. He lifted the hammer, and pointing to the leather on the nipple, asked him, ‘Did you removethat?’ The man looked stupefied, shook his head, and relapsed into silence, and the excitement ended. The men were very good about it, laughing only a little and not unkindly. They did not jeer at the poor fellow, but rather pitied him, for the accidental oversight that had made him look so foolish, and given him such a fright,” and made him miss the reward of twenty rupees, more than a month’s pay, which he would have got for killing the leopard.
When the truth was known it was easy to pacify the town.
XXIII[159]THE GALLANT LEOPARDThelions and tigers and leopards cannot bring libel suits or arrange duels. So men can call them cowards with impunity, and often do; but it is not fair, and surely all who have been long enough in the woods to know better should do justice to the beasts that are dumb. Besides, there is a real joy in telling the downright truth. It is apt to have the merit of novelty, for one thing. That is why it seems right to tell in 1909 an adventure that befell three gallant officers in Upper Burma, a little more than a dozen years ago.Three real ornaments of the British army, and one of them so highly placed that in confidential moments after dinner he spoke to me not of his debts, but of his savings and investments, were riding abreast together through a forest. Three finer specimens of “Britishers abroad” the army could not have furnished. They combined all its best qualities—the wild daring of the Irish scallawag,[160]the steadiness of the Englishman, and the cunning of the Jew. If they had all been of one kind, whether scallawags, Englishmen, or Jews, they might have come out of this adventure less perfectly. Great is the advantage of a judicious mixture!What happened was that a leopard was looking for a meal as they came along. He was not hunting men. He was crouching among the bushes beside the road and watching, as a cat watches sparrows, a crowd of monkeys gambolling among the trees, and unconsciously coming near him. He is at home in the trees, and very fond of monkeys; but they are too nimble for him, if they have a chance. So he was biding his time, till one of them would be within reach of a sudden spring; and none of them had noticed him, when the three officers came riding past.Now, whatever the attraction was, probably curiosity, what is certain is that the advent of our gallant three caused a sensation in the little world aloft; and, as the miniature men and women of the woods crowded to see the very latest samples of British officers, they saw the leopard too! And with wild hullabaloo they hurried far away.The leopard was angry. Had he not cause? Who were these men to come and spoil his sport? They, on their noisy iron-shod horses, prancing[161]along, with their orderlies clattering behind them, coming as if the world belonged to them? He felt like another Jonah, who could answer the Lord inquiring, “Doest thou well to be angry?” with a heart-whole emphasis, saying, “I do well!”So he came boldly upon the road on which they were galloping and stood upon it, facing them. He took no pains to hide himself. He was no longer in the mood for crouching. He waited for them; but he did not lie in wait. His lips were ajar, and every muscle tight—a pretty picture!“Good God! There’s a leopard!” cried the son of Jacob. See how deeply rooted is piety in the Semitic soul! Men have known that man for nearly twenty years, and never heard him mention God at any other time.They all drew bridle and dismounted. Even the scallawag consented to do that. The Englishman called for his gun. An orderly handed it to him.“By all that’s holy, you’re not going to provoke him by peppering him with snipe-shot?”The Englishman agreed not to fire, as they had no ball-cartridges. But the leopard was not aware of that. The road was along the side of a slope. The ground went steeply up on one side of it; steeply down on the other. So the leopard, “lightly and without apparent effort,” like a cat[162]leaping upon a chair, sprang upwards, and sat behind a bush, 15 or 20 feet above the level of the road.“Slight as the cover for him was, it would have been ample, if we had not seen him go behind it,” said one of the men to me afterwards. “We remarked how well he knew to hide himself. Till he went behind that bush we would not have believed it could have covered anything. Once he was there, it was only because we had seen him go that we knew he was there. But for that, we would have seen nothing. The ground being above us was a help to us, and, knowing where to look, we could see the outline of the leopard plainly through the leaves. He had not allowed for that.”No; he had not reckoned on the watchfulness of three men resolute that theéliteof the British army should not be made into cat’s-meat. They held each other back, so to speak, without any difficulty. They could see that where the enemy sat was like a magnificent spring-board. If he had selected the eldest of them, and leapt with his usual accuracy, he and his chosen one would have been a hundred yards down the glen together in a few seconds; and the excitement in army circles would have been very great. Half a dozen men would have “got steps.”But these three were too wary. They—felt[163]their value to the Commonwealth. Theywouldnot pass in front of him. Nothing would induce them. It was, “You first, sir,” for a long time, till the leopard was tired of it, and saw the game was up. He leapt down lightly and crossed the road before their faces, with a deliberate swinging stride, looking round at them as he passed.“There really seemed to me to be something of a swagger in his walk,” said one of the officers, naturally imputing to the leopard the feelings of a man and an officer; but in truth the leopard had no swagger in his mind. He looked at them in passing, as at creatures he had to keep an eye upon; but, far from thinking of impressing them, he was as indifferent to their feelings as the rocks. In Hamlet’s phrase, they were less than Hecuba to him. They were merely passing animals, that had disturbed his hunting, and he was now quitting them as he would a herd of deer that had got wind of him and held aloof.What seemed his swagger was the unconscious dignity of his gait. I have seen it in a tiger, crossing a road in the moonlight, when he thought he was unobserved. Many men have remarked it. It may be seen in the common cat occasionally, and has been explained in various ways. The swift movement by long strides and the silent[164]footfalls are easily noticed; but there is more than that. The dignity of cats is one of Nature’s effects, which we can see and admire, but not reproduce. How could we, standing up on our hind legs and to that manner born, ever do more than mimic it? The most puissant of potentates may call himself the son of the sun, the cousin of the moon, and the father or grandfather of all the stars; he may be named in sheepskins and figure in sheeps’ heads as the King of kings and Lord of lords, the Emperor of emperors and Czar of czars; but he is first cousin to the monkey all the time. His gold lace and purple cloaks, his tinsel hats and thrones maybe as high as pyramids, cannot make him cease to be funny when he swaggers; and, at the best, you half expect a wink. Nothing can give us the born dignity of the feline fellows. But we need not envy them. Soon, very soon, in a century or, at the latest, a millennium or two, there will be none of them left, except perhaps the household toms and tabbies. “So runs the world away.”Thus it was without any thought about the officers, who were standing abashed, that the leopard moved down the steep slope into the depths of the glen, abandoning all hope of well-fed British beef, and perhaps deciding to try once more for the monkeys.“Hope springs eternal in a hungry heart.”[165]It is only needful to add that this adventure was told me by one of the three. I have not been able to get leave to give the names; but that does not matter, for the leopard did not know the names himself. It was enough for him, and must be enough for us, to know that they were strong and healthy men, and their orderlies the same; and to the leopard the iron-shod horses may have appeared to be equally formidable. Yet, with just cause of offence and an empty stomach to stimulate him, he faced them all, and departed only because he saw it was useless to wait for them to pass. Theywouldnot go in front of him. Was ever leopard so honoured before? These men would not have deferred so much to a British lord, much less to an Italian pope or common emperor.If leopards dealt in art, that would be a scene for a picture; and fain would I have sent the men’s photos to an R.A. of my acquaintance; but to ask them for that purpose would have been as hopeless as to ask leave to give their names. So any inspired artist who pictures this scene must paint the officers’ faces from his fancy. All that I am permitted to certify is the truth of the adventure.Bravo, Mr Spots!!!
Thelions and tigers and leopards cannot bring libel suits or arrange duels. So men can call them cowards with impunity, and often do; but it is not fair, and surely all who have been long enough in the woods to know better should do justice to the beasts that are dumb. Besides, there is a real joy in telling the downright truth. It is apt to have the merit of novelty, for one thing. That is why it seems right to tell in 1909 an adventure that befell three gallant officers in Upper Burma, a little more than a dozen years ago.
Three real ornaments of the British army, and one of them so highly placed that in confidential moments after dinner he spoke to me not of his debts, but of his savings and investments, were riding abreast together through a forest. Three finer specimens of “Britishers abroad” the army could not have furnished. They combined all its best qualities—the wild daring of the Irish scallawag,[160]the steadiness of the Englishman, and the cunning of the Jew. If they had all been of one kind, whether scallawags, Englishmen, or Jews, they might have come out of this adventure less perfectly. Great is the advantage of a judicious mixture!
What happened was that a leopard was looking for a meal as they came along. He was not hunting men. He was crouching among the bushes beside the road and watching, as a cat watches sparrows, a crowd of monkeys gambolling among the trees, and unconsciously coming near him. He is at home in the trees, and very fond of monkeys; but they are too nimble for him, if they have a chance. So he was biding his time, till one of them would be within reach of a sudden spring; and none of them had noticed him, when the three officers came riding past.
Now, whatever the attraction was, probably curiosity, what is certain is that the advent of our gallant three caused a sensation in the little world aloft; and, as the miniature men and women of the woods crowded to see the very latest samples of British officers, they saw the leopard too! And with wild hullabaloo they hurried far away.
The leopard was angry. Had he not cause? Who were these men to come and spoil his sport? They, on their noisy iron-shod horses, prancing[161]along, with their orderlies clattering behind them, coming as if the world belonged to them? He felt like another Jonah, who could answer the Lord inquiring, “Doest thou well to be angry?” with a heart-whole emphasis, saying, “I do well!”
So he came boldly upon the road on which they were galloping and stood upon it, facing them. He took no pains to hide himself. He was no longer in the mood for crouching. He waited for them; but he did not lie in wait. His lips were ajar, and every muscle tight—a pretty picture!
“Good God! There’s a leopard!” cried the son of Jacob. See how deeply rooted is piety in the Semitic soul! Men have known that man for nearly twenty years, and never heard him mention God at any other time.
They all drew bridle and dismounted. Even the scallawag consented to do that. The Englishman called for his gun. An orderly handed it to him.
“By all that’s holy, you’re not going to provoke him by peppering him with snipe-shot?”
The Englishman agreed not to fire, as they had no ball-cartridges. But the leopard was not aware of that. The road was along the side of a slope. The ground went steeply up on one side of it; steeply down on the other. So the leopard, “lightly and without apparent effort,” like a cat[162]leaping upon a chair, sprang upwards, and sat behind a bush, 15 or 20 feet above the level of the road.
“Slight as the cover for him was, it would have been ample, if we had not seen him go behind it,” said one of the men to me afterwards. “We remarked how well he knew to hide himself. Till he went behind that bush we would not have believed it could have covered anything. Once he was there, it was only because we had seen him go that we knew he was there. But for that, we would have seen nothing. The ground being above us was a help to us, and, knowing where to look, we could see the outline of the leopard plainly through the leaves. He had not allowed for that.”
No; he had not reckoned on the watchfulness of three men resolute that theéliteof the British army should not be made into cat’s-meat. They held each other back, so to speak, without any difficulty. They could see that where the enemy sat was like a magnificent spring-board. If he had selected the eldest of them, and leapt with his usual accuracy, he and his chosen one would have been a hundred yards down the glen together in a few seconds; and the excitement in army circles would have been very great. Half a dozen men would have “got steps.”
But these three were too wary. They—felt[163]their value to the Commonwealth. Theywouldnot pass in front of him. Nothing would induce them. It was, “You first, sir,” for a long time, till the leopard was tired of it, and saw the game was up. He leapt down lightly and crossed the road before their faces, with a deliberate swinging stride, looking round at them as he passed.
“There really seemed to me to be something of a swagger in his walk,” said one of the officers, naturally imputing to the leopard the feelings of a man and an officer; but in truth the leopard had no swagger in his mind. He looked at them in passing, as at creatures he had to keep an eye upon; but, far from thinking of impressing them, he was as indifferent to their feelings as the rocks. In Hamlet’s phrase, they were less than Hecuba to him. They were merely passing animals, that had disturbed his hunting, and he was now quitting them as he would a herd of deer that had got wind of him and held aloof.
What seemed his swagger was the unconscious dignity of his gait. I have seen it in a tiger, crossing a road in the moonlight, when he thought he was unobserved. Many men have remarked it. It may be seen in the common cat occasionally, and has been explained in various ways. The swift movement by long strides and the silent[164]footfalls are easily noticed; but there is more than that. The dignity of cats is one of Nature’s effects, which we can see and admire, but not reproduce. How could we, standing up on our hind legs and to that manner born, ever do more than mimic it? The most puissant of potentates may call himself the son of the sun, the cousin of the moon, and the father or grandfather of all the stars; he may be named in sheepskins and figure in sheeps’ heads as the King of kings and Lord of lords, the Emperor of emperors and Czar of czars; but he is first cousin to the monkey all the time. His gold lace and purple cloaks, his tinsel hats and thrones maybe as high as pyramids, cannot make him cease to be funny when he swaggers; and, at the best, you half expect a wink. Nothing can give us the born dignity of the feline fellows. But we need not envy them. Soon, very soon, in a century or, at the latest, a millennium or two, there will be none of them left, except perhaps the household toms and tabbies. “So runs the world away.”
Thus it was without any thought about the officers, who were standing abashed, that the leopard moved down the steep slope into the depths of the glen, abandoning all hope of well-fed British beef, and perhaps deciding to try once more for the monkeys.
“Hope springs eternal in a hungry heart.”
“Hope springs eternal in a hungry heart.”
“Hope springs eternal in a hungry heart.”
“Hope springs eternal in a hungry heart.”
[165]It is only needful to add that this adventure was told me by one of the three. I have not been able to get leave to give the names; but that does not matter, for the leopard did not know the names himself. It was enough for him, and must be enough for us, to know that they were strong and healthy men, and their orderlies the same; and to the leopard the iron-shod horses may have appeared to be equally formidable. Yet, with just cause of offence and an empty stomach to stimulate him, he faced them all, and departed only because he saw it was useless to wait for them to pass. Theywouldnot go in front of him. Was ever leopard so honoured before? These men would not have deferred so much to a British lord, much less to an Italian pope or common emperor.
If leopards dealt in art, that would be a scene for a picture; and fain would I have sent the men’s photos to an R.A. of my acquaintance; but to ask them for that purpose would have been as hopeless as to ask leave to give their names. So any inspired artist who pictures this scene must paint the officers’ faces from his fancy. All that I am permitted to certify is the truth of the adventure.
Bravo, Mr Spots!!!
XXIV[166]A DUMB APPEAL PUT INTO WORDSTheGriffin at Temple Bar, a lump of metal like a medieval nightmare, is one of multitudinous monstrosities such as Burns described:“Forms like some Bedlam Statuary’s dream,The crazed creation of misguided whim;Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee,And still the second dread command be free;Their likeness is not found on earth, in air or sea!”The significance of the Griffin, however, goes deeper than the conventionality, which alone the artists deride; for it is only half an explanation to cry “conventional.” What made it “conventional?” Why did men convene to admire such an object?One has to grope among the beginnings of history to be able to guess; and for that purpose, one has to stoop to the mental level of wild backwoodsmen, not men of civilised breeds who have reverted, like the mustangs of South America, but real, wild backwoodsmen, none of whose ancestors have ever been anything else, since time began.On trying the thing, I found it as easy to think[167]with them as ever it was to keep down to the level of civilised men, carousing after dinner, when“The soul subsides, and wickedly inclinesTo seem but mortal, e’en in sound divines.”Of course it is a commonplace to connect the Griffin with the winged lion of Babylon and other misshapen beasts. But Babylon was as much sophisticated as London is to-day, and as far removed from primitive conditions.It is among the wild backwoodsmen, if anywhere, that one can reach back to the real antiquity; and if you listen to them at home, especially when they have forgotten you or suppose you asleep, you gradually realise what a great place is filled in their minds by beasts of prey, and in particular by the little-seen-but-much-felt feline foes. Many a man and woman among the jungle folk has never beheld them at all, but few have escaped their depredations. They combine the terrors of force and cunning, and abide a bugbear to humanity, from infancy to age.Perhaps this may be best illustrated by one of the most famous incidents in the life of Confucius, dated by theFamily SayingsatB.C.516, about the time when Darius was sacking Babylon. Here is the paragraph in the old Chinese history (translated by Legge,Li Ki, II. II. 3, 10.)“As he was passing by the side of the Ta’e[168]mountain, there was a woman weeping and wailing by a grave. Confucius bent forward in his carriage, and after listening to her for some time, sent Tsze-Loo to ask the cause of her grief.“‘You weep, as if you had experienced sorrow upon sorrow,’ said Tsze-Loo.“The woman replied, ‘It is so. My husband’s father was killed here by a tiger, and my husband also; and now my son has met the same fate.’“Confucius asked her why she did not remove from the place, and on her answering, ‘There is here no oppressive government,’ he turned to his disciples, and said, ‘My children, remember this, oppressive government is fiercer than a tiger.’”It takes an effort for a modern man to feel the force of the words of the sage. The tiger means so little to us, and meant so much to the weeping woman and her neighbours. Still harder is it for us to realise the primitive ignorance of the exact shape of the enemy. Even to the few backwoodsmen who have seen one dead, it soon becomes a vague recollection. The infinite terror of the beasts and the ignorance of their forms are not the less indubitable facts, because they are so far beyond our ordinary comprehension; and these are the facts that perhaps explain, so far as we[169]can explain, the grotesque shape of the Griffin. We must remember that our Zoos are a modern invention, almost like firearms; for two or three millenniums do not make antiquity in a world so old as ours. In the days when Griffins first took shape, whatever was the most hideous object would seem to be the best likeness of the horrid reality.But the Zoos should let us know better now; and our writers and speakers should teach us better than to hate the beasts of prey. It is quite unnecessary. There is something coldly impartial in their war with us. They do not hate us, any more than the rocks do, or the icebergs. Red, “red in tooth and in claw,” they remain unconscious instruments of Fate, and serve to stiffen us. If they kill us, it is in self-defence or for food. There is no wanton cruelty; but there is no mercy. There are surprises, but no treachery. Even the French do not feel themselves betrayed, when it is the wolves that win. There is no sentimental humbug about this war; but also, no excuse for ferocity.I never visit a Zoo and see the poor prisoners behind the bars without hearing, with the mind’s ears, a greeting, an appeal for pity, as if the poor big cats were really saying what they can only symbol in silence.“Look at and pity us! You will not have such[170]cats to look at long. Lions and tigers, leopards and jaguars, the species now all perishing salute ye, O men!“We are neither grotesque nor hideous, neither wicked nor cowardly, neither cruel nor treacherous. We are merely cats. We had to live in the only way for which we were adapted.“The war between you and us is nearly over now. It has lasted long, but the end is at hand. The world is lost to us big cats, and we are passing away, on the wings of thewind....“Woe, woe to theconquered!!!...“Ye may lay aside your fears! Do lay aside your fears, for fear is cruel. Ye have no need to fear us any more. We are your prisoners of war, and spared to make a humanholiday....“We killed or left alone, and cannot guess why ye do otherwise; but we cannot understand ye atall....“We look around into daylight that is dimmer than darkness, and see not why we are here. We submit, because we must; and we are dying, dying, dying! All your devices but prolong our deaths! For life needs liberty. There is no life in prison for cats, or formen....“The species all about to die salute ye!“Have pity on us, O men!!!”
TheGriffin at Temple Bar, a lump of metal like a medieval nightmare, is one of multitudinous monstrosities such as Burns described:
“Forms like some Bedlam Statuary’s dream,The crazed creation of misguided whim;Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee,And still the second dread command be free;Their likeness is not found on earth, in air or sea!”
“Forms like some Bedlam Statuary’s dream,The crazed creation of misguided whim;Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee,And still the second dread command be free;Their likeness is not found on earth, in air or sea!”
“Forms like some Bedlam Statuary’s dream,The crazed creation of misguided whim;Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee,And still the second dread command be free;Their likeness is not found on earth, in air or sea!”
“Forms like some Bedlam Statuary’s dream,
The crazed creation of misguided whim;
Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee,
And still the second dread command be free;
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air or sea!”
The significance of the Griffin, however, goes deeper than the conventionality, which alone the artists deride; for it is only half an explanation to cry “conventional.” What made it “conventional?” Why did men convene to admire such an object?
One has to grope among the beginnings of history to be able to guess; and for that purpose, one has to stoop to the mental level of wild backwoodsmen, not men of civilised breeds who have reverted, like the mustangs of South America, but real, wild backwoodsmen, none of whose ancestors have ever been anything else, since time began.
On trying the thing, I found it as easy to think[167]with them as ever it was to keep down to the level of civilised men, carousing after dinner, when
“The soul subsides, and wickedly inclinesTo seem but mortal, e’en in sound divines.”
“The soul subsides, and wickedly inclinesTo seem but mortal, e’en in sound divines.”
“The soul subsides, and wickedly inclinesTo seem but mortal, e’en in sound divines.”
“The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines
To seem but mortal, e’en in sound divines.”
Of course it is a commonplace to connect the Griffin with the winged lion of Babylon and other misshapen beasts. But Babylon was as much sophisticated as London is to-day, and as far removed from primitive conditions.
It is among the wild backwoodsmen, if anywhere, that one can reach back to the real antiquity; and if you listen to them at home, especially when they have forgotten you or suppose you asleep, you gradually realise what a great place is filled in their minds by beasts of prey, and in particular by the little-seen-but-much-felt feline foes. Many a man and woman among the jungle folk has never beheld them at all, but few have escaped their depredations. They combine the terrors of force and cunning, and abide a bugbear to humanity, from infancy to age.
Perhaps this may be best illustrated by one of the most famous incidents in the life of Confucius, dated by theFamily SayingsatB.C.516, about the time when Darius was sacking Babylon. Here is the paragraph in the old Chinese history (translated by Legge,Li Ki, II. II. 3, 10.)
“As he was passing by the side of the Ta’e[168]mountain, there was a woman weeping and wailing by a grave. Confucius bent forward in his carriage, and after listening to her for some time, sent Tsze-Loo to ask the cause of her grief.
“‘You weep, as if you had experienced sorrow upon sorrow,’ said Tsze-Loo.
“The woman replied, ‘It is so. My husband’s father was killed here by a tiger, and my husband also; and now my son has met the same fate.’
“Confucius asked her why she did not remove from the place, and on her answering, ‘There is here no oppressive government,’ he turned to his disciples, and said, ‘My children, remember this, oppressive government is fiercer than a tiger.’”
It takes an effort for a modern man to feel the force of the words of the sage. The tiger means so little to us, and meant so much to the weeping woman and her neighbours. Still harder is it for us to realise the primitive ignorance of the exact shape of the enemy. Even to the few backwoodsmen who have seen one dead, it soon becomes a vague recollection. The infinite terror of the beasts and the ignorance of their forms are not the less indubitable facts, because they are so far beyond our ordinary comprehension; and these are the facts that perhaps explain, so far as we[169]can explain, the grotesque shape of the Griffin. We must remember that our Zoos are a modern invention, almost like firearms; for two or three millenniums do not make antiquity in a world so old as ours. In the days when Griffins first took shape, whatever was the most hideous object would seem to be the best likeness of the horrid reality.
But the Zoos should let us know better now; and our writers and speakers should teach us better than to hate the beasts of prey. It is quite unnecessary. There is something coldly impartial in their war with us. They do not hate us, any more than the rocks do, or the icebergs. Red, “red in tooth and in claw,” they remain unconscious instruments of Fate, and serve to stiffen us. If they kill us, it is in self-defence or for food. There is no wanton cruelty; but there is no mercy. There are surprises, but no treachery. Even the French do not feel themselves betrayed, when it is the wolves that win. There is no sentimental humbug about this war; but also, no excuse for ferocity.
I never visit a Zoo and see the poor prisoners behind the bars without hearing, with the mind’s ears, a greeting, an appeal for pity, as if the poor big cats were really saying what they can only symbol in silence.
“Look at and pity us! You will not have such[170]cats to look at long. Lions and tigers, leopards and jaguars, the species now all perishing salute ye, O men!
“We are neither grotesque nor hideous, neither wicked nor cowardly, neither cruel nor treacherous. We are merely cats. We had to live in the only way for which we were adapted.
“The war between you and us is nearly over now. It has lasted long, but the end is at hand. The world is lost to us big cats, and we are passing away, on the wings of thewind....
“Woe, woe to theconquered!!!...
“Ye may lay aside your fears! Do lay aside your fears, for fear is cruel. Ye have no need to fear us any more. We are your prisoners of war, and spared to make a humanholiday....
“We killed or left alone, and cannot guess why ye do otherwise; but we cannot understand ye atall....
“We look around into daylight that is dimmer than darkness, and see not why we are here. We submit, because we must; and we are dying, dying, dying! All your devices but prolong our deaths! For life needs liberty. There is no life in prison for cats, or formen....
“The species all about to die salute ye!
“Have pity on us, O men!!!”