Tiger StoriesThe Bearer’s FateMr. Gupta, a Bengali gentleman, was a skilled engineer. The Government thought highly of him and whenever any work of special difficulty had to be undertaken, always chose him.At one time he was stationed at Hazaribagh. This district is even now infested with tigers, and in those far-off days these lords of the jungle roamed far and wide.There was then no railway. Travelling was done bypalkior by “push-push”—-a box-like carriage on four wheels, in which the traveller was forced to recline, and which relays of coolies pushed before them. The roads were often mere tracks through dense forest.It happened that Mr. Gupta was ordered to report on some important work a few miles away. His devoted wife carefully packed his luggage. They were a happy couple and each short parting was a pain in their lives. A trustworthy old servant always accompanied his master to camp. But to-day to his mistress’ surprise he begged not to go.When Gupta came in, his wife told him of the man’s unwillingness to accompany him.“Nonsense!” said Gupta, “he will have to go. What has happened to him?”“I think he is ill” the wife excusingly replied, her tender heart full of the man’s wistful face and strange manner. Still she agreed with her husband and told the bearer, he must go with his master.“Forgive me, I have high fever,Ma-ji,” he shivered, addressing her by the honoured name of mother, as is the custom of Indian servants in an Indian household.She turned again to her husband who said: “I know what is in the poor old fellow’s mind. He has an idea he will be killed by a tiger. However, tell him there is no danger. I am taking a large number of bearers and he can keep near thepalki.”Mrs. Gupta tried to cheer the servant with this information but he wailed: “Ma-ji, I am afraid. Surely a tiger will kill me to-night.”“Do not fear,” consoled the kind lady. “Your master will take good care of you.” “Go you must,” she continued in a firm tone. “There is no one except you who knows his ways and can see to his comfort. Now get ready quickly.”“Oh,Ma-ji,” he sobbed like a child, “I obey, but my heart is heavy.”Mr. Gupta had to travel through the night. After an early dinner he started, attended by manypalki-bearers and the old servant. The moon rose bright and glorious and bathed the picturesque country in soft radiance. The silence of the forest was broken only by the rhythmic cries of the bearers and thepat-patof their feet. The first stream was reached and the bearers asked for a halt. Consent granted, they went into the stream to drink of the deeper water. The old servant crouched by thepalki.“Thirstest not?” kindly asked his master.“Babu-ji, I feel nervous. I will stay near you.”Gupta wondered what might have unstrung the man, and felt sorry for him. “Come and sit close to me,” he said.The night was cold and the old bearer, huddled in his blanket, sat on the edge of thepalkidoor.Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a rapid crash through the dry grass near thepalki, and with a thrilling roar a tiger leapt at the man and dragged him away. Thepalkishook,and the bearer’s piteous cry “Babu-ji, Babu-ji,I told you” filled the forest, and echoed and echoed again as the tiger bore him away. Then all became still.Gupta realised what had happened. He lay back sick with horror, and felt as if he were the guilty one. For many a day the old man’s dying wail rang in his ears.Through the RoofThey were laying the railway through the Hazaribagh district, and in a low-roofed bungalow at Giridih lived the Engineer in charge of the work. He was a young Englishman and his only recreation in this dreary place was riding and shooting.The coolies lived in frail little mat houses in the same enclosure as his bungalow. One morning they came to him in a body to tell him that during the night a tiger had carried off one of their cows. The next morning another cow was missing, and on the third his servants awakened him with the news that his Arab pony was gone.He loved the little animal. Many a mile had he scoured on its back. “Stripes” must be punished for this. He would sit up the coming night and watch.Babus, servants and coolies loudly approved. What was life worth with such nightly happenings? and the lord of the jungle would surely come again. Had he not discovered a well-filled larder?Work over, the young man loaded his gun, andafter dinner took up his position and awaited the enemy. A reliable servant sat up with him.The bungalow was raised on piles a few feet from the ground. It had brick walls but a thatched roof which sloped very low down on all sides. The wooden windows were closed. Our friend sat at one of them with the Venetians slightly stretched. The bungalow was dark and still.At last a strange odour filled the air and then the heavy breathing of the tiger was audible. It came and stood just outside the window. The young fellow noiselessly pointed his gun through the Venetians and fired. An angry growl told that the tiger was wounded. Then it charged forward with a furious roar. The Englishman fired again and this time thought he had finished it. But the animal charged again with increased rage. After several attempts at the window it leapt for the roof and succeeded in clutching the eaves and scrambled up. The terrified servant cried: “Saheb, come into another room”.“Don’t be a fool!” shouted his master, “the tiger can’t come through the roof.”In their huts the poor coolies heard the shots and the terrible roars and growls and dared not cometo their master’s assistance. The tiger tore and scratched the thatch with all his might and soon made a hole. “Look! Saheb!” screamed the servant, “he comes through”.“I have a loaded gun in my hand”, the Saheb replied.The hole speedily grew larger as the great cat clawed and growled. The servant could stand it no longer. He bolted into the next room, shutting the door between. There he shivered and shook till morning, when he fled to the railway station a couple of miles away and told the Sahibs there his tale. They got guns and horses and rode over. They peered through the shutters and saw the tiger in the room. It soon scented them and charged with a mighty roar. They retreated without dignity to a safe distance where all stopped. One said, “I say! we must see what has happened to the poor chap”. Another: “So many of us and loaded guns! We must do something”. A third: “let’s get back and kill the beast”.They went back and fired shot after shot through the shutters till the animal was killed. Then they broke into the room and found their luckless comrade dead on the floor, his loaded gunstill in his hand. The tiger must have killed him with a slap of its mighty paw, and sat on his body all night, but clearly the animal was not a man-eater.Earning the RewardA man-eating tiger was roaming through Hazaribagh station. It had killed many villagers and had become so daring that it entered the market-place in broad day-light.A poor old tailor on his way home one evening was seized by the blood-thirsty animal, and his screams for help filled the little town. The morning light showed traces of the struggle between man and beast, and where the latter had been dragged from the main road.The villagers didpujathat night that all might be saved from a like fate. A few days after, a ploughman and a little boy stood talking about the tiger. “How do you know that he won’t catch you?” asked the boy.The ploughman answered confidently: “I have donepuja”. Barely had the words passed his lips than the tiger leapt upon him. The boy was startled, but not realising his own danger not only did he not run but also caught up a stick and tried to save his friend. In spite of his hitting it the animal began to devour the unfortunate man,snarling threateningly the while. Then the boy threw away the stick and fled to the village. The news roused the villagers and they determined to try to rid themselves of their foe. Armed with spears, sticks and heavy bamboos they followed the boy to the scene of the tragedy. But the tiger was gone.The Government had offered a handsome reward to any one who would succeed in killing this tiger and now a poor shop-keeper determined to win it. He knew nothing of shooting but worked up the ambition of a friend who could shoot and had a couple of guns. Together they essayed the difficult job. Difficult it was. The tiger seldom returned to his kill, nor stopped at a kill any length of time, and was known to have killed three or four victims in one day.However they hoped for success. The villagers had been very careful of late and the tiger had consequently been obliged to go hungry. It was just possible he might return to the kill. So they got permission for a mangled body to be left there, and built amachannear it. At sunset they took up their places and watched.At first the pair felt cheerful. A brilliantmoon illuminated the whole country making everything as clear as day. But no tiger came. And later, as the hours dragged on, their cramped position, the nearness of a dead body, the silence and mystery of the night, all got on their nerves, and they wished they had not attempted such a task. But to leave now would be dangerous. So they did their best to encourage each other and waited on.In the small hours of the night they distinctly heard the tiger coming and saw a huge black shadow moving stealthily towards their tree. The animal looked enormous in the uncertain light and each thought themachantoo low and wished himself in his house in the village. Neither dared to speak or move.Not far from themachanwas a hillock. The tiger, after stalking round the tree, went to the corpse, smelled it, and then crossing to the hillock climbed up and sat himself there. The men felt sure he could now see them.The tiger began to sniff as if he scented them. Then it yawned and snarled. The men sat fascinated. Presently the great head turned towards them. The shopman pulled the trigger of the gunhe held. There was a deafening roar and the tiger disappeared from the hillock. Then all became still. They knew by the roar of pain that he was hit. Tigers are clever and often feign death when wounded. They dared not descend. They were not sure that he was killed. At any moment he might attack their tree. Comrades in enterprise and fear, they sat gripping each other in the darkness, for the moon had now set.The villagers had heard the shot and at day-break came to the spot. They found the tiger lying dead at the foot of the hillock. The heroes could barely descend from themachan, so stiff and aching were their bones. Together they received the plaudits of the village and shared the Government reward which to them was quite a small fortune.A Burmese MonsterSome years ago Government sent an engineer and party to explore and prospect in the forests of Burma. None returned. Their disappearance was a mystery.The authorities decided to send another party to ascertain the fate of the first and continue the work. To induce volunteers, a handsome salary was offered; and at length an Englishman came forward. He asked for twice the number of native attendants that the first man had had. Government granted him his request and provided him with every facility procurable and he started.He followed the course taken by his predecessor up a large river. He travelled in a big boat and his men in smaller ones. Here and there they came upon traces of the former party. They pushed on. Suddenly all indications of the missing ones ceased. He felt he had better stop and investigate. Tents were landed and pitched and the men began to prepare their evening meal.As he sat in his tent reading, he heard loud shouts and some of his coolies rushed to him. Theysaid that as they were cooking they saw a great black thing hanging from a tree above them. When they made a noise it disappeared. It was long and thick and black. The coolies were frightened out of their wits and refused to remain in that place. Argument was of no use; so the tents were taken down and the party moved on.Another spot was selected and here they stayed peacefully for some days. Suddenly a man was missing. Then another and another! Each disappeared when alone. The coolies were frightened and uneasy. But this time the Sahib managed to control them. He himself was anxious and puzzled.Next a coolie who had gone to the river to scour vessels after a meal disappeared. The plates andlotaswere scattered about just as if he had been suddenly seized. The Englishman thought that a crocodile must have taken him off.Soon after this incident the engineer was fishing in the river opposite to the camp, and he noticed two coolies coming to the river. They sat down at theghatand began to scour their vessels. The murmur of their voices reached him.Presently the boatman clutched his arm andpointed to the bank. He looked. One of the coolies was chasing a huge hairy monster. The other could not be seen.The engineer soon crossed the river and joined the coolie, still in the chase after the strange creature. As usual, the Saheb carried a loaded revolver and as he ran he fired several shots at the animal. They had no effect on it. The beast ran on with heavy lumbering strides, covering the ground with great rapidity and only once glancing back over its shoulders with a horrible grin. He could not overtake it and it disappeared into the thick jungle. Its hair was so long that it completely covered the man it carried in its powerful arms. It was some kind of an orang-outang.The mystery was now cleared up. The engineer returned. His task was accomplished. Later he wrote an account of this adventure and concluded with these words:—“Now when I see a great hairy spider I tremble! and the remembrance of that monstrous black form returns to me, and the hideous grin that thrilled me. Never can I forget it.”The Palki and the TigerIn a lonely village in the Hazaribagh district the peaceful dwellers were one evening disturbed by shrill cries of distress. When they gathered round the house from whence the cries came, they discovered that a ghastly murder had been committed. The headman of the village immediately despatched two messengers for the police. These men started in the dawn and reached the Police outpost just before sunset.The Inspector-in-charge was a Bengalee, named Bose, who was a very intelligent officer and keen on his work. As soon as he received information of the murder, he ordered one of his staff to arrange for apush-push(carriage which is partly drawn and partly pushed by men) and a set of bearers. He quickly put together a few requisites for the journey, and was soon ready. The night was not far advanced when the orderly returned with apush-pushand eight bearers, and Bose started off, attended by his cook and body-servant.The road lay through a forest. At times the path was so narrow and rocky that the men couldmake little progress, and at last they declared that the road was impassable for a wheeled conveyance, and that it was necessary for the Inspector to change into apalki. One of them said that about two miles off the road there was a village, and that in the village there lived a rich Hindustani merchant who might lend apalki. Bose was pleased at the suggestion and told thepush-pushbearers to take him to the village. They needed no second bidding, and the Inspector was soon being trundled across the paddy fields that lay between the village and the road. Arrived there, he hastened to the merchant’s house and asked to see him.A handsome up-countryman came out and when, he saw that his visitor was a gentleman he courteously asked him to enter and be seated. The Inspector soon explained his necessity for apalki, and the rich man placed his at the disposal of the police officer. “ButJenab(Sir),” he said, “tigers are bad in this forest and you have to pass through a part known to be a favourite haunt of theirs. Have you any fire-arms?”“Only my revolver,” said Bose “but I must push on and take my chance.” And as thepalkinow stood ready and the bearers declared themselvesrefreshed, he thanked his host for his ready assistance, bade him farewell and started once again.The bearers were full of spirits after their rest at the merchant’s house and for a mile or two travelled at a rapid pace; but the narrow winding road impeded their progress, and as the night advanced the eerie sounds of the forest must have got on their nerves. At the commencement of the journey they had beguiled the march with stories of tigers and bears met in the forest, but after some hours of travel they became silent; and beyond the usual directions of the forward men concerning the road and occasionally a shrill cry to scare away wild animals, they made no remarks to each other.Within thepalki, Bose lay fitfully dozing. The night was oppressive and his thoughts were on the murder and his chances of a successful capture of the wrong-doer. The road had become wider and level and the men were going along at a good pace, when suddenly they dropped thepalkito the ground and fled in all directions. Bose shouted: “What is up? Why have you run away?” No answer greeted his ears but a strange odour penetrated his nostrils and he knew there was a tiger in the jungle. He quickly pulled the doors of thepalkijammingthem as securely as he could with the ends of hisrazai(quilt). Then he tore the strong border off hisdhoti(loin cloth) and commenced to bind the handles of the doors together. He had just finished firmly lashing together the handles on one side when he heard an ominous growling. With frantic haste he bound the handles of the opposite doors together, praying fervently that he might escape the jaws of the tiger.The animal continued growling. Evidently the dark bulk of thepalkifrightened him. Bose sat inside, huddled in a heap and breathless. The tiger, re-assured by the stillness of the object before him, ceased growling; and presently, the soft thud of his feet and his sniffing round thepalkitold the trembling man within that ’Stripes’ was making an investigation.Now a mighty roar shook the jungles and Bose realised that the tiger had leapt upon the roof of thepalkiand was scratching furiously at it. Bose clutched the handles of the doors and held on to them with the grip of despair. The tiger scratched and growled and finally bounded off the top and began a vigorous assault upon the side. Thepalkitoppled over on to its other side. Poor Bose congratulatedhimself that now one of the doors rested upon Mother Earth and he could give his whole energy to defending the other. He gripped the handles with renewed determination and waited.The tiger had sustained a shock at seeing the unknown monster he was tackling roll over, and for a time satisfied himself by growling savagely. But as the monster lay still “Stripes” tried the experiment of a sharp blow with his paw. Thepalkirested on uneven ground and the blow made it rock. The tiger waited awhile; and when the rocking had subsided administered another stroke. Thepalkirocked again. The situation now developed into a game between the huge cat and thepalki. When he slapped thepalkirocked; and when thepalkiceased vibrating the tiger slapped again. Inside thepalki, the Inspector held on to the handles of the door and prayed for deliverance.At last the tiger, wearied of the game and purring loudly, walked away. Bose breathed more freely but knew not if the danger was past. There he lay gripping the handles of the door and wishing for daylight. At last the dawn broke and with the first rays of light courage returned to the bearers and servants, who were hiding in the branches ofthe surrounding trees. They called to each other, expressing anxiety as to their master’s fate. Finally, as the daylight grew stronger they encouraged each other to descend and approach thepalki.As they examined it with wonder some very cutting remarks from within assured them of their master’s existence, and with many apologies for the abrupt way in which they had abandoned him they righted thepalkiand assisted him out.The journey was soon resumed and Bose had the satisfaction of arresting the murderer in spite of his ill-timed adventure and forced delay.An Assam AdventureSome years ago, an English baron came out to India to enjoy some tiger shooting. He received invitations to many Native States, and was having a right royal time. In the course of his wanderings he came to Assam. In those days, the jungles of Assam swarmed with tigers but a “man-eater” was very rarely known there.Sir M. was in a small camp with just two or three other guns, and all were hopeful of “bagging” a tiger, for the roaring of the lords of the jungle could be heard almost every night. The tents had been pitched on the bank of a river and all round the camp and on the opposite bank was heavy jungle. Wild animals abounded in these jungles and the camp servants did not appreciate the site. No sooner had the Sahebs finished their dinner than the servants disappeared into their tents, and securing themselves within, as strongly as they could, devoutly hoped that the morning light would find them still alive and unharmed.One evening Sir M. retired to his own tent immediately after dinner. He was very tired butas he was not sleepy, he made himself comfortable and settled down on a long-sleeved chair with a book. His tent was a small one, with a camp cot, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table stood a reading lamp. M. was soon absorbed in his book and did not notice how the hours fled. The camp became quiet and still. It was a dark close night and the door of his tent stood open, for he was a lover of air. He had read on for some time when his attention was drawn to a movement of his tent wall. It seemed to him as if some one or something was rubbing along the side. He put down his book and got on to his feet to see what it could be. As he was about to step forward the head of a tiger loomed in the doorway, the eyes gleaming brightly. Sir M. stood motionless with surprise and “Stripes” stepped into the tent. He was a fine specimen of a Royal Bengal tiger, and M. forgot everything in his admiration of the noble animal.The table with the lamp upon it stood between Sir M. and the tiger, and each stood on either side of it gazing at each other. As the silent seconds passed, Sir M. realized that he was in danger and bethought him of his rifle which was almost within reach of his hand; but he dared not move and socontinued gazing steadfastly at his visitor. The tiger too stood, surveying his vis-a-vis and then began to move round the table. The lamp either attracted or annoyed him and he raised his paw to the table. The weight of the huge paw tilted the table, the lamp toppled and fell with a crash. The terrified tiger gave a mighty roar, turned tail and fled.The camp was aroused. Everyone shouted and rushed out into the night, armed with some weapon or other. Sir M. related to his brother guns what had happened and they all enjoyed a good laugh and rather envied him for the fine sight he had of such a superb specimen of the kings of the jungle.A Thrilling StoryOne evening, in Assam, a young Englishman was driving along a lonely jungle road. He wished to visit a neighbouring Saheb; and though his servants had warned him that tigers had been frequently seen on that particular road, he had laughed at their fears and told them that the only tiger to be feared was a “man-eater”, and that there were no “man-eating” tigers about that district. As usual in the mofussil of India, he was going out to dine and sleep, and his bearer had put up his clothes and his suit case was stowed into the dog-cart.The road was a good one and considerably wide, for it was the main thoroughfare in the district and along it tea, jute and all other agricultural products were transported to the river for export to other districts of India and also to Europe. Nevertheless it was bordered on either side by dense jungle, and there were few villages in its vicinity. After sunset it was a road little frequented by villagers and it had the reputation of being tiger-haunted.There was no moon and, as B. had not started much before sunset, darkness soon overtook him on the road. As he had nosycewith him he got down to light the trap-lamps and jumped in and drove on again very cheerily. He was not far from where he must turn off the main road to the narrow one leading to his friend’s estate, when the pony suddenly took fright at something and bolted. At first B. tried to pull the animal up; but its erect ears and wild snorting showed him that there was cause for alarm. He looked over his shoulder and in the dim starlight discerned the bulk of some animal in pursuit of them. An eerie feeling came over him and he wondered what was going to happen. He sat tight in his seat and let the pony race on. The chase continued and the pony began to show signs of collapse. It was evidently being overcome by fear and, in spite of all B.’s urging, could not keep up the pace, and the pursuing animal gained upon them. B. had just determined to leap from the cart when the pony tripped and fell and B. was shot out of the cart. He fell into the long grass on the side of the road, and had barely collected himself when a dark form sprang upon the pony.The poor animal neighed with fear but kickedand fought its foe. B. rolled down the side of the road and began to crawl away through the jungle as fast as he could. Long grass and thorny brambles grew on either side of the road and as it was the dry season every movement of his made a crackling and rustling; and often he fancied he heard an animal in pursuit of him, or he would imagine he was about to meet one coming through the jungle towards him. He pressed on as fast as he could, sometimes crawling and sometimes walking, and at last he saw the glimmer of lights and came to some huts. He shouted to the inmates who came to his assistance.When they discovered a Saheb in such a plight they were full of concern, helped him to their huts, gave him hot milk to drink and washed his wounds. His clothes were torn and his hands and knees bleeding from his flight through the thorny jungle. The sympathising villagers emptied a hut for him to rest in, and when morning came escorted him to the scene of his mishap.The mangled remains of his poor pony told him that the wild animal had been a very famished tiger. B. returned to his own bungalow a wiser man, and told his servants that, had he taken theiradvice, he would not have suffered such an adventure or the loss of his pony. He rewarded the villagers for their kindness and hospitality and for a long time his escape was the talk of the district.A Cachar TigerIn the province of Assam lies a fertile and picturesque valley called Cachar. Shut in on north, south and east by lofty hills, this valley remained hidden for centuries and was never conquered by any of the Mahommedan rulers of India.Here a race of aboriginal kings held sway, and it was the East India Company who first became masters of this hilly corner of Bengal. In 1830, the last of the old Cachari kings died without heir, and “Company Bahadoor” took possession of the little kingdom.In 1855, the discovery of the tea-plant, growing wild in the jungles, opened out a new industry, and soon the low-lying hills, knolls and undulating plains of the little valley became gradually clear of jungle, and covered instead with row after row of carefully-kept and trim tea bushes. To-day acres upon acres of tea are grown in Cachar; and the inland steamers, which ply all through the rainy season up and down the wide-rolling stream of theriver Barak, bring down for export millions of pounds of tea for the “cheering cup”.Cachar is rich in forests, and tigers and other wild animals are there in plenty. During the monsoon the jungle animals retreat to the higher levels of the forest-clad hills. But when the rains abate they begin to gradually descend; and when the great “hoars” or fenlands dry up at the approach of the cold season, numerous tigers take up their winter haunts in the patches of jungle, which grow here and there in the marsh lands, and in the forests which often surround or separate the tea gardens.It was cold-weather time about forty years ago, and four planters sat talking after dinner in the Manager’s bungalow on a tea garden in Cachar. We will call them M., B., C. and H.The bungalow, like many bungalows in tea districts, stood on a high hill, the steep sides of which had been terraced and planted with tea. On adjacent but lower hills stood the factory and coolie lines. Everything was quiet and lay wrapped in a heavy fog.In the verandah near the steps sat the bungalowchowkidar(watchman). The charity of the Tea Company had provided him and his fellow-coolieswith blankets. And he wore his in the usualpachim(North-West Provinces) style: one end of the blanket is pleated and tied closely with a piece of string, the short part above the cord forming a tuft. The wearer pulls the pleated end of the blanket over his head, the tuft resting on his crown. The sides of the blanket are drawn round the body, and thus the blanket is made to form both a hood and a cloak, in which the wearer hugs himself against the inclemency of the weather.Thechowkidarsat on his mat huddled up in his blanket, droning one of the time-honouredbhajans(hymns) of India.Presently he disappeared and, next, piercing yells rent the mist-laden atmosphere. The four Sahebs were in the verandah in a trice, and soon discovered thechowkidarreturning to the verandah, visibly shaken and without his blanket.“What is the matter, and who shouted?” asked the Manager.“Saheb,” thechowkidarreplied in a quavering voice “a tiger sprang on me and caught the knot of my blanket.”“Here!” interrupted the four Englishmen incredulously.“Yes,Huzoor(Your Honour), as I sat here against this post the tiger came, seized the knot of my blanket and began to pull. Like lightning I made my plan. I grasped with a strong tight hold the sides of the blanket and holding myself together like a ball I let Lord Tiger pull. He dragged me to the edge of thetila(hill). There I suddenly let go the blanket and shouted with all my might. The tiger fell over, down the hill, and is gone.”Sure enough, there were the foot-marks of the tiger, the mark of the drag, and the signs of where “Stripes” had slipped over and down the terrace.The tiger had been harrying the coolies for some time and a rumour had got about that he was a man-eater. It was pretty certain that he would come again the next night; so the planters determined to sit up and shoot him.On the following night after dinner M. B. C. and H. took their positions on the verandah. Each had his loaded gun and all waited patiently for the tiger. Time passed. It was weary work and they dozed.M.’s dog had wandered off to the kitchen as usual after dinner. After some time it returned hurriedly and ran up the steps of the verandah,barking in a frightened manner. The dog’s barking woke the four men. B. sat first near the steps and H. not far from him in a dining-room chair.The dog ran into the dining-room and hid himself under the table and everything again became quiet, and the men waited. Suddenly a hoarse cry paralysed three of them. “He’s on me. Shoot.”The tiger had come up on to the verandah and springing at B. caught him by the arm. Then, releasing the arm, he made a spring at his victim’s throat. B. was instantly on his feet and, as the tiger essayed his throat, he rammed his clenched fist into the animal’s mouth. The tiger shook the man’s fist out of its mouth and made another attempt to reach his throat. B. repeated his manoeuvre. This happened three or four times.In the meantime the other three men dared not shoot for fear of missing the ferocious cat and killing their comrade. H. had the presence of mind to swiftly fix his bayonet, and, rushing towards the tiger, he thrust it in the animal’s side, firing as he did so. The tiger fell backwards off the verandah mortally wounded, but to the amazementof the Sahebs struggled tip and made another attempt to get at B. He was however too badly wounded and fell back dead.B.’s hand and arm were terribly mauled, and after medical treatment he had to go home on long leave.A Maharajah’s AdventuresA Maharajah of Bengal who became a noted sportsman shot his first tiger when he was quite a small boy. When about twelve years of age he went out on a shoot one cold weather on his estate. He was accompanied by some of his relatives, and they encamped in one of the forest bungalows. This bungalow was just an ordinary Assam house built on achangor raised platform. It consisted of a large centre room with a bedroom on either side and a deep verandah in the front, where the servants slept at night. Under large trees, some little distance away, the elephants were chained, and not far off were stables for the horses.The Maharajah shared his room with a friend, a lad about two years older than himself. One night between ten and eleven o’clock, when all were in bed and asleep after a tiring day and an early dinner, the near roaring of a tiger awakened the camp. In a twinkling the servants had transferred themselves and their bedding from the verandah into the centre room and securely bolted the door. Roar after roar sounded through the night, but theyoung Maharajah slept the healthful and deep sleep of tired childhood and the mighty voice of the lord of the jungle did not disturb him. His friend was awakened by the majestic sound and lay trembling with fear; envying his blissfully unconscious companion, until the nearness of the tiger broke down his self-control and, vigorously shaking his bed-fellow, he shouted in his ear: “Tiger, tiger!”The young Maharajah awoke, yawned, stretched and listened. The roaring had ceased but under the bungalow they could hear the purring of a tiger as it rubbed itself against a post. The younger and fearless boy laughed with glee and assured his friend that there was no danger of the tiger getting into the bungalow, and that on the morrow they would be easily able to track and shoot it. Soon the sounds of purring and rubbing gave place to others, and the occupants of the bungalow realised that more than one tiger played beneath them. Next day in the jungle near the forest bungalow the party shot a couple of tigers, a tigress and her cubs.In later years the Maharajah became famous for his shoots and many and varied were his adventuresand experiences. One year he was in camp with a large party and they were out one afternoon after buffaloes. A fine bull was driven out of a patch of thick jungle and faced the guns with defiance in his eyes. He was a grand target and the Maharajah’s finger ached to pull his trigger, but courtesy forbade him and he generously, as always, left the fine prize for his guests. But, one after another, each missed his shot and the noble bull charged past into thicker jungle. As the line of guns attempted to follow, one of them spied a leopard up on a tree looking thoroughly scared. This animal had evidently been disturbed by the commotion in the forest and had been so terrified that it had climbed into a tree for shelter; and there, on a branch, poor “Spots” fell an easy prey to the sportsmen.One of the strangest adventures that the Maharajah had was when, returning to camp one evening, he was informed that one of his largest and best elephants, “Kennedy”, had got stuck in quicksand. In many parts of Assam there are quicksands and quagmires. This particular one chanced to be in anala(stream). The elephant had refused to cross the partially dried-up stream.Instinct had warned him through the tip of his trunk that danger lurked there, but hismahout(driver), anxious to get into camp after a hard day and knowing that across this stream was a short cut, had forced him. They had advanced but a yard or two when the huge animal began to sink, and the more he struggled and strove to extricate himself the deeper he sank. The Maharajah hastened to the spot as soon as he heard of the catastrophe, for “Kennedy” was a fine and valuable elephant and a steady one forshikar(shooting). At the sound of his master’s voice poor “Kennedy” looked towards the bank, and the Maharajah saw that great tears of anguish were rolling down the poor beast’s face as he bellowed in an agony of fear. The Maharajah directed the men who had gathered around the scene to fell some saplings, which were conveyed to thenalaby some smaller elephant and pushed into the quagmire towards “Kennedy”. The poor entrapped animal seemed to understand that efforts were being made to rescue him, and he obeyed his driver’s now soothing voice and held himself still. At last, the combined labours of men and brother-elephants provided a safe footing of submerged saplings and branches; and “Kennedy” pulled himself out of thetreacherous sand and was escorted back to the camp with great rejoicings.Not long after this “Kennedy” distinguished himself in another way, but this time evoked the displeasure and not the pity of his good master. An engineer, named Ashton, had charge of thefeilkhana(elephant stables) and had once severely punished “Kennedy”. After the manner of his kind, the elephant bore the memory of the outrage in his heart and waited the opportunity to be revenged. One morning the camp was astir for a shoot. The guests stood ready outside their tents and the elephants were waiting to carry them into the forest. Suddenly “Kennedy” charged at Ashton, who stood a little apart from the group, and flinging him to the ground began to roll him under his feet. The Maharajah, with wonderful presence of mind, immediately ordered “Debraj”, a larger and more powerful elephant than “Kennedy” and his rival in thefeilkhana, to the rescue. “Debraj’s”mahoutordered him to charge at “Kennedy”, and, urged forward with voice and prong; “Debraj” did so with a good will. When “Kennedy” saw his ancient enemy charging at him, he forgot his grudge against Ashton, and, considering that “he whofights and runs away lives to fight another day”, he bolted, with his trunk in the air. Ashton was picked up from the dust very much shaken by his rolling and fright but, to the astonishment of every one, in no way injured.During one of his shooting expeditions, the Maharajah and his companions decided one night that they would go out on foot at the very break of dawn and see the animal world in the jungle; and they were well rewarded for their adventurous spirit. In a glade of the forest they had a magnificent sight of a large herd of bison peacefully grazing in the dewy grass. They could hear tigers and bears passing back through the jungles to their dens in the deeper forest, and as the men stood there admiring the grand heads of the bison a monstrous tiger passed along quite close to one of the party, the Maharajah’s brother-in-law. On the bank of a river they came upon a nest of young pythons. The guests thought it was a curious mound; but the Maharajah recognised the reared heads of the young snakes and told his friends what the heap was. When they came closer, they could see that the long slimy bodies were all twisted together; and with an uncanny feeling, the sportsmen watched theseserpents uncoil themselves from each other and glide away and disappear through the grass.Once, after a long and fruitless day in the jungles, the Maharajah decided he would try his luck stalking some deer that he spied on the opposite side of a narrow strip of jungle. He accordingly left his elephant and began to creep through the long dry bramble-choked grass with his rifle in his hand. As he pushed his way through the thick jungle he fancied he heard an animal breathing and then something crackled. Intent on the deer before him, he concluded that he had broken a twig or a branch with the end of his rifle and pushed on. As he emerged from the thicket on the opposite side from where he had entered, he came face to face with a group of shepherds. They stared at him in amazement and then, recognising him as their Maharajah, fell at his feet in rapturous joy. Accustomed as he was to demonstrations from his people, their abandon struck him as something unusual, and he was about to question them when they exclamed: “Hoozoor, Dharmabatar, (Your Honor, Royal Master,) how did you come in safety through that jungle?” He smiled at their wonderment and was about to chide them gently when theycontinued: “An immense tiger has just slain one of our cows and dragged it into that very jungle from which Your Honor has emerged.” The Maharajah now understood that the sound he had heard as he pushed his way through the jungle was the tiger enjoying a feed of his kill, and he felt thankful that he had not stumbled directly upon it. Like the keen sportsman he was, he signalled his elephant and, mounting it, secured the feasting tiger with an easy shot.One cold season, the Viceroy was enjoying a shoot on the Maharajah’s estates. One evening, as they were dressing for dinner, there came through the stillness of the restful air the “twitter” of a tiger. Do many of my readers know what the “twitter” of a tiger is? It is a sound the Monarch of the Jungle makes and it is just like the twitter of a bird;—in fact, some declare itisonly the twitter of a bird. Well, on this particular evening, the tiger must have been passing quite close to the camp, for his “twitter” was clear and unmistakeable. The Maharajah, with his usual courtesy, immediately bethought himself of his guests, and invited Their Excellencies to come out into the open and listen to the novel sound. They did, and verypleased and proud they were when they heard the tiger’s “twitter” clearly and distinctly through the gathering shade and stillness of the darkening night.The shooting camps were invariably pitched on the bank of a river or stream. One evening, two of the servants crossed the shallow stream in front of the camp to enjoy some fishing. They found a suitable place behind a mound and here they sat quietly watching their lines. The afternoon hours passed swiftly and the sun was nearing the horizon when their attention was simultaneously drawn to a sound above their heads. Looking up, to their horror, they saw an immense tiger just above them. One of them shivered with terror and, clutching his companion, said in a hoarse whisper: “Our hour has come.” The other whispered back: “Keep perfectly still and quiet.” Breathless, the two watched the huge tiger descend the bank and pass majestically to the edge of the water where he stopped to quench his thirst. It seemed to the two trembling men that it took the Lord of the Jungle fully half an hour to drink his fill. Then, as slowly and impressively, the tiger turned from the stream and ascended the bank. When he reached the tophe stood there, gazing before him either as if admiring the scenery or contemplating a meal off one of the men. The pair scarcely dared to breathe and wild schemes of taking to their heels to gain the centre of the stream and swim down the river shot through their brains. At last the tiger slowly turned away from the river and disappeared into the forest. Then, after some time, the frightened servants hurried across the stream back to camp, and told the Maharajah of their terrible experience. The footprints of the animal corroborated their story and their asseveration that they had seen a very very big tiger.During one of the shoots, theshikaris(native sportsmen) brought news that a rhino had been seen in a certain jungle. The guests were much excited and a beat was organised for the next day. The morning dawned and all set out and were soon posted to their various positions. The front “stop” guns were on the bank of a river. The Maharajah was in the beating line. When about half way through the piece of jungle he noticed that one of his brother guns looked disappointed. He accordingly asked “What’s up?” The guest answered that he thought that a large animal had broken back. Howevernothing was discovered and as it was mid-day a halt for lunch was considered desirable. A spot was soon selected and the signal given and the lines broke up. Just as the foremost elephants were about to kneel to permit their riders to dismount, there arose from the “stop” elephants a cry of “Tiger”. In the jungle, quite close to one of the “stop” guns, a tiger was enjoying a feed of a wild pig; and as the elephant turned to join the others, he almost trod on the tiger. In a moment the line was re-organised, but the surprised tiger, finding itself surrounded by foes, turned tail and ran down the bank of the river. The stream was nearly dry and the bed was very shingly, and as the startled tiger picked its way gingerly across the pebbles and pools of water it looked like a stranded cat. It had not progressed very far when a well-directed shot laid it low; and with this unexpected prize the party sat down to lunch in excellent spirits. As rhino generally fight shy of elephants, they did not think there was much use continuing the beat after lunch. So they decided that they should make tracks for home and have general shooting. General shooting means that there is no beating line. A longstraight line of march is formed, and each gun elephant is in between the pad or beating elephants. The Maharajah was almost the last gun in the line. Nearly all were out of the jungle when his keen and practised eye noticed a small pad elephant jib at something as they passed through a piece of jungle. “Did your elephant refuse to come through?” he questioned themahoutof the small elephant. “Yes, Maharajah, he smelt something in the jungle,” the man replied. “Beat this piece of jungle”, the Maharajah quickly ordered the pad elephants with him. They beat it and drove forth a rhino which fell dead to the Maharajah’s gun. Before His Highness had time to take up his other rifle, a second galloped out of the jungle and charged straight at the Maharajah’s elephant. The elephant spun round to avoid the furious onslaught and in the meantime the Maharajah managed to raise his gun and, getting in his shot in spite of the gyrations of the elephant, laid out rhino No. 2 in grand style to the applause of his companions.Coming back to camp in the dusk one evening, the Maharajah, who had wonderful eyesight, thought he saw a tiger lying still in an open field.He raised his gun and whispered to hismahout. As they came nearer, the tiger—for tiger it was—raised itself to its feet and prepared to spring at the elephant. Too late! Snap went the Maharajah’s trigger and the royal beast lay dead.These are but a few of the shooting adventures of a sportsman-Maharajah who has gone on the long journey from life to the greater life beyond, but whose memory lives in the annals of Bengal as a keen and successful shot.
Tiger StoriesThe Bearer’s FateMr. Gupta, a Bengali gentleman, was a skilled engineer. The Government thought highly of him and whenever any work of special difficulty had to be undertaken, always chose him.At one time he was stationed at Hazaribagh. This district is even now infested with tigers, and in those far-off days these lords of the jungle roamed far and wide.There was then no railway. Travelling was done bypalkior by “push-push”—-a box-like carriage on four wheels, in which the traveller was forced to recline, and which relays of coolies pushed before them. The roads were often mere tracks through dense forest.It happened that Mr. Gupta was ordered to report on some important work a few miles away. His devoted wife carefully packed his luggage. They were a happy couple and each short parting was a pain in their lives. A trustworthy old servant always accompanied his master to camp. But to-day to his mistress’ surprise he begged not to go.When Gupta came in, his wife told him of the man’s unwillingness to accompany him.“Nonsense!” said Gupta, “he will have to go. What has happened to him?”“I think he is ill” the wife excusingly replied, her tender heart full of the man’s wistful face and strange manner. Still she agreed with her husband and told the bearer, he must go with his master.“Forgive me, I have high fever,Ma-ji,” he shivered, addressing her by the honoured name of mother, as is the custom of Indian servants in an Indian household.She turned again to her husband who said: “I know what is in the poor old fellow’s mind. He has an idea he will be killed by a tiger. However, tell him there is no danger. I am taking a large number of bearers and he can keep near thepalki.”Mrs. Gupta tried to cheer the servant with this information but he wailed: “Ma-ji, I am afraid. Surely a tiger will kill me to-night.”“Do not fear,” consoled the kind lady. “Your master will take good care of you.” “Go you must,” she continued in a firm tone. “There is no one except you who knows his ways and can see to his comfort. Now get ready quickly.”“Oh,Ma-ji,” he sobbed like a child, “I obey, but my heart is heavy.”Mr. Gupta had to travel through the night. After an early dinner he started, attended by manypalki-bearers and the old servant. The moon rose bright and glorious and bathed the picturesque country in soft radiance. The silence of the forest was broken only by the rhythmic cries of the bearers and thepat-patof their feet. The first stream was reached and the bearers asked for a halt. Consent granted, they went into the stream to drink of the deeper water. The old servant crouched by thepalki.“Thirstest not?” kindly asked his master.“Babu-ji, I feel nervous. I will stay near you.”Gupta wondered what might have unstrung the man, and felt sorry for him. “Come and sit close to me,” he said.The night was cold and the old bearer, huddled in his blanket, sat on the edge of thepalkidoor.Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a rapid crash through the dry grass near thepalki, and with a thrilling roar a tiger leapt at the man and dragged him away. Thepalkishook,and the bearer’s piteous cry “Babu-ji, Babu-ji,I told you” filled the forest, and echoed and echoed again as the tiger bore him away. Then all became still.Gupta realised what had happened. He lay back sick with horror, and felt as if he were the guilty one. For many a day the old man’s dying wail rang in his ears.Through the RoofThey were laying the railway through the Hazaribagh district, and in a low-roofed bungalow at Giridih lived the Engineer in charge of the work. He was a young Englishman and his only recreation in this dreary place was riding and shooting.The coolies lived in frail little mat houses in the same enclosure as his bungalow. One morning they came to him in a body to tell him that during the night a tiger had carried off one of their cows. The next morning another cow was missing, and on the third his servants awakened him with the news that his Arab pony was gone.He loved the little animal. Many a mile had he scoured on its back. “Stripes” must be punished for this. He would sit up the coming night and watch.Babus, servants and coolies loudly approved. What was life worth with such nightly happenings? and the lord of the jungle would surely come again. Had he not discovered a well-filled larder?Work over, the young man loaded his gun, andafter dinner took up his position and awaited the enemy. A reliable servant sat up with him.The bungalow was raised on piles a few feet from the ground. It had brick walls but a thatched roof which sloped very low down on all sides. The wooden windows were closed. Our friend sat at one of them with the Venetians slightly stretched. The bungalow was dark and still.At last a strange odour filled the air and then the heavy breathing of the tiger was audible. It came and stood just outside the window. The young fellow noiselessly pointed his gun through the Venetians and fired. An angry growl told that the tiger was wounded. Then it charged forward with a furious roar. The Englishman fired again and this time thought he had finished it. But the animal charged again with increased rage. After several attempts at the window it leapt for the roof and succeeded in clutching the eaves and scrambled up. The terrified servant cried: “Saheb, come into another room”.“Don’t be a fool!” shouted his master, “the tiger can’t come through the roof.”In their huts the poor coolies heard the shots and the terrible roars and growls and dared not cometo their master’s assistance. The tiger tore and scratched the thatch with all his might and soon made a hole. “Look! Saheb!” screamed the servant, “he comes through”.“I have a loaded gun in my hand”, the Saheb replied.The hole speedily grew larger as the great cat clawed and growled. The servant could stand it no longer. He bolted into the next room, shutting the door between. There he shivered and shook till morning, when he fled to the railway station a couple of miles away and told the Sahibs there his tale. They got guns and horses and rode over. They peered through the shutters and saw the tiger in the room. It soon scented them and charged with a mighty roar. They retreated without dignity to a safe distance where all stopped. One said, “I say! we must see what has happened to the poor chap”. Another: “So many of us and loaded guns! We must do something”. A third: “let’s get back and kill the beast”.They went back and fired shot after shot through the shutters till the animal was killed. Then they broke into the room and found their luckless comrade dead on the floor, his loaded gunstill in his hand. The tiger must have killed him with a slap of its mighty paw, and sat on his body all night, but clearly the animal was not a man-eater.Earning the RewardA man-eating tiger was roaming through Hazaribagh station. It had killed many villagers and had become so daring that it entered the market-place in broad day-light.A poor old tailor on his way home one evening was seized by the blood-thirsty animal, and his screams for help filled the little town. The morning light showed traces of the struggle between man and beast, and where the latter had been dragged from the main road.The villagers didpujathat night that all might be saved from a like fate. A few days after, a ploughman and a little boy stood talking about the tiger. “How do you know that he won’t catch you?” asked the boy.The ploughman answered confidently: “I have donepuja”. Barely had the words passed his lips than the tiger leapt upon him. The boy was startled, but not realising his own danger not only did he not run but also caught up a stick and tried to save his friend. In spite of his hitting it the animal began to devour the unfortunate man,snarling threateningly the while. Then the boy threw away the stick and fled to the village. The news roused the villagers and they determined to try to rid themselves of their foe. Armed with spears, sticks and heavy bamboos they followed the boy to the scene of the tragedy. But the tiger was gone.The Government had offered a handsome reward to any one who would succeed in killing this tiger and now a poor shop-keeper determined to win it. He knew nothing of shooting but worked up the ambition of a friend who could shoot and had a couple of guns. Together they essayed the difficult job. Difficult it was. The tiger seldom returned to his kill, nor stopped at a kill any length of time, and was known to have killed three or four victims in one day.However they hoped for success. The villagers had been very careful of late and the tiger had consequently been obliged to go hungry. It was just possible he might return to the kill. So they got permission for a mangled body to be left there, and built amachannear it. At sunset they took up their places and watched.At first the pair felt cheerful. A brilliantmoon illuminated the whole country making everything as clear as day. But no tiger came. And later, as the hours dragged on, their cramped position, the nearness of a dead body, the silence and mystery of the night, all got on their nerves, and they wished they had not attempted such a task. But to leave now would be dangerous. So they did their best to encourage each other and waited on.In the small hours of the night they distinctly heard the tiger coming and saw a huge black shadow moving stealthily towards their tree. The animal looked enormous in the uncertain light and each thought themachantoo low and wished himself in his house in the village. Neither dared to speak or move.Not far from themachanwas a hillock. The tiger, after stalking round the tree, went to the corpse, smelled it, and then crossing to the hillock climbed up and sat himself there. The men felt sure he could now see them.The tiger began to sniff as if he scented them. Then it yawned and snarled. The men sat fascinated. Presently the great head turned towards them. The shopman pulled the trigger of the gunhe held. There was a deafening roar and the tiger disappeared from the hillock. Then all became still. They knew by the roar of pain that he was hit. Tigers are clever and often feign death when wounded. They dared not descend. They were not sure that he was killed. At any moment he might attack their tree. Comrades in enterprise and fear, they sat gripping each other in the darkness, for the moon had now set.The villagers had heard the shot and at day-break came to the spot. They found the tiger lying dead at the foot of the hillock. The heroes could barely descend from themachan, so stiff and aching were their bones. Together they received the plaudits of the village and shared the Government reward which to them was quite a small fortune.A Burmese MonsterSome years ago Government sent an engineer and party to explore and prospect in the forests of Burma. None returned. Their disappearance was a mystery.The authorities decided to send another party to ascertain the fate of the first and continue the work. To induce volunteers, a handsome salary was offered; and at length an Englishman came forward. He asked for twice the number of native attendants that the first man had had. Government granted him his request and provided him with every facility procurable and he started.He followed the course taken by his predecessor up a large river. He travelled in a big boat and his men in smaller ones. Here and there they came upon traces of the former party. They pushed on. Suddenly all indications of the missing ones ceased. He felt he had better stop and investigate. Tents were landed and pitched and the men began to prepare their evening meal.As he sat in his tent reading, he heard loud shouts and some of his coolies rushed to him. Theysaid that as they were cooking they saw a great black thing hanging from a tree above them. When they made a noise it disappeared. It was long and thick and black. The coolies were frightened out of their wits and refused to remain in that place. Argument was of no use; so the tents were taken down and the party moved on.Another spot was selected and here they stayed peacefully for some days. Suddenly a man was missing. Then another and another! Each disappeared when alone. The coolies were frightened and uneasy. But this time the Sahib managed to control them. He himself was anxious and puzzled.Next a coolie who had gone to the river to scour vessels after a meal disappeared. The plates andlotaswere scattered about just as if he had been suddenly seized. The Englishman thought that a crocodile must have taken him off.Soon after this incident the engineer was fishing in the river opposite to the camp, and he noticed two coolies coming to the river. They sat down at theghatand began to scour their vessels. The murmur of their voices reached him.Presently the boatman clutched his arm andpointed to the bank. He looked. One of the coolies was chasing a huge hairy monster. The other could not be seen.The engineer soon crossed the river and joined the coolie, still in the chase after the strange creature. As usual, the Saheb carried a loaded revolver and as he ran he fired several shots at the animal. They had no effect on it. The beast ran on with heavy lumbering strides, covering the ground with great rapidity and only once glancing back over its shoulders with a horrible grin. He could not overtake it and it disappeared into the thick jungle. Its hair was so long that it completely covered the man it carried in its powerful arms. It was some kind of an orang-outang.The mystery was now cleared up. The engineer returned. His task was accomplished. Later he wrote an account of this adventure and concluded with these words:—“Now when I see a great hairy spider I tremble! and the remembrance of that monstrous black form returns to me, and the hideous grin that thrilled me. Never can I forget it.”The Palki and the TigerIn a lonely village in the Hazaribagh district the peaceful dwellers were one evening disturbed by shrill cries of distress. When they gathered round the house from whence the cries came, they discovered that a ghastly murder had been committed. The headman of the village immediately despatched two messengers for the police. These men started in the dawn and reached the Police outpost just before sunset.The Inspector-in-charge was a Bengalee, named Bose, who was a very intelligent officer and keen on his work. As soon as he received information of the murder, he ordered one of his staff to arrange for apush-push(carriage which is partly drawn and partly pushed by men) and a set of bearers. He quickly put together a few requisites for the journey, and was soon ready. The night was not far advanced when the orderly returned with apush-pushand eight bearers, and Bose started off, attended by his cook and body-servant.The road lay through a forest. At times the path was so narrow and rocky that the men couldmake little progress, and at last they declared that the road was impassable for a wheeled conveyance, and that it was necessary for the Inspector to change into apalki. One of them said that about two miles off the road there was a village, and that in the village there lived a rich Hindustani merchant who might lend apalki. Bose was pleased at the suggestion and told thepush-pushbearers to take him to the village. They needed no second bidding, and the Inspector was soon being trundled across the paddy fields that lay between the village and the road. Arrived there, he hastened to the merchant’s house and asked to see him.A handsome up-countryman came out and when, he saw that his visitor was a gentleman he courteously asked him to enter and be seated. The Inspector soon explained his necessity for apalki, and the rich man placed his at the disposal of the police officer. “ButJenab(Sir),” he said, “tigers are bad in this forest and you have to pass through a part known to be a favourite haunt of theirs. Have you any fire-arms?”“Only my revolver,” said Bose “but I must push on and take my chance.” And as thepalkinow stood ready and the bearers declared themselvesrefreshed, he thanked his host for his ready assistance, bade him farewell and started once again.The bearers were full of spirits after their rest at the merchant’s house and for a mile or two travelled at a rapid pace; but the narrow winding road impeded their progress, and as the night advanced the eerie sounds of the forest must have got on their nerves. At the commencement of the journey they had beguiled the march with stories of tigers and bears met in the forest, but after some hours of travel they became silent; and beyond the usual directions of the forward men concerning the road and occasionally a shrill cry to scare away wild animals, they made no remarks to each other.Within thepalki, Bose lay fitfully dozing. The night was oppressive and his thoughts were on the murder and his chances of a successful capture of the wrong-doer. The road had become wider and level and the men were going along at a good pace, when suddenly they dropped thepalkito the ground and fled in all directions. Bose shouted: “What is up? Why have you run away?” No answer greeted his ears but a strange odour penetrated his nostrils and he knew there was a tiger in the jungle. He quickly pulled the doors of thepalkijammingthem as securely as he could with the ends of hisrazai(quilt). Then he tore the strong border off hisdhoti(loin cloth) and commenced to bind the handles of the doors together. He had just finished firmly lashing together the handles on one side when he heard an ominous growling. With frantic haste he bound the handles of the opposite doors together, praying fervently that he might escape the jaws of the tiger.The animal continued growling. Evidently the dark bulk of thepalkifrightened him. Bose sat inside, huddled in a heap and breathless. The tiger, re-assured by the stillness of the object before him, ceased growling; and presently, the soft thud of his feet and his sniffing round thepalkitold the trembling man within that ’Stripes’ was making an investigation.Now a mighty roar shook the jungles and Bose realised that the tiger had leapt upon the roof of thepalkiand was scratching furiously at it. Bose clutched the handles of the doors and held on to them with the grip of despair. The tiger scratched and growled and finally bounded off the top and began a vigorous assault upon the side. Thepalkitoppled over on to its other side. Poor Bose congratulatedhimself that now one of the doors rested upon Mother Earth and he could give his whole energy to defending the other. He gripped the handles with renewed determination and waited.The tiger had sustained a shock at seeing the unknown monster he was tackling roll over, and for a time satisfied himself by growling savagely. But as the monster lay still “Stripes” tried the experiment of a sharp blow with his paw. Thepalkirested on uneven ground and the blow made it rock. The tiger waited awhile; and when the rocking had subsided administered another stroke. Thepalkirocked again. The situation now developed into a game between the huge cat and thepalki. When he slapped thepalkirocked; and when thepalkiceased vibrating the tiger slapped again. Inside thepalki, the Inspector held on to the handles of the door and prayed for deliverance.At last the tiger, wearied of the game and purring loudly, walked away. Bose breathed more freely but knew not if the danger was past. There he lay gripping the handles of the door and wishing for daylight. At last the dawn broke and with the first rays of light courage returned to the bearers and servants, who were hiding in the branches ofthe surrounding trees. They called to each other, expressing anxiety as to their master’s fate. Finally, as the daylight grew stronger they encouraged each other to descend and approach thepalki.As they examined it with wonder some very cutting remarks from within assured them of their master’s existence, and with many apologies for the abrupt way in which they had abandoned him they righted thepalkiand assisted him out.The journey was soon resumed and Bose had the satisfaction of arresting the murderer in spite of his ill-timed adventure and forced delay.An Assam AdventureSome years ago, an English baron came out to India to enjoy some tiger shooting. He received invitations to many Native States, and was having a right royal time. In the course of his wanderings he came to Assam. In those days, the jungles of Assam swarmed with tigers but a “man-eater” was very rarely known there.Sir M. was in a small camp with just two or three other guns, and all were hopeful of “bagging” a tiger, for the roaring of the lords of the jungle could be heard almost every night. The tents had been pitched on the bank of a river and all round the camp and on the opposite bank was heavy jungle. Wild animals abounded in these jungles and the camp servants did not appreciate the site. No sooner had the Sahebs finished their dinner than the servants disappeared into their tents, and securing themselves within, as strongly as they could, devoutly hoped that the morning light would find them still alive and unharmed.One evening Sir M. retired to his own tent immediately after dinner. He was very tired butas he was not sleepy, he made himself comfortable and settled down on a long-sleeved chair with a book. His tent was a small one, with a camp cot, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table stood a reading lamp. M. was soon absorbed in his book and did not notice how the hours fled. The camp became quiet and still. It was a dark close night and the door of his tent stood open, for he was a lover of air. He had read on for some time when his attention was drawn to a movement of his tent wall. It seemed to him as if some one or something was rubbing along the side. He put down his book and got on to his feet to see what it could be. As he was about to step forward the head of a tiger loomed in the doorway, the eyes gleaming brightly. Sir M. stood motionless with surprise and “Stripes” stepped into the tent. He was a fine specimen of a Royal Bengal tiger, and M. forgot everything in his admiration of the noble animal.The table with the lamp upon it stood between Sir M. and the tiger, and each stood on either side of it gazing at each other. As the silent seconds passed, Sir M. realized that he was in danger and bethought him of his rifle which was almost within reach of his hand; but he dared not move and socontinued gazing steadfastly at his visitor. The tiger too stood, surveying his vis-a-vis and then began to move round the table. The lamp either attracted or annoyed him and he raised his paw to the table. The weight of the huge paw tilted the table, the lamp toppled and fell with a crash. The terrified tiger gave a mighty roar, turned tail and fled.The camp was aroused. Everyone shouted and rushed out into the night, armed with some weapon or other. Sir M. related to his brother guns what had happened and they all enjoyed a good laugh and rather envied him for the fine sight he had of such a superb specimen of the kings of the jungle.A Thrilling StoryOne evening, in Assam, a young Englishman was driving along a lonely jungle road. He wished to visit a neighbouring Saheb; and though his servants had warned him that tigers had been frequently seen on that particular road, he had laughed at their fears and told them that the only tiger to be feared was a “man-eater”, and that there were no “man-eating” tigers about that district. As usual in the mofussil of India, he was going out to dine and sleep, and his bearer had put up his clothes and his suit case was stowed into the dog-cart.The road was a good one and considerably wide, for it was the main thoroughfare in the district and along it tea, jute and all other agricultural products were transported to the river for export to other districts of India and also to Europe. Nevertheless it was bordered on either side by dense jungle, and there were few villages in its vicinity. After sunset it was a road little frequented by villagers and it had the reputation of being tiger-haunted.There was no moon and, as B. had not started much before sunset, darkness soon overtook him on the road. As he had nosycewith him he got down to light the trap-lamps and jumped in and drove on again very cheerily. He was not far from where he must turn off the main road to the narrow one leading to his friend’s estate, when the pony suddenly took fright at something and bolted. At first B. tried to pull the animal up; but its erect ears and wild snorting showed him that there was cause for alarm. He looked over his shoulder and in the dim starlight discerned the bulk of some animal in pursuit of them. An eerie feeling came over him and he wondered what was going to happen. He sat tight in his seat and let the pony race on. The chase continued and the pony began to show signs of collapse. It was evidently being overcome by fear and, in spite of all B.’s urging, could not keep up the pace, and the pursuing animal gained upon them. B. had just determined to leap from the cart when the pony tripped and fell and B. was shot out of the cart. He fell into the long grass on the side of the road, and had barely collected himself when a dark form sprang upon the pony.The poor animal neighed with fear but kickedand fought its foe. B. rolled down the side of the road and began to crawl away through the jungle as fast as he could. Long grass and thorny brambles grew on either side of the road and as it was the dry season every movement of his made a crackling and rustling; and often he fancied he heard an animal in pursuit of him, or he would imagine he was about to meet one coming through the jungle towards him. He pressed on as fast as he could, sometimes crawling and sometimes walking, and at last he saw the glimmer of lights and came to some huts. He shouted to the inmates who came to his assistance.When they discovered a Saheb in such a plight they were full of concern, helped him to their huts, gave him hot milk to drink and washed his wounds. His clothes were torn and his hands and knees bleeding from his flight through the thorny jungle. The sympathising villagers emptied a hut for him to rest in, and when morning came escorted him to the scene of his mishap.The mangled remains of his poor pony told him that the wild animal had been a very famished tiger. B. returned to his own bungalow a wiser man, and told his servants that, had he taken theiradvice, he would not have suffered such an adventure or the loss of his pony. He rewarded the villagers for their kindness and hospitality and for a long time his escape was the talk of the district.A Cachar TigerIn the province of Assam lies a fertile and picturesque valley called Cachar. Shut in on north, south and east by lofty hills, this valley remained hidden for centuries and was never conquered by any of the Mahommedan rulers of India.Here a race of aboriginal kings held sway, and it was the East India Company who first became masters of this hilly corner of Bengal. In 1830, the last of the old Cachari kings died without heir, and “Company Bahadoor” took possession of the little kingdom.In 1855, the discovery of the tea-plant, growing wild in the jungles, opened out a new industry, and soon the low-lying hills, knolls and undulating plains of the little valley became gradually clear of jungle, and covered instead with row after row of carefully-kept and trim tea bushes. To-day acres upon acres of tea are grown in Cachar; and the inland steamers, which ply all through the rainy season up and down the wide-rolling stream of theriver Barak, bring down for export millions of pounds of tea for the “cheering cup”.Cachar is rich in forests, and tigers and other wild animals are there in plenty. During the monsoon the jungle animals retreat to the higher levels of the forest-clad hills. But when the rains abate they begin to gradually descend; and when the great “hoars” or fenlands dry up at the approach of the cold season, numerous tigers take up their winter haunts in the patches of jungle, which grow here and there in the marsh lands, and in the forests which often surround or separate the tea gardens.It was cold-weather time about forty years ago, and four planters sat talking after dinner in the Manager’s bungalow on a tea garden in Cachar. We will call them M., B., C. and H.The bungalow, like many bungalows in tea districts, stood on a high hill, the steep sides of which had been terraced and planted with tea. On adjacent but lower hills stood the factory and coolie lines. Everything was quiet and lay wrapped in a heavy fog.In the verandah near the steps sat the bungalowchowkidar(watchman). The charity of the Tea Company had provided him and his fellow-coolieswith blankets. And he wore his in the usualpachim(North-West Provinces) style: one end of the blanket is pleated and tied closely with a piece of string, the short part above the cord forming a tuft. The wearer pulls the pleated end of the blanket over his head, the tuft resting on his crown. The sides of the blanket are drawn round the body, and thus the blanket is made to form both a hood and a cloak, in which the wearer hugs himself against the inclemency of the weather.Thechowkidarsat on his mat huddled up in his blanket, droning one of the time-honouredbhajans(hymns) of India.Presently he disappeared and, next, piercing yells rent the mist-laden atmosphere. The four Sahebs were in the verandah in a trice, and soon discovered thechowkidarreturning to the verandah, visibly shaken and without his blanket.“What is the matter, and who shouted?” asked the Manager.“Saheb,” thechowkidarreplied in a quavering voice “a tiger sprang on me and caught the knot of my blanket.”“Here!” interrupted the four Englishmen incredulously.“Yes,Huzoor(Your Honour), as I sat here against this post the tiger came, seized the knot of my blanket and began to pull. Like lightning I made my plan. I grasped with a strong tight hold the sides of the blanket and holding myself together like a ball I let Lord Tiger pull. He dragged me to the edge of thetila(hill). There I suddenly let go the blanket and shouted with all my might. The tiger fell over, down the hill, and is gone.”Sure enough, there were the foot-marks of the tiger, the mark of the drag, and the signs of where “Stripes” had slipped over and down the terrace.The tiger had been harrying the coolies for some time and a rumour had got about that he was a man-eater. It was pretty certain that he would come again the next night; so the planters determined to sit up and shoot him.On the following night after dinner M. B. C. and H. took their positions on the verandah. Each had his loaded gun and all waited patiently for the tiger. Time passed. It was weary work and they dozed.M.’s dog had wandered off to the kitchen as usual after dinner. After some time it returned hurriedly and ran up the steps of the verandah,barking in a frightened manner. The dog’s barking woke the four men. B. sat first near the steps and H. not far from him in a dining-room chair.The dog ran into the dining-room and hid himself under the table and everything again became quiet, and the men waited. Suddenly a hoarse cry paralysed three of them. “He’s on me. Shoot.”The tiger had come up on to the verandah and springing at B. caught him by the arm. Then, releasing the arm, he made a spring at his victim’s throat. B. was instantly on his feet and, as the tiger essayed his throat, he rammed his clenched fist into the animal’s mouth. The tiger shook the man’s fist out of its mouth and made another attempt to reach his throat. B. repeated his manoeuvre. This happened three or four times.In the meantime the other three men dared not shoot for fear of missing the ferocious cat and killing their comrade. H. had the presence of mind to swiftly fix his bayonet, and, rushing towards the tiger, he thrust it in the animal’s side, firing as he did so. The tiger fell backwards off the verandah mortally wounded, but to the amazementof the Sahebs struggled tip and made another attempt to get at B. He was however too badly wounded and fell back dead.B.’s hand and arm were terribly mauled, and after medical treatment he had to go home on long leave.A Maharajah’s AdventuresA Maharajah of Bengal who became a noted sportsman shot his first tiger when he was quite a small boy. When about twelve years of age he went out on a shoot one cold weather on his estate. He was accompanied by some of his relatives, and they encamped in one of the forest bungalows. This bungalow was just an ordinary Assam house built on achangor raised platform. It consisted of a large centre room with a bedroom on either side and a deep verandah in the front, where the servants slept at night. Under large trees, some little distance away, the elephants were chained, and not far off were stables for the horses.The Maharajah shared his room with a friend, a lad about two years older than himself. One night between ten and eleven o’clock, when all were in bed and asleep after a tiring day and an early dinner, the near roaring of a tiger awakened the camp. In a twinkling the servants had transferred themselves and their bedding from the verandah into the centre room and securely bolted the door. Roar after roar sounded through the night, but theyoung Maharajah slept the healthful and deep sleep of tired childhood and the mighty voice of the lord of the jungle did not disturb him. His friend was awakened by the majestic sound and lay trembling with fear; envying his blissfully unconscious companion, until the nearness of the tiger broke down his self-control and, vigorously shaking his bed-fellow, he shouted in his ear: “Tiger, tiger!”The young Maharajah awoke, yawned, stretched and listened. The roaring had ceased but under the bungalow they could hear the purring of a tiger as it rubbed itself against a post. The younger and fearless boy laughed with glee and assured his friend that there was no danger of the tiger getting into the bungalow, and that on the morrow they would be easily able to track and shoot it. Soon the sounds of purring and rubbing gave place to others, and the occupants of the bungalow realised that more than one tiger played beneath them. Next day in the jungle near the forest bungalow the party shot a couple of tigers, a tigress and her cubs.In later years the Maharajah became famous for his shoots and many and varied were his adventuresand experiences. One year he was in camp with a large party and they were out one afternoon after buffaloes. A fine bull was driven out of a patch of thick jungle and faced the guns with defiance in his eyes. He was a grand target and the Maharajah’s finger ached to pull his trigger, but courtesy forbade him and he generously, as always, left the fine prize for his guests. But, one after another, each missed his shot and the noble bull charged past into thicker jungle. As the line of guns attempted to follow, one of them spied a leopard up on a tree looking thoroughly scared. This animal had evidently been disturbed by the commotion in the forest and had been so terrified that it had climbed into a tree for shelter; and there, on a branch, poor “Spots” fell an easy prey to the sportsmen.One of the strangest adventures that the Maharajah had was when, returning to camp one evening, he was informed that one of his largest and best elephants, “Kennedy”, had got stuck in quicksand. In many parts of Assam there are quicksands and quagmires. This particular one chanced to be in anala(stream). The elephant had refused to cross the partially dried-up stream.Instinct had warned him through the tip of his trunk that danger lurked there, but hismahout(driver), anxious to get into camp after a hard day and knowing that across this stream was a short cut, had forced him. They had advanced but a yard or two when the huge animal began to sink, and the more he struggled and strove to extricate himself the deeper he sank. The Maharajah hastened to the spot as soon as he heard of the catastrophe, for “Kennedy” was a fine and valuable elephant and a steady one forshikar(shooting). At the sound of his master’s voice poor “Kennedy” looked towards the bank, and the Maharajah saw that great tears of anguish were rolling down the poor beast’s face as he bellowed in an agony of fear. The Maharajah directed the men who had gathered around the scene to fell some saplings, which were conveyed to thenalaby some smaller elephant and pushed into the quagmire towards “Kennedy”. The poor entrapped animal seemed to understand that efforts were being made to rescue him, and he obeyed his driver’s now soothing voice and held himself still. At last, the combined labours of men and brother-elephants provided a safe footing of submerged saplings and branches; and “Kennedy” pulled himself out of thetreacherous sand and was escorted back to the camp with great rejoicings.Not long after this “Kennedy” distinguished himself in another way, but this time evoked the displeasure and not the pity of his good master. An engineer, named Ashton, had charge of thefeilkhana(elephant stables) and had once severely punished “Kennedy”. After the manner of his kind, the elephant bore the memory of the outrage in his heart and waited the opportunity to be revenged. One morning the camp was astir for a shoot. The guests stood ready outside their tents and the elephants were waiting to carry them into the forest. Suddenly “Kennedy” charged at Ashton, who stood a little apart from the group, and flinging him to the ground began to roll him under his feet. The Maharajah, with wonderful presence of mind, immediately ordered “Debraj”, a larger and more powerful elephant than “Kennedy” and his rival in thefeilkhana, to the rescue. “Debraj’s”mahoutordered him to charge at “Kennedy”, and, urged forward with voice and prong; “Debraj” did so with a good will. When “Kennedy” saw his ancient enemy charging at him, he forgot his grudge against Ashton, and, considering that “he whofights and runs away lives to fight another day”, he bolted, with his trunk in the air. Ashton was picked up from the dust very much shaken by his rolling and fright but, to the astonishment of every one, in no way injured.During one of his shooting expeditions, the Maharajah and his companions decided one night that they would go out on foot at the very break of dawn and see the animal world in the jungle; and they were well rewarded for their adventurous spirit. In a glade of the forest they had a magnificent sight of a large herd of bison peacefully grazing in the dewy grass. They could hear tigers and bears passing back through the jungles to their dens in the deeper forest, and as the men stood there admiring the grand heads of the bison a monstrous tiger passed along quite close to one of the party, the Maharajah’s brother-in-law. On the bank of a river they came upon a nest of young pythons. The guests thought it was a curious mound; but the Maharajah recognised the reared heads of the young snakes and told his friends what the heap was. When they came closer, they could see that the long slimy bodies were all twisted together; and with an uncanny feeling, the sportsmen watched theseserpents uncoil themselves from each other and glide away and disappear through the grass.Once, after a long and fruitless day in the jungles, the Maharajah decided he would try his luck stalking some deer that he spied on the opposite side of a narrow strip of jungle. He accordingly left his elephant and began to creep through the long dry bramble-choked grass with his rifle in his hand. As he pushed his way through the thick jungle he fancied he heard an animal breathing and then something crackled. Intent on the deer before him, he concluded that he had broken a twig or a branch with the end of his rifle and pushed on. As he emerged from the thicket on the opposite side from where he had entered, he came face to face with a group of shepherds. They stared at him in amazement and then, recognising him as their Maharajah, fell at his feet in rapturous joy. Accustomed as he was to demonstrations from his people, their abandon struck him as something unusual, and he was about to question them when they exclamed: “Hoozoor, Dharmabatar, (Your Honor, Royal Master,) how did you come in safety through that jungle?” He smiled at their wonderment and was about to chide them gently when theycontinued: “An immense tiger has just slain one of our cows and dragged it into that very jungle from which Your Honor has emerged.” The Maharajah now understood that the sound he had heard as he pushed his way through the jungle was the tiger enjoying a feed of his kill, and he felt thankful that he had not stumbled directly upon it. Like the keen sportsman he was, he signalled his elephant and, mounting it, secured the feasting tiger with an easy shot.One cold season, the Viceroy was enjoying a shoot on the Maharajah’s estates. One evening, as they were dressing for dinner, there came through the stillness of the restful air the “twitter” of a tiger. Do many of my readers know what the “twitter” of a tiger is? It is a sound the Monarch of the Jungle makes and it is just like the twitter of a bird;—in fact, some declare itisonly the twitter of a bird. Well, on this particular evening, the tiger must have been passing quite close to the camp, for his “twitter” was clear and unmistakeable. The Maharajah, with his usual courtesy, immediately bethought himself of his guests, and invited Their Excellencies to come out into the open and listen to the novel sound. They did, and verypleased and proud they were when they heard the tiger’s “twitter” clearly and distinctly through the gathering shade and stillness of the darkening night.The shooting camps were invariably pitched on the bank of a river or stream. One evening, two of the servants crossed the shallow stream in front of the camp to enjoy some fishing. They found a suitable place behind a mound and here they sat quietly watching their lines. The afternoon hours passed swiftly and the sun was nearing the horizon when their attention was simultaneously drawn to a sound above their heads. Looking up, to their horror, they saw an immense tiger just above them. One of them shivered with terror and, clutching his companion, said in a hoarse whisper: “Our hour has come.” The other whispered back: “Keep perfectly still and quiet.” Breathless, the two watched the huge tiger descend the bank and pass majestically to the edge of the water where he stopped to quench his thirst. It seemed to the two trembling men that it took the Lord of the Jungle fully half an hour to drink his fill. Then, as slowly and impressively, the tiger turned from the stream and ascended the bank. When he reached the tophe stood there, gazing before him either as if admiring the scenery or contemplating a meal off one of the men. The pair scarcely dared to breathe and wild schemes of taking to their heels to gain the centre of the stream and swim down the river shot through their brains. At last the tiger slowly turned away from the river and disappeared into the forest. Then, after some time, the frightened servants hurried across the stream back to camp, and told the Maharajah of their terrible experience. The footprints of the animal corroborated their story and their asseveration that they had seen a very very big tiger.During one of the shoots, theshikaris(native sportsmen) brought news that a rhino had been seen in a certain jungle. The guests were much excited and a beat was organised for the next day. The morning dawned and all set out and were soon posted to their various positions. The front “stop” guns were on the bank of a river. The Maharajah was in the beating line. When about half way through the piece of jungle he noticed that one of his brother guns looked disappointed. He accordingly asked “What’s up?” The guest answered that he thought that a large animal had broken back. Howevernothing was discovered and as it was mid-day a halt for lunch was considered desirable. A spot was soon selected and the signal given and the lines broke up. Just as the foremost elephants were about to kneel to permit their riders to dismount, there arose from the “stop” elephants a cry of “Tiger”. In the jungle, quite close to one of the “stop” guns, a tiger was enjoying a feed of a wild pig; and as the elephant turned to join the others, he almost trod on the tiger. In a moment the line was re-organised, but the surprised tiger, finding itself surrounded by foes, turned tail and ran down the bank of the river. The stream was nearly dry and the bed was very shingly, and as the startled tiger picked its way gingerly across the pebbles and pools of water it looked like a stranded cat. It had not progressed very far when a well-directed shot laid it low; and with this unexpected prize the party sat down to lunch in excellent spirits. As rhino generally fight shy of elephants, they did not think there was much use continuing the beat after lunch. So they decided that they should make tracks for home and have general shooting. General shooting means that there is no beating line. A longstraight line of march is formed, and each gun elephant is in between the pad or beating elephants. The Maharajah was almost the last gun in the line. Nearly all were out of the jungle when his keen and practised eye noticed a small pad elephant jib at something as they passed through a piece of jungle. “Did your elephant refuse to come through?” he questioned themahoutof the small elephant. “Yes, Maharajah, he smelt something in the jungle,” the man replied. “Beat this piece of jungle”, the Maharajah quickly ordered the pad elephants with him. They beat it and drove forth a rhino which fell dead to the Maharajah’s gun. Before His Highness had time to take up his other rifle, a second galloped out of the jungle and charged straight at the Maharajah’s elephant. The elephant spun round to avoid the furious onslaught and in the meantime the Maharajah managed to raise his gun and, getting in his shot in spite of the gyrations of the elephant, laid out rhino No. 2 in grand style to the applause of his companions.Coming back to camp in the dusk one evening, the Maharajah, who had wonderful eyesight, thought he saw a tiger lying still in an open field.He raised his gun and whispered to hismahout. As they came nearer, the tiger—for tiger it was—raised itself to its feet and prepared to spring at the elephant. Too late! Snap went the Maharajah’s trigger and the royal beast lay dead.These are but a few of the shooting adventures of a sportsman-Maharajah who has gone on the long journey from life to the greater life beyond, but whose memory lives in the annals of Bengal as a keen and successful shot.
The Bearer’s FateMr. Gupta, a Bengali gentleman, was a skilled engineer. The Government thought highly of him and whenever any work of special difficulty had to be undertaken, always chose him.At one time he was stationed at Hazaribagh. This district is even now infested with tigers, and in those far-off days these lords of the jungle roamed far and wide.There was then no railway. Travelling was done bypalkior by “push-push”—-a box-like carriage on four wheels, in which the traveller was forced to recline, and which relays of coolies pushed before them. The roads were often mere tracks through dense forest.It happened that Mr. Gupta was ordered to report on some important work a few miles away. His devoted wife carefully packed his luggage. They were a happy couple and each short parting was a pain in their lives. A trustworthy old servant always accompanied his master to camp. But to-day to his mistress’ surprise he begged not to go.When Gupta came in, his wife told him of the man’s unwillingness to accompany him.“Nonsense!” said Gupta, “he will have to go. What has happened to him?”“I think he is ill” the wife excusingly replied, her tender heart full of the man’s wistful face and strange manner. Still she agreed with her husband and told the bearer, he must go with his master.“Forgive me, I have high fever,Ma-ji,” he shivered, addressing her by the honoured name of mother, as is the custom of Indian servants in an Indian household.She turned again to her husband who said: “I know what is in the poor old fellow’s mind. He has an idea he will be killed by a tiger. However, tell him there is no danger. I am taking a large number of bearers and he can keep near thepalki.”Mrs. Gupta tried to cheer the servant with this information but he wailed: “Ma-ji, I am afraid. Surely a tiger will kill me to-night.”“Do not fear,” consoled the kind lady. “Your master will take good care of you.” “Go you must,” she continued in a firm tone. “There is no one except you who knows his ways and can see to his comfort. Now get ready quickly.”“Oh,Ma-ji,” he sobbed like a child, “I obey, but my heart is heavy.”Mr. Gupta had to travel through the night. After an early dinner he started, attended by manypalki-bearers and the old servant. The moon rose bright and glorious and bathed the picturesque country in soft radiance. The silence of the forest was broken only by the rhythmic cries of the bearers and thepat-patof their feet. The first stream was reached and the bearers asked for a halt. Consent granted, they went into the stream to drink of the deeper water. The old servant crouched by thepalki.“Thirstest not?” kindly asked his master.“Babu-ji, I feel nervous. I will stay near you.”Gupta wondered what might have unstrung the man, and felt sorry for him. “Come and sit close to me,” he said.The night was cold and the old bearer, huddled in his blanket, sat on the edge of thepalkidoor.Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a rapid crash through the dry grass near thepalki, and with a thrilling roar a tiger leapt at the man and dragged him away. Thepalkishook,and the bearer’s piteous cry “Babu-ji, Babu-ji,I told you” filled the forest, and echoed and echoed again as the tiger bore him away. Then all became still.Gupta realised what had happened. He lay back sick with horror, and felt as if he were the guilty one. For many a day the old man’s dying wail rang in his ears.
Mr. Gupta, a Bengali gentleman, was a skilled engineer. The Government thought highly of him and whenever any work of special difficulty had to be undertaken, always chose him.
At one time he was stationed at Hazaribagh. This district is even now infested with tigers, and in those far-off days these lords of the jungle roamed far and wide.
There was then no railway. Travelling was done bypalkior by “push-push”—-a box-like carriage on four wheels, in which the traveller was forced to recline, and which relays of coolies pushed before them. The roads were often mere tracks through dense forest.
It happened that Mr. Gupta was ordered to report on some important work a few miles away. His devoted wife carefully packed his luggage. They were a happy couple and each short parting was a pain in their lives. A trustworthy old servant always accompanied his master to camp. But to-day to his mistress’ surprise he begged not to go.
When Gupta came in, his wife told him of the man’s unwillingness to accompany him.
“Nonsense!” said Gupta, “he will have to go. What has happened to him?”
“I think he is ill” the wife excusingly replied, her tender heart full of the man’s wistful face and strange manner. Still she agreed with her husband and told the bearer, he must go with his master.
“Forgive me, I have high fever,Ma-ji,” he shivered, addressing her by the honoured name of mother, as is the custom of Indian servants in an Indian household.
She turned again to her husband who said: “I know what is in the poor old fellow’s mind. He has an idea he will be killed by a tiger. However, tell him there is no danger. I am taking a large number of bearers and he can keep near thepalki.”
Mrs. Gupta tried to cheer the servant with this information but he wailed: “Ma-ji, I am afraid. Surely a tiger will kill me to-night.”
“Do not fear,” consoled the kind lady. “Your master will take good care of you.” “Go you must,” she continued in a firm tone. “There is no one except you who knows his ways and can see to his comfort. Now get ready quickly.”
“Oh,Ma-ji,” he sobbed like a child, “I obey, but my heart is heavy.”
Mr. Gupta had to travel through the night. After an early dinner he started, attended by manypalki-bearers and the old servant. The moon rose bright and glorious and bathed the picturesque country in soft radiance. The silence of the forest was broken only by the rhythmic cries of the bearers and thepat-patof their feet. The first stream was reached and the bearers asked for a halt. Consent granted, they went into the stream to drink of the deeper water. The old servant crouched by thepalki.
“Thirstest not?” kindly asked his master.
“Babu-ji, I feel nervous. I will stay near you.”
Gupta wondered what might have unstrung the man, and felt sorry for him. “Come and sit close to me,” he said.
The night was cold and the old bearer, huddled in his blanket, sat on the edge of thepalkidoor.
Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a rapid crash through the dry grass near thepalki, and with a thrilling roar a tiger leapt at the man and dragged him away. Thepalkishook,and the bearer’s piteous cry “Babu-ji, Babu-ji,I told you” filled the forest, and echoed and echoed again as the tiger bore him away. Then all became still.
Gupta realised what had happened. He lay back sick with horror, and felt as if he were the guilty one. For many a day the old man’s dying wail rang in his ears.
Through the RoofThey were laying the railway through the Hazaribagh district, and in a low-roofed bungalow at Giridih lived the Engineer in charge of the work. He was a young Englishman and his only recreation in this dreary place was riding and shooting.The coolies lived in frail little mat houses in the same enclosure as his bungalow. One morning they came to him in a body to tell him that during the night a tiger had carried off one of their cows. The next morning another cow was missing, and on the third his servants awakened him with the news that his Arab pony was gone.He loved the little animal. Many a mile had he scoured on its back. “Stripes” must be punished for this. He would sit up the coming night and watch.Babus, servants and coolies loudly approved. What was life worth with such nightly happenings? and the lord of the jungle would surely come again. Had he not discovered a well-filled larder?Work over, the young man loaded his gun, andafter dinner took up his position and awaited the enemy. A reliable servant sat up with him.The bungalow was raised on piles a few feet from the ground. It had brick walls but a thatched roof which sloped very low down on all sides. The wooden windows were closed. Our friend sat at one of them with the Venetians slightly stretched. The bungalow was dark and still.At last a strange odour filled the air and then the heavy breathing of the tiger was audible. It came and stood just outside the window. The young fellow noiselessly pointed his gun through the Venetians and fired. An angry growl told that the tiger was wounded. Then it charged forward with a furious roar. The Englishman fired again and this time thought he had finished it. But the animal charged again with increased rage. After several attempts at the window it leapt for the roof and succeeded in clutching the eaves and scrambled up. The terrified servant cried: “Saheb, come into another room”.“Don’t be a fool!” shouted his master, “the tiger can’t come through the roof.”In their huts the poor coolies heard the shots and the terrible roars and growls and dared not cometo their master’s assistance. The tiger tore and scratched the thatch with all his might and soon made a hole. “Look! Saheb!” screamed the servant, “he comes through”.“I have a loaded gun in my hand”, the Saheb replied.The hole speedily grew larger as the great cat clawed and growled. The servant could stand it no longer. He bolted into the next room, shutting the door between. There he shivered and shook till morning, when he fled to the railway station a couple of miles away and told the Sahibs there his tale. They got guns and horses and rode over. They peered through the shutters and saw the tiger in the room. It soon scented them and charged with a mighty roar. They retreated without dignity to a safe distance where all stopped. One said, “I say! we must see what has happened to the poor chap”. Another: “So many of us and loaded guns! We must do something”. A third: “let’s get back and kill the beast”.They went back and fired shot after shot through the shutters till the animal was killed. Then they broke into the room and found their luckless comrade dead on the floor, his loaded gunstill in his hand. The tiger must have killed him with a slap of its mighty paw, and sat on his body all night, but clearly the animal was not a man-eater.
They were laying the railway through the Hazaribagh district, and in a low-roofed bungalow at Giridih lived the Engineer in charge of the work. He was a young Englishman and his only recreation in this dreary place was riding and shooting.
The coolies lived in frail little mat houses in the same enclosure as his bungalow. One morning they came to him in a body to tell him that during the night a tiger had carried off one of their cows. The next morning another cow was missing, and on the third his servants awakened him with the news that his Arab pony was gone.
He loved the little animal. Many a mile had he scoured on its back. “Stripes” must be punished for this. He would sit up the coming night and watch.
Babus, servants and coolies loudly approved. What was life worth with such nightly happenings? and the lord of the jungle would surely come again. Had he not discovered a well-filled larder?
Work over, the young man loaded his gun, andafter dinner took up his position and awaited the enemy. A reliable servant sat up with him.
The bungalow was raised on piles a few feet from the ground. It had brick walls but a thatched roof which sloped very low down on all sides. The wooden windows were closed. Our friend sat at one of them with the Venetians slightly stretched. The bungalow was dark and still.
At last a strange odour filled the air and then the heavy breathing of the tiger was audible. It came and stood just outside the window. The young fellow noiselessly pointed his gun through the Venetians and fired. An angry growl told that the tiger was wounded. Then it charged forward with a furious roar. The Englishman fired again and this time thought he had finished it. But the animal charged again with increased rage. After several attempts at the window it leapt for the roof and succeeded in clutching the eaves and scrambled up. The terrified servant cried: “Saheb, come into another room”.
“Don’t be a fool!” shouted his master, “the tiger can’t come through the roof.”
In their huts the poor coolies heard the shots and the terrible roars and growls and dared not cometo their master’s assistance. The tiger tore and scratched the thatch with all his might and soon made a hole. “Look! Saheb!” screamed the servant, “he comes through”.
“I have a loaded gun in my hand”, the Saheb replied.
The hole speedily grew larger as the great cat clawed and growled. The servant could stand it no longer. He bolted into the next room, shutting the door between. There he shivered and shook till morning, when he fled to the railway station a couple of miles away and told the Sahibs there his tale. They got guns and horses and rode over. They peered through the shutters and saw the tiger in the room. It soon scented them and charged with a mighty roar. They retreated without dignity to a safe distance where all stopped. One said, “I say! we must see what has happened to the poor chap”. Another: “So many of us and loaded guns! We must do something”. A third: “let’s get back and kill the beast”.
They went back and fired shot after shot through the shutters till the animal was killed. Then they broke into the room and found their luckless comrade dead on the floor, his loaded gunstill in his hand. The tiger must have killed him with a slap of its mighty paw, and sat on his body all night, but clearly the animal was not a man-eater.
Earning the RewardA man-eating tiger was roaming through Hazaribagh station. It had killed many villagers and had become so daring that it entered the market-place in broad day-light.A poor old tailor on his way home one evening was seized by the blood-thirsty animal, and his screams for help filled the little town. The morning light showed traces of the struggle between man and beast, and where the latter had been dragged from the main road.The villagers didpujathat night that all might be saved from a like fate. A few days after, a ploughman and a little boy stood talking about the tiger. “How do you know that he won’t catch you?” asked the boy.The ploughman answered confidently: “I have donepuja”. Barely had the words passed his lips than the tiger leapt upon him. The boy was startled, but not realising his own danger not only did he not run but also caught up a stick and tried to save his friend. In spite of his hitting it the animal began to devour the unfortunate man,snarling threateningly the while. Then the boy threw away the stick and fled to the village. The news roused the villagers and they determined to try to rid themselves of their foe. Armed with spears, sticks and heavy bamboos they followed the boy to the scene of the tragedy. But the tiger was gone.The Government had offered a handsome reward to any one who would succeed in killing this tiger and now a poor shop-keeper determined to win it. He knew nothing of shooting but worked up the ambition of a friend who could shoot and had a couple of guns. Together they essayed the difficult job. Difficult it was. The tiger seldom returned to his kill, nor stopped at a kill any length of time, and was known to have killed three or four victims in one day.However they hoped for success. The villagers had been very careful of late and the tiger had consequently been obliged to go hungry. It was just possible he might return to the kill. So they got permission for a mangled body to be left there, and built amachannear it. At sunset they took up their places and watched.At first the pair felt cheerful. A brilliantmoon illuminated the whole country making everything as clear as day. But no tiger came. And later, as the hours dragged on, their cramped position, the nearness of a dead body, the silence and mystery of the night, all got on their nerves, and they wished they had not attempted such a task. But to leave now would be dangerous. So they did their best to encourage each other and waited on.In the small hours of the night they distinctly heard the tiger coming and saw a huge black shadow moving stealthily towards their tree. The animal looked enormous in the uncertain light and each thought themachantoo low and wished himself in his house in the village. Neither dared to speak or move.Not far from themachanwas a hillock. The tiger, after stalking round the tree, went to the corpse, smelled it, and then crossing to the hillock climbed up and sat himself there. The men felt sure he could now see them.The tiger began to sniff as if he scented them. Then it yawned and snarled. The men sat fascinated. Presently the great head turned towards them. The shopman pulled the trigger of the gunhe held. There was a deafening roar and the tiger disappeared from the hillock. Then all became still. They knew by the roar of pain that he was hit. Tigers are clever and often feign death when wounded. They dared not descend. They were not sure that he was killed. At any moment he might attack their tree. Comrades in enterprise and fear, they sat gripping each other in the darkness, for the moon had now set.The villagers had heard the shot and at day-break came to the spot. They found the tiger lying dead at the foot of the hillock. The heroes could barely descend from themachan, so stiff and aching were their bones. Together they received the plaudits of the village and shared the Government reward which to them was quite a small fortune.
A man-eating tiger was roaming through Hazaribagh station. It had killed many villagers and had become so daring that it entered the market-place in broad day-light.
A poor old tailor on his way home one evening was seized by the blood-thirsty animal, and his screams for help filled the little town. The morning light showed traces of the struggle between man and beast, and where the latter had been dragged from the main road.
The villagers didpujathat night that all might be saved from a like fate. A few days after, a ploughman and a little boy stood talking about the tiger. “How do you know that he won’t catch you?” asked the boy.
The ploughman answered confidently: “I have donepuja”. Barely had the words passed his lips than the tiger leapt upon him. The boy was startled, but not realising his own danger not only did he not run but also caught up a stick and tried to save his friend. In spite of his hitting it the animal began to devour the unfortunate man,snarling threateningly the while. Then the boy threw away the stick and fled to the village. The news roused the villagers and they determined to try to rid themselves of their foe. Armed with spears, sticks and heavy bamboos they followed the boy to the scene of the tragedy. But the tiger was gone.
The Government had offered a handsome reward to any one who would succeed in killing this tiger and now a poor shop-keeper determined to win it. He knew nothing of shooting but worked up the ambition of a friend who could shoot and had a couple of guns. Together they essayed the difficult job. Difficult it was. The tiger seldom returned to his kill, nor stopped at a kill any length of time, and was known to have killed three or four victims in one day.
However they hoped for success. The villagers had been very careful of late and the tiger had consequently been obliged to go hungry. It was just possible he might return to the kill. So they got permission for a mangled body to be left there, and built amachannear it. At sunset they took up their places and watched.
At first the pair felt cheerful. A brilliantmoon illuminated the whole country making everything as clear as day. But no tiger came. And later, as the hours dragged on, their cramped position, the nearness of a dead body, the silence and mystery of the night, all got on their nerves, and they wished they had not attempted such a task. But to leave now would be dangerous. So they did their best to encourage each other and waited on.
In the small hours of the night they distinctly heard the tiger coming and saw a huge black shadow moving stealthily towards their tree. The animal looked enormous in the uncertain light and each thought themachantoo low and wished himself in his house in the village. Neither dared to speak or move.
Not far from themachanwas a hillock. The tiger, after stalking round the tree, went to the corpse, smelled it, and then crossing to the hillock climbed up and sat himself there. The men felt sure he could now see them.
The tiger began to sniff as if he scented them. Then it yawned and snarled. The men sat fascinated. Presently the great head turned towards them. The shopman pulled the trigger of the gunhe held. There was a deafening roar and the tiger disappeared from the hillock. Then all became still. They knew by the roar of pain that he was hit. Tigers are clever and often feign death when wounded. They dared not descend. They were not sure that he was killed. At any moment he might attack their tree. Comrades in enterprise and fear, they sat gripping each other in the darkness, for the moon had now set.
The villagers had heard the shot and at day-break came to the spot. They found the tiger lying dead at the foot of the hillock. The heroes could barely descend from themachan, so stiff and aching were their bones. Together they received the plaudits of the village and shared the Government reward which to them was quite a small fortune.
A Burmese MonsterSome years ago Government sent an engineer and party to explore and prospect in the forests of Burma. None returned. Their disappearance was a mystery.The authorities decided to send another party to ascertain the fate of the first and continue the work. To induce volunteers, a handsome salary was offered; and at length an Englishman came forward. He asked for twice the number of native attendants that the first man had had. Government granted him his request and provided him with every facility procurable and he started.He followed the course taken by his predecessor up a large river. He travelled in a big boat and his men in smaller ones. Here and there they came upon traces of the former party. They pushed on. Suddenly all indications of the missing ones ceased. He felt he had better stop and investigate. Tents were landed and pitched and the men began to prepare their evening meal.As he sat in his tent reading, he heard loud shouts and some of his coolies rushed to him. Theysaid that as they were cooking they saw a great black thing hanging from a tree above them. When they made a noise it disappeared. It was long and thick and black. The coolies were frightened out of their wits and refused to remain in that place. Argument was of no use; so the tents were taken down and the party moved on.Another spot was selected and here they stayed peacefully for some days. Suddenly a man was missing. Then another and another! Each disappeared when alone. The coolies were frightened and uneasy. But this time the Sahib managed to control them. He himself was anxious and puzzled.Next a coolie who had gone to the river to scour vessels after a meal disappeared. The plates andlotaswere scattered about just as if he had been suddenly seized. The Englishman thought that a crocodile must have taken him off.Soon after this incident the engineer was fishing in the river opposite to the camp, and he noticed two coolies coming to the river. They sat down at theghatand began to scour their vessels. The murmur of their voices reached him.Presently the boatman clutched his arm andpointed to the bank. He looked. One of the coolies was chasing a huge hairy monster. The other could not be seen.The engineer soon crossed the river and joined the coolie, still in the chase after the strange creature. As usual, the Saheb carried a loaded revolver and as he ran he fired several shots at the animal. They had no effect on it. The beast ran on with heavy lumbering strides, covering the ground with great rapidity and only once glancing back over its shoulders with a horrible grin. He could not overtake it and it disappeared into the thick jungle. Its hair was so long that it completely covered the man it carried in its powerful arms. It was some kind of an orang-outang.The mystery was now cleared up. The engineer returned. His task was accomplished. Later he wrote an account of this adventure and concluded with these words:—“Now when I see a great hairy spider I tremble! and the remembrance of that monstrous black form returns to me, and the hideous grin that thrilled me. Never can I forget it.”
Some years ago Government sent an engineer and party to explore and prospect in the forests of Burma. None returned. Their disappearance was a mystery.
The authorities decided to send another party to ascertain the fate of the first and continue the work. To induce volunteers, a handsome salary was offered; and at length an Englishman came forward. He asked for twice the number of native attendants that the first man had had. Government granted him his request and provided him with every facility procurable and he started.
He followed the course taken by his predecessor up a large river. He travelled in a big boat and his men in smaller ones. Here and there they came upon traces of the former party. They pushed on. Suddenly all indications of the missing ones ceased. He felt he had better stop and investigate. Tents were landed and pitched and the men began to prepare their evening meal.
As he sat in his tent reading, he heard loud shouts and some of his coolies rushed to him. Theysaid that as they were cooking they saw a great black thing hanging from a tree above them. When they made a noise it disappeared. It was long and thick and black. The coolies were frightened out of their wits and refused to remain in that place. Argument was of no use; so the tents were taken down and the party moved on.
Another spot was selected and here they stayed peacefully for some days. Suddenly a man was missing. Then another and another! Each disappeared when alone. The coolies were frightened and uneasy. But this time the Sahib managed to control them. He himself was anxious and puzzled.
Next a coolie who had gone to the river to scour vessels after a meal disappeared. The plates andlotaswere scattered about just as if he had been suddenly seized. The Englishman thought that a crocodile must have taken him off.
Soon after this incident the engineer was fishing in the river opposite to the camp, and he noticed two coolies coming to the river. They sat down at theghatand began to scour their vessels. The murmur of their voices reached him.
Presently the boatman clutched his arm andpointed to the bank. He looked. One of the coolies was chasing a huge hairy monster. The other could not be seen.
The engineer soon crossed the river and joined the coolie, still in the chase after the strange creature. As usual, the Saheb carried a loaded revolver and as he ran he fired several shots at the animal. They had no effect on it. The beast ran on with heavy lumbering strides, covering the ground with great rapidity and only once glancing back over its shoulders with a horrible grin. He could not overtake it and it disappeared into the thick jungle. Its hair was so long that it completely covered the man it carried in its powerful arms. It was some kind of an orang-outang.
The mystery was now cleared up. The engineer returned. His task was accomplished. Later he wrote an account of this adventure and concluded with these words:—“Now when I see a great hairy spider I tremble! and the remembrance of that monstrous black form returns to me, and the hideous grin that thrilled me. Never can I forget it.”
The Palki and the TigerIn a lonely village in the Hazaribagh district the peaceful dwellers were one evening disturbed by shrill cries of distress. When they gathered round the house from whence the cries came, they discovered that a ghastly murder had been committed. The headman of the village immediately despatched two messengers for the police. These men started in the dawn and reached the Police outpost just before sunset.The Inspector-in-charge was a Bengalee, named Bose, who was a very intelligent officer and keen on his work. As soon as he received information of the murder, he ordered one of his staff to arrange for apush-push(carriage which is partly drawn and partly pushed by men) and a set of bearers. He quickly put together a few requisites for the journey, and was soon ready. The night was not far advanced when the orderly returned with apush-pushand eight bearers, and Bose started off, attended by his cook and body-servant.The road lay through a forest. At times the path was so narrow and rocky that the men couldmake little progress, and at last they declared that the road was impassable for a wheeled conveyance, and that it was necessary for the Inspector to change into apalki. One of them said that about two miles off the road there was a village, and that in the village there lived a rich Hindustani merchant who might lend apalki. Bose was pleased at the suggestion and told thepush-pushbearers to take him to the village. They needed no second bidding, and the Inspector was soon being trundled across the paddy fields that lay between the village and the road. Arrived there, he hastened to the merchant’s house and asked to see him.A handsome up-countryman came out and when, he saw that his visitor was a gentleman he courteously asked him to enter and be seated. The Inspector soon explained his necessity for apalki, and the rich man placed his at the disposal of the police officer. “ButJenab(Sir),” he said, “tigers are bad in this forest and you have to pass through a part known to be a favourite haunt of theirs. Have you any fire-arms?”“Only my revolver,” said Bose “but I must push on and take my chance.” And as thepalkinow stood ready and the bearers declared themselvesrefreshed, he thanked his host for his ready assistance, bade him farewell and started once again.The bearers were full of spirits after their rest at the merchant’s house and for a mile or two travelled at a rapid pace; but the narrow winding road impeded their progress, and as the night advanced the eerie sounds of the forest must have got on their nerves. At the commencement of the journey they had beguiled the march with stories of tigers and bears met in the forest, but after some hours of travel they became silent; and beyond the usual directions of the forward men concerning the road and occasionally a shrill cry to scare away wild animals, they made no remarks to each other.Within thepalki, Bose lay fitfully dozing. The night was oppressive and his thoughts were on the murder and his chances of a successful capture of the wrong-doer. The road had become wider and level and the men were going along at a good pace, when suddenly they dropped thepalkito the ground and fled in all directions. Bose shouted: “What is up? Why have you run away?” No answer greeted his ears but a strange odour penetrated his nostrils and he knew there was a tiger in the jungle. He quickly pulled the doors of thepalkijammingthem as securely as he could with the ends of hisrazai(quilt). Then he tore the strong border off hisdhoti(loin cloth) and commenced to bind the handles of the doors together. He had just finished firmly lashing together the handles on one side when he heard an ominous growling. With frantic haste he bound the handles of the opposite doors together, praying fervently that he might escape the jaws of the tiger.The animal continued growling. Evidently the dark bulk of thepalkifrightened him. Bose sat inside, huddled in a heap and breathless. The tiger, re-assured by the stillness of the object before him, ceased growling; and presently, the soft thud of his feet and his sniffing round thepalkitold the trembling man within that ’Stripes’ was making an investigation.Now a mighty roar shook the jungles and Bose realised that the tiger had leapt upon the roof of thepalkiand was scratching furiously at it. Bose clutched the handles of the doors and held on to them with the grip of despair. The tiger scratched and growled and finally bounded off the top and began a vigorous assault upon the side. Thepalkitoppled over on to its other side. Poor Bose congratulatedhimself that now one of the doors rested upon Mother Earth and he could give his whole energy to defending the other. He gripped the handles with renewed determination and waited.The tiger had sustained a shock at seeing the unknown monster he was tackling roll over, and for a time satisfied himself by growling savagely. But as the monster lay still “Stripes” tried the experiment of a sharp blow with his paw. Thepalkirested on uneven ground and the blow made it rock. The tiger waited awhile; and when the rocking had subsided administered another stroke. Thepalkirocked again. The situation now developed into a game between the huge cat and thepalki. When he slapped thepalkirocked; and when thepalkiceased vibrating the tiger slapped again. Inside thepalki, the Inspector held on to the handles of the door and prayed for deliverance.At last the tiger, wearied of the game and purring loudly, walked away. Bose breathed more freely but knew not if the danger was past. There he lay gripping the handles of the door and wishing for daylight. At last the dawn broke and with the first rays of light courage returned to the bearers and servants, who were hiding in the branches ofthe surrounding trees. They called to each other, expressing anxiety as to their master’s fate. Finally, as the daylight grew stronger they encouraged each other to descend and approach thepalki.As they examined it with wonder some very cutting remarks from within assured them of their master’s existence, and with many apologies for the abrupt way in which they had abandoned him they righted thepalkiand assisted him out.The journey was soon resumed and Bose had the satisfaction of arresting the murderer in spite of his ill-timed adventure and forced delay.
In a lonely village in the Hazaribagh district the peaceful dwellers were one evening disturbed by shrill cries of distress. When they gathered round the house from whence the cries came, they discovered that a ghastly murder had been committed. The headman of the village immediately despatched two messengers for the police. These men started in the dawn and reached the Police outpost just before sunset.
The Inspector-in-charge was a Bengalee, named Bose, who was a very intelligent officer and keen on his work. As soon as he received information of the murder, he ordered one of his staff to arrange for apush-push(carriage which is partly drawn and partly pushed by men) and a set of bearers. He quickly put together a few requisites for the journey, and was soon ready. The night was not far advanced when the orderly returned with apush-pushand eight bearers, and Bose started off, attended by his cook and body-servant.
The road lay through a forest. At times the path was so narrow and rocky that the men couldmake little progress, and at last they declared that the road was impassable for a wheeled conveyance, and that it was necessary for the Inspector to change into apalki. One of them said that about two miles off the road there was a village, and that in the village there lived a rich Hindustani merchant who might lend apalki. Bose was pleased at the suggestion and told thepush-pushbearers to take him to the village. They needed no second bidding, and the Inspector was soon being trundled across the paddy fields that lay between the village and the road. Arrived there, he hastened to the merchant’s house and asked to see him.
A handsome up-countryman came out and when, he saw that his visitor was a gentleman he courteously asked him to enter and be seated. The Inspector soon explained his necessity for apalki, and the rich man placed his at the disposal of the police officer. “ButJenab(Sir),” he said, “tigers are bad in this forest and you have to pass through a part known to be a favourite haunt of theirs. Have you any fire-arms?”
“Only my revolver,” said Bose “but I must push on and take my chance.” And as thepalkinow stood ready and the bearers declared themselvesrefreshed, he thanked his host for his ready assistance, bade him farewell and started once again.
The bearers were full of spirits after their rest at the merchant’s house and for a mile or two travelled at a rapid pace; but the narrow winding road impeded their progress, and as the night advanced the eerie sounds of the forest must have got on their nerves. At the commencement of the journey they had beguiled the march with stories of tigers and bears met in the forest, but after some hours of travel they became silent; and beyond the usual directions of the forward men concerning the road and occasionally a shrill cry to scare away wild animals, they made no remarks to each other.
Within thepalki, Bose lay fitfully dozing. The night was oppressive and his thoughts were on the murder and his chances of a successful capture of the wrong-doer. The road had become wider and level and the men were going along at a good pace, when suddenly they dropped thepalkito the ground and fled in all directions. Bose shouted: “What is up? Why have you run away?” No answer greeted his ears but a strange odour penetrated his nostrils and he knew there was a tiger in the jungle. He quickly pulled the doors of thepalkijammingthem as securely as he could with the ends of hisrazai(quilt). Then he tore the strong border off hisdhoti(loin cloth) and commenced to bind the handles of the doors together. He had just finished firmly lashing together the handles on one side when he heard an ominous growling. With frantic haste he bound the handles of the opposite doors together, praying fervently that he might escape the jaws of the tiger.
The animal continued growling. Evidently the dark bulk of thepalkifrightened him. Bose sat inside, huddled in a heap and breathless. The tiger, re-assured by the stillness of the object before him, ceased growling; and presently, the soft thud of his feet and his sniffing round thepalkitold the trembling man within that ’Stripes’ was making an investigation.
Now a mighty roar shook the jungles and Bose realised that the tiger had leapt upon the roof of thepalkiand was scratching furiously at it. Bose clutched the handles of the doors and held on to them with the grip of despair. The tiger scratched and growled and finally bounded off the top and began a vigorous assault upon the side. Thepalkitoppled over on to its other side. Poor Bose congratulatedhimself that now one of the doors rested upon Mother Earth and he could give his whole energy to defending the other. He gripped the handles with renewed determination and waited.
The tiger had sustained a shock at seeing the unknown monster he was tackling roll over, and for a time satisfied himself by growling savagely. But as the monster lay still “Stripes” tried the experiment of a sharp blow with his paw. Thepalkirested on uneven ground and the blow made it rock. The tiger waited awhile; and when the rocking had subsided administered another stroke. Thepalkirocked again. The situation now developed into a game between the huge cat and thepalki. When he slapped thepalkirocked; and when thepalkiceased vibrating the tiger slapped again. Inside thepalki, the Inspector held on to the handles of the door and prayed for deliverance.
At last the tiger, wearied of the game and purring loudly, walked away. Bose breathed more freely but knew not if the danger was past. There he lay gripping the handles of the door and wishing for daylight. At last the dawn broke and with the first rays of light courage returned to the bearers and servants, who were hiding in the branches ofthe surrounding trees. They called to each other, expressing anxiety as to their master’s fate. Finally, as the daylight grew stronger they encouraged each other to descend and approach thepalki.
As they examined it with wonder some very cutting remarks from within assured them of their master’s existence, and with many apologies for the abrupt way in which they had abandoned him they righted thepalkiand assisted him out.
The journey was soon resumed and Bose had the satisfaction of arresting the murderer in spite of his ill-timed adventure and forced delay.
An Assam AdventureSome years ago, an English baron came out to India to enjoy some tiger shooting. He received invitations to many Native States, and was having a right royal time. In the course of his wanderings he came to Assam. In those days, the jungles of Assam swarmed with tigers but a “man-eater” was very rarely known there.Sir M. was in a small camp with just two or three other guns, and all were hopeful of “bagging” a tiger, for the roaring of the lords of the jungle could be heard almost every night. The tents had been pitched on the bank of a river and all round the camp and on the opposite bank was heavy jungle. Wild animals abounded in these jungles and the camp servants did not appreciate the site. No sooner had the Sahebs finished their dinner than the servants disappeared into their tents, and securing themselves within, as strongly as they could, devoutly hoped that the morning light would find them still alive and unharmed.One evening Sir M. retired to his own tent immediately after dinner. He was very tired butas he was not sleepy, he made himself comfortable and settled down on a long-sleeved chair with a book. His tent was a small one, with a camp cot, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table stood a reading lamp. M. was soon absorbed in his book and did not notice how the hours fled. The camp became quiet and still. It was a dark close night and the door of his tent stood open, for he was a lover of air. He had read on for some time when his attention was drawn to a movement of his tent wall. It seemed to him as if some one or something was rubbing along the side. He put down his book and got on to his feet to see what it could be. As he was about to step forward the head of a tiger loomed in the doorway, the eyes gleaming brightly. Sir M. stood motionless with surprise and “Stripes” stepped into the tent. He was a fine specimen of a Royal Bengal tiger, and M. forgot everything in his admiration of the noble animal.The table with the lamp upon it stood between Sir M. and the tiger, and each stood on either side of it gazing at each other. As the silent seconds passed, Sir M. realized that he was in danger and bethought him of his rifle which was almost within reach of his hand; but he dared not move and socontinued gazing steadfastly at his visitor. The tiger too stood, surveying his vis-a-vis and then began to move round the table. The lamp either attracted or annoyed him and he raised his paw to the table. The weight of the huge paw tilted the table, the lamp toppled and fell with a crash. The terrified tiger gave a mighty roar, turned tail and fled.The camp was aroused. Everyone shouted and rushed out into the night, armed with some weapon or other. Sir M. related to his brother guns what had happened and they all enjoyed a good laugh and rather envied him for the fine sight he had of such a superb specimen of the kings of the jungle.
Some years ago, an English baron came out to India to enjoy some tiger shooting. He received invitations to many Native States, and was having a right royal time. In the course of his wanderings he came to Assam. In those days, the jungles of Assam swarmed with tigers but a “man-eater” was very rarely known there.
Sir M. was in a small camp with just two or three other guns, and all were hopeful of “bagging” a tiger, for the roaring of the lords of the jungle could be heard almost every night. The tents had been pitched on the bank of a river and all round the camp and on the opposite bank was heavy jungle. Wild animals abounded in these jungles and the camp servants did not appreciate the site. No sooner had the Sahebs finished their dinner than the servants disappeared into their tents, and securing themselves within, as strongly as they could, devoutly hoped that the morning light would find them still alive and unharmed.
One evening Sir M. retired to his own tent immediately after dinner. He was very tired butas he was not sleepy, he made himself comfortable and settled down on a long-sleeved chair with a book. His tent was a small one, with a camp cot, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table stood a reading lamp. M. was soon absorbed in his book and did not notice how the hours fled. The camp became quiet and still. It was a dark close night and the door of his tent stood open, for he was a lover of air. He had read on for some time when his attention was drawn to a movement of his tent wall. It seemed to him as if some one or something was rubbing along the side. He put down his book and got on to his feet to see what it could be. As he was about to step forward the head of a tiger loomed in the doorway, the eyes gleaming brightly. Sir M. stood motionless with surprise and “Stripes” stepped into the tent. He was a fine specimen of a Royal Bengal tiger, and M. forgot everything in his admiration of the noble animal.
The table with the lamp upon it stood between Sir M. and the tiger, and each stood on either side of it gazing at each other. As the silent seconds passed, Sir M. realized that he was in danger and bethought him of his rifle which was almost within reach of his hand; but he dared not move and socontinued gazing steadfastly at his visitor. The tiger too stood, surveying his vis-a-vis and then began to move round the table. The lamp either attracted or annoyed him and he raised his paw to the table. The weight of the huge paw tilted the table, the lamp toppled and fell with a crash. The terrified tiger gave a mighty roar, turned tail and fled.
The camp was aroused. Everyone shouted and rushed out into the night, armed with some weapon or other. Sir M. related to his brother guns what had happened and they all enjoyed a good laugh and rather envied him for the fine sight he had of such a superb specimen of the kings of the jungle.
A Thrilling StoryOne evening, in Assam, a young Englishman was driving along a lonely jungle road. He wished to visit a neighbouring Saheb; and though his servants had warned him that tigers had been frequently seen on that particular road, he had laughed at their fears and told them that the only tiger to be feared was a “man-eater”, and that there were no “man-eating” tigers about that district. As usual in the mofussil of India, he was going out to dine and sleep, and his bearer had put up his clothes and his suit case was stowed into the dog-cart.The road was a good one and considerably wide, for it was the main thoroughfare in the district and along it tea, jute and all other agricultural products were transported to the river for export to other districts of India and also to Europe. Nevertheless it was bordered on either side by dense jungle, and there were few villages in its vicinity. After sunset it was a road little frequented by villagers and it had the reputation of being tiger-haunted.There was no moon and, as B. had not started much before sunset, darkness soon overtook him on the road. As he had nosycewith him he got down to light the trap-lamps and jumped in and drove on again very cheerily. He was not far from where he must turn off the main road to the narrow one leading to his friend’s estate, when the pony suddenly took fright at something and bolted. At first B. tried to pull the animal up; but its erect ears and wild snorting showed him that there was cause for alarm. He looked over his shoulder and in the dim starlight discerned the bulk of some animal in pursuit of them. An eerie feeling came over him and he wondered what was going to happen. He sat tight in his seat and let the pony race on. The chase continued and the pony began to show signs of collapse. It was evidently being overcome by fear and, in spite of all B.’s urging, could not keep up the pace, and the pursuing animal gained upon them. B. had just determined to leap from the cart when the pony tripped and fell and B. was shot out of the cart. He fell into the long grass on the side of the road, and had barely collected himself when a dark form sprang upon the pony.The poor animal neighed with fear but kickedand fought its foe. B. rolled down the side of the road and began to crawl away through the jungle as fast as he could. Long grass and thorny brambles grew on either side of the road and as it was the dry season every movement of his made a crackling and rustling; and often he fancied he heard an animal in pursuit of him, or he would imagine he was about to meet one coming through the jungle towards him. He pressed on as fast as he could, sometimes crawling and sometimes walking, and at last he saw the glimmer of lights and came to some huts. He shouted to the inmates who came to his assistance.When they discovered a Saheb in such a plight they were full of concern, helped him to their huts, gave him hot milk to drink and washed his wounds. His clothes were torn and his hands and knees bleeding from his flight through the thorny jungle. The sympathising villagers emptied a hut for him to rest in, and when morning came escorted him to the scene of his mishap.The mangled remains of his poor pony told him that the wild animal had been a very famished tiger. B. returned to his own bungalow a wiser man, and told his servants that, had he taken theiradvice, he would not have suffered such an adventure or the loss of his pony. He rewarded the villagers for their kindness and hospitality and for a long time his escape was the talk of the district.
One evening, in Assam, a young Englishman was driving along a lonely jungle road. He wished to visit a neighbouring Saheb; and though his servants had warned him that tigers had been frequently seen on that particular road, he had laughed at their fears and told them that the only tiger to be feared was a “man-eater”, and that there were no “man-eating” tigers about that district. As usual in the mofussil of India, he was going out to dine and sleep, and his bearer had put up his clothes and his suit case was stowed into the dog-cart.
The road was a good one and considerably wide, for it was the main thoroughfare in the district and along it tea, jute and all other agricultural products were transported to the river for export to other districts of India and also to Europe. Nevertheless it was bordered on either side by dense jungle, and there were few villages in its vicinity. After sunset it was a road little frequented by villagers and it had the reputation of being tiger-haunted.
There was no moon and, as B. had not started much before sunset, darkness soon overtook him on the road. As he had nosycewith him he got down to light the trap-lamps and jumped in and drove on again very cheerily. He was not far from where he must turn off the main road to the narrow one leading to his friend’s estate, when the pony suddenly took fright at something and bolted. At first B. tried to pull the animal up; but its erect ears and wild snorting showed him that there was cause for alarm. He looked over his shoulder and in the dim starlight discerned the bulk of some animal in pursuit of them. An eerie feeling came over him and he wondered what was going to happen. He sat tight in his seat and let the pony race on. The chase continued and the pony began to show signs of collapse. It was evidently being overcome by fear and, in spite of all B.’s urging, could not keep up the pace, and the pursuing animal gained upon them. B. had just determined to leap from the cart when the pony tripped and fell and B. was shot out of the cart. He fell into the long grass on the side of the road, and had barely collected himself when a dark form sprang upon the pony.
The poor animal neighed with fear but kickedand fought its foe. B. rolled down the side of the road and began to crawl away through the jungle as fast as he could. Long grass and thorny brambles grew on either side of the road and as it was the dry season every movement of his made a crackling and rustling; and often he fancied he heard an animal in pursuit of him, or he would imagine he was about to meet one coming through the jungle towards him. He pressed on as fast as he could, sometimes crawling and sometimes walking, and at last he saw the glimmer of lights and came to some huts. He shouted to the inmates who came to his assistance.
When they discovered a Saheb in such a plight they were full of concern, helped him to their huts, gave him hot milk to drink and washed his wounds. His clothes were torn and his hands and knees bleeding from his flight through the thorny jungle. The sympathising villagers emptied a hut for him to rest in, and when morning came escorted him to the scene of his mishap.
The mangled remains of his poor pony told him that the wild animal had been a very famished tiger. B. returned to his own bungalow a wiser man, and told his servants that, had he taken theiradvice, he would not have suffered such an adventure or the loss of his pony. He rewarded the villagers for their kindness and hospitality and for a long time his escape was the talk of the district.
A Cachar TigerIn the province of Assam lies a fertile and picturesque valley called Cachar. Shut in on north, south and east by lofty hills, this valley remained hidden for centuries and was never conquered by any of the Mahommedan rulers of India.Here a race of aboriginal kings held sway, and it was the East India Company who first became masters of this hilly corner of Bengal. In 1830, the last of the old Cachari kings died without heir, and “Company Bahadoor” took possession of the little kingdom.In 1855, the discovery of the tea-plant, growing wild in the jungles, opened out a new industry, and soon the low-lying hills, knolls and undulating plains of the little valley became gradually clear of jungle, and covered instead with row after row of carefully-kept and trim tea bushes. To-day acres upon acres of tea are grown in Cachar; and the inland steamers, which ply all through the rainy season up and down the wide-rolling stream of theriver Barak, bring down for export millions of pounds of tea for the “cheering cup”.Cachar is rich in forests, and tigers and other wild animals are there in plenty. During the monsoon the jungle animals retreat to the higher levels of the forest-clad hills. But when the rains abate they begin to gradually descend; and when the great “hoars” or fenlands dry up at the approach of the cold season, numerous tigers take up their winter haunts in the patches of jungle, which grow here and there in the marsh lands, and in the forests which often surround or separate the tea gardens.It was cold-weather time about forty years ago, and four planters sat talking after dinner in the Manager’s bungalow on a tea garden in Cachar. We will call them M., B., C. and H.The bungalow, like many bungalows in tea districts, stood on a high hill, the steep sides of which had been terraced and planted with tea. On adjacent but lower hills stood the factory and coolie lines. Everything was quiet and lay wrapped in a heavy fog.In the verandah near the steps sat the bungalowchowkidar(watchman). The charity of the Tea Company had provided him and his fellow-coolieswith blankets. And he wore his in the usualpachim(North-West Provinces) style: one end of the blanket is pleated and tied closely with a piece of string, the short part above the cord forming a tuft. The wearer pulls the pleated end of the blanket over his head, the tuft resting on his crown. The sides of the blanket are drawn round the body, and thus the blanket is made to form both a hood and a cloak, in which the wearer hugs himself against the inclemency of the weather.Thechowkidarsat on his mat huddled up in his blanket, droning one of the time-honouredbhajans(hymns) of India.Presently he disappeared and, next, piercing yells rent the mist-laden atmosphere. The four Sahebs were in the verandah in a trice, and soon discovered thechowkidarreturning to the verandah, visibly shaken and without his blanket.“What is the matter, and who shouted?” asked the Manager.“Saheb,” thechowkidarreplied in a quavering voice “a tiger sprang on me and caught the knot of my blanket.”“Here!” interrupted the four Englishmen incredulously.“Yes,Huzoor(Your Honour), as I sat here against this post the tiger came, seized the knot of my blanket and began to pull. Like lightning I made my plan. I grasped with a strong tight hold the sides of the blanket and holding myself together like a ball I let Lord Tiger pull. He dragged me to the edge of thetila(hill). There I suddenly let go the blanket and shouted with all my might. The tiger fell over, down the hill, and is gone.”Sure enough, there were the foot-marks of the tiger, the mark of the drag, and the signs of where “Stripes” had slipped over and down the terrace.The tiger had been harrying the coolies for some time and a rumour had got about that he was a man-eater. It was pretty certain that he would come again the next night; so the planters determined to sit up and shoot him.On the following night after dinner M. B. C. and H. took their positions on the verandah. Each had his loaded gun and all waited patiently for the tiger. Time passed. It was weary work and they dozed.M.’s dog had wandered off to the kitchen as usual after dinner. After some time it returned hurriedly and ran up the steps of the verandah,barking in a frightened manner. The dog’s barking woke the four men. B. sat first near the steps and H. not far from him in a dining-room chair.The dog ran into the dining-room and hid himself under the table and everything again became quiet, and the men waited. Suddenly a hoarse cry paralysed three of them. “He’s on me. Shoot.”The tiger had come up on to the verandah and springing at B. caught him by the arm. Then, releasing the arm, he made a spring at his victim’s throat. B. was instantly on his feet and, as the tiger essayed his throat, he rammed his clenched fist into the animal’s mouth. The tiger shook the man’s fist out of its mouth and made another attempt to reach his throat. B. repeated his manoeuvre. This happened three or four times.In the meantime the other three men dared not shoot for fear of missing the ferocious cat and killing their comrade. H. had the presence of mind to swiftly fix his bayonet, and, rushing towards the tiger, he thrust it in the animal’s side, firing as he did so. The tiger fell backwards off the verandah mortally wounded, but to the amazementof the Sahebs struggled tip and made another attempt to get at B. He was however too badly wounded and fell back dead.B.’s hand and arm were terribly mauled, and after medical treatment he had to go home on long leave.
In the province of Assam lies a fertile and picturesque valley called Cachar. Shut in on north, south and east by lofty hills, this valley remained hidden for centuries and was never conquered by any of the Mahommedan rulers of India.
Here a race of aboriginal kings held sway, and it was the East India Company who first became masters of this hilly corner of Bengal. In 1830, the last of the old Cachari kings died without heir, and “Company Bahadoor” took possession of the little kingdom.
In 1855, the discovery of the tea-plant, growing wild in the jungles, opened out a new industry, and soon the low-lying hills, knolls and undulating plains of the little valley became gradually clear of jungle, and covered instead with row after row of carefully-kept and trim tea bushes. To-day acres upon acres of tea are grown in Cachar; and the inland steamers, which ply all through the rainy season up and down the wide-rolling stream of theriver Barak, bring down for export millions of pounds of tea for the “cheering cup”.
Cachar is rich in forests, and tigers and other wild animals are there in plenty. During the monsoon the jungle animals retreat to the higher levels of the forest-clad hills. But when the rains abate they begin to gradually descend; and when the great “hoars” or fenlands dry up at the approach of the cold season, numerous tigers take up their winter haunts in the patches of jungle, which grow here and there in the marsh lands, and in the forests which often surround or separate the tea gardens.
It was cold-weather time about forty years ago, and four planters sat talking after dinner in the Manager’s bungalow on a tea garden in Cachar. We will call them M., B., C. and H.
The bungalow, like many bungalows in tea districts, stood on a high hill, the steep sides of which had been terraced and planted with tea. On adjacent but lower hills stood the factory and coolie lines. Everything was quiet and lay wrapped in a heavy fog.
In the verandah near the steps sat the bungalowchowkidar(watchman). The charity of the Tea Company had provided him and his fellow-coolieswith blankets. And he wore his in the usualpachim(North-West Provinces) style: one end of the blanket is pleated and tied closely with a piece of string, the short part above the cord forming a tuft. The wearer pulls the pleated end of the blanket over his head, the tuft resting on his crown. The sides of the blanket are drawn round the body, and thus the blanket is made to form both a hood and a cloak, in which the wearer hugs himself against the inclemency of the weather.
Thechowkidarsat on his mat huddled up in his blanket, droning one of the time-honouredbhajans(hymns) of India.
Presently he disappeared and, next, piercing yells rent the mist-laden atmosphere. The four Sahebs were in the verandah in a trice, and soon discovered thechowkidarreturning to the verandah, visibly shaken and without his blanket.
“What is the matter, and who shouted?” asked the Manager.
“Saheb,” thechowkidarreplied in a quavering voice “a tiger sprang on me and caught the knot of my blanket.”
“Here!” interrupted the four Englishmen incredulously.
“Yes,Huzoor(Your Honour), as I sat here against this post the tiger came, seized the knot of my blanket and began to pull. Like lightning I made my plan. I grasped with a strong tight hold the sides of the blanket and holding myself together like a ball I let Lord Tiger pull. He dragged me to the edge of thetila(hill). There I suddenly let go the blanket and shouted with all my might. The tiger fell over, down the hill, and is gone.”
Sure enough, there were the foot-marks of the tiger, the mark of the drag, and the signs of where “Stripes” had slipped over and down the terrace.
The tiger had been harrying the coolies for some time and a rumour had got about that he was a man-eater. It was pretty certain that he would come again the next night; so the planters determined to sit up and shoot him.
On the following night after dinner M. B. C. and H. took their positions on the verandah. Each had his loaded gun and all waited patiently for the tiger. Time passed. It was weary work and they dozed.
M.’s dog had wandered off to the kitchen as usual after dinner. After some time it returned hurriedly and ran up the steps of the verandah,barking in a frightened manner. The dog’s barking woke the four men. B. sat first near the steps and H. not far from him in a dining-room chair.
The dog ran into the dining-room and hid himself under the table and everything again became quiet, and the men waited. Suddenly a hoarse cry paralysed three of them. “He’s on me. Shoot.”
The tiger had come up on to the verandah and springing at B. caught him by the arm. Then, releasing the arm, he made a spring at his victim’s throat. B. was instantly on his feet and, as the tiger essayed his throat, he rammed his clenched fist into the animal’s mouth. The tiger shook the man’s fist out of its mouth and made another attempt to reach his throat. B. repeated his manoeuvre. This happened three or four times.
In the meantime the other three men dared not shoot for fear of missing the ferocious cat and killing their comrade. H. had the presence of mind to swiftly fix his bayonet, and, rushing towards the tiger, he thrust it in the animal’s side, firing as he did so. The tiger fell backwards off the verandah mortally wounded, but to the amazementof the Sahebs struggled tip and made another attempt to get at B. He was however too badly wounded and fell back dead.
B.’s hand and arm were terribly mauled, and after medical treatment he had to go home on long leave.
A Maharajah’s AdventuresA Maharajah of Bengal who became a noted sportsman shot his first tiger when he was quite a small boy. When about twelve years of age he went out on a shoot one cold weather on his estate. He was accompanied by some of his relatives, and they encamped in one of the forest bungalows. This bungalow was just an ordinary Assam house built on achangor raised platform. It consisted of a large centre room with a bedroom on either side and a deep verandah in the front, where the servants slept at night. Under large trees, some little distance away, the elephants were chained, and not far off were stables for the horses.The Maharajah shared his room with a friend, a lad about two years older than himself. One night between ten and eleven o’clock, when all were in bed and asleep after a tiring day and an early dinner, the near roaring of a tiger awakened the camp. In a twinkling the servants had transferred themselves and their bedding from the verandah into the centre room and securely bolted the door. Roar after roar sounded through the night, but theyoung Maharajah slept the healthful and deep sleep of tired childhood and the mighty voice of the lord of the jungle did not disturb him. His friend was awakened by the majestic sound and lay trembling with fear; envying his blissfully unconscious companion, until the nearness of the tiger broke down his self-control and, vigorously shaking his bed-fellow, he shouted in his ear: “Tiger, tiger!”The young Maharajah awoke, yawned, stretched and listened. The roaring had ceased but under the bungalow they could hear the purring of a tiger as it rubbed itself against a post. The younger and fearless boy laughed with glee and assured his friend that there was no danger of the tiger getting into the bungalow, and that on the morrow they would be easily able to track and shoot it. Soon the sounds of purring and rubbing gave place to others, and the occupants of the bungalow realised that more than one tiger played beneath them. Next day in the jungle near the forest bungalow the party shot a couple of tigers, a tigress and her cubs.In later years the Maharajah became famous for his shoots and many and varied were his adventuresand experiences. One year he was in camp with a large party and they were out one afternoon after buffaloes. A fine bull was driven out of a patch of thick jungle and faced the guns with defiance in his eyes. He was a grand target and the Maharajah’s finger ached to pull his trigger, but courtesy forbade him and he generously, as always, left the fine prize for his guests. But, one after another, each missed his shot and the noble bull charged past into thicker jungle. As the line of guns attempted to follow, one of them spied a leopard up on a tree looking thoroughly scared. This animal had evidently been disturbed by the commotion in the forest and had been so terrified that it had climbed into a tree for shelter; and there, on a branch, poor “Spots” fell an easy prey to the sportsmen.One of the strangest adventures that the Maharajah had was when, returning to camp one evening, he was informed that one of his largest and best elephants, “Kennedy”, had got stuck in quicksand. In many parts of Assam there are quicksands and quagmires. This particular one chanced to be in anala(stream). The elephant had refused to cross the partially dried-up stream.Instinct had warned him through the tip of his trunk that danger lurked there, but hismahout(driver), anxious to get into camp after a hard day and knowing that across this stream was a short cut, had forced him. They had advanced but a yard or two when the huge animal began to sink, and the more he struggled and strove to extricate himself the deeper he sank. The Maharajah hastened to the spot as soon as he heard of the catastrophe, for “Kennedy” was a fine and valuable elephant and a steady one forshikar(shooting). At the sound of his master’s voice poor “Kennedy” looked towards the bank, and the Maharajah saw that great tears of anguish were rolling down the poor beast’s face as he bellowed in an agony of fear. The Maharajah directed the men who had gathered around the scene to fell some saplings, which were conveyed to thenalaby some smaller elephant and pushed into the quagmire towards “Kennedy”. The poor entrapped animal seemed to understand that efforts were being made to rescue him, and he obeyed his driver’s now soothing voice and held himself still. At last, the combined labours of men and brother-elephants provided a safe footing of submerged saplings and branches; and “Kennedy” pulled himself out of thetreacherous sand and was escorted back to the camp with great rejoicings.Not long after this “Kennedy” distinguished himself in another way, but this time evoked the displeasure and not the pity of his good master. An engineer, named Ashton, had charge of thefeilkhana(elephant stables) and had once severely punished “Kennedy”. After the manner of his kind, the elephant bore the memory of the outrage in his heart and waited the opportunity to be revenged. One morning the camp was astir for a shoot. The guests stood ready outside their tents and the elephants were waiting to carry them into the forest. Suddenly “Kennedy” charged at Ashton, who stood a little apart from the group, and flinging him to the ground began to roll him under his feet. The Maharajah, with wonderful presence of mind, immediately ordered “Debraj”, a larger and more powerful elephant than “Kennedy” and his rival in thefeilkhana, to the rescue. “Debraj’s”mahoutordered him to charge at “Kennedy”, and, urged forward with voice and prong; “Debraj” did so with a good will. When “Kennedy” saw his ancient enemy charging at him, he forgot his grudge against Ashton, and, considering that “he whofights and runs away lives to fight another day”, he bolted, with his trunk in the air. Ashton was picked up from the dust very much shaken by his rolling and fright but, to the astonishment of every one, in no way injured.During one of his shooting expeditions, the Maharajah and his companions decided one night that they would go out on foot at the very break of dawn and see the animal world in the jungle; and they were well rewarded for their adventurous spirit. In a glade of the forest they had a magnificent sight of a large herd of bison peacefully grazing in the dewy grass. They could hear tigers and bears passing back through the jungles to their dens in the deeper forest, and as the men stood there admiring the grand heads of the bison a monstrous tiger passed along quite close to one of the party, the Maharajah’s brother-in-law. On the bank of a river they came upon a nest of young pythons. The guests thought it was a curious mound; but the Maharajah recognised the reared heads of the young snakes and told his friends what the heap was. When they came closer, they could see that the long slimy bodies were all twisted together; and with an uncanny feeling, the sportsmen watched theseserpents uncoil themselves from each other and glide away and disappear through the grass.Once, after a long and fruitless day in the jungles, the Maharajah decided he would try his luck stalking some deer that he spied on the opposite side of a narrow strip of jungle. He accordingly left his elephant and began to creep through the long dry bramble-choked grass with his rifle in his hand. As he pushed his way through the thick jungle he fancied he heard an animal breathing and then something crackled. Intent on the deer before him, he concluded that he had broken a twig or a branch with the end of his rifle and pushed on. As he emerged from the thicket on the opposite side from where he had entered, he came face to face with a group of shepherds. They stared at him in amazement and then, recognising him as their Maharajah, fell at his feet in rapturous joy. Accustomed as he was to demonstrations from his people, their abandon struck him as something unusual, and he was about to question them when they exclamed: “Hoozoor, Dharmabatar, (Your Honor, Royal Master,) how did you come in safety through that jungle?” He smiled at their wonderment and was about to chide them gently when theycontinued: “An immense tiger has just slain one of our cows and dragged it into that very jungle from which Your Honor has emerged.” The Maharajah now understood that the sound he had heard as he pushed his way through the jungle was the tiger enjoying a feed of his kill, and he felt thankful that he had not stumbled directly upon it. Like the keen sportsman he was, he signalled his elephant and, mounting it, secured the feasting tiger with an easy shot.One cold season, the Viceroy was enjoying a shoot on the Maharajah’s estates. One evening, as they were dressing for dinner, there came through the stillness of the restful air the “twitter” of a tiger. Do many of my readers know what the “twitter” of a tiger is? It is a sound the Monarch of the Jungle makes and it is just like the twitter of a bird;—in fact, some declare itisonly the twitter of a bird. Well, on this particular evening, the tiger must have been passing quite close to the camp, for his “twitter” was clear and unmistakeable. The Maharajah, with his usual courtesy, immediately bethought himself of his guests, and invited Their Excellencies to come out into the open and listen to the novel sound. They did, and verypleased and proud they were when they heard the tiger’s “twitter” clearly and distinctly through the gathering shade and stillness of the darkening night.The shooting camps were invariably pitched on the bank of a river or stream. One evening, two of the servants crossed the shallow stream in front of the camp to enjoy some fishing. They found a suitable place behind a mound and here they sat quietly watching their lines. The afternoon hours passed swiftly and the sun was nearing the horizon when their attention was simultaneously drawn to a sound above their heads. Looking up, to their horror, they saw an immense tiger just above them. One of them shivered with terror and, clutching his companion, said in a hoarse whisper: “Our hour has come.” The other whispered back: “Keep perfectly still and quiet.” Breathless, the two watched the huge tiger descend the bank and pass majestically to the edge of the water where he stopped to quench his thirst. It seemed to the two trembling men that it took the Lord of the Jungle fully half an hour to drink his fill. Then, as slowly and impressively, the tiger turned from the stream and ascended the bank. When he reached the tophe stood there, gazing before him either as if admiring the scenery or contemplating a meal off one of the men. The pair scarcely dared to breathe and wild schemes of taking to their heels to gain the centre of the stream and swim down the river shot through their brains. At last the tiger slowly turned away from the river and disappeared into the forest. Then, after some time, the frightened servants hurried across the stream back to camp, and told the Maharajah of their terrible experience. The footprints of the animal corroborated their story and their asseveration that they had seen a very very big tiger.During one of the shoots, theshikaris(native sportsmen) brought news that a rhino had been seen in a certain jungle. The guests were much excited and a beat was organised for the next day. The morning dawned and all set out and were soon posted to their various positions. The front “stop” guns were on the bank of a river. The Maharajah was in the beating line. When about half way through the piece of jungle he noticed that one of his brother guns looked disappointed. He accordingly asked “What’s up?” The guest answered that he thought that a large animal had broken back. Howevernothing was discovered and as it was mid-day a halt for lunch was considered desirable. A spot was soon selected and the signal given and the lines broke up. Just as the foremost elephants were about to kneel to permit their riders to dismount, there arose from the “stop” elephants a cry of “Tiger”. In the jungle, quite close to one of the “stop” guns, a tiger was enjoying a feed of a wild pig; and as the elephant turned to join the others, he almost trod on the tiger. In a moment the line was re-organised, but the surprised tiger, finding itself surrounded by foes, turned tail and ran down the bank of the river. The stream was nearly dry and the bed was very shingly, and as the startled tiger picked its way gingerly across the pebbles and pools of water it looked like a stranded cat. It had not progressed very far when a well-directed shot laid it low; and with this unexpected prize the party sat down to lunch in excellent spirits. As rhino generally fight shy of elephants, they did not think there was much use continuing the beat after lunch. So they decided that they should make tracks for home and have general shooting. General shooting means that there is no beating line. A longstraight line of march is formed, and each gun elephant is in between the pad or beating elephants. The Maharajah was almost the last gun in the line. Nearly all were out of the jungle when his keen and practised eye noticed a small pad elephant jib at something as they passed through a piece of jungle. “Did your elephant refuse to come through?” he questioned themahoutof the small elephant. “Yes, Maharajah, he smelt something in the jungle,” the man replied. “Beat this piece of jungle”, the Maharajah quickly ordered the pad elephants with him. They beat it and drove forth a rhino which fell dead to the Maharajah’s gun. Before His Highness had time to take up his other rifle, a second galloped out of the jungle and charged straight at the Maharajah’s elephant. The elephant spun round to avoid the furious onslaught and in the meantime the Maharajah managed to raise his gun and, getting in his shot in spite of the gyrations of the elephant, laid out rhino No. 2 in grand style to the applause of his companions.Coming back to camp in the dusk one evening, the Maharajah, who had wonderful eyesight, thought he saw a tiger lying still in an open field.He raised his gun and whispered to hismahout. As they came nearer, the tiger—for tiger it was—raised itself to its feet and prepared to spring at the elephant. Too late! Snap went the Maharajah’s trigger and the royal beast lay dead.These are but a few of the shooting adventures of a sportsman-Maharajah who has gone on the long journey from life to the greater life beyond, but whose memory lives in the annals of Bengal as a keen and successful shot.
A Maharajah of Bengal who became a noted sportsman shot his first tiger when he was quite a small boy. When about twelve years of age he went out on a shoot one cold weather on his estate. He was accompanied by some of his relatives, and they encamped in one of the forest bungalows. This bungalow was just an ordinary Assam house built on achangor raised platform. It consisted of a large centre room with a bedroom on either side and a deep verandah in the front, where the servants slept at night. Under large trees, some little distance away, the elephants were chained, and not far off were stables for the horses.
The Maharajah shared his room with a friend, a lad about two years older than himself. One night between ten and eleven o’clock, when all were in bed and asleep after a tiring day and an early dinner, the near roaring of a tiger awakened the camp. In a twinkling the servants had transferred themselves and their bedding from the verandah into the centre room and securely bolted the door. Roar after roar sounded through the night, but theyoung Maharajah slept the healthful and deep sleep of tired childhood and the mighty voice of the lord of the jungle did not disturb him. His friend was awakened by the majestic sound and lay trembling with fear; envying his blissfully unconscious companion, until the nearness of the tiger broke down his self-control and, vigorously shaking his bed-fellow, he shouted in his ear: “Tiger, tiger!”
The young Maharajah awoke, yawned, stretched and listened. The roaring had ceased but under the bungalow they could hear the purring of a tiger as it rubbed itself against a post. The younger and fearless boy laughed with glee and assured his friend that there was no danger of the tiger getting into the bungalow, and that on the morrow they would be easily able to track and shoot it. Soon the sounds of purring and rubbing gave place to others, and the occupants of the bungalow realised that more than one tiger played beneath them. Next day in the jungle near the forest bungalow the party shot a couple of tigers, a tigress and her cubs.
In later years the Maharajah became famous for his shoots and many and varied were his adventuresand experiences. One year he was in camp with a large party and they were out one afternoon after buffaloes. A fine bull was driven out of a patch of thick jungle and faced the guns with defiance in his eyes. He was a grand target and the Maharajah’s finger ached to pull his trigger, but courtesy forbade him and he generously, as always, left the fine prize for his guests. But, one after another, each missed his shot and the noble bull charged past into thicker jungle. As the line of guns attempted to follow, one of them spied a leopard up on a tree looking thoroughly scared. This animal had evidently been disturbed by the commotion in the forest and had been so terrified that it had climbed into a tree for shelter; and there, on a branch, poor “Spots” fell an easy prey to the sportsmen.
One of the strangest adventures that the Maharajah had was when, returning to camp one evening, he was informed that one of his largest and best elephants, “Kennedy”, had got stuck in quicksand. In many parts of Assam there are quicksands and quagmires. This particular one chanced to be in anala(stream). The elephant had refused to cross the partially dried-up stream.Instinct had warned him through the tip of his trunk that danger lurked there, but hismahout(driver), anxious to get into camp after a hard day and knowing that across this stream was a short cut, had forced him. They had advanced but a yard or two when the huge animal began to sink, and the more he struggled and strove to extricate himself the deeper he sank. The Maharajah hastened to the spot as soon as he heard of the catastrophe, for “Kennedy” was a fine and valuable elephant and a steady one forshikar(shooting). At the sound of his master’s voice poor “Kennedy” looked towards the bank, and the Maharajah saw that great tears of anguish were rolling down the poor beast’s face as he bellowed in an agony of fear. The Maharajah directed the men who had gathered around the scene to fell some saplings, which were conveyed to thenalaby some smaller elephant and pushed into the quagmire towards “Kennedy”. The poor entrapped animal seemed to understand that efforts were being made to rescue him, and he obeyed his driver’s now soothing voice and held himself still. At last, the combined labours of men and brother-elephants provided a safe footing of submerged saplings and branches; and “Kennedy” pulled himself out of thetreacherous sand and was escorted back to the camp with great rejoicings.
Not long after this “Kennedy” distinguished himself in another way, but this time evoked the displeasure and not the pity of his good master. An engineer, named Ashton, had charge of thefeilkhana(elephant stables) and had once severely punished “Kennedy”. After the manner of his kind, the elephant bore the memory of the outrage in his heart and waited the opportunity to be revenged. One morning the camp was astir for a shoot. The guests stood ready outside their tents and the elephants were waiting to carry them into the forest. Suddenly “Kennedy” charged at Ashton, who stood a little apart from the group, and flinging him to the ground began to roll him under his feet. The Maharajah, with wonderful presence of mind, immediately ordered “Debraj”, a larger and more powerful elephant than “Kennedy” and his rival in thefeilkhana, to the rescue. “Debraj’s”mahoutordered him to charge at “Kennedy”, and, urged forward with voice and prong; “Debraj” did so with a good will. When “Kennedy” saw his ancient enemy charging at him, he forgot his grudge against Ashton, and, considering that “he whofights and runs away lives to fight another day”, he bolted, with his trunk in the air. Ashton was picked up from the dust very much shaken by his rolling and fright but, to the astonishment of every one, in no way injured.
During one of his shooting expeditions, the Maharajah and his companions decided one night that they would go out on foot at the very break of dawn and see the animal world in the jungle; and they were well rewarded for their adventurous spirit. In a glade of the forest they had a magnificent sight of a large herd of bison peacefully grazing in the dewy grass. They could hear tigers and bears passing back through the jungles to their dens in the deeper forest, and as the men stood there admiring the grand heads of the bison a monstrous tiger passed along quite close to one of the party, the Maharajah’s brother-in-law. On the bank of a river they came upon a nest of young pythons. The guests thought it was a curious mound; but the Maharajah recognised the reared heads of the young snakes and told his friends what the heap was. When they came closer, they could see that the long slimy bodies were all twisted together; and with an uncanny feeling, the sportsmen watched theseserpents uncoil themselves from each other and glide away and disappear through the grass.
Once, after a long and fruitless day in the jungles, the Maharajah decided he would try his luck stalking some deer that he spied on the opposite side of a narrow strip of jungle. He accordingly left his elephant and began to creep through the long dry bramble-choked grass with his rifle in his hand. As he pushed his way through the thick jungle he fancied he heard an animal breathing and then something crackled. Intent on the deer before him, he concluded that he had broken a twig or a branch with the end of his rifle and pushed on. As he emerged from the thicket on the opposite side from where he had entered, he came face to face with a group of shepherds. They stared at him in amazement and then, recognising him as their Maharajah, fell at his feet in rapturous joy. Accustomed as he was to demonstrations from his people, their abandon struck him as something unusual, and he was about to question them when they exclamed: “Hoozoor, Dharmabatar, (Your Honor, Royal Master,) how did you come in safety through that jungle?” He smiled at their wonderment and was about to chide them gently when theycontinued: “An immense tiger has just slain one of our cows and dragged it into that very jungle from which Your Honor has emerged.” The Maharajah now understood that the sound he had heard as he pushed his way through the jungle was the tiger enjoying a feed of his kill, and he felt thankful that he had not stumbled directly upon it. Like the keen sportsman he was, he signalled his elephant and, mounting it, secured the feasting tiger with an easy shot.
One cold season, the Viceroy was enjoying a shoot on the Maharajah’s estates. One evening, as they were dressing for dinner, there came through the stillness of the restful air the “twitter” of a tiger. Do many of my readers know what the “twitter” of a tiger is? It is a sound the Monarch of the Jungle makes and it is just like the twitter of a bird;—in fact, some declare itisonly the twitter of a bird. Well, on this particular evening, the tiger must have been passing quite close to the camp, for his “twitter” was clear and unmistakeable. The Maharajah, with his usual courtesy, immediately bethought himself of his guests, and invited Their Excellencies to come out into the open and listen to the novel sound. They did, and verypleased and proud they were when they heard the tiger’s “twitter” clearly and distinctly through the gathering shade and stillness of the darkening night.
The shooting camps were invariably pitched on the bank of a river or stream. One evening, two of the servants crossed the shallow stream in front of the camp to enjoy some fishing. They found a suitable place behind a mound and here they sat quietly watching their lines. The afternoon hours passed swiftly and the sun was nearing the horizon when their attention was simultaneously drawn to a sound above their heads. Looking up, to their horror, they saw an immense tiger just above them. One of them shivered with terror and, clutching his companion, said in a hoarse whisper: “Our hour has come.” The other whispered back: “Keep perfectly still and quiet.” Breathless, the two watched the huge tiger descend the bank and pass majestically to the edge of the water where he stopped to quench his thirst. It seemed to the two trembling men that it took the Lord of the Jungle fully half an hour to drink his fill. Then, as slowly and impressively, the tiger turned from the stream and ascended the bank. When he reached the tophe stood there, gazing before him either as if admiring the scenery or contemplating a meal off one of the men. The pair scarcely dared to breathe and wild schemes of taking to their heels to gain the centre of the stream and swim down the river shot through their brains. At last the tiger slowly turned away from the river and disappeared into the forest. Then, after some time, the frightened servants hurried across the stream back to camp, and told the Maharajah of their terrible experience. The footprints of the animal corroborated their story and their asseveration that they had seen a very very big tiger.
During one of the shoots, theshikaris(native sportsmen) brought news that a rhino had been seen in a certain jungle. The guests were much excited and a beat was organised for the next day. The morning dawned and all set out and were soon posted to their various positions. The front “stop” guns were on the bank of a river. The Maharajah was in the beating line. When about half way through the piece of jungle he noticed that one of his brother guns looked disappointed. He accordingly asked “What’s up?” The guest answered that he thought that a large animal had broken back. Howevernothing was discovered and as it was mid-day a halt for lunch was considered desirable. A spot was soon selected and the signal given and the lines broke up. Just as the foremost elephants were about to kneel to permit their riders to dismount, there arose from the “stop” elephants a cry of “Tiger”. In the jungle, quite close to one of the “stop” guns, a tiger was enjoying a feed of a wild pig; and as the elephant turned to join the others, he almost trod on the tiger. In a moment the line was re-organised, but the surprised tiger, finding itself surrounded by foes, turned tail and ran down the bank of the river. The stream was nearly dry and the bed was very shingly, and as the startled tiger picked its way gingerly across the pebbles and pools of water it looked like a stranded cat. It had not progressed very far when a well-directed shot laid it low; and with this unexpected prize the party sat down to lunch in excellent spirits. As rhino generally fight shy of elephants, they did not think there was much use continuing the beat after lunch. So they decided that they should make tracks for home and have general shooting. General shooting means that there is no beating line. A longstraight line of march is formed, and each gun elephant is in between the pad or beating elephants. The Maharajah was almost the last gun in the line. Nearly all were out of the jungle when his keen and practised eye noticed a small pad elephant jib at something as they passed through a piece of jungle. “Did your elephant refuse to come through?” he questioned themahoutof the small elephant. “Yes, Maharajah, he smelt something in the jungle,” the man replied. “Beat this piece of jungle”, the Maharajah quickly ordered the pad elephants with him. They beat it and drove forth a rhino which fell dead to the Maharajah’s gun. Before His Highness had time to take up his other rifle, a second galloped out of the jungle and charged straight at the Maharajah’s elephant. The elephant spun round to avoid the furious onslaught and in the meantime the Maharajah managed to raise his gun and, getting in his shot in spite of the gyrations of the elephant, laid out rhino No. 2 in grand style to the applause of his companions.
Coming back to camp in the dusk one evening, the Maharajah, who had wonderful eyesight, thought he saw a tiger lying still in an open field.He raised his gun and whispered to hismahout. As they came nearer, the tiger—for tiger it was—raised itself to its feet and prepared to spring at the elephant. Too late! Snap went the Maharajah’s trigger and the royal beast lay dead.
These are but a few of the shooting adventures of a sportsman-Maharajah who has gone on the long journey from life to the greater life beyond, but whose memory lives in the annals of Bengal as a keen and successful shot.