VOL. I JULY 1902 No. 5
By George H. Coomer
“NONSENSE,” said Uncle Hayward; “how people do like to be scared! If a real Bengal tiger had made his escape anywhere within twenty miles of here, the whole country would have been up in arms before this time. I’ve no faith in the story.”
“Well, they are not quite sure of it,” replied the neighbor who had given the information, “but they think so. The steamer was sunk and some of the animals were drowned, but it is believed that the big tiger escaped in the darkness and got ashore.”
“What sort of a show was it?” inquired uncle; “a large menagerie?”
“No, I believe not,” was the answer; “only a few animals that some company had hired for the season—a tiger, a jaguar, a pair of leopards, and a few monkeys—that’s what they tell me. The steamer had a heavy cargo, and went down very suddenly.”
“And they think the tiger made for the woods, eh?” said uncle. “When did it happen, do you say?”
“Night before last—about five miles down the river. ’Twas a small steamer going up to Macon. There was no one lost, I hear.”
“Well,” remarked uncle, “a Bengal tiger would be an interesting neighbor, that’s certain; and I don’t believe he would be long in making his presence known. However, such stories generally require a good deal of allowance. As likely as not, there was no tiger aboard of the steamer, after all.”
“Oh, I reckon there was,” said the neighbor; “but then, of course, we can’t tell; people like excitement, and when such a rumor gets started it grows very fast.”
“Yes, that’s true; we shall have a whole menagerie ashore here before night. When I was a boy, in Maine, there was a story that a lion and an elephant had made their escape from somebody’s show and taken to the woods. And, dear me! it spread like the scarlet fever! The children ran all the way to school and all the way back; and the big girls actually cried in the entry, they were so frightened. Some of the mischievous boys would make ‘elephant tracks’ in the road, and this added to the panic. But we never could hear of any showman who had lost such animals, and all on a sudden the thing came to nothing. I guess the tiger story will end in the same way.”
“Why, father,” said Cousin Harold, the fourteen-year-old boy of the family, “I don’t see why it isn’t likely enough to be true. I almost hope there is something in it, though I shouldn’t want him to be killing people’s cattle and things. Just think of it—a big Bengal tiger, and right here in Georgia, too! How I should like to have a chance at him with my gun!”
“Why, Harold,” said his mother, “how you talk. If I believed such a creature to be anywhere in the neighborhood, I’d shut you up in the smoke-house rather that let you go into the woods.”
“What, and make bacon of a poor fellow?” replied the young lad, gayly.
Uncle Hayward and his family were New England people, who had settled in Georgia near the Ocmulgee River, where I was now paying them a really delightful visit. Harold and myself, being very fond of hunting, spent much time together in pursuit of the various kinds of game to be found in the region. Many an old “mammy” and many an “Uncle Remus” was made the happier by the gift of some fat ’coon or juicy ’possum which we brought down from the tall timber.
Inspired as we were with all the enthusiasm of young sportsmen, the thought of an escaped tiger had a pleasing excitement for us. We were, therefore, a little disappointed when another of our neighbors, stopping for a few minutes as he passed the house, made very light of the rumor, saying it was only a foolish story to frighten people.
“A tiger would soon make ugly work among the cattle,” he remarked, “and it would be no joking matter to have one about the neighborhood.”
“That’s true,” replied Uncle Hayward. “I don’t know, though,” he added, “but I’d risk my big Jersey with him. I’m thinking ’twould be about ‘which and t’other’ between the two, as the saying is.”
Harold and I could subscribe to this opinion very heartily, for it was not more than a week since that dangerous old Jersey had chased us out of his pasture, bellowing at our heels as we ran. Nevertheless, he was a noble fellow to look upon—just as handsome as a horned creature could be. What a thick, strong neck he had, what a broad, curled front, and what shapely flanks! Most of the time he spent browsing in the large pasture some little distance from the house, and it required a good measure of courage upon the part of the trespasser to cross this area.
No wonder, then, that Harold and myself made a wide detour, when, half an hour later, armed with our shotguns, we set out for the woods beyond the Jersey’s domain. But it is needless to say that our minds were more taken up with the thought of the tiger than with the fear of our former enemy. It was just possible that a great, stealthy, tawny shape might be prowling through the very timber in which we were; and I will not deny that it required little in the way of sight or sound to set our hearts beating faster than usual on that day.
After killing a wild-cat, a raccoon, and a number of large fox squirrels, we turned our steps homeward, not at all sorry to have made no startling discovery in confirmation of the rumor which had so interested us in the morning. The truth was, that the deeper we were in the woods the less pleasure we found in calling up the image of that escaped tiger!
We were just nearing the Hayward plantation, Harold with the wild-cat slung over his shoulder and I with the ’coon upon mine, when on a sudden our attention was arrested by a strange, long-drawn noise, like the cry of some large animal. It resembled the call of a great cat, but was deeper and more thrilling than any cat-note that we had ever heard.
I need not say that it startled us; and when, in a few moments, it was repeated, with the addition of a sort of scream, we looked at each other with blanched faces: when, clutching our guns more firmly, we started into a run. I think we had never realized till then that two boys of fourteen, armed only with light shotguns, could be no match for a royal tiger, just escaped from his cage and hungry for prey.
Pray, dear reader, do not condemn us hastily, for you would have run, too.
Our course took us directly across the pasture where the big Jersey had his range. He was lying down for the time, and we almost stumbled over him. Springing up and lowering his sharp horns, he took after us with a kind of yelling roar that bespoke anything but a friendly intention.
We dropped our game and bounded on like a couple of young greyhounds: but we were far out from the nearest fence, and saw that he must soon overtake us with his mad, thundering rush. Right ahead of us stood a scrub oak, with branches near the ground, and into this we sprang just in time to avoid those terrible horns which would have tossed us like wisps of straw.
He was so close upon us that it was impossible to secure our guns, and we dropped them at the foot of the tree, where they fell rattling between two small rocks, which fortunately protected them from his trampling hoofs.
Then he besieged us in true form, walking all about our fortress, with a hoarse, frightful bellowing that sometimes grew to a shriek, and tearing up the earth with his horns till his whole body was coated with turf.
“Well,” said Harold, “we are safe enough in this tree, but who wants to be kept here all night? He is so apt to roar that, even if father or any of the work folks should hear him, they might not come to see what the matter was. Besides, it’s a long distance to the house, and the hill yonder is right in the way.”
So we remained watching our savage jailer, quite forgetting for the moment the sounds we had just heard from the woods. How long would the old fellow continue to bellow and fling up the dirt? I was asking some such question when my cousin uttered a quick exclamation.
“Oh, see! look yonder!” he cried; “there’s the tiger now!”
I looked where he pointed, and my heart gave a thump that was almost suffocating.
There, creeping close to the ground, was a powerful yellow shape, marked with jet-black stripes. The ears were flattened, and the long tail, reaching straight out on a level with the body, had a wavy motion that I distinctly remember to this hour. Warily, silently, and just upon the point of making a spring for his victim, the fearful creature was stealing upon the unsuspicious bull.
Though half paralyzed by the scene, we still retained some presence of mind. Perhaps a shout might delay the attack, and we gave one with all the power of our throats.
The monster seemed to hesitate, raising his head a little, as he crouched in his tracks, and at that moment the old Jersey discovered him.
In an instant a change came over the scene. Tossing his head in a kind of fierce surprise, the horned brute faced his foe; then, dropping his sharp bayonets to a lower level, he plunged toward the intruder.
Evidently the tiger was unprepared for this, but with remarkable quickness he seemed to take in the situation. Without an instant’s hesitation, he bounded over to a large boulder which lay near by, and with the greatest agility leaped lightly to its top, where he stood regarding the Jersey with wide-open jaws.
“Now’s the time,” said Harold, excitedly; “we must hurry and get our guns.” And down we went hustling through the thick limbs of the oak.
It was our first impulse to fire at the tiger from the ground where we stood, but, as the bull kept directly in the way, it was evident that this would not answer; and, besides, our very terror restrained us; it might be easier to fire than to kill.
Getting back into the tree with our guns, both of which contained heavy charges of buckshot, we quickly posted ourselves so as to improve the first opening for a fair aim. The tiger still crouched upon his rock of refuge, roaring close in the face of his enemy, yet hesitating to spring upon him; while the strong-necked old Jersey shook his curly head and fairly screamed at the yellow brute he was not quite able to reach.
A bull’s voice in a rage is a strange mixture of frightful sounds, even more so than a tiger’s.
We had our guns leveled, watching our opportunity. Presently the striped terror sprang up from his crouching posture, raising himself threateningly upon his hind feet, with his tawny breast fully exposed. Since then I have often seen an angry tiger rear himself in the same way against the bars of his cage. There could not have been a fairer mark for us, and both our guns spoke at once with a “bang!”
Through the smoke we saw the great brute tip fairly over and fall upon his back. Then, convulsively, he bounded straight up from the rock two or three times, and at last, plunging forward, landed directly upon the bull’s horns.
HIS HORNS PIERCED THE TAWNY SIDE
HIS HORNS PIERCED THE TAWNY SIDE
HIS HORNS PIERCED THE TAWNY SIDE
The next moment, heavy as he was, he was hurled ten feet in the air, and when he fell it was only to be tossed again. A dozen or twenty times he was thus thrown aloft, although after the first minute he was evidently as dead as he ever could be.
After this the old Jersey appeared to enjoy much in pitching him along the ground to a considerable distance, following up the body as it fell, and sending it on before him as if it had weighed no more than a dead cat.
We were glad to witness this performance, as it occupied the old fellow’s whole attention, and so gave us an opportunity to slip away unnoticed, which we very quickly did.
No grass grew under our feet as we ran over the high ground between us and the house, which, as the plantation was quite large, was nearly a mile distant.
With scarcely breath enough to relate our story, we told it, to the astonishment of Harold’s parents, whose thankfulness for our escape, when they had learned how narrow that escape had been, was inexpressible.
It required a considerable force of men and boys to recover the body of the slain tiger in face of the bull’s threatening demonstrations; but it was nevertheless secured and brought home. It was then found, upon examination, that our charges of buckshot had undoubtedly done the business for the fierce brute, so that he must have been nearly dead when caught upon those stout horns.
“A tiger in the State of Georgia,” said Uncle Hayward; “a true Bengal tiger! Well, I must own that I was wrong; I thought this morning it was only a silly story. Boys, you and the bull have done a great thing for the community!”
“But, oh, the peril!” said Harold’s mother: “suppose we had known it at the moment! It was a double danger.”
“Yes, mother,” replied Harold; “it was double, but it was that very thing which saved us. If we hadn’t waked up the Jersey, the tiger would have had us very soon.”