[Illustration: _Frontispiece_. TIGER HUNTING. RETURN TO THE CAMP. ]

SPORT AND WORK

ON THE

NEPAUL FRONTIER

OR

TWELVE YEARS SPORTING REMINISCENCES

OF AN INDIGO PLANTER

By "MAORI"

1878

[Note: Some words in this book have a macron over a vowel. A macronis a punctuation mark ( - ) and is represented herein as [=a], [=e]or [=o]. ]

PREFACE. 

I went home in 1875 for a few months, after some twelve years' residencein India. What first suggested the writing of such a book as this, wasthe amazing ignorance of ordinary Indian life betrayed by people athome. The questions asked me about India, and our daily life there, showed in many cases such an utter want of knowledge, that I thought, surely there is room here for a chatty, familiar, unpretentious bookfor friends at home, giving an account of our every-day life in India, our labours and amusements, our toils and relaxations, and a fewpictures of our ordinary daily surroundings in the far, far East. 

Such then is the design of my book. I want to picture to my readersPlanter Life in the Mofussil, or country districts of India; to tellthem of our hunting, shooting, fishing, and other amusements; todescribe our work, our play, and matter-of-fact incidents in our dailylife; to describe the natives as they appear to us in our intimateevery-day dealings with them; to illustrate their manners, customs, dispositions, observances and sayings, so far as these bear on our ownsocial life. 

I am no politician, no learned ethnologist, no sage theorist. I simplytry to describe what I have seen, and hope to enlist the attention andinterest of my readers, in my reminiscences of sport and labour, in thevillages and jungles on the far off frontier of Nepaul. 

I have tried to express my meaning as far as possible without Anglo-Indianand Hindustani words; where these have been used, as at times they couldnot but be, I have given a synonymous word or phrase in English, so thatall my friends at home may know my meaning. 

I know that my friends will be lenient to my faults, and even thesternest critic, if he look for it, may find some pleasure and profit inmy pages. 

JAS. INGLIS. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

Province of Behar. --Boundaries. --General description. --District ofChumparun. --Mooteeharree. --The town and lake. --Native houses. --ThePlanters' Club. --Legoulie. 

CHAPTER II. 

My first charge. --How we get our lands. --Our home farm. --System offarming. --Collection of rents. --The planter's duties. 

CHAPTER III. 

How to get our crop. --The 'Dangurs. '--Farm servants and their duties. --Kassee Rai. --Hoeing. --Ploughing. --'Oustennie. '--Coolies at Work. --Sowing. --Difficulties the plant has to contend with. --Weeding. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Manufacture of Indigo. --Loading the vats. --Beating. --Boiling, straining, and pressing. --Scene in the Factory. --Fluctuation of produce. --Chemistryof Indigo. 

CHAPTER V. 

Parewah factory. --A 'Bobbery Pack. '--Hunt through a village aftera cat. --The pariah dog of India. --Fate of 'Pincher. '--Ramporehound. --Persian greyhound. --Caboolee dogs. --A jackal hunt. --Incidentsof the chase. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Fishing in India. --Hereditary trades. --The boatmen and fishermen ofIndia. --Their villages. --Nets. --Modes of fishing. --Curiosities relatingthereto. --Catching an alligator with a hook. --Exciting capture. --Crocodiles. --Shooting an alligator. --Death of the man-eater. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Native superstitions. --Charming a bewitched woman. --Exorcising ghostsfrom a field. --Witchcraft. --The witchfinder or 'Ojah, '--Influence offear. --Snake bites. --How to cure them. --How to discover a thief. --Ghostsand their habits. --The 'Haddick' or native bone-setter. --Cruelty toanimals by natives. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Our annual race meet. --The arrivals. --The camps. --The 'ordinary, '--Thecourse. --'They're off. '--The race. --The steeple-chase. --Incidents ofthe meet. --The ball. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Pig-sticking in India. --Varieties of boar. --Their size and height. --Ingenious mode of capture by the natives. --The 'Batan' or buffaloherd. --Pigs charging. --Their courage and ferocity. --Destruction ofgame. --A close season for game. 

CHAPTER X. 

Kuderent jungle. --Charged by a pig. --The biter bit. --'Mac' after thebig boar. --The horse for pig-sticking. --The line of beaters. --The boarbreaks. --'Away! Away!'--First spear. --Pig-sticking at Peeprah. --Theold 'lungra' or cripple. --A boar at bay. --Hurrah for pig-sticking!

CHAPTER XI. 

The sal forests. --The jungle goddess. --The trees in the jungle. --Appearance of the forests. --Birds. --Varieties of parrots. --A 'beat'in the forest. --The 'shekarry. '--Mehrman Singh and his gun. --The Banturs, a jungle tribe of wood-cutters. --Their habits. --A village feast. --Webeat for deer. --Habits of the spotted deer. --Waiting for the game. --Mehrman Singh gets drunk. --Our bag. --Pea-fowl and their habits. --Howto shoot them. --Curious custom of the Nepaulese. --How Juggroo wastricked, and his revenge. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The leopard. --How to shoot him. --Gallant encounter with a woundedone. --Encounter with a leopard in a Dak bungalow. --Pat shoots twoleopards. --Effects of the Express bullet. --The 'Sirwah Purrul, ' orannual festival of huntsmen. --The Hindoo ryot. --Rice-planting andharvest. --Poverty of the ryot. --His apathy. --Village fires. --Want ofsanitation. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Description of a native village. --Village functionaries. --The barber. --Bathing habits. --The village well. --The school. --The children. --Thevillage bazaar. --The landowner and his dwelling. --The 'Putwarrie' orvillage accountant. --The blacksmith. --The 'Punchayiet' or village jurysystem. --Our legal system in India. --Remarks on the administration ofjustice. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A native village continued. --The watchman or 'chowkeydar. '--The temple. --Brahmins. --Idols. --Religion. --Humility of the poorer classes. --Theirlow condition. --Their apathy. --The police. --Their extortions and knavery. --An instance of police rascality. --Corruption of native officials. --TheHindoo unfit for self-government. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Jungle wild fruits. --Curious method of catching quail. --Quail nets. --Quail caught in a blacksmith's shop. --Native wrestling. --The trainer. --How they train for a match. --Rules of wrestling. --Grips. --A wrestlingmatch. --Incidents of the struggle. --Description of a match between aBrahmin and a blacksmith. --Sparring for the grip. --The blacksmith hasit. --The struggle. --The Brahmin getting the worst of it. --Two to oneon the little 'un!--The Brahmin plays the waiting game, turns the tables_and_ the blacksmith. --Remarks on wrestling. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Indigo seed growing. --Seed buying and buyers. --Tricks of sellers. --Testsfor good seed. --The threshing-floor. --Seed cleaning and packing. --Staffof servants. --Despatching the bags by boat. --The 'Pooneah' or rent day. --Purneah planters--their hospitality. --The rent day a great festival. --Preparation. --Collection of rents. --Feast to retainers. --The receptionin the evening. --Tribute. --Old customs. --Improvisatores and bards. --Nautches. --Dancing and music. --The dance of the Dangurs. --Jugglersand itinerary showmen. --'Bara Roopes, ' or actors and mimics. --Theirdifferent styles of acting. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Koosee jungles. --Ferries. --Jungle roads. --The rhinoceros. --We goto visit a neighbour. --We lose our way and get belated. --We fall intoa quicksand. --No ferry boat. --Camping out on the sand. --Two tigers closeby. --We light a fire. --The boat at last arrives. --Crossing the stream. --Set fire to the boatman's hut. --Swim the horses. --They are nearlydrowned. --We again lose our way in the jungle. --The towing path, andhow boats are towed up the river. --We at last reach the factory. --Newsof rhinoceros in the morning. --Off we start, but arrive too late. --Deathof the rhinoceros. --His dimensions. --Description. --Habits. --Rhinocerosin Nepaul. --The old 'Major Capt[=a]n. '--Description of Nepaulese scenery. --Immigration of Nepaulese. --Their fondness for fish. --They eat itputrid. --Exclusion of Europeans from Nepaul. --Resources of the country. --Must sooner or later be opened up. --Influences at work to elevatethe people. --Planters and factories chief of these. --Character of theplanter. --Has claims to consideration from government. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The tiger. --His habitat. --Shooting on foot. --Modes of shooting. --Atiger hunt on foot. --The scene of the hunt. --The beat. --Incidents ofthe hunt. --Fireworks. --The tiger charges. --The elephant bolts. --Thetigress will not break. --We kill a half-grown cub. --Try again forthe tigress. --Unsuccessful. --Exaggerations in tiger stories. --Myauthorities. --The brothers S. --Ferocity and structure of thetiger. --His devastations. --His frame-work, teeth, &c. --A tiger atbay. --His unsociable habits. --Fight between tiger and tigress. --Youngtigers. --Power and strength of the tiger. --Examples. --His cowardice. --Charge of a wounded tiger. --Incidents connected with wounded tigers. --A spined tiger. --Boldness of young tigers. --Cruelty. --Cunning. --Nightscenes in the jungle. --Tiger killed by a wild boar. --His cautioushabits. --General remarks. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The tiger's mode of attack. --The food he prefers. --Varieties of prey. --Examples. --What he eats first. --How to tell the kill of a tiger. --Appetite fierce. --Tiger choked by a bone. --Two varieties of tiger. --The royal Bengal. --Description. --The hill tiger. --His description. --The two compared. --Length of the tiger. --How to measure tigers. --Measurements. --Comparison between male and female. --Number ofyoung at a birth. --The young cubs. --Mother teaching cubs to kill. --Education and progress of the young tiger. --Wariness and cunningof the tiger. --Hunting incidents shewing their powers of concealment. --Tigers taking to water. --Examples. --Swimming powers. --Caught byfloods. --Story of the Soonderbund tigers. 

CHAPTER XX. 

No regular breeding season. --Beliefs and prejudices of the nativesabout tigers. --Bravery of the 'gwalla, ' or cowherd caste. --Claw-markson trees. --Fondness for particular localities. --Tiger in Mr. F. 'showdah. --Springing powers of tigers. --Lying close in cover. --Incident. --Tiger shot with No. 4 shot. --Man clawed by a tiger. --Knocked its eyeout with a sickle. --Same tiger subsequently shot in same place. --Tigerseasily killed. --Instances. --Effect of shells on tiger and buffalo. --Bestweapon and bullets for tiger. --Poisoning tigers denounced. --Nativesprone to exaggerate in giving news of tiger. --Anecdote. --Beating fortiger. --Line of elephants. --Padding dead game. --Line of seventy-sixelephants. --Captain of the hunt. --Flags for signals in the line. --'Naka, ' or scout ahead. --Usual time for tiger shooting on the Koosee. --Firing the jungle. --The line of fire at night. --Foolish to shoot atmoving jungle. --Never shoot down the line. --Motions of different animalsin the grass. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Howdahs and howdah-ropes. --Mussulman custom. --Killing animals for food. --Mysterious appearance of natives when an animal is killed. --Fasteningdead tigers to the pad. --Present mode wants improving. --Incidentillustrative of this. --Dangerous to go close to wounded tigers. --Examples. --Footprints of tigers. --Call of the tiger. --Natives andtheir powers of description. --How to beat successfully for tiger. --Description of a beat. --Disputes among the shooters. --Awardingtigers. --Cutting open the tiger. --Native idea about the liver of thetiger. --Signs of a tiger's presence in the jungle. --Vultures. --Do theyscent their quarry or view it?--A vulture carrion feast. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

We start for a tiger hunt on the Nepaul frontier. --Indian scenery nearthe border. --Lose our way. --Cold night. --The river by night. --Our boatand boatmen. --Tigers calling on the bank. --An anxious moment. --Fire atand wound the tigress. --Reach camp. --The Nepaulee's adventure with atiger. --The old Major. --His appearance and manners. --The pompousJemadar. --Nepaulese proverb. --Firing the jungle. --Start a tiger andshoot him. --Another in front. --Appearance of the fires by night. --Thetiger escapes. --Too dark to follow up. --Coolie shot by mistake duringa former hunt. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

We resume the beat. --The hog-deer. --Nepaulese villages. --Villagegranaries. --Tiger in front. --A hit! a hit!--Following up the woundedtiger. --Find him dead. --Tiffin in the village. --The Patair jungle. --Search for tiger. --Gone away!--An elephant steeplechase in pursuit. --Exciting chase. --The Morung jungle. --Magnificent scenery. --Skinningthe tiger. --Incidents of tiger hunting. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Camp of the Nepaulee chief. --Quicksands. --Elephants crossing rivers. --Tiffin at the Nepaulee camp. --We beat the forest for tiger. --Shoota young tiger. --Red ants in the forest. --Bhowras or ground bees. --The_ursus labialis_ or long-lipped bear. --Recross the stream. --Florican. --Stag running the gauntlet of flame. --Our bag. --Start for factory. --Remarks on elephants. --Precautions useful for protection from thesun in tiger shooting. --The _puggree_. --Cattle breeding in India, andwholesale deaths of cattle from disease. --Nathpore. --Ravages of theriver. --Mrs. Gray, an old resident in the jungles. --Description ofher surroundings. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Exciting jungle scene. --The camp. --All quiet. --Advent of the cow-herds. --A tiger close by. --Proceed to the spot. --Encounter between tigressand buffaloes. --Strange behaviour of the elephant. --Discovery andcapture of four cubs. --Joyful return to camp. --Death of the tigress. --Night encounter with a leopard. --The haunts of the tiger and ourshooting grounds. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Remarks on guns. --How to cure skins. --Different Recipes. --Conclusion. 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Tiger Hunting--Return to the CampCoolie's HutIndigo Beating VatsIndigo Beaters at work in the VatIndian Factory PeonIndigo Planter's HousePig StickersCarpenters and Blacksmiths at workHindoo Village Temples

CHAPTER I. 

Province of Behar. --Boundaries. --General description. --District ofChumparun. --Mooteeharree. --The town and lake. --Native houses. --ThePlanters' Club. --Legoulie. 

Among the many beautiful and fertile provinces of India, none can, Ithink, much excel that of Behar for richness of soil, diversity ofrace, beauty of scenery, and the energy and intelligence of itsinhabitants. Stretching from the Nepaul hills to the far distantplains of Gya, with the Gunduch, Bogmuttee and other noble streamswatering its rich bosom, and swelling with their tribute the statelyGanges, it includes every variety of soil and climate; and its variousraces, with their strange costumes, creeds, and customs, might affordmaterial to fill volumes. 

The northern part of this splendid province follows the Nepauleseboundary from the district of Goruchpore on the north, to that ofPurneah on the south. In the forests and jungles along this boundaryline live many strange tribes, whose customs, and even their names andlanguage, are all but unknown to the English public. Strange wildanimals dispute with these aborigines the possession of the gloomyjungle solitudes. Great trees of wondrous dimensions and strangefoliage rear their stately heads to heaven, and are matted andentwined together by creepers of huge size and tenacious hold. 

To the south and east vast billows of golden grain roll in successiveundulations to the mighty Ganges, the sacred stream of the Hindoos. Innumerable villages, nestling amid groves of plantains and featheryrustling bamboos, send up their wreaths of pale grey smoke into thestill warm air. At frequent intervals the steely blue of some lovelylake, where thousands of water-fowl disport themselves, reflects fromits polished surface the sheen of the noonday sun. Great masses ofmango wood shew a sombre outline at intervals, and here and there thetowering chimney of an indigo factory pierces the sky. Governmentroads and embankments intersect the face of the country in alldirections, and vast sheets of the indigo plant refresh the eye withtheir plains of living green, forming a grateful contrast to the hard, dried, sun-baked surface of the stubble fields, where the rice crophas rustled in the breezes of the past season. In one of the loveliestand most fertile districts of this vast province, namely, Chumparun, Ibegan my experiences as an indigo planter. 

Chumparun with its subdistrict of Bettiah, lies to the north ofTirhoot, and is bounded all along its northern extent by the Nepaulhills and forests. When I joined my appointment as assistant on oneof the large indigo concerns there, there were not more than aboutthirty European residents altogether in the district. The chief town, Mooteeharree, consisted of a long _bazaar_, or market street, beautifullysituated on the bank of a lovely lake, some two miles in length. Fromthe main street, with its quaint little shops sheltered from the sunby makeshift verandahs of tattered sacking, weather-stained shingles, or rotting bamboo mats, various little lanes and alleys diverged, leading one into a collection of tumble-down and ruinous huts, set upapparently by chance, and presenting the most incongruous appearancethat could possibly be conceived. One or two _pucca_ houses, that is, houses of brick and masonry, shewed where some wealthy Bunneah(trader) or usurious banker lived, but the majority of the houses wereof the usual mud and bamboo order. There is a small thatched hut wherethe meals were cooked, and where the owner and his family could sleepduring the rains. Another smaller hut at right angles to this, givesshelter to the family goat, or, if they are rich enough to keep one, the cow. All round the villages in India there are generally largepatches of common, where the village cows have free rights of pasture;and all who can, keep either a cow or a couple of goats, the milk fromwhich forms a welcome addition to their usual scanty fare. In thissecond hut also is stored as much fuel, consisting of dried cow-dung, straw, maize-stalks, leaves, etc. , as can be collected; and a raggedfence of bamboo or _rahur_[1] stalks encloses the two unprotectedsides, thus forming inside a small court, quadrangle, or square. Thiscourt is the native's _sanctum sanctorum_. It is kept scrupulouslyclean, being swept and garnished religiously every day. In this thewomen prepare the rice for the day's consumption; here they cut up andclean their vegetables, or their fish, when the adjacent lake has beendragged by the village fishermen. Here the produce of their littlegarden, capsicums, Indian corn, onions or potatoes--perchance turmeric, ginger, or other roots or spices--are dried and made ready for storingin the earthen sun-baked repository for the reception of such produceappertaining to each household. Here the children play, and are washedand tended. Here the maiden combs out her long black hair, or decoratesher bronzed visage with streaks of red paint down the nose, and alittle antimony on the eyelids, or myrtle juice on the finger and toenails. Here, too, the matron, or the withered old crone of agrandmother, spins her cotton thread; or, in the old scripturalhand-mill, grinds the corn for the family flour and meal; and thefather and the young men (when the sun is high and hot in the heavens)take their noonday _siesta_, or, the day's labours over, cower roundthe smoking dung fire of a cold winter night, and discuss the pricesruling in the bazaar, the rise of rents, or the last village scandal. 

In the middle of the town, and surrounded by a spacious fenced-incompound, which sloped gently to the lake, stood the Planters' Club, alarge low roofed bungalow, with a roomy wide verandah in front. Herewe met, when business or pleasure brought us to 'the Station. ' Herewere held our annual balls, or an occasional public dinner party. Tothe north of the Club stood a long range of barrack-looking buildings, which were the opium godowns, where the opium was collected and storedduring the season. Facing this again, and at the extremity of thelake, was the district jail, where all the rascals of the surroundingcountry were confined; its high walls tipped at intervals by a redpuggree and flashing bayonet wherever a jail sepoy kept his 'lonelywatch. ' Near it, sheltered in a grove of shady trees, were the courthouses, where the collector and magistrate daily dispensed justice, orwhere the native _moonsiff_ disentangled knotty points of law. Here, too, came the sessions judge once a month or so, to try criminal casesand mete out justice to the law-breakers. 

We had thus a small European element in our 'Station, ' consisting ofour magistrate and collector, whose large and handsome house was builton the banks of another and yet lovelier lake, which joined the townlake by a narrow stream or strait at its southern end, an opium agent, a district superintendent of police, and last but not least, a doctor. These formed the official population of our little 'Station. ' Therewas also a nice little church, but no resident pastor, and behind thetown lay a quiet churchyard, rich in the dust of many a pioneer, who, far from home and friends, had here been gathered to his silent rest. 

About twelve miles to the north, and near the Nepaul boundary, was thesmall military station of Legoulie. Here there was always a nativecavalry regiment, the officers of which were frequent and welcomeguests at the factories in the district, and were always glad to seetheir indigo friends at their mess in cantonments. At Rettiah, stillfurther to the north, was a rich rajah's palace, where a residentEuropean manager dwelt, and had for his sole society an assistantmagistrate who transacted the executive and judicial work of thesubdistrict. These, with some twenty-five or thirty indigo managersand assistants, composed the whole European population of Chumparun. 

Never was there a more united community. We were all like brothers. Each knew all the rest. The assistants frequently visited each other, and the managers were kind and considerate to their subordinates. Hunting parties were common, cricket and hockey matches were frequent, and in the cold weather, which is our slackest season, fun, frolic, and sport was the order of the day. We had an annual race meet, whenall the crack horses of the district met in keen rivalry to test theirpace and endurance. During this high carnival, we lived for the mostpart under canvass, and had friends from far and near to share ourhospitality. In a future chapter I must describe our racing meet. 

[1] The _rahur_ is a kind of pea, growing not unlike our English broom in appearance; it is sown with the maize crop during the rains, and garnered in the cold weather. It produces a small pea, which is largely used by the natives, and forms the nutritive article of diet known as _dhall_. 

CHAPTER II. 

My first charge. --How we get our lands. --Our home farm. --System offarming. --Collection of rents. --The planter's duties. 

My first charge was a small outwork of the large factory Seeraha. Itwas called Puttihee. There was no bungalow; that is, there was noregular house for the assistant, but a little one-roomed hut, built onthe top of the indigo vats, served me for a residence. It had neitherdoors nor windows, and the rain used to beat through the room, whilethe eaves were inhabited by countless swarms of bats, who, in theevening flashed backwards and forwards in ghostly rapid flight, andwere a most intolerable nuisance. To give some idea of the duties ofan indigo assistant, I must explain the system on which we get ourlands, and how we grow our crop. 

Water of course being a _sine qua non_, the first object in selectinga site for a factory is, to have water in plenty contiguous to theproposed buildings. Consequently Puttihee was built on the banks of avery pretty lake, shaped like a horseshoe, and covered with waterlilies and broad-leaved green aquatic plants. The lake was kept by thenative proprietor as a fish preserve, and literally teemed with fishof all sorts, shapes, and sizes. I had not been long at Puttiheebefore I had erected a staging, leading out into deep water, and manya happy hour I have spent there with my three or four rods out, pulling in the finny inhabitants. 

Having got water and a site, the next thing is to get land on which togrow your crop. By purchase, by getting a long lease, or otherwise, you become possessed of several hundred acres of the land immediatelysurrounding the factory. Of course some factories will have more andsome less as circumstances happen. This land, however, is peculiarlyfactory property. It is in fact a sort of home farm, and goes by thename of _Zeraat_. It is ploughed by factory bullocks, worked byfactory coolies, and is altogether apart and separate from theordinary lands held by the ryots and worked by them. (A ryot means acultivator. ) In most factories the Zeraats are farmed in the mostthorough manner. Many now use the light Howard's plough, and applyquantities of manure. 

The fields extend in vast unbroken plains all round the factory. Theland is worked and pulverised, and reploughed, and harrowed, andcleaned, till not a lump the size of a pigeon's egg is to be seen. Ifnecessary, it is carefully weeded several times before the crop issown, and in fact, a fine clean stretch of Zeraat in Tirhoot orChumparun, will compare most favourably with any field in the highestfarming districts of England or Scotland. The ploughing and other farmlabour is done by bullocks. A staff of these, varying of course withthe amount of land under cultivation, is kept at each factory. Fortheir support a certain amount of sugar-cane is planted, and in thecold weather carrots are sown, and _gennara_, a kind of millet, andmaize. 

Both maize and gennara have broad green leaves, and long juicysucculent stalks. They grow to a good height, and when cut up andmixed with chopped straw and carrots, form a most excellent feed forcattle. Besides the bullocks, each factory keeps up a staff ofgenerally excellent horses, for the use of the assistant or manager, on which he rides over his cultivation, and looks generally after thefarm. Some of the native subordinates also have ponies, or Caboolhorses, or country-breds; and for the feed of these animals some fewacres of oats are sown every cold season. In most factories too, whenany particular bit of the Zeraats gets exhausted by the constantrepetition of indigo cropping, a rest is given it, by taking a crop ofoil seeds or oats off the land. The oil seeds usually sown are mustardor rape. The oil is useful in the factory for oiling the screws or themachinery, and for other purposes. 

The factory roads through the Zeraats are kept in most perfect order;many of them are metalled. The ditches are cleaned once a year. Allthistles and weeds by the sides of the roads and ditches, areruthlessly cut down. The edges of all the fields are neatly trimmedand cut. Useless trees and clumps of jungle are cut down; and in factthe Zeraats round a factory shew a perfect picture of orderly thrift, careful management, and neat, scientific, and elaborate farming. 

Having got the Zeraats, the next thing is to extend the cultivationoutside. 

The land in India is not, as with us at home, parcelled out into largefarms. There are wealthy proprietors, rajahs, baboos, and so on, whohold vast tracts of land, either by grant, or purchase, or hereditarysuccession; but the tenants are literally the children of the soil. Wherever a village nestles among its plantain or mango groves, theland is parcelled out among the villagers. A large proprietor does notreckon up his farms as a landlord at home would do, but he counts hisvillages. In a village with a thousand acres belonging to it, theremight be 100 or even 200 tenants farming the land. Each petty villagerwould have his acre or half acre, or four, or five, or ten, or twentyacres, as the case might be. He holds this by a 'tenant right, ' andcannot be dispossessed as long as he pays his rent regularly. He cansell his tenant right, and the purchaser on paying the rent, becomesthe _bona fide_ possessor of the land to all intents and purposes. 

If the average rent of the village lands was, let me say, one rupeeeight annas an acre, the rent roll of the 1000 acres would be 1500rupees. Out of this the government land revenue comes. Certaindeductions have to be made--some ryots may be defaulters. The villagetemple, or the village Brahmin, may have to get something, theroad-cess has to be paid, and so on. Taking everything into account, you arrive at a pretty fair view of what the rental is. If theproprietor of the village wants a loan of money, or if you offer topay him the rent by half-yearly or quarterly instalments, you takingall the risk of collecting in turn from each ryot individually, he isoften only too glad to accept your offer, and giving you a lease ofthe village for whatever term may be agreed on, you step in asvirtually the landlord, and the ryots have to pay their rents to you. 

In many cases by careful management, by remeasuring lands, settlingdoubtful boundaries, and generally working up the estate, you can muchincrease the rental, and actually make a profit on your bargain withthe landlord. This department of indigo work is called Zemindaree. Having, then, got the village in lease, you summon in all your tenants;shew them their rent accounts, arrange with them for the punctualpayment of them, and get them to agree to cultivate a certainpercentage of their land in indigo for you. 

This percentage varies very considerably. In some places it is oneacre in five, in some one in twenty. It all depends on localcircumstances. You select the land, you give the seed, but the ryothas to prepare the field for sowing, he has to plough, weed, and reapthe crop, and deliver it at the factory. For the indigo he gets somuch per acre, the price being as near as possible the average priceof an acre of ordinary produce: taking the average out-turn and pricesof, say, ten years. It used formerly to be much less, but the ryotnowadays gets nearly double for his indigo what he got some ten orfifteen years ago, and this, although prices have not risen for themanufactured article, and the prices of labour, stores, machinery, live stock, etc. , have more than doubled. In some parts the ryot getspaid so much per bundle of plants delivered at the vats, but generallyin Behar, at least in north Behar, he is paid so much per acre or_Beegah_. I use the word acre as being more easily understood bypeople at home than Beegah. The Beegah varies in different districts, but is generally about two-thirds of an acre. 

When his rent account, then, comes to be made out, the ryot getscredit for the price of his indigo grown and delivered; and this veryoften suffices, not only to clear his entire rent, but to leave amargin in hard cash for him to take home. Before the beginning of theindigo season, however, he comes into the factory and takes a cashadvance on account of the indigo to be grown. This is often a greathelp to him, enabling him to get his seeds for his other lands, perhaps ploughs, or to buy a cart, or clothes for the family, or toreplace a bullock that may have died; or to help to give a marriageportion to a son or daughter that he wants to get married. 

You will thus see that we have cultivation to look after in all thevillages round about the factory which we can get in lease. The ryot, in return for his cash advance, agrees to cultivate so much indigo ata certain price, for which he gets credit in his rent. Such, shortly, is our indigo system. In some villages the ryot will estimate for uswithout our having the lease at all, and without taking advances. He grows the indigo as he would grow any other crop, as a purespeculation. If he has a good crop, he can get the price in hard cashfrom the factory, and a great deal is grown in this way in bothPurneah and Bhaugulpore. This is called _Kooskee_, as against thesystem of advances, which is called _Tuccaree_. 

The planter, then, has to be constantly over his villages, looking outfor good lands, giving up bad fields, and taking in new ones. He mustwatch what crops grow best in certain places. He must see that he doesnot take lands where water may lodge, and, on the other hand, avoidthose that do not retain their moisture. He must attend also to thestate of the other crops generally all over his cultivation, as thepunctual payment of rents depends largely on the state of the crops. He must have his eyes open to everything going on, be able to tell theprobable rent-roll of every village for miles around, know whether theryots are lazy and discontented, or are industrious and hard-working. Up in the early morning, before the hot blazing sun has climbed onhigh, he is off on his trusty nag, through his Zeraats, with hisgreyhounds and terriers panting behind him. As he nears a village, thefarm-servant in charge of that particular bit of cultivation, comesout with a low salaam, to report progress, or complain that so-and-sois not working up his field as he ought to do. 

Over all the lands he goes, seeing where re-ploughing is necessary, ordering harrowing here, weeding there, or rolling somewhere else. Hesees where the ditches need deepening, where the roads want levellingor widening, where a new bridge will be necessary, where lands must bethrown up and new ones taken in. He knows nearly all his ryots, andhas a kind word for every one he passes; asks after their crops, theirbullocks, or their land; rouses up the indolent; gives a cheerful nodto the industrious; orders this one to be brought in to settle hisaccount, or that one to make greater haste with the preparation of hisland, that he may not lose his moisture. In fact, he has his handsfull till the mounting sun warns him to go back to breakfast. And so, with a rattling burst after a jackal or fox, he gets back to hisbungalow to bathe, dress, and break his fast with fowl cutlets, andcurry and rice, washed down with a wholesome tumbler of Bass. 

CHAPTER III. 

How to get our crop. --The 'Dangurs. '--Farm servants and their duties. --Kassee Rai. --Hoeing. --Ploughing. --'Oustennie. '--Coolies at work. --Sowing. --Difficulties the plant has to contend with. --Weeding. 

Having now got our land, water, and buildings--which latter I willdescribe further on--the next thing is to set to work to get our crop. Manufacture being finished, and the crop all cut by the beginning ormiddle of October, when the annual rains are over, it is of importanceto have the lands dug up as early as possible, that the rich moisture, on which the successful cultivation of the crop mainly depends, may besecured before the hot west winds and strong sun of early spring lickit up. 

Attached to every factory is a small settlement of labourers, belongingto a tribe of aborigines called _Dangurs_. These originally, I believe, came from Chota Nagpoor, which seems to have been their primal home. They are a cheerful industrious race, have a distinct language of theirown, and only intermarry with each other. Long ago, when there were nopost carriages to the hills, and but few roads, the Dangurs werelargely employed as dale runners, or postmen. Some few of them settledwith their families on lands near the foot of the hills in Purneah, andgradually others made their way northwards, until now there is scarcelya factory in Behar that has not its Dangur tola, or village. 

The men are tractable, merry-hearted, and faithful. The women betraynone of the exaggerated modesty which is characteristic of Hindoo womengenerally. They never turn aside and hide their faces as you pass, butlook up to you with a merry smile on their countenances, and exchangegreetings with the utmost frankness. In a future chapter I may speak atgreater length of the Dangurs; at present it suffices to say, that theyform a sort of appanage to the factory, and are in fact treated as partof the permanent staff. 

Each Dangur when he marries, gets some grass and bamboos from thefactory to build a house, and a small plot of ground to serve as agarden, for which he pays a very small rent, or in many instancesnothing at all. In return, he is always on the spot ready for anyfactory work that may be going on, for which he has his daily wage. Some factories pay by the month, but the general custom is to chargefor hoeing by piece-work, and during manufacture, when the work isconstant, there is paid a monthly wage. 

In the close foggy mornings of October and November, long before thesun is up, the Dangurs are hard at work in the Zeraats, turning up thesoil with their _kodalies_, (a kind of cutting hoe, ) and you can oftenhear their merry voices rising through the mist, as they crack jokeswith each other to enliven their work, or troll one of their quaintnative ditties. 

They are presided over by a 'mate, ' generally one of the oldest men andfirst settlers in the village. If he has had a large family, his sonslook up to him, and his sons-in-law obey his orders with the utmostfealty. The 'mate' settles all disputes, presents all grievances to the_sahib_, and all orders are given through him. 

The indigo stubble which has been left in the ground is perhaps about afoot high, and as they cut it out, their wives and children come togather up the sticks for fuel, and this of course also helps to cleanthe land. By eleven o'clock, when the sluggish mist has been dissipatedby the rays of the scorching sun, the day's labour is nearly concluded. You will then see the swarthy Dangur, with his favourite child on hisshoulder, wending his way back to his hut, followed by his comely wifecarrying his hoe, and a tribe of little ones bringing up the rear, eachcarrying bundles of the indigo stubble which the industrious father hasdug up during the early hours of morning. 

In the afternoon out comes the _hengha_, which is simply a heavy flatlog of wood, with a V shaped cut or groove all along under its flatsurface. To each end of the hengha a pair of bullocks are yoked, andtwo men standing on the log, and holding on by the bullocks' tails, itis slowly dragged over the field wherever the hoeing has been going on. The lumps and clods are caught in the groove on the under surface, anddragged along and broken up and pulverized, and the whole surface ofthe field thus gets harrowed down, and forms a homogeneous mass oflight friable soil, covering the weeds and dirt to let them rot, exposing the least surface for the wind and heat to act on, and thuskeeping the moisture in the soil. 

Now is a busy time for the planter. Up early in the cold raw fog, he isover his Zeraats long before dawn, and round by his outlying villagesto see the ryots at work in their fields. To each eighty or a hundredacres a man is attached called a _Tokedar_. His duty is to rouse outthe ryots, see the hoes and ploughs at work, get the weeding done, andbe responsible for the state of the cultivation generally. He willprobably have two villages under him. If the village with its lands bevery extensive, of course there will be a Tokedar for it alone, butfrequently a Tokedar may have two or more villages under his charge. Inthe village, the head man--generally the most influential man in thecommunity--also acts with the Tokedar, helping him to get ploughs, bullocks, and coolies when these are wanted; and under him, the village_chowkeydar_, or watchman, sees that stray cattle do not get into thefields, that the roads, bridges and fences are not damaged, and so on. Over the Tokedars, again, are Zillahdars. A 'zillah' is a smalldistrict. There may be eight or ten villages and three or four Tokedarsunder a Zillahdar. The Zillahdar looks out for good lands to change forbad ones, where this is necessary, and where no objection is made bythe farmer; sees that the Tokedars do their work properly; reportsrain, blight, locusts, and other visitations that might injure thecrop; watches all that goes on in his zillah, and makes his report tothe planter whenever anything of importance happens in his particularpart of the cultivation. Over all again comes the JEMADAR--the head manover the whole cultivation--the planter's right-hand man. 

He is generally an old, experienced, and trusted servant. He knows allthe lands for miles round, and the peculiar soils and products of allthe villages far and near. He can tell what lands grow the besttobacco, what lands are free from inundation, what free from drought;the temper of the inhabitants of each village, and the history of eachfarm; where are the best ploughs, the best bullocks, and the bestfarming; in what villages you get most coolies for weeding; where youcan get the best carts, the best straw, and the best of everything atthe most favourable rates. He comes up each night when the day's workis done, and gets his orders for the morrow. You are often glad to takehis advice on sowing, reaping, and other operations of the farm. Heknows where the plant will ripen earliest, and where the leaf will bethickest, and to him you look for satisfaction if any screw gets loosein the outside farm-work. 

He generally accompanies you in your morning ride, shows you your newlands, consults with you about throwing up exhausted fields, and isgenerally a sort of farm-bailiff or confidential land-steward. Where heis an honest, intelligent, and loyal man, he takes half the care andwork off your shoulders. Such men are however rare, and if not veryclosely looked after, they are apt to abuse their position, and oftenharass the ryots needlessly, looking more to the feathering of theirown nests than the advancement of your interests. 

The only Jemadar I felt I could thoroughly trust, was my first one atParewah, an old Rajpoot, called Kassee Rai. He was a fine, ruddy-faced, white-haired old man, as independent and straightforward an old farmeras you could meet anywhere, and I never had reason to regret taking hisadvice on any matter. I never found him out in a lie, or in a dishonestor underhand action. Though over seventy years of age he was upright asa dart. He could not keep up with me when we went out riding over thefields, but he would be out the whole day over the lands, and wasalways the first at his work in the morning and the last to leave offat night. The ryots all loved him, and would do anything for him; andwhen poor old Kassee died, the third year he had been under me, I feltas if an old friend had gone. I never spoke an angry word to him, and Inever had a fault to find with him. 

When the hoeing has been finished in zeraat and zillah, and all theupturned soil battened down by the _hengha_, the next thing is tocommence the ploughing. Your ploughmen are mostly low castemen--Doosadhs, Churnars, Moosahurs, Gwallahs, _et hoc genus omne_. The Indian plough, so like a big misshapen wooden pickaxe, has oftenbeen described. It however turns up the light soft soil very wellconsidering its pretensions, and those made in the factory workshopsare generally heavier and sharper than the ordinary village plough. Our bullocks too, being strong and well fed, the ploughing in thezeraats is generally good. 

The ploughing is immediately followed up by the _hengha_, which againtriturates and breaks up the clods, rolls the sticks, leaves, and grassroots together, brings the refuse and dirt to the surface, and againlevels the soil, and prevents the wind from taking away the moisture. The land now looks fine and fresh and level, but very dirty. A host ofcoolies are put on the fields with small sticks in their hands. All theDangur women and children are there, with men, women, and children ofall the poorest classes from the villages round, whom the attractionsof wages or the exertions of headmen Tokedars and Zillahdars havebrought together to earn their daily bread. With the sticks they beatand break up every clod, leaving not one behind the size of a walnut. They collect all the refuse, weeds, and dirt, which are heaped up andburnt on the field, and so they go on till the zeraats look as clean asa nobleman's garden, and you would think that surely this must satisfythe fastidious eye of the planter. But no, our work is not half begunyet. 

It is rather a strange sight to see some four or five hundred cooliessquatted in a long irregular line, chattering, laughing, shouting, orsquabbling. A dense cloud of dust rises over them, and through the dimobscurity one hears the ceaseless sound of the thwack! thwack! as theirsticks rattle on the ground. White dust lies thick on each swarthyskin; their faces are like faces in a pantomime. There are the flashingeyes and the grinning rows of white teeth; all else is clouded in thicklayers of dust, with black spots and stencillings showing here andthere like a picture in sepia and chalk. As they near the end of thefield they redouble their thwacking, shuffle along like land-crabs, andwhile the Mates, Peons, and Tokedars shout at them to encourage them, they raise a roar loud enough to wake the dead. The dust rises indenser clouds, the noise is deafening, a regular mad hurry-scurry, awild boisterous scramble ensues, and amid much chaffing, noise, andlaughter, they scramble off again to begin another length of land; andso the day's work goes on. 

The planter has to count his coolies several times a-day, or they wouldcheat him. Some come in the morning, get counted, and their names puton the roll, and then go off till paytime comes round. Some come for anhour or two, and send a relative in the evening when the pice are beingpaid out, to get the wage of work they have not done. All are paid inpice--little copper bits of coin, averaging about sixty-four to therupee. However, you soon come to know the coolies by sight, and aftersome experience are rarely 'taken in, ' but many young beginners get'done' most thoroughly till they become accustomed to the tricks of theartless and unsophisticated coolie. 

The type of feature along a line of coolies is as a rule a veryforbidding and degraded one. They are mostly of the very poorest class. Many of them are plainly half silly, or wholly idiotic; not a few aredeaf and dumb; others are crippled or deformed, and numbers are leprousand scrofulous. Numbers of them are afflicted in some districts withgoitre, caused probably by bad drinking water; all have a pinched, withered, wan look, that tells of hard work and insufficient fare. Itis a pleasure to turn to the end of the line, where the Dangur womenand boys and girls generally take their place. Here are the loudestlaughter, and the sauciest faces. The children are merry, chubby, fatthings, with well-distended stomachs and pleasant looks; a merry smilerippling over their broad fat cheeks as they slyly glance up at you. The women--with huge earrings in their ears, and a perfect load ofheavy brass rings on their arms--chatter away, make believe to be shy, and show off a thousand coquettish airs. Their very toes are bedizenedwith brass rings; and long festoons of red, white, and blue beads hangpendent round their necks. 

In the evening the line is re-formed before the bungalow. A huge bag ofcopper coin is produced. The old Lallah, or writer, with spectacles onnose, squats down in the middle of the assembled coolies, and as eachname is called, the mates count out the pice, and make it over to thecoolie, who forthwith hurries off to get his little purchases made atthe village Bunneah's shop; and so, on a poor supper of parched peas, or boiled rice, with no other relish but a pinch of salt, the poorcoolie crawls to bed, only to dream of more hard work and scanty fareon the morrow. Poor thing! a village coolie has a hard time of it!During the hot months, if rice be cheap and plentiful, he can jog alongpretty comfortably, but when the cold nights come on, and he cowers inhis wretched hut, hungry, half naked, cold, and wearied, he is of allobjects most pitiable. It is, however, a fact little creditable to hismore prosperous fellow-countrymen, that he gets better paid for hislabour in connection with factory work, than he does in many cases fortasks forced on him by the leading ryots of the village in connectionwith their own fields. 

[Illustration: COOLIE'S HUT. ]

This first cleaning of the fields--or, as it is called, _Oustennie_--beingfinished, the lands are all again re-ploughed, re-harrowed, and thenonce more re-cleaned by the coolies, till not a weed or spot of dirtremains; and till the whole surface is uniformly soft, friable, moist, and clean. We have now some breathing time; and as this is the mostenjoyable season of the year, when the days are cool, and roaring woodfires at night remind us of home, we hunt, visit, race, dance, andgenerally enjoy ourselves. Should heavy rain fall, as it sometimes doesabout Christmas and early in February, the whole cultivation getsbeaten down and caked over. In such a case amusements must for a timebe thrown aside, till all the lands have been again re-ploughed. Ofcourse we are never wholly idle. There are always rents to collect, matters to adjust in connexion with our villages and tenantry, law-suits to recover bad debts, to enforce contracts, or protectmanorial or other rights, --but generally speaking, when the lands havebeen prepared, we have a slack season or breathing time for a month orso. 

Arrangements having been made for the supply of seed, which generallycomes from about the neighbourhood of Cawnpore, as February draws nearwe make preparations for beginning our sowings. February is the usualmonth, but it depends on the moisture, and sometimes sowings may go onup till May and June. In Purneah and Bhaugulpore, where the cultivationis much rougher than in Tirhoot, the sowing is done broadcast. And inBengal the sowing is often done upon the soft mud which is left on thebanks of the rivers at the retiring of the annual floods. In Tirhoot, however, where the high farming I have been trying to describe ispractised, the sowing is done by means of drills. Drills are got out, overhauled, and put in thorough repair. Bags of seed are sent out tothe villages, advances for bullocks are given to the ryots, and on acertain day when all seems favourable--no sign of rain or highwinds--the drills are set at work, and day and night the work goes on, till all the cultivation has been sown. As the drills go along, thehengha follows close behind, covering the seed in the furrows; and onceagain it is put over, till the fields are all level, shining, andclean, waiting for the first appearance of the young soft shoots. 

These, after some seven, nine, or perhaps fifteen days, according tothe weather, begin to appear in long lines of delicate pale yellowishgreen. This is a most anxious time. Should rain fall, the whole surfaceof the earth gets caked and hard, and the delicate plant burns out, orbeing chafed against the hard surface crust, it withers and dies. Ifthe wind gets into the east, it brings a peculiar blight which settlesround the leaf and collar of the stem of the young plant, chokes it, and sweeps off miles and miles of it. If hot west winds blow, the plantgets black, discoloured, burnt up, and dead. A south wind often bringscaterpillars--at least this pest often makes its appearance when thewind is southerly; but as often as not caterpillars find their way tothe young plant in the most mysterious manner, --no one knowing whencethey come. Daily, nay almost hourly, reports come in from all parts ofthe zillah: now you hear of 'Lahee, ' blight on some field; now it is'Ihirka, ' scorching, or 'Pilooa, ' caterpillars. In some places the seedmay have been bad or covered with too much earth, and the plant comesup straggling and thin. If there is abundant moisture, this must bere-sown. In fact, there is never-ending anxiety and work at thisseason, but when the plant has got into ten or fifteen leaf, and is aninch or two high, the most critical time is over, and one begins tothink about the next operation, namely WEEDING. 

The coolies are again in requisition. Each comes armed with a_coorpee_, --this is a small metal spatula, broad-pointed, with whichthey dig out the weeds with amazing deftness. Sometimes they mayinadvertently take out a single stem of indigo with the weeds: the eyeof the mate or Tokedar espies this at once, and the careless coolie istreated to a volley of Hindoo Billingsgate, in which all his relationsare abused to the seventh generation. By the time the first weeding isfinished, the plant will be over a foot high, and if necessary a secondweeding is then given. After the second weeding, and if any rain hasfallen in the interim, the plant will be fully two feet high. 

It is now a noble-looking expanse of beautiful green waving foliage. Asthe wind ruffles its myriads of leaves, the sparkle of the sunbeams onthe undulating mass produces the most wonderful combinations of lightand shade; feathery sprays of a delicate pale green curl gracefully allover the field. It is like an ocean of vegetation, with billows of richcolour chasing each other, and blending in harmonious hues; the wholefield looking a perfect oasis of beauty amid the surrounding dull browntints of the season. 

It is now time to give the plant a light touch of the plough. Thiseases the soil about the roots, lets in air and light, tends to cleanthe undergrowth of weeds, and gives it a great impetus. The operationis called _Bedaheunee_. By the beginning of June the tiny red flower ispeeping from its leafy sheath, the lower leaves are turning yellowishand crisp, and it is almost time to begin the grandest and mostimportant operation of the season, the manufacture of the dye from theplant. 

To this you have been looking forward during the cold raw foggy days ofNovember, when the ploughs were hard at work, --during the hot fiercewinds of March, and the still, sultry, breathless early days of June, when the air was so still and oppressive that you could scarcelybreathe. These sultry days are the lull before the storm--the pausebefore the moisture-laden clouds of the monsoon roll over the land'rugged and brown, ' and the wild rattle of thunder and the lurid glareof quivering never-ceasing lightning herald in the annual rains. Themanufacture however deserves a chapter to itself. 

[Illustration: INDIGO BEATING VATS. ]

CHAPTER IV. 

Manufacture of Indigo. --Loading the vats. --Beating. --Boiling, straining, and pressing. --Scene in the Factory. --Fluctuation ofproduce. --Chemistry of Indigo. 

Indigo is manufactured solely from the leaf. When arrangements havebeen made for cutting and carting the plant from the fields, the vatsand machinery are all made ready, and a day is appointed to begin'Mahye' or manufacture. The apparatus consists of, first, a strongserviceable pump for pumping up water into the vats: this is now mostlydone by machinery, but many small factories still use the old Persianwheel, which may be shortly described as simply an endless chain ofbuckets, working on a revolving wheel or drum. The machine is worked bybullocks, and as the buckets ascend full from the well, they areemptied during their revolution into a small trough at the top, and thewater is conveyed into a huge masonry reservoir or tank, situated highup above the vats, which forms a splendid open air bath for the planterwhen he feels inclined for a swim. Many of these tanks, called_Kajhana_, are capable of containing 40, 000 cubic feet of water ormore. 

Below, and in a line with this reservoir, are the steeping vats, eachcapable of containing about 2000 cubic feet of water when full. Ofcourse the vats vary in size, but what is called a _pucca_ vat is ofthe above capacity. When the fresh green plant is brought in, the cartswith their loads are ranged in line, opposite these loading vats. Theloading coolies, 'Bojhunneas'--so called from '_Bojh_, ' a bundle--jumpinto the vats, and receive the plant from the cart-men, stacking it upin perpendicular layers, till the vat is full: a horizontal layer isput on top to make the surface look even. Bamboo battens are thenplaced over the plant, and these are pressed down, and held in theirplace by horizontal beams, working in upright posts. The uprights haveholes at intervals of six inches. An iron pin is put in one of theholes; a lever is put under this pin, and the beam pressed down, tillthe next hole is reached and a fresh pin inserted, which keeps the beamdown in its place. When sufficient pressure has been applied, thesluice in the reservoir is opened, and the water runs by a channel intothe vat till it is full. Vat after vat is thus filled till all arefinished, and the plant is allowed to steep from ten to thirteen orfourteen hours, according to the state of the weather, the temperatureof the water, and other conditions and circumstances which have all tobe carefully noted. 

At first a greenish yellow tinge appears in the water, graduallydeepening to an intense blue. As the fermentation goes on, froth formson the surface of the vat, the water swells up, bubbles of gas arise tothe surface, and the whole range of vats presents a frothing, bubbling, sweltering appearance, indicative of the chemical action going on inthe interior. If a torch be applied to the surface of a vat, theaccumulated gas ignites with a loud report, and a blue lambent flametravels with amazing rapidity over the effervescent liquid. In very hotweather I have seen the water swell up over the mid walls of the vats, till the whole range would be one uniform surface of frothing liquid, and on applying a light, the report has been as loud as that of a smallcannon, and the flame has leapt from vat to vat like the flittingwill-o'-the-wisp on the surface of some miasmatic marsh. 

When fermentation has proceeded sufficiently, the temperature of thevat lowers somewhat, and the water, which has been globular and convexon the surface and at the sides, now becomes distinctly convex andrecedes a very little. This is a sign that the plant has been steepedlong enough, and that it is now time to open the vat. A pin is knockedout from the bottom, and the pent-up liquor rushes out in a goldenyellow stream tinted with blue and green into the beating vat, whichlies parallel to, but at a lower level than the loading vat. 

Of course as the vats are loaded at different hours, and the steepingvaries with circumstances, they must be ready to open also at differentintervals. There are two men specially engaged to look after theopening. The time of loading each one is carefully noted; the time itwill take to steep is guessed at, and an hour for opening written down. When this hour arrives, the _Gunta parree_, or time-keeper, looks atthe vat, and if it appears ready he gets the pinmen to knock out thepin and let the steeped liquor run into the beating vat. 

Where there are many vats, this goes on all night, and by the morningthe beating vats are all full of steeped liquor, and ready to bebeaten. 

The beating now is mostly done by machinery; but the old style was verydifferent. A gang of coolies (generally Dangurs) were put into thevats, having long sticks with a disc at the end, with which, standingin two rows, they threw up the liquor into the air. The quantity forcedup by the one coolie encounters in mid air that sent up by the manstanding immediately opposite to him, and the two jets meeting andmixing confusedly together, tumble down in broken frothy masses intothe vat. Beginning with a slow steady stroke the coolies graduallyincrease the pace, shouting out a hoarse wild song at intervals; till, what with the swish and splash of the falling water, the measured beatof the _furrovahs_ or beating rods, and the yells and cries with whichthey excite each other, the noise is almost deafening. The water, whichat first is of a yellowish green, is now beginning to assume an intenseblue tint; this is the result of the oxygenation going on. As the bluedeepens, the exertions of the coolie increase, till with every musclestraining, head thrown back, chest expanded, his long black hairdripping with white foam, and his bronzed naked body glistening withblue liquor, he yells and shouts and twists and contorts his body tillhe looks like a true 'blue devil. ' To see eight or ten vats full ofyelling howling blue creatures, the water splashing high in mid air, the foam flecking the walls, and the measured beat of the _furrovahs_rising weird-like into the morning air, is almost enough to shake thenerve of a stranger, but it is music in the planter's ear, and he canscarce refrain from yelling out in sympathy with his coolies, andsharing in their frantic excitement. Indeed it is often necessary toencourage them if a vat proves obstinate, and the colour refuses tocome--an event which occasionally does happen. It is very hard workbeating, and when this constant violent exercise is kept up for aboutthree hours (which is the time generally taken), the coolies are prettywell exhausted, and require a rest. 

[Illustration: INDIGO BEATERS AT WORK IN THE VATS. ]

During the beating, two processes are going on simultaneously. One ischemical--oxygenation--turning the yellowish green dye into a deepintense blue: the other is mechanical--a separation of the particles ofdye from the water in which it is held in solution. The beating seemsto do this, causing the dye to granulate in larger particles. 

When the vat has been beaten, the coolies remove the froth and scumfrom the surface of the water, and then leave the contents to settle. The fecula or dye, or _mall_, as it is technically called, now settlesat the bottom of the vat in a soft pulpy sediment, and the waste liquorleft on the top is let off through graduated holes in the front. Pinafter pin is gradually removed, and the clear sherry-coloured wasteallowed to run out till the last hole in the series is reached, andnothing but dye remains in the vat. By this time the coolies have had arest and food, and now they return to the works, and either lift up the_mall_ in earthen jars and take it to the mall tank, or--as is now morecommonly done--they run it along a channel to the tank, and then washout and clean the vat to be ready for the renewed beating on themorrow. When all the _mall_ has been collected in the mall tank, it isnext pumped up into the straining room. It is here strained throughsuccessive layers of wire gauze and cloth, till, free from dirt, sandand impurity, it is run into the large iron boilers, to be subjected tothe next process. This is the boiling. This operation usually takes twoor three hours, after which it is run off along narrow channels, tillit reaches the straining-table. It is a very important part of themanufacture, and has to be carefully done. The straining-table is anoblong shallow wooden frame, in the shape of a trough, but all composedof open woodwork. It is covered by a large straining-sheet, on whichthe mall settles; while the waste water trickles through and is carriedaway by a drain. When the mall has stood on the table all night, it isnext morning lifted up by scoops and buckets and put into the presses. These are square boxes of iron or wood, with perforated sides andbottom and a removeable perforated lid. The insides of the boxes arelined with press cloths, and when filled these cloths are carefullyfolded over the _mall_, which is now of the consistence of starch; anda heavy beam, worked on two upright three-inch screws, is let down onthe lid of the press. A long lever is now put on the screws, and thenut worked slowly round. The pressure is enormous, and all the waterremaining in the _mall_ is pressed through the cloth and perforationsin the press-box till nothing but the pure indigo remains behind. 

The presses are now opened, and a square slab of dark moist indigo, about three or three and a half inches thick, is carried off on thebottom of the press (the top and sides having been removed), andcarefully placed on the cutting frame. This frame corresponds in sizeto the bottom of the press, and is grooved in lines somewhat after themanner of a chess-board. A stiff iron rod with a brass wire attached isput through the groove under the slab, the wire is brought over theslab, and the rod being pulled smartly through brings the wire with it, cutting the indigo much in the same way as you would cut a bar of soap. When all the slab has been cut into bars, the wire and rod are next putinto the grooves at right angles to the bars and again pulled through, thus dividing the bars into cubical cakes. Each cake is then stampedwith the factory mark and number, and all are noted down in the books. They are then taken to the drying house; this is a large airy building, with strong shelves of bamboo reaching to the roof, and having narrowpassages between the tiers of shelves. On these shelves or _mychans_, as they are called, the cakes are ranged to dry. The drying takes twoor three months, and the cakes are turned and moved at frequentintervals, till thoroughly ready for packing. All the little pieces andcorners and chips are carefully put by on separate shelves, and packedseparately. Even the sweepings and refuse from the sheets and floor areall carefully collected, mixed with water, boiled separately, and madeinto cakes, which are called 'washings. '

During the drying a thick mould forms on the cakes. This is carefullybrushed off before packing, and, mixed with sweepings and tiny chips isall ground up in a hand-mill, packed in separate chests, and sold asdust. In October, when _mahye_ is over, and the preparation of the landgoing on again, the packing begins. The cakes, each of separate date, are carefully scrutinised, and placed in order of quality. The finestqualities are packed first, in layers, in mango-wood boxes; the boxesare first weighed empty, re-weighed when full, and the difference givesthe nett weight of the indigo. The tare, gross, and nett weights areprinted legibly on the chests, along with the factory mark and numberof the chest, and when all are ready, they are sent down to the brokersin Calcutta for sale. Such shortly is the system of manufacture. 

During _mahye_ the factory is a busy scene. Long before break of daythe ryots and coolies are busy cutting the plant, leaving it in greenlittle heaps for the cartmen to load. In the early morning the cartsare seen converging to the factory on every road, crawling along likehuge green beetles. Here a cavalcade of twenty or thirty carts, therein clusters of twos or threes. When they reach the factory the loadershave several vats ready for the reception of the plant, while othersare taking out the already steeped plant of yesterday; staggering underits weight, as, dripping with water, they toss it on the vastaccumulating heap of refuse material. 

Down in the vats below, the beating coolies are plashing, and shouting, and yelling, or the revolving wheel (where machinery is used) isscattering clouds of spray and foam in the blinding sunshine. Thefiremen stripped to the waist, are feeding the furnaces with the driedstems of last year's crop, which forms our only fuel. The smoke hoversin volumes over the boiling-house. The pinmen are busy sorting theirpins, rolling hemp round them to make them fit the holes more exactly. Inside the boiling-house, dimly discernible through the clouds ofstifling steam, the boilermen are seen with long rods, stirring slowlythe boiling mass of bubbling blue. The clank of the levers resoundsthrough the pressing-house, or the hoarse guttural 'hah, hah!' as thehuge lever is strained and pulled at by the press-house coolies. Thestraining-table is being cleaned by the table 'mate' and his coolies, while the washerman stamps on his sheets and press-cloths to extractall the colour from them, and the cake-house boys run to and frobetween the cutting-table and the cake-house with batches of cakes ontheir heads, borne on boards, like a baker taking his hot rolls fromthe oven, or like a busy swarm of ants taking the spoil of the granaryto their forest haunt. Everywhere there is a confused jumble of sounds. The plash of water, the clank of machinery, the creaking of wheels, theroaring of the furnaces, mingle with the shouts, cries, and yells ofthe excited coolies; the vituperations of the drivers as some terrifiedor obstinate bullock plunges madly about; the objurgations of the'mates' as some lazy fellow eases his stroke in the beating vats; thecracking of whips as the bullocks tear round the circle where thePersian wheel creaks and rumbles in the damp, dilapidated wheel-house;the-dripping buckets revolving clumsily on the drum, the arriving anddeparting carts; the clang of the anvil, as the blacksmith and his menhammer away at some huge screw which has been bent; the hurrying crowdsof cartmen and loaders with their burdens of fresh green plant ordripping refuse;--form such a medley of sights and sounds as I havenever seen equalled in any other industry. 

The planter has to be here, there, and everywhere. He sends carts tothis village or to that, according as the crop ripens. Coolies must becounted and paid daily. The stubble must be ploughed to give the planta start for the second growth whenever the weather will admit of it. Reports have to be sent to the agents and owners. The boiling must benarrowly watched, as also the beating and the straining. He has a largestaff of native assistants, but if his _mahye_ is to be successful, hiseye must be over all. It is an anxious time, but the constant work isgrateful, and when the produce is good, and everything workingsmoothly, it is perhaps the most enjoyable time of the whole year. Isit nothing to see the crop, on which so much care has been expended, which you have watched day by day through all the vicissitudes of theseason, through drought, and flood, and blight; is it nothing to see itsafely harvested, and your shelves filling day by day with fine soundcakes, the representatives of wealth, that will fill your pockets withcommission, and build up your name as a careful and painstakingplanter?

'What's your produce?' is now the first query at this season, whenplanters meet. Calculations are made daily, nay hourly, to see how muchis being got per beegah, or how much per vat. The presses are calculatedto weigh so much. Some days you will get a press a vat, some days itwill mount up to two presses a vat, and at other times it will recedeto half a press a vat, or even less. Cold wet weather reduces theproduce. Warm sunny weather will send it up again. Short stunted plantfrom poor lands will often reduce your average per acre, to be againsent up as fresh, hardy, leafy plant comes in from some favouritevillage, where you have new and fertile lands, or where the plant fromthe rich zeraats laden with broad strong leaf is tumbled into theloading vat. 

So far as I know, there seems to be no law of produce. It is the mosterratic and incomprehensible thing about planting. One day your pressesare full to straining, next day half of them lie empty. No doubt thestate of the weather, the quality of your plant, the temperature of thewater, the length of time steeping, and other things have an influence;but I know of no planter who can entirely and satisfactorily accountfor the sudden and incomprehensible fluctuations and variations whichundoubtedly take place in the produce or yield of the plant. It is amatter of more interest to the planter than to the general public, butall I can say is, that if the circumstances attendant on any suddenchange in the yielding powers of the plant were more accurately noted;if the chemical conditions of the water, the air, and the raw materialitself, more especially in reference to the soil on which it grows, thetime it takes in transit from the field to the vat, and other points, which will at once suggest themselves to a practical planter, were morecarefully, methodically, and scientifically observed, some coherenttheory resulting in plain practical results might be evolved. 

Planters should attend more to this. I believe the chemical history ofindigo has yet to be written. The whole manufacture, so far aschemistry is concerned, is yet crude and ill-digested. I know that bycareful experiment, and close scientific investigation and observation, the preparation of indigo could be much improved. So far as themechanical appliances for the manufacture go, the last ten years havewitnessed amazing and rapid improvements. What is now wanted, is, thatwhat has been done for the mere mechanical appliances, should be donefor the proper understanding of the chemical changes and conditions inthe constitution of the plant, and in the various processes of itsmanufacture[1]. 

[1] Since the above chapter was written Mons. P. I. Michea, a French chemist of some experience in Indigo matters, has patented an invention (the result of much study, experiment, and investigation), by the application of which an immense increase in the produce of the plant has been obtained during the last season, in several factories where it has been worked in Jessore, Purneah, Kishnaghur, and other places. This increase, varying according to circumstances, has in some instances reached the amazing extent of 30 to 47 per cent. , and so far from being attended with a deterioration of quality the dye produced is said to be finer than that obtained under the old crude process described in the above chapter. This shows what a waste must have been going on, and what may yet be done, by properly organised scientific investigation. I firmly believe that with an intelligent application of the principles of chemistry and agricultural science, not only to the manufacture but to growth, cultivation, nature of the soil, application of manures, and other such departments of the business, quite a revolution will set in, and a new era in the history of this great industry will be inaugurated. Less area for crop will be required, working expenses will be reduced, a greater out-turn, and a more certain crop secured, and all classes, planter and ryot alike, will be benefited. 

[Illustration: INDIAN FACTORY PEON. ]

[Illustration: INDIGO PLANTER'S HOUSE. ]

CHAPTER V. 

Parewah factory. --A 'Bobbery Pack. '--Hunt through a village after acat. --The pariah dog of India. --Fate of 'Pincher. '--Rampore hound. --Persian greyhound. --Caboolee dogs. --A jackal hunt. --Incidents ofthe chase. 

After living at Puttihee for two years, I was transferred to anotherout-factory in the same concern, called Parewah. There was here a verynice little three-roomed bungalow, with airy verandahs all round. Itwas a pleasant change from Puttihee, and the situation was very pretty. A small stream, almost dry in the hot weather, but a swollen, deep, rapid torrent in the rains, meandered past the factory. Nearing thebullock-house it suddenly took a sweep to the left in the form of awide horseshoe, and in this bend or pocket was situated the bungalow, with a pretty terraced garden sloping gently to the stream. Thus theriver was in full view from both the front and the back verandahs. In front, and close on the bank of the river, stood the kitchen, fowl-house, and offices. To the right of the compound were the stables, while behind the bungalow, and some distance down the stream, thewheel-house, vats, press-house, boiling-house, cake-house, andworkshops were grouped together. I was but nine miles from thebead-factory, and the same distance from the station of Mooteeharree, while over the river, and but three miles off, I had the factory ofMeerpore, with its hospitable manager as my nearest neighbour. Hislands and mine lay contiguous. In fact some of his villages lay beyondsome of mine, and he had to ride through part of my cultivation toreach them. 

Not unfrequently we would meet in the zillah of a morning, when wewould invariably make for the nearest patch of grass or jungle, andenjoy a hunt together. In the cool early mornings, when the heavy nightdews still lie glittering on the grass, when the cobwebs seem strungwith pearls, and faint lines of soft fleecy mist lie in the hollows bythe watercourses; long ere the hot, fiery sun has left his crimson bedbehind the cold grey horizon, we are out on our favourite horse, thewiry, long-limbed _syce_ or groom trotting along behind us. The_mehter_ or dog-keeper is also in attendance with a couple ofgreyhounds in leash, and a motley pack of wicked little terriersfrisking and frolicking behind him. This mongrel collection is known as'the Bobbery Pack, ' and forms a certain adjunct to every assistant'sbungalow in the district. I had one very noble-looking kangaroo houndthat I had brought from Australia with me, and my 'bobbery pack' ofterriers contained canine specimens of all sorts, sizes, and colours. 

On nearing a village, you would see one black fellow, 'Pincher, ' setoff at a round trot ahead, with seemingly the most innocent air in theworld. 'Tilly, ' 'Tiny, ' and 'Nipper' follow. 

Then 'Dandy, ' 'Curly, ' 'Brandy, ' and 'Nettle, ' till spying a cat in thedistance, the whole pack with a whimper of excitement dash off at a madscramble, the hound straining meanwhile at the slip, till he almostpulls the _mehter_ off his legs. Off goes the cat, round the corner ofa hut with her tail puffed up to fully three times its normal size. Round in mad, eager pursuit rattle the terriers, thirsting for herblood. The _syce_ dashes forward, vainly hoping to turn them from theirquest. Now a village dog, roused from his morning nap, bounds out witha demoniac howl, which is caught up and echoed by all the curs in thevillage. 

Meanwhile the row inside the hut is fiendish. The sleeping familyrudely roused by the yelping pack, utter the most discordant screams. The women with garments fluttering behind them, rush out beating theirbreasts, thinking the very devil is loose. The wails of the unfortunatecat mingle with the short snapping barks of the pack, or a howl ofanguish as puss inflicts a caress on the face of some too careless orreckless dog. A howling village cur has rashly ventured too near. 'Pincher' has him by the hind leg before you could say 'Jack Robinson. 'Leaving the dead cat for 'Toby' and 'Nettle' to worry, the whole packnow fiercely attack the luckless _Pariah_ dog. A dozen of his villagemates dance madly outside the ring, but are too wise or too cowardly tocome to closer quarters. The kangaroo hound has now fairly torn therope from the keeper's hand, and with one mighty bound is in the middleof the fight, scattering the village dogs right and left. The wholevillage is now in commotion, the _syce_ and keeper shout the names ofthe terriers in vain. Oaths, cries, shouts, and screams mingle with theyelping and growling of the combatants, till riding up, I disperse theworrying pack with a few cracks of my hunting whip, and so on againover the zillah, leaving the women and children to recover theirscattered senses, the old men to grumble over their broken slumbers, and the boys and young men to wonder at the pluck and dash of the_Belaitee Kookoor_, or English dog. 

The common Pariah dog, or village dog of India, is a perfect cur; amangy, carrion-loving, yellow-fanged, howling brute. A most unlovelyand unloving beast. As you pass his village he will bounce out on youwith the fiercest bark and the most menacing snarl; but lo! if aterrier the size of a teacup but boldly go at him, down goes his taillike a pump-handle, he turns white with fear, and like the arrantcoward that he is, tumbles on his back and fairly screams for mercy. Ihave often been amused to see a great hulking cowardly brute come outlike an avalanche at 'Pincher, ' expecting to make one mouthful of him. What a look of bewilderment he would put on, as my gallant little'Pincher, ' with a short, sharp, defiant bark would go boldly at him. The huge yellow brute would stop dead short on all four legs, and asthe rest of my pack would come scampering round the corner, he wouldfind himself the centre of a ring of indomitable assailants. 

How he curses his short-sighted temerity. With one long howl of utterdismay and deadly fear, he manages to get away from the pack, leavingmy little doggies to come proudly round my horse with their mouths fullof fur, and each of their little tails as stiff as an iron ramrod. 

That 'Pincher, ' in some respects, was a very fiend incarnate. There wasno keeping him in. He was constantly getting into hot water himself, and leading the pack into all sorts of mischief. He was as bold asbrass and as courageous as a lion. He stole food, worried sheep andgoats, and was never out of a scrape. I tried thrashing him, tying himup, half starving him, but all to no purpose. He would be into everyhut in a village whenever he had the chance, overturning brass pots, eating up rice and curries, and throwing the poor villager's householdinto dismay and confusion. He would never leave a cat if he once sawit. I've seen him scramble through the roofs of more than one hut, andoust the cat from its fancied stronghold. 

I put him into an indigo vat with a big dog jackal once, and he whippedthe jackal single-handed. He did not kill it, but he worried it tillthe jackal shammed dead and would not 'come to the scratch. ' 'Pincher's'ears were perfect shreds, and his scars were as numerous almost as hishairs. My gallant 'Pincher!' His was a sad end. He got eaten up by analligator in the 'Dhans, ' a sluggish stream in Bhaugulpore. I had allmy pack in the boat with me, the stream was swollen and full of weeds. A jackal gave tongue on the bank, and 'Pincher' bounded over the sideof the boat at once. I tried to 'grab' him, and nearly upset the boatin doing so. Our boat was going rapidly down stream, and 'Pincher'tried to get ashore but got among the weeds. He gave a bark, poorgallant little dog, for help, but just then we saw a dark square snoutshoot athwart the stream. A half-smothered sobbing cry from 'Pincher, 'and the bravest little dog I ever possessed was gone for ever. 

There is another breed of large, strong-limbed, big-boned dogs, calledRampore hounds. They are a cross breed from the original upcountry dogand the Persian greyhound. Some call them the Indian greyhound. Theyseem to be bred principally in the Rampore-Bareilly district, but oneor more are generally to be found in every planter's pack. They arefast and strong enough, but I have often found them bad at tackling, and they are too fond of their keeper ever to make an affectionatefaithful dog to the European. 

Another somewhat similar breed is the _Tazi_. This, although not solarge a dog as the Rhamporee, is a much pluckier animal, and when welltrained will tackle a jackal with the utmost determination. He has awrinkled almost hairless skin, but a very uncertain temper, and he isnot very amenable to discipline. _Tazi_ is simply the Persian word fora greyhound, and refers to no particular breed. The common name for adog is _Kutta_, pronounced _Cootta_, but the Tazi has certainly been animportation from the North-west, hence the Persian name. The wanderingCaboolees, who come down to the plains once a year with dried fruits, spices, and other products of field or garden, also bring with them thedogs of their native country for sale, and on occasion they bringlovely long-haired white Persian cats, very beautiful animals. TheseCaboolee dogs are tall, long-limbed brutes, generally white, with along thin snout, very long silky-haired drooping ears, and generallywearing tufts of hair on their legs and tail, somewhat like thefeathering of a spaniel, which makes them look rather clumsy. Theycannot stand the heat of the plains at all well, and are difficult totame, but fleet and plucky, hunting well with an English pack. 

My neighbour Anthony at Meerpore had some very fine English greyhoundsand bulldogs, and many a rattling burst have we had together after thefox or the jackal. Imagine a wide level plain, with one uniform dullcovering of rice stubble, save where in the centre a mound rises sometwo acres in extent, covered with long thatching grass, a few scrubbyacacia bushes, and other jungly brushwood. All round the circularhorizon are dense forest masses of sombre looking foliage, save wheresome clump of palms uprear their stately heads, or the white shiningwalls of some temple, sacred to Shiva or Khristna glitter in thesunshine. Far to the left a sluggish creek winds slowly along throughthe plain, its banks fringed with acacias and wild rose jungle. On thefar bank is a small patch of _Sal_ forest jungle, with a thick rankundergrowth of ferns, thistles, and rank grass. As I am slowly ridingalong I hear a shout in the distance, and looking round behold Anthonyadvancing at a rapid hand gallop. His dogs and mine, being old friends, rapidly fraternise, and we determine on a hunt. 

'Let's try the old patch, Anthony!'

'All right, ' and away we go making straight for the mound. When wereach the grass the syces and keepers hold the hounds at the cornersoutside, while we ride through the grass urging on the terriers, who, quivering with excitement, utter short barks, and dash here and thereamong the thick grass, all eager for a find. 

'Gone away, gone away!' shouts Anthony, as a fleet fox dashes out, closely followed by 'Pincher' and half a dozen others. The hounds areslipped, and away go the pack in full pursuit, we on our horses ridingalong, one on each side of the chase. The fox has a good start, but nowthe hounds are nearing him, when with a sudden whisk he doubles roundthe ridge encircling a rice field, the hounds overshoot him, and erethey turn the fox has put the breadth of a good field between himselfand his pursuers. He is now making back again for the grass, butencounters some of the terriers who have tailed off behind. Withpanting chests and lolling tongues, they are pegging stolidly along, when fortune gives them this welcome chance. Redoubling their efforts, they dash at the fox. 'Bravo, Tilly! you tumbled him over that time;'but he is up and away again. Dodging, double-turning, and twisting, hehas nearly run the gauntlet, and the friendly covert is close at hand, but the hounds are now up again and thirsting for his blood. 'Hurrah!Minnie has him!' cries Anthony, and riding up we divest poor Reynard ofhis brush, pat the dogs, ease the girths for a minute, and then againinto the jungle for another beat. 

This time a fat old jackal breaks to the left, long before the dogs areup. Yelling to the _mehters_ not to slip the hounds, we gather theterriers together, and pound over the stubble and ridges. He is goingvery leisurely, casting an occasional scared look over his shoulder. 'Curly' and 'Legs, ' two of my fastest terriers, are now in full view, they are laying themselves well to the ground, and Master Jackal thinksit's high time to increase his pace. He puts on a spurt, but conditiontells. He is fat and pursy, and must have had a good feed last night onsome poor dead bullock. He is shewing his teeth now. Curly makes hisrush, and they both roll over together. Up hurries Legs, and the jackalgets a grip, gives him a shake, and then hobbles slowly on. The twoterriers now hamper him terribly. One minute they are at his heels, andas soon as he turns, they are at his ear or shoulder. The rest of thepack are fast coming up. 

Anthony has a magnificent bulldog, broad-chested, and a very Goliathamong dogs. He is called 'Sailor. ' Sailor always pounds along at thesame steady pace; he never seems to get flurried. Sitting lazily at thedoor, he seems too indolent even to snap at a fly. He is a truephilosopher, and nought seems to disturb his serenity. But see himafter a jackal, his big red tongue hanging out, his eyes flashing fire, and his hair erected on his back like the bristles of a wild boar. Helooks fiendish then, and he is a true bulldog. There is no flinchingwith Sailor. Once he gets his grip it's no use trying to make him letgo. 

Up comes Sailor now. 

He has the jackal by the throat. 

A hoarse, rattling, gasping yell, and the jackal has gone to the happyhunting grounds. 

The sun is now mounting in the sky. The hounds and terriers feel theheat, so sending them home by the keeper, we diverge on our respectiveroads, ride over our cultivation, seeing the ploughing and preparationsgenerally, till hot, tired, and dusty, we reach home about 11. 30, tumble into our bath, and feeling refreshed, sit down contentedly tobreakfast. If the _dak_ or postman has come in we get our letters andpapers, and the afternoon is devoted to office work and accounts, hearing complaints and reports from the villages, or looking over anylabour that may be going on in the zeraats or at the workshops. In theevening we ride over the zeraats again, give orders for the morrow'swork, consume a little tobacco, have an early dinner, and after alittle reading, retire soon to bed to dream of far away friends and thehappy memories of home. Many an evening it is very lonely work. Nofriendly face, and no congenial society within miles of your factory. Little wonder that the arrival of a brother planter sends a thrillthrough the frame, and that his advent is welcomed as the mostagreeable break to the irksome monotony of our lonely life. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Fishing in India. --Hereditary trades. --The boatmen and fishermen ofIndia. --Their villages. --Nets. --Modes of fishing. --Curiositiesrelating thereto. --Catching an alligator with a hook. --Excitingcapture. -Crocodiles. --Shooting an alligator. --Death of the man-eater. 

Not only in the wild jungles, on the undulating plains, and among thewithered brown stubbles, does animal life abound in India; but therivers, lakes, and creeks teem with fish of every conceivable size, shape, and colour. The varieties are legion. From the huge blackporpoise, tumbling through the turgid stream of the Ganges, to thebright, sparkling, silvery shoals of delicate _chillooahs_ or_poteeahs_, which one sees darting in and out among the rice stubblesin every paddy field during the rains. Here a huge _bhowarree_ (pike), or ravenous _coira_, comes to the surface with a splash; there a_raho_, the Indian salmon, with its round sucker-like mouth, risesslowly to the surface, sucks in a fly and disappears as slowly as itrose; or a _pachgutchea_, a long sharp-nosed fish, darts rapidly by; ashoal of mullet with their heads out of the water swim athwart thestream, and far down in the cool depths of the tank or lake, a thousanddifferent varieties disport themselves among the mazy labyrinths of thebroad-leaved weeds. 

During the middle, and about the end of the rains, is the best time forfishing; the whole country is then a perfect network of streams. Everyrice field is a shallow lake, with countless thousands of tiny fishdarting here and there among the rice stalks. Every ditch teems withfish, and every hollow in every field is a well stocked aquarium. 

Round the edge of every lake or tank in the early morning, or when thefierce heat of the day begins to get tempered by the approaching shadesof evening, one sees numbers of boys and men of the poorer classes, each with a couple of rough bamboo rods stuck in the ground in front ofhim, watching his primitive float with the greatest eagerness, andwhipping out at intervals some luckless fish of about three or fourounces in weight with a tremendous haul, fit for the capture of aforty-pounder. They get a coarse sort of hook in the bazaar, rig up aroughly-twisted line, tie on a small piece of hollow reed for a float, and with a lively earth-worm for a bait, they can generally manage in avery short time to secure enough fish for a meal. 

With a short light rod, a good silk line, and an English hook attachedto fine gut, I have enjoyed many a good hour's sport at Parewah. I usedto have a cane chair sent down to the bank of the stream, a _punkah_, or hand fan, plenty of cooling drinks, and two coolie boys inattendance to remove the fish, renew baits, and keep the punkah inconstant swing. There I used to sit enjoying my cigar, and pulling inlittle fish at the rate sometimes of a couple a minute. 

I remember hooking a turtle once, and a terrible job it was to landhim. My light rod bent like a willow, but the tackle was good, andafter ten minutes' hard work I got the turtle to the side, where myboys soon secured him. He weighed thirteen pounds. Sometimes you getamong a colony of freshwater crabs. 

They are little brown brutes, and strip your hooks of the bait as fastas you fling them in. There is nothing for it in such a case but toshift your station. Many of the bottom fish--the _ghurai_, the_saourie_, the _barnee_ (eel), and others, make no effort to escape thehook. You see them resting at the bottom, and drop the bait at theirvery nose. On the whole, the hand fishing is uninteresting, but itserves to wile away an odd hour when hunting and shooting are hardlypracticable. 

Particular occupations in India are restricted to particular castes. All trades are hereditary. For example, a _tatmah_, or weaver, isalways a weaver. He cannot become a blacksmith or carpenter. He has nochoice. He must follow the hereditary trade. The peculiar system ofland-tenure in India, which secures as far as possible a bit of landfor every one, tends to perpetuate this hereditary selection of trades, by enabling every cultivator to be so far independent of hishandicraft, thus restricting competition. There may be twenty _lohars_, or blacksmiths, in a village, but they do not all follow their calling. They till their lands, and are _de facto_ petty farmers. They know therudiments of their handicraft, but the actual blacksmith's work is doneby the hereditary smith of the village, whose son in turn will succeedhim when he dies, or if he leave no son, his fellow caste men will putin a successor. 

Nearly every villager during the rains may be found on the banks of thestream or lake, angling in an amateur sort of way, but the fishermenof Behar _par excellence_ are the _mull[=a]hs_; they are also called_Gouhree, Beeu_, or _Muchooah_. In Bengal they are called _Nikaree_, and in some parts _Baeharee_, from the Persian word for a boat. In thesame way _muchooah_ is derived from _much_, a fish, and _mullah_ meansboatman, strictly speaking, rather than fisherman. All boatmen andfishermen belong to this caste, and their villages can be recognised atonce by the instruments of their calling lying all around. 

Perched high on some bank overlooking the stream or lake, you seeinnumerable festoons of nets hanging out to dry on tall bamboo poles, or hanging like lace curtains of very coarse texture from the roofs andeaves of the huts. Hauled up on the beach are a whole fleet of boats ofdifferent sizes, from the small _dugout_, which will hold only one man, to the huge _dinghy_, in which the big nets and a dozen men can bestowed with ease. Great heaps of shells of the freshwater mussel showthe source of great supplies of bait; while overhead a great hoveringarmy of kites and vultures are constantly circling round, eagerlywatching for the slightest scrap of offal from the nets. When the rainshave fairly set in, and the fishermen have got their rice fields allplanted out, they are at liberty to follow their hereditary avocation. A day is fixed for a drag, and the big nets are overhauled and got inreadiness. The head _mullah_, a wary grizzled old veteran, gives theorders. The big drag-net is bundled into the boat, which is quicklypushed off into the stream, and at a certain distance from shore thenet is cast from the boat. Being weighted at the lower end it rapidlysinks, and, buoyed on the upper side with pieces of cork, it makes aperpendicular wall in the water. Several long bamboo poles are now runthrough the ropes along the upper side of the net, to prevent the netbeing dragged under water altogether by the weight of the fish in agreat haul. The little boats, a crowd of which are in attendance, nowdart out, surrounding the net on all sides, and the boatmen beatingtheir oars on the sides of the boats, create such a clatter as tofrighten, the fish into the circumference of the big net. This is nowbeing dragged slowly to shore by strong and willing arms. The women andchildren watch eagerly on the bank. At length the glittering haul ispulled up high and dry on the beach, the fish are divided among themen, the women fill their baskets, and away they hie to the nearest_bazaar_, or if it be not _bazaar_ or market day, they hawk the fishthrough the nearest villages, like our fish-wives at home. 

There is another common mode of fishing adopted in narrow lakes andsmall streams, which are let out to the fishermen by the Zemindars orlandholders. A barricade made of light reeds, all matted together bystring, is stuck into the stream, and a portion of the water is fencedin, generally in a circular form. The reed fence being quite flexibleis gradually moved in, narrowing the circle. As the circle narrows, theagitation inside is indescribable; fish jumping in all directions--amoving mass of glittering scales and fins. The larger ones try to leapthe barrier, and are caught by the attendant _mullahs_, who pounce onthem with swift dexterity. Eagles and kites dart and swoop down, bearing off a captive fish in their talons. The reed fence is doubledback on itself, and gradually pushed on till the whole of the fishinside are jammed together in a moving mass. The weeds and dirt arethen removed, and the fish put into baskets and carried off to market. 

Others, again, use circular casting nets, which they throw with verygreat dexterity. Gathering the net into a bunch they rest it on theshoulder, then with a circular sweep round the head, they fling it farout. Being loaded, it sinks down rapidly in the water. A string isattached to the centre of the net, and the fisherman hauls it in withwhatever prey he may be lucky enough to secure. 

As the waters recede during October, after the rains have ended, eachrunlet and purling stream becomes a scene of slaughter on a mostreckless and improvident scale. The innumerable shoals of spawn andsmall fish that have been feeding in the rice fields, warned by someinstinct seek the lakes and main streams. As they try to get their wayback, however, they find at each outlet in each ditch and field adeadly wicker trap, in the shape of a square basket with a V-shapedopening leading into it, through which the stream makes its way. Afterentering this basket there is no egress except through the narrowopening, and they are trapped thus in countless thousands. Others ofthe natives in mere wantonness put a shelf of reeds or rushes in thebed of the stream, with an upward slope. As the water rushes along, thelittle fish are left high and dry on this shelf or screen, and thewater runs off below. In this way scarcely a fish escapes, and asmillions are too small to be eaten, it is a most serious waste. Theattention of Government has been directed to the subject, and steps maybe taken to stop such a reckless and wholesale destruction of avaluable food supply. 

In some parts of Purneah and Bhaugulpore I have seen a most ingeniousmethod adopted by the _mullahs_. A gang of four or five enter thestream and travel slowly downwards, stirring up the mud at the bottomwith their feet. The fish, ascending the stream to escape the mud, getentangled in the weeds. The fishermen feel them with their feet amongstthe weeds, and immediately pounce on them with their hands. Each manhas a _gila_ or earthen pot attached by a string to his waist andfloating behind him in the water. I have seen four men fill theirearthen pots in less than an hour by this ingenious but primitive modeof fishing. Some of them can use their feet almost as well for graspingpurposes as their hands. 

Another mode of capture is by a small net. A flat piece of netting isspread over a hoop, to which four or five pieces of bamboo areattached, rising up and meeting in the centre, so as to form a sort ofminiature skeleton tent-like frame over the net. The hoop with the netstretched tight across is then pressed down flat on the bottom of thetank or stream. If any fish are beneath, their efforts to escapeagitate the net. The motion is communicated to the fisherman by astring from the centre of the net which is rolled round the fisherman'sthumb. When the jerking of his thumb announces a captive fish, he putsdown his left hand and secures his victim. The _Banturs_, _Nepaulees_, and other jungle tribes, also often use the bow and arrow as a means ofsecuring fish. 

Seated on the branch of some overhanging tree, while his keen eye scansthe depths below, he watches for a large fish, and as it passes, helets fly his arrow with unerring aim, and impales the luckless victim. Some tribes fish at night, by torchlight, spearing the fish who areattracted by the light. In Nepaul the bark of the _Hill Sirres_ isoften used to poison a stream or piece of water. Pounded up and thrownin, it seems to have some uncommon effect on the fish. After water hasbeen treated in this way, the fish, seemingly quite stupefied, rise tothe surface, on which they float in great numbers, and allow themselvesto be caught. The strangest part of it is that they are perfectlyinnocuous as food, notwithstanding this treatment. 

Fish forms a very favourite article of diet with both Mussulmans andHindoos. Many of the latter take a vow to touch no flesh of any kind. They are called _Kunthees_ or _Boghuts_, but a _Boghut_ is more of anascetic than a _Kunthee_. However, the _Kunthee_ is glad of a fishdinner when he can get it. They are restricted to no particular sect orcaste, but all who have taken the vow wear a peculiar necklace, madegenerally of sandal-wood beads or _neem_ beads round their throats. Hence the name, from _kunth_ meaning the throat. 

The right to fish in any particular piece of water, is let out by theproprietor on whose land the water lies, or through which it flows. Theletting is generally done by auction yearly. The fishing is called a_shilkur_; from _shal_, a net. It is generally taken by some rich_Bunneah_ (grain seller) or village banker, who sub-lets it in turn tothe fishermen. 

In some of the tanks which are not so let, and where the nativeproprietor preserves the fish, first-class sport can be had. A commonnative poaching dodge is this: if some oil cake be thrown into thewater a few hours previous to your fishing, or better still, balls madeof roasted linseed meal, mixed with bruised leaves of the 'sweetbasil, ' or _toolsee_ plant, the fish assemble in hundreds round thespot, and devour the bait greedily. With a good eighteen-foot rod, fishof from twelve to twenty pounds are not uncommonly caught, and willgive good play too. Fishing in the plains of India is, however, rathertame sport at the best of times. 

You have heard of the famous _mahseer_--some of them over eighty or ahundred pounds weight? We have none of these in Behar, but the hugeporpoise gives splendid rifle or carbine practice as he rolls throughthe turgid streams. They are difficult to hit, but I have seen severalkilled with ball; and the oil extracted from their bodies is a splendiddressing for harness. But the most exciting fishing I have ever seenwas--What do you think?--Alligator fishing! Yes, the formidable scalymonster, with his square snout and terrible jaws, his ponderous bodycovered with armour, and his serrated tail, with which he could breakthe leg of a bullock, or smash an outrigger as easily as a whale couldsmash a jolly-boat. 

I must try to describe one day's alligator fishing. 

When I was down in Bhaugulpore, I went out frequently fishing in thevarious tanks and streams near my factory. My friend Pat, who is a keensportsman and very fond of angling, wrote to me one day when he and hisbrother Willie were going out to the Teljuga, asking me to join theirparty. The Teljuga is the boundary stream between Tirhoot andBhaugulpore, and its sluggish muddy waters teem with alligators--theregular square-nosed _mugger_, the terrible man-eater. The _nakar_ orlong-nosed species may be seen in countless numbers in any of the largestreams, stretched out on the banks basking in the noonday sun. Goingdown the Koosee particularly, you come across hundreds sometimes lyingon one bank. As the boat nears them, they slide noiselessly and slowlyinto the stream. A large excrescence forms on the tip of the longsnout, like a huge sponge; and this is often all that is seen on thesurface of the water as the huge brute swims about waiting for hisprey. These _nakars_, or long-nosed specimens, never attack humanbeings--at least such cases are very very rare--but live almostentirely on fish. I remember seeing one catch a paddy-bird on oneoccasion near the junction of the Koosee with the Ganges. My boat wasfastened to the shore near a slimy creek, that came oozing into theriver from some dense jungle near. I was washing my hands and face onthe bank, and the boatmen were fishing with a small hand-net, for ourbreakfast. Numbers of attenuated melancholy-looking paddy-birds werestalking solemnly and stiltedly along the bank, also fishing for_theirs_. I noticed one who was particularly greedy, with his long legshalf immersed in the water, constantly darting out his long bill andbringing up a hapless struggling fish. All of a sudden a long snout andthe ugly serrated ridgy back of a _nakar_ was shot like lightning atthe hapless bird, and right before our eyes the poor paddy was crunchedup. As a rule, however, alligators confine themselves to a fish diet, and are glad of any refuse or dead animal that may float their way. Butwith the _mugger_, the _boach_, or square-nosed variety, 'all is fishthat comes to his net. ' His soul delights in young dog or live pork. Afat duck comes not amiss; and impelled by hunger he hesitates not toattack man. Once regaled with the flavour of human flesh, he takes uphis stand near some ferry, or bathing ghaut, where many hapless womenand children often fall victims to his unholy appetite, before hiscareer is cut short. 

I remember shooting one ghastly old scaly villain in a tank nearRyseree. He had made this tank his home, and with that fatalism whichis so characteristic of the Hindoo, the usual ablutions and bathingswent on as if no such monster existed. Several woman having beencarried off, however, at short intervals, the villagers asked me to tryand rid them of their foe. I took a ride down to the tank one Fridaymorning, and found the banks a scene of great excitement. A woman hadbeen carried off some hours before as she was filling her water jar, and the monster was now reposing at the bottom of the tank digestinghis horrible meal. The tank was covered with crimson water-lilies infull bloom, their broad brown and green leaves showing off the crimsonbeauty of the open flower. At the north corner some wild rose bushesdropped over the water, casting a dense matted shade. Here was thehaunt of the _mugger_. He had excavated a huge gloomy-looking hole, into which he retired when gorged with prey. My first care was to cutaway some of these bushes, and then, finding he was not at home, wedrove some bamboo stakes through the bank to prevent him getting intohis _manu_, which is what the natives term the den or hole. I then satdown under a _goolar_ tree, to wait for his appearance. The _goolar_ isa species of fig, and the leaves are much relished by cattle and goats. Gradually the village boys and young men went off to their ploughing, or grass cutting for the cows' evening meal. A woman came downoccasionally to fill her waterpot in evident fear and trembling. Aswarm of _minas_ (the Indian starling) hopped and twittered round myfeet. The cooing of a pair of amatory pigeons overhead nearly lulled meto slumber. A flock of green parrots came swiftly circling overhead, making for the fig-tree at the south end of the tank. An occasional_raho_ lazily rose among the water-lilies, and disappeared with anindolent flap of his tail. The brilliant kingfisher, resplendent incrimson and emerald, sat on the withered branch of a prostratemango-tree close by, pluming his feathers and doubtless meditating onthe vanity of life. Suddenly, close by the massive post which marks thecentre of every Hindoo tank, a huge scaly snout slowly and almostimperceptibly rose to the surface, then a broad, flat, forbiddingforehead, topped by two grey fishy eyes with warty-looking callositiesfor eyebrows. Just then an eager urchin who had been squatted by me forhours, pointed to the brute. It was enough. Down sank the loathsomecreature, and we had to resume our attitude of expectation and patientwaiting. Another hour passed slowly. It was the middle of theafternoon, and very hot. I had sent my _tokedar_ off for a 'peg' to thefactory, and was beginning to get very drowsy, when, right in the samespot, the repulsive head again rose slowly to the surface. I had mytrusty No. 12 to my shoulder on the instant, glanced carefully alongthe barrels, but just then only the eyes of the brute were invisible. Amoment of intense excitement followed, and then, emboldened by theextreme stillness, he showed his whole head above the surface. I pulledthe trigger, and a Meade shell crashed through the monster's skull, scattering his brains in the water and actually sending one splinter ofthe skull to the opposite edge of the tank, where my little Hindoo boypicked it up and brought it to me. 

There was a mighty agitation in the water; the water-lilies rocked toand fro, and the broad leaves glittered with the water drops thrown onthem; then all was still. Hearing the report of my gun, the nativescame flocking to the spot, and, telling them their enemy was slain, Ideparted, leaving instructions to let me know when the body came to thesurface. It did so three days later. Getting some _chumars_ and _domes_(two of the lowest castes, as none of the higher castes will touch adead body under pain of losing caste), we hauled the putrid carcase toshore, and on cutting it open, found the glass armlets and brassornaments of no less than five women and the silver ornaments of threechildren, all in a lump in the brute's stomach. Its skull wascompletely smashed and shattered to pieces by my shot. Its teeth werecrusted with tartar, and worn almost to the very stumps. It measurednineteen feet. 

But during this digression my friends Pat and Willie have been waitingon the banks of the 'Teljuga. ' I reached their tents late at night, found them both in high spirits after a good day's execution among theducks and teal, and preparations being made for catching an alligatornext day. Up early in the morning, we beat some grass close by thestream, and roused out an enormous boar that gave us a three mile spinand a good fight, after Pat had given him first spear. After breakfastwe got our tackle ready. 

This was a large iron hook with a strong shank, to which was attached astout iron ring. To this ring a long thick rope was fastened, and Inoticed for several yards the strands were all loose and detached, andonly knotted at intervals. I asked Pat the reason of this curiousarrangement, and was told that if we were lucky enough to secure a_mugger_, the loose strands would entangle themselves amongst hisformidable teeth, whereas were the rope in one strand only he mightbite it through; the knottings at intervals were to give greaterstrength to the line. We now got our bait ready. On this occasion itwas a live tame duck. Passing the bend of the hook round its neck, andthe shank under its right wing, we tied the hook in this position withthread. We then made a small raft of the soft pith of theplantain-tree, tied the duck to the raft and committed it to thestream. Holding the rope as clear of the water as we could, the poorquacking duck floated slowly down the muddy current, making anoccasional vain effort to get free. We saw at a distance an ugly snoutrise to the surface for an instant and then noiselessly disappear. 

'There's one!' says Pat in a whisper. 

'Be sure and not strike too soon, ' says Willie. 

'Look out there, you lazy rascals!' This in Hindostanee to the groomsand servants who were with us. 

Again the black mass rises to the surface, but this time nearer to thefated duck. As if aware of its peril it now struggles and quacks mostvociferously. Nearer and nearer each time the black snout rises, andthen each time silently disappears beneath the turgid muddy stream. Nowit appears again; this time there are two, and there is another at adistance attracted by the quacking of the duck. We on the bank cowerdown and go as noiselessly as we can. Sometimes the rope dips on thewater, and the huge snout and staring eyes immediately disappear. Atlength it rises within a few yards of the duck; then there is a mightyrush, two huge jaws open and shut with a snap like factory shears, andamid a whirl of foam and water and surging mud the poor duck and thehideous reptile disappear, and but for the eddying swirl and densevolumes of mud that rise from the bottom, nothing gives evidence of thetragedy that has been enacted. The other two disappointed monsters swimto and fro still further disturbing the muddy current. 

'Give him lots of time to swallow, ' yells Pat, now fairly mad withexcitement. 

The grooms and grass-cutters howl and dance. Willie and I dig eachother in the ribs, and all generally act in an excited and insane way. 

Pat now puts the rope over his shoulder, we all take hold, and with a'one, two, three!' we make a simultaneous rush from the bank, and asthe rope suddenly tightens with a pull and strain that nearly jerks usall on our backs, we feel that we have hooked the monster, and ourexcitement reaches its culminating point. 

What a commotion now in the black depths of the muddy stream! Thewater, lashed by his powerful tail, surges and dashes in eddyingwhirls. He rises and darts backwards and forwards, snapping hishorrible jaws, moving his head from side to side, his eyes glaring withfury. We hold stoutly on to the rope, although our wrists are strainedand our arms ache. At length he begins to feel our steady pull, andinch by inch, struggling demoniacally, he nears the bank. When once hereaches it, however, the united efforts of twice our number would failto bring him farther. Bleeding and foaming at the mouth, his horridteeth glistening amid the frothy, blood-flecked foam, he plants hisstrong curved fore-legs against the shelving bank, and tugs and strainsat the rope with devilish force and fury. It is no use--the rope hasbeen tested, and answers bravely to the strain; and now with a longboar spear, Pat cautiously descends the bank, and gives him a deadlythrust under the fore arm. With a last fiendish glare of hate anddefiance, he springs forward; we haul in the rope, Pat nimbly jumpsback, and a pistol shot through the eye settles the monster for ever. This was the first alligator I ever saw hooked; he measured sixteen anda half feet exactly, but words can give no idea of half the excitementthat attended the capture. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Native superstitions. --Charming a bewitched woman. --Exorcising ghostsfrom a field. --Witchcraft. --The witchfinder or 'Ojah. '--Influence offear. --Snake bites. --How to cure them. --How to discover a thief. --Ghostsand their habits. --The 'Haddick' or native bone-setter. --Cruelty toanimals by natives. 

The natives as a rule, and especially the lower classes, areexcessively superstitious. They are afraid to go out after nightfall, believing that then the spirits of the dead walk abroad. It is almostimpossible to get a coolie, or even a fairly intelligent servant, to goa message at night, unless you give him another man for company. 

A belief in witches is quite prevalent, and there is scarcely a villagein Behar that does not contain some withered old crone, reputed andfirmly believed to be a witch. Others, either young or old are believedto have the evil eye; and, as in Scotland some centuries ago, there arealso witch-finders and sorcerers, who will sell charms, castnativities, give divinations, or ward off the evil efforts of wizardsand witches by powerful spells. When a wealthy man has a child born, the Brahmins cast the nativity of the infant on some auspicious day. They fix on the name, and settle the date for the baptismal ceremony. 

I remember a man coming to me on one occasion from the village ofKuppoorpuckree. He rushed up to where I was sitting in the verandah, threw himself at my feet, with tears streaming down his cheeks, andamid loud cries for pity and help, told me that his wife had just beenbewitched. Getting him somewhat soothed and pacified, I learned that areputed witch lived next door to his house; that she and the man's wifehad quarrelled in the morning about some capsicums which the witch wastrying to steal from his garden; that in the evening, as his wife waswashing herself inside the _angana_, or little courtyard appertainingto his house, she was seized with cramps and shivering fits, and wasnow in a raging fever; that the witch had been also bathing at thetime, and that the water from her body had splashed over this man'sfence, and part of it had come in contact with his wife's body--henceundoubtedly this strange possession. He wished me to send peons atonce, and have the witch seized, beaten, and expelled from the village. It would have been no use my trying to persuade him that no witchcraftexisted. So I gave him a good dose of quinine for his wife, which shewas to take as soon as the fit subsided. Next I got my old _moonshee_, or native writer, to write some Persian characters on a piece of paper;I then gave him this paper, muttering a bit of English rhyme at thetime, and telling him this was a powerful spell. I told him to takethree hairs from his wife's head, and a paring from her thumb and bigtoe nails, and at the rising of the moon to burn them outside the wallsof his hut. The poor fellow took the quinine and the paper with thedeepest reverence, made me a most lowly _salaam_ or obeisance, anddeparted with a light heart. He carried out my instructions to theletter, the quinine acted like a charm on the feverish woman, and Ifound myself quite a famous witch-doctor. 

There was a nice flat little field close to the water at Parewah, inwhich I thought I could get a good crop of oats during the coldweather. I sent for the 'dangur' mates, and asked them to have it dugup next day. They hummed and hawed and hesitated, as I thought, inrather a strange manner, but departed. In the evening back they came, to tell me that the dangurs would _not_ dig up the field. 

'Why?' I asked. 

'Well you see, Sahib, ' said old Teerbouan, who was the patriarch andchief spokesman of the village, 'this field has been used for years asa burning ghaut' (i. E. A place where the bodies of dead Hindoos wereburied). 

'Well?' said I. 

'Well, Sahib, my men say that if they disturb this land, the "Bhoots"(ghosts) of all those who have been burned there, will haunt thevillage at night, and they hope you will not persist in asking them todig up the land. '

'Very well, bring down the men with their digging-hoes, and I willsee. '

Accordingly, next morning, I went down on my pony, found the dangursall assembled, but no digging going on. I called them together, toldthem that it was a very reasonable fear they had, but that I would castsuch a spell on the land as would settle the ghosts of the departed forever. I then got a branch of a _bael_[1] tree that grew close by, dipped it in the stream, and walking backwards round the ground, wavedthe dripping branch round my head, repeating at the same time the firstgibberish that came into my recollection. My incantation or spell wasas follows, an old Scotch rhyme I had often repeated when a child atschool--

 'Eenerty, feenerty, fickerty, feg, Ell, dell, domun's egg; Irky, birky, story, rock, An, tan, toose, Jock; Black fish! white troot! "Gibbie Gaw, ye're oot. "'

It had the desired effect. No sooner was my charm uttered, than, aftera few encouraging words to the men, telling them that there was now nofear, that my charm was powerful enough to lay all the spirits in thecountry, and that I would take all the responsibility, they set to workwith a will, and had the whole field dug up by the evening. 

I have seen many such cases. A blight attacks the melon or cucumberbeds; a fierce wind rises during the night, and shakes half the mangoesoff the trees; the youngest child is attacked with teethingconvulsions; the plough-bullock is accidentally lamed, or the favouritecow refuses to give milk. In every case it is some 'Dyne, ' or witch, that has been at work with her damnable spells and charms. I remember acase in which a poor little child had bad convulsions. The 'Ojah, ' orwitch-finder, in this case a fat, greasy, oleaginous knave, was sentfor. Full of importance and blowing like a porpoise, he came and causedthe child to be brought to him, under a tree near the village. I waspassing at the time, and stopped out of curiosity. He spread a tatteredcloth in front of him, and muttered some unintelligible gibberish, unceasingly making strange passes with his arms. He put down a numberof articles on his cloth--which was villainously tattered andgreasy--an unripe plantain, a handful of rice, of parched peas, a thighbone, two wooden cups, some balls, &c. , &c. ; all of which he keptconstantly lifting and moving about, keeping up the passes andmuttering all the time. 

The child was a sickly-looking, pining sort of creature, rocking aboutin evident pain, and moaning and fretting just as sick children do. Gradually its attention got fixed on the strange antics going on. TheOjah kept muttering away, quicker and quicker, constantly shifting thebone and cups and other articles on the cloth. His body was suffusedwith perspiration, but in about half an hour the child had gone off tosleep, and attended by some dozen old women, and the anxious father, was borne off in triumph to the house. 

Another time one of Mr. D. 's female servants got bitten by a scorpion. The poor woman was in great agony, with her arm swelled up, when anOjah was called in. Setting her before him, he began his incantationsin the usual manner, but made frequent passes over her body, and overthe bitten place. A gentle perspiration began to break out on her skin, and in a very short time the Ojah had thrown her into a deep mesmericsleep. After about an hour she awoke perfectly free from pain. In thiscase no doubt the Ojah was a mesmerist. 

The influence of fear on the ordinary native is most wonderful. I haveknown dozens of instances in which natives have been brought home atnight for treatment in cases of snake-bite. They have arrived at thefactory in a complete state of coma, with closed eyes, the pupilsturned back in the head, the whole body rigid and cold, the lips palewhite, and the tongue firmly locked between the teeth. I do not believein recovery from a really poisonous bite, where the venom has beentruly injected. I invariably asked first how long it was since theinfliction of the bite; I would then examine the marks, and as a rulewould find them very slight. When the patient had been brought somedistance, I knew at once that it was a case of pure fright. The nativeswrap themselves up in their cloths or blankets at night, and lie downon the floors of their huts. Turning about, or getting up for water ortobacco, or perhaps to put fuel on the fire, they unluckily tread on asnake, or during sleep they roll over on one. The snake gives them anip, and scuttles off. They have not seen what sort of snake it is, buttheir imagination conjures up the very worst. After the first outcry, when the whole house is alarmed, the man sits down firmly possessed bythe idea that he is mortally bitten. Gradually his fears work theeffect a real poisonous bite would produce. His eye gets dull, hispulse grows feeble, his extremities cold and numb, and unless forciblyroused by the bystanders he will actually succumb to pure fright, notto the snake-bite at all. My chief care when a case of this sort wasbrought me, was to assume a cheery demeanour, laugh to scorn the fearsof the relatives, and tell them he would be all right in a few hours ifthey attended to my directions. This not uncommonly worked bysympathetic influence on the patient himself. I believe, so long as allround him thought he was going to die, and expected no other result, the same effect was produced on his own mind. As soon as hope sprang upin the breasts of all around him, his spirit also caught the contagion. As a rule, he would now make an effort to articulate. I would thenadminister a good dose of sal volatile, brandy, eau-de-luce, or otherstrong stimulant, cut into the supposed bite, and apply strong nitricacid to the wound. This generally made him wince, and I would hail itas a token of certain recovery. By this time some confidence wouldreturn, and the supposed dying man would soon walk back sound and wholeamong his companions after profuse expressions of gratitude to hispreserver. 

I have treated dozens of cases in this way successfully, and only seentwo deaths. One was a young woman, my chowkeydar's daughter; the otherwas an old man, who was already dead when they lifted him out of thebasket in which they had slung him. I do not wish to be misunderstood. I believe that in all these cases of recovery it was pure frightworking on the imagination, and not snake-bite at all. My opinion isshared by most planters, that there is no cure yet known for a cobrabite, or for that of any other poisonous snake, where the poison hasonce been fairly injected and allowed to mix with the blood[2]. 

There is another curious instance of the effects of fear on the nativemind in the common method taken by an Ojah or Brahmin to discover asuspected thief. When a theft occurs, the Ojah is sent for, and thesuspected parties are brought together. After various _muntras_, i. E. Charms or incantations, have been muttered, the Ojah, who has meanwhilenarrowly scrutinized each countenance, gives each of the suspectedindividuals a small quantity of dry rice to chew. If the thief bepresent, his superstitious fears are at work, and his conscienceaccuses him. He sees some terrible retribution for him in all these_muntras_, and his heart becomes like water within him, his tongue getsdry, his salivary glands refuse to act; the innocent munch away attheir rice contentedly, but the guilty wretch feels as if he had ashesin his mouth. At a given signal all spit out their rice, and he whoserice comes out, chewed indeed, but dry as summer dust, is adjudged thethief. This ordeal is called _chowl chipao_, and is rarelyunsuccessful. I have known several cases in my own experience in whicha thief has been thus discovered. 

The _bhoots_, or ghosts, are popularly supposed to have favouritehaunts, generally in some specially selected tree; the _neem_ tree issupposed to be the most patronised. The most intelligent natives sharethis belief with the poorest and most ignorant; they fancy the ghoststhrow stones at them, cast evil influences over them, lure them intoquicksands, and play other devilish tricks and cantrips. Some roads arequite shunned and deserted at night, for no other reason than that aghost is supposed to haunt the place. The most tempting bribe would notmake a native walk alone over that road after sunset. 

Besides the witchfinder, another important village functionary whorelies much on muntras and charms, is the _Huddick_, or cow doctor. Heis the only veterinary surgeon of the native when his cow or bullockdislocates or breaks a limb, or falls ill. The Huddick passes his handsover the affected part, and mutters his _muntras_, which have mostprobably descended to him from his father. Usually knowing a little ofthe anatomical structure of the animal, he may be able to reduce adislocation, or roughly to set a fracture; but if the ailment beinternal, a draught of mustard oil, or some pounded spices andturmeric, or neem leaves administered along with the _muntra_, aresupposed to be all that human skill and science can do. 

The natives are cruel to animals. Half-starved bullocks are shamefullyoverworked. When blows fail to make the ill-starred brute move, theygive a twist and wrench to the tail, which must cause the animalexquisite torture, and unless the hapless beast be utterly exhausted, this generally induces it to make a further effort. Ploughmen veryoften deliberately make a raw open sore, one on each rump of theplough-bullock. They goad the poor wretch on this raw sore with asharp-pointed stick when he lags, or when they think he needs stirringup. Ponies, too, are always worked far too young; and their miserablelegs get frightfully twisted and bent. The petty shopkeepers, sellersof brass pots, grain, spices, and other bazaar wares, who attend thevarious bazaars, or weekly and bi-weekly markets, transport their goodsby means of these ponies. 

The packs of merchandise are slung on rough pack-saddles, made ofcoarse sacking. Shambling along with knees bent together, sores onevery joint, and frequently an eye knocked out, the poor pony's backgets cruelly galled; when the bazaar is reached, he is hobbled astightly as possible, the coarse ropes cutting into the flesh, and he isthen turned adrift to contemplate starvation on the burnt-up grass. Great open sores form on the back, on which a plaster of moist clay, orcowdung and pounded leaves, is roughly put. The wretched creature getsworn to a skeleton. A little common care and cleanliness would put himright, with a little kindly consideration from his brutal master, butwhat does the _Kulwar_ or _Bunneah_ care? he is too lazy. 

This unfeeling cruelty and callous indifference to the sufferings ofthe lower animals is a crying evil, and every magistrate, European, andeducated native, might do much to ease their burdens. Tremendousnumbers of bullocks and ponies die from sheer neglect and ill treatmentevery year. It is now becoming so serious a trouble, that in manyvillages plough-bullocks are too few in number for the area of landunder cultivation. The tillage suffers, the crops deteriorate, thisreacts on prices, the ryot sinks lower and lower, and gets more intothe grasp of the rapacious money-lender. In many villages I have seenwhole tracts of land relapsed into _purtee_, or untilled waste, simplyfrom want of bullocks to draw the plough. Severe epidemics, like footand mouth disease and pleuro, occasionally sweep off great numbers;but, I repeat, that annually the lives of hundreds of valuable animalsare sacrificed by sheer sloth, dirt, inattention, and brutal cruelty. 

In some parts of India, cattle poisoning for the sake of the hides isextensively practised. The _Chumars_, that is, the shoemakers, furriers, tanners, and workers in leather and skins generally, frequently combine together in places, and wilfully poison cattle andbuffaloes. There is actually a section in the penal code takingcognisance of the crime. The Hindoo will not touch a dead carcase, sothat when a bullock mysteriously sickens and dies, the _Chumars_ haulaway the body, and appropriate the skin. Some luckless witch is blamedfor the misfortune, when the rascally Chumars themselves are all thewhile the real culprits. The police, however, are pretty successful indetecting this crime, and it is not now of such frequent occurrence[3]. 

Highly as the pious Hindoo venerates the sacred bull of Shira, histreatment of his mild patient beasts of burden is a foul blot on hischaracter. Were you to shoot a cow, or were a Mussulman to wound astray bullock which might have trespassed, and be trampling down hisopium or his tobacco crop, and ruining his fields, the Hindoos wouldrise _en masse_ to revenge the insult offered to their religion. Yetthey scruple not to goad their bullocks, beat them, half starve them, and let their gaping wounds fester and become corrupt. When the poorbrute becomes old and unable to work, and his worn-out teeth unfit tograze, he is ruthlessly turned out to die in a ditch, and be torn topieces by jackals, kites, and vultures. The higher classes andwell-to-do farmers show much consideration for high-pricedwell-conditioned animals, but when they get old or unwell, and demandredoubled care and attention, they are too often neglected, till, fromsheer want of ordinary care, they rot and die. 

[1] The _bael_ or wood-apple is a sacred wood with Hindoos. It is enjoined in the Shastras that the bodies of the dead should be consumed in a fire fed by logs of bael-tree; but where it is not procurable in sufficient quantity, the natives compound with their consciences by lighting the funeral pyre with a branch from the bael-tree. It is a fine yellow-coloured, pretty durable wood, and makes excellent furniture. A very fine sherbet can be made from the fruit, which acts as an excellent corrective and stomachic. 

[2] Deaths from actual snake bite are sadly numerous; but it appears from returns furnished to the Indian Government that Europeans enjoy a very happy exemption. During the last forty years it would seem that only two Europeans have been killed by snake bite, at least only two well substantiated cases. The poorer classes are the most frequent victims. Their universal habit of walking about unshod, and sleeping on the ground, penetrating into the grasses or jungles in pursuit of their daily avocations, no doubt conduces much to the frequency of such accidents. A good plan to keep snakes out of the bungalow is to leave a space all round the rooms, of about four inches, between the walls and the edge of the mats. Have this washed over about once a week with a strong solution of carbolic acid and water. The smell may be unpleasant for a short time, but it proves equally so to the snakes; and I have proved by experience that it keeps them out of the rooms. Mats should also be all firmly fastened down to the floor with bamboo battens, and furniture should be often moved, and kept raised a little from the ground, and the space below carefully swept every day. At night a light should always be kept burning in occupied bedrooms, and on no account should one get out of bed in the dark, or walk about the rooms at night without slippers or shoes. 

[3] Somewhat analogous to this is the custom which used to be a common one in some parts of Behar. _Koombars_ and _Grannés_, that is, tile-makers and thatchers, when trade was dull or rain impending, would scatter peas and grain in the interstices of the tiles on the houses of the well-to-do. The pigeons and crows, in their efforts to get at the peas, would loosen and perhaps overturn a few of the tiles. The grannés would be sent for to replace these, would condemn the whole roof as leaky, and the tiles as old and unfit for use, and would provide a job for himself and the tile-maker, the nefarious profits of which they would share together. 

 Cultivators of thatching-grass have been known deliberately and wantonly to set fire to villages simply to raise the price of thatch and bamboo. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Our annual race meet. --The arrivals. --The camps. --The 'ordinary. '--Thecourse. --'They're off. '--The race. --The steeple-chase. --Incidents ofthe meet. --The ball. 

Our annual Race Meet is the one great occasion of the year when all thedwellers in the district meet. Our races in Chumparun generally tookplace some time about Christmas. Long before the date fixed on, arrangements would be made for the exercise of hearty hospitality. Theresidents in the 'station' ask as many guests as will fill theirhouses, and their 'compounds' are crowded with tents, each holding anumber of visitors, generally bachelors. The principal managers of thefactories in the district, with their assistants, form a mess for theracing week, and, not unfrequently, one or two ladies lend theirrefining presence to the several camps. Friends from other districts, from up country, from Calcutta, gather together; and as the weather isbracing and cool, and every one determined to enjoy himself, the meetis one of the pleasantest of reunions. There are always several racesspecially got up for assistants' horses, and long before, theyoungsters are up in the early morning, giving their favourite nag aspin across the zeraats, or seeing the groom lead him out swathed inclothing and bandages, to get him into training for the Assistants'race. 

As the day draws near, great cases of tinned meats, hampers of beer andwine, and goodly supplies of all sorts are sent into the station to thevarious camps. Tents of snowy white canvas begin to peep out at youfrom among the trees. Great oblong booths of blue indigo sheeting showwhere the temporary stables for the horses are being erected; and atnight the glittering of innumerable camp-fires betokens the presence ofa whole army of grooms, grass-cutters, peons, watchmen, and otherservants cooking their evening meal of rice, and discussing the chancesof the horses of their respective masters in the approaching races. Onthe day before the first racing, the planters are up early, and inbuggy, dogcart, or on horseback, singly, and by twos and threes, fromall sides of the district, they find their way to the station. ThePlanter's Club is the general rendezvous. The first comers, havingfound out their waiting servants, and consigned the smoking steeds totheir care, seat themselves in the verandah, and eagerly watch everyfresh arrival. 

Up comes a buggy. 'Hullo, who's this?'

'Oh, it's "Giblets!" How do you do, "Giblets, " old man?'

Down jumps 'Giblets, ' and a general handshaking ensues. 

'Here comes "Boach" and the "Moonshee, "' yells out an observantyoungster from the back verandah. 

The venerable buggy of the esteemed 'Boach' approaches, and anotherjubilation takes place; the handshaking being so vigorous that the'Moonshee's' spectacles nearly come to grief. Now the arrivals ride anddrive up fast and furious. 

'Hullo, "Anthony!"'

'Aha, "Charley, " how d'ye do?'

'By Jove, "Ferdie, " where have you turned up from?'

'Has the "Skipper" arrived?'

'Have any of you seen "Jamie?"'

'Where's big "Mars'" tents?'

'Have any of ye seen my "Bearer?"'

'Has the "Bump" come in?' and so on. 

Such a scene of bustle and excitement. Friends meet that have not seeneach other for a twelvemonth. Queries are exchanged as to absentfriends. The chances of the meeting are discussed. Perhaps a passingallusion is made to some dear one who has left our ranks since lastmeet. All sorts of topics are started, and up till and during breakfastthere is a regular medley of tongues, a confused clatter of voices, dishes, and glasses, a pervading atmosphere of dense curling volumes oftobacco smoke. 

To a stranger the names sound uncouth and meaningless, the fact being, that we all go by nicknames[1]. 

'Giblets, ' 'Diamond Digger, ' 'Mangelwurzel, ' 'Goggle-eyed Plover, ''Gossein' or holy man, 'Blind Bartimeus, ' 'Old Boots, ' 'Polly, ''Bottle-nosed Whale, ' 'Fin MacCoul, ' 'Daddy, ' 'The Exquisite, ' 'TheMosquito, ' 'Wee Bob, ' and 'Napoleon, ' are only a very few specimens ofthis strange nomenclature. These soubriquets quite usurp our baptismalappellations, and I have often been called 'Maori, ' by people who didnot actually know my real name. 

By the evening, all, barring the very late arrivals, have found outtheir various camps. There is a merry dinner, then each sahib, wellmuffled in ulster, plaid, or great coat, hies him to the club, wherethe 'ordinary' is to be held. The nights are now cold and foggy, and atremendous dew falls. At the 'ordinary, ' fresh greetings between thosewho now meet for the first time after long separation. The entries andbets are made for the morrow's races, although not much betting takesplace as a rule; but the lotteries on the different races are rapidlyfilled, the dice circulate cheerily, and amid laughing, joking, smoking, noise, and excitement, there is a good deal of mildspeculation. The 'horsey' ones visit the stables for the last time; andeach retires to his camp bed to dream of the morrow. 

Very early, the respective _bearers_ rouse the sleepy _sahibs_. Tableservants rush hurriedly about the mess tent, bearing huge dishes oftempting viands. Grooms, and _grasscuts_ are busy leading the horsesoff to the course. The cold raw fog of the morning fills every tent, and dim grey figures of cowering natives, wrapped up over the eyes inblankets, with moist blue noses and chattering teeth, are barelydiscernible in the thick mist. 

The racecourse is two miles from the club, on the other side of thelake, in the middle of a grassy plain, with a neat masonry structure atthe further side, which serves as a grand stand. Already buggies, dogcarts in single harness and tandem, barouches, and waggonettes aremerrily rolling through the thick mist, past the frowning jail, andround the corner of the lake. Natives in gaudy coloured shawls, andblankets, are pouring on to the racecourse by hundreds. 

Bullock carts, within which are black-eyed, bold beauties, profuselyburdened with silver ornaments, are drawn up in lines. _Ekkas_--smalljingling vehicles with a dome-shaped canopy and curtains at thesides--drawn by gaily caparisoned ponies, and containing fat, portlyBaboos, jingle and rattle over the ruts on the side roads. 

Sweetmeat sellers, with trays of horrible looking filth, made seeminglyof insects, clarified butter, and sugar, dodge through the crowddispensing their abominable looking but seemingly much relished wares. Tall policemen, with blue jackets, red puggries, yellow belts, andwhite trousers, stalk up and down with conscious dignity. 

A madcap young assistant on his pony comes tearing along acrosscountry. The weighing for the first race is going on; horses are beingsaddled, some vicious brute occasionally lashing out, and scatteringthe crowd behind him. The ladies are seated round the terraced grandstand; long strings of horses are being led round and round in acircle, by the _syces_; vehicles of every description are lying roundthe building. 

Suddenly a bugle sounds; the judge enters his box; the ever popular old'Bikram, ' who officiates as starter, ambles off on his white cob, andafter him go half-a-dozen handsome young fellows, their silks rustlingand flashing through the fast rising mist. 

A hundred field-glasses scan the start; all is silent for a moment. 

'They're off!' shout a dozen lungs. 

'False start!' echo a dozen more. 

The gay colours of the riders flicker confusedly in a jumble. One horsecareers madly along for half the distance, is with difficulty pulledup, and is then walked slowly back. 

The others left at the post fret, and fidget, and curvet about. Atlength they are again in line. Down goes the white flag! 'Good start!'shouts an excited planter. Down goes the red flag. 'Off at last!'breaks like a deep drawn sigh from the crowd, and now the six horses, all together, and at a rattling pace, tear up the hill, over the sandat the south corner, and up, till at the quarter mile post 'a blanketcould cover the lot. '

Two or three tails are now showing signals of distress; heels and whipsare going. Two horses have shot ahead, a bay and a black. 'Jamie' onthe bay, 'Paddy' on the black. 

Still as marble sit those splendid riders, the horses are neck andneck; now the bay by a nose, now again the black. The distance post ispassed with a rush like a whirlwind. 

'A dead heat, by Jove!'

'Paddy wins!' 'Jamie has it!' 'Hooray, Pat!' 'Go it, Jamie!' 'Wellridden!' A subdued hum runs round the excited spectators. The ardentracers are nose and nose. One swift, sharp cut, the cruel whip hissesthrough the air, and the black is fairly 'lifted in, ' a winner by anose. The ripple of conversation breaks out afresh. The band strikes upa lively air, and the saddling for the next race goes on. 

The other races are much the same; there are lots of entries: thehorses are in splendid condition, and the riding is superb. What isbetter, everything is emphatically 'on the square. ' No _pulling_ and_roping_ here, no false entries, no dodging of any kind. Fine, gallant, English gentlemen meet each other in fair and honest emulation, andenjoy the favourite national sport in perfection. The 'Waler' race, forimported Australians, brings out fine, tall, strong-boned, clean-limbedhorses, looking blood all over. The country breds, with slender limbs, small heads, and glossy coats, look dainty and delicate as antelopes. The lovely, compact Arabs, the pretty-looking ponies, and thethick-necked, coarse-looking Cabools, all have their respective trials, and then comes the great event--the race of the day--the Steeplechase. 

The course is marked out behind the grand stand, following a widecircle outside the flat course, which it enters at the quarter-milepost, so that the finish is on the flat before the grand stand. Thefences, ditches, and water leap, are all artificial, but they areregular _howlers_, and no make-believes. 

Seven horses are despatched to a straggling start, and all negotiatethe first bank safely. At the next fence a regular _snorter_ of a 'postand rail'--topped with brushwood--two horses swerve, one rider beingdeposited on his racing seat upon mother earth, while the other sailsaway across country in a line for home, and is next heard of at thestables. The remaining five, three 'walers' and two country-breds, racetogether to the water jump, where one waler deposits his rider, andraces home by himself, one country-bred refuses, and is henceforth outof the race, and the other three, taking the leap in beautiful style, put on racing pace to the next bank, and are in the air together. Alovely sight! The country is now stiff, and the stride of the walertells. He is leading the country-breds a 'whacker, ' but he stumbles andfalls at the last fence but one from home. His gallant rider, theundaunted 'Roley, ' remounts just as the two country-breds pass him likea flash of light. 'Nothing venture, nothing win, ' however, so in go thespurs, and off darts the waler like an arrow in pursuit. He is gainingfast, and tops the last hurdle leading to the straight just as thehoofs of the other two reach the ground. 

It is now a matter of pace and good riding. It will be a close finish;the waler is first to feel the whip; there is a roar from the crowd; heis actually leading; whips and spurs are hard at work now; it is a mad, headlong rush; every muscle is strained, and the utmost effort made;the poor horses are doing their very best; amid a thunder of hoofs, clouds of dust, hats in air, waving of handkerchiefs from the grandstand, and a truly British cheer from the paddock, the 'waler' shootsin half a length ahead; and so end the morning's races. 

Back to camp now, to bathe and breakfast. A long line of dust marks thetrack from the course, for the sun is now high in the heavens, the lakeis rippling in placid beauty under a gentle breeze, and the long linesof natives, as well as vehicles of all sorts, form a quaint butpicturesque sight. After breakfast calls are made upon all the campsand bungalows round the station. Croquet, badminton, and other games goon until dinner-time. I could linger lovingly over a camp dinner; therare dishes, the sparkling conversation, the racy anecdote, and thegeneral jollity and brotherly feeling; but we must all dress for theball, and so about 9 P. M. The buggies are again in requisition for theball room--the fine, large, central apartment in the Planters' club. 

The walls are festooned with flowers, gay curtains, flags, and cloths. The floor is shining like silver, and as polished as a mirror. The bandstrikes up the Blue Danube waltz, and amid the usual bustle, flirtation, scandal, whispering, glancing, dancing, tripping, sipping, and hand-squeezing, the ball goes gaily on till the stewards announcesupper. At this--to the wall-flowers--welcome announcement, we adjournfrom the heated ball-room to the cool arbour-like supper tent, whereevery delicacy that can charm the eye or tempt the appetite is spreadout. 

Next morning early we are out with the hounds, and enjoy a rattlingburst round by the racecourse, where the horses are at exercise. Perchance we have heard of a boar in the sugar-cane, and away we gowith beaters to rouse the grisly monster from his lair. In theafternoon there is hockey on horseback, or volunteer drill, with ourgallant adjutant putting us through our evolutions. In the eveningthere is the usual drive, dinner, music, and the ordinary, and so themeet goes on. A constant succession of gaieties keeps everyone alive, till the time arrives for a return to our respective factories, andanother year's hard work. 

[1] In such a limited society every peculiarity is noted; all our antecedents are known; personal predilections and little foibles of character are marked; eccentricities are watched, and no one, let him be as uninteresting as a miller's pig, is allowed to escape observation and remark. Some little peculiarity is hit upon, and a strange but often very happily expressive nickname stamps one's individuality and photographs him with a word. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Pig-sticking in India. --Varieties of boar. --Their size and height. --Ingenious mode of capture by the natives, --The 'Batan' or buffaloherd. --Pigs charging. --Their courage and ferocity. --Destruction ofgame. --A close season for game. 

The sport _par excellence_ of India is pig-sticking. Call ithog-hunting if you will, I prefer the honest old-fashioned name. With agood horse under one, a fair country, with not too many pitfalls, and'lots of pig, ' this sport becomes the most exciting that can bepractised. Some prefer tiger shooting from elephants, others like tostalk the lordly ibex on the steep Himalayan slopes, but anyone who hasever enjoyed a rattle after a pig over a good country, will recall thefierce, delight, the eager thrill, the wild, mad excitement, thatflushed his whole frame, as he met the infuriate charge of a goodthirty-inch fighting boar, and drove his trusty spear well home, layinglow the gallant grey tusker, the indomitable, unconquerable grislyboar. The subject is well worn; and though the theme is a noble one, there are but few I fancy who have not read the record of some gallantfight, where the highest skill, the finest riding, the most undauntedpluck, and the cool, keen, daring of a practised hand are not _always_successful against the headlong rush and furious charge of a Bengalboar at bay. 

A record of planter life in India, however, such as this aims at being, would be incomplete without some reference to the gallant tusker, andso at the risk of tiring my readers, I must try to describe apig-sticking party. 

There are two distinct kinds of boar in India, the black and the grey. Their dispositions are very different, the grey being fiercer and morepugnacious. He is a vicious and implacable foe when roused, and alwaysshews better fight than the black variety. The great difference, however, is in the shape of the skull; that of the black fellow beinghigh over the frontal bone, and not very long in proportion to height, while the skull of the grey boar is never very high, but is long, andreceding in proportion to height. 

The black boar grows to an enormous size, and the grey ones are, generally speaking, smaller made animals than the black. The young ofthe two also differ in at least one important particular; those of thegrey pig are always born striped, but the young of the black varietyare born of that colour, and are not striped but a uniform black colourthroughout. The two kinds of pig sometimes interbreed, but crosses arenot common; and, from the colour, size, shape of the head, and generalbehaviour, one can easily tell at a glance what kind of pig gets upbefore his spear, whether it is the heavy, sluggish black boar, or theveritable fiery, vicious, fighting grey tusker. 

Many stories are told of their enormous size, and a 'forty-inch tusker'is the established standard for a Goliath among boars. The bestfighting boars, however, range from twenty-eight to thirty-two inchesin height, and I make bold to say that very few of the Presentgeneration of sportsmen have ever seen a veritable wild boar overthirty-eight inches high. 

G. S. , who has had perhaps as much jungle experience as any man ofhis age in India, a careful observer, and a finished sportsman, tells me that the biggest _boar_ he ever saw was only thirty-eightinches high; while the biggest _pig_ he ever killed was a barrensow, with three-inch tusks sticking out of her gums; she measuredthirty-nine-and-a-half inches, and fought like a demon. I have shotpig--in heavy jungle where spearing was impracticable--over thirty-sixinches high, but the biggest pig I ever stuck to my own spear was onlytwenty-eight inches, and I do not think any pig has been killed inChumparun, within the last ten or a dozen years at any rate, overthirty-eight inches. 

In some parts of India, where pigs are numerous and the jungle dense, the natives adopt a very ingenious mode of hunting. I have frequentlyseen it practised by the cowherds on the Koosee _derahs_, i. E. The flatswampy jungles on the banks of the Koosee. When the annual floods havesubsided, leaving behind a thick deposit of mud, wrack, and brushwood, the long thick grass soon shoots up to an amazing height, and vastherds of cattle and tame buffaloes come down to the jungles from theinterior of the country, where natural pasture is scarce. They areattended by the owner and his assistants, all generally belonging tothe _gualla_, or cowherd caste, although, of course, there are othercastes employed. The owner of the herd gets leave to graze his cattlein the jungle, by paying a certain fixed sum per head. He fixes on ahigh dry ridge of land, where he runs up a few grass huts for himselfand men, and there he erects lines of grass and bamboo screens, behindwhich his cattle take shelter at night from the cold south-east wind. There are also a few huts of exceedingly frail construction for himselfand his people. This small colony, in the midst of the universal junglecovering the country for miles round, is called a _batan_. 

At earliest dawn the buffaloes are milked, and then with theirattendant herdsmen they wend their way to the jungle, where they spendthe day, and return again to the batan at night, when they are againmilked. The milk is made into _ghee_, or clarified butter, and largequantities are sent down to the towns by country boats. When we want toget up a hunt, we generally send to the nearest _batan_ for _khubber_, i. E. News, information. The _Batanea_, or proprietor of theestablishment, is well posted up. Every herdsman as he comes in atnight tells what animals he has seen through the day, and thus at the_batan_ you hear where tiger, and pig, and deer are to be met with;where an unlucky cow has been killed; in what ravine is the thickestjungle; where the path is free from clay, or quicksand; what fords aresafest; and, in short, you get complete information on every pointconnected with the jungle and its wild inhabitants. 

To these men the mysterious jungle reveals its most hidden secrets. Surrounded by his herd of buffaloes, the _gualla_ ventures into thedarkest recesses and the most tangled thickets. They have strange wildcalls by which they give each other notice of the approach of danger, and when two or three of them meet, each armed with his heavy, iron-shod or brass-bound _lathee_ or quarter staff, they will not budgean inch out of their way for buffalo or boar; nay, they have been knownto face the terrible tiger himself, and fairly beat him away from thequivering carcase of some unlucky member of their herd. They havegenerally some favourite buffalo on whose broad back they perchthemselves, as it browses through the jungle, and from this elevatedseat they survey the rest of the herd, and note the incidents of junglelife. When they wish a little excitement, or a change from their milkand rice diet, there are hundreds of pigs around. 

They have a broad, sharp spear-head, to which is attached a stout cord, often made of twisted hide or hair. Into the socket of the spear isthrust a bamboo pole or shaft, tough, pliant, and flexible. The cord iswound round the spear and shaft, and the loose end is then fastened tothe middle of the pole. Having thus prepared his weapon, the herdsmanmounts his buffalo, and guides it slowly, warily, and cautiously to thehaunts of the pig. These are, of course, quite accustomed to see thebuffaloes grazing round them on all sides, and take no notice until the_gualla_ is within striking distance. When he has got close up to thepig he fancies, he throws his spear with all his force. The pignaturally bounds off, the shaft comes out of the socket, leaving thespearhead sticking in the wound. The rope uncoils of itself, but beingfirmly fastened to the bamboo, it brings up the pig at each bush, andtears and lacerates the wound, until either the spearhead comes out, orthe wretched pig drops down dead from exhaustion and loss of blood. The_gualla_ follows upon his buffalo, and frequently finishes the pig witha few strokes of his _lathee_. In any case he gets his pork, and itcertainly is an ingenious and bold way of procuring it. 

Wild pig are very destructive to crops. During the night they revel inthe cultivated fields contiguous to the jungle, and they destroy moreby rooting up than by actually eating. It is common for the ryot to diga shallow pit, and ensconce himself inside with his matchlock besidehim. His head being on a level with the ground, he can discern anyanimal that comes between him and the sky-line. When a pig comes insight, he waits till he is within sure distance, and then puts either abullet or a charge of slugs into him. 

The pig is perhaps the most stubborn and courageous animal in India. Even when pierced with several spears, and bleeding from numerouswounds, he preserves a sullen silence. He disdains to utter a cry offear and pain, but maintains a bold front to the last, and dies withhis face to the foe, defiant and unconquered. When hard pressed hescorns to continue his flight, but wheeling round, he makes adetermined charge, very frequently to the utter discomfiture of hispursuer. 

I have seen many a fine horse fearfully cut by a charging pig, and adetermined boar over and over again break through a line of elephants, and make good his escape. There is no animal in all the vast junglethat the elephant dreads more than a lusty boar. I have seen elephantsthat would stand the repeated charges of a wounded tiger, turn tail andtake to ignominious flight before the onset of an angry boar. 

His thick short neck, ponderous body, and wedge-like head are admirablyfitted for crashing through the thick jungle he inhabits, and when hehas made up his mind to charge, very few animals can withstand hisfurious rush. Instances are quite common of his having made good hischarge against a line of elephants, cutting and ripping more than oneseverely. He has been known to encounter successfully even the kinglytiger himself. Can it be wondered, then, that we consider him a 'foemanworthy of our steel'?

To be a good pig-sticker is a recommendation that wins acceptanceeverywhere in India. In a district like Chumparun where nearly everyplanter was an ardent sportsman, a good rider, and spent nearly halfhis time on horseback, pig-sticking was a favourite pastime. Everyfactory had at least one bit of likely jungle close by, where a pigcould always be found. When I first went to India we used to take outour pig-spear over the _zillah_ with us as a matter of course, as wenever knew when we might hit on a boar. 

Things are very different now. Cultivation has much increased. Many ofthe old jungles have been reclaimed, and I fancy many more pigs areshot by natives than formerly. A gun can be had now for a few rupees, and every loafing 'ne'er do weel' in the village manages to procureone, and wages indiscriminate warfare on bird and beast. It is agrowing evil, and threatens the total extinction of sport in somedistricts. I can remember when nearly every tank was good for a fewbrace of mallard, duck, or teal, where never a feather is now to beseen, save the ubiquitous paddy-bird. Jungles, where a pig was acertain find, only now contain a measly jackal, and not always that;and cover in which partridge, quail, and sometimes even florican werenumerous, are now only tenanted by the great ground-owl, or a colony offield rats. I am far from wishing to limit sport to the Europeancommunity. I would let every native that so wished sport his doublebarrels or handle his spear with the best of us, but he should followand indulge in his sport with reason. The breeding seasons of allanimals should be respected, and there should be no indiscriminateslaughter of male and female, young and old. Until all true sportsmenin India unite in this matter, the evil will increase, and bye-and-byethere will be no animals left to afford sport of any kind. 

There are cases where wild animals are so numerous and destructivethat extraordinary measures have to be taken for protection from theirravages, but these are very rare. I remember having once to wage a warof extermination against a colony of pigs that had taken possession ofsome jungle lands near Maharjnugger, a village on the Koosee. I had adeal of indigo growing on cleared patches at intervals in the jungles, and there the pigs would root and revel in spite of watchmen, till atlast I was forced in sheer self-defence to begin a crusade againstthem. We got a line of elephants, and two or three friends came toassist, and in one day, and round one village only, we shot sixty-threefull grown pigs. The villagers must have killed and carried away nearlydouble that number of young and wounded. That was a very extreme case, and in a pure jungle country; but in settled districts like Tirhootand Chumparun the weaker sex should always be spared, and a closeseason for winged game should be insisted on. To the credit of theplanters be it said, that this necessity is quite recognised; butevery pot-bellied native who can beg, borrow, or steal a gun, or inany way procure one, is constantly on the look out for a pot shot atsome unlucky hen-partridge or quail. A whole village will turn out tocompass the destruction of some wretched sow that may have shewn herbristles outside the jungle in the daytime. 

In districts where cultivated land is scarce and population scattered, it is almost impossible to enjoy pig-sticking. The breaks of open landbetween the jungles are too small and narrow to afford galloping space, and though you turn the pig out of one patch of jungle, he immediatelyfinds safe shelter in the next. On the banks of some of the largerivers, however, such as the Gunduch and the Bagmuttee, there are vaststretches of undulating sand, crossed at intervals by narrow creeks, and spotted by patches of close, thick jungle. Here the grey tuskertakes up his abode with his harem. When once you turn him out from hislair, there is grand hunting room before he can reach the distant patchof jungle to which he directs his flight. In some parts the _jowah_ (aplant not unlike broom in appearance) is so thick, that even theelephants can scarcely force their way through, but as a rule thebeating is pretty easy, and one is almost sure of a find. 

CHAPTER X. 

Kuderent jungle. --Charged by a pig. --The biter bit. --'Mac' after thebig boar. --The horse for pig-sticking. --The line of beaters. --The boarbreaks. --'Away! Away!'--First spear. --Pig-sticking at Peeprah. --Theold 'lungra' or cripple. --A boar at bay. --Hurrah for pig-sticking!

There was a very fine pig jungle at a place called Kuderent, belongingto a wealthy landowner who went by the name of the Mudhobunny Baboo. Weoccasionally had a pig-sticking meet here, and as the jungle wasstrictly preserved, we were never disappointed in finding plenty whogave us glorious sport. The jungles consisted of great grass plains, with thickly wooded patches of dense tree jungle, intersected here andthere by deep ravines, with stagnant pools of water at intervals; thesteep sides all thickly clothed with thorny clusters of the wilddog-rose. It was a difficult country to beat, and we had always tosupplement the usual gang of beaters with as many elephants as we couldcollect. In the centre of the jungle was an eminence of considerableheight, whence there was a magnificent view of the surrounding country. 

Far in the distance the giant Himalayas towered into the still clearair, the guardian barriers of an unknown land. The fretted pinnaclesand tremendous ridges, clothed in their pure white mantle ofeverlasting snow, made a magnificent contrast to the dark, misty, wooded masses formed by the lower ranges of hills. In the earlymorning, when the first beams of the rising sun had but touched themountain tops, leaving the country below shrouded in the dim mists andvapours of retiring night, the sight was most sublime. In presence ofsuch hills and distances, such wondrous combinations of colour, sceneryon such a gigantic scale, even the most thoughtless become impressedwith the majesty of nature. 

Our camp was pitched on the banks of a clear running mountain stream, brawling over rocks and boulders; and to eyes so long accustomed to thenever ending flatness of the rich alluvial plains, and the terriblesameness of the rice swamps, the stream was a source of unalloyedpleasure. There were only a few places where the abrupt banks gavefacilities for fording, and when a pig had broken fairly from thejungle, and was making for the river (as they very frequently did), you would see the cluster of horsemen scattering over the plain likea covey of partridges when the hawk swoops down upon them. Each madefor what he considered the most eligible ford, in hopes of being firstup with the pig on the further bank, and securing the much covetedfirst spear. 

When a pig is hard pressed, and comes to any natural obstacle, as aditch, bank, or stream, he almost invariably gets this obstacle betweenhimself and his pursuer; then wheeling round he makes his stand, showing wonderful sagacity in choosing the moment of all others when hehas his enemy at most disadvantage. Experienced hands are aware ofthis, and often try to outflank the boar, but the best men I have seengenerally wait a little, till the pig is again under weigh, and thenclearing the ditch or bank, put their horses at full speed, which isthe best way to make good your attack. The rush of the boar is sosudden, fierce, and determined, that a horse at half speed, or goingslow, has no chance of escape; but a well trained horse at full speedmeets the pig in his rush, the spear is delivered with unerring aim, and slightly swerving to the left, you draw it out as you continue yourcourse, and the poor pig is left weltering in his blood behind you. 

On one occasion I was very rudely made aware of this trait. It was afine fleet young boar we were after, and we had had a long chase, butwere now overhauling him fast. I had a good horse under me, and 'Jamie'and 'Giblets' were riding neck and neck. There was a small mangoorchard in front surrounded by the usual ditch and bank. It was nothingof a leap; the boar took it with ease, and we could just see him topthe bank not twenty spear lengths ahead. I was slightly leading, andfull of eager anxiety and emulation. Jamie called on me to pull up, butI was too excited to mind him. I saw him and Giblets each take anoutward wheel about, and gallop off to catch the boar coming out of thecluster of trees on the far side, as I thought. I could not see him, but I made no doubt he was in full flight through the trees. There wasplenty of riding room between the rows, so lifting my game little horseat the bank, I felt my heart bound with emulation as I thought I wascertain to come up first, and take the spear from two such noted heroesas my companions. I came up with the pig first, sure enough. _He_ waswaiting for _me_, and scarce giving my horse time to recover his strideafter the jump, he came rushing at me, every bristle erect, with avicious grunt of spite and rage. My spear was useless, I had itcrosswise on my horse's neck; I intended to attack first, and findingmy enemy turning the tables on me in this way was rather disconcerting. I tried to turn aside and avoid the charge, but a branch caught meacross the face, and knocked my _puggree_ off. In a trice the savagelittle brute was on me. Leaping up fairly from the ground, he got theheel of my riding boot in his mouth, and tore off the sole from theboot as if it had been so much paper. Jamie and Giblets were sittingoutside watching the scene, laughing at my discomfiture. Fortunatelythe boar had poor tusks, and my fine little horse was unhurt, but I gotout of that orchard as fast as I could, and ever after hesitated aboutattacking a boar when he had got a bank or ditch between him and me, and was waiting for me on the other side. The far better plan is towait till he sees you are not pressing him, he then goes off at a surlysling trot, and you can resume the chase with every advantage in yourfavour. When the blood however is fairly up, and all one's sportinginstincts roused, it is hard to listen to the dictates of prudence orthe suggestions of caution and experience. 

The very same day we had another instance. My manager, 'Young Mac, ' aswe called him, had started a huge old boar. He was just over the boar, and about to deliver his thrust, when his horse stumbled in a rat hole(it was very rotten ground), and came floundering to earth, bringinghis rider with him. Nothing daunted, Mac picked himself up, lost thehorse, but so eager and excited was he, that he continued the chase onfoot, calling to some of us to catch his horse while he stuck his boar. The old boar was quite blown, and took in the altered aspect of affairsat a glance; he turned to charge, and we loudly called on Mac to 'clearout. ' Not a bit of it, he was too excited to realise his danger, butPat fortunately interposed his horse and spear in time, and no doubtsaved poor Mac from a gruesome mauling. It was very plucky, but it wasvery foolish, for heavily weighted with boots, breeches, spurs, andspear, a man could have no chance against the savage onset of aninfuriated boar. 

In the long thick grass with which the plain was covered the riding wasvery dangerous. I remember seeing six riders come signally to griefover a blind ditch in this jungle. It adds not a little to theexcitement, and really serious accidents are not so common as might beimagined. It is no joke however when a riderless horse comes ranging upalongside of you as you are sailing along, intent on war; biting andkicking at your own horse, he spoils your sport, throws you out of thechase, and you are lucky if you do not receive some ugly cut or bruisefrom his too active heels. There is the great beauty of a well trainedArab or country-bred; if you get a spill, he waits beside you till yourecover your faculties, and get your bellows again in working order; ifyou are riding a Cabool, or even a waler, it is even betting that heturns to bite or kick you as you lie, or he rattles off in pursuit ofyour more firmly seated friends, spoiling their sport, and causing themost fearful explosions of vituperative wrath. 

There is something to me intensely exciting in all the varied incidentsof a rattling burst across country after a fighting old grey boar. Yousee the long waving line of staves, and spear heads, and quaint shapedaxes, glittering and fluctuating above the feathery tops of the swayinggrass. There is an irregular line of stately elephants, each with itstowering howdah and dusky mahout, moving slowly along through therustling reeds. You hear the sharp report of fireworks, the rattlingthunder of the big _doobla_ or drum, and the ear-splitting clatter ofinnumerable _tom-toms_. Shouts, oaths, and cries from a hundred noisycoolies, come floating down in bursts of clamour on the soft morningair. The din waxes and wanes as the excited beaters descry a 'sounder'of pig ahead; with a mighty roar that makes your blood tingle, thefrantic coolies rally for the final burst. Like rockets from a tube, the boar and his progeny come crashing through the brake, and separatebefore you on the plain. With a wild cheer you dash after them in hotpursuit; no time now to think of pitfalls, banks, or ditches; yourgallant steed strains his every muscle, every sense is on the alert, but you see not the bush and brake and tangled thicket that you leavebehind you. Your eye is on the dusky glistening hide and the stifferect bristles in front; the shining tusks and foam-flecked chest areyour goal, and the wild excitement culminates as you feel your keensteel go straight through muscle, bone, and sinew, and you know thatanother grisly monster has fallen. As you ease your girths and wipeyour heated brow, you feel that few pleasures of the chase come up tothe noblest, most thrilling sport of all, that of pig-sticking. 

The plain is alive with shouting beaters hurrying up to secure the gorycarcase of the slaughtered foe. A riderless horse is far away, makingoff alone for the distant grove, where the snowy tents are glisteningthrough the foliage. On the distant horizon a small cluster of eagersportsmen are fast overhauling another luckless tusker, and enjoying inall their fierce excitement the same sensations you have justexperienced. Now is the time to enjoy the soothing weed, and quaff thegrateful 'peg'; and as the syces and other servants come up in groupsof twos and threes, you listen with languid delight to all theirremarks on the incidents of the chase; and as, with their acuteOriental imagination nations they dilate in terms of truly Easternexaggeration on your wonderful pluck and daring, you almost fancyyourself really the hero they would make you out to be. 

Then the reunion round the festive board at night, when every one againlives through all the excitement of the day. Talk of fox-hunting afterpig-sticking, it is like comparing a penny candle to a lighthouse, or adonkey race to the 'Grand National'!

Peeprah Factory with its many patches of jungle, its various lakes andfine undulating country, was another favourite rendezvous for thevotaries of pig-sticking. The house itself was quite palatial, built onthe bank of a lovely horseshoe lake, and embosomed in a grove of treesof great rarity and beautiful foliage. It had been built long beforethe days of overland routes and Suez canals, when a planter made Indiahis home, and spared no trouble nor expense to make his homecomfortable. In the great garden were fruit trees from almost everyclime; little channels of solid masonry led water from the well to allparts of the garden. Leading down to the lake was a broad flight ofsteps, guarded on the one side by an immense peepul tree, whose hollowtrunk and wide stretching canopy of foliage had braved the storms ofover half a century, on the other side by a most symmetrical almondtree, which, when in blossom, was the most beautiful object for milesaround. A well-kept shrubbery surrounded the house, and tallcasuarinas, and glossy dark green india-rubber and bhur trees, formed athousand combinations of shade and colour. Here we often met toexperience the warm, large-hearted hospitality of dear old Pat and hisgentle little wife. At one time there was a pack of harriers, whichwould lead us a fine, sharp burst by the thickets near the river aftera doubling hare; but as a rule a meet at Peeprah portended death to thegallant tusker, for the jungles were full of pigs, and only honest hardwork was meant when the Peeprah beaters turned out. 

The whole country was covered with patches of grass and thorny jungle. Knowing they had another friendly cover close by, the pigs always brokeat the first beat, and the riding had to be fast and furious if a spearwas to be won. There were some nasty drop jumps, and deep, hiddenditches, and accidents were frequent. In one of these hot, sharpgallops poor 'Bonnie Morn, ' a favourite horse belonging to 'Jamie, ' waskilled. Not seeing the ditch, it came with tremendous force against thebank, and of course its back was broken. Even in its death throes itrecognised its master's voice, and turned round and licked his hand. Wewere all collected round, and let who will sneer, there were few dryeyes as we saw this last mute tribute of affection from the poor dyinganimal. 

 THE DEATH OF 'BONNIE MORN. '

 Alas, my 'Brave Bonnie!' the pride of my heart, The moment has come when from thee I must part; No more wilt thou hark to the huntsman's glad horn, My brave little Arab, my poor 'Bonnie Morn. '

 How proudly you bore me at bright break of day, How gallantly 'led, ' when the boar broke away! But no more, alas! thou the hunt shall adorn, For now thou art dying, my dear 'Bonnie Morn. '

 He'd neigh with delight when I'd enter his stall, And canter up gladly on hearing my call; Rub his head on my shoulder while munching his corn, My dear gentle Arab, my poor 'Bonnie Morn. '

 Or out in the grass, when a pig was in view, None so eager to start, when he heard a 'halloo'; Off, off like a flash, the ground spurning with scorn, He aye led the van, did my brave 'Bonnie Morn. '

 O'er _nullah_ and ditch, o'er hedge, fence, or bank, No matter, _he'd_ clear it, aye in the front rank; A brave little hunter as ever was born Was my grand Arab fav'rite, my good 'Bonnie Morn. '

 Or when in the 'ranks, ' who so steady and still? None better than 'Bonnie, ' more 'up' in his drill; His fine head erect--eyes flashing with scorn-- Right fit for a charger was staunch 'Bonnie Morn. '

 And then on the 'Course, ' who so willing and true? Past the 'stand' like an arrow the bonnie horse flew; No spur his good rider need ever have worn, For he aye did his best, did my fleet 'Bonnie Morn. '

 And now here he lies, the good little horse, No more he'll career in the hunt or on 'course': Such a charger to lose makes me sad and forlorn; I _can't_ help a tear, 'tis for poor 'Bonnie Morn. '

 Ah! blame not my grief, for 'tis deep and sincere, As a friend and companion I held 'Bonnie' dear; No true sportsman ever such feelings will scorn As I heave a deep sigh for my brave 'Bonnie Morn. '

 And even in death, when in anguish he lay, When his life's blood was drip--dripping--slowly away, His last thought was still of the master he'd borne; He neighed, licked my hand--and thus died 'Bonnie Morn. '

One tremendous old boar was killed here during one of our meets, whichwas long celebrated in our after-dinner talks on boars and hunting. Itwas called 'THE LUNGRA, ' which means the cripple, because it had beenwounded in the leg in some previous encounter, perhaps in its hotyouth, before age had stiffened its joints and tinged its whiskers withgrey. It was the most undaunted pig I have ever seen. It would notbudge an inch for the beaters, and charged the elephants time aftertime, sending them flying from the jungle most ignominiously. At lengthits patience becoming exhausted, it slowly emerged from the jungle, coolly surveyed the scene and its surroundings, and then, disdainingflight, charged straight at the nearest horseman. Its hide was as toughas a Highland targe, and though L. Delivered his spear, it turned theweapon aside as if it was merely a thrust from a wooden pole. The old_lungra_ made good his charge, and ripped L's. Horse on the shoulder. It next charged Pat, and ripped his horse, and cut another horse, avaluable black waler, across the knee, laming it for life. Rider afterrider charged down upon the fierce old brute. Although repeatedlywounded none of the thrusts were very serious, and already it had putfive horses _hors de combat_. It now took up a position under a big'bhur' tree, close to some water, and while the boldest of us held backfor a little, it took a deliberate mud bath under our very noses. Doubtless feeling much refreshed, it again took up its position underthe tree, ready to face each fresh assailant, full of fight, anddetermined to die but not to yield an inch. 

Time after time we rode at the dauntless cripple. Each time he chargedright down, and our spears made little mark upon his toughened hide. Our horses too were getting tired of such a customer, and littleinclined to face his charge. At length 'Jamie' delivered a lucky spearand the grey old warrior fell. It had kept us at bay for fully an hourand a half, and among our number we reckoned some of the best ridersand boldest pig-stickers in the district. 

Such was our sport in those good old days. Our meets came but seldom, so that sport never interfered with the interests of honest hard work;but meeting each other as we did, and engaging in exciting sport likepig-sticking, cemented our friendship, kept us in health, andencouraged all the hardy tendencies of our nature. It whetted ourappetites, it roused all those robust virtues that have made Englishmenthe men they are, it sent us back to work with lighter hearts andrenewed energy. It built up many happy, cherished memories of kindlywords and looks and deeds, that will only fade when we in turn have tobow before the hunter, and render up our spirits to God who gave them. Long live honest, hearty, true sportsmen, such as were the friends ofthose happy days. Long may Indian sportsmen find plenty of 'foemenworthy of their steel' in the old grey boar, the fighting tusker ofBengal. 

[Illustration: PIG-STICKERS. ]

CHAPTER XI. 

The sal forests. --The jungle goddess. --The trees in the jungle. --Appearance of the forests. --Birds. --Varieties of parrots. --A 'beat'in the forest. --The 'shekarry. '--Mehrman Singh and his gun. --TheBanturs, a jungle tribe of wood-cutters. --Their habits. --A villagefeast. --We beat for deer. --Habits of the spotted deer. --Waiting forthe game. --Mehrman Singh gets drunk. --Our bag. --Pea-fowl and theirhabits. --How to shoot them. --Curious custom of the Nepaulese. --HowJuggroo was tricked, and his revenge. 

Tirhoot is too generally under cultivation and too thickly inhabitedfor much land to remain under jungle, and except the wild pig of whichI have spoken, and many varieties of wild fowl, there is little game tobe met with. It is, however, different in North Bhaugulpore, wherethere are still vast tracts of forest jungle, the haunt of the spotteddeer, nilghau, leopard, wolf, and other wild animals. Along the banksof the Koosee, a rapid mountain river that rolls its flood throughnumerous channels to join the Ganges, there are immense tracts ofuncultivated land covered with tall elephant grass, and giving cover totigers, hog deer, pig, wild buffalo, and even an occasional rhinoceros, to say nothing of smaller game and wildfowl, which are very plentiful. 

The sal forests in North Bhaugulpore generally keep to the high ridges, which are composed of a light, sandy soil, very friable, and not veryfertile, except for oil and indigo seeds, which grow most luxuriantlywherever the forest land has been cleared. In the shallow valleys whichlie between the ridges rice is chiefly cultivated, and gives largereturns. The sal forests have been sadly thinned by unscientific andindiscriminate cutting, and very few fine trees now remain. The earthis teeming with insects, chief amongst which are the dreaded anddestructive white ants. The high pointed nests of these destructiveinsects, formed of hardened mud, are the commonest objects one meetswith in these forest solitudes. 

At intervals, beneath some wide spreading peepul or bhur tree, onecomes on a rude forest shrine, daubed all over with red paint, and withgaudy festoons of imitation flowers, cut from the pith of the plantaintree, hanging on every surrounding bough. These shrines are sacredto _Chumpa buttee_, the Hindoo Diana, protectress of herds, deer, buffaloes, huntsmen, and herdsmen. She is the recognised junglegoddess, and is held in great veneration by all the wild tribes andhalf-civilized denizens of the gloomy sal jungle. 

The general colour of the forest is a dingy green, save when a deepershade here and there shows where the mighty bhur uprears its toweringheight, or where the crimson flowers of the _seemul_ or cotton tree, and the bronze-coloured foliage of the _sunpul_ (a tree very like theornamental beech in shrubberies at home) imparts a more varied colourto the generally pervading dark green of the universal sal. 

The varieties of trees are of course almost innumerable, but the sal isso out of all proportion more numerous than any other kind, that theforests well deserve their recognised name. The sal is a fine, hardwood of very slow growth. The leaves are broad and glistening, and inspring are beautifully tipped with a reddish bronze, which graduallytones down into the dingy green which is the prevailing tint. The_sheshum_ or _sissod_, a tree with bright green leaves much resemblingthe birch, the wood of which is invaluable for cart wheels andsuch-like work, is occasionally met with. There is the _kormbhe_, avery tough wood with a red stringy bark, of which the jungle men makea kind of touchwood for their matchlocks, and the _parass_, whosepeculiarity is that at times it bursts into a wondrous wealth of brightcrimson blossom without a leaf being on the tree. The _parass_ tree infull bloom is gorgeous. After the blossom falls the dark-green leavescome out, and are not much different in colour from the sal. Then thereis the _mhowa_, with its lovely white blossoms, from which a strongspirit is distilled, and on which the deer, pigs, and wild bear love tofeast. The peculiar sickly smell of the _mhowa_ when in flower pervadesthe atmosphere for a great distance round, and reminds one forcibly ofthe peculiar sweet, sickly smell of a brewery. The hill _sirres_ is atall feathery-looking tree of most elegant shape, towering above theother forest trees, and the natives strip it of its bark, which theyuse to poison streams. It seems to have some narcotic or poisonousprinciple, easily soluble in water, for when put in any quantity in astream or piece of water, it causes all the fish to become apparentlyparalyzed and rise to the surface, where they float about quitestupified and helpless, and become an easy prey to the poaching'Banturs' and 'Moosahurs' who adopt this wretched mode of fishing. 

Along the banks of the streams vegetation gets very luxurious, andamong the thick undergrowth are found some lovely ferns, broad-leavedplants, and flowers of every hue, all alike nearly scentless. Here isno odorous breath of violet or honeysuckle, no delicate perfume ofprimrose or sweetbriar, only a musty, dank, earthy smell which getsmore and more pronounced as the mists rise along with the deadlyvapours of the night. Sleeping in these forests is very unhealthy. There is a most fatal miasma all through the year, less during the hotmonths, but very bad during and immediately after the annual rains; andin September and October nearly every soul in the jungly tracts issmitten with fever. The vapour only rises to a certain height above theground, and at the elevation of ten feet or so, I believe one couldsleep in the jungles with impunity; but it is dangerous at all times tosleep in the forest, unless at a considerable elevation. The absence ofall those delicious smells which make a walk through the woodlands athome so delightful, is conspicuous in the sal forests, and another ofthe most noticeable features is the extreme silence, the oppressivestillness that reigns. 

You know how full of melody is an English wood, when thrush, blackbird, mavis, linnet, and a thousand warblers flit from tree to tree. How thechoir rings out its full anthem of sweetest sound, till every bush andtree seems a centre of sweet strains, soft, low, liquid trills, andfull ripe gushes of melody and song. But it is not thus in an Indianforest. There are actually few birds. As you brush through the longgrass and trample the tangled undergrowth, putting aside the sprawlingbranches, or dodging under the pliant arms of the creepers, you mayflush a black or grey partridge, raise a covey of quail, or startle aquiet family party of peafowl, but there are no sweet singers flittingabout to make the vaulted arcades of the forest echo to their music. 

The hornbill darts with a succession of long bounding flights from onetall tree to another. The large woodpecker taps a hollow tree close by, his gorgeous plumage glistening like a mimic rainbow in the sun. Aflight of green parrots sweep screaming above your head, the _goldenoriole_ or mango bird, the _koel_, with here and there a red-tufted_bulbul_, make a faint attempt at a chirrup; but as a rule the deepsilence is unbroken, save by the melancholy hoot of some blinking owl, and the soft monotonous coo of the ringdove or the green pigeon. Theexquisite honey-sucker, as delicately formed as the petal of a fairyflower, flits noiselessly about from blossom to blossom. The nativescall it the 'Muddpenah' or drinker of honey. There are innumerablebutterflies of graceful shape and gorgeous colours; what few birdsthere are have beautiful plumage; there is a faint rustle of leaves, afaint, far hum of insect life; but it feels so silent, so unlike thewoods at home. You are oppressed by the solemn stillness, and feelalmost nervous as you push warily along, for at any moment a leopard, wolf, or hyena may get up before you, or you may disturb the siesta ofa sounder of pig, or a herd of deer. 

Up in those forests on the borders of Nepaul, which are called the_morung_, there are a great many varieties of parrot, all of themvery beautiful. There is first the common green parrot, with a redbeak, and a circle of salmon-coloured feathers round its neck; theyare very noisy and destructive, and flock together to the fieldswhere they do great damage to the crops. The _lutkun sooga_ is anexquisitely-coloured bird, about the size of a sparrow. The _ghur[=a]l_, a large red and green parrot, with a crimson beak. The _tota_ ayellowish-green colour, and the male with a breast as red as blood;they call it the _amereet bhela_. Another lovely little parrot, the_taeteea sooga_, has a green body, red head, and black throat; but themost showy and brilliant of all the tribe is the _putsoogee_. The bodyis a rich living green, red wings, yellow beak, and black throat; thereis a tuft of vivid red as a topknot, and the tail is a brilliant blue;the under feathers of the tail being a pure snowy white. 

At times the silence is broken by a loud, metallic, bell-like cry, very like the yodel you hear in the Alps. You hear it rise sharp anddistinct, 'Looralei!' and as suddenly cease. This is the cry of the_kookoor gh[=e]t_, a bird not unlike a small pheasant, with areddish-brown back and a fawn-coloured breast. The _sherra_ is anothergreen parrot, a little larger than the _putsoogee_, but not sobeautifully coloured. 

There is generally a green, slime-covered, sluggish stream in all theseforests, its channel choked with rotting leaves and decaying vegetablematter. The water should never be drunk until it has been boiled andfiltered. At intervals the stream opens out and forms a clearrush-fringed pool, and the trees receding on either bank leave a lovelygrassy glade, where the deer and nilghau come to drink. On the glassybosom of the pool in the centre, fine duck, mallard, and teal, canfrequently be found, and the rushes round the margin are to a certaintygood for a couple of brace of snipe. 

Sometimes on a withered branch overhanging the stream, you can seeperched the _ahur_, or great black fish-hawk. It has a grating, discordant cry, which it utters at intervals as it sits pluming itsblack feathers above the pool. The dark ibis and the ubiquitouspaddy-bird are of course also found here; and where the land is low andmarshy, and the stream crawls along through several channels, you aresure to come across a couple of red-headed _sarus_, serpent birds, acrane, and a solitary heron. The _moosahernee_ is a black and whitebird, I fancy a sort of ibis, and is good eating. The _dokahur_ isanother fine big bird, black body and white wings, and as its name(derived from _dokha_, a shell) implies, it is the shell-gatherer, orsnail-eater, and gives good shooting. 

When you have determined to beat the forest, you first get your cooliesand villagers assembled, and send them some mile or two miles ahead, under charge of some of the head men, to beat the jungle towards you, while you look out for a likely spot, shady, concealed, and cool, whereyou wait with your guns till the game is driven up to you. The wholearrangements are generally made, of course under your own supervision, by your _Shekarry_, or gamekeeper, as I suppose you might call him. Heis generally a thin, wiry, silent man, well versed in all the lore ofthe woods, acquainted with the name, appearance, and habits of everybird and beast in the forest. He knows their haunts and when they areto be found at home. He will track a wounded deer like a bloodhound, and can tell the signs and almost impalpable evidences of an animal'swhereabouts, the knowledge of which goes to make up the genuine hunter. 

When all is still around, and only the distant shouts of the beatersfall faintly at intervals on the ear, his keen hearing detects thelight patter of hoof or paw on the crisp, withered leaves. Hishawk-like glance can pick out from the deepest shade the sleek coat orhide of the leopard or the deer; and even before the animal has come insight, his senses tell him whether it is young or old, whether it isalarmed, or walking in blind confidence. In fact, I have known a goodshekarry tell you exactly what animal is coming, whether bear, leopard, fox, deer, pig, or monkey. 

The best shekarry I ever had was a Nepaulee called 'Mehrman Singh. ' Hehad the regular Tartar physiognomy of the Nepaulese. Small, oblique, twinkling eyes, high cheekbones, flattish nose, and scanty moustache. He was a tall, wiry man, with a remarkably light springy step, a bolderect carriage, and was altogether a fine, manly, independent fellow. He had none of the fawning obsequiousness which is so common to theHindoo, but was a merry laughing fellow, with a keen love of sport anda great appreciation of humour. His gun was fearfully and wonderfullymade. It was a long, heavy flint gun, with a tremendously heavy barrel, and the stock all splices and splinters, tied in places with bits ofstring. I would rather not have been in the immediate vicinity of theweapon when he fired it, and yet he contrived to do some good shootingwith it. 

He was wonderfully patient in stalking an animal or waiting for itsnear approach, as he never ventured on a long shot, and did notunderstand our objection to pot-shooting. His shot was composed ofjagged little bits of iron, chipped from an old _kunthee_, orcooking-pot; and his powder was truly unique, being like lumps ofcharcoal, about the size of small raisins. A shekarry fills about fouror five fingers' depth of this into his gun, then a handful of oldiron, and with a little touch of English powder pricked in with a pinas priming, he is ready for execution on any game that may come withinreach of a safe pot-shot. When the gun goes off there is a mightysplutter, a roar like that of a small cannon, and the slugs go hurtlingthrough the bushes, carrying away twigs and leaves, and notunfrequently smashing up the game so that it is almost useless for thetable. 

The _Banturs_, who principally inhabit these jungles, are mostly ofNepaulese origin. They are a sturdy, independent people, and the womenhave fair skins, and are very pretty. Unchastity is very rare, and theinfidelity of a wife is almost unknown. If it is found out, mutilationand often death are the penalties exacted from the unfortunate woman. They wear one long loose flowing garment, much like the skirt of agown; this is tightly twisted round the body above the bosoms, leavingthe neck and arms quite bare. They are fond of ornaments--nose, ears, toes and arms, and even ancles, being loaded with silver rings andcirclets. Some decorate their nose and the middle parting of the hairwith a greasy-looking red pigment, while nearly every grown-up womanhas her arms, neck, and low down on the collar bone most artisticallytattooed in a variety of close, elaborate patterns. The women all workin the clearings; sowing, and weeding, and reaping the rice, barley, and other crops. They do most of the digging where that is necessary, the men confining themselves to ploughing and wood-cutting. At thelatter employment they are most expert; they use the axe in the mostmasterly manner, but their mode of cutting is fearfully wasteful; theyalways leave some three feet of the best part of the wood in theground, very rarely cutting a tree close down to the root. Many ofthem are good charcoal-burners, and indeed their principal occupationis supplying the adjacent villages with charcoal and firewood. They usesmall narrow-edged axes for felling, but for lopping they invariablyuse the Nepaulese national weapon--the _kookree_. This is a heavy, curved knife, with a broad blade, the edge very sharp, and the backthick and heavy. In using it they slash right and left with a quickdownward stroke, drawing the blade quickly toward them as they strike. They are wonderfully dexterous with the _kookree_, and will clearaway brush and underwood almost as quickly as a man can walk. Theypack their charcoal, rice, or other commodities, in long narrowbaskets, which they sling on a pole carried on their shoulders, as wesee the Chinese doing in the well known pictures on tea-chests. Theyare all Hindoos in religion, but are very fond of rice-whiskey. Althoughnot so abstemious in this respect as the Hindoos of the plains, theyare a much finer race both physically and morally. As a rule they aretruthful, honest, brave, and independent. They are always glad to seeyou, laugh out merrily at you as you pass, and are wonderfullyhospitable. It would be a nice point for Sir Wilfrid Lawson toreconcile the use of rice-whiskey with this marked superiority in allmoral virtues in the whiskey-drinking, as against the totally-abstainingHindoo. 

To return to Mehrman Singh. His face was seamed with smallpox marks, and he had seven or eight black patches on it the first time I saw him, caused by the splintering of his flint when he let off his antediluviangun. When he saw my breechloaders, the first he had ever beheld, hisadmiration was unbounded. He told me he had come on a leopard asleep inthe forest one day, and crept up quite close to him. His faith in hisold gun, however, was not so lively as to make him rashly attack sodangerous a customer, so he told me. 'Hum usko jans deydea oos wukt, 'that is, 'I _gave_ the brute its life that time, but, ' he continued, 'had I had an English gun like this, your honour, I would have blownthe _soor_ (_Anglice_, pig) to hell. ' Old Mehrman was rather strong inhis expletives at times, but I was not a little amused at the cool wayhe spoke of _giving_ the leopard its life. The probability is, that hadhe only wounded the animal, he would have lost his own. 

These Nepaulese are very fond of giving feasts to each other. Theirdinner-parties, I assure you, are very often 'great affairs. ' They arenot mean in their arrangements, and the wants of the inner man are veryamply provided for. Their crockery is simple and inexpensive. When thefeast is prepared, each guest provides himself with a few broad leavesfrom the nearest sal tree, and forming these into a cup, he pins themtogether with thorns from the acacia. Squatting down in a circle, withhalf-a-dozen of these sylvan cups around, the attendant fills one withrice, another with _dhall_, a third with goat's-flesh, a fourth with_turkaree_ or vegetables, a fifth with chutnee, pickle, or some kind ofpreserve. Curds, ghee, a little oil perhaps, sugar, plantains, andother fruit are not wanting, and the whole is washed down with copiousdraughts of fiery rice-whiskey, or where it can be procured, withpalm-toddy. Not unfrequently dancing boys or girls are in attendance, and the horrid din of tom-toms, cymbals, a squeaking fiddle, or atwanging sitar, rattling castanets, and ear-piercing songs from thedusky _prima donna_, makes night hideous, until the grey dawn peepsover the dark forest line. 

Early in January, 1875, my camp was at a place in the sal junglescalled Lohurneah. I had been collecting rents and looking after my seedcultivation, and Pat and our sporting District Engineer having joinedme, we determined to have a beat for deer. Mehrman Singh had reportednumerous herds in the vicinity of our camp. During the night we hadbeen disturbed by the revellers at such a feast in the village as Ihave been describing. We had filled cartridges, seen to our guns, andmade every preparation for the beat, and early in the morning thecoolies and idlers of the forest villages all round were ranged incircles about our camp. 

Swallowing a hasty breakfast we mounted our ponies, and followed by ourragged escort, made off for the forest. On the way we met a crowd ofBanturs with bundles of stakes and great coils of strong heavy netting. Sending the coolies on ahead under charge of several headmen and peons, we plunged into the gloom of the forest, leaving our ponies and groomsoutside. When we came to a likely-looking spot, the Banturs beganoperations by fixing up the nets on the stakes and between trees, tilla line of strong net extended across the forest for several hundredyards. We then went ahead, leaving the nets behind us, and each took uphis station about 200 yards in front. The men with the nets then hidthemselves behind trees, and crouched in the underwood. With ourkookries we cut down several branches, stuck them in the ground infront, and ensconced ourselves in this artificial shelter. Behind us, and between us and the nets, was a narrow cart track leading throughthe forest, and the reason of our taking this position was given me byPat, who was an old hand at jungle shooting. 

When deer are being driven, they are intensely suspicious, and ofcourse frightened. They know every spot in the jungle, and areacquainted with all the paths, tracks, and open places in the forest. When they are nearing an open glade, or a road, they slacken theirpace, and go slowly and warily forward, an old buck generally leading. When he has carefully reconnoitred and examined the suspected place infront, and found it clear to all appearance, they again put on thepace, and clear the open ground at their greatest speed. The bestchance of a shot is when a path is in front of _them_ and behind _you_, as then they are going slowly. 

At first when I used to go out after them, I often got an open glade, or road, in _front_ of me; but experience soon told me that Pat's planwas the best. As this was a beat not so much for real sport, as to showme how the villagers managed these affairs, we were all under Pat'sdirection, and he could not have chosen better ground. I was on theextreme left, behind a clump of young trees, with the sluggish muddystream on my left. Our Engineer to my right was about one hundred yardsoff, and Pat himself on the extreme right, at about the same distancefrom H. Behind us was the road, and in the rear the long line of nets, with their concealed watchers. The nets are so set up on the stakes, that when an animal bounds along and touches the net, it falls overhim, and ere he can extricate himself from its meshes, the vigilantBanturs rush out and despatch him with spears and clubs. 

We waited a long time hearing nothing of the beaters, and watching thered and black ants hurrying to and fro. Huge green-bellied spidersoscillated backwards and forwards in their strong, systematically wovenwebs. A small mungoose kept peeping out at me from the roots of an oldindia-rubber tree, and aloft in the branches an amatory pair of hiddenringdoves were billing and cooing to each other. At this moment astealthy step stole softly behind, and the next second Mr. MehrmanSingh crept quietly and noiselessly beside me, his face flushed withrapid walking, his eye flashing with excitement, his finger on his lip, and a look of portentous gravity and importance striving to spreaditself over his speaking countenance. Mehrman had been up all night atthe feast, and was as drunk as a piper. It was no use being angry withhim, so I tried to keep him quiet and resumed my watch. 

A few minutes afterwards he grasped me by the wrist, rather startlingme, but in a low hoarse whisper warning me that a troop of monkeys wascoming. I could not hear the faintest rustle, but sure enough in aminute or two a troop of over twenty monkeys came hopping and shamblingalong, stopping every now and then to sit on their hams, look back, grin, jabber, and show their formidable teeth, until Mehrman rose up, waved his cloth at them, and turned them off from the direction of thenets toward the bank of the stream. 

Next came a fox, slouching warily and cautiously along; then a coupleof lean, hungry-looking jackals; next a sharp patter on the crisp dryleaves, and several peafowl with resplendent plumage ran rapidly past. Another touch on the arm from Mehrman, and following the direction ofhis outstretched hand, I descried a splendid buck within thirty yardsof me, his antlers and chest but barely visible above the brushwood. Mygun was to my shoulder in an instant, but the shekarry in an excitedwhisper implored me not to fire. I hesitated, and just then the statelyhead turned round to look behind, and exposing the beautifully curvingneck full to my aim, I fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing thefine buck topple over, seemingly hard hit. 

A shot on my right, and two shots in rapid succession further on, shewed me that Pat and H. Were also at work, and then the whole forestseemed alive with frightened, madly-plunging pig, deer, and otheranimals. I fired at, and wounded an enormous boar that came rushingpast, and now the cries of the coolies in front as they came troopingon, mingled with the shouts of the men at the nets, where the work ofdeath evidently was going on. 

It was most exciting while it lasted, but, after all, I do not think itwas honest sport. The only apology I could make to myself was, that thedeer and pig were far too numerous, and doing immense damage to thecrops, and if not thinned out, they would soon have made the growing ofany crop whatever an impossibility. 

The monkey being a sacred animal, is never molested by the natives, andthe damage he does in a night to a crop of wheat or barley isastonishing. Peafowl too are very destructive, and what with these andthe ravages of pig, deer, hares, and other plunderers, the poor ryothas to watch many a weary night, to secure any return from his fields. 

On rejoining each other at the nets, we found that five deer and twopigs had been killed. Pat had shot a boar and a porcupine, the latterwith No. 4 shot. H. Accounted for a deer, and I got my buck and theboar which I had wounded in the chest; Mehrman Singh had followed himup and tracked him to the river, where he took refuge among some longswamp reeds. Replying to his call, we went up, and a shot through thehead settled the old boar for ever. Our bag was therefore for the firstbeat, seven deer, four pigs, and a porcupine. 

The coolies were now sent away out of the jungle, and on ahead for amile or so, the nets were coiled up, our ponies regained, and off weset, to take another station. As we went along the river bank, frequently having to force our way through thick jungle, we started 'noend' of peafowl, and getting down we soon added a couple to the bag. Pat got a fine jack snipe, and I shot a _Jheela_, a very fine waterfowlwith brown plumage, having a strong metallic, coppery lustre on theback, and a steely dark blue breast. The plumage was very thick andglossy, and it proved afterwards to be excellent eating. 

Peafowl generally retire to the thickest part of the jungles during theheat of the day, but if you go out very early, when they are slowlywending their way back from the fields, where they have been revellingall night, you can shoot numbers of them. I used to go about twenty orthirty yards into the jungle, and walk slowly along, keeping thatdistance from the edge. My syce and pony would then walk slowly by theedges of the fields, and when the syce saw a peafowl ahead, making forthe jungle, he would shout and try to make it rise. He generallysucceeded, and as I was a little in advance and concealed by thejungle, I would get a fine shot as the bird flew overhead. I have shotas many as eight and ten in a morning in this way. I always used No. 4shot with about 3-1/2 drams of powder. 

Unless hard hit peafowl will often get away; they run with amazingswiftness, and in the heart of the jungle it is almost impossible tomake them rise. A couple of sharp terriers, or a good retriever, willsometimes flush them, but the best way is to go along the edge of thejungle in the early morn, as I have described. The peachicks, aboutseven or eight months old, are deliciously tender and well flavoured. Old birds are very dry and tough, and require a great deal of thatold-fashioned sauce, Hunger. 

The common name for a peafowl is _m[=o]r_, but the Nepaulese and Banturscall it _majoor_. Now _majoor_ also means coolie, and a young fellow, S. , was horrified one day hearing his attendant in the jungle tellinghim in the most excited way, '_Majoor, majoor_, Sahib; why don't youfire?' Poor S. Thought it was a coolie the man meant, and that he mustbe going mad, wanting him to shoot a coolie, but he found out hismistake, and learnt the double meaning of the word, when he got homeand consulted his _manager_. 

The generic name for all deer is in Hindustani HURIN, but the Nepaulesecall it CHEETER. The male spotted deer they call KUBRA, the femaleKUBREE. These spotted deer keep almost exclusively to the forests, andare very seldom found far away from the friendly cover of the salwoods. They are the most handsome, graceful looking animals I know, their skins beautifully marked with white spots, and the horns wide andarching. When properly prepared the skin makes a beautiful mat for adrawing room, and the horns of a good buck are a handsome ornament tothe hall or the verandah. When bounding along through the forest, hisbeautifully spotted skin flashing through the dark green foliage, hisantlers laid back over his withers, he looks the very embodiment ofgrace and swiftness. He is very timid, and not easily stalked. 

In March and April, when a strong west wind is blowing, it rustles themyriads of leaves that, dry as tinder, encumber the earth. Thisperpetual rustle prevents the deer from hearing the footsteps of anapproaching foe. They generally betake themselves then to some patch ofgrass, or long-crop outside the jungle altogether, and if you want themin those months, it is in such places, and not inside the forest atall, that you must search. Like all the deer tribe, they are verycurious, and a bit of rag tied to a tree, or a cloth put over a bush, will not unfrequently entice them within range. 

Old shekarries will tell you that as long as the deer go on feeding andflapping their ears, you may continue your approach. As soon as theythrow up the head, and keep the ears still, their suspicions have beenaroused, and if you want venison, you must be as still as a rock, tillyour game is again lulled into security, As soon as the ears beginflapping again, you may continue your stalk, but at the slightestnoise, the noble buck will be off like a flash of lightning. You shouldnever go out in the forest with white clothes, as you are then aconspicuous mark for all the prying eyes that are invisible to you. Thebest colour is dun brown, dark grey, or dark green. When you see a deerhas become suspicious, and no cover is near, stand perfectly erect andrigid, and do not leave your legs apart. The 'forked-parsnip' formationof the 'human form divine' is detected at a glance, but there's just achance that if your legs are drawn together, and you remain perfectlymotionless, you may be mistaken for the stump of a tree, or at the bestsome less dangerous enemy than man. 

As we rode slowly along, to allow the beaters to get ahead, and to letthe heavily-laden men with the nets keep up with us, we were amused tohear the remarks of the syces and shekarries on the sport they had justwitnessed. Pat's old man, Juggroo, a merry peep-eyed fellow, full ofanecdote and humour, was rather hard on Mehrman Singh for having beenup late the preceding night. Mehrman, whose head was by this timeprobably reminding him that there are 'lees to every cup, ' did not seemto relish the humour. He began grasping one wrist with the other hand, working his hand slowly round his wrist, and I noticed that Juggrooimmediately changed the subject. This, as I afterwards learned, is theinvariable Nepaulese custom of showing anger. They grasp the wrist as Ihave said, and it is taken as a sign that, if you do not discontinueyour banter, you will have a fight. 

The Nepaulese are rather vain of their personal appearance, and hankergreatly after a good thick moustache. This, nature has denied them, forthe hair on their faces is scanty and stubbly in the extreme. One dayJuggroo saw his master putting some bandoline on his moustache, whichwas a fine, handsome, silky one. He asked Pat's bearer, an old rogue, what it was. 

'Oh!' replied the bearer, 'that is the gum of the sal tree; masteralways uses that, and that is the reason he has such a fine moustache. '

Juggroo's imagination fired up at the idea. 

'Will it make mine grow too?'

'Certainly. '

'How do you use it?'

'Just rub it on, as you see master do. '

Away went Juggroo to try the new recipe. 

Now, the gum of the sal tree is a very strong resin, and hardens inwater. It is almost impossible to get it off your skin, as the morewater you use, the harder it gets. 

Next day Juggroo's face presented a sorry sight. He had plentifullysmeared the gum over his upper lip, so that when he washed his face, the gum _set_, making the lip as stiff as a board, and threatening tocrack the skin every time the slightest muscle moved. 

Juggroo _was_ 'sold' and no mistake, but he bore it all in grimsilence, although he never forgot the old bearer. One day, long after, he brought in some berries from the wood, and was munching them, seemingly with great relish. The bearer wanted to know what they were, Juggroo with much apparent _nonchalance_ told him they were some verysweet, juicy, wild berries he had found in the forest. The bearer askedto try one. 

Juggroo had _another_ fruit ready, very much resembling those he waseating. It is filled with minute spikelets, or little hairy spinnacles, much resembling those found in ripe doghips at home. If these eventouch the skin, they cause intense pain, stinging like nettles, andblistering every part they touch. 

The unsuspicious bearer popped the treacherous berry into his mouth, gave it a crunch, and then with a howl of agony, spluttered and spat, while the tears ran down his cheeks, as he implored Juggroo by all thegods to fetch him some water. 

Old Juggroo with a grim smile, walked coolly away, discharging aParthian shaft, by telling him that these berries were very good formaking the hair grow, and hoped he would soon have a good moustache. 

A man from the village now came running up to tell us that there was aleopard in the jungle we were about to beat, and that it had seized, but failed to carry away, a dog from the village during the night. Natives are so apt to tell stories of this kind that at first we didnot credit him, but turning into the village he showed us the poor dog, with great wounds on its neck and throat where the leopard had pouncedupon it. The noise, it seems, had brought some herdsmen to the place, and their cries had frightened the leopard and saved the wretched dog. As the man said he could show us the spot where the leopard generallyremained, we determined to beat him up; so sending a man off onhorseback for the beaters to slightly alter their intended line ofbeat, we rode off, attended by the villager, to get behind theleopard's lair, and see if we could not secure him. These fierce andcourageous brutes, for they are both, are very common in the saljungles; and as I have seen several killed, both in Bhaugulpore andOudh, I must devote a chapter to the subject. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The leopard. --How to shoot him. --Gallant encounter with a woundedone. --Encounter with a leopard in a dak bungalow. --Pat shoots twoleopards. --Effects of the Express bullet. --The 'Sirwah Purrul, ' orannual festival of huntsmen. --The Hindoo ryot. --Rice-planting andharvest. --Poverty of the ryot. --His apathy. --Village fires. --Want ofsanitation. 

Writing principally for friends at home, who are not familiar withIndian life, I must narrate facts that, although well known in Indiancircles, are yet new to the general reader in England. My object is ofcourse to represent the life we lead in the far East, and to give aseries of pictures of what is going on there. If I occasionally touchon what may to Indian readers seem well-worn ground, they will forgiveme. 

The leopard then, as a rule keeps to the wooded parts of India. In thelong grassy jungles bordering the Koosee he is not generally met with. He is essentially a predatory animal, always on the outlook for a meal;round the villages, nestling amid their sal forests, he is continuallyon the prowl, looking out for a goat, a calf, or unwary dog. Hisappearance and habits are well known; he generally selects for hislair, a retired spot surrounded by dense jungle. The one we were afternow had his home in a matted jungle, growing out of a pool of water, which had collected in a long hollow, forming the receptacle of thesurface drainage from the adjacent slopes. This hollow stretched formiles towards the creek which we had been beating up; and the localityhaving moisture and other concurring elements in its favour, thevegetation had attained a luxuriance rarely seen in the dry uplands, where the west winds lick up the moisture, and the soil is arid andunpromising. The matted intertwining branches of the creepers hadformed an almost impervious screen, and on the basis thus formed, amidthe branches and creepers, the leopards had formed their lair. Beneath, was a still stagnant pool; above, was the leafy foliage. The tracks leddown to a well-worn path. 

Climbing like a cat, as the leopards can do, they found no difficultyin gaining a footing on the mass of vegetation. They generally selectsome retired spot like this, and are very seldom seen in the daytime. With the approach of night, however, they begin their wandering inquest of prey. In a beat such as we were having 'all is fish that comesto the net, ' and leopards, if they are in the jungle, have to yield tothe advance of the beaters, like the other denizens of the forest. 

Experience tells you that the leopard is daring and ferocious. Oldexperienced hands warn you, that unless you can make sure of your shot, it is unwise to fire at a leopard approaching. It is better to waittill he has got past you, or at all events is 'broadside on. ' If youonly wound him as he is approaching, he will almost to a certainty makestraight at you, but if you shoot him as he is going past, he will, maddened by pain and anger, go straight forward, and you escape hischarge. He is more courageous than a tiger, and a very dangerouscustomer at close quarters. Up in one of the forests in Oudh, a friendof mine was out one day after leopard, with a companion who belonged tothe forest department. My friend's companion fired at a leopard as itwas approaching him, and wounded it severely. Nothing daunted, andrecognising whence its hurt had come, it charged directly down on theconcealed sportsman, and before he could half realise the position, sprang on him, caught his left arm in its teeth, and began mauling himwith its claws. His presence of mind did not desert him; noticing closeby the stump of a sal tree, that had been eaten by white ants till theharder parts of the wood alone remained, standing up hard and sharplike so many spikes of steel; and knowing that the leopard was alreadybadly wounded, and in all probability struggling for his life, hemanaged to drag the struggling animal up to the stump; jammed his leftarm yet further into the open mouth of the wounded beast, and being astrong man, by pure physical force dashed the leopard's brains out onthe jagged edges of the stump. It was a splendid instance of presenceof mind. He was horribly mauled of course; in fact I believe he losthis arm, but he saved his life. It shows the danger of only wounding aleopard, especially if he is coming towards you; always wait till hehas passed your station, if it is practicable. If you _must_ shoot, take what care you can that the shot be a sure one. 

In some of the hill stations, and indeed in the villages on the plains, it is very common for a leopard to make his appearance in the house orverandah of an evening. 

One was shot in Bhaugulpore station by the genial and respectedchaplain, on a Sunday morning two or three years ago. As we went along, H. Told us a humorous story of an Assistant in the Public WorksDepartment, who got mauled by a leopard at Dengra Ghat, Dak Bungalow. It had taken up its quarters in a disused room, and this young fellowburning, with ardour to distinguish himself, made straight for the roomin which he was known to be. He opened the door, followed by a motleycrowd of retainers, discharged his gun, and the sequel proved that hewas _not_ a dead shot. He had only wounded the leopard. With a boundthe savage brute was on him, but in the hurry and confusion, he hadchanged front. The leopard had him by the back. You can imagine thescene! He roared for help! The leopard was badly hit, and a plucky_bearer_ came to his rescue with a stout _lathee_. Between them theysucceeded in killing the wounded animal, but not before it had left itsmarks on a very sensitive portion of his frame. The moral is, if you goafter leopard, be sure you kill him at once. 

They seldom attack a strong, well-grown animal. Calves, however, goats, and dogs are frequently carried off by them. The young of deer and pig, too, fall victims, and when nothing else can be had, peafowl have beenknown to furnish them a meal. In my factory in Oudh I had a small, graceful, four-horned antelope. It was carried off by a leopard fromthe garden in broad daylight, and in face of a gang of coolies. 

The most commonly practised mode of leopard shooting, is to tie a goatup to a tree. You have a _mychan_ erected, that is, a platform elevatedon trees above the ground. Here you take your seat. Attracted by thebleating of the goat, the prowling leopard approaches his intendedvictim. If you are on the watch you can generally detect his approach. They steal on with extreme caution, being intensely wary andsuspicious. At a village near where we now were, I had sat up for threenights for a leopard, but although I knew he was prowling in thevicinity, I had never got a look at him. We believed this leopard to bethe same brute. 

I have already described our mode of beating. The jungle was close, andthere was a great growth of young trees. I was again on the right, andnear the edge of the forest. Beyond was a glade planted with rice. Theincidents of the beat were much as you have just read. There was, however, unknown or at any rate unnoticed by us, more intenseexcitement. We knew that the leopard might at any moment pass beforeus. Pat was close to a mighty bhur tree, whose branches, sending downshoots from the parent stem, had planted round it a colony of vigoroussupports. It was a magnificent tree with dense shade. All was solemnand still. Pat with his keen eye, his pulse bounding, and every senseon the alert, was keeping a careful look-out from behind an immenseprojecting buttress of the tree. All was deadly quiet. H. And myselfwere occupied watching the gambols of some monkeys in our front. Thebeaters were yet far off. Suddenly Pat heard a faint crackle on a driedleaf. He glanced in the direction of the sound, and his quick eyedetected the glossy coats, the beautifully spotted hides of not _one_leopard, but _two_. In a moment the stillness was broken by the reportof his rifle. Another report followed sharp and quick. We were on thealert, but to Pat the chief honour and glory belonged. He had shot oneleopard dead through the heart. The female was badly hit and camebounding along in my direction. Of course we were now on the _quivive_. Waiting for an instant, till I could get my aim clear of someintervening trees, I at length got a fair shot, and brought her downwith a ball through the throat. H. And Pat came running up, and wecongratulated ourselves on our success. By and bye Mehrman Singh andthe rest of the beaters came up, and the joy of the villagers wasgratifying. These were doubtless the two leopards we had heard so muchabout, for which I had sat up and watched. It was amusing to see somevillager whose pet goat or valued calf had been carried off, now comingup, striking the dead body of the leopard, and abusing it in the mostunmeasured terms. Such a crowding round as there was! such a noise, andsuch excitement!

While waiting for the horses to be brought, and while the excited mobof beaters and coolies carried off the dead animals to the camp to beskinned, we amused ourselves by trying our rifles at a huge tree thatgrew on the further side of the rice swamp. We found the effects of the'Express' bullet to be tremendous. It splintered up and burst the barkand body of the tree into fragments. Its effects on an animal are evenmore wonderful. On looking afterwards at the leopard which had beenshot, we found that my bullet had touched the base of the shoulder, near the collar-bone. It had gone downwards through the neck, under thecollar-bone, and struck the shoulder. There it had splintered up andmade a frightful wound, scattering its fragments all over the chest, and cutting and lacerating everything in its way. 

For big game the 'Express' is simply invaluable. For all-round shootingperhaps a No. 12 smooth-bore is the best. It should be snap action withrebounding locks. You should have facilities and instruments forloading cartridges. A good cartridge belt is a good thing for carryingthem, but go where you will now, where there is game to be killed, aNo. 12 B. L. Will enable you to participate in whatever shooting isgoing. Such a one as I have described would satisfy all the wishes ofany young man who perhaps can only afford one gun. 

As we rode slowly along, we learned many curious facts of jungle andnative life from the followers, and by noticing little incidentshappening before our eyes. Pat, who is so well versed in jungle lifeand its traditions, told us of a curious moveable feast which thenatives of these parts hold annually, generally in March or April, which is called the _Sirwah Purrub_. 

It seems to be somewhat like the old carnivals of the middle ages. Ihave read that in Sardinia, and Italy, and Switzerland somethingsimilar takes place. The _Sirwah Purrub_ is a sort of festival held inhonour of the native Diana--the _chumpa buttee_ before referred to. Onthe appointed day all the males in the forest villages, withoutexception, go a-hunting. Old spears are furbished up; miraculous guns, of even yet more ancient lineage than Mehrman Singh's dangerousflintpiece, are brought out from dusty hiding-places. Battle-axes, bowsand arrows, hatchets, clubs and weapons of all sorts, are looked up, and the motley crowd hies to the forest, the one party beating up thegame to the other. 

Some go fishing, others try to secure a quail or partridge, but it is apoint of honour that something must be slain. If game be not plentifulthey will even go to another village and slay a goat, which, ratherthan return empty-handed, they will bear in triumph home. The womenmeet the returning hunters, and if there has been a fortunate beat, there is a great feast in the village during the evening and far oninto the night. The nets are used, and in this way they generally havesome game to divide in the village on their return from the hunt. Ordinarily they seethe the flesh, and pour the whole contents of thecooking-pot into a mess of boiled rice. With the addition of a littlesalt, this is to them very palatable fare. They are very good cooks, with very simple appliances; with a little mustard oil or clarifiedbutter, a few vegetables or a cut-up fish, they can be very successful. The food, however, is generally smoked from the cow-dung fire. If youare much out in these villages this smoke constantly hangs about, clinging to your clothes and flavouring your food, but the natives seemto like it amazingly. 

In the cold mornings of December or January it hangs about like thepeat smoke in a Highland village. Round every house are great stacksand piles of cow-dung cakes. Before every house is a huge pile ofashes, and the villagers cower round this as the evening falls, orbefore the sun has dissipated the mist of the mornings. During the daythe village dogs burrow in the ashes. Hovering in a dense cloud aboutthe roofs and eaves, and along the lower branches of the trees in filmylayers, the smoke almost chokes one to ride through it. I have seen anative sit till half-choked in a dense column of this smoke. He is toolazy to shift his position; the fumes of pungent smoke half smotherhim; tears run from his eyes; he splutters and coughs, and abuses thesmoke, and its grandfather, and maternal uncle, and all its other knownrelatives; but he prefers semi-suffocation to the trouble of budging aninch. 

Sometimes the energy of these people is surprising. To go to a fair orfeast, or on a pilgrimage, they will walk miles upon miles, subsistingon parched peas or rice, and carrying heavy burdens. In company theysing and carol blithely enough. When alone they are very taciturn, manand woman walking together, the man first with his _lathee_ or staff, the woman behind carrying child or bundle, and often looking fagged andtired enough. 

Taking vegetables, or rice, or other commodities to the bazaar, thecarrier often slings his burden to the two ends of a pole worn over theshoulder, much as Chinamen do. But they generally make their load intoone bundle which they carry on the head, or which they sling, if notlarge and bulky, over their backs, rolled up in one of their cloths. 

During the rice-planting season they toil in mud and water fromearliest morn till late into twilight. Bending and stooping all theday, their lower extremities up to the knee sometimes in water, and thescorching sun beating on their backs, they certainly show their patientplodding industry, for it is downright honest hard work. 

The young rice is taken from the nursery patch, where it has been sownthick some time previously. When the rice-field is ready--a sloppy, muddy, embanked little quagmire--the ryot gets his bundle of youngrice-plants, and shoves in two or three at a time with his finger andthumb. These afterwards form the tufts of rice. Its growth is veryrapid. Sometimes, in case of flood, the rice actually grows with therise of the water, always keeping its tip above the stream. If whollysubmerged for any length of time it dies. There are over a hundredvarieties. Some are only suited for very deep marshy soils; others, such as the _s[=a]tee_, or sixty-days rice, can be grown on comparativelyhigh land, and ripen early. If rain be scanty, the _s[=a]tee_ and otherrice crops have to be weeded. It is cut with a jagged-edged sort ofreaping-hook called a _hussooa_. The cut bundles are carried from thefields by women, girls, and lads. They could not take carts in manyinstances into the swamps. 

At such times you see every little dyke or embankment with a crowd ofbustling villagers, each with a heavy bundle of grain on his head, hurrying to and fro like a stream of busy ants. The women, with clothestucked up above the knee, plod and plash through the water. They go ata half run, a kind of fast trot, and hardly a word is spoken--garneringthe rice crops is too important an operation to dawdle and gossip over. Each hurries off with his burden to the little family threshing-floor, dumps down his load, gives a weary grunt, straightens his back, gives ayawn, then off again to the field for another load. It is no useleaving a bundle on the field; where food is so eagerly looked for bysuch a dense population, where there are hungry mouths and emptystomachs in every village, a bundle of rice would be gone by themorning. 

As in Greece, where every man has to watch his vineyard at night, sohere, the _kureehan_ or threshing-floor each has its watchman at night. For the protection of the growing crops, the villagers club together, and appoint a watchman or _chowkeydar_, whom they pay by giving him asmall percentage on the yield; or a small fractional proportion of thearea he has to guard, with its standing crop, may be made over to himas a recompense. 

They thresh out the rice when it has matured a little on thethreshing-floor. Four to six bullocks are tied in a line to a post inthe centre, and round this they slowly pace in a circle. They are notmuzzled, and the poor brutes seem rather to enjoy the unwonted luxuryof feeding while they work. When there is a good wind, the grain iswinnowed; it is lifted either in bamboo scoops or in the two hands. Thewind blows the chaff or _bhoosa_ on to a heap, and the fine fresh riceremains behind. The grain merchants now do a good business. Rice mustbe sold to pay the rent, the money-lender, and other clamouringcreditors. The _bunniahs_ will take repayment in kind. They put onthe interest, and cheat in the weighments and measurements. So much hasto be given to the weigh-man as a perquisite. If seed had been borrowed, it has now to be returned at a ruinous rate of interest. Some seed mustbe saved for next year, and an average _poor_ ryot, the cultivator ofbut a little holding, very soon sees the result of his harvesting meltaway, leaving little for wife and little ones to live on. He nevergets free of the money-lender. He will have to go out and work hardfor others, as well as get up his own little lands. No chance of a newbullock this year, and the old ones are getting worn out and thin. Thewife must dispense with her promised ornament or dress. For the poorryot it is a miserable hand-to-mouth existence when crops are poor. As a rule he is never out of debt. He lives on the scantiest fare;hunger often pinches him; he knows none of the luxuries of life. Notwithstanding all, the majority are patient, frugal, industrious, and to the full extent of their scanty means even charitable andbenevolent. With the average ryot a little business goes a great way. There are some irreconcileable, discontented, worthless fellows inevery village. All more or less count a lie as rather a good thing tobe expert in; they lie naturally, simply, and instinctively: but withall his faults, and they are doubtless many, I confess to a greatliking for the average Hindoo ryot. 

At times, however, their apathy and laziness is amazing. They are verychildish, petted, and easily roused. In a quarrel, however, theygenerally confine themselves to vituperation and abuse, and seldomcome to blows. 

As an instance of their fatalism or apathetic indolence, I can remembera village on the estate I was managing taking fire. It was quite closeto the factory. I had my pony saddled at once, and galloped off for theburning village. It was a long, straggling one, with a good masonrywell in the centre, shadowed by a mighty _peepul_ tree. The wind wasblowing the fire right along, and if no obstruction was offered, wouldsweep off every hut in the place. The only soul who was trying to do athing was a young Brahmin watchman belonging to the factory. He hadsucceeded in removing some brass jars of his own, and was saving somegrain. One woman was rocking to and fro, beating her breast and crying. There sat the rest of the apathetic villagers in groups, not lifting afinger, not stirring a step, but calmly looking on, while the devouringelement was licking up hut after hut, and destroying their little all. In a few minutes some of my servants, syces, and factory men hadarrived. I tied up the pony, ordered my men to pull down a couple ofhuts in the centre, and tried to infuse some energy into the villagers. Not a bit of it; they would _not_ stir. They would not even draw abucket of water. However, my men got earthen pots; I dug up fresh earthand threw it on the two dismantled huts, dragging away as much of thethatch and _debris_ as we could. 

The fire licked our faces, and actually got a footing on the firsthouse beyond the frail opening we had tried to make, but we persevered, and ultimately stayed the fire, and saved about two thirds of thevillage. I never saw such an instance of complete apathy. Some of theinhabitants even had not untied the cattle in the sheds. They seemedquite prostrated. However, as we worked on, and they began to see thatall was not yet lost, they began to buckle to; yet even then theirprincipal object was to save their brass pots and cooking utensils, things that could not possibly burn, and which they might have leftalone with perfect safety. 

A Hindoo village is as inflammable as touchwood. The houses aregenerally built of grass walls, connected with thin battens of bamboo. The roof is bamboo and thatch. Thatch fences surround all the littlecourtyards. Leaves, refuse, cowdung fuel, and wood are piled up roundevery hut. At each door is an open air fire, which smoulders all day. Astray puff of wind makes an inquisitive visit round the corner, andbefore one can half realise the catastrophe, the village is on fire. Then each only thinks of his own goods; there is no combined effort tostay the flames. In the hot west winds of March, April, and May, thesefires are of very frequent occurrence. In Bhaugulpore, I have seen, from my verandah, three villages on fire at one and the same time. Insome parts of Oudh, among the sal forests, village after village isburnt down annually, and I have seen the same catastrophe visit thesame village several times in the course of one year. These fires arisefrom pure carelessness, sheer apathy, and laziness. 

Sanitary precautions too are very insufficient; practically there arenone. Huge unsightly water-holes, filled during the rains with thedrainage of all the dung-heaps and mounds of offal and filth thatabound in the village, swelter under the hot summer sun. They getcovered with a rank green scum, and if their inky depths be stirred, the foulest and most fearful odours issue forth. In these filthy poolsthe villagers often perform their ablutions; they do not scruple todrink the putrid water, which is no doubt a hotbed and regular nurseryfor fevers, and choleraic and other disorders. 

Many home readers are but little acquainted with the Indian villagesystem, and I shall devote a chapter to the description of a Hindoovillage, with its functionaries, its institutions, its inhabitants, andthe more marked of their customs and avocations. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Description of a native village. --Village functionaries. --The barber. --Bathing habits. --The village well. --The school. --The children. --Thevillage bazaar. --The landowner and his dwelling. --The 'Putwarrie' orvillage accountant. --The blacksmith. --The 'Punchayiet' or village jurysystem. --Our legal system in India. --Remarks on the administration ofjustice. 

A typical village in Behar is a heterogeneous collection of thatchedhuts, apparently set down at random--as indeed it is, for every oneerects his hut wherever whim or caprice leads him, or wherever he canget a piece of vacant land. Groves of feathery bamboos and broad-leavedplumy-looking plantains almost conceal the huts and buildings. Severalsmall orchards of mango surround the village; the roads leading to andfrom it are merely well-worn cattle tracks, --in the rains a perfectquagmire, and in the hot weather dusty, and confined between stragglinghedges of aloe or prickly pear. These hedges are festooned with massesof clinging luxuriant creepers, among which sometimes struggles up acustard apple, an avocado pear, or a wild plum-tree. The latter is aprickly straggling tree, called the _bhyre_; the wood is very hard, andis often used for making ploughs. The fruit is a little hard yellowcrisp fruit, with a big stone inside, and very sweet; when it is ripe, the village urchins throw sticks up among the branches, and feast onthe golden shower. 

On many of the banks bordering the roads, thatching grass, or ratherstrong upright waving grass, with a beautiful feathery plume, isplanted. This is used to make the walls of the houses, and these arethen plastered outside and in with clay and cowdung. The tall hedgeof dense grass keeps what little breeze there may be away from thetraveller. The road is something like an Irish 'Boreen, ' wanting onlyits beauty and freshness. On a hot day the atmosphere in one of thesevillage roads is stifling and loaded with dust. 

These houses with their grass walls and thatched roof are called_kutcha_, as opposed to more pretentious structures of burnt brick, with maybe a tiled sloping or flat plastered roof, which are called_pucca. Pucca_ literally means 'ripe, ' as opposed to _cutcha_, 'unripe';but the rich Oriental tongue has adapted it to almost every kind ofsecondary meaning. Thus a man who is true, upright, respected, a manto be depended on, is called a _pucca_ man. It is a word in constantuse among Anglo-Indians. A _pucca_ road is one which is bridged andmetalled. If you make an engagement with a friend, and he wants toimpress you with its importance, he will ask you, Now is that _pucca_?'and so on. 

Other houses in the village are composed of unburnt bricks cementedwith mud, or maybe composed of mud walls and thatched roof; these, being a compound sort of erection, are called _cutcha pucca_. In the_cutcha_ houses live the poorer castes, the _Chumars_ or workers inleathers, the _Moosahms, Doosadhs_, or _Gwallahs_. 

The _Dornes_, or scavengers, feeders on offal, have to live apart in a_tolah_, which might be called a small suburb, by themselves. The_Dornes_ drag from the village any animal that happens to die. Theygenerally pursue the handicraft of basket making, or mat making, andthe _Dorne tolah_ can always be known by the pigs and fowls prowlingabout in search of food, and the _Dorne_ and his family splitting upbamboo, and weaving mats and baskets at the doors of their miserablehabitation. To the higher castes both pigs arid fowls are unclean andan abomination. _Moosahms, Doosadhs_, and other poor castes, such as_Dangurs_, keep however an army of gaunt, lean, hungry-looking pigs. These may be seen rooting and wallowing in the marshes when the ricehas been cut, or foraging among the mango groves, to pick up any strayunripe fruit that may have escaped the keen eyes of the hungry andswarming children. 

There is yet another small _tolah_ or suburb, called the _Kusbeetolah_. Here live the miserable outcasts who minister to the worstpassions of our nature. These degraded beings are banished from themore respectable portions of the community; but here, as in our ownhighly civilised and favoured land, vice hovers by the side of virtue, and the Hindoo village contains the same elements of happiness andmisery, profligacy and probity, purity and degradation, as the finehome cities that are a name in the mouths of men. 

Every village forms a perfect little commonwealth; it contains all theelements of self-existence; it is quite a little commune, so far associal life is concerned. There is a hereditary blacksmith, washerman, potter, barber, and writer. The _dhobee_, or washerman, can always beknown by the propinquity of his donkeys, diminutive animals which heuses to transport his bundle of unsavoury dirty clothes to the pool ortank where the linen is washed. On great country roads you may oftensee strings of donkeys laden with bags of grain, which they transportfrom far-away villages to the big bazaars; but if you see a ladendonkey near a village, be sure the _dhobee_ is not far off. 

Here as elsewhere the _hajam_, or barber, is a great gossip, andgenerally a favourite. He uses no soap, and has a most uncouth-lookingrazor, yet he shaves the heads, beards, moustaches, and armpits of hiscustomers with great deftness. The lower classes of natives shave thehair of the head and of the armpits for the sake of cleanliness and forother obvious reasons. The higher classes are very regular in theirablutions; every morning, be the water cold or warm, the Rajpoot andBrahmin, the respectable middle classes, and all in the village who layany claim to social position, have their _goosal_ or bath. Some hie tothe nearest tank or stream; at all hours of the day, at any ferry orlanding stage, you will see swarthy fine-looking fellows up to midwaist in the water, scrubbing vigorously their bronzed arms, and neckand chest. They clean their teeth with the end of a stick, which theychew at one extremity, till they loosen the fibres, and with thisimprovised toothbrush and some wood ashes for paste, they make themlook as white and clean as ivory. 

There is generally a large masonry well in the middle of the village, with a broad smooth _pucca_ platform all round it. It has been built bysome former father of the hamlet, to perpetuate his memory, to fulfil avow to the gods, perhaps simply from goodwill to his fellow townsmen. At all events there is generally one such in every village. It isgenerally shadowed by a huge _bhur, peepul_, or tamarind tree. Here mayalways be seen the busiest sight in the village. Pretty young womenchatter, laugh, and talk, and assume all sorts of picturesque attitudesas they fill their waterpots; the village matrons gossip, and sometimesquarrel, as they pull away at the windlass over the deep cool well. Onthe platform are a group of fat Brahmins nearly nude, their lighterskins contrasting well with the duskier hue of the lower classes. Thereare several groups. With damp drapery clinging to their glisteningskins, they pour brass pots of cold water over their dripping bodies;they rub themselves briskly, and gasp again as the cool element poursover head and shoulders. They sit down while some young attendant orrelation vigorously rubs them down the back; while sitting they cleantheir feet. Thus, amid much laughing and talking, and quaint gestures, and not a little expectoration, they perform their ablutions. Notunfrequently the more wealthy anoint their bodies with mustard oil, which at all events keeps out cold and chill, as they claim that itdoes, though it is not fragrant. Round the well you get all the villagenews and scandal. It is always thronged in the mornings and evenings, and only deserted when the fierce heat of midday plunges the villageinto a lethargic silence; unbroken save where the hum of the hand-mill, or the thump of the husking-post, tells where some busy damsel ormatron is grinding flour, or husking rice, in the cool shadow of herhut, for the wants of her lord and master. 

Education is now making rapid strides; it is fostered by government, and many of the wealthier landowners or Zemindars subscribe liberallyfor a schoolmaster in their villages. Near the principal street then, in a sort of lane, shadowed by an old mango-tree, we come on thevillage school. The little fellows have all discarded their upperclothes on account of the heat, and with much noise, swaying the bodybackwards and forwards, and monotonously intoning, they grind away atthe mill of learning, and try to get a knowledge of books. Other duskyurchins figure away with lumps of chalk on the floor, or on flat piecesof wood to serve as copy-books. The din increases as the strangerpasses: going into an English school, the stranger would probably causea momentary pause in the hum that is always heard in school. The littleHindoo scholar probably wishes to impress you with a sense of hisassiduity. He raises his voice, sways the body more briskly, keeps hisone eye firmly fixed on his task, while with the other he throws a keenswift glance over you, which embraces every detail of your costume, andnot improbably includes a shrewd estimate of your disposition andcharacter. 

Hindoo children never seem to me to be boys or girls; they arepreternaturally acute and observant. You seldom see them playingtogether. They seem to be born with the gift of telling a lie with mostportentous gravity. They wear an air of the most winning candour andguileless innocence, when they are all the while plotting some pettyscheme against you. They are certainly far more precocious than Englishchildren; they realise the hard struggle for life far more quickly. Thepoorer classes can hardly be said to have any childhood; as soon asthey can toddle they are sent to weed, cut grass, gather fuel, tendherds, or do anything that will bring them in a small pittance, andease the burden of the struggling parents. I think the children of thehigher and middle classes very pretty; they have beautiful, dark, thoughtful eyes, and a most intelligent expression. Very young babieshowever are miserably nursed; their hair is allowed to get all tangledand matted into unsightly knots; their faces are seldom washed, andtheir eyes are painted with antimony about the lids, and are oftenrheumy and running with water. The use of the pocket handkerchief issadly neglected. 

There is generally one open space or long street in our village, and ina hamlet of any importance there is weekly or bi-weekly a bazaar ormarket. From early morning in all directions, from solitary huts inthe forest, from struggling little crofts in the rice lands, fromfishermen's dwellings perched on the bank of the river, from lonelycamps in the grass jungle where the herd and his family live with theircattle, from all the petty Thorpes about, come the women with theirbaskets of vegetables, their bundles of spun yarn, their piece of wovencloth, whatever they have to sell or barter. There is a lad with a pairof wooden shoes, which he has fashioned as he was tending the villagecows; another with a grass mat, or bamboo staff, or some other strangeoutlandish-looking article, which he hopes to barter in the bazaar forsomething on which his heart is set. The _bunniahs_ hurry up theirtottering, overladen ponies; the rice merchant twists his patientbullock's tail to make it move faster; the cloth merchant with his baleunder his arm and measuring stick in hand, walks briskly along. Herecomes a gang of charcoal-burners, with their loads of fuel slung onpoles dangling from their shoulders. A _box wallah_ with his attendantcoolie, staggering under the weight of a huge box of Manchester goods, hurries by. It is a busy sight in the bazaar. What a cackling! What aconfused clatter of voices! Here also the women are the chiefcontributors to the din of tongues. There is no irate husband here ormoody master to tell them to be still. Spread out on the ground areheaps of different grain, bags of flour, baskets of meal, pulse, orbarley; sweetmeats occupy the attention of nearly all the buyers. AllHindoos indulge in sweets, which take the place of beer with us;instead of a 'nobbler, ' they offer you a 'lollipop. ' Trinkets, beads, bracelets, armlets, and anklets of pewter, there are in great bunches;fruits, vegetables, sticks of cane, skins full of oil, and sugar, andtreacle. Stands with fresh 'paun' leaves, and piles of coarse lookingmasses of tobacco are largely patronised. It is like a hive of bees. The dust hovers over the moving mass; the smells are various, none ofthem 'blest odours of sweet Araby. ' Drugs, condiments, spices, shoes, in fact, everything that a rustic population can require, is here. The_pice_ jingle as they change hands; the haggling and chaffering arewithout parallel in any market at home. Here is a man apparently in thelast madness of intense passion, in fierce altercation with another, who tries his utmost to outbluster his furious declamation. In a momentthey are smiling and to all appearance the best friends in the world. The bargain has been concluded; it was all about whether the one couldgive three _brinjals_ or four for one pice. It is a scene ofindescribable bustle, noise, and confusion. By evening however, allwill have been packed up again, and only the faint outlines of yetfloating clouds of dust, and the hopping, cheeky crows, picking up thescattered litter and remnants of the market, will remain to tell thatit has been bazaar day in our village. 

Generally, about the centre of it, there is a more pretentiousstructure, with verandahs supported on wooden pillars. High wallssurround a rather commodious courtyard. There are mysterious littledoors, through which you can get a peep of crooked little stairsleading to the upper rooms or to the roof, from dusky inside verandahs. Half-naked, listless, indolent figures lie about, or walk slowly to andfrom the yard with seemingly purposeless indecision. In the outerverandah is an old _palkee_, with evidences in the tarnished gildingand frayed and tattered hangings, that it once had some pretensions tofashionable elegance. 

The walls of the buildings however are sadly cracked, and numerousyoung _peepul_ trees grow in the crevices, their insidious rootscreeping farther and farther into the fissures, and expediting the workof decay, which is everywhere apparent. It is the residence of theZemindar, the lord of the village, the owner of the lands adjoining. Probably he is descended from some noble house of ancient lineage. Hisforefathers, possibly, led armed retainers against some rival in yonderfar off village, where the dim outlines of a mud fort yet tell of theinsecurity of the days of old. Now he is old, and fat, and lazy. Possibly he has been too often to the money-lender. His lands aremortgaged to their full value. Though they respect and look up to theirold Zemindar, the villagers are getting independent; they are not sohumble, and pay less and less of feudal tribute than in the old days, when the golden palanquin was new, when the elephant had splendidhousings, when mace, and javelin, and matchlock-men followed in histrain. Alas! the elephant was sold long ago, and is now the property ofa wealthy _Bunniah_ who has amassed money in the buying and selling ofgrain and oil. The Zemindar may be a man of progress and intelligence, but many are of this broken down and helpless type. 

Holding the lands of the village by hereditary right, by grant, conquest, or purchase, he collects his rents from the villages througha small staff of _peons_, or un-official police. The accounts are keptby another important village functionary--the _putwarrie_, or villageaccountant. _Putwarries_ belong to the writer or _Kayasth_ caste. Theyare probably as clever, and at the same time as unscrupulous as anyclass in India. They manage the most complicated accounts between ryotand landlord with great skill. Their memories are wonderful, but theycan always forget conveniently. Where ryots are numerous, thelandlord's wants pressing, and frequent calls made on the tenantry forpayment, often made in various kinds of grain and produce, the ratesand prices of which are constantly changing, it is easy to imagine thecomplications and intricacies of a _putwarrie's_ account. Each ryotpretty accurately remembers his own particular indebtedness, but woe tohim if he pays the _putwarrie_ the value of a 'red cent' without takinga receipt. Certainly there may be a really honest _putwarrie_, but Ivery much doubt it. The name stands for chicanery and robbery. Onthe one hand the landlord is constantly stirring him up for money, questioning his accounts, and putting him not unfrequently to actualbodily coercion. The ryot on the other hand is constantly inventingexcuses, getting up delays, and propounding innumerable reasons whyhe cannot pay. He will try to forge receipts, he will get up falseevidence that he has already paid, and the wretched _putwarrie_ needsall his native and acquired sharpness, to hold his own. But all ryotsare not alike, and when the _putwarrie_ gets hold of some unwary andignorant bumpkin whom he can plunder, he _does_ plunder himsystematically. All cowherds are popularly supposed to be cattlelifters, and a _putwarrie_ after he has got over the stage of infancy, and has been indoctrinated into all the knavery that his elders canteach him, is supposed to belong to the highest category of villains. Apopular proverb, much used in Behar, says:--

 'Unda poortee, Cowa maro! Iinnum me, billar: Bara burris me, Kayashh marige!! Humesha mara gwar!!'

This is translated thus: 'When the shell is breaking kill the crow, andthe wild cat at its birth. ' A _Kayasth_, writer, or _putwarrie_, may beallowed to live till he is twelve years old, at which time he is sureto have learned rascality. Then kill him; but kill _gwars_ or cowherdsany time, for they are invariably rascals. There is a deal of grimbucolic humour in this, and it very nearly hits the truth. 

The _putwarrie_, then, is an important personage. He has his_cutcherry_, or office, where he and his tribe (for there are alwaysnumbers of his fellow caste men who help him in his books and accounts)squat on their mat on the ground. Each possesses the instruments of hiscalling in the shape of a small brass ink-pot, and an oblong boxcontaining a knife, pencil, and several reeds for pens. Each has abundle of papers and documents before him, this is called his _busta_, and contains all the papers he uses. There they sit, and have fiercesquabbles with the tenantry. There is always some noise about aputwarrie's cutcherry. He has generally some half dozen quarrels onhand, but he trusts to his pen, and tongue, and clever brain. He isessentially a man of peace, hating physical contests, delighting in akeen argument, and an encounter with a plotting, calculating brain. Another proverb says that the putwarrie has as much chance of becominga soldier as a sheep has of success in attacking a wolf. 

The _lohar_, or blacksmith, is very unlike his prototype at home. Hereis no sounding anvil, no dusky shop, with the sparks from the heatediron lighting up its dim recesses. There is little to remind one ofLongfellow's beautiful poem. The _lohar_ sits in the open air. Hishammers and other implements of trade are very primitive. Like allnative handicraftsmen he sits down at his work. His bellows are made oftwo loose bags of sheepskin, lifted alternately by the attendantcoolie. As they lift they get inflated with air; they are then sharplyforced down on their own folds, and the contained air ejected forciblythrough an iron or clay nozzle, into the very small heap of glowingcharcoal which forms the fire. His principal work is making andsharpening the uncouth-looking ploughshares, which look more like flatblunt chisels than anything else. They also make and keep in repair the_hussowahs_, or serrated sickles, with which the crops are cut. Theyare slow at their task, but many of them are ingenious workers inmetal. They are very imitative, and I have seen many English tools andeven gun-locks, made by a common native village blacksmith, that couldnot be surpassed in delicacy of finish by any English smith. It isforeign to our ideas of the brawny blacksmith, to hear that he sits tohis work, but this is the invariable custom. Even carpenters and masonssquat down to theirs. Cheap labour is but an arbitrary term, and acountry smith at home might do the work of ten or twelve men in India;but it is just as well to get an idea of existing differences. On manyof the factories there are very intelligent _mistrees_, which is theterm for the master blacksmith. These men, getting but twenty-four tothirty shillings a month, and supplying themselves with food andclothing, are nevertheless competent to work all the machinery, attendto the engine, and do all the ironwork necessary for the factory. Theywill superintend the staff of blacksmiths; and if the sewing-machine ofthe _mem sahib_, the gun-lock of the _luna sahib_, the lawn-mower, English pump, or other machine gets out of order, requiring any metalwork, the _mistree_ is called in, and is generally competent to putthings to rights. 

[Illustration: CARPENTERS AND BLACKSMITHS AT WORK]

As I have said, every village is a self-contained little commune. Alltrades necessary to supplying the wants of the villagers arerepresented in it. Besides the profits from his actual calling, nearlyevery man except the daily labourer, has a little bit of land which hefarms, so as to eke out his scanty income. All possess a cow or two, afew goats, and probably a pair of plough-bullocks. 

When a dispute arises in the village, should a person be suspected oftheft, should his cattle trespass on his neighbour's growing crop, should he libel some one against whom he has a grudge, or, proceedingto stronger measures, take the law into his own hands and assaulthim, the aggrieved party complains to the head man of the village. In every village the head man is the fountain of justice. He holdshis office sometimes by right of superior wealth, or intelligence, or hereditary succession, not unfrequently by the unanimous wish ofhis fellow-villagers. On a complaint being made to him, he summonsboth parties and their witnesses. The complainant is then allowed tonominate two men, to act as assessors or jurymen on his behalf, hisnominations being liable to challenge by the opposite party. Thedefendant next names two to act on his behalf, and if these areagreed to by both parties, these four, with the head man, form whatis called a _punchayiet_, or council of five, in fact, a jury. Theyexamine the witnesses, and each party to the suit conducts his owncase. The whole village not unfrequently attends to hear what goes on. In a mere caste or private quarrel, only the friends of the partieswill attend. Every case is tried in public, and all the inhabitants ofthe village can hear the proceedings if they wish. Respectableinhabitants can remark on the proceedings, make suggestions, and givean opinion. Public feeling is thus pretty accurately gauged andtested, and the _punchayiet_ agree among themselves on the verdict. Tothe honour of their character for fair play be it said, that thedecision of a _punchayiet_ is generally correct, and is very seldomappealed against. Our complicated system of law, with its delays, itstechnicalities, its uncertainties, and above all its expense, itsstamp duties, its court fees, its bribes to native underlings, and theinnumerable vexations attendant on the administration of justice inour revenue and criminal courts, are repugnant to the villager ofHindostan. They are very litigious, and believe in our desire to givethem justice and protection to life and property; but our courts arefar too costly, our machinery of justice is far too intricate andcomplicated for a people like the Hindoos. 'Justice within the gate'is what they want. It is quite enough admission of the reality of ourrule--that we are the paramount power--that they submit a case to usat all; and all impediments in the way of their getting cheap andspeedy justice should be done away with. A codification of existinglaws, a sweeping away of one half the forms and technicalities that atpresent bewilder the applicant for justice, and altogether a lesslegal and more equitable procedure, having a due regard to efficiencyand the conservation of Imperial interests, should be the aim of ourIndian rulers. More especially should this be the case in ruraldistricts where large interests are concerned, where cases involvedelicate points of law. Our present courts, divested of their hungrycrowd of middlemen and retainers, are right enough; but I would liketo see rural courts for petty cases established, presided over byleading natives, planters, merchants, and men of probity, which wouldin a measure supplement the _punchayiet_ system, which would be easyof access, cheap in their procedure, and with all the impress ofauthority. It is a question I merely glance at, as it does not comewithin the scope of a book like this; but it is well known to everyplanter and European who has come much in contact with the ruralclasses of Hindostan, that there is a vast amount of smoulderingdisaffection, of deep-rooted dislike to, and contempt of, our presentcumbrous costly machinery of law and justice. 

If a villager wishes to level a withering sarcasm at the head of aplausible, talkative fellow, all promise and no performance, readywith tongue but not with purse or service, he calls him a _vakeel_, that is, a lawyer. If he has to cool his heels in your office, orround the factory to get some little business done, to neglect hiswork, to get his rent or produce account investigated, wherever thereis worry, trouble, delay, or difficulty about anything concerning therelations between himself and the factory, the deepest and keenestexpression of discontent and disgust his versatile and acuteimagination can suggest, or his fluent tongue give utterance to is, that this is 'Adanlut lea mafich, ' that is, 'Like a court of justice. 'Could there be a stronger commentary on our judicial institutions?

The world is waking up now rapidly from the lethargic sleep of ages. Men's minds are keenly alive to what is passing; communications aremuch improved; the dissemination of news is rapid; the old race ofbesotted, ignorant tenants, and grasping, avaricious, domineeringtyrants of landlords is fast dying out; and there could be nodifficulty in establishing in such village or district courts as Ihave indicated. All educated respectable Europeans with a stake in thecountry should be made Justices of the Peace, with limited powers totry petty cases. There is a vast material--loyalty, educated minds, anhonest desire to do justice, independence, and a genuine scorn ofeverything pettifogging and underhand--that the Indian Governmentwould do well to utilise. The best friend of the Baboo cannot acquithim of a tendency to temporise, a hankering after finesse, a too fatalfacility to fall under pecuniary temptation. The educated gentlemanplanter of the present day is above suspicion, and before showeringtitles and honours on native gentlemen, elevating them to the bench, and deluging the services with them, it might be worth our rulers'while to utilise, or try to utilise, the experience, loyalty, honour, and integrity of those of our countrymen who might be willing to placetheir services at the disposal of Government. 'India for the Indians'is a very good cry; it sounds well; but it will not do to push it toits logical issue. Unless Indians can govern India wisely and well, inaccordance with modern national ideas, they have no more right toIndia than Hottentots have to the Cape, or the black fellows toAustralia. In my opinion, Hindoos would never govern Hindustan half, quarter, nay, one tithe as well as Englishmen. Make more of yourEnglishmen in India then, make not less of your Baboo if you please, but make more of your Englishmen. Keep them loyal and content. Treatthem kindly and liberally. One Englishman contented, loyal, andindustrious in an Indian district, is a greater pillar of strength tothe Indian Government than ten dozen Baboos or Zemindars, let themhave as many titles, decorations, university degrees, or certificatesof loyalty from junior civilians as they may. Not India for theIndians, but India for Imperial Britain say I. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A native village continued. --The watchman or 'chowkeydar. '--Thetemple. --Brahmins. --Idols. --Religion. --Humility of the poorer classes. --Their low condition. --Their apathy. --The police. --Their extortionsand knavery. --An instance of police rascality. --Corruption of nativeofficials. --The Hindoo unfit for self-government. 

One more important functionary we have yet to notice, the watchman or_chowkeydar_. He is generally a _Doosadh_, or other low caste man, andperambulates the village at night, at intervals uttering a loud cry ora fierce howl, which is caught up and echoed by all the _chowkeydars_of the neighbouring villages. It is a weird, strange sound, cry aftercry echoing far away, distance beyond distance, till it fades intofaintness. At times it is not an unmusical cry, but when he howls outclose to your tent, waking you from your first dreamless sleep, you donot feel it to be so. The _chowkeydar_ has to see that no thievesenter the village by night. He protects the herds and property of thevillagers. If a theft or crime occurs, he must at once report it tothe nearest police station. If you lose your way by night, you shoutout for the nearest _chowkeydar_, and he is bound to pass you on tothe next village. These men get a small gratuity from government, butthe villagers also pay them a small sum, which they assess accordingto individual means. The _chowkeydar_ is generally a ragged, swarthyfellow with long matted hair, a huge iron-bound staff, and always ablue _puggra_. The blue is his official badge. Sometimes he has abrass badge, and carries a sword, a curved, blunt weapon, the handleof which is so small that scarcely an Englishman's hand would be foundto fit it. It is more for show than use, and in thousands of cases, ithas become so fixed in the scabbard that it cannot be drawn. 

[Illustration: HINDOO VILLAGE TEMPLES. ]

In the immediate vicinity of each village, and often in the villageitself, is a small temple sacred to Vishnu or Shiva. It is oftenperched high up on some bank, overlooking the lake or village tank. Generally there is some umbrageous old tree overshadowing the sacredfane, and seated near, reclining in the shade, are several oleaginousold Brahmins. If the weather be hot, they generally wear only the_dhote_ or loin cloth made of fine linen or cotton, and hanging aboutthe legs in not ungraceful folds. The Brahmin can be told by hissacred thread worn round the neck over the shoulder. His skin is muchfairer than the majority of his fellow villagers. It is notunfrequently a pale golden olive, and I have seen them as fair as manyEuropeans. They are intelligent men with acute minds, but lazy andself-indulgent. Frequently the village Brahmin is simply a sensualvoluptuary. This is not the time or place to descant on theirreligion, which, with many gross practices, contains not a little thatis pure and beautiful. The common idea at home that they are miserablepagans, 'bowing down to stocks and stones, ' is, like many of theaccepted ideas about India, very much exaggerated. That the masses, the crude uneducated Hindoos, place some faith in the idol, and expectin some mysterious way that it will influence their fate for good orevil, is not to be denied, but the more intelligent natives, and mostof the Brahmins, only look on the idol as a visible sign and symbol ofthe divinity. They want a vehicle to carry their thoughts upwards toGod, and the idol is a means to assist their thoughts heavenward. Asworks of art their idols are not equal to the fine pictures and othersymbols of the Greeks or the Roman Catholics, but they serve the samepurpose. Where the village is very poor, and no pious founder hasperpetuated his memory, or done honour to the gods by erecting atemple, the natives content themselves with a rough mud shrine, whichthey visit at intervals and daub with red paint. They deposit flowers, pour libations of water or milk, and in other ways strive to shew thata religious impulse is stirring within them. So far as I haveobserved, however, the vast mass of the poor toilers in India havelittle or no religion. Material wants are too pressing. They may havesome dumb, vague aspirations after a higher and a holier life, but thefight for necessaries, for food, raiment, and shelter, is tooincessant for them to indulge much in contemplation. They have a dimidea of a future life, but none of them can give you anything but avery unsatisfactory idea of their religion. They observe certain formsand ceremonies, because their fathers did, and because the Brahminstell them. Of real, vital, practical religion, as we know it, theyhave little or no knowledge. Ask any common labourer or one of the lowcastes about immortality, about salvation, about the higher virtues, about the yearnings and wishes that every immortal soul at periodshas, and he will simply tell you 'Khoda jane, hum greel admi, ' i. E. 'God knows; I am only a poor man!' There they take refuge always whenyou ask them anything puzzling. If you are rating them for a fault, asking them to perform a complicated task, or inquiring your way in astrange neighbourhood, the first answer you get will, ten to one, be'Hum greel admi. ' It is said almost instinctively, and no doubt inmany cases is the refuge of simple disinclination to think the matterout. Pure laziness suggests it. It is too much trouble to frame ananswer, or give the desired information, and the 'greel admi' comesnaturally to the lip. It is often deprecatory, meaning 'I am ignorantand uninformed, ' you must not expect too 'much from a poor, rude, uncultivated man like me. ' It is often, also, a delicate mode offlattery, which is truly oriental, implying, and often conveying in atone, a look, a gesture, that though the speaker is 'greel, ' poor, humble, despised, it is only by contrast to you, the questioner, whoare mighty, exalted, and powerful. For downright fawningobsequiousness, or delicate, implied, fine-strung, subtle flattery, Iwill back a Hindoo sycophant against the courtier or place-hunter ofevery other nation. It is very annoying at times, if you are in ahurry, and particularly want a direct answer to a plain question, tohear the old old story, 'I am a poor man, ' but there is nothing for itbut patience. You must ask again plainly and kindly. The poorerclasses are easily flurried; they will always give what informationthey have if kindly spoken to, but you must not fluster them. You mustrouse their minds to think, and let them fairly grasp the purport ofyour inquiry, for they are very suspicious, often pondering over yourobject, carefully considering all the pros and cons as to your motive, inclination, or your position. Many try to give an answer that theythink would be pleasing to you. If they think you are weary and tired, and you ask your distance from the place you may be wishing to reach, they will ridiculously underestimate the length of road. A man mayhave all the cardinal virtues, but if they think you do not like him, and you ask his character, they will paint him to you blacker thanSatan himself. It is very hard to get the plain, unvarnished truthfrom a Hindoo. Many, indeed, are almost incapable of giving anintelligent answer to any question that does not nearly concern theirown private and purely personal interests. They have a sordid, grubbing, vegetating life, many of them indeed are but little abovethe brute creation. They have no idea beyond the supply of the mereanimal wants of the moment. The future never troubles them. They livetheir hard, unlovely lives, and experience no pleasures and nosurprises. They have few regrets; their minds are mere blanks, andlife is one long continued struggle with nature for bare subsistence. What wonder then that they are fatalists? They do not speculate on themysteries of existence, they are content to be, to labour, to suffer, to die when their time comes like a dog, because it is _Kismet_--theirfate. Many of them never strive to avert any impending calamity, such, for example, as sickness. A man sickens, he wraps himself in stolidapathy, he makes no effort to shake of his malady, he accepts it withsullen, despairing, pathetic resignation as his fate. His friendsmourn in their dumb, despairing way, but they too accept thesituation. He has no one to rouse him. If you ask him what is thematter, he only wails out, 'Hum kya kurre?' What can I do? I amunwell. No attempt whatever to tell you of the origin of his illness, no wish even for sympathy or assistance. He accepts the fact of hisillness. He struggles not with Fate. It is so ordained. Why fightagainst it? Amen; so let it be. I have often been saddened to see poortoiling tenants struck down in this way. Even if you give themmedicine, they often have not energy enough to take it. You must seethem take it before your eyes. It is _your_ struggle not theirs. _You_must rouse them, by _your_ will. _Your_ energy must compel _them_ tomake an attempt to combat their weakness. Once you rouse a man, andinfuse some spirit into him, he may resist his disease, but it is ahard fight to get him to TRY. What a meaning in that one word TRY! TOACT. TO DO. The average poor suffering native Hindoo knows nothing ofit. 

Of course their moods vary. They have their 'high days and holidays, 'feasts, processions, and entertainments; but on the whole the averageryot or small cultivator has a hard life. 

In every village there are generally bits of uncultivated or junglelands, on which the village herds have a right of pasture. The cowbeing a sacred animal, they only use her products, milk and butter. The urchins may be seen in the morning driving long strings ofemaciated looking animals to the village pasture, which in the eveningwend their weary way backwards through the choking dust, having hadbut 'short commons' all the day on the parched and scanty herbage. 

The police are too often a source of annoyance, and becomeextortionate robbers, instead of the protectors of the poor. It seemsto be inherent in the Oriental mind to abuse authority. I do notscruple to say that all the vast army of policemen, court peons, writers, clerks, messengers, and underlings of all sorts, about thecourts of justice, in the service of government officers, or in anyway attached to the retinue of a government official, one and all areundeniably shamelessly venal and corrupt. They accept a bribe muchmore quickly than an attorney a fee, or a hungry dog a shin of beef. If a policeman only enters a village he expects a feast from the headman, and will ask a present with unblushing effrontery as a perquisiteof his office. If a theft is reported, the inspector of the nearestpolice-station, or _thanna_ as it is called, sends one of hismyrmidons, or, if the chance of bribes be good, he may attend himself. On arrival, ambling on his broken-kneed, wall-eyed pony, he seatshimself in the verandah of the chief man of the village, whoforthwith, with much inward trepidation, makes his appearance. Thepoliceman assumes the air of a haughty conqueror receiving homage froma conquered foe. He assures the trembling wretch that, 'acting oninformation received, ' he must search his dwelling for the missinggoods, and that his women's apartments will have to be ransacked, andso annoys, goads, and insults the unfortunate man, that he is too gladto purchase immunity from further insolence by making the policeman asmall present, perhaps a 'kid of the goats, ' or something else. Theguardian of the peace is then regaled with the best food in the house, after which he is 'wreathed with smiles. ' If he sees a chance of afarther bribe, he takes his departure saying he will make his reportto the _thanna_. He repeats his procedure with some of the otherrespectable inhabitants, and goes back a good deal richer than hecame, to share the spoil with the _thannadar_ or inspector. 

Another man may then be sent, and the same course is followed, untilall the force in the station have had their share. The ryot is afraidto resist. The police have tremendous powers for annoying and doinghim harm. A crowd of subservient scoundrels always hangs round thestation, dependents, relations, or accomplices. These harry the poorman who is unwise enough to resist the extortionate demands of thepolice. They take his cattle to the pound, foment strife between himand his neighbours, get up frivolous and false charges against him, harass him in a thousand ways, and if all else fails, get him summonedas a witness in some case. You might think a witness a person to betreated with respect, to be attended to, to have every facilityoffered him for giving his evidence at the least cost of time andtrouble possible, consistent with the demands of justice, and thevindication of law and authority. 

Not so in India with the witness in a police case, when the forcedislike him. If he has not previously satisfied their leech-likerapacity, he is tormented, tortured, bullied, and kicked 'from pillarto post, ' till his life becomes a burden to him. He has to leave allhis avocations, perhaps at the time when his affairs require hisconstant supervision. He has to trudge many a weary mile to attend theCourt. The police get hold of him, and keep him often in real durance. He gets no opportunity for cooking or eating his food. His dailyhabits are upset and interfered with. In every little vexatious way(and they are masters of the art of petty torture) they so worry andgoad him, that the very threat of being summoned as a witness in apolice case, is often enough to make the horrified well-to-do nativegive a handsome gratuity to be allowed to sit quietly at home. 

This is no exaggeration. It is the every day practice of the police. They exercise a real despotism. They have set up a reign of terror. The nature of the ryot is such, that he will submit to a great deal toavoid having to leave his home and his work. The police take fulladvantage of this feeling, and being perfectly unscrupulous, insatiably rapacious, and leagued together in villany, they make agolden harvest out of every case put into their hands. They have madethe name of justice stink in the nostrils of the respectable andwell-to-do middle classes of India. 

The District Superintendents are men of energy and probity, but afterall they are only mortal. What with accounts, inspections, reports, forms, and innumerable writings, they cannot exercise a constantvigilance and personal supervision over every part of their district. A district may comprise many hundred villages, thousands ofinhabitants, and leagues of intricate and densely peopled country. Themere physical exertion of riding over his district would be too muchfor any man in about a week. The subordinate police are all interestedin keeping up the present system of extortion, and the inspectors andsub-inspectors, who wink at malpractices, come in for their share ofthe spoil. There is little combination among the peasantry. Eachselfishly tries to save his own skin, and they know that if any oneindividual were to complain, or to dare to resist, he would have tobear the brunt of the battle alone. None of his neighbours would stira finger to back him; he is too timid and too much in awe of theofficial European, and constitutionally too averse to resistance, todo aught but suffer in silence. No doubt he feels his wrongs mostkeenly, and a sullen feeling of hate and wrong is being garnered up, which may produce results disastrous for the peace and wellbeing ofour empire in the East. 

As a case in point, I may mention one instance out of many which cameunder my own observation. I had a _moonshee_, or accountant, in one ofmy outworks in Purneah. Formerly, when the police had come through thefactory, he had been in the habit of giving them a present and somefood. Under my strict orders, however, that no policemen were to beallowed near the place unless they came on business, he haddiscontinued paying his black mail. This was too glaring aninfringement of what they considered their vested rights to be passedover in silence. Example might spread. My man must be made an exampleof. I had a case in the Court of the Deputy Magistrate some twentymiles or so from the factory. The moonshee had been named as a witnessto prove the writing of some papers filed in the suit. They got acitation for him to appear, a mere summons for his attendance as awitness. Armed with this, they appeared at the factory two or threedays before the date fixed on for hearing the cause. I had just riddenin from Purneah, tired, hot, and dusty, and was sitting in the shadeof the verandah with young D. , my assistant. One policeman first cameup, presented the summons, which I took, and he then stated that itwas a _warrant_ for the production of my moonshee, and that he musttake him away at once. I told the man it was merely a summons, requiring the attendance of the moonshee on a certain date, to giveevidence in the case. He was very insolent in his manner. It iscustomary when a Hindoo of inferior rank appears before you, that heremoves his shoes, and stands before you in a respectful attitude. This man's headdress was all disarranged, which in itself is a sign ofdisrespect. He spoke loudly and insolently; kept his shoes on; and satdown squatting on the grass before me. My assistant was veryindignant, and wanted to speak to the man; but rightly judging thatthe object was to enrage me, and trap me into committing some overtact, that would be afterwards construed against me, I kept my temper, spoke very firmly but temperately, told him my moonshee was doing somework of great importance, that I could not spare his services then, but that I would myself see that the summons was attended to. Thepoliceman became more boisterous and insolent. I offered to give him aletter to the magistrate, acknowledging the receipt of the summons, and I asked him his own name, which he refused to give. I asked him ifhe could read, and he said he could not. I then asked him if he couldnot read, how could he know what was in the paper which he hadbrought, and how he knew my moonshee was the party meant. He said achowkeydar had told him so. I asked where was the chowkeydar, andseeing from my coolness and determination that the game was up, heshouted out, and from round the corner of the huts came anotherpoliceman, and two village chowkeydars from a distance. They hadevidently been hiding, observing all that passed, and meaning to actas witnesses against me, if I had been led by the first scoundrel'sbehaviour to lose my temper. The second man was not such a brute asthe first, and when I proceeded to ask their names and all about them, and told them I meant to report them to their superintendent, theybecame somewhat frightened, and tried to make excuses. 

I told them to be off the premises at once, offering to take thesummons, and give a receipt for it, but they now saw that they hadmade a mistake in trying to bully me, and made off at once. Mark thesequel. The day before the case was fixed on for hearing, I sent offthe moonshee who was a witness of my own, and his evidence wasnecessary to my proving my case. I supplied him with travellingexpenses, and he started. On his way to the Court he had to pass the_thanna_, or police-station. The police were on the watch. He wasseized as he passed. He was confined all that night and all thefollowing day. For want of his evidence I lost my case, and havingthus achieved one part of their object to pay me off, they let mymoonshee go, after insult and abuse, and with threats of futurevengeance should he ever dare to thwart or oppose them. This waspretty 'hot' you think, but it was not all. Fearing my complaint tothe superintendent, or to the authorities, might get them intotrouble, they laid a false charge against me, that I had obstructedthem in the discharge of their duty, that I had showered abuse onthem, used threatening language, and insulted the majesty of the lawby tearing up and spitting upon the respected summons of Her Majesty. On this complaint I was accordingly summoned into Purneah. The chargewas a tissue of the most barefaced lies, but I had to ride fifty-fourmiles in the burning sun, ford several rivers, and undergo muchfatigue and discomfort. My work was of course seriously interferedwith. I had to take in my assistant as witness, and one or two of theservants who had been present. I was put to immense trouble, and nolittle expense, to say nothing of the indignation which I naturallyfelt, and all because I had set my face against a well known evil, andwas determined not to submit to impudent extortion. Of course the casebroke down. They contradicted themselves in almost every particular. The second constable indeed admitted that I had offered them a letterto the magistrate, and had not moved out of the verandah during thecolloquy. I was honourably acquitted, and had the satisfaction ofseeing the lying rascals put into the dock by the indignant magistrateand prosecuted summarily for getting up a false charge and givingfalse evidence. It was a lesson to the police in those parts, and theydid not dare to trouble me much afterwards; but it is only oneinstance out of hundreds I could give, and which every planter haswitnessed of the barefaced audacity, the shameless extortion, theunblushing lawlessness of the rural police of India. 

It is a gigantic evil, but surely not irremediable. By adding moreEuropean officers to the force; by educating the people and makingthem more intelligent, independent, and self-reliant, much may be doneto abate the evil, but at present it is admittedly a foul ulcer on theadministration of justice under our rule. The menial who serves asummons, gets a decree of Court to execute, or is entrusted with anyorder of an official nature, expects to be bribed to do his duty. Ifhe does not get his fee, he will throw such impediments in the way, raise such obstacles, and fashion such delays, that he completelyfoils every effort to procure justice through a legal channel. Nowonder a native hates our English Courts. Our English officials, letit be plainly understood, are above suspicion. It needs not my poortestimony to uphold their character for high honour, loyal integrity, and zealous eagerness to do 'justly, and to walk uprightly. ' They areunwearied in their efforts to get at truth, and govern wisely; but oursystem of law is totally unsuited for Orientals. It is made a mediumfor chicanery and trickery of the most atrocious form. Most of thenative underlings are utterly venal and corrupt. Increased pay doesnot mean decrease of knavery. Cheating, and lying, and taking bribes, and abuse of authority are ingrained into their very souls; and allthe cut and dry formulas of namby pamby philanthropists, the inanemaunderings of stay-at-home sentimentalists, the wise saws ofself-opinionated theorists, who know nothing of the Hindoo as hereally shews himself to us in daily and hourly contact with him, willever persuade me that native, as opposed to English rule, would beproductive of aught but burning oppression and shameless venality, orwould end in anything but anarchy and chaos. 

It sounds very well in print, and increases the circulation of a paperor two among the Baboos, to cry out that our task is to elevate theoppressed and ignorant millions of the East, to educate them intoself-government, to make them judges, officers, lawgivers, governorsover all the land. To vacate our place and power, and let the Babooand the Bunneah, to whom we have given the glories of Westerncivilization, rule in our place, and guide the fortunes of thesetoiling millions who owe protection and peace to our fostering rule. It is a noble sentiment to resign wealth, honour, glory, and power; togive up a settled government; to alter a policy that has welded theconflicting elements of Hindustan into one stable whole; to throw upour title of conqueror, and disintegrate a mighty empire. For what? Asprinkling of thinly-veneered, half-educated natives, want a share ofthe loaves and fishes in political scrambling, and a few inane peopleof the 'man and brother' type, cry out at home to let them have theirway. 

No. Give the Hindoo education, equal laws, protection to life andproperty; develop the resources of the country; foster all the virtuesyou can find in the native mind; but till you can give him the energy, the integrity, the singleness of purpose, the manly, honourablestraightforwardness of the Anglo-Saxon; his scorn of meanness, trickery, and fraud; his loyal single-heartedness to do right; hiscontempt for oppression of the weak; his self-dependence; his probity. But why go on? When you make Hindoos honest, truthful, God-fearingEnglishmen, you can let them govern themselves; but as soon 'may theleopard change his spots, ' as the Hindoo his character. He is whollyunfit for self-government; utterly opposed to honest, truthful, stablegovernment at all. Time brings strange changes, but the wisdom whichhas governed the country hitherto, will surely be able to meet the newdemand that may be made upon it in the immediate present, or in thefar distant future. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Jungle wild fruits. --Curious method of catching quail. --Quail nets. --Quail caught in a blacksmith's shop. --Native wrestling. --Thetrainer. --How they train for a match. --Rules of wrestling. --Grips. --A wrestling match. --Incidents of the struggle. --Description of amatch between a Brahmin and a blacksmith. --Sparring for the grip. --Theblacksmith has it. --The struggle. --The Brahmin getting the worst ofit. --Two to one on the little 'un!--The Brahmin plays the waitinggame, turns the tables _and_ the blacksmith. --Remarks on wrestling. 

A peculiarity in the sombre sal jungles is the scarcity of wild fruit. At home the woods are filled with berries and fruit-bearing bushes. Who among my readers has not a lively recollection of bramble hunting, nutting, or merry expeditions for blueberries, wild strawberries, raspberries, and other wild fruits? You might walk many a mile throughthe sal jungles without meeting fruit of any kind, save the dry andtasteless wild fig, or the sickly mhowa. 

There are indeed very few jungle fruits that I have ever come across. There is one acid sort of plum called the _Omra_, which makes a goodpreserve, but is not very nice to eat raw. The _Gorkah_ is a small redberry, very sweet and pleasant, slightly acid, not unlike a redcurrant in fact, and with two small pips or stones. The Nepaulese callit _Bunchooree_. It grows on a small stunted-looking bush, with fewbranches, and a pointed leaf, in form resembling the acacia leaf, butnot so large. 

The _Glaphur_ is a brown, round fruit; the skin rather crisp and hard, and of a dull earthy colour, not unlike that of a common boiledpotato. The inside is a stringy, spongy-looking mass, with small seedsembedded in a gummy viscid substance. The taste is exactly like analmond, and it forms a pleasant mouthful if one is thirsty. 

Travelling one day along one of the glades I have mentioned asdividing the strips of jungle, I was surprised to see a man before mein a field of long stubble, with a cloth spread over his head, and twosticks projecting in front at an obtuse angle to his body, forminghorn-like projections, on which the ends of his cloth twistedspirally, were tied. I thought from his curious antics and movements, that he must be mad, but I soon discovered that there was method inhis madness. He was catching quail. The quail are often very numerousin the stubble fields, and the natives adopt very ingenious devicesfor their capture. This was one I was now witnessing. Coveringthemselves with their cloth as I have described, the projecting endsof the two sticks representing the horns, they simulate all themovements of a cow or bull. They pretend to paw up the earth, tosstheir make-believe horns, turn round and pretend to scratchthemselves, and in fact identify themselves with the animal they arerepresenting; and it is irresistibly comic to watch a solitaryperformer go through this _al fresco_ comedy. I have laughed often atsome cunning old herdsman, or shekarry. When they see you watchingthem, they will redouble their efforts, and try to represent an oldbull, going through all his pranks and practices, and throw you intoconvulsions of laughter. 

Round two sides of the field, they have previously put fine nets, andat the apex they have a large cage with a decoy quail inside, orperhaps a pair. The quail is a running bird, disinclined for flightexcept at night; in the day-time they prefer running to using theirwings. The idiotic looking old cow, as we will call the hunter, hasall his wits about him. He proceeds very slowly and warily, his keeneye detects the coveys of quail, which way they are running; his rusegenerally succeeds wonderfully. He is no more like a cow, than thatrespectable animal is like a cucumber; but he paws, and tosses, andmoves about, pretends to eat, to nibble here, and switch his tailthere, and so manoeuvres as to keep the running quail away from theunprotected edges of the field. When they get to the verge protectedby the net, they begin to take alarm; they are probably not verycertain about the peculiar looking 'old cow' behind them, and runningalong the net, they see the decoy quails evidently feeding in greatsecurity and freedom. The V shaped mouth of the large basket cagelooks invitingly open. The puzzling nets are barring the way, and the'old cow' is gradually closing up behind. As the hunter moves along, Ishould have told you, he rubs two pieces of dry hard sticks gently upand down his thigh with one hand, producing a peculiar crepitation, acrackling sound, not sufficient to startle the birds into flight, butalarming them enough to make them get out of the way of the 'old cow. 'One bolder than the others, possibly the most timid of the covey, irritated by the queer crackling sound, now enters the basket, theothers follow like a flock of sheep; and once in, the puzzling shapeof the entrance prevents their exit. Not unfrequently the hunter bagstwenty or even thirty brace of quail in one field, by this ridiculouslooking but ingenious method. 

The small quail net is also sometimes used for the capture of hares. The natives stretch the net in the jungle, much as they do the largenets for deer described in a former chapter; forming a line, they thenbeat up the hares, of which there are no stint. My friend Pat oncemade a novel haul. His _lobarkhanna_ or blacksmith's shop was close toa patch of jungle, and Pat often noticed numbers of quail runningthrough the loose chinks and crevices of the walls, in the morningwhen anyone went into the place for the first time; this was at afactory called Rajpore. Pat came to the conclusion, that as theblacksmith's fires smouldered some time after work was discontinued atnight, and as the atmosphere of the hut was warmer and more genialthan the cold, foggy, outside air, for it was in the cold season, thequail probably took up their quarters in the hut for the night, onaccount of the warmth and shelter. One night therefore he got some ofhis servants, and with great caution and as much silence as possible, they let down a quantity of nets all round the lobarkhanna, and in themorning they captured about twenty quails. 

The quail is very pugnacious, and as they are easily trained to fight, they are very common pets with the natives, who train and keep them topit them against each other, and bet what they can afford on theresult. A quail fight, a battle between two trained rams, a cockfight, even an encounter between trained tamed buffaloes, are verycommon spectacles in the villages; but the most popular sport is agood wrestling match. 

The dwellers in the Presidency towns, and indeed in most of the largestations, seldom see an exhibition of this kind; but away in theremote interior, near the frontier, it is very popular pastime, andwrestling is a favourite with all classes. Such manly sport is ratheropposed to the commonly received idea at home, of the mild Hindoo. Innearly every village of Behar however, and all along the borders ofNepaul, there is, as a rule, a bit of land attached to the residenceof some head man, or the common property of the commune, set apart forthe practice of athletic sports, chief of which is the favourite_khoosthee_ or wrestling. There is generally some wary old veteran, who has won his spurs, or laurels, or belt, or whatever you choose tocall it, in many a hard fought and well contested tussle for thechampionship of his little world; he is 'up to every dodge, ' and knowsevery feint and guard, every wile and tactic of the wrestling ground. It is generally in some shady grove, secluded and cool; here of anevening when the labours of the day are over, the most stalwart sonsof the hamlet meet, to test each others skill and endurance in afriendly _shake_. The old man puts them through the preliminarypractice, shows them every trick at his command, and attends strictlyto their training and various trials. The ground is dug knee deep, andforms a soft, good holding stand. I have often looked on at thisevening practice, and it would astonish a stranger, who cannotunderstand strength, endurance, and activity being attributed to a'mere nigger, ' to see the severe training these young lads impose uponthemselves. They leap into the air, and suddenly assume a sittingposition, then leap up again and squat down with a force that wouldseem to jerk every bone in their bodies out of its place; this gets upthe muscles of the thighs. Some lie down at full length, only touchingthe ground with the extreme tips of their toes, their arms doubled upunder them, and sustaining the full weight of the body on the extendedpalms of the hands. They then sway themselves backwards and forwardsto their full length, never shifting hand or toe, till they are bathedin perspiration; they keep up a uniform steady backward and forwardmovement, so as to develop the muscles of the arms, chest, and back. They practice leaping, running, and lifting weights. Some standing attheir full height, brace up the muscles of the shoulder and upper arm, and then leaping up, allow themselves to fall to earth on the tenselystrung muscles of the shoulder. This severe exercise gets the musclesinto perfect form, and few, very few indeed of our untrained youths, could cope in a dead lock, or fierce struggle, with a good villageHindoo or Mussulman in active training, and having any knowledge ofthe tricks of the wrestling school. No hitting is allowed. The Hindoosystem of wrestling is the perfection of science and skill; mere deadweight of course will always tell in a close grip, but the catches, the holds, the twists and dodges that are practised, allow for thefullest development of cultivated skill, as against mere brute force. The system is purely a scientific one. The fundamental rule is 'catchwhere you can, ' only you must not clutch the hair or strike with thefists. 

The loins are tightly girt with a long waist-belt or _kummerbund_ ofcloth, which, passed repeatedly between the limbs and round the loins, sufficiently braces up and protects that part of the body. In somematches you are not allowed to clutch this waist cloth or belt, insome villages it is allowed; the custom varies in various places, butwhat is a fair grip, and what is not, is always made known before thecompetitors engage. A twist, or grip, or dodge, is known as a_paench_. This literally means a screw or twist, but in wrestlingphraseology, means any grip by which you can get such an advantageover your opponent as to defeat him. For every paench there is acounter paench. A throw is considered satisfactory when BOTH shouldersof your opponent touch the ground simultaneously. The old _khalifa_ ortrainer takes a great interest in the progress of his _chailas_ orpupils. _Chaila_ really means disciple or follower. Every khalifa hashis favourite paenches or grips, which have stood him in good stead inhis old battling days; he teaches these paenches to his pupils, sothat when you get young fellows from different villages to meet, yousee a really fine exhibition of wrestling skill. There is littletripping, as amongst our wrestlers at home; a dead-lock is uncommon. The rival wrestlers generally bound into the ring, slapping theirthighs and arms with a loud resounding slap. They lift their legs highup from the ground with every step, and scheme and manoeuvre sometimesfor a long while to get the best corner; they try to get the sun intotheir adversaries eyes; they scan the appearance and every movement oftheir opponent. The old wary fellows take it very coolly, and if theycan't get the desired side of the ground, they keep hopping about likea solemn old ostrich, till the impetuosity or impatience of their foeleads him to attack. They remind you for all the world of a pair ofgame cocks, their bodies are bent, their heads almost touching. Thereis a deal of light play with the hands, each trying to get the otherby the wrist or elbow, or at the back of the head round the neck. Ifone gets the other by a finger even, it is a great advantage, as hewould whip nimbly round, and threaten to break the impounded finger;this would be considered quite fair. One will often suddenly drop onhis knees and try to reach the ankles of his adversary. I have seen aslippery customer, stoop suddenly down, grasp up a handful of dust, and throw it into the eyes of his opponent. It was done with thequickness of thought, but it was detected, and on an appeal by thesufferer, the knave was well thrashed by the onlookers. 

There are many professionals who follow no other calling. Wrestlersare kept by Rajahs and wealthy men, who get up matches. Frequently onevillage will challenge another, like our village cricket clubs. Thevillagers often get up small subscriptions, and purchase a silverarmlet or bracelet, the prize him who shall hold his own against allcomers. The 'Champion's Belt' scarcely calls forth greatercompetition, keener rivalry, or better sport. It is at once the mostmanly and most scientific sport in which the native indulges. Adisputed fall sometimes terminates in a general free fight, when thebackers of the respective men lay on the stick to each other withmutual hate and hearty lustiness. 

It is not by any means always the strongest who wins. The man whoknows the most paenches, who is agile, active, cool, and careful, willnot unfrequently overthrow an antagonist twice his weight andstrength. All the wrestlers in the country-side know each other'squalifications pretty accurately, and at a general match got up by aZemindar or planter, or by public subscription, it is generally safeto let them handicap the men who are ready to compete for the prizes. We used generally to put down a few of the oldest professors, and letthem pit couples against each other; the sport to the onlookers wasmost exciting. Between the men themselves as a rule, the utmost goodhumour reigns, they strive hard to win, but they accept a defeat withsmiling resignation. It is only between rival village champions, different caste men, or worse still, men of differing religions, suchas a Hindoo and a Mahommedan, that there is any danger of a fight. Adisturbance is a rare exception, but I have seen a few wrestlingmatches end in a regular general scrimmage, with broken heads, andeven fractured limbs. With good management however, and an efficientbody of men to guard against a breach of the peace, this need neveroccur. 

It rarely takes much trouble to get up a match. If you tell your headmen that you would like to see one, say on a Saturday afternoon, theypass the word to the different villages, and at the appointed time, all the finest young fellows and most of the male population, led bytheir head man, with the old trainer in attendance, are at theappointed place. The competitors are admitted within the enclosure, and round it the rows of spectators packed twenty deep squat on theground, and watch the proceedings with deep interest. 

While the _Punchayiet_, a picked council, are taking down the names ofintending competitors, finding out about their form and performances, and assigning to each his antagonist, the young men throw themselveswith shouts and laughter into the ring, and go through all theevolutions and postures of the training ground. They bound about, tryall sorts of antics and contortions, display wonderful agility andactivity; it is a pretty sight to see, and one can't help admiringtheir vigorous frames, and graceful proportions. They are handsome, well made, supple, wiry fellows, although they be NIGGERS, and Hodgeand Giles at home would not have a chance with them in a fairwrestling bout, conducted according to their own laws and customs. 

The entries are now all made, places and pairs are arranged, and tothe ear-splitting thunder of two or three tom-toms, two pair ofstrapping youngsters step into the ring; they carefully scan eachother, advance, shake hands, or salaam, leisurely tie up their backhair, slap their muscles, rub a little earth over their shoulders andarms, so that their adversary may have a fair grip, then step by stepslowly and gradually they near each other. A few quick passages arenow interchanged; the lithe supple fingers twist and intertwine, gripsare formed on arm and neck. The postures change each moment, and are astudy for an anatomist or sculptor. As they warm to their work theyget more reckless; they are only the raw material, the untrained lads. There is a quick scuffle, heaving, swaying, rocking, and struggling, and the two victors, leaping into the air, and slapping their chests, bound back into the gratified circle of their comrades, while the twodiscomfited athletes, forcing a rueful smile, retire and 'take a backseat. ' Two couple of more experienced hands now face each other. Thereis pretty play this time, as the varying changes of the contest bringforth ever varying displays of skill and science. The crowd shout asan advantage is gained, or cry out 'Hi, hi' in a doubtful manner, astheir favourite seems to be getting the worst of it. The resulthowever is much the same; after a longer or shorter time, two getfairly thrown and retire. If there is any dispute, it is at oncereferred to the judges, who sit grimly watching the struggle, andcomparing the paenches displayed, with those they themselves havepractised in many a well-won fight. On a reference being made, bothcombatants retain their exact hold and position, only cease straining. As soon as the matter is settled, they go at it again till victorydetermine in favour of the lucky man. In no similar contest in EnglandI am convinced would there be so much fairness, quietness, and order. The only stimulants in the crowd are betel nut and tobacco. All isorderly and calm, and at any moment a word from the sahib will quellany rising turbulence. It is now time for a still more scientificexhibition. 

Pat has a man, a tall, wiry, handsome Brahmin, who has never yet beenbeaten. Young K. Has long been jealous of his uniform success, and onseveral occasions has brought an antagonist to battle with Pat'schampion. To-day he has got a sturdy young blacksmith, whom rumourhath much vaunted, and although he is not so tall as Pat's wrestler, his square, deep chest and stalwart limbs, give promise of greatstrength and endurance. 

As the two men strip and bound into the ring, there is the usual hushof anticipation. Keen eyes scan the appearance of the antagonists. They are both models of manly beauty. The blacksmith, though moreawkward in his motions, has a cool, determined look about him. TheBrahmin, conscious of his reputation, walks quickly up, with a smileof rather ostentatious condescension on his finely cut features, andoffers his hand to the blacksmith. The little man is evidentlysuspicious. He thinks this may be a deeply laid trap to get a gripupon him. Nor does he like the bland patronising manner of'Roopuarain, ' so he surlily draws back, at which there is a roar oflaughter from the. Crowd, in which we cannot help joining. 

K. Now comes forward, and pats his 'fancy man' on the back. The twowrestlers thereupon shake hands, and then in the usual manner bothwarily move backwards and forwards, till amid cries from theonlookers, the blacksmith makes a sudden dash at the practised oldplayer, and in a moment has him round the waist. 

He evidently depended on his superior strength. For a moment he fairlylifted Roopnarain clean off his legs, swayed him to and fro, and witha mighty strain tried to throw him to the ground. Bending to thenotes, Roopnarain allowed himself to yield, till his feet touched theground, then crouching like a panther, he bounded forward, and gettinghis leg behind that of the blacksmith, by a deft side twist he nearlythrew him over. The little fellow, however, steadied himself on theground with one hand, recovered his footing, and again had the Brahminfirmly locked in his tenacious hold. Roopuarain did not like the grip. These were not the tactics he was accustomed to. While the othertugged and strained, he, quietly yielding his lithe lissome frame toevery effort, tried hard with obstinate endeavour to untwist the handsthat held him firmly locked. It was beautiful play to see the mutehands of both the wrestlers feeling, tearing, twisting at each other, but the grasp was too firm, and, taking advantage of a momentarymovement, Roopnarain got his elbow under the other's chin, thenleaning forward, he pressed his opponent's head backward, and thestrain began to tell. He fought fiercely, he struggled hard, but thedetermined elbow was not to be baulked, and to save himself from anoverthrow the blacksmith was forced to relax his hold, and sprangnimbly back beyond reach, to mature another attack. Roopnarain quietlywalked round, rubbed his shoulders with earth, and with the samemocking smile, stood leaning forward, his hands on his knees, waitingfor a fresh onset. 

This time the young fellow was more cautious. He found he had nonovice to deal with, and the Brahmin was not at all anxious toprecipitate matters. By a splendid feint, after some pretty sparringfor a grip, the youngster again succeeded in getting a hold on theBrahmin, and wheeling round quick as lightning, got behind Roopnarain, and with a dexterous trip threw the tall man heavily on his face. Hethen tried to get him by the ankle, and bending his leg up backwards, he would have got a purchase for turning him on his back. The old manwas, however, 'up to this move. ' He lay extended flat on his chest, his legs wide apart. As often as the little one bent down to grasp hisankle, he would put out a hand stealthily, and silently as a snake, and endeavour to get the little man's leg in his grasp. Thisnecessitated a change of position, and round and round they spun, eachtrying to get hold of the other by the leg or foot. The blacksmith gothis knee on the neck of the Brahmin, and by sheer strength triedseveral times with a mighty heave to turn his opponent. It was no use, however, it is next to impossible to throw a man when he is lying flatout as the Brahmin now was. It is difficult enough to turn the deadweight of a man in that position, and when he is straining every nerveto resist the accomplishment of your object it becomes altogetherimpracticable. The excitement in the crowd was intense. The verydrummer--I ought to call him a tom-tomer--had ceased to beat histom-tom. Pat's lips were firmly pressed together, and K. Was tremblingwith suppressed excitement. The heaving chests and profuseperspiration bedewing the bodies of both combatants, told how severehad been their exertions. The blacksmith seemed gathering himself upfor a mighty effort, when, quick as light, the Brahmin drew his limbstogether, was seen to arch his back, and with a sudden backwardmovement, seemed to glide from under his dashing assailant, andquicker than it takes me to write it, the positions were reversed. 

The Brahmin was now above, and the blacksmith taking in the alteredaspect of affairs at a glance, threw himself flat on the ground, andtried the same tactics as his opponent. The different play of the twomen now came strongly into relief. Instead of exhausting himself withuseless efforts, Roopnarain, while keeping a wary eye on everymovement of his prostrate foe, contented himself while he took breath, with coolly and and yet determinedly making his grip secure. Puttingout one leg then within reach of his opponent's hand, as a lure, hesaw the blacksmith stretch forth to grasp the tempting hold. 

Quicker than the dart of the python, the fierce onset of the kinglytiger, the sudden flash of the forked and quivering lightning, was thegrasp made at the outstretched arm by the practised Brahmin. Histenacious fingers closed tightly round the other's wrist. One suddenwrench, and he had the blacksmith's arm bent back and powerless, helddown on the little fellow's own shoulders. Pat smiled a derisivesmile, K. Uttered what was not a benison, while the Brahmins in thecrowd, and all Pat's men, raised a truly Hindoo howl. The position ofthe men was now this. The stout little man was flat on his face, oneof his arms bent helplessly round on his own back. Roopnarain, calmand cool as ever, was astride the prostrate blacksmith, placidlysurveying the crowd. The little man writhed, and twisted, andstruggled, he tried with his legs to entwine himself with those of theBrahmin. He tried to spin round; the Brahmin was watching with the eyeof a hawk for a grip of the other arm, but it was closely drawn in, and firmly pressed in safety under the heaving chest of theblacksmith. The muscles were of steel; it could not be dislodged: thatwas seen at a glance. The calmness and placidity of the old athletewas surprising, it was wonderful. Still bending the imprisoned armfurther back, he put his knee on the neck of the poor little hero, game as a pebble through it all, and by a strong steady strain triedto bend him over, till we thought either the poor fellow's neck mustbreak, or his arm be torn from its socket. 

He endured all without a murmur. Not a chance did he throw away. Onceor twice he made a splendid effort, once he tried to catch the Brahminagain by the leg. Roopnarain pounced down, but the arm was as quicklywithin its shield. It was now but a question of time and endurance. Every dodge that he was master of did the Brahmin bring into play. They were both in perfect training, muscles as hard as steel, everynerve and sinew strained to the utmost tension. Roopnarain actuallytried tickling his man, but he would not give him a chance. At lengthhe got his hand in the bent elbow of the free arm, and slowly, andlaboriously forced it out. There were tremendous spurts and struggles, but patient determination was not to be baulked. Slowly the arm cameup over the back, the struggle was tremendous, but at length both thepoor fellow's arms were tightly pinioned behind his back. He waspowerless now. The Brahmin drew the two arms backwards, towards thehead of the poor little fellow, and he was bound to come over or haveboth his arms broken. With a hoarse cry of sobbing-pain and shame, thebrave little man came over, both shoulders on the mould, and thescientific old veteran was again the victor. 

This is but a very faint description of a true wrestling bout amongthe robust dwellers in these remote villages. It may seem cruel, butit is to my mind the perfection of muscular strength and skill, combined with keen subtle, intellectual acuteness. It brings everyfaculty of mind and body into play, it begets a healthy, honest loveof fair play, and an admiration of endurance and pluck, two qualitiesof which Englishmen certainly can boast. Strength without skill andtraining will not avail. It is a fine manly sport, and one whichshould be encouraged by all who wish well to our dusky fellow subjectsin the far off plains and valleys of Hindostan. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Indigo seed growing. --Seed buying and buyers. --Tricks of sellers. --Tests for good seed. --The threshing-floor. --Seed cleaning andpacking. --Staff of servants. --Despatching the bags by boat. --The'Pooneah' or rent day. --Purneah planters--their hospitality. --Therent day a great festival. --Preparation. --Collection of rents. --Feastto retainers. --The reception in the evening. --Tribute. --Old customs. --Improvisatores and bards. --Nautches. --Dancing and music. --The danceof the Dangurs. --Jugglers and itinerary showmen. --'Bara Roopes, ' oractors and mimics. --Their different styles of acting. 

Besides indigo planting proper, there is another large branch ofindustry in North Bhaugulpore, and along the Nepaul frontier there, and in Purneah, which is the growing of indigo seed for the Bengalplanters. The system of advances and the mode of cultivation is muchthe same as that followed in indigo planting proper. The seed is sownin June or July, is weeded and tended all through the rains, and cutin December. The planters advance about four rupees a beegah to theryot, who cuts his seed-plant, and brings it into the factorythreshing ground, where it is beaten out, cleaned, weighed, and packedin bags. When the seed has been threshed out and cleaned, it isweighed, and the ryot or cultivator gets four rupees for everymaund--a maund being eighty pounds avoirdupois. The previous advanceis deducted. The rent or loan account is adjusted, and the balancemade over in cash. 

Others grow the seed on their own account, without taking advances, and bring it to the factory for sale. If prices are ruling high, theymay get much more than four rupees per maund for it, and they adoptall kinds of ingenious devices to adulterate the seed, and increaseits weight. They mix dust with it, seeds of weeds, even grains ofwheat, and mustard, pea, and other seeds. In buying seed, therefore, one has to be very careful, to reject all that looks bad, or that mayhave been adulterated. They will even get old useless seed, the refusestock of former years, and mixing this with leaves of the neem treeand some turmeric powder, give it a gloss that makes it look likefresh seed. 

When you suspect that the seed has been tampered with in this manner, you wet some of it, and rub it on a piece of fresh clean linen, so asto bring off the dye. Where the attempt has been flagrant, you aresometimes tempted to take the law into your own hands, and administera little of the castigation which the cheating rascal so richlydeserves. In other cases it is necessary to submit the seed to amicroscopic examination. If any old, worn seeds are detected, youreject the sample unhesitatingly. Even when the seed appears quitegood, you subject it to yet another test. Take one or two hundredseeds, and putting them on a damp piece of the pith of a plantaintree, mixed with a little earth, set them in a warm place, and in twodays you will be able to tell what percentage has germinated, and whatis incapable of germination. If the percentage is good, the seed maybe considered as fairly up to the sample, and it is purchased. Thereare native seed buyers, who try to get as much into their hands asthey can, and rig the market. There are also European buyers, andthere is a keen rivalry in all the bazaars. 

The threshing-floor, and seed-cleaning ground presents a busy sightwhen several thousand maunds of seed are being got ready for despatchby boats. The dirty seed, full of dust and other impurities, is heapedup in one corner. The floor is in the shape of a large square, nicelypaved with cement, as hard and clean as marble. Crowds of nearly nudecoolies, hurry to and fro with scoops of seed resting on theirshoulders. When they get in line, at right angles to the direction inwhich the wind is blowing, they move slowly along, letting the seeddescend on the heap below, while the wind winnows it, and carries thedust in dense clouds to leeward. This is repeated over and over again, till the seed is as clean as it can be made. It is put through bamboosieves, so formed that any seed larger than indigo cannot passthrough. What remains in the sieve is put aside, and afterwardscleaned, sorted, and sold as food, or if useless, thrown away or givento the fowls. The men and boys dart backwards and forwards, there is asteady drip, drip, of seed from the scoops, dense clouds of dust, andincessant noise and bustle. Peons or watchmen are stationed all aroundto see that none is wasted or stolen. Some are filling sacks full ofthe cleaned seed, and hauling them off to the weighman and his clerk. Two maunds are put in every sack, and when weighed the bags are hauledup close to the _godown_ or store-room. Here are an army of men withsailmaker's needles and twine. They sew up the bags, which are thenhauled away to be marked with the factory brand. Carts are coming andgoing, carrying bags to the boats, which are lying at the river banktaking in their cargo, and the returning carts bring back loads ofwood from the banks of the river. In one corner, under a shed, sitsthe sahib chaffering with a party of _paikars_ (seed merchants), whohave brought seed for sale. 

Of course he decries the seed, says it is bad, will not hear of theprice wanted, and laughs to scorn all the fervent protestations thatthe seed was grown on their own ground, and has never passed throughany hands but their own. If you are satisfied that the seed is good, you secretly name your price to your head man, who forthwith takes upthe work of depreciation. You move off to some other department of thework. The head man and the merchants sit down, perhaps smoke a_hookah_, each trying to outwit the other, but after a keen encounterof wits perhaps a bargain is made. A pretty fair price is arrived at, and away goes the purchased seed, to swell the heap at the other endof the yard. It has to be carefully weighed first, and the weighmangets a little from the vendor as his perquisite, which the factorytakes from him at the market rate. 

You have buyers of your own out in the _dehaat_ (district), and theparcels they have bought come in hour by hour, with invoices detailingall particulars of quantity, quality, and price. The loads from theseed depots and outworks, come rolling up in the afternoon, and haveall to be weighed, checked, noted down, and examined. Every man's handis against you. You cannot trust your own servants. For a paltry bribethey will try to pass a bad parcel of seed, and even when you haveyour European assistants to help you, it is hard work to avoid beingover-reached in some shape or other. 

You have to keep up a large staff of writers, who make out invoicesand accounts, and keep the books. Your correspondence alone is enoughwork for one man, and you have to tally bags, count coolies, see thempaid their daily wage, attend to lawsuits that may be going on, andyet find time to superintend the operations of the farm, and keep aneye to your rents and revenues from the villages. It is a busy, ananxious time. You have a vast responsibility on your shoulders, andwhen one takes into consideration the climate you have to contendwith, the home comforts and domestic joys you have to do without, theconstant tension of mind and irritation of body from dust, heat, insects, lies, bribery, robbers, and villany of every description, that meets you on all hands, it must be allowed that a planter at sucha time has no easy life. 

The time at which you despatch the seed is also the very time when youare preparing your land for spring sowings. This requires almost asmuch surveillance as the seed-buying and despatching. You have not amoment you can call your own. If you had subordinates you could trust, who would be faithful and honest, you could safely leave part of thework to them, but from very sad experience I have found that trustingto a native is trusting to a very rotten stick. They are certainly notall bad, but there are just enough exceptions to prove the rule. 

One peculiar custom prevailed in this border district of NorthBhaugulpore, which I have not observed elsewhere. At the beginning ofthe financial year, when the accounts of the past season had all beenmade up and arranged, and the collection of the rents for the new yearwas beginning, the planters and Zemindars held what was called the_Pooneah_. It is customary for all cultivators and tenants to pay aproportion of their rent in advance. The Pooneah might therefore becalled 'rent-day. ' A similar day is set apart for the same purpose inTirhoot, called _tousee_ or collections, but it is not attended by thesame ceremonious observances, and quaint customs, as attach to thePooneah on the border land. 

When every man's account has been made up and checked by the books, the Pooneah day is fixed on. Invitations are sent to all yourneighbouring friends, who look forward to each other's annual Pooneahas a great gala day. In North Bhaugulpore and Purneah, nearly all theplanters and English-speaking population belong to old families whohave been born in the district, and have settled and lived there longbefore the days of quick communication with home. Their rule amongtheir dependants is patriarchal. Everyone is known among the natives, who have seen him since his birth living amongst them, by some petname. The old men of the villages remember his father and his father'sfather, the younger villagers have had him pointed out to them ontheir visits to the factory as 'Willie Baba, ' 'Freddy Baba, ' orwhatever his boyish name may have been, with the addition of 'Baba, 'which is simply a pet name for a child. These planters know everyvillage for miles and miles. They know most of the leading men in eachvillage by name. The villagers know all about them, discuss theiraffairs with the utmost freedom, and not a single thing, ever sotrivial, happens in the planter's home but it is known and commentedon in all the villages that lie within the _ilaka_ (jurisdiction) ofthe factory. 

The hospitality of these planters is unbounded. They are most of themmuch liked by all the natives round. I came a 'stranger amongst them, 'and in one sense, and not a flattering sense, they tried 'to take mein, ' but only in one or two instances, which I shall not specify here. By nearly all I was welcomed and kindly treated, and I formed somevery lasting friendships among them. Old traditions of princelyhospitality still linger among them. They were clannish in the bestsense of the word. The kindness and attention given to aged orindigent relations was one of their best traits. I am afraid the raceis fast dying out. Lavish expenditure, and a too confiding faith intheir native dependants has often brought the usual result. But manyof my readers will associate with the name of Purneah or Bhaugulporeplanter, recollections of hospitality and unostentatious kindness, andmemories of glorious sport and warm-hearted friendships. 

On the Pooneah day then, or the night before, many of these friendswould meet. The day has long been known to all the villages round, andnothing could better shew the patriarchal semi-feudal style in whichthey ruled over their villages than the customs in connection withthis anniversary. Some days before it, requisitions have been made onall the villages in any way connected with the factory, for variousarticles of diet. The herdsmen have to send a tribute of milk, curds, and _ghee_ or clarified butter. Cultivators of root crops or fruitsend in samples of their produce, in the shape of huge bundle ofplantains, immense jack-fruits, or baskets of sweet potatoes, yams, and other vegetables. The _koomhar_ or potter has to send in earthenpots and jars. The _mochee_ or worker in leather, brings with him asample of his work in the shape of a pair of shoes. These are pouncedon by your servants and _omlah_, the omlah being the head men in theoffice. It is a fine time for them. Wooden shoes, umbrellas, brasspots, fowls, goats, fruits, in fact all the productions of yourcountry side are sent or brought in. It is the old feudal tribute ofthe middle ages back again. During the day the _cutcherry_ or officeis crowded with the more respectable villagers, paying in rents andsettling accounts. The noise and bustle are great, but an immensequantity of work is got through. 

The village putwarries and head men are all there with theirvoluminous accounts. Your rent-collector, called a _tehseeldar_, hasbeen busy in the villages with the tenants and putwarries, collectingrent for the great Pooneah day. There is a constant chink of money, abusy hum, a scratching of innumerable pens. Under every tree, 'neaththe shade of every hut, busy groups are squatted round some acuteaccountant. Totals are being totted up on all hands. From greasyrecesses in the waistband a dirty bundle is slowly pulled forth, andthe desired sum reluctantly counted out. 

From early morn till dewy eve this work goes on, and you judge yourPooneah to have been a good or bad one by the amount you are able tocollect. Peons, with their brass badges flashing in the sun, and theirred puggrees shewing off their bronzed faces and black whiskers, aredespatched in all directions for defaulters. There is a constant goingto and fro, a hurrying and bustling in the crowd, a hum as of adistant fair pervading the place, and by evening the total of theday's collections is added up, and while the sahib and his friendstake their sherry and bitters, the omlah and servants retire to washand feast, and prepare for the night's festivities. 

During the day, at the houses of the omlah, culinary preparations on avast scale have been going on. The large supplies of grain, rice, flour, fruit, vegetables, &c. , which were brought in as _salamee_ ortribute, supplemented by additions from the sahib's own stores, havebeen made into savoury messes. Curries, and cakes, boiled flesh, androast kid, are all ready, and the crowd, having divested themselves oftheir head-dress and outer garments, and cleaned their hands and feetby copious ablutions, sit down in a wide circle. The large leaves ofthe water-lily are now served out to each man, and perform the officeof plates. Huge baskets of _chupatties_, a flat sort of'griddle-cake, ' are now brought round, and each man gets four or fivedoled out. The cooking and attendance is all done by Brahmins. Noinferior caste would answer, as Rajpoots and other high castes willonly eat food that has been cooked by a Brahmin or one of their ownclass. The Brahmin attendants now come round with great _dekchees_ orcooking-pots, full of curried vegetables, boiled rice, and similardishes. A ladle-full is handed out to each man, who receives it on hisleaf. The rice is served out by the hands of the attendants. Theguests manipulate a huge ball of rice and curry mixed between thefingers of the right hand, pass this solemnly into their widely-gapingmouths, with the head thrown back to receive the mess, like anadjutant-bird swallowing a frog, and then they masticate with muchapparent enjoyment. Sugar, treacle, curds, milk, oil, butter, preserves, and chutnees are served out to the more wealthy andrespectable. The amount they can consume is wonderful. Seeing theenormous supplies, you would think that even this great crowd couldnever get through them, but by the time repletion has set in, there islittle or nothing left, and many of the inflated and distended oldfarmers could begin again and repeat 'another of the same' with ease. Each person has his own _lotah_, a brass drinking vessel, and when allhave eaten they again wash their hands, rinse out their mouths, anddon their gayest apparel. 

The gentlemen in the bungalow now get word that the evening'sfestivities are about to commence. Lighting our cigars, we sally outto the _shamiana_ which has been erected on the ridge, surrounding thedeep tank which supplies the factory during the manufacturing seasonwith water. The _shamiana_ is a large canopy or wall-less tent. It isfestooned with flowers and green plantain trees, and evergreens havebeen planted all round it. Flaring flambeaux, torches, Chineselanterns, and oil lamps flicker and glare, and make the interioralmost as bright as day. When we arrive we find our chairs drawn up instate, one raised seat in the centre being the place of honour, andreserved for the manager of the factory. 

When we are seated, the _malee_ or gardener advances with a woodentray filled with sand, in which are stuck heads of all the finestflowers the garden can afford, placed in the most symmetricalpatterns, and really a pretty tasteful piece of workmanship. Two orthree old Brahmins, principal among whom is 'Hureehar Jha, ' a wickedold scoundrel, now advance, bearing gay garlands of flowers, mutteringa strange gibberish in Sanskrit, supposed to be a blessing, but whichmight be a curse for all we understood of it, and decking our wristsand necks with these strings of flowers. For this service they get asmall gratuity. The factory omlah headed by the dignified, portly_gornasta_ or confidential adviser, dressed in snowy turbans andspotless white, now come forward. A large brass tray stands on thetable in front of you. They each present a _salamee_ or _nuzzur_, thatis, a tribute or present, which you touch, and it is then depositedwith a rattling jingle on the brass plate. The head men of villages, putwarries, and wealthy tenants, give two, three, and sometimes evenfour rupees. Every tenant of respectability thinks it incumbent on himto give something. Every man as he comes up makes a low salaam, deposits his _salamee_, his name is written down, and he retires. Theputwarries present two rupees each, shouting out their names, and thenames of their villages. Afterwards a small assessment is levied onthe villagers, of a 'pice' or two 'pice' each, about a halfpenny ofour money, and which recoups the putwarree for his outlay. 

This has nothing to do with the legitimate revenue of the factory. Itnever appears in the books. It is quite a voluntary offering, and Ihave never seen it in any other district. In the meantime the_Raj-bhats_, a wandering class of hereditary minstrels or bards, aresinging your praises and those of your ancestors in ear-splittingstrains. Some of them have really good voices, all possess the gift ofimprovisation, and are quick to seize on the salient points of thescene before them, and weave them into their song, sometimes in a veryingenious and humorous manner. They are often employed by richnatives, to while away a long night with one of their, treasuredrhythmical tales or songs. One or two are kept in the retinue of everyRajah or noble, and they possess a mine of legendary information, which would be invaluable to the collector of folk-lore andantiquarian literature. 

At some of the Pooneahs the evening's gaiety winds up with a _nautch_or dance, by dancing girls or boys. I always thought this a mostsleep-inspiring exhibition. It has been so often described that I neednot trouble my readers with it. The women are gaily dressed inbrocades and gauzy textures, and glitter with spangles and tawdryornaments. The musical accompaniment of clanging zither, asthmaticfiddle, timber-toned drum, clanging cymbal, and harsh metallictriangle, is a sore affliction, and when the dusky prima donna throwsback her head, extends her chest, gets up to her high note, with herhand behind her ear, and her poura-stained mouth and teeth wideexpanded like the jaws of a fangless wolf, and the demoniacinstruments and performers redouble their din, the noise is somethingtoo dreadful to experience often. The native women sit mute andhushed, seeming to like it. I have heard it said that the Germans eatants. Finlanders relish penny candles. The Nepaulese gourmandise onputrid fish. I am fond of mouldy cheese, and organ-grinders are anobject of affection with some of our home community. I _know_ that thegeneral run of natives delight in a nautch. Tastes differ, but to meit is an inexplicable phenomenon. 

Amid all this noise we sit till we are wearied. Parin-leaves and betelnut are handed round by the servants. There is a very sudorific odourfrom the crowd. All are comfortably seated on the ground. The torchesflare, and send up volumes of smoke to the ornamented roof of thecanopy. The lights are reflected in the deep glassy bosom of thesilent tank. The combined sounds and odours get oppressive, and we areglad to get back to the bungalow, to consume our 'peg' and our 'weed'in the congenial company of our friends. 

In some factories the night closes with a grand dance by all theinhabitants of the _dangur tola_. The men and women range themselvesin two semicircles, standing opposite each other. The tallest of bothlines at the one end, diminishing away at the other extremity to thechildren and little ones who can scarcely toddle. They have a wild, plaintive song, with swelling cadences and abrupt stops. They gothrough an extraordinary variety of evolutions, stamping with one footand keeping perfect time. They sway their bodies, revolve, march, andcountermarch, the men sometimes opening their ranks, and the womengoing through, and _vice versa_. They turn round like the windingconvolutions of a shell, increase their pace as the song waxes quickand shrill, get excited, and finish off with a resounding stamp of thefoot, and a guttural cry which seems to exhaust all the breath left intheir bodies. The men then get some liquor, and the women a smallmoney present. If the sahib is very liberal he gives them a pig onwhich to feast, and the _dangurs_ go away very happy and contented. Their dance is not unlike the _corroborry_ of the Australianaborigines. The two races are not unlike each other too in feature, although I cannot think that they are in any way connected. 

Next morning there is a jackal hunt, or cricket, or pony races, orshooting matches, or sport of some kind, while the rent collectionstill goes on. In the afternoon we have grand wrestling matchesamongst the natives for small prizes, and generally witness some fineexhibitions of athletic skill and endurance. 

Some wandering juggler may have been attracted by the rumour of thegathering. A tight-rope dancer, a snake charmer, an itinerant showmanwith a performing goat, monkey, or dancing bear, may make hisappearance before the admiring crowd. 

At times a party of mimes or actors come round, and a rare treat isnot seldom afforded by the _bara roopees_. _Bara_ means twelve, and_roop_ is an impersonation, a character. These 'twelve characters'make up in all sorts of disguises. Their wardrobe is very limited, yetthe number of people they personate, and their genuine acting talentwould astonish you. With a projecting tooth and a few streaks of clay, they make up a withered, trembling old hag, afflicted with palsy, rheumatism, and a hacking cough. They make friends with your bearer, and an old hat and coat transforms them into a planter, a missionary, or an officer. They whiten their faces, using false hair andmoustache, and while you are chatting with your neighbour, a strangesahib suddenly and mysteriously seats himself by your side. You stare, and look at your host, who is generally in the secret, but a stranger, or new comer, is often completely taken in. It is generally at nightthat they go through their personations, and when they have dressedfor their part, they generally choose a moment when your attention isattracted by a cunning diversion. On looking up you are astounded tofind some utter stranger standing behind your chair, or stalkingsolemnly round the room. 

They personate a woman, a white lady, a sepoy policeman, almost anycharacter. Some are especially good at mimicking the Bengalee Baboo, or the merchant from Cabool or Afghanistan with his fruits and cloths. A favourite _roop_ with them is to paint one half of the face like aman. Everything is complete down to moustache, the folds of thepuggree, the _lathee_ or staff, indeed to the slightest detail. Youwould fancy you saw a stalwart, strapping Hindoo before you. He turnsround, and lo, a bashful maiden. Her eyes are stained with _henna_(myrtle juice) or antimony. Her long-hair neatly smoothed down is tiedinto a knot at the back, and glistens with the pearl-like ornaments. The taper arm is loaded with armlets and bracelets. The very toes arebedecked with rings. The bodice hides the taper waist and buddingbosom, the tiny ear is loaded with jewelled ear-rings, the very noseis not forgotten, but is ornamented with a golden circle, bearing onits circumference a pearl of great price. The art, the posturing, themimicry, is really admirable. A good _bara roopee_ is well worthseeing, and amply earns the two or three rupees he gets as his reward. 

The Pooneah seldom lasts more than the two days, but it is quiteunique in its feudal character, and is one of the old-fashionedobservances; a relic of the time when the planter was really lookedupon as the father of his people, and when a little sentiment andmutual affection mingled with the purely business relations oflandlord and tenant. 

I delighted my ryots by importing some of our own country recreations, and setting the ploughmen to compete against each other. I stuck agreasy bamboo firmly into the earth, putting a bag of copper coins atthe top. Many tried to climb it, but when they came to the grease theycame down 'by the run. ' One fellow however filled his _kummerbund_with sand, and after much exertion managed to secure the prize. Wheeling the barrow blindfold also gave much amusement, and we madesome boys bend their foreheads down to a stick and run round till theywere giddy. Their ludicrous efforts then to jump over some water-pots, and run to a thorny bush, raised tumultuous peals of laughter. Thepoor boys generally smashed the pots, and ended by tumbling into thethorns. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Koosee jungles. --Ferries. --Jungle roads. --The rhinoceros. --We goto visit a neighbour. --We lose our way and get belated. --We fall intoa quicksand. --No ferry boat. --Camping out on the sand. --Two tigersclose by. --We light a fire. --The boat at last arrives. --Crossing thestream. --Set fire to the boatman's hut. --Swim the horses. --They arenearly drowned. --We again lose our way in the jungle. --The towingpath, and how boats are towed up the river. --We at last reach thefactory. --News of rhinoceros in the morning. --Off we start, but arrivetoo late. --Death of the rhinoceros. --His dimensions. --Description. --Habits. --Rhinoceros in Nepaul. --The old 'Major Capt[=a]n. '--Descriptionof Nepaulese scenery. --Immigration of Nepaulese. --Their fondness forfish. --They eat it putrid. --Exclusion of Europeans from Nepaul. --Resources of the country. --Must sooner or later be opened up. --Influences at work to elevate the people. --Planters and factorieschief of these. --Character of the planter. --His claims to considerationfrom government. 

In the vast grass jungles that border the banks of the Koosee, stretching in great plains without an undulation for miles on eitherside, intersected by innumerable water-beds and dried up channels, there is plenty of game of all sorts. It is an impetuous, swiftly-flowing stream, dashing directly down from the mighty hills ofNepaul. So swift is its current and so erratic its course, that itfrequently bursts its banks, and careers through the jungle, forming anew bed, and carrying away cattle and wild animals in its headlongrush. 

The _ghauts_ or ferries are constantly changing, and a long bamboowith a bit of white rag affixed, shows where the boats and boatmen areto be found. In many instances the track is a mere cattle path, andhundreds of cross openings, leading into the tall jungle grass, areapt to bewilder and mislead the traveller. During the dry season thesejungles are the resort of great herds of cattle and tame buffaloes, which trample down the dry stalks, and force their way into theinnermost recesses of the wilderness of grass, which grows ten totwelve feet high. If you once lose your path you may wander for miles, until your weary horse is almost unable to stumble on. In such a case, the best way is to take it coolly, and halloo till a herdsman orthatch-cutter comes to your rescue. The knowledge of the junglesdisplayed by these poor ignorant men is wonderful; they know everygully and watercourse, every ford and quicksand, and they betray notthe slightest sign of fear, although they know that at any moment theymay come across a herd of wild buffalo, a savage rhinoceros, or even aroyal tiger. 

The tracks of rhinoceros are often seen, but although I havefrequently had these pointed out to me when out tiger shooting, I onlysaw two while I lived in that district. 

The first occasion was after a night of discomfort such as I havefortunately seldom experienced. I had been away at a neighbouringfactory in Purneah, some eighteen or twenty miles from my bungalow. Mycompanion had been my predecessor in the management, and was supposedto be well acquainted with the country. We had gone over to one of theoutworks across the river, and I had received charge of the place fromhim. It was a lonely solitary spot; the house was composed of grasswalls plastered with mud, and had not been used for some time. F. Proposed that we should ride over to see H. , to whom he wouldintroduce me as he would be one of my nearest neighbours, and wouldgive us a comfortable dinner and bed, which there was no chance of ourprocuring where we were. 

We plunged at once into the mazy labyrinths of the jungle, and soonemerged on the high sandy downs, stretching mile beyond mile along thesouthern bank of the ever-changing river. Having lost our way, we gotto the factory after dark, but a friendly villager volunteered hisservices as guide, and led us safely to our destination. After acheerful evening with H. , we persuaded him to accompany us back nextday. He took out his dogs, and we had a good course after a hare, killing two jackals, and sending back the dogs by the sweeper. AtBurgamma, the outwork, we stopped to _tiffin_ on some cold fowl we hadbrought with us. The old factory head man got us some milk, eggs, and_chupatties_; and about three in the afternoon we started for the headfactory. In an evil moment F. Proposed that, as we were near anotheroutwork called _Fusseah_, we should diverge thither, I could take overcharge, and we could thus save a ride on another day. Not knowinganything of the country I acquiesced, and we reached Fusseah in timeto see the place, and do all that was needful. It was a miserabletumbledown little spot, with four pair of vats; it had formerly been agood working factory, but the river had cut away most of its bestlands, and completely washed away some of the villages, while thewhole of the cultivation was fast relapsing into jungle. 

'Debnarain Singh' the _gomorsta_ or head man, asked us to stay for thenight, as he said we could never get home before dark. F. Howeverscouted the idea, and we resumed our way. The track, for it could notbe called a road, led us through one or two jungle villages completelyhidden by the dense bamboo clumps and long jungle grass. You can't seea trace of habitation till you are fairly on the village, and as therice-fields are bordered with long strips of tall grass, the wholecountry presents the appearance of a uniform jungle. We got throughthe rice swamps, the villages, and the grass in safety, and as it wasgetting dark, emerged on the great plain of undulating ridgysandbanks, that form the bed of the river during the annual floods. Wehad our _syces_ (grooms) and two peons with us. We had to ride overnearly two miles of sand before we could reach the _ghat_ where weexpected the ferry-boats, and, the main stream once crossed, we hadonly two miles further to reach the factory. We were getting bothtired and hungry; a heavy dew was falling, and the night was raw andchill. It was dark, there was no moon to light our way, and the starswere obscured by the silently creeping fog, rising from the marshyhollows among the sand. All at once F. , who was leading, called outthat we were off the path, and before I could pull up, my poor oldtired horse was floundering in a quicksand up to the girths; I threwmyself off and tried to wheel him round. H. Was behind us, and wecried to him to halt where he was. I was sinking at every movement upto the knees, when the syce came to my rescue, and took charge of thehorse. F. 's syce ran to extricate his master and horse; the two peonskept calling, 'Oh! my father, my father, ' the horses snorted, andstruggled desperately in the tenacious and treacherous quicksand; butafter a prolonged effort, we all got safely out, and rejoined H. Onthe firm ridge. 

We now hallooed and shouted for the boatmen, but beyond the swish ofthe rapid stream to our right, or the plash of a falling bank as theswift current undermined it, no sound answered our repeated calls. Wewere wet and weary, but to go either backward or forward was out ofthe question. We were off the path, and the first step in anydirection might lead us into another quicksand, worse perhaps thanthat from which we had just extricated ourselves. The horses weretrembling in every limb. The syces cowered together and shivered withthe cold. We ordered the two peons to try and reach the ghat, and seewhat had become of the boats, while we awaited their return where wewere. The fog and darkness soon swallowed them up, and putting thebest face on our dismal circumstances that we could, we lit our pipesand extended our jaded limbs on the damp sand. 

For a time we could hear the shouts of the peons as they hallooed forthe boatmen, and we listened anxiously for the response, but there wasnone. We could hear the purling swish of the rapid stream, thecrumbling banks falling into the current with a distant splash. Occasionally a swift rushing of wings overhead told us of the arrowyflight of diver or teal. Far in the distance twinkled the gleam of aherdsman's fire, the faint tinkle of a distant bell, or the subduedbarking of a village dog for a moment, alone broke the silence. 

At times the hideous chorus of a pack of jackals woke the echoes ofthe night. Then, at no great distance, rose a hoarse booming cry, swelling on the night air, and subsiding into a lengthened growl. Thesyces started to their feet, the horses snorted with fear; and as theroar was repeated, followed closely by another to our left, andseemingly nearer, H. Exclaimed 'By Jove! there's a couple of tigers. '

Sure enough, so it was. It was the first time I had heard the roar ofthe tiger in his own domain, and I must confess that my sensationswere not altogether pleasant. We set about collecting sticks and whatroots of grass we could find, but on the sand-flats everything waswet, and it was so dark that we had to grope about on our hands andknees, and pick up whatever we came across. 

With great difficulty we managed to light a small fire, and for abouthalf-an-hour were nearly smothered by trying with inflated cheeks tocoax it into a blaze. The tigers continued to call at intervals, butdid not seem to be approaching us. It was a long weary wait, we werecold, wet, hungry, and tired; F. , the cause of our misfortunes, hadtaken off his saddle, and with it for a pillow was now fast asleep. H. And I cowered over the miserable sputtering flame, and longed andwished for the morning. It was a miserable night, the hours seemedinterminable, the dense volumes of smoke from the water-sodden woodnearly choked us. At last, after some hours spent in this miserablemanner, we heard a faint halloo in the distance; it was now pasteleven at night. We returned the hail, and bye-and-bye the peonsreturned bringing a boatman with them. The lazy rascals at the ghatwhere we had proposed crossing, had gone home at nightfall, leavingtheir boats on the further bank. Our trusty peons, had gone five milesup the river, through the thick jungle, and brought a boat down withthem from the next ghat to that where we were. 

We now warily picked our way down to the edge of the bank. The boatseemed very fragile, and the current looked so swift and dangerous, that we determined to go across first ourselves, get the larger boatfrom the other side, light a fire, and then bring over the horses. Weembarked accordingly, leaving the syces and horses behind us. Thepeons and boatman pulled the boat a long way up stream by a rope, thenshooting out we were carried swiftly down stream, the dark shadow ofthe further bank seeming at a great distance. The boatman pushedvigorously at his bamboo pole, the water rippled and gurgled, andfrothed and eddied around. Half-a-dozen times we thought our boatwould topple over, but at length we got safely across, far below whatwe had proposed as our landing place. 

We found the boats all right, and the boatman's hut, a mere collectionof dry grass and a few old bamboos. As it could be replaced in anhour, and the material lay all around, we fired the hut, which soon, blazed up, throwing a weird lurid glow on bank and stream, anddisclosing far on the other bank our weary nags and shivering syces, looking very bedraggled and forlorn indeed. The leaping and cracklingof the flames, and the genial warmth, invigorated us a little, andwhile I stayed behind to feed the fire, the others recrossed to bringthe horses over. 

With the previous fright however, their long waiting, the blazingfire, and being unaccustomed to boats at night, the poor scared horsesrefused to enter the boat, The boats are flat-bottomed or broadlybulging, with a bamboo platform strewn with grass in the centre. As arule, they have no protecting rails, and even in the daytime, when thecurrent is strong and eddies numerous, they are very dangerous forhorses. At all events, the poor brutes would not be led on to theplatform, so there was nothing for it but to swim them across. Theboat was therefore towed a long way up the bank, which on the fartherside was nearly level with the current, but where the hut had stoodwas steep and slushy, and perhaps twenty feet high. This was where thedeepest water ran, and where the current was swiftest. If the horsestherefore missed the landing ghat or stage, which was cut sloping intothe bank, there was a danger of their being swept away altogether andlost. However, we determined on making the attempt. Entering thewater, and holding the horses tightly by the head, with a leading ropeattached, to be paid out in case of necessity; the boat shot out, thehorses pawed the water, entering deeper and deeper, foot by foot, intothe swiftly rushing silent stream. So long as they were in theirdepth, and had footing, they were alright, but when they reached themiddle of the river, the current, rushing with frightful velocity, swept them off their feet, and boat and horses began to go downstream. The horses, with lips apart showing their teeth firmly set, the lurid glare of the flame lighting up their straining eyeballs, theplashing of the water, the dark rapid current flowing noiselesslypast; the rocking heaving boat, the dusky forms of syces, peons, andboatman, standing out clear in the ruddy fire-light against the utterblackness of the night, composed a weird picture I can never forget. 

The boat shot swiftly past the ghat, and came with a thump against thebank. It swung round into the stream again, but the boatman hadluckily managed to scramble ashore, and his efforts and mine united, hauling on the mooring-rope, sufficed to bring her in to the bank. Thethree struggling horses were yet in the current, trying bravely tostem the furious rush of the river. The syces and my friends wereholding hard to the tether-ropes, which were now at their fullstretch. It was a most critical moment. Had they let go, the horseswould have been swept away to form a meal for the alligators. Theymanaged, however, to get in close to the bank, and here, although thewater was still over their backs, they got a slight and precariousfooting, and inch by inch struggled after the boat, which we were nowpulling up to the landing place. 

After a sore struggle, during which we thought more than once thegallant nags would never emerge from the water, they staggered up thebank, dripping, trembling, and utterly overcome with their exertions. It was my first introduction to the treacherous Koosee, and I neveragain attempted to swim a horse across at night. We led the poor tiredcreatures up to the fire, heaping on fresh bundles of thatching-grass, of which there was plenty lying about, the syces then rubbed themdown, and shampooed their legs, till they began to take a littleheart, whinnying as we spoke to them and caressed them. 

After resting for nearly an hour, we replaced the saddles, and F. , whoby this time began to mistrust his knowledge of the jungles by night, allowed one of the peons, who was sure he knew every inch of the road, to lead the way. Leaving the smouldering flames to flicker and burnout in solitude, we again plunged into the darkness of the night, threading our way through the thick jungle grass, now loaded with dewymoisture, and dripping copious showers upon us from its high walls ateither side of the narrow track. We crossed a rapid little stream, anarm of the main river, turned to the right, progressed a few hundredyards, turned to the left, and finally came to a dead stop, havingagain lost our way. 

We heaped execrations on the luckless peon's head, and I suggestedthat we should make for the main stream, follow up the bank till wereached the next ghat, where I knew there was a cart-road leading tothe factory. Otherwise we might wander all night in the jungles, perhaps get into another quicksand, or come to some other signalgrief. We accordingly turned round. We could hear the swish of theriver at no great distance, and soon, stumbling over bushes andbursting through matted chumps of grass, dripping with wet, andutterly tired and dejected, we reached the bank of the stream. 

Here we had no difficulty in following the path. The river is soswift, that the only way boats are enabled to get up stream to takedown the inland produce, is by having a few coolies or boatmen to dragthe boat up against the current by towing-lines. This is called_gooning_. The goon-ropes are attached to the mast of the boat. At thefree end is a round bit of bamboo. The towing-coolie places thisagainst his shoulder, and slowly and laboriously drags the boat upagainst the current. We were now on this towing-path, and after ridingfor nearly four miles we reached the ghat, struck into the cart-road, and without further misadventure reached the factory about four in themorning, utterly fagged and worn out. 

About eight in the morning my bearer woke me out of a deep sleep, withthe news that there was a _gaerha_, that is, a rhinoceros, close tothe factory. We had some days previously heard it rumoured that therewere _two_ rhinoceroses in the _Battabarree_ jungles, so I at onceroused my soundly-sleeping friends. Swallowing a hasty morsel of toastand a cup of coffee, we mounted our ponies, sent our guns on ahead, and rode off for the village where the rhinoceros was reported. As werode hurriedly along we could see natives running in the samedirection as ourselves, and one of my men came up panting andbreathless to confirm the news about the rhinoceros, with theunwelcome addition that Premnarain Singh, a young neighbouringZemindar, had gone in pursuit of it with his elephant and guns. Wehurried on, and just then heard the distant report of a shot, followedquickly by two more. We tried to take a short cut across countrythrough some rice-fields, but our ponies sank in the boggy ground, andwe had to retrace our way to the path. 

By the time we got to the village we found an excited crowd of over athousand natives, dancing and gesticulating round the prostratecarcase of the rhinoceros. The Baboo and his party had found the poorbrute firmly imbedded in a quicksand. With organised effort they mighthave secured the prize alive, and could have sold him in Calcutta forat least a thousand rupees, but they were too excited, and blazed awaythree shots into the helpless beast. 'Many hands make light work, ' sothe crowd soon had the dead animal extricated, rolled him into thecreek, and floated him down to the village, where we found themalready beginning to hack and hew the flesh, completely spoiling theskin, and properly completing the butchery. We were terribly vexedthat we were too late, but endeavoured to stop the stupid destructionthat was going on. The body measured eleven feet three inches from thesnout to the tail, and stood six feet nine. The horn was six and ahalf inches long, and the girth a little over ten feet. We put thebest face on the matter, congratulated the Baboo with very bad grace, and asked him to get the skin cut up properly. 

Cut in strips from the under part of the ribs and along the belly, theskin makes magnificent riding-whips. The bosses on the shoulder andsides are made into shields by the natives, elaborately ornamented andmuch prized. The horn, however, is the most coveted acquisition. It isbelieved to have peculiar virtues, and is popularly supposed by itsmere presence in a house to mitigate the pains of maternity. Arhinoceros horn is often handed down from generation to generation asa heirloom, and when a birth is about to take place the anxioushusband often gets a loan of the precious treasure, after which he hasno fears for the safe issue of the labour. 

The flesh of the rhinoceros is eaten by all classes. It is one of thefive animals that a Brahmin is allowed to eat by the _Shastras_. Theywere formerly much more common in these jungles, but of late yearsvery few have been killed. When they take up their abode in a piece ofjungle they are not easily dislodged. They are fierce, savage brutes, and do not scruple to attack an elephant when they are hard pressed bythe hunter. When they wish to leave a locality where they have beendisturbed, they will make for some distant point, and march on withdogged and inflexible purpose. Some have been known to travel eightymiles in the twenty-four hours, through thick jungle, over rivers, andthrough swamp and quicksand. Their sense of hearing is very acute, andthey are very easily roused to fury. One peculiarity often noticed bysportsmen is, that they always go to the same spot when they want toobey the calls of nature. Mounds of their dung are sometimes seen inthe jungle, and the tracks shew that the rhinoceros pays a daily visitto this one particular spot. 

In Nepaul, and along the _terai_ or wooded slopes of the frontier, they are more numerous; but 'Jung Bahadur, ' the late ruler of Nepaul, would allow no one to shoot them but himself. I remember the wailinglament of a Nepaul officer with whom I was out shooting, when Ihappened to fire at and wound one of the protected beasts. It was inNepaul, among a cluster of low woody hills, with a brawling streamdashing through the precipitous channel worn out of the rocky, boulder-covered dell. The rhinoceros was up the hill slightly aboveme, and we were beating up for a tiger that we had seen go ahead ofthe line. 

In my eagerness to bag a 'rhino' I quite forgot the interdict, andfired an Express bullet into the shoulder of the animal, as he stoodbroadside on, staring stupidly at me. He staggered, and made as if hewould charge down the hill. The old 'Major Capt[=a]n, ' as they called oursporting host, was shouting out to me not to fire. The _mahouts_ andbeaters were petrified with horror at my presumption. I fancy theyexpected an immediate order for my decapitation, or for my ears to becut off at the very least, but feeling I might as well be 'in for apound as for a penny, ' I fired again, and tumbled the huge brute over, with a bullet through the skull behind the ear. The old officer washorror-stricken, and would allow no one to go near the animal. Hewould not even let me get down to measure it, being terrified lest theaffair should reach the ears of his formidable lord and ruler, that hehurried us off from the scene of my transgression as quickly as hecould. 

The old Major Capt[=a]n was a curious character. The government ofNepaul is purely military. All executive and judicial functions arecarried on by military officers. After serving a certain time in thearmy, they get rewarded for good service by being appointed to theexecutive charge of a district. So far as I could make out, they seemto farm the revenue much as is done in Turkey. They must send inso much to the Treasury, and anything over they keep for themselves. Their administration of justice is rough and ready. Fines, corporalpunishment, and in the case of heinous crimes, mutilation and death aretheir penalties. There is a tax of _kind_ on all produce, and licensesto cut timber bring in a large revenue. A protective tariff is levied onall goods or produce passing the frontier from British territory, and noEuropean is allowed to travel in the country, or to settle and tradethere. In the lower valleys there are magnificent stretches of landsuitable for indigo, tea, rice, and other crops. The streams arenumerous, moisture is plentiful, the soil is fertile, and the slopes ofthe hills are covered with splendid timber, a great quantity of which iscut and floated down the Gunduch, Bagmuttee, Koosee, and other streamsduring the rainy season. It is used principally for beams, rafters, andrailway sleepers. 

The people are jealous of intrusion and suspicious of strangers, butas I was with an official, they generally came out in great numbers togaze as we passed through a village. The country does not seem sothickly populated as in our territory, and the cultivators had a morewell-to-do look. They possess vast numbers of cattle. The houses haveconical roofs, and great quadrangular sheds, roofed with a flatcovering of thatch, are erected all round the houses, for theprotection of the cattle at night. The taxes must weigh heavily on thepopulation. The executive officer, when he gets charge of a district, removes all the subordinates who have been acting under hispredecessor. When I asked the old Major if this would not interferewith the efficient administration of justice, and the smooth workingof his revenue and executive functions, he gave a funny leer, almost awink, and said it was much more satisfactory to have men of your ownworking under you, the fact being, that with his own men he could moresecurely wring from the ryots the uttermost farthing they could pay, and was more certain of getting his own share of the spoil. 

With practically irresponsible power, and only answerable directly tohis immediate military superior, an unscrupulous man may harry andharass a district pretty much as he chooses. Our old Major seemed tobe civil and lenient, but in some districts the exactions andextortions of the rulers have driven many of the hard-workingNepaulese over the border into our territory. Our landholders orZemindars, having vast areas of untilled land, are only too glad toencourage this immigration, and give the exiles, whom they findhard-working industrious tenants, long leases on easy terms. Thenew-comers are very independent, and strenuously resist anyencroachment on what they consider their rights. If an attempt is madeto raise their rent, even equitably, the land having increased invalue, they will resist the attempt 'tooth and nail, ' and take everyadvantage the law affords to oppose it. They are very fond oflitigation, and are mostly able to afford the expense of a lawsuit. Igenerally found it answer better to call them together and reasonquietly with them, submitting any point in dispute to an arbitrationof parties mutually selected. 

Nearly all the rivers in Nepaul are formed principally from themelting of the snow on the higher ranges. A vast body of waterdescends annually into the plains from the natural surface drainage ofthe country, but the melting of the snows is the main source of theriver system. Many of the hill streams, and it is particularlyobservable at some seasons in the Koosee, have a regular daily riseand fall. In the early morning you can often ford a branch of theriver, which by midday has become a swiftly-rolling torrent, fillingthe channel from bank to bank. The water is intensely cold, and few orno fish are to be found in the mountain streams of Nepaul. When theNepaulese come down to the plains on business, pleasure, or pilgrimagetheir great treat is a mighty banquet of fish. For two or three_annas_ a fish of several pounds weight can easily be purchased. Theyrevel on this unwonted fare, eating to repletion, and very frequentlymaking themselves ill in consequence. When Jung Bahadur came downthrough Chumparun to attend the _durbar_ of the lamented Earl Mayo, cholera broke out in his camp, brought on simply by the enormousquantities of fish, often not very fresh or wholesome, which hisguards and camp followers consumed. 

Large quantities of dried fish are sent up to Nepaul, and exchangedfor rice and other grain, or horns, hides, and blankets. Thefish-drying is done very simply in the sun. It is generally left tillit is half putrid and taints the air for miles. The sweltering, half-rotting mass, packed in filthy bags, and slung on ponies orbullocks, is sent over the frontier to some village bazaar in Nepaul. The track of a consignment of this horrible filth can be recognisedfrom very far away. The perfume hovers on the road, and as you areriding up and get the first sniff of the putrid odour, you know atonce that the Nepaulese market is being recruited by a _fresh_accession of very _stale_ fish. If the taste is at all equal to thesmell, the rankest witches broth ever brewed in reeking cauldron wouldprobably be preferable. Over the frontier there seems to be few roads, merely bullock tracks. Most of the transporting of goods is done bybullocks, and intercommunication must be slow and costly. I believethat near Katmandoo, the capital, the roads and bridges are good, andkept in tolerable repair. There is an arsenal where they manufacturemodern munitions of war. Their soldiers are well disciplined, fairlywell equipped, and form excellent fighting material. 

Our policy of annexation, so far as India is concerned, may perhaps benow considered as finally abandoned. We have no desire to annexNepaul, but surely this system of utter isolation, of jealousexclusion at all hazards of English enterprise and capital, might bebroken down to a mutual community of interest, a full and freeexchange of products, and a reception by Nepaul without fear anddistrust of the benefits our capitalists and pioneers could give thecountry by opening out its resources, and establishing the industriesof the West on its fertile slopes and plains. I am no politician, andknow nothing of the secret springs of policy that regulate ourdealings with Nepaul, but it does seem somewhat weak and puerile toallow the Nepaulese free access to our territories, and an unprotectedmarket in our towns for all their produce, while the British subjectis rigorously excluded from the country, his productions saddled witha heavy protective duty, and the representative of our Governmenthimself, treated more as a prisoner in honourable confinement, than asthe accredited ambassador of a mighty empire. 

I may be utterly wrong. There may be weighty reasons of State for thiscondition of things, but it is a general feeling among Englishmen inIndia that, _we_ have to do all the GIVE and our Oriental neighboursdo all the TAKE. The un-official English mind in India does not seethe necessity for the painfully deferential attitude we invariablytake in our dealings with native states. The time has surely come, when Oriental mistrust of our intentions should be stoutly battledwith. There is room in Nepaul for hundreds of factories, fortea-gardens, fruit-groves, spice-plantations, woollen-mills, saw-mills, and countless other industries. Mineral products arereported of unusual richness. In the great central valley the climateapproaches that of England. The establishment of productive industrieswould be a work of time, but so long as this ridiculous policy ofisolation is maintained, and the exclusion of English tourists, sportsmen, or observers carried out in all its present strictness, wecan never form an adequate idea of the resources of the country. TheNepaulese themselves cannot progress. I am convinced that a frank andunconstrained intercourse between Europeans and natives would createno jealousy and antagonism, but would lead to the development of acountry singularly blessed by nature, and open a wide field forAnglo-Saxon energy and enterprise. It does seem strange, with all ourvast territory of Hindustan accurately mapped out and known, roads andrailways, canals and embankments, intersecting it in all directions, that this interesting corner of the globe, lying contiguous to ourterritory for hundreds of miles, should be less known than theinterior of Africa, or the barren solitudes of the ice-bound Arcticregions. 

In these rich valleys hundreds of miles of the finest and most fertilelands in Asia lie covered by dense jungle, waiting for labour andcapital. For the present we have enough to do in our own possessionsto reclaim the uncultured wastes; but considering the rapid increaseof population, the avidity with which land is taken up, the dailyincreasing use of all modern labour-saving appliances, the time mustvery shortly come when capital and energy will need new outlets, andone of the most promising of these is in Nepaul. The rapid changeswhich have come over the face of rural India, especially in theseborder districts, within the last twenty years, might well make themost thoughtless pause. Land has increased in value more thantwo-fold. The price of labour and of produce has kept more than equalpace. Machinery is whirring and clanking, where a few years ago asteam whistle would have startled the natives out of their wits. Withcheap, easy, and rapid communication, a journey to any of the greatcities is now thought no more of than a trip to a distant village inthe same district was thought of twenty years ago. Everywhere are thesigns of progress. New industries are opening up. Jungle is fastdisappearing. Agriculture has wonderfully improved; and wherever anindigo factory has been built, progress has taken the place ofstagnation, industry and thrift that of listless indolence andshiftless apathy. A spirit has moved in the valley of dry bones, andhas clothed with living flesh the gaunt skeletons produced byignorance, disease, and want. The energy and intelligence of theplanter has breathed on the stagnant waters of the Hindoo intellectthe breath of life, and the living tide is heaving, full of activity, purging by its resistless ever-moving pulsations the formerly stagnantmass of its impurities, and making it a life-giving sea of activeindustry and progress. 

Let any unprejudiced observer see for himself if it be not so; let himgo to those districts where British capital and energy are not employed;let him leave the planting districts, and go up to the wastes ofOudh, or the purely native districts of the North-west, where thereare no Europeans but the officials in the _station_. He will findfewer and worse roads, fewer wells, worse constructed houses, muchruder cultivation, less activity and industry; more dirt, disease, and desolation; less intelligence; more intolerance; and a peasantrymorally, mentally, physically, and in every way inferior to those whoare brought into daily contact with the Anglo-Saxon planters andgentlemen, and have imbibed somewhat of their activity and spirit ofprogress. And yet these are the men whom successive Lieutenant-Governors, and Governments generally, have done their best to thwart and obstruct. They have been misrepresented, held up to obloquy, and foully slandered;they have been described as utterly base, fattening on the spoils of acowed and terror-ridden peasantry. Utterly unscrupulous, fearing neitherGod nor man, hesitating at no crime, deterred by no consideration fromoppressing their tenantry, and compassing their interested ends by thevilest frauds. 

Such was the picture drawn of the indigo planter not so many yearsago. There may have been much in the past over which we wouldwillingly draw the veil, but at the present moment I firmly believethat the planters of Behar--and I speak as an observant student ofwhat has been going on in India--have done more to elevate thepeasantry, to rouse them into vitality, and to improve them in everyway, than all the other agencies that have been at work with the sameend in view. 

The Indian Government to all appearance must always work in extremes. It never seems to hit the happy medium. The Lieutenant-Governor forthe time being impresses every department under him too strongly withhis own individuality. The planters, who are an intelligent andindependent body of men, have seemingly always been obnoxious to theideas of a perfectly despotic and irresponsible ruler. In spitehowever of all difficulties and drawbacks, they have held their own. Iknow that the poor people and small cultivators look up to them withrespect and affection. They find in them ready and sympathizingfriends, able and willing to shield them from the exactions of theirown more powerful and uncharitable fellow-countrymen. Half, naynine-tenths, of the stories against planters, are got up by themoney-lenders, the petty Zemindars, and wealthy villagers, who findthe planter competing with them for land and labour, and raising theprice of both. The poor people look to the factory as a never failingresource when all else fails, and but for the assistance it gives inmoney, or seed, or plough bullocks and implements of husbandry, many astruggling hardworking tenant would inevitably go to the wall, orbecome inextricably entangled in the meshes of the Bunneah andmoney-lender. 

I assert as a fact that the great majority of villagers in Behar wouldrather go to the factory, and have their sahib adjudicate on theirdispute, than take it into Court. The officials in the indigodistricts know this, and as a rule are very friendly with theplanters. But not long since, an official was afraid to dine at aplanter's house, fearing he might be accused of planter proclivities. In no other country in the world would the same jealousy of men whoopen out and enrich a country, and who are loyal, intelligent, andeducated citizens, be displayed; but there are high quarters in whichthe old feeling of the East India Company, that all who were not inthe service must be adventurers and interlopers, seems not wholly tohave died out. 

That there have been abuses no one denies; but for years past themajority of the planters in Tirhoot, Chupra, and Chumparun, and in theindigo districts generally, not merely the managers, but theproprietors and agents have been laudably and loyally stirring, inspite of failures, reduced prices, and frequent bad seasons, toelevate the standard of their peasantry, and establish the indigosystem on a fair and equitable basis. During the years when I was anassistant and manager on indigo estates, the rates for payment ofindigo to cultivators nearly doubled, although prices for themanufactured article remained stationary. In well managed factories, the forcible seizure of carts and ploughs, and the enforcement oflabour, which is an old charge against planters, was unknown; and thepayment of tribute, common under the old feudal system, and styled_furmaish_, had been allowed to fall into desuetude. The NATIVEZemindars or landholders however, still jealously maintain theirrights, and harsh exactions were often made by them on the cultivatorson the occasions of domestic events, such as births, marriages, deaths, and such like, in the families of the landowners. For yearsthese exactions or feudal payments by the ryot to the Zemindar havebeen commuted by the factories into a lump sum in cash, when villageshave been taken in farm, and this sum has been paid to the Zemindar asan enhanced rent. In the majority of cases it has not been levied fromthe cultivators, but the whole expense has been borne by the factory. In individual instances resort may have been had to unworthy tricks toharass the ryots, the factory middle-men having often been oppressorsand tyrants; but as a body, the indigo planters of the present dayhave sternly set their faces to put down these oppressions, and havehonestly striven to mete out even-handed justice to their tenants anddependants. With the spread of education and intelligence, thedevelopment of agricultural knowledge and practical science, and thevastly improved communication by roads, bridges, and ferries, inbringing about all of which the planting community themselves havebeen largely instrumental, there can be little doubt that these oldfashioned charges against the planters as a body will cease, andpublic opinion will be brought to bear on any one who may promote hisown interests by cruelty or rapacity, instead of doing his business onan equitable commercial basis, giving every man his due, relying onskill, energy, industry, and integrity, to promote the best interestsof his factory; gaining the esteem and affection of his people byliberality, kindness, and strict justice. 

It can never be expected that a ryot can grow indigo at a loss tohimself, or at a lower rate of profit than that which the cultivationof his other ordinary crops would give him, without at least somecompensating advantages. With all his poverty and supposed stupidity, he is keenly alive to his own interests, quite able to hold his own inmatters affecting his pocket. I have no hesitation in saying that thesteady efforts which have been made by all the best planters to treatthe ryot fairly, to give him justice, to encourage him with liberalaid and sympathy, and to put their mutual relations on a fair businessfooting, are now bearing fruit, and will result in the cultivation andmanufacture of indigo in Upper Bengal becoming, as it deserves tobecome, one of the most firmly established, fairly conducted, andjustly administered industries in India. That it may be so is, as Iknow, the earnest wish, as it has long been the dearest object, of mybest friends among the planters of Behar. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The tiger. --His habitat. --Shooting on foot. --Modes of shooting. --Atiger hunt on foot. --The scene of the hunt. -The beat. --Incidents ofthe hunt. --Fireworks. --The tiger charges. --The elephant bolts. --Thetigress will not break. --We kill a half-grown cub. --Try again forthe tigress. --Unsuccessful. --Exaggerations in tiger stories. --Myauthorities. --The brothers S. --Ferocity and structure of the tiger. --His devastations. --His frame-work, teeth, &c. --A tiger at bay. --His unsociable habits. --Fight between tiger and tigress. --Youngtigers. --Power and strength of the tiger. --Examples. --His cowardice. --Charge of a wounded tiger. --Incidents connected with wounded tigers. --A spined tiger. --Boldness of young tigers. --Cruelty. --Cunning. --Nightscenes in the jungle. --Tiger killed by a wild boar. --His cautioushabits. --General remarks. 

In the foregoing chapters I have tried to perform my promise, to givea general idea of our daily life in India; our toils and trials, oursports, our pastimes, and our general pursuits. No record of Indiansport, however, would be complete without some allusion to the kinglytiger, and no one can live long near the Nepaul frontier, without atsome time or other having an encounter with the royal robber--thestriped and whiskered monarch of the jungle. 

He is always to be found in the Terai forests, and although veryoccasionally indeed met with in Tirhoot, where the population is verydense, and waste lands infrequent, he is yet often to be encounteredin the solitudes of Oudh or Goruchpore, has been shot at and killednear Bettiah, and at our pig-sticking ground near Kuderent. In NorthBhaugulpore and Purneah he may be said to be ALWAYS at home, as he canbe met there, if you search for him, at all seasons of the year. 

In some parts of India, notably in the Deccan, and in some districtson the Bombay side, and even in the Soonderbunds near Calcutta, sportsmen and shekarries go after the tiger on foot. I must confessthat this seems to me a mad thing to do. With every advantage ofweapon, with the most daring courage, and the most imperturbablecoolness, I think a man no fair match for a tiger in his nativejungles. There are men now living who have shot numbers of tigers onfoot, but the numerous fatal accidents recorded every year, plainlyshew the danger of such a mode of shooting. 

In Central India, in the North-west, indeed in most districts whereelephants are not easily procurable, it is customary to erect_mychans_ or bamboo platforms on trees. A line of beaters, withtom-toms, drums, fireworks, and other means for creating a din, arethen sent into the jungle, to beat the tigers up to the platform onwhich you sit and wait. This is often a successful mode if you securean advantageous place, but accidents to the beaters are very common, and it is at best a weary and vexatious mode of shooting, as after allyour trouble the tiger may not come near your _mychan_, or give youthe slightest glimpse of his beautiful skin. 

I have only been out after tiger on foot on one occasion. It was inthe sal jungles in Oudh. A neighbour of mine, a most intimate and dearfriend, whom I had nicknamed the 'General, ' and a young friend, Fullerton, were with me. A tigress and cub were reported to be in adense patch of _nurkool_ jungle, on the banks of the creek whichdivided the General's cultivation from mine. The nurkool is a tallfeathery-looking cane, very much relished by elephants. It grows indense brakes, and generally in damp boggy ground, affording completeshade and shelter for wild animals, and is a favourite haunt of pig, wolf, tiger, and buffalo. 

We had only one elephant, the use of which Fullerton had got from aneighbouring Baboo. It was not a staunch animal, so we put one of ourmen in the howdah, with a plentiful supply of bombs, a kind of nativefirework, enclosed in a clay case, which burns like a huge squib, andsets fire to the jungle. Along with the elephant we had a line ofabout one hundred coolies, and several men with drums and tom-toms. Fullerton took the side nearest the river, as it was possible thebrute might sneak out that way, and make her escape along the bank. The General's shekarry remained behind, in rear of the line ofbeaters, in case the tigress might break the line, and try to escapeby the rear. My _Gomasta_, the General, and myself, then took uppositions behind trees all along the side of the glade or dell inwhich was the bit of nurkool jungle. 

It was a small basin, sloping gently down to the creek from the saljungle, which grew up dark and thick all around. A margin of closesward, as green and level as a billiard-table, encircled the glade, and in the basin the thick nurkool grew up close, dense, and high, like a rustling barrier of living green. In the centre was thedecaying stump of a mighty forest monarch, with its withered armsstretching out their bleached and shattered lengths far over thewaving feathery tops of the nurkool below. 

The General and I cut down, some branches, which we stuck in theground before us. I had a fallen log in front of me, on which I restedmy guns. I had a naked _kookree_ ready to hand, for we were sure thatthe tigress was in the swamp, and I did not know what might happen. Idid not half like this style of shooting, and wished I was safelyseated on the back of 'JORROCKS, ' my faithful old Bhaugulporeelephant. The General whistled as a sign for the beat to begin. Thecoolies dashed into the thicket. The stately elephant slowly forcedhis ponderous body through the crashing swaying brake. The rattle ofthe tom-toms and rumble of the drums, mingled with the hoarse shoutsand cries of the beaters, the fiery rush of sputtering flame, and theloud report as each bomb burst, with the huge volumes of blindingsmoke, and the scent of gunpowder that came on the breeze, told usthat the bombs were doing their work. The jungle was too green toburn; but the fireworks raised a dense sulphurous smoke, whichpenetrated among the tall stems of the nurkool, and by the waving andcrashing of the tall swaying canes, the heaving of the howdah, withthe red puggree of the peon, and the gleaming of the staves andweapons, we could see that the beat was advancing. 

As they neared the large withered tree in the centre of the brake, theelephant curled up his trunk and trumpeted. This was a sure sign therewas game afoot. We could see the peon in the howdah leaning over thefront bar, and eagerly peering into the recesses of the thicket beforehim. He lit one of the bombs, and hurled it right up against the holeof the tree. It hissed and sputtered, and the smoke came curling overthe reeds in dense volumes. A roar followed that made the valley ringagain. We heard a swift rush. The elephant turned tail, and fled madlyaway, crashing through the matted brake that crackled and tore underhis tread. The howdah swayed wildly, and the peon clung tenaciously onto the top bar with all his desperate might. The _mahout_, orelephant-driver, tried in vain to check the rush of the frightenedbrute, but after repeated sounding whacks on the head he got her tostop, and again turn round. Meantime the cries and shouting hadceased, and the beaters came pouring from the jungle by twos andthrees, like the frightened inhabitants of some hive or ant-heap. Somein their hurry came tumbling out headlong, others with their facesturned backwards to see if anything was in pursuit of them, gotentangled in the reeds, and fell prone on their hands and knees. Onefellow had just emerged from the thick cover, when another terrifiedcompatriot dashed out in blind unreasoning fear close behind him. Thefirst one thought the tiger was on him. With one howl of anguish anddismay he fled as fast as he could run, and the General and I, who hadwitnessed the episode, could not help uniting in a resounding peal oflaughter, that did more to bring the scared coolies to their sensesthan anything else we could have done. 

There was no doubt now of the tiger's whereabouts. One of the beatersgave us a most graphic description of its appearance and proportions. According to him it was bigger than an elephant, had a mouth as wideas a coal scuttle, and eyes that glared like a thousand suns. From allthis we inferred that there was a full grown tiger or tigress in thejungle. We re-formed the line of beaters, and once more got theelephant to enter the patch. The same story was repeated. No soonerdid they get near the old tree, than the tigress again charged with aroar, and our valiant coolies and the chicken-hearted elephant vacatedthe jungle as fast as their legs could carry them. This happened twiceor thrice. The tigress charged every time, but would not leave hersafe cover. The elephant wheeled round at every charge, and would notshew fight. Fullerton got into the howdah, and fired two shots intothe spot where the tigress was lying. He did not apparently wound her, but the reports brought her to the charge once more, and the elephant, by this time fairly tired of the game, and thoroughly demoralised withfear, bolted right away, and nearly cracked poor Fullerton's headagainst the branch of a tree. 

We could plainly see, that with only one elephant we could neverdislodge the tigress, so making the coolies beat up the patch inlines, we shot several pig and a hog-deer, and adjourned for somethingto eat by the bank of the creek. We had been trying to oust thetigress for over four hours, but she was as wise as she was savage, and refused to become a mark for our bullets in the open. After lunchwe made another grand attempt. We promised the coolies double pay ifthey roused the tigress to flight. The elephant was forced again intothe nurkool very much against his will, and the mahout was promised areward if we got the tigress. The din this time was prodigious, andstrange to say they got quite close up to the big withered treewithout the usual roar and charge. This seemed somewhat to stimulatethe beaters and the old elephant. The coolies redoubled their cries, smote among the reeds with their heavy staves, and shoutedencouragement to each other. Right in the middle of the line, as itseemed to us from the outside, there was then a fierce roar and amighty commotion. Cries of fear and consternation arose, and forthpoured the coolies again, helter skelter, like so many rabbits from awarren when the weasel or ferret has entered the burrow. Right beforeme a huge old boar and a couple of sows came plunging forth. I letthem get on a little distance from the brake, and then with my'Express' I rolled over the tusker and one of his companions, and justthen the General shouted out to me, 'There's the tiger!'

I looked in the direction of his levelled gun, and there at the edgeof the jungle was a handsome half-grown tiger cub, beautifully marked, his tail switching angrily from side to side, and his twitchingretracted lips and bristling moustache drawn back like those of avicious cat, showing his gleaming polished fangs and teeth. 

The General had a fine chance, took a steady aim, and shot the youngsavage right through the heart. The handsome young tiger gave oneconvulsive leap into the air and fell on his side stone dead. We couldnot help a cheer, and shouted for Fullerton, who soon came running up. We got some coolies together, but they were frightened to go near thedead animal, as we could plainly hear the old vixen inside snarlingand snapping, for all the world like an angry terrier. We heard herhalf-suppressed growl and snarl. She was evidently in a fine temper. How we wished for a couple of staunch elephants to hunt her out of thecane. It was no use, however, the elephant would not go near thejungle again. The coolies were thoroughly scared, and had got plentyof pork and venison to eat, so did not care for anything else. Wecollected a lot of tame buffaloes, and tried to drive them through thejungle, but the coolies had lost heart, and would not exertthemselves; so we had to content ourselves with the cub, who measuredsix feet three inches (a very handsome skin it was), and veryreluctantly had to leave the savage mother alone. I never saw a brutecharge so persistently as she did. She always rushed forward with asuccession of roars, and was very wary and cunning. She never chargedhome, she did not even touch the elephant or any of the coolies, butevidently trusted to frighten her assailants away by a bold show and afierce outcry. 

We went back two days after with five elephants, which with greatdifficulty we had got together[1], and thoroughly beat the patch ofnurkool, killed a lot of pig and a couple of deer, shot an alligator, and destroyed over thirty of its eggs, which we discovered on the bankof the creek; and returning in the evening shot a nilghau and a blackbuck, but the tigress had disappeared. She was gone, and we grumbledsorely at our bad luck. That was the only occasion I was ever aftertiger on foot. It was doubtless intensely exciting work, and bothtigress and cub must have passed close to us several times, hidden bythe jungle. We were only about thirty paces from the edge of thebrake, and both animals must have seen us, although the dense coverhid them from our sight. I certainly prefer shooting from the howdah. 

Although it is beyond the scope of this book to enter into a detailedaccount of the tiger, discussing his structure, habits, andcharacteristics, it may aid the reader if I give a sketchy generaloutline of some of the more prominent points of interest connectedwith the monarch of the jungle, the cruel, cunning, ferocious king ofthe cat tribe, the beautiful but dreaded tiger. 

I should prefer to shew his character by incidents with which I havemyself been connected, but as many statements have been made abouttigers that are utterly absurd and untrue, and as tiger storiesgenerally contain a good deal of exaggeration, and a naturalscepticism unconsciously haunts the reader when tigers and tigershooting are the topics, it may be as well to state once for all, thatI shall put down nothing that cannot be abundantly substantiated byreference to my own sporting journals, on those of the brothers S. , friends and fellow-sportsmen of my own. To G. S. I am under greatobligations for many interesting notes he has given me about tigershooting. Joe, his brother, was long our captain in our annualshooting parties. Their father and _his_ brother, the latter stillalive and a keen shot, were noted sportsmen at a time when game wasmore plentiful, shooting more generally practised, and when to be agood shot meant more than average excellence. The two brothers betweenthem have shot, I daresay, more than four hundred and fifty male andfemale tigers, and serried rows of skulls ranged round thebilliard-rooms in their respective factories, bear witness to theirlove of sport and the deadly accuracy of their aim. Under theirauspices I began my tiger shooting, and as they knew every inch of thejungles, had for years been observant students of nature, wereacquainted with all the haunts and habits of every wild creature, Iacquired a fund of information about the tiger which I knew could bedepended on. It was the result of actual observation and experience, and in most instances it was corroborated by my own experience in mymore limited sphere of action. Every incident I adduce, everydeduction I draw, every assertion I make regarding tigers and tigershooting can be plentifully substantiated, and abundantly testifiedto, by my brother sportsmen of Purneah and Bhaugulpore. From theirvaluable information I have got most of the material for this part ofmy book. 

Of the order FERAE, the family _felidae_, there is perhaps no animalin the wide range of all zoology, so eminently fitted for destructionas the tiger. His whole structure and appearance, combining beauty andextreme agility with prodigious strength, his ferocity, and hiscunning, mark him out as the very type of a beast of prey. He is thelargest of the cat tribe, the most formidable race of quadrupeds onearth. He is the most bloodthirsty in habit, and the most dreaded byman. Whole tracts of fertile fields, reclaimed from the wildluxuriance of matted jungle, and waving with golden grain, have beendeserted by the patient husbandmen, and allowed to relapse intotangled thicket and uncultured waste on account of the ravages of thisformidable robber. Whole villages have been depopulated by tigers, themouldering door-posts, and crumbling rafters, met with at intervals inthe heart of the solitary jungle, alone marking the spot where athriving hamlet once sent up the curling smoke from its humblehearths, until the scourge of the wilderness, the dreaded 'man-eater, 'took up his station near it, and drove the inhabitants in terror fromthe spot. Whole herds of valuable cattle have been literally destroyedby the tiger. His habitat is in those jungles, and near thoselocalities, which are most highly prized by the herdsmen of India fortheir pastures, and the numbers of cattle that yearly fall before histhirst for blood, and his greed for living prey, are almostincredible. I have scarcely known a day pass, during the hot months, on the banks of the Koosee, that news of a _kill_ has not been sent infrom some of the villages in my _ilaka_, and as a tiger eats once inevery four or five days, and oftener if he can get the chance, thenumber of animals that fall a prey to his insatiable appetite, overthe extent of Hindustan, must be enormous. The annual destruction oftame animals by tigers alone is almost incredible, and when we add tothis the wild buffalo, the deer, the pig, and other untamed animals, to say nothing of smaller creatures, we can form some conception ofthe destruction caused by the tiger in the course of a year. 

His whole frame is put together to effect destruction. In cutting up atiger you are impressed with this. His tendons are masses of nerve andmuscle as hard as steel. The muscular development is tremendous. Vastbands and layers of muscle overlap each other. Strong ligaments, whichyou can scarcely cut through, and which soon blunt the sharpest knife, unite the solid, freely-playing, loosely-jointed bones. The muzzle isbroad, and short, and obtuse. The claws are completely retractile. Thejaws are short. There are two false molars, two grinders above, andthe same number below. The upper carnivorous tooth has three lobes, and an obtuse heel; the lower has two lobes, pointed and sharp, and noheel. There is one very small tuberculous tooth above as an auxiliary, and then the strong back teeth. The muscles of the jaws are oftremendous power. I have come across the remains of a buffalo killedby a tiger, and found all the large bones, even the big strong bonesof the pelvis and large joints, cracked and crunched like so manywalnuts, by the powerful jaws of the fierce brute. 

The eye is peculiarly brilliant, and when glaring with fury it istruly demoniac. With his bristles rigid, the snarling lips drawn back, disclosing the formidable fangs, the body crouching for his spring, and the lithe tail puffed up and swollen, and lashing restlessly fromside to side, each muscle tense and strung, and an undulating movementperceptible like the motions of a huge snake, a crouching tiger at bayis a sight that strikes a certain chill to the heart of the onlooker. When he bounds forward, with a roar that reverberates among the mazylabyrinths of the interminable jungle, he tests the steadiest nerveand almost daunts the bravest heart. 

In their habits they are very unsociable, and are only seen togetherduring the amatory season. When that is over the male tiger betakeshim again to his solitary predatory life, and the tigress becomes, ifpossible, fiercer than he is, and buries herself in the gloomiestrecesses of the jungle. When the young are born, the male tiger hasoften been known to devour his offspring, and at this time they arevery savage and quarrelsome. Old G. , a planter in Purneah, once cameacross a pair engaged in deadly combat. They writhed and struggled onthe ground, the male tiger striking tremendous blows on the chest andflanks of his consort, and tearing her skin in strips, while thetigress buried her fangs in his neck, tearing and worrying with allthe ferocity of her nature. She was battling for her young. G. Shotboth the enraged combatants, and found that one of the cubs had beenmangled, evidently by his unnatural father. Another, which he pickedup in a neighbouring bush, was unharmed, but did not survive long. Pairs have often been shot in the same jungle, but seldom in closeproximity, and it accords with all experience that they betray anaversion to each other's society, except at the one season. Thispropensity of the father to devour his offspring seems to be due tojealousy or to blind unreasoning hate. To save her offspring thefemale always conceals her young, and will often move far from thejungle which she usually frequents. 

When the cubs are able to kill for themselves, she seems to lose allpleasure in their society, and by the time they are well grown sheusually has another batch to provide for. I have, however, shot atigress with a full-grown cub--the hunt described in the last chapteris an instance--and on several occasions, my friend George has shotthe mother with three or four full-grown cubs in attendance. This ishowever rare, and only happens I believe when the mother has remainedentirely separate from the company of the male. 

The strength of the tiger is amazing. The fore paw is the mostformidable weapon of attack. With one stroke delivered with fulleffect he can completely disable a large buffalo. On one occasion, onthe Koosee _derahs_, that is, the plains bordering the river, anenraged tiger, passing through a herd of buffaloes, broke the backs oftwo of the herd, giving each a stroke right and left as he went along. One blow is generally sufficient to kill the largest bullock orbuffalo. Our captain, Joe, had once received _khubber_, that is, newsor information, of a kill by a tiger. He went straight to the_baithan_, the herd's head-quarters, and on making enquiries, was toldthat the tiger was a veritable monster. 

'Did you see it?' asked Joe. 

'I did not, ' responded the _goala_ or cowherd. 

'Then how do you know it was so large?'

'Because, ' said the man, 'it killed the biggest buffalo in my herd, and the poor brute only gave one groan. '

George once tracked a tiger, following up the drag of a bullock thathe had carried off. At one place the brute came to a ditch, which wasmeasured and found to be five feet in width. Through this there was nodrag, but the traces continued on the further side. The inference is, that the powerful thief had cleared the ditch, taking the bullockbodily with him at a bound. Others have been known to jump clear outof a cattle pen, over a fence some six feet high, taking on oneoccasion a large-sized calf, and another time a sheep. 

Another wounded tiger, with two bullets in his flanks, the wound beingnear the root of the tail, cleared a _nullah_, or dry watercourse, atone bound. The nullah was stepped by George, and found to betwenty-three paces wide. It is fortunate, with such tremendous powersfor attack, that the tiger will try as a rule to slink out of the wayif he can. He almost always avoids an encounter with man. His firstinstinct is flight. Only the exciting incidents of the chase are as arule put upon record. A narrative of tiger shooting therefore is aptin this respect to be a little misleading. The victims who meet theirdeath tamely and quietly (and they form the majority in everyhunt), --those that are shot as they are tamely trying to escape--aresimply enumerated, but the charging tiger, the old vixen that breaksthe line, and scatters the beaters to right and left, that rouses theblood of the sportsmen to a fierce excitement, these are made the mostof. Every incident is detailed and dwelt upon, and thus the idea hasgained ground, that ALL tigers are courageous, and wait not forattack, but in most instances take the initiative. It is not the case. Most of the tigers I have seen killed would have escaped if theycould. It is only when brought to bay, or very hard pressed, or indefence of its young, that a tiger or tigress displays its nativeferocity. At such a moment indeed, nothing gives a better idea ofsavage determined fury and fiendish rage. With ears thrown back, browscontracted, mouth open, and glaring yellow eyes scintillating withfury, the cruel claws plucking at the earth, the ridgy hairs on theback stiff and erect as bristles, and the lithe lissome body quiveringin every muscle and fibre with wrath and hate, the beast comes down tothe charge with a defiant roar, which makes the pulse bound and thebreath come short and quick. It requires all a man's nerve andcoolness, to enable him to make steady shooting. 

Roused to fury by a wound, I have seen tigers wheel round with amazingswiftness, and dash headlong, roaring dreadfully as they charged, fullupon the nearest elephant, scattering the line and lacerating the poorcreature on whose flanks or head they may have fastened, their wholeaspect betokening pitiless ferocity and fiendish rage. 

Even in death they do not forget their savage instincts. I knew of onecase in which a seemingly dead tiger inflicted a fearful wound upon anelephant that had trodden on what appeared to be his inanimatecarcase. Another elephant, that attacked and all but trampled a tigerto death, was severely bitten under one of the toe-nails. The woundmortified, and the unfortunate beast died in about a week after itsinfliction. Another monster, severely wounded, fell into a pool ofwater, and seized hold with its jaws of a hard knot of wood that wasfloating about. In its death agony, it made its powerful teeth meet inthe hard wood, and not until it was being cut up, and we had dividedthe muscles of the jaws, could we extricate the wood from thatformidable clench. In rage and fury, and mad with pain, the woundedtiger will often turn round and savagely bite the wound that causesits agony, and they very often bite their paws and shoulders, and tearthe grass and earth around them. 

A tiger wounded in the spine, however, is the most exciting spectacle. Paralysed in the limbs, he wheels round, roaring and biting ateverything within his reach. In 1874 I shot one in the spine, andwatched his furious movements for some time before I put him out ofhis misery. I threw him a pad from one of the elephants, and the wayhe tore and gnawed it gave me some faint idea of his fury andferocity. He looked the very personification of impotent viciousness;the incarnation of devilish rage. 

Urged by hunger the tiger fearlessly attacks his prey. The mostcourageous are young tigers about seven or eight feet long. Theyinvariably give better sport than larger and older animals, being moreready to charge, and altogether bolder and more defiant. Up to the ageof two years they have probably been with the mother, have neverencountered a reverse or defeat, and having become bold by impunity, hesitate not to fly at any assailant whatever. 

Like all the cat tribe, they are very cruel in disposition, often mostwantonly so. Having disabled his prey with the first onset, the tigerplays with it as a cat does with a mouse, and, unless very sharp setby hunger, he always indulges this love of torture. His attacks are byno means due only to the cravings of his appetite. He often slays thevictims of a herd, in the wantonness of sport, merely to indulge hismurderous propensities. Even when he has had a good meal he will oftengo on adding fresh victims, seemingly to gratify his sense of power, and his love of slaughter. In teaching her cubs to kill forthemselves, the mother often displays great cruelty, frequentlykilling at a time five or six cows from one herd. The young savagesare apt pupils, and 'try their prentice hand' on calves and weaklymembers of the herd, killing from the mere love of murder. 

Their cunning is as remarkable as their cruelty; what they lack inspeed they make up in consummate subtlety. They take advantage of thedirection of the wind, and of every irregularity of the ground. It isamazing what slight cover will suffice to conceal their lurking formsfrom the observation of the herd. During the day they generallyretreat to some cool and shady spot, deep in the recesses of thejungle. Where the soft earth has been worn away with ragged hollowsand deep shady water-courses, where the tallest and most impenetrablejungle conceals the winding and impervious paths, hidden in the gloomand obscurity of the densely-matted grass, the lordly tiger crouches, and blinks away the day. With the approach of night, however, his moodundergoes a change. He hears the tinkle of the bells, borne by some ofthe members of a retreating herd, that may have been feeding in closeproximity to his haunt all day long, and from which he has determinedto select a victim for his evening meal. He rouses himself and yawns, stretches himself like the great cruel cat he is, and then crawls andcreeps silently along, by swampy watercourses, and through deviouslabyrinths known to himself alone. He hangs on the outskirts of theherd, prowling along and watching every motion of the returningcattle. He makes his selection, and with infinite cunning and patiencecontrives to separate it from the rest. He waits for a favourablemoment, when, with a roar that sends the alarmed companions of theunfortunate victim scampering together to the front, he springs on hisunhappy prey, deprives it of all power of resistance with onetremendous stroke, and bears it away to feast at his leisure on thewarm and quivering carcase. 

He generally kills as the shades of evening are falling, and seldomventures on a foraging expedition by day. After nightfall it isdangerous to be abroad in the jungles. It is then that dramas areacted of thrilling interest, and unimaginable sensation scenes takeplace. Some of the old shekarries and field-watchers frequently digshallow pits, in which they take their stand. Their eye is on thelevel of the ground, and any object standing out in relief against thesky line can be readily detected. If they could relate theirexperiences, what absorbing narratives they could write. They see thetiger spring upon his terror-stricken prey, the mother and her hungrycubs prowling about for a victim, or two fierce tigers battling forthe favours of some sleek, striped, remorseless, bloodthirstyforest-fiend. In pursuit of their quarry, they steal noiselesslyalong, and love to make their spring unawares. They generally selectsome weaker member of a herd, and are chary of attacking a strongbig-boned, horned animal. They sometimes 'catch a Tartar, ' andinstances are known of a buffalo not only withstanding the attack of atiger successfully, but actually gaining the victory over his moreactive assailant, whose life has paid the penalty of his rashness. 

Old G. Told me, he had come across the bodies of a wild boar and anold tiger, lying dead together near Burgamma. The boar was fearfullymauled, but the clean-cut gaping gashes in the striped hide of thetiger, told how fearfully and gallantly he had battled for his life. 

In emerging from the jungle at night, they generally select the samepath or spot, and approach the edge of the cover with great caution. They will follow the same track for days together. Hence in someplaces the tracks of the tigers are so numerous as to lead the tyro toimagine that dozens must have passed, when in truth the tracks allbelong to one and the same brute. So acute is their perception, sonarrowly do they scrutinize every minute object in their path, sosuspicious is their nature, that anything new in their path, such as apitfall, a screen of cut grass, a _mychan_, that is, a stage fromwhich you might be intending to get a shot, nay, even the print of afootstep--a man's, a horse's, an elephant's--is often quite enough toturn them from a projected expedition, or at any rate to lead them toseek some new outlet from the jungle. In any case it increases theirwariness, and under such circumstances it becomes almost impossible toget a shot at them from a pit or shooting-stage. Their vision, theirsense of smell, of hearing, all their perceptions are so acute, that Ithink lying in wait for them is chiefly productive of weariness andvexation of spirit. It is certainly dangerous, and the chances of asuccessful shot are so problematical, while the _disagreeables_, anddiscomforts, and dangers are so real and tangible, that I am inclinedto think this mode of attack 'hardly worth the candle. '

With all his ferocity and cruelty, however, I am of opinion that thetiger is more cowardly than courageous. He will always try to escape adanger, and fly from attack, rather than attack in return or wait tomeet it, and wherever he can, in pursuit of his prey, he will trustrather to his cunning than to his strength, and he always prefers anambuscade to an open onslaught. 

[1] This was at the time the Prince of Wales was shooting in Nepaul, not very far from where I was then stationed. Most of the elephants in the district had been sent up to his Royal Highness's camp, or were on their way to take part in the ceremonies of the grand _Durbar_ in Delhi. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The tiger's mode of attack. --The food he prefers. --Varieties of prey. --Examples. --What he eats first. --How to tell the kill of a tiger. --Appetite fierce. --Tiger choked by a bone. --Two varieties oftiger. --The royal Bengal. --Description. --The hill tiger. --Hisdescription. --The two compared. --Length of the tiger. --How tomeasure tigers. --Measurements. --Comparison between male and female. --Number of young at a birth. --The young cubs. --Mother teaching cubsto kill. --Education and progress of the young tiger. --Wariness andcunning of the tiger. --Hunting incidents shewing their powers ofconcealment. --Tigers taking to water. --Examples. --Swimming powers. --Caught by floods. --Story of the Soonderbund tigers. 

The tiger's mode of attack is very characteristic of his whole nature. To see him stealthily crouching, or crawling silently and sneakinglyafter a herd of cattle, dodging behind every clump of bushes or tuftof grass, running swiftly along the high bank of a watercourse, andsneaking under the shadowing border of a belt of jungle, is tounderstand his cunning and craftiness. His attitude, when he iscrouching for the final bound, is the embodiment of suppleness andstrength. All his actions are graceful, and half display and halfconceal beneath their symmetry and elegance the tremendous power anddeadly ferocity that lurks beneath. For a short distance he ispossessed of great speed, and with a few short agile bounds hegenerally manages to overtake his prey. If baffled in his firstattack, he retires growling to lie in wait for a less fortunatevictim. His onset being so fierce and sudden, the animal he selectsfor his prey is generally taken at a great disadvantage, and is seldomin a position to make any strenuous or availing resistance. 

Delivering the numbing blow with his mighty fore paw, he fastens onthe throat of the animal he has felled, and invariably tries to tearopen the jugular vein. This is his practice in nearly every case, andit shews a wonderful instinct for selecting the most deadly spot inthe whole body of his luckless prey. When he has got hold of hisvictim by the throat, he lies down, holding on to the bleedingcarcase, snarling and growling, and fastening and withdrawing hisclaws, much as a cat does with a rat or mouse. Some writers say hethen proceeds to drink the blood, but this is just one of those broadgeneral assertions which require proof. In some cases he may quenchhis thirst and gratify his appetite for blood by drinking it from thegushing veins of his quivering victim, but in many cases I know fromobservation, that the blood is not drunk. If the tiger is very hungryhe then begins his feast, tearing huge fragments of flesh from thedead body, and not unusually swallowing them whole. If he is notparticularly hungry, he drags the carcase away, and hides it in somewell-known spot. This is to preserve it from the hungry talons andteeth of vultures and jackals. He commonly remains on guard near his_cache_ until he has acquired an appetite. If he cannot convenientlycarry away his quarry, because of its bulk, or the nature of theground, or from being disturbed, he returns to the place at night andsatisfies his appetite. 

Tigers can sneak crouchingly along as fast as they can trot, and it iswonderful how silently they can steal on their prey. They seem to havesome stray provident fits, and on occasions make provision for futurewants. There are instances on record of a tiger dragging a _kill_after him for miles, over water, and through slush and weeds, andfeasting on the carcase days after he has killed it. It is a fact, nowestablished beyond a doubt, that he will eat carrion and putrid flesh, but only from necessity and not from choice. 

On one occasion my friends put up a tigress during the rains, whenthere are few cattle in the _derahs_ or plains near the river. She hadkilled a pig, and was eagerly devouring the carcase when she wasdisturbed. Snarling and growling, she made off with a leg of pork inher mouth, when a bullet ended her career. They seem to prefer porkand venison to almost any other kind of food, and no doubt pig anddeer are their natural and usual prey. The influx, however, of vastherds of cattle, and the consequent presence of man, drive away thewild animals, and at all events make them more wary and more difficultto kill. Finding domestic cattle unsuspicious, and not very formidablefoes, the tiger contents himself at a pinch with beef, and judgingfrom his ravages he comes to like it. Getting bolder by impunity, heventures in some straits to attack man. He finds him a very easy prey;he finds the flesh too, perhaps, not unlike his favourite pig. Henceforth he becomes a 'man-eater, ' the most dreaded scourge andpestilent plague of the district. He sometimes finds an old boar atough customer, and never ventures to attack a buffalo unless it begrazing alone, and away from the rest of the herd. When buffaloes areattacked, they make common cause against their crafty and powerfulfoe, and uniting together in a crescent-shaped line, their horns alldirected in a living _cheval-de-frise_ against the tiger, they rushtumultuously at him, and fairly hunt him from the jungle. The pig, having a short thick neck, and being tremendously muscular, is hard tokill; but the poor inoffensive cow, with her long-neck, is generallykilled at the first blow, or so disabled that it requires littlefurther effort to complete the work of slaughter. 

Two friends of mine once shot an enormous old tiger on a small islandin the middle of the river, during the height of the annual rains. Thebrute had lost nearly all its hair from mange, and was an emaciatedsorry-looking object. From the remains on the island--the skin, scales, and bones--they found that he must have slain and eatenseveral alligators during his enforced imprisonment on the island. They will eat alligators when pressed by hunger, and they have beenknown to subsist on turtles, tortoises, iguanas, and even jackals. Only the other day in Assam, a son of Dr. B. Was severely mauled by atiger which sprang into the verandah after a dog. There were threegentlemen in the verandah, and, as you may imagine, they were takennot a little by surprise. They succeeded in bagging the tiger, but notuntil poor B. Was very severely hurt. 

After tearing the throat open, they walk round the prostrate carcaseof their prey, growling and spitting like 'tabby' cats. They begintheir operations in earnest, invariably on the buttock. A leopardgenerally eats the inner portion of the thigh first. A wolf tears openthe belly, and eats the intestines first. A vulture, hawk, or kite, begins on the eyes; but a tiger invariably begins on the buttocks, whether of buffalo, cow, deer, or pig. He then eats the fatty coveringround the intestines, follows that up with the liver and udder, andworks his way round systematically to the fore-quarters, leaving thehead to the last. It is frequently the only part of an animal thatthey do not eat. 

A 'man-eater' eats the buttocks, shoulders, and breasts first. So manycarcases are found in the jungle of animals that have died fromdisease or old age, or succumbed to hurts and accidents, that thewhitened skeletons meet the eye in hundreds. But one can always tellthe kill of a tiger, and distinguish between it and the other bleachedheaps. The large bones of a tiger's kill are always broken. The broadmassive rib bones are crunched in two as easily as a dog would snapthe drumstick of a fowl. Vultures and jackals, the scavengers of thejungle, are incapable of doing this; and when you see the fracturedlarge bones, you can always tell that the whiskered monarch has beenon the war-path. George S. Writes me:--

'I have known a tiger devour a whole bullock to his own cheek in oneday. Early in the morning a man came to inform me he had seen a tigerpull down a bullock. I went after the fellow late in the afternoon, and found him in a bush not more than twenty feet square, the onlyjungle he had to hide in for some distance round, and in this he hadpolished off the bullock, nothing remaining save the head. The junglebeing so very small, and he having lain the whole day in it, nothingin the way of vultures or jackals could have assisted him in finishingoff the bullock. '

When hungry they appear to bolt large masses of flesh withoutmasticating it. The same correspondent writes:--

'We cut out regular "fids" once from a tiger's stomach, also largepieces of bone. Joe heard a tremendous roaring one night, whichcontinued till near morning, not far from Nipunneah. He went out atdawn to look for the tiger, which he found was dead. The brute hadtried to swallow the knee-joint of a bullock, and it had stuck in hisgullet. This made him roar from pain, and eventually choked him. '

As there are two distinct varieties of wild pig in India, so thereseems to be little doubt that there are two distinct kinds of tigers. As these have frequently crossed we find many hybrids. I cannot dobetter than again quote from my obliging and observant friend George. The two kinds he designates as 'The Royal Bengal, ' and 'The HillTiger, ' and goes on to say:--

'As a rule the stripes of a Royal Bengal are single and dark. Theskull is widely different from that of his brother the Hill tiger, being low in the crown, wider in the jaws, rather flat in comparison, and the brain-pan longer with a sloping curve at the end, the crest ofthe brain-pan being a concave curve. 

'The Hill tiger is much more massively built; squat and thick set, heavier in weight and larger in bulk, with shorter tail, and verylarge and powerful neck, head, and shoulders. The stripes generallyare double, and of a more brownish tinge, with fawn colour between thedouble stripes. The skull is high in the crown, and not quite so wide. The brain-pan is shorter, and the crest slightly convex or nearlystraight, and the curve at the end of the skull rather abrupt. 

'They never grow so long as the "Bengal, " yet look twice as big. 

'The crosses are very numerous, and vary according to pedigree, instripes, skulls, form, weight, bulk, and tail. This I find mostremarkable when I look at my collection of over 160 skulls. 

'The difference is better marked in tigers than in tigresses. TheBengal variety are not as a rule as ferocious as the Hill tiger. Beingmore supple and cunning, they can easier evade their pursuers byflight and manoeuvre than, their less agile brothers. The former, owing to deficiency of strength, oftener meet with discomfiture, andconsequently are more wary and cunning; while the latter, prone tocarry everything before them, trust more to their strength andcourage, anticipating victory as certain. 

'In some the stripes are doubled throughout, in others only partiallyso, while in some they are single throughout, and some have manes to aslight extent. '

I have no doubt this classification is correct. The tigers I have seenin Nepaul near the hills, were sometimes almost a dull red, and at adistance looked like a huge dun cow, while those I have seen in theplains during our annual hunts, were of a bright tawny yellow, longer, more lanky, and not shewing half such a bold front as their bulkierand bolder brethren of the hills. 

The length of the tiger has often given rise to fierce discussionsamong sportsmen. The fertile imagination of the slayer of a solitary'stripes, ' has frequently invested the brute he has himself shot, orseen shot, or perchance heard of as having been shot by a friend, orthe friend of a friend, with a, fabulous length, inches swelling tofeet, and dimensions growing at each repetition of the yarn, till, asin the case of boars, the twenty-eight incher becomes a forty inchtusker, and the eight foot tiger stretches to twelve or fourteen feet. 

Purists again, sticklers for stern truth, haters of bounce orexaggeration, have perhaps erred as much on the other side; and intheir eagerness to give the exact measurement, and avoid the veryappearance of exaggeration, they actually stretch their tape line andrefuse to measure the curves of the body, taking it in straight lines. This I think is manifestly unfair. 

Our mode of measurement in Purneah was to take the tiger as he laybefore he was put on the elephant, and measure from the tip of thenose, over the crest of the skull, along the undulations of the body, to the tip of the tail. That is, we followed the curvature of thespine along the dividing ridge of the back, and always were carefuland fair in our attempts. I am of opinion that a tiger over ten feetlong is an exceptionally long one, but when I read of sportsmendenying altogether that even that length can be attained, I can butpity the dogmatic scepticism that refuses credence to well ascertainedand authenticated facts. I believe also that tigers are not got nearlyso large as in former days. I believe that much longer and heaviertigers--animals larger in every way--were shot some twenty years agothan those we can get now, but I account for this by the fact thatthere is less land left waste and uncultivated. There are more roads, ferries, and bridges, more improved communications, and in consequencemore travelling. Population and cultivation have increased; firearmsare more numerous; sport is more generally followed; shooting is muchmore frequent and deadly; and, in a word, tigers have not the samechances as they had some twenty years ago of attaining a ripe old age, and reaching the extremest limit of their growth. The largest tigersbeing also the most suspicious and wary, are only found in theremotest recesses of the impenetrable jungles of Nepaul and the Terai, or in those parts of the Indian wilds where the crack of the Europeanrifle is seldom or never heard. 

It has been so loudly asserted, and so boldly maintained that no tigerwas ever shot reaching, when fairly measured (that is, measured withthe skin on, as he lay), ten feet, that I will let Mr. George againspeak for himself. Referring to the royal Bengal, he says:--

'These grow to great lengths. They have been shot as long as twelvefeet seven inches (my father shot one that length) or longer; twelvefeet seven inches, twelve feet six inches, twelve feet three inches, twelve feet one inch, and twelve feet, have been shot and recorded inthe old sporting magazines by gentlemen of undoubted veracity inPurneah. 

'I have seen the skin of one twelve feet one inch, compared with whichthe skin of one I have by me _that measured as he lay_ (the italicsare mine) eleven feet one inch, looks like the skin of a cub. The oldskin looks more like that of a huge antediluvian species in comparisonwith the other. 

'The twelve footer was so heavy that my uncle (C. A. S. ) tells me nonumber of mahouts could lift it. Several men, if they could haveapproached at one and the same time, might have been able to do so, but a sufficient number of men could not lay hold simultaneously tomove the body from the ground. 

'Eventually a number of bamboos had to be cut, and placed in anincline from the ground to the elephant's saddle while the elephantknelt down, and up this incline the tiger had to be regularly hauledand shoved, and so fastened on the elephant. 

'He (the tiger) mauled four elephants, one of whom died the same day, and one other had a narrow _batch_, i. E. Escape, of its life. 

In another communication to me, my friend goes over the same ground, but as the matter is one of interest to sportsmen and naturalists, Iwill give the extract entire. It proceeds as follows:--

'Tigers grow to great lengths, some assert to even fourteen feet. I donot say they do not, but such cases are very rare, and requireauthentication. The longest I have seen, measured as he lay, elevenfeet one inch (see "Oriental Sporting Magazine, " for July, 1871, p. 308). He was seven feet nine inches from tip of nose to root of tail;root of tail one foot three inches in circumference; round chest fourfeet six inches; length of head one foot two inches; fore arm two feettwo inches; round the head two feet ten inches; length of tail threefeet four inches. 

'Besides this, I have shot another eleven feet, and one ten feeteleven inches. 

'The largest tigress I have shot was at Sahareah, which measured tenfeet two inches. I shot another ten feet exactly. ' (See O. S. M. , Aug. , 1874, p. 358. )

'I have got the head of a tiger, shot by Joe, which measured elevenfeet five inches. It was shot at Baraila. 

'The male is much bigger built in every way--length, weight, size, &c. , than the female. The males are more savage, the females morecunning and agile. The arms, body, paws, head, skull, claws, teeth, &c. , of the female, are smaller. The tail of tigress longer; hind legsmore lanky; the prints look smaller and more contracted, and the toesnearer together. It is said that though a large tiger may venture toattack a buffalo, the tigress refrains from doing so, but I have foundthis otherwise in my experience. 

'I have kept a regular log of all tigers shot by me. The averagelength of fifty-two tigers recorded in my journal is nine feet six anda half inches (cubs excluded), and of sixty-eight tigresses (cubsexcluded), eight feet four inches. 

'The average of tigers and tigresses is eight feet ten and a quarterinches. This is excluding cubs I have taken alive. '

As to measurements, he goes on to make a few remarks, and as I cannotimprove on them I reproduce the original passage:--

'Several methods have been recommended for measuring tigers. I measurethem on the ground, or when brought to camp before skinning, and runthe tape tight along the line, beginning at the tip of the nose, alongthe middle of the skull, between the ears and neck, then along thespine to the end of the tail, taking any curves of the body. 

'No doubt measurements of skull, body, tail, legs, &c. , ought all tobe taken, to give an adequate idea of the tiger, and for comparingthem with one another, but this is not always feasible. '

Most of the leading sportsmen in India now-a-days are very particularin taking the dimensions of every limb of the dead tiger. They takehis girth, length, and different proportions. Many even weigh thetiger when it gets into camp, and no doubt this test is one of thebest that can be given for a comparison of the sizes of the differentanimals slain. 

Another much disputed point in the natural history of the animal, apoint on which there has been much acrimonious discussion, is thenumber of young that are given at a birth. Some writers have asserted, and stoutly maintained, that two cubs, or at the most three, is theextreme number of young brought forth at one time. 

This may be the ordinary number, but the two gentlemen I have alreadyalluded to have assured me, that on frequent occasions they havepicked up four actually born, and have cut out five several times, andon one occasion six, from the womb of a tigress. 

I have myself picked up four male cubs, all in one spot, with theireyes just beginning to open, and none of their teeth through the gums. One had been trampled to death by buffaloes, the other three werealive and scatheless, huddled into a bush, like three immense kittens. I kept the three for a considerable time, and eventually took them toCalcutta and sold them for a very satisfactory price. 

It seems clear, however, that the tigress frequently has four and evenfive cubs. It is rare, indeed to find her accompanied by more than twowell grown cubs, very seldom three; and the inference is, that one ortwo of the young tigers succumb in very early life. 

The young ones do not appear to grow very quickly; they are about afoot long when they are born; they are born blind, with very minutehair, almost none in fact, but with the stripes already perfectlymarked on the soft supple skin; they open their eyes when they areeight or ten days old, at which time they measure about a foot and ahalf. At the age of nine months they have attained to five feet inlength, and are waxing mischievous. Tiger cubs a year old averageabout five feet eight inches, tigresses some three inches or so less. In two years they grow respectively to--the male seven feet sixinches, and the female seven feet. At about this time they leave themother, if they have not already done so, and commence depredations ontheir own account. In fact, their education has been well attended to. The mother teaches them to kill when they are about a year old. Ayoung cub that measured only six feet, and whose mother had been shotin one of the annual beats, was killed while attacking a full growncow in the government pound at Dumdaha police station. When they reachthe length of six feet six inches they can kill pretty easily, andnumbers have been shot by George and other Purneah sportsmen close totheir 'kills. '

They are most daring and courageous when they have just left theirmother's care, and are cast forth to fight the battle of life forthemselves. While with the old tigress their lines have been cast innot unpleasant places, they have seldom known hunger, and haveexperienced no reverses. Accustomed to see every animal succumb to herwell planned and audacious attacks, they fancy that nothing willwithstand their onslaught. They have been known to attack a line ofelephants, and to charge most determinedly, even in this adolescentstage. 

Bye-and-bye, however, as they receive a few rude shocks frombuffaloes, or are worsted in a hand-to-hand encounter with some toughold bull, or savage old grey boar, more especially if they get an uglyrip or two from the sharp tusks of an infuriated fighting tusker, theybegin to be less aggressive, they learn that discretion may be thebetter part of valour, and their cunning instincts are roused. Infact, their education is progressing, and in time they instinctivelydiscover every wile and dodge and cunning stratagem, and display allthe wondrous subtlety of their race in procuring their prey. 

Old tigers are invariably more wary, cautious, and suspicious thanyoung ones, and till they are fairly put to it by hunger, hurt, orcompulsion, they endeavour to keep their stripes concealed. Whenbrought to bay, however, there is little to reproach them with on thescore of cowardice, and it will be matter of rejoicing if you or yourelephants do not come off second best in the encounter. Even in thelast desperate case, a cunning old tiger will often make a feint, orsham rush, or pretended charge, when his whole object is flight. If hesucceed in demoralising the line of elephants, roaring and dashingfuriously about, he will then try in the confusion to double through, unless he is too badly wounded to be able to travel fast, in whichcase he will fight to the end. 

Old fellows are well acquainted with every maze and thicket in thejungles, and they no sooner hear the elephants enter the 'bush' or'cover' than they make off for some distant shelter. If there is noapparent chance of this being successful, they try to steal outlaterally and outflank the line, or if that also is impossible, theyhide in some secret recess like a fox, or crouch low in some clumpybush, and trust to you or your elephant passing by without noticingtheir presence. 

It is marvellous in what sparse cover they will manage to lie up. Soadmirably do their stripes mingle with the withered and charredgrass-stems and dried up stalks, that it is very difficult to detectthe dreaded robber when he is lying flat, extended, close to theground, so still and motionless that you cannot distinguish a tremoror even a vibration of the grass in which he is crouching. 

On one occasion George followed an old tiger through some stubbleabout three feet high. It had been well trampled down too by tamebuffaloes. The tiger had been tracked into the field, and was known tobe in it. George was within ten yards of the cunning brute, andalthough mounted on a tall elephant, and eagerly scanning the thincover with his sharpest glance, he could not discern the concealedmonster. His elephant was within four paces of it, when it sprang upat the charge, giving a mighty roar, which however also served as itsdeath yell, as a bullet from George's trusty gun crashed through itsribs and heart. 

Tigers can lay themselves so flat on the ground, and lie so perfectlymotionless, that it is often a very easy thing to overlook them. Onanother occasion, when the Purneah Hunt were out, a tigress that hadbeen shot got under some cover that was trampled down by a line ofabout twenty elephants. The sportsmen knew that she had been severelywounded, as they could tell by the gouts of blood, but there was nosign of the body. She had disappeared. After a long search, beatingthe same ground over and over again, an elephant trod on the dead bodylying under the trampled canes, and the mahout got down and discoveredher lying quite dead. She was a large animal and full grown. 

On another occasion George was after a fine male tiger. He wasfollowing up fast, but coming to a broad nullah, full of water, hesuddenly lost sight of his game. He looked up and down the bank, andon the opposite bank, but could see no traces of the tiger. Lookingdown, he saw in the water what at first he took to be a largebull-frog. There was not a ripple on the placid stagnant surface ofthe pool. He marvelled much, and just then his mahout pointed to thesupposed bull-frog, and in an excited whisper implored George to fire. A keener look convinced George that it really was the tiger. It wastotally immersed all but the face, and lying so still that not thefaintest motion or ripple was perceptible. He fired and inflicted aterrible wound. The tiger bounded madly forward, and George gave itits quietus through the spine as it tried to spring up the oppositebank. 

A nearly similar case occurred to old Mr. C. , one of the veteransportsmen of Purneah. A tiger had bolted towards a small tank or pond, and though the line followed up in hot pursuit, the brute disappeared. Old C. , keener than the others, was loth to give up the pursuit, andpresently discerned a yellowish reflection in the clear water. Peeringmore intently, he could discover the yellowish tawny outline of thecunning animal, totally immersed in the water, save its eyes, ears, and nose. He shot the tiger dead, and it sank to the bottom like astone. So perfectly had it concealed itself, that the other sportsmencould not for the life of them imagine what old C. Had fired at, tillhis mahout got down and began to haul the dead animal out of thewater. 

Tigers are not at all afraid of water, and are fast and powerfulswimmers. They swim much after the fashion of a horse, only the headout of the water, and they make scarcely any ripple. 

'In another case, ' writes George, 'though not five yards from theelephant, and right under me, a tiger was swimming with so slight aripple that I mistook it for a rat, until I saw the stripes emerge, when I perforated his jacket with a bullet. '

Only their head remaining out of water when they are swimming, theyare very hard to hit, as shooting at an object on water is verydeceptive work as to judging distance, and a tiger's head is but asmall object to aim at when some little way off. 

Old C. Had another adventure with a cunning rogue, which all but endeddisastrously. He was in hot pursuit of the tiger, and, finding nosafety on land, it took to swimming in a broad unfordable piece ofwater, a sort of deep lagoon. Old C. Procured a boat that was handy, and got a coolie to paddle him out after the tiger. He fired severalshots at the exposed head of the brute, but missed. He thought hewould wait till he got nearer and make a sure shot, as he had only onebullet left in the boat. Suddenly the tiger turned round, and madestraight for the boat. Here was a quandary. Even if lie killed thetiger with his single bullet it might upset the boat; the lagoon wasfull of alligators, to say nothing of weeds, and there was no time toget his heavy boots off. He felt his life might depend on the accuracyof his aim. He fired, and killed the tiger stone dead within four orfive yards of the boat. 

On one occasion, when out with our worthy district magistrate, Mr. S. , I came on the tracks of what to all appearance, was a very largetiger. They led over the sand close to the water's edge, and were verydistinct. I could see no returning marks, so I judged that the tigermust have taken to the water. The stream was rapid and deep, andmidway to the further bank was a big, oblong-shaped, sandy islet, somefive or six hundred yards long, and having a few scrubby bushesgrowing sparsely on it. We put our elephants into the rapid current, and got across. The river here was nearly a quarter of a mile wide oneach side of the islet. As we emerged from the stream on to the islandwe found fresh tracks of the tiger. They led us completely round thecircumference of the islet. The tiger had evidently been in quest offood. The prints were fresh and very well defined. Finding that allwas barren on the sandy shore, he entered the current again, andfollowing up we found his imprint once more on the further bank, several hundred yards down the stream. 

One tiger was killed stone dead by a single bullet during one of ourannual hunts, and falling back into the water, it sank to the bottomlike lead. Being unable to find the animal, we beat all round theplace, till I suggested it might have been hit and fallen into theriver. One of the men was ordered to dive down, and ascertain if thetiger was at the bottom. The river water is generally muddy, so thatthe bottom cannot be seen. Divesting himself of puggree, and girdingup his loins, the diver sank gently to the bottom, but presentlyreappeared in a palpable funk, puffing and blowing, and declaring thatthe tiger was certainly at the bottom. The foolish fellow thought itmight be still alive. We soon disabused his mind of that idea, and hadthe dead tiger hauled up to dry land. 

Surprised by floods, a tiger has been known to remain for days on anant-hill, and even to take refuge on the branch of some large tree, but he takes to water readily, and can swim for over a mile, and hehas been known to remain for days in from two to three feet depth ofwater. 

A time-honoured tiger story with old hands, used to tell how theSoonderbund tigers got carried out to sea. If the listener was a newarrival, or a _gobe mouche_, they would explain that the tigers in theSoonderbunds often get carried out to sea by the retiring tide. Itwould sweep them off as they were swimming from island to island inthe vast delta of Father Ganges. Only the young ones, however, suffered this lamentable fate. The older and more wary fellows, taughtperhaps by sad experience, used always to dip their tails in, beforestarting on a swim, so as to ascertain which way the tide was flowing. If it was the flow of the tide they would boldly venture in, but if itwas ebb tide, and there was the slightest chance of their beingcarried out to sea, they would patiently lie down, meditate on thefleeting vanity of life, and like the hero of the song--

 'Wait for the turn of the tide. '

Without venturing an opinion on this story, I may confidently assert, that the tiger, unlike his humble prototype the domestic cat, is notreally afraid of water, but will take to it readily to escape athreatened danger, or if he can achieve any object by 'paddling hisown canoe. '

CHAPTER XX. 

No regular breeding season. --Beliefs and prejudices of the nativesabout tigers. --Bravery of the 'gwalla, ' or cowherd caste. --Clawmarkson trees. --Fondness for particular localities. --Tiger in Mr. F. 'showdah. --Springing powers of tigers. --Lying close in cover. --Incident. --Tiger shot with No. 4 shot. --Man clawed by a tiger. --Knocked its eyeout with a sickle. --Same tiger subsequently shot in same place. --Tigerseasily killed. --Instances. --Effect of shells on tiger and buffalo. --Bestweapon and bullets for tiger. --Poisoning tigers denounced. --Nativesprone to exaggerate in giving news of tiger. --Anecdote. --Beating fortiger. --Line of elephants. --Padding dead game. --Line of seventy-sixelephants. --Captain of the hunt. --Flags for signals in the line. --'Naka, ' or scout ahead. --Usual time for tiger shooting on theKoosee. --Firing the jungle. --The line of fire at night. --Foolish toshoot at moving jungle. --Never shoot down the line. --Motions ofdifferent animals in the grass. 

Tigers seem to have no regular breeding season. As a rule the male andfemale come together in the autumn and winter, and the young ones areborn in the spring and summer. All the young tigers I have ever heardof have been found in March, April, and May, and so on through therains. 

The natives have many singular beliefs and prejudices about tigers, and they are very often averse to give the slightest information as totheir whereabouts. To a stranger they will either give no informationat all, pleading entire ignorance, or they will wilfully mislead him, putting him on a totally wrong track. If you are well known to thevillagers, and if they have confidence in your nerve and aim, theywill eagerly tell you everything they know, and will accompany you onyour elephant, to point out the exact spot where the tiger was lastseen. In the event of a 'find' they always look for _backsheesh_, eventhough your exertions may have rid their neighbourhood of anacknowledged scourge. 

The _gwalla_, or cowherd caste, seem to know the habits of the yellowstriped robber very accurately. Accompanied by their herd they willventure into the thickest jungle, even though they know that it isinfested by one or more tigers. If any member of the herd is attacked, it is quite common for the _gwalla_ to rush up, and by shouts and evenblows try to make the robber yield up his prey. This is noexaggeration, but a simple fact. A cowherd attacked by a tiger hasbeen known to call up his herd by cries, and they have succeeded indriving off his fierce assailant. No tiger will willingly face a herdof buffaloes or cattle united for mutual defence. Surrounded by histrusty herd, the _gwalla_ traverses the densest jungle and mosttiger-infested thickets without fear. 

They believe that to rub the fat of the tiger on the loins, and to eata piece of the tongue or flesh, will cure impotency; and tiger fat, rubbed on a painful part of the body, is an accepted specific forrheumatic affections. It is a firmly settled belief, that the whiskersand teeth, worn on the body, will act as a charm, making the wearerproof against the attacks of tigers. The collar-bone too, is eagerlycoveted for the same reason. 

During the rains tigers are sometimes forced, like others of the cattribe, to take to trees. A Mr. McI. Shot two large full grown, tigersin a tree at Gunghara, and a Baboo of my acquaintance bagged no lessthan eight in trees during one rainy season at Rampoor. 

Tigers generally prefer remaining near water, and drink a great deal, the quantity of raw meat they devour being no doubt provocative ofthirst. 

The marks of their claws are often seen on trees in the vicinity oftheir haunts, and from this fact many ridiculous stories have gotabroad regarding their habits. It has even been regarded by somewriters as a sort of rude test, by which to arrive at an approximateestimate of the tiger's size. A tiger can stretch himself out some twoor two and a half feet more than his measurable length. You havedoubtless often seen a domestic cat whetting its claws on the mat, orscratching some rough substance, such as the bark of a tree; this isoften done to clean the claws, and to get rid of chipped and raggedpieces, and it is sometimes mere playfulness. It is the same with thetiger, the scratching on the trees is frequently done in the merewantonness of sport, but it is often resorted to to clear the clawsfrom pieces of flesh, that may have adhered to them during a meal onsome poor slaughtered bullock. These marks on the trees are a valuablesign for the hunter, as by their appearance, whether fresh or old, hecan often tell the whereabouts of his quarry, and a good tracker willeven be able to make a rough guess at its probable size anddisposition. 

Like policemen, tigers stick to certain beats; even when disturbed, and forced to abandon a favourite spot, they frequently return to it;and although the jungle may be wholly destroyed, old tigers retain apartiality for the scenes of their youthful depredations; they areoften shot in the most unlikely places, where there is little or nocover, and one would certainly never expect to find them; they migratewith the herds, and retire to the hills during the annual floods, always coming back to the same jungle when the rains are over. 

Experienced shekarries know this trait of the tiger's character well, and can tell you minutely the colour and general appearance of theanimals in any particular jungle; they are aware of any peculiarity, such as lameness, scars, &c. , and their observations must be very keenindeed, and amazingly accurate, as I have never known them wrong whenthey committed themselves to a positive statement. 

An old planter residing at Sultanpore, close on the Nepaul border, anoted sportsman and a crack shot, was charged on one occasion by alarge tiger; the brute sprang right off the ground on to theelephant's head; his hind legs were completely off the ground, restingon the elephant's chest and neck; Mr. F. Retained sufficient presenceof mind to sit close down in his howdah; the tiger's forearm wasextended completely over the front bar, and so close that it touchedhis hat. In this position he called out to his son who was on anotherelephant close by, to fire at the tiger; he was cool enough to warnhim to take a careful aim, and not hit the elephant. His son actedgallantly up to his instructions, and shot the tiger through theheart, when it dropped down quite dead, to Mr. F. 's great relief. 

Some sportsmen are of opinion, that the tiger when charging neversprings clear from the ground, but only rears itself on its hind legs;this however is a mistake. I saw a tiger leap right off the ground, and spring on to the rump of an elephant carrying young Sam S. Theelephant proved staunch, and remained quite quiet, and Sam, turninground in his howdah, shot his assailant through the head. 

I may give another incident, to shew how closely tigers will sometimesstick to cover; they are sometimes as bad to dislodge as a quail or ahare; they will crouch down and conceal themselves till you almosttrample on them. One day a party of the Purneah Club were out; theyhad shot two fine tigers out of several that had been seen; the otherswere known to have gone ahead into some jungle surrounded by water, and easy to beat. Before proceeding further it was proposedaccordingly to have some refreshment. The _tiffin_ elephant wasdirected to a tree close by, beneath whose shade the hungry sportsmenwere to plant themselves; the elephant had knelt down, one or twoboxes had actually been removed, several of the servants were clearingaway the dried grass and leaves. H. W. S. Came up on the opposite sideof the tree, and was in the act of leaping off his elephant, when anenormous tiger got up at his very feet, and before the astoundedsportsmen could handle a gun, the formidable intruder had cleared thebushes with a bound, and disappeared in the thick jungle. 

The following adventure bears me out in my remark, that tigers getattached to, and like to remain in, one place. Mr. F. Simpson, athorough-going sportsman of the good old type, had been out one day inthe Koosee derahs; he had had a long and unsuccessful beat for tiger, and had given up all hope of bagging one that day; he thoughttherefore that he might as well turn his attention to more ignoblegame. Extracting his bullets, he replaced them with No. 4 shot. In afew minutes a peacock got up in front of him, and he fired. The reportroused a very fine tiger right in front of his elephant; to make thebest of a bad bargain, he gave the retreating animal the full benefitof his remaining charge of shot, and peppered it well. About a yearafter, close to this very place, C. A. S. Bagged a fine tiger. Onexamination, the marks of a charge of shot were found in the flanks, and on removing the pads of the feet, numbers of pellets of No. 4 shotwere found embedded in them. It was evidently the animal that had beenpeppered a year before, and the pellets had worked their way downwardsto the feet. 

On another occasion, a man came to the factory where George was thenresiding, to give information of a tiger. He bore on his back numerousbleeding scratches, ample evidence of the truth of his story. Whilecutting grass in the jungle, with a blanket on his back, the day beingrainy, he had been attacked by a tiger from the rear. The blanket isgenerally folded several times, and worn over the head and back. It isa thick heavy covering, and in the first onset the tiger tore theblanket from the man's body, which was probably the means of savinghis life. The man turned round, terribly scared, as may be imagined. In desperation he struck at the tiger with his sickle, and accordingto his own account, he succeeded in putting out one of its eyes. Hesaid it was a young tiger, and his bleeding wounds, and thepersistency with which he stuck to his story, impressed George withthe belief that he was telling the truth. A search for the tiger wasmade. The man's blanket was found, torn to shreds, but no tiger, although the footprints of one were plainly visible. But some monthsafter, near the same spot, George shot a half grown tiger with one ofits eyes gone, which had evidently been roughly torn from the socket. This was doubtless the identical brute that had attacked thegrass-cutter. 

It is sometimes wonderful how easily a large and powerful tiger may bekilled. The most vulnerable parts are the back of the head, throughthe neck, and broadside on the chest. The neck is the most deadly spotof all, and a shot behind the shoulder, or on the spine, is sure tobring the game to bag. I have seen several shot with a single bulletfrom a smooth-bore, and on one occasion, George tells me he saw atigress killed with a single smooth-bore bullet at over a hundredyards. The bullet was a _ricochet_, and struck the tigress below thechest, and travelled towards the heart, but without touching it. Shefell twenty yards from where she had been hit. Another, which onskinning we found had been shot through the heart, with a singlesmooth-bore bullet at a distance of one hundred and fifty yards, travelled for thirty yards before falling dead. Meiselback, aneighbour of mine, shot three tigers successively, on one occasion, with a No. 18 Joe Manton smooth-bore. Each of the three was killed bya single bullet, one in the head, one in the neck, and one through theheart, the bullet entering behind the shoulder. 

On the other hand, I once fired no less than six Jacob's shells into atiger, all behind the shoulder, before I could stop him. The shellsseemed to explode on the surface the moment they came in contact withthe body. There was a tremendous surface wound, big enough to put apumpkin into, but very little internal hurt. On another occasion(April 4, 1874) during one of the most exciting and most gloriousmoments of my sporting life--buffaloes charging the line in alldirections, burning jungle all around us, and bullets whistling onevery side--I fired TWELVE shells into a large bull before I killedhim. As every shell hit him, I heard the sharp detonation, and saw thetiny puff of smoke curl outward from the ghastly wound. The poormaddened brute would drop on his knees, stagger again to his feet, and, game to the last, attempt to charge my elephant. I was anxiousreally to test the effect of the Jacob's shell as against the solidconical bullet, and carefully watched the result of each shot. Myweapon was a beautifully finished No. 12 smooth-bore, made expresslyto order for an officer in the Royal Artillery, from whom I bought it. From that day I never fired another Jacob's shell. 

My remarks about the tiger springing clear off the ground whencharging, are amply borne out by the experience of some of my sportingfriends. I could quote pages, but will content myself with oneextract. It is a point of some importance, as many good old sportsmenpooh-pooh the idea, and maintain that the tiger merely stretcheshimself out to his fullest length, and if he does leave the ground, itis by a purely physical effort, pulling himself up by his claws. 

My friend George writes me: 'In several cases I have known and seenthe tiger spring, and leave the ground. In one case the tiger sprangfrom fully five yards off. He crouched at the distance of a few paces, as if about to spring, and then sprang clean on to the head of Joe's_tusker_. An eight feet nine inch tigress once got on to the head ofmy elephant, which was ten feet seven inches in height. Every onepresent saw her leave the ground. Once, when after a tiger in smallstubble, about six feet high, I saw one bound over a bush so cleanthat I could see every bit of him. ' And so on. 

For long range shooting the rifle is doubtless the best weapon. TheExpress is the most deadly. The smooth-bore is the gun for downrighthonest sport. Shells and hollow pointed bullets are the things, as onesportsman writes me, 'for mutilation and cowardly murder, and forspoiling the skin. ' Poison is the resource of the poacher. Nosportsman could descend so low. Grant that the tiger is a scourge, apest, a nuisance, a cruel and implacable foe to man and beast; pileall the vilest epithets of your vocabulary on his head, and say thathe deserves them all, still he is what opportunity and circumstancehave made him. He is as nature fashioned him; and there are boldspirits, and keen sights, and steady nerves enough, God wot, among ourIndian sportsmen, to cope with him on more equal and sportsmanliketerms than by poisoning him like a mangy dog. On this point, however, opinions differ. I do not envy the man who would prefer poisoning atiger to the keen delight of patiently following him up, ousting himfrom cover to cover, watching his careful endeavours to elude yoursearch; perhaps at the end of a long and fascinating beat, feeling theelectric excitement thrill every nerve and fibre of your body, as themagnificent robber comes bounding down at the charge, the veryembodiment of ferocity and strength, the perfection of symmetry, theacme of agility and grace. 

Natives are such notorious perverters of the truth, and so often hidewhat little there may be in their communications under such floods ofOriental hyperbole and exaggeration, that you are often disappointedin going out on what you consider trustworthy and certain information. They often remind me of the story of the Laird of Logan. He was ridingslowly along a country road one day, when another equestrian joinedhim. Logan's eye fixed itself on a hole in the turf bank bounding theroad, and with great gravity, and in trust-inspiring accents, he said, 'I saw a _tod_ (or fox) gang in there. '

'Did you, really;' cried the new comer. 

'I did, ' responded the laird. 

'Will you hold my horse till I get a spade, ' cried the now excitedtraveller. 

The laird assented. Away hurried the man, and soon returned with aspade. He set manfully to work to dig out the fox, and worked till theperspiration streamed down his face. The laird sat stolidly lookingon, saying never a word; and as he seemed to be nearing the confinesof the hole, the poor digger redoubled his exertions. When at lengthit became plain that there was no fox there, he wiped his streamingbrow, and rather crossly exclaimed, 'I'm afraid there's no tod here. '

'It would be a wonder if there was, ' rejoined the laird, without themovement of a muscle, 'it's ten years since I saw him gang in there. '

So it is sometimes with a native. He will fire your ardour, by tellingyou of some enormous tiger, to be found in some jungle close by, butwhen you come to enquire minutely into his story, you find that thetiger was seen perhaps the year before last, or that it _used_ to bethere, or that somebody else had told him of its being there. 

Some tigers, too, are so cunning and wary, that they will make offlong before the elephants have come near. I have seen others rise ontheir hind legs just like a hare or a kangaroo, and peer over thejungle trying to make out one's whereabouts. This is of course only inshort light jungle. 

The plan we generally adopt in beating for tiger on or near the Nepaulborder, is to use a line of elephants to beat the cover. It is a finesight to watch the long line of stately monsters moving slowly andsteadily forward. Several howdahs tower high above the line, thepolished barrels of guns and rifles glittering in the fierce rays ofthe burning and vertical sun. Some of the shooters wear huge hats madefrom the light pith of the solah plant, others have long blue or whitepuggrees wound round their heads in truly Oriental style. These arevery comfortable to wear, but rather trying to the sight, as theyafford no protection to the eyes. For riding they are to my mind themost comfortable head-dress that can be worn, and they are certainlymore graceful than the stiff unsightly solah hat. 

Between every two howdahs are four or five pad elephants. These beatup all the intervening bushes, and carry the game that may be shot. When a pig, deer, tiger, or other animal has been shot, and hasreceived its _coup de grace_, it is quickly bundled on to the pad, andthere secured. The elephant kneels down to receive the load, and whilegame is being padded the whole line waits, till the operation iscomplete, as it is bad policy to leave blanks. Where this simpleprecaution is neglected, many a tiger will sneak through the openingleft by the pad elephant, and so silently and cautiously can theysteal through the dense cover, and so cunning are they and acute, thatthey will take advantage of the slightest gap, and the keenest andbest trained eye will fail to detect them. 

In most of our hunting parties on the Koosee, we had some twenty orthirty elephants, and frequently six or eight howdahs. Theseexpeditions were very pleasant, and we lived luxuriously. For realsport ten elephants and two or three tried comrades--not more--is muchbetter. With a short, easily-worked line, that can turn and double, and follow the tiger quickly, and dog his every movement, you can getfar better sport, and bring more to bag, than with a long unwieldyline, that takes a considerable time to turn and wheel, and in whoseonward march there is of necessity little of the silence and swiftnesswhich are necessary elements in successful tiger shooting. 

I have been out with a line of seventy-six elephants and fourteenhowdahs. This was on 16th March 1875. It was a magnificent sight tosee the seventy-six huge brutes in the river together, splashing thewater along their heated sides to cool themselves, and sending hugewaves dashing against the crumbling banks of the rapid stream. It wasno less magnificent to see their slow stately march through theswaying, crashing jungle. What an idea of irresistible power andponderous strength the huge creatures gave us, as they heaved throughthe tangled brake, crushing everything in their resistless progress. It was a sight to be remembered, but as might have been expected, wefound the jungles almost untenanted. Everything cleared out before us, long ere the line could reach its vicinity. We only killed one tiger, but next day we separated, the main body crossing the stream, while myfriends and myself, with only fourteen elephants, rebeat the samejungle and bagged two. 

In every hunt, one member is told off to look after the forage andgrain for the elephants. One attends to the cooking and requirementsof the table, one acts as paymaster and keeper of accounts, while themost experienced is unanimously elected captain, and takes generaldirection of every movement of the line. He decides on the plan ofoperations for the day, gives each his place in the line, and for thetime, becomes an irresponsible autocrat, whose word is law, andagainst whose decision there is no appeal. 

Scouts are sent out during the night, and bring in reports from allparts of the jungle in the early morning, while we are discussing_chota baziree_, our early morning meal. If tiger is reported, or akill has been discovered, we form line in silence, and without noisebear down direct on the spot. In the captain's howdah are three flags. A blue flag flying means that only tiger or rhinoceros are to be shotat. A red flag signifies that we are to have general firing, in factthat we may blaze away at any game that may be afoot, and the whiteflag shews us that we are on our homeward way, and then also may shootat anything we can get, break the line, or do whatever we choose. Onthe flanks are generally posted the best shots of the party. Thecaptain, as a rule, keeps to the centre of the line. Frequently oneman and elephant is sent on ahead to some opening or dry water-bed, tosee that no cunning tiger sneaks away unseen. This vedette is called_naka_. All experienced sportsmen employ a naka, and not unfrequentlywhere the ground is difficult, two are sent ahead. The naka is a mostimportant post, and the holder will often get a lucky shot at somewary veteran trying to sneak off, and may perhaps bag the only tigerof the day. The mere knowledge that there is an elephant on ahead, will often keep tigers from trying to get away. They prefer to facethe known danger of the line behind, to the unknown danger in front, and in all cases where there is a big party a naka should be sent onahead. 

Tigers can be, and are, shot on the Koosee plains all the year round, but the big hunts take place in the months of March, April, and May, when the hot west winds are blowing, and when the jungle has gotconsiderably trampled down by the herds of cattle grazing in thetangled wilderness of tall grass. Innumerable small paths shew wherethe cattle wander backward and forward through the labyrinths of thejungle. In the howdah we carry ample supplies of vesuvians. We lightand drop these as they blaze into the dried grass and withered leavesas we move along, and soon a mighty wall of roaring flame behind us, attests the presence of the destroying element. We go diagonally upwind, and the flames and smoke thus surge and roar and curl and roll, in dense blinding volumes, to the rear and leeward of our line. Theroaring of the flames sounds like the maddened surf of an angry sea, dashing in thunder against an iron-bound coast. The leaping flamesmount up in fiery columns, illuminating the fleecy clouds of smokewith an unearthly glare. The noise is deafening; at times some of theelephants get quite nervous at the fierce roar of the flames behind, and try to bolt across country. The fire serves two good purposes. Itburns up the old withered grass, making room for the fresh succulentsprouts to spring, and it keeps all the game in front of the line, driving the animals before us, as they are afraid to break back andface the roaring-wall of flame. A seething, surging sea of flame, several miles long, encircling the whole country in its fiery belt, sweeping along at night with the roar of a storm-tossed sea; theflames flickering, swelling, and leaping up in the dark night, thefiery particles rushing along amid clouds of lurid smoke, and theglare of the serpent-like line reddening the horizon, is one of thosemagnificent spectacles that can only be witnessed at rare intervalsamong the experiences of a sojourn in India. Words fail to depict itsgrandeur, and the utmost skill of Doré could not render on canvas, theweird, unearthly magnificence of a jungle fire, at the culmination ofits force and fury. 

In beating, the elephants are several yards apart, and, standing inthe howdah, you can see the slightest motion of the grass before you, unless indeed it be virgin jungle, quite untrodden, and perhaps higherthan your elephant; in such high dense cover, tigers will sometimeslie up and allow you to go clean past them. In such a case you mustfire the jungle, and allow the blaze to beat for you. It is common foryoung, over eager sportsmen, to fire at moving jungle, trusting to alucky chance for hitting the moving animal; this is useless waste ofpowder; they fail to realize the great length of the swaying grass, and invariably shoot over the game; the animal hears the crashing ofthe bullet through the dense thicket overhead, and immediately stops, and you lose all idea of his whereabouts. When you see an animalmoving before you in long jungle, it should be your object to followhim slowly and patiently, till you can get a sight of him, and seewhat sort of beast he is. Firing at the moving grass is worse thanuseless. Keep as close behind him as you can, make signs for the otherelephants to close in; stick to your quarry, never lose sight of himfor an instant, be ready to seize the first moment, when more openjungle, or some other favourable chance, may give you a glimpse of hisskin. 

Another caution should be observed. Never fire down the line. It isastonishing how little will divert a bullet, and a careless shot isworse than a dozen charging tigers. If a tiger does break back, lethim get well away behind the line, and then blaze at him as hard asyou like. It is particularly unpleasant to hear a bullet come singingand booming down the line from some excited dunderhead on the far leftor right. 

A tiger slouching along in front moves pretty fast, in a silentswinging trot; the tops of the reeds or grass sway very gently, with awavering, side to side motion. A pig rushes boldly through, and a deerwill cause the grass to rock violently to and fro. A buffalo orrhinoceros is known at once by the crashing of the dry stalks, as hishuge frame plunges along; but the tiger can never be mistaken. Whenthat gentle, undulating, noiseless motion is once seen, be ready withyour trusty gun, and remove not your eye from the spot, for the mightyrobber of the jungle is before you. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Howdahs and howdah-ropes. --Mussulman custom. --Killing animals forfood. --Mysterious appearance of natives when an animal is killed. --Fastening dead tigers to the pad. --Present mode wants improving. --Incident illustrative of this. --Dangerous to go close to woundedtigers. --Examples. --Footprints of tigers. --Call of the tiger. --Nativesand their powers of description. --How to beat successfully for tiger. --Description of a beat. --Disputes among the shooters. --Awardingtigers. --Cutting open the tiger. --Native idea about the liver of thetiger. --Signs of a tiger's presence in the jungle. --Vultures. --Do theyscent their quarry or view it?--A vulture carrion feast. 

The best howdahs are light, single-seated ones, with strong, lightframes of wood and cane-work, and a moveable seat with a leatherstrap, adjustable to any length, on which to lean back. They shouldhave a strong iron rail all round the top, covered with leather, withconvenient grooves to receive the barrels of the guns, as they rest infront, ready to either hand. In front there should be compartments fordifferent kinds of cartridges; and pockets and lockers under the seat, and at the back, or wherever there is room. Outside should be a strongiron step, to get out and in by easily, and a strong iron ring, through which to pass the rope that binds the howdah to the elephant. 

You cannot be too careful with your howdah ropes. A chain is generallyused as an auxiliary to the rope, which should be of cotton, strongand well twisted, and should be overhauled daily, to see that there isno chafing. It is passed round the foot-bars of the howdah, andseveral times round the belly of the elephant. 

Another rope acts as a crupper behind, being passed through rings inthe terminal frame-work of the howdah, and under the elephant's tail;it frequently causes painful sores there, and some drivers give it ahitch round the tail, in the same way as you would hitch it round apost. Another steadying rope goes round the elephant's breast, like achest-band. 'A merciful man is merciful to his beast. ' You shouldalways, therefore, have a sheet of soft well oiled leather to gobetween the chest and belly ropes and the elephant's hide; thisprevents chafing, and is a great relief to the poor old _hathi_, asthey call the elephant. _Hatnee_ is the female elephant. _Duntar_ is afellow with large tusks, and _mukna_ is an elephant with smalldownward growing tusks. 

Many of the old fashioned howdahs are far too heavy; a firm, stronghowdah should not weigh more than 28 lbs. In most of the old fashionedones, there is a seat for an attendant. If your attendant be aMussulman, he hurries down as soon as you shoot a deer, to cut itsthroat. The Mohammedan religion enjoins a variety of rules on itsprofessors in regard to the slaying of animals for food. Chief ofthese is a prohibition, against eating the flesh of an animal that hasdied a natural death; the throat of every animal intended to be eatenshould be cut, and at the moment of applying the knife, _Bismillah_should be said, that is, 'In the name of God. ' If therefore yourmahout, or attendant, belong to the religion of the _Koran_, he willhurry down to cut the throat of a wounded deer if possible before lifeis extinct; if it be already dead, he will leave it alone for theHindoos, who have no such scruples. 

A number of _moosahurs, banturs, gwallas_, and other idlers, from thejungle villages, generally follow in the wake of the line. If youshoot many pigs, they carry off the dead bodies, and hold highcarnival in their homes in the evening. To see them rush on a slainbuffalo, and hack it to pieces, is a curious sight; they fight forpieces of flesh like so many vultures. Sportsmen generally contentthemselves with the head of a buffalo, but not a scrap of the carcaseis ever wasted. The natives are attracted to the spot, like ants to aheap of grain, or wasps to an old sugar barrel; they seem to springout of the earth, so rapidly do they make their appearance. If youwere to kill a dozen buffaloes, I believe all the flesh would be takenaway to the neighbouring villages within an hour. 

This appearance of men in the jungles is wonderful. You may thinkyourself in the centre of a vast wilderness, not a sign of humanhabitation for miles around; on all sides stretches a vast ocean ofgrass, the resort of ferocious wild animals, seemingly untrodden by ahuman foot. You shoot a deer, a pig, or other animal whose flesh isfit for food; the man behind you gives a cry, and in ten minutes youwill have a group of brawny young fellows around your elephant, eagerto carry away the game. The way these natives thread the dense jungleis to me a wonder; they seem to know every devious path and hiddenrecess, and they traverse the most gloomy and dangerous solitudeswithout betraying the slightest apprehension. 

In fastening dead game to the pad of the carrying elephant great careis necessary. Some elephants are very timid, and indeed all elephantsare mistrustful and suspicious of anything behind them. They arepretty courageous in facing anything before them, but they do not likea rustling or indeed any motion in their rear. I have seen a dog putan elephant to flight, and if you have a lazy _hathi_, a good plan isto walk a horse behind him. He will then shuffle along at a prodigiouspace constantly looking round from side to side, and no doubt in hisheart anathematising the horse that forces the running sopersistently. 

The present method of roughly lashing on dead game anyhow requiresaltering. Some ingenious sportsman could surely devise a system ofslings by which the dead weight of the game could be more equallydistributed. At present the dead bodies are hauled up at random, andfastened anyhow. The pad gets displaced, the elephant must stop tillthe burden is rearranged; the ropes, especially on a hot day, cut intothe skin and rub off the hair, and many a good skin is quite spoiledby the present rough method of tying on the pad. 

One day, in taking off a dead tiger from the pad, near George'sbungalow, the end of the rope (a new one) remained somehow fixed tothe neck of the elephant. When he rose up, being relieved of theweight, he dragged the dead tiger with him. This put the elephant intoa horrible funk, and despite all the efforts of the driver he startedoff at a trot, hauling the tiger after him. Every now and then hewould turn round, and tread and kick the lifeless carcase. At lengththe rope gave way, and the elephant became more manageable, but notbefore a fine skin had been totally ruined, all owing to thisprimitive style of fastening by ropes to the pad. A proper pad, withleather straps and buckles, that could be hauled as tight asnecessary--a sort of harness arrangement, could easily be devised, tosecure dead game on the pad. I am certain it would save time in thehunting-field, and protect many a fine skin, that gets abraded andmarked by the present rough and ready lashing. 

It is always dangerous to go too close up to a wounded tiger, and oneshould never rashly jump to the conclusion that a tiger is deadbecause he appears so Approach him cautiously, and make very certainthat he is really and truly dead, before you venture to get downbeside the body. It is a bad plan to take your elephant close up to adead tiger at all. I have known cases where good staunch elephantshave been spoiled for future sport, by being rashly taken up to awounded tiger. In rolling about, the tiger may get hold of theelephants, and inflict injuries that will demoralise them, and makethem quite unsteady on subsequent occasions. 

I have known cases where a tiger left for dead has had to be shot overagain. I have seen a man get down to pull a seemingly dead tiger intothe open, and get charged. Fortunately it was a dying effort, and Iput a bullet through the skull before the tiger could reach thefrightened peon. We have been several times grouped round a dyingtiger, watching him breathe his last, when the brute has summoned upstrength for a final effort, and charged the elephants. 

On one occasion W. D. Had got down beside what he thought a dead tiger, had rolled him over, and, tape in hand, was about to measure theanimal, when he staggered to his feet with a terrific growl, and madeaway through the jungle. He had only been stunned, and fortunatelypreferred running to fighting, or the consequences might have beenmore tragic; as it was, he was quickly followed up and killed. Butinstances like these might be indefinitely multiplied, all teaching, that seemingly dead tigers should be approached with the utmostrespect. Never venture off your elephant without a loaded revolver. 

In beating for tiger, we have seen that the appearance of the kill, whether fresh or old, whether much torn and mangled or comparativelyuntouched, often affords valuable indications to the sportsman. Thefootprints are not less narrowly looked for, and scrutinized. If weare after tiger, and following them up, the captain will generally getdown at any bare place, such as a dry nullah, the edge of a tank orwater hole, or any other spot where footprints can be detected. Freshprints can be very easily distinguished. The impression is like thatmade by a dog, only much larger, and the marks of the claws are notvisible. The largest footprint I have heard of was measured by GeorgeS. , and was found to be eight and a quarter inches wide from theoutside of the first to the outside of the fourth toe. If a tiger haspassed very recently, the prints will be fresh-looking, and if on dampground there can be no mistaking them. If it has been rainingrecently, we particularly notice whether the rain has obliterated thetrack at all, in any place; which would lead us to the conclusion thatthe tiger had passed before it rained. If the water has lodged in thefootprint, the tiger has passed after the shower. In fresh prints thewater will be slightly puddly or muddy. In old prints it will be quiteclear; and so on. 

The call of the male tiger is quite different from that of the female. The male calls with a hoarse harsh cry, something between the grunt ofa pig and the bellow of a bull; the call of the tigress is more likethe prolonged mew of a cat much intensified. During the pairing seasonthe call is sharper and shorter, and ends in a sudden break. At thattime, too, they cry at more frequent intervals. The roar of the tigeris quite unlike the call. Once heard it is not easily forgotten, Thenatives who live in the jungles can tell one tiger from another bycolour, size, &c. , and they can even distinguish one animal fromanother by his call. It is very absurd to hear a couple of natives gettogether and describe the appearance of some tiger they have seen. 

In describing a pig, they refer to his height, or the length of histusks. They describe a fish by putting their fists together, andsaying he was so thick, _itna mota_. The head of a tiger is always themost conspicuous part of the body seen in the jungle. They thereforeinvariably describe him by his head. One man will hold his two handsapart about two feet, and say that the head was _itna burra_, that is, so big. The other, not to be outdone, gives rein to his imagination, and adds another foot. The first immediately fancies discredit willattach to his veracity, and vehemently asserts that there must in thatcase have been two tigers; and so they go on, till they conclusivelyprove, that two tigers there must have been, and indeed, if you letthem go on, they will soon assure you that, besides the pair oftigers, there must be at least a pair of half-grown cubs. Theirimaginations are very fertile, and you must take the information of anative as to tigers with a very large pinch of salt. 

For successful tiger shooting much depends on the beating. When aftertiger, general firing should on no account be allowed, and the lineshould move forward as silently as possible. In light cover, extendingover a large area, the elephants should be kept a considerabledistance apart, but in thick dense cover the line should be quiteclose, and beat up slowly and thoroughly, as a tiger may lay up andallow the line to pass him. On no account should an elephant be let tolag behind, and no one should be allowed to rush forward or go inadvance. The elephants should move along, steady and even, like amoving wall, the fastest being on the flanks, and accommodating theirpace to the general rate of progress. No matter what tempting chancesat pig or deer you may have, you must on no account fire except attiger. 

The captain should be in the centre, and the men on the flanks oughtto be constantly on the _qui vive_, to see that no cunning tigeroutflanks the line. The attention should never wander from the junglebefore you, for at any moment a tiger may get up--and I know of nosport where it is necessary to be so continuously on the alert. Everymoment is fraught with intense excitement, and when a tiger doesreally show his stripes before you, the all-absorbing eager excitementof a lifetime is packed in a few brief moments. Not a chance should bethrown away, a long, or even an uncertain shot, is better than none, and if you make one miss, you may not have another chance again thatday: for the tiger is chary of showing his stripes, and thinksdiscretion the better part of valour. 

All the line of course are aware, as a rule, when a tiger is on themove, and a good captain (and Joe S. , who generally took the directionof our beats, could not well be matched) will wheel the line, double, turn, march, and countermarch, and fairly run the tiger down. At sucha time, although you may not actually see the tiger, the excitement istremendous. You stand erect in the howdah, your favourite gun ready;your attendant behind is as excited as yourself, and sways from sideto side to peer into the gloomy depths of the jungle; in front, themahout wriggles on his seat, as if by his motion he could urge theelephant to a quicker advance. He digs his toes savagely into hiselephant behind the ear; the line is closing up; every eye is fixed onthe moving jungle ahead. The roaring of the flames behind, and thecrashing of the dried reeds as the elephants force their ponderousframes through the intertwisted stems and foliage, are the only soundsthat greet the ear. Suddenly you see the tawny yellow hide, as thetiger slouches along. Your gun rings out a reverberating challenge, asyour fatal bullet speeds on its errand. To right and left the echoesring, as shot after shot is fired at the bounding robber. Then theline closes up, and you form a circle round the stricken beast, andwatch his mighty limbs quiver in the death-agony, and as he falls overdead, and powerless for further harm, you raise the heartfelt, pulse-stirring cheer, that finds an echo in every brother sportman'sheart. 

Disputes sometimes arise as to whose bullet first drew blood. Theseare settled by the captain, and from his decision there is no appeal. Many sportsmen put peculiar marks on their bullets, by which they canbe recognised, which is a good plan. In an exciting scrimmage everyone blazes at the tiger, not one bullet perhaps in five or six takeseffect, and every one is ready to claim the skin, as having beenpierced with his particular bullet. Disputes are not very common, butan inspection of the wounds, and the bullets found in the body, generally settle the question. After hearing all the pros and cons, the captain generally succeeds in awarding the tiger to the right man. 

After a successful day, the news rapidly spreads through the adjacentcountry, and we may take the line a little out of our way to make asort of triumphal procession through the villages. On reaching thecamp there is sure to be a great crowd waiting to see the slaintigers, the despoilers of the people's flocks and herds. 

It is then you hear of all the depredations the dead robber hascommitted, and it is then you begin to form some faint conception ofhis enormous destructive powers. Villager after villager unfolds atale of some favourite heifer, or buffalo, or cow having been struckdown, and the copious vocabulary of Hindostanee Billingsgate is almostexhausted, and floods of abuse poured out on the prostrate head. 

On cutting open the tiger, parasites are frequently found in theflesh. These are long, white, thread-like worms, and are supposed bysome to be Guinea worms. Huge masses of undigested bone and hair aresometimes taken from the intestines, shewing that the tiger does notwaste much time on mastication, but tears and eats the flesh in largemasses. The liver is found to have numbers of separate lobes, and thenatives say that this is an infallible test of the age of a tiger, asa separate lobe forms on the liver for each year of the tiger's life. I have certainly found young tigers having but two and three lobes, and old tigers I have found with six, seven, and even eight, but thestatement is entirely unsupported by careful observation, and requiresauthentication before it can be accepted. 

A reported kill is a pretty certain sign that there are tigers in thejungle, but there are other signs with which one soon gets familiar. When, for example, you hear deer calling repeatedly, and see themconstantly on the move, it is a sign that tiger are in theneighbourhood. When cattle are reluctant to enter the jungle, restless, and unwilling to graze, you may be sure tiger are somewhereabout, not far away. A kill is often known by the numbers of vulturesthat hover about in long, sailing, steady circles. What multitudes ofvultures there are. Overhead, far up in the liquid ether, you see themcircling round and round like dim specks in the distance; farther andfarther away, till they seem like bees, then lessen and fade into theinfinitude of space. No part of the sky is ever free from theirpresence. When a kill has been perceived, you see one come flyingalong, strong and swift in headlong flight. With the directness of athunderbolt he speeds to where his loathsome meal lies sweltering inthe noonday sun. As he comes nearer and nearer, his repulsive lookingbody assumes form and substance. The cruel, ugly bald head, drawnclose in between the strong pointed shoulders, the broad powerfulwings, with their wide sweep, measured and slow, bear him swiftlypast. With a curve and a sweep he circles round, down come the longbony legs, the bald and hideous neck is extended, and with talonsquivering for the rotting flesh, and cruel beak agape, he hurries onto his repast, the embodiment of everything ghoul-like and ghastly. Inhis wake comes another, then twos and threes, anon tens and twenties, till hundreds have collected, and the ground is covered with thehissing, tearing, fiercely clawing crowd. It is a horrible sight tosee a heap of vultures battling over a dead bullock. I have seen themso piled up that the under ones were nearly smothered to death; andthe writhing contortions of the long bare necks, as the fierce brutesbattled with talons and claws, were like the twisting of monstersnakes, or the furious writhing of gorgons and furies over some fatedvictim. 

It has been a much debated point with sportsmen and naturalists, whether the eye or the sense of smell guides the vulture to his feastof carrion. I have often watched them. They scan the vast surfacespread below them with a piercing and never tiring gaze. They observeeach other. When one is seen to cease his steady circling flight, farup in mid air, and to stretch his broad wings earthwards, the othersknow that he has espied a meal, and follow his lead; and these in turnare followed by others, till from all quarters flock crowds of thesescavengers of the sky. They can detect a dog or jackal from a vastheight, and they know by intuition that, where the carcase is therewill the dogs and jackals be gathered. I think there can be no doubtthat the vision is the sense they are most indebted to for directingthem to their food. 

On one occasion I remember seeing a tumultuous heap of them, battlingfiercely, as I have just tried to describe, over the carcases of twotigers we had killed near Dumdaha. The dead bodies were hiddenpartially in a grove of trees, and for a long time there were onlysome ten or a dozen vultures near. These gorged themselves sofearfully, that they could not rise from the ground, but lay withwings expanded, looking very aldermanic and apoplectic. Bye-and-bye, however, the rush began, and by the time we had struck the tents, there could not have been fewer than 150 vultures, hissing andspitting at each other like angry cats; trampling each other to thedust to get at the carcases; and tearing wildly with talon and beakfor a place. In a very short time nothing but mangled bones remained. A great number of the vultures got on to the rotten limb of a hugemango tree. One other proved the last straw, for down came the rottenbranch and several of the vultures, tearing at each other, fellheavily to the ground, where they lay quite helpless. As an experimentwe shot a miserable mangy Pariah dog, that was prowling about theground seeking garbage and offal. He was shot stone-dead, and for atime no vulture ventured near. A crow was the first to begin the feastof death. One of the hungriest of the vultures next approached, and ina few minutes the yet warm body of the poor dog was torn into athousand fragments, till nothing remained but scattered and disjointedbones. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

We start for a tiger hunt on the Nepaul frontier. --Indian scenery nearthe border. --Lose our way. --Cold night. --The river by night. --Our boatand boatmen. --Tigers calling on the bank. --An anxious moment. --Fire atand wound the tigress. --Reach camp. --The Nepaulee's adventure with atiger. --The old Major. --His appearance and manners. --The pompousJemadar. --Nepaulese proverb. --Firing the jungle. --Start a tiger andshoot him. --Another in front. --Appearance of the fires by night. --Thetiger escapes. --Too dark to follow up. --Coolie shot by mistake duringa former hunt. 

Early in 1875 a military friend of mine was engaged in inspecting theboundary pillars near my factory, between our territory and that ofNepaul. Some of the pillars had been cut away by the river, and thesurvey map required a little alteration in consequence. Our districtmagistrate was in attendance, and sent me an invitation to go up andspend a week with them in camp. I had no need to send on tents, asthey had every requisite for comfort. I sent off my bed and bedding onGeerdharee Jha's old elephant, a timid, useless brute, fit neither farbeating jungle nor for carrying a howdah. My horse I sent on to theghat or crossing, some ten miles up the river, and after lunch Istarted. It was a fine cool afternoon, and it was not long ere Ireached the neighbouring factory of Im[=a]mnugger. Here I had a littlerefreshment with Old Tom, and after exchanging greetings, I resumed myway over a part of the country with which I was totally unacquainted. 

I rode on, past villages nestling in the mango groves, past hugetanks, excavated by the busy labour of generations long sincedeparted; past decaying temples, overshadowed by mighty tamarindtrees, with the _peepul_ and _pakur_ insinuating their twining rootsamid the shattered and crumbling masonry. In one large village Ipassed through the bustling bazaar, where the din, and dust, andmingled odours, were almost overpowering. The country was now assumingquite an undulating character. The banks of the creeks were steep andrugged, and in some cases the water actually tumbled from rock torock, with a purling pleasant ripple and plash, a welcome sound to aScotch ear, and a pleasant surprise after the dull, dead, leaden, noiseless flow of the streams further down on the plains. 

Far in front lay the gloomy belt of Terai, or border forest, herecalled the _morung_, where the British territories had their extremelimit in that direction. Behind this belt, tier on tier, rose themighty ranges of the majestic Himalayas, towering up in solemngrandeur from the bushy masses of forest-clad hills till theirsnow-capped summits seemed to pierce the sky. The country was coveredby green crops, with here and there patches of dingy rice-stubble, andan occasional stretch of dense grass jungle. Quail, partridge, andplover rose from the ground in coveys, as my horse cantered through;and an occasional peafowl or florican scudded across the track as Iambled onward. I asked at a wretched little accumulation of weavers'huts where the ghat was, and if my elephant had gone on. To both myqueries I received satisfactory replies, and as the day was nowdrawing in, I pushed my nag into a sharp canter and hurried forward. 

I soon perceived the bulky outline of my elephant ahead, and on comingup, found that my men had come too far up the river, had missed theghat to which I had sent my spare horse, and were now making foranother ferry still higher up. My horse was jaded, so I got on theelephant, and made one of the peons lead the horse behind. It wasrapidly getting dark, and the mahout, or elephant driver, a miserablelow caste stupid fellow, evidently knew nothing of the country, andwas going at random. I halted at the next village, got hold of thechowkeydar, and by a promise of backsheesh, prevailed on him toaccompany us and show us the way. We turned off from the directnortherly direction in which we had been going, and made straight forthe river, which we could see in the distance, looking chill and greyin the fast fading twilight. We now got on the sandbanks, and had togo cautiously for fear of quicksands. By the time we reached the ghatit was quite dark and growing very cold. 

We were quite close to the hills, a heavy dew was falling, and I foundthat I should have to float down the liver for a mile, and then poleup stream in another channel for two miles before I could reach camp. 

I got my horse into the boat, ordering the elephant driver to travelall night if he could, as I should expect my things to be at campearly in the morning, and the boatmen pushed off the unwieldyferry-boat, floating us quietly down the rapid 'drumly' stream. All issolemnly still and silent on an Indian river at night. The stream isswift but noiseless. Vast plains and heaps of sand stretch for mileson either bank. There are no villages near the stream. Faintly, faraway in the distance, you hear a few subdued sounds, the onlyevidences of human habitation. There is the tinkle of a cow-bell, thebarking of a pariah dog, the monotonous dub-a-dub-dub of atimber-toned tom-tom, muffled and slightly mellowed by the distance. The faint, far cries, and occasional halloos of the herd-boys callingto each other, gradually cease, but the monotonous dub-a-dub-dubcontinues till far into the night. 

It was now very cold, and I was glad to borrow a blanket from my peon. At such a time the pipe is a great solace. It soothes the wholesystem, and plunges one into an agreeable dreamy speculative mood, through which all sorts of fantastic notions resolve. Fancies chaseeach other quickly, and old memories rise, bitter or sweet, but alltinged and tinted by the seductive influence of the magic weed. Hail, blessed pipe! the invigorator of the weary, the uncomplaining faithfulfriend, the consoler of sorrows, and the dispeller of care, themuch-prized companion of the solitary wayfarer!

Now a jackal utters a howl on the bank, as our boat shoots past, andthe diabolical noise is echoed from knoll to knoll, and from ridge toridge, as these incarnate devils of the night join in and prolong theinfernal chorus. An occasional splash, as a piece of the bank topplesover into the stream, rouses the cormorant and gull from their placiddozing on the sandbanks. They squeak and gurgle out an unintelligibleprotest, then cosily settle their heads again beneath the shelteringwing, and sleep the slumber of the dreamless. A sharp sudden plump, ora lazy surging sound, accompanied by a wheezy blowing sort of hiss, tells us that a _seelun_ is disporting himself; or that a fat old'porpus' is bearing his clumsy bulk through the rushing current. 

The bank now looms out dark and mysterious, and as we turn the pointanother long stretch of the river opens out, reflecting the merrytwinkle of the myriad stars, that glitter sharp and clear millions ofmiles overhead. There is now a clattering of bamboo poles. With agrunt of disgust, and a quick catching of the breath, as the coldwater rushes up against his thighs, one of the boatmen splashesoverboard, and they commence slowly and wearily pushing the boat upstream. We touch the bank a dozen times. The current swoops down andturns us round and round. The men have to put their shoulders underthe gunwale, and heave and strain with all their might. The longbamboo poles are plunged into the dark depths of the river, and themen puff, and grunt, and blow, as they bend almost to the bottom ofthe boat while they push. It is a weary progress. We are dripping wetwith dew. Quite close on the bank we hear the hoarse wailing call of atigress. The call of the tiger comes echoing down between the banks. The men cease poling. I peer forward into the obscurity. My syce pats, and speaks soothingly to the trembling horse, while my peon withexcited fingers fumbles at the straps of my gun-case. For a moment allis intensely still. 

I whisper to the boatmen to push out a little into the stream. Againthe tigress calls, this time so close to us that we could almost fancywe could feel her breath. My gun is ready. The syce holds the horsefirmly by the head, and as we leave the bank, we can distinctly seethe outline of some large animal, standing out a dark bulky massagainst the skyline. I take a steady aim and fire. A roar ofastonishment, wrath, and pain follows the report. The horse strugglesand snorts, the boatman calls out 'Oh, my father!' and ejaculates'hi-hi-hi!' in tones of piled up anguish and apprehension, the peoncries exultantly 'Wah wah! khodawund, lug, gea, ' that bullet has told;oh your highness! and while the boat rocks violently to and fro, Iabuse the boatmen, slang the syce, and rush to grasp a pole, while thepeon seizes another; for we are drifting rapidly down stream, and mayat any moment strike on a bank and topple over. We can hear by thegrowling and commotion on the bank, that my bullet has indeed told, and that something is hit. We soon get the frightened boatmen quieteddown, and after another hour's weary work we spy the white outline ofthe tents above the bank. A lamp shines out a bright welcome; andalthough it is nearly twelve at night, the Captain and the magistrateare discussing hot toddy, and waiting my arrival. My spare horse hadcome on from the ghat, the syce had told them I was coming, and theyhad been indulging in all sorts of speculations over my non-arrival. 

A good supper, and a reeking jorum, soon banished all recollections ofmy weary journey, and men were ordered to go out at first break ofdawn, and see about the wounded tiger. In the morning I was gratifiedbeyond expression to find a fine tigress, measuring 8 feet 3 inches, had been brought in, the result of my lucky night shot; the marks of alarge tiger were found about the spot, and we determined to beat upfor him, and if possible secure his skin, as we already had that ofhis consort. 

Captain S. Had some work to finish, and my elephant and bearer had notarrived, so our magistrate and myself walked down to the sandbanks, and amused ourselves for an hour shooting sandpipers and plover; wealso shot a pair of mallard and a couple of teal, and then went backto the tents, and were soon busily discussing a hunter's breakfast. While at our meal, my elephant and things arrived, and just then also, the 'Major Capt[=a]n, ' or Nepaulese functionary, my old friend, came upwith eight elephants, and we hurried out to greet the fat, merry-featured old man. 

What a quaint, genial old customer he looked, as he bowed and salaamedto us from his elevated seat, his face beaming, and his littlebead-like eyes twinkling with pleasure. He was full of an adventure hehad as he came along. After crossing a brawling mountain-torrent, somemiles from our camp, they entered some dense kair jungle. The kair isI believe a species of mimosa; it is a hard wood, growing in a thickscrubby form, with small pointed leaves, a yellowish sort of flower, and sharp thorns studding its branches; it is a favourite resort forpig, and although it is difficult to beat on account of the thorns, tigers are not unfrequently found among the gloomy recesses of a goodkair scrub. 

As they entered this jungle, some of the men were loitering behind. When the elephants had passed about halfway through, the men camerushing up pell mell, with consternation on their faces, reportingthat a huge tiger had sprung out on them, and carried off one of theirnumber. The Major and the elephants hurried back, and met the manlimping along, bleeding from several scratches, and with a nasty bitein his shoulder, but otherwise more frightened than hurt. The tigerhad simply knocked him down, stood over him for a minute, seized himby the shoulder, and then dashed on through the scrub, leaving himbehind half dead with pain and fear. 

It was most amusing to hear the fat little Major relate the story. Hewent through all the by-play incident to the piece, and as he gotexcited, stood right up on his narrow pad. His gesticulations weremost vehement, and as the elephant was rather unsteady, and hisfooting to say the least precarious, he seemed every moment as if hemust topple over. The old warrior, however, was equal to the occasion;without for an instant abating the vigour of his narrative, he wouldclutch at the greasy, matted locks of his mahout, and steady himself, while he volubly described incident after incident. As he warmed withhis subject, and tried to shew us how the tiger must have pounced onthe man, he would let go and use his hands in illustration; the oldelephant would give another heave, and the fat little man would makeanother frantic grab at the patient mahout's hair. The whole scene wasmost comical, and we were in convulsions of laughter. 

The news, however, foreboded ample sport; we now had certain _khubber_of at least two tigers; we were soon under weigh; the wounded man hadbeen sent back to the Major's head-quarters on an elephant, and intime recovered completely from his mauling. As we jogged along, we hada most interesting talk with the Major Capt[=a]n. He was wonderfullywell informed, considering he had never been out of Nepaul. He knew allabout England, our army, our mode of government, our parliament, andour Queen; whenever he alluded to Her Majesty he salaamed profoundly, whether as a tribute of respect to her, or in compliment to us as loyalsubjects, we could not quite make out. He described to us the routehome by the Suez canal, and the fun of his talk was much heightened byhis applying the native names to everything; London was _Shuhur_, theword meaning 'a city, ' and he told us it was built on the _Tham[=a]ssnuddee_, by which he meant the Thames river. 

Our magistrate had a Jemadar of Peons with him, a sort of head manamong the servants. This man, abundantly bedecked with ear-rings, finger-rings, and other ornaments, was a useless, bullying sort offellow; dressed to the full extent of Oriental foppishness, andbecause he was the magistrate's servant, he thought himself entitledto order the other servants about in the most lordly way. He was nowmaking himself peculiarly officious, shouting to the drivers to gohere and there, to do this and do that, and indulging in copioustorrents of abuse, without which it seems impossible for a nativesubordinate to give directions on any subject. We were all ratheramused, and could not help bursting into laughter, as, inflated with asense of his own importance, he began abusing one of the nativedrivers of the Nepaulee chief; this man did not submit tamely to hisinsolence. To him the magistrate was nobody, and the pompous Jemadar aperfect nonentity. He accordingly turned round and poured forth aperfect flood of invective. Never was collapse more utter. The Jemadartook a back seat at once, and no more that day did we hear hismelodious voice in tones of imperious command. 

The old Major chuckled, and rubbed his fat little hands, and leaningover to me said, 'at home a lion, but abroad a lamb, ' for, surroundedby his women at home, the man would twirl his moustaches, look fierce, and fancy himself a very tiger; but, no sooner did he go abroad, andmix with men as good, if not better than himself, than he was ready toeat any amount of humble pie. 

We determined first of all to beat for the tiger whose tracks had beenseen near where I had fired my lucky shot the preceding night. Astrong west wind was blowing, and dense clouds of sand were beingswept athwart our line, from the vast plains of fine white sandbordering the river for miles. As we went along we fired the jungle inour rear, and the strong wind carried the flames raging and roaringthrough the dense jungle with amazing fury. One elephant got sofrightened at the noise behind him, that he fairly bolted for theriver, and could not be persuaded back into the line. 

Disturbed by the fire, we saw numerous deer and pig, but being aftertiger we refrained from shooting at them. The Basinattea Tuppoo, whichwas the scene of our present hunt, were famous jungles, and many atiger had been shot there by the Purneah Club in bygone days. Theannual ravages of the impetuous river, had however much changed theface of the country; vast tracts of jungle had been obliterated bydeposits of sand from its annual incursions. Great skeletons of treesstood everywhere, stretching out bare and unsightly branches, allbending to the south, shewing the mighty power of the current, when itmade its annual progress of devastation over the surrounding country. Now, however, it was like a thin streak of silver, flashing back thefierce rays of the meridian sun. Through the blinding clouds of finewhite sand we could at times, during a temporary lull, see its ruinedsurface. And we were glad when we came on the tracks of the tiger, which led straight from the stream, in the direction of some thicktree jungle at no great distance. We gladly turned our backs to thefurious clouds of dust and gusts of scorching wind, and led by aNepaulee tracker, were soon crashing heavily through the jungle. 

When hunting with elephants, the Nepaulese beat in a dense line, theheads of the elephants touching each other. In this manner we were nowproceeding, when S. Called out, 'There goes the tiger. '

We looked up, and saw a very large tiger making off for a deepwatercourse, which ran through the jungle some 200 yards ahead of theline. We hurried up as fast as we could, putting out a fast elephanton either flank, to see that the cunning brute did not sneak either upor down the nullah, under cover of the high banks. This, however, wasnot his object. We saw him descend into the nullah, and almostimmediately top the further bank, and disappear into the junglebeyond. 

Pressing on at a rapid jolting trot, we dashed after him in hotpursuit. The jungle seemed somewhat lighter on ahead. In the distancewe could see some dangurs at work breaking up land, and to the rightwas a small collection of huts with a beautiful riband of green crops, a perfect oasis in the wilderness of sand and parched up grass. Forming into line we pressed on. The tiger was evidently lying up, probably deterred from breaking across the open by the sight of thedangurs at work. My heart was bounding with excitement. We were allintensely eager, and thought no more of the hot wind and blindingdust. Just then Captain S. Saw the brute sneaking along to the left ofthe line, trying to outflank us, and break back. He fired two shotsrapidly with his Express, and the second one, taking effect in theneck of the tiger, bowled him over as he stood. He was a mangy-lookingbrute, badly marked, and measured eight feet eleven inches. He did nothave a chance of charging, and probably had little heart for a fight. 

We soon had him padded, and then proceeded straight north, to thescene of the Major's encounter with the tiger in the morning. Thejungle was well trampled down; there were numerous streams and poolsof water, occasional clumps of bamboos, and abrupt ridgy undulations. It was the very jungle for tiger, and elated by our success in havingbagged one already, we were all in high spirits. The line of fire wecould see far in the distance, sweeping on like the march of fate, andwe could have shot numerous deer, but reserved our fire for noblergame. It was getting well on in the afternoon when we came up to thekair jungle. We beat right up to where the man had been seized, andcould see the marks of the struggle distinctly enough. We beat rightthrough the jungle with no result, and as it was now getting ratherlate, the old Major signified his desire to bid us good evening. Asthis meant depriving us of eight elephants, we prevailed on him to tryone spare straggling corner that we had not gone through. He laughedthe idea to scorn of getting a tiger there, saying there was no cover. One elephant, however, was sent while we were talking. Our elephantswere all standing in a group, and the mahout on his solitary elephantwas listlessly jogging on in a purposeless and desultory manner, whenwe suddenly heard the elephant pipe out a shrill note of alarm, andthe mahout yelled 'Bagh! Bagh!' tiger! tiger! The Captain was againthe lucky man. The tiger, a much finer and stronger built animal thanthe one we had already killed, was standing not eighty paces off, shewing his teeth, his bristles erect, and evidently in a bad temper. He had been crouching among some low bushes, and seeing the elephantbearing directly down on him, he no doubt imagined his retreat hadbeen discovered. At all events there he was, and he presented asplendid aim. He was a noble-looking specimen as he stood there grimand defiant. Captain S. Took aim, and lodged an Express bullet in hischest. It made a fearful wound, and the ferocious brute writhed androlled about in agony. We quickly surrounded him, and a bullet behindthe ear from my No. 16 put an end to his misery. 

The old Major now bade us good evening, and after padding the secondtiger, and much elated at our success, we began to beat homewards, shooting at everything that rose before us. A couple of tremendous piggot up before me, and dashed through a clear stream that was purlingpeacefully in its pebbly bed. As the boar was rushing up the fartherbank, I deposited a pellet in his hind quarters. He gave an angrygrunt and tottered on, but presently pulled up, and seemed determinedto have some revenge for his hurt. As my elephant came up the bank, the gallant boar tried to charge, but already wounded and weak fromloss of blood, he tottered and staggered about. My elephant would notface him, so I gave him another shot behind the shoulder, and paddedhim for the _moosahurs_ and sweepers in camp. Just then one of thepolicemen started a young hog-deer, and several of the men got downand tried to catch the little thing alive. They soon succeeded, andthe cries of the poor little _butcha_, that is 'young one, ' were mostplaintive. 

The wind had now subsided, there was a red angry glare, as the levelrays of the setting sun shimmered through the dense clouds of dustthat loaded the atmosphere. It was like the dull, red, coppery huewhich presages a storm. The vast morung jungle lay behind us, andbeyond that the swelling wooded hills, beginning to show dark andindistinct against the gathering gloom. A long line of cattle werewending their way homeward to the batan, and the tinkle of the bigcopper bell fell pleasingly on our ears. In the distance, we could seethe white canvas of the tents gleaming in the rays of the setting sun. A vast circular line of smouldering fire, flickering and flaringfitfully, and surmounted by huge volumes of curling smoke, shewed theremains of the fierce tornado of flame that had raged at noon, when welit the jungle. The jungle was very light, and much trodden down, ourthree howdah elephants were not far apart, and we were chattingcheerfully together and discussing the incidents of the day. My bearerwas sitting behind me in the back of the howdah, and I had taken outmy ball cartridge from my No. 12 breechloader, and had replaced themwith shot. Just then my mahout raised his hand, and in a hoarseexcited whisper called out, 'Look, sahib, a large tiger!'

'Where?' we all exclaimed, getting excited at once. He pointed infront to a large object, looking for all the world like a huge duncow. 

'Why, you fool, that is a bullock. ' I exclaimed. 

My bearer, who had also been intently gazing, now said. 

'No, sahib! that is a tiger, and a large one. '

At that moment, it turned partly round, and I at once saw that the menwere right, and that it was a veritable tiger, and seemingly a monsterin size. I at once called to Captain S. And the magistrate, who had bythis time fallen a little behind. 

'Look out, you fellows! here's a tiger in front. '

At first they thought I was joking, but a glance confirmed the truthof what I had said. When I first saw the brute, he was evidentlysneaking after the cattle, and was about sixty paces from me. He wasso intent on watching the herd, that he had not noticed our approach. He was now, however, evidently alarmed and making off. By the time Icalled out, he must have been over eighty yards away. I had my No. 12in my hand, loaded with shot; it was no use; I put it down and took upmy No. 16; this occupied a few seconds; I fired both barrels; thefirst bullet was in excellent line but rather short, the second wentover the animal's back, and neither touched him. It made him, however, quicken his retreat, and when Captain S. Fired, he must have beenfully one hundred and fifty yards away; as it was now somewhat dusky, he also missed. He fired another long shot with his rifle, but missedagain. Oh that unlucky change of cartridges in my No. 12! But forthat--but there--we are always wise after the event. We never expectedto see a tiger in such open country, especially as we had been overthe same ground before, firing pretty often as we came along. 

We followed up of course, but it was now fast getting dark, and thoughwe beat about for some time, we could not get another glimpse of thetiger. He was seemingly a very large male, dark-coloured, and insplendid condition. We must have got him, had it been earlier, as hecould not have gone far forward, for the lines of fire were beyondhim, and we had him between the fire and the elephants. We got homeabout 6. 30, rather disappointed at missing such a glorious prize, sotrue is it that a sportsman's soul is never satisfied. But we had rareand most unlooked-for luck, and we felt considerably better after agood dinner, and indulged in hopes of getting the big fellow nextmorning. 

In the same jungles, some years ago, a very sad accident occurred. Aparty were out tiger-shooting, and during one of the beats, a cowherdhearing the noise of the advancing elephants, crouched behind a bush, and covered himself with his blanket. At a distance he looked exactlylike a pig, and one of the shooters mistook him for one. He fired, andhit the poor herd in the hip. As soon as the mistake was perceived, everything was done for the poor fellow. His wound was dressed as wellas they could do it, and he was sent off to the doctor in a dhoolie, aa sort of covered litter, slung on a pole and carried on men's shoulders. It was too late, the poor coolie died on the road, from shock and lossof blood. Such mistakes occur very seldom, and this was such a naturalone, that no one could blame the unfortunate sportsman, and certainlyno one felt keener regret than he did. The coolie's family was amplyprovided for, which was all that remained to be done. 

This is the only instance I know, where fatal results have followedsuch an accident. I have known several cases of beaters peppered withshot, generally from their own carelessness, and disregard of orders, but a salve in the shape of a few rupees has generally proved the mosteffective ointment. I have known some rascals say, they were sorrythey had not been lucky enough to be wounded, as they considered apunctured cuticle nothing to set against the magnificent douceur offour or five rupees. One impetuous scamp, being told not to go infront of the line during a beat near Burgamma, replied to the warningcaution of his jemadar, 'Oh never mind, if get shot I will get backsheesh. '

Whether this was a compliment to the efficacy of our treatment (by thesilver ointment), or to the inaccuracy and harmlessness of our shooting, I leave the reader to judge. 

Our bag during this lucky day, including the tigress killed by my shoton the river bank, was as follows: three tigers, one boar, four deer, including the young one taken alive, eight sandpipers, nine plovers, two mallards, and two teal. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

We resume the beat. --The hog-deer. --Nepaulese villages. --Villagegranaries. --Tiger in front. --A hit! a hit!--Following up the woundedtiger. --Find him dead. --Tiffin in the village. --The Patair jungle. --Search for tiger. --Gone away!--An elephant steeplechase in pursuit. --Exciting chase. --The Morung jungle. --Magnificent scenery. --Skinningthe tiger. --Incidents of tiger hunting. 

Next morning, both the magistrate and myself felt very ill, headachyand sick, with violent vomiting and retching; Captain S. Attributed itto the fierce hot wind and exposure of the preceding day, but we, thesufferers, blamed the _dekchees_ or cooking pots. These _dekchees_ aregenerally made of copper, coated or tinned over with white metal oncea month or oftener; if the tinning is omitted, or the copper becomesexposed by accident or neglect, the food cooked in the pots sometimesgets tainted with copper, and produces nausea and sickness in thosewho eat it. I have known, within my own experience, cases of copperpoisoning that have terminated fatally. It is well always thoroughlyto inspect the kitchen utensils, particularly when in camp; unlesscarefully watched and closely supervised, servants get very careless, and let food remain in these copper vessels. This is always dangerous, and should never be allowed. 

In consequence of our indisposition, we did not start till theforenoon was far advanced, and the hot west wind had again begun tosweep over the prairie-like stretches of sand and withered grass. Wecommenced beating up by the Batan or cattle stance, near which we hadseen the big tiger, the preceding evening. S. However became so sickand giddy, that he had to return to camp, and Captain S. And Icontinued the beat alone. Having gone over the same ground onlyyesterday, we did not expect a tiger so near to camp, more especiallyas the fire had made fearful havoc with the tall grass. Hog-deer werevery numerous; they are not as a rule easily disturbed; they are of areddish brown colour, not unlike that of the Scotch red deer, and rushthrough the jungle, when alarmed, with a succession of bounding leaps;they make very pretty shooting, and when young, afford tender andwell-flavoured venison. One hint I may give. When you shoot a buck, see that he is at once denuded of certain appendages, else the fleshwill get rank and disagreeable to eat. The bucks have pretty antlers, but are not very noble looking. The does are somewhat lighter incolour, and do not seem to consort together in herds like antelopes;there are rarely more than five in a group, though I have certainlyseen more on several occasions. 

This morning we were unlucky with our deer. I shot three, and CaptainS. Shot at and wounded three, not one of which however did we bag. This part of the country is exclusively inhabited by Parbutteas, thenative name for Nepaulese settled in British territory. Over thefrontier line, the villages are called Pahareeas, signifyingmountaineers or hillmen, from Pahar, a mountain. We beat up to aParbuttea village, with its conical roofed huts; men and women wereengaged in plaiting long coils of rice straw into cable looking ropes. A few split bamboos are fastened into the ground, in a circle, andthese ropes are then coiled round, in and out, between the stakes;this makes a huge circular vat-shaped repository, open at both ends;it is then lifted up and put on a platform coated with mud, andprotected from rats and vermin by the pillars being placed on smooth, inverted earthen pots. The coils of straw are now plastered outsideand in with a mixture of mud, chaff, and cowdung, and allowed to dry;when dried the hut is filled with grain, and securely roofed andthatched. This forms the invariable village granary, and looks at adistance not unlike a stack or rick of corn, round a farm at home. Bythe abundance of these granaries in a village, one can tell at aglance whether the season has been a good one, and whether the frugalinhabitants of the clustering little hamlet are in pretty comfortablecircumstances. If they are under the sway of a grasping andunscrupulous landlord, they not unfrequently bury their grain inclay-lined chambers in the earth, and have always enough for currentwants, stored up in the sun-baked clay repositories mentioned in aformer chapter. 

Beyond the village we entered some thick Patair jungle. Its greennesswas refreshing after the burnt up and withered grass jungle. We werenow in a hollow bordering the stream, and somewhat protected from thescorching wind, and the stinging clouds of fine sand and red dust. Thebrook looked so cool and refreshing, and the water so clear andpellucid, that I was about to dismount to take a drink and lave myheated head and face, when a low whistle to my right made me look inthat direction, and I saw the Captain waving his hand excitedly, andpointing ahead. He was higher up the bank than I was, and in verydense Patair; a ridge ran between his front of the line and mine, sothat I could only see his howdah, and the bulk of the elephant's bodywas concealed from me by the grass on this ridge. 

I closed up diagonally across the ridge; S. Still waving to me tohurry up; as I topped it, I spied a large tiger slouching along in thehollow immediately below me. He saw me at the same instant, andbounded on in front of S. His Express was at his shoulder on theinstant; he fired, and a tremendous spurt of blood shewed a hit, ahit, a palpable hit. The tiger was nowhere visible, and not a cry or amotion could we hear or see, to give us any clue to the whereabouts ofthe wounded animal. We followed up however, quickly but cautiously, expecting every instant a furious charge. 

We must have gone at least a hundred yards, when right in front of meI descried the tiger, crouching down, its head resting on its forepaws, and to all appearance settling for a spring. It was about twentyyards from me, and taking a rather hasty aim, I quickly fired bothbarrels straight at the head. I could only see the head and paws, butthese I saw quite distinctly. My elephant was very unsteady, and bothmy bullets went within an inch of the tiger's head, but fortunatelymissed completely. I say fortunately, for finding the brute stillremaining quite motionless, we cautiously approached, and found it wasstone dead. The perfect naturalness of the position, however, mightwell have deceived a more experienced sportsman. The beast was lyingcrouched on all fours, as if in the very act of preparing to spring. The one bullet had killed it; the wound was in the lungs, and theinternal bleeding had suffocated it, but here was a wonderful instanceof the tiger's tenacity of life, even when sorely wounded, for it hadtravelled over a hundred and thirty yards after S. Had shot it. 

It was lucky I missed, for my bullets would have spoiled the skull. She was a very handsome, finely marked tigress, a large specimen, foron applying the tape we found she measured exactly nine feet. Beforedescending to measure her, we were joined by the old Major Capt[=a]n, whose elephants we had for some time descried in the distance. Hiscongratulations were profuse, and no doubt sincere, and after paddingthe tigress, we hied to the welcome shelter of one of the villagehouses, where we discussed a hearty and substantial tiffin. 

During tiffin, we were surrounded by a bevy of really fair and buxomlasses. They wore petticoats of striped blue cloth, and had their armsand shoulders bare, and their ears loaded with silver ornaments. Theywere merry, laughing, comely damsels, with none of the exaggeratedshyness, and affected prudery of the women of the plains. We wereoffered plantains, milk, and chupatties, and an old patriarch came outleaning on his staff, to revile and abuse the tigress. From some ofthe young men we heard of a fresh kill to the north of the village, and after tiffin we proceeded in that direction, following up thecourse of the limpid stream, whose gurgling ripple sounded sopleasantly in our ears. 

Far ahead to the right, and on the further bank of the stream, wecould see dense curling volumes of smoke, and leaping pyramids offlame, where a jungle fire was raging in some thick acacia scrub. Aswe got nearer, the heat became excessive, and the flames, fanned intotremendous fury by the fierce west wind, tore through the dry thornybushes. Our elephants were quite unsteady, and did not like facing thefire. We made a slight detour, and soon had the roaring wall of flamebehind us. We were now entering on a moist, circular, basin-shapedhollow. Among the patair roots were the recent marks of great numbersof wild pigs, where they had been foraging among the stiff clay forthese esculents. The patair is like a huge bulrush, and the elephantsare very fond of its succulent, juicy, cool-looking leaves. Those inour line kept tearing up huge tufts of it, thrashing out the mud anddirt from the roots against their forelegs, and with a grunt ofsatisfaction, making it slowly disappear in their cavernous mouths. There was considerable noise, and the jungle was nearly as high as thehowdahs, presenting the appearance of an impenetrable screen of vividgreen. We beat and rebeat, across and across, but there was no sign ofthe tiger. The banks of the nullah were very steep, rotten looking, and dangerous. We had about eighteen elephants, namely, ten of ourown, and eight belonging to the Nepaulese. We were beating very close, the elephants' heads almost touching. This is the way they always beatin Nepaul. We thought we had left not a spot in the basin untouched, and Captain S. Was quite satisfied that there could be no tiger there. It was a splendid jungle for cover, so thick, dense, and cool. I wasbeating along the edge of the creek, which ran deep and silent, between the gloomy sedge-covered banks. In a placid little pool I sawa couple of widgeon all unconscious of danger, their glossy plumagereflected in the clear water. I called to Captain S. 'We are sold thistime Captain, there's no tiger here!'

'I am afraid not, ' he answered. 

'Shall I bag those two widgeon?' I asked. 

'All right, ' was the response. 

Putting in shot cartridge, I shot both the widgeon, but we were allastounded to see the tiger we had so carefully and perseveringlysearched for, bound out of a crevice in the bank, almost right undermy elephant. Off he went with a smothered roar, that set our elephantshurrying backwards and forwards. There was a commotion along the wholeline. The jungle was too dense for us to see anything. It was one moreproof how these hill tigers will lie close, even in the midst of aline. 

S. Called out to me to remain quiet, and see if we could trace thetiger's progress by any rustling in the cover. Looking down we saw thekill, close to the edge of the water. A fast elephant was sent onahead, to try and ascertain whether the tiger was likely to breakbeyond the circle of the little basin-shaped valley. We gathered roundthe kill; it was quite fresh; a young buffalo. The Major told us thatin his experience, a male tiger always begins on the neck first. Afemale always at the hind quarters. A few mouthfuls only had beeneaten, and according to the Major, it must have been a tigress, as thepart devoured was from the hind quarters. 

While we were talking over these things, a frenzied shout from thedriver of our naka elephant caused us to look in his direction. He wasgesticulating wildly, and bawling at the top of his voice, 'Come, comequickly, sahibs, the tiger is running away. '

Now commenced such a mad and hurried scramble as I have neverwitnessed before or since, from the back of an elephant. As we torethrough the tangled dense green patair, the broad leaves crackled likecrashing branches, the huge elephants surged ahead like ships rockingin a gale of wind, and the mahouts and attendants on the padelephants, shouted and urged on their shuffling animals, by excitedcries and resounding whacks. 

In the retinue of the Major, were several men with elephant spears orgoads. These consist of a long, pliant, polished bamboo, with a sharpspike at the end, which they call a _jhetha_. These men now camehurrying round the ridge, among the opener grass, and as we emergedfrom the heavy cover, they began goading the elephants behind andurging them to their most furious pace. On ahead, nearly a quarter ofa mile away, we could see a huge tiger making off for the distantmorung, at a rapid sling trot. His lithe body shone before us, andurged us to the most desperate efforts. It was almost a bare plateau. There was scarcely any cover, only here and there a few stunted acaciabushes. The dense forest was two or three miles ahead, but there wereseveral nasty steep banks, and precipitous gullies with deep waterrushing between. Attached to each Nepaulee pad, by a stoutcuriously-plaited cord, ornamented with fancy knots and tassels ofsilk, was a small pestle-shaped instrument, not unlike an auctioneer'shammer. It was quaintly carved, and studded with short, blunt, shining, brass nails or spikes. I had noticed these hanging down fromthe pads, and had often wondered what they were for. I was now to seethem used. While the mahouts in front rained a shower of blows on theelephants head, and the spear-men pricked him up from behind withtheir jhethas, the occupant of the pad, turning round with his face tothe tail, belaboured the poor hathee with the auctioneer's hammer. Theblows rattled on the elephant's rump. The brutes trumpeted with pain, but they _did_ put on the pace, and travelled as I never imagined anelephant _could_ travel. Past bush and brake, down precipitous ravine, over the stones, through the thorny scrub, dashing down a steep bankhere, plunging madly through a deep stream there, we shuffled along. We must have been going fully seven miles an hour. The pestle-shapedhammer is called a _lohath_, and most unmercifully were they wielded. We were jostled and jolted, till every bone ached again. Clouds ofdust were driven before our reeling waving line. How the Nepauleseshouted and capered. We were all mad with excitement. I shouted withthe rest. The fat little Major kicked his heels against the sides ofhis elephant, as if he were spurring a Derby winner to victory. Ourusually sedate captain yelled--actually yelled!--in an agony ofexcitement, and tried to execute a war dance of his own on the floorof his howdah. Our guns rattled, the chains clanked and jangled, thehowdahs rocked and pitched from side to side. We made a desperateeffort. The poor elephants made a gallant race of it. The foot menperspired and swore, but it was not to be. Our striped friend had thebest of the start, and we gained not an inch upon him. To ourunspeakable mortification, he reached the dense cover on ahead, wherewe might as well have sought for a needle in a haystack. Never, however, shall I forget that mad headlong scramble. Fancy an elephantsteeple-chase. Reader, it was sublime; but we ached for it next day. 

The old Major and his fleet racing elephants now left us, and ourjaded beasts took us slowly back in the direction of our camp. It wasa fine wild view on which we were now gazing. Behind us the darkgloomy impenetrable morung, the home of ever-abiding fever and ague. Behind that the countless multitude of hills, swelling here andreceding there, a jumbled heap of mighty peaks and fretted pinnacles, with their glistening sides and dark shadowless ravines, their mightyscaurs and their abrupt serrated edges showing out clearly and boldlydefined against the evening sky. Far to the right, the shiningriver--a riband of burnished steel, for its waters were a deep steelyblue--rolled its swift flood along amid shining sand-banks. In front, the vast undulating plain, with grove, and rill, and smoking hamlet, stretched at our feet in a lovely panorama of blended and harmoniouscolour. We were now high up above the plain, and the scene was one ofthe finest I have ever witnessed in India. The wind had gone down, andthe oblique rays of the sun lit up the whole vast panorama with alurid light, which was heightened in effect by the dust-ladenatmosphere, and the volumes of smoke from the now distant fires, hedging in the far horizon with curtains of threatening grandeur andgloom. That far away canopy of dust and smoke formed a wonderfulcontrast to the shining snow-capped hills behind. Altogether it was aday to be remembered. I have seen no such strange and unearthlycombination of shade and colour in any landscape before or since. 

On the way home we bagged a florican and a very fine mallard, andreached the camp utterly fagged, to find our worthy magistrate verymuch recovered, and glad to congratulate us on our having bagged thetigress. After a plunge in the river, and a rare camp dinner--such ameal as only an Indian sportsman can procure--we lay back in our canechairs, and while the fragrant smoke from the mild Manilla curledlovingly about the roof of the tent, we discussed the day'sproceedings, and fought our battles over again. 

A rather animated discussion arose about the length of the tiger--asto its frame merely, and we wondered what difference the skin wouldmake in the length of the animal. As it was a point we had never heardmooted before, we determined to see for ourselves. We accordingly wentout into the beautiful moonlight, and superintended the skinning ofthe tigress. The skin was taken off most artistically. We hadcarefully measured the animal before skinning. She was exactly ninefeet long. We found the skin made a difference of only four inches, the bare skeleton from tip of nose to extreme point of tail measuringeight feet eight inches. 

As an instance of tigers taking to trees, our worthy magistraterelated that in Rajmehal he and a friend had wounded a tiger, andsubsequently lost him in the jungle. In vain they searched in everyconceivable direction, but could find no trace of him. They were aboutgiving up in despair, when S. , raising his hat, happened to look up, and there, on a large bough directly overhead, he saw the woundedtiger lying extended at full length, some eighteen feet from theground. They were not long in leaving the dangerous vicinity, and itwas not long either ere a well-directed shot brought the tiger downfrom his elevated perch. 

These after-dinner stories are not the least enjoyable part of atiger-hunting party. Round the camp table in a snug, well-lightedtent, with all the 'materials' handy, I have listened to many a taleof thrilling adventure. S. Was full of reminiscences, and having seena deal of tiger shooting in various parts of India, his recollectionswere much appreciated. To shew that the principal danger in tigershooting is not from the tiger himself, but from one's elephantbecoming panic-stricken and bolting, he told how a Mr. Aubert, aBenares planter, lost his life. A tiger had been 'spined' by a shot, and the line gathered round the prostrate monster to watch itsdeath-struggle. The elephant on which the unfortunate planter sat gotdemoralised and attempted to bolt. The mahout endeavoured to check itsrush, and in desperation the elephant charged straight down, closepast the tiger, which lay writhing and roaring under a hugeoverhanging tree. The elephant was rushing directly under this tree, and a large branch would have swept howdah and everything it containedclean off the elephant's back, as easily as one would brush off a fly. To save himself Aubert made a leap for the branch, the elephantforging madly ahead; and the howdah, being smashed like match-wood, fell on the tiger below, who was tearing and clawing at everythingwithin his reach. Poor Aubert got hold of the branch with his hands, and clung with all the desperation of one fighting for his life. Hewas right above the wounded tiger, but his grasp on the tree was not afirm one. For a moment he hung suspended above the furious animal, which, mad with agony and fury, was a picture of demoniac rage. Thepoor fellow could hold no longer, and fell right on the tiger. It wasnearly at its last gasp, but it caught hold of Aubert by the foot, andin a final paroxysm of pain and rage chawed the foot clean off, andthe poor fellow died next day from the shock and loss of blood. He wasone of four brothers who all met untimely deaths from accidents. Thisone was killed by the tiger, another was thrown from a vehicle andkilled on the spot, the third was drowned, and the fourth shot byaccident. 

Our bag to-day was one tiger, one florican, one mallard, and twowidgeon. On cutting the tiger open, we found that the bullet hadentered on the left side, and, as we suspected, had entered the lungs. It had, however, made a terrible wound. We found that it hadpenetrated the heart and liver, gone forward through the chest, andsmashed the right shoulder. Notwithstanding this fearful wound, shewing the tremendous effects of the Express bullet, the tiger hadgone on for the distance I have mentioned, after which it must havefallen stone-dead. It was a marvellous instance of vitality, evenafter the heart, liver, and lungs had been pierced. The liver had sixlobes, and it was then I heard for the first time, that with thenatives this was an infallible sign of the age of a tiger. The oldMajor firmly believed it, and told us it was quite an accepted articleof faith with all native sportsmen. Facts subsequently came under myown observation which seemed to give great probability to the theory, but it is one on which I would not like to give a decided opinion, till after hearing the experiences of other sportsmen. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Camp of the Nepaulee chief. --Quicksands. --Elephants crossing rivers. --Tiffin at the Nepaulee camp. --We beat the forest for tiger. --Shoota young tiger. --Red ants in the forest. --Bhowras or ground bees. --The_ursus labialis_ or long-lipped bear. --Recross the stream. --Florican. --Stag running the gauntlet of flame. --Our bag. --Start for factory. --Remarks on elephants. --Precautions useful for protection from thesun in tiger shooting. --The _puggree_. --Cattle breeding in India, andwholesale deaths of cattle from disease. --Nathpore. --Ravages of theriver. --Mrs. Gray, an old resident in the jungles. --Description of hersurroundings. 

Next morning we started beating due east, setting fire to the jungleas we went along. The roaring and crackling of the flames startled theelephant on which Captain S. Was riding, and going away across countryat a furious pace, it was with difficulty that it could be stopped. Wecrossed the frontier line a short distance from camp, and entered adense jungle of thorny acacia, with long dry grass almost choking thetrees. They were dry and stunted, and when we dropped a few lightsamongst such combustible material, the fire was splendid beyonddescription. How the flames surged through the withered grass. We wereforced to pause and admire the magnificent sight. The wall of flametore along with inconceivable rapidity, and the blinding volumes ofsmoke obscured the country for miles. The jungle was full of deer andpig. One fine buck came bounding along past our line, but I stoppedhim with a single bullet through the neck. He fell over with atremendous crash, and turning a complete somersault broke off both hishorns with the force of the fall. 

We beat down a shallow sandy watercourse, and could see the camp ofthe old Major on the high bank beyond. Farther down the stream therewas a small square fort, the whitewashed walls of which flashed backthe rays of the sun, and grouped round it were some ruinous lookinghuts, several snowy tents, and a huge shamiana or canopy, under whichwe could see a host of attendants spreading carpets, placing chairs, and otherwise making ready for us. The banks of the stream were verysteep, but the guide at length brought us to what seemed a safe andfordable passage. On the further side was a flat expanse of seeminglyfirm and dry sand, but no sooner had our elephants begun to cross it, than the whole sandbank for yards began to rock and tremble; the waterwelled up over the footmarks of the elephants, and S. Called out tous, Fussun, Fussun! quicksand, quicksand! We scattered the elephants, and tried to hurry them over the dangerous bit of ground with shoutsand cries of encouragement. 

The poor animals seemed thoroughly to appreciate the danger, andshuffled forward as quickly as they could. All got over in safetyexcept the last three. The treacherous sand, rendered still moreinsecure by the heavy tread of so many ponderous animals, now gave wayentirely, and the three hapless elephants were left floundering in thetenacious hold of the dreaded fussun. Two of the three were not farfrom the firm bank, and managed to extricate themselves after a shortstruggle; but the third had sunk up to the shoulders, and couldscarcely move. All hands immediately began cutting long grass andforming it into bundles. These were thrown to the sinking elephant. Herolled from side to side, the sand quaking and undulating round him inall directions. At times he would roll over till nearly half his bodywas invisible. Some of the Nepaulese ventured near, and managed toundo the harness-ropes that were holding on the pad. The sagaciousbrute fully understood his danger, and the efforts we were making forhis assistance. He managed to get several of the big bundles of grassunder his feet, and stood there looking at us with a most patheticpleading expression, and trembling, as if with an ague, from fear andexhaustion. 

The old Major came down to meet us, and a crowd of his men added theirefforts to ours, to help the unfortunate elephant. We threw in bundleafter bundle of grass, till we had the yielding sand covered with athick passage of firmly bound fascines, on which the hathee, staggering and floundering painfully, managed to reach firm land. Hewas so completely exhausted that he could scarcely walk to the tents, and we left him there to the care of his attendants. This is a verycommon episode in tiger hunting, and does not always terminate sofortunately. In running water, the quicksand is not so dangerous, asthe force of the stream keeps washing away the sand, and does notallow it to settle round the legs of the elephant; but on dry land, adry fussun, as it is called, is justly feared; and many a valuableanimal has been swallowed up in its slow, deadly, tenacious grasp. 

In crossing sand, the heaviest and slowest elephants should go first, preceded by a light, nimble pioneer. If the leading elephant showssigns of sinking, the others should at once turn back, and seek somesafer place. In all cases the line should separate a little, and notfollow in each other's footsteps. The indications of a quicksand areeasily recognised. If the surface of the sand begins to oscillate andundulate with a tremulous rocking motion, it is always wise to seeksome other passage. Looking back, after elephants have passed, youwill often see what was a perfectly dry flat, covered with severalinches of water. When water begins to ooze up in any quantity, after afew elephants have passed, it is much safer to make the remaindercross at some spot farther on. 

In crossing a deep swift river, the elephants should enter the waterin a line, ranged up and down the river. That is, the line should beranged along the bank, and enter the water at right angles to thecurrent, and not in Indian file. The strongest elephants should be upstream, as they help to break the force of the current for the weakerand smaller animals down below. It is a fine sight to see some thirtyor forty of these huge animals crossing a deep and rapid river. Someare reluctant to strike out, when they begin to enter the deepestchannel, and try to turn back; the mahouts and 'mates' shout, andbelabour them with bamboo poles. The trumpeting of the elephants, thewaving of the trunks, disporting, like huge water-snakes, in theperturbed current, the splashing of the bamboos, the dark bodies ofthe natives swimming here and there round the animals, the unwieldyboat piled high with how-dahs and pads, the whole heap surmounted by agroup of sportsmen with their gleaming weapons, and variegatedpuggrees, make up a picturesque and memorable sight. Some of thestrong swimmers among the elephants seem to enjoy the whole affairimmensely. They dip their huge heads entirely under the current, thesun flashes on the dark hide, glistening with the dripping water; theenormous head emerges again slowly, like some monstrous antediluviancreation, and with a succession of these ponderous appearances anddisappearances, the mighty brutes forge through the surging water. When they reach a shallow part, they pipe with pleasure, and sendvolumes of fluid splashing against their heaving flanks, scatteringthe spray all round in mimic rainbows. 

At all times the Koosee was a dangerous stream to cross, but duringthe rains I have seen the strongest and best swimming elephants takennearly a mile down stream; and in many instances they have beendrowned, their vast bulk and marvellous strength being quite unable tocope with the tremendous force of the raging waters. 

When we had got comfortably seated under the shamiana, a crowd ofattendants brought us baskets of fruit and a very nice cold collationof various Indian dishes and curries. We did ample justice to the oldsoldier's hospitable offerings, and then betel-nut, cardamums, cloves, and other spices, and pauri leaves, were handed round on a silversalver, beautifully embossed and carved with quaint devices. We litour cigars, our beards and handkerchiefs were anointed with attar ofroses; and the old Major then informed us that there was good khubberof tiger in the wood close by. 

The trees were splendid specimens of forest growth, enormously thick, beautifully umbrageous, and growing very close together. There was adense undergrowth of tangled creeper, and the most lovely ferns andtropical plants in the richest luxuriance, and of every conceivableshade of amber and green. It was a charming spot. The patch of forestwas separated from the unbroken line of morung jungle by a beautifullysheltered glade of several hundred acres, and further broken in threeplaces by avenue-looking openings, disclosing peeps of the black andgloomy-looking mass of impenetrable forest beyond. 

In the first of these openings we were directed to take up a position, while the pad elephants and a crowd of beaters went to the edge of thepatch of forest and began beating up to us. Immense numbers of genuinejungle fowl were calling in all directions, and flying right acrossthe opening in numerous coveys. They are beautifully marked with blackand golden plumes round the neck, and I determined to shoot a few byand bye to send home to friends, who I knew would prize them asinvaluable material in dressing hooks for fly-fishing. The crashing ofthe trees, as the elephants forced their way through the thick forest, or tore off huge branches as they struggled amid the mattedvegetation, kept us all on the alert. The first place was however ablank, and we moved on to the next. We had not long to wait, for afierce din inside the jungle, and the excited cries of the beaters, apprised us that game of some sort was afoot. We were eagerlywatching, and speculating on the cause of the uproar, when a very finehalf-grown tiger cub sprang out of some closely growing fern, anddashed across the narrow opening so quickly, that ere we had time toraise a gun, he had disappeared in some heavy jhamun jungle on thefurther side of the path. 

We hurried round as fast as we could to intercept him, should heattempt to break on ahead; and leaving some men to rally the mahouts, and let them know that there was a tiger afoot, we were soon in ourplaces, and ready to give the cub a warm reception, should he againshow his stripes. It was not long ere he did so. I spied him stealingalong the edge of the jungle, evidently intending to make a rush backpast the opening he had just crossed, and outflank the line of beaterelephants. I fired and hit him in the forearm; he rolled over roaringwith rage, and then descrying his assailants, he bounded into theopen, and as well as his wound would allow him, came furiously down atthe charge. In less time however than it takes to write it, he hadreceived three bullets in his body, and tumbled down a lifeless heap. We raised a cheer which brought the beaters and elephants quickly tothe spot. In coming through a thickly wooded part of the forest, withnumerous long and pliant creepers intertwisted into a confused tangleof rope-like ligaments, the old Juddeah elephant tore down one of thelong lines, and dislodged an angry army of venomous red ants on theoccupants of the guddee, or cushioned seat on the elephant's pad. Theants proved formidable assailants. There were two or three Baboos ornative gentlemen, holding on to the ropes, chewing pan, and enjoyingthe scene, but the red ants were altogether more than they hadbargained for. Recognising the Baboos as the immediate cause of theirdisturbance, they attacked them with indomitable courage. The mahoutfairly yelled with pain, and one of the Baboos, smarting from thefiery bites of the furious insects, toppled clean backwards into theundergrowth, showing an undignified pair of heels. The other twodanced on the guddee, sweeping and thrashing the air, the cushion, andtheir clothes, with their cummerbunds, in the vain effort to freethemselves of their angry assailants. The guddee was literally coveredwith ants; it looked an animated red mass, and the wretched Baboosmade frantic efforts to shake themselves clear. They were dreadfullybitten, and reaching the open, they slid off the elephant, and even onthe ground continued their saltatory antics before finally getting ridof their ferocious assailants. 

In forest shooting the red ant is one of the most dreaded pests of thejungle. If a colony gets dislodged from some overhanging branch, andis landed in your howdah, the best plan is to evacuate your strongholdas quickly as you can, and let the attendants clear away the invaders. Their bite is very painful, and they take such tenacious hold, thatrather than quit their grip, they allow themselves to be decapitatedand leave their head and formidable forceps sticking in your flesh. 

Other dreaded foes in the forest jungle are the Bhowra or ground bees, which are more properly a kind of hornet. If by evil chance yourelephant should tread on their mound-like nest, instantly an angryswarm of venomous and enraged hornets comes buzzing about your ears. Your only chance is to squat down, and envelope yourself completely ina blanket. Old sportsmen, shooting in forest jungle, invariably take ablanket Avith them in the howdah, to ensure themselves protection inthe event of an attack by these blood-thirsty creatures. The thickmatted creepers too are a great nuisance, for which a bill-hook orsharp kookree is an invaluable adjunct to the other paraphernalia ofthe march. I have seen a mahout swept clean off the elephant's back bythese tenacious creepers, and the elephants themselves are sometimesunable to break through the tangle of sinewy, lithe cords, which drapethe huge forest trees, hanging in slender festoons from every branch. Some of them are prickly, and as the elephant slowly forces his waythrough the mass of pendent swaying cords, they lacerate and tear themahout's clothes and skin, and appropriate his puggree. As you crouchdown within the shelter of your howdah, you can't help pitying thepoor wretch, and incline to think that, after all, shooting in grassjungle has fewer drawbacks and is preferable to forest shooting. 

One of the drivers reported that he had seen a bear in the jungle, andwe saw the earth of one not far from where the young tiger had fallen;it was the lair of the sloth bear or _Ursus labialis_, so called fromhis long pendent upper lip. His spoor is very easily distinguishedfrom that of any other animal; the ball of the foot shows a distinctround impression, and about an inch to an inch and a half further on, the impression of the long curved claws are seen. He uses theselong-curved claws to tear up ant hills, and open hollow decayingtrees, to get at the honey within, of which he is very fond. We wentafter the bear, and were not long in discovering his whereabouts, anda well-directed shot from S. Added him to our bag. The best bearshooting in India perhaps is in CHOTA NAGPOOR, but this does not comewithin the limits of my present volume. We now beat slowly through thewood, keeping a bright look out for ants and hornets, and getting fineshooting at the numerous jungle fowl which flew about in amazingnumbers. 

The forest trees in this patch of jungle were very fine. The hillseerees, with its feathery foliage and delicate clusters of whitebugle-shaped blossom; the semul or cotton tree, with its wonderfulwealth of magnificent crimson flowers; the birch-looking sheeshum orsissod; the sombre looking sal; the shining, leathery-leafed bhur, with its immense over-arching limbs, and the crisp, curly-leafedelegant-looking jhamun or Indian olive, formed a paradise of sylvanbeauty, on which the eye dwelt till it was sated with the woodlandloveliness. 

In recrossing the dhar or water-course, we took care to avoid thequicksands, and as we did not expect to fall in with another tiger, weindulged in a little general firing. I shot a fine buck through thespine, and we bagged several deer, and no less than five florican;this bird is allied to the bustard family, and has beautiful droopingfeathers, hanging in plumy pendants of deep black and pure white, intermingled in the most graceful and showy manner. The male is amagnificent bird, and has perhaps as fine plumage as any bird on theborder; the flesh yields the most delicate eating of any game bird Iknow; the slices of mingled brown and white from the breast aredelicious. The birds are rather shy, generally getting up a long wayin front of the line, and moving with a slow, rather clumsy, flight, not unlike the flight of the white earth owl. They run with greatswiftness, and are rather hard to kill, unless hit about the neck andhead. There are two sorts, the lesser and the greater, the former alsocalled the bastard florican. Altogether they are noble looking birds, and the sportsman is always glad to add as many florican as he can tohis bag. 

We were now nearing the locality of the fierce fire of the morning; itwas still blazing in a long extended line of flame, and we witnessedan incident without parallel in the experience of any of us. I firedat and wounded a large stag; it was wounded somewhere in the side, andseemed very hard hit indeed. Maddened probably by terror and pain, itmade straight for the line of fire, and bounded unhesitatingly rightinto the flame. We saw it distinctly go clean though the flames, butwe could not see whether it got away with its life, as the elephantswould not go up to the fire. At all events, the stag went rightthrough his fiery ordeal, and was lost to us. We started numeroushares close to camp, and S. Bowled over several. They are very commonin the short grass jungle, where the soil is sandy, and are frequentlyto be found among thin jowah jungle; they afford good sport forcoursing, but are neither so fleet, nor so large, nor such good eatingas the English hare. In fact, they are very dry eating, and the bestway to cook them is to jug them, or make a hunter's pie, addingportions of partridge, quail, or plover, with a few mushrooms, and amodicum of ham or bacon if these are procurable. 

We reached camp pretty late, and sent off venison, birds, and otherspoils to Mrs. S. And to Inamputte factory. Our bag shewed a diversityof spoil, consisting of one tiger, seven hog-deer, one bear _(Ursuslabialis)_, seventeen jungle fowl, five florican, and six hares. Itwas no bad bag considering that during most of the day we had beenbeating solely for tiger. We could have shot many more deer and junglefowl, but we never try to shoot more than are needed to satisfy thewants of the camp. Were we to attempt to shoot at all the deer and pigthat we see, the figures would reach very large totals. As a ruletherefore, the records of Indian sportsmen give no idea of the vastquantities of game that are put up and never fired at. It would be thevery wantonness of destruction, to shoot animals not wanted for somespecific purpose, unless indeed, you were raging an indiscriminate warof extermination, in a quarter where their numbers were a nuisance andprejudicial to crops. In that case, your proceedings would not bedignified by the name of sport. 

After a few more days shooting, the incidents of which were prettymuch like those I have been describing, I started back for thefactory. I sent my horse on ahead, and took five elephants with me tobeat up for game on the homeward route. Close to camp a fine buck gotup in front of me. I broke both his forelegs with my first shot, butthe poor brute still managed to hobble along. It was in some verydense patair jungle, and I had considerable difficulty in bringing himto bag. When we reached the ghat or ferry, I ordered Geerdharee Jha'smahout to cross with his elephant. The brute, however, refused tocross the river alone, and in spite of all the driver could do, sheinsisted on following the rest. I got down, and some of the otherdrivers got out the hobbles and bound them round her legs. In spite ofthese she still seemed determined to follow us. She shook the beddingand other articles with which she was loaded off her back, and made afrantic effort to follow us through the deep sand. The iron chains cutinto her legs, and, afraid that she might do herself an irreparableinjury, I had her tied up to a tree, and left her trumpeting andmaking an indignant lamentation at being separated from the rest ofthe line. 

The elephant seems to be quite a social animal. I have frequently seencases where, after having been in company together for a lengthenedhunt, they have manifested great reluctance to separate. In leavingthe line, I have often noticed the single elephant looking back at hiscomrades, and giving vent to his disappointment and disapproval, bygrunts and trumpetings of indignant protest. We left the refractoryhathee tied up to her tree, and as we crossed the long rolling billowsof burning sand that lay athwart our course, she was soon lost toview. I shot a couple more hog-deer, and got several plover and tealin the patches of water that lay in some of the hollows among thesandbanks. I fired at a huge alligator basking in the sun, on asandbank close to the stream. The bullet hit him somewhere in theforearm, and he made a tremendous sensation header into the current. From the agitation in the water, he seemed not to appreciate theleaden message which I had sent him. 

We found the journey through the soft yielding sand very fatiguing, and especially trying to the eyes. When not shooting, it is a verywise precaution to wear eye-preservers or 'goggles. ' They are a greatrelief to the eyes, and the best, I think, are the neutral tinted. During the west winds, when the atmosphere is loaded with fineparticles of irritating sand and dust, these goggles are verynecessary, and are a great protection to the sight. 

Another prudent precaution is to have the back of one's shirt or coatslightly padded with cotton and quilted. The heat prevents one wearingthick clothes, and there is no doubt that the action of the directrays of the burning sun all down the back on the spinal cord, is veryinjurious, and may be a fruitful cause of sunstroke. It is certainlyproductive of great lassitude and weariness. I used to wear a thinquilted sort of shield made of cotton-drill, which fastened round theshoulders and waist. It does not incommode one's action in anyparticular, and is, I think, a great protection against the fiercerays of the sun. Many prefer the puggree as a head-piece. It isundeniably a fine thing when one is riding on horseback, as it fitsclose to the head, does not catch the wind during a smart trot orcanter, and is therefore not easily shaken off. For riding I think itpreferable to all other headdresses. A good thick puggree is a greatprotection to the back of the head and neck, the part of the bodywhich of all others requires protection from the sun. It feels ratherheavy at first, but one gets used to it, and it does not shade theeyes and face. These are the two gravest objections to it, but forcomfort, softness, and protection to the head and neck, I do not thinkit can be surpassed. 

After crossing the sand, we again entered some thin scrubby acaciajungle, with here and there a moist swampy nullah, with rank greenpatair jungle growing in the cool dank shade. Here we disturbed acolony of pigs, but the four mahouts being Mahommedans I did not fire. As we went along, one of my men called my attention to some footprintsnear a small lagoon. On inspection we found they were rhinocerostracks, evidently of old date. These animals are often seen in thispart of the country, but are more numerous farther north, in the greatmorung forest jungle. 

A very noticeable feature in these jungles was the immense quantity ofbleached ghastly skeletons of cattle. This year had been a mostdisastrous one for cattle. Enormous numbers had been swept off bydisease, and in many villages bordering on the morung the herds hadbeen well-nigh exterminated. Little attention is paid to breeding. Insome districts, such as the Mooteeharree and Mudhobunnee division, fine cart-bullocks are bred, carefully handled and tended, and fetchhigh prices. In Kurruchpore, beyond the Ganges in Bhaugulporedistrict, cattle of a small breed, hardy, active, staunch, and strong, are bred in great numbers, and are held in great estimation foragricultural requirements; but in these Koosee jungles the bulls areoften ill-bred weedy brutes, and the cows being much in excess of afair proportion of bulls, a deal of in-breeding takes place; unmaturedyoung bulls roam about with the herd, and the result is a crowd ofcattle that succumb to the first ailment, so that the land is litteredwith their bones. 

The bullock being indispensable to the Indian cultivator, bull calvesare prized, taken care of, well nurtured, and well fed. The cow calvesare pretty much left to take care of themselves; they are thin, miserable, half-starved brutes, and the short-sighted ryot seemsaltogether to forget that it is on these miserable withered specimensthat he must depend for his supply of plough and cart-bullocks. Thematter is most shamefully neglected. Government occasionally throughits officers, experimental farms, etc. , tries to get good sire stockfor both horses and cattle, but as long as the dams are bad--mereweeds, without blood, bone, muscle, or stamina, the produce must bebad. As a pretty well established and general rule, the ryots lookafter their bullocks, --they recognise their value, and appreciatetheir utility, but the cows fare badly, and from all I have myselfseen, and from the concurrent testimony of many observant friends inthe rural districts, I should say that the breed has become muchdeteriorated. 

Old planters constantly tell you, that such cattle as they used to getare not now procurable for love or money. Within the last twenty yearsprices have more than doubled, because the demand for goodplough-bullocks has been more urgent, as a consequence of increasedcultivation, and the supply is not equal to the demand. Attention tothe matter is imperative, and planters would be wise in their owninterests to devote a little time and trouble to disseminating soundideas about the selection of breeding stock, and the principles ofrearing and raising stock among their ryots and dependants. Everyfactory should be able to breed its own cattle, and supply its ownrequirements for plough and cart-bullocks. It would be cheaper in theend, and it would undoubtedly be a blessing to the country to raisethe standard of cattle used in agricultural work. 

To return from this digression. We plodded on and on, weary, hot, andthirsty, expecting every moment to see the ghat and my waiting horse. But the country here is so wild, the river takes such erratic coursesduring the annual floods, and the district is so secluded and soseldom visited by Europeans or factory servants, that my syce hadevidently lost his way. After we had crossed innumerable streams, andlaboriously traversed mile upon mile of burning sand, we gave up theattempt to find the ghat, and made for Nathpore. 

Nathpore was formerly a considerable town, not far from the Nepaulborder, a flourishing grain mart and emporium for the fibres, gums, spices, timbers, and other productions of a wide frontier. There was abusy and crowded bazaar, long streets of shops and houses, andhundreds of boats lying in the stream beside the numerous ghats, taking in and discharging their cargoes. It may give a faint idea ofthe destructive force of an Indian stream like the Koosee when it isin full flood, to say that this once flourishing town is now but ahandful of miserable huts. Miles of rich lands, once clothed withluxuriant crops of rice, indigo, and waving grain, are now barrenreaches of burning sand. The bleached skeletons of mango, jackfruit, and other trees, stretch out their leafless and lifeless branches, toremind the spectator of the time when their foliage rustled in thebreeze, when their lusty limbs bore rich clusters of luscious fruit, and when the din of the bazaar resounded beneath their welcome shade. A fine old lady still lived in a two-storied brick building, withquaint little darkened rooms, and a narrow verandah running all roundthe building. She was long past the allotted threescore years and ten, with a keen yet mildly beaming eye, and a wealth of beautiful hair aswhite as driven snow, neatly gathered back from her shapely forehead. She was the last remaining link connecting the present with the pastglories of Nathpore. Her husband had been a planter and Zemindar. Where his vats had stood laden with rich indigo, the engulphing sandnow reflected the rays of the torrid sun from its burning whiteness. She shewed me a picture of the town as it appeared to her when she hadbeen brought there many a long and weary year ago, ere yet her stephad lost its lightness, and when she was in the bloom of her bridallife. There was a fine broad boulevard, shadowed by splendid trees, onwhich she and her husband had driven in their carriage of an evening, through crowds of prosperous and contented traders and cultivators. The hungry river had swept all this away. Subsisting on a fewprecarious rents of some little plots of ground that it had spared, all that remained of a once princely estate, this good old lady livedher lonely life cheerful and contented, never murmuring or repining. The river had not spared even the graves of her departed dear ones. Since I left that part of the country I hear that she has been calledaway to join those who had gone before her. 

I arrived at her house late in the afternoon. I had never been atNathpore before, although the place was well known to me byreputation. What a wreck it presented as our elephants marchedthrough. Ruined, dismantled, crumbling temples; masses of masonry halfsubmerged in the swift-running, treacherous, undermining stream; hugetrees lying prostrate, twisted and jammed together where the angryflood had hurled them; bare unsightly poles and piles, sticking fromthe water at every angle, reminding us of the granaries and godownsthat were wont to be filled with the agricultural wealth of thedistricts for miles around; hard metalled roads cut abruptly off, andbridges with only half an arch, standing lonely and ruined half way inthe muddy current that swept noiselessly past the deserted city. Itwas a scene of utter waste and desolation. 

The lady I mentioned made me very welcome, and I was struck by herunaffected cheerfulness and gentleness. She was a gentlewoman indeed, and though reduced in circumstances, surrounded by misfortunes, anddaily and hourly reminded by the scattered wreck around her of herformer wealth and position, she bore all with exemplary fortitude, andto the full extent of her scanty means she relieved the sorrows andailments of the natives. They all loved and respected, and I could nothelp admiring and honouring her. 

She pointed out to me, far away on the south-east horizon, the placewhere the river ran in its shallow channel when she first came toNathpore. During her experience it had cut into and overspread morethan twenty miles of country, turning fertile fields into arid wastesof sand; sweeping away factories, farms, and villages; and changingthe whole face of the country from a fruitful landscape into awilderness of sand and swamp. 

My horse came up in the evening, and I rode over to Inamputte, leaving my kindly hostess in her solitude. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Exciting jungle scene. --The camp. --All quiet. --Advent of the cowherds. --A tiger close by. --Proceed to the spot. --Encounter between tigressand buffaloes. --Strange behaviour of the elephant. --Discovery andcapture of four cubs. --Joyful return to camp. --Death of the tigress. --Night encounter with a leopard. --The haunts of the tiger and ourshooting grounds. 

One of the most exciting and deeply interesting scenes I everwitnessed in the jungles, was on the occasion I have referred to in aformer chapter, when speaking of the number of young given by thetigress at a birth. It was in the month of March, at the village ofRyseree, in Bhaugulpore. I had been encamped in the midst oftwenty-four beautiful tanks, the history and construction of whichwere lost in the mists of tradition. The villagers had a story thatthese tanks were the work of a mighty giant, Bheema, with whose aidand that of his brethren they had been excavated in a single night. 

At all events, they were now covered with a wild tangle of waterlilies and aquatic plants; well stocked with magnificent fish, and anoccasional scaly monster of a saurian. They were the haunt of vastquantities of widgeon, teal, whistlers, mallard, ducks, snipe, curlew, blue fowl, and the usual varied _habitués_ of an exceptionally goodIndian lake. In the vicinity hares were numerous, and in the thickjungle bordering the tanks in places, and consisting mostly of nurkooland wild rose, hog-deer and wild pig were abundant. The dried-up bedof an old arm of the Koosee was quite close to my camp, and aboundedin sandpiper, and golden, grey, goggle-eyed, and stilted plover, besides other game. 

It was indeed a favourite camping spot, and the village was inhabitedby a hardy, independent set of Gwallas, Koormees, and agriculturists, with whom I was a prime favourite. 

I was sitting in my tent, going over some village accounts with thevillage putwarrie, and my gomasta. A possé of villagers were groupedunder the grateful shade of a gnarled old mango tree, whose contortedlimbs bore evidence to the violence of many a _tufan_, or tempest, which it had weathered. The usual confused clamour of tongues wasrising from this group, and the sub; ect of debate was the eternal'pice. ' Behind the bank, and in rear of the tent, the cook and hismate were disembowelling a hapless _moorghee_, a fowl, whosedecapitation had just been effected with a huge jagged old cavalrysword, of which my cook was not a little proud; and on the strength ofwhich he adopted fierce military airs, and gave an extra turn to hiswell-oiled moustache when he went abroad for a holiday. 

Farther to the rear a line of horses were picketed, including myman-eating demon the white Cabool stallion, my gentle country-bredmare Motee--the pearl--and my handsome little pony mare, formerly myhockey or polo steed, a present from a gallant sportsman and rare goodfellow, as good a judge of a horse, or a criminal, as ever sat on abench. 

Behind the horses, each manacled by weighty chains, with his ponderoustrunk and ragged-looking tail swaying too and fro with a never-ceasingmotion, stood a line of ten elephants. Their huge leathery earsflapped lazily, and ever and anon one or other would seize a mightybranch, and belabour his corrugated sides to free himself of thedetested and troublesome flies. The elephants were placidly munchingtheir _chana_ (bait, or food), and occasionally giving each other adry bath in the shape of a shower of sand. There was a monotonousclank of chains, and an occasional deep abdominal rumble like distantthunder. All over the camp there was a confused subdued medley ofsound. A hum from the argumentative villagers, a lazy flop in the tankas a raho rose to the surface, an occasional outburst from the ducks, an angry clamour from the water-hens and blue-fowl. My dogs were lyinground me blinking and winking, and making an occasional futile snap atan imaginary fly or flea. It was a drowsy and peaceful scene. I wasnearly dropping off to sleep, from the heat and the monotonous droneof the putwarrie, who was intoning nasally some formidable documentabout fishery rights and privileges. 

Suddenly there was a hush. Every sound seemed to stop simultaneouslyas if by pre-arranged concert. Then three men were seen rushing madlyalong the elevated ridge surrounding one of the tanks. I recognisedone of my peons, and with him two cowherds. Their head-dresses wereall disarranged, and their parted lips, heaving chests, and eyesblazing with excitement, shewed that they were brimful of some unusualmessage. 

Now arose such a bustle in the camp as no description could adequatelyportray. The elephants trumpeted and piped; the _syces_, or grooms, came rushing up with eager queries; the villagers bustled about likeso many ants aroused by the approach of a hostile foe; my pack ofterriers yelped out in chorus; the pony neighed; the Cabool stallionplunged about; my servants came rushing from the shelter of the tentverandah with disordered dress; the ducks rose in a quacking crowd, and circled round and round the tent; and the cry arose of 'Bagh!Bagh! Khodamund! Arree Bap re Bap! Ram Ram, Seeta Ram!'

Breathless with running, the men now tumbled up, hurriedly salaamed, arid then each with gasps and choking stops, and pell-mell volubility, and amid a running fire of cries, queries, and interjections from themob, began to unfold their tale. There was an infuriated tigress atthe other side of the nullah, or dry watercourse, she had attacked aherd of buffaloes, and it was believed that she had cubs. 

Already Debnarain Singh was getting his own pad elephant caparisoned, and my bearer was diving under my camp bed for my gun and cartridges. Knowing the little elephant to be a fast walker, and fairly staunch, Igot on her back, and accompanied by the gomasta and mahout we set out, followed by the peon and herdsmen to shew us the way. 

I expected two friends, officers from Calcutta, that very day, andwished not to kill the tigress but to keep her for our combinedshooting next day. We had not proceeded far when, on the other side ofthe nullah, we saw dense clouds of dust rising, and heard a confused, rushing, trampling sound, mingled with the clashing of horns, and thesnorting of a herd of angry buffaloes. 

It was the wildest sight I have ever seen in connection with animallife. The buffaloes were drawn together in the form of a crescent;their eyes glared fiercely, and as they advanced in a series of shortruns, stamping with their hoofs, and angrily lashing their tails, their horns would come together with a clanging, clattering crash, andthey would paw the sand, snort and toss their heads, and behave in themost extraordinary manner. 

The cause of all this commotion was not far to seek. Directly infront, retreating slowly, with stealthy, prowling, crawling steps, andan occasional short, quick leap or bound to one side or the other, wasa magnificent tigress, looking the very personification of baffledfury. Ever and anon she crouched down to the earth, tore up the sandwith her claws, lashed her tail from side to side, and with lipsretracted, long moustaches quivering with wrath, and hateful eyesscintillating with rage and fury, she seemed to meditate an attack onthe angry buffaloes. The serried array of clashing horns, and theponderous bulk of the herd, seemed however to daunt the snarlingvixen; at their next rush she would bound back a few paces, crouchdown, growl, and be forced to move back again, by the short, blundering rush of the crowd. 

All the calves and old cows were in the rear of the herd, and it wasnot a little comical to witness their ungainly attitudes. They wouldstretch their clumsy necks, and shake their heads, as if they did notrightly understand what was going on. Finding that if they stopped toolong to indulge their curiosity, there was a danger of their gettingseparated from the fighting members of the herd, they would make astupid, headlong, lumbering lurch forward, and jostle each other, intheir blundering panic. 

It was a grand sight. The tigress was the embodiment of lithe andsavage beauty, but her features expressed the wildest baffled rage. Icould have shot the striped vixen over and over again, but I wished tokeep her for my friends, and I was thrilled with the excitement ofsuch a novel scene. 

Suddenly our elephant trumpeted, and shied quickly to one side, fromsomething lying on the ground. Curling up its trunk it began backingand piping at a prodigious rate. 

'Hullo! what's the matter now?' said I to Debnarain. 

'God only knows, ' said he. 

'A young tiger!' 'Bagh ka butcha!' screams our mahout, and regardlessof the elephant or of our cries to stop, he scuttled down the pad ropelike a monkey down a backstay, and clutching a young dead tiger cub, threw it up to Debnarain; it was about the size of a small poodle, andhad evidently been trampled by the pursuing herd of buffaloes. 

'There may be others, ' said the gomasta; and peering into every bush, we went slowly on. 

The elephant now shewed decided symptoms of dislike and a reluctanceto approach a particular dense clump of grass. 

A sounding whack on the head, however, made her quicken her steps, andthrusting the long stalks aside, she discovered for us three blinkinglittle cubs, brothers of the defunct, and doubtless part of the samelitter. Their eyes were scarcely open, and they lay huddled togetherlike three enormous striped kittens, and spat at us and bristled theirlittle moustaches much as an angry cat would do. All the four weremales. 

It was not long ere I had them carefully wrapped in the mahout'sblanket. Overjoyed at our good fortune, we left the excited buffaloesstill executing their singular war-dance, and the angry tigress, robbed of her whelps, consuming her soul in baffled fury. 

We heard her roaring through the night, close to camp, and on myfriends' arrival, we beat her up next morning, and she fell pierced bythree bullets, after a fierce and determined charge. We came upon heracross the nullah, and her mind was evidently made up to fight. Nearlyall the villagers had turned out with the line of elephants. Before wehad time to order them away, she came down upon the line, roaringfuriously, and bounding over the long grass, --a most magnificentsight. 

My first bullet took her full in the chest, and before she could makegood her charge, a ball each from Pat and Captain G. Settled hercareer. She was beautifully striped, and rather large for a tigress, measuring nine feet three inches. 

It was now a question with me, how to rear the three interestingorphans; we thought a slut from some of the villages would prove thebest wet nurse, and tried accordingly to get one, but could not. Inthe meantime an unhappy goat was pounced on and the three young-tigerstook to her teats as if 'to the manner born. ' The poor Nanny screamedtremendously at first sight of them, but she soon got accustomed tothem, and when they grew a little bigger, she would often playfullybutt at them with her horns. 

The little brutes throve wonderfully, and soon developed such anappetite that I had to get no less than six goats to satisfy theirconstant thirst. I kept the cubs for over two months, and I shall notsoon forget the excitement I caused, when my boat stopped atSahribgunge, and my goats, tiger cubs, and attendants, formed aprocession from the ghat or landing-place, to the railway station. 

Soldiers, guards, engineers, travellers, and crowds of nativessurrounded me, and at every station the guard's van, with my novelmenagerie, was the centre of attraction. I sold the cubs to Jamrach'sagent in Calcutta for a very satisfactory price. Two of them were verypowerful, finely marked, handsome animals; the third had always beensickly, had frequent convulsions, and died a few days after I sold it. I was afterwards told that the milk diet was a mistake, and that Ishould have fed them on raw meat. However, I was very well satisfiedon the whole with the result of my adventure. 

I had another in the same part of the country, which at the time was apretty good test of the state of my nerves. 

I was camped out at the village of Purindaha, on the edge of a gloomysal forest, which was reported to contain numerous leopards. Thevillagers were a mixed lot of low-caste Hindoos, and Nepaulesesettlers. They had been fighting with the factory, and would not payup their rents, and I was trying, with every probability of success, to make an amicable arrangement with them. At all events, I had so farwon them round, that they were willing to talk to me. They came to thetent and listened quietly, and except on the subject of rent, we goton in the most friendly manner. 

It was the middle of April. The heat was intense. The whole atmospherehad that coppery look which denotes extreme heat, and the air wasloaded with fine yellow dust, which the daily west wind bore on itsfever laden wings, to disturb the lungs and tempers of all goodChristians. The _kanats_, or canvas walls of the tent, had all beentaken down for coolness, and my camp bed lay in one corner, open allround to the outside air, but only sheltered from the dew. It had beena busy day. I had been going over accounts, and talking to thevillagers till I was really hoarse. After a light dinner I lay down onmy bed, but it was too close and hot to sleep. By and bye the varioussounds died out. The tom-toming ceased in the village. My servantssuspended their low muttered gossip round the cook's fire, wrappedthemselves in their white cloths, and dropped into slumber. 'Toby, ''Nettle, ' 'Whisky, ' 'Pincher, ' and my other terriers, resembled somany curled-up hairy balls, and were in the land of dreams. Occasionally an owl would give a melancholy hoot from the forest, or ascreech owl would raise a momentary and damnable din. At intervals, the tinkle of a cow-bell sounded faintly in the distance. I tossedrestlessly, thinking of various things, till I must have dropped offinto an uneasy fitful sleep. I know not how long I had been dozing, but of a sudden I felt myself wide awake, though with my eyes yetfirmly closed. 

I was conscious of some terrible unknown impending danger. I hadexperienced the same feeling before on waking from a nightmare, but Iknew that the danger now was real. I felt a shrinking horror, aterrible and nameless fear, and for the life of me I could not movehand or foot. I was lying on my side, and could distinctly hear thethumping of my heart. A cold sweat broke out behind my ears and overmy neck and chest. I could analyse my every feeling, and I knew therewas some PRESENCE in the tent, and that I was in instant and imminentperil. Suddenly in the distance a pariah dog gave a prolongedmelancholy howl. As if this had broken the spell which had hithertobound me, I opened my eyes, and within ten inches of my face, therewas a handsome leopardess gazing steadily at me. Our eyes met, and howlong we confronted each other I know not. It must have been someminutes. Her eyes contracted and expanded, the pupil elongated andthen opened out into a round lustrous globe. I could see the lithetail oscillating at its extreme tip, with a gentle waving motion, likethat of a cat when hunting birds in the garden. I seemed to possess nowill. I believe I was under a species of fascination, but we continuedour steady stare at each other. 

Just then, there was a movement by some of the horses. The leopardslowly turned her head, and I grasped the revolver which lay under mypillow. The beautiful spotted monster turned her head for an instant, and shewed her teeth, and then with one bound went through the openside of the tent. I fired two shots, which were answered with a roar. The din that followed would have frightened the devil. It was abeautiful clear night, with a moon at the full, and everything shewedas plainly as at noonday. The servants uttered exclamations of terror. The terriers went into an agony of yelps and barks. The horsessnorted, and tried to get loose, and my chowkeydar, who had beenasleep on his watch, thinking a band of dacoits were on us, beganlaying round him with his staff, shouting, _Chor, Chor! lagga, lagga, lagga!_ that is, 'thief, thief! lay on, lay on, lay on!'

The leopard was hit, and evidently in a terrible temper. She haltednot thirty paces from the tent, beside a jhamun tree, and seemedundecided whether to go on or return and wreak her vengeance on me. That moment decided her fate. I snatched down my Express rifle, whichwas hanging in two loops above my bed, and shot her right through theheart. 

I never understood how she could have made her way past dogs, servants, horses, and watchman, right into the tent, without raisingsome alarm. It must have been more from curiosity than any hostiledesign. I know that my nerves were very rudely shaken, but I becamethe hero of the Purindaha villagers. I believe that my night adventurewith the leopardess did more to bring them round to a settlement thanall my eloquence and figures. 

The river Koosee, on the banks of which, and in the long grass plainsadjacent, most of the incidents I have recorded took place, takes itsrise at the base of Mount Everest, and, after draining nearly thewhole of Eastern. Nepaul, emerges by a deep gorge from the hills atthe north-west corner of Purneah. The stream runs with extremevelocity. It is known as a snow stream. The water is always cold, andgenerally of a milky colour, containing much fine white sand. Nosooner does it leave its rocky bed than it tears through the flatcountry by numerous channels. It is subject to very sudden rises. Apremonitory warning of these is generally given. The water becomes ofa turbid, almost blood-like colour. Sometimes I have seen the riverrise over thirty feet in twenty-four hours. The melting of the snowoften makes a raging torrent, level from bank to bank, where only afew hours before a horse could have forded the stream without wettingthe girths of the saddle. 

In 1876 the largest channel was a swift broad stream called the Dhaus. The river is very capricious, seldom flowing for any length of time inone channel. This is owing in great measure to the amount of silt itcarries with it from the hills, in its impetuous progress to theplains. 

In these dry watercourses, among the sand ridges, beside the humidmarshy hollows, and among the thick strips of grass jungle, tigers arealways to be found. They are much less numerous now however thanformerly. As a rule, there is no shelter in these water-worn, flood-ravaged tracts and sultry jungles. Occasionally a few stragglingplantain trees, a clump of sickly-looking bamboos, a cluster of tallshadowless palms, marks the site of a deserted village. All else iswaving grass, withered and dry. The villages, inhabited mostly by afew cowherds, boatmen, and rice-farmers are scattered at wideintervals. In the shooting season, and when the hot winds are blowing, the only shadow on the plain is that cast by the dense volumes oflurid smoke, rising in blinding clouds from the jungle fires. 

According to the season, animal life fluctuates strangely. During therains, when the river is in full flood, and much of the countrysubmerged, most of the animals migrate to the North, buffaloes andwild pig alone keeping possession, of the higher ridges in theneighbourhood of their usual haunts. 

The contrasts presented on these plains at different seasons of theyear are most remarkable. In March and April they are parched up, brown, and dead; great black patches showing the track of a destroyingfire, the fine brown ash from the burnt grass penetrating the eyes andnostrils, and sweeping along in eddying and blinding clouds. They thenlook the very picture of an untenable waste, a sea of desolation, whose limits blend in the extreme distance with the shimmering copperyhorizon. In the rainy season these arid-looking wastes are coveredwith tall-plumed, reed-like, waving grass, varying from two to tenfeet in height, stretching in an unbroken sweep as far as the eye canreach, except where an abrupt line shews that the swift river has itstreacherous course. After the rains, progress through the jungle isdangerous. Quicksands and beds of tenacious mud impede one at everystep. The rich vegetation springs up green and vigorous, with arapidity only to be seen in the Tropics. But what a glorious huntingground! What a preserve for Nimrod! Deer forest, or heathered moor, can never compete with the old Koosee Derahs for abundance of game andthrilling excitement in sport. My genial, happy, loyal comradestoo--while memory lasts the recollection of your joyous, frank, warm-hearted comradeship shall never fade. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Remarks on guns. --How to cure skins. --Different recipes. --Conclusion. 

My remarks on guns shall be brief. The true sportsman has manyfacilities for acquiring the best information on a choice of weapons. For large game perhaps nothing can equal the Express rifle. My owntrusty weapon was a '500 bore, very plain, with a pistol grip, pointblank up to 180 yards, made by Murcott of the Haymarket, from whom Ihave bought over twenty guns, every one of which turned out a splendidweapon. 

My next favourite was a No. 12 breachloader, very light, but strongand carefully finished. It had a side snap action with reboundinglocks, and was the quickest gun to fire and reload I ever possessed. Ibought it from the same maker, although it was manufactured by W. W. Greener. 

Avoid a cheap gun as you would avoid a cheap Jew pedlar. A good nameis above riches so far as a gun is concerned, and when you have a goodgun take as much care of it as you would of a good wife. They are bothequally rare. An expensive gun is not necessarily a good one, but acheap gun is very seldom trustworthy. Have a portable, handy blackleather case. Keep your gun always clean, bright, and free from rust. After every day's shooting see that the barrels and locks arecarefully cleaned and oiled. Nothing is better for this purpose thanrangoon oil. 

For preserving horns, a little scraping and varnishing are all that isrequired. While in camp it is a good plan to rub them with deer, orpig, or tiger fat, as it keeps them from cracking. 

To clean a tiger's or other skull. If there be a nest of ants near thecamp, place the skull in their immediate vicinity. Some recommendputting in water till the particles of flesh rot, or till the skull iscleared by the fishes. A strong solution of caustic water may be usedif you wish to get the bones cleaned very quickly. Some put the skullsin quicklime, but it has a tendency to make the bones splinter, and itis difficult to keep the teeth from getting loose and dropping out. The best but slowest plan is to fix them in mechanically by wire orwhite lead. A good preservative is to wash or paint them with a verystrong solution of fine lime and water. 

To cure skins. I know no better recipe than the one adopted by mytrainers in the art of _shibar_, the brothers S. I cannot do betterthan give a description of the process in the words of George himself. 

'Skin the animal in the usual way. Cut from the corner of the mouth, down the throat, and along the belly. A white stripe or bordergenerally runs along the belly. This should be left as nearly aspossible equal on both sides. Carefully cut the fleshy parts off thelips and balls of the toes and feet. Clean away every particle offatty or fleshy matter that may still adhere to the skin. Peg it outon the ground with the hair side undermost. When thoroughly scrapedclean of all extraneous matter on the inner surface, get a bucket ortub of buttermilk, which is called by the natives _dahye_ or _mutha_. It is a favourite article of diet with them, cheap and plentiful. Dipthe skin in this, and keep it well and entirely submerged by placingsome heavy weight on it. It should be submerged fully three inches inthe tub of buttermilk. 

'After two days in the milk bath, take it out and peg it as before. Now take a smooth oval rubbing-board about twelve inches long, fiveround, and about an inch thick in the middle, and scrub the skinheartily with this instrument. On its lower surface it should be cutsin grooves, semicircular in shape, half an inch wide, and one inchapart. During scrubbing use plenty of pure water to remove filth. Inabout half an hour the pinkish-white colour will disappear, and theskin will appear white, with a blackish tinge underneath. This is thetrue hide. 

'Again submerge in the buttermilk bath for twenty-four hours, and geta man to tread on it in every possible way, folding it and unfoldingit, till all has been thoroughly worked. 

'Take it out again, peg out and scrub it as before, after which washthe whole hide well in clear water. Never mind if the skin looksrotten, it is really not so. 

'When washed put it into a tub, in which you have first placed amixture consisting of half an ounce of alum to each gallon of water. Soak the skin in this mixture for about six hours, taking it upoccasionally to drain a little. This is sufficient to cure your skinand clean it. '

The tanning remains to be done. 

'Get four pounds of babool, tamarind, or dry oak bark. (The babool isa kind of acacia, and is easily procurable, as the tamarind also is). Boil the bark in two gallons of water till it is reduced to one halfthe quantity. Add to this nine gallons of fresh water, and in thissolution souse the skin for two, or three, or four days. 

'The hairs having been set by the soaking in alum, the skin will tanmore quickly, and if the tan is occasionally rubbed into the pores ofthe skin it will be an improvement. You can tell when the tanning iscomplete by the colour the skin assumes. When this satisfies the eye, take it out and drain on a rod. When nearly dry it should be curriedwith olive oil or clarified butter if required for wear, but if onlyfor floor covering or carriage rug, the English curriers' common'dubbin, ' sold by shopkeepers, is best. This operation, which must bedone on the inner side only, is simple. 

'Another simple recipe, and one which answers well, is this. Mixtogether of the best English soap, four ounces; arsenic, two and ahalf grains; camphor, two ounces; alum, half an ounce; saltpetre, halfan ounce. Boil the whole, and keep stirring, in a half-pint ofdistilled water, over a very slow fire, for from ten to fifteenminutes. Apply when cool with a sponge. A little sweet oil may berubbed on the skins after they are dry. 

'Another good method is to apply arsenical soap, which may be made asfollows: powdered arsenic, two pounds; camphor, five ounces; whitesoap, sliced thin, two pounds; salt of tartar, twelve drams; chalk, orpowdered fine lime, four ounces; add a small quantity of water firstto the soap, put over a gentle fire, and keep stirring. When melted, add the lime and tartar, and thoroughly mix; next add the arsenic, keeping up a constant motion, and lastly the camphor. The camphorshould first be reduced to a powder by means of a little spirits ofwine, and should be added to the mess after it has been taken off thefire. 

'This preparation must be kept in a well-stoppered jar, or properlyclosed pot. When ready, the soap should be of the consistency ofDevonshire cream. To use, add water till it becomes of the consistencyof clear rich soup. '

I have now finished my book. It has been pleasant to me to write downthese recollections. Ever since I began my task, death has been busy, and the ranks of my friends have been sadly thinned. Failing healthhas driven me from my old shooting grounds, and in sunny Australia Ihave been trying to recruit the energies enervated by the burningclimate of India. That my dear old planter friends may have as kindlyrecollections of 'the Maori' as he has of them, is what I ardentlyhope; that I may yet get back to share in the sports, pastimes, joys, and social delights of Mofussil life in India, is what I chieflydesire. If this volume meets the approbation of the public, I may betempted to draw further on a well-stocked memory, and gossip afresh onIndian life, Indian experiences, and Indian sport. Meantime, courteousreader, farewell.