BEARS--PANTHERS--WILD BOARS--JUNGLE DOGS--SNAKES--JUNGLE PETS.
The Indian black bear (_ursus labiatus_), we are informed by Jerdon, is
found throughout India and Ceylon, from Cape Comorin to the Ganges,
chiefly in the hilly and jungly districts. The bear, unlike the tiger,
which has sometimes five cubs, appears never to have more than two cubs,
and I have not been able to hear or read of their ever having more. We
have no means of knowing how often they breed, but I imagine that they
must seldom do so, and that that is why they are so soon almost
exterminated. As I never kept a game diary on my estate (which I now much
regret), I have no idea how many have been killed from it, but I am sure
we have killed a smaller number of bears than of tigers, and yet the bear
is now rarely seen or heard of in my neighbourhood, while we hear as much
of tigers as ever, and indeed quite recently a great deal more, for last
year they were apparently more numerous than they have ever been in the
tiger range of my district; and I say apparently, because, from the
destruction of game, the tigers have naturally been compelled to live more
upon cattle. It is alleged by the natives that the tigers kill and eat the
bears. Mr. Sanderson notices this in his work, and gives one reported
instance of it, but I have never known of one in my part of the country. A
friend of mine, formerly in the employ of the Mysore State, told me that
he knew of two cases in the North-Eastern Division, of tigers killing
bears, but in neither case did they eat them. In the first case the bear
and tiger had met at a watering-place, and in the second in the jungle.
Mr. Ball, in his "Jungle Life in India,"[21] tells us that he once came
across the remains of a bear which the natives said had been killed by a
tiger, and that a native shikari had sat over the carcase with the hope of
getting a shot at the tiger. We have no returns as regards bears in
Mysore, but in the adjacent Bombay districts--Kanara and Belgaum--Colonel
Peyton tells us, in the "Kanara Gazetteer," they are fast becoming rare,
except near the Sahyadris, and even there are no longer numerous. In
Belgaum, between 1840 and 1880, he tells us that no fewer than 223 bears
were killed. The steady decline of the numbers of the bears is shown by
the fact that 137 were killed between 1840 and 1850, 51 between 1850 and
1860, 32 between 1860 and 1870, and 3 between 1870 and 1880. In Kanara 51
bears were killed between 1856 and 1882, so we have a total then of 274
bears for these two districts alone. As regards big game, the first comers
obviously have the best of it.
Colonel Peyton tells us that the bear is, of all animals, most dreaded by
the natives. There can be no doubt, he says, that an untouched bear will
often charge, while a tiger will rarely do so, and there are numerous
instances of people having been mauled and sometimes killed by them. I
imagine, though--in fact, I am sure--that this must often occur from the
bear constantly keeping his head down, evidently smelling and looking for
things in or on the ground. All other game animals have some motive for
looking ahead and around--deer and bison for their enemies, and tigers for
their prey. But the bear lives on insects and fruits, and flowers and
honey, and as he is not apprehensive of being attacked by any animal, has
no motive for keeping a lookout, and so does not do so. He may thus, and
no doubt often does, run into a man, under the mistaken idea that the man
is running into or attacking him, and then the bear, naturally, does the
best he can. I can give a remarkable confirmation of this view.
One day, in a break in the monsoon, when the game lies much out of the
forest, I was out in the mountains with my manager for a general stalk,
when we saw, some way ahead of us, a bear walking along. We quickly formed
a plan of operation, and it was arranged that I should make a circuit and
get between the bear and a jungly ravine he appeared to be making for, and
that my manager should follow on the track of the bear, which would thus
be pretty certain to be overhauled. The bear was pottering along as bears
do, and I had no difficulty in getting between him and the jungle he was
approaching, and the moment I did so I advanced a little towards him. When
the bear got within shooting distance--about fifty yards--I stooped down
and moved a little on one side so as to get off his direct line, with the
view of getting a side shot, but just as I did so he accidentally altered
his route, thus bringing himself again head on to me. Then I manoeuvred
again to get out of his line, but the bear also altered his line, and as
by this time he was getting rather too close--i.e., about ten yards
off--I stood up and took a steady shot at his head and dropped him dead.
Now, strange to say, I do not believe that the bear ever saw me at all,
and he could not wind me, as the south-westerly wind was blowing strongly
from him to me, and yet, as the grass at that season was by no means long,
he had no more difficulty in seeing me than I had in seeing him, and he
probably would have walked right up to me. This instance is, I think,
interesting, and goes far to explain the numerous accidents in connection
with bears. Still there can be no doubt that, as Colonel Peyton says, an
unwounded and untouched bear will deliberately attack people when there is
no occasion for his doing so, and that too, under circumstances where no
other animal would make an attack, and of this the following little
incident will serve as an illustration.
On one occasion a bear was reported on a jungly hill about a mile from my
bungalow, and as I was young and inexperienced then, I said that I would
lie on the ground till I heard the beaters, and then stand behind a tree.
I was alone, and had only a single barrelled rifle, which I laid on the
ground beside me. As the cover was rather a large one, I had no reason to
expect anything till I could at least hear the beaters in the distance,
and I lay leaning on my elbow and thinking of I cannot now remember what,
when on chancing to look up I saw a large bear standing at the edge of the
jungle about twenty yards away. The moment I moved he charged, and I at
once seized my rifle, sprang up and charged the bear at an angle (there
was no time to fire), and made for the jungle from which he had emerged. I
just missed his nose, and he followed me for a few paces as I ran towards
the jungle from which he had come, which I did knowing that he would not
be inclined to go in that direction. Then, having thus cleared me out of
the way, he turned, and resumed his original route, and as he was
disappearing into the next jungle I fired at him, but the charge must have
had a discomposing effect on my shooting, for I missed the bear
altogether. Now, as the beaters were far away and not within hearing,
there was no occasion for the bear to have attacked me, and there was
ample room for him to have altered his line. In fact, unless closely
pressed by beaters, no other unwounded animal would have so acted. It will
be observed that the bear, after having pursued me for a few yards, turned
and went on his way, but had I not been nimble--in other words, had I been
completely invested by the bear and thrown down--he might, as the natives
would phrase it, have made my wife a widow. It is commonly supposed that,
when making an attack, the bear stands on its hind legs, and thus gives
the sportsman a good chance of killing him with a shot in the chest, but
this is not my experience, and, though instances of the kind may have
occurred, I should not advise the sportsman to count on any such delay in
the proceedings of an attacking bear.
The preceding illustration, I may point out, affords a useful lesson. If
so suddenly attacked by a wild animal that you have no time to fire,
always rush towards it, and to one side, so that you may, as it were,
dodge past it. This will enable you to gain ground on it, and room to turn
round and fire.
I may observe that Mr. Ball, in his "Jungle Life in India," gives several
instances of natives being wantonly attacked by bears, and Colonel
Campbell[22] gives one remarkable instance of two bears attacking a party
of his people, who were on the march through the jungle in Belgaum in
charge of his horses, one of which was so severely wounded by one of the
bears that the life of the horse was despaired of for some days. The
Colonel was determined to be avenged on the bears, had them marked down,
and, with the aid of his friends, bagged them both, but not before one of
the bears had thrown down one of the party, who ran a great risk of being
killed. The determination of the bear in following up his assailant was
in this instance very great.
I may here observe that some little caution is required in approaching,
and looking into caves, and examining the entrances for tracks of bears,
and the person doing so should be fully prepared for a sudden charge out
of the cave, and be ready to jump on one side. No cave should be
approached with the assumption that it is not at all likely that a bear
will be at home, and especial care should be taken in the case of a cave
with a drop in front of it over which a person might be hurled by a bear
charging suddenly out. To get a bear out of a cave is often no easy
matter, and different caves require, of course, different treatment. In
some cases the bear may be poked out with the aid of a long pole, and when
this is done the operation is both interesting and amusing, but care must
be taken to see that you have a man who understands bears, and knows by
the character of the growl when the bear really means to charge out into
the open, and also that the man with the stick can readily get out of the
way, which he cannot do in the case of every cave. The native with a long
pole, or rather stick, usually commences with a quiet nervous sort of
poke, which awakes the bear out of his midday slumbers and causes him to
rush at the stick with a furious growl. But this is merely a
demonstration, and the experienced native does not expect a charge, though
I need hardly say that he is well prepared to get out of the way. Then the
native commences to poke away in a more pronounced style, and at the same
time excites himself by calling in question the purity of Bruin's mother,
his female relations, and even those of his remote ancestors, to all of
which the bear responds by growls and rushes at the stick. At last his
growls and rushes at the stick become fierce and menacing, and all of a
sudden the experienced Hindoo, who by some instinctive knowledge is able
to gauge the charging moment, drops the stick and scuttles out of the way,
and the bear dashes headlong from the cave to be killed, or to make good
his escape, as the case may be. Poking a bear out of a cave is rather a
severe trial of one's nervous system, and if anyone doubts that he has
only to try it for himself, as it will perhaps show the individual that we
seldom rightly estimate the amount of nerve which we often expect natives
to show. I think I was never more startled in my life than I was one day
when I put my ramrod (it was of course in the muzzle loading days) into
the very narrow mouth of a cave in which I thought there was little chance
of Bruin being at home. A she-bear however was within, and all the fiercer
as she had cubs, but luckily she did not charge out, and I need hardly say
that I promptly drew back. Sometimes a cave may be so deep and tortuous
that the bear cannot be got out with the aid of a pole, and to meet such
cases I had stink balls made, as bears have very fine olfactory nerves and
seem particularly to object to disagreeable smells. These balls were
composed of asafoetida, pig dung, and any other offensive ingredient
that suggested itself to me at the time, and made up into about the size
of a cricket ball and then dried in the sun. The ball was, when required
to drive a bear out of a cave, impaled on the end of a long pole and
surrounded by dried grass, or any other inflammable material which was at
hand, and this being ignited the pole was thrust as far as possible into
the cave. This I found to be a highly successful plan, and I may mention
in passing that I have met with no account in the many sporting books I
have read of this being done previously. Sometimes large fires are lit in
the mouth of a cave with the view of smoking a bear out, but this is
rather a cruel process which I do not recommend. In some cases of
peculiarly shaped and situated caves it is, however, the only practicable
plan, but where adopted the bear should not be put to more inconvenience
than is necessary to drive him out. A large fire should be lit at the
entrance, and when the cave has got filled with smoke all the blazing
fragments of wood should be removed from the entrance, and in doing this
the people should talk loudly and make as much noise as possible, and
afterwards retreat to a distance from the cave leaving the sportsman with
his spare gun-carrier to sit just above the entrance to the cave. The bear
finding that, as he erroneously supposes, every one has gone away, and
being naturally desirous of quitting such uncomfortable quarters will,
after a short time, come cautiously out and may thus be easily shot. It is
very important to have a couple of bull-terriers when out bear shooting as
they are most useful in bringing a wounded bear to bay.
In considering these remarks upon the various ways of getting bears out of
caves it may be useful to show how not to attempt to get a bear out of a
cave, and the connecting circumstances will also be useful to anyone who
may be overtaken by a hill fire.
On one occasion many years ago news was brought in that a bear had been
marked down into a small and very narrow mouthed cave on a bare hillside,
and I accordingly proceeded to the spot. The whole mountain was at that
time covered with long grass, and as the cave was closely surrounded by
it, and the bear if poked out in the usual way would rush into the grass
and thus give a bad chance to the shooter, I devised what I thought, and
what at first appeared to be, an excellent plan for meeting the
difficulty. This was to set fire to the whole hill just below the cave,
and my theory was that, as the cave was a small one, the heat of the fire
and the smoke would cause the bear to quit the cave after the fire had
passed over it. The wind was, when we lit the fire, blowing from east to
west and I perched myself on a pile of rocks rather above, and to the
east of the bear's cave as, when leaving it, he would naturally go in a
direction opposite to that of the fire, in which case he would pass within
easy shot of my position. With this, distinctly original conception I was
highly pleased and watched the progress of the terrific conflagration that
ensued with interest and satisfaction. How it roared and leapt as it
consumed the long dried grass, and how soon would the bear be likely to
make its appearance! It reached the long grass around the cave and
proceeded to sweep along the hill, away from me, and flying before the
easterly wind. Presently there was a dead lull. A few seconds more and the
whole position was reversed. I had quite forgotten that, at that season of
the year, and that hour of the day, the east wind dies down, and the
westerly sea breeze comes in, and in an instant I was caught in my own
trap. First of all I thought I would screen myself behind one of the rocks
and remain where I was, but I was of course speedily enveloped with masses
of smoke, and then I thought I would get down and run; first of all,
however, I peeped over the rock, but merely to perceive a terrifying mass
of roaring red flames rushing towards me, and this finally determined me,
and I stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth and held on. As I had of
course leggings and was fully clothed I had much the best of it, but my
shikari with his bare limbs got a pretty good roasting. But the fire
seemed no sooner to have reached us than it was swept onwards quite away,
and I was astonished at the pace it travelled, which one can have no idea
of when one witnesses these conflagrations, as one usually does, from a
distance. Beyond feeling as if my lungs were on fire for a day or two
afterwards I experienced no ill effects from my temporary roasting, but
the experience I had was quite sufficient to show me the amount of
inconvenience a bear must suffer from being smoked out of his cave, and,
as I have previously pointed out, no more fire should be lit at the
entrance of a cave than is necessary to make it desirable for the bear to
leave it, which, as I have shown, he will soon do, if the people retire to
a distance. As for our bear, he probably knew far more about these hill
fires and the sudden changes of wind than I did, and had not the slightest
idea of coming out for some time, and I therefore had to introduce to his
notice one of my stink balls, which had the effect of bringing him out. By
way of a change I had intended fighting it out with the bear without
firing, and told a native to attack the bear with my spear when he
emerged, while I proposed, if he lodged his spear, to attack with the
bayonet of my Enfield rifle. But the spear came into contact with a bone
in the bear's back, and thus the point was broken off, and seeing that my
man had not lodged his spear I fired and killed the bear. From my
subsequent experience of the great power of the bear I am now glad that
the spear was not lodged.
Bear shooting from caves I have found to be a most interesting and
sometimes most entertaining and even amusing sport, while it is attended
with a sufficient amount of danger for all practical purposes. You never
get a laugh out of a tiger shikar, but you sometimes do in connection with
bears, and the following is at once an instance in point, and will besides
illustrate the danger of approaching a cave which is perhaps rarely
inhabited by bears, as also the surprising promptness of the bear in
action. And I say surprising, because from his shambling gait, general
deliberation of movement, and the clothing of long black hair which hides
the powerful form and limbs, his activity and quickness of movement when
aroused is astonishing to those who have no experience of bears. But to
proceed with my story.
One day, when returning from shooting in the mountains, we happened to
pass a bear's cave which was rarely inhabited--at least on former
occasions when we examined it we had found no traces of bears, nor had one
ever been marked into it that I was able to hear of, though the cave had
the reputation of being occasionally used by bears. The cave was in a
beehive-shaped pile of rocks standing on, or rather projecting from, a
steep hillside. From the upper side it is easily approached, but to get at
the mouth of the cave you have to step down, as it were, from the roof of
the beehive on to a ledge of rock about six feet wide, below which there
is a drop of ten or twelve feet. From the absence of any signs of bears
about the roof of the cave I assumed that the cave was as usual
uninhabited, but I thought I would gratify my curiosity by looking into
it, so I got down on to the ledge, and was imprudent enough to leave my
guns with the people on the roof above. As there were no signs of bears on
the ledge or at the entrance, I told one of the natives to go in and take
a look at the cave, but he had only penetrated a few feet from the
entrance, which was about five feet high, than with three furious growls a
bear charged headlong, and drove the intruder out with such force that he
was shot clean over the ledge, and alighting (luckily) on his side, rolled
some way down the steep hillside at the bottom of the drop. Bruin then
with wonderful readiness knocked down the other man, who had not presence
of mind enough to get out of the way, and after inflicting a scalp wound
on the back of his head, dropped over the ledge, and got off unharmed
amidst several shots which were fired at him by the people above, who of
course from their position could not see the bear till he had got to a
considerable distance. In the confusion that had occurred amongst the
people left on the roof of the cave, who were as much unprepared for a
bear as I was, some one had jostled my principal shikari--a testy and at
times rather troublesome old man, but a most keen sportsman--and, to the
great delight of every one, his shins had in consequence been barked
against a sharp piece of rock. All the sympathy that ought to have been
devoted to the wounded man he diverted to himself by the tremendous fuss
he made about his injured shins, and this, and the chaff he had to sustain
in consequence, quite rounded off the affair, and we all went home in high
good humour, and the wounded man for years afterwards used to show his
ear-to-ear scar with considerable satisfaction. Some people might have
objected to the escape of the bear, but I confess that I did not grudge
him the victory he had earned so well, and we consoled ourselves further
with the reflection that we would get the better of him next time. Before
concluding the subject of bears, I may give another incident which was
rather amusing, and the narration of which may be of use as illustrating
one or two points which are worthy of notice, and especially the advantage
of having a good dog with one.
On a mountain-side about five miles from my house is a rather large cave
of considerable depth--so deep, at least, that the longest sticks would
not reach to the end of it, and as we could get the bear out in no other
way, I lit a large fire at the entrance, and, after some time, sent all
the people away to a distance, and, with a single man to hold a second
gun, sat over the mouth of the cave. The result that I anticipated soon
followed, and, imagining that we had given up our project in despair, and
being naturally desirous of leaving such uncomfortable quarters, Bruin
presently appeared looking cautiously about. The smoke prevented my taking
a very accurate shot. However, I fired, and wounded the bear somewhere in
the throat, though not fatally, and he plunged into a jungly ravine close
to the cave, pursued by my bull terrier, an admirable and very courageous
animal, which attacked the bear, and detained him sufficiently long to
give me time to run to the other side of the ravine, and so get in front
of the bear. A hill-man accompanied me, armed with a general officer's
sword which I had brought out--why I really forget now, for it was
anything but sharp, which I now regret, as it would have been interesting
to see the effect of a really sharp sword on a bear's back. The bull
terrier now rejoined me, and, in company with two additional natives who
had run after us, I got on a piece of rock about three feet high. The man
with the sword stood on my right, and the two natives--who were
unarmed--on my left, and in this order we awaited the arrival of the bear.
Sore and angry, he presently emerged from the jungle at a distance of
about twenty-five or thirty yards further down the slope of the hill. I
fired at and hit him, and he then turned round, took a look at us, and
charged. As he came on I fired my remaining shot. Then the man with the
sword struck the bear a tremendous blow on the back (which I think would
have stopped the bear had the sword been sharp), and in a second more old
Bruin had thrown the whole of us off the rock on to the ground behind it.
There we were then--four men, a wounded bear, and a bull terrier, all
mixed up together. However, the man with the sword laid about him most
manfully, and the bear, either not liking the situation, or being
exhausted with his wounds and efforts (more likely the latter), retreated
into the ravine out of which he had emerged. Into this we presently
followed him, and after another shot or two he expired, and I have the
skin at homo with the mark of the sword-cut on the back. It had cut
through the shaggy hair, and only penetrated the skin sufficiently to
leave a scar. The man who had shown so much pluck was a young farmer from
the adjacent village, and I at once offered him the sword with which he
had defended me. But he seemed to think he had done nothing, and
positively declined it, saying that his neighbours would be jealous of his
having such a fine-looking thing. I had, however, a knife made after the
native fashion, and afterwards gave it to him in commemoration of the
event.
In Mysore there are two kinds of panthers. One, the largest of the two, is
called by the natives the Male Kiraba, or forest panther, and confines
itself generally to the forest regions, while the smaller kind haunts the
neighbourhood of villages. The black panther, which is of rare occurrence,
is merely an offshoot of the other varieties. The panther, in consequence
of its tree-climbing habits, and general aptitude for suddenly
disappearing, is of all animals the most disappointing to the sportsman,
so much so, indeed, that I soon gave up going out after them. Though it
has great strength, and from the amazing suddenness of its movements,
great means at its disposal for making successful attacks on man, it
seems, unlike the tiger, bear, and wild boar, to have no confidence in its
own powers, and though in one sense showing great daring by attacking dogs
even when they are in the house and quite close to people, is, when
attacked itself, of all animals the most cowardly--a fact which the
natives are well aware of, and which is proved by the small number of
people killed by panthers in proportion to the number of them accounted
for. The only way of insuring success when hunting panthers is to have a
small pack of country-bred dogs of so little value that when one or two of
them may chance to be killed by the panther the matter is of little or no
consequence. The pack will soon find the panther, and perhaps run him up a
tree, and thus give the sportsman a good, or rather certain chance of
killing the animal. In this way a manager of mine was very successful in
bagging panthers. I have some reason to suppose that the panther, when
severely wounded, sometimes feigns death, and give the following incident
with the view of eliciting further information on the subject.
Two natives in my neighbourhood once sat up over a kill, and apparently
killed a panther--at least it lay as if dead. They then with the aid of
some villagers, who afterwards arrived on the scene of action, began to
skin the panther, and the man who had wounded it took hold of the tail to
stretch the body out when the panther came suddenly to life, and bit the
man in the leg. One of the people present then fired at the panther,
apparently killing it outright. The man, who had been only slightly
bitten, then again took the animal by the tail, a proceeding which it
evidently could not stand, for this time it came to life in earnest, and
inflicted a number of wounds on the man at the tail. The natives then
attacked it with their hacking knives, and finally put an end to it. The
dresser of my estate was sent to the village, which was about six miles
away, to treat the wounds, but the unfortunate man died. I may add that
this is the only instance I have known of a man being killed by a panther
in my neighbourhood.
I now turn to an animal which is really dangerous, and I think more daring
than any animal in the jungles--the wild boar--and whatever doubts the
panther has of its own powers, I feel sure that the boar can have none--in
fact its action is not only daring, but at times even insulting. To be
threatened and attacked in the jungle one can understand, but to be
growled at and menaced while on one's own premises is intolerable. I never
but once heard the deep threatening don't-come-near-me growl of the wild
boar (and in the many sporting books I have read I never met with any
allusion to it), and that was some years ago, within about ten or fifteen
yards of my bungalow, and the incident is worth mentioning as showing the
great daring and coolness of the wild boar.
One evening at about seven o'clock, and on a clear but moonless night, I
went into the garden in front of my house. This is flanked by a low
retaining wall some three or four feet high--a wall built to retain the
soil when the ground was levelled--and below this a few bushes and plants
had sprung up close to the bottom of the wall. In these I heard what I
supposed to be a pariah dog gnawing a bone, and, in order to frighten it
away, I quietly approached within a few yards of the spot, and made a
slight noise between my lips. I was at once answered by a low deep growl,
which I at first took to be the growl of a panther, and I then walked back
to the bungalow and told my manager to bring a gun, telling him that there
was either a large dog (which on second thoughts appeared to me most
probable), or some animal gnawing a bone. We then quietly approached the
spot where we could hear the gnawing going on quite plainly about five
yards off. By my direction he fired into the bushes, and we then stood
still and listened, and presently heard what was evidently some heavy
animal walk slowly away. On the following morning I sent my most
experienced shikari to the spot, and he reported that the animal was a
wild boar, which had been munching the root of some plant, and the soil
being gravelly, the noise we had heard proceeded from the chewing of roots
and gravel together. This boar then had not only refused to desist from
his proceedings when I was within five yards of him, but had even warned
me, by the low growl afore mentioned, that if I came any nearer serious
consequences might ensue. On the following day I assembled some natives
and beat a narrow jungly ravine below my house, at a distance of about,
fifty yards from it, and there came out, not the boar, but his wife with a
family of five or six small pigs. She was shot by a native, and the young
ones got away, but the boar either was not there, or, more probably, was
too knowing to come out. He did not, however, neglect his family, but in
some way best known to himself, collected them together, and went about
with them, as, a day or two afterwards, he was seen with the young pigs by
my manager, and their tracks were also to be seen on one of the paths in
my compound, or the small inclosed park near my bungalow. This boar
afterwards became very troublesome, ploughed up the beds in my rose garden
at the foot of my veranda stops, and even injured a tree in the compound
by tearing off the bark with his formidable tusks. But, daring though he
was, he was once accidentally put to flight by a slash of an English
hunting whip. The boar, it appears, was making his round one night when my
manager, hearing something moving outside his bath-room, and imagining it
to be a straying donkey--we keep some donkeys on the estate--rushed out
with his hunting-whip, and made a tremendous slash at the animal, which
turned out to be the boar, so startling him by this unexpected form of
attack, that he charged up a steep bank near the house and disappeared.
This boar was afterwards shot by one of my people in an adjacent
jungle--at least a boar was shot, which we infer must have been the one in
question, as since then my garden has not been disturbed. The boar is more
dangerous to man than any animal in our jungles, and I have heard of three
or four deaths caused by them in recent years in my district. The natives,
however, say that, till he is wounded, the tiger is less dangerous than
the boar, but that after a tiger is wounded, he is the more dangerous of
the two; and I think that this is a correct view of the matter. The boar
has a most remarkable power of starting at once into full speed, and that
is why his attacks are so dangerous. In countries inhabited by wild boars
it is very important to be always on the alert. As an illustration of
this, and also of the great power of the boar, and of his sometimes
attacking people without any provocation on their part, I may mention the
following incident.
When I was walking round part of my plantation one morning with my
manager, and we chanced to stand in a path for a few moments (I forget now
for what reason), my dogs went down the hill into the coffee, and appear
there to have disturbed a boar. Luckily for myself, I always keep a sharp
look out, and my eye caught a glimpse of something black coming up amongst
the coffee. In a single second a boar appeared in the path some twenty
yards away. The path sloped downwards towards me, and at me he came, like
an arrow from a bow. As there was no use in my attempting to arrest the
progress of an animal of this kind, I stepped aside and let him into my
manager, who, luckily for himself, was standing behind a broken off coffee
tree, which stood at a sharp turn in the path some yards further on. The
result was very remarkable. The boar's chest struck against the coffee
tree and slightly bent it on one side. This threw the boar upwards, and,
of course, broke the force of the charge, but there was still enough force
left to toss my manager into an adjacent shallow pit with such violence
that his ear was filled with earth. I was now seriously alarmed, as I had
no weapon of any kind, but luckily the boar went on. His tusk, it
appeared, had caught the manager--a man of about six feet, and thirteen
stone in weight--under the armpit, but had merely torn his coat. We
organized a beat the same afternoon, and killed the boar, which was
suffering from an old wound, and this no doubt accounted, in some degree,
for his sudden and gratuitous attack. Tigers often attack the wild boar,
and there are often desperate battles between them, and well authenticated
instances have been known of the boar killing the tiger. I have never met
with one in my neighbourhood, though I once aided in killing a tiger which
had been ripped in several places by a boar. As it is impossible in
jungly districts to ride the wild boar, he is invariably shot, except
when, in the monsoon rains, he is occasionally speared. At that season the
wild pigs make houses, or rather shelters, for themselves by cutting with
their teeth and bending over some of the underwood, and under these they
repose. When such shelters are discovered, a man approaches them
cautiously and drives his spear through the shelter into the boar's back.
I have never seen this done, but have often heard of its being done where
I lived in former days, during the rainy season.
Boar's head pickled in vinegar and garnished with onions makes a good
dish, especially after harvest, when the pigs are in good condition, but,
from what I have known of the habits of the wild boar, I do not think I
should ever be inclined to partake of it again, and certainly not when
cholera is about. A neighbour of mine told me that when he was once
beating a jungle for game the natives backed out of it with great
promptness, having come upon wild pigs in the act of devouring the dead
bodies of some people who had died of cholera. I may mention that it was
customary in former times, and doubtless is so still to some extent, to
deposit the bodies of cholera victims anywhere in the jungle, instead of
burying them in the ordinary way. An official of the Forest Department
told me that, passing one day near the place where the carcase of an
elephant lay, he had the curiosity to go and look at it. To his
astonishment he found the flanks heaving as if the elephant were still
alive, and while he was wondering what this could mean, two wild boars,
which had tunnelled their way in, and were luxuriating on the contents of
the carcase, suddenly rushed out. From what I have hitherto said it seems
plain that wild boar is not a safe article of food, unless, perhaps, when,
it inhabits remote jungles where foul food can rarely be met with. I have
never made any measurements of wild boars, but Colonel Peyton--a
first-rate authority--writing in the "Kanara Gazetteer," says that some
are to be found measuring forty inches high, and six feet long.
The jungle dog (_kuon rutilans_) is a wolfish-looking-dog of a golden
brown colour, with hair of moderate length, and a short and slightly bushy
tail. It hunts in packs of seven and eight, and sometimes as many as
twenty and even thirty have been reported. In my neighbourhood I have
never actually known them to attack cattle or persons, but Colonel Peyton
tells us, in the "Kanara Gazetteer," that they grew very bold in the
1876-77 famine, and killed great numbers of the half-starved cattle which
were driven into the Kanara forests to graze, and since then a reward of
10 rupees has been paid for the destruction of each fully grown wild dog.
Colonel Peyton alludes to the native idea that these dogs attack and kill
tigers, but says that no instance of their having killed a tiger is known.
At the same time it is, he says, a fact that the tiger will give up his
kill to wild dogs, and will leave a place in which they are present in
large numbers. Some years ago I beat a jungle in which a tiger had killed
a bullock, and in which another tiger had on a former occasion lain up,
but the tiger was not there, and a number of jungle dogs were beaten out.
We afterwards found the tiger in a jungle about a mile away, and he had
evidently abandoned his kill, for no other reason, apparently, than
because of the presence of the dogs. An old Indian sportsman tells me of a
very widespread native tradition as to the action of these dogs previous
to attacking a tiger. Their belief is that the dogs first of all micturate
on each others' bushy tails, and, when rushing past the tiger, whisk their
tails into his eyes and thus blind him with, the objectionable fluid,
after which they can attack him with comparative impunity. A forest
officer informs me that the Gonds have a somewhat similar tradition, and
that they believe that the dogs first of all micturate on the ground
around the tiger, and that the effluvium has the effect of blinding
him.[23] The late Mr. Sanderson, in his "Thirteen Years amongst the Wild
Beasts of India," mentions an instance reported to him by the natives of
their finding a tiger sitting up with his back to a bamboo bush, so that
nothing could pass behind him, while the wild dogs were walking up and
down and passing quite close to him, evidently with the view of annoying
the tiger, and the position then taken up by the tiger seemed to show that
he was apprehensive of an attack. From his experience of the great power
of the wild dog, Mr. Sanderson entertained no doubt that they could kill a
tiger, though he knows of no instance of their having done so. The old
Indian sportsman above alluded to told me of a case where a tiger had been
marked down by native shikaris, and where they afterwards found wild dogs
eating the carcase of the tiger, which they had presumably killed, but I
cannot find any account of the dogs having been seen in the act of killing
a tiger, though I can easily conceive that a hungry tiger, and an equally
hungry pack of wild dogs may have come into collision over a newly killed
animal, and that the dogs may then in desperation have killed the tiger.
A Coorg planter who has had opportunities of observing the habits of those
dogs, tells me that when hunting a deer they do not run in a body, but
spread out rather widely, so as to catch the deer on the turn if it moved
to right or left. Some of the dogs hang behind to rest themselves, so as
to take up the running when other dogs, which have pressed the deer hard,
get tired. He once had a bitch the product of a cross between a Pariah and
a jungle dog. When she had pups she concealed them in the jungle, and in
order to find them she had to be carefully watched and followed up. She
went through many manoeuvres to prevent the discovery of her pups, and
pottered about in the neighbourhood of the spot where she had concealed
them, as if bent on nothing in particular. Then she made a sudden rush
into the jungle and disappeared. After much search her pups were found in
a hole about three feet deep, which she had dug on the side of a rising
piece of ground. The bitch did not bark--the jungle dog does not--and the
pups barked but slightly, but the next generation barked as domestic dogs
do.
Many years ago I met with a very singular and puzzling circumstance in
connection with jungle dogs. I had offered a reward of five rupees for a
pup, and one day several natives from a village some three or four miles
away, brought me a pup--apparently about six or eight months old. This, it
appears, they had caught by placing some nets near the carcase of a tiger
I had killed, and on which a pack of these dogs was feeding. They drove
the dogs towards the nets, which they jumped, but the pup in question was
caught in the net. My cook now appeared on the scene and declared that the
pup belonged to him, and that he had brought it from Bangalore, and on
hearing this I declined, of course, to pay the reward. As I had never, and
have never, seen a jungle dog pup, I neither could then, nor can now,
undertake to say whether the pup was a wild one or not, though it seemed
to me that it might have been a kind of mongrel animal with a good deal of
the pariah dog in it. The natives then requested the cook to take the pup
and pay them five rupees for their trouble. This he declined to do, and
they then said they would take it back to the carcase of the tiger and let
it go. This they did, and the pup was never heard of again, and I assume
that it must have rejoined the wild dogs. As my cook had no conceivable
motive for falsely asserting that the dog was his, I can only assume that
the animal had strayed away and joined the pack of wild dogs.
There is no reward for killing wild dogs in Mysore, as is the case in the
Madras Presidency, and I should strongly advise that one should be given,
as from the great destruction of the game, on which they at present live,
these animals will soon become very destructive to cattle, and possibly,
or even probably, dangerous to man. And it is the more important to attend
to this matter at once, because I find, from Jerdon's "Mammals of India,"
that the bitch has at least six whelps at a birth, and he mentions that
Mr. Elliot (the late Sir Walter) remarks that the wild dog was not known
in the Southern Maharatta country until of late years, but that it was now
very common; and he adds that he once captured a bitch and seven cubs, and
had them alive for some time. No one has any interest in killing these
jungle dogs, and until a reward is offered for their destruction, they
will go on increasing at an alarming rate.
I now pass on to offer some remarks on snakes, and especially on the great
number of deaths said to be caused by them, and I say said to be caused by
them, because I have good reason to suppose that the immense number of
deaths (sometimes returned at 17,000 or 18,000 for all India) reported as
being caused by them, are really poisoning cases which are falsely
returned as being due to snake bite. When mentioning this surmise on
board of a P. and O. ship to two civilians, they demurred to the idea, and
I then asked them if they had ever known within their own cognizance of a
man being killed by a snake--i.e., either seen a man fatally bitten, or
who had been fatally bitten. They never had, and that too during a service
of about twenty-four years. I then, out of curiosity, made inquiries
through all the first-class passengers, and at last met with one lady who
had a gardener who had been killed by a snake. I also got my English
servant to make a similar inquiry in the second-class, and no passenger
there had known of a case, though one of them had been engaged in
surveying operations for ten years. My attention has been particularly
called to this subject in consequence of my own long experience, which
stretches back to the year 1855, and, though cobras have been killed in
and around my house, and in the plantations, I have not only never known
of a death from snake bite on my estates, but have, since the date
mentioned, never heard of but one case in my neighbourhood, and that was
of a boy who was killed by some deadly snake about four or five miles from
my house. I made inquiries in Bangalore on this subject. Now Bangalore is
a place which always had a bad reputation as regards cobras. The
population is large, and there are, of course, numerous gardens, and many
grass cutters are employed, and the occupations there of a large number of
people are such as to make them liable to risk from snake bite; and yet,
in the course of the year, there had only been, three cases of snake bite.
How is it then that such an infinitesimal number of the cases reported on
occur within the cognizance of Europeans? And unless some competent
observer is at hand to determine the cause of death, what can be easier
than to poison a man, puncture his skin, and then point to the puncture as
an evidence that the death was caused by snake bite?
Of one thing I feel certain, and that is, that the cobra is a timid snake,
that it is not at all inclined to bite, and unless assailed and so
infuriated, will not bite, even if trodden on by accident, as long as the
snake is not hurt, which, of course, it would not be if trodden upon by
the bare foot, and that is why, I feel sure, I have so rarely heard of a
man being bitten by a snake during my long experience in India. I can give
a remarkable confirmatory instance, which happened at my bungalow some
years ago. My English servant had got his feet wet one morning, and had
placed his shoes to dry on a ledge of the bungalow just above the place
where the bath-room water runs out. At about three in the afternoon he
went in his slippers round the end of the bungalow to get his shoes, and
trod on a cobra which was lying in the soft and rather muddy ground
created by the bath-room water. He had stepped on to about the middle of
the snake's body, but probably rather nearer the tail than the head. The
cobra then reared up its body, spread its hood, hissed, and struggled to
get free, while my servant held up his hands to avoid the chance of being
bitten, and he said that he could see that the afternoon sun was
illuminating the interior of its throat, but he was afraid to let it go,
thinking that it would then be more able to bite him. This, however, he is
quite positive it never attempted to do, and after some moments of
hesitation he jumped to one side, and the snake, so far from offering to
bite when liberated, went off in the opposite direction with all speed. I
am sure that wild animals perceive quite as readily as tame ones do the
difference between what is purely accidental, and what results from malice
prepense. The snake must have perceived that its being trodden upon was a
pure accident, and, as it was not hurt, did not bite. A Brahmin once told
me of a somewhat similar case, where his mother, seeing what she supposed
was a kitten in a passage of the house, gave it a push on one side with
her foot. It turned out to be a cobra, which spread its hood and hissed,
but never offered to bite her. Colonel Barras, the author of some charming
natural history books, told me that he quite agrees that the cobra is
disinclined to bite, and pave me a practical illustration of this which
had fallen within his own observation. On one occasion, when some of my
coolies were crossing a log, which was lying on the ground, my overseer,
just as they were doing so, observed that under a bent-up portion of the
log there was a cobra. He waited till all the coolies had crossed over and
moved on, and then stirred up the cobra and killed it. I mention these
instances to show that it is probably owing to the fact of the cobra not
being at all an aggressive snake, and not being given to bite unless
attacked, or hurt, that no death has occurred on my estates, or in my
neighbourhood during such a long period of time.
But there is probably another reason, which has not, that I am aware of,
been taken into account by previous writers, and that is that snakes keep
a much better look out, and perceive the approach of people from a much
greater distance than is usually supposed. I was much struck with this
fact on two occasions this year. In one case I was walking along a foot
road in my compound, and on going round a bend of the road saw, about
thirty yards away, a snake in the road with its body half raised, and
evidently in an on-the-look-out attitude, and the moment it perceived me
it lowered its body and went off through the long grass. In the other case
I saw a snake on bare ground upwards of 100 yards away which had evidently
seen me, for it made off in the way which a disturbed snake always does. I
was this year surprised to hear tigers and snakes classed together as to
running away by a toddy-drawer--a class of people who are often out in the
jungle at dusk, and sometimes later. I had made a new four feet trace of
about a mile long along a beautiful ridge which connects my estate with an
outlying piece of the property, and unfortunately mentioned to my wife
that at the end of the path tigers crossed over occasionally (it was a
tiger pass as the natives call it), and she objected to go there late in
the evening. Being desirous of going to the end of the path one evening, I
called to a toddyman in my employ and told him to accompany us, telling my
wife that he was a timid creature and not likely to incur any risk he
could avoid. I mentioned to him the apprehension of the lady, when he
said, "Tigers and snakes run away," and he seemed to have no apprehension
as regards either of them, though part of the land in which he cut toddy
trees was on the tiger pass. And I may mention that I this year wounded a
tiger within fifty yards of the pass, and on the following morning saw the
tracks of a tiger and tigress (the track of the latter is easily to be
distinguished as it is longer and narrower than that of the male) in the
jungle adjoining the end of the foot road alluded to.
As many Europeans kill all snakes they meet with, it is well to mention
that the tank snake--a large snake often from nine to ten feet long--is
not only harmless but useful, as it lives so largely on rats and mice, and
is in consequence sometimes called the rat snake. On one occasion a
manager shot one of these snakes near my house, and it had a rat in its
mouth when killed, and such snakes, so far from being killed, ought to be
carefully protected. I was this year rather interested in observing the
proceedings of one of these snakes when followed up by two dogs of mine in
the open. First of all, it made for a clump of two or three scrubby trees,
and, apparently first fastening itself by the neck to a stump, lashed out
with its tail. Then when the dogs came closer it again made off through
the grass, but on being overtaken by the dogs must have either bitten one
of them, or lashed it with its tail, as the dog gave a sharp cry and
retreated. On a previous occasion one of these snakes bit a dog of mine,
and it was not in the slightest degree affected. These snakes travel at a
fair pace, and I found by trotting along parallel to one that it can move
at the rate of the moderate jog trot of a horse, and apparently keep up
this pace with ease. But, though it would be easy for me to write more
about snakes, the reader has probably heard enough of them, and I hope has
learnt some facts of practical importance by the way, and I shall now
offer a few remarks on jungle pets.
It is commonly supposed that wild animals naturally or instinctively dread
man, but it seems to me that, though no doubt a certain degree of dread of
man may have been, after having been acquired by experience, transmitted
to the offspring, wild animals require to be taught to dread man by their
parents, for we find that if animals are caught when very young and are
not confined in any way, they not only do not dread man, but eventually
prefer his society to that of their own species.
The first instance I have to notice of this is in the case of a spotted
deer stag which belonged to a neighbour of mine. This animal, which had
been caught when a fawn, used to accompany the coolies in the morning and
remained with them all day, but in the evening it went into the jungle
regularly and disappeared for the night, and again turned up at the
morning muster with unfailing regularity. It thus roamed the jungle all
night, and remained with man all day. At last it became dangerous to man,
as tame stags often do, and had to be shot.
Another still more extraordinary instance was in the case of a pet of my
own--what the natives call a flying cat, but in reality a flying squirrel
(_Pteromys petaurista_)--an animal that sleeps all day and feeds at night
(though on one occasion, mentioned in a previous chapter, I saw one
feeding on fruit at about seven one morning), and is in habits somewhat
like the bat, though clearly of the squirrel order. Its wings, if indeed
they may be called such, consist merely of a flap of skin stretching from
the fore to the hind legs. When at rest this flap, as it folds into the
side, is not very noticeable, and the animal presents, when on the ground,
or on the branch of a tree, the appearance of a very large, grey furred
squirrel. It cannot, of course, rise from the ground, but, when travelling
from tree to tree, it spreads its flap, or perhaps rather sets its sail,
by the agency of osseous appendages attached to the feet, but which fold
up against the leg when the animal is at rest, and starts like a man on
the trapeze--descending from one point to rise again to about a similar
level on the next tree, but when the flight is extended (Jerdon, in his
"Mammals of India," says he has seen one traverse in the air a distance of
sixty yards) the squirrel reaches the tree very low down. When clearing
the forest these squirrels often emerged from their holes in the trees and
gave me good opportunities of observing their movements, and I feel sure
that I have seen them traverse distances of at least 100 yards. One of
these squirrels was brought to me when it was about half grown, and came
to consider my house as its natural home. It soon discovered a suitable
retreat for the day in the shape of an empty clothes-bag hanging at the
back of a door, and in this it slept all day. It came out at dusk, and
used often to sit on the back of my high backed chair as I sat at dinner,
and then I gave it fruit and bread. After dinner away it went to the
jungle, and I seldom saw anything more of it till very early in the
morning, when it used to enter the house by an open swing window, get on
to my bed, and curl itself up at my feet. When I rose my pet did so too
and betook itself to the clothes-bag, and there spent the day, to go
through the same round the following night. This very pretty and
interesting animal met with the common fate of defenceless pets, and was
killed by a dog as it was making its way to the jungle one evening.
A third instance I may give as regards the way in which wild animals
readily become domesticated, and eventually seem to prefer the society of
man to that of their own species. In this case my pet was a hornbill, a
bird of discordant note, and with a huge beak, and a box-like crowned
head. This creature was also totally unrestrained, but showed a most
decided preference for the society of man. One day it joined some of its
species which made their appearance in the jungle near my house, but soon
got tired of or disgusted with them, and speedily returned to the
bungalow. It used to swallow its food like a man taking a pill, and it was
surprising to observe the ease with which balls of rice of about the size
of two large walnuts were dispatched. On one occasion it flew off with my
bunch of keys, but was luckily seen by my servant, who gave the alarm. The
bird threw back its head the moment it alighted on the first convenient
branch, and it was only from the ring sticking in the front of its beak
that it was prevented from swallowing the entire bunch. Finding my people
close upon it, the bird flew away to a piece of forest some hundreds of
yards away, where it seemed to take a most aggravating pleasure in
dangling my keys from the tops of the loftiest trees, and it was some time
before it let them drop, which I conclude it at last did merely because it
could not swallow them.
Now, though none of the pets I have mentioned were made miserable by
restraint, and evidently must have found themselves perfectly happy in the
society of man, it is very remarkable that, though all of them must have
had (and the bird certainly had) frequent opportunities of making the
acquaintance of their species as they roamed the jungle at night, they
regularly returned to the society of man. I can only conjecture that the
force of habit must have, as it were, chained them to the place they had
become accustomed to. It is difficult to guess at any other reason than
the force of habit, but it is just possible that the following fact may
have something to do with their neglect of their own species. It is well
known that a great many animals and birds refuse to, or cannot, propagate
their kind when in a state of confinement. Now these pets of mine, and the
stag which belonged to my neighbour, were not indeed confined in any
sense, but it is just possible that the altered conditions under which
they lived may have acted on their animal desires, and so have rendered
them indifferent to the society of their species. Or perhaps it is
conceivable that, in consequence of their living in or about an inhabited
dwelling, they may have contracted bodily impurities which may have been
perceptible to their wild congeners.
I had here intended to close this chapter, but a few lines more must be
devoted to guns, or rather to a gun, for the general opinion in India now
seems to be that only one gun is necessary for shooting shot and ball--at
least for all shot shooting and ball shooting in the jungly countries.
That gun is the widely-known Paradox, which, up to 100 yards, is as
accurate as a double rifle, and even at 150 yards makes very fair
practice. This gun was a good many years ago recommended to me by Sir
Samuel Baker, and I found it to be such an excellent weapon that I now use
no other. The great advantage of the Paradox is that the gun is a good
shot gun, and gives a pattern quite equal to the best of cylinder guns,
and of course comes up to the shoulder so readily that the sportsman can
take snap shots as well as with any other fowling-piece. The immense
advantage of this in a jungly country, and in one with long grass, must be
readily apparent to anyone accustomed to shoot in such regions, where you
often require to be able to fire as sharply as you do at a snipe rising
just within range.
I am informed by Messrs. Holland and Holland, of 98, New Bond Street (the
makers of the Paradox guns), that the Paradox system of ball and shot guns
was the invention of Colonel Fosbery, V.C. Originally it was intended for
the ordinary 12-bore guns, but its principle has now been applied to
smaller weapons, such as those of 20 bore, and also to heavy guns of 8 or
10 bore for attacking elephants, bison, and other very large game. Guns of
the two last-named bores are from two to three pounds lighter than rifles
of similar bores, and the increased handiness caused by the diminution of
weight is of course of immense advantage. Messrs. Holland and Holland
inform me that they have made many experiments with the 8-bore Paradox
against the 8-bore rifle, and in every case have obtained higher velocity
and greater penetration with the Paradox. The new 10-bore is almost a 9,
and practically is big enough for any game. It shoots 8 drams of powder,
and a fairly long conical bullet, and its weight is about 12-1/2 lbs.
Messrs. Holland and Holland have invented a new steel bullet for these
guns, and with this the penetration is very great. The 20 and 16-bore
Paradox guns weigh from 6-1/2 lbs. to 7 lbs., and are largely used on the
Continent for shooting wild boar, bears, and other large game. Nearly all
these guns are made with hammers, because as a rule sportsmen travelling
in wild countries prefer to have the old-fashioned hammer guns, which are
so universally understood, instead of a hammerless gun, which cannot be so
easily repaired should it break down in any part. Messrs. Holland and
Holland inform me that for the ordinary 12-bore Paradox weighing 7 lbs.
the usual charge of 3 drams is all that is necessary for soft-skinned
animals such as tigers, leopards, and bears, but they also make a heavier
12-bore, weighing from 8 lbs. to 8-1/2 lbs., and shooting 4 or 4-1/2
drams of powder, but generally recommend the usual 7 lbs. Paradox, and,
from my experience of the latter with tigers, I do not think one could
desire a better gun for all jungle shooting, though I need hardly add that
for antelope shooting on the plains a long range rifle is desirable.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] "Jungle Life in India, or the Journeys and Journals of an Indian
Geologist," by V. Ball, M.A. London, Thos. De La Rue and Co., 1880.
[22] "My Indian Journal," by Colonel Walter Campbell. Edinburgh, Edmonston
and Douglas, 1864.
[23] In Jerdon's "Mammals of India" it is stated that in Nepaul the wild
dogs, whose urine is said to be peculiarly acrid, sprinkle it over bushes
through which an animal will probably move with the view of blinding their
victim. Jerdon certainly disbelieves the native story of their capturing
their prey through the acridity of their urine. It seems to me not
improbable that the wild dogs may have become aware of the offensive
character of their urine, and in passing near a tiger might discharge some
of it with the view of annoying the tiger and driving him away, and also
perhaps as a mark of contempt, and that this probably was the origin of
the widely spread story I have alluded to in the text.