In 1895, while doing Forest Settlement work in the Upper Chindwin
district of Upper Burma, I lived in an atmosphere of tigers. Hardly a
day passed without seeing or hearing some sign of them. It was a great
disappointment, both to my companion and colleague, Mr Bruce, Deputy
Conservator of Forests, and to myself to finish our long journeyings
without a single encounter. We spared no pains to compass one; but we
were going fast, with a troop of elephants for baggage, and were being
met at many points by crowds of men on business; so that it was not a
surprise, although it was a disappointment, to miss seeing "our friend
the enemy" at home. The tiger, as we were well aware, might say with
Tommy Atkins that he is fighting for meat and not for glory; and when,
in seeking dinner, he caught sight of an enemy that seemed dangerous,
he was bound to behave like Brer Rabbit, to lie low and say nothing.
The jungle was continuous, and in parts so thick that he might at
times have been lying within spitting distance and remained unseen and
unsuspected.
No doubt the tigers saw us many a time, though we saw none of them.
The villagers, in order to feel safe, went about in twos and threes or
in larger parties, like London policemen in the slums. Whenever two
parties met, they discussed the latest news of tigers. Among a crowd
of items, I well recollect that both Mr Dickinson, the Conservator,
and Mr Bruce had much to tell me about the fine performances of
C.W. Allan of their department that year there, and of his experiences
in 1894.
As "half a word fixed, upon or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of
recollection," according to authority, I have persuaded Mr Allan, now
Deputy Conservator at Henzada, to let me publish a few extracts from
his _Shikar-Book_, a contemporary record. It may be as well to mention
that, knowing him well, I believe what he wrote as firmly as if I had
seen it all myself, and that it tallies completely with what was told
me in 1895.