The present Deputy Commissioner of Pyapon district, Burma (Major
Nethersole, 1909), is my authority for this incident, which is
selected as the most remarkable of several of its kind. He
investigated it on the spot, and told me of it at the time. He himself
gave as many days as he could spare to hunting the tiger concerned,
which killed eight men in Pyapon district before it met its fate.
One of them was old Po An, the headman of Eyya village. "Eyya" or
"Irra" is the first part of the name of our local Mississippi, the
Irrawaddy, and the village is, in fact, at the mouth of the great
water-way so called, though it is only one of many water-ways through
which the mighty river mingles with the sea. In other words, the
village is on the coast, and about the middle of the delta, between
Rangoon and Bassein.
In the last week of 1908 Po An and his son, and a friend of his own
age (about sixty), left home together to get bamboos. They went in a
little boat, landed where they intended, entered the muddy woods and
cut what they wanted, and started to carry the bamboos to their boat.
They had heard that there was a man-killing tiger "somewhere
thereabouts," but the Burman with a knife in his hand is not easily
frightened in the forest. They made the mistake, which is the
besetting sin of brave men and used to be called English, of despising
the enemy, and did not even keep close together. In returning
bamboo-laden, Po An lagged behind "about forty yards," but nobody
thought anything of that. His son and companion heard a noise in the
jungle too, but did not think of it till a minute or two later, when
they ceased to hear the sound of Po An behind, and shouted, "Are you
all right?" Receiving no reply they looked round. Not seeing him they
laid down their burdens and retraced their steps, but had not far to
go. In a glade through which they had come they saw the prostrate
figure of Po An and the tiger standing over him.
They were only two men, and one of them was old, and they had no
weapons but the big knives they had been using. But instantly they
flourished their knives and moved forward, shouting and yelling as if
they were the advance guard of an army of men.
The tiger, a big animal in the prime of life, looked up at them in
deliberate surprise, and visibly hesitated. Then, as they approached,
he moved aside, slowly and reluctantly, into cover, as if to watch
what was going to happen and consider what to do.
The two men ran forward, snatched up the corpse and started for the
boat, looking round continually, brandishing their knives and
shouting, and seeing, or thinking they saw, those great eyes glaring
at them through the bushes. They said they even heard the tiger
following. Perhaps they did. Time after time they thought it was about
to spring upon them, and faced towards the sound, real or imaginary,
with knives uplifted and loud shouts of defiance. They reached the
boat and got on board, but did not take time to loose the rope. They
cut it and pushed off.
Next morning the elder of the two took Major Nethersole and another
officer to the place, and there they saw the severed rope and the
tracks of the tiger patrolling on the muddy banks. The tides had been
such that the tracks must have been made after the men departed, and
left no room for doubt that the tiger had come after them to the
water's edge, and there lingered long, going up and down as if in a
cage, and looking across the waters on which the men had disappeared.
It was several days before the son of Po An and his old friend
discovered, as their excitement abated, how badly their nerves had
been shaken. Their sleep began to be broken by hideous dreams.
That was more than three months ago. The tiger is dead now (April
1909). His skull and hide can be seen at Pyapon. But still, I believe,
though now at greater and greater intervals, sometimes the one and
sometimes the other of the two brave men is wakened by the nightmare
of those awful eyes, and shrieks and shrieks to his neighbours to come
and stay beside him.