The hot season of 1849 was peculiarly oppressive, and the irksome
garrison duty, at Cherootabad, in the south of India, had for many
months been unusually severe. The colonel of my regiment, the brigadier,
and the general, having successively acceded to my application for three
weeks' leave, and that welcome fact having been duly notified in orders,
it was not long before I found myself on the Coimbatore road, snugly
packed, guns and all, in a country bullock cart, lying at full length on
a mattress, with a thick layer of straw spread under it.
All my preparations had been made beforehand; relays of bullocks were
posted for me at convenient intervals, and I arrived at Goodaloor, a
distance of a hundred and ten miles, in rather more than forty
eight hours.
Goodaloor is a quiet little village, about eleven miles from
Coimbatore;--but don't suppose I was going to spend my precious three
weeks there.
All loaded, and pony saddled, let us start: the two white cows and their
calves; the mattress and blanket rolled up and carried on a Cooly's
head Shikaree, horsekeeper, and a village man, with the three guns,
while I, myself, bring up the rear. Over a few ploughed fields, and past
that large banian tree, the jungle begins.
In a small clump of low jungle, on the sloping bank of a broad, sandy
watercourse, the casual passer-by would not have perceived a snug and
tolerably strong little hut--the white ends of the small branches that
were laid over it, and the mixture of foliage, alone revealing the fact
to the observant eye of a practiced woodman. No praise could be too
strong to bestow on the faithful Shikaree; had I chosen the spot myself,
after a weeks' survey of the country, it could not have been more
happily selected.
To the deeply-rooted stump of a young tree on the opposite bank, one of
the white cows had been made fast by a double cord passed twice around
her horns. Nothing remains to be done: the little door is fastened
behind me, the prickly acacia boughs are piled up against it on the
outside, and my people are anxious to be off.
The poor cow, too, listens with dismay to the retreating footsteps of
the party, and has already made some furious plunges to free herself,
and rejoin the rest of the kine, who have been driven off, nothing
loth, toward home. Watch her: how intently she stares along the path by
which the people have deserted her. Were it not for the occasional stamp
of her fore leg, or the impatient side-toss of the head, to keep off the
swarming flies, she might be carved out of marble. And now a fearful and
anxious gaze up the bed of the nullah, and into the thick fringe of
Mimoso, one ear pricked and the other back alternately, show that
_instinct_ has already whispered the warning of impending danger.
Another plunge to get loose, and a searching gaze up the path; see her
sides heave. Now comes what we want--that deep low! It echoes again
among the hills: another and another. Poor wretch! you are hastening
your doom; far or near, the tiger hears you--under the rock or thicket,
where he has lain since morning, sheltered from the scorching sun, his
ears flutter as if they were tickled every time he hears that music; his
huge, green eyes, heretofore half closed, are now wide open, and, alas!
poor cow, gaze truly enough in thy direction; but he has not stirred
yet, and nobody can say in what direction giant death will yet
stalk forth.
The moon is up--all nature still; the cow, again on her legs, is
restless, and evidently frightened. Oh! reader, even if you have the
soul of a Shikaree, I despair of being able to convey in words a tithe
of the sensations of that solitary vigil: a night like that is to be
enjoyed but seldom--a red-letter day in one's existence.
Where is the man who has never experienced the poetic influence of a
moonlight scene! Fancy, then, such a one as here described; a crescent
of low hills--craggy, steep, and thickly wooded--around you, on three
sides, and above them, again, at twenty miles' distance, the clear blue
outline of the Neilgherry hills; in your front, the silver sand bed of
the dry watercourse divides the thick and somber jungle with a stream of
light, till you lose it in the deep shadows at the foot of the
hills--all quiet, all still, all bathed in the light of the moon,
yourself the only man for miles to come, a solitary watcher--your only
companion the poor cow, who, full of fears, and suspicious at every
leaf-fall, reminds you that a terrible struggle is about to take place
within a few feet of your bed, and that there will be noise and
confusion, when you must be cool and collected. Your little kennel would
not be strong enough to resist a determined charge, and you are alone,
if three good guns are not true friends.
Oh! that I could express sounds on paper as music is written in notes.
No, reader, you must do as I have done--you must be placed in a similar
situation, to hear and enjoy the terrible roar of a hungry tiger--not
from afar off, and listened for, but close at hand, and unexpected. It
was like an electric shock;--a moment ago I was dozing off, and the cow,
long since laid down, appeared asleep; that one roar had not died away
among the hills when she had scrambled on her legs, and stood with
elevated head, stiffened limbs, tail raised, and breath suspended,
staring, full of terror, in the direction of the sound. As for the
biped, with less noise, and even more alacrity, he had grasped his "Sam
Nock," whose polished barrels just rested on the lower ledge of the
little peep-hole; perhaps his eyes were as round as saucers, and heart
beating fast and strong.
Now for the struggle;--pray heaven that I am cool and calm, and do not
fire in a hurry, for one shot will either lose or secure my
well-earned prize.
There he is again! evidently in that rugged, stony watercourse, which
runs parallel, and about two hundred yards behind the hut. But what is
that? Yes, lightning: two flashes in quick succession, and a cold stream
of air is rustling through the half-withered leaves of my ambush. Taking
a look to the rear, through an accidental opening among the leaves, it
was plain that a storm, or, as it would be called at sea, a squall, was
brewing. An arch of black cloud was approaching from the westward, and,
the rain descending, gave it the appearance of a huge black comb, the
teeth reaching to the earth. The moon, half obscured, showed a white
mist as far as the rain had reached. Then was heard in the puffs of air,
the hissing of the distant but approaching downpour: more
lightning--then some large heavy drops plashed on the roof, and it was
raining cats and dogs.
How the scene was changed! Half an hour ago, solemn, and still, and
wild, as nature rested, unpolluted, undefaced, unmarked by man--sleeping
in the light of the moon, all was tranquillity; the civilized man lost
his idiosyncrasy in its contemplation--forgot nation, pursuits,
creed--he felt that he was Nature's child, and adored the God of Nature.
But the beautiful was now exchanged for the sublime, when that scene
appeared lit up suddenly and awfully by lightning, which now momentarily
exchanged a sheet of intensely dazzling blue light, with a darkness
horrible to endure--a light which showed the many streams of water,
which now appeared like ribbons over the smooth slabs of rod that lay on
the slope of the hills, and gave a microscopic accuracy of outline to
every object, exchanged as suddenly for a darkness, which for the
moment might be supposed the darkness of extinction--of utter
annihilation--while the crash of thunder over head rolled over the
echoes of the hills, "I am the Lord thy God."
The storm was at length over, the nullah run dry again. Damp and sleepy,
with arms folded and eyes sometimes open, but often shut, I kept an
indifferent watch, when the cow, struggling on her legs, and a groan,
brought me to my senses. There they were. It was no dream. A large
tiger, holding her just behind the ears, shaking her like a fighting
dog. By the doubtful light of the watery moon, did I calmly and
noiselessly run out the muzzle of my rifle.
I saw him, without quitting his grip of the cow's neck, leap over her
back more than once. She sank to the earth, and he lifted her up again.
At the first opportunity, I pulled trigger. The left hand missed, I
tried the right--it went off--bang!
Whether a hanging fire is an excuse or not, the tiger relinquished his
hold and was off with a bound. The cow staggered and struggled, and, in
few seconds, fell, and, with a heavy groan, ceased to move. The tiger
had killed the cow within a few feet of me, and escaped scathless.
Night after night did I watch for his return. I had almost despaired
of seeing him again, when, one night, about eleven o'clock,
my ears caught the echo among the rocks, and then the distant
roar--nearer--nearer--nearer; and--oh, joy!--answered. Tiger and
tigress!--above all hope!--coming to recompense me for hundreds of night
watchings--to balance a long account of weary nights in the silent
jungle, in platforms on trees, in huts of leaf and bramble, and in damp
pits on the water's edge--all bootless; coming--coming--nearer
and nearer.
Music nor words, dear reader, can stand me in any stead to convey the
sound to you; the first note like the trumpet of a peacock, and the rest
the deepest toned thunder. Stones and gravel rattled just behind the hut
on the path by which we came, and went, and a heavy step passed and
descended the slope into the nullah. I heard the sand crunching under
his weight before I dared to look. A little peep. Oh, heavens! looming
in the moonlight, there he stood, long, sleek as satin, and lashing his
tail--he stood stationary, smelling the slaughtered cow. No longer the
cautious, creeping tiger, I felt how awful a brute he was to offend. I
remembered how he had worried a strong cow in half a minute, and that,
with his weight alone, my poor rickety little citadel would fall to
pieces. As if the excitement of the moment was insufficient, the
monster, gazing down the dry watercourse, caught sight of his
companion, who, advancing up the bed of the nullah, stood irresolutely
about twenty yards off. The bully, who was evidently the male, after
smelling at the head, came round the carcass, making a sort of
complaisant purring--"humming a kind of animal song," and to it he went
tooth and nail.
As he stood with his two fore feet on the haunch, while he tugged and
tore out a beef-steak, I once more grasped old "Sam Nock," and ran the
muzzle out of the little port. The white linen band marked a line behind
his shoulders, and rather low, but, from the continued motion of his
body, it was some moments before eye and finger agreed to pull
trigger--bang! A shower of sand rattled on the dry leaves, and a roar of
rage and pain satisfied me, even before the white smoke, which hung in
the still air, had cleared away, to show the huge monster writhing and
plunging where he had fallen. Either directed by the fire, or by some
slight noise made in the agitation of the moment, he saw me, and, with a
hideous yell, scrambled up: the roaring thunder of his voice filled the
valley, and the echoes among the hills answered it, with the hootings of
tribes of monkeys, who, scared out of sleep, sought the highest
branches, at the sound of the well-known voice of the tyrant of the
jungle. I immediately perceived, to my great joy, that his hind quarters
were paralyzed and useless, and that all danger was out of the
question. He sank down again on his elbows, and as he rested his now
powerless limbs, I saw the blood welling out of a wound in the loins, as
it shone in the moonlight, and trickled off his sleek-painted hide, like
globules of quicksilver. As I looked into his countenance, I saw all the
devil alive there. The will remained--the power only had gone. It was a
sight never to be forgotten. With head raised to the full stretch of his
neck, he glared at me with an expression of such malignity, that it
almost made one quail. I thought of the native superstition of singeing
off the whiskers of the newly killed tiger to lay his spirit, and no
longer wondered at it. With ears back, and mouth bleeding, he growled
and roared in fitful uncertainty, as if he were trying, but unable, to
measure the extent of the force that had laid him low.
Motionless myself, provocation ceased, and without further attempt to
get on his legs, he continued to gaze on me; when I slowly lowered my
head to the sight, and again pulled trigger. This time, true to the
mark, the ball entered just above the breastbone, and the smoke cleared
off with his death-groan. There he lay, foot to foot with his victim of
last night, motionless--dead. My first impulse was to tear down the door
behind, and get a thorough view of his proportions; but remembering
that his companion, the tigress, had vanished only a short time ago
close to the scene of action, I thought it as well to remain where I
was; so, enlarging the windows with my hands, I took a long look, and
then jovially attacked the coffee without reference to noise, and fell
back on the mattress to sleep, or to think the night's work over. "At
last, I have got him: his skin will be pegged out to-morrow, drying
before the tent door." When my people came in the morning, they found me
seated on the dead tiger. Coolies were sent for to carry the beast, and
I gave the pony his reins all the way back to the tent.