"Once upon a time," said Jackman, glancing at Junkie and Robin Tips, who
sat before him open-mouthed and open-eyed, as if ready to swallow
anything...
"Yes," murmured Junkie, nodding, "that's the right way to begin."
"But you must not interrupt, Junkie."
"No, I won't do it again; but first, tell me, is it true?"
"Yes, my boy; it is absolutely true in all its main points," replied
Jackman.
"Well, as I said, once upon a time, not very long ago, I was sent up to
the North-west provinces of India, to a place near the base of the
Himalaya mountain-range. The country was swarming with elephants at
that time. You see, previous to that, the elephants had been hunted and
killed to such an extent that the Government had been obliged to pass an
Elephant Preservation Act for their protection, and the Act worked so
well that the elephants multiplied very fast. They roamed at will
through the forests, and frequently, leaving these, made raids upon the
cultivated lands, to the great damage of property and danger of human
life from the `rogues,' as old, solitary elephants which have been
driven from the herds, are called. These `rogues' are extremely
ill-natured and dangerous, so it was found necessary to take steps to
kill some of them, and thin the herds by capturing some of the females,
which might be tamed and made useful.
"For this purpose of hunting and catching elephants a hunt upon a truly
magnificent scale was instituted. Now, as it is very difficult to kill
such huge creatures, and still more difficult to catch them, men are
obliged to call to their aid tame elephants, which are trained for the
purpose of what is called Khedda hunting. But I don't mean to tell you
either about the killing or catching just now. I shall rather relate an
extraordinary and thrilling incident that occurred before the hunt had
properly begun.
"Great men from all parts of the country assembled at this hunt, some of
them bringing troops of tame elephants and followers with them. There
were governors and rajahs, and private secretaries, with some of their
wives, military officers, forest officers, commissioners, collectors,
superintendents, magistrates, surgeons, medical officers, and even
clergymen, besides a host of smaller fry and servants. It was a regular
army! The Maharajah of Bulrampore sent sixty-five catching elephants,
and five koonkies or fighting elephants, among which was a famous
warrior named Chand Moorut. Along with these came a body of men trained
to that special work. A good contingent also came from Rampore. The
Rajah of Khyrigarh came in person with thirteen elephants and a noted
fighting animal, named Berchir Bahadur; other elephants were collected
from the rajahs and native gentlemen around. Among the koonkies, or
gladiators, were two tremendous fellows, both as to colossal size and
courage, named respectively Raj Mungul and Isri Pershad.
"But far before them all in towering height and stupendous weight and
unconquerable courage, as well as warlike tendency, was the mighty Chand
Moorut, whom I first mentioned. This grand, slow-moving, sedate hero of
a hundred fights, was a sort of elephantine bull-dog; a concentrated
earthquake; an animal thunder-bolt; a suppressed volcano. Nothing in
the forests had yet been found which could stand before his onset. And
when we saw him stalk solemnly into camp with his mahowt, or guide,
looking like a small monkey on his great neck, and remembered his fame
as a fighter and his eager thirst at all times for battle, we felt that
the keystone had been put to the arch of our arrangements.
"This great mixed multitude was put under the direction of a Conservator
of Forests, a man celebrated for his exploits and daring adventures in
the field, and it was as a friend of his that I joined the hunt with my
man, Pat Quin there."
"Troth, sor, an' av it wasn't for Chand Moorut (blissin's on his great
sowl, av he has wan, an' on his body av he hasn't) your man Pat Quin
would have been left there as flat as a pancake. Excuse me, sor, for
spakin', but me feelin's overcomed me."
"No doubt, Quin, you had a narrow escape; I'll come to that soon. Well,
the spot at last chosen for pitching the camp was a splendid one, facing
northward, where we had an extensive view of the great forests that
stretched to the base of the irregular and rugged Sawalick hills.
Behind these rose the mighty Himalayas themselves, their grand peaks
seeming to push up into the very heavens, where the sun shone with
dazzling brilliancy on their everlasting snows. The camp covered an
immense piece of ground, which was partly open and partly dotted with
clumps of trees. It was so large that the tents, etcetera, were
arranged in streets, and our Director pitched his tent in the very
centre of it, with all the tame elephants and their attendants around
him.
"You may easily fancy that it was a noisy camp, with so many hundreds of
men and animals around, full of excitement, more or less, about the
coming fight; for we had a number of men, called trackers, out in the
woods, who had brought in news that a herd of wild elephants had just
been discovered in the Saharanpur and Dun forests, on the banks of the
Ganges.
"The glens in these forests were known to be well suited for hunting
purposes, so our hopes and expectations were raised to a high pitch.
Towards evening we had got pretty well settled down, when a rumour got
about the camp that one of the Khedda elephants had killed a man, and
that it was highly probable he would run _amuck_ to the great danger of
every one. It happened thus:--
"A big tusker, named Mowla Buksh, was being taken by his mahowt to drink
and bathe, according to custom, when it was observed that the elephant
seemed to be out of temper. Just then one of the fodder-cutters chanced
to pass by.
"`Keep out of his way,' cried the mahowt, in a warning tone. `There's
something wrong with him to-day. I won't bathe him, I think.'
"`Oh! he knows me well, and won't harm me,' returned the cutter.
"The words were scarcely out of the man's mouth, when the brute rushed
at him, knocked him down, gored him with his tusks, and kicked him after
the fashion of enraged elephants. Of course the poor man was instantly
killed. When this deed was done, Mowlah Buksh seemed to feel that,
having lost his character, he might as well go on in his course of
mischief. He became wild with fury, and kept throwing his head back in
a vain endeavour to seize his mahowt with his trunk and kill him also.
In this effort he failed. The mahowt, though old, was active and
strong. He managed to hold on and sit so far back on the elephant's
hind quarters as to be just out of reach. Luckily the brute did not
think of shaking him off.
"Had he attempted that, he would soon have succeeded. The poor man
would have fallen to the ground and been killed. Finding that he could
not accomplish his purpose, the infuriated animal rushed towards the
camp, where the khedda or hunting elephants were, and where, as I have
said, our Director had pitched his tent. My own tent was close beside
his.
"The first I heard of what was going on was from Quin, who came running
into my tent, where I was sitting quietly at the time, cleaning my
rifle. Quin's eyes were starting out of his head, and there was, I
assure you, nothing of the pleasant smile that rests on his face at this
moment!
"`Och, sor!' gasped Quin, `Bowla Muk--no--Mowla Buksh--has gone mad
entoirely!'
"I jumped up quickly, you may believe, for I didn't often see _that_
look on Quin's face, and when I did, I knew well that something very
serious was in the wind.
"`Where away is he?' I asked.
"`Sorrow wan o' me knows, sor,' said Quin.
"Rushing out with no very fixed purpose in view, I soon found that the
shouting in the camp was a sufficient guide to the spot where the
mischief was going on. In a few minutes I came on a cordon of
musketeers who had been hastily drawn up, so as to prevent Mowla Buksh
from getting at the other elephants, for if he had succeeded in doing
so, he would certainly have gone knocking about the smaller ones,
perhaps maiming them, and killing every man who might chance to come in
his path. On the other hand, if the musketeers managed to turn him,
there was the danger of his making for the main camp, and killing every
one he could lay hold of in that direction.
"Of course the thought of turning out the big fighting elephants to
master him occurred to every one; but even here there would be risk, for
these gladiators would not rest content without knocking Mowla Buksh off
his legs, in which case the mahowt would assuredly be killed. Besides,
our Director chanced to be in the forest at the time, and no one else
seemed ready to take the responsibility of ordering them out.
"When I came up to the musketeers, I saw the elephant rushing wildly
about, trying to find a way through them, with the old mahowt sticking
to his back like a burr.
"The Bulrampore men shouted to him to try and get the elephant to go to
his standing-place, saying that if he could persuade him to sit down
they would tie his legs up. After the brute had exhausted itself
somewhat by rushing about, the mahowt did succeed in recovering control
so far as to persuade him to move to his standing-place, which was not
far distant, and to our great relief he sat down in the usual way. The
Bulrampore men were as good as their word. Smart hands every one, they
ran up with ropes and commenced tying up his hind legs. Being experts
at the work, they manipulated the thick ropes with amazing rapidity, and
had the panting animal almost secured when he partially recovered, and
began to understand what was being done to him. He started up
indignantly, just before the knots were properly fastened, and struck
out right and left with his trunk, scattering the men in all directions.
"Although the ropes had not been quite secured, they were sufficiently
fast to impede his movements. He therefore took to venting his rage on
the surrounding trees, and, really, until that day, I had not realised
the prodigious strength of this king of beasts. He knocked and smashed
them down right and left with the greatest possible ease, although, I do
assure you, some of them were fully eight inches in diameter. All this
time the old mahowt was clinging to his back, not daring to slip off.
"The men now began to lay large rope-nooses about here and there, in the
hope that he would accidentally put a foot into one of them. But Mowla
Buksh was much too knowing to be caught in this way. Whenever he came
across one of these nooses, he took it up with his trunk and tossed it
contemptuously aside. Gradually he worked his way up to a cluster of
trees, near the tent in which our Director's wife had been seated all
the time--with what feelings I will not pretend to guess. In this
cluster he spent two hours, smashing down trees all the time, and
occasionally, by way of variety, trying to lay hold of the poor mahowt,
who was gradually becoming exhausted through terror and the exertion of
holding on.
"Strange to say, now and then the man appeared to regain control over
the beast, though only for a few seconds. During one of these intervals
he even succeeded in making Mowla Buksh partially sit down.
"`Och! now or niver! Off wid ye!' yelled a splitting voice close to my
ear! I need not tell you whose voice that was, or that its owner was
skipping about like a gorilla, almost as mad as the elephant!"
"Ah! sor," interrupted Quin, "don't ye remimber how yourself was--but
I'll have mercy on ye! Go on, sor."
"Well, I confess," resumed Jackman, "that I was a little excited.
However, the Bulrampore men echoed Quin's advice in eagerly expressed
Hindustani. The mahowt took it, slipped to the ground, and ran for his
life! Fortunately the excited Mowla either did not perceive or did not
care. He rose up and recommenced his work of destruction.
"All this time he had been freeing himself from the ropes, with which he
was imperfectly bound. At last he detached them entirely, and began to
make furious rushes in every direction.
"At that critical moment our Director arrived on the scene. Seeing how
matters stood he at once gave orders to have the fighting elephants
brought to the front, as the only chance that remained to bring the
mischief to an end. The orders were gladly and promptly obeyed.
"Before they arrived, however, Mowla Buksh, in one of his rushes, came
straight to where Quin and I were standing--"
"Skippin', sor, ye said."
"Well, skipping. But we stopped skipping at once, and took to running
as hard as we could. We both ran through some soft reedy ground, where
the brute overtook us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him knock
Quin into the rushes and set his enormous foot on him--"
"Oh! was he killed?" exclaimed Junkie with a look of consternation at
the now heroic Quin!
There was a general burst of laughter, in which Junkie joined, for he
saw the absurdity of the question, which sudden anxiety had forced from
him.
"But why wasn't you killed?" he asked almost indignantly.
"Whisht! honey, an' ye'll hear, av ye'll howld your tongue."
"You must know," continued Jackman, "that the place he had tumbled into
was wet, soft ground, and Quin has a sharp way of looking after his
life! Although half stunned he rolled to one side, so that only the
side of the great foot came down on his shoulder and thrust him deep
into the mud. I stopped at once with a feeling of horror, but without
the slightest conception of what I meant to do, and the horror was
deepened as I saw the monster turn with the evident intention of
completing his work.
"At that terrible moment the colossal forms of Raj Mungul, Isri Pershad,
and the mighty Chand Moorut appeared, coming towards us. Mowla Buksh
did not carry out his deadly intentions. There was `method in his
madness.' Seeing the koonkies approach, he retreated at once to the
shelter of the cluster of trees, and waited.
"I rushed forward, expecting to find my man dead and flattened, but he
rose slowly as I came up, and with an indescribable expression of
countenance said, `Arrah! then, but he _was_ heavy!'"
"An' _that_ must have been true--what-ever" said McGregor, unable to
restrain a comment at this point.
"What you remark is true likewise, Shames," said the skipper.
"Go on--quick!" cried Junkie, eagerly.
"Well, our Director gave orders, to take Raj Mungul to the south side of
the clump of trees, Isri Pershad to the west, and Chand Moorut to the
east. It was impossible to let the last go in, though he was impatient
to do so, for by that time it was getting dark, and his mahowt would
have probably been swept off his back by the branches; and the risk of
such a gladiator being let loose without a controlling hand was not to
be thought of for a moment.
"The difficulty was got over by means of a ruse. Two men were sent to
the north side of the clump with orders to talk and attract the
attention of Mowla. The plan succeeded. The moment the still fuming
brute heard their voices, he went at them furiously! Now was the chance
for the heroic Chand Moorut; and that warrior was never known to let an
opportunity slip. No British bull-dog ever gave or accepted a challenge
with more hilarious alacrity than he. As soon as Mowla came out of the
trees, Chand Moorut went at him with a rush that seemed incredible in
such a mountain of usually slow and dignified flesh. But darkness,
coupled perhaps with haste, interfered. He missed his mark, and Mowla
Buksh, turning round, dashed straight at the tent, in front of which our
Director and a friend were standing. The friend, who was a V.C. as well
as a cool and intrepid sportsman, directed the light of a lantern full
on the monster's face till it was close upon him, thus enabling the
Director to plant a bullet in his head. Whether the shot gave him a
headache or not, I cannot tell. The only certain effect it had was to
turn the animal aside, and cause it to rush off in the direction of the
main camp, closely followed by Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul. Chand
Moorut was held back in reserve. Happily Raj Mungul managed to outstrip
and turn the runaway, and as Mowla Buksh came back, Chand Moorut got
another chance at him. Need I say that he took advantage of it?
Charging in like a live locomotive, he sent the mad creature flying--as
if it had been a mere kitten--head over heels into a small hollow!"
"Well done! Capital!" shouted Junkie, at this point unable to restrain
himself, as, with glittering eyes, he glanced round the circle of
listeners.
A laugh at his enthusiasm seemed to Junkie to endorse his sentiment, so
he turned to Jackman and earnestly bade him to "go on."
"There is not much to go on with now, my boy," continued the narrator;
"for Mowla Buksh being down, the fighting elephants took good care to
punish him well before they let him up again. But as the encounter had
aroused the combative propensities of Chand Moorut, it was thought wise
to remove him from the scene before he became too excited. This being
managed by his mahowt, the punishing of the rebel was left to Isri
Pershad and Raj Mungul, who did their work thoroughly. No sooner did
the culprit scramble out of the hollow than Isri Pershad knocked him
back into it, and pummelled him heartily with trunk and legs. Again
Mowla Buksh rose, and this time Raj Mungul gave him a tap on the
forehead with his own ponderous head, which sent him into a bed of giant
rushes, over the top of which his little tail was seen to wriggle
viciously as he disappeared with a crash.
"There he would probably have been content to lie still for a time, but
his opponents had other views in regard to him. They went at him
together, and so cuffed, kicked, bumped and pummelled him, that in about
five minutes he was reduced to a pitiable state of humiliation. As Quin
truly remarked at the time, his own mother would have failed to
recognise him.
"Just at this point, to my surprise, the old mahowt came forward, with
tears in his eyes, and begged that his elephant might be spared! It had
been punished quite sufficiently, he thought. I was much impressed with
this display of a tender, forgiving spirit towards a brute that had done
its very best to take his own life. But no one sympathised with him at
the moment, and the punishment was continued until Mowla Buksh was
thoroughly subdued, and compelled by his conquerors to return to his
standing-place, where he was finally and firmly secured. Thus, at last,
ended this exciting and most unexpected commencement to our hunt, and
the whole camp was soon after steeped in silence and repose. Not a bad
beginning, eh, Junkie?"
"Yes, but go on wi' the hunt," said the boy with eager promptitude, a
request which was loudly echoed by his brothers.
"No, no, boys; you've had enough to digest for one day; besides, I see
the cart coming up the road to fetch our deer. And perhaps your father
has more work cut out for us."
"Well, not much," replied the laird, who had been quite as much
interested in the elephant story as his sons. "There is another drive
on the east side of the hill, which we have still time for, though I
don't expect much from it. However, we can try it. Come now, lads,
we'll be going."
"Shames," said Captain McPherson, as the party moved away from the
lunching-ground, "I wonder if a good thrashin' like that would make the
elephant a better beast afterwards?"
"Weel now, Captain Mcphairson, I don't think it would," replied McGregor
after a pause for consideration.
"You are right, Shames," said Ian Anderson, the old fisherman, who was a
deep-thinking man. "It has always appeared to me, that the object of
poonishment, is a not to make us coot, but to make us obedient."
"Then what for are ye always poonishin' me, an' tellin' me to be coot,
when ye say it won't make me coot?" asked Donald.
"Because, Tonal', it iss my duty to _tell_ ye to be coot, although I
cannot _make_ ye coot, ye rascal!" answered the fisherman, sternly; "but
I can make ye obey me by poonishin' you--ay, an' I wull do it too."
Donald knew too well from experience that it was not safe to attempt
arguing the question, but he gave a peculiarly defiant shake of his
ragged head, which said as plainly as words that the time was coming
when "poonishment" would cease to secure even obedience--at least in his
case!
"You are right, Ian," said Jackman, turning round, for he had overheard
the conversation. "Punishment compelled Mowla Buksh to walk to his
standing-place and submit to be tied up, for he did not dare to disobey
with Isri Pershad and Raj Mungul standing guard over him, but it
certainly did not make him good. I went, with many others, to see him
the next morning. On the way over to the elephant camp, I saw the huge
trees which he had smashed down in his rage lying about in all
directions, and on reaching his standing-place, found him looking
decidedly vicious and bad-tempered. It was quite evident that any one
venturing within reach of his trunk would receive harsh treatment and no
mercy. A small red spot in his great forehead showed that our
Director's aim had been a fairly good one, though it had not hit the
deadly spot in the centre."
"But I want to know," said Junkie, who kept close to Jackman's side,
thirsting for every word that fell from his lips, "why did the bullet
not go in and kill Bowly Muksh?"
"Because the head of Mowla Buksh was too thick," said Jackman, laughing.
"You see, to be a thick-head is not always a disadvantage."
"There, you ought to take comfort from that, Junkie," remarked his
brother Archie, with that fine spirit of tenderness which is so often
observable in brothers.
"Ha! ha! ha!" yelled Eddie, with that delicacy of feeling which is
equally common.
"Hold your tongues!" growled Junkie--the more classic "shut up" not
having at that time found its way to the Western Isles.
"You must know, Junkie, that all parts of an elephant's head are not of
equal thickness," said Jackman in that kindly confidential tone which
tends so powerfully to soothe a ruffled spirit. "The only point in an
elephant's forehead that can be pierced by a rifle ball is exactly in
the centre. It is about the size of a saucer, and if you miss that, you
might as well fire against the Eagle Cliff itself, for the ball would
only stick in the skull."
With this explanation Junkie was fain to rest content at the time, for
the party had reached a part of the hill where it became necessary to
station the guns at their several posts. In regard to this drive, we
have only to say that it ended in nothing except heavy rain and a severe
draft on the patience of the sportsmen, without any reward, save that
which may be derived from mild martyrdom.
Now, when the events which we have described were taking place on the
mountains of Loch Lossie, a very different scene was occurring in the
nursery of Kinlossie House. In that interesting apartment, which was
one of the chief country residences of the spirits Row and Smash, little
Flora was seated all alone in the afternoon of that day. Her seat was a
low chair, before her was a low table to match. On the table sat her
favourite doll, Blackie, to whom she was administering counsel of the
gravest kind, in tones the most solemn. The counsel, we need scarcely
say, gave unquestionable proof that her mother's admonitions to herself
had been thoroughly understood, though not always acted on. Flo was in
the midst of one of her most pathetic appeals to Blackie to be "dood,"
when her mother entered hastily.
"Come with me, darling, to visit poor old Mrs Donaldson. She is not
very well, I hear."
Flo required no second bidding, for she was extremely fond of the
keeper's mother--and love needs no persuasion.
As we have said, Mrs Donaldson's little cottage stood behind that of
her son Ivor. It was very small, consisting of only one apartment with
a box bed and a few articles of old furniture, the most cherished of
which was a little clock with a staring face, and a poor landscape on
it.
"What caused the bruise, Maggie?" asked Mrs Gordon, after much talk on
the subject of fomentations and bandages. The old woman hesitated to
tell, but after a little pressing she said, in half apologetic
tone,--"Weel, mem, it was na Ivor's fau't, but the day before yesterday
he cam in--fou--ye ken he's fond o' his glass, mem, an' he was swingin'
aboot his airms, poor falla, an' withoot the least intention, his haund
cam doon wi' sik a ding on my heed that knockit me doon. But he kens na
aboot it, so ye'll no speak o't to him--or to the laird."
"You may depend upon it, poor Maggie, that I will not. My mentioning it
could do no good. And, as you say, Ivor was not quite himself at the
time."
"Thank'ee, mem, that's just it. An' he's the best sons to me--_whan
he's sober_."
Soon afterwards a shout outside told that the sportsmen had returned
from the hills, so, bidding the old woman good-bye, Mrs Gordon and her
sympathetic child returned to the house.