IN TIGER LAND
The tiger in India--His reputation--Wounded tigers--Man-eaters--Game
killers and cattle thieves--A tiger's residence--Chance
meetings--Methods of tiger hunting--Beating with elephants--Sitting
up--A sportsman's patience--The charm of a night watch--A cautious
beast--A night over a kill--An unexpected visitor--A tantalising
tiger--A tiger at Asirgarh--A chance shot--Buffaloes as
trackers--Panthers--The wrong prey--A beat for tiger--The Colonel wounds
a tiger--A night march--An elusive quarry--A successful beat--A watery
grave--Skinning a tiger.
Would any book on India be complete without a tiger in it? Although he
is found in many other Asiatic countries--in China they shoot him in
caves, in Corea there is a whole militia raised to deal with him--yet in
the popular mind the tiger is particularly associated with Hindustan. No
distinguished visitor would consider himself properly entertained if one
were not provided for him to shoot. The young subaltern in England pines
for the day to come when he will be ordered to India and have his chance
to face the striped beast in his native jungle.
The usual conception of the tiger is an animal of infinite cunning,
cruelty and ferocity. Cunning he certainly is; but his reputation for
ferocity and courage is hardly deserved. He is really rather a harmless
and timid creature, of a decidedly shy and retiring disposition,
avoiding, rather than courting, notoriety. Sanderson, one of the
greatest authorities on sport in India, argues that the tiger is
actually a public benefactor, inasmuch as he kills off old and sick
cattle which, since the pious Hindu would not put them to death, would
otherwise linger on spreading disease among the herds. Natives, near
whose village a tiger takes up his residence, betray no fear of him and
go about their daily avocations in his vicinity as indifferently as if
he did not exist. I have seen women drawing water from a stream not a
hundred yards from the spot where half an hour later I drove a tiger
from his lair. For, except in rare cases, these animals prefer to give
man a wide berth, and, when stumbled upon accidentally, will usually
effect a rapid retreat if they can. Of course a wounded tiger followed
up is an exceedingly dangerous foe. Furious with pain, exhausted and in
agony, he will turn savagely on his pursuers; and then a quick eye and
steady rifle are needed to check him in his fierce charge. Even shot
through the heart he may retain sufficient vitality to reach and maul
his aggressor, then perhaps fall dead on his mangled victim without
killing him outright. But few men wounded by a tiger ever recover; for
the shock and the blood-poisoning set up by the unclean claws of the
carrion feeder are almost invariably fatal.
The man-eater is, fortunately, rare; for, having once learned how easy a
prey human beings prove, he is apt to devote himself too exclusively to
them; and the total of his victims soon mounts up into the hundreds. The
man-eater is made, not born. Sometimes it is an old beast no longer
agile enough to surprise the animals of the forest or even bring down a
stray cow, but still supple enough to spring upon some unwary
wood-cutter or villager. Natives believe that human flesh disagrees with
a tiger's digestion, and point in proof to the mangy state of most
man-eaters' hides. But the reason of this is that the animal is
generally old or sick. Sometimes, however, the tiger who takes to the
slaughter of human beings is a young and vigorous beast. He has probably
some time or other been disturbed over a kill or foiled in an attempt to
carry off cattle by some rashly courageous individual, and in anger or
the desperation of hunger has slain the intruder. Finding that after all
man is not a formidable enemy and quite palatable, he continues to prey
on him and in time almost devastates a whole district. He becomes a
public character and attracts more attention than he likes. Government
gazettes honour him with a notice proclaiming him. A price is set on his
head. White men come from all sides to hunt him down; and the
unfortunate animal knows no peace until a lucky bullet lays him low.
Scared natives regard him as an evil spirit and set up altars to him.
And yet it is extraordinary how indifferent the inhabitants of a
district ravaged by a man-eater become to his presence. I have seen a
postman jog-trotting along night after night on a road on which two men
had been killed and eaten by a tiger the week before. The man's
ridiculous little spear and bells would have been no protection against
the Striped Death springing on him out of the darkness; but he had his
living to make. His orders were to carry the mail-bag along that stretch
of road every night; so with true Oriental fatalism he jogged on,
seemingly indifferent to the chances of an unlucky meeting.
The man-eater being an exception, tigers may be classified as game
slayers and cattle killers. Those haunting a jungle where _sambhur_,
_cheetul_, pig and small antelopes abound take their toll of them. A
monkey is quite a delicate morsel, if they can catch an unwary _bunder_
on the ground or fetch him from a low bough by an unexpected spring.
Those that take up their residence in cultivated country usually prey on
the cattle grazing in the scrub jungle near the villages. A tiger
generally rules over a stretch of ground about five miles square and
keeps strictly within his own domain. Any intruder of his own sex is
speedily ejected. But it is a curious fact that when a tiger is shot,
another quickly appears and takes up his abode in the defunct animal's
dominions. A certain patch of jungle, a particular _nullah_, may be the
residence of a tiger which is known to be the only one for miles round.
But if he is killed his habitat is almost certain of another striped
tenant very soon.
The game slayer is not often seen, living as he does in the heart of the
jungle and prowling mostly by night. The cattle lifter levies
contributions from the villages in his district in turn, usually killing
a cow every two or three days. He takes up his residence for the time
being near the carcass in some shady spot close to water. He eats about
sixty or eighty pounds of beef at his first meal, goes to drink and lies
up during the day to digest his heavy meal, returning at night to feed
again. If any villager happens to blunder in on his privacy during his
siesta, he gives a low, warning growl which usually suffices to scare
the intruder off. The natives pay little heed to him and go about their
usual pursuits without heeding his proximity.
On my first introduction to the jungle--it was in the Central Provinces
years ago--I had a wholesome respect for tigers. When I learned that one
lived in the particular part of the forest where I went shooting, I used
to feel anything but comfortable as I wandered about in search of
_sambhur_. I marvelled at the unconcerned way in which even women and
children traversed this jungle from village to village. One day I
climbed down into a deep, narrow ravine in the hope of finding a stag
sheltering in it from the unpleasantly hot sun. Suddenly from a clump of
bushes above my head came a deep "Wough! wough!" like the bark of a
great dog; and a tiger crashed out of it and bounded up and over the
edge of the _nullah_. I swung my rifle round; but he was out of sight
before the butt touched my shoulder. My _shikaree_ (native hunter) cried
"Bagh! Bagh! (A tiger! a tiger!)" and rushed up past me after the
vanished animal. Rather unwillingly I clambered up too; and I was
decidedly relieved when, on emerging from the ravine, I found that the
ground was covered with grass six feet high, so that pursuit of the
tiger was hopeless. However, on calmly considering the matter
afterwards, I came to the conclusion that the beast was even more afraid
of me than I of him. So I devoted much time and attention to trying to
meet him again. Many a night did I sit up for him over a cow tied up as
a bait. Time after time I followed his footprints by day and tried to
walk him up near the carcass of some deer he had killed and half-eaten.
But never again did I see him.
A few months ago in the Kanera Forests I was wandering about one
afternoon, shot-gun in hand, in search of jungle fowl for the pot,
about half a mile from the Government _dak_ bungalow--or rest-house--in
which I was staying. I was making my way along a narrow path. Just as I
reached a spot where it came out on a small clearing in the forest, I
heard some heavy animal forcing its way through the undergrowth about
forty yards to my left. I stepped out into the open and looked in the
direction from whence came the sound, which stopped as soon as I
appeared. I stood still for a couple of minutes. Suddenly a tiger, which
had evidently been watching me, gave a deep roar and crashed off through
the thick jungle. It was useless to try to follow him up even if I had
had a rifle instead of a shot-gun. The setting sun warned me that I must
hurry home; so I continued on my way. Two hundred yards further on the
path led down into a narrow _nullah_ with steep banks. Here I found the
fresh prints of the tiger's paws in the mud, the water just oozing into
them. Had I come along a few minutes earlier we would have met face to
face in the narrow way; and the chances were that, in his hurry to
escape, he would have charged me and knocked me down. And a blow from a
tiger's paw is not a caress to be courted. But the two incidents will
show that these animals are generally anxious to avoid men.
Native _shikarees_ frequently sit up over water for tigers; but European
sportsmen usually adopt one of the three following methods. The first
and most effective is to shoot them from elephants; but this does not
often fall to the lot of the average man. I was fortunate in having the
opportunity in Buxa. The second method is to mark down where the animal
is lying up after a kill and have him driven by a line of beaters to
the spot where the sportsman is concealed.
In the Central Provinces I went out one day with a friend who had
arranged such a beat for a tiger which had killed a cow tied up as a
bait for him near a village. After a ten miles' drive we reached this
village; and, having had an early start, we breakfasted under a tree on
a hillock just above a long _nullah_ which seamed the bare, brown fields
with a winding line of green. Below us the hundred and sixty coolies
collected as beaters squatted and smoked until the Sahibs were ready.
Just as we had finished our meal, a cow burst out of the jungle in the
_nullah_ and dashed in among the groups of men. They caught her and
became very excited over her. We could see them crowding round her,
talking volubly. Then the cow was led up to us; and we found that she
was bleeding from a wound in the throat. All down her flanks and rump
ran long scratches as if from the claws of a monster cat. This told us
plainly that the tiger we were in quest of was still in the _nullah_ and
that the cow had stumbled on him unawares. The tiger had evidently tried
to seize it but, gorged with his night's meal, missed the fatal
neck-breaking spring and, as the cow fled, struck out and clawed it
behind.
The coolies cried "Wah! wah! the _shaitan's_ (devil's) last day has
dawned. See how the cow has come straight to the Sahib's feet to show
her wounds and claim justice!" I am afraid the animal's bovine
intelligence was not equal to this, but, in terror, she was only making
for her village and safety.
We waited under our tree until the day was at its hottest, so that the
tiger, when driven, would be all the more reluctant to face the burning
sun in the open and would retreat along the _nullah_ in the shade; for
where the ravine forked off in two branches _machans_, strong wooden
platforms, had been built for us up in the trees, one commanding each
branch. We took a short cut across the open in the terrific heat. The
pitiless sun beat down on us as we walked over the shadeless fields, and
seemed to boil the brains in our skulls. It was a relief to reach the
_nullah_ and the cool shelter of the trees in it. We climbed up into our
respective _machans_, which were about a mile away from where the
beaters were to begin the drive. I could see my friend perched up in his
tree across the bank dividing his branch of the _nullah_ from mine. This
bank was covered with undergrowth from which sprang a line of trees. In
these a number of _langurs_--the big grey apes with black faces
surrounded by a fringe of white whisker, which gives them a comic
resemblance to aged negroes, a resemblance increased by their white
eyebrows--were playing. They came to look at us, leaping from bough to
bough, stooping and craning their necks to see us as we sat hidden by
the leafy screens around our _machans_. Then, their curiosity satisfied,
they continued their play and swung through the branches away in the
direction of the beaters. For a couple of hours I sat drowsing in the
intense heat. The silence was profound. Suddenly loud cries, the
drumming of tom-toms, and the tapping of sticks against tree-trunks,
told me that the drive had begun. I looked to my rifle and sat ready.
The noise drew nearer; every nerve in my body was aquiver. Then in the
tree-tops pandemonium broke loose. The _langurs_ were coming back
towards us, leaping from branch to branch, shrieking, chattering with
rage at something moving along beneath them. It was evidently the tiger,
their foe as well as ours, which was trying to steal away silently
before the beaters. The apes seemed to know his design and to be
endeavouring to foil him. I really believe that they realised that our
presence boded no good to him; for several looked at me as much as to
say:
"Here he is. He is trying to escape. We won't let him creep off
unnoticed."
I had read of this extraordinary behaviour on the part of monkeys during
a beat in Captain Forsyth's interesting book, "The Highlands of Central
India"; but I could scarcely credit it. But now I saw these _langurs_
following the tiger's progress and shrieking abuse down at him. He
seemed to be coming straight for me; and my heart rejoiced. But suddenly
from the change of direction of the apes I saw that he had turned,
crossed the dividing bank, and was going down the other _nullah_. Then I
heard a deep short growl; and at the same moment my friend's rifle went
up to his shoulder and he fired. Mad with excitement and furious at
being unable to see what was happening, I did a very foolish thing. I
slipped down from my tree and dashed through the undergrowth to the
brink of the _nullah_. I saw the tiger rush across the narrow ravine and
spring up the opposite bank, which was higher than the one on which I
stood. Near the top his strength seemed to fail him. He clung on
desperately, unable to pull himself up. My friend fired again; and the
brute, struck in the foreleg, dropped back into the _nullah_. He rolled
over and over in agony, biting at his paws and tearing them with his
teeth. I fired at his shoulder. Even then he rolled about for a few
minutes; and then his head fell back, his frame stiffened and he lay
still.
The shot drew my friend's attention to me; for he had not noticed me on
the ground. He shouted angrily:
"Go back, you fool. Get up your tree. There is a second tiger in the
beat."
I well deserved his uncomplimentary epithet; for, had the first animal
sprung up the low bank on which I stood we would have met face to face.
I hurriedly scrambled up again and sat with my rifle ready, until I saw
first one man, then another and another, appear in the _nullah_; and
finally the whole line of beaters reached us. There had been a tigress
in the drive as well; but she had broken out to one side. She passed a
tree in which a man had been placed as a "stop"; but, although he flung
his _puggri_ in her face, she was not to be turned, and escaped out over
the fields. I climbed down again and cautiously approached the tiger,
keeping my rifle ready lest there might be some life in him still. I
have known a sportsman to walk up to an apparently dead tiger and pull
its tail, to be laid low the next moment by a blow from the animal's
paw. Some of our coolies threw stones at the body; and as these elicited
no response I walked up to the beast and found it dead. As the natives
try to steal the whiskers, which they believe to have a certain magical
power, I mounted guard until a litter had been made from cut branches to
convey the tiger to the village for skinning. Arrived there the local
flayers were set to work. The dead brute looked the embodiment of
strength; and I marvelled at the masses of muscle the knives disclosed
in the thick limbs. The first bullet had struck behind the shoulder; and
when the carcass was cut open we found a hole the size of a florin right
through the heart. Yet even with this wound the animal had been able to
dash across the _nullah_ and spring up the bank. It showed that a tiger
shot through the heart could reach and kill a man before falling dead
itself. The other wounds were in the foreleg and ribs. The natives did
not leave a scrap of flesh on the bones. For it and certain parts of the
tiger are supposed to endow anyone who eats them with courage and
vigour; and crowds of women came to carry off their husbands' share of
the meat. The fat--such layers of it, white and firm, on the well-fed
cattle thief--is boiled down for oil, which is considered a sovereign
remedy for rheumatism. The skin was pegged out, hair downwards, on the
ground and scraped clean, then covered with wood ashes. And the last
stage of the proceedings consisted in the beaters being assembled and
paid their wages--fourpence a man. Had the drive been unsuccessful, they
would have only received twopence each. It seems little reward for
disturbing a sleeping tiger; but the coolies were quite satisfied.
The cause of the _langurs_ rage was evident when a beater brought us the
half-eaten body of one of their number which he had found near the spot
where the tiger had been sleeping. My friend told me that he was able to
mark the brute's progress through the undergrowth by the movements of
the apes above him. The tiger had come out from the cover into the clear
bed of the _nullah_ with his head turned over his shoulder glaring up at
them in anger. And the deep growl I had heard was uttered against these
betrayers of his flight.
This is a fair example of the second method of tiger shooting. But
neither it nor the first are possible in very dense forest; and then
"sitting up" must be tried. This consists of tying up a cow near a
_nullah_ or patch of jungle in which the tiger is suspected or known to
be. If he kills and eats part of it, a _machan_ is built in a tree close
to the carcass and concealed by a tree of leafy branches. On this the
sportsman takes up his position in the afternoon and tries to shoot the
tiger when he returns to feed on the kill at dusk or later on moonlight
nights. Sometimes he is obliged to wait till dawn. This is the method
which least often proves effective. It is particularly tantalising and
demands the patience of a Job. From about 4 p.m. to 6 a.m. the hunter
must sit still in a cramped position. He scarcely dares to move his
limbs, must make no noise, cannot smoke; if he has brought food with him
he must consume it quietly. The dead cow, specially in the hot weather,
offends his nostrils with a terrible stench. And thus, sickened by the
awful odour, tormented by mosquitoes, he must sit through the night,
every sense on the alert. He dare not drowse, for he cannot tell at what
moment the quarry may appear. And the tiger is a cautious beast. If he
does return to the kill, he will generally prowl around for some time
before approaching it; and if he scents the waiting man in the tree
above or anything arouses his suspicions, he will melt away without a
sound into the darkness, leaving the hunter's vigil unrewarded.
Yet sitting up is not without its charm. While daylight lasts it is
interesting to watch the carrion feeders hastening to snatch a mouthful
of the feast Chance has provided for them, always on the alert lest the
rightful owner of the banquet should suddenly appear. High overhead a
dim speck is seen against the sky. It grows larger and clearer, sinks
down and, wheeling in great circles, reveals itself as a vulture.
Another and another follow and, gradually descending, perch on the trees
around. An impudent grey-headed crow pushes in before them and alights
close to the dead cow. Then hopping on to the carcass it cocks its head
impertinently at the less courageous vultures and begins to dig its beak
into the putrid flesh. The big birds flop heavily to the ground and with
much rustling of wings, shoving, hustling, angry squawks and vicious
pecks at each other, begin their meal. But up fly the birds as a couple
of jackals make their appearance and slink furtively to the kill. While
they feed they look around apprehensively and start at every sound. The
vultures flap over towards the dead cow again and demand their share of
the good things that Chance has provided. The jackals snarl and snap at
them, driving them off with short rushes. But suddenly they bolt
themselves, as a dozen fox-like little beasts with reddish skins, sharp
ears and handsome brushes trot up to the kill. These are the dreaded
wild dogs which decimate the game in the jungle. They hungrily tear at
the flesh, quarrelling and snapping at each other, ready to fly if the
tiger appears. If the carcass is near water a white-and-black,
long-legged bird is certain to be hovering about, crying plaintively and
incessantly: "Did he do it? Did he--did he--did he do it?" until the
exasperated watcher in the tree longs to shoot him. Then the sun sets,
the noises of the day sink into silence; but the jungle wakes.
In the forest below Buxa lived a very large tiger which vexed my soul
exceedingly. Generations of commanding officers had pursued him in vain;
and the task was handed down as a legacy from each to his successor for
years. Fired at once, and possibly wounded, over a live cow tied up as
bait, he was never to be tempted to approach another. Inspired to
compass his death by the impressions of his huge paws, which I often
found in the sand of river-beds, I had three cows tied up for weeks in
different _nullahs_. In the daytime a man whom I employed for the
purpose took them to graze and water and fastened them up again before
dark. At first I used to sit up in a tree over one or other of them
night after night without result. Then I resolved to wait until he had
killed one. It was equally fruitless. For, although his "pugs" or
footprints, were often to be traced coming up the _nullah_ and diverging
towards the cow tied up in it, they always showed that he had turned
abruptly and made off as soon as he discovered the nature of the bait.
At last one day news was brought to me that he had killed a _sambhur_
hind in the forest. As it was just at full moon, I gave orders that a
_machan_ should be built in a tree near the carcass. Leaving the fort
early in the afternoon I descended into the jungle and reached the spot
about 6 p.m. when there was still some daylight. I found that the
_sambhur_ had been killed in a _nullah_ a hundred yards off while
drinking, and had been dragged by the tiger over the top of an almost
perpendicular bank, up which I found it necessary to pull myself by my
hands, and then over a small and steep hill. As a full-grown hind
stands thirteen hands high and weighs five hundred pounds or more, this
gives one some idea of a tiger's strength. The jungle here consisted of
high trees with little undergrowth. As it was now the hot season when
most of the leaves are shed, I noticed with satisfaction that the ground
around below my _machan_ would be well lighted when the moon rose. My
orderly and two sturdy-limbed Bhuttia coolies were up in a tree over the
kill, tying an inverted _charpoy_, or native bed (which makes the best
and most comfortable _machan_) in a fork, and hanging leafy branches
around it to screen it from sight. I climbed up and tried to enter it.
It was awkwardly placed and overhung me. I succeeded in getting my chest
on the edge, when the rotten framework broke and nearly precipitated me
to the earth, thirty feet below. I managed to save myself and sat
astride a branch while one of the coolies cut a few bamboos from a clump
close by and repaired the damage. Then I got into the _machan_, laid a
packet of sandwiches and my Thermos flask beside me, loaded my rifle
and, sending my orderly and the Bhuttias away, settled myself for my
lonely vigil. I amused myself at first by watching the birds preparing
for the night. A troop of monkeys came to drink in the neighbouring
_nullah_ and passed overhead, leaping through the branches, hurling
themselves from tree to tree, chasing each other in play or pausing now
and then for a comfortable scratch. Mothers with tiny babies clinging
closely to them sprang across the voids and swung themselves by hand or
foot. A peacock sailed down majestically from the tree-tops to the water
and gave its weird cat-like cry. The heavy flapping of wings and an
eerie wail told of a big owl bestirring itself early. The harsh "honk"
of a _sambhur_ stag rang out; and the sharp bark of a _khakur_ sounded
at regular intervals. The sun sank lower and the twittering of the birds
faded into silence. The drone of the multitudinous insect-life,
unceasing in the day, yet only heard plainly at the hour when the louder
sounds of larger life are hushed, seemed to rise now with startling
distinctness. But even it died; and only the irritating hum of the
mosquitoes around my head was left to break the complete silence. The
air was still; and the sudden fall of a withered leaf seemed to echo
clearly through the hushed forest. There was yet daylight in the sky;
but a dusky gloom deepened under the trees. I lay down on the _charpoy_,
peering through my leafy screen at the dead hind. My rifle was uncocked
beside me, for I judged the hour too early for the tiger's visit; and I
stretched myself at full length to rest before it would be necessary to
sit upright with every sense alert for my long watch. Suddenly I was
roused by the sound of loud footfalls to my rear passing over the dry
leaves which crackled like tin to the tread. They came without
hesitation towards my tree; and I thought angrily that it could only be
one of my coolies returning to me contrary to orders. Without moving my
body I turned my head around at the risk of dislocating my neck,
intending to bid him in a loud whisper to go away. To my astonishment,
instead of a man, I made out in the gloom of the underwood a huge bulk
that I first took to be a baby elephant. Thirty yards away from my tree
it stopped; and I saw that it was a large Himalayan bear, which looked
immense to me after the smaller species of the Central Provinces.
Fearful of scaring it I lay still in my constrained position. It stood
motionless and seemed to be staring up at my _machan_. I hurriedly
debated the question whether I ought to take a shot at it and give up
all hope of the tiger, whom the sound would alarm, or let it go and wait
for the greater prize. I decided on the latter course and simply watched
it. Suddenly it turned and walked away as noisily as it had come. This
surprised me; for I had imagined that wild animals tried to move
silently through the forest. But the bear is indifferent to the other
jungle dwellers; he does not fear the ferocious beasts nor attack the
harmless ones.
As soon as it had gone I glanced at my watch which showed 6-40 p.m. I
sat up, cocked my rifle, and held it across my knees. The daylight died
away in the swift oncoming of the tropic night; but the full moon shone
overhead and cast the tangled pattern of leaves and branches on the
ground. For hours I sat, scarcely daring to change my position or move
my cramped limbs. Suddenly from the direction of the _nullah_ where the
deer had been killed came the tramping of some heavy animal over the dry
leaves towards me. The tiger at last! One touch of the hand to assure
myself that my rifle was cocked and I sat motionless, though the beating
of my heart sounded loud in my ears. Few sportsmen, after long hours of
waiting, can hear the approach of their quarry without a quickened
pulse. The brute walked straight towards the kill. In another second it
must emerge into the full glare of the moonlight. Stealthily I raised my
rifle to my shoulder. Alas! just as one step more would have brought it
out from under the black shadows of the trees, the tiger stopped. For
minutes that seemed hours it remained motionless. Then it moved back so
silently that only the sharp crackle of a dry twig farther away told me
that the animal had gone. What had aroused its suspicions I cannot tell.
Perhaps it had scented me up in the tree or detected the recent presence
of humans around its kill. Cursing its cunning, I uncocked my rifle and
stretched my cramped limbs. It was then half-past eleven. I was strongly
tempted to lie down and sleep; but I knew that the tiger _might_ return.
So I continued my watch. It is in the small hours that the vigil becomes
hardest. About half-past three in the morning I was nodding drowsily,
when again from the _nullah_ I heard the sound of the animal
approaching. His tread seemed even more assured than before; and I made
certain of getting him. But once more, just within the shadow, he
paused. I strained my ears but could detect no sound. Another few
minutes of anxious waiting; and then gradually, almost imperceptibly, he
withdrew. This was the climax. I showered maledictions on his head. I
had to wait until after six o'clock before one of my elephants came to
take me on a long day's shoot in the jungle. Before quitting the spot I
searched the ground and found the tiger's two trails leading up from the
_nullah_.
The sportsman who tries his luck in "sitting up" must be prepared for
many disappointments. He may watch night after night and never once see
his quarry. He may select an evening when the moon is full, only to find
clouds come up and obscure its light; and then, in the unforeseen
darkness, he may be tantalised by hearing the tiger come to feed on the
kill, may listen for an hour to the tearing of flesh and the crunching
of bones and be utterly unable to get a shot. The adjutant of my
regiment, Captain Hore, once paid us a visit at Buxa and went shooting
in our jungles. On his first day he came across the carcass of a
_sambhur_ killed the previous day by a tiger. So he had a canvas chair
tied up in a tree over it and climbed up to wait in it for the slayer to
return. Before daylight faded he saw some wild pigs come and feed on the
kill. But just as the moon rose they fled hurriedly; and he heard some
large animal moving in the jungle close by. It prowled cautiously around
in cover near the carcass for over two hours, but would not show itself.
Meantime heavy clouds drew across the sky, blotting out the moon and
shrouding the forest in impenetrable darkness. Suddenly Hore heard the
prowling tiger leave the cover at last. It sprang out on the carcass as
though the _sambhur_ were alive and tore and rent it furiously. The
sound of bones cracked to an accompaniment of snarls and growls came
clearly to the watcher above; but the darkness was opaque. At last, in
desperation, he fired in the direction of the noise but missed; and the
tiger bolted. And the next moment, as though the shot had been the
signal for the storm, a vivid flash of lightning rent the clouds, a
terrific peal of thunder sounded overhead, the sky seemed to open and
pour down sheets of rain. Hore's position was unenviable. The so-called
waterproof he had with him was wet through in a few minutes. He could
not put his rifle away from him, yet feared lest it should attract the
lightning. It was hopeless to descend and try to find his way through
the forest in the darkness. And so through the weary night, exposed to
all the fury of a tropical storm, he was obliged to sit shivering in
his chair, forty feet above the ground. And to add to his annoyance the
tiger, evidently confusing the flash and report of the shot with the
lightning and thunder, returned and fed on the kill again, while Hore on
his uncomfortable perch listened, powerless. And when at six o'clock in
the morning one of my elephants came to fetch him, it was a very sodden,
chilled, and miserable individual that climbed from the tree on to its
pad. But not disheartened he ordered the _mahout_, instead of returning
to Buxa, to take him for a wide sweep through the jungle in the hope of
shooting something to console him for the night's disappointment. The
storm had ceased. Within a mile he came upon a herd of six bison with a
splendid old bull among them. But the rules of the forest department
prohibit their being shot in Government jungle; and so the again baffled
sportsman was forced to let them go unscathed, while they stared at him
and his elephant for several minutes before they moved away.
Once during the rainy season at Asirgarh I was sitting up over the
carcass of a white cow in what should have been brilliant moonlight. But
heavy clouds gathered; and soon all I could see of the kill was a faint
whitish glimmer. Suddenly this was blotted out, and I heard a crunching
of bones and tearing of flesh. I could not see my sights, but I fired in
the direction of the sounds. A terrific howl followed by fiendish
shrieks and groans told me that I had hit a tiger. I heard him rush off
thirty or forty yards and throw himself on the ground, where he rolled
in agony, tearing up the earth and sending the stones rattling down into
a small _nullah_ beside which he lay. I hoped that I was listening to
his dying moans; but he got up again and the groaning and snarling died
away in the distance. There was a village a mile off; so, giving the
tiger time to get well away, I climbed down and made for it. It was a
nerve-trying walk in the darkness; for I feared every moment to stumble
on the wounded beast. However I reached shelter without encountering
him. I gave my _shikaree_ instructions to bid the cowherds of the
village be ready with their buffaloes at daybreak to track the tiger.
For these great black beasts are frequently used in this work. Their
instinct tells them that the tiger is the enemy of their race; and they
regard him with savage hatred. In a herd they do not fear him; for the
hungriest cattle thief will not dare to attack a number of them which
form round the calves and present to him an impenetrable front of
lowered heads and sharp horns. On their backs the small children of the
village who drive them to and from the grazing ground are safe. When a
sportsman employs them to track a wounded tiger, the herds take them to
a point where they can scent his trail. As soon as they have smelt it,
they paw up the earth and bellow with rage, then dash off in pursuit. If
they come on him lying up wounded and sore under a tree, they will
charge him if allowed to. And no tiger would dare to face their savage
onslaught; for little avails his strength and cunning against the fierce
rush of the infuriated beasts. If he is not too badly hurt, he will
invariably fly before their attack. If not, then must the sportsman
shoot quick and the herds exert all their authority to keep the
buffaloes back; for, if left to themselves, they will rush in on the
tiger, gore him and stamp him to death under their hoofs. And the skin
will be of little use as a trophy when they are allowed to work their
will on the battered carcass.
Having given my orders, I slept in the local police station on a
_charpoy_ lent me by the _havildar_, or sergeant, in charge. At daylight
my _shikaree_ woke me and I went out to find about twenty buffaloes
collected. They were driven out to the kill. The sight of the dead cow
enraged them. They bellowed and stamped, then snuffing up the trail set
off at a run across the fields like a pack of hounds. They soon tracked
the tiger into the jungle. They crashed through the undergrowth, now and
then at fault, but questing round until they picked up the trail again.
They followed it up for two or three miles and finally lost it in broken
and precipitous ground among the low hills. My _shikaree_ assured me
that it was useless to search further, as the tiger could not have been
badly wounded and was certain to have retreated to a great distance. To
my regret I let myself be persuaded; for, a few days after, the sight of
vultures gathering from all quarters led to the discovery of the tiger's
body not half a mile from where we had left off. But the carcass was
putrid and half-eaten, so the skin was useless.
But shooting on chance in the dark is not always productive of the
desired result. Once when sitting up on a cloudy night for a panther, I
discharged my rifle at some animal which I could hear, but could not
see, at the kill. A pandemonium of shrieks and yells told me that by
good luck my bullet had gone home. I waited for silence, and then,
having reloaded, climbed down and cautiously approached. But to my
disappointment, instead of the dead panther which I had hoped to find,
there lay the corpse of a loathsome hyena. On another occasion when
sitting up in the middle of a village for a daring leopard which used to
enter it at night and kill the cattle in their pens, I shot a mangy
pariah dog in the dark.
A panther is a much bolder animal than a tiger. He generally returns to
his kill earlier, often in broad daylight. I have seen one come out,
five minutes after my coolies had left, from some bushes in which he had
evidently been watching them. Even when shot at and missed or slightly
wounded they will return the same night to a kill. And sometimes one has
been known to discover the waiting sportsman in the _machan_ first and
spring up the tree to attack him unprovoked. So that sitting up for
these animals is not without its risks.
The method of shooting tiger from elephants undoubtedly gives the best
sport. Seventeen miles from Buxa Fort the great forest ends abruptly.
From its ragged edge, five miles above the town of Alipur Duar, the
cultivated plains stretch away to the south, seamed with _nullahs_ which
run from inside the jungle through the open fields. They are generally
deep and filled with low trees and scrub, and as they contain water form
ideal bases of operation for a tiger issuing from the forest to carry on
war against herds of cattle in the villages. The striped thief can lie
up within a few hundred yards of a farm and kill the cows when they come
to drink. If disturbed, he can retreat up the _nullah_ to the shelter of
the forest. Consequently the stretch of ground just outside the south
border of the Terai Jungle is full of tigers.
During a visit from our Colonel to Buxa for his annual inspection I
received an invitation from Mr Ainslie, the Subdivisional Officer of
Alipur Duar, to bring my elephants and join him in a beat for a cattle
thief which was lying up in a _nullah_ three or four miles from the
town. At that time I had only Khartoum and Dundora; as Jhansi had run
away to the forest after being attacked by a wild elephant and had been
missing for months. However, on our arrival, we found Ainslie had
collected seven; so that we had nine altogether. This number was not a
great one; but we hoped that it would suffice. Mrs Ainslie was to
accompany us; for she was a great sportswoman and had shot five tigers
herself, as well as various panthers, bears and bison. We started out in
the early morning, crossed the railway line, forded a river--which each
elephant carefully sounded with its trunk--and reached the _nullah_ in
which the tiger was reported to be lurking. It was broad and dry, filled
with scrub and low trees. Ainslie took the Colonel in his howdah; and
Mrs Ainslie shared mine. Taking up our positions on the bank we sent the
beater elephants half a mile further on to drive towards us. At a signal
from Ainslie the beat began. The elephants formed line across the
_nullah_ and advanced, forcing their way through the jungle. An
occasional squeal from one of them when the _mahout_ struck it on the
head for shirking a particularly thorny bit of scrub, the cries of the
men and the crashing of the huge beasts through the jungle as they
trampled down the undergrowth and broke off branches from the trees,
made din enough to scare anything. It soon proved too much for the
tiger's nerves. My _mahout_ had carelessly allowed his elephant to draw
back from the edge of the steep bank. I saw a sudden flash of yellow as
the tiger darted through the scrub along under the overhanging brink in
such a way that he was sheltered from my rifle. But I shouted a warning
to the others, who were posted farther down where the bank sloped less
steeply. The Colonel fired and wounded the beast, which dashed up the
bank and received a bullet from Ainslie before it was lost to sight in
the high grass on the level. The beater elephants emerged from the
_nullah_, surrounded it, and drove it in again. They endeavoured to send
it to us; but the tiger refused to face the guns a second time and broke
through their line, my orderly, Draj Khan, hurling a heavy stick at it
and hitting it as it flashed past his elephant. We tried for it again
lower down, several times, but without success.
While we were thus engaged it seemed strange to see the mail train pass
on the railway line not half a mile from us, driver, guard, and
passengers leaning out to look at us. Leaving the _nullah_ we ranged
through the long grass on the level and put up a number of wild pigs,
the Colonel shooting a fine old boar with long tusks as sharp as knives.
Having heard that a panther was supposed to be lying up in another
_nullah_ a couple of miles away, we took our elephants there and tried a
beat for it. This time the howdah bearers advanced along the bank in
line with the beaters, spaced across the _nullah_, which was fairly
open, with patches of scrub here and there in it. We were unsuccessful
in finding the panther but were afforded an excellent example of the
terror with which elephants regard tiny, harmless animals. Over some
bushes in front of me I caught a glimpse of a hare running through them
down into the _nullah_. Its course brought it right across the line of
beaters. Then these huge beasts, which had just faced a wounded tiger
unmoved, went mad at the sight of it. All trumpeted shrilly, some
planted their forefeet firmly and refused to advance, others turned and
stampeded, despite the heavy blows showered on them with the iron
_ankus_ by the enraged _mahouts_. I saw Ainslie and the Colonel, unable
to discover the cause of the disturbance, stand up in their howdah,
clutching their rifles and looking everywhere for the charging panther,
which they imagined must have scared the elephants.
One afternoon in Buxa I received a telegram from Ainslie telling me to
be with him early next morning as a tiger had killed in his
neighbourhood that day. As Alipur Duar was twenty-two miles away it
behoved me to start at once and march through the night. So, filling my
Thermos flask and putting a loaf of bread and a tin of preserved meat
into my haversack, I shouldered my rifle and walked down the three miles
of steep road to Santrabari. Here I found the _mahouts_ and ordered them
to get the two elephants ready, Jhansi still being a deserter. I bade
them put the howdah on Dundora's back, as she was the steadier with a
charging tiger. We started off at once; but before we reached the
railway station at Buxa Road, darkness had fallen. My elephant stepped
out briskly with the swaying stride that is particularly trying in a
howdah, the occupant of which is shaken about like a pea on a drum. I
kept slipping off the hard wooden seat; so I tried standing up, holding
on to the front rail. This was almost worse; for if I forgot for a
moment to brace myself up with stiffened arms I was thrown against the
side. So for twenty-two miles I had to keep changing my position
continually and found it tiring work. Through the forest we lumbered on
without stopping. The night was dark. Fortunately, the road ran along
beside the railway line clear of the trees, which would otherwise have
swept the howdah off Dundora's back. Once or twice a wild elephant
trumpeted in the jungle, much to the alarm of our tame ones; so I kept
my rifle loaded, ready to drive off any we might meet. When I felt
hungry I opened the tin of meat and, as we went along, made a frugal
dinner, having to use my fingers as knife and fork, washing the food
down with water from my flask. The long march was extremely fatiguing;
but by daylight we were clear of the forest. Arrived at the _dak_
bungalow at Alipur Duar I found one of the officers of my regiment,
Major Burrard, who had come there on leave from headquarters at
Dibrugarh in Assam for a shoot. The Ainslies could not accompany us that
day, but had kindly lent us their four elephants. The kill was reported
to be in a _nullah_ about four miles away, close to the edge of the
forest. Burrard and I started for it at once. Our way lay over open bare
fields. Our elephants, as is their habit, persisted in tailing off in
single file, though a hundred could have marched abreast. Each kept
exactly in the footprints of the one in front of it. As we went along, I
noticed half a mile to our left a _nullah_ fringed with trees. In these,
or circling overhead, were a number of vultures. I remarked that every
now and then one would swoop down to the ground, only to rise again into
the air like a rocketting pheasant without alighting. They indicated
the presence of a dead animal; and I asked the _mahouts_ if our kill was
there. They answered that it was about a mile further on. I judged that
another cow must have been killed in this _nullah_; and from the fact
that the vultures did not dare to settle on it, I concluded that a tiger
must be in the immediate vicinity. So I directed my elephant towards the
spot. As we drew near I looked at the rows of bald-headed vultures,
those repulsive-looking scavengers of India, sitting on the branches.
Every few minutes one would fly down towards the ground and, without
settling, hurriedly shoot up again into the air. Cautiously approaching
the edge of the bank we found, as I expected, the carcass of a cow. We
skirted the bank but could not see the tiger, which was probably asleep
somewhere in the tangled scrub in the bottom of the _nullah_. So,
marking the spot for a visit next day, we went on our way. Arrived at
the place where the beat was to begin, we found another _nullah_ filled
with jungle, with bare, open ground stretching away on either side of
it. We took up our positions in it on our two howdah elephants and put
the beaters in farther down.
They came on the tiger lying asleep under a tree. He sprang up in alarm
and, instead of retreating along the _nullah_ towards us, rushed up the
bank and broke away over the open past a group of natives who had come
out from a farm close by to watch the hunt. As he was not fifty yards
from them, they were very scared. It must have been a fine sight to see
the big cat bounding across the bare plain until he reached and plunged
into a parallel _nullah_ a few hundred yards away. But we in the bottom
of our ravine saw or heard nothing of him until our beaters came up. We
searched the other _nullah_ for him in vain. He probably had not stopped
until he had reached the shelter of the forest.
That night, when dining with the Ainslies, our host told us of some
curious happenings in tiger hunts around Alipur Duar. A former
commandant was shooting one day on Dundora. Mrs Ainslie was in the
howdah with him. A tiger burst out of the jungle before the beat. The
officer fired and wounded it; but, hardly checking in its rush, it
dashed forward, being missed by another bullet, and sprang on to the
elephant's head. For a second it stood with its hind feet on Dundora's
skull, its forepaws on the front rail of the howdah. The officer dropped
his empty rifle and, seizing a second gun, shoved the muzzle against the
tiger's chest and fired. The brute fell back off the elephant, dead. The
whole incident had passed like a flash. The tiger had actually stood
right over the _mahout_ crouching on the neck; but the man, although he
found afterwards a long tear in the shoulder of his coat from the
animal's claw, was not touched. On another occasion a tiger was shot in
mid air as it sprang clean across a _nullah_, crumpled up and fell into
the stream at the bottom. When the sportsmen on their elephants reached
the edge of the bank, it was nowhere to be seen; and they concluded that
it must have escaped down the _nullah_. But a month afterwards a second
tiger was similarly shot in the middle of a spring and was seen from a
distance to fall into a stream in the _nullah_, try to struggle out of
the water and collapse beneath the surface. So the mystery of the first
one's disappearance was solved. It must have been lying under water at
the bottom of the _nullah_; but no one thought of looking for it there.
Next morning I came out on to the veranda of the _dak_ bungalow and
surveyed with pride the six elephants drawn up in line before me. On the
neck of each sat the _mahout_, who raised his hand to his forehead in a
salaam. Then at the word of command the six trunks were lifted into the
air and the elephants trumpeted in salute. As I looked at them I
murmured inwardly: "This day a tiger must die!"
We were to look for the animal that had killed the cow I had found the
previous morning. So Burrard and I made an early start and proceeded to
the spot I had marked. The _nullah_ was narrow, S-shaped, with almost
perpendicular banks fifteen feet high. A stream of water filled it from
bank to bank. On either side of it was thick scrub jungle and elephant
grass eight feet high. I stationed Burrard at one end of the S and took
up my position at the other about a hundred yards from him. My elephant
was back a little from the _nullah_, along the far bank of which the
tall, stiff grass stood like a wall. The beaters started a quarter of a
mile from us and drove through the scrub on the other side of the
_nullah_. A tiger, as a rule, begins to move at the first sound of the
beat; so I stood up in my howdah with my rifle cocked. I may mention
that shooting from an elephant, even when it is standing, is not easy,
for the animal is never still. It continually shifts its weight from
foot to foot, flaps its ears, moves its head and beats its sides or
chest with its trunk to drive off the flies.
The line of beaters advanced through the scrub with their usual din.
Now and then, under the tangled undergrowth, I caught a glimpse of my
orderly or a _mahout_. They drew nearer and nothing broke out of the
jungle in front of them. My heart sank when I saw them not a hundred
yards from me. But at that moment a number of small birds flew up from
the tall grass and I heard the sound of some heavy animal forcing its
way through the tough stems. I held my rifle ready to cover the spot.
The next instant I saw the head and shoulders of a large tiger push out
through the grass on the very brink of the _nullah_. Though the tall
stalks on my side almost concealed my elephant, the tiger saw me at once
and crouched for a spring. Its savage face was plainly visible, the
fierce eyes fastened on me, the snarling lips drawn back over the white
fangs, the bristling whiskers, all forming a fiendish mask appalling in
its cruel expression. I threw up the rifle to my shoulder, took a quick
aim and fired. The tiger started convulsively, sprang erect for an
instant, then plunged head foremost into the _nullah_ with stiffened
forelegs close to the body, as a man diving holds his arms straight by
his sides and hurls himself into the water. I was too far back from the
bank to see down to the bottom of the _nullah_; but suddenly the tiger
sprang convulsively straight into my view and then fell back again. The
_mahout_, shrouded by the high grass, had seen nothing of all this. I
shouted at him to urge Dundora forward to the edge of the _nullah_. From
the brink I peered down into it; but, to my intense disappointment, no
prostrate body of a tiger met my eyes. The banks were sheer; and I could
look up and down the _nullah_ for a hundred yards. I could not believe
that the brute had escaped. I was convinced that I had not missed him,
that my bullet had struck where I aimed, right between the shoulders, as
he crouched for the spring. It should have been a fatal shot; but the
tiger had vanished.
Suddenly Ainslie's stories of the previous night recurred to me. I
glanced down the stream and saw, twenty yards from where we stood, a
discoloured patch in the dark water. I had the elephant brought opposite
it. I stared hard until I believed that I could make out the outlines of
a tiger below the surface and see the stripes on the body. I pointed it
out to the _mahout_. He gazed unbelievingly for a moment, then gave vent
to an excited shout. The beaters had meantime reached the opposite bank
and were calling across to ask if I had hit the tiger. When we told them
where it was they laughed incredulously. I ordered Bechan to dismount
from Khartoum's neck and enter the stream. With the air of one who does
a ridiculous thing to please a fretful child, he slid down the bank and
walked into the water. Suddenly he yelled in terror and sprang for the
dry land. He had put his bare foot on the tiger's body. The animal was
lying dead in three feet of water. The others urged Bechan to go in
again; and with some trepidation he did so. Reaching down he lifted up
the tail and held the tip up above the surface. The other _mahouts_ and
my orderly shouted with joy, for it meant largesse to them, and jumped
in after Bechan. They moved the body easily to the edge of the water but
could not lift it up the bank. We called some coolies from huts close
by; and it took twenty men to raise the carcass up to the level.
[Illustration: THE TIGER'S LYING IN STATE.]
[Illustration: THE TIGER'S LAST HOME.]
The tiger was a fine young male in splendid condition, and measured nine
and a half feet from nose to tip of tail. After photographing it, we
brought the elephants in turn up to it as it lay on the ground and
encouraged them to smell and strike it. This is done to show them that
the animal is not a foe to be dreaded. We all had to help in lifting the
limp body on to Khartoum's back; for a well-grown tiger weighs nearly
three hundred and fifty pounds. It was fastened on to the pad with
ropes; and we started back in triumphal procession to Alipur Duar, where
the beast was flayed and the flesh scrambled for by the women of the
neighbourhood, who gathered like vultures. The skin was pegged out on
the grass to dry, before being sent to a taxidermist to be dressed and
mounted to adorn my bungalow.