A FOREST MARCH
Reasons for showing the flag--Soldierless Bengal--Planning
the march--Difficulties of transport--The first day's
march--Sepoys in the jungle--The water-creeper--The
commander loses his men--The bivouac at
Rajabhatkawa--Alipur Duar--A small Indian
Station--Long-delayed pay--The Sub-divisional
Officer--A _dak_ bungalow--The sub-judge--Brahmin
pharisees--The _nautch_--A dusty march--Santals--A
mission settlement--Crossing a river--Rafts--A bivouac
in a tea garden--A dinner-party in an 80-lb.
tent--Bears at night--A daring tiger--Chasing a tiger
on elephants--In the forest again--A fickle river--A
strange animal--The Maharajah of Cooch Behar's
experiment--A scare and a disappointment--Across the
Raidak--A woman killed by a bear--A planters'
club--Hospitality in the jungle--The zareba--Impromptu
sports--The Alarm Stakes--The raft
race--Hathipota--Jainti.
There is a tale told of the Indian Army in the good old days when
soldiering in peace time was an easy life and very different to what it
has now become. The story runs that a general order was published to the
effect that "Officers are forbidden to drill the men from the verandas
of their bungalows." For it was said that, attired in pyjamas, they
lounged comfortably in long chairs and shouted out the words of command
to their companies drilling on the parade ground in front of the
bungalows. But those delightful days have gone for ever. Despite what
democratic orators say, the British Army has become a professional one;
and soldiering in it is a strenuous existence. In India only the Rains,
when outdoor work is almost impossible, give rest to the hard-worked
officer and man. Musketry, field firing, company training, both winter
and summer, keep them fully employed until battalion training leads up
to the culminating point of the year--the brigade or divisional
manoeuvres, or both. And then it begins all over again. And this, mark
you, in a tropical climate!
Up to the rank of Colonel every officer must pass difficult examinations
for promotion to each successive grade. And generals and colonels sit on
the benches of class-rooms in the Schools of Musketry, and in their own
commands lecture, or listen to other officers lecturing, on military
subjects.
In the good old days I could have sat in my bungalow in Buxa Duar and
watched my sepoys drilling in the narrow limits of our small parade
ground. But nowadays too high a standard of efficiency is required from
the troops for this method of commanding to pass muster. So, for the
first month after our arrival, we scrambled up and down the steep
mountains, scaled precipices and fought our way through thorny jungle
practising hill warfare. Then I determined to take the detachment
farther afield, where the men could have more varied ground to work over
and learn something of jungle life. So I mapped out a ten days' march,
under war conditions, through the forest below. We should go out as a
self-contained force, like the little columns that are sent against the
savage tribes along our North-East Frontier. We should carry our own
supplies with us, find our own transport, move by day and bivouac at
night exactly as we should do in an enemy's country. As the route
selected would emerge into open country for a couple of days, the men
would have a change from jungle work.
I was influenced in my decision to march through the surrounding;
country and "show the flag" by private representations made to me by
civil officers of the district. They pointed out the advisability of
letting the natives of the neighbourhood see soldiers, probably for the
first time in the lives of many of them. Asiatics have short memories;
and the inhabitants of the Bengals, who rarely see troops, are inclined
to forget that the British Army still exists. At that time sedition was
supposed to be spreading among them. For it is a curious fact that it
chiefly makes headway among the unwarlike races of India, probably for
the very reason that they have never learned in the field the respect
that the brave man feels for the still braver antagonist who has
conquered him. And British rule is more popular among the races that we
have only vanquished after a hard struggle than it is among those whose
ancestors never dared to meet us in battle. In all history the Bengali
never was, never could be, a fighting-man. He was the easy prey of every
invader; and, like the cowardly Corean, only the extreme suppleness of
his back saved him from extermination. If the British left India the
cities and rich lands of Bengal would be scrambled for by every warrior
race in India; and her sons would not venture to lift a hand to defend
themselves. But cowards are ingrates. Forgetful of all this the
so-called educated Bengali whispers of the day to come when the English
tyrants will be driven into the sea. He does not suggest that he and
his kind will do it themselves. The young Calcutta student, crammed with
undigested, ill-understood European knowledge, will talk treason glibly.
Insulting women, hurling bombs, assassinating in secret or, gun in hand,
plundering unarmed villagers even more timorous than himself, he is a
hero in his own eyes. But even in the wildest frenzy of his ill-balanced
brain he never pictures himself facing British troops in battle. The
cowardly agitator allots that task to the native soldiers when we shall
have succeeded in seducing them from their allegiance. But the sepoys,
recruited from races that hold only the warrior in honour, look on him
and his race as something more despicable than dogs. My
Rajputs--descendants of the gallant fighters who conquered half India,
who struggled through bloody centuries against the Mohammedan invaders,
whose women killed themselves when their lords had been slain and
preferred death to dishonour--my sepoys regarded the effeminate Bengalis
as unsexed beings.
The Duars abound in tea states; and each manager rules six or seven
hundred coolies by moral force. Several planters hinted to me that it
would be a good thing to let these coolies see the gleam of bayonets for
once, and realise that the white man has something more than the baton
of an occasional native policeman to rely on if need arise.
Thrown on our own resources as we were in Buxa, the question of
transporting the supplies and baggage of nearly two hundred men required
some thinking out. We had no funds at our disposal to hire coolies; and
all we could depend on was our three elephants. Ten days' food supply
for so many men weighs a good deal; and we had to carry with us as well
their bedding, cooking-pots, blank ammunition, pickaxes and shovels for
entrenching. It needed some careful arrangement to enable three
elephants to do the work of ten. I was obliged to send them out to form
depots of sacks of flour, grain, and other food-stuffs at places along
the route, and bring them back again to accompany us carrying the other
things we required with us. Each sepoy was limited to two blankets and a
change of clothing and boots rolled up in his _dhurri_ or strip of
carpet. Contrary to the usual custom on peace manoeuvres each man
carried a packet of ten rounds of ball cartridge in his pocket; for, had
any sudden call for our services come before we could communicate with
the magazine in our fort, we would have been of little use with only
blank ammunition for our rifles. And in the forest at night we might
require ball to protect ourselves against wild animals.
At last, our arrangements complete, we left forty men behind at Buxa to
guard the Station; and one morning in February saw us, a hundred and
sixty strong, marching through the jungle in the direction of
Rajabhatkawa. We moved with fixed bayonets and all the proper
precautions of a column passing through an enemy's country. Advanced,
rear and flank guards protected us on all sides. These detachments,
instead of being thrown out a mile or more from the main body, as they
would have been in open country, were not a hundred yards from it. And
even that was often too much in the dense jungle. Every man carried at
his belt a _kukri_, the Gurkha's heavy, curved knife, and used it to
hack his way through the tangle of creepers and undergrowth. The
progress was necessarily very slow, and we hardly advanced a mile an
hour. We marched by compass, no easy task in thick forest.
[Illustration: "MY SEPOYS DRILLING."]
[Illustration: BUGLERS AND NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS OF MY DETACHMENT.]
At the first fire line, as there was an open space, I halted and closed
the detachment to give them their first object-lesson in the jungle. To
my men, inhabitants of the sandy deserts of Rajputana or the cultivated
plains of the North-West Provinces, forest lore was unknown. And as all
the warfare the Assam Brigade, to which we belonged, would be called
upon to wage would be fought against savages in thick jungle, I lost no
chance of teaching our men all conditions of the bush. I now asked them
where, when the rivers were dry, would they look for water in the
forest. They mostly replied:
"We would dig for it, Sahib."
I told them that Nature had been too generous to call for such exertion
and had kindly provided water in the trees. They looked at me in
surprise and evidently thought that I meant to be facetious. I pointed
to a thick creeper swinging between the trees in front of me and
introduced them to the mysterious _pani bel_. A piece was cut off; and
the water flowed from it. That astonished them.
"_Wah! wah!_ but that is _jadu_ (magic)," they said to each other.
"Marvellous is the Sahib's knowledge. Like us he is new to the forest.
Then how could he know of such a wonderful thing?"
The water creeper grew freely all round. Permission given, they broke
ranks and rushed into the jungle, each resolved to handle the marvel for
himself. In a few minutes I was surrounded by scores of sepoys leaning
on their rifles with heads well thrown back to catch in their mouths the
water dropping from the cut pieces of creeper. The _pani bel_ was a
great success. They filled their haversacks with it, and all that day,
at every halt, pulled it out to taste and marvel at the magic plant.
We moved on again in our original formation. Carrying my sporting rifle
I walked a few yards behind the advanced line of scouts. So dense was
the jungle that, out of all the hundred and sixty men around me, I could
only occasionally catch glimpses of three or four. Suddenly from a
hundred yards ahead I heard a large animal forcing its way through the
undergrowth. Fearing that it might be a wild elephant I pushed on in
front of the scouts, as my rifle would be more effective than theirs.
The animal retreated before me without my being able to see it; and I
followed, glancing over my shoulder now and then to sight the sepoys
behind and ensure that I was keeping the proper direction. But
neglecting this precaution for five minutes, I completely lost the whole
detachment. The beast I was pursuing had gone beyond hearing; so I
turned back to rejoin my men. But search as I might I could not find one
of them. It seemed absurd to lose in a few minutes a hundred and sixty
men spread out in a loose formation. But I had succeeded in doing it.
It was a ridiculous position for the commander who was supposed to be
instructing his soldiers in jungle training. But, fortunately, I already
knew the forest in the neighbourhood fairly well; and guiding myself by
the sun, I succeeded in getting ahead of my warriors and rejoining them
at the place on which they were marching by compass without any of them
realising that they had lost me. We halted for the night and bivouacked
close to Rajabhatkawa Station.
The next day's march brought us out clear of the forest. As we emerged
on the cultivated plains to the north of Alipur Duar, it seemed quite
strange to be on open ground again and able to swing along at four miles
an hour. The sepoy is a faster marcher than his British comrade and will
do his five miles in the hour on a road if wanted. In his own home he
thinks nothing of covering forty miles a day, shuffling along at the
native jog-trot that eats up the ground.
After Buxa Alipur Duar seemed almost a city, though it is not an
imposing town. The houses, when not made of mud or bamboo and thatched
with straw, are built of brick and roofed with corrugated iron. But it
boasts a jail, a hospital, a _dak_ bungalow and a sub-treasury. And the
last was the cause of my including it in our itinerary; for the
detachment was in the throes of a financial crisis. None of the officers
or men had received their pay for December and January; and we had not
five rupees between us. But the long-delayed pay-cheque on this
sub-treasury had just reached me; and I was anxious to cash it at the
earliest opportunity. Unfortunately we arrived at Alipur Duar after
office hours and were forced to wait another day for our money, instead
of marching on next morning as I had intended.
The town had no amusement to offer us Britishers. The only Europeans who
resided in it were the Ainslies; and they were then absent; for
throughout the winter the district officials are out in camp, moving
from village to village in their districts, and administering the law
and carrying on the ground work of the Government of the land.
However, Alipur Duar boasted among its public buildings that useful
institution, a _dak_ bungalow. In little Stations and dotted every ten
or fifteen miles along the highways of India, the _dak_ bungalow is
there to shelter the European traveller whom Fate or his work leads far
from cities and railways. It is a humble, one-storied building, erected
by Government, and containing one two or three scantily furnished rooms.
It is in charge of a native attendant, who sometimes provides food for
the hungry traveller, though as a rule the latter has to bring his own
with him. Luckily India is the land of tinned food.
The Alipur bungalow boasted a _khansamah_, or butler, who was able to
furnish us with meals. We found already installed in it a native
sub-judge who had come from the headquarters of the district to try some
cases in Ainslie's absence. I got into conversation with him and found
him a cheery, pleasant little Bengali, a follower of the new reformed
_Brahmo Samaj_ faith and consequently free from the caste prejudices of
the orthodox Hindu, which do so much to keep him and the Englishman
apart. Finding that our new acquaintance had no scruples about eating
with Europeans, I invited him to share our dinner. He held very decided
opinions on what he termed the hypocrisy of the educated Brahmins who,
in public, profess to adhere strictly to the severest caste restrictions
in the matter of eating with others, particularly with Europeans.
"Sir, I am not possessed of patience to endure them," he said in his
quaint English. "In the town where I have the habit to reside, the
Brahmin lawyers and under-official strappers invite to the farewell
entertainment of a garden-party our much-to-be-regretted late
Deputy-Commissioner, when being about to depart from us. They request me
to pose as a host with them. I say to them: 'No; I am not willing. You
ask to Mr and Mrs----, an English gentleman and lady, to come partake of
your hospitality. But you put on a table in corner of tent cakes, tea
and other cheering refreshments and tell them to eat alone while you
turn your faces, lest to see them eat would break your caste. It is all
a bosh! I have seen many of you in strange places to eat of forbidden
food at the restaurants of railway stations where you sit cheek-by-jowl
with unknown Englishmen. And yet you cannot indulge in cake,
refreshment, etcetera, with the esteemed departing Deputy-Commissioner.
It is all a bosh!'"
He more than repaid our hospitality that night by his amusing remarks
and shrewd comments on Indian and European manners. He said that, never
having come in contact with military officers before, he had watched us
all that day and was astonished to see that we were on friendly terms
with our native subordinates, knew the names of all our men, and did not
treat them with disdainful hauteur, as alleged by the Bengali journals.
And I thought of an untravelled Englishman who had told me in a London
drawing-room that we British officers were in the habit of beating our
sepoys!
Next day we visited the court-house to watch our little friend
dispensing justice from the bench. We were amused to see how quickly he
disposed of long-winded native lawyers who, in a case involving a
matter of a few shillings, were prepared to deliver a speech in
high-flown English lasting five hours. He cut them very short with his
favourite phrase: "It is all a bosh!"
The pay having been disbursed that afternoon, our men asked me for leave
to engage a troop of dancers and enjoy a _nautch_, that entertainment
dear to the heart of the Indian but wearisome beyond measure to the
European spectator. It was held at night on the open ground behind the
_dak_ bungalow. As is customary in native regiments we were invited to
witness it and, much against our will, went to it after dinner. The
sepoys squatting in a wide circle round the performers rose to their
feet; and the Indian officers welcomed us with the usual formalities.
After we had shaken hands with them they hung garlands of flowers round
our necks, thrust small bouquets on us and liberally besprinkled us with
scent. When we sat down small plates were offered us on which, wrapped
up in leaves, were various pungent and aromatic spices to chew. Then we
were given cigars, cigarettes, and whiskies-and-sodas--these a
concession to European tastes. The performance, interrupted by our
arrival, continued. Two fat women with well-oiled hair, jewelled
ornaments in their noses, gold bangles on their wrists and ankles, their
toes adorned with rings, swayed their fleshy bodies and shuffled a few
inches forward and back on their heels, singing the while in high
falsetto voices. Wrapped from throat to ankle in voluminous coloured
draperies as they were, the propriety of their costume was a reproach to
the scantily clad dancers of so-called Indian dances in the English
music-halls. The musicians squatted on the grass behind them, two men
producing weird and monotonous sounds from strangely shaped instruments,
while a third beat with his hands on a tom-tom, the native drum. And
this is the famous _nautch_ at which the Indian will gaze with rapture
all night. The flaring oil-lamps shone on the ring of eager dark faces
and eyes glistening with enjoyment, as the sepoys watched intently every
movement of the ungainly dancers. Fortunately we were not obliged to
remain long and soon took our leave of the native officers. Although we
were to march at seven o'clock in the morning I heard the monotonous
drumming and the shrill voices throughout the night; for the
entertainment did not end before five o'clock. And it was a hollow-eyed
detachment that tramped behind us on the dusty road that day. Our route
lay at an angle to our former course which had been due south; for now
we headed north-east towards the jungle and the hills again.
On the left hand lay the ragged fringe of the forest stretching east and
west beyond the limit of vision; and high above it towered the long
rampart of the mountains. Far away as we were we could see the white
specks of the Picquet Towers at Buxa. And back among the jagged peaks
rose up the snow-clad summit of a mountain in Bhutan, its gleaming crest
seeming to float like a cloud in air above the darker hills. Over the
level plain we spread out in fighting formation, one company forming an
advanced guard and driving back the skirmishing line of the other which
acted as the rear guard of a retreating enemy. And here and there the
peasants working in the fields, knowing nothing of the harmlessness of
blank cartridges, fled in terror at the sound of the firing.
We halted for our bivouac near a village in a mission settlement of
Santals, a wild tribe recently civilised by hard-working missionaries
and taught the dignity of labour and the joys of agriculture. We met the
clergyman and his wife who were in charge of the settlement and invited
them to dinner with us. They showed us a large iron church in the
village, the materials of which had been purchased by money willingly
subscribed by the Santals, who had erected the building with their own
hands. Our guests told us that their half-tamed flock, when they saw us
marching in, had deserted the village and fled into the jungle. They
explained to their wondering pastor that we were soldiers, and soldiers
were folk whose one object in life was to kill people--and who easier to
slay than the poor Santals? It took him hours to induce them to return
to their homes. But before night they had lost all fear and flocked
inquisitively round our bivouac.
Next day we marched through outlying patches of jungle, the advanced
guards of the great forest; and we hailed the trees as old friends.
After an attack by one company on the other in position on a low hill,
we found our way barred by an unfordable river. Along the banks lay logs
and trunks of trees swept down from the forest; so we turned to to make
rafts, binding the timber together with the men's putties and
_puggris_--for their head-gear is made of strips of cloth nine yards
long. On these rafts the few non-swimmers, the rifles, clothing and
accoutrements were placed; and the swimmers towed and pushed them
across the stream. With the same rude materials we made an excellent
flying bridge which, moved by the swift current, floated backwards and
forwards across the river on ropes made from the _puggris_ and putties.
The men revelled in the work. Stripped to their loin-cloths they sported
like dolphins in the clear, cold water flowing down from the melting
snows of the Himalayas.
Then we marched on again until I halted the column on the outskirts of a
tea garden and sent Creagh galloping to ask the manager's permission to
encamp on it and draw water for my men from the wells. While awaiting
his return, I stretched myself along a squared log of timber and,
despite my hard couch, fell asleep, awaking with a start to find
Khartoum standing over me staring at me with curiosity out of her little
eyes, as she flapped her big ears and brushed away the flies from her
sides with a branch. For a second I fancied I was in the forest under
the feet of a wild elephant; and I sprang up hastily. Then Creagh
returned with a cheery, hospitable Englishman, who invited me to
consider the tea garden my own. In a few minutes the fires were going,
the _bhistis_ fetching water from the wells, and the cooks rolling up
the balls of dough, deftly patting them out into thin cakes and
spreading them on the convex iron griddle over the flames. Sentries
posted and guards mounted, the rest of the men piled arms, took off
their accoutrements; and, while some hungrily watched the cooks, others
lay down on the ground and slept contentedly until food was ready. The
coolies gathered to see the novel sight of soldiers; and the inevitable
pariah dogs hung about the cooking places and quarrelled over the
scraps thrown to them. At every bivouac some of these four-footed
recruits joined us; and when we reached Buxa again I found that at least
a dozen nondescript curs had adopted the detachment and marched into the
fort with the air of veterans.
That night we invited the planter to dine with us. Our meal was laid in
my small 80-lb. tent; and, as this measured seven feet by seven feet
with a sloping roof, there was not much room for four of us and the
servants. Our guest told us of a daring daylight attack by a tiger that
morning. While some villagers were driving their cattle on a road which
passed along the edge of the tea garden, the animal had sprung out from
the jungle skirting it and tried to carry off a cow. The men, being
fairly numerous, rushed shouting at him and scared him away. When I
heard this I determined to beat up that tiger's quarters in the morning
and told the other officers of the detachment, who were delighted with
the idea. While discussing it after dinner we were startled by fiendish
growls and howls from the darkness outside; for a minute we were puzzled
by the awful noises and then recognised them as the sounds of two bears
fighting close by. Creagh, Smith and I seized our rifles; and, followed
by servants carrying lanterns as the night was very dark, we sallied
forth to find the disturbers of the peace. The noise came from a spot
about two hundred yards away. We reached a high bank below which was
thick scrub and long tiger grass. We climbed down it and formed line
with the servants close up behind us holding the lanterns over our heads
to throw the light in front. As we pushed our way with difficulty
through the scrub a bear gave a sudden growl five yards to our left. We
swung round and made for the spot; but the animal did not await our
approach. After searching for half an hour without result we gave up the
chase and returned to the camp. Next morning daylight showed us that we
had been down in a _nullah_, the ground on either side of it being quite
open. Had we known this at the time we could have divided our forces,
gone along both banks and probably got the bears as they scrambled up
out of the _nullah_.
At daybreak we started out with the elephants to look for the tiger. As
we possessed only one howdah, it was strapped on Khartoum's back and we
all three crowded into it; for the tall grass rose higher than the head
of a man sitting on an elephant's pad. Having thoroughly beaten the wide
strip of long grass we pushed on and came out on a very broad, empty
river-bed. This was the River Raidak, which formerly brought down an
immense volume of water from the hills only a few miles away. But a few
years before it had grown tired of its old road and suddenly changed its
course, flowing into the bed of a smaller stream parallel to it, which
became greatly enlarged and was now itself generally known as the
Raidak. This was the river we had crossed on rafts.
As our elephants passed over the wide strip of sand, a curious animal
broke out of the jungle a couple of hundred yards from us and bounded
away up the _nullah_. It was apparently a hornless deer with black back
and white belly and looked like a "black buck"; but as these inhabit
open plains and do not shed their horns we were puzzled as to its
identity. It halted and looked back at us, and then went off again in a
series of high leaps and bounds strangely like a black buck's motion.
Some months afterwards the Maharajah of Cooch Behar told me that several
years before he had turned loose a number of black buck and does into
the forest near the Raidak as an experiment, being curious to know what
effect life in dense jungle would have on these dwellers of the open
plains. Apparently the animal we had seen was descended from these and
for some reason of acclimatisation Nature had deprived their progeny of
horns. This should interest naturalists.
Our search for the tiger ended in a scare and a disappointment. First,
when passing through another patch of tall grass on our way back to
camp, one of the two pad elephants, Dundora, trumpeted shrilly and
charged some animal in the cover. Her alarm communicated itself to the
others, who squealed and tried to bolt. We thought that it was the tiger
and, with rifles at the ready, attempted to stand up in the swaying
howdah, which was no easy task as Khartoum was plunging violently. When
at last we got her near Dundora, the latter's _mahout_, viciously
belabouring her thick skull with the _ankus_, told us that the cause of
her fright was only a small pariah dog. We passed on into more open
jungle and to our joy saw a herd of wild buffaloes. As we were not in
Government forest these were fair game for the hunter; and we urged the
_mahout_ forward. The animals were grazing and did not see us.
Cautiously approaching up wind we got within range and were raising our
rifles, when an old cow lifted her head and we saw a bell hung round her
neck. We swore loudly. They were tame animals; but, as these are like
the wild species and we were deep in the jungle, our error was
pardonable. Half a mile further on we came on the huts of their owners.
Our course next day lay north-west; and I intended to recross the new
Raidak at a point near the hills at a ferry, close to which was a
club-house where the planters of the neighbourhood gathered once a week.
This was the day of their meeting; so I resolved to make our bivouac
there. The march lay through very dense jungle; but at last our advanced
guard came out on the bank of a wide river, a swift-racing torrent of
clear water that eddied and swirled over the pebbly bottom. On the
opposite side was the ferryman's hut, his boat drawn up near it. Behind,
in a clearing, stood a long wooden building which was evidently the
club-house. Our shouts brought Charon out of his abode; and he ferried
us over in driblets. As elephants are excellent swimmers ours made their
own way across.
In the jungle, not far from the club, I marked out the spot for our
bivouac around which I ordered a zareba to be constructed. As everything
was to be done under war conditions, scouts were thrown out on every
side. The rest of the detachment piled arms, drew their _kukris_ and
proceeded to clear the jungle. The small trees and undergrowth cut down
were dragged to form a belt, ten yards deep, of entanglement breast-high
around the camp. The stems of the trees and bushes were fastened to
pickets by creepers to prevent their being pulled away. Thorny branches
and a shrub which causes an intense irritation when touched were thrown
in among them; and the zareba thus constructed formed a formidable
obstacle. Then parties were told off to erect shelters of leafy boughs;
others made the cooking-places or dug latrines; and the _bhistis_ were
taken down under escort to the river to fill the goat-skin bags, or
_mussacks_, in which they carry water. Then guards and inlying pickets
were mounted and the scouts withdrawn. Bathing-parties went down with
their rifles, only half of the men in them being allowed into the river
at a time, while the others kept guard against sudden attack.
By this time the planters were beginning to assemble at the rough wooden
building which they proudly called their club. And certainly I believe
it saw more jollity and good-fellowship within its timber walls than one
would find in any of the palatial club-houses of Pall Mall. From gardens
lost in the forest for miles round they gathered. Some dashed up to the
opposite river-bank on their smart little ponies and kept the ferryman
busy. The host that day was our friend Tyson of Hathipota, which now lay
between us and Buxa Duar. He cordially invited us to eat our share of
the sumptuous cold lunch he had provided, and introduced us to the other
planters of the district, who welcomed us warmly.
During lunch one of our new friends told me that the ferryman, whom we
could see busy at his boat on the beach, had lost his wife under tragic
circumstances. The woman had gone across the river to a village a couple
of miles away to buy provisions. On her return she hailed him from the
opposite bank. As he was shoving his boat into the water he saw to his
horror a huge bear emerge from the jungle and steal silently up behind
the woman. At her husband's warning cry she turned; but before she could
move the animal rose on its hind legs and felled her with a blow from
its great paw. When the terrified man reached the bank, the bear had
disappeared and the woman lay dead with a fractured skull.
After lunch, the planters, most of whom were keen Volunteers, asked me
to let them inspect our fortified camp. They were much impressed by the
rapidity with which it had been placed in a state of defence and with
the ingenuity of our sepoys, who had already made comfortable little
huts. Then the senior among the planters told me that he was
commissioned by the others to express the gratitude of them all for
marching the detachment through their district. He emphasised the fact
that the sight of our armed men sweeping through the countryside would
have a good effect, not only on the thousands of unruly coolies on the
tea gardens around, but also on the lawless dwellers over the border on
the hills above us. He said that he and his friends had subscribed on
the spot a sum of six or seven pounds and asked my permission to offer
the money as prizes for sports to be held by our men that day. I thanked
them all heartily and drew up a programme.
The sepoys were delighted and flocked down to the open beach where the
sports took place. Of the two events which interested the planters most,
the first was called "The Alarm Race." Teams from each section lay
undressed and apparently sleeping on the ground beside their uniforms
and accoutrements. On a bugle sounding they sprang up, dressed, put on
their belts and bandoliers, rolled and strapped up their bedding, and
fell in ready to march off. We inspected them; and the team first ready
and properly dressed won the prize. The other event was very popular
among the spectators. Teams of men in full marching order were ferried
across the river and landed on the opposite bank. At a signal they
started to collect driftwood and build it into rafts, tying the logs
together with their _puggris_ and putties. Then some with long bamboo
poles took their places on each raft, while others of the team
undressed, placed their rifles, belts and clothing on the raft and,
springing into the water, swam alongside and helped to bring it across
to our bank. The current ran swiftly and the excited men made their
rafts swing round like teetotums. The first party to reach the spot
where I stood on the beach and form up properly dressed were the
winners.
After the sports some of us played tennis on the courts made in the
clearing. As the sun set, after a parting drink and hearty invitations
to visit their estates, our friends bade us good-bye and rode off.
On our next day's march our faces were set homewards. We passed several
tea gardens until we reached Hathipota, where the hospitable Tyson
welcomed us, and placed the resources of his estate at our men's
disposal and entertained the British officers in his bungalow. Parties
of our non-commissioned officers and men were taken over the factories
and withering sheds, and were as deeply interested as we were in the
ponderous machinery and clever contrivances. We left Hathipota next day.
Later on, we were to see it again under more tragic auspices, when we
were conveying a murderer to his doom.
Thence to the end of the ten days' march we worked through the forest
back towards home. We passed almost dryshod over a wide river at
Jainti, which during the Rains can only be crossed by a cradle running
on an iron cable from bank to bank. At Jainti ends the little railway by
which we had arrived. The next station to it was Buxa Road.
From Santrabari we climbed our hills again, sorry to have finished our
pleasant and instructive march. The men had learned much of jungle
conditions; and I had acquired a knowledge of the district which was to
stand me in good stead in days to come.