mind which jumps."
Of course that was obviously the way to get him over those intervening
sixteen miles of hill.
As he was the bigger of the two, and had never been driven in tandem
before, we thought we had better put him in wheeler. Hastily pulling
out the horse which was already harnessed we proceeded to try and fit
our own rotund steed between the shafts. His figure, however, was
hardly slim enough for the position, and he began to resent the
suggestion with some asperity.
Satisfied that we should do no good with them that way on, we reversed
the order; replacing the original horse in the wheel, we hitched our
obese animal on in front. We then started. I must say he fired some
most alarming salutes with his heels going down the avenue, and
terrified us for the safety of our borrowed wheeler, but the ensuing
hills very soon settled him down and brought him to reason, which was
well for us, as we had not started on our journey till pretty late, and
it was rapidly becoming dark. Needless to say we had no lamps, the road
was horribly rough and mountainous, and we had still many miles to go.
At last we turned in to the lodge gates and up the avenue at K--. It
was dark enough outside on the road, where I could just see my
wheeler's outline in the gloom, but here among the trees (for the
approach is more of a wood than an avenue) it was so pitch dark I
positively could not see my own hand in front of me. Having no light,
we proceeded by faith, and appeared to be getting on extremely well,
when suddenly, with an awful jolt and a bump, the whole concern stopped
short and I nearly flew off my perch with the jerk. My sister was out
like a shot and got to the wheeler's head. He was still there, that she
could feel; groping a little further she collided with the leader, he
was there too, that was a comfort, anything further she could nob
discover without the aid of a light.
Fortunately we had provided ourselves with some matches just _in case_,
and, on striking one, we discovered both horses standing on three legs,
one of the leader's traces having caught round his off hind leg, while
the other trace was twisted over the wheeler's near fore-leg! They both
behaved like true Britons, and waited patiently until we got them
disentangled and set straight again, when we set off once more and
managed to get to our destination without further mishap.
The last exciting drive I had with a tandem was again with my father,
and again in the snow. The roads were barely passable with snowdrifts
piled up on either side six foot high or more. It so happened that
Colonel Gardyne had been staying with us, and it behoved him to get
away by a certain train on a certain day.
Inexorable to our entreaties to postpone his departure, we were obliged
to accede to his request that he might be borne somehow to the station.
As the roads were very bad and too heavy with snow for one horse, we
selected another out of the stable and put him on in front; we then
scrambled into the dog-cart and prepared for the worst. As it happened,
however, we were _not_ prepared for what followed. The leader had not
been in before and did not fancy the game, nor did he approve of the
snow walls; notwithstanding this we got to the station fairly intact
and deposited our guest in safety.
We had not proceeded far on our homeward journey when a great black
puffing engine made its appearance round a corner, with crimson eyes,
and snorts, and noise, and all the honours attendant on a perambulating
thrashing machine. Horrid things they are at the best of times, but
more especially objectionable when one has a couple of three-cornered
horses, one behind the other. Of course the effect of this apparition
was wild confusion, the leader waltzed round and round till he got tied
up into a knot, then set to work, and kicked himself free, breaking
every stitch of harness on his body.
We had no extra tackle (which was foolish), therefore the only thing to
be done was to get him home. Luckily we were not far away, so I
scrambled on to his back and rode him, using the remains of the pad as
a pommel and got him in all safe.
My father having some business in the neighbouring town went on in the
cart alone. Soon he overtook an ally, who, bent on the same errand, was
stumping bravely through the slush (having wisely refrained from taking
out his own horses on such a road). On being offered a lift he mounted
gladly, thankful to curtail his disagreeable tramp, and reassured by
the sight of a single and confidential-looking quadruped. His joy,
however, was shortlived, for the very next turn happened to lead
straight up to our park gates. Dobbin (being one of the genus I object
to so strongly who "_think_") instantly _thought_, and made a dive for
the corner. The wheel, colliding violently against the curb-stone,
precipitated the unfortunate passenger headlong into a snow-drift,
where he remained half buried, with only a large pair of feet flapping
in the air to indicate the spot where the casualty had occurred.
ROSIE ANSTRUTHER THOMSON.
"TIGERS I HAVE SHOT."
BY MRS C. MARTELLI.
My personal experiences of tiger-shooting in India have been neither on
a large scale nor of a very heroic and exciting nature; yet, such as
they are, I gladly place them upon record for the sake of those who may
not have had the good fortune to see sport of this particular kind.
Tiger-shooting, however, has been so well and so often described that I
cannot hope to be able to tell anything of a novel character about it.
It has been my good fortune to "assist" (in the French sense of the
word) at the death of five tigers. And here I should premise that,
according to the laws of Indian sport, a tiger is considered the trophy
of the gun that first hits it, whether that shot prove fatal or not. As
will be seen presently, I succeeded in killing the third of the five,
but it was my husband's tiger and not mine, as my first shot missed it.
I did _not_ kill the first and second of the five, but they were my
tigers because I was the first to hit them. In the case of the fourth
tiger I was the first to hit, and with a second shot I killed it; but
the tiger was mine by virtue of the first shot, not the second. This is
a not unfair rule, because the first shot often proves fatal, even
though for a time the tiger manages to get away, and if some rule of
the kind were not in existence, and the tiger were supposed to belong
to the gun that appeared to administer the _coup de grâce_, there would
be a great deal of indiscriminate firing, which would result, to say
the least of it, in the skin being hopelessly ruined.
But to come to my story. In January 1887, my husband, Colonel Martelli,
who was at the time Political Agent and Superintendent of the Estates
of Rewa, Central India (the Maharajah being a minor), was making his
annual tour, and we were in camp at Govindghar, about fourteen miles
from the capital. There were with us my sister, the agency surgeon and
the usual tribe of camp followers.
After we had been in camp about a week, a shikari brought us news that
there was unquestionably a tiger not many miles away. To discover more
exactly where he was, buffaloes were tied as bait to trees in four or
five places, at a radius of three or four miles from the camp, and we
waited in much excitement for further intelligence. As apparel of a
very noticeable or attractive character is obviously unsuited to a
tiger-hunt, I gave my native tailor overnight some plain cotton
material, and he presented it to me in the morning, dyed green and made
up into a serviceable dress. He had also covered my Terai sun-hat with
the same material. Early in the morning word came into camp that we
were to be on the alert, and, about ten a.m., news reached us that the
tiger had been seen.
We started off immediately, my husband and I on one elephant, and the
doctor and my sister on another. Seated behind us in the howdah was a
shikari, carrying our guns. _My_ weapon was a 450 double express rifle,
by Alex. Henry.
We had had Chota Hazrie, so took a lunch-breakfast with us. Passing on
our way what we thought would be a charming spot for our _déjeuner_, we
left our servant Francis there with our hamper. Imagine our disgust
when, upon reaching this spot, hungry and expectant, on our return, we
found that Francis had disappeared, and with him all traces of the
hoped-for meal. It turned out afterwards that some bears had come
unexpectedly upon the scene, and Francis had, not altogether
unnaturally, sought refuge in flight.
Ignorant of the fate of our breakfast, however, we pushed on, and about
two miles from camp met the head shikari--Mothi Singh by name. Acting
under his instructions we dismounted and followed him through the
jungle. We pushed along what professed to be a path, but of which all I
can say in its favour is that it was slightly better than the jungle of
grass and underwood through which it passed, more than once indeed
boughs and branches had to be cut down to make it possible for my
sister and myself to get along.
We at length reached a rock, fifteen or twenty feet in height, on the
summit of which Mothi Singh placed us, and past which the tiger would
be driven. I was to have first shot. The beaters, three hundred or four
hundred in number, now began their work, shouting, beating drums and
tom-toms, blowing bugles, firing blank cartridges, and steadily
pressing forward in our direction. We, of course, maintained the most
profound silence, and watched with the deepest interest for the
appearance of the tiger. As we waited, all sorts of creatures, scared
by the beaters, passed us--pig and deer, pea-fowl and jungle fowl, the
majestic sambhur, and the pretty nilghai, not to mention foxes and
jackals, went by within shot, but for to-day, at anyrate, they were
safe. At last came the tiger. He advanced like an enormous cat, now
crouching upon the ground, now crawling forward, now turning round to
try and discover the meaning of the unwonted noise behind him. When he
was about eighty yards from us I fired and hit him on the shoulder;
then the others fired, and the tiger bolted. At this moment Hera Sahib,
the commander-in-chief of the Rewa army, and who had been directing
"the beat," came up on an elephant, and, as he had brought with him a
spare elephant, my husband mounted the latter, and they went off
together in search of the tiger, leaving us upon the rock.
Two hours later they came upon the wounded tiger hiding in the jungle.
The moment he saw that he was discovered, he charged Hera Sahib's
elephant, and the latter, being a young animal, bolted. The tiger then
turned and charged the elephant my husband was riding, which stood his
ground. The tiger, charged underneath the elephant, but fortunately my
husband got a snap-shot at him and rolled him over. He crept into the
jungle again, however, but was now past serious resistance, and
although he made a brave attempt to reach his enemies, he was easily
despatched. He measured over nine feet in length.
My husband's tour over, we returned to our head-quarters at Rewa, and a
very few days later, in the dusk of the evening, news came that another
tiger had been seen in the same neighbourhood as that in which we shot
the first. My husband and I started off at three the next morning in a
dog-cart; our horse was only half broken in, and I was driving. About
eleven and a half miles from Govindghar our steed deposited us in a
ditch, and we were compelled to walk the rest of the way there. At
Govindghar elephants were in waiting for us, and we made our way in
much the same fashion as on the previous occasion to the rock of which
I have already told. The beat, too, was precisely similar to the former
one. Presently the tiger appeared. I was so struck by his magnificent
appearance, that, although I was to have first shot, I waited so long
that eventually my husband and I fired together. The tiger facing us, I
fired again, and then, in his rage, he charged straight at the rock on
which we were standing. As he came on I fired a third time, and hit him
between the shoulders. He disappeared somewhere at the base of the
rock, and, although he was out of sight, we could hear him growling
with pain. We did not dare, of course, to come down from our rock, as
we had no idea where he was, or to what extent he was crippled, but,
after waiting about half-an-hour, Hera Sahib came up on an elephant and
killed him. It turned out that the tiger had crept under another rock
at the base of that on which we were standing, and was too badly
wounded to come out and face his foes. This tiger was a much handsomer,
and a larger one than the first.
Not long after the above, my husband was appointed Political Agent,
Eastern States, Rajputana, which consists of Bhurtpore, Dholepore, and
Karowlie. Each state has its own Rajah. I did no more tiger-shooting
until the early part of the year 1891.
In February then we went to Karowlie, and on our arrival there we were
met by the Maharajah, who at once informed us that news had just
arrived that a tiger was in the neighbourhood, and courteously asked us
to accompany him in pursuit of it. We gladly accepted this invitation,
and were told to hold ourselves in readiness, as a gun would be fired
from the palace as soon as definite information arrived, and it would
then be necessary to start at once.
The gun was fired at about noon and off we went, the Maharajah and his
retinue, and our two selves. We were conducted through very thick
jungle to the Maharajah's shooting-box, about nine miles distant. We
were able to ride only a portion of the way, part of the remainder I
was carried in a "Tonjon" (sedan chair), and for the rest of the
journey I had to walk and struggle through the dense jungle as best I
could. The shooting-box we found to consist of a small stone tower,
built on the edge of a ravine. We were posted upon the top of the
tower, and the tiger was to be driven up the ravine and within shot of
our rifles.
The Maharajah is a very keen sportsman and a capital shot, but with
great politeness he insisted upon my firing first. Alas, when the
moment arrived--and the tiger--the jungle was so thick that I could
hardly see the animal, and, I regret to say, I missed him altogether.
My husband fired and wounded the tiger severely; I then fired again and
killed him.
News was brought to us not to leave our post as there was another tiger
in the jungle. The Maharajah had been much put out at my missing my
first shot and so losing the tiger, but insisted courteously on my
having an opportunity of retrieving my disaster; of course I was only
too glad to avail myself of his kindness.
A few minutes later the second tiger appeared, and, getting a better
view of him than of his predecessor, I succeeded in hitting him in the
chest. The Maharajah then fired and put a second bullet into him; I
fired and gave him his _coup de grâce_.
Within a week news was brought to Karowlie that another tiger had made
his appearance, this time about ten miles away, and in quite another
direction. The whole country in this neighbourhood was cut up by
ravines, and when we arrived at the place indicated to us, we found
that there was no rock which we could turn into a citadel, no handy
tree from whose branches we might fire upon the foe, and of course no
shooting-box; and, as in addition, it was quite impossible to bring the
elephants along, we had to take our stand on foot and hope for the
best. Should the wounded tiger charge us, we should have to make sure
of stopping him before he could reach us. With us, on this occasion,
were three young officers, who had never been present at a tiger-hunt,
and who probably had never seen a tiger out of the Zoological Gardens.
Accordingly, they were allowed to draw for choice of places and for
first shot. They naturally selected the coign of vantage, and between
them slew the tiger. I did not even see him till he was dead. They went
off immediately, in a great state of elation; but the Maharajah told me
that there was a panther in the jungle. Presently the animal came in
sight with a tremendous rush, and I fired, wounding him severely; but
although we traced him for some miles we saw no more of him and he got
away.
This is all I have to tell. If, from the description I have given,
anyone should be inclined to say that the tiger does not appear to have
much chance of escape, the answer is that it is not intended that he
should have any. Tigers are shot in India, not as game is in England
for hunting, to give amusement to men, horses and dogs, not as in
pheasant or partridge shooting, with a remote reference to the demands
of the table, but to save the lives of the natives and their cattle. If
you don't kill the tiger he will kill you. But although the odds are on
the shikari and against the tiger, whether you fire from the back of an
elephant, from the top of a rock, or in the branch of a tree, there is
always room, unfortunately, for a misadventure, and consequently
tiger-shooting will always be a useful school for endurance, judgment
and self-reliance.
KATE MARTELLI.
RIFLE-SHOOTING.
BY MISS LEALE.
At the Bisley Meeting of 1891, I took part in some of the competitions
open to all comers. The measure of success which I achieved has gained
a publicity for which I was scarcely prepared, and has brought around
me a group of correspondents who have plied me with questions as to my
experience in rifle-shooting, and the rise and progress of my devotion
to an accomplishment so unusual for ladies, and even deemed by many to
be somewhat out of their reach.
I purpose, therefore, to put a few notes together, in which I shall
endeavour to answer some of the questions proposed to me, and to relate
such passages of my experience as may serve to encourage those of my
own sex who may have some ambition in this direction.
It was a little more than four years ago when I first handled a
Martini-Henry rifle. I was looking on at the shooting one afternoon at
the Guernsey "Wimbledon," and wondered if it was a very difficult thing
to hit the target, which appeared to me to be such a mere speck when
seen from so great a distance. I had, some time before this, fired a
few shots with a fowling-piece at an impromptu target, but
rifle-shooting looked to me far more real and interesting. At length I
succeeded in persuading my father to allow me to try my hand at a shot
with a rifle.
I remember that there was some discussion, at that time, about the
recoil, but as I was so very ignorant of the management and powers of
the rifle, I did not give this really serious question the necessary
attention. I believe that had I heard, at this early stage, as much
about recoil as I have since, I should probably have been afraid to
shoot with a Martini.
A certain militia man, who is now one of our best shots, related to me
a curious incident which happened to him when he first fired with a
service rifle. He was shooting in the prone position; and, after
pulling the trigger, he heard a great noise, and immediately there was
a good deal of smoke about; but the rifle had disappeared. On looking
round, however, he saw his rifle behind him! He had been resting the
under part of the butt lightly on his shoulders, and holding the rifle
loosely; thus the force of the recoil had actually driven it past him
over his shoulder.
I have heard of many other cases of the recoil becoming dangerous; but
I believe it is from fear of being "kicked" that recruits fail to hold
their rifles properly while pulling the trigger.
In my own case, certainly, "ignorance was bliss"; for, in firing my
first shot, I was enabled to give my whole attention to keeping the
rifle steady, and placing it firmly against my shoulder for that
purpose alone undisturbed by any fear of recoil. And I believe that
this absence of fear is the chief reason why I have been able to use a
Martini-Henry rifle without suffering from the recoil.
Thinking from the experience of my first shot that shooting was easy, I
was anxious to go on with it. Many experienced shots volunteered
information which was very helpful; but I soon discovered that I was
wrong in thinking that rifle-shooting was merely a matter of seeing the
bull's eye over the sights. The first difficulty was that of keeping
the rifle steady. I had to learn exactly how to hold it and for this I
had to study _position_.
I had fired my first shot in the kneeling position. I did not then know
of any other, except the standing and lying down. The former I could
not manage, as the rifle was too heavy to hold up without any support
for the arms; and the lying down position seemed to me, then, to
require a great deal of practice. This conjecture has been well
justified by my subsequent experience. I have never since fired from
the kneeling position, as a much better one was recommended to me,
namely, the sitting position. In this way I can have a rest for both
arms, which is an advantage over the other method in which it is only
possible to rest one.
Having chosen a position, I found that it needed a great deal of
studying. It was then that I discovered another great difficulty,
_i.e._, that of pulling the trigger without disturbing the aim. I
received some advice on this subject which at first sounded rather
curious. I was told to squeeze the trigger "like I would a lemon" and
to let it go off without my knowing. This accomplishment requires a
great deal of practice, but is well worth the trouble of learning; for
I am confident that it is the great secret of good shooting.
During my first few months of shooting, I only used to think of taking
a correct aim at the bull's eye, and trying to keep still while pulling
the trigger. I was so absorbed in this effort, that it did not occur to
me for some time that there was much more than this dexterity to be
gained in order to be sure of making a good score. There remained the
great question of finding the bull's eye.
This, of course, involves the scientific part of rifle-shooting; and
although, at first, I was alarmed at the difficulty of the subject, I
soon saw that the shooting would become tame and monotonous without it.
The range where I was in the habit of practising (and still do
practise) is near the sea. The targets have the sea for a background,
and, as is often the case near the sea, we have a great deal of wind.
It was quite easy to understand that the wind would affect the course
of the bullet; but it did not turn out to be so easy as it appeared, to
calculate in feet and inches how much allowance should be made for this
source of disturbance. Fortunately "young shots" are not expected to be
able to find out this for themselves by the long and painful discipline
of repeated failure; and it is always easy for them to obtain advice
from persons on the range who have had more experience than themselves.
I was very fortunate in that way myself, and feel very grateful for the
good instruction I have received from several "crack-shots."
There are two things to be considered--the elevation and windage.
The elevation does not vary so much as the windage. Having once found
the normal elevation of a given rifle for the different ranges, it will
not afterwards need very great alterations. But the different effects
of wind, light, and atmosphere upon it are interesting, and require
careful attention.
If the wind is blowing straight down the range from the targets, it
will naturally increase the resistance for the bullet. Also, by
retarding its speed the trajectory will be lowered, thus causing the
shot to strike below the spot aimed at. To counteract this the aim must
be taken higher, but the rifle is so constructed that by raising the
slide of the backsight a little, aim may be taken at the original spot.
When the wind is blowing towards the targets, from the firing point, it
has little or no effect upon the bullet, as the speed of the latter is
so much greater than that of the wind. A side wind will slightly alter
the elevation of the bullet, in a ratio to its strength.