An occurrence nearly similar happened to me soon after, which put an end
to my shooting on foot. From that time to the period of my leaving
_Chittrah_, which was many years after, I always went out to shoot on an
elephant. The circumstance I allude to was as follows:--Fifty or sixty
people were beating a thick cover. I was on the outside of it, with a
man holding my horse, and another servant with a hog's spear; when those
who were driving the cover called _Suer! Suer!_ which is the
_Hindoostanee_ name for hog. Seeing something move the bushes about
twenty yards from me, and supposing it to be a hog, I fired at the spot,
with ten or a dozen small balls. Instantly on the explosion of my gun, a
tiger roared out, and came galloping straight towards us. I dipped under
the horse's belly, and got on the opposite side from him. He came within
a few yards of us, and then turned off growling into the cover.
When the people came out, they brought with them a dead hog, partly
devoured. These two cases, I think, shew clearly that tigers are
naturally cowardly. They generally take their prey by surprise, and
whenever they attack openly, it is reasonable to conclude that they must
be extremely hungry; which I believe is often the case, as their killing
animals of the forest must be very precarious. It is the general opinion
of the inhabitants, that when a tiger has tasted human blood he prefers
it to all other food. A year or two sometimes elapses without any one
being killed by a tiger for several miles round, although they are often
seen in that space, and are known to destroy cattle; but as soon as one
man is killed, others shortly after share the same fate. This, I
imagine, is the reason why the natives entertain an idea that they
prefer men to all other food. I account for it otherwise. Tigers are
naturally afraid of men, and, in the first instance, seldom attack them,
unless compelled by extreme hunger. When once they have ventured an
attack, they find them much easier prey than most animals of the forest,
and always to be met with near villages, and on public roads, without
the trouble of hunting about for them through the covers.
A tigress with two cubs lurked about the _Kutkumsandy_ pass, and during
two months killed a man almost every day, and on some days two. Ten or
twelve of the people belonging to government (carriers of the post-bags)
were of the number. In fact, the communication between the Presidency
and the upper provinces was almost entirely cut off. The government,
therefore, was induced to offer a large reward to any person who killed
the tigress.
She was fired at, and, adds Mr. J., never ... "heard of after;" from
which it may be presumed she was wounded. It is fortunate for the
inhabitants of that country, that tigers seldom survive any wound; their
blood being always in a state predisposing to putrefaction, consequence
of the extreme heat, and their living entirely on animal food....
Two _Biparies_[1] were driving a string of loaded bullocks to _Chittrah_
from _Palamow_. When they were come within a few miles of the former
place, a tiger seized on the man in the rear, which was seen by a
_Guallah_ [herdsman], as he was watching his buffaloes grazing. He
boldly ran to the man's assistance, and cut the tiger severely with his
sword; upon which he dropped the _Biparie_ and seized the herdsman: the
buffaloes observing it, attacked the tiger, and rescued the poor man;
they tossed him about from one to the other, and, to the best of my
recollection, killed him; but of that I am not quite positive. Both of
the wounded men were brought to me. The _Biparie_ recovered, and the
herdsman died.
[Footnote 1: _Bipar_ signifies merchandise, and _Biparies_ are people
who buy grain, and other articles, which they transport from one part of
the country to another on bullocks.]
An elderly man and his wife (of the lowest caste of _Hindoos_, called
_dooms_, who live chiefly by making mats and baskets) were each carrying
home a bundle of wood, and as they were resting their burdens on the
ground, the old man hearing a strange noise, looked about, and saw a
tiger running off with his wife in his mouth. He ran after them, and
struck the tiger on the back with a small axe: the tiger dropt the wife,
who was soon after brought to me. One of her breasts was almost entirely
taken away, and the other much lacerated: she had also several deep
wounds in the back of her neck, by which I imagine the tiger struck at
her with his two fore paws; one on the neck, and the other on the
breast. This, if I may judge from the number I have seen wounded, is
their usual way of attacking men. The old woman was six months under my
care, and at last recovered.
As an old Mahometan priest was travelling at mid-day on horseback,
within a few miles of _Chittrah_, with his son, an athletic young man,
walking by his side, they heard a tiger roaring near them. The son urged
his father to hasten on; the old man continued at a slow pace, observing
that there was no danger, the tiger would not molest them. He then began
counting his beads, and offering his prayers to the Almighty; in the act
of which he was knocked off his horse, and carried away by the tiger;
the son ran after them, and cut the tiger with his sword; he dropped the
father, seized the son, and carried him off. The father was brought to
_Chittrah_, and died the same day; the son was never heard of
afterwards. In this instance, I think, the tiger must have been
ravenously hungry, or he would not have roared when near his prey; it is
what they seldom or ever do, except in the very act of seizing....
Some idea may be formed how numerous the tigers must have been at one
period in Bengal, from the circumstance, that one gentleman is reported
to have killed upwards of three hundred and sixty.
~Death of Sir John Moore.~
From Mr. Southey's History of the Peninsular War, a work of sterling
merit.
Marshal Soult's intention was to force the right of the British, and
thus to interpose between Corunna and the army, and cut it off from the
place of embarkation. Failing in this attempt, he was now endeavouring
to outflank it. Half of the 4th regiment was therefore ordered to fall
back, forming an obtuse angle with the other half. This manoeuvre was
excellently performed, and they commenced a heavy flanking fire: Sir
John Moore called out to them, that this was exactly what he wanted to
be done, and rode on to the 50th, commanded by Majors Napier and
Stanhope. They got over an inclosure in their front, charged the enemy
most gallantly, and drove them out of the village of Elvina; but Major
Napier, advancing too far in the pursuit, received several wounds, and
was made prisoner, and Major Stanhope was killed.
The General now proceeded to the 42nd. "Highlanders," said he, "remember
Egypt!" They rushed on, and drove the French before them, till they were
stopped by a wall. Sir John accompanied them in this charge. He now sent
Captain Hardinge to order up a battalion of Guards to the left flank of
the 42nd. The officer commanding the light infantry conceived at this
that they were to be relieved by the Guards, because their ammunition
was nearly expended, and he began to fall back. The General, discovering
the mistake, said to them, "My brave 42nd, join your comrades:
ammunition is coming, and you have your bayonets!" Upon this, they
instantly moved forward. Captain Hardinge returned, and pointed out to
the General where the Guards were advancing. The enemy kept up a hot
fire, and their artillery played incessantly on the spot where they were
standing. A cannon-shot struck Sir John, and carried away his left
shoulder, and part of the collar-bone, leaving the arm hanging by the
flesh. He fell from his horse on his back; his countenance did not
change, neither did he betray the least sensation of pain. Captain
Hardinge, who dismounted, and took him by the hand, observed him
anxiously watching the 42nd, which was warmly engaged, and told him they
were advancing; and upon that intelligence his countenance brightened.
Colonel Graham, who now came up to assist him, seeing the composure of
his features, began to hope that he was not wounded, till he perceived
the dreadful laceration. From the size of the wound, it was in vain to
make any attempt at stopping the blood; and Sir John consented to be
removed in a blanket to the rear. In raising him up, his sword, hanging
on the wounded side, touched his arm, and became entangled between his
legs. Captain Hardinge began to unbuckle it; but the General said, in
his usual tone and manner, and in a distinct voice, "It is as well as it
is; I had rather it should go out of the field with me." Six soldiers
of the 42nd and the Guards bore him. Hardinge, observing his composure,
began to hope that the wound might not be mortal, and said to him, he
trusted he might be spared to the army, and recover. Moore turned his
head, and looking stedfastly at the wound for a few seconds, replied,
"No, Hardinge, I feel that to be impossible."
As the soldiers were carrying him slowly along, he made them frequently
turn round, that he might see the field of battle, and listen to the
firing; and he was well pleased when the sound grew fainter. A
spring-wagon came up, bearing Colonel Wynch, who was wounded: the
Colonel asked who was in the blanket, and being told it was Sir John
Moore, wished him to be placed in the wagon. Sir John asked one of the
Highlanders whether he thought the wagon or the blanket was best? and
the man said the blanket would not shake him so much, as he and the
other soldiers would keep the step, and carry him easy. So they
proceeded with him to his quarters at Corunna, weeping as they went....
The General lived to hear that the battle was won. "Are the French
beaten?" was the question which he repeated to every one who came into
his apartment; and he expressed how great a satisfaction it was to him
to know that they were defeated. "I hope," he said, "the people of
England will be satisfied! I hope my country will do me justice," Then,
addressing Colonel Anderson, who had been his friend and companion in
arms for one-and-twenty years, he said to him, "Anderson, you know that
I have always wished to die this way--You will see my friends as soon as
you can:--tell them everything--Say to my mother"--But here his voice
failed, he became excessively agitated, and did not again venture to
name her. Sometimes he asked to be placed in an easier posture. "I feel
myself so strong," he said, "I fear I shall be long dying. It is great
uneasiness--it is great pain." But, after a while, he pressed Anderson's
hand close to his body, and, in a few minutes, died without a struggle.
He fell, as it had ever been his wish to do, in battle and in victory.
No man was more beloved in private life, nor was there any general in
the British army so universally respected. All men had thought him
worthy of the chief command. Had he been less circumspect,--had he
looked more ardently forward, and less anxiously around him, and on all
sides, and behind,--had he been more confident in himself and in his
army, and impressed with less respect for the French Generals, he would
have been more equal to the difficulties of his situation. Despondency
was the radical weakness of his mind. Personally he was as brave a man
as ever met death in the field; but he wanted faith in British courage:
and it is faith by which miracles are wrought in war as well as in
religion. But let it ever be remembered with gratitude, that, when some
of his general officers advised him to conclude the retreat by a
capitulation, Sir John Moore preserved the honour of England.
He had often said that, if he were killed in battle, he wished to be
buried where he fell. The body was removed at midnight to the citadel of
Corunna. A grave was dug for him on the rampart there, by a party of the
9th regiment, the aides-du-camp attending by turns. No coffin could be
procured; and the officers of his staff wrapped the body, dressed as it
was, in a military cloak and blankets. The interment was hastened; for,
about eight in the morning, some firing was heard, and they feared that,
if a serious attack were made, they should be ordered away, and not
suffered to pay him their last duty. The officers of his staff bore him
to the grave; the funeral service was read by the chaplain; and the
corpse was covered with earth.
Thus, with a solemn splendour and a sad glory, closed the career of a
gallant but unfortunate commander.
We subjoin the beautiful Ode on the Death of Sir John, written by the
Rev. Mr. Wolfe:--