A JUNGLE RECOLLECTION.

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The hot season of 1849 was peculiarly oppressive, and the irksome garrison duty, at Cherootabad, in the south of India, had for many months been unusually severe. The colonel of my regiment, the brigadier, and the general, having successively acceded to my application for three weeks' leave, and that welcome fact having been duly notified in orders, it was not long before I found myself on the Coimbatore road, snugly packed, guns and all, in a country bullock cart, lying at full length on a mattress, with a thick layer of straw spread under it.

All my preparations had been made beforehand; relays of bullocks were posted for me at convenient intervals, and I arrived at Goodaloor, a distance of a hundred and ten miles, in rather more than forty eight hours.

Goodaloor is a quiet little village, about eleven miles from Coimbatore;--but don't suppose I was going to spend my precious three weeks there.

All loaded, and pony saddled, let us start: the two white cows and their calves; the mattress and blanket rolled up and carried on a Cooly's head Shikaree, horsekeeper, and a village man, with the three guns, while I, myself, bring up the rear. Over a few ploughed fields, and past that large banian tree, the jungle begins.

In a small clump of low jungle, on the sloping bank of a broad, sandy watercourse, the casual passer-by would not have perceived a snug and tolerably strong little hut--the white ends of the small branches that were laid over it, and the mixture of foliage, alone revealing the fact to the observant eye of a practiced woodman. No praise could be too strong to bestow on the faithful Shikaree; had I chosen the spot myself, after a weeks' survey of the country, it could not have been more happily selected.

To the deeply-rooted stump of a young tree on the opposite bank, one of the white cows had been made fast by a double cord passed twice around her horns. Nothing remains to be done: the little door is fastened behind me, the prickly acacia boughs are piled up against it on the outside, and my people are anxious to be off.

The poor cow, too, listens with dismay to the retreating footsteps of the party, and has already made some furious plunges to free herself, and rejoin the rest of the kine, who have been driven off, nothing loth, toward home. Watch her: how intently she stares along the path by which the people have deserted her. Were it not for the occasional stamp of her fore leg, or the impatient side-toss of the head, to keep off the swarming flies, she might be carved out of marble. And now a fearful and anxious gaze up the bed of the nullah, and into the thick fringe of Mimoso, one ear pricked and the other back alternately, show that instinct has already whispered the warning of impending danger. Another plunge to get loose, and a searching gaze up the path; see her sides heave. Now comes what we want--that deep low! It echoes again among the hills: another and another. Poor wretch! you are hastening your doom; far or near, the tiger hears you--under the rock or thicket, where he has lain since morning, sheltered from the scorching sun, his ears flutter as if they were tickled every time he hears that music; his huge, green eyes, heretofore half closed, are now wide open, and, alas! poor cow, gaze truly enough in thy direction; but he has not stirred yet, and nobody can say in what direction giant death will yet stalk forth.

The moon is up--all nature still; the cow, again on her legs, is restless, and evidently frightened. Oh! reader, even if you have the soul of a Shikaree, I despair of being able to convey in words a tithe of the sensations of that solitary vigil: a night like that is to be enjoyed but seldom--a red-letter day in one's existence.

Where is the man who has never experienced the poetic influence of a moonlight scene! Fancy, then, such a one as here described; a crescent of low hills--craggy, steep, and thickly wooded--around you, on three sides, and above them, again, at twenty miles' distance, the clear blue outline of the Neilgherry hills; in your front, the silver sand bed of the dry watercourse divides the thick and somber jungle with a stream of light, till you lose it in the deep shadows at the foot of the hills--all quiet, all still, all bathed in the light of the moon, yourself the only man for miles to come, a solitary watcher--your only companion the poor cow, who, full of fears, and suspicious at every leaf-fall, reminds you that a terrible struggle is about to take place within a few feet of your bed, and that there will be noise and confusion, when you must be cool and collected. Your little kennel would not be strong enough to resist a determined charge, and you are alone, if three good guns are not true friends.

Oh! that I could express sounds on paper as music is written in notes. No, reader, you must do as I have done--you must be placed in a similar situation, to hear and enjoy the terrible roar of a hungry tiger--not from afar off, and listened for, but close at hand, and unexpected. It was like an electric shock;--a moment ago I was dozing off, and the cow, long since laid down, appeared asleep; that one roar had not died away among the hills when she had scrambled on her legs, and stood with elevated head, stiffened limbs, tail raised, and breath suspended, staring, full of terror, in the direction of the sound. As for the biped, with less noise, and even more alacrity, he had grasped his "Sam Nock," whose polished barrels just rested on the lower ledge of the little peep-hole; perhaps his eyes were as round as saucers, and heart beating fast and strong.

Now for the struggle;--pray heaven that I am cool and calm, and do not fire in a hurry, for one shot will either lose or secure my well-earned prize.

There he is again! evidently in that rugged, stony watercourse, which runs parallel, and about two hundred yards behind the hut. But what is that? Yes, lightning: two flashes in quick succession, and a cold stream of air is rustling through the half-withered leaves of my ambush. Taking a look to the rear, through an accidental opening among the leaves, it was plain that a storm, or, as it would be called at sea, a squall, was brewing. An arch of black cloud was approaching from the westward, and, the rain descending, gave it the appearance of a huge black comb, the teeth reaching to the earth. The moon, half obscured, showed a white mist as far as the rain had reached. Then was heard in the puffs of air, the hissing of the distant but approaching downpour: more lightning--then some large heavy drops plashed on the roof, and it was raining cats and dogs.

How the scene was changed! Half an hour ago, solemn, and still, and wild, as nature rested, unpolluted, undefaced, unmarked by man--sleeping in the light of the moon, all was tranquillity; the civilized man lost his idiosyncrasy in its contemplation--forgot nation, pursuits, creed--he felt that he was Nature's child, and adored the God of Nature.

But the beautiful was now exchanged for the sublime, when that scene appeared lit up suddenly and awfully by lightning, which now momentarily exchanged a sheet of intensely dazzling blue light, with a darkness horrible to endure--a light which showed the many streams of water, which now appeared like ribbons over the smooth slabs of rod that lay on the slope of the hills, and gave a microscopic accuracy of outline to every object, exchanged as suddenly for a darkness, which for the moment might be supposed the darkness of extinction--of utter annihilation--while the crash of thunder over head rolled over the echoes of the hills, "I am the Lord thy God."

The storm was at length over, the nullah run dry again. Damp and sleepy, with arms folded and eyes sometimes open, but often shut, I kept an indifferent watch, when the cow, struggling on her legs, and a groan, brought me to my senses. There they were. It was no dream. A large tiger, holding her just behind the ears, shaking her like a fighting dog. By the doubtful light of the watery moon, did I calmly and noiselessly run out the muzzle of my rifle.

I saw him, without quitting his grip of the cow's neck, leap over her back more than once. She sank to the earth, and he lifted her up again. At the first opportunity, I pulled trigger. The left hand missed, I tried the right--it went off--bang!

Whether a hanging fire is an excuse or not, the tiger relinquished his hold and was off with a bound. The cow staggered and struggled, and, in few seconds, fell, and, with a heavy groan, ceased to move. The tiger had killed the cow within a few feet of me, and escaped scathless.

Night after night did I watch for his return. I had almost despaired of seeing him again, when, one night, about eleven o'clock, my ears caught the echo among the rocks, and then the distant roar--nearer--nearer--nearer; and--oh, joy!--answered. Tiger and tigress!--above all hope!--coming to recompense me for hundreds of night watchings--to balance a long account of weary nights in the silent jungle, in platforms on trees, in huts of leaf and bramble, and in damp pits on the water's edge--all bootless; coming--coming--nearer and nearer.

Music nor words, dear reader, can stand me in any stead to convey the sound to you; the first note like the trumpet of a peacock, and the rest the deepest toned thunder. Stones and gravel rattled just behind the hut on the path by which we came, and went, and a heavy step passed and descended the slope into the nullah. I heard the sand crunching under his weight before I dared to look. A little peep. Oh, heavens! looming in the moonlight, there he stood, long, sleek as satin, and lashing his tail--he stood stationary, smelling the slaughtered cow. No longer the cautious, creeping tiger, I felt how awful a brute he was to offend. I remembered how he had worried a strong cow in half a minute, and that, with his weight alone, my poor rickety little citadel would fall to pieces. As if the excitement of the moment was insufficient, the monster, gazing down the dry watercourse, caught sight of his companion, who, advancing up the bed of the nullah, stood irresolutely about twenty yards off. The bully, who was evidently the male, after smelling at the head, came round the carcass, making a sort of complaisant purring--"humming a kind of animal song," and to it he went tooth and nail.

As he stood with his two fore feet on the haunch, while he tugged and tore out a beef-steak, I once more grasped old "Sam Nock," and ran the muzzle out of the little port. The white linen band marked a line behind his shoulders, and rather low, but, from the continued motion of his body, it was some moments before eye and finger agreed to pull trigger--bang! A shower of sand rattled on the dry leaves, and a roar of rage and pain satisfied me, even before the white smoke, which hung in the still air, had cleared away, to show the huge monster writhing and plunging where he had fallen. Either directed by the fire, or by some slight noise made in the agitation of the moment, he saw me, and, with a hideous yell, scrambled up: the roaring thunder of his voice filled the valley, and the echoes among the hills answered it, with the hootings of tribes of monkeys, who, scared out of sleep, sought the highest branches, at the sound of the well-known voice of the tyrant of the jungle. I immediately perceived, to my great joy, that his hind quarters were paralyzed and useless, and that all danger was out of the question. He sank down again on his elbows, and as he rested his now powerless limbs, I saw the blood welling out of a wound in the loins, as it shone in the moonlight, and trickled off his sleek-painted hide, like globules of quicksilver. As I looked into his countenance, I saw all the devil alive there. The will remained--the power only had gone. It was a sight never to be forgotten. With head raised to the full stretch of his neck, he glared at me with an expression of such malignity, that it almost made one quail. I thought of the native superstition of singeing off the whiskers of the newly killed tiger to lay his spirit, and no longer wondered at it. With ears back, and mouth bleeding, he growled and roared in fitful uncertainty, as if he were trying, but unable, to measure the extent of the force that had laid him low.

Motionless myself, provocation ceased, and without further attempt to get on his legs, he continued to gaze on me; when I slowly lowered my head to the sight, and again pulled trigger. This time, true to the mark, the ball entered just above the breastbone, and the smoke cleared off with his death-groan. There he lay, foot to foot with his victim of last night, motionless--dead. My first impulse was to tear down the door behind, and get a thorough view of his proportions; but remembering that his companion, the tigress, had vanished only a short time ago close to the scene of action, I thought it as well to remain where I was; so, enlarging the windows with my hands, I took a long look, and then jovially attacked the coffee without reference to noise, and fell back on the mattress to sleep, or to think the night's work over. "At last, I have got him: his skin will be pegged out to-morrow, drying before the tent door." When my people came in the morning, they found me seated on the dead tiger. Coolies were sent for to carry the beast, and I gave the pony his reins all the way back to the tent.

FRASER'S MAGAZINE


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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