Chapter Fourteen.
Adventure with a Python—Moondah’s House—“The Tiger! The Tiger!”—Panthers—Hunting with the Cheetah—The Panther and the Boar.
“Do you really think there are pythons or boa constrictors in the forest?” asked Frank next day at dinner.
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” replied Lyell. “At the same time I cannot quite swallow all the tracker says about the enormity of the serpent he saw when following up your trail in the woods.”
“No,” said Chisholm, “fifty feet of snake is rather more than most men can swallow; but had you seen the tracker’s eyes when he saw the tiger, you’d have been willing to admit that they were big enough to accommodate a very large amount of boa constrictor.”
“It puts me in mind of an adventure I once had in South Africa,” said Lyell. “One doesn’t like speaking much of one’s self, but I think, on the occasion I refer to, I exhibited a fair amount of firmness and presence of mind in a moment of deadly peril to one of my men. I had been out for a fortnight’s shoot, beyond and to the nor’ard of the Natal provinces. There were four of us—our doctor, our purser, marine officer, and myself. Our sport was good, and the fun we had fairish. We were seated at lunch one day in an open glade in the forest, when suddenly we were startled by hearing the most terrific yells; and on looking up beheld one of our Caffres speeding towards us, pursued by an enormous python. There was no time for escape, had escape been honourable, which it was not. I seized the rifle and bayonet from one of our attendant marines, and next moment the python was impaled. Oh, don’t think for a moment that that would have killed him! In half a second he had almost wriggled clear; but in doing so he turned the rifle round so that the muzzle pointed almost down his throat. It was a terrible moment—thank Heaven that rifle was loaded, and that I had the presence of mind to pull the trigger! It was a case of ‘all hands stand clear’ now. The python’s head was shattered, but the convulsions of his body, ere death closed the scene, were fearful to witness. I don’t want to see the like again. His body measured five-and-thirty feet; the gape of his jaws measured over a yard. I can understand a monster like this swallowing a goat or even a deer itself.”
A day or two after this the camp was struck, and a move made nearer to the mountains, the tents being erected close to the river as before, but still on elevated ground. Here they were, then, in the very centre of what might be called the home of the wild beasts, and both sport and adventure might reasonably be expected in any quantity. Herds of elephants roamed in the deep forests, tigers and wild pigs were in the thickets; bears, too, would be found, and birds everywhere. They formed no particular plan of attack upon the denizens of this wilderness; they were bold hunters every one of them; they carried their lives in their hands, but they omitted no precaution to defend and protect them. They always went abroad prepared for anything.
Chisholm called the spot where the camp was now fixed—and where it remained until the commencement of the south-west monsoon warned them it was time for departure—his Highland home. It was indeed a Highland home, and the scenery all around was charming. And yet a walk of some eight or nine miles brought them to what might be called the lowlands. Here were great stretches of open country, interspersed with lakes and streams, immense green fields of rice or paddy and maize, with groves of cocoa-nut palms, and gardens where grew the orange-tree and the citron, and where the giant mango-trees hid completely from view the primitive huts of the villagers.
Moondah was head-man of one of these villages, and our heroes, while returning home after a day’s promiscuous shooting, used to stop to refresh themselves at his house. Moondah was a kind of a feudal lord among his people. He had built himself a house on the outskirts of his village, just under the shadow of a vast precipice. Indeed, it was quite a castle compared to the frail huts of mud and wood in which the villagers dwelt. Moondah’s castle was built of solid stone and lime, the walls were of great thickness, and the roof was flat and surrounded by embattlements; and it was very pleasant to sit here for half an hour, while the sun was declining in the west, and sip the fragrant coffee, which nobody could make so well as Moondah, and which he always presented to them with his own hands. The five miles that intervened between his house and their encampment, seemed a trifle to them after that.
It was, strange to say, at this head-man’s house, and not in the jungle, that they formed their first acquaintance with a tiger. Close by the walls ran a rapid stream, by no means large at the time of which I write, but in the rainy season it mast have been swollen into quite a broad and mighty river. The day had been unusually warm, and the sport very exciting. Moondah was extremely pleased to see them; perhaps the contents of Jowser’s howdah, which had been left at Moondah’s garden gate, had something to do with his delight, for they seldom called upon him without leaving a souvenir of some kind. Moondah was in no wise particular, so long as it was not buffalo or cow’s flesh; but pigs and deer pleased him much, and neither wild-cat, jackal, nor iguana lizards, came wrong to him.
“Well, Moondah?” said Lyell.
“Salaam Sahib,” replied Moondah, leading the way up-stairs to his darkest and coolest room. “I dessay you tired after your ’xertions; you squat dere on de skins, and munch de fruit my little boy bring you. I fetch de coffee quick enough, you see. Hallo! what is de matter now?”
This was addressed to the above-mentioned little boy, who had just rushed in with the fruit-tray, which he dropped at his master’s feet.
“Hooli! hooli!” was all the boy could gasp. “The tiger! the tiger!”
“What!” cried Lyell, starting up, “a tiger in the very village?”
But it was easily explained: a dead bullock lay in a bit of bush only a stone’s throw up the stream, and on this the beast had doubtless come to regale himself. He was there now; and it was resolved to wait quietly on the top of Moondah’s house, and watch.
It was a long watch. Daylight faded away, twilight faded into darkness; the stars shone out; a great red round moon rose slowly up from behind the trees, paling as it went, till at last it shone out high above them, bright, and white, and clear. But still no tiger made his appearance. At last though, there was a crackling noise amongst the bushes, then a stealthy footstep, and out into the open stalked the majestic beast. He stood for a moment as if to listen, then moved onwards to the river to drink. He presented a splendid shot. Seeing Lyell’s rifle at the shoulder, Chisholm, who was of a chivalrous nature, withheld his fire. But Lyell only wounded the brute in the leg. He was staggered, and emitted a roaring cough that seemed to shake Moondah’s house to its very foundation. Now it was Chisholm’s chance; he had knelt, and ere the crack of his rifle had ceased to reverberate among the rocks the tiger was stretched lifeless on the river’s brink.
One day Moondah came to the camp. It was evident he had something on his mind, for he never came without good news of some kind.
“Twenty mile from here,” he began, “lives a man who married two or tree of my sister.”
“Well done,” said Lyell, laughing.
“But that is nothing,” continued Moondah; “in the scrub around his village are antelope plenty; and my brodder he keep cheetah. There are also panther in the scrub; and dere are,”—here Moondah’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth seemed to water—“dere are wild pigs in de woods.”
“Oh, bother the pigs!” said Lyell. “Let us go to the village and see the cheetahs hunting. Let us go for two or three days, and make a regular big shoot of it.”
Accordingly, next day they set out, and Moondah and his merrie men went too. The camp was not broken up, but elephants were taken—Jowser among others—and horses, with plenty of ammunition and plenty of the good things of this life, both to eat and to drink. Their road led through jungle, scrub, and moorland, and just skirted the great forests. At noonday they stopped for luncheon, and the usual siesta. Chisholm and Frank strolled off together, while it was getting ready; they walked with caution, as usual, for there was cover enough about for anything. They soon discovered that there was some one not far off who did not belong to their party at all, and that he too was going in for a siesta. An immense tiger! Stretched on the grass by the river side, what a lovely picture he made. Chivalrous Chisholm O’Grahame! he would not have fired at the beast thus for the world. He admired him fully a minute in silence, then—
“Pitch a cartridge at him,” he whispered to Frank.
The result may easily be guessed.
“Wough, woa, oa!” roared the beast, springing up. Chisholm gave him both barrels. He was quiet enough after that. But had Chisholm only wounded the creature, it might have interfered materially with the continuation of my story, for Frank had no arms.
That evening found them encamped near the village of Chowdrah. They were duly introduced to Moondah’s much-married brother-in-law, and to the cheetahs. Frank was a little afraid of these animals at first, especially when one of them made a kind of a playful spring at him and brought him down, but this the much-married man assured Frank was all in fun. Next minute the same cheetah sat down by Frank’s side, and purred to him, like a monster cat. In shape of body they were not unlike a mastiff, long-tailed, spotted, loose in the loins and leggy; they had none of the grace and beauty of the panther.
Next day and for several days our heroes enjoyed the sport of antelope hunting, and the enjoyment was very real. They did not always find, but when they did it was interesting to watch the movements of the now-unhooded cheetah. How lightly and cautiously he springs to the ground, flopping at once behind a bit of cover; how slowly but carefully he crawls towards the herd. Ah! but they see him now, and off they bound. Frank strikes spurs into his charger, and, wild horseman that he is, follows the chase. Chisholm and Lyell and Fred are not very far behind.
But that bounding antelope and that fleet-footed cheetah distanced them all. They were never once in at the death. Moondah and his men used to go wild with joy when the antelopes were brought in. They could do nothing but clap their hands and sing, “Hoolay-kara! Hoolay-kara!” till they were tired.
Frank so set his heart upon those cheetahs, that he determined to beg for a young one. Ay, and he got one too; but for the life of him he could not make up his mind whether to term it “kitten” or “puppy.”
Greatly to the joy of Moondah they managed to kill not a few wild pigs.
In a bit of scrub or bush about an acre in extent they were told one day that a panther was hid. This was a chance not to be missed. Stake nets were planted at the side next to the hill where doubtless the beast’s cave lay, the guns were well positioned, and the beaters began their work. Mr Panther, however, did not see the fun of going into that net. Disturbed at last, he quitted cover by making a wild rush at the beaters themselves; two were rolled over, and one severely lacerated in the leg. Fred was the nearest gun, and he wounded the panther in the shoulder, without stopping his way however. Well, a wounded panther must attack whatever with life in it happens to come his way. In this instance it was an old grey boar, who was coming round a corner, wondering to himself what all the row meant. The panther repented his rashness next minute, when the boar’s tusks were fleshed in his neck. It was a curious battle, brought to a speedy termination by Chisholm’s bone-crusher. His monster bullet whizzed through the panther’s body, and pierced the breast of the huge boar, and they fell as they fought.
“Now,” said Lyell, “I do call that a good shot. Bravo! Chisholm.”