THE INDIAN BISON.
Though at the risk of being thought sentimental, I cannot say that I approach the subject of bison shooting with much satisfaction, except, perhaps, in the thought that what I am about to write may be the means of prolonging in some degree, however infinitesimal, the existence of the race of these splendid animals, for I am afraid that nothing that anyone could write would prevent their numbers from being steadily diminished, and diminished, too, in some cases even by people who call themselves sportsmen; for one rather well-known writer has not only killed cow bisons, but actually published the fact—a thing that he certainly would not have done had the custom of shooting them not been common in some parts of India. I am happy to say that I never saw a dead cow bison, and in my part of Mysore, in the course of upwards of thirty-seven years' experience, I have never heard of more than two or three cows having been killed. Anything more foolish and barbarous than the killing of cow bisons cannot be conceived, for there is not a more harmless and inoffensive animal in the jungle than the bison—harmless because it seldom attacks[[24]] crops (I have never known of more than one instance of their doing so), and inoffensive because, if not molested, it never attacks man; and Mr. Sanderson, in his admirable work entitled "Thirteen Years amongst the Wild Beasts of India," declares that even solitary bulls, which are supposed to be dangerous, even if not molested, are not really so, though in the event of a native coming suddenly on a bull in the long grass, he admits the bison may spring suddenly up and dash at the intruder to clear him from his path. He has a most sympathetic chapter on these noble animals, and has enjoyed from an elephant's back the best opportunities of observing them, as the bison does not fear the elephant, in whose company indeed it is often found to be, and after having thus observed a herd of bison grazing, he says that he has "often left the poor animals undisturbed." Laterly he never thought of attacking herd bison, as it is often difficult to get a shot at the bull of the herd, and confined his shooting to those old solitary bulls which have been turned out of the herds by younger and more vigorous animals. These ought alone, indeed, to be the object of pursuit, and it is one usually carried on under such circumstances and amidst such splendid scenes that the sport is very attractive, and the pursuit of the solitary bull, writes Mr. Sanderson, can never, he imagines, pall on the most successful hunter. Perhaps this is true, but after having killed, say six solitary bulls, I think that a sportsman ought to be content for the rest of his life. A young forest officer lately told me that, having killed about that number, he had announced to his friends his intention of not killing any more. Shortly afterwards he fell in with two bulls who were engaged in a fierce battle with each other, and he might easily have shot one or perhaps both of them, but he had strength of mind to resist the temptation, a fact which, if known, would certainly entitle him to advancement in the service.
I have said that the bison, unless molested, will never attack man, and I was so confident of this that I once sent a highly valued European in my employ, to photograph a solitary bull, merely sending with him a native with a gun, and with instructions to fire in the event of the photographer being attacked. I selected a small piece of open swampy grass ground in a detached piece of jungle through which solitary bulls often passed, and knowing the direction of the wind at that season of the year, had no difficulty in avoiding any chance of the bull winding the photographer. The camera was placed on the edge of the jungle, and presently a bull came slowly grazing along the swamp, when he unluckily looked up to find the photographer just taking the cap off, within about ten paces. Never was there anything more annoying, and the thing would have been a magnificent success had my man been provided with the instantaneous process. But he was not, and the bull turned and fled through the mud with a most tremendous rush, having, I suppose, taken the lens for the glare of the eye of some new kind of tiger. The sudden change in the appearance of the bull was described to me as being most remarkable, for as he grazed quietly along he appeared to be one of the most harmless and domestic of animals, while the moment the sight of the camera fell on his astonished vision he was at once transformed into the wildest looking animal conceivable.
It is difficult to believe that big game in remote spots can perceive whether a man means to harm them or not, but it is remarkable that when on his way to the jungle alluded to, the photographer passed two sambur deer in the long grass, and at no great distance away, and saw them still lying there on his return. A bear was also rolling and grunting in the jungle close to him as he was waiting for the bull. On his return to the hut (put up for the occasion about a mile away) he was amused to find the native servant I had sent with him seated between two roasting fires which he imagined, and perhaps not without reason, would prevent his being attacked by a tiger. During the absence of my amateur photographer either a tiger or panther had passed close to the hut.
The photographer returned to the swamp on the following morning, but no bull arrived, and I gave up the attempt to obtain a photograph of a bison. But it is time now to describe the bison.
The Indian bison (Gavœus Gaurus, sometimes called the Gaur) is the largest member in the world of the ox tribe. It is quite free from mane or shaggy hair of any kind. The cows are of a dark brown, while in mature and old bulls the colour approaches to black. The legs from the knee downwards are of a dirty white (I once saw two bison with apparently blue legs, the colour being caused by standing on ashes, and this gave them a very remarkable appearance), and so is the forehead. The bison has no hump. It has a marked peculiarity in the shape of the back from the dorsal ridge running with a slight upward slope to about the middle of the back and then dropping suddenly towards the rump. Mr. Sanderson has never shot a bull more than six feet in height at the shoulder (if measured at the top of the dorsal ridge the height would of course be more), but Jerdon the naturalist, quoting Elliot (the late Sir Walter, a very careful observer) mentions six feet one-and-a-half inch as the height of one. I have generally found that an average sized bull is six feet, but I once killed one that was seven feet, and a neighbour of mine who has seen a great deal of bison shooting has killed one of similar height, and he informs me that he is positive that he has seen a larger bull than either of these very exceptional animals.
Bison herds generally number about twelve or fourteen, and I have never seen one of more than twenty-three, but at certain seasons they congregate in considerable numbers and again separate into small herds. They lie at night in a compact circle so that if attacked by a tiger they are ready to oppose at once a good front to the enemy. They seem to be quite aware that if they were to lie scattered about a tiger might suddenly spring upon one of them.
The bison has never been kept long in captivity, and there is only one instance of its having been so, and that is in the case of a bull bison now in possession of His Highness the Maharajah of Mysore. The history of this animal, and more especially of the warm friendship that sprung up between it and a doe sambur deer, is extremely interesting. I took down the following from my neighbour Mr. Park, and read over to him the account I now give.
It appears then that Mr. Park when out shooting some years ago, caught a male calf bison which was supposed to be about three days old. About a week afterwards a young doe sambur, which was being pursued by jungle dogs, rushed into one of the labourer's huts and was secured. It was then resolved to keep the deer as a companion for the bison, and the two were kept together, though they were never shut up. They were first of all fed on milk, and then allowed to graze, and soon became quite inseparable companions. They were fed at twelve o'clock and at four in the afternoon, and seemed to know their feeding time exactly. When about two years old it was resolved to fit the bison with a nose rope, and for this the nose had of course to be bored. He was tied up to a tree to be operated on and, after the hole was bored, he was liberated, when he rushed all over the ground adjacent to the house bellowing with rage—the only time, I may add, Mr. Park ever heard him bellow. After this he was regularly led out to graze by a man who trained him, by pulling the nose rope, to go in one direction or another. After this he was fed on gram (a kind of pea). When thus led out to graze the sambur sometimes remained behind, but seemed to have no difficulty in finding the bull even though it had been taken to a considerable distance. It would hold up its nose to catch the scent and then go off on the track. When the bison occasionally missed the doe he would wander about in search of her, but seemed to have no power of following her by scent—a power which she evidently possessed and practised. When the doe bathed in the river and splashed up the water with her fore feet the bull would stand upon the bank watching her proceedings with evident interest and curiosity, but did not himself bathe, nor appear to have any desire to go into the water. The bison, however, seemed to enjoy the cooling effect of the heavy monsoon rains, and no doubt thought that a shower bath of some hundreds of inches was quite enough for the rest of the year.
When the bull was about three years old it was presented to the Maharajah of Mysore, and sent off to the nearest railway station some sixty miles away. Some time after he had left, the doe discovered his absence, and then, in her usual way, went about holding up her nose in order to discover the direction in which he had gone. Presently she hit off the route and, setting off in pursuit, overtook her old companion after he gone about five or six miles, and, though the doe had not been given to the Maharajah, she was allowed to accompany the bull. When the doe overtook the bull he showed the greatest signs of pleasure at her arrival, and the two travelled happily along to Mysore.
I saw the bison at Mysore in 1891, when it looked remarkably well and happy, though the doe was not with it at the time. I was since glad to hear from a friend, who had seen them last October, that these strange and inseparable companions are in excellent health. It was very fortunate that the doe accompanied the bull, as I think it probable that the latter would have pined away and died, as the bison seems hitherto always to have done in captivity.
Bison are often attacked by tigers, and I once found the remains of one that had been killed by a tiger. It had been killed on the grass land between two and three hundred yards from the jungle, and I was much struck by the fact that the tiger had separated the head from the body and carried it into the forest, where I found the skull. It appeared to be that of a fair sized bull. But the largest bulls are sometimes killed by tigers, though I imagine that this must be rare, or we should not find very old bulls in a country where tigers are plentiful. A tiger I believe sometimes tires out a bull by inducing him to charge again and again till he is quite worn out, and sometimes, I am informed by an experienced sportsman, two tigers will join in attacking a bison, and have been known to hamstring it. I have been told by a toddyman who lived on the edge of the forest region, that in a valley near his house he had seen a tiger worrying a bison and inducing it to charge for nearly a whole day and ultimately killing it. But sometimes the bison succeeds in driving off the tiger, which then slinks away. About two years ago an interesting illustration took place of this, which was witnessed by a neighbour of mine, who found that when stalking a bull bison he had a fellow stalker in the shape of a tiger. The incident was at once rare and interesting—in fact, so far as I know, quite unique—and I asked my friend to write me an account of it for publication in my book.
"When I was returning," writes my friend Mr. Brooke Mockett, "one day in the beginning of the monsoon of 1891, from visiting a plantation of mine near the Ghauts, I deflected somewhat from my route to visit an adjacent range of minor hills, and presently entered a shallow valley, on the opposite side of which the forest land was fringed with some scrubby bushes mingled with ferns, outside of which was a stretch of open grass land. As I entered the valley I saw on the opposite side of it a solitary bull bison grazing along towards the open grass land. This, at the rate he was moving, he would soon reach. I therefore took up a position so as to get a shot at him when he got fairly into the open land, where he would be immediately below and opposite to me. Two Hindoo ryots—always called goudas in Manjarabad—from a neighbouring village were with me, and were keeping a sharp look out. We were all quite concealed in the long grass. Presently one of them whispered, 'Look, look, there is a tiger stalking the bison,' and, after peering into the bushes for a few seconds, I at last made out the tiger, which was about 200 yards further along the valley to the east of the bison, towards which it was stealthily creeping. I at once decided not to interfere at present, but to leave the animals alone and watch the result. The tiger struck me as being a small one, and the goudas thought so too. It was probably the same one that had some weeks before killed a three-parts-grown bison, the remains of which we saw when on the way to the spot. The bull was a magnificent animal, and just in his prime. It was a most exciting scene; the ponderous bull grazing quietly along the valley in utter ignorance of danger, and feeding so industriously that he never once lifted his head from the ground, while the tiger crawled towards him in a manner that was exquisite to see. Belly to the ground, its movements resembled rather those of a snake than an animal as it wound its way through the scrub, gliding through the ferns, and taking advantage of all the bushes. Occasionally it sat up to peer cautiously at the bull, and then sinking down it again glided on. Except now and then, when the bushes were low, I doubt if it could see the bull, nor could the latter scent the tiger, for the bull was feeding down the valley in the teeth of the strong monsoon winds, and the tiger was following in its tracks.
"As the two goudas sitting with me in the long grass observed the movements of the tiger, they could not contain their indignation. No doubt they thought of the many cattle they had recently lost, and, connecting the present revelation of the tiger's mode of proceeding with the slaughter of their buffaloes, they relieved their feelings by uttering sotto voce the most virulent abuse of the tiger, its wife, and its female relations in general, and every fresh movement of the tiger drew from them some extremely powerful and untranslatable epithets. The temptation to fire at the tiger was very great, but I refrained, as every moment brought them nearer to me, and it seemed certain that the fight must come off just below the ground I was seated on.
"The scene was now an extremely exciting one, for the animals were about 200 yards from us, the bull having fed to within fifty yards of the open grass, and the tiger having crept so close to him that every moment we expected something to happen. We saw the tiger crawl right up to the bull, and it seemed to get actually within a yard of it, and yet it did not spring. A few seconds more passed, and then the bull, suddenly becoming aware of the tiger's presence, made a rapid rush forward into the open grass land outside of the scrub. Then he pulled up at a distance from it of about sixty yards, and faced round in the direction of the tiger. Had he liked, he might have gone away altogether; but, far from showing fear, he was furious, and looked superb as he shook his head and snorted with rage. Then for about two minutes he stood as still as if carved of stone, evidently straining all his senses to discover the tiger, after which he made a terrific charge up to the edge of the scrub, where he pulled up and again snorted, and shook his head. If ever a bison meant business he did, and could he have seen the tiger he would have certainly tried to kill it, but it was hiding in the scrub and was invisible to him, though we could just make out its golden red skin.
"The sight of the infuriated bull within a few yards was altogether too much for the tiger, which now turned and commenced to sneak off with astonishing rapidity, keeping completely out of the bison's sight, and looking like the most abject wretch imaginable. My goudas became frantic at this, and seeing that there was now no chance of a fight between the bull and the tiger, I rushed along the hill with the view of trying to get a good shot at the latter, but this I found would be impossible, so I rested my rifle on a stamp, and, as he moved through the scrub, took a long shot, which knocked him off his legs, and we saw him partly roll and partly scramble into the dense jungle below. A shout of 'The bull is going,' from the goudas, made me look back, and just as he was starting I hastily fired my second barrel into his shoulder and dropped him dead. We then went to look for the tiger, but, most unfortunately, the rain, which up to this time had kept off, descended in torrents, and the whole country became enveloped in dense mist. We found the spot where the tiger had been knocked over, and the goudas soon discovered cut hair (by the bullet), a sure proof of a hit. We could see where he had rolled down, the slope to the thick forest, crushing the ferns, and tearing up the ground with his struggles, but the blood was of course washed away by the tropical rain torrents. Within the forest, which was almost impenetrable, all was dark as night, and as no track could be seen, and we were soon all drenched to the skin, it was impossible to do anything more, and I was compelled to give up the pursuit. Why the tiger, after getting so close to the bison did not attack, it is impossible to say, but the men who accompanied me were of opinion that, owing to the bison being partly hidden by the scrub, the tiger could not gauge its size till quite close to it, and then was afraid to attack such a large bull."
I think that their surmise is correct, and as I have before suggested, I think that these very large bulls are but rarely attacked by tigers, for my experience shows that solitary bulls are easily stalked, to within quite close distances, and, were the tigers easily able to kill them, I feel sure that a solitary bull would very seldom be found.
I have said that the bison is a harmless animal, but this of course is only when you keep away from it, and a wounded bison should be approached and tracked up with caution, and in no case should a single tracker follow up a wounded bull. He should always have a companion to keep a general look out in case of the bull suddenly charging the tracker when he is busy following the trail. On one occasion a manager of mine went out shooting, wounded a bull, and then went round to a point to cut him off, and sent in the only man he had to follow up the track and drive the bull on. He waited for some time and then shouted, but received no answer, for the poor tracker was dead. He had evidently been charged by the bull when he was busy tracking it, and was taken by surprise. By a curious coincidence my manager had dreamed the night before that he had gone out with this tracker, that he had been killed by a bull, and that the body was found extended in the position in which it was ultimately found on the following day.
Close to the place where the man was killed we had a capital illustration of the need for keeping a good look out when tracking. When out shooting one evening with a friend, we wounded a solitary bull (which I have reason to suppose was the same bull that killed the tracker), and on the following morning took up his track, which led down into a spot in the forest where, from some trees probably having been blown down in former years, there was a little thicket of small trees and underwood. Into this the bull had gone, and we soon found where he had been lying, and were proceeding to take up the track again, when one of our men, who stood a little way behind, and luckily, was looking about, said "There's the bull." He had evidently heard us coming, got up, gone ten yards away, and was waiting for a favourable moment to charge, and, had he done so when we were in the thicket, he probably would have killed one of the party. My friend, who was an old hand, and of course saw the danger at a glance, cleared out of the thicket with wonderful alertness, and the rest were not slow to follow his example. We then passed round the upper side of the thicket, and came down upon the bull in the more open forest, and soon killed him. Just as we had done so, news came that a herd of bison was grazing on a ridge about half or three-quarters of a mile or so away, and as our pursuit of them elucidates some points of practical importance, I give a short description of the stalk and its accompanying circumstances.
The herd of bison, it appears, were just outside a jungly ravine which ran up from the main forest through the grass land. The jungle terminated just below a ridge of hill, along which we approached the spot. Overhanging the hollow were some rocks which afforded us a convenient place to creep behind, and presently we lay down there, looking at the herd, which was below us, and about a hundred yards away. And then we found (as Mr. Sanderson so often did that he at last gave up attacking herd bison) that it was impossible to fire at the bull, as he was screened by the cows. How long we lay watching I cannot exactly tell, but as the day got hotter the bison began to move, and then we had a chance of firing at the big bull. The herd, bull included, then entered the jungly ravine, and presently reappeared a little further down and on the right of the ravine with a calf which had evidently been left in the ravine, and filed along the slope. The bull, however, had remained behind. Now comes a point of great importance in following up big game, and which, curiously enough, has never been noticed hitherto, at least I have not been able to meet with any reference to it in the many big game shooting books I have looked at. If an animal is wounded, it is a common practice to follow it up at once, the result of which is that it will often go off to a considerable distance (which is often highly inconvenient) and frequently be lost. But if, instead of following the startled animal at once, a perfect silence is maintained, and you remain where you are, the animal, the moment it is inside the jungle, will stand to listen, and if it can neither hear nor see anything, will probably lie down to recover from the shock, and if it does so, will very probably not rise from the spot for a considerable time. You have thus an opportunity of getting ahead of your quarry and coming back to the margin of the forest from a direction opposite to that from which it naturally expects danger, and it will thus have to pass you again in order to get further into the forest, and you will then, as I have known from experience, get another shot. On this occasion it was of great importance to get between the wounded bull and the main forest towards the foot of the Ghauts, and we accordingly resolved to go down the grass land on the outside of the jungly ravine, enter it a good way down, and lie up to rest for some time, and then look up the wounded bull.
And now I received a lesson that I shall never forget. We had taken our early toast and tea, and had intended returning to breakfast, but we had been decoyed by the sport so far from home, and the weather was so hot, that we could not face the task of toiling back in the heat of the sun, and besides, we had our wounded bull to look up. The prospect of remaining all day without food was not pleasant, but luckily I had a few small biscuits in my pocket. Then we were afraid to drink the water, as at that season it is not considered to be wholesome. "Ah," said my friend, after fumbling in his pocket, "we are all right. I have got one peppermint lozenge. We will divide it into four parts, and it will last the day." This was my first introduction to the great practical value of the peppermint lozenge in taking away the sensation of thirst, and in hot climates I now never go without them. But they should be made at a good chemist's, as the peppermint then has none of that nauseous, or, at any rate, very disagreeable, smell which accompanies ordinary peppermint lozenges. They are also very useful in travelling, and in India I always carry them, as, if kept out longer in the morning than usual, they at once banish hunger and thirst, and are, besides, very refreshing, and I feel sure would be invaluable in the case of troops marching in hot weather, and where good water is not to be had. They are also very useful when going out after a tiger, and when news of one is brought in my first order is to put up two peppermint lozenges. Another point of value I may here mention. Always, if there is a chance of your being kept out late, take a lantern and matches. We experienced the evil of the neglect of this precaution when returning home. You may have starlight outside the forest, but darkness within, and a lantern is, of course, a great aid, and it is so even when there is moonlight, as you may be either on the wrong side of a ridge or have to pass through dark bottoms. But now as to the pursuit of the bull.
After resting for several hours we took our way up the ravine in the direction of the point at which the bull entered it. And here we made a cardinal mistake, for we went together, whereas had one of us remained on the grass land outside, we should almost certainly have got the bull. We, however, omitted to take this precaution, and proceeded up the ravine to within about fifty yards of the spot where the bull entered, when up he got close to us, but without our being able to see him, and went out of the ravine on to the grass land and down into the main forest beyond, into which we had neither time, strength, nor inclination to follow him. The preceding will be a good lesson to any young sportsman, firstly, as to the value of not following up a wounded animal at once, and, secondly, as to taking every kind of precaution when you do. How often is sport spoiled from the want of appreciating the truism that a wall is no stronger than its weakest point. The importance of carefully guarding and refusing to be decoyed away from the pass into the main forest is of such consequence that I proceed to enforce it with another illustration.
One day I found a fine bull grazing on the margin of a piece of detached jungle some five or six acres in extent; I got between him and the main forest, to which he would of course fly, fired at him, and he went at once into the ravine, or rather jungle-clad hollow, in front of him. I then ran to the only pass from it into the main forest, and told the two people who were with me to follow on the track of the bull, at which I should thus have been able to get another shot in the event of his having strength enough to leave the five or six acres of jungle he had entered. I waited for a considerable time, and at last went up the hill with the view of seeing what my people were about, and called out, to be answered by one man on the top of a hill on the other side, and by another from the top of a tree, who said that the bison had attacked them, and that one of them had run out of the jungle and the other up a tree. I called out to the man on the grass land to go and fetch a dog and some people from the village, and again returned to my pass, for had the bull once got down into the main forest-which led to the foot of the Ghauts, we should probably have lost him. After rather a long interval some natives appeared with a dog, and I told them to drive the ravine, and soon there ensued a series of charges, accompanied by the barking of the dog, and a general state of confusion, from, which it was evident that the bison had lots of go in him. Still I clung to the pass. At last my patience was worn out, and I went to look up the bull in the jungle. Horror of horrors! he made off in the very direction of the pass into the main forest, and had it not been for the dog we should probably have lost him, but I at once set on the dog, and this had the desired effect of making the bull turn, when he came towards us, looking for some one to charge. When he was a few yards from me I gave him a shot which turned him aside, and as he deflected he presented a good shot, and was soon killed.
The jumping, or rather bounding power of the bison is wonderful, and I was accidentally caused to ascertain it in this way. One evening, just at sundown, I found a bull in a very unexpected place, high up on a mountain, with very precipitous sides. He was on the edge of a piece of jungly, swampy land, about half an acre in extent, and when I fired at him he went into this, and I sent my second gun man round to drive him out. He soon appeared, took one look at me at a distance of about fifty yards, and then charged with wonderful suddenness. I was young and active then, and ran sideways to the only tree—a small one on the open land—but I had just time to save myself, for the bull, having struck or grazed the tree with his shoulder, fell at my feet, and as he rose, his horn caught my coat about the armpit and tore a hole in it. He galloped towards me with his nose up, but lowered his head as he approached me, evidently to clear me away. He, of course, was up again in a second, and disappeared over the crest of the hill. The ground I was standing on sloped only slightly upward towards the point at which the bison emerged, there being at the spot a length of about eighty yards of comparatively flat land, which, of course, accounted for the swampy ground, which, by the way, had been partly created by the natives having at some remote time formed a small tank there. Well, the following morning I went to the spot with an English sporting companion, and said, "This is the place where I was charged." "But," he said, and so said the natives with him, "there has never been a bison here at all," and as there had been some rain the day before, the tracks would, of course, have been plainly visible. As it turned out, we happened to be standing between the tracks, and on measuring the distance between them, we found that the bull had covered twenty-one feet from hind-foot to hind-foot, and that, too, on ground which, as we have seen, sloped but very slightly.
I cannot conclude this chapter without urging sportsmen to use every means in their power which can aid in the preservation of these harmless and interesting animals; and I trust that every effort may be made not only to obtain a Game Preservation Act for India, but to have a special clause inserted in it with reference to cow bisons, and the imposition of a heavy line for killing one of them. Is not the intelligent preservation of game one of the most prominent signs of advancing civilization?
[24] In Jerdon's "Mammals of India," Roorkee, 1867, p. 304, however, I find that it is stated that the bison do ravage the fields of the ryots, but Mr. Sanderson has no mention of their doing so, and he had the best opportunities for observation.