LIEUT. EVAN DAVIES,
Which occurred while the British army was lying at Agoada, near Goa, 1809. A report was one morning brought to the cantonment that a very large tiger had been seen on the rocks near the sea. About nine o’clock a number of horses and men assembled at the spot where it was said to have been seen, when, after some search, the animal was discovered to be in the recess of an immense rock; dogs were sent in in the hope of starting him, but without effect, having returned with several wounds. Finding it impossible to dislodge the animal by such means, Lieut. Davies, of the 7th regiment, attempted to enter the den, but was obliged to return, finding the passage extremely narrow and dark. He attempted it, however, a second time, with a pick-axe in his hand, with which he removed some obstructions that were in the way. Having proceeded a few yards he heard a noise which he conceived to be that of the animal. He then returned, and communicated with Lieut. Threw, of the Artillery, who also went in the same distance, and was of a similar opinion. What course to pursue was doubtful. Some proposed to blow up the rock; others, to smoke the animal out. At length a port-fire was tied to the end of a bamboo, and introduced into a small crevice which led towards the den. Lieut. Davies went on hands and knees down the narrow passage which led to it, and by the light of his torch he was enabled to discover the animal. Having returned, he said he could kill him with a pistol, which, being procured, he again entered the cave and fired, but without success, owing to the awkward situation in which he was placed, having only his left hand at liberty. He next went with a musket and bayonet, and wounded the tiger in the loins; but he was obliged to retreat as quickly as the narrow passage would allow, the tiger having rushed forward and forced the musket back towards the mouth of the den. Lieut. Davies next procured a rifle, with which he again forced his way into the cave, and taking deliberate aim at the tiger’s head, fired, and put an end to its existence. He afterwards tied a strong rope round the neck of the tiger, by which it was dragged out, to the no small satisfaction of a numerous crowd of spectators. The animal measured seven feet in length.
Combats with wild elephants are still more dangerous than with the tiger. From the following account given by a sojourner in India, the extreme hazard attending such enterprises will be seen, while a reflection can scarcely fail to arise on the wondrous superiority of man’s sagacity which has enabled him to reduce this mightiest of land animals to docile servitude.
“We had intelligence,” says the narrator, “of an immense wild elephant being in a large grass swamp within five miles of us. He had inhabited the swamp for years, and was the terror of the surrounding villagers, many of whom he had killed. He had only one tusk; and there was not a village for many miles round that did not know the ‘Burrah ek durt ke Hathee,’ or the large one-toothed elephant; and one of our party had the year before been charged and his elephant put to the right-about by this famous fellow. We determined to go in pursuit of him; and accordingly on the third day after our arrival, started in the morning, mustering, between private and government elephants, thirty-two, but seven of them only with sportsmen on their backs. As we knew that in the event of the wild one charging he would probably turn against the male elephants, the drivers of two or three of the largest were armed with spears. On our way to the swamp we shot a great number of different sorts of game that got up before the line of elephants, and had hardly entered the swamp when, in consequence of one of the party firing at a partridge, we saw the great object of our expedition. The wild elephant got up out of some long grass about two hundred and fifty yards before us, when he stood staring at us and flapping his huge ears. We immediately made a line of the elephants with the sportsmen in the centre, and went straight up to him until within a hundred and thirty yards, when, fearing he was going to turn from us, all the party gave him a volley, some of us firing two, three, and four barrels. He then turned round, and made for the middle of the swamp. The chase now commenced, and after following him upwards of a mile, with our elephants up to their bellies in mud, we succeeded in turning him to the edge of the swamp, where he allowed us to get within eighty yards of him, when we gave him another volley in his full front, on which he made a grand charge at us, but fortunately only grazed one of the pad elephants. He then made again for the middle of the swamp, throwing up blood and water from his trunk, and making a terrible noise, which clearly showed that he had been severely wounded. We followed him, and were obliged to swim our elephants through a piece of deep stagnant water, occasionally giving shot, when making a stop in some very high grass he allowed us again to come within sixty yards, and got another volley, on which he made a second charge more furious than the first, but was prevented making it good by some shots fired when very close to us, which stunned and fortunately turned him. He then made for the edge of the swamp, again swimming a piece of water, through which we followed with considerable difficulty in consequence of our pads and howdahs having become much heavier from the soaking they had got twice before. We were up to the middle in the howdahs, and one of the elephants fairly turned over and threw the rider and his guns into the water. He was taken off by one of the pad elephants, but his three guns went to the bottom. This accident took up some time, during which the wild elephant had made his way to the edge of the swamp, and stood perfectly still looking at us and trumpeting with his trunk. As soon as we got all to rights we again advanced with the elephants in the form of a crescent, in the full expectation of a desperate charge, nor were we mistaken. The animal now allowed us to come within forty yards of him, when we took a very deliberate aim at his head, and, on receiving this fire, he made a most furious charge, in the act of which, and when within ten yards of some of us, he received his mortal wound and fell dead as a stone. His death-wound on examination proved to be from a small ball over the left eye, for this was the only one of thirty-one that he had received in his head, which was found to have entered the brain. When down he measured in height twelve feet four inches; in length, from the root of the tail to the top of the head, sixteen feet; and ten feet round the neck. He had upwards of eighty balls in his head and body. His only remaining tusk when taken out weighed thirty-six pounds, and, when compared with the tusks of tame elephants, was considered small for the size of the animal. After he fell a number of villagers came about us, and were rejoiced at the death of their formidable enemy, and assured us that during the last four or five years he had killed nearly fifty men; indeed, the knowledge of the mischief he had occasioned was the only thing which could reconcile us to the death of so noble an animal.”
Exciting as such accounts of contest with powerful land animals are, they yield in depth of interest to the records of the whale fishery. The potent combination of human courage and intelligence is so fully manifested by an excellent description of these daring but well ordered enterprises, contained in one of the volumes of the Edinburgh Cabinet Library, that we present it to the young reader almost entire:—
“As soon as they have arrived in those seas which are the haunt of the whale, the crew must be every moment on the alert, keeping watch day and night. The seven boats are kept hanging by the sides of the ship ready to be launched in a few minutes, and, where the state of the sea admits, one of them is usually manned and afloat. These boats are from twenty-five to twenty-eight feet long, about five and a half feet broad, and constructed with a special view to lightness, buoyancy, and easy steerage. The captain or some principal officer seated above surveys the water to a great distance, and the instant he sees the back of the huge animal which they seek to attack emerging from the waves, gives notice to the watch who are stationed on deck, part of whom leap into a boat, which is instantly lowered down, and followed by a second if the fish be a large one. Each of the boats has a harpooner and one or two subordinate officers, and is provided with an immense quantity of rope coiled together and stowed in different quarters of it, the several parts being spliced together so as to form a continued line usually exceeding four thousand feet in length; to the end is attached the harpoon, an instrument formed not to pierce and kill the animal, but by entering and remaining fixed in the body to prevent its escape. One of the boats is now rowed towards the whale in the deepest silence, cautiously avoiding to give any alarm, of which he is very susceptible. Sometimes a circuitous route is adopted in order to attack him from behind. Having approached as near as is consistent with safety, the harpooner darts his instrument into the back of the monster. This is a critical moment, for when this mighty animal feels himself struck he often throws himself into violent convulsive movements, vibrating in the air his tremendous tail, one lash of which is sufficient to dash a boat in pieces. More commonly, however, he plunges with rapid flight into the depths of the sea or beneath the thickest fields and mountains of ice. While he is thus moving, at the rate usually of eight or ten miles an hour, the utmost diligence must be used that the line to which the harpoon is attached may run off smoothly and readily along with him; should it be entangled for a moment the strength of the whale is such that he would draw the boat and crew after him under the waves. The first boat ought to be quickly followed up by a second to supply more line when the first is run out, which often takes place in eight or ten minutes. When the crew of a boat see the line in danger of being all run off, they hold up one, two, or three oars, to intimate their pressing need of a supply; at the same time they turn the rope once or twice round a kind of post called the bollard, by which the motion of the line and the career of the animal are somewhat retarded. This, however, is a delicate operation, which brings the side of the boat down to the very edge of the water, and if the rope be drawn at all too tight may sink it altogether. While the line is rolling round the bollard the friction is so violent that the harpooner is enveloped in smoke, and water must be constantly poured on to prevent it catching fire. When, after all, no aid arrives, and the crew find that the line must run out, they have only one resource—they cut it, losing thereby not only the whale but the harpoon and all the ropes of the boat.
“When the whale is first struck and plunges into the waves, the boat’s crew elevate a flag as a signal to the watch on deck, who give the alarm to those asleep below by stamping violently on the deck, and crying aloud, ‘A fall! a fall!’ On this notice they do not allow themselves time to dress, but rush out in their sleeping-shirts or drawers into an atmosphere the temperature of which is often below zero, carrying along with them their clothing in a bundle and trusting to make their toilette in the interval of manning and pushing off the boats. Such is the tumult at this moment that young mariners have been known to raise cries of fear, thinking the ship was going down.”
The period during which a wounded whale remains under water is various, but is averaged by Mr. Scoresby at about half an hour. Then, pressed by the necessity of respiration, he appears above, often considerably distant from the spot where he was harpooned and in a state of great exhaustion, which the same ingenious writer ascribes to the severe pressure that he has endured when placed beneath a column of water seven hundred or eight hundred fathoms deep. All the boats have meantime been spreading themselves in various directions, that one at least may be within a start, as it is called, or about two hundred yards at the point of his rising, at which distance they can easily pierce him with one or two more harpoons before he again descends, as he usually does for a few minutes. On his reappearance a general attack is made with lances, which are struck as deep as possible to reach and penetrate the vital parts. Blood mixed with oil streams copiously from his wounds and from his blow-holes, dyeing the sea to a great distance, and sprinkling and sometimes drenching the boats and crews. The animal now becomes more and more exhausted, but at the approach of his death he often makes a convulsive and energetic struggle, rearing his tail high in the air, and whirling it with a noise which is heard at the distance of several miles. At length, quite overpowered and exhausted, he lays himself on his side or back and expires. The flag is then taken down, and three loud huzzas raised from the surrounding boats. No time is lost in piercing the tail with two holes, through which ropes are passed, which, being fastened to the boats, drag the fish to the vessel amid shouts of joy.
One reflection must arise in the mind of the young reader—if he have begun to reflect—on reading this brief description of whale fishery enterprise. Man’s attack upon the whale is not an act of self-defence; is it, then, justifiable? We cannot go into the whole argument which would present itself when such an important question is asked. We leave the reader to grapple with the difficulty as a healthy exercise for his understanding, only reminding him that the conveniences of civilization in the degree hitherto reached would be immensely curtailed if Man were not allowed to sacrifice for his own use the lives of animals which, either by their gentle nature or the localities they occupy, are without the range of the noxious and dangerous class.
