And they did too. It was always their custom to be early astir, but they did not start on an empty stomach you may be well sure; and they were quite ready for luncheon at twelve. Then would come the hour for siesta; for during the time of day when the sun is at its highest and its hottest, it is neither pleasant nor safe to be out of the shade in India.
“Why, Lyell,” Fred Freeman said on the evening of the first day’s big shoot, “you have brought us to a perfect paradise, and a sportsman’s paradise too.”
A sportsman’s paradise? Yes, surely the contents of those lordly bags testified to that. And what was it that was wanting in that bag, I wonder? Nothing you could wish to see. Here were pigeons by the dozen, and peafowls and jungle-fowls, to shoot which they had threaded the dark mazes of the forest. Here were ducks and geese, ay, and snipe and teal, which they had waded neck-deep in paddy fields to find, to say nothing of big fat bustards, and grouse and red-legged partridge, that had fallen to their guns while crossing the moor; and last, but certainly not least, a hare or two as well.
Now, when I say that there were growing around them, everywhere, the most luscious fruits that can be imagined; when I say that the earth yielded its turmeric (the basis of curry powder), and its deliciously esculent roots; that spices of all kinds could be had for the gathering, that the cocoa-nut palms held high aloft their tempting fruits, and that the river abounded with fish, will you wonder when I tell you that our friends lived like fighting-cocks. Would they not have been fools if they hadn’t?
Chisholm and Frank occupied one sleeping tent, Fred Freeman and Captain Lyell another. Very comfortably too those tents were furnished, and each canvas bed had its own mosquito curtain. One night, however, Frank found it impossible to sleep, so he got up quietly, dressed, and went out. What a heavenly night! Never, except in the far-off sea of ice, had he seen stars so bright and large. There was light enough almost to read by. He could see everything around him—the men lying asleep at the foot of the snow-white dining tent, the elephants and the picketed horses, and, farther away, jungle and plain, forest and hills, all bathed in starlight. Frank could hear, high over the loud hum of insect life, the distant yelp of the jackal, the gibber of the striped hyaena, and the unearthly yell of the jungle cat.
“If there is nothing more terrible than that about,” he said to himself, “I shall go for a walk, just a little way. Jooma,” he continued, addressing the sentinel, “I’m going to the banks of the river.”
“Take care, sahib, take care,” was the sentinel’s warning.
When two whole hours passed away, and there were no signs of Frank’s return, Jooma became alarmed, and roused Chisholm, and Chisholm aroused the whole camp. Frank must be found, and that right speedily; but where were they to seek him? While they were deliberating which way to go, the report of a rifle fell on their ears, coming from the forest behind the camp. Meanwhile clouds had banked up and obscured a great portion of the sky.
“Now, hurry men, hurry, get your torches and come, there isn’t a moment to be lost if you would save my friend.”
In ten minutes more they were on his track: by bent grass by a single footprint, by a broken twig, and a hundred little signs that the eye of a European would never have noticed, these men followed the trail by torchlight, till far into the deepest and darkest part of the great forest. But now a pause ensued. The trackers were puzzled. The truth is, that it was just at this spot that the disagreeable truth flashed upon poor Frank that he was lost. He had felt sure he could easily retrace his steps, but trying to do so only led to a series of useless wanderings up and down and round and round, often coming back again to the same spot, though he knew it not, until the starlight forsook him, and he found himself at last in the terrible position presently to be described.