The following striking anecdote recounts the extraordinary presence of mind and determined courage of a celebrated Mahratta hunter named Bussapa. This man acquired the name of the "Tiger-slayer," and wore on his breast several silver medals granted by the Indian Government for feats of courage in destroying tigers. Colonel Campbell met him, and in "My Indian Journal" (pp. 142, 143), published in 1864, has recorded from his brother's diary the following anecdote:—"Bussapa, a hunter of 'Lingyat' caste, with whom I am well acquainted, was sent for by the headman of a village, to destroy a tiger which had carried off a number of cattle. He came, and having ascertained the brute's usual haunts, fastened a bullock near the edge of a ravine which he frequented, and quietly seated himself beside it, protected only by a small bush. Soon after sunset the tiger appeared, killed the bullock, and was glutting himself with blood, when Bussapa, thrusting his long matchlock through the bush, fired, and wounded him severely. The tiger half rose, but being unable to see his assailant on account of the intervening bush, dropped again on his prey with a sudden growl. Bussapa was kneeling within three paces of him, completely defenceless; he did not even dare to reload, for he well knew that the slightest movement on his part would be the signal for his immediate destruction; his bare knees were pressed upon gravel, but he dared not venture to shift his uneasy position. Ever and anon, the tiger, as he lay with his glaring eyes fixed upon the bush, uttered his hoarse growl of anger; his hot breath absolutely blew upon the cheek of the wretched man, yet still he moved not. The pain of his cramped position increased every moment—suspense became almost intolerable; but the motion of a limb, the rustling of a leaf, would have been death. Thus they remained, the man and the tiger, watching each other's motions; but even in this fearful situation, his presence of mind never for a moment forsook the noble fellow. He heard the gong of the village strike each hour of that fearful night, that seemed to him 'eternity,' and yet he lived; the tormenting mosquitoes swarmed round his face, but he dared not brush them off. That fiend-like eye met his whenever he ventured a glance towards the horrid spell that bound him; and a hoarse growl grated on the stillness of the night, as a passing breeze stirred the leaves that sheltered him. Hours rolled on, and his powers of endurance were well-nigh exhausted, when, at length, the welcome streaks of light shot up from the eastern horizon. On the approach of day, the tiger rose, and stalked away with a sulky pace, to a thicket at some distance, and then the stiff and wearied Bussapa felt that he was safe.
"One would have thought that, after such a night of suffering, he would have been too thankful for his escape, to venture on any further risk. But the valiant Bussapa was not so easily diverted from his purpose; as soon as he had stretched his cramped limbs, and restored the checked circulation, he reloaded his matchlock, and coolly proceeded to finish his work. With his match lighted, he advanced close to the tiger, lying ready to receive him, and shot him dead by a ball in the forehead, while in the act of charging."
Colonel Campbell relates, that most of Bussapa's family have fallen victims to tigers. But the firm belief of the "tiger-slayer" in predestination, makes him blind to all danger.
John Hunter and the Dead Tiger.
The greatest comparative anatomist our country has produced, John Hunter, obtained the refusal of all animals which happened to die in the Tower or in the travelling menageries. In this way he often obtained rare subjects for his researches. Dr Forbes Winslow[136] alludes to a well-known fact, that all the money Hunter could spare, was devoted to procuring curiosities of this sort, and Sir Everard Home used to state, that as soon as he had accumulated fees to the amount of ten guineas, he always purchased some addition to his collection. Indeed, he was not unfrequently obliged to borrow of his friends, when his own funds were at a low ebb, and the temptation was strong. "Pray, George," said he one day to Mr G. Nicol, the bookseller to the king, with whom he was very intimate, "have you got any money in your pocket?" Mr N. replied in the affirmative. "Have you got five guineas? Because, if you have, and will lend it me, you shall go halves."—"Halves in what?" inquired his friend.—"Why, halves in a magnificent tiger, which is now dying in Castle Street." Mr Nicol lent the money, and Hunter purchased the tiger.
Tigers.
Mrs Colin Mackenzie[137] records the death of a man from the wounds of a tiger. "The tiger," she says, "was brought in on the second day. He died from the wound he had received. I gave the body to the Dhers in our service, who ate it. The claws and whiskers are greatly prized by the natives as charms. The latter are supposed to give the possessor a certain malignant power over his enemies, for which reason I always take possession of them to prevent our people getting them. The tiger is very commonly worshipped all over India. The women often prostrate themselves before a dead tiger, when sportsmen are bringing it home in triumph; and in a village, near Nagpur, Mr Hislop found a number of rude images, almost like four-legged stools, which, on inquiry, proved to be meant for tigers, who were worshipped as the tutelary deities of the place. I believe a fresh image is added for every tiger that is slain."
Lion and Tiger.
A jolly jack-tar, having strayed into Atkin's show at Bartholomew Fair, to have a look at the wild beasts, was much struck with the sight of a lion and a tiger in the same den. "Why, Jack," said he to a messmate, who was chewing a quid in silent amazement, "I shouldn't wonder if next year they were to carry about a sailor and a marine living peaceably together!"—"Ay," said his married companion, "or a man and wife."[138]
We may add that we have long regarded it as a vile calumny to two animals to say of a man and wife who quarrel, that they live "a cat and dog life." No two animals are better agreed when kept together. Each knows his own place and keeps it. Hence they live at peace—speaking "generally," as "Mr Artemus Ward" would say of "such an observation."