The other day I had a still more unpleasant adventure; and this time, as before, among the principal actors in the scene was an angry bear. I went to see a friend of mine, a neighboring planter, who lived some miles away. I had a friend staying with me; we went in a small pony-cart; I drove, my friend sat alongside me, and behind was the syce, or native groom. The first part of our return journey was accomplished without any mishap. When, however, we came to the last part of the journey—the last mile or so, I should say, was simply a roadway cut through the jungle—we were surprised to hear a low grunting noise, and a rustling in the ditch that ran alongside the road—a noise as of some large beast forcing himself through the thick undergrowth.
We in front took but little notice of it, under the impression that it was a pig or dog, or something of the kind. You can imagine my horror, and amazement when I felt myself convulsively grasped by the syce, and heard him whispering in agonized tones, "He'll have me off in a minute, sahib, if you don't drive on quickly." Turning round as I best could under the circumstances, I saw a huge bear lumbering along, now on his hind-legs, now on all fours, every now and then making ineffectual "scoops" at the frightened syce on the backseat with his ugly-looking fore-paws.
With a smart cut across the back and a word of encouragement, I started the pony off at his best pace. On he galloped, as fast as ever he could lay his little legs to the ground; but Bruin was not to be denied, and we could not, do what we would, shake him off.
It was a most exciting race. I had to keep cool, for on me, the driver, all depended, and the least mistake on my part might have cost us our lives.
After racing along for some distance in this way, with the bear now alongside us, now close behind us, by some fortunate accident one of our coats fell out on to the road. Bruin instantly halted to have a sniff, but after a moment's pause he was under way again, and before long had overhauled us. Once more "ding, dong, ding, dong, we galloped along," racing for very life. Every turn of the wheels was bringing us nearer home, and if our pony could only last the distance, there was still a good chance for us. As we thus raced along, with the bear hustling after us, so close that we could hear his heavy breathing, my "solah topee" (hat) fell off, and Bruin once more stopped to have a sniff.
All honor to that hat! Had its brim been less broad, the wind would not have taken it off. Had the wind not taken it off, who can tell what our fate would have been? The pony was nearly exhausted; his speed was slackening, and in a moment the bear would have had us in his clutches.
But that moment's delay in Bruin's frantic chase saved us. Heavily I plied the whip upon our unfortunate pony's back. A few leaps carried us forward another hundred yards, and our bungalow came in sight. The bear realized that he was beaten, and slunk off into the jungle, leaving us to go home in peace. We were very thankful to get out of it so well. When our friends were told that we had been chased by a bear they could hardly believe it, but the story is true for all that. Three lives were saved by the puff of wind that blew away my hat.