As for Martin, he was delighted at the arrangement; “for Claud,” said he, “in a few days the heavy rains will fall, the tigers will be driven down from the mountains, and we shall have a chance of some good sport.”
“Martin,” replied I, “it would be better for us if we were safe on board the prahu. I don’t believe in this young prince or chief, whichever he may be. His father was an unmitigated savage, but he was honest; the son’s manners are so velvety, that, depend upon it, he means no good.”
“What! You are at your witch-practices again, are you? Nonsense, old fellow; the truth is, you don’t half like tiger-hunting; I do, though, for it is plucky sport.”
“Plucky! Well, Martin, I don’t think so. Where is the pluck in, say, six, seven, or a dozen men, with as many sets of brains (any one being of superior quality to the tiger’s), the same number of long knives and rifles, which deal out death at a great distance, attacking one poor beast with no other weapons than its paws: an animal, too, possessing so little courage—notwithstanding all that tiger-hunters, to enhance their own deeds, say about it—that, like a cat or rat, it will seldom face a cool and determined pursuer if it can run away, without, indeed, it be goaded to madness by a bullet or so?”
“I grant you, Claud, that the tiger is a coward; for, instead of boldly facing its prey like the lion, it sneaks about the jungle, ready to fall upon the first unwary pedestrian or animal that may pass.”
“Yes, as a cat upon a mouse; but, like the cat, the tiger, if boldly faced and pursued by an animal, would run away; and, surely, there is small courage in conquering a flying enemy!”
“Then you mean to say there is no pluck in a man fighting a tiger?”
“In one man fighting one tiger, perhaps; but even then it requires more skill and practice with a particular weapon than courage; for what chance has the beast against a double-barreled rifle, in hands trained to its use? But it is of your ordinary tiger-hunting I speak disparagingly—I mean as it is practiced upon the continent of India by the vainglorious Englishmen, who, on their return home, write books about it to glorify their own courage.”
“Nevertheless, I hope we may have a choice of joining one of these hunts, Claud,” said Martin.
“Possibly so; and I, of course, shall accompany you; but it will not alter my opinion, that the chances are not equal between the hunter and the hunted. Why, what does a celebrated writer say of tiger-hunting in India?”