GOLD, SPORT, AND COFFEE PLANTING IN MYSORE

WITH CHAPTERS ON

COFFEE PLANTING IN COORG, THE MYSORE REPRESENTATIVE ASSEMBLY, THE INDIAN CONGRESS, CASTE, AND THE INDIAN SILVER QUESTION

BEING THE 38 YEARS' EXPERIENCES OF A MYSORE PLANTER

BY

ROBERT H. ELLIOT

AUTHOR OF "EXPERIENCES OF A PLANTER," "WRITTEN ON THEIR FOREHEADS," ETC.

[WITH A MAP IN COLOURS]

WESTMINSTER

1898.

DEDICATION.

I have much pleasure in dedicating this book to my friend SIR K. SHESHADRI IYER, K.C.S.I., Dewan of Mysore, and trust that it may be useful in making more fully known the resources of the State whose affairs he has for many years so wisely and ably administered.

PREFACE.

In the year 1871 I published "The Experiences of a Planter in the Jungles of Mysore," and had intended to bring out a new edition of it, but, from various causes, the project was delayed, and when I at last took the matter in hand, I found that so many things had happened since 1871 that it was necessary to write a new book. In this, hardly anything of the "Experiences" has been reproduced, except a very few natural history notes and the chapter on Caste, a subject to which I would particularly call the attention of those interested in Indian missions.

I have been much assisted by informants too numerous for mention here, and can only allude to those who have most conspicuously aided me. Amongst these I am much indebted to my friend Sir K. Sheshadri Iyer, K.C.S.I., Dewan of Mysore, for access given me to information in the possession of the Government, and for returns specially prepared for the book. From my friends Mr. Graham Anderson and Mr. Brooke Mockett, two of the most able and experienced planters in Mysore, I have derived much information and assistance. I am particularly obliged to my friend Dr. Voelcker[^[1]] for many valuable hints, and the chapter on manures has had the advantage of being read by him. For information as regards the history of coffee in Coorg I am much indebted to Mr. Meynell, who represents the large interests of Messrs. Matheson and Co. in that province, and indeed, without his aid, I could not at all have done full justice to the subject. To Mr. Grey, manager of the Nundydroog mine, I am indebted for information as regards the gold mines, and for the kind assistance he in many ways afforded me when I visited them last January. I am also obliged to Colonel Grant, Superintendent of the Mysore Revenue, Survey and Settlement Department, for information as regards game, and the proposed Game Act for Mysore.

I had intended to add a chapter on the cultivation of cardamoms and pepper, but have not done so, because, for the want of recent information from those specially engaged in these cultivations, I could not feel confident of doing full justice to the subject. I may, however, say that as regards cardamoms, I have good reason for supposing that there is not much to be added to the chapter on them which appeared in the "Experiences."

Though I have collected many experiences, I am of course aware that many more remain to be collected, and I should feel particularly obliged if planters and those who have any experiences to give me (natural history and sporting information would be very welcome) would be kind enough to do so. These I would propose to incorporate in an improved edition, which I look forward to bringing out when a sufficient amount of additional information has been collected. If those who have any information to give, suggestions to make, or criticisms to offer, would be kind enough to communicate with me, an improved edition might be brought out which would be highly valuable to all tropical agriculturists, and all those interested in the various subjects on which I have written.

My Indian address is Bartchinhulla, Saklaspur, Mysore State, and home address, Clifton Park, Kelso, Roxburghshire.

ROBERT H. ELLIOT.

[1] Dr. Voelcker, Consulting Chemist to the Royal Agricultural Society of England, was, by the permission of the Society, employed for upwards of a year by the Government in India; and his "Report on the Improvement of Indian Agriculture" is an elaborate, work, of upwards of 400 pages, and contains a large body of carefully digested information, remarks, and opinions which will be of great value to the Government, and of much practical value to planters, and all tropical agriculturists.

CONTENTS.

Map of Mysore

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.—PROGRESS IN MYSORE.

As I now turn my thoughts back to the year 1855, when, being then in my eighteenth year, I sailed for India to seek my fortunes in the jungles of Mysore, it is difficult to believe that the journey is still the same, or that India is still the same country on the shores of which I landed so long ago. But after all, as a matter of fact, the journey is, practically speaking, not the same, and still less is India the same India which I knew in 1855. For the route across Egypt, which was then partly by rail, partly by water, and partly across the desert in transits, the bumping of which I even now distinctly remember, has been exchanged for the Suez Canal, and the frequent steamers with their accelerated rate of speed have altered all the relations of distances, and on landing at Bombay the traveller of 1855 would now find it difficult to recognize the place. For then there were the old fort walls and ditches, and narrow streets filled with a straggling throng of carts and people, while now the fort walls and ditches no longer exist, and the traveller drives into a city with public buildings, broad roads and beautiful squares and gardens, that would do credit to any capital in the world, and sees around him all the signs of advanced and advancing civilization. Then as, perhaps, he views the scene from the Tower of the Elphinstone College, and looks down on the beautiful city, on the masts of the shipping lying in the splendid harbour, and on the moving throngs of people to whom we have given peace and order, what thoughts must fill his mind! And what thoughts further, as on turning to view the scene without the city he sees on one side of it the tall chimneys of the numerous mills which have sprung up in recent times, and which tell of the conjunction of English skill and capital with the cheap hand-labour of the East—a combination that is destined, and at no very distant period ahead, to produce remarkable effects. But I must not wander here into the consideration of matters to which I shall again have occasion to refer when I come to remark on the wonderful progress made in India in recent years owing to the introduction of English skill and capital, and shall now briefly describe my route to the western jungles of Mysore.

When I landed in Bombay, in 1855, the journey to the Native State of Mysore, now so easy and simple, was one requiring much time and no small degree of trouble, for the railway lines had then advanced but little—the first twenty miles in all India having been only opened near Bombay in 1853. A land journey then was not to be thought of, and as there were no coasting-steamers, I was compelled to take a passage in a Patama (native sailing craft) which was proceeding down the western coast with a cargo of salt which was stowed away in the after-part of the vessel. Over this was a low roofed and thatched house, the flooring of which was composed of strips of split bamboo laid upon the salt. On this I placed my mattress and bedding. My provisions for the voyage were very simple—a coop with some fowls, some tea, sugar, cooking utensils, and other small necessaries of life. A Portuguese servant I had hired in Bombay cooked my dinner and looked after me generally. We sailed along the sometimes bare, and occasionally palm-fringed, shores with that indifference to time and progress which is often the despair and not unfrequently the envy of Europeans. The hubble-bubble passed from mouth to mouth, and the crew whiled away the evening hours with their monotonous chants. We always anchored at night; sometimes we stopped for fishing, and once ran into a small bay—one of those charming scenic gems which can only be found in the eastern seas—to land some salt and take in cocoa-nuts and other items. As for the port of Mangalore, for which I was bound, it seemed to be, though only about 450 miles from Bombay, an immense distance away, and practically was nearly as far as Bombay is from Suez. At last, after a nine days' sail, we lay to off the mouth of the harbour into which, for reasons best known to himself, the captain of the craft did not choose to enter, and I was taken ashore in a canoe to be kindly received by the judge of the collectorate of South Kanara, to whom I had a letter of introduction.

After spending some pleasant days at Mangalore I set out for Manjarabad, the talook or county which borders on the South Kanara district—in what is called a manshiel—a kind of open-sided cot slung to a bamboo pole which projects far enough in front and rear to be placed with ease on the shoulders of the bearers. Four of these men are brought into play at once, while four others run along to relieve their fellows at intervals. I started in the afternoon, and was carried up the banks of a broad river by the side of which hero and there the road wound pleasantly along. In the course of a few hours night fell, and then all nature seemed to come into active life with the hum of insects, the croaking of frogs, and various other indications of an abounding animal life. Presently I was lulled to sleep by the monotonous chant of the bearers—sleep only partially broken when changes of the whole set of bearers had to be made—and awoke the following morning to find myself some fifty miles from the coast, and amidst the gorges of the Ghauts, with vast heights towering upwards, and almost all around, while the river, which had now sunk to what in English ideas would still seem to be one of considerable size, appeared as if it had just emerged from the navel of a mountain-barrier some miles ahead. After a few miles more we passed the last hamlet of what was then called the Company's Country, and leaving the inhabited lands—if indeed in a European sense they may be called so—behind us, began to ascend the twenty miles of forest-clad gorges which lead up into the tableland of Mysore. The ascent was necessarily slow, and it was not till late in the afternoon that I saw, some 500 feet above me, and at a total elevation of about 3,200 feet above sea-level, the white walls of the only planter's bungalow in the southern part of Mysore. To this pioneer of our civilization—Mr. Frederick Green, who had begun work in 1843—I had a letter of introduction, and was most kindly received, and put in the way of acquiring land which I started on and still hold. To the south, in the adjacent little province of Coorg—now, as we shall afterwards see, an extensive coffee-field—the first European plantation had been started the year before, i.e., 1854, while to the north some fifty to seventy miles away the country was, in a European sense, occupied by only three English, or, to be exact, Scotch planters. In 1856 I started active life as a planter on my own account, about twelve miles away from the estate of Mr. Green, while in the same year two other planters—Scotchmen by the way—made their appearance. The southern part of Mysore was thus occupied by four planters, and we were all about twelve miles from each other. It is difficult to conceive the state of isolation in which we lived, and as we were all Europeanly speaking single handed, and could seldom leave home, we often had not for weeks together an opportunity of seeing a single white face, and so rare indeed was a visit from a neighbour that, when one was coming to see me, I used to sit on a hill watching for the first glimpse of him, like a shipwrecked mariner on a desert island watching for the glimpse of a sail on the horizon. As for the Indian mutinies, which broke out the year after I had started work, they might have been going on in Norway as far as we were concerned; none of us at all appreciated the importance and gravity of the events that were occurring, and one of my neighbours said that it was not worth while trying to understand the situation, and that we had better wait for the book that would be sure to come out when things had settled down. And the native population around us appeared to know as little of the mutinies as we did. They seemed to be aware that some disturbance was going on somewhere in the north, and that represented the whole extent of their knowledge of the subject.

I have described our life as having been one of great isolation so far as European society was concerned, but I never felt it to be a dull one, nor did my neighbours ever complain of it, though we only took a holiday of a few weeks in the year. But we had plenty of work, and big game shooting, and the occupation was an interesting one, and as I even now return with pleasure every winter to my planter's life, this proves that my earlier days must have left behind them many pleasant associations. And the occupation and sport were really all we had to depend on. We had few books, nor any means of getting them, for I need hardly say that pioneer planters, who have to keep themselves and their coffee till the latter comes into bearing, cannot afford to buy anything that can be dispensed with. But after all this perhaps was no disadvantage, for, as a great moral philosopher has pointed out, nothing tends to weaken the resources of the mind so much as a miscellaneous course of reading unaccompanied (as it usually is, I may remark) by reflection. The management of people, the business of an estate, the exercise of the inventive powers, the cultivation of method, the sharpening of the observing and combining faculties, which are so well developed by big game shooting, yield real education, or the leading out and development of the mental resources, while books provide the individual merely with instruction which has often a tendency to cramp and even to fossilize the mind.

I have said at the outset, that the journey to India is not the same as it was in 1855, and that still less is India the same India, and I may certainly say that still less is Western Mysore the Western Mysore of 1855, except that its beautiful scenery is as beautiful as ever. For our planting is not like that of Ceylon, where the planter, like the locust, finds a paradise in front to leave a desert in his rear—a desert of bare lull sides from which the beautiful forest has been entirely swept away, while the most valuable constituents of the soil have been washed down to the river beds. And when standing in 1893 on a lull in my district of Manjarabad, and looking around, I can see no sign of change in the landscape from the days of 1855, except that the woodland paths leading from village to village are much more distinctly marked, owing to the great increase of labourers employed in the numerous native and European plantations, which now stretch in an unbroken line along all the western border of Mysore. And no sign of change is apparent, because all the coffee is planted either under the shade of the original forest trees, or under the shade of trees which have been planted to take their place. But all else is practically and largely changed by the agency of a universal progress, which has been brought about by British government and the introduction of British capital, skill, and energy. And this progress, I am glad to be able to say, has benefited all classes of the community, and the labouring classes by far the most of all, and the results as regards those are so striking, so interesting, and so much more widely diffused than could at first sight be thought possible, and are, as I shall show, of such vast importance to the finances of the State, that they are well worthy of special attention. Had the Government been aware of the enormous financial value to the State of the introduction of English capital, I feel sure that much greater efforts would have been made to stimulate European enterprise, and that the progress of India would have been much accelerated all along the line.

When I started my plantation in 1858, the pay of a labourer was 2 rupees 4 annas (4s. 6d.) a month. It is now, throughout the numerous plantations in Mysore, from six to seven rupees a month, and a labourer can live on about two rupees a month. Such a statement made of any country would indicate a satisfactory degree of progress; but whereas in England it would simply mean a greater ability in the working classes to live in an improved condition, and perhaps some improvement in the condition of the shopkeepers with whom they dealt, in India it means the creation of a social and ever wide-spreading revolution. For when in India capital is introduced, and employment on a large scale is afforded to the people, the poorer of the peasant classes are at once able to free themselves from debt, and the labourers soon save enough money to enable them to start in agriculture, coffee culture, or any culture within, their reach. The result of this, in my experience, has been most remarkable. When I started in Manjarabad, for instance, the planters relied solely on labour procured from the adjacent villages. But now the local labourer is almost a thing of the past, for he has taken to agriculture and coffee culture, and now only occasionally works for a short time to earn some money to pay his taxes. When this change began, the planters had of course to go further afield for labour, but merely to produce over again a similar result by enabling labourers from distant villages to do what the local labourers in the coffee districts had done, and thus for labour we have to operate on ever-widening circles, till at last I have heard it remarked that the Kanarese language is often of little use, and the native overseers on my estate have complained that they now often cannot make the labourers understand them. And this of course is not surprising, as at one moment the overseer may have to deal with labourers from any one of the villages between Mysore and the Western Sea, and at another with people from villages in the Madras Presidency, far away on the route to the Bay of Bengal. Field after field, and village after village, has thus been irrigated by that capital for which India thirsts, and which, as we have seen, produces such wide-spreading social effects on the welfare of the people, and, consequently, on the resources of the State—enabling land to be more largely and fully developed, wells to be dug, gardens to be made, and the people to pay with greater ease the demands of the Government. But there is yet another point of great importance to notice as regards the introduction into India of European capital, with its accompanying effects—effects which largely enhance its value—namely, those arising from setting the natives practical examples of both method, skill, and energetic action. I allude to the bearing of these forces upon famine—a subject well worthy of some passing remarks, more especially because in Mysore we can furnish proofs of the value in times of famine of having Europeans settled in the country.

The actual money value of the infuse of English capitalists, and its bearing on the resources of the State, and in enabling the people the better to contest with famine and scarcity, is sufficiently apparent, but it was only when the terrible famine of 1876-77 (which cost Mysore the loss of about a fifth of its population, an immense sum of money, and crippled its resources for years) broke out that the value of having a European agency ready at hand to grapple with famine, and honestly administer the funds available, was absolutely proved. It would be tedious to go into this subject at any length, indeed I have not space to do so, and I can only say that, as far as I could learn, the only satisfactory treatment of the great famine was that initiated and carried out by the planters, or, to be at once just and exact, I should rather say that the system adopted was initiated by one of our leading planters—Mr. Graham Anderson—who, and entirely at his own cost, was the first to start and maintain on his estate a nursery for children. He saw that if the parents could only be relieved of their children the former could work and be able to maintain themselves, while all their efforts would be insufficient to maintain at once themselves and their children. The nursery system that was then initiated by Mr. Anderson, was adopted by other planters who were subsequently aided by the assistance of money from the Mansion House Fund, and Mr. Anderson was formally appointed by the Government as President of the relief operations in the Southern Mysore coffee district, and, owing to his energy, example, and administrative still, most satisfactory results were obtained. I have before me, and written by Mr. Anderson, a full account of all the famine relief operations he had charge of, showing the assistance afforded by the planters in employing labour from which, owing to the weakness of the people, very little return could be got; and moreover by sheltering in their lines the wandering starvelings who were moving about the country. I can only regret that want of space prevents my going into the subject more in detail. I must, however, at least find room for his concluding remarks, in order to deliver for him a message he has long been desirous of sending to those of the English public who subscribed to the Mansion House Fund.

"If there is one thing," writes Mr. Anderson, "I am certain of it is this, that although some people think that natives have no gratitude, there has never been anything concerning which the natives have been so loud in their praise as the unbounded generosity of the London public, who in time of fearful distress came forward with money to feed and clothe hundreds and thousands of starving poor. Many a poor woman and man have asked me to express blessings to 'the people of my village' who rescued them in their dire distress. Perhaps you can give this message, which, as an outsider, I have never had an opportunity of doing." I only wish I could add that the gratitude of the Government was equal to that of the natives. Yes, Mr. Graham Anderson was an outsider, and the Government (Mysore was under British rule at the time) was evidently determined that he should remain so in the fullest sense of the word, for he never even received a letter of thanks for his valuable and gratuitous services, or the smallest notice of any kind. I have no hesitation in praising most highly the action of the planters, because, though one of them, I was not in India at the time, and, though my estate manager took an early and active part in relief operations, I had nothing personally to do with the famine relief work.

The subject of famines is of such vast importance to the people, the Government, and all who have any stake in India, that I think it well to offer here some remarks on them, and also suggest some measures for their prevention, or perhaps I should rather say for their mitigation.

The causes that would lead to an increase of famines in India were fully pointed out by me in 1871 in the "Experiences of a Planter," in letters to the "Times," and in the evidence I gave when examined by the India Finance Committee of the House of Commons in 1872. There were two principal causes—the spread of the use of money instead of grain as a medium of exchange, and such a restricted development of communications that, while these were sufficient to drain the countries in the interior of their grain, they were not sufficiently developed to enable the grain to be brought back again in sufficient quantities when it was necessary to do so in times of famine. Till, then, communications were developed to an adequate extent, it was quite clear that India would be much more exposed to risk from famines than she was in the days when grain was largely used as a medium of exchange, and when, besides, grain, from the want of communication, was largely kept in the country. The people, in short, in the olden days, and even for some time after I landed in India, hoarded grain, and in times of scarcity they encroached upon their supplies of buried grain, whereas now they hoard money, which in time of famine can go but a very short way in buying grain. The statement that an increase of famines would be sure to ensue from the causes above indicated is amply corroborated by the facts. There is no evidence to show that droughts have increased, but there can be no doubt that in comparatively recent times famines and scarcities have. And in looking over the list of famines from 1769 to 1877, I find that, comparing the first 84 years of the period in question with the years from then up to 1877, famines have more than doubled in number, and scarcities, causing great anxiety to the State, seem certainly to be increasing. That the latter are so we have strong evidence in Mysore, and in looking over the annual addresses of the Dewan at the meeting of the Representative Assembly of Mysore, I am struck with the frequent allusion to scarcities and grave apprehensions of famine. In his address of 1881, only four years after the great famine of 1876-77, the Dewan refers to "the period of intense anxiety through which the Government and the people have passed owing to the recent failure of the rains. But," he adds, "such occasional failure of rains is almost a normal condition of the Province, and the Government must always remain in constant anxiety as to the fearful results which must follow from them." In his address of 1884 the Dewan says that "the condition of the Province is again causing grave anxiety." In the address of 1886 the Dewan says "this is the first year since the rendition of the Province (in 1881) in which the prospects of the season have caused no anxiety to the Government." But in the address of 1891 lamentations again occur, and we find the Dewan congratulating the members on the narrow escape, owing to rain having fallen just in time, they had had from famine. But our able Dewan—Sir K. Sheshadri Iyer, K.C.I.E.—has taken measures which must ultimately place the Province in a safe position, or at least in as safe a position as it can be placed. He has seen, and it has been amply proved by our experience in the Madras Presidency during the famine of 1876-77, that the only irrigation work that can withstand a serious drought is a deep well, and he has brought out a most admirable measure for encouraging the making of them by the ryots. The principal features of this are that money, to be repaid gradually over a long series of years, is to be advanced by the State on the most easy terms, and that, in the event of a ryot taking a loan, and water not being found, or found in inadequate quantity, the Government takes upon itself the entire loss. But the results from this highly liberal and valuable measure cannot be adequately arrived at for many years to come, and in the meanwhile the risks from famine go on, and as the Dewan has seen that these can only be immediately grappled with by an extension of the railway system, he has always been, anxious to make a line to the western frontier of Mysore, if the Madras Government would agree to carry it on to Mangalore on the western coast. But the Madras Government felt itself unable to find funds to carry out the project, and hence Mysore, all along its western frontier, was, from a railway point of view, completely imprisoned, and there seemed to be no prospect of anything being done to connect the Province with the western seaboard for many years to come. However, a Mysore planter last year sought a personal interview with Viscount Cross, the Secretary of State for India, who has always taken a great interest in railway extensions, and the result of this was that Lord Cross initiated action which resulted in prompt steps being taken. Early this year a preliminary survey of the route from a point on the line in the interior of Mysore, viâ the Manjarabad Ghaut, to Mangalore was made, and I am in a position to state that the completion of this much and long-wanted line may be regarded as a thing of the near future. After this line has been made a line will be constructed from Hassan to Mysore, viâ Holî Nursipur, and Yedatora, and from Mysore a line will be run, viâ Nunjengode[^[2]] to Erode, the junction of the Madras and South Indian Railways. I may mention here that Sir Andrew Clarke, in his able Minute of 1879 on Indian Harbours, says that "Mangalore undoubtedly admits of being converted into a useful harbour," though he adds that "the project may lie over until the prospects of a railway connecting it with the interior are better than at present." As the immediate prospects of a line being made are quite secure, it is of great importance to call attention to this matter now, as it is to the manifest interest of both Governments that the harbour of Mangalore should be improved as soon as possible.

After having done so much to contend against famine-producing causes, it may seem that the Dewan might rest and be thankful; but it must be considered that, though railways will undoubtedly enable the State to save life, it will have to pay a ruinously heavy charge whenever a widespread and serious drought occurs, and, sooner or later, it seems inevitable that such a drought must occur. And it is therefore perfectly evident, that without the extension of deep wells the province cannot be placed in a thoroughly sound financial position. It is, then, of obvious importance to remove at once the great obstacle that stands in the way of the rapid addition to the number of deep wells. That obstacle, and a most formidable obstacle it is, as I shall fully show, lies in the fact that the present form of land tenure in Mysore (under which also about four-fifths of the land of British India are held) does not provide a sufficient security for investors in landed improvements. By the existing tenure the land is held by the occupier from the State at a rental which is fixed for thirty years, and after that it is liable to augmentation. The Government, it is true, has declared that it will not tax improvements, and that, for instance, if a man digs a well no augmentation of rent will be demanded for the productive power thus added to the land, but it has reserved to itself wide powers of enhancing the rent on general grounds, such as a rise in prices, improved communication, etc., and to what amount the enhancement may go the ryot cannot tell. And hence we find that the representatives in the Mysore Assembly have repeatedly argued that it is owing to the uncertainty as to what the rise of rent may be at the close of each thirty years' period that improvements are not more largely made, and have therefore prayed for a permanently fixed assessment. Now I am not prepared to say that, for the present at any rate, it would be wise to grant a fixed assessment on all lands, but I am quite sure that it would be wise to grant, for the irrigable area watered by a well dug at an occupier's expense, a permanent assessment at the rent now charged on the land. The Government, it is true, would sacrifice the rise it might obtain on the land at the close of each lease, but, as a compensation for this—and an ample compensation I feel sure it would be—the State would save in two ways, for it would never have to grant remissions of revenue on such lands, as it now often has to do in the case of dry lands, and with every well dug the expenditure in time of famine would be diminished. Such a measure, then, as I have proposed, would at once benefit the State and draw out for profitable investment much capital that is now lying idle. There is nothing new, I may add, in this proposal, for it was adopted by the old native rulers, who granted fixed tenures on favourable terms to those making irrigation works at their own expense. An English-speaking Mysore landholder once said to me, "I will not dig wells on my lands under my present tenure, but give me an assessment fixed for ever, and I will dig lots of wells." The present landed policy of the Indian Government[^[3]] is as shallow as it is hide-bound. It wants, like a child, to eat its cake and still remain in possession of the article. It is most anxious to see private capital invested in land, and it still wants to retain the power of every thirty years indefinitely augmenting the land revenue on general grounds. Surely it must be apparent to minds of even the humblest calibre that these two things are utterly incompatible!

I may mention that there is a strong party in India in favour of granting at once a permanent assessment at the existing rate of rent for all lands, and in reference to this point it may be interesting to give the following passage from a letter I once received from the late Prime Minister of Mysore, Mr. Rungacharlu, the minister who started the first Representative Assembly that ever sat in India:

"As you know," he wrote, "I hold decided views on the subject, and the withholding of the permanent assessment is a serious injury to the extensive petty landed interests in the country, and is no gain whatever to the Government. Nearly the whole population of the country are agriculturists, and live in one way or another upon the cultivation of the land. The effect of a permanent settlement will therefore create a greater feeling of security, and to encourage the outlay of capital and labour on land will be beneficial to the entire population. It will thus be quite a national measure reaching all, and not in the interests of a few, and is calculated to develop the capabilities of the land to the utmost. The prospect of the Government ever being benefited by the reservation of an increase of assessment on the unearned increment is a mere dream. Such increase is sure to be resisted or evaded, occasioning meanwhile great discontent. The Government may confidently look to the development of other sources of revenue from the increased prosperity of the people."

But whether the best remedy lies in granting, as I have proposed, a fixed assessment on land brought under well-irrigation at owners' expense, or in granting a permanent assessment for all lands, or, perhaps, in extending the period of lease from thirty to sixty years (and the last proposal would answer fairly well), one thing is certain, and that is, that under the thirty years' tenure system it is impossible to expect such a development of the landed resources of India as will secure the Government from the vast financial losses caused by famine, or at least reduce these losses to a moderate amount. And we have ample evidence to prove that, where adequate security exists, private enterprise will be sure to step in and carry out most extensive and important irrigation works. This has been particularly shown in the proceedings of the Government of the North-West Provinces and Oudh, where the condition of things in the permanently settled districts has been contrasted with that in the temporarily settled, or thirty year leasehold districts. I have no space to go into the details. They would only weary the general reader, and it is sufficient to say that in the permanently settled districts there has been an immense progress in irrigation carried out by private enterprise; and that, to quote from the proceedings:—"Throughout the whole tract there have been occasional periods of agricultural distress, but it has always been in a mild form, and for a century famines such as have occurred in other parts of India have been unknown." In short, private enterprise, backed by a fair assessment fixed for ever, has driven famine from the tract in question, and this will occur in other parts of India if the Government will only grant tenures sufficiently safe to induce the people to invest their money in wells and permanent improvements. And if further proofs are needed, we have only to turn to Mr. Gribble's valuable memorandum on well irrigation, which is published in the proceedings of the Famine Commission.

In concluding my remarks on famines, I may say that the whole question regarding them is of the greatest practical importance to all employers of labour in India. Our labour market in Mysore was enormously injured by the great famine of 1876-77, when the loss of population amounted to about a million, and when, through the agency of railways, loss of life can be averted in the future, it will only be averted at such a cost as will cripple the resources of the State for years to come, and so lessen its powers for maintaining roads and other works in an efficient state, and developing the resources of the country. The whole of the evils arising from famine then can only be averted by a full development of well irrigation, and this and the development of the landed resources of the country in general can only be effected through the agency of improved tenures. This is a point which all individuals having a stake in India should continuously urge on the attention of the Government.

The reader will remember that when I started in Mysore in 1856, there were only seven European planters in the province. I have lately endeavoured to ascertain the number there are at present, and the Dewan, to whose kindness I have been much indebted for information when writing this book, has supplied me with a specially drawn up return, showing all the information available as regards coffee from the year 1831 up to 1890-91, and by this it seems that there were in 1890-91 662 plantations held by Europeans in Mysore, but there are no means of ascertaining the number of planters. I have referred the return to one of the oldest and most advanced planters, and in his reply he says, "It is impossible to say exactly how many landowners the 662 plantations represent, as several of the plantations in many cases go to make up what we call an estate, but I should not imagine that the number would be more than 300, and in that calculation I have allowed for there being partners in many of the properties." The area held by Europeans was 49,862 acres, and some increase has no doubt since been made to this.

The native plantations amounted to 27,180 in number in 1890-91, with an area of 96,814 acres, but many of these so-called plantations only consist of small patches of coffee. The total area of European and native holdings in 1890-91 was 146,676 acres. There are no means whatever of ascertaining from the returns at my command even approximately the amount of coffee produced. A reasonable calculation, however, based on a general knowledge of the circumstances, makes it probable that the European production of coffee may be put down at about an average of 120,000 cwts. a-year, and the native production at about 172,000 cwts., and if we put the average value of both as low as £3 a cwt. this would make the annual value of the coffee amount to £876,000. I now proceed to close this chapter with some remarks on manufactures in Mysore.

Many years ago I heard the late Mr. Hugh Mason (formerly President of the Manchester Chamber of Commerce) speak at a meeting of the Society of Arts on the manufacturing prospects of India, and, after reviewing the general situation, he said that it is difficult to see what other advantages India could require in order to raise itself into the position of a great manufacturing country. It is true, he said, that the operative there cannot do as much as the operative hero, but, he continued, I can remember the time when the operative here could not do nearly as much as he can do now, and there is no reason to doubt but that a similar improvement would take place in the case of the Indian operative. And when this improvement takes place, and India becomes more known and developed, her great manufacturing capabilities will become fully apparent. India has two very great advantages. She has an abundant, docile, and orderly population, and she obtains from the sun an ample supply of that heat which has to be paid largely for here. When, then, the Indian operative attains to an advanced degree of proficiency—and to this he undoubtedly will attain—the greatest labour competition that the world has ever seen will begin—a competition between the white labourer who requires to be expensively fed, warmly clothed, and well shod, and housed, and the black or brown skinned man who can live cheaply, and work naked, and who is as physically comfortable in a mere shelter as his rival is in a well built dwelling. The Indian peasant already, in the case of wheat, undersells the English farmer, and it seems merely a question of time as to when the Indian operative will undersell his Lancashire rival, and when perhaps calico will come to England, as it once did, from Calicut. And no doubt, some such thoughts were passing through Cobden's mind when he once said, "What ugly ruins our mills will make." We are, however, a considerable way from such remains as the reader will see if he consults the interesting paper on "The Manufactures of India," read by Sir Juland Danvers at a meeting of the Society of Arts on the 24th of April last, and by this it appears that the imports of cloths of English manufacture have increased in recent years. Still India is progressing, and there are now a total of 126 cotton mills in all India. Of these one is in Bangalore, and was opened in 1885. The Mysore Government took 250 shares in it, and to enable the Company to extend the buildings, subsequently lent it on easy terms two lakhs of rupees. There is also another company at work in Bangalore which started as a woollen factory, but which has now set up machines for spinning cotton. The efforts made to push forward industries of all kinds in Mysore are highly creditable to the administration, and I find numerous references in the annual addresses made by the Dewan at the meeting of the Representative Assembly to the desire of the Government to foster any kind of industry that is likely to afford increased employment to the people. A long reference is made in the Dewan's address of 1890, to the endeavours made by the Government to open up the iron wealth of the province, and it was then in correspondence with a native gentleman who had proposed to start iron works in the Malvalli Talook of the Mysore district. The Government, it appears, were prepared to grant most liberal concessions as regards the supply of fuel. But I regret that I have no information as to whether these proposed works have or have not been started. For the information of those who might be inclined to embark in this industry I may mention that a copy of the Dewan's annual addresses always appears in the "Mysore and Coorg Directory," which is a most valuable compilation on all points of importance relating to those provinces. These annual addresses are admirably drawn up and are most interesting to read. The attention shown to the many various points treated of is most remarkable. Nothing seems too great and nothing too small for notice by the Dewan, and it is this even attention all along the line that shows the fine administrator. As one instance to the point I may mention that when attending as a member of the Representative Assembly at Mysore in 1891, I happened to meet the Dewan and some of his officers in the veranda outside the great hall where our meetings were held, and his attention was attracted to a coffee peeler—the invention of a native who thought this a good opportunity for introducing his machines to the notice of the public, and had some cherry coffee at hand to show how they worked. The Dewan at once inspected the machine, saw the coffee put through, and himself turned the handle, and was so satisfied that he ordered some of the machines to be bought and sent for exhibition to the head-quarters of the coffee growing Talooks, or counties, and in his address of 1892 he reports that the machines had been found to be much in favour with the planters who had used them. The state of the box is the best evidence of the goodness of the gardener. But it is time now to draw this chapter to a close. I must, however, find room for a few remarks which will show those who might be inclined to settle in India that their interests are sure to be well attended to by the Government.

During my long Indian experience I have had occasion to represent grievances and wants to Government officers, from district officers to high Indian officials, to officials at the India office, and to more than one Secretary of State for India, and am therefore able to testify directly to their admirable courtesy, patience, and consideration. In the ordinary sense of the word, the planters in the various parts of India are not represented, but as a matter of fact their interests are most efficiently represented, for the officers of the Government, whether civilians or soldier-civilians (and when Mysore was under British rule I had practical experience of both), are distinguished by an amount of energy, industry, and ability, to which I believe it is impossible to find a parallel in the world, and combined with these qualities there is everywhere exhibited a conscientious zeal in promoting in every possible way the interests of the countries committed to their charge. And these officers know that they are at once the administrators and rulers of the land, and, as there is no representative system such as we have in England, freely admit that to them the people have a right to appeal in all matters affecting their interests. This right of personal appeal planters most freely exercise, and in this way are sure, sooner or later, and often with very little delay, to obtain the supply of wants or the redress of grievances. And here I may offer in conclusion one useful hint. The time of officials, and especially of high officials, is very valuable, and every effort should be made to avoid putting them to trouble that can be avoided. The subject to be brought forward should be carefully thought out, and put in the form of a memorandum. This in some cases it is advisable to forward by letter when asking for an interview, while in other cases I have thought it more advisable that the memorandum should be taken with one and read to the official, as this gives a good opportunity for discussing the points in regular order. In the latter case, at the close of the interview, the official will probably ask that the memorandum may be left with him for reference, but it is then better to ask to be allowed to send a well-written copy by post, as this gives an opportunity for making clearer any points that may have been discussed at the interview, and which may require further explanation. It is well always to bear in mind that all high officials, and the heads of districts, are representatives of the Crown, and as such are entitled to a due amount of deference and formality when being personally addressed, or addressed by letter. These are points which are sometimes not sufficiently taken into account by inexperienced persons.

I need hardly say that the remarks last made apply equally to native officials either in Mysore or elsewhere.

In conclusion, I may mention that I have always found the native officials to be most polite, considerate, and obliging, and such, I feel sure, is the general experience of those who have been brought in contact with them.

[2] When this line is finished the planters of Mysore will have an easy and very direct route by rail to the Nilgiri Hills, and this will be of immense advantage to themselves, and especially to their families.

[3] It has imposed this policy on Mysore, and by the terms of the deed of transfer to the Rajah, no alteration in the tenures can be made without the consent of the Supreme Government.

CHAPTER II.

THE SCENERY AND WATERFALLS OF MYSORE.

Mysore is a tract of country in Southern India approximating in area to Scotland, and with a general elevation of from two to three thousand feet above the level of the sea. It is commonly spoken of as the Mysore tableland, but this is rather a misleading description if we adopt the dictionary definition of the word tableland as being "a tract of country at once elevated and level," for, though there are in the interior of the province considerable stretches of rolling plains, the so-called tableland presents to the view a country intersected at intervals, more or less remote, with mountain chains, while scattered here and there in the interior of the plateau are isolated rocky hills, or rather hills of rock, termed droogs (Sanscrit, durga, or difficult of access) which sometimes rise to a total height of 5,000 feet above sea level. The surface of the country, too, is often broken by groups, or clusters of rocks, either low or of moderate elevation, composed of immense boulders, the topmost ones of which are often so finely poised as to seem ready to topple over at the slightest touch. The highest point of the plateau is about 3,500 feet, and is crowned as it were by the fine bold range of the Bababuden mountains, which have an average elevation of about 6,000 feet. There are three mountains in Mysore which exceed this elevation, and the highest of them, Mulaìnagiri, is 6,317 feet above the level of the sea. The province, which is completely surrounded by British territory, is flanked on the west and east by the Ghauts, or ranges of hills up the passes through which the traveller ascends on to the tableland, and on the south it is, as it were, pointed off by the Nilgiri hills. The greatest breadth of Mysore from north to south is about 230 miles, and its greatest length from east to west is 290 miles. On the western side one part of the province runs to within ten miles of the sea, though the average distance from it is from thirty to fifty miles. The nearest point to the sea on the eastern side is about 120 miles, and the most southerly extremity of the tableland is 250 miles from the most southerly point of India.

As regards climate, cultivation, and the general appearance of the country, Mysore may be divided into two very distinctly marked tracts—the forest and woodland region which stretches from the foot of the Western Ghauts to distances varying from about twenty to as much as forty-five miles, and the rolling and comparatively speaking treeless plains of the central and eastern parts of the province, which are only occasionally broken by tracts which have some of the characteristics of both. In the western tract are numerous plantations of coffee and cardamoms, and the cereal cultivation consists mainly of rice fields irrigated from perennial streams; while in the central and eastern parts of the tableland, which by far exceed in area the woodland tracts of the west, the cultivation is mainly of the millets and other crops which do not depend on irrigation, though these are interspersed at intervals, more or less remote, with rice fields, the water for which is chiefly derived from tanks, or artificial reservoirs. The rainfall, temperature, and quality of the atmosphere in the western tract varies considerably from those of the open country of the interior. The rainfall of the first varies from sixty to one hundred inches, and, on the crests of the Ghauts, is probably often about 200 inches,[^[4]] while in the interior of the province the rainfall is probably about thirty inches on the average. The temperature of the western tract too is naturally much damper and cooler than that of the rest of the tableland, and at my house within six miles of the crests of the Ghauts at an elevation of about 3,200 feet, the shade temperature at the hottest time of the year and of the day rarely exceeds eighty-five, and such a thing as a hot night is unknown, as the woodland tracts are within reach of the westerly sea breezes, while in the interior the climate is much hotter and drier, and the maximum day temperature of the hot weather is about ninety, and, in very hot seasons, about ninety-five. In the woodland tracts the cold weather and the monsoon months have a very pleasant temperature, and then flannel shirts and light tweeds—in short, English summer clothing—are used, and a blanket is always welcome at night. The climate of Mysore is considered to be a healthy one for Europeans of temperate habits, and who take reasonable care of themselves. As we are now hearing so much of cholera in Europe, it may not be uninteresting to mention that, though the province was under British administration from 1831 to 1881, and there have since been a considerable number of European officials in the employ of the now native government of Mysore, only one European official has died of cholera during that period, and that, though there are a considerable number of planters, only one has been reported to have died of the disease, though his, I am told, was a doubtful case.

I have said that there are marked differences between the western tracts and the remainder of the province, but the most marked difference of course between the forest and woodland country of the west, and the country to the east, lies in the scenery of the two tracts, for, though in the latter case there are occasional bits of attractive landscape, and partially wooded hills, there is nothing at all to compare with the grand forest scenery of the Western Ghauts, or the charming park-like woodlands which stretch into the tableland at varying distances from the crests of the frontier mountains. Everyone who has seen the latter has been struck by their extraordinary and diversified beauty, and last year a friend of mine, who had for a considerable time been travelling all round the world, said to me, as he rode up to my house, "After all I have seen I have seen nothing to equal this." But this, I must add, was the very best of our Western Ghaut park scenery which is mostly contained in the talook or county of Manjarabad which stretches for about twenty-five miles along the western frontier of Mysore, a tract of country so beautiful that the laconic Colonel Wellesley (afterwards the great Duke of Wellington), who rarely put a superfluous word into his dispatches, could not refrain from remarking in one of them on the beautiful appearance of the country.[^[5]] There are two things especially remarkable about this tract. The one is that throughout the best of it there is nothing distinctively Indian in the scenery. Bamboos are rare, and in much of the tract entirely absent, and as the palm trees are always concealed in the woods there is nothing to connect the country with the usual feature of Indian woodland scenery. Another point most worthy of notice is that the scenery which appears to one seeing it for the first time to be entirely natural, is in reality very largely the creation of man. And it has been much improved by his action for, as you leave Manjarabad to go northwards the jungle becomes too continuous, and it is the same if you go southwards into the adjacent district of Coorg, and when you compare the last mentioned tracts with Manjarabad you then begin to realize the fact that nature, if left to herself, is apt to become a trifle monotonous. But in Manjarabad man has invaded nature to beautify her and bring her to perfection—cutting down and turning eventually into stretches of grass much of the original forest—leaving blocks of from 50 to 200 acres of wood on the margin of each group of houses, clearing out the jungle in the bottoms for rice cultivation and thus forming what at some seasons appear to be bright green rivers winding through the forest-clad or wooded slopes, and here and there planting on the knolls trees of various wide-spreading kinds. And yet from the absence of fences, and of cultivation on the uplands, the whole scene appears to be one of Nature's creations, and all the more so because no houses nor farm-buildings are visible, as these are hidden amongst the trees on the margins of the forest lands. Then this long tract of beautifully wooded and watered country is fringed on its western border by the varied mountain crests of the Western Ghauts, while on the east it is traversed by the Hemavati river which is fed by the numerous streams, and brawling burns which descend from the frontier hills. But though Manjarabad has combinations of charms unrivalled in their kind, we must not forget that an examination of of them by no means exhausts the scenery of the Ghauts, for, on the north-western border of Mysore are the falls of Gairsoppa. Often had I read descriptions of them which I once thought must have been too highly coloured, but when I visited the falls some years ago I found that the accounts I had read were not only far below the reality, but that the most important parts of the wonderful combinations of the scenes had either never been noted, or been quite inadequately recorded. I do not now profess to give anything approaching an adequate account of them. Nor indeed do I think it would be possible to do so. But what follows will I think at least be of advantage in directing the attention of the traveller to the best way of observing the varied scenes, and noting the wonderful musical combinations, which are to be heard at these marvellously beautiful falls.

The falls of Gairsoppa are on the Sarawati, or Arrowborn[^[6]] river, which, rising in the western woodland region of Northern Mysore, flows north-west for about sixty-two miles, and then, turning abruptly to the west, precipitates its waters over cliffs about 860 feet in height. When the river is at the full in the south-west monsoon an immense body of water rushes over the precipice, and from calculations made by some engineers, and which are recorded in the book at the Travellers' Bungalow, the volume and height of fall at that time, if taken together, would give a force of water about equal to that of Niagara. But, however that may be, a glance at the high water marks, and a knowledge of the immense rainfall on the crests of the Ghauts during the monsoon months, makes it certain that, at that time of year, the amount of water must be very large. At that season, though, the falls are almost invisible, as they are concealed by vast masses of mist and spray, and even were they visible, as the water then stretches from bank to bank, there would only be one vast monotonous fall. But after the heavy monsoon floods are over, the river above the falls-shrinks back as it were into a long deep pool which lies at a distance of several hundred yards from the brink of the precipice, and from this pool the water of the river then escapes by four distinct rapids which have cut their way to-the brink of the precipice, and fall over the cliffs in four distinct falls, each one of widely different character from the others. The falls at this season are only 834 feet high, but when the river rises to the full the fall, as I before mentioned, must be about 860 feet, or approximating in height to the loftiest story of the Eiffel Tower. Across the rapids light bridges of bamboo are thrown, at the end of each monsoon. There are thus two ways of crossing the river—one by the pool above the falls where there is a ferry-boat which can take over horses as well as people—the other by the bridges of the rapids—and it is necessary to cross the river because the only bungalow is on the north, or Bombay side of the river, and the best point for seeing the falls is on the southern side. The only way too of reaching the bottom of the falls is by the southern side.

The only objection to these falls is the difficulty of getting at them, owing to their being quite out of the usual travellers' route, and that is why they have, if I may judge by the travellers' book at the bungalow,[^[7]] been, comparatively speaking, rarely visited. Then there is no railway nearer than about ninety miles, and though the falls are only thirty-five miles from the western coast, steamers do not call at the nearest port to them. Nor is it at all even probable that any line will ever be brought nearer to the falls than about sixty miles. It is, too, rather discouraging to have the prospect of a ninety mile road journey to see the falls, and then return by the same route. But I would suggest that a traveller might make a very enjoyable trip by going from Bombay to Hoobli on the South Maharatta line, and, on the way to Gairsoppa visit the Lushington Falls which are about 400 feet in height, the Lalgali Fall which has a series of picturesque rapids and cascades, with a total fall of from 200 to 300 feet, and the Majod falls where the Bedti-Gangaveli river forms a picturesque waterfall leaping in a series of cascades over cliffs varying in height from 100 to 200 feet in height, and together 800 feet high. I have not visited any of these last named falls. An account of them and other places of interest in the Kanara district is given in the "Bombay Gazetteer" for Kanara,[^[8]] which gives a complete history of this interesting district, and is a book which the traveller should buy, as it is well worthy of a place in any library. I now proceed to give an account of my visit to the Gairsoppa Falls.

On the 12th of January, 1886 (I should not advise the traveller to visit the falls earlier than November 1st nor later than the middle of January, as the water lessens after the latter date), I arrived at the Travellers' Bungalow at the Falls, after having travelled there by the coast route from Bombay, which I found so troublesome that I cannot recommend its adoption. The bungalow, which is about thirty-five miles from the western coast, and on ground 1,800 feet above sea level, is situated in a truly romantic spot (in fact rather too romantic if we take the possibility of an earthquake into consideration), for it is close to the edge of a gorge 900 feet deep, and in full view of the face of the precipice over which the waters of the Arrowborn river precipitate themselves on their way to the western sea. To north, south, east, and west stretch hills and vales for the most part covered with the evergreen forest, and only here and there showing grassy slopes and summits. On the opposite side of the gorge as you peer down into it you can see emerging from the edge of the jungle about half way down from the top of the side of the gorge what looks like a long ladder of stone, but which really consists of the rough steps by which alone the bottom of the falls can be reached.

On the following morning I proceeded to cross the river by the bridges over the rapids. The first rapid is that of the Rajah Fall, the water of which shoots sheer from the cliff, and, without even touching a rock, falls 830 feet into a pool 132 feet deep. After crossing the bridge you sometimes walk through, and sometimes clamber over, the vast assemblage of rocks and huge boulders which form the bed of the river, and are deeply submerged when the river is full. The sight here is extremely curious and interesting as, after leaving the bridge of the Rajah rapid, there are about 1,000 feet of rock and boulders to pass through or over before you reach the next rapid, and, when half way, there would be nothing to show that you were not wandering through a mere wilderness of rocks were it not for the unceasing thunder, far below, from the bottom of the Rajah Fall. The next rapid to be crossed is that of the Roarer, which takes, before it goes over the precipice a most singular course—first flowing into a basin at the edge of the cliff, and then leaving this in a northerly direction, after which it rushes down a steep stony trough to fall into the same deep pool which receives the water of the Rajah Fall. After crossing the bridge of the Roarer rapid the bed of the river has again to be traversed and at a distance of about 700 feet you reach the rapid of the Rocket. This is a fall of wonderful beauty, for the water projects itself sheer from the cliff to fall about 100 feet on to a vast projecting piece, or rather buttress of rock, which causes the water to shoot out into a rocket-like course from which are thrown off wonderfully beautiful jets, and arrowy shoots of water, and spray, and foam, which seem to resemble falling stars or shooting meteors. You then pass over another section of the river bed for about 500 feet till you reach the rapid, or rather stream, of the la Dame Blanche Fall which glides gently over the precipice in a broad foaming silvery sheet. From the first rapid to the last the distance is about 733 yards. I have met with no estimate of the total width of the fall when the river is in full flood, but it can hardly be less than half a mile wide, and the depth of the water, as one can see from the high water mark, must be very great. It is interesting to note on the tops of the boulders here and there the circular stones that have, during each monsoon, been whirling round and round, each one in its own pothole.

After crossing the last bridge you then walk over the rocks into the forest beyond and strike the path which leads down through the forest on the Mysore side of the river, to a point called Watkin's platform—an open-sided shed about 100 feet below the top of the falls, and which commands a view of the gorge below the falls, and a fair, though rather distant view of the falls. When approaching the platform I was positively startled by a vast shrieking clang which suddenly burst on the ear and seemed to fill the air. This I afterwards found had come from the semi-cavernous gorge of rock about half a mile away, into which fall the waters of the Rajah and Roarer rapids, and though I afterwards heard somewhat similar sounds issuing from these falls, I never heard again anything approaching to this singular and startling burst of sound. These sounds have often been remarked upon, but no one seems to have attempted to trace their cause, but they most probably arise from the escape of air which has been driven by the falling waters into some deep fissures of the rock.

Having thus taken a general view of the situation, I then returned to the bungalow for breakfast, and in the afternoon at about two o'clock returned to Watkin's platform by the route of the ferry across the pool, and, with my companion, set out for the foot of the falls, first of all by a steep winding path, and then by a flight of very rough and uneven steps which had been formed by placing stones in places on and between the rocks. When descending, we often paused to view the constantly changing scene, for, as we got lower and lower, the rainbow hues across each fall, which were at first widely broken by the masses of cliff stretching between the falls, came closer and closer, till at last, when we reached the region where the spray of all the falls was mingled, the iris hues stretched across the gorge in an unbroken band of colour. At length, as we neared the foot of the fall, we reached a small open-sided shed, which had recently been erected on the occasion of the Maharajah of Mysore's visit. From this, which was probably fifty feet from the bottom of the gorge and about 100 yards from the falls, an admirable view was obtained of the entire situation, and we began to realize how impossible it is to form any adequate conception of the falls from the top, or from the higher sides of the gorge. We next descended to the bottom of the gorge, where the ground is strewn with vast boulders of rock, which had evidently fallen from the cliff as it had been eaten back by waters toiling through countless bygone ages. Many of these masses of rock lie at some distance from the foot of the falls, and on the partially decayed surfaces of some of them vegetation had evidently been flourishing for an indefinite period of time. Huge masses of rocks and boulders, as you look down the river, seem almost to block up its route towards the western sea, and indeed so completely seem to fill up the pass, that one seemed to be standing at the bottom of a rock-bound hollow which had been excavated by the agency of Nature, after a toil through periods of time far beyond the calculations of man.

As I found that the rocks at the foot of the falls were covered with a slimy mud, and as I was suffering slightly from a damaged foot, I presently returned to the shed, while my companion proceeded to explore the bed of the gorge further down the river. The floor of the shed had been strewed with straw, and I lay down at full length, partly to rest and partly to examine the situation more minutely, for the height is so great that it is impossible adequately to survey the scene in any other position. And then, when you have stillness and solitude, and when the body is in complete repose, there pour in on eye and ear floods of impressions so quickly varying that the mind feels quite unable to record them, and there is finally nothing left behind but a vague and indescribable sensation of all that is grand and beautiful and melodious in nature. For there are vast heights and gloomy depths and recesses, and varied forms of falling waters, and in the general surroundings everything to convey exalted ideas of grandeur to the mind, but grandeur accompanied by exquisite beauty, in colour, in the graceful movement of animal life, and in the varying sounds of falling waters—the charm of the iris hues which ever beautify the falling waters—beauty in the varied colours of the rocks, and in the plants and ferns growing in the fissures of the cliff—beauty in exquisite forms of motion—of water varied in countless ways as it descends from the four separate falls—beauty in the unceasing movements of countless swallows, mingled here and there with specimens of the Alpine swift and the pretty blue-hued rock pigeons, which build their nests on the ledges of the cliffs, and are constantly to be seen flying across the falls. Then there are the unceasing and ever varying sounds of falling waters, grand in their totality, grand and melodious in their separate cadences—the deep bass of the Rajah, sometimes like cannon thundering in the distance, and sometimes like the regular tolling of some vast Titanic bell; sounds of most varied and brilliant music from the Rocket; the jagged note of the Roarer, as its waters rush down their steep, stony trough; the eerie and mysterious sounds which, sometimes like a mingling of startling shrieks and clangs, and sometimes, to the active imagination, like the far-off lamentations of imprisoned spirits,[^[9]] occasionally rise from the semi-cavernous chasm which has been hollowed out behind the great pool beneath the cliff; the gentle murmuring note of the White Lady Fall, tangled threads of sound from which fall in fitful cadences on the ear as the wind rises and falls athwart the falls; and lastly, but by no means leastly, the undulating and endless varieties of sounds which, having broken away from their original source, are ever wandering and echoing around the rock-bound gorge. Beautiful indeed and altogether indescribable are the elements of melody which are created by the falling waters of the Arrowborn river!

And the music, too, seemed to be for ever varying, for the choral odes which were sweetly chanted to the ear were not perpetually continuous, and at times, owing to some change in the direction of the wind as it swirled around the gorge, the choral element was subordinated to the deep thunder of the Rajah Fall, or the vague tumult of startling discords which arose at intervals from the semi-cavernous walls of the pool into which plunge the waters of the Rajah and Roarer Falls. And then these sounds would gradually lose their predominance, and the more uniform sounds in which all the four falls joined would once more fill the air and charm the ear. And thus the attention could never be lulled to sleep, for here monotony was not, and the mind was always kept in an attitude of expectancy for the variations in the music which were sure to come, and, so far as they reached the ear, were never the same combinations of sounds that had been heard before. All the elements of melody were here, indeed, in profuse abundance, and it seemed as if they only required to be caught by some master hand and strung into methodical musical combinations to yield to the mind and feelings those exquisite sensations which music alone can in any effective degree convey.

And besides the effects we have noticed, there is the motion of colour constantly, though gradually, shifting and altering, for, as the sun declines, the rainbow hues move steadily upwards on the face of the falls, and the colours of the rocks, which are of varying shades of purple and yellow, continually alter in character with the sinking day. But the finest combined effects of beauty and grandeur are, perhaps, most fully felt when, late in the afternoon, the eye wanders delighted over the vast combination of lofty cliffs and falling waters to rest finally far above on the iris tints of the Rajah and Roarer Falls, through the colours of which myriads of swallows incessantly wheel on lightsome wing, mingled with the quick, darting movement of the Alpine swifts, and the gentle flight of the blue rock pigeons, which occasionally wing their way through the mazy throng. For there the eye is ever delighted with the charm of colour and of those endless variations of graceful movement which continuously convey pleasurable sensations to the mind. But how could eye or ear ever tire of those rare combinations of form, colour, motion and rhythmic sounds which fill the mind with an exalted sense of feeling and of pleasure, and the conscious heart with exquisite sensations far beyond the power of language to describe?

Presently my companion returned and aroused me from my state of dreamy pleasure, and I turned reluctantly away from the scene as the rainbow colours were, with the sinking sun, beginning to disappear from the topmost heights of the falls.

Delightful indeed were the brilliant and varied scenes I have been attempting to describe, and after them the remainder was by comparison tame, but still I found that, as I took a canoe the following evening and rowed up the forest-margined pool from which the rapids emerge, that the minor scenes at the falls have exquisite charms of their own. And then it was that I realized that, varying though the scale may be, there is everywhere about the falls the same beauty of detail and beauty of combined effect, and that, too, unaccompanied by a single jarring note. For nowhere can you say, as you can often say in viewing scenes elsewhere, "leave out this, or alter that, and the scene would be perfect," and in none of the scenes about the falls does anything poor, or base, or mean, or uninteresting strike the eye, and as I rowed slowly up the pool I felt that the mind was both charmed and soothed by the exquisite repose of the scene, which is only broken, if indeed it can be said to be broken, by the beautiful birds and gaily painted kingfishers which occasionally wing their way across the water, or flit along the margin of the forest-clad shore. As you look towards the West the eye wanders over the wild assemblage of water-worn rocks and boulders which intervene between the pool and the head of the falls, to rest finally on the distant hills, covered mostly to their tips with the evergreen forest, while on looking up the river you see that it is flanked by woods on either hand, and as you lose sight of the water as it bends towards the south, the eye glances upwards to hills of moderate height, wooded in the hollows, and showing on the ridges grassy vistas dotted with occasional trees.

On returning, I went lower down in the pool than the point I had started at, and passed a number of rocks worn into all sorts of curious shapes, and one of these leaned, like some gigantic Saurian, over the flood. As we neared the rapids, one felt that one would by no means like to run any risk of being drawn into one of them, and I was by no means anxious to go nearer to them than the boatmen, wished. One of them told me that the natives sometimes descended the cliffs between the Roarer and the Rocket Falls in order to carry off the fledglings from the nests of the blue rock pigeons, and said that several lives had thus been lost. He said that there was no way of reaching the bottom of the cliff, and rather quaintly added, "Those who came up again came up, and those who did not, died." He said that some European had once put what was evidently dynamite into the pool. A great explosion followed, which killed a large number of fish, many of which were washed over the falls.

In the evening I sat for a long time in the bungalow veranda smoking my cigar, and looking dreamily out at the moonlit falls, and observing from time to time the scenic changes that were produced by the great masses of mist which drifted up the gorge below me to be dispersed as they touched the cliffs, and presenting, as they did so, most charming pictures. In the morning, too, beautiful effects were to be seen, as masses of mist arose from the chasm of the Rajah to flit in fleecy fragments across the face of the falls. But the scenes about this spot are of endless variety, and I must allow myself to mention only one more, which my companion saw one morning from Watkin's platform when the iris hues were on the pool below the falls, which, as the spray fell into it, seemed like a mass of golden water dotted all over, as if yellow tinted rain were falling into it. On some occasions visitors have illuminated the falls with fireworks, and by floating over the falls ignited bundles of straw soaked in paraffin, and I regret that I had not thought of following their example.

Next morning I set out on a drive of about 150 miles to my plantations in Manjarabad. As we left the falls, we passed, and close to the river pool above them, a tree covered with fruit which was being eaten by green pigeons and other birds, and on looking up into it I was surprised, as it is an animal of nocturnal habits, to see a large and beautiful flying squirrel peering at me with a quiet but by no means apprehensive eye. I was strongly tempted to shoot it for the sake of its skin, but my companion, who had been much affected by the beauties of the falls, said that it would be a sacrilege to shoot anything so near them. So I spared his feelings and the poor squirrel, and am now very glad to think that I did so. I may here mention that the traveller, though he sets out early in the morning and late in the afternoon, very rarely sees anything in the shape of big game, even though the jungles he may be driving through may abound with it, and the sole exception I can remember, after numerous journeys through them, occurred on the occasion of my drive home from the falls, when, early one morning, a tiger bounded across the road at a distance of about 100 yards ahead. It is also worthy of remark that you very seldom see a snake, and, though I landed on the Western coast at Carwar and travelled by easy stages by way of the falls to my estate, I did not see a single snake during the whole course of the journey.

As it is probable that this account of the Gairsoppa Falls may induce travellers to visit them, I think it may be useful to give an account of the Cauvery Falls on the southern frontier of Mysore, which are well worthy of a visit, and easily accessible. The best time for visiting them is generally said to be August, or not later than the middle of September, though when I visited them on the 25th of that month last year, the river, though not in full flood, had an ample supply of water in it, and, from Mr. Bowring's description of his visit to them on November 21st,[^[10]] there must still, up to that date, be a considerable flow in the river. From my own experience, I feel sure that the best time to see these falls is after the great floods have subsided, as the water then is clear, or nearly so, and the effects, as in the case of the Gairsoppa Falls, are far more varied and brilliant. There is one point I would here particularly impress on the traveller, and that is, that when visiting falls such as those of Gairsoppa and the Cauvery, which present a great variety of scenic effects, and are not merely monotonous single masses of water, he should devote at least two clear days to them, i.e., he should arrive on one day, remain two days, and leave on the fourth day. He should also select a time when there is a sufficiency of moonlight. I was particularly impressed with the first point, because I most thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Gairsoppa as I had two clear days there, whereas my visit to the Cauvery Falls was attended with that sense of hurry which, if not destructive of all enjoyment, leaves behind on the mind a feeling that many points in the scenes must have been either missed or quite inadequately observed. The account of my visit to these falls, however, may at least be useful in showing a traveller short of time how to visit them with the least possible expenditure of it.

I left Bangalore, then, on the morning of Thursday, September 24th, 1891, by the 8.20 a.m. train, for the Mudoor Railway Station, on the lino to Mysore city, and arrived there shortly after midday. I then had luncheon at the station, and left for the Malvalli Travellers' Bungalow at a little before three, in a carriage I had sent on from Bangalore with two pairs of horses (it is advisable to have an extra pair posted), and arrived at my destination shortly after five. To this bungalow, which is about fourteen miles from the falls, I had previously sent on with my native servants bedding and mosquito curtains, and the means necessary to prepare meals for the party. Reports had reached us of creeping things being abroad in this bungalow, and my servant had been particularly enjoined to look out for, and, as far as possible, guard against them. This he had done by putting the bedsteads in the sun and doing what further he could. But notwithstanding his assurances of safety, one of the ladies of the party insisted that, from all she had heard, there must be creeping things somewhere about. The servant listened with an air of respectful attention to all she had to say, and, when she had quite done, said with quiet persistence, and much to our amusement, "What Missus says is true, but there are no bugs," and I am glad to say that he was justified in making the assertion. We rose very early the following morning, started at 4.20, at 6.20 arrived at the bungalow near the falls, and, after a little delay to get a cup of tea, drove at once to the nearest fall. But I must here pause for a few moments to describe the general situation of the river, the islands formed by its splitting into two distinct branches, and the position of the fall—a total situation which is not easily comprehended without the aid of a map.

The Cauvery Falls are on the river of that name, which rises in Coorg, and, after a run of 646 miles to the south-east, falls into the Bay of Bengal about midway between Madras and Cape Comorin. Before reaching Seringapatam (which is on an island in the river) it is joined by the Hemavati which rises to the north of Manjarabad and, as we have seen, skirts the eastern border of that talook, or county. As the Hemavati sends down a large body of water the source of which is more distant from the sea than the spot in Coorg which is called the head of the Cauvery, I may remark in passing that it is singular that the latter should have been regarded as the source of this fine river, which really rises in Mysore. But, rise where it may, it at last arrives at a point on the southern frontier of Mysore where the bed of the Cauvery splits into two channels and forms the island of Hegora, which is about three miles long, and from a quarter of a mile to a mile wide, and, by a rather curious, coincidence, almost exactly the size of the island on which the fortress of Seringapatam has been built. The northern branch of the river washes the Mysore frontier and this, after about two miles, again divides, or rather a small branch diverges to the north and, forming a loop, cuts away from the mainland the island of Ettikoor, and there falls into the northern branch of the river by various cascades, and just below the point where the falls on the main northern branch occur. This group of falls is called Gangana Chuckee.

The southern branch of the river on the Madras side flows as a single stream for about half a mile, and then splits off some of its water into various channels, but forming nothing worthy of the name of an island till it severs from the mainland the island of Hegora, a strip of land about two furlongs at the widest, and less than a mile in length. To the south of this the main body of the water goes to form lower down the fine series of cascades and falls called the Bar Chuckee, while a comparatively small body of water goes to the left to form the pretty series of cascades and steep runnels of water which fall, though at a different point of the compass from the main falls, into the wide pool at the foot of the Bar Chuckee Falls. After this necessary digression I now proceed to narrate what I saw and did.

I drove, then, after a short delay at the bungalow, to the Gangana Chuckee Falls, passing on the way the temple of Sivasamudrum, and various buildings connected with it, and leaving the carriage, walked down towards the falls, passing on the right Pir's Tomb, the grave of a Mahometan priest of that name, and went to a point just below it, from which a fine general view of these falls and the river can be obtained. Glancing upwards, the view of the river, as the waters race down their steep stony bed towards the falls amidst numerous projecting rocks, is extremely grand and picturesque. Then at a point just below the spot I was standing on, the water plunged down a nearly precipitous descent, from which it apparently (for the spray prevented one seeing exactly) fell perpendicularly into the pool below, sending up as it did so gossamer veils of spray full of fleeting, faint, and ever varying iris hues. This pool is flanked, and probably about 100 yards below the foot of the previously mentioned fall, on the northern side by a precipice about 250 feet high, down which, in four separate cascades, falls the water of the branch of the river which cuts off the small island of Ettikoor. On the side of the precipice next to the great fall of the main river stands a piece of tree-clad rocky ground, apparently about 50 feet higher than the precipice, and this is flanked by a rapid at the top, passing into a cascade lower down, which then held but little water, but which in floods must add much to the beauty of the scene. After viewing the scene for sometime, I returned to the carriage, and drove across the island to visit the Bar Chuckee Falls, and left the carriage at a point where the road begins to descend into the valley into which the southern branch of the river precipitates itself. I then advanced to a point on the right of the road from which a fine general view can be obtained, though it is rather too distant as regards the main body of the falls, and, as I reached the point in question, came suddenly into view of such a number of separate falls and cascades that a description of them is extremely difficult. For, on the opposite side of the valley, I counted no less than thirteen, which leap partly over one side of a horseshoe shaped precipice which had evidently, from the huge boulders in the channel below, been eaten back into the side of the precipice, and partly shoot out through various hidden channels which the waters have deeply cut through a huge semicircular platform of rock which overhangs the valley below. As they thus shoot out the effect is extremely striking and picturesque, and their resemblance to the spokes of light from a star no doubt caused the natives to give the very appropriate name of Chuckee (pronounced Chickee—Kanarese for star) to these beautiful falls. This semicircular platform of rock stands on one side of the river-bed, next to this we have the horseshoe-shaped precipice I have mentioned, and next to that again, as it were by way of quietly beautiful contrast, there is a vast sheet of steeply sloping rock, which is completely covered by a thin coating of white, and everywhere foaming water. When the river is at the full this fine series of falls and cascades vanishes, and is replaced, as in the case of the falls at Gairsoppa, by one great fall about half a mile wide.

After looking at this beautiful scene, the eye wanders next over some jungle-clad slopes on the western side of the main falls, to dwell on a series of cascades and racing waters which descend through channels flanked on either side by scrubby plants and trees—a series which arises from a branch which diverges about a mile higher up the river, and the cascades and runnels of water of which are scattered round precipitous slopes right up to, and immediately below, the point on which I was standing. All the falls and cascades unite in a pool below of great width, from which the water escapes through a narrow gorge, to join, further down, the river branch on which are the Gangana Chuckee Falls. The general effect here appears to be that you are looking at falls and cascades proceeding from two different rivers, the one flowing from the south and the other from the west, and the effect is the same at the first described falls. The general height of all the falls is said to be from 200 to 250 feet, and in Mr. Bowring's "Eastern Experiences" 300 feet, but I can find no account, and could hear of no particulars, as to when or how measurements were taken, as in the case of the falls at Gairsoppa, which were carefully surveyed by officers of the Indian Navy. I was particularly struck with the absence of bird life at these falls, and only saw two small birds, and one hawk, and a small flight of what in the distance appeared to be pigeons, which alit on a rock at the foot of one of the falls.

It is impossible to refrain from contrasting these falls with those at Gairsoppa. The Cauvery Falls have indeed much beauty and grandeur in river, and varied waterfall scenery, and had I not seen the Gairsoppa Falls I should have thought that it would have been difficult to find anywhere in the world scenes more varied and beautiful. But the beauties of the falls of Cauvery are set in comparatively speaking sterile surroundings of rock and scrubby jungle, trees and shrubs scattered over ground partly undulating, and partly over hills of moderate height and uninteresting form. Then the grandeur arising from their great height, and the charms of the varied sounds of the falls of Gairsoppa, and the marvellously beautiful effects of graceful bird life wheeling and darting amidst the iris hues of the falls, and the setting of the whole scene amidst the tropical wealth of the evergreen forest of the Western Ghauts, afford combinations which far exceed those of the Cauvery Falls. I have no hesitation in saying, as a traveller to the falls of Gairsoppa has said before, that they alone would repay one for all the trouble of the voyage to India. But, beautiful and grand as they undoubtedly are, I cannot quite say the same of the Cauvery falls, though I can with confidence say that if the traveller leaves India without seeing them he will certainly have missed one of the scenes best worth seeing in it.

After spending some time at the Bar Chuckee Falls I then drove back to the bungalow and, leaving the carriage there, walked rather more than half a mile to the bridge which connects the island with the Madras side of the river, and which I closely examined, as it is a most curious and interesting specimen of the work of native engineers, and as it has withstood the floods of about seventy years, one of which passed over the roadway of the bridge to a depth of three feet, is most highly creditable to native workmanship. A similar bridge connects the island with the Mysore side of the river, and both bridges were repaired at his own cost by a native in the employ of the Mysore Government, who in recognition of this important work, received from the British Government, for himself and his heirs (who are bound to keep up the bridges) land yielding an annual revenue of £800, and of £900 from the Mysore Government.

The bridge I now proceeded to examine. It is built entirely of stone without any mortar or cement, and is supported on two rows of single block stone pillars standing on slabs of stone placed on the river bed. Those pillars are about nine feet high and eight feet apart. On the top of each pillar is first of all a thick block of stone projecting about eighteen inches from the pillar on its upper and lower sides. Then on this was a rather thicker block of stone, and on the top of all cross beams of solid single stones had been laid, and from one cross beam to another were solid and closely put together slabs of stones, some of which were eighteen inches wide, and some rather wider, thus making a roadway above so narrow that two carriages cannot pass each other. In order to strengthen the pillars and keep them in position, a flat slab of stone had been laid on the bed of the river, from the base of the lower pillar to within about two feet of the upper one, and between the end of this slab and the pillar a thick, high block of stone had been wedged. In this bridge there were 109 pairs of pillars, giving a total length of about 1,000 feet. I was struck with the difference in the age of the pillars, and with the fact that, whereas some were plain, roughly hewn pillars, others, which had been dressed and chiselled into various forms, were evidently of great antiquity, and I was subsequently informed by the clerk of the proprietor of the island that the latter had been procured from ruined temples in the neighbourhood. These bridges at first sight seem to be curved in a slight loop up the stream, but a closer examination shows that they have been built in several lines, first slightly up the stream and then advancing by several straight lines to a blunt arrow-like point in the centre of the river, and this was evidently to enable the bridges the better to resist the heavy floods, one of which, as I have previously mentioned, went no less than three feet over the roadway. As you stand on the edge of the river and look along the centre of the rows of pillars the effect is very curious, as they then present the appearance of a long colonnade of pillars of various shapes, with a flat roof of solid slabs of stone overhead.

After thoroughly inspecting the bridge, I lay for some time in the shade of a tree which stood on the bank of the river about fifty yards below the bridge, and awaited the arrival of the carriage, which I had sent for as the day was getting hot, and as I thus lay languidly observing the long colonnade, and the water which rapidly flowed between the pillars, and looked up the river as it stretched away to the north-west, and enjoyed the cool air which gently moved along the water, I felt a quiet sense of enjoyment which gave me a greater, and certainly a more lasting, sense of pleasure than I had experienced when visiting the beautiful falls I have just endeavoured to describe. I mention this for the moral, which is, that to enjoy scenery the body must be comfortable and in complete repose. I would also add that you must be alone, or practically alone, by being out of sight or hearing of your companions. Presently I was aroused by the rumble of the carriage, and, collecting my party, returned to the bungalow for luncheon. At about half past four the carriage was brought round, and we drove to our temporary home to dinner, and on the following day reached Bangalore at two o'clock, the whole trip having thus occupied about sixty hours.

[4] No less than 291.53 inches fell this year, between April and the last day of September, at a Cardamom plantation on the crests of the Ghauts.

[5] After the fall of Seringapatam some further military operations were necessary in Manjarabad, and some of Colonel Wellesley's letters were written within a few miles of my bungalow.

[6] So called from its flowing from a source which was supposed to have been formed by a stroke of Rama's arrow.

[7] All travellers are obliged to record their names in these books, and state the time they have stayed, and the sums they have paid for the use of the bungalow.

[8] "Gazetteer of the Bombay Presidency," vol. xv. Kanara, Bombay. Printed at the Government Central Press, 1883.

[9] The native idea.

[10] "Eastern Experiences," by L. Bowring, C.S.I.; Henry S. King and Co., London, 1871. Before visiting Mysore the traveller should certainly buy or consult this book.

CHAPTER III.

MYSORE—ITS HISTORY, GOVERNMENT, AND REPRESENTATIVE ASSEMBLY.

In my last chapter I gave a description of Mysore and its waterfalls. In the present chapter I purpose very briefly remarking on its history, government, and representative assembly, and shall conclude by contrasting the last with the so-called National Indian Congress.

In his Report of December, 1804, the Acting Resident of Mysore, Colonel Mark Wilks, observed that "the territories composing the present dominion of His Highness the Rajah of Mysore had, from the remotest periods of tradition, been held by a number of polygars and petty Rajahs, whose possessions were incessantly enlarged, diminished, or alienated, by a series of revolutions which it would perhaps be impossible to trace, and unprofitable to describe," and it is interesting to note how little, at that time, seems to have been known about the history of the kingdoms we conquered. But all doubts as to the early history of Mysore have now been removed, and the reader will find in Mr. Rice's admirable gazetteer of Mysore a minute history of the country accompanied by coloured maps which show at a glance the numerous transitions which the territories now comprised under the head of Mysore have undergone in former times, but as I think that it would certainly be unprofitable to describe these transitions here I shall content myself with a bare enumeration of those leading facts which are necessary for a general comprehension of the situation. All, then, that the reader requires to know is, that a line of Hindoo Rajahs which once reigned over a very limited portion of Mysore gradually acquired about half of it; that a descendant of their line was set aside by the Mahometan usurper Hyder Ali (an able soldier of fortune, who had risen to the chief command of the army); that he conquered the remainder of the present territory and ruled it from 1761 to 1782; and that after his death he was succeeded by his son Sultan Tippoo, who on May 4th, 1799, lost his life at Seringapatam, and with it all the territories acquired by his father, thereby fulfilling what Hyder Ali said when he observed to his son one day, "I was born to win and you were born to lose an empire." The subsequent history of the province is soon told. After the fall of Seringapatam it was resolved to place a descendant of the old Hindoo line on the throne, and Krishna Rajah Wodeyar—then about five years old, became Maharajah of Mysore, with Purnaiya (formerly prime minister of Tippoo) as Dewan and Regent, and Colonel (afterwards Sir Barry) Close as Resident, while Colonel Arthur Wellesley (afterwards Duke of Wellington) commanded the division. Under the new Government all at first went well, and in 1804 the Governor-General declared that during the past five years "the affairs of the Government of Mysore had been conducted with a degree of regularity, wisdom, discretion and justice unparalleled in any native state in India." But, unfortunately for himself and his subjects, the Maharajah, in 1811, began to rule, and Purnaiya, the able prime minister, retired, and soon afterwards died. Then followed a long period of misgovernment, which culminated in the insurrection of 1830, to put down which the aid of British troops had to be called in. A formal inquiry was then made by the British Government, and the result of this was that it was determined to transfer the entire administration to British officers, and put the Maharajah on an allowance for his personal expenditure. At first two commissioners were appointed to administer the government, but this was found to be inconvenient, and in April, 1834, Colonel (afterwards Sir Mark) Cubbon was appointed as sole commissioner for the province. He occupied the post till February, 1861, when he retired, and when on his way home died at Suez at about seventy-seven years of age, having spent the whole of the previous years of the century in India. He was succeeded by other able commissioners, and nothing of any political importance happened in the province till June, 1865, when the Maharajah adopted as his heir a scion of one of the leading families of his house. It was for some time doubtful whether the Government would recognize the adoption, as, after the death of the Maharajah, it had been generally assumed that the province would be annexed, but in April, 1867, the Home Government decided that it should be recognized, and on September 23rd, 1868, six months after the death of Krishna Rajah, his adopted son, Chama Rajendra Wodeyar Bahadur, at that time between five and six years old, was duly installed at Mysore, and it was then decided that the country should remain under British administration till the Maharajah came of age. His Highness attained his majority at the age of eighteen, on the 5th of March, 1881, and was formally installed on the throne on the 25th of that month, and thus the province, after having been directly administered by the British for almost exactly fifty years, was handed over, not as we shall afterwards see, to native rule, but to native administration.

And here a rather interesting question naturally arises. How was such a change—one quite unique in the history of India—received by the inhabitants of the country? So far as the planters (of whom I am one of the oldest, having settled in the province in 1855) are concerned, I do not think they have been in the slightest degree affected. They were all well satisfied with the English administration, and I think they are equally well satisfied with the present native administration. In fact, there is no change perceptible, except that the criminal administration, has somewhat fallen off, and it certainly has been occasionally found that an answer from a native official sometimes resembles death—you think it is never coming and then it comes when least expected. But I must confess that, as regards answers to communications, I have heard of similar complaints made by the former Mysore Government against the Supreme Government, and of a like complaint made by the latter against the Home Government. But, though the change was regarded with indifference by the settlers in the province, and was indeed of obvious advantage to them, as there is no income-tax, and the finances are flourishing, it was not at all acceptable to the native population in general, and the native officials were quite aware that the new administration was not popular. I made frequent inquiries as to the cause of this, not only from natives in my own neighbourhood, but from those I met when travelling by easy stages from the Gairsoppa Falls in the north-western corner of the province to my estates in Southern Mysore, and found that the universal complaint was that there was a want of Daryápti, or active inquiry into grievances, and one of my old native neighbours was loud in his praises of the palmy days of Sir Mark Cubbon. I confess, however, that though there may have been some grounds for complaint as regards "inquiry," owing to the greater zeal and personal activity of Englishmen, I do not think that there were any real grounds for dissatisfaction, and feel sure that the unpopularity of the new administration was owing partly to the fact of the country, at the time of the rendition, not being in a very prosperous condition, partly to the strong conservative instincts of the natives, and partly, perhaps, to their being under some apprehension that the abuses of the old native government might possibly be revived. But, however that may be, from inquiries made when last in India, and especially from the absence of any reference to the subject in the many conversations I had with natives of all classes, I believe that the unpopularity of the new administration, which at first undoubtedly existed, has now quite passed away.

It may be as well to mention here that, though the administration is now a native one, there are still, in the Mysore service, about thirty-five Englishmen in the various departments of the State, and that the most friendly relations exist between them and the native officials. I feel sure, too, that the value of an admixture of Englishmen in the administration is fully recognized by the native officials. As regards brain power they equal Englishmen, and indeed are often superior to them, but the classes from which the native officials are mainly drawn are, as a rule, deficient in that physical vigour which is required for executive work, as one of the native officials, who himself was an exception to the rule, once told me, "and therefore," he added, "we must have an admixture of natives and Europeans in the service." I must, however, observe that, though his remark is true as regards the Brahminical classes from which the officials are mainly taken, I think it probable that, when education spreads, there will ultimately be found amongst the hardy peasantry of Mysore a fair proportion of individuals who will have a sufficient degree of physical vigour for executive work. In confirmation of the remark I have made as to the want of executive vigour on the part of native officials, a defect which would be equally apparent in us were our energy not kept up by fresh importations from home, I may mention that, under the new regime, there has been a distinct falling off in the up-keep of roads, and in the detection of crime.

In connection with this subject I may make a passing remark on a point which has not hitherto been noticed, so far as I am aware, by previous writers. It has constantly been asserted by natives that we have not kept faith with them as regards opening to them many appointments in the public service which are at present reserved for Englishmen. I would call attention to the fact that one of the passages so often quoted contains really no general promise of employment. This passage—taken from a clause in the East India Act, passed in Parliament, 1833—merely says "That no native of the said territories, nor any natural born subject of his majesty resident therein, shall by reason only of his religion, place of birth, descent, colour, or any of them, be disabled from holding any place, office, or employment under the said company." "By reason only." Yes, but this does not bar disqualification for other reasons, as for instance the want of physical vigour to which I have alluded. Then mark the careful limitation contained in the often quoted passage from the Queen's proclamation of 1858, which sets forth that "It is our further will, that, as far as may be, our subjects, of whatever race or creed, be freely and impartially admitted to office in our service, the duties of which they may be qualified, by their education, ability and integrity, duly to discharge." But natives have not, generally speaking, the ability to discharge executive duties requiring much physical vigour, and no one is more ready to admit that than the best among the natives. But besides executive efficiency there is the fact that the mere sight of the zeal, energy, and general interest in progress exhibited by the English is to the natives around them an education worth all the book instruction we have imported into India. We cannot have too much of this leavening element, and the effects of it are everywhere apparent. It is extremely striking in the coffee districts, where many native planters have been, much improved as regards go, and a desire to adopt improvements, since Europeans have settled more freely amongst them.

But it is time now to turn to the subject of the constitution of Mysore—a subject which, I need hardly say, is of the greatest practical importance to those who hold, or may think of acquiring, property in the province.

The Instrument of Transfer, then, as it is officially called, by which Mysore was made over to native administration on the 25th of March, 1881, begins by declaring the installation of the Maharajah and his power to rule under certain general conditions, which are—(1) That the Maharajah and those who are to succeed him in the manner hereinafter provided, are to hold possession of and administer the province as long as they fulfil the conditions laid down in the Instrument of Transfer; that (2) the succession should devolve on the Maharajah's lineal descendant, whether by blood or adoption, except in the case of disqualification through manifest unfitness to rule; and that (3) the Maharajah and his successors shall at all times remain faithful in allegiance and subordination to the British Crown, and perform all the duties which, in virtue of such allegiance and subordination, may be demanded of them. Then follow clauses with reference to the subsidy to be paid to the British Government for protecting and defending the province, military stipulations, foreign relations, coinage, railways and telegraphs, and extradition, and as regards the last, it is declared that plenary jurisdiction over European British subjects in Mysore shall continue to be invested in the Governor-General in Council, and that the Maharajah of Mysore shall only exercise such jurisdiction in respect to European British subjects as may from time to time be delegated to him by the Viceroy. Then with reference to "Laws and Settlements," it is declared that those in existence at the time of the transfer must be maintained, and that the Maharajah of Mysore "shall not repeal or modify such laws, or pass any laws or rules inconsistent therewith," and that no material change in the system of administration as established previous to the date of the transfer shall be made without the consent of the Viceroy. And finally, under this head, it is declared that all title-deeds granted, and all settlements of land revenues in force on March 25th, 1881 (the date of the transfer), shall be maintained, excepting so far as they may be rescinded or modified either by a competent court of law or with the consent of the Governor-General in Council. Lastly, under the heading of "British Relations," it is declared that "the Maharajah of Mysore shall at all times conform to such advice as the Governor-General in Council may offer him with a view to the management of the finances, the settlement and collection of the revenues, the imposition of taxes, the administration of justice, the extension of commerce, the encouragement of trade, agriculture, and industry, and any other objects connected with His Highness's interests, the happiness of his subjects, and his relations to the British Government." And, "In the event of the breach or non-observance of any of the foregoing conditions," the Governor-General may resume possession of Mysore and administer it as he thinks fit. Such, then, is a brief summary of the Constitution of Mysore; and it is most necessary to dwell on it with some degree of minuteness in order to show those Englishmen who are interested in Mysore, or who may be desirous of settling there, that they and their possessions in that country are as practically under British rule as they would be in any part of British India.

I have previously pointed out that there is no income-tax in Mysore. I have also alluded to the fact that, as the finances are in a flourishing condition, and, beyond the subsidy annually levied, are free from any obligation to contribute to the general expenditure of British India, there are ample and certain means available for developing the resources of the country. And that these means shall be devoted to that end exclusively, I would call particular attention to the fact that it has been laid down by the British Government that, after deducting the amount set apart annually for the personal expenses of the Maharajah, the remaining revenues of the province are to be spent on public purposes only, under a regular system of an annual budget appropriation, and the proper accounting for such expenditure. So that, taking all the circumstances into consideration, it is clear that the settlers in Mysore have advantages over any other settlers in India. The taxes they pay on their lands are fixed and most moderate in amount, they have every security that capital can enjoy, and they are living in a country which, after an ample expenditure on public works of all kinds, has an ample annual surplus. But, besides those circumstances, the settlers in the province, and the inhabitants as well, have another advantage which must by no means be lost sight of, for Mysore has a Representative Assembly, which sits once a year, and which affords a ready means for publicly ventilating any grievance, or making known any want which may be felt by the community; and as there is no institution exactly like it in the world, I propose to describe the constitution of the Assembly and its proceedings with some degree of minuteness.

The Mysore Representative Assembly, then, which was originated by Mr. Rungacharlu, the first Prime Minister of Mysore, was inaugurated on the 25th of August, 1881, or about five months after the accession of the Maharajah, by the following notification:

"His Highness the Maharajah is desirous that the views and objects which his Government has in view in the measures adopted for the administration of the Province should be better known and appreciated by the people for whose benefit they are intended, and he is of opinion that a beginning towards the attainment of that object may he made by an annual meeting of the representative landholders and merchants from all parts of the Province, before whom the Dewan will place the results of the past year's administration, and a programme of what is intended to be carried out in the coming year. Such an arrangement, by bringing the people into immediate connection with the Government, would serve to remove from their minds any misapprehension as regards the views and action of the Government, and would convince them that the interests of the Government are identical with those of the people.

"The annual meeting will be conveniently held at Mysore immediately after the close of the Dassara festival, which occasion will offer an additional inducement to those invited to attend the meeting. For the present the Local Fund Boards of the several districts will be asked to select from amongst themselves and others of the district the persons who are to be deputed to represent their respective districts at the meeting. In order to represent the landed interests of all the Talooks (counties), as well as the interests of trade, there should be sent one or two cultivating landholders from each Talook, possessed of general influence and information amongst the people, and three or four leading merchants for the district generally. A list of them should be sent beforehand to this office, in order to arrange for their accommodation in Mysore. They may be allowed a small sum from the local funds to meet the actual expenses of their travelling."

The Assembly thus constituted was, as will have been perceived at a glance, a purely consultative body, and had no power whatever except (and a highly important exception it is) that of publicly stating to the rulers of the country all the grievances and wants of the people. The only institution that I can hear of that at all resembles it is the Egyptian General Assembly of the Legislative Council, but that, though a consultative, and not at all a law-making body, has the power of putting a veto on any new tax proposed by the Government. In constitution, too, it differs widely from the Mysore Assembly, as the ministers have seats in it, while in Mysore no Government official can be a member of the Assembly. I may mention here that the Egyptian Assembly was initiated by Lord Dufferin in May, 1883, and I would refer those interested in the creation of representative institutions to his Report, No. 6 (1883), and to the Report on Egypt, No. 3 (1892), by Sir Evelyn Baring (now Lord Cromer), both being Blue Books presented to the Houses of Parliament. It is interesting to note here that whereas Lord Dufferin took the first step in the direction of representative institutions by uniting, in the same assembly, Government officials, and members elected on the broad basis of manhood suffrage, the native statesman began by carefully excluding the officials, and allowing only the middle and upper classes to have anything to do with the Assembly.

The first meeting of the Mysore Representative Assembly took place on October 7th, 1881, when 144 members attended. The Dewan first of all read the annual report on the administration of the province, and after that the members were called up in succession and asked to state their grievances and wants. At the end of the session the Dewan's annual statement, or report, and an account of the proceedings of the Assembly, are printed in English and in Kanarese.

The Assembly, as we have seen, consisted of members partly appointed by the Local Fund Boards, and partly of members nominated through the agency of Government officials, but at the conclusion of the Dewan's address of October 28th, 1890, an important change in the constitution of the Assembly was announced, and a new body of rules was issued. By these all members were in future to be elected, and the qualifications entitling a man to vote for, or be elected a member for a county (talook), were (1) the payment of land revenues, a house and shop tax to the amount specified in the schedule[^[11]] for each county; (2) the ownership of land to the value of 500 rupees a year, accompanied with residence in the county; and (3) any resident in a county who is a graduate of any Indian university is declared to be a duly qualified person. Those so qualified were to meet on a certain day, of which a month's notice was to be given, and elect members from amongst themselves. 212 members from the counties were to be thus elected. The cities of Bangalore and Mysore return four members each, and these must either pay a house or shop tax of twenty-four rupees, or be a graduate of any Indian university; the nine Local Fund Boards return two members each; the eighty-nine municipalities one for each municipality, and associations representing approved public interests, and of not less than 100 members, and also associations of smaller numbers, but recognized by Government—as for instance the Planters' Associations—may depute one member each, and the total of all the members is estimated at 351. By Rule 6 it is declared that "As the object of the Assembly is to elicit non-official public opinion, no person holding a salaried appointment under Government shall vote for, or be returned as, a member of the Assembly." By Rule 7, each member is to prepare and forward to the deputy commissioner a memo describing seriatim the representations and suggestions he may desire to make at the meeting of the Assembly; and by Rule 9 the memoranda are to be forwarded, with the deputy-commissioner's remarks, to the Chief Secretary to Government. By Rule 10 all the members are to hold a formal meeting at Mysore not less than three days before the meeting of the Assembly, and should they decide at this preliminary meeting to bring forward at the Assembly any subjects not mentioned in the memoranda previously sent in by members, a supplemental list of such subjects must be sent in to the Chief Secretary.

When announcing the adoption of these new rules, the Dewan alluded to the fact that the constitution now given did not insure a full popular representation, and stated that numerous practical difficulties stood in the way of widening the representation. Finally he concluded by observing that, "It is His Highness' sincere hope that the privilege he has now been pleased to grant will be exercised to the fullest extent, and in the most beneficial manner possible, and that it will be so appreciated by all as to enable His Highness gradually to enlarge the circle of electors, so as to give wider effect to the principle of representation in the constitution of this Assembly."

To this, the first elected Assembly that ever sat in India, I was returned as representative of the South Mysore Planters' Association. On the 11th I proceeded to the city of Mysore, and on the 12th of October, 1891, attended the preliminary meeting of members, which was held in the Rungacharlu Memorial Hall—a fine building with a large hall, which has a wide daïs at one end, and a, very wide gallery running along three sides of the hall. The meeting was held at 8 a.m. in the body of the hall, where I found that a considerable body of people, who I presume were mostly representatives, were present. The hall was arranged with benches, very much as most modern churches are, and just below the daïs was a long table with chairs on one side of it. It was proposed that I, the only European present, should take the chair, and I accordingly did so, being supported on either hand by two members who had a fluent command of English, and what was of more importance to me, of Kanarese, for, though I had a colloquial knowledge of that language, I had not such a command of it as was necessary for satisfactory public speaking. I accordingly read out in English (which a certain number of the audience knew) each, measure I proposed, and then informed the audience in Kanarese that one of the members would explain the subject in that language, and I found that this arrangement answered all practical purposes. The following measures had been drawn up by me previously in Bangalore after consultation with some leading members of the Assembly, and were printed and circulated amongst the members present, and it may not be uninteresting to give some of them here.

The first point taken up related to measures for the prevention of famine, and, after some discussion, four proposals were unanimously agreed to, all of them for the promotion of the digging of wells either by private enterprise or through the agency of the State. The next point related to fuel and fodder reserves, which it was agreed should be established on the lands of all villages, or near all villages, wherever land suitable for the purpose could be found. We then turned to a bill I had laid on the table with reference to advances to labourers—an important and difficult subject—when it was agreed that it should be referred to the Planters' Association for consideration. An amendment on the waste land rules for planting trees for timber and fuel was then considered and agreed to. After this it was resolved that a Government agricultural chemist Ought to be appointed, who would be competent to advise on agricultural practice, cattle disease, etc., and give lectures on such subjects. We then took up the subject of British interference with proposed irrigation works in Mysore, and resolved that the Mysoreans should be allowed to have the full use of the water of Mysore for irrigation purposes, and be free from any interference as long as the water, or what is left of it, is returned to its original channel. The subject of extradition was next considered, when the representatives resolved that (1) complete reciprocity should be granted between British and Mysore territory as regards warrants, and (2) that British jurisdiction over railways in Mysore should be given up, or at least as regards all matters of theft. It was next decided that at the close of the session the representatives should continue in office till new members were elected. After this it was agreed that Government agricultural banks should be introduced. Then the representatives, having sat for about four hours, adjourned till the following day.

On the 13th we met again accordingly at 8 a.m., and on this occasion sat in the gallery, which was quite wide enough to accommodate the members. It was proposed that I should take the chair, and I did so, and opened the proceedings by introducing rules to regulate the discussion. These were that the introducer of a proposed measure should be allowed ten, and a discusser five minutes; that no one should interrupt or rise to speak before the previous speaker had sat down, and that a discusser could only be heard once. These rules were agreed to, and I found the last two of great advantage in managing the proceedings. The first two, I was glad to find, were hardly necessary, as anything in the shape of the British, or, worse still, the Irish wind-bag, did not appear to exist amongst the members.

The next subject taken up was that of organization, and on the assumption that the Government would grant our prayer that the present members should not be dismissed at the end of the session, but should continue to be representatives till their successors were elected, it was resolved that there should be a standing central committee of the Assembly, and also district and county committees, and it was agreed that the first should consist of twenty-two members—for Bangalore and Mysore city six members each, one from each district, and one from each coffee planters' association. Seven members to constitute a quorum. The district committees were to consist of one from each county, and two from the head-quarters of the district, five being a quorum, and the county committees of three members. We then agreed to the members who were to form the central committee and district committees, and, after that, that the Maharajah should be formally thanked for his action on his part as regards the Assembly, and that it should be prayed that the measures now asked for might be granted. And finally, it was arranged that the standing central committee should draw up an address to the Maharajah, embodying the views and wishes of the representatives.

The meeting terminated at about 11 a.m., and immediately afterwards the central committee sat upstairs in a room at an angle of the building, when I was appointed chairman. We first took up the question of funds, and I suggested that each member of the Assembly should subscribe one rupee. This was agreed to, and I at once put a rupee on the table, and presently there were about fifteen added, and a list was made out of those who had paid. We then agreed that an address should be presented to the Maharajah after the termination of the meetings of the Assembly, and afterwards it was arranged that Mr. C. Rangiengar, B.A., Advocate, Mysore, should be secretary to the central committee, spend the funds at his discretion for printing and advertising, and render an account once a year.

The next day was a dies non as regards the Representative Assembly, but by no means so as regards the Rungacharlu Hall, which at eight in the morning presented a most interesting appearance, being filled with a large assemblage of native ladies who had met together to witness the giving of the prizes to the lady students of the Maharanee's College. The Maharajah presided on the occasion. Besides prizes for educational proficiency, there were others for music and singing, and the winners of these played and sang on a platform below, on one side of the daïs. One of the musicians, a tastefully-dressed young lady of thirteen, was a granddaughter of Mr. Rungacharlu, the first Prime Minister of Mysore. One of the prize-takers was a widow—plainly dressed as widows should be—and as she came forward there was a loud clapping of hands from the women spectators in the gallery. I found, on inquiry, that the reason of this demonstration was that she had lately given a lecture which had been much appreciated by the students. I have no space to give an account of the proceedings, though I hope to do so on some future occasion, and can only say that a more interesting and picturesque assemblage it would be difficult to imagine.

On the day following, October 15th, the Assembly was formally opened at twelve, when the Dewan presided at a table on the raised platform. He was backed and flanked by the principal European and native officers of State, while on his right sat Sir Harry Prendergast, V.C., the Resident at the Court of Mysore. The English representatives, five in all, one of them representing the gold mining interests of the province, had seats on the platform, and so had as many representatives as there was room for. The remainder occupied the body of the hall. The Dewan then opened the tenth annual meeting of the Representative Assembly of Mysore, by reading the already printed annual administration Report of the Province, and it may not be uninteresting to quote the opening sentences of it:

"Gentlemen,

"By command of His Highness the Maharajah, I have much pleasure in welcoming you to this Assembly, which meets here to-day for the first time under the election system sanctioned last year. You come here as the duly elected representatives of the agricultural, the industrial, and the commercial interests of the State. Last year, when His Highness was pleased to grant the valued privilege of election, he was not without some misgivings as to how the experiment would succeed, but it is most gratifying to His Highness that, though unused to the system, the electoral body has been able, in the very first year of its existence, to exercise the privilege with so much judgment and sense of responsibility as to send to this Assembly men in every way qualified to speak on their behalf. That men representing the industry and the intellect of the country should have already taken so much interest in the scheme augurs well for the future of the institution. His Highness asks me to take this opportunity publicly to acknowledge the expressions of warm gratitude which have reached him from all sides for the privilege of election granted last year."

The Dewan then proceeded to make his statement of the Revenue and Expenditure of 1890-91, by which it appeared that the Revenue for that period—the largest ever realized by the State—was 145 lakhs of rupees, or, at par,[^[12]] £1,450,000, and the account showed a surplus of 23 lakhs, or £230,000; but from this had to be deducted a sum for expenditure on new railways, which reduced the surplus, or rather, disposed of it to such an amount as to leave a balance of 12½ lakhs, or £125,000. The budget was then taken up in detail, and the Dewan showed in the most lucid manner the financial position as regards the various heads of receipts and expenditure, all of which I shall pass over except that relating to gold, which the reader will probably find interesting, for, as the Kanarese proverb says, "If gold is to be seen, even a corpse will open its mouth." There was, then, an increase in State receipts from gold mining dues to the extent of 37,000 rupees in the amount of royalty, while "Premia and deposits on leases" brought in 71,000 rupees. The mines in the Kolar gold field during 1890 extracted 106,903 ounces of gold. Three of them—the Mysore, Ooregum, and Nundydroog—showed a considerable increase in production over the previous year. The first increased from 49,238 oz. to 58,183 oz.; the second from 16,437 oz. to 27,351 oz., and the third from 6,129 oz. to 15,637 oz.

The Dewan then called the attention of the Assembly to the working of some of the principal departments of the State, beginning with the railways, and, after giving a very satisfactory account of the progress made, concluded this branch of his subject by observing that "As regards our main railway policy there will be no pause in the course of development, and should our financial condition continue to improve, the next decade will see the Province intersected with lines which, in the decade preceding the rendition, were only thought of as remote possibilities." He next remarked on other public works, and showed that in the last ten years no less than 471 miles of entirely new roads had been opened up, while 218 miles of incomplete roads, which had been inherited at the time of the rendition, had been brought up to standard. Then he turned to irrigation, and stated that the large irrigation works commenced in former years were advancing towards completion. And here the Dewan alluded to a matter of the greatest importance, and to which I shall again return further on. It appears that the Supreme Government had actually put a stop to certain irrigation works begun by the Mysore Government on the ground that these would lessen the supply of water from Mysore to British territory. As to this the Dewan now observed on "The difference which had arisen with the Madras authorities as to the rights of Mysore to the full use of its drainage areas." The case had been laid before the Government of India, and the Dewan said that "the basis for a solution of the difficulty has been arranged with the Madras Government in a way that is likely to remove to a considerable extent the check that the progress of our irrigation works had received in tracts bordering upon the Madras Presidency."

The subject of well irrigation too had not been neglected, and the Dewan pointed out that its protective value in times of drought is far superior to tank irrigation, and observed that, "During the last famine the only oases in the midst of the general desolate appearance of the country were, besides the tracts watered by our river channels, those special regions favoured with well irrigation." So important was well irrigation, that the Government had resolved to make advances to ryots willing to construct them, at a low rate of interest, and repayable by easy instalments in a long series of years. In the event of water not being found, or found in insufficient quantity, the Government had undertaken the risk of failure, so that the farmer was placed beyond all risk of loss. And, in order to facilitate the progress of such works, a special officer had been appointed to give the advances on the spot, so as to avoid the delay caused by the usual circuitous official correspondence.

I may here pause for one moment to remark on the great value of the Assembly as regards any new measure like the one just alluded to, for it often happens that from the scarcity of newspapers, and the inability of the poorer ryots to purchase them, measures of great value are not taken advantage of, or only are so after a long delay. Now an assembly like that of Mysore provides an excellent means for distributing information on all Government matters, and in one part of his address the Dewan particularly requested the representatives from two important districts to explain fully to the people certain matters, the particulars of which I cannot, for want of space, give here.

The Dewan then went into the interesting subject of Forests, and it was satisfactory to notice the progress that had been made in planting, and that sandal wood had year after year been yielding an increased revenue. The transition from forests to elephants was natural, and during the year 70 had been caught. Some died after capture and others were liberated. Of the 44 retained, 41, of which 14 were tuskers, were sold for 50,705 rupees. Having fully discussed the elephants, the Dewan turned next to education, and here he was able to record marked progress in every direction, and especially in female instruction. There were now 97 girls' schools in the province, and an important change had been made as regards their immediate supervision, which was now exercised by local committees. "The committees," said the Dewan, "have been given large powers of management, and the initiative rests, in almost all cases, with them, subject to the approval of Government." The object of this of course was to interest the people in the subject, and the Dewan observed that "Female education cannot become firmly established in the country until the people begin to look upon the education of their girls, whether children or adults, as necessary, and as obligatory as that of their boys. The Government have thought that the best way of securing this result in the infancy of female education is to leave as much as possible to the intelligent and sympathetic guidance of local committees." After alluding to the results of the archæological survey, and dwelling on the fact that during the past year 1,500 inscriptions were secured, some of which were of great value and interest, the Dewan then took up the subject of excise, and went into the reforms he proposed to institute as regards that department. The census of Feb. 26th, 1891, was next alluded to, and by this it appeared that, including the civil and military' station of Bangalore, the population returned was 4,943,079 as compared with 4,183,188 in 1881, and 5,055,412 in 1871. The increase during the last decade was thus very considerable, but Mysore has still some progress to make before it can bring up its numbers to the census return of 1871, nearly a million of persons having been swept away in the disastrous famine of 1876-77. The municipal elections were next alluded to, and it was announced that the cities of Bangalore and Mysore were to have an extension of the electoral system. The important subject of the reform of religious and charitable institutions (there had been several representations made as regards these in previous years by members of the Assembly) was next taken up, and it was announced that a specially qualified officer had been appointed to "inquire into the subject on the spot, and to carry out the needed reform in the case of each institution under the general and special orders of Government, and, when once all institutions are thoroughly reformed and placed upon a sound and efficient footing, the future management of them on the lines laid down will, as heretofore, have to be carried on by the local executive authorities." After alluding to some contemplated reforms in the Civil Service of the province, the Dewan concluded his able address by alluding to the apprehensions of famine which had been consequent on the failure of the rains, and congratulating the members on the fact that owing to good rain having fallen only a fortnight ago, the threatened danger had now passed away.

After the conclusion of the Dewan's address I then rose, and, as chairman of the preliminary meetings of representatives, alluded to the subject of the organization of committees which we desired to carry into effect, and urged that, as far as possible, members should avoid going into petty local grievances, and devote their attention to those large general questions which affect the whole province. After I had sat down a translation of the Dewan's address was then delivered in Kanarese, for the benefit of the representatives who did not understand English, and the Assembly afterwards adjourned till the following morning.

After the Assembly had adjourned the members of the central committee met in a private room, and we agreed on the terms of the address to the Maharajah. Then we returned to the Hall, as it had been thought advisable to take up several matters which had not been discussed at our first preliminary meeting, and it was again proposed that I should take the chair. The first proposal made was that members, instead of being annually elected to the Assembly, should be elected for three years, and this was unanimously carried. A leading native member next rose and proposed that no girl under ten years of age should be given in marriage. Then ensued a scene of excitement that baffles description. The representatives who, the moment before, had been quite calm and collected, and who looked so passive that it seemed that nothing could have aroused them from a condition of profound composure, became suddenly electrified. A burst of tongues arose simultaneously all over the Assembly. Several members got up and tried to speak at once, and one of these (I think I see him now), a tall, stout, elderly man with a voice of thunder, and his appearance much accentuated by an enormous bamboo pen which he had thrust behind his ear, entered into an altercation with the proposer of the motion. I had no president's bell, and if I had had one I am sure I might have rung it in vain, and I thought it best to sit still for a little time, and let the representatives liberate their minds. Presently, and the moment I saw the first signs of an abatement of the excitement, I rose, and, with a slight signal of my hand quieted the audience, and observed that, as this was a subject as to which there was evidently much difference of opinion, and as it was very desirable that, as regards the measures proposed at our preliminary meetings,[^[13]] there should be a complete unanimity of opinion, I begged leave to suggest to the meeting that the subject might be adjourned, and, if desired, brought up at the next day's meeting of the full Assembly. This was agreed to, and a member then proposed that two seers of grain (about equal to four lbs.) should be contributed yearly by each ryot, and stored up in a public granary against times of famine. This, I confess, I thought, and still think, a sensible proposal, as, in the first burst of a famine it is very desirable, till trade operations from a distance get under weigh, that local supplies should exist, but, after some discussion, I found that the proposal met with such small approval, that I did not think of putting it to the meeting. It was next proposed, and as can easily be imagined, carried unanimously, that where, from the failure of the rains, there was absolutely no crop whatever, a remission of the assessment should be granted. Finally it was agreed that, at the opening of the Assembly on the following morning, I should bring up and speak on all the points that had been agreed to at the meetings over which I had presided, and the meeting broke up at three o'clock. After it was over several of the representatives expressed to me their gratitude for the interest I had shown in the affairs of Mysore, and from the numerous evidences I subsequently had of the appreciation of the natives, I felt most amply repaid for the trouble I had taken.

On the following morning, Friday, Oct. 16th, the Assembly met at eight o'clock, and I was called on to proceed with my address as chairman of the preliminary meetings, and though I spoke as briefly as possible on each of the points which had been agreed to, my speech lasted for one hour and twenty minutes. After it was over the Dewan asked if any member desired to speak on any of the points I had brought forward, but no one rose to do so, which was satisfactory evidence that complete unanimity had existed as regards the various points, and that I had correctly conveyed the opinions of the representatives. The Dewan then called upon each representative in turn to state any grievances, or make known any wants which his constituents had desired him to represent, and a great many local wants as regards roads, hospitals, telegraphs, etc., were brought forward. The subject that excited most interest, and afforded some amusement, was that of the age at which girls should be given in marriage, which had been brought forward at the meeting of the day previous. Some discussion ensued regarding it, when it appeared that the point as to which the representatives were really most concerned, was that of elderly men who had no children marrying again and again with the hope of getting them, regarding which one of the representatives said to me in conversation, "We object to old fogies marrying young girls." The point was especially urged by one member, who argued in the most serious manner that, if a man when in the prime of life had no family there was little likelihood of success when he was between sixty and seventy years of age. This remark was received with general laughter, and shortly afterwards the Dewan made a judicious reply on the whole question, and said that, in his opinion, the interference of the Government was inadvisable, and that the question was one that ought to be settled by the people consulting privately on the subject. Then the Assembly turned to other matters, and finally adjourned at midday.

I may here mention that I subsequently had some conversation with natives regarding the marriage question, especially as to the age for consummation, when I found that the pressure of public opinion, and the various discussions on the subject, which had appeared in the newspapers, had already produced a considerable effect in delaying the time for married girls leaving the paternal roof to join their husbands.

It may perhaps be not uninteresting to mention too that, on the afternoon of the day on which I made my speech I fell in with two native gentlemen who spoke to me about it. What I found had been particularly appreciated (and very naturally so as water is of such vital importance in India), was the firm protest I had made against the Supreme Government restricting the Mysoreans as to the use, for irrigation, of the waters of Mysore on the ground that a more extended use of them would lessen the supply to the adjacent British territory. In the course of my speech, I made a very telling point by supposing, for the sake of argument, that Mysore had, as had been originally proposed, been annexed, and made an integral part of the Madras Presidency. In that case, I asked, would the Government have limited the supply of the water to the Mysore part of the presidency in order to improve the more distant irrigated tracts in other parts of British territory? I then argued that the British Government would certainly not have done so, seeing that, to have so acted would have diminished the means available for contending with famine, for, as I fully urged, it is perfectly well known that the further the water travels the greater is the waste from percolation and evaporation, and the smaller the amount of land it can irrigate. If, then, the British Government would not have so acted had Mysore been annexed, what right, I asked, had it to interfere with Mysore regarding the use of its waters, and thereby to increase the risks of famine in that country? It was no wonder, I continued, that an English officer in the Mysore service had been heard to say that he supposed Mysore would not be allowed to plant a tree, in case it might precipitate some moisture that might otherwise pass over into British territory.

I may here mention another remark which the above mentioned native gentleman made as regards my speech. "It was not so much the speech as the sense of fairness, and frankness, and sincerity which you showed that impressed us." This remark showed, as I have often found, that the common idea of natives always having recourse to flattery is a mistaken one, and it was rather interesting to find the ideas of ancient times repeated by one who could have heard hardly anything in the way of public speaking. The reader may remember how Quinctilian in effect said that there is no instrument of persuasion more powerful than an opinion of probity and honour in the person who undertakes to persuade, and how it has been pointed out that the powerful effect caused by the speaking of Pericles really lay in the confidence which the people reposed in his integrity. But it is time now to turn to the proceedings of the Assembly, which had been adjourned to Saturday, October 17th.

On that day, then, we met at 8 a.m., and it was proposed by one of the representatives that the collection of the land revenues should in future be postponed till after the harvest, as the present times of collection were inconvenient to the cultivators and often compelled them to borrow money, or mortgage their crops in order to find money to meet the Government demands. The change asked for was warmly urged by the speaker, who gave very convincing reasons, which I have no space to repeat here, in favour of the proposed alteration. After this speech was over the Dewan turned to the head revenue officer and consulted him, and also two English officials of great experience. I did not look at my watch, but I am sure the consultation did not last five minutes. The Dewan then turned to the Assembly and said, "This proposal is granted," and the decision was received with loud applause. The chief revenue and settlement officer afterwards told me that this was the most important point ever gained by the Assembly.

I may pause here to remark that what I saw and heard at the Assembly, combined with what I previously knew of the Mysore Government, satisfied me that a more perfect form of government does not exist in the world. Here, as we have just seen, was a most important measure gained for the country after what was really a very short consultative meeting between the ruler and the ruled. The ruler—in other words the Dewan—was sitting like a judge on the bench, patiently listening to and taking notes of the various wants of the people as the representatives came forward—occasionally consulting with his officials—granting some things, absolutely refusing others, and announcing sometimes that the subject brought forward would be taken into consideration, while the representatives seemed to be perfectly satisfied that the ruler would willingly do, and was willingly doing, the best he could for the common interest. I may mention that I was particularly struck with the dignified, gentlemanly and friendly manner of the Dewan when consulting his English officials, and there was evidently a mutual appreciation existing, which I had afterwards distinct knowledge of when I subsequently heard some of these officials alluding, in private conversation, to the Dewan. I have a great dislike to the idea of being thought guilty of flattery, but I cannot refrain from recording the remarkable fact that (and how rarely can this be said of any public man), while I have heard much in favour of the Dewan, I have never heard a single deprecatory remark made concerning his administration of the province, either by natives or Europeans. Mysore is indeed extremely fortunate in having such a man as Mr. Sheshadri Iyer, since made Sir K. Sheshadri Iyer, K.C.I.E., at the head of affairs. He has already been granted an extension of the usual period of office (five years), and it is to be hoped that the very doubtful practice of selecting a new man for this important office, even though there may be a valuable one at the helm, may be put aside for at least some years more.

The Assembly sat on the two following days, and was concluded by the presentation of an address to the Maharajah, thanking His Highness for having instituted an elected Assembly, and praying that the various wants brought forward might meet with favourable consideration. In all, the Assembly, inclusive of the preliminary meetings of the representatives, sat for eight days, and though there was much earnestness in discussion, and much difference of opinion, not a single case of an exhibition of ill feeling occurred, with the exception, as we have seen, of the occasion when the marriage question was brought forward, though that may be called an exhibition of warm and excited feeling rather than ill feeling.

As the reader will remember, the representatives have no power whatever, except, and a very important exception it of course is, of ventilating in public, and in the presence of the Dewan and the leading officers of State, whatever grievances and wants they may desire to call attention to, and the machinery for this ventilation is now so complete that the requirements even of those inhabiting the most inaccessible corners of the province can be readily made known to the Government. And now this question naturally arises. When, if ever, is it probable that this Assembly will demand for itself some direct power of controlling, or directing the Government? As far as I could see at the time, or can see now, the Assembly is never likely to ask for any power whatever, and I confess that I was much struck with the fact that, though I had many private conversations relating to the Assembly, both with natives and Europeans, I never expressed myself, nor did I ever hear anyone express, a desire that the Assembly should have any power. But after a little reflection, the explanation of the absence of any such demand seems to be extremely obvious, for if we look into the history of all parliamentary institutions such as we have, we shall find that they have arisen primarily from misgovernment, and I say primarily because such institutions in the United States and in our colonies are merely inheritances from the forefathers of the English founders of these countries. The insuperable difficulty, then, in the way of those who desire to create parliamentary institutions in India is, that there is no misgovernment on which to start them, and that is why the Indian National (so called, for there is nothing really national about it) Congress have found it advisable, as a preliminary step, to try and persuade the people, with the aid of lying and seditious pamphlets, that they are misgoverned. If indeed I were the absolute monarch of Mysore I could certainly, I feel sure, create Parliamentary Institutions, but only in one way that I can think of. I should misgovern the country and worry and oppress the people, and at the same time keep the Assembly going, and after a time I should thus create a desire on the part of the representatives to have some means of keeping me in check. But at present there is no one to keep in check. The Government is really too good for the creation of any desire for change. For the ruler of Mysore is not only desirous of meeting the people half way, but even of anticipating their wants, and the people have a ready means of making their wants known. And, when making known these wants, their representatives are not only free from the expense and annoyances to which Members of Parliament are exposed, but have a most enjoyable time of it as well, for the Assembly is held at the time of the great annual festival of the Dassara, when there are wonderfully picturesque processions, illuminations, and displays of fireworks. In fact, were it not for these attractions, I feel sure that it would be a difficult matter to get the representatives together, because, though they are of course easily able to find many wants, there are no grievances so real as to make the people generally take much, or indeed any, interest in the proceedings of the Assembly, and in this connection I may mention the following confirmatory facts.

On the morning following the breaking up of the Assembly I left Mysore to make a tour in Coorg to visit the plantations in that district, and drove first of all sixteen miles to breakfast at a Travellers' Bungalow on the main road. While breakfast was being prepared I went for a stroll, and fell into conversation with the first native I met, who, I found, was, with the aid of a number of labourers, working a plantation of palms and fruit-trees at a short distance from the bungalow. I expressed a wish to see the plantation, and, when on our way there, told him that I had just been attending the Representative Assembly at Mysore. Just imagine my feelings, when he told me that he had never heard of it, nor indeed when he did hear of it did he ask me a single question about it. And yet we were only sixteen miles from the capital, and on one of the main roads of the province. He was, too, a man of fair intelligence and, though we conversed in Kanarese, he told me that he knew some English, which proved that he was a man of a certain degree of education. On my return to my estates I found that, though the natives had heard of the Assembly (probably because the native representative lived within a few miles of my house), no one seemed to take any interest in its proceedings, and I do not remember having been asked a single question with reference to it. The explanation, of course, of this state of things is that the people are perfectly contented, and satisfied with the steady progress they see going on around them. There is therefore no demand[^[14]] for representative institutions, or the acquisition of power by the people, for while they see abundant signs of progress, there is no oppression, and therefore there are no real grievances. But, though there is no such demand, I must caution the reader against supposing that I do not attach much importance to the Assembly as a highly valuable means of bringing the people and their rulers into friendly touch with each other, and as a most useful means of inter-communication regarding every fact that it is important for the ruler and the ruled to know. Such an assembly is indeed of the highest value, and I have no doubt that a similar kind of assembly would be valuable in many parts of India. And such assemblies will in the future be far more necessary and valuable than such institutions would have been in the past, because, in former times, the rulers, not being nearly so much burdened with office and desk-work as they now are, had far more leisure time to mix with the people, and hear from them the expression of their wants or grievances.

I have alluded previously to the lying and seditious pamphlets which have been circulated by the so-called Indian National Congress (and I say so-called because, as we shall see, there is really nothing national about it), and allude to them again partly in order to point out that they are a most cheering evidence of the universal good government in India, because, had it been really ill governed, there would have been no occasion to issue the pamphlets in question. The fact is, that the agitators of the Congress found it necessary to create a case as a ground-work for demanding representative institutions for India, and began by imitating the action of the Irish agitators. And here, for the benefit of those who have not had time to study Indian affairs, it may be as well to give a brief description of the Indian Congress, more especially as those who know but very little of India may confound it with the kind of assembly we have in Mysore, and which I have suggested for adoption in other parts of India.

When I was passing through Poona in the year 1879, I was called upon by seven leading members of the native community who knew of the interest I had taken in Indian affairs, and in the course of our conversation they made some remarks on the desire of the educated natives for some share of political power. I then explained to them that, as it was clear that India was entirely unfit for representative institutions, the only result would be that power would be transferred from a limited class of Englishmen to a very limited class of natives, which would be of no advantage to the country whatever. My remarks were followed by a dead silence which was broken by one of them saying, in a desponding tone, "you have educated us, and you have made us discontented accordingly," thus illustrating very forcibly what I suppose Solomon meant when he said, "He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." But, however that may be, the utterance of the native in question explains the origin of the Indian Congress which was started in 1885 by a small number of the educated classes who began to climb the political tree with considerable vigour, illustrating as they did so the native proverb which tells us that "The higher the monkey climbs the more he shows his tail." And, in fact, the members of the Congress showed theirs so completely when they climbed to the top of their political tree at Madras in 1887, that their proceedings would be hardly worth noticing were it not that they might be the means of prejudicing the proper claims of the natives to consultative assemblies like the one we have in Mysore. With people less advanced as regards common sense than the natives of India, and also less suspicious of the educated classes, the Congress wallahs, as they are sometimes called, might have done some mischief, but the only harm they have really done, and I consider it no small harm, is to lower the educated natives in general in the ideas of those who have not had an opportunity of knowing the best of them, and so appreciating their admirable abilities and calm common sense. For when the public knows, as all those who have paid any attention to the subject do know, that the members of the Congress are now selling pamphlets which are intended to bring the Queen's Government into hatred and contempt, its opinion of the educated natives of India is not likely to be a high one. And in order to make quite sure that the Congress is still selling the pamphlets in question, I suggested to the secretary of the Athenæum in June, 1892, to purchase for the library of that club (and he accordingly did so), from the Indian Congress office in London, a copy of the Congress proceedings with which the pamphlets in question are bound up. And it may not be uninteresting to note here that Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji, M.P., as a leading member of the Congress, is therefore one of the sellers of the pamphlets. It is, however, only fair to add, as an excuse for Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji and his misguided associates, that they have, after all, only followed on the track of the Irish agitators, and no doubt consider that the preaching of sedition against the Government to whom they owe so much is the proper course to pursue when aiming at political power. And as an extenuation of their action it should also be considered that the members of the Congress, who at first were acting in a perfectly legitimate manner, eventually fell under the guidance of a retired member of the Indian Civil Service—a certain Mr. Hume—who seems to have lodged some of his own extravagant ideas in the heads of the raw and inexperienced members of the Congress, and who is supposed to be the author of the seditious pamphlets. And now let me give a brief account of the Congress, and its aims and views.

The first Congress, which met in Bombay in December, 1885, consisted of seventy-eight persons, who came from twenty-five places. They were neither elected nor delegated, and how they came together does not appear in the published proceedings of the Congress. The principal resolution passed on the occasion related to the reforms of the various Indian Councils.

The second Congress, which was composed of 440 persons, who were partly elected and partly delegated, and of persons who could produce no evidence of being one or the other, met in Calcutta in December, 1886, and (p. 10 of Report of 1887) "passed a series of resolutions of the highest importance," which is undoubtedly true, as the result of them would, if carried into effect, practically be to substitute the rule of the Congress for that of the Queen. This change was proposed to be effected by reconstituting the Provincial, Legislative, and Governor-General's Council, enlarging them, and giving "not less than one half" (p. 217 of Report of 1887) of the seats to members elected through the agency of the Congress. This proposed measure was justly considered by the delegates to be the key of the position, as we shall more fully see when we come to the consideration of the proceedings of the next Congress.

This, the third Congress, met at Madras in December, 1887, when 604 delegates (a large number of whom were lawyers and newspaper editors), who "were appointed either at open public meetings or by a political or trade association," assembled and passed no less than eleven resolutions. The second, fifth and eighth of these are worthy of notice, as also are the seditious political pamphlets previously alluded to, which, for convenient reference, are bound up with the report of the proceedings.

The second resolution (p. 82 of Report of 1887) reaffirms the resolutions of the two previous Congresses, which demand the expansion and reforms of the various Indian Councils. Here the first speaker (p. 83) was a Mr. Bannerjee, a newspaper editor, who in his introductory remarks in support of the resolution assured the delegates that "the dream of ages is about to be realized." We are not the legislators of the country, he further on remarks, "though we hope to be so some day when the Councils are reconstituted," and eloquent was the language of the speaker when he subsequently dwelt on the fact that the power of making the laws would at once give them every reform they could desire. Mr. Bannerjee was succeeded by other native speakers, who dwelt warmly upon the advantages of representative institutions, and these were followed by Mr. Norton, Coroner of Madras, who most highly extolled the resolution. "That," he said, "is the key of all your future triumph" (p. 90), and further on in his speech he urges them to persevere up to the day "when you shall place your hand upon the purse strings of the country and the government," for, he continued, "once you control the finances, you will taste the true meaning of power and freedom."

And here, after all the talk about the value of representative institutions, and just as the Congress seemed to be on the verge of recommending parliamentary institutions such as we have, the members suddenly wheeled about and practically declared that India was unfit for them by deciding (p. 91) that, as the rural districts might not elect suitable members, the so-called representatives of the people were to be nominated by an electoral college, which was to be composed of members sent up from the various district and municipal boards, chambers of commerce, and universities. The power of election was thus to be conferred, to use Mr. Norton's words, on "a body of men who would practically represent the flower of the educated inhabitants." These views were much applauded by the delegates, who thus ratified the system of nominating the so-called representatives, and which system, I may add, is carefully laid down in Clause 2 of Resolution IV. of 1886 (p. 217). Having thus most practically declared that India is quite unfit for representative institutions in the ordinary sense of the word, Mr. Norton proceeded to point out that, as the desired power for reconstituting the government is not likely to be obtained in India, they must work on the people of England, who at present believe, he says (p. 92), that the Indian Government is "being beneficiently carried on." "You must disturb that belief," he continued. In other words, he might have said, you must do what the Parnellites did, or attempted to do, in England. And accordingly the Congress wirepullers have set up an agency in London, and have posted placards purporting to be an appeal from 200 millions of India to the people of England.

But after all, the desired majority in the Indian Councils, which the delegates rightly declared to be the key of the whole position, would be insufficiently supported without an army and an armed population at the back of it, and all in sympathy with the native soldiers in the English service. These wants, however, are carefully attended to in Resolutions 5 and 8, which we will now briefly glance at.

Read by itself, the Fifth Resolution seems to be harmless, and even laudable, for it expresses a desire (p. 123) for "A system of volunteering for the Indian inhabitants of the country such as may qualify them to support the Government in a crisis." But the writer of the introductory article to the Report (p. 48) shows the great value the force would be in bringing pressure to bear on the Government, and points out that, with 250,000 native volunteers, with many times that number trained in previous years, and backed by the whole country, and with all the native troops (p. 49) more in sympathy with their fellow-countrymen than with the English, the present system of government would be impossible. And it is further pointed out in the introductory article that "This means a revolution—a noiseless bloodless revolution—but none the less a complete revolution." Then the writer reckons that these volunteers "will be backed by the whole country," and this naturally leads to the consideration of the Eighth Resolution, for the backing would obviously be of much greater value were the whole population armed.

This Resolution (p. 147) demands the repeal of the Arms Act on account of the "hardship it causes, and the unmerited slur which it casts on the people of this country." Now as any respectable person can obtain a license to carry firearms for under 4s., and as cultivators are granted licenses gratis in order that they may, free of all charge, defend themselves and their crops from wild animals, and as we know further from the great number of licenses granted that there can be no difficulty in obtaining them, it is evident that there can be no hardship in connection with this Act—a conclusion which is further confirmed by the fact that, in consequence of the number of guns in the hands of natives, wild animals are becoming rarer, and, as I can personally testify, have in many cases been almost completely exterminated. And if we consider further that the necessity for taking out a license in India can inflict no greater slur than is cast on the English in England by their having to take out gun licenses, it is evident that the vehemently expressed desire for the repeal of this Act is only explicable when read along with the previously quoted remarks with reference to the native volunteering and the armed population in sympathy with them at their back, and with the detonating matter which appears in those seditious pamphlets to which I shall now briefly refer.

These pamphlets, or rather translations of them, are printed at the close of the Report of 1887, and complete our view of the situation, which may be shortly described by saying that, while the delegates in the van deliver speeches for English consumption full of expressions of loyalty and praises of our rule, the wirepullers in the rear are distributing pamphlets amongst the people in which all expressions of loyalty are absent, while all the evils the people suffer from are attributed to our Government, and the Queen's English officials are held up to execration as types of everything that is at once brutal and tyrannical. The second pamphlet gives us a dialogue between a native barrister, and a farmer called Rambaksh, and between them as much evil is said of us and our rule as can well be packed into so short a space. As an instance of the way in which the English officials ill-treat the natives, Rambaksh declares that because on one occasion he had not furnished enough grass for the horses of the collector—Mr. Zabardust (literally a brutal and overbearing tyrant), he had been struck by the Sahib over the face and mouth, and that by his orders he (Rambaksh) had been "dragged away and flogged till he became insensible. It was months before he could walk" (p. 209 of Report). Then the India of the present is contrasted with what India would be if it were under the rule of the Congress, and an allegorical comparison is made between the village of Kambaktpur (the abode of misery) and that of Shamshpur (the abode of joy). The moral is that British rule, which is typified by the former, is making the people poorer and poorer, that through it land is going out of cultivation, that oxen for the plough are becoming scarce, that the villages are going to ruin, and that nothing nourishes except the liquor shops in which the Government encourages drinking, while the very irrigation works we are providing as a protection against famine are described as an evil, and a mere pretext for extorting more money from the people. The village of Shamshpur (the abode of joy), on the other hand, is described in glowing colours, and we need hardly say is the home of the institutions to be introduced by the Congress. The only conclusion to be drawn from all this by the masses of India is, that the sooner they rebel against the existing rule, and substitute for it the rule of the Congress, the sooner will they leave the abode of misery, and enter the abode of joy, where all the delights to be provided by the Congress will be theirs. The imaginary dialogue concludes (p. 214) with a demand for money to carry on the work, and the barrister suggests to the farmer various injurious means for the collection, which Rambaksh promises to carry out. He then tenders payment of some fees previously owing to the barrister, who indeed receives the money, but magnanimously declares his intention of enrolling Rambaksh as a member of the association, and paying in the fees as a contribution from Rambaksh. "Blessed are the earnings of the virtuous which go to the service of God," said the barrister, and with this pious utterance the dialogue closes.

With the aid of these pamphlets in dialogue form, it appears, from the statement in the introductory article of the Report, that the emissaries of this Indian League have been gathering in money from the poorest classes in India, down even to coolies. No less than 5,500 rupees, it appears (p. 11), were collected from 8,000 persons, in sums varying from 1 anna to 1 rupee 8 annas, and some 8,000 rupees were contributed in sums of from 1 rupee 8 annas to 30 rupees. But it is unnecessary to pursue further the work of the Congress, and it is sufficient to say that its proceedings were lately brought before the House of Commons, and that the action of Mr. Hume, in writing and publishing a kind of proclamation of a most objectionable character in connection with the Congress, was denounced in the House of Commons in strong terms. It is time, however, to close these brief remarks on the Indian Congress. It still exists, but in a languishing form, and will probably gradually disappear. It has sought to bring the Queen's Government into hatred and contempt. The only effect it has had is to bring the educated classes of India into ridicule and contempt in the minds of those who are imperfectly acquainted with them, and perhaps to delay the extension of those Representative Assemblies which are so well suited to the requirements of the inhabitants of India, and the value of which I trust I have sufficiently shown.

Since this chapter was written I have met with a passage in one of the speeches of a member of the Congress which is highly creditable to the candour of the Congressionists, and which proves that we are quite right in keeping in our own hands all, or nearly all, important executive and governing power. The passage occurs in the Fourth Report of the Indian National Congress (p. 49), and one of the members said on this occasion:

"But it is a fact, which no one present will call in question, that what preponderates in the national character is quiescence or passivity, the active virtues being thrown into the background, or remaining in a state of dormancy." And further on the speaker says, "The virtues we are sadly deficient in are courage, enterprise, the will to do and the heart to do." (Cheers.)

These remarks, which were received with assenting cheers, should be read in connection with those made on the Queen's Proclamation in the earlier pages of this chapter.

I may observe finally that if the above-mentioned qualities are, as the native speaker complains, deficient, it is simply because the climate of India is not favourable to their production. As an Indian gentleman once said to me in London, "Here I am glad to go out for a walk. In Madras I find it an exertion to walk across a room." That explains our presence in India, and the necessity for keeping all important active work in our own hands. The natives are not at all to blame for being deficient in the active virtues. We ourselves, our bull-dogs, and our vegetables would alike decline without constant renewal by fresh importations from England.

[11] The landed qualification varies from 100 rupees to 300 rupees, and the house and shop qualification from 13 rupees to 18 rupees. This arrangement has evidently been made to suit the wealth or poverty of particular parts of the country. This seems to be rather an inconvenient system, and it is difficult to see why the lower rates of qualification should not be made universal.

[12] For all practical spending purposes in India the rupee may be reckoned at par. It is only when it requires to be turned into gold for the purchase of articles in England that its gold value must be taken into account.

[13] The meeting now held was, I am aware, quite out of order, but as the Assembly had taken a new departure some laxness was permissible at first.

[14] On looking at the Government Report of the proceedings of the Assembly for 1891 (which I may observe was not published till the year following), I find that, though 340 members were elected, only 262 attended. No less than seventy-eight members failed to put in an appearance, and the only probable explanation of this that I can give is that these members felt that they had nothing in particular to represent to the Government, and therefore thought that they might much better remain at home.

CHAPTER IV.

NATURAL HISTORY AND SPORT.

After the numerous books that have been written on Sport in India, a chapter on this subject might at first sight seem superfluous. So might, at first sight, another novel full of what has been written thousands of times before about love. And yet we never tire of hearing or reading of either, and naturally, for both appeal to the imagination, and carry the mind far away from business or carking cares, or, in other words, that proverbial smoky chimney with which every house is provided. And if the mere reading of love or sport makes men and women feel better because it takes them away from themselves (we should have no mirrors in our rooms), what must the reality of either be? For both dart through the system with electric and delight-yielding force, and produce effects which, to those who have not experienced them, are wellnigh incredible. And, as regards big game shooting in particular, the effects are so astonishing that one almost ceases to believe in them till another experience proves over again that sport, or even the prospect of sport, can effect miracles, or at least that it can cause an alteration in the system through the action of the mind. And, some eighteen months ago, I realized this most vividly when feeling much out of sorts, and indeed unfit for anything. For just at the time of my deepest depression, news came in that a tiger had killed two cattle in my plantation, and, what made the news much more acceptable, two trespassing cattle—animals which are the plague of a planter's life. The news acted like a charm. I at once felt slightly better, better still when I arrived at the spot and saw the traces of the cattle having been dragged along the ground, and the bodies of the slain—one more than half eaten and the other untouched—and almost well when I returned to the bungalow to make preparations for hunting up the tiger. There is no tonic half so good as news of a tiger, and I feel that even news of a bear would rival in a great many cases all that a doctor could do for me. But, though tiger shooting is a valuable and delightful sport, it is equalled if not eclipsed by stalking on the mountains amidst the beautiful and splendid scenery of the Western Ghauts, when you traverse the forest-margined open lands rifle in hand, feeling that everything depends upon yourself, and followed by a tried and experienced shikari on whose keen sight and coolness you can thoroughly rely. There are natives of course and natives, just as there are Europeans and Europeans, but there are natives who have been gifted with the greatest daring, coolness, and the promptest presence of mind, and who are capable of much personal devotion to those who know how to treat them. I was fortunate enough to have one of these in my service, and to no sporting scenes in life can I look back with greater pleasure than when I was able, with my trusted native follower, to spend delightful mornings and evenings, and at certain times whole days, in stalking bears, bison, and sambur in the Western Mysore mountains. Danger, too, there was at times, and quite sufficient to give a pleasing amount of adventurous feeling to the sport. Indeed, without this moderate degree of danger the sport would have been of quite a different kind, for is it not evident that all sport is to be divided into two widely different classes—sport in which you are liable to be attacked, and sport where the attack is all on one side? It is, in short, the danger, or the possibility of danger, which is the vital elixir of big game shooting, and which gives one, too, an opportunity of knowing oneself, and gauging one's presence of mind, or the want of it, as the case may be. But what, after all, is the amount of danger? That depends very much on the experience of the sportsman. You may make big game shooting as dangerous as you please, and by following up a wounded bear or bison in a careless manner meet with an accident, but if proper precautions are taken, the danger of following up these animals is by no means so great as is generally supposed. But, though that is so as regards bears and bisons, I must caution the reader against supposing that there is not considerable risk in following up wounded tigers on foot, and there can be no doubt that, as Sir Samuel Baker says, following a wounded tiger into the jungle on foot is a work of extreme danger. But even this may be largely diminished if proper precautions are taken, though it must be admitted that, from the great difficulty of distinguishing a tiger lying amongst dried forest leaves, there must be a considerable amount of risk, though the amount of it is rather difficult to determine, but I may mention that though I suppose upwards of forty tigers have been killed in the neighbourhood of my plantation, only two natives have been killed when out shooting. Besides these accidents, one man recovered from thirteen lacerated wounds, and another was deprived of his ear and cheek by the blow of a wounded tiger's paw. As regards the comparative risks to life of tigers, bears, and panthers, I have only been able to meet with one return which throws any light on the subject—a return which confirms the native view as to the bear being more dangerous than the tiger, and the panther much less dangerous than either. The return in question is to be found in the "North Kanara Gazetteer," and was supplied by the late Colonel W. Peyton, who wrote the section on Wild Animals. From this it appears that in North Kanara, during the twenty-two years ending 1877, 510 tigers were killed and 44 persons killed by them, one of whom was Lieutenant Power, of the 35th Madras Infantry. Between the years 1856 and 1882 51 bears were killed and 22 persons killed by them, one of whom was Lord Edward Percy St. Maur, second son of the Duke of Somerset. Between the years 1856 and 1877 805 panthers were killed and 22 persons killed by them. From these returns it would appear that the bear is about four times as dangerous as the tiger, that the tiger is about three times as dangerous as the panther, and that the bear is about fourteen times as dangerous to man as the panther. As regards comparative destructiveness to animal life, I may observe in passing that the tiger seems to be more troublesome than the panther, and that Colonel Peyton records between 1878 and 1882 4,041 deaths of cattle killed by tigers against 1,617 killed by panthers. The bison (gavœus gaurus) would appear to be very seldom dangerous to man, if I may judge by the fact that in his long experience Colonel Peyton does not record a single death from the gaur, though he observes that it frequently charges when attacked. In my part of Mysore I have heard of but one death, which occurred in the case of a native who was tracking a bull which had been wounded by one of my managers. The wild boars, I may here add, seem to be now, from being much hunted, no doubt, more dangerous than they were in former years. Within the last two years in my district five persons were severely wounded by them, of whom three died. But it is natural that all wild animals should become more dangerous the more they are hunted, and, rather to my amusement, my old shikari, to whom I have previously alluded, complained in a querulous and aggrieved tone that every animal—even the sambur deer—seemed to charge one nowadays. And this is a fact worth recording, and if wild animals are declining in numbers, it is some comfort to think that the sport to be had from the remainder will improve. But it is time to close these rather desultory remarks, and treat the subject in a systematic manner, and I now proceed to say (1) something as regards the natural history of Mysore, and (2) something as to the big game shooting of the Province. I may here mention that all the anecdotes given will either be interesting from a natural history point of view, or told with the view of illustrating points likely to be of use to the inexperienced sportsman.

As the author of the Gazetteer of the Province, in his opening sentence on the fauna of Mysore, says with much truth, that "Nothing less than a separate treatise, and that a voluminous one, could do justice to the marvellous wealth of the animal kingdom in a province under the tropics marked by so many varied natural features as Mysore," I need hardly say that I have only space to make a cursory allusion to the subject. The varieties of animals, reptiles, birds, fish, and insects are indeed very numerous, and though Mr. Rice informs us that he has only made an attempt to collect the names of the main representatives, he enumerates no less than 70 mammals, 332 birds, 35 reptiles, 42 fishes, and 49 insects, though only the leading families of the last are given, and many kinds of fish have not been identified. But, though I cannot, as I have said, go at any length into the subject, I can at least, give the names of the animals and birds which are of more or less interest to sportsmen, and perhaps touch upon some which are mainly of interest to the naturalist. There are then to be found in Mysore, elephants, tigers, panthers, hunting leopards, bears, wolves, jungle-dogs, hyenas, and foxes. Amongst the graminivorous animals I may mention the gavœus gaurus, commonly called bison (a name to which I shall adhere as it is the one in common use), the sambur deer, the spotted deer, the hog deer, and the barking deer or jungle sheep. There are four kinds of antelopes, the nilgei, four-horned antelope, the antelope, and the gazelle. Of the birds, I may mention 12 varieties of pigeons, 2 of sandgrouse, 2 of partridges, 8 of quail, peafowl, jungle-fowl, spenfowl, bustard, floriken (a kind of bustard), woodcock, woodsnipe, common snipe, jacksnipe, painted snipe, widgeon, 4 kinds of teal, and 5 of wild ducks. I may mention that there are 9 kinds of eagles, 20 kinds of hawks, and 13 varieties of owls. As regards reptiles, crocodiles are the only ones that sportsmen take any interest in, and they are to be found in many of the rivers of Mysore. Fish of various kinds are to be found in the numerous large tanks in Mysore, though I may add, that some of these pieces of water would elsewhere be called lakes, as they are sometimes upwards of twelve miles in circumference. The well-known mahseer abounds in the rivers of the Western Ghauts of Mysore, and gives excellent sport, and in the opinion of some anglers, superior to salmon fishing. I have said in my first chapter on coffee, that the life of a planter to any one fond of nature and an open air life is an agreeable one, so agreeable that, though from accidents of fortune no longer dependent on coffee, I still find it the most pleasant life in the world, and return to it annually with pleasure, and I think that the mere enumeration of the varied forms of animal life, which are so interesting both to the sportsman and the naturalist, will go far to justify my conclusions. Having thus glanced at a part of the fauna of the province, I now proceed to the big game shooting section of my chapter, but, before doing so, I may mention that it is stated in the "Mysore Gazetteer" (Vol. II., p. 13) that, according to old legends, the lion was once to be found in the Province.

Of elephants, and elephant shooting, I have had no experience. In Mysore and in British India they are reserved by the State which, from time to time, captures the elephants by driving them into large inclosures, and there is a record of one of the sales of captured elephants in my second chapter. But the reader need not regret my want of experience here, as it would be difficult for any one to add to the admirable and exhaustive account of elephants and their ways which is to be found in the late Mr. Sanderson's[^[15]] admirable work. His death is really much to be lamented, for he was not merely a destructive sportsman, but an intelligent and sympathetic observer of the wild animals he lived amongst, and I think I am only repeating current opinion when I say that a more admirable and interesting work of its kind never was written. Mr. Sanderson, I may mention, was specially employed by Government to superintend the capture of herds of elephants, and also to hunt man-eating tigers, and tigers of obnoxious character.

Tigers, as to which I shall have, I am afraid, rather too long an account to give, are fairly numerous in the forests of the Western Ghauts, and some other parts of the country, if I may judge by the fact that rewards were paid for 68 in 1874, and for 100 in 1875, but in former times they were much more numerous in certain parts of the province, a fact which is testified to by General Dobbs, who when a young man was in civil employ in the Chittledroog division of Mysore in 1834. He mentions in his "Reminiscences of Life in Mysore"[^[16]] that his division was infested with wild beasts and, to reduce their numbers, he obtained from one of the officials a plan of a pit 12 feet long, 12 feet deep, and 2½ feet wide, closed with brushwood at both sides and one end. Wooden spikes were fixed at the bottom, and the top of the pit was covered over with light brushwood. A sheep or goat was then tied inside at the closed end, where there was standing place left for it. As tigers usually spring on their prey they are thus sure to fall through the light brushwood into the pit. "In a short time," writes the general, "48 royal tigers were thus destroyed, four of which were brought to me on one morning. Mr. Stokes, the superintendent of the Nuggur division, obtained from me the plan of these pits, and in an equally short time caught upwards of 70 tigers. Now comes a circumstance which I can vouch for, but cannot explain. In a short time the success in both divisions terminated, and never again did a tiger fall into one of these pits, though numbers of tigers continued to infest the country." One result of the success obtained is worth recording. The balance of nature had been destroyed; the tigers to a great extent lived on wild pigs, and these, after the destruction of the tigers, multiplied so rapidly that the general records that there was an increased destruction of extensive sugar plantations. And I may note in passing, that the balance of nature may equally be destroyed from the other end of the line, and tigers made much more destructive than they otherwise would be. This is remarkably so near the western passes of Mysore, for never were tigers more numerous or destructive than they have recently been in my neighbourhood, and this is clearly to be traced to the great destruction[^[17]] of deer, pigs, and bison by the natives in the immediate vicinity of the great forests, a subject to which I shall afterwards have occasion to allude.

The sudden spread amongst the tigers of the news about these pits is really very remarkable. We know that animals and birds are taught by example and experience to avoid certain dangers—that birds, which are at first killed in considerable numbers by telegraph wires, gradually learn to avoid them, and that hares which are at first excluded by rabbit netting in the course of time take to jumping it, but it is certainly impossible to explain by anything we know as regards the spread of experience amongst animals as to how the news could spread amongst the tigers, over a tract of country about half as large as Scotland, for traps were set in two out of the four divisions into which Mysore was then divided.

It has often been a subject of remark that tigers, without any motive that we can even guess at, avoid certain parts of the country which, to us, seem to be equally favourable to them. This is remarkably so in my district in Mysore, parts of which, apparently quite as suitable for tigers as other parts, have never been known to hold one. It is also remarkable that they invariably cross from one range of hills to another by almost exactly the same route, at least such is my experience. These tiger passes as they are called by the natives are well known to them. There is one about a mile and a half to the north of my bungalow, and another at about the same distance to the south, and between these two points I have never heard of the track of a tiger being seen except on one occasion.

It seems singular that, as so much has been written about tigers, there should be any dispute as to the way in which the tiger usually seizes its prey, but I find that Mr. Sanderson differs widely from Captain Forsyth, and Captain Baldwin and others, and says that, though the tiger does occasionally seize by the nape of the neck in the case of his having to deal with very powerful animals, his usual method is to seize by the throat; and another sportsman of great experience tells me that, though he has seen hundreds of kills, the seizure was always by the throat. In my part of the country it is so much the usual method for the tiger to seize by the nape of the neck, that a native, when asked if he is sure that it was a tiger and not a panther, always puts his hand to the back of his neck, and if he says that the animal was seized by the throat, we invariably assume that the seizer is a panther. As Mr. Sanderson was a most careful observer, I cannot doubt the correctness of his experience, and as little can I doubt the experience in my neighbourhood. But this apparent discrepancy may easily be explained, and I regard it as probable, or even quite certain, that tigers may vary their method of attack in accordance as they live mainly on game or mainly on village cattle. In the case of a bison, a wild boar, or of a large and powerful village buffalo, Mr. Sanderson admits that the seizure is by the nape of the neck, and that no doubt is the rule with the forest tigers, such as those that have been killed near my estate, and which have lived mostly upon game, but I can easily conceive that tigers that have lived on village cattle would attack in a different way.

There is also another difference between Mr. Sanderson and other sportsmen as to the tiger killing animals with a blow of its paw. Mr. Sanderson does not in the least believe that the paw is so used, but Captain Williamson[^[18]] considers the paw as "the invariable engine of destruction." "I have seen," he says, "many men and oxen that had been killed by tigers, in most of which no mark of a claw could be seen." I have not paid much attention to this subject, but I do recollect one instance of a bullock that had been killed by a blow of the paw, as I remember being struck by the fact that there was no apparent cause of death, but on a closer examination I found a wide bruise, evidently from the tiger's paw, on the side of the head. A friend of mine of great experience tells me that he has known of animals being killed by a blow of the paw. That men are commonly killed by a blow of the paw on the head I have little doubt. Captain Williamson mentions a case that occurred in his presence, and I knew of a doctor who had examined seven bodies, and in each case the skull had been fractured by a blow of the paw. General Rice,[^[19]] when giving an account of the seizure of Cornet Elliot, mentions that he had a narrow escape from a blow of the tigress's paw, which he guarded off with his uplifted rifle. The stock of the rifle was marked with the claws, while the trigger and guard were knocked completely flat on one side, so that the gun was useless until repaired. There is no doubt, then, that the tiger can, and does sometimes, use his paw with deadly effect, though I have little doubt that he prefers to use his teeth, as the shock of a blow to the paw must, in the case of a bullock at any rate, be very considerable.

The carrying power of tigers is very great, and has often been remarked on, but it has been doubted whether they often carry off an animal without some part of it dragging on the ground. Mr. Sanderson gives some instances of their doing so; and I have known of one instance in my neighbourhood where a tiger after killing a bullock took it into the jungle and carried the carcase along the trunk of a tree which had fallen across a ravine. But considering its size, the dragging power of a panther is much more remarkable, and it seems to carry off a bullock as easily as a tiger does. On one occasion a panther killed a donkey close to my bungalow, and carried it off, and had even attempted to jump up the bank of an old ditch with it, which was five or six feet high, but had failed in the attempt and abandoned the carcase. But why the panther did not drag the donkey down to another part of the jungle, where it could easily have dragged the carcase into it, is difficult to conceive, unless we suppose that these animals have not, after the failure of one plan, mind enough to try another. Perhaps this is so, or that they take the pet in a case of failure and go off in disgust. I imagine that this kind of feeling must influence tigers, for I once found an uneaten carcase of a bullock wedged between two rocks. A tiger had killed, high up on a mountain side, and taken the carcase into the nearest ravine, evidently with the view of dragging it towards the water further down the hill. On his way he had to pass through a narrow passage between two rocks, and here the carcase stuck fast, and he had in vain tried to pull it through, but it had never occurred to him to pull it out backwards (which he might easily have done when the carcase was only slightly wedged) and try another route. But, after all, we must not be surprised, at this, as even the human animal does not always readily find the solution of a fresh difficulty. Tigers, it is well known, are good swimmers, and seem to have no difficulty in taking the carcase of a bullock with them, if I may judge by the fact, which was told me by a friend, that a tiger once swam eighty yards across a river in the northern part of Mysore, taking with it the carcase of a newly killed bullock.

Tiger shooting in the Western Ghauts is always carried out without the aid of elephants, and it is seldom that one can obtain, even for the first shot, a fairly safe position. Colonel Peyton, whom I have previously quoted, says that a man is not safe under sixteen feet from the ground, but it is seldom that such an elevation can be obtained, as the country is so steep that, though you have a fair drop on the lower side of the tree, a tiger from the upper side may easily spring on to you, and is then generally on your level, or even higher. Of course you select a tree where, in theory, the tiger must come on the lower side, but tigers will often take most eccentric courses, and last year, after having taken up a position on a tree which had a drop of eight feet on the lower side, and where it was assumed by all of us as certain that the tiger would pass lower down the hill, it came on the upper side, on rather higher ground than the cleft I was sitting on, and so close that I could have touched it with a spear, and had I not fatally crippled it at the first shot, it might easily have jumped on to me. But I entirely agree with Colonel Peyton that it is always best for several reasons to get into a tree, even though it may not be a high one, or indeed into a scrubby tree so low that your feet are only some five feet from the ground. In the first place, you can command a wider view, then you are concealed, and can let the tiger pass your line, and as the tiger could pass under your feet you are not in his way, and there would be little chance, if you reserved your fire till he had passed, in his either attacking you or being driven back on the beaters. Colonel Peyton, whom I quote with great confidence, is in favour of a bamboo ladder with broad rungs to sit on, and which will enable you to have your feet eleven feet from the ground. To illustrate the risk of sitting on the ground, I may mention the following incident:

Many years ago news was brought that a tiger had killed cattle some six or seven miles off. The distance was considerable, the news came late, and it was, I think, about three in the afternoon when I reached the spot. The beaters were all ready and impatient, no doubt, owing to being kept waiting so long, and as I did not wish to delay them, and had no ladder, and there was no suitable tree, I took a seat on the ground behind a bush which lay on one side of, and about twenty yards from, a depression in the land through the bottom of which, by all the laws of tigers, the tiger ought to have passed to the main forest beyond. I had no sooner seated myself than I saw, from the lay of the ground, that if the tiger should happen to break at a point in a line with my bush he would probably gallop on to the top of me before it would be possible to make more than a snap shot. I at once left the spot and climbed a small tree on the opposite side of the depression, and this enabled me to have my feet some five feet from the ground. Presently the beat began, and with a roar, and an evident determination to charge anything in his way, a very large tiger broke cover at full speed and went exactly over the very spot of ground I had been sitting on. At the pace he was coming at I do not indeed think he could have stopped himself, and I hardly think I should have had time to fire, and I have often wondered what would have happened had he galloped on to myself and my man. However, as it was, I was all right, fired just as he passed the bush and knocked him over with one shot, and put another into him as he got half up and struggled into the jungle, apparently with his back broken, and lay down about a few yards aside of it. And now by a curious coincidence we just missed what must have been a very serious accident, and this is well worth mentioning, as it confirms what another writer has said as to the care that should be used in approaching a tiger supposed to be dead.

After the beat was over the beaters rushed up, and one of the natives, who had no doubt seen the tiger from a point on the hill above, said, "His back is broken, and he must be dead; let us go in and drag him out." Feeling that it would be better to wait a little longer to make quite sure, I said, just to quiet them, "Stand the people in line and count them for the division of the reward." I had not counted more than five when up got the tiger close to us with a startling roar, and I then experienced what Colonel Peyton has said, namely, that there are very few even of the stanchest sportsmen who will not draw back a pace or two at the sudden roar of a wounded tiger. On this occasion I removed more than that, for I at once seized a rifle and ran several yards up the hill to gain the advantage of the ground, and I need hardly say that there was a slight scatter amongst the unarmed natives. But as the tiger did not charge out, I saw that he was probably off, and at once ran down the side of the jungly ravine to head him, and at the first break in the jungle got up into a tree. The tiger almost immediately appeared on the opposite side of the ravine, going steadily along, and showing no signs of being wounded whatever, and I fired at, but missed him, partly on account of my awkward position in the tree and partly from excitement. Then I ran on to the next open break in the jungly ravine, and again got up into a tree. By this time the beaters came up in the rear of the tiger, who refused to go further down the ravine, or was unable to do so, and the natives sent to me to go up and attack the tiger in the jungle, to which I replied by requesting them to be good enough to forward the animal to me. However, as he refused to move, and it was getting late, I went up the ravine, and they pointed out the tiger, which was lying on its side. I fired a shot at it, when it got up, then I fired another at once, and it fell and died almost immediately. This was by far the largest tiger ever killed in our district, and an old sportsman who had seen much of shooting during a long residence in India told me that he was sure he had never seen a larger skin, and did not know that he had ever seen one as big. As evidence of size, he attached, I may mention, great importance to the width of the skin of the tail just at its junction with the body. The paws of this tiger, too, were remarkably larger than those of other tigers. I found that the first bullet had taken effect in the neck, which it had no doubt grazed with sufficient force to paralyze the tiger for a time, and Colonel Peyton records a similar case where great risk had been incurred from approaching a tiger apparently dead, but where the spine had been merely grazed.

What I have previously mentioned illustrates one danger from sitting on the ground, and I may give another instance which occurred to me in 1891. I had gone after a tiger, and my shikari had prepared an excellent seat on a tree at an absolutely safe height. The tiger, however, had shifted his ground, it appears, to an adjacent jungle. This consisted of one long and rather deep ravine, with several spurs at which the tiger might break. It had several times previously happened that tigers had come up the bottom of this ravine, and I had once killed one there from a tree in the jungle, but the trees so situated are difficult to ascend, and we did not wish to make a noise nor to waste time by making a ladder, so I determined on sitting on the ground in the jungle, about twenty yards from the bottom of the ravine, and made myself perfectly comfortable. While keeping an eye on the bottom of the ravine up which the tiger was expected to pass, I was suddenly startled by a roar from some little distance behind us. My old shikari at once saw the danger we were in, and looked extremely disturbed, and no wonder, for he saw at once that the tiger had been driven back by a stop at one of the spurs, and might come down on us from behind, so that we should have had no chance of seeing him till he was almost on the top of us, and as a matter of fact he did pass down into the ravine rather higher up and just out of our sight, and from this we failed to dislodge him. On the whole, for every reason, I am much against sitting on the ground. You are liable to be run into sometimes, as we have seen, and at others you are not high enough up to command the ground, and there is a greater chance of driving a tiger back on the beaters. There are, however, occasions when one must sit on the ground, and if you have occasion to do so, it is of course advisable always to try and get about twenty or thirty yards on one side of the course the tiger is likely to take, and always let him pass your line of fire before firing. It is also of great importance to have as your second man one who can remain absolutely motionless when a tiger is advancing towards him. To illustrate the importance of this I may mention the following incident:

I was posted one day in a tree, when the tiger charged back through the beaters with a roar, and I had at once to get down and run to another point of the jungle to cut him off. I then tried to get up a tree on the grass land near the edge of the jungle, and next tried another a little further off, but could not got up into it, and when the beat recommenced there was nothing for it but to sit down beside a bush about one hundred yards from the jungle, and on ground on almost exactly the same level as the tiger would have to traverse. But this bush was so small that it only partially concealed me, and the entire body of my native second gun-bearer was exposed to view. This man fortunately had a most remarkable power of sitting absolutely motionless under any circumstances which required stillness. I also was fully prepared to remain quite still, and arranged myself so as to fire at the tiger when he was exactly in front of me. It was interesting to observe what followed. The tiger was evidently an old hand. He had anticipated our plan, and charged back through the beaters, as we have seen. He had also evidently anticipated the alterations we should probably make, and when the beat recommenced he cautiously emerged from the jungle and looked up (it is a rare thing for a tiger to do this) into the tree near the edge of the jungle into which I had tried to climb. He seemed then to be quite satisfied that all danger was at an end, and strolled leisurely towards us. As he was passing the point which put the whole bush between me and him, I cautiously levelled my rifle, which I already had in almost exact position to fire, so that when he came into my full view I had the sight on the second stripe behind the shoulder. By a curious coincidence he stood quite still when he came into my full view, and, as he was only about twenty yards away, presented a very fine sight. But I reserved my fire till he had moved forward a pace or two, and then I fired, and on he bounded. Then followed one of those picturesque, exciting, and somewhat amusing scenes, which can only occur in tiger shooting on foot. For the leisurely proceedings of the tiger had given the beaters time to get to the end of the cover just as I was firing at the tiger, and as I ran round the hillside to the other side of a ravine which ran down the hill, they ran forward so rapidly and plunged so suddenly into the jungle, that the tiger came out just below me. I fired at him, and so did one or two of the natives who had run up to join me, and the tiger fell dead in the air in the middle of a long bound. But running and excitement are not favourable to accuracy of aim, and the tiger, on this occasion, was struck by only one ball, and, strange to say, in the sole of the foot, and the only bullet-mark on his body was from my first shot at him. My account of the incident may be valuable to an inexperienced sportsman, and illustrates also the peculiar disadvantage of sitting on the ground, because if the tiger had walked straight up to me, and I had fired at him in the face, which I should have been obliged to do, he would, if not killed outright, probably have either gone back amongst the beaters, or charged me.

I have alluded to my second gun-carrier on this occasion as being a man who had the greatest power of remaining still under all circumstances, out shooting, when it was necessary to do so, and I may also mention that he was a man who combined the greatest coolness with the greatest daring. He was of a Hindoo peasant family, entered my service as a workman, rose to be a duffadar or overseer, and for many years has been head overseer on my coffee estates, and he is as good as a planter as he is as a shikari. I could give many instances of his cool daring. On one occasion a wounded tigress—it was the cold weather season, when everything was still green about the edges of the jungle—went into a ravine which was flanked by a great bed of ferns about five feet high. The natives looked at this bed into which the tigress had disappeared with considerable doubt, and one of them said, "How is anyone to go in here?" "I will show you," said Rama Gouda quietly, and he picked up several large stones, threw them into the ferns, and then plunged into them. I afterwards killed the tiger on foot in the ravine, but of course he ran the risk of coming upon it in the ferns. But the coolest thing I ever knew him to do was when a manager of mine wanted to fire at a tiger as it was approaching him. It was in the days of the muzzle-loaders, and as Rama Gouda knew that to speak would be fatal, he quietly but firmly put both his fingers on the caps when my manager presented the gun at the tiger, and kept them there till the tiger had reached the proper point for action. Then he withdrew them, and my manager killed the tiger. It is contrary to all rule, on account of the beaters, to fire at a tiger till he has passed you, and as the manager and Rama Gouda were seated on the ground, if the tiger had been fired at face to face an accident might have occurred. On only one occasion did I ever see him disturbed, and that was when he took up a position at a beat for big game. Presently he heard a hiss, and on looking round found a reared-up cobra about to strike at his naked thigh. He saved himself by a jump on one side, but he showed by his eye when he mentioned the circumstance that he had been somewhat commoved.

The natives have an idea that a tiger will not attack a group of from four to five people massed together, and in 1891 four or five unarmed natives proposed that I should sit on an absolutely bare piece of ground, and that they should sit round me, and that the tiger should be driven up to us. But this offer, and more especially as I had only one gun, I declined, with thanks, unless they could find a small bush or piece of rock to sit behind, and as neither could be found, I took up a position on a steep hillside and on a scrubby tree, which I thought safe enough, as I assumed that the tiger would pass on the lower side of it, but it approached close on the upper side, and on rather higher ground, and could easily have sprung on to me, as it was not more than fifteen feet distant, thus again illustrating how difficult it is in a hilly country to get into a reasonably safe position. Altogether, the risks of tiger shooting in a hilly country where elephants cannot be used, and where you may have to run to cut off a wounded tiger or follow one into the jungle, is attended with risk even to the most experienced. The amount of that risk is difficult to determine, but I may say generally it is such that while bachelors, or married men of independent means whose families are well provided for, in short, people whose lives are of no cash value, may freely go into the jungle on foot after wounded tigers, and generally throw themselves in the way of the animals, I do not consider it right for a married man, whose family is dependent wholly or partially on his exertions, to go after tigers on foot, or without the aid of elephants, for though a man may resolve to stick to safe positions, they are often difficult and sometimes impossible to find, and the excitement soon does away with all feelings for one's personal safety.

Though I have no doubt that it is, generally speaking, true that a tiger will not attack a group of four or five people, I am not at all sure that this is correct as regards a wounded tiger, and a tiger I had wounded once sprang into a party of I should say at least twenty people, and killed one of them—at least the poor man died in the course of a few hours. I always regretted that I did not obtain and preserve his belt. At the back of it was the iron catch with which to hitch his wood-knife, and the tiger's tooth had grazed one side of the iron, and cut it as if one had worked at the iron with a steel file. Another instance too occurred of a tiger attacking a party, or at least one of a party which was approaching a tiger. Several tigers, it appeared, had been marked down, and the jungle in which they were was surrounded by nets. This was done in Mysore on the arrival of the Russian princes some years ago, but one of the tigers had managed to elude the shooters, and, as the native magistrate of the district was anxious to have it killed, a sporting photographer who was there undertook to look it up. As they approached the thicket in which the tiger was concealed the tiger rushed out with a sudden bound, aimed a blow with its paw at the leading native, tore his scalp right off and flung it on to a bush, bit the man in the arm, and retreated into the thicket with such suddenness that no one had time to fire. The poor man afterwards died.

The great danger from following up wounded tigers on foot in the jungle arises from the extraordinary difficulty of seeing the animal when it is lying amongst dry fallen leaves, into which the body partially sinks, and this is more particularly the case if there is a flickering sunlight coming though the branches of the jungle trees. In one case of this kind, though I could see the tiger when it half raised itself up—it had been wounded in the back—I failed to pick it up the moment it sank back into the leaves; and my shikari told mo of another similar case he had seen when there was a similar flickering light. But even without that source of confusion to the sight a tiger is extremely difficult to see, as difficult as a hare in a ploughed field, or perhaps more so. On one occasion Rama Gouda said to me, when we were attacking a wounded tiger, or rather tigress in the jungle, "There is the tiger." "What!" I said, "that thing looking like a stone?" The light was bad. We both supposed it to be dead, but I said, "I suppose I had better take a shot at it," and did so, and, when the smoke cleared away, found that the tiger had removed. Then a native went forward and gently parted the reeds with his hands, and showed me the tigress—which had moved about twenty yards—on her side, and evidently in a dying condition. She was now only a few yards from me, and I fired at her, and she rolled over and died. As it happened, I do not think that I ran much risk, but one never can exactly tell how much vitality a dying tiger has, and in the case previously alluded to I have no doubt that the tiger must have died immediately after he made his fatal attack on the party.

It is owing obviously to their great power of concealment that tigers are so very rarely ever seen by accident, and Mr. Sanderson says that during some years of wandering in tigerish localities he has only come upon them accidentally about half a dozen times, and my own experience, and that of other sportsmen to whom I have spoken, quite confirms this. But I am persuaded that a native can see a tiger much more readily than a European, and the former have, I think, much better distinguishing power. For instance, a European has great difficulty in seeing a green pigeon in a green tree till the bird moves, while a native seems to have no such difficulty. My own sight is, or rather was, very good, but I found on one occasion, when I was stalked by a tiger, that it was most provokingly defective as compared with that of a native. The incident occurred in this way. In cloudy weather, during a break in the monsoon, I was beating a ravine for game, and had sent my second gun-carrier with the beaters. As the beat was drawing to a close, I heard a sambur deer belling at the head of a ravine, about a few hundred yards from the termination of the jungle we were beating. As I thought I might get a shot at it, I went across the grassland in the direction of the sound, and up to within about ten yards of the edge of the jungle, the fringe of which at that point projected a little. I could see nothing, but as the people were coming my way in any case, I remained where I was. The first person to arrive was a very plucky Hindoo peasant—a keen sportsman and splendid stalker—and when he almost touched me he at once pointed and said "There is a tiger." I put my rifle to my shoulder, and said to him "Where?" "There," he said, and as he put his hand on my shoulder I could feel it trembling with excitement. Alas, I could not make out the tiger; but, after all, that was not so very wonderful, as the day was dark, and the underwood fringe rather thick, but the tiger actually managed to back gradually away without my being able to see him. He had evidently been stalking the sambur, which had uttered the note of alarm I had heard, and no doubt seeing that there was something at the edge of the jungle, had crawled to the edge, and there lain down within ten or twelve yards of me.

Tigers seem to recover easily from wounds, and so completely, that no trace of a bullet having entered the body can be found. On one occasion I shot a tiger, and when the skin was being removed we perceived a lump on the inner side of it. This we opened, and found that it contained a bullet which a brother of mine had fired into the tiger about a year before. We had no difficulty in identifying the bullet, as no other rifle in the country had anything like it. The tiger was perfectly well and fat, and had not a mark on it of having been previously wounded, and yet the bullet had gone close to mine, which proved fatal to the tiger. In 1891 I killed a tiger, which had evidently, from his action, been hunted before. He was in unusually good condition, and yet had a piece of lead in him, which appeared to be a fragment of an express bullet. But a friend of mine tells me that he has often found old bullets in tigers. It is a surprising thing that tigers and panthers seem often to be little influenced by wounds, and I have heard of one case of a panther, for which a sportsman was sitting up, which returned to the kill after being wounded and fired at several times. A friend of mine was once out small game shooting on the Nilgiris when a tiger seized one of his dogs. He at once put a ball cartridge into his smooth bore, had a beat, and wounded the tiger. On the following day he returned to the spot with his rifle, and again beat the jungle, when he killed the tiger, which had returned and finished the dog, and then found that the bullet of the day before, which had struck the tiger in the chest, had travelled nearly the whole length of the body. I recollect once shooting a spotted deer which had a matchlock ball lying up against its liver, and pressing on it, but the deer, though it had good horns, was rather a stunted animal.

I have previously remarked that, in the opinion of Colonel Peyton, even the stanchest sportsman when on foot in the jungle, is liable to be startled by the sudden roar of a wounded tiger close at hand, and so much so as even to draw back for a pace or two, but he says that the effect is only momentary. In 1891 I again had an opportunity of observing the effects on myself and others of the roar of a wounded tiger in the jungle, but on this occasion, though I confess I was very considerably startled, and generally commoved for a moment, as I had expected to find the tiger dead, I did not step back a pace, nor did the stanchest of the natives who were with me, though a certain number climbed right up to the tops of trees. As it happened, there was, after all, no danger, for the tiger had been damaged in the back, and I soon dispatched it. The effect of the roar of a tiger is really very remarkable, and of this the animal itself seems to be well aware, for the tiger I have just alluded to—evidently an old hand, from the trouble he had given us and the cunning he had displayed—remained in the open, or came out into the open as the beaters approached, then roared at them and afterwards retreated into the jungle—a narrow ravine in which he seemed determined to remain, though shots were fired into it, and in which I think he would have remained had not the beaters charged into it in a body in the most plucky manner. A friend of mine also met with a similar instance, where a tiger came out—confronted the beaters and roared at them. The beaters may see the tiger, and quite close, and yet not be much disturbed, but a roar even a good way off has on them a disturbing effect, though it is difficult to see why the nerves should be affected more easily through the medium of the ears than the eyes. I may here mention that, when the sportsman has a damaged heart, the roar of a wounded tiger, at least if the shooter is on foot in the jungle, is apt to produce a slight flutter of that organ, though that, too, like the effect alluded to by Colonel Peyton, is momentary. Having had for some years a rather damaged heart, I was interested in experimenting as regards the effects of tigers on its action, but could come to no very distinct conclusion. I was once in an extremely insecure position on a conspicuous cleft of a bare tree, with my feet not more than seven or eight feet from the ground, when the tiger galloped into the arena as it were in the most sudden manner, and passed within fifteen feet of me. I knocked him over with a ball in the back at the second shot—the first, from the awkward position I was placed in, having either missed, or done him little harm. The tiger then lay on his side, with his head turned backwards and resting on his shoulder. He kept his eye on me, and I kept mine on him, and I did not fire again, as my second gun native (we had never expected the tiger to be where we found him, and were on our way home) had seated himself on another tree. In a low tone he said to me "Load, load!" but the moment I took my eye off the tiger to do so he began to wriggle into the jungle, and I only got a snap shot at his hind leg. Now when the tiger roared, which he did as he approached me, and he lay watching me, I felt no sensation of the heart, though I felt a distinct flutter when loading and when the tiger was wriggling away. On the following day, however, I felt my heart to be rather the worse, but I attributed this to exposure to the sun. On another occasion, which occurred shortly afterwards, I shot a tigress so close that I could have touched her with a spear, and she was on rather higher ground than myself, but on this occasion neither when I fired, nor when she fell, and turned her head to me and showed me all her teeth, did I experience any heart effect whatever. I must say, though, that I had my attention strongly turned to the necessity of not allowing myself to be excited, in case it should be bad for my heart, and the power of the will must no doubt have much effect in controlling the action of the heart. Anyone who has anything the matter with his heart should take digitalis before going out, and also take a few doses of this tonic with him, as well as some very strong beef-tea. He should also endeavour to go after the tiger in the morning or late in the afternoon, and lie in a cool place in the jungle in the heat of the day, as I am quite sure, from my own experience, that exposure to much sun heat is bad for the heart. As heart disease, from the excitement of life, is becoming more common, these hints may be useful.

Since writing the preceding, I went out after a tiger near my house, where I was placed on a tree quite out of the reach of a tiger—in fact it was too high, and showed me the great disadvantage of being more than say fifteen feet from the ground. The beat was a peculiar one, and I was posted just inside the jungle. The beaters were rather long at their work, and I had fallen into a reverie, from which I was aroused by three roars of a tiger just behind me, and the roars were not charging roars, but of a character which meant, in tiger language, that people had better look out. Now the tiger was below me, and I was as absolutely safe as a man at home in his armchair, and yet I felt my heart throb quickly. The explanation of this no doubt was that I had forgotten to take my dose of digitalis before starting. Being in the jungle I was under great disadvantages from having to shoot through the underwood, and, though I knocked over the tiger, and there was plenty of blood to prove it, we lost him.

This tiger is known as the lame tiger from being so in the right fore leg—the result of an old wound probably—and some ten days after my wounding him a curious coincidence happened. A young married lady, who was at the time on a visit to my bungalow, had expressed a great wish to see a tiger, and, when leaving for Bangalore in her bullock coach between nine and ten o'clock one night, very nearly saw the lame tiger. He was standing in the road some miles from my house, at a sharp bend where the road deflects abruptly to cross a Nullah, and waited till the coach got within ten or fifteen yards of him, whereupon, after delivering three moderate growls, he limped down off the road, and stood for a moment looking at the coach and bullocks.

All sportsmen must regret the necessity for tying out live bait for tigers, but this is really a fully justifiable proceeding, as thereby an immense amount of pain is saved to animal life in general, and an immense sum of money to the native population. The destruction of cattle by tigers is really enormous, and, I believe, far exceeding that reported to Government, and it is so mainly because the tiger is only allowed to eat a fraction of what he kills, as the moment that news of a bullock being killed reaches the village, the low class natives at once proceed to the spot, drive away the tiger, and carry off the beef. And this is only prevented when an English sportsman is within reach, in which case the cattle owners prevent the people from touching the carcase. It is often very annoying when tying out baits for tigers, to find them destroyed by panthers, as the panther, of course, from his habit of climbing trees, and concealing himself in the foliage, and from a kind of general facility that he seems to have for getting out of the way, is a difficult animal to find, in fact so much so, that I latterly would never go out after one, unless it had killed quite close at hand. In 1891 I was once much annoyed to find that a new kind of bait with an additional attraction had been quite ruined by a panther. This attraction consisted of a goat picketed in an open-topped (that was the mistake, it ought to have been closed) wooden cage which was placed in the branches of a tree, on the edge of the jungle, and about fifteen feet from the ground, while a bullock was picketed on the ground in the open land, about twenty yards away. The theory was that the, to a tiger, attractive aroma of the goat would be widely diffused, and that he might, too, further attract the tiger by his cries. News (false as it afterwards turned out to be) was brought in that a tiger had killed the bullock, and I toiled up on to the mountain some seven miles away from my bungalow, merely to find that a panther had killed the bullock and that my goat was hanging dead by the neck outside the cage just like a carcase in a butcher's shop. The panther had seized the goat, killed it, and jumped out of the cage with it, and had either not sense enough to cut the rope with his teeth, or had his suspicions aroused from finding the animal tied. To show that the suspicions of an animal can thus be aroused, I may mention the following incident, which is also especially interesting as showing the great skill of the tiger as a stalker and the singular power he has of stepping noiselessly on dry leaves, and his power to do mischief after being apparently shot dead. But before doing so I may mention rather an interesting circumstance. Besides the bait killed by the panther, I had two bullocks tied out in the neighbourhood, and as I did not care much for that part of the country, ordered them to be released and brought home with us. I was much struck with the earnest and business-like air with which these poor animals, which had spent some miserable nights in the jungle, expecting every moment to be killed by a tiger, trotted along, on a line often parallel with the party, and it somewhat reminded me of a picture I had seen in an illustrated paper, of the hunted deer amicably trotting home with the hounds and huntsmen. The fact was that they were determined to get home in good time, for fear, I suppose, of being shut out of the cattle shed, and though, just as they neared the shed, the remainder of the herd, which had been out grazing in the neighbourhood, appeared within twenty yards, the liberated baits got first into the shed. And now for my story showing how easily the suspicions of the tiger are excited.

A near neighbour of mine—at least he lived ten miles off—-was much annoyed by tigers which, from the continuous nature of his large block of evergreen forest land, he could only get at by sitting over a bait. On one occasion he had tied out a bullock, in a piece of land of a few acres which he had cleared in the middle of the forest, and concealed himself on a tree. It was during the day, and the ground was covered with dried leaves which are so brittle in the hot weather that even the scratching, or walking of a bird can be heard some way off. Presently a large tiger—my friend knew that he was about—made his appearance and commenced a stalk so elaborate and careful that my friend declared it would have been worth 1,000 rupees to a young sportsman to have witnessed it. He put every paw down so carefully, gradually crushing the leaves under it, that my friend, though quite close to the tiger, could not hear a sound. Between the tiger and the bullock was the butt, about four feet high, of a felled tree, with long projecting surface roots, and this saved the tiger much trouble, for he got on to one of the roots, and carefully balanced himself on it, and so without noise was able to walk quickly along till he came to the butt which he seemed to wind round like a snake, and he then got on to a corresponding root on the other side, and walked along that. In short, he approached so gradually and noiselessly, and his colour against the brown dry leaves was so invisible, that he got quite close to the bullock before it perceived him. The moment it did so it charged, but the tiger, avoiding the horns, swung round the back of the bullock, and then sat up and put both its paws on its neck evidently to drag it down, but it then perceived that the animal was tied, and at once turned and sprang into the forest with such rapidity that my friend did not fire. He however sat patiently on, and after a considerable time the tiger reappeared, went through the whole stalking performance as carefully and exactly as before, and was seen and charged by the bullock as before. But this time the tiger was in earnest and seized the bullock. There was a struggle, the rope broke, and the bullock dropped dead, and then the tiger stood for a few seconds, a magnificent figure in the bright sunlight, looking all round as it were for signs of danger. Whether the tiger saw or smelt my friend is uncertain, but it suddenly lay down behind the bullock, interposing the carcase between itself and my friend, and resting its head on the body. As it is always more or less precarious to fire at the head of an animal where it may suddenly move my friend waited to get a body shot, but as the tiger had evidently no intention of moving he fired at the head and the tiger was apparently shot dead on the spot. But my friend, who was an experienced sportsman, waited a little, and in the end thought it safe to fire another shot before going up to the tiger. He did so, when the tiger sprang up and went off into the forest at full speed, and fell and died at some little distance away. The first bullet had struck the tiger below the eye, but had been deflected, and was found lodged in the jaw. My friend thinks that it would have proved fatal to the tiger, but that is doubtful, as tigers make such wonderful recoveries from wounds.

In tying out baits it is very important to use a chain instead of a rope, as the tiger will commonly cut the latter and carry off the carcase, and it is sometimes desirable, or even necessary in some cases, to sit over the carcase and await the return of the tiger. The latter is always the case where there are great continuous forests, where tigers cannot be isolated, or successfully pursued, unless one has an army of men and many guns. This form of sport, which Mr. Sanderson speaks highly of, I can imagine may be very interesting, but it is also very tiresome and tantalizing. A great many years ago I remember trying it for two nights, but without any success, and never again tried it till some years ago, when I made an attempt in one of the forests at the foot of one of the passes leading down to Mangalore. My people had no experience in the matter either, still we might have been successful had the carcase been chained. I took down a small herd of cattle from my plantations, and ordered some baits to be tied one evening, and early the following morning went round to look at them. In the first case we found that the rope had been cut and the bullock carried off and deposited in a depression in the ground about fifty yards away. The carcase was untouched. In the next case we found that the rope, which was a very strong jungle creeper as thick as a large-sized rope, had not been cut, but that the animal had been killed, and merely a few steaks as it were eaten from the rump. In the third case we found that the bullock, which had evidently been the first one seized, was about half eaten. In the fourth case the bullock, which was an old one, had not been touched. I think my people made a great mistake in tying out so many cattle so close together—they were not one hundred yards apart—still this certainly made matters more sure from one point of view, as a tiger crossing the country might have missed one bait, whereas he could hardly have missed four, but his having killed three baits made our proceedings a little mixed. I first ordered the surviving bullock to be taken home, and two of the carcases to be dragged away to a considerable distance, and resolved to sit over kill number two, as it was the best animal, and in the most convenient position, but unfortunately I ordered two of my people to take a seat on a tree near the place where number one had been killed and carried off, and the tiger, which went there first, looked up and saw them and growled. His suspicions of course were aroused, and the result was that he did not come at all to the kill I was sitting over—at least while I was there. After it was too dark to see to shoot I went home, and returned the following morning, when I found that the tiger had returned, cut the rope, and carried off the bullock to a distance of about two hundred yards, and eaten a good deal of it. I organized a small silent beat of a section of the forest, but nothing came of it. My head man then resolved to prepare a watching place in a tree near the carcase, and this time I resolved to follow Mr. Sanderson's advice, and begin to watch quite early in the afternoon. My man finished his arrangements by about midday, and, after breakfasting at home, I returned with him to the spot at about three o'clock. Horror of horrors, the carcase was gone again. My head shikari—the Rama Gouda, whom I have previously noticed as being such a cool and daring fellow—was enraged beyond measure. He at once, without saying a word, cut a creeper from the nearest tree, and without even a gun in his hand set off on the trail, but not, I observed, before gun-bearer number two, also a daring fellow, had looked at him with an inquiring eye, as much as to say, "are you not a trifle rash?" I followed Rama Gouda, though I was not quite sure of the prudence of our proceedings, and presently we perceived by the chattering of a squirrel that the tiger was moving along close to us. Then we came to the carcase, of which there was now only about half left, and from the tracks about it, and the quantity of flesh eaten, Rama Gouda was satisfied that the tiger must have watched him making his preparations and then carried off the carcase the moment he had left. Rama Gouda now lashed the creeper to the bullock's horns, and, with the aid of the second man, proceeded to drag it back to the watching place he had prepared, and which was about one hundred yards away. By this time, the hinder part of the bullock had been eaten and only the fore part was intact and the carcase smelt horribly. There was something so ludicrous in the whole thing that I could not, and much to Rama Gouda's surprise, help laughing. The unfortunate animal had first been driven thirty miles from his home into these remote forests, then killed, then his remains were carried off as we have seen, and then again carried off, and now what was left was being dragged back again to the watching place. Rama Gouda soon arranged matters to his satisfaction by restoring the remains to their original position, but certainly not to mine, for there presently arose a most asphyxiating stench, which seemed to fill the entire air, and reminded one of what soldiers must often have experienced in our eastern campaigns. We waited till it was too dark to see to shoot and then went home, and early next morning I had to start for the coast, and thus ignominiously ended the only attempt of the kind I ever made. The tiger was evidently an old hand and was playing a regular game of hide and seek with us. The great error made was the neglect of Mr. Sanderson's advice as to chaining the bait in the first instance. Some tigers always carry off the carcase each time they visit it, and a friend of mine told me that when he was once sitting over a carcase, the tiger made a sudden rush, picked up the carcase in the course of it, and made off so suddenly that he had no time to fire.

I can easily understand that, as Mr. Sanderson says, there is a considerable charm and interest connected with this method (and in some cases it is the only method) of pursuing tigers, but I can see that it requires much experience, caution, and patience, and I would particularly advise those interested in this matter to consult Mr. Sanderson's valuable work.

I have often found in conversation that people are surprised to find that tigers eat tigers when a suitable opportunity for doing so presents itself, but considering that man still, in some parts of the world, eats his fellow man, it seems to me extremely natural that a tiger should eat a tiger. I have, however, only met with one instance which occurred in my neighbourhood, and in this case I am strongly inclined to think that the eaten tiger was first of all killed. The incident occurred in this way. Shortly before my arrival in India one winter, my manager wounded a tiger, but I do not think very severely, as the tiger not only travelled at least two miles, but ascended a mountain up to a considerable elevation. Along one side of the mountain is a rather long strip of forest, which is a favourite place for tigers either to pass through or lie up in, as it is quite out of any village-to-village route, and had the tiger been hard hit he would certainly have remained there. But not only did he not do so, but skirting the jungle, or passing through it, he climbed up a steep ascent, evidently with the view of going into the next valley, and near the top of the ascent his living history ends. Knowing from the direction taken by the wounded tiger that he would probably be in the jungle on the mountain side, my manager had it beaten on the day following, when a tiger came out which he took to be the wounded tiger, and which he killed. It then turned out that it was not the wounded tiger, but a fresh tiger with the wounded tiger, or nearly all the meat of it, inside him, and all that was recovered was the head and the skin of the chest, which I saw after my arrival, and which was sent in to Government for the reward, and by the size of the head it must have been a fine tiger. When I visited the jungle in 1891, I carefully cross-examined the natives in the matter, and they said that they could not say whether the tiger had died from wounds or whether he had been killed by the tiger that had carried off and eaten the body, but they were positive that it was a tiger that had eaten the body, from the tracks, for the body had been taken down to water, on the margin of which no other tracks but those of a tiger were visible, and these were clearly defined. They could also be distinctly traced from the place in the open grassland whence the body was carried. Taking all the circumstances into consideration—the distance travelled, the steepness of the ground, and the fact that the tiger passed a favourable jungle for lying in, I am strongly of opinion, in fact, I consider it almost certain, that the wounded tiger must have been dispatched by the other tiger, which was hungry and could not resist the smell of the blood. There is nothing remarkable in a tiger eating a tiger found dead, and I have read and heard of instances of this, and also of tigers fighting, and the vanquished tiger being eaten.

It is a common idea that tigers cannot climb trees, but this has arisen from the fact that they have seldom occasion to do so. Mr. Sanderson mentions the case of a tigress having been seen to climb a tree in a wood on the Nilgiri Hills, and though he has never seen a tiger in a tree himself, deprecates the idea of there being anything impossible in the matter, and if we come to consider that the large forest panther, which commonly ascends trees, is really often nearly as heavy as a small-sized tigress, there is nothing at all improbable in the tiger doing so. I myself have never seen a tiger in a tree, but one of my managers did, who once went out after a tiger which he had wounded. He then ran on to cut him off, and tried to get up into a tree, but not succeeding in the attempt, went and took a seat some way off on the hillside. The tiger presently emerged from the jungle, went to the tree and began roaring and scraping at the ground, and he must have either smelt traces of the manager or seen him trying to get up into it, and concluded he was there. However, he deliberately went up the tree paw over paw, and got into a cleft of it and looked about in the tree, and then came down backwards, and was shot in the act of descending. I sent and obtained measurements of this tree, the stem of which was 16½ feet up to the first branch. The tiger climbed up so far, and looked around in the tree. Another case was told me by Rama Gouda, to whom I have previously alluded, of a wounded tiger going up a tree to get at a beater, whom he nearly reached. In the case just mentioned, the tiger rose on its hind legs and deliberately went up paw over paw, but in the second, started with a spring up the stem of the tree, and then ascended in the same way as the first tiger did.

There is a common idea that jackals attach themselves to tigers, and are useful in warning them of danger, and I have been informed by an experienced sportsman that they always howl when they find a bait tied out for a tiger, and, it is supposed, with the view of informing any tiger within hearing that there is a bullock all ready for him. I have never heard but one confirmatory instance of the former, which was told me by a planter on the Nilgiri Hills, who was opening some new land in quarters occasionally visited by tigers. One evening, after the day's work was over, he went out accompanied by a kangaroo dog, and took a seat on the hillside to enjoy the view. Immediately below him ran a jungly ravine, and behind him the hill rose sharply. He had no gun with him, not expecting any game so close to his new abode, and now, to his dismay, a large tiger emerged from the shola at a point between him and his bungalow. As the grass was long at that season, the tiger did not perceive my friend (and, as I have previously shown, tigers, and I believe all animals, do not readily perceive any non-conspicuous object which is not in motion), who, as may be supposed, sat as close and still as possible, and beckoning to the dog, held him fast by the collar. The tiger lay down in the grass, and was presently followed by another tiger, which lay down in front of the first and rolled over on its back. This was pretty well for a beginning, but presently, one after the other, emerged three smaller tigers, which also took their seats in the grass. Here then was a nice family to have between one and one's dinner. The sun presently set, and the prospect of darkness was not encouraging. My friend naturally waited for the tigers to go, and no doubt devoutly hoped that they would not come his way, but time seemed to them to be of no importance, and they showed not the slightest disposition to move. Presently there came on to the ridge of the hill above a jackal, which looked down upon the party and then set up a most unearthly howl. The three smaller tigers, evidently young and inexperienced animals, took no notice of the protestations of the jackal, but the two larger tigers at once got up and took a long steady look at him, and the jackal moved restlessly about and seemed to redouble his efforts to attract the attention of the tigers. The larger tigers now seemed satisfied that some danger was at hand, and to the immense relief of my friend, walked down into the jungle, followed by the three smaller tigers. After waiting a little my friend got up and proceeded homewards, and, he said, "I am not ashamed to own that, after passing the place where the tigers had disappeared from view, I fairly ran for the house." The most interesting experiences one hears of tigers and other wild animals are, as may be supposed, not from sportsmen engaged on shooting expeditions, and who have killed much game, but from pioneer planters and others whose business lies in tigerish localities, and that is why Mr. Sanderson's book is so particularly interesting. My friend told me when I last met him that he had only killed two tigers, but that he had had occasionally some unexpected interviews with them. One of these was interesting as showing that a tiger does not like the rearing of a horse. My friend was riding across the country one morning when he came suddenly, at the edge of a shola, on a tiger, which at once crouched as if to spring. The horse, an Australian, wished to turn, but my friend, being afraid that the tiger might then spring on him, turned his horse's head towards the tiger and touched him with the spur. This caused the horse to rear, and the moment he did so the tiger turned tail and ran off. We have seen that man does not relish the roar of a tiger, and it may be interesting to record one instance where a single tiger was commoved and put to flight by the yell of a single man. He was a planter on the Nilgiris, and the brother of a friend of mine, and was in the habit of going out at the end of his day's work with a book and a gun, and seating himself on the hillside to look out for sambur deer. On one occasion he was thus sitting in the long grass when he heard something coming through it. This turned out to be a large tiger which came into view suddenly, and quite close, as may be supposed from the fact that the planter was sitting in long grass. The tiger at once crouched, and the planter was afraid to raise his gun, as it was probable that the animal might spring at him before he was ready to fire. Tiger and man thus looked at each other in silence. Mr. B. had heard of the effect of the human eye, and he threw into his the fiercest glare he could, but found that the tiger returned his glance quite unmoved. Then he thought he would try the effect of the human voice, and gathering himself together uttered the most awe-inspiring yell he could command. The tiger at once rose to his legs and turned his body half round. This was encouraging, and he emitted another yell, when the tiger went off.

There can be no doubt that tigers, like men, are often very undecided how to act, and it would be interesting if we could penetrate their state of mind. Shall I attack, or shall I do nothing? and in the end, after long deliberation, the tiger will determine on doing nothing, and walk off. Of his state of mind the following is an instance. On one occasion I left my pony on the side of a hill just outside the forest, and went for a stalk over the mountain above. I could see nothing, and thought it would be well to take a seat and wait in case any game might turn up. I had not been seated more than a few minutes when one of my people, pointing downward, said, "There is a tiger," and we could see him at the foot of the hill about quarter of a mile away, walking steadily across a piece of open land to the forest beyond. Just as he disappeared my horse-keeper came up alone, and evidently in a most agitated state, and no wonder, for we had no sooner got out of his sight when, a tiger appeared from the jungle and lay down on the ground just above the pony and crouched. The horse-keeper had another man with him, but he not unnaturally said that he was afraid to come and tell us, as he thought that there was safety in numbers, and that the tiger might attack the pony if it was left with only one man. The tiger must have thus remained in a state of low doubt for at least half an hour. Finally he got up and left them, and, from the direction he took, was evidently the identical tiger which we had seen from the hill top.

Tigers, like wolves and other animals, form plans, communicate them to their companions, and conjointly carry them out. A friend of mine was once the subject of an excellent instance of this. He was out stalking one day, and with his glass was scanning the country carefully, when he made out a long way off, in a piece of open grassland which was surrounded by forest, three tigers looking in his direction. They evidently saw that there was something on the hillside, but the distance was, for them, too great to make out what. After steadily looking at him some time the tigers evidently formed their plan of operations, and plunged into the forest towards him. The tigers had taken my friend and his man for game of some kind, and had determined on a united stalk and drive, and, when they appeared, two remained at the edge of the jungle, while the third made a circuit evidently with the view of coming upon the supposed game from above. But presently they discovered their mistake and went off.

These forest tigers are rarely dangerous to man unless attacked, and in my part of the country they never are so. However, there is no rule without an exception, and when making this assertion to some natives in my neighbourhood many years ago, one of them said, "I am not so sure about that. A tiger ate an aunt of mine not far from here some years ago." But that is the only instance I ever heard of in my neighbourhood, and even by tradition there were no instances of deaths from tigers, and it is also remarkable how in some cases tigers, when there is plenty of game, live for years near cattle without touching them. I was particularly struck with this in the case of a family who lived quite isolated at the crests of the Ghauts, and the head of it told me that, though tigers were often about they never touched his cattle. There is an amusing story told in "My Indian Journal"[^[20]] (a charming book which everyone should read who is interested in India) of a native who was ready enough it appears to track down tigers to be shot by others, but who by no means wished that any of his family should interfere. On one occasion Colonel Campbell found him belabouring his son with a stout bamboo, and on inquiry learned that the said son had killed a tiger. The father said it was all very well for people who lived in the open country, but with him the case was quite different, as he lived on sociable terms with the tigers in the jungle, had never injured them nor they him, and while there was peace between them he could go amongst them without fear, but now that his rascally son had picked a quarrel with them, there was no knowing where the feud might end.

I have mentioned a case of tigers not interfering with cattle when there was plenty of game, but I should add that this was many years ago, when the natives had not so many guns as they have now. The rice-fields have been abandoned and the house of course deserted, and of recent years the tigers have changed their ways, for, ten years ago, I killed a tigress close to the site of the abandoned house, in the neighbourhood of which it had been killing cattle.

I have said that forest tigers are rarely dangerous to man, and by that I mean the tigers inhabiting the long range of forests stretching along the south-western side of India at varying distances from the sea, but in the interior of Mysore very dangerous man-eaters have existed, and I have been shown places which people made up parties to cross. One man-eater, at least—for it was assumed that the deaths were the work of one animal—killed, I am informed on good authority, about 500 people. Two tigers were killed at one time, and after that the slaughter of human beings ceased, though it was never ascertained which was the culprit. There is no man-eater at present in Mysore. Mr. Sanderson says that bold man-eaters have been known to enter a village and carry off a victim from the first open hut. The boldest attempt I ever knew of was mentioned to me by my Nilgiri planter friend, and it occurred in this way. In the middle of the night there were loud cries of "Tiger!" from a hut near his house which was occupied by some of his people. He always kept a loaded gun near him at night, and at once rushed out and fired, when two men came up to the bungalow and declared that a tiger had begun to claw the thatch off the roof of the hut in order to get at them. This was alarming to the planter, as, if proved, many of his people might have left the place, and he told the men to sleep in his veranda, and that he would see in the morning if their story was true. He then went to bed and rose very early the following morning, before anyone was about, and found that the story was quite true, and saw the tracks of the tiger. These he carefully obliterated, and then went back to bed. Then when he rose at his usual time he roused the men and asked to be shown the track of the tiger. This of course they could not do, and he laughed off the whole story, and treated it as a fanciful illusion. I find many stories in sporting books of the great courage and determination often shown by natives in connection with tigers, but my Nilgiri planter friend told me one which was really astonishing. A tiger one day had carried off a Toda cattle herd, and his friend or relative was determined to recover the body, and was about to proceed single-handed and unarmed into the jungle with this view. My friend saw that he could not prevent him, and as he did not like to let him to go in alone, went with him. They went in accordingly, and presently heard the tiger crunching the bones of his unfortunate victim, but when the tiger heard them approaching he retired, and the Toda recovered what was left of the body. There can be no doubt, however, that the death of one of a party does exercise a chilling effect on the zeal of the natives, or at least on a considerable proportion of them, but after all this is not surprising, as I have found a similar coldness coming over my own proceedings when a tiger has retorted with effect on his pursuers. On the occasion I am now alluding to an unfortunate report had spread that a tiger I had wounded had left the jungle in which we found him, and whither he had retreated. I had wounded the tiger in the evening, and we went to look him up next morning, and the beaters, influenced no doubt by the report in question, went into the jungle in a body in a careless manner, and without sending men up trees to keep a look out ahead.

The tiger waited till the whole party was within springing distance, and then with a tremendous roar which I clearly heard at my post some way off, charged, and buried his deadly fangs in the back of an unfortunate Hindoo peasant who was leading the way. The poor fellow was carried out of the jungle in an evidently dying state, and a caste dispute arose over him, the particulars of which I have given in my chapter on caste. After doing what we could for him we placed him on a rough litter and he was carried to the rear. I confess that after such an exhibition of temper on the part of the tiger and the nature of the jungle I, being Europeanly speaking single-handed, was not so very comfortable at the idea of approaching him, but luckily a toddyman who had run up a tree (these men are wonderful climbers) when the tiger charged, and was afraid for some time to come down, now emerged from the jungle, and reported that he could see the tiger from the tree he had climbed into. This of course much simplified matters, and I at once proceeded into the jungle, but only about ten people, mostly my own followers, cared to accompany me. As it happened, we after all ran no risk whatever, as the tiger was dead, though he was lying with his head on his paws in such a life-like position that we fired a shot into him to make sure. When we were skinning him the poor man expired. In the same jungle, I think about a year afterwards, an English visitor at my house wounded a tiger, which went into one of those reedy and cactus-grown bottoms which make tiger shooting on foot so dangerous. I then declared that none of my people should go into this, and that they might return the next day and see if the tiger was dead (by no means an absolutely safe proceeding even then as we have seen). Much to my amusement a lean toddy drawer of mine, an excellent shikari, went a few yards into the swampy ground, got on to a small boulder of rock, squatted down, took out his betel bag, threw some betel into his mouth preparatory to chewing, and then held out his long skinny arm and forefinger and said, "Look! A tiger made a meal of a man close to this last year. Let everyone therefore be careful and get up into trees, and mind what they are about." The next day the tiger was found dead quite close to the rock he had been squatting on. A most remarkable instance of courage on the part of a native occurred when a brother planter of mine was out tiger shooting on the Ghauts to the north of my abode. A tiger flew at a Hindoo peasant—a first-rate plucky sportsman, and as the tiger charged, the man struck at it with his hacking knife (a formidable weapon in the hands of a man who knows how to use it, and used to cut underwood, and thick boughs of trees), with the result that the tiger's skull was split open and the animal killed on the spot. The native was thrown backwards with great force, and his head came in contact with a stone. He got up, and by this time was surrounded by the people, when, holding out his hand, he said, "Look here," and then paused. Everyone expected some remark about the tiger, but, amidst general laughter—for the natives have a keen sense of humour—he continued, "There will be a bump on my head to-morrow as big as a cocoanut." And now, as we have heard so much of the courage of man, it is time that the dogs should have their turn, and I will conclude these reminiscences with an account of how a dog saved the life of the brother planter to whom I have just alluded. I was so much interested in the story that I wrote down the particulars in my diary at the time and read them over to my informant to make sure they were right. I give the account verbatim as I took it down at the time.

Mr. A. told me that he once wounded a tiger which afterwards sprang on him, knocked him down, and seized him by the hand and arm. With Mr. A. was a large dog, half mastiff and half polygar (a savage and rare native breed), which at once attacked the tiger, and diverted its attention from Mr. A. After driving off the dog the tiger again returned to Mr. A. and commenced to worry him, but was again attacked by the dog. The dog was thus driven off about three or four times by the tiger. The tiger was all this time losing strength from his wounds, and the last time he returned to Mr. A., died on him. The dog was uninjured. Now comes the most curious and interesting part of the story.

The dog, which was not affectionate generally, and indifferent to being noticed, belonged to Mr. A.'s brother, and had previously taken no interest in anyone but his master, but after this event, he refused to go home with his master, and stuck closely to the wounded man, and when some carbolic was applied by Mr. A.'s brother which caused pain to the wound, the dog began to growl and showed signs of displeasure. The dog would not allow anyone to come near Mr. A. except his own special servant, and lay under the bed with his nose sticking out, and keeping close guard. When Mr. A. was carried to the doctor some thirty-five miles away the dog went too, and on the doctor applying carbolic, and setting the bones, which caused pain, the dog at once seized the doctor by the leg. (Evidently looking on him as tiger No. 2, I suppose.) In about three months Mr. A. was quite cured, and after that the dog lost all interest in him, and returned to his master; and if he met Mr. A. by chance, merely acknowledged him by the faintest wag of his tail. A year afterwards this dog, happening to meet the doctor, whom he had not met since, at once flew at him and seized him by the trousers.

One great danger attending the bite of a tiger is that of blood-poisoning from the frequently foul state of the animal's jaws, and it is, of course, of great consequence to cleanse wounds as soon as possible and apply carbolic. An engineer in the northern part of Mysore a good many years ago was bitten on the thigh by a tiger, and so little hurt that he walked home and went on with his business as usual, but a few days after he was suddenly taken ill and very soon died. Of course there may happen to be no foul matter about the tiger's mouth, and a Hindoo peasant wounded when I was out with no less than thirteen wounds in the arms—several of them double wounds as the man had thrust his locked arms into the tiger's mouth to keep him off—completely recovered. He goes by the nickname of Tiger Linga Gouda, and I always make a point of sending for him when I visit Mysore. On one occasion I was showing the marks of the wounds to a lady, and said that there were thirteen wounds. "Thirteen," echoed Linga Gouda, "There were fifteen, and you have forgotten those two on the head, and I slept on your bed too," he added with an air of great satisfaction—in fact he seemed to attach more importance to that than to anything connected with the transaction. I had given him up my bed because it was a broad one, and so most convenient for resting his lacerated arms. The natives were certain that he would die, and I felt a great triumph in bringing him round. The great thing with wounds of that kind is of course to cleanse them well, and apply carbolic if you have it (I had none on this occasion) and afterwards cover the wounds with damp lint, which should be kept constantly moist by frequent applications of water. This was done in the case I have alluded to. The arms, of course, swelled greatly, and the heat arising from them was very great, hence the need for the constant application of water. The flow of blood from the arms was checked by a tourniquet.

I never but once heard of a mad tiger. This animal was made over in an inoculated condition by a friend of mine to the Garden in Bangalore. He had caught it when out tiger shooting, and, when on the way to Bangalore, he had chained it outside his tent where it was attacked and bitten by what turned out to be a mad Pariah dog.

Before concluding this chapter I must say a few words, which perhaps ought to have been said at an earlier period, as regards one of the most important points of tiger shooting—i.e., that of taking up such a position as will enable you to fire to right or left without moving your body, or rather I should say without moving it more than in a most infinitesimal degree, for, as I have previously shown, it is movement of any kind which alone readily attracts the attention of an animal. It is evident that, if you sit facing the point from which the tiger is expected, though you can readily fire at him without moving if he passes to your left (and, as has been shown, you should not fire till he is just passing you) you cannot do so if he passes to your right without turning your whole body half round in that direction—a movement which might catch the eye of the tiger. To surmount this difficulty Sir Samuel Baker has invented a small stool with a revolving top, which is no doubt air excellent thing if there is time to erect a suitable platform on which to support the stool, but it often happens that positions have to be taken up in a hurry, and that you have to sit on the fork of a branch, or on the ground behind a bush or rock, where the tiger may pass on either side. In such cases the shooter should sit facing nearly full face to the right, as he can, with hardly any perceptible movement of his body fire readily to his left, and he should instruct his man with the second gun to point with his finger in order to indicate the side on which the tiger is approaching.

In all the books I have read about tigers I have never met with an allusion to tigers purring like cats from satisfaction, but a brother planter informs me that he heard a wounded tiger, that had killed one of the natives who was following him up, purr for several minutes, as he described it, "like a thousand cats." The evening was closing in when the accident occurred and as the jungle was thick nothing could be done. On the following morning the man and the tiger were found lying dead together.

Of all sports tiger shooting affords the most lasting satisfaction, and it is especially interesting when one lives in tigerish localities where one has more leisure and opportunity for going into all the details of this delightful sport, and where a knowledge of the people and their language makes the sport so much more agreeable, and one's acquaintance with the ground enables one to take an active and intelligent part in regulating the plan of operations when a tiger has killed. Then in the case of an animal so destructive it is seldom possible to feel any commiseration, though I have done so on certainly one, or perhaps two occasions. Against many sports something may be said, but that is impossible as regards tiger shooting. The tying out of live baits may be objected to, but after all the tooth of the tiger is to be preferred to the knife of the butcher.

[15] G. P. Sanderson's "Thirteen Years among the Wild Beasts of India," 1878.

[16] "Reminiscences of Life in Mysore, South Africa and Burmah." By Major-General R. S. Dobbs. London, Hatchards, Piccadilly, 1882.

[17] Vide Appendix C.

[18] "Oriental Field Sports." By Captain Thomas Williamson, London, 1807.

[19] "Tiger Shooting in India; Experiences 1850 to 1854," by William Rice, 1857.

[20] "My Indian Journal." By Colonel Walter Campbell. Edinburgh, Edmonston and Douglas, 1864.

CHAPTER V.

BEARS—PANTHERS—WILD BOARS—JUNGLE DOGS—SNAKES—JUNGLE PETS.

The Indian black bear (ursus labiatus), we are informed by Jerdon, is found throughout India and Ceylon, from Cape Comorin to the Ganges, chiefly in the hilly and jungly districts. The bear, unlike the tiger, which has sometimes five cubs, appears never to have more than two cubs, and I have not been able to hear or read of their ever having more. We have no means of knowing how often they breed, but I imagine that they must seldom do so, and that that is why they are so soon almost exterminated. As I never kept a game diary on my estate (which I now much regret), I have no idea how many have been killed from it, but I am sure we have killed a smaller number of bears than of tigers, and yet the bear is now rarely seen or heard of in my neighbourhood, while we hear as much of tigers as ever, and indeed quite recently a great deal more, for last year they were apparently more numerous than they have ever been in the tiger range of my district; and I say apparently, because, from the destruction of game, the tigers have naturally been compelled to live more upon cattle. It is alleged by the natives that the tigers kill and eat the bears. Mr. Sanderson notices this in his work, and gives one reported instance of it, but I have never known of one in my part of the country. A friend of mine, formerly in the employ of the Mysore State, told me that he knew of two cases in the North-Eastern Division, of tigers killing bears, but in neither case did they eat them. In the first case the bear and tiger had met at a watering-place, and in the second in the jungle. Mr. Ball, in his "Jungle Life in India,"[^[21]] tells us that he once came across the remains of a bear which the natives said had been killed by a tiger, and that a native shikari had sat over the carcase with the hope of getting a shot at the tiger. We have no returns as regards bears in Mysore, but in the adjacent Bombay districts—Kanara and Belgaum—Colonel Peyton tells us, in the "Kanara Gazetteer," they are fast becoming rare, except near the Sahyadris, and even there are no longer numerous. In Belgaum, between 1840 and 1880, he tells us that no fewer than 223 bears were killed. The steady decline of the numbers of the bears is shown by the fact that 137 were killed between 1840 and 1850, 51 between 1850 and 1860, 32 between 1860 and 1870, and 3 between 1870 and 1880. In Kanara 51 bears were killed between 1856 and 1882, so we have a total then of 274 bears for these two districts alone. As regards big game, the first comers obviously have the best of it.

Colonel Peyton tells us that the bear is, of all animals, most dreaded by the natives. There can be no doubt, he says, that an untouched bear will often charge, while a tiger will rarely do so, and there are numerous instances of people having been mauled and sometimes killed by them. I imagine, though—in fact, I am sure—that this must often occur from the bear constantly keeping his head down, evidently smelling and looking for things in or on the ground. All other game animals have some motive for looking ahead and around—deer and bison for their enemies, and tigers for their prey. But the bear lives on insects and fruits, and flowers and honey, and as he is not apprehensive of being attacked by any animal, has no motive for keeping a lookout, and so does not do so. He may thus, and no doubt often does, run into a man, under the mistaken idea that the man is running into or attacking him, and then the bear, naturally, does the best he can. I can give a remarkable confirmation of this view.

One day, in a break in the monsoon, when the game lies much out of the forest, I was out in the mountains with my manager for a general stalk, when we saw, some way ahead of us, a bear walking along. We quickly formed a plan of operation, and it was arranged that I should make a circuit and get between the bear and a jungly ravine he appeared to be making for, and that my manager should follow on the track of the bear, which would thus be pretty certain to be overhauled. The bear was pottering along as bears do, and I had no difficulty in getting between him and the jungle he was approaching, and the moment I did so I advanced a little towards him. When the bear got within shooting distance—about fifty yards—I stooped down and moved a little on one side so as to get off his direct line, with the view of getting a side shot, but just as I did so he accidentally altered his route, thus bringing himself again head on to me. Then I manœuvred again to get out of his line, but the bear also altered his line, and as by this time he was getting rather too close—i.e., about ten yards off—I stood up and took a steady shot at his head and dropped him dead. Now, strange to say, I do not believe that the bear ever saw me at all, and he could not wind me, as the south-westerly wind was blowing strongly from him to me, and yet, as the grass at that season was by no means long, he had no more difficulty in seeing me than I had in seeing him, and he probably would have walked right up to me. This instance is, I think, interesting, and goes far to explain the numerous accidents in connection with bears. Still there can be no doubt that, as Colonel Peyton says, an unwounded and untouched bear will deliberately attack people when there is no occasion for his doing so, and that too, under circumstances where no other animal would make an attack, and of this the following little incident will serve as an illustration.

On one occasion a bear was reported on a jungly hill about a mile from my bungalow, and as I was young and inexperienced then, I said that I would lie on the ground till I heard the beaters, and then stand behind a tree. I was alone, and had only a single barrelled rifle, which I laid on the ground beside me. As the cover was rather a large one, I had no reason to expect anything till I could at least hear the beaters in the distance, and I lay leaning on my elbow and thinking of I cannot now remember what, when on chancing to look up I saw a large bear standing at the edge of the jungle about twenty yards away. The moment I moved he charged, and I at once seized my rifle, sprang up and charged the bear at an angle (there was no time to fire), and made for the jungle from which he had emerged. I just missed his nose, and he followed me for a few paces as I ran towards the jungle from which he had come, which I did knowing that he would not be inclined to go in that direction. Then, having thus cleared me out of the way, he turned, and resumed his original route, and as he was disappearing into the next jungle I fired at him, but the charge must have had a discomposing effect on my shooting, for I missed the bear altogether. Now, as the beaters were far away and not within hearing, there was no occasion for the bear to have attacked me, and there was ample room for him to have altered his line. In fact, unless closely pressed by beaters, no other unwounded animal would have so acted. It will be observed that the bear, after having pursued me for a few yards, turned and went on his way, but had I not been nimble—in other words, had I been completely invested by the bear and thrown down—he might, as the natives would phrase it, have made my wife a widow. It is commonly supposed that, when making an attack, the bear stands on its hind legs, and thus gives the sportsman a good chance of killing him with a shot in the chest, but this is not my experience, and, though instances of the kind may have occurred, I should not advise the sportsman to count on any such delay in the proceedings of an attacking bear.

The preceding illustration, I may point out, affords a useful lesson. If so suddenly attacked by a wild animal that you have no time to fire, always rush towards it, and to one side, so that you may, as it were, dodge past it. This will enable you to gain ground on it, and room to turn round and fire.

I may observe that Mr. Ball, in his "Jungle Life in India," gives several instances of natives being wantonly attacked by bears, and Colonel Campbell[^[22]] gives one remarkable instance of two bears attacking a party of his people, who were on the march through the jungle in Belgaum in charge of his horses, one of which was so severely wounded by one of the bears that the life of the horse was despaired of for some days. The Colonel was determined to be avenged on the bears, had them marked down, and, with the aid of his friends, bagged them both, but not before one of the bears had thrown down one of the party, who ran a great risk of being killed. The determination of the bear in following up his assailant was in this instance very great.

I may here observe that some little caution is required in approaching, and looking into caves, and examining the entrances for tracks of bears, and the person doing so should be fully prepared for a sudden charge out of the cave, and be ready to jump on one side. No cave should be approached with the assumption that it is not at all likely that a bear will be at home, and especial care should be taken in the case of a cave with a drop in front of it over which a person might be hurled by a bear charging suddenly out. To get a bear out of a cave is often no easy matter, and different caves require, of course, different treatment. In some cases the bear may be poked out with the aid of a long pole, and when this is done the operation is both interesting and amusing, but care must be taken to see that you have a man who understands bears, and knows by the character of the growl when the bear really means to charge out into the open, and also that the man with the stick can readily get out of the way, which he cannot do in the case of every cave. The native with a long pole, or rather stick, usually commences with a quiet nervous sort of poke, which awakes the bear out of his midday slumbers and causes him to rush at the stick with a furious growl. But this is merely a demonstration, and the experienced native does not expect a charge, though I need hardly say that he is well prepared to get out of the way. Then the native commences to poke away in a more pronounced style, and at the same time excites himself by calling in question the purity of Bruin's mother, his female relations, and even those of his remote ancestors, to all of which the bear responds by growls and rushes at the stick. At last his growls and rushes at the stick become fierce and menacing, and all of a sudden the experienced Hindoo, who by some instinctive knowledge is able to gauge the charging moment, drops the stick and scuttles out of the way, and the bear dashes headlong from the cave to be killed, or to make good his escape, as the case may be. Poking a bear out of a cave is rather a severe trial of one's nervous system, and if anyone doubts that he has only to try it for himself, as it will perhaps show the individual that we seldom rightly estimate the amount of nerve which we often expect natives to show. I think I was never more startled in my life than I was one day when I put my ramrod (it was of course in the muzzle loading days) into the very narrow mouth of a cave in which I thought there was little chance of Bruin being at home. A she-bear however was within, and all the fiercer as she had cubs, but luckily she did not charge out, and I need hardly say that I promptly drew back. Sometimes a cave may be so deep and tortuous that the bear cannot be got out with the aid of a pole, and to meet such cases I had stink balls made, as bears have very fine olfactory nerves and seem particularly to object to disagreeable smells. These balls were composed of asafœtida, pig dung, and any other offensive ingredient that suggested itself to me at the time, and made up into about the size of a cricket ball and then dried in the sun. The ball was, when required to drive a bear out of a cave, impaled on the end of a long pole and surrounded by dried grass, or any other inflammable material which was at hand, and this being ignited the pole was thrust as far as possible into the cave. This I found to be a highly successful plan, and I may mention in passing that I have met with no account in the many sporting books I have read of this being done previously. Sometimes large fires are lit in the mouth of a cave with the view of smoking a bear out, but this is rather a cruel process which I do not recommend. In some cases of peculiarly shaped and situated caves it is, however, the only practicable plan, but where adopted the bear should not be put to more inconvenience than is necessary to drive him out. A large fire should be lit at the entrance, and when the cave has got filled with smoke all the blazing fragments of wood should be removed from the entrance, and in doing this the people should talk loudly and make as much noise as possible, and afterwards retreat to a distance from the cave leaving the sportsman with his spare gun-carrier to sit just above the entrance to the cave. The bear finding that, as he erroneously supposes, every one has gone away, and being naturally desirous of quitting such uncomfortable quarters will, after a short time, come cautiously out and may thus be easily shot. It is very important to have a couple of bull-terriers when out bear shooting as they are most useful in bringing a wounded bear to bay.

In considering these remarks upon the various ways of getting bears out of caves it may be useful to show how not to attempt to get a bear out of a cave, and the connecting circumstances will also be useful to anyone who may be overtaken by a hill fire.

On one occasion many years ago news was brought in that a bear had been marked down into a small and very narrow mouthed cave on a bare hillside, and I accordingly proceeded to the spot. The whole mountain was at that time covered with long grass, and as the cave was closely surrounded by it, and the bear if poked out in the usual way would rush into the grass and thus give a bad chance to the shooter, I devised what I thought, and what at first appeared to be, an excellent plan for meeting the difficulty. This was to set fire to the whole hill just below the cave, and my theory was that, as the cave was a small one, the heat of the fire and the smoke would cause the bear to quit the cave after the fire had passed over it. The wind was, when we lit the fire, blowing from east to west and I perched myself on a pile of rocks rather above, and to the east of the bear's cave as, when leaving it, he would naturally go in a direction opposite to that of the fire, in which case he would pass within easy shot of my position. With this, distinctly original conception I was highly pleased and watched the progress of the terrific conflagration that ensued with interest and satisfaction. How it roared and leapt as it consumed the long dried grass, and how soon would the bear be likely to make its appearance! It reached the long grass around the cave and proceeded to sweep along the hill, away from me, and flying before the easterly wind. Presently there was a dead lull. A few seconds more and the whole position was reversed. I had quite forgotten that, at that season of the year, and that hour of the day, the east wind dies down, and the westerly sea breeze comes in, and in an instant I was caught in my own trap. First of all I thought I would screen myself behind one of the rocks and remain where I was, but I was of course speedily enveloped with masses of smoke, and then I thought I would get down and run; first of all, however, I peeped over the rock, but merely to perceive a terrifying mass of roaring red flames rushing towards me, and this finally determined me, and I stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth and held on. As I had of course leggings and was fully clothed I had much the best of it, but my shikari with his bare limbs got a pretty good roasting. But the fire seemed no sooner to have reached us than it was swept onwards quite away, and I was astonished at the pace it travelled, which one can have no idea of when one witnesses these conflagrations, as one usually does, from a distance. Beyond feeling as if my lungs were on fire for a day or two afterwards I experienced no ill effects from my temporary roasting, but the experience I had was quite sufficient to show me the amount of inconvenience a bear must suffer from being smoked out of his cave, and, as I have previously pointed out, no more fire should be lit at the entrance of a cave than is necessary to make it desirable for the bear to leave it, which, as I have shown, he will soon do, if the people retire to a distance. As for our bear, he probably knew far more about these hill fires and the sudden changes of wind than I did, and had not the slightest idea of coming out for some time, and I therefore had to introduce to his notice one of my stink balls, which had the effect of bringing him out. By way of a change I had intended fighting it out with the bear without firing, and told a native to attack the bear with my spear when he emerged, while I proposed, if he lodged his spear, to attack with the bayonet of my Enfield rifle. But the spear came into contact with a bone in the bear's back, and thus the point was broken off, and seeing that my man had not lodged his spear I fired and killed the bear. From my subsequent experience of the great power of the bear I am now glad that the spear was not lodged.

Bear shooting from caves I have found to be a most interesting and sometimes most entertaining and even amusing sport, while it is attended with a sufficient amount of danger for all practical purposes. You never get a laugh out of a tiger shikar, but you sometimes do in connection with bears, and the following is at once an instance in point, and will besides illustrate the danger of approaching a cave which is perhaps rarely inhabited by bears, as also the surprising promptness of the bear in action. And I say surprising, because from his shambling gait, general deliberation of movement, and the clothing of long black hair which hides the powerful form and limbs, his activity and quickness of movement when aroused is astonishing to those who have no experience of bears. But to proceed with my story.

One day, when returning from shooting in the mountains, we happened to pass a bear's cave which was rarely inhabited—at least on former occasions when we examined it we had found no traces of bears, nor had one ever been marked into it that I was able to hear of, though the cave had the reputation of being occasionally used by bears. The cave was in a beehive-shaped pile of rocks standing on, or rather projecting from, a steep hillside. From the upper side it is easily approached, but to get at the mouth of the cave you have to step down, as it were, from the roof of the beehive on to a ledge of rock about six feet wide, below which there is a drop of ten or twelve feet. From the absence of any signs of bears about the roof of the cave I assumed that the cave was as usual uninhabited, but I thought I would gratify my curiosity by looking into it, so I got down on to the ledge, and was imprudent enough to leave my guns with the people on the roof above. As there were no signs of bears on the ledge or at the entrance, I told one of the natives to go in and take a look at the cave, but he had only penetrated a few feet from the entrance, which was about five feet high, than with three furious growls a bear charged headlong, and drove the intruder out with such force that he was shot clean over the ledge, and alighting (luckily) on his side, rolled some way down the steep hillside at the bottom of the drop. Bruin then with wonderful readiness knocked down the other man, who had not presence of mind enough to get out of the way, and after inflicting a scalp wound on the back of his head, dropped over the ledge, and got off unharmed amidst several shots which were fired at him by the people above, who of course from their position could not see the bear till he had got to a considerable distance. In the confusion that had occurred amongst the people left on the roof of the cave, who were as much unprepared for a bear as I was, some one had jostled my principal shikari—a testy and at times rather troublesome old man, but a most keen sportsman—and, to the great delight of every one, his shins had in consequence been barked against a sharp piece of rock. All the sympathy that ought to have been devoted to the wounded man he diverted to himself by the tremendous fuss he made about his injured shins, and this, and the chaff he had to sustain in consequence, quite rounded off the affair, and we all went home in high good humour, and the wounded man for years afterwards used to show his ear-to-ear scar with considerable satisfaction. Some people might have objected to the escape of the bear, but I confess that I did not grudge him the victory he had earned so well, and we consoled ourselves further with the reflection that we would get the better of him next time. Before concluding the subject of bears, I may give another incident which was rather amusing, and the narration of which may be of use as illustrating one or two points which are worthy of notice, and especially the advantage of having a good dog with one.

On a mountain-side about five miles from my house is a rather large cave of considerable depth—so deep, at least, that the longest sticks would not reach to the end of it, and as we could get the bear out in no other way, I lit a large fire at the entrance, and, after some time, sent all the people away to a distance, and, with a single man to hold a second gun, sat over the mouth of the cave. The result that I anticipated soon followed, and, imagining that we had given up our project in despair, and being naturally desirous of leaving such uncomfortable quarters, Bruin presently appeared looking cautiously about. The smoke prevented my taking a very accurate shot. However, I fired, and wounded the bear somewhere in the throat, though not fatally, and he plunged into a jungly ravine close to the cave, pursued by my bull terrier, an admirable and very courageous animal, which attacked the bear, and detained him sufficiently long to give me time to run to the other side of the ravine, and so get in front of the bear. A hill-man accompanied me, armed with a general officer's sword which I had brought out—why I really forget now, for it was anything but sharp, which I now regret, as it would have been interesting to see the effect of a really sharp sword on a bear's back. The bull terrier now rejoined me, and, in company with two additional natives who had run after us, I got on a piece of rock about three feet high. The man with the sword stood on my right, and the two natives—who were unarmed—on my left, and in this order we awaited the arrival of the bear. Sore and angry, he presently emerged from the jungle at a distance of about twenty-five or thirty yards further down the slope of the hill. I fired at and hit him, and he then turned round, took a look at us, and charged. As he came on I fired my remaining shot. Then the man with the sword struck the bear a tremendous blow on the back (which I think would have stopped the bear had the sword been sharp), and in a second more old Bruin had thrown the whole of us off the rock on to the ground behind it. There we were then—four men, a wounded bear, and a bull terrier, all mixed up together. However, the man with the sword laid about him most manfully, and the bear, either not liking the situation, or being exhausted with his wounds and efforts (more likely the latter), retreated into the ravine out of which he had emerged. Into this we presently followed him, and after another shot or two he expired, and I have the skin at homo with the mark of the sword-cut on the back. It had cut through the shaggy hair, and only penetrated the skin sufficiently to leave a scar. The man who had shown so much pluck was a young farmer from the adjacent village, and I at once offered him the sword with which he had defended me. But he seemed to think he had done nothing, and positively declined it, saying that his neighbours would be jealous of his having such a fine-looking thing. I had, however, a knife made after the native fashion, and afterwards gave it to him in commemoration of the event.

In Mysore there are two kinds of panthers. One, the largest of the two, is called by the natives the Male Kiraba, or forest panther, and confines itself generally to the forest regions, while the smaller kind haunts the neighbourhood of villages. The black panther, which is of rare occurrence, is merely an offshoot of the other varieties. The panther, in consequence of its tree-climbing habits, and general aptitude for suddenly disappearing, is of all animals the most disappointing to the sportsman, so much so, indeed, that I soon gave up going out after them. Though it has great strength, and from the amazing suddenness of its movements, great means at its disposal for making successful attacks on man, it seems, unlike the tiger, bear, and wild boar, to have no confidence in its own powers, and though in one sense showing great daring by attacking dogs even when they are in the house and quite close to people, is, when attacked itself, of all animals the most cowardly—a fact which the natives are well aware of, and which is proved by the small number of people killed by panthers in proportion to the number of them accounted for. The only way of insuring success when hunting panthers is to have a small pack of country-bred dogs of so little value that when one or two of them may chance to be killed by the panther the matter is of little or no consequence. The pack will soon find the panther, and perhaps run him up a tree, and thus give the sportsman a good, or rather certain chance of killing the animal. In this way a manager of mine was very successful in bagging panthers. I have some reason to suppose that the panther, when severely wounded, sometimes feigns death, and give the following incident with the view of eliciting further information on the subject.

Two natives in my neighbourhood once sat up over a kill, and apparently killed a panther—at least it lay as if dead. They then with the aid of some villagers, who afterwards arrived on the scene of action, began to skin the panther, and the man who had wounded it took hold of the tail to stretch the body out when the panther came suddenly to life, and bit the man in the leg. One of the people present then fired at the panther, apparently killing it outright. The man, who had been only slightly bitten, then again took the animal by the tail, a proceeding which it evidently could not stand, for this time it came to life in earnest, and inflicted a number of wounds on the man at the tail. The natives then attacked it with their hacking knives, and finally put an end to it. The dresser of my estate was sent to the village, which was about six miles away, to treat the wounds, but the unfortunate man died. I may add that this is the only instance I have known of a man being killed by a panther in my neighbourhood.

I now turn to an animal which is really dangerous, and I think more daring than any animal in the jungles—the wild boar—and whatever doubts the panther has of its own powers, I feel sure that the boar can have none—in fact its action is not only daring, but at times even insulting. To be threatened and attacked in the jungle one can understand, but to be growled at and menaced while on one's own premises is intolerable. I never but once heard the deep threatening don't-come-near-me growl of the wild boar (and in the many sporting books I have read I never met with any allusion to it), and that was some years ago, within about ten or fifteen yards of my bungalow, and the incident is worth mentioning as showing the great daring and coolness of the wild boar.

One evening at about seven o'clock, and on a clear but moonless night, I went into the garden in front of my house. This is flanked by a low retaining wall some three or four feet high—a wall built to retain the soil when the ground was levelled—and below this a few bushes and plants had sprung up close to the bottom of the wall. In these I heard what I supposed to be a pariah dog gnawing a bone, and, in order to frighten it away, I quietly approached within a few yards of the spot, and made a slight noise between my lips. I was at once answered by a low deep growl, which I at first took to be the growl of a panther, and I then walked back to the bungalow and told my manager to bring a gun, telling him that there was either a large dog (which on second thoughts appeared to me most probable), or some animal gnawing a bone. We then quietly approached the spot where we could hear the gnawing going on quite plainly about five yards off. By my direction he fired into the bushes, and we then stood still and listened, and presently heard what was evidently some heavy animal walk slowly away. On the following morning I sent my most experienced shikari to the spot, and he reported that the animal was a wild boar, which had been munching the root of some plant, and the soil being gravelly, the noise we had heard proceeded from the chewing of roots and gravel together. This boar then had not only refused to desist from his proceedings when I was within five yards of him, but had even warned me, by the low growl afore mentioned, that if I came any nearer serious consequences might ensue. On the following day I assembled some natives and beat a narrow jungly ravine below my house, at a distance of about, fifty yards from it, and there came out, not the boar, but his wife with a family of five or six small pigs. She was shot by a native, and the young ones got away, but the boar either was not there, or, more probably, was too knowing to come out. He did not, however, neglect his family, but in some way best known to himself, collected them together, and went about with them, as, a day or two afterwards, he was seen with the young pigs by my manager, and their tracks were also to be seen on one of the paths in my compound, or the small inclosed park near my bungalow. This boar afterwards became very troublesome, ploughed up the beds in my rose garden at the foot of my veranda stops, and even injured a tree in the compound by tearing off the bark with his formidable tusks. But, daring though he was, he was once accidentally put to flight by a slash of an English hunting whip. The boar, it appears, was making his round one night when my manager, hearing something moving outside his bath-room, and imagining it to be a straying donkey—we keep some donkeys on the estate—rushed out with his hunting-whip, and made a tremendous slash at the animal, which turned out to be the boar, so startling him by this unexpected form of attack, that he charged up a steep bank near the house and disappeared. This boar was afterwards shot by one of my people in an adjacent jungle—at least a boar was shot, which we infer must have been the one in question, as since then my garden has not been disturbed. The boar is more dangerous to man than any animal in our jungles, and I have heard of three or four deaths caused by them in recent years in my district. The natives, however, say that, till he is wounded, the tiger is less dangerous than the boar, but that after a tiger is wounded, he is the more dangerous of the two; and I think that this is a correct view of the matter. The boar has a most remarkable power of starting at once into full speed, and that is why his attacks are so dangerous. In countries inhabited by wild boars it is very important to be always on the alert. As an illustration of this, and also of the great power of the boar, and of his sometimes attacking people without any provocation on their part, I may mention the following incident.

When I was walking round part of my plantation one morning with my manager, and we chanced to stand in a path for a few moments (I forget now for what reason), my dogs went down the hill into the coffee, and appear there to have disturbed a boar. Luckily for myself, I always keep a sharp look out, and my eye caught a glimpse of something black coming up amongst the coffee. In a single second a boar appeared in the path some twenty yards away. The path sloped downwards towards me, and at me he came, like an arrow from a bow. As there was no use in my attempting to arrest the progress of an animal of this kind, I stepped aside and let him into my manager, who, luckily for himself, was standing behind a broken off coffee tree, which stood at a sharp turn in the path some yards further on. The result was very remarkable. The boar's chest struck against the coffee tree and slightly bent it on one side. This threw the boar upwards, and, of course, broke the force of the charge, but there was still enough force left to toss my manager into an adjacent shallow pit with such violence that his ear was filled with earth. I was now seriously alarmed, as I had no weapon of any kind, but luckily the boar went on. His tusk, it appeared, had caught the manager—a man of about six feet, and thirteen stone in weight—under the armpit, but had merely torn his coat. We organized a beat the same afternoon, and killed the boar, which was suffering from an old wound, and this no doubt accounted, in some degree, for his sudden and gratuitous attack. Tigers often attack the wild boar, and there are often desperate battles between them, and well authenticated instances have been known of the boar killing the tiger. I have never met with one in my neighbourhood, though I once aided in killing a tiger which had been ripped in several places by a boar. As it is impossible in jungly districts to ride the wild boar, he is invariably shot, except when, in the monsoon rains, he is occasionally speared. At that season the wild pigs make houses, or rather shelters, for themselves by cutting with their teeth and bending over some of the underwood, and under these they repose. When such shelters are discovered, a man approaches them cautiously and drives his spear through the shelter into the boar's back. I have never seen this done, but have often heard of its being done where I lived in former days, during the rainy season.

Boar's head pickled in vinegar and garnished with onions makes a good dish, especially after harvest, when the pigs are in good condition, but, from what I have known of the habits of the wild boar, I do not think I should ever be inclined to partake of it again, and certainly not when cholera is about. A neighbour of mine told me that when he was once beating a jungle for game the natives backed out of it with great promptness, having come upon wild pigs in the act of devouring the dead bodies of some people who had died of cholera. I may mention that it was customary in former times, and doubtless is so still to some extent, to deposit the bodies of cholera victims anywhere in the jungle, instead of burying them in the ordinary way. An official of the Forest Department told me that, passing one day near the place where the carcase of an elephant lay, he had the curiosity to go and look at it. To his astonishment he found the flanks heaving as if the elephant were still alive, and while he was wondering what this could mean, two wild boars, which had tunnelled their way in, and were luxuriating on the contents of the carcase, suddenly rushed out. From what I have hitherto said it seems plain that wild boar is not a safe article of food, unless, perhaps, when, it inhabits remote jungles where foul food can rarely be met with. I have never made any measurements of wild boars, but Colonel Peyton—a first-rate authority—writing in the "Kanara Gazetteer," says that some are to be found measuring forty inches high, and six feet long.

The jungle dog (kuon rutilans) is a wolfish-looking-dog of a golden brown colour, with hair of moderate length, and a short and slightly bushy tail. It hunts in packs of seven and eight, and sometimes as many as twenty and even thirty have been reported. In my neighbourhood I have never actually known them to attack cattle or persons, but Colonel Peyton tells us, in the "Kanara Gazetteer," that they grew very bold in the 1876-77 famine, and killed great numbers of the half-starved cattle which were driven into the Kanara forests to graze, and since then a reward of 10 rupees has been paid for the destruction of each fully grown wild dog. Colonel Peyton alludes to the native idea that these dogs attack and kill tigers, but says that no instance of their having killed a tiger is known. At the same time it is, he says, a fact that the tiger will give up his kill to wild dogs, and will leave a place in which they are present in large numbers. Some years ago I beat a jungle in which a tiger had killed a bullock, and in which another tiger had on a former occasion lain up, but the tiger was not there, and a number of jungle dogs were beaten out. We afterwards found the tiger in a jungle about a mile away, and he had evidently abandoned his kill, for no other reason, apparently, than because of the presence of the dogs. An old Indian sportsman tells me of a very widespread native tradition as to the action of these dogs previous to attacking a tiger. Their belief is that the dogs first of all micturate on each others' bushy tails, and, when rushing past the tiger, whisk their tails into his eyes and thus blind him with, the objectionable fluid, after which they can attack him with comparative impunity. A forest officer informs me that the Gonds have a somewhat similar tradition, and that they believe that the dogs first of all micturate on the ground around the tiger, and that the effluvium has the effect of blinding him.[^[23]] The late Mr. Sanderson, in his "Thirteen Years amongst the Wild Beasts of India," mentions an instance reported to him by the natives of their finding a tiger sitting up with his back to a bamboo bush, so that nothing could pass behind him, while the wild dogs were walking up and down and passing quite close to him, evidently with the view of annoying the tiger, and the position then taken up by the tiger seemed to show that he was apprehensive of an attack. From his experience of the great power of the wild dog, Mr. Sanderson entertained no doubt that they could kill a tiger, though he knows of no instance of their having done so. The old Indian sportsman above alluded to told me of a case where a tiger had been marked down by native shikaris, and where they afterwards found wild dogs eating the carcase of the tiger, which they had presumably killed, but I cannot find any account of the dogs having been seen in the act of killing a tiger, though I can easily conceive that a hungry tiger, and an equally hungry pack of wild dogs may have come into collision over a newly killed animal, and that the dogs may then in desperation have killed the tiger.

A Coorg planter who has had opportunities of observing the habits of those dogs, tells me that when hunting a deer they do not run in a body, but spread out rather widely, so as to catch the deer on the turn if it moved to right or left. Some of the dogs hang behind to rest themselves, so as to take up the running when other dogs, which have pressed the deer hard, get tired. He once had a bitch the product of a cross between a Pariah and a jungle dog. When she had pups she concealed them in the jungle, and in order to find them she had to be carefully watched and followed up. She went through many manœuvres to prevent the discovery of her pups, and pottered about in the neighbourhood of the spot where she had concealed them, as if bent on nothing in particular. Then she made a sudden rush into the jungle and disappeared. After much search her pups were found in a hole about three feet deep, which she had dug on the side of a rising piece of ground. The bitch did not bark—the jungle dog does not—and the pups barked but slightly, but the next generation barked as domestic dogs do.

Many years ago I met with a very singular and puzzling circumstance in connection with jungle dogs. I had offered a reward of five rupees for a pup, and one day several natives from a village some three or four miles away, brought me a pup—apparently about six or eight months old. This, it appears, they had caught by placing some nets near the carcase of a tiger I had killed, and on which a pack of these dogs was feeding. They drove the dogs towards the nets, which they jumped, but the pup in question was caught in the net. My cook now appeared on the scene and declared that the pup belonged to him, and that he had brought it from Bangalore, and on hearing this I declined, of course, to pay the reward. As I had never, and have never, seen a jungle dog pup, I neither could then, nor can now, undertake to say whether the pup was a wild one or not, though it seemed to me that it might have been a kind of mongrel animal with a good deal of the pariah dog in it. The natives then requested the cook to take the pup and pay them five rupees for their trouble. This he declined to do, and they then said they would take it back to the carcase of the tiger and let it go. This they did, and the pup was never heard of again, and I assume that it must have rejoined the wild dogs. As my cook had no conceivable motive for falsely asserting that the dog was his, I can only assume that the animal had strayed away and joined the pack of wild dogs.

There is no reward for killing wild dogs in Mysore, as is the case in the Madras Presidency, and I should strongly advise that one should be given, as from the great destruction of the game, on which they at present live, these animals will soon become very destructive to cattle, and possibly, or even probably, dangerous to man. And it is the more important to attend to this matter at once, because I find, from Jerdon's "Mammals of India," that the bitch has at least six whelps at a birth, and he mentions that Mr. Elliot (the late Sir Walter) remarks that the wild dog was not known in the Southern Maharatta country until of late years, but that it was now very common; and he adds that he once captured a bitch and seven cubs, and had them alive for some time. No one has any interest in killing these jungle dogs, and until a reward is offered for their destruction, they will go on increasing at an alarming rate.

I now pass on to offer some remarks on snakes, and especially on the great number of deaths said to be caused by them, and I say said to be caused by them, because I have good reason to suppose that the immense number of deaths (sometimes returned at 17,000 or 18,000 for all India) reported as being caused by them, are really poisoning cases which are falsely returned as being due to snake bite. When mentioning this surmise on board of a P. and O. ship to two civilians, they demurred to the idea, and I then asked them if they had ever known within their own cognizance of a man being killed by a snake—i.e., either seen a man fatally bitten, or who had been fatally bitten. They never had, and that too during a service of about twenty-four years. I then, out of curiosity, made inquiries through all the first-class passengers, and at last met with one lady who had a gardener who had been killed by a snake. I also got my English servant to make a similar inquiry in the second-class, and no passenger there had known of a case, though one of them had been engaged in surveying operations for ten years. My attention has been particularly called to this subject in consequence of my own long experience, which stretches back to the year 1855, and, though cobras have been killed in and around my house, and in the plantations, I have not only never known of a death from snake bite on my estates, but have, since the date mentioned, never heard of but one case in my neighbourhood, and that was of a boy who was killed by some deadly snake about four or five miles from my house. I made inquiries in Bangalore on this subject. Now Bangalore is a place which always had a bad reputation as regards cobras. The population is large, and there are, of course, numerous gardens, and many grass cutters are employed, and the occupations there of a large number of people are such as to make them liable to risk from snake bite; and yet, in the course of the year, there had only been, three cases of snake bite. How is it then that such an infinitesimal number of the cases reported on occur within the cognizance of Europeans? And unless some competent observer is at hand to determine the cause of death, what can be easier than to poison a man, puncture his skin, and then point to the puncture as an evidence that the death was caused by snake bite?

Of one thing I feel certain, and that is, that the cobra is a timid snake, that it is not at all inclined to bite, and unless assailed and so infuriated, will not bite, even if trodden on by accident, as long as the snake is not hurt, which, of course, it would not be if trodden upon by the bare foot, and that is why, I feel sure, I have so rarely heard of a man being bitten by a snake during my long experience in India. I can give a remarkable confirmatory instance, which happened at my bungalow some years ago. My English servant had got his feet wet one morning, and had placed his shoes to dry on a ledge of the bungalow just above the place where the bath-room water runs out. At about three in the afternoon he went in his slippers round the end of the bungalow to get his shoes, and trod on a cobra which was lying in the soft and rather muddy ground created by the bath-room water. He had stepped on to about the middle of the snake's body, but probably rather nearer the tail than the head. The cobra then reared up its body, spread its hood, hissed, and struggled to get free, while my servant held up his hands to avoid the chance of being bitten, and he said that he could see that the afternoon sun was illuminating the interior of its throat, but he was afraid to let it go, thinking that it would then be more able to bite him. This, however, he is quite positive it never attempted to do, and after some moments of hesitation he jumped to one side, and the snake, so far from offering to bite when liberated, went off in the opposite direction with all speed. I am sure that wild animals perceive quite as readily as tame ones do the difference between what is purely accidental, and what results from malice prepense. The snake must have perceived that its being trodden upon was a pure accident, and, as it was not hurt, did not bite. A Brahmin once told me of a somewhat similar case, where his mother, seeing what she supposed was a kitten in a passage of the house, gave it a push on one side with her foot. It turned out to be a cobra, which spread its hood and hissed, but never offered to bite her. Colonel Barras, the author of some charming natural history books, told me that he quite agrees that the cobra is disinclined to bite, and pave me a practical illustration of this which had fallen within his own observation. On one occasion, when some of my coolies were crossing a log, which was lying on the ground, my overseer, just as they were doing so, observed that under a bent-up portion of the log there was a cobra. He waited till all the coolies had crossed over and moved on, and then stirred up the cobra and killed it. I mention these instances to show that it is probably owing to the fact of the cobra not being at all an aggressive snake, and not being given to bite unless attacked, or hurt, that no death has occurred on my estates, or in my neighbourhood during such a long period of time.

But there is probably another reason, which has not, that I am aware of, been taken into account by previous writers, and that is that snakes keep a much better look out, and perceive the approach of people from a much greater distance than is usually supposed. I was much struck with this fact on two occasions this year. In one case I was walking along a foot road in my compound, and on going round a bend of the road saw, about thirty yards away, a snake in the road with its body half raised, and evidently in an on-the-look-out attitude, and the moment it perceived me it lowered its body and went off through the long grass. In the other case I saw a snake on bare ground upwards of 100 yards away which had evidently seen me, for it made off in the way which a disturbed snake always does. I was this year surprised to hear tigers and snakes classed together as to running away by a toddy-drawer—a class of people who are often out in the jungle at dusk, and sometimes later. I had made a new four feet trace of about a mile long along a beautiful ridge which connects my estate with an outlying piece of the property, and unfortunately mentioned to my wife that at the end of the path tigers crossed over occasionally (it was a tiger pass as the natives call it), and she objected to go there late in the evening. Being desirous of going to the end of the path one evening, I called to a toddyman in my employ and told him to accompany us, telling my wife that he was a timid creature and not likely to incur any risk he could avoid. I mentioned to him the apprehension of the lady, when he said, "Tigers and snakes run away," and he seemed to have no apprehension as regards either of them, though part of the land in which he cut toddy trees was on the tiger pass. And I may mention that I this year wounded a tiger within fifty yards of the pass, and on the following morning saw the tracks of a tiger and tigress (the track of the latter is easily to be distinguished as it is longer and narrower than that of the male) in the jungle adjoining the end of the foot road alluded to.

As many Europeans kill all snakes they meet with, it is well to mention that the tank snake—a large snake often from nine to ten feet long—is not only harmless but useful, as it lives so largely on rats and mice, and is in consequence sometimes called the rat snake. On one occasion a manager shot one of these snakes near my house, and it had a rat in its mouth when killed, and such snakes, so far from being killed, ought to be carefully protected. I was this year rather interested in observing the proceedings of one of these snakes when followed up by two dogs of mine in the open. First of all, it made for a clump of two or three scrubby trees, and, apparently first fastening itself by the neck to a stump, lashed out with its tail. Then when the dogs came closer it again made off through the grass, but on being overtaken by the dogs must have either bitten one of them, or lashed it with its tail, as the dog gave a sharp cry and retreated. On a previous occasion one of these snakes bit a dog of mine, and it was not in the slightest degree affected. These snakes travel at a fair pace, and I found by trotting along parallel to one that it can move at the rate of the moderate jog trot of a horse, and apparently keep up this pace with ease. But, though it would be easy for me to write more about snakes, the reader has probably heard enough of them, and I hope has learnt some facts of practical importance by the way, and I shall now offer a few remarks on jungle pets.

It is commonly supposed that wild animals naturally or instinctively dread man, but it seems to me that, though no doubt a certain degree of dread of man may have been, after having been acquired by experience, transmitted to the offspring, wild animals require to be taught to dread man by their parents, for we find that if animals are caught when very young and are not confined in any way, they not only do not dread man, but eventually prefer his society to that of their own species.

The first instance I have to notice of this is in the case of a spotted deer stag which belonged to a neighbour of mine. This animal, which had been caught when a fawn, used to accompany the coolies in the morning and remained with them all day, but in the evening it went into the jungle regularly and disappeared for the night, and again turned up at the morning muster with unfailing regularity. It thus roamed the jungle all night, and remained with man all day. At last it became dangerous to man, as tame stags often do, and had to be shot.

Another still more extraordinary instance was in the case of a pet of my own—what the natives call a flying cat, but in reality a flying squirrel (Pteromys petaurista)—an animal that sleeps all day and feeds at night (though on one occasion, mentioned in a previous chapter, I saw one feeding on fruit at about seven one morning), and is in habits somewhat like the bat, though clearly of the squirrel order. Its wings, if indeed they may be called such, consist merely of a flap of skin stretching from the fore to the hind legs. When at rest this flap, as it folds into the side, is not very noticeable, and the animal presents, when on the ground, or on the branch of a tree, the appearance of a very large, grey furred squirrel. It cannot, of course, rise from the ground, but, when travelling from tree to tree, it spreads its flap, or perhaps rather sets its sail, by the agency of osseous appendages attached to the feet, but which fold up against the leg when the animal is at rest, and starts like a man on the trapeze—descending from one point to rise again to about a similar level on the next tree, but when the flight is extended (Jerdon, in his "Mammals of India," says he has seen one traverse in the air a distance of sixty yards) the squirrel reaches the tree very low down. When clearing the forest these squirrels often emerged from their holes in the trees and gave me good opportunities of observing their movements, and I feel sure that I have seen them traverse distances of at least 100 yards. One of these squirrels was brought to me when it was about half grown, and came to consider my house as its natural home. It soon discovered a suitable retreat for the day in the shape of an empty clothes-bag hanging at the back of a door, and in this it slept all day. It came out at dusk, and used often to sit on the back of my high backed chair as I sat at dinner, and then I gave it fruit and bread. After dinner away it went to the jungle, and I seldom saw anything more of it till very early in the morning, when it used to enter the house by an open swing window, get on to my bed, and curl itself up at my feet. When I rose my pet did so too and betook itself to the clothes-bag, and there spent the day, to go through the same round the following night. This very pretty and interesting animal met with the common fate of defenceless pets, and was killed by a dog as it was making its way to the jungle one evening.

A third instance I may give as regards the way in which wild animals readily become domesticated, and eventually seem to prefer the society of man to that of their own species. In this case my pet was a hornbill, a bird of discordant note, and with a huge beak, and a box-like crowned head. This creature was also totally unrestrained, but showed a most decided preference for the society of man. One day it joined some of its species which made their appearance in the jungle near my house, but soon got tired of or disgusted with them, and speedily returned to the bungalow. It used to swallow its food like a man taking a pill, and it was surprising to observe the ease with which balls of rice of about the size of two large walnuts were dispatched. On one occasion it flew off with my bunch of keys, but was luckily seen by my servant, who gave the alarm. The bird threw back its head the moment it alighted on the first convenient branch, and it was only from the ring sticking in the front of its beak that it was prevented from swallowing the entire bunch. Finding my people close upon it, the bird flew away to a piece of forest some hundreds of yards away, where it seemed to take a most aggravating pleasure in dangling my keys from the tops of the loftiest trees, and it was some time before it let them drop, which I conclude it at last did merely because it could not swallow them.

Now, though none of the pets I have mentioned were made miserable by restraint, and evidently must have found themselves perfectly happy in the society of man, it is very remarkable that, though all of them must have had (and the bird certainly had) frequent opportunities of making the acquaintance of their species as they roamed the jungle at night, they regularly returned to the society of man. I can only conjecture that the force of habit must have, as it were, chained them to the place they had become accustomed to. It is difficult to guess at any other reason than the force of habit, but it is just possible that the following fact may have something to do with their neglect of their own species. It is well known that a great many animals and birds refuse to, or cannot, propagate their kind when in a state of confinement. Now these pets of mine, and the stag which belonged to my neighbour, were not indeed confined in any sense, but it is just possible that the altered conditions under which they lived may have acted on their animal desires, and so have rendered them indifferent to the society of their species. Or perhaps it is conceivable that, in consequence of their living in or about an inhabited dwelling, they may have contracted bodily impurities which may have been perceptible to their wild congeners.

I had here intended to close this chapter, but a few lines more must be devoted to guns, or rather to a gun, for the general opinion in India now seems to be that only one gun is necessary for shooting shot and ball—at least for all shot shooting and ball shooting in the jungly countries. That gun is the widely-known Paradox, which, up to 100 yards, is as accurate as a double rifle, and even at 150 yards makes very fair practice. This gun was a good many years ago recommended to me by Sir Samuel Baker, and I found it to be such an excellent weapon that I now use no other. The great advantage of the Paradox is that the gun is a good shot gun, and gives a pattern quite equal to the best of cylinder guns, and of course comes up to the shoulder so readily that the sportsman can take snap shots as well as with any other fowling-piece. The immense advantage of this in a jungly country, and in one with long grass, must be readily apparent to anyone accustomed to shoot in such regions, where you often require to be able to fire as sharply as you do at a snipe rising just within range.

I am informed by Messrs. Holland and Holland, of 98, New Bond Street (the makers of the Paradox guns), that the Paradox system of ball and shot guns was the invention of Colonel Fosbery, V.C. Originally it was intended for the ordinary 12-bore guns, but its principle has now been applied to smaller weapons, such as those of 20 bore, and also to heavy guns of 8 or 10 bore for attacking elephants, bison, and other very large game. Guns of the two last-named bores are from two to three pounds lighter than rifles of similar bores, and the increased handiness caused by the diminution of weight is of course of immense advantage. Messrs. Holland and Holland inform me that they have made many experiments with the 8-bore Paradox against the 8-bore rifle, and in every case have obtained higher velocity and greater penetration with the Paradox. The new 10-bore is almost a 9, and practically is big enough for any game. It shoots 8 drams of powder, and a fairly long conical bullet, and its weight is about 12½ lbs. Messrs. Holland and Holland have invented a new steel bullet for these guns, and with this the penetration is very great. The 20 and 16-bore Paradox guns weigh from 6½ lbs. to 7 lbs., and are largely used on the Continent for shooting wild boar, bears, and other large game. Nearly all these guns are made with hammers, because as a rule sportsmen travelling in wild countries prefer to have the old-fashioned hammer guns, which are so universally understood, instead of a hammerless gun, which cannot be so easily repaired should it break down in any part. Messrs. Holland and Holland inform me that for the ordinary 12-bore Paradox weighing 7 lbs. the usual charge of 3 drams is all that is necessary for soft-skinned animals such as tigers, leopards, and bears, but they also make a heavier 12-bore, weighing from 8 lbs. to 8½ lbs., and shooting 4 or 4½ drams of powder, but generally recommend the usual 7 lbs. Paradox, and, from my experience of the latter with tigers, I do not think one could desire a better gun for all jungle shooting, though I need hardly add that for antelope shooting on the plains a long range rifle is desirable.

[21] "Jungle Life in India, or the Journeys and Journals of an Indian Geologist," by V. Ball, M.A. London, Thos. De La Rue and Co., 1880.

[22] "My Indian Journal," by Colonel Walter Campbell. Edinburgh, Edmonston and Douglas, 1864.

[23] In Jerdon's "Mammals of India" it is stated that in Nepaul the wild dogs, whose urine is said to be peculiarly acrid, sprinkle it over bushes through which an animal will probably move with the view of blinding their victim. Jerdon certainly disbelieves the native story of their capturing their prey through the acridity of their urine. It seems to me not improbable that the wild dogs may have become aware of the offensive character of their urine, and in passing near a tiger might discharge some of it with the view of annoying the tiger and driving him away, and also perhaps as a mark of contempt, and that this probably was the origin of the widely spread story I have alluded to in the text.

CHAPTER VI.

THE INDIAN BISON.

Though at the risk of being thought sentimental, I cannot say that I approach the subject of bison shooting with much satisfaction, except, perhaps, in the thought that what I am about to write may be the means of prolonging in some degree, however infinitesimal, the existence of the race of these splendid animals, for I am afraid that nothing that anyone could write would prevent their numbers from being steadily diminished, and diminished, too, in some cases even by people who call themselves sportsmen; for one rather well-known writer has not only killed cow bisons, but actually published the fact—a thing that he certainly would not have done had the custom of shooting them not been common in some parts of India. I am happy to say that I never saw a dead cow bison, and in my part of Mysore, in the course of upwards of thirty-seven years' experience, I have never heard of more than two or three cows having been killed. Anything more foolish and barbarous than the killing of cow bisons cannot be conceived, for there is not a more harmless and inoffensive animal in the jungle than the bison—harmless because it seldom attacks[^[24]] crops (I have never known of more than one instance of their doing so), and inoffensive because, if not molested, it never attacks man; and Mr. Sanderson, in his admirable work entitled "Thirteen Years amongst the Wild Beasts of India," declares that even solitary bulls, which are supposed to be dangerous, even if not molested, are not really so, though in the event of a native coming suddenly on a bull in the long grass, he admits the bison may spring suddenly up and dash at the intruder to clear him from his path. He has a most sympathetic chapter on these noble animals, and has enjoyed from an elephant's back the best opportunities of observing them, as the bison does not fear the elephant, in whose company indeed it is often found to be, and after having thus observed a herd of bison grazing, he says that he has "often left the poor animals undisturbed." Laterly he never thought of attacking herd bison, as it is often difficult to get a shot at the bull of the herd, and confined his shooting to those old solitary bulls which have been turned out of the herds by younger and more vigorous animals. These ought alone, indeed, to be the object of pursuit, and it is one usually carried on under such circumstances and amidst such splendid scenes that the sport is very attractive, and the pursuit of the solitary bull, writes Mr. Sanderson, can never, he imagines, pall on the most successful hunter. Perhaps this is true, but after having killed, say six solitary bulls, I think that a sportsman ought to be content for the rest of his life. A young forest officer lately told me that, having killed about that number, he had announced to his friends his intention of not killing any more. Shortly afterwards he fell in with two bulls who were engaged in a fierce battle with each other, and he might easily have shot one or perhaps both of them, but he had strength of mind to resist the temptation, a fact which, if known, would certainly entitle him to advancement in the service.

I have said that the bison, unless molested, will never attack man, and I was so confident of this that I once sent a highly valued European in my employ, to photograph a solitary bull, merely sending with him a native with a gun, and with instructions to fire in the event of the photographer being attacked. I selected a small piece of open swampy grass ground in a detached piece of jungle through which solitary bulls often passed, and knowing the direction of the wind at that season of the year, had no difficulty in avoiding any chance of the bull winding the photographer. The camera was placed on the edge of the jungle, and presently a bull came slowly grazing along the swamp, when he unluckily looked up to find the photographer just taking the cap off, within about ten paces. Never was there anything more annoying, and the thing would have been a magnificent success had my man been provided with the instantaneous process. But he was not, and the bull turned and fled through the mud with a most tremendous rush, having, I suppose, taken the lens for the glare of the eye of some new kind of tiger. The sudden change in the appearance of the bull was described to me as being most remarkable, for as he grazed quietly along he appeared to be one of the most harmless and domestic of animals, while the moment the sight of the camera fell on his astonished vision he was at once transformed into the wildest looking animal conceivable.

It is difficult to believe that big game in remote spots can perceive whether a man means to harm them or not, but it is remarkable that when on his way to the jungle alluded to, the photographer passed two sambur deer in the long grass, and at no great distance away, and saw them still lying there on his return. A bear was also rolling and grunting in the jungle close to him as he was waiting for the bull. On his return to the hut (put up for the occasion about a mile away) he was amused to find the native servant I had sent with him seated between two roasting fires which he imagined, and perhaps not without reason, would prevent his being attacked by a tiger. During the absence of my amateur photographer either a tiger or panther had passed close to the hut.

The photographer returned to the swamp on the following morning, but no bull arrived, and I gave up the attempt to obtain a photograph of a bison. But it is time now to describe the bison.

The Indian bison (Gavœus Gaurus, sometimes called the Gaur) is the largest member in the world of the ox tribe. It is quite free from mane or shaggy hair of any kind. The cows are of a dark brown, while in mature and old bulls the colour approaches to black. The legs from the knee downwards are of a dirty white (I once saw two bison with apparently blue legs, the colour being caused by standing on ashes, and this gave them a very remarkable appearance), and so is the forehead. The bison has no hump. It has a marked peculiarity in the shape of the back from the dorsal ridge running with a slight upward slope to about the middle of the back and then dropping suddenly towards the rump. Mr. Sanderson has never shot a bull more than six feet in height at the shoulder (if measured at the top of the dorsal ridge the height would of course be more), but Jerdon the naturalist, quoting Elliot (the late Sir Walter, a very careful observer) mentions six feet one-and-a-half inch as the height of one. I have generally found that an average sized bull is six feet, but I once killed one that was seven feet, and a neighbour of mine who has seen a great deal of bison shooting has killed one of similar height, and he informs me that he is positive that he has seen a larger bull than either of these very exceptional animals.

Bison herds generally number about twelve or fourteen, and I have never seen one of more than twenty-three, but at certain seasons they congregate in considerable numbers and again separate into small herds. They lie at night in a compact circle so that if attacked by a tiger they are ready to oppose at once a good front to the enemy. They seem to be quite aware that if they were to lie scattered about a tiger might suddenly spring upon one of them.

The bison has never been kept long in captivity, and there is only one instance of its having been so, and that is in the case of a bull bison now in possession of His Highness the Maharajah of Mysore. The history of this animal, and more especially of the warm friendship that sprung up between it and a doe sambur deer, is extremely interesting. I took down the following from my neighbour Mr. Park, and read over to him the account I now give.

It appears then that Mr. Park when out shooting some years ago, caught a male calf bison which was supposed to be about three days old. About a week afterwards a young doe sambur, which was being pursued by jungle dogs, rushed into one of the labourer's huts and was secured. It was then resolved to keep the deer as a companion for the bison, and the two were kept together, though they were never shut up. They were first of all fed on milk, and then allowed to graze, and soon became quite inseparable companions. They were fed at twelve o'clock and at four in the afternoon, and seemed to know their feeding time exactly. When about two years old it was resolved to fit the bison with a nose rope, and for this the nose had of course to be bored. He was tied up to a tree to be operated on and, after the hole was bored, he was liberated, when he rushed all over the ground adjacent to the house bellowing with rage—the only time, I may add, Mr. Park ever heard him bellow. After this he was regularly led out to graze by a man who trained him, by pulling the nose rope, to go in one direction or another. After this he was fed on gram (a kind of pea). When thus led out to graze the sambur sometimes remained behind, but seemed to have no difficulty in finding the bull even though it had been taken to a considerable distance. It would hold up its nose to catch the scent and then go off on the track. When the bison occasionally missed the doe he would wander about in search of her, but seemed to have no power of following her by scent—a power which she evidently possessed and practised. When the doe bathed in the river and splashed up the water with her fore feet the bull would stand upon the bank watching her proceedings with evident interest and curiosity, but did not himself bathe, nor appear to have any desire to go into the water. The bison, however, seemed to enjoy the cooling effect of the heavy monsoon rains, and no doubt thought that a shower bath of some hundreds of inches was quite enough for the rest of the year.

When the bull was about three years old it was presented to the Maharajah of Mysore, and sent off to the nearest railway station some sixty miles away. Some time after he had left, the doe discovered his absence, and then, in her usual way, went about holding up her nose in order to discover the direction in which he had gone. Presently she hit off the route and, setting off in pursuit, overtook her old companion after he gone about five or six miles, and, though the doe had not been given to the Maharajah, she was allowed to accompany the bull. When the doe overtook the bull he showed the greatest signs of pleasure at her arrival, and the two travelled happily along to Mysore.

I saw the bison at Mysore in 1891, when it looked remarkably well and happy, though the doe was not with it at the time. I was since glad to hear from a friend, who had seen them last October, that these strange and inseparable companions are in excellent health. It was very fortunate that the doe accompanied the bull, as I think it probable that the latter would have pined away and died, as the bison seems hitherto always to have done in captivity.

Bison are often attacked by tigers, and I once found the remains of one that had been killed by a tiger. It had been killed on the grass land between two and three hundred yards from the jungle, and I was much struck by the fact that the tiger had separated the head from the body and carried it into the forest, where I found the skull. It appeared to be that of a fair sized bull. But the largest bulls are sometimes killed by tigers, though I imagine that this must be rare, or we should not find very old bulls in a country where tigers are plentiful. A tiger I believe sometimes tires out a bull by inducing him to charge again and again till he is quite worn out, and sometimes, I am informed by an experienced sportsman, two tigers will join in attacking a bison, and have been known to hamstring it. I have been told by a toddyman who lived on the edge of the forest region, that in a valley near his house he had seen a tiger worrying a bison and inducing it to charge for nearly a whole day and ultimately killing it. But sometimes the bison succeeds in driving off the tiger, which then slinks away. About two years ago an interesting illustration took place of this, which was witnessed by a neighbour of mine, who found that when stalking a bull bison he had a fellow stalker in the shape of a tiger. The incident was at once rare and interesting—in fact, so far as I know, quite unique—and I asked my friend to write me an account of it for publication in my book.

"When I was returning," writes my friend Mr. Brooke Mockett, "one day in the beginning of the monsoon of 1891, from visiting a plantation of mine near the Ghauts, I deflected somewhat from my route to visit an adjacent range of minor hills, and presently entered a shallow valley, on the opposite side of which the forest land was fringed with some scrubby bushes mingled with ferns, outside of which was a stretch of open grass land. As I entered the valley I saw on the opposite side of it a solitary bull bison grazing along towards the open grass land. This, at the rate he was moving, he would soon reach. I therefore took up a position so as to get a shot at him when he got fairly into the open land, where he would be immediately below and opposite to me. Two Hindoo ryots—always called goudas in Manjarabad—from a neighbouring village were with me, and were keeping a sharp look out. We were all quite concealed in the long grass. Presently one of them whispered, 'Look, look, there is a tiger stalking the bison,' and, after peering into the bushes for a few seconds, I at last made out the tiger, which was about 200 yards further along the valley to the east of the bison, towards which it was stealthily creeping. I at once decided not to interfere at present, but to leave the animals alone and watch the result. The tiger struck me as being a small one, and the goudas thought so too. It was probably the same one that had some weeks before killed a three-parts-grown bison, the remains of which we saw when on the way to the spot. The bull was a magnificent animal, and just in his prime. It was a most exciting scene; the ponderous bull grazing quietly along the valley in utter ignorance of danger, and feeding so industriously that he never once lifted his head from the ground, while the tiger crawled towards him in a manner that was exquisite to see. Belly to the ground, its movements resembled rather those of a snake than an animal as it wound its way through the scrub, gliding through the ferns, and taking advantage of all the bushes. Occasionally it sat up to peer cautiously at the bull, and then sinking down it again glided on. Except now and then, when the bushes were low, I doubt if it could see the bull, nor could the latter scent the tiger, for the bull was feeding down the valley in the teeth of the strong monsoon winds, and the tiger was following in its tracks.

"As the two goudas sitting with me in the long grass observed the movements of the tiger, they could not contain their indignation. No doubt they thought of the many cattle they had recently lost, and, connecting the present revelation of the tiger's mode of proceeding with the slaughter of their buffaloes, they relieved their feelings by uttering sotto voce the most virulent abuse of the tiger, its wife, and its female relations in general, and every fresh movement of the tiger drew from them some extremely powerful and untranslatable epithets. The temptation to fire at the tiger was very great, but I refrained, as every moment brought them nearer to me, and it seemed certain that the fight must come off just below the ground I was seated on.

"The scene was now an extremely exciting one, for the animals were about 200 yards from us, the bull having fed to within fifty yards of the open grass, and the tiger having crept so close to him that every moment we expected something to happen. We saw the tiger crawl right up to the bull, and it seemed to get actually within a yard of it, and yet it did not spring. A few seconds more passed, and then the bull, suddenly becoming aware of the tiger's presence, made a rapid rush forward into the open grass land outside of the scrub. Then he pulled up at a distance from it of about sixty yards, and faced round in the direction of the tiger. Had he liked, he might have gone away altogether; but, far from showing fear, he was furious, and looked superb as he shook his head and snorted with rage. Then for about two minutes he stood as still as if carved of stone, evidently straining all his senses to discover the tiger, after which he made a terrific charge up to the edge of the scrub, where he pulled up and again snorted, and shook his head. If ever a bison meant business he did, and could he have seen the tiger he would have certainly tried to kill it, but it was hiding in the scrub and was invisible to him, though we could just make out its golden red skin.

"The sight of the infuriated bull within a few yards was altogether too much for the tiger, which now turned and commenced to sneak off with astonishing rapidity, keeping completely out of the bison's sight, and looking like the most abject wretch imaginable. My goudas became frantic at this, and seeing that there was now no chance of a fight between the bull and the tiger, I rushed along the hill with the view of trying to get a good shot at the latter, but this I found would be impossible, so I rested my rifle on a stamp, and, as he moved through the scrub, took a long shot, which knocked him off his legs, and we saw him partly roll and partly scramble into the dense jungle below. A shout of 'The bull is going,' from the goudas, made me look back, and just as he was starting I hastily fired my second barrel into his shoulder and dropped him dead. We then went to look for the tiger, but, most unfortunately, the rain, which up to this time had kept off, descended in torrents, and the whole country became enveloped in dense mist. We found the spot where the tiger had been knocked over, and the goudas soon discovered cut hair (by the bullet), a sure proof of a hit. We could see where he had rolled down, the slope to the thick forest, crushing the ferns, and tearing up the ground with his struggles, but the blood was of course washed away by the tropical rain torrents. Within the forest, which was almost impenetrable, all was dark as night, and as no track could be seen, and we were soon all drenched to the skin, it was impossible to do anything more, and I was compelled to give up the pursuit. Why the tiger, after getting so close to the bison did not attack, it is impossible to say, but the men who accompanied me were of opinion that, owing to the bison being partly hidden by the scrub, the tiger could not gauge its size till quite close to it, and then was afraid to attack such a large bull."

I think that their surmise is correct, and as I have before suggested, I think that these very large bulls are but rarely attacked by tigers, for my experience shows that solitary bulls are easily stalked, to within quite close distances, and, were the tigers easily able to kill them, I feel sure that a solitary bull would very seldom be found.

I have said that the bison is a harmless animal, but this of course is only when you keep away from it, and a wounded bison should be approached and tracked up with caution, and in no case should a single tracker follow up a wounded bull. He should always have a companion to keep a general look out in case of the bull suddenly charging the tracker when he is busy following the trail. On one occasion a manager of mine went out shooting, wounded a bull, and then went round to a point to cut him off, and sent in the only man he had to follow up the track and drive the bull on. He waited for some time and then shouted, but received no answer, for the poor tracker was dead. He had evidently been charged by the bull when he was busy tracking it, and was taken by surprise. By a curious coincidence my manager had dreamed the night before that he had gone out with this tracker, that he had been killed by a bull, and that the body was found extended in the position in which it was ultimately found on the following day.

Close to the place where the man was killed we had a capital illustration of the need for keeping a good look out when tracking. When out shooting one evening with a friend, we wounded a solitary bull (which I have reason to suppose was the same bull that killed the tracker), and on the following morning took up his track, which led down into a spot in the forest where, from some trees probably having been blown down in former years, there was a little thicket of small trees and underwood. Into this the bull had gone, and we soon found where he had been lying, and were proceeding to take up the track again, when one of our men, who stood a little way behind, and luckily, was looking about, said "There's the bull." He had evidently heard us coming, got up, gone ten yards away, and was waiting for a favourable moment to charge, and, had he done so when we were in the thicket, he probably would have killed one of the party. My friend, who was an old hand, and of course saw the danger at a glance, cleared out of the thicket with wonderful alertness, and the rest were not slow to follow his example. We then passed round the upper side of the thicket, and came down upon the bull in the more open forest, and soon killed him. Just as we had done so, news came that a herd of bison was grazing on a ridge about half or three-quarters of a mile or so away, and as our pursuit of them elucidates some points of practical importance, I give a short description of the stalk and its accompanying circumstances.

The herd of bison, it appears, were just outside a jungly ravine which ran up from the main forest through the grass land. The jungle terminated just below a ridge of hill, along which we approached the spot. Overhanging the hollow were some rocks which afforded us a convenient place to creep behind, and presently we lay down there, looking at the herd, which was below us, and about a hundred yards away. And then we found (as Mr. Sanderson so often did that he at last gave up attacking herd bison) that it was impossible to fire at the bull, as he was screened by the cows. How long we lay watching I cannot exactly tell, but as the day got hotter the bison began to move, and then we had a chance of firing at the big bull. The herd, bull included, then entered the jungly ravine, and presently reappeared a little further down and on the right of the ravine with a calf which had evidently been left in the ravine, and filed along the slope. The bull, however, had remained behind. Now comes a point of great importance in following up big game, and which, curiously enough, has never been noticed hitherto, at least I have not been able to meet with any reference to it in the many big game shooting books I have looked at. If an animal is wounded, it is a common practice to follow it up at once, the result of which is that it will often go off to a considerable distance (which is often highly inconvenient) and frequently be lost. But if, instead of following the startled animal at once, a perfect silence is maintained, and you remain where you are, the animal, the moment it is inside the jungle, will stand to listen, and if it can neither hear nor see anything, will probably lie down to recover from the shock, and if it does so, will very probably not rise from the spot for a considerable time. You have thus an opportunity of getting ahead of your quarry and coming back to the margin of the forest from a direction opposite to that from which it naturally expects danger, and it will thus have to pass you again in order to get further into the forest, and you will then, as I have known from experience, get another shot. On this occasion it was of great importance to get between the wounded bull and the main forest towards the foot of the Ghauts, and we accordingly resolved to go down the grass land on the outside of the jungly ravine, enter it a good way down, and lie up to rest for some time, and then look up the wounded bull.

And now I received a lesson that I shall never forget. We had taken our early toast and tea, and had intended returning to breakfast, but we had been decoyed by the sport so far from home, and the weather was so hot, that we could not face the task of toiling back in the heat of the sun, and besides, we had our wounded bull to look up. The prospect of remaining all day without food was not pleasant, but luckily I had a few small biscuits in my pocket. Then we were afraid to drink the water, as at that season it is not considered to be wholesome. "Ah," said my friend, after fumbling in his pocket, "we are all right. I have got one peppermint lozenge. We will divide it into four parts, and it will last the day." This was my first introduction to the great practical value of the peppermint lozenge in taking away the sensation of thirst, and in hot climates I now never go without them. But they should be made at a good chemist's, as the peppermint then has none of that nauseous, or, at any rate, very disagreeable, smell which accompanies ordinary peppermint lozenges. They are also very useful in travelling, and in India I always carry them, as, if kept out longer in the morning than usual, they at once banish hunger and thirst, and are, besides, very refreshing, and I feel sure would be invaluable in the case of troops marching in hot weather, and where good water is not to be had. They are also very useful when going out after a tiger, and when news of one is brought in my first order is to put up two peppermint lozenges. Another point of value I may here mention. Always, if there is a chance of your being kept out late, take a lantern and matches. We experienced the evil of the neglect of this precaution when returning home. You may have starlight outside the forest, but darkness within, and a lantern is, of course, a great aid, and it is so even when there is moonlight, as you may be either on the wrong side of a ridge or have to pass through dark bottoms. But now as to the pursuit of the bull.

After resting for several hours we took our way up the ravine in the direction of the point at which the bull entered it. And here we made a cardinal mistake, for we went together, whereas had one of us remained on the grass land outside, we should almost certainly have got the bull. We, however, omitted to take this precaution, and proceeded up the ravine to within about fifty yards of the spot where the bull entered, when up he got close to us, but without our being able to see him, and went out of the ravine on to the grass land and down into the main forest beyond, into which we had neither time, strength, nor inclination to follow him. The preceding will be a good lesson to any young sportsman, firstly, as to the value of not following up a wounded animal at once, and, secondly, as to taking every kind of precaution when you do. How often is sport spoiled from the want of appreciating the truism that a wall is no stronger than its weakest point. The importance of carefully guarding and refusing to be decoyed away from the pass into the main forest is of such consequence that I proceed to enforce it with another illustration.

One day I found a fine bull grazing on the margin of a piece of detached jungle some five or six acres in extent; I got between him and the main forest, to which he would of course fly, fired at him, and he went at once into the ravine, or rather jungle-clad hollow, in front of him. I then ran to the only pass from it into the main forest, and told the two people who were with me to follow on the track of the bull, at which I should thus have been able to get another shot in the event of his having strength enough to leave the five or six acres of jungle he had entered. I waited for a considerable time, and at last went up the hill with the view of seeing what my people were about, and called out, to be answered by one man on the top of a hill on the other side, and by another from the top of a tree, who said that the bison had attacked them, and that one of them had run out of the jungle and the other up a tree. I called out to the man on the grass land to go and fetch a dog and some people from the village, and again returned to my pass, for had the bull once got down into the main forest-which led to the foot of the Ghauts, we should probably have lost him. After rather a long interval some natives appeared with a dog, and I told them to drive the ravine, and soon there ensued a series of charges, accompanied by the barking of the dog, and a general state of confusion, from, which it was evident that the bison had lots of go in him. Still I clung to the pass. At last my patience was worn out, and I went to look up the bull in the jungle. Horror of horrors! he made off in the very direction of the pass into the main forest, and had it not been for the dog we should probably have lost him, but I at once set on the dog, and this had the desired effect of making the bull turn, when he came towards us, looking for some one to charge. When he was a few yards from me I gave him a shot which turned him aside, and as he deflected he presented a good shot, and was soon killed.

The jumping, or rather bounding power of the bison is wonderful, and I was accidentally caused to ascertain it in this way. One evening, just at sundown, I found a bull in a very unexpected place, high up on a mountain, with very precipitous sides. He was on the edge of a piece of jungly, swampy land, about half an acre in extent, and when I fired at him he went into this, and I sent my second gun man round to drive him out. He soon appeared, took one look at me at a distance of about fifty yards, and then charged with wonderful suddenness. I was young and active then, and ran sideways to the only tree—a small one on the open land—but I had just time to save myself, for the bull, having struck or grazed the tree with his shoulder, fell at my feet, and as he rose, his horn caught my coat about the armpit and tore a hole in it. He galloped towards me with his nose up, but lowered his head as he approached me, evidently to clear me away. He, of course, was up again in a second, and disappeared over the crest of the hill. The ground I was standing on sloped only slightly upward towards the point at which the bison emerged, there being at the spot a length of about eighty yards of comparatively flat land, which, of course, accounted for the swampy ground, which, by the way, had been partly created by the natives having at some remote time formed a small tank there. Well, the following morning I went to the spot with an English sporting companion, and said, "This is the place where I was charged." "But," he said, and so said the natives with him, "there has never been a bison here at all," and as there had been some rain the day before, the tracks would, of course, have been plainly visible. As it turned out, we happened to be standing between the tracks, and on measuring the distance between them, we found that the bull had covered twenty-one feet from hind-foot to hind-foot, and that, too, on ground which, as we have seen, sloped but very slightly.

I cannot conclude this chapter without urging sportsmen to use every means in their power which can aid in the preservation of these harmless and interesting animals; and I trust that every effort may be made not only to obtain a Game Preservation Act for India, but to have a special clause inserted in it with reference to cow bisons, and the imposition of a heavy line for killing one of them. Is not the intelligent preservation of game one of the most prominent signs of advancing civilization?

[24] In Jerdon's "Mammals of India," Roorkee, 1867, p. 304, however, I find that it is stated that the bison do ravage the fields of the ryots, but Mr. Sanderson has no mention of their doing so, and he had the best opportunities for observation.

CHAPTER VII.

GOLD.

Gold mines are as uncertain as women, and yet from either it seems impossible to keep away. Perhaps it is this very uncertainty which constitutes the chief charm of both. But, however that may be, it is certain that about gold in general, whether visible or prospective, there is such a degree of attractiveness that, as the Kanarese proverb puts it, if gold is to be seen even a corpse will open its mouth; and I feel sure as I write, that in this chapter at least I can count not only on attention, but on a general attitude of expectancy in the mind of the reader. And from one point of view he will be fairly satisfied, for the history of gold mining in Mysore has quite a romantic cast, and in the hands of a skilful novelist, there might be extracted from it much literary capital. The foremost fact indeed which I have to give has almost a sensational flavour, and at first sight seems a mere dream. We often read of fields of golden grain, but that corn should ever, by any process of nature, have on its ears grains of gold, seems beyond belief. And yet the fact of grains of gold being found on the ears of the rice plants is probably the very earliest tradition connected with gold, and it is not improbable that the circumstance may have been one of the means of calling attention to the existence of gold in Mysore. An account of this tradition is to be found in the "Selections from the Records of the Mysore Government,"[^[25]] and from them it appears that Lieutenant John Warren, when he was employed in surveying the eastern boundary of Mysore in 1800, was told by a Brahman that "In prosperous years when the gods favoured the Zillah of Kadogi (a small village on the west bank of the Pennar river, Hoskote Talook, 15 miles from Bangalore) with an ample harvest now and then grains of gold were found on the ears of the paddy (rice plants) grown under the tank lying close to the north of that village." And in this connection I may mention that, when visiting the Kolar mines last January, I found, in the course of a conversation with the head man of the village of Ooregum, that he was aware of this tradition, and that grains of gold were said to have been seen on the rice plants at a village about fifteen miles distant from his own. The explanation of this is extremely simple, as the rice plants are usually grown in nurseries and transplanted in bunches of several plants, after which the fields are flooded, and in heavy floods (and this accounts for the gold having been found in the years which are prosperous from the abundant rain) the plants would often be quite submerged. With the water no doubt came grains of gold, which were deposited on the rice plants, and as these grew, the grains of gold would naturally rise with them, and thus often be found adhering to the roughly-coated grain.

After the attention of Lieutenant Warren was called to the subject, he seems to have taken some trouble in investigating it, and having heard a vague report that gold had been found in the earth somewhere near a small hill about nine miles east of Budiakote, offered a reward for information regarding this, and shortly afterwards a ryot of the village offered to show him the place, which was close to his village. He visited the spot in question on February 17th, 1802, "when the women of the village were assembled, and, each being provided with a small broom and vaning basket, and hollow board to receive the earth, they went to a jungle on the west of the village. Here they entered some small nullahs, or rather breaks in the ground, and removing the gravel with their hands, they swept the earth underneath into their vaning baskets, by the help of which they further cleared it of the smaller stones and threw it into the hollow board above mentioned. Having thus got enough earth together, they adjourned to a tank and placed the hollow boards containing the earth in the water, but just deep enough for it to overflow when resting on the ground, and no more. Then they stirred the earth with the hand, but keeping it over the centre of the board, so that the metal should fall into the depression by its own weight, and the earth wash over the edges. After a few minutes' stirring, they put the metallic matter thus freed of earth into a piece of broken pot, but only after examining it for gold, which they did by inclining the board and passing water over the metallic sediment which adhered to it. They thus drove the light particles before the water, leaving the heavier metal behind just at the edge where it could easily be seen, however small the quantity." Lieutenant Warren, having afterwards heard that gold was extracted from mines near Marikoppa, three miles from Ooregum, visited four of the mines, the descent into which was made by means of small foot holes which had been made in their sides. The first was two feet in breadth and four in length with a depth of about thirty feet, and in distance fifty feet (of galleries I presume), the others were from thirty to forty-five feet deep. "The miners extracted the stones (how we are not informed) and they were passed from hand to hand in baskets by the miners who were stationed at different points for the purpose of banking the stones. The women then took them to a large rock, and pounded them to dust. The latter was then taken to a well and washed by the same process as that used when washing the earth for gold, when about an equal quantity of gold was found to that procured from an equal quantity of the auriferous earth."

The only people, writes Lieutenant Warren, who devote their time to searching-for gold are Pariahs, who work as follows. "When they resolve on sinking a mine, they assemble to the number of ten or twelve from different villages. Then they elect a Daffadar, or head man, to superintend the work, and sell the gold, and they subscribe money to buy lamp oil, and the necessary iron tools, then partly from knowledge of the ground, and partly from the idea they have, that the tract over which a peacock has been observed to fly and alight, is that of a vein of gold, they fix on a spot and begin to mine."

Such, then, was the condition of gold mining in Mysore about the end of the last and the beginning of this century, but in ancient times mining was carried on by the natives to very considerable depths, and I am informed by Mr. B. D. Plummer, who has had ten years' experience of mines at Kolar, and worked the Mysore and Nundydroog mines, that the old native workings went down to a depth of about 260 feet. These, which were all choked up, were followed down to the bottom, and valuable lodes were found at about 150 to 260 feet. Nothing was found in the old native workings, but remains of old chatties (earthenware pots) and the wooden props put in to secure the sides. The native workings, in the opinion of Captain Plummer, were evidently carried on with skill and efficiency, and appear to be of great antiquity. Large quantities of water were found, requiring pumping machinery working day and night for its removal. How the natives in olden times got rid of the water is not known. It is supposed that they must have done so by chatties, and by hand, with the aid of large numbers of people. As no native iron tools[^[26]] were found in the cases of the two above-mentioned mines, it is evident that they were deliberately abandoned, either from excess of water in them, or some unknown cause. As the lodes they worked at the depths they reached were rich, it is probable that the miners could no longer contend with the difficulty of removing the large quantities of water. I am informed by Mr. Plummer that the main lodes where the natives have formerly worked have, in nearly every case, proved successful. Mr. Plummer has examined other districts in the province, extending more than 100 miles north of Mysore city, and thinks that there is a very large mining future for the Mysore country. I am informed by one of the mine managers that from the quantity of charcoal found in the old native workings, it is probable that the natives first of all burnt the rock so as to make it the more easy of extraction, just as they now burn granite rock in order the more easily to split off the stone.

As the facts connected with these mines were brought very fully to the notice of the Government at such an early date, it at first sight seems strange that we have to skip over a period of about seventy years till we again meet, in the "Selections" previously quoted from, any further notice of the mines; but the neglect of them was evidently owing to the similar neglect of coffee and other industries, which might have been pushed forward at a much earlier date, and most certainly would have been, had the Government taken pains to see that the information so frequently obtained was published in an available and readable form, instead of being buried in the various offices of the State. That more efforts were not made in this direction was probably owing to the fact that the Government officers did not perceive the widespread effect that the introduction of European capital would have on the agriculture of the country, and, consequently, on the finances of the State—a subject referred to in my introductory chapter, and to which I shall again allude in the chapter on Coorg—while they were under the erroneous impression that Europeans would probably be a cause of annoyance to the Government and the people. We find a characteristic survival of the last idea in the "Selections," and in Clause X. of the conditions under which, in 1873, the first leave to mine was granted by the Government of Mysore, it is declared that, "In the event of the grantee causing annoyance or obstruction to any class of the people, or to the officers of Government, the chief commissioner reserves the power of annulling the mining right thus granted." But such apprehensions, I need hardly say, have long since passed away, and certainly within my long experience they never existed in Southern India in the case of the planters who, as a body, have always been encouraged by the State, and have always got on well with it and the people, though, of course, as in all countries, there are occasionally individuals who cannot bring themselves into harmony with any person, or condition of things.

And now, before proceeding with my narrative of gold mining in Mysore, I pause for one moment to note the rather remarkable fact that it seems impossible to find in old records or inscriptions any reference to gold mining in Mysore.[^[27]] As to this I have made diligent inquiry, from the librarian of H. H. the Maharajah, from a member of the Archæological Survey of Mysore, and in every quarter that occurred to me. I was informed by a European resident at Bangalore that, at the Eurasian settlement near that city, there is a stone pillar with an inscription said by tradition to relate to gold mining, but I can hardly suppose it possible that this could have escaped the notice of the officers of the Archæological Survey. One of the officers of this department informed me that, in consequence of the absence of traditions regarding gold mining, he inferred that mining in Mysore must have been carried on from very remote times. But it is time to proceed with the history of mining in Mysore.

It appears, then, from the "Selections," that a Mr. Lavelle on the 20th of August, 1873, applied for the right to carry on mining operations in Kolar. Two years previously he had examined portions of the Kolar district (without any grant it would seem, from no mention of one being made), and found three auriferous strata, in one of which he sunk a shaft to the depth of eighteen feet, and found gold increase in quality and size as he went downwards. In the event of a mining right being granted he proposed to begin work again in November. After some correspondence came a letter from the chief commissioner, dated September 16th, 1874, submitting conditions (which must be regarded as final) as the basis of an agreement (to be afterwards legally drawn up) to be entered into between the Government and Mr. Lavelle. It is unnecessary to recapitulate all the conditions; suffice it to say that the right to mine in Kolar was to extend over twenty years, and that a royalty of ten per cent. on all metals and metallic ores, and of twenty per cent. on all precious stones, was to be paid. On September 20th, 1874, Mr. Lavelle accepted the terms, but what he did or did not do as regards mining does not appear in the "Selections," and I find it merely stated therein that on March 28th, 1876, leave was given him to transfer his rights to other parties. It, however, appears from a statement made by Mr. Lavelle in 1885 to the special correspondent of the "Madras Mail,"[^[28]] that a small syndicate was formed, and some work carried on in the native style, though little success seems to have been met with, and the work was abandoned. About a year afterwards it was again recommenced by Mr. Lavelle, who in the meanwhile had been prospecting in other parts of Southern India, and he succeeded in once more attracting attention to the Kolar field, and subsequently various companies were formed, but so disappointing were the results obtained that all were practically closed in 1882, except the Mysore mine, which was working to a small extent. In February, 1883, the Nundydroog mine was ordered to be closed, and almost every other mine was in a state of collapse. Caretakers were put in and only a little work done. Early in 1884, when only twelve or thirteen thousand pounds of their capital were left, the Mysore shareholders were convened. Some were for closing at once and dividing the remaining capital, but, acting on the advise of Messrs. John Taylor and Sons, of 6, Queen Street Place, London, it was, fortunately for the province of Mysore, determined to spend it on the mine. The shares were then as low as tenpence. The company began to get gold about the end of 1884, and the prospect improved so much that the Nundydroog mine in May, 1885, was enabled to raise money on debentures, and so to again carry on work. If the shareholders of the Mysore company had not persevered, it is almost absolutely certain that the whole of the Kolar gold field would have been permanently abandoned. This is just one of those cases which cheer the sinking hopes of shareholders, and attract vast sums of money to gold mines; and no wonder, when we find the chairman of the Mysore company apologizing lately because he could not declare a dividend of more than fifty per cent.; that up to the end of 1892 the gold sold by the company realized £1,149,430 2s. 1d., and that the total sum paid in dividends amounted to £602,156 10s. 6d.

The Mysore mine had been sunk to a depth of about 200 feet when it was proposed that the project should be abandoned. Just below this depth the miners struck the Champion lode on which the Mysore, Ooregum, Nundydroog, Balaghaut, and Indian Consolidated Companies are working. The Mysore mine has now been sunk to a depth of over 1,200 feet, Ooregum 850 feet, and Nundydroog over 860 feet. The lode is not richer per ton, as is commonly supposed, on greater depths being reached. The yield per ton is probably about the same, though from larger quantities being taken out, and the use of the rock drill, which causes a large extraction of country rock, the product per ton of quartz is apparently smaller. The specimens now found are as good as ever.

The circumstances of the Champion lode are briefly these. In the interior of a surrounding of granite there is a great basin of hornblende rock of schistose character, and through this, at an angle of about forty-five degrees, runs the lode. This is not of continuous thickness. In some places it is four or five feet wide, in others runs down to an almost vanishing point, and then again thickens. In the case of the mines now working on this lode, the basin of hornblende is more than two miles in width, and is possibly many thousands of feet in depth, so there seems to be a reasonable prospect of there being a long future before the workers on the Champion lode.

The Kolar gold field is about seven miles in length, and averages about two to three miles in width. There are in all fourteen mines, but two of them are practically stopped. The general appearance of it is at present by no means attractive, as the land is rocky and sterile, and unfavourable to the growth of trees, but, from the appearance of some of the Baubul trees, I feel sure that if large pits for the trees were dug, and filled with soil from the low-lying ground, a great deal might be done to beautify the field, by planting here and there groups of Baubul and other hardy trees indigenous to the locality. As I thought it would be interesting, and perhaps useful, to give some idea of life on the fields, I asked one of the ladies resident there to supply me with some notes for publication, and her observations on the situation from a social and general point of view are as follows.

"You ask me for some notes on the field, and I may begin by telling you that we usually rise about half-past six, when the menkind go off to their offices, or underground, as the ease may be. We have tiffin between twelve and one, and dinner at half-past seven. Breakfast is generally at about eight, and the managers commonly have theirs sent down to the office.

"In the afternoon, that is to say, when the five o'clock whistle blows, we play tennis, or else go down to the Gymkana ground to watch the cricket. Sometimes there is a gymkana in which we all take great interest, particularly in those races called ladies' events, when the winners present their prizes to the ladies who have nominated them. The great drawback to the gold fields at present is the absence of some general meeting-place or club, but it is hoped that by next year this want will be supplied, as the Ooregum, Nundydroog, and Champion Reefs Companies have combined to build a hall, which is to contain a billiard-room, card-room, library, etc., and there is to be a tennis court in the compound.

"One of the great pleasures is gardening. The plants that grow best are jalaps, sunflowers, roses, cornflowers, nasturtiums, verbenas, and geraniums, all of which, with the exception of the two first-named plants, require water constantly. The creepers that grow best are passion-flowers, and a small kind of green creeper with convolvulus flowers, the name of which I do not know. Honeysuckle also grows, though but slowly. Trees have recently been planted in the various compounds, and also along some parts of the road leading to the bungalows, but owing to the shallowness of the soil, and the roots so soon reaching the rock, they seldom grow to any size. Some casuarinas in the Mysore mine camp have grown to about twenty feet in height, but these have now struck the rock, and most of them are dying.

"We have occasional visitors, many of them being shareholders in the various mines, bringing with them introductions from England, and wishing to inspect all the works, stamps, etc., on the surface, and very often going underground. Several ladies have been taken down the mines lately, but they do not seem to care for it much, for though of course it is interesting, still the fatigue of going down so many feet on ladders is great. The mines, too, in many parts are dirty and wet, and amongst other disagreeables are the cockroaches, which are enormous, and the stinging ants. Ladies too, I find, are as a rule disappointed at not seeing more 'visible gold.' I believe they cherish generally some idea of picking up a nice little nugget to keep as a souvenir of their expedition.

"None of the mines have any 'cages,' as they are called, so if one does not want to go down by the ladders, one can only go in the box in which the quartz comes up, and as this is only two feet square and four feet deep, the journey by it would be decidedly uncomfortable. At every eighty feet, I may mention, you come to a small wooden platform (or level) where you can rest, and from which branch off the cross cuts and drives, or narrow passages. The depths of the different mines vary a great deal, Mysore being as low as 1,400 feet, the greatest depth sunk at present, while the least depth sunk is about 300 feet. Ladies going underground have to wear suitable attire. Skirts would be quite useless. A long coat, or short skirt reaching to the knees, and knickerbockers, is the most comfortable dress for the occasion. Very strong boots should be worn.