Part 12

Inexorable to our entreaties to postpone his departure, we were obliged to accede to his request that he might be borne somehow to the station. As the roads were very bad and too heavy with snow for one horse, we selected another out of the stable and put him on in front; we then scrambled into the dog-cart and prepared for the worst. As it happened, however, we were not prepared for what followed. The leader had not been in before and did not fancy the game, nor did he approve of the snow walls; notwithstanding this we got to the station fairly intact and deposited our guest in safety.

We had not proceeded far on our homeward journey when a great black puffing engine made its appearance round a corner, with crimson eyes, and snorts, and noise, and all the honours attendant on a perambulating thrashing machine. Horrid things they are at the best of times, but more especially objectionable when one has a couple of three-cornered horses, one behind the other. Of course the effect of this apparition was wild confusion, the leader waltzed round and round till he got tied up into a knot, then set to work, and kicked himself free, breaking every stitch of harness on his body.

We had no extra tackle (which was foolish), therefore the only thing to be done was to get him home. Luckily we were not far away, so I scrambled on to his back and rode him, using the remains of the pad as a pommel and got him in all safe.

My father having some business in the neighbouring town went on in the cart alone. Soon he overtook an ally, who, bent on the same errand, was stumping bravely through the slush (having wisely refrained from taking out his own horses on such a road). On being offered a lift he mounted gladly, thankful to curtail his disagreeable tramp, and reassured by the sight of a single and confidential-looking quadruped. His joy, however, was shortlived, for the very next turn happened to lead straight up to our park gates. Dobbin (being one of the genus I object to so strongly who "think") instantly thought, and made a dive for the corner. The wheel, colliding violently against the curb-stone, precipitated the unfortunate passenger headlong into a snow-drift, where he remained half buried, with only a large pair of feet flapping in the air to indicate the spot where the casualty had occurred.

ROSIE ANSTRUTHER THOMSON.

"TIGERS I HAVE SHOT."

BY MRS C. MARTELLI.

My personal experiences of tiger-shooting in India have been neither on a large scale nor of a very heroic and exciting nature; yet, such as they are, I gladly place them upon record for the sake of those who may not have had the good fortune to see sport of this particular kind. Tiger-shooting, however, has been so well and so often described that I cannot hope to be able to tell anything of a novel character about it.

It has been my good fortune to "assist" (in the French sense of the word) at the death of five tigers. And here I should premise that, according to the laws of Indian sport, a tiger is considered the trophy of the gun that first hits it, whether that shot prove fatal or not. As will be seen presently, I succeeded in killing the third of the five, but it was my husband's tiger and not mine, as my first shot missed it. I did not kill the first and second of the five, but they were my tigers because I was the first to hit them. In the case of the fourth tiger I was the first to hit, and with a second shot I killed it; but the tiger was mine by virtue of the first shot, not the second. This is a not unfair rule, because the first shot often proves fatal, even though for a time the tiger manages to get away, and if some rule of the kind were not in existence, and the tiger were supposed to belong to the gun that appeared to administer the coup de grâce, there would be a great deal of indiscriminate firing, which would result, to say the least of it, in the skin being hopelessly ruined.

But to come to my story. In January 1887, my husband, Colonel Martelli, who was at the time Political Agent and Superintendent of the Estates of Rewa, Central India (the Maharajah being a minor), was making his annual tour, and we were in camp at Govindghar, about fourteen miles from the capital. There were with us my sister, the agency surgeon and the usual tribe of camp followers.

After we had been in camp about a week, a shikari brought us news that there was unquestionably a tiger not many miles away. To discover more exactly where he was, buffaloes were tied as bait to trees in four or five places, at a radius of three or four miles from the camp, and we waited in much excitement for further intelligence. As apparel of a very noticeable or attractive character is obviously unsuited to a tiger-hunt, I gave my native tailor overnight some plain cotton material, and he presented it to me in the morning, dyed green and made up into a serviceable dress. He had also covered my Terai sun-hat with the same material. Early in the morning word came into camp that we were to be on the alert, and, about ten a.m., news reached us that the tiger had been seen.

We started off immediately, my husband and I on one elephant, and the doctor and my sister on another. Seated behind us in the howdah was a shikari, carrying our guns. My weapon was a 450 double express rifle, by Alex. Henry.

We had had Chota Hazrie, so took a lunch-breakfast with us. Passing on our way what we thought would be a charming spot for our déjeuner, we left our servant Francis there with our hamper. Imagine our disgust when, upon reaching this spot, hungry and expectant, on our return, we found that Francis had disappeared, and with him all traces of the hoped-for meal. It turned out afterwards that some bears had come unexpectedly upon the scene, and Francis had, not altogether unnaturally, sought refuge in flight.

Ignorant of the fate of our breakfast, however, we pushed on, and about two miles from camp met the head shikari--Mothi Singh by name. Acting under his instructions we dismounted and followed him through the jungle. We pushed along what professed to be a path, but of which all I can say in its favour is that it was slightly better than the jungle of grass and underwood through which it passed, more than once indeed boughs and branches had to be cut down to make it possible for my sister and myself to get along.

We at length reached a rock, fifteen or twenty feet in height, on the summit of which Mothi Singh placed us, and past which the tiger would be driven. I was to have first shot. The beaters, three hundred or four hundred in number, now began their work, shouting, beating drums and tom-toms, blowing bugles, firing blank cartridges, and steadily pressing forward in our direction. We, of course, maintained the most profound silence, and watched with the deepest interest for the appearance of the tiger. As we waited, all sorts of creatures, scared by the beaters, passed us--pig and deer, pea-fowl and jungle fowl, the majestic sambhur, and the pretty nilghai, not to mention foxes and jackals, went by within shot, but for to-day, at anyrate, they were safe. At last came the tiger. He advanced like an enormous cat, now crouching upon the ground, now crawling forward, now turning round to try and discover the meaning of the unwonted noise behind him. When he was about eighty yards from us I fired and hit him on the shoulder; then the others fired, and the tiger bolted. At this moment Hera Sahib, the commander-in-chief of the Rewa army, and who had been directing "the beat," came up on an elephant, and, as he had brought with him a spare elephant, my husband mounted the latter, and they went off together in search of the tiger, leaving us upon the rock.

Two hours later they came upon the wounded tiger hiding in the jungle. The moment he saw that he was discovered, he charged Hera Sahib's elephant, and the latter, being a young animal, bolted. The tiger then turned and charged the elephant my husband was riding, which stood his ground. The tiger, charged underneath the elephant, but fortunately my husband got a snap-shot at him and rolled him over. He crept into the jungle again, however, but was now past serious resistance, and although he made a brave attempt to reach his enemies, he was easily despatched. He measured over nine feet in length.

My husband's tour over, we returned to our head-quarters at Rewa, and a very few days later, in the dusk of the evening, news came that another tiger had been seen in the same neighbourhood as that in which we shot the first. My husband and I started off at three the next morning in a dog-cart; our horse was only half broken in, and I was driving. About eleven and a half miles from Govindghar our steed deposited us in a ditch, and we were compelled to walk the rest of the way there. At Govindghar elephants were in waiting for us, and we made our way in much the same fashion as on the previous occasion to the rock of which I have already told. The beat, too, was precisely similar to the former one. Presently the tiger appeared. I was so struck by his magnificent appearance, that, although I was to have first shot, I waited so long that eventually my husband and I fired together. The tiger facing us, I fired again, and then, in his rage, he charged straight at the rock on which we were standing. As he came on I fired a third time, and hit him between the shoulders. He disappeared somewhere at the base of the rock, and, although he was out of sight, we could hear him growling with pain. We did not dare, of course, to come down from our rock, as we had no idea where he was, or to what extent he was crippled, but, after waiting about half-an-hour, Hera Sahib came up on an elephant and killed him. It turned out that the tiger had crept under another rock at the base of that on which we were standing, and was too badly wounded to come out and face his foes. This tiger was a much handsomer, and a larger one than the first.

Not long after the above, my husband was appointed Political Agent, Eastern States, Rajputana, which consists of Bhurtpore, Dholepore, and Karowlie. Each state has its own Rajah. I did no more tiger-shooting until the early part of the year 1891.

In February then we went to Karowlie, and on our arrival there we were met by the Maharajah, who at once informed us that news had just arrived that a tiger was in the neighbourhood, and courteously asked us to accompany him in pursuit of it. We gladly accepted this invitation, and were told to hold ourselves in readiness, as a gun would be fired from the palace as soon as definite information arrived, and it would then be necessary to start at once.

The gun was fired at about noon and off we went, the Maharajah and his retinue, and our two selves. We were conducted through very thick jungle to the Maharajah's shooting-box, about nine miles distant. We were able to ride only a portion of the way, part of the remainder I was carried in a "Tonjon" (sedan chair), and for the rest of the journey I had to walk and struggle through the dense jungle as best I could. The shooting-box we found to consist of a small stone tower, built on the edge of a ravine. We were posted upon the top of the tower, and the tiger was to be driven up the ravine and within shot of our rifles.

The Maharajah is a very keen sportsman and a capital shot, but with great politeness he insisted upon my firing first. Alas, when the moment arrived--and the tiger--the jungle was so thick that I could hardly see the animal, and, I regret to say, I missed him altogether. My husband fired and wounded the tiger severely; I then fired again and killed him.

News was brought to us not to leave our post as there was another tiger in the jungle. The Maharajah had been much put out at my missing my first shot and so losing the tiger, but insisted courteously on my having an opportunity of retrieving my disaster; of course I was only too glad to avail myself of his kindness.

A few minutes later the second tiger appeared, and, getting a better view of him than of his predecessor, I succeeded in hitting him in the chest. The Maharajah then fired and put a second bullet into him; I fired and gave him his coup de grâce.

Within a week news was brought to Karowlie that another tiger had made his appearance, this time about ten miles away, and in quite another direction. The whole country in this neighbourhood was cut up by ravines, and when we arrived at the place indicated to us, we found that there was no rock which we could turn into a citadel, no handy tree from whose branches we might fire upon the foe, and of course no shooting-box; and, as in addition, it was quite impossible to bring the elephants along, we had to take our stand on foot and hope for the best. Should the wounded tiger charge us, we should have to make sure of stopping him before he could reach us. With us, on this occasion, were three young officers, who had never been present at a tiger-hunt, and who probably had never seen a tiger out of the Zoological Gardens. Accordingly, they were allowed to draw for choice of places and for first shot. They naturally selected the coign of vantage, and between them slew the tiger. I did not even see him till he was dead. They went off immediately, in a great state of elation; but the Maharajah told me that there was a panther in the jungle. Presently the animal came in sight with a tremendous rush, and I fired, wounding him severely; but although we traced him for some miles we saw no more of him and he got away.

This is all I have to tell. If, from the description I have given, anyone should be inclined to say that the tiger does not appear to have much chance of escape, the answer is that it is not intended that he should have any. Tigers are shot in India, not as game is in England for hunting, to give amusement to men, horses and dogs, not as in pheasant or partridge shooting, with a remote reference to the demands of the table, but to save the lives of the natives and their cattle. If you don't kill the tiger he will kill you. But although the odds are on the shikari and against the tiger, whether you fire from the back of an elephant, from the top of a rock, or in the branch of a tree, there is always room, unfortunately, for a misadventure, and consequently tiger-shooting will always be a useful school for endurance, judgment and self-reliance.

KATE MARTELLI.

RIFLE-SHOOTING.

BY MISS LEALE.