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 Athenaeum 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[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 (gavoeus 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 gavoeus 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 2-1/2 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 16-1/2 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.