The Best Adventure and Exploration Stories Ever Told

by Stephen Brennan

  A few weeks after the tiger hunt had been abandoned, my father came up on a month’s leave. We were all delighted; for, apart from other considerations, his presence in the house made us feel safer, and we could go about more with him as an escort.

  One English mail day, when we expected home letters, my father set out for the post-office, taking me with him. All told, it would be a six-mile walk; but that was nothing to me, accustomed to the bracing climate of the Neilgherries. My father, fresh from the relaxing air of the Western Coast, was not equally “fit,”

  “Hettie,” he said, when we had reached the bottom of the hill on which the two houses stood, “is there no short cut? It looks to me as if the road made a tedious detour.”

  “So it does, pater; there is a short cut through a part of the sholah,” I replied, pointing to the jungle on our left.

  “They say it is nearly a mile less; but we cannot go that way.”

  “Because of the tiger—eh?” He laughed. “My dear, from all that I have heard since coming up about that tiger, I look on him as mythical. Anyhow, as he has made no sign for days, he has probably left this locality for fresh fields and pastures new. What do you think?”

  “Perhaps so, papa; nevertheless, we had better keep to the road.”

  “Will you trust yourself with me, and come by the short cut?”

  “Of course, pater—if you think it is really safe.”

  “I do, so come along. Here is the path leading towards the sholah, and which—according to you—will save us nearly two miles out and in. Besides, I’m anxious to see this wonderful trap you talk about.”

  Keeping close together we struck off into the narrow footway, which, owing to no one having used it since the tiger scare began, showed an incipient overgrowth of grass. The foliage met above our heads, shutting out the sunlight, while a dank, damp smell emanated from the earth. We kept our eyes busy, trudging along silently, and at length came upon the trap, standing in a little open glade. I can best describe it as an exaggerated rat-trap. It was composed of thick, roughly dressed logs, strongly put together, oblong in shape, and more than six feet high. The falling door was kept slung up by a crossbeam, that, resting in a pair of shears on the roof, caught on to the notched head of the bait pole, which penetrated to the interior of the cage through two of the roof bars. This description is not by me; I obtained it from one of my gentlemen friends.

  “Well,” observed my father, as we stood surveying the trap, “it’s cumbersome and roomy enough for the largest tiger that ever prowled.”

  “How does the door drop?” I asked, regarding the whole thing with wonderment.

  “Just what I want to find out,” he replied, stepping into the cage, while I watched him from outside, “Oh, I see! Look here, Hettie,” he continued, touching the bait-pole with his stick, “this—”

  Before he could utter another word down came the ponderous door with a “craunch!” He had released the catch, and there my poor father stood—a prisoner!

  I looked at him aghast, and perhaps would have set to screaming, had he not promptly reassured me.

  “Hah, hah!” he laughed. “I escaped capture in the Mutiny and Burmah, only to be caught now in this ignominious fashion, like a rat in a trap—eh? How amused they all will be at home—when we tell them!”

  “Pater, do come out!” I pleaded.

  “All right, coming!” he answered gaily, essaying to raise the door. But it was not “all right,” and he did not come; for though my father was a vigorous man of forty-five, he could not move that door!

  “Lay hold on the outside, dear,” he said to me, after several vain attempts. “Lift when I say ‘go’!”

  I did as directed; but no, our united efforts even could not raise that massive frame a hair’s-breadth.

  “Try and squeeze yourself through the bars, pater,” I cried, after skirmishing round the cage, “Here are two that appear wider apart than the rest.”

  He tried—and failed. I tried—in the opposite direction—thinking that I should be safer inside with him, than outside by myself; but no, I was a stout girl, and couldn’t get through! I felt inclined to sit down and have a good cry!

  “Can you climb on to the roof, Hettie?” presently asked my father.

  “Why, pater?”

  “Because you might be able to raise the door by depressing the crossbeam.”

  I eagerly agreed to make the attempt; but how could I accomplish it? The roof was six feet off the ground, and the perpendicular bars afforded no sufficient irregularities to facilitate my ascent. I tried to swarm up the corner posts; but my skirts impeded me, and there was nothing to catch on by. I was fast lapsing into despair!

  “Look here, dear, I will kneel on one knee, thrust the other through the bars, and pass my arms round them further up. Do you think you could use my knee and arms as steps?”

  “Oh yes!” I answered feverishly. “Get into position, and I’ll try.”

  He arranged himself accordingly, and after some difficulty on my part, coupled with much amusement on his, I succeeded in scrambling on to the roof, which—like the sides—was composed of thick wooden bars some distance apart.

  “Now, take care; pick your way to the end of the cross-beam, and press it down with all your strength; I’ll help by lifting at the door.”

  I pressed, he lifted; but to no effect. I began to cry!

  “Cheer up, child,” said my father. “Come down and find me a large stone.”

  “What for?” I sobbed.

  “To try and break a bar with.”

  Another gleam of hope! I regained the ground, and searched about for a suitable stone. I soon found one, and digging it out—to the ruin of my gloves— staggered with the load to the trap; it would just go through. My father dashed the stone repeatedly against the weakest looking of the bars; but no again; the tough jungle-wood beam withstood the shocks, and yielded not an inch.

  Had the ground not been hard, and anything in the shape of a digging tool handy, I would have suggested tunneling; but we had nothing that would serve for the purpose.

  “There is only one way out of it, Hettie,” he said, after his last futile throw. “Are you plucky enough to go back alone and fetch assistance?”

  “Plucky enough—pater,” I echoed; “of course I am. But what will you do?”

  “Oh, I shall be all right,” he answered, producing his cheroot case; “I’ll pass the time smoking. You’ll be back within the hour—if you hurry up.”

  “But supposing the tiger should come while I am away?” I demanded apprehensively.

  He laughed.

  “Supposing he did with you here, dear; what assistance would you be to me, and how would you escape him? The only possibility of danger lies in your encountering him. If he did show himself what would you do?”

  “Open my sunshade at him,” I replied, valiantly but hysterically, suiting action to word, and going through the movement at an imaginary feline.

  “That’s right! You’re a brave girl. Go, dear, and God be with you. Mind, did I think you ran a risk, I’d not let you undertake the errand.”

  “And yet I should be equally at the tiger’s mercy if he came upon me here.”

  “True; while I should be safe inside this, and powerless to aid you, eh? But even if you remained, and no tiger showed, we should probably have to stay on indefinitely; we should not be discovered till your mother, having taken the alarm, sent a search party after us. So be off, dear, at once. I’m quite safe behind these bars.”

  I said no more, but setting my teeth, unbinding my sunshade, gathering up my skirts, and strangely unconscious of the possible danger of the situation, I dashed along the back track, and was soon out of my father’s sight. I had no fear of losing my way, the path was single, there was no mistaking it; but during every moment of that twenty minutes’ scurry, till I emerged from the sholah, I dreaded lest the tiger should pop out on to me. With my heart in my mouth, and holding my sunshade at the “ready,” I scuttled a
long, heedless of the branches and twigs that frequently struck my face, careless of the brambles that caught my clothes—as if seeking to impede my progress. Breathless, I at last turned in at our gates, and toiled up the ascent. Some one had seen me coming alone: my haste, my dishevelled appearance, had been noticed; for now my mother, wearing a look of terrified enquiry, ran down the hill to meet me.

  “All right, mamma!” I gasped. “Pater is quite well!”

  “Where is he?” she asked, almost under her breath.

  “In the tiger trap; but quite safe!”

  “In—the—tiger—trap!”

  “Yes; he went in, and accidentally set free the door, which came down and shut him in. He and I tried our utmost to lift it, or to break the bars; but could do neither, so I have come for men.”

  Eased of her worst fears, nevertheless still solicitous, she hurried into the house, and busied herself in mixing some brandy and water in a flask for me to take to my father; while I got together the two gardeners, two horsekeepers, and the cow man. I was about leading off the party, when my cousin Alfred—who happened to be at home—noticed the commotion at “Blair Athol,” and came flying across.

  “What’s the row, Hettie?” he asked, vaulting the boundary wall.

  I told him; whereupon he flew back, and quickly returned, carrying his father’s rifle, and buckling on the cartouche belt.

  “You did an awfully risky thing, Hettie, coming by yourself; the tiger may still be in the sholah, and might have pounced on you. I’m not going to let you go back with the natives only, so have collared father’s rifle, in case we meet Stripes, or any other varmint.”

  “Have you ever shot a tiger, Alf?” I asked, as we trotted down the hill side by side, with the five servants scampering close behind us.

  “No. Father insists on my waiting till I’m eighteen before I go after anything. I have fired at the volunteer butts, nowhere else.”

  “What did Aunt Mary say to your taking the gun?”

  “Didn’t ask her,” he replied, grinning. “Uncle Charles getting trapped like this, and you having to go to the rescue, formed too good an excuse for my nabbing the rifle, and coming along in charge of you. Don’t be afraid; she will not make a dust.”

  On entering the sholah, Alfred, with his loaded rifle at full cock, went first; I followed and the five natives brought up the rear—all in single file. We did not speak much on the way, but my cousin said that he would shout encouragingly when we had arrived within earshot of the trap.

  “How far are we now?” he presently asked, halting and facing about.

  “Within hear—Hark! What’s that?”

  A faint cry had interrupted me; it came from the direction of the trap!

  “Hush!” I admonished, and we all held our breath.

  “There it is—uncle’s voice!” muttered Alfred, as we heard the cry again. “Come on, he may be in danger!”

  We cautiously moved forward in the same order as before. We had advanced some distance when again the shout fell on our ears, louder and plainer; it was my father’s voice, and he said:

  “Do not come! The tiger is here!”

  He was warning me!

  I shall never forget my feelings on hearing those words, and I would have rushed recklessly forward but for my cousin’s restraining hand. I was comforted though by the tone of my father’s utterance, which did not betoken that he was in pain or difficulty.

  “Follow me about ten paces, Hettie!” whispered Alfred.

  “Don’t be afraid; I’ll reconnoiter, and let you know when I see anything.”

  He crept stealthily on; I keeping a few yards behind him, closely supported by the servants. Anon, Alfred halted—evidently not far from the trap, for I could hear my father quite distinctly now—repeating the warning. Alfred turned and beckoned to me, and when I had stolen up to his side, he silently pointed through the tangle to our front. I looked; I saw the trap; my father inside, upright, moving about; and there, squatted on the further side of the cage, I saw the tiger! He was great tawny, orange brute, streaked with black; his flaming yellow eyes, his cruel expression, the small ears almost flattened to the head, and the tail flicking restlessly, formed a picture that is indelibly fixed in my brain. I took it all in at a glance, and then mutely turned to my cousin.

  “Come,” he muttered, leading me towards the nearest tree, which fortunately was big, and easy to climb. “We must first get ourselves out of harm’s way.”

  Motioning to one of the servants, he bid him ascend the tree, to give me a hand up. Alfred then lifted me in his arms; the gardener hauled me on to a branch, and in another minute my cousin joined me, while the four other natives climbed after him like so many squirrels.

  Now came the most exciting part of the adventure. Further concealment being unnecessary, Alfred shouted:

  “Uncle Charles, I’m here with Hettie and five fellows! We’ve come to fetch you out!”

  “Thank God Hettie is safe!” bawled my father in joyful accents. Where are you all?”

  “Up this tree—here!” replied my companion, shaking the branches to show our locality.

  Upon hearing Alfred’s voice, the tiger rose to his feet, made as if about to slink off; but changing his mind, came to the corner of the trap and glared round in our direction. The next instant my cousin raised his rifle; the deafening report followed. I heard a blood-curdling road, and when the smoke cleared, there I saw the tiger, on the further side of the cage, circling and circling in his endeavours to get his tongue to the spot where he had been hit.

  “Bad luck!” exclaimed Alfred vexedly. “I’ve only wounded the beggar in the back!”

  Considering that this was his first shot at a wild beast, I thought much more of the feat. But we had not accomplished our object: my father was in just as great a quandary as before, and we dare not leave our perch. Alfred said that we must wait till the animal moved clear of the trap, when he would give him another bullet. The brute, however, persisted in keeping the cage between him and us, as if instinct guided him to do so; moreover, he seemed to have no intention of taking himself off—he was too angry for that. In a short time it was plain that the tiger was recovering, and that he had not been seriously hurt. He ceased his gyrations, came close up to the bars, growled at the inmate, and made frantic efforts to reach him with his claws—that wound had indeed roused him! It appeared to me that the animal believed the shot to have come from my father, for he took no notice of us in the tree. It was getting towards evening, and we knew that all at home would be on the tenter-hooks of anxiety if our return was delayed much longer; we were becoming impatient, and I was thinking of urging Alfred to do something desperate, when my father spoke.

  “Alf! Can’t you take another shot at him—where he is?”

  “Should be afraid of hitting you, uncle!” he replied, sniggering.

  “Look here, I’ll lie flat, and you can aim over me.”

  “Do you really mean it, uncle?”

  “Yes—man! ‘Twill not be the first time that I’ve been under fire. You won’t plug me if you can help it; and if you do, I’ll forgive you. Plenty of room to aim at between the bars. Now, shoot!” he added, throwing himself down in the centre of the cage.

  “Shall I?” asked Alfred of me,

  “Yes; only don’t hit him.”

  He pulled himself together, leaned his back against the branch I sat on, took careful aim, and fired. There was no answering roar this time, and through the smoke that temporarily shrouded our vision I heard my father shout exultingly:

  =“You’ve done the trick, my boy! Clean between the eyes! He’s dead as mutton; so come down—all of you, and get me out of this!”

  We did; and in a few minutes I was clasped in my father’s arms.

  Some said that the tiger, while a canny, arrant coward, was endowed with a sense of humour; that he knew all about the trap, and had been lurking in the thicket during its erection; but when the men left, he had come out to inspect the snare, seen t
he goat in it, but was too experienced in such “Jims” to go in and seize the bait; that if that reprieved goat had the power of speech, she could graphically describe her nights of agony, tied up in that cage, with the huge cat sniffing round; that when my father had been caught in the trap, the tiger must have been in the undergrowth hard by, and the idea of one of his human enemies being confined in the very contrivance designed for his own capture so tickled his feline susceptibilities, that he could not get over the joke, so sat there enjoying it, till the joke and his career were summarily cut short in the manner I have attempted to describe.

  ICE AGAIN!

  RICHARD HENRY DANA JR.

  In our first attempt to double the Cape, when we came up to the latitude of it, we were nearly seventeen hundred miles to the westward, but, in running for the straits of Magellan, we stood so far to the eastward, that we made our second attempt at a distance of not more than four or five hundred miles; and we had great hopes, by this means, to run clear of the ice; thinking that the easterly gales, which had prevailed for a long time would have driven it to the westward. With the wind about two points free, the yards braced in a little, and two close-reefed topsails and a reefed foresail on the ship, we made great way toward the southward; and, almost every watch, when we came on deck, the air seemed to grow colder, and the sea to run higher. Still, we saw no ice, and had great hopes of going clear of it altogether, when, one afternoon, about three o’clock, while we were taking a siesta during our watch below, “All hands!” was called in a loud and fearful voice. “Tumble up here, men!—tumble up!—don’t stop for your clothes—before we’re upon it!” We sprang out of our berths and hurried upon deck. The loud, sharp voice of the captain was heard giving orders, as though for life or death, and we ran aft to the braces, not waiting to look ahead, for not a moment was to be lost. The helm was hard up, the after yards shaking, and the ship in the act of wearing. Slowly, with the stiff ropes and iced rigging, we swung the yards round, everything coming hard, and with a creaking and rending sound, like pulling up a plank which has been frozen into the ice. The ship wore round fairly, the yards were steadied, and we stood off on the other tack, leaving behind us, directly under our larboard quarter a large ice island, peering out of the mist, and reaching high above our tops, while astern; and on either side of the island, large tracts of field-ice were dimly seen, heaving and rolling in the sea. We were not safe, and standing to the northward; but, in a few minutes more, had it not been for the sharp look-out of the watch, we should have been fairly upon the ice, and left our ship’s old bones adrift in the Southern ocean. After standing to the north ward a few hours, we wore ship, and, the wind having hauled, we stood to the southward and eastward. All night long, a bright look-out was kept from every part of the deck; and whenever ice was seen on the one bow or the other, the helm was shifted and the yards braced, and by quick working of the ship she was kept clear. The accustomed cry of “Ice ahead!”— “Ice on the lee bow!”—“Another island!” in the same tones, and with the same orders following them, seemed to bring us directly back to our old position of the week before. During our watch on deck, which was from twelve to four, the wind came out ahead, with a pelting storm of hail and sleet, and we lay hoveto, under a close-reefed main topsail, the whole watch. During the next watch it fell calm, with a drenching rain, until daybreak, when the wind came out to the westward, and the weather cleared up, and showed us the whole ocean, in the course which we should have steered, had it not been for the head wind and calm, completely blocked up with ice. Here then our progress was stopped, and we wore ship, and once more stood to the northward and eastward; not for the straits of Magellan, but to make another attempt to double the Cape, still farther to the eastward; for the captain was determined to get round if perseverance could do it; and the third time, he said never failed.