“Seriously, Mr. Isaacs, if you mean to have one of them for your badge to-day, you must tell me how you got them.” I turned slowly round. She was holding a single rose in her fingers, and looking from it to him, as if to see if it would match his olive skin and his Karkee shooting-coat. He could not resist the bribe.
“If you really want to know I will tell you, but it is a profound secret,” he said, smiling. “Griggs, swear!”
I raised my hand and murmured something about the graves of my ancestors.
“Well,” he continued, “yesterday morning at the collector’s house I saw a garden; in the garden there were roses, carefully tended, for it is late. I took the gardener apart and said, ‘My friend, behold, here is silver for thee, both rupees and pais. And if thou wilt pick the best of thy roses and deliver them to the swift runner whom I will send to thee at supper time when the stars are coming out, I will give thee as much as thou shalt earn in a month with thy English master. But if thou wilt not do it, or if thou failest to do it, having promised, I will cause the grave of thy father to be defiled with the slaughter of swine, and, moreover, I will return and beat thee with a thick stick!’ The fellow was a Mussulman, and there was a merry twinkle in his eye as he took the money and swore a great oath. I left a running man at Pegnugger with a basket, and that is how you got the roses. Don’t tell the collector, that is all.”
We all laughed, and Miss Westonhaugh gave the rose to Isaacs, who touched it to his lips, under pretence of smelling it, and put it in his buttonhole. Kildare came up at this moment and created a diversion; then the collector joined us and scattered us right and left, saying it was high time we were in the howdahs and on the way. So we buckled on our belts, and those who wore hats put them on, and those who preferred turbans bent while their bearers wound them on, and then we moved off to where the elephants were waiting and got into our places, and the mahouts urged the huge beasts from their knees to their feet, and we went swinging off to the forest. The pad elephants, who serve as beaters and move between the howdah animals, joined us, and presently we went splashing through the reedy patches of fern, and crashing through the branches, towards the heart of the jungle.
Mr. Currie Ghyrkins, whose long experience had made him as cool when after tigers as when reading the Pioneer in his shady bungalow at Simla, had taken Miss Westonhaugh with him in his howdah, and as an additional precaution for her safety, the little collector of Pegnugger, who was a dead shot, only allowed two pad elephants to move between himself and Ghyrkins. As there were thirty-seven animals in all, the rest of the party were much scattered. I thought there were too many elephants for our six howdahs, but it turned out that I was mistaken, for we had capital sport. The magistrate of Pegnugger, who knew the country thoroughly, was made the despot of the day. His orders were obeyed unquestioningly and unconditionally, and we halted in long line or marched onwards, forcing a passage through every obstacle, at his word. We might have been out a couple of hours, watching every patch of jungle and blade of long rank grass for a sight of the striped skin, writhing through the reeds, that we so longed to see, when the quick, short crack of a rifle away to the right brought us to a halt, and every one drew a long breath and turned, gun in hand, in the direction whence the sound had come. It was Kildare; he had met his first tiger, and the first also of the hunt. He had put up the animal not five paces in front of him, stealing along in the cool grass and hoping to escape between the elephants, in the cunning way they often do. He had fired a snap shot too quickly, inflicting a wound in the flank which only served to rouse the tiger to madness. With a leap that seemed to raise its body perpendicularly from the ground, the gorgeous creature flew into the air and settled right on the head of Kildare’s elephant, while the terrified mahout wound himself round the howdah. It would have been a trying position for the oldest sportsman, but to be brought into such terrific encounter at arm’s length, almost, at one’s very first experience of the chase, was a terrible test of nerve. Those who were near said that in that awful moment Kildare never changed colour. The elephant plunged wildly in his efforts to shake off the beast from his head, but Kildare had seized his second gun the moment he had discharged the first, and aiming for one second only, as the tossing head and neck of the tusker brought the gigantic cat opposite him, fired again. The fearful claws, driven deep and sure into the thick hide of the poor elephant, relaxed their hold, the beautiful lithe limbs straightened by their own perpendicular weight, and the first prize of the day dropped to the ground like lead, dead, shot through the head.
A great yell of triumph arose all along the line, and the little mahout crept cautiously back from his lurking-place behind the howdah to see if the coast were clear. Kildare had behaved splendidly, and shouts of congratulation reached his ears from all sides. Miss Westonhaugh waved her handkerchief in token of approbation, every one applauded, and far away to the left Isaacs, who was in the last howdah, clapped his hands vigorously, and sent his high clear voice ringing like a trumpet down the line.
“Well done, Kildare! well done, indeed!” and his rival’s praise was not the least grateful to Lord Steepleton on that day. Meanwhile the shikarries gathered around the fallen beast. It proved to be a young tigress some eight feet long, and the clean bright coat showed that she was no man-eater. So the pad elephant came alongside, to use a nautical phrase not inappropriate, and kneeling down received its burden willingly, well knowing that the slain beauty was one of his deadly foes. The mahout pronounced the elephant on which Kildare was mounted able to proceed, and only a few huge drops of blood marked where the tigress had kept her hold. We moved on again, beating the jungle, wheeling and doubling the long line, wherever it seemed likely that some striped monster might have eluded us. Marching and counter-marching through the heat of the day, we picked up another-prize in the afternoon. It was a large old tiger, nine feet six as he lay; he fell an easy prey to the gun of the little collector of Pegnugger, who sent a bullet through his heart at the first shot, and smiled rather contemptuously as he removed the empty shell of the cartridge from his gun. He would rather have had Kildare’s chance in the morning.
After all, two tigers in a day was not bad sport for the time of year. I knew Isaacs would be disappointed at not having had a shot, where his rival in a certain quarter had had so good an opportunity for displaying skill and courage; and I confessed to myself that I preferred a small party, say, a dozen elephants and three howdahs, to this tremendous and expensive battue. I had a shot-gun with me, and consoled myself by shooting a peacock or two as we rolled and swayed homewards. We had determined to keep to the same camp for a day or two, as we could enter the forest from another point on the morrow, and might even beat some of the same ground again with success.
It was past five when we got down to the tents and descended from our howdahs, glad to stretch our stiffened limbs in a brisk walk. The dead tigers were hauled into the middle of the camp, and the servants ran together to see the result of the sahib log’s day out. We retired to dress and refresh ourselves for dinner.
CHAPTER X.
IN ISAACS’ TENT I was pulling off my turban, all shapeless and crumpled by the long day, while Isaacs stood disconsolately looking at the clean guns and unbroken rows of cartridges which Narain deposited on the table. The sun was very low, and shone horizontally through the raised door of the tent on my friend’s rather gloomy face. At that moment something intercepted the sunshine, and a dark shadow fell across the floor. I looked, and saw a native standing on the threshold, salaaming and waiting to be spoken to. He was not one of our men, but a common ryot, clad simply in a dhoti or waist-cloth, and a rather dirty turban.
“Kya chahte ho?”— “What do you want?” asked Isaacs impatiently. He was not in a good humour by any means. “Wilt thou deprive thy betters of the sunlight thou enjoyest thyself?”
“The sahib’s face is like the sun and the moon,” replied the man deprecatingly. “But if the great lord will listen I will tell him what shall rejoic
e his heart.”
“Speak, unbeliever,” said Isaacs.
“Protector of the poor! you are my father and my mother! but I know where there lieth a great tiger, an eater of men, hard-hearted, that delighteth in blood.”
“Dog,” answered Isaacs, calmly removing his coat, “the tiger you speak of was seen by you many moons since; what do you come to me with idle tales for?” Isaacs was familiar with the native trick of palming off old tigers on the unwary stranger, in the hope of a reward.
“Sahib, I am no liar. I saw the tiger, who is the king of the forest, this morning.” Isaacs’ manner relaxed a little, and he sat down and lighted the eternal cigarette. “Slave,” he said meditatively, “if it is as you say, I will kill the tiger, but if it is not as you say, I will kill you, and cause your body to be buried with the carcass of an ox, and your soul shall not live.” The man did not seem much moved by the threat. He moved nearer, and salaamed again.
“It is near to the dwelling of the sahib, who is my father,” said the man, speaking low. “The day before yesterday he destroyed a man from the village. He has eaten five men in the last moon. I have seen him enter his lair, and he will surely return before the dawn; and the sahib shall strike him by his lightning; and the sahib will not refuse me the ears of the man-eater, that I may make a jädu, a charm against sudden death?”
“Hound! if thou speakest the truth, and I kill the tiger, the monarch of game, I will make thee a rich man; but thou shalt not have his ears. I desire the jädu for myself. I have spoken; wait thou here my pleasure.” The ryot bent low to the earth, and then squatted by the tent-door to wait, in the patient way that a Hindoo can, for Isaacs to go and eat his dinner. As the latter came out ten minutes later, he paused and addressed the man once more. “Speak not to any man of thy tiger while I am gone, or I will cut off thine ears with a pork knife.” And we passed on.
The sun was now set and hovering in the afterglow, the new moon was following lazily down. I stopped a moment to look at her, and was surprised by Miss Westonhaugh’s voice close behind me.
“Are you wishing by the new moon, Mr. Griggs?” she asked.
“Yes,” said I, “I was. And what were you wishing, Miss Westonhaugh, if I may ask?” Isaacs came up, and paused beside us. The beautiful girl stood quite still, looking to westward, a red glow on the white-gold masses of her hair.
“Did you say you were wishing for something, Miss Westonhaugh?” he asked. “Perhaps I can get it for you. More flowers, perhaps? They are very easily got.”
“No — that is, not especially. I was wishing — well, that a tiger-hunt might last for ever; and I want a pair of tiger’s ears. My old ayah says they keep off evil spirits and sickness; and all sorts of things.”
“I know; it is a curious idea. I suppose both those beasts there have lost theirs already. These fellows cut them off in no time.”
“Yes. I have looked. So I suppose I must wait till to-morrow. But promise me, Mr. Isaacs, if you shoot one to-morrow, let me have the ears!”
“I will promise that readily enough. I would promise anything you—” The last part of the sentence was lost to me, as I moved away and left them.
At dinner, of course, every one talked of the day’s sport, and compliments of all kinds were showered on Lord Steepleton, who looked very much pleased, and drank a good deal of wine. Ghyrkins and the little magistrate expressed their opinion that he would make a famous tiger-killer one of these days, when he had learned to wait. Every one was hungry and rather tired, and after a somewhat silent cigar, we parted for the night, Miss Westonhaugh rising first. Isaacs went to his quarters, and I remained alone in a long chair, by the deserted dining-tent. Kiramat Ali brought me a fresh hookah, and I lay quietly smoking and thinking of all kinds of things — things of all kinds, tigers, golden hair, more tigers, Isaacs, Shere Ali, Baithop — , what was his name — Baithop — p — . I fell asleep.
Some one touched my hand, waking me suddenly. I sprang to my feet and seized the man by the throat, before I recognised in the starlight that it was Isaacs.
“You are not a nice person to rouse,” remarked he in a low voice, as I relaxed my grasp. “You will have fever if you sleep out-of-doors at this time of year. Now look here; it is past midnight, and I am going out a little way.” I noticed that he had a kookrie knife at his waist, and that his cartridge-belt was on his chest.
“I will go with you,” said I, guessing his intention. “I will be ready in a moment,” and I began to move towards the tent.
“No. I must go alone, and do this thing single-handed. I have a particular reason. I only wanted to warn you I was gone, in case you missed me. I shall take that ryot fellow with me to show me the way.”
“Give him a gun,” I suggested.
“He could not use one if I did. He has your kookrie in case of accidents.”
“Oh, very well! do not let me interfere with any innocent and childlike pastime you may propose for your evening hours. I will attend to your funeral in the morning. Good-night.”
“Good-night; I shall be back before you are up.” And he walked quickly off to where the ryot was waiting and holding his guns. He had the sense to take two. I was angry at the perverse temerity of the man. Why could he not have an elephant out and go like a sensible thinking being, instead of sneaking out with one miserable peasant to lie all night among the reeds, in as great danger from cobras as from the beast he meant to kill? And all for a girl — an English girl — a creature all fair hair and eyes, with no more intelligence than a sheep! Was it not she who sent him out to his death in the jungle, that her miserable caprice for a pair of tiger’s ears might be immediately satisfied? If a woman ever loved me, Paul Griggs, — thank heaven no woman ever did, — would I go out into bogs and desert places and risk my precious skin to find her a pair of cat’s ears? Not I; — wait a moment, though. If I were in his place, if Miss Westonhaugh loved me — I laughed at the conceit. But supposing she did. Just for the sake of argument, I would allow it. I think that I would risk something after all. What a glorious thing it would be to be loved by a woman, once, wholly and for ever. To meet the creature I described to him the other night, waiting for me to come into her life, and to be to her all I could be to the woman I should love. But she has never come; never will, now; still, there is a sort of rest to me in thinking of rest. Hearth, home, wife, children; the worn old staff resting in the corner, never to wander again. What a strange thing it is that men should have all these, and more, and yet never see that they have the simple elements of earthly happiness, if they would but use them. And we, outcasts and wanderers, children of sin and darkness, in whose hands one commandment seems hardly less fragile than another, would give anything — had we anything to give — for the happiness of a home, to call our own. How strange it is that what I said to Isaacs should be true. “Do not marry unless you must depend on each other for daily bread, or unless you are rich enough to live apart.” Yes, it is true, in ninetynine cases out of a hundred. But then, I should add a saving clause, “and unless you are quite sure that you love each other.” Ay, there is the pons asinorum, the bridge whereon young asses and old fools come to such terrible grief. They are perfectly sure they love eternally; they will indignantly scorn the suggestions of prudence; love any other woman? never, while I live, answers the happy and unsophisticated youth. Be sorry I did it? Do you think I am a schoolboy in my first passion? demands the aged bridegroom. And so they marry, and in a year or two the enthusiastic young man runs away with some other enthusiastic man’s wife, and the octogenarian spouse finds himself constituted into a pot of honey for his wife’s swarming relations to settle on, like flies. But a man in strong middle prime of age, like me, knows his own mind; and — yes, on the whole I was unjust to Isaacs and to Miss Westonhaugh. If a woman loved me, she should have all the tiger’s ears she wanted. “Still, I hope he will get back safely,” I added, in afterthought to my reverie, as I turned into bed and ordered Kiramat Ali to wake me half an hour before da
wn.
I was restless, sleeping a little and dreaming much. At last I struck a light and looked at my watch. Four o’clock. It would not be dawn for more than an hour; I knew Isaacs had made for the place where the tiger passed his days, certain that he would return near daybreak, according to all common probability. He need not have gone so early, I thought. However, it might be a long way off. I lay still for a while, but it seemed very hot and close under the canvas. I got up and threw a caftán round me, drew a chair into the connât and sat, or rather lay, down in the cool morning breeze. Then I dozed again until Kiramat Ali woke me by pulling at my foot. He said it would be dawn in half an hour. I had passed a bad night, and went out, as I was, to walk on the grass. There was Miss Westonhaugh’s tent away off at the other end. She was sleeping calmly enough, never doubting that at that very moment the man who loved her was risking his life for her pleasure — her slightest whim. She would be wide awake if she knew it, staring out into the darkness and listening for the crack of his rifle. A faint light appeared behind the dining-tent, over the distant trees, like the light of London seen from twenty or thirty miles’ distance in the country, a faint, suggestive, murky grayness in the sky, making the stars look dimmer.
The sound of a shot rang true and clear through the chill air; not far off I thought. I held my breath, listening for a second report, but none came. So it was over. Either he had killed the tiger with his first bullet, or the tiger had killed him before he could fire a second. I was intensely excited. If he were safe I wished him to have the glory of coming home quite alone. There was nothing for it but to wait, so I went into my tent and took a bath — a very simple operation where the bathing consists in pouring a huge jar of water over one’s head. Tents in India have always a small side tent with a ditch dug to drain off the water from the copious ablutions of the inmate. I emerged into the room feeling better. It was now quite light, and I proceeded to dress leisurely to spin out the time. As I was drawing on my boots, Isaacs sauntered in quietly and laid his gun on the table. He was pale, and his Karkee clothes were covered with mud and leaves and bits of creeper, but his movements showed he was not hurt in any way; he hardly seemed tired.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 16
