The Rifle And The Hound In Ceylon(Fiscle Part-3), Sir Samuel White Baker [most inspirational books .txt] 📗

Thirty-One

Elephants In A Few Days' Shooting. My Mishap On The First Day Had Much

Destroyed The Pleasure Of The Sport,  As The Exercise Was Too Much For My

Wounded Leg,  Which Did Not Recover From The Feeling Of Numbness For Some

Months.

Part 3 Chapter 11 Pg 85

Excitement Of Elephant-Shooting--An Unexpected Visitor--A Long Run With

A Buck--Hard Work Rewarded--A Glorious Bay--End Of A Hard Day's

Work--Bee-Hunters--Disasters Of Elk-Hunting--Bran Wounded--'Old Smut's'

Buck--Boar At Hackgalla--Death Of `Old Smut'--Scenery From The Perewelle

Mountains--Diabolical Death Of 'Merriman'--Scene Of The Murder.

 

In Describing So Many Incidents In Elephant-Shooting It Is Difficult To

Convey A Just Idea Of The True Grandeur Of The Sport: It Reads Too Easy.

A Certain Number Are Killed Out Of A Herd After An Animated Chase,  And

The Description Of The Hunt Details The Amount Of Slaughter,  But Cannot

Possibly Explain The Peculiar Excitement Which Attends Elephant-Shooting

Beyond All Other Sports. The Size Of The Animal Is So Disproportionate

To That Of The Hunter That The Effect Of A Large Herd Of These Monsters

Flying Before A Single Man Would Be Almost Ridiculous Could The Chase Be

Witnessed By Some Casual Observer Who Was Proof Against The Excitement

Of The Sport. The Effect Of A Really Good Elephant Shot In The Pursuit

Of A Herd Over Open Country Is Very Fine. With Such Weapons As The

Double-Barrelled No. 10 Rifles A Shot Is Seldom Wasted; And During The

Chase,  An Elephant Drops From The Herd At Every Puff Of Smoke. It Is A

Curious Sight,  And One Of The Grandest In The World,  To See A Fine Rogue

Elephant Knocked Over In Full Charge. His Onset Appears So Irresistible,

And The Majesty Of His Form So Overwhelming,  That I Have Frequently

Almost Mistrusted The Power Of Man Over Such A Beast; But One Shot Well

Placed,  With A Heavy Charge Of Powder Behind The Ball,  Reduces Him In An

Instant To A Mere Heap Of Flesh.

 

One Of The Most Disgusting Sights Is A Dead Elephant Four Or Five Days

After The Fatal Shot. In A Tropical Climate,  Where Decomposition

Proceeds With Such Wonderful Rapidity,  The Effect Of The Sun Upon Such A

Mass Can Be Readily Understood. The Gas Generated In The Inside Distends

The Carcass To An Enormous Size,  Until It At Length Bursts And Becomes

Part 3 Chapter 11 Pg 86

In A Few Hours Afterwards One Living Heap Of Maggots. Three Weeks After

An Elephant Is Killed,  Nothing Remains But His Bones And A Small Heap Of

Dried Cases,  From Which The Flies Have Emerged When The Time Arrived For

Them To Change From The Form Of Maggots. The Sight Of The Largest Of The

Animal Creation Being Thus Reduced From Life To Nothingness Within So

Short A Space Of Time Is An Instance Of The Perishable Tenure Of

Mortality Which Cannot Fail To Strike The Most Unthinking. The Majesty,

The Power,  And The Sagacity Of The Enormous Beast Are Scattered In The

Myriads Of Flies Which Have Fed Upon Him.

 

It Is A Delightful Change After A Sporting Trip Of A Few Weeks In The

Hot Climates To Return Again To The Cool And Even Temperature Of Newera

Ellia. The Tent Is A Pleasant Dwelling When No Other Can Be Obtained,

But The Comfort Of A Good House Is Never So Much Appreciated As On The

Return From The Jungle.

 

One Great Pleasure In The Hunting At Newera Ellia Is The Ease With Which

It Is Obtained. In Fact,  The Sport Lies At The Very Door. This May Be

Said To Be Literally True And Not A Facon De Parler,  As I Once Killed An

Elk That Jumped Through A Window. It Was A Singular Incident. The Hounds

Found Three Elk At The Same Time On The Mountain At The Back Of The

Hotel At Newera Ellia. The Pack Divided: Several Hounds Were Lost For

Two Days,  Having Taken Their Elk To An Impossible Country,  And The Rest

Of The Pack Concentrated Upon A Doe,  With The Exception Of Old Smut,  Who

Had Another Elk All To Himself. This Elk,  Which Was A Large Doe,  He

Brought Down From The Top Of The Mountain To The Back Of The Hotel,  Just

As We Had Killed The Other,  Which The Pack Had Brought To The Same

Place. A Great Number Of Persons Were Standing In The Hotel Yard To View

The Sport,  When Old Smut And His Game Appeared,  Rushing In Full Fly

Through The Crowd. The Elk Was So Bothered And Headed That She Went

Through The Back Door Of The Hotel At Full Gallop,  And Smut,  With His

Characteristic Sagacity,  Immediately Bolted Round To The Front Of The

House,  Naturally Concluding That If She Went In At The Back Door She

Must Come Out At The Front. He Was Perfectly Right; The Old Dog Stood On

The Lawn Before The Hotel,  Watching The House With Great Eagerness. In

The Meantime The Elk Was Galloping From Room To Room In The Hotel,

Chased By A Crowd Of People,  Until She At Length Took Refuge In A Lady's

Bedroom,  From Which There Was No Exit,  As The Window Was Closed. The

Crash Of Glass May Be Imagined As An Animal As Large As A Pony Leaped

Through It; But Old Smut Was Ready For Her,  And After A Chase Of A Few

Yards He Pulled Her Down. This Is The Only Instance That I Have Ever

Known Of An Elk Entering A Building,  Although It Is A Common Occurrence

With Hunted Deer In England. An Elk Found On The Top Of Pedro Talla

Galla,  Which Rises From The Plain Of Newera Ellia,  Will Generally Run

Straight Down The Mountain,  And,  Unless Headed,  He Will Frequently Come

To Bay In The River Close To The Hotel,  Which Is Situated At The Foot Of

The Mountain. This,  However,  Is Not A Rule Without An Exception,  As The

Elk On Some Occasions Takes A Totally Different Direction,  And Gives A

Hard Day's Work. It Was On July 27,  1852,  That I Had A Run Of This Kind.

It Was Six A.M. When My Youngest Brother And I Started From The Foot Of

Part 3 Chapter 11 Pg 87

Pedro To Ascend The Mountain. The Path Is Three Miles Long,  Through

Jungle The Whole Way To The Summit. There Were Fresh Tracks Of Elk Near

The Top Of The Mountain; The Dew Lay Heavily Upon The Leaves,  And The

Scent Was Evidently Strong,  As Merriman And Ploughboy,  The Two Leading

Hounds,  Dashed Off Upon It,  Followed By The Whole Pack. In A Few Minutes

We Heard Them In Full Cry About A Quarter Of A Mile From Us,  Going

Straight Down The Hill. Giving Them A Good Holloa,  We Started Off Down

The Path At A Round Pace,  And In Less Than A Quarter Of An Hour We Were

At The Foot Of The Mountain On The Plain. Here We Found A Number Of

People Who Had Headed The Elk (A Fine Buck) Just As He Was Breaking

Cover,  And He Had Turned Back,  Taking Off To Some Other Line Of Country

At A Great Pace,  As We Could Not Hear Even A Whimper. This Was Enough To

Make A Saint Swear,  And,  Blessing Heartily The Fellows Who Had Headed

Him,  We Turned Back And Retraced Our Steps Up The Mountain To Listen For

The Cry Of The Pack Among The Numerous Ravines Which Furrow The Sides.

 

It Was Of No Use; We Could Hear Nothing But The Mocking Chirp Of Birds

And The Roaring Of The Mountain Torrents. Not A Sign Of Elk Or Dogs. The

Greyhounds Were Away With The Pack,  And Knowing That The Dogs Would

Never Leave Him Till Dark,  We Determined Not To Give Them Up. No Less

Than Three Times In The Course Of The Day Did We Reascend The Mountain

To Listen For Them In Vain. We Went Up To The Top Of The Newera Ellia

Pass,  In The Hope Of Hearing Them In That Direction,  But With The Same

Want Of Success. Miles Of Ground Were Gone Over To No Purpose. Scaling

The Steep Sides Of The Mountains At The Back Of The Barracks,  We

Listened Among The Deep Hollows On The Other Side,  But Again We Were

Disappointed; The Sound Of The Torrents Was All That We Could Hear.

 

Descending Again To The Plain,  We Procured Some Breakfast At A Friend's

House,  And We Started For The Matturatta Plains. These Plains Are About

Three Or Four Miles From The Barracks; And I Had A Faint Hope That The

Buck Might Have Crossed Over The Mountain,  And Descended Into This Part

Of The Country To A River Which Flows Through The Patinas. We Now

Mounted Our Horses,  Having Been On Foot All The Morning. It Was Three

O'clock P.M.,  And,  With Little Hope Of Finding The Dogs,  We Rode Along

The Path Towards The Matturatta Plains.

 

We Had Just Entered The Forest,  When We Met A Young Hound Returning

Along The Path With A Wound From A Buck's Horn In The Shoulder. There

Was Now No Doubt Of The Direction,  And We Galloped Along The Path

Towards The Plains As Hard As We Could Go. About Half Way To The Plains,

To My Joy I Saw An Immense Buck's Track In The Path Going In The Same

Direction; The Toes Were Spread Wide Apart,  Showing The Pace At Which He

Had Been Going; And There Were Dogs' Tracks Following Him,  All As Fresh

As Could Be. This Was A Gladdening Sight After A Hard Day's Work,  And We

Gave A Random Cheer To Encourage Any Dogs That Might Be Within Hearing,

Rattling Our Horses Over The Ground At Their Best Speed.

 

At Last The Plains Were Reached. We Pulled Up Our Panting Steeds,  And

Strained Every Nerve To Hear The Cry Of The Hounds. The Snorting Of The

Horses Prevented Our Hearing Any Distant Sound,  And I Gave A Holloa And

Listened For Some Answering Voice From A Dog. Instead Of A Sound,  Bran

And Lucifer Suddenly Appeared. This Was Conclusive Evidence That The

Pack Was Somewhere In This Direction,  And We Rode Out Into The Plain And

Again Listened. Hark To Old Smut! There Was His Deep Voice Echoing From

The Opposite Hills. Yoick To Him,  Bran! Forward To Him,  Lucifer! And

Away The Greyhounds Dashed Towards The Spot From Which The Sound

Proceeded. The Plain Forms A Wide Valley,  With A River Winding Through

The Centre,  And We Galloped Over The Patinas After