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

Cultivation Of All English Produce; But An Absence Of Lime In The

Soil,  And The Cost Of Applying It Artificially,  Prohibit The Cultivation

Of All Grain,  And Restrict The Produce Of The Land To Potatoes And Other

Vegetables. Nevertheless,  Many Small Settlers Earn A Good Subsistence,

Although This Has Latterly Been Rendered Precarious By The Appearance Of

The Well-Known Potato Disease.

 

Newera Ellia Has Always Been A Favourite Place Of Resort During The

Fashionable Months,  From The Commencement Of January To The Middle Of

May. At That Time The Rainy Season Commences,  And Visitors Rapidly

Disappear.

 

All Strangers Remark The Scanty Accommodation Afforded To The Numerous

Visitors. To See The Number Of People Riding And Walking Round The

Newera Ellia Plain,  It Appears A Marvel How They Can Be Housed In The

Few Dwellings That Exist. There Is An Endless Supply Of Fine Timber In

The Forests,  And Powerful Sawmills Are Already Erected; But The Island

Is,  Like Its Soil,  'Poor.' Its Main Staple,  'Coffee,' Does Not Pay

Sufficiently To Enable The Proprietors Of Estates To Indulge In The

Luxury Of A House At Newera Ellia. Like Many Watering-Places In England,

It Is Overcrowded At One Season And Deserted At Another,  The Only

Permanent Residents Being Comprised In The Commandant,  The Officer In

Command Of The Detachment Of Troops,  The Government Agent,  The Doctor,

The Clergyman,  And Our Own Family.

 

Dull Enough! Some Persons May Exclaim; And So It Would Be To Any But A

Sportsman; But The Jungles Teem With Large Game,  And Newera Ellia Is In

A Central Position,  As The Best Sporting Country Is Only Three Days'

Journey,  Or One Hundred Miles,  Distant. Thus,  At Any Time,  The Guns May

Be Packed Up,  And,  With Tents And Baggage Sent On Some Days In Advance,

A Fortnight's Or A Month's War May Be Carried On Against The Elephants

Without Much Trouble.

 

The Turn-Out For Elk-Hunting During The Fashionable Season At Newera

Ellia Is Sometimes Peculiarly Exciting. The Air Is Keen And Frosty,  The

Plains Snow-White With The Crisp Hoar Frost,  And Even At The Early Hour

Of 6 A.M. Parties Of Ladies May Be Seen Urging Their Horses Round The

Plain On Their Way To The Appointed Meet. Here We Are Waiting With The

Anxious Pack,  Perhaps Blessing Some Of Our More Sleepy Friends For Not

Turning Out A Little Earlier. Party After Party Arrives,  Including Many

Of The Fair Sex,  And The Rosy Tips To All Countenances Attest The

Quality Of The Cold Even In Ceylon.

 

There Is Something Peculiarly Inspiriting In The Early Hour Of Sunrise

Upon These Mountains--An Indescribable Lightness In The Atmosphere,

Owing To The Great Elevation,  Which Takes A Wonderful Effect Upon The

Spirits. The Horses And The Hounds Feel Its Influence In An Equal

Degree; The Former,  Who Are Perhaps Of Sober Character In The Hot

Climate,  Now Champ The Bit And Paw The Ground: Their Owners Hardly Know

Them By The Change.

 

We Have Frequently Mustered As Many As Thirty Horses At A Meet; But On

These Occasions A Picked Spot Is Chosen Where The Sport May Be Easily

Witnessed By Those Who Are Unaccustomed To It. The Horses May,  In These

Instances,  Be Available,  But As A Rule They Are Perfectly Useless In

Elk-Hunting,  As The Plains Are So Boggy That They Would Be Hock-Deep

Every Quarter Of A Mile. Thus No Person Can Thoroughly Enjoy Elk-Hunting

Who Is Not Well Accustomed To It,  As It Is A Sport Conducted Entirely On

Foot,  And The Thinness Of The Air In This Elevated Region Is Very Trying

To The Lungs In Hard Exercise. Thoroughly Sound In Wind And Limb,  With

No Superfluous Flesh,  Must Be The Man Who Would Follow The Hounds In

This Wild Country--Through Jungles,  Rivers,  Plains And Deep Ravines,

Sometimes From Sunrise To Sunset Without Tasting Food Since The Previous

Evening,  With The Exception Of A Cup Of Coffee And A Piece Of Toast

Before Starting. It Is Trying Work,  But It Is A Noble Sport: No Weapon

But The Hunting-Knife; No Certainty As To The Character Of The Game That

May Be Found; It May Be Either An Elk,  Or A Boar,  Or A Leopard,  And Yet

The Knife And The Good Hounds Are All That Can Be Trusted In.

 

It Is A Glorious Sport Certainly To A Man Who Thoroughly Understands It;

The Voice Of Every Hound Familiar To His Ear; The Particular Kind Of

Game That Is Found Is At Once Known To Him,  Long Before He Is In View,

By The Style Of The Hunting. If An Elk Is Found,  The Hounds Follow With

A Burst Straight As A Line,  And At A Killing Pace,  Directly Up The Hill,

Till He At Length Turns And Bends His Headlong Course For Some

Stronghold In A Deep River To Bay. Listening To The Hounds Till Certain

Of Their Course,  A Thorough Knowledge Of The Country At Once Tells The

Huntsman Of Their Destination,  And Away He Goes.

Part 3 Chapter 2 Pg 17

 

He Tightens His Belt By A Hole,  And Steadily He Starts At A Long,

Swinging Trot,  Having Made Up His Mind For A Day Of It. Over Hills And

Valleys,  Through Tangled And Pathless Forests,  But All Well Known To

Him,  Steady He Goes At The Same Pace On The Level,  Easy Through The Bogs

And Up The Hills,  Extra Steam Down Hill,  And Stopping For A Moment To

Listen For The Hounds On Every Elevated Spot. At Length He Hears Them!

No,  It Was A Bird. Again He Fancies That He Hears A Distant Sound--Was

It The Wind? No; There It Is--It Is Old Smut's Voice--He Is At Bay!

Yoick To Him! He Shouts Till His Lungs Are Well-Nigh Cracked,  And

Through Thorns And Jungles,  Bogs And Ravines,  He Rushes Towards The

Welcome Sound. Thick-Tangled Bushes Armed With A Thousand Hooked Thorns

Suddenly Arrest His Course; It Is The Dense Fringe Of Underwood That

Borders Every Forest; The Open Plain Is Within A Few Yards Of Him. The

Hounds In A Mad Chorus Are At Bay,  And The Woods Ring Again With The

Cheering Sound. Nothing Can Stop Him Now--Thorns,  Or Clothes,  Or Flesh

Must Go--Something Must Give Way As He Bursts Through Them And Stands

Upon The Plain.

 

There They Are In That Deep Pool Formed By The River As It Sweeps Round

The Rock. A Buck! A Noble Fellow! Now He Charges At The Hounds,  And

Strikes The Foremost Beneath The Water With His Fore-Feet; Up They Come

Again To The Surface--They Hear Their Master's Well-Known Shout--They

Look Round And See His Welcome Figure On The Steep Bank. Another Moment,

A Tremendous Splash,  And He Is Among His Hounds,  And All Are Swimming

Towards Their Noble Game. At Them He Comes With A Fierce Rush. Avoid Him

As You Best Can,  Ye Hunters,  Man And Hounds!

 

Down The River The Buck Now Swims,  Sometimes Galloping Over The

Shallows,  Sometimes Wading Shoulder-Deep,  Sometimes Swimming Through The

Deep Pools. Now He Dashes Down The Fierce Rapids And Leaps The Opposing

Rocks,  Between Which,  The Torrent Rushes At A Frightful Pace. The Hounds

Are After Him; The Roaring Of The Water Joins In Their Wild Chorus; The

Loud Holloa Of The Huntsman Is Heard Above Every Sound As He Cheers The

Pack On. He Runs Along The Bank Of The River,  And Again The Enraged Buck

Turns To Bay. He Has This Time Taken A Strong Position: He Stands In A

Swift Rapid About Two Feet Deep; His Thin Legs Cleave The Stream As It

Rushes Past,  And Every Hound Is Swept Away As He Attempts To Stem The

Current. He Is A Perfect Picture: His Nostrils Are Distended,  His Mane

Is Bristled Up,  His Eyes Flash,  And He Adds His Loud Bark Of Defiance To

The Din Around Him. The Hounds Cannot Touch Him. Now For The Huntsman's

Part; He Calls The Stanchest Seizers To His Side,  Gives Them A Cheer On,

And Steps Into The Torrent,  Knife In Hand. Quick As Lightning The Buck

Springs To The Attack; But He Has Exposed Himself,  And At That Moment

The Tall Lurchers Are Upon His Ears; The Huntsman Leaps Upon One Side

And Plunges The Knife Behind His Shoulder. A Tremendous Struggle Takes

Place--The Whole Pack Is Upon Him; Still His Dying Efforts Almost Free

Him From Their Hold: A Mass Of Spray Envelopes The Whole Scene. Suddenly

He Falls--He Dies--It Is All Over. The Hounds Are Called Off,  And Are

Carefully Examined For Wounds.

Part 3 Chapter 2 Pg 18

 

The Huntsman Is Now Perhaps Some Miles From Home,  He,  Therefore,  Cuts A

Long Pole,  And Tying A Large Bunch Of Grass To One End,  He Sticks The

Other End Into The Ground Close To The River's Edge Where The Elk Is

Lying. This Marks The Spot. He Calls His Hounds Together And Returns

Homeward,  And Afterwards Sends Men To Cut The Buck Up And Bring The

Flesh. Elk Venison Is Very Good,  But Is At All Times More Like Beef Than

English Venison.

 

The Foregoing May Be Considered A General Description Of Elk-Hunting,

Although The Incidents Of The Sport Necessarily Vary Considerably.

 

The Boar Is Our Dangerous Adversary,  And He Is Easily Known By The

Character Of The Run. The Hounds Seldom Open With Such A Burst Upon The

Scent As They Do With An Elk. The Run Is Much Slower; He Runs Down This

Ravine And Up That,  Never Going Straight Away,  And He Generally Comes To

Bay After A Run Of Ten Minutes' Duration.

 

A Boar Always Chooses The Very Thickest Part Of The Jungle As His

Position For A Bay,  And From This He Makes Continual Rushes At The

Hounds.

 

The Huntsman Approaches The Scene Of The Combat,  Breaking His Way With

Difficulty Through The Tangled Jungle,  Until Within About Twenty Yards

Of The Bay. He Now Cheers The Hounds On To The Attack,  And If They Are

Worthy Of Their Name,  They Instantly Rush In To The Boar Regardless Of

Wounds. The Huntsman Is Aware Of The Seizure By The Grunting Of The Boar

And The Tremendous Confusion In The Thick Jungle; He Immediately Rushes

To The Assistance Of The Pack,  Knife In Hand.

 

A Scene Of Real Warfare Meets His View--Gaping Wounds Upon His Best

Hounds,  The Boar Rushing Through The Jungle Covered With Dogs,  And He

Himself Becomes The Immediate Object Of His Fury When Observed.

 

No Time Is To Be Lost. Keeping Behind The Boar If Possible,  He Rushes To

The Bloody Conflict,  And Drives The Hunting-Knife Between The Shoulders

In The Endeavour To Divide The Spine. Should He Happily Effect This,  The

Boar Falls Stone Dead; But If Not,  He Repeats The Thrust,  Keeping A Good

Look-Out For The Animal's Tusks.

 

If The Dogs Were Of Not Sufficient Courage To Rush In And Seize The Boar

When Halloaed On,  No Man Could Approach Him In A Thick Jungle With Only

A Hunting-Knife,  As He Would In All Probability Have His Inside Ripped

Out At The First Charge. The Animal Is Wonderfully Active And Ferocious,

And Of Immense Power,  Constantly Weighing 4 Cwt.

 

The End Of Nearly Every Good Seizer Is Being Killed By A Boar. The

Better The Dog The More Likely He Is To Be Killed,  As He Will Be The

First To Lead The Attack,  And In Thick Jungle He Has No Chance Of

Escaping From A Wound.