Adventures in Many Lands

by Various

  VI

  SOME PANTHER STORIES

  The pages of literature devoted to sport and the hunting of wild gameteem with stories and instances of occasions when the hunted, driven todesperation and enraged to ferocity by wounds, turns, and itself becomesthe hunter and the avenger of its own hurts.

  Of all wild animals perhaps the most vindictive, the most cunning, andthe most dangerous to hunt is the panther; indeed, nine out of ten whohave had experience of shooting in all parts of the world will concedethat the pursuit of these animals is really more fraught with danger andhazard than that of even the tiger, lion, and elephant; and thefollowing is one of many instances, of yearly occurrence, of the manbehind the rifle not having it all his own way when drawn in actualcombat against the denizens of the jungles.

  It was drawing on towards the hot weather when my friend Blake, who hadbeen very seedy, thought that I might try to get a few days' leave andjoin him in a small shooting expedition into the jungles of southernIndia, where he was sure he would recover his lost strength andvitality, and so face the coming hot weather with a fair amount ofequanimity.

  The necessary leave being forthcoming, we consulted maps, arranged waysand means for a fortnight's camp--always a considerable thing inIndia--and, accompanied by two Sikhs and a Rajput orderly, with horses,guns, rifles, and dogs galore, after a day's journey in the trainreached the place from whence the remainder of our journey was to bedone by road.

  Our destination was a place called Bokeir, and constituted what is knownin India as a _jargir_, that is a tract of land which, together with therent roll and tribute of the villages therein comprised, is given to menwhose services have deserved well of their State. Such are known asjargirdars, and enjoy almost sovereign state in their little domains,receiving absolutely feudal devotion from their tenantry and dependants.

  We pitched our camp in the midst of a magnificent grove of mango-trees,which at the time of the year were covered with the green fruit. I wastold that before the famine of 1898-99 the grove comprised over twothousand trees; but at present there are about half that number.

  We then received and returned visits with the jargirdar, a Mahratta, andan exceedingly courteous and dignified man. We asked for and receivedpermission to shoot in his country, and in addition everything possiblewas done for our comfort, supplies of every description being at onceforthcoming. So tenacious were the people of the villages in theirdevotion to their chief that not a hand would have been raised to helpus nor a blade of grass given without an order from the head of thistiny State.

  Then we commenced our jungle campaign. The footmarks of a tiger andtigress, of a very large panther, of bear, sambar, and blue bullabounded in a wooded valley some six miles from the camp. We tied upyoung buffalo-calves, to attract the large Felidae, and ultimately metwith success, for one morning we were having breakfast early when introtted one of our Sikhs who had gone before the peep of dawn to look atthe "kills." He reported that one of the calves had been killed at fivethat morning; so, putting a hasty conclusion to our breakfast, we calledfor horses, saw to our rifles and cartridges, and rode away to the sceneof the early morning tragedy.

  Arrived at a village called Sirpali, we left our horses and proceeded onfoot up a lovely wooded valley filled with the bastard teak, thestrong-smelling moha-tree (from which the bears of these parts receivetheir chief sustenance), the giant mango, pipal and banyan.

  The awesome silence of the dense forest reigned supreme in the noondayheat. The whispered consultations and the occasional footfall of someone of the party on a dry teak-leaf seemed to echo for miles and tobreak rudely the well-nigh appalling quiet of the jungle. Here andthere, sometimes crossing our path, were the fresh footprints of deerand of antelope, of pig and the lordly sambar stag that had passed thisway last night to drink at a time when the presence of man does notdisturb the domain of the beasts of the forest. Here was a tree withdeep, clean marks all the way up its trunk, from which the sap was stilloozing, showing us that for some purpose a bear had climbed up it in theearly morning, though why we could not tell, as there was neither fruitnor leaf on its bare branches.

  And then a turn in the path brought us to the kill, to the tragedy of afew hours ago. Surely this is the work of a tiger--the broken neck, thetail bitten off and flung aside, the hind-quarters partly consumed? No,for there are only the marks of a panther's pads and none of any tiger.They lead away into some dense jungle in front, and from here we decideto work.

  Leaving the beaters here, we went by a circuitous way until we arrivedtwo or three hundred yards ahead of the direction the beat would take.Here we were nonplussed, for the jungle was so dense and theconfiguration of the ground such that there were many chances in favourof any animal that might be before the beat being able to make a verygood bid for eluding the enemy.

  However, we came to a place which appeared as good as any, and, as bothof us seemed to think that it would suit himself exceedingly well, wedrew lots, and, contrary to my usual luck, I drew the longer of the twopieces of grass and decided to remain, while Blake took up his positionabout fifty yards to my left.

  When shooting in the jungle, it is the practice of most to shoot from atree, not so much from a sense of added security--as both bears andpanthers think little of running up a tree and mauling you there--butfrom the better field of view you get. Accordingly, as there was a smalltree near, I ascended, and, because the footing was precarious and theposition unfavourable for a good shot, I buckled myself to a bough bymeans of one of my stirrup-leathers. This is a device, by the way, whichI can most thoroughly recommend to all, for it as often as not gives youfree use of your arms, and even enables you to swing right round toscore a shot at a running object.

  I had not long disposed myself thus, when the beat sprang into life witha suddenness and intensity which made me pretty sure that they haddisturbed some animal. The shouting, cat-calling, and tom-tommingincreased in violence, when all at once I heard a quick and ratherhurried tread, tread, tread over the dry teak-leaves, and, looking thatway, out of the dense jungle into the sunlit glade before me came alarge panther.

  I put up my rifle. It saw me, and crouched head on in some long, drygrass. It was a difficult shot, but I hazarded it.

  The beast turned and went up the bank to my right. "Missed," thought I,and let it have my left barrel as it was moving past. "Missed again," Ithought, and growled inwardly.

  I caught another glimpse of the brute as it went behind me, and to myrelief a crimson patch had appeared on its right side. I howled to thebeaters, who had now approached, to be careful, as a wounded panther wasin front of them, and, Blake joining me, we made them all sit down tokeep them out of harm's way.

  Accompanied by the two Sikhs, Blake and I began to stalk the woundedanimal. Where had it gone? Into that dense bit of jungle in front,apparently. So we began to cast around among the leaves. They at firstyielded no betraying footmarks, but at last a leaf was found with alarge spot of frothy blood, showing the animal's injury to have beenthrough the lungs.

  "Put a man up that tree," I said; "the animal is badly hit and cannothave gone far." But my advice was ignored.

  Then from a spot over which I had walked not a minute before there camea rush and a roar. Swinging round, I saw ten paces off Blake raise hisrifle and fire two barrels, but, alas! apparently without result. Downhe went before the savage rush of the beast, which began to worry him.

  Blake had fallen back on his elbows, and in the curve of his neck andright shoulder I could just see, though so near, the dark-spotted bodyof the panther. There was no time to lose. "Can I hit it without killingBlake?" I thought in an agony of uncertainty, but the hazard followedquick upon the thought, and bang, bang, went my two barrels. At the sametime the Sikh dafadar, Gopal Singh, with all the characteristic braveryof this magnificent race, ran in and beat the animal about the head withthe butt-end of Blake's shot-gun, which he was carrying at the time.

  All this was too much for the panther, who then left Blake
and shambledaway. I threw down my own rifle and ran to Blake's assistance, when thepanther stopped and half turned towards us.

  "He's coming at me again," Blake cried, and covered his face with hishands. We were all unarmed; like a fool I had left my rifle ten pacesbehind me, the Sikh's shot-gun was smashed to splinters, and Blake'srifle had fallen nobody knew where during the _melee_. But, fortunatelyfor us, and more especially for me, who was then nearest her, thepanther seemed to think better of it, and tumbled off into the jungle,as far as I could see very badly knocked about.

  Then we attended to Blake's injuries, which consisted of a large piecetorn from his left forearm, three great teeth-marks in his left thigh,and claw-marks all over his left calf. He was very brave, thoughbleeding a lot, and walked with our assistance towards the village untilone of the orderlies galloped up with the "charpai," or native bed, Ihad sent for immediately the accident had occurred. Then on to camp,where I re-dressed his wounds, sprinkling them with boracic acid, whichwas, foolishly, all we had provided in the way of antiseptics.

  Then a "palki" or palankin arrived, lent by the jargirdar, who had alsosent his ten private carriers, and, accompanied by the dafadar, westarted for the railway, the nearest point of which was forty milesaway, and reached it at five the next morning, having experiencedthirteen hours of anxiety, dead weariness, exhausted palankin men, badand in some places non-existent roads, and, to crown all, one river toford.

  Blake has happily survived his injuries--always severe when inflicted bypanthers, as these animals' teeth and claws, from their habit of killingtheir prey and leaving it exposed for a day to the Indian sun, seldomfails to induce blood-poisoning, which few, if any, have been known tosurvive.

  The panther was found next day, quite dead, with three bullet-wounds inher--one in the chest, one through the ribs, and one through the bodyfrom the front left ribs to the left haunch; and that she was able to doall the damage she did testifies to the proverbial tenacity of life andferocity of these animals. The native of India will tell you, "The tigeris a janwar (animal), but the panther he is a shaitan (devil)."

  Mr. Dickson Price, who had a narrow escape from a panther in 1905, thusdescribed the occurrence--

  Owing to the stricter preservation of the jungles round Marpha, beastsof prey appear to have greatly increased in number the last year or so.

  Last November a travelling pedlar was killed on a path close by; whilethis year more than twenty head of cattle have been killed by tigersand panthers at Marpha and near by. This is a very serious loss to thepeople, who depend entirely upon their cattle for ploughing, etc.

  On February 22, just after the mela, some villagers from Kareli--avillage close to us--came to me asking me to shoot a tiger that hadkilled a fine plough-ox, and was causing great havoc.

  On arriving at the spot where the kill was, an examination of the markson the bullock showed that it was a panther and not a tiger that hadbeen at work. The place was in sight of the village and on the skirt ofa forest. We had a "machan" (platform) in a tree made, and at threeo'clock in the afternoon I climbed up with my native shikari or hunterand watched and waited until dark.

  About 8 p.m. it was pitch dark, and the animal could be heard munchingbeneath. I fired at a black object twice with no result, for we stillheard the beast going on with his dinner. I found later I had fired at abush, mistaking it for a panther in the darkness. The animal was eithertoo hungry to notice the shot, or had mistaken the sound for thunder.Later on the moon rose, and at half-past three in the morning a thirdshot took effect, for the animal went off badly wounded. Some timebefore that a heavy thunderstorm had come on, but, sheltered beneath ourrugs, we did not get really wet. We now slept, feeling our work wasdone. At sunrise the native hunter and I got down and examined the spot.

  While we were looking at the blood-marks a tremendous roar was heardclose by, and my native shikari calling out, "Tiger! tiger! tiger!"bolted and ran off to the village as fast as his heels could carry him.I climbed back into the machan, to watch the development of events.After some time about sixteen villagers came out to help, and we slowlyfollowed up the blood-trail.

  After piercing the thick jungle for about two hundred yards, at timeshaving to creep under the brushwood, we came to a narrow nala, orshallow watercourse with sandy bed, and we found out the cause of theconstant growling we had heard. A tiger also was tracking the panther,who every now and then stood at bay and attacked it. After some time thetiger, no doubt hearing us, turned aside. Suddenly I saw the woundedanimal scaling a tall and almost branchless tree, which appeared asthough it must have been at some time struck by lightning. The panther,no doubt, hoped to escape all its enemies in that way. It went to thetip-top, about forty feet or fifty feet from the ground.

  I fired, but the range was too long for my shot and ball gun. The firingfrightened the panther, which fell in descending when some fifteen feetfrom the ground. We all tracked on, hoping to get a chance of a furthershot.

  At last we came to a deep and thickly wooded nala, or watercourse, whichcurved like a horseshoe. The panther entered the watercourse at thecentre and turned along the bed to the left. We turned to the right andskirted along the outside of the course, as it was not safe to gonearer. We all advanced until we nearly reached the right limit of thehorseshoe bend, and then, leaving the trackers, I approached thewatercourse, hearing the beast at the other end about two hundred yardsaway.

  After waiting about twenty minutes looking for a spot to cross the deepnala it appears that the wounded animal slowly and silently doubled backalong the densely wooded watercourse and suddenly sprang out at me. Ifired and stepped back, falling, as I did so, into the watercourse. Thenext thing I remember was the panther seizing me by the arm and pullingme down as I arose, and beginning to claw my head.

  Then I saw on top of the panther my little fox-terrier Toby, tearinghard at the neck of the beast. The panther then left mauling me toattack the dog. I somehow jumped up, leaped out of the watercourse, rantowards the villagers, and fell down. They placed me on a charpoi, ornative bed, and carried me to my bungalow three miles away. Expressmessengers were at once despatched through the jungle and across thehills to Mandla, sixty miles away, for a doctor, who arrived on thefourth day after the accident.

  Meanwhile, all that could be done was done, and my wounds, of whichthere were fourteen, were dressed. Our good Dr. Hogan had me carriedinto Mandla, the journey taking two and a half days, and since then, Iam glad to say, I have been making a wonderful recovery. It is a greatmercy that my arm had not to be amputated, as I feared at first I shouldcertainly lose it. But though it is still much swollen, and so stiffthat I can only bend it a few inches, all is progressing well.

  My little dog escaped with a few scratches, having saved my life. Thepanther has either been eaten by the tiger, or has died of its wounds.The villagers were far too scared to follow it up after my fall. Itsbones, if not devoured by tigers or porcupines, will most likely befound higher up the nala than where we last saw it.

  A Panther-hunt, which had a somewhat unexpected conclusion, is narratedby the Rev. T. Fuller Bryant:--

  At the outset I may explain that strictly it was not a panther thatfigures in this story, but that is the name--or more commonly"painter"--given to the puma, or cougar, of North America. At one timethis animal was as common all the country over as the fox is in Englandat present, and even more so, but as the result of the increase andspread of population it is now found only in remote parts, and isbecoming increasingly rare.

  Thirty years ago, however, when I resided in America, and when theincident happened which I am about to relate, there were considerablenumbers to be found in parts of the Alleghany Mountains, and notinfrequently an odd one would travel farther afield on a maraudingexpedition.

  At the time of which I write I was residing at Brookfield, about thirtymiles north of Utica. It was near the end of October, when, according tocustom, all were busy banking up the sides of their houses, and in otherways preparing for winter
, when complaints began to be made by thefarmers of depredations among their sheep, by, as was supposed, some dogor dogs unknown. Hardly a morning came but some farmer or other foundhis flock reduced in this way, until the whole neighbourhood was rousedto excited indignation against the whole dog tribe. Suspicion fell inturn upon almost every poor cur of the neighbourhood, and many a poorcanine innocent was done to death, some by drowning, others by poison,and more by shooting; until it seemed as if all the sheep and dogs ofthe countryside would be wiped out.

  What served only to deepen the mystery was the fact that here and therea calf was killed and partly eaten, indicating that if it were the workof a dog it must be one of unusual size, strength, and ferocity. Soexasperated did the farmers become at length, that a meeting was held atBrookfield, at which it was resolved to offer a reward of two hundreddollars, "to any one killing the dog, _or other animal_, or giving suchinformation as would lead to its discovery." The words "or other animal"had been inserted at the suggestion of a man who had heard unusualnoises at night proceeding from the Oneida Swamp, a desolate, denselywooded tract of country, extending to within a mile or so of hisdwelling. This circumstance had created in his mind the suspicion thatthe cause of all the trouble might not, after all, be a dog, but this hekept to himself.

  One morning my brother and I, with three others, started early for aday's shooting and hunting in some woods three or four miles north ofthe village; but having an engagement at home in the afternoon, I leftthe party soon after one o'clock. When within about two miles of thevillage I left the main road to take a short cut across the land of aman named John Vidler, an Englishman.

  During the early morning there had been a slight fall of snow, barelysufficient to cover the ground, but as it was so early in the seasonVidler had not taken his few sheep into winter quarters. These I foundapparently in a state of alarm, huddled together in a corner of a "lot"through which I had to pass.

  As I was about to climb the fence and leave the "lot," I observed bloodon the ground, which probably would not have attracted my furtherattention but for recent events. On looking more closely, I coulddistinctly trace in the snow the footmarks of an animal resembling thoseof a dog, and which enabled me to follow the direction in which he hadgone. It occurred to me at once that this was probably the work of themysterious marauder. I knew of the reward of two hundred dollars, andmy finances were not such as to render me indifferent to the chance ofwinning it, so, with the spirit of the hunter strong within me, Istarted off upon the trail, which quickly led me to the edge of thewood, where it disappeared.

  It was clear that the animal had entered the wood. I suddenly reflectedupon the extraordinary size of the animal's foot, and when I coupledthat fact with the words in the offer of reward--"or other animal"--itoccurred to me that I might be hunting bigger and more formidable gamethan a dog.

  I confess to a strange feeling which made me pause. True, I had mytrusty gun with me, and a good supply of ammunition, but after a momentor two of reflection I decided to suspend the pursuit and go and tellJohn Vidler, and seek to associate him with me in further proceedings.

  In this I had no difficulty, for though Vidler, whose farm and abodewere remote and lonely, had heard only rumours of the events which hadso stirred the surrounding neighbourhood, it was enough for him that hewas now among the victims, so he quickly went to the stables, or "barn,"and brought out his old mare, and, throwing a buffalo skin, or "robe,"as such are called, across her back, he mounted, and away we went.

  I travelled afoot by his side. We picked up the trail where I had leftit--at the edge of the wood; but here our difficulty began, it beingbroken and indistinct, owing to the leaves which the snow was not thickenough to cover.

  We proceeded with great caution, and the trees being fairly wide apart,and the brush not very thick, Vidler remained mounted, whilst Icontinued at his side. It was evident from the tremulous excitement andfrequent sniffing of the mare that she was aware that something unusualwas up, and from this we inferred the need of a keen look-out.

  We had thus proceeded some three hundred yards, when we suddenly cameupon a dip in the ground. We each lifted our eyes from the land, whichwe had continued to closely scan for traces of the trail, when we werestartled by a snarl, and just ahead, lying under the trunk of a big treewhich had fallen across the dip, was a huge panther, apparently justawakened from its sleep by our approach. The brute was lashing its tailand quivering with rage, and was evidently preparing to spring upon us.

  Here, then, undoubtedly was the cause of all the recent trouble. For amoment the mare stood trembling with alarm, and the next she swunground, almost hurling Vidler from her back, and flew like the wind alongthe way by which we had come. Though it all took place in much less timethan it takes to record, every detail is indelibly registered on my mindtill this day.

  There was no time, even had I had the necessary self-possession, for meto take aim and fire, and had I done so it would almost certainly haveincreased the danger, for my gun was loaded only with a charge for apartridge or woodchuck.

  As the mare swung round away from me, I seized Vidler's foot, which wasmost fortunate both for him and myself, for it was my weight thatprevented him from being thrown, and, holding on for dear life, I wasdragged clear of danger. The suddenness of the movement jerked my gunfrom my grasp, and as Vidler possessed no weapon we were defenceless,and it would have been madness to think of returning for mine.

  It seemed but a moment before we reached the open "lot," where withdifficulty we reined the mare in. After a brief deliberation we decidedto make our way to the village and organise a hunting-party. We made ourway to the store of Wack Stillman, a favourite rendezvous for theloafers and off-works. Here we found Orson Clark, one of the besthunters in all the countryside, with two others with a large strain ofthe swashbuckler in their characters, who were always ready forexcitement and adventure.

  As we agreed to divide the reward should we win, and believing that wefive were equal to it, we decided to keep the information and to confineoperations to ourselves.

  It was not long before we were off, each of us now armed either with hisown or a borrowed weapon. Reaching the wood, we agreed that, after wehad indicated the direction of the trail, Orson Clark, as the mostexperienced, should lead the way, the rest of us following at hisheels.

  As we approached the tree under which we had left the panther lying, thetension became so oppressive that each felt that he could hardlybreathe, nor were we much relieved to find our quarry gone, as we couldnot tell at what step we might come across him. "Keep close, men,"whispered Orson, as we continued to creep on, each with his finger onthe trigger of his gun.

  He had scarcely spoken the words when a most terrific roar, which seemedto come from the tree-tops near by, rent the air, and at the same time ashot rang out. As neither of our band had fired, we were puzzled to knowwhat it all meant, when a shrill, boyish voice shouted, from a littledistance ahead, "I've got him, father. He's dead!"

  Rushing to the spot whence the shout proceeded, we were astonished tofind the thirteen-year-old son of Orson Clark standing, with an oldblunderbuss in his hands, in a triumphant attitude by the panther, whichlay as dead as a door-nail on the ground before him!

  "What on earth does this mean?" exclaimed his father, as he took in thescene.

  It transpired that when Orson went home to get his rifle he told hiswife of the projected adventure, and the boy, who was in an adjoiningroom, overheard. The spirit of adventure inherited from his father wasimmediately aroused, and he determined to seek a share in theenterprise. Unobserved he took the old blunderbuss from itsresting-place and slipped out of the house, but, fearing that his fathermight forbid should his intentions be known, he made his way to thewood, keeping the hunting-party within his view whilst concealinghimself from theirs.

  Entering the wood, the daring youngster hunted on his own account.Keeping a little ahead and wide of the party, he came across the pantherup in a tree. He had no difficulty in a
ttracting its attention, and,after contemplating each other for some moments, the savage brute wasabout to spring upon the boy as it gave the tremendous roar referred to.At the same moment the boy fired, the charge landing full in the heart,and bringing the great beast tumbling dead at his feet.

  When the father realised the situation, his feelings may be imagined.His first look at the boy indicated vexation at his recklessness,followed by admiration at his pluck and thankfulness for his escape fromalmost certain death had the shot failed to reach a vital part. However,matters were soon arranged. A rail from a snake-fence was procured, thepanther's legs were tied to it, and in this way he was borne to thevillage.

  The news quickly spread, and all the population, apparently, of thevillage assembled to see the sight and to hear the story. When thequestion came to be considered as to who was entitled to the reward oftwo hundred dollars, the verdict was unanimous that no one deserved itso much as Orson Clark's boy, and to him it was awarded.

  The skin of the panther was presented to the landlord of the hotel inthe village. He had it stuffed and placed in a large room in his house.For all I know, it remains there till this day.