Biggles - the Boy

by W E Johns

  Something could go wrong on what appeared to be a simple ramble, and an example of this is provided by James’ first adventure with a buffalo. Many countries have this animal although it may have different names according to locality. Bison in America, for instance. But they are all members of the same family; not very handsome creatures, perhaps, but with a common reputation for courage, ferocity when wounded, and for being hard to kill.

  In Biggles’ part of India there were not many buffalo. Their numbers had been decreasing for some time, and before a hunter could shoot one he had to obtain a licence. They were largely forest animals, shy, with a wonderful faculty for standing dead still, which made them very hard to see; but they had a habit of moving out to open ground to find grazing and water. For the most part they did little harm. Sometimes a native would be injured by one, which was probably his own fault. They kept together in small herds and would usually fade away silently at the approach of a man.

  The exception might be an old bull which, becoming morose, had gone solitary and kept to his ground. Herds posted sentries, a duty undertaken by old cows. James had once or twice seen some in the distance, or heard them, or noticed their “marks”; but having no great interest in them he never interfered. His encounter with one was not of his seeking. It was an old bull. If he was an evil-tempered old man he had reason for it. But James was not to know that. This is how it happened.

  He was out for a walk one day with his young Indian friend, Habu Din. He carried his light rifle, not because he expected to use it as they were unlikely to see dangerous game. He took it “just in case”, and for that reason he put only two or three cartridges in his pocket. It might be useful to kill a cobra. He already knew from conversations with hunters that to take on a large and dangerous beast with a light-calibre weapon was folly. A big animal needs a heavy bullet to bring it down; that is, to kill it outright. Such creatures have tremendous vitality.

  Habu Din had told James about a place he had found, where the river ran through more or less open ground, where the flowers were marvellous. He painted a picture of a sort of earthly paradise. James was not particularly interested in flowers, but the place seemed to offer an object, as good as any, for an excursion. So they went.

  Before arriving at the objective James was regretting that he had allowed himself to be induced to undertake the trip. Habu had taken him through a strip of virgin jungle; and that was bad enough. On emerging they were faced with an open tract of land with isolated trees dotted about here and there. Habu said they were only going across to the far side. But to get there meant forcing a way through long grass and rushes, sometimes waist high. There was no suggestion of a track, and at every step they disturbed swarms of flies and other insects to settle on James’ perspiring face. More than once he was tempted to call a halt and abandon the whole expedition. It wasn’t worth the effort. But rather than disappoint Habu he struggled on, although in the event they never did reach their objective.

  They were about half way across when some small dark birds rose into the air, twittering, a little way in front of them. James came to a stop. He knew what they were. Tick-birds. That is, birds that feed on the bugs, grubs and insects that bury themselves in the hides of animals. Many large wild creatures have them, and are glad to accommodate them because they serve two useful purposes. They clear their skins of parasites and at the same time act as sentinels, rising into the air with warning cries on the approach of danger.

  So James knew the presence of the birds could only mean one thing, although so far he was unable to see anything. He laid a restraining hand on the bare brown arm of his companion. “Wait,” he whispered. “There must be something there.” Not that Habu really needed telling. He must have known the signs as well as James.

  They advanced slowly for a pace or two, peering cautiously ahead. It was enough. James could see as much as he needed to know. Level with the top of the grass was a massive head decorated with a pair of enormous spreading horns. An old bull buffalo, apparently lying down. It had seen them. With its nose raised and horns laid well back, as is its habit, it was gazing straight at them. It must have heard them coming, even if it hadn’t caught their taint, for the buffalo has an abnormally acute sense of smell.

  James had not a moment’s hesitation about what they should do. He wanted nothing to do with the animal. If the beast was lying quietly, as it appeared, he was content not to disturb it. So he began to back away, hoping the matter would end there. After all, they had done nothing to upset the creature. Habu also retired, rather more hurriedly. Then he must have lost his head, for he broke into a run, which was understandable but stupid, because almost any animal will pursue something which it thinks is running away from it. Thus will a dog often chase after a bicycle, or motor bike.

  After a few steps James looked back. The buffalo was on its feet. A few more steps and he looked again. The buffalo was walking after them. It was not charging, or anything like that. Just walking, nose thrust forward, advancing at a steady but purposeful walk, A few more yards and again James looked back. The buffalo was now trotting.

  This was too much for Habu. He broke into a sprint, as far as that was possible. Knowing it was impossible to reach the cover of the jungle James shouted: “Make for a tree.” Whether or not Habu heard him he did not know, for he, too, was now making flat out for the nearest tree. He had no intention of trying to stop an irate buffalo with a light rifle. Another quick glance revealed that the animal had decided to follow him, rather than Habu. Perhaps it was because in a white linen suit he was more conspicuous. Habu, brown-skinned, wore only a loin-cloth.

  James just managed to reach his selected tree with the buffalo now at full gallop after him. Hanging the rifle over his shoulder by the sling, for he was afraid that if he left it on the ground the heavy beast would tread on it and damage it, he went up to the first convenient fork. From there he looked down. The buffalo glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. It banged on the tree with its horns but must have decided it was too robust to be knocked down. It walked twice round the tree; then, presumably because tree climbing was not its line, it lay down. Now James saw the probable reason for the old bull’s behaviour. Its neck and flanks were streaked with blood. Claw marks. Only a tiger, or possibly a leopard, could have done that. No wonder the wretched beast was out to be revenged on something; on anything.

  Of course, James now hoped the buffalo would go away. But no. It settled down as if prepared to wait indefinitely. What to do James did not know. Indeed, there appeared to be nothing he could do. Looking around for Habu he could see him in another tree, at a safe distance, watching the proceedings.

  James now gave the problem some earnest thought. For more reasons than one he didn’t want to be stuck in the tree all day; possibly all night. For a long while he did nothing, still hoping the animal would go away; and all the time his perch was becoming more and more untenable. The heat of the sun, now approaching its zenith, fell on him as if blown from the open door of a furnace. And that was not his only trouble. To add to his discomfort all the flies in India, perhaps attracted by the smell of blood, appeared to have arrived on the spot. They formed a buzzing curtain around not only the buffalo but the human being in the tree. James tried to fight them off, but it was no use. They clung to his face, filled his ears, eyes and nostrils. Fixed as he was there was no escaping their persistent attentions. They drove him nearly frantic.

  At long last, when the buffalo showed no sign of moving he decided something would have to be done unless he was to lose his sanity. There was, he thought, one possible remedy for the situation although he had been loath to consider it. His rifle. He didn’t want to kill the poor beast although injured as it was he feared it would eventually die. Actually, he doubted if he would be able to kill it, but it struck him that a shot might induce it to leave him. He had no soft-nosed bullets so he resolved to see what a solid steel-tipped bullet would do. With the animal so close and looking up at him he had an easy target.r />
  Brushing flies from his sweating face he took careful aim at the hard skull between the great curving horns. He was out of luck. At the precise moment that he squeezed the trigger the buffalo chose to move its head, with the result that the bullet struck the tip of a horn, doing no more damage than knock a chip off it. The buffalo merely shook its head. James put in another cartridge and tried again. He heard the smack of the bullet, but as he half expected it simply ricocheted off with a shrill whine. It appeared to have no effect at all. This got him really worried because he found he had only one cartridge left. One chance. Angrily he told himself that never again would he go out with insufficient ammunition. He had learned another lesson.

  He put his last cartridge in the breech. This time there should be no mistake. If he killed the animal it would be just too bad, but by now he was getting desperate and in no mood to be too particular. This time he took for his mark a spot just behind the shoulder which should reach the heart. He fired. Click. The cartridge had misfired. Such a thing had never happened to him before. Thus he learned that such things can, and do, happen. He turned the cartridge in the breech so that the striker would fall on a different place. He fired again. Another click. Six times he tried the cartridge before giving up in disgust. He could only conclude it was a “dud”.

  Now almost in despair, sick with annoyance and frustration, he sat back on his uncomfortable perch. He looked across at Habu, still in his tree, and yelled to him to go for help. But Habu did not move. Either he did not understand or he was taking no chances with the buffalo, for which he could not be blamed, for he would have to cover the best part of two hundred yards to reach the nearest point of safety. He was at least safe where he was.

  How this state of affairs would have ended is a matter for speculation had not help arrived from an unexpected quarter, although James did not see it as such when it first appeared. For some time two vultures had been circling overhead, gradually coming lower. They now settled in the top of the tree above James’ head. Did they think the buffalo was dead? Had they, by that uncanny instinct they possess, been brought to the spot by the sight or smell of blood? James neither knew nor cared. All he knew was, if these disgusting scavengers were looking for a meal they were likely to be disappointed.

  After a while they flapped down and settled on the ground near the buffalo. Then they began to hop cautiously towards it. James watched without any particular interest until the animal began to show signs of irritation, throwing its head about as if to indicate that it was not ready to be eaten. No doubt it knew perfectly well what the birds were after. This went on for some time, the birds gradually drawing closer with the instinct they have for imminent death, the stricken beast making furious sweeps at them with his horns. When two more arrived to join the original pair apparently the buffalo could stand it no longer. It rose to its feet and shook itself. It made one short rush at its tormentors, and then, without so much as a glance at the boy in the tree, walked slowly away. The ugly birds, realizing their anticipated meal was not ready, flapped off, still keeping watch on the buffalo.

  James waited until the beast was at a safe distance and then, dropping from his perch, ran for his life as fast as the rank vegetation would permit. Habu, who must have seen what had happened, joined him, and they ran on together without wasting breath in unnecessary conversation. There was no suggestion of resuming the trip to Habu’s beauty spot that had been the original objective. James was only too happy to have the chance to turn his back on it. He told Habu so, in no uncertain terms.

  As it happened no harm was done, but the incident demonstrates how easily an accident could happen.

  Another example, that might have had consequences just as serious, concerned a pig; that is, a wild boar, which in India is commonly called “pig”; hunting this animal on horseback with a spear—a dangerous sport—being known as pig sticking. The ferocity of this animal when provoked must be seen to be believed. It will fight to its last dying breath. It has been known to try to climb up a spear that has impaled it to get at the man holding the weapon. With razor-like tusks as well as teeth it is a formidable adversary. James, of course, knew all about this reputation, so it will readily be understood that he took care to keep well clear of any place where one might lurk. They were not common but there was always a chance of one being on open ground near patches of cultivation.

  One morning James was out for a stroll to get a breath of cool fresh air before the heat of the day. He chose a well-trodden path that he had always regarded as perfectly safe, for which reason he carried no weapon of any sort, being confident that one would not be needed. Perhaps this was as well; had he carried a rifle he might have been tempted to use it, in which case anything could have happened.

  The path led to a small field of millet tended by a man, an Indian of course, who lived in a cottage close to the path and not far from his work. As James passed the primitive cottage this man’s wife was at the door grinding some corn. He passed the time of day with her and wandered on, finding the walk very pleasant with no one about to cause a disturbance.

  He had not gone far when he saw a movement ahead on the path. When he came to it, it turned out to be a piglet that could not have been more than two or three days old. At such an age it could hardly be dangerous. He stopped. He smiled. He spoke to it. Then, unthinkingly, for he meant no harm to the little creature, he picked it up to look at it more closely. This was too much for the piglet. It squealed with fright, as might have been expected.

  Instantly, from some bushes not far away, came a crash and an answering snort. James did not wait to see what it was. He knew, or guessed, it was the piglet’s mother.

  He dropped the baby and ran for his life, his objective being the only refuge in sight; the cottage he had just passed. He thought that if he gave the sow her child back she would be content. But no. He could hear her thundering along behind him fairly shrieking with fury.

  It is unlikely that James ever covered a hundred yards in faster time. It was a close thing. He reached the cottage with the sow on his heels. The woman was not there, but fortunately the door was wide open. He dashed in and slammed it in the raging animal’s face. Then, as there was no chair, he collapsed on the floor to recover his breath, with the woman staring at him in wide-eyed amazement.

  The sow snorted about outside for a little while and then went off, presumably to return to her infant, leaving James to explain and make his apologies to the startled woman for his unceremonious entry into her house.

  She could understand his haste.

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  THE THUGS

  THE word “thug” has come into the English language to mean a particularly nasty villain, a thief, a rogue, a man who commits robbery with violence, even murder. A man without scruple. The word came to us from India.

  The original Thugs were wandering bands of fanatics who infested Central and Northern India and made a definite business of murder. This went on to the present century, when determined efforts had to be made to wipe them out. The operation was partly, but not entirely successful. When caught these inhuman monsters had to be imprisoned for life, otherwise, as was learned from experience, as soon as they were released they resumed their evil calling. It was called Thuggery.

  It had in part a religious purpose. The murdered persons and their belongings were held by the Thugs to be a sacrifice to a pagan goddess named Kali. In Biggles’ day the larger bands of these tribesmen had been broken up, but they still moved about in ones and twos and these carried on a career of singularly brutal murder.

  Their usual method of killing was by slow strangulation. They did not attack a proposed victim openly as one would expect of ordinary savages. Therein lay their danger. They posed as quiet, inoffensive people, and in this manner worked their way into the confidence of the unsuspecting person selected for death. They were patient and might spend weeks doing this. Then, one night, usually when he was asleep, they would fall on the victim, choke him to
death and make off with all he possessed. More barbarous people never existed.

  As we have said, by Biggles’ day they had almost been exterminated, so much so that although stories of their atrocities sometimes reached his ears he never gave them a second thought. He knew there were still a few about, mostly working as individuals, but he certainly never expected to come into contact with one, and never even regarded them as a danger as far as he was concerned. He was on the friendliest terms with the Indians he knew, no matter what their caste might be. It was probably for this reason that when he did encounter one he was caught off guard. But for something in the nature of a fluke he might well have lost his life.

  Not all his adventures were with wild animals or reptiles and this was a case in point. Actually, on this occasion he was rather naughty, taking an unwarranted risk. But the reader must judge for himself. Had his father not been away at the time it would not have happened; but his father had gone to Lucknow on official business so there was no one in the house to restrain his impetuosity.

  It was a pleasant day, not too hot. James, having completed some self-imposed lessons in the house, decided to take a stroll. For no particular reason he chose the well-used track that ran up the hill to the tea plantations and the forest area beyond. His plan was to go as far as the tea estates where he might chance upon and exchange news with a boy he knew, named Sula Dowla, whose father was an assistant overseer. This track was perfectly safe, for which reason he carried only a walking stick, a light bamboo cane. He had no intention of going beyond the tea gardens. There he would rest a while and return home in time for lunch. That was the plan, and up to a point it worked well enough.