Part 8

I went that afternoon to the elephants’ camp to see how they had fared, and found them not at all the worse for the storm: the dense grove of trees had been a great protection to them, and their attendants had taken shelter in the little tents which the great creature carries for his servants. Do you know, each elephant has a cook to bake his chupatties, or little cakes, for him, a grass-cutter to go out and find nice fresh long grass, or the green tops of the sugar cane, a bheestie to supply him with quantities of water, and a tent-pitcher, or kelasse, to look after the shelter of all these attendants; and then he has his mahout, or rider, besides. This last personage is the only one whom the elephant will obey, and I heard curious stories of the office of mahout to the same elephant being handed down from father to son. One old man told me calmly that his grandfather was my elephant’s first instructor, but I cannot tell if he was right. When we paid them a visit upon the afternoon of the storm, the huge beasts were taking a bath, or rather giving it to themselves by filling their trunks with water and dashing it over their heads, trumpeting and enjoying themselves immensely; at a little distance the cooks were busy baking the chupatties—a muffin as large as a soup-plate, and nearly as thick—in mud ovens, and the grass-cutters had been down to a ‘jheel’ or pond near to wash the dust off the large bundles of grass for the elephants’ suppers. We talked a little to the mahouts, and one very picturesque old man seemed exceedingly proud of his elephant’s superior slyness and cunning, and begged us to stay and see him ‘cheat;’ so we waited till ‘Burra-sahib,’ or ‘Mr. Large,’ had finished his bath, and came slowly up to his mahout for his supper. You must not suppose that the elephants walked about just as they liked: they had a heavy, long iron chain fastened to one of their hind legs, and this was attached to a small peg loosely driven into the ground. If the elephant had made the smallest effort he could easily have walked off with his peg, but he never tried to get away. The mahout called out to the cook to bring the chupatties, and made us retire behind a tree and watch what Burra-sahib did. As soon as the cook went away the elephant put up his trunk and broke off a large bough of the tree above him, which he laid on his head: this they generally do to serve as a brush to keep off flies, so he knew _that_ was nothing remarkable. He then looked slyly around him with his bright little cunning eyes, and as he could not see his mahout he thought the coast was clear, and hastily snatched up a chupattie, which he put under the branch on the top of his head. I noticed how carefully he felt with his flexible trunk if any edge was uncovered, and arranged the leaves so as to hide his spoil completely. Burra-sahib then raised his voice and bellowed for his supper in loud and discordant tones; the mahout ran up as if he had been a long distance off, stood in front of him, and commenced handing him the chupatties, counting as he did so, one, two, three, and so on. The elephant received each in his trunk and put it gently into his huge month, bolting it as if it had been a small pill. Twelve chupatties was the allowance, and he required this sort of food to keep him in good condition. When the mahout came to No. 11 muffin, he looked about for the twelfth in great dismay, pretending that he could not think what had become of it, and calling for the cook to scold him, searching on the ground and wondering, in good Hindoostanee, ‘where that other chupattie could be.’ The elephant joined in the search, turning over an empty box which was near, and trumpeting loudly. The mahout was delighted to see how much this farce amused me, and at last he turned suddenly to the elephant, who was still hunting eagerly for the missing chupattie, and reviled him as a thief and a ‘big owl,’ adding all sorts of epithets, and desiring him to kneel down, which Burra-sahib did very reluctantly. The mahout then scrambled up on his head, snatched off the branch and flung down the chupattie, belabouring the elephant well with the bough which had served to conceal it. It seems that this trick had been played successfully many times before Burra-sahib was found out, and the poor cook used to get into trouble and be accused of keeping the missing chupattie for his own private consumption.

Our elephant was a great coward; he was abjectly afraid of a small Skye terrier belonging to one of the party, and this little dog knew quite well how to bully the huge creature. ‘Nettle’ would run along the road behind a hedge or a mud wall, and suddenly jump out at the elephant, barking furiously and making little dashes at his trunk. This terrified him; he shied across the road, ran first forwards and to each side, and finally turned round and shuffled away as fast as he could, with Nettle snapping at his heels. It required a great deal of cuffing with the battle-axe I have told you about, to bring him back to the right road if once he was driven off it by the small dog.

[Illustration: _Nettle and the Elephant._—p. 144]

Upon one occasion all our elephants were seized with a sudden panic, and very nearly annihilated the camp. We had halted for two or three days at a large station where an energetic engineer officer had prepared, as a great treat for the Commander-in-Chief, various noisy military shows winding up with the springing of a mine. When the important evening arrived, the whole camp went to see the sight except me, for I must tell you as a secret that I hate reviews; the noise and dust and smell of gunpowder is so disagreeable to me that I never go to one if it is possible to avoid it: upon this occasion I was, as usual, the only person left in camp except a few servants to prepare dinner; every one had departed two or three hours before to assist at the grand affair, and many had chosen to ride to the place of inspection on an elephant, thinking they could then dismount and select a good place to see the show on foot. When the sun had set, I came out of my tent and walked up and down the broad street formed by the principal tents; for a wonder, instead of sand, I had nice turf under my feet, and I strolled up and down for a long time, rather enjoying the profound quiet, which was a contrast to the usual bustle and chatter of the camp. I was just beginning to feel hungry and to wonder when the ‘tomasha,’ or festival, would be over, when I heard a loud explosion, and saw clouds of stones and dust fly up into the air some way off. This was the springing of the mine, and I congratulated myself on being so far away in peace and safety; but I soon changed my mind about the safety, for in a few minutes there was a regular stampede of terrified elephants returning to camp. Some had thrown off their riders and were galloping about, trumpeting and bellowing with terror; and even those whose mahouts still clung to them had quite broken away from all control, and did just as they liked. I stood still, watching the huge beasts entangle themselves in the long ropes stretching out from the tents, and pulling down one after another of our canvas homes. In more than one case the pole of a ‘single tent’ snapped, causing great ruin beneath, and I saw the cooks with their assistants swarming out like bees from a disturbed hive, whilst the elephants ruthlessly trampled their preparations under foot, and beat down their little mud ovens.

You have no idea of the state of confusion to which the trim, orderly encampment was reduced in about five minutes. As for me, I had observed with great satisfaction that the sentries in front of His Excellency’s tent, instead of running away as every one else did, fixed their bayonets, and drew up close together, prepared to stand a charge of this very heavy cavalry, so I prudently sought shelter behind them: however, their bravery was not put to the test, for, although three elephants came very near, they turned tail and galloped off, frightened still more by the scarlet coats and gleaming steel. A great crowd of people had now appeared on the scene, for every one at the review had seen the elephants’ dismay when the fortification flew up into the air, and those on horseback set off at once to try and turn the terrified animals back. They all considered that the encampment had escaped wonderfully, but I thought a good deal of mischief had been done. Our tent, however, was not touched, which was entirely owing to the presence of mind of the Khansamah, who snatched up a gay table-cover and rushed out, brandishing its folds in the face of the nearest elephant and fairly frightening him off. He repeated this performance several times with great success, much to my amusement. We made the old man a present afterwards for his pluckiness. He was terribly exhausted with all his dancing, and I felt quite sorry to have to tell him that we should be obliged to ask a great many people to dinner that evening, whose tents had been pulled down by the elephants; however, the old man made his usual graceful reverence, and merely observed, ‘Good, very good, protector of the poor.’

About a week before we reached Umballah we had a day, or perhaps I should say a morning, of antelope-hunting with cheetahs. As soon as I came back to England, I went to the Zoological Gardens in the Regent’s Park to see the cheetahs there, and found they were very much smaller than those belonging to the Maharajah of this territory, who lent them to our Commander-in-Chief. It had been arranged at dinner the evening before, that I was to accompany the hunting party, so our fleetest and steadiest horses were sent on over night to a little village fifteen miles off, and quite out of the line of march. The next day the camp moved to the new ‘ground’ as usual, but, instead of marching with it, we joined the hunting party at daylight, and started as soon as the horses could see their way, for the village of mud huts where the cheetahs awaited us. A gallop of an hour and a half brought us to it, and we found fresh horses and a delicious cup of coffee ready. But the great attraction in my eyes was the cart containing the cheetahs, which I cautiously approached whilst the saddle was being transferred to my grey Arab. I saw two very fierce handsome animals, quite as large as panthers, each with a leathern hood over its eyes, and a strong muzzle round its jaws, from both sides of which was an iron chain secured to the cart. No one ventured to go very near them, as their keepers informed us, with much complacency, they were ‘hugely hungry,’ having been purposely kept without food for two days. Two white bullocks were yoked to each cart, the driver, as usual, sitting _on_ the yoke, with his face towards the cart, and occasionally hastening the poor beasts onwards by a twist of their tails. A pretty little kid was held in the dusky arms of another attendant, who was seated behind the cheetah and its keeper; a rough wooden bowl and a large knife were now put upon each cart, and, as all the preparations had been completed, we mounted our fresh horses. Before starting, the ‘shikari,’ or huntsman in charge of the expedition, looked us all carefully over to see that we had no fluttering garments about us. The gentlemen buttoned up their loose light coats, and my veil was condemned at once by the shikari’s grave, reproachful eyes, so it was soon stowed away in the pocket of the saddle, and we set off. The two carts with the cheetahs went first, and we divided ourselves into two parties of three each, and kept well hidden by the cart, which was thus between us and a large herd of antelopes feeding in the middle of a plain belted by trees. It was such a beautiful scene! The dew glistening on every blade of grass, the immense extent of open country around us, with here and there a patch of cultivation to mark where a village stood, the background of giant mountains whose peaks were only to be discerned in this early morning light before the haze and heat of the day covered them up with soft filmy vapour, and the long level beams of the rising sun lying like shafts of the purest gold over all the fair earth. Do you know I felt very much ashamed of myself! It seemed so horrible to have come out on such a bright, glorious morning, to hunt to the death poor, beautiful, unoffending animals. It was too late, however, for me to turn back, but I was very unhappy all the time; and if it had not been for the shikari’s sharp eyes, my waving habit-skirt, as I hung back a little behind the cart, would have warned the antelopes of their danger; but he evidently had no notion of allowing my qualms of conscience to interfere with the sport, so he kept strict watch over me, and politely but firmly pointed out my proper position. All this time we were circling round and round the herd of antelopes, drawing nearer and nearer with each circle, until we had approached quite close to a fine buck feeding a little apart from the others. A few whispered words from the shikari to the keeper of the cheetah, who was in the foremost cart, and the man unfastened very gently the iron chains which secured the fierce brute to the cart, and cheetah as well as keeper slipped noiselessly down on the ground under cover of a little bush. Still the carts crept slowly on with the drivers crooning a low monotonous song; I could see everything by turning my head, and looking back as we moved away from the bush. In half a moment the heavy collar was off the cheetah’s neck, and the hood lay on the grass behind him; with a soft whisper in his ear, just as if he had been a tame cat instead of a ravenous wild beast, the keeper took the huge head between his hands, turned it in the direction of the buck (who was keeping an eye on the carts), and let the cheetah go, at the same moment gliding quite under shelter of the bush. Exactly as a cat would approach an unsuspecting mouse, did the cheetah steal through the long grass towards his prey: crouching flat to the ground, he crept along with his terrible eyes fixed on it till he was within about fifty yards off; then up he rose sudden and swift, with every hair of his magnificent coat bristling on end, with his powerful tail lashing the ground, and his lips drawn back from the strong cruel teeth. Two enormous bounds carried him close to the buck, who stood for an instant as if paralysed, and then turned to fly; but it was too late; a third spring with a howl of fury brought the cheetah on his back, with his teeth in the graceful neck which a moment before had held the antlered head up so proudly. I saw the buck drop on his knees, and the keeper rush up to secure the cheetah again before he should begin to tear the venison, and then I could see no more; the gentlemen galloped off to the spot, and I remained under shelter of the cart with my face buried in my hands, sobbing as if my heart would break. I was so sorry for the poor buck!

We were too far from the camp for me to return alone, so I was obliged, very reluctantly, to go after another herd of antelopes who were reported to be feeding tranquilly a few miles nearer our destination. We cantered towards the open plain with the carts lumbering behind us, and both the cheetahs once more securely fastened on them. As soon as the scout who had been sent running on before, came back to tell the shikari the position of the herd, we were ranged in our old order, and went through precisely the same manœuvres, except that in this case, to my great joy, the antelope turned his head the least bit sooner, saw the cheetah high up in the air taking his second bound towards him, and was off like a flash of lightning to join the others, who were scampering away for their lives. I had hardly time to express my joy at the buck’s escape before one of my companions said very coolly, ‘Now we must look out for ourselves,’ and gathering up his reins, drew a large revolver from his holster, and came between my horse and the cheetah, who now turned round and stood looking fixedly at the little group, as if he were debating on which horse he should spring. He looked so handsome and so wicked,—his fur bristled up, his tail slowly giving angry little thumps on the ground at each side, his head thrown well back, and his fierce ravenous eyes gazing at us, whilst a low sound, between a snarl and a growl, came from his mouth. I felt like the poor buck, quite paralysed with fright, and gazed at the cheetah without moving, till the spell of his cruel hungry eyes was broken by the lad who had held the kid in his arms running fearlessly up to him with the large wooden bowl in his hands. I thought the cheetah would have sprung on him, as his form seemed to dilate, and his eyes gleamed still brighter at sight and smell of prey so near him; but the boy quickly and fearlessly flung the contents of the bowl—the poor kid’s life-blood—straight in his face—dropped it, and fled. The cheetah was half blinded by the sudden shock, and stood irresolute for a moment licking the warm blood which was streaming over his jaws. That bewildered instant was quite enough for his keeper, who glided under cover of a shrub near him, ran out, and slipped the hood over his eyes and the collar round his throat, in the twinkling of an eyelid. The cheetah’s whole demeanour changed as if by magic; he slunk along by the keeper’s side looking quite ashamed of himself, whilst the man heaped reproaches on him for having missed his prey. It seemed bad enough to lose his breakfast, without being also well scolded for it.

As soon as the cheetah was chained on the cart again, a discussion arose as to where we should go next; but by this time the sun had become very hot, and I was much too hungry and tired to go farther away from my canvas home; and as I saw the sharp points of the tents, like white vandykes, on the blue horizon, I turned Claude’s head that way, and set off home straight across country, with my ‘syce’ or groom running by my side. He either did not or would not understand me when I told him, in my best Hindoostanee, to remain behind and let me gallop on alone, for he merely said, ‘Very good, Mr. Lady,’ and kept on running close to my horse. Perhaps he did not like to let Claude out of his sight, and thought it would be better for all parties if I went slowly, which at last I was obliged to do, reaching the camp in time for a late but much ‘better-than-never’ breakfast.

We had no more hunting expeditions after this, for we were getting near the foot of the Himalaya mountains; the towns and villages were closer together, and the cultivation more extended. One afternoon we went to shoot peacocks in a dense patch of tall sugar-canes; but although the birds really were perfectly wild and very strong on the wing, I felt more ashamed of myself than ever. I could not dismiss from my mind the memory of many tame peacocks who had fed out of my hand in England, and it seemed very ruthless to return home with five splendid young birds dangling at our elephant’s huge side. They were excellent eating, and I remembered so well that when I was a child, and read historical accounts of great feasts in olden time, I had been filled with indignation at the idea of our ancestors including peacocks in their bill of fare. I little thought I should ever eat them myself, and so will some of you perhaps, one of these fine days.

The beginning of March saw the camp in great confusion and bustle, packing up and arranging for its final dispersion till the next cold season. Some of its inhabitants returned to Calcutta, poor creatures! some went to the various large stations we had marched through; and the fortunate remainder went up to the mountains whose grand outlines had been before us in our daily march for some time past, each day’s new camp bringing us nearer to them. The weather was becoming very disagreeable on the plains, hot dusty days followed by nights of oppressive stillness. Each morning, as I came out of my tent at the earliest dawn of day to mount Claude or Rajah, I used to look at those glorious mountains rising up, chain beyond chain, till the snowy summits were lost in the light clouds above them; and the listless, languid feeling, which was already creeping over me at the first breath of the hot wind on the plains, gave place to hope and courage. I often had that verse in the Psalms brought vividly to my mind, ‘I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help.’ The great object of everybody’s life here seemed to be to get away to the hills in the hot weather; and their anxiety was not to be wondered at, for it often makes the difference of their life or death whether they can have this change or not.

I lived among these beautiful mountains for five months after our camp broke up at Kalka, at the very foot of the mountain range; but as these are only stories of our life whilst we were actually housed in tents, I must not tell you about my delightful walks, and rides up and down the steep hill-sides. But during the last week of my camp life I had a little adventure, with the account of which I shall end my tales for the present.