Chapter 8

OUR FIRST CAMP

The fleet, consisting of four sail (I use this word in its purely conventional sense, a dounga having no more sails than a battleship), got under way about 5 A.M., while it was yet but barely daylight, and so we were well clear of Srinagar when we emerged from our cosy cabins into a world of clean air and brilliant colour.

The broad smooth current of the Jhelum flowed steadily and calmly through a level plain, bearing us along at a comfortable four miles an hour, the crew doing little more than keep steerage-way with pole and paddle.

Beyond the green, tree-studded levels to the south, the range of the Pir Panjal spread wide its array of dazzling peaks, while on the right towered the mountains which enclose the Sind Valley, culminating in the square-headed mass of Haramok. In the clear air the snows seemed quite close, although we knew that the snow-line was really some three thousand feet above the level of the valley.

A day like this, as we sit on the little roof of our floating home watching the silent river unfold its shining curves, goes far to obliterate the memory of the fuss and worry inseparable from the exodus from Srinagar. After lunch we tied up for a while, and I took my gun on shore to try and pick up a few of the duck that dotted the waters of the little lakes or jheels which lay flashing amid the hillocks beyond the river banks. The shores of these being perfectly bare and open, it was obviously impossible to escape the keenly observant eyes of the duck, which appeared, unlike all other birds in Kashmir, to retain their customary wariness.

Crouching low amid the furrows of a newly-ploughed field, I sent the shikari with a knot of natives to the far side of the water, whence they advanced in open line, splashing and shouting.

Presently, with much fuss and indignant quacking, a cloud of duck rose, and, circling after their fashion, as though reluctant to quit their resting-place, gave me several chances of a long shot before, working high into the air, they departed with loud expostulation to some quieter haunt.

Later in the afternoon we tied up to the bank for the night near a large jheel, where we all landed, Charlotte to try a rifle which she had borrowed, and I, if possible, to slay a few more duck, while Jane sat peacefully on a bank and enjoyed the glorious sunset.

The bag having been swelled by the addition of another dozen “specimens”—obtained by the same manoeuvres as before—we strolled back to our ships in the luminous dusk, visions of roast “canard” floating seductively before our mental vision.

There proved to be several varieties of duck among the countless flocks which I saw, notably mallard, teal, pochard, and shoveller. Likewise there were many coots, while herons, disturbed in their meditations by the untoward racket, flapped heavily away with disgusted squawks.

Jane is getting along remarkably well with her Hindustani. I have just found her diary, and hasten to give an extract:—

“Woke up very early; much bitten by pice. Tom started off to try and shoot a burra sahib, as he hears and hopes they’ve not yet shed all their horns.”

“He really looked very nice in his new Pushtoo suit, with putty on his legs and chaplains on his feet…. His chickory walked in front, carrying his bandobast.”

“9 A.M.—Sat down to my solitary breakfast of poached ekkas and paysandu tonga, with excellent chuprassies (something like scones). After breakfast, tried on my new kilta, which I have had made quite short for walking. I generally prefer walking to being carried in a pagdandy.”

“Then took another lesson in Hindustani from my murghi, though I really think I hardly require it! My attention a good deal distracted by the antics of a pair of bul-buls (not at all the same as our coo-coos) in the jungle overhead.”

“7 P.M.—T. returned after what he called a blank blank day. He found some bheesties (one of them a chikor ram or wild ghât) chewing the khud on a precipitous dâk.”

“They were rather far off, about a mile he thinks, but he couldn’t get any nearer owing to a frightful ghari-wallah with deep piasses which lay between, so he put up his ornithoptic sight for 2000 yards and ‘pumped lead’ into the bheesties for half-an-hour.”

“He says he _thinks_ he hit one, but they all went away—as his chickory remarked—‘ek dam,’ and Tom agreed with him.”

“He fell into a budmash on his way home and was half-drowned, but the chickory, assisted by a friendly chota-hazri, managed to pull him out … quite an eventful day!”

“10 P.M.—The body of the ram chikor has just been brought in. It looks as if it had been dead for weeks, but the doolie, who found it, says that in this climate a few hours is sufficient to obliterate a body…. Anyhow the head and tail seem all right…. Tom says the proper thing to do is to measure something—he can’t quite remember whether it is the horns or the tail, but the latter seems the more remarkable, so we measured that, and found it to be 3 feet 4 inches.”

“By a little judicious pulling, the chickory, who knows all about measuring things, elongated it to 4 feet 3 inches.”

“This, he says, is a ‘_Record_’—how nice!”

_Wednesday, April 12._—The place where we tied up was not far from the point where the Jhelum expands into the Wular Lake—a broad expanse of water, some seven or eight miles wide in places, which holds the proud record of being the largest lake in all India.

The mountains rise steeply from its northern shores, and from their narrow glens, squalls swift and strong are said frequently to sweep over the open water, particularly in the afternoons. The bold sailormen of Kashmir are not conspicuous for nautical daring—in fact their flat-bottomed arks, top-heavy and unwieldy, destitute alike of anchor and rudder, are not fit to cope with either wind or wave; they therefore aim at punting hurriedly across the danger space as soon after dawn as may be—panting with exertion and terror, they hustle across the smooth and waveless water, invoking at every breath the protection of local saints.

Long before we had left our beds, and blissfully unconscious of our awful danger, we were striking out for Bandipur, which haven we safely reached about 8 A.M. on a still and glorious morning.

Then came the business of collecting coolies and ponies, and loading them up with the tents and lesser baggage under the direction of Sabz Ali and the shikari.

By nine o’clock we were off. Charlotte and Jane, mounted astride a brace of native ponies, led the way, and, in ragged array, the rest of the procession followed. A quarter of a mile from the landing-place, clustered at the foot of a steep little hill—a spur from the higher ranges—lies the village of Bandipur, dirty and picturesque, with, its rickety-looking wooden houses, and its crowded little bazaar. It is a place of some importance in Kashmir, being the starting-point for the Astor country and Gilgit—and here the sahib on shikar bent, obtains coolies and ponies to take him over the Tragbal Pass into Gurais. A post and telegraph office stands proudly in the middle of the little village, and behind it lies a range of “godowns” filled with stores for the use of a flying column should the British Raj require to send troops quickly along the Gilgit road.

Passing through into the open country, we found ourselves on a good road—good, that is to say, for riding or marching, as no roads in Kashmir are adapted for wheeled traffic excepting the main artery from Baramula to Srinagar, and the greater portion of the route from Srinagar to Gulmarg. This road we followed up a gradually narrowing valley, and over a brawling little river, until at Kralpura the Gilgit road begins the steep ascent to the Tragbal by a series of wide zigzags up the face of a mountain. The pass which we should have had to tackle, had we carried out our original intention of going into Astor for markhor and ibex, is nearly 12,000 feet above sea level, and is still securely and implacably closed to all but the hardiest sportsmen. A short cut, which we took up the hill face, led us through a rough scrub of berberis and wild daphne (the former just showing green and the latter in flower) until, somewhat scant of breath, we regained the road, and followed it to the left up a gorge. As the mountains closed in on either side, we began to look out for the camp, which we knew was not far up the nullah. Presently, turning off the Gilgit road, along a track to the left, we came upon Walter—bearded like the pard—a pard which had left off shaving for about a week. He was pensively sitting on a big sun-warmed boulder, beguiling the time while awaiting us by contemplating the antics of a large family of monkeys, which he pointed out to Jane, to her great joy.

Tender inquiries as to camp and consequent lunch revealed the sad fact that some miles of exceedingly rough path yet lay betwixt us and the haven where we would be.

So we pricked forward, along a sort of cattle track, across dirty snow-filled little gullies, and over rock-strewn slopes, until the white gleam of Walter’s tent showed clear on its perch atop of a flat-roofed native hut.

Crossing the stream which tumbled down the valley, by a somewhat “wobbly” bridge, and picking our way through the mixen which forms the approach to every well-appointed hut, we arrived upon the roof which supported the tent. This we achieved without any undue trouble, the building, like most “gujar” homes, being constructed on the side of a hill sufficiently steep to obviate the necessity for any back wall—the rear of the roof springing directly from the hillside. A Gujar village, owing to this peculiarity of construction, always looks oddly like a deposit of great half-open oysters clinging to the face of the hill.

After a welcome lunch, the ladies both pronounced decidedly against remaining in or near the highly-scented precincts of the village. The argument that there was no flat ground excepting roofs to be seen was overruled; so Walter and I climbed a neighbouring ridge, and selected a site on the crest.

It was not, certainly, a very good site for a camp, as it was so narrow that the unwary might easily step over the edge on either side, and toboggan gracefully either back on top of the aforesaid roof, or forward into a very rocky-bedded stream which employed its superfluous energy in tossing some frayed and battered logs from boulder to boulder, and which would have rejoiced greatly in doing the same to a fallen nestling from the eyry above.

Neither was the ridge level, and our tents were pitched at such an angle that the slumberer whose grasp of the bed-head relaxed

“In the mist and shadow of sleep”

was brought to wakefulness by finding his toes gently sliding out into the nipping and eager air of night.

The holding-ground for the tent-pegs was not all that could be desired, and visions of our tents spreading their wings in the gale and vanishing into space haunted us.

No—it was not an ideal camping-ground, and Jane, whose rosy dreams of camping in Kashmir had pictured her little white canvas home set up in a flowery mead by the side of a purling brook, gazed upon the rugged slopes which rose around—the cold snow gleaming through the shaggy pine-trees—with a shiver and a distinct air of disapproval.

It grew more than chilly too, as the sun dipped early behind the ridge that rose jealous between us and the western light, and an icy breeze from the snow came stealing down the gorge and whispering among the taller tree-tops in the nullah at our feet.

We were about 1500 feet above the Wular Lake, and snow lay in thick patches within a few yards of our tents, and had obviously only melted quite recently from the site of the camp, leaving more clammy mud about the place than we really required.

As it is reasonable to suppose that the bilingual lady who composes the fashion columns of the _Daily Horror_ is most anxious to know how the fair sex was accoutred at our dinner party that night, I hasten to inform her that Charlotte was gowned in an elegant confection of Puttoo of a simply indescribable nuance of _crême de boue_—the train, extremely décolletée at the lower end, cunningly revealing at every turn glimpses of an enchanting pair of frou-frou putties.

The neat bottines, _à la_ Diane Chasseresse, took a charming touch of lightness from the aluminium nails which decorated the “uppers” with a quaint and original Dravidian cornice.

She carried a spring bouquet of wild onions _en branche_—ornaments (of course), diamonds.

Every one remarked that Jane was simply too lovely for words, as, with the sweet simplicity of an _ingénue, en combinaison_ with the craft of a Machiavella (I beg to point out that I know my Italian genders), she draped her lissom form in the clinging folds of an enormous habit _de peau de brebis_—portions of ear and the tip of her nose tilted over the edge of the deep turned-up collar, which, on one side, supported the coquettish droop of the hairy “Tammy” that, dexterously pinned to the spikes of a diamond fender, gave a _clou_ to the entire “_sac d’artifice_.”

Walter, having already shot two bara singh and a serow, came under the “statute of limitations” of the Kashmir Game Laws, and had to sound the “cease firing” as regards these animals; but Charlotte and I, having “khubbar” of game, started at 7 A.M. in pursuit. She, attended by Walter and in tow of Asna (the best shikari in all Kashmir), followed up the nullah which lay to our right, while I deflected to the north. Having donned grass shoes, I started off up a very steep slope which rose directly behind the camp. Reaching snow within a few minutes of leaving my tent, I was glad to find it hard and the going good, the early sun not yet having had time to soften and destroy the crisp surface.

Up and up we toiled, I puffing like any grampus—partly by reason of not yet being in good condition, and partly on account of the height, which was probably nearly 9000 feet above sea level. As we rose to the shoulder of the hill the gradient became much easier, and I had leisure to admire the panorama that stretched around the snowy ridge, which fell away abruptly on either side through dense pine forests. The day was quite glorious…. The sun, blazing in a cloudless sky, cast sharp steel-blue shadows where rock or tree stood between the snow and his nobility. The white peaks that rose around in marvellous array seemed so near in the bright air that it seemed as though one could see the smallest creature moving on their distant slopes. But there was little life observable in this still and silent world—nothing but an occasional pair of crows flapping steadily over the woods, or a far vulture circling at a giddy height in the “blue dome of the air.” Silence everywhere, except for the distant and perpetual voice of many waters murmuring in the unseen depths below.

To the south—showing clear above the serrated back of the ridge beyond the camp—stood the Pir Panjal; pale ivory in the pale horizon below the sun. At the foot of the valley up which we had come yesterday, and partly screened by the intruding buttresses of its enfolding hills, the Wular Lake lay a shimmering shield of molten silver.

In front, the sheeted mountains which guard Gurais and flank the icy portals of the Tragbal stood, a series of glistening slopes and cold-crowned precipices, while to the east Haramok reared his 17,000 feet into a threefold peak of snowy majesty.

It was a sight to thank God for, and to remember with joy all the days of one’s life. Doubtless there are many views as wonderful in this lovely land, but this was the first, and therefore not to be effaced nor its memory dimmed by anything that may come after.

The shikari had not climbed the mountain’s brow to waste time over scenery; so, having apparently gone as far as he wanted on the ridge, he plunged down among the silver firs to the right, and I, with my heart in my mouth, went after him. At first it seemed to the inexperienced that we were slithering down the most awful places, and that, should the snow give way, I should have to swiftly embrace the nearest tree to avoid being shot down, a human avalanche, farther than I cared to think. However, I soon found it was all right. A welcome halt for lunch brought the tiffin coolie to the front. A blanket spread upon the hard snow at the foot of a fir made an excellent seat, and a cold roast teal, an apple, and a small flask of whisky were soon exhumed from the basket. Water, or rather the want of it, was a difficulty, for I was uncommonly thirsty, and no sign of any water was to be seen. A judicious blending of the dry teal with bits of succulent apple overcame the drought, and the half-hour for refreshment passed all too quickly.

The men considered it now time to get up some “shikar,” so they invented a bear. This was exciting! They had separated (there were four of them) in search of traces of bara singh, &c., and some one found the bear, or its den, or a lock of its wool—I really couldn’t quite ascertain which—but fearful excitement was the immediate result.

A consultation took place in frenzied whispers. My rifle was peeled from its case, and we proceeded to scramble stealthily down a horribly steep face much broken by rocks. The shikari being in front with my rifle over his shoulder, I was favoured with frequent glimpses down its ugly black barrel as I, like Jill, “came tumbling after,” and I rejoiced that all the cartridges were safely stowed in my own pocket. Well! we searched like conspirators for that bear, peeped round rocks and peered into holes, and anxiously eyed all possible and impossible places where a bear might be supposed to reside, but there was no bear; and at length we arrived on the bank of the torrent which rioted noisily down the bottom of the nullah.

I now began to realise that plunging about in snow, often over one’s knees, and scrambling among the fallen tree-trunks and great rocks selected by the torrent to make its bed, was distinctly tiring work!

Presently we came to a bridge over the river. It consisted of a single log, and appeared extremely slender. The stream was not deep enough to drown a man, but, all the same, a slip, sending one into the foaming water among a particularly large and hard collection of boulders, seemed most undesirable, and I stepped across, like Agag, delicately, carefully balancing myself with a khudstick. The men came prancing over as if they were on a good high-road, the careless ease with which they made the passage bordering on impertinence! I reflected, however, that sheep, and such like beasts of humble brain, can stroll upon the brink of gruesome precipices without any fear of falling, and my self-respect returned.

After another half-hour of stiff scrambling I sat down to rest awhile, leaving the men to spy the neighbourhood. Of course they had to find something, so this time they found a “serow”—a somewhat scarce beast. I awaited the coming of the serow at various coigns of vantage where they said it was bound to pass, while the four men surrounded it from different directions. Finally, like the Levite, it passed by on the other side—at least I never saw it. The shikari afterwards informed me, in confidence, that it was, like the inexcusable baby in _Peter Simple_, “a very little one.”

We now made the best of our way down the nullah, and when an apology for a path became apparent I rejoiced greatly, and followed it along its corkscrew course until the camp came suddenly into view as we topped a spur, which gave the path a final excuse for dragging me up a stiff two hundred feet, and then sending me down a knee-shaking descent, for no apparent reason but pure “cussedness.”

Charlotte had got home just before me, having seen nothing to shoot at. She, too, seemed anxious for tea!

During the day Sabz Ali had been doing his level best to improve the position in our sleeping-tent. The camp-beds had stood at such an angle that it was almost impossible to avoid sliding gradually into the outer darkness, but S.A. had scraped out earth from the head, and filled up a terrace at the foot, in a way which gave us hope of sound sleep. Our things had been carefully stowed, too, and a sort of hole scooped for the bath. Luxury stared us in the face!

The sunset certainly was a little dull last night, but we were quite unprepared for the dreary aspect of Dame Nature to which we awoke this morning. It was raining very heavily, and a dense pall of mist hung low among the pines, giving an impression of melancholy durability.

There was obviously nothing to do but exist as cheerfully as might be until the weather improved. The wet had shrunk canvas and rope gear till the tent-guys were as taut as fiddle-strings; and as it did not seem to have occurred to any of the servants to attend to this, an immediate tour of the camp had to be undertaken, in “rubbers” and waterproofs, to slack off guys and inspect the drainage system, as we had no wish to have our earthen floor—already sufficiently cold and clammy—turned into an absolute swamp.

These things done, we scuttled and slid down to the mess tent, and breakfasted as best we might; and the best was surprisingly good, considering the difficulties the wretched servants must have had in cooking anything in their wet lair, where the miserable fire of damp sticks produced apparently little but acrid smoke.

We passed a dismal day, as, wrapped in our warmest clothes, we sat upon our beds watching the rain turn to snow, then to hail and sleet, and finally back to rain again; while the ever-changing wisps of grey mist gathered thick in the glens, or “put forth an arm and crept from pine to pine.”

Towards evening the clouds broke a little, and the forest-clad steeps appeared through them, powdered thickly with new snow. Walter and I sallied forth from our sodden tents and held a council of war in the mud. It was decided to quit our somewhat unsatisfactory and precarious position early to-morrow, if fine, as the weather looked so nasty, and a squall of wind might have awkward consequences.

_Friday, April_ 14.—A very fairly fine morning enabled us to strike camp yesterday, and get the baggage off in good time. The Smithsons decided to make for the jheels near the river, in order to give the duck a final worry round before the season closes on the 15th.

My shikari having reported a good bara singh in a small nullah off the Erin, I arranged to go in search of him. The march down to Bandipur was a short and easy one, and we got comfortably settled on board our boats early in the afternoon. About sunset the clouds gathered thick over the hills which we had left, and a thunderstorm broke, its preliminary squall throwing the crews of our fleet into a fearful fuss, and sending them on to the bank with extra ropes and holdfasts to make all secure. An elderly lady, with a dirty red cap and very untidy ringlets, superintended the business with much clamour. We take her to be the wife or grandmother (not sure which) of the skipper.

It was with an undoubted sense of solid comfort that we lay in our cosy beds under a wooden roof, whereon the fat rain-drops sputtered, while the thunder still crackled and banged in the distance!

We shifted before dawn to a small village a couple of miles to the east, and at 6.30 Jane and I set out to attack the bara singh, of which the shikari held out high hope. My wife, mounted on a rough pony, was able to accomplish with great comfort the two miles of flat country which we had to traverse before turning off sharp to the right along a track which led steeply upwards through the scrub that clothed the lower part of the nullah.

There is something unusually charming in the dawn here—the crisp, buoyant air, the silent hills, their lower slopes and corries still a purple mystery; on high, the silver peaks—looking ridiculously close—change swiftly from their cold pallor into rosy life at the first touch of the risen sun.

The first part of our day’s work was easy enough. The sun was still hidden from us behind the mountain flange on our left; the snow patches on the sky-line ahead seemed comparatively near, and the diabolical swiftness of the shikari’s stealthy walk was yet to be fully realised.

Up and up we went, first through a thick scrub or jungle of a highly prickly description, over a few small streams, then out upon a grassy ridge, up which we slowly panted. The gradient became sharper, and I began to feel a little anxious about Jane, as the short, brown grass was slippery with frost—a slip would be very easy, and the results unpleasant. However, with the able assistance of the shikari, she did very well, and, having crossed a shelving patch of snow by cutting steps with our khudstick, we found ourselves, after an hour and a half’s stiff climbing, on the sky-line of the ridge that had seemed but an easy stroll from below. The heights and distances are most deceptive, partly on account of the crystal clearness of the air, and partly because of the magnitude of everything in proportion. The mountains are not only high themselves, but their spurs and foothills would rank as able-bodied mountains were they not dwarfed by peaks which average 15,000 feet in height above the sea. The pines which clothe their sides, the chenars and poplars in the valley, are all enormous when compared with their European cousins.

The view was most remarkable as we gained the crest of the ridge—a sea of white cloud came boiling up from the valley to the east, and, pouring over the saddle upon which we stood, gave only occasional glimpses of snow and pine and precipice above, or the glint of water in the rice-fields far below. Once, between the swirling cloud masses, the near hills lay clear in the sunshine for a few moments and revealed a party of five bara singh hinds, crossing the slope in front of us, and not more than 150 yards away. Alas! there was no stag.

This was not satisfactory weather for stalking. However I was hopeful, as I have noticed that in the fine forenoons a thick white belt of cloud often forms about the snow level—roughly, some 8000 feet above the sea, or 3000 above the Wular Lake—and hangs there for an hour or two, to disappear entirely by midday. And so it came about to-day; after a halt for tiffin, I set forward in brilliant sunshine, while Jane remained quietly perched on the hillside, as the shikari said the road was not good for a lady. The shikari was right, as, within ten minutes of starting, we had to drop from the crest of the ridge to circumvent a big rock which barred our way, to find ourselves confronted by a very unpleasant-looking slope of short brown grass, which fell away at an angle of about 50° to what seemed an endless depth. This grass, having only just become emancipated from its winter snow, had all its hair—so to speak—brushed straight down, and there was mighty little stuff to hold on to! Carefully digging little holes with our khudsticks, and not disdaining the help of my shikari, I got across, and thankfully scrambled back to the safety of the ridge.

Now we reached snow, and the going became easier, whereupon Ahmed Bot promptly set a pace which left me struggling far behind. As the sun grew stronger the surface-crust of the snow became soft, and at every few steps one went through to the knees, until both muscles and temper became sorely tried. For an hour or so we kept climbing up what was evidently one of the many steep and rugged ranges which, radiating from Haramok, on this side flank the Wular with their lofty bastions. Having apparently attained the height he deemed necessary, and got well above the part of the pine forest in which he expected to find game, Ahmed Bot turned to the left of the ridge, and we were immediately involved in the deep drifts which covered the pine-clad slope of the nullah. Over snow-covered trunks of prostrate trees, over hidden holes and broken rocks, we toiled and scrambled until, emerging breathless on a bare knoll—smooth and white as a great wedding-cake—we obtained a searching view into the neighbouring gullies. Still no sign or track of any “beast,” so we worked back until, tired and hot, I regained the place where Madame lay basking beneath her sunshade. The shikari and his myrmidons departed to “look” another bit of country, while I, nothing loth, remained to await events in the neighbourhood of the refreshment department.

On the return of the men, who had of course seen nothing, we set off for home, climbing down the edge of the ridge where yellow colchicum starred the turf. It was steep—verging on the precipitous in places—and Jane frankly expressed her satisfaction when we accomplished the worst part and entered a dense jungle of scrubby bushes, all of which seemed to grow spines of sorts. A bear was said to have been seen here yesterday, so we kept our weather eyelids lifting, but were not favoured with a sight of him. We had almost gained the bottom of the hill, with but two short miles to dinner and a tub, when weird shrieks and whistles were exchanged between our people and an excited villager below. The shikari, his eyes gleaming with uncontrollable excitement, announced that the “big stag” was waiting for me at that very moment!—and therewith Ahmed Bot dashed off down the hill, leaving me to follow as best I might. Leaving my wife in charge of the tiffin coolie, I tumbled off after the shikari, whom I found gloating with the messenger over the inspiriting particulars of the monarch of the glen, which, I understood, crouched expectant some paltry 2000 feet above us, near the top of the nullah!

It was past six o’clock, and the light already showing signs of waning, so we lost no time in attacking the hill again. I was pretty well “done,” and had to accept a tow from the shikari, and hand in hand we pressed up that accursed hill until, at seven o’clock, the sun set and it began to grow dusk. Lying down near the edge of the snow, to gain breath and let the shikari crawl round and “look” the face of the hill, I was soon moved to activity by the news that the stag was lying under a pine tree within a few hundred yards. A short “crawl” brought me within sight of the beast, who lay half-hidden by a rock. It was now so dark that even with my glasses I could only make sure that it was a “horn beast” and not a hind; there was no time to lose, so, putting up my sight for 150 yards, I let him have it, and was nearly as much surprised as gratified to see him roll out on the snow to the shot. My vexation and disgust may be imagined when I found the noble beast to be a miserable 8-pointer, which I would never have fired at if I could have seen its head properly. Heartily consigning the shikari, together with the mendacious villager and all his kind, to a hot place, I dolefully stumbled away downhill again in the gathering dark, and finally deposited my weary and dejected self on board the boat, after fourteen hours of the hardest walking I have ever done.

There is a confused tale prevalent that the bear, taking a mean advantage of my absence, has been down to the village and eaten a few ponies, or frightened them—I can’t make out which.