Part 2

But the sword was short, and the boar was very close to the horse, who snorted and plunged so that the Major could scarcely keep his seat, much less get a fair crack at the boar.

If the savage beast had succeeded in getting under the horse he would have wounded him desperately.

But Major Alden was a cool and a brave man. He kept the horse away from the boar as well as he could, and at last he got a good chance, and down came his sword on the boar’s neck.

But this cut did not seem to cool the boar’s courage very much. The savage animal still charged, the horse plunged and the Major slashed, and so the fight went on—charge, plunge, slash, until the Colonel came riding up with his spear, and soon put an end to the career of the ferocious boar.

The next time the Major and Colonel Myles went out to hunt they went after tigers.

Tiger hunting is very popular among the white residents of India, and it is well that it is, for the natives do not often succeed so well in their hunts after tigers, as the tigers succeed in their hunts after the natives.

It is astonishing to read, in the government reports, how many people are annually killed by tigers in some parts of India.

The Colonel’s first tiger hunt was not a very ambitious one. He did not go out into the jungle on an elephant in company with forty or fifty natives, but he and the Major, with two or three followers, started off on foot. They walked a long distance without seeing a sign of tigers, although they were in a place where two bullocks had been killed by these animals the previous night.

Towards noon, however, one of the natives discovered the plain tracks of a tiger, and the party followed the trail until they lost it in a mass of rocks. In these rocks, however, was a large cave, and the natives assured them that they would find the animal in this cave.

No one was particularly anxious to go into it to see if the tiger was there, but, peering carefully in at the entrance of the cave, the Colonel was sure that he saw something gleaming far back in the darkness, and he thought that the bright spot must be one of the tiger’s eyes.

To be sure, unless it was a one-eyed tiger, he ought to see two bright spots, but he did not stop to consider this point, but took deliberate aim at the spot and fired.

Nothing happened. No tiger jumped out.

Then the Major fired, although he was not quite certain that he did see a shining spot. Still there was no sign of a tiger having been shot. Even if the beast had been fairly hit by either of the shots, it is likely that he would have made some disturbance inside the cave, for tigers are very hard to kill.

Several other shots were fired without effect, and the hunters came to the conclusion that there was no tiger in the cave.

However, they consented to let the natives try a plan that they suggested. This was to smoke the tiger out of his hole. So great quantities of dried leaves and twigs were collected, and thrust into the mouth of the cave. While this work was going on, the men were very enthusiastic about it, and ran up with their arms full of leaves and sticks, seeming to entirely forget what a predicament they would be in if a tiger should be within, and if he should make up his mind to come out before they had finished their job.

When all was ready the dry stuff was fired, and very soon a great smoke arose, and as the wind blew towards the rocks, most of the smoke went into the cave.

In about three minutes a horrid growl was heard, and every darkey took to his heels, one of them making about five jumps towards a distant tree, up which he climbed like a monkey.

And they were none too quick. Out of the cave sprang an enormous tiger.

The two white men had their rifles to their shoulders in an instant, and they fired almost simultaneously. The tiger did not stop, however, but rushed on, apparently after one of the natives. But before he reached him the Colonel fired the second barrel of his rifle, and rolled the beast over. One or two more shots finished him.

This hunt was considered a great success, for the tiger was a very large one, and was no doubt, the murderer of the bullocks. The natives were delighted, and went to work to take off the skin, which was awarded to our Colonel, who had fired the decisive shot.

While in the cave the tiger had probably been lying behind some rocks, with only part of his head exposed. He had not cared to leave his entrenchments while they were firing at him, but he evidently did not like smoke.

The next time the Colonel and Major Alden went out after tigers they were on an elephant. They rode in a large wooden box on the elephant’s back, in which they could stand and fire without much fear of a tiger getting at them. They had wonderful success, for they came upon no less than five tigers, out in an open space. One of these was soon killed, and the others ran away in different directions, like enormous kittens.

But before they got entirely away another was shot dead, and two more, that ran behind some great rocks, were followed up, and killed before night.

But one very large one slipped off, growling savagely, into some reeds by the river bank, and was lost. This tiger was the largest and most dangerous of the lot, and the man who drove the elephant said he knew him very well.

He asserted that this tiger was a man-eater, as a tiger is called that has once killed a human being. Ever afterward, according to the native traditions, he has a strong liking for a man for dinner.

The driver said he had seen him kill a man, and that he knew him by his peculiar markings. Whether this story was true or not, it was evident that this was a very large and dangerous beast, and ought to be killed, if such a thing should prove possible.

So, a few days afterwards, a large hunt was organized, having for its object the destruction of this particular tiger. The party went out mounted on three elephants—two men in each _howdah_ or box, and a driver on each elephant’s neck. Besides the riders, there were about fifty natives on foot, who went along to beat up the bushes and make themselves generally useful.

The Colonel and Major Alden were not together this time, but were on different elephants. Colonel Myles’ companion was a military man who was a very good shot and quite a noted tiger hunter. His name was Captain Harrison, and our friend was very glad to go with him, because he had the best elephants and was likely to see the best sport.

There is a very great difference in the elephants that are taken on tiger hunts. Some of them will get frightened and run away the moment they see or hear a tiger, and then the hunters on their backs have not much of a chance to get a shot at the beasts. But others will stand their ground bravely, and the elephant that carried the Colonel was said to be one of these.

They rode on, close to the river bank for many a mile under a dreadfully hot sun, and, a little after noon one of the men who had mounted a tall tree shouted out that he had seen the tiger among the reeds on the river bank not very far from the spot where our hunting party sat quietly on their elephants.

Stones were now thrown into the bushes and several shots were fired by the native hunters. But no tiger made his appearance. The thicket was full of thorns and was very dense, and there were other reasons for not entering it—one very good one.

So the shouting and the stone-throwing were continued, and that was about all that was done for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Then one of the followers, who had a gun, crept on his hands and knees to the edge of the thicket and peeped in under the bushes.

He looked all about and could see nothing, and then he cast his eyes to one side, and there lay the tiger not ten feet from him!

It is amazing how quickly he drew back, jumped up, and ran off at the top of his speed. As soon as he reached what he thought was a safe distance he turned and fired at the spot where he had seen the tiger.

And what was very astonishing indeed, he hit it.

Up jumped the beast in a rage, and in an instant he bounded out of the thicket into the open field.

He was all ready for a big fight, and he growled and gnashed his teeth in a way that would have made your blood run cold.

Every body leveled their guns at him, but he did not give them time to take a good aim, for he charged at headlong speed right for the foremost elephant. The animal on which the Colonel and his friend were mounted was a brave one, but he did not fancy such a tiger as this, and he turned to run away.

But he was not quick enough. The tiger bounded at him like a flash and had him by the trunk before he could lift it out of harm’s way.

The driver on the elephant’s neck drew up his legs in a hurry, and the hunters leaned over their box to try and get a shot. But the elephant’s head was in the way, and they could not get a fair sight at the tiger.

As for the poor elephant, he did not at all fancy having a tiger chewing away at his trunk. So he bellowed and floundered about at a great rate, but that did not seem to inconvenience the tiger, who held on like a good fellow.

The other elephants and hunters were coming up, but they did not come fast enough. The elephants seemed to be a little particular about their trunks, and were in no haste to get near the beast that was hanging so grimly to their big brother.

Then our elephant got tired of this sport. He gave his trunk a swing under him at the same time that he made a step forward.

This brought the tiger just in front of his right foreleg.

Down knelt the elephant with one great knee directly upon the tiger’s body.

The elephant weighed tons, and there was a dead tiger under his knee in less than twenty seconds.

So here was a dangerous and noted tiger killed without a shot from the brave hunters who went out after him. But they were none the less brave for that.

The only man who did hit him was a coward, and the elephant that killed him, would have run away if he could. Things turn out this way sometimes.

I can only tell of one more of Colonel Myles’ hunts. He spent many months in India and killed a good many tigers, for which he had the thanks of the people and the approval of his own conscience—two things that hunters do not always have, I can assure you.

His last hunt, as far as we are concerned, was a bear hunt. He heard that a large bear had been seen a short distance from the place where he was then encamped, and early the next day after receiving the news, he went out with one native follower to see if he could find it. They followed the tracks of the beast until they reached a place where there were some very high rocks.

Mounting to the top of these they peeped over and saw, at the bottom of a ravine beneath, the mouth of a cave that appeared to extend under the rocks a short distance.

In this cave, lying with his head on his paws, they distinctly saw a large bear, fast asleep. He was, however, in such a position that it would be very hard to get a good shot at him.

The Colonel then thought of a plan to make him come out. To be sure they might have hurled stones at him or shouted, but in either case the bear might have been frightened and drawn himself into his cave, entirely out of sight, or he might have rushed up the rocks faster than they would like to have him come.

The Colonel wanted him to come out of his cave, but to stay down at the bottom of the ravine.

So he whispered to his man to unroll his long turban and to get out on the branches of a tree that overhung the mouth of the cave. Then he was to lower the turban down and tickle the bear’s nose.

The man did as he was told, and, as the turban was just long enough to reach the bear’s nose, he was able to tickle him nicely.

At first the bear just fidgeted a little and then he made a dab with his paw at the supposed fly that was worrying him.

But the turban continued to tickle him, and at last he woke up with a start. When he saw the turban hanging before him he made a snap at it, and then the man jerked it away.

Up jumped the bear, just like a cat after a handkerchief. He made a bound after the turban and seized it with his paws and teeth.

He jumped so suddenly and gave the turban such a vigorous pull that the man came very near being jerked out of the tree, which might have been bad for him, but our Colonel, who was ready with his rifle, fired and killed the bear instantly. He was a big fellow and had a splendid skin.

When the Colonel sailed for home he carried with him half a dozen bear and tiger skins. They were all fine ones, but the best of them, a magnificent skin that had once belonged to a very large and savage Bengal tiger, was a particular favorite with him, and he now has it on his library floor, just before the big grate where he sits and reads on winter evenings.

And yet he did not kill the tiger to which the skin belonged. He cannot point to it as an evidence of his bravery and skill in the jungles of India.

It is the skin of the tiger that the elephant killed with his knee.

A SUGAR CAMP.

When I was a boy I knew no more about a “sugar camp” than I knew of a molasses-candy fort.

In fact I would probably have thought one as ridiculous as the other, if it had been mentioned to me.

This was because I did not live in a maple-sugar country. I had eaten maple-sugar, but I had no idea how it was made, and when I first saw a sugar-camp, out in the woods, I was both surprised and interested.

In the first place it was not a camp at all—according to my idea—for what the people at the farm-house where I was visiting, called the camp was a house—a very rough one, but still a house. I expected to find tents and big camp-fires under the trees. I found a fire, but it was in the house.

It was in February that I went out to the camp, and although there was still snow on the ground, the day was mild and pleasant.

The men were all at work when I arrived, and I wandered about, looking at everything and asking questions.

The camp was in the middle of a large grove of sugar-maple trees, and in each of the large trees a hole had been bored, and a little spout, made of a piece of elder wood, with the pith scooped out, had been inserted in each hole. Through these spouts the sap was dripping into pans and wooden troughs, placed at the foot of each tree.

As fast as these pans and troughs were filled they were taken to the house and emptied into boilers that were suspended over the fire. Here the sap boiled away at a great rate, and the men took turns in stirring it so that it should not burn.

I found that this sugar-making was quite a tedious operation, as the sap had to be boiled twice, and a great deal of care and time was spent upon it before it cooled down into the hard, light-brown maple sugar of which most boys and girls are so fond.

But I saw enough to make me understand the principles of the business.

I found that when the sap began to rise in the trees, in the early spring, there was always enough of it to supply the needs of the tree, and a good deal besides to supply the needs of the sugar-makers.

I watched all the processes, and tasted the sap when it first flowed from the tree and in all its different stages. And when I went back to the farm-house, early in the afternoon, I thought that it would be a great thing to have a grove of sugar-maples, and to be able to make one’s own sugar, and to be independent, in that respect at least, of the grocery-store.

I had not yet taken a meal at the farm-house, for I had arrived that day after breakfast, and had gone out to the camp soon afterward.

When supper-time came—and long before in fact—I was very hungry, having had but a lunch in the woods. And so I ate bravely of the good things that were so bountifully spread upon the table. But when I came to drink my tea, which was sweetened with maple-sugar, I did not like it. And the more I drank the less I cared to own a sugar-maple grove, and brighter and brighter became the visions of the grocery store, with its savory smells, and its great bins of sugar from the sugar-canes of Louisiana and Cuba.

When supper was over I had not finished my cup of tea, but I had changed my mind completely about the desirableness of owning a sugar-maple grove, and making one’s own sugar.

SILVER-PLATING.

The precious metals are gold, silver, and platinum. They are so called because they are rare and costly. Platinum is the most rare, and is used only to a very moderate extent. Gold is more plentiful; and silver much more abundant, though sufficiently rare to be considered a precious metal.

We do not often hear of articles of table service of solid gold, though solid silver is comparatively common. But, with the help of electricity, skilled workmen are able to cover the cheaper metals with one or more coatings of gold or silver, and the articles thus treated, look like solid gold or silver.

A very small quantity of the precious metals will plate a large number of articles; but even with this small amount of gold, the gold-plated substances are too costly to be in general use; though it is quite common to line silver-plated articles with a thin plate of gold.

Exceedingly beautiful things are made of silver-plated ware, for table service especially, but it is also much used for ornaments, and even statues and statuettes are made of it, as well as a great variety of useful things.

As you are in the habit of seeing so many silver-plated articles I think you will be interested if I tell you, briefly, how the plating is done. But you will understand my description better if you know something about the galvanic battery, and the laws which govern its action, and if you have not studied this matter, any one of your acquaintance who possesses an electrical machine, will no doubt take pleasure in explaining it to you.

I am supposing you did not know before that the same agent which causes the lightning to flash from the clouds, puts the silver on your tea-spoons.

After the article to be silver-plated has been formed out of some cheap metal, or a metallic composition, it is thoroughly cleansed; for there must not be the very slightest taint of greasiness or dirt upon the surface. The method of cleaning depends upon the metal; some are burned in the fire, and some are purified with alkalies. They are next washed in acids, then scoured with sand or pumice stone, and washed, and brushed. They are now clean, and are dried in sawdust to avoid handling and soiling.

All of these operations have to be carefully done. They are generally performed by women.

They are then taken to the gilder to receive their deposit of metal, whether zinc, copper, gold, or silver.

Our articles, you know, are to be silver-plated. They are therefore placed in a fluid chemical mixture contained in a box of wood, stoneware, or some other non-metallic substance, which is called the bath.

Through the liquid contained in this bath, the electrical current is passed in this way. The wires of a galvanic battery are connected with two metal rods lying across the box. The things to be plated are hung by metal hooks to one of these rods—which communicates with the negative pole of the battery. To the other rod, which communicates with the positive pole of the battery, is hung a piece of silver. This completes the circuit, and the electrical fluid passes from pole to pole, going from the battery into the rods, and through the metallic hooks, and articles hung upon them, into the liquid. The silver on the positive side is dissolved by the electricity, and deposited in a thin layer upon the articles on the negative side.

It requires a perfect knowledge of the business to know just how to manage all these matters, so that the deposit shall leave an even surface. There are many little secrets, known only to manufacturers, which enable them to increase the beauty of the plating.

But the articles are not ready for use as soon as plated. A good deal is to be done to them in the way of brushing, polishing, and burnishing. And then they often have to be ornamented in plain designs, or with garlands of flowers, or sprays of leaves. Sometimes figures of men or animals are moulded upon them. Occasionally, for splendid objects of art, the leaves and flowers are colored their natural tints.

VERY ANCIENT ANIMALS.

If you boys never went on a “possum hunt” you have missed a good deal of fun. I really cannot tell which enjoys this hunt the most, men, or boys, or dogs. I think we can guess pretty well which enjoys it least—the opossum. If he gets safely off, though, as he does very often, I have no doubt he enjoys thinking over the chase, and laughs to himself at the way he outwitted dogs and men; for, of course, he would put the dogs first, as being of the greater importance in his eyes.

Moonlight nights are the times to hunt opossums. Where these animals go in the day-time I am sure I don’t know, but they roll themselves up in a ball, and sleep soundly somewhere, entirely out of the way of everybody. But, at night, they are awake and active, and look up their food.

And then it is that we look them up for food; and for the fun of the hunt. More for the fun, I am afraid, than the food; for we get plenty to eat without going after wild animals; whereas the poor opossum looks for his food because he is really hungry.

We start off, on some fine moonlight night, a party of men and boys. We are in high spirits, and laugh and talk, and have a good time. The dogs are in high spirits too, and run and frisk gaily about. But when we approach the woods we grow quiet and begin to look around expectantly. The dogs understand perfectly what business we are upon, and know that we rely upon them to “tree” the game. So they trot soberly on before us, turning to the right or left as their scent leads them.

Presently they come upon an opossum. The animal starts off on a fast run. Then follows a mad stampede of dogs, boys and men. No need now to keep quiet. We crash through bushes and briers. Finally the opossum, seeing that the dogs are gaining upon him, takes refuge in a tree. Up he goes, like a flash, to the very topmost branches, curls his tail and legs around a limb, tucks his head under the fur of his breast, hangs limp, and pretends to be dead.

He thinks now he is safe, but we know we have him sure. For we have axes with us, and we cut down the tree. The opossum makes no effort to get away while the noise of cutting and the shaking of the tree is going on. And when the tree comes down, Mr. “Possum” is ours.

His flesh tastes like young pig, only more tender and delicate.

But, you will say, this picture is not like our opossums. It does not seem very much like one at first sight, but, on looking closer, you will see several points of resemblance. Our opossum carries its young in a pouch sometimes, and sometimes on its back, and this one, you see, has its three cunning little young ones on its back, with their dear little tails curled lovingly around their mother’s big tail. It has a long prehensile tail, and long flexible feet, so that it can fasten itself to the branches of trees just as ours do. Its fur is pretty much the same. In some respects it is not like ours.