The Rifle And The Hound In Ceylon(Fiscle Part-3) by Sir Samuel White Baker (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📖

Part 3 Chapter 8 Pg 62

Building,  And Afforded Excellent Accommodation: A Verandah In The Front,

Twenty-Eight Feet By Eight; A Dining-Room Twenty Feet By Twelve,  With A

Fireplace Eight Feet Wide; And Two Bed-Rooms Of Twenty Feet By Eight.

Deer-Hides Were Pegged Down To Form A Carpet Upon The Floors,  And The

Walls Were Neatly Covered With Talipot Leaves. The Outhouses Consisted

Of The Kennel,  Stables For Three Horses,  Kitchen,  And Sheds For Twenty

Coolies And Servants.

 

The Fireplace Was A Rough Piece Of Art,  Upon Which We Prided Ourselves

Extremely. A Party Of Eight Persons Could Have Sat Before It With

Comfort. Many A Roaring Fire Has Blazed Up That Rude Chimney; And Dinner

Being Over,  The Little Round Table Before The Hearth Has Steamed Forth A

Fragrant Attraction,  When The Nightly Bowl Of Mulled Port Has Taken Its

Accustomed Stand. I Have Spent Many Happy Hours In This Said Spot; The

Evenings Were Of A Decidedly Social Character. The Day's Hunting Over,

It Was A Delightful Hour At About Seven P.M.--Dinner Just Concluded,

The Chairs Brought Before The Fire,  Cigars And The Said Mulled Port.

Eight O'clock Was The Hour For Bed,  And Five In The Morning To Rise,  At

Which Time A Cup Of Hot Tea,  And A Slice Of Toast And Anchovy Paste Were

Always Ready Before The Start. The Great Man Of Our Establishment Was

The Cook.

 

This Knight Of The Gridiron Was A Famous Fellow,  And Could Perform

Wonders; Of Stoical Countenance,  He Was Never Seen To Smile. His Whole

Thoughts Were Concentrated In The Mysteries Of Gravies,  And The Magic

Transformation Of One Animal Into Another By The Art Of Cookery; In This

He Excelled To A Marvellous Degree. The Farce Of Ordering Dinner Was

Always Absurd. It Was Something In This Style: 'Cook!' (Cook Answers)

'Coming,  Sar!' (Enter Cook): ' Now,  Cook,  You Make A Good Dinner; Do You

Hear?' Cook: `Yes,  Sar; Master Tell,  I Make.'--`Well,  Mulligatawny

Soup.' 'Yes,  Sar.'--'Calves' Head With Tongue And Brain Sauce.' 'Yes,

Sar.'--' Gravy Omelette.' 'Yes,  Sar.'--'Mutton Chops.' 'Yes,

Sar.'--'Fowl Cotelets.' `Yes,  Sar.'--'Beefsteaks.' 'Yes,  Sar.'--'Marrow-

Bones.' 'Yes,  Sar.'--'Rissoles.' 'Yes,  Sar.' All These Various Dishes He

Literally Imitated Uncommonly Well,  The Different Portions Of An Elk

Being Their Only Foundation.

 

The Kennel Bench Was Comfortably Littered,  And The Pack Took Possession

Of Their New Abode With The Usual Amount Of Growling And Quarrelling For

Places; The Angry Grumbling Continuing Throughout The Night Between The

Three Champions Of The Kennel--Smut,  Bran,  And Killbuck. After A Night

Much Disturbed By This Constant Quarrelling,  We Unkennelled The Hounds

Just As The First Grey Streak Of Dawn Spread Above Totapella Peak.

 

The Mist Was Hanging Heavily On The Lower Parts Of The Plain Like A

Thick Snowbank,  Although The Sky Was Beautifully Clear Above,  In Which A

Few Pale Stars Still Glimmered. Long Lines Of Fog Were Slowly Drifting

Along The Bottoms Of The Valleys,  Dispelled By A Light Breeze,  And Day

Fast Advancing Bid Fair For Sport; A Heavy Dew Lay Upon The Grass,  And

We Stood For Some Moments In Uncertainty As To The First Point Of Our

Extensive Hunting-Grounds That We Should Beat. There Were Fresh Tracks

Of Elk Close To Our 'Lodge,' Who Had Been Surveying Our New Settlement

During The Night. Crossing The River By Wading Waist-Deep,  We Skirted

Along The Banks,  Winding Through A Narrow Valley With Grassy Hills

Capped With Forest Upon Either Side. Our Object In Doing This Was To

Seek For Marks Where The Elk Had Come Down To Drink During The Night,  As

We Knew That The Tracks Would Then Lead To The Jungle Upon Either Side

The River. We Had Strolled Quietly Along For About Half A Mile,  When The

Loud Bark Of An Elk Was Suddenly Heard In The Jungle Upon The Opposite

Hills. In A Moment The Hounds Dashed Across The River Towards The

Well-Known Sound,  And Entered The Jungle At Full Speed. Judging The

Direction Which The Elk Would Most Probably Take When Found,  I Ran Along

The Bank Of The River,  Down Stream,  For A Quarter Of A Mile,  Towards A

Jungle Through Which The River Flowed Previous To Its Descent Into The

Lower Plains,  And I Waited,  Upon A Steep Grassy Hill,  About A Hundred

Feet Above The River's Bed. From This Spot I Had A Fine View Of The

Ground. Immediately Before Me,  Rose The Hill From Which The Elk Had

Barked; Beneath My Feet,  The River Stretched Into A Wide Pool On Its

Entrance To The Jungle. This Jungle Clothed The Precipitous Cliffs Of A

Deep Ravine,  Down Which The River Fell In Two Cataracts; These Were

Concealed From View By The Forest. I Waited In Breathless Expectation Of

'The Find.' A Few Minutes Passed,  When The Sudden Burst Of The Pack In

Full Cry Came Sweeping Down Upon The Light Breeze; Loudly The Cheering

Sound Swelled As They Topped The Hill,  And Again It Died Away As They

Crossed Some Deep Ravine. In A Few Minutes The Cry Became Very Distant;

As The Elk Was Evidently Making Straight Up The Hills; Once Or Twice I

Feared He Would Cross Them,  And Make Away For A Different Part Of The

Country. The Cry Of The Pack Was So Indistinct That My Ear Could Barely

Catch It,  When Suddenly A Gust Of Wind From That Direction Brought Down

A Chorus Of Voices That There Was No Mistaking: Louder And Louder The

Music Became; The Elk Had Turned,  And Was Coming Down The Hill-Side At A

Slapping Pace. The Jungle Crashed As He Came Rushing Through The

Yielding Branches. Out He Came,  Breaking Cover In Fine Style,  And Away

He Dashed Over The Open Country. He Was A Noble Buck,  And Had Got A Long

Start; Not A Single Hound Had Yet Appeared,  But I Heard Them Coming

Through The Jungle In Full Cry. Down The Side Of The Hill He Came

Straight To The Pool Beneath My Feet. Yoick To Him! Hark Forward To Him!

And I Gave A View Halloa Till My Lungs Had Well-Nigh Cracked. I Had Lost

Sight Of Him,  As He Had Taken To Water In The Pool Within The Jungle.

 

One More Halloa! And Out Came The Gallant Old Fellow Smut From The

Jungle,  On The Exact Line That The Elk Had Taken. On He Came,  Bounding

Along The Rough Side Of The Hill Like A Lion,  Followed By Only Two

Dogs--Dan,  A Pointer (Since Killed By A Leopard),  And Cato,  A Young Dog

Who Had Never Yet Seen An Elk. The Remainder Of The Pack Had Taken After

A Doe That Had Crossed The Scent,  And They Were Now Running In A

Different Direction. I Now Imagined That The Elk Had Gone Down The

Ravine To The Lower Plains By Some Run That Might Exist Along The Edge

Of The Cliff,  And Accordingly I Started Off Along A Deer-Path Through

The Jungle,  To Arrive At The Lower Plains By The Shortest Road That I

Could Make.

 

Hardly Had I Run A Hundred Yards,  When I Heard The Ringing Of The Bay

Part 3 Chapter 8 Pg 63

And The Deep Voice Of Smut,  Mingled With The Roar Of The Waterfall,  To

Which I Had Been Running Parallel. Instantly Changing My Course,  I Was

In A Few Moments On The Bank Of The River Just Above The Fall. There

Stood The Buck At Bay In A Large Pool About Three Feet Deep,  Where The

Dogs Could Only Advance By Swimming. Upon My Jumping Into The Pool,  He

Broke His Bay,  And,  Dashing Through The Dogs,  He Appeared To Leap Over

The Verge Of The Cataract,  But In Reality He Took To A Deer-Path Which

Skirted The Steep Side Of The Wooded Precipice. So Steep Was The

Inclination That I Could Only Follow On His Track By Clinging To The

Stems Of The Trees. The Roar Of The Waterfall,  Now Only A Few Feet On My

Right Hand,  Completely Overpowered The Voices Of The Dogs Wherever They

Might Be,  And I Carefully Commenced A Perilous Descent By The Side Of

The Fall,  Knowing That Both Dogs And Elk Must Be Somewhere Before Me. So

Stunning Was The Roar Of The Water,  That A Cannon Might Have Been Fired

Without My Hearing It. I Was Now One-Third Of The Way Down The Fall,

Which Was About Fifty Feet Deep. A Large Flat Rock Projected From The

Side Of The Cliff,  Forming A Platform Of About Six Feet Square,  Over One

Corner Of Which,  The Water Struck,  And Again Bounded Downwards. This

Platform Could Only Be Reached By A Narrow Ledge Of Rock,  Beneath Which,

At A Depth Of Thirty Feet,  The Water Boiled At The Foot Of The Fall.

Upon This Platform Stood The Buck,  Having Gained His Secure But

Frightful Position By Passing Along The Narrow Ledge Of Rock. Should

Either Dog Or Man Attempt To Advance,  One Charge From The Buck Would

Send Them To Perdition,  As They Would Fall Into The Abyss Below. This

The Dogs Were Fully Aware Of,  And They Accordingly Kept Up A Continual

Bay From The Edge Of The Cliff,  While I Attempted To Dislodge Him By

Throwing Stones And Sticks Upon Him From Above.

 

Finding This Uncomfortable,  He Made A Sudden Dash Forward,  And,  Striking

The Dogs Over,  Away He Went Down The Steep Sides Of The Ravine,  Followed

Once More By The Dogs And Myself.

 

By Clinging From Tree To Tree,  And Lowering Myself By The Tangled

Creepers,  I Was Soon At The Foot Of The First Fall,  Which Plunged Into A

Deep Pool On A Flat Plateau Of Rock,  Bounded On Either Side By A

Wall-Like Precipice.

 

This Plateau Was About Eighty Feet In Length,  Through Which,  The Water

Flowed In Two Rapid But Narrow Streams From The Foot Of The First Fall

Towards A Second Cataract At The Extreme End. This Second Fall Leaped

From The Centre Of The Ravine Into The Lower Plain.

 

When I Arrived On This Fine Level Surface Of Rock,  A Splendid Sight

Presented Itself. In The Centre Of One Of The Rapid Streams,  The Buck

Stood At Bay,  Belly-Deep,  With The Torrent Rushing In Foam Between His

Legs. His Mane Was Bristled Up,  His Nostrils Were Distended,  And His

Antlers Were Lowered To Receive The Dog Who Should First Attack Him. I

Happened To Have A Spear On That Occasion,  So That I Felt He Could Not

Escape,  And I Gave The Baying Dogs A Loud Cheer On. Poor Cato! It Was

His First Elk,  And He Little Knew The Danger Of A Buck At Bay In Such A

Strong Position. Answering With Youthful Ardour To My Halloa,  The Young

Dog Sprang Boldly At The Elk's Face,  But,  Caught Upon The Ready Antlers,

He Was Instantly Dashed Senseless Upon The Rocks. Now For Old Smut,  The

Hero Of Countless Battles,  Who,  Though Pluck To The Back-Bone,  Always

Tempers His Valour With Discretion.

 

Yoick To Him,  Smut! And I Jumped Into The Water. The Buck Made A Rush

Forward,  But At That Moment A Mass Of Yellow Hair Dangled Before His

Eyes As The True Old Dog Hung Upon His Cheek. Now Came The Tug Of

War--Only One Seizer! The Spring Had Been So Great,  And The Position Of

The Buck Was So Secure,  That The Dog Had Missed The Ear,  And Only Held

By The Cheek. The Elk,  In An Instant,  Saw His Advantage,  And Quickly

Thrusting His Sharp Brown Antlers Into The Dog's Chest,  He Reared To His

Full Height And Attempted To Pin The Apparently Fated Smut Against A

Rock. That Had Been The Last Of Smut's Days Of Prowess Had I Not

Fortunately Had A Spear. I Could Just Reach The Elk's Shoulder In Time

To Save The Dog. After A Short But Violent Struggle,  The Buck Yielded Up

His Spirit. He Was A Noble Fellow,  And Pluck To The Last.

 

Having Secured