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

Torrent Rushed With Great Rapidity Previous To

Its Descent Over A Fall Of Sixty Feet.

 

In This Impregnable Position Young Lancer Chose To Distinguish Himself,

And With A Beautiful Spring He Flew Straight At The Buck's Head; But The

Elk Met Him With A Tremendous Blow With The Fore Feet,  Which Broke His

Back,  And The Unfortunate Lancer Was Killed In His First Essay And Swept

Over The Waterfall. This Buck Was At Bay For Two Hours Before He Was

Killed.

 

A Veteran Seizer Is Generally Seamed With Innumerable Scars. Poor Old

Bran,  Who,  Being A Thoroughbred Greyhound,  Is Too Fine In The Skin For

Such Rough Hunting,  Has Been Sewn Up In So Many Places That He Is A

Complete Specimen Of Needlework. If Any Dog Is Hurt In A Fight With Elk

Or Boar,  It Is Sure To Be Old Bran. He Has Now A Scar From A Wound That

Was Seven Inches In Length,  Which He Received From A Buck Whose Horns

Are Hanging Over My Door.

 

I Had Started With The Pack At Daybreak,  And I Was Riding Down The

Badulla Road,  About A Mile From The Kennel,  When The Whole Pack Suddenly

Took Up A Scent Off The Road,  And Dashed Into The Jungle In Full Cry.

The Road Was Enclosed By Forest On Either Side. The Pack Had Evidently

Divided Upon Two Elk,  As They Were Running In Different Directions.

 

Starting Off Down The Pass,  I Soon Reached The Steep Patinas,  And I

Heard The Pack Coming Down Through The Jungle Which Crowns The Hills On

The Left Of The Road. There Was A Crush In The Underwood,  And The Next

Moment A Fine Buck Broke Cover And Went Away Along The Hillside.

Merriman And Tiptoe Were The Two Leading Dogs,  And They Were Not Fifty

Yards Behind Him. Old Smut Came Tearing Along After Them,  And I Gave

Bran A Holloa And Slipped Him Immediately. It Was A Beautiful Sight To

See Bran Fly Along The Patina: Across The Swampy Bottom,  Taking The

Broad Stream In One Bound,  And Skimming Up The Hill,  He Was On The

Buck's Path In A Few Minutes,  Pulling Up To Him At Every Stride. He

Passed The Few Dogs That Were In Chase Like Lightning,  And In A Few More

Bounds He Was At The Buck's Side. With A Dexterous Blow,  However,  The

Buck Struck Him With His Fore Foot,  And Sent Him Rolling Down The Hill

With A Frightful Gash In His Side. The Buck Immediately Descended The

Hillside,  And Came To Bay In A Deep Pool In The River. Regardless Of His

Wound,  Old Bran Followed Him; Smut And The Other Dogs Joined,  And There

Was A Fine Bay,  The Buck Fighting Like A Hero. The Dogs Could Not Touch

Him,  As He Was Particularly Active With His Antlers.

 

I Jumped Into The Water And Gave Them A Cheer,  On Which The Buck

Answered Immediately By Charging At Me. I Met Him With The Point Of My

Hunting-Knife In The Nose,  Which Stopped Him,  And In The Same Moment Old

Smut Was Hanging On His Ear,  Having Pinned Him The Instant That I Had

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Occupied His Attention. Bran Had The Other Ear Just As I Had Given Him

The Fatal Thrust. In A Few Seconds The Struggle Was Over. Bran's Wound

Was Four Inches Wide And Seven Inches Long.

 

My Brother Had A Pretty Run With The Doe With The Other Half Of The

Pack,  And We Returned Home By Eight A.M.,  Having Killed Two Elk.

 

Daybreak Is The Proper Time To Be Upon The Ground For Elk-Hunting. At

This Hour They Have Only Just Retired To The Jungle After Their Night's

Wandering On The Patinas,  And The Hounds Take Up A Fresh Scent,  And Save

The Huntsman The Trouble Of Entering The Jungle. At A Later Hour The Elk

Have Retired So Far Into The Jungle That Much Time Is Lost In Finding

Them,  And They Are Not So Likely To Break Cover As When They Are Just On

The Edge Of The Forest. I Had Overslept Myself One Morning When I Ought

To Have Been Particularly Early,  As We Intended To Hunt At The

Matturatta Plains,  A Distance Of Six Miles. The Scent Was Bad,  And The

Sun Was Excessively Hot; The Dogs Were Tired And Languid. It Was Two

O'clock P.M.,  And We Had Not Found,  And We Were Returning Through The

Forest Homewards,  Having Made Up Our Minds For A Blank Day.

 

Suddenly I Thought I Heard A Deep Voice At A Great Distance; It Might

Have Been Fancy,  But I Listened Again. I Counted The Dogs,  And Old Smut

Was Missing. There Was No Mistaking His Voice When At Bay,  And I Now

Heard Him Distinctly In The Distance. Running Towards The Sound Through

Fine Open Forests,  We Soon Arrived On The Matturatta Plains. The Whole

Pack Now Heard The Old Dog Distinctly,  And They Rushed To The Sound

Across The Patinas. There Was Smut,  Sure Enough,  With A Fine Buck At Bay

In The River,  Which He Had Found And Brought To Bay Single-Handed.

 

The Instant That The Pack Joined Him,  The Buck Broke His Bay,  And,

Leaping Up The Bank,  He Gave A Beautiful Run Over The Patinas,  With The

Whole Pack After Him,  And Bran A Hundred Paces In Advance Of The Other

Dogs,  Pulling Up To Him With Murderous Intent. Just As I Thought That

Bran Would Have Him,  A Sudden Kick Threw The Dog Over,  But He Quickly

Recovered Himself,  And Again Came To The Front,  And This Time He Seized

The Buck By The Ear,  But,  This Giving Way,  He Lost His Hold And Again

Was Kicked Over. This Had Checked The Elk's Speed For Some Seconds,  And

The Other Dogs Were Fast Closing Up,  Seeing Which,  The Buck Immediately

Altered His Course For The River,  And Took To Water In A Deep Pool. Down

Came Old Smut After Him,  And In A Few Moments There Was A Beautiful

Chorus,  As The Whole Pack Had Him At Bay.

 

The River Went Through A Deep Gorge,  And I Was Obliged To Sit Down And

Slide For About Thirty Yards,  Checking A Too Rapid Descent By Holding On

To The Rank Grass. On Arriving At The River,  I Could At First See

Nothing For The High Grass And Bushes Which Grew Upon The Bank,  But The

Din Of The Bay Was Just Below Me. Sliding Through The Tangled Underwood,

I Dropped Into Deep Water,  And Found Myself Swimming About With The Buck

And Dogs Around Me. Smut And Bran Had Him By The Ears,  And A Thrust With

The Knife Finished Him.

 

However Great The Excitement May Be During The Actual Hunting,  There Is

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A Degree Of Monotony In The Recital Of So Many Scenes Of The Same

Character That May Be Fatiguing: I Shall Therefore Close The Description

Of These Mountain Sports With The Death Of The Old Hero Smut,  And The

Loss Of The Best Hound,  Merriman,  Both Of Whom Have Left A Blank In The

Pack Not Easily Filled.

 

On October 16,  1852,  I Started With A Very Short Pack. Lucifer Was Left

In The Kennel Lame; Lena Was At Home With Her Pups; And Several Other

Dogs Were Sick. Smut And Bran Were The Only Two Seizers Out That Day,

And,  Being Short-Handed,  I Determined To Hunt In The More Green Country

At The Foot Of Hackgalla Mountain.

 

My Brother And I Entered The Jungle With The Dogs,  And Before We Had

Proceeded A Hundred Yards We Heard A Fierce Bay,  Every Dog Having

Joined. The Bay Was Not A Quarter Of A Mile Distant,  And We Were Puzzled

As To The Character Of The Game: Whatever It Was,  It Had Stood To Bay

Without A Run. Returning To The Patina,  In Which Position We Could

Distinctly Assure Ourselves Of The Direction,  We Heard The Bay Broken,

And A Slow Run Commenced. The Next Instant Bran Came Hobbling Out Of The

Jungle Covered With Blood,  Which Streamed From A Frightful Gash In His

Hind-Quarters. There Was No More Doubt Remaining As To The Game At Bay;

I It Was An Enormous Boar.

 

Bran Was Completely Hors De Combat; And Smut,  Having Lost Nearly All His

Teeth,  Was Of No Use Singlehanded With Such An Enemy. We Had No Seizers

To Depend Upon,  And The Boar Again Stood To Bay In A Thick Jungle.

 

I Happened To Have A Rifle With Me That Morning,  As I Had Noticed Fresh

Elephant-Tracks In The Neighbourhood A Few Days Previous,  And Hoping To

Be Able To Shoot The Boar,  We Entered The Jungle And Approached The

Scene Of The Bay.

 

When Within Twenty Paces Of The Spot I Heard His Fierce Grunting As He

Charged Right And Left Into The Baying Pack.* (*It Was Impossible To

Call The Hounds Off Their Game; Therefore The Only Chance Lay In The

Boar Being Seized,  When I Could Have Immediately Rushed In With The

Knife. It Was Thus Necessary To Cheer The Pack To The Attack,  Although A

Cruel Alternative.) In Vain I Cheered Them On. I Heard No Signs Of His

Being Seized,  But The Fierce Barking Of Old Smut,  Mingled With The

Savage Grunts Of The Boar,  And The Occasional Cry Of A Wounded Dog,

Explained The Hopeless Nature Of The Contest. Again I Cheered Them On,

And Suddenly Smut Came Up To Me From The Fight,  Which Was Now Not Ten

Paces Distant,  But Perfectly Concealed In Thick Bamboo Underwood. The

Old Dog Was Covered With Blood,  His Back Was Bristled Up,  And His Deep

Growl Betokened His Hopeless Rage. Poor Old Dog! He Had His Death-Wound.

He Seemed Cut Nearly In Half; A Wound Fourteen Inches In Length From The

Lower Part Of The Belly Passed Up His Flank,  Completely Severing The

Muscle Of The Hind Leg,  And Extending Up To The Spine. His Hind Leg Had

The Appearance Of Being Nearly Off,  And He Dragged It After Him In Its

Powerless State,  And,  With A Fierce Bark,  He Rushed Upon Three Legs Once

More To The Fight. Advancing To Within Six Feet Of The Boar,  I Could Not

Even See Him,  Both He And The Dogs Were So Perfectly Concealed By The

Thick Underwood. Suddenly The Boar Charged. I Jumped Upon A Small Rock

Part 3 Chapter 11 Pg 93

And Hoped For A Shot,  But Although He Came Within Three Feet Of The

Rifle,  I Could