134 DIARY OF A SPORTSMAN NATURALIST 



was perhaps justified in his exhibition of distrust at my 

 proceedings. However, he came along, all honour to him, 

 for he knew the risk better than I did. As a matter of fact 

 the rest of the night's proceedings opened my eyes not a 

 little. How casually one takes these jungle experiences 

 whilst they are happening. All in the day's work one passes 

 from incident to incident and episode to episode, getting 

 perhaps in and out of a tight place with scarce an after- 

 thought, for several weeks together. And then a long period 

 without event supervenes, to be once more followed by a 

 period of incidents. To look back at or write about, these 

 exciting portions of jungle life loom so much more largely 

 in the eye than they do, I will not say at the time of their 

 occurrence for then they may be exciting enough in all 

 conscience ; but when the lapse of a few days has brought 

 some new interest or episode into the foreground of one's 

 camp life. 



I digress with a reason for our change to the zareba on 

 this particular occasion ran us up against one of the exciting 

 experiences of jungle life and one which might easily have 

 turned out otherwise. For on such apparently trivial 

 happenings hang the decisions in these jungle adventures. 

 The adventure occurred in this way. 



We soon covered the mile and a half from the machan 

 to the zareba, I proceeding in front, rifle at full cock and the 

 orderly following behind, teeth still playing their tune, 

 though it was not perhaps now solely due to cold. For 

 myself, as soon as I had restored my circulation and the 

 resultant pricking pains had departed I was perfectly happy. 

 Our climb quickly took us out of the thin mist through 

 undergrowth which was sopping wet. The forest in the 

 bright moonlight was like fairyland, the foliage glinting 

 and glancing as it caught the rays of moonlight. We went 

 as fast as the jungle growth permitted, and in a little over 

 half an hour were inside the zareba. I call it a zareba, but 

 truth to say it merely consisted of branches stuck into the 

 ground and intertwined with jungle creepers and bits of 

 thorny shrubs. It was quite sufficient to hide us, but a half- 

 grown sambhar or a pig could have run through it with ease. 

 Once ensconced in our hiding-place I took a pull at a flask 

 of strong whiskey and water, devoured some biscuits, and 

 then prepared myself for the rest of the vigil. 



The night was a perfectly still one, the leaves hanging 



