In the Sal Forests. 215 



and, with bnt a small stretch of the imagination, was back 

 amid youthful scenes by banks of Ness or tumbling Awe. 

 While encamped by its shores that river was an ever-pleasant 

 feature of our trip. Those enforced and weary days of 

 waiting, that the big game hunter knows so well, were 

 to us all too short. Rod in hand, the hours, even under 

 a broiling sun, passed rapidly away. Mahasir, our old 

 friend Bar bus tor, inhabited each thundering run and oily 

 depth of that enchanting stream ; and bold sometimes, coy 

 usually, strangely full of guile for an inmate of so virgin a 

 river, by turns rewarded and deluded us. The amount of 

 good fresh tackle we left in that rocky eastern stream was 

 astounding. Never, I ween, had the spirit of those waters 

 reaped such a harvest of spoons, traces, swivels, spinning 

 tackle and line not to speak of a top- joint one disastrous 

 afternoon ! 



Long shall we remember those rushing rapids ; the gra- 

 nite sided islets with their drooping boughs and ferns ; the 

 great solemn sal forest through which the jungle river ran 

 towards the setting sun ; and, when floating silently home 

 to camp, down some placid reach, the indescribable charm 

 of a scene unique, I fancy, in the ' plains ' of India ! The 

 very birds, the riverside vegetation, the shape of the violet- 

 shadowed hills, were strange and unknown before. Num- 

 bers of the large black and red ' Malabar ' squirrel 

 played among the trees ; a cuckoo of entirely novel voice 

 sent his four delightful notes echoing along the woody 

 shores ; our little boatmen conversed shyly in strange and 

 dulcet speech. Rod, rifle, and gun would be forgotten, laid 

 aside, in that warm sunset glow reflected from water as 

 serene as the sky it pictured ; then in the distance, 

 round some rocky bamboo-feathered promontory, we would 

 sight our little encampment overlooking the river-bank, 



