224 Leaves 'from an Indian Jungle. 



Such thoughts would come ; but, spite them all, what a 

 charm in those wilds and that lovely river! 



In one locality we brought a solitary mournful tiger to 

 bag, and each of us got his first buffalo ; whiling away the 

 time between by good sport with the mahasir at our very 

 tent doors. By lashing together a couple of dongas, or 

 * dug-outs/ we were able to construct a stable boat, capable 

 of accommodating ourselves, retainers, gun and rifle, tiffin, 

 rods, tackle, and boat-men. Embarking thus on one of 

 those long still reaches, away we paddled ; shot rapids ; 

 tarried awhile by some alluringly fishy pool or run, 

 consoled by the music of the winch, and passing the while 

 a woody hilly panorama full of striking beauty. 



At night alone the buffalo approaches the river bank. 

 Moonlight on a silent and deserted shore discloses some 

 great black rocks, so it would seem, that stand in the 

 shallows with the ripples glistening away from their feet. 

 Hush ! Was not that a slow plashing in the warm water ? 

 Look at that promontory of yellow sand jutting into the 

 dark waters from darker woods ! An enormous shadow, 

 clear-cut in the brilliance of a tropic moon, is creeping" 

 across it. There is the sound of profound breathings. 

 Now, gently push the dug-out along the black shadow of 

 this high bank, and wait. Slowly, ponderously, one 

 two five seven enormous creatures emerge from the 

 gloom of the sal trees into the sandy shallows and, one by 

 one, splash their leisurely way across them to a reedy 

 islet. The shining ripples widen and slap tiny wavelets 

 against our side. There is a distant crunching of gravel, 

 and some low trees amid long grass on the island are being 

 crushed through by heavy bodies. The buffaloes are 

 moving slowly up-stream, feeding as they go among the 

 rank herbage of the river -side. 



