222 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SHIKAR 



and quirks (whatever they may be) I fell on my feet, 

 and some kind friends in Nagpur took pity on me, 

 arranged everything for me and started me off on 

 my shoot. I had had hinges put on my wooden 

 boxes so that they might be handy for the servants 

 to open and shut, as they often had to pack quickly 

 for a march, but the customs people, after rummaging 

 in them, had hammered many nails in, especially 

 on the hinge side, instead of replacing the screws, 

 so it was with difficulty that we could open them 

 at all, and then with everlasting damage to the hinges. 

 The first camp I went to was on a high-road where 

 roamed a tiger whose custom was to spring on a 

 bullock being driven along in a passing cart, and drag 

 it off. The tiger always chose a dark night, and 

 of course the cartmen were able to do nothing to 

 prevent it except to give up travelling on moonless 

 nights on that part of the road that ran through 

 jungle. I often had a try for him, but he was always 

 too wary. I drove through his- piece of hunting 

 ground one night, but the cartmen were in such a 

 panic of fear that they shouted and galloped their 

 bullocks all the way, although I was ready with the 

 loaded rifle, so the tiger had no chance of getting his 

 dinner. I could not get beaters in this jungle, and 

 as the tiger had killed a calf near a village I sat up, 

 meaning only to wait a few hours, as there was a 

 very poor moon. It was getting low in the sky 

 and I could scarcely see, so I called for the shikaris, 

 who were waiting at a distance, to come and put the 

 ladder up for me to climb down. I called again; 

 no answer but the eternal silence, the beautiful 



