122 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
fAua. 15. 1896. 
SPORT IN INDIA. 
lI.^The Great Plain. 
Ir we now suppose ourselves to emerge from the belt of 
sub-Himalayan forest and proceed southward we find our- 
selves on the vast alluvial plain which forms all the north- 
em part oE India. So gentle is the slope of this immense 
surface that the ancient city of Delhi, which stands at 
about its center, 1,000 miles from the sea on either hand, 
is yet but 800ft. above sea level. Less than 1ft. per mile 
is the slope, and down it slowly glide the waters of the 
great rivers Indus and Ganges, whose shores are lined 
with a succession of populous cities. Here we have the 
seat of one of the most ancient civilizations known to the 
world of our day. 
This great plain of northern India was all cleared and 
settled ages ago, and a dense population now fills it. 
Under such conditions the sportsman would hardly expect 
to find anything to attract him, but yet there is plenty of 
sport to be had on this wide, densely peopled area. In no 
other coimtry would this be possible; any people like our- 
selves would long ago have made a clean sweep of every 
bird and beast. But the mild Hindoo is a vegetarian and 
has no taste for field sports. "Live and let live" is his 
motto. One day when out after duck I inquired of a 
native fisherman (because many wUl eat fish, though not 
flesh) whether there were any otters in those waters. 
"Plenty," he replied, "we often see them." 
"Why, then," I asked, "do none of you ever trap or 
shoot them? Their skins are good and they destroy many 
of your fish." 
*'Grod has made tiie otters as He made me," he replied. 
"They also are fishers as I am. What right have I to 
molest them?" 
Such is the beautiful religion of these good people; it is 
a pity that some little of this respect for wild animal life 
cannot be imported into another country that we know 
of. The result is that right around the villages and 
among the crops game is to be foimd. 
The black antelope, that most graceful and swiftest of 
all creatures on the face of this earth, roams over these 
wide plains. While a farmer is hoeing at one end of a 
field the antelope yill be taking a nibble at the other end. 
They are not pleiAcLf ul enough nor voracious enough to 
do any real harm to the crops, and of course they get 
driven about a great deal, but they can always get a 
bite somewhere, by night if not by day. Here and there 
will be a few acres of faUow or waste land, where they 
can collect to rest and lie down unmolested. They have 
little fear of the native, but in most districts they have 
learned by this time to keep clear of the white man and 
his gun, so that on the open plain, with no cover but the 
crops, it takes a lot of careful stalking to get a shot. The 
buck is black above, with pure white below, stands nearly 
3ft. in height, weighs about lOOlbs. and carries very ele- 
gant straight horns, spirally twisted and running up to 
2ft. in length. The doe is smaller and light fawn colored. 
Their speed far exceeds the fastest greyhound's. I have 
often succeeded , when riding out with my greyhoimds, 
in coming on antelope by surprise and laying the dogs 
on to them at close quarters, but in a few tremendous 
boimds the deer will stretch away ahead; eagerly and 
keenly though the dogs will strain after him, they may 
run themselves to a standstill without putting the antelope 
to any fatigue. 
In a district where they are plentiful I have known a 
game h6g to shoot twelve in one day without even leav- 
ing the high road along which he was driving. But 
there is a very strong feeling among English sportsmen 
in India against the game hog, and this feeling has in- 
creased so much of late years that no one would dare now 
to kill twelve bucks in a day or anything like it. The 
following is, roughly speaking, the code of Anglo-Indian 
sportpmanship. 
(1) Not to shoot an unreasonable amount of any kind of 
game, however plentiful it may be. 
(2) Strictly to respect the breeding season. 
(3) Not to shoot the does or hinds of the deer and ante- 
lope tribes, only the bucks and stags. This rule is very 
strict, and the man who shoots hind or doe is looked upon 
with much contempt. 
The best sportsmen not only will never think of firing 
at anything but stags and bucks, but they will not shoot 
even a young one whose horns are not of a good size — 
nothing but fine, well matured animals with good 
heads. 
The black antelope is the only species of large game 
that lives right in the open plains and fields, relying en- 
tirely on his speed and never entering coverts. 
Although the great plain is so entirely cleared and 
densely populated, there are few districts which do not 
contain some stretches of scrub and bush land, high 
grass, etc., and the tall crops of millet and sugar cane 
also afford cover to game which cannot live in the open. 
Along the borders of all the great rivers runs a strip of 
land a mile or so wide which cannot be cultivated be- 
cause it is flooded every rainy season, though dry for most 
of the year — rough ground, full of high grass and bushes. 
In such places a variety of game is found, large and 
small. We here find the nilgau, a large, heavy species of 
antelope standing 4ift. high, but not much sought after 
by sportsmen because his horns are insignificant. The 
hog deer is a small species of antlered deer standing some 
28in. high and carrying a good three-pointed horn. Wild 
hogs are also common in these localities. 
Pea fowl, black partridge, gray partridge, florican and 
hares all abound in grass and bush coverts. 
In waste, sandy places the great Indian bustard is seen 
from afar off. He has to be shot with the rifle, as it is 
seldom possible to get within gun range. 
Several species of sand grouse are met with and afford 
excellent sport. Blue pigeons are very common, and in 
groves of trees the beautiful green pigeons are met with. 
The great Indian plain is also a wonderful wildfowl 
country. All over it are found pieces of water, varying 
from ponds up to extensive lakes or marshes of several 
square miles, half filled with reeds and swamp grass and 
affording cover to untold millions of wildfowl. Most of 
these are migratory and have their breeding grounds 
among some almost unknown lakes in Thibet north of the 
Himalayas. About October they come south and every 
suitable piece of water swarms with them all the winter. 
M^Tij of the species of wild duck are tbe §i»oj© a§ ijh.^ 
American and European ones, while others are peculiar to 
Asia. We have in India about twenty- five different kinds 
of wild ducks and geese, besides an immense variety of 
herons, storks, cranes, ibis, pelicans, plover and other 
shore birds and waders, all in great quantities. The snipe 
shooting is something unequaled and vast flocks of quail 
are found among the crops. Nowhere in the world can 
wildfowl shooting be met with in such great variety, or so 
easy to get at and in such an excellent climate. 
That reminds me to say a little about the climate. 
Popular imagination no doubt usually pictures India as a 
very hot country, abounding in snakes, reptiles and in- 
sects. The reality is as follows, speaking now of northern 
India, where we at present are supposed to be: 
In April, May and June there is a very dry heat; it is 
very hot out on the plains, but good in the cool of the 
forests. This is very healthy weather and there are no 
snakes or insects around. July, August and September 
are the rainy season — tei-r ibly hot and steamy; snakes and 
insects out in plenty. This is an abominable period, and 
anyone who can do so escapes to the mountains. But the 
great body of Indian officials who run the country, judges 
and magistrates, police officers and engineers, as well as 
most who are in the country for businees and trade, all 
have to stick it out at their posts, carrying on their work 
and not getting away on the average more than 
one hot season out of four. Glad they are when 
September is well past and another winter begins. 
The winter of northern India, from the middle of 
October till the middle of March, is absolutely perfect 
weather, neither hot nor cold. The forests are still too 
damp and dense from the previous rainy season to go 
into, but from October to March one can enjoy camping 
in perfection on the plains and have all the sport above 
referred to. Most of the officials spend this" season in 
camp, going about the district they have charge of. The 
great beauty of the Indian cold season is its absolute cer- 
tainty. There may be similar weather in the Southern 
States of America where it is not too damp. (# went to 
Florida once in December and found the climate unbear- 
able from its dampness — ^not to be compared for one 
moment with India at the same season.) In the drier 
Southern States there may be a winter as good as the 
Indian, but then it is liable to be interrupted by a 
"norther" and there may be snow in New Orleans. This 
cannot happen in India — never has happened during all 
its long history — because the great wall of the Himalayas 
across the north shuts off any "northers." Hence we 
have a perfect winter of about 60° Fahrenheit a^Bolutely 
steady, the only possible break of the weather being just 
a little rain now and then, There are no snakes or insects 
about. 
Altogether for excellence of climate, facilities for camp- 
ing comfortably, and variety of sport no Country can 
compare with northern India. 
Majob 6. M. Bkllasis, 
Bengal Staff Corps (retired). 
[to be continued.] 
MY OLD SUIT OF CLOTHES. 
Thehe are certain memories clinging to an old suit of 
clothes that are none the less charming in spite of their 
humble origin. Every year at the close of my September 
vacation I hang them away in their old resting place and 
wonder if I will ever wear them again. I have them on 
now, over here at Hemlock Lake, and they are just as 
good as ever, and oh, how delightfully e they are, 
how they conform to every curve of my frame and settle 
down so restfuUy when I take my after-dinner siesta. 
Shall I analyze this old suit of clothes of mine? Will any- 
body care to listen to their simple tale? 
The coat and vest are mates, made at the same time 
and made to stay. Twenty years ago they were builded 
by my tailor on lines distinctly laid down by me. This 
was before the days when a good dead grass color canvas 
shooting coat replete with many pockets could be bought 
at any sportsmen's supply store for $3.50, so I sent for 
the good brown canvas and had him make me a sleeve- 
less coat with seven outside and one large inside pocket, 
the last one for game and reaching clear around the 
skirt. The vest was fitted with sleeves and had two large 
side pockets and two rows of cartridge slips across the 
breast. The corduroy trousers I haven't had so long, but 
they belong to the old suit just the same and play their 
part acceptably. 
Now I presume a thousand readers of Forest and 
Stream have exactly such an old suit as I have, and pos- 
sibly they may protest against my flaunting these old 
relics before them, sneering at the very idea of there 
being anything worth mentioning in an old hunting suit. 
But wait a moment, we all love an old gun, an old friend, 
an old dog, an old rod! why not an old suit of clothes? 
What a mine of recollection I unearth when I take 
down the old coat and go through it systematically. The 
right shoulder is frayed and worn where the friction of 
the tip stock of my gun has overcome the toughness of 
the canvas and left a jagged hole. It took many ex- 
cursions to wear the old coat that way. Through the 
mists of years they take shape before my eyes as I hold 
the time-honored garment at arm's length. Along the 
Ohio River bottoms I tramp for quail. I am watching a 
runway for deer at the headwaters of the Shenandoah in 
Virginia. I am looking for grouse on the Au Sable in 
northern Michigan, while in my own western New York 
I am scouring the counties of Steuben, Livingston and 
Ontario for general results. 
I feel in the upper left-hand pocket, sacred to my 
tobacco pouch, and as I take out a pinch of powdery, 
dusty leavings I can almost pick out the Piccadilly, curly 
cut and Seal of North Carolina (I abominate granulated 
tobacco) from the mess and tell just when and where I 
burnt them. 
In another pocket I find a little tin match-box packed 
full of old-fashioned sulphur matches, so old and frayed 
that an attempt to light one only yields a faint, sheolic 
sizzle. That box once contained split shot for bait fish- 
ing for trout, and years ago I packed it full of sulphur 
matches, but I only carried them thinking some day they 
might come in handy; but they never did. In the same 
pocket, clinking weirdly against its mate, I discover a 
little old brass compass scarcely fin. in diameter. It was 
given me by a friend many years ago, and gratefully re- 
ceived as a most useful addition to my kit. It is a little 
open-faced affair, an4 how it ever survived the hard 
knocks it has received in company with the match-bo3f I 
dpD'ti uadwdtaud; 't>i|t a>3 % tak^ |ti Qi^t l&j it ui pU? 
palm of my hand it looks as bright and clear as a new 
cent and flops around to the north as promptly as a pri- 
vate at salute. And now I take out a big blue silk hand- 
kerchief used for neck protection only, and guiltless of 
the laundry for more than a decade. How many times 
its soft, ample folds have kept out sun and rain and wind ifai 
the years that have gone. Last of all, t take out the old soft 
rubber drinking cup and contemplate it lovingly, t wondeir 
from how many epringa and mountain streams I have 
taken water through the medium of that cup? Originally 
the color of it waa white, but time and the corroding in- 
fluence of a variety of wateirs have had their effect on the 
old cup, and it is now a dingy gray; but it is still pliable 
and water-tight, and will do good service for many years 
to come. I turn the old coat around and dive into the 
roomy game pocket, and draw forth bits of feathers, fur 
and twigs. So disintegrated and small are these relics 
that I fail to locate them minutely, and as I turn them 
over in my hand how the days in the autumn woods come 
back to me, and I recall many a satisfactory contribution 
made to that old pocket. 
Hanging up the coat, I look into the pockets of the vest 
and only find a few stray shot, a couple of quill tooth- 
Eicks and a stub lead pencil. The trousers yield a long- 
laded, clasp knife, given me more than fifteen years ago 
by a friend in the hardware business. The blade is a 
splendid piece of steel, and so arranged that once open it 
cannot be closed without pressing a spring in the back. 
Before my friend, the rector, went over the river we all 
must cross, he taught me that the only way to treat trout 
was to clean the morning's catch at luncheon and the 
afternoon's: yield at the close of the day's 5port, and then 
to pack them nicely in the creek with fresh ferns; and 
upon arriving home they would be all ready for the pan. 
So when I take out this fine old knife it all comes back to 
me: the rector and I seated down by the Loyalsock in Sul- 
livan county. Pa., each with a little pile of trout before 
him, plying our knives and pipes and voices, while the 
grand, old hemlock-clad hills look down upon us lovingly. 
Ah, well, I don't find anything more in the old suit but 
pleasant memories, so I relegate it to its accustomed 
hooks, noting with pleasure that it don't seem to be grow- 
ing old any faster than its owner. May the old suit yet 
see much service, and come through the thickets with its 
wearer safely into the clearing. H. W. D. L. 
Danbvuxk, N. Y. 
TWO IN LAPLAND* 
"What's better for supper than Little Neck clams and 
cold salmon on a hot night in July?", said Pod, helping 
himself bountifully to the salmon. 
"You'll get tired enough of salmon before you get back; 
I imagine," said Dick. "Well, you wouldn't catch Frank 
and me running off to the wilds of Lapland for sport, 
would he, Frank? But here's luck to you, anyhow; may 
you reach the Varanger in safety and have lots of sport." 
We drank the toast reverently; Pod ordered more 
salad and we all made merry there in the Arena until late 
in the evening, when we separated reluctantly, promising 
to meet again at the steamer. 
Next morning, as usual, the steamer was crowded with 
people bidding good- by to friends and relations. We 
managed to get our crowd together for a few moments, 
and then the cry of "All ashore that go ashorel" made us 
grip hands for the last time. A few moments later the 
great ship moved out into the North River, and amid the 
cries and shouts from friends on the dock we steamed 
down to the Narrows and were soon out of sight of land. 
For seven days we did hardly anything but eat, sleep, 
walk about the decks and loaf, and then one evening just 
as we were going down to dinner somebody spied land , and 
we all crowded to the rail, straining our eyes to catch a 
glimpse of the unsatisfactory blue streak on the horizon 
which represented land. The time came for us to disem- 
bark, early in the afternoon of the next day, and getting 
our duffle together we went ashore, through the custom 
house, as quickly as possible, and rushed up to London. 
It was 11 o'clock at night, however, when we finally es- 
tablished our headquarters at the Charing Cross Hotel. 
We had had nothing to eat since 1, so now with one com- 
mon, all-absorbing desire we strode out of the hotel and 
up the Strand in search of a grill room. We found a 
good-looking place not far away, where we went in and 
ordered chops and ale for two, and silently fed for nearly 
two hours. How we did eat! Pod especially, I thought, 
would never cease his attacks on the thick, juicy English 
chops and pewter tankards of Scotch ale; but at last he 
called a halt and then we went back to our hotel and 
turned in. 
Four or five days in London spent in procuring forgot- 
ten necessities and in seeing the sights once more, and 
Pod and I again took the trail for Norway and sport. We 
were a day and a night on a Newcastle steamer crossing 
the North Sea, and on the morning of July 18 arrived at 
Bsrgen and took passage on a small mail steamer bound 
to Vadso, on the Varanger Fjord. As our ship did not 
sail until 11 that night, we amused ourselves in wander- 
ing about the town, watching the sailors unload the great 
cargoes of fish from their peculiarly shaped boats, and in 
visiting the grave of Ole Bull, the great violinist. 
Precisely at 11 o'clock by the light of the midnight sun 
we left Bergen and resumed the lazy life of travelers on 
shipboard. For a few days the Norwegian meals and 
cooking were the chief interest, and these were really 
quite unique, especially the breakfasts. For the morning 
meal the true Norwegian usually takes a small quantity 
of aquavit (a sort of brandy made from potatoes), then 
sausages of various kinds, or dried reindeers' tongues and 
goat's milk cheese, or cod's roe, and ends up with a little 
caviare or anchovis, washing the whole down with a poor 
apology for beer. On the Vesta, however, we fared a 
trifle more luxuriously, and in the morning usually had 
boiled eggs, and hot fried fish or meat for luncheon. 
Two days after leaving Bergen we arrived at Troud j- 
beim and went ashore for a couple of days. We had a 
very good dinner at the hotel, and then we inquired what 
we could do to pass the time, and were much surprised to 
find that all places of amusement were accustomed to 
close on Saturday night, opening again Sunday night. 
We thereupon put in the evening in a quiet way in the 
gardens of the hotel. 
On re-embarking we found the number of the Vesta's 
passengers very much decreased. An amusing little pro- 
fessor from an Austrian university off on a botanizing 
trip, a Norwegian forest master resplendent in green uni- 
form m'i bra§g buttPRS, 9, Mr. M. were the only pa^' 
