628 
FOREST AND STREAM 
addition to my cook, two orderlies, two per¬ 
manent coolies, and two chuprassies. The last- 
named pair were the bane of my life; progress 
was impossible without them, but they seemed 
to imagine that their day’s work was done when 
they had languidly waved a parwana at some 
village headsman and requested him to arrange 
for supplies—little they recked whether these 
turned up or not, and, indeed, I sometimes fan¬ 
cied that they conveyed as much to the heads¬ 
man. When, however, I suggested to them that 
they should take part in the beat, they adoptd 
a very different attitude—supplies must be seen 
to and coolies for the onward match arranged 
for. Indeed, to-morrow would be a very busy 
day, and, much as they would have liked to 'help 
me, they were afraid that they would hardly 
have time. I was obdurate, however, and told 
them that they would have to beat in the morn¬ 
ing and devote the afternoon to the pursuit of 
their more legitimate duties. 
This point being settled, I explained the modus 
operandi. The beat would take place early next 
morning. I, with the shikari, would go to the 
upper edge of the jungle, and on the signal of 
a whistle the beaters were to work up toward 
me, tapping trees, etc., but not making too much 
noise. In this way I hoped to minimize the 
risk of the musk-deer breaking out at the sides. 
Early next day I and the shikari scrambled 
up to the topmost edge, and, just as we had 
reached it, a musk deer poked its head out of 
the bushes- I had a hurried snapshot and missed, 
and he disappeared whence he came—a fact 
which somewhat served to mitigate the disap¬ 
pointment of the miss, as it seemed likely that 
he might be turned out again in the course of 
the beat. I took up my post at a point whence 
I could command the whole of the upper edge, 
and blew my whistle for the beat to commence- 
The beaters must have worked up to within 
200 yards of me when suddenly out stepped a 
musk deer about 20 yards off. I made no mistake 
this time, and, seeing it fall, ran over to examine 
it. It turned out to be a male carrying good 
tushes and, what really aroused the shikari’s in¬ 
terest, a fair-sized pod. 
I was sitting admiring the little beast instead 
of attending to the beat when suddenly a great 
uproar arose, and, looking round, I saw to my 
intense surprise one of the chuprassies burst 
from the jungle hard on the heels of a second 
musk deer. The pair were too close together 
for me to risk a shot, and I had the chagrin 
of seeing it disappear over the edge of the hill 
while its pursuer sank exhausted to the ground. 
Heaven alone knows what had suddenly gal¬ 
vanized him into this surprising though mis¬ 
placed display of energy, but I shrewdly sus¬ 
pect that he had heard the commercial value 
of the pod discussed in camp the night before, 
and was minded to secure a specimen for himself. 
Meanwhile the beaters were emerging from 
the jungle, when a fresh chorus of shouts arose, 
and I saw yet another musk deer disappear round 
a corner. I sprinted after it—a foolish pro¬ 
ceeding at a height of 12,000 feet—and had a 
shot at it as it disappeared back into the bushes. 
To all appearances I missed it clean, and as I 
had secured the specimen I wanted I returned 
to camp. On arrival there I missed the shi¬ 
kari. Some four hours later he turned up 
carrying on his shoulders a live female musk 
deer with one hind leg broken. This, he said, 
was the last one I had fired at. He had seen 
some hair fly and had followed it up, and even¬ 
tually caught it entangled in some bushes. I 
had the poor little animal put out of its pain 
at once, and soundly rated the man for carry¬ 
ing it about in that condition, but at the same 
time made a mental note that it was pretty keen 
of him to have caught it. I mentioned this 
opinion to my bearer that night, and he not only 
scoffed at it but said that he had heard the shi¬ 
kari tell one of the chupressies that if the musk 
deer had been a male he intended to have taken 
the pod and said no more about it. 
Infatuated youth that I was, I not only dis¬ 
believed this yarn but gave the pod of the male 
to my orderlies, telling them that they were to 
divide its contents with the shikari. They guile¬ 
less lads, handed it over to him to prepare, and 
this he did by the simple method of removing all 
the musk and filling up the pod with a mixture 
of atta and dirt. This interesting fact was dis¬ 
covered when the orderlies tried to sell it long 
after we had parted from the old villain. He 
holds a most glowing chit from me; one of these 
days I hope to revisit those haunts and add a 
few additional remarks to that chit. 
THE SADNESS OF WAR. 
Albany, N. Y., Nov. 7, 1914. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I am sending you to-day with this, part of a 
copy of the Deutsche Anglers Zeitung which my 
friends over there mail me monthly. I do this 
because of the pathetic black bordered square on 
the lower left hand corner of the title page. 
It seems that the editor has seen fit to there 
embalm the memory of good fishermen who have 
fought and died for their country. Perhaps 
you may want to comment on it. I know the 
men and have met them socially and they were 
good fellows all, and good fishermen. The 
square reads: 
MEMORIAL TABLET. 
Motto of the German Angler, 
“Conquer or die.” 
On August 30 fell at Niederburg our 
Fellow Teacher 
Reinhold Pantermueller 
Of Charlottenburg, Lieutenant of the Re¬ 
serve in the Fourth regiment of Grena¬ 
diers. 
In France fell our fellow worker the 
author Herman Loens, 
Forty-eight years of age, a resident of 
Hanover, who served as volunteer; an 
idealist from head to foot. 
*Our last salute to those on whom the 
laurel wreath has fallen. 
*The German fishermen salute each other as 
Sons of Peter. 
JOHN D. WHISH. 
Bagging the Reed Bird. 
