At first they thought I was joking, but a glance confirmed the truth of what I had said.  When I first saw the brute, he was evidently sneaking after the cattle, and was about sixty paces from me.  He was so intent on watching the herd, that he had not noticed our approach.  He was now, however, evidently alarmed and making off.  By the time I called out, he must have been over eighty yards away.  I had my No. 12 in my hand, loaded with shot; it was no use; I put it down and took up my No. 16; this occupied a few seconds; I fired both barrels; the first bullet was in excellent line but rather short, the second went over the animal’s back, and neither touched him.  It made him, however, quicken his retreat, and when Captain S. fired, he must have been fully one hundred and fifty yards away; as it was now somewhat dusky, he also missed.  He fired another long shot with his rifle, but missed again.  Oh that unlucky change of cartridges in my No. 12!  But for that—­but there—­we are always wise after the event.  We never expected to see a tiger in such open country, especially as we had been over the same ground before, firing pretty often as we came along.

We followed up of course, but it was now fast getting dark, and though we beat about for some time, we could not get another glimpse of the tiger.  He was seemingly a very large male, dark-coloured, and in splendid condition.  We must have got him, had it been earlier, as he could not have gone far forward, for the lines of fire were beyond him, and we had him between the fire and the elephants.  We got home about 6.30, rather disappointed at missing such a glorious prize, so true is it that a sportsman’s soul is never satisfied.  But we had rare and most unlooked-for luck, and we felt considerably better after a good dinner, and indulged in hopes of getting the big fellow next morning.

In the same jungles, some years ago, a very sad accident occurred.  A party were out tiger-shooting, and during one of the beats, a cowherd hearing the noise of the advancing elephants, crouched behind a bush, and covered himself with his blanket.  At a distance he looked exactly like a pig, and one of the shooters mistook him for one.  He fired, and hit the poor herd in the hip.  As soon as the mistake was perceived, everything was done for the poor fellow.  His wound was dressed as well as they could do it, and he was sent off to the doctor in a dhoolie, a a sort of covered litter, slung on a pole and carried on men’s shoulders.  It was too late, the poor coolie died on the road, from shock and loss of blood.  Such mistakes occur very seldom, and this was such a natural one, that no one could blame the unfortunate sportsman, and certainly no one felt keener regret than he did.  The coolie’s family was amply provided for, which was all that remained to be done.