A Good Hunting Story.

Otago Witness, Issue 1622, 23 December 1882, Page 30

A Good Hunting Story.

Lieutenant Neville Chamberlain, A.D.C. Central India Horse, writing from Ootacamund on August 25th, sends to the Field a vivid account of his adventure with a bison when out shooting in the woods of the Maharajah of Mysore. He says :— -" I had no companion, so took with me one of the local shikaris, named Kampa, and another man to carry my spare rifle. My battery consisted of a D.B. 8-bore rifle and a D.B. 12-bore rifle. I took the 8-bore myself, and, giving' Kampa my 12-bore, crawled up to the herd through the grass. Out of' some high grass just in front of me rose a splendid old bull. He was only about 20 yards off, and was just moving behind a clump of bamboos, when I fired at the point of his shoulder with the S-bore. A great stampede took place. The smoke hung in the long grass — which as I knelt was nearly up to my neck — and I could not see to give him the second barrel. I ran forward, but could see nothing ; so, still running, I opened the breech of the rifle, threw out the empty cartridge, and was in the act of pushing a fresh cartridge home, when from behind a small, thick clump of bamboos some five yards from me, and about 30 yards from where 1 had started, I Heard a loud snort. Kampa gasped out ' Karti ! ' (bison) and vanished ; and at once the bull came charging down at me. I only had time, as he hurled himself at me, to spring behind a small tree on my left. He whizzed past like a battering-ram, cutting a large slab of bark out with one of his horns, and turning almost in his own length, was round at me,again. This occurred four or five times, but my attention was so fully taken up in dodging him that I could not get the rifle ready for use. To make a long story short,. it ended by my catching my foot in a creeper. I fell over backwards, and as I rose he ran in and tossed me. One horn— l suppose his left one— fortunately went clean through my breeches and flannel shirt, tearing them to ribbons, and, as far as I can remember, I seemed to sit on his head ; while the other horn passed under my right arm. He threw me a long way, and I fell on my back under some bamboos, the rifle dropping out of my hand from the shock of being tossed. I Avas a good deal shaken and out of breath, but I think my first thought was that now ho would leave me if I kept still ; but he ran up again and stood 'over my body, shaking his huge head over my chest. I thought then that it was hopeless. I could think of nothing better to do to protect myself, so sat up and struck him four or five times with my lists on one eye, which I could just reach when hia head was down. He bhook his head and pushed me back with b ie nose. I managed then to plant several

severe kicks on his muzzle with my heavy hobnailed boots, and he commenced sparring at my legs with his horns. I did my best to keep them out of the way, but got a few bruises on the shins. This began to get monotonous, and I knew another toss would not find a friendly pair of pants. He was still standing over me when I got in a good volley of hobnails on bis nose, shouted at him, and sat up to hit him again ; then, to my intense relief, lie gave a bellow, left me, and went crashing off down the hill. I never saw the bull again,"