Trailing Tigers In Sumatra

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 376, 9 June 1928, Page 27

Trailing Tigers In Sumatra

(Continued from Page 26.) “There he is.” . . . I could see nothing and advanced a few steps, but my host gripped my arm and drew me backwards. “Be careful, not too close ... If his hind leg is trapped he still might jump a dozen yards!” So successfully nature’s protective colouring hides an animal in the woods that even now I could not discover the captive. My host pointed him out —there he was —not twenty yards distant. The sunlight playing over his ochre hide. His stripes between the yellowish burnt jungle-grass hid him completely. But as he rose he was a sight so full of majestic grandeur and magnificence that I shall never forget it. His roaring trembled through the quiet atmosphere. Dauntless and foaming, his mouth wide open, showing his gigantic fangs, collar widespread, white plumes of hair in the flattened ears, eyes half closed, fiery, ferocious; he challenged'us to attack. The trap had caught two - \3S of his forepaw and had at last checked him in his flight. Here I had an opportunity to admire the pluck of the natives, who cut away the grass around him, approaching him very closely. “Shall I shoot?” my eyes questioned. My host hesitated. The animal was only slightly wounded, and a film company traversing Sumatra was taking pictures of wild life not far away and had offered a large sum for a tiger alive. They wanted to film a fight with a buffalo such as were formerly held at the courts of the native princes. My friend sent a messenger to advise the cameramen. Within a couple of hours the man, who had ridden to the nearest telephone, returned with the message that the operator would come and bring sufficient chloroform to drug our prey.

Now weary waiting began for the second time. It was a- most pitiful sight, the slow but inevitable breaking of a spirit wild and untamable. First he stood upright, bold and defiant, charging with thundering, roaring to attack. But gradually he quietened and tried to lick his wound. He must have suffered unbearable pain. The merciless jaws of the trap had crushed two of his toes, and as the hours wore on, bloodpoisoning set in, and his mighty fore paw began to swell. In a few hours the shoulder had swollen to twice its natural size. Now he law down and now he staggered to his feet again, shaking like a leaf. The light that still shone in his topaz eyes was no longer a challenge to fight, but the flame of fever. Now and then he made a frantic effort to free himself from the grip of death. One could hear the muscles crack. On such moments my friend kept his gun ready in case the maddened brute should tear off his toes. At last it was nearly 5 a.m., and I could no longer resist my natural compassion. I have looked upon cruelty to animals as one of the meanest and vilest traits of human character, and here I found myself torturing to death a beautiful wild creature. My host consented. Oue shot, clear

in the breast, and with an almost human sigh he toppled over. Needless to say, just 10 minutes later the film operator arrived —jnst 10 minutes too late to present the world with the final struggles of a dying jungle king.