TALES OF SPORT.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume XVI, Issue 911, 22 August 1907, Page 10

TALES OF SPORT.

(BY

F. D’A. C. DE L’ISLE.)

(Author of “Tales of Sahib Land,” “Tales of the 28th 8.L.,” “Tales of a Turf Detective,” “ Sport the World Over,’ etc.)

THE MAJOR’S SELEDANG.

(All Rights Reserved.)

“Six months’ furlough!” so the Gazette announced; and I departed from headquarters in lusty health, and strong of spirit but painfully weak as regards my understandings, or, rather, my left support. The unnaturally large hole made by an expanding Ghazi bullet would take months to heal and my regimental sawbones assured me that it would he quite twelve months before I should be free from the limp that was caused through my being plugged by the expanding shell of a savage Kukri Kel’s elephant rifle. . So I packed up my sporting paraphernalia, and, clad in soothing mufti, betook myself to the Malay Peninsula, where I had a bosom “ pal” who was British Resident at Pahang. I had always longed to do the Malayan States, and an imperative invitation from my friend Clogstoun decided me. I wired my departure from Belgaum, and followed swiftly in the wake of the wire. At Jelebu my friend met me, and our greeting was the greeting of the 'brethren of the white man’s burden. Pahang, a small State under British control, is bounded on the one side by the State of Selangor, and on the south by the' Negri Sembilan State, of which Jelebu is the chief town. It is a famous sporting country, the principal attractions being elephant and seledang. The seledang is a buffalo of the Asiatic species, called commonly the gaur throughout India. In Burmah it is called the siang, in Malaya the seleaang, In Siam the gnudang. It is the largest of the species (Bos gaurus), and of uncommon ferocity. The sportsman who goes astalking after seledang has to be swift and an absolutely dead shot, for when once Mr. Seledang makes his charge he comes along like a cyclone and a tornado rolled into one, and everything in his path goes down like wheat before the scythe. It was not my intention to indulge in the delights of seledang shikari for quite a while, for my infernal limp precluded the prospects of any sustained walking, and I was only able to move at the rate of about a mile an hour, with the auxiliary assistance of a good oak stick. Therefore it was with great pleasure that I discovered that my friend Clogstoun was billeted at the Club House at Jelebu, where he was likely to remain for some time. At Jelebu there was a chance of European society; in Pahang one would only see a white man once in a blue moon. So I became an honorary member of the Jelebu Club, and took up my quarters in two very comfortable rooms in that bungalow. It was the Durian season, and my friend Clogstoun had his hands full of law suits and native quarrels. He had a dual duty to perform, for he was Act-ing-Resident for the Negri Sembilan, as well as Resident of Pahang. The Resident at Jelebu was down with fever, and Clogstoun had taken up his work in the meantime. The Durian season is peculiar to Burmah and all the Malay Peninsula, and perhaps nowhere in the world does such a state of things exist as happens there during this season. The Durian is a fruit of a peculiarly fascinating nature. All who partake of it are seized with a mad exhilaration, becoming full of happiness of a singularly amorous nature, or of a murderous desire for battle and bloodshed. So attractive is the taste and action of the Durian that all animal life fights for its possession. Monkeys fight with desperation over Durian, and other animals of the jungle consume it greedily. A native who has the good luck to possess a Durian tree or trees on his property is assured of a good income; for the Durian commands a higher price in the markets than any other of the many exquisite tropical fruits. The natives enjoy it above all other fruit, and during the Durian season the otherwise calm and easy-loving Malayan becomes an amorous tiger, inflamed with passion, and eager to fight with all and sundry who would deprive him of his indulgence in Durian and love-making. Durian thieves and poachers were daily taken redhanded; and since the British Resident was judge, magistrate, and com-mander-in-chief in one, his time was occupied every day to its full in adjudicating on Durian rights and Durian wrongs, from petty larceny to even maanslaughter sometimes.

I soon got tired of listening to my friend sitting in judgment at the Court House at Jelebu, and was infinitely delighted to welcome at the Club House a distinguished visitor in Major Horace Bloodgood, of the R.A. The Major arrived on shikari bent, and he informed me that it was his intention to sweep the Negri Sambilan from end to end after seledang. We fraternised over many “pegs,” and eagerly and interestedly examined each other's sporting kits. He was quite a delightful personality, and I took to him immensely for the time being. He was short of sta’ ure, though broad of chest; the R.A. are not punctilious with regard to mere inches in a man’s stature. His complexion was purple, or nearly so, for many Indian suns had tanned it and burned it, until brick dust paled, before the fiery grandeur of the Major’s face. He wore an enormous moustache, that gave him so fierce an expression that Clogstoun named him The Tiger as soon as he saw him; and The Tiger he remained with us ever after. He had sharp, penetrating, steely blue eyes, calculated to make the most case-hardened battery squad shiver in its boots; and no enemy, we opined, could gaze upon his ferocity and live. But, alas! all mankind is vanity, and the desperate-looking Major become a thing as of putty under the influences of Durian, and the enthralling glamour of a pair of wideopened, grey eyes. It took the major three days to organise his staff of beaters and guides, and I assisted him with a heavy heart, for I knew that it was impossible for me to accompany him just then. He engaged 'some half-dozen beaters, two guides, and about a dozen carriers. On the morning of the third day he started for the seledang country, while I stood, leaning heavily on my oak stick, and drank him bon voyage in a foaming tumbler of Scotch and Polly. He took ofi his solar topee, as the cortege filed out of the club compound, and waved us a final adieu. In five minutes we isaw them climbing up a hill, into the mountainous jungle, the Major stalking proudly in the rear. Then they all vanished from sight. Clogstoun chuckled grimly. “Hello! What’s that for?” I enquired. “ I’ll bet you a gold mohur he’s back inside of a week without even having seen a ’dang, he answered. “ How’s that?” I asked.

“He has got the wrong men. Those two guides are the biggest duffers hereabouts, and the greatest cowards unhung. If they even knew of the haunts of the ’dang they would clear in the opposite direction. Depend upon it, the Major will return with an empty commissariat and a soul full of savage disappointment. Those loafers know no more about seledang than a Chocktaw squaw.” “ By Jove, what a duffer he was not to consult you!” I murmured. “ Yes, I could have put him up to a few wrinkles. But I cannot call a minute my own just now. You must excuse me for leaving you so much alone. I’ll get a gharri for you today, and you can wander aibout the jungle roads and get a pot at a pootpoot or a jungle fowl. They are very scarce, 'but you might be lucky enough to bag one.” I thanked him heartily. I was getting pretty sick of lying on the bamboo chairs of the Club verandah, and I welcomed the prospects of a drive through the jungle. For the four following days I did nothing but drive about in the uncomfortable Malay gharri through the jungle, with my fowlin-piece across my knees, hoping for a shot. Sometimes we drove througn tapioca plantations, coffee plantations, and large paddy fields; at other times the Pegu pony attached to the gharri climbed laboriously over the jungly hills; but it was poor enough sport, for the game were few and far between. Of monkeys, there were thousands, the most prominent species being the wa-wa, or laughing gibbon. I soon tired of his horrid wail. A few poot-poot came within reach, and I shot a fine pair to add to my bird collection. Of the beautiful black-and-red jungle fowl I saw but one. He was streaking across a bare laleng patch, and I brought him down with a snapshot that made me feel a shade less disappointed with my bad luck. But I returned to the Club House on the fourth evening after the Major’s departure, sick of

the gharri and the fruitless drives round Jelebu. I was met on the verandah by Clogstoun. There was a light in his eyes and a quaint flicker about his mouth that told me of some important happening. He gave me his arm, and led me down into the compound. “ Fun for us, my boy,” he began. “You’ll have to get into a white shell to-night for dinner. We have a lady visitor here.” “No! Who is she?” I asked. “ A Mrs. Mackenzie, wife of a coffee planter up north of my place. She has just returned from a trip to Calcutta, and will wait here for Mackenzie to come and take her home. It’s no joke for a woman to be travelling alone through the jungle roads at this season. I sent a runner away to Selangor this afternoon with her letter to old Mackenzie. It will take him two days to get there, and Mackenzie will take double that time coming down; so we shall have the lady here for at least six days more. How do you like the prospect?” “It all depends. What’s she like?” I asked. “ Very fascinating. She had half-a-dozen bow-wows in India, I’ve heard,” replied Clogstoun. I felt a curious interest growing in me. The “ bow-wow” in Anglo-Indian bat is a follower, attendant, or courtier. An Indian lady who could boast of a squad of bow-wows should most certainly command some attention. As my friend Clogstoun and the Major were the only white people I had seen since my arrival at Jelebu, I felt relieved to think that we should enjoy the society of a lady for the next few ■days. Both Clogstoun and I made careful toilets for dinner that evening. The easy and comfortable khaki patrol jackets were laid aside, and we both turned out in spotless white shelljackets, a well-starched white shirt, with collar and tie, a crimson silk cummerbund, and immaculate, tightfitting, drill trousers. Patent leather pumps and gaudy socks made us both look up to date. Clogstoun wore a fine black pearl stud in his shirt, and with a white wax flower buttonhole, he certainly put me in the shade. My centre stud was a jadestone only, and I had forgotten the buttonhole altogether. We adjourned to the verandah to await dinner. There we found Mrs. Mackenzie. Clogstoun introduced me, and we were all soon chatting away merrily about Calcutta and Calcutta society and its amusements. Mrs. Mackenzie was a slim lady of midci.e Height, with a pallid complexion, that showed the pearl cream upon it very perceptibly. She was far from pretty, but a fine head of curly chestnut hair and wonderful grey eyes relieved the plainness of her features. Her manner was very taking, and I could well understand her possessing a fascination for the bachelor element in Indian society. She was a brilliant conversationalist, and all through dinner she kept us both interested with an incessant chatter of small talk. When the dessert appeared she clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, that delightful Durian!” she exclaimed. “Do you know that those heathens in Calcutta never have it on their tables! It is one of the few delightful gifts that the gods provide us with as a compensation for our exile here. Have you acquired the taste for Durian yet?”—and she turned to me with a ravishing smile. I had to acknowledge my remissness in that direction, and owned up to not having got into the Malayan fashion. But she pressed me so that I managed to get through a couple of flaxes of the passion-giving fruit, much to my dislike and hugely to the amusement of my friend. Mrs. Mackenzie ate it with relish, and my uneasiness was accentuated by a very decided wink from Clogstoun.

“ Try some more, old man!” he said, persuasively, and I hacked at his shins savagely . The “ kit,” luckily for me, intervened with a plate of mangoteens, and in refuge I proceeded to beslobber my face and hands with one of those delicious, though decidedly messy, creations of the tropics. Mrs. Mackenzie was an epicure. She drank port with her Durian, and I soon perceived a hectic flush overspreading her pearl cream complexion. When she had satisfied her craving for the fruit we adjourned to the cool of the verandah —and the mosquitoes.

But the strong smoke of two fragrant Burmese cheroots and the aroma of my lady’s tiny Frossard soon put the insect pests to flight, and we enjoyed tne cool night and our “pegs” in peace. After the smoke we sat under the punkah in the cardroom and played dummy bridge. At length, after an enjoyable evening, Mrs. Mackenzie retired to her room, and Jack Clogstoun and I walked up and down the compound path finishing a final cigar. “ Well, how do you like her?” asked Clogstoun. “ She’s a lively little woman, but her chatter would soon bore me. By George, what a twist she has for that awful Durian!” I answered. “ Most women get the taste. I can’t stand it myself, but I know many Englishmen who go half mad over it,” he said. Well, Mrs. Mackenzie, if she does not prove too exacting, may last for a few days. At any rate, it is better than being alone nearly all day,” I said. “Poor old chap! I’m sorry I’m so busy. Anyhow, .the change is doing you no end of good. I can see an improvement in you already. I am tied here for another fortnight, but after that I’ll take you up into Pahang, and then you will get any amount of stunning sport.” I said I would endeavour to pass the ensuing fortnight with as much content as I could muster; and after some more desultory conversation we had a final “ peg,” and said good-night. Mrs. Mackenzie didn’t appear until “ tiffin” on the following day, and I spent the forenoon passably with an ancient copy of the Revue des deux Mondes. After tiffin, Mrs. Mackenzie inveigled me into taking a gharri ride to a waterfall in the hills, some five miles from Jelebu. We were squashed together in the dimunitive Malayan cart, in very uncomfortable .style, and I looked forward with anguish to a two hours’ captivity in that racking vehicle. But Fortune favoured me. Just before we reached the waterfull a long string of coolies, beaters, and guides streamed down from out of a jungle path, and behind them came The Tiger, hot and savage, and using a flow of Hindustania that excited my profoundest admiration. Happily for his retinue, the majority of them failed to grasp the delicate points of his remarks, Hindi being practically Greek to them. When The Tiger spotted us he halted in astonishment. I hastened to introduce Mrs. Mackenzie. Then was The Tiger’s wrath appeased. He told his tale of woe, and Mrs. Mackenzie was duly sympathetic. For five days he had wandered in the jungle, and not a sign of seledang had he seen. The natives ate ravenously, and the provisions disappeared as if by magic. Finally the party had to right about face, and quick march back to Jelebu. The Tiger had eaten nothing that day but two hard biscuits, and was in a half-famished condition. I vacated my seat in the gharri to him, and mounted into a doolie carried by two bearers. In five minutes the gharri and its occupants disappeared down the hill, and. I stretched myself full length in the doolie and abandoned myself to reflection.

The Tiger, I saw, was entirely captivated by Mrs. Mackenzie’s interesting chatter. He gaped, spell-bound, at her large innocent grey eyes, and I knew that for the next few days there would be some freedom for me. I devoutly hoped that the Major was a good bridge player. That would make the nights pass pleasantly and sociably. I myself delighted in a good game of bridge, and I knew that Jack also thoroughly loved good play. ' I began to think that Mrs. Mackenzie had her compensations, but, alas I little guessed what an unconscionable and arrant little flirt that lady was. When the doolie finally landed me at the Club House I found The Tiger indulging in an enormous “ peg,” and seated by his side, in a comfortable rocking chair, Mrs. Mackenzie was prattling away with all the divine freedom of a guileless maiden of seventeen summers. I would fain have left them together, but Mrs. Mackenzie pointed to a cane lounge on her vacant side, and insisted on my joining in the discussion of seledang hunting then on the tapis. Shortly afterwards Clogstoun appeared; he also was captured by the lady, and w® three men sat round her, and smbked, and laughed ,at, her witticisms, and

weredeliriously entertained until dressing-time came. The Tiger was in the seventh heaven .of joy; he found a most sympathetic- listener in Mrs. Mackenzie, and he spoke authoritatively and loudly on all his great deeds in the field of sport. She, on her part, was delighted with her capture, and she employed a hundred winning smiles in order to wind her chains more securely around The Tiger. Our hurra khana that evening was one continuous simmer of merriment. The Tiger, on Mrs. Mackenzie’s right, was excelling himself in his attentions to the lady. Jack, from the head of the table, was enjoying the fun tremendously, and I, opposite the greyeyed lady, was treated to many languishing looks and oeillades, all calculated to fascinate and bring me to the lady’s feet. It was when the dessert appeared that the fun grew fast and furious. Mrs. Mackenzie proceeded to initiate The Tiger into the delights of Durian. Flake for flake he ate the creamy and smellful nectar with her. His face turned blue, then black; his steely eyes were starting from their sockets; he breathed stertorously, and only by copious draughts of port did he keep himself from choking. We all laughed uproariously at him, but he was enthralled by the grey eyes, and he smirked, and grinned, and bowed at her with overwhelming gallantry. Mrs. Mackenzie chided Jack and myself for shirking the Durian; she taunted us with being afraid of the power of the fruit. Thereupon The Tiger valiantly tried some more. He vowed that to sit by her side and eat Durian was the acme of all human blisses. She smiled divinely upon him. We adjourned to the verandah for cheroots and maraschino. The lady accompanied us. The Tiger enthused about the beautiful moonlight, the fire flies that lit up the jungle, the fascination of a woman’s society, and the romance of the East. Clogstoun kicked my shins and chuckled. The Durian had worked The Tiger up to an extensively amorous pitch. We played bridge afterwards. The Tiger and Mrs. Mackenzie always proposed hearts. It was farcical what hands they proposed on. We beat them handsomely, but nevertheless The Tiger was delighted. His subjugation was complete. For the following days they were always together. But the lady knew a thing or two. To my disgust she insisted upon my accompanying her everywhere. The Tiger followed as a matter of course. Thus I was made to play propriety for her, and also acted as a butt to fan The Tiger’s jealousy. On the third day he was barely civil to me. The ass looked upon me as a rival. Every evening Mrs. Mackenzie devoured Durian at dessert, and The Tiger followed suit with immense gusto. Then, as things began to look serious, Mackenzie arrived to escort his charming wife home.

It was a bad time for The Tiger. He became morose and sulky. He consumed brandy “pegs” every fifteen minutes. But Mrs. Mackenzie had not done with him yet. She flirted with him openly, before her own lord and master. He, poor fellow, evidently knew her failing; and also appeared to have a whole-souled confidence in her. At her express desire he invited The Tiger and myself to Selangor to shoot seledang. I was anxious to see the termination of this Durian business, and, after consultation with Jack, consented to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie to their plantation. We started on the following day in doolies. The gigantic coffee planter walked contentedly by the side of his wife’s doolie; The Tiger stalked along on the other side. She barely noticed her husband, devoting all her grey eyes’ glances to The Tiger, with an occasional whisper of complete fascination. From a strategic position in the rear I studied the situation with an intense interest. It was a four days’ march to Selangor over and across wild and hilly country, mostly mosquito-haunted jungle, with a patch of lalang here and there in an opening in the forest. Each night we camped out, in tents, and The Tiger grovelled at the feet of his Durian-eating captor I really began to pity the poor fellow. Mackenzie himself took absolutely no notice of his wife’s outrageous flirtation, but I could see The Tiger was beginning to get absolutely murderous with jealousy? Happily, the fourth day of our march provided a termination, dramatic, but final, to Mrs. Mackenzie’s amusement.

The fourth day’s march was through almost impenetrable jungle. The narrow footway was overgrown with creepers, and frequently blocked with huge roots of trees; overhead the dense vegetation made the interior of

' the jungle dark with shadows, and the bearers had the greatest difficulty in feeling their way along the narrow path, through the tangle of bamboo cane, and creepers. At tiffin time we camped in a lalang patch, flat and grassy, and bright with the tropic sun. It was an intense relief from the dark and insect-infested jungle. Once again Mrs. Mackenzie primed The Tiger with Durian, and champagne was consumed by the tumblerful. I noticed Mackenzie in animated conversation with a couple of bearers who were marching ahead of us, and was surprised to see them unpacking a big elephant rifle and ammunition from one of the kits. Then Mackenzie approached us and said:

“ You may get a shot at seledang at any time now. We are passing through the favourite camping place of a large herd, and the bearers have seen ' pugs’ of many seledang not a mile ahead in the jungle above us. Better get your rifles ready. I’m going ahead; I understand the jungle. I’ll give you plenty of notice if we sight any quarry.” The Tiger, Durian mad, was frothing for blood. In no time he had his rifle out and ready for action. I noticed, with some surprise, that he carried a somewhat light weapon—a small .50 calibre. Jack Clogstoun had posted me as to seledang shooting, and I was pleased that I had a really heavy elephant rifle with me —eight bore, with a smashing, bashing cartridge that would stop or turn a hippopotamus. Before leaving us Mackenzie gave us a few trenchant words of advice.

“ Keep your eyes open and your feet clear of vines. If the ’dang charges take cover behind the largest tree you can get to. Remember, that he may come at you from behind any bush in the jungle, and be as wary as a cat I Good luck !” He marched away ahead of the doolies, and after about five minutes we followed. The Tiger led the way with a guide, my doolie followed, and Mrs. Mackenzie’s doolie was taken to the rear of all the kit carriers. I could see that we were climbing the side of a range. Nothing could be seen more than five yards ahead of us, so thick was the jungle. After we had travelled a mile or so, boring through the forest, one of Mackenzie’s guides came panting back with the information that fresh spoor of seledang had been picked up, and the quarry could not be far off.- We pushed on, and soon joined Mackenzie. He held up his hand for us to he silent. When we joined him he merely whispered the word “Listen!”

We plainly heard the breaking of branches and the crash of the game boring through the jungle. Luckily we were down wind, and were so far advantageously situated. But the dense jungle made it impossible for us to see the quarry, and it was a most dangerous matter to stalk the seledang at such close quarters. Mackenzie stepped quietly and cautiously ahead. He was a giant of considerably over 6ft, hut a long acquanitance with jungle shikari had made him a past master in stalking. Behind him The Tiger followed, blundering now and again over the tangled vines in the path. He had blood in his eye, and appeared determined to get a shot. My bearers palpably funked it, and gradually fell behind, and I could only get them to move along by cursing their cowardice freely. At length I saw Mackenzie halted, with The Tiger by his side taking aim at something ahead of him. A report followed, and Mackenzie immediately raised his rifle and fired also. There was a terrific bellow from the wounded quarry; my bearers promptly deposited me at the foot of a tree and ran for their lives. I saw Mackenzie dart for a large tree, at the same time yelling to The Tiger to run for it. The Tiger turned and ran for another tree, but his feet caught in some creepers, and he went smashing, face downwards, into some bush, losing his rifle in his fall. In an instant almost a huge bison, standing all of 6ft high, came crashing through the jungle, charging on to the unfortunate Tiger. I took a snapshot at it, and hit it high up on the shoulder somewhere —a really rotten shot, in spite of the disadvantage of my not being able to get a clear sight. The ’dang staggered for a pace or two, then, bending its huge head, rushed madly at the fallen man before it. I reloaded like lightning, but before I could get a second shot Mackenzie darted out from behind his tree, and, within five yards of the charging beast, let drive, and plugged a bullet fair into its ribs. Once again the huge beast paused, then, turning with a bound, charged down on Mackenzie. I got a fair shot at it, almost end on, and sent a bullet

crashing into its neck. But nothing seemed to stop the ferocious animal, and it charged over Mackenzie with awful strength. The unfortunate fellow was hurled to the ground with stunning force, and the seledang turned immediately to gore him and trample him to death. In my horror I lost all presence of mind, and stood paralysed by my doolie. Then, just as the immense animal lowered its horns for the finishing blow, I saw The Tiger come flying at it, rifle in hand. To be charged by this strange creature seemed to astonish the ’dang. It raised its head and bellowed savagely. Nowise daunted, but bloodhungry with Durian passion, The Tiger dashed up to the brute, jammed his rifle-mouth into its ear, and pulled the trigger. The shot blew off the whole top of the seledang’s skull. The gigantic beast trembled for a few moments, then sank in its tracks, dead as a door-nail. I heard screams behind me, and saw Mrs. Mackenzie fly past and fling herself upon the body of her unconscious husband. Her agony was heartrending. I limped up as fast as I could and felt his heart. Thank heavens, it was still beating. The Tiger stood by his side, gazing wildly at the woman moaning and crying over her unconscious husband. In a Short time the bearers returned, and I got some brandy. I managed to get a fair amount down Mackenzie’s throat, and was rewarded by seeing him open his eyes. His wife’s joy was unmistakable. She kissed him passionately, thanking God repeatedly for His mercy in sparing her husband’s life. He smiled up at her and presently whispered: “I’m all right. Rather badly smashed. Get me into a doolie and start hack to Jelebu.” I examined him all over and found all the ribs on the left side fractured. That was where the ’dang had hit him when it charged. The Tiger turned out to be something of a surgeon, and he bound Mackenzie up in bandages as best he could. Then we got him into a doolie, and started on our march back to Jelebu and the nearest surgeon.

The seledang’s head was secured, and the tape passed over its body. From hoof to shoulder-tip it measured 6ft 2in. Its horns from tip to tip went 17in. Truly a formidable beast to charge down a man. On our return journey Mrs. Mackenzie was unremitting in her attention to and care of her husband. I never saw such devoted attendance in my life. She absolutely refused to leave his side. And the light in his eyes showed what he thought of her. The Tiger was forgotten. She never even looked at him. Once only, after our return to Jelebu, when the district surgeon had been summoned and had fixed up Mackenzie, did Mrs. Mackenzie speak to The Tiger. She came up to him one morning, and, in halting, broken accents, thanked him for so superbly risking his life to save her husband. She praised his gallantry in the highest terms, and pledged him the gratitude of a lifetime. The Tiger turned away after pressing her outstretched hand, and I saw a tear glisten on his cheek. Clogstoun always said that it was the Durian working in The Tiger that compelled him to make that gallant charge; but whatever it was, I’ll own to its being the pluckiest thing I ever saw in my life, and I fully agree with Mackenzie and his extraordinary wife in the opinion that the Major has every right to enlarge upon his prowess over the shooting of his first seledang.