A NATURALIST * *
* * ON THE PROWL
tbackcr’s Six Sbilling Series.
Illustrative of Anglo-Indian Life.
Crown 8vo.s cloth gilt. Price 6s. each volume.
THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER. By
Eha. An Indian Naturalist’s Foreign Policy. With 50 Illus-
trations by F. C. Macrae. Sixth Edition.
In this remarkably clever work there are most graphically and
| humorously described the surroundings of a Mofussil Bungalow.
BEHIND THE BUNGALOW. By Eha.
With 53 Clever Sketches by the Illustrator of " The Tribes.”
Eighth Edition.
As “The Tribes on my Frontier” graphically and humorously
described the Animal Surroundings of an Indian Bungalow, the
present work describes with much pleasantry the Human Officials
; thereof, with their peculiarities, idiosyncrasies, and, to the European,
strange methods of duty.
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL. By
Eha. With 80 Illustrations by R. A. Sterndale, F.Z.S.
Third Edition.
In this book the Author deals in his amusing and interesting way
with the animals, insects, etc., that are common to India, and it
forms to some extent a sequel to “The Tribes on my Frontier.”
LAYS OF IND. By Aliph Cheem. Comic
and Satirical Poems, descriptive of an Anglo-Indian’s Life in
India. Illustrated by the Author, Lionel Inglis, R. A.
Sterndale, and others. Eleventh Edition.
TWENTY-ONE DAYS IN INDIA : Being the
Tour of Sir Ali Baba, K.C.B. By George Aberigh-Mackay.
With Illustrations. Seventh Edition.
f 3 OCT 23
\yj/, * V'C-
Instantaneous Photograph ,] See pages 38 and 312, [ Frontispiece ,
A
Naturalist on the Prowl
OR
IN THE JUNGLE
BY
EH A k
AUTHOR OF "THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER H
"BEHIND THE BUNGALOW”
Illustrated bg
R. A. STERNDALE, F.R.G.S., F.Z.S.
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
\V. Thacker & Co., 2, Creed Lane, E.C
CALCUTTA & SIMLA : THACKER, SPINK & CO.
1905
[Alt rights reserved j
LONDON :
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W-
PREFACE.
For their first introduction to the public, these bashful
papers are indebted to the Times of India. For courage
to re-appear in another dress, they are indebted to “the
fascinating beams of a simper,” as the biographer of
Onoocool Chunder Mookerjee beautifully expresses it,
which the Author thought he detected on the kind
countenance of that public. For their subject and in-
spiration, they are indebted to the glorious forests of
North Canara on the west coast of India.
EH A.
J
I
-am
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I.
On the Prowl
«
9
•
•
I
II.
Crabs
♦
•
4
t
II
III.
The Voice of Mirth
•
•
•
V
22
IV.
The King Cobra .
•
4
•
t
31
V.
The Banian Tree .
•
•
•
•
A
42
VI.
Bird-nesting .
•
•
•
0
56
VII.
Jupiter Pluvius
•
•
•
♦
70
VIII.
Tillers of the Soil
•
•
•
•
8i
IX.
Fingers and Toes .
•
•
•
95
X.
Adversity
•
•
•
106
XI.
Caterpillars .
•
•
•
•
1 17
XII.
The Caterpillar Hunter
•
•
•
•
130
XIII.
Peter and his Relations
•
•
•
•
•
143
XIV.
Bulbuls ....
•
•
t
•
154
XV.
Spiders ....
•
•
@
•
•
164
XVI.
A Mountain Top .
•
»
•
•
•
176
XVII.
The Red Ant
•
•
•
186
XVIII.
Basweshwar .
f
*
•
•
199
XIX.
The Green Tree Snake
t
*
•
•
•
210
XX.
An Anthropoid
•
•
•
•
217
XXI.
Monkeys
•
•
•
•
228
XXII.
Another World .
•
•
•
»
236
XXIII.
A Panther Hunt .
*
•
•
*
•
245
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGB
I.
Python crushing Monkey (Photograph)
•
•
Frontispiece
2.
A Naturalist on the Prowl
•
Pacino Contents
3-
On the Prowl .
•
%
•
1
4-
Butterfly (Tail-piece) .
•
•
•
9
5-
Jackal on the Prowl for
Crabs
•
•
•
10
6.
Indian Sea Shore
•
•
•
11
7 -
Swimming Crab .
•
•
•
19
8.
A Father Crab .
•
21
9-
The Voice of Mirth .
•
•
22
10.
Cicada ....
•
•
•
27
n.
Magpie Robin
©
•
•
•
30
12.
The King Cobra .
•
•
•
3i
13.
Green Barbet
•
•
36
14.
King Cobra devouring Snake
•
•
4i
IS-
The Banian Tree
•
•
42
16.
Peepul Leaf
m
•
49
17.
Banian on River Side
•
•
•
52
18.
Hornbill
•
•
•
54
19.
“Pharaoh’s Lean Kine”
•
•
55
20.
Eagle Bird-nesting .
•
56
21.
Shrike, or Butcher Bird
59
22.
King Crow .
60
23-
Sun Bird
61
24.
Crested Swift .
63
25-
Red Woodpecker
67
26.
Black Eagle
69
27.
“In the Monsoon” .
•
70
28.
Mantis and Phasma Stick
Insects
75
29.
View in Matheran
•
80
30.
Beetles
•
81
31-
Burrowing Beetle
•
•
83
32.
Bear attacking Ant-hill
•
•
9i
33-
Mungoose .
•
•
94
34-
Lemur and Vandeleura
«
•
95
35-
A Gleeful Little Demon
•
•
•
100
36.
The beloved Hat
e
0
•
•
9
105
37-
Hard Times— Herons .
•
e
•
1
•
106
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. xi
PAGB
38. Sea Gulls on the Clyde no
39. Brahmini Bull 116
40. Caterpillars: Studying Them 117
41. Ichneumon Fly 125
42. Caterpillars : Hunting them 130
43* ** Pigs ” ...»••**.. 135
44. “Order Primates” . 141
45. Parrots . 142
46. Tommy Atkins and Barrack Parrot .... 148
47. Rose-headed Parrakeet 149
48. Love Bird sleeping 152
49. The Bird Man 153
50. Bulbuls 154
51. Skull of Bulbul 163
52. Spider ........... 164
53. “Just Glowrin’ frae Him ’’ 171
54. Spider Web 175
55. Mountain Scenery (Photograph) . . . . . . 176
56. The Mountain Top .177
57. University Clock Tower, Bombay 182
58. Butterfly (Tail-piece) 185
59. Red Ants 186
60. Red Ants House Building 192
61. A Duello 196
62. A Jungle 198
63. Basweshwar 199
64. Poon Tree 204
65. The Guardian of the Siirine 209
66. Green Tree Snake 210
67. Python 216
68. An Anthropoid 217
69. Anthropoid at Home 219
70. The Koita 220
71. The Anthropoid’s Worship 227
72. Monkeys 228
73. Lungoor 233
74* Bullock Dove 235
75- Vulture and Porpoise 237
76. Panther Hunt 244
77. Panther on the Watch 245
78. A Trophy .......... 257
On the Prowl.
I HAVE always felt a strange pleasure in seeing without
being seen. Even when I was an indolent little man of six
it gave me rare delight to hide under a sofa and peep at the
feet of everybody who passed through the room. “ Ha ! he
does not know that I am here,” I said to myself, and
“ chortled.” I cannot quite satisfactorily analyse this kind
of enjoyment and am not sure it is very respectabe, but it
Chapter I.
B
2
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
is very human. Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in
secret is pleasant.
I have long since given up the pastime of prying into the
secret ways of my kind, and to crawl under furniture would
now be irksome to me ; but I wander into the jungle,
where “ things that own not man’s dominion dwell,” and
there I prowl, climb into a tree, sit under a bush, or lie on
the grass, and watch the ways of my fellow - creatures,
seeing but unseen, or, if seen, not regarded ; for beasts and
birds and creeping things, except when they fear man,
ignore him, and so they go about their various occupations,
their labours and their amusements, without affectation and
without self-consciousness. This is the way to read the
book of nature, and after all there is no book like that.
It never comes to an end, and there is a growing fascina-
tion about it, so that when once you have got well into it,
you can scarcely lay it down.
I speak of reading the book. There are many who busy
themselves with it and do not read it. There is your doctor
of nomenclature, who devotes his laborious life to the
elucidation of such questions as whether you shall call
the common crow Corvus impudicus or Corvus splendens.
He is an index-maker. Then there is a host of com*
ON THE PROWL.
3
mentators and editors, who toil to shed such light as they
may on the text, or, oftener, on each other. Lastly, there
is your collector, who makes extracts. I esteem all these
laborious men and feel grateful to them and rejoice that I
am none of them, for I hold with Matthew Arnold, that the
best use to which you can put a good book is to read and
enjoy it. So I take my gun, or net, and go where the
leaves are spread. The gun and net I would gladly leave
behind, but they cannot altogether be dispensed with.
Without a collection a man’s knowledge of natural history
becomes nebulous and his pursuit of it dilettante. I am
sorry it is so, for in spirit I am a Buddhist. But, alas !
every Buddhist is not a Buddha
“ The squirrel leaped
Upon his knee, the timid quail led forth
Her brood between his feet, and blue doves pecked
The rice grains from the bowl beside his hand.”
They will not treat you and me so, not though we sit as
motionless as the horned owl, and repeat the mystic syllable
om after the most saintly fashion, in low eruptive snorts : it
conciliates nothing but the jungle mosquito and the red ant.
For the rest, if you want to know them, you must resort to
harsh measures. But do not let yourself get hardened
B 2
4
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
Cherish the tender place in your nature which feels a pang
when you pick up the little corpse, so happy two minutes
ago. And when you have killed enough, stop.
Beware also of the snare which lurks under the intoxi-
cating pleasure of collecting, and set a watch upon yourself,
lest you degenerate into a collector and cease to be a
naturalist. As soon as you begin to feel that a rare bird
or butterfly is not so much a bird or butterfly to you as
a “ specimen ” you have caught the distemper and must
take measures to check it. The best remedy I know is to
set aside one day in the week for a sabbath of peace and
good-will, on which the instruments of death must be laid
aside and an amnesty proclaimed to all creation. Then you
may move among living things with heart free from guile
and mind undistracted by stratagems, and you will note
many things in them which you never saw when you were
scheming to compass their destruction. You will see how
they make their living, what they do when they get up in
the morning, and how they pass the day. And you will
see deeper into the meaning of their forms and colours than
some great men, and will not be afraid to throw away
on your own responsibility many postulates and some
axioms which are current in the world with the stamp of
ON THE PROWL.
5
great names upon them. You will also have a chance
of learning the profundity of your own ignorance, and
to suspect that is to matriculate in natural history.
How abysmally ignorant we are ! For years have I been
trying to get a conception of how the world presents itself
to a butterfly, and as yet I have scarcely got a fact for the
sole of my foot. The butterfly has eyes, but what are their
powers? It can distinguish light from darkness, for as
soon as the sun bursts through a rift in the clouds on a
monsoon day, the gay things are on the wing, making the
most of their short opportunity. It can also see in our
sense up to the length of an ordinary butterfly net, for
an extraordinary net is needful if you would catch the
wary ones. This seeing must be of a dim sort, however,
for, with patience and a steady hand, you may catch a
cunning butterfly between your finger and thumb. I
suspect a butterfly’s eyes are designed primarily for
enjoyment of sunlight, and secondarily to give it intima-
tion of any object moving very near to it. Then what
about those butterflies that one sees travelling from one
island to another in the Bombay Harbour? Do they
go to sea in the spirit of Columbus, and is their arrival
at Elephanta a happy accident ? I cannot tell. Has a
6
A NATURAL/ST ON THE PROWL.
butterfly ears? No. Can it hear? Yes. If you doubt
me, tread on withered leaves, or break a twig, as you are
stalking a Junonia . Perhaps the delicate expanse of its
thin wings is sensitive to the slightest concussions of the
air. Perhaps. This I know, that it is far easier to approach
a butterfly on a windy day than when the air is still. Can
a butterfly smell ? On this point I feel pretty confident, for
the flowers they love most are small and inconspicuous.
Gaudy convolvuli and gorgeous bellflowers of all sorts
address themselves to the gross bumble-bee. But may not
a butterfly have other means of knowing than by seeing or
smelling ? Aye, there’s the rub. For what a priori reason
is there that the phenomena of this world should reach the
brain of a butterfly only through the five gates of Mansoul?
And if there are other means of access, how can we even
conceive them ? What are the antennae of a butterfly ?
“ Feelers ” they are called in English, but to overawe the
unlearned, we men of science write of them as antennae,
which means the yards of a ship. Under either term
we know as much about them as the butterfly knows why
I carry a walking-stick.
Believe me, we are abysmally ignorant. But there is
consolation ; for when facts do not obstruct, imagination
ON THE PROWL .
/
grows frisky, and I give her a canter. There is no more
exhilarating exercise for the mind, nor any healthier, I
believe, so long as she does not take the bit in her
teeth and bolt with you.
So I imagine my butterfly to myself in its new-born
glory as a being with little mind and almost devoid of
thought, but intensely sensitive to a hundred influences
of nature which are lost on us, just as an ^Eolian harp
trembles differently to every changing motion of that
breeze which the City man scarcely notices unless it
blows his hat off. Through the countless facets of those
large and shining eyes the splendour of the sun, the
greenness of the hills, the blue sky, the hues that glance
from its own bright wings, pour floods of undefined,
promiscuous joys into the little body ; the fragrance of
flowers, the stirrings of the air, electric influences perhaps,
and the arrows of Cupid, all join to thrill its fragile
frame ; and the consciousness of abounding vitality and
new and strange powers makes response within it, a
feeling which is near of kin to pride mingling with its
joy. So it dances through the day, full of impressions
and impulses, empty of thought or care. Something
moving near it casts a shadow on its sight, and it darts
8
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
away without knowing why, startled but not frightened.
A rival passes and it dashes at him, powerless to hurt, but
bursting with nervous energy which must find an outlet,
and the two in mock combat mount up into the sky until
they are lost to sight. When it comes down again rest
seems sweet, so it sits on a leaf and spreads its wings
to the life-giving rays of the sun, or it feels a sensation
which we may call thirst, and the fragrance of a flower,
answering to that feeling, impels it to unfurl its long tongue
and sip those sweets which it never sipped before. At
length some sensations of maternity, transitory but urgent,
take possession of it, under the influence of which it hovers
round a tree, the scent of whose leaves recalls vaguely some
former life “ that had elsewhere its setting,” and to those
leaves it feels impelled to commit the burden which it
bears. And now the superabounding energy abates, the
impulses grow weaker, the thrills of joy become rapidly
duller, and without pain or regret it flickers out, like a lamp
when the oil is spent.
This is not a “ working theory,” but only my way of
clothing with flesh and blood the dry bones of scanty facts,
as geologists restore in pictures the giant forms whose
skeletons they have dug out of the bowels of the earth.
ON THE PROWL .
9
If not for this, then why was the wonderful power of
imagination bestowed upon us ? Standing in the fossil
room of the British Museum, I go back thousands upon
thousands of years, and see great swamps and gloomy
forests all around me, and hear the Mastodon trumpet
as it crashes its way through them. If I could not do
this, I would leave the room. If bones are not more than
bones, what are they good for ? Knife handles.
ON THE PROWL.
Chapter II.
CRABS.
PROWLING on the seashore one evening, I espied
another prowler, and he espied me, and avoided me as
the burglar avoids the policeman. He did not run away,
but just deflected his course a little, took advantage of
a dip in the sandy beach, got behind a growth of screw
pines and was not there. It was getting too dark to
see clearly, but by these tactics I knew that he was a
jackal. He had come down in the hope of catching a
few crabs for his supper. Scarcely had he got himself
away when, with a shrill squeak and a scrambling rush,
a fat musk rat escaped from my foot into a heap of
12
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
stones. What was it doing there ? Hunting for crabs.
Now there is something very revolting in the thought
that crabs are liable to be killed and eaten by foul jackals
and disgusting musk rats. The crabs are a peculiarly
interesting people, like the ancient inhabitants of Mexico,
unique and not to be ranked with the other tribes of the
earth.
Professor Owen holds that the hand of man suffices to
separate him from all other animals almost as widely as
any two of them differ from each other. “ The conse-
quences,” he says, “of the liberation of one pair of limbs
from all service in station and progression are greater,
and involve a superior number and quality of powers, than
those resulting from the change of an ungulate into an
unguiculate condition of limb.” Think me not a mocker
if I suggest that the crab shares this endowment with
man, and perhaps that is the reason why he seems to
stand apart from all other creatures that are clothed with
shells. By pedigree the crab, I admit, is but a prawn
which has curled its tail under its stomach and taken
to walking ; but no one who has lived much among
crabs and associated with them, so to speak, can lump
them with prawns and other shell-fish good for curry.
CRABS.
13
A crab is not like a lower animal. He does not seem
to work by instinct. All his avocations are carried on
as if he had fixed principles, and his whole behaviour
is so deliberate and decorous that you feel almost sure,
if you could get a proper introduction to him, he would
shake hands with you.
At times I have thought I detected a broad grin on
the face of an old crab, but this may be fancy. I incline
to the idea, however, that he has a sense of humour.
He is courageous too — not foolhardy, but wisely valiant,
and marvellously industrious. Watch him as he repairs
his house flooded by the tide. Cautiously he appears
at the door with a great ball of sand in his arms, and
erecting his eyes to see if any enemy is near, advances
a few paces, lays his burden down and returns to dig.
Again he appears and puts a second ball besides the
first, and so on till there is a long even row of them.
A second row is then laid alongside the first, then a
third, and a fourth ; then a passage is left, after which
a few rows more are laid down. So rapidly is the work
done that the tide has scarcely retired when the whole
beach is chequered with flowerlike patterns radiating
from a thousand holes. These are the work of infant
14
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
crabs mostly, for as they grow older they venture to
retire further from low water mark, where the sand is
dry and will not hold together in balls. Then they
bring it up in armfuls and toss it to a distance. But,
old or young, their houses are swamped and obliterated
twice in every twenty-four hours, and twice dug out
again ; from which you may judge what a life of labour
the sand crab lives.
He is, I think, the noblest of his race. Living on
the open champaign of the white sea-shore, he learns
to trust for safety to the keenness of his sight and the
fleetness of his limbs. Each eye is a miniature watch-
tower, or observatory, and his legs span seven times
the length of his body. When he runs he seems to
be on wheels : you can fancy you hear them whirr.
But, keen as is his sight and amazing as is his speed,
he more than needs it all ; for, alas ! he is very tasty
and all the world knows it. In his early days the
sandpipers and shore birds, nay, the very crows and,
proh pudor ! my turkeys patrol the water’s edge, and
he scarcely dares to show his face by daylight. Then,
as he grows beyond the fear of petty enemies, he comes
within the ken of greater ones. The kite, sailing high
CRABS.
15
overhead, swoops like a thunderbolt and carries him
off. The great kingfisher, concealed in an overhanging
bough, watches its opportunity, and when he has wandered
far from his hole, darts upon him and scoops him up
in its long beak. The kestrel hawks him, dogs hunt
him in sheer wantonness, jackals hunt him to eat him,
owls lie in wait for him, and when he takes refuge in
the water, an army of sharks and rays is ready for him.
And man closes the list.
“ These wild eyes that watch the wave
In roarings by the coral reef”
are watching mostly for crabs. He is drawn from his hole
with hooks, dug out with shovels, caught in traps, netted
with nets, and even in the darkness of night distracted
with the sudden glare of flambeaux and knocked over
with sticks.
Many are the ways in which the race of crabs have
sought to shun their thousand foes, some by watchfulness
and wisdom, or cunning and skill, some along paths of
degeneracy and shame. In the aeons long gone by, it
seems, there lived a craven crab who condescended to
seek safety by thrusting his hinder end into an empty
shell, and to-day his descendants are as the sand on
6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
the sea-shore for multitude, dragging their cumbrous
houses about with them and thrusting out their dis-
torted arms to pick up food, and shrinking in again
at the least sign of danger. Safety they have bought
with degradation, but there are moments of supreme peril
even in the base life that they lead ; for the crab grows
and the shell does not, and it is an inexorable law of
nature that, when you change your coat, you must put
off the old before you put on the new. The most
ludicrous sight I ever saw was two hermit crabs com-
peting for an empty shell. Neither of them could by
any means take possession without exposing his naked
and deformed posteriors to the mercy of the other, and
this he dared not do ; so they manoeuvred and circled
round that shell and made grimaces at each other till
I laughed like the blue jays in Jim Baker’s yarn.
Others of the race have tried to win security by burying
themselves in the mud at the bottom of the sea and
stretching out their beggar hands for food. The hands
work hard, but the stomach is starved, and in some of
this family the body has dwindled into a mere appendage
to a great pair of claws. Of these is the giant from
Japan, whose grim skeleton, eleven feet in stretch of limb,
CRABS.
17
adorns the walls of the Bombay Natural History Society
Smaller specimens are common about Bombay.
Then there are crabs which make their backs a garden
and grow seaweeds and even anemones, under whose
umbrageous shelter they roam about the bed of the ocean
in aesthetic security.
Midway between the mud crabs and the sand crabs
is one whose ingenuity and adroitness rescue it from
contempt. Its hind legs are transformed into an absurd
pair of shovels, and the length of its eyes is simply
ridiculous. If you have patience to sit perfectly motion-
less for a time at some spot in Back Bay where the
retreating tide has left a dead level of oozy slime, you
will see a hundred of these little blueish creatures moving
about and collecting some form of nourishment from the
mud with their quaint and crooked claws ; but move a
hand, and presto! they are gone. In an instant they
have put themselves under the mud and left nothing,
except perhaps the points of their long eyes, in the air.
Then there is the Calling Crab, which has fostered
one hand until it has grown into a veritable Roman
shield, behind which the owner may shelter himself,
calmly taking his food with the other. How these hold
c
i8
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
their own I cannot tell. They are not strong, nor yet
swift, nor wary ; but wherever the sand is soft and black,
they people the shore in countless numbers. It may be
that that blazing muster of gaunt, mailed hands in orange
and red, ceaselessly beckoning to all the world to come,
tries the courage even of a hungry crow. I am inclined to
think this is the explanation of the matter, for I have
often seen one of the feeblest of the .mud crabs collect
in dense squadrons and perform long journeys over the
open shore, with nothing to protect them from wholesale
slaughter unless it was the fear inspired by such an
ominous mass of legs and arms.
Where the foaming waves dash themselves against
rugged rocks and moss-clad boulders, with black fissures
between, and here and there a clear pool, tenanted by
anemones and limpets and a quivering, darting little fish,
chafing in prison till the next tide shall come and set it
free, there the sand crab is replaced by the crab of the
rocks, most supple-limbed of living things. How it turns
the corner of a mossy rock, as slippery as that
“ plug of Irish soap
Which the girl had left on the topmost stair,”
and awaits unmoved the onset of a great wave, then
CRABS.
19
resumes its meal, daintily picking off morsels of fresh
moss with its hands and putting them into its mouth. A
life of constant watchfulness it lives and hourly peril,
as many an empty shell in the pool bears witness. Its
direst enemy, I believe, is the ghastly octopus, that
ocean spider, lurking in crack or crevice, with deadly
feelers extended, alive to their very tips and ready for
the unwary. That this gelatinous goblin should be able
to master the mail-clad
warrior is wonderful but
true. All his armour and
his defiant claws avail
nothing against the soft
embrace of eight long
arms and the kiss of a
little crooked beak.
Though their proper home is the border line between
land and water, the crabs have pushed their conquests over
nature in all directions. Some swim in the open sea, their
feet being flattened into paddles, and these are horribly
armed with long and sharp spines for the correction of
greedy fishes. They have been found in the Bay of
Biscay, a hundred miles from land, and are common on the
20
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
coasts of England* where they are said to kill large
numbers of mackerel. Bombay fishermen often find
them in their nets. Other crabs inhabit the forests,
climbing trees. Of these we have one beautiful species,
all purple and blue.
Others have their home in the fields, lying buried during
the months of drought, and coming to life when the rain
has softened the earth. They love the rain, and often
have I drawn them from their holes by means of a fraudu-
lent shower from a watering can. Slowly the poor dupe
comes out to enjoy it, and when his feet show themselves
at the door, you can thrust in a trowel and cut off
his retreat. Then he knows he has been fooled, and
backing into a corner, extends his great claws and defies
the world.
Did you ever see a motherly land crab with all her
children about her, leading them among the tender grass
on which they feed, like a hen with her chickens, and when
their little legs are weary, gathering them into her pouch
and carrying them home? It is a pretty picture, and I
wish I could paint in the father of the family ; but the
truth must be told, and I am afraid that when he meets
with his offspring, he runs them down and eats them. At
CRABS ,
1\
least I saw such a chase once. Never did crab flee as that
little one fled from the chela sequentes of his dire parent.
He doubled and dodged and ran again, but all in vain !
He was caught and nipped in two. Then came Nemesis in
the form of my dog, and the pursuer was pursued. In his
flurry he lost his way, and darting into the wrong hole, all
but fell into the arms of a bigger crab than itself. Darting
out again, he was instantly crushed by a great paw.
You may ask how I know that the big crab was father of
the little one. I do not know that he was ; but what does
it matter ? He did not know he was not.
Chapter III.
The voice of Mirth.
“THE time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice
of the turtle is heard in our land.” How quickly every
sense tells you that the mysterious tide of life has ceased
ebbing and begun to flow ; in short, that Spring is begin-
THE VOICE OF MIRTh.
^3
ning. Very soon the fierce din of the Cicada will start
from among the trees. Why do these creatures thus weary
themselves with unprofitable noises ? This question is like
some potent spell, for in an instant it seems to call up the
new spirit, that way of interpreting the universe which was
born but yesterday and already domineers over us all. Our
fathers would have answered, “ They sing because they feel
merry,” but we must not do so. That answer is no longer
admissible. We must devise something to the effect that
in the struggle for existence, prolonged through incon-
ceivable ages, those birds and insects which produce sounds
doubtless attracted the attention of the opposite sex more
successfully, and so forth.
But I am going to make myself a butt for scorn by
maintaining that the former is the correct answer. As I
sit at the door of my tent after dinner, the whole air is
murmuring and tinkling with the voices of crickets and
grasshoppers and little frogs. There is one melodious
sound, a sweet repeated trill, which I have never been able
to trace to its source. I have followed it up till I thought
it was in a tree over my head, but it is more like the voice
of a frog than a cricket. Perhaps it is a tree frog. There
are also little frogs in the rice field, and black crickets
24
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
under stones, and green crickets shrilly squeaking in the
bushes.
Is the key to all this, “ Cherchez la femme ” ? I do not
believe it. Why should we devise explanations of matters
that need none ? When an animal is well and happy, there
is an overflow of nervous energy, a surplus beyond what it
requires. The Wagtails and Redstarts let it off by shaking
their tails, and the crickets and the frogs and a hundred
others let it off in noise, and
“ the sailor lad
Sings in his boat in the bay ”
and
“ the fisherman’s boy
Shouts with his sister at play.”
Besides, do you think that man is the only animal which
feels the monotony of doing nothing? All living things
feel it, till you get so low down in the scale of life that they
can scarcely be said to feel anything at all. When they are
not sleeping or eating, they must be doing something pour
passer le temps. To some, indeed, nature has been kind
and given them an interesting occupation for their leisure
hours. To the dog, for instance, she has given fleas, so he
can lie on the carpet scratching his ribs, biting his feet and
worrying his person passing and the time never hangs
THE VOICE OE MIRTH.
25
heavy on his hands. I have no doubt that flies do in
the same way a great service to horses. What would a
horse do in the stable all day, tied head and heels, with no
occupation, if he was not obliged to whisk his tail ? Of
course the horse does not see the thing in this light. He
is like his betters, who rarely recognise their best blessings.
But I, as a looker on, find that the fly in moderation is
a blessing, and that every animal to which nature has not
given some pastime has invented one for itself. School-
girls nibble their nails, Yankees whittle wood, the Hindoo
peasant chews beetle-nut and scratches his thighs, ducks
quack and crows caw. And if you attentively consider the
prattle of any talkative child, you will find yourself com-
pelled to put much of it into the same category. The
sounds which the child makes take the form of words and
the words throw themselves into sentences because it has
learnt the trick of speech, but the occasion of them is
not that it has anything to tell, or anything to ask. It
often begins to speak without knowing what it is going
to say. I should like to believe that this applies only
to the prattle of children. But let us change the subject.
From mere sound it is an easy step to rhythmical sound,
and there you have the birth of music. A sound serves to
26
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
pass the time, but a sound repeated at regular intervals
soothes the savage breast and inspires ecstasies of joy.
How or why it does so I cannot tell, but the fact is not
open to dispute. In the valley just below me a man is
playing the tom-tom and will do so without stopping
till to-morrow morning. On he goes, tum-tara-rum-tum,
turn, turn, turn, turn ; and I have no doubt an admiring
audience is sitting round him. He did not acquire that
art to please the ladies, but to please himself You
may say he does it because he is paid for it, and of
course he does, but that does not affect the argument.
Men pay him because he gives them pleasure, but he
has the power to give them pleasure just because his
own sense of it is keener than theirs.
While I was listening to the tom-tom my ear caught
the notes of a musical cricket at the root of a tree quite
close to me. Most crickets repeat one note monotonously,
but this was evidently a talented cricket. It had two
or four short notes and a long one, and I found, by
beating time to its song, that the rhythm was faultless.
Where, then, is the difference between the cricket and
the tom-tomwalla ? Nowhere. They are both musicians
of the first degree, proficient in time, but not attaining
27
THE VOICE OF MIRTH .
to melody. I am afraid we often allow ourselves to
speak contemptuously, and therefore foolishly, of native
music because we do not understand this matter. The
first stage in the development of the musical faculty is
the sense of time, and in this the Indian musician is
incomparably superior to the European. His time is
faultless and very complicated. You may not be able
to enjoy his strains, because you
have arrived at a higher stage, just
as you now call books childish
which would have charmed you
when you were a child. But the
music of time is music still, and
the drummer-boy is a living wit-
ness to its mysterious power over
the hearts of men.
Now it has struck me, as it may
CICADA.
have struck others, that there may
be a rhythm in the shrill tones of a cricket, which we
have not the keenness of sense to detect. The song
of the Cicada appears to us to be one long note, a pro-
tracted, ear-rending scream ; as if one were drawing an
iron nail across the teeth of an endless iron comb. But
28’
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
the teeth of the comb might be adjusted to each other as
nicely as the chords of a piano, and so may the scream of
the Cicada consist of an inconceivably rapid succession
of tones which throw him into an ecstasy, though our ears
are too gross to separate and distinguish them. We
speak of the seven colours of the rainbow, and to our
eyes they are only seven, but ants discern an eighth, and
are violently agitated by it.
If you feel contentious, you may ask, How can the
Cicada enjoy its own music, having no ears? This
objection rests on the fallacy that, because we hear
with ears, nobody can hear without them. I have
actually been told, by a nineteenth century man, that
the pipe of the snake-charmer is only meant to fool
us, since snakes have no ears and cannot hear it. The
pipe of the snake-charmer! You could hear it with your
bones. But let that pass. Fishes have no more ear than
snakes, but the fishermen of this coast drive the mackerel
into their nets by shouting and striking the sides of their
boats with bits of hard wood. And now we are told
that snakes and scorpions and spiders, at the Zoo, have
been worked into wild frenzies by the tones of a violin.
However, this proves nothing about the Cicada, and I
THE VOICE OF MIRTH.
29-
am not going to be guilty myself of the fallacy that,
because an animal makes a noise, it must be able to hear
it. But I say this : Let the Cicada be as deaf as you will,
yet the rhythmical vibration of its wonderful drums may
thrill through its own body and stir its whole nature as
effectually as the pibroch stirs a Highlander. Imagine
an animate violin, and you can have no difficulty in
imagining that it enjoys the music played upon it. I
like this theory because it quite snuffs out the idea that
the Cicada sings to please the ladies. He can please
nobody but himself.
But I will not lie under the imputation of wishing to
despise the influence of the ladies. Grant me that the
shout and then the song were at first the escape pipes
of a gleeful spirit, and I will freely grant you that
these and every other accomplishment will be perfected
and paraded to win the regard of the fair one. There
are few sights I love better than the courting of birds.
Sweetly does the Magpie Robin sing in the small
hours of the morning, when we are in our beds, but
if you want to know what he can do, look at
him and listen to him as he follows “the fair, dis-
dainful dame ” and his rival from branch to branch
30
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
and tree to tree, suffering the ecstatic pains of a
jealous suitor. What a masher he is in his new spring
costume, with his black and white tail expanded like
a fan, and his glossy breast at the very point of
bursting with the frenzies of song which spout and
gush from his swollen throat ! It may well be that
the same all-pervading
uence calls forth
highest efforts of
cricket, but he
gs in solitude and
mournful tones, as
}f slighted love.
Thus, on one side, is
the trivial faculty of
sound-making seized
upon and turned to
MAGPIE ROBIN.
account by the sublime and almost unearthly faculty of
discerning and enjoying “ the hidden soul of harmony.”
On the other side it is brought into servitude by quite
another faculty, and sound grows into language ; but how
great a subject is that ! Perhaps one day it too will have
its Max Muller.
Chapter IV.
THE KING
COBRA.
THE weather is getting
very warm. This is
perhaps not expressive
enough. What I mean
is that the atmosphere is
getting like that which
we may imagine to prevail under a pie-crust when the pie
is in the oven. Of course I am writing from the coast.
Up-country, on the plains of the Deccan, the atmosphere
of the oven outside of the pie furnishes a better illus-
tration. This is just the difference between the two
32
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
climates. In the one you are toasted on the outside
and baked all through ; in the other you simmer day
and night, and get out of your bed in the morning
sodden and juicy. The strange thing is that the ther-
mometer registers nothing very outrageous. There is
some influence abroad other than heat, some electric
spell forbidding the air to stir. The trees stand as still
as statues, and the white clouds in the blue sky are
motionless too. Your ardour for manly pastimes and
active exercise abates, to say the least of it, for your
muscles are like a jaded horse which will not answer
to the spur, and anything like a long walk in the
morning endows you with a thirst which will not leave
you all day. It is not a wholesome thirst either, not a
demand of nature for refreshing forms of moisture, but
a kind of glutinous thickness such as troubles the throat
of the office gum bottle. At such times it seems right
and reasonable to be lazy, but it is bad policy. Heat,
like most of our enemies, gives way to a bold front, but
tyrannises over those who yield to it. And from a
naturalist’s point of view this is the very time to prowl,
for this heat: which seems to drain our strength away
has just the opposite effect on the baser forms of life.
THE KING COBRA.
33
On every hand you may see signs of its re-vivifying
energy.
Trees which have long stood bare are dressing them-
selves in the brightest of green, while others are trimming
the dark robes of last season with the pink and red of
a new growth. The colour of the hills is changing and
growing more beautiful every week. Orchids are bloom-
ing, and the wild jasmine is covering whole trees with
the pure glory of its white blossoms. Every morning
they bloom and fill the air with their fragrance, in the
evening they fall and whiten the ground. Not so effective
as the jasmine, but very like it and almost as sweet, is
the Corrinda blossom, and I know no more dainty bouquet
than mixed clusters of white Corrinda and scarlet Ixora.
But the flower of the Corrinda is only a promise, and the
fulfilment is better. When a bush in full fruit and I
chance to meet, we seldom part without a long and
pleasant interview ; for the love of fruit is a thing which
I have always tried conscientiously to foster in myself.
I regard it as a vestige of Eden and a token of a palate
still undepraved by the artificial consolations to which
Adam turns from the thorns and thistles and the sweat
of his face. But to be rightly enjoyed, fruit must be
D
34
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
eaten as in Eden, without knife and fork, or plate and
spoon, plucked from the tree with the bloom still on. Un-
fortunately the Corrinda bush and I have these pleasant
interviews less often than we ought. The wretched people
on this coast feed on boiled rice, and the second necessity
of life to them is some strong vegetable acid, or corrosive
pickle, which will spur the insipid mess down a reluctant
throat. They scour the country for tamarinds, green
mangoes and Cocum , or wild mangosteen, a fruit so fero-
ciously tart that when once I ate it, many years ago, I had
to send my face to the dhobie to get my crumpled features
ironed out. So they will not let the Corrinda berry ripen,
but strip the bushes while it is yet green and sour and
convertible into pickle. But some escape for me.
Another tasty fruit which is ripening now is the Char ,
or Charolee , a little purplish brown berry with a hard stone.
One morning last week I found a fine Char tree lying
across the road ; it had just been cut down. I could
not guess the object of such wanton destruction, but my
puttiwalla explained it at once. The upper branches of
the tree were full of fruit, and the lower branches were
full of red ants. Some koonbee had coveted the fruit,
but dared not face the ants ; so out came the koita and
THE KING COBRA.
35
down came the tree. Not half-an-hour could have passed
since the deed was done, so the perpetrator must have
fled at the sound of my footsteps. I went on my way,
but had not gone far when I spied two village youths
skulking about the jungle. They looked at me, and I
looked at them and knew by natural divination that
they were guilty. Then I saw them furtively slipping
something into their mouths. It was berries of the Char.
Should I have been a wrong-doer if I had arrested those
youths and simply held them fast for half-an-hour among
the lower branches of the fallen tree, that its natural
guardians, the red ants, might “examine” them as the
Romans used to examine suspected criminals? I did
not do that, but I did something else. I will not tell
what I did.
Now all these fruits and flowers and tender leaves are
food for one thing or another, so I see that butterflies,
which have been scarce for months, are appearing again,
and bees are gathering honey, and many of the birds
are busy about their nests. On every hand I hear the
great Golden-backed Woodpecker hammering at the
trees, and parrots are rushing wildly through the sky
in a noisy state of excitement about their domestic affairs.
D 2
36
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL,
The same morning on which I found the fallen Char
tree I saw two birds scuffling in the air. Feathers flew
thick. At last they fell to the ground, and I saw that one
was a Myna and the other was a Barbet, that clumsy green
bird which the natives call
kootroo , from the mono^
tonous call with which it
makes the valleys resound
at this season. Then I
knew what it was all about.
The sturdy Barbet nests in
trees, like the Woodpecker,
and makes its own hole.
The gay Myna nests in
trees too, but appropriates
GREEN BARBET.
a hole made by somebody else. In single combat the
Barbet, though smaller, was much the better man of the
two, but the Myna had many friends, who all came to
see what was the matter, and talked a great deal and
wanted to arbitrate. The Barbet turned upon them and
went at them one after another, but they generally dodged
him, and the rest applauded, so he was panting and looking
very flushed in the face, while they were quite cool. He
THE KING COBRA
37
caught one a good punch in the ribs, however, and a hand-
ful of feathers flew out into the air, which must have been
i very distressing loss to a well - dressed Myna at the
beginning of the wedding season.
This same mysterious influence, which is ripening the
Corrinda and awakening the butterfly, is also developing
the deadly Nux vomica and revivifying the venomous
snake, as I was very graphically reminded not long ago.
I was returning one morning from my walk over an
undulating, grassy plain, dotted with islands of small
trees. Never have I seen the wild jasmine more beautiful.
Suddenly I was met by some men with the news that
a large python was in a tree not far away. A python,
if more than five or six feet in length, is too thick and
strong to be killed with a walking-stick, like cobras and
other snakes ; but my little collecting gun was in my hand,
so I followed them at once. When we reached the place
I found a number of koonbees assembled, talking with bated
breath, as if in the presence of some great danger. Why
should they be afraid of a python ? It is not a poisonous
snake, but one of the Boa constrictor tribe, squeezing its
prey to death. It lies motionless for hours, or days, or
weeks if necessary, until some hapless monkey, or jackal,
38
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
comes within its reach. Suddenly it darts forward, and
next moment, by some process which the eye cannot follow,
the python is wound round that monkey, or jackal, and in
a few minutes more the life has been squeezed out of the
shapeless body. Then the python unwinds, and turning
the corpse round so that its head points towards him
(lest the hair should rub the wrong way), yawns like the
grave that he is and introduces the head into his throat,
down which, with slow solemnity, the funeral marches,
and the grave is closed.
These are facts ; both the jackal and the monkey are
historical. But there is no instance on record of a python
swallowing a man, and most of us are familiar with the
snake-charmer who presents himself at the door with one
wound about his limbs ; so the alarm of the villagers
surprised me. However, koonbees are strange creatures,
so I asked where the beast was, and the boldest of them
undertook to show me. He guided me silently into a
clump of trees and pointed upwards. I could see nothing.
Yes, yes ! I could get glimpses of great coils among the
boughs, and there, quite plain, was a white throat and
a cold, cruel visage deliberately watching me. Surely
no python ever looked like that. A python’s eyes look
THE KING COBRA.
39
nowhere in particular ; this creature’s met mine with a
truculent stare like nothing I had seen before. I did
not like it, so I took careful aim and lodged a charge of
small shot into the brute’s neck, six inches behind his head.
He started, and motion began among the coils. By degrees
his hold upon the branches relaxed, and after a long time
he fell, or rather slid, with a heavy thud to the ground. A
buzz, as of bees, ran through the crowd, with earnest shouts
of warning meant for me, and now I understood.
The great brute writhing on the ground was not a python,
but a Hamadryad, or King Cobra, a venomous snake and
the most terrible of the whole serpent tribe. The koonbees
had known this all the time, and hence their terror, for the
King Cobra does not strike in self-defence only, like other
snakes, but attacks man and pursues him with terrible fury.
On this side of India, happily, it is rare, and I had got
a prize, for this specimen was 12 feet 6 inches in length
and must have cast its skin quite recently, so bright and
fresh were the bands of yellow scales across its glossy
brown back. It was past mischief now, for the charge
of small shot had severed the spinal cord and interrupted
all communication with head-quarters, so, though all parts
of it moved, there was no concert in the motion. It neither
40
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
went one way nor another, nor lifted its head to strike. Yet
not one of the natives would come near it. At last I seized
it by the tail and began to haul it out into an open space,
making a broad track among the dead leaves. A cry of
utter horror rose from the villagers, but a Kiristan (i.e., a
man who professes the Christian religion) came to my aid.
Finally, as the writhing grew less violent, I persuaded the
men to cut two poles and secure the slippery coils with
tough vines, and so I brought home my spolia opima in
triumphal procession.
On the way I learned some things about the King Cobra
which are not generally known. So swift is it that, when
it pursues, escape by flight is impossible. When it has
caught a man it swallows him whole, then, climbing a tree,
it winds itself round the trunk and tightens its coils until
the man is crushed all to nothing in its inside. Thus it
digests him. Facts like these are becoming increasingly
rare in books. You must glean them among the simple
folk who spend their lives with the beasts of the field and
from infancy hold converse with nature’s charms and view
her stores unrolled. I have gathered many such, very
wonderful and known to few. Another day perhaps I
will give you some of them.
THE KING COBRA .
41
The Secretary of the Bombay Natural History Society
is very angry with me for killing the King Cobra. He
says a live one of that size would be worth a king’s
ransom. Next time I fall in with one he shall have
the contract to catch it
IllitlSsl
I HAVE lighted on the
very capital or sacred city of
the Banian tree. How shall
I describe it ? A traveller’s
bungalow, a straggling na-
tive town, some old walls
that once surrounded houses and gardens, a small
71/E BANIAN TREE.
43
dilapidated church, a cemetery with a few old tombs, white-
washed and bordered with blue by the P. W. Department,
a bandstand, a monument, the foundations of a jail, and in
all directions winding roads, with old Banian trees meeting
overhead, so that you may walk where you will and
scarcely see the sun.
At some time or other it entered the mind of somebody
or other — nothing is known of the when or the who — to
plant the sides of the roads with these trees, and while the
walls have been crumbling the trees have been growing.
This deserted and dismal place was then a civil and
military station of some note, and those were easy times,
when the lack of pence did not vex our public men, and
things were done with a large and liberal mind. Now, too,
we plant roadside trees. We plant them, and when they
have grown up and begin to be of some use, we hack them
down again, because the rain dripping from their leaves is
supposed to damage the roads.
I once remonstrated with a muccadum whom I saw
superintending this work. I told him that even native
Governments had always regarded the planting of roadside
trees, to give the weary traveller shade, as an act of piety
and an antidote to the sins of previous births, and that he
44
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
was wickedly undoing a good work which had cost much
public money. He replied, “ Not so. I do not destroy the
roots of the trees. I only cut away the branches which
spoil my roads.” I said, “O! I understand. It is the
roots that give shade to the traveller.” It is not often that
sarcasm or irony strikes any light from the flint of a
Hindoo mind, but I got a flash out of that muccadum.
But then, you see, he was a muccadum .
Another thing that makes futile much of our roadside
planting is the erratic selection of trees, without any
regard to whether they will grow or do any good where
we put them. There is a Forest Department which ought
to understand such matters, and — but what am I saying ?
Fancy a Forest officer neglecting his pastures and grazing
fees to meddle with roadside trees ! They come under
the major head “Roads,” as every child knows, and it is of
course the province of those who make the roads to build
the trees also. The best results are obtained by committing
the work to a minister of the “ Lokil Phund.” He has one
luminous idea on the subject, and it is that two or three
trees of different kinds should always be put into one hole ;
“ for,” says he, “ if one dies, the other may live.” So he
puts a Jack and a Mango, or a Tamarind and a Casuarina,
THE BANIAN TREE .
45
together, and lets them fight it out. I would not be a
laudator temporis acti , but it does sometimes seem as if
they managed matters better in the old days when there
was no Lokil Phund, nor even a P. W. D.
How these Banian trees have thriven ! Over and
through the crevices of the rough laterite rock their tor-
tuous roots have sprawled like the feelers of a giant
octopus, while overhead they streteh their arms and shake
hands across the road, making a shade that never fails
from sunrise till sunset. Some are older than others, or
else they have found a kinder soil. Just in front of me, as
I write, are two giants, patriarchs of their tribe, standing
side by side. Their united shade covers a space of 200
feet in length by 150 in breadth. Each stands on a central
pedestal composed of many columns, some welded to-
gether into a composite trunk and others grouped about
it, while on either side a single, tall pillar props a great,
over-weighted arm, like Aaron and Hur staying the hands
of Moses. From other boughs slender roots hang down,
seeking the earth, but never finding it, for their points are
soft and succulent, and hungry cows bite them off as soon
as they come within reach.
Did you ever explore a noble Banian tree and make a
4 6
A N A T UR A LIS T ON THE PROWL.
study of it ? Of course you know the tree I mean, Ficus
indica, the Indian Fig.
“Not that kind for fruit renowned,
But such as at this day, to Indians known,
In Malabar, or Decan, spreads her arms,
Branching so broad and long that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillar’d shade,
High over-arched and echoing walks between.”
How Milton came to know about Malabar and the
“ Decan ” and this wonderful tree is not so curious a
question as it looks. Of course he had read Pliny’s
account, for he copied his error about the bended twigs
taking root, but he did not need to depend on Pliny.
There were Anglo-Indians in London before Milton’s
time, and we may be sure they were much greater lions
than they are now. Not twenty-five miles from here,
a few days ago, I looked on three graves, solid squares
of masonry with a flat stone slab on each, bearing an
inscription, rudely cut and inartistic, but still plainly
legible. The first ran thus : —
Here lieth the body of William Barton, Chyrurgion, dec. XXX November,
Anno Dom. Ni. Salv. Mundi MDCXXXVIII.
1638.
William Barton.
THE BANIAN TREE .
4 7
The other two told the same story of George Wye and
Antony Verneworthy, “ Marchants,” who deceased in
the year 1637. The straggling letters covered the whole
face of the stones and left no room to tell more, and
besides the stones there is none to tell us ought of
William Barton, George Wye and Antony Verneworthy.
Of course they were servants of the Hon. E. I. Company,
but what manner of men were they, how long had they
been in this land, and how did they meet their deaths ?
You may guess what you please, for we shall
never know, but of one thing there can be no reasonable
doubt. They had all seen the Banian tree and sat under
its shade. And, though they were fated to lay their
bones beside it, some surely of those who uttered words
of faith and hope over their mortal remains, and com-
mitted their memory to these faithful stones, must have
lived to return after long years to their native land and
tell of the strange things they had seen. And they had
seen few stranger than the majestic fig-tree which sent
down to the ground roots from its branches and made
to itself crutches for its old age. Nor is there any doubt
that the tree owes the name we now give it to these
men. Being “ marchants,” their dealings were with those
48
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
who followed the same vocation as themselves, the Bunnias
or Banians. Read this old record :
“ A people presented themselves to mine eyes cloathed in linnen garments,
somewhat low descending, of a gesture and garbe, as I may say, maidenly
and well-nigh effeminate ; of a countenance shy and somewhat estranged, yet
smiling out a glozed and bashful familiarity. I asked what manner of people
these were, so strangely notable and notably strange. Reply was made that
they were Banians.”
Naturally these practical merchants thought Banian
meant Hindoo. They divided the people into two
classes, Gentoos and Moors, and the Gentoos were also
called Banians. So when they spoke of the notable
Hindoo tree, they called it the Banian tree. Of course
the sacred tree of the Hindoos is not the Banian, but
another fig tree, the Pepul ; so in one sense the old mer-
chants made a mistake ; but it is much easier to account
for their mistake than for that of the Hindoos in not
choosing the Banian for the holy tree. How they came
to select the Pepul instead puzzles me altogether. I once
asked an intelligent Hindoo to account for it, and he told
me the reason was that the ancient Rishis used to sit
under the Pepul tree. But the superficial man was only
pushing the question away from him. Why did the
ancient Rishis sit under the Pepul tree?
THE BANIAN TREE.
49
Since I began to write this a profoundly philosophical
friend has suggested an explanation which I do believe
is the true one. The peculiar heart-shaped leaf of the
Pepul is sensitive to
the faintest breeze, and
you will often see it
flapping gently when
the white clouds are
standing still in the
sky and not another
tree bears witness to
the least motion in the
air. Now those Rishis
were wonderful fellows,
as Colonel Olcott
knows. They had got
to the very bottom of
the well where truth is
found ; they lived there,
in fact. They had gOt PEPUL LEAF (Ficus Religiosa).
the victory over delusion, and discovered that everything is
the same as everything else, and all things are nothing and
nothing is all things, and cause and effect are one So when
E
50
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
the Rishi saw the flapping of the Pepul leaves on a sultry
day, he sat under the shade of the tree and knew he
was cool. And he blessed the tree that fanned his
sacred limbs.
Nevertheless, the shade of the Pepul is a fraud. It
never has any when you want it. But the leaves of the
Banian come before the heat, and its shade is a shade
indeed. And to sit in contemplation under the majesty of
a noble Banian would make a man a Rishi if he were not
so before.
What a world it is in itself, populous with beasts and
birds and myriads of little things, which, though we call
them insignificant, are sharers with us in the mystery of
life and happiness. And how bountifully the tree feeds
them all. It is literally a land flowing with milk and
honey. The milk is in the leaves, beloved of goats and
sought after also by certain beautiful butterflies for the
nourishment of their young. While they are yet pink and
tender, the delicately devised Map Butterfly, Cyrestis
thyodamas , comes flitting round the tree and commits her
eggs to its care. And before that, while the leaves are
still packed in sharp-pointed cones, you will find them
eaten into by a soft, fat grub, like a large green wood
THE BANIAN TREE.
51
louse. Its head and feet are hidden under it, and it walks
backwards and forwards with equal ease. This will turn
into Iraota timoleon , one of the most brilliant butterflies
that ever spread its wings to the sun, though it has no
English name.
The honey is not in the leaves, but on them. If you
turn over any well-grown leaf you will find a whitish
smear just at the junction of the stalk, as if a candle, or a
cake of soap, had been rubbed against the leaf. It does
not look very toothsome, but it is ambrosia, the food of
gods. I believe it is the chief cause of the presence of
the little striped squirrels, which make the tree ring with
their wild cries.
It is for this also, and not for the fruit, that the red-
headed Parrakeets swarm about the Banian tree early in
the morning at certain seasons of the year. If you watch
them, you will see that they are not eating anything, but
clambering about the outermost twigs, too busy even
to scream, and that, as they pass each leaf, they stoop
down quickly and give it a lick on the under side. How
many licks go to make a breakfast I cannot say, but it
is evident the little epicures have no time to lose.
Ants also of many kinds are travelling along the boughs
E 2
52
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
and twigs, for where there is sweetness there will be ants
Then there is a mixed multitude of insects of the baser
sort, aphides and hoppers and the like, and to keep them
all within limits, there are spiders and lizards also, dark
grey geckos, which find just such lodging as they like
about the rugged trunk and the old roots that over-
lie it, blending with it and with each other in grand
confusion.
But if you wish to form a just idea of the place which
the Banian tree fills in the world, you must visit it when
every twig is fringed with scarlet figs. If this should be,
as it generally is, in the cold season, when food is scarce,
The banian tree .
S3
then there is indeed a bazaar. Early in the morning the
birds begin to gather, the riotous Rosy Pastor and the
self-possessed Myna, the graceful Brahminy Myna, with
its silky black crest and buffy-red waistcoat, and the
yet more elegant Hoary Headed Myna, and the cheery
Bulbuls and the Coppersmiths, quiet and silent just now,
except when they quarrel and rail hoarsely at each other,
and the Golden Orioles, and here and there a great black-
guard Crow, devoid alike of shame and fear. They are
all in high spirits, and plenty makes them fastidious.
Watch that Myna as he hops about, judging the fruit with
one eye, till he finds a fine, mellow fig, not too raw and
not too ripe, but just right. Then he digs a hole in it with
his sharp beak. Of Parrots there are not many, for the
Parrot is a sybarite and the fig is plain, wholesome fare
Another fruit- eater also is absent — the Green Pigeon : its
mellow whistle is seldom heard in the Banian tree. The
reason is that the Green Pigeon cannot dig holes in fruits :
it swallows them whole. Now the Banian fig is tough
and so firmly joined to the twig that the Green Pigeon has
not strength to pull it off.
It was this fact that first put me on the track of the
true explanation of the Hornbill’s monstrous beak. It is
54
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
simply a powerful pair of pincers, long enough to give the
leverage required for wrenching off tough fruit. Note
this and examine the beak of the next Hornbill you
see.
When night falls and the birds have gone to bed,
then dark flying foxes will flap heavily round the tree,
and hooking themselves on, clamber about, chewing and
munching. In the morn-
ing the ground will be
thickly strewn with the
remains of their untidy
and wasteful repast.
Then a slow procession
of spectral cattle will
come upon the scene
gaunt frames of bullocks
and cows and calves,
with scabby hide drawn
HORNBILL.
tight over sharp bones, lustrous eyes staring wantingly,
and prematurely grown, distorted horns. And they will
greedily feed on what the bats have dropped. Poor
things ! the wide world seems to have no food to spare
for them. The ground is bare of grass, and the shrubs
THE BANIAN TREE.
55
are bare of leaves as far as their famished tongues can
reach. They belong to somebody, of course. A farmer
somewhere calls them his. But he does not feed them.
Why should he? He does not need them just now.
In due time the rain will come, and the grass will grow
and keep them alive till ploughing time. Then, if well
beaten, they will put forth all the strength that is needed
to pull his little crooked plough through the muddy rice
ground. If the lives of some of them flicker out before
that, his loss will be small and his conscience will be free.
If he lifted his own hand to shorten their lives, the waters
of the Ganges could not purge away his sin.
PHARAOH’S LEAN' K'NE.
MIS?
Chapter VI.
Bird-Nesting.
WHEN you go out on a roving
commission to pick up speci-
mens and facts, however com-
prehensive your scope may be,
it is good to have some one aim
BIRD-NESTING .
s;
uppermost, just as it is good to have a cox in the
crew of a boat. This morning I was out bird-nesting.
Of all collectings the collecting of eggs is at once the
highest and the lowest. A collection of eggshells is
loathsome, a monument of human frivolity and wicked-
ness, worse than a trophy of heads or horns, lower than
a collection of stamps. But when the eggs only serve,
like counters, to mark the progress of the game, when
the whole collection is a record of happy travels in
birdland, when every egg is a souvenir of some pleasant
intimacy, I envy the owner. What if he is a robber after
a sort ? What if he took without saying, “ By your
leave ” ? It was a keepsake he wanted, and he did not get
it till he deserved it. No pursuit demands such close and
patient observation, such a knowledge of the home life of
the objects of your study. You may live in the same
garden with a little bird and meet it many times a day,
and never know that it is married and has a family. For
weeks the courtship went on under your windows, till she
accepted him and left his rival to look for another love.
Then the young couple explored every tree in the garden
for suitable premises. One branch was tried and rejected
on account of the ants, another was fixed on but spoiled
58
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
next day by the pruning knife of the Malee. At length a
cosy little site was found close by the path which you
traverse every day, materials were collected, and for many
days both the birds were busy from early morning building
their house. Then one happy day they sat, with mutual
congratulations and endearments, admiring the first-born
egg. There had never been such an egg. It was the
darlingest little egg in all the world. For a fortnight
after this he led a bachelor life, coming often, however,
to see how she did, and once a day taking her place while
she went out for a little air and exercise. Then the little
ones came and family cares began in earnest. It was ora
et labora , four open mouths and much labour to fill them.
All the day long spiders and caterpillars had to be caught
and dropped into those little red funnels, all stretched out
and quivering with expectancy. Now they are clothed
and sitting on the edge of the nest, and their parents are
in a flutter of delight and anxiety. And all this has gone
on without your getting the least hint of it. The fact is
that familiarity with danger has taught birds to combine
circumspection with an air of unconcern which would
baffle a London detective. It baffles the crow, which is
sharper than a London detective. The great lizard, who
BIRD-NESTING.
59
lives in the tree, with his ogre eye on everything, is not so
easily eluded, but he can be fought. Only if both parents
are away at once will he get a chance. How every
collector hates that gourmand ! But I scored off him once.
He had swallowed the first egg in a nest, and trusted that
he would swallow the rest as they were laid ; but I put
in a chalk egg for his special benefit, and the marks of his
teeth next day showed how he had struggled with it
before he gave it up in disgust.
But I must return to my walk. I had first to visit the
nest of a shrike, which I had noted a week ago. This
fearless butcher
practises no cun-
ning. His nest
is fixed in the
thorniest bush
he can find, and
fenced all round
with thorny
twigs. He is not
much in the way
of crows, and if SHR,KE <OR BUTCHEE bird).
any lizard should be so silly as to show itself, it will
do
A naturalist on the prowl
promptly be caught and impaled on a thorn till it is
tender enough to eat. No provision had been made,
however, against me, and I annexed the eggs without
much scruple, I confess, for sentiment does not naturally
attach itself to the Butcher Bird. Somehow or other, I
have quite a different feeling towards the King-crow. It
seems mean to take advantage of the splendid courage
with which he builds his flimsy house in the most exposed
situation he can
kites to pass that
way, or crows to
perch on any of
the neighbour-
ing trees. At
this moment a
travel-worn
crow, which
rested for a
KING-CROW,
moment on a forbidden tree in mere ignorance, is catching
it from the indomitable little tyrant and his wife. Each
in turn, with torrents of contemptuous abuse, drops into
him from a height of twenty feet, then wheels round and
BIRD-NESTING.
6 1
is ready again. The crow holds his ground from sheer
cowardice rather than obstinacy, and twists his neck in
vain efforts to present an open beak at the point of attack.
At last he overbalances himself and hangs by his feet for
a moment in utter despair, then flies for his life. With a
derisive yell, the victor makes one last descent into his
back, as if it would transfix him, then returns slowly to
the tree, panting but triumphant. While the Butcher Bird
and the King-crow are defying their enemies, the
tiny Sunbird is outwitting them. It has selected
a dirty-looking
tree, literally
alive with blood-
thirsty red ants.
At the very end
of a waving
branch it has
hung a neat little
purse, with a
small hole on
one side, near
. . , i SUNBIRD.
the top, and a
porch to keep out sun and rain. The lining is of cotton
62
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
from the silk cotton tree, warm and smooth. When com-
fort has been provided for, the work of external decoration
begins. First the whole outside is draped with shreds of
spiders’ webs. Whether this is done to discourage the red
ants I cannot say ; but it serves another purpose, for now
the bird goes about collecting any rubbish it can find
and sticking it on the glutinous web. Old scraps of
moss, spiders’ egg-cases, rags of white silk from the
nests of the red ants, and above all, the sawdust and
refuse which woodboring caterpillars shovel out of their
holes, are gathered together and stuck on anyhow, till
the outside of the little house is as thoroughly disreput-
able as art can make it. Then it is ready for occupa-
tion. Lizards cannot get into it, crows do not suspect
what it is, and if they did, would not know what to
do with it. The very squirrel is baffled. And now note
the way the bird behaves. He is skipping about in
the highest spirits, spreading his tail and flapping his
wings, singing snatches of an old glee, hovering over a
flower while his long tongue searches its recesses, or
peering about a dirty bunch of cobweb for little spiders.
Suddenly he appears to notice that bunch hanging at
the end of a branch. He flies straight to it, clings to
BIRD-NESTING.
63
the side with his feet, and thrusts his head into the hole
at the side for a moment, then darts away again as if
saying to himself, tk No spiders there.” But he gave her
a kiss
Take another instance of fraudulent simplicity suggested
by the loud kee-ko of the Crested Swift as he sails
about in the
sky overhead,
or perches on
that dead
tree, with his
crest up and
that jaunty
air which fits
him so well.
I am certain
where his crested swift.
nest is : it is on that same dead tree without one
leaf to conceal it ; but for my life I cannot find it.
The difficulty is that there is nothing to find ; not
a straw, or a fibre, or a scrap of moss has the
bird collected lie simply spat hard on the same
spot from day to day. As a voluminous spitter he
64
A NATURAL/ST ON THE FROWL.
could give points to any Kentucky man, and the
result was a sun-dried lump very like the little brown
fungus which grows on old trees in the rainy season.
It is not the size of a rupee, and from below is
scarcely visible — certainly not distinguishable from any
of the numerous warts and lumps which disfigure
the old tree ; but it holds one egg safely and is firm
enough to support the handsome bird which sits patiently
over it in the blazing sun of noon and the dew of night.
Now, why should the Sunbird or the Crested Swift require
to practise such arts when the dove and the bulbul get on
without them ? The silly dove arranges a few twigs in a
cactus bush and lays her eggs on them. If you pass by
she dashes off in such a flutter that you cannot help
looking up to see what is the matter, and there the eggs
are, shining through the structure of the flimsy nest. It is
a mystery ; but there is this difference between the egg of
the Crested Swift and the egg of the dove — that the
former is a precious thing destined to produce a Crested
Swift, while the latter will come to nothing but a silly
dove, with just intellect enough to find its food and grow
fat for somebody to eat. And that which is precious is
scarce. There is only one egg of the Crested Swift, and
BIRD-NESTING.
65
there will not be another for a twelvemonth ; but the eggs
of the dove are as plentiful as they are cheap. All the
year round she is making her foolish nests, and if one
comes to grief and one prospers, she will still multiply
much faster than the Crested Swift. So with the simple-
minded Bulbul ; its function in nature appears to be the
same as that of the hens in my yard — namely, to lay eggs
for others to eat. Every second nest at least meets with
an accident, but a merry heart doeth good like a medicine,
and the Bulbul is always merry. When one nest is
destroyed she just makes another and lays a few more
eggs. If the first fails, the second may succeed, and if the
second fails, the third may succeed ; and so, by paying
tribute to their enemies, the Bulbuls still contrive to
multiply, and keep every garden, grove, and hillside lively
with their twitter.
Thus, one in one way and one in another, one by force
and one by fraud, one by resistance and one by submission,
they keep their place in the great struggle, and it is
curious to note how the ways and instincts of each fit in
with the course which it has taken. Birds which build in
high trees have no special fear of man, and those which
make their nests in holes disregard him altogether. The
F
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
6 0
Coppersmith will hammer away at a branch just over the
door of your tent, caring nothing who sees her. She has
only one enemy, the snake, and if it finds her house,
neither cunning nor courage will avail anything. But
birds that make their nests on the ground fear man above
all things. There is a little kind of Robin, or Chat, a
dapper little bird in black and white, which makes its neat
nest under the shelter of a stone, or at the root of a bush.
How often I have had a contest of patience with that bird
and gone away beaten ! “ Oh ! ” it seemed to say, “ you
want to find my nest, do you ? I haven’t one.” And,
with a grasshopper in its mouth, it perched on a bush,
jerking its tail pleasantly and saying tea in a tone which
I knew was meant as a warning to its wife and little ones.
In vain I sat and tried to look innocent till I was tired,
or got up and seemed to walk away, looking over my
shoulder as I w^ent. Still it sat and said tea. I got
behind a bush and peeped cautiously through the leaves.
It saw me and said tea. As soon as I was really away, it
would fly straight to its little brood and comfort them
with the grasshopper. Of all devices by wTich birds have
sought to secure the safety of their little ones, I think
the strangest and most ingenious is that of the Red
BIRD-NESTING.
67
Woodpecker. I cannot forget the feelings with which I
first saw it digging its hole, not in bough or trunk,
but in the great, brown nests of the vicious little
tree-ant. How
it gets rid of the
occupants, or
whether it makes
terms with them, I
cannot say. It
keeps its secret to
itself and lives, I
should think, in
perfect security, for
no enemy is likely
to come prying
RED WOODPECKER.
about those nests.
Ruminating on these things and wandering on, I noticed
a great dark bird sailing over a wooded hillside, and from
the blackness of its ample wings I knew it must be the
Black Eagle. A rare bird it is, and noble to look at ; but
how debased ! By lineage it is an eagle and by trade a
poacher. Dr. Jerdon says : “ It lives almost exclusively, I
believe, by robbing birds’ nests, devouring both the eggs
F 2
68
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
and the young ones.” For a moment there flashed on me
the gleam of a hope that its nest might be in that clump
of tall,- dark trees. “What a prize its eggs would be ! ” I
asked some country bumpkins, who were working in the
fields, where they thought its nest might be ; but they did
not appear to see much reason to suppose that it indulged
in the habit of making nests, or laying eggs. So I sat
down and watched it, and very soon 1 saw that it was on
the same errand as myself — viz., bird-nesting. Methodi-
cally it traversed the whole side of the hill, sailing low and
scanning every bush and tree ; then crossed the little
valley in which I was standing, to beat the hill on the
opposite side. Suddenly it stopped, circled quickly round
a small tree and plunged into it legs foremost, as eagles
always do except in pictures. It evidently missed its
quarry, for it rose again, but it plunged once more into
the tree and remained there. With the thermometer at
90° in the shade (and what in the sun !), I ran for that
tree, thinking involuntarily of Falstaff larding the lean
earth as he went along ; but before I could get there, the
eagle rose majestically and sailed away. Pushing the
branches aside and looking in, I found a Bulbul’s nest,
with some eggshells and a spilt yolk, and at the foot of
BIRD-NESTING.
69
the tree were two feathers from a Bulbul’s tail. At his
first plunge he had tried to catch the sitting bird, but, like
Tam o’ Shanter’s mare, it escaped with the loss of its
tail. Then he sat down to breakfast on the eggs, with an
eagle’s beak for his spoon. It is no wonder that he could
not eat them cleanly ; and, indeed, it is one of the
strangest things I know in nature that a bird so armed
and equipped should feed on eggs. But it was not to
feed on eggs that he was so armed and equipped. I feel
sure that the Black Eagle furnishes an example of very
recent degeneracy. This is an intensely interesting
subject, but too large a one to enter upon to-day.
BEACK EAGBE.
and always has been, the monsoon.
It is the time of refreshing, and all nature rejoices in
it, and I rejoice with nature. What the spring is to
northern latitudes, the monsoon is to us. I do not mean
that spring has no place in the Indian calendar. That
mysterious influence which comes with the returning sun.
JUPITER PL U VI US.
7
and, undiscerned by eye or ear, awakens the earth, visits
us too. Then
“The wanton lapwing gets himself another crest,”
and if a fuller crimson does not come upon the robin’s
breast, it is because in this country that is not the region
in which his crimson is situated ; but he and the other
birds break out into song and begin to build their nests,
the trees bud, and many gay butterflies awaken to life.
But in our spring-tide vivifying heat is divorced from
refreshing moisture, so that half nature, instead of being
warmed to life, is scorched to death. True, the Banian
tree, whose roots reach down into the secret chambers of
the earth, comes out in bright array, and the Mango buds
and blooms ; but the, grass, packed in dust above and
below, cannot rouse itself to the call of spring, and the
fields grow only more dusty and more dry. Our spirits
are like the grass and seem to be packed in dust. The
cattle wander about like shadows and grow visibly leaner
every day, envying the serpent for the curse that lies on
him. He only of living things has enough and to spare.
So I say, Our true spring, the beginning of our year* the
birthday of nature, is not in March, but in June. Let it be
ushered in with salvoes of artillery and a carnival of the
72
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL ,
elements, or let it leak in silently during the night and
greet us in the morning, the effect is the same. The leaves
of the trees are washed, the dust on the roads is laid, and
the spirits of man and beast participate in the baptism.
Scarcely has the earth sent up the incense of its grati-
tude to heaven when a thousand activities are awakened
within it of which we shall soon see the outward signs.
In the halls of the White Ant there is eager excitement,
for the young queens of the future, in their long and gauzy
wings, like bridal veils, are crowding to the door, and as
each one starts on her long and hazardous journey in quest
of a new home, friends press round with the blessing of
Rebekhah — “ Be thou the mother of thousands of millions,
and may thy seed possess the gate of those which hate
them.”
There is joy above ground too, for the Crow and the
Kite, the King-crow, the Lizard, the little Owl and the Bat
have gathered to the feast. No deduction need be made
from the joy of the White Ants on account of the joy of
the birds which have come together to feed on them, for
those which escape know nothing about it, and those which
are eaten know less ; so happiness reigns on all hands.
Within a few days of the first rain the air is full of Dragon
JUPITER PLUVIUS.
7 3
Flies, crossing and re-crossing, poised motionless for a
moment, then darting away with that mingled grace and
power which among the winged things of this world is, I
think, unmatched. Where they come from I cannot tell,
but any one may read the meaning of their presence in the
air. Dragon-flies are the swallows of the insect world, and
their prey is the Mosquito, the Gnat, the Midge, the Fly of
every size and hue. These swarms, therefore, tell us that
the moistened surface of the ground, with its mouldering
leaves and sodden grass, its mouldy bark and decaying
refuse, has become one vast incubator teeming with every
form of ephemeral life. Many another indication of the
same kind will catch the observant eye.
Talkative Mynas in pairs are pacing the ground, for
among the sprouting grass they will find the lubberly sons
of the Grasshopper. Acridotheres , the grasshopper-hunter,
is the happiest of ornithological names ; but I never could
understand why it should be called tristis. Who ever saw
a sad Myna ? Crows also in twos and threes are taking an
interest in something, and for once I am in charity even
with them.
The roadside rivulets are full of little Fishes, arrived
from I know not where, to grow fat on the Earthworm and
74
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
the Mole Cricket borne helplessly along by the sweeping
flood. When night comes on, great Moths fly past, and
“ the Beetle wheels his droning flight.’5 The Fireflies also
light their lamps and hold their silent concerts, the occu-
pants of each tree flashing in unison and making sheet
lightning in the woods. And what shall I say of the garden
Bugs on the dinner table and the Blister Beetles and the
squeaking Green Crickets ? And what of the Musk-rats
which come in to eat them ?
This is par excellence the season for rambling abroad.
At every turn there is something new to see. Out of
earth and rock and leafless bough the magic touch of
the monsoon has brought life and greenness. You can
almost see the broad-leaved vines grow and the twining
creepers work their snaky way, linking tree to tree and
binding branch to branch.
But nothing lives for itself alone. All this luxuriance
of tender foliage has scarcely appeared when the
Caterpillar is ready to eat it, for the Butterfly had
laid her eggs on the naked branch before the leaves
were out. Green Crickets, too, with insatiable appetites,
are under the leaves, trying not to be seen, and birds
with hungry families, are hunting for them. Leaf
JUPITER PL U VI US.
75
Insects and Stick Insects are trying to cheat death by
quaint disguises, and fierce Mantises are using disguises
as strange that they may compass the death of others.
The Mantis and the Phasma, or stick insect, are very
interesting in their relation to each other and strike me
as apt symbols of us and our Aryan brother. They
are plainly of the same stock, and, as an evolutionist
would say, have had a common ancestor ; but on what
widely divergent lines have they developed ! The Mantis
feeds on flesh, his hands are weapons of war, and his life
76
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
is one of rapine and bloodshed. The Phasma is a vegeta-
rian, his meek extended arms are emblems of submission,
and he seeks safety by instinct in the practice of dis-
similation. Each is happy, I doubt not, in his own way,
widely different as those ways are.
I know that the word “happy” in this sense will be
objected to by a certain school of men of science. Professor
Huxley, for example, says it is quite an open question
whether a crayfish possesses consciousness or not, and
that nothing short of being a crayfish would give us
positive assurance on the point. The more thorough-
going Brahmin maintains that the crayfish itself is maya ,
an illusion, existing only in the mind of the professor
who thinks he is dissecting it. I cannot upset either
argument, as I cannot upset a billiard ball, and perhaps
for the same reason, viz., that it stands on no base ; so
I let them roll on, and for myself elect to believe that
all the living things I see about me, each in its own
measure and according to its own capacity, are happy,
enjoying their powers in the exercise of them and their
wants in the satisfying of them, filling each its own niche
in the great temple and desiring nothing beyond, like
Hamlet bounded in a nutshell and counting himself a king
JUPITER PL U VI US.
11
of infinite space ; for they have no bad dreams. Man alone,
with his
“ obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things, ’’j
cannot be altogether happy on these terms. Nevertheless
it is good for him to feel their happiness, to mingle with
this monsoon luxuriance of life and joy. It is as when
David played with his hand upon the harp, and the evil
spirit departed from Saul.
There is another feature of the monsoon which has a
wonderful charm for me. I mean the clouds. Many
Englishmen never throw off the bondage of their old
English feelings, and a cloudy day depresses them to the
last. Such conservatism is not in me. After the monotony
of a fierce sun and a blue sky and a dusky landscape
quivering in the dim distance, I cry welcome to the days
of mild light and green earth and purple hills coming near
in the clear and transparent air. And later on, when the
monsoon begins to break up and the hills are dappled
with light and shade, and dark islands move across the
bright green sea, the effect on my spirits is strangely ex-
hilarating. Why is it that so few of out Indian painters
have given us monsoon scenes ?
78
A NATURALIST ON THE TROIVL.
In candour it must be admitted that the monsoon brings
with it some inconveniences ; but they are for the most
part connected with our civilisation. Books grow limp
and their backs come off, leprosy attacks gloves and all
manner of silk and satin finery, a marvellous forest of
mould springs from the bodies of the tiniest butterflies in
my collection, cheroots grow too damp to smoke, rats
infest the house, and basins and soup plates stand about
on the carpet to catch the drops from the leaky roof. The
ants, which stand next to us .in point of civilisation,
evidently suffer in much the same way. The water has
got into their under-ground houses, flooding the cellars
and nurseries, wetting their stores of grain and drowning
a good number of babies. All day long they are busy
repairing or checking the ravages of the flood.
But the prime inconvenience of monsoon weather is in-
dependent of civilisation: the fear of getting wet is universal.
The gentleman runs because the rain will spoil his clothes,
but the coolie runs as fast because he has none. And when
you realise that at this time birds of all kinds and the
majority of wild beasts, not to speak of flimsy butterflies
and moths, live and sleep in the open air, you cannot help
wondering how they manage. My sympathies go especi-
JUPITER FLU VI US.
79
ally with the monkeys. When the pitiless rain is pouring
hour after hour, and the water is streaming down the
trees, and the branches are all nasty and slimy, and every
shake brings down a redoubled shower from the leaves, I
wonder where the poor monkeys are and what they are
doing. Are they all huddled together, with their heads
buried in each other’s bosoms, and the water spouting
from their long tails ?
Many birds, too, lay their eggs during the first and
heaviest month of rain, and sit in open nests day and
night, pelted with drops almost as big as their heads.
It is true that the feathers of birds, oily and smooth
and arranged one over another like tiles, with an under-
layer of soft, warm down, form a costume for all weather,
to which the art of man has never been able to make
any approach ; and the combination of long hair and
short wool which forms the fur of many beasts is nearly
as good ; but a bird or beast can be wet to the skin
when the station doctor is registering ten inches in
twenty-four hours.
And what of the bats, Flying Foxes for instance,
which hang with their feet up and their heads down ?
The fur of bats, we know, is different from that of all
SO A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
other animals, and forms a most interesting object under
the microscope ; but what is the advantage of that if it
slopes the wrong way for keeping out the rain ? It is
nothing short of a scandal to Darwinism that bats have
not long since reversed their fur.
VIEW IN MATHERAN.
Chapter VIII.
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
THIS day opened with deep mist,
filling all the valleys and veiling
the hills ; but by degrees it with-
drew, and a cloudy sky and a cool moist breeze invited
me out for a long prowl. The first thing that caught
my eye was a very common thing on Indian roads, and
a vulgar thing, not to be mentioned by name among us,
though to the Hindoos it is in a manner sacred. But
the naturalist, like the farmer, must not be proud.
“ Ne saturare fimo pingui pudeat sola &c.
So I stooped down to note this little cumulus fimi
pinguis , for there was one thing about it worthy to be
G
82
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL, .
noted, and that was that half of it appeared to have
been transformed by some process into dry earth. When
the ground and everything else is moist with recent rain,
a pile of dry earth is a phenomenon and needs some
explanation, but I had only to kick it aside with my
foot to get that. The ground underneath was like an
Irishman’s definition of a net, “a collection of holes,”
and in each hole there was a round, bullet-like beetle,
solemnly burrowing downwards and throwing up the
earth behind it. As the earth came up, the manure
went down to supply its place. Very shortly there will
be nothing above ground but a pile of earth, and then
each beetle, having left an egg in its hole, will withdraw,
and, after many days, when all traces of the work
have been washed away or trodden down, men will pass
up and down the road, little thinking that far under
their feet a score or more of loathly white grubs are
wriggling and growing, each in the midst of a noisome
mess of — well, nourishment. These beetles are all of
one great family, or tribe, but some are black and some
are brown, and some are large and some are small.
A few days ago I caught a very Goliath of them
busy at the same work, making a hole that would have
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
83
offered roomy quarters to a mouse. I bottled it and
brought it home, and it is before me now. Its head
and front parts are black and not smooth, but finely
grained, while its elytra, or wing cases, are of a shining
maroon colour. Its head is quite flat and serves it for
a spade, while its fore-arm is much flattened too, and
furnished on one side with three great teeth, so that it
forms a pick and
shovel in one. Its
curious antennae
are tucked away
under the head
shield, and its
eyes are, so to
speak, behind
the shoulder of
the spade, out of the way of harm. When it digs,
the stout fore-arms work sideways, tearing up the hard
ground ; then the spade is thrust in and lifts the
loosened soil. Its hind legs are flattened too and serve
to shovel the earth away behind it. Some of the family
have an upright horn on the head or nose. This is,
without doubt, an example of “ protective mimicry.”
G 2
84
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
The enemies of the beetle (collectors, for instance) are
terrified by its resemblance to a rhinoceros, and before
they recover from their astonishment the beetle makes
its escape. N.B. — This is ironical.
However, for practical work I prefer the simple spade,
and I would back my navvy against any that the world
has produced. What thighs he has ! I believe, if you
sat upon him, he could almost walk away with you, but of
course he might prefer to burrow into you. In truth the
strength of these burrowing beetles is incredible. When
they come to my lamp and tumble about the table-cloth,
as the smaller kinds often do on a rainy evening, I some-
times amuse myself by putting a dinner plate on the
back of one of them. For a few seconds it lies still,
wondering what has happened, but presently it bows
itself, like Samson, and the plate is heaved up and
moves away as easily as the gates of Gaza. You may
easily recognise the family by the heavy build, the flat
head, and the unmistakable burrowing tools, and as they
blunder about the table-cloth, looking so clean and bright,
it is curious to think of the work from which they have
come. They often try to fly, but cannot get under way
at all, and only tumble over on their backs. To effect
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
8 5
a successful flight, a beetle must have fair way and no
lamp to puzzle it. Then it will lift its hard wing covers,
unfurl its wide wings, and go off in a straight course,
like a good ship before the wind, with a humming noise,
which, no doubt, keeps up its spirit like a bagpipe.
There is another group of these beetles which, when
they have found a store of manure, make round balls
of it, which are rolled away to a distance where a pit
has been dug to receive them. I have often found these
at their task, and “ exhilarated myself,” to borrow a phrase
from a German friend, by watching the droll operation.
Her forelegs being burrowing tools and unfitted for any
other work, the beetle finds that her best plan is to
stand on her head and kick the ball along with her hind
feet. It is bigger than herself and rather unmanageable,
so it rolls this way and that way, but she runs round
and round it on her head, kicking furiously, until she has
got it into the vicinity of her pit. Then she leaves it
and goes to look for the exact spot. When she returns
she finds that another beetle has found the ball and
appropriated it, and then ensues a fierce struggle for
possession. It is a curious kind of fight, for both are
thoroughly armed for defence, but neither has any sort
86
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
of weapon with which the other may be hurt. Under
these conditions a very high degree of courage is possible,
and the frantic valour of these beetles affords quite a
spectacle. How they bump against each other and hustle
each other! Then they get on opposite sides of the ball,
and each tries to roll it her own way. But the usurper
is fresh, while the rightful owner is wearied with toil,
so she gives in at last and walks slowly away, a sense
of wrong rankling in her bosom. But there is no appeal
for her against the law — -
<{ That he should take who has the power,
And he should keep who can.”
She will right herself, no doubt, by plundering some
weaker beetle. But sometimes a better spirit prevails,
and two or three beetles enter into partnership to roll a
joint ball. Then you shall see a ball indeed.
It is intensely interesting to watch these little creatures
toiling so industriously to make provision for their
children, which will never know them or requite their
care. But there is a far deeper interest in the thing.
Soar above the individual beetle and its private ends, and
contemplate all the myriads of beetles scattered over the
face of the country, working together to carry out a great
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
87
purpose which never comes within the scope of their
personal aims. What is it they are doing? They are
tilling the ground. These jungles are as all the face of
the earth was when Adam was still uncreated and there
was not a man to till the ground. As then, so now, there
often comes up a mist which waters the earth. But that
is not enough. The ground must be ploughed, that that
which is upon the top may go down and that which is
below may come up.
The opposite process is for ever going on. Every tree
is silently but ceaselessly at work, thrusting its roots, like
fingers, down into the earth, and separating and drawing
up certain constituents of the soil, and conveying them
through the channels of the trunk out to the ends of the
branches and moulding them into leaves. The leaves will
wither and fall to the ground ; or else cattle will eat them,
or insects will feed upon them ; but they too will die and
fall to the ground.
Thus certain elements of the earth are for ever being
brought up from the depths and laid upon the surface.
This cannot continue. They must be taken down again
and restored to the soil, or the foliage of the forest will
soon fail and the earth will be barren as the moon. To
88
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
carry out this great work there must be workmen, and
millions upon millions there are, working as silently and
as ceaselessly as the trees.
You may think that the little beetles are insignificant
and their labours not to be taken into account. But they
are not insignificant. They are small, but they are strong
in their numbers, and wherever I wander, I see proof that
they are sufficient for all the work that there is to be done
in their own line.
Of course there are other departments, and each has
its own staff. When the old tree falls, there are
wood-boring beetles, with their strong jaws, ready to
bore it through and through and turn it into powder. If
a field-rat dies, there are beetles at hand to dig its grave
and say, “ Dust to dust.” The leaves are entrusted to the
earthworms which we see drawing their lean length out of
every clod that we turn up in our gardens. And from the
beginning of the world till now we have been content to
believe that these creatures were without use, unsightly
superfluities in the order of nature. But Darwin came,
with eyes to see, and lo ! they are not superfluities at all,
but quite indispensable, a countless gang of laborious
workmen, appointed to take the dead leaves to the place
TILLERS OR THE SOLI.
whence they came and convert them into soil again that
the earth may be green.
And I have advanced upon Darwin (modestly I say it),
for I have discovered that they have overseers set over
them. These are the crows which we see patrolling
meadows and fields after rain. We say familiarly that
they are “ looking for worms,” and we are right. For the
worms would grow lazy and live on the surface of the
ground, eating the leaves where they found them ; but
their taskmasters are ever on the watch, and if they are
caught the penalty is death ; therefore they are forced to
live in the bowels of the earth (pregnant phrase !), and to
come up at night and draw the leaves down.
But in this country there is a workman in whose
presence even the earthworms must “ hide their diminished
heads.” Darwin never had the chance of intimacy with
the white ant, but Professor Drummond fell in with it in
“ Equatorial Africa,” and his eyes were opened. Our eyes
too have long been open upon the white ant, but with a
kind of squint in them, or a moral myopia ; for we are
mostly like the burrowing beetle, intent upon our personal
aims, but as “ impercipient ” as Baboo Onocool Chunder
with respect to the great world spinning for ever down
90
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
the ringing grooves of change. So we judged it by its
occasional blunders. When it failed to see the distinction
between a wooden box and a dead tree, when it took in
hand to convert the vegetable tissue of our books into
soil, we saw and cursed it. But its stupendous work for
the weal of the world went on all around us, and it never
came into our minds to bless it. Is there any other such
work going on in the world ? Withered leaves, old wood,
dead bark, every used-up product of vegetable life is
taken to pieces and carried off along wonderful covered
ways and through underground channels to the workshops
below. “To be eaten,” you will say. Yes, to be eaten.
But eating does not annihilate matter. The eaters live
and die underground, and nothing that goes down into
those cellars comes up again until it comes in the sap of
the trees to make the foliage of the forest.
All this is true, beautifully true, and yet — I also am
human — I cannot myself exorcise, the old feeling about
the white ant. Whenever I see a great anthill dug to
the foundations by a bear, and note that the savage
epicure did not stop till he had found the chamber of
the fat queen and sucked her down like an oyster, a
genial sense of satisfaction wells up within me from some
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
91
underground spring. I stamp upon it of4 course, and
exercise myself at once in sentiments of pity for the
peaceful and industrious community so ruthlessly extir-
pated ; and so my virtue is of the right sort, a robust
exercise of the will and not a mere outflow of shallow
feeling. But I wish it did not give me so much pleasure
A SAVAGE EPICURE.
to recall a discovery I made some years ago. I was
living in a bungalow with a large garden and a tennis
lawn. In the foundation of the bungalow there flourished
a populous community of Lobopelta. Lobopelta is one of
the military ants, which go out in armed bands, ravaging
the country and slaying every living thing that they
92
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
can overpower. I have seen a ferocious centipede fighting
for its life among them with little hope of escape, and
I have often seen them dragging home the carcases of
large earthworms. I have also welcomed their raids upon
my book boxes, where they massacred the crickets and
cockroaches in a way that was refreshing. But it was
not till last year that I discovered what I have proved
abundantly since, that their very staff of life is the white
ant. The community I have mentioned lived in the
foundation of my bungalow. They generally do live in
the foundations of bungalows, and a naturalist who will
buy a bungalow for the sake of digging them out is a
great desideratum, for the queen of the Lobopeltas has
never been found and their inner life is a mystery. Their
outer life is no mystery, but I never had such an opportu-
nity of observing it as I had at the time to which I allude.
Every evening about sunset they would issue from their
main gate in column, two or three abreast, as their manner
is when on the march. The column might be twenty or
thirty yards in length. Scouts went ahead and scoured
the tennis ground, where the turf was withering as the
hot season advanced, and white ants came up nightly to
eat it. Presently some of the scouts found one of those
TILLERS OF THE SOIL.
93
familiar pie crusts which white ants build over themselves
before they dare begin to work, and with eager haste they
brought the news to the main column. The effect was
wonderful. The word ran along the ranks, every ant
doubled its pace, and the martial column became like a
crowd rushing to the scene of a great fire in the city.
These ants, under excitement, are very human. “ The
rabblement shout and clap their chapped hands, and
throw up their sweaty nightcaps ” just as if they were in
Hyde Park. I have not seen the nightcaps, but I have
often heard the shout. Well, when they reached the
earthworks of the termites, they formed in a dense
squadron and waited in silence till darkness set in.
Whether they want strength or intelligence to break
through the earthy crust I cannot say, but as the white
ants cannot extend their work without making a break
at some point in their defences, their enemies may have
been waiting for this opportunity to rush in. All I know
is that at sunrise, next morning, the slain were literally
lying heaps upon heaps, and the soldiery were hurrying
to and fro to get them all gathered in before the sun
should get too hot for outdoor work. It was a ghastly
spectacle, and I gloated over it !
94
A NA T UR A LIST ON THE PROWL.
The burrowing beetle too has its enemies. Early in
the morning I often come upon the large Stripe-necked
Mungoose ( Herpestes vitticollis) wandering about open
patches in the forest, where cattle are wont to graze.
Every now and then he stops, digs fiercely and pulls out
something, which he crunches as a wicked boy crunches
sugar- plums. He is in a suit of “ pepper and salt,” with
a black stripe across his neck, and his fine rust-coloured
tail is tipped with black, and very handsome he looks.
But I am on the side of the beetle. Yet the mungoose
also is appointed, I doubt not, to his stern office. The
beetle will learn to dig deeper next time !
MUNGOOSE,
Chapter IX.
FINGERS AND
TOES.
I HAVE; a beloved
hat, a venerable sola
topee of the mushroom
pattern, light as a
feather and yet so
ample that children
might play in the shade which it casts all round me.
VANDELEURA
LEMUR.
9 6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
It has seen long service, and now rests, an aged pensioner,
on a solitary peg on the wall of my verandah ; but one
sunny day some weeks ago I remembered my old favourite,
and taking it kindly off its peg, put it on my head.
Almost immediately I felt something scrambling and
pushing its way among my hair. “ A gigantic cockroach,”
I said to myself. “Now it shall not escape.” So I quietly
removed my hat. A beautiful mouse slid down my neck
and began travelling along my arm. It was of a light fawn
colour above, but all the under parts were as white as
snow. Its feet were pink, it eyes large and soft, and its
tail as long as a bit of string. It showed complete self-
possession as it clambered about my coat, trying to find
a way out of the strange country into which it had got.
It was not quite sure that the whole thing was not a
dream. I called for a cage and easily guided the per-
plexed little beast into it, for he was a “ Long-tailed Field
Mouse,” and I wanted to examine his nails. A great
deal hangs on the nails of this mouse. By virtue of them
it is not now Mus oleraceus, as Jerdon called it, but
Vandeleura oleracea , having been promoted to a sort of
peerage among mice. The difference between it and a
Mus} or vulgar mouse, is this, that whereas Mus has nails
FINGERS AND TOES.
97
on its thumbs and claws on all its other fingers, Vandeleura
has a delicate little nail on both the thumb and the little
finger of each of its four dainty hands— for I would not
call them feet.
Now the difference between a “claw” and a “nail” is
a very radical difference. A “ claw ” is a horny point
to a toe, like the iron with which a walking-stick is shod.
It is good for poking and scratching. When good Dr.
Watts wrote,
“ Those little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes,”
he meant to teach children that they ought not to revert
to an instinct which belongs to the time when we wore
long, crooked talons. But perhaps he was not a Darwinite.
Anyway, he had looked lovingly into the mystery of those
little hands, with their expanded and sensitive finger tips,
shielded only with soft transparent nails. Those nails
are tokens of fingers, not toes, and a finger is not a
weapon, but an instrument endowed with manifold fitness
for cunning work. It is a perceiving organ also, working
with the eye and ear to bring us intelligence of the world
in which we live. True, we have nails and not claws upon
what we call our toes, but remember that we are altogether
H
98
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
artificial, and have already confessed that there is some-
thing wrong by putting on boots. It needs no argument
to prove that in the course of time our toe-nails must
entirely disappear. After that, I suppose, our toes will
disappear also, or else grow together, so that our feet will
acquire that elegant shape which fashionable shoemakers
have already sketched out for them. Even now a European
foot is a subject for the philosopher and moralist, not for
the naturalist. The naturalist must occupy himself with
what is natural. Therefore I dismiss the human toe-nail
as irrelevant.
Monkeys, I take it, are still within the bounds of the
natural, though their sad and dreary eyes seem to be ever
scanning the prospect of the next evolution. Monkeys
have nails, and so have lemurs and all animals, I think,
which grasp with their hands and climb trees.
I once had a tame lemur and used often to take his
soft hand in mine and look at his pretty nails. Like a
monkey, he had four hands and no feet, but on the fore-
finger of each hind hand there was a long, sharp claw
instead of a nail. On the thumb and the other three fingers
there were nails. This curious arrangement puzzled me
for a long time, but there is a reason for everything, and
FINGERS AND TOES.
99
one day a flea showed me the use of that solitary claw
by biting my lemur in the ribs. Poor little beast ! I
daresay he often had reason to be thankful that nature
spared one toe when she promoted him to the order of
four-handed mammals.
I never had a more charming little pet than that
lemur. He took life so gaily and his antics were so
original. When I let him out of his cage in the
morning, he would scamper straight into my bed-
room and look round, his large eyes brimming over with
a mild curiosity. As lightly as an india-rubber ball he
would spring from the ground and alight upon my table.
When he had examined everything there, feeling it with
his fingers, he would bound across to my bed and run
up the post and along the top bar. Another airy bound
would land him on my shoulders, where he would sit and
handle my ears gently, then wonder what was in that hole,
and thrust in his long tongue to find out. This was too much
for human endurance, so I would roll him up into a ball,
wind his long, furry tail round him, and fling him into my
bed ; but he unwound himself in a moment and skipped
away to explore something new. His hind legs being
longer than his forelegs, he walked slowly, with his head
H 2
ro o
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
down ; but when he was in a hurry, he would stand up and
go bounding along like a kangaroo, with his tail in the
air, his arms extended, and all his fingers spread, looking
like nothing I ever saw. A friend assured me that he
was exactly like the devil, which may be, but Lemur
means a ghost,
or shade of
one departed.
The servants,
one and all,
regarded him
as a bhoot and
fled at his ap-
proach. He
gave chase, of
course, and
there was
never finer
A GLEEFUL LITTLE DEMON.
sport than to
see the fat butler in full flight up a long staircase, with the
gleeful little demon after him, clearing three steps at a bound.
But I have wandered a good way from my Long-tailed
Mouse. You will see that there is a sort of connection
FINGERS AND TOES.
IOI
between his special endowment of nails and that skill
in climbing which enabled him to get at my hat hanging
upon a peg in the bare wall. On trees he is more nimble
than a squirrel, and puts his powers to villainous uses. I
have convicted him of spending his nights running up
and down every trellis in the garden, seeking for the
growing points of our choicest creepers. Having found
them, he eats them, and our choicest creepers do not
grow. I have also got circumstantial evidence connecting
him with the disappearance of every flower-bud on the
largest and handsomest orchid I ever had. A palate
educated on such delicacies is of course not to be tempted
with bread or cheese, so your traps are set in vain. Each
morning reveals some fresh outrage, but the culprit is not
found. He is never abroad till darkness sets in, and he
rarely enters the house. I doubt if he ever descends to the
ground unless compelled. His home is among trees. In
the jungles I have often found his nest, a ball of soft grass,
in which he feels so comfortable that you may carry away
the whole nest in your pocket and he will not leave it.
I have known these his ways for many years, but I
was not prepared to find him hollowing out my so!a topee
and shredding the pith into stuffing for his sybarite couch.
102
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
And what did I do with him ? I let him off. Such
is the power of a pretty face. Of course he came back
again and brought a friend. I ejected them both, but
they returned. Then my patience ran dry. I banished
one from the premises and put the other into my travelling
spirit jar. But the advantages of my hat as a residence
had got noised abroad, and I had to take five mice from
first to last out of that relic. By that time they had
adapted it so well to their purposes that it was no longer
of any use for mine, and I reflected that I might as well
have left the first occupant in peace. Weakness is ever
cruel, and the weakness called pity is as cruel as any other.
There is another mouse about my premises which you
would easily mistake for Vandeleura , except that its tail
is only half as long : this is Mus platythrix , the Spiny
Mouse. Its distinction lies not in its nails, but in its
hair. If you take a lens and examine it, you will find
that it is a bijou porcupine. Almost every other hair
is a fine spine. For what purpose it is so strangely
clothed I cannot tell. Those spines may serve to irritate
the mucous membranes of snakes, and warn them not
again to eat the Spiny Mouse. Or perhaps they have
no use, for their owner has none, I am sure ; what mouse
FINGERS AND TOES.
1 03
or rat has any use? They come out when we are in
our beds and run about and eat little scraps, and try to
keep out of the way of owls and cats, and I hope they
do not succeed. Now and then one comes through a
window by mistake, and perhaps falls into the bath tub,
and I save it from drowning, and so its path crosses mine
for the first time. By such accidents I have come to know
the Spiny Mouse, but of its ways I know nothing.
About another mouse, or rat, I am in the opposite
position : I know its ways, but I never saw itself. It
makes its burrow in the forest, on some hill-side, turn-
ing out prodigious quantities of earth and pebbles.
When it retires for the day it stops up the entrance
with stones jambed hard against each other, so that
no snake or other enemy can get in. One glance at
its arrangements shows that it must be a rat of no
ordinary talent and force of character, not to mention
mere physical strength. So I determined one day to
make its acquaintance.
I took with me two men and a pickaxe, and went to
a small hamlet of five or six dwellings, which was not
far from my tent. At the door of one there was not less
than half a good cartload of earth, and I concluded that
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A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
this must be the abode of the patel, or head rat, of the
village. Finding the door closed in the manner I have
described, I knew the owner must be in ; so I began
to dig. We found first a sort of hall or lobby, and from
that two passages went different ways. We followed
up one which, after much toil, led us to an unfurnished
apartment, which appeared to be a boudoir or spare
room. We then took up the other passage and followed
it patiently till it led us into the roots of a small tree.
We overturned the tree and went on. The passage
conducted us straight on into the roots of another tree.
We overturned that also and went on. The passage now
turned sharp to the right, then to the left, took a down-
ward course, then turned upwards again. We dug on
still, removing great stones and cutting through roots of
trees. Again the path turned to the left, then to the
right, then down, then up and round and round. I tried
to lighten the labours of the men with a joke, remarking
that the hole no doubt led to the village on the other
side of the hill. One of the men saw the joke and laughed,
and this unusual circumstance cheered me greatly and I
went on. At last we came suddenly to the end of the
passage and found — nothing !
FINGERS AND TOES.
105
Neither bed nor board was there, nor any sign of a
rat ever having occupied the place. Explain it as you
may, that was the fact. Perhaps, as we excavated the
main passage, some side door leading to the bed chambers
got covered with debris and escaped our notice. Or is
it possible that the old rat was dead, and the neighbours
had mournfully barred the door of the ownerless mansion ?
Strange things are possible !
It was too late now to trace anything among the
ruins, and I had to give up my enterprise. But I
measured the ground over which we had gone, and
found that we had followed the burrow of that in-
dustrious rat for thirty feet. I afterwards set traps,
but to no purpose. I am still unacquainted with that rat.
THE BELOVED HAT.
Chapter X.
ADVERSITY.
“ Hard times come again no more.”
IT is a futile prayer, and unwise
as futile. Hard times are the
birch rod with which Dame Nature
disciplines all her children, and
the discipline is more needful than
most of us realise. Nor is the need of it confined to us.
There is an amiable idea, common among people who
know nothing of the lives which animals lead, that they
are never in want. Poverty and hunger are artificial
ADVERSITY.
107
conditions, belonging to man’s estate. Creatures of all
kinds have plenty of their natural food and are never sick
or sorry. But this notion is very far from the truth. All
animals are in the main happy, I believe and will believe ;
but I know no recipe for happiness which excludes the
flavour of want and pain, and these are everywhere in the
world. It is true that we see little sickness or misery
among wild animals, but that is because among them
extinction follows so swiftly upon failure. The bird, or
beast, which cannot keep itself in health and vigour is
speedily put out of the way. It is only among us that
feebleness and misery are nursed and prolonged.
This seems to me a great and wonderful thing.
According to the highest ideal of this age, the goal of
all human advancement is expressed in the formula — The
greatest happiness of the greatest number. Now it is
admitted that in most European countries at any rate the
number is nearly made up. They cannot be made to hold
many more human beings than they hold already. Yet
we feel obliged to be gratified at every step we make
towards retaining in life the feeble, the sickly, the blind,
the deaf, the idiotic — in short, all those classes of persons
to whom any high degree of enjoyment h physically
io8
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
impossible. If we got rid of these, each one might be
replaced by a strong, healthy, well developed, human being
in full possession of all his faculties. This is the teaching
of nature and of science. The Spartans recognised it and
exposed sickly infants on Mount Taygetus to die. Doubt-
less many a fond mother yearned for her puny offspring
and pleaded that it was not so weak as it looked ; but
reason triumphed over sentiment, and the unpromising
baby was taken away. And what the law of Sparta did
for her citizens, the law of nature, as inexorable, does
for all living things ; till man steps in and declares his
unconquerable conviction that it is better that A should
be weak and sickly and B should sympathise with him
and care for him and sacrifice himself for him, than
that A should cease to be and B should be free to care
for himself.
It is, I repeat, a great and wonderful thing. Where
is the explanation ?
“ Beyond the veil, beyond the veil.”
Not on this side of it certainly. Among the lower animals
there is kindly feeling in many phases, the attachment
of the bird to its mate, the affection of the mother for
her young ; but of compassion and benevolence I find
AD VERSITY.
IO9
not a trace. These were in the fire which Prometheus
stole from heaven, and for that theft the vultures are
still pecking at his liver. But, howsoever pecked, he still
lives and the fire is not put out.
But to return to my first subject, I say that, among
animals, death follows upon failure with merciful swiftness.
But death is the extreme penalty of the law. Hard times
are the scourge, which hangs always on the wall and often
comes down heavily. I have seen some curious instances
of the shifts to which birds are put when food fails and
hunger presses. Near the city of Glasgow, one Sunday
in October, I saw a crov/d of gulls at a great height in
the sky, hawking insects. Some starlings joined them,
but were not able for the exertion of soaring at that height
and soon came down again. Now think what is implied
in this strange spectacle. We are moved at Belisarius
begging for an obolus, and shall we not be touched when
great gulls turn themselves into swallows and try to catch
the mayfly and the daddy longlegs ? Civilised gulls too,
nurtured in the lap of luxury ! For ages their hardy
ancestors roamed over the ocean, picking up what they
could find, glad to follow the dolphin or the whale and
profit by the panic which its presence caused among the
I TO
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
silvery shoals. But man appeared upon the scene, and
wise gulls soon discerned the advantage of keeping close
to him. What glorious scrambles there were as the
tattooed Briton drew his net to land ! What croaking
and shrieking, what
jostling of one another
and plunging into the
seething mass of fright-
ened fishes crowded
ever closer and closer
together ! So the gulls
throve and multiplied
all round the coast.
Then great steamships
began to go up the
Clyde, churning the
muddy waters and
turning up all manner
of good things, not to
mention the platefuls
of scraps which were
tossed into the'sea after
every meal. Doubtless
GULLS ON THE CLYDE.
ADVERSITY.
Ill
salt pork tasted strange at first, and biscuit and potato peel
were insipid ; but on a raw Glasgow day a hungry gull is
not disposed to be fastidious.
So a flourishing colony soon settled about the Clyde
and shared in all the prosperity of the great city and
grew fat and lazy. Hard times seemed gone to come
again no more. But one year trade is slack, and then
wintry weather sets in sooner than usual, before most of
the gull families have gone south. And the gull has lived
from hand to mouth. There is no store laid up, nothing
saved and no credit to be had. Want comes suddenly,
and starvation is at its back. And it is the Sabbath
day in Glasgow. So the fat, Clyde-fed gull, which was
too lazy to dive for a fish, is lean enough and hungry
enough to soar up among the clouds for the chance of
a few insects.
I will give you another instance. One day on this
coast I was sailing down one of our loveliest creeks,
when T saw a mangrove tree almost white with herons.
Every little branch, or stout twig, every possible foot-
hold, was occupied. And what do you think they were
all doing ? The tree was in flower, and they were catch-
ing the flies which came to the blossoms. What is the
2
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
difference between a great white heron watching at a flower
for flies, and an able-bodied Londoner standing at a
street corner selling boot-laces? You may say that the
Londoner is a lazy scoundrel who adopts that means of
making a livelihood simply because he hates honest toil.
I find difficulty in believing that a Londoner’s livelihood
can be made on the profits of laces at a penny per pair ;
but granting your argument, it applies equally well to
the herons. The fact is that indolence is the besetting
sin of beast and bird as well as man. Necessity keeps
them up, but if the chance is given them of growing lazy
and degenerating, they will take it.
“Sic omnia fatis
In pejus mere, ac retro sublapsa referri :
Non aliter quam qui ad verso vix flumine lembum
Remigiis subigit, si bracchia forte remisit,
Atque ilium in prasceps prono rapit alveus amni.”
Not long ago I was encamped near the sea, and every
morning I saw a pair of kestrels performing the most
wonderful evolutions on the beach. They were not hover-
ing high in air, after the manner of their kind, scan-
ning the ground for some creeping mouse or crouching
lark, but flew very low, doubling often and darting about,
as if in pursuit of some nimble prey. It took me some
ADVERSITY.
13
time to believe that they were after sand crabs. They
did not make a large bag, for they were new to the work
and did not set about it in the right way. But if they
had kept at it long enough, there is no doubt they would
have improved by practice. Then, if they had trained
their young to the same pursuit, there is no doubt the
young would have beaten the parents. In a few genera-
tions the structure would have followed the habits, for
those parts of the body which are not kept up by con-
stant use soon become unfit for use, while those parts
which are employed in any peculiar way soon become
adapted to their new task. We may find illustrations
of this law everywhere. Tame ducks can scarcely fly
a yard, but their legs are stouter than those of wild
ducks. Darwin says that the very bones in the leg of
the tame duck are proportionately heavier, but the wing
bones are lighter. Among ourselves has not baldness
followed the use of hats, and are not bad teeth, which
decay and torture us before half their term of service
is out, the legitimate punishment of our effeminate parti-
ality for tender meat and soft foods ? So the claws of
the kestrel would have lost their keenness, his beak would
have changed its shape, his legs and toes would have grown
I
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
114
longer, and we should have had a very interesting new
species of bird, the crab hawk. But this is not going to
happen, for one day those kestrels got dyspepsia from
eating too many crabs, and wisely gave them up. This
is one notable difference between the lower animals and
man. When any article of diet makes them ill, they
give it up at once and naturally get well. Man refuses
to yield, and raising an army of fierce drugs, fights the
rebellious luxury, his stomach being the battle-ground.
What a Homeric epic might be woven over the contest
which has raged within many a strong man through the
best part of a lifetime ! It might be called an Iliad too,
but of course the derivation would be different. But I
am digressing again and must return to my subject.
One more instance will I give you, that of a shrike,
which, when insect food was scarce, took to attending at
my chotee hazree and eating bits of bread which I threw
out for it. In its personal habits this bird was fast
becoming a crow, but other shrikes would not follow it,
so it got out of caste and the matter spread no further.
When circumstances lead a whole community to take
the same course, the character of the species is affected.
The sea eagle feeds on sea snakes because they are
ADVERSITY.
115
easier to catch than fish. Can it be doubted that the
extermination of sea snakes would have a most beneficial
effect on the whole nature of the sea eagle, that she
would become a far bolder and more enterprising bird ?
And would not a scarcity of bulbuls and doves be a
most wholesome thing for the black eagle, compelling
her to give up the disreputable habit of feeding on
nestlings and eggs and exert herself to catch some
nobler prey ?
I have been led into this train of reflections by the
season. These are the days of plenty for all the peace-
able inhabitants of the land. The frogs are shamelessly
jolly, insects of every kind have abandoned themselves
to gluttony without thought of the morrow, the sambhur
and cheetul on the hills are in danger of dying by surfeit,
the very cattle of the village are filling up the long
grooves between their ribs and those great hollows in
their flanks. And the little birds find food so plentiful
that many of them choose this time to bring up their
young. A pretty pair of tailor birds have successfully
brought up a family of four in a most ingenious little
nest made of three leaves in a croton bush in my garden.
At what other time of the year could they have kept
ii 6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
those hungry mouths filled with tender green crickets all
the day long? And at what other time could the infants,
just learning to use their puny wings, have escaped the
eye of the pitiless crow? But a time is coming when
food will be scarce and the trees will be comparatively
bare. Then the hawks will . make their nests, and their
young ones will require to be fed with little birds all the
day long. The water also will dry up, and there will
only be one pool left, and the tiger will know it. Then
the sambhur which has indulged too freely in the good
things of this life will be the first victim. And the poor
cattle ! They appeared to have made good progress in
the art of living without food, but now they have quite
forgotten the bitter lesson. When the time of tribula-
tion returns, it will have to be learned afresh, and their
fat sides will feel the stick all too keenly.
Chapter XI.
CATERPILLARS.
££ Larvae stimulant virum.” — Plautus.
WHEN I was an enter-
prising young man of eight,
I devised a way of spending
my Sabbath — Le. Sunday-—
forenoons which was net
contrary to law, nor yet
dreary and uninteresting, a very rare combination. This
was to bring out my caterpillar boxes, and transferring
the inmates to fresh and tender leaves laid out on the
floor, to lie down at full length, with my chin on my
hands, and watch them feeding. How intensely interest-
ing it was to sec a great Humpy-back, called in books a
uS
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
Geometer , march along a twig, looping his back up at each
giant stride, till he came to a nice leaf, and then to see
him try it at different points, till he found a bit to his
liking and settled down to eat. He had a pair of jaws
which worked sideways, like little pincers, nipping bits out
of the leaf, and an upper lip like a sharp knife, following
up the jaws with a clean cut. And he ate from the edge
in curves, each a little bigger than the last, till a large
half moon was cut out of the leaf. But when he came
upon a tough rib, he stopped and began at another place.
He was a very docile fellow, always ready to eat ; quite
unlike another pig-headed little beast, which refused to
move from the old leaves to the new. I had infinite
patience, however, for my heart was in the cause. I put
a new leaf edge to edge with the old, and gave him a
gentle push behind with my forefinger. This made him
begin to move, as I knew it would, but when he came
to the new leaf, he got suspicious and wanted to turn
back. So I presented my forefinger to his head and
checked his purpose. After a time he had advanced on
the new leaf as far as his first three pairs of sharp -pointed
feet, but the other five pairs, the graspers, were on the old
leaf. In this situation he remained, turning his head
CATERPILLARS.
119
slowly to one side and then to the other, but unable to
make up his mind to advance. It was then I found out
the fact that for imbecile indecision of character a cater-
pillar beats all created things. No wonder it becomes a
butterfly ! With all the skill of a native bullock driver,
however, I humoured him, coaxed him, or prodded him
behind, as occasion required, until I had him safely on the
new leaf, and then, after much vacillation, he began to
nibble and I reaped my reward.
There was yet another caterpillar which would not move
at all, and I discovered— O glory ! — that it was going to
cast its skin. I had to spring to my feet and scamper off
to my brother to tell him the news. Then we both lay
down, with our chins on our hands, and watched the
wonderful process. To this day the peculiar odour of half
dry leaves which usually pervades a caterpillar cage has
power to conjure up the remembrance of those joys, for
the sense of smell has a stronger hold on the memory than
even the tones of an old song. My menagerie in those
days was never very large. I might have two or three
Humpy-backs, half a dozen Woolly Bears of sorts, and, if
I had been lucky, one or two butterfly-caterpillars, which
were treasures, for humpy-backs and woolly bears pro-
1 20
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
duced moths. And once I had a Sphinx, a real Oleander
Hawk-moth. It was green, with two large blue eyes, and
had a thin straight tail, which afterwards grew short and
curved. The great comet of 1857 and the finding of that
caterpillar were the two memorable events of my child-
hood, but I remember more about the caterpillar.
More than a score and a half of years have gone by, and
I still keep caterpillars, but now I would not stop to take
an Oleander Sphinx off the plant. It is absolute rubbish.
In one season I have reared fifty or sixty different kinds
of caterpillars, some of them rare and beautiful, some new
and strange. Yet it is only the truth to say that the
interest which they excite in me to-day is cold and dull
compared with the wild enthusiasm of those early days.
Why is this ? Am I blase, \ or is it the general doom ? Must
the interest of life wane for us all as the progress of
knowledge curtails the playground of imagination ? No
doubt it must in a measure, but there is another cause.
I believe that in these days we have too many occupa-
tions, too many interests ; we know too many things, and,
if you will, have too many advantages and facilities. Our
faculty of taking an interest is dissipated and frittered
away. There can be no doubt that the summit of earthly
CA TERP7LLARS. 1 2 I
happiness is reached when the whole soul of a man is
focussed on one point. What the point is matters little
or nothing. I am speaking of a man’s own happiness.
To have your soul focussed on one point does not generally
contribute to the happiness of your neighbour. It is
because the whole powers of a gimlet are concentrated on
one point that it bores so well, and a man under the same
conditions bores too. This is not a pun, but a glance at
the philosophy of human speech. You will gather that 1
do not altogether recommend the use of any subject as a
burning glass to bring all the rays of mind and heart to
one point. At the same time I am certain that there are
few things in our mental constitution better worth the
trouble of keeping alive than that same faculty of taking
an interest. But it will not live without food, and that is
why I recommend the rearing of caterpillars as a whole-
some and palatable form of nourishment. As a pastime
it combines the domestic amusement of keeping pets with
the outdoor exercise of finding them. And it is good for
the entire man. It conduces to bring about and then to
maintain the mens sana in corpore sano.
To be a successful caterpillar hunter you must have
good wind, serviceable legs, educated eyes, and more than
122
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
all these ; for do not think that caterpillars are to be picked
up like shells on the sea-shore. Caterpillar hunting is an
art, and if you wish to excel in it you must be well
grounded in the principles of caterpillar life. Of these the
most fundamental is that a caterpillar is a little creature
ordained to be eaten. To avert this fate is the continual
aim, not only of all it does, but of all it is. This may not
seem quite logical, but I have no time to cavil just now.
From books, and more especially from instructive little
papers upon protective mimicry and such subjects, you will
learn to take it for granted that when a caterpillar is eaten
a bird is the eater. Unlearn this. Upon the whole I think
birds are the least important of a caterpillar’s enemies.
At first, when it is so minute that a bird would not be at
the trouble to pick it up, it is exposed to the cruelty and
rapacity of hordes of ants of many tribes, which scour
every tree and shrub, sipping the nectar in the flowers,
licking the glands at the bases of the leaves, milking the
aphides , and looting and ravaging wherever they go.
Besides ants, every tree swarms with spiders, not web
spiders, but wolf spiders, which run about in quest of their
prey. Then come wasps and ichneumons, and these, from
the caterpillar point of view, are of two sorts, those which
CATERPILLARS.
123
will carry him to their own quarters for the food of their
children, and those 'which will quarter their children on
him, or, I should say, in him. Finally, the few that have
survived all these dangers have to run the gauntlet of the
birds, the restless little tree warblers and sun-birds and
bulbuls and tailor birds, which hunt the foliage of the
forest and the garden from morning till night.
Some means must be devised whereby at least a few,
say one per cent, of the caterpillars which are produced
may escape all these perils and arrive at maturity, or else
the race will become extinct. By far the most successful
expedient that has been tried is loathsomeness ; there are
some caterpillars which no decent bird would touch. But
the taste of a bird is different from that of a fly. What
the one loathes the other may love, and no caterpillar can
carry two flavours at once ; accordingly, I find that those
caterpillars which are perfectly secure from birds are the
very kind which suffer most from ichneumons. To ward
off this pest the swallow-tails have a curious organ in their
necks, a sort of forked scent bottle, emitting pungent and
poisonous fumes. This they stick out and brandish franti-
cally when they suspect danger. But the little fiend is
patient, for it has nothing else to do. It waits till its
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A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
victim is sleeping, and then in one moment the work is
done. Thenceforth the caterpillar will carry its worst
enemy within it, one which, like the sin of spiritual pride,
will grow with its growth and fatten on the wholesomest
food it eats. Such a caterpillar is only a semblance, a
sham ; better that some bird or spider cut short its career.
For when the time comes that it should cast its slough and
rise to heaven on golden wings, that slough will be all that
is left of it, a mere veil to hide the ghastly grub which
wriggles and devours within. It is a pitiful fate, but who
has pity to spare for a creature that sought safety in
vileness ? I wish that some ichneumon would infest the
garden bug.
Offensive caterpillars generally grow into offensive butter-
flies, as is fit, and such butterflies, you may infer, are not
of the highest order. In colour they are often gaudy, just
as sweepers in holiday attire are the gayest members
of a Bombay crowd ; but they are dull-witted and slow,
easy to catch, if worth the catching. Those butterflies
which are good for food are usually swift and wary, their
senses sharpened by the discipline of danger, and in the
caterpillars of these you will find the same qualities in the
form of sly caution and tricky ingenuity. Look at the leaf-
CATERPILLARS.
125
green caterpillars of the swiftest Swallow-tails, of the Four-
tailed Pashas, called Char axes, and of the beautiful and
wary Euthalias. How motionless they lie on the upper
side of a leaf! Motionless, because spiders attack nothing
unless it moves ; on the upper side of the leaf, because that
is the outward side
to birds among the
twigs. At long in-
tervals they wander
away to feed.
Char axes imna ap-
pears to feed only
once in the twenty-
four hours, and
Papilio sarpedon
feeds by night.
Then there are
offensive weapons
and defensiveworks. ichneumon fly.
Some are armed with spines, or bristles, or stinging hairs,
and these enjoy security to a certain extent ; but in this
war every move is met by a countermove, and there is
no such thing as final safety. I once saw a large, hairy
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A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
caterpillar resting drowsily on a leaf, with two villainous,
red-eyed flies standing by watching it. I felt sure there
was mischief afoot and determined to see it out. In a
short time one of the flies approached the caterpillar cauti-
ously, till she almost pressed against the long tufts of hair
which grew out of its side. These held her at bay and she
could get no nearer. But she was provided against this
difficulty. Quietly she took out of her pocket an ovipositor,
which opened like a telescope till it was nearly half an
inch in length. Passing this carefully between the tufts
of hair, she stuck an egg on the soft under-parts of the
caterpillar without even awakening it. Then she drew
back with a tread as stealthy as that of a cat, and moving
a few paces further, stuck another. This she repeated
several times before my eyes, and I never thought of
interfering : I was too much interested. Besides, who
was I that I should interfere ?
But I find more interest in those caterpillars which,
coming into the world without armour of any kind, and
being savoury meat, elude death by cunning disguises,
or skilful works of defence. Some make burrows in the
hard trunks of trees, but this requires special and very
powerful jaws, which do not consist well with the plan
CATERPILLARS.
127
on which butterflies and moths are constructed. It better
becomes the grubs of beetles. Others build them houses
of leaves, joining their edges with silk, or curling them
spirally, and some make the most wonderful coats of
strong thorns. A small moth caterpillar, which feeds
on the water lily, cuts off a bit of a leaf, with which it
forms a boat and sails away on the surface of the water.
Another, which may be ranked among our domestic
animals, feeds on our clothes and wraps itself in a woolly
mantle made of the nap. Yet another makes itself a
portable boat-shaped house of silk, coated with fine sand,
in which it walks the walls of our houses, feeding, I
believe, on invisible moss or mould.
But of all the defensive works I have seen, the most
advanced is that of a delicately beautiful butterfly called
IAmenitis procris. When the caterpillar comes out of
the egg, it betakes itself at once to the very point of a
tender leaf and eats down steadily on both sides of the
mid-rib, which stands out bare and dry. As the little
thing advances it cuts up much more of the leaf than
it eats, and these crumbs, with other refuse, are gradually
accumulated and loosely bound together with silk till they
form a breastwork across the whole breadth of the leaf.
28
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
Behind this rampart of refuse, of which its brown and
ragged form seems to be a portion, the little architect lives,
pushing the work back from day to day as it eats on.
What shall I say of those caterpillars which have some
powerful tribe of ants for their patrons and protectors?
I will pass by them to-day, for I feel assured that the
history of that alliance belongs rather to the annals of
the ant. But there is one device yet which I cannot
pass over, resorted to by the caterpillar of one of our
most brilliant Blues. I have always ranked the Blues
among the aristocracy of the butterfly world, and even
among them the family of Virachola is one of the noblest.
Brilliant in colour, swift in flight, distinguished in bearing,
it is the peer of even the Four-tailed Pashas. The birth-
place of this proud creature is the fruit of the pomegranate.
In the very heart of the fruit it passes its early life,
feeding on the forming seeds. For ventilation and sanita-
tion it makes a hole in the tough rind, and every day
sweeps out its apartments with a shovel which grows on
its tail. But in a short time the fruit begins to grow
black and wither, as its heart is eaten away. Soon it
would fall to the ground and rot, and its inmates would
perish miserably. But before this can happen the cater-
CATERPILLARS.
129
pillar comes out by night and ties the fruit to its stalk
with silk so securely that it will defy the winds for a
year to come.
I once took down a pomegranate which was occupied
by several of these caterpillars, and put it on an egg-cup.
During the night they came out and fastened it so firmly,
that when I lifted it in the morning, the egg-cup was
lifted with it. This is positively the most wonderful
thing I know, and it grows more wonderful under the
pantoscope of modern science. For till recently we
could always explain such things by instinct, which was
a terse and reverent expression of ignorance. But now
nous avons change tout cela , and instinct belongs to the
language of mythology. We cannot substitute intelli-
gence : that would be worse than instinct. Therefore,
it is certain that this habit of tying pomegranates to
their stalks was originally an objectless insanity, which,
chancing to be advantageous to the lunatic himself, was per-
petuated by the great law of the survival of the fittest.
But I have said enough about the dangers which beset
a caterpillar’s life and the devices by which they are
met. We must next consider the bearings which these
things have on the pursuits of the caterpillar hunter.
K
Chapter XII.
The caterpillar
Hunter.
WE have seen that a cater-
pillar’s great purpose in life
is not to be eaten. “ The
bearings of this observation
lays in the application of it.”
For the simplest way not to be eaten is not to be found ;
but I want to find it, and against all its other enemies
I am an amateur competing with professionals. Happily
THE CATERPILLAR HUNTER.
131
for me, it has another purpose in life which, now that I
think of it, is even more absorbing than the first. It
would like not to be eaten, but it must eat. Now a half-
eaten leaf easily catches the eye, and the thought that
this effect must have had a cause easily suggests itself
to the mind. But there are other things besides cater-
pillars which eat leaves : goats do, crickets do, beetles
and ladybirds do. Fortunately each of these eats in its
own way, and practice soon teaches one to diagnose
“ eating.”
From the experience gained in my early days I know
that a caterpillar eats from the edge in curves, but a
beetle eats holes out of the middle of a leaf, and a leaf-
cutting bee cuts out neat semicircular pieces all of the
same size. A cricket, or grasshopper, may eat like a
caterpillar, but when it has finished a meal it hops
away to another branch, while a caterpillar, being an in-
different walker, will generally stay at one place, finishing
leaf after leaf.
So, when you see “eating,” your first question must
be, Who did it ? If the answer should be, A caterpillar,
you put your second question, When ? Domestic ex-
perience is useful here. Your butler says a plate was
K 2
32
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
broken in the time of his predecessor, but you mark
the fresh surface of the broken edge and convict him of
deceit. A leaf may be judged in the same way. So,
having come to the conclusion that the leaf has been
eaten by a caterpillar, and that lately, you put your
final question, Where is he? Under a leaf, or motion-
less on the upper side of one, or in a cunning chamber,
or lurking about the stem. Perhaps before your very
eyes as you search, telling a lie. It may be standing
on end, as stiff as a stick, and saying, “ I am only a
broken and withered leaf stalk,” or it may be lying
close along a twig, like a swelling or deformity of the
plant. Or it may have dropped to the ground the
moment you touched the branch on which it was feeding.
From the indications afforded by its appetite you may
make a near guess as to its size, which will help your
search ; and if you are a botanist, you may even con-
jecture to what genus it belongs, for each genus has a
traditional attachment to some particular order of plants.
The end of it all will generally be that you will not find
the caterpillar.
It often happens, however, that one does find cater-
pillars. Where honest search fails a curious accident
/
THE CATERPILLAR HUNTER.
is 3
comes in, or your own good luck, or the bad luck of the
caterpillar, puts in your way what you least expected.
My faith in luck has never been robust, but I know that,
if you only give it a fair chance by covering plenty of
ground and keeping your eyes open, you will make
good many discoveries.
Some of the best things I have got were found by
noticing butterflies hovering suspiciously about one place
and watching them patiently until I saw them lay their
eggs. Once a rare swallow-tail passed me, and I started
in pursuit, but soon guessing her purpose, stayed my
hand and watched. After circumnavigating one tree
many times she settled on a tender shoot, where she
remained for some minutes and then flew away, leaving
ten golden eggs, one upon another, like a jointed stick.
This was the only butterfly which I ever knew to
deposit its eggs in such a fashion ; they generally lay
them singly in different places. Moths, which are alto-
gether more stupid, usually lay them in a lump. Some
do not even take the trouble to look for a tree on which
their offspring will feed, but leave that to luck.
In some parts of India I have heard of great things
being accomplished by employing native agency, but
134
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL, .
here there are no children of nature, no hill tribes or
aboriginal races, and the ordinary Hindoo peasant has
his eyes and ears closed against everything which has
not some direct bearing on his necessities or comforts.
He knows many of the trees or plants. One is an anti-
dote for snake-bites, another cures hydrophobia, a third
is essential in ceremonies for casting out the devil or
appeasing the goddess of small-pox, a fourth allays pain
in the stomach, a fifth corrects heat in the blood, a sixth
expels wind from the joints, a seventh reduces bile when
it has mounted into the head, an eighth is a good plaster
for boils, a ninth should be rubbed on the soles of the
feet to strengthen weak eyes. In fact, the whole jungle
is to him a vast box of Holloway’s pills and ointment,
offering a panacea for every ill to which flesh is heir and
many to which it is not.
He also knows many flowers which serve as offerings
to his gods, and his wife well knows as many which look
very nice in her hair, but neither he nor his wife seems to see
the butterflies or hear the birds. And their children do not
string birds’ eggs, nor run after butterflies with their caps.
Nevertheless we once determined, a friend and I, to see
what could be done with them, and we met with some
THE CATERPILLAR HUNTER.
*35
success. I11 our rambles we were followed by three
boys who carried spare nets, pill boxes, and killing
bottles. These were our raw material, and it was
very raw. They did not wash their faces, or brush
their hair, and their garment was scanty and unclean.
When rain came on they would crowd under our um-
brellas, and at such
times how forcibly
they recalled an old
traveller’s descrip-
tion of the skunk,
which “hath a ven-
tositie so strong and
so evil of scent that
it doth penetrate
the wood, the
stones and all that
it encountreth
withal, and it is
such that some
Indians have died
with the stench.”
“ figs.”
If asked the name
i ?>6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
of a tree, they did not know, for not knowing would
avert further trouble, and they were not yet civilized
enough to invent names to please us. But the seed of
intelligence was there, not dead, only dormant. We
manured it with pice, and it germinated and began to
grow. They took to looking about them as they followed
us, and would draw attention to a butterfly or a bird.
Then they began to find caterpillars.
We addressed them endearingly as “ Pigs.” In case
this meets the eye of any Member of Parliament, I should
like to explain that the word was not used in an offensive
sense, and had nothing to do with the opprobrious term
soor, or sowar , which, as Mr. Schwann, M.P., who has
travelled in India, must know, means swine, and is
commonly applied by Anglo-Indians to Native Cavalry.
We made use of the English word, accompanying it with a
kindly smile, and we can safely affirm that the little boys
appeared to be proud of the title and tried to live up to it.
Presently it began to be known in the bazaar that the
Pigs had discovered a new and lucrative industry, and
other boys began to appear about the gate, coughing
and spitting to attract attention. In their hands they
clutched the remains of a battered butterfly, or a snail,
THE CATERPILLAR HUNTER.
137
or an earthworm. We felt inclined to box the dirty
ears which stood out like jug handles from their shaven
heads, but we smiled and gave them pice pour encourager
les autres.
Soon the whole juvenile population was abroad, hunting
for any small thing that had life in it. Among them were
a few Pigs of marked talent, who soon found out what
we valued and explored the jungle in all directions for
new and rare kinds of caterpillars, but the majority were
afraid to go into the jungle at all lest panthers might eat
them, so they wandered about the hedges round their
fathers’ fields. Their intellects, too, never got beyond the
argument that what you paid them for yesterday was the
thing to look for to-day. It came to this, that we had to
maintain a drove of several score, who spent their time in
getting what we did not want, for the sake of the two or
three who might get what we did want. So we began to
pay at lower rates and to refuse altogether the commonest
kinds. This led to the discovery that the brain of the Pig
is not deficient, but only misapplied. Indeed, they dis-
played a subtlety which was quite shocking in creatures so
young. When an old hand brought some common cater-
pillar for the twentieth time and found that it was refused,
138
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
he retired for half an hour, then sent his younger brother
with it. If he, too, was refused, they brought out their
little sister, clothed only in her own charms and a neck-
lace of beads, and closing her tiny fingers on the leaf,
directed her toddling steps to our door and put themselves
out of the way. It is needless to say that her chubby
little face and black eyes did their work, and she went
away with a bright two-anna piece in her puny fist, which
the young rogues outside the gate promptly extracted.
Another standard trick was to divide their spoils.
Supposing an astute little Pig discovered five specimens
of a caterpillar, for which he calculated he might get an
anna, he sought out four other Pigs like himself, and they
took one each. The first appeared at the front door, the
second at the back, and the others followed at short
intervals. We could not give less than one pice to each ;
we probably gave two ; so they realized more than two
annas for the lot.
Even those superior Pigs who found rare caterpillars
learned not to spoil the market by bringing too much at
once. If they found several of one kind, they would bring
one first and the rest by degrees. I often wondered what
they did with the money they got. Did they indulge in
THE CATERPILLAR HUNTER .
U9
sticks of juicy sugar-cane, or bundles of “ old woman’s hair,”
or did they lay out their pice in alley taws and paper kites ?
Or is it possible they spent their earnings in the furtive
enjoyment of country tobacco ?
They were mostly the children of very poor parents,
and anything they were known to possess was pretty sure
to be escheated to the family treasury, but I daresay they
contrived to deceive their fathers and mothers as cleverly
as they duped us. Poor little Pigs ! The race is becoming
extinct now, for I have got almost everything they are
likely to find, and I cannot maintain a population for the
chance of a lucky discovery now and then. And it is
as well. They have returned to the wholesome routine
of their lowly lives, and my conscience is more at ease
since I ceased to be the cause of the perishing of hundreds
of harmless creatures.
They have not forgotten me, however, and I am often
greeted by a half impudent salaam from a nude urchin
in his native gutter, or a sturdy brat mending his father’s
nets, or a nice-looking boy, in a suit of jail cloth, returning
from the carpenter’s shop, where he is now serving his
apprenticeship. He catches my eye and smiles comically,
as much as to say, “ I was a Pig once.”
1 40
A NATURALIST on the PROWL.
The joy of finding caterpillars is prolonged into the
pleasure of keeping them, and again the same first
principles must be borne in mind. Your main concern
must be to see that they are not eaten and have always
plenty to eat. If you let the leaves get dry and hard
before you change them, the caterpillar may not die,
but it will certainly become a stunted butterfly. A cater-
pillar, like salad, should be grown fast and brought to
maturity as quickly as possible. And when it prepares to
pass into the chrysalis state, the ease and safety with which
it gets over the crisis will depend very much upon how fat
it is. An unhappy caterpillar, on the point of death by
starvation, will sometimes save its life by becoming a
chrysalis, but this is a cruel alternative, an untimely end.
Eating is the appointed pleasure of its lower life, and it
is not ripe for a higher state until its skin can no longer
hold it. Therefore be kind and give it plenty of fresh
and tender food. Some leaves will keep for a day easily,
others must be kept in water ; but remember that, if your
caterpillar can get at the water, he will walk into it and
stay there till he drowns. This proceeds from ignorance.
Those kinds which feed on growing rice and are familiar
with water never do such a thing.
THE CATER PIT LAR HUNTER.
141
As to accommodation they are not hard to please,
Any box will do, but some kinds must have light.
Infants fresh from the egg are often very difficult to rear.
I always keep them in glass tubes, or small bottles, tightly
corked. This keeps the leaves fresh for several days,
and the silly things cannot wander and lose themselves.
Ventilation, fresh air and sanitation are wants of modern
civilization, to which caterpillars have not yet adapted
themselves, and I never found them to suffer from this
corking up unless the bottle got so dirty and damp that
mould set in. But why should I go into details and cheat
you of the pleasure of finding out ? I always feel
thankful when I call to mind that in my early days I
had no books.
Chapter XIII.
Peter and his
RELATIONS.
FOR the last two months the rain
has been simply ridiculous. Last
week the weather did seem to
vacillate for a few days, but I
rashly planned an excursion for
Gunputtee day, and the deluge returned with renewed
resolution. We have had nearly eleven feet already, but
PETER AND HIS RELATIONS.
143
the total up to date goes on rising at the rate of several
inches a day. The people say that this rain is particularly
good for the crops, and so I find it. The crops of mould
and mildew have grown rank beyond all precedent. If
I neglect my library for a few days a reindeer might
browse upon the lichens that whiten my precious books.
The roots of these vegetables, penetrating the binding,
disintegrate the glue underneath, so the books gradually
acquire a limp and feeble-minded aspect, and presently
the covers are ready to come away from the bodies ; and
the rain has undoubtedly some effect of the same kind
on ourselves. How is it possible to keep up any firmness
of mind or body in such weather ? It is too dark to do
anything inside the house and too wet to do anything
out of it.
Peter, the Parrot, enters deeply into the general dulness.
If it were fair he would be sitting in some shady bush in
the garden, nipping the leaves off one by one and strewing
the ground with them, but now he is confined to his cage
with nothing to do. He looks at me so longingly as I
pass, that my heart, already flabby from the effects of the
weather, is quite softened, and I have to open the door
and let him get on my shoulder. This consoles him, and
144
A NATURALIST ON 7 HE PROWL.
he grows cheerful and soon sets out on a tour of inspection.
He is wonderfully interested in my watch-chain, and more
so in the buttons of my coat. He has not succeeded in
getting them off yet, but I can see that he does not mean
to be beaten. Nine-tenths of the pleasure of a parrot’s
life lies in the use and misuse of its beak, which is a
wonderful instrument, quite unlike the beak of any other
bird. The upper part is not firmly dovetailed into the
skull, but joined by a kind of hinge, on which it moves
up and down a little, so that the points of the upper and
lower parts play freely against each other and can do very
neat work in the way of shelling peas, or husking grains
of rice. The muscular and sensitive tongue works like a
finger, holding the grain in its place, or turning it round,
as the operation goes on. With such artistic apparatus
feeding becomes an art, and a parrot’s meals take up half
the day. He will not bolt his food like a gross crow, to
whom fresh meat and putrid fish, dead rats and hens’ eggs
all come alike, but tastes every morsel, and eats one part
and throws away ten.
Peter’s special luxury is bread and butter, and he eats
the butter and throws away the bread. He is fond of rice
too, and puddings and dry grain and nuts and buttons and
PETER AND HIS RE RATIONS.
*45
the ends of pencils. I think he is the most lovable pet I have
ever had. He was brought to me as an infant, neglected,
dirty and ragged. Torn from his parents at that tender
age, his affectionate nature clung to me, and he seemed as if
he could not live without me. He would follow me from
room to room and sit under my chair, and if I called to
him from any distance, he would answer me. He is older
now and more independent, but he still feels lonely with-
out human society. He keeps up an affectation of a very
bad temper, rushing at my fingers with barks and threats,
but he is never rude towards my face. He treats my lips
with touching tenderness, and I often allow him to amuse
himself trying to draw my teeth.
Parrots are almost always spoken of in the feminine
gender, but half of them are masculine. Peter has not
determined his sex yet, so I have given him the benefit
of the doubt.
There can be no question that parrots have more
intellect than any other kind of bird, and it is this that
makes them such favourite pets and brings upon them so
many sorrows. Every cold season you will see in the
Crawford Market in Bombay large basket cages, made for
carrying chickens to the bazaar, but now filled with
L
46
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
unfledged parrots, crowded as close as bottles on a shelf,
all bobbing their foolish heads’ incessantly and joining
their hundred voices in meaningless infant cries. Men
will buy them for two or three annas each and carry them
off to all quarters of the native town, intending, I doubt
not, to treat them kindly ; but “the tender mercies of the
wicked are cruel,” and confinement in a solitary cell, the
discipline with which we reform hardened criminals, is
misery enough to a bird with an active mind, without the
superadded horrors of poor Poll’s life in a tin cage, hung
from a nail in the wall of a dark shop in Abdool Rahman
Street. Her floor is tin and her perch a thin iron wire,
so her poor feet are chilled all night, and if her prison
chance to hang where the sun can reach it, then for a
change they are grilled all day. Why does the Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals never look into
the woes of parrots ?
On this side of India we have four kinds of parrots, or,
more properly, parrakeets, for they have all long tails.
The commonest is the Rose-ringed Parrakeet, neat but not
gaudy in its bright green suit, with a necklace of pink and
black ribbon and a beak of red coral. I suppose that
three-fourths of the inmates of the jails of our Bombay
PETER AND HIS RELATIONS .
14 7
fanciers belong to this race. In its native state it lives a
joyous and social life, tasting every good thing in garden
and field while the day lasts, and at sunset resorting to the
club, where hundreds of its kind meet to pass the night in
company. Then there is screaming and shrieking indescrib-
able. Under adversity it nurses malice and becomes im-
placable. Yoti may say “Pretty Polly” in your gentlest
tone and chirrup winningly, but she will just stiffen a little,
and her eyes will grow all white, and you had better not
put your finger too near the bars of her cage. Yet Polly
can love as well as hate if you only give her as much
reason.
She is an apt pupil too, and can learn to speak so
plainly that, if somebody tells you what she is saying, you
can make it out quite well. Thomas Atkins often whiles
away the monotony of barrack life in the tuition of parrots,
and when you hear his pupils talk you almost fancy they
are quoting from the works of Rudyard Kipling. A friend
of mine, who wanted very much to take an educated parrot
home with him, went to the Soldiers’ Industrial Exhibition
at Poona, where he saw a handsome bird for sale, with a
sheet of foolscap hanging from its cage, in which were
detailed all the pretty things it could say. Standing near
L 2
148
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
by was the owner and educator, pretending to be on duty.
My friend knew something by experience of the danger of
introducing Barrack parrots into polite society, so he asked
the soldier, “ Does this parrot say any bad words ? ” With
a faultless salute Mr. Atkins replied, “ I can’t say now, sir;
she has been three days
in this place.” My friend
decided not to buy the pupil
of such a master.
But teach her what tongues
you will, Polly never forgets
her own, and this is my one
objection to her as a pet.
However happy you make
her captivity, imagination
will carry her at times to the
green fields and the blue sky>
and she fancies herself some-
where near the sun, heading a long file of exultant com-
panions in swift career through the whistling ain Then
she opens her mouth and rings out a wild salute to all
parrots in the far world below her. Like arrows through
your cloven head those screams chase each other. If you
n § , f
PETER AND HIS RELATIONS .
H9
try to stop her, she gets frantic and literally raves in screams.
There is only one thing you can do that will avail at
all. Dash a whole glass of water over her and she will stop
instantly. But this is Dad
for the drawing-room carpet.
The Alexandrine Parra-
keet is not common till you
get further north than Bom-
bay, but many find their
way to the market there.
It is a much larger and
coarser looking bird than
the last, but very like it in
colour. I believe it is sup-
posed to talk better. It its
named after Alexander the
Great, who took one back
with him after his visit to
this country.
The swift - flying Rose-
headed Parrakeet does not
come much into our gardens,
it is almost commoner than 1
ROSE-HEADED PARRAKEET.
but all down the West Coast
he other two. It ravages the
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
150
rice fields, and little boys are busy all day flinging stones
at it. I have longed to tell them that they sinned against
their own natures when they tried to dash to pieces with
rude stones a creature so lovely, and that they should rather
rejoice to see it eat and be happy. But the son of the rice
farmer is a utilitarian, and in this disjointed world of ours
there is a hereditary feud between the useful and the
beautiful. It should not be so : there must be some way
of reconciliation, but no one has worked it out. Hence
our shrieking railways and smoke-belching factories, and
the bottomless pits where grimy diggers find the food for
their greedy furnaces. And when the beautiful would fly
from such companionship and leave us altogether, we shut it
up in a fenced place and call it a park, or a people’s garden.
On a smaller scale, in the alleys and lanes of the bazaar,
a poor man here and there cages beauty in the form of the
little Rose-headed Parrakeet. He has not heard that say-
ing of Goethe : “ Men are so inclined to content themselves
with what is commonest; the spirit and the senses so easily
grow dead to the impressions of the beautiful and perfect,
that everyone should study by all methods to nourish in
his mind the faculty of feeling these things. For this
reason one ought, every day at least, to hear a little song,
PETER AND HIS RELATIONS.
151
read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible,
speak a few reasonable words.” But he dimly feels the
truth which these wise words set forth. The narrow
circle of the poor parrot’s cage does not allow it to
turn without breaking the long blue feathers of its
beautiful tail, and the roseate tints of its head lose their
lustre when long shut out from the influence of the sun ;
but at the worst it is a lovely bird. The head of the
female is of a bluish plum colour, and the young ones
in the market are green all over, but you may always
distinguish them by their yellow beaks. The voice of this
parrot is musical and bearable even when it screams.
The fourth kind is the Blue-winged Parrakeet, and to
this Peter belongs. It is a forest bird and keeps away
from man and his habitations. It has no rosy nead, or
pink collar, but the dark greens of its upper parts, and
the fine grey and dove colour of its head and breast
make it a handsome bird. The quill feathers are deep
blue, and the beak of the male is red, while that of the
female is black. Peter has not come of age yet. His
dress, though tasteful, is plain, and his beak reminds one
of that metaphor in “Hudibras,”
“Now, like a lobster boiled, the morn
From black to red began to turn.”
152
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
This kind does not screech. Its voice is low pitched and
richly harsh.
We have yet one other bird of the tribe, the Lorikeet,
LOVE BIRD SLEEPING HEAD DOWNWARDS.
or Love Bird, a quaint little thing, as big as a sparrow
and as green as grass, with a blaze of red on its back.
Why it is called a Love Bird I cannoi- tell It is not
PETER AND HIS RELATIONS.
153
fuller of love than other birds, but it is a charming
little pet and has an original mind. It sleeps upside
down, hanging by its feet. Living up among high trees,
not larger than one of the leaves and quite as green,
it does not thrust itself on your notice ; but if you
learn its call and bring your ear to the aid of your eye,
you will discover that it is as common as the Bulbul.
You need not tell this to the old Bird-man, who hawks
them about with Canaries and Java sparrows. He knows
that they come from Mozambique, and that is why they
are worth five rupees a pair.
Chapter XIV
Bulbuls.
AS pets Bulbuls come next to
parrots, but not for their in-
telligence. I believe their brain
is small. A Bulbul has a lively
and inquiring mind, and can be
taught amusing tricks, but it
shows all the signs of little-headedness. The secret of
its popularity is its vivacious temper and cheery disposi-
tion. Bulbuls do more to keep the world lively than
any other bird I know of. They do not sing outside
BULBULS.
155
the pages of Lalla Rookh , but they have sweet voices
and light hearts, and they seem to bubble over with a
happiness which is infectious. They are also easy pets
to keep. If a bird’s food in its wild state consists of
insects only, then it is generally difficult to find an arti-
ficial substitute suited to its digestion ; but when a bird
eats both insects and fruit, as the Bulbul does, then almost
anything will agree with it. You may give it meat, raw
or cooked, bread crumbs, pudding, potatoes, fruit, or any-
thing that is going, and the greater the variety the better
it will thrive. It is good, however, to have some staple
diet, some staff of life, and let the other things be luxuries.
For Bulbuls, Mynas and all miscellaneous feeding
birds, I believe there is no better regular food than
parched gram made into fine flour and moistened with
water. I learned this from my friend the old birdman in
Bombay, but he sometimes mixed the flour with ghee
instead of water, to oil the bird’s throat and make it sing
sweetly !
Last year a young Bulbul was brought to me in a very
dilapidated state. Some native boy had found it, and,
after the manner of native boys, had carried it about
swinging by a string tied to ope leg. At least, I suppose
i$6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL,
this was how it had been treated, for one leg was dis-
located. I took the poor bird in hand, not because I hoped
to save its life, but because I am weak about putting
birds to death in cold blood even to end their misery.
I did save its life, however, and after a long while even
the broken leg restored itself in some way and became
as sound as the other. In course of time a new suit of
clothes arrived, of Dame Nature’s best make, and my
dingy little cripple became a very stylish-looking bird,
with a peaked, black crest on the top of his head, a little
patch of crimson over each ear, and another display of
red on what ornithologists euphemistically call the “ under
tail coverts.” The only thing that marred his beauty
was a scar across the bridge of his nose, which he made
and kept fresh by frantic efforts to get out between the
bars of his cage whenever he was frightened.
As I have said, the Bulbul has a small brain, and this
bird occupied a strong cage for a year without finding out
that dabbing his head against the wires would not get
him out. Neither did he attain to the knowledge that a
red handkerchief, a hat and a hundred other common
things do not eat Bulbuls. So he was seized with panic
many times a day, and the place where the wires caught
BULBULS.
157
him, just above the beak, was always bare and often raw.
Yet with his equals he was a bold and pugnacious bird.
He accounted me his equal and would maintain an
obstinate fight with my hand until I knocked him out of
breath. Nothing kindled his ire more than Baby’s fingers
trying to grasp him through the bars of his cage. He
panted to exterminate them. Poor Billy enjoyed the two
principal conditions of longevity — a good digestion and a
small mind ; but he got fits and died early.
Billy was a Red-Whiskered Bulbul, the species which
an old naturalist in a happy moment called Otocampsa
jocosa, under which name you will find it in Jerdon. The
common species of our gardens is the Madras Bulbul,
a bird which is only a shade less sprightly than the
Red-Whiskered, and to my mind handsomer. Its
whiskers are not red, but its head, crest and face are
glossy black, and its mantle is a fine smoky brown,
the pale-edged feathers making a pattern like the scales
of a fish, and the whole effect accords with the maxim
of Polonius— -
“Thy dress the richest that thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy.”
The only touch of fancy about it is the crimson seat of
i58
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
its trousers, and this is the badge of all Bulbuls ; they
must have a patch of bright colour on that place. The
Sind Bulbul wears it yellow. Another badge is the up-
turned crest, which expresses the gleeful heart. If you
watch a canary, or any other merry-souled bird, you will
see that it smiles by erecting the feathers on the top of
its head. Now, by a natural law, the feathers which are
constantly being erected are developed and grow upwards,
and what was a passing expression in the ancestor be-
comes a permanent feature in the descendants. So every
man who cultivates a grumbling disposition is labouring
to bequeath a sour face to his children. On the other
hand, the merry twinkling eye with which some men are
born is nothing else than the crystallised result of a
thousand humorous thoughts in past generations. This
is my philosophy of evolution.
These crested Bulbuls are the true Bulbuls, but the
family ramifies into a great variety of birds more or less
bulbuline in their dress and customs. There is the White-
browed Bulbul, a dingy-coloured bird which comes about
Bombay gardens and lets its feelings off every now
and then in a spasmodic rattle of sweetish notes, in
which, however, I recognise the family voice. It has
BULBULS.
159
attained to cheerfulness, but not to hilarity, and its head
is only beginning to get crested.
Then there is the cheerily fussy Yellow Bulbul, not a
garden but a forest bird. I estimate that it makes two-
thirds of all the noise that is made in these jungles.
There is the rarer Black Bulbul also, and the Ruby-
throated Bulbul, and many others. I think good Dr.
Jerdon goes too far in including lor a among the Bulbuls.
lora is a bright little bird, but not a Bulbul.
There is another bird which Jerdon calls the Green
Bulbul, but he admits that it is not a very near relation.
By its form, its nest and its eggs the Green Bulbul is an
Oriole, but there is a difference depending on its colour.
Or perhaps its colour depends on the difference. Which is
cause and which effect, is a question on which we have
no information. Bird history does not go back far
enough. The thing which is evident is that, in the world
to-day, the Green Bulbul expresses quite a different idea
from the Golden Oriole. The latter is designed to be
seen ; the former is designed to be unseen. Who does
not know the Golden Oriole, or Mango Bird ? It cannot
escape notice and does not try. Its loud mellow voice
salutes the ear, as its brilliant hues catch the eye. But
i6o
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
how few know that there is such a bird as the Green
Bulbul ! Yet it is everywhere, hopping about among the
green leaves, unobserved, but observing everything and
mocking all the birds in turn. First there is a King Crow
calling cheerily in the tree just over your head ; but you
look for it in vain ; there is no King Crow in sight.
Suddenly it stops, and the fierce scream of the Sparrow
Hawk takes its place ; but where is the Sparrow Hawk ?
In a few minutes a Sunbird is twittering just where the
Sparrow Hawk must have been ; then two Sunbirds are
quarrelling. This is too absurd. You fling a stone into
the branches and a small green bird gets out at the back
of the tree and flits across to the next, where the King
Crow immediately begins to call. And all the time the
blackguard is sitting quietly amongst the leaves, his head
bent down and his twinkling black eye enjoying the effect
of his mockeries.
How is it that a bird so talented and dressed so
superbly is never made captive by man and put into
his dungeons to make him sport ? When the Bombay
birdman comes round with his Canaries and Parrots and
stupid blue Java Sparrows and emaciated white mice,
twirling away their weary lives in little wire wheels, he has
BULBULS.
161
very often some odd bird that has fallen into his hands by
accident. In his cages I have found a Cuckoo, rescued
from vengeful crows, a Mango Bird, a Button Quail, even
a Water Hen maimed with a shot meant for duck or
snipe, but never a Green Bulbul. I had long set my heart
on having one for a pet, and at last found a nest with two
young ones almost ready to fly. Birds meant to be reared
by hand should be taken at an earlier age, for their little
wills develop with their plumage. So I found mine very
obstinate. They got it into their heads that the nourish-
ment I offered them was medicine, and would not open
their mouths. When a child is fractious in the same way,
you can hold his nose and his mouth must open, but
Bulbuls have not tenable noses. However, I managed to
get a good quantity of food stuffs introduced into them
one way or another ; but my birds pined, and I soon saw
that they meant to die. The only thing to do was to
replace them in their cradle, where their parents made
great jubilation over them. Within two days, as I was
walking in the garden, I found one of them on the ground,
in robust health and trying to fly. I took him under my
protection again, for I am a benevolent man and was
sure the crows would find him. This time I tried a diffe-
M
62
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
rent system. I got my ingenious chupprassie, Yakoob
Khan, to make a rough cage of bamboos, and in this I
hung my little Bulbul among the convolvulus which over-
grew the verandah, where his parents could visit him and
bring him dainties. This they did all day. Now it was a
soft green grasshopper, now a fat mantis, with the legs
and hard parts stripped off. They made an absurd
amount of fuss, bo-peeping at me through the leaves and
calling out to one another to beware. I knew they were
trying to poison the innocent mind of their little son
against me. But I foiled their designs. I fed him when
they were away and treated him kindly and so completely
won his confidence in a week that I had only to whistle
from any part of the house and he would answer me.
So all went well until one Sunday morning, when I was
sitting reading and my little pet was hanging in the
verandah. Suddenly I heard shrieks of agony from his
cage, and rushing out, found him with his back against
the bars and his wings stretched out, like a butterfly
pinned to a board. I looked behind, and there was the
neck of a snake, stretched like a cord from the trellis to
the cage. The abominable reptile had insinuated its head
between the bars and caught the bird by the back, and
BULBULS.
163
was trying to drag it out. I lifted my foot and gave it a
frantic kick, which must have sent the snake quite out of
this world, for it was never seen again. Then I hastened
to examine my pet. His poor little back was flayed.
The double row of small sharp teeth on each side of the
snake’s lank jaws had raked off both feathers and skin.
He revived towards evening and tried to look cheerful, but
sank and died next day.
I grieved for that Green Bulbul more than I generally
do for lost pets. I almost said,
“ Love not, love not ; the thing you love shall die.”
But no ! I cannot accept that sentiment. It is moral
imbecility. I believe that the words of the clear-eyed and
sound-hearted poet who has gone from us are true of all
bereavements, little and great —
“I hold it Irue, whate’er befall.
And feel it when I sorrow most,
’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.’
M 3
Chapter XV.
SPIDERS.
THE spider season has begun, and I find myself fast
drifting into a spirit of acerbity and reprehensible tempers.
With the best intentions and a heart duly exercised, I
hope, in benevolent feelings towards my fellow-creatures,
I am not proof against grave and sudden provocation.
Such provocation occurs when an unseen, but exceedingly
tough and glutinous, string catches me over the bridge
of the nose and across both eyeballs, and forbids me to
advance till I have severed it with a hunting knife. Or
SPIDERS.
165
else when, as I thread my way along a narrow jungle
path, a soft and filmy web embraces my face and ears,
and the over-fed spider who spread it trickles down my
nose and over my lips and gets entangled in my beard.
At such times one learns that one is only human, and
virtue has a rare triumph if the spider does not learn it
too. The worst of it is that theoretically I hold spiders
in great esteem both for the work they do and the manner
in which they do it. Alas ! theoretical and practical
benevolence are not like the Siamese Twins, and I
never see an Englishman distinguish himself in the press,
or on the platform, as a friend of the natives of India,
without wanting to know how he treats his servants and
piLtty-wallahs. Believe me, it is often a good thing for
the cause of political philanthropy that they cannot be
put in the witness-box. But if I were on the press I
would interview them.
To return to spiders. Why must they spread their
snares right across every track and make all my choice
paths impassable? Here again I suppose that reason is
on the side of the spider, though passion gets on mine.
She has no intention of snaring me, but she knows that
almost every denizen of the forest, from the tiger to the
A NATURALIST ON THE RROWL.
1 66
butterfly, will use a path if it can find one, and so she
spreads her nets where the moth and the beetle will
pass, just as we set our traps in the run of the beast we
wish to catch.
Yes, the fact is, we all seek our own, and our interests
are not the same, so we jostle one another as we push
along, and the weaker goes to the wall. Do not mistake
my meaning. In this instance the spider is the stronger,
and it is I who go to the wall. But even the trodden
worm will turn, and I do turn sometimes on that spider.
But I confess I am at a loss what to do with him.
cannot put my foot upon him : he is too fat to be
* squished,” as they say in Surrey, without a feeling
akin to mal de mer. What I should like to do would
be to put him in spirits of wine and make him a
specimen. And, indeed, I did at one time provide my-
self with a supply of small glass tubes, and determined
to devote myself to the study of spiders. Casting about
for guidance on a subject so unfamiliar, I learned that
there was practically no book which would be of any
use to me, but that there was one great living authority
to whom I might apply. He resided in Sweden and
usually wrote in Latin.
SPIDERS.
1 67
This was like referring me to a Mahatma in Thibet.
Is there no one else, I asked, in the world, who knows
something about spiders? Then I was told that there
was indeed one other gentleman who had devoted him-
self to the subject and might be able to help me. He
was an English clergyman. I wrote to him at once and
received a very kind note in reply, telling me that he
was at present occupied with the spiders of Africa, or
South America, or some other place, but hoped in four
years’ time to be able to turn his attention to those
of India. This would not do either. My interest in no
subject will keep fresh for four years. Finally I got
hold of a manuscript synopsis of the classification ot
spiders, and copied it out for myself. From this I
learned that the Araneinae are divided into seven sub-
orders, as follows
1. Orbitelarice , those which make a geometrical snare.
2. Retitelarice , those which make a loose and unsym-
metrical web.
3. Tabitelarice , those which inhabit holes lined with silk.
4. Territelctrice , trap-door spiders.
5. Laterigradce , crab spiders — namely, those which live
about our walls, without webs, and throttle cockroaches.
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
1 68
6. Citigradce , wolf spiders, which hunt among grass
and bushes.
/. Saltigradcz , jumping spiders.
This seemed admirable, and I went deeper into the sub-
iect, that I might know how to identify any strange spider.
Taking up the seventh sub-order, I found that it was
divided into two families — the Eresoidcz , in which the
cephalo-thorax is convex, and the Attoidcz , in which it is
flattened. So if I get a jumping spider, I said, with its
cephalo-thorax flattened, it shall go into the Attoidcz. But
the Attoidcz are again divided into two groups, those which
have the cephalic portion higher than the thoracic portion,
and those in which it is not higher. The second of these
is again divided into those in which the eyes are arranged
in a quadrangle longer than it is wide, and those which
have them arranged in a quadrangle wider than it is long.
Two further sub-divisions follow, and then you come to the
genera, which are distinguished in this way. Ballns , ocular
quadrangle distinctly wider behind than in front ; Marpessa ,
ocular quadrangle scarcely wider behind than in front.
At this point I began to understand how it is that the
world can only support one authority at a time on such
a subject, and for myself I decided to cultivate the
SPIDERS.
I69
acquaintance of spiders without subjecting them to the
rigours of classification.
I wish I had pursued this purpose with more energy, for
the subject is a very fascinating one. If you feel inclined
to take it up, now is the time. As the crops which have
been silently growing for months are now ripe for the
sickle, so the insects which have been feeding in the obscu-
rity of grubdom are producing a teeming harvest of winged
things ; and the rains, which make havoc of the spider’s
toils, are now nearly over. So all at once they appear
and spread their snares in every likely spot. Where do
they come from ? Our abysmal ignorance again ! I do
not know, nor can I find anyone who does.
The most conspicuous among them is a gigantic brute,
whose body, streaked with green and yellow, measures
nearly an inch and a half in length, while her slender black
legs will easily span half a foot. She must have taken some
time to grow to that size, and we may safely assume that
she was born last year, but, if so, she has been in hiding for
the past six months. Now she appears suddenly and spreads
a great web across the road, fully three feet in diameter, sus-
pended from cords like tent ropes, made fast to distant trees.
I speak of her in the feminine gender because she is the lady
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
I/O
of the house. If you search the premises you will find her
lord, a paltry thing of a reddish colour and about one
quarter of an inch in length. He is Mr. Mantalini and
lives entirely on her earnings. She would assuredly eat
him if she could catch him, but he is circumspect and
keeps out of her way. Besides Mr. M. I have sometimes
found a small silvery spider of a different species about the
outskirts of the web. This, I imagine, fills the place which
in our system is taken by the pariah dog, who sneaks about
our compound, filling his shrunken stomach with what we
throw away.
Judging by the size of this great spider and the strength
of her web, I used to think she might easily catch a Sun-
bird, or a small Tree Warbler, but I find she is not nearly
so formidable as she looks. In fact she is a “ feckless ”
creature. When a moth or a beetle gets entangled in her
web, she hurries down, and seizing it with her jaws,
tries to haul it up to her seat ; but if it is strong enough
to resist this treatment, it may easily break away and
escape.
There is a far more deadly spider not half her size, which
spreads its beautiful circular net in our gardens. In the
centre is a round space, with four little strips of white
SPIDERS.
1 7
“ feather stitching ” arranged in a square, to give firm hold
to the feet of the spider, which always rests with her eight
legs extended in four pairs, like a Roman cross. The
unlucky insect which once touches her net has a poor
“just glowrin’ frae him.”
chance of escape. She makes no attempt to seize it, but
simply fastens an end of silk to its body, and then spins
it round with her hind legs at such a rate that, in a few
seconds, it is as neatly done up as a reel of Taylor’s
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A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
No. 6, and cannot move a limb. In this position she
leaves it till dinner time.
I have never been able to satisfy myself whether spiders
are gifted with much intellect. To be able to sit all day
doing nothing does not seem to argue an active mind ;
but yet, when I once enjoyed the privilege of making a
sea voyage in the company of one of the most renowned
of Baboo orators, nothing surprised me so much as his
wonderful power of sitting on deck all day doing nothing
and staring nowhere, just “ glowrin’ frae him.” I have
never seen any vertebrate animal that could do the same
except a cow, and he beat the cow ; for it amuses itself
chewing the cud, but he did not even chew beetles like
the Regent of Manipur. I make no doubt that, all the
while he looked so vacant, he was forging, in the work-
shop of his brain, those thunderbolts with which he would
ere long scorch his rash antagonists.
So may not the spider, in its long hours of seeming
idleness, be evolving those geometrical figures which excite
our admiration far less than they should ? This also is
possible, as Rudyard Kipling has said. But be her
intellectual endowments great or small, the spider is with-
out an equal in her own art, and the daily weaving of her
SPIDERS.
73
evening or morning web is a sight of which I never tire.
Yet I confess with shame that to this day I do not know
how she throws the first line from tree to tree. The
commonly received view is that she first serves out a line
so thin that it floats on the air till it touches a tree, or
some other object, and sticks, whereupon the spider draws
it tight and travels along it with a stouter line. The
proof for this view is that it must be so, or else how is it ?
And at one time this argument was enough for me. Then
I read a paper by a great naturalist who had become a
chela under Madame Blavatsky, in which he stated that
the power of suspending the laws of gravitation, which is
acquired by some men through a long course of self-
abnegation and austerities, is innate in many birds,
enabling them to sail through the air without effort. Still
I scoffed — how easy it is to scoff — but at last I was cured.
“Namque Diespiter,
Igni corusco nubila dividens
Plerumque, per purum tonantes
Egit equos volucremque curium.”
The thunderbolt fell in this way. Wandering in the
Tanna jungles with a scientific friend, I noticed a lovely
little silvery spider and resolved to specimenize it. In-
closing it in my hands, I was about to bottle it, when it
174
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
slipped through my fingers and went off like a snipe.
There was not breeze enough to stir a feather and the
spider had no wings, but no witch on a broomstick could
have ridden the air with more ease. We both darted
after it and caught it again, but it gave us the slip once
more and sailed away. We stood aghast and looked at
each other. Then I proposed to my friend that we should
give an account of the affair at the next meeting of a
certain learned society. But he would not hear of it I
offered to be spokesman, but he would not even promise
to stand by me.
Perhaps he was wise. I have, heard a story of an officer
who was recounting at the Mess table an almost incredible
adventure in which he and a brother officer had been
engaged. As he proceeded he saw an eloquent smile form
itself on the features of one after another of those who
listened to him, and a low whistle came from the extreme
end of the table. Vexed at being doubted, he protested
that he had not exaggerated a single incident, and he
appealed to his friend to corroborate what he had said.
But the friend, too, smole a smile, and the narrator was
crushed. Boiling with rage, he waited for an opportunity
of finding his friend alone and confronted him.
SPIDERS.
175
“What did you mean,” he cried, “by treating me in
that way before all those fellows? You know that I
was saying nothing but the truth. Why did you not
speak up ? ”
“ My dear fellow,” replied his friend, “ you saw that they
all put you down for a liar. Why should you wish them
to put me down for a liar too ? ”
Chapter XVI.
A MOUNTAIN TOP.
WITHIN an hour’s walk of my house there is a mountain
which, rising honestly from the level of the sea, reaches
a height of 1,850 feet. Its slopes are densely clothed with
varied forest, sometimes weirdly silent, sometimes ringing
N
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
i;8
with the ever-changing, sweet, harsh, loud, low, tinkling,
rasping notes of the Racket-tailed Drongo, the mellow
call of the Oriole, the harsh cries of the jungle Parrot
and the angry objurgations of the Black-faced Monkey.
On the granite-tipped peak which just pierces its green
mantle, a few large boulders are balanced in grotesque
positions, proving that Hanooman, the monkey god,
rested here on his expedition to Ceylon. Wedged in
among the rocks is a tall staff, said to have been planted
there to commemorate a pedestrian feat by a certain
renowned Colonel, who bids fair to take rank in the
traditions of the district with the monkey god. Where
Hanooman sat in his day and the Colonel in his, there
sit I ; for it is my day now and this peak is the great
basking place of butterflies.
On a blazing October day, at the fashionable hour of
noon, you will find representatives here of almost every
noble family in the country. The Four-tailed Pashas take
the first place of course — Charaxes athamas and fabins and
imna, perhaps even schreiberi. Each claims an outstanding
branch of some tree with shining leaves as his station,
from which he will dart out from time to time to chase
away a rival, or display his power of wing, returning again
A MOUNTAIN TOP.
179
to the very same leaf. Euthalia liibentina , surely one of
the loveliest of living things, is rarely wanting, though its
relations lepidea and evelina prefer the shades below and
garuda is getting drunk at a pot of toddy in my garden.
The handsome Cynthia saloma opens its broad wings to
the sun, and two or three species of striped Athyma and
not a few dazzling “Blues ” swell the gay assemblage, and
there is always a ragged and envious old Hypolimnas
bolina , venting its spleen on the young and happy, chasing
the small and attacking the great. Two deceivers of the
swallow-tailed clan, dissimilis and panope , sail about over
the trees with the indolent air of the slow-winged Danaince ,
which they impersonate ; but they quarrel, one flies, and
off they both go at such a rate that the eye cannot follow
them. Other magnificent swallow-tails come past now
and then, but they are not baskers and do not stay.
Each of these recalls a red-letter day in the note-book
of my memory. Shall I ever forget that forenoon when
I caught my first imna ? How it persisted in perching
just a foot beyond the reach of my net. I jumped like
a kangaroo, but missed it. It generously gave me another
chance, and of course I missed it again. It grew
triumphant as I grew decrepit, and seemed to smile down
N 2
i8o
A NA T UR A LIST ON THE PROWL .
on me as I grinned at it, my head resting between my
shoulder-blades and my neck feeling like the stalk of a
fruit which is ready to drop from the tree. At last an old
bucket from a deserted house, turned upside down, added
the necessary foot to my stature, and in a few minutes
more those shining brown and black wings were flapping
fiercely in the folds of my net. Never again will intna
afford me that ecstasy, nor any of those I see around me
to-day. I must be content with the more peaceable
pleasure of watching them and chewing the cud of past
joys.
One remarkable thing about this assemblage is that it
is attended only by males. The females avoid places of
public resort, and those of the higher castes appear to be
strictly purdah-nishin. What would I give to find the
zenana of imna or schreiberi ! Another remarkable thing
is that when you do chance to find the caterpillars of any
of these basking butterflies, it is often at the foot of the
hill. What prompts them to forsake the haunts of their
childhood and throng the mountain top ? Do they enjoy
the freshness of the air at this great height, or has the
beauty of the scenery charms for them too ?
Do not assume that questions f this sort are meant for
A MOUNTAIN TOP.
1 8
jokes. The greatest naturalists of this century have sug-
gested, without any joke, that the loveliness of butterflies
has been evolved by sexual selection, which would imply
a faculty in them of discerning and enjoying what is
beautiful in colour and form far above what average man-
kind has ever attained to. However, there is another
possible explanation of their presence here. I am inclined
to believe that many butterflies are fond of soaring in the
air, like birds of prey, though their small size makes it
impossible for us to see them, and that they come down
to the peaks to rest. As Euplcea core sails up and down a
shady lane and the dusky Satyrs dance round the root of
a tree, so, I imagine, do these bold spirits disport them-
selves in the blue empyrean.
There can be no doubt that fancy flying is an exercise
in which those animals which are fitted to excel in it find
great delight. To birds that can sail, like eagles and
vultures, a windy day is as frost to skaters ; and who has
not seen the kites collect to enjoy the great gust that
precedes a thunderstorm ? Others sport with eddies and
currents, where the wind is turned by a steep hill or a high
tower. Years ago I used to notice the swallows amusing
themselves in this way at the Bund Bridge in Poona. The
182
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
wind blew hard across the bridge, whistling under and over
the stone balustrade, and the game was to pop behind this
shelter and sail close under the
stone for twenty or thirty yards,
then to rise suddenly into the gust
and be blown away like chaff be-
fore the wind. All the swallows
knew how to do it and followed
one another in line. Doubtless
it goes on to this day, one genera-
tion teaching another.
Every Dolphin in the Mediter-
ranean now knows what fun it is
to get in front of a steamer, close
to the bow, and disport itself in the
turmoil of the cloven water. Even
the abandoned Crow, like the
Coster when he’s done a-jumping
on his mother, finds gentle joy in
exercises of this kind. In Bombay
there is a regular Gymnasium
on the top cf the University
CLOCK TOWER, BOMBAY
university library. Tower, where, on a windy day,
A MOUNT A IN’ TOP.
83
many crows come together and perform really graceful
evolutions.
Another example came before me just now, as I sat on
this very peak, and perhaps put my mind into its present
train of thought. Far out to sea I saw a large bird of
prey, too dark to be a sea eagle or an osprey, going
through a strange performance. Closing its wings at a
great height, it dropped like a stone, as if on some doomed
fish, but before arriving at the surface of the water, it
turned its course so neatly that the impetus of its fall
carried it up into the sky again. After toboganning in
this way for some time, it made for land and came straight
towards me, and lo ! it was Neopus malayensis, the Black
Eagle. I never could have suspected this gentle poacher
of going out to sea for exercise. Was it afraid of breaking
its bones if it tried the same thing among the hills, or
was it mocking the Sea Eagle and pretending to catch
fish? How smoothly it sails now just over the tops of
the trees, rounding the hill, rising or sinking, without one
flap of its sombre wings. It is so near that my friend
and I can see its yellow face and almost count the number
of its quills, upturned and spread like the fingers of a hand.
Thus we take note in silence, or dreamily chat of what
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
184
passes before us in the beautiful panorama spread around
and below, when a whitish butterfly, with dark veins, flutters
gently past, like a moth, and settles on a leaf with wings
half open. Euripus ! yells my companion and springs
to his feet. Euripus ! I yell in reply and spring to mine.
We both grasp our nets and tumble off the rocks in a
heap. But the butterfly flies gently to another tree, where
it is out of reach.
We post ourselves in two likely places and send a man
to shake that tree. It flies to my lucky friend’s station
and perches on a prominent leaf. He believes in a bold
policy and goes smartly up, intending to whip it up before
it has time to think. But it takes no time to think. It
just flutters across to my tree.
I believe in a cautious policy and advance like a cat.
The fingers of my left hand are spread like an umbrella
frame, and I must be making faces which would gain me
admittance to any lunatic asylum in the world, but my
friend does not laugh, for he is not looking at me, only
at the Euripus. I can see its antennae, nose and eyes,
looking over the edge of the leaf. I am near enough
now, for the staff of my net is ten feet long. Imper-
ceptibly, like a tree gowing from below, the green bag
I
A MOUNTAIN TOP. 1 85
moves up till the butterfly is exactly in a line with its
centre, and then I give the word to myself — one, two,
three, off! But the butterfly is off first, and without
showing the least alarm, settles a few feet further away,
where a stout branch will effectually obstruct the net.
Pelt it with stones. What a lot of pelting it takes !
In fact, nothing appears to start it except a butterfly net.
At last a good sized stone actually knocks it off its perch,
and it flies clean away. We must just wait patiently ; it
will certainly return. So it does in half an hour, and the
second act of the drama is very like the first. So are the
third and fourth. At last, with our necks dislocated, our
faces toasted like cheese for a rat trap, our mouths dried up
like a potsherd, and our minds dejected and embittered, we
shoulder our nets and trudge down the hill.
P.S. — That Euripus consimilis has a pin through its
thorax. It tempted fate again next day and the fifth act
of the drama closed with a tragedy.
Chapter XVII.
THE RED ANT.
I WONDER if there is any
living creature which can
be looked at from so many
points of view as the Red
Ant, or Yellow Ant, as
some prefer to call it. It
is, in fact, neither red nor
yellow, but of a light,
sherry-brown colour, with
fierce black eyes, and long
curved jaws. The point
of view from which it has
most often fallen to me to
consider it may be de-
scribed in this way. Hot
and tired, you sit down
carelessly on a log or rock,
which, for some strategic
THE RED ANT.
IS/
reason, has been garrisoned by a wing of a regiment
from a populous settlement in the very tree which
shelters you from the sun. Or else, threading your way
along a jungle path, you are obstructed by the tough
branch of a wild vine, which joins two trees and is used
as a bridge by the ants which occupy both. Long
before you reached it they were aware of your approach,
and were dancing with excitement on the point of
every prominent leaf ; so you have hardly touched it
before a hundred have thrown themselves on your arms
and body. One or two begin at once to bite your
clothes. These are the young and inexperienced. The
veterans make straight for certain points of which they
appear to have instinctive knowledge, as, for instance,
the back of your neck, just under your collar. Arrived
there, they plunge their sharp jaws into your flesh, then
curl their bodies round for better purchase, and drive
the weapons home with a savagery which is simply ap-
palling. When you pull the ant off, its head remains,
for it is more firmly riveted to your skin than to its
own neck.
For many years this was the only point of view from
which I had regarded the Red Ant, to which I attribute
1 88
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
the fact that my feelings towards it have never been
friendly. One day I saw it in another light. I will
quote an account of the affair from the Journal of the
Bombay Natural History Society. I can vouch for the
accuracy of the account, though modesty forbids me to
tell who wrote it : —
“One evening I found that a countless multitude of
Red Ants had collected about two trees close to my
tent and were making a thoroughfare of one of the ropes.
I thought it best to discourage this, so I got some kerosene
oil, the best antidote I know for insect pests of every
kind, and dipping a feather into it, began to anoint the
rope, thinking in my simplicity that they would not like
to cross the oil and would be obliged to find another
road. There was a perfect storm of indignation. They
rushed together from both sides and threw themselves
on the oiled feather in the spirit of Marcus Curtius. They
died, of course, but others came on in scores, panting for
the same glorious death, and I had to give up my idea
of dislodging them by kerosene. I determined to try
tobacco, for I had always supposed that man was the
only animal which could endure the smell of that weed.
I lighted a cheroot and steadily blew the smoke where
THE RED ANT.
189
they were thickest. Never in my life have I seen any-
thing like the frenzy of passion which followed the first
few puffs. To be attacked by an enemy of which they
could not lay hold seemed to be really too much for
them. In their rage they laid hold of each other, and as
a Red Ant never lets go, they were soon linked together
by head, legs and antennae into one horrible, red, quivering
mass. I left these, and going to another place, offered
the end of my cheroot with about an inch of ash on it.
Several seized it instantly. The heat killed them, but
others laid hold of their charred limbs, and by their united
strength they positively wrenched off the ash, which
remained hanging from the tent rope by their jaws,
while scores hurried from both sides, with fiendish fury,
to help in worrying it. I then presented the hot end.
The foremost ant offered battle without a moment’s
hesitation and perished with a fizz, but another and
another followed, and I saw plainly that I was beaten
again, for the cheroot was going out, while their fury
only burned the more fiercely. I retired, and a fte taking
counsel with the captain of my guard, made a torch of
straw and patiently smoked them to death all along the
rope Then I attacked the root of the tree, where they
90
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
were thickest, and left nothing but a black waste. Half
an hour later fresh myriads were carrying off the charred
remains of their comrades. They took them up the tree
towards their nest, whether for food or burial rites I cannot
say. It was now getting dark, so I gave up my enterprise ;
but before going to bed I brought out my lantern and
found them calmly passing up and down my tent
ropes as before. I had done everything I could, short
of burning down my tent, and they remained masters of
the field.”
This changed my feelings a little. Forced admiration
now mingled with my aversion. It seemed to me that
the Red Ant had acquired that power which overcomes
every other power in the universe, the power that is born
of utter self-effacement. I will not say self-denial, for
the religion of society has perverted that grand word to
strange uses. A man speaks of practising self-denial if
he refuses meat in Lent ; as if denying beef and mutton
was the same as denying self. So we must find another
word for the original idea. Of course I do not mean to
assert that ants have attained to self-effacement ; for how
do I know that they have any self to efface? But, looking
at u hat we can see of their outward life, I think we must
THE RED ANT.
191
admit that it is a genuine socialism, in which the com-
munity is everything, the individual nothing, either to
himself or the rest. Hence it is naught to them that a
thousand die in the common cause. Indeed, I almost
think that they regard such an event as a national gain,
being troubled with the difficulties of over-population
like ourselves. This is certain, that if you are plagued
by ants and try to frighten them with death, you will
only make a fool of yourself. I know, for I have often
done it. The more you kill, the better pleased they are.
The rest hurry down in re-doubled numbers to carry off
the corpses, which I am sure they do not waste, but pre-
serve for the food of the people. Surely this is rectified
spirit of socialism.
Next I saw the Red Ants constructing one of their
wonderful leaf nests, and admiration began to prepon-
derate over aversion. It was in a tree with very large
leathery leaves, and the first thing to be done was to draw
two of these leaves together. Beginning at the point
where they were closest, a number of ants seized one of
the leaves with their teeth and the other with their hind
feet, and began to pull Further on an ant seized one leaf
with his teeth, then another ant seized the first by its
192
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
waist, and reaching the second leaf with its hind feet, began
to pull. Further on still the chain consisted of three ants,
or four, or five. As their united strength drew the edges
of the leaves slowly together, others were busy securing
them with strong cords of silk, which they tightened as
the work progressed, till the leaves were firmly joined,
edge to edge,
and formed the
walls of the cen-
tral chamber.
I have often
watched the
operation since.
Leaf follows leaf
in the same
house building. manner, gauze
cu rtains are
spun across all open spaces, and partitions of white silk
divide the chambers and passages, making a noble man-
sion, or say rather a populous city, the capital of a great
and terrible people. Smaller towns arise on the branches
round about, and stables, or pens, are built for the
accommodation of the State cattle, which consist chiefly
THE RED ANT.
193
of aphides , or plant lice, of a white, fluffy sort, known to
gardeners as “ mealy bug.” These are their sheep.
But they keep cows too, and it was watching the
management of these that finally changed all my feelings
towards the Red Ant. For I am a collector of butter-
flies, and the finest breed of kine is the larva, or caterpillar,
of the largest and most dazzling of all our “ Blues.”
This caterpillar grows to more than an inch in length
and has on its back a gland that yields a certain liquid,
which you may call honey, if you please, or milk. For
our present purpose let it be milk. It is palatable and
nutritious and will sustain the life of a Red Ant with-
out any other food. The little animal that yields it is
quiet, docile and easily domesticated. What wonder that
it is held in high esteem !
The tree on which it is found is occupied more than
most trees by great colonies of Red Ants, and wherever
they find a cow, they take possession of it. They do not
inclose it, but let it graze at will and appoint guards
over it, which never leave it by night or day and guard it
from every danger. If you take it away, they will go
with it and stay where you put it. At short intervals all
through the day they milk it, with a skill and gentleness
O
194
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
which are wonderful to behold. One of the guards
caresses it with her (they are all Amazons) antennae on
the head, and up and down the sides, till she comes to
the milk gland. When she touches this a drop of clear
liquid appears, which she instantly sucks up.
This looks selfish, but it is not. Her pail is in her body,
and when she has filled it, she will carry her precious
burden to the State nurseries. In time the caterpillar
arrives at maturity and changes into a chrysalis. It can
yield no more milk after that, and you would not be
surprised to hear that the ants killed and ate it. But
they do no such thing. The guard watches over it still
for ten days, until the butterfly has emerged and flown
safely away.
Take this fact and think over it. You could scarcely
spend an hour better. Say it is gratitude, such as some-
times moves us to pension an old horse that has served us
long and faithfully. Or say it is policy, like that on
which we act when we institute a close season for game.
Say what you will, in short, but think your meaning out,
and you will be a more reverent and a humbler man than
you were.
How these communities of ants are founded is a ques-
THE RED ANT.
195
tion which has long puzzled formicologists, whether they
tried to find the answer by observation in the field, or to
evolve it from their inner consciousness at home. For a
young queen does hot leave her home, as among bees, with
a retinue of many hundred workers, but alone, and unless
she can gather a following of deserters from other nests,
she must continue alone until her own children are old
enough to be her attendants. But till then who is to tend
them ? It was thought impossible that she could soil her
royal hands with domestic drudgery. We now know, how-
ever, that in the case of the Red Ant at least this is what
does happen. She lays a few eggs and broods over them
like a hen, then contrives somehow to feed and guard the
helpless grubs till they develop into worker ants and are
able to take all household cares off her hands.
Only a few days ago I myself saw a solitary queen on a
leaf (she had no one to build her a house), with eight
children around her which had just come of age, and a few
more still in the white and limbless state of infancy. A
curious feature of this little family was that the mature
ants were only half as large as they should have been. I
had often noticed similar dwarfs before, chiefly in young
nests, and had wondered why they were so undersized.
o 2
196
A NATURALIST ON THE IROIVL.
Here was the explanation of the mystery. These little
unfortunates are the offspring of a young queen, who is
ignorant ol nursing and has nobody to help her : they are
stunted of course by want of food and mismanagement in
infancy.
The queen of the Red Ant, the mother of barbaric
hordes, is herself a mild and handsome insect, nearly three
quarters of an inch in length and of a fine green colour.
From her no doubt the species obtained its name of
CEcophylla smaragdina , which, freely rendered, means the
Emerald Inhabitant of Leaf, Houses. But I am told that
in New Guinea the worker also is green. Why it should
be green there and red here is a curious question. It has
been suggested that the red colour is protective on the
bark cf mango trees, at which I am not surprised, for there
are men who would suggest that the Union Jack is
coloured red, white and blue to elude the observation of
the enemy.
r
f
Chapter XVIII.
BASWESHWAR.
TO the south of my camp (for I am in camp now), on
the other side of the river, runs a range of high hills, one
of which is crowned with a great conical mass of rock
visible for many miles. It must reach an altitude of about
2,ooo feet. This rock is the abode of the god Basweshwar,
who must live a very secluded life. Once a year, however,
in the month of December, he holds an “ at home,” which
is very numerously attended by pious Lingayets and also
catholic-minded persons of other persuasions from the
valleys round about. My friend and I decided that, for
200
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
many reasons, it would be a proper thing for us to visit
this place. The ascent was said to be steep and very
difficult, so how could two men, honourably proud of their
legs, prove the quality of those limbs better than by trying
it ? A second reason was that the place was said to have
been visited by sahebs only once before ; and if a third
was required, there could be little doubt that the path to
that peak would take us through many a “ forest’s shady
scene,” and so on to the end of the quotation, which is
unfortunately too hackneyed for repetition here. Among
the things that own not man’s dominion are one or two,
some say three, tigers, which have for years past success-
fully disputed even his right to shoot them. They will kill
a couple of fat cows, eat the whole of one and a leg of
another, and positively refuse an interview to anybody who
calls them to account. A Brahman gentleman, who paid
me a complimentary visit to-day, informed me that the
people of his village had had the pleasure of keeping one
of these tigers for some months for an enthusiastic shikari
of the Forest Department, but that he had failed to bring
it to account The Brahman gentleman was evidently
facetious, if not ironical.
Well, we started for the shrine of Basweshwar this
BASWESHWAR.
201
morning. Having crossed the river in a lop-sided doney ,
hollowed out of an unshapely tree, we were met by the
parish clerk, who presented us each with a lime in acknow-
ledgment of our suzerain rights, and committed us to the
guidance of the patel. The patel was a dark man, tall and
sinewy, wearing in his left ear a gold earring and in his
right ear two. He was reserved and had that in his face
which told he could keep his own counsel. His counsel is
suspected to be the counsel of the wicked sometimes ; but
with that we had nothing to do this morning. He spoke
a language for which he might have taken out a patent,
for it was distinctly a new invention. However, we could
command three languages between us, and had found by
experience that equal parts of the three was the best
mixture for common use, so we got on fairly well.
Starting from the river, we marched along the Malhapur
high road for some time, then took a footpath to the right,
through rice-fields delightfully mixed with patches of
forest and low hills and murmuring streams. The very
place for a jungle cock with his bevy of comely hens ; but
that proud bird’s cheery crow is seldom heard here.
Snares and nooses are laid in his favourite walks, and the
unlicensed gun, I fear, lies m wait for him at many a point.
202
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
I suspect the dark patel knows something about that. But
of birds which are not game the trees were full. Criniger ,
the Yellow Bulbul, with his loud and hearty voice, was
everywhere, and the Green Bulbul and the bright little
Bronzed Drongo and the Racket-tail and others more than
we could stop to note. From one of the loftiest trees a
great Hornbill went off at our approach, his neck stretched
rigidly out, his monstrous bill open, as if gasping with the
effort to carry his great weight through the air, and the
strong flap of his wings making a strange noise in the sky.
We now began to ascend a small preliminary hill. We
stopped for a moment to admire a curiously shaped and
brightly coloured spider. Its web was a beautiful piece of
work, and in the centre there was a white silk mat, on
which it reposed. But when we looked at it too closely, it
suddenly put itself on the other side of the mat. We
looked round on the other side, and it was back on this.
The threads which radiated from the mat were far too
close to let its body pass between. They were elastic, ot
course, and it could easily have pulled them apart with its
feet and struggled through ; but it did not seem to do this,
or indeed to do anything. It simply ceased to be here and
was there, like a conjurer’s shilling. However, we had no
BASWESHWAk.
20 3
time to spare, so we pushed on. Ere long we were hypo-
critically looking about for a spider, or any other excuse to
stop and collect a little breath ; for now the path led
straight up the side of the hill at a gradient of I in I.
Conversation stopped, and we husbanded our breath, like
wise men, for our real needs. Silence is never more golden
than when you are climbing a steep hill.
Everything else was as silent as we, for here there
were no birds. The trunks of the trees rose like tall
pillars, sustaining a leafy roof through which the rays ol
the sun could find no way. The air was cold and still, as
in a vault. There were no butterflies either, except
Melanitis ismene , lover of darkness, as its name seems to
say. It flitted about everywhere, dressed in all the tints
of the fallen leaves, or, alighting among them, fell partly
on its side and was one of them. Long columns of the
Military Ant, the fiercely stinging Lobopelta , crossed the
path everywhere, bent, without doubt, on marauding raids
into some populous termite country. They cannot bear
the sun, and generally return from their excursions when
the day dawns ; but here the day does not dawn.
One other notable creature we saw, a gigantic black
wasp with rusty wings, “of the thickness of a man's
2o 4
A NATURALIST ON TILE PROWL.
finger,” which bizzed and fluttered away among the dead
leaves like a startled Spurfowl. I shouted for my net, but
my trusty henchman was out of hearing. “ So he too
wants breath,” I thought, and was pleased.
Relief came now
as the path wound
round the hill and
even dipped a little
to cross a babbling
stream overhung by
a wicked tangle of
rattan palm. In the
whole vegetable king-
dom there is nothing
more utterly vicious
than this cane. Every
joint is setwith spines,
every frond fringed
with recurved thorns,
and, as if this were
not enough, it holds
out long coachwhips,
toon tree. green and supple,
BASWESHWAR.
205
armed at every inch with fish-hooks to hook the passer by.
Why were thorns created, or how were they developed ?
What is their use, their purpose, or the end of their being ?
But I will keep that question for another day.
Once again we were climbing a hill, and this was worse
than the other. We were forced at last to call a halt and
sit down for ten minutes. Then we set forward again.
For a moment we stopped to admire a magnificent poon
tree, whose trunk, at least nine feet in circumference, rose
up before us like Satan’s spear. And in truth this grand
tree has furnished the mast of many a “great ammiral.”
A single poon is said to have fetched over Rs. 1,000.
At last we reached the top of the hill and walked on
level ground once more. Of course there were still a few
supplementary ascents to make, and it was some time
before we reached the traces of artificial stone steps which
marked the final stage. At the top of this we emerged
from the forest and stood under a great perpendicular
wall of rock, washed clean by the monsoon rain. A
portion of this rock near the top was yellow and friable,
and huge boulders lying about us, with fresh edges, gave
evidence of a very recent fall, while a gaping fissure
plainly foretold another.
2 o6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
We now laid aside all encumbrances, including our hats,
for the cold wind blew like a hurricane, and it was easy to
see that any irreverent head reared above that rock would
be uncapped in the twinkling of an eye. Even the dark
patel removed his headcloth, revealing a long, pineapple-
shaped head, with a thin cascade of grisly hair falling
from the summit. Then we all applied ourselves to the
rickety scaling ladders which had been put up for us, and
in a few seconds we were on the uttermost peak, beside
the dirty rag tied to a bamboo which is the ensign of
Basweshwar. How the wind blew ! And there, not many
yards away, motionless in the air like Mahommed’s coffin,
was a huge vulture, his enormous wings so cunningly
trimmed to the gale that it just held him where he was.
Would I were a vulture, only I never could abide high game.
I asked one of the men where the gods were, for in
these parts they always speak of a deity in the plural, on
very much the same principle, I suppose, on which the
Gadarene maniac replied that his name was Legion. The
man I questioned smiled and pointed out a small hole or
niche in the side of the rock, towards which he scrambled
like a lizard. I had no suckers on my fingers or toes, but
I found it was possible to get into such a position that my
BAS WESH WAR.
207
head hung over the hole, and then my eyes rested on
Basweshwar. He consisted of a small collection of
animals out of a Noah’s ark, very ill made and out of
repair. Some of them were of stone and some of tin or
lead. There was a small stone bull, old and much worn,
a smaller bull of better construction, a tin horseman on
wheels with a drawn sword in his hand, a young hippo-
potamus, or donkey without a tail, and one or two other
little beasts.
There was also a small silver plate engraved with the
pug, or footprint, of Baswa, the saint or politician who
founded the Lingayet sect, and another bearing a rude
figure of a bull. We took these things out one by one
and grew funny over them. Yet these are the holy things
to do reverence to which hundreds of weary worshippers
travel long distances and make this toilsome ascent,
spending the whole night on the hill and burning sacred
fires. Men laugh where angels weep. Charity cannot
veil the truth, nor sophistry change it, that the worshippers
of these things are looking downwards, not upwards ; and
man goes as his face is turned.
My friend, who has the makings of an antiquarian in
him, longed to purloin the engraving of a bull, but I
208
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
restrained him, for eyes were on us. We did, however,
annex two coins, evidently pious offerings, from a shelf
in the rock, leaving in their place a two-anna piece, that
we might be able to repel the charge of meanness. When
we got the verdigris off these coins, we found that they
did not belong to the time of the Sonda kings, but were
copper pice of the Honourable East India Company.
In another part of the rock there was a hole, or cave,
suitable to be the entrance to a subterranean passage
leading to some famous Lingayet shrine in the Himalayas.
These holes always lead somewhere. But the men with
us were not Lingayets and would not even invent infor-
mation. However, the patel supplied the want by giving
us an account of the rise of the shrine. He showed us
a well in the rock which never gets dry, and the broken
walls of a temple and fort. These were never completed
because of the mortality caused by tigers, which carried
off four or five of the workmen every night till they
abandoned the work. The instruments of worship are
now kept in the valley below and brought up for the
annual festival.
We believed all the patel told us, and put it down in
an M.P.’s note-book which we keep. Then we returned
BASWESHWAR.
209
as we came, putting on the brake where we had got up
steam. Treacherous roots made loops across the path
to catch our feet, but we escaped di-saster and reached
our camp at 1 o’clock. The men who went with us are
no doubt looking to hear of our sudden death from
cholera or snake-bite for having provoked the anger of
Basweshwar. They are not Lingayets, but that makes
no difference. In this country a man believes in all
gods and worships his own, just as he believes i'n the
Queen of England and the Czar of Russia, but offers his
limes to the Collector of the district.
THE GUARDIAN OF THE SHRINE.
P
A v
AS I was returning from my
walk this morning I saw what
I believe is a very unusual
thing — a Green Tree Snake
crossing the road. Cobras
and vipers are fond of cross-
ing the road, and in some
places you cannot go out for
a walk without seeing their “snakey wiles” impressed
Chapter XIX.
THE GREEN TREE
SNAKE.
THE GREEN TREE SNAKE.
21 I
upon the dust. A good man once assured me that
they do this on purpose to eat the dust, and so
fulfill Genesis iii. 14. But the Green Snake appears
to be exempted from the curse, and you oftenest
find it festooning the slender branches of some tree, or
gliding over the twigs with a swift, imperceptible motion,
like a clear stream over a mossy rock. This one was
crossing the road, however, beyond a doubt, when I came
upon it, and I was puzzled to know what its object could
be. Of course I know that it was crossing the road
because it wanted to get to the other side. That occurred
to me at the time. But I mean, why did it want to get
to the other side ?
On the other side, among the grass, was a very large
black snake — a cobra, I think — and ;if the Green Snake
had accomplished its purpose, its next course would have
been, I fear, down the black snake’s throat. But at the
sound of my footsteps the black snake rustled away, and
the Green Snake gently raised its head and began darting
out its long, forked tongue.
Why do snakes dart out their tongues in that foolish
way ? Nobody knows, and I cannot even begin to guess
until I have got an answer to another riddle, more difficult
P 2
212
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
still. Why do snakes have those foolish tongues at all?
I cannot think of any purpose which the absurd instru-
ment can serve. As a symbol it is perfect. If I were
a painter and my subject the Old Serpent, who is the
father of lies, whispering into the yet innocent ear
of the mother of all living, just such an oily, double
tongue would I give him. But the Green Snake was not
created to be a symbol. All modern science is opposed
to such an idea. Let its tongue pass for the present.
There it lay, a beautiful creature, as green as grass,
nearly three feet long and shaped like the thong of a
lady’s hunting crop. Its head was very long and narrow,
with a peculiarly sharp snout, and its eye large and
bright, with a cross bar for a pupil. What does it feed on ?
Its throat is scarcely thicker than a goosequill just now,
but what it can stretch to I dare not say. I have lately
seen a photograph of a python coiled round a large Black-
faced Monkey. The monkey was in articulo mortis , his
countenance passing from pain into the placid sadness
of death, and the python was wound about him, with its
grim head resting coldly on his shoulder. The picture
was not a fancy one. The python was found in that
position, not very far from where I now am.
THE GREEN TREE SNA EE.
21 3
Now the neck of that python was not thicker than my
wrist, but I am quite sure that it would not have been at
the trouble to squeeze the life out of that monkey if it had
not trusted it could swallow him. So it may be that my
Green Tree Snake lives on little birds. I hope not. It
certainly did not appear to have a guilty conscience as it
lay there, with its head a little raised, looking strangely
at me. I touched it with my stick, and it lifted its head
a little higher. Then I put my stick under it gently and
lifted it up. If it had been dead it would have slid off on
one side or other, but being alive, it perched on the smooth
stick as if its scales had been so many little grasping feet.
Its tail hung down one side, and on the other its neck
rose up in a beautiful curve, like the letter S. It seemed
rather surprised that a branch of a tree should have come
down to it and saved it the trouble of climbing. It con-
cluded that I in my green shikar suit was the tree, and
began to advance along the stick with the view of climbing
up my arm and mounting my hat. Then it changed its
mind. It seemed to think I was not an inviting sort of
tree, not leafy or twiggy enough, only an old mossgrown
trunk. I really wonder what was passing through the
strange creature’s brain !
214
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL, .
But, by the way, I do not think it has a brain, not
having, in truth, any proper place to keep one. Such
brain matter as it requires to get through life with is
spun out into a sort of chord, threading the beads of
its supple spine. This is why a snake seems to think
and act all over its length. Long after you have
silenced the head the tail goes on protesting. It is the
boasted principle of local self-government : there is nothing
new under the sun.
However, there must be some pretence of a central
directing authority in the polity of this snake, for it can
apparently form a purpose and take measures to carry it
out; I see that it has decided to drop off my stick into the
grass. By degrees it lets itself down till its head is near
the ground, while its tapering tail is wound firmly round
the stick. Then the weakness of all such systems comes
out. The tail refuses to obey orders and will not let go.
Then the head comes back to see what is the matter,
climbing up its own neck with easy grace. But when it
has got half-way up, it reconsiders the matter and allows
that the tail has a right to its own opinion. Then general
vacillation sets in. Every part begins to act for itself
with wonderful energy, producing the most beautiful
THE GREEN TREE SNAKE .
215
effects, curves and twists and graceful swaying motions,
all tending nowhere.
Meanwhile I, who am not troubled with local self-
government, was making substantial progress homewards.
I passed several carts, the cartmen looking out from under
their blankets with drowsy wonder. They never knew
before that Sahebs practised snake-charming. When I
had found a nice grassy plot, I lowered my stick, and
the snake slid away, wondering where all the agitation
of the last half hour had landed it.
No animal has been used by Europeans in India to
graft so many superstitions upon as the Green Tree
Snake. It is the “ Whip Snake ” of commerce, the Cor-
ralillo of Madame Blavatsky. No matter whether it bites
you with its mouth or whips you with its tail, your doom
is sealed. It hangs from the branches of a tree on the
wayside, watching for some unsuspecting passenger’s up-
lifted eye, that it may drop into it. You may have
observed that no M.P. travelling through India ever up-
lifts the eye, except metaphorically. He has been warned.
Now I would not willingly deprive even an M.P. or
a Theosophist of any of the romance of travel, but we
owe a duty to all our fellow-creatures, and I feel bound
21 6
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
to testify that I have found this poor Green Snake to be
the most harmless and the gentlest of living creatures.
And its tameness is charming. It seems to have no fear.
This is because it is green.
If you meet a black snake it flees for its life, and if you
meet a viper, it hisses and dares you to touch it. Were
the Green Snake to do either of these things you would
kill it, but because it is green it just does nothing, and
you brush past the leaves among which it hangs and
never know it is there. So one animal is saved by wari-
ness, but another by the want of it, just as one man pushes
his way through the world by impudence, and another,
like Uriah Heep, by ’umbleness. I meet with fresh
instances of the same thing every few days, with moths,
leaf insects, stick insects, spiders, dressed in strange dis-
guises, which would inevitably be eaten if they fought or
fled, but escape because they do neither. Seeing these
things from day to day, one slowly comes to take in the
truth that lies in that phrase of Darwin’s, “ The Struggle
for Existence.”
217
Chapter XX.
An Anthropoid.
THERE is an anthropoid in
habitant of these hills in whom
I take an interest. The local
varieties of him are many,
from the purely feral Katkurree
of the Tanna and Kolaba jun-
gles to the half-domesticated
Koonbee of the Canara forests,
but I do not think they con-
stitute more than one true
species. It may easily be re-
cognised from the following
description : —
Of small or medium size, colour vary-
ing from brown to nearly black, hands
and feet prehen-ile, ears perforated, earrings present or absent according to
financial condition, body and limbs almost entirely nude, hair on head various,
hair on face wanting or nearly so, upper part of body bearing, in winter, a
218
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
deciduous mantle called a kumblee , lumbar region armed with a sharp koita,
removable at pleasure, close to which there is a gland or pouch containing a
brown substance resembling tobacco ; habits terrestrial or arboreal ; habitat,
the forests of the Sahyadri range.
To this description it may be added that he constructs
for himself a hut of various materials, such as branches of
trees, bamboos, the stems of the karvee and grass, put
together with much ingenuity and plastered with clay.
On one side there is a small aperture, which affords exit
to the occupants and also to smoke. As ants’ nests often
contain small beetles, or curious insects allied to cock-
roaches, for whose presence naturalists have never been
able to account satisfactorily, so dogs of an undetermined
species, and sometimes cats, are found in the dwelling of
this anthropoid, but it is difficult to say what relationship
subsists between them and the occupants.
The anthropoid does not decorate his place of shelter
with shells and bright stones, like the Bower Bird, but in
one corner you will always find a few pots and pans of
metal and an earthen chatty or two. Beyond these and
a small store of food grains he appears to have absolutely
no possessions, for the kumblee and the koita are more
like parts of his structure. They are to him what claws
are to the tiger, or the trunk to the elephant, and to under-
AN ANTHROTOID.
219
stand him at all you must study them as a zoologist
studies the teeth of a strange animal
The kumblee is a home-spun blanket of the wool of
black sheep, thick, strong, as rough as a farrier’s rasp, and
of a colour which cannot get dirty. When the Koonbee
comes out of his hole in
the morning it is wrapped
round his shoulders and
reaches to his knees, guard-
ing him from his great
enemy, the cold, for the
thermometer is down to
6o° Fahrenheit. By-and-
bye he has a load to carry,
so he folds his kumblee into
a thick pad and puts it on
the top of his head. Anon
he feels tired, so he lays
down his load, and arrang- THE anthropoid at home.
ing his kumblee as a cushion, sits with comfort on a rugged
rock, or a stony bank, and has a smoke. Or else he
rolls himself in it from head to foot, like a mummy,
and enjoys a sound sleep on the roadside. It begins to
220
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
rain : he folds his kumblee into an ingenious cowl and is
safe. Many more are its uses. I cannot number them all.
Whatever he may be called upon to carry, be it forest
produce, or grain, or household goods, or his infant child,
he will make a bundle of it with his kinnblee and poise it
on his head, or sling it across his back, and trudge away.
And whatever the kumblee cannot do, the koita can. It
is an instrument midway between a hatchet and a pocket-
knife, and consists of a broad, steel blade, curving round
to a sharp point, and a short wooden handle, which looks
simple, but is more ingeniously contrived for giving a firm,
yet easy, grasp than the best tennis-bat that Ayres ever
turned out. In the hands of one born to the use of it,
there is nothing in the way of hewing, chopping, cleaving,
peeling, or paring, that this instrument will not do. To
say that the koonbee pares his nails with it is a fable,
because he does not pare his nails at all ; but il you would
know what he can do with it, watch him as he prepares
the stony beetle-nut for his quid, or peels sugarcane and
AN ANTHROPOID.
22
chops it into lengths, or slashes the thick rind from a green
cocoanut, and then chips a small hole in the shell that you
may quaff the refreshing beverage with which it is filled.
When at rest the koita hangs from a curious contrivance
attached to the Koonbee' s waistband behind, in which posi-
tion the broad, keen blade hangs over and partly curves
round his undefended sitting parts, and it has always been
a mystery to me how it is prevented from taking “sec-
tions ” at every step. But it is rarely at rest. Whenever
a thornbush, or tangled creeper, or errant branch of a tree,
obstructs his course, his weapon flashes out and the
Koonbee walks on, leaving a broad path behind him flanked
with vegetable ruin. How often has he pioneered me
through what, without his koita, would have been an
impenetrable thicket. It is a fine sight, but after all it is
only like watching a tiger devouring his allowance of flesh
behind his bars at the Zoo.
Could you watch the Koonbee as he wanders alone
through his native wilds, it would be like following the
same savage beast when it leaves its lair and goes forth
in search of its prey. In mere wantonness you would see
him lop the branch of a fair tree and leave it to wither
across the path, or with a single slash kill the young
222
A NATURALIST ON THE FROWN .
sapling that would have grown into one of the monarchs
of the forest. In a few minutes, and to satisfy the needs
of an hour, you would see him reduce to perennial unsight-
liness the shapeliest works of Nature’s hand.
You will infer that the Forest Department regards
him with no friendly eye, and you will be right ; for,
in sooth, there is bitter enmity between them. The
zealous officers of that Department regard the Koonbee ,
I am told, as vermin, which ought to be destroyed,
and he, I fear, regards them as gamekeepers, whose
mission is only his destruction. And now at last they
have devised a means to exterminate him by putting an
end to a practice which he calls koomree. This is a
method of agriculture which he prefers to all others. It
consists in felling the forest, burning it where it lies,
scattering a few handfuls of coarse grain among the
ashes, and reaping the crop when it is ready. Thus, by
destroying forest worth a hundred rupees, he gets a crop
worth twenty for a year or two, and then the strength of
the virgin soil is exhausted, so he moves on and repeats
the process elsewhere.
From time immemorial he has lived by tilling the
ground in this simple fashion without check, and now it
AN ANTHROPOID.
221
is forbidden, and nothing remains for him but to die. I
feel for him, but I should like to feel for him wisely. The
echo of all suffering, deserved or undeserved, should
be sympathy, but sympathy, like some precious balm, may
be applied to the wrong part, unless you clearly understand
the disease. So I tried to diagnose the case of the poor
Koonbee. I selected a dirty, little old man, whose mother
had named him Yelleep and bequeathed him a pleasantly
ugly face, with a genial smile, which quite lighted up the
few reddish yellow teeth that still remained in his old
mouth. I thought I might gain his heart if I translated
to him the words of the poet —
“Drops of compassion
Tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall as
Soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.”
But I found that my acquaintance with the noises which
he called his mother tongue was not equal to the task.
So I put him a simple question, What did he eat ? He
replied that he ate nothing ! How could he eat, having
no food ? Further questions only served as encores to
evoke a repetition of the same song. It was evident that,
though his brain was like a London sky, one idea loomed
224
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
distinctly through the fog, and it was this, that he was a
miserable creature and good might come of my knowing
it. However, I took him in flank and rear, and laid
snareful questions in his path, until I had got a tolerable
idea of the resources of his little community. They
cultivate rice in the monsoon, and some fields produce a
second crop in the cold season. They can grow sugarcane
too, and coffee is almost wild. They collect myrabolams
in the jungle, for which the Forest Department pays them
at a fair rate. They have no lack of cattle, but the cows
yield little milk, and what they yield the Koonbee does
not use. He keeps no poultry, because it is against the
rules of his caste to eat fowls or their eggs ; but he doubts
whether the jungle fowl is a true fowl, and he gives him-
self the benefit of the doubt, snaring it when he can. He
sets most ingenious traps also for wild cats, against the
eating of which there is no law, and nooses for hares, which,
though not so tasty as wild cats, are not to be despised.
Sometimes (my authority is Yelleep) the wild dogs kill
a Sambhur near the village, and he robs them of their
prey and dines on venison. Of fruits he has the Plantain
and the wild Mango, and, above all, the nutritious and
delicate Jackfruit in unlimited quantity. Of wood for
AN ANTHROPOID .
225
building his hut, or cooking his food, or warming his body,
he has a hundredfold as much as he can use at his very
doors.
I said to myself, What can be the matter with this man ?
His wants are as few as the wants of man can be, and his
resources are many and almost boundless. Why is it that
he does not prosper? In the midst of pastures so rich
that herds of very fine cattle are brought here from other
districts to graze, why should his cows yield no milk ?
With fields watered by running streams and a fertile soil,
why should his crops be always like the seven bad ears in
Pharaoh’s dream ? With the riches of nature so bountifully
scattered about him, why should he be always poor ?
What has been his bane ? Something suggested, ! koomree .
To say that he has lived from time immemorial by koomree ,
what is it but to say that he has lived from time im-
memorial with no necessity for strenuous toil, or wise
forethought, or anxious care ? And the natural result is
this poor creature Yelleep. If this be so, then his posterity
may bless the day when a kind Government cut short the
practice which he so cherishes, as the surgeon amputates
a mortifying limb.
I did not address this argument to old Yelleep, because
Q
226
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
he could not have felt the force of it. He is not interested
in posterity. What has posterity done for him ? His
interest circles round the passing hour in his own little
life. So I let my sympathy touch him where he could
feel it. Bidding him get me a bit of sugarcane for my
horse, I gave him a silver two-anna piece. His eye
glistened, and he asked when I would visit his village
again.
Yes, the lot of old Yelleep calls for manifold sympathies.
Though his appearance does not suggest it, he also, like
Carlyle’s “ infinite Shoe-black,” “has a soul quite other
than his stomach.” " Half of a Universe,” or “ Oceans
of Hochheimer” will not satisfy him. Indeed, he would
refuse your Hochheimer, for he is a total abstainer, even
from the harmless juice of his jungle palm ; and this, I
take it, is an unconscious admission that his soul is more
than his stomach.
If you explore the country round about his haunts, you
will find weird evidences that that soul of his disquiets
him at times. Under a dark and gloomy tree, where
Satyrine butterflies dance, you will find images in clay
of horsemen and cattle, or strange figures carved on stone
pillars, to which he makes solemn approach at times with
AN ANTHROPOID .
22J
ceremonies as strange, and offerings propitiatory or expia-
tory. Do not ask him why he does so, for he knows not.
When the jungle tick bites him, he scratches himself, and
when vague pains or fears from within disquiet him, he
makes oblations. Scratching makes the bite worse, and
I fear his oblations make his soul no better, but he goes
on with the one as with the other, poor, “ darkly sinning,
darkly suffering ” Koonbee.
Q 2,
Chapter XXI.
MONKEYS.
IT was cruelly cold this morning in my extempore hut of
green leaves, which did nothing to keep out the wind and
little to keep out the dew that gathered and fell, like the
first drops of a thunder shower, from the branches of the
trees overhead. Glad I was, when I crawled out of bed,
MONKEYS.
2 29
to see that the embers of last night’s log fire were still
smouldering outside. So I stirred them into a warm glow,
and putting a camp chair and a miniature table beside
them, enjoyed the luxury of hot coffee as I have rarely
done. Surely there is a way of taking even animal
pleasures that does not debase. I loathe an epicure, but I
would not be a stoic either. It has always seemed to me
that the breadth of mind of the great Apostle of the
Gentiles nowhere shows itself more strikingly than when
he says that he is instructed both to be full and to be
hungry. Even in little things I should like to learn the
same lesson. So I think it no shame to dwell on the
recollection of that pleasant cup of coffee beside the warm
fire and under the green trees, before as yet the sun had
shown himself over the high hills to the east. In strange
contrast to my cosy arrangements, but with evident zest
too, a troop of monkeys were having their chotee hazree on
the trees all round ; so I got out my binoculars to have a
good look at them. I was not in a speculative mood.
Speculation, the effort to reach from the known to the
unknown, is an exercise without which some minds cannot
grow. They are like some climbing plants, which throw
out long, blind arms into the air, groping for something of
230
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL .
which they may lay hold and so mount higher. But this
habit of speculation easily becomes a disease, so I will not
speculate this morning, but only observe.
The monkeys are scarcely thirty yards away, and the
glasses bring them so near to me that I feel as if I could
pat their heads. One fine old patriarch is sitting on a Jack-
fruit tree. Monkeys do not perch, nor squat like natives,
but sit as a man does on a low stool. They are very clever
at finding seats among the branches with a rest for their
feet in front, and the long tail hanging down behind seems
to make their position more secure. I imagine tails were
discarded by degrees as the advanced apes took more and
more to the ground. But I am speculating again and on
a dangerous subject. The patriarch on the jack-fruit tree
sits with his back curved like a large C. He needs a little
discipline with the back board. From time to time he ex-
amines the ends of the branches, and nipping off a tender
shoot, puts it into his mouth and munches away. There
is a weary look in his light brown eyes. Why do monkeys
always look so sad? The hair of his head projects over his
low forehead like the peak of a cap, and his coal-black face
is fringed with a hoary line of whisker and beard, which
follows his jawbone like the first growth on the face of a
MONKEYS.
231
young Jew. The beard of the Lion Monkey is like that
which will dignify the young Jew ten years later. I see a
fine avenue for speculation here, but I will refrain. There
are no Lion Monkeys quite so far north as this. These
are all Langoors , or Black-faces. On a Mango tree hard
by there is another, which is a mother and has a little son.
I cannot guess his age, but his stature, when sitting,
appears to be seven or eight inches. He feels the cold,
and follows his mother about till she sits down, and then
he comes and nestles in her bosom. She goes on nipping
off tender shoots and eating them.
The scene takes my thoughts back a year or two, to one
of the most pathetic sights I ever saw. One morning, on
a rocky hill sparsely covered with small trees, I disturbed
a troop of monkeys, which made a bolt over the open
ground to some thicker forest in a valley below. Three
however, disregarding me, remained in one tree, making
horrible noises at something underneath. I soon discovered
that the object of their indignation was a brutal-looking
black dog, which was busily devouring something at the
root of the tree. When the dog saw me it made off,
carrying in its mouth a black thing, like a little animal,
with legs and a long tail. I guessed it was a baby monkey
232
A N A TURALIST ON THE PROWL.
and gave chase as hard as I could, but the dog made good
its escape without dropping its prey. Coming back to the
tree, I searched the ground and found the body of another
little infant, still warm. How did the poor little thing fall
into the jaws of that brute? I have often seen an infant
of the same size clinging to its mother’s breast in perfect
security while she took the most daring bounds from tree
to tree. Perhaps the dog surprised the monkeys on the
open ground, and pressed the mother so hard that she
dropped her offspring to save her own life. Or perhaps
they were enjoying a picnic in fancied security, and had
laid down their little ones when the Zulu rushed upon
them. While I was examining the limp little body, to see
whether life was extinct, a pitiful wail told me that its
mother was watching me. She had retired to another tree
some distance off, and was wistfully gazing at me, wonder-
ing what I was doing with her precious babe. I saw that
there was no hope, but I retired and hid myself to see what
she would do. She came down at once and approached
cautiously, distrusting me and lumping me in her mind, no
doubt, with the brutal black dog. Then she got upon a
stone, and standing erect, looked all round and gave a
plaintive scream. Where was her darling ? At last she
MONKEYS.
233
saw it and ran to it and caught it up and pressed it to her
bosom. But it could not lay hold of her ; it fell Again
and again she raised it and encouraged it to clasp her in
its arms, as it had always done. She did not seem to
understand that it was dead. At length she held it to her
bosom with one hand, and tried to run on three, lest the
black dog might return. When she got to a safe tree, she
clambered up as best
she could, hugging her
precious charge with one
arm, and there she gave
way to her grief and
cried piteously, while a
kite sailed grimly round
the tree, as if claiming his lungoor.
own. I have often wondered what she did in the end with
the little lifeless body. I cannot believe she left it to the
kite. It would not surprise me to know that she buried it, or
laid it in some hollow and covered it with leaves and ston&s.
As I watched the old mother in the Mango tree, picking
and eating the juicy shoots, with her child in her lap,
my ear caught the sound of a woodpecker hammering
with unusual energy. It was not the quick, fierce rap
234
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
with which the bird startles the insects from the bark
of an old tree, but the slower and heavier stroke with
which it excavates a hole for its nest ; so I got up to
reconnoitre, and what was my delight to find that the
sound proceeded from a pair of those curious birds, the
Red Woodpeckers ( Micropternus gularis ), working together
at an ants’ nest, one of those great brown globular struc-
tures which disfigure the branches of the trees on all
these hills. The inmates were pouring forth in hundreds,
fuming with rage and holding their absurd tails over their
heads, but the birds did not appear to mind them. They
worked away for a quarter of an hour, then left, and
have not returned. But they will return and finish their
work and bring up their callow young in the penetralia
of the habitation of a horde of the most venomous and
implacable little insects that the world produces.
As I was watching the woodpeckers, Banawat Beg
came to inform me that a Bullock Dove was sitting on
the top of a Jack-fruit tree. Turtur meena is the Bullock
Dove, because it is always found about those open camping
grounds at which the weary troops of grain-laden bullocks
close their music and lay down their burdens for the night.
The Bullock Dove is fat and tasty, and I, moorgee fed
MONKEYS.
235
mortal, shot this one and handed it to Pedro to be
converted into “ second course.”
And so the quiet current of peaceful observation is
broken. It is common to associate sport and natural
history, and their conditions and surroundings are often
the same, but their spirits are contrary. Murder, which
is the sportsman’s aim,
“Jars against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din
Breaks the fair music that all creatures make
To their great Lord.”
And to have our ear tuned to hear everywhere that
music is the greatest pleasure and the highest good which
the pursuit of natural history offers to us.
TIIE BULLOCK DOVE.
Chapter XXII.
ANOTHER WORLD.
ON the white sand of the sea-shore, against a background
of hazy blue, dark, erect, statuesque, with wings out-
stretched, stood a gigantic vulture. In the heraldry of
nature this means that there has been a funeral among the
village dogs. At least, this is how I interpreted it, and I
looked eagerly round, with handkerchief to nose, for the
disjointed bones and ragged leather of the foul brute
whose ululations were never to trouble me again. But
the beautiful beach was clean and white. There was not
ANOTHER World.
so much as the body of a bandicoot to defile it. Then
I looked towards a little shallow pond, an inlet of sea
water, filled at high tides, near where the vulture stood,
and noticed that a large, black object was floating in it.
When I turned my steps to see what it was, the vulture
began to walk, first slowly, then faster and faster, like an
old lady trying to catch an omnibus. Then it broke into
a trot, and from that into a gallop, while its great wings
beat the air, until it was lifted off the ground and sailed
away over the cocoanut groves and the blue hills beyond.
And what do you think had brought it there? It had
come to “ prospect” the corpse of a porpoise. It had
evidently found the concern unworkable, and resigned it
to me without a grudge. I found it unworkable too, for
it must have been dead some two or three days. Its sides
had shrunk in, the merry little eyes were gone, and the
long row of sharp teeth showed fiercely in the shrivelled
snout. Alas, poor Yorick ! Perhaps I had seen him before
and watched his sportive gambols round my boat. He
would come up with a puff and heave himself half out of
the water and dive again, waving an adieu with his tail to
the inhabitants of the world of air. He had doubtless
been a prince of his tribe, for he was a large porpoise,
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
238
measuring fully eight feet and a half in length. Now he
will gambol no more, and the herd will follow another
leader. But perhaps he did not gambol. Perhaps he was
a solitary and surly old brute. I always think of porpoises
as the merriest of beasts, but it may be a very one-sided
view. We only see them in their sportive moods and
fancy they are always sportive. When they are sullen
or sad, doubtless they mope somewhere down in the dark
unfathomed caves of ocean, looking at the gems of purest
ray serene. And if they have fits of ill-temper or fierce
passion, in which they become as dangerous as a rogue
elephant or a mad bull, how should we know ?
These things go on in a world to which we have no
access. I wish that I could gain admittance to it for a
while and watch the ways of those who are born and live
and die within its bounds. I should like to see a mother
porpoise with her young. Where does she cradle it, and
how does she nurse it ? Remember, that the baby por-
poise is not a fish, but a beast, and would soon die if left
at the bottom of the sea. The mother must not only feed
it and warm it, but “ breathe ” it Does she clasp it in her
flappers and bring it up and hold its little nose above the
water ? Her lot is happy in one thing : her baby cannot
ANOTHER IVOR ZD.
239
cry. What a mercy it would be if we could put human
infants under water, not always, but just sometimes, when
they wax too — - — . But I am writing like a sf ameful old
bachelor. Let us return to our mother porpoise.
Has she a cosy bed of seaweeds down in some hollow
of the deep, where sharks will not find it ? Is she terrible
at such times with those grim teeth of hers ? Whalers say
that maternal affection is very strong in all these warm-
blooded denizens of the sea. Moving among cold fishes
and eels and brainless cuttlefish and jellies, they nurse
their young and love them and show that they belong to a
higher order of beings.
Thinking of these things, one comes to realize that that
blue surface, rippling with silvery waves, separates two
worlds. We sail over it and are conscious of one world
only, the beautiful world of sunshine and green hills : the
blue waves seem to be a part of it. But down beneath
the blue waves are there not hills too and valleys, smooth
slopes waving with soft sea- weed, coral-capped mountains
on which the sunbeams play through the restless water in
hyaline tints, dark ravines which no ray ever reaches,
black precipices, oozy flats ? No winds are there, but
currents blow. There is no landscape, no distant view,
240
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
but changeful tints of mellow light : no sound, but a kind
of murmurous silence more or less distinct.
To this weird world fishes belong by birthright, and in it
they seem to be in their proper place ; but how did air-
breathing beasts become natives there ? How came the
Red Indian to the New World, where Columbus found
him ? There be many questions, but few answers. Otters
invade the world of water, and spend much of their lives
in it, but they come home to a warm burrow and a dry
bed. The seal, too, and the walrus hunt for their prey in
the deep, but their birthplace is on the ice-covered shore,
and there they return to rest. With the porpoise and
the dolphin and the grampus and the whale the case is
different. They have cut off all correspondence with their
blood relations on the land. Their fore-feet are fins, only
two bones remain to witness that they have a hereditary
right to hind legs, and their tails are modelled after the
tails of fishes. There is one bond they cannot break,
however. They must breathe our air or die. So they
come to the surface of the water, to the borders of our
world, and lift their heads, and we see them. And how
do we welcome them ? With harpoons.
The fishermen of these coasts set little value on the
ANOTHER WORLD.
24I
oil of the porpoise and none on its hide, and for this I feel
grateful. Sometimes the porpoise gets into the great
stake nets and is hauled up with other big “ fishes,” to be
cut up and eaten ; but for the most part he is not per-
secuted, and will frolic without fear in the very harbour
among moving boats. This is Steno plumbeus. Doubtless
there are other kinds, but a glimpse of a nose, then of a
back, then of a tail, is a scanty foundation for an intimate
•acquaintance. Whales are not uncommon, and will now
and then collide with a fishing boat, or small pattimar,
and send it to the bottom.
The best view I ever had of a whale was not far from
here, when two dark islands appeared to rise up suddenly
not far from the boat in which I was sailing. They were
doubtless Balaenoptera indica , the largest of all living
things in this world. They swam peacefully, side by side,
diving for a few seconds and then rising again. At last they
went down into their own home and left me, as comets from
unknown regions of the universe show themselves, and
when we have wondered at them for a while, depart again.
On the evening of the day on which I saw the dead
porpoise I fell in with an old fisherman, who told me
all about it. He had been the first to see it two days
R
24 1
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
before, drifting in with the tide. It was then quite fresh,
and if he had only been a Kharvee, or a Hurkuntur, or a
Diwar, there would have been a feast that night, for he
told me in a tone of sweet resignation that porpoise flesh
was very good. But he was a Gabit, and Gabits do not
eat porpoises. I asked why not, and he said that it was
not the custom of his caste. And this was sufficient.
After all, in a world of mystery, surrounded by a
hundred things he does not understand, what safer course
can a man take than to do as his fathers did ? So rain
runs in the channels cut by the rain that fell before it and
finds its way to the sea. You will say that no progress
is possible if we follow this doctrine. But progress is not
one of the gods of the Gabit, and he will not worship it.
Who knows where it might lead him ? He desires safety
and deliverance from the hazard and travail of thought.
If you press him to tell his reason for not eating the
porpoise, he will say, with a diffident grin, that his people
consider it a cow of the sea. But this is philosophy, or
theology if you will. Man, being a rational animal, must
frame explanations of the things he does, or refuses to do,
but these explanations come after his actions and have
nothing to do with the motives of them. The reason why
ANOTHER WORLD. 243
the Gabit will not eat porpoise is that he is a Gabit and
no Gabit eats porpoise. And it is the same with us all.
Why do we Englishmen not eat frogs ? Because it is
contrary to our caste. Frenchmen eat frogs. At one
time the porpoise was eaten in England and graced royal
banquets. It was served up with a sauce of bread crumbs
and vinegar and sugar. But caste rules change even in
India. What did Hindoos not eat and drink in Vedic
times ? So now we do not eat porpoise and look down on
those who do — like the Gabit. After all, there is a great
deal of human nature in man, whatever his colour or creed.
K 2
See page 25 4
Chapter XX 1 1 1.
A PANTHER HUNT.
I HAVE never in
my life written a
tale of sport, or a
narrative of per-
sonal adventure ;
but I have read a
good many, and I
think I know how
the thing should be
done, so I will turn
aside from the
peaceful course of
these papers and
endeavour to give
an account of what befell me not long ago.
My friend H. and I had just arrived at an out-worn
little town, which had once been a place of some im-
246
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
portance, and about sunset, having disposed of urgent
work and dismissed our clerks, we went out for a stroll
round a fine old fort in the middle of the plain to the
east of the town. My friend had three dogs, rowdy
little beasts, supposed to be fox-terriers, and I had a
respectable and respected old spaniel, which acted as
their guide, philosopher and friend. These accom-
panied us.
As we neared the dark old fort, a pair of great Fish
Owls came out of it and flew past us. I remembered
finding their nest, nearly two years ago, in a large hollow
tree just inside the gate. There was one young one, a
goblin in yellow down, with eyes as large as a rupee,
and so plentifully stocked with vermin that I made all
the haste I could to restore him to his parents and wash
my hands of him. I mentioned to H. that the natives in
the town say that there is generally a small panther in
the fort. H. ridiculed the idea and insinuated that my
shikarree , Banawat Beg, had been playing on my credulity.
H. is naturally disputatious, and I have always had a
strong, innate passion for the truth, so we were on the
borders of an argument, when H. started and exclaimed,
“ What is that ? ” I listened and heard a distant sound
A PANTHER HUNT.
247
like the sawing of wood. “A panther,” I answered, not
in the spirit of controversy, but because it really was
uncommonly like the voice of a panther. However, it
was not repeated, and H. thought it must be some night
bird ; so we went on our way. As we got round to the
east of the fort the walls loomed dark and grand against
the western sky, and stopping to admire them, I noticed
a stone, or some other object, very like the head and ears
of a large cat, on the top of the mound just under the
walls. “Look there,” I said jocatively, “do you now
see the panther inspecting us ? ” H. replied, “ I do/'
At that instant the object moved. “ By the Accountant-
General,” cried H., “ it is a panther. What shall we do ?
It will be down on the dogs.” In truth, the situation
was not a pleasant one. We could not move five yards
from where we stood without losing sight of the beast
against the black wall, and then it would be at liberty
to stalk us in the darkness and take its pick of the dogs.
Of course it would take Moses, who is fleshy and tender.
We held a hurried council and decided that H. should
make for the high road as fast as he could, with the dogs,
while I should remain where I was and mount guard on
the panther. As he went away, I saw it raise itself and
248
A NATURALIST ON THE TROWL.
look longingly after him : then it turned and looked at
me. It clearly saw that it was watched and cursed me
in its heart, but dared not advance.
Giving my friend time to get safe away, I began to
think what I should do. It was nearly dark now, and
I felt that I could not walk home with that blackguard
watching me. So I walked slowly towards it, but it did
not move. I stopped and shouted at the pitch of my
voice, but it gave no sign. I advanced again till I seemed
to be within fifty yards of it, but still that round head
with two ears remained motionless against the sky. It
looked very large at this distance. At last I took up a
stone and threw it with all my might. It fell just in front
of the brute, and in an instant he sprang to his feet and
jumped into the fort ditch. Then I got myself home as
fast as I could, and found that H. had tied up the dogs
and gone out again to look for me.
Next morning we visited the place and could see plainly
where the panther, coming down from one of the bastions
into the ditch, had made a path through the long grass.
We could also trace his course up the side of the ditch
to the mound on top of which he had stopped to recon-
noitre the plain when we first noticed him. Much against
A PANTHER HUNT.
249
the better judgment of our shikarrees , we determined at
once to beat the fort for him.
Before going any further with my story it is necessary
to give a short description of the place. The fort is built
on ground very little higher than the surrounding plain,
so that it never owed any strength to its situation ; but all
that the art of the times could do was done to make up
for this disadvantage. Its walls were of solid masonry,
very thick and of great height, and at intervals there were
strong bastions and towers. There were two strong gates,
an outer and an inner, with flanking towers. A deep
moat and mound surrounded the whole. Inside, a
remarkably fine well supplied the garrison with water,
while a temple and a mosque helped them to think that
their religious needs were satisfied also. Such was the
fort before time took it in hand. Now great trees of the
fig tribe tower above the wall, while their roots straggle
and sprawl over the masonry, separating and dislodging
the massive stones. The “ hyssop on the wall,” rank
grasses and pendant masses of creeping plants, make it
difficult to see the fortifications from without. Within,
aromatic shrubs, thorn bushes and fruit trees, tied together
with the stinging cowitch, make it difficult to walk in any
250
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
direction, while gigantic mango and tamarind trees throw
a gloomy shade over the whole. It was simply insanity
to attempt to beat for a dangerous beast in such a place,
and we must have been infatuated to think of it. Surely it
was a case of quem dei perdere volunt priusquam dement ant,
if ever there was one.
As I have said, both our shikaimees were dpposed to the
plan, but when we insisted on it, they carried out our wishes
loyally. They were two of the most remarkable men whom
it has been my lot to meet, and very unlike each other.
Tajoob Khan, my friend’s lieutenant, was a large-boned,
tall man of black complexion, with small beard parted in
the middle, silent, cool and self-contained, almost phlegmatic
until danger kindled him. He was dressed in a green
shikar suit and wore in his belt a dearly beloved hunting
knife, with which he had once saved his master’s life and
killed a tiger, burying it to the hilt in the brute’s heart.
His grateful master had the trusty blade fitted with a new,
richly chased handle, bearing an inscription in Arabic
characters to commemorate the event ; and Tajoob Khan
will never part with that weapon till he parts with life.
My man, Banawat Beg, was fair-skinned, small and spare,
but supple as a cat. He was dressed in a suit of plain
A PANTHER HUNT.
251
khakee , and wore on his head a small cap with flaps to pull
over his ears when the wind blew cold. I never saw a
native so restless in mind and body as little Banawat Beg.
He had an eye like a hawk, and appeared to know every
beast, bird and tree in the jungle.
It would be difficult to say which of these men had been
present at the death of most tigers, and there was a good
deal of jealousy between them, but for once they were
fully agreed as to the only practicable way of beating the
fort. This was to divide it into two halves by a line of
men armed with tom-toms and crackers, and beat down
one half first and the other after. We got plenty of men
without difficulty, for almost everyone in the town had to
avenge the death of a fine goat or a favourite dog ; but
the tom-toms had all been engaged for a marriage at the
house of a wealthy vakeely and we could not get one. But
Banawat Beg, always fertile in resource, went to the
coppersmith’s lane and hired a hundred kettles and large
handies , which when struck with hollow bamboos made an
abominable din. As soon as we could get into suitable
trees, the beat began, with the usual yelling and shouting
so familiar to every shikarree. Above all I could hear
the sonorous voice of Tajoob Khan, challenging the
252
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
panther to show his base visage and taunting him about
certain scandals affecting the characters of his mother and
aunts. Suddenly the word bawg (tiger or panther) rang
out in the shrill tone of Banawat Beg and silenced every-
one, and I could hear a heavy animal coming down at a
brisk trot. The men with the kettles and crackers dropped
their apparatus and went up the nearest trees like squirrels.
Fortunately one man tried to take his kettle up with him,
but it slipped from his grasp and fell upon a large stone
just in front of the beast, causing him to double back.
The beaters now began to advance again, and soon I
descried the spotted form of a large panther slinking under
the bush towards H. He was well posted over a piece of
open ground, across which the beast would have to pass.
It did so at a gentle trot, and he fired both barrels, but
without effect. Then it started off at full speed in my
direction. The bushes were so dense that I could not get
a glimpse of it, but the noise it made among the fallen leaves
let me guess its course exactly, and glancing ahead, I marked
a small opening, not more than three inches wide, among
the leaves of a thick corrinda bush, behind which I felt sure
it would pass. I was right. For a moment its body dark-
ened the hole, and I fired. A scuffle in the grass told that
A PANTHER HUNT.
253
the brute was in the throes of death. Reloading, I
approached cautiously, and what was my disgust to see a
huge hyaena lying on the ground, shot through the heart.
Yet I could have sworn that its skin was spotted when I
first caught sight of it. Not one of us is secure against
the dominion of the imagination over the senses.
The beat was taken up again, but nothing rose except
a small jungle cat, which I stopped with a bullet through
the head. After giving each of the kettle-wallas a little
bamboo bakshees for his cowardice, we beat the other side
of the fort, but found nothing. Where was the panther ?
The general opinion appeared to be that our panther was a
hyaena, but Taj 00b Khan, coming up, silenced that by
showing the head of a goat which he had found in the
temple, still fresh and bleeding. “A hyaena,” he said,
“ would have eaten the head first.” Suddenly Banawat
Beg whispered dekko , and raising our eyes to a tower just
above us, we beheld a large round face looking at us over
the parapet. I raised my gun, and it disappeared. What
was to be done next ? It would be madness to attempt to
clamber up into the tower, even if it were possible.
Banawat Beg solved the difficulty. “ Throw up a cracker, ”
he said. So a large Chinese cracker was lighted and slung
254
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL
into the tower. A moment’s pause, then bang, bang, bang
went the cracker, and in an instant, without a sound, an
enormous panther cleared the parapet and landed in our
midst from a height of twenty feet. We all, without
exception, fell flat on our backs. It was the most ludicrous
sight I ever saw. There we were, lying on the ground,
looking at this great tom cat, with its back arched, its tail
erect, its ears thrown back, and its whiskers standing out
fiercely. It stood so for a moment, then, with a snarl,
bounded away through the thicket. We were up and after
it in a moment, laughing outright in our excitement. The
incident had changed all our feelings and banished thoughts
of danger. We traced it to a dense patch of cactus, and
taking our stand at one end, sent the beaters to the other.
Out it came like greased lightning, as they say in America.
H. fired both barrels, but missed it. I could not fire for
fear of hitting the beaters. The sport now became more
like rabbit shooting than anything else. From bush to
bush the brute rushed, and the pop of my friend’s gun was
heard every minute. Tajoob Khan did not like this sort
of thing and tried to restrain him, but he knocked down
Tajoob Khan. I tried what I could do, but it was useless.
He was too excited to listen to reason. Dreading the risk
A PANTHER HUNT.
255
to my friend of wounding the panther in such circum-
stances, I waited for the chance of a sure shot. At last it
passed me, and bounding over a high bush, gave a chance.
I fired at it in mid-air, aiming for the heart ; but the sun
was in my eyes, and I only grazed its back. I had done
just what I feared. Its snorts and snarls told too plainly
that it was getting very angry. At last it took refuge in a
recess in the walls, and arching its back, stood at bay, with
a very ugly look in its face. H. was in full pursuit, far
ahead of us all. Frantically I shouted to him to be
cautious, but it was too late. A11 excellent shot with
either gun or rifle, and naturally fearless, he had lost his
head. From less than twenty yards he fired both barrels
at once. With a fearful roar I saw it dart out upon him.
He sprang up a tree, for he was as nimble as a monkey ;
but he stuck in a fork about ten feet from the ground, and
with horror I saw the panther spring upon him and bury
its claws in his shoulders. Its weight dragged it slowly
down, while its claws ploughed through my poor friend’s
back. It fell to the ground only to spring again. Twice
and thrice the sickening process was repeated. I aimed at
the panther’s spine, just behind the shoulder, and pulled
the trigger. My last ball cartridge missed fire ! Catching
256
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
a kettle from the hand of a beater, I rushed to within three
yards of the brute and discharged it at him with all my
force. It struck him full on the head and must have half-
stunned him, for he rushed sulkily under the old archway
again. Then I looked up for my friend. He was reduced
to ribbons. Shreds of cloth and long strips of skin and
flesh floated promiscuously upon the wind, which now
began to howl through the branches of the trees. Madness
took possession of me. I had fired my last ball, but I
remembered how Sir Samuel Baker, in the same predica-
ment, dropped a charging buffalo with a handful of small
change. So I dived my hand into my pocket. There was
no money there, only a penknife with a blade at each end.
This would do. Anything would do. I took a cartridge
loaded with small shot and drove one blade into it, so that
the other blade pointed outwards, then putting it into my
right barrel, I advanced towards the panther. “ Now do
the same to me. Ha ! Ha ! ” I cried, like an exultant
maniac. The brute arched his back and prepared to
spring. Then I fired. When the smoke cleared away, he
was lying motionless on the ground. One blade and half
the handle of the penknife stood out of his right eye, the
other blade was in his brain. Fiercely I said to the men
A PANTHER HUNT.
257
“ Oot/iao,” and left him. Then we collected the shreds of
my poor friend, and putting them into a coolie’s basket,
wended our way home in stern silence. The panther was
found to measure exactly seven feet and one inch, but the
measurement was worthless, as poor H. had cut off nearly
the whole of its tail with his first shot.
It is not usually done, but I may mention that the
events narrated in the second part of this story never really
happened, because we wisely decided not to beat for the
panther, but to sit up for him over a live goat. We did so,
but it was a very tame affair compared with the adventure
which I have described. And after all you cannot limit a
shikarree's adventures to things that have actually hap-
pened. It would rob the sporting world of half its best
books, and many a sportsman hero of half his reputation.
However, I promise not to do it again.
s
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LARGE GAME SHOOTING
IN THIBET, THE HIMALAYAS, NORTHERN AND
CENTRAL INDIA.
By Brig.-General ALEX* A* A* KINLOCH*
NYAN OR GREAT THIBETAN SHEEP. — Ovis HodgSOtlU.
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By C. E. M. RUSSELL
(late Senior Deputy Conservator of Forests, Mysore Service).
List of Contents.
The Indian Bison — Bison Shooting — Hints to Beginners — The Wild Buffalo, the
Yak, and the Tsine — The Tiger — Incidents in Tiger Shooting — The Panther,
Hunting Cheetah, Clouded Leopard, Snow Leopard, and Indian Lion — The
Chief Bears of India — The Indian Elephant — The Deer of India and the
Himalayas — The Neilgherry Wild Goat — The Wild Goats of Cashmere and
Ladakh — The Wild Sheep of India — The Rhinacerotidae and Suidae of India
— Small Animals worth Shooting — Game Birds and Wild Fowl of India — -
Poachers and Nuisances — Camp Equipment, Outfit, Servants, etc. — Rifles,
Guns, Ammunition, etc. — Hints on Skinning and the Preservation of Trophies,
etc., etc.
Saturday Review.— “We have nothing but praise for his accuracy and for; the
value of his practical advice. . . . Not a few of the chapters are very attractive
reading, being full of exciting anecdote and picturesque reminiscences. . . . His
chapters on forest campaigning, camp equipment, and sporting batteries deserve
careful attention.”
Civil and Military Gazette (Lahore). — “ . . . Cannot fail to appeal to
sportsmen of every standing, from the veriest tyro, to whom it will prove
particularly useful, to the oldest hand at the game. . . . The general excellence'
and completeness of the book should ensure it the position of a standard work.”
Second Edition. Post 8vo. , 8j-. 6 d. Rs. 6.6.
SEONEE;
OR, CAMP LIFE ON THE
SATPURA RANGE.
A Tale of Indian Adventure.
By R. A. STERN DALE,
IF.R.G.S., F.Z.S.
Ilhistrated by the Author.
With an Appendix containing a brief Topographical and Historical Account
of the District of Seonee, in the Central Provinces of India.
W. THACKER &> CO., LONDON.
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A NATURAL HISTORY OF THE
MAMMALIA OF INDIA,
BURMAH AND CEYLON.
By R. A. STERNDALE, F.R.G.S., F.Z.S.
With 170 Illustrations by the Author and others*
The geographical limits of the present work have been ex-
tended to all territories likely to be reached by the sportsman
from India. It is copiously illustrated, not only by the author
himself, but by careful selections made by him from the works
of well-known artists.
Knowledge. — “ It is the very model of what a popular natural history should be.”
Saturday Review Full of accurate observations, brightly told.”
Athenceum. — “The results of a close and sympathetic observation.”
The Times. — “ The book will, no doubt, be specially useful to the sportsman,
and indeed has been extended so as to include all territories likely to be reached
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USEFUL HINTS TO YOUNG
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THE SPORTSMAN’S MANUAL.
In Quest of Game in Kullu, Lahoul, and Ladak to the T so Morari
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and Kashmir, and a Detailed Description of Sport in more than
100 Nalas. With 9 Maps.
By Lt.-Col. R. H. TYACKE, late H.M/s 98th and 34th Regiments*
Fourth Edition. Demy 8vo., cloth, 7 s. 6d. net. Rs. 5.
THE TOURIST AND SPORTSMAN'S
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By A. E. WARD
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Giving in a small compass all the principal routes in Kashmir and Ladak — >
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DENIZENS OF THE JUNGLES.
A SERIES OF SKETCHES OF WILD ANIMALS, ILLUSTRATING
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With Letterpress and Description of each of the 12 Plates.
By R, A, STERNDALE, F.R.G.S., F.Z.S.
W. THACKER &> CO., LONDON.
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THE ROD IN INDIA.
BEING HINTS HOW TO OBTAIN SPORT, WITH
REMARKS ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF FISH
AND THEIR CULTURE.
By H. S, THOMAS, F.L.S. (Madras Civil Service, Retired),,
Author of “ Tank Angling in India.”
With numerous full-page and other Illustrations.
Field. — “ A masterly treatise on the art of angling.”
Spectator. — “A more complete guide to its subject than could be found
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GAME, SHORE, AND WATER BIRDS
OF INDIA.
WITH ADDITIONAL REFERENCES TO THEIR ALLIED
SPECIES IN OTHER PARTS OF THE WORLD.
By Colonel A. LE MESSURIER, C.I.E., F.Z.S., F.G.S.
(late Royal Engineers), Author of
it Kandahar in 1879,” “ From London to Bokhara and a Ride through Persia.
With 180 natural size Illustrations from actual specimens.
A Vade Mecum for the Sportsman, embracing all the Birds at all
likely to be met with in a Shooting Excursion.
Reviews of Third Edition.
Nature “ Colonel Le Messurier writes as a field naturalist for field naturalists
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is profusely illustrated with wood cuts giving the characteristic features of most of
the species.”
Knowledge. — “ Compact in form, excellent in method and arrangement, and as
far as we have been able to test it, rigidly accurate in details, Colonel Le Messurier’s
book should become the vade mecum of every sportsman and naturalist whom duty
or pleasure may compel to visit India.”
Madras Times. — “ Neatly and handily bound, well printed and clearly
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work is well arranged, and will probably fully answer the requirements of even a
veteran sportsman.”
W. THACKER & CO., LONDON.
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THE BIRDS OF CALCUTTA.
A SERIES OF SHORT
HUMOROUS BUT FAITHFUL
DESCRIPTIONS OF THE
COMMON BIRDS OF
CALCUTTA.
By FRANK FINN, F.Z.S.
M.B.OAL
(late Deputy Superintendent
Calcutta Museum). '
With Illustrations by H. GOODCHILD.
ft' Field. — “There is a good deal of bird life to be observed in and around
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it has some good illustrations by Mr. Herbert Goodchild.”
Crown 8 vo. , cloth.
GARDEN AND AVIARY BIRDS
OF INDIA.
A HANDBOOK FOR FIELD NATURALISTS AND
BIRD FANCIERS.
With Illustrations drawn from life.
By FRANK FINN, F.Z.S., M,B.O.U.
[ Nearly Ready.
In two Parts. Crown 8vo. , sewed, each 3^. 6d. net. Rs. 2.8.
HOW TO KNOW—
THE INDIAN DUCKS.
THE INDIAN WADERS.
\N early Ready.
By FRANK FINN, F.Z.S., M.B.O.U.
(late Deputy Superintendent Calcutta Museum).
Nature . — “We have nothing but commendation for this excellent little volume."
IO
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THE COMMON SENSE OF RIDING.
RIDING FOR LADIES.
WITH HINTS ON THE STABLE.
By Mrs* POWER O'DONOGHUE.
With 68 Illustrations by A. Chantrey Corbould.
This able and beautiful Volume forms a standard on the subject, and is one
which no lady can dispense with.
Reviews of First Edition.
Punch. — “ Mrs. Power O’Donoghue (more power to her — not that she wants
it) shows no sign of ‘ falling off ! ’ Indeed, she shows her readers how to become
riders, and to stick on gracefully. She sketches her pupils ‘ in their habits as they
ride,’ and gives them a bit of her mind about bits, and tells them about spurs on
the spur of the moment.”
Field. — Mrs. O’Donoghue is great on the subject of a lady’s riding-dress,
and lays down useful information which should not be forgotten
From first to last she never errs on the side of anything approaching to bad taste,
which is more than can be said for some equestriennes.”
Daily News.- — ■“ It is characteristic of her book, as of all books of any value,
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W. THACKER & CO., LONDON.
i
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NOTES ON STABLE MANAGEMENT*
WITH GLOSSARY OF HINDUSTANI
WORDS.
By Vety. Col. J. A. NUNN,
F.R.C.V.S., C.I.E., D.S.O.
This little work is written specially to give
the new arrival in India some idea as to the
management ot his horses, especially those
who are getting up a stable for the first time.
It contains invaluable hints and information,
only to be learned in the ordinary way by
long and often bitter experience.
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Fifth Edition. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 3^. net. Rs. 2.
INDIAN HORSE NOTES.
By Major C .
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STATION POLO*
THE TRAINING AND GENERAL TREATMENT OF POLO
PONIES, TOGETHER WITH TYPES AND
TRAITS OF PLAYERS.
By Lieut. HUGH STEWART (Lucifer).
Contents.
THE POLO PONY : The Raw Pony — Preliminary Training — First Introduction
— Stable Management — Tricks — Injuries — Shoeing. STATION POLO :
Station Polo, How shall we Play ? — The Procrastinator — The Polo Scurry —
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Fcap. 8 vo., limp cloth, is. 6 d. net. Re. 1.
GUIDE TO EXAMINATION OF HORSES
FOR SOUNDNESS.
A HANDBOOK FOR STUDENTS AND BEGINNERS.
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DOGS FOR HOT CLIMATES.
A Guide for Residents in Tropical Climates
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Management, and Doctoring.
By VERO SHAW and
Captain M* H. HAYES*
With 24 Illustrations from Photographs and
Drawings.
Indian Planters Gazette. — “The authors
of ‘ Dogs for Hot Climates’ show in a concise
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INDIAN NOTES ABOUT DOGS.
THEIR DISEASES AND TREATMENT.
By Major C ♦
Contents*
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THE MANAGEMENT AND
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AND THE POINTS TO BREED FOR.
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THE EDITION DE LUXE OF THE
WORKS of G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.
Edited by the Right Hon* Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart*, M*P*
The Volumes are printed from new type on
hand-man paper, specially manufactured lor this
Edition, and handsomely bound in buckram,
with gilt tops. Coloured Frontispiece on
Japanese vellum, and full-page Illustrations by
well-known Artists.
I. RIDING RECOLLECTIONS.
Illustrated by Hugh Thomson.
II. KATERFELTO. Illustrated by
G. H. Jalland.
III. UNCLE JOHN. Illustrated by
E. Caldwell and and H. M.
Brock.
IV. MARKET HARBOROUGH.
Illustrated by Hugh Thomson and
Finch Mason.
V. CONTRABAND. Illustrated by
Bernard Partridge.
VI. M OR N. Illustrated by C. E.
Brock.
VII. TILBURY-NO-GO. Illustrated
by E. Caldwell.
VIII. SONGS AND VERSES, and BONES AND I. Illustrated by H. M.
Brock.
IX. BLACK, BUT COMELY. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
X. THE BROOKES OF BRIDLEMERE. Illustrated by Fred Roe.
XI. THE WHITE ROSE. Illustrated by H. Bird.
XII. ROY’S WIFE. Illustrated by Cecil Alden.
XIII. SATANELLA. Illustrated by G. H. Jalland.
XIV. DIGBY GRAND. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XV. SARCHEDON. Illustrated by Harrington Bird.
XVI. ROSINE, and SISTER LOUISE. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XVII. KATE COVENTRY. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XVIII. CERISE. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XIX. QUEEN’S MARIES. Illustrated by G. H. Jalland.
XX. HOLM BY HOUSE. Illustrated by G. H. Jalland.
XXI. GENERAL BOUNCE. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XXII. GLADIATORS. Illustrated by Harrington Bird.
XXIII. GOOD FOR NOTHING. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
XXIV. THE INTERPRETER. Illustrated by H. M. Brock.
Standard. — “ He made the sporting novel something so entirely different to what it had
been, that he must be iecognised as the originator of a new species, more elevated, more
refined, and more largely imbued with the spirit of modern society.”
Times. — “ The edition has everything to recommend it externally.”
Times. — “ Good paper and type and a good serviceable binding.”
Field. — “ Altogether a pleasure to read.”
Saturday Review. — “Fulfils every requirement of the book-lover in paper, type, illus-
trations, and binding.”
Truth. — “ Has every claim to be considered an edition de hixe .”
14
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NERAL.
Large Fcap. (17 X 11), bound art cloth, 21s. net. Rs. 18.6.
} -
THE
PHIL
MAY
FOLIO
OF CARICATURE DRAWINGS & SKETCHES
In Line Block, Half-Tone, and Photogravure .
The Folio includes about 250 Drawings by the late Artist,
largely selected by himself from Phil May's Annual as
representing his best efforts in various styles. A number of
Sketches are also given which have never before been published.
The Drawings are arranged in fourteen groups, as follows, each
group being preceded by a brief comment : —
1. Personages and Celebrities — 2. Costers and Cockneys — 3. Brother
Brushes— 4. The Bars and the Streets — 5. Character Studies —
6. Within and Without the Ghetto — 7. Types I Have Met ; and
Things we See when we come out without Our Gun — 8. Among the
Thespians — 9. Studies and Sketches Abroad — 10. With the Children
— 11. By the Sea — 12. On the Country-side — 13. Sporting Sketches —
14. Irish and Scottish.
A Biography by a personal friend and a full-page portrait of the Artist
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PUBLISHED YEARLY.
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PHIL MAY’S
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Also the following Back Numbers: —
1896
2s. 6d. net.
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5-f. net.
1897 ...
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1900
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1898 Summer
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it. net.
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is. net.
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ELEMENTARY BRIDGE.
By “ GRIMM.”
A NOTEBOOK FOR BEGINNERS.
Contents.
Explanation of Term — General Rules — Offensive
Declarations — Defensive Declarations — Leads —
Play — Points, &c.
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ASTRONOMY
WITHOUT A TELESCOPE.
By E. WALTER MAUNDER, F.R.A.S.
(Of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich).
An Introduction to the Knowledge of the Constellations, and to the
Study of the Heavens with the Unassisted Sight.
Fully Illustrated with Full-page Plates, and with Maps and Charts for Identifying
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COMPLETE CELESTIAL ATLAS, together with a FULL INDEX
OF STARS, PLANETS, and CONSTELLATIONS.
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THE TRIBES ON MY FRONTIER.
AN INDIAN NATURALIST’S FOREIGN POLICY.
By EHA.
With Fifty Ilhtstrcitions by F. C. MACRAE.
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Knowledge. — “ This is a delightful book, irresistibly funny in description and
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A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL.
By EHA.
MAGPIE ROBIN.
With Eighty Illustrations by
R. A. STERNDALE, F.R.G.S., F.Z.S
In this volume the Author conducts his
readers to the Jungles and Country round the
Home, and with genial humour and practised
science teaches the interesting art of “ How to
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Beasts, and Insects.
Daily Chronicle. — “ It is one of the most
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BEHIND THE BUNGALOW.
By EHA.
With Fifty-three Illustrations by F. C. MACRAE.
As The Tribes on My Frontier graphically and humorously described the
Animal Surroundings of an Indian Bungalow, the present work portrays with
much pleasantry the Human Officials
\
“ A LITTLE ISLOPE.”
thereof, with their peculiarities,
idiosyncrasies, and, to the European,
strange methods of duty.
The World. — “ These sketches may
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about India will delight in the clever
drawings and the truly humorous
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TWENTY-ONE DAYS
IN INDIA.
BEING THE TOUR OF SIR
ALI BABA, K.C.B.
By GEORGE ABERIGH
MACKAY.
With Thirteen full-page Illustrations.
Land and Water.— '' The scores of letters
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LAYS OF IND*
COMIC, SATIRICAL, AND
DESCRIPTIVE.
Poems Illustrative of Anglo-Indian Life*
By ALIPH CHEEM*
Illustrated by the Author, Lionel
Inglis, R. A. Sterndale, and others.
The World. — “ This is a remarkably bright little
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excellent fooling.”
Liverpool Mercury. — “ One can readily imagine
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sistibly droll.”
Scotsman. — “The ‘Lays’ are not only Anglo-
Indian in origin, but out-and-out Anglo-Indian in
subject and colour.”
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ONOOCOOL CHUNDER MOOKERJEE*
A MEMOIR OF THE LATE JUSTICE ONOOCOOL
CHUNDER MOOKERJEE.
By Mi MOOKERJEE.
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INDIA IN 1983.
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British and the subsequent Government by a Babu Raj.
Indian Daily News. — “Instructive as well as amusing.”
I ~ Times of. India. — “ There is not a dull page in the hundred and thirty-seven pages of
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Demy 8vo., cloth, 6s. net. Rs. 4.8.
ANIMALS OF NO IMPORTANCE*
A SERIES OF HUMOROUS - ESSAYS ON SOME OF THE
COMMON BIRDS, BEASTS, AND INSECTS OF INDIA.
By D. DEWAR, I.C.S.
Nature. — “We may commend the work as an excellent practical example of ‘Nature
Teaching.’ ”
Indian Daily News. — ‘ ‘ The sketches are brightly and'cleverly written, and there is a ripple
■of humour running throughout them, which makes them pleasant and amusing reading.”
C 2
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ALL THE NAVIES OF THE WORLD AT
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CONTENTS. —The Navies of all
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ITS HISTORY FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT DAY.
HATSUSE.
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A MANUAL OF GARDENING
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FLOWERS AND GARDENS IN INDIA.
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FLORA SIMLENSIS.
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FOOD FOR THE TROPICS.
BEING A SHORT DESCRIPTION OF NATIVE PRODUCE
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INDIAN TEA:
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