Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

I could not help going round the rock to see if her body should be washed out when the torrent reappeared, when, to my astonishment, up she popped all right, not being more than half drowned by her subterranean excursion, and we soon helped her safe ashore. Fortunately for her, the passage had been sufficiently large to pass her, although I have no doubt a man would have been held fast and drowned.

There was so much water in the river that I determined to move from this locality as too dangerous for hunting. I therefore ordered the village people to assemble on the following morning to carry the loads and tent. In the mean time I sent for the dead elk.

There could riot be a better place for a hunting-box than that cave. We soon had a glorious fire roaring round the kennel-pot, which, having been well scoured with sand and water, was to make the soup. Such soup!—shades of gourmands, if ye only smelt that cookery! The pot held six gallons, and the whole elk, except a few steaks, was cut up and alternately boiled down in sections. The flesh was then cut up small for the pack, the marrowbones reserved for "master," and the soup was then boiled until it had evaporated to the quantity required. A few green chilies, onions in slices fried, and a little lime-juice, salt, black pepper and mushroom ketchup, and—in fact, there is no rise thinking of it, as the soup is not to be had again. The fire crackled and blazed as the logs were heaped upon it as night grew near, and lit up all the nooks and corners of the old cave. Three beds in a row contained three sleepy mortals. The hounds snored and growled, and then snored again. The servants jabbered, chewed betel, spit, then jabbered a little more, and at last everything and everybody was fast asleep within the cave.

The next morning we had an early breakfast and started, the village people marching off in good spirits with the loads. I was now en route for Bertram's patinas, which lay exactly over the mountain on the opposite side of the river. This being perpendicular, I was obliged to make a great circuit by keeping the old Newera Ellia path along the river for two or three miles, and then, turning off at right angles, I knew an old native trace over the ridge. Altogether, it was a round of about six miles, although the patinas were not a mile from the cave in a straight line.

The path in fact terminates upon the high peak, exactly opposite the cave, looking down upon my hunting-ground of the day before, and on the other side the ridge lie Bertram's patinas.

The extreme point of the ridge which I had now gained forms one end of a horse-shoe or amphitheatre; the other extremity is formed by a high mountain exactly opposite at about two miles' distance. The bend of the horse-shoe forms a circuit of about six miles, the rim of which is a wall of precipices and steep patina mountains, which are about six or seven hundred feet above the basin or the bottom of the amphitheatre. The tops of the mountains are covered with good open forest, and ribbon-like strips descend to the base. Now the base forms an uneven shelf of great extent, about two thousand feet above the villages. This shelf or valley appears to have suffered at some remote period from a terrible inundation. Landslips of great size and innumerable deep gorges and ravines furrow the bottom of the basin, until at length a principal fissure carries away the united streams to the paddy-fields below.

The cause of this inundation is plain enough. The basin has been the receptacle for the drainage of an extensive surface of mountain. This drainage has been effected by innumerable small torrents, which have united in one general channel through the valley. The exit of this stream is through a narrow gorge, by which it descends to the low country. During the period of heavy rains a landslip has evidently choked up this passage, and the exit of the water being thus obstructed, the whole area of the valley has become a lake. The accumulated water has suddenly burst through the obstruction and swept everything before it. The elk are very fond of lying under the precipices in the strips of jungle already mentioned. When found, they are accordingly forced to take to the open country and come down to the basin below, as they cannot possibly ascend the mountain except by one or two remote deer-runs. Thus the whole hunt from the find to the death is generally in view.

From every point of this beautiful locality there is a boundless and unbroken panorama of the low country.

Unfortunately, although the weather was perfectly fine, it was the windy season, and a gale swept across the mountains that rendered ears of little use, as a hound's voice was annihilated in such a hurricane This was sadly against sport, as the main body of the pack would have no chance of joining the finding hound.

However, the hounds were unkenneled at break of day, and, the tent being pitched at the bottom of the basin, we commenced a pull up the steep patinas, hoping to find somewhere on the edge of the jungles.

"There's scent to a certainty!—look at old Bluebeard's nose upon the ground and the excited wagging of his stern. Ploughboy notices it—now Gaylass they'll hit it off presently to a certainty, though it's as cold as charity. That elk was feeding here early in the night; the scent is four hours old if a minute. There they go into the jungle, and we shall lose the elk, ten to one, as not another hound in the pack will work it up. It can't be helped; if any three hounds will rouse him out, those are the three."

For a couple of hours we had sat behind a rock, sheltered from the wind, watching the immense prospect before us. The whole pack were lying around us except the three missing hounds, of whom we had seen nothing since they stole away upon the cold scent.

That elk must have gone up to the top of the mountains after feeding, and a pretty run he must be having, very likely off to Matturatta plains; if so, good-bye to all sport for to-day, and the best hounds will be dead tired for to-morrow.

I was just beginning to despair when I observed a fine large buck at about half a mile distance, cantering easily toward us across an extensive flat of table-land. This surface was a fine sward, on the same level with the point upon which we sat, but separated from us by two small wooded ravines, with a strip of patina between them. I at once surmised that this was the hunted elk, although, as yet, no hounds were visible.

On arrival at the first ravine we immediately descended, and shortly after he reappeared on the small patina between the two ravines, within three hundred yards of us. Here the strong gale gave him our scent. It was a beautiful sight to see him halt in an instant, snuff the warning breeze and, drawing up to his full height, and wind the enemy before him.

Just at this moment I heard old "Bluebeard's" deep note swelling in the distance, and I saw him leading across the table-land as true as gold upon the track; "Ploughboy" and "Gaylass" were both with him but they were running mute.

The buck heard the hounds as well as we did, and I was afraid that the whole pack would also catch the sound, and by hurrying toward it, would head the elk him from his course. Up to the present time and turn they had not observed him.

Still the buck stood in an attitude of acute suspense. He winded an enemy before him and he heard another behind, which was rapidly closing up, and, as though doubting his own power of scent, he gave preference to that of hearing, and gallantly continued his course and entered the second ravine just beneath our feet.

I immediately jumped up, and, exciting the hounds in a subdued voice, I waved my cap at the spot, and directed a native to run at full speed to the jungle to endeavor to meet the elk, as I knew the hounds would then follow him. This they did; and they all entered the jungle with the man except the three greyhounds, "Lucifer," "Bran" and "Hecate," who remained with me.

A short time passed in breathless suspense, during which the voices of the three following hounds rapidly approached as they steadily persevered in the long chase; when suddenly, as I had expected, the main body of the pack met the elk in the strip of jungle.

Joyful must have been the burst of music to the ears of old "Bluebeard" after his long run. Out crashed the buck upon the patinas near the spot where the pack had entered, and away he went over the grassy hills at a pace which soon left the hounds behind. The greyhounds will stretch his legs for him. Yo-i-ck to him, Lucifer! For-r-r-ard to him, Hecate!

Off dashed the three greyhounds from my side at a railway pace, but, as the buck was above them and had a start of about two hundred yards, in such an uphill race both Bran and Lucifer managed to lose sight of him in the undulations.

Now was the time for Hecate's enormous power of loin and thigh to tell, and, never losing a moment's view of her game, she sped up the steep mountain side and was soon after seen within fifty yards of the brick all alone, but going like a rocket.

Now she has turned him! that pace could not last up hill, and round the elk doubled and came flying down the mountain side.

From the point of the hill upon which we stood we had a splendid view of the course; the bitch gained upon him at every bound, and there was a pitiless dash in her style of going that boded little mercy to her game. What alarmed me, however, was the direction that the buck was taking. An abrupt precipice of about two hundred and fifty feet was lying exactly in his path; this sunk sheer down to a lower series of grass-lands.

At the tremendous pace at which they were going I feared lest their own impetus should carry both elk and dog to destruction before they could see the danger.

Down they flew with unabated speed; they neared the precipice, and a few more seconds would bring them to the verge.

The stride of the buck was no match for the bound of the greyhound: the bitch was at his flanks, and he pressed along at flying speed.

He was close to the danger and it was still unseen: a moment more and "Hecate" sprang at his ear. Fortunately she lost her hold as the ear split. This check saved her. I shouted, "He'll be over!" and the next instant he was flying through the air to headlong destruction.

Bounding from a projecting rock upon which he struck, he flew outward, and with frightfully increasing momentum he spun round and round in his descent, until the centrifugal motion drew out his legs and neck as straight as a line. A few seconds of this multiplying velocity and—crash!

It was all over. The bitch had pulled up on the very brink of the precipice, but it was a narrow escape.

Sportsmen are contradictory creatures. If that buck had come to bay, I should have known no better sport than going in at him with the knife to the assistance of the pack; but I now felt a great amount of compassion for the poor brute who had met so terrible a fate. It did not seem fair; and yet I would not have missed such a sight for anything. Nothing can be conceived more terribly grand than the rush of so large an animal through the air; and it was a curious circumstance that within a few days no less than two bucks had gone over precipices, although I had never witnessed one such an accident more than once before.

Upon reaching the fatal spot, I, of course, found him lying stone dead. He had fallen at least two hundred and fifty feet to the base of the precipice; and the ground being covered with detached fragments of rock, he had broken most of his bones, beside bursting his paunch and smashing in the face. However, we cut him up and cleaned him, and, with the native followers heavily laden, we reached the tent.

The following morning I killed another fine buck after a good run on the patinas, where he was coursed and pulled down by the greyhounds; but the wind was so very high that it destroyed the pleasure of hunting. I therefore determined on another move—to the Matturatta Plains, within three miles of my present hunting ground.

After hunting four days at the Matturatta Plains, I moved on to the Elephant Plains, and from thence returned home after twelve days' absence, having killed twelve elk and two red deer.

The animal known as the "red deer" in Ceylon is a very different creature to his splendid namesake in Scotland; he is particularly unlike a deer in the disproportionate size of his carcase to his length of leg. He stands about twenty-six inches high at the shoulder and weighs (live weight) from forty-five to fifty pounds. He has two sharp tusks in the upper jaw, projecting about an inch and a half from the gum. These are exactly like the lower-jaw tusks of a boar, but they incline in the contrary direction, viz., downward, and they are used as weapons of defence.

The horns of the red deer seldom exceed eight inches in length, and have no more than two points upon each antler, formed by a fork-like termination. This kind of deer has no brow antler. They are very fast, and excel especially in going up hill, in which ground they frequently escape from the best grey-hounds.

There is no doubt that the red-deer venison is the best in Ceylon, but the animal itself is not generally sought after for sport. He gives a most uninteresting run; never going straight away like a deer, but doubling about over fifty acres of ground like a hare, until he is at last run into and killed. They exist in extraordinary numbers throughout every portion of Ceylon, but are never seen in herds.

Next to the red deer is the still more tiny species, the "mouse deer." This animal seldom exceeds twelve inches in height, and has the same characteristic as the red deer in the heavy proportion of body to its small length of limb. The skin is a mottled ash-gray, covered with dark spots. The upper jaw is furnished with sharp tusks similar to the red deer, but the head is free from horns.

The skull is perfectly unlike the head of a deer, and is closely allied to the rat, which it would exactly resemble, were it not for the difference in the teeth. The mouse deer lives principally upon berries and fruits; but I have seldom found much herbage upon examination of the paunch. Some people consider the flesh very good, but my ideas perhaps give it a "ratty" flavor that makes it unpalatable.

These little deer make for some well-known retreat the moment that they are disturbed by dogs, and they are usually found after a short run safely ensconced in a hollow tree.

It is a very singular thing that none of the deer tribe in Ceylon have more than six points on their horns, viz., three upon each. These are, the brow-antler point, and the two points which form the extremity of each horn. I have seen them occasionally with more, but these were deformities in the antlers.

A stranger is always disappointed in a Ceylon elk's antlers; and very naturally, for they are quite out of proportion to the great size of the animal. A very large Scotch red deer in not more than two-thirds the size of a moderately fine elk, and yet he carries a head of horns that are infinitely larger.

In fact, so rare are fine antlers in Ceylon that I could not pick out more than a dozen of really handsome elk horns out of the great numbers that I have killed.

A handsome pair of antlers is a grand addition to the beauty of a fine buck, and gives a majesty to his bearing which is greatly missed when a fine animal breaks cover with only a puny pair of horns. There is as great a difference in his appearance as there would be in a life-guardsman in full uniform or in his shirt.

The antlers of the axis, or spotted deer, are generally longer than those of the elk; they are also more slender and graceful. Altogether, the spotted deer is about the handsomest of that beautiful tribe. A fine spotted stag is the perfection of elegance, color, strength, courage and speed. He has a proud and thorough-bred way of carrying his head, which is set upon his neck with a peculiar grace. Nothing can surpass the beauty of his full black eye. His hide is as sleek as satin—a rich brown, slightly tinged with red, and spotted as though mottled with flakes of snow. His weight is about two hundred and fifty pounds (alive).

It is a difficult thing to judge of a deer's weight with any great accuracy; but I do not think I am far out in my estimation of the average, as I once tried the experiment by weighing a dead elk. I had always considered that a mountain elk, which is smaller than those of the low country, weighed about four hundred pounds when cleaned, or five hundred and fifty pounds live weight. I happened one day to kill an average-sized buck, though with very small horns, close to the road; so, having cleaned him, I sent a cart for his carcase on my return home. This elk I weighed whole, minus his inside, and he was four hundred and eleven pounds. Many hours had elapsed since his death, so that the carcase must have lost much weight by drying; this, with the loss of blood and offal, must have been at least one hundred and fifty pounds, which would have made his live weight five hundred and sixty-one pounds.

Of the five different species of deer in Ceylon, the spotted deer is alone seen upon the plains. No climate can be too hot for his exotic constitution, and he is never found at a higher elevation than three thousand feet. In the low country, when the midday sun has driven every other beast to the shelter of the densest jungles, the sultan of the herd and his lovely mates are sometimes contented with the shade of an isolated tree or the simple border of the jungle, where they drowsily pass the day, flipping their long ears in listless idleness until the hotter hours have passed away. At about four in the afternoon they stroll upon the open plains, bucks, does and fawns, in beautiful herds; when undisturbed, as many as a hundred together. This is the only species of deer in Ceylon that is gregarious.

Neither the spotted deer, nor the bear or buffalo, is to be found at Newera Ellia. The axis and the buffalo being the usual denizens of the hottest countries, are not to be expected to exist in their natural state in so low a temperature; but it is extraordinary that the bear, who in most countries inhibits the mountains, should in Ceylon adhere exclusively to the low country.

The Ceylon bear is of that species which is to be seen in the Zoological Gardens as the "sloth bear;" an ill-bred-looking fellow with a long-haired black coat and a gray face.

A Ceylon bear's skin is not worth preserving; there is no fur upon it, but it simply consists of rather a stingy allowance of black hairs. This is the natural effect of his perpetual residence in a hot country, where his coat adapts itself to the climate. He is desperately savage, and is more feared by the natives than any other animal, as he is in the constant habit of attacking people without the slightest provocation. His mode of attack increases the danger, as there is a great want of fair play in his method of fighting. Lying in wait, either behind a rock or in a thick bush, he makes a sudden spring upon the unwary wanderer, and in a moment he attacks his face with teeth and claws. The latter are about two inches long, and the former are much larger than a leopard's; hence it may easily be imagined how even a few seconds of biting and clawing might alter the most handsome expression of countenance.

Bears have frequently been known to tear off a man's face like a mask, leaving nothing but the face of a skull.

Thus the quadrupeds of Newera Ellia and the adjacent highlands are confined to the following classes: the elephant, the hog, the leopard, the chetah, the elk, the red deer, the mouse deer, the hare, the otter, the jackal, the civet cat, the mongoose and two others (varieties of the species), the black squirrel, the gray squirrel, the wanderoo monkey (the largest species in Ceylon), the porcupine, and a great variety of the rat.

Imagine the difficulty of breaking in a young hound for elk-hunting when the jungles are swarming with such a list of vermin! The better the pup the more he will persevere in hunting everything that he can possibly find; and with such a variety of animals, some of which have the most enticing scent, it is a source of endless trouble in teaching a young hound what to limit and what to avoid.

It is curious to witness the sagacity of the old hounds in joining or despising the opening note of a newcomer.

The jungles are fearfully thick, and it requires great exertion on the part of the dog to force his way through at a pace that will enable him to join the finding hound; thus he fears considerable disappointment if upon his arrival he finds the scent of a monkey or a cat instead of his legitimate game. An old hound soon marks the inexperienced voice of the babbler, and after the cry of "wolf" has been again repeated, nothing will induce him to join the false finder.

Again, it is exceedingly interesting to observe the quickness of all hounds in acknowledging their leader. Only let them catch the sound of old "Bluebeard's" voice, and see the dash with which they rush through the jungle to join him. They know the old fellows note is true to an elk or hog, and, with implicit confidence in his "find," they never hesitate to join.

There are numerous obstacles to the breaking and training of dogs of all kinds in such a country. A hound when once in the jungle is his own master. He obeys the sound of the halloo or the born, or not, as he thinks proper. It is impossible to correct him, as he is out of sight.

Now, the very fact of having one or two first-rate finders in a pack, will very likely be the cause of spoiling the other hounds. After repeated experience their instinct soon shows them that, no matter how the whole pack may individually hunt, the "find" will be achieved by one of the first-rate hounds, and gradually they give up hunting and take to listening for the opening note of the favorite. Of course in an open country they would be kept to their work by the whip, but at Newera Ellia this is impossible. This accounts for the extreme paucity of first-rate "finders."

Hunting in a wild country is a far more difficult task for hounds than the ordinary chase at home. Wherever a country is cultivated it must be enclosed. Thus, should a flock of sheep have thrown the hounds out by crossing the scent, a cast round the fences must soon hit it off again if the fox has left the field. But in elk-hunting it is scarcely possible to assist the hounds; a dozen different animals, or even a disturbed elk, may cross the scent in parts of the jungle where the cry of the hounds is even out of hearing. Again, an elk has a constant habit of running or swimming down a river, his instinct prompting him to drown his own scent, and thus throw off his pursuers. Here is a trial for the hounds!—the elk has waded or swum down the stream, and the baffled pack arrive upon the bank; their cheering music has ceased; the elk has kept the water for perhaps a quarter of a mile, or he may have landed several times during that distance and again have taken to water.

Now the young hounds dash thoughtlessly across the river, thinking of nothing but a straight course, and they are thrown out on the barren bank on the other side. Back they come again, wind about the last track for a few minutes, and then they are forced to give it up—they are thrown out altogether.

Mark the staunch old hounds!—one has crossed the river; there is no scent, but he strikes down the bank with his nose close to the ground, and away he goes along the edge of the river casting for a scent. Now mark old "Bluebeard," swimming steadily down the stream; he knows the habits of his game as well as I do, and two to one that he will find, although "Ploughboy" has just started along the near bank so that both sides of the river are being hunted.

Now this is what I call difficult hunting; bad enough if the huntsman be up to assist his hounds, but nine times out of ten this happens in the middle of a run, without a soul within a mile.

The only way to train hounds in this style of country is to accustom them to complete obedience from puppyhood. This is easily effected by taking them out for exercise upon a road coupled to old hounds. A good walk every morning, accompanied by the horn and the whip, and they soon fall into such a habit of obedience that they may be taken out without the couples.

The great desideratum, then, is to gain their affection and confidence, otherwise they will obey upon the road and laugh at you when in the jungle. Now "affection" is a difficult feeling to instill into a foxhound, and can only be partially attained by the exercise of cupboard love; thus a few pieces of dry liver or bread, kept in the pocket to be given to a young hound who has sharply answered to his call, will do more good than a month of scolding and rating.