Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young Read online

  *CHAPTER II.*

  _*IN PURSUIT.*_

  It was all too true. The punkah coolie was fanning an empty cot--thechild was gone.

  With Kathleen fainting in her lap, even the ayah had not missed poorCarl in the moment of her return. It was but a moment ere the alarm wasraised, yet the wolf had carried off her prey.

  Charging the servants on no account to let the mother discover that herboy was missing, until he returned, Mr. Desborough started in pursuit.

  Like most English gentlemen in India, he was a keen sportsman, and lovedto hunt the wild hogs in the bamboo swamps, with a party of his friends,and plenty of native trackers and beaters to find the game and drive itout of the thickets.

  But he dare not wait to call his friends to his help. He started forthalone with his coolies, to find which way the wolf had gone.

  Tall trees were growing on either side of the high-road, upon which hisgate opened. A broad ditch behind them drained the road in the rainyseason, when floods arose so easily. It was many feet deep; and now thewater ran low between its banks, dried up by the great heat. The jackalpack had retired with the growing daylight; the tiger had slunk awaybefore the rising sun. Well might Mr. Desborough shudder and turn awayfrom the remnants of the dead buffalo, as he trembled for the fate ofhis child. The country all around him was well cultivated. Rice anddall (another kind of grain much grown by the Hindu villagers) coveredlarge fields along the course of the stream. They were interspersed byclumps of trees and groves of date-palms growing amidst patches ofjungle and tangle.

  But the increasing heat had reduced the watercourse to a succession ofglistening pools, connected by a muddy ditch.

  Already the hounds were busy among the fringe of bushes which overhungits margin. Mr. Desborough mounted his horse, and galloped after them,with the broad white hat belonging to the lost child in his hand.

  He soon came up with the dogs, and whistling them to his side, he leaneddown from his saddle, and made them smell the hat and sun-veil (orpuggaree) little Carl had worn the evening before.

  They sniffed it well over, looked up in their master's face with theirkeen, intelligent eyes, and started once again in swift pursuit.

  They had passed the closed gates of the indigo factory, but encounteredone or two of the native workers there, who had risen with the sun, andwere watering their fields and gardens before the business of the daybegan. The district was studded with wells. The water was drawn bybullocks into huge skins.

  But they left their skins on the brink of the well, and joined theservants, who were throwing stones among the bushes, and howling withall their might, to make the wolf show.

  The noise brought out old Gobur from his little homestead by theriverside. Mr. Desborough paused by the bamboo paling which surroundedthe little enclosure, which was neither yard nor garden, but partlyboth. He knew the aged Hindu had been a chakoo, or look-out, in hisprime. The different hunting-parties in the neighbourhood used to hireGobur to go before them into the jungle, to watch which way the wildbeasts were roaming.

  He was the very man to help him.

  Within the bamboo fence was a tangle of wild roses and creepers, twiningabout the roots of the luxuriant fruit-trees shading the low mud hut inwhich the old man lived; a tiny well sparkled like crystal in the rosylight.

  The old man was gathering sticks to light his fire in the one clearspace beyond his trees.

  He threw them to a graceful dusky figure just peeping out of the door ofthe hut, and came to the sahib's assistance. The shouts of Mr.Desborough's servants, as they hurled about the biggest stones theycould raise, had told him only too plainly what had happened.

  All the native Bengalese knew well the dangerous propensity of thewolves in May, and guarded their babies with double vigilance.

  He knew the hat in the father's hand, and with scant words but manygesticulations tried to make him understand the wolf was probably hidingin one of the coverts near. If they scared her out, she might drop thechild; for it was that one dreaded month in all the year when the wolvestake home their prey alive to their half-grown cubs.

  There was hope in the old man's words, and the father caught at it. Yethe dared not fire into the dwarf cypress, where they all fancied thewolf might be. No; his gun was useless on his shoulder, for he mightshoot his child. He could only follow the example of his coolies, andjoin his shouts to theirs, until they wakened the echoes. Jackal, wolf,and night-hawk had alike disappeared with the rising dawn. Gobur warnedhim a tiger might yet be moving, as the morning breeze blew cool andfresh after the sultry night.

  "Well, Desborough," demanded the cheery voice of an English neighbour,"up with the sunrise, like myself, to catch a mouthful of fresher airafter frying indoors all night? But what on earth is all this row?"

  The speaker was an English officer who was taking his morning ridebetimes, foreseeing still greater heat as the day advanced. He wasfollowed by his syce, or native groom.

  "The heat has done it," he exclaimed, as he heard the father's piteoustale. "The streams are drying up among the hills, and the wild beastsare driven to the cultured plains to seek for water. I heard a tigergrunting all night in the river; many may be lingering in the thicketfor their mid-day sleep. Poor fellow! you'll see your baby no more."

  The kind-hearted major turned his head away, he could not look thedistracted father in the face, as he added, "Be a man, Desborough.Thank God for this fresh breeze; it will save your other child--think ofthat."

  But his syce pressed forward, with a low salaam, to the unhappy sahib,to assure him he heard the cry of a child from the grass by the river,pointing as he spoke to a waving forest of graceful feathery blades,full twenty feet high.

  "Cries of monkeys!" interrupted his master angrily, provoked to see hispoor friend tantalized with hopes which seemed to him so utterlydelusive.

  He reined in his horse by his side, and tried to reason with him on theprobable fate of his child. They passed a group of sleepy vultures,perched upon a boulder stone. If the poor baby had been dropped livingamidst the fields, how could it escape destruction? Even Mr. Desboroughwas afraid to place much trust in the syce's words, with theever-increasing chattering of monkeys and screaming of birds. He lookedat the wide plains around him, and at the great herds of graceful,delicate-limbed, smoke-coloured cattle, which were now being slowlydriven out to pasture. For the brief tropical twilight was over, andday had fairly begun. The air was full of cries. The voices of thenight had but given place to the myriad voices of the day. Was itpossible for any one to distinguish between them? He heard, or seemedas if he heard, the shriek of his child mingling with every sound, andhe knew it was not real. He heard it amidst the bellow of the fierce,ungainly-looking buffaloes, who were marching forth in troops from manya native village, followed by flocks of goats and bleating sheep.

  With a hope which Mr. Desborough said hoarsely "was no hope," he ralliedhis men to beat the huge thicket of grass, and drive out any livingthing lurking within it. Afraid of hurling stones at a venture intosuch a tangled mass, the coolies armed themselves with long sticks,which they struck with a sharp, ringing sound on the bark of the nearesttrees. A scampering was heard. The grass swayed hither and thither.There was a cry.

  "Nothing but the scream of a frightened pig," persisted the major. "Itis the very spot for a wild boar's lair."

  He reined in his horse, and stationed himself where he could command agood view of the thicket. Mr. Desborough had chosen his post already, onthe opposite side, and was watching as if he were all eye, all ear. OldGobur had gone round to the back of the thicket. Nothing could escapethem rushing from it.

  "Not too near," shouted the major to his friend. "Have a care for yourown life! No one knows yet what it is we have dislodged."

  As they watched the heaving grass, another cry arose in the distance,prolonged and hideous. But the friends knew well what it meant. Aparty of travellers were
approaching, and their tired bearers werecalling out for a relay of men from the village to come and take theirplaces.

  "Ho, coolie, coolie, wallah! ho-o-o-o-o!" seemed to ring through the airfrom all points, confusing every other sound. Mr. Desborough's eyenever moved from the heaving mass before him. Out rushed a whole familyof wild pigs--a "sounder," as the major called it. They were led by agrim old boar with giant tusks, the very picture of savage ferocity. Heglared around him, ready to charge the enemy who had dared to disturbhim. He was followed by pigs of every age and size, from a venerablesow, tottering along from her weight of years, to squealing, squeakinginfants, who could scarcely keep pace with their mothers. Oh, thescreaming and the grunting, the snorting and chasing, as the wholefamily of pigs rushed across the opening towards the nearest mango groveor tope!

  Aware of the danger of facing such a formidable charge, both gentlemenwheeled round, and prepared to fire if necessary. The major wasinwardly groaning for the boar-spear that was standing idle in thecorner of his bungalow. He looked up, and perceived the party oftravellers coming along one of the narrow paths which divided therice-fields, just in front of the bristling array of fiery eyes andcurling tails. He saw a lady's dandy--that is, a kind of canoe-shapedseat with a canopy--carried on two men's shoulders. There it was in theline of the angry pigs. The danger to the unwary occupants wasimminent. The little cavalcade had halted in dismay. The major thoughtof the naked legs of the bearers, who wore nothing but their whitecalico waist-cloths and cotton turbans, and galloped to the rescue,firing as he rode, to make the old boar change his course.

  The weary bearers shrank back in terror, raising a wild howl forassistance, when a small lad, who was riding a little pony in the rear,pressed forward through the standing rice which had hitherto concealedhim, and planted himself in the front of his companions, with no betterdefence than a huge bough he had broken from the nearest tree.

  "Well done, my young hero!" cried the major as he rode up to them andwaited; for dandy and bearers had retreated behind the screen which thegreen ears afforded, and safety was best secured by silence. Thefurious boar came on, foaming and champing his enormous tusks; but thewell-timed shots urged him forward. He crossed the path of thetravellers within a dozen yards of the hole into which the boy hadpushed them, with nothing but the growing rice-straw for a shelter. Thestampede of the pigs passed over. The boy still stood sentinel behindhis bough.

  "Trying the trick of Dunsinane," said the major, with a laugh heintended to prove reassuring to the unseen occupant of the dandy.

  "Well content if they do take me for a young mango sapling," answeredthe little stranger, in the shy, blunt tones of an English school-boy.His broad sun-hat hid every bit of his face except the firm-set whitelips. The major had seen enough. He dismounted, and assisted inlifting the dandy out of the rice. The blades were higher than hishead, and the ground was more than muddy, for the field was undergoingits morning irrigation from the nearest tank.

  "Tie-tara! tie-tara!" cried the black partridges they hadunceremoniously disturbed. The birds, with a tameness which astonishedthe young travellers, fluttered about among the rice-stalks, pecking atthe curtains of the dandy.

  "Oliver, Oliver! where are you?" entreated a girlish voice from within.

  "Safe, my dear young lady, quite safe," reiterated the major. "Let meask if you were intending to change coolies at Noak-holly," pointing ashe spoke in the direction of the village nearest to the indigo factory."You had better join forces with us, as we were the unfortunate cause ofyour alarm, having dislodged those pigs whilst searching for a lostchild."

  "A lost child!" re-echoed the voice within. "Oliver, Oliver, can wehelp to find it?"

  At that moment a great shout of triumph arose around the grass clump,and with one accord the little party pressed forward to ascertain itscause.

  The sharp report of a gun sent the major spurring in advance. Had hisfriend forgot his caution? How had he dared to fire?

  Another moment and he saw Mr. Desborough wheel round, raise himselfslightly in his stirrups, and discharge his second barrel at a duskyspeck emerging from the tufted grass. The tall blades swayed andquivered with the report. There was a smothered shuffling sound, aheavy thud upon the ground, a rustling in the quivering grasses. Thenative grooms ran forward eagerly, and dragged out the body of asatiated wolf.

  "A cool shot, Desborough," observed the major.

  "It may save another parent such a pang as mine, but it cannot give meback my child," groaned Mr. Desborough.