It must have been some two or three hours after that I was awoke by the call of “Sahib! Sahib!” just outside the canvas near which I lay, and on my rousing myself sufficiently to remember where I was, for I was far away in my dreams, I recognised the voice of Kurreem Bux, Selim’s sais, “There must be something wrong at the bungalow, sir, for I hear shouting as if for assistance.”
H was by this time sitting up in his bed, listening, and we simultaneously jumped up and hurriedly dressed, ordering the lantern to be got ready. Snatching up our double-barrelled guns, which were always kept ready loaded with ball, we hurried towards the bungalow, followed by some of our people, one of whom led the way with the lantern, for there was no moon, and the light of the stars rather confused than aided us.
We were at no loss for the direction to go in, for the shouting of our friend Murphy guided us, and we were soon near enough to hear him say in his broadest brogue, but with some agitation in his tongue:
“Halloa, gintlemen, will ye come and kill the teeger that’s got into the house; we’ll all be murthered and aten enthirely.”
Alarmed as we really were at this, we could scarcely refrain from laughing at the odd accents and speech of Murphy, but calling out that we were coming, we ran on, not without some dread, however, lest we should come suddenly upon the animal, which we supposed, of course, to be outside the house (and not in) as stated by the sergeant.
On the side that we approached there was no jungle, nor was there any verandah to the house. The light of the lantern enabled us to see that there was a venetian door closed, and on one side of it a small round hole such as is common in bath-rooms to admit air and light. It was from this aperture the voice of Murphy came, and we could just distinguish his hairy visage half through it.
On our inquiring where he had seen or heard the tiger, he said:
“Sure, and ain’t the big baste at this blessed minute in our bid-room a cracking and scrunching the bones of poor Kerry, and only a thin door betwane us, and the wife and the childer like to die from fright.”
“How did he get in?”
“Oh, I’ll till ye all about it in good time if ye’ll only shoot the baste; but if ye don’t make haste, he’ll be ating us, and thin I can’t till ye at all, at all.”
“But how are we to do that? Is there another door like this on the opposite side?”
“Yis; but it’s my belaif the big divil has shut-to the door with his tail, whilst whisking about after poor Kerry—pace be to his manes!—or else his manners, may be, will have taught him to close the door politely after him: anywise, it’s my imprission he can’t git out agin.”
Wondering at the Irish love of joking even in such extremity, H and I consulted what we should do. Listening at the closed door, we could distinctly hear a large animal moving about in the room, and as we could not see the faintest glimmer of light through the chinks of the not very sound jilmils (venetians), Murphy’s surmise, that the opposite door was closed, appeared quite correct. We knew it was worse than useless to fire into the room before we could see to take aim, as we not only might miss the brute altogether, but should infuriate him, so that in his boundings he might burst open the bathing-room door, when the consequences would be fearful. So the only plan, evidently, was to wait as patiently as we could for daylight, when, if the animal remained in the room, we could soon settle him.
We had to wait an hour before the faintest streak of grey appeared in the eastern sky. I have watched anxiously at a sick friend’s bedside—I have been myself sleepless, feverish, and tossing, longing for the morning light, with its hopeful, cheering influence—I have lain awake under the excitement of anticipated pleasure on the first hunting morning—but I never remember to have been so impatient as on this occasion.
In tropical countries the light comes and goes very rapidly, and there was soon enough for our operations after the dawn had once began. We opened one of the jilmils, and when our eyes were accustomed to the dim light discovered a huge tiger lying on the floor, very much in the attitude of an uneasy cat who has made her way into the dairy, and waits for the door to be opened to spring out. The noise we made, slight as it was, made the brute jump up and turn to glare fiercely at us: it was just the attitude we wanted. Hastily arranging which should aim at the head and which at the chest, we levelled and fired all four barrels. When the smoke had cleared away, we saw the grim monarch of the jungle stretched dead, and we shouted a triumphant pæan, which soon brought Murphy and his family out, though the children screamed at the sight of the dead animal.
Murphy opened the door through which we had fired, and we entered and soon discovered the mystery of the animal’s entrance and detention. The opposite door (which Murphy assured us he had fastened) had a bolt only at the bottom, the top one having fallen out, but there was no socket, or whatever it is called, to receive it. The bolt had thus dropped down unfastened, and Murphy thought it was all right, not perceiving the real state of the case. The dog—some small remnants of which were still unconsumed—must have gone out at hearing the noise made by the tiger in the verandah, and rushed back in alarm, followed by the hungry beast. The table which lay against the door, and kept it closed, must have been thrown down (shutting the door at the same time) either in the struggle between the tiger and its victim, or by the sergeant and his wife as they rushed, each with a child, into the bathing-room. Fortunately for the helpless creatures, the unwelcome visitor was too intent upon seizing the dog to notice them, so that they had time to escape into the only place of shelter at hand, Murphy in his haste and fright forgetting all about his gun, which rested against the wall in a corner of the room.
The sun was now up, and there was no fear of any more unpleasant occurrences for some hours at least; so, making our people drag the carcase out of the room, and obliterate the marks of the