The only important drawback to the pleasure of elk-hunting is
the constant loss of the dogs. The best are always sure to go. What with
deaths by boars, leopards, elk, and stray hounds, the pack is with
difficulty maintained. Puppies are constantly lost in the commencement
of their training by straying too far into the jungle, and sometimes by
reckless valour. I lost a fine young greyhound, Lancer, own brother to
Lucifer, in this way. It was his first day with the pack.
We found a buck who came to bay in a deep rocky torrent, where the dogs
had no chance with him, and he amused himself by striking them under
water at his pleasure. He at length took his stand among some large
rocks, between which the torrent rushed with great rapidity previous to
its descent over a fall of sixty feet.
In this impregnable position young Lancer chose to distinguish himself,
and with a beautiful spring he flew straight at the buck's head; but the
elk met him with a tremendous blow with the fore feet, which broke his
back, and the unfortunate Lancer was killed in his first essay and swept
over the waterfall. This buck was at bay for two hours before he was
killed.
A veteran seizer is generally seamed with innumerable scars. Poor old
Bran, who, being a thoroughbred greyhound, is too fine in the skin for
such rough hunting, has been sewn up in so many places that he is a
complete specimen of needlework. If any dog is hurt in a fight with elk
or boar, it is sure to be old Bran. He has now a scar from a wound that
was seven inches in length, which he received from a buck whose horns
are hanging over my door.
I had started with the pack at daybreak, and I was riding down the
Badulla road, about a mile from the kennel, when the whole pack suddenly
took up a scent off the road, and dashed into the jungle in full cry.
The road was enclosed by forest on either side. The pack had evidently
divided upon two elk, as they were running in different directions.
Starting off down the pass, I soon reached the steep patinas, and I
heard the pack coming down through the jungle which crowns the hills on
the left of the road. There was a crush in the underwood, and the next
moment a fine buck broke cover and went away along the hillside.
Merriman and Tiptoe were the two leading dogs, and they were not fifty
yards behind him. Old smut came tearing along after them, and I gave
Bran a holloa and slipped him immediately. It was a beautiful sight to
see Bran fly along the patina: across the swampy bottom, taking the
broad stream in one bound, and skimming up the hill, he was on the
buck's path in a few minutes, pulling up to him at every stride. He
passed the few dogs that were in chase like lightning, and in a few more
bounds he was at the buck's side. With a dexterous blow, however, the
buck struck him with his fore foot, and sent him rolling down the hill
with a frightful gash in his side. The buck immediately descended the
hillside, and came to bay in a deep pool in the river. Regardless of his
wound, old Bran followed him; Smut and the other dogs joined, and there
was a fine bay, the buck fighting like a hero. The dogs could not touch
him, as he was particularly active with his antlers.
I jumped into the water and gave them a cheer, on which the buck
answered immediately by charging at me. I met him with the point of my
hunting-knife in the nose, which stopped him, and in the same moment old
Smut was hanging on his ear, having pinned him the instant that I had
occupied his attention. Bran had the other ear just as I had given him
the fatal thrust. In a few seconds the struggle was over. Bran's wound
was four inches wide and seven inches long.
My brother had a pretty run with the doe with the other half of the
pack, and we returned home by eight A.M., having killed two elk.
Daybreak is the proper time to be upon the ground for elk-hunting. At
this hour they have only just retired to the jungle after their night's
wandering on the patinas, and the hounds take up a fresh scent, and save
the huntsman the trouble of entering the jungle. At a later hour the elk
have retired so far into the jungle that much time is lost in finding
them, and they are not so likely to break cover as when they are just on
the edge of the forest. I had overslept myself one morning when I ought
to have been particularly early, as we intended to hunt at the
Matturatta Plains, a distance of six miles. The scent was bad, and the
sun was excessively hot; the dogs were tired and languid. It was two
o'clock P.M., and we had not found, and we were returning through the
forest homewards, having made up our minds for a blank day.
Suddenly I thought I heard a deep voice at a great distance; it might
have been fancy, but I listened again. I counted the dogs, and old Smut
was missing. There was no mistaking his voice when at bay, and I now
heard him distinctly in the distance. Running towards the sound through
fine open forests, we soon arrived on the Matturatta Plains. The whole
pack now heard the old dog distinctly, and they rushed to the sound
across the patinas. There was Smut, sure enough, with a fine buck at bay
in the river, which he had found and brought to bay single-handed.
