On the occasion I am now alluding to an unfortunate report had spread that a tiger I had wounded had left the jungle in which we found him, and whither he had retreated. I had wounded the tiger in the evening, and we went to look him up next morning, and the beaters, influenced no doubt by the report in question, went into the jungle in a body in a careless manner, and without sending men up trees to keep a look out ahead. The tiger waited till the whole party was within springing distance, and then with a tremendous roar which I clearly heard at my post some way off, charged, and buried his deadly fangs in the back of an unfortunate Hindoo peasant who was leading the way. The poor fellow was carried out of the jungle in an evidently dying state, and a caste dispute arose over him, the particulars of which I have given in my chapter on caste. After doing what we could for him we placed him on a rough litter and he was carried to the rear. I confess that after such an exhibition of temper on the part of the tiger and the nature of the jungle I, being Europeanly speaking single-handed, was not so very comfortable at the idea of approaching him, but luckily a toddyman who had run up a tree (these men are wonderful climbers) when the tiger charged, and was afraid for some time to come down, now emerged from the jungle, and reported that he could see the tiger from the tree he had climbed into. This of course much simplified matters, and I at once proceeded into the jungle, but only about ten people, mostly my own followers, cared to accompany me. As it happened, we after all ran no risk whatever, as the tiger was dead, though he was lying with his head on his paws in such a life-like position that we fired a shot into him to make sure. When we were skinning him the poor man expired. In the same jungle, I think about a year afterwards, an English visitor at my house wounded a tiger, which went into one of those reedy and cactus-grown bottoms which make tiger shooting on foot so dangerous. I then declared that none of my people should go into this, and that they might return the next day and see if the tiger was dead (by no means an absolutely safe proceeding even then as we have seen). Much to my amusement a lean toddy drawer of mine, an excellent shikari, went a few yards into the swampy ground, got on to a small boulder of rock, squatted down, took out his betel bag, threw some betel into his mouth preparatory to chewing, and then held out his long skinny arm and forefinger and said, "Look! A tiger made a meal of a man close to this last year. Let everyone therefore be careful and get up into trees, and mind what they are about." The next day the tiger was found dead quite close to the rock he had been squatting on. A most remarkable instance of courage on the part of a native occurred when a brother planter of mine was out tiger shooting on the Ghauts to the north of my abode. A tiger flew at a Hindoo