The other expedition was also exciting in its way. In hunting tigers in Bengal it is the custom to be seated in a howdah on the back of an elephant, so as to stamp through the jungle and shoot the animals from a commanding position in comparative safety. In Madras, however, it is considered fairer to advance on foot, on the principle, I presume, of giving both sides a chance. One afternoon we were again conducted by the shikarree to a distant hill, and on an elevated plateau were all posted in a large semicircle, each hidden behind a rock, and in the centre a young kid was tied to a stone. The expectation was that the tiger would come to eat the kid, and then we were all to fire and kill the tiger. As this was my first experience, I inquired, with some interest, whether possibly the animal might not approach from behind, and begin to eat me instead of the kid. The suggestion, however, was scouted, and I was assured that it would much prefer the latter. So we took up our positions, and remained on watch. After a time the young goat, finding the entertainment dull, laid down and tried to go to sleep; but the shikarree advanced and with a knife cut a small slit in its ear, which made it bleat piteously; and this, it was hoped, would afford an additional attraction. Again we waited, and I could not refrain from occasionally looking over my shoulder, to assure myself that the expected wild beast was not surreptitiously altering the programme. It was getting dark when a breathless coolie arriving from a distant hill, brought the news that the tiger was asleep in a cave a long way off; so the kid escaped, and we all went home. I thought the sequel rather flat.