two long white feathers of the tail, 12 inches long, fluttering in the breeze. The bird without the tail measures about 4 inches. The black-and-white body and crested head of the mature male are contrasted with the brightred colour of the younger birds. The deep-blue-coloured rock thrush* with yellow legs, which inhabits the thickets, reminds one of the familiar blackbird. The golden oriole's† soft, sweet whistle sounds all day among the tree-tops, a single mellow note. The red-billed blue magpies‡ flutter among the bush thickets, screeching as they follow one another in a string. The Himalayan jays is a lively, gay-plumaged bird. Then there is a very remarkable black bird seen mostly in pairs, with two long tail-feathers, all bare shank with two round plumes at the ends about the size of a shilling. This is the lesser racket-tailed drongo,|| a very beautiful bird. Brilliant in scarlet plumage is the Indian minivet, with its bright orange mate. Then, on the flats below the hills, there are swarms of noisy, chattering mynahs** picking in great flocks busily all day, like starlings, a bird so tame that he scarcely moves out of one's way, getting a good look at the intruder, with his quaint head, which has a bald patch on it, turned to one side. There are twenty-five different species of mynahs described by Blanford, so there are plenty to keep the insects picked off the fields. The bulbul,†† of classical reputation as the sweetest songster in India, the nightingale of Lalla Rookh, is a disappointing bird, singing but a very common twitter. He is a dark, dull bird, observable only from the crimson patch under his tail; but there are about thirty species *Petrophila solitaria. † Oriolus kundoo. § Garrulus bispecularis. ¶ Pericrocotus speciosus. †† Malpastes intermedius. The boys in India, very commendable, When crossing the of bulbuls, so it is hard to know the habits or song of many of them. The little weaver bird* is a charmingly confiding bird, like a sparrow. They come every year to the same bush, a colony of five or six pairs, and build their beautifully-shaped hanging nests, like bottle gourds with a narrow neck, all neatly woven out of dry grass, and all quite low down near the ground; and bring out their young unmolested by man. though possessing some habits not do not appear to rob birds' nests. open, uncultivated flats, the very loud and plaintive cry of the spur-winged plover† never fails to attract attention. 'Pity to do it! pity to do it!' he shrieks, flying and curling in hurried alarm round and round. He carries a strong, sharp spur bent sideways at the shoulder of his wing. One day, when riding on an elephant, I discovered how useful the spur was. I saw one of these birds engaged in mortal combat with a snake which was trying to rob her nest, a perfectly bare spot on the bare ground. The bird got the best of the battle, inflicting some sharp spur blows on the serpent, which retired discomfited. Talking of snakes, there are great pythons in the Bhabar, which are said to swallow anything they can get their jaws open wide enough to pass down, up to a young deer, which is first squeezed to death, then flattened and bolted whole. The longest I have seen was 15 feet long and not very thick. Poisonous snakes, on the whole, do not come in evidence before one, and in the course of years going through the forest I have scarcely seen two dozen. I always wore long boots, and at night one did not walk about much without a lanthorn. The munshi's wife died of a cobra bite got at night by walking about in * Ploceus manyar. + Hoplopterus ventralis. the dark, and a grass-cutter also got bitten and died. I gave brandy on each occasion, but it was useless. Grass snakes and tree snakes and harmless water snakes are common, but seldom annoy one. The insects in the forest would take books to describe. Wild bees are the most obnoxious, and if disturbed in their nest will sting a horse, dog, or man to death if they can. Centipedes and scorpions are legion. But the most beautiful of insects is the giant spider, bottle-green and golden, which measures 6 inches across, counting his numerous legs. He makes a web between two tall trees, and sits in the centre of it, his great golden body shining in the sun. When passing through the forest on an elephant I have refrained from going on through a web, not liking to encounter the spider or destroy so beautiful a web. There are too many wonderful and beautiful creatures in the forests to describe the tenth part of them, and the reader must be referred to works of natural history, where they are described scientifically. CHAPTER XVII THE TERAI: SPORT OF PRINCES A WIDE plain, stretching southward and eastward and westward to the distant horizon, lately one sea of tall grass, now blackened and swept bare by the annual jungle fires, except where there remained patches and islands of sedge and reed which had escaped the devastating flames. These are often literally islands, lying between the serpentine and ever-branching courses of sluggish streams, which take their rise in the swamps of the Terai. The shikari elephants, which have plodded their twelve-mile march with stealthy, long, striding step all day through the dense forest of the Bhabar in the intense heat of an April day, emerge into the open plain. Swamps and muddy pools are reached, and the elephants, with pleasant clapping of their great limber trunks and metallic noises, talk to one another; and splash in the stagnant water, squirting it over their hot and shiny sides, which look black and gray and wrinkled, like an old man's hand. Far away to the south, where the patches of long grass follow the course of a slow-winding stream, cut like a canal, but with ever-crumbling banks, through alluvial mud, there appears some rising ground with bushes of khair and sissoo-trees and dhak, all gorgeous with firecoloured blossom, and a few lofty semal-trees, and belts of bright-green jamun, like willow, growing in the hollow places. Under these trees can be seen a double row of white tents with a large oblong marquee in the centre, surrounded by lines of picketed elephants, horses, and camels, and the usual crowd of native servants bustling about, and fires burning, where cooks are busy, sitting on their haunches, and bheesties bringing their wellfilled masaks of clear water from the well. The place was called Uncha Ganw, or 'lofty village,' but there was no village visible, only a few chappars or grass huts, where gualas herded their buffaloes; and uncha did not signify more than an elevation of a few feet of dry soil above the dead level of the swamp. The elephants were made to kneel down at the doors of the tents, and each sahib dismounted, willing servants handing in guns and small articles. The sun was now setting, and the blazing sky had become suffused with the opalescent tints of dusk, reddening to a hazy deep crimson near the western horizon, to be followed by rapid nightfall. It was a real pleasure to wash off the dust of travel under the flow of the bheesty's masak inside the khanats of the wide tent. The bearer was particular to have every article of evening attire laid out, and the studs ready, in a shirt got up as well as if it were done by a Parisian blanchisseuse. The gong having sounded, the guests assembled in the verandah of the large tent, where chairs were set on a thick carpet, while inside could be seen through the chinks a long dinner-table glistening with glass and silver and shiny linen. The head khansamah, a portly person with curly black hair and beard well turned up, and spotless white dress and flat turban, bearing the crest of the noble house of Dalhousie, announced with stately dignity that the Hazur's soup was on the table. The head of the table was occupied by our most genial host, Colonel the Hon. Henry Ramsay, C.B. |