CHAPTER III.BISON SHOOTING

THERE ARE FEW FORMS OF sport, with the grooved or smooth barrel, more exciting, and from every point of view more enjoyable, than the pursuit of this grand specimen of the genus Bos. Whether the forests of the low country, or one of the hill ranges be the scene of action, the sport is one which pre-eminently demands all the pursuer’s powers of endurance, and all his knowledge of the habits of the game; and, large though the animal be, and consequently easy to hit, hitting a bison in the wrong place is only useless cruelty, since the poor beast so often escapes—at the best to suffer great pain for a considerable time, and too often to die a lingering death in solitude.

In the low-country forests the modus operandi is as follows. An early start is made, and the sportsman, taking with him men enough to carry his luncheon, drinkables for the day, and his battery, usually proceeds towards any well-known salt-licks (or places in which salt earth is exposed) in the hope of finding fresh tracks made during the previous night or at early dawn. Possibly he may come upon such tracks, as he traverses alternately bamboo jungle, open tree forest, and dense thickets, while on his way to the lick, or he may find none until he has reached the latter—situated probably either in an open glade on flat ground, or in the bank of a deep nullah. The salt-lick will be found ploughed up by the tracks of bison, elephant, sambur, and spotted deer; and possibly the huge pugs of a tiger close by, made as he lay in ambush, will show how well aware the tyrant of the forest is of the habits of the animals upon which he preys.

These resorts are well known to the jungle men who act as the sportsman’s guides, and usually, if bison are anywhere in the vicinity, they visit a lick nightly during wet weather, in order to eat some of the salt earth.

It sometimes happens that there are several such licks only two or three miles apart, and it may be necessary to visit more than one of them before fresh tracks are found. It is generally worthwhile to follow a track made any time during the previous night, provided only that it be found fairly early in the day—say before 11 a.m.—and the jungle men are very expert in estimating the time which has elapsed since a track was made. This is a very much more difficult matter than might be supposed, and even the best trackers are occasionally at fault.

I remember a very striking instance of this. I was in camp in a forest lodge called Rampore (in the Ainurmarigudi forest in Mysore), situated close to the bank of the Noogoo river. It was in the south-west monsoon, and the weather was very wet. We left camp early one morning, and within about a mile came upon quite fresh tracks. After following these for some time, we came up with the bison, which were lying down in long grass, and disturbed them without getting a shot. I followed up this herd for the best part of the day (which was cold and dark, but without much rain) without getting a chance at the bull, and then gave up the pursuit and started back to camp. On the way, when at no great distance from the lodge, we came upon tracks which the men considered so very fresh that, late as it was, we followed them, thinking that we had found the tracks of another herd which had passed only just before we had come across their footprints. The tracks led to a salt-lick, and thence on through the forest, till we arrived at last at the spot at which we had found them in the early morning! We had, in the evening, been following tracks of the same herd made before the tracks which we had found in the early morning! So cool and damp was it, that blades of grass, cut by the hoofs of the bison, remained perfectly fresh and un-withered during the whole day! If there be any sun, the blades of grass so cut wither very quickly, and the tracks made by the same animal vary in appearance very greatly according to whether they are exposed to the sun or are in the shade.

Spiders often spin their webs in the deep tracks made by bison in soft ground; and in my experience an otherwise fresh-looking track, in which a spider’s web is found, had better be abandoned rather than followed.

The worst feature of tracking is that the sports man is entirely at the mercy of the wind. Where the tracks go, he must follow, whether up or down wind; and sometimes for several days together he will experience the disappointment of hearing the bison dash off, having got his wind, without obtaining a chance at them. This is a risk which must be run, and against which no skill or knowledge of woodcraft can protect anyone, and it is a very severe handicap.

It is essential in bison shooting (and, in fact, in all big-game shooting in the forest) that the sportsman’s movements should be as noiseless as possible, and, of course, he should never utter anything louder than a low whisper.

His boots should be made without heels and when he knows that the game is near, he should advance pointing his toes downwards as much as possible.

For choice, I consider the beginning of the southwest monsoon as the ideal time for bison shooting in Mysore. The grass then is (provided fire protection has been unsuccessful) short and of a very vivid emerald hue. The ground being soft, tracking is easy, while frequent rains usually render it practicable to judge correctly the length of time which has elapsed since any track which may be found was made. A further advantage is that, although there is at any time of the year no heat worthy of the name to complain of in Mysore, at this particular season cloudy skies and cold wet days often lighten the labor of a long day’s toil after bison. At this time, which corresponds to the early summer at home, forest nature looks her best, and each well-grown tree is an object of beauty to the lover of forest life and scenery.

The sportsman who is intent on bison shooting should rise before dawn, and make as good a meal as he can manage to cope with at so early an hour before going out. He should take with him food enough for the day, remembering that it may be late ere he can return to camp. He must also carry sufficient fluid to last him till his return—cold tea or soda-water, as he may prefer, since he must not drink a drop of jungle water unless it has been boiled, and thus rendered innocuous.

When a bison is shot in any forest in Mysore in which there are Kurrabas, these little nomads remove the whole of the flesh, cutting it into strips, which they then expose to the sun—on a rock if there should be one handy for the purpose—and so dry the meat for future consumption. The sportsman can feel, therefore, that he is not killing a large animal to waste. One caution, however, I must give him, viz., not to put his foot upon a slain bull, for, should he do so, owing to some superstition of their own, the Kurrabas will not eat its flesh.

Personally, I hate following herd bison if there are any single bulls about, for, let the sportsman be as careful and as experienced as possible, the fact that there are cows with the herd makes it incumbent upon him never to fire unless he is sure that the animal is a big bull. Now it follows that since in a herd of say ten, fifteen, or twenty bison, there is usually but one bull fit to shoot, the chances are nine, fourteen, or nineteen to one. respectively against the animal first seen—if the bison are come upon suddenly in cover—being the only one which he desires to kill.

In spite of all precautions, some cows are so dark in color, and carry such big heads, that a mistake may occur, and even the best sportsman may incur the shame and self-reproach of having accidentally shot a cow.

In order to be sure that a bison in a herd is a bull, the sportsman must either see the animals’ heads from the front—as may occur if he comes upon them in thick cover, hears a snort, and sees big heads with outstretched noses pointed in his direction—or he must see the herd in the open, and be able to form some comparison. A full grown cow bison looks a very big beast, and if an unusually dark specimen should be come upon when her head is hidden (and no other bison visible), when the sportsman is following the tracks of a single bull, the latter would shoot her without hesitation in the belief that she was the object of his pursuit.

It is sickening to a sportsman to shoot a cow by accident, and the danger of so doing inclined me latterly to practically confine myself to single bulls.

Very fine heads have occasionally been shot in herds, but the herd bull is generally an animal in the very prime of life, whose horns, however, bear no comparison in size to those of a veritable solitary bull.

In following a single bull, the sportsman has no chance of hitting a cow by mistake, unless he should happen to see one member only of a herd of the proximity of which he had no previous idea. This occurs so very rarely that this single risk he must run if shooting in a thick, low-country forest; for so acute are the senses of the animal, that he cannot delay firing should he come upon and see any vital portion or large limb of it—probably through intervening jungle, and usually at pretty close quarters. Should he delay till he could make out the animal properly, it would most likely detect him and vanish without giving him another chance.

If the sportsman should obtain a shot at a bull standing broadside on, a bullet placed just behind the shoulder, and a little below the center of the side, will be fatal. If he should fire more in front, and break the shoulder-blade, the animal will shortly be at his mercy; though...