chorus. An occasional splash, as a piece of the bank topples
over into the stream, rouses the cormorant and gull from their placid
dozing on the sandbanks. They squeak and gurgle out an unintelligible
protest, then cosily settle their heads again beneath the sheltering
wing, and sleep the slumber of the dreamless. A sharp sudden plump, or
a lazy surging sound, accompanied by a wheezy blowing sort of hiss,
tells us that a _seelun_ is disporting himself; or that a fat old
'porpus' is bearing his clumsy bulk through the rushing current.

The bank now looms out dark and mysterious, and as we turn the point
another long stretch of the river opens out, reflecting the merry
twinkle of the myriad stars, that glitter sharp and clear millions of
miles overhead. There is now a clattering of bamboo poles. With a
grunt of disgust, and a quick catching of the breath, as the cold
water rushes up against his thighs, one of the boatmen splashes
overboard, and they commence slowly and wearily pushing the boat up
stream. We touch the bank a dozen times. The current swoops down and
turns us round and round. The men have to put their shoulders under
the gunwale, and heave and strain with all their might. The long
bamboo poles are plunged into the dark depths of the river, and the
men puff, and grunt, and blow, as they bend almost to the bottom of
the boat while they push. It is a weary progress. We are dripping wet
with dew. Quite close on the bank we hear the hoarse wailing call of a
tigress. The call of the tiger comes echoing down between the banks.
The men cease poling. I peer forward into the obscurity. My syce pats,
and speaks soothingly to the trembling horse, while my peon with
excited fingers fumbles at the straps of my gun-case. For a moment all
is intensely still.

I whisper to the boatmen to push out a little into the stream. Again
the tigress calls, this time so close to us that we could almost fancy
we could feel her breath. My gun is ready. The syce holds the horse
firmly by the head, and as we leave the bank, we can distinctly see
the outline of some large animal, standing out a dark bulky mass
against the skyline. I take a steady aim and fire. A roar of
astonishment, wrath, and pain follows the report. The horse struggles
and snorts, the boatman calls out 'Oh, my father!' and ejaculates
'hi-hi-hi!' in tones of piled up anguish and apprehension, the peon
cries exultantly 'Wah wah! khodawund, lug, gea,' that bullet has told