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it. This time the battle was in the Colonel's own hands. He had seen how the director of the hunt managed his business, and the result was a triumph. Riding the boar out of his swift pace he drove the spear. When the animal turned he faced and fought. Another horse in this charge, ridden by an attendant, was wounded, the boar taking him in the shoulder and inflicting an ugly wound. An attendant was thrown and bruised. But the end came, and the Colonel drove his spear home, thus securing his second pig, and glory enough for the day.
It was then proposed to shoot antelope. The antelope is no less wary in the jungle than in our own prairie. He is wary and fleet. It is difficult to stalk him, for going on foot through a jungle, where the wildest of wild animals may come on you, is not a sensible proceeding. In Jeypore there are two ways of hunting the antelope. One is with the cheetah, an animal of the leopard species, of remarkable speed for a short run. The cheetah is taken and trained. I do not think he ever becomes thoroughly tamed, although I saw some in Jeypore led around by attendants. I did not test their docility, having the emotion of early menagerie days, and thinking it odd to see a long, creeping, spotted leopard pacing up and down the streets. The Maharajah has several in his hunting establishment, and, if our party had cared, would have given us a cheetah hunt. The animal is tamed-at least made tame enough to obey his keeper. He is taken in an ox cart to the jungle and hooded. The ox cart drives into the jungle, and so approaches the antelopes. The ox cart is so familiar, as the common wagon of the farmer, that its passing does not disturb them. A horseman or a traveler or a hunter, wearing a different tint of garment from the ordinary peasant, would set a whole herd in motion. The ox cart approaches within three or four hundred yards. The cheetah is unhooded and flies at his game. If successful, he brings it down on the first run. Seizing the animal by the throat, there is no escaping. If, however, the distance is badly considered, and the antelope shows too much speed, or the cheetah is bewildered and does not spring at the moment, the antelope gets off, for the speed of the cheetah does not last beyond the first few hundred yards. He has no enterprise, no sense, and when his experiment fails, stops, and would perhaps go leaping into the jungle if his keeper did not come, and, covering him with a hood, lead him to his cart. If he succeeds and brings the antelope down he is allowed to drink the blood as a reward. This reward is the condition of tameness. Cheetah hunting is more an amusement of the natives than the English. It is a curious sport, and was shown to the Prince of Wales when in Jeypore. Good hunters—English hunters—think it a questionable proceeding to steal upon an antelope in disguise and attack him with a wild beast. The Colonel and his party had the ox carts at their disposal, and, satisfied with their exploits over the boar, went after the antelope. The carts drove within good shooting range, when the Colonel brought down a fine buck. This closed the day's work, for noon was coming, and it was thought best not to tempt too strongly the noon-day sun of India. The Colonel came back to Jeypore with the tusks of the two boars and the horns of the antelope as his trophies. As a young American's first day in the jungle the result was a triumph for our expedition, and we felt so much interest in the tusks and the horns and the narrative of the day's adventures that we began to feel ourselves sharers in the glory, and that we, too, had been in the grass, charging the wild boar and pursuing the flying deer. The Colonel thanked the Maharajah for having given him so fine a day's sport. His Highness said that if the General and party would only remain two or three days he would give them a memorable experience with tiger and bear and leopard and all that his jungles could afford. to resemble the country-house of Lord Scarsdale, in Derbyshire, and as a noble and stately pile may rank with the palaces of Europe. European houses in India are built for air and room.
In the Government House there are council-rooms, reception-rooms, and state dining-rooms; the two ideas governing the architecture of this, as in other official houses of the empire, being comfort and splendor—comfort, that the European may endure the pitiless sun; splendor, that the eyes of the subject may be dazzled. It is odd at first to see your cold, indifferent, matter-of-fact Englishman, at home caring only for comfort, as solicitous about pomp as the Lord Chamberlain ; but this is because pomp and ceremony are the first essentials of government in India.
The Viceroy of India, Lord Lytton-better known to Americans as the poet “Owen Meredith "-received General Grant with great kindness. His Lordship said in greeting the General that he was honored in having as his guest a gentleman whose career he had followed with interest and respect, and that it was especially agreeable to meet one who had been the chief magistrate of the country in which he spent some of the happiest years of his life. Lord Lytton had reference to his residence in Washington, as a member of the British legation, during the time that his uncle—then Sir Henry Bulwer-was British Minister to the United States. His Lordship was also cordial in his greeting to Mr. Borie, and referred to our companion's services in General Grant's cabinet. He conversed with Colonel Grant about General Sheridan, and regretted that the duties of his office, on account of the Burmese and Afghan complications, and his approaching departure for Simla, prevented his seeing as much of our party as he wished. Our quarters in the Government House were very pleasant, looking out on the public square. In the afternoon we drove around and stood listening to the band in the Eden Gardens. The only hours given to recreation in India are in the early morning and at the going down of the sun. Then all the English world spend the cool of the day under the trees. The General and his Lordship took a long stroll together. In the
evening there was a state banquet, attended by the high authorities of the British empire.
Next day there was an excursion to the Viceroy's countryseat at Barrackpoor, Sir Ashley Eden, Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, doing the honors in the name of the Viceroy. Barrackpoor is a country-seat, about twelve miles up the Hoogly river. Our party was small, comprising the leading members of the government and their families. We drove to the dock under a beating noon-day sun. The scenery of the Hoogly reminds you of the low, tropical banks of the St. John's river, in Florida, but it is a narrower stream, and the aspect of nature is gloomy compared with what you see in Florida, where the orange groves light up the landscape. The Hoogly teems with life, with boatmen in all kinds of floating contrivances. The navigation of an Indian stream must be a good deal trusting to fate. Our currents were wayward, and the vessel was more a floating hotel than a water-going craft. When we came bumping against the side of a clumsy lump of a vessel with such force as would tear away the iron-work and make the steamer buzz and tremble, everybody seemed to take it as a matter of course.
The view of Barrackpoor from the river is beautiful, because you see what is so rare in India-green rolling meadow land. Were it not for the tropical foliage and noble banyan trees it would not be difficult to fancy that Barrackpoor was a bit of Richmond on the Thames. Barrackpoor has a melancholy prominence in the history of India. Here the first of the mutiny occurred, in the history of the greased cartridges. Before the government authorities took to the hills for the summer, Barrackpoor was a country-seat, holding the same relation to the Government House in Calcutta that the Soldiers' Home did in Mr. Lincoln's days to the White House at Washington. Barrackpoor, except as a military station, and as the occasional resort for a picnic party, has been practically abandoned. We landed from our steamer in a small yacht, and had quite a walk in the relentless sun until we came to a marquee tent, pitched under a banyan tree, where a band was playing and servants