For a time we could hear the shouts of the peons as they hallooed for the boatmen, and we listened anxiously for the response, but there was none.  We could hear the purling swish of the rapid stream, the crumbling banks falling into the current with a distant splash.  Occasionally a swift rushing of wings overhead told us of the arrowy flight of diver or teal.  Far in the distance twinkled the gleam of a herdsman’s fire, the faint tinkle of a distant bell, or the subdued barking of a village dog for a moment, alone broke the silence.

At times the hideous chorus of a pack of jackals woke the echoes of the night.  Then, at no great distance, rose a hoarse booming cry, swelling on the night air, and subsiding into a lengthened growl.  The syces started to their feet, the horses snorted with fear; and as the roar was repeated, followed closely by another to our left, and seemingly nearer, H. exclaimed ‘By Jove! there’s a couple of tigers.’

Sure enough, so it was.  It was the first time I had heard the roar of the tiger in his own domain, and I must confess that my sensations were not altogether pleasant.  We set about collecting sticks and what roots of grass we could find, but on the sand-flats everything was wet, and it was so dark that we had to grope about on our hands and knees, and pick up whatever we came across.

With great difficulty we managed to light a small fire, and for about half-an-hour were nearly smothered by trying with inflated cheeks to coax it into a blaze.  The tigers continued to call at intervals, but did not seem to be approaching us.  It was a long weary wait, we were cold, wet, hungry, and tired; F., the cause of our misfortunes, had taken off his saddle, and with it for a pillow was now fast asleep.  H. and I cowered over the miserable sputtering flame, and longed and wished for the morning.  It was a miserable night, the hours seemed interminable, the dense volumes of smoke from the water-sodden wood nearly choked us.  At last, after some hours spent in this miserable manner, we heard a faint halloo in the distance; it was now past eleven at night.  We returned the hail, and bye-and-bye the peons returned bringing a boatman with them.  The lazy rascals at the ghat where we had proposed crossing, had gone home at nightfall, leaving their boats on the further bank.  Our trusty peons, had gone five miles up the river, through the thick jungle, and brought a boat down with them from the next ghat to that where we were.

We now warily picked our way down to the edge of the bank.  The boat seemed very fragile, and the current looked so swift and dangerous, that we determined to go across first ourselves, get the larger boat from the other side, light a fire, and then bring over the horses.  We embarked accordingly, leaving the syces and horses behind us.  The peons and boatman pulled the boat a long way up stream by a rope, then shooting out we were carried swiftly down stream, the dark shadow of the further bank seeming at a great distance.  The boatman pushed vigorously at his bamboo pole, the water rippled and gurgled, and frothed and eddied around.  Half-a-dozen times we thought our boat would topple over, but at length we got safely across, far below what we had proposed as our landing place.