As they neared the large withered tree in the centre of the brake, the elephant curled up his trunk and trumpeted.  This was a sure sign there was game afoot.  We could see the peon in the howdah leaning over the front bar, and eagerly peering into the recesses of the thicket before him.  He lit one of the bombs, and hurled it right up against the hole of the tree.  It hissed and sputtered, and the smoke came curling over the reeds in dense volumes.  A roar followed that made the valley ring again.  We heard a swift rush.  The elephant turned tail, and fled madly away, crashing through the matted brake that crackled and tore under his tread.  The howdah swayed wildly, and the peon clung tenaciously on to the top bar with all his desperate might.  The mahout, or elephant-driver, tried in vain to check the rush of the frightened brute, but after repeated sounding whacks on the head he got her to stop, and again turn round.  Meantime the cries and shouting had ceased, and the beaters came pouring from the jungle by twos and threes, like the frightened inhabitants of some hive or ant-heap.  Some in their hurry came tumbling out headlong, others with their faces turned backwards to see if anything was in pursuit of them, got entangled in the reeds, and fell prone on their hands and knees.  One fellow had just emerged from the thick cover, when another terrified compatriot dashed out in blind unreasoning fear close behind him.  The first one thought the tiger was on him.  With one howl of anguish and dismay he fled as fast as he could run, and the General and I, who had witnessed the episode, could not help uniting in a resounding peal of laughter, that did more to bring the scared coolies to their senses than anything else we could have done.

There was no doubt now of the tiger’s whereabouts.  One of the beaters gave us a most graphic description of its appearance and proportions.  According to him it was bigger than an elephant, had a mouth as wide as a coal scuttle, and eyes that glared like a thousand suns.  From all this we inferred that there was a full grown tiger or tigress in the jungle.  We re-formed the line of beaters, and once more got the elephant to enter the patch.  The same story was repeated.  No sooner did they get near the old tree, than the tigress again charged with a roar, and our valiant coolies and the chicken-hearted elephant vacated the jungle as fast as their legs could carry them.  This happened twice or thrice.  The tigress charged every time, but would not leave her safe cover.  The elephant wheeled round at every charge, and would not shew fight.  Fullerton got into the howdah, and fired two shots into the spot where the tigress was lying.  He did not apparently wound her, but the reports brought her to the charge once more, and the elephant, by this time fairly tired of the game, and thoroughly demoralised with fear, bolted right away, and nearly cracked poor Fullerton’s head against the branch of a tree.