The Maharajah shared his room with a friend, a lad about two years older than himself.  One night between ten and eleven o’clock, when all were in bed and asleep after a tiring day and an early dinner, the near roaring of a tiger awakened the camp.  In a twinkling the servants had trasferred themselves and their bedding from the verandah into the centre room and securely bolted the door.  Roar after roar sounded through the night, but the young Maharajah slept the healthful and deep sleep of tired childhood and the mighty voice of the lord of the jungle did not disturb him.  His friend was awakened by the majestic sound and lay trembling with fear; envying his blissfully unconscious companion, until the nearness of the tiger broke down his self-control and, vigorously shaking his bed-fellow, he shouted in his ear:  “Tiger, tiger!”

The young Maharajah awoke, yawned, stretched and listened.  The roaring had ceased but under the bungalow they could hear the purring of a tiger as it rubbed itself against a post.  The younger and fearless boy laughed with glee and assured his friend that there was no danger of the tiger getting into the bungalow, and that on the morrow they would be easily able to track and shoot it.  Soon the sounds of purring and rubbing gave place to others, and the occupants of the bungalow realised that more than one tiger played beneath them.  Next day in the jungle near the forest bungalow the party shot a couple of tigers, a tigress and her cubs.

In later years the Maharajah became famous for his shoots and many and varied were his adventures and experiences.  One year he was in camp with a large party and they were out one afternoon after buffaloes.  A fine bull was driven out of a patch of thick jungle and faced the guns with defiance in his eyes.  He was a grand target and the Maharajah’s finger ached to pull his trigger, but courtesy forbade him and he generously, as always, left the fine prize for his guests.  But, one after another, each missed his shot and the noble bull charged past into thicker jungle.  As the line of guns attempted to follow, one of them spied a leopard up on a tree looking thoroughly scared.  This animal had evidently been disturbed by the commotion in the forest and had been so terrified that it had climbed into a tree for shelter; and there, on a branch, poor “Spots” fell an easy prey to the sportsmen.

One of the strangest adventures that the Maharajah had was when, returning to camp one evening, he was informed that one of his largest and best elephants, “Kennedy”, had got stuck in quicksand.  In many parts of Assam there are quicksands and quagmires.  This particular one chanced to be in a nala (stream).  The elephant had refused to cross the partially dried-up stream.  Instinct had warned him through the tip of his trunk that danger lurked there, but his mahout (driver), anxious to get into camp after a hard day and knowing that across this stream was a short cut,