Our destination was a
series of marshes some six miles away, where the gonds--or swamp-deer--
were usually found, and we were divided up, some elephants, of which
mine was one, taking the left wing, with instructions on reaching a
certain spot to wait there for the deer who would move off in that
direction; others taking the right wing; and others beating up the
middle.
We began with a trial of nervous stamina--for a river far down in its
bed below us almost immediately occurred, and this had to be crossed. I
abandoned all hope as the elephant descended the bank almost, as it
seemed, perpendicularly, and plunged into the water with an enormous
splash. But after he had squeeged through, extricating himself with a
gigantic wrench, the ground was level for a long while, and there was
time to look around and recollect one's fatalism. Far ahead in a blue
mist were the Himalayas. All about were unending fields, with here and
there white cattle grazing. Cranes stretched their necks above the
grass; now and then a herd of blackbuck (which were below our hunting
ambitions) scampered away; the sky was full of wild-duck and other
water-fowl.
Of the hunting of the gond I should have something to say had not a
diversion occurred which relegated that lively and elusive creature to
an obscure place in the background. We had finished the beat, and most
of us had emerged from the swamp to higher ground where an open space,
or maidan, corresponding to a drive in an English preserve, but on the
grand scale, divided it from the jungle--all our thoughts being set upon
lunch--when suddenly across this open space passed a blur of yellow and
black only a few yards from the nearest elephant.
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