His Son, Who Is Now Twelve Months Old, Is The Facsimile Of
His Sire, And Often Recalls The Recollection Of The Old Dog.
I hope he
may turn out as good.* (*Killed four months afterwards by a buck elk.)
Misfortunes never come alone. A few weeks after Smut's death, Lizzie, an
excellent bitch, was killed by a leopard, who wounded Merriman in the
throat, but he being a powerful dog, beat him off and escaped. Merriman
had not long recovered from his wound, when he came to a lamentable and
diabolical end.
On December 24, 1852, we found a buck in the jungles by the Badulla
road. The dead nillho so retarded the pack that the elk got a long start
of the dogs; and stealing down a stream he broke cover, crossed the
Badulla road, ascended the opposite hills, and took to the jungle before
a single hound appeared upon the patina. At length Merriman came
bounding along upon his track, full a hundred yards in advance of the
pack. In a few minutes every dog had disappeared in the opposite jungle
on the elk's path.
This was a part of the country where we invariably lost the dogs, as
they took away across a vast jungle country towards a large and rapid
river situated among stupendous precipices. I had often endeavoured to
find the dogs in this part, but to no purpose; this day, however, I was
determined to follow them if possible. I made a circuit of about twenty
miles down into the low countries, and again ascending through
precipitous jungles, I returned home in the evening, having only
recovered two dogs, which I found on the other side of the range of
mountains, over which the buck had passed. No pen can describe the
beauty of the scenery in this part of the country, but it is the most
frightful locality for hunting that can be imagined. The high lands
suddenly cease; a splendid panoramic view of the low country extends for
thirty miles before the eye; but to descend to this, precipices of
immense depth must be passed; and from a deep gorge in the mountain, the
large river, after a succession of falls, leaps in one vast plunge of
three hundred feet into the abyss below. This is a stupendous cataract,
about a mile below the foot of which is the village of Perewelle. I
passed close to the village, and, having ascended the steep sides of the
mountain, I spent hours in searching for the pack, but the roaring of
the river and the din of the waterfalls would have drowned the cry of a
hundred hounds. Once, and only once, when halfway up the side of the
mountain, I thought I heard the deep bay of a hound in the river below;
then I heard the shout of a native; but the sound was not repeated, and
I thought it might proceed from the villagers driving their buffaloes. I
passed on my arduous path, little thinking of the tragic fate which at
that moment attended poor Merriman.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 139 of 177
Words from 71470 to 71984
of 91283
