A GOOD HUNTING STORY.

Temuka Leader, Issue 1092, 7 April 1883, Page 3

A GOOD HUNTING STORY.

Lieutenant Neville Chamberlain, A.D 0., Central India Horse, writing from Ootacamund cn August 25, sends to the Field a vivid account of his adventure with a bison when out shooting in the woods of the Maharajah of Mysore. He says ‘ 1 had no companion, so took with me one of the local shikaris, named Kampa, and another man to carry my spare rifle. My battery consisted of a D.B, 8-bore rifle and a D.B-12-bore rifle. I took the 8-bore myself, and giving Kampa my 12bore, crawled up to the herd through the grass. Out of some grass just in front of mo lose a splendid old bull. He was only about 20 yards off, and was just moving behind a clump of bamboos, when I fired at the point of bis shoulder with the 8bore. A great stampede took, place. The smoke hung in the long grass—which as I knelt was nearly up to my neck—and I could not see to give him the second barrel. I ran forward but could see nothing ; so. still running, I opened the breech of the rifle threw out the empty cartridge, and was in the act of pushing a fresh cartridge home, when from behind a small thick clump of bamboos some five yards from me, and about 80 yards from where I had started, I heard a loud snort Kampa gasped out ‘ Karti!’ (bison) and vanished ; and at once the bull came charging down'at me. I only had time as he burled himself at me, to spring behind a small tree on my left. He whizzed past like a battering ram, cutting a large slab of bark with of one of his horns, and turning in almost his own length, was round at me again. This occurred four or five times, but my attention was so fully taken up in dodging him that I could not get the rifle ready for use. To make a long story short, it ended by my catching my foot in a creeper, I fell over backwards, and, as I rose, he ran in and tossed me. One horn—l suppose his left one —fortunately went clean through my breeches and flannel shirt, tearing them to ribbons, and, as far as I can remember, I seemed to sit on his head ; while the other horn passed under my right arm. He threw me a long way, and I fell on my back under some bamboos, apd the yifle dropped out of my hand from the

shock of being tos i.d. J whs a good deni shaken and out of breath, but I think that my first thought was that no a-he would leave me if I kept still ; but he ran up again and stood over my body, shaking his Inigo head over my chest. I thought then it was hopeless I could think of nothing better to do to protect myself, so sat up and struck him four or five times with my fists on one eye, which I could just reach when his head was down- He shook his head and pushed me hack with his nose. I managed then to plant several severe kicks on his muzzle with my heavy hobnailed boots, and he commenced sparring at my legs with his horns, I did my best to keep them out of the way, but got a few bruises on the shins. This began to get monotonous, and I knew another toss would not find a friendly pair of pants. He was still standing over me when I got in a good volley of hobnails on his nose, shouted at him. and sat up to hit him again ; then, to my intense relief, he gave a bellow, left me, and went crashing off down the hill. I never saw the bull again.’