"At eleven o'clock at night we entered the famous pass of Dunghye. The
road bears the appearance of a deep sandy ravine; the banks are rocky
and woody, and in many places quite overhung by the forest-trees. We
had accomplished about half the defile, when I was suddenly and rudely
awakened from a dozing sleep by the shock of my palankeen coming to
the ground, and by the most discordant shouts and screams. I jumped
out to ascertain the cause of the uproar, and found, on inquiry, that
a foraging party of tigers--probably speculating upon picking up a
straggling bearer--had sprung off the rocks, and dashed across the
road, bounding between my palankeen and that of Colonel D., who was
scarcely ten yards a-head. The bearers of both palankeens were all
huddled together, bellowing like bedlamites, and the mussalgees waving
their torches most vehemently. On mustering our forces, we discovered
that two of our patarra-bearers were missing, and fearing that the
tigers might pick them up, we dispatched four men with spare torches
to bring them on. Meanwhile my friend and myself, having brought
our palankeens together, armed ourselves with patience and a pair of
pistols to await the result. The whole incident, with the time and
scene, was highly interesting and wild, with just enough of the awful
to give an additional piquancy. The night was dark and stormy, and the
wind roared among the trees above our heads: the torches cast a red
and flickering light on the rocks in our immediate neighbourhood, and
just showed us enough of the depths of the forest to make the back
ground more gloomy and unfathomable. The distant halloos of the men
who were gone in search of their comrades, came faintly and wildly
upon the breeze; and the occasional shots that we fired rang through
the rocky jungle with an almost interminable echo. In about three
quarters of an hour our bearers joined us, together with the two
patarra-bearers. These latter, hearing the vociferations of our men,