came up shortly after, and the same scene was enacted three times before
his huge form floated lifeless down the stream.




CHAPTER IV.


_A picnic on the Nepaul frontier--A boar-hunt--The Terai and its
resources--Our shooting quarters--Incidents of sport--A tiger-hunt--The
great elephant exhibition of 1851--Camp Bechiacor_.

Pitched under the shade of some wide-spreading mangoes are a variety of
tents of all sizes, from the handsome and spacious marquee to the snug
sleeping tent; near them are picqueted a number of fine-looking Arab
horses in prime condition, while the large barouche, which is standing
close by, might have just emerged from a coach-house in a London mews; a
few servants are loitering about, and give life to this otherwise
tranquil scene.

Nobody can for an instant suppose that this is the camp of Jung Bahadoor;
his tents are green and red and generally surrounded by soldiers; his
horses do not look so sleek and fresh as these; he has not got a barouche
belonging to him, far less a piano, and I think I hear the music of one
proceeding from yonder large tent.--No--this is an Indian picnic--none of
your scrambling, hurried pleasure parties to last for a wet day, when
everybody brings his own food, and eats it uncomfortably with his
fingers, with some leaves for a plate and an umbrella for a roof, and
then persuades himself and others that he has been enjoying himself. Let