66 THE RIFLE AND HOUND IN CEYLON, chap. IV. 



pillow, no tent nor chairs or table, but, as my distressed 

 servant said, 'no nothing.' This was many years ago, 

 when the excitement of wild sports was sufficient to 

 laugh at discomfort. I literally depended upon my 

 gun for food, and my cooking utensils consisted of 

 one saucepan and a gridiron, a 'stew' and a 'fry' 

 being all that I looked forward to in the way of 

 gouimandism. Sleeping on the bare ground in native 

 huts, dining cross-legged upon mother earth, with a 

 large leaf as a substitute for a plate, a cocoa-nut shell 

 for a glass, my hunting-knife comprising all my 

 cutlery, I thus passed through a large district of wild 

 country, accompanied by B., and I never had more 

 exciting sport. 



It was on this occasion that I had a memorable 

 hunt in the neighbourhood of Narlande, within thirty 

 miles of Kandy. It was our first day's stage, and, 

 upon our arrival, at about 2 P.M., we left our guns at 

 the post-holder's hut, while we proceeded to the river 

 to bathe. 



We were hardly dressed before a native came run- 

 ning to tell us that several elephants were devouring 

 his crop of korrakan — a grain something like clover- 

 seed, upon which the people in this part almost entirely 

 subsist. 



Without a moment's delay we sent for the guns. 

 The post-holder was a good tracker, and a few minutes 

 of sharp walking through a path bordered on either 



