HUNTING & SHOOTING IN CEYLON 



one or two floundering struggles, the ugly beast is ignomini- 

 ously hauled to the canoe, hand-over-hand, and knocked 

 on the head. 



On one occasion, a good many years ago, at Topawewa, 

 Brockman, I, the Mudaliyar and an old servant of his, went 

 out in the canoe for an evening's fishing. Brockman was 

 new to our style, so the Mudaliyar advised him to watch 

 the old man, who was an " expert." Arrived at the ground, 

 we duly anchored, and then the old fellow proceeded to 

 impale one of the small fish on his big hook in the most 

 approved fashion. "Now then," said the Mudaliyar, 

 "watch how he throws out his line," and Brockman did 

 watch. The old man glanced leisurely round, selected a 

 particularly clear spot among the weeds about 15 or 20 

 yards away, whirled his line round his head, and, with a 

 final extra strong swing, let it go. Naturally he and we 

 expected to see the line sail neatly out to the selected spot ; 

 but it did nothing of the kind. 



The last strong swing was a bit too vehement the 

 poor little bait-fish came against the inside of the canoe 

 with a resounding " whack," dropped off the hook, and the 

 line, all in a jumble, incontinently flew overboard, every 

 atom of it falling " higgledy-piggledy " in the water 20 

 yards away. The look of solemn surprise on the old man's 

 face was most ludicrous, proving too much for Brockman 

 and myself, and in a moment we were simply convulsed 

 with laughter, soon joined, in spite of his efforts at 

 gravity, by the Mudaliyar, and the canoe fairly trembled 

 with our mirth. Utterly regardless of our laughter, the 

 old man gravely unmoored the canoe, and, poling along, 

 recovered his lost line, having, I hope, some satisfaction 

 eventually in catching more fish than any of the rest of us. 



Involuntary little bursts of laughter came from us every 



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