The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



their shells, enabling me to cut off the protruding 

 flesh, and the little plate of shell used for closing 

 up the entrance to the snail retreat. 



When I had cleaned out some of them I sent 

 them off to a friend of mine, Mr. Layard, of 

 Budleigh Salterton, a great conchologist, and 

 he told me that the specimens were new to 

 science, and christened them after me. 



The commissariat " on the hill " at Calabar 

 was restricted in variety, consisting mainly of 

 tinned foods, and I thought it would be a good 

 idea to import a pig or two, and some fowls and 

 turkeys, all of which I ordered through our 

 agent in London. The pigs were installed in a 

 magnificent brick sty, to which we had no end 

 of difficulty in introducing them. Owing to the 

 unaccustomed heat the animals would lie down, 

 refusing to budge. Two or three days after the 

 turkeys came, the boy who was detailed to look 

 after them came to me in great distress, saying 

 over and over again, " Hen live for die." I 

 found one of the birds sitting on a perch with 

 drooping head, black with driver ants, who 

 were stinging their prey to death. " Live for 

 die " hardly expressed the situation. With a 

 stick I put the poor turkey out of misery, and 

 the ants scattered far and wide. I told the boy 

 to bury the corpse, but I expect he cooked it for 

 his supper, and invited all his pals to the banquet. 



A week later my chief and I went up-river to 



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