The Bank That Failed 



tang of an old file. There were no rod nor tackle 

 stores there all virgin forest some forest, too, I 

 can assure you. 



My bait was a piece of the liver of a buck, shot 

 the day before, and there was a very fine aroma to 

 that liver, believe me, there in tropical Africa! 



I had pulled some ten decent size fish out of this 

 same hole a week previous, and as fish was a change 

 of diet to ordinary rations, we never missed a chance 

 for a change. 



I had two of my niggers with me, and after a lot 

 of chaff from them as to my ability as an angler, I 

 managed to land several fair-sized fish one about 

 twenty pounds. But I was not satisfied, as I could 

 see down on one side several giants and was deter- 

 mined to have a go for one of them. 



My rod was a pole cut in the forest, as straight 

 as a ramrod, and about twelve feet long. It had a 

 ring at the top like a picture ring and fastened on 

 by tying with string twisted around the pole at the 

 butt end. 



And so approached My Most Tragic Fishing Mo- 

 ment. I carefully adjusted my stinking bait, fasten- 

 ing it on with some string from the line I was using. 

 When all was ready I lowered the bait into the water 

 and waited results. I could see all that happened, 

 as the water in this particular pool was clear, except 

 at times when stirred up by the crocodiles moving 



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