A Day's Sport on the Backdam 111 
a big bull terrier hard on his heels. We could not fire for fear of killing the dog, 
but nearly all the younger beaters left their posts, and excitedly started in 
pursuit, thus leaving the way open for the remaining game to get out of the 
enclosed fields. This they were not slow to avail themselves of, and soon they 
and the dogs and hunters were scattered everywhere. 
The first big fellow was pulled down more than two miles away by his original 
pursuer, another was secured in the water by the East Indians, but the rest all 
got away, and we turned our attention to other game. 
A good-sized lizard, or salempenta, disturbed by the commotion, was rapidly 
swimming across the main canal, making for the parapet of a newly-cropped 
field opposite to where we had been hunting the water-haas. Waiting until he 
was struggling up the bank, I broke his back with a charge of No. 4 shot. Into 
the water dashed a coolie shouting, “‘ Black man go gimme two fowl chicken for 
2 ee) 
am, ~” amidst the laughter of his comrades. 
A short distance along the dam a quiet touch on my elbow, with a whisper- 
ed “ Blue hen, boss, ” drew my attention to a heavy flighted bird within easy 
shot. I found ita kind of coot, or moorhen, as we call them in England, and 
she weighed nearly three pounds. Several more fell to my gun, as the Kast 
Indians assured me they were good to eat, and I thought a walk in the abandoned 
fields might prove productive. 
I had previously noticed both grey plover and a species of snipe in these same 
fallow fields, and being especially anxious to secure specimens of the latter bird 
I loaded both barrels with No. 8 shot and walked slowly down a drain. 
I had hardly walked twenty yards when up got a wisp of what looked uncom- 
monly like jack snipe, though of course these latter are solitary birds. Away 
they went to windward rising against the breeze as snipe prefer to do the whole 
world over, whether you are shooting in Ireland or in the paddy fields of India 
and China. One fellow was a trifle slow in doubling to fly downward, and as the 
distance was rather far for my gun, I gave him the left barrel, a full choke bore. 
The right barrel accounted for what appeared to me to be a cross between a water 
wagtail and a small snipe. The flight was not unlike that of the true snipe, but 
the bird was hardly a quarter of the latter’s size. I believe locally it is called a 
nit. Ihave since seen them in considerable flocks together, with occasionally 
a solitary snipe feeding amongst them. 
No other game showing up, I handed the gun to my boy in exchange for a 
butterfly net, as numberless species of both moths and butterflies were dancing 
over the grass and flowers. 
I was somewhat surprised to get a specimen of Castnia Licus, a male too, as I 
had never before seen this moth so far from growing cane in this country. It is, 
of course, known to the planters asthe perfect insect of the Giant Moth-borer 
grubs that have played such havoc with the sugar plantations in this colony. 
A few specimens of the transparent winged butterfly and also of the long- 
tailed butterflies peculiar to South America were caught after much labouring 
through the long grass and deep drains of the abandoned fields. 
