GAME. 



253 



in these unclassical lands they are haunted, not 

 by fairies, but by monkeys. About a dwarf 

 creek trees cluster on three sides of a square, 

 regularly as if planted, and rope-like creepers, 

 the West African tie-tie, bind together the sup- 

 porting stems and hang a cm^tain to the canopy 

 of imperious sylvan shade. The consumptive 

 Jemadar suffered severely from the sun ; he still, 

 however, showed some ardour for sport. ' A 

 mixture of a lie,' says Bacon bluntly, ' doth ever 

 add to pleasure.' There was abundant amuse- 

 ment in the little man's grandiloquent romancing ; 

 a hero and a E/Ustam he had slain his dozens ; 

 men quaked — ^in far Balochistan — at the mention 

 of his name ; his sword-blade never fell upon a 

 body without cutting it in twain, and, 'faith, had 

 he wielded it as he did his tongue, the weapon 

 w^ould indeed have been deadly. At Panga-ni 

 he had told us all manner of F. M. Pinto tales 

 concerning the chase at Chogwe, and his pal, an 

 old Mzegura woodsman, had promised us ele- 

 phants, giraffes, and wild cattle. But when we 

 pressed the point our guide shirked the trial ; 

 his son was absent, war raged in the clan, his 

 family wanted provisions : he was ever coming 

 on the morrow, and — the morrow never came. 

 This convinced me that the tale of game in the 



