I Once Tried The Rough System Of Travelling, And Started Off With
Nothing But My Guns, Clothes, A Box Of
Biscuits, and a few bottles of
brandy--no bed, no pillow, no tent nor chairs or table, but, as my
Distressed servant said, 'no nothing.' This was many years ago, when the
excitement of wild sports was sufficient to laugh at discomfort. I
literally depended upon my gun for food, and my cooking utensils
consisted of one saucepan and a gridiron, a 'stew' and a 'fry' being all
that I looked forward to in the way of gourmandism. Sleeping on the bare
ground in native huts, dining cross-legged upon mother earth, with a
large leaf as a substitute for a plate, a cocoa-nut shell for a glass,
my hunting-knife comprising all my cutlery, I thus passed through a
large district of wild country, accompanied by B., and I never had more
exciting sport.
It was on this occasion that I had a memorable hunt in the neighbourhood
of Narlande, within thirty miles of Kandy. It was our first day's stage,
and, upon our arrival, at about 2 P.M., we left our guns at the
post-holder's hut, while we proceeded to the river to bathe.
We were hardly dressed before a native came running to tell us that
several elephants were devouring his crop of korrakan--a grain something
like clover-seed, upon which the people in this part almost entirely
subsist.
Without a moment's delay we sent for the guns.
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