A
Brace Of Greyhounds To One Buck Is Fair Play, And A Good Strong Horse
Will Generally Keep Them In View.
In two weeks' coursing in the Park, we
killed seventeen deer with three greyhounds; at the expiration of which
time, the dogs were so footsore and wounded by the hard burnt stubble of
the old grass that they were obliged to be sent home.
When the greyhounds had left, I turned my attention to elephants. There
were very few at this season in the Park, and I therefore left this part
of the country, which was dried up, and proceeded to Kondawataweny, in
the direction of Batticaloa.*(*The jungles have now been cleared away,
and a plain of 25,000 acres of rice cultivation has usurped the old
resort of elephants.) Kondawataweny is a small village, inhabited by
Moormen, situated on the edge of a large lake or tank. Upon arrival, I
found that the neighbourhood was alive with game of all kinds, and the
Moormen were excellent hands at elephants. There was accordingly no
difficulty in procuring good gun-bearers and trackers, and at 4 P.M. of
the day of our arrival, we started to make a circuit of the tank in
quest of the big game. At about 5 P.M. we observed several rogues
scattered in various directions around the lake; one of these fellows,
whose close acquaintance I made with the telescope, I prophesied would
show some fight before we owned his tail. This elephant was standing
some distance in the water, feeding and bathing.
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