At last an old man came up and told us not to encamp near the wells, as the women of the village could not come for water. He said all the young men were out shooting, so we could have no guides or gun-bearers; moreover, that there was neither milk nor rice for our horses; but that a few miles further on, there was plenty of all that was here deficient--in short, he begged to suggest the propriety of our moving on. Being quite up to the old gentleman's strategy, we answered, that the ladies need not fear us (they were certainly no beauties, as we found out afterward); that we could do without his young men, and had our own gun-bearers; that as to milk or paddy, we could do without the former, and had got enough of the latter; and, finally, that we meant to stay where we were. Having failed in his diplomatic embassy, the old gentleman retired. So we set to, pitching the tent; and soon the savory smell of a couple of hares we had shot by the way, gave the villagers an idea of the destructive propensities of their unwelcome visitors. While we were smoking our afternoon cheroots, a volunteer from the village, having heard, no doubt, that we were good pay, came in, and offered to show us the best ground and pools or tanks, and said he would bring a companion with him at gun-fire next morning. He was a small, well-made fellow, his hair fastened in a jaunty club on the side of his head, instead of behind it, as is the Cingalese fashion, which the Malabars of the Northern Province only adopt when married; his dress, as usual, nothing but a cloth bound round his loins, with the usual accompaniment of a betel-cracker and pouch. Having come to a satisfactory agreement with this hero, we rigged out our iron beds, blew up our air mattresses, and in less than ten minutes were deep in dreams of waltzes and polkas with the fair nymphs of our island capital. At four next morning, having got our rifles and double-barreled guns ready, we sat down, expecting the arrival of our last night's friend. He came, after sundry messages had been sent after him, and with him his _fidus Achates_. The head of hair which this fellow had defies all description. It was curled into a thousand little corkscrews, each consisting of about twelve hairs, and varying from three to six inches in length, darting out at all angles from his head like the quills of an angry porcupine. Giving each of these guides a spare gun, we started in silence, and nothing but the cracking of some ill-natured stick, or the cry of a wild bird we had started from its roost, gave warning of our progress.