_Voila tout_! On only one other occasion I nearly came to grief while boar shooting.

On my arriving at a Turkish village one night, I was told that there was an enormous boar in the neighbourhood, who for a long time had been the terror of the country, inasmuch as he, accompanied by a large party of the pig tribe, had rooted up the crops all round the village, destroyed gardens, and tradition even said had killed children and eaten them (this latter story I don't take in).

However, the poor people prayed me with tears in their eyes to rid them of their enemy, which I promised to do if possible.

So the next morning off we started in the following order: first, myself and friends, accompanied by the elders of the village armed with old-fashioned guns; then the young men with knives and big sticks, the women and children bringing up the rear as lookers-on.

I and my two friends were escorted into the centre of a large wood, in which very original _seats in trees_ had been knocked up for us.