Elephant Hunting 



my mind and held me chained. A restful quietude, 

 commingled with a riotous exaltation, permeated 

 my whole frame, and induced a vain hope that the 

 effect would not fade away. 



Night soon approached, heralded by a perfect 

 deafeninor chorus of shrill croaking- from the numer- 

 ous frogs. But later this hideous babel died down, 

 and the inky darkness became studded with beautiful 

 fire-flies, wending hither and thither in countless 

 numbers, like moving stars, with no apparent aim 

 than to lend charm to nature. 



I returned, thinking how fortunate I was to be 

 in Uganda. 



I met with disappointment the next morning, 

 for after protracted wanderings along some elephant 

 tracks, with the tenderfoot grass thick on either 

 side, I discovered the herd had gone. One thing 

 amused me. When a native leads you along these 

 paths whilst hunting and comes to a hole, he in- 

 variably smacks his hand behind his back, which 

 warns you not to trip up. You do the same to the 

 next man. 



I was exceedingly tired when I arrived back at 

 Masindi, as I had done thirty-two miles in all. I 

 was very fortunate in meeting two Europeans, who 

 gave me tea. One of them was an old elephant- 

 hunter. He told me unless you catch up with 

 elephants before noon, it is useless. He warned 

 me that those around Masindi were very "kali" 

 (Swahili, knowing), and instead of charging up- 

 wind, seemed to make a point of doing the opposite. 



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