MORE ELEPHANTS AND OTHER GAME. 47 



an hour or more when one of the men stopped, and pointed at a blackish object 

 among the trees and bushes. 



It looked like a blackish-grey rock, but one of the men said he thought it was 

 an elephant. I thought so, too, for by this time I had made out one of its tusks, 

 which was glistening in the sun. The beast was standing quite motionless, so I took 

 Chikamagombe with me, and approached. I could not get very near, owing to the 

 bare nature of the country, so stopped at a tree about seventy yards from the animal. 

 Taking a rest by putting my hand against the tree, I fired for his brain, which was a 

 mistake, for the brain shot should never be tried at a greater distance than forty 

 yards. I hit his head, but not his brain, and he wheeled round and began to move 

 off. I had a '303 rifle, which used to jam after every shot, and I carried a rod with 

 me for pushing out the empty cases. When this operation was over and I had 

 reloaded, the elephant was quite one hundred and fifty yards off, and going strong. 

 Swinging the rifle on his shoulder I again pressed the trigger, and heard the bullet 

 strike him. Watching him, I was overjoyed to see him begin to slow down, and then 

 sway about and sink on his knees. We ran up, and I put two more bullets into his 

 head to make sure, as he took a long time to die. I had made a very lucky shot, for 

 I found my bullet afterwards in the heart. 



On examining his head, I found that the first bullet had gone clean through it, 

 too high for his brain. This was the biggest elephant I had yet shot, and his bulk 

 was enormous, as he was a tall and very thickset animal. He fell with his trunk 

 buried under his chest, and in a kneeling position. 



On weighing his tusks afterwards, I found them to be 56flb. and 52flb. 



After he had come to the ground, this elephant made most violent efforts to 

 regain his feet, all the time giving vent to deep grunts. One cannot help feeling 

 sorry for a grand beast in mortal pain. 



They get a little of their own back occasionally, for it is sometimes the hunter 

 that dies and not the elephant. 



One does not feel the same sorrow in killing a dangerous animal as in shooting 

 harmless antelopes, whose dying look of reproach is often remembered for a long 

 time afterwards by the man of kindly nature. After all, one must have meat, and a 

 bullet, if well directed, kills humanely. 



Many people who have never tasted the joys of hunting big game decry the 

 hunter, but I wonder if they stop eating their roast beef and boiled mutton. 



If they do not kill the harmless bullock and sheep themselves, they are indirectly 

 responsible for their deaths, for if they did not eat meat the butchers would not 

 kill it. 



