The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
had completely destroyed everything by pulling 
up the trees and eating the tops. 
Soon afterwards we passed a pool under a 
rock, all the water in which was stirred up with 
mud, whilst the surrounding banks were trampled 
into holes, to which the water was still trickling. 
The old guide now showed unmistakable 
signs of funk. He made as much noise as he 
could, and ended by pointing his musket at some 
imaginary object in the tree-tops, preparatory 
to bringing it down. This was too much, and I 
knocked his weapon aside, telling him to follow 
me. 
The elephants, of course, had only just 
vacated this bathing-place, and had my guide, 
who evidently knew the spot well, been really 
keen on getting me some sport, he would have 
approached from above, in which case I should 
undoubtedly have obtained a shot. His terror 
was so pronounced, however, that to go forward 
with him as a guide was worse than useless. 
I therefore placed him behind, and told him by 
signs that if he cleared, or made a sound, I 
would hammer him within an inch of his life. 
Soon I found myself in a swampy bit of ground, 
facing a big bulk about forty yards off, a dim 
grey-black object, half-hidden in the bush and 
timber. I knew it was an elephant, although I 
could not see his head and shoulders—nothing 
but an indistinct mass which it would have been 
54 
