In Wildest Africa 



cold, I wandered every morning through the tall grass to 

 the top of the hill and waited and waited. . . . 



The elephants seemed to have completely disappeared ; 

 no matter how far I extended my daily excursions, they 

 were nowhere to be seen. At length I came across a 

 fairly big herd, but they had taken up their stand in 

 such an impenetrable thicket that it was quite impossible 

 to sight them. After much creeping and crawling through 

 the elephant and rhinoceros paths in the undergrowth I 

 managed to get just for a few minutes a faint glimpse of 

 the vague outline of single animals, but so indistinct that 

 it was impossible to determine their age, size, or sex. 

 In East Africa elephants are generally seen under these 

 unfavourable conditions. Very seldom does one come 

 upon a good male tusk-bearing specimen, as well-meaning 

 but inexperienced persons, such as I myself was at one 

 time, would desire. 



There is something very exciting and stimulating in 

 coming face to face with these gigantic creatures in 

 the thick undergrowth. All one's nerves are strained 

 to see or hear the faintest indication of the whereabouts 

 of the herd ; the sultry air, the dense tangle through 

 which we have to move, and which hinders every step, 

 combine to excite us. We can only see a few paces 

 around. The strong scent of elephant stimulates us. The 

 snapping and creaking of branches and twigs, the noises 

 made by the beasts themselves, especially the shrill cry of 

 warning- given out from time to time by one of the herd — 

 all add to the tension. The clanging, pealing sound of 

 this cry has something particularly weird in it in the 



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