THE WILD ELEPHANT'S CHARGE. 189 



a sport ■worthy beyond all others of the true sportsman. Even if unsuc- 

 cessful, the pleasures which have attended the day's pursuit surely compen- 

 sate to a great extent for an empty bag. As the elephant-hunter bares his 

 brow to the cool evening breeze on the hills in which the hunt has prob- 

 ably terminated, he finds pleasure in reflecting that he has done everything 

 possible to insure success, and that, though he may not have attained it, he 

 has done more — he has deserved it. 



On the authority of the greatest of ancient or modern Nimrods, Sir 

 Samuel Baker, elephant-shooting may be pronounced to be the most dan- 

 gerous of all sports if fairly followed for a length of time. Many elephants 

 may be killed without the sportsman's being in any peril ; but if an infu- 

 riated beast does attack, his charge is one of supreme danger. This danger, 

 however, has this charm, that though so great unless steadily and skilfully 

 met, it is within the sportsman's power, by coolness and good shooting, to 

 end it and the assailant's career instantly by one well-planted ball. In 

 other sports the danger, though less in one way, is greater in others. Thus 

 a leopard hardly bigger than a tom-cat may jump out of a bush and claw 

 the best sportsman ; and though it may not do him mortal hurt, the most 

 skilful may be unable, through the unfair nature of the attack, to avoid 

 undergoing the indignity. 



The wild elephant's attack is one of the noblest sights of the chase. A 

 grander animated object than a wild elephant in full charge can hardly be 

 imagined. The cocked ears and broad forehead present an immense front- 

 age ; the head is held high, with the trunk curled between the tusks to be 

 uncoiled in the moment of attack ; the massive fore-legs come down with 

 the force and regularity of ponderous machinery ; and the whole figure is 

 rapidly foreshortened, and appears to double in size with each advancing 

 stride. The trunk being curled and unable to emit any sound, the attack is 

 made in silence, after the usual premonitory shriek, which adds to its im- 

 pressiveness. A tiger's charge is an undignified display of arms, legs, and 

 spluttering ; the bison rushes blunderingly upon his foe ; the bear's attack 

 is despicable ; but the wild elephant's onslaught is as dignified as it seems 

 overwhelming — and a large tusker's charge, where he has had sufficient 

 distance to get into full swing, can only be compared to the steady and 

 rapid advance of an engine on a line of rail. With all this the sportsman 

 who understands his game knows that there is a natural timidity in the 

 elephant which often plays him tricks at the last moment. It is not difficult 

 to turn or stop him with heavy metal, and if knocked down, he never, I 

 believe, renews the attack. 



Before the sportsman can hope to succeed in elephant-shooting he must 



