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 



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