38 ADVENTURES OF AN ELEPHANT HUNTER CH. in 



demanding news of the kill, and why it was that 

 bwana was being borne home in a maschilla. 



Liberal applications of an emulsion of whisky 

 and olive oil, of fomentations, supplemented by a 

 course of massage at the hands of my native 

 servants, who are quite experts, soon restored me 

 to my normal condition. Yet, strangely enough, 

 in spite of all these measures and my excellent 

 health, I was obliged to die. Some of the natives 

 of the village adjoining my camp, who had 

 accompanied me on the hunt, on seeing me flung 

 into the tree by the elephant, felt certain that I 

 had been killed, and rushing away from the scene 

 of the fray as fast as their legs could carry them, 

 spread the news as only natives can spread news, 

 especially when it concerns the death of a white 

 man. Gradually, however, the sad story of my 

 demise was discountenanced, and I was slowly 

 restored to life, but to compensate for the loss 

 of dramatic value entailed by this resuscitation, 

 two of my native boys were killed in my 

 stead. 



About a month later, a somewhat garbled account 

 of the adventure appeared in the Dezitsch- 

 Ostafrikanisc he-Gazette, a translation of which 

 report I append as an example of how news gets 

 distorted by the fertile imagination of the gossip- 

 loving native. 



