250 After Big Game in Central Africa 



ourselves that we are not mistaken, we push on fifty 

 yards farther to a place where the spoor is very 

 distinct in the open daylight, deciding that if there 

 is no blood we will return. No sooner have we arrived 

 than, within terrifying proximity, there breaks upon 

 our ears a cry of rage, a shrill trumpet-blast similar 

 to the shriek of a sirene, and a black mass, which we 

 have not even time to look at, so near is it to us, 

 bursts like a locomotive from the thicket which we 

 are skirting. Each of us leaps aside in search of 

 safety. . . . Kambombe and Tchigallo, who were 

 ahead, make off to the left ; Tambarika and Eodzani 

 scamper off the way we came ; Msiambiri and I dash 

 straight ahead through the hole made by the herd. . . . 

 The ground trembles. ... A sinister rustling of the 

 leaves, the breaking of branches, the shriller and 

 shriller trumpet-blasts tell us that the elephant is 

 behind us and overtaking us. ... There is no doubt 

 about it. ... We throw down our heavy rifles : so 

 as to run the quicker. 



It is impossible to describe the terror, mingled 

 with rage, which fills me at this moment. During 

 our mad race all my thoughts are summed up as 

 follows : " No rifle . . . many elephants killed with 

 impunity, and this is the hour of reckoning ! . . . the 

 game is up . . .a rapid vision of my native country." 

 . . . That is all. . . . And now, clenching my fists, 

 I run and jump in a supreme struggle for life. . . . 

 Minutes slip by and seem to be hours. Some one, 

 whom I recognise as Msiambiri, though without 

 seeing him, brushes past me. . . . Our feet pass 



