Elephants 



(the barrel) in water and half in mud, so without aiming I 

 simply pressed the trigger. In the back of my mind I was 

 not sure whether the rifle was " at safety " or not, so it can 

 be imagined with what thrilling joy the muffled report came 

 to me from below water and I realised that my foe had, at 

 last, let go his hold. 



I now stumbled back on to the mud, and lifting my rifle 

 I jammed cartridge after cartridge into the breach, letting 

 rip into the water about me. Anywhere — everywhere — so 

 long as I warded off a second attack from the loathsome 

 reptile. 



After this I scrambled on all fours up the bank, and 

 unrolling one puttee examined my wounds, which consisted, 

 apart from minor abrasions, of four deep holes in my leg, 

 the edges of two of them being badly torn. I lay here for 

 some little time nursing my painful member, the wounds of 

 which had completely incapacitated me from walking, and 

 wondering if my friend Lewis could have heard the shots and 

 so come to my assistance. To make sure I picked up my 

 rifle and fired a second volley. 



Lewis, as he afterwards told me, heard both fusillades, 

 and thinking to himself, " By jove, Bams has got the big 

 bull," hurried along the carriers and presently found me 

 hors de combat as I have described. 



Fearing blood-poisoning after such a dangerous bite and 

 our other medicines having been left in the village, we hit 

 upon the expedient of rubbing salt into the wo»nds. This 

 proved to be nearly as painful as the nitrate of silver pencil 

 used by the doctor on my arrival in Fort Jameson, which 

 place I reached in a machilla (a hammock slung on a pole) a 

 week later. 



241 R 



