THE AFRICAN ELEPHANT 



men and animals were as bad as that of the other. 

 Making his way early one morning to a farmer's 

 dam, he released the spring of a cannon set at the 

 side of the track. He was mortally wounded, but 

 managed, with the assistance of his wives, to travel 

 some distance. He eventually collapsed, and for 

 several days this old chieftain was tended and guarded 

 by the cows. A couple were seen to pay regular 

 visits to a neighbouring dam, and returning, they 

 squirted the water down the dying Elephant's throat. 

 The others kept guard over him during the night, 

 and on the approach of day covered him carefully 

 with leafy branches torn from trees, to shield him 

 from the hot sun and flies, and to conceal him from 

 possible discovery by enemies. Meanwhile the cows 

 retired to the adjacent bush, and no doubt one or 

 more of their number kept a vigilant watch over 

 their expiring lord. For three or four days after he 

 died the cows kept guard over his carcase. By the 

 time my taxidermist and party were able, with 

 comparative safety, to approach, the body was 

 decayed. However, we secured the skeleton and 

 tusks for the Port Ehzabeth Museum. We found 

 the ground and herbage, all round the body of the 

 Elephant, stamped down by the cows, who had been 

 watched from afar, walking round and round, doing 

 sentry-go, stopping ever and anon to caress their 

 dying lord. Although the cows had retired, they 

 still lingered in the neighbourhood, for while my 

 men were busy carving up the carcase, the entire 



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