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Journal of an Expedition [no. 3, new series, 



if there was, I slept too well to be disturbed by it. I heard no 

 sound till about 10 o'clock when I was awakened by a shout and 

 all the people calling out that there were elephants close by, I 

 left my cot and joined the people on the rocks in the bed of the 

 river, but the only sound I could hear, was the rushing of the 

 stream. I was as angry as people are who leave their beds so 

 hurriedly, and to pacify my wrath, a man got up a herd of Bison 

 on the other bank, where not a leaf was moving. This fancy pic- 

 ture did not take up our attention long, for the real cause of the 

 alarm was close at hand, to set our doubts at rest. The trumpet 

 of an elephant was heard within some twenty yards of us. The 

 people shouted, and I fired my gun, aiming (now I think of it) in 

 the direction cf the noise, as if I had a hope my ball would go di- 

 rectly down the throat of the intruder. This did not move the 

 beast, but a handful of dry leaves upon the embers of our bivouac 

 fire sent up a blaze sufficient to alarm him, and we saw him move 

 away, with most unsporting satisfaction. The elephant had come 

 by a path parallel to the river bed, and when the first noise startled 

 him, he must have stopped, and remained quite motionless ; for 

 where he stood was close upon my writer's cot and within five 

 yards of mine, the reeds we slept in being so thick we could not 

 see him through them. It was a merciful escape for both of us. 

 We placed our cots upon the open rocks for more security, and had 

 no further interruption to our slumbers. The smuggler guide gave 

 us a reason for the visit paid us that elephants were in the habit 

 of frequenting halting places to eat the ashes left from the travel- 

 lers' fires : a wholesome practice doubtless, for after eating acrid 

 leaves by waggon loads, it must be just as well to take a bucket 

 full of potash now and then. 



The position of this halting place is what w<ould be called un- 

 doubtedly feverish, but from the account the smuggler gave me, it 

 appears that with the exception of the northern edges of the An- 

 namullays, there is very little fever in the jungle any where. This 

 if true, is a most curious fact, as in denseness and confined posi- 

 tions it has all that suits our notions of " malaria." 



The want of torches, and the elephants supposed to be on our 



