64 
ON SAFARI; RHINOS AND GIRAFFES 
The rhino head 
From a photograph by Edmund Holler 
The huge beast was standing in entirely open country, 
although there were a few scattered trees of no great size 
at some little distance from him. We left our horses in a 
dip of the ground and began the approach; I cannot say that 
we stalked him, for the approach was too easy. The wind 
blew from him to us, and a rhino’s eyesight is dull. Thirty 
yards from where he stood was a bush four or five feet high, 
and though it was so thin that we could distinctly see him 
through the leaves, it shielded us from the vision of his 
small piglike eyes as we advanced toward it, stooping and 
in single file, I leading. The big beast stood like an uncouth 
statue, his hide black in the sunlight; he seemed, what he 
was, a monster surviving over from the world’s past, from 
the days when the beasts of the prime ran riot in their 
strength, before man grew so cunning of brain and hand as 
to master them. So little did he dream of our presence 
that when we were a hundred yards off he actually lay down. 
Walking lightly, and with every sense keyed up, we at 
last reached the bush, and I pushed forward the safety of 
