A day with the howartis - A hippo's gallant fight - Abou Do leaves
us - Three yards from a lion - Days of delight - A lion's furious
rage - Astounding courage of a horse.
A LITTLE before sunrise I accompanied the howartis, or
hippopotamus-hunters, for a day's sport. At length we arrived at a large
pool in which were several sand-banks covered with rushes, and many
rocky islands. Among these rocks was a herd of hippopotami, consisting
of an old bull and several cows. A young hippo was standing, like an
ugly little statue, on a protruding rock, while another infant stood
upon its mother's back that listlessly floated on the water.
This was an admirable place for the hunters. They desired me to lie
down, and they crept into the jungle out of view of the river. I
presently observed them stealthily descending the dry bed about two
hundred paces above the spot where the hippos were basking behind the
rocks. They entered the river and swam down the centre of the stream
toward the rock. This was highly exciting. The hippos were quite
unconscious of the approaching danger, as, steadily and rapidly, the
hunters floated down the strong current. They neared the rock, and both
heads disappeared as they purposely sank out of view; in a few seconds
later they reappeared at the edge of the rock upon which the young hippo
stood. It would be difficult to say which started first, the astonished
young hippo into the water, or the harpoons from the hands of the
howartis!
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