He Was A Fine
Fellow, And, With Intense Caution, I Advanced Towards Him Over The
Trembling Surface Of Baked Slime.
His tracks had nearly filled with
water, and looked like little wells.
The bog waved as I walked carefully
over it, and I stopped once or twice, hesitating whether I should
continue; I feared the crusty surface would not support me, as the
nearer I approached the water's edge the weaker the coating of slime
became, not having been exposed for so long a time to the sun as that at
a greater distance.
He was making so much noise in splashing the mud over his body that I
had a fine chance for getting up to him. I could not withstand the
temptation, and I crept up as fast as I could.
I got within eight paces of him unperceived; the mud that he threw over
his back spattered round me as it fell. I was carrying a light
double-barrelled gun, but I now reached back my hand to exchange it for
my four-ounce rifle. Little did I expect the sudden effect produced by
the additional weight of the heavy weapon. The treacherous surface
suddenly gave way, and in an instant I was waist deep in mud. The noise
that I had made in falling had at once aroused the elephant, and, true
to his character of a rogue, he immediately advanced with a shrill
trumpet towards me. His ears were cocked, and his tail was well up; but
instead of charging, as rogues generally do, with his head thrown rather
back and held high, which renders a front shot very uncertain, he rather
lowered his head, and splashed towards me through the mud, apparently
despising my diminutive appearance.
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