Portend
a charge, but the animals are generally satisfied with this
demonstration, and retreat.
Attack the single bulls and follow them up, and they will soon show
their real character. Heavy rifles then make a good sport of what would
otherwise be a chance of ten to one against the man. It must be
remembered that the attack is generally upon an extensive plain, without
a single sheltering tree; escape by speed is therefore impossible, and
even a horse must be a good one or a buffalo will catch him.
Without wading through the many scenes of carnage that I have witnessed
in this branch of sport, I will sum up the account of buffalo-shooting
by a decription of one day's work at Minneria.
The tent was pitched in a secluded spot beneath some shady trees,
through which no ray of sun could penetrate; the open forest surrounded
it on all sides, but through the vistas of dark stems the beautiful
green plain and glassy lake could be seen stretching into an undefined
distance. The blue hills, apparently springing from the bosom of the
lake, lined the horizon, and the shadowy forms of the Kandian mountains
mingled indistinctly with the distant clouds. From this spot, with a
good telescope, I could watch the greater part of the plain, which was
at this time enlivened by the numerous herds of wild buffaloes scattered
over the surface. A large bull was standing alone about half a mile from
the tent, and I thought him a fine beast to begin with.
I started with two well-known and trusty gun-bearers. This bull
apparently did not wish to fight, and when at nearly 400 yards' distance
he turned and galloped off. I put up all the sights of the long two-
ounce rifle, and for an instant he dropped to the shot at this distance,
but recovering immediately he turned round, and, although upon only
three legs, he charged towards me. At this distance I should have had
ample time to reload before he could have come near me, so I took a
quiet shot at him. with my four-ounce rifle. A second passed, and he
pitched upon his head and lay upon the ground, struggling in vain to
rise. This was an immensely long shot to produce so immediate an effect
so reloading quickly I stepped the distance. I measured 352 paces, and I
then stood within ten yards of him, as he still lay upon the ground,
endeavouring vainly to rush at me. A ball in his head settled him. The
first shot had broken his hind leg--and the shot with the big rifle had
hit him on the nose, and, tearing away the upper jaw, it had passed
along his neck and escaped from behind his shoulder.
