Slowly I raised
myself, and was instantly taken with a violent sickness, the result
of over-exertion, after which I very nearly fainted a second time.
Presently I grew better, and considered the position. Two of the
elephants were, as I knew, dead; but how about No. 3? There he knelt in
majesty in the lonely moonlight. The question was, was he resting, or
dead? I rose on my hands and knees, loaded my rifle, and painfully crept
a few paces nearer. I could see his eye now, for the moonlight fell full
upon it--it was open, and rather prominent. I crouched and watched; the
eyelid did not move, nor did the great brown body, or the trunk, or the
ear, or the tail--nothing moved. Then I knew that he must be dead.
"I crept up to him, still keeping the rifle well forward, and gave him a
thump, reflecting as I did so how very near I had been to being thumped
instead of thumping. He never stirred; certainly he was dead, though to
this day I do not know if it was my random shot that killed him, or
if he died from concussion of the brain consequent upon the tremendous
shock of his contact with the tree. Anyhow, there he was. Cold and
beautiful he lay, or rather knelt, as the poet nearly puts it. Indeed, I
do not think that I have ever seen a sight more imposing in its way than
that of the mighty beast crouched in majestic death, and shone upon by
the lonely moon.
"While I stood admiring the scene, and heartily congratulating myself
upon my escape, once more I began to feel sick.
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