the dead elephant calling for my guns in vain
Not a man was in sight! Everybody had bolted, and I stood in advance of
the dead elephant calling for my guns in vain. At length one of my
fellows came up, but it was too late. The fallen elephant in the herd
had risen from the ground, and they had all hustled off at a great pace,
and were gone. I had only bagged one elephant. Where was the valiant
Bacheet–the would-be Nimrod, who for the last three months had been
fretting in inactivity, and longing for the moment of action, when he
had promised to be my trusty gun-bearer? He was the last man to appear,
and he only ventured from his hiding-place in the high dhurra when
assured of the elephants” retreat. I was obliged to admonish the whole
party by a little physical treatment, and the gallant Bacheet returned
with us to the village, crestfallen and completely subdued. On the
following day not a vestige remained of the elephant, except the offal;
the Arabs had not only cut off the flesh, but they had hacked the skull
and the bones in pieces, and carried them off to boil down for soup.

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