“My father looked at me incredulously for some time, but I couldn’t wait any longer, so I said, ‘I’ve shot an elephant with large tusks.’
“My father jumped off the waggon-box as if he’d been shot, as he exclaimed, ‘Shot an elephant! You—you shot an elephant! Where is he?’
“‘Ja, bas, (Yes, Master), he’s shot an elephant!’ exclaimed Blueboy. ‘I showed him where the elephant was.’
“‘Get a hatchet—get your knives!’ shouted my father to the Hottentots; ‘the boy has shot an elephant!’ and off we ran, I leading, till we came to the place where the elephant lay. There he was, sure enough, and my father was delighted. We didn’t get the tusks out in a hurry, and then we cut up lots of meat, and took the trunk, and a foot, and carried these with us to Graham’s Town. Just for curiosity lots of people bought the elephant’s flesh to taste, and the teeth being fresh weighed very heavy, and fetched a good price.
“‘Keep the money,’ said my father; ‘that shall be your first prize; and I now give you my gun that you shot the elephant with;’ and here, Hans, you see that mark in the stock. That stands for the first elephant I ever shot.”
“There are plenty since then,” replied Hans. “See, your stock is covered with cuts.”
“Yes, I’ve made the old gun do her duty. She has tried her hand at several kinds of things, and has settled Amakosa, Zulus, and all; and what do you think besides, Hans?”
“Lions in numbers, I suppose.”
“Yes, that is true; but this one mark is for a white man. Not for a true Africander, but an English-Dutch fellow. This gun shot him, and well he deserved it.”
“How was that?” inquired all the party, to whom the information was news.