The huge animal tried to get away and made for the river.
“Some one must jump into the water and kill it with the javelin,” said the prime minister. Nobody stirred.
Suddenly a loud voice rang through the stillness:
“I will go.”
And Pinocchio, amid shouts of admiration and terror from his subjects, dived into the river and swam toward the animal.
The hippopotamus scented the enemy and turned upon him, but the nimble marionette, swimming around the great creature, grasped it by its short, thick tail.
When the beast felt itself gently pulled in this manner it began to turn round and round like a dog chasing a troublesome fly.
This performance, which was both funny and terrible, lasted for fully five minutes. During all that time Pinocchio did nothing but laugh. He did not seem to realize what would happen to him if he were clutched by those terrible jaws.
At length the animal, blind with rage, plunged below the surface of the water, leaving the marionette and the others dumbfounded.
This adventure increased tenfold the admiration of the black hunters for their emperor, although it was not wholly satisfactory to the chief cook of the royal household, who had already planned a great dinner. But Pinocchio quickly consoled him, assuring him that when it came to eating the tongue and feet of a hippopotamus, the emperor would cheerfully forego the pleasure.