“Wake up, lad!” he cried, hastily. “They say there’s an insane elephant making for ee.”
“A what?” demanded Trim, sleepily.
“There’s an elephant amuck, lad. Stir your steps or he’ll stamp on ee.”
Even then there came the sound of furious trumpeting just over the knoll beyond the camp.
Trim had read enough about elephants to know that when they are troubled with this madness it is well to be out of their way, and seeing that everything was ready for departure he jumped up and hurried to the raft.
Half a dozen blacks were on board with poles ready to push the raft into mid stream.
Just as Trim landed he discovered that his pocket spyglass which often proved of use to him, had slipped from his pocket and was back on the bank.
“Push out!” he cried, as he leaped again for shore. “I’ll be after you in a minute.”
“Lord bless ee, lad!” cried Dobbin, in terror. “Don’t do that. Come back!”
Then seeing that Trim was determined to go back to the camp, which was but a few yards away, Dobbin also made an effort to get on the land. The men on the raft held him back.