There was no need for a reply. A glance over the top of the bush sufficed.
“Be quiet as mice now, lads,” said Disco, when all the members of his party had crept around him, and become aware of the presence of elephants. “Get your guns laid, and if any one of you dares to pull a trigger till I give the word, I’ll keel-haul him.”
This, or something distantly resembling it, having been explained to the men who carried guns, they lay down and took aim.
The noise made by the hunters attracted the attention of the nearest elephant, and, with true motherly instinct she placed her young one between her fore-legs for protection.
“We fire right in de middel ob de lot?” inquired Zombo hastily.
“Not at all,” whispered Disco; “let every man point at the nearest one—the one that lays broadside on to us, wi’ the little un under her bows. Now—ready—present—fire!”
Bang went the seven guns with a degree of precision that might have put to shame any corps of volunteer riflemen in England; up went the trunks and tails of the elephants, little and big, and away rushed the whole herd in dire alarm. But the wounded animal suddenly stumbled and fell on its knees, then leaped up and ran on heavily.
Meanwhile Disco, who had discharged only one barrel of his heavy gun, leaped over the bushes, and rushed forward at a pace which for a few seconds enabled him to keep ahead even of the fleet natives. The elephants, however, easily left them all behind, and it appeared as if the affair were about to end in disappointment, when the wounded beast again stumbled.
“Hold on! halt!” cried Disco in a voice of thunder.
He kneeled at the same time, took aim, and fired.