Mr Baker at last becomes as dainty in his elephant-shooting as we have already found him in the deer country. Where elephants are abundant he despises a herd, and confines himself to rogues, where they are procurable, always singling out the most vicious-looking, and this must in some measure account for the redundancy of adventure in his narrative. For though elephant-shooting is always attended with some risk, the comparative extent of this depends entirely upon the manner in which the sport is pursued. If tails are the desiderata, then a herd in a nice open jungle presents the best chance of obtaining a supply with the least possible amount of personal danger; but if sport is really sought, then a rogue upon the open is certain to afford enough to satisfy the most ardent Nimrod that ever drew trigger. The fatigue of elephant-shooting is something inconceivable to those who have not for six or eight consecutive hours laboured under a tropical sun with a heavy rifle,—the barrels of which are so hot that they can scarcely be touched,—over wide plains, and through long grass, matted over hidden rocks and tangled jungle, with an underwood of the twining bamboo and thorny mimosa. It is only the most intense excitement that could carry a man through fatigue such as this; and a prize worthy of all that he has undergone is needed to reward him for the day’s work. Under these circumstances, it is clear that, the more imminent the peril, the more satisfactory is the sport considered. There would be very little gratification in toiling all day in a temperature of 130°, if there was no opportunity presented of risking one’s life. Mr Baker’s enjoyment must have reached its climax when he was actually wounded by an elephant’s tusk. This indeed compensated for much hardship and discomfort. It happened in this wise:
About two days’ journey from Newera Ellia is situated a large tract of country called the Park. This is the most favourite resort of Ceylon sportsmen, as elephants are generally abundant. The scenery is beautiful, of a character which may be inferred from the name it now bears among Europeans. It is of vast extent, watered by numerous large rivers, and ornamented by rocky mountains, such as no English park can boast. The lemon grass grows over the greater part of this country to a height of ten or twelve feet, and large herds of elephants wander through it, the crowns of their capacious brown heads, or the tips of their trunks, tossed occasionally into the air, alone attesting their presence.
A number of these appearing over the waving grass, delight the eyes of Mr Baker and his brother one morning as they sally forth from their night encampment with their usual deadly intent. Upon discovering the daring intruders, the herd, consisting of ten, rally round the two leaders, whose deep growls, like rumbling peals of thunder, is the call in time of danger. Our author and his brother immediately advance towards the dense mass, nothing daunted by so imposing an array. A part of the herd beat a retreat, but five charge viciously; they are dropped in as many successive shots, the last at a distance of only ten paces; four more are slain in retreat, a faithless mother alone escaping, whose little charge, so unusually deserted, Mr Baker captures, by taking hold of his tail and trunk, and throwing him on his back. Those who have seen an unweaned elephant calf will admit this to be no very difficult feat. Having secured the infant, and left him in charge of his brother and the gun-bearers, Mr Baker returns to seek his legitimate trophies in the shape of tails.
“I had one barrel still loaded, and I was pushing my way through the tangled grass towards the spot where the five elephants lay together, when I suddenly heard Wallace shriek out, ‘Look out, sir! Look out!—an elephant’s coming!’
“I turned round in a moment; and close past Wallace, from the very spot where the last dead elephant lay, came the very essence and incarnation of a ‘rogue’ elephant in full charge. His trunk was thrown high in the air, his ears were cocked, his tail stood high above his back as stiff as a poker, and, screaming exactly like the whistle of a railway engine, he rushed upon me through the high grass with a velocity that was perfectly wonderful. His eyes flashed as he came on, and he had singled me out as his victim.
“I have often been in dangerous positions, but I never felt so totally devoid of hope as I did in this instance. The tangled grass rendered retreat impossible. I had only one barrel loaded, and that was useless, as the upraised trunk protected his forehead. I felt myself doomed; the few thoughts that rush through men’s minds in such hopeless positions flew through mine, and I resolved to wait for him till he was close upon me before I fired, hoping that he might lower his trunk and expose his forehead.
“He rushed along at the pace of a horse in full speed; in a few moments, as the grass flew to the right and left before him, he was close upon me, but still his trunk was raised and I would not fire. One second more, and at this headlong pace he was within three feet of me; down slashed his trunk with the rapidity of a whip-thong, and with a shrill scream of fury he was upon me.
“I fired at that instant; but in the twinkling of an eye I was flying through the air like a ball from a bat. At the moment of firing I had jumped to the left, but he struck me with his tusk in full charge upon my right thigh, and hurled me eight or ten paces from him. That very moment he stopped, and, turning round, he beat the grass about with his trunk, and commenced a strict search for me. I heard him advancing close to the spot where I lay as still as death, knowing that my last chance lay in concealment. I heard the grass rustling close to the spot where I lay; closer and closer he approached, and he at length beat the grass with his trunk several times exactly above me. I held my breath, momentarily expecting to feel his ponderous foot upon me. Although I had not felt the sensation of fear while I had stood opposed to him, I felt like what I never wish to feel again while he was deliberately hunting me up. Fortunately I had reserved my fire until the rifle had almost touched him, for the powder and smoke had nearly blinded him, and had spoiled his acute power of scent. To my joy I heard the rustling of the grass grow fainter; again, I heard it at a still greater distance; at length it was gone.”
“There could not,” says our author naïvely, “be a better exemplification of a rogue than in this case.” The knowing way in which he had remained patiently concealed, while his enemies expended their ammunition and energies upon the herd, and the sudden and furious manner in which he came upon them, while unsuspectingly appropriating the tails of his brethren, quite justifies this opinion of Mr Baker’s. He escapes triumphantly, as he deserves to have done, and leaves Mr Baker to contemplate his wounded leg for some days, during which he is unable to move. We must do our author the justice to say that he seeks his revenge as soon as he is able to put his foot to the ground, and a few days afterwards we find him chasing a herd, until he says “my leg, which had lost all feeling, suddenly gave way, and I lay sprawling on my face, incapable of going a step farther. I had killed four elephants; it was very bad luck, as the herd consisted of eleven, but my leg gave way when most required.” If Mr Baker is not satisfied, we are. We shall not, therefore, follow him through the exciting details of a jungle trip, with which he concludes his most interesting work, and from which he and his two companions, the Hon. Mr Stuart Wortley and Mr E. Palliser, return in three weeks, with a bag of fifty elephants, five deer, and two buffaloes. We have said enough to indicate to the reader in search of excitement by his fireside where it is to be found—more than enough to tempt the enthusiastic sportsman to exchange for a season the comforts of home for the wild stirring life of the elephant-hunter; and we may venture to assure him that he will ever recur with delight to the enjoyment and rough luxury that a jungle trip alone affords, and he will be ready to adopt, as we do ourselves, the concluding words of our author:
“The well-arranged tent, the neatly spread table, the beds forming a triangle around the walls, and the clean guns piled in a long row against the gun-rack, will often recall a tableau in after years, in countries far from this land of independence. The acknowledged sports of England will appear child’s play; the exciting thrill will be wanting, when a sudden rush in the jungle brings the rifle on full cock; and the heavy guns will become useless mementos of past days, like the dusty helmets of yore, hanging up in an old hall. The belt and the hunting-knife will alike share the fate of the good rifle, and the blade, now so keen, will blunt from sheer neglect. The slips, which have held the necks of dogs of such staunch natures, will hang neglected from the wall; and all these souvenirs of wild sports, contrasted with the puny implements of the English chase, will awaken once more the longing desire for the ‘Rifle and the Hound in Ceylon.’”