Maiwa's Revenge; Or, The War of the Little HandHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
General
Maiwa's Revenge; Or, The War of the Little Hand
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Africa -- Fiction; Hunting guides -- Fiction; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Revenge -- Fiction
“Just as I was making up my mind that something must be done to save
the situation, my attention was attracted by a curious grinding noise.
At first I thought that it must be a buffalo chewing the cud, but was
obliged to abandon the idea because the noise was too loud. I shifted
myself round and stared through the cracks in the bush, in the
direction whence the sound seemed to come, and once I thought that I
saw something gray moving about fifty yards off, but could not make
certain. Although the grinding noise still continued I could see
nothing more, so I gave up thinking about it, and once again turned my
attention to the buffalo. Presently, however, something happened.
Suddenly from about forty yards away there came a tremendous snorting
sound, more like that made by an engine getting a heavy train under
weigh than anything else in the world.
“‘By Jove,’ I thought, turning round in the direction from which the
grinding sound had come, ‘that must be a rhinoceros, and he has got our
wind.’ For, as you fellows know, there is no mistaking the sound made
by a rhinoceros when he gets wind of you.
“Another second, and I heard a most tremendous crashing noise. Before I
could think what to do, before I could even get up, the bush behind me
seemed to burst asunder, and there appeared not eight yards from us,
the great horn and wicked twinkling eye of a charging rhinoceros. He
had winded us or my pipe, I do not know which, and, after the fashion
of these brutes, had charged up the scent. I could not rise, I could
not even get the gun up, I had no time. All that I was able to do was
to roll over as far out of the monster’s path as the bush would allow.
Another second and he was over me, his great bulk towering above me
like a mountain, and, upon my word, I could not get his smell out of my
nostrils for a week. Circumstances impressed it on my memory, at least
I suppose so. His hot breath blew upon my face, one of his front feet
just missed my head, and his hind one actually trod upon the loose part
of my trousers and pinched a little bit of my skin. I saw him pass over
me lying as I was upon my back, and next second I saw something else.
My men were a little behind me, and therefore straight in the path of
the rhinoceros. One of them flung himself backwards into the bush, and
thus avoided him. The second with a wild yell sprung to his feet, and
bounded like an india-rubber ball right into the aloe bush, landing
well among the spikes. But the third, it was my friend Gobo, could not
by any means get away. He managed to gain his feet, and that was all.
The rhinoceros was charging with his head low; his horn passed between
Gobo’s legs, and feeling something on his nose, he jerked it up. Away
went Gobo, high into the air. He turned a complete somersault at the
apex of the curve, and as he did so, I caught sight of his face. It was
gray with terror, and his mouth was wide open. Down he came, right on
to the great brute’s back, and that broke his fall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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