"He upset one of the boats as though it didn't weigh an ounce, and then he seized the other in his jaws and tried to crunch it. Mr. Baker was roused with the rest, and sent his servant for a rifle. He brought the rifle, but not the ammunition, and so the hippo had another chance at the boats while the man was gone a second time. The night was clear and the moon was up, so that the beast was distinctly visible. "The ammunition came, and then Mr. Baker took a shot at our enemy, but the fellow dashed about so much that it was a hard matter to get good aim. The spot where you can put a bullet in is very small, and unless you strike exactly on the place your shot is wasted. "The first ball didn't seem to stop him, and three or four more only made him more furious. He rocked the dahabeeah with his blows, and it seemed at one time that he would make a hole in her side. After six or eight shots he acted as though he didn't like the business. He went up to the bank, lay down in the mud, and his body was covered with the mud so that only his snout could be seen. "We all thought he would die, and after waiting nearly half an hour we went to bed. "We had just got fairly to sleep when he came at us again, as though he hadn't been hit at all. Mr. Baker gave him half a dozen bullets of the largest size, and among them were two explosive ones, that should have torn great holes in his flesh if they burst at the right moment. He went away after striking against the boat and trying to smash it, and then he came back once more, after a rest of a quarter of an hour. "This time he got all he wanted and a trifle more. He was a determined fighter, and evidently considered our presence an intrusion on his domain. After the final shots at him he stretched himself on the bank, and died there before daylight. "In the morning we had a council of war over the hippo, and took note of the shots it had required for settling him. Here is the result: "Three shots in the flank and shoulder, and four in the head. One of the head shots had broken his lower jaw, another passed through his nose and, passing downward, cut off one of his tusks. Mr. Baker said his body was covered with frightful scars of wounds received in his battles with animals of his own species, and there were several wounds still unhealed. One scar was about two feet long and two inches deep, and showed that his antagonist must have given him a lively turn before the fight was over. He was the worst of his kind I ever saw or heard of, and all the party were glad he had been killed. Perhaps the other hippos in the neighborhood were not at all sorry to part with him."