Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Suddenly in the gateway there appeared the huge bulk of the elephant
Jana, rushing forward at speed and being urged on by men who pricked it
with spears behind. It swept through the defenders as though they were
but dry grass, battering those in front of it with its great trunk from
which swung the iron balls that crushed all on whom they fell, and
paying no more heed to the lance thrusts than it might have done to the
bites of gnats. On it came, trumpeting and trampling, and after it in a
flood flowed the Black Kendah, upon whom our spearmen flung themselves
from either side.
At the time I, followed by Hans, was just returning from speaking with
Ragnall at the gate of the second court. A little before I had retired
exhausted from the fierce and fearful fighting, whereon he took my
place and repelled several of the Black Kendah charges, including the
last. In this fray he received a further injury, a knock on the head
from a stick or stone which stunned him for a few minutes, whereon some
of our people had carried him off and set him on the ground with his
back against one of the pillars of the second gate. Being told that he
was hurt I ran to see what was the matter. Finding to my joy that it
was nothing very serious, I was hurrying to the front again when I
looked up and saw that devil Jana charging straight towards me, the
throng of armed men parting on each side of him, as rough water does
before the leaping prow of a storm-driven ship.
To tell the truth, although I was never fond of unnecessary risks, I
rejoiced at the sight. Not even all the excitement of that hideous and
prolonged battle had obliterated from my mind the burning sense of
shame at the exhibition which I had made of myself by missing this
beast with four barrels at forty yards.
Now, thought I to myself with a kind of exultant thrill, now, Jana, I
will wipe out both my disgrace and you. This time there shall be no
mistake, or if there is, let it be my last.
On thundered Jana, whirling the iron balls among the soldiers, who fled
to right and left leaving a clear path between me and him. To make
quite sure of things, for I was trembling a little with fatigue and
somewhat sick from the continuous sight of bloodshed, I knelt down upon
my right knee, using the other as a prop for my left elbow, and since I
could not make certain of a head shot because of the continual whirling
of the huge trunk, got the sight of my big-game rifle dead on to the
beast where the throat joins the chest. I hoped that the heavy conical
bullet would either pierce through to the spine or cut one of the large
arteries in the neck, or at least that the tremendous shock of its
impact would bring him down.
At about twenty paces I fired and hit—not Jana but the lame priest who
was fulfilling the office of mahout, perched upon his shoulders many
feet above the point at which I had aimed. Yes! I hit him in the head,
which was shattered like an eggshell, so that he fell lifeless to the
ground.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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