Guessing the position of the shoulder, I took a quick shot with the Paradox gun; the elephant, most fortunately, not having observed the animal. The effect was most extraordinary; I never heard such a noise; there was a combination of roars and howls, as though a dozen tigers and lions were engaged in a Salvation Army chorus. Away went Hurri Ram, rendering it impossible for me to fire, as a large bear came straight at us, charging from the deep gloom of a bamboo clump, and growling, as it ran with the speed of a dog, direct at the elephant. I thought we must be knocked to pieces; two or three smaller trees fortunately gave way before the terrified rush of Hurri Ram, but the power of the driving-hook was gone; although the mahout alternately drove the spike deep into his skull and hooked the sharp crook into the tender base of the ears, the elephant crashed along, threatening us with destruction, as he swept through bamboos, and appeared determined to run for miles. I had been accustomed to feed this animal daily with all kinds of nice delicacies beloved by elephants, and at such times I always spoke to him in a peculiar phraseology. Although I was in the worst possible humour, and considerably anxious regarding our safety, when rushing through forest at 15 miles an hour, I addressed Hurri Ram in most endearing terms-"Poor old fellow, poor old Hurri Ram, where are the sugar-canes? where are the chupatties, poor old boy?" etc. etc. I believe thoroughly that the well-known tones of my voice restored his confidence far more than the torture of the driving-hook, and after a race of about 150 yards he stopped. "Now turn him round, give him the point sharp, and drive him straight for the bear." The mahout obeyed the order, and we soon approached the spot, where the roars and howls still continued. My men were up the trees; the shikari had thrown a mighty spear upon the ground, and had gone up the branches like a squirrel, as he did not see the fun of meeting the bear's charge.