If I had attempted to run from him, I should have been killed, as he would have struck me in the back; my only chance was in the course which I pursued--to wait quietly until he was just over me, and then to jump on one side; he thus struck me on the thickest part of the thigh instead of striking me in the stomach, which he must have done had I remained in my first position; this would have killed me on the spot.
I passed an uncomfortable night, my leg being very painful and covered with wet bandages of vinegar and water.

The bruise came out from my ankle to my hip; the skin was broken where the tush had struck me, and the blood had started under the skin over a surface of nearly a foot, making the bruise a bright purple, and giving the whole affair a most unpleasant appearance.

The next morning I could not move my leg, which felt like a sack of sand, and was perfectly numbed; however, I kept on a succession of cold lotions, and after breakfast I was assisted upon my horse, and we moved the encampment to Nielgalla.

On the following day I could just manage to hobble along, my leg being at least double its usual size, and threatening to spoil my sport for the whole trip.
We were seated at breakfast when a native came in, bringing intelligence of a herd of elephants about four miles distant.

I was not in a state for shooting, but I resolved to mount my steady old horse Jack, and take my chance of revenge for my mishap.