They rose to the surface, blowing, snorting, bellowing and scrambling over each other in the water, while continually more and more arrived behind them, till there was a perfect pandemonium in that narrow place.
All our guns opened fire wildly upon the mass; it was like a battle and through the smoke I caught sight of the riverside natives who were acting as beaters, advancing far away, fantastically dressed, screaming with excitement and waving spears, or sometimes torches of flaming reeds.

Most of these were scrambling along the banks, but some of the bolder spirits advanced over the lagoon in canoes, driving the hippopotami towards the mouth of the channel by which alone they could escape into the great swamps below and so on to the river.

In all my hunting experience I do not think I ever saw a more remarkable scene.
Still, in a way, to me it was unpleasant, for I flatter myself that I am a sportsman and a battle of this sort is not sport as I understand the term.
At length it came to this; the channel for quite a long way was literally full of hippopotami--I should think there must have been a hundred of them or more of all sorts and sizes, from great bulls down to little calves.

Some of these were killed, not many, for the shooting of our gallant company was execrable and almost at hazard.

Also for every sea-cow that died, of which number I think that Captain Robertson and myself accounted for most--many were only wounded.
Still, the unhappy beasts, crazed with noise and fire and blood, did not seem to dare to face our frail barricade, probably for the reason that I have given.