But all the same he could never bear any allusion to this tree-climbing episode in his martial career, which, as it happened, had taken place in full view of his retainers, among whom it remained the greatest of jokes.

Indeed, he wanted to kill a man, the wag of the party, who gave him a slang name which, being translated, means "_He-who-is-so-brave-that-he-dares-to-ride-a-water-horse-up-a-tree._" It was all over at last, for which I thanked Providence devoutly.

A good many of the sea-cows were dead, I think twenty-one was out exact bag, but the majority of them had escaped in one way or another, many as I fear, wounded.

I imagine that at the last the bulk of the herd overcame its fears and swimming through our screen, passed away down the channel.
At any rate they were gone, and having ascertained that there was nothing to be done for the man who had been trampled on my side of the channel, I crossed it in the canoe with the object of returning quietly to our camp to rest.
But as yet there was to be no quiet for me, for there I found Captain Robertson, who I think had been refreshing himself out of a bottle and was in a great state of excitement about a native who had been killed near him who was a favourite of his, and another whose leg was broken.
He declared vehemently that the hippopotamus which had done this had been wounded and rushed into some bushes a few hundred yards away, and that he meant to take vengeance upon it.

Indeed, he was just setting off to do so.
Seeing his agitated state I thought it wisest to follow him.