Then it was my turn to scream, for next instant half a square inch of hair was dragged from my scalp by the roots.

I was being plucked alive, as I have seen cruel Kaffir kitchen boys pluck a fowl.
The elephant, however, disappointed with these moderate results, changed his tactics.

He wound his trunk round the fallen tree and lifted.

The tree stirred, but fortunately the broken branches embedded in the spongy soil, and some roots, which still held, prevented it from being turned over, though he lifted it so much that, had it occurred to him, he could now easily have drawn me out with his trunk.

Again he hoisted with all his mighty strength, and I saw that the tree was coming, and roared aloud for help.