# The red book of animal stories/A Fight with a Hippopotamus

A FIGHT WITH A HIPPOPOTAMUS
The great White Nile river, which flows north, out of Lake Victoria Nyanza, and joins the Blue Nile at Khartoum, is full of hippopotami, who lie concealed in grassy swamps on the river bank by day, and come out to play in the cool of the evening. In many places this river is choked up by mud and vegetation, so that very often the water is not more than five or six feet deep, therefore only small boats can float easily. Under these circumstances a huge heavy beast, like the hippopotamus (which means in Greek ‘river-horse’), can do great damage, and travellers and explorers have many tales to tell of their narrow escapes.
Nobody had more adventures with these troublesome animals than Sir Samuel Baker, when, thirty years ago, he set out from Khartoum on his journey south. Sometimes the hippopotamus would be seen leaving his grassy bed, where he had been sleeping during the long hot day, his hard skin preserving him from the flies which are the pests of those countries. But more often his presence would be guessed by an agitation on the surface of the stream, and a loud snorting noise, and then his ugly, shapeless head would be thrust out.
With such a thick hide to deal with, Sir Samuel preferred, in his encounter with a hippopotamus, to use a weapon more certain than an ordinary bullet. He liked to allow the animal to get within thirty yards of him, and ​then to take accurate aim right under his eye, where the bone is thinnest, and the brain can most easily be reached. The bullet he employed was of a very deadly kind, being really an explosive shell in the form of an iron bottle, filled with strong gunpowder, and fitting into a two-ounce rifle. This shell did great execution, and produced instant death.
One night the party lay encamped by the side of a lake, and a small boat was moored to a grass-covered mud bank, close to the larger vessel. This boat, used as a larder, was full of hippopotamus flesh, which the men considered a great treat, and did not seem to find too tough for their strong white teeth.
After dinner was over, and the mosquito curtains hung up, the natives dropped off to bed one by one, and soon all was quiet, except for the sentry’s steady tramp. Considering the latitude the night was cold, and wrapped in blankets everyone slept more soundly than usual. Suddenly Sir Samuel, who lay on a sofa on the poop-deck, was roused by the sounds of loud snorting and splashing just below him, and by the light of the moon saw a huge hippopotamus making ready to assault the little, ship. Calling to his servant, Suleiman, to bring a rifle, Baker made his way to the main deck, where the rest of the crew were sleeping; but the whole place was such a mass of interlaced mosquito strings, that it was very difficult to steer between them so as to wake the men. Meanwhile the hippopotamus had not wasted his time. He had sunk the larder boat, and crushed the little ‘dingey’ alongside as if it had been a walnut, and was now gathering himself together for the larger vessel, caring nothing for the noises made by the natives in the hope of frightening him away. As for Suleiman, he was in such mortal terror that he never remembered that the gun he had brought was unloaded, and that he had forgotten the charge.
Thrusting him hastily on one side, his master dashed ​into the cabin, where ammunition and loaded rifles were always kept; but for a few minutes the commotion raised in the water by the furious beast was so great that no aim could be taken with certainty. Then the shell, which had always proved so deadly, was sent at him, but produced no effect except to make him still more wild, and
HOW THE HIPPOPOTAMUS ATTACKED THE BOAT
the boat rocked wildly about as if blown by a hurricane. Several other shells were fired at him, but for a long time he gave no sign that any of them had touched him, then he slowly drew himself out of the water, and lay still snorting in the swampy grass. Taking for granted, rather rashly, that he had received his death-blow, Baker ​gave the order for everyone to return to bed, as the danger was past.
But he had rejoiced too soon. In half an hour that fearful splash was heard again, and with a rush the creature made for the boat. A bullet in his head stopped his career just as he was upon it, and rolling and kicking, apparently in his last agony, he was carried down stream.
After he had floated about fifty yards he suddenly, to the surprise of those who were watching him, pulled himself together, and returned slowly along the river bank, which lay in dense shadow. The boat’s crew waited with their ears at full cock for some time longer, and then decided that the beast had had enough, and that they might go back to bed for the third time. Baker followed their example, but kept the gun close beside him.
Unlike his men, he did not feel inclined to sleep, and it was not long before everyone was again on his feet, watching the enemy, who was splashing heavily across the river so as to get a better chance for a rush. Now was the opportunity for aiming at the shoulder, and as the animal turned and his body was exposed, Baker lodged a ball in his heart. This time he really was dead, and tumbled into the river.
Then they all went to bed again. Next morning they examined his body- -which was covered with scars from the tusks of his own species—for the fury of his onslaught really looked more like madness than anything else. The bullets had broken one of his jaws and cut through his nose, but nothing except death could stop him from fighting. As for the dingey, he had simply bitten out a piece of its side, and would doubtless have done the same to the larger vessel if he had been suffered actually to touch it.