SLAYING THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 159, 7 July 1899, Page 7

SLAYING THE HIPPOPOTAMUS.

The natives along the Eiver Nile are not yet weaned from their primitive method of killing the most dangerous animal hunted by inanJlifles cannot pierce the thick hide of the hippopotamus, but the natives have devised a weapon which proves most effective in their hands, though a European would hardly dare attempt the use of it. A huge beam of wood, weighing at least thirty pounds, is selected, and a sharp barbed harpoon head made of iron is tied to the beam with sinews or twisted bits of hide.

The man selected to hurl this weapon is generally an old hand at the business. He knows the hippopotamus as he knows his children. He is well informed, because of a series of rough adventures, of all that is likely to befall him in the dangerous takingThe natives who accompany him are just as much his lackeys as it is possible for them to be. They are schooled to answer his every signal, to iollow his advice implicitly, to pull forward or back water on the instant; to die with him if necessary. The canoe is crude indeed, but it is strong, and fitted to the work. The assault is generally made m the late afternoon, when the huge, lumbering' brutes are sleepy and loggy as a result of having- been subjected to the tropical heat of the African sun. The hunters proceed along the marshy banks of the stream, slipping into the tributaries whenever it looks as though there might be good grazing ground for the game they are in search of. . When the look-out sights a feeding or a sleepy hippopotamus he signifies the fact by a low guttural note not inlike that made by a goose, ihose at the paddles slow down and the spearsman sizes up the situation, with the view to determining from which point it is best to make the attack. A policy of war is devised, and the men take their places as directed by the harpooner. Steadily, quietly, the canoe glides up to the feeding hippopotamus. His head is turned from it, and with unerring aim the harpoon, with its heavy iron barb, sinks through the thick hide up to the haft in the huge carcass. With a rushy he swims away as the harpoon goes home, and two sturdy natives tug with all their strength at the leather thong that holds the harpoon to the canoe. He roars and puffs, spouting the water from his nostrils as it is dyed with ins life blood. For miles he swims straight away, racing for life from the terrible pain, in frantic attempts to shake off his burden. He cannot escape from his foes; he turns to crush them, but they are on the ajert, and the weakened, awkward beast is unable to reach the canoe that he could shatter at a single blow.

He grows weaker; he swims more and more slowly; for a moment he sinks below the surface, and then the hunters of the Nile know that they may dare go near and finish him with their spears. Only experts dare take part in this savage struggle for the mastery. Even these do not always escape unhurt, for in a flash the dying monster may close with canoe and occupants, and they are fortunate indeed if they escape and do not bear the marks of his terrible tusks as a lifelong reminder of the contest.