Over a month was passed at our camp, Ehetilla, as we called it. The time
passed in hunting, fishing, and observing the country, but it was for
the most part uneventful. In the end of October we removed to a village
called Wat el Negur, nine miles south-east of Ehetilla, still on the
bank of the Atbara.

Our arrival was welcomed with enthusiasm. The Arabs here had extensive
plantations of sesame, dhurra, and cotton, and the nights were spent in
watching them, to scare away the elephants, which, with extreme cunning,
invaded the fields of dhurra at different points every night, and
retreated before morning to the thick, thorny jungles of the Settite.
The Arabs were without firearms, and the celebrated aggageers or
sword-hunters were useless, as the elephants appeared only at night, and
were far too cunning to give them a chance. I was importuned to drive
away the elephants, and one evening, about nine o'clock, I arrived at
the plantations with three men carrying spare guns. We had not been half
an hour in the dhurra fields before we met a couple of Arab watchers,
who informed us that a herd of elephants was already in the plantation;
we accordingly followed our guides. In about a quarter of an hour we
distinctly heard the cracking of the dhurra stems, as the elephants
browsed and trampled them beneath their feet.

Taking the proper position of the wind, I led our party cautiously in
the direction of the sound, and in about five minutes I came in view of
the slate-colored and dusky forms of the herd. The moon was bright, and
I counted nine elephants; they had trampled a space of about fifty yards
square into a barren level, and they were now slowly moving forward,
feeding as they went. One elephant, unfortunately, was separated from
the herd, and was about forty yards in the rear; this fellow I was
afraid would render our approach difficult. Cautioning my men,