What follows comes from the last pages of a diary discovered by Cristiano de Condenado, a Portuguese gentleman who was surveying the land with an eye towards future settlement.
14/02/1907
Valentine’s Day. I have begun this journal to record what appears to be the increasingly-likely event that I shall die out here. My name is Barrington Edwards, and I am (perhaps soon-to-be was) an avid watcher of wildlife. In my time, I have travelled across most of the British Empire, and seen much of its fauna, recording my observations as I went. On this particular excursion, I chose to make Africa my destination, and set out with high hopes.
After promising initial trips into nearby locales, I decided to head deep into the bush in hopes of seeing some truly incredible sights, and I was not disappointed. My four guides and bearers built for me a grand hide in a tall tree, which allowed me a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside, although far enough away from the river that crocodile predation need not be a concern. After a few days of observing the many majestic African creatures in their natural habitat, I settled into a comfortable routine.
Things began to go wrong, however, when the elephants made their appearance, a grand herd of seventeen beasts – including one heavily-pregnant female – led by a mighty bull with tusks longer than a man is tall. The hired help became extremely skittish and insisted that we leave the area at once. Having observed elephants in India, and knowing the silly superstitions of these natives to be nothing more than flights of fancy, I demanded that they stay, even threatening to withhold their payment should they decide to take their leave. Begrudgingly, they remained.
Unfortunately for me, I had underestimated the strength of their beliefs, and upon waking the following morning, discovered that they had upped and gone in the night. They had, however, left the bulk of the supplies, including the map and compass which I would need to find my way back to civilisation. Disgusted at this turn of events, but confident that an experienced outdoorsman such as myself would have no problems living wild for a few nights, I decided to continue my observations until lack of provisions forced my return. This decision proved to be unwise.
The evening after my abandonment, as I was climbing down from my arboreal watchpoint, a tremendous blast of noise took me by surprise, and I lost my grip on the rope ladder upon which I had been descending. Falling the ten feet to the ground, I landed badly and heard something snap in my ankle. A second blast of noise sent an inexplicable fear deep into my bones, and I scrambled back up the ladder to my platform despite the agony searing through my boot.
Upon reaching the hide, my first instinct was to take stock of the situation, and I found that I had the lantern which I had left in the blind, and in my knapsack around a day and a half’s supply of water (two if I was careful), a little dried food, some basic medical supplies including a bottle of opiate, and of course, my precious journals. Strapped to my belt were the hunting knife which every traveller in the wilds should have about his person, and the .45 revolver which I always carried as protection against roaming predators. Once my nerves had calmed sufficiently to think like a rational human being, the realisation of what the noise had been struck me, and I cursed myself for a fool. The bull elephant’s trumpet had clearly been the source of that call. Satisfied that I was equipped for at least the coming night, I bedded down for the evening.
Waking with the sunrise, I found that things had taken something of a turn for the worse. Despite binding my ankle as best I could in my sturdy boot, it had clearly swelled overnight and was now pressing painfully against the inside of its holding. Swallowing a little of the opiate to ease the suffering, I looked around to see what, if anything, had changed during my slumber.
Looking around, the answer appeared to be very little, although several of the elephants were staring across the river at me, despite the fact that I was over five hundred feet from them, across a large river, and was sure they couldn’t possibly see me in my well-constructed hide. Even the great bull was casting glances over at my location. I remember thinking at the time that the hearing of an elephant must be far better than I had ever suspected, given the noise produced by both the elephants themselves and the wind rustling through the surrounding bush.
Realising that there was no possible way that I could make the return journey by myself with a cracked ankle (I hoped that it was only cracked), I began to make plans on survival until the inevitable rescue party arrived. Thinking that to try the rope ladder in my half-crippled condition would be to ask for more grief, I decided that the best course of action would be to simply wait. Surely the guides would have informed someone of my location, and there would be someone along presently to aid me home. Well-pleased with myself for my logical thinking, I settled down to watch the wild beasts which so enchanted me, make my notes, and carefully rationed what was left of my consumables.
Again waking with the dawn on the third morning following my seclusion, my parched throat and growling stomach made me realise that I would have to do something to improve my situation before rescue arrived. Testing my foot, I found it to be worse than before, every movement a screaming pain up my shin. This was clearly not a good sign, but I knew that to do nothing would mean my inevitable death by thirst.
I removed one of the straighter branches used as planking on my hide, and managed to fashion something of a crutch, which I would utilise on my half-mile trip back to camp, and ensured that my revolver was properly loaded and clear of any sand or dust which might block the firing mechanism before braving the rope ladder. To say that the journey down was painful is something of an understatement.
Safely on the ground, I hobbled my way back to camp, my abused ankle screaming at every step, but I eventually arrived, although the sight which greeted me was not what I had expected.
There were elephant tracks everywhere, of all different sizes.
Unnerved by this turn of events – as far as I had observed, the elephants had never left their side of the river – I set about taking stock of the provisions in camp. It soon became apparent that, whilst my camp had been visited by elephants, no other wildlife had come to take a look at what the guides had left behind. I found this to be exceedingly unusual as, in my experience, everything in the bush would try to pillage a campsite left unattended. A sense of unease began to settle upon me, and the more I inspected the campsite, the greater it became. The food and water had not been touched, but my own tent, where I had left my compass and map, had clearly been entered, and all of the contents were ground into the mud. Of the map and compass themselves, there was no sign.
I began to wonder if there was another herd of elephants, one which had gone previously unnoticed, but all of the tracks seemed to lead from and back to the direction of the river. My knowledge of these creatures also told me that they tended towards solitary herds, with groups not generally infringing upon each other’s territory.
My sense of unease had by now developed into a frightening anxiety that I was in danger. I knew that the elephants were watching me. In my panic, somehow I *knew*. This knowledge instilled in me a fervour which overcame my panic, and I quickly gathered up as much in the way of supplies as I could manage, filling my own knapsack and a pair of canvas bags with as much food, water and medical supplies as I believed I was able to feasibly carry. Unfortunately, as the elephants had made short work of the contents of my tent, I was deprived of more ammunition for my revolver, and so had to make do with the six rounds already loaded, plus the twelve that lived in my belt bandolier.
Hurriedly starting the journey back to my hide, I soon discovered my optimistic view on my baggage-carrying capacity, and discarded one of the sacks, after drinking as much water as my belly would hold. By this point, I was in a near-frenzy of dread, continually looking over my shoulder, expecting every time to see a menacing face bearing down upon me with shining ivory tusks.
When I finally arrived at the site of my hide at dusk, my ankle screaming in unrestrained agony, I made straight for the rope ladder, and hauled myself up hand over hand, my injured lower leg being completely incapable of taking any more punishment. When I reached the platform and looked down, what I beheld shook me to my core: elephant prints, all around the base of my tree. As if to drive home the point, a trumpet from across the river called my attention to those grey devils across the river. All seventeen of them were there, none of them wet from submersion in water, staring directly at my hide. More specifically, staring at *me*. At that point, I began to hate the elephants.
15/02/1907
My trip to the campsite garnered me perhaps two weeks in water (if I am careful) and the same in food, although considering that I am never again going to venture out of my tree, my caloric intake will be minimal, and thus the food should last far longer. The water is a worry, however, as I am now consigned to the fact that nobody is looking for me, and any hope of rescue shall come from a happener-by. At least I obtained plenty of opiates, which should help relieve the increasing pain from my ankle.
Regardless, I shall endeavour to keep my spirits up, and wait for rescue. No matter how much noise those damned elephants make.
20/02/1907
It is now the ninth day of my solitude, and I believe that these circumstances are playing havoc with my state of mind. My sleep last night was littered with dreams of elephants, and I awoke in a cold sweat at dawn with the certain knowledge that one of the beasts was pacing the ground beneath me. Needless to say, the scrub around my tree was clear. However, I am convinced that the tracks around it were different to the ones there yesterday. I shall have to start drawing diagrams to be sure.
Besides my understandable paranoia at being alone in the wilds, my situation is acceptable for the time being: I still have perhaps ten days of water, enough food to last, and my revolver and knife, should anything manage to breach my sanctuary. The worry is my medical supplies. Whilst I have attempted to use the opiates sparingly, the complaint in my ankle seems to be increasing daily, and though I have a large supply of the drug, I am not of the opinion that it will last as long as my water. I have not removed the boot since binding the break, some eight days now, but in light of the pain I believe that it may be somehow infected. I have resolved that tomorrow I will take the boot off and see how my foot now fares.
21/021907
The pain when I removed my boot this morning was excruciating. The simple act of trying to extract my foot took me around a half hour, and several swigs of my opiate. It has most certainly become infected, as I had suspected but should have recognised due to the colour of the veins on the upper section of my calf. I am now unable to put this appendage back into its boot, and fear that if I remain here much longer, I may lose it. Something of note, is that all through my agony, those accursed elephants appeared to be laughing at me, but perhaps that was simply the opiate. Elephants can’t laugh.
This day has been exhausting, and I have sweated more than usual as a result of my exertions. In an attempt to retain some of the lost water and minerals, I wrung the drips from my shirt into my dry mouth, but this bodily damage may prove to be my undoing. I shall try and write more about my situation tomorrow.
post script: Can elephants smile? I shall have to look into this, if I ever reach salvation.
22/02/1907
The pain from my ankle is almost unbearable now. I must take it off myself. I shall do this tomorrow, though the act will leave me in short supply of painkillers. I have taken a heavy dose of the drug, so that I may be well-rested in preparation for tomorrow’s requirements.
23/02/2019
I awoke in agony last night when the moon was high. Thinking it at first to be pain caused by the infection, I looked down to see a great grey tentacle grasping my diseased foot. In terror, I grabbed for a weapon, and the first piece my fingers closed upon was my bush knife. Slashing down with the blade, I cut a deep gouge in the thing, which resulted in a mighty bellow of agony from below, before the thing withdrew. I then reached for my revolver, and fired three shots into the darkness below. As far as I know, none of these rounds struck home, but I am certain in my mind that I heard the soft yet heavy padding of feet receding towards the river. I am now firm in my belief that the elephants are attempting to kill me.
Today, the elephants are watching me. I am certain of it. Fifteen of them stand by the riverbank, simply staring at my blind. The pregnant female and the bull are not present.
My opiate is low. I had to take much of it to relieve the pain caused by the attack last night. I intend to thwart them this night, however. I shall not sleep. Certain of the antibiotics which have so far proven useless against the malady which inflicts my leg contain large amounts of a compound known to keep men awake. I have ground a number of these tablets into a powder form using the butt of my knife and a piece of bark cut from my tree, and have mixed this with some of my diminishing water to create a compound which will keep me alert for several hours. No elephant will come upon me unawares tonight.
24/02/1907
As expected, the elephants did not dare come for me when I was conscious and ready for them. I am so tired, though. And in so much pain from my ruined leg. Tomorrow, I will take it off. Tonight, I require a good nights sleep though. After taking as much of the opiate as I dare, I have fashioned a harness from what was left of the rope ladder (until today, I had not realised that a good deal of it was destroyed by those monstrous elephants- they must have done it while I slept), and used my arms and good leg to pull myself higher into the tree, well beyond any elephant’s reach. Then, using the twine I had spared from the rope, I hoisted my supplies up, and lashed both them and me to the largest branch. I am on the verge of sleep now, but shall write again once my leg is off.
25/02/2019
Disaster! While I slept the sleep of the dead, the elephants came and took down my blind! Who else could it have been? With no platform to descend to, there is no possible way for me to reach the ground: descending the trunk of this tree would be a feat beyond any able-bodied man. In addition, my lantern is now gone, meaning I have no light of an evening beyond that provided by the moon and stars.
Despite this, I know that to survive, I must remove my leg. Perhaps someone will still venture through this land and find me, before it is too late.
I am well aware that I will pass out during this process, and am taking precautions to prevent a catastrophe. I have securely lashed myself to the trunk of the tree, and have done the same with my bags of supplies. My ankle was tied tightly to an offshoot branch (an act which required more swigs of opiates), I have tied my belt as tightly as I can manage about my thigh, and I am ready to start. All going well, I will write about this tomorrow.
post script: The elephants are watching all of this with great interest. I like to think that it is merely because of the screeching noises of pain I have been making, but somehow I believe that it is something else. Their faces appear to have a look of anticipation – pleasure? – upon them. I once again find myself wondering if elephants can smile.
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{The following is translated from the Portuguese diary of one }
09/02/1911
Our party stumbled across the abandoned campsite early this morning. The local guides claimed to have no knowledge of any Westerner ever having visited this area, but I suspect that they do not tell the truth. The camp looked to be old, but it was unusually untouched by the local fauna for a site which had sat for so long, aside from the larger tent, whose contents had been comprehensively destroyed. Upon reaching this place, the native bearers became somewhat skittish, and insisted that we leave the area. I believe that they first became this way upon sighting the tracks of elephants, which seemed to cover the campsite like a muddy scale.
Upon my insistence, and no doubt encouraged by the rifles that my three companions pointedly displayed for them, the locals stayed, albeit with some reluctance.
Curious as to what had occurred in the campsite, and assuming that this was the home of some long-departed hunter, my companions and I moved towards the river, leaving instructions with out guides to set up camp and be ready to bed down for the night upon our return.
The elephant tracks lead us to a single tree, isolated from all others by leagues, and which commanded a magnificent view of the surroundings. At the foot of the tree was a single human leg, withered and untouched by the local predators. Strapped to a tree branch, higher than could be reached, was a knapsack full of journals. I took these things back to our camp to study, but could not get the image of eighteen elephants watching us from across the river from my mind. One in particular had a nasty scar across its trunk. It looks like it is smiling. Can elephants smile?
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