PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 108, March 2nd, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
"ANIMAL SPIRITS."
No. V.—Golf. "TheOld Scotch Terriers."
TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.
(By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)
I.—THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (continued from page 81.)
In these awful circumstances, with the night air whistling past me,and with my beloved Chuddah and her nursehurtling upwards beside me, it is scarcely necessary for me to saythat I never for an instant lost my coolness and my perfectself-possession. That the situation was dangerous, nay, almostdesperate, I fully realised, but it is in these very situations thattrue courage and resourcefulness are always of the highest value.Again and again in the course of my long life have I plucked safety,aye, and that which is higher and better than all safety, namely,reputation, from the nettle danger. Let fools prate as they will; thebrave man must always rise triumphant above the stormy waves of envyand detraction.
These thoughts, I admit, did not occur to me at the moment. Ourflight was too perilous and too swift to allow me to think of aughtsave what concerned the immediate necessities of this truly fearfulcrisis. Poor little Chuddah, I observed,being made of lighter material, was gradually outstripping me in thisdreadful and involuntary race. First her head topped me; then hershoulders soared beyond me; at last her feet were on a level with myface. As one of them (I forget which) passed upwards, I was just ableby leaning slightly forward, to imprint a kiss upon it. "Farewell,Chuddah," I sighed, as the lovely foot leftmy lips. "Farewell, Orlando," she murmuredall but inaudibly, and fled up, up, up into the dismal night. I neversaw her again.
The Ayah, however, a stout and heavy woman, was still beside me,rising inch for inch as I rose. By turning slightly round I could lookat her. I did so. Judge of my horror when I realised by the faintlight of the stars that the Ayah was no longer alive! The shock of thesudden ascent must have proved too much for one accustomed to thesedate and comfortable life of an eastern palace, and enfeebled,moreover, by advancing age. The explosion acting on such aconstitution had snapped the cords that kept life in her faithfulbody. The Ayah was dead, and I who tell this tale was alone with acorpse in the encircling atmosphere! As I realised this horriblesituation, I confess that for the first and last time in my life Iturned faint with a feeling almost amounting to fear. In imagination Isaw myself speeding for ever, as the æons revolved in theircourses, with only a dead Indian nurse to keep me company. Then, by aninstantaneous revulsion, the grim humour of the situation struck me.With only my knapsack of provisions and my brandy-flask, it wasunlikely, even under the most favourable circumstances, that I shouldbe able to prolong life for more than a week. At the end of a week,then, I too should be a corpse. I laughed aloud as I thought of thelast scion of the Wilbrahams, theunconquerable Orlando, mated in mid-air tothe dusky Ayah, a skeleto