So they waited a few days, and then set forth once more. By this time
Hippo had succeeded in breaking off one of the harpoons, and bending
the other, but the barbs, which hurt so dreadfully and caused him such
intense suffering, he was unable to get out in spite of all his
efforts. They were still there, and, if Hippo could only have known
it, they were likely to stay there, for they had been made for that
express purpose.

Hippo had now developed into a most dangerous animal, for the pain and
inflammation of his wounds, added to his naturally savage disposition,
had driven him half wild, and he roamed about in his slow, clumsy
manner, not even caring to eat, and savagely attacking everything that
came in his way. So fierce and bad-tempered had he become by this
time, that even his wife carefully kept out of his way, and his little
son had been terrified nearly to death ever since his father, in a
sudden fit of passion, had turned on him and bitten him cruelly with
his terrible teeth. His wife finally took the precaution of taking up
her position farther down the river, but keeping fairly close to the
herd.

Hippo missed her and the baby calf, and felt lonely and miserable, but
he did not take the trouble to follow them, for his wounds were
getting worse, and the torture was now so great that he could not
think of much else. In vain he sank his huge body in the cool water,
hoping to ease the burning and smarting--in vain he took long swims
like the "river horse" he was--in vain he dived to the bottom of the
river and stayed there until he was obliged to come to the surface to
breathe--in vain he kept his whole body under water, with just the end
of his broad nose peeping out--it was of no use. The pain got worse,
and horrible twinges kept shooting through his shoulder and body,