I could not strike the two guards at one time; and if one saw me attack the other he would have time to give the alarm, and awaken the whole camp.
It was, then, during this one brief moment that I must act.
About twenty paces separated me from the tent, and this was an added difficulty--shortening still more the available time during which I would be unseen; but the attempt must be made.
I tried to undo the rope that tethered my foot. I could not succeed; but with a single jerk I pulled up the stake to which I was attached.
Choosing a favourable moment I took some steps towards the tent. Then I waited for the soldiers to make another turn--and moved still nearer. I preserved the attitude of a sleeping elephant; and they failed to notice in the darkness that I had drawn closer.
Now was the time. I must make the attempt--at the next turn, thought I.
But my heart beat so violently that I was compelled to wait. My one fear was that I might not succeed; then, too, I felt a repugnance to slaying--by treachery as it seemed--these two unknown human beings. But after all, was it not men who had set me the example of ferocity? To save my Master I would have destroyed without remorse the entire army of the enemy!
My self-possession returned; and it was with the greatest coolness that I executed my plan.
The first soldier was seized by my trunk and strangled, with no sound except the cracking of his bones. I had just thrown aside his corpse when the other came face to face with me.
He did not cry out--terror prevented him; but he instinctively jumped backward, and so hastily that he fell.... The unfortunate man never rose; my enormous foot falling upon him crushed him to a bloody mass.
I drew a long breath; then I listened; in the distance could still be heard the occasional call of the sentinels who guarded the outskirts of the camp, of which we occupied the centre; no doubt they would soon be relieved--and perhaps also the guards of the Prince; there was not a moment to spare.
Yet I dared not approach my Master suddenly, lest he might utter an exclamation of surprise.
Was he sleeping, the dear Prince, worn out with fatigue? Or was he grieving silently over the loss of his liberty, and his life?