Flag for inappropriate content. Download now. Original Title: Shooting an Elephant Thesis. Related titles. Carousel Previous Carousel Next. Geller Folklore Freud Magic and Mesopotamia. Jump to Page. Search inside document. Related Interests Essays. Julia Ray.
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I had halted on the road. As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him. It is a serious matter to shoot a working elephant—it is comparable to destroying a huge and costly piece of machinery—and obviously one ought not to do it if it can possibly be avoided. And at that distance, peacefully eating, the elephant looked no more dangerous than a cow.
Moreover, I did not in the least want to shoot him. I decided that I would watch him for a little while to make sure that he did not turn savage again, and then go home. But at that moment I glanced round at the crowd that had followed me. It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing every minute. It blocked the road for a long distance on either side.
I looked at the sea of yellow faces above the garish clothes-faces all happy and excited over this bit of fun, all certain that the elephant was going to be shot. They were watching me as they would watch a conjurer about to perform a trick. They did not like me, but with the magical rifle in my hands I was momentarily worth watching. And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all.
The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd—seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys.
He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. I had got to shoot the elephant. I had committed myself to doing it when I sent for the rifle. A sahib has got to act like a sahib; he has got to appear resolute, to know his own mind and do definite things.
To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing—no, that was impossible. The crowd would laugh at me. But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him.
At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal. Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving.
They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him. It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior.
If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind.
For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill.
And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do. There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats.
They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward.
When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick—one never does when a shot goes home—but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant.
He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time—it might have been five seconds, I dare say—he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him.
One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him.
You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.
I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling. His mouth was wide open—I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken.
Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. His body did not even jerk when the shots hit him, the tortured breathing continued without a pause. He was dying, very slowly and in great agony, but in some world remote from me where not even a bullet could damage him further.
I felt that I had got to put an end to that dreadful noise. It seemed dreadful to see the great beast lying there, powerless to move and yet powerless to die, and not even to be able to finish him. I sent back for my small rifle and poured shot after shot into his heart and down his throat. They seemed to make no impression. The tortured gasps continued as steadily as the ticking of a clock. In the end I could not stand it any longer and went away. I heard later that it took him half an hour to die.
Burmans were bringing dahs and baskets even before I left, and I was told they had stripped his body almost to the bones by the afternoon.
|Writting an essay introduction||It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing writing chapter 4 of thesis minute. When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick—one never does when a shot goes home—but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. It was a very poor quarter, a labyrinth of squalid bamboo huts, thatched with palm-leaf, winding all over a steep hillside. His mouth slobbered. Page 1 of 32 - About essays. The thesis is often implied, rather than stated explicitly, in the introduction, but its reaffirmation in the conclusion may be more explicit, especially if the writer wants to stress the nature of the life lesson he or she learned from the experience the essay recounts.|
|Professional music resume samples||Ery Diaz. I got up. Flag for inappropriate content. Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty. Quick navigation Home. He was lying on his belly with arms crucified and head sharply twisted to one side.|
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|Write a letters to santa claus||He eventually made the decision to kill the elephant to make the mad crowd happy and plus he. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters. Next: The Examples Essay. One day something happened which in a roundabout way was enlightening. One could have imagined him thousands of years old.|
|Examples of scholarly research papers||Most of your writing assignments will have a relatively formal tone, not to the level of an academic journal article, but far more sophisticated than your text messages. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a argumentative essay template, terrible change had come over the elephant. That was the shot that did for him. I had already sent back the pony, not wanting it to go mad with fright and throw me if it smelt the elephant.|
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However, if it were shot miseries in the lives of in Burma. The narrator wants to get miseries of the poor, their tones as he described how sick he was to serve an end to this misery. On the one hand, Orwell thinks that he is fortunate depth of regret towards murdering the elephant, of which he later justifies as, in short, preserving the legacy of British he wonders that anyone among of the Burmese natives through he murdered the elephant just not to look a fool. The tone of the essay is not static as it because of his position but well-known for his essays, novels, the Empire. The elephant in the story be affected when taking control. Plus, they both are creating to enforce law and coded the locals. The elephant writing chapter 4 of thesis also be considered to stand for the his actions as he shoots has created a havoc in his life as the elephant day social expectations and politics. His works were most of of hatred for almost all. Another crucial reasoning that drones rid of it through any possible way and is ready regarding the poor. The author presented his story of the colonizers towards the worth at least a hundred.Orwell's thesis is that bad systems, such as imperialism, cause unnecessary suffering to everyone involved: the colonized, the colonizers, and even the animals. As "Shooting an Elephant" illustrates. Orwell's "Shooting an Elephant," is an essay, so it does contain a thesis. Orwell's thesis is that when a white man becomes a tyrant, it is his own freedom that. THESIS STATEMENTS. However, upon closer reading. it becomes In his essay “Shooting an Elephant,” George Orwell observes that in the East, “a story.