THE ELEPHANT.
Love of Solitude, and Pusillanimity--Miraculous Escape of an
English Officer--Sagacity of the Elephant in ascending Hills--
Organisation of the Stomach--The Elephant’s Trunk--Use of the
Tusks still Problematical--The Rogue-Elephant--Sagacity of the
Elephant--The African Elephant--Tamed in Ancient Times--South
African Elephant-Hunting--Hair-breadth Escapes--Abyssinian
Elephant-Hunters--Cutting-up of an Elephant--The Asiatic Elephant--
Vast Numbers destroyed in Ceylon--Major Rogers--Elephant-Catchers--
Their amazing Dexterity--The Corral--Decoy Elephants--Their
astonishing Sagacity--Great Mortality among the Captured Elephants--
Their Services.
Of a mild and peaceful disposition, the image of strength tempered
by good nature, the Elephant loves the shady forest and the secluded
lake. Disliking the glare of the midday sun, he spends the day in the
thickest woods, devoting the night to excursions and to the luxury of
the bath, his great and innocent delight. Though the earth trembles
under his strides, yet, like the whale, he is timid; but this timidity
is accounted for by his small range of vision. Anything unusual
strikes him with terror, and the most trivial objects and incidents,
from being imperfectly discerned, excite his suspicions. To this
peculiarity an English officer, chased and seized by an elephant
which he had slightly wounded, owed his almost miraculous escape.
The animal had already raised its fore-foot to trample him to death,
when, its forehead being caught at the instant by the tendrils of a
climbing plant which had suspended itself from the branches above,
it suddenly turned and fled.[37] An instinctive consciousness that
his superior bulk exposes him to danger from sources that might be
harmless in the case of lighter animals, is probably the reason why
the elephant displays a remarkable reluctance to face the slightest
artificial obstruction on his passage. Even when enraged by a wound,
he will hesitate to charge his assailant across an intervening hedge,
suspecting it may conceal a snare. Unlike the horse, he never gets
accustomed to the report of fire-arms, and thus no longer plays an
active part in battle as in the times of Pyrrhus and Hannibal, but
serves in a modern campaign merely as a common beast of burden, or for
the transport of heavy artillery.
To make up for his restricted vision, his neck being so formed as to
render him incapable of directing the range of his eye much above the
level of his head, he is endowed with a remarkable power of smell, and
a delicate sense of hearing, which serve to apprise him of the approach
of danger.
Although, from their huge bulk, the elephants might be supposed to
prefer a level country, yet, in Asia at least, the regions where they
most abound are all hilly and mountainous. In Ceylon, particularly,
there is not a range so high as to be inaccessible to them, and so
sure-footed are they that, provided there be solidity to sustain their
weight, they will climb rocks, and traverse ledges where even a mule
dare not venture.
Dr. Hooker admired the judicious winding of the elephant’s path in
the Himalayas, and Sir J. E. Tennent describes the sagacity which he
displays in laying out roads, or descending abrupt banks, as almost
incredible. ‘His first manœuvre is to kneel down close to the edge
of the declivity, placing his chest to the ground, one fore-leg is
then cautiously passed a short way down the slope, and if there is no
natural protection to afford a firm footing, he speedily forms one
by stamping into the soil if moist, or kicking out a footing if dry.
This point gained, the other fore-leg is brought down in the same way,
and performs the same work, a little in advance of the first, which
is thus at liberty to move lower still. Then, first one and then the
second of the hind-legs is carefully drawn over the side, and the
hind-feet in turn occupy the resting-places previously used and left
by the fore ones. The course, however, in such precipitous ground is
not straight from top to bottom, but slopes along the face of the bank,
descending till the animal gains the level below.’
The stomach of the elephant, like that of the camel or the llama, is
provided with a cavity, serving most probably as a reservoir for water
against the emergencies of thirst; but the most remarkable feature
in the organisation of the ‘Leviathan of the land’ is his wonderful
trunk, which, uniting the flexibility of the serpent with a giant’s
power, almost rivals the human hand by its manifold uses and exquisite
delicacy of touch.
‘Nearly eight feet in length, and stout in proportion to the massive
size of the whole animal, this miracle of nature,’ as it is well
expressed by Mr. Broderip, ‘at the volition of the elephant will uproot
trees or gather grass; raise a piece of artillery or pick up a comfit;
kill a man or brush off a fly. It conveys the food to the mouth, and
pumps up the enormous draughts of water, which, by its recurvature,
are turned into and driven down the capacious throat, or showered over
the body. Its length supplies the place of a long neck, which would
have been incompatible with the support of the large head and weighty
tusks.’ A glance at the head of the elephant will show the thickness
and strength of the trunk at its insertion; and the massy arched
bones of the face and thick muscular neck are admirably adapted for
supporting and working this incomparable instrument, which is at the
same time the elephant’s most formidable defensive weapon, for, first
prostrating any minor assailant by means of his trunk, he then crushes
him by the pressure of his enormous weight.
The use of the elephant’s tusks is less clearly defined. Though they
are frequently described as warding off the attacks of the tiger and
rhinoceros, often securing the victory by one blow, which transfixes
the assailant to the earth, it is perfectly obvious, both from their
almost vertical position and the difficulty of raising the head above
the level of the shoulder, that they were never designed for weapons
of attack. No doubt they may prove of great assistance in digging up
roots, but that they are far from indispensable is proved by their
being but rarely seen in the females, and by their almost constant
absence in the Ceylon elephant, where they are generally found reduced
to mere stunted processes.
The elephants live in herds, usually consisting of from ten to twenty
individuals, and each herd is a family, not brought together by
accident or attachment, but owning a common lineage and relationship.
In the forest several herds will browse in close contiguity, and in
their expeditions in search of water they may form a body of possibly
one or two hundred, but on the slightest disturbance, each distinct
herd hastens to re-form within its own particular circle, and to take
measures on its own behalf for retreat or defence.
Generally the most vigorous and courageous of the herd assumes the
leadership: his orders are observed with the most implicit obedience,
and the devotion and loyalty evinced by his followers are very
remarkable. In Ceylon this is more readily seen in the case of a tusker
than in any other, because in a herd he is generally the object of the
keenest pursuit by the hunters. On such occasions the elephants do
their utmost to protect him from danger; when driven to extremity, they
place the leader in the centre, and crowd so eagerly in front of him
that the sportsmen have to shoot a number which they might otherwise
have spared.
When individuals have been expelled from a herd, or by some accident
have lost their former associates, they are not permitted to attach
themselves to any other family, and ever after wander about the woods
as outcasts from their kind. Rendered morose and savage from rage and
solitude, they not only commit great injuries in the plantations,
trampling down the rice-grounds, and tearing up the trees, but even
travellers are exposed to the utmost risk from their unprovoked
assaults.
As the elephant surpasses all other land animals in strength and
weight, his mental faculties also assign to him one of the first places
in the animal creation. His docility, his attachment to his master, his
ready obedience, are qualities in which he is scarcely inferior to the
dog, and it is astonishing how easily he suffers himself to be led by
his puny guide.
The dog has been the companion of man through an endless series of
generations, a servitude of many centuries has modified his physical
and moral type; but the elephant, whom, in spite of his prodigious
powers, we train to an equal obedience, is always originally the
free-born son of the forest (for he never propagates in a state of
captivity), and is often advanced in years before being obliged to
change the independence of the woods for the yoke of thraldom. What
services might not be expected from so gifted an animal were we able to
educate the species as we do the individual?
The elephant inhabits both Asia and Africa, but each of these two
parts of the world has its peculiar species. The African elephant is
distinguished by the lozenge-shaped prominences of ivory and enamel on
the surface of his grinders, which in the Indian elephant are narrow
transverse parts of uniform breadth; his skull has a more rounded form,
and is deficient in the double lateral bump conspicuous in the former;
and he has only fifty-four vertebræ, while the Indian has sixty-one.
On the other hand, he possesses twenty-one ribs, while the latter has
only nineteen. His tusks are also much larger, and his body is of much
greater bulk, as the female attains the stature of the full-grown
Indian male. The ear is at least three times the size, being not seldom
above four feet long and broad, so that Dr. Livingstone mentions
having seen a negro who under cover of one of these prodigious flaps
effectually screened himself from the rain.
The African elephant has a very wide range, from Caffraria to Nubia,
and from the Zambesi to Cape Verde, and the impenetrable deserts of
the Sahara alone prevent him from wandering to the shores of the
Mediterranean. Although in South Africa the persecutions of the
natives, and of his still more formidable enemies--the colonists and
English huntsmen, have considerably thinned his numbers, and driven him
farther and farther to the north, yet in the interior of the country he
is still met with in prodigious numbers. Dr. Barth frequently saw large
herds winding through the open plains, and swimming in majestic lines
through the rivers with elevated trunks, or bathing in the shallow
lakes for coolness or protection against insects.
Dr. Livingstone gives us many interesting accounts of South African
elephant-hunting. The Banijai on the south bank of the Zambesi erect
stages on high trees overhanging the paths by which the elephants
come, and then use a heavy spear four or five feet long. When the
unfortunate animal comes beneath, they throw this formidable weapon,
and if it enters between the ribs above, as the blade is at least
twenty inches long by two broad, the motion of the handle, as it is
aided by knocking against the trees, makes frightful gashes within, and
soon causes death. They kill them also by means of a spear inserted in
a beam of wood, which being suspended on the branch of a tree by a cord
attached to a latch, fastened in the path and intended to be struck by
the animal’s foot, leads to the fall of the beam, and the spear being
poisoned, causes death in a few hours.
On the sloping banks of the Zouga the Bayeiye dig deep pitfalls to
entrap the animals as they come to drink, but though these traps are
constructed with the greatest ingenuity, old elephants have been known
to precede the herd and whisk off their coverings all the way down to
the water, or, giving proof of a still more astonishing sagacity, to
have actually lifted the young out of the pits into which they had
stumbled.
The Bushmen select full-moon nights for the chase, on account of the
coolness, and choose the moment succeeding a charge, when the elephant
is out of breath, to run in and give him a stab with their long-bladed
spears. The huge creature is often bristling with missile weapons like
a porcupine, and though singly none of the wounds may be mortal, yet
their number overpowers him by loss of blood.
In the Lake Districts discovered by Captain Burton, the elephant is
hunted in a somewhat similar manner. A tusker having been artfully
separated from the herd without exciting suspicion, the hunting party,
consisting of from fifteen to twenty individuals, close in a deadly
circle round the victim. The headman then rising with a shout, hurls
the first spear, and his example is followed by the rest. The weapons
are not poisoned--they are fatal by a succession of small wounds.
The baited beast rarely breaks, as might be expected, through the
frail circle of assailants; its proverbial obstinacy is excited, it
charges one man, who slips away, when another with a scream thrusts
the long stiff spear into its hind-quarters, which makes it change its
intention and turn fiercely from the fugitive to the fresh assailant.
This continues till the elephant, losing breath and heart, attempts to
escape; its enemies then redouble their efforts, and at length the huge
prey, overpowered by pain and loss of blood, trickling from a hundred
wounds, bites the dust. The victors, after certain preliminaries of
singing and dancing, carefully cut out the tusks, and devour the rich
marrow upon the spot. The chase concludes with a grand feast of fat and
garbage, and the hunters return home in triumph, laden with ivory, with
ovals of hide for shields, and with festoons of raw meat spitted upon
long poles.
The cutting-up of an elephant by a negro tribe is quite a unique
spectacle. The men stand round the animal in dead silence, while the
chief of the party declares that, according to ancient law, the head
and right hind-leg belong to him who inflicted the first wound; the
left leg to him who delivered the second, or first touched the animal
after it fell, and different parts to the headmen of the different
groups of which the camp is composed, not forgetting to enjoin the
preservation of the fat and bowels for a second distribution. This
oration finished, the natives soon become excited, and scream wildly
as they cut away at the carcase with a score of spears, whose long
handles quiver in the air above their heads. Their excitement becomes
momentarily more and more intense, and reaches the culminating point
when, as denoted by a roar of gas, the huge mass is laid fairly open.
Some jump inside and roll about there in their eagerness to seize some
precious morsel, while others run off screaming with pieces of the
bloody meat, throw it on the grass, and run back for more; all keep
talking and shouting at the utmost pitch of their voices. Sometimes
two or three, regardless of all laws, seize the same piece of meat,
and have a brief fight of words over it. Occasionally an agonized yell
bursts forth, and a native emerges out of the huge carcase with his
hand badly cut by the spear of his excited friend and neighbour.
A much more formidable enemy of this noble animal than the spears or
pitfalls of the African barbarians is the rifle, particularly in the
hands of a European marksman; for while the natives generally stand
at the distance of a hundred yards or more, and of course spend all
the force of their bullets on the air, the English hunters, relying
on their steadiness of aim, approach to within thirty yards of the
animal, where they are sure not to waste their powder. The consequence
is, that when the Griquas kill one elephant, such marksmen as Gordon
Cumming and Andersson will bring at least twenty to the ground, and
this difference is the more remarkable as the natives employ dogs to
assist them, while the English trust to themselves alone. It requires
no little nerve to brave the charge of the elephant, the scream or
trumpeting of the brute, when infuriated, being more like what the
shriek of a steam-whistle would be to a man standing on the dangerous
part of a railroad, than any other earthly sound, so that a horse
unused to it will sometimes stand shivering instead of taking his rider
out of danger, or fall paralysed by fear.
Even the most experienced hunters have many dangers to encounter while
facing their gigantic adversary. Thus, on the banks of the Zouga,
Mr. Oswell had one of the most extraordinary escapes from a wounded
elephant perhaps ever recorded in the annals of the chase. Pursuing
the brute into the dense thorny bushes met with on the margin of that
river, and to which the elephant usually flees for safety, he followed
it through a narrow pathway by lifting up some of the branches and
forcing his way through the rest; but when he had just got over this
difficulty, he saw the elephant, whose tail he had but got glimpses
of before, now rushing full speed towards him. There was then no time
to lift up branches, so he tried to force his horse through them. He
could not effect a passage, and as there was but an instant between the
attempt and failure, the hunter tried to dismount, but in doing this
one foot was caught by a branch, and the spur drawn along the animal’s
flank; this made him spring away, and throw the rider on the ground
with his face to the elephant, which, being in full chase, still went
on. Mr. Oswell saw the huge fore-foot about to descend on his legs,
parted them, and drew in his breath, as if to resist the pressure of
the other foot, which he expected would next descend on his body. His
relief may be imagined, when he saw the whole length of the under part
of the enormous brute pass over him, leaving him perfectly unhurt.
In Abyssinia the elephant is hunted in an original manner. The men
who make this their chief occupation dwell constantly in the woods,
and live entirely upon the flesh of the animals they kill. They are
exceedingly dexterous, both on horseback and on foot; indispensable
qualities, partly inherited and partly acquired by practice. Completely
naked to render their movements more easy, and to prevent their
being laid hold of by the bushes, two of these bold huntsmen get
on horseback; one of them bestrides the back of the steed, a short
stick in one hand, the reins in the other, while behind him sits his
companion, armed with a sharp broadsword. As soon as they perceive a
grazing elephant, they instantly ride up to him, or cross him in all
directions if he flies, uttering at the same time a torrent of abuse,
for the purpose, as they fancy, of raising his anger. With outstretched
trunk the elephant attempts to seize the noisy intruders, and following
the perfectly trained horse, which, springing from side to side, leads
him along in vain pursuit, neglects flight into the woods, his sole
chance of safety; for while his whole attention is fixed on the rapid
movements of the horse, the swordsman, who has sprung unperceived from
its back, approaches stealthily from behind, and, with one stroke of
his weapon, severs the tendon just above the heel. The disabled monster
falls shrieking to the ground, and incapable of advancing a step, is
soon despatched. The whole flesh is then cut off his bones into thongs,
and hung upon the branches of trees till perfectly dry, when it is
taken down and laid by for the rainy season.
African ivory is a not unimportant article of trade. The annual
importation into Great Britain alone, for the last few years, has
been about 11,000 cwts., which, taking the average weight of a tusk
at thirty pounds, would imply an annual slaughter of about 20,000
elephants, doomed to destruction in order to provide us with umbrella,
stick, or knife-handles, card-marks, fancy boxes, or buttons.
The Asiatic elephant inhabits Hindostan, the ultra-Gangetic peninsula,
Sumatra, Borneo, and Ceylon. In the latter island especially, he was
formerly found in incredible numbers, so that thirty years ago, an
English sportsman killed no less than 104 elephants in three days.
A reward of a few shillings per head offered by the Government for
taking elephants was claimed for 3,500 destroyed in part of the
northern provinces alone, in less than three years prior to 1848,
and between 1851 and 1856 a similar reward was paid for 2,000 in the
southern provinces. In consequence of this wholesale slaughter,
it cannot be wondered at that the Ceylon elephant has entirely
disappeared from districts in which he was formerly numerous, and
that the peasantry in some parts of the island have even suspended
the ancient practice of keeping watchers and fires by night to drive
away the elephants from the growing crops. The opening of roads, and
the clearing of the mountain-forests of Kandy for the cultivation of
coffee, have forced the animals to retire to the low country, where
again they have been followed by large parties of European sportsmen,
and the Singhalese themselves, being more freely provided with arms
than in former times, have assisted in the work of extermination.
The practice in Ceylon is to aim invariably at the head, and, generally
speaking, a single ball planted in the forehead ends the existence of
the noble creature instantaneously. Thus, while Prince Waldemar of
Prussia, during his visit to the island, was hunting in the forests
in company with Major Rogers, a celebrated Nimrod, they were charged
by two elephants, the one furiously trumpeting in their rear, while
the other pushed its enormous head through the bushes in front. The
major, however, soon put an end to their offensive demonstrations, for
springing between them, he instantly lodged one bullet behind the ear
of the one, and a second in the temple of the other. As if struck by
lightning, they sank to the earth with a deep hollow groan, and the
remainder of the herd, terrified by their fall, hurried away into the
depth of the woods.
In India and Ceylon, elephants have been caught and tamed from time
immemorial, and when we compare their colossal strength with the
physical weakness of man, it must surely be considered a signal
triumph of his intelligence and courage, that he is able to bend such
gigantic creatures to his will. The professional elephant-catchers of
Ceylon, or Panickeas, as they are called, are particularly remarkable
for their daring and adroitness. Their ability in tracing their huge
game, rivalling that of the American Indian in following the enemy’s
trail, has almost the certainty of instinct, and hence their services
are eagerly sought by the European elephant-hunters. ‘So keen is their
glance, that almost at the top of their speed, like hounds running
breast-high, they will follow the course of an elephant over glades
covered with stunted grass, where the eye of a stranger would fail to
discover a trace of its passage, and on through forests strewn with dry
leaves, where it seems impossible to perceive a footstep. Here they are
guided by a bent or broken twig, or by a leaf dropped from the animal’s
mouth on which they can detect the pressure of a tooth. If at fault,
they fetch a circuit like a setter, till lighting on some fresh marks,
they go ahead again with renewed vigour. So delicate is the sense of
smell in the elephant, and so indispensable is it to go against the
wind in approaching him, that the Panickeas, on those occasions when
the wind is so still that its direction cannot be otherwise discerned,
will suspend the film of a gossamer to determine it, and shape their
course accordingly. On overtaking the game, their courage is as
conspicuous as their sagacity. If they have confidence in the sportsman
for whom they are finding, they will advance to the very heel of the
elephant, slap him on the quarter, and then convert his timidity into
anger, till he turns upon his tormentor, and exposes his heavy front
to receive the bullet which is awaiting him. So fearless and confident
are they, that two men without aid or attendants will boldly attempt
to capture the largest-sized elephant. Their only weapon is a flexible
rope made of buffalo’s hide, with which it is their object to secure
one of the hind-legs. This they effect either by following in his
footsteps when in motion, or by stealing close up to him when at rest,
and availing themselves of the propensity of the elephant at such
moments to sling his feet backwards and forwards, they contrive to slip
a noose over his hind-leg.
‘At other times, this is achieved by spreading the noose on the ground,
partially concealed by roots and leaves, beneath a tree on which one
of the party is stationed, whose business it is to lift it suddenly by
means of a cord, raising it on the elephant’s leg at the moment when
his companion has succeeded in provoking him to place his foot within
the circle, the other end having been previously made fast to the stem
of a tree. Should the noosing be effected in open ground, and no tree
of sufficient strength at hand round which to wind the rope, one of
them allowing himself to be pursued by the enraged elephant, entices
him towards the nearest grove, when his companion, dexterously laying
hold of the rope as it trails along the ground, suddenly coils it
round a suitable stem, and brings the fugitive to a stand-still. On
finding himself thus arrested, the natural impulse of the captive is
to turn on the man who is engaged in making fast the rope, a movement
which it is the duty of his colleague to prevent by running up close to
the elephant’s head, and provoking him to confront him by irritating
gesticulations and incessant shouts of _dah! dah!_ a monosyllable the
sound of which the elephant peculiarly dislikes. Meanwhile the first
assailant having secured one noose, comes up from behind with another,
with which, amidst the vain rage and struggles of the victim, he
entraps a fore-leg, the rope being as before secured to another tree in
front, and the whole four feet having been thus entangled, the capture
is completed.
‘A shelter is then run up with branches to protect him from the sun,
and the hunters proceed to build a wigwam for themselves in front of
their prisoner, kindling their fires for cooking, and making all the
necessary arrangements for remaining day and night on the spot, to
await the process of subduing and taming his rage. Picketed to the
ground like Gulliver by the Lilliputians, the elephant soon ceases to
struggle, and what with the exhaustion of ineffectual resistance, the
constant annoyance of smoke, and the liberal supply of food and water
with which he is indulged, a few weeks generally suffice to subdue his
spirit, when his keepers at length venture to remove him to their own
village, or to the seaside for shipment to India.
‘No part of the hunter’s performances exhibits greater skill and
audacity than this first forced march of the recently captured
elephant. As he is still too morose to submit to be ridden, and it
would be equally impossible to lead or to drive him by force, the
ingenuity of the captors is displayed in alternately irritating and
eluding his attacks, but always so attracting his attention, as to
allure him along in the direction in which they want him to go.
‘In Ceylon, the principal place for exporting these animals to India
is Manaar on the western coast, to which the Arabs from the continent
resort, bringing horses to be bartered for elephants. In order to reach
the sea, open plains must be traversed, across which it requires the
utmost patience of the Panickeas to coax their reluctant charge. At
Manaar the elephants are usually detained till any wound on the leg
caused by the rope has been healed, when the shipment is effected in
the most primitive manner, it being next to impossible to induce the
still untamed creature to walk on board, and no mechanical contrivances
being provided to ship him. A native boat, of about forty tons burthen,
is brought alongside the quay, and being about three parts filled with
the strong-ribbed leaves of the Palmyra palm, it is lashed so that
the gunwale may be as nearly as possible on a line with the level of
the wharf. The elephant, being placed with his back to the water, is
forced by goads to retreat till his hind-legs go over the side of the
quay; but the main contest commences when it is attempted to disengage
his fore-feet from the shore, and force him to entrust himself on
board. The scene becomes exciting from the screams and trumpetings of
the elephants, the shouts of the Arabs, and the rushing of the crowd.
Meanwhile the huge creature strains every nerve to regain the land;
and the day is often consumed before his efforts are overcome, and
he finds himself fairly afloat. The same boat will take from four to
five elephants, who place themselves athwart it, and exhibit amusing
adroitness in accommodating their own movements to the rolling of the
little vessel, and in this way they are ferried across the narrow
strait which separates the continent of India from Ceylon.’[38]
Unfortunately, my limits forbid me entering upon a detailed account of
the great elephant hunts of India and Ceylon, where whole herds are
driven into an enclosure and entrapped in one vast decoy. This may
truly be called the sublime of sport, for nowhere is it conducted on
a grander scale, or so replete with thrilling emotions. The _keddah_
or _corral_, as the enclosure is called, is constructed in the depth
of the forest, several hundred paces long, and half as broad, and of
a strength commensurate to the power of the animals it is intended
to secure. Slowly and cautiously the doomed herds are driven onwards
from a vast circuit by thousands of beaters in narrowing circles
to the fatal gate, which is instantly closed behind them, and then
the hunters, rushing with wild clamour and blazing torches to the
stockade, complete the terror of the bewildered animals. Trumpeting
and screaming with rage and fear, they rush round the corral at a
rapid pace, but all their attempts to force the powerful fence are
vain, for wherever they assail the palisade, they are met with glaring
flambeaux and bristling spears, and on whichever side they approach,
they are repulsed with shouts and discharges of musketry. For upwards
of an hour their frantic efforts are continued with unabated energy,
till at length, stupified, exhausted, and subdued by apprehension and
amazement, they form themselves into a circle, and stand motionless
under the dark shade of the trees in the middle of the corral.
To secure the entrapped animals, the assistance of tame elephants or
decoys is necessary, who, by occupying their attention and masking the
movements of the nooser, give him an opportunity of slipping one by one
a rope round their feet until their capture is completed.
The quickness of eye displayed by the men in watching the slightest
movement of an elephant, and their expertness in flinging the noose
over its foot, and attaching it firmly before the animal can tear it
off with its trunk, are less admirable than the rare sagacity of the
decoys, who display the most perfect conception of the object to be
attained, and the means of accomplishing it. Thus Sir Emerson Tennent
saw more than once, during a great elephant hunt which he witnessed
in 1847, that when one of the wild elephants was extending his trunk,
and would have intercepted the rope about to be placed over his leg,
the decoy, by a sudden motion of her own trunk, pushed his aside and
prevented him; and on one occasion, when successive efforts had failed
to put the noose over the leg of an elephant who was already secured
by one foot, but who wisely put the other to the ground as often as
it was attempted to pass the noose under it, he saw the decoy watch
her opportunity, and when his foot was again raised, suddenly push in
her own leg beneath it, and hold it up till the noose was attached and
drawn tight.
It may easily be imagined that the passage from a life of unfettered
liberty in the cool and sequestered forest to one of obedience and
labour, must necessarily put the health of the captured animals to
a severe trial. Many perish in consequence of the fearful wounds on
the legs occasioned by their struggling against the ropes, and it has
frequently happened that a valuable animal has lain down and died the
first time it was tried in harness from what the natives designate a
‘_broken heart_.’ Official records prove that more than half of the
elephants employed in the public departments of the Ceylon government
die in one year’s servitude, and even when fully trained and inured to
captivity, the working elephant is always a delicate animal, subject
to a great variety of diseases, and consequently often incapacitated
from labour. Thus, in spite of his colossal strength, which cannot
even be employed to its full extent, as it is difficult to pack him
without chafing the skin, and waggons of corresponding dimension to his
muscular powers would utterly ruin the best constructed roads, it is
very doubtful whether his services are in proportion to his cost, and
Sir J. E. Tennent is of opinion that two vigorous dray horses would, at
less expense, do more effectual work than any elephant.
In no kind of labour does the elephant display a greater ingenuity than
in dragging and piling felled timber, going on for hours disposing of
log after log, almost without a hint or a direction from his attendant.
In this manner two elephants, employed in piling ebony and satin wood
in the yards attached to the Commissariat stores at Colombo, were so
accustomed to the work that they were enabled to accomplish it with
equal precision and with greater rapidity than if it had been done by
dock-labourers. When the pile attained a certain height which baffled
their conjoint efforts to raise one of the heavy logs of ebony to the
summit, they had been taught to lean two pieces against the heap, up
the inclined plane of which they gently rolled the remaining logs, and
placed them trimly on the top.
Such is the earnestness and perseverance displayed by the sagacious
creatures while accomplishing their task, that supervision might
almost be thought superfluous; but as soon as the eye of the keeper is
withdrawn, their innate love of ease displays itself, and away they
stroll lazily to browse, or to enjoy the luxury of fanning themselves
and blowing dust over their backs.
[Illustration: LEOPARD AND CHEETAH.]