TAMING AND TRAINING ELEPHANTS—CAPTURE AND TREATMENT—ELEPHANTS AS
LABORERS AND AS CIRCUS PERFORMERS.
In telling how elephants are trained, so interwoven is our subject with
that of the capture of the animals, that perhaps our best plan will be
to take a hint from Mrs. Glass’s recipe for cooking the hare, viz.,
catch him first—and commence with the capture of the animals. Although
authentic instances are on record of elephants breeding in captivity, it
is of very rare occurrence, so that, practically, it may be said that
the entire supply of domesticated elephants has been obtained by
conversion from a wild state.
The device of taking them in pitfalls still prevails in India, but this
is a laborious operation, often unsuccessful, owing to the caution of
the animal; besides this, if caught, the great weight of the elephant,
and the inability of his legs to withstand any severe direct shock, too
frequently cause so much injury to the game as to render this mode of
capture unprofitable. A writer on Ceylon, nearly two hundred years ago,
describes another method which is still practiced. Describing the
captures of elephants for the stud of the king of Kandy, he says:
“After discovering the retreat of such as have tusks, unto these they
drive some she elephants, which they bring with them for the purpose,
which, when once the males have got a sight of they will never leave,
but follow them wheresoever they go; and the females are so used to it,
that they will do whatsoever, either by word or beck, their keepers bid
them. And so they delude them along through towns and countries, and
through the streets of the city, even to the very gates of the king’s
palace, where sometimes they seize them by snares, and sometimes by
driving them into a kind of pound, they catch them.”
Throughout the China-Indian peninsula the natives use female elephants
in approaching males detached from the herd, or selected as desired
captives on account of their beauty—the capture being effected by
casting a noose over the foot of the victim. Probably, however, the
Moormen of Ceylon are unexcelled in daring or adroitness in this
vocation. So fearless are these professional catchers, or panickeas as
they are termed, that two will, without aid or attendants, attempt the
capture of the largest sized elephant. Their only weapon is a flexible
rope of deer’s or buffalo’s hide. Stealing behind the animal when at
rest, or stealthily following in his footsteps if in motion, they attach
this rope to his hind legs. When at rest the elephant has a habit of
swinging his hind feet, which aids the catchers in slipping the noose
over the leg. Should the noosing be effected in open ground where there
is no tree to which to secure the prize, one man allows himself to be
pursued by the enraged elephant, and thus entices him to a more
favorable locality, where the other man seizes the trailing rope and
winds it around some convenient tree. The animal now turns upon his new
assailant, but the first provokes him with gesticulations and taunting
shouts of “dah! dah!” of which word the animal has a remarkable dislike.
Meanwhile, the man’s comrade has secured the first noose, entangles one
foot after the other until all are secured, and the capture complete.
Then a shelter of branches is put up for the men, and day and night they
remain encamped before their prisoner. The elephant, in a few days at
the farthest, becomes submissive, subdued by exhaustion and hunger, the
terror of the fire which he dreads, and the smoke which he detests. Then
an abundance of plantains and other dainties are given him, he is
supplied with plenty of water, of which he is very fond, and gradually
he becomes reconciled to his keepers, and finally they venture to start
with their huge prisoner for their own village, generally many miles
away, with forests and jungles intervening. Still too morose to permit
his captors to ride him, and too powerful to be led or driven, this
forced march taxes the ingenuity of the hunters to the utmost.
Alternately vexing and eluding him, they keep his attention constantly
attracted, and so induce him to move in the desired direction. The rope
with which the capture was effected is of some assistance, besides being
used to tie up the animal at night, and this is never removed from his
leg until he is sufficiently tame to be entrusted with partial liberty.
[Illustration: GROUND PLAN OF A CORRAL.]
[Illustration: METHOD OF FENCING A CORRAL.]
Frequently a whole herd, numbering from thirty to one hundred
individuals, is captured at once, but in this case a different plan from
the foregoing is adopted. The custom in Bengal is to construct a strong
enclosure (called a keddah) in the heart of the forest, formed of the
trunks of trees firmly secured by transverse beams and buttresses, and
leaving a gate for the entrance of the elephants. A second enclosure,
opening from the first, contains water (if possible a rivulet;) this
again communicates with a third, which terminates in a funnel-shaped
passage, too narrow to admit of an elephant turning, and within this the
captives being driven in line, are secured with ropes introduced from
the outside, and led away in custody of tamed ones trained for the
purpose. The keddah being prepared, the first operation is to drive the
elephants toward it, for which purpose vast bodies of men fetch a
compass in the forest around the haunts of the herds, contracting it by
degrees till they complete the enclosure of a certain area, round which
they kindle fires, and cut footpaths through the jungle, to enable the
watchers to communicate and combine. All this is performed in cautious
silence and by slow approaches, to avoid alarming the herd. A fresh
circle nearer to the keddah is then formed in the same way, and into
this the elephants are admitted from the first one, the hunters
following from behind, and lighting new fires around the newly enclosed
space. Day after day the process is repeated; till the drove having been
brought sufficiently close to make the final rush, the whole party close
in from all sides, and with drums, guns, shouts, and flambeaux, force
the terrified animals to enter the fatal enclosure, when the passage is
barred behind them, and retreat rendered impossible. Their efforts to
escape are repressed by the crowd, who drive them back from the stockade
with spears and flaming torches; and at last compel them to pass on into
the second enclosure. Here they are detained for a short time, and their
feverish exhaustion relieved by free access to water—until at last,
being tempted by food, or otherwise induced to trust themselves in the
narrow outlet, they are one after another made fast by ropes, passed in
through the palisade, and picketed in the adjoining woods to enter on
their course of systematic training. These arrangements vary in
different districts of Bengal; and the method adopted in Ceylon differs
in many essential particulars from them all; the keddah, or, as it is
here called, the corral or korahl (from the Portuguese curral, a
“cattle-pen,”) consists of but one enclosure instead of three. A stream
or watering place is not uniformly enclosed within it, because, although
water is indispensable after the long thirst and exhaustion of the
captives, it has been found that a pond or rivulet within the corral
itself adds to the difficulty of leading them out, and increases their
reluctance to leave it; besides which, the smaller ones are often
smothered by the others in their eagerness to crowd into the water. The
funnel-shaped outlet is also dispensed with, as the animals are liable
to bruise and injure themselves within the narrow stockade; and should
one of them die in it, as is too often the case in the midst of the
struggle, the difficulty of removing so great a carcass is extreme. The
noosing and securing them, therefore, takes place in Ceylon within the
area of the first enclosure into which they enter, and the dexterity and
daring displayed in this portion of the work far surpasses that of
merely attaching the rope through the openings of the paling, as in an
Indian keddah, and affords a much more exciting sport.
In Ceylon, in former times, the work connected with these hunts was
performed by forced labor extorted from the natives by their sovereigns
as a part of the feudal service termed “rajakaríya,” and this labor was
in succession demanded by the Portuguese, Dutch and English, as the
island passed successively into their possession. Since the abolition of
this compulsory duty, there has been no difficulty in securing all
required assistance voluntarily. From fifteen hundred to two thousand
men are required to construct the corral, drive in the elephants,
maintain the cordon of watch-fires and watchers, and attend to other
duties. Many weeks are occupied in putting up the stockades, cutting
paths through the jungle, and surrounding and driving in the elephants.
[Illustration: POSITION OFTEN TAKEN IN ATTEMPTING TO BREAK THE ROPE.]
In selecting the scene for an elephant hunt a position is chosen which
lies on some old and frequented route of the animals, in their
periodical migrations in search of forage and water; and the vicinity of
a stream is indispensable, not only for the supply of the elephants
during the time spent in inducing them to approach the enclosure, but to
enable them to bathe and cool themselves throughout the process of
training after capture. In constructing the corral itself, care is taken
to avoid disturbing the trees or the brushwood within the included
space, and especially on the side by which the elephants are to
approach, where it is essential to conceal the stockade as much as
possible by the density of the foliage. The trees used in the structure
are from ten to twelve inches in diameter; and are sunk about three feet
in the earth, so as to leave a length of from twelve to fifteen feet
above ground; with spaces between each stanchion sufficiently wide to
permit a man to glide through. The uprights are made fast by transverse
beams, to which they are lashed securely by ratans and flexible climbing
plants, or as they are called, “jungle ropes,” and the whole is steadied
by means of forked supports which grasp the tie beams, and prevent the
work from being driven outward by the rush of the wild elephants.
The space enclosed varies, but 500 feet in length by 250 wide is a fair
average. At one end an entrance is left open, fitted with sliding bars,
so prepared as to be capable of being instantly shut; and from each
angle of the end by which the elephants were to approach, two lines of
the same strong fencing were continued, and cautiously concealed by the
trees, so that the animals would be prevented from making their escape
at the sides while being forced forward to the entrance of the corral.
The corral being prepared, the beaters address themselves to driving in
the elephants. For this purpose it is often necessary to make a circuit
of many miles in order to surround a sufficient number, and the caution
to be observed involves patience and delay; as it is essential to avoid
alarming the animals, who might otherwise escape. Their disposition
being essentially peaceful, and their only impulse to browse in solitude
and security, they withdraw instinctively before the slightest
intrusion, and advantage is taken of this timidity and love of seclusion
to cause only just such an amount of disturbance as will induce them to
retire slowly in the direction which it is desired they should take.
Several herds are by this means concentrated within such an area as will
admit of their being completely surrounded by the watchers; and day
after day, by slow degrees, they are moved gradually onward toward the
immediate confines of the corral. When their suspicions become awakened
and they exhibit restlessness and alarm, bolder measures are adopted for
preventing their escape. Fires are kept burning at ten paces apart,
night and day, along the circumference of the area within which they are
detained. At last the elephants are forced onward so close to the
enclosure, that the investing cordon is united at either end with the
wings of the corral, the whole forming a circuit of about two miles,
within which the herd is detained to await the signal for the final
drive.
Suddenly the signal is given, and the silence is broken by shouts from
the guard, the banging of drums and tom-toms, and the discharge of
muskets. Amid this noise the elephants are driven forward to and through
the gate, which is instantly closed to cut off their retreat. In a
moment more they rush wildly about the enclosure, trampling the
brushwood beneath their ponderous tread, and charge against the
palisades, screaming with rage at each unsuccessful effort. By degrees
their efforts slacken, and in about an hour the whole herd, exhausted
and stupified, stand motionless.
[Illustration: SECURING CAPTURED ELEPHANTS WITH THE AID OF THE TAME
ONES.]
The next operation is to introduce the tame elephants into the corral to
aid in securing the captives. Cautiously the bars which secure the
entrance are let down, and the trained elephants, each mounted by its
mahout and one attendant, enter the corral. Around the elephant’s neck
is a strong collar composed of ropes of coconut fiber, from which hangs
on either side cords of elk’s hide prepared with a ready noose.
Gradually each trained animal approaches one of the wild ones, until
being sufficiently near, the nooser watching his opportunity, slips the
noose over one of its legs. Immediately the tame elephant retires with
its riders, drawing the rope tight, and hauling the captive toward some
large tree. In this the other tame animals lend assistance, pushing with
their heads and shoulders. The first tame one now winds the rope around
the tree, and the others crowd up to the wild animal, and keep him in
position while his other legs are being secured. The tame elephants in
all these proceedings appear to feel a sportsman’s interest, and are as
eager to secure the victim as are their human assistants. Of their own
accord they will perform any act which reason would naturally suggest
for overcoming any difficulty that arises, or which seems necessary
under any given circumstances. Thus Major Skinner relates an instance
where a wild elephant raised with her trunk the rope which had been
attached to her foot, succeeded in carrying it to her mouth, and would
have bitten it through and escaped, but was prevented by a tame elephant
placing his foot on the rope, and pressing it downward out of her jaws.
On another occasion, the same authority says a tame animal watched her
opportunity, and placed her foot under that of the wild one as he raised
it, so as to prevent his replacing it upon the ground, enabling the
nooser to attach the rope.
In all this though the tame elephants bend all their energies to
securing the captives, and seem to really enjoy what is going on, they
show no malignity, carefully avoid doing any injury to the prisoners,
and even when it is necessary in binding new animals to walk over those
already secured—usually sprawling on the ground struggling to get
free—they take the utmost pains not to tread on them.
When first secured, the elephant struggles fiercely to break his bonds,
writhing in a manner one would think impossible for so bulky and
unwieldly an animal. Failing in this, he seems to give way to despair,
and utters the most pitiable moans. Food is now placed within their
reach, which at first they spurn indignantly, the older ones frequently
trampling it under foot. The milder ones, as they become composed, allow
themselves to be tempted by the delicacies before them, and commence
listlessly chewing the juicy morsels. The mellow notes of a kandyan
flute sometimes aid in soothing and composing the captives. It may be
remarked that elephants are greatly influenced by music, being soothed
and quieted by soft plaintive melodies, while it is also recorded that
in the old wars in which they were used, their courage in battle was
excited by the martial strains.
The last operation of the corral is to slacken the ropes and march each
captive elephant down to the river between two tame ones. Both of the
tame elephants are furnished with strong collars, and a similar collar
is formed on the neck of the wild one, who stands between them, by
successive coils of coconut; then these collars are connected, and the
prisoner made secure between his guards. Then the nooses which have
confined his feet are removed, and the three animals march to the river,
where they are allowed to bathe. After the bath the captive elephant is
made fast to some tree in the forest, keepers are assigned to him, as
well as a retinue of leaf-cutters, whose duty it is to keep him supplied
with such food as he most relishes. These arrangements being made, he is
left to the care of his new masters, who will see that he is trained up
in the way he should go.
THE WAY THAT ELEPHANTS ARE TRAINED.
It is a very general impression that the training of these huge and
powerful animals is a work of great difficulty and tediousness. This is
a mistake. Elephants are naturally of a mild and docile nature, although
hunters and travelers, to add luster to their own exploits, have
represented them otherwise. Even the notorious “rogues”[3] are not such
wholly bad fellows as has been asserted by some of these writers, and
the Mayne Reid style of natural history must be taken with considerable
allowance. In their wild state it is very seldom that they attack any
person or animal, unless provoked or assailed, and even when some heroic
hunter sneaks up to shoot them unawares, or from some secure position
peppers them with his rifle, the animals usually appear only anxious to
escape from their aggressor.[4]
Footnote 3:
Most readers are familiar with the term “rogue” as applied to
elephants, but probably some are not aware of its exact meaning. A
_herd_ of elephants is a family, and not a group collected by accident
or attachment. The usual number of individuals in a herd is from ten
to twenty, though the latter number is sometimes exceeded. In their
visits to water-courses and migrations, alliances are formed between
members of different herds, thus introducing new blood into the
family. If an individual becomes separated from his herd, however, he
is not permitted to introduce himself into another. He may browse in
their vicinity, or resort to the same stream to bathe or drink, but
farther than this no acquaintance is allowed. An elephant who has lost
his herd, and is by this habit of exclusiveness made an outcast, is a
“rogue,” and this ban under which he suffers tends to excite that
moroseness and savageness for which rogues are noted. Another
conjecture is, that as rogues are almost always males, the death or
capture of particular females has led them to leave their herds to
seek new alliances. A tame elephant escaping from captivity, unable to
find his former companions, becomes of necessity a rogue.
Footnote 4:
We could never experience any other feelings than disgust at the
cruelty, and pity for the animals, at reading the sickening details
with which, with a slaughter-house gusto, certain heroes have graced
the narratives of their exploits. Gordon Cummings gives an account of
his pursuit of a wounded elephant which he had lamed by lodging a ball
in its shoulder blade. It limped slowly toward a tree, against which
it leaned itself in helpless agony, whilst its pursuer seated himself
in front of it, in safety, to boil his coffee, and observe its
sufferings. The story is continued as follows: “Having admired him for
a considerable time, I resolved to make experiments on vulnerable
points; and approaching very near I fired several bullets at different
parts of his enormous skull. He only acknowledged the shots by a
salaam-like movement of his trunk, with the point of which he gently
touched the wounds with a striking and peculiar action. Surprised and
shocked at finding that I was only prolonging the sufferings of the
noble beast, which bore its trials with such dignified composure, I
resolved to finish the proceeding with all possible despatch, and
accordingly opened fire upon him from the left side, aiming at the
shoulder. I first fired six shots with the two-grooved rifle, which
must have eventually proved mortal. After which I fired six shots at
the same part with the Dutch six-pounder. Large tears now trickled
from his eyes, which he slowly shut and opened, his colossal frame
shivered convulsively, and falling on his side, he expired.”
In another place, after detailing the manner in which he assailed a
poor animal, he says: “I was loading and firing as fast as could be,
sometimes at the head, sometimes behind the shoulder, until my
elephant’s forequarter was a mass of gore: notwithstanding which he
continued to hold on, leaving the grass and branches of the forest
scarlet in his wake. * * * * * Having fired thirty-five rounds with my
two-grooved rifle, I opened upon him with the Dutch six-pounder, and
when forty bullets perforated his hide, he began for the first time to
evince signs of a dilapidated constitution.” The disgusting
description is closed thus: “Throughout the charge he repeatedly
cooled his person with large quantities of water, which he ejected
from his trunk over his sides and back, and just as the pangs of death
came over him, he stood trembling violently beside a thorn tree, and
kept pouring water into his bloody mouth until he died, when he
pitched heavily forward with the whole weight of his fore-quarters
resting on the points of his tusks. The strain was fair, and the tusks
did not yield; but the portion of his head in which the tusks were
imbedded, extending a long way above the eye, yielded and burst with a
muffled crash.”
“Sport” is noble, but a butcher is not necessarily a sportsman, and a
useless destruction of life, where no more danger is incurred than in
a butcher’s shambles, is not an absolute proof of courage or heroism,
and the “noble hunters” have not the butcher’s excuse for the
bloodshed. Whatever of heroism there is in these encounters, we cannot
help thinking, is displayed by the elephants, and not by their
aggressors. For a hunter to put such achievements as we have just
quoted on record merely displays the egotism and cruelty of the man.
The training is simple, and the intelligence and obedience of the pupil
are developed with remarkable rapidity. For the first three days, or
until they will eat freely, which they seldom do in a shorter time, the
newly captured elephants are allowed to remain perfectly quiet; and if
practicable, a tame elephant is tied near them to give the wild ones
confidence. Where many elephants are being trained at once, it is
customary to put each new captive between the stalls of half-tamed ones,
thereby inducing it to more readily take to its food. The next stage of
the training process is commenced by placing a tame elephant on each
side of the pupil, with the “cooroowe vidahn,” or head of the stables,
standing in front, holding a long stick with a sharp iron point. Two men
are then stationed one on either side, each holding an iron instrument
furnished with both a sharp point and a hook. This is called a “hendoo”
in Ceylon, and a “hawkus” in Bengal, and is the principal weapon used in
guiding and controlling elephants, as it has been from very ancient
times. This instrument is held toward the animal’s trunk, while one or
two assistants rub their hands over his back, keeping up while doing so
a soothing and plaintive chant, interspersed with endearing epithets,
such as, “ho! my son,” or “ho! my father,” or “my mother,” as may be
applicable to the age and sex of the captive. At first the elephant is
furious, and strikes in all directions with his trunk; but the men in
front receiving these blows on the points of their weapons, the
extremity of the trunk becomes so sore that the animal curls it up
close, and seldom afterward attempts to use it offensively. The first
dread of man’s power being thus established, the process of taking him
to bathe between two tame elephants is greatly facilitated, and by
lengthening the neck rope, and drawing the feet together as close as
possible, the process of laying him down in the water is finally
accomplished by the keepers pressing the sharp points of their hendoos
over the backbone.
[Illustration: MEDAL OF NUMIDIA, GIVING A REPRESENTATION OF AN ANCIENT
HENDOO.]
For many days the roaring and resistance which attend the operation are
considerable, and it often requires the sagacious interference of the
tame elephants to control the refractory wild ones. It soon, however,
becomes practicable to leave the latter alone, only taking them to and
from the stall by the aid of a decoy. This step lasts, under ordinary
treatment, for about three weeks, when an elephant may be taken alone
with his legs hobbled, and a man walking backward in front with the
point of the hendoo always presented to the elephant’s head, and a
keeper with an iron crook at each ear. On getting into the water, the
fear of being pricked on his tender back induces him to lie down
immediately on the crook being held over him in terrorem. Once this
point has been achieved, the farther process of taming is dependent upon
the disposition of the creature.
[Illustration: MODERN HENDOO.]
The greatest care is requisite, and daily medicines are applied to heal
the fearful wounds on the legs which even the softest ropes occasion.
This is the great difficulty of training; for the wounds fester
grievously, and months and sometimes years will elapse before an
elephant will allow his feet to be touched without indications of alarm
and anger.
The observation has been frequently made that the elephants most vicious
and troublesome to tame, and the most worthless when tamed, are those
distinguished by a thin trunk and flabby pendulous ears. The period of
tuition does not appear to be influenced by the size or strength of the
animals: some of the smallest give the greatest amount of trouble;
whereas, in the instance of the two largest that have been taken in
Ceylon within the last thirty years, both were docile in a remarkable
degree. One in particular, fed from the hand the first night it was
secured, and in a very few days evinced pleasure on being patted on the
head. The males are generally more unmanageable than the females, and in
both an inclination to lie down to rest is regarded as a favorable
symptom of approaching tractability, some of the most resolute having
been known to stand for months together, even during sleep. Those which
are the most obstinate and violent at first are the soonest and most
effectually subdued, and generally prove permanently docile and
submissive. But those which are sullen or morose, although they may not
provoke chastisement by their viciousness, are always slower in being
trained, and are rarely to be trusted in after life.
But whatever may be his natural gentleness and docility, the temper of
an elephant is seldom to be implicitly relied on in a state of captivity
and coercion. The most amenable are subject to occasional fits of
stubbornness; and even after years of submission, irritability and
resentment will sometimes unaccountably manifest themselves. It may be
that the restraints and severer discipline of training have not been
entirely forgotten; or that incidents which in ordinary health would be
productive of no demonstration whatever, may lead, in moments of
temporary illness, to fretfulness and anger.
In his native country the first employment to which an elephant is put
is treading clay in a brick-field, or to draw a wagon in double harness
with a tame elephant. After this he is promoted to moving heavy stones
or other material, or in piling lumber. In these occupations he has an
opportunity to display that natural sagacity for which he is noted. It
is only necessary to make him understand the object desired to be
accomplished, and he will himself devise means to attain that result. In
the detail of the work it is seldom necessary to prompt him, and he will
even resent an attempt to compel him to adopt a different plan from the
one he has selected. His trunk is the instrument on which he principally
relies for moving timber and masses of rock; his tusks, if he possess
them, are also of service. Most persons entertain an exaggerated opinion
of the elephant’s strength. It is currently believed that with but
slight exertion he can uproot forest trees, and is in the habit of doing
so as a species of mild recreation. It is true he is of considerable
service in clearing paths through the jungle, but the removal of even a
small tree is a matter of both time and labor. Another common error is
the assumption that elephants are so thoroughly creatures of habit, that
their movements are purely mechanical, and that any deviation from
accustomed ways is excessively annoying and disconcerting to them. The
best informed authorities assert that changes of treatment, or of hours
of occupation, are as easily made as with a horse. Still another
mistake, derived no doubt from the intelligence and earnestness he
displays in work, is the idea that he actually enjoys his labor, and
will perform his task as faithfully in the absence of his keeper as when
he is present. The elephant, however, loves his ease, and unless his
attendant has a watchful eye upon him, he will, on completing the task
immediately in hand, stroll off to browse, or to enjoy the luxury of
blowing dust over his back.
The impulse of obedience is very strikingly manifested in the patience
with which, at the command of his keeper, he will swallow the nauseating
medicines of the native elephant doctors. The fortitude with which he
submits to excruciating surgical operations for the relief of ulcers,
would indicate that he comprehends in a measure the purpose of them.
Obedience to his keeper’s orders is not in all cases proof of a
perception of the object to be attained by compliance. This is shown in
the touching incident which took place at the slaughter of the elephant
at Exeter, England, when after receiving fully one hundred and twenty
balls in various parts of his body, and these proving ineffectual to end
his existence, he turned his face to his assailants on hearing the voice
of his keeper, and kneeled down at the accustomed word of command, so as
to bring his forehead within view of the rifles.
The affection for his keeper is a great incentive to obedience on the
part of the elephant, but although this attachment is often great, there
is not that unwillingness to transfer his affection and obedience to a
new keeper, which has been very frequently asserted. If treated with
equal kindness he will obey readily and acquire an affection for a new
attendant as soon as he becomes familiar with his voice. He no doubt
often remembers an old friend and many of the anecdotes told of
elephants recognizing an old keeper from whom they have long been
parted, and being rejoiced thereat, are doubtless true. Founded on very
good authority is the story of an animal of particularly stubborn
disposition who, on the death of his keeper, refused to obey any other,
until some attendants bethought them of a boy some twelve years old in a
distant village where the elephant had been formerly picketed, and to
whom it had displayed considerable attachment. The child was sent for,
and on his arrival was immediately recognized with many manifestations
of pleasure and to him the elephant yielded obedience, until by degrees
he became reconciled to a new keeper.
HOW “HUNTING ELEPHANTS” ARE TRAINED.
Probably all readers are familiar with the fact that, in their native
countries, elephants are not only used to aid in the capture of their
own species, but also in the pursuit of various wild beasts of the
jungle. In tiger hunting especially is this the case, and this sport
furnishes one of the chief and most exciting amusements of the English
troops in India. In this sport the elephant is rather an unwilling
participant. In his wild state there is no occasion for any conflict
between himself and other dwellers of the forest. Living entirely on
vegetable food, and so under no necessity of preying upon other animals;
too peaceful to molest others, and too powerful to be molested by them,
in a state of nature each seems anxious to avoid rather than to provoke
any encounter. Should a tiger and an elephant meet in the jungle each
would probably be only anxious to get out of the other’s way as quickly
as possible.
The principal difficulty in training elephants for hunting is to
overcome the excessive antipathy, and even dread, they entertain toward
tigers. To accomplish this a tiger’s skin is stuffed and placed
partially concealed among the undergrowth skirting some road. Along the
road the elephant is then conducted; always observant, he quickly
detects the unwelcome neighbor and considerable urging is required to
induce him to pass it. After passing it several times he becomes more
indifferent to its presence and may be gradually induced to approach it.
Then he is made to turn it over and get thoroughly familiar with it;
this accustoms him to the tiger in a state of quietude. Then the stuffed
figure is thrown toward him and he is taught to receive it upon his
tusks. The next lesson may be to drive his tusks into the body. The last
operation is to teach the elephant to allow the stuffed tiger to be
placed upon his back; this is the most difficult part of all.
When the elephant is properly trained and ready for service the hunter
takes his place in the howdah—a sort of box-seat fastened on the
animal’s back—while the mahout sits astride the neck. Behind the hunter,
in the howdah, rides the shikaree, or native gun carrier, whose duty it
is to “play second fiddle” in the expedition. A number of natives are
also usually employed as “beaters” to start the game. These men go on
foot, seeking safety, in case of danger, by climbing trees or by being
lifted up by the elephant upon his back. The elephants are now formed in
line and the jungle beaten, in all parts if a small one, or if very
extensive in those portions only which appear most likely to contain
game. As soon as a tiger is started the line advances upon him, each
hunter watching for an opportunity to fire as his elephant charges.
Notwithstanding the most careful training instinct often proves an
overmatch for the elephant’s education and, he takes to flight in spite
of all the driver’s efforts to prevent him. One hunter relates an
incident of his elephant being seized with a panic and dumping hunter,
driver and all upon his back, into the very midst of a number of tigers
which the party were in pursuit of.
In taking a dead tiger home the elephant lies on his side until the body
is fastened to him, and then rises with it.
The liability to be seized with a panic at trifling circumstances is
probably due in a measure to the elephant’s limited range of vision, the
short neck preventing his looking much above the level of his head. An
anecdote illustrative of this is told by Sir J. E. Tennent: “In 1841 an
officer was chased by an elephant that he had slightly wounded. Seizing
him near the dry bed of a river, the animal had his fore foot already
raised to crush him; but its forehead being touched at the same instant
by the tendrils of a climbing plant which had suspended itself from the
branches above, it suddenly turned and fled, leaving him bodily hurt,
but with no limbs broken.”
Elephants seldom use their tusks as weapons unless they have been
trained to do so; their vertical position, and the structure of the neck
preventing their being effective unless the object of attack being
directly below them. The stories told of the execution of criminals by
elephants when Ceylon was under the rule of native kings, generally
describe the elephant as killing the victim by running its tusks through
his body. An eye-witness of one of these executions, however, says the
animal never used his tusks at all, but placed his foot upon the
prostrate man and tore off his limbs in succession by a sudden movement
of the trunk. Hunters have frequently described their escape from
elephants when the latter might easily have killed them by a thrust of
their tusks, but apparently did not even know how to use them for that
purpose.
The elephant’s dependence is really upon his trunk and his ponderous
feet. It is related that in an encounter between two elephants, one a
tusker and the other without tusks, the latter proved the victor,
breaking off one of the former’s tusks with his trunk.
PERFORMING ELEPHANTS.
From very early times elephants have not only been used in war, in
industrial pursuits, and to add to the pomp and display of powerful
rulers, but ages ago they were made to amuse the multitude by
performances not very dissimilar to those witnessed in our modern
circuses. An old Roman writer describes a number of elephants exhibited
in Rome by a nephew of the emperor Tiberius, who were taught “to twist
their limbs and to bend them like a stage dancer,”—Roman stage dancers
could not have been remarkable for grace or agility we should fancy—“the
whole troop came forward from this and that side of the theater, and
divided themselves into parties; they advanced walking with a mincing
gait, and exhibiting in their whole bodies and persons the manners of a
beau, clothed in the flowery dresses of dancers; and on the ballet
master giving a signal with his voice they fell into line and went round
in a circle, and if it were necessary to display they did so. They
ornamented the floor of the stage by throwing flowers upon it, and beat
a measure with their feet and keep time together.” Another feature of
the entertainment was a banquet prepared for the elephants; “tables were
placed then of sweet smelling wood and ivory very superb,” with goblets
“very expensive, and bowls of gold and silver.” When all was ready the
banqueters came forward, six male and an equal number of female
elephants; the former had on a male dress and the latter a female; and
on the signal being given they stretched forward their trunks in a
subdued manner, and took their food in great moderation. The last
exploit of these animals related by an old Roman was writing on tablets
with their trunks, “neither looking awry or turning aside. The hand,
however, of the teacher was placed so as to be a guide in the formation
of the letters; and while it was writing the animal kept its eye fixed
down in an accomplished and scholarlike manner.”
[Illustration: PERFORMING ELEPHANT.]
In addition to the training elephants receive immediately after their
capture, and which we have described, very little instruction is
required to prepare them for those performances which delight
circus-goers. The performances in question consist usually of lying
down, walking on their legs, standing on the head, walking up an
inclined plane formed of a narrow plank, standing on a pedestal, holding
a rope for a dancer or acrobat to perform upon, and similar feats. These
are nearly all but modifications of his labors when a captive in his
native country. Holding a line for a gymnast is not very different to
the elephant from doing the same thing to draw a load or raise a weight.
In compelling the elephant to perform these acts advantage is taken of
the fact that the feet of the elephant are peculiarly sensitive and he
dreads any injury to them. While a spear held at his head will cause him
little uneasiness, if the same be directed toward his feet it will cause
him to display evident symptoms of anxiety. So by threatened attacks he
may be induced to move in any desired direction. By tapping them gently
from below he may be made to raise them; and by persevering he is made
to raise both hind feet—lowering his head as a natural result of this
rear movement—and thus is accomplished the feat of standing on his head.
In the pedestal performance the pedestal is comparatively low, and with
the upper surface of just sufficient area to accommodate the elephants
four feet, placed close together. He is first made to place one fore
foot upon this, then the other, and then in succession the two hind
feet. The trainer must be watchful and prevent the elephant’s very
natural attempt to replace his fore feet on the ground when he places
his hind one on the pedestal. This is done by striking his toes whenever
he makes the attempt.
[Illustration: PERFORMING ELEPHANT.]
The delicacy of touch possessed by the elephant’s trunk enables him to
use it for many purposes with as much dexterity as a human being would
his hands. Thus he easily performs the amusing trick of opening and
drinking a bottle of soda water; holding the bottle with his feet while
he removes the cork with his trunk and then lifting the bottle in his
trunk and pouring the contents down his throat. Similar tricks are
readily acquired by the elephant without any particular training, all
that is necessary in the soda-water trick is to let him know there is
something in the bottle and his ingenuity may be depended upon to get at
the contents. We some years ago witnessed a novel feat at a circus. A
small table was brought into the ring and the clown seated himself on
one side of it. On the other side the elephant who had been performing
squatted on his haunches. The “supes” then brought in plates of apples,
bread, etc., and arranged them on the table. A large two-pronged fork
was now handed to the elephant, and with this he dexterously “speared”
his provender and conveyed it to his mouth. This appeared quite
wonderful, and was hailed with rounds of applause, but it was a trick
very easily taught. The animal had been first given apples on a fork,
and not being allowed to eat them except on taking them off the fork
with his mouth he soon learned to do so. Then he was given the fork, and
the apples placed before him, his trunk was guided by his trainer’s hand
to strike the fork into the apple and then he was allowed to carry it to
his mouth. If the apples be good ones he will soon learn to do all this
without prompting, and will very willingly perform the trick for the
sake of the “perquisites.”
We do not imagine that many of our readers will have occasion to train
an elephant; still there is often an opportunity afforded at traveling
exhibitions, should you desire it, to make an elephant go through a
little performance for you, such as picking up your hat, catching apples
or nuts thrown him, etc. A judicious outlay in ginger-bread and like
delicacies will induce his elephantship to be quite obliging, and if
your stock of edibles be purchased at the stand in the tent, probably
the proprietors will offer no objection to your feeding their elephant
with them.
Speaking of amateur elephant exhibitors recalls an adventure of our own
youthful days. Visiting a menagerie early one afternoon when
comparatively few visitors were present, and anxious to “show of” before
some less venturesome youths, we had, at the expense of all our pocket
money, caused one of the elephants to pick up our cap when thrown down
and hand it back to us, to insert his trunk in our pockets after cake,
and finally, as a crowning feat, to take bits of cake from between our
lips. Had we been contented with these achievements our performance
would have been a triumph; but, alas, our ambition was not satisfied,
and we thought it would be a still greater display to make the elephant
take the cake from the _inside_ of our mouth. So a piece was a placed
therein and the mouth held invitingly open. Mr. Elephant unhesitatingly
inserted his proboscis, but unfortunately our supply of cake had been
well nigh exhausted, and the piece used for the experiment was _very_
small, so either from inability to find it, a mistake in the article, or
as a punishment for reducing the rations, he got hold of our tongue, and
the first thing we knew he was attempting to pull it out. Luckily his
keeper came to our rescue at this critical moment, and we retired
uninjured but rather crestfallen.