HABITS WHEN WILD.
Although found generally in warm and sunny climates, it is a mistake
to suppose that the elephant is partial either to heat or to light.
In Ceylon, the mountain tops, and not the sultry valleys, are its
favourite resort. In Ouvah, where the elevated plains are often crisp
with the morning frost, and on Pedura-talla-galla, at the height of
upwards of eight thousand feet, they may be found in herds at times
when the hunter will search for them without success in the hot
jungles of the low country. No altitude, in fact, seems too lofty or
too chill for the elephant, provided it affords the luxury of water
in abundance; and, contrary to the general opinion that the elephant
delights in sunshine, it seems at all times impatient of glare, and
spends the day in the thickest depth of the forests, devoting the night
to excursions, and to the luxury of the bath, in which it also indulges
occasionally by day. This partiality for shade is doubtless ascribable
to the animal’s love of coolness and solitude; but it is not altogether
unconnected with the position of the eye, and the circumscribed use
which its peculiar mode of life permits it to make of the faculty of
sight.
All the elephant hunters and natives with whom I have spoken on the
subject, concur in opinion that its range of vision is circumscribed,
and that it relies more on the ear and the sense of smell than on its
sight, which is liable to be obstructed by dense foliage; besides
which, from the formation of its short neck, the elephant is incapable
of directing the range of the eye much above the level of the head.[37]
This small sphere of vision is sufficient to account for the excessive
caution of the elephant, its alarm at unusual noises, and the timidity
and panic exhibited at trivial objects and incidents which, imperfectly
discerned, excite suspicions for its safety.[38] In 1841 an officer[39]
was chased by an elephant that he had slightly wounded. Seizing him
near the dry bed of a river, the animal had its 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 badly hurt,
but with no limb broken. I have heard similar instances, equally well
attested, of this peculiarity in the character of the elephant.
On the other hand, the power of smell is so remarkable as almost to
compensate for the deficiency of sight. A herd is not only apprised
of the approach of danger by this means, but when scattered in the
forest, and dispersed out of range of sight, they are enabled by it
to reassemble with rapidity and to adopt precautions for their common
safety. The same necessity is met by a delicate sense of hearing, and
the use of a variety of noises or calls, by means of which elephants
succeed in communicating with each other upon all emergencies. “The
sounds which they utter have been described by the African hunters as
of three kinds: the first, which is very shrill, produced by blowing
through the trunk, is indicative of pleasure; the second, produced
by the mouth, is expressive of want; and the third, proceeding from
the throat, is a terrific roar of anger or revenge.”[40] These words
convey but an imperfect idea of the variety of noises made by the
elephant in Ceylon; and the shrill cry produced by blowing through
his trunk, so far from being regarded as an indication of “pleasure,”
is the well-known cry of rage with which he rushes to encounter an
assailant. ARISTOTLE describes it as resembling the hoarse sound of a
“trumpet.”[41] The French still designate the proboscis of an elephant
by the same expression “trompe” (which we have unmeaningly corrupted
into _trunk_), and hence the scream of the elephant is known as
“trumpeting” by the hunters in Ceylon. Their cry when in pain, or when
subjected to compulsion, is a grunt or a deep groan from the throat,
with the proboscis curled upwards and the lips wide apart.
Should the attention of an individual in the herd be attracted by
any unusual appearance in the forest, the intelligence is rapidly
communicated by a low suppressed sound made by the lips, somewhat
resembling the twittering of a bird, and described by the hunters by
the word “_prut_.”
A very remarkable noise has been described to me by more than one
individual, who had come unexpectedly upon a herd during the night,
when the alarm of the elephants was apparently too great to be
satisfied with the stealthy note of warning just described. On these
occasions the sound produced resembled the hollow booming of an empty
tun when struck with a wooden mallet or a muffled sledge. Major
MACREADY, Military Secretary in Ceylon in 1836, who heard it by night
amongst the wild elephants in the great forest of Bintenne, describes
it as “a sort of banging noise like that of a cooper hammering a
cask;” and Major SKINNER is of opinion that it must be produced by the
elephant striking his ribs rapidly and forcibly with his trunk. Mr.
CRIPPS informs me that he has more than once seen an elephant, when
surprised or alarmed, produce this sound by beating the ground forcibly
with the flat side of the trunk; and this movement was instantly
succeeded by raising it again, and pointing it in the direction whence
the alarm proceeded, as if to ascertain by the sense of smell the
nature of the threatened danger. As this strange sound is generally
mingled with the bellowing and ordinary trumpeting of the herd, it is
in all probability a device resorted to, not alone for warning their
companions of some approaching peril, but also for the additional
purpose of terrifying unseen intruders.[42]
Elephants are subject to deafness; and the Singhalese regard as the
most formidable of all wild animals, a “rogue”[43] afflicted with this
infirmity.
Extravagant estimates are recorded of the height of the elephant.
In an age when popular fallacies in relation to him were as yet
uncorrected in Europe by the actual inspection of the living animal,
he was supposed to grow to the height of twelve or fifteen feet. Even
within the last century, in popular works on natural history, the
elephant, when full grown, was said to measure from seventeen to twenty
feet from the ground to the shoulder.[44] At a still later period,
so imperfectly had the truth been ascertained, that the elephant of
Ceylon was believed “to excel that of Africa in size and strength.”[45]
But so far from equalling the size of the African species, that of
Ceylon seldom exceeds the height of nine feet; even in the Hambangtotte
country, where the hunters agree that the largest specimens are to be
found, the tallest in ordinary herds do not average more than eight
feet. WOLF, in his account of the Ceylon elephant,[46] says he saw one
taken near Jaffna, which measured twelve feet and one inch high. But
the truth is, that the general bulk of the elephant so far exceeds that
of the animals we are accustomed to see daily, that the imagination
magnifies its unusual dimensions; and I have seldom or ever met with
an inexperienced spectator who did not unconsciously overestimate the
size of an elephant shown to him, whether in captivity or in a state
of nature. Major DENHAM would have guessed some which he saw in Africa
to be sixteen feet in height, but the largest when killed was found to
measure nine feet six, from the foot to the hipbone.[47]
For a creature of such extraordinary weight it is astonishing how
noiselessly and stealthily the elephant can escape from a pursuer.
When suddenly disturbed in the jungle, it will burst away with a
rush that seems to bear down all before it; but the noise sinks into
absolute stillness so suddenly, that a novice might well be led to
suppose that the fugitive had only halted within a few yards of him,
when further search will disclose that it has stolen silently away,
making scarcely a sound in its escape; and, stranger still, leaving the
foliage almost undisturbed by its passage.
The most venerable delusion respecting the elephant, and that which
held its ground with unequalled tenacity, is the ancient fallacy thus
set out by SIR THOMAS BROWNE in his _Pseudodoxia Epidemica_. “The
elephant, it is said, hath no joynts; and this absurdity is seconded
by another, that being unable to lye downe it sleepeth against a
tree, which the hunters observing doe saw almost asunder, whereon the
beast relying, by the fall of the tree falls also downe it-selfe and
is able to rise no more.”[48] Sir THOMAS is disposed to think that
“the hint and ground of this opinion might be the grosse and somewhat
cylindricall composure of the legs of the elephant, and the equality
and lesse perceptible disposure of the joynts, especially in the
forelegs of this animal, they appearing, when he standeth, like pillars
of flesh;” but he overlooks the fact that PLINY has ascribed the same
peculiarity to the Scandinavian beast somewhat resembling a horse,
which he calls a “machlis,”[49] and that CÆSAR in describing the wild
animals in the Hercynian forests, enumerates the _alce_ (elk?), “in
colour and configuration approaching the goat, but surpassing it in
size, its head destitute of horns _and its limbs of joints_, whence it
can neither lie down to rest, nor rise if by any accident it should
fall, but using the trees for a resting-place, the hunters by loosening
their roots bring the _alce_ to the ground, so soon as it is tempted
to lean on them.”[50] This fallacy, as Sir THOMAS BROWNE[51] says, is
“not the daughter of latter times, but an old and grey-headed errour,
even in the days of ARISTOTLE,” who deals with the story as he received
it from CTESIAS, by whom it appears to have been embodied in his lost
work on India. But although ARISTOTLE generally receives the credit
of having exposed and demolished the fallacy of CTESIAS,[52] it will
be seen by a reference to his treatise _On the Progressive Motions
of Animals_, that in reality he approached the question with some
hesitation, and has not only left it doubtful in one passage whether
the elephant has joints in his knee, although he demonstrates that it
has joints in the shoulders;[53] but in another he distinctly affirms
that on account of his weight the elephant cannot bend his forelegs
together, but only one at a time, and reclines to sleep on that
particular side.[54]
So great was the authority of ARISTOTLE, that ÆLIAN, who wrote two
centuries later and borrowed many of his statements from the works
of his predecessor, perpetuates this error; and, after describing
the exploits of the trained elephants exhibited at Rome, adds the
expression of his surprise, that an animal without joints (ἄναρθρον)
should yet be able to dance.[55] The fiction was too agreeable to be
readily abandoned by the poets of the Lower Empire and the Romancers
of the middle ages; and PHILE, a contemporary of PETRARCH and DANTE,
who in the early part of the fourteenth century addressed his didactic
poem on the elephant to the emperor Andronicus II., untaught by the
exposition of ARISTOTLE, still clung to the old delusion,
Πόδες δὲ τούτῳ θαῦμα καὶ σαφὲς τέρας,
Οὓς, οὐ καθάπερ τἆλλα τῶν ζώων γένη,
Εἴωθε κινεῖν ἐξ ἀνάρθρων κλασμάτων·
Καὶ γὰρ στιβαροῖς συντεθέντες ὀστέοις,
Καὶ τῇ πλαδαρᾷ τῶν σφυρῶν καταστάσει,
Καὶ τῇ πρὸς ἄρθρα τῶν σκελῶν ὑποκρίσει,
Νῦν εἰς τόνους ἄγουσι, νῦν εἰς ὑφέσεις,
Τὰς παντοδαπὰς ἐκδρομὰς τοῦ θηρίου.
* * * * *
Βραχυτέρους ὄντας δὲ τῶν ὀπισθίων
Ἀναμφιλέκτως οἶδα τοὺς ἐμπροσθίους·
Τούτοις ἐλέφας ἐνταθεὶς ὥσπερ στύλοις
Ὀρθοστάδην ἄκαμπτος ὑπνώττων μένει.
v. 106, &c.
SOLINUS introduced the same fable into his _Polyhistor_; and DICUIL,
the Irish commentator of the ninth century, who had an opportunity
of seeing the elephant sent by Haroun Alraschid as a present to
Charlemagne[56] in the year 802, corrects the error, and attributes its
perpetuation to the circumstance that the joints in the elephant’s leg
are not very apparent, except when he lies down.[57]
It is a strong illustration of the vitality of error, that the
delusion thus exposed by Dicuil in the ninth century, was revived by
MATTHEW PARIS in the thirteenth; and stranger still, that Matthew not
only saw but made a drawing of the elephant presented to King Henry
III. by the King of France in 1255, in which he nevertheless represents
the legs as without joints.[58]
In the numerous mediæval treatises on natural history, known under
the title of _Bestiaries_, this delusion regarding the elephant is
often repeated; and it is given at length in a metrical version of the
_Physiologus_ of THEORALDUS, amongst the Arundel Manuscripts in the
British Museum.[59]
With the Provençal song writers, the helplessness of the fallen
elephant was a favourite simile, and amongst others RICHARD DE
BARBEZIEUX, in the latter half of the twelfth century, sung,[60]
“Atressi cum l’olifans
Que quan chai no s’ pot levar.”
As elephants were but rarely seen in Europe prior to the seventeenth
century, there were but few opportunities of correcting the popular
fallacy by ocular demonstration. Hence SHAKSPEARE still believed that,
“The elephant hath joints; but none for courtesy;
His legs are for necessity, not flexure:”[61]
and DONNE sang of
“Nature’s great masterpiece, an elephant;
The only harmless great thing:
Yet Nature hath given him no knee to bend:
Himself he up-props, on himself relies;
Still sleeping stands.”[62]
Sir THOMAS BROWNE, while he argues against the delusion, does not
fail to record his suspicion, that “although the opinion at present
be reasonably well suppressed, yet from the strings of tradition and
fruitful recurrence of errour, it was not improbable it might revive in
the next generation;”[63]—an anticipation which has proved singularly
correct; for the heralds still continued to explain that the elephant
is the emblem of watchfulness, “_nec jacet in somno_,”[64] and poets
almost of our own times paint the scene when
“Peaceful, beneath primeval trees, that cast
Their ample shade on Niger’s yellow stream,
Or where the Ganges rolls his sacred waves,
_Leans_ the huge elephant.”[65]
It is not difficult to discern whence this antiquated delusion took
its origin; nor is it, as Sir THOMAS BROWNE imagined, to be traced
exclusively “to the grosse and cylindricall structure” of the animal’s
legs. The fact is, that the elephant, returning in the early morning
from his nocturnal revels in the reservoirs and watercourses, is
accustomed to rub his muddy sides against a tree, and sometimes against
a rock if more convenient. Often in my rides at sunrise through the
northern forests, the natives of Ceylon have pointed out that the
elephants which had preceded me must have been of considerable size,
judging from the height at which their marks had been left on the
trees against which they had recently been rubbing. Not unfrequently
the animals themselves, overcome with drowsiness from the night’s
gambolling, are found dozing and resting against the trees they had so
visited, and in the same manner they have been discovered by sportsmen
asleep, and leaning against a rock.
It is scarcely necessary to explain that the position is accidental,
and that it is taken by the elephant not from any difficulty in lying
at length on the ground, but rather from the coincidence that the
structure of his legs affords such support in a standing position,
that reclining scarcely adds to his enjoyment of repose; and elephants
in a state of captivity have been known for months together to sleep
without lying down.[66] So distinctive is this formation, and so
self-sustaining the configuration of the limbs, that an elephant shot
in the brain, by Major Rogers in 1836, was killed so instantaneously
that it died literally _on its knees_, and remained resting on them.
About the year 1826, Captain Dawson, the engineer of the great road
to Kandy, over the Kaduganava pass, shot an elephant at Hangwelle on
the banks of the Kalany Ganga; _it remained on its feet_, but so
motionless, that after discharging a few more balls, he was induced to
go close to it, and found it dead.
The real peculiarity in the elephant in lying down is, that he extends
his hind legs backwards as a man does when he kneels, instead of
bringing them under him like the horse or any other quadruped. The wise
purpose of this arrangement must be obvious to any one who observes
the struggle with which the horse _gets up_ from the ground, and the
violent efforts which he makes to raise himself erect. Such an exertion
in the case of the elephant, and the force requisite to apply a similar
movement to raise his weight (equal to four or five tons) would be
attended with a dangerous strain upon the muscles, and hence the simple
arrangement, which by enabling him to draw the hind feet gradually
under him, assists him to rise without a perceptible effort.
From the same causes I am disposed to think that the elephant is too
weighty and unwieldy to leap, at least to any considerable height or
distance; and yet I have seen in the _Colombo Observer_ for March,
1866, an interesting account of a corral, written by an able and
accurate describer, in which it is stated that an enfuriated tusker,
the property of the Government, made a rush to escape from the
enclosure, “and fairly leaped the barrier, of some fifteen feet high,
only carrying away the top cross beam with a great crash.”
The same construction renders his gait not a “gallop,” as it has been
somewhat loosely described,[67] which would be too violent a motion
for so vast a body; but a shuffle, that he can increase at pleasure to
a pace as rapid as that of a man at full speed, but which he cannot
maintain for any considerable distance.
It is to the structure of the knee-joint that the elephant is
indebted for his singular facility in ascending and descending steep
acclivities, climbing rocks and traversing precipitous ledges, where
even a mule dare not venture; and this again leads to the correction
of another generally received error, that his legs are “formed more
for strength than flexibility, and fitted to bear an enormous weight
upon a level surface, without the necessity of ascending or descending
great acclivities.”[68] The same authority assumes that, although the
elephant is found in the neighbourhood of mountainous ranges, and will
even ascend rocky passes, such a service is a violation of its natural
habits.
Of the elephant of Africa I am not qualified to speak, nor of the
nature of the ground which it most frequents; but certainly the facts
in connection with the elephant of India are all irreconcilable with
the theory mentioned above. In Bengal, in the Nilgherries, in Nepal,
in Burmah, in Siam, Sumatra, and Ceylon, the districts in which the
elephants most abound, are all hilly and mountainous. In the latter,
especially, there is not a range so elevated as to be inaccessible to
them. On the very summit of Adam’s Peak, at an altitude of 7,420 feet,
and on a pinnacle which the pilgrims climb with difficulty, by means of
steps hewn in the rock, Major Skinner, in 1840, found the spoor of an
elephant.
Prior to 1840, and before coffee-plantations had been extensively
opened in the Kandyan ranges, there was not a mountain or a lofty
feature of land of Ceylon which they had not traversed, in their
periodical migrations in search of water; and the sagacity which they
display in “laying out roads” is almost incredible. They generally keep
along the _backbone_ of a chain of hills, avoiding steep gradients: and
one curious observation was not lost upon the Government surveyors,
that in crossing valleys from ridge to ridge, through forests so dense
as to obstruct a distant view, the elephants invariably select the
line of march which communicates most judiciously with the opposite
point, by means of the safest ford.[69] So sure-footed are they, that
there are few places where man can go that an elephant cannot follow,
provided there be space to admit his bulk, and solidity to sustain his
weight.
In 1865 a capture of elephants was attempted at Avisavelle in Ceylon:
the corral was constructed close to a wall of rocks so precipitous and
high that it was considered superfluous to continue the enclosure in
front of them. But over these rocks the elephants made their escape,
and the corral was a total failure.[70]
This faculty is almost entirely derived from the unusual position, as
compared with other quadrupeds, of the knee joint of the hind leg;
arising from the superior length of the thigh bone, and the shortness
of the metatarsus: the heel being almost where it projects in man,
instead of being lifted up as a “hock.” It is this which enables
him, in descending declivities, to depress and adjust the weight of
his hinder portions, which would otherwise overbalance and force him
headlong.[71] It is by the same arrangement that he is enabled, on
uneven ground, to lift his feet, which are tender and sensitive,
with delicacy, and plant them with such decision as to ensure his
own safety as well as that of objects which it is expedient to avoid
touching.
A _herd_ of elephants is a family, not a group whom accident or
attachment may have induced to associate together. Similarity of
features and caste attest that, among the various individuals which
compose it, there is a common lineage and relationship. In a herd of
twenty-one elephants, captured in 1844, the trunks of each individual
presented the same peculiar formation,—long, and almost of one uniform
breadth throughout, instead of tapering gradually from the root to the
nostril. In another instance, the eyes of thirty-five taken in one
corral were of the same colour in each. The same slope of the back, the
same form of the forehead, is to be detected in the majority of the
same group.
In the forest several herds sometimes 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.
The natives of any place which may chance to be frequented by
elephants, observe that the numbers of the same herd fluctuate very
slightly; and hunters in pursuit of them, who may chance to have shot
one or more, always reckon with certainty the precise number of those
remaining, although a considerable interval may intervene before they
again encounter them. The proportion of males is generally small, and
some herds have been seen composed exclusively of females; possibly
in consequence of the males having been shot. A herd usually consists
of from ten to twenty individuals, though occasionally they exceed the
latter number; and in their frequent migrations and nightly resort
to tanks and water-courses, alliances are formed between members of
associated herds, which serve to introduce new blood into the family.
In illustration of the attachment of the elephant to its young, the
authority of KNOX has been quoted, that “the shees are alike tender
of anyone’s young ones as of their own.”[72] Their affection in this
particular is undoubted, but I question whether it exceeds that of
other animals; and the trait thus adduced of their indiscriminate
kindness to all the young of the herd,—of which I have myself been an
eye-witness,—so far from being an evidence of the intensity of parental
attachment individually, is, perhaps, somewhat inconsistent with the
existence of such a passion to any extraordinary degree.[73] In fact,
some individuals, who have had extensive facilities for observation,
doubt whether the fondness of the female elephants for their offspring
is so great as that of many other animals; as instances are not
wanting in Ceylon, in which, when pursued by the hunters, the herd has
abandoned the young ones in their flight, notwithstanding the cries of
the latter for protection.
In an interesting paper on the habits of the Indian elephant, published
in the _Philosophical Transactions for 1793_, Mr. CORSE says: “If a
wild elephant happens to be separated from its young for only two days,
though giving suck, she never after recognises or acknowledges it,”
although the young one evidently knows its dam, and by its plaintive
cries and submissive approaches solicits her assistance.
If by any accident an elephant becomes hopelessly separated from his
own herd, he is not permitted to attach himself to any other. He may
browse in their vicinity, or resort to the same places to drink and
to bathe; but the intercourse is only on a distant and conventional
footing, and no familiarity or intimate association is under any
circumstances permitted. To such a height is this exclusiveness
carried, that even amidst the terror and stupefaction of an elephant
corral, when an individual, detached from his own party in the _mêlée_
and confusion, has been driven into the enclosure along with an
unbroken herd, I have seen him repulsed in every attempt to take refuge
among them, and driven off by heavy blows with their trunks as often
as he attempted to insinuate himself within the circle which they had
formed for their own security. There can be no reasonable doubt that
this jealous and exclusive policy not only contributes to produce, but
mainly serves to perpetuate, the class of solitary elephants which are
known by the term _goondahs_, in India, and which from their vicious
propensities and predatory habits are called _Hora_, or _Rogues_, in
Ceylon.[74]
It is believed by the Singhalese that these are either individuals, who
by accident have lost their former associates and become morose and
savage from rage and solitude; or else that being naturally vicious
they have become daring from the yielding habits of their milder
companions, and eventually separated themselves from the rest of the
herd which had refused to associate with them. Another conjecture is,
that being almost universally males, the death or capture of particular
females may have detached them from their former companions in search
of fresh alliances.[75] It is also believed that a tame elephant
escaping from activity, unable to rejoin its former herd, and excluded
from any other, becomes a “_rogue_” from necessity. In Ceylon it is
generally believed that the _rogues_ are all males (but of this I am
not certain), and so sullen is their disposition that although two may
be in the same vicinity, there is no known instance of two _rogues_
associating, or of a _rogue_ being seen in company with another
elephant.
They spend their nights in marauding, often around the dwellings of
men, destroying plantations, trampling down gardens, and committing
serious ravages in rice grounds and young coco-nut plantations. Hence
from their closer contact with man and his dwellings, these outcasts
become disabused of many of the terrors which render the ordinary
elephant timid and needlessly cautious; they break through fences
without fear; and even in the daylight a _rogue_ has been known near
Ambogammoa to watch a field of labourers at work in reaping rice,
and boldly to walk in amongst them, seize a sheaf from the heap, and
retire with it leisurely to the jungle. By day they generally seek
concealment, but are frequently to be met with prowling about the
by-roads and jungle paths, where travellers are exposed to the utmost
risk from their assaults. It is probable that this hostility to man
is the result of the enmity engendered by measures which the natives,
who have a constant dread of their visits, adopt for the protection of
the growing crops. In some districts, especially in the low country of
Badulla, the villagers occasionally enclose their cottages with rude
walls of earth and branches to protect them from nightly assaults.
In places infested by them, the visits of European sportsmen to the
vicinity of their haunts are eagerly encouraged by the natives, who
think themselves happy in lending their services to track the herds in
consideration of the benefit conferred on the village communities by
the destruction of a rogue. In 1847 one of these formidable creatures
frequented for some months the Rangbodde Pass on the great mountain
road leading to the sanatarium, at Neuera-ellia; and amongst other
excesses, killed a Caffre belonging to the corps of Caffre pioneers, by
seizing him with its trunk and beating him to death against the bank.
To return to the herd: one member of it, usually the largest and
most powerful, is by common consent implicitly followed as leader. A
tusker, if there be one in the party, is generally observed to be the
commander; but a female, if of superior energy, is as readily obeyed
as a male. In fact, in this promotion there is no reason to doubt
that supremacy is almost unconsciously assumed by those endowed with
superior vigour and courage rather than from the accidental possession
of greater bodily strength; and the devotion and loyalty which the
herd evince to their leader are very remarkable. This is more readily
seen in the case of a tusker than any other, because in a herd he is
generally the object of the keenest pursuit by the hunters. On such
occasions the others do their utmost to protect him from danger: when
driven to extremity they place their 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. In one instance a tusker, which
was badly wounded by Major ROGERS, was promptly surrounded by his
companions, who supported him between their shoulders, and actually
succeeded in covering his retreat to the forest.
Those who have lived much in the jungle in Ceylon, and had constant
opportunities of watching the habits of wild elephants, have witnessed
instances of the submission of herds to their leaders, that suggest an
inquiry of singular interest as to the means adopted by the latter to
communicate with distinctness, orders which are observed with the most
implicit obedience by their followers. The following narrative of an
adventure in the great central forest toward the north of the island,
communicated to me by Major SKINNER, who was engaged for some time in
surveying and opening roads through the thickly-wooded districts there,
will serve better than any abstract description to convey an idea of
the conduct of a herd on such occasions:—
“The case you refer to struck me as exhibiting something more than
ordinary brute instinct, and approached nearer to reasoning powers
than any other instance I can now remember. I cannot do justice to the
scene, although it appeared to me at the time to be so remarkable that
it left a deep impression in my mind.
“In the height of the dry season in Neuera-Kalawa, you know the streams
are all dried up, and the tanks nearly so. All animals are then sorely
pressed for water, and they congregate in the vicinity of those tanks
in which there may remain ever so little of the precious element.
“During one of those seasons I was encamped on the bund or embankment
of a very small tank, the water in which was so dried that its surface
could not have exceeded an area of 500 square yards. It was the only
pond within many miles, and I knew that of necessity a very large herd
of elephants, which had been in the neighbourhood all day, must resort
to it at night.
“On the lower side of the tank, and in a line with the embankment, was
a thick forest, in which the elephants sheltered themselves during the
day. On the upper side and all around the tank there was a considerable
margin of open ground. It was one of those beautiful bright, clear,
moonlight nights, when objects could be seen almost as distinctly
as by day, and I determined to avail myself of the opportunity to
observe the movements of the herd, which had already manifested some
uneasiness at our presence. The locality was very favourable for my
purpose, and an enormous tree projecting over the tank afforded me a
secure lodgement in its branches. Having ordered the fires of my camp
to be extinguished at an early hour, and all my followers to retire
to rest, I took up my post of observation on the overhanging bough;
but I had to remain for upwards of two hours before anything was to be
seen or heard of the elephants, although I knew they were within 500
yards of me. At length, about the distance of 300 yards from the water,
an unusually large elephant issued from the dense cover, and advanced
cautiously across the open ground to within 100 yards of the tank,
where he stood perfectly motionless. So quiet had the elephants become
(although they had been roaring and breaking the jungle throughout
the day and evening), that not a movement was now to be heard. The
huge vidette remained in his position, still as a rock, for a few
minutes, and then made three successive stealthy advances of several
yards (halting for some minutes between each, with ears bent forward
to catch the slightest sound), and in this way he moved slowly up to
the water’s edge. Still he did not venture to quench his thirst, for
though his fore feet were partially in the tank and his vast body was
reflected clear in the water, he remained for some minutes listening
in perfect stillness. Not a motion could be perceived in himself or
his shadow. He returned cautiously and slowly to the position he
had at first taken up on emerging from the forest. Here in a little
while he was joined by five others, with which he again proceeded as
cautiously, but less slowly than before, to within a few yards of
the tank, and then posted his patrols. He then re-entered the forest
and collected around him the whole herd, which must have amounted to
between 80 and 100 individuals,—led them across the open ground with
the most extraordinary composure and quietness, till he joined the
advanced guard, when he left them for a moment and repeated his former
reconnoissance at the edge of the tank. After which, having apparently
satisfied himself that all was safe, he returned and obviously gave the
order to advance, for in a moment the whole herd rushed into the water
with a degree of unreserved confidence, so opposite to the caution
and timidity which had marked their previous movements, that nothing
will ever persuade me that there was not rational and preconcerted
co-operation throughout the whole party, and a degree of responsible
authority exercised by the patriarch leader.
“When the poor animals had gained possession of the tank (the leader
being the last to enter), they seemed to abandon themselves to
enjoyment without restraint or apprehension of danger. Such a mass
of animal life I had never before seen huddled together in so narrow
a space. It seemed to me as though they would have nearly drunk the
tank dry. I watched them with great interest until they had satisfied
themselves as well in bathing as in drinking, when I tried how small
a noise would apprise them of the proximity of unwelcome neighbours.
I had but to break a little twig, and the solid mass instantly took
to flight like a herd of frightened deer, each of the smaller calves
being apparently shouldered and carried along between two of the older
ones.”[76]
[Illustration]
In drinking, the elephant, like the camel, although preferring water
pure, shows no decided aversion to it when discoloured with mud;[77]
and the eagerness with which he precipitates himself into the tanks and
streams attests his exquisite enjoyment of the fresh coolness, which
to him is the chief attraction. In crossing deep rivers, although his
rotundity and buoyancy enable him to swim with a less immersion than
other quadrupeds, he generally prefers to sink till no part of his
huge body is visible except the tip of his trunk, through which he
breathes, moving beneath the surface, and only now and then raising
his head to look that he is keeping the proper direction.[78] In the
dry season the scanty streams which, during the rains, are sufficient
to convert the rivers of the low country into torrents, often entirely
disappear, leaving only broad expanses of dry sand, which they have
swept down with them from the hills. In this the elephants contrive to
sink wells for their own use by scooping out the sand to the depth
of four or five feet, and leaving a hollow for the percolation of the
spring. But as the weight of the elephant would force in the side if
left perpendicular, one approach is always formed with such a gradient
that he can reach the water with his trunk without disturbing the
surrounding sand.
I have reason to believe, although the fact has not been
authoritatively stated by naturalists, that the stomach of the elephant
will be found to include a chamber analogous to that possessed by
some of the ruminants, calculated to contain a supply of water as a
provision against emergencies. The fact of his being enabled to retain
a quantity of water and discharge it at pleasure has been long known
to every observer of the habits of the animal; but the proboscis has
always been supposed to be “his water-reservoir,”[79] and the theory of
an internal receptacle has not been discussed. The truth is that the
anatomy of the elephant is even yet but imperfectly understood,[80]
and, although some peculiarities of his stomach were observed at an
early period by ARISTOTLE and others;[81] and even their configuration
described, the function of the abnormal portion remained undetermined,
and has been only recently conjectured. An elephant which belonged to
Louis XIV. died at Versailles in 1681 at the age of seventeen, and an
account of its dissection was published in the _Mémoires pour servir à
l’Histoire Naturelle_, under the authority of the Academy of Sciences,
in which the unusual appendages of the stomach are pointed out with
sufficient particularity, but no suggestion is made as to their
probable uses.”[82]
A writer in the _Quarterly Review_ for December 1850, says that
“CAMPER and other comparative anatomists have shown that the left,
or cardiac end of the stomach in the elephant is adapted, by several
wide folds of lining membrane, to serve as a receiver for water;” but
this is scarcely correct, for although CAMPER has accurately figured
the external form of the stomach, he disposes of the question of the
interior functions with the simple remark that its folds “semblent en
faire une espèce de division particulière.”[83] In like manner Sir
EVERARD HOME, in his _Lectures on Comparative Anatomy_, has not only
carefully described the form of the elephant’s stomach, and furnished a
drawing of it even more accurate than CAMPER; but he has equally failed
to assign any purpose for so strange a formation; contenting himself
with observing that the structure is a peculiarity, and that one of the
remarkable folds nearest the orifice of the diaphragm appears to act as
a valve, so that the portion beyond may be considered as an appendage
similar to that of the hog and the _peccary_.[84]
[Illustration: ELEPHANT’S STOMACH.]
The appendage thus alluded to by Sir EVERARD HOME is the “grand
cul-de-sac,” noticed by the Académie des Sciences, and the “division
particulière,” figured by CAMPER. It is of sufficient dimensions to
contain ten gallons of water, and by means of the valve above alluded
to, it can be shut off from the chamber devoted to the process of
digestion. Professor OWEN is probably the first who, not from an
autopsy, but from the mere inspection of the drawings of CAMPER and
HOME, ventured to assert (in lectures hitherto unpublished), that the
uses of this section of the elephant’s stomach may be analogous to
those ascertained to belong to a somewhat similar arrangement in the
stomach of the camel, one cavity of which is exclusively employed as a
reservoir for water, and performs no function in the preparation of
food.[85]
[Illustration]
Whilst Professor OWEN was advancing this conjecture, another
comparative anatomist, from the examination of another portion of the
structure of the elephant, was led to a somewhat similar conclusion.
Dr. HARRISON of Dublin had, in 1847, an opportunity of dissecting the
body of an elephant which had suddenly died; and in the course of his
examination of the thoracic viscera he observed that an unusually close
connection existed between the trachea and œsophagus, which he found
to depend on a muscle unnoticed by any previous anatomist, connecting
the back of the former with the fore part of the latter, along which
the fibres descend and can be distinctly traced to the cardiac orifice
of the stomach. Imperfectly acquainted with the habits and functions
of the elephant in a state of nature, Dr. HARRISON found it difficult
to pronounce as to the use of this very peculiar structure; but
looking to the intimate connection between the mechanism concerned
in the functions of respiration and deglutition, and seeing that the
proboscis served in a double capacity as an instrument of voice and
an organ for the prehension of food, he ventured (apparently without
adverting to the abnormal form of the stomach) to express the opinion
that this muscle, viewing its attachment to the trachea, might either
have some influence in raising the diaphragm, and thereby assisting
in expiration, “_or that it might raise the cardiac orifice of the
stomach, and so aid this organ to regurgitate a portion of its contents
into the œsophagus_.”[86]
Dr. HARRISON, on the reflection that “we have no satisfactory evidence
that the animal ever ruminates,” thought it useless to speculate on the
latter supposition as to the action of the newly discovered muscle,
and rather inclined to the surmise that it was designed to assist the
elephant in producing the remarkable sound through his proboscis known
as “trumpeting;” but there is little room to doubt that of the two
the rejected hypothesis was the more correct one. I have elsewhere
described the occurrence to which I was myself a witness, of elephants
inserting their proboscis in their mouths, and withdrawing gallons of
water, which could only have been contained in the receptacle figured
by CAMPER and HOME, and of which the true uses were discerned by the
clear intellect of Professor OWEN. I was not, till very recently, aware
that a similar observation as to this remarkable habit of the elephant,
had been made by the author of the _Ayeen Akbery_, in his account of
the _Feel Kaneh_, or elephant stables of the Emperor Akbar, in which
he says, “an elephant frequently with his trunk takes water out of
his stomach and sprinkles himself with it, and it is not in the least
offensive.[87] FORBES, in his Oriental Memoirs, quotes this passage of
the _Ayeen Akbery_, but without a remark; nor does any European writer
with whose works I am acquainted appear to have been cognisant of the
peculiarity in question.
[Illustration: WATER-CELLS IN THE STOMACH OF THE CAMEL.]
It is to be hoped that Professor OWEN’S dissection of the young
elephant, recently arrived, may serve to decide this highly interesting
point.[88] Should scientific investigation hereafter more clearly
establish the fact that, in this particular, the structure of the
elephant is assimilated to that of the llama and the camel, it will be
regarded as more than a mere coincidence, that an apparatus, so unique
in its purpose and action, should have been conferred by the Creator on
the three animals which in sultry climates are, by this arrangement,
enabled to traverse arid regions in the service of man.[89] To show
this peculiar organisation where it attains its fullest development, I
have given a sketch of the water-cells in the stomach of the camel on
the preceding page.
The _food_ of the elephant is so abundant, that in eating he never
appears to be impatient or voracious, but rather to play with the
leaves and branches on which he leisurely feeds. In riding by places
where a herd has recently halted, I have sometimes seen the bark peeled
curiously off the twigs, as though it had been done in mere dalliance.
In the same way in eating grass the elephant selects a tussac which he
draws from the ground by a dexterous twist of his trunk, and nothing
can be more graceful than the ease with which, before conveying it
to his mouth, he beats the earth from its roots by striking it gently
upon his fore-leg. A coco-nut he first rolls under foot, to detach the
strong outer bark, then stripping off with his trunk the thick layer
of fibre within, he places the shell in his mouth, and swallows with
evident relish the fresh liquid which flows as he crushes it between
his grinders.
The natives of the peninsula of Jaffna always look for the periodical
appearance of the elephants, at the precise time when the fruit of the
palmyra palm begins to fall to the ground from ripeness. In like manner
in the eastern provinces where the custom prevails of cultivating what
is called _chena_[90] land (by clearing a patch of forest for the
purpose of raising a single crop, after which the ground is abandoned,
and reverts to jungle again), although a single elephant may not have
been seen in the neighbourhood during the early stages of the process,
the Moormen, who are the principal cultivators of this class, will
predict their appearance with almost unerring confidence so soon as
the grains shall have begun to ripen; and although the crop comes to
maturity at different periods in different districts, herds are certain
to be seen at each in succession, as soon as it is ready to be cut. In
these well-timed excursions they resemble the bison of North America,
which, by a similarly mysterious instinct, finds its way to portions
of the distant prairies, where accidental fires have been followed
by a growth of tender grass. In Ceylon, although the fences around
these _chenas_ are little more than lines of reeds loosely fastened
together, they are sufficient, with the presence of a single watcher,
to prevent the entrance of the elephants, who wait patiently till the
rice and _coracan_ have been removed, and the watcher withdrawn; and,
then finding gaps in the fence, they may be seen gleaning among the
leavings and the stubble; and they take their departure when these are
exhausted, apparently in the direction of some other _chena_, which
they have ascertained to be about to be cut.
There is something still unexplained in the dread which an elephant
always exhibits on approaching a fence, and the reluctance which he
displays to face the slightest artificial obstruction to his passage.
In the area of the fine old tank of Tissa-weva, close by Anarajapoora,
the natives cultivate grain, during the dry season, around the margin
where the ground has been left bare by the subsidence of the water.
These little patches of rice they enclose with small sticks an inch
in diameter and five or six feet in height, such as would scarcely
serve to keep out a wild hog if he attempted to force his way through.
Passages of from ten to twenty feet wide are left between each field,
to permit the wild elephants, which abound in the vicinity, to make
their nocturnal visits to the water still remaining in the centre of
the tank. Night after night these open pathways are frequented by
herds, but the tempting corn is never touched, nor is a single fence
disturbed, although the merest movement of a trunk would be sufficient
to demolish the fragile obstruction. Yet the same spots, the fences
being left open as soon as the grain has been cut and carried home,
are eagerly entered by the elephants to glean amongst the stubble.
Sportsmen observe that an elephant, even when enraged by a wound, will
hesitate to charge an assailant across an intervening hedge, but will
hurry along it to seek for an opening. It is possible that, on the
part of the elephant, there may be some instinctive consciousness,
that owing to his superior bulk, he is exposed to danger from sources
that might be perfectly harmless in the case of lighter animals, and
hence his suspicion that every fence may conceal a snare or pitfall.
Some similar apprehension is apparent in the deer, which shrinks from
attempting a fence of wire, although it will clear without hesitation a
solid wall of greater height.
At the same time, the caution with which the elephant is supposed to
approach insecure ground and places of doubtful[91] solidity, appears
to me, so far as my own observation and experience extend, to be
exaggerated, and the number of temporary bridges which are annually
broken down by elephants in all parts of Ceylon, is sufficient to show
that, although in captivity, and when familiar with such structures,
the tame ones may, and doubtless do, exhibit all the wariness
attributed to them; yet, in a state of liberty, and whilst unaccustomed
to such artificial appliances, their instincts are not sufficient to
ensure their safety. Besides, the fact is adverted to elsewhere,[92]
that the chiefs of the Wanny, during the sovereignty of the Dutch,
were accustomed to take in pitfalls the elephants which they rendered
as tribute to Government.
A fact illustrative at once of the caution and the spirit of curiosity
with which an elephant regards an unaccustomed object has been
frequently mentioned to me by the officers engaged in opening roads
through the forest. On such occasions the wooden “tracing pegs” which
they drive into the ground to mark the levels taken during the day,
will often be withdrawn by the elephants during the night, to such
an extent as frequently to render it necessary to go over the work a
second time, in order to replace them.[93]
Colonel HARDY, formerly Deputy Quarter-Master-General in Ceylon,
when proceeding, about the year 1820, to a military out-post in the
south-east of the island, imprudently landed in an uninhabited part
of the coast, intending to take a short cut through the forest, to
his destination. He both miscalculated distance and time, and, on the
approach of nightfall, he was chased by a vicious rogue elephant.
The pursuer was close upon him, when, to gain time, he flung down
a dressing-case, which he happened to be carrying. The device was
successful; the elephant halted, broke it open, and minutely examined
its contents, and thus gave the colonel time to effect his escape.[94]
As regards the general sagacity of the elephant, although it has
not been over-rated in the instances of those whose powers have been
largely developed in captivity, an undue estimate has been formed in
relation to them whilst still untamed. The difference of instincts and
habits renders it difficult to institute a just comparison between
them and other animals. CUVIER[95] is disposed to ascribe the exalted
idea that prevails of their intellect to the feats which an elephant
performs with that unique instrument, its trunk, combined with an
imposing expression of countenance: but he records his own conviction
that in sagacity it in no way excels the dog, and some other species
of Carnivora. If there be a superiority, I am disposed to award it to
the dog, not from any excess of natural capacity, but from the higher
degree of development consequent on his more intimate domestication
and association with man. COLERIDGE has remarked that “the ant and the
bee seem to come nearer to man in understanding, and in the faculty of
adapting means to proximate ends.”[96]
One remarkable fact was called to my attention by a gentleman who
resided on a coffee plantation at Rassawé, one of the loftiest
mountains of the Ambogammoa range. More than once during the terrific
thunder-bursts that precede the rains at the change of each monsoon,
he observed that the elephants in the adjoining forest hastened from
under cover of the trees and took up their station in the open ground,
where I saw them on one of these occasions collected into a group;
and here, he said, it was their custom to remain till the lightning
had ceased, when they retired again into the jungle.[97] It must be
observed, however, that showers, and especially light drizzling rain,
are believed to bring the elephants from the jungle towards pathways or
other openings in the forest;—and hence, in places infested by them,
timid persons are afraid to travel in the afternoon during uncertain
weather.
When free in its native woods the elephant evinces rather simplicity
than sagacity, and its intelligence seldom exhibits itself in cunning.
The rich profusion in which nature has supplied its food, and
anticipated its every want, has made it independent of those devices
by which carnivorous animals provide for their subsistence; and, from
the absence of all rivalry between it and the other denizens of the
plains, it is never required to resort to artifice for self-protection.
For these reasons, in its tranquil and harmless life, it may appear to
casual observers to exhibit even less than ordinary ability; but when
danger and apprehension call for the exertion of its powers, those who
have witnessed their display are seldom inclined to undervalue its
sagacity.
Mr. CRIPPS has related to me an instance in which a recently captured
elephant was either rendered senseless from fear, or, as the native
attendants asserted, _feigned death_ in order to regain its freedom.
It was led from the corral as usual between two tame ones, and had
already proceeded far towards its destination; when, night closing in,
and the torches being lighted, it refused to go on, and finally sank
to the ground, apparently lifeless. Mr. CRIPPS ordered the fastenings
to be removed from its legs, and when all attempts to raise it had
failed, so convinced was he that it was dead, that he ordered the ropes
to be taken off and the carcase abandoned. While this was being done
he and a gentleman by whom he was accompanied leaned against the body
to rest. They had scarcely taken their departure and proceeded a few
yards, when, to their astonishment, the elephant rose with the utmost
alacrity, and fled towards the jungle, screaming at the top of its
voice, its cries being audible long after it had disappeared in the
shades of the forest.
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II.
NARRATIVES OF THE NATIVES OF CEYLON RELATIVE TO ENCOUNTERS WITH ROGUE
ELEPHANTS.
The following narratives have been taken down by a Singhalese
gentleman, from the statements of the natives by whom they are
recounted;—and they are here inserted, in order to show the opinion
prevalent amongst the people of Ceylon as to the habits and
propensities of the rogue elephant. The stories are given in words of
my correspondent, who writes in English, as follows:—
1. “We,” said my informant, who was a native trader of Caltura, “were
on our way to Badulla, by way of Ratnapoora and Balangodde, to barter
our merchandise for coffee. There were six in our party, myself, my
brother-in-law, and four coolies, who carried on pingoes[98] our
merchandise, which consisted of cloth and brass articles. About 4
o’clock, P. M., we were close to Idalgasinna, and our coolies were
rather unwilling to go further for fear of elephants, which they said
were sure to be met with at that noted place, especially as there had
been a slight drizzling of rain during the whole afternoon. I was as
much afraid of elephants as the coolies themselves; but I was anxious
to proceed, and so, after a few words of encouragement addressed to
them, and a prayer or two offered up to _Saman dewiyo_,[99] resumed
our journey. I also took the further precaution of hanging up a few
leaves.[100] As the rain was coming down fast and thick, and I was
anxious to get to our halting-place before night, we moved on at a
rapid pace. My brother-in-law was in the van of the party, I myself
was in the rear, and the four coolies between us, all moving along
on a rugged, rocky, and difficult path; as the road to Badulla till
lately was on the sloping side of a hill, covered with jungle, pieces
of projecting rock, and brushwood. It was about five o’clock in
the evening, or a little later, and we had hardly cleared the foot
of the hill and got to the plain below, when a rustling of leaves
and a crackling of dry brushwood were heard on our right, followed
immediately by the trumpeting of a _hora allia_,[101] which was making
towards us. We all fled, followed by the elephant. I, who was in the
rear of the party, was the first to take to flight; the coolies threw
away their pingoes, and my brother-in-law his umbrella, and all ran in
different directions. I hid myself behind a large boulder of granite
nearly covered by jungle: but as my place of concealment was on high
ground, I could see all that was going on below. The first thing I
observed was the elephant returning to the place where one of the
pingoes was lying: he was carrying one of the coolies in a coil of
his trunk. The body of the man was dangling with the head downward.
I cannot say whether he was then alive or not; I could not perceive
any marks of blood or bruises on his person: but he appeared to be
lifeless. The elephant placed him down on the ground, put the pingo
on his (the man’s) shoulder, steadying both the man and the pingo
with his trunk and fore legs. But the man of course did not move or
stand up with his pingo. Seeing this, the elephant again raised the
cooly and dashed him against the ground, and then trampled the body
to a very jelly. This done, he took up the pingo and moved away from
the spot; but at the distance of about a fathom or two, laid it down
again, and ripping open one of the bundles, took out of it all the
contents, _somans_,[102] _cambāyas_,[103] handkerchiefs, and several
pieces of white cambrick cloth, all which he tore to small pieces, and
flung them wildly here and there. He did the same with all the other
pingoes. When this was over the elephant quietly walked away into the
jungle, trumpeting all the way as far as I could hear. When danger was
past I came out of my concealment, and returned to the place where
we had halted that morning. Here the rest of my companions joined me
soon after. The next morning we set out again on our journey, our
party being now increased by some seven or eight traders from Salpity
Corle: but this time we did not meet with the elephant. We found the
mangled corpse of our cooly on the same spot where I had seen it the
day before, together with the torn pieces of my cloths, of which we
collected as fast as we could the few which were serviceable, and
all the brass utensils which were quite uninjured. That elephant was
a noted rogue. He had before this killed many people on that road,
especially those carrying pingoes of coco-nut oil and ghee. He was
afterwards killed by an Englishman. The incidents I have mentioned
above, took place about twenty years ago.”
The following also relates to the same locality. It was narrated to me
by an old Moorman of Barberyn, who, during his earlier years, led the
life of a pedlar.
2. “I and another,” said he, “were on our way to Badulla, one day
some twenty-five or thirty years ago. We were quietly moving along a
path which wound round a hill, when all of a sudden, and without the
slightest previous intimation either by the rustling of leaves or by
any other sign, a huge elephant with short tusks rushed to the path.
Where he had been before I can’t say; I believe he must have been
lying in wait for travellers. In a moment he rushed forward to the
road, trumpeting dreadfully, and seized my companion. I, who happened
to be in the rear, took to flight, pursued by the elephant, which had
already killed my companion by striking him against the ground. I had
not moved more than seven or eight fathoms, when the elephant seized
me, and threw me up with such force, that I was carried high into the
air towards a _Cahata_ tree, whose branches caught me and prevented
my falling to the ground. By this I received no other injury than the
dislocation of one of my wrists. I do not know whether the elephant saw
me after he had hurled me away through the air; but certainly he did
not come to the tree to which I was then clinging: even if he had come,
he couldn’t have done me any more harm, as the branch on which I was
was far beyond the reach of his trunk, and the tree itself too large
for him to pull down. The next thing I saw was the elephant returning
to the corpse of my companion, which he again threw on the ground, and
placing one of his fore-feet on it, he tore it with his trunk limb
after limb; and dabbled in the blood that flowed from the shapeless
mass of flesh which he was still holding under his foot.”
3. “In 1847 or ’46,” said another informant, “I was a superintendent
of a coco-nut estate belonging to Mr. Armitage, situated about twelve
miles from Negombo. A rogue elephant did considerable injury to the
estate at that time; and one day, hearing that it was then on the
plantation, a Mr. Lindsay, an Englishman, who was proprietor of the
adjoining property, and myself, accompanied by some seven or eight
people of the neighbouring village, went out, carrying with us six
rifles loaded and primed. We continued to walk along a path which, near
one of its turns, had some bushes on one side. We had calculated to
come up with the brute where it had been seen half an hour before; but
no sooner had one of our men, who was walking foremost, seen the animal
at the distance of some fifteen or twenty fathoms, than he exclaimed,
‘There! there!’ and immediately took to his heels, and we all followed
his example. The elephant did not see us until we had run some fifteen
or twenty paces from the spot where we turned, when he gave us chase,
screaming frightfully as he came on. The Englishman managed to climb
a tree, and the rest of my companions did the same; as for myself I
could not, although I made one or two superhuman efforts. But there
was no time to be lost. The elephant was running at me with his trunk
bent down in a curve towards the ground. At this critical moment Mr.
Lindsay held out his foot to me, with the help of which and then of
the branches of the tree, which were three or four feet above my head,
I managed to scramble up to a branch. The elephant came directly to
the tree and attempted to force it down, which he could not. He first
coiled his trunk round the stem, and pulled it with all his might, but
with no effect. He then applied his head to the tree, and pushed for
several minutes, but with no better success. He then trampled with his
feet all the projecting roots, moving, as he did so, several times
round and round the tree. Lastly, failing in all this, and seeing a
pile of timber, which I had lately cut, at a short distance from us,
he removed it all (thirty-six pieces) one at a time to the root of the
tree, and piled them up in a regular business-like manner; then placing
his hind feet on this pile, he raised the fore part of his body, and
reached out his trunk, but still he could not touch us, as we were too
far above him. The Englishman then fired, and the ball took effect
somewhere on the elephant’s head, but did not kill him. It made him
only the more furious. The next shot, however, levelled him to the
ground. I afterwards brought the skull of the animal to Colombo, and it
is still to be seen at the house of Mr. Armitage.”
4. “One night a herd of elephants entered a village in the Four Corles.
After doing considerable injury to plaintain bushes and young coco-nut
trees, they retired, the villagers being unable to do anything to
protect their fruit trees from destruction. But one elephant was left
behind, who continued to scream the whole night through at the same
spot. It was then discovered that the elephant, on seeing a jak fruit
on a tree somewhat beyond the reach of his trunk, had raised himself on
his hind legs, placing his fore feet against the stem, in order to lay
hold of the fruit, but unluckily for him there happened to be another
tree standing so close to it that the vacant space between the two
stems was only a few inches. During his attempts to take hold of the
fruit one of his legs happened to get in between the two trees, where,
on account of his weight and his clumsy attempts to extricate himself,
it got so firmly wedged that he could not remove it. and in this
awkward position he remained for some days, till he died on the spot.”