THE ELEPHANT (ELEPHAS)
This animal has interested mankind more than any other, owing to the
peculiar combination of immense proportions with extraordinary sagacity.
The question has frequently been raised "Whether the elephant or the dog
should be accepted as superior in intelligence?" My own experience would
decide without hesitation--The Dog is man's companion; the Elephant is
his slave.
We all know the attachment and fidelity of the dog, who appears to have
been created specially to become the friend of the human race. He
attaches himself equally to the poor man and the rich, and shares our
fortunes "for better, for worse," clinging with heroic loyalty to his
master when all other friends may have abandoned him. The power of
memory is wonderfully exhibited, considering the shortness of life which
Nature, by some mischance has accorded to man's best friend.
"While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay Before Rusilla's feet,
eyeing him long And wistfully, had recognised at length, Changed as he
was and in those sordid weeds, His royal master. And he rose and lick'd
His withered hand, and earnestly looked up With eyes whose human meaning
did not need The aid of speech; and moan'd, as if at once To court and
chide the long-withheld caress... . . . . . . . Disputing, he withdrew.
The watchful dog Followed his footsteps close. But he retired Into the
thickest grove; there yielding way To his o'erburthen'd nature, from all
eyes Apart, he cast himself upon the ground, And threw his arms around
the dog, and cried While tears stream'd down. Thou Theron, thou hast
known Thy poor lost master... Theron, only thou!"--
Southey's "Roderick, last of the Goths."
In case of danger the dog will defend his master, guided by his own
unaided intelligence; he at once detects and attacks the enemy. In wild
sports he *shares the delight of hunting equally with his master, and
the two are inseparable allies. The day is over, and he lies down and
sleeps before the fire at his master's feet, and dreams of the dangers
and exploits; he is a member of his master's household.
The elephant is, in my opinion, overrated. He can be educated to
perform certain acts, but he would never volunteer his services. There
is no elephant that I ever saw who would spontaneously interfere to save
his master from drowning or from attack. An enemy might assassinate you
at the feet of your favourite elephant, but he would never attempt to
interfere in your defence; he would probably run away, or remain
impassive, unless guided and instructed by his mahout. This is
incontestable; the elephant will do nothing useful unless he is
specially ordered to perform a certain work or movement.
While condemning this apathetic character, we must admit that in the
elephant the power of learning is extraordinary, and that it can be
educated to perform wonders; but such performances are only wonderful as
proving the necessary force of direction and guidance by a superior
power, to which the animal is amenable.
I have had very many years' experience with elephants, both Asiatic and
African, and in my opinion they are naturally timid. Although in a wild
state the males are more or less dangerous, especially in Africa, the
herd of elephants will generally retreat should they even wind an unseen
enemy. This timidity is increased by domestication, and it is difficult
to obtain an elephant sufficiently staunch to withstand the attack of
any wild animal. They will generally turn tail, and not only retreat
gracefully, but will run in a disgraceful panic, to the great danger of
their riders should the locality be forest.
The difference in species is distinct between the Asiatic and the
African. It is at all times difficult to give the measurement of a dead
animal, especially when so enormous, as the pressure of weight when
alive would reduce the height afforded by measurement when the body is
horizontal.
The well-known African elephant Jumbo that was sold to America by the
Zoological Society of London, was brought up in confinement since its
early existence, when it was about 4 feet 6 inches high. That elephant
was carefully weighed and measured before it left England, with the
result, of height at shoulder, 11 feet; weight, six tons and a half. The
girth of the fore-foot when the pressure of the animal's weight was
exerted, was exactly half the perpendicular height of the elephant. I
have seen very much larger animals in Africa, but there is nothing in
India to approach the size of Jumbo.
There is no reason why the African elephants should not be tamed and
made useful, but the difficulty lies in obtaining them in any great
numbers. The natives of Africa are peculiarly savage, and their
instincts of destruction prevent them from capturing and domesticating
any wild animals. During nine years' experience of Central Africa I
never saw a tamed creature of any kind, not even a bird, or a young
antelope in possession of a child. The tame elephant would be especially
valuable to an explorer, as it could march through streams too deep for
the passage of oxen, and in swimming rivers it would be proof against
the attacks of crocodiles. So few African elephants have been tamed in
proportion to those of Asia that it would be difficult to pronounce an
opinion upon their character when domesticated, but it is generally
believed by their trainers that the Indian species is more gentle and
amenable to discipline. The power of the African is far in excess of the
Asiatic. Nine feet at the highest portion of the back is a good height
for an Indian male, and eight feet for the female, although occasionally
they are considerably larger. There are hardly any elephants that
measure ten feet in a direct perpendicular, although the mahouts pretend
to fictitious heights by measuring with a tape or cord from the spine,
including the curve of the body.
As Jumbo was proved to have attained the height of eleven feet although
in captivity from infancy, it may be easily imagined that in a wild
state the African elephant will attain twelve feet, or even more. I have
myself seen many animals that would have exceeded this, although it
would be impossible to estimate their height with accuracy.
The shape of the African variety is very peculiar, and differs in a
remarkable manner from the Asiatic. The highest point is the shoulder,
and the back is hollow; in the Indian the back is convex, and the
shoulder is considerably lower. The head of the African is quite unlike
that of the Indian; and the ears, which in the former are enormous,
completely cover the shoulder when thrown back. The best direction for a
vital shot at an African elephant is at the extremity of the ear when
flapped against the side. A bullet thus placed will pass through the
centre of the lungs. The Indian elephant has many more laminae in the
teeth than the African, constituting a larger grinding surface, as the
food is different. The African feeds upon foliage and the succulent
roots of the mimosa and other trees, which it digs up with its powerful
tusks; the forests are generally evergreen, and being full of sap, the
bark is easier to masticate than the skeleton trees of India during the
hottest season. Both the Indian and African varieties have only four
teeth, composed of laminae of intensely hard enamel, divided by a softer
substance which prevents the surface from becoming smooth with age; the
two unequal materials retain their inequality in wear, therefore the
rough grinding surface is maintained notwithstanding the work of many
years. A gland at the posterior of the jaw supplies a tooth-forming
matter, and the growth of fresh laminae is continuous throughout life;
the younger laminae form into line, and march forward until incorporated
and solidified in the tooth.
It is impossible to define exactly the limit of old age, as there can be
little doubt that captivity shortens the duration of life to a great
degree. We can only form an opinion from the basis of growth when young.
As an elephant cannot be fully developed in the perfection of ivory
until the age of forty, I should accept that age in a wild animal as the
period of a starting-point in life, and I should imagine that the term
of existence would be about a hundred and fifty years.
The life of an elephant in captivity is exactly opposed to its natural
habits. A wild Indian elephant dreads the sun, and is seldom to be found
exposed in the open after dawn of day. It roams over the country in all
directions during night, and seeks the shelter of a forest about an hour
before the sun rises. It feeds heartily, but wastefully, tearing down
branches, half of which it leaves untouched; it strips the bark off
those trees which it selects as tasteful, but throws wilfully away a
considerable portion. Throughout the entire night the elephant is
feeding, and it is curious to observe how particular this animal is in
the choice of food. Most wild animals possess a certain amount of
botanical knowledge which guides them in their grazing; the only
exception is the camel, who would poison himself through sheer ignorance
and depraved appetite, but the elephant is most careful in its selection
of all that is suitable to its requirements. It is astonishing how few
of the forest trees are attractive to this animal. Some are tempting
from their foliage, others from their bark (vide the powerfully
astringent Catechu), some from the succulent roots, and several
varieties from the wood, which is eaten like the sugar-cane. There is
one kind of tree the wood of which alone is eaten after the rind has
been carefully stripped off.
The elephant, being in its wild state a nocturnal animal, must be able
to distinguish the various qualities of trees by the senses of smell and
touch, as in the darkness of a forest during night it would be
impossible to distinguish the leaves. There are few creatures who
possess so delicate a sense of smell; wild elephants will wind an enemy
at a distance of a thousand yards, or even more, should the breeze be
favourable. The nerves of the trunk are peculiarly sensitive, and
although the skin is thick, the smallest substance can be discovered,
and picked up by the tiny proboscis at the extremity.
A wound upon any portion of the trunk must occasion intense pain, and
the animal instinctively coils the lower portion beneath its chest when
attacked by a tiger. This delicacy of nerve renders the elephant
exceedingly timid after being wounded, and it is a common and
regrettable occurrence that an elephant which has been an excellent
shikar animal before it has been injured, becomes useless to face a
tiger after it has been badly clawed. I cannot understand the
carelessness of an owner who thus permits a good elephant to work
unprotected. In ancient days the elephants were armoured for warlike
purposes to protect them from spears and javelins, and nothing can be
easier than to arrange an elastic protective hood, which would
effectually safeguard the trunk and head from the attack of any animal.
I had an excellent hood arranged for a large tusker which was lent to me
by the Commissariat. The first layer of material was the soft but thick
buff leather of sambur deer. This entirely covered the head, and was
laced beneath the throat; at the same time it was secured by a broad
leather strap and buckle around the neck. A covering for about three
feet from the base of the trunk descended from the face and was also
secured by lacing. The lower portion of the trunk was left unprotected,
as the animal would immediately guard against danger by curling it up
when attacked. Upon this groundwork of buff leather I had plates of
thick and hard buffalo hide, tanned, overlapping like slates upon a
roof. This armour was proof against either teeth or claws, as neither
could hold upon the slippery and yielding hard surface of the leather
tiles; at the same time the elephant could move its trunk with ease. Two
circular apertures were cut out for the eyes, about six inches in
diameter.
An elephant, if well trained, would be sufficiently sagacious to
appreciate this protection should it find itself unharmed after a home
charge by a tiger or other dangerous beast; and such a quality of armour
would add immensely to its confidence and steadiness.
Although the elephant is of enormous strength it is more or less a
delicate animal, and is subject to a variety of ailments. A common
disease is a swelling in the throat, which in bad cases prevents it from
feeding. Another complaint resembles gout in the legs, which swell to a
distressing size, and give exquisite pain, especially when touched. This
attack is frequently occasioned by allowing elephants, after a long
march under a hot sun, to wade belly-deep in cool water in order to
graze upon the aquatic vegetation.
Few animals suffer more from the sun's rays than the elephant, whose
nature prompts it to seek the deepest shade. Its dark colour and immense
surface attract an amount of heat which becomes almost insupportable to
the unfortunate creature when forced to carry a heavy load during the
hot season in India. Even without a greater weight than its rider, the
elephant exhibits signs of distress when marching after 9 a.m. At such
times it is disagreeable, as the animal has a peculiar habit of sucking
water through the trunk from a supply contained within the stomach, and
this it syringes with great force between its fore legs, and against its
flanks to cool its sides with the ejected spray. The rider receives a
portion of the fluid in his face, and as the action is repeated every
five minutes, or less, the operation is annoying.
It is a curious peculiarity in the elephant that it is enabled to suck
up water at discretion simply by doubling the trunk far down the throat,
and the fluid thus procured has no disagreeable smell, although taken
direct from the creature's stomach. In every way the elephant is
superior to most animals in the freedom from any unpleasant odour. Its
skin is sweet, and the hand retains no smell whatever, although you may
have caressed the trunk or any other portion of the body. It is well
known that a horse is exceedingly strong in odour, and that nothing is
more objectionable than the close proximity of a stable, or even of a
large number of horses picqueted in the open,--I have frequently been
camped where fifty or sixty elephants were for several days in the same
position within a hundred yards of the tents, and still there was no
offensive scent.
The food of an elephant is always fresh and clean, and the digestive
functions are extremely rapid. The mastication is a rough system of
grinding, and the single stomach and exceedingly short intestines
simplify the process of assimilation. The rapidity of the food passage
necessitates a consumption of a large amount, and no less than six
hundred pounds of fodder is the proper daily allowance for an elephant.
There have been frequent discussions upon the important subject of
elephant-feeding. Mr. G. P. Sanderson, the superintendent of the keddah
department in Assam, has declared against the necessity of allowing a
ration of grain in addition to the usual fodder. This must naturally
depend upon the quality of the green food. If the locality abounds in
plantains, the stems of those plants are eagerly devoured, and every
portion except the outside rind is nourishing. Even then the waste is
excessive should the stems be heedlessly thrown down before the animal.
It will immediately proceed to strip long fibrous ribbons from the stem
by placing one foot upon the extremity, and then tearing off the
alternate layers like the skin of an onion. These it converts into
playthings, throwing them over its back and neck until it is dressed in
dangling necklaces, which by degrees, after serving as toys, are
ultimately devoured. The proper method of feeding an elephant with
plantains where an allowance of rice is added, is by splitting the
entire stem through the centre, and then cutting it into transverse
sections about two feet in length. As each layer is detached, it
resembles a delicately coloured trough, nearly white; this is doubled up
in the centre and it at once forms a hollow tube, similar to a very
thick drain tile. A handful of rice is placed within, and it is secured
by tying with a fibrous strip from the plantain stem. A large pile of
these neat packages is prepared for every elephant, and, when ready, the
mahout sits by the heap and hands the parcels one by one to the
ever-expectant trunk.
The delicacy of an elephant's palate is extraordinary, and the whims of
the creature are absurd in the selection or rejection of morsels which
it prefers or dislikes. I once saw a peculiar instance of this in an
elephant that belonged to the police at Dhubri on the Brahmaputra. This
animal had a large allowance of rice, therefore about three-quarters of
a pound were placed within each tube of plantain stem. A lady offered
the elephant, when being fed, a very small sweet biscuit, about an inch
and a half in diameter. This was accepted in the trunk, but almost
immediately rejected and thrown upon the ground. The mahout, fearing
that his elephant had behaved rudely in thus refusing a present from a
lady's hand, picked up the biscuit and inserted it in the next parcel of
rice and plantain stem. This was placed within the elephant's mouth. At
the first crunch the animal showed evident signs of disgust, and at once
spat out the whole of the contents. There lay a complete ruin of the
neat package, which had been burst by the power of the great jaws; but
among the scattered rice that had been ejected we perceived the biscuit
which had caused the second instance of bad behaviour. So utterly
disgusted was the elephant with this tiny foreign substance that it
endeavoured to cleanse its mouth from every grain of rice, as though
polluted by the contact, and for several minutes it continued to insert
its trunk and rake out each atom from its tongue and throat.
The adaptation of the trunk to many purposes is very interesting. I had
an elephant who would eat every particle of rice in a round bamboo
basket by sucking it up the trunk and then blowing it into its mouth.
The basket was close-grained and smooth inside, but although brimful at
the commencement of operations, it was emptied by the elephant as though
it had been cleansed with a dry sponge.
A distinct rule for feeding elephants cannot be laid down without
exceptions rendered necessary by peculiarities of localities and the
amount of hard work required from the animal. If the elephant is simply
turned out to grass for a season, it will thrive upon such natural
herbage as bamboos, the foliage of the banyan, peepul, and other
varieties of the Ficus family; but if it is expected to travel and
perform good work, it is usual in the Commissariat department to allow
each elephant seven and a half seers of flour, equal to 15 lbs.
avoirdupois. In addition to this, 600 lbs. of green fodder are given,
and about 1 lb. of ghee (buffalo butter), with salt and jaggery (native
sugar). During a jungle expedition I have always doubled the allowance
of flour to 30 lbs. daily for each animal. This is made into large flat
cakes like Scotch "scones," weighing 2 lbs. each. The elephants are fed
at about an hour before sunset, and then taken to drink water before
actual night. Cleanliness is indispensable to the good health and
condition of the elephant. It should bathe daily, and the entire body
should be well scoured with a piece of brick or a soft quality of
sandstone. This operation is much enjoyed, and the huge animal, obeying
the command, lies down upon its side and accommodates its carcase to the
scrubbing process by adapting its position to the requirements of the
operator. It will frequently bury its head completely beneath the water,
and merely protrude the extremity of its trunk to breathe above the
surface. The coolie is most particular in scrubbing every portion of the
animal, after which it will usually stand within the tank or river and
shower volumes of water from its trunk over its back and flanks. When
well washed, it appears a thoroughly clean black mass, but in a few
minutes it proceeds to destroy its personal beauty by throwing clouds of
dust upon its back, which, adhering to the moisture occasioned by its
recent bath, converts the late clean animal into a brown mound of earth.
There is no quadruped not absolutely amphibious that is so thoroughly at
home in the water as the elephant. In a wild state it will swim the
largest rivers, and it delights in morasses, where it rolls in the deep
mud like a pig or buffalo, and thus coats its hide with a covering of
slime, which protects it from the attacks of flies and the worry of
mosquitoes. When in a domestic state, the elephant is shy of trusting
itself upon unsound earth or quicksands, as it appears to have lost the
confidence resulting from an independent freedom among the jungles, and
marshy valleys teeming with aquatic vegetation. It will also refuse to
cross a bridge unless of solid masonry, and it is curious to observe the
extreme care with which it sounds the structure, either by striking with
the coiled extremity of the trunk or by experimenting with the pressure
of one foot, before it ventures to trust its whole weight upon the
suspected floor.
It is difficult to describe the limit of an elephant's swimming powers;
this must depend upon many circumstances, whether it is following the
stream or otherwise, but the animal can remain afloat for several hours
without undue fatigue. The displacement of an elephant's carcase is less
than the weight of water, although it swims so deeply immersed that it
would appear to float with difficulty. An elephant shot dead within the
water will float immediately, with a considerable portion of one flank
raised so high above the surface that several men could be supported, as
though upon a raft. The body of a hippopotamus will sink like a stone,
and will not reappear upon the surface for about two hours, until the
gas has to a certain degree distended the carcase: thus the hippopotamus
is of a denser and heavier material than the elephant, although it is an
aquatic animal.
When tame elephants cross a river they are conducted by their drivers,
who stand upon their backs, either balancing themselves without
assistance, or supported by holding a cord attached to the animal's
neck. It is very interesting to watch the passage of a large river by a
herd of these creatures, who to a stranger's eye would appear to be in
danger of drowning, although in reality they are merely gamboling in the
element which is their delight. I have seen them cross the Brahmaputra
when the channel was about a mile in width. Forty elephants scrambled
down the precipitous bank of alluvial deposit and river sand: this,
although about thirty-five feet high, crumbled at once beneath the
fore-foot of the leading elephant, and many tons detached from the
surface quickly formed a steep incline. Squatting upon its
hind-quarters, and tucking its hinder knees beneath its belly, while it
supported its head upon its trunk and outstretched fore legs, it slid
and scrambled to the bottom, accompanied by an avalanche of earth and
dust, thus forming a good track for the following herd.
It is surprising to see in how few minutes a large herd of elephants
descending a steep place will form a road. I have frequently seen them
break down an alluvial cliff in the manner described, where at first
sight I should have thought it impossible for an elephant to descend.
Once within the river the fun began in earnest. After a march in the hot
sun, it was delightful to bathe in the deep stream of the Brahmaputra,
and the mighty forms splashed and disported themselves, sometimes
totally submerged, with the drivers standing ankle-deep upon their
hidden backs, which gave them the appearance of walking upon the
surface. A tip of the trunk was always above water, and occasionally the
animal would protrude the entire head, but only to plunge once more
beneath the stream. In this way, swimming at great speed, and at the
same time playing along their voyage, the herd crossed the broad river,
and we saw their dusky forms glittering in the sunlight as they rose
wetted from their bath, and waded majestically along the shallows to
reach an island; from which they again started upon a similar journey to
cross another channel of the river.
The first impression of a stranger when observing the conduct of a
mahout or driver is sympathy for the animal, which is governed through
the severe authority of the iron spike. This instrument is about twenty
inches long, and resembles somewhat an old-fashioned boat-hook, being a
sharp spike at the extremity beyond the keen-pointed hook; it can thus
be used either to drive the elephant forward by digging the point into
its head, or to pull it back by hooking on to the tender base of the
ears. These driving-hooks weigh from about 4 to 6 lbs., and are
formidable weapons; some are exceedingly ancient, and have been
preserved for a couple of centuries or more, such specimens being highly
artistic, and first-rate examples of the blacksmith's work. Although we
may commence our experience by pitying the animal that is subjected to
such harsh treatment, we quickly discover that without the hook the
elephant is like the donkey without the stick. The fact of his knowing
that you possess the power, or propeller, is sufficient to ensure
comparative obedience, but it would be impossible to direct the
movements of an elephant by simple kindness without the power to inflict
punishment. This fact alone will prove that the elephant does not serve
man through affection, but that it is compelled through fear. It is
curious to witness the absurd subjection of this mighty animal even by a
child. I have frequently seen a small boy threaten a large elephant with
a stick, and the animal has at once winced; and, curling the trunk
between the legs, it has closed its eyes and exhibited every symptom of
extreme terror when struck repeatedly upon the trunk and face. The male
is generally more uncertain than the female. It would at first sight
appear that for shooting purposes the bull elephant would be preferred
for its greater strength and courage. There can be no doubt that a pair
of long tusks is an important protection, and not only forms a defence
against the attack of a tiger or other animal, but is valuable for
offensive purposes; yet, notwithstanding this advantage, the female is
generally preferred to the male, as being more docile and obedient.
The males differ in character, but they are mostly uncertain in temper
during a period varying from two to four months every year. At such
occurrences of disturbance the animal requires careful treatment, and
the chains which shackle the fore legs should be of undoubted quality.
Some elephants remain passive throughout the year, while others appear
to be thoroughly demented, and, although at other seasons harmless,
would, when "must," destroy their own attendant and wreak the direst
mischief. At such a crisis the mahout must always be held responsible
for accidents, as the animal, if properly watched and restrained, would
be incapable of active movements, and would of course be comparatively
harmless. Upon many occasions, through the neglect of the attendant, an
elephant has been left unchained, or perhaps secured with an old chain
that has been nearly worn through a link; the escape of the animal under
such circumstances has led to frightful casualties, usually commencing
with the destruction of the mahout, who may have attempted a recapture.
The approach of the "must" period is immediately perceived by a peculiar
exudation of an oily nature from a small duct upon either temple; this
somewhat resembles coal-tar in consistence, and it occupies an area of
about four inches square upon the surface of the skin. There is a
decided odour in this secretion somewhat similar to the same exudation
from the neck of the male camel.
I have known male elephants which were remarkably docile throughout all
seasons, but even these had to be specially regarded during the period
of "must," as there was no means of foretelling a sudden and unexpected
outbreak of temper. Many males are at all times fretful, and these
expend their ill-nature in various ways; if chained, they kick up the
earth, and scatter the dust in all directions; they are never quiet for
one moment throughout the day, but continue to swing their heads to and
fro, and prick forward their ears, exhibiting a restlessness of spirit
that is a sufficient warning to any stranger. Such elephants should
always be approached with caution, and never directly in front, but at
the side.
An elephant is frequently treacherous, and if the person should stand
unheedingly before it, a sudden slap with the trunk might be the
consequence. For the same reason, it would be dangerous to approach the
heels of such an animal, as a kick from an elephant is rather an
extensive movement, and it is extraordinary that so colossal a limb as
the hind leg can be projected with such velocity, equalling that of a
small pony.
Discussions have frequently arisen concerning the maximum speed of an
elephant; this is difficult to decide exactly, as there can be no
question that the animal in a wild state will exert a greater speed than
can be obtained from it when domesticated. The African variety is
decidedly faster than the Asiatic; the legs being longer, the stride is
in proportion; and as the habits of the African lead it to wander over
large tracts of open country instead of confining its rambles to
secluded forests, this peculiarity would naturally render the animal
more active, and tend to accelerate its movements. I consider that the
African elephant is capable of a speed of fifteen miles an hour, which
it could keep up for two or three hundred yards, after which it would
travel at about ten miles an hour, and actually accomplish the distance
within that period. The Asiatic elephant might likewise attain a speed
of fifteen miles for perhaps a couple
of hundred yards, but it would not travel far at a greater pace than
eight miles an hour, and it would reduce that pace to six after the
first five miles.
The proof of an elephant's power of great speed for a short distance is
seldom seen except in cases where the animal is infuriated, and gives
chase to some unfortunate victim, who seldom escapes his fate by flight.
For a short burst of fifty or one hundred yards an elephant might
occasionally attain a pace exceeding fifteen miles an hour, as I have
frequently, when among rough ground, experienced a difficulty in
escaping when on horseback; and in my young days, when a good runner, I
have been almost caught when racing along a level plain as smooth as a
lawn with a savage elephant in full pursuit. An active man upon good
ground can run for a short distance at the rate of eighteen miles an
hour; this should clear him from the attack of most elephants; but
unfortunately the good ground is scarce, and the elephant is generally
discovered in a position peculiarly favourable to itself, where the
roughness of the surface and the tangled herbage render it impossible
for a man to run at full speed without falling.
We have recently seen a distressing example in the death of the lamented
Mr. Ingram in Somaliland, who, although well mounted, was overtaken by
an infuriated wild elephant and killed. This was a female, and it
appears that Mr. Ingram, having followed her on horseback, had fired
repeatedly with a rifle only .450. The animal charged, and owing to the
impediments of the ground, which was covered with prickly aloes, the
horse could not escape, and Mr. Ingram was swept off the saddle and
impaled upon the elephant's tusks.
The African differs from the Asiatic in the formation of ivory, the
tusks of the former being both thicker and heavier; the females also
possess tusks, whereas those of the Asiatic variety have merely embryo
tusks, which do not project more than two or three inches beyond the
lips. I had a tusk of an African elephant that weighed 149 lbs. I have
seen in Khartoum a pair that weighed 300 lbs., and I saw a single tusk
of 172 lbs. In 1874 a tusk was sold at the ivory sale in London that
weighed 188 lbs. These specimens are exceptions to the general rule, as
the average weight in a full-grown African male would be about 140 lbs.
the pair, or 75 lbs. for one tusk and 65 lbs. for the fellow, which is
specially employed for digging.
The African variety is an industrious digger, as it feeds upon the
succulent roots of many trees, especially those of the mimosa family.
The right tusk is generally used in these operations more than the left;
accordingly it is lighter from continual wear, and it is known by the
Arabs as the "hadam" or servant. As the African elephant is a root-eater
it is far more destructive than the Asiatic. It is astonishing to
observe the waste of trees that are upturned by a large herd of these
animals, sometimes out of sheer wantonness, during their passage through
a forest. The dense tops of mimosas are a great attraction, and there
can be no doubt that elephants work collectively to dig out and to
overthrow the trees that would be too large for the strength of a single
animal. I have seen trees between two and three feet in diameter that
have been felled for the sake of the roots and tender heads; these have
shown unmistakable signs of an attack by several elephants, as the
ground has been ploughed by tusks of different sizes to tear up the long
straggling roots which were near the surface, and the deep marks of feet
around the centre of operations, of various diameters, have proved the
co-operation of members of the herd.
I once saw an elephant strike a large timber tree with its forehead to
shake down the fruit. This was a peculiar example of the immense power
that can be exerted when required. We were waiting near the margin of
the White Nile, about half an hour before sunset, expecting the arrival
of waterbuck, when a rumbling sound and a suppressed roar in the jungle
were accompanied by the breaking of a branch, which denoted the approach
of elephants. Presently they emerged from the forest in several
directions, and one, which appeared to be the largest I had ever seen,
advanced to within 120 yards of our position without perceiving us, as
we were concealed behind a bush upon some rising ground close to the
river's bank. This elephant had enormous tusks, but as we had only
small-bore rifles, I was contented to watch, without disturbing the
magnificent animal before me.
There was a very large and lofty tree quite three feet in diameter; upon
the upper branches grew the much-loved fruit, similar in appearance to
good-sized dates, and equally sweet and aromatic (Balanites Egyptiaca).
Elephants will travel great distances to arrive at a forest where such
fruit is produced in quantity, and they appear to know the season when
the crop will be thoroughly ripe. Upon this occasion, the elephant,
having picked up the single fruits which lay scattered upon the ground,
presently looked up, and being satisfied with the appearance of the
higher boughs, he determined to shake down a plentiful supply. Retiring
for a few feet, he deliberately rammed his forehead against the stem,
with such force as to shake the tree from top to bottom, causing a most
successful shower of the coveted fruit, which he immediately commenced
to eat.
Commander R. N. J. Baker was my companion, and we agreed that any person
who might have taken refuge in the branches of that large tree must have
held on exceedingly tight to have avoided a fall, so severe was the
concussion.
When it is considered that a large bull elephant weighs between six and
seven tons, which weight is set in movement by the muscular exertion of
the animal, there is at once an explanation of the force against a tree,
which, although large, would hardly exceed that weight.
The memory of elephants must be peculiarly keen, as they remember the
seasons for visiting certain districts where some particular food is
produced in attractive quantities. In the southern district of Ceylon,
between Yalle river and the sea-coast, there are great numbers of the
Bael tree, the fruit of which resembles a large cricket-ball. The shell
is hard, and when ripe it becomes brown, and can only be broken by a
sharp blow with some hard substance. The contents are highly aromatic,
consisting of a brownish substance exceedingly sweet, and mixed with
small seeds resembling those inside a pear. There is a strong flavour of
medlar in this fruit, and it is much esteemed for medicinal properties,
especially in cases of diarrhoea. Although elephants refuse the Bael
fruit unless quite ripe, they will invariably arrive in great numbers
during the favourable season in the southern districts of Ceylon. The
question arises, "How can an animal remember the month without an
almanack?"
There is no doubt that animals possess in many instances a far greater
degree of reason than is generally admitted, with which the exercise of
memory is so closely allied that it is difficult to separate or define
the attributes. An elephant will remember those who have shown kindness,
perhaps for a longer period than it will others who may have offended.
After seven months' absence in England, an elephant that I had from the
Commissariat on my previous visit to India recognised me at once upon my
return. I had been in the habit of feeding this animal with sugar-canes
and other choice food almost daily during several months' companionship
in the jungle; this was not forgotten, and "cupboard love" was harboured
in its memory with the expectation that the feeding would be repeated.
In the same manner, but perhaps in a lesser degree, the elephant will
remember those whom it dislikes, and during the season of "must" it
would be exceedingly dangerous for such persons to venture within reach
of the animal's trunk. Stories are numerous concerning the animosity of
elephants against their mahouts or other attendants who have cruelly
treated them; but, on the other hand, the animals frequently exhibit a
wild ferocity towards those who have been innocent of harshness. As
characters vary among human beings, and some persons when intoxicated
become suddenly brutal, although when sober they have been mild in
reputation, so also we find conflicting natures among elephants, and the
insane excitement of the "must" period varies in intensity in different
animals.
There was a well-known elephant some years ago in the Balaghat district
of the Central Provinces which became historical through the
extraordinary malignity of its disposition. Having escaped from the
fetters, it killed the mahout, and at once made off towards the forests.
It is a curious example of nature that creatures (ferae naturae) have a
tendency to return to their original state of savagedom when the
opportunity is offered. If an elephant is seized with a panic when upon
open ground, it will rush for the nearest jungle, probably with the
intention of concealment. The animal in question returned to its wild
state directly it had escaped from confinement, but the domestication of
many years appears to have sharpened its intellect, and to have
exaggerated its powers for mischief and cunning. It became the scourge,
not only of the immediate neighbourhood, but of a considerable portion
of a district which included an area of a hundred miles in length by
forty or fifty in width.
No village was safe from the attack of this infuriated beast. It would
travel great distances, and appear at unexpected intervals, suddenly
presenting itself to the horrified villagers, who fled in all
directions, leaving their homes and their supplies of grain to be
demolished by the omnipotent intruder, who tore down their dwellings,
ransacked their stores of corn, and killed any unfortunate person who
came within its reach.
There was a cruel love of homicide in this animal that has rarely been
recorded. Not only would it attack villages in pursuit of forage, but it
was particularly addicted to the destruction of the lofty
watching-places in the fields, occupied nightly by the villagers to
scare wild animals from their crops. These watch-houses are generally
constructed upon strong poles secured by cross-pieces, on the top of
which, about sixteen feet from the ground, is a small hut upon a
platform. This is thatched to protect the occupant from the heavy dew or
rain. From such elevated posts the watchers yell and scream throughout
the night to frighten the wild beasts. To attack and tear down such
posts was the delight of this bloodthirsty elephant. Instead of being
scared by the shouts of the inmates, it was attracted by their cries,
and, unseen in the dark, it was upon them almost before they were aware
of its presence. The strong posts upon which the constructions had been
raised offered no resistance to the attack, and the miserable watchers
found themselves hurled to the ground together with the ruins of their
upturned shelter. In another moment they were either caught and stamped
to death, or chased through the darkness by the pursuing elephant, and
when captured they were torn limb from limb, as the brute exhibited a
cruel satisfaction in placing one foot upon the victim, and then tearing
with its trunk an arm, a leg, or the head from the mangled body.
In this manner the elephant killed upwards of twenty people throughout
the district, and it became absolutely necessary, if possible, to
destroy it.
This was at last effected by Colonel Bloomfield and a friend, who
determined at all hazards to hunt it down by following through the
jungles, guided by the reports of the natives, who were on the lookout
in all directions. The animal showed peculiar cunning, as it never
remained in the same place, but travelled a considerable distance
immediately after the committal of some atrocity, and concealed itself
within the jungles until prompted to another raid in some new direction.
I am indebted to Colonel Bloomfield for an interesting description of
the manner in which, after many days of great fatigue and patience, he
at length succeeded, with the assistance of native trackers, in
discovering this formidable opponent, asleep within a dense mass of
thorns and grass in the heart of an extensive jungle. The elephant awoke
before they could distinctly see its form, owing to the extreme
thickness of the covert, but the fight commenced. There was a
considerable difference between the attack upon defenceless villagers,
who fled before it in hopeless panic, and a stand-up fight with two
experienced European shikaris armed with the best rifles; the terror of
the district quickly showed its appreciation of discretion, and, badly
wounded, it retreated through the forest, well followed by the
determined hunters. Again and again it was overtaken, and a shot was
taken whenever the dense jungle afforded an opportunity. At length,
maddened by pursuit and wounds, it turned to charge, thereby exposing
itself in an open place, and both bullets crashed into its brain, the
shot from Colonel Bloomfield's rifle passing completely through its
head.
It would be impossible to determine whether such an elephant could have
been subdued and re-domesticated had its capture been effected. There
are many cases on record where a "must" elephant has committed grievous
depredations, after killing those who were its ordinary attendants, but
when re-captured, the temporary excitement has passed away, and the
animal has become as harmless as it was before the period of insanity.
Mr. G. P. Sanderson, the superintendent of the Government keddahs in
Assam, gives a vivid description of an elephant that escaped after
killing its mahout and several villagers in the neighbourhood. This
animal, like Colonel Bloomfield's elephant, already described, became
the terror of the district, and destroyed many villagers, until it was
decided by the authorities to attempt its destruction.
Mr. Sanderson was of opinion that it was too valuable to be heedlessly
sacrificed; he therefore determined to capture it alive, if possible,
through the aid of certain clever elephants belonging to the keddah
establishment.
The police of the district were ordered to obtain the necessary
information, and the malefactor was reported after a few days to have
destroyed another village, where it remained, devouring the rice and
grain in the absence of the panic-stricken villagers.
No time was lost in repairing to the spot with three highly-trained
elephants, two of which were females; the third was a well-known
fighting male, a tusker named Moota Gutche, who was usually employed to
dominate the obstreperous wild elephants when refractory in the keddah
enclosures. The necessary ropes and chains were prepared, and the small
but experienced party started, Mr. Sanderson being armed only with a
long spear, and riding on the pad, well girthed upon the back of Moota
Gutche.
A short hour's march brought them in sight of a ruined village on a
level plain, which skirted a dense forest. When within a quarter of a
mile, a large male elephant was discovered restlessly walking to and fro
as though keeping guard over the ruins he had made. This was the culprit
taken in the act.
Leaving the two females in the rear, with instructions to follow upon a
given signal, Mr. Sanderson on Moota Gutche advanced slowly to the
encounter. The rogue elephant did not appear to notice them until within
about 200 yards; it then suddenly halted, and turning round, it faced
them as though in astonishment at being disturbed. This attitude did not
last very long, as Moota Gutche still advanced until within ninety or a
hundred paces. The elephants now faced each other, and Moota Gutche
began to lower his head when he observed his antagonist backing a few
paces, which he well knew was the customary preparation for a charge.
"Reculez pour mieux sauter" was well exemplified when in another moment
the vagrant elephant dashed forward at great speed to the attack,
trumpeting and screaming with mad fury. In the meantime Moota Gutche
coolly advanced at a moderate pace. The shock of the encounter was
tremendous. The spear flew out of the rider's hands with the collision,
but Moota Gutche was a trained fighter, and having lowered his head,
which had for the moment exposed his mahout, he quickly caught his
opponent under the throat with its neck between his tusks, and then
bearing upwards, he forced the head of his adversary high in the air;
now driving forwards with all his strength, he hurled the other
backwards, and with a dexterous twist he threw it upon its side and
pinned it to the ground. In an instant Mr. Sanderson slipped off and
secured the hind legs with a strong rope. The two females quickly
arrived, and within a few minutes the late terror of the neighbourhood
was helplessly fettered, and was led captive between the females towards
the camp from which it had escaped, assisted, when obstreperous, by the
tusks of Moota Gutche applied behind.
This elephant completely recovered from its temporary madness, and
became a useful animal, affording a striking example of the passing
insanity of the male passion, and the power of careful management in
subduing a brute of such stupendous force.
After this incident Moota Gutche, with about forty of the keddah
elephants, was kindly lent to me by Mr. Sanderson during a shooting
excursion of twenty-five days upon the "churs" or islands of the
Brahmaputra river south of Dhubri. In India the tiger is so commonly
associated with the elephant that in describing one it is impossible to
avoid a connection with the other.
Moota Gutche was a peculiar character, not altogether amiable, but it
was as well to have him upon your own side. During the trip my friend
Sanderson was ill with fever, and could not accompany me. I was
therefore at the disadvantage of being the only gun in a long line of
elephants, which would on ordinary occasions have been manned by at
least four guns. At first I imagined that my trip would be a failure, as
I knew a mere nothing of the language, and the elephants and their
mahouts were alike strangers to me, but I soon discovered that their
excellent training as keddah servants constantly employed in the capture
of wild elephants under their indefatigable superintendent, Mr.
Sanderson, rendered them capable almost instinctively of understanding
all my ways, and we became excellent friends, both man and beast.
I arranged my long line of elephants according to their paces and
dispositions, and each day they preserved the same positions, so that
every mahout knew his place, and the elephants were accustomed to the
animals upon the right and left. In the centre were the slowest, and
upon either flank were the fastest elephants, while two exceedingly
speedy animals, with intelligent mahouts, invariably acted as scouts,
generally a quarter of a mile ahead on either flank.
My own elephant was accompanied on one side by Moota Gutche, on the
other by a rough but dependable character whose name I have forgotten. I
kept these always with me, as they were useful in the event of a tiger
that would not bolt from the dense wild-rose thickets, in which case our
three elephants could push him out.
This arrangement was perfect, and after a few days' experience our line
worked with the precision of well-drilled cavalry; sometimes, with extra
elephants, I had as many as fifty in the field. The result of this
discipline was that no tiger or leopard ever escaped if once on foot;
although hunted in some instances for hours, the animal was invariably
killed. A remarkable instance of this occurred at the large island of
Bargh Chur, which includes several thousand acres, the greater portion
being covered with enormous grass and dense thickets of tamarisk, which,
in the hot season, is the cool and loved resort of tigers. There were
also extensive jungles in swampy portions of the island, so intermixed
with reeds and marsh grass of twelve or fourteen feet high, that it was
difficult to penetrate, even upon an elephant.
I was out at the usual early hour, shortly after sunrise, the shikaris
having returned to camp with the news that none of the bullocks tied up
for baits during the preceding night had been killed; it therefore
remained to try our fortune by simply beating the high grass jungle in
line, on speculation, and in the same manner to drive the occasional
dense coverts of feathery tamarisk.
We had proceeded with a line of about five-and-thirty elephants, well
extended ten yards apart, and in this manner we had advanced about a
mile, when our attention was attracted by a native calling to us from a
large ant-hill which enabled him to be distinguished above the grass. We
immediately rode towards him, and were informed that a tiger had killed
his cow the night before, and had dragged the body into jungle so dense
that he had been afraid to follow. This was good news; we therefore took
the man upon an elephant as our guide towards the reported spot.
The elephants continued to advance in line, occasionally disturbing wild
pigs and hog deer, which existed in great numbers, but could hardly have
been shot even had I wished, as the grass was so thick and long that the
animals could not be seen; there were only signs of their disturbance by
the sudden rush and the waving of the grass just in front of the
advancing elephants, who were thus kept in continual excitement.
In about twenty minutes we emerged from the high grass upon a great
extent of highly cultivated land, where the sandy loam had been reduced
to the fine surface of a well-kept garden. Bordering upon this open
country was an extensive jungle composed of trees averaging about a foot
in diameter, but completely wedged together among impenetrable reeds
fully eighteen feet in length, and nearly an inch in thickness, in
addition to a network of various tough creepers, resulting from a rich
soil that was a morass during the rainy season. Although the reeds
appeared tolerably dry, they would not burn, as there were signs among
some half-scorched places where attempts had been recently made to fire
the jungle.
Our guide soon pointed to the spot where his cow had been dragged by the
tiger into this formidable covert. There was no mistake about the marks,
and the immense tracks in the soft ground proved the size and sex of the
destroyer.
Nobody questioned the fact of the tiger being at home, and the only
question was "how to beat him out." The jungle was quite a mile in
length without a break in its terrible density; it was about half a mile
in width, bounded upon one side by the cleared level ground in
cultivation, and on the other by the high grass jungle we had left, but
this had been partially scorched along the edge in the attempts to burn.
A good look-out would have spied any animal at a hundred and fifty yards
had it attempted to leave the jungle.
As the country was a dead level, it was difficult to forecast the
retreat of a tiger when driven from such a thicket, and it was a serious
question whether it would be possible to dislodge him.
Whenever you commence a drive, the first consideration should be, "If
the animal is there, where did it come from?"---as it will in all
probability attempt to retreat to that same locality. There was no
possibility of guessing the truth in such a country of dense grass, and
with numerous islands of the same character throughout this portion of
the Brahmaputra, but there was one advantage in the fact that one side
was secure, as the tiger would never break covert upon the cultivated
land; there remained the opposite side, which would require strict
watching, as he would probably endeavour to slink away through the high
grass to some distant and favourite retreat.
I therefore determined to take my stand at the end of the thick jungle
which we had passed upon arrival, at the corner where it joined the
parched grass that had been fire-scorched, and near the spot where the
cow had been dragged in. I accordingly sent the elephants round to
commence the drive about two hundred yards distant, entering from the
cultivated side and driving towards me, as I concluded the tiger in such
massive jungle would not be far from the dead body. At the same time, I
sent two scouting elephants to occupy positions outside the jungle on
the high grass side, within sight of myself; I being posted on my
elephant at the corner, so that I commanded two views---the end, and the
grass side.
My signal, a loud whistle, having been given, the line of elephants
advanced towards my position. The crashing of so many huge beasts
through the dense crisp herbage sounded in the distance like a strong
wind, varied now and then by the tearing crunch as some opposing
branches were torn down to clear the way.
I was mounted upon a female elephant, a good creature named Nielmonne,
who was reputed to be staunch, but as the line of beaters approached
nearer, and the varied sounds increased in intensity, she became very
nervous and restless, starting should a small deer dart out of the
jungle, and evidently expecting momentarily the appearance of the enemy.
There are very few elephants that will remain unmoved when awaiting the
advance of a line of beaters, whether they may be of their own species
or human beings. On this occasion the rushing sound of the yielding
jungle, which was so thick as to test the elephants' powers in clearing
a passage through it, was presently varied by a sharp trumpet, then by a
low growl, followed by that peculiar noise emitted by elephants when
excited, resembling blows upon a tambourine or kettle-drum. This is a
sound that invariably is heard whenever an elephant detects the fresh
scent of a tiger; and Nielmonne, instead of standing quiet, became
doubly excited, as she evidently understood that the dreaded game was on
foot, and advancing before the line.
As I was posted at the sharp angle of the corner, I presently observed
several elephants emerge upon my left and right, as the line advanced
with wonderful regularity, and so close were the animals together that
it was most unlikely any tiger could have broken back.
My servant Michael was behind me in the howdah. He was a quiet man, who
thoroughly understood his work, and seldom spoke without being first
addressed. On this occasion he broke through the rule. "Nothing in this
beat, sahib," he exclaimed . . . . "Hold your tongue, Michael, till the
cover's beaten out. Haven't I often told you that you can't tell what's
in the jungle until the last corner is gone through?"
Nearly all the elephants were now out, and only about half a dozen
remained in the jungle, all still advancing in correct line, and perhaps
a dozen yards remaining of dense reeds and creepers forming the acute
angle at the extremity. They still came on. Two or three of the mahouts
shouted, "The tiger's behind, we must go back and take a longer beat."
Nothing remained now except six or seven yards of the sharp corner, and
the elephants marched forward, when a tremendous roar suddenly startled
them in all directions, and one of the largest tigers I have ever seen
sprang forward directly towards Nielmonne, who, I am ashamed to say,
spun round as though upon a pivot, and prevented me from taking a most
splendid shot. The next instant the tiger had bounded back with several
fierce roars, sending the line of elephants flying, and once more
securing safety in the almost impervious jungle from which he had been
driven.
This was a most successful drive, but a terrible failure, owing entirely
to the nervousness of my elephant. I never saw a worse jungle, and now
that the tiger had been moved, it would be doubly awkward to deal with
him, as he would either turn vicious and spring upon an elephant
unawares from so dense a covert, or slink from place to place as the
line advanced, but would never again face the open.
I looked at my watch; it was exactly half-past eight. The mahouts
suggested that we should not disturb him, but give him time to sleep,
and then beat for him in the afternoon. I did not believe in sleep after
he had been so rudely aroused by a long line of elephants, but I clearly
perceived that the mahouts did not enjoy the fun of beating in such
dreadful jungle, and this they presently confessed, and expressed a wish
to have me in the centre of the line, as there was no gun with the
elephants should the tiger attack.
I knew that I should be useless, as it would be impossible to see a foot
ahead in such dense bush, but to give them confidence I put my elephant
in line, and sent forward several scouting elephants to form a line
along a narrow footpath which cut the jungle at right angles about a
quarter of a mile distant.
Once more the line advanced, the elephants marching shoulder to
shoulder, and thus bearing down everything before them, as I determined
to take the jungle backwards and forwards in this close order lest the
wary tiger might crouch, and escape by lying close.
Several times the elephants sounded, and we knew that he must be close
at hand, but it was absolutely impossible to see anything beyond the
thick reedy mass, through which the line of elephants bored as through a
solid obstacle.
Three times with the greatest patience we worked the jungle in this
searching manner, when on the third advance I left the line, finding the
impossibility of seeing anything, and took up my position outside the
jungle on the cultivated land, exactly where the footpath was occupied
by the scout elephants at intervals, which intersected the line of
advance.
Presently there was a commotion among the elephants, two or three shrill
trumpets, then the kettle-drum, and for a moment I caught sight of a dim
shadowy figure stealing through some high reeds upon the border which
fringed the jungle. I immediately fired, although the elephant was so
unsteady that I could not be sure of the shot; also the object was so
indistinct, being concealed in the high reeds, that I should not have
observed it upon any other occasion than our rigid search. Immediately
afterwards, a shout from one of the mahouts upon a scouting elephant
informed us that the tiger had crossed the path and had gone forward,
having thus escaped from the beat!
Here was fresh work cut out! Up to this moment we had managed to keep
him within an area of a quarter of a mile in length, by half a mile in
width; he had now got into new ground, and was in about a three-quarter
mile length of the same unbeaten jungle.
There was nothing else to do but to pursue the same tactics, and we
patiently continued to beat forward and backward, again and again, but
without once sighting our lost game. It was half-past twelve, and the
sun was burning hot, the sky being cloudless. The elephants once more
emerged from the sultry jungle; they were blowing spray with their
trunks upon their flanks, from water sucked up from their stomachs; and
the mahouts were all down-hearted and in despair. "It's of no use," they
said, "he's gone straight away, who can tell where? When you fired,
perhaps you wounded him, or you missed him; at any rate, he's frightened
and gone clean off, we shall never see him again; the elephants are all
tired with the extreme heat, and we had better go to the river for a
bath."
I held a council of war, with the elephants in a circle around me. It is
of no use to oppose men when they are disgusted, you must always start a
new idea. I agreed with my men, but I suggested that as we were all hot,
and the elephants fatigued, the tiger must be in much the same state, as
we had kept him on the run since eight o'clock in the morning, I having
actually timed the hour "half-past eight" when he charged out of the
last corner. "Now," said I, "do you remember that yesterday evening I
killed a buck near some water in a narrow depression in the middle of
tamarisk jungle? I believe that is only a continuation of this horrible
thicket, and if the tiger is nearly played out, he would naturally make
for the water and the cool tamarisk. You form in line in the jungle
here, and give me a quarter of an hour's start, while I go ahead and
take up my position by that piece of water. You then come on, and if the
tiger is in the jungle, he will come forward towards the water, where I
shall meet him; if he's not there, we shall anyhow be on our direct
route, and close to our camp by the river."
This was immediately accepted, and leaving the elephants to form line, I
hurried forward on Nielmonne, keeping in the grass outside the edge of
the long jungle.
I had advanced about three-quarters of a mile, when the character of the
jungle changed to tamarisk, and I felt certain that I was near the spot
of yesterday. I accordingly ordered the mahout to turn into the thick
feathery foliage to the left, in search of the remembered water. There
was a slight descent to a long but narrow hollow about 50 or 60 yards
wide; this was filled with clear water for an unknown length.
I was just about to make a remark, when, instead of speaking, I gently
grasped the mahout by the head as I leaned over the howdah, and by this
signal stopped the elephant.
There was a lovely sight, which cheered my heart with that inexpressible
feeling of delight which is the reward for patience and hard work. About
120 yards distant on my left, the head and neck of a large tiger, clean
and beautiful, reposed above the surface, while the body was cooling,
concealed from view. Here was our friend enjoying his quiet bath, while
we had been pounding away up and down the jungles which he had left.
The mahout, although an excellent man, was much excited. "Fire at him,"
he whispered.
"It is too far to make certain," I replied in the same undertone.
"Your rifle will not miss him; fire, or you will lose him. He will see
us to a certainty and be off. If so, we shall never see him again,"
continued Fazil, the mahout.
"Hold your tongue," I whispered. "He can't see us, the sun is at our
back, and is shining in his eyes --- see how green they are."
At this moment of suspense the tiger quietly rose from his bath, and sat
up on end like a dog. I never saw such a sight. His head was beautiful,
and the eyes shone like two green electric lights, as the sun's rays
reflected from them, but his huge body was dripping with muddy water, as
he had been reclining upon the alluvial bottom.
"Now's the time," whispered the over-eager mahout. "You can kill him to
a certainty. Fire, or he'll be gone in another moment."
"Keep quiet, you fool, and don't move till I tell you." For quite a
minute the tiger sat up in the same position; at last, as though
satisfied that he was in safety and seclusion, he once more lay down
with only the head and neck exposed above the surface.
"Back the elephant gently, but do not turn round," I whispered.
Immediately Nielmonne backed through the feathery tamarisk without the
slightest sound, and we found ourselves outside the jungle. We could
breathe freely.
"Go on now, quite gently, till I press your head; then turn to the
right, descending through the tamarisk, till I again touch your puggery"
(turban).
I counted the elephant's paces as she moved softly parallel with the
jungle, until I felt sure of my distance. A slight pressure upon the
mahout's head, and Nielmonne turned to the right. The waving plumes of
the dark-green tamarisk divided as we gently moved forward, and in
another moment we stopped. There was the tiger in the same position,
exactly facing me, but now about 75 paces distant.
"Keep the elephant quite steady," I whispered; and, sitting down upon
the howdah seat, I took a rest with the rifle upon the front bar of the
gun-rack. A piece of tamarisk kept waving in the wind just in front of
the rifle, beyond my reach. The mahout leaned forward and gently bent it
down. Now, all was clear. The tiger's eyes were like green glass. The
elephant for a moment stood like stone. I touched the trigger.
There was no response to the loud report of 6 drams of powder from the
'577 rifle, no splash in the unbroken surface of the water. The tiger's
head was still there, but in a different attitude, one-half below the
surface, and only one cheek, and one large eye still glittering like an
emerald, above.
"Run in quick,"---and the order was instantly obeyed, as Nielmonne
splashed through the pool towards the silent body of the tiger. There
was not a movement of a muscle. I whistled loud, then looked at my
watch---on the stroke of 1 P.M. From 8.30 till that hour we had worked
up that tiger, and although there was no stirring incident connected
with him, I felt very satisfied with the result.
In a short time the elephants arrived, having heard the shot, followed
by my well-known whistle. Moota Gutche was the first to approach; and
upon observing the large bright eye of the tiger above water, he
concluded that it was still alive; he accordingly made a desperate
charge, and taking the body on his tusks, he sent it flying some yards
ahead; not content with this display of triumph, he followed it up, and
gave it a football-kick that lifted it clean out of the water. This
would have quickly ended in a war-dance upon the prostrate body, that
would have crushed it and destroyed the skin, had not the mahout, with
the iron driving-hook, bestowed some warning taps upon the crown of
Moota Gutche's head that recalled him to a calmer frame of mind. A rope
was soon made fast to the tiger's neck, and Moota Gutche hauled it upon
dry ground, where it was washed as well as possible, and well
scrutinized for a bullet-hole.
There was no hole whatever in that tiger. The bullet having entered the
nostril, broken the neck, and run along the body, the animal
consequently had never moved. The first shot, when obscured in thick
jungle, had probably deflected from the interposing reeds---at all
events it missed. This tiger, when laid out straight, but without being
pulled to increase its length, measured exactly 9 feet 8 inches from
nose to tail.