iteration in the successive journals of sporting gentlemen, but one who
turns to their pages for traits of the animal and his instincts is
disappointed to find little beyond graphic sketches of the daring and
exploits of his pursuers, most of whom, having had no further
opportunity of observation than is derived from a casual encounter with
the outraged animal, have apparently tried to exalt their own prowess,
by misrepresenting the ordinary character of the elephant, describing
him as "savage, wary, and revengeful."[1]
These epithets may undoubtedly apply to the outcasts from the herd, the
"Rogues" or _hora allia_, but so small is the proportion of these that
there is not probably one _rogue_ to be found for every five hundred of
those in herds; and it is a manifest error, arising from imperfect
information, to extend this censure to them generally, or to suppose the
elephant to be an animal "thirsting for blood, lying in wait in the
jungle to rush on the unwary passer-by, and knowing no greater pleasure
than the act of crushing his victim to a shapeless mass beneath his
feet."[2] The cruelties practised by the hunters have no doubt taught
these sagacious creatures to be cautious and alert, but their
precautions are simply defensive; and beyond the alarm and apprehension
which they evince on the approach of man, they exhibit no indication of
hostility or thirst for blood.
[Footnote 1: _The Rifle and the Hound in Ceylon_; by S.W. BAKER, Esq.,
pp. 8, 9. "Next to a rogue," says Mr. BAKER, "in ferocity, and even more
persevering in the pursuit of her victim, is a female elephant." But he
appends the significant qualification, "_when her young one has been
killed_."--_Ibid_., p. 13.]
[Footnote 2: _Ibid_.]
An ordinary traveller seldom comes upon elephants unless after sunset or
towards daybreak, as they go to or return from their nightly visits to
the tanks: but when by accident a herd is disturbed by day, they evince,
if unattacked, no disposition to become assailants; and if the attitude
of defence which they instinctively assume prove sufficent to check the
approach of the intruder, no further demonstration is to be apprehended.
Even the hunters who go in search of them find them in positions and
occupations altogether inconsistent with the idea of their being savage,
wary, or revengeful. Their demeanour when undisturbed is indicative of
gentleness and timidity, and their actions bespeak lassitude and
indolence, induced not alone by heat, but probably ascribable in some
degree to the fact that the night has been spent in watchfulness and
amusement. A few are generally browsing listlessly on the trees and
plants within reach, others fanning themselves with leafy branches, and
a few are asleep; whilst the young run playfully among the herd, the
emblems of innocence, as the older ones are of peacefulness and gravity.
Almost every elephant may be observed to exhibit some peculiar action of
the limbs when standing at rest; some move the head monotonously in a
circle, or from right to left; some swing their feet back and forward;
others flap their ears or sway themselves from side to side, or rise and
sink by alternately bending and straightening the fore knees. As the
opportunities of observing this custom have been almost confined to
elephants in captivity, it has been conjectured to arise from some
morbid habit contracted during the length of a voyage by sea[1], or from
an instinctive impulse to substitute a motion of this kind in lieu of
their wonted exercise; but this supposition is erroneous; the propensity
being equally displayed by those at liberty and those in captivity. When
surprised by sportsmen in the depths of the jungle, individuals of a
herd are always occupied in swinging their limbs in this manner; and in
the several corrals which I have seen, where whole herds have been
captured, the elephants in the midst of the utmost excitement, and even
after the most vigorous charges, if they halted for a moment in stupor
and exhaustion, manifested their wonted habit, and swung their limbs or
swayed their bodies to and fro incessantly. So far from its being a
substitute for exercise, those in the government employment in Ceylon
are observed to practise their acquired motion, whatever it may be, with
increased vigour when thoroughly fatigued after excessive work. Even the
favourite practice of fanning themselves with a leafy branch seems less
an enjoyment in itself than a resource when listless and at rest. The
term "fidgetty" seems to describe appropriately the temperament of the
elephant.
[Footnote 1: _Menageries_, &c., "The Elephant," ch. i. p. 21.]
They evince the strongest love of retirement and a corresponding dislike
to intrusion. The approach of a stranger is perceived less by the eye,
the quickness of which is not remarkable (besides which its range is
obscured by the foliage), than by sensitive smell and singular acuteness
of hearing; and the whole herd is put in instant but noiseless motion
towards some deeper and more secure retreat. The effectual manner in
which an animal of the prodigious size of the elephant can conceal
himself, and the motionless silence which he preserves, is quite
surprising; whilst beaters pass and repass within a few yards of his
hiding place, he will maintain his ground till the hunter, creeping
almost close to his legs, sees his little eye peering out through the
leaves, when, finding himself discovered, the elephant breaks away with
a crash, levelling the brushwood in his headlong career.
If surprised in open ground, where stealthy retreat is impracticable, a
herd will hesitate in indecision, and, after a few meaningless
movements, stand huddled together in a group, whilst one or two, more
adventurous than the rest, advance a few steps to reconnoitre. Elephants
are generally observed to be bolder in open ground than in cover, but,
if bold at all, far more dangerous in cover than in open ground.
In searching for them, sportsmen often avail themselves of the
expertness of the native trackers; and notwithstanding the demonstration
of Combe that the brain of the timid Singhalese is deficient in the
organ of destructiveness[1], he shows an instinct for hunting, and
exhibits in the pursuit of the elephant a courage and adroitness far
surpassing in interest the mere handling of the rifle, which is the
principal share of the proceeding that falls to his European companions.
[Footnote 1: _System of Phrenology_, by GEO. COMBE, vol. i. p. 256.]
The beater on these occasions has the double task of finding the game
and carrying the guns; and, in an animated communication to me, an
experienced sportsman describes "this light and active creature, with
his long glossy hair hanging down his shoulders, every muscle quivering
with excitement; and his countenance lighting up with intense animation,
leaping from rock to rock, as nimble as a deer, tracking the gigantic
game like a blood-hound, falling behind as he comes up with it, and as
the elephants, baffled and irritated, make the first stand, passing one
rifle into your eager hand and holding the other ready whilst right and
left each barrel performs its mission, and if fortune does not flag, and
the second gun is as successful as the first, three or four huge
carcases are piled one on another within a space equal to the area of a
dining room."[1]
[Footnote 1: Private letter from Capt. PHILIP PAYNE GALLWEY.]
It is curious that in these encounters the herd never rush forward in a
body, as buffaloes or bisons do, but only one elephant at a time moves
in advance of the rest to confront, or, as it is called, to "charge,"
the assailants. I have heard of but one instance in which _two_ so
advanced as champions of their companions. Sometimes, indeed, the whole
herd will follow a leader, and manoeuvre in his rear like a body of
cavalry; but so large a party are necessarily liable to panic; and, one
of them having turned in alarm, the entire body retreat with terrified
precipitation.
As regards boldness and courage, a strange variety of temperament is
observable amongst elephants, but it may be affirmed that they are, much
more generally timid than courageous. One herd may be as difficult to
approach as deer, gliding away through the jungle so gently and quickly
that scarcely a trace marks their passage; another, in apparent stupor,
will huddle themselves together like swine, and allow their assailant to
come within a few yards before they break away in terror; and a third
will await his approach without motion, and then advance, with fury to
the "charge."
In individuals the same differences are discernible; one flies on the
first appearance of danger, whilst another, alone and unsupported, will
face a whole host of enemies. When wounded and infuriated with pain,
many of them become literally savage[1]; but, so unaccustomed are they
to act as assailants, and so awkward and inexpert in using their
strength, that they rarely or ever exceed in killing a pursuer who falls
into their power. Although the pressure of a foot, a blow with the
trunk, or a thrust with the tusk, could scarcely fail to prove fatal,
three-fourths of those who have fallen into their power have escaped
without serious injury. So great is this chance of impunity, that the
sportsman prefers to approach within about fifteen paces of the
advancing elephant, a space which gives time for a second fire should
the first shot prove ineffectual, and should both fail there is still
opportunity for flight.
[Footnote 1: Some years ago an elephant which had been wounded by a
native, near Hambangtotte, pursued the man into the town, followed him
along the street, trampled him to death in the bazaar before a crowd of
spectators, and succeeded in making good its retreat to the jungle.]
Amongst full-grown timber, a skilful runner can escape from an elephant
by "dodging" round the trees, but in cleared land, and low brushwood,
the difficulty is much increased, as the small growth of underwood which
obstructs the movements of man presents no obstacle to those of an
elephant. On the other hand, on level and open ground the chances are
rather in favour of the elephant, as his pace in full flight exceeds
that of man, although as a general rule, it is unequal to that of a
horse, as has been sometimes asserted.[1]
[Footnote 1: SHAW, in his _Zoology_, asserts that an elephant can run as
swiftly as a horse can gallop. London, 1800-6, vol. i. p. 216.]
The incessant slaughter of elephants by sportsmen in Ceylon, appears to
be merely in subordination to the influence of the organ of
destructiveness, since the carcase is never applied to any useful
purpose, but left to decompose and to defile the air of the forest. The
flesh is occasionally tasted as a matter of curiosity: as a steak it is
coarse and tough; but the tongue is as delicate as that of an ox; and
the foot is said to make palatable soup. The Caffres attached to the
pioneer corps in the Kandyan province are in the habit of securing the
heart of any elephant shot in their vicinity, and say it is their custom
to eat it in Africa. The hide it has been found impracticable to tan in
Ceylon, or to convert to any useful purpose, but the bones of those shot
have of late years been collected and used for manuring coffee estates.
The hair of the tail, which is extremely strong and horny, is mounted by
the native goldsmith, and made into bracelets; and the teeth are sawn by
the Moormen at Galle (as they used to be by the Romans during a scarcity
of ivory) into plates, out of which they fashion numerous articles of
ornament, knife-handles, card racks, and "presse-papiers."
NOTE.
Amongst extraordinary recoveries from desperate wounds, I venture to
record here an instance which occurred in Ceylon to a gentleman while
engaged in the chase of elephants, and which, I apprehend, has few
parallels in pathological experience. Lieutenant GERARD FRETZ, of the
Ceylon Rifle Regiment, whilst firing at an elephant in the vicinity of
Fort MacDonald, in Oovah, was wounded in the face by the bursting of his
fowling-piece, on the 22nd January, 1828. He was then about thirty-two
years of age. On raising him, it was found that part of the breech of
the gun and about two inches of the barrel had been driven through the
frontal sinus, at the junction of the nose and forehead. It had sunk
almost perpendicularly till the iron-plate called "the tail-pin," by
which the barrel is made fast to the stock by a screw, had descended
through the palate, carrying with it the screw, one extremity of which
had forced itself into the right nostril, where it was discernible
externally, whilst the headed end lay in contact with his tongue. To
extract the jagged mass of iron thus sunk in the ethmoidal and
sphenoidal cells was found hopelessly impracticable; but, strange to
tell, after the inflammation subsided, Mr. FRETZ recovered rapidly; his
general health was unimpaired, and he returned to his regiment with
this, singular appendage firmly embedded behind the bones of his face.
He took his turn of duty as usual, attained the command of his company,
participated in all the enjoyments of the mess-room, and died _eight
years afterwards_, on the 1st of April, 1836, not from any consequences
of this fearful wound, but from fever and inflammation brought on by
other causes.
So little was he apparently inconvenienced by the presence of the
strange body in his palate that he was accustomed with his finger
partially to undo the screw, which but for its extreme length he might
altogether have withdrawn. To enable this to be done, and possibly to
assist by this means the extraction of the breech itself through the
original orifice (which never entirely closed), an attempt was made in
1835 to take off a portion of the screw with a file; but, after having
cut it three parts through the operation was interrupted, chiefly owing
to the carelessness and indifference of Capt. FRETZ, whose death
occurred before the attempt could be resumed. The piece of iron, on
being removed after his decease, was found to measure 2-3/4 inches in
length, and weighed two scruples more than two ounces and three
quarters. A cast of the breech and screw now forms No. 2790 amongst the
deposits in the Medical Museum of Chatham.
CHAP. V.
THE ELEPHANT.
* * * * *
_An Elephant Corral_.
So long as the elephants of Ceylon were merely required in small numbers
for the pageantry of the native princes, or the sacred processions of
the Buddhist temples, their capture was effected either by the
instrumentality of female decoys, or by the artifices and agility of the
individuals and castes who devoted themselves to their pursuit and
training. But after the arrival of the European conquerors of the
island, and when it had become expedient to take advantage of the
strength and intelligence of these creatures in clearing forests and
making roads and other works, establishments were organised on a great
scale by the Portuguese and Dutch, and the supply of elephants kept up
by periodical battues conducted at the cost of the government, on a plan
similar to that adopted on the continent of India, when herds varying in
number from twenty to one hundred and upwards are driven into concealed
enclosures and secured.
In both these processes, success is entirely dependent on the skill with
which the captors turn to advantage the terror and inexperience of the
wild elephant, since all attempts would be futile to subdue or confine
by ordinary force an animal of such strength and sagacity.[1]
[Footnote 1: The device of taking them by means of pitfalls still
prevails in India: but in addition to the difficulty of providing
against that caution with which the elephant is supposed to reconnoitre
suspicious ground, it has the further disadvantage of exposing him to
injury from bruises and dislocations in his fall. Still it was the mode
of capture employed by the Singhalese, and so late as 1750 WOLF relates
that the native chiefs of the Wanny, when capturing elephants for the
Dutch, made "pits some fathoms deep in those places whither the elephant
is wont to go in search of food, across which were laid poles covered
with branches and baited with the food of which he is fondest, making
towards which he finds himself taken unawares. Thereafter being subdued
by fright and exhaustion, he was assisted to raise himself to the
surface by means of hurdles and earth, which he placed underfoot as they
were thrown down to him, till he was enabled to step out on solid
ground, when the noosers and decoys were in readiness to tie him up to
the nearest tree."--See WOLF'S _Life and Adventures_, p. 152. Shakspeare
appears to have been acquainted with the plan of taking elephants in
pitfalls: Decius, encouraging the conspirators, reminds them of Cæsar's
taste for anecdotes of animals, by which he would undertake to lure him
to his fate:
"For he loves to hear
That unicorns may be betrayed with trees.
And bears with glasses; _elephants with holes_."
JULIUS CÆSAR, Act ii. Scene I.]
Knox describes with circumstantiality the mode adopted, two centuries
ago, by the servants of the King of Kandy to catch elephants for the
royal stud. He says, "After discovering the retreat of such as have
tusks, unto these they drive some _she elephants_, which they bring with
them for the purpose, which, when once the males have got a sight of,
they will never leave, but follow them wheresoever they go; and the
females are so used to it that they will do whatsoever, either by word
or a beck, their keepers bid them. And so they delude them along through
towns and countries, and through the streets of the city, even to the
very gates of the king's palace, where sometimes they seize upon them by
snares, and sometimes by driving them into a kind of pound, they catch
them."[1]
[Footnote 1: KNOX'S _Historical Relation of Ceylon_, A.D. 1681, part i.
ch. vi. p. 21.]
In Nepaul and Burmah, and throughout the Chin-Indian Peninsula, when in
pursuit of single elephants, either _rogues_ detached from the herd, or
individuals who have been marked for the beauty of their ivory, the
natives avail themselves of the aid of females in order to effect their
approaches and secure an opportunity of casting a noose over the foot of
the destined captive. All accounts concur in expressing high admiration
of their courage and address; but from what has fallen under my own
observation, added to the descriptions I have heard from other
eye-witnesses, I am inclined to believe that in such exploits the
Moormen of Ceylon evince a daring and adroitness, surpassing all others.
These professional elephant catchers, or, as they are called, Panickeas,
inhabit the Moorish villages in the north and north-east of the island,
and from time immemorial have been engaged in taking elephants, which
are afterwards trained by Arabs, chiefly for the use of the rajahs and
native princes in the south of India, whose vakeels are periodically
despatched to make purchases in Ceylon.
The ability evinced by these men in tracing elephants through the woods
has almost the certainty of instinct; and hence their services are
eagerly sought by the European sportsmen who go down into their country
in search of game. So keen is their glance, that like hounds running
"breast high" they will follow the course of an elephant, almost at the
top of their speed, over glades covered with stunted grass, where the
eye of a stranger would fail to discover a trace of its passage, and on
through forests strewn with dry leaves, where it seems impossible to
perceive a footstep. Here they are guided by a bent or broken twig, or
by a leaf dropped from the animal's mouth, on which the pressure of a
tooth may be detected. If at fault, they fetch a circuit like a setter,
till lighting on some fresh marks, they go a-head again with renewed
vigour. So delicate is the sense of smell in the elephant, and so
indispensable is it to go against the wind in approaching him, that on
those occasions when the wind is so still that its direction cannot be
otherwise discerned, the Panickeas will suspend the film of a gossamer
to determine it and shape their course accordingly.
They are enabled by the inspection of the footmarks, when impressed in
soft clay, to describe the size as well as the number of a herd before
it is seen; the height of an elephant at the shoulder being as nearly as
possible twice the circumference of his fore foot.[1]
On overtaking the game their courage is as conspicuous as their
sagacity. If they have confidence in the sportsman for whom they are
finding, they will advance to the very heel of the elephant, slap him on
the quarter, and convert his timidity into anger, till he turns upon his
tormentor and exposes his front to receive the bullet which is awaiting
him.[2]
[Footnote 1: Previous to the death of the female elephant in the
Zoological Gardens, in the Regent's Park, in 1851, Mr. MITCHELL, the
Secretary, caused measurements to be accurately made, and found the
statement of the Singhalese hunters to be strictly correct, the height
at the shoulders being precisely twice the circumference of the fore
foot.]
[Footnote 2: Major SKINNER, the Chief Officer at the head of the
Commission of Roads, in Ceylon, in writing to me, mentions an anecdote
illustrative of the daring of the Panickeas. "I once saw," he says, "a
very beautiful example of the confidence with which these fellows, from
their knowledge of the elephants, meet their worst defiance. It was in
Neuera-Kalawa; I was bivouacking on the bank of a river, and had been
kept out so late that I did not get to my tent until between 9 and 10 at
night. On our return towards it we passed several single elephants
making their way to the nearest water, but at length we came upon a
large herd that had taken possession of the only road by which we could
pass, and which no intimidation would induce to move off. I had some
Panickeas with me; they knew the herd, and counselled extreme caution.
After trying every device we could think of for a length of time, a
little old Moorman of the party came to me and requested we should all
retire to a distance. He then took a couple of chules (flambeaux of
dried wood, or coco-nut leaves), one in each hand, and waving them above
his head till they flamed out fiercely, he advanced at a deliberate pace
to within a few yards of the elephant who was acting as leader of the
party, and who was growling and trumpeting in his rage, and flourished
the flaming torches in his face. The effect was instantaneous: the whole
herd dashed away in a panic, bellowing, screaming, and crushing through
the underwood, whilst we availed ourselves of the open path to make our
way to our tents."]
So fearless and confident are they that two men, without aid or
attendants, will boldly attempt to capture the largest-sized elephant.
Their only weapon is a flexible rope made of elk's or buffalo's hide,
with which it is their object to secure one of the hind legs. This they
effect either by following in its footsteps when in motion or by
stealing close up to it when at rest, and availing themselves of its
well-known propensity at such moments to swing the feet backwards and
forwards, they contrive to slip a noose over the hind leg.