from very slight causes; "of the fall." he says, "at any time, though on
plain ground, they either die immediately, or languish till they die;
their great weight occasioning them so much hurt by the fall."--_Phil.
Trans._ A.D. 1701, vol. xxiii. p. 1052.]
The first employment to which an elephant is put is to tread clay in a
brick-field, or to draw a waggon in double harness with a tame
companion. But the work in which the display of sagacity renders his
labours of the highest value, is that which involves the use of heavy
materials; and hence in dragging and piling timber, or moving stones[1]
for the construction of retaining walls and the approaches to bridges,
his services in an unopened country are of the utmost importance. When
roads are to be constructed along the face of steep declivities, and the
space is so contracted that risk is incurred either of the working
elephant falling over the precipice or of rocks slipping down from
above, not only are the measures to which he resorts the most judicious
and reasonable that could be devised, but if urged by his keeper to
adopt any other, he manifests a reluctance sufficient to show that he
has balanced in his own mind the comparative advantages of each. An
elephant appears on all occasions to comprehend the purpose and object
that he is expected to promote, and hence he voluntarily executes a
variety of details without any guidance whatever from his keeper. This
is one characteristic in which this animal manifests a superiority over
the horse; although his strength in proportion to his weight is not so
great as that of the latter.
[Footnote 1: A correspondent informs me that on the Malabar coast of
India, the elephant, when employed in dragging stones, moves them by
means of a rope, which he either draws with his forehead, or manages by
seizing it in his teeth.]
His minute motions when engrossed by such operations, the activity of
his eye, and the earnestness of his attitudes, can only be comprehended
by being seen. In moving timber and masses of rock his trunk is the
instrument on which he mainly relies, but those which have tusks turn
them to good account. To get a weighty stone out of a hollow an elephant
will kneel down so as to apply the pressure of his head to move it
upwards, then steadying it with one foot till he can raise himself, he
will apply a fold of his trunk to shift it to its place, and fit it
accurately in position: this done, he will step round to view it on
either side, and adjust it with due precision. He appears to gauge his
task by his eye, and to form a judgment whether the weight be
proportionate to his strength. If doubtful of his own power, he
hesitates and halts, and if urged against his will, he roars and shows
temper.
In clearing an opening through forest land, the power of the African
elephant, and the strength ascribed to him by a recent traveller, as
displayed in uprooting trees, have never been equalled or approached by
anything I have seen of the elephant in Ceylon[1] or heard of them in
India.
[Footnote 1: "Here the trees were large and handsome, but not strong
enough to resist the inconceivable strength of the mighty monarch of
these forests; almost every tree had half its branches broken short by
them and at every hundred yards I came upon entire trees, and these,
_the largest in the forest_, uprooted clean out of the ground, and
_broken short across their stems_."--_A Hunter's Life in South Africa_.
By R. GORDON CUMMING, vol. ii. p. 305.--
"Spreading out from one another, they smash and destroy all the finest
trees in the forest which happen to be in their course.... I have rode
through forests where the trees thus broken lay so thick across one
another, that it was almost impossible to ride through the
district."--_Ibid_., p. 310.
Mr. Gordon Cumming does not name the trees which he saw thus "uprooted"
and "broken across," nor has he given any idea of their size and weight;
but Major DENHAM, who observed like traces of the elephant in Africa,
saw only small trees overthrown by them; and Mr. PRINGLE, who had an
opportunity of observing similar practices of the animals in the neutral
territory of the Eastern frontier of the Cape of Good Hope, describes
their ravages as being confined to the mimosas, "immense numbers of
which had been torn out of the ground, and placed in an inverted
position, in order to enable the animals to browse at their ease on the
soft and juicy roots, which form a favourite part of their food. Many of
the _larger mimosas had resisted all their efforts; and indeed, it is
only after heavy rain, when the soil is soft and loose, that they ever
successfully attempt this operation._"--Pringle's _Sketches of South
Africa._]
Of course much must depend on the nature of the timber and the moisture
of the soil; thus a strong tree on the verge of a swamp may be
overthrown with greater ease than a small and low one in parched and
solid ground. I have seen no "tree" deserving the name, nothing but
jungle and brushwood, thrown down by the mere movement of an elephant
without some special exertion of force. But he is by no means fond of
gratuitously tasking his strength; and food being so abundant that he
obtains it without an effort, it is not altogether apparent, even were
he able to do so, why he should assail "the largest trees in the
forest," and encumber his own haunts with their broken stems; especially
as there is scarcely anything which an elephant dislikes more than
venturing amongst fallen timber.
A tree of twelve inches in diameter resisted successfully the most
strenuous struggles of the largest elephant I ever saw led to it; and
when directed by their keepers to clear away jungle, the removal of even
a small tree, or a healthy young coco-nut palm, is a matter both of time
and exertion. Hence the services of an elephant are of much less value
in clearing a forest than in dragging and piling felled timber. But in
the latter occupation he manifests an intelligence and dexterity which
is surprising to a stranger, because the sameness of the operation
enables the animal to go on for hours disposing of log after log, almost
without a hint or direction from his attendant. For example, two
elephants employed in piling ebony and satinwood in the yards attached
to the commissariat stores at Colombo, were so accustomed to their work,
that they were able to accomplish it with equal precision and with
greater rapidity than if it had been done by dock-labourers. When the
pile attained a certain height, and they were no longer able by their
conjoint efforts to raise one of the heavy logs of ebony to the summit,
they had been taught to lean two pieces against the heap, up the
inclined plane of which they gently rolled the remaining logs, and
placed them trimly on the top.
It has been asserted that in their occupations "elephants are to a
surprising extent the creatures of habit,"[1] that their movements are
altogether mechanical, and that "they are annoyed by any deviation from
their accustomed practice, and resent any constrained departure from the
regularity of their course." So far as my own observation goes, this is
incorrect; and I am assured by officers of experience, that in regard to
changing his treatment, his hours, or his occupation, an elephant
evinces no more consideration than a horse, but exhibits the same
pliancy and facility.
[Footnote 1: _Menageries_, &c., "The Elephant," vol. ii. p. 23.]
At one point, however, the utility of the elephant stops short. Such is
the intelligence and earnestness he displays in work, which he seems to
conduct almost without supervision, that it has been assumed[1] that he
would continue his labour, and accomplish his given task, as well in the
absence of his keeper as during his presence. But here his innate love
of ease displays itself, and if the eye of his attendant be withdrawn,
the moment he has finished the thing immediately in hand, he will stroll
away lazily, to browse or enjoy the luxury of fanning himself and
blowing dust over his back.
[Footnote 1: _Ibid._, ch. vi. p. 138.]
The means of punishing so powerful an animal is a question of difficulty
to his attendants. Force being almost inapplicable, they try to work on
his passions and feelings, by such expedients as altering the nature of
his food or withholding it altogether for a time. Ou such occasions the
demeanour of the creature will sometimes evince a sense of humiliation
as well as of discontent. In some parts of India it is customary, in
dealing with offenders, to stop their allowance of sugar canes or of
jaggery; or to restrain them from eating their own share of fodder and
leaves till their companions shall have finished; and in such cases the
consciousness of degradation betrayed by the looks and attitudes of the
culprit is quite sufficient to identify him, and to excite a feeling of
sympathy and pity.
The elephant's obedience to his keeper is the result of affection, as
well as of fear; and although his attachment becomes so strong that an
elephant in Ceylon has been known to remain out all night, without food,
rather than abandon his mahout, lying intoxicated in the jungle, yet he
manifests little difficulty in yielding the same submission to a new
driver in the event of a change of attendants. This is opposed to the
popular belief that "the elephant cherishes such an enduring remembrance
of his old mahout, that he cannot easily be brought to obey a
stranger."[1] In the extensive establishments of the Ceylon Government,
the keepers are changed without hesitation, and the animals, when
equally kindly treated, are usually found to be as tractable and
obedient to their new driver as to the old, in fact so soon as they have
become familiarised with his voice. This is not, however, invariably the
case; and Mr. CRIPPS, who had remarkable opportunities for observing the
habits of the elephant in Ceylon, mentioned to me an instance in which
one of a singularly stubborn disposition occasioned some inconvenience
after the death of its keeper, by refusing to obey any other, till its
attendants bethought them of a child about twelve years old, in a
distant village, where the animal had been formerly picketed, and to
whom it had displayed much attachment. The child was sent for: and on
its arrival the elephant, as anticipated, manifested extreme
satisfaction, and was managed with ease, till by degrees it became
reconciled to the presence of a new superintendent.
[Footnote 1: _Menageries, &c._, "The Elephant," vol. i. p. 19.]
It has been said that the mahouts die young, owing to some supposed
injury to the spinal column from the peculiar motion of the elephant;
but this remark does not apply to those in Ceylon, who are healthy, and
as long lived as other men. If the motion of the elephant be thus
injurious, that of the camel must be still more so; yet we never hear of
early death ascribed to this cause by the Arabs.
The voice of the keeper, with a very limited vocabulary of articulate
sounds, serves almost alone to guide the elephant in his domestic
occupations.[1] Sir EVERARD HOME, from an examination of the muscular
fibres in the drum of an elephant's ear, came to the conclusion, that
notwithstanding the distinctness and power of his perception of sounds
at a greater distance than other animals, he was insensible to their
harmonious modulation and destitute of a musical ear.[2] But Professor
HARRISON, in a paper read before the Royal Irish Academy in 1847, has
stated that on a careful examination of the head of an elephant which he
had dissected, he could "see no evidence of the muscular structure of
the _membrana tympani_ so accurately described by Sir E. HOME." Sir
EVERARD'S deduction, I may observe, is clearly inconsistent with the
fact that the power of two elephants may be combined by singing to them
a measured chant, somewhat resembling a sailor's capstan song; and in
labour of a particular kind, such as hauling a stone with ropes, they
will thus move conjointly a weight to which their divided strength would
be unequal.[3]
[Footnote 1: The principal sound by which the mahouts in Ceylon direct
the motions of the elephants is a repetition, with various modulations,
of the words _ur-re! ur-re!_ This is one of those interjections in which
the sound is so expressive of the sense that persons in charge of
animals of almost every description throughout the world appear to have
adopted it with a concurrence that is very curious. The drivers of
camels in Turkey, Palestine, and Egypt encourage them to speed by
shouting _ar-ré! ar-ré!_ The Arabs in Algeria cry _eirich!_ to their
mules. The Moors seem to have carried the custom with them into Spain,
where mules are still driven with cries of _arré_ (whence the muleteers
derive their Spanish appellation of "arrieros"). In France the Sportsman
excites the hound by shouts of _hare! hare!_ and the waggoner there
turns his horses by his voice, and the use of the word _hurhaut!_ In the
North, "_Hurs_ was a word used by the old Germans in urging their horses
to speed;" and to the present day, the herdsmen in Ireland, and parts of
Scotland, drive their pigs with shouts of _hurrish!_ a sound closely
resembling that used by the mahouts in Ceylon.]
[Footnote 2: _On the Difference between the Human Membrana Tympani and
that of the Elephant_. By Sir EVERARD HOME, Bart., Philos. Trans., 1823.
Paper by Prof. HARRISON. Proc. Royal Irish Academy, vol. iii. p. 386.]
[Footnote 3: I have already noticed the striking effect produced on the
captive elephants in the corral, by the harmonious notes of an ivory
flute; and on looking to the graphic description which is given by ÆLIAN
of the exploits which he witnessed as performed by the elephants
exhibited at Rome, it is remarkable how very large a share of their
training appears to have been ascribed to the employment of music.
PHILE, in the account which he has given of the elephant's fondness for
music, would almost seem to have versified the prose narrative of ÆLIAN,
as he describes its excitement at the more animated portions, its step
being regulated to the time and movements of the harmony: the whole
"_surprising in a creature whose limbs are without joints!_
[Greek:
"Kainon ti poiôn ex anarthrôn organôn."]
PHILE, _Expos. de Eleph_, 1. 216.
For an account of the training and performances of the elephants at
Rome, as narrated by ÆLIAN see the appendix to this chapter.]
Nothing can more strongly exhibit the impulse to obedience in the
elephant, than the patience with which, at the order of his keeper, he
swallows the nauseous medicines of the native elephant-doctors; and it
is impossible to witness the fortitude with which (without shrinking) he
submits to excruciating surgical operations for the removal of tumours
and ulcers to which he is subject, without conceiving a vivid impression
of his gentleness and intelligence. Dr. DAVY when in Ceylon was
consulted about an elephant in the government Stud, which was suffering
from a deep, burrowing sore in the back, just over the back-bone, which
had long resisted the treatment ordinarily employed. He recommended the
use of the knife, that issue might be given to the accumulated matter,
but no one of the attendants was competent to undertake the operation.
"Being assured," he continues, "that the creature would behave well, I
undertook it myself. The elephant was not bound, but was made to kneel
down at his keeper's command--and with an amputating knife, using all my
force, I made the incision required through the tough integuments. The
elephant did not flinch, but rather inclined towards me when using the
knife; and merely uttered a low, and as it were suppressed, groan. In
short, he behaved as like a human being as possible, as if conscious (as
I believe he was), that the operation was for his good, and the pain
unavoidable."[1]
[Footnote 1: The _Angler in the Lake District_, p. 23.]
Obedience to the orders of his keepers is not, however, to be assumed as
the result of a uniform perception of the object to be attained by
compliance; and we cannot but remember the touching incident which took
place during the slaughter of the elephant at Exeter Change in 1846,
when, after receiving ineffectually upwards of 120 balls in various
parts of his body, he turned his face to his assailants on hearing the
voice of his keeper, and knelt down at the accustomed word of command,
so as to bring his forehead within view of the rifles.[1]
[Footnote 1: A shocking account of the death of this poor animal is
given in HONE'S _Every-Day Book_, March, 1830, p. 337.]
The working elephant is always a delicate animal, and requires
watchfulness and care. As a beast of burden he is unsatisfactory; for
although in point of mere strength there is scarcely any weight which
could be conveniently placed on him that he could not carry, it is
difficult to pack his load without causing abrasions that afterwards
ulcerate. His skin is easily chafed by harness, especially in wet
weather. During either long droughts or too much moisture, his feet
become liable to sores, that render him non-effective for months. Many
attempts have been made to provide him with some protection for the sole
of the foot, but from his extreme weight and peculiar mode of planting
the foot, they have all been unsuccessful. His eyes are also liable to
frequent inflammations, and the skill of the native elephant-doctors,
which has been renowned since the time of Ælian, is nowhere more
strikingly displayed than in the successful treatment of such
attacks.[1] In Ceylon, the murrain among cattle is of frequent
occurrence, and carries off great numbers of animals, wild as well as
tame. In such visitations the elephants suffer severely, not only those
at liberty in the forest, but those carefully tended in the government
stables. Out of a stud of about 40 attached to the department of the
Commission of Roads, the deaths between 1841 and 1849 were on an average
_four_ in each year, and this was nearly doubled in those years when
murrain prevailed.
[Footnote 1: ÆLIAN, lib. xiii. c. 7.]
Of 240 elephants, employed in the public departments of the Ceylon
Government, which died in twenty-five years, from 1831 to 1856, the
length of time that each lived in captivity has only been recorded in
the instances of 138. Of these there died:--
Duration of Captivity. No. Male. Female
Under 1 year 72 29 43
From 1 to 2 years 14 5 9
" 2 " 3 " 8 5 3
" 3 " 4 " 8 3 5
" 4 " 5 " 3 2 1
" 5 " 6 " 2 2 .
" 6 " 7 " 3 1 2
" 7 " 8 " 5 2 3
" 8 " 9 " 5 5 .
" 9 " 10 " 2 2 .
" 10 " 11 " 2 2 .
" 11 " 12 " 3 1 2
" 12 " 13 " 3 . 3
" 13 " 14 " . . .
" 14 " 15 " 3 1 2
" 15 " 16 " 1 1 .
" 16 " 17 " 1 . 1
" 17 " 18 " . . .
" 18 " 19 " 2 1 1
" 19 " 20 " 1 . 1
Total 138 62 76
Of the 72 who died in one year's servitude, 35 expired within the first
six months of their captivity. During training, many elephants die in
the unaccountable manner already referred to, of what the natives
designate _a broken heart_.
On being first subjected to work, the elephant is liable to severe and
often fatal swellings of the jaws and abdomen.[1]
[Footnote 1: The elephant which was dissected by DR. HARRISON of Dublin,
in 1847, died of a febrile attack, after four or five days' illness,
which, as Dr. H. tells me in a private letter, was "very like
scarlatina, at that time a prevailing disease; its skin in some places
became almost scarlet."]
From these causes there died, between 1841 and 1849 9
Of cattle murrain 10
Sore feet 1
Colds and inflammation 6
Diarrhoea 1
Worms 1
Of diseased liver 1
Injuries from a fall 1
General debility 1
Unknown causes 3
Of the entire, twenty-three were females and eleven males.
The ages of those that died could not be accurately stated, owing to the
circumstance of their having been captured in corral. Two only were
tuskers. Towards keeping the stud in health, nothing has been found so
conducive as regularly bathing the elephants, and giving them the
opportunity to stand with their feet in water, or in moistened earth.
Elephants are said to be afflicted with tooth-ache; their tushes have
likewise been found with symptoms of internal perforation by some
parasite, and the natives assert that, in their agony, the animals have
been known to break them off short.[1] I have never heard of the teeth
themselves being so affected, and it is just possible that the operation
of shedding the subsequent decay of the milk-tushes, may have in some
instances been accompanied by incidents that gave rise to this story.
[Footnote 1: See a paper entitled "_Recollections of Ceylon_," in
_Fraser's Magazine_ for December, 1860.]
At the same time the probabilities are in favour of its being true.
CUVIER committed himself to the statement that the tusks of the elephant
have no attachments to connect them with the pulp lodged in the cavity
at their base, from which the peculiar modification of dentine, known as
"ivory," is secreted[1]; and hence, by inference, that they would be
devoid of sensation.
[Footnote 1: _Annales du Muséum_ F. viii. 1805. p. 94, and _Ossemens
Fossiles_, quoted by OWEN, in the article on "Teeth," in TODD'S _Cyclop.
of Anatomy, &c_., vol. iv. p. 929.]
But independently of the fact that ivory in permeated by tubes so fine
that at their origin from the pulpy cavity they do not exceed 1/15000th
part of an inch in diameter, OWEN had the tusk and pulp of the great
elephant which died at the Zoological Gardens in London in 1847
longitudinally divided, and found that, "although the pulp could be
easily detached from the inner surface of the cavity, it was not without
a certain resistance; and when the edges of the co-adapted pulp and tusk
were examined by a strong lens, the filamentary processes from the outer
surface of the former could be seen stretching, as they were drawn from
the dentinal tubes, before they broke. These filaments are so minute, he
adds, that to the naked eye the detached surface of the pulp seems to be
entire; and hence CUVIER was deceived into supposing that there was no
organic connexion between the pulp and the ivory. But if, as there seems
no reason to doubt, these delicate nervous processes traverse the tusk
by means of the numerous tubes already described, if attacked by caries
the pain occasioned to the elephant would be excruciating.
As to maintaining a stud of elephants for the purposes to which they are
now assigned in Ceylon, there may be a question on the score of prudence
and economy. In the rude and unopened parts of the country, where rivers
are to be forded, and forests are only traversed by jungle paths, their
labour is of value, in certain contingencies, in the conveyance of
stores, and in the earlier operations for the construction of fords and
rough bridges of timber. But in more highly civilised districts, and
wherever macadamised roads admit of the employment of horses and oxen
for draught, I apprehend that the services of elephants might, with
advantage, be gradually reduced, if not altogether dispensed with.
The love of the elephant for coolness and shade renders him at all times
more or less impatient of work in the sun, and every moment of leisure
he can snatch is employed in covering his back with dust, or fanning
himself to diminish the annoyance of the insects and heat. From the
tenderness of his skin and its liability to sores, the labour in which
he can most advantageously be employed is that of draught; but the
reluctance of horses to meet or pass elephants renders it difficult to
work the latter with safety on frequented roads. Besides, were the full
load which an elephant is capable of drawing, in proportion to his
muscular strength, to be placed upon waggons of corresponding dimension,
the to the roads would be such that the wear and tear of the highways
and bridges would prove too costly to be borne. On the other hand, by
restricting it to a somewhat more manageable quantity, and by limiting
the weight, as at present, to about _one ton and a half_, it is doubtful
whether an elephant performs so much more work than could be done by a
horse or by bullocks, as to compensate for the greater cost of his
feeding and attendance.