WITH THE ELEPHANTS
“Jumbo was the biggest elephant ever in this country, and few are in
the secret that the tremendous success of the animal’s tour was an
accident of fortune,” observed our elephant man. “He was an African
animal and very stupid, but always good-natured. An agent of the big
American circus heard that he was the tallest pachyderm in captivity
and that London was anxious to sell him. The man closed the sale for
two thousand pounds with no conception of the money-making prize he
was securing. The beast had been a pet with the children in the London
Zoological Gardens, but the announcement of his purchase by Americans
was received with no especial expressions of regret. It required two
weeks to build a van-like cage for the journey by sea, and then keepers
went to the zoo to lead Jumbo to the ship. He strode along all right
until the gate of the garden closed behind them and then lay down
in the street. It was a pure case of elephantine obstinacy and the
animal wouldn’t budge. There he measured his length in the dust for
twenty-four hours despite all urging and entreaty, to the despair of
his custodians, who little realized the wonderful effect the incident
would have on the owner’s pocketbook.
“The English newspapers soon heard of the occurrence and promptly
seized upon it for an effective ‘story.’ ‘Dear old Jumbo,’ they said,
‘refused to leave the scene of his happy days with the children; his
exhibition of protest was one of remarkable sagacity; they hoped he
would continue to defy the Yankee showmen and remain in London; he was
the pet and friend of the little ones and ought never to have been
disposed of, any way.’ The elephant when in repose or resistance rests
on his knees, and one of the newspaper sagely remarked that Jumbo
was in an attitude of prayer. The Humane Society was appealed to and
someone made a sympathetic hit by telling how lonesome and melancholy
was Alice, the abandoned ‘wife.’ The pathos of the thing was very
affecting, on the surface, but a phenomenal advertisement.
“The animal finally got on his feet and marched to the boat. Weeping
women and children lined the way. The circus owners were then alive
to the possibilities and, concealing their identity, got out an
injunction, ‘in the interests of the London public,’ attempting to
restrain the brute’s departure. Of course, it was dissolved, but it
kept feeling at high pitch up to the time of sailing. I remember the
Baroness Burdett-Coutts and a party of distinguished companions
visited the steamer to say good-bye and left a big box of buns, of
which Jumbo was very fond, for his use during the voyage.
[Illustration: ELEPHANT HERD “AT ATTENTION.”]
“The story of the brute’s reluctance to leave his young friends in
England was judiciously spread broadcast here and he became the feature
of the circus, whereas otherwise he would probably have attracted
only passing attention. It was his own fortuitous conduct and not
the superior skill of the showman that made his circus career so
profitable. Jumbo was killed by a train at St. Thomas, Ontario, in
July, 1885. A dwarf elephant with him escaped injury, and the show made
some capital by asserting that the big elephant sacrificed his own life
in shielding his small companion. As a matter of fact, he was seized
with another fit of unyielding stubbornness and wouldn’t step down an
embankment out of an express’s path. He was never south of Louisville
or west of Omaha. Matthew Scott was his keeper. He shared not only his
bed, but his bread and tobacco with his charge. After the brute’s death
he followed the circus wherever it went, and during the winter visited
almost daily the preserved skin and bones of his late companion.
“There was, of course, a Jumbo II., but he was nowhere near the size
of the original beast. Harnessed with electrodes and other apparatus
he stood in the middle of the Stadium at the Exposition Grounds at
Buffalo, N. Y., on November 9, 1901, and gave the world a practical
demonstration that an elephant can take twenty-two hundred volts of
electricity with apparent unconcern. If the electric current reached
his nerves he manifested no sign of it. Electric wires had been run
from the Exposition power house to what was to be Jumbo II.’s death
platform, and when the signal was given, twenty-two hundred volts were
turned on. It merely tickled the beast. Jumbo II. was unharnessed
and taken back to his home in the Midway. Explanations made by the
electricians were that the elephant’s hide had the resistance of rubber
and formed a non-conductor impervious to electricity. Others said the
voltage was not sufficient. He had developed man-killing qualities, but
is still alive.
“When Jumbo was brought into this country, Adam Forepaugh made great
claims for his elephant Bolivar. He insisted in large type and in many
newspapers and on the billboards of his route that Bolivar was bigger
than the elephant from London. W. W. Cole, then conducting a show of
his own, claimed, too, that his animal, Samson, was no smaller than
Jumbo. Bolivar attracted great attention through the country while with
Mr. Forepaugh. Finally he became so vicious that he was given away to
the city of Philadelphia, where he could be more closely watched. I
remember the story of the narrow escape of two lumbermen in Michigan.
They came to the show very drunk and wanting to fight. They threatened
Mr. Forepaugh, who stood at the door, but he said he wasn’t a fighting
man and sent them on into the menagerie tent. They were stalwart
fellows, with muscles hardened by rough out-door work, but I doubt not
the owner of the circus could have bested either one in a pugilistic
encounter. Mr. Forepaugh was a man of tremendous strength and, when
aroused, a match for the most skilful slugger. The boasting visitors
had not been under canvas five minutes before the sound of lamentations
penetrated to the door. Hurrying inside, Mr. Forepaugh found one of the
men, he who had been particularly bold and aggressive and threatening,
crying like a baby. Tears dropped from his eyes as he explained that
he had sought out Bolivar and challenged the huge beast to personal
combat. The elephant appeared to have relished the joke keenly, for he
had swung his powerful trunk at the man and deftly plucked his soft
felt hat from its uncombed resting place. The beast’s eyes had twinkled
merrily, it was averred, as he conveyed the headpiece to his capacious
mouth and swallowed it at a gulp. The terrorized victim, his swagger
changed to cringing fright, was too overcome to even ask for the price
of a new hat as he fled toward home. Mr. Forepaugh laughed gleefully.
Bolivar’s digestive powers were equal to the demands of the morsel.
“Bolivar had a long and eventful history. Probably his most thrilling
experience was a terrific fight with an untamed Nubian lion named
Prince at circus winter quarters in Philadelphia, in December, 1885.
The lion escaped from his cage, chased a keeper out of the building
and proceeded to the elephant quarters. Bolivar stood nodding where he
was chained to a stake near the door. Prince hesitated for a moment
and then lay back on his haunches. He crept slowly forward until he
was within reach of the elephant. Then he raised his paw and struck
at the supine trunk. The tough skin was somewhat torn and Bolivar
became instantly fully awake, and raising his trunk made a blow at the
lion. The latter escaped by jumping backward, then crouched again and
prepared to spring. Quick as a lightning flash was the movement which
landed him on the elephant’s head. But he had to deal with a power
greater than his own, over which his only advantage was his agility.
Bolivar easily shook him off and tossed him some distance. The contest
was then quickly decided. The lion prepared for another spring. With
ears flattened against his head and eyes gleaming like balls of fire
he crept forward stealthily, cautiously measuring the distance. With
a suppressed growl the lithe, tawny form shot through the air. The
elephant’s trunk was then turned over his back and his little black
eyes were snapping viciously. With a motion so quick as to be almost
imperceptible, the proboscis was lowered and elevated twice and then
descended with terrific force, striking the lion as he was in mid-air.
The beast of prey fell stunned, and before he could recover the
elephant dealt him a terrific blow in the side, and reaching forward
the full length of his chain he drew his antagonist toward him. Then
lifting his free foot he leaned his entire weight on the fallen foe.
The effect was to crush the ribs of the conquered monarch of the
forest. In this manner he trampled all over the lion until life was
gone. Then he raised it with his trunk, and tossed it contemptuously
to the other end of the room. Bolivar sustained no serious injury in
the affray. There would have been general relief among the employees if
the lion had killed him, for all were in fear of their lives near the
monster.
“The white elephant campaign in the ’80s was about the fiercest bit of
circus rivalry I was ever mixed up in,” he continued. “The Barnum show
was the first to get one of the brutes. Their agent bought him from
King Theebaw, the erratic sovereign of Burmah. The elephant was not
white, but a leprous-looking shade of flesh color. It was really the
first time one of these Albinos had ever been brought out of Asia. All
that the king had done in the extravagant execution of his autocratic
power was as nothing compared to the sale of the white elephant, and
his subjects were furious. You see, the white elephant is a sacred
emblem. It is addressed as the ‘Lord of Lords.’ Priests prostrate
themselves as it passes by and all the honors of worship are paid to
it. A noble of high rank has to be its chamberlain. Its retinue is
fit for a prince of the blood royal. Sickness in the sacred animal is
ominous of coming evil. Its demeanor and gestures afford auguries,
auspicious or sinister. For three years the Barnum white elephant made
a lot of money for the show. Crowds flocked to see it, serene and
placid and gently fanning itself with its wide ears, under a large
Japanese parasol, native keepers meanwhile playing their queer musical
instruments. It was burned to death in 1887.
“The history of the Forepaugh white elephant is more picturesque and
eventful than that of the rival circus. The boss was taken all by
surprise when the other show sprang the natural curiosity, but he
was quick to act. Before the Barnum animal had reached this country
from London, a dispatch in the newspapers from Algiers announced the
purchase there by Forepaugh of a white elephant for ten thousand
pounds. Its entry into America must needs have been accomplished with
great secrecy and haste, for the beast was on exhibition in less
than a month after the story of the sale. Then the competition for
white elephant supremacy began, and it continued bitterly during the
existence of the two animals. We made all sorts of charges of deceit
and trickery against the Barnum elephant, and that show advertised us
all over the land as cheats and impostors and swindlers. Our elephant
was almost pure white. He had a car all to himself and on the way
to and from the lot was swathed in cotton cloth. Only his eyes were
visible and public curiosity was heightened considerably when was
observed the pains we exerted to prevent a free view of the curiosity’s
hide. In the menagerie tent we had a performance of religious rites
before the animal by reputed Burmese priests, clad in shimmering robes
of yellow, red and white silk. Some observing visitor once remarked
unkindly that the religious act terminated suddenly when the menagerie
tent was empty and was resumed with wonderful alacrity when spectators
approached. It is true that the elephant was a more snowy white on
Monday than at any other time of the week, although sometimes the skin
had been spotted and stained on Saturday. To prove that it was no
artificial color, Forepaugh used sometimes to send the brute into the
water. He was rubbed and scoured without affecting his shade. The boss
was sure that there could be no charge of disguise or pretence after
that, although suspicious onlookers sometimes said something about
waterproof paint. Any way, we got an international authority on zoology
in Philadelphia to endorse the white elephant. His sponsorship made the
Barnum people furious and their circus followed us west, denouncing
us everywhere. We made them madder still by buying a white monkey and
making it the elephant’s companion.
“In Chicago we came across an embassy from Siam which was touring this
country. Forepaugh had the audacity to invite the heir-apparent to
the Siamese throne, who was one of the party, to visit the show and
inspect the white elephant. The royal person came, accompanied by other
dignitaries, looked the beast over and muttered to the interpreter
something which was apparently not complimentary. The press agent saw
to it, however, that the newspapers said that the prince had declared
the animal the genuine article.
“Our white elephant died from pneumonia, the newspapers told, at the
winter quarters in Philadelphia. There were no details of the burial.
White elephants are delicate in constitution, any way. Certain persons
who thought themselves wise said that the ‘dying’ experience was a
cessation of ‘dyeing,’ but they were inspired by the Barnum show. The
following season a dark, natural beast, in form much resembling the
white elephant appeared as ‘John L. Sullivan,’ the boxing elephant.
He wore a glove on the end of his trunk and swung gently at ‘Eph’
Thompson, a colored trainer. His career as a pugilist continued for
five years, when he became so big and strong that no human being could
withstand his blows. He is now one of the Forepaugh herd which perform
a famous dancing act.
“As a matter of fact, I know that R. F. Hamilton, the accomplished
director of the Barnum & Bailey press department, has in his possession
affidavits from the Forepaugh employees whose duty it was to see that
the white elephant never faded, in which they confess their perfidy. A
brush and snowy liquid were the only requirements.”
Our circus carries a herd of twenty-five elephants and most of them
are trained in all sorts of difficult elephant performances, a task
requiring patience and perseverance, and a close and continuous study
of the nature of each individual animal. Of all beasts, the elephant is
probably the most sagacious. He never forgets. Trainers aver that after
a lapse of half a century the elephant will conduct his performance as
perfectly as if but twenty-four hours had gone by. Their value to a
circus rests not merely upon the attraction of their ring exhibition.
Their great strength makes them useful when heavy wagons defy the
straining efforts of horses, and they are frequently called into other
service which requires unusual power. The application of the broad head
gives motion to the most obstinately stationary vehicle, and often
extricates the show from annoying plight and delay.
There are two distinct species of elephants. The Asiatic differs from
the African, not only in its greater size and in the characteristics
of the teeth and skull, but also in the comparative small form of the
ears, the pale-brown color of skin and in having four nails on the hind
feet instead of three. The intelligence of the former class is greater,
too, than that of the African brute, whose head is much shorter, the
forehead convex and the ears of great breadth and magnitude, covering
nearly a sixth of the entire body.
The average term of an elephant’s life is probably about eighty years,
and he is not in possession of full vigor and strength until more than
thirty years old. An approximate idea of the age can be gained by the
amount of turn-over of the upper edge of the ear. The edge is quite
straight until the animal is eight or nine years old; then it begins to
turn over. By the time the beast is thirty the edges lap over to the
extent of an inch; and between this age and sixty the droop increases
to two inches or more. Extravagant ideas are held as to the height
of an elephant. Such a thing as an elephant measuring twelve feet at
the shoulder does not exist in India or Burmah. An authority on the
subject says the largest male he ever met with measured nine feet ten
inches, and the tallest female eight feet five inches. The majority of
elephants, however, are below eight feet, and an animal rarely reaches
nine feet, the female being slightly shorter than the male. The carcass
of an elephant seven feet four inches tall, weighed in portions, gave
a total weight of thirty-nine hundred pounds; so an elephant weighing
two tons should be common enough. The skin was about three-quarters of
an inch to one inch thick.
The training of elephants for exhibition purposes is accomplished by
a block and tackle and harness, so arranged as to force them into
required positions. They learn easily, as compared with the cat
family of animals. It is only by the most constant surveillance by
the keepers, however, that the elephant is kept in good humor and not
tempted to display the ferocity which is one of his natural attributes.
The first elephant ever born in captivity in this country saw the
light at the winter quarters of Mr. Bailey’s Show, at the corner of
Ridge avenue and Twenty-third street, Philadelphia, on March 10, 1880,
at twenty-five minutes to three o’clock in the morning. The event
attracted a great deal of attention among scientists and students of
natural history. From the time the circus went into winter quarters,
several of the most distinguished physicians of the city regularly
visited the prospective mother, and the diet and conduct of the animal
were studied with great care. Crowds of people flocked to see the
baby. Its birth disproved a great many theories which scientific men
had accepted as facts of zoology since the days of Pliny. The chief
of these were that the period of gestation is twenty months and
twenty days, and not from twenty-two to twenty-three months as had
been supposed, and that the young does not suckle the mother through
the trunk but through the mouth. The baby, whose mother, Hebe, was
oftener called “Baby,” weighed one hundred and twenty-six pounds, was
thirty inches high and measured thirty-five inches from the tip of the
trunk to the crupper. It was of a pale mauve color. The trainer of
Hebe explained to the scientists that the other animals in the herd
were aware of Hebe’s condition for months and exhibited their form
of elephantine courtesy to her. Upon one occasion, he asserted, Hebe
was about to fall from a broken pedestal in the ring when the other
elephants rushed to the rescue. With their huge bodies they formed a
cushion against which she fell, sliding gently to the ground. Whenever
Hebe called, the other elephants invariably rushed to her side, and the
man who tried to abuse her would have met instant death. So great was
the interest aroused in the baby elephant’s birth that Stuart Craven,
manager of the circus, received telegrams from all parts of the United
States suggesting names for her. One man offered to buy a robe for her
if given a name he suggested. A lady wanted the baby called after her.
The name Columbia was finally selected. After the birth of her infant,
Hebe tossed the little one around like a shuttlecock, and in her frenzy
twisted off a large beam with her trunk. It was found necessary to
secure her with chains.
[Illustration: ELEPHANTS “WORKING THEIR WAY.”]
The next baby elephant came to life at the winter quarters of Barnum’s
circus at Bridgeport, Conn., at eight o’clock on the night of
February 2, 1882. It was another female, and the mother was Queen, a
fifteen-year-old animal. The event was expected, and at six o’clock in
the evening indications of its coming were noticed. Queen was carefully
chained. After fifteen minutes of laboring the baby was born. Mr.
Barnum and others who were summoned did not arrive in time. The baby
weighed forty-five pounds, or eighty-one less than Columbia. It was two
feet six inches high and three feet long, exclusive of the trunk which
was seven inches. It was perfect in form and quite strong. Its color
was bluish, and it was covered with shaggy black hair an inch long.
An hour after its birth it was sucking. Mr. Barnum offered fifty-two
thousand dollars for an insurance on the life of the baby for fifty-two
weeks. He was jubilant and said three hundred thousand dollars would be
no temptation to sell her. The sire of the baby was Chief.
A woman mastering the leviathans of the animal kingdom was one of the
wonders of a circus in 1887. She was Mrs. William Newman, wife of
“Elephant Bill,” who had grown up with the circus. She was a matronly
looking person, quite stout and pleasant-mannered, devoid withal of
the masculine traits that her occupation might seem to require.
At her command the elephants, eight in number, marched, wheeled,
countermarched, halted promptly and “grounded arms” by lying on their
sides. Then, like schoolboys, delighted at a release from what they
deemed duty, the huge beasts broke ranks and assumed different postures
and occupations about the ring. One of them stood on his head, another
turned a grind-stone with his trunk, a third walked on a revolving
barrel, and several others respectively engaged, to their own apparent
amusement, in dancing on a pedestal, ringing a bell and “clapping
hands.” Mrs. Newman gave few public exhibitions, and there has never
since been a successful woman elephant trainer. For some reason, they
fail in this branch of circus work, whereas in other departments they
are fully the equals of the other sex.