I passed a portion of the summer of 1890 at Banff, a fascinating resort
in the heart of the Canadian Rockies, established and controlled by the
Canadian Pacific Railway Company.
It would be very difficult to find a more charming and picturesque
location for a summer resting-place. The hotel is situated about four
thousand five hundred feet above the sea-level, and is nearly surrounded
by lofty peaks and mountain-ranges which present a great variety of
rugged outline.
To the venturesome mountaineer, the inducements to climb seem almost
endless. In the immediate vicinity of the hotel, there is a choice of
ascents of from six to eleven thousand feet. Most of them may be made by
any one who has a cool head, a sure foot, and sufficient endurance; but
there are two or three which ought to be undertaken only by experienced
mountaineers. I made several of the lesser ascents alone, and, in each
instance, against the advice of inexperienced and timid persons, who
declared that I would either be dashed to pieces, by falling down a
precipice, or devoured by bears, which are supposed to be rather
plentiful.
My last climb was to the top of the middle peak of the “Sulphur Range.”
It was neither difficult nor dangerous; but the view from the little
table at the top was simply wonderful. As far as the eye could see, in
any direction, were mountain peaks, none covered with snow, but all
presenting magnificent rock-formations of a character which is quite
peculiar, I believe, to that part of the great American range.
The little table at the top of the peak is about thirty feet in diameter
and is covered with broken rock. While sitting there, musing upon the
natural wonders by which I was surrounded, I noticed the approach of two
chipmunks, coming up from the side of the mountain. They halted when
they saw a strange animal; but, finally, after sitting upright for a
short time and giving me a deliberate and careful stare, they concluded
to come on, and presently they discovered a little clump of stunted
grass growing from a crevice between the rocks, which they proceeded to
despoil of its dwarfed seeds. When they had finished their scanty meal
they looked about for something else to eat. Feeling sure of their
desires, I crushed a soft biscuit into small pieces, and dropped them at
my feet; and soon my little friends were busy eating the crumbs,
apparently quite unconscious of the fact that they were within easy
range of an animal supposed to have been created in the image of his
Maker, but the only one which kills for the sake of killing, and boasts
of the pleasure he derives from the destruction of innocent animal life.
Within a very few minutes this pair of little innocents became quite
familiar, and the crumbs continued to fall until they had filled their
stomachs and then the ample pouches on each side of their jaws. Thus
loaded they presented a most comical appearance. When I rose to my feet
their surprise made them appear still more comical. They were inclined
at first to scamper off, but, upon reflection, concluded they would see
the whole show; and, as I moved over to the edge of the table, to go
down the mountain, they followed a short distance, and gave me a most
quizzical parting glance, which said as plainly as their little faces
could express their thoughts: “Good-bye. Be sure to come again, and
don’t forget the biscuits.”
This is not a story; it is only an incident which proves what confiding
little fools the chipmunks were to trust themselves within reach of a
specimen of that tribe of superior animals which delights in the
destruction of life, kills for pleasure, and enjoys the infliction of
pain upon innocent and helpless creatures.
The excuse for their confiding folly consisted in the fact that they had
never seen a man before.
ABOUT COLUMBUS
BY AN OLD SHOWMAN
For fully a third of a century the large elephant bearing the name of
the great discoverer was well known to all the “Show” loving inhabitants
of our country. He was remarkable for his great size and bad temper,
and, if he had been left in his native wilds, might have established a
notable reputation as a rogue elephant. His keepers were of the opinion
that he made the mistake of his life when he became a mere show animal,
engaging in an occupation that required a certain amount of decent
behavior.
It was said of him that he was a very reasonable sort of an animal when
permitted to have his own way, but never submitted to confinement with
any sort of grace. He was always enraged at being chained to the ring or
stake, and sometimes decreed capital punishment, which he executed
himself, for the unfortunate keeper who was guilty of the offence of
chaining him. He was very much given to breaking and bolting, and when
once in the open, and fairly on the go, he became a very dangerous
customer, and his keeper, if wise, would give him a wide field until his
rampage was finished.
One among the many of them, who died in the seventies, was his friend,
and never had any trouble with him, and he always insisted that the
lively escapades of his ponderous charge were the result of an all
absorbing longing for liberty. He used to describe the magnificent old
pachyderm as the living embodiment of a justifiable revolt. He had not
much sympathy for the keepers who had been executed, nor did he have
much respect for their knowledge or discretion. According to his theory,
they were mere machines for so much per month; they never studied the
character or feelings of the splendid animal in their charge; they were
inconsiderate, unnecessarily harsh and cruel, and, from the
unnaturally-confined elephant’s standpoint, in most instances got what
they deserved.
The Columbus incident, of which an account is to follow, was not a
particularly exceptional one, and the description of it was written by
the friendly old keeper who had charge of the hero of it during two
consecutive years back in the thirties. The narration is a modest one,
and its phraseology proves it to have been written by a man of rare
courage. It was printed in a Cincinnati newspaper in the month of
February, 1870, and is now given, with the editorial head note just as
it appeared.
“THE ELEPHANT COLUMBUS.”
“Letter from another witness of his rampage near New Orleans.”
“The account of the rampage of the elephant Columbus near New Orleans,
in 1839, which we published some time since, has refreshed the
memories of many old showmen, and as we are always glad to publish
anything of interest to them, we give the following letter, which we
think will prove entertaining to our readers generally:
South Pomfret, Vt.,
January 30, 1870.
To the Editor of the _Chronicle_:
I have just received a copy of your paper, of December 31, 1869. I do
not think the statement headed ‘A Curious Circus Reminiscence’ is
quite correct. At that time I was the advertiser of one branch of the
Combined Circus and Menagerie. We were to exhibit in Algiers until the
7th of January, and in New Orleans on the 8th, that being the most
popular day with the people of that city. William Crum was driving
Hannibal, and George Potter Columbus. It was Crum’s horse that was
knocked down, and Crum was killed. Samuel Ward and myself were
standing within ten feet of Crum when he was killed. We had a bet on
the height of the two elephants, and that was the reason why they were
brought alongside of each other. Columbus was shot under the eye
before he killed the drayman. We did not exhibit in Algiers. The
people were too much frightened to attend. So we went to New Orleans
on the 1st of January, instead of waiting until the 8th.
On the same evening the difficulty occurred, James Raymond and James
Humphrey, proprietors, came to me and wanted I should go and look
after Columbus. I told them I would if John Carley would go with me. I
knew him to be an old elephant man. They asked him: he said he would
like to go, but was sick and would rather be excused. The next morning
George Growe, a young green hand, who came with Foster’s company,
volunteered to go with me. I must confess that when he came forward it
cooled my courage, but two horses were saddled and brought to the
door. I mounted mine in rather a confused state of mind, wishing
myself anywhere except where I was. When we started out it was dark
and foggy. I told Growe to go ahead, and, after going about half a
mile, we put up for the night on a flatboat. At daylight the next
morning we started again, and proceeded down the river about nine
miles, where we found Columbus in a canefield, with his head against a
pecan tree, asleep. I may now remark that Growe’s courage had somewhat
cooled off, and he had fallen some half mile to my rear. I rode toward
the elephant until I got within hailing distance, and then spoke to
him to come to me. He raised up and began shaking his head. Presently
he started for me the best he could, and my horse did a good business
getting out of his way. He followed me for about six miles, and then
came to a halt in front of a large pile of lumber on the levee, which
he proceeded to throw into the river as fast as possible, and then
started after me at a more moderate gait. When we got in front of a
church at Algiers he made a second halt. I then told him to lie down,
and, to my astonishment, he obeyed. I got off from my horse, took my
knife, stuck it in his ear and held him down until assistance came
from the canvas, which was about half a mile off; then Growe took him
by the ear and led him to the canvas, and, the same day, we crossed
over to New Orleans. Growe took care of him all that winter and left
with him in the spring, but was killed by him the next summer, as I
learned afterward.
Poor Crum met with a terrible death. Columbus’ tusk entered his groin
and came out at his shoulder, going through the entire length of his
body.
These are some of the exact facts as they occurred for I was on the
spot, and saw the whole affair. I could say much more, but do not
think it necessary.”
The writer of this letter was for two years the constant and interested
companion and friend of, possibly, the most unruly and bad-tempered
elephant ever exhibited in the United States, and the reason he got
along with him without accident was that he devoted his undivided
attention to his charge, studied his character, gave him frequent
opportunities for bathing, and as much liberty as circumstances would
permit.
The old keeper used to say that Columbus “was full of odd whims and more
given to mischief than malice.” When there was any hard work to be done,
like lifting cage wagons out of the mud, or clearing roads of fallen
trees, he was always ready to do his full share, and was never so happy
as when actively engaged in some laborious occupation. Once in a while
he would take it into his head that he would like a good run and an
opportunity to indulge in mischief, such as uprooting trees, scattering
fence rails, pulling off barn doors that happened to be standing open,
etc. etc. It was his habit to signify his desire, after the “show was
over,” by trumpeting nervously, dancing in his elephantine way, and
tugging at his chain. These notifications did not come very often, but
when they did, if not too inconvenient, his request was complied with.
These calls never came just before the performance or while it was in
progress. The mischief-loving old sinner was far too wise for that, for
he had a most lively appreciation of the usual inflow of goodies from
the boys and girls who were courageous enough to encounter the danger of
“feeding the elephant.”
The last conversation I had with the successful old keeper, only a year
before his death, was about his singular charge, and he insisted upon
the truthfulness of his old theory—that the elephant was not naturally
bad, but hated confinement, demanded kindness and consideration from
those who were the visible instruments used in depriving him of his
liberty, and, when he received neither, revenged himself by killing the
tyrants who were depriving him of the freedom to which he was naturally
entitled.
My old friend used to say: “It’s awfully hard lines for such a
magnificent old beast as Columbus was to be tied up and deprived of
liberty, and, if I had been in his place, I would have killed more fools
of keepers than he did. Why, the old elephant was just as smart as any
of us. He had thought the whole thing out for himself and put the boot
on the right leg every time. He knew we’d no right to confine him the
way we did, and made up his mind to be judge, jury, and executioner, and
in his time he did a lot of killing. I don’t quite remember how many he
made away with; some put it as high as ten, but I guess seven or eight
would be about correct.
“When I was first asked to take charge of Columbus, I was in the
business part of the ‘Show,’ and had never thought of becoming an
elephant-driver. But somehow, without effort or knowing why, I got well
acquainted with the old fellow, and, although often warned of his
dangerous amusements, was never afraid of him.
“During the winter of 183- and 183- we were in quarters at C——. The
confinement had been long and close, and during the whole winter
Columbus had been restive and cross. When it came time to start out for
the summer’s business no one could be found to drive him. So, as a last
resort, the owners offered me a large salary for the job. I had no fear
concerning the success of the undertaking, but hesitated about becoming
a professional ‘elephant-man,’ but the big pay was a great temptation,
and I yielded.
“The first few days after we started out upon the road, my charge was
cross and cranky, and I had to watch him all the time as a cat would a
mouse. Upon one occasion, when against my orders, just for the mere
deviltry of the thing, he went out of his way to turn over a plantation
cart that was standing by the roadside, I went for him savagely, with
hook and spear, and gave him a big dose of something he didn’t want; he
soon had enough, threw up his trunk, and yelled like a schoolboy being
flogged.
“This submission proved to be his complete surrender to my will, and
from that time we got on like a pair of loving brothers. We became
strong friends, and I used to talk to the old rascal as I would to a
human being. I have always believed he understood more than half I said
to him.
“He became very fond of our morning race. It was the custom to start
early in the morning—never later than four o’clock. When we would get
fairly out of a village where we had exhibited the day before, I would
ride up alongside and ask him if he would like a run, he would answer by
throwing up his trunk, giving a trumpet sound of joy, and starting off
at a stiff gait, keeping it up until I called a halt, and, if we
happened to be near a stream deep enough to hold him, he would take to
it, and stay until the rest of the show came up.
“No, I never had much difficulty in getting along with Columbus. From
the start he found out I was not afraid of him, and that I would give it
to him if he cut up any of his wicked capers; and he also came to
understand that I was his indulgent friend who humored many of his
harmless whims and treated him kindly.
“At the end of two years I was both glad and sorry to leave him. The
watchful confinement had become irksome, and I was sure that as soon as
I would leave him he would get into trouble,—which he did, and had a bad
time of it to the end of his days. I have always felt kind of sorry for
having put the knife through his ear, and never would have done it if I
had not been excited and scart half out of my wits. If I had given my
common sense half a chance, it would have told me that his lying down
was a sign of recognition of authority, and that he was willing to throw
up the sponge and behave himself. But I guess he forgave me, for,
whenever afterwards I went near him, he would give me the old time
friendly greeting.
“It’s many years now since I left the show business, and I’ve thought
the whole thing over, and concluded it’s all wrong. The confinement is
unnatural and cruel. Even the little animals in cages, while they seem
to be happy, are as miserable as they can be. Take a careful look at
them when they are not tired out or asleep, and you will find an anxious
expression on all their faces—a sort of looking out of their cages for
some one to come along and open the door.
“The great cat tribe, Lions, Tigers, Leopards, Panthers, and the rest of
them, are always pushing their noses against the bars for liberty, and
are usually pretty cross because they can’t get it.
“At any rate, it’s pleasant for me to look back upon my many years of
intercourse with the poor creatures, and to feel that I never, save in
the single instance, treated one of them unkindly.”
Assisting in the two years of successful management of Columbus was the
inevitable “elephant dog,” who was his constant companion and friend.
They slept together nights and tramped side by side during the days, and
often, when the elephant would not obey his keeper, the faithful
companion would, in some mysterious way, induce his huge friend to do
the reasonable and behave himself like a respectable and order loving
beast.
I have forgotten the manner of the taking off of the old slave of the
“Show,” but he, with his friendly keeper, who to the end of his days was
his champion, have long since passed on to that mysterious resting place
from which neither man nor elephant have sent any message back, and let
us hope that after their many trampings, and as a reward for the many
miseries endured while upon earth, that they are now enjoying the
rewards bestowed upon the forgiven and blest.