some right to object, but I humored them with promises of
celebrations and games. The white man's camp became a popular place
in Trengganu. Wonderful tales of what was done there spread through
the country, and the men who had been to the camp could command an
audience in their home compounds when they returned. The elephant
drive was a historic event in the country, and henceforth we had
little trouble with labor.
The work of breaking wild elephants must be carried on with
painstaking exactness, for one elephant can create havoc in a few
seconds if the men lose control. The first task is the building of
the stocks where the elephants are to be held while they become
accustomed to men; then comes the work of driving into the ground,
about four feet apart, two rows of heavy stakes, leading from the
trap to the stocks. Also, next the trap, a small enclosure, four or
five feet wide by fifteen long, is built at the end of the passageway
formed by the stakes. The piles of the trap are removed from the
entrance to this enclosure and bars are substituted. Since the
elephants were given practically no food during the time they were
kept in the trap, they were half starved when the breaking commenced.
In their weakened condition they were much less dangerous to handle,
and, too, they could then be fed in such a way as to impress upon
them the fact that good behavior brings good treatment.
The young elephants required no breaking, and so they were lured from
the trap with food. They roamed about the camp, playing and watching
operations.
As soon as the tuskers were taken from the trap, they were killed for
their ivory. The tusks were worth almost as much as I could get for
the live animals, and tusks are far easier to handle than animals
that have to be broken and fed. Also, as the animal dealers say, the
elephant might "eat and die." I did the killing with my express
rifle. The explosive bullets produced instant death. Another way of
killing an elephant is to strangle him by running two ropes around
his neck and having elephants pull him in opposite directions.
As soon as all the equipment for breaking was ready, I instructed the
natives in their work. With a select crew of men, I rehearsed all
the details of what we were going to do and how we were going to do
it. Finally, I ordered food placed in the enclosure and the bars
drawn. The nearest elephant saw the food, sniffed, flapped his ears
and walked in. Breaking commenced.
As soon as the elephant enters the small enclosure, the bars behind
him are slipped. He eats the food so eagerly that he does not
realize quite what is happening and the men put the knee- and
foot-hobbles on him. These allow him about one quarter of his normal
step. Rattan ropes are fastened to his feet and drawn out through
the bars; his trunk is secured so that he can do no damage with it.
There is a great deal of misunderstanding about what an elephant can
do with his trunk. It is a sensitive organ and he never uses it for
heavy labor, but he can strike a terrific blow with it. I have seen
many a man's ribs and arms broken when he neglected to take the
proper precautions. In approaching a dangerous elephant, a man
should come up sideways, with the nearer arm folded to protect the
ribs. Then, if the elephant strikes, he should try to catch the blow
on the upper part of the arm, where there is the most flesh to
protect the bone. Such a blow never knocks a man flat; it sends him
spinning like a top until he tumbles over.
The elephant uses both his trunk and his lungs in calling, and he has
a large variety of sounds and combinations of sound with which to
express himself. When rushing an enemy, he trumpets shrilly; when
enraged by wounds, he grumbles hoarsely from his throat; he expresses
fear by a shrill, brassy trumpet and a roar; and pleasure by a
continued low squeaking through the trunk. When apprehensive of
danger or when attempting to intimidate an enemy, he raps the end of
his trunk smartly on the ground and trumpets. The peculiar noise
sounds like that produced by the rolling up of a sheet of tin.
In a moment of danger, the elephant coils his trunk to protect it
from injury. When he is engaged in heavy work, such as piling
lumber, he may use his trunk to balance the load he is carrying on
his tusks, but never to bear part of the burden. If an unharnessed
elephant must pull a rope, he holds it in his mouth, taking good care
to keep his trunk out of the way. It has happened many times that an
elephant-keeper--not a trainer, for a trainer knows better--has used
a hook a little too freely on an elephant's trunk. If he doesn't get
killed, he picks himself up several yards from where he was standing.
A trainer is invariably pleased at such an occurrence, because it
shows that the keeper was abusing the elephant and has merely
received his deserts. The elephant is a good, faithful animal, and
he does not attack his keeper without excuse, except when he is in
what is called the "must" period, which I shall describe later.
When the elephant is secured by hobbles, foot-ropes and trunk-ropes,
the bars leading from the enclosure are removed. The foot-ropes have
been fastened to the stakes and are loosened as the elephant walks
out. The men holding the ropes attached to the fore feet wind them
around the two stakes ahead, and those holding the ropes attached to
the hind feet wind them about the first stakes. In this way the
animal is drawn forward, step by step, toward the stocks, while
natives prod him from behind with poles. If he tries to bolt, he
simply falls over. It is a difficult, trying job, because the
elephant is still vicious.
The stocks are built in covered stalls, so that each elephant is
separate from the others. Two large uprights are driven into the
ground in the shape of a V; the elephant's head is drawn between
them, and they are pulled together at the top so that he is held
securely behind the ears. At the corners are uprights, with poles to
fence him in, running between them. These poles, located a trifle
below his belly, support two cross-bars, one just behind his fore
legs, and the other in front of his back legs. In this position it
is impossible for the elephant to lie down or to move; he can wiggle
his legs and wave his trunk, but that is all.
The elephant remains in the stocks for about two weeks. During that
time he is fed and petted by a keeper appointed for that particular
job. The keeper crawls over his back and rubs him behind the ears
and gives him water, fruit and bamboo shoots. The elephant learns
not to be afraid when a man is near him, and he gradually becomes
more docile. During these two weeks he is fed very lightly because
he must be kept in a weakened condition.
After two or three weeks, according to the disposition of the
elephant, ropes are again attached to his feet, and he is led out of
the stocks. This time he wears only the knee-hobbles, which allow
him more play. Eight or ten men hold each of the ropes; his keeper
sits on his head with a prod; another crew hold the rope attached to
his trunk; and six or eight men follow with rattan whips. The men
with the whips beat him continually. At first, in the excitement, he
does not mind the whipping; then he finds the pain unbearable. The
men on the trunk-ropes lead him about from right to left, while the
men on the foot-ropes stand ready to trip him if he tries to bolt.
At last he gives a bellow of pain and the whipping stops.
This one bellow marks a surprising change in the animal. His spirit
is broken and he acknowledges that man is his master. The fact that
he is instantly fed and petted helps him to make up his mind, of
course, and to forget about the old, wild ways of the jungle.
Thereafter, a keeper who does not deliberately make him angry can
handle him easily. His schooling is brief and he learns readily to
turn, kneel, back and pull. In return he is given plenty of food and
is tied to a tree instead of being put in the stocks.
It occasionally happened that an elephant refused to bellow. In that
case, I had the men lead him out to be shot, for I knew I should be
wasting time in trying to break him.
The opinion is generally held by those who have had the best
opportunities of observing the elephant, that the popular estimate of
its intelligence is a greatly exaggerated one; that instead of being
the exceptionally wise animal it is believed to be, its sagacity is
of a very mediocre description. Of the truth of this opinion no one
who has lived amongst elephants can entertain a doubt.
The elephant's size and staid appearance, its gentleness, and the
ease with which it performs various services with its trunk, have
probably given rise to the exalted idea of its intellect. Amongst
those not intimately acquainted with it, and it being but little
known outside of its native countries, what is known of it justly
make it a general favorite and leads to tales of intelligence being
not only accepted without investigation, but welcomed with pleasure.
One of the strongest features in the domesticated elephant's
character, is its obedience. It is also readily taught, but its
reasoning faculties are far below those of a dog, and possibly other
animals, and in matters beyond the range of its daily experience, it
evinces no special discernment; while quick at comprehending anything
taught to it, it is decidedly wanting in originality.
Let us consider whether the elephant displays more intelligence in
its wild state than other animals. Though possessed of a proboscis,
which is capable of guarding it against such dangers, it readily
falls into a pit dug for catching it, only covered with a few sticks
and leaves. Its fellows make no effort to assist the fallen one, as
they might easily do by kicking in the earth around the pit, but they
flee in terror.
It commonly happens that a young elephant falls into a pit near which
the mother will remain until the hunter comes, without doing anything
to assist it, not even feeding it by throwing in a few branches.
This, no doubt, is more difficult of belief to most people than if
they were told that the mother supplied it with grass, brought water
in her trunk, or filled up the pit with trees and effected the young
one's release.
Whole herds of elephants are driven into ill concealed enclosures
which no other wild animal could be got to enter, and single ones are
caught by their legs being tied together by men under cover of a
couple of tame elephants. Elephants which happen to effect their
escape are caught again without trouble. Even experience does not
bring wisdom.
These facts are certainly against the conclusion that the elephant is
an extraordinarily shrewd animal, much less one possessed of the
power of reasoning in the abstract, with which he is commonly
credited. I do not think I traduce the elephant, when I say it is in
many things a stupid animal, and I can assert with confidence that
all the stories I have heard of it, except those relating to feats of
strength or docility performed under its trainer's or keeper's
direction, are beyond its intellectual power and are but pleasant
fiction.
It often happens that persons who do not understand elephants give
them credit for performing actions which are suggested to them, and
in which they are directed by their trainer or by the mahout on their
necks. I think that all who have had to deal with elephants, will
agree in saying that their good qualities cannot be exaggerated and
that their vices are few, and only occur in exceptional animals. The
not uncommon idea that elephants are treacherous and retentive of
injury, is a groundless one.
Elephants do not push with their foreheads or the region above their
eyes, but with the base of the trunk or snout, about one foot below
the eyes. Elephants are poor sighted, and are so intent on being off
when thoroughly started, that I have been almost brushed against
without being discovered.
The rapidly advancing line of huge heads and cocked ears bobbing up
and down as the elephants come rushing on, leveling everything before
them, is a trying sight, and at first one requires some nerve--and
the reflection they are escaping, not charging--to stand still.
If circumstances ever occur to make a run unavoidable, the pursued
hunter should always take down hill and choose the steepest place at
hand, as the elephants fear to trust themselves on a rapid descent at
any great pace; uphill, or on the level, man would be immediately
overtaken. When elephants are close at hand, standing in indecision,
no one should shout to turn them; a charge by one or more of them is
sure to be made if they are suddenly started at this time.
Eight months passed at breaking elephants. I was sick with fever and
dysentery and I was glad when we could break camp. Riding on the
head of an elephant, I led my catch through the jungle to port. Once
again I paid my respects to the Sultan, who told me that I might hunt
in Trengganu whenever I pleased. A year before, I should have been
wildly delighted at the prospect of having Trengganu open to me under
his protection, but now, with my health broken, I did not care much
if I never saw the country again.
I arranged for the keeping of the animals until they could be brought
by boat to Singapore, and then I caught the first coast steamer
south, taking four elephants with me. At Singapore I found that the
story of the big capture had been the talk of the city for months.
In fact, several days after I arrived, I went to call on my former
enemy, Mahommed Ariff, and he took off his turban and bowed. We had
many dealings after that, and he always treated me with the greatest
respect and honesty.
When I was leading one of the smaller elephants through the street on
my way to the animal house I had rented in Orchard Road, I was
approached by an Arab.
"_Tûan mau jûal_? (Sir, do you wish to sell?)" he asked.
"Of course," I answered. I was sick and tired and I did not want to
be bothered.
He persisted. "Tûan, how much?"
"All of them or just one?"
"That one," he answered, pointing to the elephant I was leading.
I thought he was asking just out of curiosity, and so I set a price
that I thought would silence him--$3,000 Mexican.
"Tûan, truly will you sell it for that?"
"Yes."
He followed me to the animal house, and I wondered what he had on his
mind. As a matter of fact, I would have sold the elephant for $450,
because it was young and small. At the animal house, he again asked
me if I would sell for $3,000; then he undid several of the shirts he
was wearing and pulled forth an old wallet. He gave me $500 to bind
the bargain and called a friend of his to act as witness. When he
left to get the rest of the money, I went to the stall where I had
placed the animal and examined it.
It didn't take me long to discover why the Arati was willing to pay
$3,000. The little elephant had twenty toes instead of the usual
eighteen. Twenty-toed elephants are held in veneration throughout
India, and are keenly sought by all the rajas and maharajas for the
prosperity they are supposed to bring. They are guarded more
carefully and quartered even more sumptuously than the white
elephants of Siam, and the price they will bring is determined almost
entirely by the amount the rajas can gather together. My little
twenty-toed elephant was a faultless specimen. He was about five
years old and stood four and a half feet high. His head was
perfectly shaped; his back was straight and absolutely even with the
top of his head.
I was naturally disgusted to think that I had let such a bargain slip
out of my hands, and, when the Arab returned, I blamed him for
cheating me when I was sick with the fever. I abused him and his
ancestors and gave a great show of indignation. He begged me to take
the money and give him the elephant; I refused the money and told him
to take the elephant out of my sight.
"I have put a curse on him," I said. "He will be dead within
twenty-four hours."
At this he burst into tears, begging me to remove the curse. He said
that he was a poor man and that the elephant's death would ruin him.
Finally we reached a compromise. He would pay me an extra $500, and
I would arrange transportation to India for the elephant. Then, if
the sale proved profitable, he was to return to Singapore and pay me
an additional $500. He swore by Allah and the Prophet that he would
keep his word. So I removed the curse and took his money and he
departed happily. A month later he returned and paid me the $500.
He had sold the elephant to the Maharaja of Mysore for 10,000 rupees.
The Arab later bought four large elephants from me.
During my nineteen years in the Malay Archipelago I captured hundreds
of elephants, but none of the herds was so large as my first catch.
And, though I always looked carefully at the elephant's feet before I
sold him, never again did I bag one with twenty toes.
Of all the animals I have handled in my experience as a collector, I
prefer elephants. They are interesting and amusing beasts, and, once
broken, they become hard-working and affectionate. They never show
any inclination to go back to the jungle, even when used for the
purposes of running wild elephants. In Siam all the driving of herds
into the traps is done on female elephants, and their presence calms
the herd. I have seen the tame elephants press in upon a wild
elephant, holding him while he docilely allowed himself to be hobbled.
The hunts in Siam are for tuskers, and the females are for the most
part allowed to run free again to breed. The tuskers are used in the
teak forests for handling logs. The females bear young about every
three years until they reach an age of from seventy to seventy-five
years. The period of carrying varies from eighteen months in the
case of a female baby to twenty-one months in the case of a male. A
baby elephant, as I have already written, weighs approximately two
hundred pounds at birth and stands thirty-six inches high. It
suckles from six to nine months. The breasts of the female are
located just back of the fore legs, and the baby runs its trunk up
along its mother's side while nursing. Its next food is fruit and
the tenderest bamboo shoots. It is very fond of sugar. It grows at
the rate of one inch a month up to its third year and attains its
full growth, but not maturity, at about twenty-five. The age of an
elephant is told largely by the ears; an old animal has ragged ears
and sunken cheeks. The height of an elephant is almost exactly twice
the distance around its foot.
A herd of elephants is invariably led by the females, perhaps because
they are the more alert to catch the least sign of danger. If the
herd is put to flight, the males take the lead, breaking through the
jungle and making a trail for the females and young. An elephant
never goes around things; he either pushes them to one side or goes
straight through. He is very sure-footed and, on anything that looks
doubtful, he will never step without first putting out a foot and
trying it. For that reason, it requires some skill to build a
pit-trap that will not attract attention. A pit-trap is practically
useless, however, because the elephant is invariably injured in the
fall; it allows the capture of the baby, in the case of females, but
at the cost of the good, full-grown animal. Wild elephants, grazing
in a herd, travel rapidly if they are frightened, but usually they
saunter along, sleeping during the day and feeding at night. Their
food consists chiefly of grasses, bamboo shoots, cocoanuts and the
bark of some trees. Lone elephants and outcasts from the herd are
dangerous animals and should be killed.
There comes a period, known as "must," when even the most reliable
elephant becomes a dangerous animal. Like the Malay he "sees red"
and runs amok. A good elephant keeper can detect the madness several
days before it reaches the dangerous stage, and by securing the
animal with hobbles, can prevent trouble. In the cheeks of the
elephant are two small holes, called "errors," and from these holes
oozes a slight secretion. One of the keeper's duties each day is to
examine the holes and run a piece of straw into them. If there is an
odor of musk about the straw when he pulls it out, it is an
indication that the "must" period is coming. Sometimes the keeper
fails to make this test, and the elephant runs amok, killing people
and leaving a trail of wreckage behind him.
On one of my visits to Sydney with a consignment of animals for the
Zoölogical Gardens, I found the entire crew of elephant keepers busy
with the task of trying to control an animal that was in "must." His
keeper had failed to make the test, and the elephant had suddenly
gone mad. Fortunately he was in his stall at the time. When I
arrived, he had wrecked the stall, and the keepers were afraid that
he might get loose. Another stall had been arranged, but they could
figure out no way of changing him to it. The men were thoroughly
frightened and absolutely refused to risk hobbling him. The director
of the Gardens offered me £100 if I would do it, and, since I had Ali
and several of my own men with me, I agreed to try.
With elephant hooks strapped to our wrists, we entered the stall.
The elephant stood looking at us, apparently wondering which one he
should knock down first. I told Ali to get behind him while I
approached from the front.
I went up to him sideways, speaking to him and offering him food. He
waited quietly until I was near enough; then, before I could duck, he
hit me with his trunk. I felt myself spinning so rapidly that the
elephant, my men and the stall were all a blur; and I came up against
the wall with a thud. Fortunately, there was a gutter running along
the wall, and I dropped into it just as the elephant lunged forward
at me. His big head hit the wall and the floor but couldn't get at
me. He would not risk his trunk, because he realized that I would
jab him with the hook.
[Illustration: "I felt myself spinning so rapidly that the elephant,
my men and the stall were all a blur; and I came up against the wall
with a thud. Fortunately, there was a gutter running along the wall,
and I dropped into it just as the elephant lunged forward at me."]
Ali and the other men were at his tail, jabbing him and pulling.
When he turned for them, I jumped up and began running my hook into
his side. It became a game of jabbing and dodging and worrying him
to first one side and then the other. I took care to thrust my hook
always in the same spot, tearing a raw wound in his side, while the
other men caught him on the legs and on the trunk. We had to work
fast to keep away from the big trunk as it cut through the air, and
his feet, when he kicked. Each of us was sent sprawling several
times before the fight was over.
At last I could see that the elephant was paying more attention to
the wound I was making than to anything else we were doing; he
favored the hurt side and tried to shield it. Then, with a bellow,
he knelt down and dropped on his side to cover the wound.
While I kept him down, Ali arranged the hobbles; then we petted him
and allowed him to stand. He got to his feet doubtfully, as if he
weren't sure that we were not playing a trick on him--urging him to
stand up so that we could jab him again. The wound I had torn in his
side was large enough for two fists, and it must have pained him
terribly. He was worn out by the fight and he hobbled off to his new
stall, much subdued. Several days later he came out of the "must"
period, which rarely lasts for more than a week, and became again the
docile elephant that took children on his back for a ride.
I went to see him several times before I returned to Singapore, and,
when I entered the stall, he edged away from me, protecting his side.
Years later, I went to Sydney and entered his stall. He didn't
recognize me until I put my hand on the scar; then he muttered deep
down in his throat and lay down. I petted him and fed him sugar, and
he seemed to harbor no resentment against me, but he did remember me
in connection with a strenuous and unpleasant afternoon.
IV
SHIPPING WILD ANIMALS
Elephants are easily trained and, when they once get the idea of what
is expected of them, they will do it over and over with little
variation. A trick or a certain kind of work immediately becomes a
habit with them. In fact, they can form habits more rapidly than any
other animals I have ever seen.