rolling the logs into position for the saws. Pushing with their
heads, they run the logs up two inclined skids to the platform. Two
elephants do the pushing and a third elephant acts as boss. The boss
need not be an especially intelligent animal; he is simply taught
that the log must go up the skids in a certain way and that the two
pushers must be kept even. In his trunk he carries a few links of
anchor chain, which he uses as a whip. If one elephant falls behind,
the boss gives him a rap with the chain. When the log is on the
platform, the pushers turn and plod back for another. The boss
elephant is quite unimpressed by his authority, and the others show
no resentment when he swings the chain on them.
When the whistle blows, the elephants know that it is time to stop
work and eat. It makes no difference if they have a log within a
fraction of an inch of the platform; the boss drops his anchor chain
and gets out of the way, and the pushers step to one side, letting
the log crash down again. Then, without the least expression of
interest, they turn for the stalls. Because they obey signals so
mechanically, the engineer steps out, when feeding-time comes, and
looks up and down the runway to see if an elephant crew has a log on
the skids. If so, he waits until it reaches the platform before he
pulls the whistle-cord.
The great weight and bulk of elephants sometimes make difficult the
problem of handling and especially of shipping them. They are
usually hoisted over the side of the ship in slings, but that method
takes much time and labor, not to speak of very strong tackle. I did
not evolve a new one, however, until the refusal of the captain of
one of the British India Steam Navigation Company's boats to take a
consignment of elephants for me put my ingenuity to the test.
I was under contract to send fifteen large elephants to Madras, and I
had arranged with the company's agent at Singapore for three
shipments of five each. The animals were the remainder of the
Trengganu herd and I was anxious to see them shipped, for I was still
sick with the fever. The doctors had told me that the best thing I
could do was to leave the country and recuperate, and delay in
disposing of the animals meant a great sacrifice of either money or
health.
The first five elephants, together with attendants and food were
waiting back of the sheds at _Tanjong-Pâgar_, the docks at Singapore,
to be put aboard. At the last moment the chief officer came with the
message that the captain refused to take them.
I went to the captain's cabin and found a stout, red-faced and
apparently good-natured Englishman. He was just out of his bath,
wearing pajamas and idling about in his cabin until the ship was
ready to get under way. I thought it a good time to approach him,
and I took care to be quite calm and cool about it, although I was
raging inside.
I showed him my receipt and the bill of lading given me by the agent.
He replied that the agent was not captain of the ship; he didn't care
what agreement the agent had made. So long as he was captain, he'd
run his ship to suit himself, and all agents could go to the devil,
for all he cared. And, moreover, he'd not carry elephants--not for
any one. I explained my position and told him that it would mean a
great financial loss to me if I failed on my contract to deliver the
elephants.
"Look here, Mayer," he said, "I've handled elephants at Calcutta and
I've always had a lot of trouble with them. If I load these
elephants, it means that I have to rig up extra gear, and I won't do
it."
"Captain," I replied, "I'll load those elephants without using a foot
of rope. I'll put them anywhere you say, and you won't have to rig
up a bit of gear. And I'll unload them at Madras the same way. Will
you say the word?"
"I don't think you can do it," he answered, "but I'm enough of a
sportsman to give you a chance."
That was all I wanted. I got out before he could ask me how I was
going to work, for I couldn't have told him.
The elephants were to go in the bow and they had to be taken there
through a seven-foot passage from amidships. The smallest of the
elephants measured fully seven feet and the largest more than eight.
I decided that we might as well try the largest first, and I asked
that the electric bulbs be removed from the ceiling.
After some coaxing and prodding, we got the first elephant up the
gangplank. The others followed obediently. Then I asked the chief
officer to clear the cabins along the passage, for I was afraid that
some one might open a door and frighten the elephant. A frightened,
stampeded, eight-foot elephant in a seven-foot passage would give
Singapore enough excitement to last for a year. The chief officer
sent the people from the cabins and locked the doors.
The elephant balked at sight of the passage. I was at his head,
talking to him and coaxing him, and two attendants were behind,
prodding. We made him kneel and then urged him forward. At last we
got him into the passage. It was a tight fit. His sides scraped the
walls. I gasped at the thought of what would happen if he suddenly
became afraid. He would try to stand up, of course, and then wedged
in, he would begin to kick and lunge his way out; and the other four,
who were close behind him, would do the same. "And then, good-by,
steamship," I said to myself. Slowly we made our way forward, with
the five elephants hobbling along on their knees. I stayed close to
the head of the first, talking to him and petting him. Finally we
came to the end of the passage, and I drew the first deep breath in
fifteen minutes. I took the venture simply as a matter of course,
and I didn't say anything that gave the captain an idea of what my
emotions had been in that passage; but Ali looked at me and I looked
at Ali, and there was no need of words.
I washed and went to the captain's cabin for breakfast, while the men
secured the elephants in their quarters.
The captain said, "Mayer, that was the quickest and slickest thing
I've ever seen, but what am I going to do with those animals at
Madras?"
I knew that there were no docks at Madras and that all freight was
unloaded into lighters, but I answered, "My men will attend to them."
When the ship reached Madras, the attendants opened the doors and
simply backed the elephants overboard. They hit the water with a
great splash and a roar and came up blowing like whales. They were
swimming, of course, for elephants swim better than any other land
animals I have ever seen. The attendants approached them in
rowboats, and, jumping on their backs, rode them to shore. By the
time they reached land, they had completely recovered from the
excitement of falling overboard.
The captain returned to Singapore, enthusiastic over this new way of
handling elephants, and I had the pleasure of shipping my last
consignment to Madras on his ship. He advised me never to take an
agent's word for what the captain of a ship will or will not do, and
after that experience, I always saw the captain first and the agent
second.
In collecting and trapping of wild animals one must not think that
all animals so caught are fit for zoölogical or show purposes. Such
is not the case; often after trailing animals for days and after
having trapped them, I found them old, scarred, mangey, with broken
tails and in numerous ways unfit, and although I rarely killed,
except in self-preservation, I would kill off all such as were not
fit.
All animals I sold and shipped were at the time of embarkment,
healthy, sound and in good condition. As I never carried with my
outfit any preparation for the curing of skins, I usually allowed the
natives to have them, although I often presented good specimens to
the Raffles Museum at Singapore that were mounted and catalogued as
donations from myself. In one exhibit a group of eight
orang-outangs, from babies to full grown, and a baby elephant were
well mounted and always came in for the particular notice of visitors.
I was having a busy week at my animal house in Singapore, getting a
lot of animals recaged and ready for shipment to Melbourne, for Mr.
La Souef, Director of the Melbourne Zoölogical Society, who was then
on a visit to Singapore with his wife, when one day a messenger came
from the Sultan of Johore, inviting Mr. and Mrs. La Souef and myself
to call the following day.
As Singapore is an island of fourteen by sixteen miles, and separated
from the main land by the Straits of Johore, the extreme southern
point of Asia, or the Malay Peninsula, it really meant but a few
hours, sixteen miles by rail to Kranji and by ferry across the
Straits about a mile to Johore.
Back of the jail at Johore were built eight large, strong iron cages,
in which were kept all tigers, leopards and smaller cat animals that
were caught throughout the state of Johore and were sent to the
Sultan for him to present as gifts or sell as he saw fit. I
eventually had first call on all animals so caught.
On the following day, arriving at Johore, we were met my Dato Muntre,
the prime minister, and introduced to Sultan Ibriam, who was at that
time a young man and with whom I was very well acquainted. After
showing Mr. and Mrs. La Souef through his palace and grounds, we came
to the cages back of the jail, which contained three tigers, two
black and one spotted leopard. The Sultan, pointing to one cage
which contained a beautiful specimen of tiger, young, beautifully
striped, and a bright golden yellow, said he wished to present that
tiger to the Melbourne Society as a gift, and, turning to me said,
"Tûan Mayer, you can get him whenever you wish," he knowing I was Mr.
La Souef's agent.
Mr. La Souef was delighted and thanked the Sultan in his and the
Society's name, promising to put his gift in a prominent place in the
Melbourne Garden.
On our return to Singapore, I had quite an argument with Mr. La Souef
regarding the flimsy, unsuitable cages he was having made to suit
himself, and every time I ventured to point out the inadvisability of
certain cages being built under his directions, he would invariably
say, "Mr. Mayer, you may be right. I also am right, and I have
handled animals longer than you." As the animals were his and he
insisted on having his way, I simply carried out his instructions.
His idea was to build large, roomy cages from the cheapest of wood
(siraih), having a space between the floor and the cross section
holding the iron bars, to clean out the cages and to hand in food.
I never would think of shipping an animal in such a cage. First it
is too large and roomy, giving the animal too much play to break the
cage, and as it was weakened by having a space between the floor and
the cross piece, unless made of heavy and strong wood. I always
caged for shipping animals in small narrow cages or boxes; heavy
wood; sides of wood, but bars at each end and no space. When wood or
water was to be given them, the food was cut up small enough to be
poured between the bars, and a drinking pan nailed to the floor of
the cage. When cleaning out the cage on board the steamer, both
front and rear covers were taken off and the cage flushed with water,
at the same time giving the animal a bath. The bath in some
instances, and according to the animal, would be dispensed with, but
never with cat animals.
I returned to Johore the following day with a transporting cage, and
with Ali and the assistance of a few of the prisoners from the jail,
soon had the tiger safely boxed and on his way in a bullock cart to
my animal house in Orchard Road, there to be recaged in the cage Mr.
La Souef was having built under his directions, by my Chinese
carpenter who built all my cages. Taking me aside he said: "Tûan,
etn, Orang bon-yer, gee-har sat-tu Jam remow pe-char" (Sir, that man
is very foolish, the tiger will break his cage in an hour). I said,
"Never mind, make the cage as he wants it, that is his look out."
Well, the cage was made, the tiger moved into it, and a few days
later we loaded his shipment on board the steamer, ours being the
last thing to be put on board. As the steamer was to sail at
midnight, we had no trouble in placing the cages on deck, and, as
space was limited, I suggested to Mr. La Souef to let me arrange the
placing of cages and animals. But no, he would see to that, and told
the captain that he would like to have them placed as he wished.
They were on the forward deck, in a circle about the hatch, with the
smaller animals and deer facing the cages on deck, on the hatch
itself. Can you imagine placing deer is crates facing tigers in none
too strong boxes?
I bade Mr. La Souef and his wife bon voyage, and wished him success
in landing his shipment. Mr. La Souef was a personal friend of the
owner of the steamship company, the McAllister line, who was a patron
and also a director of the Melbourne Zoölogical Society. As Mr. La
Souef had taken the trip with his wife as guests of the owner,
Captain Edwards of the vessel used diplomacy, said nothing, and
allowed Mr. La Souef to have his way; but before going ashore, I said
to Captain Edwards, "watch out, there is going to be trouble before
you get to Melbourne." "Never fear," he replied, "Mayer, I'll kill
or dump the whole lot over the side if anything starts, friend of the
boss or not! I have my other passengers to look to." I said
good-bye to him hoping to see him on his return trip, when I would
hear the news, if any.
The shipment consisted of the following, not counting the tiger, the
gift of the Sultan of Johore: Two small orang-outangs, twenty
monkeys, one sun bear, one honey bear, two civet cats, one binturong,
four crown gora pheasants, one black leopard, one clouded leopard,
spotted and looking like an ocelot, one female tiger, two samber
deer, two mouse deer, in all fourteen cages and three crates.
At five o'clock the following morning, I was awakened by a hammering
at the gate and the calling of "Tûan! Tûan!" Looking out, I saw a
native boatman. "What do you want?" I called.
"Tûan, etu re-mow, pe-char sanken, mon lorrie" (Sir, the tiger has
broken his cage and wants to run away).
"What tiger? Where," I asked.
He said, the tiger from the steamer.
"Well, what do you want me to do? The steamer left last night. I am
through with it."
"Te-dar Tûan" (No, Sir), he said, handing me a letter, "the tiger is
in my lighter and is tied to one of the buoys in the harbor." He
begged me to get the tiger, as no one was near or on the lighter.
The letter, which was from Mr. La Souef, written before the steamer
sailed, stated that the tiger presented by the Sultan of Johore had
broken his cage and was in danger of getting clear away, as the
captain had had a sling put about the broken cage after the ship's
carpenter had nailed a few boards to cover the hole the tiger had
made and partly strengthened it, hung the cage over the side of the
ship, telling Mr. La Souef that if he did not get some kind of a boat
or lighter to put the cage in, he would drop tiger, cage and all into
the water, and as this happened at about half-past eleven at night,
things did not look very bright for Mr. La Souef. He begged and
prayed the captain to let the carpenter or himself get nails and
boards, but the captain was firm. They finally got the head
stevedore of the dock to let him put the cage in a lighter, which
they did, and then towed the lighter out in the harbor, everyone
leaving it as soon as it was tied to a buoy, and Mr. La Souef then
told them to notify me, which they did. There I was, with
instructions to get the tiger, recage it and ship by next steamer,
eighteen days later.
I asked the boatman where the lighter was. Taking Ali and four
natives with ropes, boards, nails, etc., we went down to the docks,
and there out in the harbor tied to buoy was the lighter with a fleet
of small boats surrounding it at a good distance. I called a sampan
and told the owner of the lighter to follow. As we neared the
lighter, we could hear the growling and the tearing of wood, and
getting alongside and cautiously climbing up, I looked in.
There was the cage with the tiger's head through a hole that it was
trying to make larger. Fortunately the cage had been strengthened by
the ship's carpenter, otherwise he would have broken out and escaped
before I could have been notified. By that time the docks were lined
with people. The story had spread that there was a lighter in the
harbor, filled with wild animals that had broken out of their cages
and were fighting and killing one another and those that could escape
would jump into the harbor and make for the shore. Then some one
called Police Headquarters and four European officers came down to
the dock with repeaters.
Ali and I dropped into the lighter, calling to the natives to pass
the boards, nails and hammers, and assuming that there was no danger,
we took each an end of a board and carrying it to the top of the cage
passed it over until it covered the hole the tiger had his head out
of. As Ali and I held the board my men nailed it and then another,
so soon we had him fairly well secured; that is, he was in the cage
again, snarling, biting and scratching. Calling to the owner of the
lighter to come aboard with his men and row his lighter to the docks,
we went to work and nailed board after board against and over all
weak spots. There was no need to tell the boatmen to hurry; they
never rowed faster. Arriving at the docks, and after telling the
inspector just what had happened, we got the cage on a bullock cart
and soon had the tiger safe at my animal house. Three weeks later I
shipped him aboard in a good strong cage, in charge of the captain,
but as the steamer was steaming up the Yarra river into Melbourne,
the tiger died. An autopsy showed he died of a fractured skull, and
later I got the full particulars.
It seemed that when the tiger first attempted to break out of his
cage on board the steamer and the carpenter was ordered to get some
boards and cover the hole he had been tearing, as the head showed
against the opening the carpenter struck it with his hammer. The
deer and smaller animals became terrified, and in their endeavor to
escape, the deer's legs got through the slats in the crates; they
broke their legs and had to be killed. This I was told later by
Captain Edwards, who said it all happened within a few minutes, Mr.
La Souef running about like a madman, begging this and that, getting
in the way of everybody, but no one paying any attention to him, and
what with the excitement among the passengers, the roaring of the
tigers, barking of the bears, chatter of monkeys and crying of the
smaller cats, and the frantic efforts of the deer to break through
the crates, he was only adding to the confusion and disorder, until
Captain Edwards ordered the water hose brought into play to quiet the
animals. He told the carpenter to get some boards and nail up the
opening the tiger had made, then having a sling put about the cage
with the tiger snarling and biting and tearing at the opening it had
started, but now covered by the planks, swung it over the side of the
ship and there it hung. The captain then had the cages taken off the
hatch and placed against the side of the steamer, telling Mr. La
Souef that if he did not keep quiet he would have the whole shipment
put over the side and dumped into the harbor.
That was the story Captain Edwards told me on his return trip to
Singapore, and he laughed heartily over the way he said Mr. La Souef
was hopping about in his pajamas.
My bill against the Society for services, paying for the lighter the
tiger was put into from the steamer, labor, recaging, feeding for
twenty-one days, and enough food for eighteen to twenty-one days'
voyage to Melbourne seemed to Mr. La Souef an overcharge and my bill
of £50 all out of proportion; as the tiger was a gift from the Sultan
of Johore and not purchased. I insisted and drew on him for that
amount, at the same time resigning as agent for his society, telling
him that although he was an older man, he had still to learn the art
of caging, recaging and shipping animals, not receiving them, and
that had he not insisted on having things done his own way with cheap
material, and had left it to me, what happened could not have
happened, as barely one-third of his shipment landed alive.
By the time I had disposed of the last of my elephants, I was so sick
with the fever that I could not leave my bed. I was dangerously ill
and I began to realize that I should be lucky if I escaped with my
life.
Mr. Lambert, who had been my friend ever since I landed at Singapore
to enter the animal business, engaged passage for me on a steamer
bound for Europe and took charge of the affairs of my animal house in
Orchard Road. When it was time to go to the steamer, my Chinese
coolie boy carried me. He is the only Chinese I have ever seen cry;
the tears rolled down his cheeks as he carried me up the gangplank
and to my cabin, for he thought that he should never see me again. I
rather thought so myself, but I figured that if they didn't drop me
into the Red Sea, which is the last resting-place of so many people
who have stayed too long in the tropics, I should recover and live to
return.
Ali and the coolie waited faithfully for me during the next year,
while I traveled in Europe and America, recuperating and gathering
new commissions for animals. And, when I came back, they were on the
dock to welcome me.
Though my health was much improved by the voyage I did not feel able
to resume the active business of collecting, and so I concentrated my
efforts upon my animal house and made it the largest place of its
kind. I had a monopoly of the business. Mahommed Ariff, who had a
large number of native collectors working for him, did much of his
dealing through me, and I had no difficulty in disposing of all the
animals brought in from the jungles by our various agents. My
largest market was Australia, where I could sell the animals f.o.b.
Singapore without any of the risk of transportation. Also, I made
shipments to Hagenbeck, of Germany, and Cross, of Liverpool. Because
of the high import duty, I sent comparatively few of my animals to
the United States.
John Anderson, who was European adviser to the King of Siam and who
had been created a Siamese nobleman, sent for me and offered me a
commission that kept me busy for the next five years. The King of
Siam was in the habit of making presents of wild animals to foreign
rulers, and it became my work to select the animals and supervise all
details of shipment. I was sent to interview the Minister of the
Interior, H. H. Prince Damerong, who gave me a permit to travel
wherever I pleased in Siam and to force labor. In Siam, I directed
many hunts, especially for tuskers to be used in the teak forests.
The driving was done entirely during the daytime, and on elephants,
instead of on foot, as in Treagganu. The fever had left me in bad
condition, and so I did not take an active part in the work.
On my trips between Bangkok and Singapore, I stopped off many times
at Trengganu to renew my acquaintance with the Sultan and to talk
with the native hunters, who were sending a steady stream of animals
to me at Singapore. I was known to the natives throughout the
Peninsula as _Túan Gâjah_--Sir Elephant--and I was amused to find
that the story of the big elephant hunt had grown to incredible
proportions. The herd of sixty elephants became larger each time the
story was told.