The ivory king

The popular opinion concerning the elephant is, that it is treacherous, quick to avenge an insult, and possesses a specially retentive memory regarding injuries received. This is an exaggeration: when compared to other animals, the elephant excels in its good qualities. Vices are found only in exceptional cases; the average males being, as a rule, safe, and not susceptible to sudden changes of temper; while the females are particularly mild and gentle. Sanderson says, “Among hundreds that I have known, only two have had any tricks. One of these would not allow herself to be ridden by a strange mahout, and the other had a great aversion to any natives but her own two attendants approaching her.”

In the management of these animals, strict discipline always has to be maintained. Mr. P. T. Barnum tells me, that while his herd of twenty or more are treated with the greatest kindness, yet fear is the secret of their obedience. The keeper never relaxes his power over them; and, if not in sight, the steel hook and pointer of their trainer, though, perhaps, concealed, is always at hand, and ready for use. Even the most gentle elephants, particularly the males, are liable in confinement to outbursts of fury; becoming ungovernable, and doing great damage before they can be subdued or killed.

Without warning, an elephant, which for years had been a quiet and docile member of the East Indian commissariat stud, became possessed of a veritable demon, broke loose, and fled trumpeting to the woods. For many weeks, it was a constant terror to the entire country in the vicinity;—rushing into villages, destroying houses; and, before it was killed, thirty-five human beings fell victims to its fury.

Such instances are comparatively rare; and it should be said to the credit of the elephant, that while it is really the king of beasts, and capable of greater destruction than any in India, it has less casualties laid to its door than any so-called dangerous animal. The following table indicates this more plainly, and shows the number of persons and domestic animals destroyed by wild mammals in India during the year 1875, the numbers being about the same every year:—

The Philadelphia elephant Dom, who was named in honor of Dom Pedro of Brazil, occasionally gave way to fits of rage, became unmanageable; and people flocked to the garden to see it disciplined. This consisted of securing each foot at a time, and hauling them apart by strong tackles, so that the huge beast was utterly powerless.

Travelling around the country seems to irritate elephants, and reports are often seen of their outbursts of rage. The famous Chief, owned by Robinson, became enraged at Charlotte, N.C., a few years ago, and, without the slightest warning, killed its keeper. The latter was attempting to illustrate to the audience how the elephant climbed into the special car provided for it, when the animal lost its patience, and hurled the unfortunate man against the car with terrific force, killing him before the very eyes of the people.

Tom, the pet elephant of the Duke of Edinburgh, who was brought from India in 1870 in H. R. H’s yacht, “Galatea,” killed its keeper in very much the same way.

The greatest elephant panic ever seen in this country was that created by Barnum’s Emperor, who suddenly developed all the characteristics of a rogue, while the circus was exhibiting in Troy, N.Y. The trouble commenced when an attempt was made to drive Emperor and Jumbo to the train. The former had decided objections to continuing the tour; and he suddenly bolted, and shuffled furiously up the street in the direction of the iron-foundery of Erastus Corning. The large door being open, the excited animal rushed in, and in a moment was trampling upon the red-hot coal and metal, uttering fierce shrieks. And now utterly enraged and mad, he rushed from the building into the crowded streets, trampling upon men, hurling others down an embankment with his trunk, breaking one man’s leg in his flight, throwing another twenty feet into the air, while a woman was taken from the stoop of a house and hurled into the street. In fact, the demon of rage seemed to possess the huge creature, that ran amuck until he had destroyed four thousand dollars’ worth of property.

Another rogue elephant was Romeo, owned by the Forepaugh Company, who died in Chicago in 1872, having killed three men, and destroyed property valued at fifty thousand dollars.

Almost equally vicious was Mr. Barnum’s Albert. This elephant killed its keeper at Keene, N.H.; and, after being loaded with chains, it was led out into the woods, followed by a large crowd, and a company of Keene riflemen. Its trainer, Arstinstall, marked the location of the heart upon the dark hide of the unsuspecting giant; and at the word, the great animal fell.

These fits of frenzy are sometimes periodic, and the elephant is then said to be must, or mad. The paroxysms vary in different animals. Some are lethargic, or sleepy; while others go mad, and endeavor to wreak vengeance upon any thing within reach. In the chapter on the anatomy of the elephant, reference is made to a pore in the temple of the animal; and, when expert elephant-men see an oily liquid exuding from this orifice, they accept it as a warning that the period of must is approaching; the elephant is immediately shackled, and keepers and strangers are warned to keep out of reach.

After this secretion has flowed for a while, the temples swell, and the animal is avoided by every one; its food being tossed at it, or pushed toward it on the end of a pole. If, during this time, the elephant escapes, destruction of human life is almost sure to follow. They attack every living creature, including their own kind. Sanderson says, “I once saw one of our tuskers, which was then only under suspicion of an approaching fit, break away from the control of his mahout, as he was being ridden to water, and, despite severe punishment, attack, knock down, another elephant near by; and, had his tusks not been cut, he would, without doubt, have killed her on the spot. He was at last driven off by spears thrown at his trunk and head. Then he stalked across the open plain with his mahout on his neck, fury in his eye, master of all he surveyed, and evidently courting battle from any created being. The men had a difficult and dangerous task to secure him. His hind-legs were at last tied from behind the trunk of a tree, near which he stood; and the mahout having drawn up a chain by a cord, and secured it around his neck, he was moored fore and aft. I shall never forget the mahout’s fervent ejaculation of ‘Allah! Allah!’ as he slipped over the elephant’s tail when he was made fast.” According to Mr. Sanderson, the flow of must is observed in both male and female elephants, but never in the tame females.

Besides the elephants which are supposed to have bad tempers, and occasionally exhibit them, there are certain animals which are by nature ugly, and more or less untrustworthy. These are called rogues, and by some, from their seeming love of a solitary life, “solitaries.” The rogue elephants, or solitaries, are popularly supposed to be soured individuals, who have been driven from a herd by rivals or companions; but this is a mistake, as investigation has shown that supposed solitaries were often old tuskers grazing some distance from a herd.

Certain elephants undoubtedly prefer a solitary life: but the so-called solitar is generally a young male who has not been able to assert his position in the herd, and is grazing along the outskirts; or is an old and bold tusker, who wanders about careless of its safety.

All seemingly isolated elephants are looked upon with suspicion, as, when met, they often rush to the attack, and prove dangerous enemies. The real rogue is usually a vicious tusker, such as Mandla, an elephant that was owned near Jubbulpore, Central Provinces. This brute was supposed to be mad, and, in 1875, suddenly developed a taste for human victims,—rushing at them at sight, attacking houses, or any object that excited its ire, and ultimately killing a large number of persons. This monster not only killed its victims, but is said to have eaten them, tearing the bodies limb from limb, and was known before its death as the man-eater. This is probably an exaggeration; the fact being, that the elephant took the victim in its mouth while it tore him in pieces, the demoralized natives thinking that it was eating him. An organized hunt was made for this elephant, and it was finally killed by two English officers.

A few years ago elephants in various parts of India, especially about Morlay, became so fearless, that they entered fields adjoining the towns, and did great damage; some, showing the disposition of the typical rogue, could hardly be driven away. In one case in India, a number of Oopligas drove a herd into the hills with their horns and tomtoms; and, a heavy rain coming on, they thought it hardly necessary to keep up the guard, so retired from the field. In the morning, they found that a valuable lot of the Indian maize (Sorghum vulgare) had been destroyed, the entire herd returning as soon as the noise had ceased. Mr. Sanderson caught this entire herd in 1874.

About thirty years before the man-eating elephant was heard of, a male rogue elephant created great devastation in the fields of the Morlayites. It was continually breaking into their rice; but one morning, being seen near a village, the entire population turned out, and with hue and cry gave chase. The rogue, who was also a coward, dashed away, rushing blindly into a marsh, or morass, and soon sank to its knees in soft mud, and was almost completely at the mercy of the pursuers. They surrounded it, and rained stones and other missiles upon it; and finally, one native, more revengeful and cruel than the others, threw some lighted straw upon the poor creature’s back. The terrible wounds seemed to spur it to greater exertions; and it finally escaped, and ultimately recovered, being often seen and recognized by its scars.

Sanderson mentions two tuskers which travelled about together, “twin solitaries.” They were extremely vicious, had killed people, and were finally proscribed by the government. One of the tuskers was killed by Mr. Sanderson in 1870. Referring to rogue elephants which he had observed, he says, “I had just finished dinner, and was enjoying a smoke before a blazing camp-fire, which lit to their topmost branches a pair of magnificent tamarind-trees, under which my tent was pitched, when I heard a distant shout of ‘Ánay!’ (elephants). At once, lights began to flit over the plain, moving towards one point; tomtoms were beaten, and rattles made from split bamboo sounded. An elephant trumpeted shrilly, the men yelled in defiance, till the intruders retreated to the jungle. The cover bordering on cultivation was so dense as to afford secure shelter to elephants close at hand, even during the day. After some little time, when the tomtomming and noise had ceased, a similar commotion took place at another point: again the Will-o’-the-wisp lights moved forward, with a repetition of the shouting and trumpeting. The villagers who were keeping up my camp-fire told me that it was only on occasional nights that the elephants visited cultivation. The watchers were evidently in for it now, and they became thoroughly alert at all points.

“Once the elephants came within two hundred yards of my camp; and, long after I went to bed, I heard the shouting and rattling of the watchers. These men were the Strolagas from the hills: they were hired annually for a month or two, at a fixed payment in grain, for watching their crops, by the low-country cultivators, who are themselves less able to stand the exposure on a rice-flat, and less bold in interfering with elephants. The watchers provide themselves with torches of light split bamboos in bundles, about eight feet long, and eight inches in diameter. These are lighted at one end, when required, and make a famous blaze. Armed with them, the men sally forth to the spot where the elephants are feeding. Some carry the torches; the others precede them, so as to have the light behind them. The elephants can be seen on open ground one hundred yards, should they wait to let the lights get so close. Some troublesome rogues get beyond caring for this; though the men are very bold, and approach within forty or fifty yards. Natives have often told me of particular elephants letting them get within a few yards, and then putting their trunks into their mouths, and withdrawing water, squirting it at the lights. I hardly need say that the latter part of the statement is purely imaginary; the idea doubtless arising from the attitude elephants often assume when in uncertainty or perplexity, putting the trunk into the mouth, and holding the tip gently between the lips.”

The large area of rice-fields on the bed of the Honganoor Lake was assessed long ago at one-third the usual rates, on account of the depredations of elephants. Mr. Sanderson adds, however, that the actual damage done to crops by elephants is much less than popularly supposed.

In capturing wild elephants, numbers of tuskers which have escaped, often follow the herd, and wander about the camps at night. On one occasion, a large female charged a tame elephant and rider. The latter was warned by a native, and slipped around his elephant’s neck just in time to save his life; but the jaws of the old rogue struck his thigh, and she endeavored to crush him with her single tusk. He drove his goad into her mouth, when she drew off, and came on again at full speed. The rider again dodged over his elephant’s neck, and a second time the single tusk struck his leg. This was repeated several times; and the rider, whose elephant was in the midst of a herd of wild ones in a corral, was in despair, when one of his assistants hurled a spear, striking the rogue in the head. A moment later, the latter’s elephant struck her a terrific blow, head on, almost knocking her over, and completely turning the scales.

Tame tuskers, under the direction of a mahout, soon outwit wild elephants in a battle. Females rarely fight among themselves; but, when they do, their spite is vented upon one another in a ludicrous and aggravating manner, by biting off each other’s tails.

Sanderson had a singular adventure with a rogue elephant who attempted to enter his tent at night. He started to his feet, first seeing his tent rip, and, on looking out, discovered that a wild elephant was tearing it with its tusks. The next day, it was found torn in two, with two tusk-holes in it. The next night a guard of men and a tame elephant was established; but at midnight, he was awakened by feeling the tent shake. Leaping to his feet, he looked out, saw the men asleep, and the tame elephant some distance off. While he stood, there came a crash, and the small tent fell in; when he found that probably the same elephant was investigating again; but, before he could clear himself from the canvas, it had made off, startled by the noise. The attack was probably made out of mere curiosity, or, perhaps, in a spirit of mischief. They have been known to trample down embankments, overturn telegraph-poles, haul up surveying-pins; and once, when a surveying-party left their chain overnight in a jungle, it could be heard jingling occasionally, the elephants evidently being pleased with the sound it made.

A famous rogue elephant for months devastated the country about Kákankoté. It first destroyed the crops; and gradually becoming bolder and bolder, it finally actually took possession of a strip of the country about eight miles long, including a part of the main road between Mysore and the Wynaad. No one dared to travel in the road; the monster charging every one, finally killing two natives. This aroused the populace; and the amildár, or native official, appealed to the government elephant-keeper for protection. A few days later, he was on the ground, and, with a party of Kurrabas trackers, was ready to slay the rogue. So great was the alarm, that the hunter found native policemen at the entrance of the jungle, to warn travellers of the elephant; and all who went through were preceded by natives, who, with tomtoms and other instruments, endeavored to frighten the brute, who was well known to every one by his large size, black color, and peculiar, up-curved, short tusks. For several days the professional hunter followed the great animal, and came up with him; but, by an unfortunate stampede, he lost him, and the hunt had to be given up for the time. Five months later it was renewed: and, after a long chase, the rogue was found in a bamboo thicket; then, after waiting for a fair shot, the hunter tired a heavy bullet, putting it just behind the shoulder.

For a second, there was a deathly silence, then, with a terrific scream, the monster dashed away; and the men, in full pursuit, were soon covered with blood that flowed from the wounds. The rogue ran for two hundred yards, and, when the Kurrabas came upon him, presented a terrible appearance. He was facing his foes, his trunk doubled, head elevated, and blood rushing from his mouth; yet the animal’s eyes were gleaming with fury, and it was ready to sell its life dearly. The hunter fired with a four-bore rifle; the bullet penetrating the brain, and killing him upon the spot. As the huge creature rolled over, the men crawled upon its upper side, which was six feet from the grass. The head and feet were taken; the former being placed on the main road for some time, to inform the natives that the end of the rogue had come.

The tusks of this elephant were small, being ten inches in circumference at the gum, and weighed twenty-two and a half pounds, curving up in a curious way.

Capt. Dunlop, of the British army, refers to a rogue elephant in the Doon, named Gunesh. It was the property of the government, but escaped, and for years caused a reign of terror in the country. It had a chain upon its leg, and the clank of this in the jungle near a village demoralized the entire populace. For fifteen years this brute wandered about, destroying rice-fields; and, during that time, it killed over fifteen persons.

Another rogue followed a courier of the English postal service, and trampled him to death.

While the canal of Beejapore was being made, a rogue elephant charged upon the men from some bushes, and seized one; then, pressing the body under its ponderous feet, the fiend deliberately pulled away the upper portion of it, and with a remnant in its trunk ran back into the bush.

Some woodmen engaged in cutting trees in the jungle about Chandnee-Doon, had an almost identical experience. One day three of them remained at home; while, during the day, one of the men went to a neighboring spring to draw some water. As he did not return, one of his companions went after him; and that evening they were both found dead, their bones being crushed and broken. The rogue had seized and thrown them to the ground, crushing them by a tread of its ponderous foot.

In Ceylon, the rogue is called a hora, or ronkedor; the Singhalese, according to Tennent, believing it to be an individual that has either lost its associates by accident, and, from its solitary life, become morose and savage; or a naturally vicious individual, that, being more daring, has separated itself from its companions. Whatever may be the reason for the savage temper exhibited by these solitary brutes, they constitute a characteristic of elephant life, and, in Ceylon, seem to possess the same likes and dislikes that mark the African and Asiatic rogues.

More daring than the peacefully disposed elephants, they come out of the jungle at night, and prowl around the towns and villages, trampling down cultivated tracts, devouring the standing rice and young cocoa-palms, becoming so bold in some places, that one has been known to enter a field, and seize a sheaf from a pile in the very midst of a party of workers, who fled in terror. As a rule, however, they remain concealed by day, committing their depredations by night. In some sections, as the low country of Badulla, the villagers build moats or ditches about their huts to protect themselves from the rogues.

Certain localities seem to be infested by these creatures. Thus, in 1847, a dangerous rogue frequented the Rangbodde Pass on a mountain road, that led to the Sanitarium at Neuera-ellia, and demoralized the entire country so that people were afraid to undertake the pass unless in numbers. Its method of attack was to seize natives, as it did a Caffre of the Caffre Corps of pioneers, with its trunk, and beat the victim to death against the bank.

Some years ago a native trader and party were travelling near Idalgasinna, when they suddenly heard the shrill trumpeting of a rogue. The entire company took to their heels; the coolies casting away their goods, and making for the jungle. The trader himself hid behind a large rock, and saw the elephant seize one of the coolies, and, after carrying him a short distance, dash him to the ground, and trample upon him; then turning to the goods they carried, he tore them in pieces, after which he walked into the jungle. This elephant was a noted rogue, and in its time destroyed the lives of a number of people. He was finally killed by an English sportsman.

A native made a statement to a Singhalese gentleman, who in turn imparted the information to Sir Emerson Tennent, that once, when he was on his way to Badulla, and walking around a hill, a large elephant rushed upon his party without warning, trumpeting loudly. In a moment, he had seized the native’s companion, who, it happened, was in the rear, and killed him by hurling him to the ground. Dropping the first victim, he then seized the narrator of the incident, and hurled him aloft with such force that he landed in the branches of a cahata-tree, and lodged there, thus escaping with only a dislocation of the wrist. The elephant returned to the body upon the ground, and tore it limb from limb, mutilating it as much as possible.

Rogue elephants in Ceylon are often very mischievous. In some sections, the tracing-pegs that have been put down by surveyors during one day, are pulled up the next by elephants. Rogues, like other elephants, are very suspicious. Col. Hardy, at one time deputy quartermaster-general in Ceylon, was travelling to an outpost in the south-eastern portion of the island, and one day became lost, and was attacked at dusk by a rogue. He ran for cover, but was almost caught, when he happened to think of his dressing-case; and, throwing it down, his pursuer came to an immediate stand-still, stopping to examine it carefully, while the officer escaped.

Other rogues destroy every thing they can find. In “The Colombo Observer” of March, 1858, there was a reward of twenty-five guineas offered for the destruction of an elephant that had taken up its residence in the Rajawallé coffee-plantation near Kandy. The huge animal terrified the people for miles about; its plan being, to come out of the jungle at night, and pull down buildings and trees on the plantation. It seemed to have an especial spite for the pipes of the water-works, the pillars of which it tore down; while the tops were all destroyed by this curious animal, who was finally shot.

Some years ago a rogue elephant was wounded near the town of Hambangtotte by a native, and followed the latter into the town in a wild race, catching him in the bazaar in the midst of the town, and trampling him to death before a crowd of people, then making good its escape.

Often tame elephants, excited by some means, become rogues for the time. During one of the attempts by the government to capture an entire herd in Ceylon, a fine tame tusker became intensely excited, and finally, in a frenzy of rage, broke down the bars of the corral with its head and tusks, and ran into the jungle. A few days later, its driver went after it with a decoy; when it approached, he courageously leaped upon the back of the maddened beast, and with a pair of hooks subdued it, until it was firmly chained, when it allowed itself to be led away.

That elephants do not easily forget, is shown in case of one that turned rogue, and escaped to the jungle, and, when recaptured ten years later, immediately obeyed the mahout’s command to kneel.

That rogue elephants are sometimes the result of inhuman treatment, is shown in a terrible catastrophe, reported by an Indian correspondent of “The Pall Mall Gazette” as occurring in April of the present year, in which seventeen human beings lost their lives, and much valuable property was destroyed.

“While an elephant was being ridden by its keeper in the District of Sultanpore, in Oude, the animal resented ‘prodding’ with a spear, by pulling the man from his back, and throwing him some distance away. Fortunately the man fell in a hollow, and remained there undiscovered by the elephant, who went to a neighboring village. There he chased an old man into a house, then broke down the walls, pulled the man out, and dashed him to pieces. The same night the elephant knocked down several houses in quest of human beings, in the villages of Sardapur, Bargaon, and Jaisingpur. He killed six men in Bersoma, three in Sota, four in Gaugeo, and four in Mardan. He likewise killed a bullock and a pony, and also completely destroyed a new carriage. The animal used to stand at the door of a house, force his entry by demolishing the walls on either side, and would then kill as many of the inmates as he could, pursuing others who tried to run away. He mangled the corpses terribly. After securing a victim, he sometimes returned to the spot to see if life were extinct, and would commence mutilating the body afresh. He carried several bodies long distances, and threw them into ravines, etc. The elephant found his way to the Dehra Rájah’s palace, where he tried to enter the house of a gardener; but some men mounted on three elephants, assisted by spearmen, drove him off. He then returned to Bebipur, where he tried to break down his master’s house, in which several persons had taken refuge. The police got into the house from a back window, and were obliged to send for help to the Dehra Rájah, who sent three elephants and some spearmen. The animal received two gun-shots on the head at Bebipur, which, however, only temporarily drove him off. He was ultimately captured at imminent risk, by the rájah’s three elephants and men.”