The ivory king

Many elephants have become famous in ancient and modern times,—some by their deeds in war (for their courage and daring), others for their domestic virtues and intelligence. But Jumbo, whose fame extended to all civilized nations, was noted for his great size, and for the hue and cry raised over his departure from their country by the English people; and it is safe to say that no animal ever rose to quite such a lofty pinnacle of popularity. Probably not a boy or girl who visited the huge animal when alive, but ever after took an interest in his career, and sincerely regretted his untimely end. Jumbo was a prince among elephants, a magnificent example of the possibilities of animal life, and a type of a race that is slowly but surely passing away. Jumbo’s early infancy was undoubtedly spent in the wilds of Central Africa. In 1861, when he was about four feet high, an elephantine toddler, Sir Samuel Baker saw him in the possession of some Hamran Arabs, who were taking him down the Settite River for delivery to a collector named Johann Schmidt. The latter sold him to the Jardin des Plantes; and Mr. W. B. Tegetmier says, “I saw him the day after his arrival in the Gardens, and went into his den with Mr. Bartlett. He was then about four feet high; and the keeper, holding a long-handled broom in the usual manner, was scrubbing his back, which was far below him.” This was in 1865: so that when he died, Jumbo was presumably about twenty-six years old, hardly in his prime; and I learn from Professor Ward, who mounted the skeleton, that he had not ceased growing. From 1865 to 1882 Jumbo lived in the Gardens of the London Zoölogical Society, pampered, fed, and petted by old and young; daily being marched upon the green with a load of children upon his back; and though, as Sir Samuel Baker says, he was not designed by nature as a perambulator, still the great animal was eminently successful as one.

Whether founded on fact, it is difficult to say, but rumors became current, that Jumbo had given evidence of dangerous outbursts of temper; and the keepers were afraid, so the report went, that possibly some one would be hurt. At this opportune juncture, Mr. Barnum, through an agent, offered the Zoölogical Society the sum of ten thousand dollars for Jumbo, which was immediately accepted; and, before the astonished public were hardly aware of what had occurred, the papers were signed that placed Jumbo in American hands. When this fact became known, there rose a clamor and protest from all classes. The excitement grew daily, added to by the comments of the German, English, and French press, until the question of Jumbo was the all-absorbing topic of the day. “The New-York Herald” said, “It seems a sad thought that a war between England and America is imminent, and may break out at any moment, and that no intervention will be able to stay the angry passions of two nations which ought to live in undisturbed harmony. The cause of this possible outbreak is the thoughtless sale of Jumbo, the pet elephant. Mr. Barnum vows that he will exhibit the giant to fifty millions of free Americans at fifty cents apiece. It seems a pity to rupture the amicable relations that have so long existed between us and our neighbors, but we must have that elephant.”

Mr. Labouchere mentioned the matter in a humorous way in Parliament; and “The London Standard” pathetically remarked, “When a Southern slave-owner put in force his legal right of separating a family at the auction-block, the world rang with anathemas against the inhumanity of the deed. Surely, to tear this aged brute from a home to which he is attached, and from associates who have so markedly displayed their affection for him, is scarcely less cruel.” Mr. Lowell, our minister at the time, is said to have observed, that the only burning question between the countries was Jumbo.

Thousands now flocked to the Garden to see the now famous elephant, that evidently had a strong hold upon their affections; subscriptions were started, to buy him back at any price; and the directors of the Garden were the butt of a vast amount of abuse.

Finally the editor of “The London Daily Telegraph” sent the following cablegram to Mr. Barnum:—

And back went this eminently characteristic reply from the great American showman:—

To this answer, the “Telegraph” referred in the following editorial:—

“Jumbo’s fate is sealed. The disappointing answer from his new American proprietor, which we published yesterday, proves too clearly that there is nothing to expect from delicacy or remorse in that quarter. Moved by the universal emotion which the approaching departure of London’s gigantic friend had aroused, we communicated with Mr. Barnum, indicating that ‘money was no object’ if he would only listen to the entreaties of the English children, and let the Royal Zoölogical Council off their foolish bargain. The famous showman replied—as all the world now knows—in tones of polite but implacable decision. He has bought Jumbo, and Jumbo he means to have; nor would ‘a hundred thousand pounds’ be any inducement to cancel the purchase. If innumerable childish hearts are grieving here over the loss of a creature so gentle, vast, and sensible, ‘fifty millions of American citizens,’ Mr. Barnum says, are anxiously waiting to see the great elephant arrive in the States. Then, to increase the general regret, the message depicts the sort of life which poor Jumbo has before him. No more quiet garden-strolls, no shady trees, green lawns, and flowery thickets, peopled with tropical beasts, bright birds, and snakes, making it all quite homely. Our amiable monster must dwell in a tent, take part in the routine of a circus. Mr. Barnum announces the intention of taking his ‘mammoth combination of seven shows’ round the world, via California, Australia, and the Suez Canal. Elephants hate the sea. They love a quiet bath as much as any Christians; but the indignity and terror of being slung on board a ship, and tossed about in the agony of sea-sickness, which is probably on a scale with the size of their stomachs, would appear to them worse than death. Yet to this doom the children’s ‘dear old Jumbo’ is condemned; and it is enough, if he knew of it, to precipitate that insanity which his guardians have pretended to fear. It is true Mr. Barnum holds out hopes that we may some day see again the colossal form of the public favorite. In the summer of 1883 he proposes to bring the good beast back to England, exhibiting him in ‘every prominent city;’ and the message adds, ‘I may afterwards return Jumbo to his old position in the Royal Zoölogical Gardens.’ There is a gleam of consolation in this, which we would not darken by any remarks upon the great showman’s ironclad inflexibility; but what will be the mental and physical condition of our immense friend when bereavement, sea-sickness, and American diet shall have ruined his temper and digestion, and abolished his self-respect? There will be a Yankee twang in his trumpeting; he will roll about on his ‘sea-legs,’ with a gait sadly changed from the substantial swing so well known; and Alice herself will hardly know him.

“We fear, however, that Jumbo will never come back to her and us alive. His mighty heart will probably break with rage, shame, and grief; and we may hear of him, like another Samson, playing the mischief with the Philistines who have led him into captivity, and dying amid some scene of terrible wrath and ruin. We hope Mr. Barnum fully realizes what ten tons and a half of solid fury can do when it has a mind.”

The young folks, who were the greatest losers by the sale of Jumbo, were not silent; and their attempts to move Mr. Barnum are shown in the following letters:—

The ninety pupils of a school in the Edgeware road memorialized the secretary of the London Zoo, who replied to them thus:—

These appeals,—selected from the hundreds of such,—of course, had no effect upon Mr. Barnum; and in the mean time preparations had been going on to ship the giant. A huge box was constructed, six feet eight inches in width, and thirteen feet high, bound with heavy bands of three-fourths inch iron, weighing in all six tons. Feb. 18, 1882, was selected as the day for the start. To prevent any trouble, Jumbo was heavily chained by his feet; and, after a struggle to break his bonds, he was led toward the box that was to convey him to the steamer. But elephants are naturally suspicious, and Jumbo was no exception to the rule. Bracing back, he flatly refused to enter; and the attempt was then given up. The next day, another trial was made, with like success; then it was proposed to walk the great animal to the steamer, with the hope that, after the long tramp, he would enter the box readily. Accordingly, the gates were thrown open, and Jumbo marched out; and “then,” says “The London Telegraph,” “came one of the most pathetic scenes in which a dumb animal was ever the chief actor. The poor brute moaned sadly, and appealed in all but human words to Scott, his keeper, embracing the man with its trunk, and actually kneeling before him.” In short, Jumbo refused to go, and was again returned to his house; and then the storm of public resentment broke out with renewed fury. The actions of the elephant were contorted into every possible meaning: his simplest acts and movements were given a significance which in all probability they did not have, and the press urged that some action be taken to prevent what was considered an outrage. A prominent clergyman wrote, “I trust the people of London will rise as one man, to prevent this cruel, inhuman bargain being carried out. Are there not walls in England strong enough to hold Jumbo, that we must send him away?”

Every legal obstacle was thrown in the way of the Americans. The authorities objected to the elephant being led through the streets; and, according to Mr. Barnum, the superintendent of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals never left the Garden until Jumbo did, awaiting an opportunity, according to the Americans, to use his authority in favor of public sentiment. As a last resort, an interim injunction was sworn out before Justice Chilly, restraining the Council of the Zoölogical Society from allowing Jumbo to be removed. But finally it was seen that Jumbo had been purchased fairly; and in the last of March the great elephant was coaxed into its box, and was ultimately hoisted aboard the steamer “Assyrian Monarch,” and shipped to New York, where he was hauled up Broadway in triumph by sixteen horses and a large crowd who dragged upon ropes attached to the wheeled box for the purpose; and from that time to his death became the object of great attention.

One never tired looking at this stupendous animal. His enormous size, the pillar-like legs,—columns of support rather than for locomotion,—his stately movements, the pendulum-like swinging of his huge trunk, all impressed the observer that Jumbo was indeed the king among all animals, and the most remarkable one ever seen upon this continent.

Jumbo continued with the Barnum circus until Sept. 13, 1885, when he met an untimely death in St. Thomas, Canada. The final performance of the circus had been given; and Jumbo and the trick elephant Tom were marching over the track to reach their cars, guided by Scott, the former’s trainer, when a heavy freight-train came rushing along from the east. The headlight was not seen until the train was within five hundred yards of the animals, and was not expected, as the railroad officials had assured the men that a train was not due for an hour. Signals were given as soon as possible, and the brakes were put on; while the elephants fled up the track, led by Scott, who stood by them to the last: but the heavy train could not be stopped, being on a down grade; and with a thundering roar it came on, striking the clown elephant, and hurling him into a ditch, then crashing into the ponderous Jumbo, the contact stopping the train, and derailing the engine and two cars.

The unfortunate Jumbo was struck in the hind-legs; and it is said, as he felt the cow-catcher, he gave a loud roar, turned and fell; the first car passing along his back, and inflicting wounds from which he died in fifteen minutes.

Jumbo’s measurements after death were found to be as follows: circumference of the fore-arm, five feet six inches; height, about eleven feet two inches; length of trunk, seven feet four inches; around the tusk, one foot three and a half inches; length of fore-leg, six feet. Mr. Barnum presented the skeleton to the National Museum, and the skin to Tufts College, of Massachusetts, where they will ultimately go. The two gifts were mounted by Professor Ward of Rochester, probably the most stupendous piece of taxidermy ever attempted in any country; and, as such, it may be of interest to know something of the methods employed. Professor Ward thus describes his work in a letter to Mr. Barnum: ... “Fortunately, we had one good life-photograph, also many measurements of his body, taken after the sad accident in Canada. The mounting was a matter involving such formidable conditions of weight and size, that no ordinary base would serve to support him. His pedestal was first built of heavy oak beams, the crossbars on which he stands being six by nine inches in thickness. In these were planted eight great standards of two-inch iron,—two of them to go through each leg,—which were bolted above into equally heavy cross-beams, which held them together, and strengthened the whole. Other beams ran lengthwise of the body, placed straight, obliquely, diagonally, and in every direction calculated to strengthen and stiffen, and all bound together with rods and bars and bolts. One great beam, reaching from rear part through the body to centre of his forehead, is calculated to sustain fully a ton’s weight, if at any time his great head should need such support. The outlines of his body and legs are then obtained by properly fastening pieces of thick plank on edge, and cutting them to form required. The further final contour of the body is secured by covering these timbers with wooden coating two inches thick, and all built up, cut and chiselled to the exact form desired in every part. Thus was gradually built up an elephant of almost solid wood, of Jumbo’s exact size and form. To this was applied his vast skin, weighing over three-quarters of a ton, and the same nailed and screwed in place over the entire surface and along the seams. There was no intermediate filling, and his skin now fits his wooden body in every part as closely as does the bark on a tree.”

In mounting the skeleton, Professor Ward made some interesting observations, and was able to compare Jumbo’s frame with that of a full-grown mastodon which was being mounted at the same time. That Jumbo was quite a young animal, was determined from an examination of his teeth and bones; and, gigantic as he was, he might have attained much larger dimensions.

To take Jumbo’s place, Mr. Barnum has purchased Alice, the large African elephant of the London Zoölogical Garden, who, according to Tegetmier, “is not of an amiable temper.” Alice is an African elephant, perfect with the exception of the tip end of her trunk, which was torn off some years ago. She is about the age of the late Jumbo, and will also find a resting-place, when her term has run, in some of the American institutions of science.