Though the tusks of the Asiatic elephant are not large and valuable enough to make its capture for that purpose profitable, the live animal itself is greatly esteemed as a beast of burden, and as a show-animal in the pageants of the native princes, every petty court or rich man considering it necessary to his dignity to possess a number of the huge animals. To supply this demand, professional hunters are in the field during every season, using several different methods to entrap the great game. If the plan is to capture a large number of elephants at a time, kheddahs, or enclosures, are built; this method being the one now in use by the Government Hunting-Establishment in Bengal. To make it successful, about four hundred natives are required; and their duties are so different and varied, that a page from the pay-roll, and list of duties from the books of Mr. G. P. Sanderson, officer in charge of the Government Elephant-Catching Establishment in Mysore, are appended:—

These men constitute a well-organized army of elephant-hunters under the immediate command of a jemadar, or native sergeant, who in turn is responsible to a British or European officer. Besides the remuneration in the above pay-roll, each man receives free rations equal to two pounds of rice a day, two pounds of salt fish, chillies, salt, etc., per month. The total expense of a party is about twelve hundred dollars. Besides these numerous hunters, every party has a number of tame elephants, or koonkies, upon which the success of the hunt often depends. It is estimated that one tame elephant can manage two wild ones. This consists in leading the captives to water, bringing them fodder, etc. The Asiatic hunting-parties generally organize in December, and enter the field for two or three months. When the advance-guard discovers a herd, the large party comes to a stand-still some distance away, and then begins an organized system of progression. The men divide, and spread out in a circle, the object being to surround the herd; and, when complete, the natives often cover six or eight miles of ground, the men being some distance apart. When the word has been passed that the herd is in the centre, a bamboo fence is quickly put up, the material being at hand: in two or three hours, perhaps, the animals are entirely surrounded, and the men on the alert to see that they do not break out. During the day the elephants are generally not visible; and at night bonfires are built around the great circle, and the men by yells and shouts keep the terrified animals in the centre. Here they are watched, perhaps for a week, the men remaining at the posts, where they erect rude huts, and make themselves comfortable. As soon as the bamboo enclosure is completed, the important work, or the kheddah, is commenced,—a fence within the large one. To construct this, half the guard are detailed; and in a remarkably short time a stout fence is built in a circular form, about twelve feet in height, and from sixty to one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, braced and supported in the strongest manner; while all around the inside of the fence a ditch four feet wide is made. An opening about twelve feet wide is left on one side, facing one of the elephant runs, or tracts. To guide the elephants to the gate, palisades are built, diverging from it to a distance of one hundred and fifty feet. This arranged, the men close in on the herd, and, by shouting and firing, force them along the drive that leads to the funnel-shaped opening. Into this they run in a terrified throng; and, when all are in, the gate, which is a heavy affair studded with nails, is lowered by men stationed overhead, and a shout of triumph rises from the crowd of coolies. The elephants are now completely at their mercy. The fence is strong enough to prevent an outbreak; and, even if it were not, the ditch prevents their approaching it near enough to test their strength. Sometimes an elephant more plucky than the rest will make the attempt, and go through it like paper: but the elephant lacks intelligence in some things; and, when a break has been made by one, the others rarely follow the leader, a few shouting coolies being sufficient to keep them back.

The elephants do not always enter the kheddah so willingly, but break away, running over the men, and often killing numbers of them; but, as a rule, a well drilled and organized party manages the drive without great difficulty. When the herd is under control, the tame elephants are marched in, each with its mahout, or driver, upon its neck; and it is a curious fact, again showing the elephant’s lack of intelligence, that the men are never touched, though they could be hauled from the tame animals with the greatest ease. Acting under the directions of the mahouts, the tame elephants separate the wild ones one by one from the herd; and, when they are surrounded, the men, or tiers, slip to the ground, and pass ropes or chains about their hind-legs, by which they are picketed until they have been reduced to subjection.

For many years elephants have been caught in Bengal, and the above plan for taking entire herds at a time is now in use by Mr. Sanderson.[2] His most successful operations were carried on near the village of Chámraj-Nuggar near the foot of the Billiga-rungun hills. His first plan was met by much ridicule from the natives; and all the true Mussulmans were firm in the belief that no good would come of it, for the very good reason that there was a curse handed down by a former unsuccessful elephant-trapper for the benefit of any one who made the attempt to capture an entire herd after him. The natives were willing, however, to enter the employ of the official for a consideration, probably when they were convinced that the curse would fall upon him alone. Be this as it may, he had no difficulty in organizing a good band of elephant-hunters; and in a short time a plan of operations was formed on the Houhollay River. The first attempt was unsuccessful, but the next season an entire herd was captured; and since then, many large herds have been secured, the business being a valuable one to the government. The following is a description of one of these government hunts from the pen of Mr. Sanderson, the officer in charge:—

“It was past mid-day before we got all the elephants into cover, and not a minute’s rest did any of us get until eleven P.M. Capt. C—, of the revenue survey, came over from his camp at Surgoor, and Major G—, and he helped to superintend the people. At one point, the supply of tools was insufficient; and Capt. C— was superintending and encouraging a body of men who were digging with sharpened sticks, and even their bare fingers. The elephants were very noisy in the cover, but did not show themselves. At every twenty yards three or four men were stationed to keep up large fires. These were reflected in the water of the channel and river, which increased their effect. We all had a most exaggerated idea of what the elephants might attempt; and the strength of our defences was in proportion, and greater than they need have been. I was kept on the move almost all night by false alarms at different points, fortunately groundless ones. One tusker showed himself on the bank of the channel, but met with such a reception from firebrands and stones, that he retreated in haste. The river was an advantage, as the elephants had easy access to water. The lurid glare of the fires, the giant figures of the lightly clad watchers, their wild gesticulations on the bank with waving torches, the background of dense jungle resonant with trumpeting of the giants of the forest, formed a scene which words are feeble to depict, and that cannot fade from the memories of those who witnessed it. By eleven P.M. the defences were thoroughly secured; and that the elephants could not now escape, was certain, unless, indeed, they carried some of our barricades, which were, however, so strong as to be almost beyond their power. The men differed as to their number. I had seen about twenty: some declared there were fifty, but I could not believe this at the time. The number was fifty-four, as we subsequently found. The excitement of the scene was irresistible; so I betook myself to walking around the enclosure at intervals throughout the night, followed by a man carrying a basket of cheroots, which I distributed to the people. The rest of the time I lay upon my cot, which my servant had been thoughtful enough to bring from Morlay, enjoying the wildness of the sounds and scenes around, and soothed by cheroots and coffee. When the elephants approached the place where I was, the guards thrust long bamboos into the fires, which sent showers of sparks up to the tops of the trees overhead, where they exploded with a sound like pistol-shots. The first crow of the jungle-cock was the most grateful sound I think I ever heard, as it showed our anxious vigil was drawing to a close. We knew that during the day the elephants would give us no trouble. My herdsmen now joined me from the points where they had been stationed during the night, and we set about considering the next step to be taken; namely, making a small enclosure, or pound, into which to get the elephants confined. Of course, this would take some time to carry out. If driven from the east, we knew that the animals would pass between the temple and channel at the west end of the cover, with a view to crossing the river below the temple, and regaining their native hills, which, however, they were fated never to see again. I therefore laid out a pound of one hundred yards in diameter, surrounded by a ditch nine feet wide at top, three at bottom, and nine feet deep. This was connected with the larger cover by two guiding trenches which converged to the gate. It was completed in four days by the personal exertions of the amildár with a body of laborers who worked with a will, as their crops had suffered from the incursions of elephants, and they appreciated the idea of reducing their numbers.

“The last thing completed was the entrance gate, which consisted of three transverse trunks of trees slung by chains between two trees that formed gate-posts. This barrier was hauled up and suspended by a single rope, so as to be cut away after the elephants passed. The news of the intended drive attracted several visitors from Mysore. Tents were pitched in an open glade close to the river, and we soon had a pleasant party of ladies and gentlemen. The evening before the drive, all assembled within view of the point where the elephants were in the habit of drinking at sunset, and were gratified with an admirable view of the huge creatures, disporting themselves timidly in the water. On the morning of the 17th, every thing being in readiness for the drive, Capts. P., B., and I proceeded with some picked hands to drive the herd from its stronghold towards the pound. We succeeded in moving them through the thick parts of the cover with rockets, and soon got them near to its entrance. A screened platform had been erected for the ladies at a point near the gate, where they could see the final drive into the enclosure from a place of safety. The elephants, however, when near the entrance, made a stand, and refused to proceed, and finally, headed by a determined female, turned upon the beaters, and threatened to break down an open glade. P. and I intercepted them, and most of them hesitated; but the leading female, the mother of an albino calf, which had been evilly disposed from the beginning, rushed down upon me, as I happened to be directly in her path, with shrill screams, followed by four or five others, which, however, advanced less boldly. When within five yards, I floored her with my eight-bore Greener and ten drams; but, though the heavy ball hit the right spot between the eyes, the shot was not fatal; as the head was carried in a peculiar position, and the bullet passed under the brain. The elephant fell at the shot, almost upon me, and P. fired; and I gave her my second barrel, which in the smoke missed her head, but took effect in her chest, and must have penetrated to the region of the heart, as a heavy jet of blood spouted forth when she rose. For a moment she swayed about, then fell to rise no more. This was a painful sight. The elephant had only acted in defence of her young; but shooting her was unavoidable, as our lives, as well as those of the beaters, were in jeopardy.

“The next scene partook of the ridiculous. The herd dispersed, and regained its position. The little albino calf, seeing P., screamed wildly, and with ears extended, and tail aloft, chased him. He, wishing to save it, darted around the trees, but was near coming to grief, as he tripped and fell. The result might have been disastrous had I not given the pertinacious youngster a telling butt in the head with my eight-bore. His attention was next turned to a native, who took to his heels when he found that three sharp blows with a club on the head had little effect. After some severe struggles, in which a few natives were floored, the calf was at last secured to a tree by a native’s waist-cloth and a jungle-creeper.

“While all this took place, the beat became thoroughly disorganized. When the elephant had charged P. and me, our men had given way; and the herd regained its original position, at the extreme east end of the cover. After a short delay, we beat it up again to the spot near the gate from which it had broken back. The elephants had formed a dense mob, and began moving round and round in a circle, hesitating to cross the newly filled-in trench, which had reached from the channel to the river, but which was now refilled to allow them to pass on into the kheddah. At length they were forced to proceed by the shots fired, and by the firebrands carried through the paths in the thicket. The bright eyes of the fair watchers near the gate were at length gratified by seeing one great elephant after another pass the Rubicon. After a short pause, owing to a stand being made by some of the most refractory, the last of the herd passed in with a rush, closely followed into the inner enclosure by a frantic beater, waving a firebrand. P. and I came up third, in time to save any accident from the fall of the barrier. C., who was perched on a light branch of the gate-post, cut the rope; and, amidst the cheers of all, the valuable prize of fifty-three elephants was secured to the Mysore Government. I often think of the rapture of that moment. How warmly we sahibs shook hands! How my trackers hugged my legs, and prostrated themselves before P. and B.! An hour of such varied excitement as elephant-catching is surely worth a lifetime of uneventful routine in town.”

Such is the account of an enthusiastic hunter, one of the best living authorities on these elephants; and few men have enjoyed his privileges. To complete the capture of this herd, seventeen tame elephants were employed; and finally they were all tamed and ready for use. They consisted of sixteen male elephants, the largest being eight feet five inches at the shoulder; three mucknas, or tuskless males; thirty females, and nine young ones. Nine were given to the Mahárájah’s stud, ten to the Madras Commissariat Department, while twenty-five were sold at public auction when they were tame enough to be used by purchasers. The latter realized about $415 apiece, or in a bulk $10,425; and the amount realized from the entire catch, deducting the deaths, was $18,770. Deducting from this the total sum of expenditures from Mr. Sanderson’s first attempt at their capture in 1873, or $7,780, a profit to the government remained of $10,995. Mr. Sanderson was congratulated by the chief commissioner of Mysore, and his excellency the viceroy and governor-general in council, and has since continued to capture elephants on this plan, always with marked success. His last catch that I have record of, that of 1882, was two hundred and fifty-one, and that only up to March. The first drive yielded sixty-five, and the second fifty-five, elephants. These animals were taken in the Garrow Hills.

A second method of taking wild elephants in India is by following them with females trained for the purpose. This plan is usually more successful in the capture of large tuskers than the kheddah, as the latter are often away from the herd, and do not become entrapped. The hunt is generally composed of four or five well-trained female elephants ridden by mahouts, who sit upon their necks, and are hidden by cloths or blankets of the same color as the elephant’s skin. In some works, these elephants are called decoys; but this is an entirely mistaken idea. The tame elephants use no arts to attract the wild ones, in the sense of a decoy, merely obeying the commands or signs of the keeper.

When the location of a single male is determined, the tame elephants approach the spot in a leisurely manner, feeding as they move. Sometimes the wild elephant scents the mahouts, and moves off; but, as often, they do not seem to notice them; and, if not, the tame ones gradually surround him, and endeavor by command of their mahouts, who direct them by signs, to keep its attention. Generally there is an elephant in the near vicinity, loaded with ropes and other material; and, as several days are occupied, the men are relieved every day, the elephants drawing off one by one, and returning with fresh men.

This surveillance is kept up day and night; and, during the latter, the wild elephant goes into the fields to feed, being closely followed by the seemingly treacherous females with their concealed drivers. When he returns to the forest as the day approaches, they follow: and as he lies down, and tries to go to sleep, they close in about him, and, at the command of the mahouts, keep him awake by various devices; all this performance resulting in thoroughly fatiguing the old fellow, and making him sleep very soundly when he does take a nap. Sometimes an elephant is fed with sugar-cane loaded with opium, to make him sleep; and, as soon as he has fallen into a deep slumber, the mahouts slip off behind, and securely tie his legs. Then the men in the rear come up, and rudely awaken him, slapping him on his haunches, and telling him facetiously to be of “good cheer.”

The struggles of the trapped elephant are terrific, and they often injure themselves fatally. The tame elephants follow them up until they are thoroughly subdued, when they are securely bound, and led to the place where their training commences; and a few months later, they are carrying their human owners about, or working in the timber district, as if they had not been wild elephants so short a time before.

A third method of taking elephants here is by the pitfall,—a barbarous custom, not now in general practice, as it always resulted in the loss by death of a large proportion of the catch. The plan was to dig pitfalls in the well-known and beaten tracts of elephants in the jungle, or under certain trees where they were known to congregate to feed. These traps, or holes, were generally ten and a half feet long by seven and a half broad, and fifteen feet deep, being purposely small, so that the imprisoned animals could not dig down the earth with their tusks, which they often did. In former years, there was, according to the government official, a perfect network of these pits in Mysore, and kept in order by the Mahárájah, the Forest Department, and others. The natives, as the Strolagas and Kurrabas, also made pits; and when an elephant was trapped, and they had no way of getting it out, the poor creatures often died before a tame elephant could be secured to give the required assistance. Through the endeavors of Sanderson, this inhuman practice has been given up; and all elephants caught are treated as humanely as possible.

A fourth plan of capture is by noosing wild elephants from the back of a tame one; and this affords a most excellent and manly sport, to be commended, as the animal is given fair play, and boldly met in the field. It is confined to Bengal and Napaul, not being practised in Southern India, and is not in favor for the reason that not rarely the tame elephants are badly injured, and the wear and tear upon them is too great. The sport is extremely dangerous, and is carried on something after the fashion of lariating wild cattle in the West of our own country. Fast elephants are selected, and three drivers provided each. One sits on the neck, to direct it; another sits near the tail, and, with a spike and a mallet, is supposed to hammer the unfortunate animal as hard as possible, just over the spot marked by the os coccygis. This is to spur the elephant on to excessive bursts of speed, and generally success. A third man sits on a pad upon the elephant’s back, and holds a noose, the other end of the rope being strapped about the animal’s body.

Thus fitted, a wild herd is followed; and, once sighted, the last man hammers at the creature with his spike and mallet, and away they go, over the rocks and through the bush in a wild chase. If the tame elephants are fleet enough, they soon range alongside, and give the rope-handler an opportunity to test his skill, which he does by throwing the noose over the head of the nearest elephant. Some natives are very expert at this; but men are often hauled off and crushed, or the elephants are choked, and many accidents occur.

A different kind of noosing is practised in Ceylon, where men follow the animals on foot, and throw a noose so skilfully, that they catch them about their legs when running at full speed through the jungle. As soon as this is accomplished, the men follow along, and twist the end about a tree, and soon have the great game at their mercy.

In all these cases, there is great danger, but not so much as where the animal is followed by the hunter on foot, and meets the huge creature face to face, his object being the tusks; described in a separate chapter on elephant-hunting as a sport.