The Elephant Keeper

The second method is, I think, the one that must have been employed with the Elephants of which I now took charge. This method involves hundreds of natives, who form a wide circle round a grazing herd in the jungle. These natives are careful not to alarm the Elephants at first, but by lighting fires and brandishing torches, they gradually persuade the herd to move in a particular direction, that is, away from all the noise and clamour, and toward a specially prepared inclosure, known in the Hindoo tongue as a keddah. Sometimes it may take as long as a week before the herd reaches the keddah. This inclosure is formed of upright and transverse beams, which make a barricade, reinforced by a deep ditch, and is in truth a series of linked inclosures, the first being large, the second smaller, the third smaller still. The barricades are concealed by thorn and bamboo, but as the Elephants approach they often grow suspicious and attempt a retreat, whereupon they are met by banging gongs and shaking rattles. Once they enter the first inclosure, a gate is shut, and then they have no choice but to advance into the second inclosure, and again the gate is shut, and at last they arrive at the third. The Elephants by now being greatly alarmed, charge and rampage, but at every point they are repelled, and they gather in a sulky group, not knowing what to do, and here remain for a day, until a small door is opened, leading into a narrow passage. Food is thrown down, enticing one of the Elephants to enter, as he does so the door is shut. He tries to turn but there is not enough space, he tries to back out but the way is barred: he has no choice but to advance further and further, his mind whirling in terror and confusion, until he finds himself confined in a tight space. Here he is held by strong ropes, and here, while his rage subsides, that is, until it is subdued by hunger, he remains for a week or month, or longer, in the company of a man known as a mahoot, who will become his keeper for the rest of his life. This man never leaves the Elephant’s side, and takes care of his every need; so that the Elephant comes to depend upon him, understanding his commands and doing anything to please him. Indeed, the Elephant is the man’s slave, but there is this difference from many human slaves: that he serves willingly, lovingly, without questioning his position or feeling the least resentment: for, in the mind of the Elephant, his keeper, however poor or humble his station in human society, is a kind of God.

CHAPTER II (#udd7939ff-3ce7-5bd1-94c4-4371a45587f1)

MY TWO Elephants (I had begun to think of them as mine, though they were the property of Mr. Harrington) were very pleased with each other’s company, and as a sign of their friendship they would entwine their trunks over the partition which divided their stables. Soon I began to feel more confident, and would let them use their trunks to explore what kind of creature I was, feeling round my neck, or my legs, or my head and face. It was a curious sensation to feel a waft of hot Elephant breath on my cheek or ear.

The stables in which the Elephants were housed faced east, and therefore received sunlight during the mornings only. One warm afternoon, I decided to let them into the yard. Being surrounded by brick walls, the yard was entirely secure, though as a precaution I tied ropes between each of their back and front legs. My heart beat as I bent under the trunks to tie the knots, but I made a shew of bravado; for them to have detected my apprehension would have been a great error. In the yard they passed a very pleasant two hours, after which I led them back to their stables. Martin and I then took a horse and cart over the bridge to the Corn Market in order to buy fresh provisions for our charges, but we had scarcely reached the Market when one of the maids came panting toward us, crying out that the Elephants had escaped and were running through the streets. Much alarmed, I hastened back to the house, where to my great relief I found both Elephants peacefully browsing on the small weeds which grew out of the cracks between the bricks. With the lure of a few sweet carrots, I was easily able to return them to the safety of their stables.

Since I had bolted both stable doors, it was a great puzzle as to how the Elephants had broken loose. I strongly suspected that Joshua must have set them free, but when I next saw the boy, he hotly protested his innocence. I confess that I was not entirely sure whether to believe him, which made him very cross; he stamped his foot and began to shout so loudly that Mrs. Harrington appeared and asked me what the matter was. When she heard that the Elephants had escaped, she tightened her lips and said that she had known it would happen. I promised her that they would never escape again; yet they succeeded in doing so on the very next day. I therefore set a trap, pretending to leave with the cart, but concealing myself in one of the horses’ stables, with a good view of those occupied by the Elephants. Nothing happened for several minutes; then the female, who had been watching to see whether she was observed, curled up her trunk, grasped the bolt that secured the door to her stable, and slid it back in one deft motion. The male did likewise, and both animals ambled out, very pleased with themselves; at which point, I sprang from my hiding place, and drove them back to their quarters. I secured each of the stable doors with a lock, which could only be opened with a key. Both Elephants made repeated efforts to pick their locks over the coming hours; when they failed, I felt triumphant. I have defeated you, I thought to myself. Yet, soon enough, I came back from the Corn Market to find them once again in the yard, and the stable doors lying flat on the ground, torn off their hinges. The Elephants, having given up the locks, had lit upon the simple expedient of backing themselves out of their stables. They eyed me with a kind of glee, which was not at all as innocent as it pretended to be, and I gave them a severe reprimand, telling them how strongly I disapproved of their actions. They would not meet my eyes and looked uneasily away.

After this incident, I had stronger doors made, with iron bars, but it was plain that the Elephants needed proper training. However, before I had got very far with this, there was another matter to consider. Mr. Harrington and his family were returning to Thornhill for the summer months, and the Elephants had to shift also. How to move them safely over thirty miles of country was an aukward question. Martin was in favour of putting them in the same stout wooden crates which had been used to move them from the quay, and transporting them by waggon; while I argued that they should travel on foot, with their legs chained. I doubted that we would be able to persuade them into the crates, which would surely remind them of the torments that they had endured on the voyage from the Indies; and I also doubted that, if they attempted to regain their freedom, the crates would hold. Mr. Harrington, however, agreed with Martin, pointing out that, since College Green lay on the west side of Bristol, and to the north of the river, our route would necessarily take us through the centre of the city, where the streets are very narrow, and that the Elephants would be certain to attract crowds of people, causing untold havock; moreover, even when we were outside the city and in the countryside, we could not be sure that they would not take fright and bolt across the open fields. The only safe course, therefore, was to transport them in the crates.

Several days before the journey was to take place, I placed the crates in the stable-yard, lining them with hay and hiding their appearance with rags and ivy. In spite of this disguise, the Elephants were not deceived; they were very wary of the open crates, and would not go near them. However, I gave them very little food, and by the third day, which was the day before we hoped to leave, the suspicions of the male had been overtaken by hunger, and he went into one of the crates and ate some hay. The female remained highly suspicious. Our difficulty was all the greater, in that the animals had to enter their crates at the same time; for, if the male saw the female being imprisoned, he would certainly take fright, and the same for the female.

Early on the morning of the journey, Martin and I had assembled a troop of helpers—some twenty strong men, from other houses on the Green—and while they stood by I laid a trail of carrots from the stables into the crates, which were piled with carrots. To my astonishment, this ruse worked as soon as I opened the stable doors; indeed it worked so quickly, both Elephants hurrying into their crates, that all of us were taken by surprize. The men rushed forward, ten to each Elephant, and held them there while iron bars were laid in place. When the Elephants understood that they had been tricked into captivity, they trumpeted in rage and distress, and I have no doubt that they would have broken out, but that the crates had been strengthened with bars, and that they were tightly confined, unable to turn or to swing their trunks. I should say here that people often believe that an Elephant’s tusks are its main weapon; whereas, in truth, the trunk is far more dangerous.

Without further ado, each of the crates was loaded on to a waggon, and tightly secured with ropes; then a team of four horses was put in the shafts.

Fortune favoured us thus far, but no further: for we had scarcely left the city of Bristol behind us when the clouds opened. The rain began to pour, and the roads were soon sticky with mud, and the Elephants made a heavy load. Moreover, the horses, though strong, were frightened by the presence of the Elephants, who kept up an intermittent bellowing and trumpeting. Their cries made me desperate to cover the thirty miles as quickly as possible, in order to release them from their confinement; but we made poor progress, and as we were struggling up a steep down near Cheddar, I wondered whether we would ever reach the top. The rain pelted, and the road, which was deeply rutted, ran in chalky torrents, and the horses strained and stumbled; we dismounted, but one horse puffed and blowed so badly I thought that she would drop. As we neared the top, we met a large herd of sheep being driven to market, and their baas and bleats persuaded the Elephants to trumpet even more loudly. In the midst of this cacophony, the shepherd shouted to ask what animals we had on our waggons; on hearing that they were Elephants, he seemed as amazed as if he had been told that they were dragons. The Elephants quietened after that; and when we reached an inn at Wells, where we gave our tired horses a bait, I peered into the crate containing the tusker. In the lines of light shining faintly through the cracks between the boards, he stood motionless, but I caught the gleam of an eye, and I had the impression that he was looking at me. The end of his trunk slid, and blew against the crack. Within her crate, the female was equally still. I imagined the distress in their minds, and their fear that they were about to be put on another ship.

Night had already fallen with the rain still heavy when we crawled into Thornhill, passing the cottage where my family lived. We turned into Mr. Harrington’s estate and drove to the stables behind the Hall. My father, whom I had not seen for over three months, was waiting with my fellow grooms, Bob Brown and Dick Shadwick. While they attended to the horses I prised open the crates, first that of the female, then that of the male. Both Elephants were dazed, and unsteady on their feet; they staggered toward each other through the puddles and bumped bodies; but I was relieved that they were alive. After I had given them a long draught of water, I led them into the cart-house, which it had been decided would be their new home. I would not allow any of the grooms, not even my father, to help, which caused some ill-feeling, but my main concern was with the comfort of the two Elephants.

Presently Mr. Harrington appeared, and with him was Joshua, carrying a lanthorn. The Elephants were standing side by side, and I remember how for one moment in the light held up by the little boy they seemed to shrink back, their trunks drooping from their faces, while their shadows flung against the rough whitewashed wall at the back of the cart-house merged to form a single dark shadow creature with a double trunk, which swayed and stretched to the slightest movement of the lanthorn. Mr. Harrington asked me how the Elephants did and I told him that they did very well, though they were greatly unsettled by the journey.

That night I slept with them at the cart-house. In the morning, I left them in the care of my father, and went to see my mother, whom I was glad to find in good health. She told me that my brother, despite his head-aches, had been given work in the gardens at Harrington Hall, and when I learnt this I felt very grateful to Mr. Harrington. However, she was frightened that I was in charge of two Elephants, and kept telling me to take care of myself, for, she cried out, wringing her hands, that she could not bear it if I were torn to pieces and eaten alive. From this remark I discovered that she believed Elephants to be animals of great ferocity, who used their vast tusks like swords to slaughter their prey, having been told as much by Mrs. Perry, a withered old woman who was one of our close neighbours in Thornhill. Since my mother held Mrs. Perry to be an infallible authority on all matters political, historical, geographical, moral and scientific, although in her entire life she had probably never ventured more than a dozen miles from Thornhill, I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her (my mother, that is) that, on the contrary, Elephants were gentle as cows, though ten times as intelligent, and ate only vegetable matter. When I invited her to see for herself, she said that she did not dare, it was more than her life was worth; she was sure that she would be eaten. With my father’s help, however, I prevailed on her to come. She gazed at the female, and then at the male, before saying, ‘Tom, if it is so gentle, why does it have tusks?’ This question has often puzzled me, and I confess that I do not know the answer. Although it may be that, in the wild, the tusks are sometimes used as weapons, I am sure that they are chiefly employed for peaceful purposes, digging for roots and unearthing shrubs and trees, in which service they are very valuable.

It was about this time that I gave names to the Elephants, just as I used to name certain horses when I was a boy. The male I named Timothy, after my own father, while the female I called Jenny, a name that I had always happened to like. However I did not tell anyone these names but kept them private, in case they exposed me to ridicule.

The rain having passed on, I allowed the Elephants out of the cart-house. At Harrington Hall, unlike in Bristol, the yard received sun for much of the day, and they enjoyed its heat, moving so that its rays angled on to the broad expanse of their grey backs. As they stood like this, with their back legs roped together, I took the opportunity to wash and scrub them, using a stiff brush, and this Jenny suffered me to do with great patience; however, when I came to Timothy, his trunk knocked the brush from my hands and tossed it toward his sister, and when I went to retrieve it, she flicked it away. This mischief shewed how far they had recovered their spirits after the journey from Bristol, and during the succeeding days they began to play any number of tricks. One of my daily tasks was to dig out the dung that had accumulated in the cart-house, taking it in a barrow to a large pit by the kitchen garden, while my father watched the Elephants to see that they behaved. (I may mention here that Elephant dung, being somewhat lighter and dryer than horse dung, is of great value in the garden.) When, after one of these trips, I returned to the yard, I heard my father shouting, and found that Timothy had seized the spade with his trunk, and was swinging it to and fro with such force that, had it connected with my father’s head, it might well have knocked out his brains. I reprimanded him in as severe a voice as I could muster, but he was annoyed, and sent the spade flying through the air. I pretended to be very angry, and slapped his flank with the palm of my hand, an action which hurt me a great deal more than it can have hurt him.

It was clear that I needed to press on with their training, and I began to teach them certain signs and sounds. They regarded me attentively, for when they did well I praised them loudly and rewarded them with carrots or fruit. When they did badly, I shook my head and reproved them by wagging a finger, but this was seldom necessary. They learnt quickly, much more quickly than horses; indeed, it was remarkable how fast we went, so much so that I often wondered whether they had not already received some training in the Indies. One reason for their speed was that they imitated each other. While they watched me, awaiting the next order, and often anticipating it before it was given, they also watched each other.

Within a matter of days they were willing to walk forward, to stop, to turn to the left and right, and to walk backward. I then taught them to kneel. Among the differences between horses and Elephants is that, while a horse has three bones in its leg, an Elephant has only two; thus the horse, when kneeling, brings his hind legs under his body, while the Elephant lets his go before him, like a human being.

All this training I did either in the cart-house or in the yard, and all the time I kept their front and back legs roped. In addition, I made a kind of harness, which I attached to their upper bodies, tying it under their bellies and drawing it between their front legs.

My next step was to teach them to lie down. This proved more difficult, for although Elephants will lie down to sleep at night, for an hour or two, this runs counter to their natural inclinations, which are to stay on their feet; for when on the ground they cannot rise quickly to their feet and are all but defenceless, unable to use their tusks or trunks to defend themselves against any enemies. For this reason it took many hours of teaching before I could persuade them to do my bidding. I took care never to shew my emotions but to remain entirely patient, in the certainty that my will would in the end prove the greater, as eventually proved the case. It was Jenny who first yielded, dropping to her knees and tilting her body to one side so that she fell, crumpling, to the ground; whereupon I praised her loudly and rewarded her with food, and the sight of this convinced Timothy to do likewise. As they lay in the dusty yard, breathing slowly, with the spring sun on their bodies, I felt a great sense of satisfaction that two such creatures, the most powerful beasts in the animal kingdom, should have bowed to my will; and also some regret that neither my father nor my fellow grooms, who were busy exercising the horses, had witnessed this singular event. The succeeding day I took care to repeat the feat when Bob and Dick were watching, hoping to impress them mightily, but to my disappointment they said nothing and feigned complete indifference.

However, when I gave a demonstration of the Elephants’ progress to Mr. Harrington, he expressed his astonishment and pleasure. ‘But, Tom,’ he went on, ‘you should not be doing this alone. Each Elephant should surely have his own groom. Why is Martin not helping? Or Dick?’—‘Sir,’ I said, feeling somewhat uneasy, ‘it is easier by myself. The Elephants prefer a single keeper.’—‘They do, do they? Both of them? They have clearly expressed their preference for a single keeper?’—‘Yes, Sir. And my father helps me.’—‘If you say so,’ said Mr. Harrington, who was perhaps a little surprized, ‘but pray, Tom, how have they expressed this preference?’—‘Sir,’ I said, ‘they refuse to obey the other grooms. They will not obey them.’—‘They will not obey them?’—‘No, Sir. They refuse. They pretend to be deaf. They will only obey me.’

While this was true enough, it was also true that none of my fellow grooms ever attempted to make friends with the Elephants, or ever offered them any tokens of affection. At the time, I could not easily understand this, but now I think that it derived partly from fear, and partly from resentment at the extent to which the Elephants drew attention away from the horses. Mr. Harrington made no secret of the fact that he was more interested in the Elephants than the horses. My father, moreover, being head groom, felt that the Elephants disrupted the smooth running of the stable-yard. Here I should also mention the curious antipathy which exists between horses and Elephants. Even before the horses in Mr. Harrington’s stables had seen the two Elephants, they smelt them; and, not liking what they smelt, became agitated. They were more difficult to handle; they stamped, and neighed, and these symptoms became all the more pronounced when the Elephants began to squeal and trumpet. Soon enough, the horses set eyes on the Elephants, and this frightened them so much that several sweated and shivered uncontrollably, and refused to eat. It seems that all horses are frightened of Elephants. Quite why there is such antipathy is not for me to say, but there is a fixity, an intensity, in an Elephant’s beady stare which strikes terror into the heart of the bravest horse.

After this conversation, Mr. Harrington seemed to accept that I should be sole keeper of the Elephants; at least, he never mentioned the matter again. For this, I believe, I have to thank Mr. Coad, who visited the Elephants, and who told Mr. Harrington of the personal attachments which, in the Indies, form between Elephants and their mahoots. Indeed Mr. Coad, when talking to Mr. Harrington, always referred to me by this curious word, mahoot.

Mr. Coad was a gentleman of middle age, originally from Lancashire, and his character was plainly expressed by the rugged, wrinkled appearance of his face, somewhat like that of an ancient bulldog. When he delivered his opinion on any matter concerning the Elephants—which he generally did with his legs astride, and hands on his hips—he did so in a tone which seemed to say that anyone foolish enough to challenge him should expect a sharp bite. Nonetheless, much of what he had to say I found very interesting indeed.

In the Indies, he said, the Elephants were employed by the princely rulers to execute criminals, which they accomplished by trampling their bodies, or breaking their limbs, or impaling them on their tusks, according to the direction of their mahoots. At the invitation of the Prince of Udaipur, Mr. Coad had witnessed the execution of a man who had been found guilty of ravishing a young girl. Hands tied behind his back, eyes blind-folded, he knelt on the dusty ground and awaited his fate, while the Elephant, a tusker, slowly advanced with its mahoot on its neck. It halted before the kneeling man and, at a word of command, lashed out with its trunk. The guilty man fell, uttering a single cry, which was promptly silenced as the Elephant stood on him with one of its fore-feet and crushed his chest. As an act of completion, the Elephant swept the body into the air, raising it to a height of six or seven feet, before dashing it to the ground and driving a tusk through the neck. At this point the execution was over; the tusker backed away, and the relations of the dead man were allowed to claim the body. What was impressive, said Mr. Coad, was the solemn manner in which this execution was carried out, the Elephant obeying his mahoot’s instructions to the letter, and acting, so far as he could judge, as the perfect agent of human justice. ‘It is infinitely preferable to the sordid hangings that we have in England,’ he told Mr. Harrington. This account of the execution haunted me for many nights, and sometimes haunts me even now: I picture the kneeling man, I enter his mind and hear the slow tread of the approaching Elephant, like the approach of Death itself, and I listen with terror for the faint swish of the trunk, the last sound that I shall ever hear.

In the Indies, said Mr. Coad, it is considered a great honour for an Elephant to be appointed an executioner. Other Elephants work in such tasks as plowing, pulling carriages and hauling heavy loads of wood and rock, much like draught horses and oxen in England, though the loads they draw are far heavier. A token of their great strength is that they sometimes also help with the launching of ships.

Other pieces of intelligence, which may be of interest to the reader, are as follows:

That, when wild, Elephants feed chiefly on grass, leaves, bark and fruit; among their favourite foods being a crescent-shaped fruit with a tough green skin, known as a banana;

That wild Elephants sometimes break into the corn fields, committing terrible ravages, and have to be driven out by the natives;

That Elephants have long memories, and if subject to injury or insult will look to revenge themselves, even for years afterward;

That, when Elephants come to mate, they do so with the utmost secrecy, retiring to a dense thicket; which is a sign of their great modesty; and that after mating, both animals retire to the nearest body of water, to wash themselves;

That the period of time necessary for a mahoot to train an Elephant is generally reckoned to be between six months and one year;

That the females are more tractable than the males; however, both sexes are subject to abrupt fluctuations in mood, in which Elephants who have always displayed gentleness will, without warning, turn angry and stubborn;

That, in the Indies, unlike in the Cape, the Elephants are never shot for their ivory, however, when a male proves unruly or wayward, his tusks may be sawn off;

That this operation, which would seem impossible, is accomplished after letting the Elephant drink quantities of the local liquor, which quickly reduce him to a state of utter insensibility.

Mr. Coad went on to tell Mr. Harrington that, in the Indies, the mahoots were able to enforce their rule over their charges by employing an iron spike, known as an ankus, and he strongly advised me to get myself such a spike. He said that at the root of all obedience was fear; this principle was universal, and had equal application to the government of human society, for if people did not fear their rulers, it was in their natures to rebel. Mr. Harrington said that this was undoubtedly true: ‘Tom, you must have one of these spikes.’ I asked Mr. Coad how the spike was used, and he said the mahoot would either press the point into the skin on the back of the Elephant’s ear, or bring it down more or less hard on the skull. A blow which would split open a man’s head, said Mr. Coad, was, to an Elephant, which has a skull like a rock, no more than a light tap of remonstrance.

At his and Mr. Harrington’s urging, I did get myself such a spike, which I used a few times, though I felt a reluctance to use it over-much, believing that it were generally better to work by consent than fear, and so to expel the elements of ferocity in their natures. This is true of all animals, that they may easily be ruined by harsh treatment at a young age. A dog savagely beaten as a puppy lives the rest of its life in a kind of cringing terror. A fine, mettlesome young horse, whipped and lashed into subjection, loses its spirit and becomes a worthless jade. I found that merely by wearing the ankus on a string round my neck, so that the Elephants could see it, was generally enough to persuade them into obedience.

Early one day in May, I was sufficiently confident to lead the Elephants out of the yard and into the grounds. It was a fine sunny day, and, although I kept their legs roped, they frisked and rolled on their backs, very like horses or cattle which have been confined all winter. My pleasure in watching them was tinged with apprehension that, when I ordered them back to the stables, they would ignore me; however, at a single clap of my hands, they turned attentively, and, at another clap, they rambled toward me.

Encouraged by their obedience, I made the experiment of taking the Elephants to an old copse which lay on the side of a hill, about a mile from the Hall. I led them on ropes attached to their harnesses. At the start, we walked along the track in a leisurely fashion, the Elephants feeding on the vegetation on either side, but as we drew near the copse they scented what lay ahead and quickened their pace, so that I found myself forced into a run. The hazels in the copse were in new leaf, while the ground was thick with blue-bells, and the air full of perfume. Greatly excited, and making little squeals and rumbles of pleasure, the Elephants grazed through the blue-bells, their trunks flying out to latch on to hazel branches, which they dragged and tore down and stuffed into their mouths. Throstles and other birds sang loudly, and the sun shone in lances through the leaves. It was now that I first saw Timothy use his tusk in the way that I have already described, driving it deep into the soil to lever up a young oak.

Among the blue-bells were many thin paths, made by badgers, and presently the Elephants found their sets, which had lately been dug out, with fresh mounds of earth heaped outside the entrances, and scattered blue-bells (which badgers use to line their homes). Timothy and Jenny sniffed loudly at the entrances to the holes, no doubt scenting the badgers, and making strong noises of disgust—indeed, they inserted their trunks a small distance down the holes—I, meanwhile, felt a fresh anxiety, lest the ground, having been mined, might collapse under the weight of the Elephants. I called them to me, and we moved down a slope where the blue-bells gave way to a snowy spread of ramsons. The Elephants’ feet squeaked on the leaves, crushing them and making them smell strongly. However, instead of feeding on the ramsons, the Elephants hurried through them, making for a pond surrounded by willow and rush, and well known to me as a particular haunt of toads. As a boy, in late winter, I often used to visit it to collect the neck-laces of their spawn, or to watch the chaotic frenzy of their mating, when twenty or more glistening males would struggle to clamber on one unfortunate female. Now, in early summer, the pond was full of young toads, and as the Elephants waded in they swam frantically out of the way, while moor-hen scuttled for the cover of the rushes, and a pair of duck took flight. Having scooped up quantities of foul-smelling mud, which they splattered on their backs and flanks, the Elephants began to squirt water at each other in great jets, using their trunks like cannons. The sun made rainbows through the spray, and the mud dribbled down their flanks. They were like unruly children, and indeed as they wrestled with their trunks, or pushed, heads locked together, each heaving to dislodge the other and grunting with the strain, I thought that they were like human children in Elephant form.

When, at length, I clapped my hands and summoned them out of the pond, they declined to hear, and continued with their sport. I shouted threats, and even brandished the ankus. They pretended not to notice, and this angered me, for I could think of no easy way to force them out of the water unless I myself waded in, which with the mud smelling so foul I was loath to do. I was obliged to wait for upwards of an hour while they wallowed and splashed away. In the end I resorted to cunning, concealing myself behind a tree, and in their curiosity to discover my whereabouts they splashed out of the water. Having caught their ropes, I gave the Elephants a severe reprimand, and though either could have knocked me down with the twitch of a trunk they heard me out and seemed to shrink back and repent. As we left the copse, we met a party of wood-men, whose alarm at the sight of two dripping, mud-soaked Elephants, draped in green weed, was so great that they flung down their tools and took to their heels.

We made many subsequent visits to this spot and I never again had any difficulty in making the Elephants leave the water; in part, I think, because I used to reward them with sugar or a carrot, but also because they were anxious not to incur my displeasure. The wood-men grew to understand the innocent and peaceable character of the Elephants, and as word of our trips spread through the neighbourhood we often had company in the shape of boys and girls, who would run ahead or follow us, flitting through the trees, or peeping from a tree trunk, caught between apprehension and curiosity. A few children were bold enough to come closer; among these was a little maid no more than five years old, who approached very timidly one day. At her approach, Jenny and Timothy raised their heads, staring, so I signalled to them to stand still and walked over to the maid, who was holding some dry sticks of wood. Her name was Margaret Porter; she was the daughter of Robert Porter, a wheelwright. When I asked her if she knew what these great creatures were called, she shook her head. I said, ‘They are called Elephants and they are very noble and wise creatures, who come from far away across the sea.’ She put down her sticks and bravely took my hand and we walked toward the two Elephants, who were side by side. ‘Are you not at all afraid?’ I asked. ‘No,’ she replied, though she held my hand very tightly. To her they must have seemed as lofty as the giants which Gulliver meets in the land of Brobdingnag. I said to the Elephants, ‘May I present you my very good friend, Margaret?’ and two trunks slid through the air and began to explore her head and arms with the utmost politeness. She hardly knew, I think, whether to laugh or cry; at first she giggled, and then, forgetting her sticks, ran off as fast as her legs could take her. But she came back on other days, and soon became a favourite with the Elephants.

Another of their favourites was Lizzy Tindall, a girl of my own age who lived in Thornhill. She was the daughter of the tanner, George Tindall. As children, we had sometimes walked together to the school-house in Gillerton, where she had a great reputation for mischief-making; this grew from the occasion when, having cut off her hair and rubbed mud into her face, she deceived the school-master, old Mr. Gibbons, into thinking that she was a gipsy boy. Here she was successful, but on another occasion, when she claimed to have seen an angel standing in the churchyard, she was soundly whipped for lying. Now she was employed in the Hall as a maid, or spider-brusher, as she called herself, which she found much less entertaining, and when she had time she would steal away, to chat with the grooms or stroke the horses, or to feed sugar to the Elephants. There was always a good supply of sugar in the kitchens, and since they loved it even more than carrots they became very affectionate toward her; indeed on one occasion Timothy became too forward, his trunk slipping from Lizzy’s neck into her bosom. She drew my attention to what he was doing, whereupon I told her to push the trunk out of the way, which she did, pat pat, but soon enough, back came the trunk. ‘Tom!’ she cried, ‘is this not deliberate! What a saucy Elephant!’ Indeed he was perfectly innocent and had no idea of the liberty which he was taking, and I said so; whereupon she tossed her hair (which, when she took off her cap, now hung half way down her back), and laughed, ‘I am not so sure, look at him! Look, Tom!’ and it was true that the Elephant continued to rout round. But there was a reason for this, as I soon discovered, which was that she had hidden a piece of sugar in her bosom, to test him out.

While the Elephants held Lizzy and Margaret as particular friends, there were other people whom they regarded less favourably. Among these were my fellow grooms, Bob Brown and Dick Shadwick. I had once been on good terms with Dick, who was my elder by no more than three years, but since the arrival of the Elephants he seemed to have turned against me. At the time my voice had not yet broken and was still piping and shrill, and whenever he met me he would squeak like a mouse. This feeble joke afforded him vast quantities of amusement. I ignored him, but I could not stand idly by when he and Bob persecuted the Elephants. Bob used to divert himself by tossing the Elephants stones or pebbles, and sometimes they were deceived enough to take these offerings into their mouths, though they would generally spit them out soon enough. When I asked him to stop, he laughed. ‘If they are foolish enough to eat stones, let them do so,’ he said, and this filled me with indignation, for my father had often told me of a race-horse which had choaked after it was purged with too large a ball. The ball had lodged deep in the horse’s gullet, and all efforts to retrieve it with an iron instrument having failed, the animal suffered a miserable death.

I found that my father did not greatly want to hear about Bob’s behaviour, and indeed he attempted to dismiss it as a mere prank, whereupon I interrupted, ‘Father, a prank that could end with the death of the Elephants.’—‘Well,’ said he, with great reluctance, for he hated arguments, ‘I will talk with him.’ My father went and talked to Bob. A short time later, Bob came up to me: ‘Tom,’ he said, ‘forgive me—I am sorry for the stones—and to shew this I should like to give the Elephants an apple each.’ There was a mocking smile on his face, and before I could prevent him he had held out two small green apples. Both Elephants took their apples and put them in their mouths; but while Timothy ground his to pulp, Jenny spat hers out and with it a nail. I was very angry and told Bob what a fool he was. ‘A fool?’ says he, sneering, ‘who are you to call me a fool? A stable-boy!’ I said that, if the Elephants were to die as a result of his apples, he would be the fool, and that, if he did such a thing again, I would tell Mr. Harrington. I had disliked him for years, ever since I had seen him set the tail of a dog on fire. Making animals suffer was one of his favourite sports. He often tormented frogs and toads, and I heard that he once poured a bottle of aniseed over the back of a cat when the hounds were running, and they clapped on the drag and tore it to shreds.

One thing which I learnt from Mr. Coad was that, in the Indies, the captive Elephants were regularly ridden like horses, and I was resolved to try my luck in this respect, though the difficulties seemed formidable, and I could not imagine how it was done. None of the horses’ saddles was broad enough for an Elephant’s back, and mounting only seemed possible if the Elephant were to kneel or lie down, or to stand still while a ladder was placed against its side. What perplexed me most was how the rider, once perched aloft, directed his steed. Horses, with their sensitive mouths, are directed largely by means of the bit and bridle and the reins, and perhaps, I said to myself, Elephants equally have sensitive mouths, but it would take a strange bit and bridle to fit on an Elephant. Even if such a bridle could be fitted, looping under the trunk, and even if the Elephant were willing to accept the bit, would anyone hauling on the reins be strong enough to steer such a powerful beast? I had the ankus as a means of chastisement, but what if the Elephant were so maddened by the rider’s presence on its back that it chose to charge away? What if it chose to unseat its rider by rolling on to its back, as horses do when they do not like being mounted? To be rolled upon by an Elephant would surely be fatal. I thought a little further, and saw that an Elephant, if it so wished, might use its trunk to knock the rider from the saddle. My father, with whom I talked this over, felt that the venture was too dangerous to be hazarded; however, I secretly decided to disregard his advice.

With this in mind, I made a rough saddle out of ropes, and fastened it on Jenny’s back, tying it under her stomach. Although she submitted to this readily enough, within a few minutes her trunk was feeling over the knot and soon enough she had it untied. I tied it again, this time much more firmly, and when she attempted to undo it she failed; but Timothy proceeded to untie it for her. This is no good, I said to myself, and tied it once more, this time with the tightest of knots. Next I made a sign telling her to kneel, which she did, and I was able to climb on—although, as I clung on her back, I found myself unable to make her stand up. ‘Stand up! Stand up!’ She remained kneeling, for in my foolishness I had forgotten that she could only obey me when she could see me.

I therefore had to teach my Elephants to understand human speech, by which I mean not the full range of speech, merely particular words and phrases. Again they were excellent pupils, listening to me with great attention, much as a young dog, anxious to please, will cock his ears and listen to every sound which falls from his master’s lips. Within a month I felt ready to hazard another attempt at riding. This time Jenny rose, and now I was eight or ten feet high, leaning over the ridges of her spine, clutching at ropes, and with my legs splayed horribly by the breadth of her back. Bob and Dick were watching; so was Lizzy, who cried up anxiously asking me if I was all right, and I was about to reply when Bob rammed a hot iron into Jenny’s fundament, whereupon she began to lumber forward. Being unable to grip with my legs, as one would grip a horse, and with the saddle not altogether as secure as I had thought it to be, I lost my balance, and slid over the cliff of her back. Though I put my hands out to break my fall, the pain travelled up my arms and into my elbows. As I lay on the ground, Lizzy rounded on Bob, saying that I might have broke my neck, but he laughed in her face; not for long, however, because Timothy, who had been eyeing these events, swung his trunk and knocked him sprawling. He picked himself up and went away cursing and vowing revenge. I was grateful to Timothy for administering such a swift rebuke; but my elbows hurt, and within half an hour my right elbow was swelling. I tried, that is, I endeavoured, to make light of the pain, by pretending that it was merely a bruise, but that night I could scarcely sleep, and I knew that I must have broke a bone in my elbow. While it healed I supported it by means of a cloth knotted round my neck.

When Mr. Harrington heard of my failure, he wrote to Mr. Coad, who kindly drew a sketch of Elephant-riding in the Indies. It shewed a male Elephant, with long tusks, walking in a grove of palm trees. This Elephant was carrying an entire company of passengers, seated in a wooden platform like a broad boat. Such platforms are known in the Hindoo as howdars. In the sketch, the Elephant’s keeper, the mahoot, was seated not on the howdar but on his neck, with his bare feet propped on the bony curves of the Elephant’s ears. This was such an obvious solution to my difficulties that I cursed myself for not thinking of it before and, in spite of the pain in my arm, I took off my shoes and then and there climbed on to Jenny’s neck. I found that, at the narrow junction of the neck, my position was wonderfully comfortable and secure. I could, like the mahoot, rest my feet on her ears, or, if I preferred, I could drop my feet and brace myself with my legs against the sides of her neck. When, by chance, she put down her head, I felt myself in danger of pitching forward and sliding down her trunk, but this was a danger to which I soon accustomed myself; and from this point on I rode the Elephants every day, and what was marvellous and almost incredible, found that I could control them well enough without use of bits or bridles, whips or spurs, or of the ankus, merely by the power of speech.

CHAPTER III (#udd7939ff-3ce7-5bd1-94c4-4371a45587f1)

DURING the second summer which the Elephants spent at Harrington Hall we had a period of very hot dry weather which lasted over a month and half. This both pleased and displeased the farmers, for while it helped ripen the corn it was torture to the sheep on the downs, and their thin cries of distress filled the air. Every pond having shrunk to nothing but a muddy stew, I took the Elephants through the corn-fields to a river about three miles away. The river was shallow, the water coming no more than half way up the Elephants’ legs, but they played in it for many joyful hours, shooting water at each other and hauling up quantities of weed, which they flung high in the air.