A TIGER’S ATTACK.

By permission Illustrated London News. Frontispiece.

MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE SERIES.

THE IVORY KING

A Popular History of

THE ELEPHANT AND ITS ALLIES

BY
CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER
FELLOW OF THE NEW YORK ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ETC.; AUTHOR OF “ELEMENTS
OF ZOOLOGY,” “MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1902

Copyright, 1886, 1888, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.

Press of Berwick & Smith,
Boston, U.S.A.

TO
MY MOTHER
This Volume
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

PREFACE.

The elephant is the true king of beasts, the largest and most powerful of existing land animals, and to young and old a never ceasing source of wonder and interest. In former geological ages, it roamed the continental areas of every zone; was found in nearly every section of North America, from the shores of the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico, and from New England to California. Where the hum of great cities is now heard, in bygone days the trumpeting of the mastodon and elephant, and the cries of other strange animals, broke the stillness of the vast primeval forest. But they have all passed away, their extirpation undoubtedly hastened by the early man, the aboriginal hunter; and the mighty race of elephants, which now remains so isolated, is to-day represented by only two species, the African and the Asiatic, forms which are also doomed.

To produce the eight hundred tons of ivory used annually, nearly seventy-five thousand elephants are destroyed; and it does not require the gift of prophecy to foresee their extinction in the near future. The Asiatic elephant is said to be holding its own; but the rapid advance of the British in the East, the introduction of railroads and improvements which mark the progress of civilization in India, where heretofore the elephant has been employed, cannot fail to have a fatal effect, and their extermination is only a matter of time. Knowing these facts, and the close relationship which the elephant has ever held in the advancement of mankind in the East, it stands a picture of absorbing interest, the last of a powerful race, worthy of earnest efforts for its preservation. The question of its extinction rests with the rising generation. In America and England the ornithologists have made an appeal for our feathered friends, and ladies have been asked to put their veto upon the excessive use of feathers, which is surely tending to the extermination of our birds. The elephant can be protected in the same way. Every ivory tusk that is brought to the African coast from the interior is said to cost a human life; and that we may have ivory fans, billiard-balls, chessmen, knife-handles, inlaid furniture, grotesque Japanese statuary, etc., the elephant, who has been man’s helpmate from 1200 B.C., and perhaps earlier, to the present day, is threatened with extermination. The prominence of the elephant in early times is, I think, not generally appreciated. There was hardly a great public movement entailing war, in the early days of the East, in which these animals did not constitute an all-important element. Defeat and success were, as a rule, determined by the number of elephants; and the fate of nations may be said to have depended upon the prowess of the proboscidians.

In the present volume, I have endeavored to present as much of the history of the elephant as is compatible with popular interest, treating the animal in all its relations to man, and the economic questions involved: in war, pageantry, sports and games, as a faithful laborer and servant, comrade and friend, its ancestral forms, structure and anatomy. As the work is in no sense a scientific one, the student may regret the absence of details relating to anatomy, etc. To compensate for such omission, I have appended a carefully selected bibliography of all the most important works, papers, and monographs, ancient and recent, relating to the subject.

I am indebted to Mr. George P. Sanderson, officer in charge of the elephant-catching establishment at Mysore, Bengal, whose valuable work embracing his experience with the Asiatic elephant has been frequently consulted; also to the works of Sir Emerson Tennent, and especially to the author of “Menageries,” published by Messrs. Charles Knight & Co., London.

C. F. H.

New York, June 1, 1886.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MEXICAN HIEROGLYPHIC, WITH ELEPHANT FEATURES.

[Chapter V.]

THE IVORY KING.

CHAPTER I.
NATURAL HISTORY OF THE ELEPHANT.

The elephant is the largest living land animal; and, though numerous forms existed in early geological times, it is represented to-day by two species only,—the African elephant, Elephas Africanus, and the Asiatic elephant, Elephas Indicus. The geographical range of the former originally included nearly all Africa, but now the animals are more closely confined to the central interior regions. The Asiatic elephant is found in the forests of India, Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, Cochin China, Sumatra, and the Malay peninsula; and, while the introduction of railroads into these countries in ensuing years will perhaps result in its extinction, at present its numbers are not growing less. The African elephant differs from its Asiatic cousin in several particulars. The apparent distinguishing features are the tusks that attain a much greater development and occur in both sexes, while in the Asiatic species the males alone possess them. The African elephant is at least a foot higher than the Asiatic, attaining a maximum height of eleven feet. Its ears are extremely large, covering the shoulder, and in some instances measuring three and a half feet in length by two and a half feet in width, while those of its Indian relative are comparatively small.

When Jumbo—who was an African elephant—and one of the Asiatic elephants stood side by side, the difference was very marked. The summit of the head of the Indian species forms a pyramid, while the front, or forehead, is concave. In Jumbo the front of the head was somewhat convex, the eye was larger; and when we compare the feet, we find that while the African elephant has, as a rule, four nails on each foot, the Asiatic has four on each hind-foot, and five on each fore-foot. The number of nails often varies with individuals. The Indian natives esteem those animals most which possess five on each fore-foot, and four on each hind-foot, or eighteen, odd numbers being considered unlucky. The author of “Oriental Field Sports” says that he has observed elephants with fifteen nails, which no native would purchase; and he heard of one with twenty, and saw one with eighteen. These differences are external, as all elephants possess five toes upon each foot internally. The two species also differ as to their teeth. The incisor teeth of elephants are greatly developed, forming the tusks, and only occur in the upper jaw of living forms. They often attain enormous size, weighing from one hundred and fifty to three hundred pounds. The tusks of the Asiatic elephants born in this country were visible at birth. Concerning them in general, Sanderson states that they are not renewed, but are permanent; his information being based upon the personal observations of many years. Corse, who made observations in the last century, and published them in the “Philosophical Transactions,” 1799, states that the elephants observed by him had milk, or deciduous tusks as well as permanent ones; that the milk-tusks appeared at about six months of age and fell out between the first and second years. He found in the young skull the place of the capsule of the permanent tusks, which appear a couple of months after the loss of the milk-tusks. Huxley says, “In recent elephants, only the two incisors are preceded by milk-teeth;” and this may be the generally accepted belief. The tusks have no roots like the teeth of some animals, but fit firmly into what are called premaxillary sockets: and if we should examine this buried or hidden portion, we should find that it was partly hollow, so to speak; the ivory at the root being very thin, and surrounding a pulp where the ivory is being secreted. The length of this soft pulp varies according to the age of the animal: thus, in young elephants, only a small portion of the tusk outside of the gum is solid ivory; all the rest being hollow, or containing the pulp. As the animal grows, this cavity decreases in length, until in extremely old elephants it disappears entirely and the tusk is solid ivory.

In the left tusk of the elephant shot by Sir Victor Brooke ([p. 115]), the pulp-cavity was wholly obliterated, its place occupied by an exceedingly dense nodular dentine. This tusk was diseased. In the right tusk of the same animal the pulp-hollow extended from the base through half the imbedded portion, or thirteen and a half inches. In a pair of tusks owned by Col. Douglas Hamilton, of the British army, the pulp-cavity occupies ten inches and a half of the imbedded length. From this it is evident that the length of a tusk cannot be accurately determined from mere observation, as in a large elephant the sockets are from one foot six inches to one foot nine inches in length; so that an animal might have a tusk three feet and a half long, and show only one foot and a half of it, the gum alone concealing about four inches.

As the ivory is so soft at the base of the tusk, it is evident that it can be easily broken; and, if a bullet or spear strikes this spot, it becomes embedded, and eventually incorporated, in the tusk. Workers in ivory are often surprised to find a leaden bullet in the solid ivory. In a collection in London, there is a section of a tusk which was cut at a piano-forte manufactory in 1805, which has a wrought-iron musket-ball firmly embedded in it; and other instances can be seen in the museum of the London University.

PLATE I.

• Fig. 1.—Molar Tooth of African Elephant.
• ” 2.—Molar Tooth of Asiatic Elephant.
• ” 3.—Molar Tooth of Elephas Americanus.
• ” 4.—Skull of Dinotherium.
• ” 5.—Molar Tooth of Mastodon giganteus.
• Fig. 6.—Head of an Elephant, showing the muscles. B. Section of the trunk.
• Figs. 7, 8, 9.—Show the Uses of the Trunk.
• Fig. 10.—Section of the Skull of an Indian Elephant. s. air sinuses. n. nostrils. b. brain. m. molar tooth. t. tusk.

In their growth, tusks often assume strange shapes, being liable to twist, just as the horns of a cow. Livingstone saw an elephant with three tusks, the third one growing out between the other two. The tusks frequently grow straight; some twist in a spiral, others form a complete circle; and many elephants have only one from birth,—like the fictitious unicorn. These animals are called Gunésh by the natives. The name is that of the Hindoo god of wisdom; and, if the single tusk of the Gunésh is the right one, the animal is reverenced. Some dimensions of tusks will be given in the chapter on Ivory. Perhaps the largest was one sold in Amsterdam some years ago. It weighed, according to Kolokner, three hundred and fifty pounds. Eden measured several nine feet in length, and one described by Hartenfels exceeded fourteen feet. There is one in the museum of Natural History, Paris, seven feet in length. The uses to which the large incisors are put, are often exaggerated. The African elephant employs its tusks to uproot small mimosa-trees, but they are never used to overthrow as large objects as is often stated. Sir Samuel Baker measured mimosa-trees four feet six inches in circumference, and thirty feet high, which elephants had pulled down; and the damage they cause in a mimosa-forest is almost incredible. These trees, however, have no tap-root, and are comparatively easy to overthrow. Gumming says, “I have repeatedly ridden through forests where the trees thus broken down lay so thick across one another that it was almost impossible to ride through the district.” The female elephant uses her tusks to scrape the barks from trees; but the large tusks of the males are designed as a defence,—the elephant with the finest tusks ruling the herd,—and terrific wounds are made by them. The elephant Conqueror, in this country, was killed by being gored in this way; and in India, when it is necessary at the government corral to subdue a mad elephant, a reliable tusker is provided with steel tusks, or glavies, which fit over the stumps of the others, and with these they do terrible work.

If we examine the skull of the elephant, we find only two molar teeth on each side of each jaw,—eight in all; and no more, as a rule, are seen at one time, twenty-four in all appearing during the lifetime of an elephant.

The teeth appear in a curious way, moving gradually forward from behind in regular succession; each old front tooth as it is worn away being pushed out of place by its successor. This wonderful provision is necessary, as the front teeth are worn away by the sand and gritty substances taken in with the food. The molar, or grinding, teeth are extremely heavy and large, and are nearly buried in the socket, the upper portion only showing. They are made up of a number of transverse perpendicular plates composed of a mass of dentine incased in an outside layer of enamel, which is in turn covered by a layer of cement that fills the spaces between the plates, and seems to bind the whole together. Each of the enamel plates, though appearing separate at the surface, is connected with the others at the base. The difference between the teeth of the Indian and African species is shown in [Plate I.] In the Indian elephant the ridges of enamel are narrower, more undulating, and appear in greater numbers than in the African species, in which the ridges are less parallel, and enclose lozenge-shaped spaces. There are certain other differences in the species, such as the number of bones in the vertebral column, or “backbone;” those of the African elephant numbering from twenty to twenty-one, and those of the Indian elephant nineteen to twenty. In examining the skull of an elephant, we are struck with its enormous size, and the comparatively small space taken up by the brain. The skull is not so heavy as it appears, the interior being divided off into partitions, or air-cells; so that, while there is a large surface for the attachment of the trunk-muscles, the head is massive, but not heavy. The neck of the elephant is so short, that, without some special provision, it could not feed from the ground; and this is seen in the trunk, or proboscis, that is a prolongation of the upper lip and nose, sometimes seven feet in length. It commences at the nasal opening of the face, contains a pair of tubes closed by a valvular arrangement, and at its end on the upper side is a small prolongation like a finger, opposite which is a prominence, or tubercle, that acts as a thumb. The trunk is made up of a vast number of muscles, estimated by Cuvier at about forty thousand. Upon the outside, the trunk appears to be ringed; and it is a most remarkable organ, combining the offices of a hand and nose, and exercising taste, touch, suction, expulsion, and prehension. With it the elephant lifts its driver, pulls over small trees, reaches for its food, takes in water which is in turn expelled into the mouth, squirts water or sand over its body; in fact, there is hardly any thing, from drawing a cork from a bottle, to hurling a tiger into the air, that this wonderful trunk cannot do for its owner. Without it the elephant would starve. One in India which had lost its trunk, had to be fed by having food placed in its mouth. Though the trunk is so useful, it is a very tender and delicate organ, and is not used in the rough manner generally supposed. In making an attack, it is raised high in air out of the way. When a great weight is lifted, it is not the trunk, but the tusks, which are employed, the former only holding the object upon the latter.

Once, when visiting the herd of elephants owned by Mr. Barnum, the trainer called my attention to a small hole, or opening of a gland, situated on each side of the head between the eye and the ear, that is scarcely perceptible. It is the opening of a duct, perhaps two inches in length, that extends toward the lachrymal organs, and leads to a secretory gland. From this orifice, there exudes at times a thick, gummy substance, which sometimes clogs up the opening, and undoubtedly affects the animal unpleasantly; as, when this is filled, the trainer told me that the elephant would take a small stick or straw in its trunk, and endeavor to remove the obstruction. This will be alluded to in the chapter on Rogue Elephants. This exudation is generally considered a warning in the East, that the elephant is going to be ugly, and is called must. In Asiatic wild elephants it occurs usually in cold weather, from November to February. This peculiarity has been noticed from the earliest times: it was remarked upon by Strabo, and is referred to in Hindoo mythology. “The Hindoo poets frequently allude to the fragrant juice which oozes, at certain seasons, from small ducts in the temples of the male elephant, and is useful in relieving him from the redundant moisture with which he is then oppressed; and they even describe the bees as allured by the scent, and mistaking it for that of the sweetest flowers. When Crishna visited Sanc’ha-dwip, and had destroyed the demon who infested that delightful country, he passed along the bank of a river, and was charmed with a delicious odor which its waters diffused in their course. He was eager to view the source of so fragrant a stream, but was informed by the natives that it flowed from the temples of an elephant, immensely large, milk-white, and beautifully formed; that he governed a numerous race of elephants, and the odoriferous fluid which exuded from his temples had formed the river.”

It is evident that wild elephants probe this opening, which is a little larger than a pin-head, and that the sticks used often break off in the orifice, and by working in give the animals such agony that they go mad for the time. When Mr. Cowper Rose shot an elephant in Africa, the men immediately began to hunt for the “piece of wood in the head, to which they attached great value as a charm.” Mr. Rose was evidently not familiar with the gland, or opening. He says, “I sat on one (a dead elephant) while they searched for the wood in his head. It lies about an inch beneath the skin, embedded in fat, just above the eye, and has the appearance of a thorn, or a small piece of twig broken off. Some are without it: and, on examining the spot minutely, we found that there was a small opening in the skin,—a large pore, it may be; and I conceive that this phenomenon is simply accounted for by the twig breaking in this hole when the animal is in the act of rubbing his head against the bushes.”

The body of the elephant, weighing sometimes three tons, is supported by four ponderous, pillar-like legs, the movements of which, especially the posterior, or hinder pair attract immediate attention; and the first impression is, that the hind-legs of the elephant are entirely different from those of any other mammal. They seem to bend in the wrong direction. The difference consists merely in the greater length of the thigh-bone, or femur, which brings the knee much farther down than in other animals. The horse is equally remarkable for an opposite reason; as it walks and stands upon the toe-nail of its single toe, while its heel is as high up as the knee of the elephant is low. Covering this wonderful frame, or skeleton, is the loose, wrinkled skin an inch thick, so tough and heavy,—often weighing eight hundred pounds,—that the elephant and others were at one time included in a group called the thick-skinned animals (pachyderms). The skin is comparatively hairless; though some elephants have more than others, and young ones more than adults. The theory generally accepted, is that the elephants of southern countries have lost their hair by long-continued residence in regions where it was not necessary. Quite recently two young or dwarfed Asiatic elephants were exhibited in New York as mammoths, on account of their superabundance of hair; but it is needless to say that they were ordinary Asiatic elephants.

In the present work, it is not necessary to refer particularly to the internal organization of the elephant, but the subject is replete with interest. The enormous heart, a foot in diameter, in its contraction exerts tons of pressure; and the blood forced out by it must attain almost the force of water from the hose of a fire-engine. Hunters have often been astonished at seeing elephants, which they have been chasing for some time, insert their trunks into their mouths, and there obtain a supply of water that is blown over the dry and heated body. The explanation of this is, that the stomach of the elephant resembles that of the camel, in having a chamber that can be cut off or separated from the digestive cavity, in which about ten gallons of water is stored as a reserve supply, or to be used as occasion requires.

The female elephant is generally smaller than the male. The mammary glands are situated between the fore-legs, and the calf nurses with its mouth, instead of the trunk as was once supposed. The period of gestation is about five hundred and ninety-seven days. The weight of the elephant at birth differs in individuals. One observed by Owen weighed one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and stood two feet ten inches in height. The little elephant Bridgeport weighed two hundred and forty-five pounds at birth, and stood three feet in height. The baby elephant America, born in Philadelphia, weighed two hundred and thirteen and a half pounds, and measured thirty-four inches and a half at the shoulder. It grew so rapidly, that in eleven months it gained about seven hundred pounds,—not so very surprising, as it came of a very heavy family. Its mother weighed seven thousand and twenty pounds, and was only twenty-three years old; and the father, who was three years older, four tons. The baby’s trunk, or proboscis, was at first twelve inches long, and nine inches in circumference at the root, or base.

The young Asiatic elephant grows about eleven inches in the first year, eight in the second, six inches in the third, five in the fourth, five in the fifth, in the sixth three and a half, and in the seventh, two and a half, the measurements having been made by Mr. Corse.

CHAPTER II.
HABITS AND WAYS OF ELEPHANTS.

The most favorable locality to observe wild elephants in India is in Mysore, where the western ghats, the Billiga-rungun hills, and the Goondulpet and Kákankoté forests, afford fine opportunities to the naturalist and sportsman to observe the largest of living land animals in the haunts of its choice. It is here that the elephant-catcher of the British Government, Mr. George P. Sanderson, makes his headquarters, and has obtained such signal success for many years.

Wild Asiatic elephants usually travel in herds of from thirty to fifty, though sometimes the number is swelled to one hundred and over; but small herds are the rule, this division allowing them to obtain a much larger supply of food. The necessity of this can be better appreciated when it is known that a band of one hundred elephants require, or will consume, eighty thousand pounds of fodder in a day.

The favorite food of the wild Asiatic elephant in Ceylon is palms, especially the cabbage, the young trunks of palmyra and jaggery (Caryota urens). They are also very fond of figs, the sacred Bo-tree (F. religiosa) found near the temples, as well as the Negaha (Messua ferrea). The leaves of the jak-tree are considered a great luxury by the huge creatures; while the bread-fruit, wood-apple, sugar-cane, palm, pineapple, watermelon, and the feathery part of the bamboo, are all to its taste. Among the grasses, the mauritius and Guinea grass are eaten; and all the grains. Cocoanuts they break by rolling them under foot.

The African elephant affects the succulent mimosa, and larger shoots and branches than its cousin, its teeth being fitted for a coarser diet. They are, according to Drummond, particularly fond of the fruit of the unganu-tree, which seems to intoxicate them; as they stagger about, performing the most remarkable antics for a clumsy beast; often trumpeting so loudly that they can be heard for miles, and sometimes engaging in terrific encounters.

When separated into small herds, the elephants all move in concert, as if there was a mutual understanding as to the general route to be taken. Elephants are extremely sure-footed, and will climb quite steep hills. A paper in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal describes the methods adopted by the elephant in going down-hill. The writer says, “An elephant descending a bank of too acute an angle to admit of his walking down it direct (which were he to attempt, his huge body, soon disarranging the centre of gravity, would certainly topple over), proceeds thus: his first manœuvre is to kneel down close to the edge of the declivity, placing his chest to the ground. One fore-leg is then cautiously passed a short way down the slope; and, if there is no natural protection to afford a firm footing, he speedily forms one by stamping into the soil if moist, or picking out a footing if dry. This point gained, the other fore-leg is brought down in the same way, and performs the same work, a little in advance of the first, which is thus at liberty to move lower still. Then the first one of the hind-legs is carefully drawn over the side, and then the second; and the hind-feet in turn occupy the resting-places previously used and left by the first ones. The course, however, in such precipitous ground is not straight from top to bottom, but slopes along the face of the bank, descending till the animal gains the level below. This an elephant has done at an angle of forty-five degrees, carrying a howdah, its occupant, his attendant, and sporting apparatus, and in much less time than it takes to describe the operation. I have observed that an elephant in descending a declivity uses his knees on the side next the bank, and his feet on the lower side only.” Elephants are often described as galloping, leaping, and gambolling about like a horse. Such movements are impossible; the only gait being a walk, that can be increased to a very rapid shuffle of fifteen miles an hour for a short distance. It appears to move the legs on the same side together, but this is not exactly so. Elephants cannot leap, and never have all four feet from the ground at the same time. Sanderson says, “I have seen an elephant go over quite high hurdles, but never take all four feet from the ground at once. Even the smallest spring is beyond its power; a small trench seven feet across being quite impossible by the largest elephant, although its stride may be six feet and a half long.”

The sense of smell is so delicate that a tame elephant will recognize the presence of a wild one three miles away, and by its actions inform the mahout. Selous, the African hunter, watched a herd of elephants cross his trail from a place of security below them; and the moment the trunk of the leader crossed the spot where his foot had been, it stopped, waved its proboscis a few moments, then turned and ran, accompanied by the entire band. The herds of elephants, when divided, are family parties, generally all related, and on the march. The mothers with young always take the lead; the old tuskers following along in the rear, taking the front, however, in case of alarm. This method of procedure might appear strange at first; but the mothers probably know how long a tramp the calves can endure, and so the responsibility is left to them.

All of my young readers who have visited the circus, must have heard the trumpeting of elephants. This is one of their methods of communication: in other words, elephants have a language that is expressed in different ways,—sometimes by the throat, and, again, by the trunk. When an elephant is pleased, it expresses it by a squeaking noise,—a most ear-grating sound made in the trunk. It also purrs gently, often so low that the keeper alone hears it. When fully enraged, and rushing upon an enemy, its war-cry is a shrill trumpeting that no one can mistake. Rage is also expressed by a low, hoarse rumbling in the throat. Fear or pain is manifested by a shrill squeak, and sometimes by a loud, reverberating roar. The expression of misapprehension or suspicion is entirely different from that of fear, being shown by rapping the trunk upon the ground sharply, at the same time emitting a volume of air from the trunk, that is said to sound like a sheet of tin being rapidly doubled. Desire or want is expressed by the throat, especially in young elephants; and any one who watched the famous baby elephant Bridgeport, must have heard the curious sounds it uttered.

In the open country the elephant seems to have regular trails, or drives, that are followed season after season with some regularity. During the dry time, that in India is from January to April, they follow the beds of streams, and seek the deep forests, there finding protection from the intense heat; but when the rain commences, in June, they roam into the open country, grazing upon the new and fresh grass produced by the warm showers. With the latter also come innumerable flies, that also drive them out into the low jungles; one, a huge insect as large as a bee, with a long proboscis, being especially irritating. At this time they frequent the salt-licks, and have been seen to eat earth impregnated with soda. This is the elephant’s medicine, certain kinds of earth being eaten for the same reason that dogs eat grass.

When the dry season comes, and the grass is withered and bitter, the herds leave the lowlands, remaining in the hills until the next season. Almost the entire time is spent in grazing; though they are often seen after a rain warming their great bodies in the sun, or standing upon the open rocks that form a characteristic of the hills of the Mysore country. When the fodder is exhausted in a locality, the march is taken up, and invariably in Indian file; so that it is often difficult to tell whether ten or one hundred elephants are ahead. Upon reaching a good locality, they disperse, and remain in the vicinity for two days or so. Their rest is taken, as a rule, in the middle of the night; particular friends lying down together, or often a family party. They are early risers, and by three o’clock in the morning are either feeding, or on the march. At ten o’clock they will perhaps collect for a rest, then from four in the afternoon until eleven at night they feed or march. There are, of course, exceptions to this. In very cool or wet weather they march all day, and often for various reasons do not lie down for several days at a time. Elephants sleep like horses, either standing or lying down. The latter is the natural way, though the process of assuming a reclining position is a somewhat difficult one. When first captured, they often do not lie down for weeks. It is stated that an elephant owned by Louis XIV. did not lie down for the last five years of its life. It wore two holes in the stone buttress with its tusks, and seemed to support itself to some extent in this way while it slept. Wild African elephants have been observed leaning against a tree in the forests. The enormous ears of the African elephant are used as fans; and when a herd is seen upon a hot day, these huge members are continually moving, either to create a current of air, or to blow away the insect pests with which they are infested. They have also been seen to take a branch in their trunks to brush away flies, using it as a person would a fan. The hearing of the elephant is very acute, much more so than in man; experiment having shown that a female heard her young when the sound was inaudible to a party of Englishmen between her and the calf.

Sir Everard Home experimented with an elephant by musical sounds, and came to the conclusion that it did not possess a musical ear, though it was attracted by certain notes. He says, “I got Mr. Broadwood, as a matter of curiosity, to send one of his tuners with a piano-forte to the menageries of wild beasts in Exeter Change, that I might know the effect of acute and grave sounds upon the ear of a full-grown elephant. The acute sounds seemed hardly to attract his notice; but as soon as the grave notes were struck, he became all attention, brought forward the large external ear, tried to discover where the sounds came from, remained in the attitude of listening, and after some time made noises by no means of dissatisfaction.”

The elephant is extremely fond of water; and soon after sunrise the Asiatic species can be seen sporting in the streams, floundering about, and spouting water over their huge bodies, piping and trumpeting with conflicting emotions. They are very susceptible to cold, and when obliged to enter water at night, or when it is chilly, are careful to lift their tails and trunks above the surface if possible.

So clumsy an animal would hardly be expected to excel in swimming, yet probably few land animals can compete with them in this respect. In 1875 Mr. Sanderson sent a herd of seventy-nine from Dacca to Barrackpur near Calcutta, and during the march they had to cross the Ganges and several large tributaries. In one place the entire herd swam without touching bottom for six consecutive hours: then after resting a while on a sand-bank, they swam three more, or nine in all, with but one rest. Few land animals could accomplish this without losing some of their number. But Mr. Sanderson states that he has heard of swims even more remarkable than this. Notwithstanding their fine swimming powers, elephants are sometimes drowned by very simple means; and Mr. Sanderson records such an instance: “We had left the Myanee above its junction with the Kurnafoolie, and were marching by land; but, owing to the lie of the country, we had to cross the Kurnafoolie occasionally. It was very deep, and the elephants had to swim. One morning, whilst crossing where it was about eighty yards wide and thirty feet deep in a gorge through a saddle in the hills, a tusker which was secured between two tame ones, one in advance of, and one behind, him, sank like a stone, probably from being seized with cramp from the coldness of the water, and dragged the two females with him. Their mahouts tried in vain to slash the ropes through: they had barely time to save themselves by swimming. Any thing more sudden or unexpected I never witnessed. One elephant appeared again for a brief moment, at least about two feet of her trunk did: she waved us a last farewell, when all was still save the air-bubbles which continued to rise for some time from the calm, deep pool. Every one who witnessed it was shocked. The drivers of the elephants yet to cross hesitated. We could not believe the unfortunate beasts would not come up again. The mahouts sat down, and cried like children over the loss of the faithful beasts they had tended for years. Elephants are such good swimmers, that I cannot understand how it was that the two tame ones were unable to gain the shore, which was only twenty yards distant, by towing the wild one. When they floated, we found that they were in no way entangled; and it was not owing to snags catching the ropes, nor to any undercurrent, that they were drawn down. One of the tame ones, Geraldine, was a great favorite of mine; and she and the other were worth twelve hundred dollars each. The tusker was worth twenty-four hundred, so the money lost to the government was considerable.”

No subject relating to elephants is so difficult to determine by a mere casual examination, as that relating to its size. Statements from natives can never be relied upon; as in times of excitement a large bull will appear twenty feet high, and the observers are not at all unwilling to make affidavit to that effect. Asiatic elephants rarely, if ever, attain a height of ten feet at the shoulder. The largest in the Madras commissariat stud to-day measures nine feet ten inches. The next largest is owned by his Highness the Mahárájah of Mysore, and measures nine feet two inches, and is forty years old. Females are usually smaller. Two in the collection at Dacca measure eight feet five inches, and eight feet three inches respectively; and, to show that this is exceptional, Mr. Sanderson measured one hundred and forty in 1874, and found that the largest females measured just eight feet. Mistakes and exaggerations occur from the fact that elephants are often measured by throwing a tape over the shoulders, and, when both ends touch the ground, accepting one-half as the correct height: nine inches may be gained in this way in measuring an eight-foot animal. Mr. Corse, a former superintendent of the East India Company’s elephants at Tiperah, a province of Bengal, who probably saw a greater number of elephants than any European, states that he never heard of more than one Asiatic elephant that exceeded ten feet. This was a large tusker, the property of the Vizier of Oude. Accurate measurements were made, which were as follows:—

PLATE II.

ELEPHANTS MOVING TIMBER.

[Page 34.]

Mr. Corse says, “During the war with Tippoo Sultan, of the fifteen hundred elephants under the management of Capt. Sandys, not one was ten feet high, and only a few males nine and a half feet high.” He was very particular in ascertaining the height of elephants used at Madras and in the army under Marquis Cornwallis, from the fact that the most remarkable stories were current at the time concerning large elephants. Madras elephants were reported from fifteen to twenty feet high. The Nabob of Dacca was said to have one, fourteen feet in height; and Mr. Corse took a journey to the locality purposely to measure it. He found, that instead of twelve feet, as he thought barely possible, the elephant was only ten. If any of my readers wish to test the accuracy of any statement as to an elephant’s height, they have only to measure the distance around its foot twice, which will give nearly the exact height at the shoulder. This is as deceptive as guessing the height of a silk hat or the length of a horse’s head. A party of young people were once watching some elephants, when the question was propounded how many times around the foot would equal the height. The answers were all over ten, and one was fifteen. As the circumference of the fore-foot of the average elephant is about fifty-four inches, this would have given them an animal over sixty feet high. It has been supposed by some authors, that elephants are not as tall now as formerly, that they have degenerated in size as the world grew older; but this is not borne out by facts. The Emperor Baber (a contemporary of Henry VII.) says, “They say in some islands about Hindostan, elephants grow to the height of ten gez [about twenty feet]. I have never seen one above four or five gez” [eight or ten feet].

The elephants from Hindostan are the smallest; those from Pegu and Ava being larger, as a rule. A skeleton from the latter country was presented to the Czar Peter by the King of Persia; and the taxidermist managed to give it a height, when mounted in the museum at St. Petersburg, of sixteen and a half feet.

Among the natives of the elephant country, there are many curious superstitions concerning the age, death, and final resting-place of the great animal. The age to which they may possibly attain is a matter of conjecture. One hundred and fifty years is considered the limit by persons who are familiar with the subject. Expert native hunters state that they live one hundred and twenty years, or average about eighty. Mr. Sanderson expresses the belief that they attain one hundred and fifty years, and bases his conclusions from his observations of the famous elephant Bheemruttee, owned by his Highness the Mahárájah of Mysore. It was captured in Coorg in 1805, and was then a baby elephant three years old. In 1876 she was in her prime, and did not show any of the evidences of age evinced by elephants that were known to be advanced in years; and, when it is remembered that in captivity the animals are often ill-fed and abused, it is evident that they may attain a great age. Natives can determine the age of an Asiatic elephant within a few years. They easily ascertain that of a young or very old animal, but those of middle age present more difficulties. The head of an old elephant is lean and rugged, the bones of the skull being prominent, the eyes and temples sunken; while the fore-legs, instead of bulging out at the knees, present the same general size throughout. An old elephant also has a different gait from a young one: instead of putting the foot firmly upon the ground, the heel touches it first. The surest test to the native, however, is the ear, which is almost as conclusive a telltale as are the teeth of a horse. In elephants not older than seven years, the top of the ear is not turned over at the rim; but, as they grow older, it begins to lap and curve, increasing with age; and in very old animals, the lower portion is always torn and jagged. Elephants attain their full growth at about twenty-five years of age, and are in full vigor at thirty-five.

The Strologas, a tribe of the Billiga-rungun hills, assert and believe that the elephant never dies; while the Kurrabas of Kákankoté, and many others, are firm in the belief that they have some secret place to which they retire to die. When this idea is scouted as romance by a European, the native invariably asks, “Did you ever see a dead elephant? Did you ever hear of any one who did?” and the questioner and doubter is obliged generally to answer in the negative. Not only have few sportsmen found an elephant that had evidently died a natural death, but few natives have ever seen one.

In all his rambles, covering nearly twenty years in the heart of the elephant country, Mr. Sanderson never found an elephant that had died a natural death, nor did he ever meet with a professional native elephant-hunter who had, except during an epidemic among the animals in the Chittagong forest. This seems extremely remarkable when it is remembered that, while the flesh might be devoured, the bones and tusks would last a long time. The same belief is entertained by the wild tribes of Ceylon. Sir Emerson Tennent says, “The natives generally assert that the body of a dead elephant is seldom or never discovered in the woods, and certain it is, that frequenters of the forest with whom I had conversed, whether European or Singhalese, alike are consistent in their assurances that they have never found the remains of a dead elephant that had died a natural death. One chief, the Wanyyah of the Trincomalie district, told a friend of mine, that, once after a severe murrain which had swept the province, he found the carcasses of elephants that had died of the disease. On the other hand, a European gentleman, who for thirty-six years without intermission had been living in the jungle, ascending to the summits of mountains in the prosecution of the trigonometrical survey, and penetrating valleys in tracing roads, and opening means of communication,—one, too, who has made the habits of the wild elephant a subject of constant study and observation,—has often expressed to me his astonishment that, after seeing many thousands of living elephants in all possible situations, he had never yet found a single skeleton of a dead one, except those which had fallen by a rifle.” The Singhalese have a superstition in relation to the close of life in the elephant. They believe that, on feeling the approach of dissolution, he repairs to a solitary valley, and there resigns himself to death. A native who accompanied Mr. Cripps, when hunting in the forests of Anarájapoora, intimated to him that he was then in the immediate vicinity of the spot “to which the elephants come to die,” but that it was so mysteriously concealed, that, although every one believed in its existence, no one had ever succeeded in penetrating it. At the corral of Kornegalle in 1847, one of the Kandyan chiefs assured him that it was the universal belief of his countrymen, that the elephants, when about to die, resorted to a valley in an unknown spot among the mountains to the east of Adams Peak, which was reached by a narrow pass with walls of rock on each side, and that here, by the side of a lake of clear water, they took their last repose. While this belief is held by some natives of Continental India, there is not a spot in the elephant country that has not been penetrated by either Europeans or natives; yet the latter are not convinced, and the mystery as to what becomes of the dead elephants is as deep as ever. The elephants that die in captivity are victims to the same troubles that affect all animals, and the wild elephant is probably no exception. At the commissariat at Bengal, one hundred and fourteen elephants died in 1874-75. Eleven died of apoplexy, three of dysentery, five of inflammation of the lungs, thirteen of debility, one of cold, twenty-six of zahirbad, one of vomiting, three of colic, and one of congestion of the brain,—abundant proof to the superstitious native that the elephant is susceptible to dissolution. Ceylon elephants are remarkable for the numbers born without tusks. These are called mucknas, and differ in no other respect from the elephants of Continental India. They resemble ordinary females; the tusks being extremely small, and useless as defence. Sometimes they are larger than ordinary tuskers; but this may be mere accident, as is their dental defect, and it is not an hereditary trait. So rare is a good tusker in Ceylon, that one is looked upon as a curiosity. Sir Samuel Baker states that not over one in three hundred possessed them; and to show the difference between these and the continental elephant, out of one hundred and forty, fifty-one of which were males, captured by Mr. Sanderson in Mysore, Bengal, in 1874-76, only five were mucknas, or tuskless. We should expect to find theories at least to explain this strange difference in an adjoining country, where the climate and food conditions are almost identical (the food in Ceylon is easier to obtain); but I am not aware that any of importance have been expressed.

As large and powerful as the elephant is, it is easily dismayed and alarmed; and many have an especial aversion to small animals. Thus, some elephants have a great dislike for small dogs; and a mouse has been known to cause a large tusker to snort with fear. Wild hogs are particularly disagreeable to the great animals, and it appears that this was known to the ancients; as Procopius, the historian of the Persian and Gothic wars, states that at the siege of Edessa by Chosroes, the king of Persia, in the time of Justinian, the besieged Greeks imitated the cry of the pig to frighten the elephants of the enemy. In fact, elephants are like other animals. They have their likes and dislikes; and their alarm at a mouse, in justice to some of the human race, should not be used, as it often is, as an argument in proof of their supposed cowardice and lack of intelligence.

CHAPTER III.
THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE ELEPHANT.

In determining the intelligence of an animal, we naturally take ourselves as the type of mental excellence, and grade the lower animals as they approach us. Some would place the ant next to man, arguing that it more closely resembles him in its habits, customs, and methods of showing what we consider the result of intelligent action. It keeps domestic animals (aphis), goes to war in organized bodies, makes slaves of other insects, erects wonderful structures, is accredited with planting seeds, and certainly stores them up after arranging them so that they cannot sprout; in fact, appears to act in many ways like a rational human being: and, contrasted to it, the elephant, dog, horse, and beaver would seem to be comparatively stupid animals; at least, such would be the verdict of the observer who mistakes instinct for reason. Such a comparison seems unfair to the other animals mentioned; and to argue that the elephant is not as intelligent as the ant because it does not build a house, and lay up a food-supply, would hardly be just, as the great proboscidian does not require such shelter: and, without instancing any more examples, it would appear, that, to establish the relative intelligence of an animal, it should be judged, not especially by the standard of another, but according to its displayal of what we term thought; and this leads us to consider how thought may be exhibited in an animal. Instinctive action is something that is done without appreciable thought: thus, a colt instinctively kicks at an enemy, as a kitten spits at a dog. The fear of this animal has been present in all the generations of cats, and is inherited, as shown by the protest in the curve of the back, the raising of the tail, and other familiar methods of expression. So we may, without multiplying instances, consider that instinctive action is the outward expression of inherited experience, and has practically nothing in common with that action of the mind which we call thought. If this kitten when it grows older,—and I know of an instance,—should without instruction climb upon a door, and lift the latch, she would be exhibiting a practical illustration of the results of thought: in other words, she would lift the latch because she knew that the door could not be opened without it, and consequently had, in her feline mind, turned over to some extent the relations that existed between the latch, the door, and the object she had in view. So if the colt should go to a pump, as a cow is alleged to have done, and take the handle in its mouth without being taught, and pump water to drink, it would show that the animal had used its powers of thought. Now, what position does the elephant take in the scale of intelligence?

The Hindoos of the present day do not consider the elephant a remarkably intelligent animal. Yet at one time its sagacity was certainly appreciated, as the Hindoo god of wisdom is figured with the body of a man and the head of an elephant; and A. W. Schlegel states that in very early times they marvelled at every thing about the animal, especially its sagacity, which made it seem to them the embodiment of the god Ganessa.

Probably Dr. Dalton expresses the latest knowledge touching this subject. He says,—

“If we examine the comparative development of the hemispheres of the brain in different species of animals, and in different races of men, we shall find that the size of these ganglia corresponds very closely with the degree of intelligence possessed by the individual.... Among quadrupeds, the elephant has much the largest, and most perfectly formed, cerebrum, in proportion to the size of the entire body; and, of all quadrupeds, he is proverbially the most intelligent and the most teachable. It is important to observe, in this connection, that the kind of intelligence which characterizes the elephant and some other of the lower animals, and which most nearly resembles that of man, is a teachable intelligence,—a very different thing from the intelligence which depends upon instinct, such as that of insects, for example, or birds of passage.”

In a previous chapter I mentioned that Mr. H. H. Cross informed me that he had seen an elephant of the Barnum herd select a stick, and probe the small orifice in the temple. Since then I have seen a statement by Mr. Cross in print, to the effect that he has seen the elephant select a twig, examine it carefully with one of its keen little eyes, by holding it up in its trunk, and, if it found it was not sharp enough for the purpose, deliberately grind down the point by rubbing it upon a stone, and, when its shape suited him, use it to open the orifice.

In Africa, according to Drummond, the wild elephants migrate south in time for certain fruits, which shows that they must remember the pleasures of the past season. The migration is not suggested by a lack of food, as the supply of mimosa and other trees does not give out. When a wild elephant takes a branch in its trunk, and uses it to brush away flies, it shows more intelligence than it is generally given credit for; while its lodging dust and sand on its back to prevent the attack of these pests, is also to be considered an intelligent act. Elephants are extremely cautious, and this has been used as an argument against their intelligence. Sanderson says that the animal is stupid because the simplest fence is often sufficient to protect grain from them; but I am inclined to think that this is owing to their extreme caution: the fence may have in their mind some association with the pitfall, or traps of some kind, which have been met in their experience. An elephant will rarely step upon a bridge that is not safe, and many instances could be cited showing that their protests and objections were founded upon an intelligent appreciation of danger. Sanderson says also that the elephant lacks originality: but the two instances I have mentioned,—namely, using a branch to brush off flies, and sharpening the stick,—will, I think, in the opinion of my young readers, free the great animal from this imputation; and I do not recall many actions performed by wild animals, that show more appreciation of the practical application of cause and effect. The intelligence of the elephant has been a subject of varied appreciation. Many observers have considered remarkable actions of elephants involuntary, when in truth they were merely obeying the commands of their riders or mahouts, who expressed their wishes by the pressure of their legs, or by the voice, which was not seen or heard by the observer. When Tavernier was travelling with the Mahommedan army of the Mogul, he was astonished to see the elephants seize the little images which stood before the pagodas, and dash them to the ground. The Hindoos readily believed that the elephant did this from a religious aversion to the idols, but the traveller knew that the mahouts were secretly directing the great animals. So, in passing in review before the king, the elephants did not salute until coming to his majesty.

PLATE III.

THE SIBERIAN MAMMOTH.

(By courtesy of Ward & Howell, Rochester, N. Y.)

[Page 39.]

Once when two elephants were at a spring, the largest violently seized a bucket carried by the smaller, and began to dip up water; upon which the other elephant drew back, and butted its companion so that it fell headlong into the pool. This story is told to illustrate the revengeful nature of the animal, when, in point of fact, the entire action was instigated by the mahout upon its back. The most remarkable trait of the elephant is its obedience: and if we were to take its aptitude to learn the tasks described in the chapter on trained elephants, as a test of intelligence, it would certainly hold its own among all animals; as, considering that it is perhaps the most ungainly, and certainly the heaviest, of all land animals, its various feats are indeed remarkable.

At the slightest pressure of its rider’s foot it will salute, lift the trunk in the air, and trumpet loudly; stop, back, lie down to enable the mahout to dismount, roll over, lift the man upon its trunk, pass over his body with the greatest ease, lift stones from the ground for the driver to throw at other elephants, and even tie itself up at night; in fact, among all trained animals, dogs, horses, or birds, none compare with the elephant in their obedience, and intelligent appreciation of what is required. Though “playing ’possum” or feigning death can hardly be cited as an evidence of intelligence, it may be interesting to know that it is sometimes attempted by elephants. Sir Emerson Tennent was informed by Mr. Cripps that he was aware of an instance where an elephant adopted this ruse to secure its freedom. It had been led into a corral between two tame elephants, and upon being released sank to the ground apparently lifeless. Every attempt to revive it, or force it to show any evidence of life, failed; and the natives believed that it had died of a broken heart,—a term that they often apply when an elephant dies without apparent cause. Finally the body was abandoned as lifeless; and, as soon as the hunters had gone a short distance, the wily brute regained its feet, and rushed for the jungle, screaming at the top of its voice; its cries of evident delight being heard long after it had disappeared. In the various chapters of this work, other instances have been cited showing that, far from being a stupid animal, the elephant in its wild state exhibits far more intelligence than the wild dog or horse; and when we compare the animals after their so-called education, there is little that the trained dog can do that is not accomplished by the elephant; and while it is difficult to draw exact lines, and point out the exact mental status of the elephant in the rank and file of the lower animals, I would place it well to the front among mammals.

I am glad to be able to bring to the support of my belief in the superior intelligence of the elephant, the testimony of a naturalist and careful observer, Col. Nicholas Pike, late consul at Mauritius, whose extensive travels and long residence in the East render his opinions of especial value and interest. The following is Col. Pike’s letter in answer to my request for an expression of his opinion upon the subject:—

Mr. C. F. Holder.

My dear Sir,—In answer to your questions as to my opinion relative to the intelligence of the elephant, I will jot down a few notes that may interest you.

This animal is to my mind one of the most intelligent of the brute creation. I am led to this conclusion from what I have actually seen, and from reliable information given me by persons who have devoted a lifetime to studying their habits and life-history generally. I think that in elephants, as in other animals,—and we see even in man himself,—there is a great difference in the amount of intelligence they possess.

A friend of mine, who owned many of these animals, placed an old tame male that appeared sick, in a pasture, where he had also some horses and sheep feeding, thinking it would recuperate “Dick,” who was a great favorite. The whole pasture was well fenced in, and the gate was securely bolted. One morning when I was visiting my friend, we were surprised to see “Dick” let himself in by the back-gate; and he warned us of his presence by trumpeting. His master went to him, and asked what he wanted. The beast at once took up a pitcher containing water which was near by, and poured some of it on the ground, attempting to sip a few drops of it with his trunk. His master, seeing what he wanted, gave him water, and told him to go back. Thinking the gate must have been left open, and perhaps the sheep and horses straying out, we followed, but to our surprise found the gate shut, and not only bolted, but the bolt turned up in the little slot so that it should not be easily opened. We waited, curious to see what Dick would do. As soon as he reached the gate, he deliberately moved the bolt, and passed into the field, then turning round, he re-adjusted the bolt as well as I could have done it, and marched off contentedly to a favorite corner under some trees.

I have seen my friend quietly call individuals by their name out of the herd; and in one instance, a female, “Maggie,” was called, and told to take me on her back, which she did, helping me up carefully with her trunk. I have seen an elephant draw a cork from a bottle of claret, and drink the contents without spilling a drop. I saw four or five called singly by name from their grazing-ground, form in line, and bow, and kneel before a group of ladies, and then march back in as regular order at the word of command as a file of soldiers.

Hundreds of elephants are employed in the government service in the three presidencies of India,—Calcutta, Bombay and Madras. They go through a regular routine, and know their hours for work and recreation as well as the man who watches the clock. When the bell sounds in the morning, they take up their line of march, to the lumber-yards for instance, where vast piles of beams and planks are stored. As soon as they arrive, each takes up his work, left from the day before. Great logs and beams are rolled along by the aid of the trunk, and, when near the pile, are lifted, two elephants to each beam, and hoisted into place, when they walk round and adjust their work with as much precision as a man would use with a plumb-line. When the usual hour for quitting work arrives, nothing can induce the creatures to go on; and you can’t fool them on the time either, by ringing the bell late. Off they go to get their afternoon bath, where they will lie and wallow in the muddy water for hours. Their varied works require cute intelligence, not mere instinct, any more than you can attribute the good paving of a roadway by a poor laborer, who knows his business, though he may not be able to read or write, to instinct.

A circumstance was related to me by my friend, Gen. E. W. de Lansing Lowe, who was all through the campaign in India during the Sepoy rebellion. He said he had a very intelligent elephant that he constantly rode on, and as it was so hot they mostly travelled morning and evening. During the war, they came about the dusk of evening to a small bridge that spanned a deep ravine with water at the bottom. As soon as the elephant came to this bridge, no inducement could make him cross it. After some delay, finding all persuasion useless, the general determined to examine the structure. They found the enemy had cut away the supports of the bridge; and, had the elephant stepped on to it, the whole party would have been precipitated into the gulf below.

We have a notable instance of the sagacity of these animals at the time Barnum’s circus was in Bridgeport a few years ago. A fire broke out in some sheds adjoining the tents, and it was feared the stables would catch the flames. They began to pull down the sheds, when some one suggested to bring out two elephants. This was done, and the animals set to with a will to pull down the place. They evidently at once took in the situation. They not only tore down the place, but threw the timbers so that they should not touch the tents, and beat out the flames. Now, if this does not show almost human reason, what does? They were put to the work on the spur of the moment, and not only performed it as if used to it, but actually did it more intelligently than many men would have done in such perilous circumstances. Had they not done so, as water was short, the loss of life to man and beast, and of property, might have been enormous.

If you could only interview Barnum, he could tell you more of the intelligence of the elephant than any man living.

I could relate numerous other incidents I have seen and been informed of; but enough has been said, I think, to prove how highly I think of the intelligence, sagacity, or whatever other name you may give it, of this unwieldly pachyderm.[1]

NICHOLAS PIKE.

CHAPTER IV.
THE MAMMOTH.

In one of the old Chinese histories, there is a description of a curious creature called tyn-schu, supposed to be a subterranean, rat-like animal. It lived, according to the old chroniclers, entirely beneath the ground; was as large as an ox; and had enormous tusks, with which it threw up the soil, or made its burrows; and the rumbling of earthquakes was attributed to them. This was naturally considered a fable by Europeans, but finally an English traveller was shown a piece of the tusk. He found it to be ivory, and suspected that the strange animal was a mammoth, as indeed was the case. The bodies of these elephantine giants were found in the far North, buried in the tundra; and the simple Chinamen believed that they lived there, and on their return from trading-trips told the story in the South; and thus it became a part of their curious and, it is needless to say, erroneous history.

MAMMOTH HUNT.

[Page 36.]

The mammoth may rightly be considered the king of all elephants, and in general appearance it much resembled the African species. The full adult may have been a third more bulky than the largest existing elephants, and undoubtedly weighed at least twice as much. To protect them from the cold, they were covered with hair, which gave them a ferocious appearance. The hair was of three kinds: first there was a thick coat of reddish wool; over this grew a coat of long, thick hair; while upon the neck was a heavy mane. The tusks of the mammoth were enormous: some measured thirteen feet in length; and, curved in a circle, gave the animal a strange and formidable appearance.

While the mammoth greatly resembled the African elephant, there are some points of difference. The skull is narrower at the summit, and the molar teeth have great breadth of crown as compared to the length: the ridges also are narrow and crowded, while the enamel is thin and straight, the crimping that is seen in others being absent. The molars number, as in other elephants, eight, at one time present; or, one and a portion of another one each side of both jaws.

This huge elephant flourished principally in the far North; and, as its remains are now found in the greatest abundance on the shores of the Arctic Sea, it must have existed in vast herds. The majority of specimens discovered are buried in the soil, that is now frozen the year round in a solid mass for many feet. The finest specimen known is a skeleton in the museum at St. Petersburg; the original having been discovered in 1799 by a poor fisherman named Schumachoff, a Tongoose, who every spring followed down the Lena River that led into the Arctic Sea. One day while engaged in following his vocation, he observed on the side of a tundra a shapeless mass, appearing like some huge monster entombed. The following year he returned to the same locality, and found that the object had weathered out still more, and was a mammoth—a veritable frozen giant. Still, he could not claim the fine tusks; and another year passed, and then his family were so superstitions that they refused to consent to his again visiting the strange animal that he had described. But finally, five years after his first trip, he determined to again visit the scene of his discovery. He sailed down the river in his small boat, and, with mingled emotions of fear and curiosity, approached the imprisoned monster. Raising his eyes on reaching the spot, he saw a great cavity in the cliff, but the mammoth was gone. The ice had melted away, but beneath where the giant had rested lay the enormous body. The tusks were still intact; and Schumachoff carried them South in triumph, where he realized fifty rubles from the sale, leaving the body—which, wonderful to relate, was as fresh as if the animal had died only a week before—to the bears and wolves.

We could hardly expect a poor fisherman to know that it was a valuable scientific discovery, and it was only by accident that the story of the strange animal reached the scientific world. Seven years later a Mr. Adams visited the spot, where he found the mammoth still in the flesh, with the exception of the fore-leg; and, even after this lapse of time, its preservation was remarkable. The pupil of the eye was still intact; and the brain rested in the cranium, the tissues being so perfect that they could hardly be distinguished from those of a living animal. During the interim between its fall upon the beach and Mr. Adams’s visit, it had attracted numbers of wild animals,—bears, foxes, etc.,—that devoured much of the meat, that had been preserved for perhaps thousands of years. The neck of the animal was still covered with a long mane; and next to the skin was a thick brown wool, that was evidently very valuable as a protection against the severe cold. Much of the hair and wool of the huge creature was ground into the soil, but thirty pounds of this reddish wool was recovered. Mr. Adams purchased the tusks, which were nine feet in length; and finally the entire skeleton was removed to St. Petersburg, where it may still be seen.

From the description and measurements of the skeleton, Professor Ward has made a restoration of this ancient giant, which gives a striking idea of the grandeur of its appearance. ([See Plate III.])

Dr. Pallas was the first to describe the mammoth with scientific accuracy; and Blumenbach gave it its present name, Elephas primigenius. In the northern countries it ranged the forests at one time in vast numbers, being especially common in England and Wales, where its remains are generally found in caves and river-deposits. In Yorkshire and Wales it was evidently followed by hyenas, that dragged its bones into the caves. W. Boyd Dawkins says, that, in the spring of 1866, he accompanied Mr. Antonio Brady to the Uphall pit, England, and describes his finds as follows:—

“At the top, there was the surface-soil from one to three feet deep; then an irregularly stratified layer of brick-earth and gravel six feet; and lastly, an irregular layer of flint gravel, underneath which was a fine reddish gray sandy loam, four feet thick. All these had been cleared away, leaving a platform exposed, on which was a most remarkable accumulation of bones carefully left in situ by the workmen. On the right hand was a huge tusk of mammoth, eight feet long, with the spiral curvature undisturbed by the pressure of the superadjacent strata. Across it lay a remarkably fine antler of red deer. At a little distance was the frontal portion of the skull of a urns, with its horn-cores perfect to the very tips; while around, bones of various animals were scattered,—of the Rhinoceros hemitœchus, mammoth, urus, horse, either brown or grisly bear, and wolf. As we gazed down on this tableau, we could not doubt for a moment that the bottom of an ancient river with all its contents lay before our eyes,—a river in which all these animals had been drowned, and by which they had been swept into the exact position which they then occupied. This inference was confirmed by the examination of the thin layer of sandy gravel on which they rested, for it was full of the shells of Corbicula fluminalis, with the valves together just as in life. There were also specimens of the common anodon of our rivers, and of the Helix nemoralis of our hedge-rows. On a continuation of the same platform, now cut away, the skull of a mammoth was discovered in 1864, perfect, with the exception of the tusks, which had been broken away, with their incisive alveoli. That of the right side lay twenty feet away from the skull, while the left has not yet been discovered. Owing to the surprising skill of Mr. Davies, the skull and tusk were taken up and re-united, and now constitute by far the finest specimen of mammoth in the British Museum. In some cases, the mammoth remains have not been deposited by a river. At Lexden, near Colchester, as the Rev. O. Fisher well observes, they were overwhelmed in a bog, the small bones of the feet being found in their natural position, a fact which shows that they sank feet foremost through the peat into the subjacent clay.”

That the sea has greatly encroached upon the land of England, and that the old grazing-grounds of the mammoth are now under water, is evident from the fact that the teeth of elephants are often dredged up by fishermen; and ivory-hunters in some localities have literally fished for these teeth with drag-nets. A tusk dredged at Scarborough was as fresh as when the animal was alive, and was cut up and used for the various purposes to which ivory is put.

In its day, the mammoth also wandered through the forests of France, and to the south as far as Rome. Portions of its skeleton have been found in the volcanic gravel of Ponte Molle and Monte Sacro, a fact showing that it flourished here when the site of Rome was a bed of lava that flowed from the volcanoes of Central Italy.

Germany was a famous grazing-ground for the mammoth. At Seilberg near Constadt on the Necker, a heap of thirteen tusks and teeth were found “heaped close upon each other,” as if they had been packed artificially. A like find was made in the village of Thiede, four miles south of Brunswick: in a heap of soil ten feet square, there were found eleven tusks, one eleven and another fourteen and three-quarters feet long; thirty molar teeth, and numbers of large bones; “mixed with these were the bones and teeth of rhinoceros, horse, ox, and stag; they all lay mixed confusedly together; none of them were rolled or much broken; and the teeth, for the most part, separate and without the jaws: there were also some horns of stag.”

The borders of the Arctic were, however, the favorite pasturage for these giants; and the store of ivory there may be said to be practically inexhaustible, though the trade in the tusks has been going on with the Jakuti and Tungusians from time immemorial.

The Siberian islands are a favorite locality for collectors, where the tusks have been found protruding from the sand in vast numbers. After Adams, the most valuable find was made by Dr. Middendorf, a famous Siberian explorer, in 1843. It was discovered in latitude 66° 30´, between the Obi and Yenesei, near the Arctic circle. Shortly after, the body of a young one was found in a bed of sand and gravel fifteen feet or so above the sea, near the river Taimyr; and in the former the eye was so perfectly preserved, that the bulb, now in the St. Petersburg museum, looks as though it had been taken from a recent animal.

One of the most interesting mammoth discoveries in late years was made by a young Russian engineer named Benkendorf, who was employed in 1846 by the government to survey the coast off the mouth of the Lena and Indigirka rivers. The discovery is of such great interest and value, that I give it in his own words, the account being an abstract from a letter written to a friend in Germany:—

“In 1846 there was unusually warm weather in the north of Siberia. Already in May unusual rains poured over the moors and bogs, storms shook the earth, and the streams carried not only ice to the sea, but also large tracts of land thawed by the masses of warm water fed by the southern rains.... We steamed on the first favorable day up the Indigirka, but there were no thoughts of land: we saw around us only a sea of dirty brown water, and knew the river only by the rushing and roaring of the stream. The river rolled against us trees, moss, and large masses of peat, so that it was only with great trouble and danger that we could proceed. At the end of the second day, we were only about forty wersts up the stream. Some one had to stand with the sounding-rod in hand continually, and the boat received so many shocks that it shuddered to the keel. A wooden vessel would have been smashed. Around us we saw nothing but the flooded land. For eight days we met with the like hinderances, until at last we reached the place where our Jakuti were to have met us. Farther up was a place called Ujandina, whence the people were to have come to us; but they were not there, prevented evidently by the floods. As we had been here in former years, we knew the place. But how it had changed! The Indigirka, here about three wersts wide, had torn up the land, and worn itself a fresh channel; and, when the waters sank, we saw, to our astonishment, that the old river-bed had become merely that of an insignificant stream. This allowed me to cut through the soft earth; and we went reconnoitring up the new stream, which had worn its way westward. Afterwards we landed on the new shore, and surveyed the undermining and destructive operation of the wild waters, that carried away, with extraordinary rapidity, masses of soft peat and loam. It was then that we made a wonderful discovery. The land on which we were treading was moorland, covered thickly with young plants. Many lovely flowers rejoiced the eye in the warm beams of the sun, that shone for twenty-two out of the twenty-four hours. The stream rolled over, and tore up the soft, wet ground like chaff: so that it was dangerous to go near the brink. While we were all quiet, we suddenly heard under our feet a sudden gurgling and stirring, which betrayed the working of the disturbed water. Suddenly our jäger, ever on the lookout, called loudly, and pointed to a singular and unshapely object, which rose and sank through the disturbed waters. I had already remarked it, but not given it any attention, considering it only drift-wood. Now we all hastened to the spot on the shore, had the boat drawn near, and waited until the mysterious thing should again show itself. Our patience was tried: but at last, a black, horrible, giant-like mass was thrust out of the water; and we beheld a colossal elephant’s head, armed with mighty tusks, with its long trunk moving in the water in an unearthly manner, as though seeking for something lost therein. Breathless with astonishment, I beheld the monster hardly twelve feet from me, with his half-open eyes yet showing the whites. It was still in good preservation.

“‘A mammoth! a mammoth!’ broke out the Tschernomori; and I shouted, ‘Here, quickly! chains and ropes!’ I will go over our preparations for securing the giant animal, whose body the water was trying to tear from us. As the animal again sank, we waited for an opportunity to throw the ropes over his neck. This was only accomplished after many efforts. For the rest we had no cause for anxiety; for, after examining the ground, I satisfied myself that the hind-legs of the mammoth still stuck in the earth, and that the waters would work for us to unloosen them. We therefore fastened a rope round his neck, threw a chain round his tusks, that were eight feet long, drove a stake into the ground about twenty feet from the shore, and made chain and rope fast to it. The day went by quicker than I thought for; but still, the time seemed long before the animal was secured, as it was only after the lapse of twenty-four hours that the water had loosened it. But the position of the animal was interesting to me: it was standing in the earth, and not lying on its side or back as a dead animal naturally would, indicating, by this, the manner of its destruction. The soft peat or marsh land, on which he stepped thousands of years ago, gave way under the weight of the giant; and he sank as he stood on it, feet foremost, incapable of saving himself; and a severe frost came, and turned him into ice and the moor which had buried him. The latter, however, grew and flourished, every summer renewing itself. Possibly the neighboring stream had heaped over the dead body plants and sand. God only knows what causes had worked for its preservation. Now, however, the stream had brought it once more to the light of day; and I, an ephemera of life compared with this primeval giant, was sent here by Heaven just at the right time to welcome him. You can imagine how I jumped for joy.

“During our evening meal, our posts announced strangers: a troop of Jakuti came on their fast, shaggy horses; they were our appointed people, and were very joyful at sight of us. Our company was augmented by them to about fifty persons. On showing them our wonderful capture, they hastened to the stream; and it was amusing to hear how they chattered and talked over the sight. The first day I left them in quiet possession; but when, on the following, the ropes and chains gave a great jerk, a sign that the mammoth was quite freed from the earth, I commanded them to use their utmost strength, and bring the beast to land. At length, after much hard work, in which the horses were extremely useful, the animal was brought to land; and we were able to roll the body about twelve feet from the shore. The decomposing effect of the warm air filled us all with astonishment.

“Picture to yourself an elephant with a body covered with thick fur, about thirteen feet in height, and fifteen in length, with tusks eight feet long, thick, and curving outward at their ends, a stout trunk of six feet in length, colossal limbs of one and a half feet in thickness, and a tail, naked up to the end, which was covered with thick, tufty hair. The animal was fat, and well grown. Death had overtaken him in the fulness of his powers. His parchment-like, large, naked ears lay fearfully turned up over the head. About the shoulders and the back he had stiff hair, about a foot in length, like a mane. The long, outer hair was deep brown, and coarsely rooted. The top of the head looked so wild, and so penetrated with pitch (und mit Pech so durchgedrungen), that it resembled the rind of an old oak-tree. On the sides it was cleaner (reiner); and under the outer hair, there appeared everywhere a wool, very soft, warm, and thick, and of a fallow-brown color. The giant was well protected against the cold. The whole appearance of the animal was fearfully strange and wild. It had not the shape of our present elephants. As compared with our Indian elephants, its head was rough, the brain-case low and narrow, but the trunk and mouth were much larger. The teeth were very powerful. Our elephant is an awkward animal; but, compared with this mammoth, it is as an Arabian steed to a coarse, ugly dray-horse. I could not divest myself of a feeling of fear as I approached the head. The broken, widely open eyes gave the animal an appearance of life, as though it might move in a moment, and destroy us with a roar.... The bad smell of the body warned us that it was time to save of it what we could; and the swelling flood, too, bid us hasten. First of all, we cut off the tusks, and sent them to the cutter. Then the people tried to hew the head off; but, notwithstanding their good will, this was slow work. As the belly of the animal was cut open, the intestines rolled out; and then the smell was so dreadful, that I could not overcome my nauseousness, and was obliged to turn away. But I had the stomach separated, and brought on one side. It was well filled, and the contents instructive and well preserved. The principal were young shoots of the fir and pine: a quantity of young fir-cones, also in a chewed state, were mixed with the mass.... As we were eviscerating the animal, I was as careless and forgetful as my Jakuti, who did not notice that the ground was sinking under their feet, until a fearful scream warned me of their misfortune, as I was still groping in the animal’s stomach. Shocked, I sprang up, and beheld how the river was burying in its waves our five Jakuti and our laboriously saved beast. Fortunately the boat was near, so that our poor work-people were all saved; but the mammoth was swallowed up by the waves, and never more made its appearance.”

This mammoth had undoubtedly strayed into a morass, and been ingulfed; and soon after, or before the body had an opportunity to decay, it had frozen up, to be released again ages after by an unusual thaw.

The most recent mammoth-hunt has been made by Dr. Bunge, who instituted a search along the Lena delta, finding, I believe, but one specimen, which was without its head and one fore-leg. It had been exposed for ten years to the attack of foxes, native dogs, and the natives themselves, and was well-nigh ruined.

The mammoth was not confined to the Old World. Vast quantities of bones have been found in Escholtz Bay in a peaty deposit that rests on a cliff of pure blue ice, and in various parts of America. As to the causes that led to its extinction, they are equally problematical. In Kentucky, Ohio, and Central North America, there would seem to have been every thing to favor its continuance,—an abundance of food, and vast areas to range upon. The one agency that might have produced its extermination is the one now at work upon its ally in Africa, namely, man. There is little doubt that the early Americans chased the great animal, and, hunted from one part of the country to another, they finally entirely disappeared.

PLATE IV.

ASIATIC ELEPHANT. SKELETON OF ASIATIC ELEPHANT. EXTINCT ELEPHANT, OR MAMMOTH. ST. PETERSBURG MUSEUM.

[Page 48.]

CHAPTER V.
THREE AND FOUR TUSKED ELEPHANTS.

Though to-day we look to Asia and Africa for elephants, and consider the huge proboscidians as extremely un-American, they originally roamed this country in vast herds, and were as common on our plains and prairies as are many animals of the present day. The mastodon, in the estimation of many naturalists, existed up to five hundred years ago; and, judging from the apparent freshness of the remains, there is no great objection to the belief. They were undoubtedly hunted by the ancestors of the mound-builders and early tribes; and, while other agencies may have aided in their extermination, the aboriginal hunter was an all-powerful factor, the result being no more remarkable than that going on at present in the extermination of the bison. What sights the early American boys and girls must have witnessed, assuming this to have been the case! The mighty mastodons, with their huge bodies and pillar-like legs, presented a far more impressive spectacle than the largest elephant of to-day; and when a captive giant was brought in, or found mired in a bog, what shouts and cries arose from these children, perhaps, of the mound-builders!

The tusks of the mastodon were marvels of beauty. Those of some species were straight, turning only at the tips: others had three tusks, two in the upper jaw, and one in the lower, the latter ordinarily of small size, though occasionally they attained large dimensions. Some individuals had four of these ivory weapons, giving them a strange and ferocious appearance.

The discovery that mastodons existed in America at one time, was made over a hundred years ago. In 1714 Dr. Cotton Mather of Boston forwarded a paper to the Royal Society of London, describing some mastodon bones, and endeavoring to prove that they were those of some giant mentioned in Holy Writ. The mastodon he referred to was discovered near Albany in 1705; and some of the grinders, or teeth, weighed four pounds. Thirty-five years later, a French officer, named Longueil, while travelling through what is now the State of Ohio, found near the Ohio River in a swamp a number of bones and tusks. Some of these were carried to Paris. In 1763 Mr. George Croghan, an Englishman, made a valuable find of mastodon remains near the celebrated Big Bone Lick of Kentucky. It was estimated that the finds represented the remains of thirty individuals. Some of the tusks which were found about six feet from the surface were seven feet in length.

The next important discovery was made on the Walkill River, about seventy miles from New York, by the Rev. Robert Annan. The bones were found in digging a ditch; and, from their position, it was evident that the huge animal had died standing, or had been mired, and so met its death. In 1805 Bishop Madison of Virginia communicated to “The Scientific World” the discovery of some mastodon bones that were found about five feet beneath the ground. This find was extremely interesting and valuable; as with the body, or in a position which represented the stomach of one of the skeletons, was found a mass of ground and bruised vegetation, which upon analysis showed that it was made up of grass, shrubs, and leaves, and of a species of rose still growing in Virginia. The Indians, who, it seems, made the discovery, stated that among these there was one that flesh still adhered to, and that it had a long nose.

Quite a number of Indian tribes have traditions concerning animals with a long nose, or trunk. The most familiar is that of the Delaware tribe, and the following is the statement that the natives claim to have been handed down by their ancestors: “That in ancient times a herd of these tremendous animals came to the Big Bone Licks, and began a universal destruction of the bear, deer, elks, buffaloes, and other animals, which had been created for the use of the Indians; that the Great Man above, looking down, and seeing this, was so enraged that he seized his lightning, descended on the earth, seated himself on a neighboring mountain on a rock, on which his seat and the print of his feet are still to be seen, and hurled his bolts among them till the whole were slaughtered, except the big bull, who, presenting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off as they fell; but, missing one at length, it wounded him in the side; whereon, springing round, he bounded over the Ohio, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and finally over the Great Lakes, where he is living at this day.”

Mastodon tusks and remains have been unearthed in various parts of the State of California, showing that the huge elephants roamed over the entire continent just as the African elephant originally did on that continent. In California the remains of the mastodon have been found associated with human bones, stone implements, the remains of the elephant, tapir, bison, and modern horse. Mr. Stickney, the well-known Indian agent, states that “particular persons in every nation were selected as the repositories of their history and traditions; that these persons had others who were younger, selected for this purpose continually, and repeatedly instructed in those things which were handed down from generation to generation; and that there was a tradition among the Indians of the existence of the mastodon; that they were often seen; that they fed on the boughs of a species of lime-tree; and that they did not lie down, but leaned against a tree to sleep.”

Some tribes are familiar with such remains, and call them “fathers of oxen,” and state that they lived long years ago with a race of gigantic men, and that the Great Spirit killed them all with fire-bolts.

According to Dr. Barton, in 1761 there were found by Indians in this country five huge carcasses with long noses above their mouths; but this lacks satisfactory proof. In some of the ancient carvings in Mexico and Yucatan, especially those at Palenque, representations of an elephant’s head are to be seen; and it is assumed that the artists must have been acquainted with the animals, or have had some tradition concerning them. Mr. Latrobe relates that “near the city of Tezcuco, one of the ancient roads or causeways was discovered; and on one side, only three feet below the surface, in what may have been the ditch of the road, there lay the entire skeleton of a mastodon. It bore every appearance of having been coeval with the period when the road was used.” An old Mexican hieroglyphic represents a sacrificing priest with head covered with a casque, in which the head of an animal bearing a striking resemblance to the elephant may be seen. The trunk is too distinct and plain to be an accidental resemblance; and the artist did not have the tapir in view when he produced it, the head being decidedly elephantine.

Professor Holmes found the bones of the mastodon associated with pottery on the banks of the Ashley River, near Charleston, S.C.; and, in the majority of these cases, the mastodon’s remains were discovered very near the surface. Professor Winchell states that he has himself “seen the bones of the mastodon and elephant embedded in peat, at depths so shallow that he could readily believe the animals to have occupied the country during its possession by the Indians.” The so-called elephant-mound, referred to in these pages, is considered by some as evidence that the mastodon was a familiar form to the early American; so with the Indian pipes ([Plate XVIII.]). If they are intended to represent elephants, which one can hardly doubt, the maker must either have seen the mastodon, or have had it accurately described to him. Quite recently some tracks, presumably those of the mastodon or elephant, have been discovered on the surface of a sandstone quarry at Carson City, in Nevada. They represent a series of circular depressions from three to six inches in depth, each about twenty inches in diameter, which, according to the method of measuring the height of elephants in India, would give an elephant ten feet high. The impressions have been traced for forty feet, and show distinct footprints giving a stride of about five feet eight inches.

The largest find ever made in this country, with the exception perhaps of the vast collection at the Big Bone Lick, Kentucky, was that at Warren, N.J., in 1845, where no less than six almost perfect skeletons were found six feet below the surface. A farmer discovered them while digging out mud from a small swamp; and, as most of the huge creatures were standing upright, it is evident that they became mired in the bog, and slowly sank into it. We can imagine the scene when these six monsters were entrapped,—their trumpeting, their roars of rage and fear, their mighty struggles to escape, that, with their combined weight, only served to mire them deeper and deeper, until they finally disappeared, to remain entombed for untold ages, and to be finally found, and placed in our museums and halls of science as monuments of a lost race.

Nearly all the mastodons are found in swamps, showing that possibly these morasses appeared to be veritable traps that hastened the extinction of these monarchs of the forest. This may be considered the popular theory of one method by which mastodons were destroyed: but there is no better authority than Professor James Hall, the present geologist in chief of the State of New York; and his opinions are entirely different. His views are, that the extinction of the mastodon was hastened by the glacial period, and that most of the remains discovered have been dropped in hollows or ponds, from the ice perhaps, and the peat formed over them. He advances in favor of this the fact that several tusks have been discovered which show evidences of glacial action. There is such a tusk in the collection of the Philadelphia Academy of Sciences, worn by supposed glacial action; and Rutgers College has the extremity of a tusk, showing what is considered by Professor Hall to be glacial striæ.

Referring to the Big Bone Lick, Professor Hall says, “With our present knowledge, it would appear that this accumulation of bones, teeth, and tusks of mastodon, in Kentucky, may have been caused by the melting of a glacier in which they had become embedded, and, being gradually pushed forward to its southern limit, had been deposited in this place. There are other similar localities of less importance and extent, where mastodon remains have been obtained in considerable numbers; and it is not improbable that a critical examination of all known collections may furnish some further evidence of conditions similar to those indicated by the specimens in the Museums of the Philadelphia Academy of Sciences and of Rutgers College.

“However heterodox these views may appear, as opposed to the generally received opinions of the age and relations of the mastodon, I feel quite sure that some other hypothesis than the one usually entertained must be adopted in order to arrive at a satisfactory explanation of the mode and conditions of distribution and inhumation of the mastodon and fossil elephant remains of this country.

“In advocating this opinion regarding the extermination of the mastodon, I have reference to the remains as they have come under my own observation: and I do not mean to be understood as opposing in toto, the views so generally entertained, that the mastodon has existed during the present epoch; or that the opinion held by some of our scientists, that the animal may have existed both before and since the glacial period, is untenable. I refer only to the phenomena usually accompanying these remains, and the conditions attending those which have been exhumed within the State of New York and adjacent parts of New Jersey, and to some extent in other parts of the country. The locality of Big Bone Lick in Kentucky, which has furnished the fragmentary parts of so many skeletons (and some other Western localities), I have not visited; but the evidence already given in relation to the bones from this place, indicates very clearly that they had suffered from glacial action; and the animals were, as we infer, of the glacial period.”

On the great Osage River, the mastodons were sunk in the mud in a vertical position. Perhaps the most interesting find in New-York State was what is known as the Cohoes mastodon. In the fall of 1866 a number of workmen were employed in excavating the foundation for the Harmony Mills Company, in Cohoes; and after much labor, during which several thousand loads of muck or peaty soil, and old trunks of trees, had been removed, one of the men discovered the jaw-bone of some gigantic animal. The bone was found almost at the water-level, and at a depth of twenty-five feet below the surface; the entire locality being clay and earth, which formerly had been filled in to cover a swampy depression.

The report of the find was conveyed to Professor James Hall, who immediately undertook the superintendence of the search. He soon saw that the locality had at one time been the bed of the river, and that the remains were evidently in a vast pot-hole,—a circular pit often seen in the rock-borders of rivers at the present day. The discovery of the jaw pointed to the assumption that the entire skeleton could not be far off, and careful search was immediately commenced. Loads of refuse, old trunks of trees showing the imprint of beavers’ teeth, broken slate, water-worn pebbles, were removed, and finally, in the bottom of the great pot-hole, upon a mass of material similar to that which had been taken out, covered with river-ooze and vegetable soil, the principal parts of the great mastodon were found. First, the bones of the hind-legs appeared, and a portion of the pelvis; and against the sloping wall reclined the massive head with tusks complete, unbroken and undisturbed; then followed many of the other portions of the skeleton, all lodged in a pot-hole of great depth. Sixty feet were explored without finding bottom; and the supposition was, that the animal had in some way been caught in a glacier, and gradually melted out as the great mass of ice slowly moved down over the face of the country, dropping it into this natural tomb. This complete skeleton ([Plate V.]) was presented to the cabinet of the State Museum at Albany, and is now on exhibition there, one of the finest specimens in existence. Its dimensions are as follows:—

In some of the mastodons found, remains of food have been discovered between the ribs: thus it has been determined that the huge creature existed when the country appeared much as it does to-day. The Mastodon giganteus fed upon the spruce and fir trees. The mastodons wandered over almost every country known, and their remains are very common in South America. Humboldt found them as far north as Santa Fe de Bogota, and they have been discovered as far south as Buenos Ayres. Their range in South America has been given from five degrees north to about thirty-seven degrees south; and they were probably not restricted to this area.

Like the elephants of the present day, they wandered to great elevations, even up to the borders of perpetual snow; and a tooth described by Cuvier was obtained by Humboldt, in a volcano, at an elevation of seventy-two hundred feet above the level of the sea. A fine collection of these South-American mastodons is exhibited in the museum at Santiago. They were found by a party of men in an attempt to drain Lake Tagua in the province of Colchagua, about one hundred miles south of Santiago, sixty from the Pacific, and fourteen hundred feet above the sea. A ditch was cut, to drain off the water; and, after it had been drawn off, the remains of the great animal were seen lying upon the bottom.

PLATE V.

COHOES MASTODON.

[Page 57.]

With these mastodons, there existed in North America an elephant, E. Columbi, which probably associated in herds with the mastodon, but were not as large. The mastodons were extremely ponderous, and exceeded the largest elephant of to-day in size, and, though resembling them in general appearance, differed in several marked features. The tusks often grew in a peculiar manner: two large, nearly straight ones appeared in the upper jaw, while one or two protruded from the lower. As a rule, these lower incisors were small; but in some instances they attained considerable size. Imagine an elephant eleven or more feet in height, with three or four enormous sharp ivory tusks, its trunk raised aloft, rushing at an enemy! surely, such an animal was the true king of beasts, even in these early days. The tusks of the mastodons assumed many strange shapes, and a herd of these great creatures must have presented a curious appearance. As in other proboscidians, the teeth consisted of incisors and molars. In the Mastodon turiensis of the pliocene time, found at Sismonda, the tusks of the upper jaw were nearly straight, though bending their points toward each other, long, sharp, and powerful. In a mastodon whose remains were found in Ohio (Mastodon Ohioticus), the tusks were long, gradually rising at the ends in a graceful curve; while in the lower jaw appeared a small single tusk. These lower incisors were present in the young of both sexes of this species, but were soon shed by the female, one being retained in the male; so that it was a three-tusked mastodon. In the Mastodon longirostris, there were, besides the two upper tusks, two long, slender tusks in the lower jaw, a defence more formidable than that possessed by any animal of to-day. In the elephant, the enamel is confined to the apex of the tusks; but in the huge mastodons They often had longitudinal bands of enamel, more or less spirally disposed upon their surface. The molar or grinding teeth of the mastodons appeared, much as in the elephants, in a horizontal succession: the front or worn-out teeth were pushed out or lost before the complete development of the posterior ones, which gradually moved forward to take the place of those which were worn out or ground away. The process was not as perfect as that in the present elephant, described in chapter first; as sometimes three teeth were in each jaw of the mastodon at the same time. The teeth are the chief points of distinction between the elephant and the mastodon; and they are readily recognized by the grinding surfaces of the molars, which have transverse ridges, their summits being divided into conical cusps, with smaller ones often clustered about them. The enamel is quite thick: the cementum, which is so plentiful in the teeth of elephants, is very scanty, never filling in the interspaces of the ridges; so that the teeth present a serrated edge.

The great mastodon, many species of which are known, lived during what is known as the miocene time of geology, ranging from the middle of this period to the end of the pliocene, in the Old World, when they appear to have become extinct. In Ohio, the mastodons lived to a much later time, surviving until the late pliocene period, and were, as I have suggested, probably hunted by early man, if he was in existence at that time.

The mastodons had a wide geographical range, being found in almost every country. Nine species are known from Europe,—M. angustidens, M. borsoni, M. pentelici, M. pyrenaicus, M. taperoides, M. virgatidens, M. avernensis, M. dissimilis, and M. longirostris. Five species have been found in India, and four in North America. Two are from South America. Two only have been found in England.

Mastodons undoubtedly lived in Australia; a molar tooth of M. andium, or a similar form, having been found in New South Wales.

From this brief review of the early proboscidians, it will be seen that the elephant, as we popularly term all proboscidians, had originally as wide a range as man, appearing in almost every country; and it is even described by Pliny as being very plentiful in the forests of the so-called Atlantis.

Equally as interesting as the huge mastodon was the pygmy elephant, two species of which formerly existed. These were remarkably diminutive creatures, about the size of ordinary sheep; while their baby elephants must have been about that of ordinary cats. We can imagine a herd of these wonderful little creatures roaming about, and the strange appearance they must have presented. Their names are Elephas melittensis and E. falconeri; their bones are found in Malta and various parts of Italy. Living small or pygmy elephants are frequently referred to in old works. Bles, a correspondent of Buffon, states that he saw one in the Kandyan kingdom not larger than a heifer, and covered with hair. Bishop Heber says, that, in his journey from Bareilly to the Himalayas, he saw the Rájah Gourman Sing mounted on an elephant hardly bigger than a Durham ox, and almost as shaggy as a poodle.

It would seem that at one time a pygmy elephant existed in the Philippines, perhaps when they were connected to the Indian continent; as Professor Semper found the tooth of a fossil species at Mindanao, on the upper course of the Agusan, the most southerly of the group. The tooth, which this eminent scientist considers to have belonged to a dwarf species of the Indian elephant, was used in a remarkable ceremonial. It was worn by the Baganis, or chiefs of a cannibal race, on important occasions, strung about the neck with various objects, as images of gods, crocodile-teeth, etc. When the wearer in battle killed a foe, his breast was opened with a sacred sword, and the tooth and associated objects were dipped in the blood; and after the god of war, to which these objects are sacred, was supposed to have slaked his thirst, the Bagani indulged themselves in the human feast.

In the second book of the Æneid, Virgil refers to a tradition that at one time Sicily was a part of the main-land; and Malta was probably connected in a similar manner. Geologists even claim that Italy was united to Africa by a bridge of land, over which various animals passed.

It would be extremely interesting to trace back the early history of elephants, to follow their ancestry into the past, as we can the horse; but the present state of knowledge renders this difficult if not impossible. The present elephants stand alone and distinct, without any living allies. They are hoofed animals, in this related to the cows, etc.; and in their structure they show some affinities with the gnawing animals, or rodents; but here nearly all resemblances cease. We may follow them back to ancient elephants of the tertiary time, and to the era when mastodons reigned, but we cannot show that they are descended from the mastodons: in short, their history is shrouded in mystery.

One of the earliest proboscidians was the dinotherium, a remarkable animal larger than living elephants, with a trunk, and an enormous head, the lower jaw of which was armed with two powerful tusks which pointed downward, and tended toward the body. This strange elephantine creature lived in the upper miocene time, and has been found only in Europe. It is supposed to have been a water-loving animal, and to have uprooted trees and roots with the powerful tusks. In the accompanying picture ([Plate VI.]), I have attempted a restoration of the animal, which gives an idea of its general appearance. The dinotherium ranged, as far as known, from France to India, its southern limit in Europe being Greece (Pikermi).

Some authors express the opinion that the singular group of extinct animals known as dinocerata are ancestral forms of the elephant. The various species of dinoceros were animals of elephantine stature, but with shorter limbs; and their heads could reach the ground, so that there was no evident need of a proboscis. Indeed, certain animals may have possessed trunks, and not been elephants, if we may accept the restoration of Burmeister, who shows a pliocene, horse-like animal,—Macrauchenia patagonia,—with a proboscis.

The head of the dinoceros must have presented a remarkable appearance, being provided with two long, sharp, canine teeth, and places for four horns. Whether the latter were present, or not, is not known. All the species that are known come from the Wyoming tertiary. In fact, the question is involved in darkness. Professor Cope considers that they all branched from some primitive stock in eocene times, and at one time stated that the coryphodon, an animal as large as an ox, with a wide elephantine pelvis, was a possible ancestor; but now I believe he looks still farther back, to a group he has termed Taxepoda.

Professor Schmidt of the University of Strasburg says, “In entering upon a discussion of the elephants as a class, it was our wish to do away with what mystery seemed to encompass the existence of the present animal; and we have done so by pointing out their undoubted descent from the miocene mastodons.” The latter forms he considers to “have originated from ancestors of the dinotherium species;” but as to the ancestor of the dinotherium, the learned professor leaves us in the dark as much as ever. It is only within a few years that the genealogy of the horse has been regarded as worked out; and it may be only a matter of time before Cope, Marsh, Leidy, or others will present the world with the original elephant.

CHAPTER VI.
JUMBO ([See Plate VII.]).

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.

PLATE VI.

THE DINOTHERIUM. (An extinct Elephant-like Creature.)

[Page 62.]

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:—

P. T. Barnum, New York.—Editor’s compliments. All British children distressed at elephant’s departure. Hundreds of correspondents beg us to inquire on what terms you will kindly return Jumbo. Answer prepaid, unlimited.

LESARGE.

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

My compliments to editor “Daily Telegraph” and British nation. Fifty millions of American citizens anxiously awaiting Jumbo’s arrival. My forty years invariable practice of exhibiting best that money could procure, makes Jumbo’s presence here imperative. Hundred thousand pounds would be no inducement to cancel the purchase....

In December next I visit Australia in person with Jumbo and my entire mammoth combination of seven shows, via California, thence through Suez Canal. Following summer to London. I shall then exhibit in every prominent city in Great Britain. May afterwards return Jumbo to his old position in Royal Zoölogical Gardens. Wishing long life and prosperity to the British nation, “The Daily Telegraph,” and Jumbo, I am the public’s obedient servant,

P. T. BARNUM.

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:—

9 Dingle Hill, Liverpool, March 7.

Dear Mr. Barnum,—Please do not take Jumbo to America, I think it will be cruel if you do take him when he begs so hard not to be taken. There are plenty of other elephants—will not one of them do for you instead?—one that does not mind going. If you will only let Jumbo stay, I am sure the English children will thank you; and I do not think the people in America can be so cruel as to wish to have him when it makes him so unhappy to leave England.

GERTRUDE COX.

Turnbridge Wells, Kent.

P. T. Barnum.

Dear Sir,—You would receive the deepest and most grateful thanks of the whole of the British nation, if you would only forego your bargain about poor, dear Jumbo. You are so well known as the greatest showman in the world, do be known now as the most generous-minded man. I have always found American gentlemen to be every thing that was good, kind, and chivalrous; and I hope you will show yourself a king among them. We are all so attached to Jumbo, and he to his home, that it would be really cruel to move him. He deserves to remain, I’m sure, for his fidelity to all his surroundings, and his good temper under all his present trials. I know the American mind is so large, that I have quite expected each day to see in the papers that you would let Jumbo remain in his old home. In fact, I have all along thought it one of your jokes. Praying that you may change your mind, and that this letter may arrive in time to assist to that end, I remain,

ONE OF JUMBO’S SINCERE FRIENDS.

P. S.—I am sure you will never regret leaving Jumbo in peace.

Mr. Barnum,—I write in behalf of our dear old Jumbo. Do be kind and generous to our English boys and girls. We do so love him! and I am sure if you have children or little friends of your own, you will be able to understand how their hearts would ache, and their tears be shed, should they lose the friend who has given them such delight, and who is one of their few pleasures in this great and sorrowful city. We all know from older and cleverer heads, that by rights Jumbo is yours, as you have paid the money for him; but, dear Mr. Barnum, you who have so many famous animals, and, among them, so many elephants, surely will think seriously and kindly before you take from us our very dear friend Jumbo. About the money for damages—I am sure all our parents in this city, who love their little ones so much, will willingly help to give you back your money, with an extra sum to make up for any expense you may have had concerning him. Do let the kindest side of your nature prevail. Think over the many hearts among us nearly breaking, and ready to do any thing to implore you to give us back Jumbo. If only you are generous to us in this, you will not lose by it, either in this world or the next. I am nearly sure if Jumbo does go, he will die when he reaches you, for he has clearly shown his great reluctance to leave us; and the voyage, and every thing taken together, will have an ill effect on him; that it will be but a poor Jumbo that will appear before you, even if a worse thing does not happen, and the grief at leaving his old friends, and such new experiences, does not turn him mad.

I think,—indeed I do not think, I am sure,—that if Jumbo had been our purchase from you, and letters had been sent to us, telling of the sorrow of American children at parting with an old favorite, every English girl and boy, man and woman, would have said with one voice, that the purchase-money should be given back, and the animal left to delight the children across the Atlantic. I am sure the wish of possessing the finest animal would not have crushed our manly and womanly feelings—and those of all true men and women are generously in sympathy with the cry of children in distress.

You say that perhaps Jumbo will return to us after you have exhibited him. I am afraid he will not be alive to come, or, if he is, all his trust in his old friends and keepers will be soured, and he will not seem like the old friend he now is.

You may think it a waste of time for a young girl to write to you, when older and wiser heads have failed; but I must tell you of the thousands of children to whom the parting from Jumbo will be a terrible grief. Be to us the generous-hearted man you are believed to be, and give us back our Jumbo.

I remain, yours truly,

A YOUNG ENGLISH GIRL.

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

Zoölogical Society of London, 11 Hanover Square, W., March 2, 1882.

Dear Friends,—Your petition has been duly received, but I fear we shall not be able to assent to your request. We must ask you to believe that our experienced superintendent knows better what elephants are suitable to be kept in the Society’s Gardens than you do. There are still three elephants left in the gardens, upon which we hope you will have many rides in future.

Yours faithfully,

P. S. SCLATER, Secretary to the Society.

To Miss E. V. NICHOLS and her companions.

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?”

PLATE VII.

AFRICAN ELEPHANT, JUMBO.

[Pages 66-70.]

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.

CHAPTER VII.
HOW ASIATIC ELEPHANTS ARE CAPTURED ALIVE.

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.

PLATE VIII.

BABY JUMBO.

From a photograph taken just after his arrival at London Zoölogical Gardens about 1862.

[Pages 66-70.]

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.

PLATE IX.

ASIATIC ELEPHANT.

[Page 77.]

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.

CHAPTER VIII.
ASIATIC ELEPHANTS IN CAPTIVITY.

In the previous chapter we have seen how elephants were captured in the early times in India, and how modern methods have humanized the entire system of their seizure; and now we will glance at the huge captives in confinement. The Asiatic elephant is a marketable commodity, and is bought and sold like the horse in this country. After the government has selected those needed for its use, the rest are sold. Certain places have become famous for their sales. Stōnepoor, on the Ganges, is, perhaps, the best known; and here, every year, a great fair is held, and many elephants sold and exchanged. This location is particularly favorable for the purpose, as hundreds of thousands of pilgrims meet here to worship at the famous shrine of Shiva.

The scene at this time is one of great activity: and immense numbers of elephants are exhibited, and many sharp bargains made; as the East Indian elephant-traders are not a whit behind the horse-dealers of Western countries.

Another celebrated elephant headquarters in Bengal, where these animals are sometimes sold, is at Dacca, a populous native city of seventy thousand inhabitants. It is about one hundred miles from the sea, and was once noted as a ship-building port, and headquarters for a fleet of eight hundred armed vessels, whose duty it was to protect the southern coast from the cruel Arracanese pirates. From its location on a branch of the Ganges, it is admirably adapted as the headquarters of the Bengal Elephant-catching Establishment, water, grasses, and fodder of various kinds, being plentiful; while its availability to the forests of Sylhet Cachár and Chittagong, which abound in wild elephants, render it a comparatively easy matter for the captives to be brought to a first-class market.

The elephant depot is called a peelkhána, and stands in the suburbs of the town. It embraces an area about a quarter of a mile square, consisting of an intrenched quadrangular piece of ground, where the pickets, to which the elephants are tethered, are arranged in regular rows. Each picket is provided with a solid floor of stone or mortar, where there is a post to which the elephants are fastened. During the heat of the day, they are removed to sheds. In the enclosures are numbers of buildings, containing the gear, and various appliances used about elephants. There is a hospital, where the invalid elephants are tended; for, if elephants do not die very often, they sometimes get sick, and are then given the best of treatment. There is also a hospital, or room, for the native doctor, who doses the elephants’ attendants when they require it, as only a native doctor can do; and, as the elephants have a European to look after them when ill, they probably have the best of it. This great depot is under an English officer, who generally organizes the great hunts that have been described. The establishment is composed at all times of about fifty trained elephants, called koonkies. Besides these, there are always a number undergoing the training process; and, when ready for service, they are divided up among the various military stations, or sold, as the case may be. Stōnepoor is the scene of great public sales. Here those who wish to make a selection from many elephants, congregate; and their ideas of good points are strangely at variance with our own. The natives recognize three different castes, or breeds, based upon certain physical peculiarities; and, when about to purchase, they state which class they wish to invest in. In Bengal, these breeds are known as Koomeriah, Dwásala, and Meerga; meaning, first, second, and third class animals. The word Koomeriah implies royalty, and is supposed to possess every excellence, and is among elephants what Maud S. or St. Julian are among trotting-horses. Its points, according to Sanderson, are: barrel deep, and of great girth; legs short (especially the hind ones) and colossal, the front pair convex on the front side from the development of the muscles; back straight and flat, but sloping from shoulder to tail, as an up-standing elephant must be high in front; head and chest massive, neck thick and short; trunk broad at the base, and proportionately heavy throughout; bump between the eyes prominent; cheeks full; the eye full, bright, and kindly; hindquarters square and plump, the skin rumpled, thick, inclining to folds at the root of the tail, and soft. If the face, base of trunk, and ears be blotched with cream-colored markings,[3] the animal’s value is enhanced thereby. The tail must be long, but not touch the ground, and be well feathered. A Koomeriah should be about nine feet and over high.

The temper of these animals of both sexes is, as a rule, superior to that of others; and, according to the above authority, while gentleness and submissiveness are characteristics of all elephants, the Koomeriah possesses these qualities, and unanimity, urbanity, and courage, in a high degree. In short, the Koomeriah is the standard of perfection among elephants.

The Dwásala caste includes all those which rank just below this in point of excellence; while the Meerga, which is supposed to be a corruption of the Sanscrit Mriga, a deer, refers to all the rest; almost the reverse of the first caste in every particular, being long and thin of limb, with an arched, sharp-ridged back, a thin, flabby trunk, and long and lean neck; the head small, and eyes piggish. In fact, its whole appearance is often indicative of its nature; that is, mean and cowardly at times. The Meerga, however, is not without a value, being the swifter of the race; and, if speed alone is required, it is more valued than the Koomeriah. They can always be obtained, while Koomeriahs are not always in the market. The Kábul merchants make a specialty of them, as our Kentucky dealers do of blooded horse-stock. Many are attached to the various courts, and devote their entire time in hunting for first-class animals for their masters.

It sometimes happens that an elephant dies after almost reaching the city, and the merchant is nearly ruined; but in such cases an Eastern nobleman would consider it beneath his dignity to refuse to pay for the defunct animal;—an example of true Oriental munificence.

The price of elephants has increased in India of late years, though their numbers are not growing less. In 1835 they could be bought for $225 apiece; in 1855 for $375; in 1874, $660. Now $750 is the lowest figure for which even a young animal can be purchased. Though the prices are very capricious, good females of full growth bring from $1,000 to $1,500; and $10,000 is often paid for a fine Koomeriah. These are all bought up by rájahs and others, who use them in their retinues, and for temple purposes.

Elephants were often in the olden times grossly treated and starved; but in the present day they are too valuable to be neglected, and are, as a rule, carefully tended when under the observation of Europeans; but, if left to the mercies of the natives to-day, they will often deprive them of food if any thing can be gained by it.

The captive elephants require much care, from the enormous amount of food they eat. In Bengal and Madras, the government decides how much each elephant shall have for breakfast, dinner, and supper; and the allowance is a liberal one. In Bengal the rations per day are four hundred pounds of green fodder, which means grass, sugar-cane, or branches of trees; or two hundred and forty pounds of dry fodder, namely, stalks of cut grain. In Madras, only two hundred and fifty pounds of green fodder, and one hundred and twenty-five of dry, are allowed;—not by any means the amount a full-grown, hearty elephant will eat. A large tusker requires eight hundred pounds of green fodder every eighteen hours, or day. In eight females which were watched by Mr. Sanderson, commencing at six P.M., they ate an average weight of six hundred and fifty pounds by twelve A.M. the next day. They also had eighteen pounds of grain a day.

The elephants are required to bring in their own green fodder; and one can conveniently carry a load of eight hundred pounds, or one day’s food.

The discrepancy between this showing and that which the Madras elephants received, was made a subject of investigation by the government at the suggestion of Mr. Sanderson, and resulted in the poor creatures receiving their proper allowance. It was found by the investigating officers, that the animals which had been having two hundred and fifty pounds of green fodder, could eat seven hundred and fifty pounds of dry sugar-cane: so for years they had been worked hard and half starved, merely because the government had fixed the rate per diem. This is another instance of the reforms that have been instituted by Mr. Sanderson, who has the thanks of all admirers of this noble animal.

If an elephant in confinement possesses such a seemingly enormous appetite, a herd must be an expensive luxury to keep. In Bengal the expense for one elephant per mensem is as follows:—

In Madras it is forty-eight rupees.

CHAPTER IX.
HUNTING THE ASIATIC ELEPHANT.

The lion and tiger share the time-honored term of king of beasts; their courage, intrepid natures, majestic bearing, and record for ferocity, having earned them the title, in the estimation of many. But, when compared to the elephant, these noble animals are mere pretenders. The elephant is the true king, the monarch of the land in size and strength, and capable, when thoroughly enraged, of toying with the tiger or lion. Rarely does an elephant fall a victim to either of these animals, and then only in their extreme youth. An instance is recorded by Sanderson which was considered so remarkable that he made a long trip to the place to verify it.

The elephant was a mere baby,—a calf four and a half feet at the shoulder, and weighing, perhaps, six hundred pounds. It had wandered off into the jungle, where it was pounced upon by the man-eater; falling an easy victim, as its legs were tied to each other. The tiger had sprung upon it, seizing it by the throat as it would a bullock, and dragged it twenty or thirty feet, there feasting upon its quarters.

Another instance is recorded of a hobbled, or tied, elephant being attacked by a man-eater; but the animal’s cries attracted the attention of the keeper, and it was saved.

An animal so powerful as the elephant would naturally afford the grandest sport to the hunter; and, in following the great game, more dangers are incurred, and risks run, than in any known chase.

We have seen, that, in trapping elephants, every attempt is made to preserve them from injury: but, in hunting them for mere sport, this is reversed; and the animal is followed, either on foot or horseback, and shot as quickly as possible. This is often a most dangerous operation, and accompanied by the death of hunter and attendants. In trapping elephants, the men have the fences to retreat to, and tame elephants to hide behind; but the true sportsman follows the game into its own haunts, the deepest jungle, and boldly faces it, giving the noble creature an even chance for its life.

Sir Samuel Baker and Sanderson both say that elephant-shooting is the most dangerous of all sports if fairly followed for a length of time. Many elephants may be killed without the sportsman being in any peril; but, if an infuriated beast does make an attack, its charge is one of supreme danger. The risk has this charm, that, though so great unless steadily and skilfully met, it is within the sportsman’s power, by coolness and good shooting, to end it and the assailant’s career by one well-planted ball.

The wild elephant’s attack is one of the noblest sights of the chase, and a grander animated object than a wild elephant in full charge can hardly be imagined. The cocked ears and broad forehead present an immense frontage. The head is held high, with the trunk coiled between the tusks, to be uncoiled in the moment of attack. The massive fore-legs come down with the force and regularity of ponderous machinery; and the whole figure is rapidly foreshortened, and appears to double in size with each advancing stride. The trunk being doubled, and unable to emit any sound, the attack is made in silence, and after the usual premonitory shriek, which adds to its impressiveness. (See Plate XXIII.) [Transcriber’s Note: There is no Plate XXIII. Possibly [Plate XVI.] is meant, from the description in this paragraph.]

In former times the natives hunted the elephant with what are called jinjalls,—nothing more nor less than small cannon weighing about forty-five pounds, and mounted on a tripod-stand or carriage. The bullet used was of lead, weight about half a pound, and propelled by half a pound of native powder. Each hunting-party was fitted out with one of these, which was borne on a pole by four men,—two men carrying the gun itself, one the stand, while the fourth was the captain, who did the aiming and firing.

When the game was discovered by these pot-hunters, the gun was placed about three feet from the ground, aimed at any portion of the body, and fired. A fuze was generally used; and, igniting this, the valiant sportsmen ran away as fast as possible,—indeed, for their lives, as the cannon usually kicked completely over: and often limbs were broken, and other accidents occurred, the result of tardiness in retreating.

These guns were usually fatal at ninety or one hundred feet; and the unfortunate brutes rarely escaped if hit, often being desperately wounded. As many as five or six have been taken in this way, during the time that the Madras Government offered thirty dollars a head for them, to reduce their numbers; and elephant-hunting became a lucrative business, adopted by every one who could buy a jinjall.

The weapons now used in elephant-hunting are rifles; and the heaviest bore that can be carried with convenience is generally none too large, though Sir Samuel Baker usually used a light gun; this being, however, because he could not shoot with a heavy one.

The larger the gun, the less opportunity there is of game escaping, to die a lingering death; and this generally decides the true sportsman. During the last decade, twelve-bore rifles were greatly used (1½ oz. ball), but these are rarely seen now. Sanderson, one of the best living authorities on the subject of hunting the Asiatic elephant, killed several of his first elephants with a No. 12 spherical-ball rifle with hard bullets and six drachms of powder. But this he discarded for a No. 4 double smooth bore, C. F., weighing nineteen and a half pounds, built by W. W. Greener. With this he fires twelve drachms of powder. Another gun, a No. 8 double rifle, firing twelve drachms, and weighing seventeen pounds, same make, he recommends, having stopped several charging elephants with it. No game in America requires such heavy arms, but the huge elephant demands weapons in proportion to its size.

In the majority of animals, a shot in any vital part is sufficient to disable them to some extent: but, in Asiatic-elephant shooting, there are only three shots that can be depended upon; and the sportsman must be somewhat well acquainted with the anatomy of the animal to successfully make them. The three vulnerable spots are the front, the bullet striking the forehead; the side, or temple; and the rear, or behind the ear. The brain of the animal is the mark; and it is so small in proportion to the rest of the skull, that a slight change of position, either raising or depressing the head, will render the shot futile. This can be seen by examining a section of an elephant’s skull. ([See Plate I.])