CHAPTER XII. TAMING AND TRAINING ELEPHANTS--CAPTURE AND TREATMENT--ELEPHANTS AS LABORERS AND AS CIRCUS PERFORMERS.

In telling how elephants are trained, so interwoven is our subject with that of the capture of the animals, that perhaps our best plan will be to take a hint from Mrs. Glass’s recipe for cooking the hare, viz., catch him first—and commence with the capture of the animals. Although authentic instances are on record of elephants breeding in captivity, it is of very rare occurrence, so that, practically, it may be said that the entire supply of domesticated elephants has been obtained by conversion from a wild state.

The device of taking them in pitfalls still prevails in India, but this is a laborious operation, often unsuccessful, owing to the caution of the animal; besides this, if caught, the great weight of the elephant, and the inability of his legs to withstand any severe direct shock, too frequently cause so much injury to the game as to render this mode of capture unprofitable. A writer on Ceylon, nearly two hundred years ago, describes another method which is still practiced. Describing the captures of elephants for the stud of the king of Kandy, he says:

“After discovering the retreat of such as have tusks, unto these they drive some she elephants, which they bring with them for the purpose, which, when once the males have got a sight of they will never leave, but follow them wheresoever they go; and the females are so used to it, that they will do whatsoever, either by word or beck, their keepers bid them. And so they delude them along through towns and countries, and through the streets of the city, even to the very gates of the king’s palace, where sometimes they seize them by snares, and sometimes by driving them into a kind of pound, they catch them.”

Throughout the China-Indian peninsula the natives use female elephants in approaching males detached from the herd, or selected as desired captives on account of their beauty—the capture being effected by casting a noose over the foot of the victim. Probably, however, the Moormen of Ceylon are unexcelled in daring or adroitness in this vocation. So fearless are these professional catchers, or panickeas as they are termed, that two will, without aid or attendants, attempt the capture of the largest sized elephant. Their only weapon is a flexible rope of deer’s or buffalo’s hide. Stealing behind the animal when at rest, or stealthily following in his footsteps if in motion, they attach this rope to his hind legs. When at rest the elephant has a habit of swinging his hind feet, which aids the catchers in slipping the noose over the leg. Should the noosing be effected in open ground where there is no tree to which to secure the prize, one man allows himself to be pursued by the enraged elephant, and thus entices him to a more favorable locality, where the other man seizes the trailing rope and winds it around some convenient tree. The animal now turns upon his new assailant, but the first provokes him with gesticulations and taunting shouts of “dah! dah!” of which word the animal has a remarkable dislike. Meanwhile, the man’s comrade has secured the first noose, entangles one foot after the other until all are secured, and the capture complete.

Then a shelter of branches is put up for the men, and day and night they remain encamped before their prisoner. The elephant, in a few days at the farthest, becomes submissive, subdued by exhaustion and hunger, the terror of the fire which he dreads, and the smoke which he detests. Then an abundance of plantains and other dainties are given him, he is supplied with plenty of water, of which he is very fond, and gradually he becomes reconciled to his keepers, and finally they venture to start with their huge prisoner for their own village, generally many miles away, with forests and jungles intervening. Still too morose to permit his captors to ride him, and too powerful to be led or driven, this forced march taxes the ingenuity of the hunters to the utmost. Alternately vexing and eluding him, they keep his attention constantly attracted, and so induce him to move in the desired direction. The rope with which the capture was effected is of some assistance, besides being used to tie up the animal at night, and this is never removed from his leg until he is sufficiently tame to be entrusted with partial liberty.

Frequently a whole herd, numbering from thirty to one hundred individuals, is captured at once, but in this case a different plan from the foregoing is adopted. The custom in Bengal is to construct a strong enclosure (called a keddah) in the heart of the forest, formed of the trunks of trees firmly secured by transverse beams and buttresses, and leaving a gate for the entrance of the elephants. A second enclosure, opening from the first, contains water (if possible a rivulet;) this again communicates with a third, which terminates in a funnel-shaped passage, too narrow to admit of an elephant turning, and within this the captives being driven in line, are secured with ropes introduced from the outside, and led away in custody of tamed ones trained for the purpose. The keddah being prepared, the first operation is to drive the elephants toward it, for which purpose vast bodies of men fetch a compass in the forest around the haunts of the herds, contracting it by degrees till they complete the enclosure of a certain area, round which they kindle fires, and cut footpaths through the jungle, to enable the watchers to communicate and combine. All this is performed in cautious silence and by slow approaches, to avoid alarming the herd. A fresh circle nearer to the keddah is then formed in the same way, and into this the elephants are admitted from the first one, the hunters following from behind, and lighting new fires around the newly enclosed space. Day after day the process is repeated; till the drove having been brought sufficiently close to make the final rush, the whole party close in from all sides, and with drums, guns, shouts, and flambeaux, force the terrified animals to enter the fatal enclosure, when the passage is barred behind them, and retreat rendered impossible. Their efforts to escape are repressed by the crowd, who drive them back from the stockade with spears and flaming torches; and at last compel them to pass on into the second enclosure. Here they are detained for a short time, and their feverish exhaustion relieved by free access to water—until at last, being tempted by food, or otherwise induced to trust themselves in the narrow outlet, they are one after another made fast by ropes, passed in through the palisade, and picketed in the adjoining woods to enter on their course of systematic training. These arrangements vary in different districts of Bengal; and the method adopted in Ceylon differs in many essential particulars from them all; the keddah, or, as it is here called, the corral or korahl (from the Portuguese curral, a “cattle-pen,”) consists of but one enclosure instead of three. A stream or watering place is not uniformly enclosed within it, because, although water is indispensable after the long thirst and exhaustion of the captives, it has been found that a pond or rivulet within the corral itself adds to the difficulty of leading them out, and increases their reluctance to leave it; besides which, the smaller ones are often smothered by the others in their eagerness to crowd into the water. The funnel-shaped outlet is also dispensed with, as the animals are liable to bruise and injure themselves within the narrow stockade; and should one of them die in it, as is too often the case in the midst of the struggle, the difficulty of removing so great a carcass is extreme. The noosing and securing them, therefore, takes place in Ceylon within the area of the first enclosure into which they enter, and the dexterity and daring displayed in this portion of the work far surpasses that of merely attaching the rope through the openings of the paling, as in an Indian keddah, and affords a much more exciting sport.

In Ceylon, in former times, the work connected with these hunts was performed by forced labor extorted from the natives by their sovereigns as a part of the feudal service termed “rajakarÍya,” and this labor was in succession demanded by the Portuguese, Dutch and English, as the island passed successively into their possession. Since the abolition of this compulsory duty, there has been no difficulty in securing all required assistance voluntarily. From fifteen hundred to two thousand men are required to construct the corral, drive in the elephants, maintain the cordon of watch-fires and watchers, and attend to other duties. Many weeks are occupied in putting up the stockades, cutting paths through the jungle, and surrounding and driving in the elephants.

In selecting the scene for an elephant hunt a position is chosen which lies on some old and frequented route of the animals, in their periodical migrations in search of forage and water; and the vicinity of a stream is indispensable, not only for the supply of the elephants during the time spent in inducing them to approach the enclosure, but to enable them to bathe and cool themselves throughout the process of training after capture. In constructing the corral itself, care is taken to avoid disturbing the trees or the brushwood within the included space, and especially on the side by which the elephants are to approach, where it is essential to conceal the stockade as much as possible by the density of the foliage. The trees used in the structure are from ten to twelve inches in diameter; and are sunk about three feet in the earth, so as to leave a length of from twelve to fifteen feet above ground; with spaces between each stanchion sufficiently wide to permit a man to glide through. The uprights are made fast by transverse beams, to which they are lashed securely by ratans and flexible climbing plants, or as they are called, “jungle ropes,” and the whole is steadied by means of forked supports which grasp the tie beams, and prevent the work from being driven outward by the rush of the wild elephants.

The space enclosed varies, but 500 feet in length by 250 wide is a fair average. At one end an entrance is left open, fitted with sliding bars, so prepared as to be capable of being instantly shut; and from each angle of the end by which the elephants were to approach, two lines of the same strong fencing were continued, and cautiously concealed by the trees, so that the animals would be prevented from making their escape at the sides while being forced forward to the entrance of the corral.

The corral being prepared, the beaters address themselves to driving in the elephants. For this purpose it is often necessary to make a circuit of many miles in order to surround a sufficient number, and the caution to be observed involves patience and delay; as it is essential to avoid alarming the animals, who might otherwise escape. Their disposition being essentially peaceful, and their only impulse to browse in solitude and security, they withdraw instinctively before the slightest intrusion, and advantage is taken of this timidity and love of seclusion to cause only just such an amount of disturbance as will induce them to retire slowly in the direction which it is desired they should take. Several herds are by this means concentrated within such an area as will admit of their being completely surrounded by the watchers; and day after day, by slow degrees, they are moved gradually onward toward the immediate confines of the corral. When their suspicions become awakened and they exhibit restlessness and alarm, bolder measures are adopted for preventing their escape. Fires are kept burning at ten paces apart, night and day, along the circumference of the area within which they are detained. At last the elephants are forced onward so close to the enclosure, that the investing cordon is united at either end with the wings of the corral, the whole forming a circuit of about two miles, within which the herd is detained to await the signal for the final drive.

Suddenly the signal is given, and the silence is broken by shouts from the guard, the banging of drums and tom-toms, and the discharge of muskets. Amid this noise the elephants are driven forward to and through the gate, which is instantly closed to cut off their retreat. In a moment more they rush wildly about the enclosure, trampling the brushwood beneath their ponderous tread, and charge against the palisades, screaming with rage at each unsuccessful effort. By degrees their efforts slacken, and in about an hour the whole herd, exhausted and stupified, stand motionless.

The next operation is to introduce the tame elephants into the corral to aid in securing the captives. Cautiously the bars which secure the entrance are let down, and the trained elephants, each mounted by its mahout and one attendant, enter the corral. Around the elephant’s neck is a strong collar composed of ropes of coconut fiber, from which hangs on either side cords of elk’s hide prepared with a ready noose. Gradually each trained animal approaches one of the wild ones, until being sufficiently near, the nooser watching his opportunity, slips the noose over one of its legs. Immediately the tame elephant retires with its riders, drawing the rope tight, and hauling the captive toward some large tree. In this the other tame animals lend assistance, pushing with their heads and shoulders. The first tame one now winds the rope around the tree, and the others crowd up to the wild animal, and keep him in position while his other legs are being secured. The tame elephants in all these proceedings appear to feel a sportsman’s interest, and are as eager to secure the victim as are their human assistants. Of their own accord they will perform any act which reason would naturally suggest for overcoming any difficulty that arises, or which seems necessary under any given circumstances. Thus Major Skinner relates an instance where a wild elephant raised with her trunk the rope which had been attached to her foot, succeeded in carrying it to her mouth, and would have bitten it through and escaped, but was prevented by a tame elephant placing his foot on the rope, and pressing it downward out of her jaws. On another occasion, the same authority says a tame animal watched her opportunity, and placed her foot under that of the wild one as he raised it, so as to prevent his replacing it upon the ground, enabling the nooser to attach the rope.

In all this though the tame elephants bend all their energies to securing the captives, and seem to really enjoy what is going on, they show no malignity, carefully avoid doing any injury to the prisoners, and even when it is necessary in binding new animals to walk over those already secured—usually sprawling on the ground struggling to get free—they take the utmost pains not to tread on them.

When first secured, the elephant struggles fiercely to break his bonds, writhing in a manner one would think impossible for so bulky and unwieldly an animal. Failing in this, he seems to give way to despair, and utters the most pitiable moans. Food is now placed within their reach, which at first they spurn indignantly, the older ones frequently trampling it under foot. The milder ones, as they become composed, allow themselves to be tempted by the delicacies before them, and commence listlessly chewing the juicy morsels. The mellow notes of a kandyan flute sometimes aid in soothing and composing the captives. It may be remarked that elephants are greatly influenced by music, being soothed and quieted by soft plaintive melodies, while it is also recorded that in the old wars in which they were used, their courage in battle was excited by the martial strains.

The last operation of the corral is to slacken the ropes and march each captive elephant down to the river between two tame ones. Both of the tame elephants are furnished with strong collars, and a similar collar is formed on the neck of the wild one, who stands between them, by successive coils of coconut; then these collars are connected, and the prisoner made secure between his guards. Then the nooses which have confined his feet are removed, and the three animals march to the river, where they are allowed to bathe. After the bath the captive elephant is made fast to some tree in the forest, keepers are assigned to him, as well as a retinue of leaf-cutters, whose duty it is to keep him supplied with such food as he most relishes. These arrangements being made, he is left to the care of his new masters, who will see that he is trained up in the way he should go.

It is a very general impression that the training of these huge and powerful animals is a work of great difficulty and tediousness. This is a mistake. Elephants are naturally of a mild and docile nature, although hunters and travelers, to add luster to their own exploits, have represented them otherwise. Even the notorious “rogues”^[3] are not such wholly bad fellows as has been asserted by some of these writers, and the Mayne Reid style of natural history must be taken with considerable allowance. In their wild state it is very seldom that they attack any person or animal, unless provoked or assailed, and even when some heroic hunter sneaks up to shoot them unawares, or from some secure position peppers them with his rifle, the animals usually appear only anxious to escape from their aggressor.^[4]

The training is simple, and the intelligence and obedience of the pupil are developed with remarkable rapidity. For the first three days, or until they will eat freely, which they seldom do in a shorter time, the newly captured elephants are allowed to remain perfectly quiet; and if practicable, a tame elephant is tied near them to give the wild ones confidence. Where many elephants are being trained at once, it is customary to put each new captive between the stalls of half-tamed ones, thereby inducing it to more readily take to its food. The next stage of the training process is commenced by placing a tame elephant on each side of the pupil, with the “cooroowe vidahn,” or head of the stables, standing in front, holding a long stick with a sharp iron point. Two men are then stationed one on either side, each holding an iron instrument furnished with both a sharp point and a hook. This is called a “hendoo” in Ceylon, and a “hawkus” in Bengal, and is the principal weapon used in guiding and controlling elephants, as it has been from very ancient times. This instrument is held toward the animal’s trunk, while one or two assistants rub their hands over his back, keeping up while doing so a soothing and plaintive chant, interspersed with endearing epithets, such as, “ho! my son,” or “ho! my father,” or “my mother,” as may be applicable to the age and sex of the captive. At first the elephant is furious, and strikes in all directions with his trunk; but the men in front receiving these blows on the points of their weapons, the extremity of the trunk becomes so sore that the animal curls it up close, and seldom afterward attempts to use it offensively. The first dread of man’s power being thus established, the process of taking him to bathe between two tame elephants is greatly facilitated, and by lengthening the neck rope, and drawing the feet together as close as possible, the process of laying him down in the water is finally accomplished by the keepers pressing the sharp points of their hendoos over the backbone.

For many days the roaring and resistance which attend the operation are considerable, and it often requires the sagacious interference of the tame elephants to control the refractory wild ones. It soon, however, becomes practicable to leave the latter alone, only taking them to and from the stall by the aid of a decoy. This step lasts, under ordinary treatment, for about three weeks, when an elephant may be taken alone with his legs hobbled, and a man walking backward in front with the point of the hendoo always presented to the elephant’s head, and a keeper with an iron crook at each ear. On getting into the water, the fear of being pricked on his tender back induces him to lie down immediately on the crook being held over him in terrorem. Once this point has been achieved, the farther process of taming is dependent upon the disposition of the creature.

The greatest care is requisite, and daily medicines are applied to heal the fearful wounds on the legs which even the softest ropes occasion. This is the great difficulty of training; for the wounds fester grievously, and months and sometimes years will elapse before an elephant will allow his feet to be touched without indications of alarm and anger.

The observation has been frequently made that the elephants most vicious and troublesome to tame, and the most worthless when tamed, are those distinguished by a thin trunk and flabby pendulous ears. The period of tuition does not appear to be influenced by the size or strength of the animals: some of the smallest give the greatest amount of trouble; whereas, in the instance of the two largest that have been taken in Ceylon within the last thirty years, both were docile in a remarkable degree. One in particular, fed from the hand the first night it was secured, and in a very few days evinced pleasure on being patted on the head. The males are generally more unmanageable than the females, and in both an inclination to lie down to rest is regarded as a favorable symptom of approaching tractability, some of the most resolute having been known to stand for months together, even during sleep. Those which are the most obstinate and violent at first are the soonest and most effectually subdued, and generally prove permanently docile and submissive. But those which are sullen or morose, although they may not provoke chastisement by their viciousness, are always slower in being trained, and are rarely to be trusted in after life.

But whatever may be his natural gentleness and docility, the temper of an elephant is seldom to be implicitly relied on in a state of captivity and coercion. The most amenable are subject to occasional fits of stubbornness; and even after years of submission, irritability and resentment will sometimes unaccountably manifest themselves. It may be that the restraints and severer discipline of training have not been entirely forgotten; or that incidents which in ordinary health would be productive of no demonstration whatever, may lead, in moments of temporary illness, to fretfulness and anger.

In his native country the first employment to which an elephant is put is treading clay in a brick-field, or to draw a wagon in double harness with a tame elephant. After this he is promoted to moving heavy stones or other material, or in piling lumber. In these occupations he has an opportunity to display that natural sagacity for which he is noted. It is only necessary to make him understand the object desired to be accomplished, and he will himself devise means to attain that result. In the detail of the work it is seldom necessary to prompt him, and he will even resent an attempt to compel him to adopt a different plan from the one he has selected. His trunk is the instrument on which he principally relies for moving timber and masses of rock; his tusks, if he possess them, are also of service. Most persons entertain an exaggerated opinion of the elephant’s strength. It is currently believed that with but slight exertion he can uproot forest trees, and is in the habit of doing so as a species of mild recreation. It is true he is of considerable service in clearing paths through the jungle, but the removal of even a small tree is a matter of both time and labor. Another common error is the assumption that elephants are so thoroughly creatures of habit, that their movements are purely mechanical, and that any deviation from accustomed ways is excessively annoying and disconcerting to them. The best informed authorities assert that changes of treatment, or of hours of occupation, are as easily made as with a horse. Still another mistake, derived no doubt from the intelligence and earnestness he displays in work, is the idea that he actually enjoys his labor, and will perform his task as faithfully in the absence of his keeper as when he is present. The elephant, however, loves his ease, and unless his attendant has a watchful eye upon him, he will, on completing the task immediately in hand, stroll off to browse, or to enjoy the luxury of blowing dust over his back.

The impulse of obedience is very strikingly manifested in the patience with which, at the command of his keeper, he will swallow the nauseating medicines of the native elephant doctors. The fortitude with which he submits to excruciating surgical operations for the relief of ulcers, would indicate that he comprehends in a measure the purpose of them. Obedience to his keeper’s orders is not in all cases proof of a perception of the object to be attained by compliance. This is shown in the touching incident which took place at the slaughter of the elephant at Exeter, England, when after receiving fully one hundred and twenty balls in various parts of his body, and these proving ineffectual to end his existence, he turned his face to his assailants on hearing the voice of his keeper, and kneeled down at the accustomed word of command, so as to bring his forehead within view of the rifles.

The affection for his keeper is a great incentive to obedience on the part of the elephant, but although this attachment is often great, there is not that unwillingness to transfer his affection and obedience to a new keeper, which has been very frequently asserted. If treated with equal kindness he will obey readily and acquire an affection for a new attendant as soon as he becomes familiar with his voice. He no doubt often remembers an old friend and many of the anecdotes told of elephants recognizing an old keeper from whom they have long been parted, and being rejoiced thereat, are doubtless true. Founded on very good authority is the story of an animal of particularly stubborn disposition who, on the death of his keeper, refused to obey any other, until some attendants bethought them of a boy some twelve years old in a distant village where the elephant had been formerly picketed, and to whom it had displayed considerable attachment. The child was sent for, and on his arrival was immediately recognized with many manifestations of pleasure and to him the elephant yielded obedience, until by degrees he became reconciled to a new keeper.

HOW “HUNTING ELEPHANTS” ARE TRAINED.

Probably all readers are familiar with the fact that, in their native countries, elephants are not only used to aid in the capture of their own species, but also in the pursuit of various wild beasts of the jungle. In tiger hunting especially is this the case, and this sport furnishes one of the chief and most exciting amusements of the English troops in India. In this sport the elephant is rather an unwilling participant. In his wild state there is no occasion for any conflict between himself and other dwellers of the forest. Living entirely on vegetable food, and so under no necessity of preying upon other animals; too peaceful to molest others, and too powerful to be molested by them, in a state of nature each seems anxious to avoid rather than to provoke any encounter. Should a tiger and an elephant meet in the jungle each would probably be only anxious to get out of the other’s way as quickly as possible.

The principal difficulty in training elephants for hunting is to overcome the excessive antipathy, and even dread, they entertain toward tigers. To accomplish this a tiger’s skin is stuffed and placed partially concealed among the undergrowth skirting some road. Along the road the elephant is then conducted; always observant, he quickly detects the unwelcome neighbor and considerable urging is required to induce him to pass it. After passing it several times he becomes more indifferent to its presence and may be gradually induced to approach it. Then he is made to turn it over and get thoroughly familiar with it; this accustoms him to the tiger in a state of quietude. Then the stuffed figure is thrown toward him and he is taught to receive it upon his tusks. The next lesson may be to drive his tusks into the body. The last operation is to teach the elephant to allow the stuffed tiger to be placed upon his back; this is the most difficult part of all.

When the elephant is properly trained and ready for service the hunter takes his place in the howdah—a sort of box-seat fastened on the animal’s back—while the mahout sits astride the neck. Behind the hunter, in the howdah, rides the shikaree, or native gun carrier, whose duty it is to “play second fiddle” in the expedition. A number of natives are also usually employed as “beaters” to start the game. These men go on foot, seeking safety, in case of danger, by climbing trees or by being lifted up by the elephant upon his back. The elephants are now formed in line and the jungle beaten, in all parts if a small one, or if very extensive in those portions only which appear most likely to contain game. As soon as a tiger is started the line advances upon him, each hunter watching for an opportunity to fire as his elephant charges. Notwithstanding the most careful training instinct often proves an overmatch for the elephant’s education and, he takes to flight in spite of all the driver’s efforts to prevent him. One hunter relates an incident of his elephant being seized with a panic and dumping hunter, driver and all upon his back, into the very midst of a number of tigers which the party were in pursuit of.

In taking a dead tiger home the elephant lies on his side until the body is fastened to him, and then rises with it.

The liability to be seized with a panic at trifling circumstances is probably due in a measure to the elephant’s limited range of vision, the short neck preventing his looking much above the level of his head. An anecdote illustrative of this is told by Sir J. E. Tennent: “In 1841 an officer was chased by an elephant that he had slightly wounded. Seizing him near the dry bed of a river, the animal had his fore foot already raised to crush him; but its forehead being touched at the same instant by the tendrils of a climbing plant which had suspended itself from the branches above, it suddenly turned and fled, leaving him bodily hurt, but with no limbs broken.”

Elephants seldom use their tusks as weapons unless they have been trained to do so; their vertical position, and the structure of the neck preventing their being effective unless the object of attack being directly below them. The stories told of the execution of criminals by elephants when Ceylon was under the rule of native kings, generally describe the elephant as killing the victim by running its tusks through his body. An eye-witness of one of these executions, however, says the animal never used his tusks at all, but placed his foot upon the prostrate man and tore off his limbs in succession by a sudden movement of the trunk. Hunters have frequently described their escape from elephants when the latter might easily have killed them by a thrust of their tusks, but apparently did not even know how to use them for that purpose.

The elephant’s dependence is really upon his trunk and his ponderous feet. It is related that in an encounter between two elephants, one a tusker and the other without tusks, the latter proved the victor, breaking off one of the former’s tusks with his trunk.

PERFORMING ELEPHANTS.

From very early times elephants have not only been used in war, in industrial pursuits, and to add to the pomp and display of powerful rulers, but ages ago they were made to amuse the multitude by performances not very dissimilar to those witnessed in our modern circuses. An old Roman writer describes a number of elephants exhibited in Rome by a nephew of the emperor Tiberius, who were taught “to twist their limbs and to bend them like a stage dancer,”—Roman stage dancers could not have been remarkable for grace or agility we should fancy—“the whole troop came forward from this and that side of the theater, and divided themselves into parties; they advanced walking with a mincing gait, and exhibiting in their whole bodies and persons the manners of a beau, clothed in the flowery dresses of dancers; and on the ballet master giving a signal with his voice they fell into line and went round in a circle, and if it were necessary to display they did so. They ornamented the floor of the stage by throwing flowers upon it, and beat a measure with their feet and keep time together.” Another feature of the entertainment was a banquet prepared for the elephants; “tables were placed then of sweet smelling wood and ivory very superb,” with goblets “very expensive, and bowls of gold and silver.” When all was ready the banqueters came forward, six male and an equal number of female elephants; the former had on a male dress and the latter a female; and on the signal being given they stretched forward their trunks in a subdued manner, and took their food in great moderation. The last exploit of these animals related by an old Roman was writing on tablets with their trunks, “neither looking awry or turning aside. The hand, however, of the teacher was placed so as to be a guide in the formation of the letters; and while it was writing the animal kept its eye fixed down in an accomplished and scholarlike manner.”

In addition to the training elephants receive immediately after their capture, and which we have described, very little instruction is required to prepare them for those performances which delight circus-goers. The performances in question consist usually of lying down, walking on their legs, standing on the head, walking up an inclined plane formed of a narrow plank, standing on a pedestal, holding a rope for a dancer or acrobat to perform upon, and similar feats. These are nearly all but modifications of his labors when a captive in his native country. Holding a line for a gymnast is not very different to the elephant from doing the same thing to draw a load or raise a weight.

In compelling the elephant to perform these acts advantage is taken of the fact that the feet of the elephant are peculiarly sensitive and he dreads any injury to them. While a spear held at his head will cause him little uneasiness, if the same be directed toward his feet it will cause him to display evident symptoms of anxiety. So by threatened attacks he may be induced to move in any desired direction. By tapping them gently from below he may be made to raise them; and by persevering he is made to raise both hind feet—lowering his head as a natural result of this rear movement—and thus is accomplished the feat of standing on his head. In the pedestal performance the pedestal is comparatively low, and with the upper surface of just sufficient area to accommodate the elephants four feet, placed close together. He is first made to place one fore foot upon this, then the other, and then in succession the two hind feet. The trainer must be watchful and prevent the elephant’s very natural attempt to replace his fore feet on the ground when he places his hind one on the pedestal. This is done by striking his toes whenever he makes the attempt.

The delicacy of touch possessed by the elephant’s trunk enables him to use it for many purposes with as much dexterity as a human being would his hands. Thus he easily performs the amusing trick of opening and drinking a bottle of soda water; holding the bottle with his feet while he removes the cork with his trunk and then lifting the bottle in his trunk and pouring the contents down his throat. Similar tricks are readily acquired by the elephant without any particular training, all that is necessary in the soda-water trick is to let him know there is something in the bottle and his ingenuity may be depended upon to get at the contents. We some years ago witnessed a novel feat at a circus. A small table was brought into the ring and the clown seated himself on one side of it. On the other side the elephant who had been performing squatted on his haunches. The “supes” then brought in plates of apples, bread, etc., and arranged them on the table. A large two-pronged fork was now handed to the elephant, and with this he dexterously “speared” his provender and conveyed it to his mouth. This appeared quite wonderful, and was hailed with rounds of applause, but it was a trick very easily taught. The animal had been first given apples on a fork, and not being allowed to eat them except on taking them off the fork with his mouth he soon learned to do so. Then he was given the fork, and the apples placed before him, his trunk was guided by his trainer’s hand to strike the fork into the apple and then he was allowed to carry it to his mouth. If the apples be good ones he will soon learn to do all this without prompting, and will very willingly perform the trick for the sake of the “perquisites.”

We do not imagine that many of our readers will have occasion to train an elephant; still there is often an opportunity afforded at traveling exhibitions, should you desire it, to make an elephant go through a little performance for you, such as picking up your hat, catching apples or nuts thrown him, etc. A judicious outlay in ginger-bread and like delicacies will induce his elephantship to be quite obliging, and if your stock of edibles be purchased at the stand in the tent, probably the proprietors will offer no objection to your feeding their elephant with them.

Speaking of amateur elephant exhibitors recalls an adventure of our own youthful days. Visiting a menagerie early one afternoon when comparatively few visitors were present, and anxious to “show of” before some less venturesome youths, we had, at the expense of all our pocket money, caused one of the elephants to pick up our cap when thrown down and hand it back to us, to insert his trunk in our pockets after cake, and finally, as a crowning feat, to take bits of cake from between our lips. Had we been contented with these achievements our performance would have been a triumph; but, alas, our ambition was not satisfied, and we thought it would be a still greater display to make the elephant take the cake from the inside of our mouth. So a piece was a placed therein and the mouth held invitingly open. Mr. Elephant unhesitatingly inserted his proboscis, but unfortunately our supply of cake had been well nigh exhausted, and the piece used for the experiment was very small, so either from inability to find it, a mistake in the article, or as a punishment for reducing the rations, he got hold of our tongue, and the first thing we knew he was attempting to pull it out. Luckily his keeper came to our rescue at this critical moment, and we retired uninjured but rather crestfallen.