TO FEIGN DEATH.

A dog may be placed on his back or in almost any other posture, and by speaking sharply to him and threatening him with your forefinger, you can prevent his changing his position. In this manner the trick of feigning death is taught. If a special word of command be used when placing him, he will learn to take the position on hearing that command.

CHAPTER XI.
WONDERFUL FEATS PERFORMED BY DOGS—MOST CELEBRATED DOGS OF THE WORLD—LEARNING THE ALPHABET—TO PLAY CARDS AND DOMINOES—TO SELECT ANY ARTICLE DESIRED AND PUT IT ANYWHERE DIRECTED.

Our last chapter gave a wide range of tricks performed by dogs, most of which can be taught by the amateur trainer. There is another class of tricks, requiring great intelligence on the part of the dog, and rare skill and patience on the part of the trainer, for their successful mastery. Though these may be beyond the abilities of ordinary dogs and ordinary trainers—for such feats are very rare, even in public exhibitions, and when performed, are looked upon almost as miracles—they cannot fail to prove interesting to our readers, and it is barely possible that some reader of this book may yet astonish the world with some equally proficient animal, to rival those whose deeds are herein recorded.

The French trainers have probably brought the education of the dog to a point achieved in no other country, and several of these canine celebrities have become subjects of history. Emil de Tarade gives a very interesting account of two of these, the principal part of which account we translate, as follows:

“In 1840 I was acquainted with M. Leonard, of Lisle, (an inspector of the revenue) who possessed two well taught dogs. Braque and Philax, as they were named, were two grayhounds, with large brown ears. Their eyes alone would tell you how much intelligence had been developed in these interesting animals. Words were fixed in their memory with a positive meaning. These dogs knew as well as we do the meaning of ‘above,’ ‘below,’ ‘before,’ ‘behind,’ etc. They made a proper application of the name of a color, of a number up to a certain point; knew what was meant by ‘parlor,’ ‘corridor,’ ‘stairs;’ knew the furniture, utensils, small objects of the pocket and toilet; and when one bade these dogs perform in the absence of their master, one was seized with astonishment and admiration.

“If you said to one: ‘Go sit down in front of the lady in the rose-colored dress,’ the dog went immediately to seek the lady so designated, seated himself upon his haunches, wagging his tail, and regarding the lady with a very expressive look. ‘Ask the lady for her thimble.’ The lady offered successively her handkerchief, gloves, etc., but the animal did not move. As soon as she presented the thimble, he ran off, making a thousand gambols at having obtained it. After this he passed gravely about the room, as if to say: ‘What shall I do with it?’ On saying to him: ‘Go to the sofa in front of the fireplace—there is a hat upon it—put the thimble in the hat, and carry it to the lady in blue,’ the dog would strictly carry out the order.

“Placing a piece of meat on a piece of bread, and putting the whole into a corner of the room, you might say to either of these dogs: ‘Seek it! Seize it!’ The animal would run toward the object in question, but on nearing it, he would face about, seat himself before you with a pleasant air, as if to say: ‘I only eat what my master gives me—is Mons. Leonard present?’ The latter would say: ‘Leave the meat—put it on the ground—eat the bread.’ The order would be executed.

“Both these dogs knew how to play dominoes, and this is the method in which it was done: One dog was made to seat himself upon a chair before a table on which were placed the dominoes, and opposite a human player. It was necessary to give the dog only four dominoes, which were laid out in a row, the faces toward him. If he had a double six he played it at once, placing it in the middle of the table. If he had not, he waited for his opponent to play. Then, if he had a domino proper to play, he did not fail to do it, though he never adjusted it nicely—contenting himself with placing it at the end to which it belonged. If you attempted to cheat, by placing a two, for instance, where a six belonged, he contented himself (if it was a lady) with returning the wrong domino; but if it was a gentleman, he accompanied the correction with a growl, as if to say: ‘Do not revoke, sir.’ These feats were performed by these dogs either in the presence or absence of their master.

“One day, walking in the country, I asked M. Leonard to order the dogs to go over a fence right and left. He did so by command only, Philax going over on our left, and Braque on the right, as they were ordered. Then he ordered them to kiss each other; they pushed muzzle to muzzle in quite an amusing way. Another thing, the dogs were frequently sent to the butcher, baker, or grocer, with a basket and written message, and on these occasions it was only necessary to say: ‘Go to the butcher!’ ‘Go to the baker!’ or, ‘Go to the grocer!’ and the command was always obeyed without fail. On these occasions, one would carry the basket, and the other would act as guard.

“One may see from this that if the grayhound, the least intelligent of his kind, is capable of such instruction, all dogs are capable of being taught to do things which seem apparently impossible.”

Still another French celebrity of the canine kind is described by a writer in Le Siecle, a Paris journal. Mlle. Bianca, as she was called, one of the pug breed, created quite a sensation among amusement seekers at the time she was exhibited, and her wonderful feats were witnessed by large audiences. We did not see her performance, but have been assured by persons who did, that the following, though perhaps a little highly colored—as is the habit of most French writers—is yet substantially an accurate description of the dog’s feats. Le Siecle’s reporter says:

“As most of the Parisian papers have mentioned this little phenomenon, who reminds the public of the genius of the illustrious Munito, I, in turn, wished to make Mlle. Bianca’s acquaintance. She did me the honor to accord a private audience to me, for which I am extremely grateful. To see artists on the theater of their exploits is doubtless very agreeable, but to be introduced into their intimate circle of friendship, is still more precious. If these lines should fall under Mlle. Bianca’s eyes—as it is not improbable, for artists generally do not disdain to read newspapers where their merits are vaunted—she may see that, though I am only a man, may hert is no stranger to every sentiment of gratitude. Let me say, in the first place, in praise of my heroine, that her modesty exceeds even that of male and female literary people, who are, as everybody knows, a most modest race. Vanity, that horrible fault which some observers have insisted they were able to detect in some men and women—fortunately extremely rare—is no canine vice; and great as are Mlle. Bianca’s talents, she remains what nature made her—simple and good natured, and as sprightly as beautiful.

“She reads fluently, writes in her way, corrects faults of orthography, takes part in a game of ecarte, forms a bouquet by the names of flowers or their colors, and barks, or at least is familiar with, nineteen languages. Even if we admit the natural affection which Mlle. Bianca’s professor has for his excellent pupil has betrayed him into exaggerating the talents of Mlle. Bianca some fifteen more tongues than she really possesses, nevertheless she will still be a most distinguished polyglotist. This I can affirm. I gave her the English word ‘God’ to translate into Latin. She instantly, and without hesitation, composed the word ‘Deus.’ This is her modus operandi: She is placed on a table sufficiently large to allow her to move easily in every direction. She is in the center of the table. All around her are small bits of pasteboard, bearing each a letter of the alphabet. When a spectator gives a word, or asks for a translation, Mlle. Bianca seems to think a moment, half closes her eyes, like a poet hunting for a rhyme, and moves around the table, taking pasteboard, letter after letter, until she completes the word. She does this quietly, easily, without ever being betrayed into hurry. The word formed, she gravely takes her seat and gives one bark, as a printer places a period at the end of a sentence. She plays cards, and forms nosegays in the same way. While this intellectual animal is at work, her master stands motionless, some three or four paces from the table, but does not say a word. He sometimes disappears entirely behind a door, and Mlle. Bianca works wonders as effectually as when he is present. I said to her tutor: ‘So your dog really reads and understands what is said to her?’

“‘How can you doubt it, as you see she does so as well when I am absent as when I am by her side?’

“‘She really is the worthy peer of Munito, the Newton of the canine race.’

“‘Munito!’ quickly exclaimed Mlle. Bianca’s tutor, his lip curling with contempt as he spoke. ‘Munito was a miserable humbug; one of those dogs who abuse the public credulity.’

“‘What? Munito a humbug? You astound me!’

“‘Yes, sir; and were Munito here, I should tell him so to his face. Impostors and dogs of real talents should not be confounded. Munito did not know B from a bull’s foot, while Bianca has learned by rule. What she knows, she knows thoroughly.’

“‘Is it possible Munito knew nothing, and merely concerted with his master to appear learned?’

“‘You have hit the nail on the head.’

“‘Do you mean to tell me there are pseudo savants among dogs? I thought men had a monopoly of that plague.’

“‘Dogs don’t escape it.’

“‘Good heavens! can a fellow trust neither man nor dog? Do enter into particulars; and since I am doomed, it seems, to lose one more illusion, let the loss, at least, turn to the profit of my knowledge.’

“‘I, too, was a dupe to Munito’s merits; but one fine morning the scales fell from my eyes, and I discovered the truth. Like my Bianca—forgive me the odious comparison, dear!—Munito stood in the center of a circle formed of bits of pasteboard bearing letters, or figures, or colors. I grant you, Munito had a good deal of brains; he was no fool, I admit, and his ear was exquisitely delicate. Had he been trained by a good method, he would have attained high rank; but his master, who was an Italian, preferred turning his delicacy of hearing to profit, rather than bringing him up by rule.’

“‘Ah! Munito was no classic. But, pray tell me, did he then belong to the romantic school?’

“‘Not a bit more than he belonged to the classical school. All his talents lay in obeying his master’s signals. Munito walked gravely around the table, assuming the airs of a member of the French academy; but incapable as he was of reading or distinguishing colors, he never stopped to pick up the bit of pasteboard except when his master gave him the signal. Munito’s master stood with his hand in his breeches pocket. He would snap a finger nail or a tooth pick, and this click, though so slight as to escape the attention of the spectators, was caught by the dog’s ear, and who instantly received the reward of his criminal comedy. He was given a bonbon. Do you know of what that so-called bonbon was made? ’Twas nothing but bread and meat hashed fine and rolled in the shape of a ball; but there was no more sugar in it than there is in a black draught. Such cheating really deserves the brand of history. If you think I speak harshly of Munito, my excuse is, he is dead. We owe nothing but truth to dead dogs as well as dead men.’”

The reader will perceive that, for the best results, a systematic course of education is necessary rather than the teaching of a mere trick, to be performed at a recognized signal from the trainer. Presuming that the dog has been taught to fetch and carry, as described in the preceding chapter, and may thereby be considered to be well up in the rudiments of canine education, the following, which may be termed the “classical” course, would be the system of instruction—it is, indeed, the same as was pursued with Braque and Philax:

Having taught your dog the meaning of the words, “go fetch it,” “bring it,” “drop it,” “bring it back,” you will next teach him the names of different articles. Let us first take a handkerchief, and placing it upon the ground, order him to “bring the handkerchief,” until the name is impressed on his memory. Now we will add a glove, and direct the dog to “bring the glove.” Should he bring the handkerchief instead, we scold him, but should he bring the glove, we reward him. When he has thoroughly learned to distinguish these articles by name, a key may be added, and the same method of teaching continued. One by one other articles may be added, until the number is sufficiently large to make the trick entertaining. When he has been exercised in picking out on command the desired article from those-placed on the ground, hide one of them, and, calling the hidden article by name, order him to bring it. If, after examining the objects before him, he shows by his distressed looks that he knows the article required is not among the others, you may be assured he has thoroughly acquired his lesson. If he brings a wrong article, it is certain that either he is careless, or not sufficiently drilled.

Differences of color come next. Take, for example, a red, white, or blue handkerchief, and placing it on the ground, direct the dog to bring it, calling it by color as well as name. At first he will bring it, because he knows what the word “handkerchief” means, and without giving consideration to the color; but when you add a handkerchief of a different color, still ordering him to bring the former one, he will remember the new word and its application to the right handkerchief. Supposing you have commenced with the red one, and have added the white, should he bring the white, you say sternly, “No! the red handkerchief,” making him replace the white, and bring the red. Now repeat the lesson, calling at will for first one and then the other, until he makes no mistakes. Then add the blue handkerchief, and repeat the lesson. Gloves of various colors may then be added, one by one, in all cases naming the color as well as the article when directing him to bring it. The number of objects may be increased to whatever extent the patience of the trainer and the capacity of the pupil will admit of.

After that it will be found convenient to teach him the names of the more common articles of furniture. Pointing to a table, you will say to him: “Go to the table.” The motion of your hand will probably direct him to the designated spot; and by repeating the lesson, he will learn to associate the name of “table” with that article. Of course, “chair,” “sofa,” and other objects may be added as he progresses.

Then he may be taught to distinguish between the meanings of such words as “on,” “under,” etc. This is done by emphasizing the prepositions as: “Put the glove on the chair;” “Put the handkerchief under the table,” etc., in each case repeating the order until he obeys correctly. If all preceding lessons have been thorough, he will readily comprehend all of the order but the new part, and as his attention will only be required by that, he will soon learn it. Then the titles of individuals, as “lady,” “gentleman,” and “child,” may be taught in the same manner, reproving his failures and rewarding his successful attempts.

To secure a valuable dog against accidental or malicious injury from poisonous or improper food, it is well to accustom him to take his food from the hand of his master, or some other trustworthy person, and never to eat anything unless it be so given. This is the foundation of several tricks spoken of in a preceding page. After the dog’s intelligence has been so cultivated that he quickly understands your wishes, and has become accustomed to rendering implicit obedience thereto, place within his reach a piece of meat, or a saucer of milk, and order him not to touch it. Then retire to a short distance, but be ready to check any attempt to seize the food, by repeating the command, “Don’t touch it,” and by force if necessary. Do not tantalize him too long, but soon give him some tid-bit as a reward for his self-control, and repeat the lesson. By-and-by he may be left alone, at first only for a few minutes, then for a longer and longer time.

It is possible—and, indeed, it is the common method—to teach a dog to pick out any desired letters from a number of printed cards, in obedience to signals given by the exhibitor. This method of training is essentially the same as that adopted with the “educated hog;” so it is unnecessary to describe it here. But dogs, as in the case of those described in the preceding pages, may be taught to know the letters, and to recognize them when named; so that the performance can be conducted more openly, and without risk of the clap-trap of signals being detected.

But how is this to be taught? Why, very much as a child is taught—by constant drilling until the name and looks of each letter are perfectly associated together. Pieces of pasteboard should be provided, on each of which one letter is marked large and plain. Placing the A and B cards side by side, tell the dog to bring you the A. If he brings the B, scold him; make him return it to its place, and again order him to bring the A. As soon as he does so, pat him, speak encouragingly to him, and repeat the lesson, not calling the letters in any regular rotation, but at random. Add letter by letter each day as the dog learns thoroughly those already given him, until he can select without hesitation any letter of the alphabet that may be called for. He may then be made to spell words by your calling the letters composing them. If thoroughly trained, he will bring the proper letters when shown a card on which the word you desire him to spell is printed. Of course, only capitals should be used in these exercises, for otherwise the labor of teaching would be doubled, besides confusing the dog between capitals and small letters, without gaining anything.

On the same principle the dog may be taught what, with a little license, may be called playing cards. Pieces of pasteboard several times the size of ordinary playing cards should be provided, one side of each being printed to represent one card. As with the letters, these cards are to be placed on the floor, at first only two, then three, increasing the number as the dog learns those already shown him. Suppose the ace of clubs and the ace of hearts be used to commence with: direct the dog to bring the ace of clubs; if he does so, reward him, but if he brings the heart, scold him, and order him to return it; again directing him to bring the ace of clubs. So on with each lesson until he can distinguish between all the cards, and bring any one desired. After this, cards a little smaller may be substituted for those at first used, and then smaller and smaller ones until the customary playing cards are used. We give this feat on the authority of M. de Tarade, never having personally seen it performed, but it is really not so difficult as might at first be imagined; the dog, even to know the whole pack, needing only to learn the thirteen values of the cards, and to then distinguish between the four suits.[[2]]

[2]. Even this would be a greater feat of intelligence than we have ever seen exhibited by a dog, and we are inclined to think there was some aid afforded in this case of the French dogs, by arranging the cards systematically, or by some other means. It is harder to count (or to distinguish between) the number of dots, than to distinguish between a blue handkerchief and a red stocking. The dog who is described as playing dominoes, it should be remembered, used only four pieces at one time. Possibly the dog recognized the cards by the general appearance of each, not the number of spots thereon.

The “playing” part consists in the trainer directing the dog to bring the particular card required; wherever it is pretended that the dog of his own accord selects the proper card for taking a trick, there is really deception; the dog in such a case must be secretly directed by signals which he has been taught to obey.

To teach a dog to play dominoes, provide some pieces of board or thick card, some eight or ten inches long, on which paint conspicuously in black the required dots. Having provided two sets in this manner, spread one set upon the floor, and taking in your hand the blank domino of the other set, you say: “Bring the white.” Being familiar, from his previous training, with the color, he will doubtless select the correct domino. Then you show him the one spot, directing him to “bring the one.” Should he hesitate, repeat the command, showing him the spot on the domino in your hand. As soon as he has learned this difference, cease your instruction for the day, as it is unwise to attempt to go too fast. On the next day the two, three, and four may be included in the lesson; and so on each day, adding two or three, until the whole are learned. Having learned so much, the dog is prepared to play a game of dominoes, for the game consists merely in matching certain pieces.

Munito, the dog to whom reference is made in a preceding page, was a French poodle, very handsome, with a fine silky, white, woolly coat, half shaved. A gentleman who saw him exhibited in Piccadilly, London, nearly fifty years ago, thus describes his performance, disclosing at the same time the secrets thereof:

“He performed many curious feats, answering questions, telling the hour of the day, the day of the week, or date of the month, and picking out any cards called for from a pack spread on the ground. At the corner of the room was a screen, behind which the dog and his master disappeared between each feat for a short time. We watched him narrowly; but it was not until after our second visit that the mystery was solved. There were packs of ordinary cards, and other cards with figures, and others with single letters. One of the spectators was requested to name a card—say the queen of clubs—the pack was spread on the floor in a circle, faces upward. Munito went around the circle, came to the queen of clubs, pounced upon it, and brought it in his mouth to his master. The same process was repeated with the cards with figures, when he brought the exact numbers which answered the questions put as to dates, or days, or hours; in the same way with the letter cards, when he picked out the necessary letters to spell any short word called for, always making a full circle of the whole of the cards for each letter, or for each number, and never taking up two letters or two numbers consecutively, though they might chance to lie close together. This fact we made out at the first visit, but nothing more. On the second occasion we watched more narrowly, and with that object took a side seat, so that we had a partial view behind the screen. We then noticed that between each feat the master gave the dog some small bits of some sort of food, and that there was a faint smell of aniseed from that corner of the room. We noticed that the dog, as he passed around the circle of cards, with his nose down, and his eyes directed to the ground, never pounced on the right card as his eyes covered it, but turned back and picked it out. It was clear that he chose it by the smell, and not by the sense of sight. We recalled that, each time before the dog began his circuit, the master arranged and settled the cards, and we then found that he pressed the fleshy part of his thumb on the particular card the dog was to draw, which thumb he previously put into his waistcoat pocket for an instant; and as he passed close to us, his waistcoat had an aniseed scent.”

Dogs have been made to take part in stage representations, their performances being but applications of simple tricks taught in our tenth chapter. The good dog who recognizes the murderer of his master and seizes him by the throat; the other good dog who prevents an assassination by flying at the would-be assassin, and having a scuffle; and the still other good dog who rescues the child from drowning, or some other impending danger, are all “worked” by signals, or obey understood commands—the actor’s “cue” serving as well as any other word.

An amusing story is told of an accident which befell a penurious manager of a minor play-house, in endeavoring to avoid an engagement with the owner of the wonderful dogs, when their services and not his were to constitute the principal attraction. The owner persisted; it must be his dogs and himself, or no dogs at all; the sagacious animals would perform their marvels with no one else. The huckstering manager doubted this, and craved permission to try whether, by running across the room, and using the words repeated by the owner in the play, one of the animals would not seize him by the coat collar as well, without doing him any injury. The master consented, but the experiment failed entirely. The dog remained doggedly motionless. “It strikes me,” said the disappointed manager, “that if you were to say, ‘Go, sir!’ in a harsh tone, when I repeat the words, that he would at once perform the feat.” “Very well, sir,” replied the owner, “we will try the experiment, if you wish it.” The preliminaries were again gone through with; and the master said, “Go, sir!” The gigantic dog did go with a vengeance. He dashed off like an arrow; seized the manager by the nape of his neck, threw him violently on the floor, and giving two or three tremendous growls, seemed on the point of making mince-meat of his prey, who, petrified with fright, was glad enough to be rescued, and to permit the master to perform with his dogs, and on his own terms. He never was quite satisfied, however, that there was not some peculiarity in the “Go, sir,” used on that particular occasion.

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.

GROUND PLAN OF A CORRAL.

METHOD OF FENCING A CORRAL.

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.

POSITION OFTEN TAKEN IN ATTEMPTING TO BREAK THE ROPE.

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.

SECURING CAPTURED ELEPHANTS WITH THE AID OF THE TAME ONES.

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.