The large area of rice-fields on the bed of the Honganoor Lake was assessed long ago at one-third the usual rates, on account of the depredations of elephants. Mr. Sanderson adds, however, that the actual damage done to crops by elephants is much less than popularly supposed.
In capturing wild elephants, numbers of tuskers which have escaped, often follow the herd, and wander about the camps at night. On one occasion, a large female charged a tame elephant and rider. The latter was warned by a native, and slipped around his elephant’s neck just in time to save his life; but the jaws of the old rogue struck his thigh, and she endeavored to crush him with her single tusk. He drove his goad into her mouth, when she drew off, and came on again at full speed. The rider again dodged over his elephant’s neck, and a second time the single tusk struck his leg. This was repeated several times; and the rider, whose elephant was in the midst of a herd of wild ones in a corral, was in despair, when one of his assistants hurled a spear, striking the rogue in the head. A moment later, the latter’s elephant struck her a terrific blow, head on, almost knocking her over, and completely turning the scales.
Tame tuskers, under the direction of a mahout, soon outwit wild elephants in a battle. Females rarely fight among themselves; but, when they do, their spite is vented upon one another in a ludicrous and aggravating manner, by biting off each other’s tails.
Sanderson had a singular adventure with a rogue elephant who attempted to enter his tent at night. He started to his feet, first seeing his tent rip, and, on looking out, discovered that a wild elephant was tearing it with its tusks. The next day, it was found torn in two, with two tusk-holes in it. The next night a guard of men and a tame elephant was established; but at midnight, he was awakened by feeling the tent shake. Leaping to his feet, he looked out, saw the men asleep, and the tame elephant some distance off. While he stood, there came a crash, and the small tent fell in; when he found that probably the same elephant was investigating again; but, before he could clear himself from the canvas, it had made off, startled by the noise. The attack was probably made out of mere curiosity, or, perhaps, in a spirit of mischief. They have been known to trample down embankments, overturn telegraph-poles, haul up surveying-pins; and once, when a surveying-party left their chain overnight in a jungle, it could be heard jingling occasionally, the elephants evidently being pleased with the sound it made.
A famous rogue elephant for months devastated the country about Kákankoté. It first destroyed the crops; and gradually becoming bolder and bolder, it finally actually took possession of a strip of the country about eight miles long, including a part of the main road between Mysore and the Wynaad. No one dared to travel in the road; the monster charging every one, finally killing two natives. This aroused the populace; and the amildár, or native official, appealed to the government elephant-keeper for protection. A few days later, he was on the ground, and, with a party of Kurrabas trackers, was ready to slay the rogue. So great was the alarm, that the hunter found native policemen at the entrance of the jungle, to warn travellers of the elephant; and all who went through were preceded by natives, who, with tomtoms and other instruments, endeavored to frighten the brute, who was well known to every one by his large size, black color, and peculiar, up-curved, short tusks. For several days the professional hunter followed the great animal, and came up with him; but, by an unfortunate stampede, he lost him, and the hunt had to be given up for the time. Five months later it was renewed: and, after a long chase, the rogue was found in a bamboo thicket; then, after waiting for a fair shot, the hunter tired a heavy bullet, putting it just behind the shoulder.
For a second, there was a deathly silence, then, with a terrific scream, the monster dashed away; and the men, in full pursuit, were soon covered with blood that flowed from the wounds. The rogue ran for two hundred yards, and, when the Kurrabas came upon him, presented a terrible appearance. He was facing his foes, his trunk doubled, head elevated, and blood rushing from his mouth; yet the animal’s eyes were gleaming with fury, and it was ready to sell its life dearly. The hunter fired with a four-bore rifle; the bullet penetrating the brain, and killing him upon the spot. As the huge creature rolled over, the men crawled upon its upper side, which was six feet from the grass. The head and feet were taken; the former being placed on the main road for some time, to inform the natives that the end of the rogue had come.
The tusks of this elephant were small, being ten inches in circumference at the gum, and weighed twenty-two and a half pounds, curving up in a curious way.
Capt. Dunlop, of the British army, refers to a rogue elephant in the Doon, named Gunesh. It was the property of the government, but escaped, and for years caused a reign of terror in the country. It had a chain upon its leg, and the clank of this in the jungle near a village demoralized the entire populace. For fifteen years this brute wandered about, destroying rice-fields; and, during that time, it killed over fifteen persons.
Another rogue followed a courier of the English postal service, and trampled him to death.