Rataplan, a Rogue Elephant; and Other Stories

by Ellen Velvin

But Jinks was not born to be shot in that manner. As he felt that grip on his throat, he suddenly realized his strength, and with one great wrench he tore himself free, snapping and snarling in true savage fashion, and showing his fang-like teeth in an appalling manner. He would have sprung straight at the throat of his master, but that at that moment there was a flash of fire, a terrific bang, and Jinks, scared out of his wits, fled, howling in the most miserable way.

This was the last Jinks saw of his master, or his master saw of him, for some time, for after that he returned no more to the home which had sheltered him so long, but roamed the country at will, and made night hideous by his screams and howls. He wandered about for some time, seeking for a companion of some sort, but the only animals at all like himself were one or two domestic dogs which lived in the neighborhood, and of these, for some reason or other Jinks was afraid, and so kept at a safe distance.

Now, in his old life, Jinks had always slept at night and moved about in the daytime, but now he got into the habit of hiding himself by day in woody jungles and such places, and at night going out and wandering about in search of food. He wondered once or twice what had made him feel so differently. He did not know that it was partly due to the fact that he had tasted fresh blood. True, it was only chicken's blood, but it was blood all the same, and it had awakened the latent thirst for it in him, and this, combined with the fact that he had just reached the age of an adult jackal, accounted for his suddenly getting so wild and savage.

All this, however, Jinks could not understand. He only knew that he felt lonely and miserable, and that his restlessness would not let him keep still more than a few minutes at a time. At last he began to get very hungry, for he was not accustomed to getting his own food, and did not know the way in which to set about it. He began to wish he could find another chicken, and his mouth watered at the very thought.

Then one evening he came across some sheep feeding in a field, and, being hungry and desperate, he killed one, and then gorged himself to such a degree that he could scarcely walk away.

He had a good, long sleep after this in one of the shady jungles, and when he woke up was too lazy, for a time, to trouble himself about anything. His loneliness, however, increased daily, and as the days went on he grew so miserable that he gave vent every now and then to dismal, blood-curdling howls, which echoed and re-echoed through the woods, scaring all the wild creatures and striking terror into their hearts.

Then, one night, when he was very hungry again, and could not find anything to eat, he suddenly remembered that he had left some of the flesh on the sheep he had killed a few nights ago. He would go and find it, and if the vultures had not finished it he would have a good feed. He had almost forgotten the way, but when he had gone a short distance he could smell it, for it had become rotten by that time, and was nothing but putrid flesh. Jinks had never tasted putrid flesh, but he did not seem to feel any dislike to it, for as he smelt it he licked his lips in pleasurable anticipation, and hurried on in his quick, silent way.

He was not happy, however, and when he was nearly there gave one of his piercing cries—something between a wild scream and a dismal howl —a cry which, to his bewilderment and surprise, called forth a perfect chorus of screams, shrieks and howls which startled him almost to death. He stood absolutely motionless for a few moments, with one paw uplifted, and his eyes and ears strained to the utmost. Horrible as the shrieks were, there was something familiar and comforting about them, and he felt joyous and frightened at the same time.

When the howls began to die away, he felt impelled to send forth another shrieking scream, and this was again answered in the same way as before. This time Jinks did not stop to listen; he went hurriedly forward to find out what it was.

And what a sight met his eyes! There, just in front of him, was a whole pack of animals exactly like himself crowded round the carcass of the sheep he had killed a few nights ago. Nearly all the animals, at the moment he came upon them, were standing with uplifted heads, their sharp noses pointing at the peaceful moon, howling and screaming at the top of their voices. In a few moments some of them stopped, and continued their occupation of tearing off the rotten flesh of the dead sheep, and swallowing it greedily. Dozens of vultures hovered overhead, and, watching their opportunity, dived down every now and again and tore a piece of flesh from the carcass with their powerful beaks, and then hurried off, making unearthly noises which, joined to the howls of the jackals, made the most awful discord imaginable.