Life in an Indian Outpost

by Gordon Casserly

My voice seemed to enrage the elephant. Up went its head, it curled its trunk, uttered a slight squeal and charged at me. I dropped on one knee and aimed at its forehead. With the fear of the forest department before my eyes, I hesitated to press the trigger until the huge bulk seemed almost towering over me. Then I fired. As if struck by a thunderbolt the elephant stopped dead in its furious rush and sank on its knees only fifteen paces from me. But even then I did not realise what an escape I had had. My first thought, as I picked up my pipe and stood erect was: "How can I hide the body, so that the forest officer will never know of my crime?"

So dense was the undergrowth that I could not see the prostrate animal in it. Rifle-butt resting on the ground, I pulled at my pipe perplexedly. I wondered how I could explain my act to the forest authorities. I knew, of course, that I had not to fear imprisonment; but a fine seemed certain. And a worse penalty might be inflicted, the cancellation of my shooting-licence. And I shuddered at the thought of two years in Buxa Duar if I were not allowed to solace my solitude by sport. It never occurred to me that the fact that I would have been killed if I had not fired would be accepted as a sufficient excuse for breaking the Draconic laws of Government.

Suddenly the elephant rose up, turned and dashed away blindly into the forest. My bullet had only stunned it. Bursting through the tangled undergrowth, snapping tough creepers like thread, trampling down small trees and smashing off thick branches, it rushed off mad with pain and terror. Long after I had lost sight of it I could hear its noisy progress through the jungle. I was intensely relieved at its recovery and departure, and did not realise that it was fortunate for me that it did not renew the attack.

I inspected the spot where it had fallen. The ground was ploughed up by its toes where it had been suddenly stopped in its charge; and the undergrowth was crushed flat from the weight of its body. There was a fair amount of blood on the leaves and grass around. I measured the distance to the spot where I had knelt. It was exactly fifteen paces; so I had not fired a moment too soon. While I stood disconsolate the shikaree returned. He explained that after the shot he had listened for my dying shrieks and, not hearing them, concluded that I had come off victorious in the encounter. He endeavoured in vain to convince me that I had been right to fire. Shortly afterwards Bechan returned with the still terrified Khartoum; and he agreed with the other man. It occurred to me that the elephant might have fallen again further on; so I thought it advisable to follow him and if I found him dying, put him out of pain. But Bechan and the shikaree absolutely refused to go with me; so I started off on foot. But in fifty yards I realised that I would certainly lose myself in the jungle, so I was obliged to return ignominiously to them.

Next day, however, Bechan's courage was restored; and he took me again to the spot. We had no difficulty in picking out the tusker's trail. A broad, almost straight track led away for hundreds of yards. The undergrowth was trampled down, small trees broken off and the ground covered with branches snapped off by the animal's body in its blind haste. At one place the beast had stopped and kicked up some earth to plaster on its wound, as elephants always do. We followed the trail for nearly three miles and then lost it where it mingled with innumerable old tracks of other elephants.

When I knew more about these animals I was not surprised that my shot had not killed the rogue. The front of an elephant's skull is enormously thick and the brain is very small. A bullet in the head not reaching the brain will never kill the brute on the spot, and is not necessarily fatal. Sanderson, the great authority on elephant-shooting narrates many such cases and says:

"It will be evident, on an examination of the skull, that if the brain be missed by a shot no harm will be done to the animal, as there are no other vital organs, such as large blood-vessels etc., situated in the head. It thus happens that, in head shots, if the elephant is not dropped on the spot he is very rarely bagged at all. A shot that goes through his skull into his neck without touching his brain may kill him, but it will take time. I have never recovered any elephant that has left the spot with a head shot. The blood-trail for a few yards is generally very thick; but it often ceases as suddenly as it is at first copious. Elephants are sometimes floored by the concussion of a shot, if the ball passes very close to the brain; large balls frequently effect this. No time should be lost in finishing a floored elephant, or he will certainly make his escape. Many cases have occurred of elephants which have been regarded as dead suddenly recovering themselves and making off."

The position of the head held high in charging protects the one deadly spot in the forehead; and, to quote Sanderson again:

"To reach the brain of a charging elephant from in front the bullet must pass through about three feet of curled trunk, flesh and bone. It is thus occasionally impossible to kill an elephant if the head be held very high."

I could have finished off the tusker at my ease as he lay on the ground, had it not been for my loyal obedience to the regulations. On my return to Buxa I sent a telegram, followed by an official letter of explanation and apology, to the forest officer. His reply filled me with annoyance when I learned that my scruples had been uncalled for and that I could have slain the brute, and probably would have been allowed to keep the tusks. His letter said: