I heard of a case in Assam where a planter, carrying a ·303 rifle, was walking along a road when he was suddenly charged by a wild elephant. He fired at its mouth. The animal turned and ran away. As it did so the planter fired again and hit it under the tail. The elephant staggered on a short distance and then fell dead. One of my sepoys, when on guard at Santrabari, fired at a wild elephant which was attacking our tame ones in the stables. The man used his Lee-Enfield rifle and scarcely waited to take aim.
Yet the animal, a muckna or tuskerless male, dropped dead within a few yards.
Our tame elephants were taken into the forest every day to graze. One morning Jhansi was out in charge of her mahout about two miles from Santrabari, when a single-tusker rogue suddenly charged out of the jungle at her. The terrified mahout flung himself off her neck and crept away through the undergrowth. The rogue hurled himself against Jhansi and knocked her down by the force of his attack. He drove his one tusk deep into her back and drew off to gather impetus for a fresh charge. Jhansi scrambled to her feet and bolted. The brute pursued her, prodding viciously at her hind quarters; but being a fast mover, she outstripped him and got back to Santrabari. Her vicious assailant followed her for a short distance and then returned to search the undergrowth for the mahout but, luckily for the latter, without finding him. Jhansi was brought up to the fort for me to doctor. I found a round punctured wound several inches deep in her back; and on her rump were several smaller holes and cuts made by the rogue elephants. She was an excellent patient and stood the cleaning and disinfecting of her wounds admirably.
This unprovoked attack made it imperative that I should try to put an end to the rogue's career; for, if he remained in our neighbourhood, the mahouts would be afraid to take their animals out to graze. So I instituted a hunt for him. Creagh had been transferred to Gyantse in Tibet, his place being taken by a junior captain of the regiment named Balderston. A young Irish lieutenant in the Indian Medical Service was now our doctor, as Smith had gone to another corps. As it was during the rainy season when the Terai Jungle is filled with the deadliest malarial fever, it was impossible to camp in the forest. But I came down from the hills every day and searched far and wide for the outlaw and soon found terrible traces of his presence. The body of a Gurkha, killed by him, was discovered on a path through the jungle. The man had been proceeding along it on foot when he had been met and attacked by the rogue. His head and body had been crushed flat and stamped into the ground, the legs torn off and hurled twenty yards away. The elephant had evidently placed his foot on the body, taken the legs in his mouth and torn the poor wretch to pieces. The sight made me long to meet the brute and put an end to his vicious career. But though we searched the jungle day after day, we never met him.
However, during the hunt, our doctor, who was new to big-game shooting, had the usual beginner's luck and secured the record sambhur head for the district. The sambhur in these jungles belong to the Malayan species which, probably owing to the dense forest they inhabit, have much shorter though thicker horns than the so-called Indian sambhur found in other parts of the Peninsula. The stags are generally darker, the old ones almost black or slate-coloured; and their tails are more bushy. While the record Indian head is fifty and an eighth inches, Lydekker gives the longest Malayan antlers as thirty and an eighth inches; though an officer formerly in Buxa shot one with horns thirty-three inches in length.
As killing deer is prohibited in Government jungles during the hot weather and Rains, that being the close season, I had warned Balderston and the doctor not to fire at any we met with. And besides this, I did not want to run the risk of alarming the rogue for which we were hunting. But one day we came suddenly upon a large sambhur stag. It was the first specimen of big game that the doctor, new to India, had ever seen. He became greatly excited and raised his rifle. Balderston, behind whom he was seated on Dundora, warned him not to fire; but, misunderstanding in his excitement, he pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the sambhur in the foreleg; and the beast went off limping. Shooting a stag in the close season is a dire offence in the sportsman's eye; and Balderston and I abused the unfortunate doctor roundly. However, as it would have been sheer cruelty to allow a wounded animal to get away, I ordered our mahouts to pursue. We came up to the stag in about half an hour; and I shot him through the heart. On measuring the horns we discovered them to be thirty-three inches long, which equalled the record Malay sambhur I have mentioned.
About three weeks after we gave up the search for the rogue and were satisfied that he had left our jungles, our three elephants were taken out to graze in the forest by the coolies who assist the mahouts. It was the duty of these men to remain with their charges; but, as it happened to be pay-day in Buxa, they shackled the elephants' forelegs with chains and left them to feed, while they themselves climbed up to the fort for their salaries. On their return, several hours later, they found Khartoum and Dundora browsing placidly on the trees; but Jhansi had disappeared. She had contrived to slip her shackles, which lay on the ground. The mahouts, searching for her, came on the track of a herd of wild elephants, which had passed close to our tame ones. It was conjectured that Jhansi, remembering her recent unpleasant adventure with the rogue, had become alarmed at the sight of them, got rid of her chain and fled away in an opposite direction. But, unlike the previous occasion, she did not return to Santrabari. At the time I happened to be on leave in Darjeeling; so Captain Balderston took our trained company scouts to look for her. Each man carried his rifle and ball cartridge to protect himself if necessary. It was well that they did; for on the second day of their search one of them was wantonly attacked by a large bear. A bullet from the sepoy's rifle taught it that it had not a helpless woodcutter to deal with; and, howling with pain, it ran off.
On my return I borrowed elephants from the forest officer and started out on a systematic hunt for the truant. As in the army an officer generally has to pay for any article of Government property lost while in his charge, I was afraid that I might be called upon to replace Jhansi. The cost of a female elephant runs into hundreds of pounds; so I did not relish the prospect. I telegraphed to the brigade headquarters announcing Jhansi's loss; and when the reply came I opened it in fear and trembling. It only referred me to a certain paragraph in the Army Regulations for India. I consulted it at once, and to my relief found that it merely directed me to advertise the loss of a Government elephant in a newspaper. Not knowing which journal Jhansi was in the habit of perusing, and wondering if I was supposed to word the announcement in the phrasing of the agony column, "Come back to your sorrowing friends and all will be forgiven," I eventually tried the columns of a Calcutta daily. But it did not bring the truant back. As month after month went by, I lost hope of ever seeing her again. Whenever I heard that a kheddah party had captured an elephant which evidently had once been tame I sent off Jhansi's mahout to inspect the prisoner.
It often happens that animals which have been in captivity for some time escape and take to the jungle again. If caught they are soon discovered to have been domesticated; and mahouts of lost elephants are sent to view them, as their former charges will always recognise and obey them. I heard of a case of attempted fraud, with a fatal ending, in this connection. A mahout falsely claimed an elephant as his and mounted it. The animal, enraged at being handled by a stranger, dragged him off her neck and stamped him to death before the horrified spectators could intervene.
Eight months after Jhansi's disappearance I was informed by the mahouts that she had suddenly come out of the jungle and approached the Peelkhana. She stood at a safe distance watching her former comrades. When the men went towards her to secure her, she fled into the jungle. I ordered the mahouts to leave food in her stall and not to attempt to interfere with her unless she came right into the stables. Next day she made her appearance at feeding-time. The men took no notice of her, placed the usual meal of rice and leaves before Dundora and Khartoum and deposited her allowance in her "standing." Jhansi marched boldly in and began to eat it; and the men crept in behind her and slipped the iron shackles on her legs. She showed no resentment and continued feeding unconcernedly, and afterwards she gave no trouble, did her usual work, and seemed to feel no regret at the loss of her freedom.