It took quite another day to complete the preparations for the “kraal,” which, literally translated, means a trap—the elephants being caught by partly driving, partly enticing them within a large enclosure or trap. This is, of course, a much safer sport than elephant stalking or shooting—a risk which His Excellency did not wish the two young gentlemen under his charge to run.
Day had barely broken next morning when we were afoot, and having despatched a hurried “chota hazery,” as the first meal is called in all parts of India, we started to explore the wonders of the kraal, followed, of course, by a bevy of servants with guns, ammunition, baskets, boxes, hampers, and innumerable articles of comfort which accompany all white men, even in the densest jungle, throughout the East.
The neighbourhood in which the kraal was formed consisted of rugged, undulating ground, pretty thickly covered with heavy jungle. Low forest trees studded the stony land, interwoven with thorny brambles, cacti, bamboos, and a species of gigantic creeping plant, appropriately called jungle-rope, for it is strong enough to stop the progress of a buffalo. A number of narrow paths had been cut by the coolies leading from the village to the kraal.
About an hour brought us to a halt; we were at the kraal. I looked carefully round, but the only indications of the industry of man I could trace in that wild spot were sundry covered platforms raised amongst the leafy branches of trees some twelve or fifteen feet from the ground. These places were provided with seats, and on some I noticed visitors had already secured a safe and snug place where they could patiently wait for the game and, as they felt inclined, watch the poor brutes fall into the trap, or take a safe shot at their vulnerable points. Neither of these do I call sport. If it be necessary to secure this noble, intelligent, useful animal, let him be trapped; but I certainly fail to see much fun or sport in sitting on a platform, up a tree, and, in cold blood, riddling an inoffensive, unsuspecting animal with bullets. In the open jungle, where he has his chance of escape, or even of revenge, it is a different matter.
However, I am not a sportsman. I hate fire-arms, abhor powder, and shudder at dynamite. I came to this hunt, and, being in it, had better bottle up my sentiments and look on.
The novelty of the situation, the wild solitude of the jungle around us, the picturesque appearance of the many groups of natives within and about the kraal, and the sundry references to the baskets and hampers, all helped to make the day pass away quickly and pleasantly. Evening, however, brought with it a general debate as to what should be done, for there was still no sign of game being near, and very few of us desired to spend the night in that open spot, which, with the setting of the sun, lost a good deal of its attractiveness. The discussion ended by an adjournment to the village and padé boats, where we spent another night and slept soundly.
The following day was spent pretty much as had been the first. Some of our party gave strong signs of impatience. I was getting thoroughly disgusted. Lord Portland proposed that we should “move on” and, as he termed it, “shoot the beggars” if we fell in with them. There were evident and unmistakable signs of a mutiny when, towards evening, scouts arrived from the driving posts with injunctions to hold everything in readiness, for the herd were coming on. The torches, which had been already lit up to dispel the growing gloom, were put out. The moon was rising; every tongue was hushed, eyes were eagerly strained towards the opening through which the elephants were expected to rush; every ear was stretched to catch the most remote sounds in that direction. One might have fancied, from the death-like silence that prevailed, that we were awaiting our own fate instead of that of the elephants.
We did not wait long in suspense. A distant shouting burst suddenly upon our startled ears; it drew rapidly nearer, and soon we could discern the violent cracking and snapping of branches of trees and low jungle; then we heard the quick tramp of many huge and ponderous feet. There was no doubt but that the poor animals were close upon us, for torches were now visible in the distance and in the direction from which they were coming. Indeed, the distant jungle appeared to be alive with lights.
Every man looked to his arms, such as they were; and I verily believe that some of our party joined mutually with me in the wish that the “thing” was over. It was, however, too late for reflection. It was quite evident that we were getting into the “gravy of it” now. Our eyes were fixed upon the moving and rapidly-approaching lights. They appeared to burn up brightly as they came nearer; then some disappeared, and soon the whole were extinguished—all was in darkness. Still on came the now furious monsters. Bamboos crashed; the thick jungle flew about in splinters; a heavy tramping and tearing and snapping of branches, and they were safely within the kraal. Then arose from the natives a shout as if heaven and earth were about to meet. I leant forward from my perch to catch a peep at the enemy; torches were again lighted to enable us to witness the proceedings, when a volley of loud imprecations and some hard knocks, freely distributed amongst the hapless and half-dead coolies, added to a renewal of the heavy tramping, growing fainter every moment, showed us that the elephants had proved too cunning or too strong for their captors. They had burst through the enclosure, and were now making their way back to their haunts in the jungle.
I had quite enough of elephant catching. My noble companions, being bent on sport, left me to enjoy a days’ dolce far niente in the village, whilst they, under proper escort, followed on the trail. They afterwards related to me that on the evening of the following day they picked up the herd in an open prairie, where, no doubt, they were enjoying a rest after the hard drive of the previous days. A freshly-cut elephant’s tail, to be carried home as a trophy, seemed to satisfy his lordship for the days’ hard travelling. The victim of this cruel sport, unfortunately for “the conquering hero,” had no tusks to bequeath to his slayer.