"When they find they are caught, the elephants rush wildly round the corral, trying first one part of the fence and then another, in the hope of escaping. Wherever they go, they are met at the fence by men with flaming torches; and they are further terrified by discharges of musketry, and the sound of horns and trumpets. This performance is kept up for several hours of the day, and generally through the night; and at daybreak they make ready to secure the captives, and prepare the corral for a second lot of elephants.
"It is in this work that the elephant shows the peculiarity of his nature, in using all his sagacity to assist in the capture of his kindred. He seems to know what is wanted of him, and invariably appears to take great delight in doing it."
"Elephant nature is not altogether unlike human nature," remarked the consul, with a smile. "Not a few of our fellow-men, whenever they fall upon misfortune, are desirous of having others to share it with them."
"It is an old adage that misery loves company," said Fred.
"But I hope it is not a true one," Frank responded. "Perhaps we had better give the human race the benefit of any doubt on the subject, and say that the quality we have been talking about is elephant nature, and does not belong to us."
His proposal was accepted, and the account of elephant-hunting was resumed.
"The removal of the captives requires a good deal of skill and caution, both on the part of the tame elephants and on that of the attendants. Here is an excellent account of this operation:
"The bars which secured the entrance to the corral were cautiously withdrawn, and two trained elephants passed stealthily in, each ridden by his mahout—or ponnekella, as he is called in Ceylon—and one attendant, and carrying a strong collar, formed by coils of rope made from cocoa-nut fibre, from which hung on each side cords of elk's hide, prepared with a ready noose. Along with them, and concealed behind them, the head-men of the cooroowe, or noosers, crept in, eager to secure the honor of taking the first elephant—a distinction which this class jealously contests with the mahouts of the chiefs and the temples. He was a wiry little man, nearly seventy years old, who had served in the same capacity under the Kandyan king, and wore two silver bangles, which had been conferred on him in testimony of his prowess. He was accompanied by his son, named Ranghanie, equally renowned for his courage and dexterity.
"On this occasion ten tame elephants were in attendance; one of which had been caught only the year before, but was now ready to assist in capturing others. One was of prodigious age, having been in the service of the Dutch and English governments in succession, for upwards of a century. The other, called by her keeper 'Siribeddi,' was about fifty years old, and distinguished for her gentleness and docility. She was a most accomplished decoy, and evinced the utmost relish for the sport. Having entered the corral noiselessly, she moved slowly along with a sly composure and an assumed air of easy indifference; sauntering leisurely in the direction of the captives, and halting now and then to pluck a bunch of grass or a few leaves, as she passed. As she approached the herd, they put themselves in motion to meet her, and the leader, having advanced in front and passed his trunk gently over her head, turned and paced slowly back to his dejected companions. Siribeddi followed with the same listless step, and drew herself up close behind him, thus affording the nooser an opportunity to stoop under her and slip the noose over the hind foot of the wild one. The elephant instantly perceived his danger, shook off the rope, and turned to attack the man. The latter would have suffered for his temerity, had not Siribeddi protected him by raising her trunk and driving the assailant into the middle of the herd, when the old man, being slightly wounded, was helped out of the corral, and his son, Ranghanie, took his place.