There were some twenty-five captives in the enclosure, of whom our elephant was the largest: and it was well for him that he made no determined efforts to escape for in order to avoid any risk of loss of the catch, his life would have been sacrificed at once; a well-directed bullet at close quarters would have ended his history. But, with the patient equanimity of his kind, when faced with unavoidable misfortunes, he remained placidly standing, awaiting his fate. In a few hours, most of the captives grew accustomed to the sight and scent of human brings; they raised no objections when men seated on tame elephants moved amongst them; they even submitted when, huddled between two trained animals, ropes were passed over their necks; and, most dangerous task to those so employed, when other ropes were secured to their hind-legs. Thus, one by one, they were led out through the narrow doorway in the direction of the camp, to be tied to stout trees by the heel ropes.
Against these bonds they strained with all their weight, desisting only when the ropes cut deep into the flesh and imprinted on them the brand of slavery, always to be found on an elephant if born and bred in the forest and then captured and trained to the service of man. The very young calves followed the females as they were led from the enclosure, but in many cases, their mothers no longer recognised them, and resented their approach. Whether this was because their young were tainted with the scent of man, or whether the terror and anxiety of the pursuit and capture had stayed the flow of milk and so destroyed the maternal instincts, it is difficult to assert.
At all events the calves wandered round the fettered elephants, finding scant encouragement, save from men who fed them with buffalo milk, hoping to keep them alive, or from the tame elephants, which treated them with kindness and affection, so that, if not quite dependent on a nursery diet, there was good chance of their survival.
Our elephant remained the last to be removed from the enclosure, and while there, he had been constantly attended by two tame elephants, who gently frustrated any attempt at restiveness. When the ropes had been attached to the neck and leg, an imposing array of tame elephants was ready to overcome any resistance. He made none but walked silently to his allotted place, where he was left to himself. Even then there was no unseemly struggle. He tested his weight against the strength of his fetters with one long, even pull, till the blood spurted from the wounds; the ropes held firm, and he made no subsequent attempt, suffering himself to be led to water morning and evening, eating the food provided for him with an aloofness which made mere man seem insignificant. For weeks before it was considered safe for him to take the road, he was, in reality, just as indifferent to his fate as on the day they started to leave forever the forests he knew so well.
First, the long weary march in chains, and then the months of training which followed, seemed to rob him of all the joy of living and alter, with altered habits, many of his natural characteristics. His patience remained, but it was the patience of despair, and though he still deeply resented ill-treatment, he became obedient to the wishes of his masters so far as he understood them. The first lesson was that he should kneel at command, so that the pigmies who owned him should be able the more readily to climb on his back; the next, that he should lie on his side, so that he might be duly cleaned by his attendant; then that he should follow when led by the ear, and turn to right and left, or halt when ordered to do so. Finally, that all these movements should be carried out under the orders of a man seated on his neck, who emphasized his commands with a goad or with a pointed iron hook. During the whole of this schooling the shackles were never off the fore-feet, or the tethering chain from the hind leg, and it was only when he had earned a name for docility that these restrictions were removed, and he found his limbs free once more, though still, on either side, a tame elephant accompanied him for fear of a sudden outbreak of fury.
And so, at last, he was ready for work, and was sold into slavery to the firstcomer who could command his price: his only safeguards against cruel treatment being the capital invested in his purchase, and the fear of his vengeance should his attendants purposely annoy him.
First, then, he was called upon to work his own passage from the forest to the timber yard, where ultimately he was to be employed in moving and arranging the heaviest logs; and this trip of some five hundred miles took nearly two years to complete.
He would be harnessed to a log, and by brute strength drag it through the soft soil to the banks of a neighbouring stream: then, turning, roll it over till it lay in the waterway, to be carried down by the next flood. During the whole of the dry season, he was thus employed from dawn till dark, spending his nights in the forest, tethered by a heavy chain, to pick up what subsistence he might find. When the monsoon began to blow, the dragging came to an end, and his duty was to push each stranded log into the current; or, more dangerous still, to release a jam that blocked up the waterway. This labour was not as incessantly strenuous as the dry season dragging, and more opportunities occurred of grazing during the day. He had next to aid in the construction of the huge rafts which were to float away in the sluggish current, and for this purpose, some quiet backwater was selected, each log being guided into place and firmly secured by ropes of cane, first through the drag holes at either end and then to cross-bars lashed with the same material. When complete, the raft might be sixty yards or more in length; it undulated with the waves of the river, or lay like some gigantic marine creature just awash. The men who proposed to guide it in its course of hundreds of miles appear pigmies as they pressed against the huge sweeps which serve as rudders at either end, or attempted to avoid sandbanks with the aid of long bamboos. In practice, they could do little to influence the course of the raft: should it ground badly in a falling stream they were powerless to relaunch it, and if a storm arose and lashed the broad waterway into foam, they thought only of seeking safety on the nearest firm land they could find.
Excerpted with permission from The Life of an Elephant, S Eardley-Wilmot, Talking Cub.
