Animal Intelligence Part 36

[217] _Loc. cit._

[218] Jesse, _Gleanings_, iii., p. 176.

[219] _Introduction to Arctic Zoology_, p 70.

[220] Dr. Henderson, _Journal of a Residence in Iceland in 1814 and 1815_, vol. ii., p. 187.

[221] _The American Beaver and his Works_ (Lippincott & Co. 1868).

[222] To obviate this possibility, they often select as their site a place where a spring happens to rise in the bottom of the lake or pond.

[223] In times of considerable 'freshet' the former case sometimes occurs; the beavers not being able to provide for a very considerable overflow through their dams, the latter become then wholly submerged.

When again exposed, the animals take great pains in repairing the injuries sustained.

[224] Note on Beaver Dams (_Proc. Boston Soc. Nat. Hist._, 1869, p. 101, _et seq._).

CHAPTER XIII.

ELEPHANT.

THE intelligence of the elephant is no doubt considerable, although there is equally little doubt that it is generally exaggerated. Some of the most notorious instances of the display of remarkable sagacity by this animal are probably fabulous, or at least are not sufficiently corroborated to justify belief. Such, for instance, is the celebrated story told by Pliny with all the a.s.surance of a '_certum est_,'[225] and repeated by Plutarch,[226] of the elephant, who having been beaten for not dancing properly, was afterwards found practising his steps alone in the light of the moon. Although this story cannot, in the absence of corroboration, be accepted as fact, we ought to remember, in connection with it, that many talking and piping birds unquestionably practise in solitude the accomplishments which they desire to learn.

Quitting, however, the enormous mult.i.tude of anecdotes, more or less doubtful, and which may or may not be true, I shall select a few well-authenticated instances of the display of elephant intelligence.

_Memory._

As regards memory, several cases are on record of tamed elephants having become wild, and, on again being captured after many years, returning to all their old habits under domestication. Mr. Corse publishes in the 'Philosophical Transactions'[227] an instance which came under his own notice. He saw an elephant, which was carrying baggage, take fright at the smell of a tiger and run off. Eighteen months afterwards this elephant was recognised by its keepers among a herd of wild companions, which had been captured and were confined in an enclosure. But when anyone approached the animal he struck out with his trunk, and seemed as fierce as any of the wild herd. An old hunter then mounted a tame elephant, went up to the feral one, seized his ear and ordered him to lie down. Immediately the force of old a.s.sociations broke through all opposition, the word of command was obeyed, and the elephant while lying down gave a certain peculiar squeak which he had been known to utter in former days. The same author gives another and more interesting account of an elephant which, after having been for only two years tamed, ran wild for fifteen years, and on being then recaptured, remembered in all details the words of command. This, with several other well-authenticated facts of the same kind,[228] shows that the elephant certainly has an exceedingly tenacious memory, rendering credible the statement of Pliny, that in their more advanced age these animals recognise men who were their drivers when young.[229]

_Emotions._

Concerning emotions, the elephant seems to be usually actuated by the most magnanimous of feelings. Even his proverbial vindictiveness appears only to be excited under a sense of remembered injustice. The universally known story of the tailor and the elephant doubtless had a foundation in fact, for there are several authentic cases on record of elephants resenting injuries in precisely the same way;[230] and Captain s.h.i.+pp[231] personally tested the matter by giving to an elephant a sandwich of bread, b.u.t.ter, and cayenne pepper. He then waited for six weeks before again visiting the animal, when he went into the stable and began to fondle the elephant as he had previously been accustomed to do.

For a time no resentment was shown, so that the Captain began to think that the experiment had failed; but at last, watching for an opportunity, the elephant filled his trunk with dirty water, and drenched the Captain from head to foot.

Griffiths says that at the siege of Bhurtpore, in 1805, the British army had been a long time before the city, and, owing to the hot dry winds, the ponds and tanks had dried up. There used therefore to be no little struggle for priority in procuring water at one of the large wells which still contained water:--

On one occasion two elephant-drivers, each with his elephant, the one remarkably large and strong, and the other comparatively small and weak, were at the well together; the small elephant had been provided by his master with a bucket for the occasion, which he carried on the end of his proboscis, but the larger animal, being dest.i.tute of this necessary vessel, either spontaneously, or by the desire of his keeper, seized the bucket, and easily wrested it from his less powerful fellow-servant; the latter was too sensible of his inferiority openly to resent the insult, though it is obvious that he felt it; but great squabbling and abuse ensued between the keepers. At length the weaker animal, watching the opportunity when the other was standing with his side to the well, retired backwards a few paces in a very quiet and unsuspicious manner, and then, rus.h.i.+ng forward with all his might, drove his head against the side of the other, and fairly pushed him into the well.

Great trouble was experienced in extricating this elephant from the well--a task which would, indeed, have been impossible but for the intelligence of the animal itself. For when a number of fascines, which had been employed by the army in conducting the siege, were thrown down the well, the elephant showed sagacity enough to arrange them with his trunk so as to construct a continuously rising platform, by which he gradually raised himself to a level with the ground.

Allied to vindictiveness for small injuries is revenge for large ones, and this is often shown in a terrible manner by wounded elephants. For instance, Sir E. Tennent writes:--

Some years ago an elephant which had been wounded by a native, near Hambangtotte, pursued the man into the town, followed him along the street, trampled him to death in the bazaar before a crowd of terrified spectators, and succeeded in making good its retreat to the jungle.

Many other cases of vindictiveness, more or less well authenticated, may be found mentioned by Broderip,[232] Bingley,[233] Mrs. Lee,[234]

Swainson,[235] and Watson.[236] This trait of emotional character seems to be more generally present in the elephant than in any other animal, except perhaps the monkey.

Another emotion strongly developed in the elephant is sympathy.

Numberless examples on this head might be adduced, but one or two may suffice. Bishop Huber saw an old elephant fall down from weakness, and another elephant was brought to a.s.sist the fallen one to rise. Huber says he was much struck with the almost human expression of surprise, alarm, and sympathy manifested by the second elephant on witnessing the condition of the first. A chain was fastened round the neck and body of the sick animal, which the other was directed to pull. For a minute or two the healthy elephant pulled strongly; but on the first groan given by its distressed companion it stopped abruptly, 'turned fiercely round with a loud roar, and with trunk and fore-feet began to loosen the chain from the neck.'

Again, Sir E. Tennent says:--

The devotion and loyalty which the herd evince to their leader are very remarkable. This is more readily seen in the case of a tusker than any other, because in a herd he is generally the object of the keenest pursuit by the hunters. On such occasions the others do their utmost to protect him from danger: when driven to extremity they place their leader in the centre and crowd so eagerly in front of him that the sportsmen have to shoot a number which they might otherwise have spared. In one instance a tusker, which was badly wounded by Major Rogers, was promptly surrounded by his companions, who supported him between their shoulders, and actually succeeded in covering his retreat to the forest.

Lastly, allusion may be made to the celebrated observation of M. le Baron de Lauriston, who was at Laknaor during an epidemic which stretched a number of natives sick and dying upon the road. The Nabob riding his elephant over the road was careless whether or not the animal crushed the men and women to death, but not so the elephant, which took great pains to pick his steps among the people so as not to injure them.

The following account of emotion and sagacity is quoted from the Rev.

Julius Young's Memoirs of his father, Mr. Charles Young, the actor. The animal mentioned is the one that subsequently attained such widespread notoriety at Exeter Change, not only on account of his immense size, but still more because of his cruel death:--

In July 1810, the largest elephant ever seen in England was advertised as 'just arrived.' As soon as Henry Harris, the manager of Covent Garden Theatre, heard of it, he determined, if possible, to obtain it; for it struck him that if it were to be introduced into the new pantomime of 'Harlequin Padmenaba,' which he was about to produce at great cost, it would add greatly to its attraction. Under this impression, and before the proprietor of Exeter Change had seen it, he purchased it for the sum of 900 guineas. Mrs. Henry Johnston was to ride it, and Miss Parker, the columbine, was to play up to it. Young happened to be one morning at the box-office adjoining Covent Garden Theatre, when his ears were a.s.sailed by a strange and unusual uproar within the walls. On asking one of the carpenters the cause of it, he was told 'it was something going wrong with the elephant; he could not exactly tell what.' I am not aware what the usage may be nowadays, but then, whenever a new piece had been announced for presentation on a given night, and there was but scant time for its preparation, a rehearsal would take place after the night's regular performance was over, and the audience had been dismissed. One such there had been the night before my father's curiosity had been roused. As it had been arranged that Mrs. Henry Johnston, seated in a howdah on the elephant's back, should pa.s.s over a bridge in the centre of a numerous group of followers, it was thought expedient that the unwieldy monster's tractability should be tested. On stepping up to the bridge, which was slight and temporary, the sagacious brute drew back his fore-feet and refused to budge. It is well known as a fact in natural history that the elephant, aware of his unusual bulk, will never trust its weight on any object which is unequal to its support. The stage-manager, seeing how resolutely the animal resisted every attempt made to compel or induce it to go over the bridge in question, proposed that they should stay proceedings till next day, when he might be in a better mood. It was during the repet.i.tion of the experiment that my father, having heard the extraordinary sounds, determined to go upon the stage, and see if he could ascertain the cause of them. The first sight that met his eyes kindled his indignation. There stood the high animal, with downcast eyes and flapping ears, meekly submitting to blow after blow from a sharp iron goad, which his keeper was driving ferociously into the fleshy part of his neck, at the root of the ear. The floor on which he stood was converted into a pool of blood. One of the proprietors, impatient at what he regarded as senseless obstinacy, kept urging the driver to proceed to still severer extremities, when Charles Young, who was a great lover of animals, expostulated with him, went up to the poor patient sufferer, and patted and caressed him; and when the driver was about to wield his instrument again, with even still more vigour, he caught him by the wrist as in a vice, and stayed his hand from further violence. While an angry altercation was going on between Young and the man of colour, who was the driver, Captain Hay, of the _Ashel_, who had brought over 'Chuny' in his s.h.i.+p, and had petted him greatly on the voyage, came in and begged to know what was the matter. Before a word of explanation could be given, the much-wronged creature spoke for himself; for, as soon as he perceived the entrance of his patron, he waddled up to him, and, with a look of gentle appeal, caught hold of his hand with his proboscis, plunged it into his bleeding wound, and then thrust it before his eyes. The gesture seemed to say, as plainly as if it had been enforced by speech, 'See how these cruel men treat Chuny. Can _you_ approve of it?' The hearts of the hardest present were sensibly touched by what they saw, and among them that of the gentleman who had been so energetic in promoting its harsh treatment. It was under a far better impulse that he ran out into the street, purchased a few apples at a stall, and offered them to him. Chuny eyed him askance, took them, threw them beneath his feet, and when he had crushed them to pulp, spurned them from him. Young, who had gone into Covent Garden on the same errand as the gentleman who had preceded him, shortly after re-entered, and also held out to him some fruit, when, to the astonishment of the bystanders, the elephant ate every morsel, and after he had done so, twined his trunk with studied gentleness around Young's waist, marking by his action that, though he had resented a wrong, he did not forget a kindness.

It was in the year 1814 that Harris parted with Chuny to Cross, the proprietor of the menagerie at Exeter Change. One of the purchaser's first acts was to send Charles Young a life ticket of admission to his exhibition; and it was one of his little innocent vanities, when pa.s.sing through the Strand with any friend, to drop in on Chuny, pay him a visit in his den, and show the intimate relations which existed between them. Some years after, when the elephant's theatrical career was run, and he was reduced to play the part of captive in one of the cages of Exeter Change, a thoughtless dandy one day amused himself by teasing him with the repeated offer of lettuces--a vegetable for which he was known to have an antipathy.

At last he presented him with an apple, but, at the moment of his taking it, drove a large pin into his trunk, and then sprang out of big reach. The keeper seeing that the poor creature was getting angry, warned the silly fellow off, lest he should become dangerous. With a contemptuous shrug of the shoulder, he trudged off to the other end of the gallery, and there displayed his cruel ingenuity on other humbler beasts, till, after the absence of half-an-hour, he once more approached one of the cages opposite the elephant's. By this time he had forgotten his pranks with Chuny, but Chuny had not forgotten him; and as he was standing with his back towards him, he thrust his proboscis through the bars of his prison, twitched off the offender's hat, dragged it in to him, tore it to shreds, then threw it into the face of the offending gaby, consummating his revenge with a loud guffaw of exultation. All present proclaimed their approbation of this act of retributive justice, and the discomfited c.o.xcomb had to retreat from the scene in confusion, jump into a hackney coach, and betake himself to the hatter's in quest of a new tile for his unroofed skull. The tragic end of poor Chuny must be within the recollection of many of my readers. From some cause unknown he went mad, and after poison had been tried in vain it took 152 shots, discharged by a detachment of the Guards, to despatch him.[237]

The elephant in many respects displays strange peculiarities of emotional temperament. Thus Mr. Corse says:--'If a wild elephant happens to be separated from its young for only two or three days, though giving suck, she never after recognises or acknowledges it;'[238] yet the young one knows its dam, and cries plaintively for her a.s.sistance.

Again, in the wild state, the spirit of exclusiveness shown by members of a herd (_i.e._ family) towards elephants of other herds is remarkable. Sir E. Tennent writes:--

If by any accident an elephant becomes hopelessly separated from his own herd, he is not permitted to attach himself to any other. He may browse in the vicinity, or frequent the same place to drink and to bathe; but the intercourse is only on a distant and conventional footing, and no familiarity or intimate a.s.sociation is under any circ.u.mstances permitted. To such a height is this exclusiveness carried, that even amidst the terror of an elephant corral, when an individual, detached from his own party in the _melee_ and confusion, has been driven into the enclosure with an unbroken herd, I have seen him repulsed in every attempt to take refuge among them, and driven off by heavy blows with their trunks as often as he attempted to insinuate himself within the circle which they had formed for common security. There can be no reasonable doubt that this jealous and exclusive policy not only contributes to produce, but mainly serves to perpetuate, the cla.s.s of solitary elephants which are known by the term _goondahs_ in India, and which from their vicious propensities and predatory habits are called _Hora_, or _Rogues_, in Ceylon.[239]

The emotional temper, or rather transformation of emotional psychology, which is exhibited by the Rogues here mentioned, is as extraordinary as it is notorious. From being a peaceable, sympathetic, and magnanimous animal, the elephant, when excluded from the society of its kind, becomes savage, cruel, and morose to a degree unequalled in any other animal. The repulsive accounts of the bloodthirsty rage and wanton destructiveness of Rogues show that their actions are not due to sudden bursts of fury at the sight of man or his works, but rather to a deliberate and brooding resolve to wage war on everything, so that the animal patiently lies in wait for travellers, rus.h.i.+ng from his ambush only when he finds that the latter are within his power. As showing the cold-blooded determination of this murderous desire, I may quote the following case, as it was communicated to Sir E. Tennent:--

We had, says the writer, calculated to come up with the brute where it had been seen half an hour before; but no sooner had one of our men, who was walking foremost, seen the animal at the distance of some fifteen or twenty fathoms, than he exclaimed, 'There!

there!' and immediately took to his heels, and we all followed his example. The elephant did not see us until we had run some fifteen or twenty paces from the spot where we turned, when he gave us chase, screaming frightfully as he came on. The Englishman managed to climb a tree, and the rest of my companions did the same; as for myself, I could not, although I made one or two superhuman efforts. But there was no time to be lost. The elephant was running at me with his trunk bent down in a curve towards the ground. At this critical moment Mr. Lindsay held out his foot to me, with the help of which and then of the branches of the tree, which were three or four feet above my head, I managed to scramble up to a branch. The elephant came directly to the tree and attempted to force it down, which he could not. He first coiled his trunk round the stem, and pulled it with all his might, but with no effect. He then applied his head to the tree, and pushed for several minutes, but with no better success. He then trampled with his feet all the projecting roots, moving, as he did so, several times round and round the tree. Lastly, failing in all this, and seeing a pile of timber, which I had lately cut, at a short distance from us, he removed it all (thirty-six pieces) one at a time to the root of the tree, and piled them up in a regular business-like manner; then placing his hind feet on this pile, he raised the fore part of his body, and reached out his trunk, but still he could not touch us, as we were too far above him. The Englishman then fired, and the ball took effect somewhere on the elephant's head, but did not kill him. It made him only the more furious. The next shot, however, levelled him to the ground. I afterwards brought the skull of the animal to Colombo, and it is still to be seen at the house of Mr.

Armitage.[240]

Another highly curious trait in the emotional psychology of the elephant is the readiness with which the huge animal expires under the mere influence of what the natives call a 'broken heart.' The facts on this head are without a parallel in any other animal, and are the more remarkable from the fact that, so far as natural length of life is any token, the elephant may be said to have more vitality, or innate power of living, than any other terrestrial mammal. Again, to quote from Sir E. Tennent:--

Amongst the last of the elephants noosed was the _rogue_. Though far more savage than the others, he joined in none of their charges and a.s.saults on the fences, as they uniformly drove him off, and would not permit him to enter their circle. When dragged past another of his companions in misfortune, who was lying exhausted on the ground, he flew upon him and attempted to fasten his teeth in his head; this was the only instance of viciousness which occurred during the progress of the corral. When tied up and overpowered, he was at first noisy and violent, but soon lay down peacefully, a sign, according to the hunters, that his death was at hand. Their prognostication was correct; he continued for about twelve hours to cover himself with dust like the others, and to moisten it with water from his trunk; but at length he lay exhausted, and died so calmly, that having been moving but a few moments before, his death was only perceived by the myriads of black flies by which his body was almost instantly covered, although not one was visible a moment before.[241]

But this peculiarity is not confined to rogue elephants. Thus Captain Yule, in his 'Narrative of an Emba.s.sy to Ava in 1855,' records an ill.u.s.tration of this tendency of the elephant to sudden death. One newly captured, the process of taming which was exhibited to the British Envoy, 'made vigorous resistance to the placing of a collar on its neck, and the people were proceeding to tighten it, when the elephant, which had lain down as if quite exhausted, reared suddenly on the hind quarters, and fell on its side--_dead_!'

Mr. Strachan noticed the same liability of the elephants to sudden death from very slight causes. 'Of the fall,' he says, 'at any time, though on plain ground, they either die immediately, or languish till they die; their great weight occasioning them so much hurt by the fall.'[242]

And Sir E. Tennent observes that,--

In the process of taming, the presence of the tame ones can generally be dispensed with after two months, and the captive may then be ridden by the driver alone; and after three or four months he may be entrusted with labour, so far as regards docility; but it is undesirable, and even involves the risk of life, to work an elephant too soon; it has frequently happened that a valuable animal has lain down and died the first time it was tried in harness, from what the natives believed to be 'broken heart,' certainly without any cause inferable from injury or previous disease.[243]

Nor is this tendency to die under the influence of mere emotion restricted to the effect of a 'broken heart;' it seems also to occur under the power of strong emotional disturbances of other kinds. For instance, an elephant caught and trained by Mr. Cripps is thus alluded to by Sir E. Tennent:--

This was the largest elephant that had been tamed in Ceylon; he measured upwards of nine feet at the shoulders, and belonged to the caste so highly prized for the temples. He was gentle after his first capture, but his removal from the corral to the stables, though only a distance of six miles, was a matter of the extremest difficulty; his extraordinary strength rendering him more than a match for the attendant decoys. He on one occasion escaped, but was recaptured in the forest; and he afterwards became so docile as to perform a variety of tricks. He was at length ordered to be removed to Colombo; but such was his terror on approaching the fort, that on coaxing him to enter the gate he became paralysed in the extraordinary way elsewhere alluded to, and _died on the spot_.

_General Intelligence._