operations. It is sometimes needful to form a circle of many miles in order to comprise within it two or more herds of elephants. The trackers, selected entirely from the tribes of the Panikis, have here to exert their utmost skill and patience. The least alarm, the slightest ground for disquietude, would cause the elephants to abandon the track and depart irrevocably. At the same time they have to be kept in motion, and gently urged in the direction of the corral. For this purpose they must be just enough disturbed, and no more. The trackers keep to leeward, and constantly apply to their feet a moistened sponge. The Indian scent might otherwise be taken up by the elephants, which would infallibly produce an instantaneous and probably fatal panic. From time to time the men whisper in concert, or whistle thinly, if at safe distance and sufficiently concealed. On this, the herd rise in a body, agitate their trunks and cars, and look with anxiety towards the spot whence the sound proceeds, till, reassured by the perfect stillness which succeeds, they lay their trunks together and seem to agree that the alarm was false. They then quietly resume their postures, some browsing, some fanning themselves with branches or bathing in the dust, yet all moving off insensibly from the suspected quarter.

This same manoeuvre is repeated by the trackers for days and nights together, till by degrees the herd get fairly within the limits of deviation defined by a spacious pathway leading to the corral. The task of the trackers is, however, by no means alleviated; the line is imaginary for all preventive purposes, and formed designedly of wood unbarked, and disguised to the utmost with leaves and branches. Should the wind vary and render necessary a change of ambush, or any casualty occur, either to cause confusion or thwart the conduct of the elephants, the trackers have no alternative but to lie quiescent and await with patience the return of order. It is seldom, however, that the wind varies at that season of the year, and the precautions of the huntsmen are usually too well taken to be frustrated by unforeseen occurrences.

Meanwhile the trackers relieve each other with concerted regularity, returning by parties for food and water, and keeping in daily communication with a second line of trackers, posted in the opposing direction, but too distant to need the same degree of watchfulness, or to risk betrayal by revealing scent. This second line is less select in composition than the first, the office of its members being subordinate and the labour comparatively irresponsible.

It sometimes happens that in spite of all precautions the troop takes premature alarm. In such case extreme measures are resorted

to. A rocket signal makes known the danger to the second line, who, right and left, form circle rapidly, with the first, lighting huge fires between the intervals of the palings, till the entire circumference becomes represented by a burning ring. The elephants rush madly to the frontier limits, where the fires arrest their flight, and they one and all stop suddenly, terror-struck and trembling. At the same moment the hunters start up with shouts from their concealment, waving red flags and discharging pistols in the air. On this the elephants turn back and make directly for the opposing boundary, where the same frights await them, until, driven from side to side, and breathless with exhaustion, they at length reassemble in the centre, shaking with violent emotion, entwining their trunks together, as if soliciting mutual succour, and imparting to each other their afflicting and unaccountable impressions.

The result of such a turn of events is, however, not always in favour of the hunt. Sometimes the elephants, grown desperate and unconscious, break blindly through the barriers in spite of flames and scarecrows, and disappear for ever in the depths of some untrodden forest. And even when successful, the end is very often disappointing. After a fright so terrifying, it is usually found hopeless to attempt to restore confidence to the demoralised elephants, and it becomes absolutely necessary to force them to advance. It follows too often that the unconscious actors are driven on the stage prematurely, and the spectators thereby miss the most exciting scene of the performance.

It is otherwise when the chase proceeds in the instructed order The daily progress of the herd towards the corral is then regularly and distinctly gradual; the trackers compute the nearness or remoteness of the crisis with surprising nicety, and announce their conclusions to the authorities with admirable assurance. A week or ten days before the term predicted, two scouts are despatched to an agent of the Governor, who thereupon immediately sends round to the friends invited, and enjoins the official staff to hold itself in readiness. Neither staff nor visitors require pressing. Long before the appointed time, the platform and all available supports and footings are crowded to excess. This eagerness, however, on the part of the public by no means influences the march of the elephants, whose arrival is not always as punctual as the spectators could desire. The whole. assembly have sometimes to keep their seats, after the opening, for days and nights together, merely passing to and from the hotel when positively necessary for refreshment. None, however, seem to flag; the biennial institution of the corral has become a veritable popular

passion, and all regard the suspense and weariness of waiting as redeemed by the excitement of the event.

The cause of these unforeseen delays is various: a wild boar, crossing the pathway before the leader of the van, has been known to cause the entire herd to turn back with precipitation and affright. At other times a troop of monkeys, spying out a sentinel in his ambush, have chattered incessant warning to the elephants, after the manner of magpies in the covers in England. The elephants, perceiving nothing but dreading much, have thereupon halted suddenly, and remained huddled up together in counsel and perplexity for many hours in succession; and on one occasion a wounded serpent, struggling to quit the path before the advancing outposts, produced a panic, which well-nigh ended in the dispersion of the elephants and the total frustration of the hunters' pains.

At length a sound in the distance of trampled underwood and cracking branches announces to the breathless assembly the long looked for approach of the elephants. Presently the leader of the band passes noiselessly through the entrance of the enclosure. At first he looks around with timid curiosity, turning his head from side to side with a cautious and uneasy movement; but finding nothing as yet to confirm his suspicions, he continues his way through the fatal passage, and at last proceeds into the corral. Immediately the others follow, and soon afterwards the entire band has entered the arena. The passage of the last elephant is the signal for the commencement of the strife. A troop of spies start up from their concealment, drag off the loose branches which disguise the portals, and at the same moment let fall two massive beams, which effectually close the opening. The noise of this manœuvre, and the sudden apparition of the spies, strike terror and dismay into the elephants. They tremble in all their limbs, and then remain for some moments motionless and paralysed. A shout from the spectators recalls them to a sense of their position, and they all rush off to the opposite side of the enclosure, with their tails and trunks in the air, and uttering a plaintive and shrill cry. On the other side the same frights await them. Indians start up from ambush with shouts and gesticulations, scaring them from post to pillar, till finally the poor beasts, despairing of escape and blinded with floods of tears, take refuge in the centre of the arena, crowding together in a body, and intertwining their trunks in hopeless consultation.

This pause is the moment chosen to complete the preparations for the process of taming. The barriers farthest from the entrance are hurriedly thrown open, and as hurriedly closed again upon a detachVOL. IX., N.S. 1872.

M

ment of tame elephants admitted to assist the breakers. The aid of these trained domestics is indispensable to the success of the proceedings. It would, indeed, be impossible without it to subjugate or even to calm the wild ones.

Tennent gives a picturesque description of a capture of elephants, where the number enclosed in the corral was limited to nine, three of which were of the very largest size, and two were young ones of only a few months' growth. Of the three largest, one was what is styled in English a "vagabond" or "solitary," and in the native Cingalese a gundah. A gundah is an elephant whom the others have sent to Coventry. Each family keeps to its own members, and if an individual, from one cause or another, gets separated from his own family, he cannot gain admission into any other. So long as he keeps at a respectful distance he is allowed to browse and sleep in the same neighbourhood, and to lave and drink at the same watering-places; but all his advances towards a closer relationship are received on the tusks of the repudiating clan. Compelled thus to lead a solitary life, the gundah becomes morose and vicious. He is especially feared by the hunters, whom he has been known to attack on sight, instead of flying with the other elephants, or revolting only at the last extremity. An instance is related of an Indian trapper being pursued by a gundah from the forest to the town, and there crushed to death before the gates of the bazaar.

But to return to the corral. In the case cited by Tennent two trained elephants only were employed in the taming. At a given signal the two animals entered the enclosure side by side, with silent steps, and with all the appearances of unconcern. Each one bore on his neck his cornac, and a servant charged with straps and cordage. Between them, and completely hidden by their vast bodies, entered also the chief of the Panikis, a renowned tamer, who desired, though seventy years of age, to repeat the oft-earned honour of vanquishing the first elephant. The younger of the two trained elephants, a wellgrown male of fifty years of age, had been so long a successful allurer into captivity of his wild relations that he had acquired the cognomen of Siren. The other, upwards of a hundred years old, was an ancient conquest of the Dutch original occupation; from thence he was transferred to the British Government in 1802, and had ever since remained in their dependence as an oft-tried and invaluable coadjutor. His real name, as consigned on the register, was Siribeddi, but he had gone for time out of mind by that of the Old Dutchman.

In approaching the wild elephants, Siren affected to be quite

indifferent to making their acquaintance. Now he swerved aside, as though he had changed his purpose; now he stopped short to gather a twig or blade of grass, or fan himself with a branch of palm; and now he emitted sounds of piteousness in mock sympathetic imitation of those which proceeded from the captive troop. At last, on approaching within thirty paces of the band, the leader came forward to meet him, touched him gently with his trunk, and then returned to his companions.

Siren followed him slowly, twined trunks with him amicably, and caressingly pressed against him in such a manner as to cover his right side. This gave the old tamer a moment's opportunity to glide unseen under the leader's body, and rapidly fasten the lasso on his near hind leg. Siren meanwhile redoubled his traitorous attentions; but in spite of the distraction the leader perceived the danger, shook off the lasso violently, and turned on the old tamer, who would have paid dearly for his temerity had not Siren protected him with his trunk, and given him time to take refuge under the Old Dutchman, who stood in readiness a few steps off.

The next attempt was made on the largest of the troop, who stood surrounded by the eight others. The two tame ones of their own accord went straight up to him, separated him from the others, and detained him between them by pressing their sides against him at the same moment. The gigantic prisoner made no resistance, though he occasionally evinced impatience by lifting his four feet from the ground alternately and uttering from time to time a feeble wail. During all this time the old tamer was on the watch, and, profiting by the voluntary movements of the animal, adroitly passed the slip-knot around one of its hind legs, drew it tight with a jerk, and fled. The two tame elephants then withdrew. Siren took the cord in his trunk and stretched it to its length, whilst the Dutchman kept constantly passing between the prisoner and his companions, and intercepting all communications.

The great difficulty was now to assure the conquest by making the captive elephant securely fast to a tree. For this purpose it was necessary to inveigle him to a short distance farther on, but as he now began to fully comprehend his peril, he obstinately refused to move. By degrees, however, and in spite of his increasing rage, his two false friends succeeded in circumventing him. The tree was attained, and the cord fastened round it. The noose was adjusted by Siren without any help from the old tamer, but it required the Dutchman's aid to wind the end round the tree. In passing between the tree and