The Elephant Keeper Read online

  From this, you may draw the conclusion that I grew up a solitary boy, but I had the company of other children in Thornhill and Gillerton, and also of my younger brother, Jim, and we often played together round the stables. However, of the horses in Mr. Harrington’s stables, six were cart-horses, two hunters, and two hackneys, that is, road-horses, and while the cart-horses were placid, heavy beasts, the hunters and hackneys had some thorough-bred in them and their tempers were far less certain. One of the hunters in particular, a big bay gelding, had a very nervous disposition, and one day he kicked out, and caught Jim a severe blow between the eyes. He was obliged to lie in darkness for more than a week, and, although he recovered, was left with the memory of the accident in the form of a scar on his forehead, and a plague of head-aches; which I think, more than anything else, gave him his timid, retiring character and fitted him for his later life as a gardener. He developed a great fear of horses, and for ever after avoided the stables.

  My father, who saw my love of horses, made it his business to teach me as much as he could on that subject. He would tell me how, if a horse were short of breath, and his flanks shivering, he might be suffering from the Strangles; if he were dim of sight, and lay down shivering, it was a sign of the Staggers; if his breath stank, or foul matter issued from the nostrils, he might have an Ulcer, unless the matter were white, in which case it was the Glanders, or black, when it was the Mourning of the Chine, which is a kind of consumption. He taught me to watch for the colour of a horse’s urine, and the nature of his stool. Once, he led me up to a cart-horse which was suffering from worms. “Three different kinds of worms will attack a horse,” he said, “the bot, the trunchion, and the red maw worm. Lift her tail.” I did so, and I must have been very young, for my eyes were level with her fundament. “Now put in thy hand.” I was afraid that she would kick out, but my father told me that she would not kick. So I stood on tip-toe and slid in my hand. “Further. To the elbow. Further. Now, what dost feel? With thy fingers. Dost feel something wriggling?” I said that I did, though I was not sure. “Pull him out.” I did so, and found my wet fingers holding a little worm with a great head and small tail. “That is a bot,” said my father. “He lives on the great gut and is easily pulled out. The trunchion and the maw worm live higher up. The trunchion is black and thick. The maw worm is long and thin and red.”

  I remember being amazed by the vast store of my father’s knowledge, but he had learnt from his father, and in addition he owned a treasured copy of Gervase Markham’s Maister-Peece, which has been called the Farrier’s Bible. However, my father was his own man and did not agree with everything in Markham; for instance, in the matter of red worms, old Markham held that the first remedy was to bind human dung round the bit or snaffle, and, if that failed, thrust the guts of a hen down the horse’s throat, whereas my father, on the contrary, believed a strong purge to be sufficient, though he purged only with great caution. Grooms in general think that a purge has worked only if it brings on a hurricane, but too strong a purge may kill a horse, especially if it is given to a horse which is weak or delicate, or which has an inflammation of the blood. However, there can be no doubt that purges are very valuable in cleansing impurities. Every groom has his favourite ingredients for purges, and while Markham preferred Nitre, my father used coarse Aloes and Rhubarb, or Cassia, rolled into balls the size of a pullet’s egg, and given in spring and autumn.

  I also learnt by watching my father at work, so that, by the age of eight or nine, I already knew the points of a good horse: that the mouth should be deep, the chest broad, the shoulders deep and the rump level with the withers, the tongue not too large, the neck not too long, the eye not too prottuberant. I knew how to bleed and purge, and how to cough a horse, that is, to try the soundness of his wind, by compressing the upper pipe of the wesand, or wind-pipe, between finger and thumb, and how to apply a glister, that is, lukewarm, and slowly. I knew how to tell a horse’s age from the condition of his gums, from the gloss on his coat, and from a particular mark which appears on his front teeth, from the fifth to the ninth year, when it disappears; but I also knew how to detect the practice of bishoping, whereby the teeth are filed clean to make the animal seem younger; indeed, I remember that my father once shewed me a crone of a horse which, to judge from its hollowed cheeks and fading coat, must have been fully twenty years old, yet its teeth had been filed and cut to make it appear ten years the younger. My father’s most important lesson, however, was one expressed not by his words, but in his acts: that horses are creatures with intelligence and emotions very like human beings, though to a lesser degree, and that when a horse is wayward, or rebellious, it is best to play the part not of a tyrant but of a lover, coaxing him gently into submission.

  When I was twelve I became a groom in the stables at Harrington Hall, and as I took care of the horses—dressing, feeding, exercising, and performing a hundred other tasks for their benefit—I came to understand, or so I believe, something of their thoughts and feelings. Their disposition was greatly affected by the weather. On sunny days in spring and early summer, they would love to race round the fields and to roll on the ground, kicking their hooves in the air, but on sultry days when thunder was approaching they became nervous and irritable, especially if they were plagued by flies gathering round their eyes. I felt sorry for them, as I also felt sorry for them if they were ridden too hard, as often happened when they were taken hunting. In all my dealings with Mr. Harrington, I found him a very fair and generous employer, who never raised his voice in anger; yet, when he followed the hounds, he seemed to become a different man, and treated his mount with savagery. In a short morning’s hunt, the same big bay that had kicked my brother, a handsome, prancing creature, would be whipped and wrenched by Mr. Harrington into a condition of great distress, panting and foaming, blood round the mouth and eyes starting from the sockets. It often fell to me to soothe this poor animal. I would lead him into his stable, which I had already prepared with a litter of fresh straw, and there lift off the bridle, loosen his girth, and throw a dry cloth over his loins; next, rub his face and throat and neck and give him a feed of hay. As he fed, I slowly washed his feet in soap and warm water, to the hocks, and last of all I took off the saddle, dried his back, and rubbed him down. All the while I would talk to him; for although my fellow grooms mocked me for this practice, horses like the sound of the human voice, and by degrees he would calm down, and recover his spirits.

  Mr. Harrington had a young son, whose name was Joshua; he frequently came into the stables by himself, and I was set the task of keeping him safe. After his fourth birthday, when Mr. Harrington bought him a short, shag-haired pony, I also became his riding master, and every day in the stable-yard would drill him in the art of riding; thus, for instance, his breast should be thrown out, with the arms bent at the elbows and the elbows resting on the hips; there should be a small hollow in the reins, which should be held with a light hand, and with the thumbs resting flat upon each rein, while the waist should be pushed toward the pommel, so uniting him with the motions of the pony. He was an eager pupil, though sometimes too impatient for his own good, or that of the pony, and often I had to remind him that the way in which the best rider communicates his wishes to his mount is through the mouth—the hands moving the reins, the reins operating on the branches of the bit, the branches upon the mouth-piece. For the most part, however, Joshua and I got on very well, and we became good friends. The one and only difference between us came over the use of the whip—for Mr. Harrington had given him a whip, and he became angry when I forbad him to use it. “My father whips his horse!” he objected, and was not pleased when I replied that no gentleman ever resorted to violence except when it was entirely necessary. On this subject I have been told that, in the Arab countries, which are known for their fine horses, the whip is scarcely ever used, and I wish that the same could be said here in England.

  Mr. Harrington also owned a house in Bristol, and it was here that his family spent some
months in the winter of 1765 to 1766. On account of my friendship with Joshua, I accompanied them, while my father stayed at Harrington Hall. I was greatly excited by the bustle and hubbub of Bristol, with its swarming streets, and soon began to entertain the notion that, instead of staying a humble groom, I might seek my fortune at sea. Mr. Harrington’s house was off College Green, and thence it was but a short walk up Brandon Hill, from which I could trace the passage of the ships as they moved down the river’s narrow channel and turned with spreading sails toward the open sea, like birds spreading their wings. Even nearer at hand was the quay itself, which I haunted and was haunted by, so that for hours at a stretch I would watch the ships as they swayed and jostled in the foul, filthy run of water, waiting their turn to unload their cargoes of sugar and rum, or tobacco and timber. The sailors were men with dark, weathered faces, and a swaggering gait which I envied and even tried to emulate; I would sidle into the taverns and eavesdrop on their conversations, and as I heard them talk about where they had been, and what they had seen, my imagination transported me into distant, exotick countries, and all kinds of improbable adventures.

  Toward the end of that winter, I heard that a merchantman with an unusual cargo had landed at the quay after a long voyage to the East Indies. The rumour which ran like wild-fire through the city’s taverns was that a mermaid had been caught, and was being offered for sale to the highest bidder. Eager to see such a curious creature, which was said to be very beautiful, with a snow-white skin and a tail somewhat like that of a Porpoise, I mentioned it to Joshua, who promptly ran to tell his father; whereupon Mr. Harrington appeared to ask whether I was certain that it was a true mermaid. I gave the honest answer that I had been told that it was, but had not seen it with my own eyes. Mr. Harrington said that travellers generally returned with a cargo of tales which proved to be false; however, given the number of tales concerning mermaids, he did not entirely discount the possibility that such creatures existed, and he therefore desired me to go to the quay with Joshua, and to find out what I could as to the truth or otherwise of the story.

  Fearing that we might be too late, we hurried over the wooden bridge to the quay, where a throng of people had gathered by the great crane at the lower end of Princes Street. The ship in question, by name the Dover, lay alongside, and as its cargo, which consisted, for the most part, of spices and other goods from the Indies, was being hoist ashore, I called to one of the sailors and asked him whether the mermaid had yet been brought to land. He replied with a grin that, if I would give him a shilling, he would conduct me and Joshua to her quarters, where we could watch her combing her black hair. I was about to hand over the shilling when another tar told me that there was no such creature on board; although he and his ship-mates had seen several mermaids during the voyage along the coasts of Madagascar and round the Cape of Good Hope, it had proved impossible to catch any, owing to the cannibals who had attempted to board the ship in their insatiable hunger for human flesh. However, he went on, there were several exotick and fierce animals on the ship, but for safety’s sake none of them could be landed until the tide was higher. I should here explain, for those who do not know Bristol well, that the tide in the city runs at a great speed and has a very great fall, amounting to as much as twenty or thirty feet; so that, when the tide is quite out, the ships wallow on the mud with their keels exposed, and the tops of their masts barely reaching above the level of the quay. This would be a great disadvantage to those wishing to load and unload their cargoes, but for the cranes which are placed along the quay and which can raise most cargoes like a feather. The tide now falling to a low ebb, it was judged safer to wait until the succeeding morning to land the animals. I asked the sailor what kinds of animals he meant, and he mentioned a Leopard, a striped horse, two Elephants, and a baboon with a white beard and blue testicles. “Blue?” I queried. “Blue as up there,” he assured me, pointing at a patch of sky; which piece of improbable intelligence, I immediately discounted as false.

  I asked the sailor what an Elephant looked like; he replied that it was like nothing on earth.

  Joshua and I waited for more than two hours, hoping to get a glimpse of the animals, but as dusk began to fall I judged it best that we return to Mr. Harrington’s house. I reported the sailor’s account to Mr. Harrington, who said that he would be interested to see the creatures. Mrs. Harrington, who was present, said to her husband, “John, we do not want to start a menagery.” This was the first time that I ever heard of a menagery; it is a French word, which means, a collection of animals. Mr. Harrington replied: “I have no intention of doing so, I assure you.”

  Early in the morning of the succeeding day, when we again went to the quay, Mr. Harrington accompanied us. With the tide now full, the deck of the Dover lay level with the quay; and we watched as, with many shouts, the great crane swung five sturdy crates on to the side of the quay. This took more than an hour, and, as the minutes passed, another crowd, almost as large as that of the day before, gathered to watch the spectacle unfold.

  The Master of the Dover was one Captain Elias Hall, a stout, red-faced man who looked uneasy in a stiff suit. Taking a chisel, he prised two boards from the first crate, which had slipped its harness and landed heavily. It contained the striped horse, a creature known as a Zebra, and I saw at once that it had broken both its front legs and was very near death. Joshua was much distressed by its suffering, and the contents of the next crate to be opened were even more painful to behold, for the Leopard was long past all hope of recovery. This Leopard was evidently the prize trophy of the Captain, who had hoped, no doubt, to sell it for a large sum of money to some gentleman, and he did his best to rouse the poor animal by kicking its body and pulling its tail, to no avail, since it was utterly dead and had, indeed, begun to stink. The third crate, rather smaller, held a ginger-coloured baboon with a neat white beard and sky-blue testicles, just as the sailor had said; shivering as if it were cold, and holding its head in its hands, it crouched in a corner of the crate. Someone called for it to be brought forth, but someone else told us that it was excessively dangerous and would bite at will. Joshua now began to cry, saying that he wanted to go home; however, Mr. Harrington dissuaded him.

  The next crate to be opened contained a large grey animal, lying on its side, deep in ordure, its hind legs in shackles. In my ignorance I had no notion even whether it might be of the land or sea, for in truth it did not resemble any creature that I had ever seen or imagined, except perhaps a whale. I heard the word Elephant, but scarcely registered its meaning in my astonishment. It had two huge ear flaps, four thick legs, and a single snake-like prottuberance dangling from the centre of its face. From a distance it seemed hairless, although on closer inspection I saw thick wiry hairs sprouting at intermittent intervals from the cracks and fissures in its skin, which was the colour of ash. Its eyes were closed. To me it looked nearly as dead as the Leopard, and Captain Hall evidently feared as much, because he ordered two of his sailors to throw sea-water over its body. At the shock of the water, the creature’s eyes remained closed, but it made a small stir with its head, whereupon a party of sailors dragged it out of the crate and, in spite of its great weight, endeavoured to set it on its feet. The Elephant promptly collapsed, being unable to stand, very nearly crushing one of the sailors beneath its weight. I was not surprized that it could not stand for, as I was presently informed, it had been confined in this tight space and virtual darkness for the entire length of the voyage, a matter of some ninety-one days, during the bulk of which it had been fed a meagre diet of biscuits and roots. It was easy to imagine the suffering that the creature must have endured, and the confusion in its mind; that it had survived the journey, was very near incredible.

  When the final crate was opened we beheld another Elephant, in an even more desperate condition, a heap of grey skin.

  Mr. Harrington and Captain Hall stepped aside and began to talk privately, while I learned more from the sailor. He told me that these two Elephants were m
ere children, barely half of the size that they might eventually achieve, something that I found privately incredible, but he assured me it was so. He said that another Elephant, a male, which had also been seized and brought on board ship, had been at least twice their bulk, and equipped with long tusks. When I asked where this prodigious creature now was the sailor told me that one night, at the height of a violent tempest, it had broken its shackles, burst out of its crate, and rampaged the length and breadth of the ship, bellowing and trumpeting. There were fears that, with its size and weight, it might charge through the side of the ship, but to re-capture it in such a temper, even in calm weather, would have been a most hazardous operation; during a storm, it was not to be contemplated. However, the Elephant soon slipped and fell groaning on the deck, whereupon it was secured with nets and ropes and shackles. It never stirred again, and refusing all food and water was dead within three days. Captain Hall, who had been hoping to sell it for a large sum, had been sorry at its end, but the crew was generally relieved to be rid of a dangerous animal, and glad of the flesh provided by the carcass. I asked the sailor what Elephant tasted like, and he answered that it was very palatable, similar in flavour to beef, though far tougher in texture. What remained of the carcass was cast overboard, though not before the tusks and teeth were removed and stored in Captain Hall’s cabin.