EPISODE: 22

night's drive, when the elephants poured into the stockade like

boulders in a landslide, found that they could not get out, and

flung themselves at the heavy posts only to be driven back by

yells and flaring torches and volleys of blank cartridge.

Even a little boy could be of use there, and Toomai was as

useful as three boys. He would get his torch and wave it, and

yell with the best. But the really good time came when the

driving out began, and the Keddah—that is, the stockade—

looked like a picture of the end of the world, and men had to

make signs to one another, because they could not hear

themselves speak. Then Little Toomai would climb up to the top

of one of the quivering stockade posts, his sun-bleached brown

hair flying loose all over his shoulders, and he looking like a

goblin in the torch-light. And as soon as there was a lull you

could hear his high-pitched yells of encouragement to Kala Nag,

above the trumpeting and crashing, and snapping of ropes, and

groans of the tethered elephants. "Mael, mael, Kala Nag! (Go on,

go on, Black Snake!) Dant do! (Give him the tusk!) Somalo!

Somalo! (Careful, careful!) Maro! Mar! (Hit him, hit him!) Mind

the post! Arre! Arre! Hai! Yai! Kya-a-ah!" he would shout, and

the big fight between Kala Nag and the wild elephant would

sway to and fro across the Keddah, and the old elephant

catchers would wipe the sweat out of their eyes, and find time to

nod to Little Toomai wriggling with joy on the top of the posts.

He did more than wriggle. One night he slid down from the

post and slipped in between the elephants and threw up the

loose end of a rope, which had dropped, to a driver who was

trying to get a purchase on the leg of a kicking young calf (calves

always give more trouble than full-grown animals). Kala Nag saw

him, caught him in his trunk, and handed him up to Big Toomai,

who slapped him then and there, and put him back on the post.

Next morning he gave him a scolding and said, "Are not good

brick elephant lines and a little tent carrying enough, that thou

must needs go elephant catching on thy own account, little

worthless? Now those foolish hunters, whose pay is less than my

pay, have spoken to Petersen Sahib of the matter." Little Toomai was frightened. He did not know much of white men, but

Petersen Sahib was the greatest white man in the world to him.

He was the head of all the Keddah operations—the man who

caught all the elephants for the Government of India, and who

knew more about the ways of elephants than any living man.

"What—what will happen?" said Little Toomai.

"Happen! The worst that can happen. Petersen Sahib is a

madman. Else why should he go hunting these wild devils? He

may even require thee to be an elephant catcher, to sleep

anywhere in these fever-filled jungles, and at last to be trampled

to death in the Keddah. It is well that this nonsense ends safely.

Next week the catching is over, and we of the plains are sent

back to our stations. Then we will march on smooth roads, and

forget all this hunting. But, son, I am angry that thou shouldst

meddle in the business that belongs to these dirty Assamese

jungle folk. Kala Nag will obey none but me, so I must go with

him into the Keddah, but he is only a fighting elephant, and he

does not help to rope them. So I sit at my ease, as befits a

mahout,—not a mere hunter,—a mahout, I say, and a man who

gets a pension at the end of his service. Is the family of Toomai

of the Elephants to be trodden underfoot in the dirt of a

Keddah? Bad one! Wicked one! Worthless son! Go and wash

Kala Nag and attend to his ears, and see that there are no thorns

in his feet. Or else Petersen Sahib will surely catch thee and

make thee a wild hunter—a follower of elephant's foot tracks, a

jungle bear. Bah! Shame! Go!"

Little Toomai went off without saying a word, but he told Kala

Nag all his grievances while he was examining his feet. "No

matter," said Little Toomai, turning up the fringe of Kala Nag's

huge right ear. "They have said my name to Petersen Sahib, and

perhaps—and perhaps—and perhaps—who knows? Hai! That is

a big thorn that I have pulled out!"

The next few days were spent in getting the elephants

together, in walking the newly caught wild elephants up and

down between a couple of tame ones to prevent them giving too

much trouble on the downward march to the plains, and in taking stock of the blankets and ropes and things that had been

worn out or lost in the forest.

Petersen Sahib came in on his clever she-elephant Pudmini; he

had been paying off other camps among the hills, for the season

was coming to an end, and there was a native clerk sitting at a

table under a tree, to pay the drivers their wages. As each man

was paid he went back to his elephant, and joined the line that

stood ready to start. The catchers, and hunters, and beaters, the

men of the regular Keddah, who stayed in the jungle year in and

year out, sat on the backs of the elephants that belonged to

Petersen Sahib's permanent force, or leaned against the trees

with their guns across their arms, and made fun of the drivers

who were going away, and laughed when the newly caught

elephants broke the line and ran about.

Big Toomai went up to the clerk with Little Toomai behind

him, and Machua Appa, the head tracker, said in an undertone

to a friend of his, "There goes one piece of good elephant stuff at

least. 'Tis a pity to send that young jungle-cock to molt in the

plains."

Now Petersen Sahib had ears all over him, as a man must have

who listens to the most silent of all living things—the wild

elephant. He turned where he was lying all along on Pudmini's

back and said, "What is that? I did not know of a man among

the plains-drivers who had wit enough to rope even a dead

elephant."

"This is not a man, but a boy. He went into the Keddah at the

last drive, and threw Barmao there the rope, when we were

trying to get that young calf with the blotch on his shoulder

away from his mother."

Machua Appa pointed at Little Toomai, and Petersen Sahib

looked, and Little Toomai bowed to the earth.

"He throw a rope? He is smaller than a picket-pin. Little one,

what is thy name?" said Petersen Sahib. Little Toomai was too frightened to speak, but Kala Nag was

behind him, and Toomai made a sign with his hand, and the

elephant caught him up in his trunk and held him level with

Pudmini's forehead, in front of the great Petersen Sahib. Then

Little Toomai covered his face with his hands, for he was only a

child, and except where elephants were concerned, he was just

as bashful as a child could be.

"Oho!" said Petersen Sahib, smiling underneath his mustache,

"and why didst thou teach thy elephant that trick? Was it to help

thee steal green corn from the roofs of the houses when the ears

are put out to dry?"

"Not green corn, Protector of the Poor,—melons," said Little

Toomai, and all the men sitting about broke into a roar of

laughter. Most of them had taught their elephants that trick

when they were boys. Little Toomai was hanging eight feet up in

the air, and he wished very much that he were eight feet

underground.

"He is Toomai, my son, Sahib," said Big Toomai, scowling. "He

is a very bad boy, and he will end in a jail, Sahib."

"Of that I have my doubts," said Petersen Sahib. "A boy who

can face a full Keddah at his age does not end in jails. See, little

one, here are four annas to spend in sweetmeats because thou

hast a little head under that great thatch of hair. In time thou

mayest become a hunter too." Big Toomai scowled more than

ever. "Remember, though, that Keddahs are not good for

children to play in," Petersen Sahib went on.

"Must I never go there, Sahib?" asked Little Toomai with a big

gasp.

"Yes." Petersen Sahib smiled again. "When thou hast seen the

elephants dance. That is the proper time. Come to me when thou

hast seen the elephants dance, and then I will let thee go into all

the Keddahs."

There was another roar of laughter, for that is an old joke

among elephant-catchers, and it means just never. There are great cleared flat places hidden away in the forests that are

called elephants' ball-rooms, but even these are only found by

accident, and no man has ever seen the elephants dance. When a

driver boasts of his skill and bravery the other drivers say, "And

when didst thou see the elephants dance?"

Kala Nag put Little Toomai down, and he bowed to the earth

again and went away with his father, and gave the silver four-

anna piece to his mother, who was nursing his baby brother, and

they all were put up on Kala Nag's back, and the line of

grunting, squealing elephants rolled down the hill path to the

plains. It was a very lively march on account of the new

elephants, who gave trouble at every ford, and needed coaxing

or beating every other minute.

Big Toomai prodded Kala Nag spitefully, for he was very

angry, but Little Toomai was too happy to speak. Petersen Sahib

had noticed him, and given him money, so he felt as a private

soldier would feel if he had been called out of the ranks and

praised by his commander-in-chief.

"What did Petersen Sahib mean by the elephant dance?" he

said, at last, softly to his mother.

Big Toomai heard him and grunted. "That thou shouldst never

be one of these hill buffaloes of trackers. That was what he

meant. Oh, you in front, what is blocking the way?"

An Assamese driver, two or three elephants ahead, turned

round angrily, crying: "Bring up Kala Nag, and knock this

youngster of mine into good behavior. Why should Petersen

Sahib have chosen me to go down with you donkeys of the rice

fields? Lay your beast alongside, Toomai, and let him prod with

his tusks. By all the Gods of the Hills, these new elephants are

possessed, or else they can smell their companions in the

jungle." Kala Nag hit the new elephant in the ribs and knocked

the wind out of him, as Big Toomai said, "We have swept the

hills of wild elephants at the last catch. It is only your

carelessness in driving. Must I keep order along the whole line?"...