Elephant Bill

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Text originally published in 1950 under the same title.

© Pickle Partners Publishing 2016, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

ELEPHANT BILL

BY

LT.-COL. J. H. WILLIAMS, O.B.E.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

DEDICATION 4

ILLUSTRATIONS 5

PART ONE 6

Chapter 1 8

Chapter 2 15

Chapter 3 24

Chapter 4 33

Chapter 5 38

Chapter 6 46

Chapter 7 54

Chapter 8 66

Chapter 9 79

Chapter 10 97

Chapter 11 106

PART TWO 117

Chapter 12 117

Chapter 13 123

Chapter 14 133

Chapter 15 141

Chapter 16 153

Chapter 17 164

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 172

DEDICATION

A GOOD-BYE TO THE ELEPHANTS AND THEIR RIDERS, AND TO THE UPCOUNTRY STAFF OF TIMBER ASSISTANTS IN BURMA.

ALSO AS AN APPRECIATION OF TWO SAPPERS, BILL HASTED AND TICH STEADMAN OF THE XIVTH ARMY, WHO DID EVERYTHING POSSIBLE TO HELP THE ELEPHANTS IN WAR

ILLUSTRATIONS

Apart from a few of my own, the photographs in this book were taken by Muir Wright, Fish Herring, John Booth, and the late Peter Bankes, to whom I am most grateful.

J.H.W.

The author with Molly Mia

A forest assistant watching his elephant transport crossing a river

An elephant inspection

Homeward bound after the day’s work

Elephants being scrubbed with dohnwai creeper

Teak rafts on the main Irrawaddy River

Embarkation of elephants

A typical oozie

A tusker, showing his teak bell

A female elephant of over fifty, with her calf

An untrained calf making friends with his mother’s oozie

A young tusker of eighteen years

The koonkie leading a string of his pupils

A bunch of calves in a training camp

Probing an old tiger wound

Syringing a sinus

The author about to operate on a dangerous tusker

A tusker in a crush before an operation

A tusker easing a log away from the stump

The last pull

Hauling a log up a steep slope with block and tackle

Pulling his weight

Bath time

Jungle transport

Loading tamarind fruit

A dangerous tusker who has killed several oozies

An old gentleman of fifty-seven

Cooling off after the day’s work

Two female calves, stealing salt

The first elephant bridge for the XIVth Army

Travelling elephants about to cross the Yu River

Two pushing and one pulling

A determined tusker rolling a very heavy log

A young male calf and his mother

Elephants being saddled before work

Sawing off the tips of the tusks

Three elephants in tandem dragging heavy logs

Easing logs out of sand

Inseparable

The C is the brand of the Bombay Burma Corporation

PART ONE

The author with Molly Mia, one of his nineteen dogs

A forest assistant watching his elephant transport crossing a river

Chapter 1

I HAVE always got on well with animals. I like them and, with one or two notable exceptions, they always seem to have liked me. When I was a boy in Cornwall my first animal friend was a donkey. He had free range over the moors but I always knew where to find him. During the World War of 1914-18, I was in the Camel Corps; and, later on, transport officer in charge of a lot of mules. These experiences taught me much. Both camels and mules are temperamental beasts, and mules have also a remarkable sense of humour—in dealing with them one gets plenty of exercise for one’s own. That was valuable. My life has been spent in places east of Suez, and if you lose your sense of humour there you had better take the first boat home.

And in one respect camels were a preparation for elephants, since the male camel, like the male elephant, is subject to coming into season, or going on musth. In all other animals it is only the female which comes into season.

Like millions of other fellows, when the war was over I began to think about finding myself a job. A friend told me that he knew a man who knew someone else who knew a chap who did something or other with elephants in Burma. This sounded to me as though it would be just what I wanted, particularly since I had read in the Camel Corps a small book called The Diseases of the Camel and the Elephant by Hawkes. I took for granted that such a job would mean living in the jungle, shooting, riding ponies, and putting up with a good deal of loneliness, though no doubt I should meet a fine crowd when I went on leave.

We looked up Burma in an atlas and that night both of us wrote letters. My friend wrote to the fellow he knew, introducing me as a suitable candidate for elephant management, and I wrote direct to the head of the Bombay Burma Trading Corporation—the company concerned.

It was 1920 before I got back to England, but my letter led to an interview and before the year was out I was in Burma.

My first vivid memories of Burma are not of the pagodas and rice fields and all I had read about, but of my first jungle salt, Willie, the man under whom I began my training. It is said that you can take a man out of the jungle, but if he is born to it you cannot take the jungle out of a man. No man I ever met was a better example of the truth of this saying, or believed it more than he did.

I met him at his camp on the banks of the Upper Chindwin River, Upper Burma. He was, in his own words, down with fever, but he was sitting at a table outside his tent at midday, drinking a whisky and soda and smoking a Burma cheroot with as much loving care as if it had been a very fine Havana.

His welcome, if welcome it could be called, was icy, and I immediately guessed that he jealously resented anyone’s sharing his jungle life. I hoped that I should be able to break down that attitude and that then all would be well.

Although it is nearly thirty years ago, the following incidents seem to have happened yesterday. About four o’clock in the afternoon I asked for a cup of tea—and was laughed at for not drinking whisky and soda. I vowed, privately, that I would see him under the table later on. About five o’clock seven elephants arrived in camp and were paraded in fine as though for inspection. Willie did not speak one word to me as he got up from his camp chair and walked off to inspect them. However, I followed him, uninvited. Judging by appearances, there was one worn-out animal which looked as though it might be the mother of the other six. Each animal was closely inspected in turn and Willie entered some remark about each one of them in a book. This took up about half an hour during which he did not address a single word to me. I was careful not to ask any questions as I saw that I should only be called a damned fool for my pains. However, when the inspection was over Willie turned on me, saying: Those four on the right are yours and God help you if you can’t look after them.

For all I knew, I was supposed to take them to bed with me. But I saw no more of them till the next evening, when Willie told me to inspect my own four myself and to see that their gear was on their backs comfortably—as though I could tell! However, I followed a lifelong rule when in doubt—I trusted to luck.

After the inspection that first night, as my tent had been pitched near his, I joined Willie at his camp table. On it were two bottles of Black Label—one of his and one of mine.

After half an hour or so Willie thawed sufficiently to ask me: Are you safe with a shotgun?—not Do you shoot? as is more usual.

Silence reigned after my answer. Willie emptied and refilled his glass several times. At last he suddenly opened up and, passing his bottle to me, remarked, I drink a bottle a night and it does me no harm. If I never teach you anything else, I can tell you this: there are two vices in this country. Woman is one and the other the bottle. Choose which you like, but you must not mix them. Anything to do with the jungle, elephants, and your work you can only learn by experience. No one but a Burman can teach you and you’ll draw your pay for ten years before you earn it. Tomorrow I’ll give you some maps and the day after you must push off for three months on your own. You can do what you damned well like—including suicide if you’re lonely—but I won’t have you back here until you can speak some Burmese.

After this speech he walked off to his bed without even saying good night. Unfortunately the following day he heard me address a few words of Urdu, that I had picked up in India, to my Burmese cook. Willie just sacked him on the spot as being a hindrance to my learning Burmese.

At dinner that night he gave me some fiery chili sauce of his own brew. The bottle had a sprinkler top and I gave it two shakes as though it were ordinary tabasco sauce. When I had swallowed a few mouthfuls of my soup he asked me if I were homesick. His chili sauce burned a hole in the roof of my mouth, but I finished the soup and then, wiping the tears out of my eyes, replied, No. But I’d like to start off on my jungle trip tomorrow.

That remark got inside his guard. For the time being his hostility collapsed and he kept me another two days in camp.

Going to bed that night, he was staggery, and when he got up from table he corked his empty whisky bottle and turned it upside down, saying, "By dawn it will have drained its last pau peg into the neck. It’ll do to lace my early morning cup of tea."

He ignored my good night as he staggered off. The new recruit was not to be allowed to forget that he had disturbed the peace of jungle life.

I greeted him with Good morning at 6 A.M. next day. He looked at me and replied: Good Lord! You still here?

He had become just like the jungle, as hard and unyielding and unfriendly as a tree seems when one is lonely. But a few years later he had become a great friend of mine. He accepted me slowly as the trees and forests did.

After four and a half years’ service in the Army, I believed that I was past the age of adventure, but leaving on my first jungle trip certainly gave me a thrill. With four elephants carrying my kit, a cook, two bearers, and two messengers, I was on my own again. After going nine miles it dawned on me that my life in charge of elephants had begun.

I started that trip in November when every day was like a perfect English summer’s day. Every evening a log fire beside my tent gave me the companionship of its warmth and the homeliness of its glowing embers. I moved camp for the first four days so as to put sufficient distance between myself and Willie for me to feel reasonably sure that he would not pay me an unexpected visit—then I stayed in camp for a day to sort out my possessions.

In England, before leaving, I had been well equipped, with a new shotgun and a new 450/400 high-velocity rifle, and the Bombay Burma Corporation had issued me excellent camp equipment. Among the treasures and curios it contained was a teak office box filled with books, circulars and papers for my information. The most interesting of them was a small textbook on elephant management by Hepburn, a young veterinary surgeon who had spent a few years as an assistant with the firm but who unfortunately had died of enteric. The book contained neither a photograph nor a diagram of an elephant, being concerned solely with a brief account of the treatment of various accidents and diseases to which elephants are liable. My first impression was that they were likely to get every possible complaint to which man, woman, or child is subject except whooping cough.

The book was, however, a gold mine and all too soon I had to put it into use. For before I arrived at my destination the ancient female elephant known as Ma Oh (Old Lady) was discovered dead an hour before I was due to move camp. Willie had, I now know, somewhat unscrupulously palmed her off on me, and his terrible words: God help you if you can’t look after them, now rang in my ears. Seeing her enormous carcass lying in the jungle, just as she had died in her sleep, was a terrible sight and it was awful that she had died within a few days of my being made responsible for her. How on earth, I wondered, should I get out of this mess? This was the nadir of my misfortunes. Willie’s reception of me, the dead elephant, and the threat ringing in my ears combined to fill my cup with bitterness. At the worst, I thought, I can only lose my job. I’m damned if I’ll buy them a new one! It was a bad business but as I had no one to help me out I must help myself, and I decided that the best thing I could do was to hold a post-mortem and see what I could find inside to account for her death.

Tragedy soon turned into farce. The Old Lady was scarcely cold before I was literally inside her, with her arching ribs sheltering me from the sun. I learned a good deal about elephant construction from her. Spare parts galore had been hauled out and arranged neatly in a row before teatime. Her carcass proved to be a cave full of strange treasures such as the heart, the gizzard, and the lungs. The only snag was that, do what I would, I could not find any kidneys, and I was almost tempted to conclude that she must have died for lack of them. But when I came to write out a report that evening I decided that no kidneys might not be an acceptable cause of death, so in desperation I left it at found dead and did not even mention my Jonah’s journey. Later on I found out that many strange explanations of the deaths of elephants were made by assistants and that most of them were taken with a grain of salt. The unwritten law of the Bombay Burma Company was that some cause of death had to be given if the deceased animal was under fifty-five years of age. Over that age the explanation of old age and general debility was accepted. If one is lucky one may get away with the explanation, struck by lightning, once in one’s career of twenty years—but one cannot try it twice. The assistant who described an elephant as dying of broken heart did not get away with it, though he may have thought he had good reason if he examined the heart and found it looked as though it had been split in two, with two apexes instead of one as in man and the lesser mammals. This formation of the heart is a peculiarity not only of the elephant but of some of the other large mammals as well.

The loss of one transport elephant seemed to make no difference with the type of pack being used. Ma Oh’s load was easily divided among the remaining three animals and on I went. My instructions were to march to a certain village in the Myittha Valley, where I was to meet a head Burman named U Tha Yauk. I shall never forget his welcome. I was on foot with my messengers and the two bearers, and we had outdistanced the elephants by several miles by taking a short cut up the bed of the creek. U Tha Yauk came some distance out of the village to meet me and was squatting on a rock beside the creek up which we were travelling. I think that he formed his first impressions of me before I had even seen him. He heard me laugh with the Burmans before he saw me and he watched me bounding from rock to rock with eagerness before I had seen him. Then he saw my quick reaction when I saw him and noticed the tone of friendly authority in my greeting. I think these little things may have counted in my favour.

I greeted him with my three words of Burmese and laughed because I could say no more, and he laughed back and then we marched on in single file until we came into a big open clearing around which there were about ten bamboo huts all standing on bamboo stilts and thatched with grass. A Burmese girl dressed in her best, with a pretty little white coat and a flower in her hair, came forward with a cane basketwork stool for me to sit on. Three men came up with green coconuts and, cutting them open at one end, poured the juice into a cup of hand-beaten copper and gave it to me with the reverent gestures of priests administering the sacrament. I drank off at least six cups of the cooling drink before I realized that a dozen people had gathered round to stare and gaze at me.

An elephant inspection

Homeward bound after the day’s work

Unfortunately I attracted quite as much attention from all the biting bugs and flies as from the Burmans. But at once a small boy came forward and offered me a fan to keep them off. In order to interest him and make some return, I first showed him a handkerchief on which there was a design of a fox, with hounds and a huntsman, and then tied it round his head. The watching crowd laughed with delight. I was relieved when U Tha Yauk and his son-in-law, who could speak a few words of English, reappeared and explained that the elephants would soon arrive, but that as it was already late in the afternoon it would be better if I were to sleep in the hut reserved for my occupation during the monsoon rains.

Directly the elephants turned up, the crowd moved off to help unload them. My cook was at once installed in his hut; in a few minutes a chicken had been killed and plucked, a fire lit, cauldrons filled with water. My kit was soon piled up in one corner of the big room, twenty-four feet by sixteen, which was divided by a bamboo-matting wall into my bedroom on one side and my living room on the other.

In a quarter of an hour the room was furnished—with a ground sheet covered with bright blue cotton dhurries on the floor, my camp bed, camp tables, and camp chairs—my bedding roll was undone and the mosquito net put in position. Meanwhile other Burmans were filling my tub in a bathroom in the rear of the hut with tins of water from the brook. After dismissing the other helpers, my personal servant unlocked my basket packs and took out photographs to arrange on my dressing table and put my revolver carefully under my pillow. Then when all was ready he asked me to come in. As soon as I had looked round and sat down he took off my puttees and boots and then disappeared. When I had undressed and gone to the bathroom, a Burmese boy poured two buckets of hot water into my tub and swirled it around, giving me a smile, as though to say:

Bath ready, sir.

I bathed and by the time I got back to my hut I found the table was laid with a spotless white cloth, and that flannel trousers, socks, and white shirt were spread out on my bed, but that my perfect valet had once more vanished.