The death of Jumbo by bein’ run over by a locomotive strikin’ly resembles the death of the big elephant Hercules out in the Western country years ago. Hercules met his fate near the little town of Forest in Mississippi. He got on the rampage and ran into a freight train comin’ round a curve, got one of his tusks broken and died, like Jumbo, in a few moments and in great agony. As in Jumbo’s case, the locomotive engine was hurled from the track. As in Jumbo’s case also great difficulty was experienced in removin’ the dead body from the railroad track, and, after tryin’ various expedients, the circus people and the crowd had to join together in a “pull,” as in the case of Jumbo. In fact the parallel between the deaths of Jumbo and Hercules was wonderfully close, except that in poor Jumbo’s case he was not to blame, whereas Hercules brought his fate on him by his own fault.
After all, Jumbo was lucky in dyin’ comparatively suddenly and peacefully, instead of bein’ executed or killed on purpose, as many big elephants have been. Tippoo Saib, one of Jumbo’s most famous predecessors, ran amok and was riddled with bullets, and Canada, another enormous brute, was shot after a desperate fight. Canada, unlike Jumbo, was vicious, and got to be a regular man-killer, and, unlike most elephants, he didn’t keep faith, even after he had “squealed.”
It is one of the characteristics of the elephant that when one he has once “squealed” or “cried out” under punishment he considers himself under a cast-iron pledge of good behavior, so that the trouble is over for a time, at least. But Canada proved an exception to this rule. He got on the rampage one day and was punished severely till he “squealed” or trumpeted for mercy. Then they “let up” on him. But the moment they did so he got on the rampage again worse than before. After that there was no help for it, and the treacherous devil had to be killed. But what a time they had killin’ him. It took ‘em three whole days and nights to kill him, durin’ which period the mad yet cunnin’ brute neither ate nor drank. Finally, they hit him with two bullets close to the ear, and then he dropped on his fore knees; but he wasn’t dead yet–far from it, and it was over an hour before anybody was bold enough to approach him. After that period two men got close to him with axes and hamstrung him. Then he tumbled over on his side, nearly dead, but not quite. The big black devil (who had killed five or six men and any number of animals) had still life enough in his huge carcass to show fight. But it couldn’t last long, and somebody, at short range, put another bullet near his ear and finished him.
Sultan was a third big elephant (under the care of the famous keeper Long John) who got mad and had to be shot. In fact, an old circus menagerie man tells me that about one out of every three big elephants exhibited have at last to be executed.
It was thought at one time that Jumbo himself would have to be shot to prevent him from goin’ mad and doin’ mischief. But they thought better of it, because he thought better of it, and his death, though tragic, was at least respectable, if that was any comfort.
From late accounts it appears that Jumbo did more than die respectable; he died heroic, sacrificin’ himself to save his elephantine “chum” and pet, Tom Thumb. Elephants, resemblin’ human bein’s in many other points, have, likewise, sometimes resemble ‘em in the noble attribute of self-sacrifice. They have risked ‘emselves for those they loved (not merely their own offspring–followin’ the parental instinct which is common to all animals), but those not connected with ‘em by ties of nature or blood.
An old cow elephant, Empress, at that time the oldest elephant in America, comparatively feeble, was confined in O’Brien’s buildin’ near Frankford, Pa. Near her were four small elephants, no wise related to her, but of whom she was very fond–one of ‘em, the smallest of the lot, bein’ her especial pet. In the same buildin’ was penned up a huge rhinoceros–a double horned devil–very fierce. The rhinoceros escaped from his pen and raised Cain, as he was well able to do.
As soon as he found himself free he went for the elephants. Between the elephant and the rhinoceros there is about the same antipathy as exists between the Cubans and the Spaniards, or the Irish and the English, or an out and out Democrat and a civil service Mugwump.
The rhinoceros, with his terrible snout extended in the air, dashed along the four smaller elephants and carry destruction into the quartette. Old Empress herself was comparatively safe just then, but the moment she saw the rhinoceros among her pets, she bellowed fearfully, not with fear, but rage, and tried to break loose, not to run away from the rhinoceros, but to run to him to prevent protect her pets. Meanwhile the big black devil with the two horns had tossed one little elephant up into the air as if he had been indeed a “baby,” had trampled and mangled another, had killed a third, and finally made a dash for the fourth and smallest elephant. When old Empress saw this her love and rage could be restrained no longer, and with a wild shriek, expressive alike of alarm, anger and affection, she broke loose and dashed towards the maddened rhinoceros to defend her darlin’.
Between Empress and the rhinoceros was the cage of a royal Bengal tiger. This cage was overturned and the tiger got loose. Quick as a flash the rhinoceros rushed towards the now thoroughly frightened tiger, ripped him open, dashed him against the wall and killed him. Then after this terrible illustration of his ferocious strength, the monster turned to meet the aged Empress, now awful in her agony and wrath. For a moment–only for a moment–the old female elephant, with her short, feeble tusks, was almost a match for the rhinoceros. But soon the beast plunged under her belly and tore her; would certainly have disemboweled her, had not at that moment several men connected with the menagerie rushed in, with firearms and hatchets, and diverted the attention and rage of the rhinoceros.
Though terribly wounded herself, old Empress, when freed from the rhinoceros, did not pay any attention to her own injuries, but rushed to the side of her frightened pet “baby” elephant, and tenderly embracin’ it with her trunk, remained in this position till the rhinoceros was secured and order restored. Could any woman, any man, have done more than this for the man she, or the woman he, loved?
Other instances could be multiplied. Old Sultan, mentioned above, was once crossin’ a bridge with two little cow elephants to whom he was very much attached, Betsy and Mary. All elephants are very careful and slow in crossin’ a bridge, but this time Sultan was more careful than ever, not for himself so much as for Betsy and Mary. He would always insist on goin’ first, trumpetin’ to the the two pets to follow in his footsteps, which they obediently did. While lookin’ back to see how they were faring’, he put his own foot on a weak plank and went down. Betsy and Mary then showed they were worthy of his care by rushin’ to him, but he, forgetful of his own plight ,only thinkin’ of his brown-skinned pets, trumpeted ‘em away, beat ‘em off with his trunk, and was wild till they both had got safely off the bridge. Then he allowed measures to be taken for his own relief. Surely there is somethin’ good in elephant, as in human, nature after all. But to return to Jumbo.
Though not a trick elephant, Jumbo was yet very fond of playin’ tricks and practical jokes, and one of his pranks had serious consequences. There are two married couples in New York city today whose destinies were marked out for ‘em or marred for ‘em one night at the Madison Square Garden circus by a whim of Jumbo’s.
A young fellow, a commercial drummer, was in town for a while, preparatory to startin’ out on the road, and he invited a young lady to whom he was payin’ attentions to go with him to the circus and see Jumbo, and of course the invitation was accepted.
Now the young lady was of a pious turn of mind, a strict member of church, bitterly opposed to drinkin’, dancin’, theatres or card playin’. It is almost needless to add that the young drummer differed from the young devotee in all these points. He was neither better nor worse than other young fellows of his class, and although he sincerely loved the young lady he also loved “life.” But of course, when with the lady, he was always on his very best behavior, and as she was “a believer,” she also believed in the strict morality of her admirer.
Well, the two went to the circus and saw Jumbo. They couldn’t see too much of Jumbo, and so they saw Jumbo several times that evenin’. While standin’ near the centre of the attraction, the young man, gettin’ interested in his talk with the young lady, turned for a moment his back on the elephant and discoursed the subject under consideration with his charmer, oblivious of the surroundin’s, forgetful for the moment even of Jumbo.
But Jumbo didn’t forget the young drummer. He saw his chance for some fun, and like any two-legged practical joker, he took it.
Suddenly, in the midst of his animated talk with a lady, the drummer felt a peculiar pull at his coat pocket, and like lightnin’ he remembered what happened just then to be in that coat pocket, what at least he had brought with him in that coat pocket. He put his hand quickly to that coat pocket, but alas, that coat pocket was now empty, and a view of the rapidly recedin’ end of the elephant’s trunk told him how that pocket had been emptied.
The sly, mischievous Jumbo had, during his dialogue with his darlin’, amused himself by puttin’ his trunk in the drummer’s pocket, that stood provokin’ly near the end of his proboscis, and he had quickly but deftly deposited the contents of that coat pocket on the ground.
How the drummer cursed his carelessness in not having emptied his coat pocket before callin’ on his lady love. How could he have been so reckless? Alas, he asked this question, like many another young fellow, when too late, for there on the floor of the amphitheater were the contents of that coat pocket. Such contents! A pocket-pistol, well loaded [i.e. a flask full of liquor], and worst of all, a photo–a colored photo–of a little ballet girl whom he had got mashed on lately, and which she had given him, with her name written on it in her own hand, in exchange for a wine supper the night before.
How the young lady looked at the young man, and how the young man looked at the elephant, and how Jumbo looked at ‘em both as if he was really enjoying the situation. In vain did the drummer pretend to be unconscious of his loss, in vain did he even nudge a man beside him, and pointin’ to the flask and photo, say to him, as a matter of factly as possible, “Sir, you have dropped these, I believe.” It wouldn’t work. The drummer had been revealed in his true character before the lady by the elephant, and the engagement tacitly existin’ between the two bipeds was broken off then and there forever by the quadruped.
Since then the young lady has married somebody else, and the drummer has married somebody else, and when they read of Jumbo’s death they will doubtless think of the effect upon their fortunes that jumbo had when alive.
It was the first and only “engagement” I ever heard that of that was broken by an elephant.
[Editor’s notes: Fortunately, in many parts of the world, trained wild animal acts as entertainments have gradually disappeared; the attitudes seen in this column from 1885 demonstrate why.
Much of the content of the above column comes from an 1880 interview in the New York Sun with Frank Melville, a famous circus equestrian (before Jumbo’s arrival in the U.S.). Melville came from a long line of circus folk, so his anecdotes are likely true. However, the opening paragraphs concerning the elephant “Hercules” and the accident in Forest, Mississippi, was a hoax. It first appeared in a local Brandon, Mississippi paper in March, 1869, and a few real local resident names were used. Then it was reprinted in other newspapers around the country, and was referenced in books, like 1870’s Before the Footlights and Behind the Scenes by Olive Logan.]
