In another place, after detailing the manner in which he assailed a poor animal—­he says, “I was loading and firing as fast as could be, sometimes at the head, sometimes behind the shoulder, until my elephant’s fore-quarter was a mass of gore; notwithstanding which he continued to hold on, leaving the grass and branches of the forest scarlet in his wake. * * * Having fired thirty-five rounds with my two-grooved rifle, I opened upon him with the Dutch six-pounder, and when forty bullets had perforated his hide, he began for the first time, to evince signs of a dilapidated constitution.”  The disgusting description is closed thus:  “Throughout the charge he repeatedly cooled his person with large quantities of water, which he ejected from his trunk over his sides and back, and just as the pangs of death came over him, he stood trembling violently beside a thorn tree, and kept pouring water into his bloody mouth until he died, when he pitched heavily forward with the whole weight of his fore-quarters resting on the points of his tusks.  The strain was fair, and the tusks did not yield; but the portion of his head in which the tusks were embedded, extending a long way above the eye, yielded and burst with a muffled crash.”—­(Ib., vol. ii. pp. 4, 5.)]

The shooting of elephants in Ceylon has been described with tiresome iteration in the successive journals of sporting gentlemen, but one who turns to their pages for traits of the animal and his instincts is disappointed to find little beyond graphic sketches of the daring and exploits of his pursuers, most of whom, having had no further opportunity of observation than is derived from a casual encounter with the outraged animal, have apparently tried to exalt their own prowess, by misrepresenting the ordinary character of the elephant, describing him as “savage, wary, and revengeful."[1]

These epithets may undoubtedly apply to the outcasts from the herd, the “Rogues” or hora allia, but so small is the proportion of these that there is not probably one rogue to be found for every five hundred of those in herds; and it is a manifest error, arising from imperfect information, to extend this censure to them generally, or to suppose the elephant to be an animal “thirsting for blood, lying in wait in the jungle to rush on the unwary passer-by, and knowing no greater pleasure than the act of crushing his victim to a shapeless mass beneath his feet."[2] The cruelties practised by the hunters have no doubt taught these sagacious creatures to be cautious and alert, but their precautions are simply defensive; and beyond the alarm and apprehension which they evince on the approach of man, they exhibit no indication of hostility or thirst for blood.

[Footnote 1:  The Rifle and the Hound in Ceylon; by S.W.  BAKER, Esq., pp. 8, 9.  “Next to a rogue,” says Mr. BAKER, “in ferocity, and even more persevering in the pursuit of her victim, is a female elephant.”  But he appends the significant qualification, “when her young one has been killed.”—­Ibid., p. 13.]