Then the enormous gathering broke up and began to move.  The oldest elephants led; and the line commenced to defile by Badshah, who stood as if passing them in review.  As the first approached it lifted its trunk, and to Dermot’s astonishment gently touched him on the leg with it.  Then it passed on and the next animal took its place and in its turn touched the man.  The succeeding ones did the same; and thus all the elephants defiled by their domesticated companion and touched or smelt Dermot as they went by.

Throughout the whole proceeding Badshah remained motionless, and his rider began to believe that he had ordered his wild kindred to make themselves acquainted with his human friend.  It seemed a ridiculous idea, but the whole proceeding was so wildly improbable that the soldier felt that nothing could surprise him further.

As the elephants passed him he noticed on the legs of a few of them marks which were evidently old scars of chain or rope-galls.  And the forehead of one or two showed traces of having been daubed with tar, while on the trunk of one very large tusker was an almost obliterated ornamental design in white paint, and his tusks were tipped with brass.  So it was apparent that Badshah was not the only animal present that had escaped from captivity.  The big tusker had probably belonged to the peelkhana of some rajah, judging by the pattern of the painted design.

Slowly the seemingly endless line of great animals went by.  Hours elapsed before the last elephant had passed; and Dermot, cramped by sitting still on Badshah’s neck, was worn out with heat and fatigue long before the slow procession ended.

When at last the almost interminable line had gone by, Badshah moved off at a rapid pace and passed the slow-plodding animals until he had overtaken the leaders.  Dermot found that the herd was heading for the mountains and the oldest beasts were still in front.  This surprised him, as it was altogether contrary to the custom of wild elephants.  For usually on a march the cows with calves lead the way.  This is logical and reasonable; because if an unencumbered tusker headed the line and set the pace, he would go too fast and too far for the little legs of the babies in the rear.  They would fall behind; and, as their mothers would stay with them, the herd would soon be broken up.

But as Badshah reached the head of the file and, taking the lead, set a very slow pace, Dermot quickly understood why the old elephants were allowed to remain in front.  For all of them were exceedingly feeble, and some seemed at death’s door from age and disease.  He would not have been surprised at any of them falling down at any moment and expiring on the spot.

Then he remembered the curious but well-known fact that no man, white or coloured, has ever yet found the body of a wild elephant that has died in the jungle from natural causes.  Though few corners of Indian or Ceylon forests remain unexplored, no carcases or skeletons of these animals have ever been discovered.  And yet, although in a wild state they reach the age of a hundred and fifty years, elephants must die at last.