The Elephant Keeper. Christopher Nicholson

a state of great excitement. Neither of the Elephants was in the least disturbed by the commotion; but one black mare, upon seeing the Elephants, was so unnerved that it shied and threw its rider, a heavily built gentleman by the name of Dr. Chisholm. Dr. Chisholm lived in Gillerton; he was well known both for his love of food and for his fiery temper. His foot now being caught in the stirrup, he was dragged some way through the mire before the horse came to a halt. Picking himself up, he turned on me in a fury, what the d-v-l did I mean parading my d—ned Elephants here, getting in the way of the chase, etc.—I respectfully replied that I was sorry, I had not known that the chase would be coming this way, to which Dr. Chisholm retorted that in that case I must be deaf. He remounted and galloped off.

      I was a good deal troubled by this matter, and feared that Dr. Chisholm would complain to Mr. Harrington. I heard no more of it. However, before long, I had occasion to remember the incident and to wonder about its consequences.

      The whole of January 1768 was exceedingly cold, with a bitter north wind, and heavy falls of snow. Every morning, as my father and I walked from Thornhill to the Hall, we came upon the bodies of thrushes and blackbirds frozen stiff, and every evening the sun, sinking through a trench of violet, seemed the colour of blood. Several of the horses having fallen ill with a contagious distemper, I became afraid for the safety of the Elephants who, without the protection of a coat of hair, or fur, were exposed to the full rigour of the cold; and though I kept them in the cart-house, and wrapped them in horse-blankets, they were listless and miserable. I could understand the depression of their spirits, for they were used to the heat of the Indies. When the cold deepened, a fine powdery snow blowing through the edges of the door, I lit two small stoves, though it worried me perpetually that the Elephants might accidentally knock a stove over, and set fire to the straw. For this reason I stayed with them all night, rising from my bed to stoke the fires, or to give the embers a puff with the bellows.

      My father confidently expected the weather to change with the new moon, which fell I think sometime after the middle of the month, and indeed there began a thaw shortly afterward; however, soon the cold returned harder than ever, with the same piercing wind. Mr. Harrington had not gone to Bristol, for Mrs. Harrington was about to give birth; and I remember that, to test the depth of the cold, he carried out an experiment, placing three glasses of different liquids in the open air: the glass of water froze in six minutes, hard enough to bear a five shilling piece upon it; the glass of port wine froze in two hours, and the glass of brandy in six hours. By now this persistent weather was becoming a serious matter for farmers, even worse than the summer’s drought. Mr. Harrington’s barns were well provisioned with hay, but many farmers had little or no hay left and could not afford to buy more, prices being so high; moreover, in the fields the turnips had frozen to solid blocks, which left the sheep without food. People prayed for milder weather, however when the thaw came, in the middle of February, the turnips had rotted in the ground and were pulpy and worthless, and many sheep died of starvation.

      Before this thaw both Elephants did fall ill, as I had feared. The first to sicken was Timothy, whom I found with his head hanging and eyes closed, and when I offered him a carrot he declined. Soon Jenny too fell ill, and when both animals lay down, I became very afraid that they had lain down to die. With my father’s help I opened their mouths, and poured cordials of milk, peppermint and honey down their throats. The horses had been bled, as a matter of course, and my father was in favour of bleeding the Elephants; a suitable vein, he believed, lay in the roots of each ear. I was reluctant to bleed, for fear that it would be impossible to stanch the flow; however, my father urging strongly, I gave way. We bled Timothy first, and hit the vein at once. The blood was dark and very rich, and we succeeded in drawing off a full three pints of blood. When we came to Jenny, the first blow missed the vein but struck with the second, and though her blood was less rich and flowed sluggishly we took two pints. I should mention here the old story that the blood of an Elephant is colder than that of any other animal, but this is entirely untrue, it is as warm as that of a horse.

      After this, there was little more that we could do. My father left, but I stayed with them. Sometimes I rested my hand against one or other of their chests to feel that their great hearts were still thundering away, and sometimes I talked to them, which, while helping them not at all, seemed to relieve my anxiety. To keep out the chill I let no one into the cart-house save for my father and Mr. Harrington, and Joshua, who made me kneel and say another prayer on their behalf.

      Soon after their recovery, my father fell ill. First, he complained of pains shooting through his legs, next, that he was hot and giddy. Since he had always enjoyed good health, I was surprized but not greatly concerned, for, as I say, I was still thinking of the Elephants. He went home and, taking to his bed, sank into a fever. This being the middle of the day, my mother became very alarmed, and began to think of fetching the doctor—the same Dr. Chisholm whom I mentioned earlier—however, before doing so, she consulted Mrs. Perry, as she did on every matter. Mrs. Perry bustled up and, looking at my father, declared that the fever was not serious, she would stake her life on it being no more than a severe cold with a touch of ague. All this I had from Jim, my brother, who was at home, for in such weather there was little to be done in the gardens. As the afternoon wore on, my father continued to decline, and in the evening, despite Mrs. Perry’s repeated reassurances, my mother sent my brother through the snow to Gillerton, where Dr. Chisholm lived. Dr. Chisholm being at table, Jim was told to wait. More than two hours passed before Dr. Chisholm appeared—patting his mouth with a napkin—to ask what the matter was. My brother told him.—‘And what is your father’s name? Ah yes—he is the father of the Elephant keeper, is he not? Well, let us hope he is not ill with the dreaded Elephant Fever. I cannot come now, young man, but I shall come to him later.’

      My brother returning home, gave this message to my mother: ‘Dr. Chisholm is coming later.’—‘But could he not come at once?’—‘No, he is at table, but he will come later. He says that Father may have Elephant Fever.’ My mother, very frightened, cried out, ‘What is that?’ Upon which my brother told her, that it was a special disease which human beings caught from Elephants.

      Since I had stayed the night at the cart-house, I knew none of this; however, shortly before day-break, Jim appeared, and told me that I must come home at once, bringing a piece of one of Timothy’s tusks. It seems that Mrs. Perry now believed my father would only be saved if he were given a medicinal potion made of powdered tusk. This was utter folly, I did not believe a word of it; even if it were true, Timothy would not have stood idly by and allowed me to saw off his tusk. Jim then mentioned that, as he had returned through the snow from Gillerton, he had been followed by a light. I asked, what sort of light; he did not know, but it was a dancing light, like a will o’ the wisp. I said to myself, it is probably no more than the frozen crust of snow glistening in the light of the young moon; but I knew that Jim believed it to be an omen of our father’s death.

      I hurried home. My father lay in the icy bed-room, and while my mother moaned and shook, Mrs. Perry held sway, muttering spells and incantations. ‘I knew it would happen. The Elephants! The Elephants! Where is the tusk?’ When I said that I had not brought any tusk, my mother begged me to run back and fetch some, for my father’s life hung by a thread. I told her that I could not do so, that the Elephant was the property of Mr. Harrington; whereupon she cried out that I must ask Mr. Harrington. I did what I could to calm her and then attended to my father, who was burning hot, and in the absence of Dr. Chisholm, who had still not visited, I resolved to bleed him. Having fetched a knife, I laid bare his arm. ‘It will do no good!’ cried Mrs. Perry, ‘he has Elephant Fever!’ and my mother wailed that I was not a doctor, that we must wait for the doctor. ‘For how long? We cannot wait,’ I said.—‘We must wait!’—‘But if we wait—the longer we wait—we cannot wait.’

      We waited a few minutes, during which I felt my father’s pulse, which was running very fast and intermittent, and I then said that I did not think we should delay any longer, that he must be bled, and I stretched out his arm. However, my mother cried out, ‘O! I hear him! O! He is come!’ running to the window and scratching at the frost flakes; but she was mistaken. ‘O Tom you must go and fetch him!’—‘But Jim has been!’—‘Then where is he? Why has he not come? Why? O! O!’ for my poor father had given a kind of low groan, and she flung herself in agonies over the bed. ‘O! Timothy! You