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Memoirs of a White Elephant

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<h5>CHAPTER VIII</h5> <h4>BATTLE</h4> What a fearful thing is a battle! How terrible—how grand! It intoxicates, and stuns you. The music, the roar of the cannon, the firing, the shouts of the combatants; the tumult, the smoke, the dust—excite in you a strange madness, which makes you hate the creatures which you can scarcely see—whom you have never known, and who, for no other reason, are filled with the same murderous rage towards you! At first I, who had never killed anything but tigers, shuddered at the thought of shedding human blood. I hesitated—I avoided giving blows. But suddenly I saw my Master in danger; a horseman was aiming at him at close range. He had not time to fire—my armed tusks disappeared in the belly of the horse, which I lifted high up in the air, and whose bleeding carcass I tossed, with its rider, into the ranks of the enemy. From that moment it was carnage where I went. I pierced. I cut. I disembowelled all before me—making corpses of the living, and crushing to pulp the dead under my great feet, which soon were shod with blood. The Prince encouraged me by his voice, and pushed constantly forward. His gun, which a soldier behind him reloaded as fast as it was discharged, was never silent, and his aim was so sure that he never missed. The Enemy's ranks crumbled before us. And Alemguir, full of ardour urged me on and on! He desired to reach the Maharajah of Mysore, who in the centre of his army directed the battle. At last he found him, shouted defiance at him, and defied him to meet him in single combat. The Maharajah smiled scornfully and did not answer. All at once my Mahout, who, being occupied with guiding me, and less carried away by the fury of the battle, had a better opportunity of observing the situation, cried out in a voice of horror, "Back!—Back!—or you are lost!" But the Prince continued to shout "Forward!" And my Mahout could jab my ear as much as he chose—I refused to obey! "Prince! Prince! You are lost!" groaned the unhappy slave. "The army of Golconda is in retreat, and we are surrounded! It is too late to escape!" A ball struck him. With a groan he rolled off my neck, clinging an instant, deluging me with blood, then he fell. Dead. He was dead! I stopped, horrified; turning the body gently over with the tip of my trunk—he did not move; he did not breathe; it was the end. My poor Mahout had breathed his last so quickly—almost without pain. This then, was what "Fate" had in store for him! I could see him off there, at Bangok, saying so gravely to me, "Ought we to rejoice, or weep?" Alas! he was dead; he could neither weep or rejoice any more!... But around me were shouts of triumph. My Master still fought. "Take him alive!" cried the Maharajah from his elephant. "He shall die by the hand of the executioner!" I tried to rush forward but my feet were entangled in running knots which they had thrown around me, and my furious efforts only drew them tighter. All was ended. I was taken; and my Master with me. Poor Princess Saphire-of-Heaven! In her desolate Palace she was suffering a thousand times more from fear and anxiety than we from our misfortune. For her also it was Fate! I could hear her sweet voice entreating me to bring back to her her beloved husband; and behold! we were vanquished—prisoners—and the Prince, loaded with chains, was now listening to the sentence that condemned him to die a shameful death at dawn on the morrow! I was of value. I made part of the "spoils." And they had no intention of killing me. But I had been so terrible in battle that they dared not come near me. I set to thinking with all the powers of my poor, feeble mind. It seemed as if I had best pretend to submit. I began to feel the smart of my wounds, and the fatigue of the combat; and my heavy armour weighed on me painfully. I began to utter plaintive moans—as if imploring assistance from those standing about. One of them, seeing me so quiet, ventured to approach. I redoubled my moans, making them very soft. "He must be hurt," said the man. "We must look after him, and take care of him, for he is an animal of great price!" All drew near. They took off my armour, I helping them as well as I could. When it was off I sank on the ground, as if exhausted. I had received a great many wounds, but only one was of any consequence; it was near the shoulder. They brought a doctor who dressed my wounds. Meanwhile; I thought of my Master, who, perhaps, was also wounded, but who was receiving no care! I had not failed to watch him, out of the corner of my eye, without seeming to do so, while I was performing my little comedy! I saw that they had chained him to a stake, and that soldiers with arms in their hands guarded him. Grief tore my heart: and the groans that I gave were most sincere—but it was not my wounds that caused them! However, I feigned an indifference to my Master. I appeared to give no thought to anything but myself. And I took pains to be so grateful to the surgeon for his services that he was quite touched, and ordered them to take off the running knots which were murdering my legs. "This elephant is remarkably gentle," said he, "Give him some food and drink, for he seems very tired and feeble—no doubt from the blood he has lost!" He went off to attend others; and presently they brought me a good ration of forage; vegetables, and rice, and fresh water in a great vessel. I thought of Prince Alemguir, who was perhaps also suffering from thirst—and my throat grew tight!... However, we are slaves to our enormous appetite; hunger soon subdues and enfeebles us. I must eat, in order to be strong, and ready for whatever was to come. I gave myself the airs of an invalid, disinclined for food, and did not raise myself up from the ground. So, giving no more thought to me, they put a light rope on my foot and fastened it to a peg, and left me. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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