The Greatest Hunt in the World 



68 5 



side and creek-country people paddle their 

 small boats and dug-out canoes to the 

 arm of the Meinam, on which the King's 

 kraal lies, until dead and buried Ayuthia 

 by the waters comes to itself again, and 

 its canals and creeks and water boule- 

 vards are as crowded as in the centuries 

 when it was a great capital of Asia. 



When the hunters have urged the slow- 

 moving game out from the jungle to the 

 river bank, the sight is worth all Siam's 

 efforts to see. Hundreds of boats hem 

 the herd, at a safe distance, and while the 

 hundreds of elephants splash and roll in 

 the stream, the buzz and shouts of the 

 thousands of people set the elephants' 

 nerves on edge, cause them to trumpet 

 and spout water over their gaunt compan- 

 ions more fiercely than playfully. There 

 is contrast enough between the wild 

 and the tame elephants, standing plump, 

 benign, and imperturbable on guard be- 

 hind them, waving their trunks easily, 

 flapping an ear now and then. It is for 

 these sleek guardians to lead and steer 

 their jungle cousins across the meadow 

 and into the converging approaches to 

 the kraal. This square enclosure has 

 solid walls six feet thick, with an inner 

 stockade of teak logs twelve feet high, 

 banded together with iron, and set so 

 closely together that there is barely space 

 between for the slimmest Siamese to 

 squeeze through if pursued. 



The grand stand, with its royal loge, 

 from which the King and his guests view 

 the scene, is built over the north wall of 

 the kraal ; but, as this position of honor 

 and fixed Asiatic convention is a bad one 

 for photographers, the King, who is an 

 enthusiast over the camera, has had a 

 special pavilion constructed at one side, 

 where he maneuvers his instruments, 

 large and small, with the greatest spirit. 

 Nearly every one carries a camera to the 

 elephant hunt, but none snap at royalty, 

 except by request, in so highly civilized 

 a country as Siam. At this last hunt, the 

 King photographed many of the diplo- 

 matic house-boats as he sped down the 

 watery reaches, and was delighted when 

 he caught one favorite envoy unawares. 



"Now you snap me !" cried the King, in 

 amend, and had his boatmen swing his 

 brass-trimmed, teak house-boat around 

 and stop it at the right angle and distance. 



As the wild elephants crowd up and 

 into the narrow chute leading to the 

 kraal, trumpeting and shuffling nervously 

 in their fright, the scramble and crush 

 is terrific. After the huge logs have 

 closed the wicket or portcullis, the tame 

 elephants go round as an ambulance 

 corps, assisting bruised and injured ele- 

 phants to move and rise to their feet and 

 turning the dead ones over out of the 

 way. At every hunt several beasts have 

 their ribs broken and the life crushed out 

 of them in this crush at the gates ; for 

 when two frantic elephants try to go 

 through at once, neither one yields or 

 draws back, and the strongest and largest 

 one survives. 



After this actual theater panic mildly 

 subsides and the kraal is filled with the 

 wild jungle folk, who trumpet and scream 

 unceasingly, the "elephant doctors" move 

 about on their trained tuskers and note 

 the desirable catches. The chosen ones 

 are lassoed by the foot and made fast to 

 stakes, and their trumpeting and frantic 

 efforts to break loose furnish all the ex- 

 citement the spectators desire. A few 

 are chosen for the royal stables, but the 

 rest go the practical, commercial way — 

 to the survey camps and the teak forests. 



There is great contrast between the 

 sleek, fat, well-fed and well-groomed 

 tame elephants, with their quiet dignity, 

 their benign and easy maneuvers, and 

 the sorry-looking jungle folk — gaunt, 

 weather-worn elephants, with visible ribs 

 and patches of fungus growth — but a few 

 weeks of care and food, a few scrub- 

 bings and oilings, transform them, and 

 they soon acquire the urban manner and 

 composure. 



Every Siamese is a connoisseur and 

 critic of elephants, and judges unerringly 

 from the wild herd. First, the creature 

 should have a good skin, unscarred, of 

 uniform wrinklings or texture, and as 

 light in color as possible. His toes 

 should have black nails and his tail must 



