by Mark Twain
I deposited a considerable sum of money with the inspector, to meet current expenses, and sat down to wait for news. We were expecting the telegrams to begin to arrive at any moment now. Meantime I reread the newspapers and also our descriptive circular, and observed that our twenty-five thousand dollars reward seemed to be offered only to detectives. I said I thought it ought to be offered to anybody who would catch the elephant. The inspector said:
"It is the detectives who will find the elephant; hence the reward will go to the right place. If other people found the animal, it would only be by watching the detectives and taking advantage of clues and indications stolen from them, and that would entitle the detectives to the reward, after all. The proper office of a reward is to stimulate the men who deliver up their time and their trained sagacities to this sort of work, and not to confer benefits upon chance citizens who stumble upon a capture without having earned the benefits by their own merits and labors."
This was reasonable enough, certainly. Now the telegraphic machine in the corner began to click, and the following despatch was the result:
FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 7.30 A.M.
Have got a clue. Found a succession of deep tracks across a farm
near here. Followed them two miles east without result; think
elephant went west. Shall now shadow him in that direction.
DARLEY, Detective.
"Darley's one of the best men on the force," said the inspector. "We shall hear from him again before long."
Telegram No. 2 came:
BARKER'S, N. J., 7.40 A.M.
Just arrived. Glass factory broken open here during night, and
eight hundred bottles taken. Only water in large quantity near here
is five miles distant. Shall strike for there. Elephant will be
thirsty. Bottles were empty.
DARLEY, Detective.
"That promises well, too," said the inspector.
"I told you the creature's appetites would not be bad clues."
Telegram No. 3:
TAYLORVILLE, L. I. 8.15 A.M.
A haystack near here disappeared during night. Probably eaten.
Have got a clue, and am off.
HUBBARD, Detective.
"How he does move around!" said the inspector "I knew we had a difficult job on hand, but we shall catch him yet."
FLOWER STATION, N. Y., 9 A.M.
Shadowed the tracks three miles westward. Large, deep, and ragged.
Have just met a farmer who says they are not elephant-tracks. Says
they are holes where he dug up saplings for shade-trees when ground
was frozen last winter. Give me orders how to proceed.
DARLEY, Detective.
"Aha! a confederate of the thieves! The thing, grows warm," said the inspector.
He dictated the following telegram to Darley:
Arrest the man and force him to name his pals. Continue to follow
the tracks to the Pacific, if necessary.
Chief BLUNT.
Next telegram:
CONEY POINT, PA., 8.45 A.M.
Gas office broken open here during night and three month; unpaid gas
bills taken. Have got a clue and am away.
MURPHY, Detective.
"Heavens!" said the inspector; "would he eat gas bills?"
"Through ignorance—yes; but they cannot support life. At least, unassisted."
Now came this exciting telegram:
IRONVILLE, N. Y., 9.30 A.M.
Just arrived. This village in consternation. Elephant passed
through here at five this morning. Some say he went east some say
west, some north, some south—but all say they did not wait to
notice, particularly. He killed a horse; have secure a piece of it
for a clue. Killed it with his trunk; from style of blow, think he
struck it left-handed. From position in which horse lies, think
elephant traveled northward along line Berkley Railway. Has four
and a half hours' start, but I move on his track at once.
HAWES, Detective
I uttered exclamations of joy. The inspector was as self-contained as a graven image. He calmly touched his bell.
"Alaric, send Captain Burns here."
Burns appeared.
"How many men are ready for instant orders?"
"Ninety-six, sir."
"Send them north at once. Let them concentrate along the line of the Berkley road north of Ironville."
"Yes, sir."
"Let them conduct their movements with the utmost secrecy. As fast as others are at liberty, hold them for orders."
"Yes, sir."
"Go!"
"Yes, sir."
Presently came another telegram:
SAGE CORNERS, N. Y., 10.30.
Just arrived. Elephant passed through here at 8.15. All escaped
from the town but a policeman. Apparently elephant did not strike
at policeman, but at the lamp-post. Got both. I have secured a
portion of the policeman as clue.
STUMM, Detective.
"So the elephant has turned westward," said the inspector. "However, he will not escape, for my men are scattered all over that region."
The next telegram said:
GLOVER'S, 11.15
Just arrived. Village deserted, except sick and aged. Elephant passed
through three-quarters of an hour ago. The anti-temperance mass-meeting
was in session; he put his trunk in at a window and washed it out with
water from cistern. Some swallowed it—since dead; several drowned.
Detectives Cross and O'Shaughnessy were passing through town, but
going south—so missed elephant. Whole region for many miles around in
terror—people flying from their homes. Wherever they turn they meet
elephant, and many are killed. BRANT, Detective.
I could have shed tears, this havoc so distressed me. But the inspector only said:
"You see—we are closing in on him. He feels our presence; he has turned eastward again."
Yet further troublous news was in store for us. The telegraph brought this:
HOGANSPORT, 12.19.
Just arrived. Elephant passed through half an hour ago, creating
wildest fright and excitement. Elephant raged around streets; two
plumbers going by, killed one—other escaped. Regret general.
O'FLAHERTY, Detective.
"Now he is right in the midst of my men," said the inspector. "Nothing can save him."
A succession of telegrams came from detectives who were scattered through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and who were following clues consisting of ravaged barns, factories, and Sunday-school libraries, with high hopes-hopes amounting to certainties, indeed. The inspector said:
"I wish I could communicate with them and order them north, but that is impossible. A detective only visits a telegraph office to send his report; then he is off again, and you don't know where to put your hand on him."
Now came this despatch:
BRIDGEPORT, CT., 12.15.
Barnum offers rate of $4,000 a year for exclusive privilege of using
elephant as traveling advertising medium from now till detectives
find him. Wants to paste circus-posters on him. Desires immediate
answer.
BOGGS, Detective.
"That is perfectly absurd!" I exclaimed.
"Of course it is," said the inspector. "Evidently Mr. Barnum, who thinks he is so sharp, does not know me—but I know him."
Then he dictated this answer to the despatch:
Mr. Barnum's offer declined. Make it $7,000 or nothing.
Chief BLUNT.
"There. We shall not have to wait long for an answer. Mr. Barnum is not at home; he is in the telegraph office—it is his way when he has business on hand. Inside of three—"
Done.—P.
T. BARNUM.
So interrupted the clicking telegraphic instrument. Before I could make a comment upon this extraordinary episode, the following despatch carried my thoughts into another and very distressing channel:
BOLIVIA, N. Y., 12.50.
Elephant arrived here from the south and passed through toward the
forest at 11.50, dispersing a funeral on the way, and diminishing
the mourners by two. Citizens fired some small cannon-balls into
him, and they fled. Detective Burke and I arrived ten minutes
later, from the north, but mistook some excavations for footprints,
and so lost a good deal of time; but at last we struck the right
trail and followed it to the woods. We then got down on our hands
and knees and continued to keep a sharp eye on the track, and so
shadowed it into the brush. Burke was in advance. Unfortunately
the animal had stopped to rest; therefore, Burke having his head
down, intent upon the track, butted up against the elephant's hind
legs before he was aware of his vicinity. Burke instantly arose to
his feet, seized the tail, and exclaimed joyfully, "I claim the
re—" but got no further, for a single blow of the huge trunk laid
the brave fellow's fragments low in death. I fled rearward, and the
elephant turned and shadowed me to the edge of the wood, making
tremendous speed, and I should inevitably have been lost, but that
the remains of the funeral providentially intervened again and
diverted his attention. I have just learned that nothing of that
funeral is now left; but this is no loss, for there is abundance of
material for another. Meantime, the elephant has disappeared again.
MULROONEY, Detective.
We heard no news except from the diligent and confident detectives scattered about New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Virginia—who were all following fresh and encouraging clues—until shortly after 2 P.M., when this telegram came:
BAXTER CENTER, 2.15.
Elephant been here, plastered over with circus-bills, any broke up a
revival, striking down and damaging many who were on the point of
entering upon a better life. Citizens penned him up and established
a guard. When Detective Brown and I arrived, some time after, we
entered inclosure and proceeded to identify elephant by photograph
and description. All masks tallied exactly except one, which we
could not see—the boil-scar under armpit. To make sure, Brown
crept under to look, and was immediately brained—that is, head
crushed and destroyed, though nothing issued from debris. All fled
so did elephant, striking right and left with much effect. He
escaped, but left bold blood-track from cannon-wounds. Rediscovery
certain. He broke southward, through a dense forest.
BRENT, Detective.
That was the last telegram. At nightfall a fog shut down which was so dense that objects but three feet away could not be discerned. This lasted all night. The ferry-boats and even the omnibuses had to stop running.
III
Next morning the papers were as full of detective theories as before; they had all our tragic facts in detail also, and a great many more which they had received from their telegraphic correspondents. Column after column was occupied, a third of its way down, with glaring head-lines, which it made my heart sick to read. Their general tone was like this:
THE WHITE ELEPHANT AT LARGE! HE MOVES UPON HIS FATAL MARCH WHOLE
VILLAGES DESERTED BY THEIR FRIGHT-STRICKEN OCCUPANTS! PALE TERROR
GOES BEFORE HIM, DEATH AND DEVASTATION FOLLOW AFTER! AFTER THESE,
THE DETECTIVES! BARNS DESTROYED, FACTORIES GUTTED, HARVESTS
DEVOURED, PUBLIC ASSEMBLAGES DISPERSED, ACCOMPANIED BY SCENES OF
CARNAGE IMPOSSIBLE TO DESCRIBE! THEORIES OF THIRTY-FOUR OF THE MOST
DISTINGUISHED DETECTIVES ON THE FORCES! THEORY OF CHIEF BLUNT!
"There!" said Inspector Blunt, almost betrayed into excitement, "this is magnificent! This is the greatest windfall that any detective organization ever had. The fame of it will travel to the ends of the earth, and endure to the end of time, and my name with it."
But there was no joy for me. I felt as if I had committed all those red crimes, and that the elephant was only my irresponsible agent. And how the list had grown! In one place he had "interfered with an election and killed five repeaters." He had followed this act with the destruction of two pool fellows, named O'Donohue and McFlannigan, who had "found a refuge in the home of the oppressed of all lands only the day before, and were in the act of exercising for the first time the noble right of American citizens at the polls, when stricken down by the relentless hand of the Scourge of Siam." In another, he had "found a crazy sensation-preacher preparing his next season's heroic attacks on the dance, the theater, and other things which can't strike back, and had stepped on him." And in still another place he had "killed a lightning-rod agent." And so the list went on, growing redder and redder, and more and more heartbreaking. Sixty persons had been killed, and two hundred and forty wounded. All the accounts bore just testimony to the activity and devotion of the detectives, and all closed with the remark that "three hundred thousand citizen; and four detectives saw the dread creature, and two of the latter he destroyed."
I dreaded to hear the telegraphic instrument begin to click again. By and by the messages began to pour in, but I was happily disappointed in they nature. It was soon apparent that all trace of the elephant was lost. The fog had enabled him to search out a good hiding-place unobserved. Telegrams from the most absurdly distant points reported that a dim vast mass had been glimpsed there through the fog at such and such an hour, and was "undoubtedly the elephant." This dim vast mass had been glimpsed in New Haven, in New Jersey, in Pennsylvania, in interior New York, in Brooklyn, and even in the city of New York itself! But in all cases the dim vast mass had vanished quickly and left no trace. Every detective of the large force scattered over this huge extent of country sent his hourly report, and each and every one of them had a clue, and was shadowing something, and was hot upon the heels of it.
But the day passed without other result.
The next day the same.
The next just the same.
The newspaper reports began to grow monotonous with facts that amounted to nothing, clues which led to nothing, and theories which had nearly exhausted the elements which surprise and delight and dazzle.
By advice of the inspector I doubled the reward.
Four more dull days followed. Then came a bitter blow to the poor, hard-working detectives—the journalists declined to print their theories, and coldly said, "Give us a rest."
Two weeks after the elephant's disappearance I raised the reward to seventy-five thousand dollars by the inspector's advice. It was a great sum, but I felt that I would rather sacrifice my whole private fortune than lose my credit with my government. Now that the detectives were in adversity, the newspapers turned upon them, and began to fling the most stinging sarcasms at them. This gave the minstrels an idea, and they dressed themselves as detectives and hunted the elephant on the stage in the most extravagant way. The caricaturists made pictures of detectives scanning the country with spy-glasses, while the elephant, at their backs, stole apples out of their pockets. And they made all sorts of ridiculous pictures of the detective badge—you have seen that badge printed in gold on the back of detective novels, no doubt it is a wide-staring eye, with the legend, "WE NEVER SLEEP." When detectives called for a drink, the would-be facetious barkeeper resurrected an obsolete form of expression and said, "Will you have an eye-opener?" All the air was thick with sarcasms.
But there was one man who moved calm, untouched, unaffected, through it all. It was that heart of oak, the chief inspec
tor. His brave eye never drooped, his serene confidence never wavered. He always said:
"Let them rail on; he laughs best who laughs last."
My admiration for the man grew into a species of worship. I was at his side always. His office had become an unpleasant place to me, and now became daily more and more so. Yet if he could endure it I meant to do so also—at least, as long as I could. So I came regularly, and stayed—the only outsider who seemed to be capable of it. Everybody wondered how I could; and often it seemed to me that I must desert, but at such times I looked into that calm and apparently unconscious face, and held my ground.
About three weeks after the elephant's disappearance I was about to say, one morning, that I should have to strike my colors and retire, when the great detective arrested the thought by proposing one more superb and masterly move.
This was to compromise with the robbers. The fertility of this man's invention exceeded anything I have ever seen, and I have had a wide intercourse with the world's finest minds. He said he was confident he could compromise for one hundred thousand dollars and recover the elephant. I said I believed I could scrape the amount together, but what would become of the poor detectives who had worked so faithfully? He said:
"In compromises they always get half."
This removed my only objection. So the inspector wrote two notes, in this form:
DEAR MADAM,—Your husband can make a large sum of money (and be
entirely protected from the law) by making an immediate, appointment
with me. Chief BLUNT.
