Modoc: The True Story of the Greatest Elephant That Ever Lived

  “Move up, Modoc! MOVE UP! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!!” he screamed.

  Modoc strained every muscle in her body.

  Pop! Pop!

  The right front and back links broke as the cannon roared down on her. Mo had just enough room to step aside. The cannon went by with the thunderous sound of grating metal and collided with the bulkhead, its muzzle bending the steel superstructure severely.

  Bram was still groping wildly under water for the pliers. With luck he grasped them, and gripping with both hands, released Mo’s other foot before the cannon rolled backward. Emma, Krone, and Tina took refuge as far away from the cannon as they could. Modoc stayed close to Bram, shivering and rumbling. Then Bram realized more trouble was at hand.

  Bram saw that Kelly had grabbed two sailors who were trying to flee the hold. The sailors argued the ship was going to sink, that it was no use, they’d have a better chance up top. Kelly let them go. “It’s no use,” he fumed, “the goddamn cowards—they’ll pay for this when we reach port!” Bram was relieved to hear Kelly even talk about reaching port. “We’ve got to stop that monster before it rams a hole right through the side of the ship!” Kelly continued.

  Kelly, soaking wet from head to foot, stood defiantly against the odds. Wading to the spot where the cannon had rammed the wall, he was able to finish tearing off a dangling piece of metal, ripped loose by the impact of the cannon. The cannon started to make its run. As it gained speed, though, everybody jumped clear—slipping and sloshing in the rising water—except Kelly. He thrust the metal strut into the spoke of the wheel, causing it to lock up. The cannon spun around pivotally, but now it shifted to a new position. The strut spit out the twisted trunk and it lay dangerously jutting out of the water.

  Beginning a fresh attack, the huge cannon headed for Emma and Tina. The elephants waited until the last second before moving away. Bram saw that the elephants were so petrified, they could have run right into the cannon as easily as running away from it. He called to them, but the animals were terrified, and had transfixed their concentration on the cannon, which was now rolling through the hold with a vengeance. Time after time the hulk careened across the hold, narrowly missing elephants and people, smashing up cargo crates, equipment, decimating anything that couldn’t move out of its way.

  Bram knew it was only a matter of time before one of the elephants would be hurt. The constant battering against the bulkhead was starting to show. A huge area was badly gouged and weakened by the giant cannon’s muzzle, which remained almost completely unscathed, even after the pounding it had taken.

  A horrible scream pierced the air. Bram whirled to see a sailor caught by the wheel of the cannon and dragged under water until the cannon careened into the ship’s hull. The sailor only reappeared when the cannon rolled back in the direction it had come. Then he floated lifeless to the surface, mangled, crushed under tons of unforgiving iron. Bram had never seen a dead person before, seen this type of carnage. He had known that man; he knew he should be feeling something, but shock prevented it. He went to Mo, hugging a leg, wanting to protect her from the cannon, from the water, wanting to make it all go away. In the midst of this din, Mo reached down with her trunk and affectionately gave him a hug; she even rumbled to him. Bram knew there was nothing she or anyone could do.

  For the last few moments, the cannon had stopped its onslaught. It seemed to be resting…no…waiting there in the dark recess of the ship’s hold. The elephants had calmed a little in this moment of quiet. Bram stood, disbelieving. Could it be over at last? He joined Kelly and the few others who had remained.

  “Is it over, Kelly?” Bram feared the answer.

  “It’s either over or we’re in the eye,” Kelly replied, wiping salty water from his soaking face.

  “Whose eye?”

  “This is no average storm. I’ve been in a lot of them, I’ll tell you, but never one like this.”

  “I knew it was a hurricane,” piped up one of the Indian sailors.

  “It’s not gonna stop!” cried another.

  “Whadya mean?” asked Bram, turning to Kelly.

  Kelly turned to Bram. “Listen, Bram. If it’s a hurricane, then we’re only in the center part, the eye.”

  “The center? You mean, there’s more?”

  “Could be,” Kelly said, running his hand through his hair. “The center’s where everything is calm and quiet. It can trick you. You think you’re past the storm, and then it rises up and…”

  “How do you know if this is the…eye?” asked Bram.

  “We wait. If we’re in it, we’ll feel the full fury of the other half.”

  “Well, if it is, we’ll be a hell of a lot safer on deck,” said one of the sailors. The others mumbled in agreement. They began to head up top.

  “He’s right, son.” Kelly turned back to Bram. “We’d all better get up top.”

  “What about the cannon?”

  “If it’s a hurricane it won’t matter. This ship won’t stand another—”

  “But what about the animals?” Bram’s voice cracked as he tried to hold back the tears. Kelly’s strong arm weighted Bram’s shoulders.

  “Look son, we’ve got to look out for each other now. We’ll do what we can to help them, but if it means…Now, why don’t you just come on deck with me. We’ll wait there and see what happens.”

  “No, you don’t understand, I can’t leave Mosie and the others.” Bram’s tears were flowing freely now. Kelly grasped both his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

  “Bram, listen to me. I know you and the elephant are close. I’ve seen you two together. But we’ve got a chance only if we’re on deck—and if we make it, then perhaps we can help her and the others. But right now we’ve done everything humanly possible. There’s nothing more that can be done.” Kelly continued to look Bram in the eye until Bram lowered his head. “Now come up with me.”

  Bram sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Looking over his shoulder at Mo, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right up.”

  Kelly eyed Bram closely. He understood what he wanted to do. “You don’t have much time. You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Sloshing through the water Kelly glanced back to say, “You’re a helluva kid,” before he vanished into the darkness.

  14

  BRAM TOOK A MOMENT to gaze around the hold. Litter floated in the water, some of it bobbing against the dead sailor’s mutilated body. Tina, Emma, and Krono were now calm and quiet, standing in the water, shivers running from one to the other as through one body. The ominous cannon, still alive, waited, its barrel sticking defiantly out of the shadows. Then there was Mo. She stood by, at his shoulder, ready to do whatever he asked. She was there for him, big and strong, and yet so very helpless. How grand, he thought, that the way of nature is not to let animals know their death is imminent. Yet he knew that Mo sensed the situation.

  Anticipation hung heavy on the silence in the hold. The wood creaked with each rising swell like a solemn refrain of a lonely sea chantey, softly lulling the storm. In limbo they waited attentively, breath held, in stasis, awaiting the outcome. Only the dripping sea water and the breathing of the elephants accompanied the eerie stillness.

  Bram went to Modoc. She wrapped her trunk around him and belly-rumbled. The other elephants came over and completed a circle with their heads touching, trunks entwined in the center. Bram had no desire to leave, never had had any intention of doing so. He regretted breaking his promise to Kelly, a lie was wrong, but it had been right for the moment. Drawing his legs to his chest, crossing his arms, he rested his head. To sleep from exhaustion would have been a welcome escape.

  It began as a whisper, as if the slight bump of an oar hit the side of a rowboat. Ripples of water that had been calm began to escalate into miniature waves, which began washing against the elephants’ legs. These little waves grew with the speed of an angry genie loosed from his bottle. Everything came to life suddenly, the water, the cargo, the debr
is in the hold. The dead sailor’s body began its macabre watery dance. The waiting was over. The eye had closed; the storm returned.

  The monster lurched to life, its grin more hideous than before. It moved out from its den, creeping slowly as if to survey the situation. Bram moved the elephants as far away from the cannon as possible. They were calmer now, as if sensing the end. He wondered pensively if he’d been wrong about nature’s mercy to her animals. Outside the ocean roared to life. He heard thunder’s voice collide outside the ship with lightning, a deafening cacophony that commanded action. Yet, somehow, the cannon stood still. It waited, as though saving its energy for one final onslaught.

  So it was. A giant chasm opened under the ship’s bow, and she started down, plunging abruptly into the canyon of water. The ship raced the waves. The cannon moved, rumbling out of its sanctuary, picking up speed, heading directly for the worn bulkhead, its muzzle poised for the blow. The ship plunged deep as the cannon left the floor and sank its muzzle into the steel bulkhead. The metal sheared off, ripping open the whole side of the hold as the massive monster vanished into the waiting sea, sinking to its watery grave.

  For a split second the ocean seemed to freeze in time. Then the deluge hit. A wall of water exploded into the hold in one mighty gusher. Anything not bolted down was caught up in a tremendous volatile explosion.

  The storm was in the hold whipping, beating, lashing everything that was within, then expelling it in all its hysteria into the open sea.

  The impact tore Bram away from Modoc, wrenching free his grip from her legs. He felt his body turning over and over, pounded, beaten, pushed by a force of enormous power. His eyes were sightless. A spiritual calm overtook him. He had lost all sense of direction. He felt the heaviness of the icy ocean water. A burning sensation in his lungs commanded him to breathe, to take a breath, just one, but his sense of survival made him hold his breath just a little longer…just another moment.

  He burst to the surface like a buoy that had been forced under water, coughing, sputtering, wheezing, gasping for precious air. Water ran from his nose and mouth. The overwhelming taste of salt made him retch until his stomach ached. Bram fought to stay on the surface of a world gone mad. He was being swept along by huge mountainous waves. Up and down like a roller coaster, he was taken to the top only to be dashed down into the chasm below. Bolts of lightning arched across the darkened sky. Rain beat incessantly against the surface. A sharp object, flotsam from the ship, hit him sharply in the back. More dangerous debris floated by, pieces of smooth oak, still shiny, combining with chunks of the masts, unopened bottles, books, clothing. A piece of wood came by, big enough to cling to, with its brass fittings attached. He tried to reach it, but to no avail—the ocean was too violent for him to direct himself.

  His conscious mind was keeping something from him. Each time his thoughts wandered, there was something out there that wasn’t allowing it to come through. Something he didn’t want to know. His mind battled with his thoughts—the debris, the ship, Kelly, the hold. Mo…Mo! Modoc!

  “Modoc! Modoc!” he cried.

  The aching sobs for dead loved ones are the worst pain to bear. The breaking, shattering of all that once was between two living beings, gone, never to return, causes a weeping only the gods who created it should experience, the acceptance of nonentity.

  Bram rolled onto his back, letting his body hang limp, floating as he watched the lightning perform for him. The rain beat down on his face, flushing the burning tears into atonement with the sea.

  “Mosie,” he whispered, half-lucid, “Breathe the water in. Suck hard, inhale deeply. It will pass…Die without pain. Be at peace.”

  15

  “Help!…Help!”

  Bram jerked his head above the surface, clearing his eyes and ears, and began to tread water. “Where are you?” he screamed.

  “Here!”

  “Over here!”

  The voices were near, but the impenetrable darkness and the huge swells shielded Bram’s view.

  Lightning struck low and lit the sky for a moment. There, not fifty yards away, was a group of people holding on to one another, trying to stay afloat. Bram tried to swim toward them, but after ten minutes was exhausted and still not within reach, until a wave swept him by and a hand reached out, grabbing him by the neck. Only one person had a grip like that!

  “Hands! You made it! Am I glad to see you!” cried Bram. Then, looking around, “All of you!”

  There were five—Hands, two Indian sailors, and two Americans. Hands offered his big grin.

  “Looks like you picked the wrong ship to stow away on, boy.”

  Bram could only smile his reply, as the swim had taken away his breath. Bram took his place in the group alongside Hands.

  “If we made it, maybe others did, too,” said one of the sailors.

  “What happened to the lifeboats?” asked one of the Americans.

  “Conditions on the deck were so bad we couldn’t get any launched. They were banging against the side of the ship so hard, it was more dangerous to jump into one than risk staying on the ship. A few tried, like that poor fellow over there.”

  He pointed a bent finger in the direction of one of the sailors. The man’s leg, supported by a floating piece of wood, hung crushed in his ripped pants. His face was as blue as the face of the dead sailor in the hold. The group fell silent.

  Another voice pierced the dark, and then another. The wailing of lost, scared people carried on the wind. Everyone started yelling and screaming.

  “Over here! We’re over this way!”

  Within what seemed an hour, at least twenty people came together, some sick, some dying, most exhausted, in shock, or both. The strong were helping the injured, trying to hold them up.

  “It doesn’t matter how many of us are out here together, you know,” said one dazed sailor, “it won’t help us stay afloat. We’ll just pull each other down.”

  “Shut up, mister, or you’ll get my fist in your mouth,” snarled Hands, his face screwed up into an angry knot.

  “Ha! Doesn’t matter which way I go. In fact, yours sounds like a pretty good deal.”

  Hands realized the man was irrational and began helping the injured man be more comfortable. The hours dragged by; the storm seemed to lose its hurricane intensity.

  “Thank God, the water’s warm,” said an American.

  “It’s because we’re in the Bay of Bengal. If this had happened in the Atlantic Ocean, we’d all be dead by now. The water is much colder there,” replied Hands.

  In the hours to follow, many took turns being supported by friends who held them up. One man slipped quietly into the water; he was not seen again, or discussed.

  Bram’s little group now totaled thirty-four, a large number to survive such a devastating sinking. If help didn’t arrive soon, their survival would all be for naught. They would drown from exhaustion and exposure. Hands said that an SOS had been sent over the wireless continuously from The Ghanjee for six hours before she sank. He told the rest he felt their SOS had been heard, but no ship could come to their rescue until the storm subsided.

  Bram was trying to float and sleep at the same time. Hands took an “Indian grip” with a person on the other side of Bram, which supported the boy while he rested. Bram tied himself to Hands, turned on his back, and closed his eyes.

  What a whole different sensation he experienced. The body without its eyes was never prepared for the onrush of waves, and therefore didn’t resist, just allowed itself to be pushed and shoved at the ocean’s will. Bram’s body for the first time felt itself sore and tender of muscle and bone. Had he not been tied, he surely would have been carried away. His thoughts wandered aimlessly from home and loved ones, to the sinking, and Mo. God! How will I ever live without her? he thought. As he sunk deeper into an exhausted sleep, the dream, the nightmare, became more real.

  “Bram! Wake up, son! Listen!”

  Bram came out of his sleep. Turning over, he saw everybody alert, l
istening. “What’s wrong, wha—”

  “Shush!”

  Bram listened to the waves and wind and, oh my God, a trumpet! A trumpet! Was he still dreaming? Bram looked around; everybody heard it.

  “Did you hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impossible. Listen, listen…”

  Again the trumpet.

  “Mo…Mosie. God, please let it be. Please Mo…Mo.”

  The sound was coming closer. Then, over a passing swell, a large gray mass was seen coming, washing down the current, closer, much closer. For a moment the mist cleared and they saw her.

  “Yeah, yeah—it’s her, it’s Mo! It’s MOODOOC!” Bram screamed and screamed, over and over. Again and again, Mo answered back, trumpeting, calling her young to her. Bram was close enough to see her thrash her trunk in the water, bellowing her frustration. He leaped through the water, forgetting he was tied. Hands quickly undid the knot. Bram swam harder than he ever had. Mo, too, was coming fast, caught in a current that was about to bypass and pull her away from him. Mo lunged like a horse, putting everything into her powerful body, and swam forward, stretching her trunk toward him. He reached out his hand, the tip of her trunk came closer and closer, until they touched! Bram grabbed it and Mo pulled him to her and screamed a voice never heard by humans. He hugged and kissed her neck and trunk and eyes and he wept. He couldn’t talk, the emotion choked him up. He tried, but he couldn’t speak.

  Mo swam ahead to the people. They were hollering and cheering. Some old rope was thrown over her back, clothes tied to it, and all could relax. They didn’t have to swim or stay afloat. Bram had climbed up on Mo’s back, wrapping his arms around her neck. The others formed a circle around her, tying themselves to the rope. The hurt and wounded were put up top with Bram, and for the first time since the sinking, all slept while Mo, like an island, floated in the churning sea.