Shooting with cannons at Elephants

The sad incident of Murten, the consequences of which ended up as a museum exhibit

Marching through the small market town of Murten in the Swiss canton of Fribourg as part of the American travelling circus Bell & Myers on the morning of 27th June 1866, elephant handler Moffat would never in a million years have imagined that, before the break of dawn the following day, he would be thrown into the air, kicked and manhandled, before dying a painful death in the dust in front of the stables of the Hotel Weisses Kreuz. Even further from Moffat's mind would have been the thought that the circumstances and consequences of his death might one day become the subject of a special exhibition at the Naturhistorisches Museum der Burgergemeinde Bern (Natural History Museum of the Civic Community of Berne).

Horror Replaces Delight

One Wednesday morning in June of 1866, the Bell & Meyers troupe of travelling entertainers arrived in Murten, a little town of 2200 souls. The weekly fair was in progress and people thronged the edge of the street to catch a glimpse of the colourful group which brought a little excitement to their provincial humdrum existence. And the Englishman Moffat with his two Indian elephants was right at the centre of all the fun; first at lunchtime, when his pachyderms splashed themselves and curious onlookers with water from the fountain in front of the town hall, and especially during the performance later that evening. The people of Murten had never before set eyes on an elephant, and the powerful exotic creatures from faraway Southeast Asia filled them with awe and amazement as they performed all kinds of tricks.

Just a few hours later, enthusiasm changed to horror. Shortly before 3 o'clock, as locksmith Johann Frey later wrote about the memorable events of that summer's night, he was jolted awake by an unusual noise in the street. "It was a wild and daring elephant hunt. I might have imagined myself in India, if it hadn't been for the buildings and the people roused from their sleep by the uproar, reminding me that I was in fact still in Murten". The news spread like wildfire: One of the elephants had trampled its keeper to death. Only after the raging bull had destroyed a one-horse carriage, shattered windowpanes and bowled over some barrels, did people succeed in driving it back into the stable.

Apparently, the elephant had come into musth, a condition affecting males from about the age of 15 which, for some time, renders them aggressive and uncontrollable. In the wild, dominant rivals avoid them during this period and the musth bulls are allowed temporarily to join a herd and mate with the females. At a time when circus elephants were still kept chained up and were made to lead a miserable existence in very cramped conditions - and behavioural science was not even in its infancy yet - nobody was of course aware of these circumstances. And the authorities of Murten had a serious problem: How to tame an elephant gone berserk and prevent any further harm from befalling the people of their town.

In a hurriedly convened meeting, the town council decided, after consultation with the circus management, that the out-of-control animal would have to be shot.

The alley leading from Rathausweg to Chabaud's house was blocked off, the school children were "banished" to the school house, and troops, including one cannon, were commandeered from the canton's capital nearby. After all, no one could be sure whether rifle bullets would not simply bounce off the elephant's seemingly impenetrable hide, which might further irritate the colossal animal.

When the artillerists and a contingent of marksmen, who had also been called up, were in position, the bull, already somewhat exhausted, was lured out of the stable with water, hay and bread. The commanding officer gave the order to fire: "And then - a flash and, simultaneously, a thunder-like crash!" our chronicler Frey reports. "Captain Daniel Stock fired a perfect shot which went right through the elephant. The latter slowly tilted to one side and fell motionless to the ground, directly onto the hole made by the cannon ball, and a hot stream of blood welled out of its left side. (…) To top it all, the afore-mentioned marksmen fired several salvos into the elephant lying dead on the ground."

A Pavilion for the Dead Mythical Creature

Thus, the elephant of Murten was downright shot to pieces, just like, before it, other fellow sufferers of the same species, had been in Geneva, Venice and London.

The people of Murten, however, had special plans for their pachyderm: A butcher expertly skinned and cut up the cadaver, sold the meat for 0.20 Swiss francs a pound and made it into stew, after which the remains were to be preserved and exhibited. It turned out, that alas, no suitable venue could be found. This is why an exotic pavilion was to be constructed; a temple, so to speak, for the dead mythical creature. However, when it became clear that this project would devour enormous sums of money, the enthusiasm of the people soon waned. The acquisition of the cadaver alone had cost the town 850 Swiss francs. Then there were the 600 Swiss francs for the tanner and 1550 Swiss francs for the taxidermist, while the elephant was still housed in a temporary shack. In November 1867, the last supporters of the elephant pavilion finally admitted defeat, and the citizen's assembly decided to sell the skeleton and the preserved specimen to the Natural History Museum of Berne for 3000 Swiss francs. The skeleton ended up in the Anatomical Institute of the University of Berne. The skin disappeared when the museum was moved in the nineteen thirties; quite possibly, it was thrown away.