The day they hung Murderous Mary the elephant

Story with more info: http://www.blueridgecountry.com/archive/mary-the-elephant.html

I found a site about deaths in Indiana where it lists Eldridge as age 23 and killed by an elephant. In searching for the background on this, I found your posting. Apparently Eldridge was from Crawford County, Indiana.

Here is a partially true story about West Viginia.

The Hunters

The morning air spread a chill through my bones. The sun had not yet made its appearance over the ridge to the east of us. Besides the mountains, the sun would have to deal with a heavy overcast, the remains of a hard rain just a few hours ago. It was beginning to look like a typical day in West Virginia.
I already regretted my decision to accompany Manfred on this day. I was not a hunter, and agreed to go only if I didn’t have to deal with a gun. Manfred, on the other hand, was a dedicated hunter who had shot and killed many of God’s creatures including bear, deer, fox, groundhog, boar, and moose. Today, however, we were out for wild turkeys. This seemed to require an assault force of at least two.
Over the years, we had formed an uneasy friendship, and I decided to go hunting with him hoping this favor might help improve it. I suspected he invited me with the same motive in mind. The uneasiness was not because of differences between us, but likenesses, he was a theologian and I was a pastor. We were of the same denomination and both had attended Ivy League schools. We could whip up a pretty good conversation about the doctrine of justification by faith, or the church’s recent ordination of women. I was usually outmaneuvered by his keen mind, but I didn’t care because I regarded theology as a sport, and Manfred enjoyed the shot to his ego which such a triumph conveyed.
Speaking of shots, we, or Manfred, I should say, did not take any for the first part of our hunt. We strolled down an overgrown dirt road, with a woods on one side and a field on the other. The topic was whether or not Karl Barth spoke for God when he argued that the theologian’s role was to announce the Word of God rather than speak the word of man. I thought it was a conundrum. Manfred said it made perfectly good sense. We were still debating the issue when we crossed a small creek bridged by some rotting timbers. By now we were miles from where we left the car, and we had not seen one living thing.
The road narrowed to a wide path and the brush on both sides of the road became dense and tall. We would not be able to see a turkey anywhere in that thick undergrowth. The only chance was to catch one on the path ahead. But the sky was growing menacing and a storm threatened.
Just then we heard a rustling in the thicket just ahead of us to our right. The thrashing grew louder as if a bear were bounding directly toward us. Manfred gripped his rifle and turned off the safety. We moved cautiously toward the noise. It became louder and more erratic, a crashing, sweeping, scraping noise. Then it was right beside us, in our ear. Manfred pointed his gun toward the noise and parted the brambles. No bear. No deer, no turkey. Not even a groundhog. Instead, a large, broken, crooked branch was whipping back and forth in the wind, knocking against the laurel and the saw grass. Manfred lowered his rifle, “could have fooled me,” he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. I was just glad to still be alive. I detached a branch, cleaned it off, and used it for a walking stick.
Fooling Manfred was something that never happened. He always had an absolute command of the situation. But today his command was wavering. There seemed to be no turkeys anywhere in the county. I thought of the other bird hunt Manfred and I experienced where caged pheasants were released in a field and immediately gunned down by the hunters. I’m ashamed to admit it but I would have gladly welcomed even a caged turkey at that point. But not today.
So we resorted to more theology. Manfred laid out his theology of hunting. Citing the Genesis story, he argued that all animals were given for man’s pleasure. I agreed there was a kind of hierarchy in the order of things, and man had lucked out by getting a high ranking. “Not luck,” Manfred clarified, “part of the orders of creation.” He was just shifting into high gear for a lecture on “Providence” when we thought we spotted movement on the path far ahead. Sure enough, a big tom strolled onto the path, looked our way, hesitated, and then disappeared into the brush. Apparently, he had heard enough about his low status in the orders of creation.
We were excited by the possibility that there might be other turkeys nearby so when we reached the area where we thought the big bird had crossed, we paused, and stood perfectly still. In a few moments we heard a gobble in the woods to our left. Manfred waved his rifle toward the sound, and we exited the path into the undergrowth. Pushing through thick foliage we made slow time. We reached a bank and slid downhill several hundred feet. The turkey gobble was neither louder nor fainter. The big bird must have been keeping just ahead of us. Manfred decided to pick up his pace.
As we were about to reach the bottom of the slope, disaster struck. My foot caught in a piece of barbed wire and threw me headlong down the hill, spraining my ankle and shredding my leg in the process. Manfred was nowhere in sight. I could not get up so I crawled to a tree to lean against. My leg hurt badly. Already it was swollen and when I lifted my pant leg, I could see long gashes in my calf.
Barbed wire! What was it doing out in the woods? The correct question at the time would have been what were we doing on someone else’s property? For a moment that question offered a glimmer of hope, but suppose these were not friendly mountain folk? Suppose they had killer dogs that were very hungry? I did not give much time to these speculations because I had to do something right then about my leg. I pulled a hanky from my pocket soaked it in some water from my water bottle and wiped my wounds. I located my walking stick and pulled it to my side. If I had to I would get up and limp along. But where? An hour passed and Manfred did not return. The sinking thought came to me that we both were lost from each other!
Studying the shadows I tried to figure out which way was west. I thought if I could figure out where the sun was setting, I could head south back to the car keeping the sunset over my left shoulder. Or should it be my right? All my Boy Scout training was for nought in the panic of the moment. I decided even if I knew which way to go I could not make it before dark. So I resigned myself to staying at the tree, covering myself with what I could scrape around me, and holding my stick up to fend off any wild animals. Surely, Manfred would be back, or someone would find me.

What I did not know was Manfred, far ahead, had stumbled on a ramshackle cabin of Calvinists who weren’t any too glad to see him. A sign hung over their doorway, “The End is Near.” Survivalists, they eyed Manfred as a threat to their security. Not given to violence against humans, Manfred laid down his rifle, and tried the Interreligious Dialogue approach,
“We can agree. I also believe the world is near the end,” he said to the menacing patriarch of the house, a tall, bent scarecrow of a man, with blazing eyes.
“Y’ain’t oughta lie to me,” the man said, holding his two Rotweilers in hand.
“Its true,” Manfred said, “I am a Millenialist. I see the signs.”
“Y’all is lying,” the man said. “but it won’t help you,” he tugged at the dogs.
For once, Manfred began to doubt the value of theology. “I have some bear rugs and mounted animals in my home I would gladly give you if you help me find my way there,” he said.
“Sapphire, do y’ear that,” the man said to his wife huddled in the corner holding a shotgun. “The man aims to give us ‘is worldly possessions. No Millinist would do that. He’s a politician if I ever seen one. I think we’s gonna hang ona him for a while.”

Meanwhile, the sun had set behind the hills and a gray fog settled over the woods. I began to hear things I didn’t want to hear, the hoot of an owl, a coyote, a distressed bird, and thunder in the distance. Copperheads were native to this area. Foxes wandered around. Plenty of turkey vultures to clean up the remains. A sizzling lightning bolt crashed nearby, rolling thunder boomed above, and the rain came down in torrents. An impenetrable darkness spread out around me. Now would be a nice time for some undeserved grace from God in the form of a recovery party, I thought.
I must have fallen asleep, for I was startled to see daylight and to hear voices above me on the hill. “Looks like he might have come this way,” someone yelled. “Help,” I rumbled in my best baritone voice. “Help”
Then, bursting through the thicket, several men in orange outfits came toward me. “He’s over here,” one shouted. “He don’t look so good.” I was hoisted onto a gurney and carried to a rescue vehicle.
“Did you find another man out here? He was carrying a gun. A hefty sort of guy?”
The rescuers busied themselves with their work ignoring the question.

Unfortunately, nothing more was seen of Manfred. A story circulated that a wild family of religious fanatics from the mountains disappeared suddenly one evening from the face of the earth. With them was one not like them, but able to speak great wisdom about things religious, from the past and into the future.
I, on the other hand, came away with only a crooked stick to show for the adventure.
JKR