Outstanding Traits in a Few Groups of Birds. In creatures as much lacking in visible expression as most birds are, it is difficult to detect the emotions and temperaments that prevail in the various groups. Only a few can be cited with certain confidence.

Vanity Displays in Birds. The males of a few species of birds have been specially equipped by nature for the display of their natural vanity. Anyone who has seen a Zoological Park peacock working overtime on a Sunday afternoon in summer when the crowds of visitors are greatest, solely to display the ocellated splendor of his tail plumage, surely must conclude that the bird is well aware of the glories of his tail, and also that he positively enjoys showing off to admiring audiences.

These displays are not casual affairs in the ordinary course of the day's doings. It is a common thing for one of our birds to choose a particularly conspicuous spot, preferably on an elevated terrace, from which his display will carry farthest to the eyes of the crowd. Even if the bird were controlled by the will of a trainer for the purpose of vanity display, the exhibition could not possibly be more perfect. Like a good speaker on a rostrum, the bird faces first in one direction and then in another, and occasionally with a slow and stately movement it completely revolves on its axis for the benefit of those in the rear. "Vain as a peacock" is by no means an unjustifiable comparison.

Plumage displays are indulged in by turkeys, the blue bird of paradise, the greater and lesser birds of paradise, the sage grouse and pinnated grouse, ruffed grouse, golden pheasant and argus pheasant.

On the whole, we may fairly set down vanity as one of the well defined emotions in certain birds, and probably possessed by the males in many species which have not been provided by nature with the means to display it conspicuously.

Materials for Study. In seeking means by which to study the mental and temperamental traits of wild birds and mammals, the definite and clearly cut manifestations are so few in kind that we are glad to seize upon everything available. Of the visible evidences, pugnacity and the fighting habit are valuable materials, because they are visible. Much can be learned from the fighting weakness or strength of animals and men.

In our great collections of birds drawn from all the land areas of the globe, our bird men see much fighting. Mr. Crandall has prepared for me in a condensed form an illuminating collection of facts regarding

PUGNACITY IN CAPTIVE BIRDS

1. Most species do more or less competitive fighting for nesting sites or mates, especially:

Gallinaceous birds,—many of which fight furiously for mates;

The Ruff, or Fighting Snipe (Machetes pugnax),—very pugnacious for mates;

House Sparrows (Passer domesticus) fight for nesting places and mates; and

Some Waterfowl, especially swans and geese, fight for nesting places.

2. Most species which do not depend chiefly upon concealment, fight fiercely in defense of nests or young. Typical examples are:

Geese;

Swans;

The larger Flycatchers;

Birds of prey, especially the more powerful ones, such as Bald Eagles, Duck Hawks and Horned Owls.

3. Some species fight in competition for food. Conspicuous examples are:

The fiercer hawks;

Some carrion eaters, as the King Vulture, Black, Sharp-Shinned, Cooper, Gos and Duck Hawks, which fight in the air over prey.

4. Certain birds show pugnacity in connection with the robber instinct, as:

Bald Eagle, which robs the Osprey;

Skua and Jaeger, which rob gulls.

5. Some species show general pugnacity. Species to be cited are:

Cassowaries, Emus and Ostriches, all of which are more or less dangerous;

Saras Cranes, which strike wickedly and without warning;

Some Herons, especially if confined, and

Birds of Paradise, which are unreasonably quarrelsome.

6. In non-social birds, each male will fight for his own breeding and feeding territory. The struggle for territory is a wide one, and it is now attracting the attention of bird psychologists.

Birds are no more angelic than human beings are. They have their faults and their mean traits, just as we have; but their repertoire is not so great as ours. In every species that we have seen tried out in captivity, the baser passions are present. This is equally true of mammals. In confinement, in every herd and in every flock from elephants down to doves, the strong bully and oppress the weak, and drive them to the wall.

The most philosophic and companionable birds are the parrots, parakeets, macaws and cockatoos.

The birds that most quickly recognize protection sanctuaries and accept them, are the geese, ducks and swans.

The game birds most nervous and foolish, and difficult to maintain in captivity, are the grouse, ptarmigan and quail.

The bird utterly destitute of sense in captivity is the loon.

The birds that are most domineering in captivity are the cranes.

The birds that are most treacherous in captivity are the darters (Anhinga).

The birds that go easiest and farthest in training are the parrots, macaws and cockatoos.

The most beautiful bird species of the world are about fifty in number; and only a few of them are found among the birds of paradise.

The minds of wild birds are quite as varied and diversified as are the forms and habits of the different orders and genera. XVI

THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT

OF all the vertebrates, the serpents live under the greatest handicaps. They are hated and destroyed by all men, they can neither run nor fly far away, and they subsist under maximum difficulties. Those of the temperate zone are ill fitted to withstand the rigors of winter.

And yet the serpents survive; and we have not heard of any species having become extinct during our own times.

It is indeed worth while to "consider the wisdom of the serpent." Without the exercise of keen intelligence all the snakes of the cultivated lands of the world long ago would have been exterminated. The success of serpents of all species in meeting new conditions and maintaining their existence in the face of enormous difficulties compels us, as reasoning beings, to accord to them keen intelligence and ratiocination.

The poisonous serpents afford a striking illustration of reason and folly en masse. The total number of venomous species is really great, and their distribution embraces practically the whole of the torrid and temperate zones. They are too numerous for mention here; and their capacity for mischief to man is very great. Our own country has at least eighteen species of poisonous snakes, including the rattlesnakes, the copperhead, moccasin, and coral snakes. All these, however, are remarkably pacific. Without exception they are non-aggressive, and they attack only when they think they are exposed to danger, and must defend themselves or die. Hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of our people have tramped through the woods and slept in the sage-brush and creosote bushes of the rattlesnake, and waded through swamps full of moccasins, with never a bite. In America only about two persons per year are bitten by wild rattlesnakes.

Our snakes, and all but a very few of the other poison-snake species of the world, know that it pays to keep the peace. Now, what if all snakes were as foolishly aggressive as the hooded and spectacled cobras of India? Let us see.

Those cobra species are man-haters. They love to attack and do damage. They go out of their way to bite people. They crawl into huts and bungalows, especially during the monsoon rains, and they infest thatch roofs. But are they wise, and retiring, like the house-haunting gopher snake of the South?

By no means. The cobra goes around with a chip on his shoulder. In India they kill from 17,000 to 18,000 people annually! And in return, about 117,000 cobras are killed annually. It is a mighty fortunate thing for humanity on the frontier that the other serpents of the world know that it is a good thing to behave themselves, and not bite unnecessarily.

Fighting Its Own Kind. The Indian cobra, (Naia tripudians), is an exception to the rule of serpents that forbids fighting in the family. While cobras in captivity usually do live together in a state of vicious and fully-armed neutrality, sometimes they do fight. One of our cobras once attacked a cage-mate two-thirds the size of itself, vanquished it, seized it by the head and swallowed two-thirds of it before the tragedy was discovered. The assailant was compelled to disgorge his prey, but the victim was very dead.

The poison venom of the cobra, rattlesnake, bushmaster and puff adder is a great handicap on the social standing of the entire serpent family. Mankind in general abhors snakes, both in general and particular. The snake not actually known to be venomous usually is suspected of being so. It is only the strongest mental constitution that can permit a snake to go unkilled when the killing opportunity offers. It is just as natural for the lay brother to kill a chicken snake because it looks like a copperhead, or a hog-nosed blowing "viper" because it looks like a rattlesnake, as it is to shy at a gun that "may be loaded."

To American plainsmen, the non-aggressive temper of the rattlesnake is well known, and it is also a positive asset. I never knew one who was nervously afraid while sleeping in the open that snakes would come and crawl into his bed, or mix up with his camp. Of course all frontiersmen kill rattlers, as a sort of bounden duty to society, but I once knew an eastern man to turn loose a rattlesnake that he had photographed, in the observance of his principle never to kill an animal whose picture he had taken. Subsequently it was gravely reported that one of the restive horses of the outfit had "accidentally" killed that rattler by stepping upon it.

A Summary of Poisonous Snakes. There are about 300,000 poisonous snakes in the United States, and 110,000,000 people for them to bite; but more people are bitten by captive snakes than by wild ones.

A fool and his snake are soon parted.

There are 200,000 rattlesnakes in our country, but all of them will let you alone if you will let them alone.

If your police record is clear, you can sleep safely in the sage- brush.

If ever you need to camp in a cave, remember that in warm weather the rattlesnakes are all out hunting, and will not return until the approach of winter.

The largest snakes of the world exist only in the human mind.

The rattlesnake is a world-beater at minding his own business.

Men do far more fighting per capita than any snakes yet discovered.

The road to an understanding of the minds of serpents is long and difficult. Perhaps the best initial line of approach is through a well-stocked Reptile House. Having studied somewhat in that school I have emerged with a fixed belief that of all vertebrate creatures, snakes are the least understood, and also the most thoroughly misunderstood.



The world at large debits serpents with being far more quarrelsome and aggressive than they really are, and it credits them with knowing far less than they do know.

Attitude of Snakes Toward Each Other. Toward each other, the members of the various serpent species are tolerant, patient and peaceful to the last degree. You may place together in one cage twenty big Texas rattlers, or twenty ugly cottonmouth moccasins from the Carolinas, a hundred garter snakes, twenty boa constrictors, or six big pythons, and if the various species are kept separate there will be no fighting. You may stir them up to any reasonable extent, and make them keen to strike you, but they do not attack each other.

There are, however, many species that will not mix together in peace. For example, the king snake of New Jersey hates the rattlesnake, no matter what his address may be. Being by habit a constrictor, the king snake at once winds himself tightly around the neck of the rattler,—and proceeds to choke him to death.

The king cobra devours other snakes, as food, and wishes nothing else.

The Gopher Snake. Some snakes that feel sure you will not harm them will permit you to handle them without a protest or a fight. The most spectacular example is the gopher snake of the southeastern United States. This handsome, lustrous, blue-black species is six feet long, shiny, and as clean and smooth as ivory. Its members are famous rat-killers. You can pick up a wild one wherever you find it, and it will not bite you. They do not at all object to being handled, even by timorous lady visitors who never before have touched a live snake; and in the South they are tolerated by farmers for the good they do as rat catchers.

The Wisdom of a Big Python. Once I witnessed an example of snake intelligence on a large scale, which profoundly impressed me.

A reticulated python about twenty-two feet long arrived from Singapore with its old skin dried down upon its body. The snake had been many weeks without a bath, and it had been utterly unable to shed its old skin on schedule time. It was necessary to remove all that dead epidermis, without delay.

The great serpent, fully coiled, was taken out of its box, sprayed with warm water, and gently deposited on the gravel floor of our most spacious python apartment. Later on pails of warm water, sponges and forceps were procured, and five strong keepers were assembled for active service.

The first step was to get the snake safely into the hands of the men, and fully under control. A stream of cold water from a hose was suddenly shot in a deluge upon the python's head, and while it was disconcerted and blinded by the flood, it was seized by the neck, close behind the head. Immediately the waiting keepers seized it by the body, from neck to tail, and straightened it out, to prevent coiling. Strong hands subdued its struggles, and without any violence stretched the writhing wild monster upon the floor.

Then began the sponging and peeling process. The frightened snake writhed and resisted, probably feeling sure that its last hour had come. The men worked quietly, spoke soothingly, and the work proceeded successfully. With the lapse of time the serpent became aware of the fact that it was not to be harmed; for it became quiet, and lay still. At the same time, we all dreaded the crisis that we thought would come when the jaws and the head would be reached.

By the time the head was reached, the snake lay perfectly passive. Beyond all doubt, it understood the game that was being played.

Now, the epidermis of a snake covers the entire head, including the eyes! And what would that snake do when the time came to remove the scales from its eyes and lips? It continued to lie perfectly still! When the pulling off of the old skin hurt the new skin underneath, the head flinched slightly, just as any hurt flesh will flinch by reflex action; but that was absolutely all. For a long hour or more, and even when the men pulled the dead scales from those eyes and lips, that strange creature made no resistance or protest. I have seen many people fight their doctors for less.

That wild, newly-caught jungle snake quickly had recognized the situation, and acted its part with a degree of sense and appreciation that was astounding. I do not know of any adult wild mammal that would have shown that kind and degree of wisdom under similar circumstances.

Do Snakes "Charm" Birds? Sometimes a wild bird will sit still upon its nest while a big pilot blacksnake, or some other serpent equally bad, climbs up and poises its head before the motionless and terrified bird until at last the serpent seizes the bird to devour it. The bird victim really seems to be "charmed" by its enemy. If there were not some kind of a hypnotic spell cast over the bird, would it not fly away?

I think this strange proceeding is easily explainable by any one with sufficient imagination to put himself in the bird's place. It is the rule of a sitting bird to sit tight, not to be scared off by trifles, and to take great risks rather than expose her eggs to cold and destruction. The ascent and approach of the serpent is absolutely noiseless. Not a leaf is stirred. The potential mother of a brood calmly sits with eyes half closed, at peace with all the world. Suddenly, and with a horrible shock, she discovers a deadly serpent's multi-fanged head and glittering eyes staring at her within easy striking distance.

The horrified mother bird feels that she is lost. She knows full well that with any movement to escape the serpent instantly will launch its attack. Her one hope, and seemingly her only chance for life, is that if she remains motionless the serpent will go its way without harming her. (Think of the thousands of helpless men, women and children who have hoped and acted similarly in the presence of bandits and hold-up men presenting loaded revolvers! But they were far from being "charmed.")

The bird hopes, and sits still, paralyzed with fear. At its leisure the serpent strikes; and after a certain number of horrible minutes, all is over. I think there is no real "charm" exercised in the tragedy; but that there is on the part of the bird a paralysis of fear, which is in my opinion a well defined emotion, common in animals and in men. I have seen it in many animals.

Snakes that Feign Death. The common hog-nosed snake, mistakenly called the "puff-adder" and blowing "viper" (Heterodon platyrhinus) of the New England states, often feigns death when it is caught in the open, and picked up. It will "play 'possum" while you carry it by its tail, head downward, or hang its limp body over a fence. Of course it hopes to escape by its very clever ruse, and no doubt it often does so from the hands of inexperienced persons.

Do Snakes Swallow Their Young? I think not. A number of persons solemnly have declared that they have seen snakes do so, but no herpetologist ever has seen an occurrence of that kind. I believe that all of the best authorities on serpents believe that snakes do not swallow their young. The theory of the pro-swallowists is that the mother snake takes her young into her interior to provide for their safety, and that they do not go as far down as the stomach. The anti-swallowists declare that the powerful digestive juices of the stomach of a snake would quickly kill any snakelets coming in contact with it; and I believe that this is true.

At present the snake-swallowing theory must be ticketed "not proven," and is filed for further reference.

The Hoop Snake Fable. There is no such thing as a "hoop-snake" save in the vivid imaginations of a very few men.

The Intelligence of the King Cobra. Curator of Reptiles Raymond L. Ditmars regards the huge king cobra of the Malay Peninsula, the largest of all poisonous serpents, as quite the wisest serpent known to him. He says its mind is alert and responsive to a very unusual degree in serpents, and that it manifests a keen interest in everything that is going on around it, especially at feeding- time. This is quite the reverse of the usual sluggish and apathetic serpent mind in captivity.

Incidentally, I would like very much to know just what our present twelve-foot cobra thought when, upon its arrival at its present home, its total blindness was relieved by the thrillingly skilful removal of the two layers of dead scales that had closed over and finally adhered to each orbit.

The vision of the king cobra is keen, and its temper is not easily ruffled. Its temperament seems to be sanguine, which is just the opposite of the nervous-combative hooded and spectacled cobra species.

The So-called "Snake Charmers" of India. Herpetologists generally discredit the idea that a peripatetic Hindu can "charm" a cobra any farther or more quickly than any snake-keeper. In the first place, the fangs of the serpent are totally removed,—by a very savage and painful process. After that, the unfortunate snake is in no condition to fight or to flee. It seeks only to be let alone, and the musical-pipe business is to impress the mind of the observer.

Serpent Psychology an Unplowed Field. At this date (1922) we know only the rudiments of serpent intelligence and temperament. In the wilds, serpents are most elusive and difficult to determine. In captivity they are passive and undemonstrative. We do not know how much memory they have, they rarely show what they think, and on most subjects we do not know where they stand. But the future will change all this. During the past twenty years the number of herpetologists in the United States has increased about tenfold. It is fairly impossible that serpent psychology should much longer remain unstudied, and unrevealed along the lines of plain common- sense.

The Ways of Crocodiles. The ways of crocodiles are dark and deep; their thoughts are few and far between. Their wisdom is above that of the tortoises and turtles, but below that of the serpents. I have had field experience with four species of crocodilians in the New World and three in the Old. With but slight exceptions they all think alike and act alike.

The great salt-water crocodile of the Malay Peninsula and Borneo is the only real man-eater I ever met. Except under the most provocative circumstances, all the others I have met are practically harmless to man. This includes the Florida species, the Orinoco crocodile, the little one from Cuba, the alligator, the Indian gavial and the Indian crocodile (C. palustris).

The salt-water crocodile, that I have seen swimming out in the ocean two miles or more from shore, is in Borneo a voracious man- eater. It skilfully stalks its prey in the murky rivers where Malay and Dyak women and children come down to the village bathing place to dip up water and to bathe. There, unseen in the muddy water, the monster glides up stealthily, seizes his victim by the leg, and holding it tightly backs off into deep water and disappears. The victims are drowned, not bitten to death.

I found in Ceylon that the Indian crocodile is a shameless cannibal, devouring the skinned carcasses of its relatives whenever an opportunity offered.

The Florida crocodile is the shrewdest species of all those I know personally. It has the strange habit of digging out deep and spacious burrows for concealment, in the perpendicular sandy banks of southern Florida rivers where the deep water comes right up to the shore. Starting well under low-water mark, the crock digs in the yielding sand, straight into the bank, a roomy subterranean chamber. In this snug retreat he once was safe from all his enemies,—until the fatal day when his secret was discovered, and revealed to a grasping world. Since that time, the Alligator Joes of Palm Beach and Miami have made a business of personally conducting parties of northern visitors, at $50 per catch, to witness the adventure of catching a nine-foot crocodile alive. The dens are located by probing the sand with long iron rods. A rope noose is set over the den's entrance, and when all is ready, a confederate probes the crocodile out of its den and into the fatal noose.

Today the Florida crocodile is so nearly extinct that it required two years of diligent inquiry to produce one live specimen subject to purchase.

Common Sense in the Common Toad. Last spring, in planting a lot of trees on our lawn, a round tree-hole that stood for several days unoccupied finally accumulated about a dozen toads. Its two feet of straight depth was unscalable, and when finally discovered the toads were tired of their imprisonment. Partly as a test of their common-sense, Mr. George T. Fielding placed a six-inch board in the hole, at an angle of about thirty degrees, but fairly leading out of the trap.

In very quick time the toads recognized the possibilities of the inclined plane and hopped upward to liberty. In the use of this opportunity they showed more wisdom than our mountain sheep manifest concerning the same kind of an improvement designed to enable them to reach the roof of their building. XVII

THE TRAINING OF WILD ANIMALS

Before we enter this chapter let us pause a moment on the threshold, and consider the logic of animal training and performances.

Logic is only another name for reason. Its reverse side is fanaticism; and that way madness lies. It is the duty of every sane man and woman to consider the cold logic of every question affecting the welfare of man and nature. Fanaticism when carried to extremes can become a misdemeanor or a crime. The soft-hearted fanaticism of humanics that saves a brutal murderer, or would-be murderer like Berkman, from the gallows or the chair, and eventually turns him loose to commit more crimes against innocent people, is not only wrong, and wicked, but in aggravated cases it is a crime against society.

Just now there is a tiny wave of agitation against all performances of trained wild animals, and the keeping of animals in captivity, on the ground that all this is "cruel" and inhumane. The Jacklondon Society of Boston is working hard to get up steam for this crusade, but thus far with only partial success. Its influence is confined to a very small area.

Now, what is the truth of this matter? Is it true that trained wild animals are cruelly abused in the training, or in compelling them to perform? Is it true that in making animals perform on the stage, or in the circus ring, their rights are wickedly infringed? Is it the duty of the American people to stop all performances by animals? Is it wicked to make wild animals, or cats and dogs, work for a living, as men and women do? Is it true that captive animals in zoological parks and gardens are miserable and unhappy, and that all such institutions should be "abolished?" What is truth?

In the first place, there is no sound reasoning or logic in assuming that the persons of animals, tame or wild, are any more sacred than those of men, women and children. We hold that it is no more "cruelty" for an ape or a dog to work in training quarters or on the stage than it is for men, women and young people to work as acrobats, or actors, or to engage in honest toil eight hours per day. Who gave to any warm-blooded animal that consumes food and requires shelter the right to live without work? No one! I am sure that no trained bear of my acquaintance ever had to work as hard for his food and shelter as does the average bear out in the wilds. In order to find enough to eat the latter is compelled to hustle hard from dawn till dark. I have seen that the Rocky Mountain grizzly feels forced to dig a big hole three feet deep in hard, rocky ground, to get one tiny ground squirrel the size of a chipmunk,—and weighing only eight or nine ounces. Now, has he anything "on" the performing bear? Decidedly not.

I regard the sentimental Jacklondon idea, that no wild animal should be made to work on the stage or in the show-ring, as illogical and absurd. Human beings who sanely work are much happier per capita than those who do nothing but loaf and grouch. I have worked, horse-hard, throughout all the adult years of my life; and it has been good for me. I know that it is no more wrong or wicked for a horse to work for his living,—of course on a humane basis,—either on the stage or on the street, than it is for a coal-carrier, a foundryman, a farmer, a bookkeeper, a school teacher or a housewife to do the day's work.

The person of a wild animal is no more sacred than is that of a man or woman. A sound whack for an unruly elephant, bear or horse is just as helpful as it is for an unruly boy who needs to be shown that order is heaven's first law.

In the presence of the world's toiling and sweating millions, in the presence of millions of children in the home sweat-shops and factories working their little lives out for their daily crust and a hard bed, what shall we think and say of the good, kind-hearted people who are spending time and energy in crusading against trained animal performances?

The vast majority of performing animals are trained by humane men and women, practicing kindness to the utmost; and they are the last persons in the world who would be willing to have their valuable stock roughly handled, neglected or in any manner cruelly treated.

So far as zoological parks and gardens are concerned, they are no more in need of defense than the Rocky Mountains.

Every large zoological park is a school of wild-animal education and training; and it is literally a continuous performance. Let no one suppose that there is no training of wild beasts save for the circus ring and the vaudeville stage. Of the total number of large and important mammals that come into our zoological parks, the majority of them actually are trained to play becomingly their respective parts. An intractable and obstinate animal soon becomes a nuisance.

The following, named in the order of their importance, are the species whose zoological park training is a matter of necessity: Elephants, bears, apes, hippopotami, rhinoceroses, giraffes, bison, musk-ox, wild sheep, goats and deer, African antelopes, wild swine, and wild horses, asses and zebras. Of large birds the most conspicuous candidates for training in park life are the ostriches, emus, cassowaries, cranes, pelicans, swans, egrets and herons, geese, ducks, pheasants, macaws and cockatoos, curassows, eagles and vultures. Among the reptiles, the best trained are the giant tortoises, the pythons, boas, alligators, crocodiles, iguanas and gopher snakes.

Each one of these species is educated (1) to be peaceful, and not attack their keepers; (2) to not fear their keepers; (3) to do as they are bid about going here or there; (4) to accept and eat the food that is provided for them, and (5) finally, in some cases to "show off" a little when commanded, for the benefit of visitors.

All this training comes in the regular course of our daily work, and there are few animals who do not respond to it. The necessity for training is most imperative with the elephants and bears, for without it the difficulties in the management of those dangerous animals is greatly intensified.

In training an animal to do a particular act not in the routine of his daily life, it is of course necessary to show him clearly and pointedly what is desired. I think that in quickness of perception, and ability to adopt a new idea, the elephants and the great apes are tied for first place. Both are remarkably quick. It seems to me that it required only half a dozen lessons to teach our Indian elephant, Gunda, to take a penny in his trunk, lift the lid of a high-placed box, drop in the coin, then pull a bell-cord and ring a bell. Of course the reward for the first successful performances was lumps of sugar. Within three days this rather interesting special exhibit was working smoothly, and coining money. As a means of working off on the poor animal great numbers of foreign copper coins, and spurious issues of all kinds, it was a great boon to the foreign population of New York. Our erratic elephant Alice was quickly trained by Keeper Richards to blow a mouth organ, to ring a telephone by turning the crank, and to take off the receiver and hold it up to her ear for an imaginary call.

Another keeper, with no previous experience as a trainer, taught a male orang-utan called Rajah to go through a series of performances that are elsewhere described.

Bright and Dull Individuals. Every wild animal species contains the same range of bright and dull individuals that are found in the various races of men. Naturally the animal trainer selects for training only those animals that are of amiable disposition, that mentally are alert, responsive and possessed of good memories. The worst mistakes they make are in taking on and forcing ill-natured and irritable animals, that hate training and performing. Often a trainer persists in retaining an animal that resolutely should be thrown out. Captain Bonavita lost his arm solely because of his fatal persistence in retaining in his group of lions an animal that hated him, and which the trainer well knew was dangerous.

While nearly every wild animal can be taught a few simple tricks, the dull mind soon reaches its constitutional limit. Even among the great apes, conditions are quite the same. One half the orang- utans are of the thin-headed, pin-headed type that is hopeless for stage training. The good ones are the stocky, round-headed, round- faced individuals who have the cephalic index of the statesman or jurist, and a broad and well-rounded dome of thought.

Training for the Ring and the Stage. During his long and successful career as a purveyor of wild animals for all purposes, Carl Hagenbeck had great success in the production of large animal groups trained for stage performances. I came in close touch with his methods and their results. His methods were very simple, and they were founded on kindness and common sense. Mr. Hagenbeck hated whips and punishments. When an animal could not get on without them, it was dropped from the cast. His working theory was that an unwilling animal makes a bad actor.

There is no mystery about the best methods in training animals, wild or domestic. The first thing is to assemble a suitable number of young animals, all of which are mentally bright and physically sound. Most adult animals are impracticable, and often impossible, because they are set in their ways. The elephants are monumental exceptions. A large, well-lighted and sunny room is provided; and around it are the individual cages for the student animals. The members of the company are fed wisely and well, kept scrupulously clean, and in all ways made comfortable and contented. When not at their work they are allowed to romp and play together until they are tired of the exercise.

The trainer who has been selected to create a specified group spends practically his entire time with his pupils. He feeds them, and mixes with them daily and hourly. From the beginning he teaches them that they must obey him, and not fight. The work of training begins with simple things, and goes on to the complex; and each day the same routine is carried out. To each animal is assigned a certain place in the circle, with a certain tub or platform on which to sit at ease when not acting in the ring. It is exceedingly droll to see a dozen cub lions, tigers, bears and cheetahs sitting decorously on their respective tubs and gravely watching the thirteenth cub who is being labored with by the keeper to bring its ideas and acts into line. The stage properties are many; and they all assist in helping the actors to remember the sequence of their acts, as well as the things to be done. The key that controls the mind of a good animal is the reward idea. Many a really bad animal goes through its share of the performance solely to secure the bit of meat, the lump of sugar or the prized biscuit that never fails to show up at the proper moment.



The acts to be performed are gone over in the training quarters, innumerable times; and this continues so long that by the time the "group" is ready for the stage, behold! the cubs with which the patient and tireless trainer began have grown so large that to the audience they now seem like adult and savage animals. Those who scoff at the wild animal mind, and say that all this displays nothing but "machines in fur" need to be reminded that this very same line of effort in training and rehearsal is absolutely necessary in the production of every military company, every ballet, and every mass performance on the stage. There is no successful performance without training. Boys and girls require the very same sort of handling that the wild animals receive, but the humans do with a little less of it.

The man who flouts a good stage performance by wild animals on the ground that it reveals "no thought," and is only "imitation," is, in my judgment, a very short-sighted student. Maniacs and imbeciles cannot be trained to perform any program fit to be seen. I saw that tried fifty years ago, in "the wild Australian children," who were idiots. The performer must think, and reason.

Of the many groups of trained animals that I have seen in performances, my mind goes back first to the one which contained a genuine bear comedian, of the Charlie Chaplin type. It was a Himalayan black bear, with fine side whiskers, and it really seemed to me absolutely certain that the other animals in the group appreciated and enjoyed the fun that comedian made. He pretended to be awkward, and frequently fell off his tub. He was purposely dilatory, and was often the last one to finish. The other animals seemed to be fascinated by his mishaps, and they sat on their tubs and watched him with what looked like genuine amusement. I remember another circle of seated animals who calmly and patiently sat and watched while the trainer labored with a cross and refractory leopard, to overcome its stubbornness, and to make it do its part.

Carl Hagenbeck loved to produce mixed groups of dangerous animals,—lions, tigers, leopards, bears and wolves. One trainer whom I knew was assisted in a highly dangerous group by a noble stag-hound who habitually kept close to his master, and was said to be ready to attack instantly any animal that might attack the trainer. I never saw a finer bodyguard than that dog.

In 1908 the most astounding animal group ever turned out of the Hagenbeck establishment, or shown on any stage, appeared in London. It consisted of 75 full-grown polar bears! Now, polar bears, either for the cage or the stage, are bad citizens. Instinctively I always suspect their mental reservations, and for twenty-one years have carefully kept our keepers out of their reach. But Mr. William Hagenbeck, brother of the great Carl, actually trained and performed with a huge herd of dangerous polars to the number stated.

In the Strand magazine for April, 1908, there is a fine article by Arthur Harold about this group and its production. It says that the bears were obtained when seven or eight months old, in large lots, and all thrown in together. It took a keeper between seven and eight months to educate them out of their savage state,—by contact, kindness, sugar and fruit,—and then they were turned over to the trainer, Mr. Hagenbeck. They were taught to form pyramids, climb ladders, shoot the chutes, ride in pony carriages, draw and ride in sleds, drink from bottles, and work a see-saw. Various individuals did individual tricks. The star performer was Monk, the wrestling bear, who went with his trainer through a fearsome wrestling performance.

Concerning the temperament of that polar bear group Mr. William Hagenbeck said:

"Although I know every animal in the company, have taught each one to recognize me, and have been among many of them for fifteen years, I can not now tell by their expressions the moods of the animals. This is one of the characteristics of the polar bear. Their expression remains the same, and it is impossible to detect by watching their faces whether they are pleased or cross. Now in most wild animals, such as the lion, you can tell by the expression of the beast's face and by its actions whether it is in a good temper or not.... The truth is, the polar bear is a most awkward beast to train. In the first place its character is difficult to understand. He is by nature very suspicious, and without the least warning is apt to turn upon his trainer. Among the seventy bears that have been taught to do tricks, only two of them are really fond of their work."

In the end, Mr. William Hagenbeck was very nearly killed by one of these polar bears. I was with Carl Hagenbeck a few hours after he received telegraphic news of the tragedy, and his bitterness against those polar bears was boundless. I understood that Monk, the wrestling bear, was the assailant,—which was small cause for wonder. When I saw Mr. Hagenbeck's polar bear show, it gave me shivers of fear. The first two big male polars that we installed at our Park came from that very group, and one of them led us into a dreadful tragedy, with a female bear as the victim.

The So-Called "Trick" Performances. Some psychologists make light of what they call "trick performances," in which the performing animals are guided by signs, or signals, or spoken commands from their trainers. I have never been able to account for this. It is incontestably true that dull and stupid animals can learn little, and perform less. For example, all the training in the world could not suffice to put a pig through a performance that a chimpanzee or orang could master in two weeks. The reason is that the pig has not the brain power that is indispensable. A woodchuck never could become the mental equal of a wood rat (Neotoma). A sheep could not hope to rival a horse, either in training or in execution.

Really, the brain, the memory and reason must enter into every animal performance that amounts to anything worth while. It is just as sensible to flout soldiers on the drill-ground as to wave aside as of no account a troup of trained lions or sea-lions on the stage. Any animal that can be taught to perform difficult feats, and that delivers the goods in the blinding glare and riot of the circus ring or the stage footlights, is entitled to my profound respect for its powers of mind and nerve.

The Sea-Lion's Repertoire. Long ago trainers recognized in the California sea-lion (Zalophus) a good subject for the ring and stage. Its long, supple neck, its lithe body and brilliant nervous energy seemed good for difficult acts. The sea-lion takes very kindly to training, and really delights in its performances. In fact, it enters into its performance with a keen vigor and zest that is pleasing to behold. Let this veracious record of a performance of Treat's five sea-lions and two harbor seals, that I witnessed October 15, 1910, tell the whole story, in order that the reader may judge for himself:

1. Each sea-lion balanced upright on its nose a wooden staff 3 feet long, with a round knob on its upper end.

2. Each sea-lion caught in its mouth a three-foot stick with a ball on each end, tossed it up, whirled it in the air, and caught it again. This was repeated, without a miss.

3. Each sea-lion balanced on the tip of its nose, first a ball like a baseball, then a large ball two feet in diameter.

4. Each sea-lion climbed a double ladder of eight steps, and went down on the other side, balancing a large ball on the end of its nose, without a miss.

5. The trainer handed a ball to the sea-lion nearest him, who balanced it on his nose, walked with it to his box and climbed up.

6. Then another sea-lion walked over to him, and waited expectantly until sea-lion No. 1 tossed the ball to No. 2, who caught it on his nose, walked over to his box, climbed up, and presently tossed it to No. 3.

7. A silk hat was balanced on its rim.

8. A seal carrying a balanced ball scrambled upon a cylindrical basket and rolled it across the arena, after which other seals repeated the performance.

9. In the last act a flaming torch was balanced, tossed about, caught and whirled, and finally returned to the trainer, still blazing.

Trained Horses. By carefully selecting the brightest and most intelligent horses that can be found, it is possible for a trainer to bring together and educate a group that will go through a fine performance in public. However, some exhibitions of trained horses are halting, ragged and poor. I have seen only one that stands out in my records as superlatively fine,—for horses. That was known to the public when I saw it as Bartholomew's "Equine Paradox," and it contained twelve wonderfully trained horses. My record of this fine performance fills seven pages of a good-sized notebook. While it is too long to reproduce here entire, it can at least be briefly described. The trainer called his group a "school," and of it he said:

"While I do not say that any one horse knows the meaning of from 300 to 400 words, I claim that as a whole the school does know that number."

The performance was fairly bewildering; but by diligent work I recorded the whole of it. Various horses did various things. They fetched chairs, papers, hats and coats; opened desks, rang bells, came when called, bowed, knelt, and erased figures from a blackboard. They danced a waltz, a clog dance, a figure-8; they marched, halted, paced, trotted, galloped, backed, jumped, leaped over each other, performed with a barrel, a see-saw and a double see-saw. Their marching and drilling would have been creditable to a platoon of rookies.

In performing, every horse is handicapped by his lack of hands and plant grade feet; and the horse memory is not very sure or certain. More than any other animal, the horse depends upon the trainer's command, and in poor performances the command often requires to be repeated, two or three times, or more. The memory of the horse is not nearly so quick nor so certain as that of the chimpanzee or elephant.

Dr. Martin J. Potter, of New York, famous trainer of stage and movie animals, states that of all animals, wild or domestic, the horse is the most intelligent; but I doubt whether he ever trained any chimpanzees. Speaking from out of the abundance of his training experience with many species of animals except the great apes, Dr. Potter says that "the seal [i. e. California sea-lion] learns its stage cues more easily than any other mute performer. The horse, however, is the most intelligent of all animals in its grasp and understanding of the work it has learned to perform, and in its reliable faithfulness and memory." Dr. Potter holds that of wild animals the tiger, owing to its treachery and ferocity, is the most difficult wild animal to train; the lion is the most reliable, and the most stupid of all animals is the pig.

The Taming of Boma. A keeper for a short time in our place, named D'Osta, once did a very neat piece of work in taming a savage and intractable chimpanzee. When Boma came to us, fresh from the French Congo, he was savage and afraid. He retreated to the highest resting-place of his cage, came down only at night for his meals, and would make no compromise. We believed that he had been fearfully abused by his former owners, and through mistreatment had acquired both fear and hatred of all men.

After the lapse of several months with Boma on that basis, the situation grew tiresome and intolerable. So D'Osta said:

"I must tame that animal, and teach him not to be afraid of us."

He introduced a roomy shifting cage into Boma's compartment, fixed the drop door, and for many days served Boma's food and water in that cage only. For two weeks the ape eluded capture, but eventually the keeper caught him. At first Boma's rage and fear were boundless; but presently the idea dawned upon his mind that he was not to be killed immediately. D'Osta handed him excellent food and water, twice a day, spoke to him soothingly, and otherwise let him alone. Slowly Boma's manner changed. He learned that he was not to be hurt, nor even annoyed. Confidence in the men about him began to come to him. His first signs of friendliness were promptly met and cultivated.

At the end of ten days, D'Osta opened the sliding door, and Boma walked out, a wiser and better ape. His bad temper and his fears were gone. He trusted his keeper, and cheerfully obeyed him. Strangest of all, he even suffered D'Osta to put a collar upon him, and chain him to the front bars to curb his too great playfulness while his cage was being cleaned.

Boma's fear of man has never returned. Now, although he is big and dangerous, he is a perfectly normal ape.

The Training of an Over-Age Bear. A bear-trainer-athlete and "bear-wrestler" named Jacob Glass once taught me a lesson that astounded me. It related to the training of a bear that I thought was too old to be trained.

We had an Alaskan cinnamon bear, three years old, that had been christened "Christian," at Skagway, because it stood so much pestering without flying into rages, as the grizzly did. After a short time with us, the concrete floors of our bear dens reacted upon the soles of its feet so strangely and so seriously that we were forced to transfer the animal to a temporary cage that had a wooden floor. While I was wondering what to do with that bear, along came Mr. Glass, anxious and unhappy.

"My wrestling bear has died on me," he said, "and I've got to get another. You have got one that I would like to buy from you. It's the one you call Christian."

Very kindly I said, "That is a mighty fine bear, as to temper; but now he is entirely too old to train, and you couldn't do anything with him. He would be a loss to you."

"I've looked him over, and I like his looks. I think I can train him all right. You let me have him, and I'll make a fine performer of him."

"I know that you never can do it; but you may try him, and send him back when you fail."

Thus ended the first lesson; and I was sure that in a month Mr. Glass would beg me to take back the untrainable animal.

About one year later Glass appeared again, jubilant. At once he broke forth into eulogies of Christian; but one chapter would not be large enough to contain them. He had trained that bear, with outrageous ease and celerity, and hadimmediately taken him upon the stage as a professional jiu-jitsu wrestler. And really, the act was admirable. As a wrestler, the bear seemed almost as intelligent as the man. He knew the "left-hand half-nelson" as well as Glass, and he knew the following words, perfectly: "Right, left, half-nelson, strangle, head up, nose under arm, and hammer-lock."



Glass declared that this bear was more intelligent than any lion, or any other trained animal ever seen by him. He was wise in many ways besides wrestling,—in his friendship with Glass, with other bears, with other men, and with a dog. He obeyed all orders willingly, even permitting Glass to take his food away when he was eating; but he would not stand being punished with a whip or a stick! In response to that he would bite. However, he generously permitted himself to be held down and choked, as a punishment, after which he would be very repentant, and would insist upon getting into his partner's lap,—to show his good will.

Glass was enthusiastically certain that Christian could reason independently from cause to effect. He declared that his alertness of mind was so pronounced it was very rarely necessary to show him a second time how to do a given thing.

Training an Adult Savage Monkey. Once we had a number of Japanese red-faced monkeys, and one of the surplus adult males had a temper as red as his face. Mr. Wormwood, an exhibitor of performing monkeys, wished to buy that animal; but I declined to sell it, on the ground that it would be impossible to train it.

At that implied challenge the trainer perked up and insisted upon having that particular bad animal; so we yielded. He wished him for the special business of turning somersaults, because he had no tail to interfere with that performance.

Two months later Mr. Wormwood appeared again. "Yes," he said, but not boastfully, "I trained him; but I came mighty near to giving him up as a bad job. He was the hardest subject I ever tackled; but I conquered him at last, and now he is working all right."

A really great number of different kinds of animals have been trained for stage performances, running the scale all the way up from fleas to elephants. It is easy to recall mice, rats, rabbits, squirrels, parrots, macaws, cockatoos, crows, chickens, geese, cats, pigs, dogs, monkeys, baboons, apes, bears, seals, sea-lions, walruses, kangaroos, horses, hippopotami and elephants. It is a large subject, and its many details are full of interest. It is impossible to discuss here all these species and breeds.

In concluding these notes I leave off as I began,—with the statement that any student of animal psychology who for any reason whatever ignores or undervalues the intelligence of trained animals puts a handicap upon himself.



III. THE HIGHER PASSIONS

XVIII

THE MORALS OF WILD ANIMALS

The ethics and morals of men and animals are thoroughly comparative, and it is only by direct comparisons that they can be analyzed and classified. It is quite possible that there are quite a number of intelligent men and women who are not yet aware of the fact that wild animals have moral codes, and that on an average they live up to them better than men do to theirs.

It is a painful operation to expose the grinning skeletons in the closets of the human family, but in no other way is it possible to hold a mirror up to nature. With all our brightness and all our talents,—real and imitation,—few men ever stop to ask what our horses, dogs and cats think of our follies and our wickedness.

By the end of the year 1921 the annual total of human wickedness had reached staggering proportions. From August 1914 to November 1918 the moral standing of the human race reached the lowest depth it ever sounded since the days of the cave-dwellers. This we know to be true, because of the increase in man's capacity for wickedness, and its crop of results. After what we recently have seen in Europe and Asia, and on the high seas, let no man speak of a monster in human form as "a brute;" for so far as moral standing is concerned, some of the animals allegedly "below man" now are in a position to look down upon him.

It is a cold and horrid fact that today, all around us, and sometimes close at hand, men are committing a long list of revolting crimes such as even the most debased and cruel beasts of the field never commit. I refer to wanton wholesale murder, often with torture; assault with violence, robbery in a hundred cruel forms, and a dozen unmentionable crimes invented by degenerate man and widely practiced. If anyone feels that this indictment is too strong, I can cite a few titles that will be quite sufficient for my case.

Let us make a few comparisons between the human species (Homo sapiens) and the so-called "lower" wild animals; and let it be understood that the author testifies, in courtroom phrase, only "to the best of his information and belief."

Only two wild animal species known to me,—wolves and crocodiles, —devour their own kind; but many of the races of men have been cannibals, and some are so today.

Among free wild animals, the cruel abuse or murder of children by their parents, or by other adults of the tribe, is unknown; but in all the "civilized" races of men infanticide and child murder are frightfully common crimes. In 1921 a six-year-old Eskimo girl, whose father and mother had been murdered, was strangled by her relatives, because she had no visible means of support.

The murder of the aged and helpless among wild animals is almost unknown; but among both the savage and the civilized races of men it is quite common. Our old acquaintance, Shack-Nasty Jim, the Modoc Indian, tomahawked his own mother because she hindered his progress; but many persons in and around New York have done worse than that.

Civil war between the members of a wild animal species is a thing unknown in the annals of wild-animal history; but among men it is an every-day occurrence.

Among free animals it is against the moral and ethical codes of all species of vertebrates for the strong to bully and oppress the weak; but it is almost everywhere a common rule of action with about ten per cent of the human race.

The members of a wild animal species are in honor bound not to rob one another, but with 25 per cent of the men of all civilized races, robbery, and the desire to get something for nothing, are ruling passions. No wild animals thus far known and described practice sex crimes; but the less said of the races of men on this subject, the better for our feelings.

Among animals, save in the warfare of carnivorous animals for their daily food, there are no exterminatory wars between species, and even local wars over territory are of very rare occurrence. Among men, the territorial wars of tribes and nations are innumerable, they have been from the earliest historic times, and they are certain to continue as long as this earth is inhabited by man. The "end of war" between the grasping nations of this earth is an iridescent dream, because of the inextinguishable jealousy and meanness of nations; but it is well to reduce them to a minimum. Nations like Germany, Bulgaria, Turkey and Russia will never stand hitched for any long periods. Their peace-loving neighbors need to keep their weapons well oiled and polished, and indulge in no hallucinations of a millenium upon this wicked earth.

In the mating season, there is fighting in many wild animal species between the largest and finest male individuals for the honor of overlordship in increasing and diffusing the species. These encounters are most noticeable in the various species of the deer family, because the fatal interlocking of antlers occasionally causes the death of both contestants. We have in our National Collection of Heads and Horns sets of interlocked antlers of moose, caribou, mule deer and white-tailed deer.

Otherwise than from the accidental interlocking of antlers,—due to the fact that an animal can push forward with far greater force than it can pull back,—I have never seen, heard or read of a wild animal having been killed outright in a fight over the possession of females. Fur seal and Stellar sea-lion bulls, and big male orang-utans, frequently are found badly scarified by wounds received in fighting during the breeding season, but of actual deaths we have not heard.

The first law of the jungle is: "Live, and let live."

Leaving out of account the carnivorous animals who must kill or die, all the wild vertebrate species of the earth have learned the logic that peace promotes happiness, prosperity and long life. This fundamentally useful knowledge governs not only the wild animal individual, but also the tribe, the species, and contiguous species.

Do the brown bears and grizzlies of Alaska wage war upon each other, species against species? By no means. It seems reasonably certain that those species occasionally intermarry. Do the big sea-lions and the walruses seek to drive away or exterminate the neighboring fur seals or the helpless hair seals? Such warfare is absolutely unknown. Do the moose and caribou of Alaska and Yukon Territory attack the mountain sheep and goats? Never. Does the Indian elephant attack the gaur, the sambar, the axis deer or the muntjac? The idea is preposterous. Does any species of giraffe, zebra, antelope or buffalo attack any other species on the same crowded plains of British East Africa? If so, we have yet to learn of it.

If the races and nations of men were as peace-loving, honest and sensible in avoiding wars as all the wild animal species are, then would we indeed have a social heaven upon earth.

Now, tell me, ye winged winds that blow from the four corners of the earth and over the seven seas, whence came the Philosophy of Peace to the world's wild animals? Did they learn it by observing the ways of man? "It is to laugh," says the innkeeper. Man has not yet learned it himself; and therefore do we find the beasts of the field a lap ahead of the quarrelsome biped who has assumed dominion over them.

Day by day we read in our newspapers of men and women who are moral lepers and utterly unfit to associate with horses, dogs, cats, deer and elephants. Our big male chimpanzee, Father Boma, who knows no wife but Suzette, and firmly repels the blandishments of his neighbor Fanny, is a more moral individual than many a pretty gentleman whose name we see heading columns of divorce proceedings in the newspapers.

Said the Count to Julia in "The Hunchback," "Dost thou like the picture, dearest?" As a natural historian, it is our task to hew to the line, and let the chips fall where they will.

Among the wild animals there are but few degenerate and unmoral species. In some very upright species there are occasionally individual lapses from virtue. A famous case in point is the rogue elephant, who goes from meanness to meanness until he becomes unbearable. Then he is driven out of the herd; he becomes an outcast and a bandit, and he upsets carts, maims bullocks, tears down huts and finally murders natives until the nearest local sahib gets after him, and ends his career with a bullet through his wicked brain.

In my opinion the gray wolf of North America (like his congener in the Old World) is the most degenerate and unmoral mammal species on earth. He murders his wounded packmates, he is a greedy cannibal, he will attack his wife and chew her unmercifully. On the other hand, his one redeeming trait is that he helps to rear the pups,—when they are successfully defended from him by their mother!

The wolverine makes a specialty of devilish and uncanny cunning and energy in destroying the property of man. Trappers have told us that when a wolverine invades a trapper's cabin in his absence, he destroys very nearly its entire contents. The food that he can neither eat nor carry away he defiles in such a manner that the hungriest man is unable to eat it. This seems to be a trait of this species only,—among wild animals; but during the recent war it was asserted that similar acts were committed by soldiers in the captured and occupied villas of northern France.

The domestication of the dog has developed a new type of animal criminal. The sheep-killing dog is in a class by himself. The wild dog hunts in the broad light of day, often running down game by the relay system. The sheep-killing dog is a cunning night assassin, a deceiver of his master, a shrewd hider of criminal evidence, a sanctimonious hypocrite by day but a bloody-minded murderer under cover of darkness. Sometimes his cunning is almost beyond belief. Now, can anyone tell us how much of this particular evolution is due to the influence of Man upon Dog through a hundred generations of captivity and association? Has the dog learned from man the science of moral banditry, the best methods for the concealment of evidence, and how to dissemble?

Elsewhere a chapter is devoted to the crimes of wild animals; but the great majority of the cases cited were found among captive animals, where abnormal conditions produced exceptional results. The crimes of captive animals are many, but the crimes of free wild animals are comparatively few. Whenever we disturb the delicate and precise balance of nature we may expect abnormal results.



XIX

THE LAWS OF THE FLOCKS AND THE HERDS

Through a thousand generations of breeding and living under natural conditions, and of self-maintenance against enemies and evil conditions, the wild flocks and herds of beasts and birds have evolved a short code of community laws that make for their own continued existence.

And they do more than that. When free from the evil influences of man, those flock-and-herd laws promote, and actually produce, peace, prosperity and happiness. This is no fantastic theory of the friends of animals. It is a fact, just as evident to the thinking mind as the presence of the sun at high noon.

The first wild birds and quadrupeds found themselves beset by climatic conditions of various degrees and kinds of rigor and destructive power. In the torrid zone it took the form of excessive rain and humidity, excessive heat, or excessive dryness and aridity. In the temperate and frigid zones, life was a seasonal battle with bitter cold, torrents of cold rain in early winter or spring, devastating sleet, and deep snow and ice that left no room for argument.

At the same time, the species that were not predatory found themselves surrounded by fangs and claws, and the never-ending hunger of their owners. The air, the earth and the waters swarmed with predatory animals, great and small, ever seeking for the herbivorous and traitorous species, and preferably those that were least able to fight or to flee. The La Brea fossil beds at Los Angeles, wherein a hospitable lake of warm asphalt conserved skeletal remains of vertebrates to an extent and perfection quite unparalleled, have revealed some very remarkable conditions. The enormous output, up to date, of skulls of huge lions, wolves, sabre-toothed tigers, bears and other predatory animals, shows, for once, just what the camels, llamas, deer, bison and mammoths of those days had to do, to be, and to suffer in order to survive.

With the aid of a little serious study, it is by no means difficult to recognize the hard laws that have enabled the elephant, bison, sheep, goats, deer, antelope, gazelles, fur-seal, walrus and others to survive and increase. From the wild animal herds and bird flocks that we have seen and personally known, we know what their laws are, and can set them down in the order of their evolution and importance.

The First Law. There shall be no fighting in the family, the herd or the species, at any other time than in the mating season; and then only between adult males who fight for herd leadership.

The destructiveness of intertribal warfare, either organized or desultory, must have been recognized in Jurassic times, millions of years ago, by the reptiles of that period. Throughout the animal kingdom below man the blessings of peace now are thoroughly known. This first law is obeyed by all species save man. We doubt whether all the testimony of the rocks added together can show that one wild species of vertebrate life ever really was exterminated by another species, not even excepting the predatory species which lived by killing.

No one (so far as we know) has charged that the lions, or the tigers, the bears, the orcas, the eagles or the owls have ever obliterated a species during historic times. It was the swine of civilization, transplanted by human agencies, that exterminated the dodo on the Island of Mauritius; and it was men, not birds of prey, who swept off the earth the great auk, the passenger pigeon and a dozen other bird species.

The Second Law. The strong members of a flock or herd shall not bully nor oppress the weak.

This law, constantly broken by degenerate and vicious men, women and children, very rarely is broken in a free wild herd or flock. In the observance of this fundamental law, born of ethics and expediency, mankind is far behind the wild animals. It would serve a good purpose if the criminologists and the alienists would figure out the approximate proportion of the human species now living that bullies and maltreats and oppresses the weak and the defenseless. At this moment "society" in the United States is in a state of thoroughly imbecilic defenselessness against the new type of predatory savages known as "bandits."

The Third Law. During the annual period of motherhood, both prospective and actual, mothers must be held safe from all forms of molestation; and their young shall in no manner be interfered with.

For the perpetuation of a family, a clan or a species, the protection of the mothers, and their weak and helpless offspring is a necessity recognized by even the dullest vertebrate animals. As birth-time or nesting-time approaches the wild flocks and herds universally permit the potential mothers to seek seclusion, and to work out their respective problems according to their own judgment and the means at their command. The coming mother looks for a spot that will afford (1) a secure hiding-place, (2) the best available shelter from inclement weather, (3) accessible food and water, and (4) cover or other protection for her young.

During this period the males often herd together, and they serve a protective function by attracting to themselves the attacks of their enemies. For the mothers, the bearing time is a truce time. There are fox-hunters who roundly assert that in spring fox hounds have been known to refuse to attack and kill foxes about to become mothers.

The Fourth Law. In union there is strength; in separation there is weakness; and the solitary animal is in the greatest danger.

It was the wild species of mammals and birds who learned and most diligently observed this law who became individually the most numerous. A hundred pairs of eyes, a hundred noses and a hundred pairs of listening ears increase about ten times the protection of the single individual against surprise attacks. The solitary elephant, bison, sheep or goat is far easier to stalk and approach than a herd, or a herd member. A wolf pack can attack and kill even the strongest solitary musk-ox, bison or caribou, but the horned herd is invincible. A lynx can pull down and kill a single mountain sheep ram, but even the mountain lion does not care to attack a herd of sheep. It is due solely to the beneficent results of this clear precept, and the law of defensive union, that any baboons are today alive in Africa.

The grizzly bear loves mountain-goat meat; but he does not love to have his inner tube punctured by the deadly little black skewers on the head of a billy. It is the Mountain Goats' Protective Union that condemns the silvertip grizzly to laborious digging for humble little ground-squirrels, instead of killing goats for a living. The rogue elephant who will not behave himself in the herd, and will not live up to the herd law, is expelled; and after that takes place his wicked race is very soon ended by a high- power bullet, about calibre .26. The last one brought to my notice was overtaken by Charles Theobald, State Shikaree of Mysore, in a Ford automobile; and the car outlived the elephant.

The Fifth Law. Absolute obedience to herd leaders and parents is essential to the safety of the herd and of the individual; and this obedience must be prompt and thorough.

Whenever the affairs of grown men and women are dominated by ignorant, inexperienced and rash juniors, look out for trouble; for as surely as the sun continues to shine, it will come. With an acquaintance that comprehends many species of wild quadrupeds and birds, I do not recall even one herd or flock that I have seen led by its young members. There are no young spendthrifts among the wild animals. For them, youthful folly is too expensive to be tolerated. The older members of the clan are responsible for its safety, and therefore do they demand obedience to their orders. They have their commands, and they have a sign language by which they convey them in terms that are silent but unmistakable. They order "Halt," and the herd stops, at once. At the command "Attention," each herd member "freezes" where he stands, and intently looks, listens and scents the air. At the order "Feed at will," the tension slowly relaxes; but if the order is "Fly!" the whole herd is off in a body, as if propelled by one mind and one power.

My first knowledge of this law of the flock came down to me from the blue ether when I first saw, in my boyhood, a V-shaped flock of Canada geese cleaving the sky with straight and steady flight, and perfect alignment. Even in my boyish mind I realized that the well-ordered progress of the wild geese was in obedience to Intelligence and Flock Law. Later on, I saw on the Jersey sands the mechanical sweeps and curves and doubles of flying flocks of sandpipers and sanderlings, as absolutely perfect in obedience to their leaders as the slats of a Venetian blind.

A herd of about thirty elephants, under the influence of a still alarm and sign signals, once vanished from the brush in front of me so quickly and so silently that it seemed uncanny. One single note of command from a gibbon troop leader is sufficient to set the whole company in instant motion, fleeing at speed and in good order, with not a sound save the swish of the small branches that serve as the rungs of their ladder of flight.

In the actual practice of herd leadership in species of ruminant animals, the largest and most spectacular bull elk or bison is not always the leader. Frequently it has been observed that a wise old cow is the actual leader and director of the herd, and that "what she says, goes." This was particularly remarked to me by James McNaney during the course of our "last buffalo hunt" in Montana, in 1886. From 1880 to 1884 he had been a mighty buffalo-hunter, for hides. He stated that whenever as a still-hunter he got "a stand on a bunch," and began to shoot, slowly and patiently, so as not to alarm the stand, whenever a buffalo took alarm and attempted to lead away the bunch, usually it proved to be a wise old cow. The bulls seemed too careless to take notice of the firing and try to lead away from it.

The Sixth Law. Of food and territory, the weak shall have their share.

While this law is binding upon all the members of a wild flock, a herd, a clan or a species, outside of species limits it may become null and void; though in actual practice I think that this rarely occurs. Among the hoofed animals; the seals and sea-lions; the apes, baboons and monkeys, and the kangaroos, the food that is available to a herd is common to all its members. We can not recall an instance of a species attempting to dispossess and evict another species, though it must be that many such have occurred. In the game-laden plains of eastern Africa, half a dozen species, such as kongonis, sable antelopes, gazelles and zebras, often have been observed in one landscape, with no fighting visible.

With all but the predatory wild animals and man, the prevailing disposition is to live, and let live. One of the few recorded murders of young animals by an old one of the same species concerned the wanton killing of two polar bear cubs in northern Franz Joseph Land, as observed by Nansen.

The Seventh Law. Man is the deadliest enemy of all the wild creatures; and the instant a man appears the whole herd must fly from him, fast and far.

In some of the regions to which man and his death-dealing influence have not penetrated, this law is not yet on the statute books of the jungle and the wilderness. Sir Ernest Shackleton and Captain Scott found it unknown to the giant penguins and sea leopards of the Antarctic Continent, I have seen a few flocks and herds by whom the law was either unknown or forgotten; but the total number is a small one. There was a herd of mountain sheep on Pinacate Peak, a big flock of sage grouse in Montana, various flocks of ptarmigan on the summits of the Elk River Mountains, British Columbia,—and out of a long list of occurrences that is all I will now recall.

It is fairly common for the members of a vast assemblage of animals, like the bison, barren-ground caribou, fur seal, and sea birds on their nesting cliffs, to assume such security from their numbers as to ignore man; and all such cases are highly interesting manifestations of the influence of the fourth law when carried out to six decimal places.

The Eighth and Last Law. Whenever in a given spot all men cease to kill us, there may we accept sanctuary and dwell in peace.

This law comes as Amendment 1 to the original Constitution of the Animal Kingdom. The quick intelligence of wild animals in recognizing a new sanctuary, and in adopting it unreservedly and thankfully as their own territory, is to all friends of wild life a source of wonder and delight. With their own eyes Americans have seen the effects of sanctuary-making upon bison, elk, mule deer, white-tailed deer, mountain sheep, mountain goat, prong-horned antelope, grizzly and black bears, beavers, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, sage grouse, quail, wild ducks and geese, swans, pelicans brown and white, and literally hundreds of species of smaller birds of half a dozen orders.

In view of this magnificent and continent-wide manifestation of discovery, new thought and original conclusion, let no man tell us that the wild birds and quadrupeds "do not think" and "can not reason."

The Exceptions of Captivity. When wild animals come into captivity, a few individuals develop and reveal their worst traits of character, and much latent wickedness comes to the surface. A small percentage of individuals become mean and lawless, and a still smaller number show criminal instincts. These Bolshevistic individuals commit misdemeanors and crimes such as are unknown in the wild state. One male ruminant out of perhaps fifty will turn murderer, and kill a female or a fawn, entirely contrary to the herd law; and at long intervals a male predatory animal kills his mate or young.

Occasionally captivity warps wild animal or wild bird character quite out of shape, though it is a satisfaction to know that the total proportion of those so affected is very small. Long and close confinement in a prison-like home, filled with more daily cares and worries than any animal cage has of iron bars, has sent many a human wife and mother to an insane asylum; but the super- humanitarians who rail out at the existence of zoological parks and zoos are troubled by that not at all.



XX

PLAYS AND PASTIMES OF ANIMALS

I approach this subject with a feeling of satisfaction; but I would not like to state the number of hours that I have spent in watching the play of our wild animals.

Out in the wilds, where the bears, sheep and goats live and thrive, the outdoorsmen see comparatively few wild animals at play. No matter what the season, the dangers of the wilderness and mountain summit remain the same. When kids and lambs are young, the eaglets are hungriest, and their mothers are most determined in their hunting. After September 1, the deadly still-hunters are out, and strained watchfulness is the unvarying rule, from dawn until dark.

Out in the wilds, it is the moving animal that instantly catches every hostile eye within visual range. A white goat kid vigorously gamboling on the bare rocks would attract all the golden eagles, hunters, trappers and Indians within a radius of two miles. It is the rule that kids, fawns and lambs must lie low and keep still, to avoid attracting deadly enemies. On the bare summits, play can be indulged in only at great risk. Generations of persecution have implanted in the brain of the ruminant baby the commanding instinct to fold up its long legs, neatly and compactly, furl its ears along its neck, and closely lie for hours against a rock or a log. During daylight hours they must literally hug the ground. Silence and inactivity is the first price that all young animals in the wilds pay for their lives. It is only in the safe shelter of captivity, or man-made sanctuaries, that they are free to play.

In the comfortable security of the "zoo" all the wild conditions are changed. The restraints of fear are off, and every animal is free to act as joyous as it feels. Here we see things that men never see in the wilds! If any Rocky Mountain bear hunter should ever see bear cubs or full-grown bears wrestling and carrying on as they do here, he would say that they were plumb crazy!

Of all our wild animals, not even excepting the apes and monkeys, our young bears are the most persistently playful. In fact, I believe that when properly caged and tended, bears under eight years of age are the most joyous and playful of all wild animals. We have given our bears smooth and spacious yards floored with concrete, with a deep pool in the centre of each, and great possibilities in climbing upon rocks high and low. The top of each sleeping den is a spacious balcony with a smooth floor. The facilities for bear wrestling and skylarking are perfect, and there are no offensive uneven floors nor dead stone walls to annoy or discourage any bear. They can look at each other through the entire series of cages and there is no chance whatever for a bear to feel lonesome. We put just as many individuals into each cage as we think the traffic will stand; and sometimes as many as six young bears are reared together.

Now, all these conditions promote good spirits, playfulness, and the general enjoyment of life. Any one who thinks that our bears are not far happier than those that are in the wilds and exposed to enemies, hunger and cold, should pause and consider.

Our bear cubs begin to play just as soon as they emerge from their natal den, in March or April, and they keep it up until they are six or seven years of age,—or longer! Our visitors take the playfulness of small cubs as a matter of course, but the clumsy and ridiculous postures and antics of fat-paunched full-grown bears are irresistibly funny. Really, there are times when it seems as if the roars of laughter from the watching crowd stimulates wrestling bears to further efforts. On October 28, 1921, about seventy boys stood in front of and alongside the den of two Kluane grizzly cubs and shouted for nearly half an hour in approval and admiration of the rapid and rough play of those cubs.



The play of bears, young or middle-aged, consists in boxing, catch-as-catch-can wrestling, and chasing each other to and fro. Cubs begin to spar as soon as they are old enough to stand erect on their hind feet. They take their distance as naturally as prize-fighters, and they strike, parry and dodge just as men do. They handle their front feet with far more dexterity and precision than boys six years of age.

Boxing bears always strike for the head, and bite to seize the cheek of the opponent. In biting, mouth meets mouth, in defense as well as attack. When a biting bear makes a successful pass and finally succeeds in getting a firm toothhold on the cheek of his opponent, the party of the second part promptly throws himself prone upon the ground, and with four free feet concentrated upon the head of the other bear forces him to let go. This movement, and the four big, flat foot soles coming up into action is, in large bears, a very laughable spectacle, and generally produces a roar.

Wrestling bears roll over and over on the ground, clawing and biting, until one scrambles up, and either makes a new attack or rushes away.

Bears love to chase one another, and be chased; and in this form of skylarking they raise a whirlwind of activity which leads all around the floor, up to the balcony and along the length of it, and plunges down at the other end. Often a bear that is chased will fling himself into the bathing pool, with a tremendous splash, quickly scramble out again and rush off anew in a swirl of flying water.

The two big male polar bears that came to us from the William Hagenbeck group were very fond of playing and wrestling in the water of their swimming pool. Often they kept up that aquatic skylarking for two hours at a stretch, and by this constant claw work upon each other's pelts they kept their coats of hair so thinned down that we had to explain them. One bear had a very spectacular swimming trick. He would swim across the pool until his front feet touched the side, then he would throw himself over backwards, put his hind feet against the rock wall, and with a final shove send himself floating gracefully on his back across to the other side.

Playful bears are much given to playing tricks, and teasing each other. A bear sleeping out in the open den is regarded as a proper subject for hectoring, by a sudden bite or cuff, or a general assault. It is natural to expect that wrestling bears will frequently become angry and fight; but such is not the case. This often happens with boys and men, but bears play the game consistently to the end. I can not recall a single instance of a real bear fight as the result of a wrestling or boxing match; and may all boys take note of this good example from the bear dens.

Next to the bears, the apes and monkeys are our most playful animals. Here, also, it is the young and the half grown members of the company that are most active in play. Fully mature animals are too sedate, or too heavy, for the frivolities of youth. A well- matched pair of young chimpanzees will wrestle and play longer and harder than the young of any other primate species known to me. It is important to cage together only young apes of equal size and strength, for if there is any marked disparity in size, the larger and stronger animal will wear out the strength of its smaller cage-mate, and impair its health.

In playing, young chimps, orangs or monkeys seize each other and wrestle, fall, and roll over and over, indefinitely. They make great pretenses of biting each other, but it is all make-believe. My favorite orang-utan pet in Borneo loved to play at biting me, but whenever the pressure became too strong I would say chidingly, "Ah! Ah!" and his jaws would instantly relax. He loved to butt me in the chest with his head, make wry faces, and make funny noises with his lips. I tried to teach him "cat's cradle" but it was too much for him. His clumsy fingers could not manage it.

One of our brightest chimpanzees, named Baldy, was much given to hectoring his female cage-mate, for sport. What he regarded as his best joke was destroying her bed. Many times over, after she had laboriously carried straw up to the balcony, carefully made up a nice, soft, circular bed for herself, and settled down upon it for a well-earned rest, Baldy would silently climb up to her level, suddenly fling himself upon her as she lay, and with all four of his arms and legs violently working, the nest would be torn to pieces and scattered and the lady orang rudely pulled about. Then Baldy would joyously swing down to the lower level, settle himself demurely at the front of the cage, and with a placid face and innocent, far-away expression in his eyes gaze at the crowd. There was nothing lacking but a mischievous wink of one eye.

Whenever his cage-mate selected a particularly long and perfect straw and placed it crosswise in her mouth, Baldy would steal up behind her and gleefully snatch it away.

Baldy was a born comedian. He loved to amuse a crowd and make people laugh. He would go through a great trapeze performance of clownish and absurd gymnastics, and often end it with three or four loud smacks of his big black feet against the wall. This was accomplished by violent kicking backwards. His dancing and up-and- down jumping always made visitors laugh, after which he would joyously give his piercing "Wah-hoo" shout of triumph. A Sioux Indian squaw dances by jumping up and down, but her performance is lifeless in comparison.

No vaudeville burlesque dancer ever cut a funnier monkey shine than the up-and-down high-jump dance and floor-slapping act of our Boma chimpanzee (1921). Boma offers this whenever he becomes especially desirous of entertaining a party of distinguished visitors. In stiff dancing posture, he leaps high in the air, precisely like a great black jumping-jack straight from Dante's Inferno. Orangs love to turn somersaults, and some individuals are so persistent about it as to wear the hair off their backs, disfigure their beauty, and disgust their keepers.

In the chapter on "Mental Traits of the Gorilla" a descriptionis given of the play of Major Penny's wonderful John Gorilla.

When many captive monkeys are kept together in one large cage containing gymnastic properties, many species develop humor, and indulge in play of many kinds. They remind me of a group of well- fed and boisterous small boys who must skylark or "bust." From morning until night they pull each other's tails, wrestle and roll, steal each other's playthings, and wildly chase each other to and fro. There is no end of chattering, and screeching, and funny facial grimaces. A writer in Life once said that the sexes of monkeys can be distinguished by the fact that "the females chatter twice as fast as the males," but I am sure that many ladies will dispute that statement.

In a company of mixed monkeys, or a mixed company of monkeys, a timid and fearsome individual is often made the butt of practical jokes by other monkeys who recognize its weakness. And who has not seen the same trait revealed in crowds of boys?

But we can linger no longer with the Primates.

Who has not seen squirrels at play? Once seen, such an incident is not soon forgotten. I have seen gray, fox and red squirrels engage in highly interesting performances. The gray squirrel is stately and beautiful in its play, but the red squirrel is amazing in its elaborateness of method. I have seen a pair of those mischief- makers perform low down on the trunk of a huge old virgin white oak tree, where the holding was good, and work out a program almost beyond belief. They raced and chased to and fro, up, down and across, in circles, triangles, parabolas and rectangles, until it was fairly bewildering. Really, they seemed to move just as freely and certainly on the tree-trunk as if they were on the ground, with no such thing in sight as the law of gravitation.

It seems to me that the gray squirrel barks and the red squirrel chatters, scolds, and at times swears, chiefly for the fun of hearing himself make a noise. In the red squirrel it is impudent and defiant; and usually you hear it near your camp, or in your own grounds, where the rascals know that they will not be shot.

The playful spirit seems to be inherent in the young of all the Felidae. The playfulness of lion, tiger, leopard and puma cubs is irresistibly pleasing; and it is worth while to rear domestic kittens in order to watch their playful antics.

I have been assured by men who seemed to know, that wolf and fox cubs silently play in front of their home dens, when well screened from view, just as domestic dog puppies do; and what on earth can beat the playfulness of puppies of the right kind, whose parents have given them red blood instead of fat as their inheritance. Interesting books might be written about the play of dogs alone.

The play of the otter, in sliding down a long and steep toboggan slide of wet and slippery earth to a water plunge at the bottom, is well known to trappers, hunters, and a few naturalists. It is quite celebrated, and is on record in many places. I have seen otter slides, but never had the good luck to see one in use. The otters indulge in this very genuine sport with just as much interest and zest as boys develop in coasting over ice and snow with their sleds.

Here at the Zoological Park, young animals of a number of species amuse themselves in the few ways that are open to them. It is a common thing for fawns and calves of various kinds to butt their mothers, just for fun. A more common form of infantile ruminant sport is racing and jumping. Now and then we see a red buffalo calf three or four months old suddenly begin a spell of running for amusement, in the pure exuberance of health and good living. A calf will choose a long open course, usually up and down a gentle slope, and for two hundred feet or more race madly to and fro for a dozen laps, with tail stiffly and very absurdly held aloft. Of course men and beasts all pause to look at such performances, and at the finish the panting and perspiring calf halts and gazes about with a conscious air of pride. All this is deliberate "showing off," just such as small boys frequently engage in.

Elk fawns, and more rarely deer fawns, also occasionally indulge in similar performances. Often an adult female deer develops the same trait. One of our female Eld's deer annually engages in a series of spring runs. We have seen her race the full length of her corral, up and down, over a two hundred foot course, at really break-neck speed, and keep it up until her tongue hung out.

Years ago, in the golden days, I was so lucky as to see several times wonderful dances of flocks of saras cranes on the low sandy islets in the River Jumna, northern India, just below Etawah. It was like this: While the birds are idly stepping about, apropos of nothing at all, one suddenly flaps his long wings several times in succession, another jumps straight up in the air for a yard or so, and presto! with one accord the whole flock is galvanized into action. They throw aside their dignity, and real fun begins. Some stand still, heads high up, and flap their wings many times. Others leap in the air, straight up and down, one jump after another, as high as they can go. Others run about bobbing and bowing, and elaborately courtesying to each other with half opened wings, breasts low down and their tails high in the air, cutting very ridiculous figures.

In springtime in the Zoological Park we often see similar exhibitions of crane play in our large crane paddock. A particularly joyous bird takes a fit of running with spread wings, to and fro, many times over, and usually one bird thus performing inspires another, probably of his own kind, to join in the game. The other cranes look on admiringly and sometimes a spectator shrilly trumpets his approval.

In his new book, "The Friendly Arctic," Mr. Vilhjalmur Stefansson records an interesting example of play indulged in jointly by a frivolous arctic fox and eight yearling barren-ground caribou. It was a game of tag, or its wild equivalent. The fox ran into and through the group of caribou fawns, which gave chase and tried to catch the fox, but in vain. At last the fawns gave up the chase, returned to their original position, and came to parade rest. Then back came the fox. Again it scurried through the group in a most tantalizing manner, which soon provoked the fawns to chase the fox anew. At the end of this inning the caribou again abandoned the chase, whereupon the fox went off to attend to other affairs.