In Montalluyah there are large lakes, protected and enclosed by iron-work,
where hippopotami are reared.
These are interspersed with land, on which we deposit large quantities
of sand and moss.
We are very successful in rearing the animals, but we take care that
they should have facilities for following their natural habits.
I believe you have not been able to rear these beasts in Western Europe.
You might do so by observing their habits, and even by attending to a
few simple precautions. If you were once successful they would increase
rapidly, and you would soon discover their inestimable value.
This is the course we pursue when the animal is reared in confined
situations:
As soon as the female has conceived, a quantity of sand and moss is
placed on the ground at the side of the water. This is done without loss
of time, that the beast may be accustomed to the sight. Shortly, if left
to herself, she will wallow in the mixture, and as soon as the young one
is born, will place it in the sand, covering it over with moss.
As already observed, the female, when running wild in a state of nature,
lays the young one in the sand as soon as it is born, covering every
part of the body, and then overlaying it with moss. On this account, we
take care to deposit the sand and moss where the animal can easily find
them.
The beasts are of a very suspicious nature, and if the sand and moss
were not placed near the female until after her young one was born, she
would be afraid of them.
The mother is treated with great kindness, and is not allowed in any way
to be teased or used harshly.
The hippopotamus is a very nervous animal, and is besides very vicious
and irritable. The female does not easily forget an injury, particularly
when with young. If in any way used unkindly, the effects of the
vexation will endure for a long time after the birth of the young one,
which will come into the world in a weakly state, and will not thrive.
If it does not soon die, the mother will kill it; for, when ill-treated
either before or after parturition, the mother is ordinarily impelled to
destroy the calf. She is often so nervous, that, when with calf, she
cannot bear to be looked at and is then placed apart in an enclosure
reserved expressly for the purpose, which is hoarded round, and no one
but the keeper is allowed to approach her.
In a state of nature, the beast is accustomed to wander over large
tracts especially favoured by sun and light; even the water he swims in
is warmed by the sun. In the gardens in which you strive to rear these
beasts, they are kept in dark miserable places, where the water is cold,
and which the sun rarely penetrates. You are not kind to them
yourselves, and, besides, you allow visitors to tease them.
These errors alone are sufficient to prevent the mother bringing forth a
calf that will thrive.
In your cold and variable climates you would do well to have an enclosed
place, a kind of conservatory covered over with glass, arranged so as to
be opened in warm weather, particularly when the sun shines, and closed
during the greater part of the winter, at which time the water, in which
the beasts swim, should be warmed by a genial heat diffused through the
building. This plan would be much more profitable than your actual dear
economy.
If from any cause it is found judicious to separate the mother and the
young one, care should be taken to effect the separation immediately
after the birth, before the natural food has been tasted, or at least
before it has become familiar to the young one, and the calf should be
placed where it cannot hear the mother's moaning call.
Warmed sand and moss should be in readiness, in which to immerse and all
but cover the little one.
Goat's milk, or other substitutes for the mother's milk, must be
administered whilst quite warm and just drawn from the goat. If allowed
to stand, the liquid would injure instead of doing good, and even if
artificially warmed would not be so beneficial as the new milk.
It is not improbable that the calf will at first refuse the proffered
beverage. The expedients for causing the animal to drink should be
devised so as to avoid all unnecessary annoyance, and if this precaution
be attended to the animal will of its own accord soon drink the warm
milk, and take other proper food.
The room where the young one is kept should be of an equal warmth both
day and night. In a state of nature the mother obtains this equalization
of the temperature, and protects the young one from the comparative
chilliness of the night air by lying across the sand in which she has
placed the object of her care.
The removal of the young one from the mother is effected with ease; and
as this process is with you accompanied by many inconveniences, besides
being very difficult and dangerous, a few hints as to our mode of
proceeding may be of use.
We have four very long sockets peculiarly formed at their base, so that
they can be thrust for a long distance into the sandy ground, and there
take the firmest hold. They are placed at certain distances about the
spot where the mother lies, and into them are inserted four poles of
great strength, so arranged that they stand at the angles of a square or
parallelogram, sustaining a framework surmounted by planks sufficiently
strong to support four men in case of need, though sometimes two only
are required. The men, who are very skilful, are stationed one on each
side of the plank, armed with a large strong net, made of a soft and
agreeable material, which, as soon as the young one is born, they let
down very gradually, so as to disturb the mother as little as possible.
Should she be annoyed at the appearance of the net, they hold their
hands, keeping it suspended, and as soon as she is appeased and closes
her eyes, let it down again, still very slowly, almost imperceptibly,
until it has reached the ground, close to where the young one is lying,
so contriving that when the little creature moves it will be upon the
net.
As soon as the young one is fairly on the net, the men apply several
long canes furnished with grappling-hooks, and draw up the net
containing the young one. While doing this, they throw over the mother a
material which impedes her movement, and which we call by a name that
may be freely translated, "Clinging Flannel." The animal thus encumbered
cannot disentangle herself for a few minutes, more than sufficient to
secure the capture of the little one, which, as soon as it has been
raised is let down into a vehicle ready to receive it. The instant this
is done, the driver and all being in readiness, the horses start off at
full gallop, and the calf is secured in a place far out of hearing of
the mother.
We can almost invariably tell whether the mother is likely to destroy
the young one; and if from this or other causes a separation is
necessary, a similar course is pursued, even when the mother is at
large. If we had not effective means of driving off the rest of the
herd, the difficulty of the operation of removal would be greatly
increased, for, strange to say, as soon as the calf is born numbers of
hippopotami assemble at certain distances and form a wide circle round
the spot where the mother and little one are lying. They do not
interfere with or annoy them in any way, but, on the contrary, they
stand still, look at them, and utter wild, joyous sounds, as though they
were pleased with the mother and the little visitor. In Montalluyah we
call this "the hippopotamus's visit of congratulation."
Before I describe the mode adopted when we wish to take one of the
hippopotami from the herd, I should first premise that these beasts have
the sense of hearing, acute to the highest degree, and could note even
the fall of a pin. As, therefore, it is useless to try to approach them
by stealth, the keepers approach them openly.
These men are, however, clothed with a dress which covers every part of
the body, head and extremities indeed even the face, with the exception
of the eyes, but which is made of a very pliable material, so that the
wearer has free use of his body and limbs. It is saturated with the
antipathetic solution, of which I have spoken above.
There is a three-cornered nut called the "lava-nut," of which the
animals are very fond, and they will go a long distance in search of it.
The keepers are provided with a quantity of these nuts, and the man with
whom the animals are most familiar throws a few to the one selected. As
soon as the animal has tasted them, he advances a few paces. The keeper,
throwing more nuts, retires a few paces; and as he continues throwing,
the animal advances, the keeper receding and throwing the nuts until he
has attracted the beast for some distance from the herd.
Near the keeper is a party of men furnished with a low caravan, who,
while the animal is engaged eating the nuts, throw large nets over him.
He struggles violently--it is, indeed, fearful to behold him; but, in
the meanwhile, a very skilful man approaches, and throws over his head a
cap or covering of a particular kind of wool, which for the time
completely blinds him. So utterly is he cowed, that in a few minutes he
is quite quiet, and it is surprising to see the difference that a simple
contrivance has effected. The caravan immediately approaches with levers
attached to it, by the aid of which the animal is easily put on the
carriage and carried off to the place of his destination.
It is surprising to see the immediate effect on the animal when the cap
is taken off. He is for the time quite docile, and as easily managed as
a child.
An animal thus captured is never so wild and vicious as when with the
herd, and often becomes comparatively tame.
On the other hand, the animal increases in cunning, and if again set at
liberty, he still remembers how he was once served, and utterly
disregards the nuts with which he may be tempted.
In our world a plant grows wild, which is much liked by the
hippopotamus. It forms a bulb which contains a sort of meal, while the
stem contains a juice. In my planet large patches of ground,
particularly in the vicinity of rivers, abound with these plants, which
grow thickly together like wheat, and in long blades.
The beast eats these plants in the green, the ripe, and the over-ripe
states; and as they are thrown up in some places when others have been
exhausted, the herds will pass over large tracts of country to get at
their favourite food.
The nearest approach to this food in your world would be parched flour
mixed with water. It would of course be preferable if the plant itself
could be found.
In confined situations, when the young are sickly, we feed them with
turnips and new milk boiled together. This compound is with us a
sovereign remedy, and almost invariably restores them, but cannot be
safely administered till the animal is at least a month old.