That all animals, however fierce and ungovernable may be their natural
dispositions, have nevertheless implanted by a wise Providence within
their breasts a certain awe, a vague, indefinable dread of man, which,
although meeting with him for the first time, will induce them to fly his
presence, or at all events shun encounter, is, we think, a fact which
no observer of nature will deny. This instinct of submission to human
beings exists among all creatures, and the greater the intelligence they
possess, the more powerful is its operation. When we meet with instances
of a nature calculated to overturn this theory--such as wild animals
attacking and destroying travellers, or preying upon the shepherd as
he guards his flock, with others of a similar description--instead of
hastily presuming upon the falsity of the above position, we should
rather seek for some explanation of the reasons which in these cases
checked for the time the workings of the animal’s natural instinct.
These will be for the most part easily enough discovered, if sought for
in a spirit of impartial inquiry. The lion and the tiger are prompted
by natural instinct to shun the haunts and the presence of man--they
choose for their lairs dark and impenetrable forests--they select for
their habitation a situation whither man has not as yet approached--and
according as the work of settlement and cultivation advances, they
retreat before it into their dark and gloomy fastnesses.
Does the traveller encounter a lion or a tiger? The animal is prompted by
nature to give place to him, and usually slinks off, growling with the
thirst for blood, but still fearing to attack MAN. The shouts of women
and children suffice to scare the fierce and rapacious wolves, as they
descend in troops from the mountains to appease their hunger with victims
from the flocks of the shepherds. The bear meets with the bold hunter or
woodcutter in the American backwoods, but is never known to attack him,
unless the instinct of submission to man is overruled by other instincts
for the time more imperative in their demands. True, if the lion be
_hungry_ when the traveller shall cross his path, he will sometimes,
though such instances are of rare occurrence, attack and devour him.
True, if the wolves are unable to satisfy their appetite by other means,
they will attack and devour human beings; and if the bear be likewise
rendered furious by the calls of hunger, she will treat the woodsman with
little ceremony. Still these instances only show that hunger overcomes
fear--an explanation which no one can refuse to admit. What indeed will
not the gnawings of hunger effect? Has it not caused fathers to butcher
their sons, mothers to devour the infant at their breast? When capable,
then, of overcoming the most powerful of instincts, maternal affection,
and that too in the teeth of reason, how can we wonder at its overcoming
an inferior instinct, and that in a brute animal where there existed
nothing to be overcome beyond that instinct? I might write a vast deal
upon this subject; but my object is merely to show, at starting, that
an instinctive awe of man, and a disposition to yield to his authority,
is inherent in the lower animals. This, then, being the case, it will
readily be perceived that the domestication of any animal by man only
requires that he should carefully remove all obstacles to the operation
of this instinctive principle; and on the other hand, employ suitable
means to strengthen and establish it. There are, doubtless, but few of
my readers who have not witnessed the performances of Van Amburgh, and
likewise those of Van Buren with Batty’s collection. They have, I am
sure, been greatly astonished at the degree of subjection to which these
wild animals were reduced, and they are doubtless curious to learn how
this end was attained. As I happened to make myself acquainted with
the mode in which the subjection of these fierce brutes was effected,
I am happy to be able to render them some information. The treatment
was simple enough. It consisted mainly of two ingredients--1st, ample
feeding, in order that the instinct of appetite should not present itself
in opposition to that of dread of man; and, 2d, liberal chastisement
and severe blows on the slightest appearance of rebellion, in order to
strengthen and firmly establish their awe of him.
I myself have devoted a good deal of time to the domestication of
animals, and by following out the two principles just laid down, I found
myself invariably successful. The polecat, although of inconsiderable
size, is an animal of infinitely greater fierceness than the tiger; yet I
had one so thoroughly domesticated that it was permitted to enjoy perfect
liberty. I succeeded equally with the fox, the badger, and the _otter_,
as a paper which recently appeared in the Penny Journal was designed to
show. In fact, I should say that mere _fierceness_ is but a very slight
obstacle to domestication--_timidity_ is much harder to be overcome.
The timid races of animals require a mode of treatment directly opposed
to the above. They require to have their _dread_ of man diminished, and
their _boldness_ encouraged. If you wish to tame a very timid animal,
instead of supplying it with food you must let it fast, in order to
render it so bold with hunger that it will eat in your presence and from
your hand. If you can get its confidence raised to such a degree that it
will bite you or attempt to do so, so much the better--those little vices
will afterwards be easily eradicated. I have succeeded in familiarizing
the most timid creatures--the rat and the mouse, for instance. The public
has already had an account of how I succeeded with the former of these
animals in the pages of the “Medical Press” and “Naturalist.” Some of
these days I shall give a paper on the latter in the Penny Journal.
Van Amburgh has done much with his animals; but in consequence of
exhibiting with specimens not as yet perfectly subdued, he has met
with some severe accidents. More caution and less haste would have
prevented these. One of the principal ingredients that should enter into
the composition of an animal tamer, is COURAGE. If the animal you are
endeavouring to domesticate perceive that you fear it--and animals are
instinctively sharp-sighted--from that instant all chance of control
ceases. You must be prepared to endure bites, scratches, &c. with, at all
events apparent, recklessness, and should never suffer any thing to delay
your chastisement: the severer it is, the less frequently will you have
to repeat it. Van Amburgh possesses this ingredient in an eminent degree.
I once saw him exhibiting with his superb Barbary lion, since dead; as he
left the cage, the animal rushed at him, and succeeded in inflicting a
sharp scratch upon his hand. Now, had Van Amburgh displayed fear, or in
short acted otherwise than he did, his reign had been over, and the lion
would in all probability have renewed his attack the next opportunity,
and have killed him. But what did he do? He returned into the cage, and
advancing sternly and undauntedly towards the lion, saluted him with a
shower of blows over the head and face, with the small iron rod which he
always carried with him. And mark the result. The brute at once yielded,
quailed before his master, who, planting a foot upon the prostrate body
of his late assailant, coolly wiped the blood from his hand, amidst the
deafening plaudits of the spectators, who had witnessed the appalling
scene with feelings more easily imagined than described.
There is another description of animal taming, which I must not omit to
mention, viz, by charms or drugs. There were, and are indeed still to
be met with, although more rarely than formerly, persons who profess to
be able, by some secret spell or charm, to tame the fiercest horse, or
calm the fury of the most ferocious watch-dog. There are also persons who
follow the trade of rat-catching, and pretend that by means of certain
drugs they can entice away all the rats from the premises to which they
are called in to exercise their skill. There are also a set of men in
India and Persia who profess to charm serpents, and draw them from their
holes. Of these last it is not at present my design to speak. I may,
however, return to them in a future paper.
The first of these, or those who pretend to possess the power of quelling
the spirit of the horse, or appeasing the vigilant fury of the dog, are
now but few in number, and very seldom to be met with. They abounded
more in Ireland than they did in the sister kingdom, and were called
“whisperers.” Perhaps the best mode in which I can bring them and their
practices before my readers, is by giving them an account of the last and
most celebrated whisperer that we recollect. His name was James Sullivan,
and he possessed the power of taming the most furious horse, if left
alone with him for about half an hour. The name of this singular man is
recorded by Townsend in his “Survey of the County of Cork,” and we shall
quote his account of Sullivan’s performances, to which he states himself
to have been an eye-witness:--
“James Sullivan was a native of the county of Cork, and an awkward
ignorant rustic of the lowest class, generally known by the appellation
of ‘the Whisperer;’ and his profession was horse-breaking. The credulity
of the vulgar bestowed that epithet upon him from an opinion that he
communicated his wishes to the animal by means of a whisper, and the
singularity of his method gave some colour to the superstitious belief.
As far as the sphere of his control extended, the boast of _veni, vidi,
vici_, was more justly claimed by James Sullivan than by Cæsar, or even
Bonaparte himself. How his art was acquired, or in what it consisted,
is likely to remain for ever unknown, as he has lately left the world
without divulging it. His son, who follows the same occupation, possesses
but a small portion of the art, having either never learned its true
secret, or being incapable of putting it in practice. The wonder of his
skill consisted in the short time requisite to accomplish his design,
which was performed in private, and without any apparent means of
coercion. Every description of horse, or even mule, whether previously
broke, or unhandled, whatever their peculiar vices or ill habits might
have been, submitted without show of resistance to the magical influence
of his art, and in the short space of half an hour became gentle and
tractable. The effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally
durable; though more submissive to him than to others, yet they seemed
to have acquired a docility unknown before. When sent for to tame a
vicious horse, he directed the stable in which he and the object of his
experiment were placed, to be shut, with orders not to open the door
until a signal was given. After a _tete-a-tete_ between him and the horse
for about half an hour, during which little or no bustle was heard, the
signal was made; and on opening the door, the horse was seen lying down,
and the man by his side, playing familiarly with him, like a child with
a puppy dog. From that time he was found perfectly willing to submit to
discipline, however repugnant to his nature before. Some saw his skill
tried on a horse which could never before be brought to stand for a smith
to shoe him. The day after Sullivan’s half-hour lecture, I went, not
without some incredulity, to the smith’s shop, with many other curious
spectators, where we were eye-witnesses of the complete success of his
art. This, too, had been a troop horse, and it was supposed, not without
reason, that after regimental discipline had failed, no other would
be found availing. I observed that the animal seemed afraid whenever
Sullivan either spoke or looked at him. How that extraordinary ascendancy
could have been obtained, it is difficult to conjecture. In common
cases this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He seemed to possess
an instinctive power of inspiring awe, the result perhaps of natural
intrepidity, in which I believe a great part of his art consisted;
though the circumstance of the _tete-a-tete_ shows that upon particular
occasions something more must have been added to it. A faculty like this
would in other hands have made a fortune, and great offers have been made
to him for the exercise of his art abroad; but hunting, and attachment to
his native soil, were his ruling passions. He lived at home in the style
most agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce him to quit
Dunhallow and the foxhounds.” Other whisperers have lived since Sullivan,
but none of them have attained an equal degree of fame. I met with one
some years ago of the name of O’Hara, and I can truly affirm that his
performances were indeed wonderful, and precisely similar to those of
Sullivan. How O’Hara discovered the secret, I know not; neither am I sure
that it was identical with that possessed by Sullivan. On one occasion,
while under the influence of liquor, O’Hara was heard to declare that the
secret lay in _rocking_ the horse; but on another, when equally tipsy,
he mentioned _biting_ the animal’s ear. It is already I believe known to
those acquainted with horses, that by grasping the shoulder with one hand
just where the mane begins, and laying the other with firmness upon the
crupper, and then swaying the animal backwards and forwards, beginning
with a very gentle motion and gradually increasing it, you will in a
few minutes be able to throw the horse on his side with a comparatively
trifling degree of exertion; and it is certain that this treatment is
frequently resorted to by knowing jockeys to break the spirit of a
stubborn horse; for after having been thrown twice, or at most thrice,
the spirit of the animal seems wholly subdued, and he appears possessed
with the most unqualified respect and dread of the person who threw him.
This was in all probability what O’Hara meant by _rocking_, and I have
little doubt but that this was one of the component parts, at all events,
of the treatment resorted to by the whisperers. As to _biting the ear_,
I have seen this tried, and that successfully. If you succeed in getting
the ear of the most vicious horse between your teeth, and bite it with
all your force, you will find the rage of the animal suddenly subside,
his spirit will appear to have forsaken him, and a word or a look from
you will cause him to start and tremble with excess of terror. Once the
ferocity of an animal is removed, it is an easy matter to conciliate his
affections. May not these two modes of treatment combined, or one or the
other, as the occasion seemed to require, have constituted the secret of
the wonder-working whisperers? The suggestion is at least plausible, and
the experiment should be fully tried ere it be rejected.
In an article which appeared lately on the subject of animal taming in
the _Times_ newspaper, mention is made of Mr King, owner of the “learned
horse” at present exhibiting in London. This person states that his
secret depends upon pressing a certain nerve in the horse’s mouth, which
he calls the “nerve of susceptibility.” May not the set of whispering
have likewise depended upon compressing with the teeth some similar nerve
in the ear?