LIONS, TIGERS, LEOPARDS AND PANTHERS.
Unquestionably the lion in his native wilds, with his appetite keen from
forced fasts, is a fierce and formidable adversary to meet with, and
well worthy the title of “king of beasts.” But it is well established by
travelers and hunters that when his appetite is satisfied he will seldom
attack a man unprovoked, often passing harmlessly by; and will even
permit his best relished prey, the antelope, to come to his neighborhood
for water, without molestation. He is comparatively gentle in a state of
captivity, more to be depended upon, and less treacherous, than the
tiger, and has been preferred to the tiger by tamers in all ages.
When taken young he is tamed with little difficulty, and, while a cub,
may be handled and caressed like a great kitten. As he grows larger he
becomes so rough in his play that he is liable unintentionally to
inflict injury. Hunters who capture a family of cubs generally sell them
to individuals who make a business of buying up young animals in their
native countries, to be forwarded to correspondents in various parts of
the world. This is the way in which nearly all the wild animals on
exhibition are procured.
When an animal “on the road”—which is the technical term for moving with
a traveling exhibition—is so unmindful of the interests of his owners as
to die, the showman telegraphs to a dealer in wild animals, and often
within twenty-four hours another is on his way to supply the vacant
place. Sometimes, if the dead animal has acquired a reputation, the new
one assumes his name as well as his duties, and the public never
suspects there has been any change.
Until bought by the exhibitor lions are considered merely as articles of
merchandise, to be kept in good condition, and, when ordered, to be
packed and forwarded with due care and despatch. The dealer in wild
animals does nothing in respect to taming them, though a second-hand
animal which has been tamed sometimes comes into his hands. If it is
desired to tame a lion for the exhibition of the “lion king” he is
bought when young; if merely for ordinary exhibition this is not
essential.
The taming is accomplished mainly by mild measures. The young lion is
regularly and plentifully fed, his food being given to him by the tamer.
As we before remarked a cub may be handled with as much freedom as a
kitten, and if this be kept up regularly, the animal becomes so
accustomed to it as not to resent it when he grows older. Besides, all
animals of the cat kind are fond of having their heads scratched and
their fur stroked, and even such a trifling matter as this aids the
tamer in soothing and gaining the good will of the animal. Being fed
immediately after these familiarities the lion soon hails them with
pleasure, as the precursor of his meal. Any misbehavior, such as
scratching, biting, or defiance of the tamer is punished with a blow
from the butt of a heavy whip, and in extreme cases by the deprivation
of his supper.
[Illustration: THE “LION KING” PERFORMING.]
It is sometimes necessary to reduce an old lion to submission or to
inspire with more awe one which does not entertain sufficient respect
for the tamer. The animal is usually well fed; this dulls his anger at
the tamer’s intrusion, as well as makes his resistance more easily
overcome. Armed with a club, the tamer enters the cage, and standing in
such a position as to prevent the lion approaching from the rear, he
waits the animal’s onset. This is always a ticklish position, requiring
a cool head and steady nerves, but the captive animal with a full
stomach is not like a wild one ravenous for food, and he is pretty sure
to submit sooner or later. Watching the animal’s eye steadily, the tamer
can ordinarily detect his intention to spring, and be prepared to
receive him with a blow from the club. This he repeats at each approach
of the animal until the latter slinks to the farther end of the cage and
ceases his attacks. This is enough for one lesson; the next day the
animal will probably only gaze sullenly on the tamer upon his entering
the cage. As he becomes accustomed to the man’s presence he will permit
him to handle him, but these are not the ones in whose mouths the tamer
places his head. To place your head in the mouth of a lion who bears you
ill-will is a dangerous proceeding, and there is a probability that he
would seize such a favorable opportunity to pay off old scores.
Burning torches and heated irons are sometimes resorted to as aids in
subduing unamiable and obstinate animals. These are used more frequently
for tigers than for lions. More reliance may be placed upon a lion’s
affection than a tiger’s; the tiger must be made to fear the tamer so
much that he will not dare to commit any overt act.
The training of an animal of course adds very greatly to his value,
therefore great pains are taken with the lion’s education. The lion, if
gentle means have been adopted, often becomes attached to the tamer, and
will go through his performance with even a sort of pleasure. This
performance usually consists in the “lion king” entering the cage,
caressing the lions, and then proceeding to show the audience what he
dares to do with the animals. Opening the mouth, showing the teeth and
tongue, pulling out claws, and the more startling feat of putting his
head in the lion’s mouth, are the customary performances. Taking the
lion by the tail is a familiarity occasionally, though seldom, indulged
in.
When the man places his head in the lion’s mouth it will be noticed that
he holds the jaws with his hands. This is generally, but erroneously,
supposed to be done to prevent the animal closing his mouth; should he
feel so inclined, the man’s strength would avail but little against the
powerful muscles of the animal’s jaws; his real object in holding the
jaws is to prevent the exceedingly rough tongue of the lion coming in
contact with and lacerating his face. When this feat is performed in
private it is usual to protect the face with a sort of hood of stout
cloth. Most of the injuries, to lion tamers, which occur in the
performance of this feat, we believe to be purely accidental. An
incipient cough, a tickling in the throat or some other trifle is liable
to cause a spasmodic closing of the jaws, and the crushing of the
tamer’s head before he or the lion has any idea of what is going to
happen.
Some lions will permit strangers to enter their cages in company with
the tamer. Some will even permit little familiarities from visitors
under the protection of the tamer. Nero, a lion of peculiarly gentle
disposition belonging to a menagerie traveling in Scotland, seemed even
pleased to receive visits from persons whom his master saw fit to
introduce into his cage, and would treat them very graciously. When last
in Edinburgh a nightly exhibition was given of visitors riding and
sitting on his back, Nero the while preserving a look of magnanimous
composure, only slowly looking around at the entrance of a new visitor.
Another lion, in Amsterdam, would jump through a hoop and barrel; then
through the same covered with paper; and finally through hoop and barrel
with the paper set on fire. This last part he evidently disliked, but
with some coaxing would do it. When given meat in public he would show
his forbearance by allowing some of it to be taken from him, submitting
with only a short clutch and a growl; but his countenance lost its
serene expression, and he would probably not long have submitted to this
tampering.
A keeper of wild beasts in New York had provided himself with a fur cap
on the approach of winter. The novelty of this costume attracted the
attention of the lion who made a sudden grab at it, as the man passed
the cage, and pulled it off his head. As soon, however, as he discovered
it was the keeper’s he relinquished the cap and laid down meekly on the
bottom of his cage. The same animal hearing a noise under his cage put
his paw through the bars and hauled up the keeper, who was cleaning
beneath. Seeing it was his master he had thus ill-used, he immediately
laid down upon his back in an attitude of complete submission.
The temper of the female is generally milder than that of the male
previous to her having young. No sooner, however, does she become a
mother than the ferocity of her disposition becomes ten-fold more
vigorous, and though she will sometimes permit the keeper to enter the
cage and attend to her wants, too near an approach, or any interference
with the cubs would prove extremely dangerous. When disturbed by
visitors the lioness displays great anxiety for her young, carrying the
cubs in her mouth, apparently desirous of hiding them. This anxiety
begins to diminish when the young ones reach the age of about five
months. Lions are quite frequently born in captivity, but few of these
reach maturity, many dying at the time of shedding their milk teeth.
[Illustration: THE LIONESS AND THE DOG.]
There was at one time in the Jardin des Plantes, Paris, a lioness which
permitted a dog to live in her den, and to which she became strongly
attached. The dog was equally fond of her, gamboling with and caressing
her in the highest possible spirit. The lioness was most attentive to
all his wants, and when the keeper let the little creature out for
exercise she seemed exceedingly unhappy till he returned.
A lioness kept in the Tower of London in 1773 had for a considerable
time been so attached to a little dog who was kept in her den that she
would not eat till the dog was first satisfied. When the lioness was
near her time of whelping, it was thought advisable to take the dog
away; but shortly after, when the keepers were cleaning the den, the dog
by some means got into it and approached the lioness with his wonted
fondness, while she was playing with her cubs. She made a sudden spring
at him, and seizing the poor little animal in her mouth, seemed on the
point of tearing him to pieces; then, as if suddenly recollecting her
former kindness, she carried him to the door of the den and allowed him
to be taken out unharmed.
One of the most interesting cages in the Zoological Garden, London, is
that containing a family party consisting of a mastiff with a lion and
his mate. They were brought up together from cubhood, and agree
marvelously well, though the dog would prove little more than a mouthful
for either of his noble companions. Visitors express much sympathy for
him, and fancy that the lion is only saving him up, as the giant did
Jack, for a future feast. But this sympathy seems uncalled for, as Lion
(so the dog is named) has always maintained the ascendancy he assumed as
a pup, and any rough handling on the part of his huge playfellows is
immediately resented by his flying at their noses. Although the dog is
allowed to come out of the den every morning, he shows a great
disinclination to leave his old friends. It is, however, thought
advisable to separate them at feeding time.
The taming of wild beasts has not been confined to modern times. In the
palmy days of the Roman empire they were trained and led in the
triumphal processions so common at the time when Rome was almost master
of the world. Lions were even made, occasionally, to draw the chariots
of some victorious general, symbolical of his prowess. For many
generations, various powerful Indian sovereigns have had beasts of prey
tamed and kept near the throne on state occasions. More frequently,
however, they were employed in the execution of criminals or persons who
had offended the despot. King Theodore of Abyssinia possessed quite a
number of tamed lions. Of his four special favorites, one named Kuara
was the most docile and intelligent. When the king received an embassy
he gave audience to the messengers surrounded by a court of lions
instead of a crowd of courtiers and a guard of soldiers.
The couguar, or American lion, is one of the gentlest of the species,
easily tamed, becoming harmless and even affectionate, even toward
comparative strangers. This animal is frequently met with in menageries,
his docility and the ease with which he may be taught to leap and climb,
rendering him a favorite for these collections. He is much pleased with
the society of those persons to whom he is accustomed; lies down on his
back between their feet, toys with their garments, and acts very much
like a playful kitten. He has a great predilection for water, and, if
provided with a tub of that liquid, will jump in, souse around in it,
and jump out again highly delighted.
Tigers being more treacherous and less influenced by kind treatment than
lions, tamers generally prefer to have as little to do with as possible.
This rule, however, is not without an exception; the natives of India
tame tigers more frequently than lions, and the tame tigers of the
fakirs, the celebrated “royal tigers,” natives of Hindoostan, naturally
the most powerful and ferocious in the world, exhibit great gentleness
and confidence—attributable doubtless to the ample way in which they are
fed. In this country tigers are principally kept merely as objects of
curiosity and few efforts are made to tame them. When taming is deemed
desirable, resort is generally had to intimidation. An old tiger can
seldom be subdued except by brute force; a crowbar is more effective
with him than kindness, though when once rendered tractable, kindness
succeeds severity in his treatment.
Tigers are not, however, entirely destitute of affection, and this is
sometimes manifested toward the person who has reared them. An example
of this kind, a tigress in the town of London, may be familiar to the
reader. This animal on its arrival in London grew very irascible and
dangerous, from the annoyance of visitors and the bustle on the Thames.
After she had been here some time her old keeper visited the tower and
desired to enter the cage. So sulky and savage had the beast become that
the superintendent feared to grant this request, but was finally
prevailed on to do so. No sooner, however, did the animal catch sight of
her old friend than she exhibited the utmost joy and on his entering her
cage, fawned upon and caressed him, showing extravagant signs of
pleasure, and at his departure cried and whined for the remainder of the
day.
The cowardice of the tiger is well known. This characteristic is
illustrated in the contests between buffaloes and tigers exhibited in
India. The tiger seems to menace the spectators, swelling his fur,
displaying his teeth, and occasionally snarling and lashing his sides
with his tail. As soon as the buffalo enters the enclosure, the tiger
“sinks into the most contemptible despondency, sneaking along under the
palisade, crouching and turning on his back, to avoid the buffalo’s
charge. He tries every device his situation will admit, and often
suffers himself to be gored, or to be lifted from his pusillanimous
attitude by the buffalo’s horn before he can be induced to act on the
defensive. When, however, he really does summon up courage to oppose his
antagonist, he displays wonderful vigor and activity, although he is
generally conquered.”
Perhaps the cowardice of the tiger in the above instance is due to the
consciousness of his inability to cope successfully with his adversary,
and may be a specimen of “discretion being the better part of valor,”
but the following incident related of a tiger kept at the British
residency in Calcutta, gives an amusing example of absurd terror from a
most insignificant cause: “What annoyed him far more than our poking him
up with a stick, or tantalizing him with shins of beef or legs of
mutton, was introducing a mouse into his cage. No fine lady ever
exhibited more terror at the sight of a spider than this magnificent
royal tiger betrayed on seeing a mouse. Our mischievous plan was to tie
the little animal by a string to the end of a long pole, and thrust it
close to the tiger’s nose. The moment he saw it he leaped to the
opposite side; and, when the mouse was made to run near him, he jammed
himself into a corner, and stood trembling and roaring in such an
ecstasy of fear that we were always obliged to desist in pity to the
poor brute. Sometimes we insisted on his passing over the spot where the
unconscious little mouse ran backward and forward. For a long time,
however, we could not get him to move, till, at length, I believe, by
the help of a squib, we obliged him to start; but, instead of pacing
leisurely across his den, or making a detour to avoid the object of his
alarm, he generally took a kind of flying leap, so high as nearly to
bring his back in contact with the roof of his cage.”
Tigers will not submit like lions to the intrusion of idle strangers
into the cages, but any professional trainer can ordinarily enter the
cage and exhibit any properly broken tigers without special risk. There
are men ready to accept engagements for performing with animals whom
they may never have seen before the day of exhibition; fear being the
controlling influence with the beasts, it is only requisite that the man
shall show no timidity, and compel obedience by whatever severity may be
necessary. The statement that belladonna or the leaves of datura
stramonium are put in the food of tigers to act on their nervous system
and create hallucination and terror, is, we believe, unfounded; no
hallucination equals the simple reality of a heavy iron bar.
The tiger’s cage is not altogether without its dangers. A story told of
Tom Nathan, once well known in connection with circus exhibitions, gives
one illustration of the feelings attendant upon non-success. He began
public life as a clown. In his later years his hair was snowy white, but
he relates that it became so, not in consequence of his years, but from
an alarming accident which befell him during his career in the sawdust.
There was a tiger in the show with which he was connected, and the man
who bearded the tiger in his den having, on one occasion, struck for
higher wages, Nathan volunteered to take his place. Boldly he entered
the cage, but as soon as he did so, the animal resented the intrusion
and seized him by the fleshy part of the body immediately below the
small of the back. The fear of being chewed, the pain of the laceration
of his flesh, and disappointed ambition combined, blanched his hair in a
moment. He went into the cage a fair haired youth, and was taken out, as
soon as he could be secured, a white headed old man.
The following is a bit of experience, related to an English
correspondent, by an old English tamer named Norwood, long employed by
Jamrach, an extensive animal owner of London:
“Whenever I ’ave a few words with Mr. Jamrach, which I had a few not
many weeks ago, I takes to the show business, and am allers ready to go
in. This ’ere scar,” (baring an arm and showing a deep flesh wound,
recently cicatrized) “I got on the Kingsland road, on the 20th of this
month. A Bengal tiger it was, and I was a-performing with the same beast
as was at the Crystal Palace a short time arterwards. Me and Mr. Jamrach
’ad ’ad a few words, we ’ad, and I took up with the performing, which
I’d been accustomed to. Well, I see the tiger for the first time at four
in the arternoon; and I goes into her den, and puts her through her
anky-panky at eight. As a matter o’course I ’ad to giv’ her the whip a
bit, and she not knowing my voice, don’t you see, got fidgety and didn’t
like it. To make matters worse moresumever, this tiger bein’ fond of
jumpin’, they went and shortened the cage, so that when I giv’ the word
she fell short of her reg’lar jump, and came upon me. I don’t believe
she meant mischief; I only fancy she got timid like, and not being
accustomed to what she ’ad under ’er, she makes a grab and does wot you
see. The company got scared like; the ladies screamed, and the
performance was stopped for a time. What did I do?—why, directly they
came in with iron bars and made her loose her hold, I jest giv’ her the
whip agen, and made her go through the jump till she got more satisfied
like; but she was timid, very timid, to the last, and tore off the flesh
right to the elbow here. No, sir, I never stopped the performance after
the first time, though I was being mauled above a bit, while the people
was a clapping their ’ands, and ’ollering ‘angcore,’ It don’t do with
beasts to let ’em think you’re uneasy, so each time she tore me with her
claws, I just giv’ her the whip, till she saw it wouldn’ do.”
Leopards and panthers, although sometimes confounded even by
naturalists, are strictly different animals, though so near alike that
any statements in regard to the training of one will be equally
applicable to the other. They are both quite common in menageries, and
are often among the dwellers in the “den of beasts.” Leopards—and what
we say of the leopard’s character or training applies equally to the
panther—are of a comparatively gentle disposition, and, unless hungry or
annoyed, are generally harmless. Even in a wild state a person may come
across them without being harmed, though it is said they are more
dreaded at the Cape of Good Hope, than the lion, for they steal silently
and treacherously upon their prey while he gives warning of his approach
by terrific roarings.
Illustrative of the leopard’s peaceful disposition an amusing story is
told of a Cape farmer who once surprised a group of seven leopards
reposing on a clump of scattered rocks. In the excitement of the moment,
with scarcely a thought as to the probable consequences, he fired his
single-barreled gun at them. Instead of returning this attack, the
leopards seemed more surprised than angry at the report of the gun, and
instead of turning their attention to the imprudent intruder some of
them leaped on their hind legs, and pawed the air as if trying to catch
the bullet which had gone whistling by their ears.
The leopard is tamed easily, and is usually the animal selected to
perform the leaping and similar feats which form a prominent portion of
the “lion king’s” exhibition. Care is taken to select an individual who
shows an inclination and aptness for these exercises. In this case the
training is a mere trifle; the tamer corners the leopard up in one end
of the cage, and holding his whip in a horizontal position close to the
floor, he gently stirs the animal with his foot, giving at the same time
the command, “up!” or “hi!” To escape the annoyance the leopard will
spring over the whip, and the lesson is repeated until he does so
promptly, on its being placed in position and the order given. Then the
tamer may raise one of his legs and hold the whip at its side, and the
leopard will leap over the leg. The same plan may be adopted with other
articles such as poles, banners, etc., or even the trainer’s own head.
Jumping through a hoop is the next lesson; the hoop to be held in one
hand while the other hand holds the whip, with which the lower part of
the hoop is to be tapped when the command “up!” or “hi!” is given. The
hoop is at first held low down and close to the animal, but it may be
gradually elevated as the lessons continue until the leap is as high as
the cage will permit. Covering the hoop with paper adds a little to the
attractiveness of this feat, and, of course, the leopard experiences no
difficulty in going through a single thickness of paper.
It is a harder task to induce the animal to jump through a hoop in which
a number of small lights are arranged so as to form a fiery circle. The
animal’s natural dread of fire makes him dislike anything of which fire
forms a part, but if the hoop be at first of large size and the lights
few, he will, if perseveringly urged, by-and-by venture. Experiencing no
harm he will gradually become bolder, and the size of the hoop may be
decreased and the lights increased until a wreath of fire is formed
barely large enough for him to pass through; the rapidity of his passage
will prevent his being hurt by the flames. A similar mode is adopted for
teaching lions, though they are less frequently taught these tricks.
The large cage in which the tamer’s public exhibitions take place is
divided into several compartments by iron gates; each animal has his
allotted division and the gates prevent any intrusion by the other
animals. It is only when the tamer is in the cage that these-gates are
opened; then they swing back against the sides, forming one large cage.
The animals are very jealous of any encroachment of the others, upon
their accustomed space, and the tamer must be watchful to prevent
quarrels when they are thus all thrown together. It is easier to make
the beasts submit to a man’s presence than to the presence of one
another. It is seldom that the tamer is assailed, but many a time has
one of the animals been killed during these performances, without the
spectators having any suspicion of the fact. A sudden bite at the back
of the neck crushes the spine and the victim sinks upon the floor
without a sound, dead. The audience suppose he has lain down because his
part of the performance is over—and so it is.
Wild animals kept in confinement are subject to spells of sulkiness, at
which times their management requires great judgment and care on the
part of the tamer. These sulky moods are premonitions to the tamer of
danger, and he makes it a point whenever passing the cages to glance at
the animals’ eyes to detect any suspicious looks. It is during these
fits that most of the casualties occur.
Women have in several instances ventured to assume the rôle of “lion
queens.” Some years ago one of these was traveling with a show; through
the country, whose husband, we have been told, had been a lion tamer,
and had been killed by one of the animals. Before his death this man had
sometimes allowed his wife to enter the cage with him, thus accustoming
the animals to her presence—though with no thought, probably, of her
ever performing them professionally. Exactly how it came about we cannot
tell, but probably she saw no other means of support; at any rate, in
the very cage in which her husband met his death she set out to win her
daily bread. We cannot vouch for the story; we cannot now even recall
the name of our informant; but for all that it may be true. We only
remember that she was harsher toward her animals than are most masculine
members of the profession, and it is possible she was meting out to them
a sort of “poetic justice” for the murder of her husband.
Children have at times been introduced into these cages to make the
exhibition appeal more strongly to the sympathies of the audience. The
public always flock to see these scenes, however they may cry out
against the barbarity of exposing a child to the danger of being torn to
pieces by wild beasts. In one or two cases a little girl has entered the
cage entirely alone and performed the animals; but animals are often
more tractable with children than with grown persons, as probably many
of our readers have witnessed in the case of savage dogs. Mrs. Bowdich
says of a panther kept at Cape Coast, Africa, as the pet of an officer,
that he was particularly gentle with children, lying by them as they
slept. Even the infant shared his caresses without the slightest attempt
on the animal’s part to injure the child. Besides this docility with
children the tamer is always near at hand, sometimes in the guise of an
attendant, keeping a watchful eye upon the animals, and ready to lend
prompt assistance should it be required.
In Persia the leopard is trained to hunt gazelles just as a falcon will
hunt herons. The huntsman provides the leopard with a hood, which can be
drawn over his face and mouth, and seats him on his saddle-bow. The
moment a deer or gazelle is sighted the leopard’s head is uncovered, and
he is let down from the horse. In one or two bounds, according to the
distance, the leopard springs upon the back of his prey and seizing it
by the neck brings it to the ground. The huntsman then comes up, and
after caressing the leopard, who has already begun to feast upon the
prey, he gives him a piece of meat to divert his attention, and slipping
on the hood restores him to his place upon the saddle-bow. When the
leopard fails to bring down the prey, which rarely happens, he hides
himself and lies down, and can only be prevailed on to renew the chase
by repeated caresses.