TAMING WILD ANIMALS IN GENERAL—SQUIRRELS—BEARS—BUFFALOES—WOLVES—HYENAS—
RHINOCEROSES—HIPPOPOTAMI—CROCODILES—ALLIGATORS.
All our present domestic animals having sprung from wild stock, it is
not very remarkable that many other animals now found in a state of
nature, may be rendered equally gentle and obedient under proper
treatment. As the taming of these animals answers no purpose save the
gratification of public curiosity, the number is comparatively small,
for as soon as a tame bear or buffalo ceases to be a novelty the most
profitable thing for his owner to do is to chop him up into steaks.
Whatever may be the ferocity of an animal that has reached maturity,
this characteristic is almost wholly lacking in his infancy,
consequently most of the tamed animals have been captured young, and
accustomed for the principal part of their lifetime to captivity.
All wild animals when captured, after they have reached an adult age,
display at first a passionate resistance to confinement and all efforts
to soothe them. While this lasts it is usual to keep them without food.
The exhaustion induced by this deprivation greatly aids in quelling
their rage, besides teaching them the hopelessness of resistance. With
cubs this is scarcely ever necessary; though they sometimes display
anger, they are so easily overpowered or restrained from mischief, that
it is hardly worth while needlessly to make them suffer hunger. As soon
as the old ones become quiet they are fed by the tamer, who thus lays
the foundation of their future good will. Animals in menageries are, as
a rule, fed one full meal each day, with the exception of Sunday, on
which day they get nothing to eat. This fast is intended to keep them in
health, and to rest their digestive organs, and is nothing to animals
who can go for days or even weeks without food if necessary.
Small animals, such as squirrels, etc., may be tamed without difficulty,
even if captured when arrived at a considerable age. Gentle treatment,
the avoidance of any teasing or aggravating, and a gradual increase of
the tamer’s familiarity with the captive, will be all that is requisite
in most cases. When tamed, the animals may be taught tricks of various
kinds in the same manner that we have elsewhere described for teaching
the same performances to other animals.
A squirrel, if captured when moderately young, can be tamed in a couple
of days by merely carrying him in your pocket. The warmth of the pocket
will be pleasant to him, and by giving him a nut occasionally you will
convince him that you mean well toward him, and so gain his confidence.
At first, care must be taken to prevent his escape, but by-and-by he may
be allowed to come out and go in at his pleasure, and he will run about
your lap with the greatest familiarity. With flying squirrels this
method of training is particularly successful.
Squirrels and many of the small wild animals can be made tame by any boy
who is willing to devote sufficient time and patience to the object. In
some cases it is not necessary to capture the animal. We have known
instances of animals, particularly squirrels, being made so tame that
they would of their own accord come to the tamer on hearing his voice.
There was no great mystery in their docility; food had been at first
placed in places frequented by them, the person so placing it retiring
to a distance. By-and-by the animal would come and eat the food, perhaps
glancing suspiciously at the distant figure, but if the person made no
motion to startle him, he would continue his meal.
This placing of food would require long continuance, the person each
time remaining a little nearer than before, until, in time, the animal
would have no fear even in his immediate vicinity. Then bits of food may
be gently dropped down for him, and if the tamer stands quietly they
will probably be picked up. Then the tamer may step backward and again
drop a morsel; the animal will advance to get it, and at last he may
even become so familiar as to eat from the hand. A squirrel who has been
so far tamed may then easily be taught to climb over the tamer’s person
by enticing him forward with some dainty. We have seen a squirrel
induced to go through quite a variety of little performances, standing
erect, leaping, and climbing wherever desired, lured on by a kernel of
corn at the end of a piece of string.
Of the larger animals, bears have always been favorite subjects with
trainers. Considerable difficulty and danger is encountered in securing
the cubs, owing to the ferocity and courage with which the mother bear
defends her young. The old bear is in most cases killed before the
capture of the young ones can be accomplished. During the infancy of the
cubs the old he-bear ungallantly deserts the partner of his bosom, and
takes up his quarters at a distance, to avoid annoyance by the cries of
his progeny; so the hunter often escapes trouble with the head of the
family. Bears are born blind, like puppies, and remain so for about
eight or nine days. With care they can be raised even if taken when only
four or five days old. The black bear attains his full size when eight
or nine years old.
Bears like many other animals have been called upon to lend their aid in
theatrical displays. A frightful scene occurred some twenty years ago at
the theater of Czerny, in Bohemia, during the performance of a
melo-drama, called the “Bear of the Mountains,” the principal performer
in which was a bruin of such wonderful docility and dramatic talent,
that for a long succession of nights he attracted overflowing audiences.
On this occasion, however, something had put this star out of humor, and
he was observed to be wanting in those brilliant displays of the
histrionic art which had previously overwhelmed him with applause. In
the third act, instead of coming down the mountains by a winding path,
with the slow and solemn step, as set down in the prompter’s book, he
alighted on the stage at one bound.
On his return behind the scenes he received reproofs, which, instead of
improving, made his temper still more sullen; and it was with difficulty
he could be prevailed on to go through his part. In the last scene he
was induced to commence a waltz with a young and beautiful peasant girl,
and seemed to take so much enjoyment in the dance, that the whole
audience were raised from their seats, and, standing on the benches,
drowned the sounds of a powerful orchestra with their acclamations of
praise and delight.
In a moment, however, the joyous spectacle was changed into one of
horror; a piercing shriek was heard above all the combination of noises;
the stage was one moment in the utmost confusion, and the next was clear
of every performer except the bear, who appeared with his muzzle,
unfastened, and hanging around his neck; and after making a wide display
of his tremendous gullet, leaped into the orchestra, which, as may be
easily imagined, was as vacant as the stage. The flight of the audience
was equally as quick, but the consequences more serious. Numbers were
severely crushed and bruised in the struggle at the doors, and several
were dreadfully injured by being thrown down and trampled upon. After a
pause, a platoon of soldiers went into the pit with fixed bayonets and
loaded barrels, and ordered to bring out the cause of all the evil, dead
or alive; but they found him, like other great actors who have performed
their parts and become exhausted by their exertions, taking his repose
on one of the benches, and incapable or unwilling to make any
resistance.
The performances of bears consist almost entirely of natural actions,
such as walking erect, climbing, leaping, and the like. These are
arranged to form a variety of feats; that of a bear riding around the
ring, in a gig drawn by a pony, is very simple, the bear being only
required to set erect, and hold the reins in his paws. Carrying
articles, as when acting waiter, is natural. Standing on their heads and
turning somersaults are probably feats not commonly indulged in in a
state of freedom; they are taught by rapping the hind legs until the
animals take the desired position or make the desired turn-over. The
most pretentious bear show within our knowledge was that of “Old Grizzly
Adams,” a hunter who managed to collect quite a number and variety of
bears, which were exhibited some years ago. Laughing, crying, singing,
and other bears were advertised as belonging to this collection; but the
laughing, crying and singing were the mere natural voices of the bears,
and all so nearly alike that only a vivid imagination enabled the hearer
to distinguish between the laughing, crying, and singing. Some gaudy
costumes tickled with their ridiculousness the fancy of the audience,
and the exhibition gave very fair satisfaction.
[Illustration: DANCING BEARS IN COSTUME.]
Little bears are intensely amusing, and they display a great fondness
for romping and playing. We have known of hunters bringing cubs home,
and adopting them, as it were, into their families, the bears becoming
exceedingly familiar, sleeping with the children, and eating from their
bowls of bread and milk, climbing into the hunter’s lap and licking his
face, and, in fact, making themselves perfectly at home. As they grow
old, however, they are liable to become enraged at teasing or other
provocation and to be dangerous.
Bears sometimes acquire a fondness for liquor, and this article is in
some cases used by trainers as an inducement or reward for performing.
Cake, candy, and like treats are also powerful incentives with bears. A
writer in one of the magazines describes a huge bear whose acquaintance
he made in New Orleans, belonging to a Spaniard who kept a public house
in the vicinity of that city. This bear had contracted so great a liking
for whiskey and sugar, that he became troublesome unless he had his
liquor and his spree, and no one could mistake the cause of his conduct
when “fuddled.” He rolled from side to side, leered ridiculously and
smiled foolishly, and was loving and savage by turns. He would wrap his
great paw around the tumbler containing “the poison,” go through the
ceremony of touching glasses with the gentleman who paid for the treat,
and then pour the contents down his capacious throat with a gusto that
made old topers “love that animal like one of themselves.”
[Illustration: PERFORMING BEARS.]
[Illustration: BEAR AND PONY ACT.]
Buffaloes have also been drafted into the service of the circus, but
their performances are in no way remarkable—except, perhaps, for the
very absence of anything remarkable. The fierce monster who, with
steaming nostrils and flaming eyes, is represented on the circus posters
as recklessly dashing over palisade-like fences, is usually found in
sober fact to be a dejected looking animal of very moderate proportions,
requiring vigorous punching to induce him to trot around the ring and
leap the low “hurdles” the “general utility” men hold for him. His
greatest aim in life appears to be to avoid hurting his shins while
going over these barriers.
Buffalo training is nothing but reducing the animal to submission, which
a few applications of the horse taming straps will usually accomplish.
Then he is driven around the ring until he learns to keep up a steady
trot, after which the hurdles are placed in his way and he made to leap
over, by the trainer’s assistants standing so as to cut off his retreat,
and the trainer goading him forward. In obstinate cases a ring is
attached to the animal’s nose in the same manner as with bulls.
[Illustration: THE IDEAL BUFFALO OF THE POSTERS.]
There are occasional examples recorded of the taming of wolves and
hyenas. A story, we believe well authenticated, of a pet wolf, is
related by M. Frederick Cuvier, and shows that even animals not usually
considered affectionate, are not without gratitude to their benefactors,
nor insensible of kind treatment. The wolf, who is the hero of this
story, had been brought up like a dog, and became familiar with every
one he was in the habit of seeing. He would follow his master, seemed to
suffer from his absence, evinced entire submission, and differed not in
manners from the tamest domestic dog. The master being obliged to
travel, made a present of him to the Royal Menagerie at Paris. Here,
shut up in his compartment, the animal remained for several weeks moody
and discontented, and almost without eating. He gradually however,
recovered, attached himself to his keeper, and seemed to have forgotten
all his old affection. His master returned after an absence of eighteen
months. At the very first word which he pronounced, the wolf, who did
not see him in the crowd, instantly recognized him, and testified his
joy by his antics and his cries. Being set at liberty, he overwhelmed
his old friend with caresses, just as the most attached dog would have
done after a separation of a few days. Unhappily, his master was obliged
to leave him a second time, and this absence was again to the poor wolf
the cause of profound regret, but time allayed his grief. Three years
elapsed, and the wolf was living very comfortably with a young dog that
had been given him as a companion. After this space of time, sufficient
to make any dog forget his master, the gentleman returned again. It was
evening, and all was shut up, and the eyes of the animal could be of no
use to him, but the voice of his beloved master was not yet effaced from
his memory; the moment he heard it he knew it, and answered by cries
expressive of the most impatient desire, and on the obstacle which
separated them being removed, his cries redoubled. The animal rushed
forward, placed his fore feet on the shoulders of his friend, licked
every part of his face, and threatened with his teeth those very keepers
to whom he had so recently testified the warmest affection.
[Illustration: THE REAL BUFFALO OF THE RING.]
A French nobleman was some years ago famous for having several tame
wolves; his method of taming being to confine each animal in a kennel by
himself until he became docile. The wolves were never struck, but if
when, little by little, they had become accustomed to the tamer’s
presence, they made any attempt to bite, they were seized by the neck
and a rough stick or knotty cane rubbed hard over their gums, which gave
them a great disinclination to ever again use their teeth in an
offensive manner.
The rhinoceros is frequently tamed in the east, the plan being to
confine the animal in a pen built around a small pond of water, and to
keep him without food until reduced by hunger. Food is eventually
supplied, and withheld again whenever any symptoms of fierceness are
manifested. Those in captivity have been captured, in most cases, when
young.
As early as 1685 a live specimen was carried to England from the East
Indies, while a few years later another was exhibited extensively in
Europe. Since then others of the species have been brought to Europe and
America. Their behavior is very like a huge docile pig, and they obey
some simple orders of their keepers, such as walking around the room on
command and exhibiting themselves to spectators, opening and shutting
their mouths as directed, and the like.
One of these animals, still young, habitually indicated a very mild
disposition, being very obedient to his keeper, whose caresses he
received with much satisfaction. He was subject, however, to violent
fits of passion, and at such times it was dangerous to approach him. He
then made prodigious efforts to break his chains and escape from his
bondage; but the offer of bread and fruits seldom failed to soothe his
most terrible convulsions.
Those persons found the most favor with him who ministered the most to
his gormandizing appetites; and, when they appeared, he exhibited his
satisfaction by opening his mouth and extending to them his long upper
lip. The narrow limits of the cage in which he was shut up did not allow
him to manifest much intelligence. The object of the keeper was to make
him forget his strength, or forego its exercise; hence, nothing
calculated to awaken his consciousness of power was required of him. To
open his mouth, to move his head to the right or left, or to lift his
leg were the usual acts by which he was required to testify his
obedience. His strength, and the fear that in one of his passions he
might break his cage, insured to him the most mild and soothing
treatment, and he was scrupulously rewarded for the least thing he was
required to do. The distinction he made of persons, and the great
attention he paid to everything which passed around, demonstrated that,
in more favorable circumstances, his intelligence might have been more
strikingly manifested.
Akin to the rhinoceros is the hippopotamus, a very fine specimen of
which was exhibited in this country some years since, and realized for
his Arab keeper quite a handsome sum, the Arab bringing him here on
speculation and hiring him out to museum and circus managers. Between
Hamet, the keeper, and Obaysch, the hippopotamus, considerable affection
existed, probably even more on the animal’s part than on the man’s. Side
by side they slept in Cairo, and during the first week of their voyage
to Southampton. But as the weather grew warmer, and Obaysch larger and
larger—he was quite young when captured and grew with the rapidity of
all members of the swinish race—Hamet had a hammock slung from the beams
immediately over the place where he had been accustomed to sleep; just
over, in fact, his side of the bed, his position being raised some two
or three feet. Assuring Obaysch, not only by words but by extending one
arm over the side so as to touch him, Hamet got into his hammock and
fell asleep, when he was suddenly awakened by a jerk and a hoist, only
to find himself close by the side of his “compagnon du voyage.” Another
experiment at separate sleeping was attended by the same successful
movements on the part of Obaysch, and, till they arrived at Southampton,
Hamet desisted from any farther trial, as he avoided in all ways any
irritation of the animal. On the voyage to this country he slept with
his huge charge, who at sea especially, seemed more content, and to feel
safer, when his keeper was at his side.
Another anecdote is related of this huge beast:
One morning during the voyage, Hamet, from some cause or other, absented
himself from Obaysch a little longer than usual, when he ran through his
octave of cries, from the most plaintive to the most violent, and then
was profoundly silent. “Hamet,” says the narrator, “thought his freedom
was achieved, and then, with the air of an emancipated serf, he opened
his wicket, and condescended to return to his tyrant—tyrant no longer,
as he hoped. Hippo awaited him with a twinkle of his infant eye—that
curious, prominent, versatile eye, which looks everywhere at once—as he
floated in the tank, so as to command the interior of his home. Hamet,
in his great fidelity, used to keep part of his wardrobe in an angle of
the roof, for convenience of making his toilet without annoying his
charge by unnecessary absence. The bundle in which these choice
vestments were secured had been pushed down by the revengeful infant,
rubbed open with his blunt nose during that ominous silence, and finally
left in such a state, that neither Hamet, nor any other being,
Mohammedan or Christian, could ever don them again. Hamet is a
well-conducted Mussulman, and not given to indulging in profane
language, but he addressed Hippo in terms of the strongest reprehension.
Hippo twinkled his eye and shook his head, blew a little trumpet through
his nostrils, and smiled in triumphant malevolence.”
Nothing among modern shows can compare with the old amphitheatrical
exhibitions of the Romans. For these, large numbers of animals were
collected from the shores of Africa and India; in the contests of the
arena they were slaughtered by wholesale. Eutropius states, and his
assertion is corroborated by other writers, that 5,000 wild beasts of
all kinds were slain at the dedication of the amphitheater of Titus.
Pompey, at the opening of his theater, exhibited a variety of games and
battles with wild beasts in which 500 lions were killed in five days;
and in another exhibition the tragedy consisted in “the massacre of 100
lions and an equal number of lionesses, 200 leopards, and 300 bears.”
Even if public taste at the present day would tolerate such butchery, it
would be rather too expensive with lions costing from $2,000 to $4,000
each. In those days, of course, the cost was much less; in fact, the
price of wild beasts in this country is usually ten times their price in
their native regions. This profit is necessary to cover the great cost
of transportation, feeding and the risks of death or accidents on the
passage. Insurance companies consider them too risky to insure. Prices,
however, fluctuate greatly, according to the demand, and an animal worth
to-day $1,000 may be worth only $200 next month, though he be in equally
good condition.
In the days when “ordeals” were used to prove the guilt or innocence of
accused persons, the Brahmin priests of Hindoostan made use of
crocodiles for this purpose. The accused was compelled to swim across a
river infested with these animals and his fate decided the question of
his guilt or innocence. There is good reason to believe that there was
trickery in these tests; that crocodiles were tamed and kept in one part
of the river while those of the other portions of the stream remained in
their savage state. The Brahmins could thus predetermine the fate of the
persons submitting to the ordeal, and doubtless had those whom they
desired to favor cross among the tame animals, while others whom they
feared or hated were placed at the mercy of the wild ones. Tame
crocodiles are by no means rarities; the Egyptian priests after
rendering them docile, placed bracelets upon their forefeet, and hung
rings and precious stones in the opercula of their ears, which were
bored for the purpose, and then presented them for adoration of the
people.
The means used in taming the crocodile seem to have been principally
kind treatment and tempting food. This plan is pursued even to the
present day in Egypt, India, and other countries. Several individual
cases are on record giving details of the taming process. Mr. Laing saw
at the house of the king of the Soulimas—a negro race occupying the
country near the river Joliba, on the coast of Sierra Leone—a tamed
crocodile as gentle as a dog; but this animal was confined a prisoner in
a pond in the palace. The Scheik of Suakem—a seaport in Nubia, on the
west coast of the Red Sea—having caught a young crocodile, tamed it, and
kept it in a pond near the sea. The animal grew very large, but did not
lose his docility. The prince placed himself upon the animal’s back, and
was carried a distance of more than three hundred steps. In the island
of Sumatra, in the year 1823, an immense crocodile established himself
at the mouth of the Beanjang; he had chased away all the other
crocodiles and devoured all of them who ventured to return. The
inhabitants rendered him divine homage, and respectfully supplied him
with food. “Pass,” said they to the English missionaries who relate the
fact, and who were afraid to approach the formidable creature; “pass on,
our god is merciful.” In fact he peacefully regarded the Europeans and
their boat, without giving any signs either of anger, fear, or a desire
to attack them.
The following account is given of a tame crocodile, in a private letter,
quoted in a review of the Erpètologie Gènèrale, and affords
corroborative proof of the foregoing statements. The writer, having
ridden a considerable distance to a village about eight miles from
Kurachee, in Scinde, and feeling thirsty, went to a pool to procure some
water. “When I got to the edge,” says he, “the guide who was with me
pointed out something in the water, which I had myself taken to be the
stump of a tree; and although I had my glasses on, I looked at it for
some time before I found that I was standing within three feet of an
immense alligator. I then perceived that the swamp was crowded with
them, although they were all lying in the mud so perfectly motionless
that a hundred people might have passed without observing them. The
guide laughed at the start I gave, and told me that they were quite
harmless, having been tamed by a saint, a man of great piety, whose tomb
was to be seen on a hill close by; and that they continued to obey the
orders of a number of fakirs, who lived around the tomb. I proceeded to
the village immediately, and got some of the fakirs to come down to the
water with a sheep. One of them then went close to the water with a long
stick, with which he struck the ground, and called to the alligators,
which immediately came crawling out of the water, great and small
together, and lay down on the bank all around him. The sheep was then
killed and quartered; and while this was going on, the reptiles
continued crawling until they had made a complete ring around us. The
fakir kept walking about within the circle, and if any one attempted to
encroach, he rapped it unmercifully on the snout with his stick, and
drove it backward. Not one of them attempted to touch him, although they
showed rows of teeth that seemed able to snap him in two at a bite. The
quarters of the sheep were then thrown to them, and the scene that
followed was so indescribable that I shall not attempt it; but I think
that if you will turn to Milton, and read his account of the
transformation of Satan and his crew in Pandemonium, you may form some
faint idea ‘how dreadful was the din.’ In what manner these monsters
were first tamed I cannot say. The natives, of course, ascribe it to the
piety of the saint, who is called Miegger Pier, or Saint Crocodile.”
The alligators of this country, though seldom tamed even for public
exhibition, might readily be, as they do not differ in any important
respect from the crocodiles.