interior of Africa, is an eel-like creature, about 3 feet in length,
with a long dorsal fin continuous with that of the tail, with two
narrow pectoral fins far forward, and two long pelvic fins far back,
and with this most important characteristic, that, besides the gills,
there are also functional lung-sacs. This remarkable connecting link
between fish and amphibian lives, even in the wet season, more in the
mud than in the water, and likes to hide in holes which it seems to dig
out for itself. When the supply of water threatens to disappear, the
fish burrows deeply in the mud, rolls itself into the smallest possible
bulk, and forms, apparently by frequent turning, an air-tight capsule,
shut in on all sides, and lined internally with mucus. Within this the
animal remains motionless throughout the winter. If we carefully dig
out these capsules and pack them well, we can send the fish without
risk where we please, and it may be readily recalled to life by placing
the capsule in lukewarm water. As the reviving water soaks in, the
creature still remains quiet, just as if it were heavy with sleep; but
in the course of an hour or so it becomes quite lively, and in a few
days its voracious hunger also awakes. For some months its behaviour
remains unaltered, but at the season when it prepares in its native
haunts for winter-sleep, it seeks to do the same in captivity, or at
least becomes restless, and secretes an extraordinary quantity of
mucus. If opportunity be afforded, it burrows; if not, it soon masters
its inclination, and continues to thrive as before in the open water.
[Illustration: Fig. 27.--Secretary-bird and Aspis.]
Sheat-fish or siluroids also pass the winter in the steppe as the
mud-fish does. The amphibians too, along with some reptiles,
especially water-turtles and crocodiles, burrow in the mud, and wile
away the deadly winter in sleep. On the other hand, all the terrestrial
reptiles are at their liveliest throughout the torrid season, and
contribute not a little to enliven the dreary steppe which they inhabit
in extraordinary numbers. Besides the vipers which we have already
mentioned, there is another venomous snake of the steppe--the royal
Aspis or Uräus--one of the deadliest of all.[45] It was with this
creature, more famous or infamous than the horned viper, that Moses
juggled before Pharaoh, as the snake-charmers still do; the same, too,
whose image in gold the ancient kings of Egypt wore as a diadem to
express their irresistible power, and which they used in the punishment
of criminals, or in executing revenge on enemies,--a creature in regard
to which the old authors tell many gruesome, and not always untrue,
tales. In contrast to other venomous snakes it is active during the
day; when unexcited it looks very harmless, but it is extremely agile,
irritable, and bold, and combines all the qualities which render
venomous serpents dangerous. Usually unseen, for its colour closely
resembles that of the sand and the withered grass, it glides, often
with uncanny rapidity, through the grass-forest, conscious of its
terrible weapons, and ready for attack whenever it fancies danger.
In attitude of defence it raises the anterior fifth or sixth of its
body, and expands the neck ribs so as to form a sort of shield, above
which lies the small head, with lively sparkling eyes. It fastens its
sharp gaze on its opponent, and prepares for the bite which is quick
as lightning and almost without exception fatal. Then its appearance
is dreadful but yet beautiful, bewildering and terrifying to man and
beast. It is generally asserted that this snake may kill without
biting, by spitting or shooting its venom at its enemy;[46] and it is
at any rate true that the poison-glands secrete the dread juice so
copiously that great drops trickle from the openings of the perforated
fangs. Little wonder that both natives and Europeans are much more
afraid of this asp than of the sluggish horned viper which visits
their bed by night. Nor is it difficult to understand why the stranger
fires at every snake, even the most harmless, which comes within his
sight, or why every rustling in the grass or foliage gives one a slight
shock, or at least induces careful circumspection. But the rustling is
continually to be heard in the steppe, for there are many other snakes
no less common than the asp--many, from the huge python or hieroglyphic
snake, sometimes nearly twenty feet in length, down to harmless
grass-snakes of minute size. Besides these there is a countless host of
lizards of all kinds.
Whoever has a horror of snakes may perhaps be reconciled to the class
of reptiles by the agile, beautifully-coloured lizards, for creatures
more attractive than these are not to be found in the steppe. They dart
to and fro on the ground; they clamber on the branches of the shrubs
and trees; they look down from the hills of the termites and from the
roofs of the houses; they make their way even under the sand. Some
species vie with the humming-birds in the brightness and glitter of
their colours; others fascinate by the swiftness and grace of their
movements; others attract by the quaintness of their forms. Even after
the sun, in whose light they live and move, has set, and most of
these active creatures have gone to rest, the geckos are still left
to the naturalist. During the day these lizards remain quietly fixed
to the tree-boles and the rafters, but as night sets in they begin
their activity. With loud and musical calls (to which they owe their
name “Gecko”) they hunt about without any fear of man. The ancients
libelled them and placed them among the most venomous of animals, and
even to-day this superstition lurks in the minds of the ignorant. They
are nocturnal animals, and as such somewhat different from the diurnal
members of the lizard race. Thus one of their peculiar characteristics
is the cushion-like expansion of the fingers and toes, whose soles
are furnished with numerous closely appressed plaits of skin, which
act like suckers and give the geckos extraordinary climbing powers.
These plaited cushions were long ago erroneously interpreted as
poison-secreting glands,--an idea which now seems absurd enough.[47]
In truth the geckos are as harmless as they are attractive, and in a
very short time they win the affection of every unprejudiced observer.
Most valuable domestic pets they are, for they pursue with eagerness
and success all kinds of troublesome insects. In every room of the
mud and straw houses their nightly activity may be observed; they
climb about with all but unfailing security, adhering by their plaited
feet to almost anything; head up or head down they run on vertical or
on horizontal surfaces, teasing and chasing one another in pleasant
fashion, making one merry too with their musical notes; they give one
nothing but pleasure and do nothing but good; what reasonable man can
fail to become their friend?
But they are reptiles still, and must remain under the curse; they
cannot vie with the children of the air--the birds. And one may
perhaps say that the birds are the first creatures to make a thoroughly
favourable impression on the visitor to the steppe, and to reconcile
him to the forbidding aspects of other animals.
The bird-fauna of the steppes is rich alike in species and in
individuals. Wherever we wander we are sure to hear and see birds. From
the densest forest of grasses resounds the loud call of a bustard;
from the thickets by the water-courses is heard the trumpeting of
the guinea-fowl or the loud cry of the francolin; from the trees
comes a medley of sound--the cooing and moaning of the doves, the
shouts and hammering of the woodpecker, the melodious call of the
barbets, the simple music of various weaver-finches and thrush-like
songsters. The high branches of trees or other prominent positions
serve as watch-towers for serpent-eagles, chanting goshawks, rollers,
drongos, and bee-eaters, which sit there on the outlook for prey. The
secretary-bird, which the natives call the Bird of Fate, runs about
among the tall grass stems or hovers above them; in higher strata of
the air one sees the whirling swallows and other birds which catch
their prey on the wing; higher still the eagles and vultures are
circling. No spot is untenanted, in fact almost every place is thickly
peopled; and when our winter begins to reign it sends hither many of
our birds, especially kestrels and harriers, shrikes and rollers,
quails and storks, who find in the steppe a hospitable refuge during
the evil days in the north.
Few of the birds which live in the steppes can be regarded as
distinctive, nor is the general character of the bird-fauna so clearly
and sharply defined that one could at once recognize a steppe bird,
as is possible with those of the desert. To some extent, however, the
careful observer will notice that the birds of the steppe are congruent
with their environment. The secretary-bird--a great bird of prey in
the guise of a crane; the “snake-harrier”--a sluggish, slow-flying
hawk clothed in rich, soft, large-feathered plumage; a straw-yellow
night-jar, and another with decorative wing-feathers, a guinea-fowl
or a francolin, a bustard or an ostrich: of these we might perhaps
venture to say that they belong to the steppe, and are only there at
home. It is not the case that the steppe is richer in colour than the
desert, but it affords much more cover, and its tenants are therefore
more freely coloured and marked. There are two colours to which it
seems as if a preference were given; the one is a more or less shaded
straw-yellow, the other is a hardly definable gray-blue. Both appear
on the plumage of birds of prey and game-birds alike, but without, of
course, excluding other darker, lighter, or more vivid colours. It
seems to me worthy of note that the greater freedom of colouring and
marking is also observable on those birds whose near relations are
characteristic of the desert.
We should like to give a more detailed description of some of the
steppe birds which are most distinctive of the region, but selection is
difficult, for almost every one of those which we have mentioned claims
and merits close attention. But my limits force me to a choice, and it
must suffice if I select a bird of the upper air, a bird of the ground,
and a bird of the night, in order through them to add a few touches to
our general picture of the steppe.
No one who stays for any length of time in the steppe-land can fail to
observe a large bird of prey, whose appearance as he flies, owing to
the beautiful contour of the long pointed wings and exceedingly short
tail, mark him off from every other feathered robber, whose flight
moreover surpasses that of all creatures which fly. High above the
ground he flies, hovers, glides, tumbles, flutters, dances, and throws
himself headlong. As large as an eagle, he expands his great wings,
and remains for a moment in the same position without any movement; he
beats them violently, raises them high above his body, twists them and
whirls them; he closes them and is precipitated almost to the ground;
he gives a few powerful strokes, and in a few minutes has ascended to
immeasurable heights. As he approaches the ground we see his vividly
contrasted colours--the velvet black of the head, neck, breast, and
belly, the silver white on the under surface of his wings, the light
chestnut-brown of his tail; he throws himself headlong, and we notice
the bright colour of the back resembling that of the tail and a broad
light band on the wings; he comes still nearer, and we may perhaps
detect the coral-red beak and cheeks and talons. If we question one
of the nomad herdsmen observant of the animal life of the steppe in
regard to this striking and altogether remarkable bird of prey, we
may hear from his lips this significant and suggestive story. “To
him,” he says, “the goodness of the All-merciful has given rich gifts,
and, above all, high wisdom. For he is a physician among the birds of
heaven, familiar with the diseases which visit the children of the
Creator, and knowing all the herbs and roots with which to heal them.
From far-off lands thou mayest see him bear the roots, but in vain dost
thou seek to discover whither he is summoned to heal the sick. The
working of his remedies is unfailing; to partake of them brings life,
to reject them is to invite death; they are as the Hedijah written by
the hand of God’s messenger, a precept of Mohammed, whom we reverence
in humility. To the poor in the eyes of the Lord, to the sons of
Adam, it is not forbidden to make use of them. Take note of where the
physician-eagle has his dwelling, refrain from injuring his eggs, wait
till the feathers of his young no longer draw any blood, and then go
to his home and wound the body of one of his children. Thereupon shalt
thou perceive the father fly towards morning in the direction in which
thou turnest to pray. Be not discouraged in waiting for his return,
have patience! He will appear bearing with him a root; frighten him so
that he may leave it to thee, take it without fear; for it comes from
the Lord, in whose hand are the issues of life, and it is free from all
witchcraft. Then hasten to heal thy sick; they shall all recover, for
so it is appointed to them by the Father of Mercies.”
The bird which forms the subject of this poetic legend is the bateleur
or short-tailed African eagle--the “Heaven’s ape” of the Abyssinians.
The roots which, according to the legend, it carries, are snakes, which
it picks up. Seldom does one see the bird rest; usually it flies, as
has been described, until the sight of a snake induces it to hurl
itself downwards and to engage in battle. Like all the snake-eating
birds of prey, it is well protected against the venomous fangs by
the thick horny plates on its talons and by its dense plumage; it is
therefore unafraid of the most deadly snake, and is a true benefactor
of the steppe-land. It is not this beneficence, however, but its
marvellous flight that has won renown for the African eagle in the eyes
of all the peoples among whom it has its home.
[Illustration: Fig. 28.--On an Ostrich Farm in South Africa.]
The ostrich, which is bound to the earth, stands in striking contrast
to the short-tailed eagle. He also is the hero of an Arabian legend,
which, however, instead of glorifying him, brings him down to the dust;
for the story is that the ostrich wished, in the exuberance of his
vanity, to fly to the sun, but was in his attempt miserably burned, and
hurled in his present form to the ground. To us his life is all the
more worthy of consideration, that many false ideas still prevail both
in regard to it and in regard to the bird himself.
Although occurring in those low grounds of the African and West
Asiatic deserts which are richest in vegetation, the ostrich becomes
abundant only in the steppe. Here one is almost continually crossing
his unmistakable “spoor”, though it is but rarely that one sees the
bird. He is tall enough to see over the lofty grasses which conceal
him, he is far-sighted and shy, and can therefore usually conceal
himself from the approaching traveller. If one succeeds in observing
him from a distance, one sees that, except at the breeding season, he
is fond of a comfortable and easy-going life. In the early morning, and
in the evening, the troop feed busily; at noon they all lie resting
and digesting on the ground; sometimes they go together to water or
to bathe (even in the sea); later on, they amuse themselves with
marvellous dances,[48] jumping round in a circle as if out of their
senses, fanning with their wing-plumes as if they would attempt to fly;
at sunset they betake themselves to rest, but without neglecting to
secure their safety. If a formidable enemy threaten them they rush off
in wild flight, and soon leave him far behind; if a weaker carnivore
sneak upon them, they strike him to the ground with their extremely
powerful legs. Thus the course of their life runs smoothly, provided
that there be no lack of food. Of this they require an enormous
quantity. Their voracity is astounding, and not less is the capacity of
their stomach to receive vast quantities of all sorts of things, which
are either digested, or are retained without injury. Almost everything
vegetable, from root-tubers to fruits, is accepted by their stomachs,
which have now become proverbial; and so is it with small animals,
both vertebrate and invertebrate. But such things by no means exhaust
their menu. The ostrich swallows whatever can be swallowed, gulping
down stones a pound in weight, and in captivity not disdaining pieces
of tiles, oakum, rags, knives, single keys and bunches of keys, nails,
pieces of glass and crockery, leaden balls, bells, and many other such
things. Indeed, it may fall a victim to its indiscriminating appetite
by devouring such stuff as unslaked lime. In the stomach of one which
died in captivity there was found a heterogeneous mass weighing in
all about nine pounds. In the poultry-yard the greedy bird swallows
ducklings and chickens as if they were oysters; it dismantles walls
to fill its gizzard with the loose mortar; in short, it will eat
anything which is not a fixture. In proportion to the amount of food
which it requires--and that is not out of proportion to its size and
activity--so is its thirst. Thus it frequents those places where it
finds not only abundance of nutritious plants, but also water-basins or
springs. If both fail, the ostriches are forced to migrate, and in such
cases they often cover great distances.
With the coming of spring the mating instinct awakens in the heart of
the ostrich, and then it changes its habit of life in a remarkable
manner. The troops or herds break up into small groups, and the adult
males begin their long-continued combats for mates. Excited to the
highest pitch, as is outwardly indicated by the vivid reddening of
neck and legs, two rivals stand opposed; they fan their wings so
that the full splendour of their fluffy white plumes is displayed;
they move their long necks in a scarce describable fashion, twisting
and bending now forwards, now sideways; they utter deep and hoarse
sounds, sometimes suggestive of a muffled drum, sometimes even of the
roaring of lions; they stare at one another; they bend down on the
soles of their feet, and move their necks and wings more rapidly and
persistently than before; then they spring up again and rush at one
another, seeking, in the swift encounter, to strike their opponent
a powerful blow with the foot, and with the sharp-cutting toe-nail
to make long, deep gashes on body and legs. The victor in the combat
is not more gentle to the mate or mates which he has won, in fact he
abuses them shamefully with bullying and blows. It is not at present
perfectly certain whether a male keeps company with one female or
with several;[49] it may be accepted as a fact, however, that several
females often lay in the same nest, and it has been observed that the
female does not undertake the whole responsibility of sitting on the
eggs, but leaves much of this to the male, who, after about eight
weeks’ brooding, also leads about the young and tends them. In both
brooding and tending, the female does assist, but the male always
has the larger share, and in leading about the young brood he shows
more carefulness and solicitude than does the mother-bird. The young
ostriches, when hatched, are about the size of an average hen, and
come into the world with a remarkable suit of feathers, more like the
bristly coat of a mammal than the customary down of young birds. As
they exhibit the characteristic voracity of their race from the day
of their birth, they grow quickly, and after two or three months they
change their plumage and put on a garb resembling that of the female.
At least three years must pass, however, before they are fully grown or
ready for pairing.
Such, in briefest statement, are the essential facts in regard to the
life-history of the giant bird of the steppe; all the stories which are
inconsistent with my summary are more or less fabulous.
The bird of the night in regard to which I wish to say a few words is
the night-jar or goat-sucker, whose race is represented at home by
one species, but in the steppe by several somewhat remarkable forms.
When the first star is seen in the evening sky these gayest and most
charming of nocturnal birds begin to be active. During the day it is
only by chance that we ever see one, and we scarce believe in its
powers of enlivening the steppe-land. But, when night falls, at least
one is sure to make its appearance. Attracted to the camp-fire like the
scorpion and the viper, the softly-flying bird flits in ever-changing
course around the watchers, alights near them for a moment, delivers a
few strophes of its whirring night-song, which reminds one of a cat’s
purring, is off again into the dusk, only to reappear in a few minutes,
and so on until morning. One species is especially fascinating, the
flag-winged night-jar, or “four-winged bird” of the natives. Its
decorative peculiarity consists of a long feather which grows out
between the primaries and secondaries[50] of each wing, without any
vane except at the broad tip, and far exceeding all the other feathers
in length, being in fact almost exactly half a yard in length. Eerily,
like some ghost, this night-jar flies and flutters. It looks as if it
were being constantly pursued by two others of smaller size, or as if
it could divide itself into two or three birds, or as if it had indeed
four wings. But it has all the charms of its race, and soon becomes
a welcome visitor, contributing, like its fellows, not a little to
alleviate most pleasantly the discomforts of the night.
Like the birds, the mammals of the steppe are rich alike in numbers
and in species. The abundant vegetation supports not only countless
herds of antelopes, which are justly regarded as most characteristic
of this region, but also buffaloes and wild boars, zebras and wild
asses, elephants and rhinoceroses, the “serafe”, or giraffes, as we
call them, besides a host of rodents with which we have only a general
acquaintance. Against this dense population of herbivores, the numerous
carnivores of the steppe wage unceasing war, and this is probably
even to the advantage of the former, since, without some such check,
the ruminants and rodents would tend to multiply beyond the limits of
subsistence afforded even by the rich vegetation of this region. The
uniformity of the North African steppes and the relatively (though
not really) frequent occurrence of standing and flowing water hinder
the formation of those immense mobs of antelopes which are observed
in the Karroo of South Africa; everywhere, however, we come across
these elegant, fine-eyed ruminants, singly, in small herds, or in
considerable companies, and they seem to keep to approximately the same
spots in summer and winter. Zebras and wild asses, on the other hand,
are only found on the dry heights; the giraffe lives exclusively in
the thin woods, while the rhinoceros almost always seeks the densest
growths; the elephant entirely avoids broad open tracts, and the
ill-tempered buffaloes cling to the moist low ground. On these last, as
on the tame herds of cattle, the lion preys, while the cunning leopard
and the nimble, untiring cheetah, are more given to stalking the
antelopes; the jackals and steppe-wolves prefer the hares; the foxes,
civets, and polecats seek the small rodents and those birds which live
on the ground.