Senegal, and tamed by the director of the African company in that
colony. He became unusually tractable and gentle. He slept in company
with cats, dogs, geese, monkeys, and other animals, and never offered
any violence to them. When he was about eight months old, he formed an
attachment to a terrier dog, and this attachment increased afterward to
such an extent, that the lion was seldom happy in the absence of his
companion. At the age of fourteen months, the lion, with the dog in
company, was transported to France. He showed so little ferocity on
shipboard, that he was allowed at all times to have the liberty of
walking about the vessel. When he was landed at Havre, he was conducted
with only a cord attached to his collar, and attended by his favorite
play-fellow, to Versailles. Soon after their arrival, the dog died, when
the lion became so disconsolate, that it was found necessary to put
another dog into his den. This dog, terrified at the sight of such an
animal, endeavored to conceal himself; and the lion, surprised at the
noise, killed him by a stroke with one of his paws.
M. Felix, some years since the keeper of the national menagerie at
Paris, added two lions to the collection, a male and a female. He had
become endeared to them by kind treatment, so that scarcely any one else
could control them, and they manifested their regard in a great many
ways. The gentleman, however, was taken very sick, and was confined for
some time to his bed. Another person was necessarily intrusted with the
care of these lions. From the moment that M. Felix left, the male sat,
sad and solitary, at the end of his cage, and refused to take food from
the hands of the stranger, for whom, it was evident, he entertained no
little dislike. The company of the female seemed to displease him. In a
short time he became so uneasy, that no one dared to approach him. By
and by, however, his old master recovered, and with the intention of
surprising the animal, he crept softly to the cage, and showed only his
face between the bars. But the male lion knew him at once. He leaped
against the bars, patted him with his paws, licked his hands and face,
and actually trembled with pleasure. The female also ran to him; but the
other drove her back, and was on the point of quarreling with her, so
jealous was he lest she should receive any of the favors of M. Felix.
Afterward, however, the keeper entered the cage, caressed them both by
turns, and pacified them.
Sir George Davis, who was English consul at Naples about the middle of
the seventeenth century, happening on one occasion to be in Florence,
visited the menagerie of the grand duke. At the farther end of one of
the dens he saw a lion which lay in sullen majesty, and which the
keepers informed him they had been unable to tame, although every effort
had been used for upward of three years. Sir George had no sooner
reached the gate of the den, than the lion ran to it, and evinced every
demonstration of joy and transport. The animal reared himself up, purred
like a cat when pleased, and licked the hand of Sir George, which he had
put through the bars. The keeper was astonished and frightened for the
safety of his visitor, entreated him not to trust an apparent fit of
phrensy, with which the animal seemed to be seized; for he was, without
exception, the most fierce and sullen of his tribe which he had ever
seen. This, however, had no effect on Sir George, who, notwithstanding
every entreaty on the part of the keeper, insisted on entering the
lion's den. The moment he got in, the delighted lion threw his paws upon
his shoulders, licked his face, and ran about him, rubbing his head on
Sir George, purring and fawning like a cat when expressing its affection
for its master. This occurrence became the talk of Florence, and reached
the ears of the grand duke, who sent for Sir George, and requested an
interview at the menagerie, that he might witness so extraordinary a
circumstance, when Sir George gave the following explanation: "A captain
of a ship from Barbary gave me this lion, when quite a whelp. I brought
him up tame; but when I thought him too large to be suffered to run
about the house, I built a den for him in my court-yard. From that time
he was never permitted to be loose, except when brought to the house to
be exhibited to my friends. When he was five years old, he did some
mischief by pawing and playing with people in his frolicsome moods.
Having griped a man one day a little too hard, I ordered him to be shot,
for fear of myself incurring the guilt of what might happen. On this a
friend, who happened to be then at dinner with me, begged him as a
present. How he came here, I do not know." The Grand Duke of Tuscany, on
hearing his story, said it was the very same person who had presented
him with the lion.
[Illustration: THE LIONESS AND HER CUBS.]
Part of a ship's crew being sent ashore on the coast of India for the
purpose of cutting wood, the curiosity of one of the men having led him
to stray to a considerable distance from his companions, he was much
alarmed by the appearance of a large lioness, who made toward him; but,
on her coming up, his fear was allayed, by her lying down at his feet,
and looking very earnestly, first in his face, and then at a tree some
little distance off. After repeating these looks several times, she
arose, and proceeded toward the tree, looking back, as if she wished the
sailor to follow her. At length he ventured, and, coming to the tree,
perceived a huge baboon, with two young cubs in her arms, which he
immediately supposed to be those of the lioness, as she crouched down
like a cat, and seemed to eye them very steadfastly. The man being
afraid to ascend the tree, decided on cutting it down; and having his
axe with him, he set actively to work, when the lioness seemed most
attentive to what he was doing. When the tree fell, she pounced upon the
baboon, and, after tearing her in pieces, she turned round, and licked
the cubs for some time. She then returned to the sailor, and fawned
round him, rubbing her head against him in great fondness, and in token
of her gratitude for the service done her. After this, she carried the
cubs away one by one, and the sailor rejoined his companions, much
pleased with the adventure.
A French gentleman relates a remarkable anecdote about a combat which he
saw on the banks of the Niger, between a Moorish chief and a lion. The
prince took the Frenchman and his company to a place adjoining a
large wood which was much infested with wild beasts, and directed them
all to climb the trees. They did so. Then, getting upon his horse, and
taking three spears and a dagger, he entered the forest, where he soon
found a lion, which he wounded with one of the spears. The enraged
animal sprang with great fury at his assailant, who, by a feigned
flight, led him near the spot where the company were stationed. He then
turned his horse, and in a moment darted another spear at the lion,
which pierced his body. He alighted, and the lion, now grown furious,
advanced with open jaws; but the prince received him on the point of his
third spear, which he forced into his throat. Then, at one leap,
springing across his body, he cut open his throat with his dagger. In
this contest, the Moor's skill was such, that he received only a slight
scratch on the thigh.
[Illustration: THE CONVENTION OF ANIMALS.]
Allow me, in concluding these stories about lions, to recite one from
the French. It is fabulous, as you will perceive; but fables are not to
be despised. The design of the fable is to illustrate the truth that in
a community, every one may be more or less useful. "War having been
declared between two nations of animals (for, notwithstanding their
instinct, they are as foolish as men), the lion issued a proclamation of
the fact to his subjects, and ordered them to appear in person at his
camp. Among the great number of animals that obeyed the orders of their
sovereign, were some asses and hares. Each animal offered his services
for the campaign. The elephant agreed to transport the baggage of the
army. The bear took it upon him to make the assaults. The fox proposed
to manage the ruses and the stratagems. The monkey promised to amuse the
enemy by his tricks. 'Sire,' said the horse, 'send back the asses; they
are too lazy--and the hares; they are too timid, and subject to too
frequent alarms.' 'By no means,' said the king of the animals; 'our army
would not be complete without these. The asses will serve for
trumpeters, and the hares will make excellent couriers.'"
[Illustration: THE GALAGO.]
The Galago.
From a recent English periodical, I have obtained some interesting facts
in relation to an animal to which naturalists have given the name of the
Galago. In the picture on the opposite page you have a portrait of the
animal, drawn from life. He is a very singular looking fellow, as you
perceive. Not long ago he was brought to England from Zanguebar, in
Africa. The specimen, now being exhibited in London, is the first of
this race of quadrupeds which has ever been introduced from its native
country into any part of Europe, and it is exciting a great deal of
interest among naturalists. Very little is known of the genus to which
the animal belongs, all its species being found only in the barbarous
countries, very little known, on the eastern coast of Africa. They all
climb upon trees, like the squirrel. Their habits are strictly
nocturnal. They never venture from their retreats while the faintest
gleam of daylight is visible; but at the approach of night they become
exceedingly active, springing from tree to tree with all the dexterity
of the squirrel. In the day time, they remain, for the most part, in the
holes of decayed trees. Their food is gum and pulpy fruits. The country
where they live is one of the hottest regions on the globe. On this
account, the animal sent to England is very sensitive to the sudden
changes of that comparatively northern latitude, and it requires much
care to preserve him from the influence of the cold. One of the striking
peculiarities of the animal is the appearance of his feet. They resemble
the hands of a man, as will be seen by the engraving. This peculiarity
admirably fits the galago for the life it leads, as it spends a great
part of its time in leaping on the boughs of trees. The specimen in
England is remarkably tame and frolicksome, and does not seem altogether
happy except when he is fondled and petted, when he enjoys himself
immensely. During the night he delights in active motion, climbing and
playing like a kitten, often uttering a loud, clucking noise, which ends
with a sharp, shrill call, of astonishing volume. The animal is not so
large as a fox.
The Bear.
That distinguished author, Oliver Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature,"
has given a most interesting account of the habits of the bear, which I
wish, for the benefit of my readers, might be embodied in this chapter,
though, on the whole, I think the entire account is too long, and I am
forced to omit it. Besides, I suppose it would hardly be just to accord
such a civility to the bear, while it is denied to the other animals.
According to the description of this eminent practical naturalist, the
bear is not by any means the unamiable monster he has been represented
to be; but has, on the contrary, a great many good traits of character.
He has been slandered, grossly slandered, if we may credit Mr.
Goldsmith; and for one, I do credit him. He is exceedingly reliable in
most of his statements. Now that I am speaking of Mr. Goldsmith, I can
scarce refrain from adding that I have been greatly assisted, in the
preparation of this volume, by the work of his above alluded to. It is,
and ever will be, a valuable book in the library of those who are
interested in becoming acquainted with nature, in her varied aspects.
There are three species of bears--the black, the white, and the brown or
Syrian bear. The latter, represented in the engraving on the opposite
page, is the one to which allusion is made in Scripture.
[Illustration: THE BROWN BEAR.]
The bear is capable of strong and generous attachment. Many years ago,
Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, in Europe, owned a bear which had become very
tame, and which was remarkable for the strength of his love for those
whom he happened to fancy. In the winter of 1709, a poor Savoyard boy
had been placed in a barn to stay over night. This boy, finding that he
was near the hut occupied by the duke's bear, took it into his head to
go and pay the bear a visit. It was a singular fancy, to be sure. But as
the old proverb says, "There is no accounting for tastes." He had no
sooner formed the determination, than off he started to see Marco--for
that was the name of the bear. He was cold, I think; and not having
any other way of warming himself, he thought he would see if Marco could
not be prevailed upon to let him share in the benefit of his shaggy coat
for awhile. So in he went, and he and the bear were soon on the best of
terms. Marco took him between his paws, and warmed him, by pressing him
to his breast, until the next morning, when he allowed him to depart, to
ramble about the city. In the evening, the young Savoyard returned to
the bear's den, and was received with the same marks of kindness and
affection. For several days, the boy made this den his home. The bear
saved a part of his food for his companion, and they lived together on
the most intimate and friendly terms. A number of days passed in this
manner, without the servants knowing any thing about the circumstance,
the boy not being in the den when the bear's food was brought. At
length, one day, when some one came to bring the generous animal his
supper, rather later than usual, the boy was there. The servant then saw
the fondness of the bear for the young Savoyard. The boy was asleep. The
bear rolled his eyes around, in a furious manner, and seemed to intimate
that as little noise as possible must be made, for fear of awaking the
child, whom he clasped to his breast. The bear did not move when the
food was placed before him. This extraordinary circumstance was related
to Leopold, the owner of the bear, who, with a good many others, went to
the bear's hut, where they found, with surprise, that the animal never
stirred as long as his guest manifested a disposition to sleep. When the
little fellow awoke in the morning, he was very much ashamed and alarmed
to find that he was discovered, thinking that he should be punished; and
he begged the duke's pardon for the liberty he had taken with the bear.
The bear, however, caressed his new friend, and tried to prevail upon
him to eat a part of the supper which had been brought the previous
evening, and which seemed untouched.
Bruin is famous for hugging his enemies so desperately, that they are
glad to get clear of him. But in these hugging fights, he sometimes gets
the worst of it, as in the following instance. Some years since, when
the western part of the State of New York was but slightly settled, some
enterprising emigrant from New England had built a saw-mill on the banks
of the Genesee river. One day, as he was eating his luncheon, sitting on
the log which was going through the sawing operation at the time, a huge
black bear came from the woods, toward the mill. The man, leaving his
bread and cold bacon on the log, made a spring, and climbed up to a beam
above, to get out of the way of the bear, when the latter, mounting the
log which the sawyer had left, sat down, with his back toward the saw,
and commenced eating the man's dinner. After awhile, the log on which he
sat approached so near the saw, that he got scratched a little, and he
hitched away a few feet from the saw, and resumed his dinner. But the
saw scratched him again soon, of course, and this time rather more
seriously. Bruin got angry, and his anger cost him dearly. He wheeled
about, and throwing his paws around the saw, he gave it a most desperate
hug. In this position he remained, until he was sawn into two pieces, as
if he had been a log. Poor fellow! we ought to pity him, I suppose; but
it is pretty difficult to avoid a hearty laugh over his misfortunes.
Here is a story of an encounter between a bear and a bull, which is also
rather laughable, although there is a good deal of the tragic in it. A
bull was attacked in the forest by a rather small bear, when, striking
his horns into his assailant, he pinned him against a tree. In this
situation they were both found dead; the bull from starvation, the bear
from his wounds.
Some years ago, a New Hampshire boy found a very young cub near Lake
Winnepeg, and carried it home with him. It was fed and brought up in the
house of the boy's father, and became as tame as a dog. At length, it
learned to follow the boy to school, and by degrees, it became his daily
companion. At first, the other scholars were somewhat shy of Bruin's
acquaintance; but before a great while, it became their constant
play-fellow, and they delighted in sharing with it the little store of
provisions which they brought for their own dinner. However, it wandered
off into the woods again, and for four years, nothing was heard of it.
Changes had taken place in the school where the bear used to be a
welcome guest. Another generation of pupils had taken the place of the
bear's old companions. One very cold winter day, while the schoolmistress
was busy with her lessons, a boy happened to leave the door open, and a
huge bear walked in. The consternation of the mistress and her pupils
was very great, of course. But what could they do? Nothing but look on,
and see what would come of this strange visit. However, the bear
molested no one. It walked quietly up to the fire, and warmed itself.
Then it walked up to the wall, where the dinner baskets hung, and
standing on its hind feet, reached them down, and made free with their
contents. By and by, it went out. But the alarm was given, and the poor
fellow was shot, when it was found out, by some marks on its body, that
it was the identical bear that had used to visit the school four years
before.
In one of the expeditions from England to the Polar seas, a white bear
was seen to perform an ingenious feat in order to capture some walruses.
He was seen to swim cautiously to a large, rough piece of ice, on which
these walruses were lying, fast asleep, with their cubs. The wily animal
crept up some little hillocks of ice, behind the party, and with his
fore feet loosened a large block of ice. This, with the help of his nose
and paws, he rolled along until he was near the sleepers, and almost
over their heads, when he let it fall on one of the old walruses, who
was instantly killed. The other walrus, with her cubs, rolled into the
water; but the young one of the dead animal remained with its mother. On
this helpless creature the bear then leaped down, and completed the
destruction of two animals which it would not have ventured to attack
openly.
It often happens, that when a Greenlander and his wife are paddling
along out at sea, by coming too near a floating field of ice, a white
bear unexpectedly jumps into their canoe. Provided he does not upset it
by the weight of his body, he sits calmly and demurely in one end of it,
like any other passenger, and allows himself to be rowed to the shore.
The Greenlander would very cheerfully dispense with the company of the
bear; but dares not dispute his right there--it might cost him a pretty
rough handling. So he makes a virtue of necessity, and rows his bearship
to the shore.
In the early part of the settlement of this country, an expedition was
sent to explore a part of the territory now called Missouri. Bears were
found there, at that time, in great abundance, and of very large size.
Some of the men belonging to the expedition were in a canoe one day,
when they discovered a bear lying in the open grounds, about three
hundred paces from the river. Six of the men, all good hunters,
immediately went to attack him, and concealing themselves by a small
eminence, came within forty paces of him before they were perceived.
Four of the hunters now fired, as nearly as they could at the same
instant, and each lodged a ball in his body, two of which entered the
lungs. The furious animal then sprang up, and ran upon the men, with his
mouth wide open, ready for a terrible attack. As he came near, the two
hunters who had reserved their fire gave him two rounds, one of which,
breaking his shoulder, retarded his progress for a moment; but before
they could reload, he was so near that they were obliged to run to the
river. Before they reached it, he had almost overtaken them. Two jumped
into the canoe; the other four separated, and concealing themselves
among the willows, fired as fast as they could reload. They hit him
several times; but instead of weakening the monster, each shot only
seemed to direct him toward the hunters, till at last he pursued two of
them so closely, that they threw aside their guns and pouches, and
jumped down a perpendicular bank of some fifteen feet into the river.
The bear sprang after them, and was within a few feet of the hindermost,
when one of the hunters on the shore shot him in the head, and finally
killed him. They dragged him to the shore, and found that eight balls
had passed through him, in different directions.
While a British frigate was locked in the ice of the Polar seas, three
bears were discovered one morning, directing their course toward the
ship. They had undoubtedly been attracted by the scent of a part of the
carcass of a sea-horse that the crew had killed a few days before, which
had been set on fire, and was burning on the ice at the time of their
approach. They proved to be a female bear and her two cubs; but the cubs
were nearly as large as the mother. They ran eagerly to the fire, and
drew out of the flames a part of the flesh of the sea-horse which
remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. Some of the crew threw
large pieces of the flesh from the ship upon the ice, which the old bear
took, one by one, and laid before her cubs. Then she divided each piece,
and reserved only a very small portion for herself. As she was carrying
away the last piece, several of the men on board the ship aimed their
muskets at the two cubs, and shot them dead; after which they shot at
the old bear, and wounded her, though not mortally. One of the gentlemen
who witnessed this spectacle says that it would have drawn pity from any
but the most unfeeling hearts, to mark the affectionate concern
expressed by this poor beast, as she saw that her young were dying.
Though she was sorely wounded herself, and could but just crawl to the
place where they lay, she carried the last piece of flesh to them, as
she had done with the others, and divided it for them. When she
perceived that they refused to eat, she put her paws first upon one and
then upon the other, and endeavored to raise them up. All this time it
was deeply affecting to hear her moans. When she found she could not
stir her dying cubs in this manner, she went away some distance from
them, looking back occasionally, and moaning, as if in the utmost
distress. This means not availing to entice them away from the spot, she
returned, and commenced smelling around them, and licking their wounds.
Then she went off a second time, as before, and having crawled a few
paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood still, uttering
the most piteous cries. But still her cubs did not rise to follow her,
and she returned to them, and with signs of the greatest fondness, went
around them separately, placing her paws upon them tenderly, and giving
utterance to the same cries of distress. Finding, at last, that they
were cold and lifeless, she raised her head toward the ship, and growled
in indignation for the murder. Poor creature! the men on board returned
her angry cry with a shower of musket balls. She fell between her cubs,
and died licking their wounds.