and the headache almost insupportable, especially on looking to the
right or left. I now opened a vein, and made a large orifice, to allow
the blood to rush out rapidly; I closed it after losing sixteen ounces.
I then steeped my feet in warm water and got into the hammock. After
bleeding the pulse fell to ninety, and the head was much relieved, but
during the night, which was very restless, the pulse rose again to one
hundred and twenty, and at times the headache was distressing. I
relieved the headache from time to time by applying cold water to the
temples and holding a wet handkerchief there. The next morning the
fever ran very high, and I took five more grains of calomel and ten of
jalap, determined, whatever might be the case, this should be the last
dose of calomel. About two o'clock in the afternoon the fever remitted,
and a copious perspiration came on: there was no more headache nor
thirst nor pain in the back, and the following night was comparatively
a good one. The next morning I swallowed a large dose of castor-oil: it
was genuine, for Louisa Backer had made it from the seeds of the trees
which grew near the door. I was now entirely free from all symptoms of
fever, or apprehensions of a return; and the morning after I began to
take bark, and continued it for a fortnight. This put all to rights.
The story of the wound I got in the forest and the mode of cure are
very short. I had pursued a redheaded woodpecker for above a mile in
the forest without being able to get a shot at it. Thinking more of the
woodpecker, as I ran along, than of the way before me, I trod upon a
little hardwood stump which was just about an inch or so above the
ground; it entered the hollow part of my foot, making a deep and
lacerated wound there. It had brought me to the ground, and there I lay
till a transitory fit of sickness went off. I allowed it to bleed
freely, and on reaching headquarters washed it well and probed it, to
feel if any foreign body was left within it. Being satisfied that there
was none, I brought the edges of the wound together and then put a
piece of lint on it, and over that a very large poultice, which was
changed morning, noon and night. Luckily Backer had a cow or two upon
the hill; now as heat and moisture are the two principal virtues of a
poultice, nothing could produce those two qualities better than fresh
cow-dung boiled: had there been no cows there I could have made out
with boiled grass and leaves. I now took entirely to the hammock,
placing the foot higher than the knee: this prevented it from
throbbing, and was, indeed, the only position in which I could be at
ease. When the inflammation was completely subdued I applied a wet
cloth to the wound, and every now and then steeped the foot in cold
water during the day, and at night again applied a poultice. The wound
was now healing fast, and in three weeks from the time of the accident
nothing but a scar remained: so that I again sallied forth sound and
joyful, and said to myself:
I, pedes quo te rapiunt et aurae
Dum favet sol, et locus, i secundo
Omine, et conto latebras, ut olim,
Rumpe ferarum.
Now this contus was a tough, light pole eight feet long, on the end of
which was fixed an old bayonet. I never went into the canoe without it:
it was of great use in starting the beasts and snakes out of the hollow
trees, and in case of need was an excellent defence.
In 1819 I had the last conversation with Sir Joseph Banks. I saw with
sorrow that death was going to rob us of him. We talked much of the
present mode adopted by all museums in stuffing quadrupeds, and
condemned it as being very imperfect: still we could not find out a
better way, and at last concluded that the lips and nose ought to be
cut off and replaced with wax, it being impossible to make those parts
appear like life, as they shrink to nothing and render the stuffed
specimens in the different museums horrible to look at. The defects in
the legs and feet would not be quite so glaring, being covered with
hair.
I had paid great attention to this subject for above fourteen years;
still it would not do. However, one night, while I was lying in the
hammock and harping on the string on which hung all my solicitude, I
hit upon the proper mode by inference: it appeared clear to me that it
was the only true way of going to work, and ere I closed my eyes in
sleep I was able to prove to myself that there could not be any other
way that would answer. I tried it the next day, and succeeded according
to expectation.
By means of this process, which is very simple, we can now give every
feature back again to the animal's face after it has been skinned; and
when necessary stamp grief or pain, or pleasure, or rage, or mildness
upon it. But more of this hereafter.
Let us now turn our attention to the sloth, whose native haunts have
hitherto been so little known and probably little looked into. Those
who have written on this singular animal have remarked that he is in a
perpetual state of pain, that he is proverbially slow in his movements,
that he is a prisoner in space, and that, as soon as he has consumed
all the leaves of the tree upon which he had mounted, he rolls himself
up in the form of a ball and then falls to the ground. This is not the
case.
If the naturalists who have written the history of the sloth had gone
into the wilds in order to examine his haunts and economy, they would
not have drawn the foregoing conclusions. They would have learned that,
though all other quadrupeds may be described while resting upon the
ground, the sloth is an exception to this rule, and that his history
must be written while he is in the tree.
This singular animal is destined by Nature to be produced, to live and
to die in the trees; and to do justice to him naturalists must examine
him in this his upper element. He is a scarce and solitary animal, and
being good food he is never allowed to escape. He inhabits remote and
gloomy forests where snakes take up their abode, and where
cruelly-stinging ants and scorpions and swamps and innumerable thorny
shrubs and bushes obstruct the steps of civilised man. Were you to draw
your own conclusions from the descriptions which have been given of the
sloth, you would probably suspect that no naturalist has actually gone
into the wilds with the fixed determination to find him out and examine
his haunts, and see whether Nature has committed any blunder in the
formation of this extraordinary creature, which appears to us so
forlorn and miserable, so ill put together, and so totally unfit to
enjoy the blessings which have been so bountifully given to the rest of
animated nature; for, as it has formerly been remarked, he has no soles
to his feet, and he is evidently ill at ease when he tries to move on
the ground, and it is then that he looks up in your face with a
countenance that says: "Have pity on me, for I am in pain and sorrow."
It mostly happens that Indians and negroes are the people who catch the
sloth and bring it to the white man: hence it may be conjectured that
the erroneous accounts we have hitherto had of the sloth have not been
penned down with the slightest intention to mislead the reader or give
him an exaggerated history, but that these errors have naturally arisen
by examining the sloth in those places where Nature never intended that
he should be exhibited.
However, we are now in his own domain. Man but little frequents these
thick and noble forests, which extend far and wide on every side of us.
This, then, is the proper place to go in quest of the sloth. We will
first take a near view of him. By obtaining a knowledge of his anatomy
we shall be enabled to account for his movements hereafter, when we see
him in his proper haunts. His fore-legs, or, more correctly speaking,
his arms, are apparently much too long, while his hind-legs are very
short, and look as if they could be bent almost to the shape of a
corkscrew. Both the fore-and hind-legs, by their form and by the manner
in which they are joined to the body, are quite incapacitated from
acting in a perpendicular direction, or in supporting it on the earth,
as the bodies of other quadrupeds are supported by their legs. Hence,
when you place him on the floor, his belly touches the ground. Now,
granted that he supported himself on his legs like other animals,
nevertheless he would be in pain, for he has no soles to his feet, and
his claws are very sharp and long and curved; so that were his body
supported by his feet, it would be by their extremities, just as your
body would be were you to throw yourself on all-fours and try to
support it on the ends of your toes and fingers--a trying position.
Were the floor of glass, or of a polished surface, the sloth would
actually be quite stationary; but as the ground is generally rough,
with little protuberances upon it, such as stones, or roots of grass,
etc., this just suits the sloth, and he moves his fore-legs in all
directions, in order to find something to lay hold of; and when he has
succeeded he pulls himself forward, and is thus enabled to travel
onwards, but at the same time in so tardy and awkward a manner as to
acquire him the name of sloth.
Indeed his looks and his gestures evidently betray his uncomfortable
situation: and as a sigh every now and then escapes him, we may be
entitled to conclude that he is actually in pain.
Some years ago I kept a sloth in my room for several months. I often
took him out of the house and placed him upon the ground, in order to
have an opportunity of observing his motions. If the ground were rough,
he would pull himself forwards by means of his fore-legs at a pretty
good pace, and he invariably immediately shaped his course towards the
nearest tree. But if I put him upon a smooth and well-trodden part of
the road, he appeared to be in trouble and distress. His favourite
abode was the back of a chair and, after getting all his legs in a line
upon the topmost part of it, he would hang there for hours together,
and often with a low and inward cry would seem to invite me to take
notice of him.
The sloth, in its wild state, spends its whole life in trees, and never
leaves them but through force or by accident. An all-ruling Providence
has ordered man to tread on the surface of the earth, the eagle to soar
in the expanse of the skies, and the monkey and squirrel to inhabit the
trees: still these may change their relative situations without feeling
much inconvenience; but the sloth is doomed to spend his whole life in
the trees, and, what is more extraordinary, not _upon_ the branches,
like the squirrel and the monkey, but _under_ them. He moves suspended
from the branch, he rests suspended from it, and he sleeps suspended
from it. To enable him to do this he must have a very different
formation from that of any other known quadruped.
Hence his seemingly bungled conformation is at once accounted for; and
in lieu of the sloth leading a painful life, and entailing a melancholy
and miserable existence on its progeny, it is but fair to surmise that
it just enjoys life as much as any other animal, and that its
extraordinary formation and singular habits are but further proofs to
engage us to admire the wonderful works of Omnipotence.
It must be observed that the sloth does not hang head-downwards like
the vampire. When asleep he supports himself from a branch parallel to
the earth. He first seizes the branch with one arm, and then with the
other; and after that brings up both his legs, one by one, to the same
branch; so that all four are in a line: he seems perfectly at rest in
this position. Now had he a tail, he would be at a loss to know what to
do with it in this position: were he to draw it up within his legs it
would interfere with them, and were he to let it hang down it would
become the sport of the winds. Thus his deficiency of tail is a benefit
to him; it is merely an apology for a tail, scarcely exceeding an inch
and a half in length.
I observed, when he was climbing, he never used his arms both together,
but first one and then the other, and so on alternately. There is a
singularity in his hair, different from that of all other animals, and,
I believe, hitherto unnoticed by naturalists. His hair is thick and
coarse at the extremity, and gradually tapers to the root, where it
becomes fine as a spider's web. His fur has so much the hue of the moss
which grows on the branches of the trees that it is very difficult to
make him out when he is at rest.
The male of the three-toed sloth has a longitudinal bar of very fine
black hair on his back, rather lower than the shoulder-blades; on each
side of this black bar there is a space of yellow hair, equally fine;
it has the appearance of being pressed into the body, and looks exactly
as if it had been singed. If we examine the anatomy of his fore-legs,
we shall immediately perceive by their firm and muscular texture how
very capable they are of supporting the pendent weight of his body,
both in climbing and at rest; and, instead of pronouncing them a
bungled composition, as a celebrated naturalist has done, we shall
consider them as remarkably well calculated to perform their
extraordinary functions.
As the sloth is an inhabitant of forests within the tropics, where the
trees touch each other in the greatest profusion, there seems to be no
reason why he should confine himself to one tree alone for food, and
entirely strip it of its leaves. During the many years I have ranged
the forests I have never seen a tree in such a state of nudity; indeed,
I would hazard a conjecture that, by the time the animal had finished
the last of the old leaves, there would be a new crop on the part of
the tree he had stripped first, ready for him to begin again, so quick
is the process of vegetation in these countries.
There is a saying amongst the Indians that, when the wind blows, the
sloth begins to travel. In calm weather he remains tranquil, probably
not liking to cling to the brittle extremity of the branches, lest they
should break with him in passing from one tree to another; but as soon
as the wind rises the branches of the neighbouring trees become
interwoven, and then the sloth seizes hold of them and pursues his
journey in safety. There is seldom an entire day of calm in these
forests. The tradewind generally sets in about ten o'clock in the
morning, and thus the sloth may set off after breakfast, and get a
considerable way before dinner. He travels at a good round pace; and
were you to see him pass from tree to tree, as I have done, you would
never think of calling him a sloth.
Thus it would appear that the different histories we have of this
quadruped are erroneous on two accounts: first, that the writers of
them, deterred by difficulties and local annoyances, have not paid
sufficient attention to him in his native haunts; and secondly, they
have described him in a situation in which he was never intended by
Nature to cut a figure: I mean on the ground. The sloth is as much at a
loss to proceed on his journey upon a smooth and level floor as a man
would be who had to walk a mile in stilts upon a line of feather-beds.
One day, as we were crossing the Essequibo, I saw a large two-toed
sloth on the ground upon the bank. How he had got there nobody could
tell: the Indian said he had never surprised a sloth in such a
situation before. He would hardly have come there to drink, for both
above and below the place the branches of the trees touched the water,
and afforded him an easy and safe access to it. Be this as it may,
though the trees were not above twenty yards from him, he could not
make his way through the sand time enough to escape before we landed.
As soon as we got up to him he threw himself upon his back, and
defended himself in gallant style with his fore-legs. "Come, poor
fellow," said I to him, "if thou hast got into a hobble to-day, thou
shalt not suffer for it. I'll take no advantage of thee in misfortune;
the forest is large enough both for thee and me to rove in: go thy ways
up above, and enjoy thyself in these endless wilds; it is more than
probable thou wilt never have another interview with man. So fare thee
well." On saying this, I took a long stick which was lying there, held
it for him to hook on, and then conveyed him to a high and stately
mora. He ascended with wonderful rapidity, and in about a minute he was
almost at the top of the tree. He now went off in a side direction, and
caught hold of the branch of a neighbouring tree; he then proceeded
towards the heart of the forest. I stood looking on, lost in amazement
at his singular mode of progress. I followed him with my eye till the
intervening branches closed in betwixt us; and then I lost sight for
ever of the two-toed sloth. I was going to add that I never saw a sloth
take to his heels in such earnest: but the expression will not do, for
the sloth has no heels.
That which naturalists have advanced of his being so tenacious of life
is perfectly true. I saw the heart of one beat for half an hour after
it was taken out of the body. The wourali poison seems to be the only
thing that will kill it quickly. On reference to a former part of these
wanderings, it will be seen that a poisoned arrow killed the sloth in
about ten minutes.
So much for this harmless, unoffending animal. He holds a conspicuous
place in the catalogue of the animals of the new world. Though
naturalists have made no mention of what follows, still it is not less
true on that account. The sloth is the only quadruped known which
spends its whole life from the branch of a tree, suspended by his feet.
I have paid uncommon attention to him in his native haunts. The monkey
and squirrel will seize a branch with their fore-feet, and pull
themselves up, and rest or run upon it; but the sloth, after seizing
it, still remains suspended, and suspended moves along under the
branch, till he can lay hold of another. Whenever I have seen him in
his native woods, whether at rest or asleep or on his travels, I have
always observed that he was suspended from the branch of a tree. When
his form and anatomy are attentively considered, it will appear evident
that the sloth cannot be at ease in any situation where his body is
higher, or above, his feet. We will now take our leave of him.
In the far-extending wilds of Guiana the traveller will be astonished
at the immense quantity of ants which he perceives on the ground and in
the trees. They have nests in the branches four or five times as large
as that of the rook; and they have a covered way from them to the
ground. In this covered way thousands are perpetually passing and
repassing; and if you destroy part of it, they turn to and immediately
repair it.
Other species of ants again have no covered way, but travel exposed to
view upon the surface of the earth. You will sometimes see a string of
these ants a mile long, each carrying in its mouth, to its nest, a
green leaf the size of a sixpence. It is wonderful to observe the order
in which they move, and with what pains and labour they surmount the
obstructions of the path.
The ants have their enemies as well as the rest of animated nature.
Amongst the foremost of these stand the three species of ant-bears. The
smallest is not much larger than a rat; the next is nearly the size of
a fox; and the third a stout and powerful animal, measuring about six
feet from the snout to the end of the tail. He is the most inoffensive
of all animals, and never injures the property of man. He is chiefly
found in the inmost recesses of the forest, and seems partial to the
low and swampy parts near creeks, where the troely-tree grows. There he
goes up and down in quest of ants, of which there is never the least
scarcity; so that he soon obtains a sufficient supply of food with very
little trouble. He cannot travel fast; man is superior to him in speed.
Without swiftness to enable him to escape from his enemies, without
teeth, the possession of which would assist him in self-defence, and
without the power of burrowing in the ground, by which he might conceal
himself from his pursuers, he still is capable of ranging through these
wilds in perfect safety; nor does he fear the fatal pressure of the
serpent's fold or the teeth of the famished jaguar. Nature has formed
his fore-legs wonderfully thick and strong and muscular, and armed his
feet with three tremendous sharp and crooked claws. Whenever he seizes
an animal with these formidable weapons he hugs it close to his body,
and keeps it there till it dies through pressure or through want of
food. Nor does the ant-bear, in the meantime, suffer much from loss of
aliment, as it is a well-known fact that he can go longer without food
than, perhaps, any other animal, except the land-tortoise. His skin is
of a texture that perfectly resists the bite of a dog; his hinder-parts
are protected by thick and shaggy hair, while his immense tail is large
enough to cover his whole body.
The Indians have a great dread of coming in contact with the ant-bear
and, after disabling him in the chase, never think of approaching him
till he be quite dead. It is perhaps on account of this caution that
naturalists have never yet given to the world a true and correct
drawing of this singular animal, or described the peculiar position of
his fore-feet when he walks or stands. If, in taking a drawing from a
dead ant-bear, you judge of the position in which he stands from that
of all other terrestrial animals, the sloth excepted, you will be in
error. Examine only a figure of this animal in books of natural
history, or inspect a stuffed specimen in the best museums, and you
will see that the fore-claws are just in the same forward attitude as
those of a dog, or a common bear when he walks or stands. But this is a
distorted and unnatural position, and in life would be a painful and
intolerable attitude for the ant-bear. The length and curve of his
claws cannot admit of such a position. When he walks or stands his feet
have somewhat the appearance of a club-hand. He goes entirely on the
outer side of his fore-feet, which are quite bent inwards, the claws
collected into a point, and going under the foot. In this position he
is quite at ease, while his long claws are disposed of in a manner to
render them harmless to him and are prevented from becoming dull and
worn, like those of the dog, which would inevitably be the case did
their points come in actual contact with the ground; for his claws have
not that retractile power which is given to animals of the feline
species, by which they are enabled to preserve the sharpness of their
claws on the most flinty path. A slight inspection of the fore-feet of
the ant-bear will immediately convince you of the mistake artists and
naturalists have fallen into by putting his fore-feet in the same
position as those of other quadrupeds, for you will perceive that the
whole outer side of his foot is not only deprived of hair, but is hard
and callous: proof positive of its being in perpetual contact with the
ground. Now, on the contrary, the inner side of the bottom of his foot
is soft and rather hairy.
There is another singularity in the anatomy of the ant-bear, I believe
as yet unnoticed in the page of natural history. He has two very large
glands situated below the root of the tongue. From these is emitted a
glutinous liquid, with which his long tongue is lubricated when he puts
it into the ants' nests. These glands are of the same substance as
those found in the lower jaw of the woodpecker. The secretion from
them, when wet, is very clammy and adhesive, but on being dried it
loses these qualities, and you can pulverise it betwixt your finger and
thumb; so that in dissection, if any of it has got upon the fur of the
animal or the feathers of the bird, allow it to dry there, and then it
may be removed without leaving the least stain behind.
The ant-bear is a pacific animal. He is never the first to begin the
attack. His motto may be "Noli me tangere." As his habits and his
haunts differ materially from those of every other animal in the
forest, their interests never clash, and thus he might live to a good
old age, and die at last in peace, were it not that his flesh is good
food. On this account the Indian wages perpetual war against him and,
as he cannot escape by flight, he falls an easy prey to the poisoned
arrow shot from the Indian's bow at a distance. If ever he be closely
attacked by dogs, he immediately throws himself on his back, and if he
be fortunate enough to catch hold of his enemy with his tremendous
claws, the invader is sure to pay for his rashness with the loss of
life.