catches every hostile eye within visual range. A white goat kid
vigorously gamboling on the bare rocks would attract all the
golden eagles, hunters, trappers and Indians within a radius of
two miles. It is the rule that kids, fawns and lambs must _lie
low and keep still,_ to avoid attracting deadly enemies. On the
bare summits, play can be indulged in only at great risk.
Generations of persecution have implanted in the brain of the
ruminant baby the commanding instinct to fold up its long legs,
neatly and compactly, furl its ears along its neck, and closely
lie for hours against a rock or a log. During daylight hours they
must literally hug the ground. Silence and inactivity is the first
price that all young animals in the wilds pay for their lives. It
is only in the safe shelter of captivity, or man-made sanctuaries,
that they are free to play.
In the comfortable security of the "zoo" all the wild conditions
are changed. The restraints of fear are off, and every animal is
free to act as joyous as it feels. Here we see things that men
_never see in the wilds!_ If any Rocky Mountain bear hunter
should ever see bear cubs or full-grown bears wrestling and
carrying on as they do here, he would say that they were plumb
crazy!
Of all our wild animals, not even excepting the apes and monkeys,
our young bears are the most persistently playful. In fact, I
believe that when _properly caged and tended,_ bears under
eight years of age are the most joyous and playful of all wild
animals. We have given our bears smooth and spacious yards floored
with concrete, with a deep pool in the centre of each, and great
possibilities in climbing upon rocks high and low. The top of each
sleeping den is a spacious balcony with a smooth floor. The
facilities for bear wrestling and skylarking are perfect, and
there are no offensive uneven floors nor dead stone walls to annoy
or discourage any bear. They can look at each other through the
entire series of cages and there is no chance whatever for a bear
to feel lonesome. We put just as many individuals into each cage
as we think the traffic will stand; and sometimes as many as six
young bears are reared together.
Now, all these conditions promote good spirits, playfulness, and
the general enjoyment of life. Any one who thinks that our bears
are not far happier than those that are in the wilds and exposed
to enemies, hunger and cold, should pause and consider.
Our bear cubs begin to play just as soon as they emerge from their
natal den, in March or April, and they keep it up until they are
six or seven years of age,--or longer! Our visitors take the
playfulness of small cubs as a matter of course, but the clumsy
and ridiculous postures and antics of fat-paunched full-grown
bears are irresistibly funny. Really, there are times when it
seems as if the roars of laughter from the watching crowd
stimulates wrestling bears to further efforts. On October 28,
1921, about seventy boys stood in front of and alongside the
den of two Kluane grizzly cubs and shouted for nearly half an hour
in approval and admiration of the rapid and rough play of those
cubs.
[Illustration with caption: ADULT BEARS AT PLAY]
The play of bears, young or middle-aged, consists in boxing,
catch-as-catch-can wrestling, and chasing each other to and fro.
Cubs begin to spar as soon as they are old enough to stand erect
on their hind feet. They take their distance as naturally as
prize-fighters, and they strike, parry and dodge just as men do.
They handle their front feet with far more dexterity and precision
than boys six years of age.
Boxing bears always strike for the head, and bite to seize the
cheek of the opponent. In biting, mouth meets mouth, in defense as
well as attack. When a biting bear makes a successful pass and
finally succeeds in getting a firm toothhold on the cheek of his
opponent, the party of the second part promptly throws himself
prone upon the ground, and with four free feet concentrated upon
the head of the other bear forces him to let go. This movement,
and the four big, flat foot soles coming up into action is, in
large bears, a very laughable spectacle, and generally produces a
roar.
Wrestling bears roll over and over on the ground, clawing and
biting, until one scrambles up, and either makes a new attack or
rushes away.
Bears love to chase one another, _and be chased;_ and in this
form of skylarking they raise a whirlwind of activity which leads
all around the floor, up to the balcony and along the length of
it, and plunges down at the other end. Often a bear that is chased
will fling himself into the bathing pool, with a tremendous
splash, quickly scramble out again and rush off anew in a swirl of
flying water.
The two big male polar bears that came to us from the William
Hagenbeck group were very fond of playing and wrestling in the
water of their swimming pool. Often they kept up that aquatic
skylarking for two hours at a stretch, and by this constant claw
work upon each other's pelts they kept their coats of hair so
thinned down that we had to explain them. One bear had a very
spectacular swimming trick. He would swim across the pool until
his front feet touched the side, then he would throw himself over
backwards, put his hind feet against the rock wall, and with a
final shove send himself floating gracefully on his back across to
the other side.
Playful bears are much given to playing tricks, and teasing each
other. A bear sleeping out in the open den is regarded as a proper
subject for hectoring, by a sudden bite or cuff, or a general
assault. It is natural to expect that wrestling bears will
frequently become angry and fight; but such is not the case. This
often happens with boys and men, but bears play the game
consistently to the end. I can not recall a single instance of a
real bear fight as the result of a wrestling or boxing match; and
may all boys take note of this good example from the bear dens.
Next to the bears, the apes and monkeys are our most playful
animals. Here, also, it is the young and the half grown members of
the company that are most active in play. Fully mature animals are
too sedate, or too heavy, for the frivolities of youth. A well-
matched pair of young chimpanzees will wrestle and play longer and
harder than the young of any other primate species known to me. It
is important to cage together only young apes of equal size and
strength, for if there is any marked disparity in size, the larger
and stronger animal will wear out the strength of its smaller
cage-mate, and impair its health.
In playing, young chimps, orangs or monkeys seize each other and
wrestle, fall, and roll over and over, indefinitely. They make
great pretenses of biting each other, but it is all make-believe.
My favorite orang-utan pet in Borneo loved to play at biting me,
but whenever the pressure became too strong I would say chidingly,
"Ah! Ah!" and his jaws would instantly relax. He loved to butt me
in the chest with his head, make wry faces, and make funny noises
with his lips. I tried to teach him "cat's cradle" but it was too
much for him. His clumsy fingers could not manage it.
One of our brightest chimpanzees, named Baldy, was much given to
hectoring his female cage-mate, for sport. What he regarded as his
best joke was destroying her bed. Many times over, after she had
laboriously carried straw up to the balcony, carefully made up a
nice, soft, circular bed for herself, and settled down upon it for
a well-earned rest, Baldy would silently climb up to her level,
suddenly fling himself upon her as she lay, and with all four of
his arms and legs violently working, the nest would be torn to
pieces and scattered and the lady orang rudely pulled about. Then
Baldy would joyously swing down to the lower level, settle himself
demurely at the front of the cage, and with a placid face and
innocent, far-away expression in his eyes gaze at the crowd. There
was nothing lacking but a mischievous wink of one eye.
Whenever his cage-mate selected a particularly long and perfect
straw and placed it crosswise in her mouth, Baldy would steal up
behind her and gleefully snatch it away.
Baldy was a born comedian. He loved to amuse a crowd and make
people laugh. He would go through a great trapeze performance of
clownish and absurd gymnastics, and often end it with three or
four loud smacks of his big black feet against the wall. This was
accomplished by violent kicking backwards. His dancing and up-and-
down jumping always made visitors laugh, after which he would
joyously give his piercing "_Wah-hoo_" shout of triumph. A
Sioux Indian squaw dances by jumping up and down, but her
performance is lifeless in comparison.
No vaudeville burlesque dancer ever cut a funnier monkey shine
than the up-and-down high-jump dance and floor-slapping act of our
Boma chimpanzee (1921). Boma offers this whenever he becomes
especially desirous of entertaining a party of distinguished
visitors. In stiff dancing posture, he leaps high in the air,
precisely like a great black jumping-jack straight from Dante's
Inferno. Orangs love to turn somersaults, and some individuals
are so persistent about it as to wear the hair off their backs,
disfigure their beauty, and disgust their keepers.
In the chapter on "Mental Traits of the Gorilla" a descriptionis
given of the play of Major Penny's wonderful John Gorilla.
When many captive monkeys are kept together in one large cage
containing gymnastic properties, many species develop humor, and
indulge in play of many kinds. They remind me of a group of well-
fed and boisterous small boys who must skylark or "bust." From
morning until night they pull each other's tails, wrestle and
roll, steal each other's playthings, and wildly chase each other
to and fro. There is no end of chattering, and screeching, and
funny facial grimaces. A writer in _Life_ once said that the
sexes of monkeys can be distinguished by the fact that "the
females chatter twice as fast as the males," but I am sure that
many ladies will dispute that statement.
In a company of mixed monkeys, or a mixed company of monkeys, a
timid and fearsome individual is often made the butt of practical
jokes by other monkeys who recognize its weakness. And who has not
seen the same trait revealed in crowds of boys?
But we can linger no longer with the Primates.
Who has not seen squirrels at play? Once seen, such an incident is
not soon forgotten. I have seen gray, fox and red squirrels engage
in highly interesting performances. The gray squirrel is stately
and beautiful in its play, but the red squirrel is amazing in its
elaborateness of method. I have seen a pair of those mischief-
makers perform low down on the trunk of a huge old virgin white
oak tree, where the holding was good, and work out a program
almost beyond belief. They raced and chased to and fro, up, down
and across, in circles, triangles, parabolas and rectangles, until
it was fairly bewildering. Really, they seemed to move just as
freely and certainly on the tree-trunk as if they were on the
ground, with no such thing in sight as the law of gravitation.
It seems to me that the gray squirrel barks and the red squirrel
chatters, scolds, and at times swears, chiefly for the fun of
hearing himself make a noise. In the red squirrel it is impudent
and defiant; and usually you hear it near your camp, or in your
own grounds, where the rascals know that they will not be shot.
The playful spirit seems to be inherent in the young of all the
Felidae. The playfulness of lion, tiger, leopard and puma cubs is
irresistibly pleasing; and it is worth while to rear domestic
kittens in order to watch their playful antics.
I have been assured by men who seemed to know, that wolf and fox
cubs silently play in front of their home dens, when well screened
from view, just as domestic dog puppies do; and what on earth can
beat the playfulness of puppies of the right kind, whose parents
have given them red blood instead of fat as their inheritance.
Interesting books might be written about the play of dogs alone.
The play of the otter, in sliding down a long and steep toboggan
slide of wet and slippery earth to a water plunge at the bottom,
is well known to trappers, hunters, and a few naturalists. It is
quite celebrated, and is on record in many places. I have seen
otter slides, but never had the good luck to see one in use. The
otters indulge in this very genuine sport with just as much
interest and zest as boys develop in coasting over ice and snow
with their sleds.
Here at the Zoological Park, young animals of a number of species
amuse themselves in the few ways that are open to them. It is a
common thing for fawns and calves of various kinds to butt their
mothers, just for fun. A more common form of infantile ruminant
sport is racing and jumping. Now and then we see a red buffalo
calf three or four months old suddenly begin a spell of running
for amusement, in the pure exuberance of health and good living. A
calf will choose a long open course, usually up and down a gentle
slope, and for two hundred feet or more race madly to and fro for
a dozen laps, with tail stiffly and very absurdly held aloft. Of
course men and beasts all pause to look at such performances, and
at the finish the panting and perspiring calf halts and gazes
about with a conscious air of pride. All this is deliberate
"showing off," just such as small boys frequently engage in.
Elk fawns, and more rarely deer fawns, also occasionally indulge
in similar performances. Often an adult female deer develops the
same trait. One of our female Eld's deer annually engages in a
series of spring runs. We have seen her race the full length of
her corral, up and down, over a two hundred foot course, at really
break-neck speed, and keep it up until her tongue hung out.
Years ago, in the golden days, I was so lucky as to see several
times wonderful dances of flocks of saras cranes on the low sandy
islets in the River Jumna, northern India, just below Etawah. It
was like this: While the birds are idly stepping about, apropos of
nothing at all, one suddenly flaps his long wings several times in
succession, another jumps straight up in the air for a yard or so,
and presto! with one accord the whole flock is galvanized into
action. They throw aside their dignity, and real fun begins. Some
stand still, heads high up, and flap their wings many times.
Others leap in the air, straight up and down, one jump after
another, as high as they can go. Others run about bobbing and
bowing, and elaborately courtesying to each other with half opened
wings, breasts low down and their tails high in the air, cutting
very ridiculous figures.
In springtime in the Zoological Park we often see similar
exhibitions of crane play in our large crane paddock. A
particularly joyous bird takes a fit of running with spread wings,
to and fro, many times over, and usually one bird thus performing
inspires another, probably of his own kind, to join in the game.
The other cranes look on admiringly and sometimes a spectator
shrilly trumpets his approval.
In his new book, "The Friendly Arctic," Mr. Vilhjalmur Stefansson
records an interesting example of play indulged in jointly by a
frivolous arctic fox and eight yearling barren-ground caribou. It
was a game of tag, or its wild equivalent. The fox ran into and
through the group of caribou fawns, which gave chase and tried to
catch the fox, but in vain. At last the fawns gave up the chase,
returned to their original position, and came to parade rest. Then
back came the fox. Again it scurried through the group in a most
tantalizing manner, which soon provoked the fawns to chase the fox
anew. At the end of this inning the caribou again abandoned the
chase, whereupon the fox went off to attend to other affairs.
On the whole, the play of wild animals is a large field and no
writer will exhaust it with one chapter. Very sincerely do we wish
that at least one of the many romance writers who are so
industriously inventing wild-animal blood-and-thunder stories
would do more work with his eyes and less with his imagination.
XXI
COURAGE IN WILD ANIMALS
Either in wild animals or tame men, courage is the moral impulse
that impels an individual to fight or to venture at the risk of
bodily harm. Like Theodore Roosevelt, the truly courageous
individual engages his adversary without stopping to consider the
possible consequences to himself. The timid man shrinks from the
onset while he takes counsel of his fears, and reflects that "It
may injure me in my business," or that "It may hurt my standing;"
and in the end he becomes a slacker.
Among the mental traits and passions of wild creatures, a
quantitative and qualitative analysis of courage becomes a highly
interesting study. We can easily fall into the error of
considering that fighting is the all-in-all measure of courage;
which very often is far from being true. The mother quail that
pretends to be wounded and feigns helplessness in order to draw
hostile attention unto herself and away from her young, thereby
displays courage of a high order. No quail unburdened by a
helpless brood requiring her protection ever dreams of taking such
risks. The gray gibbons of Borneo, who quite successfully made
their escape from us, but promptly returned close up to my party
in response to the S. O. S. cries of a captured baby gibbon,
displayed the sublime courage of parental affection, and of
desperation. Wary, timid and fearfully afraid of man, at the first
sight of a biped they swing away. At the first roar of a gun they
literally fly down hill through the treetops, and vanish in a wild
panic. And yet, the leading members of that troop halted and
swiftly came back, piercing the gloom and silence of the forest
with their shrill cries of mingled encouragement and protest. It
was quite as courageous and heroic as the act of a father who
rushes into a burning building to save his child, at the imminent
risk of his own life.
The animal world has its full share of heroes. Also, it has its
complement of pugilists and bullies, its cowards and its
assassins.
Few indeed are the wild creatures that fight gratuitously, or
attack other animals without cause. If a fight occurs, look for
the motive. The wild creatures know that peace promotes happiness
and long life. Now, of all wild quadrupeds, it is probable that
the African baboons are pound for pound the most pugnacious, and
the quickest on the draw. The old male baboon in his prime will
fight anything that threatens his troop, literally at the drop of
a hat. But there is method in his madness. He and his wives and
children dwell on the ground in lands literally reeking with fangs
and claws. He has to confront the lion, leopard, wild dog and
hyena, and make good his right to live. No wonder, then, that his
temper is hot, his voice raucous and blood-curdling; his canines
fearfully long and sharp, and his savage yell of warning
sufficient to keep even the king of beasts off his grass.
Once I saw two baboons fight. We had two huge and splendid adult
male gelada baboons, from Abyssinia. They were kept separate, but
in adjoining cages; and the time came when we needed one of those
cages for another distinguished arrival. We decided to try the
rather hazardous experiment of herding those two geladas together.
Accordingly, we first opened the doors to both outside cages, to
afford for the moment a free circulation of baboons, and then we
opened the partition door. Instantly the two animals rushed
together in raging combat. With a fierce grip each seized the
other by the left cheek; and then began a baboon cyclone. They
spun around on their axis, they rolled over and over on the floor,
and they waltzed in speechless rage over every foot of those two
cages. Strange to say, beyond coughing and gasping they made no
sounds. Never before had we witnessed such a fearsome exhibition
of insane hatred and rage.
As soon as the horrified spectators could bring it about, the wild
fighters were separated; and strange to say, neither of them was
seriously injured. It was a drawn battle.
It is quite difficult to weigh and measure the independent and
abstract courage inherent in any wild animal species. All that can
be done is to grope after the truth. On this subject there can be
almost as many different opinions as there are species of wild
animals.
What animal will go farthest in daring and defying man, even the
man with a gun, in foraging for food?
Unquestionably and indisputably, the lion. This is no idle
repetition of an old belief, or tradition. It is a fact; and we
say this quite mindful of the records made by the grizzly bear,
the Alaskan brown bear, the tiger, the leopard and the jaguar.
"The Man-Eaters of Tsavo" opened up a strange and new chapter in
the life history of the savage lion. That truthful record of an
astounding series of events showed the lion in an attitude of
permanent aggression, backed by amazing and persistent courage.
For several months in that rude construction camp on the arid
bank of the Tsavo River, where a railway bridge was being
constructed on the famous Uganda Railway line of British East
Africa, lions and men struggled mightily and fought with each
other, with living men as the stakes of victory. The book written
by Col. J.H. Patterson, under the title mentioned above, tells a
plain and simple story of the nightly onslaughts of the lions, the
tragedies suffered from them, the constant, the desperate though
often ill-consideredefforts of the white engineers to protect
the terrorized black laborers, and finally the death of the man-
eaters. During a series of battles lasting four long months the
two lions _killed and carried of a total of twenty-eight
men!_ How many natives were killed and not reported never will
be known. The most hair-raising episode of all had a comedy touch,
and fortunately it did not quite end in a tragedy. This is what
happened:
Col. Patterson and his staff decided to try to catch the boldest
of the lions in a trap baited with _a living man._
Accordingly a two-room trap was built, one room to hold and
protect the man-bait, the other to catch and hold the lion. A very
courageous native consented to be "it," and he was put in place
and fastened up. The lion came on schedule time, he found the
live bait, boldly entered the trap to seize it, and the dropping
door fell as advertised. When the lion found himself caught, did
his capture trouble him? Not in the least. Instead of starting in
to tear his way out he decided to postpone his escape until he
had torn down the partition and eaten the man! So at the
partition he went, with teeth and claws.
In mortal terror the live bait yelled for succor. In "the last
analysis" the man was saved from the lion, but the lion joyously
tore his way out and escaped without a scratch. So far from being
daunted by this divertisement he continued his man-killing
industry, quite as usual.
Now, the salient points of the man-eaters of Tsavo consist of the
unquenchable courage of the two lions, and their persistent
defiance of white men armed with rifles. I am sure that there is
nowhere in existence another record of wild-animal courage equal
to this, and the truthfulness of it is quite beyond question.
The annals of African travel and exploration contain instances
innumerable of the unparalleled courage of the lion in taking what
he wants when he wants it.