dwelling under the ground than in the tree-tops, for in an underground
home he would have more protection, a better place for storing food,
and a far safer nursery for rearing his precious babes. So snug, cosy
and hidden are the tiny quarters to which his runs or subways lead that
his family is quite safe against most enemies. The ingenuity and skill
shown in the construction of his home entitles him to rank among the
leading animal miners and excavators.
The most unusual of all the underground and basement dwellers is the
polar bear. This wise inhabitant of the Far North has long ago learned
that no animal needs to freeze to death in the snow. To him the snow is
a constant means of warmth and protection, and as winter approaches, he
seeks a position, usually near a big rock, where he digs out a hole of
small dimensions, and allows the snow to cover his body. Strangely
enough it is only the female bear that seeks this permanent snow hut;
the males do not care to spend so much time in seclusion. The same is
true of the unmated females. But the mated females always have snow huts
in which they give birth to their young, and where they reside until
early spring; then the mother bear comes forth with them to seek food
and teach them the ways of the world.
[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_
TO THE POLAR BEAR THE ICE AND SNOW OF THE FAR NORTH MEAN WARMTH AND
PROTECTION. THE MOTHER BEAR DIGS HERSELF INTO A SNOWBANK, WHERE SHE
LIVES QUITE COMFORTABLY THROUGHOUT THE WINTER.]
[Illustration: THE SHARP CLAWS OF THE GROUND SQUIRREL ARE EFFICACIOUS
TOOLS IN DIGGING HIS COSY UNDERGROUND BURROW.]
There is no danger that the bears will stifle for air under the snow,
because the warmth of their breath always keeps a small hole open at
the top of the snow-cell. This snow-house increases as time goes on, the
heat exhaled from their bodies gradually melting the snow. Often Mrs.
Bear's home is discovered by means of the tiny hole in the roof around
which is collected quantities of hoar frost.
Hibernation is one of the strangest phenomena of the animal world, and
bears, especially the white bear of the polar regions, the black bear of
North America, and the brown bear of Europe, agree in the curious habit
of semi-hibernation. In the late fall of the season, the bears begin to
eat heavily and soon become enormously fat, preparatory for the long
winter of semi-sleep.
During the winter, at least for three months, the polar bear takes no
food, but lives entirely upon the store of fat which her body had
accumulated before she went into retirement. The same is true of many
hibernating animals, but in case of the bears it is more remarkable
because the mother bear must not only support herself but nourish her
young for a long period without taking any food for herself.
Another good example of a ground-dweller is the aard vark of Southern
Africa. He is as curious as his name, and scoops out immense quantities
of earth to form his home. This dwelling might be termed a cave, as he
heaps up the earth in the shape of a mammoth artificial ant-hill; on
one side is the entrance, which is so skilfully formed that it looks far
more like the work of man than of an animal.
His name is Dutch and means earth-hog. It is applied to him because his
head looks somewhat like that of a pig. His claws are powerful and
enormous, and with them he is able to dig into the hardest soil, and to
destroy the giant ant-hills which are dotted over the plains of South
Africa, and which can withstand the weight of a dozen men.
This strange creature sleeps during the day, and comes forth at evening
to seek his food. The first thing he does is to burst a hole in the
stony side of an ant-hill, to the utter dismay of its tiny inhabitants.
As they run among the ruins of their fallen city, he throws out his
slimy tongue and catches them by the hundreds. In a short time only the
shell of a half-destroyed wall remains.
These once stately ant-homes metamorphosed into caves, form homes for
the jackals and large serpents of the plains. The Kaffirs of Africa use
them as vaults into which are thrown their dead. The aard vark
outrivals, with his great claws, the most skilled burrowing tools of
man. These animals are therefore rarely captured. It is not uncommon for
a horse to fall into their excavations and be killed.
Miners, excavators, and underground dwellers teach us the great lesson
that, while many of them sought the ground as a protection, and found
there many difficulties to overcome, they not only have won in the great
struggle of life but have so skilfully adapted themselves to their
environment and surroundings as to become entire masters, even artists,
in their methods of living.
VI
ANIMAL MATHEMATICIANS
_"But what a thoughtless animal is man,--
How very active in his own trepan!"_
--PRIOR.
Among the special senses of animals none seems more human than their
knowledge of mathematics. A recognition of this quality in animals is
encouraging because the new scientists are earnestly trying to build up
a true knowledge of animal behaviour by studying them in the light of
the new psychology. This will fill the place of the vast amount of
misinformation which those skilled only in book-knowledge, without
really knowing the ways of Nature, have builded. It will also record all
the strange and curious facts about animals and their ways without
insisting too much on rigid explanation. These new scientists are far
different from their predecessors who tried to explain everything they
did not understand about an animal's behaviour in terms of the scanty
information gained by studying a few museum specimens. We might as well
attempt to explain human nature from the study of an Egyptian mummy. The
new method is simply to give the facts about an animal, and frankly
admit that in many cases, such as are found in their knowledge of
counting and numbers, we must leave complete explanation to the future
when we shall have a greater fund of scientific data on which to base
our conclusions.
It is an established fact that some animals can count, and that they
have the faculty of close observation and keen discrimination. They
learn to count quickly, but they do not fully appreciate the value of
numerical rotation. Most of the arithmetical feats of trained animals
are hoaxes regulated by their sense of smell, sight, touch and taste.
But no one doubts their ability to count. I have known a monkey that
could count to five. He played with a number of marbles, and I would ask
for two marbles, one marble, four marbles, as the case might be, and he
would quickly hand the number requested.
Another incident that will illustrate the point is the case of a mule
owned by an old negro near Huntsville, Texas. The regular routine work
of this mule was to cart two loads of wood to the town every day. One
day the negro wished to make a third trip, but was unable to do so. When
asked the reason, he replied, "Dat fool mule, Napoleon, done decided we
had hauled enough wood fo' one day!"
Prantl claims that the time-sense is totally absent in animals, and that
it belongs only to man, as one of the attributes of his mental
superiority. However, many facts go to show that animals have not only a
specific time-sense, but also a sense of personal identity which reaches
back into the past.
Time-sense is very highly developed in dogs, cats, hogs, horses, goats,
and sheep. They apparently are able to keep an accurate account of the
days of the week and hours of the day and night, and even seem to know
something of numerical succession and logical sequence. A friend in
Texas had an old coloured servant, whose faithful dog had been trained
to know that just at noon each day he was expected to carry lunch to his
master. I have seen the dog on more than one occasion playing with
children in the streets, suddenly break away without any one calling
him, or any suggestion on our part as to the time, and rush for the
kitchen just at the proper moment. No one could detain him from his
duty. This same dog, however, would on Sundays continue to play at the
noon hour. Surely, if any explanation is to be offered in such a case as
this, it will imply as strict a sense of time as it does of duty.
A friend relates a case of a dog that went each evening to meet a train
on which his master returned from the city. On one occasion the train
was delayed two hours, and it was exceedingly cold, but the devoted
companion remained until his master arrived. Innumerable instances of
such all-absorbing affection, showing at the same time a sense of time,
might be cited.
Dr. Brown gives a most remarkable example of a dog's ability to
distinguish time. The story is of a female dog, though named Wylie,
which was purchased by Dr. Brown when he was a young man, from an old
shepherd who had long been in his employment. Wylie was brought to his
father's, "and was at once taken," he says, "to all our hearts; and
though she was often pensive, as if thinking of her master and her work
on the hills, she made herself at home, and behaved in all respects like
a lady.... Some months after we got her, there was a mystery about her;
every Tuesday evening she disappeared; we tried to watch her, but in
vain; she was always off by nine P. M., and was away all night, coming
back next day wearied, and all over mud, as if she had travelled far.
This went on for some months, and we could make nothing of it. Well, one
day I was walking across the Grass-market, with Wylie at my heels, when
two shepherds started, and looking at her, one said, 'That's her;
that's the wonderful wise bitch that naebody kens.' I asked him what he
meant, and he told me that for months past she had made her appearance
by the first daylight at the 'buchts' or sheep-pens in the
cattle-market, and worked incessantly, and to excellent purpose, in
helping the shepherds to get their sheep and lambs in. The man said in a
sort of transport, 'She's a perfect meeracle; flees about like a
speerit, and never gangs wrang; wears, but never grups, and beats a' oor
dowgs. She's a perfect meeracle, and as soople as a mawkin'.' She
continued this work until she died."
Another most striking instance, showing animals' sense of time, is that
related by Watson in which he tells of two friends, fathers of families,
one living in London and the other at Guilford. For many years it was
the custom of the London family to visit their friends in Guilford,
always accompanied by their spaniel, Caesar. After some years a
misunderstanding arose between the two families. The usual Christmas
visits were discontinued; not, however, so far as the spaniel was
concerned. His visits continued as before. On the eve of the first
Christmas following the misunderstanding, the Guilford family were
astonished to find at their door their London friend, Caesar. Naturally,
they expected that he had come in advance of the family, and were happy
in the thought of this unexpected reconciliation. All evening they
awaited their friends, but none arrived. Nor did they the next day.
Caesar had come of his own accord at the accustomed time, and remained
with his friends for the usual number of days. This naturally led to a
correspondence between the families, who thereupon resumed their former
friendly relations. We do not believe, of course, that this dog counted
the exact number of days to know when to start to Guilford, but he
doubtless saw something to remind him of the past.
Sir John Lubbock once related before the British Association at Aberdeen
how cards bearing the ten numerals were arranged before a dog, and the
dog given a problem, such as to state the square root of nine, or of
sixteen, or the sum of two numbers. He would then point at each card in
succession, and the dog would bark when he came to the right one. The
dog never made a mistake. If this was not evidence of a mentality at
least approaching that of men, we do not know what to call it.
If there is any difference between an animal and a human mathematician,
it depends upon special training. The animal never has the same
opportunities to learn as the man. Many savages, for example, cannot
count beyond three or four. Sir John Lubbock gives an anecdote of Mr.
Galton, who compared the arithmetical knowledge of certain savages of
South Africa and a dog. The comparison proved to the advantage of the
dog.
There is no reason that a dog should not be taught arithmetic. And if
one wishes to do so, it might be well to begin by making the dog
distinguish one from two, allowing him to touch both once at the word
one, and twice at the word two. Then he might pass on to six or seven.
After he had progressed to ten, he might begin addition. At least the
experiment would be interesting and conducive to learning the truth.
Surely a knowledge of mathematics is no more wonderful than that of the
ordinary pointer dog's ability to distinguish different kinds of birds.
Certain of those wise dogs are trained to hunt only quail, while others
hunt several varieties of game.
It should be remembered that all degrees of arithmetical aptitude are
found in the human races, from the genius of a Newton and a Laplace to
the absolute inability of certain of the Hottentots to count to three.
These inequalities in the mathematical notions of different people
should make us very cautious about saying that animals cannot count and
have no sense of numbers. It is extremely probable that if we had a way
of choosing those animals with a special gift for arithmetic, they
would surprise us with their learning.
[Illustration: THE COYOTE CAN READILY DISTINGUISH WHETHER A HERD OF
SHEEP IS GUARDED BY ONE OR MORE DOGS, AND WILL PLAN HIS ATTACK
ACCORDINGLY.]
[Illustration: THE ZEBU, THE SACKED BULL OF INDIA, IN SPITE OF ITS
DOMESTICATION, HAS AN AGILE BODY AND A QUICK, ALERT MIND.]
No one denies that animals are capable of distinguishing relative sizes
and even quantities. They are not so skilled as the average human being
in making these distinctions, yet when mentally compared to the state of
Bushmen, Tasmanians, and Veddahs, who can count only two, and call it
many, there is not such a vast gulf between them and mankind.
The zebu, or sacred bull of India, shows his mathematical qualities to a
pronounced degree. When he grows attached to a small group of his kin,
he will often refuse to leave them unless the entire group accompany
him. When driven from his pen, if by chance one of his party is left
behind he refuses to go--thus indicating that he is able to tell that
the exact number is not with him. His affectionate and gentle
disposition, not to mention his love of his offspring, would entitle him
to rank among the most human of animals. No wonder he is worshipped in
India, where the human side of animal life is understood and appreciated
to a degree quite unknown to the Western world!
The fox and the wolf, and even the coyote, can readily distinguish
whether a herd of sheep or cattle is guarded by three or four dogs, and
whether there is one herdsman or two. They cannot tell the exact number
of sheep, however; neither could a man without first counting them.
Their knowledge of geometry is remarkable. They can orient themselves to
the surrounding woods, measure distances, figure out the safest way of
escape, and the power of the enemy even better than savage man. Yet in
most of these problems, definite notions of number or figures have
little part. A dog, when hunting, for example, on a prairie where he has
to leap over ditches or quickly turn around a large tree, is able by a
second's thought to do so without danger. He clears the wire fence,
leaps the ditch, dashes through a closing gate, or escapes an infuriated
enemy at a moment's notice. This natural wisdom is exercised
spontaneously in him, it is the result of inborn theorems of which he
may not even be aware, but which he uses with a sureness that defies the
book-learning of all our teachers of mathematics. He uses speed, force,
space, mass, and time with so small an effort, and by the quickest and
shortest routes.
Suppose a wolf or a wild hog could not tell how many dogs were attacking
it? There would be no way for it to defend itself. If four dogs attack
it, they are counted and the tactics used that would be useless in other
cases. If four dogs attack, two on each side, it retreats, with face
toward the enemy. If a dozen dogs are in the attacking force, the hog
becomes confused, loses all idea of number, and wildly bites at any
enemy that comes nearest. Man in a similar condition would use
practically the same tactics.
Cats undeniably count their kittens. If the mother loses one of three or
four, she searches for it immediately. When dogs are chasing a hare, if
they raise another, they become very confused, as if they did not know
which to follow. Many shepherd dogs know if a sheep is missing from the
flock and go to hunt it.
The efforts of scientific investigators, who work with so many learned
theories, have been less successful in discovering the real facts about
animals than of laymen, largely because the scientists have not yet
learned that arithmetical notions are more difficult than geometrical
ones. Our industrial civilisation has caused us to lose the idea of the
insignificance that number has in animal life compared to the idea of
size. Most animals have a remarkable sense of size; they measure time
and distance better than civilised man. A hyena, for example, knows just
how near he dare approach an unarmed man.
A sense of time is common among animals that daily eat at fixed hours.
A donkey was accustomed to being fed at six o'clock in the morning, and
when on one occasion his master did not appear on time, he deliberately
kicked in the door to the barn and proceeded to feed himself.
Animals are capable of measuring lapses of time in which they are
particularly interested. Houzeau claims that a female crocodile remains
away from her eggs in the sand for twelve to twenty days, according to
the species, but returns to the place exactly on the day they hatch.
Although we should hesitate to affirm that all animals have an extensive
knowledge of figures and numbers, yet it can hardly be denied that the
elephant, donkey, horse, dog, and cat, if given the proper training,
become good mathematicians. It is undeniable that they have a love of
mental acquisition, and it seems that the Creator has given to every
animal, as a reward for its limitations in other respects, a definite
innate knowledge and desire to advance educationally. There is in the
breast of every animal an irresistible impulse which urges it to advance
in the scale of knowledge. Where the animal is blessed with other mental
powers, there is found a perfect harmony--of tact, intuition, insight,
and genius--all that man himself possesses.
VII
THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS
_"Who ever knew an honest brute
At law his neighbours prosecute,
Bring action for assault and battery
Or friends beguile with lies and flattery?"_
The fact that all animals possess ideas, no matter how small those ideas
may be, implies reason. That these ideas are transmitted from one animal
to another, no one can doubt in the light of our present scientific
knowledge. "Be not startled," says the distinguished animal authority,
Dr. William T. Hornaday, "by the discovery that apes and monkeys have
language; for their vocabulary is not half so varied and extensive as
that of the barnyard fowls, whose language some of us know very well."
The means by which ideas are transmitted from one animal to another can
be rightly described by no other term than _language_.
It is evident that there are many kinds of language: the written; the
spoken; the universal, which implies the motion, sign, and form
language; the language of the eye, by which ideas are exchanged without
words or gestures; and lastly, a mode of expression little known to the
human world, but universal among animals. This language is spoken by no
man, but is understood by every brute from the tiniest hare to the
largest elephant; it is the language whereby spirit communicates with
spirit, and by which it recognises in a moment what it would take an
entire volume to narrate. In its nature it differs essentially from all
other languages, yet we are justified in thinking of it as a language
because its function is to transmit ideas from one animal to another.
Every form of language is used by animals, and each has its own peculiar
language or "dialect" common to its tribe only, though occasionally
learned by others. All the emotions--fear, caution, joy, grief,
gratitude, hope, despair--are disclosed by some form of language.
It would be interesting to know how the use of the word "dumb" ever
became applied to animals, for in reality there are very few dumb
animals. Doubtless the word was originally employed to express a larger
idea than that of dumbness, and implied the lack of power in animals to
communicate successfully with man by sound or language. The real trouble
lies with man, who is unable to understand the language spoken or
uttered by the animals.
The gesture language is commonly used by many of the tribes of Southern
Africa, and some of the Bushmen are unable to converse freely after
dark, because their visible gestures are needed as an aid to their
spoken words. Only a few years ago there were almost as many different
languages among the North American Indians as there were different
tribes, and yet each tribe had a sign-language which any Indian in any
part of the world might understand. In fact it was so simple that it
might be practically mastered in a few hours, and through it one might
converse with the Indians of the world without knowing a single word of
their spoken language. And this is exactly what the animals do with
their universal language.
Who does not understand the meaning of a dog when he approaches his
master, after receiving a reprimand for some misdemeanor, with downcast
head and lowered tail? Or who could fail to interpret the glee when he
has done a noble deed and been praised by his master? His is the
language of gesture and look, and is very similar to that in use by our
deaf-and-dumb men throughout the world.
The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it is astonishing
how they understand. Bayard Taylor says that "the Arabs govern their
camels with a few cries, and my associates in the African deserts were
always amused whenever I addressed a remark to the dromedary who was my
property for two months; yet at the end of that time the beast evidently
knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing
the hippopotamus in Barnum's museum looking very stolid and dejected, I
spoke to him in English, but he did not even open his eyes. Then I went
to the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, 'I know you;
come here to me.' I repeated the words, and thereupon he came to the
corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head against the
bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a touch of delight while I
stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times found a lion who
recognised the same language, and the expression of his eyes, for an
instant, seemed positively human."
Every one familiar with the habits of dogs believes that they have a
language. Certain shepherds are quite particular about the company their
dogs keep. This story is told of a couple of shepherds meeting in a
market-place in Scotland, each accompanied by his dog, one of which was
a sheep-murderer, the other a faithful and respectable dog. They seemed
to strike up a great friendship, "and soon assumed so remarkable a
demeanour in their conversation that their owners consulted together on
their own account, and agreed to set a watch upon them. On that very
evening both dogs started from their homes at the same hour, joined each
other, and set off after the sheep." It is unquestionable that these
dogs had a sufficiency of language to understand each other. The
criminal had invited his innocent young friend to join him in his
mischief, and they agreed upon the time to meet and each kept his
appointment. It is likely that there was not an audible sound uttered
during their conversation, but that they used the language of look and
gesture, and while it was not understood by their masters, it was
entirely comprehended by themselves.
Another instance of canine language is given by John Burroughs, who says
that a certain tone in his dog's bark implies that he has found a snake.