Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: 'WHAT A PRETTY LITTLE WATER LILY' CRIED LILEN
From the painting by Marie Webb]
THE JUNIOR CLASSICS
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM PATTEN MANAGING EDITOR OF THE
HARVARD CLASSICS
INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL. D. PRESIDENT EMERITUS OF
HARVARD UNIVERSITY
WITH A READING GUIDE BY WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF
ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT SMITH COLLEGE, NORTHAMPTON,
MASS., SINCE 1917
VOLUME EIGHT
Animal and Nature Stories
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Little Cyclone: The Story of a Grizzly Cub, W. T. Hornaday
Some True Stories of Tigers, Wolves, Foxes, and Bears,
W. H. G. Kingston
Some Animal Friends in Africa, Bayard Taylor
My Fight with a Catamount, Allen French
In Canada with a Lynx, Roe L. Hendrick
Solomon's Grouch: The Story of a Bear, Franklin W. Calkins
A Droll Fox-Trap, C. A. Stephens
The Horse That Aroused the Town, Lillian M. Gask
What Ginger Told Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
Some True Stories of Horses and Donkeys, W. H. G. Kingston
"Old Mustard": A Tale of the Western Pioneers, E. W. Frentz
Carlo, the Soldiers' Dog, Rush C. Hawkins
A Brave Dog, Sir Samuel W. Baker
Uncle Dick's Rolf, Georgiana M. Craik
Scrap, Lucia Chamberlain
A Fire-Fighter's Dog, Arthur Quiller-Couch
Plato: The Story of a Cat, A. S. Downs
Peter: A Cat O' One Tail, Charles Morley
Jeff the Inquisitive, Rush C. Hawkins
The Impudent Guinea-Pig, Charles F. Lummis
Hard to Hit, Ernest Ingersoll
That Sly Old Woodchuck, William O. Stoddard
The Faithful Little Lizard, W. Hill James
Toby the Wise, Rush C. Hawkins
Blackamoor, Ruth Landseer
A Parrot That Had Been Trained to Fire a Cannon,
Sir Samuel W. Baker
The Sandpiper's Trick, Celia Thaxter
How Did the Canary Do It?, Celia Thaxter
A Runaway Whale, Capt. O. G. Fosdick
Saved by a Seal, Theodore A. Cutting
Old Muskie the Rogue, Levi T. Pennington
Teaching Fish to Ring Bells, C. F. Holder
Marcus Aurelius, Octave Thanet
Anna and the Rattler, Mrs. Cornell
The Butterfly's Children, Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Dragon-Fly and the Water-Lily, Carl Ewald
Powder-Post, C. A. Stephens
The Queen Bee, Carl Ewald
A Swarm of Wild Bees, Albert W. Tolman
The Intelligence of Ants, Sir John Lubbock
The Katy-Did's Party, Harriet B. Stowe
The Beech and the Oak, Carl Ewald
The Oak and the Snail, Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Story of a Stone, David Starr Jordan
How the Stone-Age Children Played, Charles C. Abbott
The Mist, Carl Ewald
The Anemones, Carl Ewald
The Weeds, Carl Ewald
Some Voices from the Kitchen Garden,
Mrs. Alfred Gatty
The Wind and the Flowers, Mrs. Alfred Gatty
PHIL'S ADVENTURES AMONG THE ANIMALS
At Home With the Beavers, Lillian M. Gask
Two Enemies of the Beavers, Lillian M. Gask
The Squirrel's Story, Lillian M. Gask
A Den in the Rocks, Lillian M. Gask
Ships of the Desert, Lillian M. Gask
SOME ANIMAL STORIES
The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter
Lions and Tigers, Anonymous
Apes and Monkeys, Anonymous
The Hippopotamus and the Rhinoceros, Anonymous
The Giraffe, Anonymous
Parrots, Anonymous
Rab and His Friends, John Brown, M.D.
A Ride With a Mad Horse in a Freight-Car,
W. H. H. Murray
A-Hunting of the Deer, Charles D. Warner
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"WHAT A PRETTY LITTLE WATER-LILY!" CRIED ELLEN
The Dragon-Fly and the Water-Lily
(Frontispiece illustration in color from the painting by Marie Webb)
GINGER AND I WERE STANDING ALONE IN THE SHADE
What Ginger Told Black Beauty
(From the painting by Maude Scrivener)
THEY LEARNT FROM THEIR FATHER TO HUNT THE STAG IN HIS COVERT
The Beech and the Oak
(From the drawing by John Hassell)
PEOPLE WHO WERE OUT FOR AN EVENING STROLL
The Mist
(From the painting by Edmund Dulac)
LITTLE CYCLONE: THE STORY OF A GRIZZLY CUB
By W. T. Hornaday
Little Cyclone is a grizzly cub from Alaska, who earned his name by
the vigor of his resistance to ill treatment. When his mother was
fired at, on a timbered hillside facing Chilkat River, he and his
brother ran away as fast as their stumpy little legs could carry
them. When they crept where they had last seen her, they thought
her asleep; and cuddling up close against her yet warm body they
slept peacefully until morning.
Before the early morning sun had reached their side of the
mountains, the two orphans were awakened by the rough grasp of
human hands. Valiantly they bit and scratched, and bawled aloud
with rage. One of them made a fight so fierce and terrible that his
nervous captor let him go, and that one is still on the Chilkoot.
Although the other cub fought just as desperately, his captor
seized him by the hind legs, dragged him backwards, occasionally
swung him around his head, and kept him generally engaged until
ropes were procured for binding him. When finally established, with
collar, chain and post, in the rear of the saloon in Porcupine
City, two-legged animals less intelligent than himself frequently
and violently prodded the little grizzly with a long pole "to see
him fight." Barely in time to save him from insanity, little
Cyclone was rescued by the friendly hands of the Zoological
Society's field agent, placed in a comfortable box, freed from all
annoyance, and shipped to New York.
He was at that time as droll and roguish-looking a grizzly cub as
ever stepped. In a grizzly-gray full moon of fluffy hair, two big
black eyes sparkled like jet beads, behind a pudgy little nose,
absurdly short for a bear. Excepting for his high shoulders, he was
little more than a big bale of gray fur set up on four posts of the
same material. But his claws were formidable, and he had the true
grizzly spirit.
The Bears' Nursery at the New York Zoological Park is a big yard
with a shade tree, a tree to climb, a swimming pool, three sleeping
dens, and a rock cliff. It never contains fewer than six cubs, and
sometimes eight.
Naturally, it is a good test of courage and temper to turn a new
bear into that roystering crowd. Usually a newcomer is badly scared
during his first day in the Nursery, and very timid during the
next. But grizzlies are different. They are born full of courage
and devoid of all sense of fear.
When little Cyclone's travelling box was opened, and he found
himself free in the Nursery, he stalked deliberately to the centre
of the stage, halted, and calmly looked about him. His air and
manner said as plainly as English: "I'm a grizzly from Alaska, and
I've come to stay. If any of you fellows think there is anything
coming to you from me, come and take it."
Little Czar, a very saucy but good-natured European brown bear cub,
walked up and aimed a sample blow at Cyclone's left ear. Quick as a
flash out shot Cyclone's right paw, as only a grizzly can strike,
and caught the would-be hazer on the side of the head. Amazed and
confounded, Czar fled in wild haste. Next in order, a black bear
cub, twice the size of Cyclone, made a pass at the newcomer, and he
too received so fierce a countercharge that he ignominiously
quitted the field and scrambled to the top of the cliff.
Cyclone conscientiously met every attack, real or feigned, that was
made upon him. In less than an hour it was understood by every bear
in the Nursery that that queer-looking gray fellow with the broad
head and short nose could strike quick and hard, and that he could
fight any other bear on three seconds' notice.
From that time on Cyclone's position has been assured. He is
treated with the respect that a good forearm inspires, but being
really a fine-spirited, dignified little grizzly, he attacks no
one, and never has had a fight.
SOME TRUE STORIES OF TIGERS, WOLVES, FOXES AND BEARS
By W. H. G. Kingston
On one of her voyages from China, the Pitt, East Indiaman, had on
board, among her passengers, a young tiger. He appeared to be as
harmless and playful as a kitten, and allowed the utmost
familiarity from every one. He was especially fond of creeping into
the sailors' hammocks; and while he lay stretched on the deck, he
would suffer two or three of them to place their heads on his back,
as upon a pillow. Now and then, however, he would at dinner-time
run off with pieces of their meat; and though sometimes severely
punished for the theft, he bore the chastisement he received with
the patience of a dog. His chief companion was a terrier, with whom
he would play all sorts of tricks--tumbling and rolling over the
animal in the most amusing manner, without hurting it. He would
also frequently run out on the bowsprit, and climb about the
rigging with the agility of a cat.
On his arrival in England, he was sent to the menagerie at the
Tower. While there, another terrier was introduced into his den.
Possibly he may have mistaken it for his old friend, for he
immediately became attached to the dog, and appeared uneasy
whenever it was taken away. Now and then the dangerous experiment
was tried of allowing the terrier to remain while the tiger was
fed. Presuming on their friendship, the dog occasionally ventured
to approach him; but the tiger showed his true nature on such
occasions by snarling in a way which made the little animal quickly
retreat.
He had been in England two years, when one of the seamen of the
_Pitt_ came to the Tower. The animal at once recognized his
old friend, and appeared so delighted, that the sailor begged to be
allowed to go into the den. The tiger, on this, rubbed himself
against him, licked his hands, and fawned on him as a cat would
have done. The sailor remained in the den for a couple of hours or
more, during which time the tiger kept so close to him, that it was
evident he would have some difficulty in getting out again, without
the animal making his escape at the same time. The den consisted of
two compartments. At last the keeper contrived to entice the tiger
to the inner one, when he closed the slide, and the seaman was
liberated.
Even a wolf, savage as that animal is, may, if caught young, and
treated kindly, become tame.
A story is told of a wolf which showed a considerable amount of
affection for its master. He had brought it up from a puppy, and it
became as tame as the best-trained dog, obeying him in everything.
Having frequently to leave home, and not being able to take the
wolf with him, he sent it to a menagerie, where he knew it would be
carefully looked after. At first the wolf was very unhappy, and
evidently pined for its absent master. At length, resigning itself
to its fate, it made friends with its keepers, and recovered its
spirits.
Fully eighteen months had passed by, when its old master, returning
home, paid a visit to the menagerie. Immediately he spoke, the wolf
recognized his voice, and made strenuous efforts to get free. On
being set at liberty it sprang forward, and leaped up and caressed
him like a dog. Its master, however, left it with its keepers, and
three years passed away before he paid another visit to the
menagerie. Notwithstanding this lapse of time, the wolf again
recognized him, and exhibited the same marks of affection.
On its master again going away, the wolf became gloomy and
desponding, and refused its food, so that fears were entertained
for its life.
It recovered its health, however, and though it suffered its
keepers to approach, exhibited the savage disposition of its tribe
towards all strangers.
The history of this wolf shows you that the fiercest tempers may be
calmed by gentleness.
Arrant thieves as foxes are, with regard to their domestic virtues
they eminently shine. Both parents take the greatest interest in
rearing and educating their offspring. They provide, in their
burrow, a comfortable nest, lined with feathers, for their new-born
cubs. Should either parent perceive in the neighbourhood of their
abode the slightest sign of human approach, they immediately carry
their young to a spot of greater safety, sometimes many miles away.
They usually set off in the twilight of a fine evening. The papa
fox having taken a survey all round, marches first, the young ones
march singly, and mamma brings up the rear. On reaching a wall or
bank, papa always mounts first, and looks carefully around, rearing
himself on his haunches to command a wider view. He then utters a
short cry, which the young ones, understanding as "Come along!"
instantly obey. All being safely over, mamma follows, pausing in
her turn on the top of the fence, when she makes a careful survey,
especially rearward. She then gives a responsive cry, answering to
"All right!" and follows the track of the others. Thus the party
proceed on their march, repeating the same precautions at each
fresh barrier.
When peril approaches, the wary old fox instructs his young ones to
escape with turns and doublings on their path, while he himself
will stand still on some brow or knoll, where he can both see and
be seen. Having thus drawn attention to himself, he will take to
flight in a different direction. Occasionally, while the young
family are disporting themselves near their home, if peril
approach, the parents utter a quick, peculiar cry, commanding the
young ones to hurry to earth; knowing that, in case of pursuit,
they have neither strength nor speed to secure their escape. They
themselves will then take to flight, and seek some distant place of
security.
The instruction they afford their young is varied. Sometimes the
parents toss bones into the air for the young foxes to catch. If
the little one fails to seize it before it falls to the ground, the
parent will snap at him in reproof. If he catches it cleverly, papa
growls his approval, and tosses it up again. This sport continues
for a considerable time.
As I have said, no other animals so carefully educate their young
in the way they should go, as does the fox. He is a good husband,
an excellent father, capable of friendship, and a very intelligent
member of society; but all the while, it must be confessed, an
incorrigible rogue and thief.
A gentleman was lying one summer's day under the shelter of some
shrubs on the banks of the Tweed, when his attention was attracted
by the cries of wild-fowl, accompanied by a great deal of
fluttering and splashing. On looking round, he perceived a large
brood of ducks, which had been disturbed by the drifting of a fir
branch among them. After circling in the air for a little time,
they again settled down on their feeding-ground.
Two or three minutes elapsed, when the same event again occurred. A
branch drifted down with the stream into the midst of the ducks,
and startled them from their repast. Once more they rose upon the
wing, clamouring loudly, but when the harmless bough had drifted
by, settled themselves down upon the water as before. This occurred
so frequently, that at last they scarcely troubled themselves to
flutter out of the way, even when about to be touched by the
drifting bough.
The gentleman, meantime, marking the regular intervals at which the
fir branches succeeded each other in the same track, looked for a
cause, and perceived, at length, higher up the bank of the stream,
a fox, which, having evidently sent them adrift, was eagerly
watching their progress and the effect they produced. Satisfied
with the result, cunning Reynard at last selected a larger branch
of spruce-fir than usual, and couching himself down on it, set it
adrift as he had done the others. The birds, now well trained to
indifference, scarcely moved till he was in the midst of them,
when, making rapid snaps right and left, he secured two fine young
ducks as his prey, and floated forward triumphantly on his raft;
while the surviving fowls, clamouring in terror, took to flight,
and returned no more to the spot.
A labourer going to his work one morning sight of a fox stretched
out at full length under a bush. Believing it to be dead, the man
drew it out by the tail, and swung it about to assure himself of
the fact. Perceiving no symptoms of life, he then threw it over his
shoulder, intending to make a cap of the skin, and ornament his
cottage wall with the brush. While the fox hung over one shoulder,
his mattock balanced it on the other. The point of the instrument,
as he walked along, every now and then struck against the ribs of
the fox, which, not so dead as the man supposed, objected to this
proceeding, though he did not mind being carried along with his
head downward. Losing patience, he gave a sharp snap at that
portion of the labourer's body near which his head hung. The man,
startled by this sudden attack, threw fox and mattock to the
ground, when, turning round, he espied the live animal making off
at full speed.
I have still another story to tell about cunning Reynard. Daylight
had just broke, when a well-known naturalist, gun in hand,
wandering in search of specimens, observed a large fox making his
way along the skirts of a plantation. Reynard looked cautiously
over the turf-wall into the neighbouring field, longing evidently
to get hold of some of the hares feeding in it, well aware that he
had little chance of catching one by dint of running. After
examining the different gaps in the wall, he fixed on one which
seemed to be the most frequented, and laid himself down close to
it, in the attitude of a cat watching a mouse-hole. He next scraped
small hollow in the ground, to form a kind of screen. Now and then
he stopped to listen, or take a cautious peep into the field. This
done, he again laid himself down, and remained motionless, except
when occasionally his eagerness induced him to reconnoitre the
feeding hares.
One by one, as the sun rose, they made their way from the field to
the plantation. Several passed, but he moved not, except to crouch
still closer to the ground. At length two came directly towards
him. The involuntary motion of his ears, though he did not venture
to look up, showed that he was aware of their approach. Like
lightning, as they were leaping through the gap, Reynard was upon
them, and catching one, killed her immediately. He was decamping
with his booty, when a rifle-ball put an end to his career.
I must tell you one more story about a fox, and a very interesting
little animal it was, though not less cunning than its relatives in
warmer regions.
Mr. Hayes, the Arctic explorer, had a beautiful little snow-white
fox, which was his companion in his cabin when his vessel was
frozen up during the winter. She had been caught in a trap, but
soon became tame, and used to sit in his lap during meals, with her
delicate paws on the cloth. A plate and fork were provided for her,
though she was unable to handle the fork herself; and little bits
of raw venison, which she preferred to seasoned food. When she took
the morsels into her mouth, her eyes sparkled with delight. She
used to wipe her lips, and look up at her master with a
_coquetterie_ perfectly irresistible. Sometimes she exhibited
much impatience; but a gentle rebuke with a fork on the tip of the
nose was sufficient to restore her patience.
When sufficiently tame, she was allowed to run loose in the cabin;
but she got into the habit of bounding over the shelves, without
much regard for the valuable and perishable articles lying on them.
She soon also found out the bull's-eye overhead, through the cracks
round which she could sniff the cool air. Close beneath it she
accordingly took up her abode; and thence she used to crawl down
when dinner was on the table, getting into her master's lap, and
looking up longingly and lovingly into his face, sometimes putting
out her little tongue with impatience, and barking, if the
beginning of the repast was too long delayed.
To prevent her climbing, she was secured by a slight chain. This
she soon managed to break, and once having performed the operation,
she did not fail to attempt it again. To do this, she would first
draw herself back as far as she could get, and then suddenly dart
forward, in the hope of snapping it by the jerk; and though she was
thus sent reeling on the floor, she would again pick herself up,
panting as if her little heart would break, shake out her
disarranged coat, and try once more. When observed, however, she
would sit quietly down, cock her head cunningly on one side, follow
the chain with her eye along its whole length to its fastening on
the floor, walk leisurely to that point, hesitating a moment, and
then make another plunge. All this time she would eye her master
sharply, and if he moved, she would fall down on the floor at once,
and pretend to be asleep.
She was a very neat and cleanly creature, everlastingly brushing
her clothes, and bathing regularly in a bath of snow provided for
her in the cabin. This last operation was her great delight. She
would throw up the white flakes with her diminutive nose, rolling
about and burying herself in them, wipe her face with her soft
paws, and then mount to the side of the tub, looking round her
knowingly, and barking the prettiest bark that ever was heard. This
was her way of enforcing admiration; and being now satisfied with
her performance, she would give a goodly number of shakes to her
sparkling coat, then, happy and refreshed, crawl into her airy bed
in the bull's-eye, and go to sleep.
The Indian believes the bear to be possessed not only of a
wonderful amount of sagacity, but of feelings akin to those of
human beings. Though most species are savage when irritated, some
of them occasionally exhibit good humour and kindness.
A story is told of a man in Russia, who on an expedition in search
of honey, climbed into a high tree. The trunk was hollow, and he
discovered a large cone within. He was descending to obtain it,
when he stuck fast. Unable to extricate himself, and too far from
home to make his voice heard, he remained in that uncomfortable
position for two days, sustaining his life by eating the honey. He
had become silent from despair, when, looking up, what was his
horror to see a huge bear above him, tempted by the same object
which had led him into his dangerous predicament, and about to
descend into the interior of the tree!
Bears--very wisely--when getting into hollows of rocks or trees, go
tail-end first, that they may be in a position to move out again
when necessary. No sooner, in spite of his dismay, did the tail of
the bear reach him, than the man caught hold of it. The animal,
astonished at finding some big creature below him, when he only
expected to meet with a family of bees, against whose stings his
thick hide was impervious, quickly scrambled out again, dragging up
the man, who probably shouted right lustily. Be that as it may, the
bear waddled off at a quick rate, and the honey-seeker made his way
homeward, to relate his adventure, and relieve the anxiety of his
family.
The brown bear, which lives in Siberia, may be considered among the
most good-natured of his tribe. Mr. Atkinson, who travelled in that
country, tells us that some peasants--a father and mother--had one
day lost two of their children, between four and six years of age.
It was soon evident that their young ones had wandered away to a
distance from their home, and as soon as this discovery was made
they set off in search of them.
Having proceeded some way through the wilds, they caught sight in
the distance of a large animal, which, as they got nearer, they
discovered to be a brown bear; and what was their horror to see
within its clutches their lost young ones! Their sensations of
dismay were exchanged for astonishment, when they saw the children
running about, laughing, round the bear, sometimes taking it by the
paws, and sometimes pulling it by the tail. The monster, evidently
amused with their behaviour, treated them in the most affectionate
manner. One of the children now produced some fruit, with which it
fed its shaggy playfellow, while the other climbed up on its back,
and sat there, fearlessly urging its strange steed to move on. The
parents gave way to cries of terror at seeing the apparent danger
to which their offspring were exposed. The little boy, however,
having slipped off the bear's back, the animal, hearing the sound
of other voices, left the children, and retreated quietly into the
forest.
SOME ANIMAL FRIENDS IN AFRICA
By Bayard Taylor
Years ago I spent a winter in Africa. I had intended to go up the
Nile only as far as Nubia, visiting the great temples and tombs of
Thebes on the way; but when I had done all this, and passed beyond
the cataracts at the southern boundary of Egypt, I found the
journey so agreeable, so full of interest, and attended with so
much less danger than I had supposed, that I determined to go on
for a month or two longer, and penetrate as far as possible into
the interior. Everything was favorable to my plan.
When I reached Khartoum, the Austrian consul invited me to his
house; and there I spent three or four weeks, in that strange town,
making acquaintance with the Egyptian officers, the chiefs of the
desert tribes and the former kings of the different countries of
Ethiopia. When I left my boat, on arriving, and walked through the
narrow streets of Khartoum, between mud walls, very few of which
were even whitewashed, I thought it a miserable place, and began to
look out for some garden where I might pitch my tent, rather than
live in one of those dirty-looking habitations. The wall around the
consul's house was of mud like the others; but when I entered I
found clean, handsome rooms, which furnished delightful shade and
coolness during the heat of the day. The roof was of palm-logs,
covered with mud, which the sun baked into a hard mass, so that the
house was in reality as good as a brick dwelling. It was a great
deal more comfortable than it appeared from the outside.
There were other features of the place, however, which it would be
difficult to find anywhere except in Central Africa. After I had
taken possession of my room, and eaten breakfast with my host, I
went out to look at the garden. On each side of the steps leading
down from the door sat two apes, who barked and snapped at me. The
next thing I saw was a leopard tied to the trunk of an orange-tree.
I did not dare to go within reach of his rope, although I
afterwards became well acquainted with him. A little farther, there
was a pen of gazelles and an antelope with immense horns; then two
fierce, bristling hyenas; and at last, under a shed beside the
stable, a full-grown lioness sleeping in the shade. I was greatly
surprised when the consul went up to her, lifted up her head,
opened her jaws so as to show the shining white tusks, and finally
sat down upon her hack.
She accepted these familiarities so good-naturedly that I made bold
to pat her head also. In a day or two we were great friends; she
would spring about with delight whenever she saw me, and would purr
like a cat whenever I sat upon her back. I spent an hour or two
every day among the animals, and found them all easy to tame except
the hyenas, which would gladly have bitten me if I had allowed them
a chance. The leopard, one day, bit me slightly on the hand; but I
punished him by pouring several buckets of water over him, and he
was always very amiable after that. The beautiful little gazelles
would cluster around me, thrusting up their noses into my hand, and
saying "Wow! wow!" as plainly as I write it. But none of these
animals attracted me as much as the big lioness. She was always
good-humored, though occasionally so lazy that she would not even
open her eyes when I sat down on her shoulder. She would sometimes
catch my foot in her paws as a kitten catches a ball, and try to
make a plaything of it,--yet always without thrusting out her
claws. Once she opened Her mouth, and gently took one of my legs in
her jaws for a moment; and the very next instant she put out her
tongue and licked my hand. There seemed to be almost as much of the
dog as of the cat in her nature. We all know, however, that there
are differences of character among animals as there are among men;
and my favorite probably belonged to a virtuous and respectable
family of lions.
The day after my arrival I went with the consul to visit the pacha,
who lived in a large mud palace on the bank of the Blue Nile. He
received us very pleasantly, and invited us to take seats in the
shady court-yard. Here there was a huge panther tied to one of the
pillars, while a little lion, about eight months old, ran about
perfectly loose. The pacha called the latter, which came springing
and frisking towards him. "Now," said he, "we will have some fun."
He then made the lion lie down behind one of the pillars, and
called to one of the black boys to go across the court-yard on some
errand. The lion lay quite still until the boy came opposite to the
pillar, when he sprang out after him. The boy ran, terribly
frightened; but the lion reached him in five or six leaps, sprang
upon his back and threw him down, and then went back to the pillar
as if quite satisfied with his exploit. Although the boy was not
hurt in the least, it seemed to me like a cruel piece of fun.
The pacha, nevertheless, laughed very heartily, and told us that he
had himself trained the lion to frighten the boys.
Presently the little lion went away, and when we came to look for
him, we found him lying on one of the tables in the kitchen of the
palace, apparently very much interested in watching the cook. The
latter told us that the animal sometimes took small pieces of meat,
but seemed to know that it was not permitted, for he would run away
afterwards in great haste. What I saw of lions during my residence
in Khartoum satisfied me that they are not very difficult to tame,
only, as they belong to the cat family, no dependence can be placed
on their continued good behavior....
Although I was glad to leave that wild town, with its burning
climate, and retrace the long way back to Egypt, across the
Desert and down the Nile, I felt very sorry at being obliged to
take leave forever of all my pets. The little gazelles said, "Wow!
wow!" in answer to my "Good-bye"; the hyenas howled and tried to
bite, just as much as ever; but the dear old lioness I know would
have been sorry if she could have understood that I was going. She
frisked around me, licked my hand, and I took her great tawny head
into my arms, and gave her a kiss. Since then I have never had a
lion for a pet, and may never have one again. I must confess I am
sorry for it; for I still retain my love for lions (four-footed
ones, I mean), to this day.
MY FIGHT WITH A CATAMOUNT
By Allen French
My guide, Alaric, and I had gone in after moose to the country
beyond Mud Brook, in Maine. There its watershed between the east
branch and the west is cut up into valleys, in one or another of
which a herd of moose, in winter, generally takes up quarters. It
was not yet yarding-time, for the snow was still only about four
inches deep, making it just right for the moose-hunter who is at
the same time a sportsman.
Our task was a slow one; we had to examine each valley for moose
tracks, tramping up one side and down the other, or as we usually
managed it, separating at the valley's mouth, each taking a side,
meeting at the end and then, if unsuccessful, taking the quickest
way back to camp.
And unsuccessful we were, since for three days we found no trail.
But Alaric was not in the least discouraged.
"You can never tell about moose," he said; "they travel so. There
were moose in this country before the snow, and there are moose
within a day's walk of us now. It's just as I told you; we may have
to spend five days in finding where they are."
It was on the second day that we found that, while after moose, we
had been tracked by a catamount. The print of its paw was
generously large.
"I've seen bigger," said Alaric, "but this feller's big enough.
He's just waiting round, I guess, so as to get some of the meat we
kill. We'll remember him," he said, looking up at me as he knelt on
the snow, "so's to see that he doesn't spoil the hide or the head."
I accepted the theory, and thought little more of the matter for
twenty-four hours.
At the end of the third day we found that the catamount had for a
second time been following our trail--not only _our_ trail,
but also _mine._
He had followed me all day as I walked along the hillside, looking
ahead and on both sides, but seldom behind. Alaric examined his
tracks carefully for half a mile.
"He was in sight of you all the way," he said. "See here, where he
stood for some time, just shifting about in one place, watching?" I
saw--and thought.
After a while, it seemed to me, a catamount might get tired of
waiting for us to kill his meat, and would start in to kill it for
himself. Unquestionably the easiest game for him to get would be
human.
For there were no deer in the region, and the caribou were all
herded on Katahdin and Traveller. The previous severe winter had
decimated the partridges, and big is the catamount that will tackle
a moose. I mentioned the theory to Alaric.
"Um--yes, perhaps," he said, and eyed me dubiously.
Then I wished that I had not said anything. It is not well to let
your guide think that you are afraid.
In the morning, when we had attained our valley's mouth, Alaric was
about to keep with me, instead of leaving me as before; but that
made our hunting much slower, for we could cover much less ground,
and I sent him around the other way.
"All right," said he. "But keep a good lookout behind you now."
He disappeared in a cedar swamp, and I made my way along the slope
of a hill. I watched indeed behind as well as in front, and in
every fox's track I crossed I saw a catamount's, until finally I
got used to the situation, and believed that the "Indian devil" had
concluded to let me alone.
The day was fine. The sun shone bright, and the softening snow,
dropping from the upper branches of the trees, kept up a constant
movement in the woods. I took and held a good pace, and with my
eyes searching the snow ahead and on all sides of me for signs of
moose, walked for a full hour, seeing nothing living but the
woodpeckers and the chickadees, hearing nothing but the rustle of
the branches, as released of their loads they sprang back into
place. Then, quite needlessly, I found insecure footing under the
snow, and plunged suddenly at full length. My rifle whirled from my
hand with force, and I heard it strike against the uncovered top of
a sugar-loaf stone. I jumped up in fear and hastily examined it.
The breech was shattered--my rifle was as useless as any stick.
Now I thought of the catamount, as, with the broken rifle in my
hands, I looked about me in the woods, bright with sun and snow. I
was not entirely helpless, for my revolver and knife were in my
belt.
Yet a thirty-eight calibre revolver, even with a long cartridge and
a long barrel, is not a sure defence against an animal as heavy as
myself, which in facing me would present for a mark only a round
head and a chest with muscles so thick and knotty that they would
probably stop any revolver bullet. I doubted my ability to hit the
eye.
Very likely I was no longer followed; and in any case, I might call
Alaric. And yet he was too far away for a shout to reach him, and I
dared not fire signal-shots, for in order to travel light, I had
left at camp all revolver cartridges but those in the chambers.
So I started at once for the bottom of the valley, hoping to strike
Alaric's trail on the opposite slope, and intending to follow it
until I caught him.
My rifle I left where it was; it was useless and heavy. I cast many
a glance behind me as, almost at a trot, I made my way down the
long hillside.
I strode on rapidly, for I had certainly a mile to cover before I
could strike Alaric's trail, much more before I could catch my
nimble guide. I was cheerful and unalarmed until, pausing to look
behind, I saw, a hundred yards away, a tawny animal quickly slip
behind a tree.
I hastily drew my revolver and knife; but no movement came from its
hidden breast, and rather than stand and wait, I pursued my
retreat. I moved more slowly, yet as fast as I could and still
guard myself against another fall and watch for a rush from behind.
I scanned the ground in front of me, and glanced back every second.
For some time I saw no more of the catamount.
But when I did see him, I was startled at his nearness; he was
within fifty yards. I hurried on as he slipped aside again; but
looking again in a moment, I saw him now following boldly upon my
trail. I stopped, but he stopped, too, and stood regarding me. He
was too far away for me to fire yet, and as he made no movement to
approach, I cautiously continued my retreat, always after a few
steps stopping to face him.
He stopped as I stopped, yet each time I turned away he came
quickly closer. I was already thinking of awaiting him without
further movement, when the way was blocked by a ravine.
It was cut by the stream that drained the valley, and its steep
sides were nearly fifteen feet in height. They even overhung in
places, but this I did not then know. I was in no mind to trust
myself in the deep gully, where the catamount might drop upon me
before I could scramble out upon the other side.
I walked into an open space, and took my stand close to a birch
that grew on the very edge of the bank. For thirty feet there was
no good cover for the catamount; so, armed and determined, I waited
his action.
The animal skirted the bushes about me, as if examining the ground,
and to my disappointment, began to come upon me along the edge of
the ravine. This gave him the best cover before his charge, and at
the same time assured him that the momentum of his rush would not
carry him tumbling into the gully. Always keeping too well
concealed for a good mark, he crept up behind a fallen tree, on the
near side of which a little bush grew, and flattened himself there,
watching me, I felt sure, and waiting, in the hope that he might
catch me off my guard.
I cannot describe how stealthy and noiseless and altogether perfect
his maneuvering was. Although the trees that grew about were all
small and the bushes bare, and although the white snow gave no
background for concealment, he covered himself so perfectly at one
time, and slipped in and out of sight so quickly at another, that
although I stood with revolver pointed and cocked, I could find no
opportunity for a shot.
As he circled for position he came ever nearer, and I could see at
one time the round head, with its short, pointed ears; at another
the long, sinuous, muscular body; but they moved so rapidly that
before I could shoot they were gone from sight.
All the time he made no sound but a little rustle. In his final
concealment I saw nothing of him but his tail, that twitched and
twitched and twitched.
At last I caught the glint of his pale green eye and fired. There
came a snarl from behind the bush, and it was dashed to one side
and the other, while round head and bared teeth and tawny body came
crashing through. I pulled trigger again, and the report sounded
muffled, and the smoke for an instant obscured the beast. All was
white, when, like a breath, it passed, and I saw the rushing
catamount not ten feet from me.
I had not time to fire or crouch, but with ready legs hurled myself
to one side, and threw my left arm around the tree that grew at the
edge of the bank. With an awful dread I felt the ground giving way
beneath me.
I dropped my knife and caught the tree closer, when it, too, leaned
to fall. It hung for a moment over the steep slope, and I could not
save myself. The frost had not clamped the over-hang to the solid
ground. The last fall rains had cut it under; the first spring thaw
would have brought it down, had not my weight been thrown upon it.
With a twist the tree and I fell together. I clutched my revolver
desperately, despite the sickening fear of the fall, and in my
grasp it exploded in mid air. Then I fell, and although my body
struck easily in the snow-covered ravine, my right hand had been
beaten against a sharp rock, and the birch was upon me so that I
could not move.
My legs were on the bank, and underneath the snow beneath my
shoulders I soon felt the ice, from which stones protruded. One
snow-covered rock received and supported my head. I lay upon my
right side, and my right hand, swinging in a curve, had struck with
force upon another stone, and lay upon the ice, the only part of my
body, except my head, which was free. My left arm was pressed close
to my side by the birch, which lay across my body and legs.
The weight was not so great but that I could have lifted it, could
I but have gained purchase. But I must at the same time lift my own
body, for my hips were lower than my feet, my shoulders lower than
my hips; and I could not gather ten pounds of force in that
position.
My fall confused me somewhat, and I could not at first feel
anything, either the pain in my hand or the danger I was in. I
noticed only the fine, powdery snow which, cast up by the fall,
settled upon me as I lay. Then I saw my arm, stretched out in front
of me, with a bloody hand at the end of it, and I came fully to
myself.
A pain shot from finger-tip to shoulder as I closed my hand tighter
upon the butt of the revolver. But I clenched my teeth and tried to
rise--tried twice more before I gave it up as hopeless. Then I
raised my hand and put it in a better position, propped upon a
stone.
The movements hurt me terribly, but I thought of the catamount,
which would surely not be satisfied with two bullets for its
breakfast. I was scarcely ready when the head of the beast was
thrust over the edge of the bank to look for me.
He saw, and gloated as a human enemy might have done. His savage
snarl was full of intelligence, and his slow approach was
deliberate torture. He stood for a moment in full view--then
slipped and slid down to the surface of the ice, where, ten yards
away, he stood and looked at me.
I saw his magnificent build, his superb muscular development, as
with his body in profile, his head turned toward me, he waited
before approaching, playing with my helplessness; but I was not
entirely helpless! With shaking hand I took aim; I could not use my
thumb to cock the revolver, but drew hard at the trigger, and the
hammer rose and fell.
My turn for gloating had come now, for the catamount was crying
with rage and pain. He fell writhing, striking with his forepaws at
the snow, and raising his head to snap at nothing; but this did not
last long. Slowly he dragged himself to a sitting posture, and I
could understand his plight and estimate my own danger.
My first two bullets had but torn his flesh. My last had broken his
back. He was paralyzed in his hind legs, as I have seen a deer, yet
he had many minutes to live, perhaps hours, and was strong and
angry enough to finish me. Painfully he started on that short
journey to me. With his forepaws, his claws digging the snow, he
began to drag himself toward me.
I could only wait. I had but one more shot, and wished to hold it
till he should be close; but my torn hand was weak, and the bruised
tendons had already begun to stiffen. Into that deep place, where
bank and trees overhung, the sun did not come, and I felt the cold
striking into my raw flesh. More than that, my weight upon my
shoulder began to cut off the blood from my arm. I felt pricking in
my flesh, my arm began to be numb, and I feared that I might not be
able to shoot.
If he could but hurry! He dragged himself at a snail's pace. It
would be so long before he came close that my hand would be
useless. Yet as he crawled directly at me, the mark was a poor one.
I saw with satisfaction that he would have to turn aside for one of
the rocks in his path. When at last he reached it, and began to
drag himself around it, he gave me my last chance.
I saw the space behind his shoulder, prayed that my bullet might
miss his ribs, summoned the last force at my almost dead hand, and
fired.
A little drift of air blew the smoke aside so quickly that I could
see the fur fly. He bit savagely at his side, but he crawled on
without stopping. From my numb hand the revolver fell without noise
in the snow--my fight was finished. He came on; he was only fifteen
feet away from me, when he stopped and coughed. Would he sink,
unable to move farther?
No; he started again! Although his legs dragged behind him,
impeding, although he left a red trail on the snow, and each step
forced a snarl from him, he came on. With glittering eyes and
hoarse breath, he forced himself to cross the last space. Minutes
passed before he was close enough to touch me.
Ah! Even as he turned toward my hand to seize it, even as I waited
to see, rather than feel, the crunching of my senseless arm, his
head drooped. He raised it once more, but his power was gone. He
laid his head, once so powerful, upon my hand, rested his body
against the stone, that stood high enough to support him, and
glared at me with his fierce, malignant eyes.
Then the fire changed in his eyes, clouded, flickered, glowed--went
out. The last breath was expelled with a wheeze. He was dead.
Then my own powers sank, and I thought that I was dying, too.
Somewhere in the midst of my faintness I had a sense as if I felt,
rather than heard, hasty, heavy footsteps on the bank above me. As
soon as I knew anything clearly, I knew that the tree had been
pulled away, and that Alaric was bending over me. He had, with ears
alert for any sound, and with footsteps kept as near to me as they
might be with obedience to my order, come rushing to my aid at the
sound at my first revolver-shot. But the distance was so great that
he did not arrive until my fight was over.
IN CANADA WITH A LYNX
By Roe L. Hendrick
This adventure came about through an invitation which Ray Churchill
received from his friend, Jacques Pourbiere of Two Rivers, New
Brunswick. Ray had half-promised to visit his New Brunswick
acquaintance during the deer-hunting season, and late in August was
reminded of the fact. A second letter came in September, the
carefully worded school English of the writer not being able to
conceal the warmth and urgency of the invitation.
So Ray telegraphed his acceptance, and four days later arrived at
Fredericton, where he secured a hunting license. The next morning
he reached Two Rivers, and Jacques met him with a span of ponies,
attached to a queer spring vehicle, mounted on wheels that seemed
out of all proportion to the body of the carriage. Ray wondered if
it was a relic of Acadia, but did not like to ask. They drove for a
dozen miles through a wooded and hilly country, and arrived at
their destination shortly before nightfall.
Jacques was quite alone at the time, as his parents had gone to
visit their older children along the St. John River. He promised
Ray at least one deer within a couple of days, and another within a
week.
The Pourbiere home resembled those of the better class of
_habitants_, but with a difference due to the greater prosperity
of the family in preceding generations. The main room had a huge
fireplace, used only occasionally, for there was an air-tight
stove connected with the chimney just above it, to afford
greater warmth in winter. The other rooms Were chiefly detached,
although there was an entry-like porch on the south front of the
living-room, and a huge door opening at the east end, both
connecting with the yard outside.
But the wood-shed, milk-house and summer kitchen were in the rear,
each being a rectangular building of heavy logs, with low lofts
above. The homestead was, in fact, a cluster of houses rather than
a single dwelling.
What most attracted Ray's attention were the huge bedsteads in the
living-room. They were tall four-posters, such as he had seen
elsewhere, but with the difference that a canopy covered them. Each
had a carved wooden frame, surmounting the top of the posts like a
roof. The wood was black with age, its surface being covered with
elaborate foliage and armorial devices, representing the toil of
some old French artisan of the seventeenth century. They probably
had been brought across the Atlantic by the original emigrant, and
carefully preserved ever since. They stood in diagonally opposite
corners of the room, and upheld the hugest of feather beds, with
gay, home-made worsted coverlets and valances that shamed the hues
of the rainbow. They certainly tempted to rest in that climate and
at that season, but would have seemed suffocating in a warmer
region.
That evening Ray said:
"See here, Jacques, you have double windows, with no way of opening
them that I can find, and your fireplace is closed to make a better
draft for this stove. I'm used to fresh air at night. If I leave
the end door ajar, you won't be afraid of burglars, will you?"
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders at this exhibition of his
guest's eccentricity, but his hospitality was more than equal to
the strain.
_"Non, non!"_ he replied. "Nobody rob. We nevaire lock doors
here," and his white teeth flashed.
Ray laughed softly as he thrust a billet of wood between the door
and its frame. "But why do you say 'br-r-r!' under your breath?" he
asked.
"Co-old before morning, ver' cold!"