AN ANIMAL SHOW AT NIGHT
To those who are the least timid or not accustomed to it, an animal
show at night has a gruesome and somewhat terrifying aspect.
The general impression is, that when the trainer has made his final
bow and the band has given a gentle suggestion to those departing by
playing “Say ‘Au revoir,’ and not good-by,” everything is over and
finished for the day.
But to the chief trainers, the day--or night--is only just beginning.
For it is at night, when the majority of people are in bed and asleep,
that the principal work of animal training begins. There are various
reasons for this.
All carnivora are nocturnal animals, and although after many years in
captivity they get into the habit of sleeping part of the night, they
are generally more or less alert and wakeful. During the day they are
lazy, sleepy, and somewhat stupid, but as night draws near they begin
to be restless, and it has been found far less difficult to attract
their attention in the night time than either in the early morning or
during the day.
Also, there are no workers or loiterers round the place to take off
their attention when being taught new tricks,--the least thing will
attract an animal’s attention,--and there are also more time and
opportunity for arranging the hoists, or cranes, with which some
animals are taught to understand what is wanted of them. These are used
chiefly for teaching elephants to stand on their hind legs, to lift up
a fore leg and walk on the remaining three, or to lie down.
In teaching him to stand up on his hind legs, the ropes are attached
to each of his fore legs, and at certain words of command they are
gently hoisted into the air, leaving the elephant supporting himself on
his hind legs. This has to be done sometimes as often as fifteen or
sixteen times before he understands what he is wanted to do, but after
a while, simply from force of habit, he begins to raise himself at the
signal, and although the ropes are still kept round his legs, he will
gradually get into the way of doing the whole thing himself, seemingly
unconsciously.
Much the same sort of thing is done in teaching him to lie down, only
in this case a rope with a slip noose is passed round his body at the
small of his back, one hind foot and one fore foot are tied and moved
out from under him, and then the ropes are pulled gently but firmly
until he lies down. When this has been done six or eight times, the
elephant generally lies down of his own accord.
Not only does it take some time to arrange the cranes, but, as it
needs sometimes eight or ten men to help, these men are told off for
certain nights for an hour or so’s work, and are able then to give
their undivided attention to what they are doing. For elephants,
although most intelligent animals when trained, are sometimes extremely
difficult to teach, while their great bulk and strength make them
formidable creatures to annoy.
[Illustration: “DOC” BALANCING HIMSELF ON A BALL PLACED ON A SEE-SAW]
One of the first things an elephant is taught to do is to walk round
the arena without running away. Some elephants show in the earliest
stage of training that they can never be persuaded not to bolt at every
opportunity, and this is another reason why so much of the training
takes place at night. Should an elephant take it into his head to stop
suddenly and go out, he would follow out his intention at the risk of
danger and death to those not only inside the show, but outside.
Were he to do this in the daytime, the chances are that he would cause
a panic, but at night the darkness and quiet have a soothing effect
upon him, and even supposing he should get out,--which rarely occurs,
as great precautions are taken,--there are few people abroad for him
to injure. Even a well-trained elephant will sometimes stop his tricks
abruptly and calmly walk out of the arena. In this case, however, there
is no danger whatever, as he simply wants to go back to his house and
eat peanuts and biscuits, as he was doing when interrupted for the
performance.
To make an elephant stand on a barrel or cylinder is simply a matter of
inducing him to remain there. Ten chances to one he will bolt in the
middle of it; but there is no need to teach him to balance himself--he
will attend to that himself. The same applies to see-sawing: he begins
with a plank, and gradually gets accustomed to the movement. These
methods are simple, but many months, expended in short and frequent
lessons delivered with great patience, must be consumed in instruction
in order to make a success of it.
Quiet and brevity are important considerations in the lessons. What
is to us no appreciable exertion requires an effort on the part of
an animal which soon wearies it, and, if care is not taken, disgusts
it, and this makes it incapable of further instruction until it has
rested. There is also the danger that if too much instruction is given
at a time, or if strangers are present, the animal will not only be
irritated but rebellious, and finally refuse to do anything at all.
There is then nothing to be done but to give up the idea of ever
making a performer of the animal, and let him be a mere figure in the
show.
It will thus be seen how essential it is to do the chief part of the
training by night. There is only one runway behind the cages, and no
one is ever allowed in the training-school or in the runway during a
performance; and as no performance is given after eleven, the trainers
can rest assured that there is no danger of an accidental meeting. In
this way all risk of two trainers and their animals meeting in the
runway is avoided.
Therefore, as soon as the public has disappeared after the evening
performance, a busy time begins in the animal-show. Most of the lights
are turned out. The bolts, bars, and doors of each cage are looked at;
certain men go round the show at stated intervals to make sure that
there is no danger of fire, and the trainers equip themselves for their
dangerous experiments, and begin to turn their animals out for their
lessons.
By this time most of the animals have partly settled down for the
night, with the exception of some few who, unable to forget their
natural feelings, are restlessly pacing up and down their cages. But
however quiet it may happen to be at the time of closing, the minute a
trainer makes his animals come out of their various cages and go into
the arena, peace is at an end. To get the animals out of their cages
and into the arena is most difficult and dangerous. Sometimes they
come out with a rush at the trainer and his assistants, and sometimes
they remain in a corner and refuse to move in spite of persuasions,
coaxings, or threats. In this case there is nothing for the trainer to
do but to go into the cage and drive the animal out.
The animal generally gives in, and finally leaves the cage and sulkily
betakes himself to the arena; but he always relieves his feelings by
growls or roars, and these resentful protests are promptly answered by
nearly all the other animals in the building.
This is specially the case when a strange animal is led out, for
animals are peculiarly quick in recognizing and resenting the presence
of a stranger. The natural instinct is to get at the intruder and
have a fight, in order to prove which is the superior of the two, and,
failing in this, their only form of relief lies in roaring at the top
of their voices. When one starts, another follows, and then another,
until at last scarcely an animal in the building is silent.
The lion generally starts with three big roars, ending up with the
curious, short, gasping barks so characteristic of him. The other lions
follow in chorus; the tigers roar in concert; the jaguars, leopards,
and panthers give their peculiar coughing growls; the peccary sends
forth his choking cry, so like a desperate appeal for help; and the
bears growl a surly accompaniment.
Occasionally, should an elephant be receiving his first lessons, he
will introduce a few notes of shrill trumpeting as a relief to the
roars and growls, and a hyena will suddenly burst out in fiendish,
hysterical laughter, while the wolves and coyotes keep up a low,
monotonous howling, which to some people is worse than all the other
cries, screams, and roars put together.
Added to all these weird sounds, the cages, with the exception of the
arena, are in darkness, and the soft, stealthy tread of footsteps and
an occasional gleam of green and yellow eyes from all corners, make it
necessary that trainers should not only have strong muscles and nerves,
but plenty of cool courage and self-control. For many of the strongest
men are totally unnerved by surroundings of this kind.
There is, of course, always the chance that an animal _may_ get
out, and if a man once begins to dwell on these things and becomes
nervous, imagining he hears various noises, his training is absolutely
worthless. He must give his whole, undivided attention to what he is
doing, both for his own sake and that of the animal he is training.
Of course, accidents occur while training as well as when performing in
public, but comparatively few accidents ever take place at night. This
may possibly be because there is nothing likely to startle the animals,
or because they themselves feel the effect of the dim lights and the
silence.
A curious thing once happened which might have proved disastrous. A
trainer had been through his performance with his animals, had seen
them safely back into their cages, and was just going through the
building on his way to his rooms, which were overhead, when he thought
he heard a movement. It sounded like the scuttling of a rat, and,
being unable to see what it was, he struck a match and lighted a small
lantern he carried in his hand.
He was shutting the little door of the lantern leisurely (for the
greatest precautions have to be observed in case of fire), when
something rubbed against him softly. Thinking it was his dog come to
look for him, he put his hand down to stroke him, and then found he
was stroking the back of a lion! The animal appeared to be dazed by
the sudden flash of the lantern thrown in his eyes, and the trainer
speaking quietly to the other men who were settling matters up for the
night, the king of beasts was persuaded to return to his cage close by
before he had time to recover from his astonishment.
It was entirely due to the prompt presence of mind of this trainer that
no harm came from this incident; for as soon as the door was closed on
the lion, he appeared to realize that he had lost a good opportunity,
and did his best to get out again, but it was too late. It was found
that a bolt had loosened in its socket, and when the animal had rubbed
against the door, it had fallen out and freed him.
In using the arena at night for training, the trainers generally
arrange among themselves as to what time, and for how long, each man
shall have it. In this way, all the trainers get a certain time without
clashing with one another, and it can be readily seen that where there
are several trainers, the training sometimes goes on all night long.
Whether this happens or not, the animals, one and all, indulge in a
general chorus at daybreak. This is, perhaps, even more weird than
the combined noises in the night, for the dim morning light makes the
building full of shadows, and each cage is full of restless animals
pacing to and fro. As the light gets stronger they settle down
again, though first one large head and then another will be lifted at
the sound of the men who first come in to clean up either whistling or
speaking to one another.
[Illustration: JAGUARS, LEOPARDS, AND PANTHERS]
After this they are fairly still, until they are roused while their
cages are cleaned and washed out; then each trainer goes round and
attends to his own animals, and after that comes feeding-time. The
carnivora are given their pieces of meat; the other animals have what
is best suited to them; and many other things are done until the public
once more appears to witness another performance.