shot at a musk-ox. We shall have to go somewhat out of our way to find
this animal, for he lives in the upper portions of North America, but
an ocean and a continent or two are not at all difficult to cross--in
a book.
The musk-ox is about as large as a small cow; he has very short legs,
and horns which are very large and heavy. They extend over his
forehead and seem as if they were parted in the middle, like a dandy's
front hair. It is probable, if we get near enough to one of them, that
we shall have no trouble in shooting him; but there is sometimes
danger in this sport. A sailor once went out to hunt musk-oxen, and,
to his great surprise, soon found that they intended to hunt him. A
herd got after him, and one big fellow was on the point of crushing
him with his great horns, when he dodged behind a rock, against which
the furious animal came like a battering-ram.
In the fall and winter the flesh of the musk-ox is very good indeed,
but in the spring it is not so nice. It then smells like your sister's
glove-box (if she uses musk), only about one hundred times as strong.
If we were to cut up one of these animals when his flesh is in this
condition, we would find it almost impossible to get the smell off of
our knives. The winter is certainly the time to shoot this game, for
then not only is his flesh very good, but his skin is covered with
very long and warm hair, and we would find it even better, to keep us
warm, than a buffalo robe.
[Illustration: THE MUSK-OX AND THE SAILOR.]
While we are thinking of skins, we might as well get a variety of
them, and we will find the fur of the brown bear very valuable.
So now for a brown bear. He, too, is found in the regions of ice and
snow, and in the North of Europe he is hunted by the peasants in a way
which we will not imitate. When they find a den or cave in the rocks
in which they think a bear is concealed, these sturdy hunters make all
sorts of noises to worry him out, and when at last the bear comes
forth to see what is the matter, he finds a man standing in front of
his den, armed with a short lance with a long sharp head, and a bar of
iron placed crosswise on the handle just below the head. Now, a
full-grown brown bear is not afraid of a man who is armed with a
little weapon like this, and so he approaches the hunter, and rearing
on his hind legs, reaches forth his arms to give the man a good hug,
if he comes any nearer.
[Illustration: HUNTING THE BROWN BEAR.]
The man does come nearer, and, to the bear's great surprise, he
thrusts forth his lance, which is longer than it looked, and drives
the head of it into the animal's breast. The iron bar prevents the
lance from entering too far into the body of the bear--a very
necessary precaution, for if it was not there, the bear would push
himself up along the handle of the lance and have his great paws on
the man in a minute or two. But the bar keeps the bear back, and the
loss of blood soon renders him so weak that the hunter can throw him
down and despatch him. It is strange that the bear never tries to pull
the lance out of his body. He keeps pressing it in, trying all the
time to get over it at his enemy.
This may be a good way to kill a bear, but I don't like it. It is
cruel to the animal, and decidedly dangerous to the hunter. If I could
not get a bear skin in any other way than by killing the animal with a
spear, I would let the bear keep his fur. If we see any brown bears we
will shoot them with our rifles, a much safer and more humane method
than the pike fashion.
After the bears, what shall we hunt? What do you say to a
hippopotamus? That will be something that we are not accustomed to, at
any rate. So away we go to the waters of Africa. If we travel along
the shores of the Nile and other African rivers, we shall, no doubt,
see some of these great creatures. But we must not expect to get a
good sight of any of them, unless we are very careful to hide
ourselves somewhere near where they are in the habit of coming out of
the water to take a walk on land. Ordinarily all that can be seen of a
hippopotamus is his head or his back, sticking up out of the water.
They can stay under water for a long time, occasionally sticking up
their noses to get a breath of air.
At night they often come on shore to see what they can find to eat.
They live on grass and grains, which they find in the water and on
land. These animals are generally shot or harpooned at night, when
they come out of the water, but occasionally a hunter sees one on
shore in the daytime, and he seldom finds any difficulty in shooting
it, if he can hit it in the ear, which is its most vulnerable spot.
The hippopotamus is naturally a timid animal, and seldom turns on its
hunters, but sometimes it shows a courageous disposition. Some
hunters, having shot a young but apparently a tolerably well-grown
hippopotamus, were running up to their prize, when they were astounded
by the old mother beast coming up out of the water and charging
towards them with tremendous roars.
[Illustration: A BRAVE HIPPOPOTAMUS.]
The hunters fired at her and then took to their heels, but having
found her offspring, she stayed with it and did not pursue the men. If
she had overtaken them, she would have been a terrible enemy to
encounter.
If, during our night-watches on the river-banks, we are so fortunate
as to shoot a hippopotamus, we shall find that we have a good supply
of very fine meat And what we cannot eat the natives will be
delighted to get. They consider a hippopotamus a most valuable prize,
and as the meat is good and there is so very much of it, their joy
when they kill one is not at all surprising. The only thing that
troubles them after a successful hunt is that there are so few
hippopotami killed, and so many negroes to eat them.
[Illustration: A RHINOCEROS TURNING THE TABLES.]
And now let us try a rhinoceros hunt. This animal is found in the same
regions that the hippopotamus inhabits, but he also lives in Asia. He
is rather a dangerous animal to hunt. He is a savage fellow when
provoked; he has a great horn on his nose, and a skin so thick that it
is almost bullet-proof, and, besides that, he is the largest and
strongest animal on the earth, excepting the elephant. So no wonder
he is a little unsafe to hunt.
The rhinoceros lives on grass and herbs, and makes his home entirely
on the land. His flesh, like that of the hippopotamus, is very good to
eat, but rhinoceros-beef ought to be dear, if the trouble and danger
in getting it is taken into consideration when the price is fixed. He
very often turns and charges on the hunters, and if he gets his horn
under a man or a horse, he is likely to cause trouble.
It is said that a rhinoceros can kill an elephant, by ripping him up
with his horn, and that the lion and all wild beasts are afraid of
him. I am not at all surprised that this is the case, for I have
examined the skin of a rhinoceros which I saw in a menagerie, and it
was so thick and heavy that scarcely any animal could tear it, with
teeth or claws, so as to get at the enemy within it. The rhinoceros
which I saw in a cage was not quite full-grown. His horn was not more
than an inch or two above his nose, but he was an enormous fellow, and
his great hide, which was as hard as the sole of your shoe, hung on
him in great folds, as if it had been made large so as to give him
room to grow. He was gentle enough, and let me put my hand through the
bars of his cage and take hold of his horn without making the
slightest objection. But we will not find that kind of rhinoceros on
the plains of Africa, and if we hunt one we must kill him very soon,
or be prepared to get out of his way.
After a rhinoceros hunt we will not be apt to be easily frightened, no
matter what beast we pursue, so we might as well go to India and hunt
the Bengal tiger.
There is no animal more graceful in its movements, handsomer in shape
and color, or more bloody and ferocious in its nature, than the Royal
Bengal tiger. Even in a cage he is a magnificent creature. When I go
to a menagerie, I always look first for the Bengal tigers.
If we go to hunt these animals, we had better ride upon elephants, for
we must go into the jungles, where the tall reeds, through which the
tigers roam, are higher than our heads.
[Illustration: "A TIGER HUNT."]
When we are well in the jungle, we must be careful. It is sometimes
very difficult to see a tiger, even if you are quite near to him, for
the stripes on his skin are very much like the reeds and leaves of the
jungle, and we must keep a very sharp look-out, and as soon as we see
one we must be ready with our rifles, for a tiger is very apt to begin
the fight, and he will think nothing of springing on the back of an
elephant and dragging one of us to the ground. Sometimes the elephants
are not used to hunting tigers, and when they see the savage beasts
they turn and run. In that case there is often great danger, for no
one can fire coolly and with certain aim from the back of a bounding
elephant.
If we find a tiger, and we get a good shot--or perhaps many good
shots--at him, and he falls wounded or apparently dead, we must still
be very careful about approaching him, for he is very hard to kill.
Often, when pierced with many balls, a tiger is considered to have
breathed his last, he springs up all of a sudden, seizes one of his
hunters in his great jaws, tears him with his claws, and then falls
back dead.
Hunters accustomed to the pursuit of tigers, always make sure that a
tiger is dead before they come near his fallen body, and they often
put many balls into him after he is stretched upon the ground.
We must by this time be so inured to danger in the pursuit of our big
game, that we will go and hunt an animal which is, I think, the most
dangerous creature with which man can contend. I mean the Gorilla.
This tremendous ape, as tall as a man, and as strong as a dozen men,
has been called the king of the African forests. For many years
travellers in Africa had heard from the natives wonderful stories of
this gigantic and savage beast. The negroes believed that the gorilla,
or pongo, as he was called by some tribes, was not only as ferocious
and dangerous as a tiger, but almost as intelligent as a man. Some of
them thought that he could talk, and that the only reason that he did
not do so was because he did not wish to give himself the trouble.
Notwithstanding the stories of some travellers, it is probable that no
white man ever saw a gorilla until Paul du Chaillu found them in
Africa, where he went, in 1853, for the purpose of exploring the
country which they inhabit.
As Mr. Chaillu has written several books for young folks, in which he
tells his experience with gorillas, I shall not relate any of his
wonderful adventures with these animals, in which he killed some
enormous fellows and at different times captured young ones, all of
which, however, soon died. But the researches of this indefatigable
and intrepid explorer have proved that the gorilla is, as the negroes
reported him to be, a most terrible animal to encounter. When found,
he often comes forward to meet the hunter, roaring like a great lion,
and beating his breast in defiance. If a rifle-ball does not quickly
put an end to him, he will rush upon his assailants, and one blow from
his powerful arm will be enough to stretch a man senseless or dead
upon the ground.
[Illustration: "FIGHT WITH A GORILLA."]
In a hand-to-hand combat with a gorilla, a man, even though armed
with a knife, has not the slightest chance for his life.
If we should be fortunate enough to shoot a gorilla, we may call
ourselves great hunters, even without counting in the bears, the
rhinoceroses, the tigers, and the other animals.
And when we return, proud and satisfied with our endeavors, we will
prove to the poor fellows who were obliged to stay at home and shoot
tit-birds and rabbits, with real guns, what an easy thing it is to
hunt the biggest kind of game--in a book.
THE BOOTBLACK'S DOG.
[Illustration]
Once upon a time there lived, in Paris, a bootblack. He was not a boy,
but a man, and he had a family to support. The profits of his business
would have been sufficient for his humble wants and those of his
family had it not been for one circumstance, which made trade very
dull with him. And that disastrous circumstance was this: nearly every
one who passed his stand had their boots and shoes already blackened!
Now this was hard upon our friend. There was nothing to astonish him
in the fact of so many persons passing with polished boots, for his
stand was in the middle of a block, and there were bootblacks at each
corner. But all he could do was to bear his fate as patiently as
possible, and black the few boots which came to him, and talk to his
dog, his only companion, as he sat all day on the sidewalk by his box.
One day, when he had just blackened his own boots (he did not charge
himself anything--he only did it so as to have the air of being busy),
his dog came running up to him from the muddy street, and accidentally
put his dirty paw on his master's bright boots. The man, who was of an
amiable disposition, did not scold much, but as he was brushing off
the mud he said:
"You little rascal! I wish it had been the boots of some other man
that you had covered with dirt. That would have been sensible."
Just at that moment a thought struck the bootblack.
He would teach his dog to muddy other people's boots!
The man immediately acted on this idea, and gave his dog lessons every
day in the art of muddying boots. In a week or two, no gentleman with
highly polished boots could pass the bootblack's stand without seeing
a dog rush into the street and gutter, and then come and jump on his
feet, spattering his boots with mud and water, and making it necessary
for him to go immediately to the nearest bootblack--which was of course
the dog's master.
The bootblack now had constant custom, and his circumstances began
rapidly to improve. His children, being better fed, grew round and
chubby; his wife had three good meals a day, and some warm flannels,
and she soon lost the wan and feeble look which she had worn so long.
As for the man himself, he and his dog were gay and busy all the day
long.
But people began to suspect something after a while. One gentleman who
had his boots muddied regularly every day, once questioned the
bootblack very closely, for he saw that the dog belonged to him, and
the man was obliged to confess that he had taught the dog the trick.
The gentleman, pleased with the smartness of the dog, and perhaps
desirous of ridding his fellow-citizens of annoyance and expense,
purchased the animal and took him home.
But he did not keep him long. In a few days the dog escaped, and came
back to his old master and his muddy trade.
But I do not think that that bootblack always prospered. People who
live by tricks seldom do. I have no doubt that a great many people
found out his practices, and that the authorities drove him away from
his stand, and that he was obliged to give up his business, and
perhaps go into the army; while his wife supported the family by
taking in washing and going out to scrub. I am not sure that all this
happened, but I would not be at all surprised if it turned out exactly
as I say.
GOING AFTER THE COWS.
[Illustration]
If there is anything which a little country-boy likes, and which a big
country-boy dislikes, it is to go after the cows. There is no need of
giving the reasons why the big boy does not like this duty. It is
enough to say that it is a small boy's business, and the big boy knows
it. The excitement of hunting up and driving home a lot of slow,
meandering cattle is not sufficient for a mind capable of grappling
with the highest grade of agricultural ideas, and the youth who has
reached the mature age of fifteen or sixteen is very apt to think that
his mind is one of that kind.
But it is very different with the little boy. To go down into the
fields, with a big stick and a fixed purpose; to cross over the
ditches on boards that a few years ago he would not have been allowed
to put his foot upon; to take down the bars of the fences, just as if
he was a real man, and when he reaches the pasture, to go up to those
great cows, and even to the old bull himself, and to shake his stick
at them, and shout: "Go along there, now!"--these are proud things to
do.
And then what a feeling of power it gives him to make those big
creatures walk along the very road he chooses for them, and to hurry
them up, or let them go slowly, just as he pleases!
If, on the way, a wayward cow should make a sudden incursion over some
low bars into a forbidden field, the young director of her evening
course is equal to the emergency.
He is over the fence in an instant, and his little legs soon place him
before her, and then what are her horns, her threatening countenance,
and her great body to his shrill voice and brandished stick? Admitting
his superior power, she soon gallops back to the herd, with whack
after whack resounding upon her thick hide.
When at last the great, gentle beasts file, one by one, into the
barn-yard, there is a consciousness of having done something very
important in the air of the little fellow who brings up the rear of
the procession, and who shuts the gate as closely as possible on the
heels of the hindmost cow.
There are also many little outside circumstances connected with a
small boy's trip after the cows which make it pleasant to him.
Sometimes there are tremendous bull-frogs in the ditch. There are ripe
wild-cherries--splendid, bitter, and scarce--on the tree in the corner
of the field. The pears on the little tree by old Mrs. Hopkins's don't
draw your mouth up so very much, if you peel the skins off with your
knife. There is always a chance of seeing a rabbit, and although there
is no particular chance of getting it, the small boy does not think of
that. Now, although it would hardly be worth while to walk very far
for any of these things, they are very pleasant when you are going
after the cows.
So I think it is no wonder that the little boys like to go after the
cows, and I wish that hundreds and thousands of pale-faced and
thin-legged little fellows had cows to go after.
THE REFLECTIVE STAG.
The more we study the habits and natures of animals the more firmly
are we convinced that, in many of them, what we call instinct is very
much like what we call reason.
In the case of a domestic animal, we may attribute, perhaps, a great
deal of its cleverness to its association with man and its capability
of receiving instruction. But wild animals have not the advantages of
human companionship, and what they know is due to the strength and
quality of their own understanding. And some of them appear to know a
great deal.
There are few animals which prove this assertion more frequently than
the stag. As his home is generally somewhere near the abodes of men,
and as his flesh is so highly prized by them, it is absolutely
necessary that he should take every possible precaution to preserve
his life from their guns and dogs. Accordingly, he has devised a great
many plans by which he endeavors--often successfully--to circumvent
his hunters. And to do this certainly requires reflection, and a good
deal of it, too. He even finds out that his scent assists the dogs in
following him. How he knows this I have not the slightest idea, but he
does know it.
Therefore it is that, when he is hunted, he avoids running through
thick bushes, where his scent would remain on the foliage; and, if
possible, he dashes into the water, and runs along the beds of shallow
streams, where the hounds often lose all trace of him. When this is
impossible, he bounds over the ground, making as wide gaps as he can
between his tracks. Sometimes, too, he runs into a herd of cattle, and
so confuses the dogs; and he has been known to jump up on the back of
an ox, and take a ride on the frightened creature, in order to get
his own feet partly off of the ground for a time, and thus to break
the line of his scent. When very hard pressed, a stag has suddenly
dropped on the ground, and when most of the dogs, unable to stop
themselves, dash over him, he springs to his feet, and darts off in an
opposite direction.
[Illustration]
He will also run back on his own track, and employ many other means of
the kind to deceive the dogs, showing most conclusively that he
understands the theory of scent, and the dogs' power of perceiving it;
and also that he has been able to devise the very best plans to elude
his pursuers.
Not only do stags reflect in this general manner in regard to their
most common and greatest danger, but they make particular
reflections, suited to particular places and occasions. The tricks
and manoeuvres which would be very successful in one forest and in one
season would not answer at all in another place and at another time,
and so they reflect on the subject and lay their plans to suit the
occasion.
There are many animals which possess great acuteness in eluding their
hunters, but the tricks of the stag are sufficient to show us to what
an extent some animals are capable of reflection.
WHEN WE MUST NOT BELIEVE OUR EYES.
There are a great number of marvellous things told us of phantom forms
and ghostly apparitions--of spectres that flit about lonely roads on
moonlight nights, or haunt peaceful people in their own homes; of
funeral processions, with long trains of mourners, watched from a
distance, but which, on nearer approach, melt into a line of mist; of
wild witch-dances in deserted houses, and balls of fire bounding out
of doors and windows--stories which cause the flesh of children to
creep upon their bones, and make cowards of them where there is no
reason for fear. For you may lay it down as a fact, established beyond
dispute, that not one of these things is a _reality_. The person who
tells these marvels has always what seems the best of reasons for his
belief. He either saw these things himself or knew somebody, strictly
truthful, who had seen them. He did not know, what I am going to prove
to you, that a thing may be _true_ and yet not be _real_. In other
words, that there are times when we do actually see marvels that seem
supernatural, but that, on such occasions, _we must not believe our
own eyes_, but search for a natural cause, and, if we look faithfully,
we are sure to find one.
Once a vessel was sailing over a northern ocean in the midst of the
short, Arctic summer. The sun was hot, the air was still, and a group
of sailors lying lazily upon the deck were almost asleep, when an
exclamation of fear from one of them made them all spring to their
feet. The one who had uttered the cry pointed into the air at a little
distance, and there the awe-stricken sailors saw a large ship, with
all sails set, gliding over what seemed to be a placid ocean, for
beneath the ship was the reflection of it.
[Illustration]
The news soon spread through the vessel that a phantom-ship with a
ghostly crew was sailing in the air over a phantom-ocean, and that it
was a bad omen, and meant that not one of them should ever see land
again. The captain was told the wonderful tale, and coming on deck, he
explained to the sailors that this strange appearance was caused by
the reflection of some ship that was sailing on the water below this
image, but at such a distance they could not see it. There were
certain conditions of the atmosphere, he said, when the sun's rays
could form a perfect picture in the air of objects on the earth, like
the images one sees in glass or water, but they were not generally
upright, as in the case of this ship, but reversed--turned bottom
upwards. This appearance in the air is called a mirage. He told a
sailor to go up to the foretop and look beyond the phantom-ship. The
man obeyed, and reported that he could see on the water, below the
ship in the air, one precisely like it. Just then another ship was
seen in the air, only this one was a steamship, and was
bottom-upwards, as the captain had said these mirages generally
appeared. Soon after, the steamship itself came in sight. The sailors
were now convinced, and never afterwards believed in phantom-ships.