wives, or when one of them had discovered a field of corn or rice, and
found that the others wanted to explore it, too. Then some nasty
things were said, and some terrible fights took place; for, although a
hippopotamus is such a heavy and ungainly creature, he can move
swiftly when he is angry.
However, this time Hippo wended his way to the field of corn without
the others noticing him, and, arriving there, walked slowly through
the ripe grain, his short legs and thick body doing an enormous amount
of damage. He never ate what he crushed down--only what he actually
cut with his wonderful teeth. [Footnote: The teeth of a hippopotamus
are very large and powerful, and those in the under jaw grow forward
and outward, not straight up and down, as in most other animals. The
large teeth weigh from five to eight pounds each, and, being excellent
ivory, keep white under almost any conditions.--_Author._]
Opening his huge jaws, he put his mouth to the ground, and, pushing
his lower jaw in front of him, cut down the corn as though with a
sickle. He ate leisurely as he went along, and his supper took him
some time, for, as he had an enormous appetite, and could carry from
five to six bushels of food in his body at a time, it was a big meal.
On he straggled, cutting down as he went, and dragging his awkward,
splay-footed body after him until the beautiful field of corn was
utterly destroyed, for before he left it he had walked nearly all over
it. If what he had eaten had been all that he destroyed, that would
have been bad enough, but he trampled and ruined far more than he ate,
and the owner of the field, when he saw it the next day, was nearly
wild with rage and disappointment. He had spent so much time and
trouble over his crops, and so much damage had been done lately by
these tiresome animals, that it was getting very serious indeed. He
resolved that something must be done, and done quickly. Guns and
bullets were no use; he would get up a party and try harpoons.
But of all this Hippo knew nothing, and, having finished his evening
meal, returned in the same leisurely way he had come, and, laying his
huge body down in a nice soft spot, he went to sleep and slept all
next day.
When he woke up, he had a good time in the water, swimming long
distances, taking long dives, and amusing himself by sinking his
enormous body to the bottom of the river, and coming up again every
now and then to breathe. He made plenty of fuss over it, too, puffing
and grunting in his own peculiar way.
Having had such a good feed the night before, Hippo was in no
particular hurry for his evening meal, and, as several of the other
hippopotami were also enjoying themselves, he stayed where he was. His
wife was resting in a shallow part of the river close by, her whole
body under water with the exception of a part of her back and head.
Her baby calf was sitting on dry land, as it were, for his mother had
taken him under water a good many times, but had to bring him up to
the top so often for him to breathe that she had grown tired of it,
and so had put him on her back, where he was not only dry but safe.
Hippo took very little notice of his wife and child. He was not at all
demonstrative, and, as long as he knew they were safe, did not trouble
himself farther about them. So that he had plenty to eat, could have
nice swims and dives, and was not molested in any way, Hippo was a
very peaceable animal; but once interfere with him in any way, and it
was another matter altogether.
And this particular evening something did interfere with him, and it
not only annoyed Hippo, but made him furious with rage and anger, and
a furious hippopotamus is an extremely dangerous creature. It happened
in this way.
Hippo was just coming up after a good, long dive, when he noticed on
the river a number of boats filled with men. Now, he did not mind men
or boats, if they only went on their way and let him alone. The river
was often dotted with boats filled with Kaffirs and white men, but, as
a rule, they were sensible enough to keep a good distance from the
herd of hippopotami. So, when Hippo became conscious that the boats
were coming towards him, he was not only surprised but annoyed. He was
in the middle of his aquatic performances for one thing, and he did
not like to have boats and men so close to him for another. However,
although he was irritated, he was not going to bother himself about
either the boats or the men as long as they let him alone.
But this was just the very thing the men in the boats had no intention
of doing, for they carried harpoons, and had come out for the express
purpose of killing as many hippopotami as they possibly could. So, as
Hippo rose to the surface, and before he had time to get over either
his surprise or annoyance, one of the men in the nearest boat suddenly
stood up, and, throwing a harpoon with terrific force, sent it right
into Hippo's shoulder.
For a moment Hippo was too astounded to do anything; then, as he
realized what had happened, he moved swiftly towards the boat. But
another harpoon was thrown from a second boat, and Hippo's attention
was taken off the first one only just in time. His thick skin broke
out into tiny red spots, called the "blood sweat," for he was now
pretty well excited. He had not thought much about his wife and little
one before, but now he knew they were in danger, and must be
protected. With one muscular movement of his big body--wonderfully
agile for so clumsy a creature--he swam towards the boat, and, before
the occupants realized what was going to happen, Hippo had seized the
boat in his great mouth and crushed one end of it into splinters. Two
of the men were killed instantly, and the others soon after, for Hippo
used his terrible mouth and teeth with appalling effect.
In a very few minutes all that remained of the boats and men--with the
exception of the first boat, which had promptly made off when Hippo
turned--was floating down the river, and all the evidences of the
fearful occurrence were the excited hippopotamus and the crimson stain
in the water caused by the blood of the unfortunate hunters.
Hippo was still in a fearful rage, however, and could not forget the
attack on him. The wounds in his back and shoulder helped to remind
him of it, for each harpoon had a barb at the end, and, no matter how
Hippo rubbed and strained, he was unable to get them out, and only
made the wounds throb and burn more than ever. He snorted and raged,
and in his anger blew such a blast of air from his nostrils that it
swept his little son off his mother's back and into the
water.[Footnote: When in a violent rage, the hippopotamus will
sometimes blow the air from his nostrils with force enough to knock
over a strong man. We are told by some authorities, that one has been
known to upset a boat in this way when not quite near enough to crush
it with its teeth.--_Author._]
Hippo's wife was frightened and indignant, but promptly brought her
little one up again, for he was very young as yet, and not able to
stay under water for any length of time, and set him on her back as
before, keeping a sharp lookout with her tiny eyes for fresh danger.
A very disastrous hunt it had been for all concerned. Five men had
lost their lives, but not one hippopotamus had been killed. So the
hunters decided to wait for some other evening when the hippopotami
were off guard again. The hunters had no idea of giving up, for the
destructive propensities of the animals were not their only reason for
wishing to destroy them: the hides, tusks and teeth of hippopotami are
of considerable value and bring a good price.
So they waited a few days, and then set forth once more. By this time
Hippo had succeeded in breaking off one of the harpoons, and bending
the other, but the barbs, which hurt so dreadfully and caused him such
intense suffering, he was unable to get out in spite of all his
efforts. They were still there, and, if Hippo could only have known
it, they were likely to stay there, for they had been made for that
express purpose.
Hippo had now developed into a most dangerous animal, for the pain and
inflammation of his wounds, added to his naturally savage disposition,
had driven him half wild, and he roamed about in his slow, clumsy
manner, not even caring to eat, and savagely attacking everything that
came in his way. So fierce and bad-tempered had he become by this
time, that even his wife carefully kept out of his way, and his little
son had been terrified nearly to death ever since his father, in a
sudden fit of passion, had turned on him and bitten him cruelly with
his terrible teeth. His wife finally took the precaution of taking up
her position farther down the river, but keeping fairly close to the
herd.
Hippo missed her and the baby calf, and felt lonely and miserable, but
he did not take the trouble to follow them, for his wounds were
getting worse, and the torture was now so great that he could not
think of much else. In vain he sank his huge body in the cool water,
hoping to ease the burning and smarting--in vain he took long swims
like the "river horse" he was--in vain he dived to the bottom of the
river and stayed there until he was obliged to come to the surface to
breathe--in vain he kept his whole body under water, with just the end
of his broad nose peeping out--it was of no use. The pain got worse,
and horrible twinges kept shooting through his shoulder and body,
until at last he gave up trying to ease it, and bore it as well as he
could.
And then, one evening when it was getting cool and peaceful, and the
evening shadows were beginning to make everything look dim and misty,
a boat came softly over the water, and once more a man stood up in it,
and once more threw a harpoon at Hippo, who had been standing so still
that the boat had been able to come quite close, and the hunter to
take good, steady aim.
The harpoon this time went straight into one of Hippo's eyes, and,
although it was a cruel stroke, it was also a merciful one, for it
touched the brain, and in a very few minutes Hippo, with a few
spasmodic efforts, blew his last blast of rage, snorted and groaned
for the last time, and, with a mighty stirring of the waters, rolled
heavily over in the African river, by the side of which he had been
born, and died.
And then the hunters threw up their caps and cheered for joy, for they
had at least killed one of their enemies and one of the finest
specimens in the whole herd. As, at the time of his death, he had been
standing in a shallow part of the river, it was possible with great
trouble to drag the huge carcass out, but it took the strength of ten
horses and the ingenuity of as many men to do it.
The hunters measured him carefully, and found that he measured nearly
twelve feet from one end of his body to the other, that he stood about
four feet high, and that his tusks, hide and teeth were the best and
finest that had been seen for many a day. It turned out to be a
fortunate thing that Hippo had been in such a dangerous mood during
the last few days, for the other hippopotami had followed the example
of Hippo's wife and moved a little farther down the river;
consequently, the hunters were able to complete their task without any
molestation from them.
As for Hippo's wife, she grieved very little about him. He had made
himself so intensely disagreeable lately that she had grown rather
tired of him, and, moreover, animal like, she did not like a sick or
wounded comrade near her, and a sick husband was a thing to be
despised.
Besides, she had her baby calf to think of now, and he took up most of
her time. What with feeding him, teaching him to swim, dive, sink
himself in the water, and come up frequently to breathe, she was busy
all day long. The calf was rather stupid and slow, and was not easy to
teach, and altogether she had a good deal of trouble with him.
At one time she missed him for a while, and at last found him very
nearly dead under the water, for, like most young things, he thought
he could do just the same as his elders, and had tried to stay
underneath as long as an old hippopotamus. The consequence was, he was
nearly suffocated or drowned, for it is only the adult animals who can
stay any time under water, and even they are obliged to come up often
in order to obtain fresh air.
So Hippo's wife--or widow, as she was by this time--administered a
severe punishment to her son by first giving him a bite, and then
refusing to give him his supper. She began, after a time, to refuse
him his supper so often, that the baby Hippo at last made up his mind
to get other food, and in a very short time found out that rice, corn,
grass, roots and such things were very good to eat, and, when his
mother began, not only to treat him with indifference, but even with
dislike, he took to vegetable food altogether, and grew slowly, but
steadily, as stout and strong as his father, Hippo, had been.
And when a whole year had gone by, Hippo's wife had another husband,
and in due course of time another baby calf, and had just the same
sort of trouble as she had gone through with Hippo's son. But she had
forgotten all about Hippo's son by that time, and not only Hippo's
son, but Hippo himself.
But Hippo was not forgotten by the hunters. Some of them had cause
enough to remember him, for he had killed their relatives in his
fierce attack on that memorable night when he had first felt their
harpoons. They had, however, other things to remember him by which
were better. One thing was the money which they had received for his
hide and ivory teeth, and which had been spent in replacing the
damaged crops; and the other was a pair of magnificent tusks which
they had kept as a memento of him, and which hung in the hall of the
pretty African house in which the hunters lived.
And when visitors came to the house and admired the tusks, the hunters
would relate the story of the terrible beginning and triumphal end of
the capture of Hippo, the hippopotamus.
OSRA, THE OSTRICH
There is an old Eastern legend to the effect that, once upon a time,
ostriches, in addition to being the largest and strongest birds on the
face of the earth, were also the proudest, the most contemptuous, and
the most egregiously conceited birds in creation.
So inflated with pride were they at their superior size and strength,
that they looked down upon all their feathered companions, taunted and
twitted them, and were forever exhibiting their wonderful powers of
flight and beauty of form.
On one occasion they intimated to the smaller birds that they were
going to fly to the sun, and winged creatures from far and wide, of
all sizes and species, and of all colors, came to witness this
wonderful feat.
Phoebus, the sun god, furiously angry at such unheard of presumption,
waited until they were a little way up, and then punished them by
suddenly singeing off their wings.
Deprived of their power of flying, the ostriches fell so heavily to
the earth, and struck the ground so violently, that it made a deep
mark on their breasts. This has been reproduced in all succeeding
generations from that time to this.
This is the reason that ostriches have such tiny wings, and that one
and all have this peculiar mark on their breasts. Never, from that
time to this, has any ostrich been able to fly. But even this has not
entirely subdued their pride and arrogance, and their insufferable
conceit.
Osra, who was an African ostrich, had his full share of pride and
conceit. He certainly was a very fine, full-grown male bird, and the
beautiful, white, flowing feathers of his tail and wings were
exceedingly handsome.
He stood eight feet high, and measured over six feet from the tip of
his beak to the end of his tail, while his weight must have been fully
two hundred pounds.
Handsome as he was, he looked a little out of proportion--like all of
his kin. He seemed to be too large in some places and too small in
others; while some parts of his body were thickly covered with
beautiful, flaky feathers, and other parts had no feathers at all,
only a few, little bristles: in some places the skin was quite bare.
His small, flat head and long neck were almost destitute of feathers
or hair, and yet his quick, bright eyes were surrounded by long, thick
eyelashes, that many a fashionable beauty might have envied.
His long legs, with only a few bristles on the thighs, had a curious
effect under the rich feathers of his tiny wings, while the lower
parts, covered with large, thick scales and ending in big feet, with
only two toes each, were other details which added to his curious
appearance.
Osra, at this time, was a very important bird indeed, for he possessed
six wives, and, as all these wives had been laying eggs lately, he had
had a very busy time.
For the wife of an ostrich considers if she lays the eggs that is all
she can be expected to do. The males do all the hatching, even making
the nest in preparation for the eggs.
Osra, strong as he was, had a very busy time hollowing out that nest
in the sand, and scraping up a small wall all round it so that his
wives could, if they liked, place the eggs on end, and so not take up
so much space. For all his wives laid in the same nest, and as there
were already over twenty eggs, and each egg was a large one, it needed
a good big nest.
Not that Osra's wives were over particular about the eggs being
actually in the nest, as long as they laid them near it. Ostriches
don't believe in being too fastidious; any eggs that happened to be
outside the nest would be there for the young ostriches to eat when
they were hatched. For, as the wife of the ostrich considers she has
done her duty when she has laid the eggs, so the father considers he
has done his duty when he has hatched them with the help of the sun.
Once they are hatched he is practically done with them, for no ostrich
ever made a good parent yet, although in time of danger they will do
their very best to guard their young.
There had been a time when Osra had some very exciting fights, but
this had been when he was selecting his wives. He did not believe in
allowing any other ostrich to get a wife that he wanted, and he had
never yet been beaten. More than one fully grown, male ostrich had he
killed while having an argument on this point, and he always found
that the wives which cost him the most fights and the greatest amount
of trouble were the ones he liked the best. This is something like the
seal, who does not think any wife worth having unless he has to fight
for her.
He had no time for fights now, and, moreover, having got as many wives
as he wanted and the ones he wanted, there was no occasion for
fighting. And so he led a quiet, domestic life at this time; walked
about with his wives by day and helped to get them food, and then,
when the sun was no longer strong enough to help in the hatching, Osra
went and sat on the eggs, where he stayed until the sun got up again.
And so it went on until the young ostriches came out.
Osra felt very proud of them, for they were fine, healthy young birds,
and although they had rather a quaint air--being covered with a
curious, bristly-looking growth, which made them look like young
hedgehogs--from the very day they kicked off the thick, glossy,
yellowish-white shell which had covered them, they could run about and
even pick up their food from the ground.
They soon ate up the odd eggs that were lying about, cracked them
easily with their strong little beaks, and scraped out the inside as
though they had been practicing it for years. By the end of a
fortnight they were about the size of barn-door fowls, and quite
independent.
Neither Osra nor his wives had taken much notice of them during this
eventful fortnight, except to glance at them occasionally and
acknowledge to themselves that they were exceedingly fine young birds;
but, when they were able to trot about in this manner, and were no
longer troublesome, the parents occasionally took them for walks, and
a very fine family they were, too.
They had many adventures during these walks, some of them very
exciting ones.
Once, as they were striding across the plain, they saw a stranger
approaching, and although Osra was somewhat suspicious, he yet had
sufficient curiosity to let him come quite close, and even among them.
The stranger was a somewhat curious ostrich, and did not walk in quite
so dignified or stately a manner as an ostrich usually does. His head
and neck moved somewhat stiffly, in curious little jerks, and his
legs, although they were very white, were rather a curious shape.
Still there could be no doubt that he was an ostrich, because his back
was covered with ostrich feathers, and no one can imitate an ostrich's
head and neck.
And so the stranger was allowed to come into their very midst, and
just as Osra was thinking of inspecting him more minutely, for he did
not approve of strangers, there was a fearful noise, a blaze of fire
and smoke, and one of his wives and two or three of his children fell
dead.
Osra waited no longer; with a peculiar sort of guttural chuckle he
stretched out his long legs, and with tremendous strides--which
covered from twenty to twenty-two feet at a time--flew like the wind,
followed by his remaining wives and little ones.
Away they went, taking no thought or heed of the young ones so that
they got away, and when they had been racing for some time at the rate
of twenty miles an hour, Osra was surprised to find himself and his
wives back at the very same spot!
There were the bodies of his wife and children, and there also was the
stranger ostrich.
Osra was taken by surprise, for although he was not particularly good
at hearing, he prided himself on his sight, and he was a little
puzzled to know how he could have got to the very same spot again
without seeing where he was going.
But, startled as he was, and puzzled as he had felt at this stranger
ostrich, he suddenly did what, had he only done before, might have
saved the lives of his wife and children.
Kicking out sideways with one of his powerful legs, he knocked that
stranger ostrich over, and over, and over, with such a blow that his
head and neck flew in one direction, a curious thing, from which came
out more fire and smoke, in another, and a straight body with the head
and face of a man, or what was left of it, went in a third, and lay
perfectly still.
Osra hesitated a little, and then went up and examined each part of
the ostrich. It had only been an imitation ostrich after all; for the
head and neck were mounted on a stick, the feathers were only sewn on
to a skin stuffed with straw, and the curious, little white legs
belonged to a man who was now quite dead.
Osra and his wives paced slowly about for some time, and after a while
were joined by their little ones, who were worn out and exhausted by
the long run.
This was one adventure, and one that frightened the young ones very
much. But they had a good time afterwards, for Osra led them, with
slow and stately steps, to a farm close by, where there were some
nice, young broods of soft, fluffy chickens, and tiny, little yellow
ducklings running about with their mothers.
With a cool and indifferent air Osra and his wives took up the little
fluffy chickens one by one, and swallowed them whole; the poor
bewildered mothers clucking and screaming, and spreading out their
wings, wondering where on earth their families had gone.
Having picked up all the fluffy little chickens, they went on and
picked up the little yellow ducklings, and the poor mothers hissed and
scolded, and did everything in their power to defend their darlings
from these huge, horrible, creatures which demolished them so quickly.
While they were doing this the young ostriches set to work and ate up
all the stray eggs they could find, one or two small animals, and some
young wild birds who were so unsophisticated as to believe them to be
mother hens, and so injudicious as to hop quite close to them in order
to pick up the corn.
Having eaten all they could find, the family prepared to depart, the
old birds, followed by the mother hens and the mother ducks, in
terrible distress and furious anger.
In vain they pecked, hissed and scolded at the huge legs and two-toed
feet of the ostriches. The legs and feet went solemnly and haughtily
on, occasionally stepping on the poor, distracted mothers, who cared
not what they did or what happened to them now that they were bereaved
of their little ones.
Away they went through the farm with their peculiar, swinging walk,
followed by their young ones, who ate up all that came in their way,
and felt that this delightful feast more than made up for their
terrible fright in the earlier part of the day.