friendship that existed between two cats and an otter, which had been
taken from its mother when only a few hours old, to be brought up by
hand by a gentleman. This was not a very easy thing to manage. It was
too young to suck milk out of a spoon, which was the first thing
thought of, but a quill passed through a cork and stuck into a baby's
bottle proved a success, and through this the little otter had its
milk five times every day, until he was more than five weeks old. Then
he was introduced to a cat who had lately lost a kitten, and though
not naturally very good-tempered, the puss took to him directly,
evidently thinking it was her own kitten grown a little bigger. In
general this cat, which was partly Persian, and, as I have said, very
cross, did not trouble herself much about her young ones, which had to
take care of themselves as well as they could; but she could not make
enough of the little otter, and when he was as big as herself she
would walk with him every day to the pond in the yard, where he had
his bath, watching his splashings and divings with great anxiety, and
never happy till he got out safe.
But, like human children, the baby otter would have been very dull
without someone to play with, and as there were no little otters
handy, he made friends with a young cat called Tom.
All through the long winter, when the pond was frozen, and diving and
swimming were no longer possible, he and Tom used to spend happy
mornings playing hide and seek among the furniture in the dining-room,
till Tom began to feel that the otter was getting rather rough, and
that his teeth were very sharp, and that it would be a good thing to
get out of his reach, on the top of a high cupboard or chimney piece.
But at last the snow melted, and the ice became water again, and the
first day the sun shone, the otter and the old cat went out for a walk
in the yard. After the little fellow had had his dive, which felt
delicious after all the weeks that he had done without it, he wandered
carelessly into a shed where he had never been before, and to his
astonishment he suddenly heard a flutter of wings, and became
conscious of a sharp pain in his neck. This was produced by the beak
of a falcon, who always lived in the shed, and seeing the strange
creature enter his door, at once made up his mind that it was its duty
to kill it. The cat and the gentleman who happened to come in at the
same moment rushed forward and beat off the bird, and then, blinded by
excitement, like a great many other people, and not knowing friends
from foes, the cat rushed at her master. In one moment she had
severely bitten the calf of his leg, given his thigh a fearful
scratch, and picked up the otter and carried him outside. Then, not
daring to trust him out of her sight, she marched him sternly up the
hill, keeping him all the while between her legs, so that no danger
should come near him.
As the otter grew bigger the cats became rather afraid of his claws
and teeth, which grew bigger too, and inflicted bites and scratches
without his knowing it. But if the cats tired of him, he never tired
of the cats, and was always dull and unhappy when they were out of his
way. Sometimes, when his spirits were unusually good (and his teeth
unusually sharp), the poor playfellows were obliged to seek refuge in
the bedrooms of the house, or even upon the roof, but the little otter
had not lived so long with cats for nothing, and could climb nearly as
well as they. When he had had enough of teasing, he told them so (for,
of course, he knew the cat language), and they would come down, and he
would stretch himself out lazily in front of the fire, with his arms
round Tom's neck.
It would be nice to know what happened to him when he really grew up,
whether the joys of living in a stream made him forget his old friends
at the farm, or whether he would leave the chase of the finest trout
at the sound of a mew or a whistle. But we are not told anything about
it, so everybody can settle it as they like.
_STORIES ABOUT LIONS_
The lion in its wild state is a very different animal from the lion of
menageries and wild-beast shows. The latter has probably been born in
captivity, reared by hand, and kept a prisoner in a narrow cage all
its life, deprived not only of liberty and exercise, but of its proper
food. The result is a weak, thin, miserable creature, with an unhappy
furtive expression, and a meagre mane, more like a poodle than the
king of beasts in a savage state.
The lion of South Africa differs in many points from that of Algeria,
of whom we are going to speak. In Algeria there are three kinds of
lions--the black, the tawny, and the grey. The black lion, more rarely
met with than the two others, is rather smaller, but stronger in
build. He is so called from the colour of his mane, which falls to his
shoulder in a heavy black mass. The rest of his coat is the colour of
a bay horse. Instead of wandering like the other two kinds, he makes
himself a comfortable dwelling, and remains there probably all his
life, which may last thirty or forty years, unless he falls a victim
to the hunter. He rarely goes down to the plains in search of prey,
but lies in ambush in the evening and attacks the cattle on their way
down from the mountain, killing four or five to drink their blood. In
the long summer twilights he waits on the edge of a forest-path for
some belated traveller, who seldom escapes to tell the tale.
The tawny and grey lion differ from each other only in the colour of
their mane; all three have the same habits and characteristics, except
those peculiar to the black lion just described. They all turn night
into day, and go out at dusk to forage for prey, returning to their
lair at dawn to sleep and digest in peace and quiet. Should a lion,
for any reason, shift his camp during the day, it is most unlikely
that he will attack, unprovoked, any creature, whether human or
otherwise, whom he may chance to meet; for during the day he is 'full
inside,' and the lion kills not for the sake of killing, but to
satisfy his hunger. The lion is a devoted husband; when a couple go
out on their nightly prowl, it is always the lioness who leads the
way; when she stops he stops too, and when they arrive at the fold
where they hope to procure their supper, she lies down, while he leaps
into the midst of the enclosure, and brings back to her the pick of
the flock. He watches her eat with great anxiety lest anything should
disturb her, and never begins his own meal till she has finished hers.
As a father he is less devoted; the old lion being of a serious
disposition, the cubs weary him with their games, and while the family
is young the father lives by himself, but at a short distance, so as
to be at hand in case of danger. When the cubs are about three months
old, and have finished teething (a process which often proves fatal to
little lionesses), their mother begins to accustom them to eat meat by
bringing them mutton to eat, which she carefully skins, and chews up
small before giving to them. Between three and four months old they
begin to follow their mother at night to the edge of the forest, where
their father brings them their supper. At six months the whole family
change their abode, choosing for the purpose a very dark night.
Between eight months and a year old they begin to attack the flocks of
sheep and goats that feed by day in the neighbourhood of their lair,
and sometimes venture to attack oxen, but being still young and
awkward, they often wound ten for one killed, and the father lion is
obliged to interfere. At the age of two years they can slay with one
blow an ox, horse, or camel, and can leap the hedges two yards high
that surround the folds for protection. This period in the history of
the lion is the most disastrous to the shepherds and their flocks, for
then the lion goes about killing for the sake of learning to kill. At
three years they leave their parents and set up families of their own,
but it is only at the age of eight that they attain their full size
and strength, and, in the case of the male, his full mane.
[Illustration: THE LION CAUGHT IN THE PIT]
The question is sometimes asked, why does the lion roar? The answer
is, for the same reason that the bird sings. When a lion and lioness
go out together at night, the lioness begins the duet by roaring when
she leaves her den, then the lion roars in answer, and they roar in
turn every quarter of an hour, till they have found their supper;
while they are eating they are silent, and begin roaring as soon as
satisfied, and roar till morning. In summer they roar less and
sometimes not at all. The Arabs, who have good reason to know and
dread this fearsome sound, have the same word for it as for the
thunder. The herds being constantly exposed to the ravages of the
lion, the natives are obliged to take measures to protect them, but,
the gun in their unskilled hands proving often as fatal to themselves
as to their enemy, they are forced to resort to other means. Some
tribes dig a pit, about ten yards deep, four or five wide, and
narrower at the mouth than the base. The tents of the little camp
surround it, and round them again is a hedge two or three yards high,
made of branches of trees interlaced; a second smaller hedge divides
the tents from the pit in order to prevent the flocks from falling
into it. The lion prowling in search of food scents his prey, leaps
both hedges at one bound, and falls roaring with anger into the pit
digged for him. The whole camp is aroused, and so great is the
rejoicing that no one sleeps all night. Guns are let off and fires lit
to inform the whole district, and in the morning all the neighbours
arrive, not only men, but women, children, and even dogs. When it is
light enough to see, the hedge surrounding the pit is removed in order
to look at the lion, and to judge by its age and sex what treatment it
is to receive, according to what harm it may have done. If it is a
young lion or a lioness the first spectators retire from the sight
disgusted, to make room for others whose raptures are equally soon
calmed. But if it is a full-grown lion with abundant mane, then it is
a very different scene; frenzied gestures and appropriate cries spread
the joyful news from one to another, and the spectators crowd in such
numbers that they nearly edge each other into the pit. When everyone
has thrown his stone and hurled his imprecation, men armed with guns
come to put an end to the noble animal's torture; but often ten shots
have been fired before, raising his majestic head to look
contemptuously on his tormentors, he falls dead. Not till long after
this last sign of life do the bravest venture to let themselves down
into the pit, by means of ropes, to pass a net under the body of the
lion, and to hoist it up to the surface by means of a stake planted
there for the purpose. When the lion is cut up, the mothers of the
tribe receive each a small piece of his heart, which they give to
their sons to eat to make them strong and courageous; with the same
object they make themselves amulets of hairs dragged out from his
mane.
Other tribes make use of the ambush, which may be either constructed
underground or on a tree. If underground a hole is dug, about one yard
deep, and three or four wide, near a path frequented by the lion; it
is covered with branches weighted down by heavy stones, and loose
earth is thrown over all. Four or five little openings are left to
shoot through, and a larger one to serve as a doorway, which may be
closed from within by a block of stone. In order to ensure a good aim
the Arabs kill a boar and lay it on the path opposite the ambush; the
lion inevitably stops to sniff this bait, and then they all fire at
once. Nevertheless he is rarely killed on the spot, but frantically
seeking his unseen enemies, who are beneath his feet, he makes with
frenzied bounds for the nearest forest, there sometimes to recover
from his wounds, sometimes to die in solitude. The ambush in a tree is
conducted on the same lines as the other, except that the hunters are
above instead of below their quarry, from whom they are screened by
the branches.
[Illustration: THE AMBUSH]
There are, however, in the province of Constantine some tribes of
Arabs who hunt the lion in a more sportsmanlike manner. When a lion
has made his presence known, either by frequent depredations or by
roarings, a hunting party is formed. Some men are sent in advance to
reconnoitre the woods, and when they return with such information as
they have been able to gather as to the age, sex, and whereabouts of
the animal, a council of war is held, and a plan of campaign formed.
Each hunter is armed with a gun, a pistol, and a yataghan, and then
five or six of the younger men are chosen to ascend the mountain,
there to take their stand on different commanding points, in order to
watch every movement of the lion, and to communicate them to their
companions below by a pre-arranged code of signals. When they are
posted the general advance begins; the lion, whose hearing is
extremely acute, is soon aware of the approach of enemies, who in
their turn are warned by the young men on the look-out. Finally, when
the lion turns to meet the hunters the watchers shout with all their
might 'Aoulikoum!' 'Look out!' At this signal the Arabs draw
themselves up in battle array, if possible with their backs to a rock,
and remain motionless till the lion has approached to within twenty or
thirty paces; then the word of command is given, and each man, taking
the best aim he can, fires, and then throws down his rifle to seize
his pistol or yataghan. The lion is generally brought to the ground by
this hail of bullets, but unless the heart or the brain have been
pierced he will not be mortally wounded; the hunters therefore throw
themselves upon him before he can rise, firing, stabbing right and
left, blindly, madly, without aim, in the rage to kill. Sometimes in
his mortal agony the lion will seize one of the hunters, and, drawing
him under his own body, will torture him, almost as a cat does a mouse
before killing it. Should this happen, the nearest relation present of
the unhappy man will risk his own life in the attempt to rescue him,
and at the same time to put an end to the lion. This is a perilous
moment; when the lion sees the muzzle of the avenger's rifle pointed
at his ear he will certainly crush in the head of his victim, even if
he has not the strength left to spring on his assailant before the
latter gives him the _coup de grace_.
The Arabs in the neighbourhood of Constantine used, about fifty years
ago, to send there for a famous French lion-hunter, Jules Gerard by
name, to rid them of some unusually formidable foe. They never could
understand his way of going to work--alone and by night--which
certainly presented a great contrast to their methods. On one occasion
a family of five--father, mother, and three young lions--were the
aggressors. The Arab sheik, leading Monsieur Gerard to the river,
showed him by their footprints on the banks where this fearful family
were in the habit of coming to drink at night, but begged him not to
sacrifice himself to such fearful odds, and either to return to the
camp, or to take some of the tribe with him. Gerard declining both
suggestions, the sheik was obliged to leave, as night was at hand, and
the lions might appear at any moment. First he came near the hunter,
and spoke these words low: 'Listen, I have a counsel to give thee. Be
on thy guard against the Lord of the Mighty Head; he will lead the
way. If thy hour has come, he will kill thee, and the others will eat
thee.' Coming still nearer the sheik whispered: '_He_ has stolen my
best mare and ten oxen.' 'Who? who has stolen them?' asked Monsieur
Gerard. '_He_,' and the sheik pointed for further answer to the
mountain. 'But name him, name the thief.' The answer was so low as to
be barely audible: 'The Lord of the Mighty Head,' and with this
ominous counsel the sheik departed, leaving Gerard to his vigil.
As the night advanced the moon appeared, and lit up the narrow ravine.
Judging by its position in the heavens it might be eleven o'clock,
when the tramp of many feet was heard approaching, and several
luminous points of reddish light were seen glittering through the
thicket. The lions were advancing in single file, and the lights were
their gleaming eyes. Instead of five there were only three, and the
leader, though of formidable dimensions, did not come up to the
description of the Lord of the Mighty Head. All three stopped to gaze
in wonder at the man who dared to put himself in their path. Gerard
took aim at the shoulder of the leader and fired. A fearful roar
announced that the shot had told, and the wounded lion began painfully
dragging himself towards his assailant, while the other two slunk away
into the wood. He had got to within three paces when a second shot
sent him rolling down into the bed of the stream. Again he returned to
the charge, but a third ball right in the eye laid him dead. It was a
fine, large, young lion of three years, with formidable teeth and
claws. As agreed upon with the sheik, Monsieur Gerard immediately
lit a bonfire in token of his victory, in answer to which shots were
fired to communicate the good news to all the surrounding district. At
break of day two hundred Arabs arrived to insult their fallen enemy,
the sheik being the first to appear, with his congratulations, but
also with the information that at the same hour that the young lion
had been shot, the Lord of the Mighty Head had come down and taken
away an ox. These devastations went on unchecked for more than a year,
one man alone, Lakdar by name, being robbed of forty-five sheep, a
mare, and twenty-nine oxen. Finally he lost heart, and sent to beg
Monsieur Gerard to come back and deliver him if possible of his
tormentor. For some nights the lion made no sign, but on the
thirteenth evening Lakdar arrived at the lion-hunter's camp, saying:
'The black bull is missing from the herd; to-morrow morning I shall
find his remains and thou wilt slay the lion for me.'
[Illustration: 'ALL THREE STOPPED TO GAZE AT THE MAN WHO DARED TO
PUT HIMSELF IN THEIR PATH']
Accordingly next morning at dawn Lakdar returned to announce that he
had found the dead bull. Gerard rose and, taking his gun, followed the
Arab. Through the densest of the forest they went, till at the foot of
a narrow rocky ravine, close to some large olive trees, they found the
partially devoured carcase. Monsieur Gerard cut some branches the
better to conceal himself, and took up his position under one of the
olive trees, there to await the approach of night, and with it the
return of the lion to the spoil. Towards eight o'clock, when the
feeble light of the new moon barely penetrated into the little glade,
a branch was heard to crack at some distance. The lion-hunter rose
and, shouldering his weapon, prepared to do battle. From about thirty
paces distant came a low growl, and then a guttural sound, a sign of
hunger with the lion, then silence, and presently an enormous lion
stalked from the thicket straight towards the bull, and began licking
it. At this moment Monsieur Gerard fired, and struck the lion within
about an inch of his left eye. Roaring with pain, he reared himself
up on end, when a second bullet right in the chest laid him on his
back, frantically waving his huge paws in the air. Quickly reloading,
Monsieur Gerard came close to the helpless monster, and while he was
raising his great head from the ground fired two more shots, which
laid the lion stone dead, and thus brought to an end the career of the
'Lord of the Mighty Head.'
_BUILDERS AND WEAVERS_
No one can examine birds and their ways for long together without
being struck by the wonderful neatness and cleverness of their
proceedings. They make use of a great many different kinds of
materials for their nests, and manage somehow to turn out a nest which
not only will hold eggs, but is strong and of a pretty shape. Rotten
twigs are, curiously enough, what they love best for the outside, and
upon the twigs various substances are laid, according to the species
and taste of the builder. The jay, for instance, collects roots and
twists them into a firm mass, which he lays upon the twigs; the
American starling uses tough wet rushes and coarse grass, and after
they are matted together, somehow ties the nest on to reeds or a bush;
while the missel thrush lines the casing of twigs with tree moss, or
even hay. To these they often add tufts of wool, and lichen, and the
whole is fastened together by a kind of clay. The favourite spot
chosen by the missel thrush is the fork of a tree in an orchard, where
lichens are large and plentiful enough to serve as a covering for the
nests.
Still, if the account given by Vaillant and Paterson is true, the
sociable grosbeaks surpass all the other birds in skill and invention.
They have been known to cover the trunks of trees with a huge kind of
fluted umbrella, made of dry, fine grass, with the boughs of the trees
poking through in various places. No doubt in the beginning the nest
was not so large, but it is the custom of these birds to live
together in clans, and each year fresh 'rooms' have to be added. When
examined, the bird city was found to have many gates and regular
streets of nests, each about two inches distant from the other. The
structure was made of 'Boshman's' grass alone, but so tightly woven
together that no rain could get through. The nests were all tucked in
under the roof, which, by projecting, formed eaves, thus keeping the
birds warm and dry. Sometimes the umbrella has been known to contain
as many as three hundred separate nests, so it is no wonder that the
tree at last breaks down with the weight, and the city has to be
founded again elsewhere.
Now in the nests of all these birds there has been a good deal of what
we called 'building' and 'carpentry' when we are talking of our own
houses and our own trades. But there are a whole quantity of birds
spread over the world, who are almost exclusively weavers, and can
form nests which hang down from the branch of a tree without any
support. To this class belongs the Indian sparrow, which prefers to
build in the tops of the very highest trees (especially on the Indian
fig) and particularly on those growing by the river-side. He weaves
together tough grass in the form of a bottle, and hangs it from a
branch, so that it rocks to and fro, like a hammock. The Indian
sparrow, which is easily tamed, does not like always to live with his
family, so he divides his nest into two or three parts, and is careful
to place its entrance underneath, so that it may not attract the
notice of the birds of prey. In these nests glow-worms have frequently
been found, carefully fastened into a piece of fresh clay, but whether
the bird deliberately tries in this way to light up his dark nest, or
whether he has some other use for the glow-worm, has never been found
out. But it seems quite certain that he does not _eat_ it, as Sir
William Jones once supposed.
The Indian sparrow is a very clever little bird, and can be taught to
do all sorts of tricks. He will catch a ring that is dropped into one
of the deep Indian wells, before it reaches the water. He can pick the
gold ornament neatly off the forehead of a young Hindu woman, or carry
a note to a given place like a carrier pigeon. At least so it is said;
but then very few people have even a bowing acquaintance with the
Indian sparrow.
_'MORE FAITHFUL THAN FAVOURED'_