seem as a rule to be as motiveless as the likes and dislikes of human
beings. Till they are tamed and treated kindly by some particular
person, elephants show a decided objection to human beings, and in
Ceylon have a greater repugnance to a white skin than to a brown one.
In fact, they are shy of anything new or strange, but will put up with
any animal to which they are accustomed. Elks, pigs, deer, and
buffaloes are their feeding companions, and the elephants take no more
notice of their presence than if they were so many canaries. Indeed,
as far as can be gathered, the elephant is much more afraid of the
little domestic animals with which it is quite unacquainted than of
the huge vegetable-eating beasts with which both it and its
forefathers were on intimate terms. Goats and sheep it eyes with
annoyance; they are new creatures, and were never seen in jungles or
forests; but, bad as they might be, dogs, the shadows of men, were
worse still. They were so quick, so lively, and had such hideous high
voices, which they were always using, not keeping them for special
occasions like any self-respecting quadruped. Really they might almost
as well be parrots with their incessant chatter. But of all kinds of
dogs, surely the one called a Scotch terrier was the most alarming and
detestable. One day an animal of this species actually seized the
trunk of an elephant in its teeth, and the elephant was so surprised
and frightened that it fell on its knees at once. At this the dog was
a little frightened too, and let go, but recovered itself again as the
elephant rose slowly to its feet, and prepared to charge afresh. The
elephant, not knowing what to make of it, backed in alarm, hitting out
at the dog with its front paws, but taking care to keep his wounded
trunk well beyond its reach. At last, between fright and annoyance he
lost his head completely, and would have fairly run away if the keeper
had not come in and put a stop to the dog's fun.
If AEsop had known elephants--or Scotch terriers--he might have made a
fable out of this; but they had not visited Greece in his day.
_BUNGEY_
From Jesse's _British Dogs_.
During the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James, there lived a brave
and accomplished knight called Sir John Harington, who had been
knighted on the field of battle by the famous Earl of Essex, and had
translated into English a long poem, by an Italian called Ariosto. But
busy though he was in so many ways, Sir John still had time to spare
for his 'raw dogge' Bungey, and in the year 1608 he writes a long
letter to Prince Henry, elder brother of Charles I., full of the
strange doings of his favourite. Bungey seems to have been used by Sir
John as a sort of carrier pigeon, and he tells how he would go from
Bath to Greenwich Palace, to 'deliver up to the cowrte there such
matters as were entrusted to his care.' The nobles of the court made
much of him, and sometimes gave him errands of their own, and it was
never told to their 'Ladie Queen, that this messenger did ever blab
ought concerning his highe truste, as others have done in more special
matters.' More wonderful even than this was his behaviour concerning
two sacks of wheat which Bungey had been commissioned by Sir John's
servant Combe, to carry from Bath to his own house at Kelston, a few
miles distant. The sacks were tied round the dog's body by cords, but
on the way the cords got loose, and Bungey, clever though he was,
could not tie them up again. However he was not to be beaten, and
hiding one 'flasket' in some bushes that grew near by, he bore the
other in his teeth to Kelston, and then returning, fetched the hidden
one out of the rushes and arrived with it in good time for dinner.
Sir John is plainly rather afraid that Prince Henry may not quite
believe this instance of sagacity, for he adds, 'Hereat your Highnesse
may perchance marvell and doubte; but we have living testimonie of
those who wroughte in the fields, and espied his work, and now live to
tell they did muche long to plaie the dogge, and give stowage to the
wine themselves, but they did refraine, and watchede the passinge of
this whole business.'
As may be well guessed, the fame of Bungey's talents soon spread, and
then, as now, there were many dog stealers in the country. On one
occasion, as Sir John was riding from Bath to London, Bungey was
tempted to leave his side by the sight of a pond swarming with wild
duck or mallard. Unluckily other people besides Bungey thought it good
sport to hunt wild fowl, and did not mind seizing valuable dogs, so
poor Bungey was caught and bound, till it could be settled who would
give the highest price for him.
At last his captors decided that they would take him to London, which
was not very far off, and trust to chance for finding a buyer. As it
happened, the Spanish Ambassador was on the look out for a dog of that
very kind, and he was so pleased with Bungey, that he readily agreed
to give the large sum asked by the men who brought him. Now Bungey was
a dog who always made the best of things, and as Sir John tells the
Prince, 'suche was the courte he did pay to the Don, that he was no
lesse in good likinge there than at home.' In fact, everybody grew so
fond of him, that when after six weeks Sir John discovered where he
was and laid claim to him, no one in the house could be prevailed on
to give him up. Poor Sir John, who, as we know, was very much attached
to Bungey, was at his wit's end what to do, when it suddenly occurred
to him to let the dog himself prove who was his real master. So,
having the Ambassador's leave to what he wished in the matter, he
called all the company together at dinner-time and bade Bungey go
into the hall where dinner was already served, and bring a pheasant
from the dish. This, as Sir John says, 'created much mirthe; but much
more, when he returned at my commandment to the table, and put it
again in the same cover.' After such a proof there was no more to be
said, and Sir John was allowed to be the dog's master. But Bungey's
life was not destined to be a very long one, and his death was strange
and sudden. As he and his master were once more on the road from
London to Bath on their return journey, he began jumping up on the
horse's neck, and 'was more earneste in fawninge and courtinge my
notice, than what I had observed for time backe; and after my chidinge
his disturbing my passinge forwardes, he gave me some glances of such
affection as moved me to cajole him; but alas! he crept suddenly into
a thorny brake, and died in a short time.'
[Illustration: BUNGEY AT THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR'S HOUSE]
It is impossible to guess what kind of illness caused the death of
poor Bungey, but it is pleasant to think that Sir John never forgot
him, and also loved to talk of him to his friends. 'Now let Ulysses
praise his dogge Argus,' he writes to Prince Henry, 'or Tobit be led
by that dogge whose name doth not appear; yet could I say such things
of my Bungey as might shame them both, either for good faith, clear
wit, or wonderful deedes; to say no more than I have said of his
bearing letters to London and Greenwich, more than a hundred miles. As
I doubt not but your Highness would love my dogge, if not myselfe, I
have been thus tedious in his storie; and again saie, that of all the
dogges near your father's courte, not one hathe more love, more
diligence to please, or less paye for pleasinge, than him I write of.'
_LIONS AND THEIR WAYS_
Bingley's _Animal Biography_.
Although it would not be safe to put one's self into the power of a
lion, trusting to its generosity to make friends, there are a great
many stories of the kindness of lions to other creatures which are
perfectly true. One day, more than a hundred years ago, a lion cub
only three months old was caught in one of the great forests near the
river Senegal, and brought to a Frenchman as a gift. The Frenchman,
who was fond of animals, undertook to train it, and as the cub was
very gentle and quiet this was easily done. He soon grew very fond of
his master, and enjoyed being petted both by him and his friends, and
what was more strange in a beast whose forefathers had passed all
their lives in solitude, the lion hated being by himself. The more the
merrier was clearly _his_ motto, and whether the company consisted of
dogs, cats, ducks, sheep, geese, or monkeys (which were his
bedfellows), or men and women, did not matter to him; and you may
imagine his joy, when one night as he went to bed he found two little
new-born pups in his straw. He was quite as pleased as if he had been
their mother; indeed he would hardly let the mother go near them, and
when one of them died, he showed his grief in every possible way, and
became still more attached to its brother.
After six months the lion, now more than a year old, was sent off to
France, still with the little pup for company. At first his keepers
thought that the strangeness of everything would make him frightened
and savage, but he took it quite calmly and was soon allowed to roam
about the ship as he pleased. Even when he landed at Havre, he only
had a rope attached to his collar, and so he was brought to
Versailles, the pup trotting happily by his side. Unfortunately,
however, the climate of Europe did not agree with the dog as with the
lion, for he gradually wasted away and died, to the terrible grief of
his friend. Indeed he was so unhappy that another dog was put into the
cage to make up for the lost one, but this dog was not used to lions,
and only knew that they were said to be savage beasts, so he tried to
hide himself. The lion, whose sorrow, as often happens, only made him
irritable and cross, was provoked by the dog's want of confidence in
his kindness, and just gave him one pat with his paw which killed him
on the spot. But he still continued so sad, that the keepers made
another effort, and this time the dog behaved with more sense, and
coaxed the lion into making friends. The two lived happily together
for many years, and the lion recovered some of his spirits, but he
never forgot his first companion, or was quite the same lion again.
[Illustration: 'THE HOTTENTOT NOTICED A HUGE LION LYING IN THE
WATER']
Many hundreds of miles south of Senegal a Hottentot who lived in
Namaqualand was one evening driving down a herd of his master's
cattle, to drink in a pool of water, which was fenced in by two steep
walls of rock. It had been a particularly hot summer, and water was
scarce, so the pool was lower than usual, and it was not until the
whole herd got close to the brink, that the Hottentot noticed a huge
lion, lying right in the water, preparing to spring. The Hottentot,
thinking as well as his fright would let him think at all, that
anything would serve as supper for the lion, dashed straight through
the herd, and made as fast as he could for some trees at a little
distance. But a low roar behind him told him that he had been wrong in
his calculations, and that the lion was of opinion that man was nicer
than bull. So he fled along as quickly as his trembling legs would let
him, and just reached one of the tree aloes in which some steps had
been cut by the natives, as the lion bounded into the air. However the
man swung himself out of his enemy's range, and the lion fell flat
upon the ground. Now the branches of the tree were covered with
hundreds of nests of a kind of bird called the Sociable Grosbeak, and
it was to get these nests that the natives had cut in the smooth trunk
the steps which had proved the salvation of the Hottentot. Behind the
shelter of the nests the Hottentot cowered, hoping that when he was no
longer seen, the lion would forget him and go in search of other prey.
But the lion seemed inclined to do nothing of the sort. For a long
while he walked round and round the tree, and when he got tired of
that he lay down, resolved to tire the man out. The Hottentot hearing
no sound, peeped cautiously out, to see if his foe was still there,
and almost tumbled down in terror to meet the eyes of the lion glaring
into his. So the two remained all through the night and through the
next day, but when sunset came again the lion could bear his dreadful
thirst no longer, and trotted off to the nearest spring to drink. Then
the Hottentot saw his chance, and leaving his hiding place he ran like
lightning to his home, which was only a mile distant. But the lion did
not yield without a struggle; and traces were afterwards found of his
having returned to the tree, and then scented the man to within three
hundred yards of his hut.
_THE HISTORY OF JACKO I._
The ship 'Roxalana' of Marseilles lay anchored in the Bay of Loando,
which as we all know is situated in South Guinea. The 'Roxalana' was a
merchant vessel, and a brisk traffic had been going on for some time
with the exchange of the European goods with which the ship had been
laden, for ivory and other native produce. All hands were very busy
getting on board the various provisions and other stores needed for a
long voyage, for it was in the days of sailing vessels only, and it
would be some time before they could hope to return to Marseilles.
Now the captain of the 'Roxalana' was a mighty hunter, and seeing that
all was going on well under the first officer's direction, he took his
gun and a holiday and went up country for one more day's sport.
He was as successful as he was brave, and he had the great good luck
to meet a tiger, a young hippopotamus, and a boa constrictor. All
these terrible creatures fell before the unerring aim of the Provencal
Nimrod, and after so adventurous a morning's work the captain
naturally began to feel tired and hungry, so he sat down under the
shade of some trees to rest and have some lunch.
He drew a flask of rum out of one pocket, and having uncorked it
placed it on his right side; from his other pocket he produced a huge
guava, which he laid on his left side, and finally he drew a great
wedge of ship biscuit from his game bag and put it between his knees.
Then he took out his tobacco pouch and began to fill his pipe so as
to have it ready at hand when he had finished his meal.
[Illustration: ANNOYANCE OF THE CAPTAIN ON FINDING HIS FLASK OF RUM
UPSET]
Imagine his surprise when, having filled his pipe, he found the flask
had been upset and the guava had disappeared!
I am afraid the captain made use of some very strong language, but
there was nothing for it but to make the best of the biscuit, the sole
relic of his feast. As he munched it he warily turned his head from
side to side, watching for the thief, when all of a sudden something
fell upon his head. The captain put up his hand and found--the skin of
his guava. Then he raised his eyes and saw a monkey dancing for joy at
his own pranks in the tree just above him.
As I have already shown the captain was an excellent shot. Without
stirring from his seat, he took up his gun and with a shot snapped the
end of the branch on which his persecutor was sitting.
Down came branch and monkey, and the captain at once captured the
latter before it had time to recover from the surprise of its rapid
fall.
He was small and quite young, only half grown, but of a rather rare
kind, as the captain, who had an ever-ready eye to the main chance, at
once perceived.
'Ah ha!' said he, 'this little fellow will be worth fifty francs if
he's worth a farthing by the time we get back to Marseilles.'
So saying he popped the monkey into his game-bag and buttoned it
carefully up. Then, feeling that a piece of biscuit was not quite a
sufficient lunch after the fatigues of his morning's sports, he
retraced his steps and returned to his ship in company with his
monkey, whom he named 'Jacko.'
Before leaving Loando the captain, who was fond of pets, bought a
beautiful white cockatoo with a saffron crest and jet black beak.
'Cataqua' (that was his harmonious name) was indeed a lovely creature
and extremely accomplished into the bargain. He spoke French,
English, and Spanish equally well, and sang 'God save the King,' the
'Marseillaise,' and the Spanish National Anthem with great perfection.
The aptitude for languages made him a ready pupil, and his vocabulary
was largely increased by daily association with the crew of the
'Roxalana,' so that before they had been very long at sea Cataqua
swore freely in the purest Provencal, to the delight and admiration of
his captain.
The captain was very fond of his two pets, and every morning, after
inspecting the crew and giving each man his orders for the day, he
would go up to Cataqua's cage, followed by Jacko, and give the
cockatoo a lesson. When this was well said he would reward his pupil
by sticking a lump of sugar between the wires of the cage, a reward
which delighted Cataqua whilst it filled Jacko with jealousy.
He too loved sugar, and the moment the captain's back was turned he
would draw near the cage and pull and pinch till the lump of sugar
generally changed its destination, to the despair of Cataqua, who,
crest erect and with brandished claw, rent the air with shrieks of
rage mingled with angry oaths.
Jacko meanwhile stood by affecting an innocent air and gently sucking
the sugar which he had stowed away in one of his pouches. Unluckily
none of Cataqua's owners had taught him to cry 'stop thief' and he
soon realised that if Jacko were to be punished he must see to it
himself.
So one day, when the monkey after safely abstracting the sugar pushed
a paw between the bars of the cage to gather up some remaining crumbs,
Cataqua, who was gently swinging, head down, and apparently
unconscious of what was going on, suddenly caught Jacko's thumb in his
beak and bit it to the bone.
Jacko uttered a piercing shriek, rushed to the rigging and climbed as
far as he could, when he paused, clinging on by three paws and
piteously brandishing the fourth in the air.
Dinner-time came, and the captain whistled for Jacko, but contrary to
all customs no Jacko came. The captain whistled again, and this time
he thought he heard an answering sound which seemed to come from the
sky. He raised his eyes and beheld Jacko still waving his injured paw.
Then began an exchange of signals, with the result that Jacko firmly
refused to come down. Now the captain had trained his crew to habits
of implicit obedience and had no notion of having his orders resisted
by a monkey, so he took his speaking trumpet and called for Double
Mouth.
Double Mouth was the cook's boy, and he had well earned his nickname
by the manner in which he took advantage of his culinary position to
make one meal before the usual dinner hour without its interfering in
the least with his enjoyment of a second at the proper time. At the
captain's call Double Mouth climbed on deck from the cook's galley and
timidly approached his chief.
The captain, who never wasted words on his subordinates, pointed to
Jacko, and Double Mouth at once began to give chase with an activity
which proved that the captain had chosen well. As a matter of fact
Jacko and Double Mouth were dear friends, the bond of sympathy which
united them being one of greediness, for many a nice morsel Jacko had
to thank the cook's boy for. So when the monkey saw who was coming,
instead of trying to escape him he ran to meet him, and in a few
minutes the two friends, one in the other's arms, returned to the deck
where the captain awaited them.
The captain's one treatment for wounds of all kinds consisted of a
_compress_ steeped in some spirit, so he at once dipped a piece of rag
in rum and bandaged the patient's thumb with it. The sting of the
alcohol on the wound made Jacko dance with pain, but noticing that
the moment the captain's back was turned Double Mouth rapidly
swallowed the remains of the liquid in which the rag had been dipped,
he realised that however painful as a dressing it might possibly be
agreeable to the palate. He stretched out his tongue and very
delicately touched the bandage with its tip. It was certainly rather
nice, and he licked more boldly. By degrees the taste grew on him, and
he ended by putting his thumb, bandage and all, into his mouth and
sucking it bodily.
The result was that (the captain having ordered the bandage to be
wetted every ten minutes) by the end of a couple of hours Jacko began
to blink and to roll his head, and as the treatment continued he had
at length to be carried off by Double Mouth, who laid him on his own
bed.
Jacko slept without stirring for some hours. When he woke the first
thing which met his eyes was Double Mouth busy plucking a fowl. This
was a new sight, but Jacko seemed to be particularly struck by it on
this occasion. He got up from the bed and came near, his eyes steadily
fixed on the fowl, and carefully watched how the whole operation
proceeded. When it was ended, feeling his head a little heavy still,
he went on deck to take the air.
The weather was so settled and the wind so favourable that the captain
thought it only a waste to keep the poultry on board alive too long,
so he gave orders that a bird should be served daily for his dinner in
addition to his usual rations. Soon after a great cackling was heard
amongst the hencoops and Jacko climbed down from the yard where he was
perched at such a rate that one might have thought he was hastening to
the rescue. He tore into the kitchen, where he found Double Mouth
already plucking a newly killed fowl, till not an atom of down was
left on it.
Jacko showed the deepest interest in the process, and on returning to
deck he, for the first time since his accident, approached Cataqua's
cage, carefully keeping beyond range of his beak however. After
strolling several times round, he at last seized a favourable moment
and clutching hold of one of Cataqua's tail feathers, pulled hard till
it came out regardless of the cockatoo's screams and flappings. This
trifling experiment caused Jacko the greatest delight, and he fell to
dancing on all fours, jumping up and falling back on the same spot
which all his life was the way in which he showed his supreme content
about anything.
Meantime the ship had long lost sight of land and was in full sail in
mid ocean. It appeared unnecessary to the captain, therefore, to keep
his cockatoo shut up in a cage, so he opened the door and released the
prisoner, there being no means of escaping beyond the ship. Cataqua
instantly took advantage of his freedom to climb to the top of one of
the masts, where, with every appearance of rapture, he proceeded to
regale the ship's company with his entire large and varied vocabulary,
making quite as much noise by himself as all the five-and-twenty
sailors who formed his audience.
Whilst this exhibition was taking place on deck a different scene was
being enacted below. Jacko had as usual approached Double Mouth at
plucking time, but this time the lad, who had noticed the extreme
attention with which the monkey watched him, thought that possibly
there might be some latent talent in him which it was a pity not to
develop.
Double Mouth was one of those prompt and energetic persons who waste
no time between an idea and its execution. Accordingly he quietly
closed the door, put a whip into his pocket in case of need, and
handed Jacko the duck he was about to pluck, adding a significant
touch to the handle of the whip as a hint.
But Jacko needed neither hint nor urging. Without more ado he took the
duck, placed it between his knees as he had seen his tutor do, and
fell to with a will. As he found the feathers giving place to down
and the down to skin, he became quite enthusiastic, so much so that
when his task was done he fell to dancing for joy exactly as he had
done the day before by Cataqua's cage.
Double Mouth was overjoyed for his part. He only regretted not having
utilised Jacko's talents sooner, but he determined to do so regularly
in the future. Next day the same operation took place, and on the
third day, Double Mouth, recognising Jacko's genius, took off his own
apron and tied it round his pupil, to whom from that moment he
resigned the charge of preparing the poultry for the spit. Jacko
showed himself worthy of the confidence placed in him, and by the end
of a week he had quite distanced his teacher in skill and quickness.
Meantime the ship was nearing the Equator. It was a peculiarly sultry
day, when the very sky seemed to sink beneath its own weight; not a
creature was on deck but the man at the helm and Cataqua in the
shrouds. The captain had flung himself into his hammock and was
smoking his pipe whilst Double Mouth fanned him with a peacock's tail.
Even Jacko seemed overcome by the heat, and instead of plucking his
fowl as usual, he had placed it on a chair, taken off his apron, and
appeared lost in slumber or meditation.
His reverie, however, did not last long. He opened his eyes, glanced
round him, picked up a feather which he first stuck carelessly in his
mouth and then dropped, and at length began to slowly climb the ladder
leading on deck, pausing and loitering at each step. He found the deck
deserted, which apparently pleased him, as he gave two or three little
jumps whilst he glanced about to look for Cataqua, who with much
gesticulation was singing 'God save the King' at the top of his voice.
Then Jacko seemed to forget his rival's existence altogether, and
began lazily to climb the rigging on the opposite side, where he
indulged in various exercises, swinging by his tail head down, and
generally appearing to have only come with a view to gymnastics. At
length, seeing that Cataqua took no notice of him, he quietly sidled
that way, and at the very moment that the performance of the English
National Anthem was at its height, he seized the singer firmly with
his left hand just where the wings join the body.
Cataqua uttered a wild note of terror, but no one was sufficiently
awake to hear it.