“In the first round, Tinker and Ball were let loose, and both made a
gallant attack; the lion having waited for them as if aware of the
approach of his foes. He showed himself a forest lion, and fought like
one. He clapped his paw upon poor Ball, took Tinker in his teeth, and
deliberately walked round the stage with him as a cat would with a
mouse. Ball, released from the paw, worked all he could, but Wallace
treated his slight punishment by a kick now and then. He at length
dropped Tinker, and that poor animal crawled off the stage as well as he
could. The lion then seized Ball by the mouth, and played precisely the
same game with him as if he had actually been trained to it. Ball would
have been almost devoured, but his second got hold of him through the
bars, and hauled him away. Turpin, a London, and Sweep, a Liverpool dog,
made an excellent attack, but it was three or four minutes before the
ingenuity of their seconds could get them on. Wallace squatted on his
haunches, and placed himself erect at the slope where the dogs mounted
the stage, as if he thought they dared not approach. The dogs, when on,
fought gallantly; but both were vanquished in less than a minute after
their attack. The London dog bolted as soon as he could extricate
himself from the lion’s grasp, but Sweep would have been killed on the
spot, but he was released. Wedgbury untied Billy and Tiger, casting a
most piteous look upon the wounded dogs around him. Both went to work.
Wallace seized Billy by the loins, and when shaking him, Tiger having
run away, Wedgbury cried out, ‘There, you see how you’ve gammoned me to
have the best dog in England killed.’ Billy, however, escaped with his
life; he was dragged through the railing, after having received a mark
in the loins, which (if he recovers at all) will probably render him
unfit for any future contest. The victory of course was declared in
favour of the lion.--Several well-dressed women viewed the contest from
the upper apartment of the factory.”--_Women!_
_Lion Fights in England._
It is more than two hundred years since an attempt has been made in
this country to fight a lion against dogs. In the time of James I., the
exhibition took place for the amusement of the court. Those who are
curious on the subject, will find in “Seymour’s Survey,” a description
of an experiment of that nature, in 1610. Two lions and a bear were
first put into a pit together, but they agreed perfectly well, and
disappointed the royal spectators in not assaulting each other. A
high-spirited horse was then put in with them, but neither the bear nor
the lions attacked him. Six mastiffs were next let loose, but they
directed all their fury against the horse, flew upon it, and would have
torn it in pieces, but for the interference of the bear-wards, who went
into the pit, and drew the dogs away, the lions and bear remaining
unconcerned. Your profound antiquarian will vouch for the truth of this
narration, but it goes a very little way to establish the fact of an
actual fight between a lion and dogs. Perhaps an extract from _Stow’s
Annals_ may be more satisfactory. It is an account of a contest stated
to have taken place in the presence of James I., and his son, prince
Henry. “One of the dogs being put into the den, was soon disabled by the
lion, who took him by the head and neck, and dragged him about. Another
dog was then let loose, and served in the same manner; but the third
being put in, immediately seized the lion by the lip, and held him for a
considerable time; till being severely torn by his claws, the dog was
obliged to quit his hold; and the lion, greatly exhausted by the
conflict, refused to renew the engagement; but, taking a sudden leap
over the dogs, fled into the interior of his den. Two of the dogs soon
died of their wounds; the third survived, and was taken great care of by
the prince, who said, ‘he that had fought with the king of beasts should
never after fight with an inferior creature.’”[218]
_Lion Fight at Vienna._
There was a lion fight at the amphitheatre of Vienna, in the summer of
1790, which was almost the last permitted in that capital.
The amphitheatre at Vienna embraced an area of from eighty to a hundred
feet in diameter. The lower part of the structure comprised the dens of
the different animals. Above those dens, and about ten feet from the
ground, were the first and principal seats, over which were galleries.
In the course of the entertainment, a den was opened, out of which
stalked, in free and ample range, a most majestic lion; and, soon after,
a fallow deer was let into the circus from another den. The deer
instantly fled, and bounded round the circular space, pursued by the
lion; but the quick and sudden turnings of the former continually
baulked the effort of its pursuer. After this ineffectual chase had
continued for several minutes, a door was opened, through which the deer
escaped; and presently five or six of the large and fierce Hungarian
mastiffs were sent in. The lion, at the moment of their entrance, was
leisurely returning to his den, the door of which stood open. The dogs,
which entered behind him, flew towards him in a body, with the utmost
fury, making the amphitheatre ring with their barkings. When they
reached the lion, the noble animal stopped, and deliberately turned
towards them. The dogs instantly retreated a few steps, increasing their
vociferations, and the lion slowly resumed his progress towards his den.
The dogs again approached; the lion turned his head; his adversaries
halted; and this continued until, on his nearing his den, the dogs
separated, and approached him on different sides. The lion then turned
quickly round, like one whose dignified patience could brook the
harrassment of insolence no longer. The dogs fled far, as if
instinctively sensible of the power of wrath they had at length
provoked. One unfortunate dog, however, which had approached too near to
effect his escape, was suddenly seized by the paw of the lion; and the
piercing yells which he sent forth quickly caused his comrades to recede
to the door of entrance at the opposite site of the area, where they
stood in a row, barking and yelling in concert with their miserable
associate.
After arresting the struggling and yelling prisoner for a short time,
the lion couched upon him with his forepaws and mouth. The struggles of
the sufferer grew feebler and feebler, until at length he became
perfectly motionless. We all concluded him to be dead. In this composed
posture of executive justice, the lion remained for at least ten
minutes, when he majestically rose, and with a slow step entered his
den, and disappeared. The apparent corpse continued to lie motionless
for a few minutes; presently the dog, to his amazement, and that of the
whole amphitheatre, found himself alive, and rose with his nose pointed
to the ground, his tail between his hind legs pressing his belly, and,
as soon as he was certified of his existence, he made off for the door
in a long trot, through which he escaped with his more fortunate
companions.[219]
_Another Lion Fight at Vienna._
Of late years the truth of the accounts which have been so long current,
respecting the generous disposition of the lion, have been called in
question. Several travellers, in their accounts of Asia and Africa,
describe him as of a more rapacious and sanguinary disposition than had
formerly been supposed, although few of them have had the opportunity to
make him a particular object of their attention.
A circumstance that occurred not long since in Vienna seems, however, to
confirm the more ancient accounts. In the year 1791, at which period the
custom of baiting wild beasts still existed in that city, a combat was
to be exhibited between a lion and a number of large dogs. As soon as
the noble animal made his appearance, four large bull-dogs were turned
loose upon him, three of which, however, as soon as they came near him,
took fright, and ran away. One only had courage to remain, and make the
attack. The lion, however, without rising from the ground upon which he
was lying, showed him, by a single stroke with his paw, how greatly his
superior he was in strength; for the dog was instantly stretched
motionless on the ground. The lion drew him towards him, and laid his
fore-paws upon him in such a manner that only a small part of his body
could be seen. Every one imagined that the dog was dead, and that the
lion would soon rise and devour him. But they were mistaken. The dog
began to move, and struggled to get loose, which the lion permitted him
to do. He seemed merely to have warned him not to meddle with him any
more; but when the dog attempted to run away, and had already got half
over the enclosure, the lion’s indignation seemed to be excited. He
sprang from the ground, and in two leaps reached the fugitive, who had
just got as far as the paling, and was whining to have it opened for him
to escape. The flying animal had called the instinctive propensity of
the monarch of the forest into action: the defenceless enemy now excited
his pity; for the generous lion stepped a few paces backward, and looked
quietly on, while a small door was opened to let the dog out of the
enclosure.
This unequivocal trait of generosity moved every spectator. A shout of
applause resounded throughout the assembly, who had enjoyed a
satisfaction of a description far superior to what they had expected.
It is possible that the African lion, when, under the impulse of hunger,
he goes out to seek his prey, may not so often exhibit this magnanimous
disposition; for in that case he is compelled by imperious necessity to
satisfy the cravings of nature; but when his appetite is satiated, he
never seeks for prey, nor does he ever destroy to gratify a
blood-thirsty disposition.[220]
_A Man killed by a Lion._
Under the reign of Augustus, king of Poland and elector of Saxony, a
lion was kept in the menagerie at Dresden, between whom and his
attendant such a good understanding subsisted, that the latter used not
to lay the food which he brought to him before the grate, but carried it
into his cage. Generally the man wore a green jacket; and a considerable
time had elapsed, during which the lion had always appeared very
friendly and grateful whenever he received a visit from him.
Once the keeper, having been to church to receive the sacrament, had put
on a black coat, as is usual in that country upon such occasions, and he
still wore it when he gave the lion his dinner. The unusual appearance
of the black coat excited the lion’s rage; he leapt at his keeper, and
struck his claws into his shoulder. The man spoke to him gently, when
the well-known tone of his voice brought the lion in some degree to
recollection. Doubt appeared expressed in his terrific features;
however, he did not quit his hold. An alarm was raised: the wife and
children ran to the place with shrieks of terror. Soon some grenadiers
of the guard arrived, and offered to shoot the animal, as there seemed,
in this critical moment, to be no other means of extricating the man
from him; but the keeper, who was attached to the lion, begged them not
to do it, as he hoped he should be able to extricate himself at a less
expense. For nearly a quarter of an hour, he capitulated with his
enraged friend, who still would not let go his hold, but shook his mane,
lashed his sides with his tail, and rolled his fiery eyes. At length the
man felt himself unable to sustain the weight of the lion, and yet any
serious effort to extricate himself would have been at the immediate
hazard of his life. He therefore desired the grenadiers to fire, which
they did through the grate, and killed the lion on the spot; but in the
same moment, perhaps only by a convulsive dying grasp, he squeezed the
keeper between his powerful claws with such force, that he broke his
arms, ribs, and spine; and they both fell down dead together.[221]
_A Woman killed by a Lion._
In the beginning of the last century, there was in the menagerie at
Cassel, a lion that showed an astonishing degree of tameness towards the
woman that had the care of him. This went so far, that the woman, in
order to amuse the company that came to see the animal, would often
rashly place not only her hand, but even her head, between his
tremendous jaws. She had frequently performed this experiment without
suffering any injury; but having once introduced her head into the
lion’s mouth, the animal made a sudden snap, and killed her on the spot.
Undoubtedly, this catastrophe was unintentional on the part of the lion;
for probably at the fatal moment the hair of the woman’s head irritated
the lion’s throat, and compelled him to sneeze or cough; at least, this
supposition seems to be confirmed by what followed: for as soon as the
lion perceived that he had killed his attendant, the good-tempered,
grateful animal exhibited signs of the deepest melancholy, laid himself
down by the side of the dead body, which he would not suffer to be taken
from him, refused to take any food, and in a few days pined himself to
death.[222]
_The Lions in the Tower._
Lions, with other beasts of prey and curious animals presented to the
king of England, are committed to the Tower on their arrival, there to
remain in the custody of a keeper especially appointed to that office by
letters patent; he has apartments for himself, with an allowance of
sixpence a day, and a further sixpence a day for every lion and leopard.
Maitland says the office was usually filled by some person of
distinction and quality, and he instances the appointment of Robert
Marsfield, Esq., in the reign of king Henry VI.[223] It appears from the
patent rolls, that in 1382, Richard II. appointed John Evesham, one of
his valets, keeper of the lions, and one of the valets-at-arms in the
Tower of London, during pleasure. His predecessor was Robert
Bowyer.[224] Maitland supposes lions and leopards to have been the only
beasts kept there for many ages, except a white bear and an elephant in
the reign of Henry III. That monarch, on the 26th of February, 1256,
honoured the sheriff of London with the following precept:--“The King to
the Sheriffs of London, greeting: We command you, that of the farm of
our city ye cause, without delay, to be built at our Tower of London one
house of forty feet long, and twenty feet deep, for our Elephant.” Next
year, on the 11th of October, the king in like manner commanded the
sheriffs “to find for the said Elephant and his keeper such necessaries
as should be reasonable needful.” He had previously ordered them to
allow fourpence a day for keeping the white bear and his keeper; and the
sheriffs were royally favoured with an injunction to provide a muzzle
and an iron chain to hold the bear out of the water, and also a long and
strong cord to hold him while he washed himself in the Thames.
Stow relates, that James I., on a visit to the lion and lioness in the
Tower, caused a live lamb to be put into them; but they refused to harm
it, although the lamb in its innocence went close to them. An anecdote
equally striking was related to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ by an
individual whose friend, a few years ago, saw a young calf thrust into
the den of a lion abroad. The calf walked to the lion, and rubbed itself
against him as he lay; the lion looked, but did not move; the calf, by
thrusting its nose under the side of the lion, indicated a desire to
suck, and the lion then slowly rose and walked away, from mere
disinclination to be interfered with, but without the least expression
of resentment, although the calf continued to follow him.
On the 13th of August, 1731, a litter of young lions was whelped in the
Tower, from a lioness and lion whelped there six years before. In the
_Gentleman’s Magazine_ for February, 1739, there is an engraving of
Marco, a lion then in the Tower.
On the 6th of April, 1775, a lion was landed at the Tower, as a present
to his late majesty from Senegal. He was taken in the woods, out of a
snare, by a private soldier, who, being attacked by two natives that had
laid it, killed them both, and brought away the lion. The king ordered
his discharge for this act, and further rewarded him by a pension of
fifty pounds a year for life. On this fact, related in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ for that year, a correspondent inquires of Mr. Urban whether
“a lion’s whelp is an equivalent for the lives of two human creatures.”
To this question, reiterated by another, it is answered in the same
volume, with rectitude of principle and feeling, that “if the fact be
_true_, the person who recommended the soldier to his majesty’s notice,
must have considered the action in a military light only, and must
totally have overlooked the criminality of it in a moral sense. The
killing two innocent fellow-creatures, _unprovoked_, only to rob them of
the fruits of their ingenuity, can never surely be accounted
_meritorious_ in one who calls himself a christian. If it is not
_meritorious_, but contrary, the murderer was a very improper object to
be recommended as worthy to be rewarded by a humane and christian king.”
This settled the question, and the subject was not revived.