“A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye.”
“New birds, new flowers, new pleasures,” I murmur as my vision widens
upon the, to me, new world of Arizona. A new delight indeed,
notwithstanding the often impressed fact that the old footpath-ways of
Ohio are, after many years, still but half discovered countries. But
’tis human, this desire for novelty, and I am not at all in advance of
my fellow kindred in arriving at that stage of blessed content which we
see expressed upon every side of us in the lives of the lesser (?)
creatures who abide without unrest until compelled by the necessities of
necessity to “move on.” But I echo Richard Jefferies: “a fresh flower, a
fresh path-way, a fresh delight,” and am so far content; and, truly,
coming from the east of living greens, ’tis a new kingdom of somber
mountains and sandy desert at which I have arrived. To an imaginative
person it is a land filled with the echoes of a distant past, even now
but half heard and in my mind the golden glow of a day that is dead
enfolds the silent hills, a silence of grandeur, not of nature which is
here alive and keen to the fullest extent. With many other naturalists,
I agree that if one desires to learn the secrets of the field and
forest, one must go about singly and alone. There is something strange
about it too, while one person alone is allowed to see many of the inner
movements of wild life, when two or three are gathered together, they
seem to intimidate the wood folk to an unlimited extent.
But bird life in this far away territory, notwithstanding Dr. Charles
Abbott’s experience to the contrary, seems to me to be much more
companionable and less timid than in the more thickly populated east,
and also, bird curiosity is more noticeable than in those states where
generations of experience has obviated all desire for any close scrutiny
or investigation of that queer biped without feathers. One has only to
sit silent and quiet for a few moments to have his ornithological
interest aroused by numerous visitors, who, with impatient “chips” and
“twits” question his presence among them. While Gila county makes up her
quota of song birds in quantity, she lacks something in decorative
quality, at least so far as coloring of plumage is concerned. There is
no question but what the very arid atmosphere of this section is not
without its marked effect upon feather coloring, and on account of this
dullness of plumage, I was at first unable to classify numbers of birds
who were perfectly familiar to me in Ohio. Birds like the blue jay lose
much of the metallic gorgeousness of their plumage and are under a veil
as it were, showing a dull, bluish gray. The blackbirds also are
decidedly rusty in appearance, hardly holding their own with the great
glossy ravens (Corvus principalis) who have so adapted themselves to
civilization as to have become almost a necessity as purveyors of edible
refuse and debris which accumulates in such abundance about the abodes
of mankind, who are supposedly the most hygienic and cleanly of all
creatures, but whose abiding places ‘au natural’ present an unsightly
spectacle in comparison with the nests of birds, but of course it is
because our requirements are so much greater, and education has
developed a love of “accumulations” among us, herein must lie all blame.
But we “progress” or so we have determined.
However, I never see these dignified crows of stately motion moving
about without remembering Virgil’s:
“The crow with clamorous cries the shower demands,
And single stalks along the desert sands.”
But in Arizona his demand for showers is vain, for the absence of the
“rain maker” is her greatest deficit.
To return to the atmospheric or arid effect upon color, I fail to
understand why the bleaching process is so observable in feathers, yet
the most brilliant and tropical coloring predominates in the flora. Does
the plant world absorb all of the richest coloring matter of the
sunlight, or do they possess an antidote to the alkaline properties of
the air? Is atmospheric moisture that is not obtainable necessary in
feather coloring? Some of the plants here are sufficient unto
themselves, brewing their own sustenance as it were, as I have seen the
Bisnaga, sometimes called “Well of the Desert” in which a deep hole had
been cut, produce in a short time at least a cup full of watery liquid,
which is very invigorating to the thirsty traveler, and growing, too, in
a sand as dry as powder, there not having been a drop of rain near it in
months, if not years, and dew an unknown quantity. This liquor seems
necessary for the full fruition of the rich, yellow flower, so carefully
guarded by immense fish-hook spines or barbs that is such efficient
protection to this species of cacti. As effectual is this protection as
is the venomous reputation of that much maligned saurian, the Gila
monster (Heloderma suspectum), which is not one-half so bad as his looks
would imply, but he is formidable in appearance when he puffs forth his
breath like a miniature steam engine and at the same time emits a
greenish saliva from his mouth, which is to say the least a forbidding
performance, but I really believe him to be comparatively harmless, for
after considerable acquaintance with his habits, I have only learned of
one person being bitten by this reptile, and that was a man who was
drunk and insisted upon tickling the Gila monster on the mouth and was
bitten for his pains. The reptile had to be killed before its teeth
could be unlocked. As an antidote an attempt was made to fill the man
with whisky, but as he was already full but little could be accomplished
in that line; when he got sober he was all right save that his hand was
somewhat paralyzed.
There is a marked gregariousness among the song birds of Arizona or else
the present abundance of all species gives one that impression, for the
numbers are almost countless, though human depredators are fast
depopulating the songsters for the sake of their own pleasure or bird
plumage for profit. While women anathematize men for their inordinate
desire to kill something, they take an equivocal stand as critics, yet
wearing a hat adorned with one or more dead bodies of birds. It is truly
the old question of mote and beam re-enacted.
I do not remember of meeting with but one bird which I have been
entirely unable to classify or even learn its common name if it has one.
It darts in and out of a thorn bush after the manner of a thresher or
cat bird, and about equals them in size; is of a dull canary yellow in
color save for a rich red cap slightly tufted and worn jauntily on top
of his head. I have never heard any note from him save a startled chip,
and have been unable to learn anything about him from the various bird
histories.
Dr. Abbott has remarked on the lack of vocal powers among the birds of
Arizona, and says:
“I listened hour after hour to these cheerful birds, fancying there was
melody in their attempts at song, and wondering why, when their lines
had been cast in such forbidding places, the gift of sweet song had not
been vouchsafed them. Does the extremely dry atmosphere have to do with
it? Not a sound that I heard had that fulness of tone common to the
allied utterances at home. At the limit of my longest stroll I heard a
mountain mocking bird, as it is misnamed in the books, and his was a
disappointed song. It was the twanging of a harp of a single string, and
that a loose one.”
This absence of note richness is a feature that I have not observed, and
never have I heard a more musical chorus from bird throats as one after
another of the many sorts and conditions awoke at sunrise. Many a time
have I listened while camping on a lone mountaintop, where our only
canopy was the pine-fretted blue heavens, and heard the rich burst of
song in which not a note lacked flavor; mocking birds, thrushes,
orioles, wrens, finches, vireos, grosbeaks, robins (and their
distinguishable note is likely to make one homesick) thrashers, blue
birds, tanagers, etc., all filling in the score, as each was awakened
and filled in the line of song, to say nothing of whip-poor-wills, owls
and other night singers who have had “their day.” I feel sure if Dr.
Abbott had given a little more time to the study of bird song in this
territory he would have had no cause to complain of or discredit the
vocal powers of these western songsters.
[Illustration: AFRICAN LION.
(Felis leo).]
THE AFRICAN LION.
(_Felis leo._)
The African Lion, familiar to the general public as the sulky tenant of
a barred cage, ranges with freer strides throughout the length and
breadth of Africa, and even extends through Persia into the northwestern
part of India. Fossil remains show that at one time Felis leo inhabited
the southern part of Europe as well, but the king of beasts was
evidently considered good sport by primitive man, and he became extinct
in Europe except where, in the Roman amphitheatres, and in many a meaner
cage since, he has roared for the edification of the populace.
The literature of all nations is full of allusions to the Lion; to his
bravery, his grandeur and his strength. The old Assyrian kings carved
pictures of themselves in bas relief hurling javelins into crouching
Lions, and many a sportsman is to-day beating the thorn-thickets and
trailing over the sandy plains of Africa with the same unreasoning
enthusiasm, yet hoping, perhaps, in a vague way to hand down his name
along with the Assyrian kings by writing a book. It is the Lion’s
misfortune as well as his glory that he is king of beasts.
The Lion differs from the other Felidæ in the great strength and massive
proportions of his head and shoulders, and more especially in the
arrangement and growth of the hair on the body. Where, in other cats,
the hair lies flat and close along the skin, the Lion is so clothed only
on his yellowish-brown body. The hair of the top of the head and of the
neck to the shoulders stands erect or bristles forward, forming the
beautiful and characteristic mane of the adult male and suggesting in a
way not otherwise possible the massive strength of the great paws, one
blow from which will fell an ox or crush the skull of a man without an
effort. In most Lions the mane is of a darker color than the remainder
of the body, being often almost black. The elbows, tip of tail and the
under parts of the body are also clothed with this long, bristly hair,
but it is found only on males above three years of age. The females have
smaller heads and shoulders and are of a uniform color.
In many minor ways the Lion is specially adapted for his predatory life.
Every tooth in his head is sharp pointed or sharp edged. The great
canine teeth are set far apart in his square jaws and locked together
like a vice. The molars are transformed from grinders into incisors, yet
are so strong that they will crack heavy bones. The papillæ on the
tongue are so developed that they resemble long, horny spines curved
backwards, giving the tongue the appearance of a coarse rasp. With this
rough tongue the Lion can lick the meat from bones as easily as a house
cat eats butter, and should a friendly Lion lick his keeper’s hand the
flesh would be torn and the blood flow. The claws are very large and
sharp, and are so nicely sheathed in the soft cushions of his feet that
the Lion neither blunts nor wears them down. Yet when he strikes with
tense paws every claw is like a hook and a dagger to tear and cut.
In seeking his prey the Lion lies in wait by springs and water holes and
leaps upon his victims from the ambush of some bush or rock as yellow as
his own tawny hide; or, failing in this, he sneaks up the wind and
through the thickets and reeds of a watercourse or swamp and quickly
leaps upon a surprised antelope or zebra or savage buffalo, crushing it
to the ground by his great weight, while he strikes and tears it with
paws and teeth. In cultivated districts the Lion prowls about the fields
and villages, seizing cattle and sheep, and often, when he is old and
lazy, rushes into some camp or hut at night and carries off a man. In
many parts of Africa the natives build great corrals of thorns about
their camps to keep the Lions away, and should one be heard in the night
they light fires and wave torches until the dawn.
Under ordinary circumstances the Lion attends to his own hunting, and
when seen in the daytime retreats to some denser cover where he will not
be disturbed. This is often cited as an evidence of cowardice, but is
such a common characteristic of big game and of animals, and even men of
undoubted courage, that it should not be held against him. There is no
animal in the world which can consistently hunt for trouble and survive,
and so long as the Lion can keep his stomach filled and his sleep
undisturbed he is probably content to waive the title of king of beasts.
Lion hunting has been held a royal sport in all times, with the result
that the Lion has been exterminated in many parts of its natural habitat
and forced back into the wilder parts of desert and plain. Unlike the
tiger, the Lion is rarely found in forests, and is unable to climb
trees. He is ordinarily stalked in the daytime, when, with stomach full,
he sleeps among rocks and bushes, or shot from stands as he approaches
some water hole or carcass by night. The literature of African
exploration and travel abounds with accounts of Lions killed by men and
men killed by Lions. In these days of zinc balls and repeating rifles it
is generally the Lion that is killed. To the thorough-paced English
sportsman like Sir Samuel Baker or Gordon Cumming the Lion hunt is
recreation merely, and with their ten-bore rifles and British phlegm
they are in no more danger than if they were chasing foxes through the
dales of England.
The family life of the Lion is very interesting and human. So far as is
known, a single male and female remain together year after year,
irrespective of the pairing season, the Lion feeding and caring for his
Lioness and cubs and educating the young in the duties of life. For two
or three years the cubs follow their parents, so that Lions are often
found in small troops. Cases have been reported where they have joined
for a preconcerted hunt, and the Lioness often goes up the wind to
startle game and drive it towards her ambushed mate, following after for
a share of the prey. Hon. W. H. Drummond, in “The Large Game and Natural
History of South and Southeast Africa,” gives the following account of
the feast after the victim had been slain: “The Lion had by this time
quite killed the beautiful animal, but instead of proceeding to eat it,
he got up and roared vigorously until there was an answer, and in a few
minutes a Lioness, accompanied by four whelps, came trotting up from the
same direction as the zebra, which no doubt she had been to drive
towards her husband. They formed a fine picture as they all stood round
the carcass, the whelps tearing it and biting it, but unable to get
through the tough skin. Then the Lion lay down, and the Lioness, driving
her offspring before her, did the same, four or five yards off, upon
which he got up and, commencing to eat, had soon finished a hind leg,
retiring a few yards on one side as soon as he had done so. The Lioness
came up next and tore the carcass to shreds, bolting huge mouthfuls, but
not objecting to the whelps eating as much as they could find. There was
a good deal of snarling and quarreling among these young Lions, and
occasionally a standup fight for a minute, but their mother did not take
any notice of them except to give them a smart blow with her paw if they
got in her way. There was now little left of the zebra but a few bones,
and the whole Lion family walked quietly away, the Lioness leading, and
the Lion often turning his head to see that they were not followed,
bringing up the rear.”
Dane Coolidge.