XXXI. TROPICAL RUMINANTS AND EQUIDÆ
The Camel--Its Paramount Importance in the great Tropical Sandwastes-- Its Organisation admirably adapted to its mode of Life--Beauty of the Giraffe--Its Wide Range of Vision--Pleasures of Giraffe Hunting--The Antelopes--The Springbok--The Reedbok--The Duiker-- The Atro--The Gemsbok--The Klippspringer--The Koodoo--The Gnu-- The Indian Antelope--The Nylghau--The Caffrarian Buffalo--The Indian Buffalo and the Tiger--Dr. Livingstone’s Escape from a solitary Buffalo--Swimming Feats of the Bhain--The Zebra--The Quagga--The Douw.
There is a sea without water and refreshing breezes, without ebb and flood, without fishes and algæ! And there is a ship which safely travels from one shore to the other of that sea, a ship without sails or masts, without keel or rudder, without screw or paddle, without cabin or deck!
This ship, so swift and sure, is the Dromedary, and that sea is the desert; which none but he, or what he carries, can pass.
In many respects the vast sandy deserts of Africa and Asia remind one of the ocean. There is the same boundless horizon, the same unstable surface, now rising, now falling with the play of the winds; the same majestic monotony, the same optical illusions, for as the thirsty mariner sees phantom palm-groves rise from the ocean, thus also the sandwaste transforms itself, before the panting caravan, into the semblance of a refreshing lake. Here we see islands, verdant oases of the sea--there, oases, green islands of the desert; here, sand billows--there, water waves, separating widely different worlds of plants and animals; here, the ship, the camel of the ocean--there, the dromedary, the ship of the desert!
But for this invaluable animal, the desert itself would ever have remained impassable and unknown to man. On it alone depends the existence of the nomadic tribes of the Orient, the whole commercial intercourse of North Africa and Southwest Asia; and no wonder that the Bedouin prizes it, along with the fruit-teeming date-palm, as the most precious gift of Allah. Other animals have been formed for the forest, the water, the savannah; to be the guide, the carrier, the companion, the purveyor of all man’s wants in the desert, is the camel’s destiny.
Wonderfully has he been shaped for this peculiar life, formed to endure privations and fatigues under which all but he would sink. On examining the camel’s foot, it will at once be seen how well it is adapted for walking on a loose soil, as the full length of its two toes is provided with a broad, expanded, and elastic sole. Thus the camel treads securely and lightly over the unstable sands, while he would either slip or sink on a muddy ground. He can support hunger longer than any other mammiferous animal, and is satisfied with the meanest food. Frugal, like his lord the wiry Bedouin, the grinding power of his teeth and his cartilaginous palate enable him to derive nutriment from the coarsest shrubs, from thorny mimosas and acacias, or even from the stony date-kernels, which his master throws to him after having eaten the sweet flesh in which they are imbedded.
For many days he can subsist without drinking, as the pouchlike cavities of his stomach--a peculiarity which distinguishes him from all other quadrupeds, perhaps, with the sole exception of the elephant--form a natural cistern or reservoir, whose contents can be forced upwards by muscular contraction, to meet the exigencies of the journey. It is frequently believed that this liquid remains constantly limpid and palatable, and that in cases of extreme necessity camels are slaughtered to preserve the lives of the thirsty caravan; but Burckhardt never heard of the Arabs resorting to this expedient, nor did he think it likely they would do so, as their own destruction must be involved in that of the beast on which they rode, and the lukewarm liquid thus obtained, besides affording a very poor supply, would be sufficiently nauseous to make even a Tantalus turn away disgusted.
But the ‘ship of the desert’ is not only provided with water for the voyage, but also with liberal stores of fat, which are chiefly accumulated in the hump; so that this prominence, which gives it so deformed an appearance, is in reality of the highest utility-- for should food be scarce, and this is almost always the case while journeying through the desert, internal absorption makes up in some measure for the deficiency, and enables the famished camel to brave for some time longer the fatigues of the naked waste. This is so well known to the Bedouin that the first thing he examines about his camel when preparing for a long journey is the hump: should he find it large he knows that the animal will endure considerable fatigue even with a very moderate allowance of food, for he believes in the proverb that the ‘camel can subsist for an expedition on the fat of its own hump.’ Yet all mortal endurance has its limits, and even the camel, though so well provided against hunger and thirst, must frequently succumb to the excess of his privations, and the bleached skeletons of the much-enduring animal strewed along the road mark at once the path of the caravan and the dreadful sufferings of a desert-journey.
While the Bactrian Camel with a double hump ranges from Turkestan to China, the single-hump camel or dromedary, originally Arabian, has spread in opposite directions towards the East Indies, the Mediterranean, and the Niger, and is used in Syria, Egypt, Persia, and Barbary, as the commonest beast of burden. It serves the robber, but it serves also the peaceful merchant, or the pilgrim, as he wanders to Mecca to perform his devotions at the prophet’s tomb. In long array, winding like a snake, the caravan traverses the desert. Each dromedary is loaded, according to its strength, with from six hundred to a thousand pounds, and knows so well the limits of its endurance, that it suffers no overweight, and will not stir before it be removed. Thus, with slow and measured pace, the caravan proceeds at the rate of ten or twelve leagues a day, often requiring many a week before attaining the end of its journey.
When we consider the deformity of the camel, we cannot doubt that its nature has suffered considerable changes from the thraldom and unceasing labours of more than one millennium. Its servitude is of older date, more complete, and more irksome, than that of any other domestic animal--of older date, as it inhabits the countries which history points out to us as the cradle of mankind; more complete, as all other domestic animals still have their wild types roaming about in unrestrained liberty, while the whole camel race is doomed to slavery; more irksome, finally, as it is never kept for luxury or state like so many horses, or for the table like the ox, the pig, or the sheep, but is merely used as a beast of transport, which its master does not even give himself the trouble to attach to a cart, but whose body is loaded like a living waggon, and frequently even remains burdened during sleep.
Thus, the camel bears all the marks of serfdom. Large naked callosities of horny hardness cover the lower part of the breast and the joints of the legs, and although they are never wanting, yet they themselves give proof that they are not natural, but that they have been produced by an excess of misery and ill-treatment, as they are frequently found filled with a purulent matter.
The back of the camel is still more deformed by its single or double hump than its breast or legs by their callosities; and as the latter are evidently owing to the position in which the heavily burthened beast is forced to rest, it may justly be inferred that the hump also, which merely consists of an accumulation of fat, did not belong to the primitive animal, but has been produced by the pressure of its load. Even its evident use as a store-house for a desert journey may have contributed to its development, as Nature is ever ready to protect its creatures, and to modify their forms according to circumstances; and thus, what at first was a mere casual occurrence, became at length, through successive generations, the badge and heir-loom of the whole race.
Even the stomach may, in the course of many centuries, have gradually provided itself with its water-cistern, since the animal, after a long and tormenting privation, whenever an opportunity of satisfying its thirst occurred, distended the coats of that organ by immoderate draughts, and thus, by degrees, gave rise to its pouch-like cavities.
The hardships of long servitude, which have thus gradually deformed the originally, perhaps, not ungraceful camel, have no doubt also soured its temper, and rendered its character as unamiable as its appearance is repulsive. ‘It is an abominably ugly necessary animal,’ says Mr. Russell, in a letter dated from the camp of Lucknow; ‘ungainly, morose, quarrelsome, with tee-totalling propensities; unaccountably capricious in its friendships and enmities; delighting to produce with its throat, its jaws, its tongue, and its stomach, the most abominable grunts and growls. Stupidly bowing to the yoke, it willingly submits to the most atrocious cruelties, and bites innocent, well-meaning persons, ready to take its part. When its leader tears its nostril, it will do no more than grunt; but ten against one it will spit at you if you offer it a piece of bread. For days it will march along, its nose close to the tail of the beast that precedes it, without ever making the least attempt to break from the chain; and yet it will snort furiously at the poor European who amicably pats its ragged hide.’
The camel seems to have been rather harshly dealt with in this description; at any rate, it may plead for its excuse that it would be too much to expect a mild and amiable temper in a toil-worn slave.
Which of all four-footed animals raises its head to the most towering height? Is it the colossal elephant, or the ‘ship of the desert’? No doubt the former reaches many a lofty branch with its flexible proboscis, and the eye of the long-necked camel sweeps over a vast extent of desert; but the Giraffe embraces a still wider horizon, and plucks the leaves of the mokaala at a still greater height. A strange and most surprising animal, almost all neck and leg, seventeen feet high against a length of only seven from the breast to the beginning of the tail, its comparatively small and slanting body resting on long stilts, its diminutive head fixed at the summit of a column; and yet, in spite of these disproportions, of so elegant and pleasing an appearance, that it owes its Arabic name, Xirapha, to the graceful ease of its movements.
The beauty of the giraffe is enhanced by its magnificently spotted skin, and by its soft and gentle eyes, which eclipse even those of the gazelle, and, by their lateral projection, take in a wider range of the horizon than is subject to the vision of any other quadruped, so as even to be able to anticipate a threatened attack in the rear from the stealthy lion or any other foe of the desert.
The long tail, adorned with a bushy tuft of flowing black hair, no doubt renders it good service against many a stinging insect; and the straight horns, or rather excrescences of the frontal bone, small as they are, and muffled with skin and hair, are by no means the insignificant weapons they have been supposed to be. ‘We have seen them wielded by the males against each other with fearful and reckless force,’ says Maunder, in his excellent ‘Dictionary of Animated Nature,’ ‘and we know that they are the natural arms of the giraffe most dreaded by the keeper of the present living giraffes in the Zoological Gardens, because they are most commonly and suddenly put in use. The giraffe does not butt by depressing and suddenly elevating the head, like the deer, ox, or sheep, but strikes the callous obtuse extremity of the horns against the object of his attack with a sidelong sweep of the neck. One blow thus directed at full swing against the head of an unlucky attendant would be fatal.’
The projecting upper lip of the giraffe is remarkably flexible, and its elongated prehensile tongue, performing in miniature the part of the elephant’s proboscis, is of material assistance in browsing upon the foliage and young shoots of the prickly acacia, which constitute the animal’s chief food.
With feet terminating in a divided hoof, and a ruminant like our ox, the giraffe has four stomachs, and an enormous intestinal length of 288 feet, a formation which bears testimony to the vast and prolonged powers of digestion necessary to extract nutrition from its hard and meagre diet.
Ranging throughout the wide plains of Central Africa from Caffraria to Nubia, the giraffe, though a gregarious animal, generally roams about only in small herds, averaging sixteen in number, from the young animal of nine or ten feet in height, to the dark chestnut-coloured old male, towering to a height of upwards of eighteen feet. Notwithstanding the rapidity with which it strides along, the fore and hind leg on the same side moving together, instead of diagonally as in most other quadrupeds, yet a full gallop quite dissipates its strength; and the hunters, being aware of this, always try to press the giraffes at once to it, knowing that they have but a short space to run before the animals are in their power. In doing this the old sportsmen are careful not to go too close to the giraffe’s tail; ‘for this animal,’ says Dr. Livingstone, ‘can swing his hind foot round in a way which would leave little to choose between a kick with it and a clap from the arm of a windmill.’
Captain Harris, in his ‘Wild Sports of Africa,’ gives us an animated picture of a giraffe hunt, breathing the full life and excitement of the chase.
‘Many days had now elapsed since we had even seen the camelopard, and then only in small numbers, and under the most unfavourable circumstances. The blood coursed through my veins like quicksilver therefore as, on the morning of the 19th, from the back of Breslar, my most trusty steed, with a firm-wooded plain before me, I counted thirty-two of these animals industriously stretching their peacock-necks to crop the tiny leaves which fluttered above their heads in a mimosa grove that beautified the scenery. They were within a hundred yards of me; but having previously determined to try the boarding system, I reserved my fire.
‘Although I had taken the field expressly to look for giraffes, and had put four of the Hottentots on horseback, all excepting Piet had as usual slipped off unperceived in pursuit of a troop of koodoos. Our stealthy approach was soon opposed by an ill-tempered rhinoceros, which, with her ugly calf, stood directly in the path, and the twinkling of her bright little eyes, accompanied by a restless rolling of the body, giving earnest of her intention to charge. I directed Piet to salute her with a broadside, at the same moment putting spurs to my horse. At the report of the gun, and the sudden clattering of hoofs, away bounded the giraffes in grotesque confusion, clearing the ground by a succession of frog-like hops, and soon leaving me far in the rear. Twice were their towering forms concealed from view by a park of trees, which we entered almost at the same instant, and twice, in emerging from the labyrinth, did I perceive them tilting over an eminence immeasurably in advance. A white turban that I wore round my hunting cap, being dragged off by a projecting bough, was instantly charged by three rhinoceroses, and, looking over my shoulder, I could see them long afterwards, fagging themselves to overtake me. In the course of five minutes the fugitives arrived at a small river, the treacherous sands of which receiving their long legs, their flight was greatly retarded; and after floundering to the opposite side, and scrambling to the top of the bank, I perceived that their race was run. Patting the steaming neck of my good steed, I urged him again to his utmost, and instantly found myself by the side of the herd. The stately bull being readily distinguishable from the rest by his dark chestnut robe and superior stature, I applied the muzzle of my rifle behind his dappled shoulder with the right hand, and drew both triggers; but he still continued to shuffle along, and being afraid of losing him, should I dismount, among the extensive mimosa groves with which the landscape was now obscured, I sat in my saddle, loading and firing behind the elbow, and then, placing myself across his path, until the tears trickling from his full brilliant eye, his lofty frame began to totter, and at the seventeenth discharge from the deadly-grooved bore, like a falling minaret bowing his graceful head from the skies, his proud form was prostrate in the dust. Never shall I forget the tingling excitement of that moment. At last then, the summit of my hunting ambition was actually attained, and the towering giraffe laid low. Tossing my turbanless cap into the air, alone in the wild wood, I hurraed with bursting exultation, and, unsaddling my steed, sank exhausted beside the noble prize I had won.’
In a similar strain of triumph Gordon Cumming describes his first giraffe hunt: ‘Galloping round a thick bushy tree under cover of which I had ridden, I suddenly beheld a sight the most astounding that a sportsman’s eye can encounter. Before me stood a troop of ten colossal giraffes, the majority of which were from seventeen to eighteen feet high. On beholding me they at once made off, twisting their long tails over their backs, making a loud switching noise with them, and cantering along at an easy pace, which, however, obliged my horse to put his best foot foremost to keep up with them. The sensations which I felt on this occasion were different from anything that I had before experienced during a long sporting career. My senses were so absorbed by the wondrous and beautiful sight before me, that I rode along like one entranced. At every stride I gained upon the giraffes, and after a short burst at a swinging gallop, I was in the middle of them, and turned the finest cow out of the herd. On finding herself driven from her comrades and hotly pursued, she increased her pace and cantered along with tremendous strides, clearing an amazing extent of ground at every bound, while her neck and breast coming in contact with the dead old branches of the trees were continually strewing them in my path. In a few minutes I was riding within five yards of her stern, and firing at the gallop I sent a bullet into her back. Increasing my pace, I next rode alongside, and placing the muzzle of my rifle within a few feet of her, I fired my second shot behind the shoulder; the ball, however, seemed to have little effect. Once more I brought her to a stand, and dismounted from my horse. There we stood together alone in the wild wood. I gazed in wonder at her extreme beauty, while her soft dark eye, with its silky fringe, looked down imploringly at me, and I really felt a pang of sorrow in this moment of triumph for the blood I was shedding. Pointing my rifle towards the skies, I sent a bullet through her neck. On receiving it she reared high on her hind legs and fell backwards with a heavy crash making the earth shake around her. A thick stream of dark blood spouted out from the wound, her colossal limbs quivered for a moment and she expired. No pen nor words can convey to a sportsman what it is to ride in the midst of a troop of gigantic giraffes--it must be experienced to be understood. They emitted a powerful perfume, which in the chase came hot in my face, reminding me of the smell of a hive of heather honey in September.’
After man, the giraffe’s chief enemy is the lion, who often waits for it in the thick brakes on the margin of the rivers or pools, and darts upon it with a murderous spring while it is slaking its thirst. Andersson once saw five lions, two of whom were in the act of pulling down a splendid giraffe, while the other three were watching close at hand the issue of the deadly strife; and Captain Harris relates that, while he was encamped on the banks of a small stream, a camelopard was killed by a lion whilst in the act of drinking, at no great distance from the waggons. It was a noisy affair; but an inspection of the scene on which it occurred proved that the giant strength of the victim had been paralysed in an instant.
Sometimes the giraffe saves itself from the attacks of its arch-enemy by a timely flight; but when hemmed in, it offers a desperate resistance, and in spite of its naturally gentle and peaceable disposition, gives such desperate kicks with its forefeet as to keep its antagonist at a respectful distance, and finally to compel him to retreat.
There are many analogies between the giraffe and the ostrich; both long-legged, long-necked, fit for cropping the tall mimosas, or scouring rapidly the plain; both, finally, defending themselves by striking their feet forwards, the one against the jackal or hyæna, the other against the assaults of the formidable lion.
The great peculiarity of the zoology of South Africa is the predominance of antelopes. Here no species of deer, roe, stag, or elk greets the eyes of the sportsman: their place in nature is taken by these hollow-horned ruminants, which have been created in an unusual number and variety of specific forms, constituting a series that fills up the wide hiatus between the goat and the ox. As the traveller advances from the Cape towards the Sahara, he constantly falls in with new antelopes, and many unknown to the naturalist no doubt still roam in the undiscovered interior of the continent.
With the exception of the ox or cow-like species, such as the Eland, whose clumsier proportions and heavier gait remind one of our domestic cattle, the antelopes generally resemble the deer tribe by their elegant forms, their restless and timid disposition, and their proverbial swiftness. Their horns, whatever shape they assume, are round and annulated; in some species straight, in others curved and spiral; in some the females have no horns, in others they are common to both sexes. They all possess a most delicate sense of smell, and their eyes are proverbially bright and beaming. Their skin generally emits a delicious odour of the grass and wild herbs on which they feed, and some have between their hoofs a gland from which issues a secretion of an agreeable perfume.
Africa appears to be their great nursery, but many kinds are natives of Asia, while Europe has but two species,--the well-known Chamois of the Alps and the Saiga of the Russian steppes,--and the New World only one.
Few of the numerous African antelopes are more entitled to our notice than the graceful Springbok (A. enchora), which has earned its name from the surprising and almost perpendicular leaps it makes when started. It bounds to the height of ten or twelve feet with the elasticity of an India-rubber ball, clearing at each spring from twelve to fifteen feet of ground, without apparently the slightest exertion. In performing this astonishing leap it appears for an instant as if suspended in the air, when down come all four feet again together, and striking the plain, away it soars again, as if about to take flight.
From the vast wilds in the interior of South Africa, when a prolonged drought has exhausted the last pools or watercourses, the springboks migrate in such incredible multitudes towards the fertile cultivated districts, that they have been well compared to the swarms of locusts. Like them, they consume every green thing in their course, and ruin in a single night the fruits of the farmer’s toil. The course they adopt is generally such as to bring them back to their own country by a route different from that by which they set out, but this march is not effected with impunity. The lion, the hyæna, the panther, and, above all, man, make great havoc in their ranks; many also perish from want of food, the country to which they have migrated being unable to support them, and comparatively few return to their native haunts.
While the springbok prefers the level plains with short grass, where it may be able to watch the approach of an enemy, the Reedbok (Eleotragos arundinaceus); selects for its favourite haunts the low grounds covered with a dense growth of reeds. It generally remains concealed until the hunter approaches, then suddenly starts up and flies to a short distance, when it stops and turns round to have a look at its pursuer. At the same time it utters a peculiar sneezing cry, evidently meant as a warning signal to its comrades, but which frequently proves the cause of its own destruction by attracting the enemy’s attention.
The dense bush-forests of Africa harbour several kinds of antelopes, among others the Duiker (Cephalophus mergens), who at the approach of man plunges or dives, as it were, into the thicket, and glides so quietly through the bushes that he seems to have vanished, and the neat little Atro or Ben Israel of Abyssinia (Cephalophus hemprichii), which even the sharpest eye is scarce able to detect in its flight, so nearly does its colour resemble that of the dim underwood through which it makes its escape. In thickets which would be utterly impassable by the larger big-horned antelopes, the Atro finds an admirable refuge, particularly in the green forest borders of the watercourses, where it enjoys the shade under a thick canopy of leaves.
The Gemsbok (A. Oryx) is supposed to have given rise to the fable of the unicorn, from its long straight horns when seen in profile, so exactly covering one another as to give it the appearance of having but one. This robust and noble antelope, which when adult measures little less than four feet in height at the shoulder, possesses the erect mane, long sweeping black tail, and general appearance of the horse, with the head and hoofs of an antelope. It thrives and attains a high condition in barren regions, where it might be imagined that a locust would not find subsistence, and is remarkably independent of water. Owing to the even nature of the ground which it frequents, its shy and suspicious disposition, and the extreme distance from water to which it must be followed, it is never stalked or drawn to an ambush like other antelopes, but is hunted down by a long tail-on-end chase, a feat which only the fleetest coursers are able to perform.
Among the mountain antelopes who, like the goat, love to browse among the rocks, the Klippspringer (Oreotragus saltatrix) is remarkable for the elastic agility with which he bounds along from crag to crag; the deep chasm, the yawning precipice, have no terrors for this sure-footed, sharp-eyed animal, which in its rapid flight over the serrated ridge bids defiance to the hunter’s pursuit.
The Koodoo (A. strepsiceros) likewise prefers the craggy districts to the plains, and loves to browse on hills covered with sharp angular rocks, but with abundance of excellent grass and fine green bushes. When seen on the brow of any eminence, with its graceful form and fine spiral horns projected against the dark blue sky, it is decidedly one of the grandest-looking antelopes in the world.
The fantastic Wildebeest, or Gnu, of which there are two species, the black and the brindled, has the head and horns of the buffalo, and the mane and tail of a horse, supported on agile antelopine legs. Shy and suspicious at the night season, when their carnivorous enemies are abroad, the bearing of the Gnus is bold in broad daylight, when roaming over their native plains. Wheeling about in endless circles, and performing the most extraordinary variety of intricate evolutions, the shaggy herds of these fierce-looking animals are for ever capering and gambolling round the hunter on every side. Singly, and in small troops of four or five individuals, the old bull wildebeests may be seen stationed at intervals throughout the plains, standing motionless during a whole forenoon coolly watching with a philosophic eye the movements of the other game, eternally uttering a loud snorting noise, and also a short sharp cry which is peculiar to them. When the hunter approaches these old bulls they commence whisking their long white tails in a most eccentric manner, then springing suddenly into the air, they begin prancing and capering, and pursue each other in circles at their utmost speed. When wounded they will sometimes turn upon the hunter and pursue him in turn, darting forwards on their assailant with amazing force and impetuosity, so that it requires the utmost coolness on his part to evade their attack.
In India the Antilopa cervicapra is consecrated to the moon, and takes the place of the capricorn among the signs of the zodiac. Numberless poems praise the beauty of this graceful animal, which resembles our fallow deer, but is somewhat smaller, and of a far more elegant shape. Such is its fleetness and activity that it often vaults over nets ten feet high, and when pursued will pass over as many yards at a single bound.
The native haunts of the Nylghau (A. picta) are the dense forests of India. In the days of Aurungzebe, these large and fine antelopes abounded between Delhi and Lahore, where they were frequently chased by that mighty monarch, his army of hunters inclosing them within a limited space by means of nets. The Great Mogul and his omrahs, attended by their huntsmen, then entered and, somewhat after the manner of a modern battue, dispatched them with their arrows and spears.
The wild Caffrarian Buffalo (Bubalus Caffer), the strongest and most ferocious of the ruminant race, roams in small herds over the woody districts of South and Central Africa, where it is more feared by the natives than the lion and rhinoceros. Combining malice with brutality, it not seldom remains concealed behind a tree, till the innocent victim of its rage approaches, when, horribly bellowing, it rushes forth and attacks him with its broad-based, sharp-pointed horns. Not satisfied with goring him to death, it stamps and tears him again and again, and after having left the spot, will even return to vent once more its blind fury on the mangled corpse.
Its ponderous strength, deadly weapons, and ungovernable fury make it more than a match for the king of animals himself, who never ventures to attack a full-grown buffalo, as one toss from its horns would kill the strongest lion that ever breathed.
In India, where the wild colossal Arnee (Bubalus Arnee), remarkable for its enormous horns, inhabits the highlands, even the tame ordinary buffaloes feel their superiority to the large felidæ, for they have been seen to chase a tiger up the hills, bellowing as if they enjoyed the sport. The Indian herdsman, riding on a buffalo of their herd, are therefore not in the least afraid of entering the jungles infested by tigers. Colonel Rice once saw a troop of buffaloes, excited by the blood of a tiger he had wounded, throw themselves furiously into the thicket where the beast had sought refuge, beat about the bushes and tear up the ground with their horns.
The solitary buffaloes, or such as have been expelled from the herd by stronger competitors for female favour, are particularly dangerous as they are apt to wreak their ill humour on whatever falls in their way. Dr Livingstone, among others, made the experience that to meet one of these rogue buffaloes is about as bad as to face a hungry lion or an ill-disposed rhinoceros. ‘As I walked slowly,’ says the illustrious traveller, ‘on an extensive plain, I observed that a solitary buffalo, disturbed by others of my own party, was coming to me at a gallop. I glanced around, but the only tree on the plain was a hundred yards off, and there was no escape elsewhere. I therefore cocked my rifle, with the intention of giving him a steady shot in the forehead when he should come within three or four yards of me. The thought flashed across my mind, “What if your gun misses fire?” I placed it to my shoulder as he came on at full speed, and that is tremendous, though generally he is a lumbering-looking animal in his paces. A small bush and bunch of grass fifteen yards off, made him swerve a little and exposed his shoulder. I just heard the ball crack there, and I fell flat on my face. The pain must have made him renounce his purpose, for he bounded close past me on to the water, where he was found dead.’
The buffaloes are generally fond of marshes or submerged river banks, where they love to wallow in the mud, or to remain plunged up to the muzzle in water. They are admirable swimmers, particularly the Bhain (Bubalus Bhain), a species inhabiting the sandy banks of the Ganges. Abandoning themselves to the current, these semi-aquatic ruminants often drift down the river in large herds, and are said to plunge from time to time in order to detach with their horns the water-plants growing at the bottom, which they then leisurely devour as they slowly float along.
As if to make up for the hideous deformity of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, the African wilds exclusively give birth to the beautifully striped Zebras, the most gorgeously attired members of the equine race.
The isabelle-coloured Quagga, irregularly banded and marked with dark brown stripes, which, stronger on the head and neck, gradually become fainter, until lost behind the shoulders, has its high crest surmounted by a standing mane, banded alternately brown and white. It used formerly to be found in great numbers within the limits of the Cape Colony, and still roams in large numbers in the open plain farther to the north, where it may often be seen herding together with gnus and springboks.
Thus in the desert of the Meritsane, Major Harris, after crossing a park of magnificent camelthorn trees, soon perceived large herds of quaggas and brindled gnus, which continued to join each other, until the whole plain seemed alive. The clatter of their hoofs was perfectly astounding, and could be compared to nothing but to the din of a tremendous charge of cavalry, or the rushing of a mighty tempest. The accumulated numbers could not be estimated at less than 15,000, a great extent of country being actually chequered black and white with their congregated masses.
The Douw, or Burchell’s Zebra, differs little from the common quagga in point of shape or size; but while the latter is faintly striped only on the head and neck, the former is adorned over every part of the body with broad black bands, beautifully contrasting with a pale yellow ground.
Major Harris, who had so many opportunities of seeing this fine species in a state of nature, remarks that--‘Beautifully clad by the hand of nature, possessing much of the graceful symmetry of the horse, with great bones and muscular power, united to easy and stylish action, thus combining comeliness of figure with solidity of form, this species, if subjugated and domesticated, would assuredly make the best pony in the world. Although it admits of being tamed to a certain extent with the greatest facility--a half-domesticated specimen, with a jockey on its brindled back, being occasionally exposed in Cape Town for sale--it has hitherto contrived to evade the yoke of servitude. The senses of sight, hearing, and smell are extremely delicate. The slightest noise or motion, no less than the appearance of any object that is unfamiliar, at once rivets their gaze, and causes them to stop and listen with the utmost attention; any taint in the air equally attracting their olfactory organs.
‘Instinct having taught these beautiful animals that in union consists their strength, they combine in a compact body when menaced by an attack, either from man or beast; and, if overtaken by the foe, they unite for mutual defence, with their heads together in a close circular band presenting their heels to the enemy, and dealing out kicks in equal force and abundance. Beset on all sides, or partially crippled, they rear on their hind legs, fly at their adversary with jaws distended, and use both teeth and heels with the greatest freedom.’
Whilst the douw and the quagga roam over the plains, the Zebra inhabits mountainous regions only. The beauty of its light symmetrical form is enhanced by the narrow black bands with which the whole of the white-coloured body is covered.
Travellers through the African wilds have sometimes been startled by piteous wailings, resembling the faint gasps and stifled groanings of a drowning man. On approaching the spot where they supposed some ravenous beast was lacerating an unfortunate native, they were surprised to find a zebra in its last agonies; and well may the dying moans of the animal be sorrowful, when we consider that its usual neighings, when heard from a distance, are of a very melancholy sound.
Captain Harris tells us that it seeks the wildest and most sequestered spots, so that it is extremely difficult of approach, not only from its watchful habits and very great agility of foot, but also from the inaccessible nature of its abode. The herds graze on the steep hill-side, with a sentinel posted on some adjacent crag, ready to sound the alarm in case of any suspicious approach to their feeding quarters, and no sooner is the alarm given than away they scamper, with pricked ears and whisking their tails aloft, to places where few, if any, would venture to pursue them.
XXXII. THE HIPPOPOTAMUS
Behemoth--Its Diminishing Number and Contracting Empire--Its Ugliness--A Rogue Hippopotamus or Solitaire--Dangerous Meeting-- Intelligence and Memory of the Hippopotamus--Methods employed for Killing the Hippopotamus--Hippopotamus-Hunting on the Teoge.
‘Behold now Behemoth, which I made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox; his bones are as strong pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron; he lieth under the shady trees, in the covert of the reeds and fens. The shady trees cover him with their shadow; the willows of the brook compass him about. Behold he drinketh up a river: he trusteth that he can draw up Jordan into his mouth.’
Thus, in the book of Job, we find the Hippopotamus portrayed with few words but incomparable power.
According to the inspired poet, this huge animal seems anciently to have inhabited the waters of Palestine, but now it is nowhere to be found in Asia; and even in Africa the limits of its domain are perpetually contracting before the persecutions of man. It has entirely disappeared from Egypt and Cape Colony, where Le Vaillant found it in numbers during the last century. In many respects a valuable prize; of easy destruction, in spite, or rather on account of its size, which betrays it to the attacks of its enemies; a dangerous neighbour to plantations, it is condemned to retreat before the waves of advancing civilisation, and would long since have been extirpated in all Africa, if the lakes and rivers of the interior of that vast den of barbarism were as busily ploughed over as ours by boats and ships, or their banks as thickly strewn with towns and villages.
For the hippopotamus is not able, like so many other beasts of the wilderness, to hide itself in the gloom of impenetrable forests, or to plunge into the sandy desert; it requires the neighbourhood of the stream, the empire of which it divides with its amphibious neighbour the crocodile. Occasionally during the day it is to be seen basking on the shore amid ooze and mud, but throughout the night the unwieldy monster may be heard snorting and blowing during its aquatic gambols; it then sallies forth from its reed-grown coverts to graze by the light of the moon, never, however, venturing to any distance from the river, the stronghold to which it retreats on the smallest alarm. It feeds on grass alone, and where there is any danger only at night. Its enormous lips act like a mowing machine, and form a path of short cropped grass as it goes on eating.
In point of ugliness the hippopotamus might compete with the rhinoceros itself. Its shapeless carcase rests upon short and disproportioned legs, and, with its vast belly almost trailing upon the ground, it may not inaptly be likened to an overgrown ‘prize-pig.’ Its immensely large head has each jaw armed with two formidable tusks, those in the lower, which are always the largest, attaining at times two feet in length; and the inside of the mouth resembles a mass of butcher’s meat. The eyes, which are placed in prominences like the garret windows of a Dutch house, the nostrils, and ears, are all on the same plane, on the upper level of the head, so that the unwieldy monster, when immersed in its favourite element, is able to draw breath, and to use three senses at once for hours together, without exposing more than its snout. The hide, which is upwards of an inch and a half in thickness, and of a pinkish-brown colour, clouded and freckled with a darker tint, is destitute of covering, excepting a few scattered hairs on the muzzle, the edges of the ears and tail. Though generally mild and inoffensive, it is not to be wondered at that a creature like this, which when full-grown attains a length of eleven or twelve feet, and nearly the same colossal girth, affords a truly appalling spectacle when enraged, and that a nervous person may well lose his presence of mind when suddenly brought into contact with the gaping monster. Even Andersson, a man accustomed to all sorts of wild adventure, felt rather discomposed when one night a hippopotamus, without the slightest warning, suddenly protruded its enormous head into his bivouac, so that every man started to his feet with the greatest precipitation, some of the party, in the confusion, rushing into the fire and upsetting the pots containing the evening meal.
As among the elephants and other animals, elderly males are sometimes expelled the herd, and, for want of company, become soured in their temper, and so misanthropic as to attack every boat that comes near them. The ‘rogue-hippopotami’ frequent certain localities well known to the inhabitants of the banks, and, like the outcast elephants, are extremely dangerous. Dr. Livingstone, passing a canoe which had been smashed to pieces by a blow from the hind foot of one of them, was informed by his men that, in case of a similar assault being made on his boat, the proper way was to dive to the bottom of the river, and hold on there for a few seconds, because the hippopotamus, after breaking a canoe, always looks for the people on the surface, and if he sees none, soon moves off. He saw some frightful gashes made on the legs of the people who, having had the misfortune to be attacked, were unable to dive.
In rivers where it is seldom disturbed, such as the Zambesi, the hippopotamus puts up its head openly to blow, and follows the traveller with an inquisitive glance, as if asking him, like the ‘moping owl’ in the elegy, why he comes to molest its ‘ancient solitary reign’? but in other rivers, such as those of Londa, where it is much in danger of being shot, it takes good care to conceal its nose among water-plants, and to breathe so quietly that one would not dream of its existence in the river, except by footprints on the banks. Notwithstanding its stupid look--its prominent eyes and naked snout giving it more the appearance of a gigantic boiled calf’s head than anything else--the huge creature is by no means deficient in intelligence, knows how to avoid pitfalls, and has so good a memory that, when it has once heard a ball whiz about its ears, it never after ceases to be wide-awake at the approach of danger. Being vulnerable only behind the ear, however, or in the eye, it requires the perfection of rifle-practice to be hit; and when once in the water, is still more difficult to kill, as it dives and swims with all the ease of a walrus, its huge body being rendered buoyant by an abundance of fat. Its flesh is said to be delicious, resembling the finest young pork, and is considered as great a delicacy in Africa as a bear’s paw or a bison’s hump in the prairies of North America. The thick and almost inflexible hide may be dragged from the ribs in strips, like the planks from a ship’s side. These serve for the manufacture of a superior description of sjambok, the elastic whip with which the Cape boor governs his team of twelve oxen or more, while proceeding on a journey. In Northern Africa it is used to chastise refractory dromedaries or servants; and the ancient Egyptians employed it largely in the manufacture of shields, helmets, and javelins.
But the most valuable part of the hippopotamus is its teeth (canine and incisors), which are considered greatly superior to elephant ivory, and, when perfect and weighty, will fetch as much as one guinea per pound, being chiefly used for artificial teeth, since it does not readily turn yellow. All these uses to which the hippopotamus may be applied are naturally as many prices set upon its head; and the ravages it occasions in the fields are another motive for its destruction. On the White Nile the peasantry burn a number of fires, to scare the huge animal from their plantations, where every footstep ploughs deep furrows into the marshy ground. At the same time, they keep up a prodigious clamour of horns and drums, to terrify the ruinous brute, which, as may well be imagined, is by no means so great a favourite with them as with the visitors of the Zoological Gardens.
They have besides another, and, where it succeeds, a far more efficacious method of freeing themselves from its depredations. They remark the places it most frequents, and there lay a large quantity of pease. When it comes on shore, hungry and voracious, it falls to eating what is nearest, and fills its vast stomach with the pease, which soon occasion an insupportable thirst. The river being close at hand, it immediately drinks whole buckets of water, which, by swelling the pease, cause it to blow up, like an overloaded mortar.
The natives on the Teoge, and other rivers that empty themselves into Lake Ngami, kill the hippopotamus with iron harpoons, attached to long lines ending with a float. A huge reed raft, capable of carrying both the hunters and their canoes, with all that is needful for the prosecution of the chase, is pushed from the shore, and afterwards abandoned to the stream, which propels the unwieldy mass gently and noiselessly forward. Long before the hippopotami can be seen, they make known their presence by awful snorts and grunts whilst splashing and blowing in the water. On approaching the herd--for the gregarious animal likes to live in troops of from twenty-five to thirty--the most skilful and intrepid of the hunters stands prepared with the harpoons, whilst the rest make ready to launch the canoes should the attack prove successful. The bustle and noise caused by these preparations gradually subside: at length not even a whisper is heard, and in breathless silence the hunters wait for the decisive conflict. The snorting and plunging become every moment more distinct; a bend in the stream still hides the animals from view; but now the point is passed, and monstrous figures, that might be mistaken for shapeless cliffs, did not ever and anon one or the other of them plunge and reappear, are seen dispersed over the troubled waters. On glides the raft, its crew worked up to the highest pitch of excitement, and at length reaches the herd, which, perfectly unconscious of danger, continue to enjoy their sports. Presently one of the animals is in immediate contact with the raft. Now is the critical moment; the foremost harpooner raises himself to his full height to give the greater force to the blow, and the next instant the iron is buried deep in the body of the bellowing hippopotamus. The wounded animal plunges violently and dives to the bottom, but all its efforts to escape are as ineffectual as those of the seal when pierced with the barbed iron of the Greenlander.
As soon as it is struck, one or more of the men launch a canoe from off the raft, and hastening to the shore with the harpoon line, take a round turn with it about a tree, so that the animal may either be brought up at once, or should there be too great a strain on the line, ‘played,’ like a trout or salmon by the fisherman. Sometimes both line and buoy are cast into the water, and all the canoes being launched from off the raft, chase is given to the poor brute, who whenever he comes to the surface is saluted with a shower of javelins. A long trail of blood marks his progress, his flight becomes slower and slower, his breathing more oppressive, until at last, his strength ebbing away through fifty wounds, he floats dead on the surface.
But as the whale will sometimes turn upon his assailants, so also the hippopotamus not seldom makes a dash at his persecutors, and either with his tusks, or with a blow from his head, staves in or capsizes the canoe. Sometimes even, not satisfied with wreaking his vengeance on the craft, he seizes one or other of the crew, and with a single grasp of his jaws, either terribly mutilates the poor wretch or even cuts his body fairly in two.
The natives of Southern Africa, also resort to the ingenious but cruel plan of destroying the hippopotamus by means of a trap, consisting of a beam, four or five feet long, armed with a spear-head or hard wood spike, covered with poison, and suspended to a forked pole by a cord, which coming down to the path, is held by a catch, to be set free when the beasts tread on it. On the banks of many rivers these traps are set over every track which the animals have made in going up out of the water to graze; but the hippopotami, being wary brutes, are still very numerous. While Dr. Livingstone was on the River Shine, a hippopotamus got frightened by the ship, as she was steaming close to the banks. In its eager hurry to escape from an imaginary danger, the poor animal fell into a very real one, for rushing on shore, it ran directly under a trap, when down came the heavy beam on its back, driving the poisoned spear-head a foot deep in its flesh. In its agony, it plunged back into the river, where it soon after expired.
XXXIII. THE RHINOCEROS
Brutality of the Rhinoceros--The Borelo--The Keitloa--The Monoho-- The Kobaaba--Difference of Food and Disposition between the Black and the White Rhinoceros--Incarnation of Ugliness--Acute Smell and Hearing--Defective Vision--The Buphaga Africana--Paroxysms of Rage--Parental Affection--Nocturnal Habits--Rhinoceros-Hunting-- Adventures of the Chase--Narrow Escapes of Messrs. Oswell and Andersson--The Indian Rhinoceros--The Sumatran Rhinoceros--The Javanese Rhinoceros--Its involuntary Suicide.
The Rhinoceros has about the same range as the elephant, but is found also in the island of Java, where the latter is unknown. Although not possessed of the ferocity of carnivorous animals, the rhinoceros is completely wild and untameable; the image of a gigantic hog, without intelligence, feeling, or docility, and though emulating the elephant in size is infinitely inferior in point of sagacity. The latter, with his beautiful, intelligent eye, awakens the sympathy of man; while the rhinoceros is the very image of brutal violence and stupidity.
It was formerly supposed that Africa had but one rhinoceros, but the researches of modern travellers have discovered no less than four different species, two white and two black, each of them with two horns. The black species are the Borelo and the Keitloa, which is longer, with a larger neck and almost equal horns. In both species the upper lip projects over the lower, and is capable of being extended like that of the giraffe, thus enabling the animal to grasp the branches on whose foliage he intends to feast. Both the Borelo and the Keitloa are extremely ill-natured, and, with the exception of the buffalo, the most dangerous of all the wild animals of South Africa. The white species are the Monoho and the Kobaaba, which is distinguished by one of its horns attaining the prodigious length of four feet.
Although the black and white rhinoceroses are members of the same family, their mode of living and disposition are totally different. The food of the former consists almost entirely of roots, which they dig up with their larger horn, or of the branches and sprouts of the thorny acacia, while the latter exclusively live on grasses. Perhaps in consequence of their milder food, they are of a timid unsuspecting nature, which renders them an easy prey, so that they are fast melting away before the onward march of the European trader; while the black species, from their greater ferocity and wariness, maintain their place much longer than their more timid relations. The different nature of the black and white rhinoceroses shows itself even in their flesh, for while that of the former, living chiefly on arid branches, has a bitter taste, and but little recommends itself by its meagreness and toughness--these animals, like the generality of ill-natured creatures, being never found with an ounce of fat on their bones--that of the latter is juicy and well-flavoured.
The shape of the rhinoceros is unwieldy and massive; its vast paunch hangs down nearly to the ground; its short legs are of columnar strength, and have three toes on each foot; the misshapen head has long and erect ears, and ludicrously small eyes; the skin, which is completely naked, with the exception of some coarse bristles at the extremity of the tail, and the upper end of the ears, is comparatively smooth in the African species, but extremely rough in the Asiatic, hanging in large folds about the animal like a mantle; so that, summing up all these characters, the rhinoceros has no reason to complain of injustice, if we style it the very incarnation of ugliness. From the snout to the tip of the tail, the African rhinoceros attains a length of from 15 to 16 feet, a girth of from 10 to 12, a weight of from 4,000 to 5,000 pounds; but, in spite of its ponderous and clumsy proportions, it is able to speed like lightning, particularly when pursued. It then seeks the nearest wood, and dashes with all its might through the thicket. The trees that are dead or dry are broken down as with a cannon shot, and fall behind it and on its sides in all directions; others that are more pliable, greener, or full of sap are bent back by its weight and the velocity of its motions, and restore themselves like a green branch to their natural position, after the huge animal has passed. They often sweep the incautious pursuer and his horse from the ground, and dash them in pieces against the surrounding trees.
The rhinoceros is endowed with an extraordinary acuteness of smell and hearing; he listens with attention to every sound, and is able to scent from a great distance the approach of man; but as the range of his small and deep-set eyes is impeded by his unwieldy horns, he can only see what is immediately before him, so that if one be to leeward of him, it is not difficult to approach within a few paces. The Kobaaba, however, from its horn being projected downwards, so as not to obstruct the line of vision, is able to be much more wary than the other species.
To make up for the imperfection of its sight, the rhinoceros is frequently accompanied by a bird (Buphaga Africana) which warns the beast of approaching danger by its cry. ‘Many a time,’ says Gordon Cumming, ‘have these watchful attendants disappointed me in my stalk. They are the best friends the rhinoceros has, and rarely fail to awaken him, even in his soundest nap. He perfectly understands their warning, and springing to his feet, he generally first looks about him in every direction, after which he invariably makes off. I have often hunted a rhinoceros on horseback which led me a chase of many miles, and required a number of shots before he fell, during which chase several of these birds remained by the rhinoceros to the last. They reminded me of mariners on the deck of some bark sailing on the ocean, for they perched along his back and sides; and as each of my bullets told on the shoulder of the rhinoceros, they ascended about six feet into the air, uttering their harsh cry of alarm, and then resumed their position. It sometimes happened that the lower branches of trees, under which the rhinoceros passed, swept them from their living deck, but they always recovered their former station; they also adhere to the rhinoceros during the night. I have often shot these animals at midnight when drinking at the fountains, and the birds imagining they were asleep, remained with them till morning, and on my approaching, before taking flight, they exerted themselves to their utmost to awaken the rhinoceros from his deep sleep.’
The black rhinoceroses are of a gloomy melancholy temper, and not seldom fall into paroxysms of rage without any evident cause, often ploughing up the ground for several yards with their horn, and assaulting large bushes in the most violent manner. On these they work for hours with their horns, at the same time snorting and blowing loudly, nor do they leave them in general until they have broken them into pieces. Seeing the creatures in their wild haunts, cropping the bushes, or quietly moving through the plains, you might take them for the most inoffensive animals of all Africa, but when roused to passion there is nothing more terrific on earth. All the beasts of the wilderness are afraid of the uncouth Borelo. The lion silently retires from its path, and even the elephant is glad to get out of the way. Yet this brutal and stupidly hoggish animal is distinguished by its parental love, and the tenderness which it bestows on its young is returned with equal affection.
Although not gregarious, and most generally solitary or grazing in pairs, yet frequently as many as a dozen rhinoceroses are seen pasturing and browsing together. As is the case with many other tropical animals, the huge beast awakens to a more active life after sunset. It then hastens to the lake or river to slake its thirst or to wallow in the mud, thus covering its hide with a thick coat of clay, against the attacks of flies; or to relieve itself from the itching of their stings, it rubs itself against some tree, and testifies its inward satisfaction by a deep-drawn grunt. During the night, it rambles over a great extent of country, but soon after sunrise seeks shelter against the heat under the shade of a tree or rock, where it spends the greater part of the day in sleep, either stretched at full length or in a standing position. Thus seen from a distance, it might easily be mistaken for a huge block of stone.
The rhinoceros is hunted in various manners. One of the most approved plans is to stalk the animal, either when feeding or reposing. If the sportsman keep well under the wind, and there be the least cover, he has no difficulty in approaching the beast within easy range, when, if the ball be well directed, it is killed on the spot. But by far the most convenient way of destroying the animal is to shoot it from a cover or a screen, when it comes to the pool to slake its thirst. Occasionally it is also taken in pitfalls. Contrary to common belief, a leaden ball (though spelter is preferable) will easily find its way through the hide of the African rhinoceros, but it is necessary to be within thirty or forty paces of the brute, and desirable to have a double charge of powder. The most deadly part to aim at is just behind the shoulder; a ball through the centre of the lobes of the lungs is certain to cause almost instantaneous death. A shot in the head never or rarely proves fatal, as the brain, which, in proportion to the bulk of the animal, does not attain the three-hundredth part of the size of the human cerebrum, is protected, besides its smallness, by a prodigious case of bone, hide, and horn. However severely wounded the rhinoceros may be, he seldom bleeds externally. This is attributable in part, no doubt, to the great thickness of the hide and its elasticity, which occasions the hole caused by the bullet nearly to close up, as also from the hide not being firmly attached to the body, but constantly moving.
From what has been related of the fury of the rhinoceros, its pursuit must evidently be attended with considerable danger, and thus the annals of the wild sports of Southern Africa are full of hair-breadth escapes from its terrific charge. Once Mr. Oswell, having lodged a ball in the body of a huge white rhinoceros, was surprised to see the beast, instead of seeking safety in flight, as is generally the case with this inoffensive species, suddenly stop short, and having eyed him curiously for a second or two, walk slowly towards him. Though never dreaming of danger, he instinctively turned his horse’s head away; but strange to say, this creature, usually so docile, now absolutely refused to give him his head. When at last he did so, it was too late, for although the rhinoceros had only been walking, the distance was now so small that contact was unavoidable. In another moment the brute bent low his head, and with a thrust upwards, struck his horn into the ribs of the horse with such force as to penetrate to the very saddle on the opposite side, where the rider felt its sharp point against his leg. The violence of the blow was so tremendous as to cause the horse to make a complete somersault in the air, coming heavily down on his back. The rider was, of course, violently precipitated to the ground. While thus prostrated, he saw the horn of the monster alongside of him; but without attempting to do any further mischief, the brute started off at a canter from the scene of action. If the rhinoceros imagined it had come off as victor, it was, however, soon undeceived; for Mr. Oswell, rushing upon one of his companions, who by this time had come up, and unceremoniously pulling him off his horse, leapt into the saddle, and without a hat, and his face streaming with blood, was quickly in pursuit of the beast, which he soon had the satisfaction to see stretched lifeless at his feet.
Mr. Andersson, another well-known African Nimrod, having one day wounded a black rhinoceros, and being in an unfavourable situation for renewing his shot with deadly effect, the monster, snorting horribly, erecting its tail, keeping its head close to the ground, and raising clouds of dust by its feet, rushed at him furiously. ‘I had only just time to level my rifle and fire,’ says this adventurous traveller, ‘before it was upon me, and the next instant knocked me to the ground. The shock was so violent as to send my rifle, powder-flask, and ball-pouch spinning ten feet high in the air. On the beast charging me, it crossed my mind that, unless gored at once by its horn, its impetus would be such as to carry it beyond me, and I might thus be afforded a chance of escape, and so, indeed, it happened, for, having been tumbled over and trampled on with great violence, the fore-quarter of the enraged brute passed over my body. Struggling for life, I seized my opportunity, and as the animal was recovering itself for a renewal of the charge, scrambled out from between its hind legs. But the infuriated rhinoceros had not yet done with me, for scarcely had I regained my feet, before he struck me down a second time, and with his horn ripped up my right thigh (though not very deeply) from near the knee to the hip: with his fore-feet, moreover, he hit me a terrific blow on the left shoulder, near the back of the neck. My ribs bent under the enormous weight and pressure, and for a moment I must, as I believe, have lost consciousness; I have at least very indistinct notions of what afterwards took place. All I remember is, that when I raised my head, I heard a furious snorting and plunging amongst the neighbouring bushes. I now arose, though with great difficulty, and made my way in the best manner I was able towards a large tree near at hand for shelter; but this precaution was needless; the beast, for the time at least, showed no inclination further to molest me. Either in the mêlée, or owing to the confusion caused by its wounds, it had lost sight of me, or felt satisfied with the revenge it had taken. Be that as it may, I escaped with life, though sadly wounded and severely bruised, in which disabled state I had great difficulty in getting back to my screen.’
The rhinoceros is hunted for its flesh, its hide (which is manufactured into the best and hardest leather that can be imagined), and its horns, which, being capable of a high polish, fetch at the Cape a higher price than ordinary elephant ivory. It is extensively used in the manufacture of sword-handles, drinking-cups, ramrods for rifles, and a variety of other purposes. Among Oriental princes, goblets made of rhinoceros horn are in high esteem, as they are supposed to have the virtue of detecting poison by causing the deadly liquid to ferment till it flows over the rim, or, as some say, to split the cup.
The number of rhinoceroses destroyed annually in South Africa is very considerable. Messrs. Oswell and Varden killed in one year no less than eighty-nine, and in one journey, Andersson shot, single-handed, nearly two-thirds of this number. It is thus not to be wondered at that the rhinoceros, which formerly ranged as far as the Cape, is now but seldom found to the south of the tropic.
The single-horned Indian rhinoceros was already known to the ancients, and not unfrequently doomed to bleed in the Roman amphitheatres. One which was sent to King Emanuel of Portugal in the year 1513, and presented by him to the Pope, had the honour to be pictured in a woodcut by no less an artist than Albrecht Dürer himself. Latterly, rhinoceroses have much more frequently been sent to Europe, particularly the Asiatic species, and all the chief zoological gardens possess specimens of the unwieldy creature.
In its native haunts, the Indian rhinoceros lends a tranquil indolent life, wallowing on the marshy border of lakes and rivers, and occasionally bathing itself in their waters. Its movements are usually slow, and it carries its head low like the hog, ploughing up the ground with its horn, and making its way by sheer force through the jungle. Though naturally of a quiet and inoffensive disposition, it is very dangerous when provoked, charging with resistless impetuosity, and trampling down or ripping up with its horn any animal which opposes it.
Besides the single-horned species which inhabits the Indian peninsula, Java, and Borneo, Sumatra possesses a rhinoceros with a double horn, which is, however, distinguished from the analogous African species by the large folds of its skin, and its smaller size. It is even asserted that there exists in the same island a hornless species, and another with three horns. There surely can be no better proof of the difficulties which Natural History has to contend with in the wilder regions of the tropical zone, and of the vast field still open to future zoologists, than that, in spite of all investigations, we do not yet even know with certainty all the species of so large a brute as the rhinoceros.
In Java, this huge pachyderm is met with in the jungles of the low country, but its chief haunts are the higher forest-lands, which contain many small lakes and pools, whose banks are covered with high grasses. In these solitudes, which are seldom visited by man, the rhinoceros finds all that it requires for food and enjoyment. As it is uncommonly shy, the traveller rarely meets it; but sometimes, while threading his way through the thicket, he may chance to surprise wild steers and rhinoceroses grazing on the brink of a pool, or quietly lying in the morass. The grooved paths of the rhinoceros, deeply worn into the solid rock, are found even on the summits of mountains above the level of the sea. They are frequently used for the destruction of the animal, for in the steeper places, where, on climbing up or down, it is obliged to stretch out its body, so that the abdomen nearly reaches the ground, the Javanese fix large scythe-like knives into the rock, which they cover with moss and herbage, thus forcing the poor rhinoceros to commit an involuntary suicide, and teaching him, though too late to profit by his experience, how difficult it is to escape the cunning of man.
XXXIV. THE ELEPHANT
Love of Solitude, and Pusillanimity--Miraculous Escape of an English Officer--Sagacity of the Elephant in ascending Hills-- Organisation of the Stomach--The Elephant’s Trunk--Use of the Tusks still Problematical--The Rogue-Elephant--Sagacity of the Elephant--The African Elephant--Tamed in Ancient Times--South African Elephant-Hunting--Hair-breadth Escapes--Abyssinian Elephant-Hunters--Cutting-up of an Elephant--The Asiatic Elephant-- Vast Numbers destroyed in Ceylon--Major Rogers--Elephant-Catchers-- Their amazing Dexterity--The Corral--Decoy Elephants--Their astonishing Sagacity--Great Mortality among the Captured Elephants-- Their Services.
Of a mild and peaceful disposition, the image of strength tempered by good nature, the Elephant loves the shady forest and the secluded lake. Disliking the glare of the midday sun, he spends the day in the thickest woods, devoting the night to excursions and to the luxury of the bath, his great and innocent delight. Though the earth trembles under his strides, yet, like the whale, he is timid; but this timidity is accounted for by his small range of vision. Anything unusual strikes him with terror, and the most trivial objects and incidents, from being imperfectly discerned, excite his suspicions. To this peculiarity an English officer, chased and seized by an elephant which he had slightly wounded, owed his almost miraculous escape. The animal had already raised its fore-foot to trample him to death, when, its forehead being caught at the instant by the tendrils of a climbing plant which had suspended itself from the branches above, it suddenly turned and fled.[37] An instinctive consciousness that his superior bulk exposes him to danger from sources that might be harmless in the case of lighter animals, is probably the reason why the elephant displays a remarkable reluctance to face the slightest artificial obstruction on his passage. Even when enraged by a wound, he will hesitate to charge his assailant across an intervening hedge, suspecting it may conceal a snare. Unlike the horse, he never gets accustomed to the report of fire-arms, and thus no longer plays an active part in battle as in the times of Pyrrhus and Hannibal, but serves in a modern campaign merely as a common beast of burden, or for the transport of heavy artillery.
To make up for his restricted vision, his neck being so formed as to render him incapable of directing the range of his eye much above the level of his head, he is endowed with a remarkable power of smell, and a delicate sense of hearing, which serve to apprise him of the approach of danger.
Although, from their huge bulk, the elephants might be supposed to prefer a level country, yet, in Asia at least, the regions where they most abound are all hilly and mountainous. In Ceylon, particularly, there is not a range so high as to be inaccessible to them, and so sure-footed are they that, provided there be solidity to sustain their weight, they will climb rocks, and traverse ledges where even a mule dare not venture.
Dr. Hooker admired the judicious winding of the elephant’s path in the Himalayas, and Sir J. E. Tennent describes the sagacity which he displays in laying out roads, or descending abrupt banks, as almost incredible. ‘His first manœuvre is to kneel down close to the edge of the declivity, placing his chest to the ground, one fore-leg is then cautiously passed a short way down the slope, and if there is no natural protection to afford a firm footing, he speedily forms one by stamping into the soil if moist, or kicking out a footing if dry. This point gained, the other fore-leg is brought down in the same way, and performs the same work, a little in advance of the first, which is thus at liberty to move lower still. Then, first one and then the second of the hind-legs is carefully drawn over the side, and the hind-feet in turn occupy the resting-places previously used and left by the fore ones. The course, however, in such precipitous ground is not straight from top to bottom, but slopes along the face of the bank, descending till the animal gains the level below.’
The stomach of the elephant, like that of the camel or the llama, is provided with a cavity, serving most probably as a reservoir for water against the emergencies of thirst; but the most remarkable feature in the organisation of the ‘Leviathan of the land’ is his wonderful trunk, which, uniting the flexibility of the serpent with a giant’s power, almost rivals the human hand by its manifold uses and exquisite delicacy of touch.
‘Nearly eight feet in length, and stout in proportion to the massive size of the whole animal, this miracle of nature,’ as it is well expressed by Mr. Broderip, ‘at the volition of the elephant will uproot trees or gather grass; raise a piece of artillery or pick up a comfit; kill a man or brush off a fly. It conveys the food to the mouth, and pumps up the enormous draughts of water, which, by its recurvature, are turned into and driven down the capacious throat, or showered over the body. Its length supplies the place of a long neck, which would have been incompatible with the support of the large head and weighty tusks.’ A glance at the head of the elephant will show the thickness and strength of the trunk at its insertion; and the massy arched bones of the face and thick muscular neck are admirably adapted for supporting and working this incomparable instrument, which is at the same time the elephant’s most formidable defensive weapon, for, first prostrating any minor assailant by means of his trunk, he then crushes him by the pressure of his enormous weight.
The use of the elephant’s tusks is less clearly defined. Though they are frequently described as warding off the attacks of the tiger and rhinoceros, often securing the victory by one blow, which transfixes the assailant to the earth, it is perfectly obvious, both from their almost vertical position and the difficulty of raising the head above the level of the shoulder, that they were never designed for weapons of attack. No doubt they may prove of great assistance in digging up roots, but that they are far from indispensable is proved by their being but rarely seen in the females, and by their almost constant absence in the Ceylon elephant, where they are generally found reduced to mere stunted processes.
The elephants live in herds, usually consisting of from ten to twenty individuals, and each herd is a family, not brought together by accident or attachment, but owning a common lineage and relationship. In the forest several herds will browse in close contiguity, and in their expeditions in search of water they may form a body of possibly one or two hundred, but on the slightest disturbance, each distinct herd hastens to re-form within its own particular circle, and to take measures on its own behalf for retreat or defence.
Generally the most vigorous and courageous of the herd assumes the leadership: his orders are observed with the most implicit obedience, and the devotion and loyalty evinced by his followers are very remarkable. In Ceylon this is more readily seen in the case of a tusker than in any other, because in a herd he is generally the object of the keenest pursuit by the hunters. On such occasions the elephants do their utmost to protect him from danger; when driven to extremity, they place the leader in the centre, and crowd so eagerly in front of him that the sportsmen have to shoot a number which they might otherwise have spared.
When individuals have been expelled from a herd, or by some accident have lost their former associates, they are not permitted to attach themselves to any other family, and ever after wander about the woods as outcasts from their kind. Rendered morose and savage from rage and solitude, they not only commit great injuries in the plantations, trampling down the rice-grounds, and tearing up the trees, but even travellers are exposed to the utmost risk from their unprovoked assaults.
As the elephant surpasses all other land animals in strength and weight, his mental faculties also assign to him one of the first places in the animal creation. His docility, his attachment to his master, his ready obedience, are qualities in which he is scarcely inferior to the dog, and it is astonishing how easily he suffers himself to be led by his puny guide.
The dog has been the companion of man through an endless series of generations, a servitude of many centuries has modified his physical and moral type; but the elephant, whom, in spite of his prodigious powers, we train to an equal obedience, is always originally the free-born son of the forest (for he never propagates in a state of captivity), and is often advanced in years before being obliged to change the independence of the woods for the yoke of thraldom. What services might not be expected from so gifted an animal were we able to educate the species as we do the individual?
The elephant inhabits both Asia and Africa, but each of these two parts of the world has its peculiar species. The African elephant is distinguished by the lozenge-shaped prominences of ivory and enamel on the surface of his grinders, which in the Indian elephant are narrow transverse parts of uniform breadth; his skull has a more rounded form, and is deficient in the double lateral bump conspicuous in the former; and he has only fifty-four vertebræ, while the Indian has sixty-one. On the other hand, he possesses twenty-one ribs, while the latter has only nineteen. His tusks are also much larger, and his body is of much greater bulk, as the female attains the stature of the full-grown Indian male. The ear is at least three times the size, being not seldom above four feet long and broad, so that Dr. Livingstone mentions having seen a negro who under cover of one of these prodigious flaps effectually screened himself from the rain.
The African elephant has a very wide range, from Caffraria to Nubia, and from the Zambesi to Cape Verde, and the impenetrable deserts of the Sahara alone prevent him from wandering to the shores of the Mediterranean. Although in South Africa the persecutions of the natives, and of his still more formidable enemies--the colonists and English huntsmen, have considerably thinned his numbers, and driven him farther and farther to the north, yet in the interior of the country he is still met with in prodigious numbers. Dr. Barth frequently saw large herds winding through the open plains, and swimming in majestic lines through the rivers with elevated trunks, or bathing in the shallow lakes for coolness or protection against insects.
Dr. Livingstone gives us many interesting accounts of South African elephant-hunting. The Banijai on the south bank of the Zambesi erect stages on high trees overhanging the paths by which the elephants come, and then use a heavy spear four or five feet long. When the unfortunate animal comes beneath, they throw this formidable weapon, and if it enters between the ribs above, as the blade is at least twenty inches long by two broad, the motion of the handle, as it is aided by knocking against the trees, makes frightful gashes within, and soon causes death. They kill them also by means of a spear inserted in a beam of wood, which being suspended on the branch of a tree by a cord attached to a latch, fastened in the path and intended to be struck by the animal’s foot, leads to the fall of the beam, and the spear being poisoned, causes death in a few hours.
On the sloping banks of the Zouga the Bayeiye dig deep pitfalls to entrap the animals as they come to drink, but though these traps are constructed with the greatest ingenuity, old elephants have been known to precede the herd and whisk off their coverings all the way down to the water, or, giving proof of a still more astonishing sagacity, to have actually lifted the young out of the pits into which they had stumbled.
The Bushmen select full-moon nights for the chase, on account of the coolness, and choose the moment succeeding a charge, when the elephant is out of breath, to run in and give him a stab with their long-bladed spears. The huge creature is often bristling with missile weapons like a porcupine, and though singly none of the wounds may be mortal, yet their number overpowers him by loss of blood.
In the Lake Districts discovered by Captain Burton, the elephant is hunted in a somewhat similar manner. A tusker having been artfully separated from the herd without exciting suspicion, the hunting party, consisting of from fifteen to twenty individuals, close in a deadly circle round the victim. The headman then rising with a shout, hurls the first spear, and his example is followed by the rest. The weapons are not poisoned--they are fatal by a succession of small wounds. The baited beast rarely breaks, as might be expected, through the frail circle of assailants; its proverbial obstinacy is excited, it charges one man, who slips away, when another with a scream thrusts the long stiff spear into its hind-quarters, which makes it change its intention and turn fiercely from the fugitive to the fresh assailant. This continues till the elephant, losing breath and heart, attempts to escape; its enemies then redouble their efforts, and at length the huge prey, overpowered by pain and loss of blood, trickling from a hundred wounds, bites the dust. The victors, after certain preliminaries of singing and dancing, carefully cut out the tusks, and devour the rich marrow upon the spot. The chase concludes with a grand feast of fat and garbage, and the hunters return home in triumph, laden with ivory, with ovals of hide for shields, and with festoons of raw meat spitted upon long poles.
The cutting-up of an elephant by a negro tribe is quite a unique spectacle. The men stand round the animal in dead silence, while the chief of the party declares that, according to ancient law, the head and right hind-leg belong to him who inflicted the first wound; the left leg to him who delivered the second, or first touched the animal after it fell, and different parts to the headmen of the different groups of which the camp is composed, not forgetting to enjoin the preservation of the fat and bowels for a second distribution. This oration finished, the natives soon become excited, and scream wildly as they cut away at the carcase with a score of spears, whose long handles quiver in the air above their heads. Their excitement becomes momentarily more and more intense, and reaches the culminating point when, as denoted by a roar of gas, the huge mass is laid fairly open. Some jump inside and roll about there in their eagerness to seize some precious morsel, while others run off screaming with pieces of the bloody meat, throw it on the grass, and run back for more; all keep talking and shouting at the utmost pitch of their voices. Sometimes two or three, regardless of all laws, seize the same piece of meat, and have a brief fight of words over it. Occasionally an agonized yell bursts forth, and a native emerges out of the huge carcase with his hand badly cut by the spear of his excited friend and neighbour.
A much more formidable enemy of this noble animal than the spears or pitfalls of the African barbarians is the rifle, particularly in the hands of a European marksman; for while the natives generally stand at the distance of a hundred yards or more, and of course spend all the force of their bullets on the air, the English hunters, relying on their steadiness of aim, approach to within thirty yards of the animal, where they are sure not to waste their powder. The consequence is, that when the Griquas kill one elephant, such marksmen as Gordon Cumming and Andersson will bring at least twenty to the ground, and this difference is the more remarkable as the natives employ dogs to assist them, while the English trust to themselves alone. It requires no little nerve to brave the charge of the elephant, the scream or trumpeting of the brute, when infuriated, being more like what the shriek of a steam-whistle would be to a man standing on the dangerous part of a railroad, than any other earthly sound, so that a horse unused to it will sometimes stand shivering instead of taking his rider out of danger, or fall paralysed by fear.
Even the most experienced hunters have many dangers to encounter while facing their gigantic adversary. Thus, on the banks of the Zouga, Mr. Oswell had one of the most extraordinary escapes from a wounded elephant perhaps ever recorded in the annals of the chase. Pursuing the brute into the dense thorny bushes met with on the margin of that river, and to which the elephant usually flees for safety, he followed it through a narrow pathway by lifting up some of the branches and forcing his way through the rest; but when he had just got over this difficulty, he saw the elephant, whose tail he had but got glimpses of before, now rushing full speed towards him. There was then no time to lift up branches, so he tried to force his horse through them. He could not effect a passage, and as there was but an instant between the attempt and failure, the hunter tried to dismount, but in doing this one foot was caught by a branch, and the spur drawn along the animal’s flank; this made him spring away, and throw the rider on the ground with his face to the elephant, which, being in full chase, still went on. Mr. Oswell saw the huge fore-foot about to descend on his legs, parted them, and drew in his breath, as if to resist the pressure of the other foot, which he expected would next descend on his body. His relief may be imagined, when he saw the whole length of the under part of the enormous brute pass over him, leaving him perfectly unhurt.
In Abyssinia the elephant is hunted in an original manner. The men who make this their chief occupation dwell constantly in the woods, and live entirely upon the flesh of the animals they kill. They are exceedingly dexterous, both on horseback and on foot; indispensable qualities, partly inherited and partly acquired by practice. Completely naked to render their movements more easy, and to prevent their being laid hold of by the bushes, two of these bold huntsmen get on horseback; one of them bestrides the back of the steed, a short stick in one hand, the reins in the other, while behind him sits his companion, armed with a sharp broadsword. As soon as they perceive a grazing elephant, they instantly ride up to him, or cross him in all directions if he flies, uttering at the same time a torrent of abuse, for the purpose, as they fancy, of raising his anger. With outstretched trunk the elephant attempts to seize the noisy intruders, and following the perfectly trained horse, which, springing from side to side, leads him along in vain pursuit, neglects flight into the woods, his sole chance of safety; for while his whole attention is fixed on the rapid movements of the horse, the swordsman, who has sprung unperceived from its back, approaches stealthily from behind, and, with one stroke of his weapon, severs the tendon just above the heel. The disabled monster falls shrieking to the ground, and incapable of advancing a step, is soon despatched. The whole flesh is then cut off his bones into thongs, and hung upon the branches of trees till perfectly dry, when it is taken down and laid by for the rainy season.
African ivory is a not unimportant article of trade. The annual importation into Great Britain alone, for the last few years, has been about 11,000 cwts., which, taking the average weight of a tusk at thirty pounds, would imply an annual slaughter of about 20,000 elephants, doomed to destruction in order to provide us with umbrella, stick, or knife-handles, card-marks, fancy boxes, or buttons.
The Asiatic elephant inhabits Hindostan, the ultra-Gangetic peninsula, Sumatra, Borneo, and Ceylon. In the latter island especially, he was formerly found in incredible numbers, so that thirty years ago, an English sportsman killed no less than 104 elephants in three days.
A reward of a few shillings per head offered by the Government for taking elephants was claimed for 3,500 destroyed in part of the northern provinces alone, in less than three years prior to 1848, and between 1851 and 1856 a similar reward was paid for 2,000 in the southern provinces. In consequence of this wholesale slaughter, it cannot be wondered at that the Ceylon elephant has entirely disappeared from districts in which he was formerly numerous, and that the peasantry in some parts of the island have even suspended the ancient practice of keeping watchers and fires by night to drive away the elephants from the growing crops. The opening of roads, and the clearing of the mountain-forests of Kandy for the cultivation of coffee, have forced the animals to retire to the low country, where again they have been followed by large parties of European sportsmen, and the Singhalese themselves, being more freely provided with arms than in former times, have assisted in the work of extermination.
The practice in Ceylon is to aim invariably at the head, and, generally speaking, a single ball planted in the forehead ends the existence of the noble creature instantaneously. Thus, while Prince Waldemar of Prussia, during his visit to the island, was hunting in the forests in company with Major Rogers, a celebrated Nimrod, they were charged by two elephants, the one furiously trumpeting in their rear, while the other pushed its enormous head through the bushes in front. The major, however, soon put an end to their offensive demonstrations, for springing between them, he instantly lodged one bullet behind the ear of the one, and a second in the temple of the other. As if struck by lightning, they sank to the earth with a deep hollow groan, and the remainder of the herd, terrified by their fall, hurried away into the depth of the woods.
In India and Ceylon, elephants have been caught and tamed from time immemorial, and when we compare their colossal strength with the physical weakness of man, it must surely be considered a signal triumph of his intelligence and courage, that he is able to bend such gigantic creatures to his will. The professional elephant-catchers of Ceylon, or Panickeas, as they are called, are particularly remarkable for their daring and adroitness. Their ability in tracing their huge game, rivalling that of the American Indian in following the enemy’s trail, has almost the certainty of instinct, and hence their services are eagerly sought by the European elephant-hunters. ‘So keen is their glance, that almost at the top of their speed, like hounds running breast-high, they will follow the course of an elephant over glades covered with stunted grass, where the eye of a stranger would fail to discover a trace of its passage, and on through forests strewn with dry leaves, where it seems impossible to perceive a footstep. Here they are guided by a bent or broken twig, or by a leaf dropped from the animal’s mouth on which they can detect the pressure of a tooth. If at fault, they fetch a circuit like a setter, till lighting on some fresh marks, they go ahead again with renewed vigour. So delicate is the sense of smell in the elephant, and so indispensable is it to go against the wind in approaching him, that the Panickeas, on those occasions when the wind is so still that its direction cannot be otherwise discerned, will suspend the film of a gossamer to determine it, and shape their course accordingly. On overtaking the game, their courage is as conspicuous as their sagacity. If they have confidence in the sportsman for whom they are finding, they will advance to the very heel of the elephant, slap him on the quarter, and then convert his timidity into anger, till he turns upon his tormentor, and exposes his heavy front to receive the bullet which is awaiting him. So fearless and confident are they, that two men without aid or attendants will boldly attempt to capture the largest-sized elephant. Their only weapon is a flexible rope made of buffalo’s hide, with which it is their object to secure one of the hind-legs. This they effect either by following in his footsteps when in motion, or by stealing close up to him when at rest, and availing themselves of the propensity of the elephant at such moments to sling his feet backwards and forwards, they contrive to slip a noose over his hind-leg.
‘At other times, this is achieved by spreading the noose on the ground, partially concealed by roots and leaves, beneath a tree on which one of the party is stationed, whose business it is to lift it suddenly by means of a cord, raising it on the elephant’s leg at the moment when his companion has succeeded in provoking him to place his foot within the circle, the other end having been previously made fast to the stem of a tree. Should the noosing be effected in open ground, and no tree of sufficient strength at hand round which to wind the rope, one of them allowing himself to be pursued by the enraged elephant, entices him towards the nearest grove, when his companion, dexterously laying hold of the rope as it trails along the ground, suddenly coils it round a suitable stem, and brings the fugitive to a stand-still. On finding himself thus arrested, the natural impulse of the captive is to turn on the man who is engaged in making fast the rope, a movement which it is the duty of his colleague to prevent by running up close to the elephant’s head, and provoking him to confront him by irritating gesticulations and incessant shouts of dah! dah! a monosyllable the sound of which the elephant peculiarly dislikes. Meanwhile the first assailant having secured one noose, comes up from behind with another, with which, amidst the vain rage and struggles of the victim, he entraps a fore-leg, the rope being as before secured to another tree in front, and the whole four feet having been thus entangled, the capture is completed.
‘A shelter is then run up with branches to protect him from the sun, and the hunters proceed to build a wigwam for themselves in front of their prisoner, kindling their fires for cooking, and making all the necessary arrangements for remaining day and night on the spot, to await the process of subduing and taming his rage. Picketed to the ground like Gulliver by the Lilliputians, the elephant soon ceases to struggle, and what with the exhaustion of ineffectual resistance, the constant annoyance of smoke, and the liberal supply of food and water with which he is indulged, a few weeks generally suffice to subdue his spirit, when his keepers at length venture to remove him to their own village, or to the seaside for shipment to India.
‘No part of the hunter’s performances exhibits greater skill and audacity than this first forced march of the recently captured elephant. As he is still too morose to submit to be ridden, and it would be equally impossible to lead or to drive him by force, the ingenuity of the captors is displayed in alternately irritating and eluding his attacks, but always so attracting his attention, as to allure him along in the direction in which they want him to go.
‘In Ceylon, the principal place for exporting these animals to India is Manaar on the western coast, to which the Arabs from the continent resort, bringing horses to be bartered for elephants. In order to reach the sea, open plains must be traversed, across which it requires the utmost patience of the Panickeas to coax their reluctant charge. At Manaar the elephants are usually detained till any wound on the leg caused by the rope has been healed, when the shipment is effected in the most primitive manner, it being next to impossible to induce the still untamed creature to walk on board, and no mechanical contrivances being provided to ship him. A native boat, of about forty tons burthen, is brought alongside the quay, and being about three parts filled with the strong-ribbed leaves of the Palmyra palm, it is lashed so that the gunwale may be as nearly as possible on a line with the level of the wharf. The elephant, being placed with his back to the water, is forced by goads to retreat till his hind-legs go over the side of the quay; but the main contest commences when it is attempted to disengage his fore-feet from the shore, and force him to entrust himself on board. The scene becomes exciting from the screams and trumpetings of the elephants, the shouts of the Arabs, and the rushing of the crowd. Meanwhile the huge creature strains every nerve to regain the land; and the day is often consumed before his efforts are overcome, and he finds himself fairly afloat. The same boat will take from four to five elephants, who place themselves athwart it, and exhibit amusing adroitness in accommodating their own movements to the rolling of the little vessel, and in this way they are ferried across the narrow strait which separates the continent of India from Ceylon.’[38]
Unfortunately, my limits forbid me entering upon a detailed account of the great elephant hunts of India and Ceylon, where whole herds are driven into an enclosure and entrapped in one vast decoy. This may truly be called the sublime of sport, for nowhere is it conducted on a grander scale, or so replete with thrilling emotions. The keddah or corral, as the enclosure is called, is constructed in the depth of the forest, several hundred paces long, and half as broad, and of a strength commensurate to the power of the animals it is intended to secure. Slowly and cautiously the doomed herds are driven onwards from a vast circuit by thousands of beaters in narrowing circles to the fatal gate, which is instantly closed behind them, and then the hunters, rushing with wild clamour and blazing torches to the stockade, complete the terror of the bewildered animals. Trumpeting and screaming with rage and fear, they rush round the corral at a rapid pace, but all their attempts to force the powerful fence are vain, for wherever they assail the palisade, they are met with glaring flambeaux and bristling spears, and on whichever side they approach, they are repulsed with shouts and discharges of musketry. For upwards of an hour their frantic efforts are continued with unabated energy, till at length, stupified, exhausted, and subdued by apprehension and amazement, they form themselves into a circle, and stand motionless under the dark shade of the trees in the middle of the corral.
To secure the entrapped animals, the assistance of tame elephants or decoys is necessary, who, by occupying their attention and masking the movements of the nooser, give him an opportunity of slipping one by one a rope round their feet until their capture is completed.
The quickness of eye displayed by the men in watching the slightest movement of an elephant, and their expertness in flinging the noose over its foot, and attaching it firmly before the animal can tear it off with its trunk, are less admirable than the rare sagacity of the decoys, who display the most perfect conception of the object to be attained, and the means of accomplishing it. Thus Sir Emerson Tennent saw more than once, during a great elephant hunt which he witnessed in 1847, that when one of the wild elephants was extending his trunk, and would have intercepted the rope about to be placed over his leg, the decoy, by a sudden motion of her own trunk, pushed his aside and prevented him; and on one occasion, when successive efforts had failed to put the noose over the leg of an elephant who was already secured by one foot, but who wisely put the other to the ground as often as it was attempted to pass the noose under it, he saw the decoy watch her opportunity, and when his foot was again raised, suddenly push in her own leg beneath it, and hold it up till the noose was attached and drawn tight.
It may easily be imagined that the passage from a life of unfettered liberty in the cool and sequestered forest to one of obedience and labour, must necessarily put the health of the captured animals to a severe trial. Many perish in consequence of the fearful wounds on the legs occasioned by their struggling against the ropes, and it has frequently happened that a valuable animal has lain down and died the first time it was tried in harness from what the natives designate a ‘broken heart.’ Official records prove that more than half of the elephants employed in the public departments of the Ceylon government die in one year’s servitude, and even when fully trained and inured to captivity, the working elephant is always a delicate animal, subject to a great variety of diseases, and consequently often incapacitated from labour. Thus, in spite of his colossal strength, which cannot even be employed to its full extent, as it is difficult to pack him without chafing the skin, and waggons of corresponding dimension to his muscular powers would utterly ruin the best constructed roads, it is very doubtful whether his services are in proportion to his cost, and Sir J. E. Tennent is of opinion that two vigorous dray horses would, at less expense, do more effectual work than any elephant.
In no kind of labour does the elephant display a greater ingenuity than in dragging and piling felled timber, going on for hours disposing of log after log, almost without a hint or a direction from his attendant. In this manner two elephants, employed in piling ebony and satin wood in the yards attached to the Commissariat stores at Colombo, were so accustomed to the work that they were enabled to accomplish it with equal precision and with greater rapidity than if it had been done by dock-labourers. When the pile attained a certain height which baffled their conjoint efforts to raise one of the heavy logs of ebony to the summit, they had been taught to lean two pieces against the heap, up the inclined plane of which they gently rolled the remaining logs, and placed them trimly on the top.
Such is the earnestness and perseverance displayed by the sagacious creatures while accomplishing their task, that supervision might almost be thought superfluous; but as soon as the eye of the keeper is withdrawn, their innate love of ease displays itself, and away they stroll lazily to browse, or to enjoy the luxury of fanning themselves and blowing dust over their backs.
XXXV. TROPICAL FELIDÆ
The Lion--Conflicts with Travellers on Mount Atlas--The Lion and the Hottentot--A Lion taken in--Narrow Escapes of Andersson and Dr. Livingstone--Lion-Hunting by the Arabs of the Atlas--By the Bushmen--The Asiatic Lion--The Lion and the Dog--The Tiger--The Javanese Jungle--The Peacock--Wide Northern Range of the Tiger-- Tiger-Hunting in India--Miraculous Escape of an English Sportsman-- Animals announcing the Tiger’s Presence--Turtle-Hunting of the Tiger on the Coasts of Java--The Panther and the Leopard--The Cheetah-- The Jaguar--The Puma--The smaller American Felidæ--The Hyæna-- Fables told of these abject Animals--The Striped Hyæna--The Spotted Hyæna--The Brown Hyæna.
The majestic form, the noble bearing, the stately stride, the fine proportions, the piercing eye, and the dreadful roar of the Lion, striking terror into the heart of every other animal, all combine to mark him with the stamp of royalty. All nerve, all muscle, his enormous strength shows itself in the tremendous bound with which he rushes upon his prey, in the rapid motions of his tail, one stroke of which is able to fell the strongest man to the ground, and in the expressive wrinkling of his brow.
No wonder that, ever inclined to judge from outward appearances, and to attribute to external beauty analogous qualities of mind, man has endowed the lion with a nobility of character which he in reality does not possess. For modern travellers, who have had occasion to observe him in his native wilds, far from awarding him the praise of chivalrous generosity and noble daring, rather describe him as a mean-spirited robber, prowling about at night-time in order to surprise a weaker prey.
The lion is distinguished from all other members of the feline tribe by the uniform colour of his tawny skin, by the black tuft at the end of his tail, and particularly by the long and sometimes blackish mane, which he is able to bristle when under the influence of passion, and which contributes so much to the beauty of the male, while it is wanting in the lioness, who, as everyone knows, is very inferior in size and comeliness to her stately mate.
His chief food consists of the flesh of the larger herbivorous animals, very few of which he is unable to master. Concealed in the high rushes on the river’s bank, he lies in ambush for the timorous herd of antelopes which at nightfall approach the water to quench their thirst. Slowly and cautiously the children of the waste advance; they listen with ears erect, they strain their eyes to penetrate the thicket’s gloom, but nothing suspicious appears or moves along the bank. Long and deeply they quaff the delicious draught, when suddenly, with a giant spring, like lightning bursting from a cloud, the lion bounds upon the unsuspecting revellers, and the leader of the herd lies prostrate at his feet.
During the daytime the lion seldom attacks man, and sometimes even when meeting a traveller he is said to pass him by unnoticed; but when the shades of evening descend, his mood undergoes a change. After sunset it is dangerous to venture into the woody and wild regions of Mount Atlas, for there the lion lies in wait, and there one finds him stretched across the narrow path. It is then that dramatic scenes of absorbing interest not unfrequently take place. When, so say the Bedouins, a single man thus meeting with a lion is possessed of an undaunted heart, he advances towards the monster brandishing his sword or flourishing his rifle high in the air, and, taking good care not to strike or to shoot, contents himself with pouring forth a torrent of abuse:--‘Oh, thou mean-spirited thief! thou pitiful waylayer! thou son of one that never ventured to say no! think’st thou I fear thee? Knowest thou whose son I am? Arise, and let me pass!’ The lion waits till the man approaches quite near to him; then he retires, but soon stretches himself once more across the path; and thus by many a repeated trial puts the courage of the wanderer to the test. All the time the movements of the lion are attended with a dreadful noise, he breaks numberless branches with his tail, he roars, he growls; like the cat with the mouse, he plays with the object of his repeated and singular attacks, keeping him perpetually suspended between hope and fear. If the man engaged in this combat keeps up his courage,--if, as the Arabs express themselves, ‘he holds fast his soul,’ then the brute at last quits him and seeks some other prey. But if the lion perceives that he has to do with an opponent whose courage falters, whose voice trembles, who does not venture to utter a menace, then to terrify him still more he redoubles the described manœuvres. He approaches his victim, pushes him from the path, then leaves him and approaches again, and enjoys the agony of the wretch, until at last he tears him to pieces.
The lion is said to have a particular liking for the flesh of the Hottentots, and it is surprising with what obstinacy he will follow one of these unfortunate savages. Thus Mr. Barrow relates the adventure of a Namaqua Hottentot, who, endeavouring to drive his master’s cattle into a pool of water enclosed between two ridges of rocks, espied a huge lion couching in the midst of the pool. Terrified at the unexpected sight of such a beast, that seemed to have his eyes fixed upon him, he instantly took to his heels. In doing this he had presence of mind enough to run through the herd, concluding that if the lion should pursue he would take up with the first beast that presented itself. In this, however, he was mistaken. The lion broke through the herd, making directly after the Hottentot, who, on turning round and perceiving that the monster had singled him out, breathless and half dead with fear, scrambled up one of the tree-aloes, in the trunk of which a few steps had luckily been cut out to come at some birds’ nests that the branches contained. At the same moment the lion made a spring at him, but missing his aim, fell upon the ground. In surly silence he walked round the tree, casting at times a dreadful look towards the poor Hottentot, who screened himself from his sight behind the branches. Having remained silent and motionless for a length of time, he at length ventured to peep, hoping that the lion had taken his departure, when to his great terror and astonishment, his eyes met those of the animal, which, as the poor fellow afterwards expressed himself, flashed fire at him. In short, the lion laid himself down at the foot of the tree, and did not remove from the place for twenty-four hours. At the end of this time, becoming parched with thirst, he went to a spring at some distance in order to drink. The Hottentot now, with trepidation, ventured to descend, and scampered off home as fast as his feet could carry him.
On account as well of the devastation which he causes among the herds as of the pleasure of the chase, the lion is pursued and killed in North and in South Africa wherever he appears: a state of war which, as may well be supposed, is not without danger for the aggressive party. Thus, Andersson once fired upon a black-maned lion, one of the largest he ever encountered in Africa. Roused to fury by the slight wound he had received, the brute rapidly wheeled, rushed upon him with a dreadful roar, and at the distance of a few paces, couched as if about to spring, having his head imbedded, so to say, between his fore paws. Drawing a large hunting-knife, and slipping it over the wrist of his right hand, Andersson dropped on one knee, and thus prepared, awaited the onset of the lion. It was an awful moment of suspense, and his situation was critical in the extreme. Still his presence of mind (a most indispensable quality in a South African hunter) never for a moment forsook him; indeed, he felt that nothing but the most perfect coolness and absolute self-command would be of any avail. He would now have become the assailant; but as, owing to the intervening bushes and clouds of dust raised by the lion’s lashing his tail against the ground, he was unable to see his head, while to aim at any other part would have been madness, he refrained from firing. Whilst intently watching every motion of the lion, the animal suddenly made a prodigious bound; but whether it was owing to his not perceiving his intended victim, who was partially concealed in the long grass, and instinctively threw his body on one side, or to his miscalculating the distance, he went clear over him, and alighted on the ground three or four paces beyond. Quick as thought Andersson now seized his advantage, and wheeling round on his knee, discharged his second barrel; and as the lion’s broadside was then towards him, lodged a ball in his shoulder, which it completely smashed. The infuriated animal now made a second and more determined rush; but owing to his disabled state was happily avoided, though only within a hair’s breadth, and giving up the contest, he retreated into a neighbouring wood, where his carcase was found a few days after.
Dr. Livingstone once had a still more narrow escape, for he was actually under the paws of a lion, whose fury he had roused by firing two bullets into him. ‘I was upon a little height; he caught my shoulder as he sprang, and we both came to the ground below together. Growling horribly close to my ear, he shook me as a terrier-dog does a rat. The shock produced a stupor, similar to that which seems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of the cat. It caused a sort of drowsiness in which there was no sense of pain nor feeling of terror, though quite conscious of all that was happening. It was like what patients partially under the influence of chloroform describe, who see all the operation, but feel not the knife. This singular condition was not the result of any mental process; the shake annihilated fear, and allowed no sense of horror in looking round at the beast. This peculiar state’ (a fine remark) ‘is probably produced in all animals killed by the carnivora; and if so, is a merciful provision by our benevolent Creator for lessening the pain of death. Turning round to relieve myself of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of my head, I saw his eyes directed to Mebalwé, who was trying to shoot him at a distance of ten or fifteen yards. His gun, a flint one, missed fire in both barrels; the lion immediately left me, and attacking Mebalwé, bit his thigh. Another man attempted to spear the lion while he was biting Mebalwé. He left Mebalwé, and caught this man by the shoulder, but at that moment the bullets he had received took effect and he fell down dead. The whole was the work of a few moments, and must have been his paroxysm of dying rage. A wound from this animal’s tooth resembles a gun-shot wound; it is generally followed by a great deal of sloughing and discharge, and pains are felt in the part periodically ever afterwards. I had on a tartan jacket on the occasion, and I believe that it wiped off all the virus from the teeth that pierced the flesh, for my two companions in this affray have both suffered from the peculiar pains, while I have escaped with only the inconvenience of a false joint in my limb. The man whose shoulder was wounded showed me his wound actually burst forth afresh on the same month of the following year. This curious point deserves the attention of inquirers.’
In the Atlas, the lion is hunted in various ways. When he prowls about the neighbourhood of a Bedouin encampment, his presence is announced by various signs: at night, his dreadful roar resounds; now an ox, now a foal is missing from the herd; at length even a member of the tribe disappears. Terror spreads among all the tents, the women tremble for their children, everywhere complaints are heard. The warriors decree the death of the obnoxious neighbour, and congregate on horse and on foot at the appointed hour and place. The thicket in which the lion conceals himself during the daytime has already been discovered, and the troop advances, the horsemen bringing up the rear. About fifty paces from the bush they halt, and draw up in three rows, the second ready to assist the first in case of need, the third an invincible reserve of excellent marksmen. Then commences a strange and animated scene. The first row abusing the lion, and at the same time sending a few balls into his covert to induce him to come out, utter loud exclamations of defiance: ‘Where is he who fancies himself so brave, and ventures not to show himself before men? Surely it is not the lion, but a cowardly thief, a son of Scheitan, on whom Allah’s curse may rest!’
At length, the roused lion breaks forth. A momentary silence ensues. The lion roars, rolls his flaming eyes, retreats a few paces, stretches himself upon the ground, rises, smashes the branches with his tail. The front row give fire, the lion springs forward, if untouched, and generally falls under the balls of the second row, which immediately advance towards him. This moment, so critical for the lion, whose fury is fully excited, does not end the combat till he is hit in the head or in the heart. Often his hide has been pierced by a dozen balls before the mortal wound is given, so that sometimes, in case of a prolonged contest, several of the hunters are either killed or wounded. The horsemen remain as passive spectators of the fray so long as the lion keeps upon hilly ground, but when driven into the plain, their part begins, and a new combat of a no less original and dramatic character commences; as every rider, according to his zeal or courage, spurs his horse upon the monster, fires upon him at a short distance, then rapidly wheels as soon as the shot is made, and reloads again, to prepare for a new onset. The lion, attacked on all sides, and covered with wounds, fronts everywhere the enemy, springs forward, retreats, returns, and only falls after a glorious resistance, which must necessarily end in his defeat and death, as he is no match for a troop of well-mounted Arabs. After he has spent his power on a few monstrous springs, even an ordinary horse easily overtakes him. One must have been the witness of such a fight to form an idea of its animation. Every rider utters loud imprecations, the white mantles that give so spectral an appearance to their dusky owners, fly in the air like ‘streamers long and gay,’ the carbines glisten, the shots resound, the lion roars; pursuit and flight alternate in rapid succession. Yet, in spite of the tumult, accidents are rare, and the horsemen have generally nothing to fear but a fall from their steed, which might bring them under the claws of their enemy, or, what is oftener the case, the ball of an incautious comrade.
The Arabs have noticed that the day after the lion has carried away a piece of cattle, he generally remains in a state of drowsy inactivity, incapable of moving from his lair. When the neighbourhood, which usually resounds with his evening roar, remains quiet, there is every reason to believe that the animal is gorged with his gluttonous repast. Then some huntsman, more courageous than his comrades, follows his trail into the thicket, levels his gun at the lethargic monster, and sends a ball into his head. Sometimes even, a hunter, relying on the deadly certainty of his aim, and desirous of acquiring fame by a display of chivalrous courage, rides forth alone into the thicket, on a moonlight night, challenges the lion with repeated shouts and imprecations, and lays him prostrate before he can make his fatal bound.
Dr. Livingstone informs us that the Bushmen likewise avail themselves of the torpidity consequent upon a full meal, to surprise the lion in his slumbers, and shoot him with their poisoned arrows.
In ancient times, the lion was an inhabitant of south-eastern Europe. Herodotus relates that troops of lions came down the Macedonian mountains, to seize upon the baggage camels of Xerxes’ army, and even in the time of Alexander the Great, the animal, though rare, was not yet completely extirpated.
In Asia also, where the lion is at present confined to Mesopotamia, the northern coast of the Persian Gulf, and the north-western part of Hindostan, he formerly roamed over far more extensive domains. The Asiatic lion differs from the African, by a more compressed form of body, a shorter mane, which sometimes is almost entirely wanting, and a much larger tuft of hair at the end of the tail.
Africa is the chief seat of the lion, the part of the world where he appears to perfection with all the attributes of his peculiar strength and beauty. There he is found in the wilds of the Atlas, as in the high mountain-lands of Abyssinia, from the Cape to Senegal, and from Mozambique to Congo, and probably more than one species of the royal animal, not yet accurately distinguished by the naturalist, roams over this vast expanse.
While the lion reigns in Africa, the Tiger is lord and master of the Indian jungles. A splendid animal--elegantly striped with black on a white and golden ground; graceful in every movement, but of a most sanguinary and cruel nature. The lengthened body resting on short legs, wants the proud bearing of the lion, while the naked head, the wildly rolling eye, the scarlet tongue constantly lolling from the jaws, and the whole expression of the tiger’s physiognomy, indicate an insatiable thirst for blood, a pitiless ferocity, which he wreaks indiscriminately on every living thing that comes within his grasp. In the bamboo jungle on the banks of pools and rivers, he waits for the approaching herd; there he seeks his prey, or rather multiplies his murders, for he often leaves the carcase of the axis or the nylghau still writhing in the agony of death, to throw himself upon new victims, whose bodies he rends with his claws, and then plunges his head into the gaping wound to absorb with deep and luxurious draughts the blood whose fountains he has just laid open.
Nothing can be more delightful than the aspect of a Javanese savannah, to which clumps of noble trees, planted by Nature’s hand, impart a park-like character; yet even during the daytime, the traveller rarely ventures to cross these beautiful wilds without being accompanied by a numerous retinue. The horses frequently stand still, trembling all over, when their road leads them along some denser patch of the jungle, rising like an island from the grassy plain, for their acute scent informs them that a tiger lies concealed in the thicket, but a few paces from their path.
It is a remarkable fact that the peacock and the tiger are so frequently seen together. The voice of the bird is seldom heard during the daytime, but as soon as the shades of evening begin to veil the landscape, his loud and disagreeable screams awaken the echoes, announcing, as the Javanese say, that the tiger is setting forth on his murderous excursions. Then the traveller carefully bolts the door of his hut, and the solitary Javanese retreats to his palisadoed dwelling, for the tyrant of the wilderness is abroad. At night his dreadful roar is heard, sometimes accompanied by the peacock’s discordant voice. Even in the villages, thinly scattered among the grass or alang-wilds of Java, there is no security against his attacks, in spite of the strong fences with which they are enclosed, and the watch-fires carefully kept burning between these and the huts.
India, South China, Sumatra, and Java are the chief seats of the tiger, who is unknown both in Ceylon and Borneo, while to the north he ranges as far as Mandschuria and the Upper Obi, and Jennisei (55°--56° N. lat.). A species of tiger identical with that of Bengal is common in the neighbourhood of Lake Aral, near Sussac (45° N. lat.), and Tennent mentions that he is found among the snows of Mount Ararat in Armenia. As Hindostan is separated from these northern tiger haunts by the great mountain chains of Kuen-Lun (35° N.), and of Mouztagh (42° N. lat.), each covered with perpetual snows, mere summer excursions are quite out of the question, and it is evident that the animal is able to live in a much more rigorous climate than is commonly imagined. Even in India the tiger is by no means confined to the sultry jungle, for we learn from Mr. Hodgson’s account of the mammalia of Nepaul, that in the Himalayas he is sometimes found at the very edge of perpetual snow.
Tiger-hunting is a chief pleasure of the Indian rajahs and zemindars, who, anxious that their favourite amusement may suffer no diminution, forbid anyone else to chase on their domains, however much their poor vassals may have to suffer in consequence. But the delight they take in tiger-shooting never leads these cautious Nimrods so far as to endanger their precious persons. On some trees of the jungle a scaffolding is prepared, at a ludicrous height, for his Highness, who, at the appointed hour, makes his appearance with all the pomp of a petty Asiatic despot. The beating now begins, and is executed by a troop of miserable peasants, who most unwillingly submit to this forced and unpaid labour, which is the more dangerous for them as they are dispersed on a long line, instead of forming a troop, the only way to secure them against the attacks of the tiger. Thus they advance with a dreadful noise of drums, horns, and pistol-firing, driving the wild beasts of the jungle towards the scaffolding of their lord and master. At first the tigers, startled from their slumbers, retreat before them, but generally on approaching the scaffolding they guess the danger that awaits them and turn with a formidable growl upon the drivers. Sometimes, however, they summon resolution to rush with a few tremendous bounds through the perilous pass, and their flight is but rarely impeded by the ill-aimed shots of the ambuscade. Nevertheless, great compliments are paid to the noble sportsman for his ability and courage, and nobody says a word about the poor low-born wretches that may have been killed or mutilated by the infuriated brutes.
Our English tiger-hunters generally proceed on a very different plan. Provided with very excellent double-barrelled rifles, and accompanied by a troop of well-armed, well-paid drivers, and a number of courageous dogs, they boldly enter the jungle to rouse the tiger from his lair. In front of the party generally marches the shikarree, or chief driver, who attentively reconnoitring the traces of the animal, points out the direction that is to be followed. On his right and left hand walk the English sportsmen, fully prepared for action, and behind them the most trustworthy of their followers, with loaded rifles ready for an exchange with those that have been discharged. Then follows the music, consisting of four or five tambourins, a great drum, cymbals, horns, a bell, and the repeated firing of pistols, and convoyed by men armed with swords and long halberds. A few slingsmen make up the rear, who are constantly throwing stones into the jungle over the heads of the foremost of the party, and even more effectually than the noise of the music drive the tiger from his lair. From time to time, one of the men climbs upon the summit of a tree, to observe the movements of the grass. The whole troop constantly forms a close body. The tiger in cold blood is never able to attack a company that announces itself in so turbulent a manner. If he ventures, it is only with half a heart; he hesitates, stops at a short distance, and gives the hunter time to salute him with a bullet.
The tiger is particularly fond of dense willow or bamboo bushes on swampy ground, as he there finds the cool shade he requires for his rest during the heat of the day, after his nocturnal excursions. It is then very difficult to detect him, but the other inhabitants of the jungle, particularly the peacock and the monkey, betray his presence. The scream of the former is an infallible sign that the tiger is rising from his lair; and the monkeys, who during the night are frequently surprised by the panther or the boa, never allow their watchfulness to be at fault during the day. They are never deceived in the animal which slinks into the thicket. If it is a deer or a wild boar, they remain perfectly quiet, but if it is a tiger or a panther, they utter a cry designed to warn their comrades of the approach of danger. When, on examining a jungle, the traveller sees a monkey quietly seated on the branches, he may be perfectly sure that no dangerous animal is lurking in the thicket.
During the night the cry of the jackal frequently announces the tiger’s presence. When one of these vile animals is no longer able to hunt from age, or when he has been expelled from his troop, he is said to become the provider of the tiger, who, after having satiated himself on the spoil, leaves the remains to his famished scout.
The tiger, who on the declivities of the Himalayas tears to pieces the swift-footed antelope, lacerates on the desert sand coasts of Java the tardy tortoise, when at nightfall it leaves the sea to lay its eggs in the drift-sand at the foot of the dunes. ‘Hundreds of tortoise skeletons lie scattered about the strand, many of them five feet long and three feet broad; some bleached by time, others still fresh and bleeding. High in the air a number of birds of prey wheel about, scared by the traveller’s approach. Here is the place where the turtles are attacked by the wild dogs. In packs of from twenty to fifty, the growling rabble assail the poor sea animal at every accessible point, gnaw and tug at the feet and at the head, and succeed by united efforts in turning the huge creature upon its back. Then the abdominal scales are torn off, and the ravenous dogs hold a bloody meal on the flesh, intestines, and eggs of their defenceless prey. Sometimes, however, the turtle escapes their rage, and dragging its lacerating tormentors along with it, succeeds in regaining the friendly sea. Nor do the dogs always enjoy an undisturbed repast; often during the night, the “lord of the wilderness,” the royal tiger, bursts out of the forest, pauses for a moment, casts a glance over the strand, approaches slowly, and then with one bound, accompanied by a terrific roar, springs among the dogs, scattering the howling band like chaff before the wind. And now it is the tiger’s turn to feast; but even he, though rarely, is sometimes disturbed by man. Thus on this lonely, melancholy coast, wild dogs and tigers wage an unequal war with the inhabitants of the ocean.’[39]
After the tiger and the lion, the Panther and the Leopard are the mightiest felidæ of the Old World. Although differently spotted, the ocelli or rounded marks on the panther being larger and more distinctly formed, they are probably only varieties of one and the same species, as many intermediate individuals have been observed.
Both animals are widely diffused through the tropical regions of the Old World, being natives of Africa, Persia, China, India, and many of the Indian islands; so that they have a much more extensive range than either the tiger or the lion. The manner in which they seize their prey, lurking near the sides of woods, and darting forward with a sudden spring, resembles that of the tiger; and the chase of the panther is said to be more dangerous than that of the lion, as it easily climbs the trees and pursues its enemy upon the branches.
The Cheetah, or hunting leopard (Gueparda jubata, guttata), which inhabits the greater part both of Asia and Africa, exhibits in its form and habits a mixture of the feline and canine tribes. Resembling the panther by its spotted skin, it is more elevated on its legs and less flattened on the fore part of its head. Its brain is more ample, and its claws touch the ground while walking, like those of the dog, which it resembles still further by its mild and docile nature. In India and Persia, where the Cheetahs are employed in the chase, they are carried, chained and hoodwinked, to the field in low cars. When the hunters come within view of a herd of antelopes, the Cheetah is liberated, and the game is pointed out to him: he does not, however, immediately dash forward in pursuit, but steals along cautiously till he has nearly approached the herd unseen, when, with a few rapid and vigorous bounds, he darts on the timid game and strangles it almost instantaneously. Should he, however, fail in his first efforts and miss his prey, he attempts no pursuit, but returns to the call of his master, evidently disappointed, and generally almost breathless.
The same radical differences which draw so wide a line of demarcation between the monkeys of the Old and the New World are found also to distinguish the feline races of both hemispheres, so that it would be as vain to search in the American forests and savannahs for the Numidian lion, or the striped tiger, as on the banks of the Ganges or the Senegal for the tawny puma, or the spotted jaguar. While in the African plains the swift-footed springbok falls under the impetuous bound of the panther--or while the tiger and the buffalo engage in mortal combat in the Indian jungle--the bloodthirsty Jaguar, concealed in the high grass of the American llanos, lies in wait for the wild horse or the passing steer.
The arrival of the Spaniards in the New World, so destructive to most of the Indian tribes with whom they came into contact, was beneficial at least to the large felidæ of tropical America, for they first introduced the horse and the ox into the western hemisphere, where these useful animals, finding a new and congenial home in the boundless savannahs and pampas which extend almost uninterruptedly from the Apure to Patagonia, have multiplied to an incredible extent. Since then the jaguar no longer considers the deer of the woods, the graceful agouti, or the slow capybara as his chief prey, but rejoices in the blood of the steed or ox, and is much more commonly met with in the herd-teeming savannahs than in the comparatively meagre hunting-grounds of the forest.
Of all the carnivora of the New World, perhaps with the sole exception of the grisly and the polar bears, the tyrants of the North American solitudes, the Jaguar is the most formidable, resembling the panther by his spotted skin, but almost equalling the Bengal tiger in size and power. He roams about at all times of the day, swims over broad rivers, and even in the water proves a most dangerous foe, for when driven to extremities he frequently turns against the boat, and forces his assailants to seek their safety by jumping overboard. Many an Indian, while wandering through thinly populated districts, where swampy thickets alternate with open grass plains, has been torn to pieces by the jaguar, and in many a lonely plantation the inhabitants hardly venture to leave their enclosures after sunset, for fear of his attacks. During Tschudi’s sojourn in Northern Peru, a jaguar penetrated into the hut of an Englishman who had settled in those parts, and dragging a boy of ten years out of his hammock, tore him to pieces and devoured him. Far from being afraid of man, this ferocious animal springs upon him when alone, and when pressed by hunger will even venture during the daytime into the mountain villages to seek its prey.
The chase of the jaguar requires great caution, yet keen sportsmen will venture, single-handed, to seek the jaguar in his lair, armed with a blow-pipe and poisoned arrows, or merely with a long and powerful lance. The praise which is due to the bold adventurers for their courage is, however, too often tarnished by their cruelty. Thus, a famous jaguar-hunter once showed Pöppig a large cavity under the tangled roots of a giant bombax-tree, where he had some time back discovered a female jaguar with her young. Dexterously rolling down a large stone, he closed the entrance, and then with fiendish delight slowly smoked the animals to death, by applying fire from time to time to their dungeon. Having lost one-half of his scalp in a previous conflict with a jaguar, he pleaded his sufferings as an excuse for his barbarity.
To attack these creatures with a lance, a sure arm, a cool determined courage, and great bodily strength and dexterity are required; but even these qualities do not always ensure success if the hunter is unacquainted with the artifices of the animal. The jaguar generally waits for the attack in a sitting posture, turning one side towards the assailant, and, as if unconcerned, moves his long tail to and fro. The hunter, carefully observing the eye of his adversary, repeatedly menaces him with slight thrusts of his lance, which a gentle stroke of the paw playfully wards off; then seizing a favourable moment, he suddenly steps forward and plunges his weapon into his side. If the thrust be well aimed, a second is not necessary, for pressing with his full weight on the lance, the huntsman enlarges and deepens the mortal wound. But if the stroke is parried or glances off, the jaguar, roused to fury, bounds on his aggressor, and fells him to the ground with a stroke of his paw. Having his enemy now fully in his power, the jaguar looks at him quietly for a few moments as if enjoying his pangs, like a cat playing with a mouse, and this short delay has not seldom enabled the companion of the unfortunate hunter to save his life by a timely shot.
All those that have escaped from one of these death-struggles affirm that the breath of the enraged animal is of a suffocating heat, with a smell like that of burning capsicum, and that its pestilential contact produces an inflammation of the throat, which lasts for several days. Those who are less inclined to desperate conflicts destroy the jaguar by poisoned pieces of meat, or else they lay pitfalls for him, when they kill him without running any personal risk. Like the cayman, the jaguar, after having once tasted the flesh of man, is said to prefer it to anything else. During his first solitary journeys through the American wilds, the traveller’s sensations, on meeting with the fresh footmarks of the monster, are like those of Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the vestiges of the savage on the beach of his lonely island; but as the animal itself very rarely crosses the wanderer’s path, he at length becomes completely indifferent, and roams about the wilderness as unconcernedly as if no beasts of prey existed under the forest shade, or among the high grasses of the savannah. During his long residence in Yuarmangua, Pöppig met but one jaguar, who, not deeming it advisable to engage in hostilities, slowly retreated into the woods.
In the Brazilian campos great devastations are caused among the herds by the jaguar, who has strength enough to drag an ox to some distance. He frequently kills several bullocks in one night, and sucks their blood, leaving their flesh for a future repast. When, after having satiated himself, he retires to a neighbouring thicket, the vaqueros or herdsmen follow his bloody trail with their hounds; and as soon as the jaguar sees the pack approach, he seeks to climb the inclined trunk of a tree, and is then shot down from his insecure station. But the chase does not always terminate without accident or loss of life, as very strong jaguars will face the dogs, kill several of them, and frequently carry them away and devour them.
While Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied was travelling through the campos, he heard of the heroic conflict of three vaqueros with a monstrous jaguar that had never been known to retreat. One day, while following their herds through the woods, their dogs discovered the fresh foot-prints of the beast, and following the scent, soon brought it to a stand. Armed merely with their long lance-like varas, the bold men did not long deliberate, but resolutely advanced towards the jaguar, who stood confronting the dogs, and immediately bounding upon his new antagonists, wounded them one after the other, though not without receiving repeated thrusts of their lances and knives. The least determined of the three, appalled by his wounds, at first retreated, but seeing the boldest of his companions lying prostrate under the paws of the monster, his courage revived, and the attack being vigorously renewed, the jaguar was at length killed. The bleeding and exhausted heroes were hardly able to crawl home in the evening. They pointed out the spot where they had fought, and where the jaguar was found swimming in his blood, surrounded by the dogs which he had torn to pieces.
It is a general belief among the Indians and the white inhabitants of Bengal that the jaguar has the power of fascination. Many accounts are given to prove this; among others, a person informed Mr. Wallace that he had seen a jaguar standing at the foot of a high tree looking up into it. On the top was a howling monkey looking down at the jaguar, and jumping about from side to side, crying piteously. The jaguar stood still, the monkey continued descending lower and lower on the branches, still uttering its cries, till at length it fell down at the very feet of the jaguar, who seized and devoured it.
There is a black variety of the jaguar, on whose dark skin the ring-formed spots are still visible, and which is said to surpass the common species in size and ferocity.
The Couguar, or the Puma, as he is called by the Indians, is far inferior to the jaguar in courage, and consequently far less dangerous to man. On account of his brownish-red colour and great size, being the largest felis of the new world, he has also been named the American lion, but he has neither the mane nor the noble bearing of the ‘king of animals.’ In spite of his strength he is of so cowardly a disposition that he invariably takes to flight at the approach of man, and consequently inspires no fear on being met with in the wilderness; while even the boldest hunter instinctively starts back when, winding through the forest, he suddenly sees the sparkling eye of the jaguar intently fixed upon him.
The puma has a much wider range than the jaguar, for while the latter reaches in South America only to the forty-fifth degree of latitude, and does not rove northwards beyond Sonora and New Mexico, the former roams from the Straits of Magellan to the Canadian lakes. The jaguar seldom ascends the mountains to a greater height than 3,000 feet, while in the warmer lateral valleys of the Andes the puma frequently lies in ambush for the vicuñas at an elevation of 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. He can climb trees with great facility, ascending even vertical trunks, and, like the lynx, will watch the opportunity of springing on such animals as happen to pass beneath. No less cruel than cowardly, he will destroy without necessity forty or fifty sheep when the occasion offers, and content himself with licking the blood of his victims. When caught young, he is easily tamed, and, like the common cat, shows his fondness at being caressed by the same kind of gentle purrings. Tschudi informs us that the Indians of the northern provinces frequently bring pumas to Lima, to show them for money. They either lead them by a rope, or carry them in a sack upon their back, until the sight-seers have assembled in sufficient number.
Besides the puma or the jaguar, tropical America possesses the beautifully variegated Ocelot (Felis pardalis); the Oscollo (F. celidogaster); the spotless, black-grey Jaguarundi (F. jaguarundi), which is not much larger than the European wild cat; the long-tailed, striped, and spotted Margay or Tiger-cat, and several other felidæ. All these smaller species hardly ever become dangerous to man, but they cause the death of many an agouti and cavy; and, with prodigious leaps, the affrighted monkey flies from their approach into the deepest recesses of the forest.
While the sanguinary felidæ may justly be called the eagles, the carrion-feeding Hyænas are the vultures, among the four-footed animals. Averse to the light of day, like the owl and the bat, they conceal themselves in dark caverns, ruins, or burrows, as long as the sun stands above the horizon, but at nightfall they come forth from their gloomy retreats with a lamentable howl or a satanic laugh, to seek their disgusting food on the fields, in churchyards, or on the borders of the sea. From the prodigious strength of their jaws and their teeth, they are not only able to masticate tendons, but to crush cartilages and bones; so that carcases almost entirely deprived of flesh still provide them with a plentiful banquet.
Though their nocturnal habits and savage aspect have rendered them an object of hatred and disgust to man, they seem destined to fill up an important station in the economy of Nature, by cleansing the earth of the remains of dead animals, which might otherwise infect the atmosphere with pestilential effluvia.
Among other fabulous qualities, a courage has been attributed to the hyæna which is completely alien to his base and grovelling nature. Far from venturing to attack the panther, or putting even the lion to flight, as Kämpfer pretended to have seen, he is in reality a most pusillanimous creature, and cautiously avoids a contest with animals much weaker than himself. Although his jaws are strong, he has not the sharp retractile claws of the felidæ, nor their formidable spring, his hind legs being comparatively feeble, and thus he can hardly become dangerous to the herds, though Bruce assures us that the hyænas destroyed many of his mules and asses.
In Barbary, the Arabs pursue the hyænas on horseback, and run them down with their greyhounds, never thinking of wasting their powder on so abject a game. They are held in such contempt that huntsmen will fearlessly penetrate into the caverns where they are known to sojourn, first carefully stopping the opening with their burnous, to keep out the light of day. They then advance towards the snarling brute, address it in menacing language, seize and gag it, without its venturing upon the least resistance, and cudgel the animal out of the den. The rough and ugly hide of the hyæna is but of little value, and in many tents its sight is not even tolerated, as if so unworthy a spoil could only bring misfortune to its owner.
The intractability of the hyæna is as fabulous as his courage or his cruelty. On the contrary, he is very easily tamed, and may be rendered as docile as the dog himself.
The striped hyæna is a native of Asiatic Turkey, Syria, and North Africa as far as the Senegal, while the spotted hyæna ranges over South Africa, from the Cape to Abyssinia. Both species attain the size of the wolf, and have similar habits. As the shark follows the ship, or the crow the caravan, they are said to hover about the march of armies, as if taught by instinct that they have to expect the richest feast from the insanity of man.
The moonlight falling on the dark cypresses and snow-white tombs of the Oriental churchyards not seldom shines upon hungry hyænas busily employed in tearing the newly-buried corpses from their graves.
A remarkable peculiarity of the spotted hyæna is that when he first begins to run he appears lame, so that one might almost fancy one of his legs was broken; but after a time this halting disappears, and he proceeds on his course very swiftly.
‘One night, in Maitsha,’ says Bruce, ‘being very intent on observation, I heard something pass behind me towards the bed, but upon looking round could perceive nothing. Having finished what I was then about, I went out of my tent, intending directly to return, which I immediately did, when I perceived large blue eyes glaring at me in the dark. I called upon my servant for a light, and there was a hyæna standing nigh the head of the bed, with two or three large bunches of candles in his mouth. To have fired at him, I was in danger of breaking my quadrant or other furniture; and he seemed, by keeping the candles steadily in his mouth, to wish for no other prey at that time. As his mouth was full, and he had no claws to tear with, I was not afraid of him, but with a pike struck him as near the heart as I could judge. It was not till then he showed any sign of fierceness, but upon feeling his wound he let drop the candles and endeavoured to run up the shaft of the spear to arrive at me, so that in self-defence I was obliged to draw a pistol from my girdle and shoot him, and nearly at the same time my servant cleft his skull with a battle-axe.’
The brown hyæna, which is found in South Africa, from the Cape to Mozambique and Senegambia, and has a more shaggy fur than the preceding species, has very different habits. He is particularly fond of the crustacea which the ebbing flood leaves behind upon the beach, or which the storm casts ashore in great quantities, and exclusively inhabits the coasts, where he is known under the name of the sea-shore wolf. His traces are everywhere to be met with on the strand, and night after night he prowls along the margin of the water, carefully examining the refuse of the retreating ocean.
XXXVI. THE AUSTRALIAN RACE
Physical Conformation of the Australians--Their Low State of Civilisation--Their Superstitions--Their Wars--Singing and Dancing--The Corribory--Division of the Nation into Great Families--Rules regulating the Property of Land and the Distribution of Food--Skill in Hunting the Kangaroo and the Opossum--Feasting on a Whale--Moral Qualities and Intelligence of the Australians.
On turning from the Malayan Archipelago and New Guinea, to the wilds of northern Australia, new aspects of savage life rise before our view. With new plants and new animals, a new variety of the human race makes its appearance, differing in figure, in physiognomy, in language, and in many of its customs and manners both from the Malay and the Papuan: a race which, though occupying one of the lowest grades in the scale of humanity, still offers many points of interest to the observer, and claims our attention both by its qualities and its defects.
The figure of the Australians is remarkable for spareness and lankness about the lower extremities, the hips and thighs as well as the calves of the legs, observable in the females as well as in the men. Their heads are in general large, with very projecting eyebrows and deep-set eyes, the nose broad, the mouth wide; and there is very often a ferocious look which is not in accordance with the character of the individual. The hair is often matted and twisted with filth and grease into different fashions; when clean, however, it is frequently as fine and glossy as that of the European. Its colour is in some of the children of a sunburnt brown, but invariably black among the adults. In their skins they vary from a dark chocolate-brown to an almost perfect black. Their hands and feet are usually small and well-shaped; the shoulders and chests of the men broad, and sufficiently muscular. Such is the physical character of the race from one end of the continent to the other, and though there are deviations from the usual slim and under-fed condition of the body, and from the usual straight character of the hair, the face, figure, and expression of an Australian is so peculiar as to distinguish him at once from the inhabitants even of the immediately adjacent islands.
In all the industrial arts these people are extremely deficient. They are utterly destitute of agriculture, and of all manufacture of any kind of material, or tool, or implement, beyond their few weapons and a rude stone hammer, and some simple nets and baskets. Over the largest part of the coast they were utterly ignorant of any kind of canoe until they were visited by Europeans; and where most advanced in navigation, knew no other method of crossing the water than in rude boats formed of a sheet of bark tied at the ends, or on rafts consisting of bundles of rushes or sticks. They have no huts worthy of the name, nor permanent habitations of any kind. Men and women are alike naked, except that in the southern parts of Australia they wear a kind of rug of opossum skins over their shoulders during the cold weather. Many tribes strike out one or two front teeth, and raise great scars and cicatrices on the skin. They also paint themselves with various colours, like most other savages, and sometimes also ornament themselves with beads and shells, but make no use of the beautiful feathers procurable from the birds of the country.
Their languages, although showing evident traces of a common origin, yet vary so much and so frequently that a native of one tribe can rarely understand the tongue of another fifty miles distant. Their religious notions are limited to a feeling of vague superstition. They are in great dread of an evil being whom they describe as going about under the form of a black man, of superhuman stature and strength. He prowls at night through the woods around the encampments of the natives, seeking to entrap some unwary wanderer, whom he will seize upon, and having dragged him to his fire, will there roast and devour him. He may, however, be frightened away, by throwing fire at him, and no native will go out at night without a firebrand to protect him from this demon.
They have also a superstitious horror of approaching the graves of the dead, of whom they never like to speak, and when induced to do so, always whisper.
The supposed powers of the Boylyas, or native sorcerers, have a mighty influence upon their minds and actions. It is supposed that these privileged personages can transport themselves through the air at pleasure, and render themselves invisible to all but other Boylyas. If they have a dislike to a native, they can kill him by stealing on him at night and consuming his flesh. Another Boylya has, however, the power of drawing them out, and curing the affected person by certain processes of disenchantment.
The absurd idea that no adult person dies a natural death reigns among the Australians as it does among many of the American, Malayan, and Negro tribes, and leads to the same baneful consequences. If a man perishes of disease his death is generally supposed to have been caused by some sorcerer of another tribe, and must be avenged on his murderer, or on some near relation of his.
This senseless belief, inspired by the demon of discord, is of course the source of frequent wars, and one of the causes which serve to maintain the native Australians in their state of barbarism. The aggrieved party, anxious for revenge, assembles its neighbours, to consult with them concerning the proper course to be pursued. The general opinion having been declared for war, a messenger is sent to announce their intention to the opposite party. These immediately assemble their friends and neighbours, and all prepare for the approaching battle. The two armies (usually from fifty to two hundred each) meet, and after a great deal of mutual vituperation, the combat commences. From their singular dexterity in avoiding or parrying the missiles of their adversaries, the engagement usually continues a long time without any fatal result. When a man is killed (and sometimes before) a cessation takes place; another scene of recrimination, abuse, and explanation ensues, and the affair commonly terminates. All hostility is now at an end, the two parties mix amicably together, bury the dead, and join in a general dance, for, like all other savage races, the Australians are very fond of singing and saltatorial displays. Their songs are short, containing generally only one or two ideas repeated over and over again. Is a native in a towering passion, he sings to himself some such words as
‘I’ll spear his liver, I’ll spear his lights, I’ll spear his heart,’ &c., &c.
while he sharpens the weapon intended to execute his menace, and waxing more and more excited as he sings, quivers his spear in the air, and, furiously gesticulating, imitates the various incidents of a fight. His wives chime in from time to time with a line or two expressive of their contempt for the offender:
‘The bone-rumped, Long-shinned, Thin-thighed fellow.’
the bystanders applaud, and the savage, having fairly sung the wrath out of himself, assists in getting up a dance. Is a native afraid, he sings himself full of courage; is he hungry, he sings; if he is full (provided he is not so full as to be in a state of stupor), he sings more lustily than ever; in fact, under all circumstances he finds aid and comfort from singing. The Australian songs are therefore naturally varied in their forms, but their concision conveys in the simplest manner the impulsive idea. By a song or wild chant the women irritate the men to acts of vengeance, and four or five mischievously-inclined old women can soon stir up forty or fifty men to any deed of blood by means of their chants, which are accompanied by tears and groans, until the men are worked into a perfect state of frenzy.
Among the native dances, the Corribory is the most remarkable. It is always performed at night, by the light of blazing boughs, to time beaten on a stretched skin. The dancers are all painted white, and in such remarkably varied ways that not two are alike. Darkness seems essential to the performance of a corribory, and the white figures coming forward in mystic order from an obscure background, while the singers and the beaters of drums are invisible, produce a highly theatrical effect. At first, two persons make their appearance, slowly moving their arms and legs; then others one by one join in, each imperceptibly warming into the truly savage attitude of the corribory jump; the legs then stride to the utmost, the head is turned over one shoulder, the eyes glare and are fixed with savage energy all in one direction, the arms also are raised and inclined towards the head, and the hands usually grasp the boomerang or some other warlike weapon. The jump now keeps time with each beat, the dancers at every movement taking six inches to one side, all being in a connected line led by the first. The line is sometimes doubled and trebled, according to the space and to the number of the performers, and this produces a great effect, for when the front line jumps to the left the second jumps to the right, and thus this strange savage dance goes on with increasing intensity, until it suddenly and instantaneously stops, having attained the highest pitch of vivacity.
One of the most remarkable facts connected with the Australians is their division into certain great families, such as the Ballaroke, the Tolondarup, the Ngotock, &c., all the members of which bear the same names. These family names are perpetuated and spread through the country by the operation of two remarkable laws--that a man cannot marry a woman of his own family name, and that children of either sex always take the family name of their mother.
Each family adopts some animal or plant as its Kobong, or badge, and none of its members will kill an animal or pluck any plant of the species to which its Kobong belongs, except under particular circumstances.
The ceremony of marriage, which among most nations is considered so important and interesting, is with this people one of the least regarded. The woman is looked upon as an article of property, and is sold or given away by her relatives without the slightest consideration of her own pleasure. When a native dies, his brother inherits his wives and children, but his brother must be of the same family name as himself.
The old men manage to keep the females a good deal among themselves, giving their daughters to one another; and the more female children they have, the greater is their chance of getting another wife by this sort of exchange.
A most remarkable law is that which obliges families connected by blood upon the female side to join for the purpose of avenging crimes, and as the father marries several wives, and very often all of different families, his children are all repeatedly divided among themselves, no common bond of union exists between them, and this custom alone would suffice to perpetuate their savage state.
Though they in no instance cultivate the soil, but subsist entirely by hunting and fishing, and on the wild roots they find in certain localities, with occasionally a little wild honey, every tribe has its own district, beyond whose well-defined limits it seldom passes except for purposes of war or festivity; and within that district all the wild animals are considered the property of the tribe inhabiting or rather ranging on its whole extent. Should any other tribe venture to intrude upon that district this is at once resisted as a violation of the rights of property, and is, indeed, a frequent cause of the wars which decimate the population, for the Australian aboriginal is as jealous of his rights and as pugnacious in their defence as any European can be.
But particular districts are not merely the property of particular tribes, particular sections or portions of these districts are universally recognised by the natives as belonging to individual members of these tribes; and as in England a man disposes of his property by will, thus among these savages a ‘lord of the manor’ divides his land during his lifetime, fairly apportioning it among his several sons, and at as early an age as fourteen or fifteen they can point out the portion which they are eventually to inherit. The punishment of ‘trespass for the purpose of hunting’ is invariably death if taken in the fact, and at the very least an obstinate contest ensues. If the trespasser is not taken in the fact, but is recognised from his footmarks, or from any other circumstance, and is ever caught in a defenceless state, he is probably killed; but frequently he appears, attended by his friends, and atones for his trespass by quietly holding out his leg for the injured party to thrust his spear through the thigh. Sometimes he undergoes the ordeal of having spears thrown at him.
At the appointed time, young and old repair to the place appointed for the trial, and the wild beauty of the scenery, the fantastically-painted forms of the natives, the savage yells and shouts of exultation which are raised as the culprit dexterously parries or by rapid leaps and contortions of his body avoids the clouds of spears which are hurled at him, all combine to form a scene full of dramatic interest. If the criminal is wounded in a degree judged sufficient for the crime he has committed, his guilt is wiped away, or if none of the spears thrown at him (only a limited number being allowed to each) take effect, he is equally pardoned.
There are other laws intended for the preservation and distribution of food, such as that which forbids all vegetable productions used as such by the natives, to be plucked or gathered when bearing seed, and the restriction of youth to certain articles of diet. They are not allowed to eat fish or eggs, or the emu, or any of the finer kinds of opossum or kangaroo. In short, their fare is required to be of the coarsest and most meagre description. As they grow older the restrictions are removed one after another; but it is not till they have passed the period of middle age that they are entirely unrestrained in the choice of food. The result of this regulation is to prevent the young men from possessing themselves by their superior strength and agility of all the more desirable articles of food, and leaving only the refuse to the elders, to whom another rule requires them to pay implicit obedience.
Thus, while among most other savage nations old age is a period of privation and neglect, aged men are always treated by the Australians with great respect, and as they rarely take part in any fray, and seldom appear to suffer much from the infirmities and diseases to which the aged are generally subject amongst us, it is probably the happiest time of their life.
It is commonly supposed that the natives of Australia are about as badly off for food as the African Bushmen or the Fuegoans, but according to Captain Grey, this is a great mistake, for every native knows exactly what his district produces, the proper time at which the several articles are in season, and the readiest means of procuring them. Besides, he is pre-eminently omnivorous, including frogs, mice, grubs, and lizards in his bill of fare, and making the roots of the earth, the fishes of the water, the birds of the air, and the animals of the bush contribute to his support. In order to obtain all the different articles of food, he displays a wonderful ingenuity, and never appears to greater advantage than while busily engaged in the pursuits of the chase. When hunting the kangaroo, he rivals in energy and perseverance, in skill and keenness of eye, the Red Indian tracking the wild animals of the Brazilian forest. The moment he commences his day’s hunting, his whole manner and appearance undergo a remarkable change; his eyes, before heavy and listless, are now full of animation; his movements are rapid but noiseless, all his soul is intent upon detecting signs of game. His glance roves from side to side in a vigilant, uneasy manner; no circumstance, however insignificant, escapes his attention--suddenly, he checks his pace, and stands immovable, like one transfixed, whilst all his faculties are concentrated in the sense of sight and hearing. His wives, who are at some distance behind him, the moment they see him assume this attitude, know that a kangaroo is near, and fall to the ground as if they had been shot, their children cowering by them and their little faces expressing an earnestness and anxiousness far beyond their years.
‘Looking about a hundred yards to the right of the native, you will see a kangaroo erect upon its hind legs and supported by its tail; it is reared to its utmost height, so that its head is between five and six feet above the ground; its short fore-paws hang by its side, its ears are pointed: it is listening as carefully as the native, and you see a little head peering out from its pouch, to inquire what has alarmed its mother; but the native moves not, you cannot tell whether it is a human being or the charred trunk of a burnt tree which is before you, and for several minutes the whole group preserve their relative position; at length the kangaroo becomes reassured, drops upon its fore paws, gives an awkward leap or two, and goes on feeding. Meantime the native moves not until the kangaroo having two or three times resumed the attitude of listening, at length once more abandons itself in perfect security to its feed, and playfully smells and rubs its little one. Now the watchful savage, keeping his body unmoved, fixes the spear first in the throwing-stick and then raises his arms in the attitude of throwing, from which they are never again moved until the kangaroo dies or runs away; his spear being properly secured he advances slowly and stealthily towards his prey, no part moving but his legs; whenever the kangaroo looks round, he stands motionless, in the position he is in when it first raises its head, until the animal, again assured of its safety, gives a skip or two and goes on feeding again; the native advances, and this scene is repeated many times, until the whistling spear penetrates the devoted animal; then the wood rings with shouts, women and children all join pell-mell in the chase; the kangaroo, weak from the loss of blood, and embarrassed by the long spear, which catches in the brush wood as it flies, at length turns on its pursuers, and to secure its rear, places its back against a tree, preparing at the same time to rend open the breast and entrails of its pursuer, by seizing him in its fore-paws and kicking with its hind legs and claws; but the wily native keeps clear of so murderous an embrace, and from the distance of a few yards throws spears into its breast, until the exhausted animal drops down.’
There are several other modes of taking kangaroos, such as catching them in nets or pit-falls, or lying in wait near their watering places until they come to drink; or else a party surrounds and incloses them in a narrowing circle; but the mode of tracking a kangaroo until it is wearied out is the one which pre-eminently requires every qualification prized by savages,--skill in tracking, endurance of hunger and thirst, unwearied bodily exertion, and lasting perseverance. To perform this feat, a native starts upon the track of a kangaroo, which he follows until he sights it, when it flies timidly before him; again he pursues the track, and again the animal bounds from him, and this is repeated until nightfall, when the native lights his fire, and sleeps upon the track; with the first light of day the hunt is resumed, and towards the close of the second day, or in the course of the third, the kangaroo falls a victim to its pursuer. None but a skilful huntsman, in the pride of youth and vigour, can execute this feat, which beyond all others excites the admiration of the natives.
Unfortunately, my limits do not allow me to describe their dexterity in fishing, or in entrapping the various kinds of wild fowl with which the rivers and lagoons of Australia abound, but the skill and acuteness of perception they display in hunting the opossum are too interesting to be passed over in silence. The savage carelessly walks up to some narrow trunk which he thinks bears a suspicious appearance; his hands are placed thoughtlessly behind his back, whilst his dark eye glances over the bark; suddenly it is for one moment stationary, and he looks eagerly at the tree, for he has detected the holes made by the nails of the opossum in its ascent; he now seeks for one of these footmarks which has a little sand attached to it, and gently blows the sand. If this is still damp, and holds together, it is a sign that the animal has climbed the tree the same morning, for otherwise the sand, dried by the heat of the sun, would have been readily swept away before his breath. Having, by this examination of signs which an unskilled European would vainly strive to detect, convinced himself that the opossum is in some hole of the tree, the native pulls his hatchet from his girdle, and cutting a small notch in the bark about four feet from the ground, he places the great toe of his right foot in it, throws his right arm round the tree, and with his left hand sticks the point handle of the hatchet into the bark, as high up as he can reach, and thus forms a stay to drag himself up with; having made good this step, he cuts another for his left foot, and thus proceeds until he has ascended to the hole where the opossum is hid, which is then compelled by smoke, or by being poked out, to quit its hiding-place, when the native catching hold of its tail, dashes it down on the ground, and quietly descends to pick it up.
The stranding of a whale is a great event in an Australian’s life, for here without any trouble on his part the bountiful sea presents him with a whole mountain of flesh. It is impossible for civilised man to enter into the feelings of the savage under these circumstances, for he has never been similarly situated, he never has had such a prodigal repast placed at once before him. On finding a whale cast ashore upon his property, the native ‘lord of the manor,’ seeing the impossibility of his own family consuming this enormous mass of food, whatever zeal it may bring to the task, feels his breast glow with unwonted hospitality, and anxious to see his friends about him, falls to work with his wives, and kindles large fires to give notice of the joyful event. This duty being performed, he rubs himself all over with the blubber, then anoints his favourite wives, and thus prepared, begins cutting his way through the blubber into the flesh, the grain of which is about as firm as a goose-quill. By-and-by other natives come gaily trooping in from all quarters; by night they dance and sing, by day they eat and sleep, and continue gormandising and merry-making until they at last fairly eat their way into the whale. Thus they remain by the carcase for many days, rubbed from head to foot with stinking blubber, gorged to repletion with putrid meat, out of temper from indigestion, and therefore constantly quarrelling, suffering from a cutaneous disorder by high feeding, and presenting altogether a most disgusting spectacle. A native girl stepping out of the carcase of a putrid whale is indeed a sight very different from that of a sea-born Venus emerging from her shell. When they at last quit their feast, they carry off as much as they can stagger under, to eat upon the way, and to take as a rare treat to their distant friends.
Though in many respects so utterly barbarous, the Australians are not guilty of the cannibalism so prevalent among the islanders of the Papuan race and in many parts of the Indian Archipelago, where, by a strange anomaly, we find it practised by nations standing much higher in the scale of civilisation.
The inventions of the throwing-stick for darting the spear, and of the well-known weapon called the boomerang; the sound policy of many of their laws and regulations, and the fact that Australian children educated in England have shown the same aptitude in learning as white children of the same age, sufficiently prove that these savages are by no means deficient in intelligence.
As to their moral qualities, their apparent honesty results in a great measure from there being few European articles for which they have any use; articles of food, or a knife, or a hatchet are by no means safe where they can get at them. Their behaviour to their women is often very bad; they beat and even spear them on the most trifling occasions. Different tribes vary in the most extraordinary way in their friendliness or hostility to strangers. They appear to be very capricious, and always act on the whim or the impulse of the moment, so that the same people, who to-day may be kind assistants in the hour of need, will to-morrow be guilty of the grossest acts of treachery.
XXXVII. THE SLOTH
Miserable Aspect of the Sloth--His Beautiful Organisation for his Peculiar Mode of Life--His Rapid Movements in the Trees--His Means of Defence--His Tenacity of Life--Fable about the Sloth refuted-- The Ai--The Unau--The Mylodon Robustus.
‘The piteous aspect, the sorrowful gestures, the lamentable cry of the Sloth, all combine to excite commiseration. While other animals assemble in herds, or roam in pairs through the boundless forest, the sloth leads a lonely life in those immeasurable solitudes, where the slowness of his movements exposes him to every attack. Harmless and frugal, like a pious anchorite, a few coarse leaves are all he asks for his support. On comparing him with other animals, you would say that his deformed organisation was a strange mixture of deficiency and superabundance. He has no cutting teeth, and though possessed of four stomachs, he still wants the long intestines of ruminating animals. His feet are without soles, nor can he move his toes separately. His hair is coarse and wiry, and its dull colour reminds one of grass withered by the blasts of surly winter. His legs appear deformed by the manner in which they are attached to the body, and his claws seem disproportionably long. Surely a creature so wretched and ill-formed stands last on the list of all the four-footed animals, and may justly accuse Nature of step-motherly neglect!’
When seeing a captured sloth painfully creeping along on even ground, sighing and moaning, and scarcely advancing a few steps after hours of awkward toil, the observer might well be disposed to acquiesce in the foregoing remarks, and to fancy he had discovered a flaw among the general beauty of the Creator’s works; but let him view the animal in the situation for which it was ordained, and he will soon retract his hasty judgment, and discover it to be no less perfect in its kind, and no less admirably fitted for its sphere of existence, than the most highly organised of the mammalian tribes.
For the sloth, in his wild state, spends his whole life in the trees, and never once touches the earth but through force or by accident. Like the monkey, he has been formed for an exclusively sylvan life, high above the ground, in the green canopy of the woods; but while the nimble simiæ constantly live upon the branches, the sloth is doomed to spend his whole life under them. He moves, he rests, he sleeps suspended from the boughs of trees, a wonderfully strange way of life, for which no other four-footed animal of the Old or the New World has been destined.
And now examine his organisation with reference to this peculiar mode of existence, and all his seeming deficiencies and deformities will appear most admirably adapted to his wants, for these strong, muscular, preposterously long fore-feet, while the hinder extremities are comparatively short and weak, these slender toes armed with enormous claws, are evidently as well suited for clasping the rugged branch as the enormous hind-legs of the kangaroo for bounding over the arid plain. Indeed, in every case, we shall find the fundamental type or idea of the four extremities belonging to the vertebrated animals most admirably modified according to their wants: here shortened, there prolonged; here armed with claws, there terminating in a hoof; here coalescing to a tail, there assuming the shape of a fin; here clothed with feathers to cleave the air, there raised to the perfection of the human hand, the wonderful instrument of a still more wonderful intelligence; and who, seeing all this, can possibly believe that the world is ruled by chance, and not by an all-pervading and almighty power?
Thus the sloth, so helpless when removed from his native haunts, is far from exhibiting the same torpidity in his movements when seen in the place for which Nature fitted him.
‘One day, as we were crossing the Essequibo,’ says Mr. Waterton, ‘I saw a large sloth on the ground upon the bank; how he had got there nobody could tell; the Indian said he had never surprised a sloth in such a situation before: he would hardly have come there to drink, for both above and below the place the branches of the trees touched the water, and afforded him an easy and safe access to it. Be this as it may, though the trees were not above twenty yards from him, he could not make his way through the sand time enough to escape before we landed. As soon as we came up to him, he threw himself upon his back, and defended himself in gallant style with his fore-legs. “Come, poor fellow!” said I to him, “if thou hast got into a hobble to-day, thou shalt not suffer for it; I’ll take no advantage of thee in misfortune; the forest is large enough both for thee and me to rove in. Go thy ways up above, and enjoy thyself in these endless wilds; it is more than probable thou wilt never have another interview with man. So fare thee well.” On saying this I took up a long stick which was lying there, held it for him to hook on, and then conveyed him to a high and stately mora. He ascended with wonderful rapidity, and in about a minute he was almost at the top of the tree. He now went off in a side direction, and caught hold of the branch of a neighbouring tree; he then proceeded towards the heart of the forest. I stood looking on, lost in amazement at his singular mode of progress. I followed him with my eye till the intervening branches closed in betwixt us, and then lost sight for ever of the sloth. I was going to add that I never saw a sloth take to his heels in such earnest, but the expression will not do, for the sloth has no heels.’
The Indians, to whom no one will deny the credit of being acute observers of animal life, say that the sloth wanders principally when the wind blows. In calm weather he remains still, probably not liking to cling to the brittle extremity of the branches, lest they should break under his weight in passing from one tree to another; but as soon as the breeze rises, the branches of the neighbouring trees become interwoven, and then he seizes hold of them and pursues his journey in safety. There is seldom an entire day of calm in the forests of Guiana. The trade-wind generally sets in about ten o’clock in the morning, and since the sloth, as we have just seen, is able to travel at a good-round pace when he has branches to cling to, there is nothing to prevent him making a considerable way before the sun sinks, and the wind goes down.
During night, and while reposing in the daytime, the sloth constantly remains suspended by his feet, for his anatomy is such that he can feel comfortable in no other position. In this manner he will rest for hours together, expressing his satisfaction by a kind of purring, and from time to time his dismal voice may be heard resounding through the forest, and awakening at a distance a similar melancholy cry.
The colour of the sloth’s hair so strongly resembles the hue of the moss which grows on the trees, that the European finds it very difficult to make him out when he is at rest, and even the falcon-eyed Indian, accustomed from his earliest infancy to note the slightest signs of forest life, is hardly able to distinguish him from the branches to which he clings. This no doubt serves him as a protection against the attacks of many enemies; but, far from being helpless, his powerful claws and the peculiarly enduring strength of his long arms, make very efficient weapons of defence against the large tree snakes that may be tempted to make a meal of him.
The sloth possesses a remarkable tenacity of life, and withstands the dreadful effects of the wourali poison of the Macushi Indians longer than any other animal. Schomburgk slightly scratched a sloth in the upper lip, and rubbed a minimum of the venom in the wound, which did not even emit a drop of blood; he then carried the animal to a tree, which it began to climb, but after having reached a height of about twelve feet, it suddenly stopped, and swinging its head about from side to side, as if uncertain which way to go, tried to continue its ascent, which, however, it was unable to accomplish. First it let go one of its fore-feet, then the other, and remained attached with its hind-legs to the tree until, these also losing their power, it fell to the ground, where, without any of the convulsive motions or the oppressive breathing which generally mark the effect of the wourali, it expired in the thirteenth minute after the poison had been administered.
The sloths attain a length of about two feet and a half, and form two genera--the Unaus, with two-toed fore-feet and three-toed hinder extremities, and the Aïs, with three toes on each foot. Their way of living is the same, and their range is limited to the forests of Guiana and the Brazils. They bring forth and suckle their young like ordinary quadrupeds, and the young sloth, from the moment of its birth, adheres to the body of its parent till it acquires sufficient size and strength to shift for itself.
XXXVIII. ANT-EATERS
The Great Ant-Bear--His Way of Licking up Termites--His Formidable Weapons--A Perfect Forest Vagabond--His Peculiar Manner of Walking--The Smaller Ant-Eaters--The Manides--The African Aard Vark--The Armadillos--The Porcupine Ant-Eater of Australia.
The great Ant-bear is undoubtedly one of the most extraordinary denizens of the wilds of South America, for that a powerful animal, measuring above six feet from the snout to the end of the tail, should live exclusively on ants, seems scarcely less remarkable than that the whale nourishes his enormous body with minute pteropods and medusæ. The vast mouth of the leviathan of the seas has been most admirably adapted to his peculiar food, and it was not in vain that Nature gave such colossal dimensions to his head, as it was necessary to find room for a gigantic straining apparatus, in which, on rejecting the engulphed water, thousands upon thousands of his tiny prey might remain entangled; but the ant-bear has been no less wonderfully armed for the capture of the minute animals on which he feeds, and if, on considering the use for which it was ordained, we become reconciled to the seeming disproportion of the whale’s jaws, the small and elongated, snout-like head of the ant-bear will also appear less uncouthly formed when we reflect that it is in exact accordance with the wants of the animal. For here no deep cavity was required for the reception of two rows of powerful teeth, as in most other quadrupeds, but a convenient furrow for a long and extensile tongue--the use of which will immediately become apparent on following the animal into the Brazilian campos, where, as we have seen in a former chapter, the wonderful cities of the white ant are dispersed over the plains in such incalculable numbers. Approaching one of these structures, the ant-bear strikes a hole through its wall of clay, with his powerful crooked claws, and as the ants issue forth by thousands to resent the insult, stretches out his tongue for their reception. Their furious legions, eager for revenge, immediately rush upon it, and vainly endeavouring to pierce its thick skin with their mandibles, remain sticking to the glutinous liquid with which it is lubricated from two very large glands situated below its root. When sufficiently charged with prey, the ant-bear suddenly withdraws his tongue and swallows all the insects.
Without swiftness to enable him to escape from his enemies, for man is superior to him in speed; without teeth, the possession of which would assist him in self-defence; without the power of burrowing in the ground, by which he might conceal himself from his pursuers; without a cave to retire to, the ant-bear still ranges through the wilderness in perfect safety, and fears neither the boa nor the jaguar, for he has full reliance on his powerful fore-legs and their tremendous claws.
Richard Schomburgh had an opportunity of witnessing a young ant-bear make use of these formidable weapons. On the enemy’s approach it assumed the defensive, but in such a manner as to make the boldest aggressor pause, for, resting on its left fore-foot, it struck out so desperately with its right paw as would undoubtedly have torn off the flesh of any one that came in contact with its claws. Attacked from behind, it wheeled with the rapidity of lightning, and on being assailed from several quarters at once, threw itself on its back, and desperately fighting with its fore-legs, uttered at the same time an angry growl of defiance. In fact the ant-bear is so formidable an opponent that he is said not unfrequently to vanquish even the jaguar, the lord of the American forests, for the latter is often found swimming in his blood, with ripped-up bowels, a wound which, of all the beasts of the wilderness, the claws of the ant-bear are alone able to inflict.
On seizing an animal with these powerful weapons, he hugs it close to his body, and keeps it there till it dies through pressure or hunger. Nor does the ant-bear, in the meantime, suffer much from want of aliment, as it is a well known fact that he can remain longer without food than perhaps any other quadruped, so that there is very little chance indeed of a weaker animal’s escaping from his clutches.
Peaceable and harmless, the ant-bear when unprovoked never thinks of attacking any other creature; and as his interests and pursuits do not interfere with those of the more formidable denizens of the wilderness, he would, without doubt, attain a good old age, and be allowed to die in peace, if, unfortunately for him, his delicate flesh did not provoke the attacks of the large carnivora and man. To be sure, the Indian fears his claws, and never ventures to approach the wounded ant-bear until he has breathed his last; nor can he be hunted with dogs, as his skin is of a texture that perfectly resists a bite, and his hinder parts are effectually protected by thick and shaggy hair; yet, armed with the wourali poison, the wild hunters know how to paralyse in a few minutes his muscular powers, and to stretch him dead upon the earth. They have also recourse to stratagem for the animal’s destruction, for during rain it turns its long bushy tail up over its back and stands still. Knowing this, the Indians when they meet with one, rustle the leaves, and it thinks rain is falling, and turning up its tail, they take the opportunity of killing it by a blow on the head with a stick.
A perfect forest vagabond, the ant-bear has no den to retire to, nor any fixed abode; his immense tail is large enough to cover his whole body, and serves him as a tent during the night, or as a waterproof mantle against the rains of the wet season, so that he might boast, like Diogenes, of carrying all he required about him.
The peculiar position of his paws, when he walks or stands, is worthy of notice. He goes entirely on the outer side of his fore-feet, which are quite bent inwards, the claws collected into a point and going under the foot. In this position he is quite at ease, while his long claws are disposed of in a manner to render them harmless to him, and are prevented from becoming dull and worn, which would inevitably be the case did their points come in actual contact with the ground, for they have not that retractile power which is given to animals of the feline race, enabling them to preserve the sharpness of their claws on the most flinty path. In consequence of its resting perpetually on the ground, the whole outer side of the foot is hard and callous, while, on the contrary, the inner side of the bottom of the foot is soft and hairy.
Besides the great ant-bear, there are two other species of American ant-eaters, one nearly the size of a fox, and the smallest not much larger than a rat. Being provided with prehensile tails, they are essentially arboreal, while the great ant-bear, incapable of climbing, always remains on the ground, where, thanks to the abundance of his prey, he is always sure of obtaining a sufficient supply of food, with very little trouble.
The Manides, and Pangolins, of South Africa and Asia, resemble the ant-eaters of America in having a very long extensile tongue, furnished with a glutinous mucus for securing their insect food, and in being destitute of teeth; but completely differ from them in having the whole body covered with a panoply of large imbricated scales, overlapping each other like those of the lizard tribes, and also in being able to roll themselves up when in danger, by which their trenchant scales become erect, and present a formidable defensive armour of wonderful hardness, so that even the tiger would vainly attempt to overcome the Indian Pangolin.
The manides are inoffensive animals, living wholly on ants and termites, and chiefly inhabit the most obscure parts of the forest, burrowing in the ground to a great depth, for which purpose, as also for extracting their food from ant-hills and decaying wood, their feet are armed with powerful claws, which they double up in walking, like the ant-bear of Brazil.
Besides several species of manides, Africa possesses a peculiar class of ant-eaters in the Aard varks, or Earth-hogs (Orycteropi), thus called from their extraordinary powers of excavation and their fancied resemblance to small short-legged pigs. Such is the strength of their prodigious claws that they easily tear to pieces the clay-built domes of the termites; which, though so solid as to be capable of bearing the weight of many men on their summits, are unable to resist the destructive labours of the Aard vark. Towards evening the animal issues from its burrow, and roaming over the plains, searches for an ant-hill in full operation. A breach is soon made in the strong walls of the citadel, and as the unfortunate termites run hither and thither in consternation, like the inmates of a beleaguered city whose ramparts are crumbling under the enemy’s artillery, the author of this confusion flings his glutinous tongue among them and sweeps them into his mouth by hundreds. The Aard varks abound all over the sultry plains of torrid Africa, but owing to their great burrowing powers the capture of a living specimen is attended with the greatest difficulty; the claws being instruments of excavation with which the spade is unable to compete. Unless disturbed, however, and forced to dig deeper through fear of capture, the Aard vark, being averse to unnecessary trouble, makes but a shallow burrow--sufficiently deep, however, not seldom to cause the wheels of a waggon to sink into it, or to prove a treacherous pitfall to a hunter in full chase.
The American Armadillos have many points in common with the Manides. They have neither fore nor canine teeth, but a number of conical grinders, and are distinguished by having the upper parts of their bodies defended by a complete suit of armour, divided into joints or bands, folding one over the other like the parts of a lobster’s tail, so as to accommodate themselves to all the motions of the animal. In life, this shell is very limber, so that the armadillo is able to go at full stretch, or to roll himself up into a ball as occasion may require. These animals are very common both in the forests and in the open plains of South America, where they reside in subterranean homes which they have dug with their powerful fore-limbs. They are seldom seen abroad during the day, and when surprised are sure to be near the mouth of their holes; but after sunset they sally forth in search of roots, grain, worms, insects, and other small animals, and when disturbed, coil themselves up in their armour like the hedgehog, or squat close to the ground, or escape by digging into the earth, a work which they perform with masterly dexterity. So fast indeed do they excavate that if a horseman sees one of these animals, he must almost tumble from his steed if he wishes to capture the active creature. And when he has seized it he must be cautious not to come into contact with its feet, or he will suffer severe wounds from the powerful claws with which they are armed.
The family of the armadillos has been subdivided into numerous genera and species, distinguished from each other by the number of their shelly bands, their teeth, and their toes. They might also be conveniently divided into two tribes, the one with a long and conical tail, the other with a short caudal appendage, formed like a club. They differ greatly in size, for while the giant armadillo (Priodontes gigas) is at least four feet long from the tip of the snout to the tip of the tail, the Pichiciago (Chlamyphorus truncatus), which inhabits the province of Mendoza in the Andes, and is remarkable for its mole-like propensities, passing the greatest part of its life underground, scarcely measures six inches in length.
The curious Echidna, or Porcupine Ant-eater (Echidna hystrix) of Australia, is a striking instance of those beautiful gradations so frequently observed in the animal kingdom, by which creatures of various tribes or genera are blended as it were, or linked together, and of the wonderful diversity which Nature has introduced into the forms of creatures destined to a similar mode of life. It has the general appearance and external coating of the porcupine, with the mouth and peculiar generic characters of the ant-eaters. It is about a foot in length, and burrows with wonderful facility by means of its short muscular fore-feet and its sharp-pointed claws. When attacked, it rolls itself into a ball like the hedgehog, erecting the short, strong, and very sharp spines with which the upper parts of the body and tail are thickly coated, and thus presenting a formidable defensive armour to its assailant.
XXXIX. TROPICAL BATS
Wonderful Organisation of the Bats--The Fox-Bat--The Vampire-- Its Blood-sucking Propensities--The Horse-Shoe Bats--The Flying Squirrel--The Galeopithecus--The Anomalurus.
When the sun has disappeared below the horizon, and night falls on the landscape, which a little while ago was bathed in light, then from hollow trees, and creviced rocks, and ruined buildings, a strange and dismal race comes forth.
Silently hovering through the glades of the wood, or skimming along the surface of the streams, it catches the crepuscular or nocturnal moths, and serves like the swallow by day to check the exuberant multiplication of the insect tribes. But while man loves the swallow, and suffers him to build his nest under the eaves of his dwelling, he abhors the bat, which like an evil spirit avoids the light of day, and seems to feel happy only in darkness. The painter, expressing this general feeling, gives to his angels the white pinions of the swan, while his demons are made to bear the black wings of the bat. And yet the bat, in Europe at least, is a most inoffensive creature, which may well claim the gratitude of the farmer, from the vast numbers of cockchafers and other noxious insects which it destroys; while a closer inspection of its wonderful organisation proves it to be far more deserving of admiration than of repugnance. Can anything be better adapted to its wants than the delicate membrane which, extending over the long slim fingers, can be spread and folded like an umbrella, so as to form a wing when the animal wishes to fly, and to collapse into a small space when it is at rest? How slight the bones, how light the body, how beautifully formed for flight!
Though temperate Europe possesses many bats, yet they are most numerous and various in the woody regions of the tropical zone, where the vast numbers of the insect tribes and forest fruits afford them a never-failing supply of food. There also they attain a size unknown in our latitudes, so that both from their dimensions and their physiognomy, many of the larger species have obtained the name of flying-dogs or flying-foxes.
On approaching a Javanese village, you will sometimes see a stately tree, from whose branches hundreds of large black fruits seem to be suspended. A strong smell of ammonia and a piping noise soon, however, convince you of your mistake, and a closer inspection proves them to be a large troop of Kalongs, or Flying-Foxes (Pteropus), attached head downwards to the tree, where they rest or sleep during the daytime, and which they generally quit at sunset, though some of them differ so much from the usual habits of the family as to fly about in the broad light of day.
Many species of fox-bats are found all over the torrid zone in the Old World, but they abound particularly in the East Indian Archipelago. They belong to the rare quadrupeds indigenous in some of the South Sea Islands, such as Tonga or Samoa, and extend northwards as far as Japan, and southwards to Van Diemen’s Land. They occasion incalculable mischief in the plantations, devouring indiscriminately every kind of fruit; but, on the other hand, the gigantic kalong of Java (Pteropus edulis), whose body attains a length of a foot and a half, and whose outstretched wings measure no less than four feet and a half from tip to tip, is eaten as a delicacy by the natives.
The same essential differences which we observe between the monkeys of both hemispheres, are also found to exist between the large bats of the Old and the New World. Not a single fox-bat is to be found in all America, while the Phyllostomidæ, distinguished by the orifices of their nostrils being placed in a kind of membranous scutcheon, surmounted by a leaf-like expansion, like the head of a lance, and supposed to extend in an extraordinary degree the sense of smelling, are exclusively confined to the western continent. These large bats of which there are many species, some measuring above two feet from wing to wing, are remarkable for their blood-sucking propensities, and under the name of vampires have brought the whole race of the large tropical bats into evil repute.
The Phyllostomahastatum, a common species on the Amazons, chiefly feeds on vespertine and nocturnal moths, but does also much injury to horses and cattle, and even attacks man when it has an opportunity. The Prince of Neu Wied often saw it by moonlight hovering about his horses while grazing after their day’s journey. The animals did not seem incommoded by its attacks, but on the following morning he generally found them covered with blood from the shoulders to the hoofs. There is still some uncertainty as to the way in which it inflicts its wound, which is a small round hole, the bleeding of which it is very difficult to stop. It can hardly be a bite, as that would awake the sleeper; it seems most probable that it is either a succession of gentle scratches with the sharp edge of the teeth, gradually wearing away the skin, or a triturating with the point of the tongue till the same effect is produced. After the wound is made the muscular underlip of the vampire, which can be completely folded together in the shape of a sucking-tube, continues to pump forth the blood, the wings of the bat serving at the same time to fan the patient into a deeper slumber.
Many persons are particularly annoyed by the Phyllostoma, while others are free from their attacks. Mr. Wallace, who was himself twice bitten, once on the top of the great toe, the usual locality, and the other time on the top of the nose, mentions an old mulatto on the Upper Rio Negro, who was attacked almost every night, and though there were frequently half a dozen other persons in the room, would be the favoured party. An Indian girl at Manaquery, on the Upper Amazon, who was likewise frequently annoyed by the bats, was at length so much weakened by loss of blood, that fears were entertained of her life if they continued their attacks, and it was found necessary to send her to a distance, where her bloodthirsty persecutors did not abound.
In the province of Minas Geraes innumerable troops of large bats issue from the limestone caverns on the banks of the Rio Francisco, or from the crevices of the granite walls of the Parime Mountains, and not seldom attack the cattle with such bloodthirsty obstinacy as to oblige the planters to drive their herds to some other part of the country. To keep them in check, tobacco and sulphur are from time to time ignited under the rocks where they abound, when the stunned bats drop down, and are killed by thousands.
The vampires may sometimes be seen in the forest, hanging in clusters, head downwards, from the branch of a tree, a circumstance of which Goldsmith seems to have been aware, for in the ‘Deserted Village,’ speaking of America, he says--
‘And matted woods, where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.’
Some of the phyllostomidæ have a tongue once as long again as the head, and armed at the extremity with recurved bristles, like that of the woodpecker, no doubt a very serviceable instrument for extracting insects from the narrow hollows and crevices of trees and rocks.
The Rhinolophi, or Horse-shoe Bats, of the old continent, have also a more or less complicated nasal appendage, or foliaceous membrane at the end of the nose but differing in its conformation from that of the phyllostomidæ. They are insectivorous, like most of their order, and none of them seem to indulge in the blood-sucking propensities of the large American vampires. They chiefly inhabit the tropical regions of Africa and Asia, and more particularly the Indian Archipelago, but the Rhinolophus unihastatus ranges in Europe as far as England.
Numerous genera and species of tropical bats, distinguished from each other by the formation of their teeth, lips, nostrils, heads, wings, and tails, have already been classified by naturalists, but many, no doubt, still live unknown in their gloomy retreats, for who is able to follow them into the obscure nooks of the forest, or into intricate caverns, and accurately to observe them during their nocturnal rambles? It may give an idea of their vast numbers throughout the torrid zone, when we hear that in Ceylon alone about sixteen species have been identified, and of these, two varieties are peculiar to the island. Unlike the sombre bats of the northern climates, the colours of some of them are as brilliant as the plumage of a bird, bright yellow, deep orange, or of a rich ferruginous brown, thus contradicting the general belief which attires nocturnal animals in vestures as dark as their pursuits.
The torrid zone, which produces the largest bats, also gives birth to the tiniest representatives of the order, such as the minute Singhalese variety of Scotophilus Coromandelicus, which is not much larger than the humble bee, and of a glossy black colour. ‘It is so familiar and gentle,’ says Sir J. E. Tennent, ‘that it will alight on the cloth during dinner, and manifests so little alarm that it seldom makes any effort to escape before a wine-glass can be inverted to secure it.’
Though incapable of a prolonged flight like the bats, several other tropical quadrupeds have been provided with extensions of the skin, which give them the power of supporting themselves for some time in the air, and of making prodigious leaps. Thus, by means of an expansile furry membrane, reaching from the fore-feet to the hind, the Flying Squirrels (Pteromys) bound, or rather swiftly sail, to the distance of twenty fathoms or more, and thus pass from one tree to another, always directing their flight obliquely downwards. They very rarely descend to the ground, and when taken or placed on it, run or spring somewhat awkwardly with their tail elevated, beginning to climb with great activity as soon as they reach a tree.
The Galeopitheci, of the Indian Archipelago, and the Anomaluri of the west coast of Africa, are in like manner enabled to take long sweeping leaps from tree to tree, and no doubt the investigations of travellers will bring to light other animals endowed with similar powers, for when we consider how large a portion of the tropical zone has never yet been scientifically investigated, we have every reason to believe that many still remain unknown.