4 * 2 BSE Zoe Zea: S SS9E6ZIL0 TTA OLNOHOL 40 ALISHSAINN TM AND EMOTIONS >, J. CORNISH. “enacng L | \ Cc. J CORNISH Author of ‘Life at the Zoo, ‘Wild England of To-Day, ‘The New Forest’ and ‘The Isle of Wight’ With Illustrations e) ee \t/4 oo) ‘ SK 2 LONDON SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED EssEX STREET, STRAND 1896 PRE PACE In a previous book, ‘Life at the Zoo,’ the writer gave the result of some experiments showing the tastes and preferences of animals for colour, music, and perfumes. The following notes deal with some of the more general activities and emotions of their every-day life. Routine, as M. George Leroy re- marked in his ‘ Lettres sur Les Animaux, is the main feature in their existence; but this routine embraces a very wide range of practical effort. Considering the difference of their equipment contrasted with that of man, they secure a large share of happiness and comfort, judged from the animal point of view. Most of the papers were originally contributed to the Spectator, to whose Editors the Author has to offer his renewed thanks for permission to publish them consecutive form. C. J. CORNISH, Orford House, Chiswick Mall. SON Lava S PAGE ANIMALS’ BEDs, ¢ i : : - I ANIMAL SLEEP, ; a ; s ‘ 8 ANIMALS’ TOILETTEs, ; : ; ; 16 - ANIMALS IN SOCIETY, : ta, ; 23 THE ANIMAL DISLIKE OF SOLITUDE, : : 31 ANIMAL ETIQUETTE, : : 3 ri 39 MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS, . : 47 ANIMAL. COURAGE, . ; : ; ; ; 56 THE ANIMAL SENSE OF HuUMOUR,. ‘ r : 68 THE EMOTION OF GRIEF IN ANIMALS, . : 77 ANIMALS AT PLAY, . ‘ ; 85 ANIMALS IN PAGEANTS, . : : | 95 THE SOARING OF BIRDS, . : ; Peeve fo Vill CONTENTS ANIMALS IN RAIN, . ; : ; Birps Lost IN STORMS, WHAT ANIMALS SEE, ANIMAL INDUSTRIES, ‘SWEATING BEES,’ . THE RE-DOMESTICATION OF THE AFRICAN ELEPHANT ANIMALS IN SICKNESS, ? ANIMAL ‘MATERIA MEDICA,’ : THE LENGTH OF ANIMAL LIFE AT THE ZOO, THE LIMIT OF SIZE IN MODERN ANIMALS, DANGEROUS ANIMALS OF EUROPE, THE MYSTERY OF MIGRATION, MR Seceaanie DISCOVERY, THE PROBLEM OF PERMANENT ARCTIC LIFE, THE CONDITIONS OF ANIMAL DOMESTICATION, SANCTUARIES FOR WILD BIRDs, THE INVISIBLE FooD OF FISHES, . Tue ANIMAL VIEW OF CAPTIVITY, HOUSEHOLD PESTS, . RECENT Rat LORE, A Boom IN ANIMAL LIFE, . CONTENTS THE MODERN ART OF BIRDSNESTING, HOMES FOR WILD BIRDS, . THE BASIS OF ANIMAL MYTH, OMENS FROM BIRDS, THE WILD Boy OF PINDUS, gst OF ILLUSTRATIONS PRAIRIE DOGS MAKING THEIR BEDs, A SLEEPING LION, THE Woopcock’s TOILET, SociaAL SPARROWS, HANUMAN MONKEYS WITH A SENTINEL, THE RaAJAH’S DROMEDARIES AT JEYPORE, AN AGED BISON, ‘ : as A ZEBRA IN HARNESS, WILD-FOWL ON LANGMERE, NORFOLK, KANGAROOS IN AN Neciice PARK, A HAWK KILLING A WiLp Duck, SrocK Dove’s NEs?T, . xi Frontispiece : 12 16 36 52 98 176 226 232 250 280 292 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY ANIMALS’: BEDS Birps which make such elaborate nests for their young, seldom seem to think of making beds for themselves to sleep in on winter nights.* This con- tradiction is the more surprising because many animals do make, or own, or appropriate beds. Some, like the prairie-dogs, make a fresh one every night ; and almost all that possess a bed at all, are vastly fussy, important, jealous, and particular about this their only article of household furniture. Prairie-dogs ought to take the place of the stupid guinea-pigs as pets, if only because they throw away their old bed every day, and make a new one. The sight of the prairie-dogs making up their beds on winter afternoons is the funniest scene in * Wrens are an exception to the rule. They habitually sleep, during the - winter, in the unlined ‘spare’ nests built in spring. A 2 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY the Zoo. There are several sets of these genial little fellows in the Gardens, two or three in a cage, each of which is supplied with a_ sleeping-box in one corner, while every other day a few handfuls of fresh straw are put in. In the morning, the prairie- dogs carry every bit of their last night’s bed out of the box, and throw it out into the cage. They then eat their breakfast, and spend the day in playing about, staring visitors out of countenance, cramming long pieces. of straw into their mouths and pouches, and nibbling carrots. About three o’clock, when the days are short, they suddenly recollect that they have not made their beds, and at once set to work in a hurry to get it done before dark. As the closing-bell rings at dusk, and that is the moment at which the prairie-dogs earnestly desire to be in bed, it almost seems, to anyone who watches them, as if they knew the time and were waiting for -the ‘curfew’ before turning in. But bed-making with them is a very serious matter. Common _ straw, . dragged in just as it is, does not suit them at all. It has all to be cut up to a certain length, and then carried in in bundles and ‘made up’ inside. Each prairie-dog sits up on end, and crams straw into its mouth in a most dreadful hurry, holding the straws ‘across and breaking them off on each side with its paws, exactly as sewing-maids indulge in the bad habit of break- ANIMALS’ BEDS 3 ing cotton with their teeth.* As soon as the prairie- dog has filled its mouth till it cannot hold any more, it drops on all-fours and gallops off into the sleeping-box, arranges the cut straw, and rushes out again for a fresh supply. Each seems to watch the others severely, as they sit up straw-cutting, to see that they do not shirk. From time to time they all jump into the air and bark, as if suddenly projected upwards by a spring in the boards of the floor. Dormice also make beds, though they are not so particular as the prairie-dogs about a change of blankets. When wild, they often fit a roof to an old bird’s nest, and fill the inside with moss and wool, in which they curl up and sleep through the winter. But when kept in a warm house, only the bed needs to be_ provided. The best selection of bedding by a dormouse which the writer has known was made by one which had escaped, and remained for some weeks in the house before being recaptured. When winter wraps were once more coming into season, some jackets were taken: out of a drawer, and under the astrachan collar of one of these the dormouse was found fast * In the spring of 1896, Mr Jannach kindly presented the writer’s wife with a prairie-dog. It preferred sleeping under some heavy piece of furniture to using its own bed, If any pieces of paper or string had fallen behind a bureau or chest of drawers, it carefully carried them out and laid them on the carpet, treating them as ‘old bedding.’ It burrowed into a sofa among the springs, where it would bark when anyone sat down. Two others, the writer hears, burrowed into a chest of drawers in a house, and tore up dresses to make beds, 4 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY asleep, in a bed which it had nibbled out in the cloth, with the fur on the top for a blanket. Another and much larger hibernating animal—the badger— takes a quantity of grass in to make its bed in the winter, and removes this when it comes out more freely in the spring. But the oddest fancy of the badger in bed is that it actually sleeps on its head. This is true, in any case, of one of the Zoo badgers. Twice, when the straw in which he buries himself has been moved, the writer has seen him, not curled up on his side, but with the top of his flat head on the ground, and the rest of its body curled over it, as if it had fallen asleep in the middle of turning head over heels. No one can have failed to notice how particular children are about their beds—how much they object to have them altered, how they insist on their being ‘ made’ in their own way, and how they carry their newest and most valued possessions up to bed with them, and poke them away under the blankets and pillows. Animals — do exactly the same, and a pet dog which is on the | friendliest terms with master and servants, often makes the most ridiculous fuss if anyone touches the box or basket in which it sleeps. Like children, or the old women who hide sovereigns and bank notes in the mattresses, the dogs have nearly always a small hoard of very old, dry bones hidden away in their bed, in the straw or under a rug, as the case may be, and think it ANIMALS’ BEDS 5 necessary to make a show of the fiercest displeasure if anyone comes near who might carry their savings away. As a rule it is only petted domestic animals that are ‘faddy’ about their beds. Many of these are as particular about their arrangement as the old ‘nabob’” at St Roman’s Well, who drilled the house- maid into adjusting his matresses to the proper angle of inclination. The writer has seen a little dachshund which would not go to her basket until the blanket had been held to the hall-stove. This she required to be done in summer as well as winter, though the stove was not lighted. A spaniel, kept in a stable, used always to leave its kennel to sleep with the horse. Hounds make a joint bed on the bench after a long run, lying back to back, and so supporting one another. But sporting dogs should have proper beds made like shallow boxes with sloping sides. They are far more rested in the morning than if simply left to lie on straw. This was noted by a clever old Devonshire clergyman, a great sportsman, who observed that his best retrieving spaniel used always to get into an empty wheelbarrow to sleep when tired. The dog’s bed should be a rough re- production of a navvy’s barrow standing on short legs. Foxes are very careful to find a comfortable bed by day. Their round ‘forms’ in the long grass are made well sheltered from the wind, often in the bottom 6 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY of a pit or hollow, unlike those of the hares, which are oval, and ona hill-side. The crown of a pollard- tree they like even better. The prettiest fox’s bed the writer has ever seen was under a dog-rose bush, which grew on a little circle of sound ground in a rushy marsh. Two foxes were curled up under it, enjoying the winter sun; and as all the rushes and the rose bush were white with hoar-frost, the momentary glimpse of the foxes in bed was as pretty as it was unexpected. The poet Cowper’s cat was not alone in her taste for making a bed in such odd places as watering-pots and open drawers. Cats are the most obstinately capricious, in their fancies about their beds, of any domestic creature. They will follow a particular rug or shawl from room to room, if it be removed, in order to sleep on it, or insist on the use of one chair, until they get their way, and then for some reason take a fancy to another. The cleanliest of all animals, anything newly washed or very fresh and bright, strikes them as just the thing for a bed. A nicely- aired newspaper lying on the floor or in a chair, or linen fresh from the wash, is almost irresistible. ~ Out- door cats seek a warm as well as a tidy bed. The writer was once much surprised, when passing through Mr Thornycroft’s shipbuilding yard at Chiswick, to see a cat fast asleep, lying, it seemed, on a muddy path. ANIMALS’ BEDS - But the spot which the cat had selected for its couch, was one at which a hot steam-pipe passed under the road, and the mud was there baked into a warm, dry cake, which made not only a clean but an artificially-heated sleeping-place. But the oddest taste in beds developed by a cat, was that entertained by a very highly-bred grey Angora, which was justly petted and admired by the family in which it lived. For some months it would .only sleep in or upon a hat, if such could be found, ladies’ hats being preferred. If it could discover one with the inside uppermost, it would lie inside it. If not, such was its love for this form of couch, it would curl itself round the brim, and with its long, furry tail and pliant body, made a fine winter trimming to a summer hat, though gentlemen who found it cuddled round their tall hats regarded its taste with less admiration. By some accident, a drawer in which all the ‘summer’ hats had _ been disposed for the winter was left open for some days, after which it was discovered that all the hats had been tried in turn, the cat having finally selected one adorned with white laburnum flowers, -- which never recovered from the ‘ironing ’ to which it had been subjected. Even the animals of the farm have certain preferences in their sleeping arrangements. Cattle and sheep, when left out to ‘lie rough,’ always sleep under trees to avoid the dew; and sheep, if 8 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY there is no such cover available, lie on the highest, and consequently the driest ground. Horses seem less particular, though they have curious fancies as to their bed-litter in stables. It would be interesting to know what is the horse’s point of view as to the substitution of ‘moss-litter’ for straw, which the rise in the- price of the latter has. brought into such general use. But perhaps the hardier animals are right. A rise in the ‘standard of comfort’ is not an un- mixed blessing even to their owners : ANIMAL SLEEP THouGH many animals look on sleep as a luxury, and make comfortable beds for its enjoyment, others sleep but little; and their slumbers are so light, that they ~seem to have the power of becoming instantaneously awake, however soundly they may have been sleeping. It is commonly said of some creatures that they ‘sleep with one eye open.’ The instantaneous transition by which, when wakened, they pass into action, such as flight and escape, with full possession of their faculties, almost suggests that they have some additional sense, which takes the form of vigilance in sleep, and remains conscious when all other consciousness is lost. This is an easy, but not a satisfactory, explanation of this quick recovery of sense by sleeping animals ; for it attributes to them a faculty not possessed by man, under conditions in which the life of men and animals would naturally be supposed to differ least—that is, when the use of their higher faculties is for a time partially suspended. IO ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY There is good reason to believe that the broken and timid form of animal sleep in the greater number of species, is not such as they would naturally choose, but is the result of habits acquired and transmitted in centuries of danger and avoid- ance of their: enemies; and that the same causes which have modified the hours of sleep, have also modified its character. Of the animals which, when wild, now sleep by day, snatching broken periods of unrestful slumber as and where they can, not a twentieth part are night-feeders by nature or choice. The true nocturnal animals are those which can only find their food at night. With the exception of the owls and opossums, which are only partly insectiv- orous, they are nearly all insect-eaters, bats, lemurs, lorises and nightjars; and though the last, like the owls, do move with rapidity and some precision when once disturbed, the others might be dis- tinguished from those creatures which are only nocturnal by necessity, by the absence of that wake- _ fulness in sleep which the latter possess in such a marked degree. The bats, lemurs and lorises are, during the day, steeped and drugged with slumber. If once discovered, they make no effort to escape ; like the opossums, which let the ‘black fellows’ chop them out of their holes in the hollow trees without moving from their sleeping-places, it does ANIMAL SLEEP 1 not seem possible for them to awaken. Light be- numbs their faculties like freezing cold, and they seek darkness with the same instinct that a human being, with senses benumbed by sickness, demands more light. Bats, the only purely nocturnal animals in this country, show this characteristic in its com- pletest form. Their daylight sleep paralyses them, though not because they are unable to see and fly with safety in the sunlight, for they can do both. But if handled and disturbed, they make no effort even to spread their wings, and seem unable to shake off the drowsy influence. Not even the great night- flying moths are so completely the slaves of this un- yielding habit of diurnal sleep. Contrasted with this deep repose, the slumber of the great body of herbiv- orous animals is so light and broken that it may be doubted whether their senses are ever so completely at rest as to deserve the name of sleep at all. In human sleep the sense of hearing is that which re- mains awake longest, and to which the brain most readily responds. But in sound and _ heavy sleep, the ear often suggests a long train of thought in dreams before the brain awakens to a sense of reality. In most sleeping animals, its warning is instantaneous, and the faculties obey the call for action with no - apparent interval of inertia. A sleeping fox will rise, gallop off, and dodge the hounds with as much cool- 12 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY ness and knowledge of the ground as if it had been surprised on the prowl with all its wits awake. It may have allowed the pack to approach fatally near; but when once roused, it is wholly awake—not drowsy, bewildered or confused. Hares seem never to sleep; however closely they may lie in their forms, the eye is alert and vigilant. Stags sleep soundly when watched by their hinds. But a solitary stag, sleeping on a hill-side, retains the two senses of hearing and scent in full vigour. Deerstalkers have discovered by experiment that the sleeping senses of the stag are sensitive up to a distance of at least two hundred yards on the wind- ward side. Between the drowsy sleep of the nocturnal animals and the hyper-sensitive sleep of those which spend their lives in constant fear of their enemies, a place must be found for the form of slumber enjoyed by the large carnivora, and that of domestic animals. The former have no enemies to fear, except man, and — the latter, protected by man, enjoy to the full the. blessing of natural rest. ‘Tigers are frequently found fast asleep in the daytime. Native hunters have been — known to track them after a ‘kill’ to the place in which they were lying fast asleep and gorged with food, and to shoot them as they lie. When taking its mid-day repose in districts where it is little dis- turbed, the tiger does not always retire to a place we def 07107 AIIQUDps) 10) ydvasojpoyg vuUo1g ‘NOIT DNIdAAIS V ANIMAL SLEEP 13 of security, like the bear, or even the leopard, which usually sleeps on the branch of a tree. It just lies down in some convenient spot, either shady or warm, according to the weather, and there sleeps, almost regardless of danger. They have been found lying in dry nullahs, under trees, and even in the grass of the hill-sides, unobserved, until their disturber came within a few yards of them. General Douglas Hamilton, when shooting in the Dandilly Forest, came upon a tigress and two cubs lying fast asleep on their backs, with their paws sticking up in the air, under a clump of bamboos. When he was within a few yards of the group, one raised its head and without moving its body quietly looked at him along the line of its body between its paws. Tigers kept in captivity awaken gradually, stretching and yawning like a dog. Yet, like the dog, they possess the power of vigilance in sleep, which they can use if required. Those at the Zoo will spring to their feet in a second, when apparently in deep sleep, if they hear the keepers moving at the back of the cages, near the store where their food is kept; and in parts of India where they are much disturbed by hunters, they sleep as lightly as deer. Dogs, which are at once the drowsiest and most wakeful of domestic animals, according to their state of mind and circumstances, seem to sleep 14 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY lightly or heavily at will. Nothing can be more slow, reluctant and leisurely than the enforced wak- ing of a petted house-dog when it does not wish to be disturbed. It will remain deaf to a call, twitch its feet if tickled, but not unclose its eyes, and finally stretch and yawn like a sleepy child. But mention something interesting to the same dog when sleeping, such as the word ‘ walk,’ or click the lock of a gun, and it is on its feet in an instant, and ready for enterprise. Thus animals seem capable of three forms or degrees of sleep—one, the deep stupor of the nocturnal creatures; a second, the semi-human slumber of carnivorous and domesticated animals, which have a power of vigilance at command; and lastly, the vigilant sleep of the persecuted ruminant and rodent tribes. The highly-sensitive sleep of the last is probably a development from natural causes. Even human sleep can be made vigilant by solicitude or previous resolve. It is a common experience that persons who are heavy sleepers can awaken at a certain hour by resolving to do so, or, if roused by a sound previously agreed on, recognise it as a call to awaken and do awaken instantly. In cases of sickness the least movement of the patient will arouse an anxious nurse who sleeps; and in sleep itself the brain often exercises a curious vigil- ance, for it recognises in dreams forgotten sensations ANIMAL SLEEP 15 which have only been experienced by the sleeper in previous dreams. The experiments by which M. Jouffroy conceived that he had proved that the brain was always dreaming, because persons awakened at various times all said they were then dreaming, are not conclusive. The extraordinary quickness with which the association of ideas follows a sound and produces dreams might account for the dream at the time of awakening, even if the interval be- tween the sound made to rouse the sleeper and that of consciousness were only momentary. But some functions of the brain can be kept alert in sleep; and the animal which passes all day in the constant apprehension of danger, naturally preserves its vigilant faculties during sleep in a very high degree. Such sleep can hardly be restful, and it is not improbable that this want of complete and secure repose accounts in a measure for the shortness of animal life, even when aided by the healthy influence of their free and open-air existence. ANIMALS’ TOILET TES* Tue sailor's fancy that pictured the mermaid sitting on a rock with ‘a glass and a comb’ in her hand was not quite the myth it seems. Weary of male companionship, he painted the bright-eyed seals as sea-maidens. But if for ‘glass’ we read ‘fan,’ we may take it as a true account of the seal’s toilette. These harmless and affectionate creatures, have, fixed to their front flipper, a neat little comb, with which, when resting on the rocks, they care- fully arrange and smooth the fur on their faces. But the Northern fur-seals are very sensitive to heat; and when assembled in the rookeries on the Pribilov Islands, both old and young may -be seen in thousands, lying on their sides, and fanning themselves with their fore-flippers. The writer noticed that Barnum’s showman had taken adyan- * This chapter, almost in its present form, was originally written for the Spectator in 1893. It was quoted at length in various American papers, without reference to the source from which it came, and the writer found a portion of it quoted in Mrs Brightwen’s book, More About Wild Nature, and attributed to an American Journal. 16 se nate mene >* - = yaaa fn _ Yh TL. THE Woopcock’s TOILetT. From a Japanese woodcut. ANIMALS’ TOILETTES 17 tage of this habit to teach his seals to beat a tambourine! On one occasion a tambourine was missing, but this made no difference to the seal, who fanned himself instead, though anxiously looking round for his instrument. | But fans are hardly needed for the toilette. Brushes and combs most animals carry with them. *Brilliantine’ also is carried in a small and handy reservoir by all ducks and divers. Mud serves for cold cream and vaseline; dust for Fuller’s earth and pearl powder; and water, as with us, is perhaps the most important necessary. But birds especially are mighty particular about the quality of their ‘toilette-dust,’ and equally nice as to the water in which they prefer to wash. Some use water only, some water or dust, others dust and no _ water. Partridges are a good example of the dusting birds, and are most careful in the selection of their dust- baths. Dry loam suits them best. But perhaps their favourite place is a meadow where a few turfs have been removed. There they scratch out the loam, and shufle dackwards under the grass roots till their feathers are full of the cool earth. In wet weather they find, if possible, a heap of burnt ashes on the site of a weed-fire, and dust | there. Sparrows, on the contrary, always choose _froad-dust, the driest and finest possible. Larks B 18 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY also are fond of the road, and dust there in the early morning. But they too have their fancy, and choose the dry, gritty part, where the horses’ hoofs tread. Wild ducks, though feeding by the salt water, prefer to wash in fresh-water pools, and will fly long distances inland to running brooks and. ponds, where they preen and wash themselves in the early morning. But though passing so much time on the water, ducks seem to prefer a shower- bath to any other; and in heavy rain they may be seen opening their feathers and allowing the rain to soak in, after which they dress the whole surface with oil from the reservoir which we mentioned above. Swallows and martins are as nice in their choice of bath-water as any ‘professional beauty ;’ nothing but newly-fallen rain-water thoroughly pleases them, and if tempted to bathe, it is generally by some shallow pool in the road which an hour’s sun will evaporate. The writer has never seen hawks or falcons bath- — ing when wild. Trained birds in good health, bathe . almost daily, and the bath of a peregrine falcon 1s a very careful performance. But no nymph could be more jealous of a witness than these shy birds, and it is not until after many careful glances in every direction that the falcon descends from her block and wades into the shallow bath. Then, after more suspicious glances, she thrusts her broad head ANIMALS’ TOILETTES 19 under the water and flings it on to her back, at the same time raising the feathers and letting the drops thoroughly soak them. After bathing head and back, she spreads her wings and tail fan-like on the water, and rapidly opens and shuts them, after which she stoops down and splashes the drops in every direction. The bath over, she flies once more to the block, and turning her back to the sun, spreads every feather of the wing and tail, raises those on the body, and assists the process of drying by a tremulous motion imparted to every quill, looking more like an old cormorant on a buoy than a peregrine. Sparrows, chaffinches, robins, and, in the very early morning, rooks and wood-pigeons, bathe often. One robin we knew always took fis bath in the falcon’s bath, after the hawk had finished. The unfortunate London sparrow has few shallow places in which he can bathe, and a pie-dish on the leads delights him. If the dish be white, his grimy little body soon leaves evidence that his ablutions have been genuine. No doubt the cats, large and small, make the most careful toilette of any class of animal, with the exception of some of the opossums. The lions and tigers wash themselves in exactly the same manner as the cat, wetting the dark, india-rubber- _ like ball of the fore-foot and the inner toe, and _ passing it over the face and behind the ears. The 20 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY foot is thus at the same time a face-sponge and brush, and the rough tongue combs the rest of the body. Hares also use their feet to wash their faces, and the hare’s foot is so suitable for a brush that it is always used to apply the ‘paint’ to the face for the stage. One of the most charming pets we have kept, and the most particular as to washing and brushing its feet and fur, was a lovely brown opossum from Tasmania. ‘Sooty phalanger’ was, we believe, its scientific name; it was covered with deep rich brown fur, had a face something like a fox, a pink nose, hands with a _nailless thumb, and long claws on the fingers. It washed its feet every two or three minutes, and would pay the same attention to the ear, hair, or hands of anyone on whose shoulder it was allowed to sit. Once having upset a bottle of turpentine over its hands, it almost fretted to death because it could not remove, the scent. Oddly enough, it would, if possible, retire during the day to a chimney, | which it perhaps took for a hollow tree, and did not object to the soot in its fur, perhaps consider- ing it ‘clean dirt,’ as children do earth. Water- rats are very clean animals, and wash and _ brush their faces with the greatest care.’ We saw one this summer on a pond at Welling, in Kent, swim out to pick up the blossoms of an acacia blossom, which ANIMALS’ TOILETTES ar were falling on the water. After daintily eating each flower on the bank, he licked his hands, wiped his moustaches, and swam off for another. We also tried an acacia blossom, but except a slightly sweet flavour, could find nothing to account for the rat’s taste for them. Sporting dogs, which are used in mud, snow, and wet, are strangely clever and quick in cleaning and drying their coats; and it is a sure sign that a dog has been over-tired if he shows any trace of mud or dirt next morning. Most of their toilette is done with the tongue, but they are very clever at using a thick box bush or the side of a haystack as a rough towel.* One small spaniel which we allowed to live in the house was well aware that if he returned dirty, he would not be admitted indoors. About an hour before the close of the day’s shooting, he used to strike work and begin to clean himself; and if urged to do more, would slip off home and present him- self neat and clean in the dining-room. One day the dog had been left at home, and his master re- turned and seated himself, wet, and with half-frozen drops of ice sticking to his gaiters, by the fire. * When shooting on the famous ‘Scoresby Leas,’ where the army of the Pilgrimage of Grace encamped, near Doncaster, I saw a curious example of the importance some animals attach to having a ‘clean up’ the moment work is over. As soon as we sat down to luncheon, a small retriever bitch, belonging to my host’s keeper, began at once to pull off with her teeth all the burrs that had stuck to our gaiters and knickerbockers. This was her constant habit. 22 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY ‘Pan’ ran up and carefully licked off the frozen ice and snow, stopping every now and then to give an anxious look, which said as plainly as possible: ‘Dear me, if I don’t get him clean quickly, he will be sent to lie in the stable.’ Horses and ‘cattle not only wash and clean their own coats, but also assist at each others’ toilets. The greatest difficulty which most animals find in the pursuit of cleanliness and neatness is to wash their own necks. A cat does this by licking its fur as far as its tongue will bend upwards and back- wards, and finishing by wetting its feet and rubbing the parts behind its ears and the back of its neck. But cattle and horses can use no such expedient. Consequently they wash for each other such parts of their coats as they cannot reach themselves. If a horse and a cow are alone in the same field, they will perform these good offices mutually, though, as the horse cleans its own or the cow's coat usually with its teeth, while the cow uses its tongue, the process is not quite satisfactory to either. But they are ever so much better off than the solitary giraffe at the Zoo. After its arrival it soon made all its coat bright and clean except its meck. ‘This could only be washed by another giraffe ; and as it has no companion, its neck is several shades darker than its body, and clearly needs washing. ANIMALS IN SOCIETY Mr Kipuine in his Fungle Book, has-amused him- self and delighted his readers by constructing a wild- beast society living in the woods, true in habits to the instincts each of its kind, but recognising a sort of social obligation, laws, and customs which are in- herited, discussed, enforced, or remitted by the col- lective wisdom of the creatures themselves. The effect is perfectly convincing, and there is no sense of incongruity or make-believe in reading these chapters, partly because of the art with which they are written, but partly because the real life of the jungle creatures is itself so intelligent and _ intel- ligible that it seems perfectly rational to find that they have progressed a step further, and formed them- selves into a society whose members play parts sub- ordinate to some generally understood law. The wonder is not that they should do so, but that they should not. Yet it is on the whole true of the higher individual intelligences among animals, that, properly 23 24 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY speaking, they do not live in society at all. They live in association; but that is a different matter, often the result of chance—such as travelling on the same lines of migration, or meeting where food is present in unusual abundance. But that is quite a different matter from society as we understand society, which is association for reciprocal benefit, and nearly always results in some form of division of labour and separation of classes. The appearance of social life in the case of all the ruminant animals, deer, wild cattle, antelopes, and wild sheep, is some- what misleading. They are nearly always seen to- gether in herds, and the association is voluntary. But through the ages that they have thus associated they have made no progress in their manner of life, and have not developed the least tendency towards form- ing the rudiments of ‘community.’ The explanation of this is probably to be found in the motive which makes them gregarious. Apart from a liking for ‘company’ which they all share, the main motive, for their assembling together is fear, sentiment peu fécond en progrés, as M. George Leroy remarks in his Lettres Sur les Animaux. Among these animals it has developed one. social device, the habitual plac- ing of sentinels, whose place is taken in turn by members of the herd. It is division of labour, and shows that the idea is understood by them. But it ANIMALS IN SOCIETY 25 has not led to any further progress. On the other hand it may be doubted whether the large gregarious animals have any sufficient motive for progress at all. Their life consists in the daily repetition of a few actions which satisfy all their wants; they develop no new ones; and for them life may perhaps have reached perfection. One rather curious exception to this extreme simplicity and incompleteness of the ‘society’ of the deer tribe is noted by Lord Lovat, in his essays on ‘The Highland Deer’ in the ‘ Bad- minton Library.’ Large stags are often attended by a smaller stag, who acts as a kind of servant and humble companion to the big beast. ‘In sheep- ground, or where there are few deer,’ writes Lord Lovat, ‘a big stag is seldom found quite alone ; he has a small one as his slave. ‘This little fellow has to do all the dirty work—in fact, fag for his master. The old gentleman lies snug in a hole out of the wind, or sheltered from the flies; the slave has to lie out on the hillock, where he can see; and if, trusting to the old fellow being asleep, he looks out for a snug corner for himself, woe betide him if his master catches him. In an instant he rushes out upon his fag, and drives him back to his post. Then if there is any doubt as to the safety of the road, the little stag has to go on in front, driven on by the horns or fore-feet of the big one.’ 26 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY Slavery is one of the early developments of the social instincts in man, so the ‘fagging’ instinct in the Highland stag must be credited to it as a sign of progress. On the other hand, the same high authority who has recorded this selfish instinct in the stag, hastens to add an anecdote of another character, which shows that deer have a sense of obligation in society which is probably more common among animals than is believed. ‘Sometimes an old stag takes compassion upon a youngster. The writer saw a pretty instance of this on the West coast in the season of 1885. Three stags had been moved in a young plantation. The two best jumped the three-foot wire fence, but a third, a two-year-old stag, got frightened, and refused. The two waited for him for some time, while he walked and ran up and down; at last the larger of the two—a good royal—came back to the fence. The little one ran towards him, and the royal trotted away; but no, the little one could not make up his mind to jump. - ~ Back came the royal over the fence, went close up to the little fellow, and actually kissed him several times. With the glass, not five hundred yards away, we could see them rub their noses together. Then the royal led down to the fence, but still the little stag would not have it. At last the royal tossed his head in the air, and seeming to say ‘ Well, you ANIMALS IN SOCIETY #9 are a fool,” went off up the hill to join his com- panion. When out of sight the little one took courage, got over the fence with a scramble, and followed.’ An animal which has the slave -using instinct, and the instinct of sympathy, and desires to give practical aid to another, evidently possesses the necessary intelligence for developing a more com- plex form of society than that in which deer now live. The probable reason that it does not do so is that which has been already suggested—that their life is already perfect, for them, and needs no im- provements. This is partly corroborated by the greater development of common organisation in creatures of far lower intelligence—the common wild rabbits. Experience seems to have taught them that they are far safer when avoiding their enemies underground than on the surface, and that the chances of escape from a stoat or weazel are greater when numbers of burrows are combined into a labyrinth of passages, than if each had a separate and disconnected burrow. It is evident that the food supply would be larger and more lasting if they lived apart; yet they always prefer to unite in colonies, and the combined dwellings of the rabbit must be looked upon as the result of a genuine social instinct. Most rodents are singularly stupid creatures individually, yet in another of the class, 28 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY the beaver, the social instinct is seen in by far the most complete development known among the higher animals. The work of the beaver colony, apart from the astonishing engineering skill and knowledge of the use of different material it dis- plays, their employment of water transport, and their control and retention, as a means of protec- tion, of streams and ponds, is alike in motive and purpose as perfect an example of common and organised labour for a common good, as the associ- ated labour by which the population of Holland maintain the dykes and dams. . The whole beaver village works at the dam, and the equally wonder- ful, though less known, engineering device of the beaver canal, to which logs are rolled, and then towed up to the ‘lodges,’ is the joint work of the colony. When this is made, and the requisite area of deep water secured by the dam, the families work separately at private house-building. Thus the dis- tinction between public and private duties is recognised and maintained. Yet this single instance of a_highly-organised society among creatures of high development is so far exceeded by the social life of insects, that the problem of instinct seems for the moment beyond ‘ solution. If deer and antelopes do not make -pro- gress because their wants are already satisfied, on what ANIMALS IN SOCIETY 29 theory can we account for the divisions and subdivisions of social functions in nests of crawling ants? ‘Take, for example, the Amazon ants. Their homes are filled with slaves, and the master-ant has lost not only the desire to work, but even the habit of feed- ing itself, so that it would die of hunger beside a pile of sugar if a grey ant were not there to put it into its mouth. ‘Among the Amazons the slaves under- take every labour; it is they who build, and who carry the young for their masters. They bring them food, clean them, and carry them from place to place, if there is need to emigrate. The masters, by losing interest in work, lose also their votes when it is a question of taking a resolution concerning the whole colony. The servants act on their own initia- tive and their own responsibility, and even in grave concerns, such as emigration, the idle masters do not seem to be consulted.’ The divisions of insects into castes of fighters and workers seems in some instances due to sexual difference, as in the case of bees and hornets. But this does not explain the subsequent apportioning of the tasks of each in the common in- terests of the society. Who directs that one set of bees shall go abroad to fetch honey, another set wait to receive and clean them on the platform at the mouth of the hive, and a third body guard the en- trance against robbers? Yet the working of this 30 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY organised system can be watched wherever a bee-hive is inhabited in an English garden. The ‘gardening ants,’ which collect pieces of vegetable, and pile them up to rot in the dark interior of their nests until they are covered with a kind of fungus, on which the ants live, make a walled street, partly roofed, up to the plant whose leaves they propose to cut, and divide the labour according to the size of the workers. The largest act as road-menders, and repair the ‘perma- nent way’ when it becomes injured by traffic. The next in size cut the leaves and carry them, and the very small ants fuss around, and being unable to cut leaves, get in the way, and are sometimes carried themselves on a leaf in whose transportation they are anxious to assist. Ihe mechanical societies of these insects are wholly beyond explanation. The analogies of reason which hold good in the case of the higher animals must fail when applied to any theory of rational development in the ant and bee. _ Their instinct is born fully developed, whereas in the higher - animals there is at least the rational attribute, that though they do not progress as a class, individuals do occasionally develop social tendencies which are analogous with our own. THE ANIMAL DISLIKE OF SOLITUDE Most animals have such a dislike of solitude that nothing less than some form of social banishment enforced by their species can ever induce them to seek loneliness and seclusion. When they do fall under any such social ban pronounced by their com- panions, they not unusually revenge themselves on the world by ‘keeping a pike,’ as proposed by Mr Weller, senior, with the important difference that they seek satisfaction from travelling humanity by taking toll of persons instead of purses; and the wayfarer pays the penalty of animal exclusiveness by being eaten by some mangey and ostracised tiger, or knocked down and stamped in the mud by an elephant or buffalo crossed in love. Voluntary recluses are almost unknown in the animal world. Perhaps the one consistently unsociable creature in Europe is the hamster, an ill-tempered, sulky little rodent. As the squirrel was said, by the old Norsemen, to bring all the news of the animals to Thor, 31 32 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY because he was the merriest and most sociable of beasts, so, in the talk of the Russian peasants, the hamster is the synonym for all that is sullen, avaricious, solitary and morose. Even in colour he is unlike most other animals, being light above and dark below. This gives the hamster somewhat the same incongruous appearance that a pair of black trousers and a light coat lend a man; in other respects he 1s like a large shaggy guinea-pig, with very large teeth and puffy cheeks, into which he can cram a vast quantity of rye or beans for transport. Each hamster lives in a large roomy burrow all by himself, in defence of which he will fight like a badger against any other hamster who may try to enter. Family life he wholly avoids, never allowing a female inside his burrow, but keeping her at a good distance, and making her find her own living for herself and family. ‘The last burden is, however, not a serious one, for by the time the young ones are three weeks old, each discovers that family life is a great mistake : and sets off to make a bachelor burrow for itself and save up beans for the winter. For, in addition to its other amiable qualities, the hamster has that of avarice ina marked degree, and heaps up treasures of corn, rye and horse-beans far in excess of his own private wants for the winter. His favourite plan is to dig a number of treasure-chambers, all communicat- THE ANIMAL DISLIKE OF SOLITUDE 33 ing with a central guard-room, in which the owner eats and grows fat until the hardest frosts begin, when he curls himself up to sleep until the spring. But this life of leisure does not begin until the harvest has been gathered. While the crops are ripening the hamsters work incessantly to increase their hoards, and as much as three hundredweight of grain and beans have been taken from a single burrow. After harvest, the peasants often search with probes for the treasure-chambers of the robbers, and no doubt exact a heavy tribute from the hamster’s stores. But these hoarding propensities are not enough to account for the anti-social disposition of the hamster. The sociable squirrels also make a _ hoard, though in a careless, slap-dash fashion suited to their mercurial character. (It is certain that they often forget where they have buried their treasures, for during a wet summer, young hazels and horse-chestnuts sprout in all sorts of strange sites in the writer’s garden, between the roots of rose bushes and in flower borders, where the squirrels must have hidden them in the autumn.) There is another little rodent, the pika or calling- hare, which is obliged, like the hamster, to make some provision for the winter, but lives, like the marmots of the Alps, in sociable colonies. The pikas inhabit the desolate steppes which stretch from the Crimea across Central Asia, and c 34 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY in preparation for the long winter, each makes a stack of hay over one of the entrances to its burrow. In the bitter cold of the Central Asian winter, when the steppes are covered with snow, these haystacks are the only source of food left to them, and are gradually drawn into the burrow from below. Its position gives a certain security that, if all goes well with its neighbours, only the owner of the stack will eat the store so carefully collected. But these poor little stacks of hay are often taken by the Kirghiz for their fires, or as food for their camels, a source of danger probably unknown in the distant ages when pikas first turned haymakers. The question natur- ally arises as to how the ruined owners of the store are to save themselves from starvation. Clearly the only resource left is to borrow from a neighbour’s stack. But animal sense of private property in food is very strong, and in the pzkas’ colonies there is no attempt at making a common stock. Consequently the price paid for society is the liability to support at a personal loss any suddenly pauperised neighbour. The hamsters avoid any such possibility by living alone ; but the loss of society is apparently too great a sacrifice to be made by the pzkas, even to secure the sole and safe enjoyment of their winter’s . food. The social instinct, so apparent in the case of the calling-hares, exists in many creatures which THE ANIMAL DISLIKE OF SOLITUDE 35 are wrongly supposed to prefer solitary lives. Hawks and other predatory birds do not, as a rule, flock together, because they require a large area from which to obtain their food. But in confinement they suffer from solitude in a marked degree. Tame hawks and falcons, if kept alone in a room, mope and lose condition, and in some species a suicidal instinct is developed. Willoughby noticed that merlins kept in solitary confinement destroyed their claws and toes, and the writer has himself seen one instance in which this had happened. The lively, gregarious birds of the tropics cannot endure to miss the society of their fellows. Wilson, the American naturalist, took with him in his travels in South America, one of the green Carolina parrots which he had tamed. This bird was a most affectionate creature, but whenever a flock of its own species passed by, showed a strong desire to join them. Wilson soon caught a companion for his pet, but by an accident it was killed, and the survivor was inconsolable. He then tried the experi- ment of showing the parrot a small looking-glass. As soon as the bird saw its image in the mirror, it seemed quite contented with its shadowy companion, and would sit for hours cuddled up against the glass with great satisfaction. The flocking of the non-migratory birds after the nesting season is 36 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY mainly due, not to the pressure of hunger, or the pressure of food in particular places, but to their love of society. In late summer and harvest time, when the face of the country is one broad table of food for the birds, they flock together solely for the sake of company. Recently the writer watched a vast flock of jackdaws, rooks and starlings, feeding on one of a long line of fields of newly-cut wheat. It was late in the afternoon, and another flock of starlings soon passed overhead, on their way to a distant roosting-place, As the sound of rushing wings reached them, the starlings on the ground rose at once, and flew up to meet the travellers. Some invitation was evidently given, for both flocks descended to the ungrudged feast. In a few minutes the strangers resumed their journey, but not for want of a welcome. It is the same with the human gleaners in the fields. The love of society keeps the wives and little ones of the hamlet in a flock, and a solitary gleaner is : never seen, though the harvest of ears so gathered might be heavier, Domestic animals are still more affected by solitude than the wilder natures; for in addition to their original liking for their own kind, they ‘are rarely satisfied to remain long shut out from intercourse with man. No dog can long endure ‘yuapoom asauvgvf v uLosy *SMOUUVdS “LVIOOS ait K*™% APs THE ANIMAL DISLIKE OF SOLITUDE 37 to be alone; but there is little doubt that, so long as it can secure the society of its master, it can dispense with the company of other dogs. Cattle, on the other hand, have a strong liking for the company of their own kind. Waterton, who was never tired of promoting the happiness of all animals tame and wild, was for some time exercised by the difficulty of allowing his cattle to lean over the gates which separated the grazing-fields on his estate, and at the same time preserving the gates from being strained and broken by the pushing and jostling which generally takes place when the _ cattle in one meadow are making the acquaintance of those in the next. He met the difficulty by stretching an iron chain across from one post to the other on the opposite side to that on which the gate was hung, and so providing a more sub- stantial barrier for the broad chests of the cattle to lean against. Waterton was in all probability no loser by his thoughtful provision for the social amenities of animal life. Society is almost as necessary to the well-being of animals as of men. When wild and free, they can, and do in most cases, secure its enjoyment for themselves. When confined, or in the semi-restraint of domesticity, a wise master will see that this factor of animal happiness is secured. Fortunately, they are, as a 38 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY rule, neither exclusive nor exacting in their liking for companionship. A carriage horse will find comfort in the company of a kitten, just as a caged lion has attached itself to a dog. And we knew a solitary pigeon which was very much attached to its owner’s horses, and spent most of its time in the stable perched on their backs or heads, apparently quite satisfied so long as it had the society of other creatures, though not of its own kind. ANIMAL ETIQUETTE Ir has been noted that the etiquette of high life 1s by no means the only form of its observance among men. ‘There is such a thing as professional etiquette —the etiquette of sport, and even the etiquette of labour. This sometimes takes the form, not only of prescribing who shall do what, but how things shall be done. It would be very bad form, for instance, for a bricklayer to use more than one hand to work with, or for his ‘labourer’ to carry up bricks or mortar in anything but the traditional hod, though it might be far quicker and easier to haul them up in a lift. Animals seem to share this feeling for the etiquette of labour; only, as they do not belong to a Trade-Union, it often works entirely to their disadvantage. Take, for instance, the following case of the otter at the Zoo, which, on the Saturday on which the great frost of 1895 began, had just been provided with material for a new bed. It was freezing hard; half its pond was 39 40 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY covered with ice; and the nice, warm, dry straw was pushed partly into its house, while part of the bundle lay on the bridge, and some in the water. In order to make itself comfortable, all the otter had to do was to step out of its house on to the bridge and pull the dry straw in. There was plenty for a bed without meddling with that in the water at all. But it is not permitted by otter etiquette to do any work on dry ground which can possibly be done in the water. Like most of the etiquette of labour, this is based, partly on prejudice, but partly on sound principles. A waterman, for instance, prefers to push a plank into the water, make it fast to his boat, and tow it, rather than carry it on his shoulder, even if the way by land is shorter than that by water. In the first place, it would be unprofessional, just like a ‘docker’s job,’ to carry it; and in the next, the water supports the plank, and he really incurs less labour in towing it. So has an otter less labour in transporting material . it can drag when floating. Unfortunately, in this case the material was one in which weight made no matter, and in which dryness was essential for it to be of any use, that is, for a bed on a frosty night. This did not weigh with the otter in the least. In- stead of pulling the straw in dry, it plunged into the icy water, dived and came up on the side of the ANIMAL ETIQUETTE 41 bridge on which some of the straw was dipping into the water. It swam along and collected as many of the hanging ends as it could in its mouth; then dived back under the bridge, and dragged all the dry part of the straw into the water, having con- siderable difficulty in doing so, because it was hitched over the edge of the bridge-plank. It then pulled all the dripping straw into its bed, rushed out, took another plunge, and collected another mouthful, which it pulled into the water, and swam off with it as before. After several visits it had collected the whole of what was lying on the plank, had wetted it all thoroughly, and was preparing to go to sleep on it inside its house —a_ proceeding which almost induced rheumatism at sight among the spectators. But the otter was quite satisfied. It had acted according to rule, and been true to amphibious etiquette, down to soaking what were to be its bedclothes for the coldest night of the year. The common American ‘’coon’ isa slave to an unusual form of etiquette, which in its case has grown almost beyond the forms of conventional observance, and become a kind of conscience to it. It will wash everything which it eats if there is any water near. The fact seems to have been questioned by some writers, but it is certainly the habit of racoons when kept in captivity with access 42 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY to water. They are very fussy, particular creatures, much given to picking up and carrying off anything odd which takes their fancy. And this, whatever it may be, is duly taken to the water and well ‘rinsed out,’ whether vegetables or bits of cloth, or even solid hard things, like shells and shiny stones. No ‘social pressure” can have been put upon the racoons at the Zoo to make them conform to the laws of the ‘coon etiquette; but they do so all the same, and it is a fact that, last spring, one which had a litter of young ones, to which she was much attached, was suddenly seized with a desire to wash them, and carrying them down one by one to her little stone-bath, paddled and washed the poor little creatures as if she had been washing cabbages. It may be doubted whether the kittens did not owe their death to this perverted feeling of social duty in their parent, for they did not long survive their immersion. Those who have watched the Thames swans in | the courting season will have noticed that, as might be expected, these grave and stately birds have certain rules for behaviour which no temptation can make them break. When approaching a lady-swan, or pursuing a rival which has intruded into its particular reach of the river, the cock swan has certain set. movements which it goes through. It ANIMAL ETIQUETTE 43 is said that the word of command for action in the Chinese drill is first, ‘Prepare to look fierce ;’ next, ‘Look fierce ;” and, thirdly, ‘Approach the enemy.’ The swan does all this, and something more. He sets up his wings like plumes, and draws his head very far back, which corresponds with the first and second words of command; but for his mode of approach he always uses a special stroke in swim- ming which is kept for grand occasions. He strikes the water with both feet together, which sends him forward with a rush, the water rippling from his chest as from the prow of a ship. Then he strikes again, as his ‘way’ gets less, and in this manner will swim very long distances, either in pursuit of his enemy or of some coy female swan. If he chose to swim in the ordinary manner, or to fly, or even to get out on to the bank and run, he would have no difficulty in overtaking the other. But etiquette prescribes that this slow and stately stroke shall be used on such occasions, and swans are too con- servative to break the rule. Conventional rules are most useful in intercourse with strangers, and this feeling, the result of deliberate reflection among men, seems quite as well understood by animals. The number of steps which a Prince or Ambassador might advance to meet the other without derogating from his dignity, and the frequent 44 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY halts and bows, find a parallel in the amusing form of canine etiquette when one dog ‘spies a stranger’ at a distance. The first dog stops short, then trots on a little, then crouches, and finally lies flat down, with its nose on its paws, like a skirmisher ordered to open fire on the enemy. The other dog which was less quick-sighted, sometimes lies down too, but more usually trots slowly up, with occasional halts. The action of the first seems clearly to be a survival of a time when a dog naturally crouched in order to conceal itself the moment it saw any other creature which might hurt it, or which, on the contrary, it might want to stalk. The sudden drop is something like that of a setter when ‘creeping’ up to the birds, but more like the crouch of a fox when it sees a hare, or wants to conceal itself from persons whom it sees while it is still unseen. But now it is observed as pure convention, one which is obviously mere show, but to omit which would be a breach of canine etiquette, which might, and sometimes does, lead toa fight. It is not polite for one dog to omit the form of pretending that the other is a big, strong, important person, against whom he must take precautions. The etiquette of combat is apparently among the most artificial of human observances. It does not . seem to take form except in states of society in which public and private war has been recognised as one ANIMAL ETIQUETTE 45 of the conditions of life, in which fighting becomes not only a fine art, but an agreeable pastime for persons of quality. Hence the elaborate salutations of the duello, and the punctilio of the fencing school. ‘Shall I begin with a “damme?” asks Bob Acres, when writing his challenge. And his demur to the plain ‘Dear sir,’ on the ground that he was not asking his rival to breakfast, seems to plain people rather natural. Yet some of the creatures which are fighters by instinct go through formal preliminaries not unlike those of the set duels of the Middle Ages. The early phases of the cock-fight were so well known as to provide materials for series of illustrations, in which the birds appeared as acting by rules well known and recognised by the ‘fancy;’ and even a single combat between a ferret and a rat is conducted in its early stages with curious reticence and a recognition of rule. The rat, always on the defensive, sits up on guard while the ferret runs to and fro, often approaching so near as almost to touch the rat. Both parties then draw back most politely, as if they begged each other’s pardon for the accident; and this is repeated several times, each appearing to ignore the other’s presence, until the ferret makes its spring and the two engage in a furious wrestle, in which the rat is not unfrequently the victim. This is quite different from the conduct of the lobster in ‘The 46 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY ‘Water Babies, who held on to the otter’s nose ‘because it was a point of honour with lobsters never to let go.’ That there is an etiquette of demeanour among different species of birds will have been noticed by all who have fed them during the hard weather. Some are always assertive and forward, like the robins and sparrows; others, which are equally familiar with man, are as diffdent and reserved, the hedge-sparrows being perhaps the most noticeable examples. Why this rule of behaviour should be constant in a single species is difficult to conjecture. The late Mr Booth reaffirmed from his own observa- tion the truth of the old belief that every bird, such as the crows and ravens, withdraws from its meal at the approach of the eagle, just as the carrion birds do before the king vulture. But the strangest instance. of etiquette in dealing with royalty is that observed by bees when a strange queen is introduced into the hive. Sometimes the first queen is allowed to fight the rival. If not, the other bees will kill the intruding queen, not by stinging it, but by suffocation—a death only reserved for royalty. MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS Tue training of dogs to act as messengers and sentries in war reminds us that many animals are themselves in the habit of using methods and. means to secure their own safety against surprise, or the success of attacks on the lives or property of others, which in some cases exhibit a high degree of military training and organisation. Regular sentries, duly relieved at intervals, are employed by so many of the gregarious quadrupeds and larger birds, that their use seems to be rather the rule than the exception. Chamois, wild sheep, ibex, and other mountain antelopes, as well as the guanacos of South America, always post a sentinel. So do seals when sleeping on the rocks; and the peccaries, the small wild pigs of South America, which are fond of lying in the hollow trunks of fallen trees, are said to leave a guard at the entrance, whose place, if he be shot, is occupied almost mechanically by the next in order within the 47 48 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY trunk. This instinct survives even with animals in captivity. When the prairie-dogs at the Zoo occupied a small paddock, instead of the cages which are now their home, they always kept a sentinel on duty, though he seldom uttered his warning whistle, having learnt, probably, that the visitors would not come inside the railings. The prairie-dogs at the Jardin d’Acclimata- tion at Paris observe the same precaution. Wild geese and wild swans take turns at ‘sentry-go,’ the former when feeding on land, the latter on the water. Of the former birds, St John says: ‘They seem to act in so organised and cautious a manner when feeding or roosting as to defy all danger. When a flock of wild geese has fixed on a field of newly-sown grain to feed in, before alighting they make numerous circling flights, and the least suspicious object pre- vents them from pitching. Supposing that all is right and they do alight, the whole flock for the space of a minute or two remains motionless, with erect head and neck, reconnoitring the ‘country round. . . . They now appear to have made up their minds that all is safe, and are contented to leave one sentry, who either stands on some elevated part of the field, or walks slowly with the rest— never, however, venturing to pick up a single grain of corn, his whole energies being employed in watch-_ ing.” After describing the march of the geese across MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS 49 the field with ‘a firm, active, light-infantry step,’ St John says: ‘When the sentry thinks that he has performed a fair share of duty, he gives the nearest bird to him a sharp peck. I have seen him some- times pull out a bunch of feathers if the first hint is not immediately attended to, and at the same time uttering a querulous kind of cry.’ St John was constantly baulked of a shot by these sentinel geese, and when stalking wild swans on a loch, he noticed that the whole flock would sometimes have their heads under water except a sentry, who was relieved from time to time. The Port Meadow geese near Oxford prefer to roost, except in floods, on a mud- bank in the river, where they are perfectly safe from attack. It is necessary that the sentry should be able to give a signal of danger which shall be uni- versally understood, and it will be found that most of the animals named have a special alarm-note. Ibex, marmots, and mountain-sheep whistle, prairie-dogs bark, elephants trumpet, wild geese and swans have a kind of bugle-call, rabbits stamp on the ground, sheep do the same, and wild ducks, as the writer has noticed, utter a very low, cautious quack to signal ‘The enemy in sight.’ ‘Tactics of offence are rare among the larger gregarious animals. Deer, antelopes, sheep, and even wild horses are generally peaceable creatures, and if a dispute arises between two herds, the D 50° ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY leaders fight a duel, and the conqueror annexes the rival’s following. When Lady Florence Dixie’s horses were attacked by a wild drove the biggest of the tame animals fought the wild leader and was beaten. None of the others attempted resistance, and their owners could with difficulty prevent their being driven off by the conqueror. But horses have a natural taste for drill. The riderless chargers at Balaclava ranged themselves in line with the surviy- ing troopers; and Byron’s fine lines in ‘Mazeppa’ : ‘In one vast squadron they advance, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o’er the sea. They stop, they start, they snuff the air, Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round, and round.’ do not seem to exaggerate the natural military instinct of the horse. The writer remembers to have read of a number of cavalry horses abandoned on the coast in a retreat, ranging themselves in squadrons and fighting a battle on the sands. The stories of their forming a ring to resist the attacks of wolves may be true; but it is difficult to find any reliable account of such combination. Indian wolves have been seen to leave some of their number in ambush at points on the edge of the MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS 51 jungle, while others drove in antelopes feeding in the open ground beyond. But wolves, as a rule, hunt alone or in families, except when pressed by hunger. Wild dogs, however, habitually combine to hunt; and Baldwin, in his ‘Game of Bengal,’ mentions a case of four or five martens hunting a fawn of the ‘muntjac,’ or barking deer. But in real military organisation and strategy, monkeys are far ahead of all other animals, and notably the different kinds of baboon. Mansfield Parkins gives an excellent account of the tactics of the dog-faced Hamadryads, that lived in large colonies in the cracks in the cliffs of the Abyssinian Mountains. These creatures used occasionally to plan a foraging expedition into the plain below, and the order of attack was most carefully organised, the old males marching in front and on the flanks, with a few to close up the rear and keep the rest in order. They had a code of signals, halting or advancing according to the barks of the scouts. When they reached the corn-fields the main body plundered while the old males watched on all sides, but took nothing for them- selves. The others stowed the corn in their cheek- pouches and under their armpits. They are also said to dig wells with their hands, and work in relays. The Gelada baboons sometimes have battles ' with the MHamadryads, especially when the two 52 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY species have a mind to rob the same field, and if fighting in the hills, will roll stones on to their enemies. Not long ago, a colony of Gelada baboons, which had been fired at by some black soldiers attending a Duke of Coburg-Gotha on a hunting expedition on the borders of Abyssinia, blocked a pass for some days by rolling rocks on all comers. This seems to give some support to a_ curious objection raised by a Chinese local Governor in a report to his superior on the difficulties in the way of opening to steamers the waters of the Upper Yangtze, which was quoted in the Times. The report, after noting that the inhabitants on the upper waters were ignorant men who might quarrel with strangers, went on to allege that monkeys inhabited the banks which would roll down stones on the steamers. ‘The two last facts, the report added, ‘would lead to com- plaint from the English, and embroil the Celestials with them, especially if the men or the monkeys — kill any English.’ The facility with which large herds of animals or flocks of birds travel for great distances in close - array without crowding, confusion, or delay, has always struck the writer as the necessary result of ‘ some system. and method well understood by them, though in many cases not yet ascertained by us. Gambier Bolton, F.Z.S, SS , a. @ 4 % AE Sond ha CAG TE RRR, Eee a rom a photograph by | >) Zz as ed 4 = nN < = 2 uF ral ie) y Z 2) —_— cae) Z < — i“ =) Zz < eo 1.1 — MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS 53 There are some exceptions to the general smoothness which marks the evolutions of these animal regiments and army corps; the blind rush of the migrating bison has been known to force thousands into the bottomless mud of American rivers, and the swarms of lemmings are said to march into the sea. But, as a rule, herds of antelopes, of deer, or even flocks of mountain sheep, will travel for days without disaster, arriving simultaneously at the point desired, and ‘keeping distance,’ that great difficulty ot the march, throughout the journey. A large herd of deer will gather in column, or break into file, and disappear through a mountain pass in less time than the same number of trained troopers would take to ‘form fours;’ and a flock of half-wild sheep on a Yorkshire moor will assemble, descend into the valley, cross a river in single file, and form upon the opposite bank without a false movement by any one of their number. The military precision with which flocks of birds wheel or advance is even more re- markable, because, in the case of some birds at least, a regular geometrical formation is always observed. Wild geese, wild ducks, and their relations adopt the V formation; and not only adhere to this, with certain modifications to suit circumstances, but also to a regular scale of distances between the different birds in the flock, so closely, that we are forced to 54 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY infer that they have some strong motive for observing such an order. The old-fashioned explanation, that by advancing in a wedge the front bird acted as a kind of pioneer, to break the force of the wind, is, _ however, probably the exact reverse of the truth. Wind, in moderation, is almost a necessity to the sustained flight of birds, and the probable object of the wedge-formation when advancing against the wind is, that each bird avoids the ‘wake’ of its neighbour, while at the same time the flock has a leader. When the wind blows on the side of the V, it has been noticed that one limb is generally much longer than the other, or that the birds forming one limb occupy positions which coincide with the spaces between the birds on the windward side, and are thus exposed to the wind current. But often with a strong side wind the wedge formation is abandoned altogether, and the ducks fly in single file, though the ‘distances’ are always accurately kept. If these distances could be measured, they would probably be found to bear some relation to — the space required by the particular species to make a turn, more or less complete, to either side. The sudden changes in the method of flight, from steady beats of the wing to gliding or sailing, which takes _ place with such wonderful uniformity of time and action in the flight of flocks of starlings or plovers, MILITARY TACTICS OF ANIMALS 55 are probably due to corresponding changes in the force or direction of the wind, affecting simultane- ously all the birds of the flock. But for determining the causes of these ordered changes in the aerial tactics of birds, a body of observation has yet to be obtained, for which London, with its parks and lakes and wild fowl, offers unusual facilities. ANIMAL COURAGE NoruHinc in his inimitable series of pictures of the wild life of India, from the animals’ point of view, is more thrilling or better told than the triumph of Mowgli over the red dogs of the Deccan, which Mr Rudyard Kipling has reserved for the climax of his epic of the Jungle. Nothing could be more vivid than the words in which he depicts the terrors of all the beasts at the tidings of the invasion of the ‘Dhole,’ the stratagem which brings them into the stronghold of the ‘busy, furious, black wild bees —the ‘Little People of the Rocks’’’ —or their destruction by the awakening of the ‘clotted — millions’ of the sleeping insects. But it is not the climax which might have been expected by those less familiar than the writer with the natural history and native lore of the Indian peninsula. That the most courageous creatures of the jungle should be dogs, and these of no great size or very formidable ap- pearance, seems at first hardly creditable; yet there ANIMAL COURAGE 57 is abundant evidence to prove that, from the animals’ point of view, Mr Rudyard Kipling is right. The story has this additional attraction, that of all the commoner animals of Asia, none is so little known and is the subject of so little detailed information as the wild dog, though none has left a stronger im- pression on the fancy and fears of the natives. It has been extinct in Europe for centuries. Yet alone, of all vanished creatures, it still survives in legend, and there is no wild district of the forests of Central and Northern Europe where tales of the ghostly pack of wild hounds, intent and unremitting in the chase, are not part of the tradition of the woodman’s hut.* The place of the wild dogs in the imagination of the jungle dwellers may be gathered from Mr Kipling’s story. But they have always had a curious fascination for naturalists, and this attraction is largely due to the habits and mental qualities ot the creatures themselves. They are the only fierce carnivorous animals which a/ways live in society. Even wolves hunt in packs largely by accident, or for convenience, or when driven to associate in severe weather. But the wild dog is by choice and habit a social animal, and one which, unlike any other race except the baboons, has made a real * The story of the ‘Gabriel Hounds’ current on Dartmoor and on the York- ‘shire Wold, seems an indication that the wild dogs once existed in England, 58 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY advance in the scale of animal well-being by its inherited instinct of combination. Its courage, which is not exaggerated by any of the traditions current, is probably as much due to the survival of the fittest in their combined hunting, as the endurance of a foxhound to a century of careful selection by owners of packs. It was this disciplined, hound-like habit, and a certain fearless confidence shown by the red-dogs on the rare occasions on which they were encountered by Europeans that suggested the idea that they must be the ‘original dog.’ Indian naturalists, struck by their unlikeness to the sneak- ing wolves, jackals, and foxes, classed them as the natural ‘hound,’ and distinguished the race by the honourable title of ‘xvwv,’ the word ‘canis’ being appropriated to the less noble wolves and _ their allies. There is a slight, though real, difference in the structure of the Asiatic hunting dogs, which have only forty-two teeth, in place of the forty-four of the dogs; but the habits of the wild dogs are so distinct in character from the wild ancestors of the domestic breeds, that, though Professor Huxley pro- nounced, from the evidence of structure only, that they were ‘nothing but a large and slightly modi- fied form of the jackal type, which seems to have . become specialised in the Eastern extremity of its” area of distribution,’ the impression of the earlier ANIMAL COURAGE 59 naturalists survives the tendency to simplify classi- fication. One species of the hunting dog is found north of the Central Asian plateau, in the Siberian forests. It is thickly furred, with a mane, and rough coat like a collie; but its habits are, so _ far as can be gathered, identical with those of the ‘dhole.’ It hunts in packs, and one curious fact has been preserved among the doubtful tales of Siberian hunters. It ‘clears out’ the whole neigh- bourhood in which the pack has settled. In 1859, all the deer were driven from the valley of the Irkut by these dogs, which hunted under the leader- ship of old male hounds, as they have been observed to do in India. The ‘woolly-coated’ wild dog does not cross the Central Asian Plateau. But the rough- haired, bushy-tailed Indian species holds its own, from the barren uplands of Eastern Thibet to the Malay Peninsula. It can live everywhere, though it seems common nowhere. The packs are found hunting wild sheep and ibexes on the uplands of Eastern Thibet, killing sambur and spotted deer in the Himalayas from Cashmere to Assam (its puppies have been taken close to Simla), and it haunts all the large forests of India, the Annamully Hills, the Ghats, and the uplands of the Deccan, those ‘ grassy downs’ where Mowgli had ‘often watched the fear- 60 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY less dholes sleeping and playing and scratching them- selves among the little hollows and tussocks they use for lairs.’ This quotation sounds like an original observation of the habits of the ‘dhole,’ though it may not be Mr Kipling’s own experience. The ‘field' naturalist’ does not seem to exist in India; and though the chroniclers of big-game shooting occasionally meet the wild dogs, and have described their method of hunting, the presence of a pack is almost sufficient inducement to the sportsman to leave a district where they appear. “They become a regular pest to the sportsman, as well as to the natives,’ writes General Douglas Hamilton, in his Sport in Southern India, ‘as they drive away all the deer from the district; the sambur has the most intense dread of these poach- ing rascals, and will leave a locality for months, after being hunted by them.’ General Hamilton disturbed a small pack, and shot one dog as it was ‘leisurely walking up the slope of a hill.’ This — dog ‘had a wound all along its back, some days old. It was seven inches long, and had opened out two or three inches wide, and was evidently a gore from a deer’s antler.’ This dog was exactly four feet long, the tail being one foot. They were constantly seen hunting sambur deer on the Annamully hills. The country was open, but studded with ANIMAL COURAGE 61 small woods, and the packs, which varied from five or six to much larger numbers, used to drive the deer from the woods, and work them into the open ground. The deer were then pressed until they ‘took soil,’ like a hunted Exmoor stag, and were soon pulled down. In the low country the wild dogs were even more plentiful; and it was noticed that they always attacked a large deer on the flank, and endeavoured to disembowel it. The big sambur deer were almost as terrified by the pursuit of the ‘dhole,’ as a rabbit when chased by a stoat. They rushed past the human hunter with their coats standing on end in an extremity of fear ; and their sole chance of throwing off the pack was by reaching the thick woods, where the wild hounds were compelled to~hunt by scent, while the strong stags rushed on and gained on them. Fhere is a persistent tradition that the ‘dhole’ hunt and kill the tiger. Mr Kipling is evidently not convinced that this is true. But he notes that the tiger ‘will surrender a new kill to the “dhole.”’ Such a scene was once witnessed by a friend of General Hamilton’s. He was going round his coffee plantation when he heard a noise in the forest bordering on the clearing, and went into the wood to ascertain the cause. ‘On going round the corner of a thick bush he almost trod upon the tail of 62 ANIMALS AT WORK AND PLAY a tiger standing with his back towards him; he silently retreated; but as he did so, he saw there was a pack of wild dogs in front of the tiger, yelp- ing at him, and making the peculiar noise which — had previously attracted his attention. Having pro- cured his rifle, he returned with some of his men to the spot; the tiger was gone, but a large pack of wild dogs was feeding upon the body of a stag, which upon examination was found to have been killed by the tiger, for there were marks of its teeth upon the stag’s neck. The dogs had evidently driven him from his prey.’ But the general belief of the wild tribes of India is borne out by two stories told by Colonel Baldwin of their attacking the bear and the tiger, which put the fact beyond doubt. A bear was found by an English officer standing at bay before the dogs. He had killed one; but his hide and body were torn in strips by the bites of the pack. In the other case, the fresh bones of a tiger were found, from which the flesh had been eaten; one paw still remained whole, and close. by lay the freshly-killed bodies of three wild dogs which had fallen in the fight. Remembering not only the strength and activity of the tiger, but the astonishing pluck with which, even when wounded, it will constantly charge a line of elephants, and en- deavour to scale the howdah—which 16, .4n. Lacth,