Chapter VI (3)

Memory of the Cereopsis Goose. Keeper Atkin also showed me an instance of the wisdom of the cereopsis geese, from Van Diemens Land, South Australia. During the winter those birds are kept in the Wild-Fowl Pond; but in summer they are quartered in a secluded yard of the Crane's Paddock, nearly half a mile away. Twice a year these birds go under their own steam between those two enclosures. When turned out of the Cranes' Paddock last November they at once set out and walked very briskly southward up the Bird's Valley, past the Zebra House. On reaching the Service Road, a quarter of a mile away, they turned to the left and kept on to the Wolf Dens. There they turned to the right and kept on two hundred yards until they reached the walk coming down from the Reptile House. There they turned to the left, crossed the bridge, stopped at the gate to the Wild-Fowl Pond enclosure, and when the gate was opened they entered and declared themselves "at home."

Mr. Atkin says that in spring these birds show just as much interest in going back to their summer home. Falconry. We cannot do otherwise than regard the ancient sport of falconry as a high tribute to the mental powers of the genus _Falco._ The hunting falcons were educated into the sport of hawking, just as a boy is trained by his big brother to shoot quail on the wing. The birds were furnished with hoods and jesses, and other garnitures. They were carried on the hand of the huntsman, and launched at unlucky herons and bitterns as an _intelligent_ living force. The hunting falcon entered into the sport like a true sportsman, and he played the game according to the rules. The sport was cruel, but it was politely exciting, and it certainly was a fine exhibition of bird intelligence. Part of that intelligence was instinctive, but the most of it was acquired, by educational methods.

Outstanding Traits in a Few Groups of Birds. In creatures as much lacking in visible expression as most birds are, it is difficult to detect the emotions and temperaments that prevail in the various groups. Only a few can be cited with certain confidence.

Vanity Displays in Birds. The males of a few species of birds have been specially equipped by nature for the display of their natural vanity. Anyone who has seen a Zoological Park peacock working overtime on a Sunday afternoon in summer when the crowds of visitors are greatest, solely to display the ocellated splendor of his tail plumage, surely must conclude that the bird is well aware of the glories of his tail, and also that he positively enjoys showing off to admiring audiences.

These displays are not casual affairs in the ordinary course of the day's doings. It is a common thing for one of our birds to choose a particularly conspicuous spot, preferably on an elevated terrace, from which his display will carry farthest to the eyes of the crowd. Even if the bird were controlled by the will of a trainer for the purpose of vanity display, the exhibition could not possibly be more perfect. Like a good speaker on a rostrum, the bird faces first in one direction and then in another, and occasionally with a slow and stately movement it completely revolves on its axis for the benefit of those in the rear. "Vain as a peacock" is by no means an unjustifiable comparison.

Plumage displays are indulged in by turkeys, the blue bird of paradise, the greater and lesser birds of paradise, the sage grouse and pinnated grouse, ruffed grouse, golden pheasant and argus pheasant.

On the whole, we may fairly set down vanity as one of the well defined emotions in certain birds, and probably possessed by the males in many species which have not been provided by nature with the means to display it conspicuously.

Materials for Study. In seeking means by which to study the mental and temperamental traits of wild birds and mammals, the definite and clearly cut manifestations are so few in kind that we are glad to seize upon everything available. Of the visible evidences, pugnacity and the fighting habit are valuable materials, because they are visible. Much can be learned from the fighting weakness or strength of animals and men.

In our great collections of birds drawn from all the land areas of the globe, our bird men see much fighting. Mr. Crandall has prepared for me in a condensed form an illuminating collection of facts regarding

PUGNACITY IN CAPTIVE BIRDS

1. Most species do more or less competitive fighting for nesting sites or mates, especially:

Gallinaceous birds,--many of which fight furiously for mates;

The Ruff, or Fighting Snipe (_Machetes pugnax_),--very pugnacious for mates;

House Sparrows (_Passer domesticus_) fight for nesting places and mates; and

Some Waterfowl, especially swans and geese, fight for nesting places.

2. Most species which do not depend chiefly upon concealment, fight fiercely in defense of nests or young. Typical examples are:

Geese;

Swans;

The larger Flycatchers;

Birds of prey, especially the more powerful ones, such as Bald Eagles, Duck Hawks and Horned Owls.

3. Some species fight in competition for food. Conspicuous examples are:

The fiercer hawks;

Some carrion eaters, as the King Vulture, Black, Sharp-Shinned, Cooper, Gos and Duck Hawks, which fight in the air over prey.

4. Certain birds show pugnacity in connection with the robber instinct, as:

Bald Eagle, which robs the Osprey;

Skua and Jaeger, which rob gulls.

5. Some species show general pugnacity. Species to be cited are:

Cassowaries, Emus and Ostriches, all of which are more or less dangerous;

Saras Cranes, which strike wickedly and without warning;

Some Herons, especially if confined, and

Birds of Paradise, which are unreasonably quarrelsome.

6. In non-social birds, each male will fight for his own breeding and feeding territory. The struggle for territory is a wide one, and it is now attracting the attention of bird psychologists.

Birds are no more angelic than human beings are. They have their faults and their mean traits, just as we have; but their repertoire is not so great as ours. In every species that we have seen tried out in captivity, the baser passions are present. This is equally true of mammals. In _confinement_, in every herd and in every flock from elephants down to doves, the strong bully and oppress the weak, and drive them to the wall.

_The most philosophic and companionable birds_ are the parrots, parakeets, macaws and cockatoos.

_The birds that most quickly recognize protection_ sanctuaries and accept them, are the geese, ducks and swans.

_The game birds most nervous and foolish, and difficult to maintain in captivity,_ are the grouse, ptarmigan and quail.

_The bird utterly destitute of sense_ in captivity is the loon.

_The birds that are most domineering_ in captivity are the cranes.

_The birds that are most treacherous_ in captivity are the darters (_Anhinga_).

_The birds that go easiest and farthest in training_ are the parrots, macaws and cockatoos.

_The most beautiful bird species of the world_ are about fifty in number; and only a few of them are found among the birds of paradise.

The minds of wild birds are quite as varied and diversified as are the forms and habits of the different orders and genera. XVI

THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT

OF all the vertebrates, the serpents live under the greatest handicaps. They are hated and destroyed by all men, they can neither run nor fly far away, and they subsist under maximum difficulties. Those of the temperate zone are ill fitted to withstand the rigors of winter.

And yet the serpents survive; and we have not heard of any species having become extinct during our own times.

It is indeed worth while to "consider the wisdom of the serpent." Without the exercise of keen intelligence all the snakes of the cultivated lands of the world long ago would have been exterminated. The success of serpents of all species in meeting new conditions and maintaining their existence in the face of enormous difficulties compels us, as reasoning beings, to accord to them keen intelligence and ratiocination.

The poisonous serpents afford a striking illustration of reason and folly en masse. The total number of venomous species is really great, and their distribution embraces practically the whole of the torrid and temperate zones. They are too numerous for mention here; and their capacity for mischief to man is very great. Our own country has at least eighteen species of poisonous snakes, including the rattlesnakes, the copperhead, moccasin, and coral snakes. All these, however, are remarkably pacific. Without exception they are non-aggressive, and they attack only when they think they are exposed to danger, and must defend themselves or die. Hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of our people have tramped through the woods and slept in the sage-brush and creosote bushes of the rattlesnake, and waded through swamps full of moccasins, with never a bite. In America only about two persons per year are bitten by _wild_ rattlesnakes.

Our snakes, and all but a very few of the other poison-snake species of the world, know that _it pays to keep the peace._ Now, what if all snakes were as foolishly aggressive as the hooded and spectacled cobras of India? Let us see.

Those cobra species are man-haters. They love to attack and do damage. They go out of their way to bite people. They crawl into huts and bungalows, especially during the monsoon rains, and they infest thatch roofs. But are they wise, and retiring, like the house-haunting gopher snake of the South?

By no means. The cobra goes around with a chip on his shoulder. In India they kill from 17,000 to 18,000 people annually! And in return, about 117,000 cobras are killed annually. It is a mighty fortunate thing for humanity on the frontier that the other serpents of the world know that it is a good thing to behave themselves, and not bite unnecessarily.

Fighting Its Own Kind. The Indian cobra, (_Naia tripudians_), is an exception to the rule of serpents that forbids fighting in the family. While cobras in captivity usually do live together in a state of vicious and fully-armed neutrality, sometimes they do fight. One of our cobras once attacked a cage-mate two-thirds the size of itself, vanquished it, seized it by the head and swallowed two-thirds of it before the tragedy was discovered. The assailant was compelled to disgorge his prey, but the victim was very dead.

The poison venom of the cobra, rattlesnake, bushmaster and puff adder is a great handicap on the social standing of the entire serpent family. Mankind in general abhors snakes, both in general and particular. The snake not actually known to be venomous usually is suspected of being so. It is only the strongest mental constitution that can permit a snake to go unkilled when the killing opportunity offers. It is just as natural for the lay brother to kill a chicken snake because it looks like a copperhead, or a hog-nosed blowing "viper" because it looks like a rattlesnake, as it is to shy at a gun that "may be loaded."

To American plainsmen, the non-aggressive temper of the rattlesnake is well known, and it is also a positive asset. I never knew one who was nervously afraid while sleeping in the open that snakes would come and crawl into his bed, or mix up with his camp. Of course all frontiersmen kill rattlers, as a sort of bounden duty to society, but I once knew an eastern man to turn loose a rattlesnake that he had photographed, in the observance of his principle never to kill an animal whose picture he had taken. Subsequently it was gravely reported that one of the restive horses of the outfit had "accidentally" killed that rattler by stepping upon it.

A Summary of Poisonous Snakes. There are about 300,000 poisonous snakes in the United States, and 110,000,000 people for them to bite; but more people are bitten by captive snakes than by wild ones.

A fool and his snake are soon parted.

There are 200,000 rattlesnakes in our country, but all of them will let you alone if you will let them alone.

If your police record is clear, you can sleep safely in the sage- brush.

If ever you need to camp in a cave, remember that in warm weather the rattlesnakes are all out hunting, and will not return until the approach of winter.

The largest snakes of the world exist only in the human mind.

The rattlesnake is a world-beater at minding his own business.

Men do far more fighting per capita than any snakes yet discovered.

The road to an understanding of the minds of serpents is long and difficult. Perhaps the best initial line of approach is through a well-stocked Reptile House. Having studied somewhat in that school I have emerged with a fixed belief that of all vertebrate creatures, snakes are the least understood, and also the most thoroughly misunderstood.

The world at large debits serpents with being far more quarrelsome and aggressive than they really are, and it credits them with knowing far less than they do know.

Attitude of Snakes Toward Each Other. Toward each other, the members of the various serpent species are tolerant, patient and peaceful to the last degree. You may place together in one cage twenty big Texas rattlers, or twenty ugly cottonmouth moccasins from the Carolinas, a hundred garter snakes, twenty boa constrictors, or six big pythons, and if the various _species_ are kept separate there will be no fighting. You may stir them up to any reasonable extent, and make them keen to strike you, but they do not attack each other.

There are, however, many species that will not mix together in peace. For example, the king snake of New Jersey hates the rattlesnake, no matter what his address may be. Being by habit a constrictor, the king snake at once winds himself tightly around the neck of the rattler,--and proceeds to choke him to death.

The king cobra devours other snakes, as food, and wishes nothing else.

The Gopher Snake. Some snakes that feel sure you will not harm them will permit you to handle them without a protest or a fight. The most spectacular example is the gopher snake of the southeastern United States. This handsome, lustrous, blue-black species is six feet long, shiny, and as clean and smooth as ivory. Its members are famous rat-killers. You can pick up a wild one wherever you find it, and it will not bite you. They do not at all object to being handled, even by timorous lady visitors who never before have touched a live snake; and in the South they are tolerated by farmers for the good they do as rat catchers.

The Wisdom of a Big Python. Once I witnessed an example of snake intelligence on a large scale, which profoundly impressed me.

A reticulated python about twenty-two feet long arrived from Singapore with its old skin dried down upon its body. The snake had been many weeks without a bath, and it had been utterly unable to shed its old skin on schedule time. It was necessary to remove all that dead epidermis, without delay.

The great serpent, fully coiled, was taken out of its box, sprayed with warm water, and gently deposited on the gravel floor of our most spacious python apartment. Later on pails of warm water, sponges and forceps were procured, and five strong keepers were assembled for active service.

The first step was to get the snake safely into the hands of the men, and fully under control. A stream of cold water from a hose was suddenly shot in a deluge upon the python's head, and while it was disconcerted and blinded by the flood, it was seized by the neck, close behind the head. Immediately the waiting keepers seized it by the body, from neck to tail, and straightened it out, to prevent coiling. Strong hands subdued its struggles, and without any violence stretched the writhing wild monster upon the floor.

Then began the sponging and peeling process. The frightened snake writhed and resisted, probably feeling sure that its last hour had come. The men worked quietly, spoke soothingly, and the work proceeded successfully. With the lapse of time the serpent became aware of the fact that it was not to be harmed; for it became quiet, and lay still. At the same time, we all dreaded the crisis that we thought would come when the jaws and the head would be reached.

By the time the head was reached, the snake lay perfectly passive. Beyond all doubt, it understood the game that was being played.

Now, the epidermis of a snake covers the entire head, _including the eyes!_ And what would that snake do when the time came to remove the scales from its eyes and lips? It continued to lie perfectly still! When the pulling off of the old skin hurt the new skin underneath, the head flinched slightly, just as any hurt flesh will flinch by reflex action; but that was absolutely all. For a long hour or more, and even when the men pulled the dead scales from those eyes and lips, that strange creature made no resistance or protest. I have seen many people fight their doctors for less.

That wild, newly-caught jungle snake quickly had recognized the situation, and acted its part with a degree of sense and appreciation that was astounding. I do not know of any _adult wild_ mammal that would have shown that kind and degree of wisdom under similar circumstances.

Do Snakes "Charm" Birds? Sometimes a wild bird will sit still upon its nest while a big pilot blacksnake, or some other serpent equally bad, climbs up and poises its head before the motionless and terrified bird until at last the serpent seizes the bird to devour it. The bird victim really seems to be "charmed" by its enemy. If there were not some kind of a hypnotic spell cast over the bird, would it not fly away?

I think this strange proceeding is easily explainable by any one with sufficient imagination to put himself in the bird's place. It is the rule of a sitting bird to sit tight, not to be scared off by trifles, and to take great risks rather than expose her eggs to cold and destruction. The ascent and approach of the serpent is absolutely noiseless. Not a leaf is stirred. The potential mother of a brood calmly sits with eyes half closed, at peace with all the world. Suddenly, and with a horrible shock, she discovers a deadly serpent's multi-fanged head and glittering eyes staring at her _within easy striking distance._

The horrified mother bird feels that she is lost. She knows full well that with any movement to escape the serpent instantly will launch its attack. _Her one hope,_ and seemingly her only chance for life, is that _if she remains motionless_ the serpent will go its way without harming her. (Think of the thousands of helpless men, women and children who have hoped and acted similarly in the presence of bandits and hold-up men presenting loaded revolvers! But they were far from being "charmed.")

The bird hopes, and sits still, _paralyzed with fear._ At its leisure the serpent strikes; and after a certain number of horrible minutes, all is over. I think there is no real "charm" exercised in the tragedy; but that there is on the part of the bird a paralysis of fear, which is in my opinion a well defined emotion, common in animals and in men. I have seen it in many animals.

Snakes that Feign Death. The common hog-nosed snake, mistakenly called the "puff-adder" and blowing "viper" (_Heterodon platyrhinus_) of the New England states, often feigns death when it is caught in the open, and picked up. It will "play 'possum" while you carry it by its tail, head downward, or hang its limp body over a fence. Of course it hopes to escape by its very clever ruse, and no doubt it often does so from the hands of inexperienced persons.

Do Snakes Swallow Their Young? I _think_ not. A number of persons solemnly have declared that they have seen snakes do so, but no _herpetologist_ ever has seen an occurrence of that kind. I believe that all of the best authorities on serpents believe that snakes do not swallow their young. The theory of the pro-swallowists is that the mother snake takes her young into her interior to provide for their safety, and that they do not go as far down as the stomach. The anti-swallowists declare that the powerful digestive juices of the stomach of a snake would quickly kill any snakelets coming in contact with it; and I believe that this is true.

At present the snake-swallowing theory must be ticketed "not proven," and is filed for further reference.

The Hoop Snake Fable. There is no such thing as a "hoop-snake" save in the vivid imaginations of a very few men.

The Intelligence of the King Cobra. Curator of Reptiles Raymond L. Ditmars regards the huge king cobra of the Malay Peninsula, the largest of all poisonous serpents, as quite the wisest serpent known to him. He says its mind is alert and responsive to a very unusual degree in serpents, and that it manifests a keen interest in everything that is going on around it, especially at feeding- time. This is quite the reverse of the usual sluggish and apathetic serpent mind in captivity.

Incidentally, I would like very much to know just what our present twelve-foot cobra thought when, upon its arrival at its present home, its total blindness was relieved by the thrillingly skilful removal of the _two layers_ of dead scales that had closed over and finally adhered to each orbit.

The vision of the king cobra is keen, and its temper is not easily ruffled. Its temperament seems to be sanguine, which is just the opposite of the nervous-combative hooded and spectacled cobra species.

The So-called "Snake Charmers" of India. Herpetologists generally discredit the idea that a peripatetic Hindu can "charm" a cobra any farther or more quickly than any snake-keeper. In the first place, the fangs of the serpent are totally removed,--by a very savage and painful process. After that, the unfortunate snake is in no condition to fight or to flee. It seeks only to be let alone, and the musical-pipe business is to impress the mind of the observer.

Serpent Psychology an Unplowed Field. At this date (1922) we know only the rudiments of serpent intelligence and temperament. In the wilds, serpents are most elusive and difficult to determine. In captivity they are passive and undemonstrative. We do not know how much memory they have, they rarely show what they think, and on most subjects we do not know where they stand. But the future will change all this. During the past twenty years the number of herpetologists in the United States has increased about tenfold. It is fairly impossible that serpent psychology should much longer remain unstudied, and unrevealed along the lines of plain common- sense.

The Ways of Crocodiles. The ways of crocodiles are dark and deep; their thoughts are few and far between. Their wisdom is above that of the tortoises and turtles, but below that of the serpents. I have had field experience with four species of crocodilians in the New World and three in the Old. With but slight exceptions they all think alike and act alike.

The great salt-water crocodile of the Malay Peninsula and Borneo is the only real man-eater I ever met. Except under the most provocative circumstances, all the others I have met are practically harmless to man. This includes the Florida species, the Orinoco crocodile, the little one from Cuba, the alligator, the Indian gavial and the Indian crocodile (_C. palustris_).

The salt-water crocodile, that I have seen swimming out in the ocean two miles or more from shore, is in Borneo a voracious man- eater. It skilfully stalks its prey in the murky rivers where Malay and Dyak women and children come down to the village bathing place to dip up water and to bathe. There, unseen in the muddy water, the monster glides up stealthily, seizes his victim by the leg, and holding it tightly backs off into deep water and disappears. The victims are drowned, not bitten to death.

I found in Ceylon that the Indian crocodile is a shameless cannibal, devouring the skinned carcasses of its relatives whenever an opportunity offered.

The Florida crocodile is the shrewdest species of all those I know personally. It has the strange habit of digging out deep and spacious burrows for concealment, in the perpendicular sandy banks of southern Florida rivers where the deep water comes right up to the shore. Starting well under low-water mark, the crock digs in the yielding sand, straight into the bank, a roomy subterranean chamber. In this snug retreat he once was safe from all his enemies,--until the fatal day when his secret was discovered, and revealed to a grasping world. Since that time, the Alligator Joes of Palm Beach and Miami have made a business of personally conducting parties of northern visitors, at $50 per catch, to witness the adventure of catching a nine-foot crocodile alive. The dens are located by probing the sand with long iron rods. A rope noose is set over the den's entrance, and when all is ready, a confederate probes the crocodile out of its den and into the fatal noose.

Today the Florida crocodile is so nearly extinct that it required two years of diligent inquiry to produce one live specimen subject to purchase.

Common Sense in the Common Toad. Last spring, in planting a lot of trees on our lawn, a round tree-hole that stood for several days unoccupied finally accumulated about a dozen toads. Its two feet of straight depth was unscalable, and when finally discovered the toads were tired of their imprisonment. Partly as a test of their common-sense, Mr. George T. Fielding placed a six-inch board in the hole, at an angle of about thirty degrees, but fairly leading out of the trap.

In very quick time the toads recognized the possibilities of the inclined plane and hopped upward to liberty. In the use of this opportunity they showed more wisdom than our mountain sheep manifest concerning the same kind of an improvement designed to enable them to reach the roof of their building. XVII

THE TRAINING OF WILD ANIMALS

Before we enter this chapter let us pause a moment on the threshold, and consider the logic of animal training and performances.

Logic is only another name for reason. Its reverse side is fanaticism; and that way madness lies. It is the duty of every sane man and woman to consider the cold logic of every question affecting the welfare of man and nature. Fanaticism when carried to extremes can become a misdemeanor or a crime. The soft-hearted fanaticism of humanics that saves a brutal murderer, or would-be murderer like Berkman, from the gallows or the chair, and eventually turns him loose to commit more crimes against innocent people, is not only wrong, and wicked, but in aggravated cases it is a _crime_ against society.

Just now there is a tiny wave of agitation against all performances of trained wild animals, and the keeping of animals in captivity, on the ground that all this is "cruel" and inhumane. The Jacklondon Society of Boston is working hard to get up steam for this crusade, but thus far with only partial success. Its influence is confined to a very small area.

Now, what is the truth of this matter? Is it true that trained wild animals are cruelly abused in the training, or in compelling them to perform? Is it true that in making animals perform on the stage, or in the circus ring, their rights are wickedly infringed? Is it the duty of the American people to stop all performances by animals? Is it wicked to make wild animals, or cats and dogs, _work_ for a living, as men and women do? Is it true that captive animals in zoological parks and gardens are miserable and unhappy, and that all such institutions should be "abolished?" What is truth?

In the first place, there is no sound reasoning or logic in assuming that the persons of animals, tame or wild, are any more sacred than those of men, women and children. We hold that it is no more "cruelty" for an ape or a dog to work in training quarters or on the stage than it is for men, women and young people to work as acrobats, or actors, or to engage in honest toil eight hours per day. Who gave to any warm-blooded animal that consumes food and requires shelter the right to live without work? _No one!_ I am sure that no trained bear of my acquaintance ever had to work as hard for his food and shelter as does the average bear out in the wilds. In order to find enough to eat the latter is compelled to hustle hard from dawn till dark. I have seen that the Rocky Mountain grizzly feels forced to dig a big hole three feet deep in hard, rocky ground, to get one tiny ground squirrel the size of a chipmunk,--and weighing only eight or nine ounces. Now, has he anything "on" the performing bear? Decidedly not.

I regard the sentimental Jacklondon idea, that no wild animal should be made to work on the stage or in the show-ring, as illogical and absurd. Human beings who sanely work are much happier per capita than those who do nothing but loaf and grouch. I have worked, horse-hard, throughout all the adult years of my life; and it has been good for me. I know that it is no more wrong or wicked for a horse to work for his living,--of course on a humane basis,--either on the stage or on the street, than it is for a coal-carrier, a foundryman, a farmer, a bookkeeper, a school teacher or a housewife to do the day's work.

The person of a wild animal is no more sacred than is that of a man or woman. A sound whack for an unruly elephant, bear or horse is just as helpful as it is for an unruly boy who needs to be shown that order is heaven's first law.

In the presence of the world's toiling and sweating millions, in the presence of millions of children in the home sweat-shops and factories working their little lives out for their daily crust and a hard bed, what shall we think and say of the good, kind-hearted people who are spending time and energy in crusading against trained animal performances?

The vast majority of performing animals are trained by humane men and women, practicing kindness to the utmost; and they are the last persons in the world who would be willing to have their valuable stock roughly handled, neglected or in any manner cruelly treated.

So far as zoological parks and gardens are concerned, they are no more in need of defense than the Rocky Mountains.

Every large zoological park is a school of wild-animal education and training; and it is literally a continuous performance. Let no one suppose that there is no training of wild beasts save for the circus ring and the vaudeville stage. Of the total number of large and important mammals that come into our zoological parks, the majority of them actually are trained to play becomingly their respective parts. An intractable and obstinate animal soon becomes a nuisance.

The following, named in the order of their importance, are the species whose zoological park training is a matter of necessity: Elephants, bears, apes, hippopotami, rhinoceroses, giraffes, bison, musk-ox, wild sheep, goats and deer, African antelopes, wild swine, and wild horses, asses and zebras. Of large birds the most conspicuous candidates for training in park life are the ostriches, emus, cassowaries, cranes, pelicans, swans, egrets and herons, geese, ducks, pheasants, macaws and cockatoos, curassows, eagles and vultures. Among the reptiles, the best trained are the giant tortoises, the pythons, boas, alligators, crocodiles, iguanas and gopher snakes.

Each one of these species is educated (1) to be peaceful, and not attack their keepers; (2) to not fear their keepers; (3) to do as they are bid about going here or there; (4) to accept and eat the food that is provided for them, and (5) finally, in some cases to "show off" a little when commanded, for the benefit of visitors.

All this training comes in the regular course of our daily work, and there are few animals who do not respond to it. The necessity for training is most imperative with the elephants and bears, for without it the difficulties in the management of those dangerous animals is greatly intensified.

In training an animal to do a particular act not in the routine of his daily life, it is of course necessary to show him clearly and pointedly what is desired. I think that in quickness of perception, and ability to adopt a new idea, the elephants and the great apes are tied for first place. Both are remarkably quick. It seems to me that it required only half a dozen lessons to teach our Indian elephant, Gunda, to take a penny in his trunk, lift the lid of a high-placed box, drop in the coin, then pull a bell-cord and ring a bell. Of course the reward for the first successful performances was lumps of sugar. Within three days this rather interesting special exhibit was working smoothly, and coining money. As a means of working off on the poor animal great numbers of foreign copper coins, and spurious issues of all kinds, it was a great boon to the foreign population of New York. Our erratic elephant Alice was quickly trained by Keeper Richards to blow a mouth organ, to ring a telephone by turning the crank, and to take off the receiver and hold it up to her ear for an imaginary call.

Another keeper, with no previous experience as a trainer, taught a male orang-utan called Rajah to go through a series of performances that are elsewhere described.

Bright and Dull Individuals. Every wild animal species contains the same range of bright and dull individuals that are found in the various races of men. Naturally the animal trainer selects for training only those animals that are of amiable disposition, that mentally are alert, responsive and possessed of good memories. The worst mistakes they make are in taking on and forcing ill-natured and irritable animals, that hate training and performing. Often a trainer persists in retaining an animal that resolutely should be thrown out. Captain Bonavita lost his arm solely because of his fatal persistence in retaining in his group of lions an animal that hated him, and which the trainer well knew was dangerous.

While nearly every wild animal can be taught a few simple tricks, the dull mind soon reaches its constitutional limit. Even among the great apes, conditions are quite the same. One half the orang- utans are of the thin-headed, pin-headed type that is hopeless for stage training. The good ones are the stocky, round-headed, round- faced individuals who have the cephalic index of the statesman or jurist, and a broad and well-rounded dome of thought.

Training for the Ring and the Stage. During his long and successful career as a purveyor of wild animals for all purposes, Carl Hagenbeck had great success in the production of large animal groups trained for stage performances. I came in close touch with his methods and their results. His methods were very simple, and they were founded on kindness and common sense. Mr. Hagenbeck hated whips and punishments. When an animal could not get on without them, it was dropped from the cast. His working theory was that an unwilling animal makes a bad actor.

There is no mystery about the best methods in training animals, wild or domestic. The first thing is to assemble a suitable number of _young_ animals, all of which are mentally bright and physically sound. Most adult animals are impracticable, and often impossible, because they are set in their ways. The elephants are monumental exceptions. A large, well-lighted and sunny room is provided; and around it are the individual cages for the student animals. The members of the company are fed wisely and well, kept scrupulously clean, and in all ways made comfortable and contented. When not at their work they are allowed to romp and play together until they are tired of the exercise.

The trainer who has been selected to create a specified group spends practically his entire time with his pupils. He feeds them, and mixes with them daily and hourly. From the beginning he teaches them that _they must obey him, and not fight._ The work of training begins with simple things, and goes on to the complex; and each day the same routine is carried out. To each animal is assigned a certain place in the circle, with a certain tub or platform on which to sit at ease when not acting in the ring. It is exceedingly droll to see a dozen cub lions, tigers, bears and cheetahs sitting decorously on their respective tubs and gravely watching the thirteenth cub who is being labored with by the keeper to bring its ideas and acts into line. The stage properties are many; and they all assist in helping the actors to remember the sequence of their acts, as well as the things to be done. The key that controls the mind of a good animal is the reward idea. Many a really bad animal goes through its share of the performance solely to secure the bit of meat, the lump of sugar or the prized biscuit that never fails to show up at the proper moment.

The acts to be performed are gone over in the training quarters, innumerable times; and this continues so long that by the time the "group" is ready for the stage, behold! the cubs with which the patient and tireless trainer began have grown so large that to the audience they now seem like adult and savage animals. Those who scoff at the wild animal mind, and say that all this displays nothing but "machines in fur" need to be reminded that this very same line of effort in training and rehearsal is absolutely necessary in the production of every military company, every ballet, and every mass performance on the stage. There is _no_ successful performance without training. Boys and girls require the very same sort of handling that the wild animals receive, but the humans do with a little less of it.

The man who flouts a good stage performance by wild animals on the ground that it reveals "no thought," and is only "imitation," is, in my judgment, a very short-sighted student. Maniacs and imbeciles cannot be trained to perform any program fit to be seen. I saw that tried fifty years ago, in "the wild Australian children," who were idiots. _The performer must think, and reason._

Of the many groups of trained animals that I have seen in performances, my mind goes back first to the one which contained a genuine bear comedian, of the Charlie Chaplin type. It was a Himalayan black bear, with fine side whiskers, and it really seemed to me absolutely certain that the other animals in the group appreciated and enjoyed the fun that comedian made. He pretended to be awkward, and frequently fell off his tub. He was purposely dilatory, and was often the last one to finish. The other animals seemed to be fascinated by his mishaps, and they sat on their tubs and watched him with what looked like genuine amusement. I remember another circle of seated animals who calmly and patiently sat and watched while the trainer labored with a cross and refractory leopard, to overcome its stubbornness, and to make it do its part.

Carl Hagenbeck loved to produce mixed groups of dangerous animals,--lions, tigers, leopards, bears and wolves. One trainer whom I knew was assisted in a highly dangerous group by a noble stag-hound who habitually kept close to his master, and was said to be ready to attack instantly any animal that might attack the trainer. I never saw a finer bodyguard than that dog.

In 1908 the most astounding animal group ever turned out of the Hagenbeck establishment, or shown on any stage, appeared in London. It consisted of _75 full-grown polar bears!_ Now, polar bears, either for the cage or the stage, are bad citizens. Instinctively I always suspect their mental reservations, and for twenty-one years have carefully kept our keepers out of their reach. But Mr. William Hagenbeck, brother of the great Carl, actually trained and performed with a huge _herd_ of dangerous polars to the number stated.

In the _Strand_ magazine for April, 1908, there is a fine article by Arthur Harold about this group and its production. It says that the bears were obtained when seven or eight months old, in large lots, and all thrown in together. It took a keeper between seven and eight months to educate them out of their savage state,--by contact, kindness, sugar and fruit,--and then they were turned over to the trainer, Mr. Hagenbeck. They were taught to form pyramids, climb ladders, shoot the chutes, ride in pony carriages, draw and ride in sleds, drink from bottles, and work a see-saw. Various individuals did individual tricks. The star performer was Monk, the wrestling bear, who went with his trainer through a fearsome wrestling performance.

Concerning the temperament of that polar bear group Mr. William Hagenbeck said:

"Although I know every animal in the company, have taught each one to recognize me, and have been among many of them for _fifteen years,_ I can not now tell by their expressions the moods of the animals. This is one of the characteristics of the polar bear. Their expression remains the same, and it is impossible to detect by watching their faces whether they are pleased or cross. Now in most wild animals, such as the lion, you can tell by the expression of the beast's face and by its actions whether it is in a good temper or not.... The truth is, the polar bear is a most awkward beast to train. In the first place its character is difficult to understand. He is by nature very suspicious, and without the least warning is apt to turn upon his trainer. Among the seventy bears that have been taught to do tricks, _only two_ of them are really fond of their work."

In the end, Mr. William Hagenbeck was very nearly killed by one of these polar bears. I was with Carl Hagenbeck a few hours after he received telegraphic news of the tragedy, and his bitterness against those polar bears was boundless. I understood that Monk, the wrestling bear, was the assailant,--which was small cause for wonder. When I saw Mr. Hagenbeck's polar bear show, it gave me shivers of fear. The first two big male polars that we installed at our Park came from that very group, and one of them led us into a dreadful tragedy, with a female bear as the victim.

The So-Called "Trick" Performances. Some psychologists make light of what they call "trick performances," in which the performing animals are guided by signs, or signals, or spoken commands from their trainers. I have never been able to account for this. It is incontestably true that dull and stupid animals can learn little, and perform less. For example, all the training in the world could not suffice to put a pig through a performance that a chimpanzee or orang could master in two weeks. The reason is that the pig has not the brain power that is indispensable. A woodchuck never could become the mental equal of a wood rat (_Neotoma_). A sheep could not hope to rival a horse, either in training or in execution.

Really, _the brain, the memory and reason must enter into every animal performance that amounts to anything worth while._ It is just as sensible to flout soldiers on the drill-ground as to wave aside as of no account a troup of trained lions or sea-lions on the stage. Any animal that can be taught to perform difficult feats, and that delivers the goods in the blinding glare and riot of the circus ring or the stage footlights, is entitled to my profound respect for its powers of mind and nerve.

The Sea-Lion's Repertoire. Long ago trainers recognized in the California sea-lion (_Zalophus_) a good subject for the ring and stage. Its long, supple neck, its lithe body and brilliant nervous energy seemed good for difficult acts. The sea-lion takes very kindly to training, and really delights in its performances. In fact, it enters into its performance with a keen vigor and zest that is pleasing to behold. Let this veracious record of a performance of Treat's five sea-lions and two harbor seals, that I witnessed October 15, 1910, tell the whole story, in order that the reader may judge for himself:

1. Each sea-lion balanced upright on its nose a wooden staff 3 feet long, with a round knob on its upper end.

2. Each sea-lion caught in its mouth a three-foot stick with a ball on each end, tossed it up, whirled it in the air, and caught it again. This was repeated, without a miss.

3. Each sea-lion balanced on the tip of its nose, first a ball like a baseball, then a large ball two feet in diameter.

4. Each sea-lion climbed a double ladder of eight steps, and went down on the other side, _balancing a large ball on the end of its nose, without a miss._

5. The trainer handed a ball to the sea-lion nearest him, who balanced it on his nose, walked with it to his box and climbed up.

6. Then another sea-lion walked over to him, and waited expectantly until sea-lion No. 1 tossed the ball to No. 2, who caught it on his nose, walked over to his box, climbed up, and presently tossed it to No. 3.

7. A silk hat was balanced on its rim.

8. A seal carrying a balanced ball scrambled upon a cylindrical basket and rolled it across the arena, after which other seals repeated the performance.

9. In the last act a flaming torch was balanced, tossed about, caught and whirled, and finally returned to the trainer, still blazing.

Trained Horses. By carefully selecting the brightest and most intelligent horses that can be found, it is possible for a trainer to bring together and educate a group that will go through a fine performance in public. However, some exhibitions of trained horses are halting, ragged and poor. I have seen only one that stands out in my records as superlatively fine,--for horses. That was known to the public when I saw it as Bartholomew's "Equine Paradox," and it contained twelve wonderfully trained horses. My record of this fine performance fills seven pages of a good-sized notebook. While it is too long to reproduce here entire, it can at least be briefly described. The trainer called his group a "school," and of it he said:

"While I do not say that any one horse knows the meaning of from 300 to 400 words, I claim that _as a whole_ the school does know that number."

The performance was fairly bewildering; but by diligent work I recorded the whole of it. Various horses did various things. They fetched chairs, papers, hats and coats; opened desks, rang bells, came when called, bowed, knelt, and erased figures from a blackboard. They danced a waltz, a clog dance, a figure-8; they marched, halted, paced, trotted, galloped, backed, jumped, leaped over each other, performed with a barrel, a see-saw and a double see-saw. Their marching and drilling would have been creditable to a platoon of rookies.

In performing, every horse is handicapped by his lack of hands and plant grade feet; and the horse memory is not very sure or certain. More than any other animal, the horse depends upon the trainer's command, and in poor performances the command often requires to be repeated, two or three times, or more. The memory of the horse is not nearly so quick nor so certain as that of the chimpanzee or elephant.

Dr. Martin J. Potter, of New York, famous trainer of stage and movie animals, states that of all animals, wild or domestic, the horse is the most intelligent; but I doubt whether he ever trained any chimpanzees. Speaking from out of the abundance of his training experience with many species of animals except the great apes, Dr. Potter says that "the seal [i. e. California sea-lion] learns its stage cues more easily than any other mute performer. The horse, however, is the most intelligent of all animals in its grasp and understanding of the work it has learned to perform, and in its reliable faithfulness and memory." Dr. Potter holds that of wild animals the tiger, owing to its treachery and ferocity, is the most difficult wild animal to train; the lion is the most reliable, and the most stupid of all animals is the pig.

The Taming of Boma. A keeper for a short time in our place, named D'Osta, once did a very neat piece of work in taming a savage and intractable chimpanzee. When Boma came to us, fresh from the French Congo, he was savage and afraid. He retreated to the highest resting-place of his cage, came down only at night for his meals, and would make no compromise. We believed that he had been fearfully abused by his former owners, and through mistreatment had acquired both fear and hatred of all men.

After the lapse of several months with Boma on that basis, the situation grew tiresome and intolerable. So D'Osta said:

"I must tame that animal, and teach him not to be afraid of us."

He introduced a roomy shifting cage into Boma's compartment, fixed the drop door, and for many days served Boma's food and water in that cage only. For two weeks the ape eluded capture, but eventually the keeper caught him. At first Boma's rage and fear were boundless; but presently the idea dawned upon his mind that he was not to be killed immediately. D'Osta handed him excellent food and water, twice a day, spoke to him soothingly, and otherwise let him alone. Slowly Boma's manner changed. He learned that he was not to be hurt, nor even annoyed. Confidence in the men about him began to come to him. His first signs of friendliness were promptly met and cultivated.

At the end of ten days, D'Osta opened the sliding door, and Boma walked out, a wiser and better ape. His bad temper and his fears were gone. He trusted his keeper, and cheerfully obeyed him. Strangest of all, he even suffered D'Osta to put a collar upon him, and chain him to the front bars to curb his too great playfulness while his cage was being cleaned.

Boma's fear of man has never returned. Now, although he is big and dangerous, he is a perfectly normal ape.

The Training of an Over-Age Bear. A bear-trainer-athlete and "bear-wrestler" named Jacob Glass once taught me a lesson that astounded me. It related to the training of a bear that I thought was too old to be trained.

We had an Alaskan cinnamon bear, three years old, that had been christened "Christian," at Skagway, because it stood so much pestering without flying into rages, as the grizzly did. After a short time with us, the concrete floors of our bear dens reacted upon the soles of its feet so strangely and so seriously that we were forced to transfer the animal to a temporary cage that had a wooden floor. While I was wondering what to do with that bear, along came Mr. Glass, anxious and unhappy.

"My wrestling bear has died on me," he said, "and I've got to get another. You have got one that I would like to buy from you. It's the one you call Christian."

Very kindly I said, "That is a mighty fine bear, as to temper; but now he is entirely too old to train, and you couldn't do anything with him. He would be a loss to you."

"I've looked him over, and I like his looks. I think I can train him all right. You let me have him, and I'll make a fine performer of him."

"I know that you never can do it; but you may try him, and send him back when you fail."

Thus ended the first lesson; and I was sure that in a month Mr. Glass would beg me to take back the untrainable animal.