By Ellen Velvin, F.Z.S.
Author Of "Behind The Scenes With Wild Animals," "Wild-Animal Celebrities," "Rataplan, A Roque Elephant," Etc., Etc.

With 39 Illustrations In Half Tone
London. Stanley Paul & Co 31 Essex Street, Strand, W.C.

First published in 1914

To Dr. W. T. Hornaday director of the New York Zoological Park
To whom the author is indebted for many valuable facts and photographs


I. The Jungle
II. Life In The Jungle
III. Life In The Jungle (Continued)
IV. Capturing Lions, Tigers, Leopards, Black Panthers, Elephants
V. Capturing Bears, Hyenas, Giraffes, Tapirs, Rhinoceros, Hippopotami
VI. Capturing The Pygmy Hippopotamus
VII. Capturing Gorillas, Orang-Utans, Chimpanzees, Baboons, Monkeys, Lemurs, Etc.
VIII. Capturing Zebras, Wild Horses, MounTain Goats, Snakes
IX. Capturing Walruses, Sea-Lions, Seals, Arctic Hares And Foxes
X. Transportation Across The Desert
XI. Transportation Across The Sea
XII. Transporting Wild Animals By Rail
XIII. Some Interesting Facts About Menageries
XIV. Wild-Animal Trainers (Men)
XV. Wild-Animal Trainers (Women)
XVI. Training Wild Animals
XVII. Thrilling Escapes Of Wild Animals
XVIII. Curious Friendships Among Animals.
XIX. Curious Friendships Among Animals (Continued).
XX. The Sickness Of Wild Animals
XXI. Critical Operations On "Wild Animals
XXII. The Cost Of Feeding Wild Animals
XXIII. Life In The Zoo


Indian Elephants In Their Native Surroundings (Frontispiece)
Pygmy Hippo in Native Home (Liberia)
Howard Rapids In The Lofa River, In The Country of the Pygmy Hippo
Big-Game Trap In British South Africa.
The Famous Monkey Rook In Stelligen Park,Hamburg
Nest Of Orang-Utan In The London Zoological Gardens
Newly Captured Elephants Sleeping
Making Friends With Young Giraffe, Recently Captured
Photographers Getting Theib Cameras Ready For The Jungle
Hoisting Silver King, Polar Bear On Board - 1
Hoisting Silver King, Polar Bear On Board - 2
Head Of Adult Pygmy Hippopotamus, Showing The Peculiar Texture Of The Skin
Capturer And Captive. Hans Schomburgk And The Pygmy Hippopotamus In The New York Zoological Park
Zebras Just Captured In German East Africa
Zebra Herd Just Caught In Kraal
Antelope Caught In Net
Walrus asleep
Dead Walrus
Risking His Life For A Kid
Transport Of Prjevalsky Wild Horses On Board Ship
Eskimo With Arctic Hares
Arctic Fox
Life On Board An Elephant Transport
Taking Silver King, Polar Bear, From The Steamer "Boethic" At New York Docks
Unloading An Unruly Elephant
Flamingo Pond And Monkey Rock At Stelligen
Park, Hamburg ......184
The Animals' Paradise At Stelligen Park, Hamburg
Lioness Attacking Zebra
Miss Claire Heliot With Her Favourite Lion
Polar Bear
Gorilla Sitting On Nest
Two Friends (Leopard And Dog) In Carl Hagenbeck's Zoo [Note: Actually Puma-Leopard Hybrid And Dog]
Monkey After An Operation
Feeding Young Hooded Seals
Operation On A Jaguar
An Ostrich Under Chloroform During An Operation On Its Throat
Sam And Barbara - The Noted Polar Bears In The London Zoological Gardens
Hatching Alligators


IT is extremely difficult to realise, when watching wild animals lying quietly in their cages, either in some Zoological Gardens or a wild-animal show, the many and various worries and anxieties, the trouble and patience, not to mention frightful dangers, which not only the animals, but those who have had the labour and expense of bringing them to their present quarters, have been through.

We read occasionally that "several lions were procured," or "a cargo of wild" animals arrived last Saturday on the ss.---, which are to be deposited in the Zoological Gardens." But do we reflect for one moment on the time spent in procuring each individual animal? The terrible dangers of the jungle; the weary marches over land and desert; the anxious and monotonous journeys over high seas; the trials and difficulties of the railways; the constant thought and care necessary to keep the animals alive and in good condition until they arrive at, their destination?

To begin with the jungle. Every man who enters these hot, humid, unhealthy places, where some of the most valuable and interesting wild creatures make their homes, runs the risk not only of a violent and awful death by the jungle inhabitants, but also of the terrible malarial and jungle fevers. Another difficulty, and one of the greatest, is the necessity of either making friends with the many wild tribes who live in these neighbourhoods, or of being killed by them as an intruder.

One of the best descriptions of a primeval forest is given by the well-known traveller Hugo von Koppenfels, when writing to a Mr. Howard, of Rochester, New York, U.S.A. He had been making great explorations in the Gaboon, and was amazed and appalled at its wonders and vast dangers. He says:

"No writer can give a just description of a primitive tropical forest: it is too grand and diversified; but with all its exterior splendour and beauty, it is a deceitful and dangerous thing. Woe to the inexperienced man who essays to penetrate into its interior; he soon becomes involved in a chaos of roots, of interlacing lianas, of fallen trunks covered with a tangled growth of thorny underbush, all growing from a dark and swampy soil. Here he breathes a stagnant, musty, green-house air which depresses the spirits and deadens the energies. Added to this there is a deep, gloomy silence which broods over this place of most luxuriant growth and rapid decay. Although these mysterious shadows hide an active and varied animal life, the ear is seldom struck by a sound of any kind; only now and then the falling of a fruit or a dry branch breaks the oppressive stillness. Early in the morning, and in the short evening twilight of the tropics, some birds are heard to herald the advent or departure of the day. Such a forest is a subject of unending study, and only he whom nature has endowed with peculiar tastes and acute senses can, with use and experience, become familiar with its varied constituents, its changing phases, and its silent language. Woe to the novice who, without guide, wanders into its recesses, where death waits for him. In most cases he is soon hopelessly lost, and when, weary and despairing, he throws himself down on the ground to rest, swarms of ants and other insects soon sting him into movement again.

"Almost no wholesome food is attainable in these vast forest depths; and should the traveller not die of starvation, or fall a victim to violent, acute fever, the poisonous atmosphere, slowly acting on the system, paralyses the digestion, corrupts the blood, and produces irritating eruptions of the skin and frequently malignant ulcers. Such is the primitive forest on the alluvial bottoms of the rivers of tropical Africa. It has been represented as a paradise, and poetical descriptions, drawn from the imagination, have inspired in many a longing desire to penetrate their mysteries. One must, however, do as I have done - wander, lost and alone, for days together, enduring terrible suffering and constant fear of death - before he can form for himself a true image of the real tropical primeval forest."

Apart from all these difficulties and dangers, those who are seeking these creatures of the jungle may have to wander for long and weary months at a time, searching in vain for what they have come to find. For it is difficult enough to hunt and kill animals for what is called "sport," but it is mere child's play compared to capturing these wild and savage creatures alive. And not only alive, but to get them finally to their destination in good health and condition; for one of the conditions in buying wild animals is that they be delivered to the purchaser in good condition.

Unfortunately, whether in the primeval forests of Africa, the dense, humid jungles of India and Ceylon, or the fierce rigours and icy atmosphere of the Arctic regions, the greatest dangers have to be faced in the pursuit of capturing wild creatures alive. It is necessary too that they not only be caught alive, but uninjured. For an injured animal is generally useless; he may be bandaged and doctored, in the hope of his ultimate recovery, but in nine cases out of ten he dies in the end, after much trouble, anxiety, and expense.

One of the wealthiest sources of wild-animal life is perhaps the Egyptian Sudan. It is of enormous extent, and remarkably rich in fauna. From this region we get lions, giraffes, African elephants, hippopotamus, black rhinoceros, hyena, hyena-dog, panther, jackal, aard wolf, Kaffir buffalo, many and varied kinds of antelope, and wild asses; all kinds of crocodiles, snakes, lizards, monitors, etc. Then there is the wart hog, that most hideous of all animal creatures, the aard vark, porcupines, not forgetting baboons and many different varieties of monkeys; ostriches, secretary birds, marabouts, etc., with many of the voracious vultures. In fact it is almost impossible to give in detail the many and wonderful wild creatures which inhabit this part of the world.

In this wonderful country herds of elephants numbering from seventy to over a hundred wander listlessly through the dense forests; the black-horned rhinoceros go about calmly in pairs; Kaffir buffaloes wade knee-deep in the mud and snort fiercely; the beautiful and graceful giraffe, the tallest of all earthly inhabitants, walks tenderly and softly through the maze of tangled undergrowth, and hides himself absolutely by standing underneath some tall tree and intertwining his head in the branches, his colouring blending so wonderfully with the foliage that even expert huntsmen have passed him by without noticing him; and the fleet and graceful antelopes, hunted by nearly all the other wild creatures, run swiftly and lightly from one part of the forest to another in hundreds.

Borneo and Sumatra have been described as the land of the orang-utan and the bird of paradise. And here again are vast, dense forests or jungles. The jungles are filled with living creatures of whom it is almost impossible to get even glimpses; and sometimes even these glimpses prove the end of the hunter's life.

There is a great tendency in the present day to declare that keeping wild animals in cages is cruel, and that it should not be done. One well-known scientist, a short time ago, suggested that, instead of keeping these poor creatures cooped up in cages and depriving them of their freedom and liberty, we should send out men to study them "in their native haunts."

Surely this scientist, being a scientist, must have known that such a thing as "studying" some of the wild animals in their native haunts is simply impossible! No wild animal is going to allow any human being, if he knows it, to stay long in his presence without putting an end to him. It is the primitive animal instinct to kill anything of which he is in doubt. Therefore no man, with the best intentions in the world, would be allowed any time for "study" in the animals own precincts. It is possible to see a little of the wild creatures when hunting them as sport, but the best hunter in the world prefers to leave the study of the animals until he has either killed them himself or some one else in his party has done so. And any animal who is dead can only be studied as far as his anatomy is concerned; to study his habits, idiosyncrasies, etc., while he is alive in his own home is not only risking human life, but in some cases is impossible. I am referring of course to the dangerous wild creatures.

It being impossible, therefore, to study the wild animal thoroughly in the jungles, steppes, northern regions, etc., in which they live, it is surely to be looked upon as a great privilege to be able to see and study these wonderful wild creatures of the earth at any time that one feels inclined to pay a visit to one of, the many splendidly organised Zoological Gardens, where all the animals are as carefully fed and looked after as are many large families - and in many cases very much better.

Before menageries or Zoological Gardens were instituted, and for some time after - their history, which I shall deal with later, is one of the most of interesting of all the world's annals - the numbers of valuable lives which were ruthlessly thrown away was simply appalling. The depredations of the tiger alone at one time in India are too terrible to think of.

One of the most wretched and depraved castes of India - sunk to an even lower depth of misery, degradation, and cruel oppression than the Pariahs - lived at one time in constant dread and terror of the tiger. These were the Molungres, sometimes called the salt-boilers, of the Sunderbunds. Their home was in, or on, a bare, hot, sandy strip of land next to the sea. This hot piece of shore was surrounded by a dense jungle, in which, at that time, lived numberless tigers, venomous snakes, and other deadly creatures. These poor, unfortunate wretches, not having any weapons with which to defend themselves, were entirely at the mercy of the fierce creatures whenever they felt inclined to issue from the jungle and appear among them.

The only way in which they could defend themselves, providing they were fortunate enough to see an enemy approaching, was to hurry and hide themselves in deep holes dug in the hot sand for that purpose. To leave the head out to breathe would simply mean inviting the tiger, or whatever the creature happened to be, to come and have an easy capture and hearty meal. Therefore the poor wretches would bury their heads under the sand, in the vain hope that the wild animal would pass them by.

But, especially to the tiger, with his peculiarly keen scent, a burial in sand is almost the same as no concealment at all. In many cases the animals appeared to know intuitively where the natives were, and then it was an easy task to dig them out, so that the loss of life was at one time appalling.

One fierce Bengal tigress alone was reported, in 1869 not only to have stopped a public road for weeks and even months at a time, but to have killed at least 127 people. No road was even comparatively safe, and village after village was attacked until at last most of them were entirely deserted.

At one time, owing to these desertions of the villages, over 125 miles of good and valuable land were not only uncultivated, but partly ruined for years. For in India, as in other countries, unless the land is well tilled and looked after, the value decreases rapidly.

One curious fact in connection with these tiger raids was that the unfortunate Bengalese, for some curious and unknown reason, appeared to be the favourite food of the tiger. According to a Government report, in seven years alone 2,535 people were killed by tigers. As for the loss of cattle, the statistics were appalling. However, to be brief, at a cost of about £26,957 to the Government, between 1875 and 1881 no less than 3,501 tigers were killed in Bengal alone. In the whole presidencies and some of the various provinces, 11,212 tigers were put an end to.

The result of all this time, worry, trouble, and expense was that in the huge, dense jungle near Salem, about ninety or a hundred miles from Trichinopoly, where at one time Bengal tigers simply abounded, there is not one to be found at the present day. But a sad reminder of the terrible past are the curious little cairns of stones all along the right banks of the River Cauvery. These little cairns mark the places where at some time an unfortunate hunter or traveller rested - or dropped, as the case may be - and the tigers leaped or sneaked out from the tangled growth of high grass and shrubs, where they had been lying in wait for their prey, and had not only killed, but eaten them.

Of course, in the present day, with the many - and humane - traps, the vastly improved firearms, and other weapons of defence with which travellers and hunters can defend themselves, the dangers are not so great. Also, the numbers of wild animals in many places have greatly decreased. But no firearms or the most wonderful modern weapons can ever ward off the insidious attacks of venomous snakes, poisonous reptiles, cruelly biting and stinging insects, or the terrible fever of the jungle.

It is this jungle fever which in nearly all cases attacks Europeans, and when they are too ill to be moved from the fever-laden atmosphere they are compelled sometimes to stay there for weeks at a time, surrounded by so many known and unknown dangers - the wild animals like the carnivora, the horrible and treacherous baboons, the poisonous scorpions, and the myriads of tiny living creatures who can cause torture to the human being.

Added to this there is always the knowledge that in all cases of sickness, whether of man or beast, there are always patiently waiting the many beasts of prey, such as the hyena and jackal; and numbers of eagles and vultures, whose keen eyes and wonderful intuition always tell them where there is a prospective meal. Sometimes, added to all this misery and suffering, there is the additional one of burning thirst, with no prospect of obtaining water without going some distance, every yard of which is fraught with great danger. Very few parties, when travelling together on these expeditions of catching wild animals, care to separate, although, of course, it often has to be done. By keeping together, their strength is assured; by separating, all sorts of things might happen.

Should a small party be surrounded by hostile natives - especially if, in a case of this kind, they have not any pieces of merchandise with them such as knives, beads, or ribbons - there is often small chance of their getting back again. With nothing to propitiate the natives, they are at a very great disadvantage. Sometimes they are able to induce the natives to return with them to their sick comrade and his companions, on promising them some presents. But some of these savage tribes are very suspicious, and generally look upon this suggestion as a wish to get them into the enemy's country. In that case they usually prefer to put an end to the traveller to save trouble.

On the other hand, supposing, during the absence of the man going after water, natives attack the sick man and his companions, the chances are that, owing to few numbers, they are either overcome or brutally treated. In any case, it is wise to keep together. But the cruel, treacherous jungle fever chooses neither time nor place to make its descent, and it seems in more cases than one to attack men in the most out-of-the-way places, quite suddenly. The humid, oppressive air alone adds to the suffering and misery, and, of course, to a sick man the dangers are always intensified.

It seems marvellous that, in such places, not to mention the North Pole, with so many and great dangers, so many wild animals only too ready to attack and kill, men should be found who will risk their health and their lives for the sake of obtaining living wild animals.


It would be impossible in a book of this kind, to describe the homes of all the thousands of wild animals, and their ways of living when in their natural state. The subject alone would make a good-sized book in itself, but I will endeavour to give a general idea of the lives of some of the animals who are captured alive for the purpose of being exhibited in the various Zoos.

The home life of the lion, for instance, will be a very fair example of the lives of the carnivora, especially of the cat tribe. They all have much the same characteristics; are crafty, sly, treacherous, and cruel, and their savageness and ferocity are beyond question. The lion is not perhaps quite so sly or treacherous as either the tiger, leopard, puma, or lynx; but many travellers tell us that this is because the King of Beasts is extremely stupid in some ways, and not nearly as brave and daring as he is generally made out to be. But it must be remembered that the lion is handicapped in many ways. He is unable to climb trees like the leopard, etc., and being heavier, is more clumsy in his movements.

In selecting a home for himself, the lion generally chooses a den or cave in some deep ravine in the jungle. This cave is most wonderfully hidden in the dense undergrowth, and the entrance is in many cases almost covered by the interlacing branches of the wild olive and mastic trees, which grow in such luxurious abundance in the hot, heavy, and humid air. These branches also keep his home beautifully shaded to a soft, delicate light even in the most glaring part of the day. The cave is also invariably close to water. There seem to be many reasons for this. In the first place, the lion's food, in the shape of antelopes, goats, buffalo, etc., or anything in the small-animal way which is good to eat, come to the water to drink. Then he is always able to get a drink when he wants it, without wandering too far from home. And a third and important reason is that the near proximity of water makes the ground of the cave or den slightly damp, which keeps away the myriads of insects which infest that part of the world.[1]

[1. Some authorities tell us that lions do not make their homes in caves or dens, but select some rock or mountain-side, where they are able to watch the movements not only of their prey, but of their enemies. It is undisputed, however, that lions sleep in some hidden places by day, and if hidden in the mountain-side it must necessarily be in some cave or lair, it being impossible to hide in a rock. Personally, I believe in the jungle cave, or lair. - Author.]

But the lion is not contented with a home only. He is a strictly domestic animal, in some senses of the word, and as soon as he is full-grown he begins to look out for a wife. Having made his selection, he is quite ready to fight for her, which he usually has to do, as there are generally rivals. The fight, from beginning to end, is interesting from many points of view. In the first place, a fine young lioness comes into the open, followed perhaps by two, or even three, full-grown lions. Sometimes these lions already bear the marks of former fights. After a few preliminary growls of defiance, the lions suddenly start lighting. In these fights there can be no reproach whatever about the lions being cowards, for they simply fly at one another, furious and nearly mad with rage, determined to get the best of it. Each gives a defiant shake of his head and mane, and after that all that can be seen is a confused mass of limbs, heads and tails, all the while accompanied by angry throaty growls and barking gasps.

Occasionally they will break loose from one another, and stop for a few moments in order to get their breath. Then, with their tawny bodies quivering with rage, their throats swelling, their mouths dripping with saliva, and their rope-like tails waving to and fro, each one will put forth his utmost strength and his best wild-animal tactics, for the fight means that the winner gets the lioness. >Meanwhile, the lioness appears to enjoy it thoroughly. Settling herself comfortably on the ground, her head well up, her tail waving to and fro in pleasurable excitement, she never takes her cruel yellow eyes off the combatants until there is a little pause, such as I have just described, and then she licks her fore paws reflectively as though she took no interest in anything but herself.

She remains like this until the fight has partially taken the first enthusiasm out of its competitors. Then she begins to forget to lick her paws and watches each lion with crafty eyes, meanwhile putting her red tongue in and out slowly, as though considering something. Just as soon, however, as one or two lions show unmistakable signs of defeat, she gets up, waves her tail slowly to and fro, and when the lion who has got the best of the fight stands up and roars, she goes over to him, ignoring the others who have fought so bravely for her, and, with a little soft purr, rubs her head insinuatingly against the victor's neck.

And, without more ado, home they go to the cave, shrouded with the wild-olive and mastic-tree branches, and here they settle down to their home life in the jungle. On their soft beds of clean, dry, and fragrant leaves they sleep all day long; as the shadows gather, they wake, roll over, yawn, and stretch themselves lazily. Then as it grows dark they prepare to saunter forth in search of food. The lion makes a good and faithful husband, and is very brave and fearless in regard to getting any food for his wife, or defending her from danger of any kind. He treats the lioness with the greatest dignity and respect, and could teach his chief enemy, Man, many a good lesson in the way of politeness and courtesy. He never, for instance, walks in front of his wife, but always waits for her to go first, both in coming from and in returning to their cave; and when she halts occasionally in her walk the lion always waits patiently and meekly until she feels inclined to go forward, when he at once follows her as before.

In the matter of feeding he also considers her first. The lioness, unless at the time when she has cubs, generally accompanies the lion hunting; but at the actual killing she generally lies down a little distance off, and as soon as the animal has been killed the lion will invariably bring it to her or wait for her to come forward, so that she may eat first. In many cases he eats with her, but his first thought seems to be for the lioness.

Meanwhile, not a sound, however faint, will escape his sharp ears, and at the slightest suspicion of danger he will leave his meal and go forth to reconnoitre. And woe betide any enemy, whether man or beast, at this time, for the lion's whole thought is for the lioness. He is almost as fierce when she is expecting cubs as when she has them, and all hunters know that at certain times of the year it is most dangerous to go anywhere near a lion or his haunts.

After their return from their night hunt, and a good supper, the lion and lioness enter their cave and rest again. But being, like all the cat tribe, exceedingly clean animals, they first of all proceed to make their early-morning toilet. And this is done as regularly as an Englishman takes his morning bath, and in exactly the way in which a cat washes herself. With their rough tongues they lick and wash every part of their bodies - trunk, limbs, head, and feet. They are especially careful about their feet, for in the jungle it is for several reasons specially necessary to keep them absolutely clean. The sharp, strong thorns of the jungle cause very painful, troublesome wounds, and in damp weather the skin between the toes is very apt to get sore and inflamed.

That the animals know all this is not to be supposed, but they undoubtedly know how to take care of themselves in the most marvellous manner. After cleaning their bodies, they lick their feet thoroughly. Then they suck slowly, and for some little time, the under parts of the five toes on their fore feet, and the under parts of the four toes on their hind feet. After this they thoroughly wash the soft-skinned pads of all four feet with their peculiarly rough tongues, so rough that it is quite impossible for any substance, however sticky, to remain long.

After this they draw their large, strong claws backwards and upwards into the skin-like sheaths, and then throw them out again. This exercises not only the claws, but all the muscles connected with them, and also keeps the claws themselves sharp and keen, and ready for action at any time. Their faces and whiskers come last of all, and this is always done very gently and carefully with eyes half closed.

One huge paw will be well licked until thoroughly moist, and then the paw will be rubbed gently all over the face, eyes, ears, and whiskers. There is as great care required in doing the whiskers as any part of the face, for in each whisker there is a finely developed nerve, and they are consequently extremely sensitive. After this toilet is quite finished, the lion and lioness usually settle themselves down for their long day sleep.[2]

[2. Of course, these details have been obtained from observations of lions in captivity. - AUTHOR.]

And what conditions could be more conducive? They have had vigorous exercise, a good meal, a delightful and thorough wash, and have that contented, comfortable feeling which invariably follows a good meal in congenial surroundings. But the lion, even in his sleep, seems to be always on the watch. The breaking of a twig, the unexpected sound of one of the smaller animals, wake him instantly, and when the lioness has cubs he scarcely sleeps at all while the little ones are very young. At these times, when making the lioness go in front of him, he will cover up her spoor as he goes along, thus conveying the impression that only one lion has been on that trail.

Such is the home life of the lion in his jungle. Other members of the cat tribe live in much the same manner, with, of course, little variations. The huge, fierce and dangerous Bengal tiger in India sleeps all day, and at night sallies forth, like the lion, to get, not only exercise, but supper. Cheetahs, leopards, jaguars, pumas, lynxes, etc., etc., all sleep by day, and go forth at night.

To all travellers and hunters the elephant in his native home is a most striking example of how admirably nature fits and adapts means to make beast and surroundings suited in every way. The elephant has such a huge body, such a heavy head, with little or no neck to speak of, and stands so high, that to get his head to the ground is an impossibility. He can neither graze nor drink, as the long-necked animals do. To remedy this, nature provides him with a movable nose, or proboscis, nearly six feet long. This acts not only as a long arm and hand, but as a drinking-cup. With it the elephant can tear down an enormous tree trunk, or he can pick up a needle with far less difficulty than a human being. In contrast to his deficiencies as regards eyesight, hearing, and smell, he is provided with such an enormously thick skin and skull that the only vulnerable point in his whole body is his brain.

Elephants in their native state go about in herds numbering from fifty to seventy; occasionally a herd may number a hundred, or even more, but these exceptionally large herds break up into smaller ones when fodder is scarce. They then drift off into little parties containing from ten to thirty. Each party keeps within two miles or so of another, and as soon as conditions are more favourable in the way of food they all come together again. Whether the |elephant lives in the regions of India, Ceylon, Assam, Burmah, Siam, Cochin-China, Sumatra, or Borneo, all have much the same way of living in their natural state.

In nearly all cases when travelling from one jungle or forest to another in search of food the elephants follow one another in Indian file. In consequence of this, a huge herd will leave only a single trail; but that trail is either a plain, broad, well-beaten path, looking as though hundreds of feet had trodden it down, or, should it lead through high, rank grass, a clean road over a foot and a half wide. This trail generally leads to some marshy place of mud and water and high grass. In the soft mud are holes made by the huge feet of the elephants, sometimes fifteen to sixteen inches in diameter and about eighteen inches deep.

It is a curious fact that an elephant seldom, if ever, looks up. That this is taken advantage of by hunters goes without saying, and many an old tusker has been swaying comfortably in his native home, utterly unconscious that within a few feet of him is one of his most deadly enemies. In the forests the elephant's life seems to be an ideal one. Travelling in company with one another, they move at their ease from one feeding-place to another, feed at their leisure, go to their various drinking-pools and bathe luxuriously; then on again to some other delightful spot, there to stay until the fancy moves them to go on once more to other grounds.

The giraffe, the tallest of all earthly inhabitants, and one of the only two absolutely dumb animals[3] in the whole world, lives the quietest of lives in his African home. After he has chosen his wife, the two go about together, ambling along softly and peculiarly in their own manner; going unobtrusively to the drinking-pool - so admirably shown in Mr. Paul Rainey's drinking-pool on his cinematograph pictures; back to the forest again, feeding carefully on the very youngest and tenderest of green leaves and blades of young grass; hiding themselves in trees, where their wonderful colouring blends so marvellously with the foliage that the very best hunter in the world has been known to pass them by when within only a few feet of them.

[3. The other absolutely dumb animal is the kangaroo. - AUTHOR.]

With the exception of the Polar bear, most of the bears have much the same habits as one another. They go about all the summer, but retire to their dens generally for the whole winter. Dr, C.H. Merriam gives us some most interesting details about the black bear. He says:

"As a rule, these bears den up in winter; but their hibernation is not profound, and it is not prudent to take any liberties with them. The exact period when the event takes place is determined by the food supply and the severity of the season. If the beech-nut crop has been a failure, and deep sows come early, they generally den near the commencement of winter. If, on the contrary, there has been a good yield of mast, and the winter a mild one, the males prowl about nearly the whole of the winter, and the females only den a short time before the period of bringing forth their young.

"The den is not commonly much of an affair. It is generally a partial excavation under the upturned roots of a fallen tree, or under a pile of logs, with perhaps a few bushes and logs scraped together by way of a bed, while to the first snow-storm is left the task of completing the roof and filling the remaining chinks. Not unfrequently the den is a great hole or cave dug into the side of a knoll, and generally under some standing trees whose roots serve as side-posts to the entrance. If the prospects point to a severe winter, they den early, and take pains to make a comfortable nest; but when they stay out late, and den in a hurry, they do not take the trouble to fix up their nests at all.

"At such times they only crawl into any convenient shelter, without gathering as much as a bunch of moss to soften their bed. Snow completes the covering, and as their breath condenses and freezes into it an icy wall begins to form, and increases in thickness and extent day by day till they are soon unable to escape even if they would, and are obliged to wait in this icy chill till liberated by the sun in April or May."

The little black bears, generally two or three, are born in the den, and are so tiny that they only measure about six inches long, and weigh less than a pound. In some cases the mother covers them completely with her body for the first two months of their existence, and is a most dangerous animal when she has little ones. The North American Indians have several superstitions about this North American bear, and never on any account kill it except through absolute necessity for self-preservation. So that in many ways the "home" life of the bear is peaceful.

The sloth bear is sometimes called the jungle bear; it is, in fact, one of the wild animals which has a great many names. It is an ugly, uncouth-looking creature, living throughout India and Ceylon. It makes its "home" in the natural caves, caverns, and deep recesses of the rough and rugged hills which abound in so many parts of the peninsula. The little cubs are carried about on the back of the mother, who, being an abnormally clumsy creature, is continually tumbling them off, waiting patiently until they scramble up, and then doing the same again.

When not molested these bears live a quiet and seemingly happy life, but are extremely savage and dangerous when coming in contact with men. They frequently attack and kill (wood-cutters and others, and are very much dreaded by those unfortunate people.

There is a story that a poor wood-cutter, having lost his way, too weary at last to go a step farther, at last came to a nice clean cave, and making quite sure that it was empty, entered, settled himself comfortably on the dry leaves and went sound asleep. When he woke up he heard something moving softly about the cave, and the footsteps being very light, he decided it was some small animal of the rodent species. Presently, however, to his horror, he realised that he was in the cave with two little sloth-bear cubs! Evidently they, with their mother, had been out for a walk, and the little ones had just entered on their return home. The mother was likely to be just outside, and unless he got out before she entered he would undoubtedly be torn to pieces. Without a moment's hesitation, although he ran the risk of meeting the old bear at the very mouth of the cave, the man rushed out, butted clean into the old bear just outside, and ran for his life.

Fortunately for him, the old bear was so astounded at the sudden impact that he had time to get off and hide himself, while the mother, after a few angry "Whoofs!" went into the cave to see that her babies were safe. Her doing so probably saved the man's life, for it gave him a little time. When the old bear reappeared she was furious, and raced along in her clumsy manner, evidently determined to make short work of the intruder.

It is a most dangerous thing to enter any cave in that particular part of the country.


The huge, hideous, and bulky African animal called the hippopotamus appears in his native haunts to have, according to the idea of hippopotami, the happiest and most delightful of lives. He is, as a matter of fact, the most aquatic of all the ungulates, and no river scene in Africa seems complete without the form of his huge carcase half-way out of the water.

The hippopotamus loves to pass his time in the damp, marshy ground, when not actually in the river. He lives generally with a herd numbering from twenty to thirty-five; fathers, mothers, and little ones, who all seem to agree fairly well. Occasionally two old males will have a set-to, but the rest of the herd never interfere, but go about their own business quite placidly, leaving the contestants to fight it out between themselves. In some cases after a big fight the two will amble off together; in other cases the victor does not leave his victim until he has finished him.

Oner of the greatest joys of a hippopotamus is to go off to some corn-field when the grain is fairly ripe. Here he walks through the beautiful corn, so carefully sown and cared for by some unfortunate farmer, and his unwieldy progress caused by his short stumpy legs and thick body does even more damage than his terrible teeth. For the teeth of a hippopotamus seem to have been specially designed to cut down corn. They are extremely large and powerful, and as those in the under jaw grow forwards and outwards - not straight up and down as in other animals - they cut down the corn like some huge and sharp sickle. These teeth weigh from eight to twelve pounds each, and are regarded as some of the most valuable ivory.

As one of these animals can eat from five to six bushels at a time, and drags his splay-footed heavy body all over the field, it can easily be imagined how terrible is the havoc just one of these wild animals will make in a field of corn. When fed to repletion the hippopotamus will leisurely return to some quiet, shady, soft, muddy spot, and go to sleep.

After this good feed and a sleep of many hours, the enormous creature will slowly rouse himself and go into the river. Here he will amuse himself by swimming, diving, snorting and puffing, and occasionally sinking his huge body to the bottom of the river, coming up occasionally to breathe. Sometimes he will go forward to where his wife, with perhaps a little one on her back, is half-way out of the water. He takes very little notice of them as a rule, unless some danger threatens them, and then he will get into a most violent rage. He will blow the air from his nostrils with such tremendous force that a strong man could be easily knocked over. In many cases he has been known to upset a whole boat-load of men. At other times, however, if much angered, and near enough, he will crush the boat to splinters with his strong teeth.

But generally speaking, the hippopotamus prefers to keep clear of enemies, and he has a little habit of sinking his huge body in the river - he is called the "river horse" - when suspicious of danger. After sinking himself in this manner he will sometimes take long swims under water, but he is obliged to come to the surface occasionally to breathe, and his enemies, knowing this, simply wait until he appears again.

Having once found a good feeding-place, these animals are guided to the spot again by the scent; but it is a curious fact that should it rain at all heavily, they can neither find the feeding-place again, nor, should they be at the feeding-place, find their way back to the spot in the river from which they started. The rain appears to entirely take away the scent, and these enormous animals will stand helplessly sniffing the air, and evidently worried as to which way to go. In many cases this is the reason that male hippos are occasionally found miles away from the herd. It was thought at one time that the old males went about alone, but it eventually transpired that they had simply wandered away, either for the reason just referred to, or because their general stupidity had made them take the wrong direction.

But all hippos are not stupid. The late Dr. Livingstone tells us:

"In the rivers of Londa, where they are in danger of being shot, the hippopotami gain wit by experience; for while those in the Zambesi expose their heads, the others keep their noses among the water plants, and breathe so quickly as to elude all observation."

Sir Samuel Baker states that on the banks of the White Nile the hippopotamus makes its home in the dense masses of high, thick reeds growing along the banks of the river. Here, in this tangled mass of vegetation, their huge bodies make burrows or tunnels, and into this gloomy, damp, and unwholesome place the hippo retires very often to get his sleep, which generally lasts the whole day, for all are drowsy and heavy until night comes on.

The rhinoceros is another huge animal, and, although not quite so heavy or so long in the body, stands higher than the hippopotamus, and is as ugly and ungainly. Although all the many species of rhinoceros live in the Old World, there are very great differences, into which we need not go. All are animals of heavy build, short and thick legs, and on each of the toes is a curious nail, shaped something like a hoof. It has a large head, tiny eyes, and erect ears placed far back. The upper lip, though not so long as that of the tapirs, extends a little beyond the lower one, and is generally prehensile. Its thick skin, lying in enormous thick folds, is nearly destitute of hair, and it has a tiny thin tail.

But the horns of a rhinoceros are the distinctive characteristic of the animal. These horns, instead of being composed of ivory or bone, consist of fine horny fibres which grow from the skin, and are packed in such a tight mass that at first appearance it looks just like an ordinary horn. The African species seem to depend on their huge horns to defend themselves, while the Asiatics, whose horns are smaller, use their lower tusks, which are so sharp and pointed that they can inflict the most terrible wounds when they charge an enemy.

Rhinoceros generally sleep or drowse all day; some make their homes in damp, swampy districts and thick, tangled grass jungles, while others live in the open plains or prairies. In fact, either for the hippopotamus or the rhinoceros, no place seems to be too hot, damp, or humid, and they can live comfortably in places that would kill an ordinary man in a very short time.

Perhaps one of the most interesting wild creatures in its native home is the orang-utan, one of the big anthropoid apes. He lives in Borneo, which is truly the land of apes and monkeys, for here are found the gibbons, those thin, long-limbed creatures - the only ones among all the Primates who are able to stand upright - the proboscis monkey, the slow lemur, the tarsier, etc. All are wonderfully interesting, but the orang-utan is far the most interesting of the whole lot.

Among the most striking characteristics of the orang-utan are its great size and strength, and its most wonderful resemblance to the human being. The outline of the body, the chest, and the arms and hands are wonderfully like the human species. The orang also has the nearest number of ribs to a man (twelve). His large, powerful head is set on a neck so short that it looks as though it had been put plump on his massive shoulders. He has a flat face; tiny, crafty eyes; tiny ears set very close to the head; and such strong, villainous teeth that he can cut off a man's finger as cleanly as though it were chopped off by a sharp chopper.

The most curious thing, however, about an orang is his hair, and the odd way in which it grows. It is a bright brick-red colour, and on some animals grows quite long; it is always longest on the shoulders, arms, and thighs. But instead of growing on the head as most heads grow hair, the hair of an orang grows upwards to the top of his head, which, gives him a curious and somewhat comical expression, in contrast to his wonderfully solemn countenance. The faces of the females are devoid of hair; a scanty, thin beard generally grows on the chins of the males in scraggy, untidy lengths. In full-grown males, especially in the Simia wurbii, huge fleshy callosities grow on either side of the jaw, coming from the forehead to the lower jaw. This is essentially a sexual characteristic, for it is never found on any of the females.

This huge ape, looking like some enormous red spider as he moves slowly from branch to branch among the beautiful trees of Borneo, is rather a solitary animal. The old males are usually found living quite alone; in some cases a young male will be found with a female, or even with a female and a young one, who clings desperately to his mother's red hair as she carries him about among the trees. The orang is neither nimble or graceful, but is at perfect ease among the tree-tops, where he practically lives.

He will swing from branch to branch, some of the reaches being as much as six feet. Before trusting himself to another tree, he always grasps the branches, tries them a little, and then is over in the next tree almost as quickly as the eye can see. An orang very seldom comes to the ground at all in his native jungle. He will occasionally descend when wanting a drink, but even then, if possible, he will go to the water through the tree-tops, and then stoop down and with his abnormally long arms reach his hands into the water, scoop it up, and drink. Some, of course, do not do this, but drink like most of the wild animals by sipping the water by suction. But on the ground the orang is indeed a most helpless individual. His heavy, flabby body, his massive head, chest, and thighs, are not adapted for walking, in addition to his extreme shortness of legs, which are out of all proportion to the rest of his body. He shuffles along a few steps, and then, with his long, scraggy arms hanging down, with his knuckles on the ground he uses these arms as crutches, swinging himself between them. But even then his progress is slow, and evidently most uncomfortable, for he is always only too ready to climb up a tree, where he is once more at his ease.

Orang-utans have a curious habit of making nests in the forks of the trees, where they lie nearly all day long, holding a branch with each long-fingered hand, and swaying gently to and fro. Even when asleep the hands still grasp the boughs and hold on tightly. These nests are made by the orang breaking off branches and laying them across and across; but with no system whatever. As he moves round the tree breaking these branches, he lays them on the nest in any direction in which he happens to be. As soon as the leaves of the branches become old and withered, the orang makes another nest, evidently liking the soft feeling of the fresh leaves.

In August and November, the season of heavy rains, the forests are often completely flooded. Then the orangs keep by the river banks. But just as soon as the waters begin to go down, and the fruit season begins, which is from the middle of January to the beginning of May, they make their way towards the hills. Their favourite food is the durian, rambutam, and mangosteen. They also eat the young shoots of trees, such as the raso and kapayang; they will also occasionally eat the leaves of some trees. In the months of May, June, and July they wander into the depths of the deep jungle, where they revel in the hot and humid fever-stricken atmosphere, spend their time lying and sleeping part of the day in their cool, green nests, and are indeed alone in a wilderness; for in such a place it is almost impossible for man to find them, or even to see them.

For those who would like to see an actual nest of an orang-utan, I would advise a visit to the London Zoological Gardens, where, on November 8, 1912, the biggest orang-utan, Jacob, in some marvellous way managed to get out of his cage through the roof in the night, and while many officials and keepers waited anxiously below all night long, amused himself by building a nest in a tree just outside the apes' house. The nest is just as he left it, after being gently persuaded in the early hours of the morning to return to his house. We produce a photograph of it by Mr. W. S. Berridge for the benefit of those who are unable to go and see the actual nest. It is a wonderful thing, and the only one that has ever been made by an orang-utan in captivity.

Much has been written about the wonderful resemblance of the orang-utan to man in relation to Darwin's theory. But, while not arguing one way or another, I will quote what Dr. W. T. Hornaday says in his wonderful book, "Two Years in the Jungle":

"There is still one argument or influence to which every true naturalist is amenable, and which no one can well ignore who has studied from nature any group of typical forms. Let such an one (if indeed ono exists to-day), who is prejudiced against the Darwin views, go to Borneo. Let him there watch from day to day this strangely human form in all its various phases of existence. Let him see the orang climb, walk, build its nest, eat, drink, and fight like a human tough; let him see the female suckle her young and carry it astride her hip precisely as do the coolie women of Hindostan; let him witness their human-like emotions of affection, satisfaction, pain, and rage. Let him see all this, and then he may feel how much more potent has been this lesson than all he has read in pages of abstract ratiocination."

Baboons are undoubtedly the most hideous and repulsive-looking of all the Primates. Their horrible appearance, however, is only equalled by their savage, fierce, and vindictive nature. They are absolutely untamable; sly, crafty, and treacherous; and their enormous strength, added to all this, makes them most terrible foes. All the baboons live in various parts of Africa and those countries on the north of the Red Sea. They are, next to the anthropoid or man-like apes, the largest members of the Primates. There are so many species that it would be impossible to describe them all, but, the general habits and idiosyncrasies are much the same. The males are not only formidable on account of their abnormal strength and vindictiveness, but being furnished with large tusks of formidable dimensions, are truly wild creatures to be carefully avoided. By some, a bite from a male baboon is considered as dangerous as a leopard's.

Most baboons go about together in large troops - males, females, and young ones. They seem to like rocky ground, and generally go about on all fours, moving so wonderfully quickly over the ground that even a horse at full gallop will seldom be able to overtake them. But when cornered, the baboon will raise itself on its hind legs and defend itself to the death. And in a great many cases he gets the best of it, owing to his craftiness, viciousness, abnormal strength, and enormous advantages of tusks, teeth, and claws.

An exact and most excellent representation of the home of the Hamadryas baboon (Popio hamadryas) is given by Carl Hagenbeck in his Zoological Gardens at Stelligen, Hamburg, Germany, which he reproduced at Olympia this year. These baboons were imported from Abyssinia, and the scene is an exact reproduction of the rocks in Abyssinia on which these baboons live when they are free. The troop, which numbered over a hundred, were vastly interesting. The old males, large, powerful, with big white beards, walked about in a most masterful manner; the females, so wonderfully swift and quiet in their movements; the baby baboons, who nestled up to their mothers in a wonderfully human manner, and were nursed and caressed by them in much the same manner in which we nurse and caress our own babies.

When I first saw them they had just been released from their travelling cages, and were all wild with delight at being let out again. In they rushed into this wonderful place in captivity where there were no cages, no bolts or bars, only rocks and trees, which looked so exactly like those they had left at home that, with many hoarse exclamations and little shrieks of delight, they flew up and down the rocks, climbed on the trees, bent and bounded on the branches in wild delight, and generally enjoyed themselves. Occasionally one or two would have a little quarrel; down would come some of the bigger ones, and those who had been thinking of having a really good fight to relieve their feelings scrambled out of the way and decided to let things rest for a time.

One of the attendants threw a bag of nuts to them, and the scrambling, racing, and gibbering was a thing to be remembered. I regret to say that most of the old males looked out for number one, and as they approached some other baboon, that animal promptly made off to some other locality and left the nuts for his persecutor. One mother baboon and her little one, with its frightened, worried-looking face, tried in vain to get a few nuts for herself; but an old male took every one she tried for. Then another male, evidently a full-grown one, appeared on the scene, and from that time he stood guard while the mother, with her baby, took all the nuts she wanted. I wondered whether the baboon who came to her rescue was her husband. But, no doubt, in such a collection husbands get mixed up a little occasionally. Anyway, while he was there she was neither molested nor troubled by any of the others, and ate her nuts in placid contentment, while when her baby occasionally tried to get a nut she slapped it with her hand in another terribly human fashion. It was intensely interesting, because all these little incidents really represented their exact manner of living when in their natural state.

All monkeys lead, comparatively speaking, much the same sort of life. They live in the luxuriant jungles; spend the days lazily and happily; go in their wonderfully nimble fashion from tree to tree; quarrel and chatter; eat the soft stuff out of parrots' feathers; have a perfect horror of snakes and fur; and are as mischievous, sly, and tricky as they have the name of being. They generally live in hot, humid jungles, which may possibly account for their predisposition to tuberculosis when in captivity. Heat, moisture, and humid air seem to agree with them; but the least cold or damp seems to bring on pulmonary diseases, of which they are seldom cured.

Of all the wild creatures of the jungle, the big snakes are the most deadly, not only to the other wild creatures, but to man. We will take the anaconda of South America as an instance. This is essentially a snake of the tropical jungle, or forest regions, and is an inhabitant of Brazil, the Guianas, and North-Eastern Peru. It is the largest of all living snakes. In the British Museum there is a stuffed specimen measuring fully 29 feet.

In its native jungle the anaconda spends most of its time in the water. It will sometimes allow itself to float down the river with the current; or at other times will lie in quiet pools with its wicked head just raised above the water. Here, absolutely still, it waits patiently. Occasionally it will wait for its prey either lying on rocks, or hidden in tree-trunks or sand-banks. Sometimes it will stay high up in a tree, and when an unfortunate, unsuspecting peccary or other wild animal passes beneath, dart down its evil head and seize it, before the poor animal suspects there is an enemy near.

This enormous and vicious snake appears to be active all the year round, and has even been known to seize human beings. Sometimes, during the dry season, it will bury itself in the moist mud of the partially dried-up rivers. Here occasionally it will be found in a stupid, torpid state by the natives. These are a few of the wild creatures who are captured alive for the purpose of exhibition in the various Zoological Gardens of the world. They only represent a very small number, but the descriptions of their life, homes, and habits will, at any rate, give some idea of jungle life and jungle dangers. We shall next deal with the manner in which the various wild animals are captured.


Having given some idea of the nature and dangers of the jungle and jungle life, we now come to the actual capture of wild animals. With those who capture wild animals from a strictly business point of view, it is usual to send out large expeditions formed of men who are not only experienced in all the many phases of wild-animal life, but many of whom are actually naturalists.

No business in the world connected with travel and the fauna of different countries presents such vast difficulties as the wild-animal industry. Each and every part of the world has to be studied most carefully, from the hot, humid, primeval forests of Africa to the icy regions of the North Pole. The trader in wild animals wishes not to destroy his game, but to bring it home alive and uninjured. The latter is often impossible, because in nearly every case where an animal who is either trapped, netted, or run down it must necessarily be in a wild, excited state, in which case it very often, if not already injured, injures itself by fighting and struggling in a frenzy of fear.

Among some animal dealers it is usual, when sending out expeditions of this kind, first of all to send some men ahead, who are furnished with small coins, trinkets, bright-coloured ribbons and tinsel, which they present to the natives, at the same time telling them of the other men who are coming to hunt wild animals, and who will, should they be able to help them, give many more presents.

In many cases when these messengers arrive the natives are so pleased that they hold a fete. Dances take place, tom-toms are beaten, a great feast is prepared, and the travellers' arrival is looked forward to with great pleasure. Sometimes the natives will meet the expedition, and conduct it to a place on the borders of some desert, bringing with them the horses, which may have been bought in readiness in Abyssinia. As soon as the whole expedition has fairly settled down, and preliminaries and arrangements have been definitely made, the hunting begins.

Occasionally a whole expedition will be sent many miles out of the way through some long story about some wonderful animals which have been seen by the natives, but which to this day have neither been seen nor caught by the hunters. In this way thousands of pounds have been wasted year after year.

There are many ways in which lions are caught. Having made up a party, the first thing is to find and follow the trail. In some cases where there is only one track it is comparatively easy to find the lair of the lion; but when there are, as so often happens, two distinct tracks, neither of which looks as though it belonged to the other, it is difficult to know which one to follow. Very often hunters have been carefully tracking a lion for some time without having the very faintest idea that the lion is tracking them himself.

This is one of the greatest of the many dangers attending lion-hunting. Perhaps one of the greatest trials in these lion-hunts is the scorching sun, which pours down with such tremendous force and with such terrible effects that only the strongest men can survive, for there is no shade unless they go right into the jungle, which is more dangerous still.

But in the deserts the dangers are fearful enough. In addition to having no shade, the only things breaking the awful monotony of the desert are the big jutting rocks behind which the lion is very apt to hide and jump out at the most unexpected moments. Even when a lion roars it is really no guide whatever to the hunters, because he puts his head to the ground, and it is, therefore, extremely difficult to find Out from which direction the roar is coming. In cases where there are two tracks the hunters generally decide to divide into two parties, each party to follow the track of one lion. There is a curious custom among the Arabs that all those who are related to one another or close friends are put into one lot, and the comparative strangers into another lot. In this way the Arabs consider that they can all rely upon one another in the time of great danger to do the best possible. During the whole time the men keep a very sharp look-out, for at any moment, especially in the jungle, the lions are apt to spring out.

To capture lions alive the way which is generally considered the best is to take the cubs, and this is the most dangerous business of all. Natives are sent in various directions to find signs of a lioness and young ones. If they find these signs they call to one another by peculiar cries, each having a certain significance. They then generally meet at a chosen place, and follow up the trail until they find the lair.

On finding the lair, and being sure that the mother and young ones are inside, they do all in their power to entice the mother to come out; they then do their very best to capture her alive. But a lioness with cubs is a most dangerous wild animal, and it is very seldom that the hunters dare risk this. When they find it is impossible to capture the lioness they shoot her. They then proceed to get the cubs, and this is not at all an easy task, for young lion cubs, especially these forest-bred animals, are so strong, fierce, and savage that it is a risky thing to go near them. They bite, tear, and scratch with their sharp claws in such a fierce, vindictive manner that they often inflict terrible injuries. All wounds from wild animals are in some peculiar manner exceptionally painful, and take a long time to heal, even with the best medical attention, which one is not able to get in the jungle.

The best way is to throw nets or sacking over the heads of the young cubs - generally these entangle them, and they can then be overcome. When once the cubs have actually been caught, at the very first opportunity goats in full milk are procured, or have probably already been procured in readiness, and the cubs are fed by their foster-mother until they are able to eat a little meat. At other times spaniels are provided to act as foster-mothers. But although in many Zoological Gardens dogs have been used in this way, and although in some few cases they appear to get fond of their foster-children, in time there comes a curious uneasiness, and it always appears to be a relief to the dog when the mothering business is over.

When capturing full-grown lions, of course, different tactics have to be used. As a rule large traps are planted in the trail of the lion where his spoor has been found. A very easily-made trap which is often used is quite square, one side lifting upon a spring like our old-fashioned mouse-trap. A piece of fresh bullock's or antelope's flesh is put in as a bait, and this will often tempt a lion inside, when down comes the door, and he finds-himself a prisoner.

The lion, like all the cat tribe, is very cunning and crafty. He is also terribly suspicious, and after watching a lion patiently for hours at a time, thinking from his actions that he is just about to enter the trap, many a hunter has been sick with disgust and disappointment to see the lion, after thinking it over, walk heavily away, leaving the unfortunate hunter, wearied and worn, with the knowledge that he has wasted his time. In one instance, after watching for many weary nights, an animal trader saw the lion creep stealthily to the trap, and to his great joy put one huge paw timidly inside. At that moment a cloud obscured the moon. Down went the spring of the trap, and the air was filled with roars of rage.

The trader, being afraid that the lion's mate would be in the neighbourhood, decided to wait until the morning, which proved to be extremely fortunate for him. The roaring kept up nearly all night, when suddenly in the early morning it ceased. As soon as it was fairly light, the trader went forward cautiously, expecting to find a valuable lion. The cage was empty, but the front of it was covered with blood, and part of the tuft of the lion's tail had been left behind, and this was all the hunter got for his weary waiting and watching!

For catching tigers, leopards, and black panthers in Borneo and Java, all kinds of traps and pitfalls are used. Occasionally the same trap used for catching lions which I have just described is also made use of. The best pitfalls are those which have smooth perpendicular rocky sides. These are covered with loose branches, tangled undergrowth, and scrub. To entice the animals to the spot a small kid or lamb is tethered close by. Left alone all night long the kid or lamb naturally cries pitifully, and these cries attract the attention of wild animals, which very often, in their eagerness to get the young animal, spring on the very top of the pit and fall in.

There is a story of a hunter who, wishing to make sure that the kid should not be carried off bodily by whatever wild animal happened to get hold of it, drove an iron staple into the rocky ground, and fastened the kid to this staple by an exceptionally strong rope. On going to the pitfall in the early morning, he saw that it had been broken, and peeping in, found that it was neither a tiger, leopard, nor any other wild cat, but a big baboon. The baboon was sitting placidly in a corner of the pit looking at the little dead kid, but hearing a noise it looked up, and the hunter, thinking himself perfectly safe, stood still to look at it. The baboon, with its tiny crafty eyes, looked swiftly round, up at the hunter, and then without a moment's hesitation, caught hold of the rope, and was up at the top before the hunter realised what was happening. Fortunately he had his gun, for the animal attacked him, and a savage baboon is one of the most dangerous of the wild creatures, when enraged.

The difficulties of getting animals such as tigers, panthers, and leopards out of these pitfalls can be imagined. The only thing is to noose them and tie their limbs together, when they are hauled up, put in cages, and are ready for transportation. A great many animals, especially young ones, die soon after they are caught. Some of them go into frenzies of rage and excitement as I explained, and practically kill themselves. Others refuse to eat, fret and mope, and simply pine away. Some wild creatures die from being injured internally. This, of course, cannot be discovered until they are actually dead. Nearly all Bengal tigers are caught when very young, and are brought up in much the same way as young lions.

An old-fashioned way of catching tigers is to smear plantain or sycamore leaves, or any broad leaves, with a sticky gummy substance which grows on an Indian tree, and put them along the tiger's trail. The moment the tiger puts his foot on these leaves his fate is sealed. Like all the cat-tribe he instinctively puts his paw over his head to get the sticky substance off. Not being able to do this, he rolls on the ground, thus covering himself all over with the leaves, and getting more angry and furious as the leaves get into his eyes and make them smart, and also partially blind him. The natives then go forward, cover him with nets which he winds round himself in his struggles, drag him into a cage, and leave him until he is settled.

There are many other effective ways of catching these wild animals. In some cases enclosures are built formed of bamboo and covered with netting. Into this enclosure all kinds of wild animals are driven by the natives, who form a ring with flaming torches. Once in, they cannot get out. The bamboo is not sufficiently strong for any animal to climb over, as it bends with his weight, and he is then thrown back again. The net is too high for him to reach, and so there the animals sit, until, hungry and thirsty and utterly exhausted, they are driven into cages and taken away by trained elephants.

These trained elephants also entice their own kind into these enclosures. Young female elephants are specially trained and used for this purpose. These elephants, which are called "koomkies," are sent out into the forests, and when meeting a strange elephant, use all their tricks and blandishments upon him. Sometimes the wild elephant becomes so interested that he actually follows the koomkie, not only towards the enclosure, but even inside. As soon as the treacherous little koomkie has caught the prisoner she trumpets, and the natives come and close up the enclosure. We are told by some, however, that these koomkies are only used in exceptional circumstances.

In other cases a strong stockade is built of young trees buried about three and a half feet in the ground, and tied firmly together with jute rope. It is generally built in sections - each section measuring sometimes fifteen feet in length and fourteen feet in height. A peculiarly constructed drop-gate, made just large enough to admit one full-sized elephant at a time, closes the entrance to the stockade. In the first instance, what is called a "surround" in formed, which is sometimes three to five miles in circumference. The men are stationed at regular intervals, forming this huge circle. Several men then go into the centre to find out the proximity of the herd. The "surround" is gradually drawn closer and closer until at last it is only a mile or two in circumference. Then the actual driving begins. Furnished with bamboo clappers and guns with blank ammunition, the shooting, firing, and clapping are kept up on all sides except that on which the stockade is built. The elephants naturally move away from the din, to the quiet spot, trampling and tearing down everything in their way, the rush and nervous excitement increasing as they progress.

When they come to the gate the men in charge have a serious time watching the animals pass through one by one. As soon as the stockade is full down goes the gate, and the elephants are prisoners.

At first they huddle together like a flock of sheep, the baby elephants keeping close to their mothers. Of course the first thing they do is to try to break through the stockade. The gate is generally charged first, but is much too strongly built to break down. The bellowing, trumpeting, and shrieking goes on for hours, but eventually the elephants get tired and settle down. The big tuskers, if left with the herd, do such an amount of damage in attacking the younger bulls that it is always advisable to shoot them as soon as possible. They are always most difficult to train, and they are seldom worth the risk of keeping.

As soon as the wild elephants have quieted down a little, a few koomkies are allowed to enter the stockade, and they generally succeed in calming the strangers.

The most interesting part, perhaps, in capturing wild elephants is when the time comes for them to be taken out of the stockade. The scene when they go out, tugging, straining, and fighting for liberty, is one never to be forgotten. They are generally taken to the water, in which they are kept for about half an hour while they drink and bathe, and then one by one they are secured to trees in some shady spot. After a while the animals are taken to headquarters, and their training is commenced. This, of course, varies. Sometimes two or three months are quite sufficient to make good, patient, working animals of them. Others will never give in, and either have to be killed or turned loose again.

Capturing wild elephants alive is perhaps one of the most dangerous contingencies that arise in a wild-animal dealer's business. From the very first, worries and disappointments begin. Sometimes the men who are hired to form the "surround" give up. Sometimes they disappear without giving notice. Others get worn out with the strain and anxiety. At another time an epidemic perhaps breaks out amongst the men, and this means, in addition to other inconveniences, that the whole expedition may be put in quarantine for a long period, wasting not only valuable time, but an enormous amount of money.


The best way in which to capture bears alive is to shoot the mothers, and then take the cubs. This sounds very simple, but all bears, especially when they have young ones, are remarkably savage, and bear hunting is ono of the most dangerous of all sports.

To capture a full-grown grizzly bear, for instance, is almost impossible, although young males have been caught in pitfalls, and after much trouble and danger finally brought safely to their destination uninjured. But in looking for bear cubs, the first thing is to find out where some female bear has been hibernating during the winter. For it is during the month of February that the little cubs are born, after the mother bear has had her long winter sleep.

As the spring approaches, the mother bear and her little ones come out into the fresh air, where they find winter vegetables, roots, various kinds of nuts, and acorns. It is a wonderful sight to see a great lumbering brown female bear ambling Clumsily along followed by two, three, or sometimes four little woolly cubs. Once having taken them out of the care, they generally go out daily at much about the same time of day. In some cases it is better to wait until their return to the cave, as the little cubs are then usually rather tired, and consequently more easily captured.

Having taken up some advantageous position, the hunters wait patiently, and then, watching their opportunity, fire at the mother, who generally walks in front. This is the most dangerous moment, for in the event of missing the bear and being seen, the hunters run some terrible risks. There is a Scandinavian saying to the effect that "a bear has the strength of ten men, and the sense of twelve." There is no doubt whatever about the strength of all bears, especially grizzlies, and as the bear's mode of attack is Ito hit the men on the head with her heavy and muscular paws, if she can get near enough, quickness and alertness are very often the only means of the hunter saving his life.

Another mode of attack is to hug her enemies in her fiercely strong arms, and when this happens there is little or no chance for the hunter. But even if dangerously wounded, the bear is a terrible danger, for all bears possess remarkable tenacity of life, and many a man has been killed by a dying bear long after he had supposed it was already dead. All grizzlies have this extraordinary vitality to a most wonderful extent, and unless shot right through the brain, the first, second, or even third shot will rarely kill them. We are told of one bear who had no less than six bullets in his body, and yet swam right across a river - all bears are wonderful swimmers - and lived twenty minutes after receiving the last bullet.

A dealer in wild animals, who was just congratulating himself on having, after a terrible time, killed a mother bear and captured her two cubs, sat down with the cubs close by, to eat a little food. The old bear lay at the back of him with outstretched paws, still and motionless. To make sure that she was dead, the hunter had partly turned the body over, lifted the huge limbs, prodded the body with his gun and even opened the big mouth and examined the teeth. The little cubs had been tied up into a big net for the time, until his companions arrived to help him, and were naturally making a great noise. Little bear cubs are very savage when annoyed, and their angry little grunts and "whoofs" drowned the quiet uprising of the heavy body behind.

The bear was not dead, only stunned, and rousing herself, crept up to the hunter quietly, without uttering a moan, terribly wounded as she was, and before he had the least idea of what was happening she raised herself by a supreme effort, and struck a blow at his head which killed him. That was her last blow, however, for she dropped at the same instant that he did, and here they were found some time afterwards by his companions. It was a curious scene: the dead man and the bear; the food dropped on the ground as both fell; and the squirming, now terribly excited cubs, writhing about in their net, and wild with rage.

No time was lost in getting the cubs away, in case the mate of the bear turned up, so, without waiting to get either the skin or any part of the dead bear, the cubs were carried off, not without inflicting some good deep scratches and bites on the hands and fingers of their captors. But little things of that kind are not thought much of by men who deal in wild animals, and eventually the cubs were taken safely to their destination in some other country, and lived to grow into quite old bears.

One of the most interesting captures of bears is that of a huge Polar bear, "Silver King," that was captured by Mr. Paul Rainey, and presented by him to the New York Zoological Park in September 1910. His capture took place at Kane Basin in July 1910, and he is, I believe, the first bear that has ever been caught by ropes or lassoes, and the largest Polar bear ever kept in captivity. He weighs more than 880 pounds. For strength, endurance, and savageness "Silver King" is not to be equalled.

From the moment of his capture to the present day he has always been furious, either in wildest rage or excitement, or sunk in sullen, morose resentment against everything and everybody. No coaxing with dainties, no kindness, has any effect on him. Mr. Paul Rainey, with Mr. Harry Whitney and their men, first found him on the ice; they followed him, and, after much trouble and considerable danger, for he was a remarkably savage brute, finally lassoed him. In spite of his terrific struggles and enormous strength, they towed him behind their motor-boat to the ship. Here all possible haste was made to arrange the derrick, and, after placing more ropes around him, they hoisted him over the side of the ship and lowered him into the hold. By the kindness of Mr. Harry Whitney, we are able to give photographs of him being hauled up and over. For a few days he was left in the hold of the ship without food, while every available man on board was put to work to make a crate that would be strong enough to hold him.

As soon as it was finished, the crate was carefully baited with musk-ox meat and lowered into the hold. "Silver King" hesitated not one moment. Nearly famished with hunger, he went straight into the trap, almost before it had settled on the floor of the hold. Ravenously he attacked the fresh meat, so tempting at all times to a Polar bear, and, while he was satisfying his appetite, his captors had plenty of time to fasten him up and see that he was secure. He seemed a little puzzled and uneasy when he finally left off eating and found himself in close quarters; but the food and his long-continued struggles had made him weary and sleepy, and for the first few hours of his crate life he slept heavily, only moaning occasionally and tossing from side to side.

But when he awoke, and the added strength from his big meal had given him fresh energy, he roared incessantly, struggled and wrestled with his crate - in much the same way in which even now he struggles and wrestles with the iron bars of his cage in the park - and kept every one on board in a state of great anxiety and excitement. There was no quieting him; he fought with might and main, and showed in every way that he was going to be an exceptionally dangerous animal to land.

And so it proved. For, when he arrived at New York, his struggles and rage were such that, in order not to run any risk to human life in transporting him to the park, it was considered advisable to give him a dose of chloroform.[4] But even then it was all that a large number of men could do to get him from the travelling crate safely into the unusually strong cage in the park that had been specially built for him.

[4. A full description is given of this in Chapter XI.]

He is a magnificent animal. Pure, snowy white - not the usual yellowish colour which we usually see in Polar bears in captivity - with a beautifully formed body, the characteristically long neck, small head, and flat sides; enormous feet, the bottoms covered with fur to avoid his slipping about; and always moving his head from side to side with that peculiar swaying movement which all Polar bears possess. The only time he seems to be contented is in a snow-storm. Then he lifts his head and black nose in the air, and, thrusting out his long black tongue, gathers in the snow- flakes, and licks them in as though they were dainty morsels.

Capturing giraffes is a most delicate and difficult matter. The easiest and most approved method appears to be to find a herd of these beautiful, graceful, gentle creatures, and then with swift horses to chase the herd until the poor young ones, utterly worn out and exhausted, can no longer keep up with the others. They are, of course, then very easily captured; but by that time both men and horses are generally just as exhausted and worn out as the young giraffes, and in many cases it takes weeks, and sometimes months, before the tired men and horses have quite recovered from the effects of the terrible nervous strain.

When captured, the young giraffes require the very greatest care and attention, some men often sitting up with them all night long in order to take care of them. As a rule, a herd of goats in full milk is kept on purpose to feed and nourish the young animals. But, even then, such sensitive and nervous creatures are giraffes that, even with all care and precautions, a great number of the poor captives die soon after being captured, and not half the number ever reach their destination either in Europe or America.

The rhinoceros of Sumatra is generally taken in deep pitfalls. These pitfalls are most carefully prepared, and covered over so cunningly with bushes, scrub, and branches of trees that even the natives themselves have been known to be deceived. Indeed, there is a story to the effect that a native walking near a pitfall of this kind actually walked not only on top Of it, but right into it! Fortunately the pitfall was empty, otherwise that little walk would in all probability have been the last walk that native would have ever taken. When once caught in a pitfall of this kind the rhinoceros is usually hauled up with ropes, sometimes by means of a crane. In any case, as can easily be imagined, getting the animal out of the pitfall and carrying it to its destination is a stupendous undertaking.

The Indian rhinoceros, however, is always captured when very young. After finding the trail of a rhinoceros and a young one, they are carefully followed up, and, sometimes after enormous difficulties and great personal risks, the mother is either driven off by frightening her, or else she is killed. The young one is then captured, and carefully brought up on milk. Sometimes they thrive and are brought to different parts of the world, and reach old age in captivity. At other times, after much time, trouble, and great expense have been lavished on them they die, and the amount of labour lost is apt to be somewhat disheartening to those who have spent so much to attain so little.

Hippopotami are even more bulky and, if possible, clumsy creatures than rhinoceros. They are captured much in the same manner as the rhinoceros, in pitfalls, or else by killing a mother hippo and then securing the young ones. It is, not generally known that the hippopotamus was known to the Romans, although how these animals were captured in those days and transported from their native haunts to other countries seems to be an exceedingly difficult thing to find out. Of course there are endless stories, all of them remarkable, and most of them utterly unreasonable, with no attempt whatever at verification. So that they are practically useless.

Almost the first authentic record we have of a hippopotamus was given by two French travellers who declared they had seen a living hippopotamus in Constantinople about the middle of the sixteenth century. This is actually the first record of this animal having been in Europe, since the Roman period, until the year 1850. In that year the Zoological Society of London held a council, and determined to try to transport the animal from its native haunts to the Zoological Gardens in London. The Viceroy of Egypt had previously made a very kind offer of assistance in capturing a hippopotamus for the London Zoo, and this offer the Zoological Society now gratefully accepted.

To quote from the Guide to the Gardens:

"The difficulty of obtaining such an animal may be conjectured from the fact that after the Viceroy of Egypt had determined to present one to the Society, it became necessary to dispatch an expedition to the Upper Nile for the purpose of making the capture, and that success was only achieved after two thousand miles of the river had been ascended. In the month of July 1849 the chief huntsman of the party, in searching the reedy margin of an island in the White Nile, called Obaysch, at last discovered a little hippopotamus calf, which, as he conjectured, had only then been born about two days. It was so small that, in his delight at having accomplished the Pasha's orders, he seized it in his arms, and would have carried it to the boat which waited on him, had not the slimy exudation which is lavishly poured forth from innumerable pores in the skin of the young hippopotamus rendered it so slippery that he was entirely unable to retain his hold.

"The animal having thus slipped from his grasp, all but escaped into the Nile, where the mother doubtless was lying near at hand. The hunter, however, with the presence of mind which characterises the true sportsman, seized his spear, and with a sharp side hook, which has been the fashion in Egypt for three thousand years or more, he succeeded in arresting the headlong plunge of his prize, without inflicting greater injury upon him than a skin wound, which is marked by a scar upon his ribs to the present day."

In Dr. Sclater's Guide which is used at the present time we also get an interesting account of this first living hippopotamus ever exhibited in England.

"From Obaysch, many hundred miles above Cairo, the hippopotamus travelled down in charge of the hunters and a company of infantry, who finally landed him at the British Agency in the month of November 1849.

"By the obliging and liberal co-operation of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, an apparatus was constructed on board their steamer, the Ripon, by which the peculiar requirements of the animal were safely accommodated, and the result was that, on May 25,1850, the first living hippopotamus, since the tertiary epoch, was landed on English soil. A special train conveyed him to London; every station yielding up its wondering crowd to look upon the monster as he passed - fruitlessly, for they only saw the Arab keeper, who then attended him day and night, and who, for want of air, was constrained to put his head through the roof.

"The hippopotamus, thus acquired, who was called Obaysch, from the place of his capture, continued to be a prime favourite with the public, and the arrival of his mate in 1853 did not diminish his attraction."

The Kaffirs of South Africa used to have an extremely cruel way of catching the hippopotami. Having found a sandy-bottomed part of a river, where naturally there is little or no vegetation, they choose a pool with high banks on either side. After making sure that a herd of hippopotami had entered the pool, either by being driven, or going there of their own accord, the Kaffirs would surround them on all points, and so prevent any attempt at getting out. Their process was literally to starve the poor brutes, and we are told by Mr. Selous, that he once found a pool where the unfortunate animals had undoubtedly been kept for at least three weeks. When he and his companions found the animals there were only ten living. To use his own words:

"Eight of these seemed to be standing on the bank in the middle of the water, as more than half their bodies were exposed; the poor brutes were huddled up in a mass, each with his upraised head resting on another's body. Two were swimming about, each with a very heavily shafted spear or assegai sticking in his back; these assegais were plunged into them at night, when the starving beasts came near the fences for a means of exit from their horrible prison."

Fortunately, this method of capture has been put a stop to, and far more humane methods are now employed. Men have learned that the better an animal is treated, even from the very beginning, the more valuable he is on account of his good condition.

Mr. Carl Hagenbeck [5] gives a most interesting account of the way in which hippopotami and crocodiles were captured by the Havati, or water-carriers, some years ago.

[5. "Beasts and Men." By Carl Hagenbeck.]

"The Havati, or water-carriers, carry on a very specialised trade. Their particular quarry is crocodiles and hippopotami; and being very expert swimmers, they actually attack these creatures in their own element. The weapon employed is the harpoon. A long cord is attached to it, so that the harpoon, after it has been cast, can be drawn back again by the thrower. The time usually selected for this sport is the hot hours of noon, when the crocodiles are lazily sunning themselves on the sand-banks, and the hippopotami are floating dreamily at the top of the water. Once the animal has been harpooned, it is surrounded by the swimmers and pushed ashore, where it is quickly dispatched by lances. When it is required to take the beasts alive, a slight variation on this procedure is adopted.

"The young alone are of course selected; and the harpoons are hurled so as to inflict as small a wound as possible. With care and constant attention this will probably soon heal up. Although this mode of harpooning calls for much skill and experience, no less than three-quarters of the hippopotami formerly brought to Europe used to be caught in this fashion."

In the present day, however, both giraffes, rhinoceros, and many other wild animals are caught by lassoing them with a rope. Mr. Cherry Kearton shows some wonderful moving pictures showing the lassoing of a rhinoceros, giraffe, zebras, wart hog, lioness, cheetah, etc. The pictures of the rhinoceros are particularly interesting, showing the wonderfully quick movements of such a clumsy, bulky animal, the struggles, and the frequent charges at his enemies. We are told that, after over eight hours of this terribly tiring nerve-strain, "the rhinoceros began to show signs of getting tired"! It says much for the courage and intrepidity of the party that these wonderful photographs were actually taken within a few yards of a charging rhinoceros who was likely to break the ropes which held him at any moment.

Mr. Paul Rainey also in his cinematograph pictures has some wonderfully realistic representations of wild animals in their native haunts. The picture of the water hole is now generally known to most people - so marvellous in its naturalness and the extraordinary collection of wild animals which, through a drought, were simply obliged to come to the same watering- place to drink. We see the oryx, the wonderfully swift-moving baboons, a fight between two bull rhinoceros, zebras and wart hogs, and the tall, gentle giraffes. It also shows the peculiar manner in which some of the animals drink - the giraffe, for instance, being obliged to plant the front legs wide apart in order to get down to the water.

I believe up to the present time no hippopotamus has ever been captured by the lasso. I doubt if he ever will be. But some wonderful things happen in these days, and perhaps, before very many years, this will also be found to be a possibility. One of the most interesting and elusive wild animals up to quite recent years has been the pygmy hippopotamus, and some extremely wonderful and hitherto unknown incidents about this rare animal will be given in the next chapter.


The Liberian, or pygmy hippopotamus, up to recent years has been only a name even to those naturalists and men of science who made a special study of wild animals. The majority of mankind had not even heard the name.

It was only in 1844 that the fact of its discovery was made known to the world by Dr, Samuel G. Morton, of the Philadelphia Academy of Science. But the statement, except to those especially interested, did not create the slightest sensation, and before very long the topic seemed to die out simply for want of further verification. Up to within the last few years the pygmy hippopotamus has been practically unknown. To quote Dr. W. T. Hornaday:

"Speaking generally, and so far as the standard works on Natural History have been concerned, the pygmy hippopotamus has been almost as unknown and as mythical as the queer beasts of the visions of St. John the Divine, Touching the literature of Hippopotamus liberiensis, we might almost say that there is no general literature, except a very interesting chapter in Mr. Graham Renshaw's book, ‘Natural History Essays.'

". . . Eighteen months ago [this article was written in July 1912] Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, ever ready to try the untried, and attempt the impossible, dispatched to Liberia, west coast of Africa, an intrepid hunter and explorer named Hans Schomburgk. His mission was to find and secure alive several specimens of the almost mythical pygmy hippo. The region which finally had to be penetrated was found to be reeking with cannibals, for whose diversion an imposing company of native soldiers had to be enlisted. Mr. Hagenbeck pithily declared that ‘my traveller objects to being eaten!'"

After going on to say that the New York Zoological Society had been fortunate enough to secure three of the finest specimens of this rare animal, finally captured by Major Schomburgk at a cost of $15,000, Dr. Hornaday goes on:

"The adult male is thirty inches high at the shoulders, seventy inches in length from end of nose to base of tail, and the tail itself is twelve inches long! The weight of the animal is 419 pounds, but all these figures are offered subject to correction. The female is believed to be only two years old. It stands eighteen inches high at the shoulders, and weighs 176 pounds.

"The pygmy hippo is characterised first of all by its midget size, which in the adult animal is about equal to that of a twelve-months-old baby hippo of the large species. Its skull is more convex, or rounded on its upper surface, than that of Hippo, amphibius; its legs are longer and more slender in proportion, and its eyes do not ‘pop' out of its head like those of the giant species. Another striking character is the long tail, which in proportion is about twice as long as that of its only living relative, amphibius.

"... Regarding the habitat of this animal, we can at present only describe it as the interior of the Republic of Liberia and regions adjacent; a designation not so vague as it seems, because Liberia itself is not large. We imagine that Herr Schomburgk penetrated about 200 miles into the interior from the coast, but the awful character of that region would make this equal in difficulty and hardships encountered to about 500 miles in East Africa. Heretofore, it has been known that the species inhabits the Little Scarcies River, St. Paul's River, Du Queah River, and Fisherman Lake.

". . . Up to this time, so Mr. Renshaw informs us, only one living specimen of the pygmy hippo ever has been sent from Africa to Europe. That was in 1873, when one was sent to the Dublin Zoological Gardens, arriving at that institution in a dying condition, and living there only 'about five minutes!' Not a single living specimen has ever been exhibited prior to these three received into the New York Zoological Park from Hamburg on June 15th, 1912."

Few can realise the enormous number of obstacles and difficulties which Major Schomburgk was called upon to face when asked to capture and bring back alive specimens of an animal so rare that he had not yet even been shot by a European hunter! Professor Buttikofer, one of the greatest authorities on Liberia, had tried most patiently for several years to obtain a specimen of the pygmy, alive or dead; and after sacrificing these years and suffering in various ways from fever, untold dangers, and many annoyances from the natives, was not even able to see a living animal of the species. He was obliged to return with only the skins and skeletons of three pygmies which had been shot by the natives.

So that when Hans Schomburgk promptly accepted Mr. Hagenbeck's proposal to go out to Liberia and capture these animals alive and bring them back, it can be imagined what an abnormally dangerous task he was undertaking. But such a man, who had travelled for years in all parts of Africa, and who had succeeded in bringing home alive and uninjured the very first East African elephant, after so many noted hunters had tried without success, was not one to be daunted by any dangers.

His troubles seem to have begun at the very outset, for he arrived in Liberia at the very beginning of the rainy season. On telling his million he was assured by every one that no such animal as the pygmy hippopotamus existed. However, discouraging as this was, Major Schomburgk determined to go first of all to the Du Queah River, where he had previously heard some pygmies had been seen. With the greatest difficulty he collected twelve carriers, who seem to have been as discouraging in every way as they could possibly be.

In many cases threats of shooting had to be made; as in the case of being deserted by these man, it would have been impossible to go on. But it was disheartening and dreary work. They all started each morning in heavy, drenching rain, and very often pulled all day long against the current of the river in canoes. At lant, after a whole month's hard work without the slightest result, when drifting down the river, they suddenly saw a pygmy hippo trying to climb up one of the river banks. The whole party had actually got to within ten yards of it, when without the slightest warning it quietly dropped back into the water and was never seen again!

Owing to the heavy rains it was impossible to find any tracks, thus making things doubly difficult. But about thirty deep pits were dug in case any more should come their way.

Suggestions had been made about netting the animals, and large, strong nets had been expressly taken for that purpose. But the movements of the hippo were so uncertain, the undergrowth in the Liberian forests so abnormally thick and tangled, that the idea was given up.

And then, finally, after so many delays and disappointments, a real live hippo tumbled into one of the pits so carefully prepared for him. But here another disappointment awaited the traveller, for owing to the continued heavy rains the hippo managed to scramble out and get away before the men could get there. For the first time Major Schomburgk seemed to be beaten. The whole country was under water; it was impossible to find any trails under such conditions, and all the men were either sick or pretending to be. All the result of this expedition was that a proof had been procured that the pygmy actually existed.

For the time being the trip was abandoned. Later on another was undertaken. We cannot go into all the details of the drawbacks, but we will give the account of the capture in Major Schomburgk's own words.

"The greatest difficulty in hunting the Liberian hippopotami is that, unlike their big cousins, they do not frequent the rivers. They make their homes deep in the inhospitable forest, in the dense vegetation, on the banks of the forest streams; but, not satisfied with the protection the forest affords them, they enlarge the hollows which the water has washed out under the banks, and in these tunnels, where they are invisible from the bank, they sleep during the heat of the day.

"With the pygmy hippo it is very hard to even find a place where there is the slightest chance of catching one, because the brute roams through the forest like an elephant or a pig, mostly goes singly, and rarely uses the same track twice. Meanwhile, over a hundred pits had been made by my men, all carefully dug seven feet deep, and covered so that the sharpest eye could not detect any danger.

"At last, two days after I had shot an animal, a boy rushed to my tent breathlessly from afar:

"‘Massa! Massa! Dem Mwe' (Golah name for the pygmy hippo), ‘done catch!'

"On Nea Tindoa, an inhabited island in the Lofa River, a big bull had falien into one of my pits! My serjeant started at once with a few boys, to reach the place and keep guard to prevent the meat-hungry natives from killing the hippo. Early the next morning I reached the place. Before night a fence had been built round the hole, and the animal was let out. It was a beautiful full-grown bull, in the prime of his life!

"Nothing succeeds like success. Six days after that the second one was caught, this time a two-year-old cow. A week later the third, a young three-quarter-grown bull, was taken.[6]

[6. These three are now in the New York Zoological Park. They were the first three ever exhibited. - Author.]

"Now I had three animals at three different places. Macca, where the little cow was caught, I decided to make my central collecting-station, and we started to bring the animals there. Now the real trouble commenced. The Golah people refused to carry them! For the big animals I needed at least forty men each, to cut roads and carry. Had it not been for the unselfish assistance I had from the Liberian Government, which had appointed me Major on the Geographical Staff, I never would have been able to bring my expedition to a satisfactory end.

"Nobody can imagine the enormous difficulties of the transport of these heavy animals, which we had to carry in self-invented, native-made baskets, through the roadless hinterland of Liberia. From the farthest point inland, where I caught these animals, it took me, even after the men had cut the roads, twelve days to reach the first river on which I could use boat-transport to the coast."

Finally, however, the hippos were safely handed over to one of Mr. Hagenbeck's keepers, and then the traveller returned once more to Macca, where, after a while, he was fortunate enough to catch two more. Of all these five, which had cost so much labour, time, and money, three are in the New York Zoological Park, one is in the London Zoological Gardens, and the other is in Stelligen Park, Hamburg. When the Wonder Zoo was exhibited at Olympia, this little hippo was also exhibited there, and attracted a great deal of interest and attention.


In capturing the anthropoid, or man-like apes, the same procedure is taken as with most of the other wild animals. They are either trapped in pitfalls or traps, or else the old ones are killed and the young ones captured. Occasionally an old one may be wounded, and then it is either driven or carried into a strong cage, in the hope that it may recover from its wounds, and live to reach some animal show or Zoological Gardens.

The gorilla is the most rare among all these big apes. In the first place he is rarely found, and when found most difficult to get hold of. In many cases, even a young one when captured will fight so fiercely and so vindictively that it will often work itself up into such a frenzy that it dies within a very short time. The gorilla is found in Eastern Equatorial Africa, and as it lives in the densest parts of the humid forests, selecting always the darkest and most gloomy places, where very often the sun does not appear at all owing to the heavy growth of the trees, it is not only extremely difficult, but very dangerous to search for it.

To find one's way through a dark, dense forest, with an atmosphere like a Turkish bath, in the deadly silence characteristic of these primeval forests, with unseen dangers lurking in every direction, means not only a good iron constitution, but an extremely brave heart and good nerves. The enormous strength, too, of these big apes has to be taken into consideration, although there is no doubt whatever that the old stories of the gorilla with his unbelievable powers of strength, his standing upright and beating his black, hairy breast with his huge hands, are not only grossly exaggerated, but quite untrue.

That he is one of the strongest of the powerful apes is undoubtedly true, and that when challenged he is a most dangerous and formidable foe has been proved many .times. But, judging from other authentic accounts, the gorilla will always avoid encounters with men if he possibly can, and his first impulse seems to be to run away and hide himself. Herr von Koppenfels tells us that "so long as the gorilla is unmolested he does not attack men; and, indeed, rather avoids the encounter."

A wounded gorilla, as may be supposed, is still more dangerous when it has young ones. Then, indeed, the hunters run some terrible risks. In nearly all cases, unless they happen to wound a comparatively young one, it is thought advisable to kill the old one outright. The young ones are then put either into nets or wooden cages, and carried through the forests. Even then great care has to be taken, for many a man has lost his fingers through the bite of a gorilla or an orang-utan. They are very sly and cunning, and watch their opportunity.

Many gorillas have been in captivity from time to time, but in spite of the greatest care, most careful study in regard to food, housing, etc., none have lived more than a comparatively short time. There seems to be no particular ailment from which they are suffering; no cold or fever, nothing but intense home- or heartsickness; and there is no doubt whatever to my mind that they grieve themselves to death. They will at first, when taken in captivity, show some interest in what takes place around them; but whether this is from a feeling that there is some way of escape is impossible to say.

After a time they show less and less interest, and take smaller quantities of food. There invariably comes a time when they refuse food altogether, when, of course, it becomes hopeless. They will sit, with their shoulders hunched up, their knees under their chins, and their hands either hanging listlessly down in front of them, or else held to their heads, as though suffering from headache, and never lift their sad and weary eyes for hours at a time. When they are finally induced to look up, there is an expression in their eyes which haunts one, so immeasurably sad and forlorn is the hopelessness of it. After a time they even lose their little futile show of rage and temper which had previously broken out at intervals during their captivity.

As a matter of fact, all the anthropoid, or man-like, apes, such as gorillas, orang-utans, and chimpanzees, are not only very highly organised, but extremely sensitive to surroundings and environment. It is absolutely necessary, in order to keep these big apes in good health, to give them plenty of company, either of their own kind or of men - anything, in fact, to relieve the tedium of captivity, which they undoubtedly feel. With orang-utans and chimpanzees - especially with chimpanzees - it answers perfectly. The orang-utan takes an additional companion in his usual phlegmatic, unemotional manner; the chimpanzee, excitable, quick, and possessing an extraordinarily mercurial temperament, by the addition of a new companion is sent into the wildest state of excitement, and he will thump the floor and walls, scamper round his cage, and scream with delight.

And it is this very excitement and scampering about after one another which helps to keep them in good health. The stimulus provided gives them plenty of healthy exercise, something to think about besides themselves, improves their digestion, and increases their appetites. This is probably why performing chimpanzees live longer than those kept in Zoological Gardens, although in many Zoological Gardens now chimpanzees are trained by the keepers for this very reason. Any man connected with wild animals will tell you that once let chimpanzees get dull and bored, and they also get ill.

Very few full-grown orang-utans are ever caught alive. Occasionally, of course, this does happen; but the trouble in controlling such an animal, the danger in carrying it from place to place, and the heavy loss in case it should die, which it generally does if wounded, make it a very risky proceeding. It is usually considered wiser to capture the young ones. These young orangs look exactly like big red spiders when moving about, and are wonderfully nimble in spite of their seemingly slow movements. In the London Zoological Gardens there is a young orang who is as gentle as a baby; devoted to his keeper; puts his long, hairy, red arms round his neck, and whimpers pitifully when the keeper goes away.

A very interesting account is given of the capture of a young orang by Dr. W. T. Hornaday, who actually captured several fully grown orangs alive, in addition to some young ones. This particular one, however, was brought to him by some Dyaks, with a full-grown one. The big one was terribly savage, and tried to bite every one who came near him. Finally he was tied up in the bath-room of the house in which the travellers were living. But he was sulky and sullen, viciously knocked away all food offered him, and climbing up to the rough rafters of the bath-room, stayed there until he died, dropping with a heavy thud to the floor on the second night of his captivity.

The baby orang, however, who was about six months old, was an amiable little fellow, and quite peaceable. He was carefully tied up with strong cord when brought in, but sat quietly on the floor of the hut, looking up pathetically with his brown eyes until the cords were cut and he was free to go where he chose. The first thing he did - as though he had done it for years - was to go out into the veranda and curl himself up comfortably in a quantity of straw which had been put there for him. Here he promptly went to sleep; and from that time became great friends with his master, Dr. Hornaday, who says:

"He was by no means a thing of beauty, but he certainly was a joy for ever. Judged by our standard of human beauty, he was perhaps as ugly as any healthy child could be and live; but for all that, his homeliness was interesting - it seemed to conform to a general form of ugliness, and nothing was lacking to make it perfect. But judged by the standard of anthropoid beauty, he was as handsome and wholesome a little orang as ever climbed; his eyes were large and full of intelligence, and he had a forehead like a philosopher.

"Because of his bald and shiny head, his solemn, wrinkled, and melancholy visage, his air of profound gravity and senatorial wisdom, we got to calling him ‘the old man,' and forgot to give him any Christian name. A thin growth of brick-red hair grew straight up the back of his head and over the crown, making in certain lights a perfect halo round his bald, brown pate, reminding one rather forcibly of certain pictures by the old masters."

The account of another baby orang, however, showed that it was of a very different disposition. A mother orang and baby were discovered, and after the mother had been killed she fell with a crash into the water below with the baby still clinging to her. Not losing a moment, the hunters rushed forward and rescued the two. But the little orang had been under the water nearly a full minute, and was half drowned. The dead mother was put into the boat, and the baby revived, but what a different description to the other little orang!

"As soon as the baby recovered the use of its faculties, it seemed possessed of a little devil. It was only about six months old, or eight at the most, and weighed about eleven pounds, but it had the temper of a tiger! It made such persistent efforts to pull my hands up to its mouth in order to bite them that I was obliged to tie its elbows behind its back, pinion its feet also, and make it fast by a cord to the side of the boat, so that it could not roach me with its teeth. This, of course, increased its rage.

"It was restless as an eel and gave me endless trouble. Once, when I was not watching, it rolled over, and before I was aware of the movement seized the calf of my leg between its teeth with a perfectly fiendish expression, and bit me very severely. But for my thick woollen stockings and cotton hunting trousers underneath, I think the little wretch would have bitten a piece out of my flesh. I gave it a resounding slap on the side of its head, which caused it to let me go; but for many days after that I carried a large black and blue mark in memory of the orang. Once it tumbled overboard, and I let it get a good ducking before rescuing it. Soon after, it relieved me of all anxiety about it by dying."

Chimpanzees inhabit Western and Central Africa, and are, like the other man-like apes, forest-dwelling animals. Unlike the gorillas and orang-utans, they are extremely noisy creatures, and utter loud cries and horse shrieks which resound through the thick forests day and night. Very often as many as a hundred at a time will send forth these cries, which to the traveller are more weird and awful than the general stillness of the jungle. Also, unlike the gorillas and orang-utans, they seem to stay on the ground among the tangled growths, and only climb trees when they want fruit.

Unless absolutely cornered, the chimpanzee will always try to get away from men; but is not quite so difficult to capture as either of the other anthropoid apes. True, every chimpanzee when finally caught gives notice of his capture for miles round, by sending forth his cries, which the others will sometimes take up in sympathy. He also makes a good old fuss about every incident of his capture, from the time he is either trapped or caught in some other way, until he gets accustomed to his new surroundings. Fussiest of the whole lot of apes at first, he is, however, one of the most contented when he has once accepted the general conditions of things; and although he gets in wild hysterical rages occasionally, they are like the outbursts of a passionate man, very soon over and forgotten.

In capturing baboons, one method is to stop up the drinking-places in some particular neighbourhood with the exception of one. This means that the baboons will be positively obliged to come to that drinking-place some time, where, with all their cunning, they run right into the enemy's camp. For a time nothing is done to frighten them or make them suspicious. When once they grow confident, traps are set, which are quite simple. This trap has a circular bottom made of poles, about two or three yards wide. Just outside this, about a foot apart, strong stakes are driven into the ground, the tops being made to meet and form a roof. Tied strongly together this makes a very strong cage.

The trap is taken to the drinking-pool, and one side left open. In most instances there are several traps. After awhile, one, two, or perhaps three baboons are caught. The profound astonishment of these animals when, after all their cunning, they find themselves prisoners is a thing never to be forgotten when once seen. The troop of baboons, seeing their companions in trouble, promptly leave them to their fate, only to return continually, with shrieks and grunts which, added to the cries of the captives, make a most appalling and deafening din.

The captives tear and struggle at the cages; the others outside spring at the sides, get on the top, all the time gesticulating, chattering, and making excited noises to those inside. But at this stage of the proceedings no time is lost. Possessing enormous strength, it would be only a matter of an hour or two before they got free. As they see the men approach the cages, they get into perfect frenzies, and this is the most dangerous time of all in catching baboons. Great risks are run in getting these big, powerful animals out and secured.

Armed with strong poles forked at the end (much the same kind which is used for catching snakes), the men thrust them through the cages, and with the forked ends pin the necks of the baboons to the ground. When all have been fastened in this manner the top of the cage is removed, and then comes the delicate operation of loosening the sticks, and getting the baboons into the cages provided for them. Sometimes, however, they are bound with strong cords, and the body and limbs then wrapped carefully up in strong sackcloth. After this, two men each take the end of a long pole, and on to this pole is suspended the baboon, and in this way he is carried to the station, or to some other place for deportation.

But this is not so easy as it sounds. A bite from one of these creatures is a frightful affair. Many men have been laid up for months from a bite from a baboon. One man, after a terrific struggle, helped by two other men, at last got a baboon partially tied up, when he slipped, and to save himself managed to fall on the top of the baboon. This was better than falling under him, as in that case he would in all probability have been killed outright. As it was, the baboon took instant advantage of the situation, and seizing the man's hand bit two of his fingers clean off!

Catching baboons is one of the most serious parts of all the many dangers of those who deal in wild animals. Even when they are safely caught and secure, owing to their abnormal muscular strength, and their powerful teeth, they are liable, even with the greatest precautions, to escape, which might mean terrible injuries, if not death, to many members of the hunting party. With repeated kindness, good food, and great care, however, the majority of these big creatures soon settle down, although they are never to be trusted, but are just as savage and dangerous after years of captivity, when put out or in any way annoyed.

It is comparatively easy to capture lemurs, monkeys, and the smaller animals. Much the same tactics are used, but of course the danger is not nearly so great, although sometimes these little wild things can inflict some pretty bad tears and scratches with, their teeth and nails. Immediately after the capture of a quantity of monkeys and similar animals, the din is deafening, but they soon settle down, especially when given fruit and other dainties.


There are several species of zebras, yet their habits and dispositions are much the same, and they all live in different parts of Africa. They are really allied more closely to the asses than the horses. It will be noticed that in both zebras and asses the mane is erect, and there are what are called "chestnuts" only on the front limbs. The ears are longer, the head is somewhat larger, and both asses and zebras have much narrower hoofs than horses. But zebras are quite distinct in one way from the asses by having striped heads and bodies. From the earliest ages, the zebra has been said to have a most villainous disposition. Fierce and obstinate as a mule, strong and vindictive, sly and treacherous, he is never to be relied on at any time or under any circumstances. He not only bites viciously, but kicks with such force and lightning-like ferocity that he is at all times a most dangerous animal to handle.

And yet there have been several instances of the zebra having been tamed. Mr. Rarey, after much difficulty, many years ago, succeeded in completely taming a most obstreperous zebra after much time and trouble. Mr. Walter Rothschild used to drive one at Tring, Hertfordshire. It is also a fact that in the last century the Queen of Portugal actually drove a team of eight zebras about the streets of Lisbon. It does not seem possible to find any record of how these zebras were procured, but they were, in all probability, obtained from some part of South Africa over which the Portuguese held jurisdiction.

The capturing of zebras in their wild state is a most hazardous proceeding, and for a splendid description of catching these wild creatures I cannot do better than give the late Carl Hagenbeck's words, who, however, appears to differ about the disposition of the zebras. He says:

"In Abyssinia driving is a favourite method of attacking game. The number of men available is unlimited, and all living creatures are regarded as imperial property; so that there are no obstacles in the way of this pursuit.

"A zebra hunt, in which one of my travellers took part, may be described as an example of the way in which these drives are carried out. An army of as many as two thousand soldiers form a circle, enclosing a very large tract of country where the zebras are known to be. The locality is selected so that near the centre of the circle there passes one of the dried-up river beds so common in that country. These sandy river beds are flanked on either side by high rocky banks. The large circle of men begins to contract, driving the zebras into the centre. The animals spring lightly into the river bed, from which they are unable to escape, by reason of the steep sides. A guard is set in the river bed on either side of them, so as to prevent their moving up or down. When they are securely penned in, a thousand soldiers attack the zebras with long whips.

"This manoeuvre is attended with great danger, and on the occasion in question thirty-three men were either killed or severely wounded during the fray. The animals are then fettered and driven off to the huts of the natives. There they are fastened up by ropes attached to each of the four legs, and tied to pegs. In a few days' time they become quiet and can be driven about without taking any precautionary measure. Grevy's zebra is easily domesticated. It has, moreover, a strong constitution which would fit it well for the service of man in more civilised countries. The Kilimanjaro zebra, on the other hand, is a difficult animal to tame; in its stubbornness it is very like a donkey."

The prjevalsky, or wild horses, of Mongolia are caught by chasing the herds, mounted on swift domestic horses. On coming in sight of a herd of these wild horses, every one suddenly breaks out into fiendish yells and hoarse cries, and to such sensitive wild creatures the effect is sheer terror. Without an instant's hesitation the whole herd starts wildly off, followed by the horsemen, some of them Mongolians, who keep up their loud shouting all the time. The horses gallop wildly towards the steppes, and so wonderfully swift are they that in a few minutes nothing can be seen but a thick cloud of dust.

But the Mongolians and others keep up the chase, and in time a few little brown specks appear, and these specks eventually turn out to In; the little foals of the wild horses who have been unable to keep up the mad gallop of their elders. At last the poor little things are quite exhausted, and stand quivering with fright. Quite still they stand while nooses are put gently over their necks, at the end of each being a long pole, and they are then led, with many soothing words and curious little soft cries, to where have been kept in readiness some tame mares with foals.

These mares act as foster-mothers to the little wild horses, and it is a curious but wonderful fact that, even in three or four days, the foals of the wild horses, who were terrified almost to death when captured, settle down, and very often become extremely attached to their foster- mothers, an affection which seems to be reciprocated by the foster-mothers themselves. There is a story to the effect that at one time some wild animal attacked the corrals in the night, and a tame mare defended her little wild prjevalsky so vigorously with her teeth and hoofs that, torn and bleeding, the wild creature took its departure without having been able to even get one scratch at the little foal.

Rocky Mountain goats are still comparatively rare in captivity. This fact is owing in the first place to the extreme and almost insurmountable difficulties in capturing them, their delicacy during transportation, and their frequent development of digestive troubles when in captivity. A certain number, at great pains and enormous cost, have been caught, but seemed to have only lived just long enough for a few to see them.

In 1880 a big male was caught near Deer Lodge, Montana; but he only lived a very short time. In 1902 two fine young goats were taken to the gardens of the Philadelphia Zoological Society, but died soon after; and in 1901 a male goat, which had been caught some time before in its home country - Fort Steel District of South-Eastern British Columbia - was purchased by the London Zoological Society and kept there until it reached maturity. By all accounts this animal lived for some time. A wonderful and most vivid description of catching the Rocky Mountain goat is given by Dr. W. T. Hornaday in "Camp Fires in the Canadian Rockies."

"In the spring of 1904 seven goat kids were captured near Banff for the New York Zoological Society, and most carefully cared for; but all died shortly after they reached Banff. During that season, however, four other goats were caught for us, and also a mountain sheep lamb, all of which survived. The mountain sheep lamb and two of the kids were caught by Charles L. Smith and R. M. Norboe. As we climbed up Goat Creek into the mountains, we passed the very spot where one of the kids was taken, and Mr. Smith described to me the manner of it. It was, I think, the most hazardous and reckless piece of daring in mountaineering ever performed by any one known to me, and I shudder every time I think of it.

"On that particular occasion R. M. Norboe accompanied Smith into the mountains for the purpose of capturing kids. They found a female goat, with a kid only a few days old, near the top of a lofty and very precipitous peak on the north side of Goat Creek. They climbed the mountain, scaled the peak to its summit, and finally succeeded in driving the mother goat and her kid upon a narrow ledge which terminated against an unscalable wall.

"Rope in hand, Charlie Smith followed the mother and her young along their narrow shelf of rock, almost to the end of the cul-de-sac. But there the pursuit ended. From that point onward the rock wall overhung so much that ten feet away from the goats a human being could go no farther. Below was a perpendicular drop of hundreds of feet, but the rocks above sloped sufficiently for Norboe to come within about ten feet of his partner.

"‘Mack,' said Smith, ‘go and cut a pole about ten feet long, strong enough to swing this kid; give it to me, and I'll soon have him.'

"While his partner went to cut the pole, Smith sat down on the ledge, with his feet hanging over eternity, and waited. When the pole arrived, and had been passed down to him, he bent his lariat upon the end, and left a suitable noose hanging free. When all was ready, he bade Norboe climb down to as near to him as possible, and when the word was given he reached forward, noosed the kid around its neck, swung it out over the abyss and up to Norboe, who took it, and carried it to a place of safety. Then Smith gingerly rose, edged his way back along the eighteen-inch shelf, and in safety reached the rocks below.

"As we looked up at this frightfully dangerous spot whereon Smith risked his life for a mountain goat kid three days old, the thought came back to me for about the one-hundredth time, ‘What a pity that visitors to zoological parks and gardens cannot know all the life- stories of the animals!'

"The second goat kid captured for us by Mr. Smith was obtained more easily. While hunting bear in May 1904, near the head of Goat Creek, Mr. Phillips and Guide Smith saw a mother goat and a very young kid. They were lingering near the mouth of a cave, high up in the rocks, quite as if the cave had been the birthplace of the kid. On the following morning Mr. Phillips encouraged Smith to take a trip to the cave, and if possible to capture the kid. Mr. Smith eagerly accepted the opportunity, hastened to the spot, and found both the mother goat and her young one very near the ledge they had occupied on the previous day. As the hunter approached, the mother goat retreated with her kid into the cave. Smith followed, and easily drove out the nanny and captured the kid.

"Carrying the little creature tenderly in his arms, Charlie finally sat down to rest in the heavy green timber a mile above camp, and there Mr. Phillips found him and took his picture."

There seem to be one or two methods of rupturing snakes. During the cool season in the marshy parts of India the natives go out snake hunting very early in the morning. As, having made a special study of it, these natives know all the haunts of the snakes, they seldom make a mistake. Cold always appears to have a torpid effect on snakes, and at these seasons towards early morning they become so numb with the cold that they can be caught quite easily.

At other times, in the dry season, the jungle is set on fire. The snakes, terrified and bewildered, rush out, and are then either entangled in the nets which have been previously laid round the spot, or else they are caught by the natives by means of a net at the end of a pole, or a long forked stick, with which they pin the snakes to the ground as they rush out. Of course, catching in nets is best adapted to the big snakes, as the little ones are often able to creep through the mesh and get away, and it is wonderful how quick and lissom snakes are when in danger of this kind. With the very large species, such as the big python of Borneo, and the anaconda, the natives find out when these snakes have had a heavy meal, which generally leaves them quite torpid, and it is then quite easy to put them into big sacks made of strong matting. These sacks are then fastened securely to strong bamboos, and the natives carry them on their shoulders to their first halting-place, which is, as a rule, Calcutta.

We are told that one most extraordinary manner of catching snakes in some parts of India is for the snake catchers to find them by their scent, or smell. This is evidently an acquired sense, for no one but these particular snake catchers can get even the faintest indication of their scent. But the natives rarely make a mistake. They choose the early hours of the morning, when the snakes are usually torpid, or at least stupid. Having found the abode of the snakes by their smell, they simply dig them out of their holes, put them in strong baskets or boxes, and carry them, as just described. It is a marvellous fact that some of the very largest species are caught in this manner; instances having been known of even the python having been dug out and safely secured.


The name "walrus" is taken from the Scandinavian "valros," which means the "whale horse." "Morse" is another Scandinavian name, and it is also called the "awuk" by the Inuits.

This huge, awkward, and ungainly creature is, next to the Polar bear, the most important wild animal of the Arctic regions. There are two kinds, the Pacific and the Atlantic walrus, but both are strictly confined to the Arctic and Antarctic regions, which form the "jungle" of so many wild animals. Shaped somewhat like a sea-lion, with a dirty-looking, wrinkled skin, it is of enormous weight, the full-grown males being such a mass of solid flesh that it seems almost impossible that they can move at all.

A full-grown walrus is a most dangerous animal. Armed with enormous tusks, sometimes measuring from twelve to fifteen inches, he will if attacked rush forward savagely, and with a hoarse cry of rage give most terrific blows, one of which will often kill a man.

In Walrus-Hunting, when finding itself pursued, the walrus will rush up to a boat, and lifting its immense head, its hideous muzzle covered with peculiar, long, wiry hairs, will suddenly drive its tusks down through the boat, making such deep holes in it that it sinks immediately with all the occupants. Clumsy, and to a certain degree partly helpless on land, it is wonderfully active when in the water. There the walrus can swim and dive with such swiftness that it is sometimes almost impossible to find out in which direction he has gone.

It is a most dangerous and difficult thing to get a walrus when it has been hunted, wounded, and finally killed. But to capture a full-grown walrus alive has been found, up to the present time, quite impossible. They must be taken when quite young, and then, in most cases, after the old ones have been killed. The female walrus only gives birth to one young one at a time; but this little one she cares for and suckles for two years, taking the greatest care of it - folding it affectionately between her two front limbs, and defending it fiercely from the slightest danger.

The only way, therefore, to capture walrus cubs is either to surprise the little ones on the ice when asleep, or else kill the mother. The surest and safest way is undoubtedly to kill the old ones first. The roar of a walrus is so terrific, and has such a peculiar carrying power, that it is often heard at a distance of more than two and a half miles. This serves as an excellent guide to the hunters, who at once make for the spot.

But occasionally, even after being so fortunate as to find a young one on the ice asleep, and capturing it, taking it to the boat and making off with it to the ship, the dangers are not over; for, in one instance, two young cubs which had been taken in this manner sent forth such shrill and piercing cries of distress that before very long a fierce old male swam up to the boat, and in a furious rage drove his enormous tusks into the sides, making such big holes that it was only by a miracle that the whole crew were not drowned. Even when, on getting to the ship, the leaking boat was abandoned, the old male did not give up the struggle, but raged around, roaring at the top of his raucous voice, and attacking the sides of the ship in his rage.

Just as long as the little cubs kept up their shrill cries, so long the old male kept up his determined attack on the ship. But at last the cubs grew tired; the old male also seemed tired, and, puzzled by the sudden silence, at last made his way off to some other part of the sea, there perhaps to meet the mother and condole with her.

Occasionally some very pathetic and distressing incidents are witnessed. In one case a fine old female had been killed, the hunters not knowing whether she had a cub or not. Her dead body was, secured to the boat by strong ropes and after being dragged through the water for some distance the hunters rested for a while, and let the boat stay still. As they were waiting, worn-out and weary, trying to get a little breath, a little walrus cub poked its head out of the Water, and with its curious round, inquisitive eyes looked round. It seemed to recognise its mother at once; for with a peculiar little guttural cry it climbed up on to her back, and in this position was easily, without the slightest trouble, taken to the ship and captured.

Sometimes, when a walrus herd has been found on the coast, perhaps lying asleep on the edge of the ice, all those nearest the edge are killed; the dead bodies form a sort of hedge over which, for some unknown reason, the others seem to hesitate to go. In a case of this kind the poor animals are so bewildered and scared that many of the young ones can be taken before the older ones seem to realise what is happening.

All young walruses, we are told by most of the greatest authorities, are covered when young with a growth of yellowish-brown hair, which continues until they are middle-aged. The only young walrus I have ever seen is a young one who when first captured was just six months old. He had been caught in Kane Basin in July 1910, by Mr. Paul Rainey, and presented by him to the New York Zoological Park. He was then only a cub, and was as devoid of hair as a new-born baby. For homeliness and comical facial expression he was not to be equalled. For every one but his keeper, George Snyder, he had nothing but hatred; but for him he would go anywhere and do anything. His affection began to show itself by his hopping, in his awkward way, after his keeper every time he moved. For this reason Keeper Snyder called him "Flip-Flop," and this has been shortened to "Flip."

Keeper Snyder was anxious to weigh him one day. This would have been something of an undertaking under ordinary circumstances, as the weighing machine was some distance away. But the gate was opened, the keeper went out, saying, "Come on, Flip," and out came the young walrus and followed him, not only to the scales, but on them, where, by giving him one or two clams, he was kept long enough to be weighed.

Flip weighed, at the time of his capture, one hundred and fifty pounds. Since then he has gained enormously, as he has a huge appetite. At that time, when only six months old, he ate over thirty pounds of fish a day - three meals a day - in the shape of clams, butter fish, and cod fish, from which all bones had been carefully removed. He always seemed to be ravenously hungry, and ate in the most greedy manner, with many grunts, puffings, and heavy sighs. Up to the present time - 1914 - he is still growing, eats in just the same ravenous manner, and is thriving in every sense of the word. Like all members of the Pinnipedia, he is extraordinarily intelligent, and as a reward for his constant care and attention still has an abnormal affection for his keeper. But with all his affection he is a bit of an autocrat in his way. Should his food be the least bit late in coming, he will show his displeasure by throwing his food-pan over and over along the rocks, making a great fuss and racket until some one comes at last to speak to him. When pleased he will give some curious, softly modulated grunts, or "whoofs," but when, annoyed or angry he will bark just like a sea-lion. He follows his keeper about like a dog when he is pleased with him, but when displeased he will bark lustily and show his annoyance and displeasure by diving right down to the bottom of his pool and up again.

Some hooded seals were placed near him some little time ago, and every time they were fed he would do his utmost to attract the attention of the keeper to himself by sending forth all sorts of noises peculiar to himself - grunts, murmurings, with muttered "whisperings," cries of shrill distress, barks of angry defiance. This would keep up continuously, until at last the keeper would come over, and either talk to him or give him a particular dainty, and then he would settle down comfortably with a few little grunts of satisfaction. Flip is in splendid health. The fact that his pool is artificially maintained at the same salinity as the sea may, of course, have something to do with it. But the prime factors in keeping any wild creatures in captivity is to make them comfortable, keep them well fed, and, above all, see that they are happy and contented with their surroundings. And that this is the case with Flip, the little Atlantic walrus, there can be no doubt to those who have seen and watched him.

In Carl Hagenbeck's Zoological Park at Stelligen, Hamburg, there are many walruses kept in captivity. And it is a curious and most interesting fact that these peculiar mammals of the North have become most wonderfully tame since their captivity. One walrus, on seeing Mr. Heinrich Hagenbeck, the eldest son of Carl Hagenbeck, approach, will move forward to the front of his enclosure, put out his lips, and make sounds of kissing, simply a sign that he feels particularly friendly to the newcomer, and wants a little attention. Some of these walruses have actually been trained to blow a whistle, and so forth, which, to those who have studied these animals at all, is truly a most wonderful feat. It simply proves what a wonderful effect continued patience and kindness will have on even the apparently most stupid wild creatures of the earth. This particular walrus is amazingly fond of his keeper, and will kiss him, follow him, whistle and blow for him, and in his moments of displeasure - which always occur continually with walruses under any conditions - will never attempt to do him the slightest harm.

If, by any chance, the keeper happens to be away for a whole day, the walrus becomes extremely uneasy, barks, grunts in faintly pathetic tones, gets extremely restless, and if the keeper should not appear before the evening meal, begins to show his displeasure and anxiety by continually grunting and roaring until the man finally makes his appearance, when he is greeted by the walrus with the wildest manifestations of extreme joy and relief.

In capturing sea-lions and seals, the procedure is comparatively easy. In the first place the habits of these peculiar wild creatures lend themselves to the tactics of the hunters. It is a habit of these animals to come out of the water at night and sleep on the sand banks. The walrus can sleep for hours in the water by floating upright with his huge head well above the level of the sea, but not the sea-lion or seal. These animals are compelled to come to the surface of the water occasionally to breathe, and it is impossible for them to sleep when actually in the water.

Therefore, as soon as night comes on, the sea-lions and seals climb, in their clumsy manner, out of the water and on to the sand bank; and there, settling themselves comfortably down, they nestle up close to one another, and go sound asleep. As soon as it is quite dark, the hunters creep quietly and stealthily forward, and being extremely careful not to disturb the sleeping animals, arrange large nets all along the side of the sleeping ground. While this is being done, another lot of men in boats row to the other side of the sand bank on which the first lot have gone to spread the nets, and as soon as they are given a signal by the first party that the nets are all ready, they leave their boats, rush on the banks and with hideous yells, shouting, and roars of all kinds rush towards the unfortunate sleeping seals. Awakened so suddenly by such an appalling noise, the poor terrified creatures rush wildly towards the sea, always their haven of refuge in times of danger, and naturally become most hopelessly entangled in the nets which have been placed there for that purpose.

At this stage of the proceedings the hunters keep a very sharp look-out for all the younger members of the herd, and with wonderful quickness and dexterity throw strong net bags over their heads. This so confuses the young seals that, like the ostriches when stockings are put over their heads, they become absolutely still and motionless through bewilderment. But in many cases the hunters, relying on this well-known bewilderment, hare been most severely bitten by these young animals, who have keenly sharp teeth and do not hesitate to make good use of them.

One well-known hunter, in one instance, thinking that the young captives were, so to speak, dormant for the time, happened to wear ordinary strong boots, but without the slightest warning the young animals bit the calves of his legs so severely that he was unable to walk for over a year, and for a time suffered considerable pain, with the fearful prospect of losing the use of his legs for life. So that, in the present day, very few hunters will venture forth without being carefully prepared by wearing strong and stout Wellington boots when going on a sea-lion, or seal hunt.

All this, of course, applies to the ordinary sea-lions and common seals. But there are a great, many species, and some are much more pugnacious and difficult to capture than others. For instance, the hooded seal, which ranks second to the bearded seal, classed as the largest of all the Atlantic seals, is one of the most pugnacious and savage of all the wild creatures when brought to bay. To begin with, a full- grown male seal of this species will measure from eight to nine feet or more in length, and very often weigh over a thousand pounds, while the female will sometimes weigh as much as eight or nine hundred pounds. The "hood" from which this species gets its name is the male's sac, or bag. This extraordinary appendage extends from the nose of the animal backwards right to the centre of the head. This bag can be extended at the will of the animal, and when thus inflated forms a hood-like covering for the head.

Mr. Harry Whitney gives some most interesting details about this particular seal. He says:

"The hooded seal is migratory in its habits. During the summer the greater herds are found along the south-east coast of Greenland. In February and March they appear in countless numbers on the winter-formed ice floes off the Labrador and Newfoundland coasts, both in the open Atlantic and in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It is at this time that the seals give birth to their young upon the ice floes, where they are found in families consisting of the mother seal, her pup, and two or three old males, I have seen few instances where a seal gives birth to more than one pup in a season.

"The pup is a shapeless, furry, steel-grey ball when first born, but grows and assumes shape with truly wonderful rapidity. It is safe to estimate that it increases three or four pounds in weight in every twenty-four hours during the first eight days after birth. The stormier the weather and the more snow that falls, the better it thrives.

"It sometimes happens that large herds become imprisoned upon the floes through long-continued winds in one direction, which raft the ice and cut off their retreat. When this occurs, and the seals are long exposed to the strong rays of the sun, their skins burn and crack, and they are subject to intense suffering. When in this condition, at times when the ice parted, permitting them to return to the sea, I have observed them jump clear of the water, giving bellows of pain that could be heard for a long distance. When the skins are thus burned they are valueless, and the animals are not molested by the sealers."

In capturing these seals great danger is experienced by the hunters, for both the males and females, when angered, will start forward and attack their enemies with the most vicious and savage ferocity. Although seemingly such clumsy creatures, when enraged they will move over the ice in their ungainly manner with wonderful velocity, and the unfortunate hunters need not only to be quick of eye, but remarkably quick of movement, in order to keep clear of their antagonists. Mr. Whitney tells us that he has actually seen an old male hooded seal so enraged that he has seized a strong iron gaff between his teeth and chewed it into splinters! Imagine what an awful time any unfortunate hunter would have with one of these creatures of the Atlantic!

Mr. Whitney was fortunate enough to capture five little pups, which are now in the New York Zoological Park, and he gives some interesting details about feeding them. It seems that the pups of this particular seal are only nursed by their mothers until they are about two weeks old, when they are calmly left to manage the best way they can for themselves, which makes it comparatively easy to capture them. When Mr. Whitney had got these five little seal pups safely on board his ship, the Neptune, he found a great difficulty facing him. How was he to feed them, and on what kind of food?

It suddenly occurred to him, after much thought, that it would be a good thing to examine the stomachs of the old seals which had been slaughtered. This was done, and it was found that every stomach examined contained fresh herrings, which had evidently been swallowed whole, as not one of them was even broken or scratched. These herrings were taken out and given to the little pups, who seemed to enjoy them immensely. After this there was no further difficulty in feeding them. It is stated by the inhabitants of Newfoundland and the Labrador coasts that the seal herds destroy more codfish, herring, and small fish each year than are ever caught by the whole fishing fleet.

In capturing Arctic hares and foxes, authorities seem to differ as to the nature and idiosyncrasies of these animals. The Arctic, or Polar, hare is the most northern species of this family. Pure white in the higher Polar regions all the year round, it changes colour in the summer to a greyish white. Admiral Peary states that he saw tracks of Arctic foxes as far north as 87 degrees, the most northerly animal tracks ever seen.

Admiral Peary also tells us that these creatures are very tame, that they allowed the hunters to surround them, and came so close that it was quite easy either to capture or shoot them. "There were," he says, "over a hundred at a time, and Borup and the Eskimos surrounded them, until they got so close that they could either capture them alive or knock them over the heads with the butts of their rifles." Mr. Harry Whitney, on the other hand, says they are extremely wild and shy, but that they are very highly prized by the Eskimos, as the flesh is most delicate and delicious eating when cooked, and not at all unpalatable when quite raw.

Arctic foxes and hares are caught either in nets or in traps. Both thrive well in captivity. They very soon get accustomed to their surroundings, and seem to be fairly good-natured and sociable animals. In the New York Zoological Park in 1902 three pairs of Arctic or blue foxes were received from Alaska, and up to the present time are doing well.

In 1910 an Arctic fox was brought back by Mr. Paul Rainey and Mr. Harry Whitney, and at once seemed quite at home, comfortable, and happy.

Arctic hares and foxes are also to be found in many other Zoological Gardens, and do not appear to suffer either from change of food or climate, but at once settle down to their new environment, and to all appearances seem quite content to be well fed, carefully housed, and warmed, and to have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and be happy.


There are, as I have already shown, numberless difficulties and dangers in capturing any wild animals in their native haunts; but the greatest difficulty of all perhaps is the actual bringing of the animals from their native homes to their destination in captivity. The rough tracks, the remoteness of the locality, and the total absence of any conveyance, except what is provided by the expedition itself, add to the difficulties.

We will confine ourselves to the wild animals taken from the actual jungles. Take a young hippopotamus for one instance. After all the dangers and difficulties of capturing him, and finally hauling him out of the pit into which he has been entrapped, he is laid on a litter made of very strong poles and branches, and then comes the hardest part of the work. A young hippo will often weigh as much as half a ton, or more, and this bulky weight has to be carried by men through swamps, dense forests, mid tangled bush to the nearest river, Very often every foot of the difficult passage has to be cut or hewn right through the bush, jungle, or deep swamp.

Occasionally, with the weight of the animal, the intense humid heat, the struggles to get through, in many cases, parts of a virgin forest, the men break down. Sometimes they absolutely refuse to go a step farther with the animal. Should they persist in their determination, the wild-animal dealer suffers terribly from a pecuniary point of view. He has, perhaps, expended an enormous amount of money on furnishing the expedition, on paying their expenses, and then feeding them; not to speak of the many presents of beads, tobacco, etc., which he has felt compelled to give the natives in order to keep in friendly relations with them. Should the men definitely refuse to go on, he not only loses all that money, but perhaps a valuable animal, and many months of far more valuable time.

Occasionally, also, when the natives are annoyed or discontented, they will not guard the new captive carefully through the night, and some wild animal, such as a lion, will not only kill it, but make an excellent meal of it, leaving the remainder to the scavengers - the jackal, hyena, or the carrion vultures. But even supposing that all goes well, and that the men are kept in sufficiently good temper to bring the animal to the river, even then the trouble, terrible nerve strain, and manifold difficulties can scarcely be imagined.

But supposing that a large collection of various wild animals have been captured, safely secured, and collected together for transportation across the desert. Try to imagine a long, weary waste of hot, burning sand; not a tree or shrub to be seen; not so much as a single drop of water to moisten the hot, acrid air of the desert. The sun is blazing down in a curious burning fury; the intense heat is so peculiarly scorching at times that both men and animals find it somewhat difficult to breathe.

Here is a huge collection of large, strong wooden boxes, heaped up on huge, abnormally strong waggons: in these boxes are confined, much against their will, as can be heard from the occasioned roars, cries, screams, and jabberrings of the various animals, all sorts of wild beasts. In one collection alone there were fifty-odd hyenas and jackals. Then, there were about sixteen lions and lionesses, twenty antelopes, seventeen baboons, eight leopards, five cheetahs, seven lynxes, twenty-five antelopes, two ant-eaters, eighty-eight monkeys, and about thirty f the small carnivorous animals.

In a collection of somewhat smaller wooden boxes were contained all sorts of tropical birds, of every kind and colour. These birds whistled, screamed, hooted, and gave other cries peculiar to their species as a protest against their captivity. These noises, added to the roars of the lions, growls of the leopards, fiendish yells and weird laughter of the hyenas, and the yelling, screaming, and terrific chattering of the monkeys, were at times almost deafening. The wild buffaloes, too, occasionally bellowed to add to the general confusion.

Of course a great many of the animals are made to walk. Indeed it would be absolutely impossible otherwise to ever bring them out of their native country. With no facilities whatever in the shape of railroads, carts, waggons, or boats, unless the animals did walk, they must be left behind. So, in addition to the piled-up boxes on the big carts and waggons, there is a long and most varied procession forming the caravan. The elephants in many cases lead the way. Sometimes a rhinoceros, if he should be fairly amiable, follows; then perhaps antelopes, beautiful, graceful, timid creatures, extremely shy and nervous, but very susceptible to any kindness or dainties in the way of food.

Then come ostriches, with their peculiar prancing gait, looking warily out of their beautiful eyes fringed with long eyelashes, but always sly, cunning, and ready, at any time and under any circumstances, to give any near object a good hard rap on the head from their abnormally hard beaks; looking immediately afterwards so meek and innocent that it is almost impossible to connect them with the act. Then some giraffes; highly prized at the present day, on account of their rarity. They move slowly and gracefully along in their own ambling manner, their heads uplifted, their tails switching as they swing to and fro; each foot put down gently and carefully as though treading on some delicate fabric.

Sometimes zebras and gnus, wild asses and wild horses follow; camels and dromedaries, these latter generally laden with boxes containing various other wild animals, who are tossed about in their small travelling-cages until, owing to the peculiar gait of the camels, the poor things are bruised and weary, and actually sick at their stomachs. In some of these desert-crossing caravans as many as a hundred and fifty or even more camels are taken, partly to carry the animals, and partly to carry the food and water for the whole of the caravan. For such a large number of wild animals and men - there are sometimes as many as nearly two hundred drivers in one procession - an enormous amount of food is required.

In addition to the food for the travellers themselves, there are all the animals of various kinds to be provided for; a very important matter when it means that unless each species has the right kind of food they will surely die, after all the trouble and expense of capture. There is a peculiar fruit Called "nabeck," which is a kind of wild cherry, of which elephants and rhinoceros are very fond. Then there is the doura corn, which all antelopes, giraffes, and ostriches are provided with. This corn grows in the interior, and quantities of it are always provided.

In addition to this, the bigger animals, as they trudge patiently across the desert, are occasionally fed with hard ship biscuit, which they seem to like, and which appears to satisfy them wonderfully. Next to food the greatest problem is water. An enormous quantity of this has to be supplied, as it is almost more important than food itself. In these awful deserts the thirst is terrible - too terrible for anyone to imagine except those who have actually experienced it. It is carried in the hides of goats upon the camels' backs, and although in any case it is always luke-warm and vapid, it is water, the most precious thing in any desert.

Only a very limited quantity is doled out to either the men or animals. In the event of the caravan running short of water, it would mean that the poor animals, already suffering many discomforts, would simply go mad with the intense heat and unquenchable thirst; not only would they go mad, and so in their frenzy probably break out of their cages and kill numbers of the men and animals, but they would probably die, all of which would mean heavy financial losses.

This transport across the desert to the port of embarkation on the Red Sea is a terrible ordeal to the wild-animal dealer. It is quite impossible for any transport of this kind to be in any way successful unless it has been most carefully organised with much detailed foresight and the most thorough attention to the most minute details. To convey a large consignment of wild animals across a bare, hot, and waterless desert, with all its delicate freight and loaded camels and horses, is a stupendous task. In addition to all the wild animals, there are always taken a quantity of Abyssinian goats, sometimes nearly two hundred. These are to provide milk lor the young animals, and in some cases to provide meat for the carnivora when necessary.

The travelling is generally done at night, on account of the heat. All the countries surrounding the Red Sea are simply scorching with intense heat, and although at night the temperature does not fall greatly, there is at least no scorching sun to add to the sufferings of the travellers. Shortly before sunset the caravan prepares to march. The larger animals generally go first, always of course attended by two or three men, as the case may be. An elephant will have from two to six, according to his temper and disposition; a giraffe three or four; an ostrich one, two, or three. The antelopes vary according to the kind and size; but although these animals are generally considered to be extremely amiable and docile, they can be exceptionally savage and obstreperous at times, especially when recently captured. A hard thrust from an antelope's antlers, or a good kick, will simply double a man up in two seconds.

Some of the camels will be harnessed in pairs. This means that they are going to carry one of the animals. Over their pack saddles are, in this case, put a couple of strong poles reaching from one camel to the other. Fastened to these poles is a large, strong cage in which perhaps is either a young hippo or some other animal who is difficult to take across the desert. Very often a huge flock of sheep accompanies these caravans. In times of a threatened scarcity of food these sheep are slaughtered and used as food, the skins being saved and sold on arrival at the ports.

At last, after many little trifling accidents, many delays, and in some cases a little reorganisation with regard to the proximity of the various animals, the caravan starts. A vast mass of human beings, wild animals of all kinds, reptiles and birds, with the accompanying goats and sheep, it moves slowly across the great desert. The speed has to be necessarily the speed of the slowest animal, for it would not only be most unwise to hurry them, but probably mean their breakdown and possibly death.

The earlier part of the night is spent in going forward slowly and carefully; occasionally calling a few minutes' halt in order to enable some of the smaller animals to take a little rest and to get their breath. About the middle of the night a definite halt is called. This is to ease the saddles and bridles of the burden-bearing animals, to allow the drivers to get down from their cramped positions and stretch themselves, and to feed and water the animals. The animals of every kind are always attended to first of all. It is for them that the expedition has been organised, time, trouble and vast expense given, and they are the first consideration, at all times and in all places.

When all have been, given their portions of food and water - always most carefully measured out - then the travellers and men of the expedition consider themselves entitled to have a little food and drink themselves. Tired and weary, the human part of the caravan rest, eat, and, if water is fairly plentiful, wash themselves. Baths are strictly reserved for such animals which are scarcely able to exist without them, such as the hippopotamus. These big animals in many cases have a bath daily, whenever a long halt is called. This bath is made of very strong tanned ox-hide, and this one little episode of giving a young hippo a bath is a most arduous undertaking.

In one case when the bath was finally ready, the young hippo, for some peculiar reason of his own, refused to come out of the cage in which he had been carried for so many weary miles across the desert. The men, irritated, tired, and worn out, at last decided to let him alone, and closed the door of the cage. Just as soon as this was done, the young hippo began to make queer noises as if in pain, and so they tried again. This time, as soon as the door was opened, he backed out so very suddenly that two of the men were knocked down, and before the others could recover themselves he was off across the desert on his own account.

Needless to say he was chased, and every effort made to induce him to wend his way back to the caravan, but without success. Finally, the men, utterly exhausted and dripping from head to foot with perspiration, gave him up and it was decided to let him go into the list of "losses." But when, a few hours afterwards, the men of the expedition were thinking of going on again, a well-known shape made its appearance in the distance, and in a very short time the young hippo ambled slowly forward in his unwieldy gait, and, needless to say, was welcomed with a shout of joy by his human companions! Whether he had not found the desert congenial, whether he was hungry, or whether he thought of his delicious neglected bath will never be known, but he took his bath as a matter of course, ate an enormous supper, had a long drink of water, and walked into his travelling-cage as meekly as a lamb!

Very often in these journeys across the desert it means, with such a slow-moving caravan, three or four days' journey from one drinking-place to another; these drinking-places being very often as much as fifty, sixty, or even seventy miles apart. How thankful the men are to find one of these places can be easily imagined. Although huge quantities of water are carefully carried and most carefully dealt out, there is always the awful possibility that it might come to an end, and this is one of the greatest among many anxieties in crossing the desert.

But even when reaching one of these drinking-places, there are occasionally difficulties to be faced, and very grave ones. These drinking-places are sometimes taken possession of by the nomad tribes, who, although in all probability they have never even heard of the well-known proverb, "Possession is nine points of the law," nevertheless believe in it thoroughly. They strongly resent the coming of any intruders, especially those of civilised countries, and are always only too ready to fight in order to keep possession of what they consider their right. But a liberal display of diplomatic friendliness and backsheesh generally turns the hostility into cringing humility; and with many bowings and salaams the travellers and animals are allowed to use the precious water, far more precious than anything on earth in the desert.

The caravans go on quietly until about one hour after sunrise before calling a halt. They protect themselves as well as they can during the heat of the day by either making a covering of mats or else taking shelter under the acacias or mimosas. Even with every precaution the intensely fierce and scorching rays of the sun, beating down on the hot sand, are almost intolerable. With the very greatest care and precautions a great many of the animals die; even the very animals who are accustomed to live in that hot country die simply from the intense heat. Baboons, even the most powerful and strongest of them, are peculiarly liable to sunstroke, which seems remarkable when the natural environment of their native homes is considered; but many cases have been known of these huge baboons dying within half an hour from the effects of a stroke.

Of course their captivity may possibly have something to do with it. Having so recently been through the terror and frenzied strain of capture, they are naturally in a very nervous, highly strung condition, and it stands to reason that they must suffer from their confinement in their narrow, cramped travelling-cages, after being used to absolute freedom all their lives. All apes and monkeys are, in many ways, different from the other wild creatures of the earth. They are undoubtedly more sensitive, nervous, and far more susceptible to surroundings than most of the wild animals. The anthropoid apes, as I have already explained, certainly possess a nervous and highly strung temperament peculiarly their own. But whatever it is, it is a well-known fact that less than half those captured reach their destination.

This accounts in many cases for the high prices paid for some of these animals. Were a wild-animal dealer able to sell all he caught, he would undoubtedly make a fairly good profit; but when perhaps a large and most expensive expedition has been sent out, and kept for months at a time, and then only one-third of the captures arrive at their destination, it means that, in a great many cases, one animal costs more than the dealer can ever expect to get for it. Some idea can be gathered, from all these incidents, of the amount of worry and anxiety which these expeditions cost to those who are responsible for the expense.

Fortunately, like everything else in life, the most trying and harassing things always have some comical and amusing little episodes to brighten things up, and as man is at all times a creature of moods, and in most cases ready to enjoy a bit of fun, these little episodes very often save him from melancholia when everything is trying and things look their darkest. In one large expedition - quite suddenly, without the least warning - all the ostriches (about thirty-five or forty) ran away from the caravan, and went in a straight line in quite another direction to what the caravan was taking. As they were a lot of most beautiful and valuable birds, the men were naturally most anxious to get them back again. All sorts of little tricks and manoeuvres were tried to get them to return, but with no result. At last some one thought of sending all the camels and goats after them. There was of course the risk of losing the goats, and probably some of the camels also; but it was undoubtedly worth trying. The curious thing was, that when the ostriches looked back and saw the camels and goats coming towards them, they stopped at once, considered matters for a few moments, and then came forward quietly to meet them. There was no more trouble; the camels and goats led the way back to the caravan, followed by all the ostriches, and they at once fell into their usual line and never attempted afterwards to leave the caravan.

Another amusing incident was that a lot of Arabian baboons suddenly appeared when the caravan was stopping to water the animals. They ran round the caravan grunting, jabbering, and yelling, and so excited the poor baboons who had been captured that they nearly worked themselves into a frenzy. The free baboons even followed the caravan when it started; they scrambled along by the side of the captives' cages, chattering, gesticulating, and screaming, apparently, all sorts of warnings and directions to the poor captives, and getting so excited that some of them seemed utterly exhausted. When threatened with sticks and stones from the attendants, they assumed not only an aggressive, but a dangerous menacing attitude, and even tried to attack some of the attendants. An angry baboon is a thing to be most carefully avoided at all times, and the men were just considering whether it would be advisable to shoot them, when, after receiving a few stones thrown by the attendants, they finally, still yelling and screaming in a frenzy of rage, scampered off into the darkness and were seen no more.

But at last, what is left of the caravan - for a great many animals die, and some, like goats and sheep, are killed for food - arrives at the port of embarkation on the Red Sea. Here they may all have to wait for days, and even weeks, until the arrival of the steamers which call there at certain times, and which take them us far as Suez. The curious consignment is taken to some place near the town, there to wait patiently. But after perhaps six or seven weeks of the trials and sufferings of the desert, both man and beast are thankful to be at least in some place where the heat is not quite so intense, where they are sure of getting food and water, and where they can all at least rest for a little while.


One of the very first things which are promptly attended to on arrival at the port is the care of all the animals. Each one is attended to most carefully, some being rubbed down, others being brushed and combed, while those in the cages are made as clean and comfortable as possible.

But even with the very greatest care some of the poor animals die. In a large consignment such as I have just been describing, although all the animals come from a tropical climate, the fierce heat alone kills many, even though they survive the discomforts of the desert. In their natural state the animals know how to take care of themselves, and during the heat of the day hide themselves in the cool shade of the jungles, and come out only at night.

Baboons and lions and tigers especially seem to die from the heat and discomforts more often than from any other cause. The poor lion, for instance, coming from his cool, damp cave, where he has been accustomed to lie luxuriantly on his back and sleep all day long, suffers cruelly. In his small, cramped travelling-cage his limbs get numb and stiff; he gets no exercise whatever, and he is in strange surroundings which terrify him. The intolerable heat prevents him from getting any rest or sleep during the day, and at night the fearful jolting begins again.

For the awkward gait of a camel causes a most unpleasant and uncomfortable motion, and the constant shaking, the sudden jolts when the camels kneel down and rise up again, are most trying to these wild creatures, who have never in their lives known any other movement than their own natural walking and leaping. No wonder, then, that even if he survives the terrible journey across the desert, he is in a most forlorn condition on reaching the ship's side.

The embarking of some wild animals on board ship is a most trying business, for both men and animals, even with caged animals. The cages are carefully hoisted by a huge crane over the side of the ship and into the hold. This sounds very easy, but many exciting adventures take place occasionally, even When the animals are caged. The travelling-cages being made of wood, the animals occasionally, when worked up to a frenzy of fear, or through some other cause, manage to break out.

On one occasion great care was taken in hoisting a large Nubian lion on board, On the way up, the cage, owing to some unexpected, jerk in the machinery, was thrown against the side of the ship; but things soon righted themselves, the cage was safely lowered into the hold, and another animal hoisted up in the same manner. It was only when one of the attendants was seeing that the fastenings to the cages were secure that he found that the first lion's cage was empty! On examination it proved that the wooden bars of the cage must have been splintered in the blow against the side of the ship, and no doubt the unfortunate lion, frightened and struggling to get out, had broken through and fallen into the sea. A most careful search was made, but not a sign of the lion was to be seen. Whether he had, in the meanwhile, swam a little way out to sea and then been drowned could only be surmised.

I have already given a description of the way in which Silver King, the Polar bear lassoed by Mr. Paul Rainey, was hoisted over the side of the ship. He was in no cage at all then, and when one thinks of the frightful dangers that all the men must have run in hoisting him overboard, it seems a wonder that any of them lived to tell the tale.[7]

[7. By the very kind permission of Mr. harry Whitney, I am able to give photographs taken on the spot of this Polar Bear being hoisted over the side of the ship, one of the most remarkable photographs ever taken. See page facing 72.]

He proved a perfect terror on board; savage, vindictive, morose, and insensible to any overtures of kindness, he did nothing but growl, moan, and do his utmost to get out. It was only when he occasionally sulked and refused his food that finally, driven by the pangs of hunger to eat, he would show the very slightest sign of good humour. Even then, just as soon as his appetite was satisfied, he would go off into one of his morose moods again, and no kindness, no dainties, could tempt him out of his evil temper. Even when he finally arrived at the New York Dock, he was in just the same vindictive mood. We produce a photograph, by kind permission of the Director of the New York Zoological Park, Dr. W. T. Hornaday, in which the cage of this Polar bear is shown leaving the steamer Boethic at the New York Dock.

The cage had such thin boards that crossway pieces of boards had to be hurriedly nailed on, even while this photograph was taken, or the brute would undoubtedly have torn himself loose! As it was, this wild animal of the Arctic regions was so absolutely unsubdued and savage that it took no less than four pounds of chloroform to get the animal stupefied - for the safety of the general public - and he was kept in that condition by Dr. Hornaday until they finally reached the New York Zoological Park, nearly four miles away. It speaks much for the nerve of Dr. Hornaday and the others attending this monarch of the North that they stuck to their business. Had they given it up, the chances are that the huge animal would have recovered his senses, undoubtedly broken out of his frail cage, and most likely killed a great many people and injured others.

To sit in a narrow travelling-cage with such a monster, giving it chloroform, with the chances that it might become conscious at any moment, which would probably mean an awful death to those present, must have been, to say the very least of it, a most trying and exciting episode. But the Park was reached at last, and then it took all the strength, ingenuity, and careful tactics of Dr. Hornaday and all the best men of his staff to induce the bear to enter the large den provided specially for him. Dazed as he was with the chloroform, he even then tried to get out. It was only the quick wit, agile movements, and untiring energy of those present which prevented an awful tragedy; for the bear, savage, crafty, and vindictive, just as he was going into his new enclosure, suddenly turned, so suddenly that even the keenest and quickest of those present were surprised, and had it not been for a timely tap from a club carried by one of the attendants in case of a sudden emergency, the bear would have got loose.

For, without the least warning, he made a sudden dive at the part of the cage which had been placed next to the den; this, curiously enough, happened to be the one, vulnerable point at which he might have gained an advantage had his manoeuvres not been circumvented. Luckily for those present, his little trick was spoiled, and he was made to enter the den, where he was safely secured.

But, like nearly all wild animals who are caught when full grown, Silver King is a great disappointment. Contrary to all Polar-bear principles, this animal dislikes water, and hates his swimming-pool. He will go for a whole month at a time without once taking a bath, and as a result his coat is mean-looking and dirty. Instead of exercising in the huge, spacious cage provided for him at great expense, he does not walk forty yards a day, but lies on his rocks grumbling and grouching in stupid inactivity all day long. With regard to this interesting trait about wild animals, Dr. Hornaday gives me some very valuable facts. He says:

"Not only are the Zoological Parks and Gardens of the world filled with wild animals that have been caught very young in their native haunts, and brought up in captivity, but it is to be regarded that all others are well-nigh impossible. In about nineteen cases out of every twenty, the animals caught full grown, in a wild state, are so difficult to settle down in captivity, and so irreconcilable, that they are worse than useless. I regard a lion, leopard, bear, wolf, or fox that has been caught when fully grown as of very little value to us. More than this, occasionally some specimens caught full grown became positive nuisances. For example, we have here a lioness that was caught full grown, and she is so afraid of people, and also so surly in temper, and so determined to get out of sight, that she is rarely seen by visitors at all! We do not wish to compel her to live in a cage so small that she cannot get out of view, because that would be bad for her health; so, as a result, she occupies a large cage, in which she is seldom seen."

This is, I believe, the lioness captured by Buffalo Jones with a lasso. Brought direct from East Africa, this lioness, like all wild animals caught when full grown, gave incessant trouble and anxiety while on board ship. Nearly all wild animals are seasick during the first few days at sea, although naturally it affects the different species in different ways. Lions, tigers, and most of the carnivora are actually sick, throwing up a certain amount of bile as a general rule, and being off their feed for a few days. Some of the animals are simply restless and uneasy, irritable and bad-tempered, sometimes refusing both food and water. In any case the close confinement tells upon them all, and, whether they are sick or not, any wild-animal dealer is heartily thankful when the ship reaches its destination.

In the case of this particular lioness she would neither eat nor drink; she tossed about all day long and all night long, and it did not seem possible that she could snatch a wink of sleep. She was ill-tempered and savage, drew back to the farthest corner of her travelling-cage, and made no answer whatever to any friendly offers of dainties, no matter who offered them. It was a great relief to all concerned when the ship finally arrived at New York, and she was sent to her destination at the Zoological Park. But even there, with every comfort, as I have just explained, she is not satisfactory herself, or satisfactory to anyone else. She costs a lot to keep, has a beautiful, spacious enclosure, the best of keepers to attend to her needs, but always slinks away to her farthest corner, and rarely allows the public to catch even a glimpse of her beautiful tawny coat and fine head.

To relieve the monotony of the life on board ship with a consignment of live animals various exciting things occasionally happen. To begin with, the larger animals which are not crated, such as elephants, camels, etc., do not always prove at all amiable when the time comes for them to be hoisted in the air. Elephants are extremely nervous creatures at all times, and anything at all unusual always frightens them.

To avoid this the strong bands with which they are bound in order to be hoisted up are put round them very quietly, and, as naturally a newly caught elephant or camel does not know what it means, no notice is taken. The first thing the animal knows is that he is being taken up in the air, and that he has nothing under his feet. This fact alone, so unusual, is quite enough to frighten them, but when they get higher and higher, and are finally lowered into the ship, they generally get terrified. Occasionally, of course, some animals take it quite quietly; others go nearly wild with terror.

The most critical moment for those in attendance is when these animals reach the holds or lower decks, where they are to live during their sea voyage. There is never any knowing what a wild animal will do under such circumstances, and it behoves those on the watch to be fully prepared for any developments. Sometimes an elephant will be so mad with rage that it will rush at anything and anybody. At other times it is so bewildered and dazed by its unexpected experience that it will go right into its stable, and settle down at once. Plenty of good food is always provided in order to make them feel at home, and it is considered a good thing to allow them to become fairly hungry before coming on board. Once having made a good meal in strange surroundings, most animals, whether wild or domestic, will settle down.

As a rule, elephants and. camels prove fairly good on board ship. The hippopotami and rhinoceros need a little more care, as it is essential to their health that they have an occasional bath. Also both these wild creatures can be exceedingly ugly at times, and give no end of trouble. The hippo, for instance, can rip up boards with his huge teeth, and break through wooden barriers through sheer strength; while the rhinoceros can, should he feel inclined, charge with such force and vindictiveness as to keep everyone on board in mortal terror.

In addition to the wild animals themselves a great many horses, sheep, and goats are taken on board. Some of the nanny-goats are used to feed the young animals; but the others are killed as they are wanted to provide food for the carnivora. When the ship first sails it is generally crowded to its utmost capacity. But as the time goes on, and the animals are killed which had been brought for food, the wild animals are able to have a little more breathing-room. The larger ones, such as elephants, camels, etc., are led out sometimes on the upper deck, where they are fed and looked, after; but in times of bad weather, and at night, they go back to their stables.

With the carnivora and bears, etc., it is impossible to give more room. It is requisite that the travelling-cages should be small and narrow. In a wide, roomy cage when travelling, whether across the desert, over the sea, or in railway carriages or road waggons, they would get terribly knocked about and bruised, not to speak of their limbs being broken. The only way in which they can be actually protected is to put them in narrow cages. But they are given as much fresh air as possible, and always plenty of clean drinking-water.

Needless to say, with the very greatest care a consignment of wild animals fresh from the jungle can scarcely go a long sea voyage without some exciting and dangerous episodes. Mr. Richard Sawade, whose wild-animal training has attracted attention all over the world, tells a most exciting story of a tiger which broke its way out of its cage on board one of the Atlantic menagerie transports. He says:

"A splendid Sumatra tiger, one of those large ones with plenty of white in his fur, was caged on deck, and looking very bored with his surroundings. Near him was a long box containing a thirty-five-foot python, supposed to be torpid, and in that state harmless. But the indigestion of the python did not last nearly as long as we expected. It awoke within its wooden recess, and began to stretch itself. Three or four attendants and sailors were idly smoking leaning against a railing. Suddenly a shower of splinters, a rending of planks, and up towered a foot or two of snake with wide-opened jaws. There was a quick scuttle of the lot of us. I got off to a little distance, and pulled out my revolver. I think I could have settled that snake; but it suddenly ducked, and making a bee line for the tiger's cage, calmly slid through the iron bars, which were quite wide enough for its passage.

The tiger was asleep at the time, but awoke at the noise of the intrusion, and the next instant was gazing down the throat of the python, who was coiled for a spring. The tiger received the charge with open jaws and extended claws, seated on its haunches, and I crept forward to see the fight closer. I knew I was safe for the moment from the serpent. The coils were all round the tiger, and we could hear the poor animal's bones cracking; then the tiger got in his work. His upper limbs were pinioned, but his lower limbs were soon at business, and the python began to realise it. In a second it was uncoiled, and dragged itself away to the end of the cage.

"The snake coiled up again, and was evidently awaiting proceedings, while the tiger was regaining his breath. Suddenly the head of the python darted forward; the tiger caught it by the lower throat as quickly as a frog snaps at a fly, and then a rummage ensued within that cage which I wouldn't have missed for a hundred pounds. Tiger and reptile went round and round like a catherine-wheel, the snake now and again twisting a yard or two of himself round the striped wild animal; but not for long. The tiger went on shaking and gripping, and very soon it was a very dead python indeed - a clear loss of stock to the tune of a couple of hundred pounds, for it was a huge serpent.

"The next day we succeeded in chloroforming the tiger, and found a dislocated thigh and several splintered ribs. We fastened him up securely, cased him in plaster, attended to his injuries, and afterwards fed him on chickens and other dainties, just like a human being. We also soothed his pain occasionally with anaesthetics. The poor animal seemed to know we were doing our best for him, for in time he became very quiet and docile. But for some time after the accident we had to beware of teeth and claws. He gave me a tear which left a long red welt from my wrist to my elbow. But he is now one of my best performers, has been with me all through my performances at Olympia in London, and is just as friendly as he can be. But no matter how friendly a wild animal may be, one must always be on the watch, especially on board ship, when all sorts of unexpected things might happen."

Towards the end of the sea voyage the animals begin to feel better in health; but this very fact makes them more restless and eager to get out. In many cases the end of the journey is the most anxious time of all. But at last the dock is reached. The animals are hauled bodily over the side of the ship by the cranes, either in crates or in slings, in the same manner in which they were hauled on board. Beyond the larger animals, there is little for the on-looker to see except a quantity of wooden boxes, from which occasionally Various sounds may break forth.

But as a rule wild animals make very little noise when travelling overland. Whether it is the strange sounds, the constant and uncomfortable jolting, or that they are quiet through fear, we cannot know, but the carnivora especially are rarely heard. But if the larger animals do not make much noise, the monkeys and parrots always make up for any deficiency in that respect. Monkeys especially, always excitable, very nervous, and easily frightened, do not see any reason for being quiet under such circumstances, so they chatter, jabber, scream, and yell, making hideous grimaces at anything and anybody, and are as objectionable and disagreeable as they can possibly be.

With human beings we are given to understand that those who control their feelings, or suffer in silence, suffer infinitely more than others who make a great fuss and noise. Whether this applies to wild animals it is a little difficult to say; but it is a fact that monkeys and parrots nearly always arrive in fairly good condition, while some of the wild creatures who make no noise at all frequently die or arrive in poor condition.


Very few wild animals, unless caged, and so comparatively helpless, will enter a railway train. Many horses have an objection to a strange stable, but wild animals of all species are keenly suspicious of anything they do not know or understand. Their primitive instincts tell them that any dark place is dangerous, and may possibly suggest to them that an enemy might be inside.

Before sending wild animals on a railway journey great care is taken to provide each animal with a specially strong cage. For lions, tigers, leopards, pumas, cheetahs, etc., cages made of very hard wood, generally teakwood, are provided, barricaded with iron bars. Over all this in many instances is put strong wire netting. This is for a double purpose. It prevents the animals stretching out their paws and so perhaps getting broken limbs or other injuries, and also prevents their clawing the attendants and others who are obliged occasionally to go close to the cages.

Bears' cages are made of teakwood, lined with sheet iron, or zinc.[8] The claws of all bears are so abnormally strong and long that, even with all these precautions, a bear will sometimes get his claws in between the zinc and the boards and tear it up. Seals and sea-lions travel in wooden crates fashioned in such a way that they get plenty of air. They are let out occasionally, when the journey is long, in order that they may have a dip in the water tank which is always carried with them.

[8. It is a curious fact that bears caged in th9s manner travel all the way from Skagway, Alaska, to New York, cared for only by the Express messengers, and arrive in excellent condition. - Author.]

Of all the many wild animals, however, the giraffe is the most difficult to crate. A full-grown giraffe will stand from eighteen to twenty feet high; but as no hold in any ship is as high as that, and as railway tunnels also are not high enough, it is impossible to make the crate so high. The only thing for the poor giraffe to do is to lie down and stretch out his long neck as far as possible. And this he generally does. The very fact of his lying down is a preventive of accidents, for with such long, slender legs he would be very apt to get them broken in some of the sudden jars which occur so often in railway journeys.

The animals who are in cages or crates are simply hoisted into the trains by cranes, or pushed in by trolleys. But the larger animals, such as elephants, camels, rhinoceros, hippopotami, and giraffes, who are occasionally expected to walk in, nearly always refuse to do so.

A heavy, strong platform is generally placed from the door of the truck to the ground, forming a little incline; but few animals, especially elephants, will venture on it. In one case a trained elephant was sent in first, in the hope that the newly captured elephant would follow. But the new elephant stopped dead, threw his trunk up and all around him, but made no further movement. Every inducement was offered him. All kinds of food, cheery and soft, encouraging words were addressed to him; the trained elephant was led out and then in again with a rush, in the hope that the other would follow in the excitement of the moment. But it all had no more effect than a fly would have had on his skin. There he stood waving his trunk about, and glancing from left to right, and from right to left with his little crafty eyes.

At last after two hours' hard work, when the men were exhausted and streaming with perspiration, the elephant suddenly put down his trunk, lifted up the inclined platform and threw it away. Then lifting up first one huge foot, and then another, he walked quietly into the truck, and settled down at once to a good meal.

However well things may go, the confinement and darkness, the continued jolting, and the occasional shriek of the engine whistle, not to speak of the sudden jolt of the brakes in stopping, all tend naturally to make the animals timid and nervous, and somewhat out of condition by the time they arrive at the end of their journey.

A curious sight is witnessed when all the animals are waiting for the train. A vast array of wooden boxes, all labelled "Wild Animals. This side up. With great care," etc. The name of the wild-animal dealer is also generally on each crate, with instructions as to feeding and watering the animals. Many of the crates or travelling-carriages will be quite quiet, but from many of the bird crates, the fronts of which are simply barred with strips of wood, there will appear an inquiring head occasionally, which will look all round, stretch its neck to its utmost capacity, utter its cry, and then draw its head in again.

On peeping into some of the barred crates, you will perhaps see the huge head of a rhinoceros, with its front horn pointed aggressively at you, but any sympathy is entirely lost on this animal, judging from my own experience, for when I have uttered such touching sentences as "Poor thing!" etc., I have generally been rewarded by a rush forward of the animal, who would undoubtedly have shown angry resentment at my sympathy had it not been for the strong bars of the crate. Hippos will look at you out of their tiny eyes with vague indifference, unless they happen to be having a drink of water out of the wooden tray which is fixed in front of their crates. Then they seem a little nervous as to whether the water is going to be taken away from them.

From one big crate, at one time, what looked like an abnormally long, thick limb protruded. It moved occasionally, but on going closer there was no foot on the end. The "limb" tapered off to a point. Suddenly the limb disappeared inside, and then on looking in could be seen the pretty face but cruel mouth and sharp cutting teeth of a large kangaroo! Every time he turned his back on the front of his crate his thick, strong tail came out, and when he turned round again in it went! With very young elephants it is considered better to crate them, and I remember seeing two baby elephants in a large crate at Olympia, who would thrust out their trunks, take any little dainty in the way of fruit, cakes, etc., and then there would be nothing to be seen but the wooden crates once more.

Of course, occasionally some exciting things happen when getting a consignment of wild animals on trains, but not very often. In one case, in one of the Western States in America, an old elephant, considered one of the quietest and most reliable of the lot, was standing quietly waiting for the trucks to come up, when a tiny piece of white paper fluttered down just in front of her face. The slightest thing will sometimes frighten an elephant, and before those present could realise what was happening, the old elephant threw up her trunk with a shriek, and raced off right through the town at the top of her speed!

In vain the men went after her. They raced until they were quite exhausted, but finally came up with her by the side of a small house. Here she stood still, her eyes fiery red, her sides throbbing from her racing and fright. Her keeper, with whom she was a great pet, went over to her, but so excited was the old elephant that she very nearly succeeded in crushing him against the walls of the house. Finally, he managed to quiet her a little, but just then a large crowd who had been following them came up, and the elephant, still nervous and excited, started off again. It was not for four long hours that she was caught, quieted, and led back again. But the curious result of this fright was that, whenever anyone present attempted to use a white pocket-handkerchief, the old elephant would shriek and go nearly wild with terror. Whether it reminded her of the piece of white paper, which seems probable, will never be known, but this instance will show what a terribly uncertain business it is to travel with wild animals.

Troubles arise sometimes from the animals being quarrelsome. This is specially so with camels and zebras, who are noted for their disagreeable dispositions and bad tempers. Two camels were at one time put in the same railway truck. Each was in a stall to itself, tied firmly up with strong rope. The stall was very narrow, in order to prevent the animals being thrown about during the journey. The trainer, or keeper, went in to them the very last, thing before the train started, and they seemed perfectly quiet and not in the least flurried or nervous.

He then went to another part of the train to look after some more delicate wild animals who had only just been received from the jungles. He stayed with them for an hour, and then thought he would just give a look at the camels. To his horror, he found that they had not only broken their ropes, but had also broken down the wooden partition which had divided them, and had evidently had such a terrific fight that one was lying bleeding on the floor, while the other had lost one eye and was in a state of utter exhaustion! With much difficulty the two were separated and their injuries attended to. But the camel who had been found on the floor died soon after, and although the other recovered, he was so villainously bad-tempered from that time that he was finally sent to one of the Zoological Gardens to end his days. What they had, quarrelled about, or how it all started, was only known to themselves.

A great many wild animals, when travelling by rail, especially should it happen to be a very long journey, go quite off their feed. This, of course, is always carefully provided for, and little special dainties are then offered them which it would not be possible to give them often on account of the expense. But wild-animal dealers do not think of expense or trouble when bringing the creatures to their destination. The chief and great point is to get them to that destination - whether it be a menagerie, wild-animal show, or some Zoological Gardens - in as good a state of health as possible.

For, as I explained in a previous chapter, it is not enough to deliver any wild animal at its destination. One of the chief conditions is that the animal must be "delivered in good health and condition." Few care to buy a sick animal, with the chances of its either dying or being an extremely poor specimen. Even when an animal is delivered in good condition, it often turns out to be a great disappointment. After the price has been paid, and perhaps a new house built specially for it in the case of rare specimens, the animal begins to sicken and mope. In spite of the very greatest care and attention, it will perhaps even die, and all that enormous expense will have been laid out for nothing!

But even at the end of a railway journey, supposing that all has gone well, the animals are fairly quiet, and in good condition, and all that has to be done now is to get them to their destination, either to the animal show or the Zoological Gardens; even when only within a few miles of the end of the journey, no one over knows what might happen, as in the case of Silver King, who might have broken out at any moment, or Buffalo Jones's lioness.

A placard which always amuses me very much is that which is often put, on the crates of wild animals. "Should this package miscarry, please return to Mr. --." This is nearly always on the cages containing the tigers belonging to Mr. Richard Sawade. If the "package" should miscarry, it would undoubtedly be a somewhat hazardous package to have the care of until the owner was found!

When, through the kind permission of Mr. Charles Cochran and Mr. Heinrich Hagenbeck, I was allowed to be present at the unpacking of some of the wild animals at Olympia, I witnessed some very amusing sights. A rhinoceros who was in a wooden crate was rolled by several men to his enclosure. Needless to say it was a stupendous task, owing to his heavy bulk, and the fact that his crate had to be moved along on wooden poles. Finally, however, the enclosure was reached, and the men, tired and hot, proceeded to unfasten the back of the crate, which had been backed against his future residence. When a rhinoceros or hippopotamus enters a crate he does so from the back. Consequently, when he is unpacked he has to back out.

Just as soon as the hack of the crate was unfastened, the rhinoceros, who during his little journey across the hall of Olympia had given vent to curious little squeaks, was invited to "back out." This, however, he refused to do. In vain tempting carrots and other dainties were offered to him in front of his crate. He took not the slightest notice. Then some of the men tried offering the dainties at the back of him. But it seemed to be very unsatisfactory to offer carrots and such dainties to a pair of thick sturdy legs and a little thin tail!

After waiting a long time and offering every inducement, Mr. Hagenbeck and the others seemed to consider they were wasting time, and arranged to leave the rhinoceros with one man while they went on to something else. So the rhinoceros was left with his back to his new residence with one man to watch him. Every one quite expected it would be a very long wait. But just as we had all trailed out into the annex, and all the men were busy, unloading sea-elephants, which require great care in handling, news was brought that the rhinoceros was out. Knowing that only one man had been left with it, all rushed back without a moment's loss of time, to find that the rhinoceros was indeed out. He was leaping about in his heavy, awkward fashion, charging everything and everybody! He did his very best to knock down the little wire barrier which had been so carefully put up to induce him to enter his sleeping-den for a time.

One of the head men went in to try to persuade him to go inside. But evidently a rhinoceros is not an animal to be very easily persuaded. He charged the man. And the man, a quiet-looking German, climbed up the railings of that enclosure with an agility of which I had not believed him capable! But, after prancing about, probably from the delight of being out of his crate, and sniffing the sham rocks with disdain, the rhinoceros happened to notice some very tempting food inside his sleeping-den. He hesitated for a few moments, for he was a careful animal, and then, with a few whisks of his ridiculous little tail, he walked slowly inside, and as he reached the dainty food the door behind him was closed, and he was shut in for the night. "And a very good thing too!" as one of the men remarked feelingly.

The Polar bears did not seem at all anxious to get out of their travelling-cages, but when finally confronted with a beautiful bath of fresh sawdust, they one and all entered it and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. The sea-elephants seemed a little dazed and bewildered at first, but when they saw the delicious water beneath them they scrambled out of their crates in their awkward manner, and simply revelled in the cool, fresh water. As for the penguins, cranes, storks, and all other water fowl, they one and all made a bee-line for the water, although from the place where they were unpacked no sign of water could be seen. A few of the birds had had one wing clipped in case of their flying over the railings. It was a most comical sight to see these birds, when let out and anxious to stretch their wings, revolve in a circle, owing to the one wing having been clipped. They seemed surprised and puzzled themselves, but when they once got to the water their intense joy was not to be forgotten.

They simply revelled in the delicious water, from which they had been kept for four whole days. In they plunged, wriggling their tails, flapping their wings, ducking their heads under water, diving underneath and up again, all accompanied by loud squawks, cries, cackles, and quacking, as the case may be. It seemed as though they simply could not get enough of the water. As for the ducks - whether of some special breed, or the ordinary kind - they stood on their heads in the water nearly all the time; looked up occasionally as though to have a look round, made a fussy demonstration of wings and tail, quacked, and went down again!

In a great many cases, wild animals go first to wild-animal shows, or menageries, there to he trained for public performances. There they go through many changes, which are extremely interesting from several points of view. Most of the full-grown wild animals in the largest Zoological Parks go there after they have been performing for many years. They may either have grown too old, have suddenly become too much out of condition to be made to perform, or, as in the greatest number of cases, have suddenly gone "bad." For any wild animal who has once "gone bad" is to all intents and purposes of no further use. Not only that, but he becomes a very great danger to the trainers and anyone who has to attend to or feed him. The only place for him is some quiet "Zoo," where he will be fed regularly - no journeys of any kind intervening - kept quiet all day long, and left to do exactly as he likes from the time he wakes until he goes to sleep again.

And some of the incidents of wild-animal training, the careers and tactics of wild-animal trainers, the many exciting and interesting little episodes which take place from the time the wild animal roaches the end of his journey until he finally reaches the "Zoo" - the goal, as I have said, of so many wild animals - contain some of the most unique incidents and marvellous experiences of all the many interesting things connected with wild animals in captivity. There is no other place in the world, no other similar conditions which afford such splendid facilities and opportunities for studying the habits, idiosyncrasies, and psychology of all sorts and conditions of wild animals.

But whether the animals are destined for the wild-animal show, the menagerie, or the Zoological Gardens, on arrival at their destination the very greatest care is taken of them. They are taken out of their cramped travelling-cages, and put into comfortable, roomy quarters; clean bedding and water are given to them, with plenty of fresh beef or mutton. Added to this is an occasional head of a sheep, calf, ox, lamb, or chicken - heads of anything, curiously enough, being looked upon as great delicacies by nearly all wild animals, especially the carnivora.

The larger animals are given large, airy quarters and plenty of food and water - hay, grass, grain, fruit, vegetables, or whatever is their particular kind of diet. The Primates have fruit, nuts, bread, eggs and fresh milk beaten up, meat juice, etc. The anthropoid apes are specially attended to, as their delicacy and value are great considerations. The giraffes have to be most carefully fed, as their digestions are also extremely delicate.

Just at first the animals may refuse to eat, and be restless, worried, and uneasy. But the cool, fresh air, the quiet, space and cleanliness, not to mention the plentiful supply of good, fresh food, soon make them better and more at ease. The one great factor, too, is that at last, after perhaps an entire three months, if not more, the constant movement and jolting in which they have been living is stopped, and they are able to walk about and sleep without being tumbled from side to side or jolted continually. Everything which can possibly be done for their care and comfort is done, with no regard to trouble or cost.


It is doubtful whether the origin of menageries has ever been discovered, but that it dates back some hundreds of years is certain. To all races of mankind wild animals have always been interesting, not only when hunted for purposes of the chase, but when studied as a matter of natural history. The very fact that most of the wild beasts were objects of terror made them also objects of interest and curiosity. Men began to study their characters and habits, and so, in time, natural history became one of the first sciences of the day. Then began very small collections of wild animals of all sorts and species.

Collecting the animals led to exhibition in the amphitheatre. In this amphitheatre, used for public spectacles and amusement from the earliest ages, were exhibited many kinds of wild animals. Lions, however, always played the most important part in any of these combats or exhibitions. Some terrible slaughters used to take place in these arenas. When Titus dedicated his amphitheatre the blood of upwards of 5,000 animals was spilt. On every birthday Caligula celebrated the occasion by having butchered about 400 bears and lions, and the same number of other wild beasts. Also in the triumphs of the semi-barbarians lions were led as trophies, and in the Roman amphitheatre were exhibited, tortured, and sacrificed by many thousands. Pompey himself provided 600 for a single festival. In fact, the lion has always figured in history. On every obelisk and monument of the greatest antiquity we find presentations of lions, dromedaries, jaguars, elephants, and other animals. Some animals of course, are also represented which are now extinct.

But in ancient times no animals were ever trained, although some were employed in warfare. It would be impossible to follow up the progress of these menageries or collections Of wild animals through all the years, but the first real menagerie in England was established by Henry I. at Woodstock.

We are told "he walled a park round with stone seven miles in circumference, laying waste much fertile land and destroying many villages, churches, and chapels," and also "he appointed therein besides a great store of deer, divers strange beasts to be kept and nourished, such as were brought to him from far countries, as lions, leopards, lynxes, porpentines, and such others."

There is an interesting story in connection with the royal shield of England. In 1235 the Emperor Frederick II. sent over three leopards to Henry III. (at that time three leopards adorned the royal shield of England). These leopards were after a time exchanged for lions. A few more wild beasts were added to the same little collection, and were then removed to the Tower, and, curiously enough, this was the beginning of a menagerie which existed there until its transference to the London Zoological Gardens in 1834.

At one time (1252) all the London sheriffs were obliged to pay 4d. a day for the keeping of a white bear. A few years afterwards they were made to build a house in the Tower for a wild animal which had been presented to the King by Louis of France. This animal proved to be an elephant, and was the first elephant ever seen in England. At that time the keepership of the Tower lions was an important position, held by some person of high degree. The Tower menagerie was never a large one. A few lions, one or two leopards or tigers, some wild cats, and a few bears proved the whole of the collection. This number gradually decreased, and in 1822 the only occupants were a grizzly bear, one elephant, and a few birds.

There is a curious story of a secretary-bird which was actually beheaded in the Tower. While strutting about one day round the den of a hyena, he most incautiously pushed his head into the den, whereupon the hyena promptly bit it off!

There were at this time several small travelling menageries in England, but there was really no place, with the exception of the Tower and the Surrey Zoological Gardens, where it was possible to see or study any wild animals alive.

In the olden days the small travelling menageries were terrible affairs. The poor animals were kept in small, filthy, badly ventilated cages, given insufficient and oftentimes unsuitable food, and treated very cruelly. It is scarcely possible in these days to realise that such barbarous cruelty as we read of repeatedly could have been allowed. We are told that Exeter 'Change, another place where a few animals were kept, was a place where the creatures had scarcely any air, where they were half-starved, and which was so infected with rats that huge boots were put on the elephant to prevent the rats gnawing his feet - a bad habit which rats have kept up to the present day. This particular elephant for whom they made boots was called Chunee, and was exhibited from 1809 to 1826.

We may, practically speaking, call all Zoological Gardens and Parks menageries, for they all contain collections of wild animals, but to the general public the name "menagerie" conveys the impression of a "wild-animal show" - that is, a place where the animals are taught to perform various tricks. Up to within comparatively the last few years very little has been known about the doings inside these places. The public is admitted, sees the performance, and carries away vague impressions according to their age, temperament, and judgment. The young boys, as a rule, look upon the lion trainer as a magnificent hero. In his tights and Hessian boots, his well-fitting coat studded with medals and lions' claws beautifully mounted, his gauntlet gloves, and his two or three whips, he is their beau-ideal of what a man should be. To them he represents everything that is brave and noble, courageous and splendid, and the majority of these boys frequently make up their minds to become wild-animal trainers, little realising the hardships and dangers.

Only the proprietors themselves know how many hundreds of boys apply year after year for a position in a wild-animal show. The first question from the proprietor is generally: "What can you do?" and the answer just as generally "Anything," which practically means nothing. If, however, the applicant should be taken on, he is put through a form of discipline to prove what he is made of.

One boy of eighteen, the son of a clergyman, had to collect all the filth of the menagerie and load it into a cart, sweep up the show, fetch beer, and do a hundred-and-one other unpleasant things which had nothing whatever to do with wild-animal training. When nearly sick of this he begged the proprietor to allow him to train some animals. This is a request which only a fully fledged trainer asks. Even then he is careful about selecting his animals, knowing as he does the nerve-strain and danger of it. In this case the proprietor said he should; and he was told to go into the arena, and that two Nubian lions would come out to him.

He was kept waiting in the arena for ten minutes - always a trying test to any one waiting for approaching danger. Then suddenly, in the run-way behind the cages, there came forth such furious roarings and growlings, with angry snarls, that the would-be trainer, without another instant's thought, climbed up to the top of the gateway, and remained there. Of course he was the laughing-stock of the show; and in show life, as in every other calling, there is some remarkably plain speaking sometimes. There is no mincing of words, no quiet innuendoes, no hints or suggestive remarks. Nothing but extremely plain speaking; and each man says exactly what he thinks. So that the unfortunate young man had a very bad time of it.

Finally, one day when carelessly passing a cage containing a leopard, having become so accustomed to the dangers, the leopard suddenly and quietly put out a paw and clawed his back very badly. Being a highly sensitive, nervous lad, the shock was great, and he was in the hospital dangerously ill for four long weeks. When he left the hospital he was a perfect wreck; but, without even taking leave of the proprietor, he went straight to the railway station, took the train for home, and that was the last of his career as an animal trainer. And this sort of thing happens to hundreds of young boys.

To others the wild-animal trainer appears to be a foolhardy, reckless being, and, to many who are ignorant of the true facts of the case, generally rough and uneducated. In former times this was so. It was even considered necessary that a man should be rough and fierce in order to train wild animals. But, as a matter of fact, in the present day most of these wild-animal trainers are extremely well educated, speak several languages fluently, and can be described as "Nature's gentlemen." Their various traits, idiosyncrasies, and methods are fully dealt with in the chapter on "Wild-animal Trainers."

Perhaps the most interesting and wonderful history of a menagerie, which started in a very small manner, and was gradually developed into the most important and largest wild-animal trade in the whole world, is that of the late Carl Hagenbeck, of Hamburg, whose name and reputation for straightforwardness and honourable dealing in business is known all over the world. The following wonderful incident alone prov os what vast things can and do emerge out of the smallest and most trivial circumstances.

In the year 1848 Mr. Carl Hagenbeck's father, who was a large fishmonger in Hamburg, had a eon tract with his fishermen to deliver over to him whatever they might happen to catch in their nets. One time, when hauling in a particularly heavy net, it was found that six seals had been captured. Of course under the agreement they were the property of Mr. Carl Hagenbeck's father. Being very greatly interested in natural history, it occurred to him that as he was so interested in the seals, in all probability other people would be.

Always enterprising, he obtained two large wooden tubs, and in these tubs filled with water he exhibited the six seals, charging an entrance fee of a Hamburg shilling (about one penny) a head. To his surprise a large number of people came to look at the animals; and this made him become more enterprising still, and he finally took the seals to Berlin and exhibited them there also. In those days the inhabitants were very different from what they are now, and crowds flocked to see the seals.

Before returning to Hamburg Mr. Hagenbeck's father sold the seals; but, perhaps through being new to the business, and believing in the good faith of his fellow-beings too much, he did not insist on the money being paid over, but agreed to wait until the purchaser sent it later - which he never did! However, in spite of this, a good profit was made on the exhibition of the seals, and so the new wild-animal dealer was quite satisfied with the results of his new venture.

From that time, although he carefully attended to his large business of purveying fish for food, Mr. Hagenbeck still carried on his new business as wild-animal exhibitor. At that very time, owing to his love of animals, he had quite a small menagerie of his own just for his own private pleasure, out of which up to this time he had never thought of making any money. But now he began to exhibit this little menagerie in Spielbudenplatz, and charged an entrance fee of four Hamburg shillings.

The "exhibit" consisted at that time of a cow, a monkey, a talking parrot, a Polar bear, one or two hyenas, a few small mammals, with some goats, geese, fowls, common ducks, etc. Mr. Hagenbeck did not travel again with seals, but he was much amused to hear that the men to whom he had sold the seals were exhibiting them to the public as walruses, and sometimes even as mermaids! And at that time, natural history not being the well-known science it is in the present day, very few wild animals were even known or heard of by some of the country people, who took in all the showman's wonderful tales without so much as a grain of salt.

When Mr. Carl Hagenbeck was eleven years old there came to Bremerhaven a small consignment of wild animals which were to be sold. The little menagerie was a very modest affair. The animals consisted of a various assortment of monkeys and parrots, some small and valueless mammals, a big raccoon, and two American opossums. Mr. Hagenbeck's father bought the lot, and after the steamer had conveyed them all to Bremen, they were all carefully packed up on top of the diligence which was to take them all back to Hamburg.

But before reaching home the raccoon had in some way made its escape. Vexed as they all were, not a word was mentioned about it, as there was every chance that should the authorities hear about it, they would have been summoned for letting "wild beasts" loose in the heart of Germany. A few years later the papers were greatly excited over the fact that a raccoon had been caught and killed on Luneburger Heath, and many wild and ridiculous speculations were rife as to how a raccoon could have managed to find its way to that locality. Mr. Carl Hagenbeck and his father could have told them, but they didn't, and the mystery remains to those people unsolved to the present day.

Nine years after his first exhibition Carl Hagenbeck's father bought his first really large consignment of wild animals. The well-known African explorer, Dr. Natterer, had just returned from the Egyptian Sudan to Vienna, and brought with him a fine collection of lions, panthers, and cheetahs, hyenas, gazelles and other antelopes, and lots of monkeys of various kinds. The next year after this Carl Hagenbeck was asked by his father to choose his future calling - whether he would be a fishmonger or a wild-animal dealer?

After some careful consideration Carl Hagenbeck decided on the wild-animal trade, and so started one of the most flourishing and stupendous business enterprises in the world. But he always looked upon his father as his best adviser, and although Carl Hagenbeck achieved stupendous success, he always attributed the greater part of it to his father. He was taught by him to love and understand animals, and upon that, Carl Hagenbeck always declared to the end of his wonderful life, depended all his success. "The corner stone of all our success," he used to say, "was the love of wild animals. For without this, a genuine love for animals, a business such as ours must have failed."

There came a time, after many years' hard work, when Carl Hagenbeck was looked upon as one of the men who could be absolutely depended on to provide any wild animal wanted. If he had not got it, he would get it, even if it meant sending out a special expedition to such places as Liberia, to obtain the pygmy hippopotamus, an animal which had been heard of for forty years, but which no one had actually been able to capture. He would arrange and provide for all the animals in a whole Zoo, as in the Zoological Gardens at Cincinnati, where every single wild animal it contains was provided by him.

At the present time his two sons, Messrs. Heinrich and Lorenz Hagenbeck carry on the business in just the same manner as their father did; and one of the most impressive things in their business life is that their father's name is always used in all their business transactions, and all the credit given to him. Even at Olympia, where it was a well-known fact that all the enclosures, scenic effects, and general arrangements had been designed and carried out by Mr. Heinrich Hagenbeck, nevertheless the sign over Olympia read, "Carl Hagenbeck's Wonder Zoo."

All menageries at the present time are very different from those in the olden days. There is no question now of cramped quarters, had air and light, and insufficient food for the animals. A certain space is required for each animal; sanitary conditions must be good and wholesome; and the good food is carefully seen to by the proprietor or manager himself. Very few men who have anything to do with wild animals in the present day are in any way ignorant of the importance of keeping the animals clean, warm, and well fed; otherwise their value depreciates greatly. Another important fact to be remembered is that the R.S.P.C.A. is always on the look-out for the least sign of neglect or cruelty in any shape or form.

Any chapter on the progress of menageries or Zoological Gardens would not be complete without a short description of the wonderful open-air enclosures for wild animals at Stelligen Park, near Hamburg, which the late Carl Hagenbeck designed and built himself. Always thinking about the comforts of his wild captives, Mr. Hagenbeck took many years to work out his ideas. So much had to be thought of: the public safety; the comfort of the various animals; suitable surroundings for each species; sunshine and shade according to the occupants; with hundreds of other minute, but important, details. With his two sons he worked day and night at this scheme, and at last had the satisfaction of seeing the whole thing completed.

This new departure in practical zoology contains no cages. Picturesque hills, mountains, crags that stand out against the sky and against a background of green, reaching from wide bases at the bottom to a height of forty, fifty, and in some cases even a hundred feet or more. Hidden cunningly in the sides of the hills and mountains are caves, caverns, and enclosures of all sorts. And in all these places live lions and tigers, bears of all kinds, camels, mountain goats, antelopes, and deer.

Made of artificial rock on strong foundations, and covered and sprayed with various-coloured cements and liquids, rough and irregular, with every appearance of the surroundings of the various animals when living in their native haunts, it has a most wonderful effect. Walking majestically over the rocks, in the sweet fresh air, or lying down in some comfortable place taking a nap, the lions seem perfectly at home. The fierce Bengal tigers leap and walk about, and nothing is between the public and these wild animals but the fresh air - and deep moats. These moats have been most carefully devised; distances have been measured over which it is quite impossible for the animals to spring; should they decide to try, as some of them have occasionally done, down they go into the dark water, and all that remains is for them to be taken in by another way which has been carefully provided for this purpose.

But neither lions, tigers, bears, nor antelopes are particularly fond of being soused in water, and when they have once had this experience they seldom try it again. They have learnt they cannot cross the chasm, and so let it go. But they look across at the people and at the stretch of green grass and trees and brilliant flower-beds, and simply live in luxury. Everything is provided for them that they can possibly want, and if they wish they are able to get plenty of exercise by running up and down the rocks, climbing on the heavy tree-trunks placed so conveniently for them in all directions, and when the heat of the day comes, retire into some shady corner and take a nap.

For years one old lion was kept at Stelligen who was quite useless either as a performer or as a good exhibit. He had grown old and feeble; he suffered from various complaints, such as paralysis, rheumatism, and vertigo. He had lost all his teeth, and his coat was all falling off. But he was a favourite lion, and so he was fed with meat, soup, chickens, fresh liver, and any other little dainty which they thought would tempt his appetite.

A little away from the enclosure for the carnivora is another little rising of hills, where all sorts of animals live in perfect freedom within a certain circumscribed space. Zebras and ponies, camels and llamas and alpacas, a few American bison, looking, their very best in these surroundings; all sorts of wild sheep, sacred cattle, and all sorts of other wild creatures. It is needless to mention all the other exhibits. The ostrich farm is developing rapidly under the management of Mr. J. Miller; all sorts of new features are being constantly added, as wild animals are continually arriving from all parts of the world. 

To this wonderful place, started as a tiny menagerie, nearly all those interested in wild animals go for their supplies of living wild creatures. There is a saying to the effect that "Hagenbeck can supply anything from a white elephant to a flea." I was told a rather good story, the actual truth of which I cannot vouch for. Some traveller, wishing to be facetious and witty, repeated this saying to one of the Hagenbeck men at Stelligen, adding, "I suppose you could send me either, if I sent for some?"

The man hesitated, and then said, "Well, we supply elephants, but we haven't much call to supply fleas to the public. They generally supply us." The traveller was disgusted, and remarked that he considered it a very vulgar speech.

The London Zoological Gardens have recently built what is called The Mappin Terraces in the Gardens. This is very much after the style of the free enclosures at Stelligen, and is built, of course, with the primary idea of giving the animals their freedom in surroundings as near to those in their native haunts as possible.

These terraces were built through the generosity of the late Mr. J. Newton Mappin, and named after him, and were opened to the general public on Whit-Monday, 1914. For a clear description of these structures I cannot do better than use the words of Dr. P. Chalmers Mitchell, to whose untiring zeal we owe so many great improvements in these gardens. His description is taken from a paper published in the "Journal of the Royal Society of Arts."

"The Mappin Terraces occupy an area roughly the quadrant of a circle, with the apex pointing south and the curved circumference to the north. At the apex is a tea pavilion for visitors, its curved front looking out towards the general panorama. Immediately in front of this is a terrace for visitors, thirty feet wide, and raised about ten feet above the datum level of the structure, from which, also, visitors have a general view of the whole. The edge of the terrace is protected by a low handrail, over which visitors look down on an enclosure sixteen yards wide, and in a curve parallel with the terrace. This is laid down in turf, provided with ponds suitable for large and decorative birds, such as cranes and flamingoes, for penguins, or occasionally for the smaller seals. The outer curve of the pond enclosure is separated by a low hedge and an invisible wire fence from a large enclosure at the same level, and divided into four paddocks for some of the smaller deer. At the back of this, in a long curve, rises the vertical wall of the first of the concrete terraces. It is hollow below, and contains shelters for the deer. Its total height is about twelve feet, and the cliff-like front rises to the full height, but at the back, over the roofs of the shelters for the deer, runs a wide' terrace for visitors. The front wall is pierced with windows, through which the visitors are able to look down on the deer. The outer curve of the terrace is protected by a very low wall. Behind this, again, is a wide and deep ditch, going down to the datum level. Beyond the ditch the vertical wall of the terrace for bears rises to nearly the level of the spectator's eye. The bears' terrace curves round the whole quadrant of the circle, twenty yards wide, and rising steeply backwards. It is divided by radiating partitions into six compartments, each decorated with rock-work and provided with ponds, small and not much more than large baths in the case of the four centrally-placed divisions, large and deep in the two outer divisions, one of which is devoted to the polar bears. The bears are thus secured in front by the ditch, which is too wide for their powers of leaping, laterally by the vertical radiating partitions, and at the back by a vertical wall, in structure exactly like the wall at the back of the deer enclosure, but considerably higher. The lower part of this second gives entrance to the dens for the bears themselves, above which runs the highest terrace for visitors, and its upper part is pierced by windows, through which visitors on the higher terrace can look down on the bears, Rising from the back of the upper terrace, and separated from it by a wire railing, is a curving range of hills divided into four peaks, the highest of which will reach over sixty feet from the datum line. These have been carefully planned with sets of ledges so that chamois, mountain sheep, goats, and ibex can ascend to the highest summits, and they have been provided with cave-like shelters. Along each side of the whole enclosure is a broad route for visitors, with flights of steps by which they are able to reach the different terraces. The whole structure is a monolith of reinforced concrete. The skeleton is composed of lofty columns tied together by the necessary crosspieces and struts. For each column metal rods were bound into a lattice-work with stout wire, and were then supported in their places and surrounded by a mould of wood, into which the concrete was poured, so as completely to enclose the metal. When it had set, the wooden mould was removed and the column left. The rock-masses, the shelves and partitions were built first with a framework of wood, over which was placed fine wire-netting, then the real skeleton of metal bars bound with wire was woven over the surface, and finally the concrete was poured in, retained where necessary on the other side by a similar layer of wire-netting and wooden support. When the concrete had set the wooden moulds were knocked away, the retaining wire-netting stripped off, and the layers or walls of concrete left with their skeleton of metal. In the artificial mountains of Carl Hagenbeck, at Stelligen, the permanent skeleton is composed of timber; no timber forms any portion of our permanent structure. Certainly timber was an easier medium to use, and when cased in may be as enduring, but we had no choice under the building regulations of the authorities, whose consent we had to obtain.

"So far as the animals are concerned, they have been provided with conditions as nearly ideal as we could make them. The rock-loving sheep and goats have mountains on which they can obtain exercise, warm shelters from the wind, and flat ground in front where they may come to be fed by the visitors. The bears, most of which have been confined in dismal prisons, have spacious and varied exercising ground, baths, and caves. As the sun moves round they have shade under one or other of the radiating partitions, except for an extremely short time, under that on the east side first, and, as the sun moves round, on the west side later. We intended at first that the ditch should be inaccessible to them, but later on we decided to give them access to it by concealed tunnels, so that in the hottest weather they are able to retreat to a deep and cool ditch, a kind of glorified bear-pit into which the sun's rays never penetrate. The provision made, for the water-fowl and deer differs only in its larger dimensions from what we have tried to give them hitherto.

"The final design and the working plans are due to my friends the late Mr. John Belcher, R.A., and his partner, Mr. J. J. Joass, who have given far more than their professional skill and care to the task; and Messrs. D. G. Somerville & Co., the contractors for the reinforced concrete, have devoted endless ingenuity to overcoming unforeseen technical difficulties that have arisen in the course of very novel work."

That all the wild creatures thoroughly enjoy their new premises there cannot be the slightest doubt. It only needs a visit to confirm this.

To my idea, the New York Zoological Park is at present the finest in the world, and I have visited nearly all the Zoos in the world. In the midst of beautiful surroundings perfectly natural, every part, building and little, out-of-the-way cranny has been carefully improved until there now seems no room for improvement. Every modern improvement which skill and money can buy, every possible requisite for the care and comfort of the animals, every new or rare animal which can be secured, no matter at what cost, is obtained for this Zoological Park.

I can remember it thirteen years ago, when the park was not half finished, when buildings were being put up, and when one had to walk such long, long distances to get from one building to another. Now there are so many buildings and enclosures, so many little enticing paths and short cuts, that it is possible to go on and on until worn out with a long day. A magnificent elephant house, spotlessly clean, with cement floors, lined gutters, and spacious enclosures, surrounded outside by large pieces of beautiful park where the animals go in the summer; a well-built Primates' house, peculiarly adapted for the inmates as regards warmth and absence of draughts, not to speak of the comfortable cages and abundance of green plants; a lion house with all the modern improvements, and wire netting instead of iron bars; the antelopes' house; the new Administration Building, where Dr. Hornaday, to whom the great success of the Park is due, has his offices, and where there is the wonderful collection of horns and antlers, famous now for its value and unique assortment. The grounds are beautifully laid out, with seats in plenty for tired sight-seers, and two or three restaurants. It would take a whole book to describe it adequately, but I only wish to give some slight idea of the place to those who have not already seen it.

The Zoological Gardens at Berlin are another wonderful place. There are many others, all "menageries" in the old sense of the word, but very different from what we used to imagine when hearing that word. But it would be impossible to speak of them all; this is only a chapter on menageries - not a book. As a matter of fact, the term "menagerie" is seldom used in the present day. We hear of "Wild-Animal Shows," "Exhibitions of Wild Animals," "Circuses," and "Zoological Gardens," but the term "menagerie" is dying out. The idea it conveys is that of a dark, unwholesome place, badly ventilated, where the animals were cruelly treated. There are no such places in the present day. All that disgrace to humanity has been wiped out. In its place we have clean, healthy wild animals, good, wholesome, airy buildings and enclosures, and trainers and keepers who make natural history the most important study of their lives.


Among the varied and peculiar occupations of man to earn a living, that of a wild-animal trainer is perhaps one of the most unique. His work is unlike that of any other man on earth; his hours are long and tedious, he lives in a constant state of excitement and nerve strain, and if he has the interests of his animals at heart - and no man ever makes a success of this peculiar calling unless he has - his work is never finished.

After a day of incessant activity - for trainers sometimes begin their rehearsals as early as four in the morning - he generally retires at about twelve at night, tired and weary. But at the slightest sign of uneasiness among his animals - and night is the restless time for the wild beasts of the forest - he is up and among them with a light in his hand, quieting them and making sure that everything is all right. The majority of wild-animal trainers take such keen interest in their animals that they overwork. They watch with delight the progress of each, animal, and when, after months of incessant labour, the success of an act is assured, they are as proud as a man taking his degree at college.

But a man must possess unusual qualities to succeed in this calling. The love of wild animals comes first, of course; indeed without it any real training is impossible. But this is only a small item among the many other essentials. As I explained in the previous chapter, in the olden days it used to be considered that an animal trainer, or "tamer," as he was then so erroneously called - for no wild animal is ever really tamed - must be a strong, rough, and somewhat brutal individual, in order to obtain any sort of control over the wild beasts.

But at the present time this idea has been dismissed entirely. It has been proved that those who have the greatest power and control over wild animals are quiet, resourceful, and good- tempered. A man must in the first place have complete control over himself, and must possess a calm, placid disposition. Any man who gets excited is worthless as a trainer. Excitement communicates itself to wild animals in a most remarkable manner, and one of the great factors in training is to calm, not to excite.

Physical agility is also absolutely necessary - not a quick, nervous agility, for this the animal would not understand - but an agility that consists in quick, quiet movements, and a lightning-like appreciation of the animal's varied moods and movements. Strength and good health, patience, and plenty of nerve are other essential qualities.

There are, of course, certain rules and methods of training wild animals; but, generally speaking, each trainer has his own peculiar ways and tricks of teaching them. What will succeed with some animals will not succeed with others. Each man must go his own way, and, do as he thinks best, and this is why it is sometimes so puzzling to the general public to realise all that the gestures mean.

The old assumption that the animals were "doped" or drugged, or that their teeth had been pulled and their claws drawn, or that, in the words of some people, they were "nothing but a lot of old tame cats, anyway," has more than once been disproved. Wild animals are not drugged before any performance. People who know anything at all about wild animals know that to drug an animal as a preparation to exhibiting it in public would be practically to ruin the whole performance, and certainly to run some very serious risks. Drugs would either make the animal so sleepy, languid, and stupid that it would be virtually helpless in the arena, or so wild and savage that it would be dangerous, if not impossible, to handle.

To pull the teeth of any of the large carnivora would not only be a task of great difficulty, requiring tremendous strength, but would lessen the value of the animal, not to speak of probably ruining its digestion. The teeth and claws of a carnivorous animal are essential parts of its body, and to pull the teeth or draw out the claws would not only be a most scandalous piece of cruelty, but might also cause the animal's death by setting up inflammation, suppuration, etc. As for the belief which so many people have in the present day that trained animals are most cruelly treated, I can only say, judging from what I have seen - and I have studied in a great many wild-animal shows in all sorts of places - that a greater fallacy could not exist.

I know nearly all the greatest wild-animal trainers in the world, both men and women, and they have assured me that it is impossible to ill-treat a wild animal, unless they keep it without food, when it would get out of condition and lose its value. Undoubtedly in old times trainers did ill-treat the animals; but they were not worthy the name of trainers. Their performances generally consisted in making the poor unfortunate creatures jump through hoops of fire by prodding them with sharp prongs, one of the most brutal things which ever existed.

But the training in the present day is of a totally different kind - jumping, leaping, forming arches with their bodies, etc., and all at the word of command. To quote Mr. Richard Sawade, who has trained all sorts of wild animals: "Wild animals receive far more kindness and consideration than dogs or horses, or any other domestic animals. In the first place they are far too valuable to ill-treat. Who wants to prick the skin or burn the hide of an animal that is perhaps worth £500? Also, a trainer does not want to antagonise his animal, or make him hate the sight of him. It is his business to become good friends, while keeping the mastery. Just think, in comparison, of the sufferings of a young domestic colt when it is first introduced to the bridle; think of the lashing it endures when it is first placed between the shafts of a cart, or the cruel spurs which prick its sides continually if it is trained to be a hunter, charger, or racehorse! Well, how else is an animal to become subdued to man except by instilling into it that a human being can always get the best of it in a fight? If that idea were not impregnated into the brain of a horse, it would turn and trample you to death by the sheer strength it possesses superior to man's."

To those who know anything about the tedious and dangerous times that all trainers have when learning their business and training their animals, the greatest wonder is that any man should have the nerve and patience to go on with it at all. Whether they begin with the cubs, or whether they start out with lions fresh from the jungle, the training is practically much the same. It is impossible to undertake any training with any wild animals without getting injured in some way before their training is finished.

In the first place, the animals have to become accustomed to their trainers. This takes weeks, sometimes, according to the disposition of the animal. Everything possible is done to get the animal in a good humour and devoid of fear. Little dainties are given him in the shape of food. The trainer stands outside his cage and talks to him by the hour together, in order that he may get him accustomed to his voice. Then, when it is considered safe to enter the cage, comes the great test of nerve and courage.

The realisation that man and beast are alone in the cage or the arena, that his life depends on keeping careful watch of every movement, look and sound, is a tremendous nerve strain. One of the greatest foundations of wild-animal training is to exact absolute obedience from the animals. This makes it doubly difficult for the trainer, because he practically undoes just what he has been trying to bring about. The constant insistence puts the animal in a bad humour. He begins to doubt and fear the trainer because he does not understand. Hours have been spent sometimes in exacting this obedience. But once an animal has been taught this, he generally obeys afterwards. Another great and most important thing is that the trainer must keep on his feet. No wild animal has the slightest respect for anything that is down, and the least slip is the signal to spring. And one of the most difficult animals to train is the animal who is always looking out for an opportunity to spring. No trainer has the physical power to resist a heavy body hurled at him with such tremendous force and impetus.

A very quiet leopard or tiger is much more dangerous than other animals, because he gives no sign of rage or anger, but, lying flat on his stomach, he will creep slowly and stealthily behind the trainer, waiting his opportunity for a lightning attack. On the other hand, a snarling animal is always giving warning that he means to get in his innings whenever he has the opportunity; consequently the trainer is always being reminded of that fact. Of course this applies generally, for each animal is different.

Some animals are very easy to train, others most stupid, or it may be that they do not want to learn anything, and do not intend to. Some will recognise their cues at once, others never learn to recognise them without being reminded two or even three times by the trainer. Each animal is a complete study, different in temper, disposition, and habits, each with little idiosyncrasies of its own, which have to be carefully studied and remembered by the trainer. These are only a few of the things necessary to wild-animal training; the natures, psychology, habits, and the various conditions of the climates from which each animal comes, all need to be studied most carefully in order to ensure good, healthy animals and keep them in good condition.

As lions and tigers always played a prominent part in the exhibitions of the ancients, so at the present time they are perhaps among the most interesting of all performing wild animals. The largest troupe of lions ever trained to perform together were twenty-seven trained by Captain Bonavita, which were exhibited in all parts of the world. Captain Bonavita is, with the exception of Mr. Richard Sawade, one of the quietest trainers I have ever seen. Calm, placid, self-possessed, he would walk among this herd of lions, speaking to one, touching up another who did not seem inclined to do as he was told, compelling a third by quiet insistence to mount his pedestal, making a fourth move over to show a good pose.

He was in Richmond, Virginia, one day, teaching his lions a new trick, He thought he would give them one hour that morning, another the next day, and so on. But for some reason or other one lion absolutely refused to do anything he was told. It is not always wise to force a lion when in this mood, but, turning to the others, Bonavita made them all get into certain potations, and then gave his attention to the disobedient animal.

For two solid hours the man and the beast defied each other. The lion would refuse, with a snarl, growl a little, rush forward, and then stop suddenly before the stolid figure of the trainer. Then he would walk round and round the arena in a slinking, sly manner, while the trainer turned round and round too, watching him until he must have been quite dizzy. After this the lion would sit down on its haunches for a while. The same thing would happen again and again. But he would not get upon the pedestal, which was the only one empty in the arena.

Meanwhile the other lions became tired of sitting on the pedestals. Some of them yawned, some of them began to get down. And now came the great danger. As I have explained, any trainer is supreme master while he is on his feet, but once down he has no chance whatever. Any fall is the signal for an attack. When one lion gets down, all get down, and there is the danger of the trainer being knocked down. So, as it would have been impossible to teach one stubborn animal with twenty-six others prowling round, Captain Bonavita gave a signal and the arena doors were opened and all the other lions were sent back to their cages, Bonavita himself going with them, leaving the one lion alone in the arena. To give in now would have been fatal.

I was much amused, as soon as the lion was alone, to see him go up to the very pedestal which he had so persistently refused to mount, and smell it carefully. As he smelled he growled. Then he walked round the arena, went up a second time to the pedestal and smelled it again. After this he sat down, settled his head comfortably on his huge paws, and was half asleep when the trainer returned.

The same thing was repeated with the same result. The lion now began to get excited and angry - he had not been punished in any way, but he was evidently tired of it; while the trainer was white and perspiring. At last the lion lay down again, and then suddenly, without the least sign of reluctance, got slowly up, stretched himself, walked over to the pedestal and mounted it! There was no more trouble after this. He went to his cage like a lamb, and the next day, when told to mount, got up instantly, looking far away in the distance in that indifferent manner which all lions have.

What trainers have to remember is that all wild animals have their individual idiosyncrasies, and no two of a kind are ever exactly alike in their behaviour. Study four lions, tigers, bears, or elephants, and you will find that each animal has its own way of doing things, its own moods, its own peculiar temperament.

Lion are, I think peculiarly unlike one another in disposition. I have known sulky, morose lions who did not forget a real or fancied injury or grievance; and I have known hasty, passionate lions who flared up at the least provocation, and often without any provocation at all, but whose anger died away as quickly as the flame from a match, and who afterwards seemed to have no recollection of having had any grievance. Some lions are slow, dull, phlegmatic, and stupid, too lazy to be roused by any little unusual incidents.

Tigers too have these same little idiosyncrasies. In Mr. Richard Sawade's group of ten tigers each one seems to be of an entirely different disposition. Two or three of them are so used to him, so well trained to obey his every cue and gesture, and undoubtedly so fond of him, that they give one the impression of being huge, amiable tabby cats. But they are not so, by any means. Taken in just the right way by their own trainer who is always with them, and never relaxes the discipline for one moment, they are mild as milk. But let a stranger go near them and they are different creatures.

Mr. Sawade very kindly allowed me one day to see his tigers being fed. He went forward first, and the animals went on eating. But the moment they saw me their terrific springs, their ferocious growls, and their vindictive snarls let me know what they would do if they could. Mr. Sawade moved not a muscle, although he was so close to the cages that they could easily have reached out and caught him. I expressed my fears:

"Ah, they are only like that when they are feeding," he said quietly; "at other times these three are as gentle as possible."

"But they snatched at your hand," I said.

He thought a moment. "Yes," he said, "that is a nasty trick of tigers. One always has to watch them." He held up one hand, "That is how I lost the top of my finger," he explained quietly.

But the dangers with the seemingly quiet tigers are nothing to be compared with the dangers of the dangerous ones, and Mr. Sawade has two. The large one with plenty of white in his coat, he explained, was the very tiger who had had that most terrific fight on board ship with the huge python. He was a beautiful animal, but quite quiet and amiable. The tiger, however, who did the best trick of all, jumping through a hoop held up in the air by his trainer, was a particularly savage beast.

A curious fact about this act was that the hoop was actually smaller than the tiger's body when on the ground. The fact, however that all tigers when springing flatten their fur, and by their stretching also reduce the circumference of their bodies, is what makes this act possible. This is the most dangerous act of all. Any man, no matter whether he has studied or been with wild animals for years, who has nerve and courage enough to hold a small hoop up in the air and allow a full-grown Bengal tiger to spring full at him, must be an abnormal man. Should the animal miscalculate his distance by so much as half an inch, he would strike the trainer, or fall in a heap, either of which events would probably end in a terrific attack on the trainer.

One evening the tiger in some way caught his foot in the hoop and got entangled in it. Of course the only thing was to let the hoop loose, and the tiger ran round the arena with the hoop round his body. Not a hair or muscle of the trainer moved, to all appearances. He waited until the hoop fell off the tiger; picked it up, went back to his place, and then the whole thing was gone through again, this time quite successfully. But how any man, with nine other fierce tigers sitting round, could go through this extremely hazardous business I cannot imagine - especially when his other dangerous tiger has a particularly nasty habit of slinking off his pedestal and round the arena on the very least excuse! It is truly a wonderful performance, and only proves the truth of that memorable sentence that over the animals, whether wild or domestic, "Man shall have dominion."

A great many wild-animal trainers pretend to be angry with their animals. Quietness with some of the wild creatures does not seem to answer in training. This does not mean that the trainer gets excited or angry. I notice that nearly all elephant trainers speak very loudly to their animals. And, of course, with elephants as with other animals, each trainer has his own methods, and each animal has to be treated according to his own peculiarities.

In Mr. Harry Mooney's herd of elephants in the Barnum and Bailey show in America, there is one elephant who for some reason or other cannot bear to have his feet touched. His trainers know of nothing to account for this, but surmise that at the time he was captured he must have been severely cut with the ropes. When the time comes for getting their feet in order, there is always the greatest difficulty in getting this elephant even to let any one brush off the dust.

Some elephants are very easily trained; and elephants are undoubtedly the most intelligent of all the wild animals. But they are very erratic. It is almost impossible to tell what an elephant will do at any given moment. Many cases have been known where, in the very middle of a performance, an elephant has suddenly taken it into his head to go back to his stables; and back to his stables he goes, for nothing can stop him.

Perhaps some of the most interesting wild animals to train are the chimpanzees. Bright and quick, possessed of a peculiar mercurial temperament, a chimpanzee will mimic everything he sees. Perhaps the best trainer in the world at present for these animals is Mr. Reuben Castang, whose "almost human" chimpanzees attracted so much attention at the Wonder Zoo at Olympia in 1914. He trained them at Stelligen Park near Hamburg, and has studied their habits, idiosyncrasies, and many little characteristics for years. He talks to them just as if they were human beings, and they seem fully to understand every word he says.

Many chimpanzees have been trained and exhibited, but these two, Max and Moritz, are the most wonderful I have ever seen. Moritz was born in the German colony Kamerun, and is classed as a black-faced chimpanzee. He came to Europe when a year and a half old, and has travelled nearly all over the world. He is extremely conceited, and never so happy as when studying his features in a looking-glass. His favourite amusement is carpentering, and, I regret to say, his favourite beverage is alcohol, of which he expects a good spoonful after each performance. He eats enormously - often as many as fourteen bananas at a time, in addition to other fruit.

Max, his companion, was born in the French Congo, and is what is called a bald-headed chimpanzee. He is ultra-nervous, has no patience, and very little respect for any human beings. He loves smoking and playing with fire, and learnt some rather tiresome tricks from the sailors when on a coasting vessel. He loves being petted and made much of, and cannot be driven - only persuaded, and not often that!

Max and Moritz eat fruit of all kinds, nuts, Quaker oats, tea, coffee, milk, and sometimes a little fish or boiled meat. At breakfast they have as much as many a hearty ploughman would have - and much more: tea and coffee with rolls; at midday a little Bordeaux wine with fruit cakes; at five o'clock a fruit or wine soup, Quaker oats, with vegetables and a little meat; and just before going to bed coffee and rolls with butter, also chocolate; and tea at intervals during the day. Each sleeps at night in a comfortable bed, with pillows and blankets.

Like all their kind, chimpanzees dread and hate the look of fur. I remember when visiting one Zoological Park, and being taken behind the cages to see the chimpanzees and orangutans by the keeper, that the poor animals were terrified at me -simply because I happened to have on a fur coat and hat and a fur muff. They shrieked, screamed, and spat at me to show their disgust and contempt. When the keeper explained that fur always suggested their most deadly enemies, I took off my coat, hat, and muff, and then in my blouse and skirt went over to them. Their behaviour was quite different. They came forward, shook hands, and as a matter of fact, offered to be far more friendly than I wished them to be!

It was the same with Max and Moritz. They hated my furs. And I was much amused when Mr. Castang explained it to me and told me of the story of the lady in Berlin. It seems that this lady, much interested in wild animals, camo repeatedly to the Circus Busch at Berlin to see Max and Moritz. She always wore a heavy fur coat and hat, and before going through their performances both Max and Moritz insisted on going towards the box in which she sat and spitting at her disdainfully! Having thus satisfied their feelings of disgust and contempt, they would then go through their performance without any further trouble!

These two chimpanzees can draw corks from bottles, make their own beds, wash themselves, brush their own clothes, clean their bicycles, and simply love picture-books and children. Both possess wonderful marksmanship, and can throw and hit with great precision. But as for mischief! Sly and crafty, always ready for a "good old spree," they are also always on the look-out for mischief. In some peculiar intuitive manner they got to know that their trainer did not wish to have any unpleasantness in the circus ring when they were performing. For a time all went well, then Max would suddenly jump out of the ring, spring up the sides of the circus, or perhaps go over to one of the attendants and pull his leg so suddenly that the man would topple over!

A curious thing was that no threats, no coaxings, no persuasions had the very slightest effect. At rehearsal both would behave beautifully, but at all the public performances they seemed filled with the spirit of mischief, and it speaks well for the trainer that he neither lost his temper nor got impatient with them. What he felt is another matter known only to himself. He has been teaching and training these chimpanzees now for several years, but there is never any end to the teaching. Their health too requires the most careful watching, and at times gives great anxiety. But they are wonderful animals, and to see them take off and put on their clothes is appallingly human.

One of the best-known trainers of seals and sea-lions in the world is Captain Joseph Woodward. These animals want very careful training, and are at first very vicious. They are also able to bite very severely, and are very powerful animals when angered. Like all other animals who are taught to perform tricks, they are made to do the same things over and over again, always rewarded by a piece of fish every time they do the trick right. As a matter of fact, this is the whole secret of wild-animal training, whether the creatures come from the jungle or the icy regions of the North Pole.

Lions, tigers, leopards, etc., are given little pieces of meat as rewards; bears, pieces of fish, or small lumps of fat; elephants, all kinds of things - fruit, vegetables, buns, or some other dainty; while walrus, seals, and sea-lions are given fish and nothing else. It is all a matter of getting something. Whips and hot irons, prods with terrible spears, which some people believe them to be tortured with, would only have the effect of the trainer being killed. Wild beasts do not take any ill-treatment lightly.

In the case of sea-lions, blows would simply bruise them. All seals and sea-lions are covered with a layer of blubber; to bruise this fat, or blubber, would cause them not only great discomfort, but sometimes end in inflammation and death. All sea-lions have a wonderful capacity for juggling. They also possess marvellous balancing powers and a great appreciation of distance; to balance billiard balls, carry a lamp on the nose while turning over and over on the floor, shows an extraordinary power of equalising its movements in perfect balance. Unless men had tried to train these creatures, we should never have known of their wonderful powers or of their great intelligence.


That women, even supposing that they are abnormally strong and courageous, should take up the training of wild animals as a means of gaining a livelihood, must always remain a mystery to many people. Even when they have learned to control the animals and make them do what they wish, and have become, in show parlance, "stars," their lives are extremely hard and daily full of danger.

In the first place, of course, women are not so well fitted, physically, to control those wild animals; although, whenever it comes to a matter of physical strength, the strongest man in the world cannot cope with a wild animal. It is the will-power, the quiet determination to make them do what is required of them; and in many cases of great danger or emergency, it is a well-known fact that women have sometimes greater tact and quickness of perception than men.

The majority of women who become wild-animal trainers are those who have been born among circus- or show-people. Living in daily contact with, and surrounded by, wild animals of all kinds, they become indifferent to the many dangers from force of habit and circumstances, and take a great many things as a matter of course which would thrill and terrify outsiders. A great many women do it because they are fond of animals and take a great interest in them. They learn by degrees, and gradually grow to like the work. There is the ever-present sense of danger and adventure; the fascination of the lights, music, and audience; and the applause and admiration of the public. Others of course enter it for other reasons - some willingly, others not at all willingly.

One nice, refined girl, who had been a typist in a wild-animal show, began to find her life monotonous compared with that of the performers of the show. Also she was not so well off, and they made double the money that she did. She asked the proprietor to allow her to train some leopards. As these are the most crafty and treacherous of all the cat tribe, he would not hear of it. At last, however, she persuaded him to let her try with one or two. To make a long story short, she eventually became one of the finest trainers, and has kept it up to the present time. Rather a curious contrast to her former quiet life!

She was a willing pupil. But I know of one wild-animal trainer who, being absolutely fearless himself, suddenly decided one day to make a lion trainer of his wife. When he announced this to her she was simply appalled.

"How can I possibly perform with lions?" she asked. "You know very well I am terrified to death if I see a mouse."

But the man was determined. Once he had said a thing it must be carried out. No tears, no appeals were of any avail, and after giving five lions a preliminary training himself he made her go into the cage with them, and accompanied her in her first public performances. Night after night the poor woman wept bitterly, and it is difficult to understand how any man professing, as he did, any affection for his wife could be so cruel.

His was not only a profession of affection either, for realising that his wife was not a very strong woman he took the greatest care of her, and looked after her comforts. He always took up her early morning tea to her helped her in many other ways, and was worried when she was ill.

It was bad enough when her husband went into the cage with her, but when the time came for her to go in with all the five lions by herself she declared she could not do it. But her husband laughed at her fears. The moment came for the lions to be let out, and taking her place behind them she entered the arena, and as the two gates clicked behind her she realised that she was alone with five lions.

With a flick of the whip, a sharp, imperious command, she ordered them to their pedestals, and so strong is habit among trained animals that one and all obeyed instantly, and the performance went through without a hitch. After this she never had the slightest difficulty in controlling the animals, and the curious sequel is that she finally became one of the finest and best of all the women trainers, taking great pride in her power over the animals, and was never so happy as when performing. Another curious incident in connection with this story is that she never overcame her horror of mice, and would jump on anything handy, with a piercing scream, the moment she saw or thought she saw one!

One of the most beautiful and refined women I have ever met is Miss Claire Heliot, a very noted trainer of lions. She is the daughter of a Leipzig professor. Her father died when she was very young, and she found it necessary to earn her own living. After one or two ventures at teaching it was suggested to her that, as she was so fond of animals, she should train one or two young lions in the Leipzig Zoological Gardens, and give exhibitions with them.

After a little consideration Miss Heliot determined to try, and began with two little lion cubs. She was so successful that before long she was performing in the Leipzig. Zoological Gardens with nine lions and two dogs. This was in 1899, and it was considered at that time an almost unheard-of feat for a woman.

When Miss Heliot was in New York I went at her invitation to have afternoon tea with her at her hotel. We had a delightful time, chatting about lions, lions, lions! She loved every One of hers; but one, "He was so dear - so dear! And oh, he is so fond of me. So always what you call affectionate. Does he ever scratch or bite? Why, yes; but all the lions do that, even the little cubs. But he is always so very what you call affectionate."

And then followed a recital of how her favourite lion once nearly killed her. The performance was over. The tail of the last lion was almost in the cage when the helper put down the slide from the top too soon, catching the lion's tail, and causing the poor animal frightful agony. Miss Heliot, realising what had happened, told the man to lift up the slide a little, and tried to push the tail in herself. But the lion, half turning round in his narrow cage, and wild with pain, caught her left breast, and before he let go tore her so fearfully that before a doctor could be got she almost bled to death.

"But he did not know! He was suffering so much, the poor dear!" she explained to me. And it was this very lion with whom she was photographed afterwards, her head resting on his, and his head partly resting on her breast.

Although kindness and gentleness itself, it always surprised me that when performing with her lions Miss Heliot always shouted at them. Never once in any performance did she treat them quietly, proving that each trainer has his or her own methods. She had a high, pleasant voice, but to keep up those somewhat shrill orders all through her performance must have been a groat strain in itself. She explained it to me by saying that the lions could not hear her otherwise, owing to the noise of the band. As the band at the New York Hippodrome is an unusually powerful one, this perhaps accounted for it.

Downstairs in her stables when she was talking to them she was quietness itself, and spoke to them in soft, gentle, tones, petting them continually, and all the time speaking of their wonderfully good qualities. She never allowed any one to feed them but herself, and actually let them take the meat out of her hands. It was a most dangerous and risky thing to do, and as she gave it to them in very small pieces - first ascertaining that it had been warmed to just the right temperature - they sometimes grew very impatient, and snatched at it. In taking a piece of meat one day a lion caught her hand. Instantly she shouted at him, whereupon he let go, and she promptly hit him on the nose with her bare hand, which he took quite meekly! She was wonderfully quick in all her movements, but she never grew the least bit excited or angry.

Leopards, panthers, and jaguars are considered the most treacherous of all the wild animals. The most famous trainer of these animals, Mme. Morelli, realises perfectly the terrible dangers of her life, and yet nothing will induce her to give up wearing decolletee gowns in her performances, thus leaving her neck and arms with no protection whatever. On one occasion a piece of loose lace flew out, and caught one leopard directly in the eye just as he was preparing for a spring to his pedestal. In an instant, with a hiss and snarl of rage, the leopard, instead of leaping at the pedestal, leaped straight at his trainer, and it was only her wonderful quickness in springing aside, and catching him on the nose with the end of her whip - a thing never done except in cases of great extremity - that saved her from a terrible accident, and probably death.

Once, when concluding a performance, Mme. Morelli, believing that she had driven all her leopards out, turned to leave the arena herself, not noticing that one leopard had quietly and stealthily slipped in again, and was close behind her. It is this peculiar quietness and stealth which makes leopards so extremely dangerous. There was no time to protect herself, and the leopard had leaped at her with his cruel paws on her shoulders before anyone else could help her. Naturally she had some bad tears in the flesh, but even after this no persuasions could ever make her leave off those foolish dresses, which did not protect her one little bit. Miss Claire Heliot also used to wear evening dress, but as she explained,

"But my lions never want to hurt me. They all love me!"

Mlle. Blanche Allarty is quite unique as a trainer of wild animals, since she is, I believe, the only one who has ever been able to train a dromedary. This particular dromedary, too, has a history. His name is Caesar, and he was originally the property of M. Ernest Molier, a well-known Parisian millionaire. M. Molier has the distinction of possessing the only absolutely private circus in the world. He keeps it for his own pleasure, and for the purpose of amusing his guests.

He it was who engaged Mile. Allarty to train this dromedary, and although she explained that she believed it to be almost impossible, M. Molier insisted on having it tried. It took exactly three years to train this animal, and the time, trouble, and patience spent on it can scarcely be imagined. All camels and dromedaries are vicious, bad-tempered creatures, in spite of their reputation for patience and long- suffering; and as their form of temper generally takes the shape of biting with their strong, sharp teeth, the greatest inconvenience and danger attends the training.

To punish such an animal would be worse than useless. It would simply put him in a towering rage, and he would bite and tear his trainer to pieces. Mile. Allarty used to work with this dromedary hours at a time, talking to it, persuading it, giving it dainties in the shape of food, and all the time taking every opportunity of teaching it various tricks. But M. Molier got tired of the dromedary after it was trained, and the late Mr. Frank Bostock finally bought it, and took it with its trainer to the United States, where it was exhibited for some time.

Mme. Pianka was another trainer of lions, She also was one of the many wild-animal trainers who are simply devoted to their animals. In fact, she was always ready to resent even a disparaging remark about her lions. I remember remarking once that one lion seemed very bad-tempered. She was most indignant, and said he was nothing of the sort, that he was one of the best-tempered animals which had ever lived in captivity, etc. - just as any mother would resent unpleasant remarks about her children. Any accident, she explained, was always due to some mistake or misunderstanding with the animals. She gave me one instance to prove the truth of her words.

When once performing with her lions at Buffalo, Now York, some admirer sent her a beautiful bunch of red roses just before the performance. Mme. Pianka, thinking they would give a pretty touch to her costume, took the roses into the arena with her. The lions, probably thinking that the red mass was meat, instantly sprang at her, and only her presence of mind in promptly throwing the roses away from her saved her life. As it was her shoulders were terribly scratched.

"So you see," she ended, "all these accidents happen through mistakes!"

But unfortunately some of these accidents with wild animals do not occur through any mistakes. It is simply the natural ferocity and wild nature springing up very often just when it is least expected.

There are many other women trainers I could speak of. There is one who performs under the name of Tillie Bebe, who goes in with sixteen Polar bears, who were trained by Carl Hagenbeck to be used as draught animals in the Amundsen Expedition, but whose training for that was given up for several reasons. It was concluded, for one thing, that the bears in their own country would wander off in the nights, and so all the labour and expense of taking them out there would be thrown away. But any woman who can enter a cage containing sixteen Polar bears, the meanest and most treacherous of all the bears, must not only have a fine constitution, but good temper, a wonderful poise and self-control, and extremely good nerves.

But for women I consider that wild-animal training is particularly hard. The long, tedious hours of training - generally done at night; the terrible nervous tension; the great strain of keeping every sense and nerve up to the mark; the effort to keep good-tempered under the most trying circumstances; not to speak of the constant dangers, and the bad accidents, make the life of a woman animal trainer one of the most trying on earth. Many a bad accident, too, gives a shock to the system which is not recovered from for years, and very often leaves the unfortunate victim a perfect wreck.And yet women wild-animal trainers are no different from many other women. Many of them are excellent wives and mothers, model housekeepers and good needlewomen, and nearly all of them are just as nervous and timid outside their dangerous profession as their sisters.

They have the same capacity for worrying, the same capacity for dreading trouble and crossing their bridges beforehand, and, when the time comes, just the same ability of rising above it like all other women-of seeing some way out, and of cheering and comforting those around them.

And they are all afraid of mice!


In training wild animals, as in everything else, certain methods have to be employed, according to the nature and species of the animal; in addition to this, each individual of each species has to be studied, for wild animals, like men, have, as I explained in a recent chapter, individualities and idiosyncrasies of their own.

The methods which may answer well with one lion, or tiger, as the case may be, may not answer at all with others. Quietness is generally the first requisite, but with some animals, although the cases are rare, it does not answer. Many wild animals in captivity get very slow, languid, and phlegmatic. They have as much as they want to eat, are kept clean, warmed and cared for in every possible way. The consequence is, having no hunger, no discomfort, there is no impetus whatever to be either energetic or active.

In other words, the animals grow appallingly lazy, and do not care to rouse themselves. Therefore quiet commands from the trainer have no effect; but a quick, brisk command, given in a loud, imperious tone, will rouse them, and they will then obey, although they may do so reluctantly. All this, however, is after many months of tireless patience and unwearying efforts.

To begin with, although it is always stipulated that any order given for a wild animal is subject to an agreement that the animal purchased be "in good condition," as a matter of fact wild animals on their first arrival scarcely ever are in a good condition, and it is a most difficult thing to present them even in fair condition. They always suffer from extreme fear and terror during the first months of captivity. In addition to this, they are confronted with an absolutely new method of living, a new method of feeding, a new environment - an awful one to animals accustomed to perpetual freedom.

They suffer from the effects of all the discomforts and illnesses of travel; from close confinement, from change of climate. Everything is different in every way from what they have always been accustomed to. Used from their birth to solitude, to the silence and isolation of the jungle, to the presence only of other wild animals like themselves, they are suddenly put into the midst of a crowd of men and animals, taken long journeys over land and sea, and practically never have one hour's peace and quiet from the time they leave their native homes until they reach either the wild animal show or some Zoological Gardens.

As in a great many cases they go to wild-animal shows first, we will follow them there. The trainer into whose charge they are put has all his work cut out. His first efforts are to make the animal understand that no harm is intended, that nothing is going to hurt him. But against all this there is the wild animal's inherent instincts, given to him through generations of wild animals, to beware of anything strange or unknown, and to beware particularly of Man. For some time no kindness, no dainties, have the least effect. It needs unlimited patience, unlimited time, trouble, and an abnormally good temper even to begin training a wild animal.

Another great essential is to get the animal so accustomed to the presence and appearance of the trainer that in time he will get to know him from other men. To accomplish this, a trainer will spend hours a day either sitting or walking about just outside the animal's cage, in order to make the animal used to his presence. After a time the trainer will begin the first little manoeuvres by introducing a stick into the cage, and stroking the animal on the neck and back. Those first efforts generally end by the stick being savagely crunched to pieces. Any intrusion is always resented by any wild animal, no matter what the circumstances may be.

Of course, each trainer having his own methods, these methods he adapts to each animal according as he thinks. In entering for the first time a cage containing a lion - for each animal is trained separately to begin with - the trainer generally arms himself with a chair, an ordinary wooden kitchen chair. This he holds in front of him. Should the lion attack him, he is met with four strong wooden legs which have a most uncomfortable feeling. The trainer generally manages to brace himself against the side of the cage to prevent his being thrown down, always a fatal thing to happen. When this chair-protecting act has happened once or twice, the lion begins to think, evidently, that it is an uncomfortable thing to do and leaves it off.

Then, little by little, the trainer strokes his head and body with a stick. Sometimes he gives him a little piece of meat on the end of it. Then comes the time when he strokes the lion with his bare hand. This is a most dangerous moment. But having suffered no injury or pain so far, the lion even allows this liberty, although he nearly always accompanies it with a surly growl.

Little by little he becomes accustomed to the presence of the trainer in the cage - sees him sitting there reading a newspaper perhaps, but always keeping one eye on his pupil, or simply watching him. Then a piece of meat is put a little way off, but so cunningly placed that the lion has to go over a stick to get it. The stick is put a little higher each time, until at last the lion has to jump over it to get at the meat. All this he does quite unconsciously, and so his actual training has begun without his knowing it. It is this slow development, this imperceptible progression, which finally turns the animal from a listless, apathetic brute into an alert, quick, performing animal. For after each and every little progression, no matter how simple and easy the act may be, the trainer always rewards him with a little piece of meat, a chicken's head, or perhaps a little piece of fresh liver.

Mr. Richard Sawade, who has trained every kind of wild beast, from an elephant to a chimpanzee, says that he begins training tigers by looking at them day after day through their bars, and talking to them in a quiet, soothing voice. Sometimes, however, according to the animals he has to deal with, he will shout and whistle at them, occasionally throwing them little pieces of meat. After a time they regard this shouting or whistling as a sign that something is coming, and grow interested. They are never disappointed. Each time they receive some dainty; so that it is no wonder they are always interested in his presence after a time, and watch him with much attention.

In beginning the training of tigers, one animal is taken at a time. The animal is securely chained to a strong post. This does not hurt him in the very least, but it prevents his springing at the trainer, and the trainer is able to do things which would otherwise be quite impossible. He is given when hungry little pieces of meat at the end of a pole, the trainer always talking to him the whole of the time. This is not only to give him confidence, but also to get him used to the trainer's voice - one of the greatest essentials.

After a few days the pole is shortened day by day, until at last the trainer is so close to the tiger that he is able to give him the meat with his own hands. At this point it is always some specially choice morsel which is offered him, such as a chicken's head or a big fresh bone, which all the carnivora simply love. This takes the attention off the trainer, who is naturally anxious not to attract any attention at all at this period. Even then it has to be done very carefully, for it is an extremely dangerous moment. There are a dozen things the tiger might do. He might grasp the hand and arm of the trainer, and maul him with his terrible claws, or even catch him with his teeth.

But the next movement in the game is the most anxious of all. The trainer loosens the chain and lets the tiger free in the same cage with him. In many cases, although many attendants have been ready to protect him, the tiger has flown at him and clawed him terribly. Mr. Sawado is simply tattooed with scars from these critical moments. But he never gives in. Even when he has been terribly injured in this manner, just as soon as he is out of the hospital and in fairly good condition again he resumes his training. And whether, in some incomprehensible manner, the animals are puzzled or bewildered by what they simply do not understand, I do not know; but it is an undisputed fact that the trainers who have been injured by their animals, and continue their training, invariably command the most explicit obedience and respect from the very animals who have injured them. This is a psychological problem which no one has yet been able to solve.

In teaching tigers to jump, little pieces of moat are put on various pedestals or platforms, and the tiger, which is a most intelligent animal in some respects, soon learns that if he wants the meat he has to jump; and jumping being very easy to him, and, moreover, excellent exercise, it not only is done willingly by the animal, but is to his own advantage, if he only knew it! But as to any wild animal ever being what is called "tamed," the tiger alone contradicts any little illusions on that point. He has to be watched warily, and not only that, but to be watched continually.

The sharp cracks of the whip do not, as so many people think, frighten him because he has been punished with that instrument; but to the tiger, who is after all only a wild animal, however intelligent, the crack of the whip simply reminds him of a flash of light which he does not understand, and therefore frightens him. Also, he has an hereditary fear of a rifle-shot, which has been instilled into him by the jungle experiences of his forbears, and, being only an animal, does not know the difference between the crack of a whip and the crack of a revolver or rifle.

The trainer superintends everything for the tigers himself - sees to their health, diets them carefully, and sometimes gives them a few days' diet of chicken broth or warm milk when suspecting a cold in their stomachs. When Mr. Sawade took me in to see his tigers one day, one huge animal had left a large piece of meat and was sound asleep. The man who had given them this meal was told to take the meat away, and not to give him so much another time. Too much meat, it seems, is worse than not having enough, as it will very often put the strongest wild animals out of condition for days. Not a thing, however trivial, escapes this most careful and quiet trainer, and it is no doubt owing to this fact that he is such a successful trainer. There is very little about any wild animal that he does not know from personal experience. He seems to like tigers, but says that male tigers are far more easy to train than tigresses. The latter are far more crafty, treacherous, and extremely bad-tempered.

It is of course a well-known fact that tigers and elephants are the greatest enemies to one another. And yet several trainers have succeeded in actually making a tiger ride on the back of an elephant. The methods of doing this are tedious, and take a long time. The first step is to bring the elephant in front of the tiger's cage, for half an hour at a time, several times a day. The tiger will immediately go forward with a fierce growl, and try to strike at the elephant. Every time he does this he gets a tap from the butt end of the trainer's whip. This cannot possibly injure him, but it is quite enough to make him realise that it is not a wise thing to do. In time he hesitates to strike at the elephant, and finally leaves off doing it altogether.

The next step is to fasten the tiger to the side of the cage by a short chain, and then lead the elephant into the cage and past the tiger. Naturally the tiger immediately springs at the elephant, but gets a most unpleasant jolt from the sudden pull of the chain round his neck. After doing this once or twice he also gets tired of this, and allows the elephant to walk by him without even trying to put his paw forward to touch him.

After this the tiger is placed on a platform, fastened, under which the elephant is led again and again, while the tiger looks down on his bitterest enemy puzzled and bewildered at his own helplessness. When this has been repeated a number of times, the tiger is finally taught to spring on to a saddle which is fastened to the elephant's back, and this is, in many instances, the most dangerous part of all, for in all other lessons the elephant and the trainer have been protected, either by the bars of the cage or by the chains which fastened the tiger; but in this case there is absolutely nothing to prevent the tiger from springing either at the elephant or his trainer.

But this is where the ignorance of animals comes in, which is the greatest protection of mankind. Having found himself thwarted in so many instances in things which have always been so easy to him, the animal has by this time become so accustomed to the presence of the elephant that he no longer tries to get at him or fight him, and his training ends in his kingly majesty riding round the arena of a wild-animal show on the back of his most bitter enemy, whereas, if he only realised it, one spring, and all the trainer's tactics and patience would be wasted.

But, even in a case like this, everything depends on environment. A tiger and an elephant may go on performing in this manner for months, perhaps years, in a way so contrary to all the laws of nature, and then, when something unusual occurs, the old nature of the wild beast will spring up again as fierce and untamable an ever.

In the late Mr. Frank Bostock's wild-animal show there was a lion who rode with a dog on the back of a horse. It looked very simple and easy, but should the lion jump off, the trainer would have frightful difficulties to face. The horse, of course, had been specially trained for this performance, which is unique in many ways; and a great deal of training is necessary, for horses have a strong objection to lions, and for any horse to go so far as to permit a lion to ride on his back means a great deal.

The saddle had to be specially made, and was of the very toughest leather, well padded, to prevent the lion's claws from injuring the horse, The saddle extended over the hind quarters of the horse nearly to the root of the tail; also the horse's neck, right up to his ears, was covered with a neck piece of large spangles - underneath which was strong, tough leather. Both were for the protection of the horse, for one could never tell when the lion might like to sharpen his claws, cat-fashion, on the horse's neck.

Once let the horse be injured, or even scared, and wild confusion would follow; and whenever there is confusion among wild animals there is always double danger. The most critical moments in this case, however, were whenever the horse was made to stand still; then the lion had time to think and consider, and he was just as likely to jump at his trainer as to try his little wild-animal tactics on the horse. But he was never given time enough; a few seconds' rest, and off the horse went again, and the lion had as much as he could think of to keep his seat on the saddle, which was a good thing for him, and for everybody else.

In some instances elephants are difficult to train; in others quite easy. Here again come the different natures of the animals. In any case the training, as with all the other wild animals, has to be begun by slow and easy stages; much attention paid to the little ways of the particular animal, and unlimited patience and time expended. But with elephants there is always a peculiar uncertainty. An elephant might and might not do the same tricks he has been doing perhaps for years. There is no explanation; he simply stops doing them. And when once he has made up his mind, no earthly power can control him.

Few people understand how extremely difficult it is for an animal trainer to make a wild animal understand which particular trick he wants him to perform, until that animal has become thoroughly accustomed to his cues. Even then the animal makes mistakes, and sometimes begins with the wrong trick. This, as a rule, does not matter much; but suppose an elephant makes a mistake and tosses the trainer over his back instead of the little dog, which he has been so carefully taught to do, it becomes a very serious matter.

There is a well-known elephant act where some girls are made to stand on an elephant's back. Each elephant holds out a huge foot for the fair riders to mount. This foot is likely to be put down very suddenly at any moment, which would mean an ugly fall, with the possibility also of being stepped on by the elephant. Also the huge beast is likely at any moment to put up his trunk and lift the rider off. This is rather a pretty act to outsiders, but a most uncomfortable one for the girl riders. The rough coarse hair of the elephants cuts their hand and ankles; they come in contact with the dirt and grease of the animal's skin; and for the few moments that they stand on the elephant's back while they give their little salute their position is very insecure.

Mr. Harry Mooney, Bamum and Bailey's head elephant trainer, told me it was impossible to tell what an elephant would do at any moment or under any circumstances. They are also extremely obstinate, and if once they make up their mind to have anything, they will either have it or know the reason why. In other words, they generally manage to have their own way. The following story is an instance of this:

In one of the large wild-animal shows some little time ago there was an extremely clever performing elephant. His chief act was sitting on a stool with uplifted fore feet, on each of which sat a tiny dog; a third dog sat on his head. As he was the chief performer he was rather important. So when it became evident, one evening, that he was too ill to do his act, the trainers became very worried, because it meant that there could be no elephant performance at all, since he led all the others. However, it was determined to try to get him better. So the trainers gave him a good dose of hot whisky and boiled onions - a favourite medicine with elephants. He sucked up a large pailful of this mixture, and evidently wanted more. He was so much better in half an hour that he was able to perform as usual, to the great relief of the proprietor.

But after this he would never give any performance without his dose of hot whisky and boiled onions. No threats, no coaxings, or persuasions could induce him to go on without it. Supplying the elephant with a pailful of whisky twice a day proved to be so expensive that the proprietor finally had to cut out his act altogether. In his own quarters, when he was not called upon to go into the arena, the elephant never seemed to think of the whisky at all.

In training the big apes, of course, entirely different tactics have to be used. But here again, gentleness and firmness, patience and kindness, are the only weapons which can be used. Some apes are most wonderfully human. They seem to understand almost every word which is said to them, and are keenly alive to the fact that a person is either angry or pleased with them as the case may be. Not only in animal shows, but in many of the principal zoological parks, these animals are now trained by the keepers, and seem to enjoy It as much as anyone. Chimpanzees, especially, are always ready to perform, provided they have any sort of an audience.

In one of the large Zoological Gardens at which I am a frequent visitor there is a chimpanzee who, whenever I am talking to her keeper - to which she most strongly objects - will go through the whole of her performances over and over again. When she finds, sometimes, that no notice is taken of all this demonstration, she will get into a violent rage, throw herself on the floor of the cage, scream, yell, and beat her hands just like a hysterical woman. A few kind words, however, a few praises - which she seems thoroughly to understand - and she is as pleased as possible, and then - goes through it all over again!

Orang-utans can be taught many things; but they are unreliable, extremely stubborn, and subject to sudden fits of temper without any apparent reason. These facts, added to those of their abnormal strength, fierce, unreasonable rages, and vindictive tempers, especially when full grown, make them not only difficult, but undesirable animals to train. Their slyness and craftiness, too, have to be carefully watched and avoided. At the most unexpected moments an orang will do things which one never thinks of or expects, and these are the chief things to be guarded against when having anything to do with any wild animals.

Training seals and sea-lions requires manifold patience, much insight into their many idiosyncrasies and ways, and great firmness. Sea-lions especially can give some fearful bites with their strong teeth, and some are particularly vicious, especially when first captured. I have already spoken of the wonderful intelligence of these animals, their remarkable appreciation of distance, and their power of balancing various things. The most wonderful thing in this way I have ever seen is one of Captain Woodward's sea-lions balancing a parlour lamp. This is wonderful in itself, but when the animal lies down on the floor, turns its body completely over and over without once dropping the lamp, it becomes almost unbelievable.

In teaching these animals these wonderful tricks, an immense amount of care and patience is required. Each act is done over and over again; and until it is done just in the way in which the trainer wants, the sea-lion gets no fish. But just as soon as the trick is performed in the right manner, a good-sized fish is thrown to the animal, who quite seems to understand what it is given for. Very often when training these creatures so much fish is given them that the training has to be stopped for the time, until they have become fairly hungry again.

The worst punishment these animals get when they do not do satisfactory work is either to receive no reward, or to get a good scolding. Captain Woodward talks to them just as though they were human.

"Now, why don't you attend to what I say?" he asks a huge sea-lion. "How many more times am I to tell you? Now then, once more."

And again the training goes on. He has even taught them to make different sounds which mean "Yes" or "No." To an outsider they might sound just like the ordinary "Squawk" of all sea-lions, but on my attention being called to the fact, the difference was remarkable. How he has done this is wonderful. Seals and sea-lions are very imitative when once they have been initiated into the ways of training; and very often the trainers will do things themselves in order to show them. But no man could balance a lamp on his nose, lie down on the floor, and turn his body over and over, without dropping the, lamp! There is only one creature in the world who can do that, and that is a sea-lion. Seals can also do clever things, but nothing to be compared with the things which a sea-lion can do.

In the first place, a sea-lion is much larger; has hind and front flappers, and can move about quite easily with his jelly-like body; but a seal is smaller, has tiny flappers, and can only move over dry ground by the contraction of the muscles of the under part of its body. This is not only slow and tedious, but most fatiguing to the animal. Also, it does not balance or catch so well as a sea-lion.

But with every wild animal who is trained there is one great fundamental fact. Ill treatment would be worse than useless, besides being unjust and cruel. Whatever an animal is taught to do must be repeated until he is perfect. But for every little act, every little bit of progress, he must receive a reward in the shape of his favourite food. This is the only inducement or reward that animals care for. In time their acts become purely mechanical; many animals will begin to do things when seeing the particular things they perform with, or "props," as they are called in show parlance.

I know one little bear who is particularly fond of doing one act. At the end of this little act he gets either a piece of fish, cake, or some other dainty. I once gave him a fine apple after doing it. Now, every time he sees me, he keeps on going through that little act of his - simply standing on his head and turning round once or twice - and gets wild with rage if I, or someone else, do not take any notice. Whether his rage is because he gets no notice or praise, or whether because he gets no dainty, I cannot say. Personally, I think it is because he gets no dainty. He is like all other wild animals - and many men. Unless they get some reward for their work, they do not care to do any.


With every care and precaution, the best of locks and bars, bolts, and rivets, and in spite of much thought and anxiety concerning the matter, wild animals will occasionally, in some way or another, make their escapes when in captivity, and these escapes naturally take place when least expected. When every one is keenly on the alert, continually in fear of something happening to the wild creatures, or that they may possibly break their bounds, nothing, as a rule, happens. But just when all seems undoubtedly safe, and the owners or trainers and keepers of the animals feel quite at ease, then comes the little incident which not only makes every one doubly cautious, but in many cases extremely uncomfortable.

In every Zoological Gardens or wild-animal show, no matter how carefully guarded, there comes some time or other when the animals break out, in nearly all cases with quite as much surprise to themselves as to anyone else, A bolt, perhaps, not having been driven right into its socket; a gate not properly fastened; a door not quite shut. In one wild-animal show in Paris a trainer, having finished his performance with his lions, seen them safely into their cages, given each one his small piece of meat - a reward for doing well - and having, as he thought, safely fastened them in, went in to his supper in another part of the show.

When in the middle of his supper he and his wife heard something rubbing against the door of their living-room, and the trainer, thinking it was his favourite boarhound, got up and opened the door, when in walked one of his largest lions! With great presence of mind, the trainer kept him until other trainers came and helped him to induce the lion to go back to his cage again, which he did very quietly and without the least objection.

On examining the lock of the door, it was found that the bolt ran rather too easily, and it was supposed that the lion in rubbing himself against the door unwittingly jolted the bolt back, and as the door opened he naturally walked out. It was not possible for him to get anywhere outside the trainers' precincts, but there was all the probability that, had he met a strange trainer unexpectedly, a dozen dreadful things might have happened. As it was, it spoke volumes for his trainer that the animal found his way along the passage, and up three stairs to his room, and behaved as though he did that sort of "calling" every day of his life.

As a rule lions do not try to get out when in captivity. In the case of eight lions and one tiger escaping at Leipzig from a circus van, the animals had nothing to do with it whatever. They were being moved in their van from one place to another, and, there being a peculiarly dense fog at the time, the van ran against a trolley car, with the result that it was turned over and broken.

Terrified and wild, the animals naturally struggled out, and for some hours simply terrified the inhabitants of Leipzig, as they roamed through all the streets, and one lion actually jumped on to a motor omnibus. Imagine the passengers' feelings! Three of the other lions in their wanderings, being attracted by the bright lights of one of the big hotels, went calmly inside, causing a frantic panic among every one in the building. Finally, after a most anxious and terrible time, the difficulties added to frightfully by the dense fog, six lions were killed and the others taken alive. But this was only after over 500 shots had been fired, and many hours spent in fruitless search. This happened in October 1913.

Some wild animals, such as bears, foxes, pumas, leopards, etc., seem to be always on the watch to get out, and are so sly and crafty that it needs constant supervision and great care to see that they do not either gnaw through the floors of their cages or weaken some fastening or bolt. Bears especially are so very strong and powerful with their teeth and claws that special precautions have to be taken. When kept in cages the very hardest teak wood is used, and then the cages are sometimes lined with zinc or sheet iron. Even then an indefatigable bear has been known to get one or two claws underneath the zinc or sheet iron, and when once this has been accomplished, a good wrench will make an excellent beginning for ripping the whole lining.

Most bears are kept in stone dens, surrounded by iron railings. But even in these cases bears have been known to get out. Some remarkable cases took place in the London Zoological Gardens some years ago. A huge Polar bear was found about six o'clock one morning sitting quite comfortably among the shrubs in the Gardens licking his paws.

The alarm was at once given, and the keepers, armed with every kind of implement they could pick up, hastened to the spot. The Polar bear stopped licking his paws to look quietly at the many men looking at him, and, evidently wishing to be alone, got up with a little grunt and walked calmly away, followed by the men, who were uncertain as to what was the best thing to be done. One keeper was armed with a strong lasso; this he looped and threw with great dexterity, slipping the noose tight over the bear's head!

The great creature did not appear to mind this, however, and at once went off into a swinging stride. Seeing some railings just in front of him, he climbed over, no doubt with the intention of keeping up his promenade on the other side. But the men held on for dear life; while the tighter and harder they pulled, the tighter grew the cord round the bear's neck until he was nearly suffocated. Mad with rage the bear suddenly put forth all his strength and snapped off the cord close to his ear, leaving the tight noose round his neck. But a few struggles with his strong claws soon loosened that, and off he went again, shaking his shaggy white body from side to side, and keeping a very close watch on the men who were following him.

Whenever they came too close he would stop and turn round suddenly, and his attitude was unmistakably dangerous. It was useless to attack him; besides, he was a valuable animal, and as long as he kept in the Gardens they were anxious not to hurt him. Whenever he showed any signs of going near the entrance he was turned skilfully and carefully in another direction, and after about three hours' hard work he was at last driven into the passage which leads into the carnivora dens. As it was luckily quite near to his own home; he was finally driven behind his bars again without being hurt in any way. He seemed rather glad to be back, and soon settled down again, appearing to forget all about it. But the poor tired keepers did not so soon recover from the effects of their struggles.

Another bear belonging to these same Gardens, who once got out, was a brown bear. In some way he managed actually to climb up his pole to the top of the bear-pit and jump off. He raced round the Gardens, turned over a number of chairs and tea-tables, and seemed to be in an exceptionally bad temper. Several keepers came up, and seeing them, the bear decided to turn back again. He ran along the top of the terrace which leads to the bear-den, and when he reached it looked down thoughtfully. Afraid that he might turn back again, one of the keepers ran forward with a rush, and with an old broom gave the bear such a sudden and unexpected push that he tumbled headlong into the pit again; and no one seemed more surprised than himself.

Sam and Barbara, the fine Polar bears who are at present in the London Zoological Gardens, also once got out, and gave the keepers a chase. But when Sam was finally driven towards his own quarters, tempting pieces of meat and fat strewed right along the path which led to the entrance made him follow up the trail without the least delay until he was right inside and a prisoner once more. Barbara was also soon caught and restored to her husband, who seemed quite glad to see her again. But with the new open enclosure there is no chance of any escape. The chasms are far too wide; the walls much too high.

Some time ago, in the Belle Vue Zoological Gardens, Manchester, a leopard one night got out of its cage and walked about the lion house, sniffing, and evidently very much puzzled. A woman, who was some relation to one of the officials of the Gardens, saw it, and most courageously went straight into the lions' house. Lifting up her apron, she "shooed" it as she did her hen and chickens. The animal was so surprised and puzzled that it walked straight back into its own cage, and stood quietly looking at her while she fastened him in.

A few years ago, when moving from one place to another, a large black panther, which had just arrived in the late Mr. Frank Bostock's show in company with three other panthers, caused great excitement by escaping. While moving them from the travelling-cages to their permanent dens, the black one - the most savage and dangerous of all panthers - in spite of the most careful precautions, slipped out and escaped.

The show was exhibiting just then in France, in a large open part of the country, a long way from buildings of any kind; and it being a jet-black night, and the animal as black as the night, the task of finding it was almost impossible. Diligent search was kept up the whole of that night and all the next day, but without the slightest sign of the panther. The proprietor was terribly worried, for it might mean a bad accident at any moment, as women and children were coming in great crowds to the show.

But the morning afterwards a working-man came to the show and said, casually, that in the house in which he was working - a new one, in course of building - he had seen a very large black cat; enormous it was, and he wondered if it could be the panther which the show-people had lost. All this in the most unconcerned manner, the man evidently not having the very least idea of the great danger and ferocity of the animal.

Without losing a moment, Mr. Bostock, with several of his men, took a large shifting den, and, well armed with weapons of defence, they sallied forth, keeping a sharp look-out on all sides; for black panthers are so marvellously quick in their movements, and so light in springing, that the brute was likely to jump on them at any moment. But they all arrived safely at the unfinished house, and, carrying a thick rope and a loaded revolver, Mr. Bostock led the way. They had gone nearly all over the house - the man having said he last saw it going upstairs - when they cautiously descended to the cellar, and there in a corner, lying quietly and comfortably down, was the panther. In front of it were the remains and a few feathers of some chickens, which it had evidently found and helped itself to. At sight of the intruders it kept quite still, but drew back its lips, showing its teeth and breathing in a savage, throaty manner. Keeping very quiet, the men tried to lasso it with the rope; but the panther was too quick each time and dodged it most skilfully. They had hoped to capture it in this manner and draw it into the shifting cage, but soon found that this was out of the question. Then Mr. Bostock, with a loaded revolver in one hand and holding a wooden shutter in front of him with the other as a shield, went in to drive it out. But he had no sooner put one foot inside than the panther charged furiously at him, throwing him to the ground and scratching him terribly on one arm. At the same time it knocked the pistol out of his hand.

Knowing well that all panthers go for the throat in any attack, Mr. Bostock quickly grasped it round the neck; and being a very muscular man, succeeded in choking it for a moment and thus causing it to pause. This pause was the animal's undoing and Mr. Bostock's salvation. For, with a quick movement, Mr. Bostock threw himself on the panther, letting his full weight rest on him; and the panther was nearly suffocated and could only struggle feebly. But this could not be kept up long, so with marvellous rapidity the men fastened ropes round its feet and then its body, and got it safely into the den. Not a man but was streaming with perspiration, and Mr. Bostock was bleeding profusely, so no time was lost in getting back and obtaining medical assistance. It took some time to recover from these terrible scratches, all wounds from wild animals being peculiarly painful; but the marks remained to the day of Mr. Bostock's death.

Mr. Reuben Castang, who attracted so much attention at Olympia, London, with his wonderful trained chimpanzees, once had a most thrilling adventure with a large Bengal tiger, which escaped in St. Josephs, Missouri, in the United States. In driving the caged animals to their destination in the town, in some unfortunate manner the travelling-car came suddenly in contact with a huge waggon, and the travelling-cage was turned completely on one side. One huge tiger finally worked his way out and proceeded to roam through the streets of the town; possibly through the boards being splintered by the fall. This was about one o'clock in the morning.

Mr. Castang, with several of his men, armed with weapons of defence, at once set off in search of the tiger. It was a pitch-dark night, they were absolute strangers in the town, and the only guide they could get to the tiger's whereabouts was his gleaming eyes, which occasionally, and at the most unexpected moments, shone forth like evil green lights in the darkness. First of all the tiger made his soft and crafty way to the railway station, and here, sometimes under a goods truck or luggage waggon, they would see the green eyes, and sometimes hear a hissing snarl.

They succeeded at last in driving him into a little enclosed fence, where his cage had been put most invitingly, carefully baited with a luscious piece of meat. At last they concluded that their struggles and fears were over, but just as the animal had smelt the meat, gone over to the entrance of the cage, and seemed about to enter, he suddenly altered his mind, and with a wild leap and bound was over the fence and away again! The men wiped their streaming faces, and wondered how they could keep up much longer. But the safety of the public was at stake, and they were bound to go on and do their best.

After wandering all through the town the tiger finally went in between two small frame houses, and there seemed inclined to stay Mr. Castang and his men put the cage most invitingly at one side, and tried to drive the fierce animal into it by shouting at him, and making all sorts of weird noises. Just at this moment the door of one of the little frame houses opened, and an old coloured woman, the typical old "Mammy" of the United States, came out, and, with her hands on her hips, began:

"Fo' de Lord's sake, boys, why you makin' this racket? Can't you let decent folks ---"

But at this moment she was interrupted by wild shouts of, "Go inside, there's a tiger here broken out."

The door was shut, and the old Mammy disappeared with a promptness remarkable for one of her age, but she reappeared at one of the upper windows with a lighted candle, evidently thinking she could help them find the tiger! She gave voluminous directions and advice, none of which, it is not necessary to say, at such a critical moment received the least attention. But finally the tiger was caught and safely secured, and Mr. Castang eventually received a medal recording his bravery. It requires courage to face any tiger in broad daylight, but in a dense, dark night, with sometimes no idea of his whereabouts, it needs a man with abnormal nerve and grit, which Mr. Castang undoubtedly has. When once captured the tiger seemed perfectly content, and settled down as though nothing had happened.

As recently as February 10, 1914, a tiger, when being exercised in one of the Hagenbeck shows, managed in some peculiar manner to make its escape in Brussels, and calmly walked into the street, causing a wild panic among the people, who fled in all directions. It unfortunately happened to be the weekly market day, and crowds had come in from the country, from various parts. All the trainers turned out, and accompanied by policemen and citizens followed the animal all down the Hue de la Digue, brandishing revolvers, and shouting. Finally the tiger, finding itself pursued, and becoming flurried, bolted into a tobacconist's shop, and there seemed inclined to stay indefinitely.

At once all sides of the shop were carefully barricaded, and so cleverly converted into a trap for the tiger. A travelling-cage was brought up from the show, placed, with a piece of fresh meat, just in front of the only outlet, and then some men went right into the shop and did their best to drive the tiger out. They were obliged to enter through one of the windows, and it was a terribly dangerous proceeding, as the tiger had ample time, had he wished, to spring at each one when entering. But he did not do so, and as all the men were fortunate enough to get behind him they forced him to leave the shop and re-enter the cage.

Perhaps one of the most exciting escapes of a hippopotamus was that of a young one belonging to the late Mr. Carl Hagenbeck. This young hippopotamus had just been purchased by Mr. Hagenbeck in South Germany, and when it arrived at Hamburg the arduous task of transferring it to the waggon, and then from the waggon to the stable, took place. The first was accomplished without any difficulty, but for some reason or other the huge animal did not appear to want to leave the waggon. She took various delicacies which were offered her, and then drew inside again.

They were all very patient with her, but when several hours had been wasted in this manner, and no progress had been made, it was decided to try some other method. So some men went to the back of her cage, and gave her some hard blows; but this, instead of making her come out, only caused her to turn round and try to get at the men. Then Mr. Carl Hagenbeck himself tried, and just as he had got the men at the back the huge animal suddenly turned round again in a fury, and charged the barrier, sending it down with a crash and burying the men underneath.

Just as the hippopotamus was rushing at the men out of the waggon Mr. Hagenbeck, knowing her intentions, rushed up to her, and gave her a good hard kick. The kick could not possibly hurt such a thick-skinned animal, but it turned her attention away from the men to Mr. Hagenbeck himself, and with a furious snort of rage she rushed at him. Mr. Hagenbeck was known to be an extremely brave man, but he knew too much about wild animals to be the least bit foolhardy, and seeing at once what was in store for him he took to his heels, and ran as he had never run in his life before.

Seeing no other way of escape, he ran right into the very house which was waiting for the huge animal, and springing across the water crept through the wide wooden bars on the other side, only just in time to escape the infuriated animal. Even in that supreme moment of danger Mr. Hagenbeck did not lose his wits, but rushing round to the door of the stall quickly closed it. The hippopotamus's escape was at an end and she was a prisoner for life! To the onlookers, had it not been for the danger, it would have been a most comical sight, but no one laughed until it was all over. It had been far too serious.

Of course, when any wild animal does get out it is rare indeed but what someone suffers for it in some way; but there have been other cases which have been rather amusing. Nearly all New Yorkers can remember when a very young puma got out of its cage in the New York Zoological Park some years ago, and was away for several days. It was only a baby and more like a young playful kitten than a wild animal, but the story of its escape, of course, altered as the days went on, and by the third day workmen were afraid to go home by the Park, mothers kept their children at home from school, and nearly everyone was afraid to go into the Park itself.

In vain Dr. Hornaday, the Director of the Park, explained that it was only a playful cub; that it would not harm a fly, that it had been a great pet of the keepers, etc. It was no use. Even the papers got excited over it at last, and said it was time steps were taken to recapture it, and so protect the public from a wild animal at large. And just at this time a farmer's wife, living about a couple of miles from the Park, went out one morning to feed her chickens, and found all the hens with their broods cuddled up in a frightened state in a corner of the yard. After looking round for hawks, and seeing no signs of any, she went into one of the coops, and there, in the corner, licking its paws comfortably, was a tawny-looking cat, who looked at her quietly for a few moments and then went on licking its paws as before.

And this quiet-looking cat, who licked up some milk from a saucer which the farmer's wife offered it, was the "dangerous wild animal" which the papers and public had been making such a fuss about! Information was at once sent to the Park, and the keeper came and took his lost pet, and so that was the last of it; except that many people went after this to look at the "wild animal," and were much amused when they saw a playful young puma rolling over and over on its back playing with the shadows and purring loudly.

But what is a far more amusing and most unique incident is that of a lion making its escape in Australia only a few years ago. The story has been given me by an authority whose word is absolutely reliable, and has not yet been published either in this country or on the Continent. The incident took place in Melbourne.

It seems that a lion, a full-grown male, was one of a group performing at that time in a large music-hall. One afternoon, after the performance, in some way his cage was left open, and the lion very quietly walked out of the stage door and down the street. At first no one seemed to notice him, but after a while he met a lady, who looked at him for a moment and then, realising that it was actually a live lion, promptly fainted away. The lion stopped, sniffed at her contemptuously, and then, evidently not considering her interesting, passed on.

By this time he had been seen, and people flew from him in all directions, but the lion kept on his way quietly, and curiously enough walked right up one of the principal streets in Melbourne, and actually turned into the offices of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals! Of course, after the first moment of paralysed astonishment, every door in the building was immediately looked against him, and fortunately someone had the presence of mind to shut the outer door as well, so he was confined to the vestibules and stairs.

After walking round and making a quiet tour of inspection, the lion began to get restless and wanted to get out, and spent his time in rushing up and down the stairs, roaring at the top of his powerful voice. Meanwhile, the immense crowd outside which had quickly gathered shouted loud and futile advice to those imprisoned inside, whose feelings can better be imagined than described. Finally, his trainer arrived just when everyone was becoming desperate, and, backing the cage which he had brought with him to the door, invited the lion, with kind words and a piece of meat, to enter it. And the lion walked placidly into the cage, ate his piece of meat, and then, settling himself down comfortably, went sound asleep!

It would have been an interesting study in physiognomy to see the various expressions on the faces of the officials and employees of the S.P.C.A. as the lion raced up and down the stairs of their building, roaring at the top of his voice, and incidentally giving big thumps at the doors occasionally with his heavy tail as he passed by! But when the lion had departed, and the doors were opened once more, there can be no doubt that very much the same sort of expression then rested on every face there-that of immense relief!


IN all the animal world there is no voluntary recluse, or hermit. No animal, whether wild or domestic, ever likes to he alone for very long at a time. It is now a recognised fact among all naturalists, and those who are connected in any way with the care of wild animals in captivity, that with all and every animal companionship is absolutely essential to its happiness, health, and well-being. Among the big apes especially, solitude means loneliness, unhappiness, and sickness.

Birds of all kinds and species hate solitude. Even among the most pugnacious and quarrelsome of the big birds companionship is essential, even though they have frequent rights and jars among themselves. The jars seem to stimulate them; the fights appear to do them all the good in the world, even though they be objects of suffering in the way of torn heads, loss of feathers, bunged-up eyes, etc. It seems to relieve their feelings in some way, and lets off the superfluous energy which must necessarily be far worse in captivity than in their native state.

Parrots particularly, and all gregarious birds of the tropics, begin to mope and pine away if kept in solitary captivity. The well-known naturalist Alexander Wilson, tells a pathetic story of a green Carolina parrot of whom he made a great pet, being so fond of it that he even took it with him at one time when he went to South America. The parrot was very docile and affectionate, but seemed ill-at-ease and restless whenever birds of his own species flew by. So the naturalist, sympathising with his pet, got a companion for him, and he was at once perfectly happy and contented.

Unfortunately the companion was accidentally killed, and the poor green parrot grieved and fretted until his master thought he would die. One day, holding it in his arms, he passed his shaving-glass, and the parrot, seeing his own reflection in the looking-glass, at once called out a welcome to the imaginary parrot, so wonderfully like himself! After this the naturalist procured a larger looking-glass, and put it on the parrot's table; and here, day after day, the parrot would nestle up to the glass, talk to his own reflection, and seemed delighted with all the movements that the image of himself made in the glass. After this he was never lonely or depressed, but I believe lived to a good old age.

This liking for society has no doubt been the reason why, in captivity, so many strange friendships have been formed, not only between animals of the same species, but between. animals who, in their native state, are antagonistic to one another in every respect.

In one of the mixed groups which the late Mr. Carl Hagenbeck had trained there were a tiger, a panther, and a pert little fox terrier. Curiously enough, these three animals, so entirely different in every way, usually hating and terribly afraid of one another, became the greatest of friends. The panther would lie on its back, and even invite the dog to play with him by rolling on his back, pawing him gently, and then gliding swiftly away, with a little invitation to him to follow; and when the terrier, coming forward with uplifted tail, and barking impudently, would playfully bite him, the panther would pat him on the nose, and then run away. And, occasionally, this would go on for a whole hour at a time.

Meanwhile the tiger, a particularly fierce Bengal specimen, would watch them with a curious inscrutable expression, and sometimes get up and roll over on his back - he was never so familiar as the terrier, and never so playful as the panther. But this tiger would actually allow the little terrier to gnaw the same bone that be was gnawing, and when, at one time, the terrier took up a small piece of the tiger's hone and walked off with it to a corner, the huge animal did not attempt to hurt him, not even growling or showing the slightest anger. This is particularly remarkable with the large carnivora, as, even with the most amiable animals, no liberties must be taken with their food.

Another remarkable instance of a tiger's docility is a large animal in Mr. Richard Sawade's group of trained tigers, which was exhibited at Olympia a short time ago. Quiet and gentle, good-natured and affectionate - a rare thing among the carnivora - this tiger allows his trainer to pat his head, fondle his ears, and will follow him all round the arena, when not giving an actual performance. In nearly every case when a tiger attempts to follow the trainer, no matter under what circumstances, or friendly attitude, it means that he is simply bent on attacking him with villainous intention. But not in this case.

In the New York Hippodrome a short time ago a remarkable friendship existed between a baby elephant and a fine large boarhound, both belonging to Mr. George Power. The dog was in the habit of going regularly every morning to a butcher's shop close by the Hippodrome, where the butcher would give him a goodly parcel of bones and scraps of meat wrapped in brown paper. The dog would go straight home to the Hippodrome, lay the parcel down in front of the little elephant, and wait patiently until the young animal had turned out the contents on the floor. Not caring for meat, he would poke at it with his trunk disdainfully, and then take no further notice of it.

This was the moment when the boarhound would come forward and take it all up again - bone by bone, and scrap by scrap - carry it all over to his own kennel, and then make a good breakfast at his ease. But he was never once known to attempt to eat it without first offering it to his little friend.

Also, when he was given cake or biscuits, the dog would offer them first to the young elephant. But this was a different matter. Not a bit or scrap did the little elephant give back to his faithful friend. Once or twice, when watching them, I was amused to see the dog, after waiting patiently and watching the other's enjoyment, very cautiously put one paw forward as though to take a little bit of the dainty. But, at the least sign of such an action, the little elephant would lift up his trunk and his voice, and trumpet his very loudest, vastly indignant that the dog should try to get any. And then the funniest thing was to watch the dog's expression!

Such a meek, apologetic, reproachful expression. As though to say, as he licked his lips, "Well, I think you might have let me have a taste!" He never used strong measures, however; if the baby elephant liked to eat it all, he let him do it without any further remonstrance. But I was pleased when his trainer told me, some time afterwards, that the dog had left off taking all his scraps of cake to his friend. When he had a particularly nice piece, he either ate it at once or else took it to his kennel, where he ate it without saying anything about it!

A most peculiar friendship has existed for several years between one of the giraffes in the Barnum and Bailey Circus and a bantam rooster. The little rooster, self-satisfied and conceited as all bantams are, always stays just outside the giraffes' enclosure, sometimes strutting along on the ground, or else sitting on the railing crowing at all sorts of times, by day and night. The giraffe will look down at him, watch him crowing, and once in a while try to reach him with his long, black tongue. At other times the rooster will fly up and sit on the giraffe's back or sloping neck and crow there! As a general rule giraffes are terribly nervous, sensitive creatures, and some would be terrified at the unusualness of such a thing; but this giraffe takes it all quietly, turns his head and looks at the bantam with his large, beautiful eyes, puts out his tongue, which the rooster dodges most skilfully, and takes no further notice, no matter how many times he crows, or how many times he tumbles off the giraffe's sloping neck and flies up again - all in the noisy, fussy manner that all bantams have.

In one of the large wild-animal shows there is a strange trio who, from having been taught and trained to work together, have become the firmest friends. The leader of the trio is a clever little chimpanzee, who rides what looks like a diminutive donkey or pony. As a matter of fact, the "pony" is a large dog, dressed up with a head- and tail-piece. But between this large dog, the chimpanzee, and a little terrier which follows them round led by a rope there is the firmest friendship.

On one occasion, when walking round, the little terrier was accidentally kicked by the attendant, and yelped out; the chimpanzee, thinking, I suppose, that he was hurt, looked angrily at the attendant, and told him what he thought of him in many fearful grimaces and sharp chatterings.

But although there is a good deal of love between these three, there is also a great deal of jealousy. One must not be given anything unless the others get something at the same time. Otherwise there is an uproar and much angry discussion in their own language. And let me explain here that when an angry chimpanzee screams at the top of his voice, a big dog bays his loudest, and a fox terrier barks his hardest in his quick, snappy way, the only word which adequately describes this combination of sounds is "pandemonium." So care is now taken to give a little to each, unless they are separated from one another. But these three do not care to be apart very long. Their friendship is strong and sincere, and they are always happiest when working, playing, or sleeping together.

It is not a usual thing for horses and elephants to become friendly, although there have been several instances of this. In a circus in Australia there is a full-grown male elephant who performs with two little ponies. At first there were the usual difficulties in making them even become sufficiently used to one another so that they would not be frightened or hurt. After this came the training; this was followed by one of the firmest friendships that ever existed between animals. The ponies were never happy when away from the elephant; the elephant was never happy when away from the ponies. But the most curious fact was that the two dogs who performed with them never made friends with either, but kept coldly aloof, and very much to themselves.

The cubs of wild animals rarely become friendly with one another. As a rule they fight so fiercely and vindictively that, unless separated, one or the other is eventually killed. But in the Dublin Zoological Gardens two little lion cubs and two little tiger cubs are on the most friendly terms, and play together as though they were all of one family. This same sort of thing was found in the Amsterdam Zoological Gardens a short time ago. A tiger cub and a puma cub lived together in the most perfect harmony for several months. But when, with increasing age, their natural fierce instincts asserted themselves, they showed signs of quarrelling, and so, to prevent any chance of a bad accident, they were separated before they had an actual fight.

In one of the enclosures at Olympia was a collection of young wild animals which was very suitably called "The Kindergarten." Here were young hyenas, striped and spotted; young polar and brown bears; a young sloth bear; several Eskimo dogs, and two or three quite young lions. That wild animals so naturally antagonistic to one another should be found to live together in perfect amity in this manner speaks extremely well for those who had kept them in this manner in captivity. That fact alone is a convincing proof, to those who know anything about wild animals, that nothing but kindness had been used in making these young wild creatures, collected from various parts of the world, live together in a friendly way.

But whether this wonderful friendly feeling will continue to exist when the animals grow older I very much doubt. Of course, like all animals even of the same species, they have their little differences at times. One morning one young lion seemed very lazy and drowsy, and lay stretched at full length along a thick branch which had been set up in the middle of the enclosure. A young pure-white Eskimo dog, for some reason or other, did not seem to want the lion to sleep, for each time he settled down the dog would reach up, put his fore legs on the branch, and bark incessantly.

The young lion took not the very slightest notice of him, except occasionally to open his eyes in a sleepy manner, and then shut them again. Presently one of the hyenas, noticing the dog's actions, slunk quietly over in its stealthy, slinking way, and climbed up to the branch, putting its paws on the branch exactly in the same way as the Eskimo dog. But then, for some unknown and peculiar reason - perhaps the stirring of his natural instincts - the very minute the hyena's feet touched the branch the young lion sprang up, and with a sudden growl and display of teeth showed that he was furiously angry. The hyena, like all his kind, a most arrant coward, at once slunk down and away, the hair on his neck erect, his head down, and his tail between his legs. Whether it was from having been so frequently disturbed, or whether the hyena, having dared to take such a liberty, had upset him, I do not know, but it was quite evident for the rest of the morning that the young lion was decidedly irritable. When they are a couple of years older it would be interesting to hear whether these young animals are as friendly as they are at the present time. I doubt it very much.

At the same time, in the next enclosure at the Wonder Zoo, there was a collection of adult animals, and animals which one would naturally suppose would not be likely to agree. Two eland, the largest of all the antelopes; zebras, noted for their pugnacious and bad-tempered dispositions; gnus, also generally inclined to be quarrelsome; and ostriches, with a few cranes, storks, etc. Each animal appeared to go entirely its own way, and did not interfere with the other. But I noticed one day that the ostriches had been partitioned off; whether because they did not agree, or for some other reason, I do not know.

That sudden reactions of unfriendly feeling do take place occasionally between wild animals was proved a short time ago in the London Zoological Gardens. Several sea-lions, a seal, one king penguin, and several other smaller penguins had been living together in the sea-lion ponds for over three years, when one day, without the very slightest warning, one of the biggest of the sea-lions suddenly attacked the smaller penguins, and had destroyed and eaten two or three before the keeper noticed what was going on! Needless to say, prompt measures were taken at once, and now, instead of walking calmly about among the sea-lions as before, the penguins are separated from them by high wire netting. It was rather a curious sight to see the sea-lions looking thoughtfully through the netting at the penguins after this, and one could not help wondering what they were thinking about. The penguins appeared perfectly unruffled, but carefully kept a most respectful distance from the wire netting!


In the Jardin d'Acclimatation in Paris there is an infirmary for sick monkeys. A large baboon, who had been a great care and anxiety to the keepers on account of his vicious and savage disposition, fell ill, and was sent to the infirmary. Owing to his reputation he was put into a large cage by himself. Nearby was a little common Mona monkey, very pitiful and pathetic in his illness, and to this little monkey the savage baboon took a great fancy. He showed his preference in such a marked manner that at last it was decided to put their cages closer together, in order to see what the little monkey thought about it.

But the little monkey seemed to reciprocate the affection, and after a while the two were put together in the same cage, not without many misgivings on the part of the attendants. And the two were perfectly happy, and became1 the greatest of friends. The baboon became almost amiable in comparison to what he had been, and when, after a time, they both regained their health and were taken back to their old quarters, they were still always allowed to remain together, and this friendship continued until the death of the baboon, when the little monkey was for a long time inconsolable.

A somewhat similar case happened in America some time ago. A large consignment of wild animals for a wild-animal show at Coney Island contained one adult female monkey, who, from the time of her capture until she finally reached the end of her journey at New York, grieved and fretted, whined and moaned, in sheer misery of spirit.

No coaxing or kindness, no food, however dainty and tempting, could cheer her, and it was feared many times that she would starve herself to death. She was weak and emaciated, her eyes wore red and blurred, her coat mangy and ragged, and her breath came in short, quick gasps.

But just before being landed at New York, a young monkey who had been ill, and had been treated by her fellow-monkeys with that peculiarly brutal manner which all animals have when one of their number is sick, was put into the same cage with her. At any other time fears would have been entertained for the little one's safety with a morose monkey, but it was concluded that the old monkey was so weak and dejected that she would take no notice of the new-comer.

And at first this seemed as though it would he so. The little monkey, with her old, wrinkled, careworn face, whimpered a little at finding herself in a new cage, and, being weak and miserable too, huddled herself up in a corner and shivered. The old monkey never moved, but her eyes took in every movement of the young one, and after a few minutes' watching she gave a curious little guttural cry as though in answer to the young one, went softly over to her, put her arms round her in true motherly fashion, and, as the little one gratefully clung to her warm body, she gave another little croon of pleasure, and from that time the little one was never permitted to leave her under any pretence whatever.

As they lived day by day together, closely entwined, so they slept at night in the same manner, and even at meal times; curiously enough the old monkey now ate greedily, but only one hand of each was ever permitted to leave the other. In vain the assistants tried to take the little monkey away; the old one would at once throw herself into such a furious rage that it always ended the matter for the time being; and after some vain attempts to separate them, they were left alone, and for a time all went well.

Then it was noticed that the little one was not well, and was daily growing weaker. Her small eyes were sunk into her head, her poor little bones almost protruded through the skin, and she seemed scarcely to have enough strength even to cry. In vain they tried to see what was the matter, and watched the pair most carefully. And then it was noticed that not one bit of food would the old monkey give the little one. At first this had not been so, but evidently custom and natural instincts had developed with her sense of comfort and content.

It took too strong men, eventually, to wrench the two apart, and then food was given to the little one, who ate in a wildly famished manner which was pitiful to see. The keepers being afraid to give her much at a time, the little monkey was put by herself into another cage, and fed in small quantities at regular intervals, until in a few days she began to get strong and playful once more.

But from the time the little monkey was taken away from her the old monkey went back to her old ways. She fretted and grieved, refused all food, and it was realised that unless the little one was restored to her she would certainly pine away. So, after a particularly good meal, the little monkey was given back, and the joy and delight of the two was well worth seeing. But never would the old one give the little one any food. All efforts on the little one's part to take any for herself were promptly punished by the old one by sharp slaps on the head and vigorous scoldings, and it was found necessary to take the young one away each time she wanted food.

Tiresome as it was to the keepers, they kept it up, for it seemed the only way to keep the two alive! But the same things happened each time. The old one would get frantic with rage and grief every time the little one was taken away, and starve herself until the other returned. During her absence she would work herself up into a paroxysm of rage and excitement until she was utterly exhausted. And each time the young one was returned to her she would catch hold of her in a hungry manner, cover her with caresses, put her long arms round her in the most loving manner, and then proceed to eat her own food hungrily - but always taking the very greatest care that the little one should not get one little bit!

Professor Clement Onelli, the Superintendent of the Zoological Gardens in Buenos Ayres, gave me some very valuable information concerning friendships between monkeys. Among apes of the same species, he says in his letter, the individuals are always extremely hostile to one another. This is specially so if of the same sex. But when apes or monkeys of different species are put into the same cage together, they are, as a rule, friendly enough, providing they are of equivalent size and strength. In a case to the contrary, the stronger invariably proves a tyrant to the weaker one.

He quotes one instance of a negro monkey who was extremely friendly through the bars of his cage with a monkey of an entirely different species, but flew into furious rages when confronted with one of his own species, even should it be of the opposite sex. Two other large monkeys, who had been great friends for years, at once became sworn enemies when a little new-comer of the same species, but another sex - a young female - came upon the scene, A terrible battle took place between the two old males, and one would undoubtedly have been killed had they not been separated in time. Another curious instance of friendship between animals Dr. Onelli mentions is that of a young puppy of the wild dog (Canis dingo). This little wild-dog puppy was only a month old when Dr. Onelli placed him in the cage with two full-grown African lions. At first the lions looked at him with suspicion, and kept at a respectful distance. But the little puppy, devoid of fear, went over to them of his own accord, frolicked about, and very soon the curious trio became great friends and lived together in perfect harmony for seven months. Then the wildness of the dog began to come out, and he became impudent, which the lions would not stand, and so it was considered wise to separate them.

The most wonderful friendship I have ever seen is the friendship of Baldy, the chimpanzee in the New York Zoological Park, for his keeper. The keeper is devoted to him, and has spent many long and tedious nights in sitting up with him when he has been ill. But on Baldy's part the friendship is nothing short of absolute devotion. The minute the keeper goes out of the building Baldy begins to fret, and keeps an eye on the door in painful expectancy until he reappears, whimpering and moaning all the time. His supreme delight and happiness when Keeper Engleholme is seen coming in the distance is too funny for words.

But Baldy is very jealous, not only of any other animals gaining any attention from his keeper, but of human beings. Too much talking in front of his cage is strongly disapproved of, and if Baldy's own particular language is taken no notice of he demands attention by stamping his feet, thumping his knuckles on the floor, and jumping all round his cage, banging the horizontal bars, rattling the little doors and windows, and anything else he can think of to make a noise and attract attention to himself.

A wonderful friendship exists at the present time between a woman lion trainer, a full-grown Nubian lion, and a little dog, a cross between a shepherd's dog and a Scotch terrier, The lion is undoubtedly extremely fond of the woman and the dog, and the dog just as fond of the woman and the lion; while the trainer herself is so fond of them both that she said she was never so happy as when performing with them. The lion was wonderfully obedient and gentle with her, and never gave the least trouble, while the little dog would frisk around, jumping over the lion, playing with his mistress and taking all sorts of liberties with them both. Very often when they were sitting together at table, the lion would put out a paw to his trainer, very much in the same manner as a dog will when wishing to attract attention.

But I think the most extraordinary friendship and certainly with the most extraordinary ending in that of a beautiful full-grown llama and a sacred white donkey which were at one time in the late Mr. Frank Bostock's show. Soon after the purchase of the llama, about four years ago, the white donkey was put into the llama's enclosure while his own was being put in order. To all appearances, at first, the llama resented his intrusion by rudely spitting at him as soon as he entered, a little way llamas have when displeased. But this treatment not affecting the donkey in any way, the llama became interested, and when the donkey was put back in his own enclosure once more, seemed quite distressed and unhappy.

So, by way of experiment, the donkey was put into his enclosure again, and from that time these two, so strangely unlike in every way, became the firmest of friends. They were, in fact, inseparable, and it became rather tiresome when it was found impossible to get the llama to move anywhere unless the white donkey went first, when he would follow at once. They were placarded "The Inseparable Friends," and the odd-looking couple provoked much comment and merriment among the onlookers.

But one memorable night in summer there was suddenly a terrible noise after all the keepers had gone to bed. Sounds of terrific snorting and scrambling, screams and weird cries, intermixed with violent kicking at the boards of the enclosure in which were kept the llama and the sacred white donkey. Lights were hastily procured, and on going to the llama's enclosure they found the most terrible fight going on between the llama and the donkey. What started it will never be known, but the llama was hitting out with its fore and hind feet and biting viciously; the sacred donkey, forgetting his sacredness, was also hitting out with his hind legs and biting in the most savage manner.

In vain, for some time, the men tried to part them. Both animals were in such furious rages that it was difficult to get near them, and prodding and hitting seemed to have no effect whatever. Eventually, after a severe bite on his shin, the donkey turned his back on his recent friend and kicked out with all his might, hitting the llama near the eye with terrific force. This settled matters, for the pain was so great that the poor llama sank down and showed no more desire to fight. The donkey would probably have continued to kick him had the men not been there, but he was forced out at the end of some pronged forks, and put into a place by himself where he has been kept ever since.

As for the poor llama, a surgeon was sent for and did his best to soothe the poor animal's pain. He bandaged up his eye and head, and a very sorry sight he looked when it was finished. It was thought perhaps that it had simply been a quarrel between the two, and that they would be pleased to be together again when their tempers had cooled down a little. But when they once more found themselves at close quarters the llama's one eye grew wild and angry, and the sacred donkey at once turned his back and began kicking furiously. So that wonderful friendship is at an end - not for ever, let us hope, as animals are very like human beings; they make friends and enemies, have their likes and dislikes, quarrel and fight occasionally, but very often make it up again, just as we do ourselves.

And it is a most curious fact that when any two animals, whether wild or domestic, have had a terrific quarrel, they very often - though not always - seem anxious to be reconciled, and appear to be warmer friends than before. Another very human characteristic!


Whether wild animals go to wild-animal shows, circuses, or Zoological Gardens on their arrival from their native haunts, when their surroundings are made as warm, comfortable, and suitable as possible, when every care and precaution has been taken to ensure their good health, there are always various forms of complaints to which they are liable, and many illnesses from which they suffer. Some of these are natural to the animals in any case; some are, of course, caused by the unnatural life, the confined surroundings, and the climatic environments.

Each species of animal has its own particular complaints and diseases, its own tiresome idiosyncrasies in the way of health which have to be most carefully studied. Each animal has to be continually watched for certain symptoms of ill-health, in order that immediate precautions may be taken to prevent whatever is troubling it from getting too firm a hold. Very often a wild animal which is out of condition has either been a little over-fed or, through its own laziness or want of facilities, has not been exercising enough. This, as I have already explained, is one reason why trained animals are always so much better in health and condition than those in Zoological Gardens.

The animals in many Zoological Gardens have, as a matter of fact, too many comforts. They are well fed at regular hours, are kept warm, clean, and comfortable; and as it is the nature of any wild animal to sleep after food, or when he has nothing better to do, they get abnormally lazy and too fat. A trained animal, on the other hand, gets a certain amount of exercise every day of his life, because his trainer insists on his racing round the cage or arena, jumping over bars, through hoops, or whatever else he may happen to do, and so, in spite of his dislike to any kind of work, he gets his needful amount of exercise, and is consequently in far better condition.

Just a few animals, like orang-utans and chimpanzees, get exercise in some of the Zoos through being trained by their keepers. But the carnivora, entirely owing to their own laziness, do not get half, or even a quarter, enough. They are given every inducement - large, airy cages, indoors and out, which are found in every one of the best Zoological Gardens now, whether in Europe, America, or elsewhere. Huge limbs of trees are hoisted on high positions in order to induce them to leap up - and down. But in many cases, unless the keeper takes the trouble to place a piece of meat or some other tempting dainty on the tree, the animal does not climb up. He eats, drinks, walks to and fro in his methodical manner, and then lies down comfortably on the floor and has a good nap.

There is no actual necessity for exertion; he has all he wants - good food, a comfortable place to live in; and being just an animal - not a superlatively sensitive, highly strung personality, as so many seem to think in the present day - he simply goes to sleep until it is time to get up and have the next meal. This is what so often produces what is called "cage paralysis." The limbs grow stiff and paralysed, and partially useless; the animal can only move with difficulty, and it is generally considered kinder, when he is almost too helpless to move across his cage, to put him out of his misery.

It is not only the carnivora who suffer from cage paralysis. There was a chimpanzee - untrained - in one of the largest Zoological Gardens who was a pitiable sight from this terrible affliction. Then a new chimpanzee arrived from the jungle, and was put in with him for a short time until another cage could be provided for him. And, being fresh from the jungle, and not yet in any way reconciled to his new surroundings, the new-comer took a great dislike to the poor little crippled relation, and simply raced him round and round the cage, until the poor unfortunate little thing was absolutely worn out and exhausted.

This went on for several days, until it was decided to take the new-comer away at the earliest opportunity. But then it was noticed that the little chimpanzee who had been paralysed was able not only to walk comfortably, but actually to run up and down the bars of the cage - a thing he had not been able to do for many long months; so they were left together for a time, and as they grew to know one another better they made friends, and in time became quite devoted to one another. But the newcomer, evidently of a very energetic, lively disposition, was always wanting to do something frivolous and exciting, and no matter whether the other was asleep, quietly hunting for fleas, or inclined just to lie still and look on at the public, he was made to get up and take exercise.

No grumblings, no excuses made in a reproachful, reluctant guttural voice had the least effect. If he would not get up by asking and gentle persuasion, he got sharp tweaks of his ears and skin, one of his legs pulled sharply, or else a good sound thump on the side of his head. This generally had the desired effect, for with a cry of anger he would rush after his teasing companion, up the cage, on to the trapeze-bars, round the floor, and up and down again, until the two, tired out with the exercise, would sit down, and, drawing the clean straw all round their hacks and thrusting their legs underneath, would go sound asleep. Whatever it was, it is a fact that the crippled chimpanzee entirely recovered the use of his limbs, and grew as active and strong in health as he had ever been. The companionship, of course, had something to do with it, for with all wild animals, especially the anthropoid apes, companionship is actually necessary to their health and well-being.

One of the greatest scourges from which nearly all wild animals suffer are intestinal worms. It is estimated roughly by the most reliable authorities that more than three-fourths of the whole canine race is infected by these horrible parasites. Among the Canidae and Felidae it is the most destructive disorder of all the many which infect them. These internal parasites infect the nose, nostrils, lungs, blood, and stomach, and are found in every part of the intestines; they are even found in the liver and in the heart. In the latter case the poor unfortunate animal is simply racked with agonising pain, which very often ends in convulsions and death.

All animals that subsist on meat and fish, such as lions, tigers, leopards, pumas, cheetahs, lynxes, and wild cats; bears, foxes, and wolves, with many smaller mammals such as badgers, weasels, stoats, ocelots, etc., suffer from these parasites, and in nearly all cases, when these animals die from convulsions, agonising fits or spasms, which rack and tear them with pain, it is from this particular cause. Vermicides and vermifuges administered at regular intervals have been found to be immensely beneficial, if given in time. But very often the animals do not show any signs of disease, although they may appear languid and drowsy, until the very last, when they will suddenly have a convulsion which ends in death.

This complaint is frequently found among the Primates. The anthropoid apes, down to the smallest monkey, are attacked, and suffer in much the same manner. A most interesting case, although an extremely sad one, occurred in the New York Zoological Park in 1901. Four fine young orang-utans and one chimpanzee Were put in open-air cages just outside the reptile house in the summer months. All were apparently quite healthy, and the keepers had grown very much attached to them, when a serious epidemic of dysentery broke out among the orang-utans. In a few days the chimpanzee also suffered in the same way, and very soon the poor animals became so weak and ill that it was pitiable to see them.

The keepers sat up night after night, absolutely refusing to leave their charges, and many pathetic scenes were witnessed between them and the suffering animals. The poor orangs, each looking so terribly human in his suffering and helplessness, would sit with his long, hairy arms round the neck of one of the keepers, nestling his head against his shoulder, almost too weak to sit on his knee. Everything was done that could be done, but the orangs and chimpanzee got worse and worse, and finally all five died one after the other.

There is a most pathetic story of one orangutan. One night a keeper, having sat up until 1 a.m., decided to go into the inner room and have his supper. The orangs had been allowed to come out of their cages into the inner enclosure during their illness. When returning from his supper the keeper heard moans of pain, and then, along the little passage which led to the cages, he saw what looked like an old feeble man tottering towards him, with long arms outstretched. It was the last living orang-utan. With a little feeble cry he caught hold of the keeper, clasped his arms round his neck, and in a few minutes he was dead! The keeper, who was devoted to this particular one, broke down, and cried like a child.

But the death of four orang-utans and a chimpanzee at once was a most serious loss to the Zoological Society, and it was agreed that the most searching inquiries and investigations must take place in order to find out what had caused the dysentery and death of these valuable animals. A post-mortem examination was made by Dr. Brooks, who found the cause of the disease to be a parasite which not only infected the intestines in millions, but also caused internal ulcers. Being a very rare parasite - Balatidium - it was a matter of conjecture how it could have got connected with the anthropoid apes. A most strict and rigorous inspection of the wild creatures in, or near, the house where the orangs had been kept was made.

And then, to the astonishment of all, it was found that the intestines of the giant tortoises from the Galapagos Islands, which had been exhibited during the summer in a yard which surrounded the cages of the orang-utans and chimpanzees, were simply swarming with this deadly parasite. It had not caused the tortoises the very least inconvenience or illness, but it had killed four valuable orang-utans and one chimpanzee. It is, I believe, a curious scientific fact that the lower the standing in the animal world the less parasites affect them, but to those who are higher and more delicately organised, so, proportionately, the terrible effect is increased.

Among the Primates there are also many affections of the respiratory and digestive organs. Great care has to be taken with their food, providing warmth and freedom from draughts, and keeping them cheerful and occupied. Nasal catarrh is a most troublesome disease, also laryngitis, pharyngitis, and sore throat. All these are quite common. Bronchitis is also a most common and prevalent disease, and a very tiresome one. An ordinary bronchitis kettle is generally used; the animal is steamed as carefully as any human being; the throat and chest are rubbed with camphorated oil, etc., and what is called the "chest jacket" is used. Then the animals are made to inhale compound tincture of benzoin, eucamphol mixed with water, and a cough mixture is given at regular intervals.

Special care is taken with the food at these times. All bulky or heavy food is carefully avoided. Concentrated and nutritious food is given, varied at intervals with orange and lemon juice. An even temperature of the room is maintained, and all draughts and cold most carefully provided against. It is an anxious time, but an even more anxious one comes if the bronchitis develops to broncho-pneumonia. Pneumonia is a disease that carries off large numbers of wild animals in confinement. Sometimes it is a primary affection, sometimes a complication of other debilitating diseases. At critical times alcoholic baths are given. Should the animal be very weak, whisky or brandy, in doses of a teaspoonful at a time, with strong beef juice, or an egg nogg, is a wonderful stimulant. This, with doses of caffeine, strychnine, and muriate of ammonium generally acts to good purpose, unless the animal is too far gone, or possesses an unusually delicate constitution.

In addition to this the Primates suffer from indigestion, gastritis, vomiting, enteritis, and dysentery. Each, however, affects different animals differently. A degree of fever, for instance, that does not very much affect a chimpanzee, nor cause his spirits to suffer, may cause the most abject dejection and depression in an orang-utan. Each animal has its own peculiarities and idiosyncrasies, and must be treated accordingly, just as human beings are considered by a doctor.

Another tiresome and prevalent disease among wild animals is distemper. This is a fairly well-known disease, especially to those who know anything about keeping dog kennels. It is a highly contagious, febrile disease, and affects the lungs, intestines, kidneys, and nervous system. There is no specific remedy known up to the present time. Unless an animal is peculiarly valuable it is generally best to destroy it at once. If left to live it will probably infect others, in addition to suffering acutely itself, and in the end probably dying a painful death. Many cases, of course, have been successfully treated, but generally where it has been possible to take them at the very beginning. Any animal, whether wild or domestic, suffering from distemper is a most pitiable sight. With swollen eyes, and red, dripping mouths, with violent paroxysms of vomiting, bloated bodies, and other repulsive details, one can only wish that the poor creature was out of its misery. Cape hunting dogs, Eskimo dogs, wolves, coyotes, foxes, dingos, ocelots, lynxes, wild cats, monkeys, and squirrels are all Subject to this disease; also opossums, raccoons, raccoon dogs, and others.

Rheumatism is another affection, and quite a common one among wild animals in captivity. This affects all sorts of wild creatures, from the elephant and rhinoceros, down to the lion, tiger, bear, wapiti, antelope, and many others. In fact, it seems to me that all the wild animals, subject to certain conditions, suffer from rheumatism in some form or other. Baboons have it, and show their rage and disgust by clenching their vicious teeth and grinning fiendishly. As a matter of fact, any animals kept in a cold, damp place, without sun, are almost sure to suffer from it. It principally affects the hind limbs and knees, but of course varies in every case. Sometimes the hocks and all the joints are affected, and the poor animal suffers terribly. The first thing is to place the animals in warm quarters whore there are no draughts and where it is nice and dry. Then various remedies are given, generally a course of tonics. A very nutritious and easily digested diet is the next thing; and with care, plenty of fresh air, and these remedies, many animals will recover.

Of course it must be understood that it is not always being kept in damp or sunless buildings that causes rheumatism. Very often it is caught through a bad chill, through being out-of-doors in the wet, as with antelopes, goats, elephants, rhinoceros, etc. Even a shower has been known to give some of the biggest and strongest animals colds and chills, and rheumatism is simply the outcome of a bad chill.

In all Zoological Gardens special precautions are provided against any sickness of the wild inmates. I paid a visit to the Hospital and Infirmary for sick animals at the London Zoological Gardens, by permission of Dr. Chalmers Mitchell, and found one of the most interesting spots in the whole Zoo. Through a door marked "Private" I entered the yard, which in itself is interesting.

All kinds of travelling-cages, boxes, and crates of every size and shape were there. Two immense crates, with strong wooden sides, had recently been occupied by two ostriches; another cage had contained a bear; a third some wolves, and so on. By the side of the yard is a two-storied building. On the ground floor are large, roomy dens, with wooden floors, and steam heat for the animals who need warmth. Two half doors, the lower part of strong wood, the upper part of glass, protect the animals from cold and wet. The upper parts are only closed at night in very severe weather. In one of these cages was a white-tailed gnu. He was miserably thin and out of condition, and the keeper told me they were unable to account for it, but that he was being fed up with a quantity of special food, and was already beginning to put on weight.

One pretty spotted deer had sprained its foot, which was bound up in bandages; another had developed stiffness in his hind quarters; another had one stiff leg, being unable to bend it at the joint, and so on. All were having care; nothing very serious, but just needing a little medical attention. The nocturnal animals had curled themselves up in their straw and were fast asleep. They opened their eyes warily when uncovered by the keeper, but seemed in too heavy and profound a sleep to rouse themselves even at the presence of a stranger.

Over these large dens are the quarantine and hospital. The quarantine is where all the monkeys, lemurs, opossums, etc., are kept for one month to make sure that they are not suffering from any infectious disease, monkeys being peculiarly liable to tuberculosis. One long-limbed vivacious spider monkey seemed most indignant about being kept there at all, and tried to draw my attention to himself by putting his long black arms pleadingly through the bars. One little common monkey sat with puckered brows and a most worried expression.

Three bright-eyed lemurs stopped inspecting themselves, looked at us inquiringly and then went on with their toilets. In one corner, sound asleep, were three little baby opossums, their sharp little noses thrust into their coiled-up tails. One had got into the habit of continually licking his tail, with the result that it became sore and inflamed. So, having been bathed in oil, the tail had been bound up in linen strips, but even then he did his best to get the strips off. When he had tired himself out in useless efforts, he promptly coiled his tail up - looking so odd in its linen covering - put his nose into the coil and went sound asleep again.

One room is kept as a dispensary, where medicines and drugs of every kind are kept, with all kinds of oils, liniments, bandages, splints, etc. In another part of the building are rooms for operating, dissecting, making analyses, and so forth.

Of course there are some sicknesses among wild animals which cannot be fathomed. For instance, at one time we all believed that the reason gorillas could not live in captivity was because they fret and finally die from homesickness, and many think so at the present time. This most undoubtedly has had a great deal to do with it, but it is now thought by those who have studied the question carefully that some peculiar disease also affects them. All gorillas when they have been in captivity a short time - and they never live in it long - begin to put their hands to their heads and back, and moan as if suffering. No reason has ever been found, but it is now thought that the climatic changes affect the head and spine. No doubt one of these days this will be proved definitely one way or the other.

It seems that nearly all young giraffes suffer from an ailment which appears to be neither rheumatism nor paralysis. This disease always affects their limbs, making them in some cases crooked and feeble, and too weak to walk on. The fore legs are particularly affected; the knees are swollen and puffy, very tender to the touch, and the animals themselves become thin and miserable, very often dying. Occasionally, however, they recover. It was thought at last that it might possibly be from the change of food, coupled with the climatic changes. Different food was tried, with the result that many young giraffes now live to be quite old in captivity. Two or three have been born in various Zoological Gardens, and lived to grow into adults.

In these days it has also been discovered that nearly all wild creatures adapt themselves to the climate to which they are brought, provided that they are given plenty of fresh air and good, wholesome food. For instance, lions live outdoors in the snow, their coats growing thicker as the need for warmer coats presents itself; ostriches also can live out-of-doors in the snow. Monkeys have had experiments tried on them in various places, especially at the Jardin d'Acclimatation in Paris, where there is an infirmary for sick monkeys. Many valuable facts have been ascertained from time to time, and no doubt a time will come when hot-houses, steam heat, and closed doors will be done away with.

But there is one unaccountable disease which all those in charge of wild animals dread greatly. This is not physical, but mental, and what is termed in show parlance, "going bad." It is a peculiar change of temperament to which the large carnivora especially are subject, and all wild-animal trainers fear this more than the worst accident they can have. It generally comes so unexpectedly - in such a fierce, sudden manner, without a moment's warning - that no steps can be taken for protection. Lions usually "go bad" when they are about nine or ten years old; tigers also "go bad," but when much younger than lions. It seems to affect both these animals in much the same manner; an animal may be lying down licking its paws, and then suddenly spring up, work itself into a perfect frenzy of fury, and try to tear everything within its reach to pieces. The tiger seems to be even more liable than the lion or any other of the cat tribe to "go bad" suddenly; and when lions or tigers reach the dangerous ages, special watch is kept. When (in some few cases) the disease develops slowly, it is possible to detect the signs, and the animal is either put by itself or sent to some Zoo to end its days.

One curious fact in connection with this peculiar ailment is that the other animals detect the signs before any human being would notice them, and most pointedly keep away from the animal who is "going bad" and leave him to himself. This is one thing the keepers and trainers always take special notice of. The attacks vary; sometimes they will last for a few days, sometimes longer. Very often, after the attacks, the animal will settle down again and be as good-tempered and docile as before. But when once an animal has shown that he possesses this disease, he is let alone; no one has the least desire to have anything more to do with him.

With wild animals in Zoological Parks the danger of course is not so great as with wild-animal shows. The danger then is to the men who train them and look after them. But even so, their danger has its limitations, as only the trainers run any danger, on account of the animals being securely caged. With elephants, who also "go bad," it is quite a different matter. No matter how strong a house an elephant may have provided for him, when seized with one of these furies on "going bad" he will pull down, or break out of, any building that was ever made; for in his frenzy his strength is simply stupendous. He may rush out among a lot of people, and not only kill many by trampling on them, but do an immense amount of serious damage to valuable property by tearing up trees, lamp-posts, or columns, knocking down lightly built houses, with a hundred-and-one other things if he has the opportunity.

Elephants seem to "go bad" after they have been in captivity for several years. There seems no special age at which they are peculiarly liable to this disease, but it is a well-known fact that a great many valuable animals have had to be killed owing to this "going bad," in order to protect human life. There seem to be rogue elephants both in the wild state and in captivity, and in either case they are to be dreaded. A good elephant is an uncertain individual at all times, for there is never any telling what an elephant will do; but a bad elephant is one of the most terrible wild animals on the face of the earth.


This is an age for operations - especially surgical operations. In many cases, so it is said, these surgical operations are not really necessary. But there is never an unnecessary operation on wild animals - one may rest assured on that point. There are too many and too great difficulties in the way, not to speak of the expense and the danger to the operator as well as to the patient.

In every case where an operation is performed on a wild animal, it means a choice between operating and killing the animal; and, generally speaking, wild animals are extremely valuable. So, in case of broken limbs, torn flesh, ulcerated teeth, ingrowing claws, etc., the animal is first of all given a little chloroform, then tied down securely, and the operation takes place.

All this sounds very simple and easy. But to those who have ever studied or had anything to do with wild animals, the difficulties and dangers are only too well known. In the first place it is extremely difficult to drug animals of any kind, especially wild ones.

Animals are often tied down without being chloroformed before a minor operation; but in the case of its being obligatory to chloroform a wild animal, it is found better to put him into a travelling-cage, which is made so narrow that he cannot move about in it. It is then possible, even when he constantly moves his head about, to keep a cloth saturated with chloroform and placed on the end of a stick constantly in front of him, so that he is obliged to inhale it.

When the animal is once chloroformed no time is lost - not a moment. For drugs affect wild animals in different and various ways, and there is no telling at what moment the patient may wake up again. So the men rush forward with ropes and forked sticks, fasten the animal securely, and the animal surgeon does his business as quickly as possible. He is never a minute too quick, for very often, almost before the ropes have been loosened, the animal is regaining consciousness; and many an animal has had to be left with the ropes on him, in order that the attendants may get out alive. In some cases the animals are furious with rage; in others so dull and stupid that they scarcely wake up for the rest of the day.

A very common complaint with Polar bears is ingrowing toe-nails on their hind feet. Any one Who has watched Polar bears will have noticed the peculiar habit they have when turning round and twisting themselves right about on their hindquarters, and that in this and in nearly all other movements, except that of walking, they rarely use their hind feet at all. Owing to this, the nails, not having anything to wear them down, grow so long that they turn over and grow right into the soft pads of the feet, causing the poor animals excruciating pain.

In cases of this kind the bear is put into a narrow cage having bars across the front. The next thing is to have the cage, bear and all, lifted up on to two blocks, leaving a space beneath. Owing to the enormous weight of a Polar bear - about eight hundred pounds - this is a most difficult thing to do, especially as the cage has to be tipped down in order to make the bear rest his paws on the railings. Then one paw is drawn through the bars and securely fastened, and the nails either cut or drawn out. Of course the bear doesn't like it, but the poor animal's relief afterwards is a sight worth seeing, and he very soon gets over the little soreness and discomfort of his operation.

Most wild animals very soon forget little episodes of this kind, but not all. Some not only remember it, but resent it to the end of their days. This was the case with a lion in the wild-animal show of the late Mr. Frank Bostock when in London.

A fine young Nubian lion had been suffering from an ulcerated tooth for some days, and it was hoped that by giving it soft food, such as bread soaked in milk, etc., it would get over it. But when it was found that the animal was getting worse, that one side of the jaw was terribly swollen, and that the poor animal was simply starving for want of food, it was decided to extract the tooth. It was a fine specimen, and the proprietors did not wish to risk drugging it, so it was decided to extract the tooth without any anaesthetics.

Accordingly, all the men in the show were told off to help tie down the lion with ropes to get it ready for the operation. After tremendous difficulty - it was found impossible to get it into a small cage - when some men had attracted his attention in another direction by means of poking him up with sticks, one leg was tied securely, and then all the men set to work, entered the cage cautiously, and keeping clear of his head and feet, not to speak of his rope-like tail, caught his other feet in lassos of rope; and he was finally on his back and ready for the operator.

No time was lost, and, in spite of throaty, furious growls and heavy breathing, the pincers were fastened round the tooth, and simultaneously with a roar from the lion the tooth was pulled out. For a moment the lion seemed surprised, probably at the sudden cessation of acute pain, for his poor mouth was fearfully ulcerated, and then he tried to get up. He again seemed puzzled. But in a very few minutes the cords were loosened. He sprang on his feet again, but, beyond a heavy growl as the ropes were drawn out of the cage, he made no more complaint.

He was given a pailful of hot bread-and-milk, which he took greedily, although he snarled at the trainer who brought it, which was unusual, as he was the man who always fed him. Someone suggested that it was because the trainer had been the one told off to hold his head back with a forked stick while the tooth was drawn out. But another laughed at the idea, and said it was probably because his mouth was still sore and painful, which seemed to be far the more reasonable conclusion.

Though the lion quickly recovered, and was soon in the best of health and spirits again, it was noticed that he always seemed a little savage when fed. As nearly all the carnivora have this characteristic, very little notice was taken of it. It was also concluded that it still hurt him a little to eat. But there is a curious sequel to this story.

It is the custom in all wild-animal shows for the trainers to go very early in the morning into the cages to clean them out. Accordingly, one morning about five o'clock the trainer - trainers generally insist on seeing to their own animals - went into the cage to clean it out before going to his own breakfast, It happened to be a particularly dark and dismal morning, and so all the electric lights were turned on. The lion seemed perfectly quiet when the trainer went in - growled a little when the man made him move, but otherwise seemed in a fairly good temper. And then suddenly, without the least warning, all the electric lights went out! And in a moment, with a furious growl, the lion sprang at the trainer and caught his arm.

Fortunately for the trainer, his cries brought other men, who with a few blank cartridges, etc., succeeded in keeping off the lion until the trainer was taken out of the cage. A doctor was sent for, and found that the man would have to lose three fingers and that his arm was badly torn. He was sent to the hospital, where he stayed for over three weeks. He finally recovered and returned to the show. But, as every time he went near that particular lion it was noticed that the animal showed great resentment, it was thought wiser to put him at other work. As he and the lion had always been the best of friends until the tooth-drawing operation, there can be no doubt that this was the cause of the animal's change of feeling. This episode almost proved a critical operation for the trainer.

In the Forepaugh Brothers' circus, at one time, it was noticed that a fine young lion kept his mouth a little way open and appeared to be in pain. After much difficulty it was found that in some way a piece of sharp bone had got in between the lion's teeth, and was firmly wedged there, a good-sized splinter of it protruding outside his mouth. Drugs were out of the question with so young an animal; and when it was found that the poor little thing was unable to eat, and that it was starving to death, prompt measures were ordered to be taken. The young lion was to be roped, and then the piece of bone was to be extracted.

But the animal was extremely nervous, and when one paw was tied it was found that he was shivering like an aspen leaf and foaming at the mouth. His keeper, being very fond of the young animal, went into the cage thinking to soothe and quiet him; but, most unexpectedly, the lion raised himself on his remaining three legs and attacked the keeper savagely. The keeper was so completely surprised and off his guard that it would have fared badly with him had it not been for another keeper who rushed forward with an iron bar to protect him.

But by this time the lion had worked himself up into a perfect frenzy, and as the bar was put in front of him he bit it so savagely and vindictively that he snapped the piece of bone in his mouth. This eased the pressure, the remaining piece fell out, and there was now no need of an operation. The lion seemed just as much surprised as anyone else, and licked his sore mouth and lips in a thoughtful, puzzled manner. Soon after, a bowl of warm bread-and- milk was given him, and after lapping up every scrap and drop he settled himself down comfortably in the cage, laid his big head on his fore paws, and with a little contented sigh went sound asleep, and slept for thirty-six hours! No doubt the poor animal was utterly exhausted from want of food and sleep; but he soon recovered, and grew into one of the finest lions in the exhibition.

An interesting operation took place on a llama in the late Mr. Frank Bostock's show some time ago. The circumstances were interesting and peculiar. This llama had conceived a great friendship for a sacred white donkey in the same show, and the two were therefore put together. The odd friendship was kept up for more than three years; and then the erstwhile friends had a most terrific fight between themselves. When they were separated, after much difficulty, it was found that the poor llama had had one eye completely destroyed, and that its head and eye socket were in a bad condition.

A first-rate veterinary surgeon was sent for, and the wound was thoroughly cleansed and disinfected and the llama's head bandaged up most carefully. All this sounds very easy, but none but those who saw it can realise the amount of trouble and difficulty it meant. In the first place the llama, to show his disgust and annoyance, was continually spitting at those around him - a very unpleasant habit which all llamas have - and when any one attempted to go near him he struck out viciously with his fore feet and tried to bite - and llamas can give terrible bites. It took nearly all the men in the show and some outside men in the White City at Shepherd's Bush, to keep him still while the veterinary did his work. Even then one or two received kicks, and one was slightly bitten.

The poor beast presented a pitiful sight when it was finished, but as soon as it was over he grew quiet - evidently soothed by the local applications, for he must have suffered greatly; and after a few weeks, when the bandages were removed, the eye socket had healed. But as his former love for the sacred white donkey had now turned to hatred, it was considered wiser to keep him with his blind eye next to the donkey.

Nearly all snakes in captivity suffer from sore mouths; and it is necessary at times not only to take out the loose teeth, but to swab out the mouth with some disinfectant, and also to wash off the pieces of loose skin which collect round the lips. That this is a most critical operation and a dangerous one, not only to the snake, but to those in attendance, need scarcely be said.[9]

[9. A full description of this operation is given in "Wild Animal Celebrities." Moffat, Yard & Co., New York.]

Broken limbs are of frequent occurrence among wild animals in captivity. Sometimes the animals, in leaping from the boughs provided for them in their outdoor cages, slip, and break or fracture their limbs. A clever little chimpanzee in the New York Zoological Park one winter broke his leg two or three times. He finished up his series of mishaps by having to go into the hospital with a dislocated knee! He was extremely fond of a good romp round and round his cage, and the wilder and rougher it was, the better he liked it.

Many a time when nearly caught by the other chimpanzee he would drop from the ceiling, where he was hanging on, to the floor with a bang. And although all the apes are excellent and swift climbers, a heavy fall will break their limbs as quickly as those of any other animals. But all these accidents so far have not made "Dick" either quieter or more careful. He is always so delighted to get back again that he begins the old tricks just as soon as he can get any one to play with him.

Operations have been performed on nearly all wild animals in captivity at one time or another - hippopotami, rhinoceros, even elephants. In fact any animal with tusks or horns is always either wearing them down or breaking them. Elephants will examine anything in the shape of locks, bolts, bars, or poles, sometimes with disastrous result to their tusks. One little elephant splintered his tusks so badly that he had to have brass castings specially made to cover the ends - and then he tried again! One old elephant one day, being in an extremely bad temper, suddenly turned and chased his favourite keeper right through the corral at the back of his house, rushing at him so viciously that he rammed the fence and broke off six inches from the end of one of his tusks.

But there is one operation on elephants which is always performed at least once a year in all Zoological Gardens, wild-animal shows, and circuses. That is the simple operation of manicuring their toe-nails. In captivity the elephant does not get enough exercise to keep his toe-nails worn down, or to keep the skin of his feet in good order; so that it becomes necessary to cut and trim the toe-nails and cut off the superfluous skin that collects round his large feet.

This is a simple operation and does not, of course, hurt the animal in the least, and most elephants stand still until it is over. But in other cases - all elephants being extremely nervous creatures, in spite of their enormous size - the greatest difficulties are encountered because of the animals' timidity. One huge elephant in a Kansas show had always been Considered one of the most gentle and amiable of his species, and not the slightest trouble was anticipated when the time came to cut his nails and trim his feet. But at the very first sight of the knife the big creature uttered a shrill shriek, trumpeted at the top of his voice, and, with his big body swaying from side to side, tore off, and not only ran out of the circus grounds, but all the way down the village street.

After much time and trouble, he was persuaded to come back, and soon became as quiet and gentle as before. The circus people waited a while, and then, thinking he had forgotten the incident, and wishing to get his feet in good condition, tried again. But just as soon as the elephant saw the instruments he uttered another shriek, this time a very angry one. He took up one of the men in his trunk and tossed him away as though he had been a rubber ball; and this he did to each man in turn. And when the unfortunate men picked themselves up, terribly bruised and cut, they refused ever to attempt that operation on that elephant, simple as it was. But in course of time the elephant's feet became very sore, and the overgrowing nails caused him much suffering. So it was finally decided to try just once more to put his feet in good order. And curiously enough this time the elephant allowed them to do just what they liked, and stood perfectly still until the whole business was finished. After that he always submitted most willingly to this operation, even lifting up his huge foot as though to help the operators.

But among all the wild animals there is one who cannot be operated on. This is the giraffe. This curious creature, the tallest of all earthly inhabitants, is so nervous and timid that anything the least unusual frightens it. At one time in the Zoological Gardens in London it was noticed that a young giraffe seemed to be in pain, and it was decided to give it some medicine. Several keepers were called in to help, but as they came in the young giraffe looked at them nervously with its beautiful eyes, trembled all over as if with ague, sank gently down on the floor of the stable, and died on the spot! No one had touched it, no one had hurt it in any way. It simply died from sheer fright!


From the time of their capture in their native haunts to the time of their arrival at their final destination, the cost of feeding wild animals is one of the most important and harassing items in all the many anxieties and worries which are connected with bringing them from their own homes to a strange land in strange surroundings, with the doubly difficult problems of an entirely different climate and obtaining the food suitable to each captive.

We have already spoken of the vast outlay necessary to transport the wild creatures across desert and sea, and then in trains or waggons, as the case may be. But few people can have the slightest idea of the vast amount of money spent in keeping these wild animals in captivity. Unless each species has the food suitable to it, the chances are that it will probably die. To obtain the suitable food very often means sending long distances and spending great sums. Even then, the animals have been known to refuse the food, and something else has to be tried. The average cost simply for feeding the wild creatures in the London Zoological Gardens is from £4,000 to £4,500 in one year alone. This is for food only; and does not include the many other expenses which have to be met, such as wages of all the members of the staff, keepers, gardeners, watchmen, helpers, stablemen, storekeepers, carpenters, bricklayers, painters, with many other helpers of divers occupations.

But the cost of food is the most important of all; for it must be met in some manner, and no reduction or economy can be practised, without serious losses to the animals which after all are the most important things in any Zoological Gardens or animal show. The animals must be fed, whatever comes, and as some of them, such as elephants, hippopotami, rhinoceros, etc., have enormous appetites, a vast supply has to be provided, no matter whether the prices have risen or not.

Lions and tigers, panthers, jaguars, cheetahs, etc., eat about twelve to fourteen pounds of beef, mutton, or horseflesh daily. A piece of bone is nearly always included, as this keeps the teeth in good order, and also provides the carnivora with something to do. Care is taken to have the temperature of the food and water, whenever possible, as near the temperature of the animal as possible. Cold food sometimes gives cramp in the stomach.

Another very important fact in connection with feeding the carnivora is that all the meat must he absolutely fresh. Tainted or diseased meat not only gives them many complaints, but makes them so offensive to those who go to see them that occasionally it is impossible to stay in the same house with them. Another effect of tainted meat is that the animals, instead of being bright-eyed, strong of limb, and sleek of coat, become mangy and ragged, their eyes are blurred and red, their mouths running with unpleasant saliva, and their limbs rickety and knotted, like those of an old man with rheumatism.

As an occasional treat, lions and tigers are given a sheep's head, and it is a most interesting sight to watch the keen relish and appreciation which they show when eating, it. A gourmet eating some rare concoction of a famous chef is nothing to it. It is a curious fact that lions and tigers are extremely fond of the heads of anything - sheep, lambs, goats, calves, etc. But perhaps the most dainty dish of all in their estimation is chickens' heads. Why this should be it is impossible to tell, as they are anything but tempting to look at, and always covered with feathers. But the rough tongues dispose of the feathers very easily, and the heads are crunched up in great enjoyment, while the animals generally close their eyes and eat slowly as though not to lose one tiny bit of flavour.

Once a week, generally on Sundays, the carnivora are given no food at all, only plenty of clean water. Those who do not understand wild animals have been heard to say that it is extremely cruel to keep the poor animals without food for a whole day. But in their native state the carnivora often go two, three, and even (it is stated by several authorities) four days without food when unable to obtain any. Unless they had this one fast-day a week in order to rest their stomachs and digestion, they would undoubtedly become very ill. It is without doubt most beneficial to them in many ways, and also prevents their getting too fat or lazy.

They do not appear to be in the least put out by this arrangement, and take their food on the following day with much the same kind of relish which they show in the ordinary way. But with all these precautions the animals will get out of condition occasionally; and when it is found that lions or tigers are in need of aperients, or are a little off their feed, a large piece of fresh liver is given. In some cases, rabbits, pigeons, chickens, or some other kind of birds are given. A change of diet with wild animals, as with human beings, nearly always has a beneficial effect.

But all these additional items, simple as they sound, add to the already enormous cost of their feeding, and send up the food bills in a most alarming manner.

In feeding elephants the greatest difficulty in many cases is in providing enough green stuff for them. One elephant alone will consume from five to seven stone of hay and straw and clover, an enormous quantity of roots, various amounts of corn, according to the time of year, and as many buns, cakes, sweets, etc., as any one likes to give him. But it is important that he also has a certain amount of green food, and this is the most difficult thing of all to obtain, especially in winter. Branches of trees are cut down, but when there are no leaves on them they are useless. In many cases cabbages and other green stuff is provided, but with the travelling shows in many cases it is impossible to obtain anything of the kind in some of the out-of-the-way places they visit.

In this case they have to fall back on grain, roots, and hay. But too much grain puts elephants out of condition, and they are apt to become bad-tempered and dangerous. The green stuff of an ordinary country kitchen garden would be a very small affair to an elephant. In one instance, when a wild-animal show was passing through a village in one of the United States - I believe it was in Missouri - the elephants were being led quietly along by their trainers, when one huge elephant quietly walked to the side of the village street, pushed down a little garden gate with his trunk, and quietly ate up the whole of the green stuff in the garden!

Not slow to follow his example, the other elephants also found their way to other gardens, and did the same. There is no persuading an elephant when he has once set his heart on anything, and any compulsion is apt to be followed by rebellion and serious trouble. So the only thing to do when persuasion had failed was to wait until they had finished and then lead them back to the procession. But the amount of money that the unfortunate proprietor had ultimately to pay the owners of the gardens took away every penny of the profits of all his performances in the little town. For the value of cabbages and green stuff suddenly increased in the most alarming degree after this little episode, and a showman does not care to make enemies as he goes along the country.

One of the most amusing details of this affair was that after all the claims had been settled every one of the garden owners begged him to bring his show again some time, as they all enjoyed it so much. But the proprietor, for some reason or other, carefully avoided that village in the future, and chose those with little or no gardens, and some vicinity where no green stuff was grown. He was unable to find enough green stuff for the elephants in consequence, but he considered that they could do without for a time, rather than risk another such episode as the last.

Bears are fairly large eaters. They like fish, bread, pieces of fat, and occasionally a piece of raw meat. But it is not a wise thing to give them much raw meat; they seem to be in better health when fed on fish, cooked meat, and plain bread-and-milk - the bread either white or brown. There is one brown bear in the New York Zoological Park who never eats anything but brown bread. On one occasion there happened to be only white, but his snorts of dislike and contempt were too funny to describe. He finally consoled himself by taking away another bear's portion of fish and eating it himself!

Polar bears have much the same kind of food, but their chief dainties are fat pork - pork is never given under any conditions to the carnivora - and a little fish oil. The fish oil seems to be a Polar bear's ideal of perfection in the way of food, for he licks it up with little grunts of pleasure, and not one tiny drop does he leave in the dish or pan in which it is given him. These bears also seem to enjoy large pieces of luscious fat, which they swallow almost whole. It would be rather a sickening sight to see them eat this fat, were it not for their immense enjoyment.

The large and small antelopes - from the eland to the Dorcas gazelle - need a very careful and varied diet. They eat the best clover, a little hay, plenty of oats, sometimes mixed with other kinds of grain, and plenty of bran. Also they are given all kinds of roots and green stuff; in times of plenty, such as the summer, as much as they care to eat, Cakes, bread, etc., which the misguided public insist on giving them in spite of the printed warnings posted up, invariably put them out of condition, their digestion evidently not being able to cope with that particular kind of food.

Camels, dromedaries, llamas, alpacas, etc., all eat much the same kind of food - hay, green stuff, roots, etc. Giraffes appear to have the most delicate digestions of all the wild creatures kept in captivity. In their native state they feed exclusively on the young blades of grass, the young and tender buds of shrubs and trees, and young saplings which they obtain by teaching up their long necks and breaking off with their long, black tongues. But in captivity it is often found extremely difficult to get enough young green stuff for them, and the loss has to be made up with hay.

Sea-lions, seals, king and other penguins, pelicans, flamingos, gulls, etc., consume enormous quantities of fish. They seem specially fond of whiting and herrings in England. In America they appear to be specially fond of cod, butter fish, and clams. But in all cases their food bill is a very heavy one.

Penguins are also large eaters; in the London Zoological Gardens a penguin only about a foot in height actually ate nine good-sized herrings. He seemed ravenous up to the fifth or sixth, but after that it seemed a little difficult to get them down, and the ninth was the last he would take. As the tail of the last one was still hanging out of his mouth, it was obvious that he had just as much as he could carry.

The anthropoid apes are extremely costly to feed. They have not such large appetites, but their food is dainty and expensive. Fruit of various kinds, chiefly bananas and apples, oranges and grapes, fresh eggs beaten up in new milk, plenty of the very best meat extract - these form the main basis of their food. Care is taken not to over-feed them, as in that case they develop enormous stomachs, and are not nearly in such good condition. But in addition to all this they have plenty of raisins, good boiled rice, young boiled potatoes, and various other items according to the time of year. It would be impossible to give the exact cost of feeding these apes, as the cost of the food depends entirely on the time of the year and the supply.

Snakes are, perhaps, in some ways not quite so expensive to feed as some of the other wild creatures, from the fact that very often in captivity they will refuse their food for months at a time. In this case artificial feeding is resorted to. But, as a rule, their principal food consists of guinea-pigs, rats, mice, rabbits, ducks, or fowls, and any small birds such as sparrows. But they are also rather fond of eggs and meal-worms, which they will eat in enormous quantities when very hungry.[10]

[10. The big pythons, however, will often swallow a whole sheep or goat at a time. - Author.]

It would be quite impossible in a book of this kind to attempt to go into any statistics, but some idea of the cost may be gathered from the fact that in one year alone the cost of food for the inmates of the London Zoological Gardens was £4,517 5s. 5d. This included beef, mutton, and horseflesh, salt and freshwater fish, fowls' heads, eggs, milk, bread, bran, maize, oats, grain and seeds, hay, green food, fruit and vegetables, clover, meat juice, bread and biscuit. It is impossible to estimate the cost of all the various little dainties which are procured from time to time for the various wild creatures when off their feed or out of condition. The cost also varies according to the price of the different items at various times of the year.

One small item in the expenses of the New York Zoological Park for one year (taken from the New York Zoological Bulletin) reads:

Food for animals . . . . $36,932.30

This item, in comparison with all the other vast expenses necessary to the comfort and support of the wild animals, is only one small thing among the many other manifold expenses.


To a great many wild animals, after their many adventures, from the time of their capture; their journeyings across desert, sea, and land; their sojourn, very often, in some circus or wild-animal show; their training, and their performances sometimes for years in public, the "Zoo" is a veritable haven of refuge.

Here, in comfortable, warm houses, or in airy out-of-door enclosures, as the case may be, the animals have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and rest for the remainder of their days. Of course a great many wild animals go direct from the wild-animal dealer to the Zoological Gardens. In many cases they have been perhaps ordered for years, and great rejoicings take place when, after much exploration, time, and many dangerous adventures, some particularly rare animal is at last captured, transported, and brought safely to its destination.

Nearly all the wild animals in the various Zoos who are in prime condition were taken there when they were cubs. As I have already explained, full-grown wild animals taken straight from the jungle, or any wild state, are seldom at all satisfactory. Those who have been trained in wild-animal shows have in most cases been trained from young cubs, and so are acclimatised to the many and varied conditions of captivity.

In the Belle Yue Zoological Gardens, Manchester, there was for many years a tiger called the "Fighting Tiger," who had been sent there after many years of captivity with the King of Oudh. It was a truly magnificent animal, and has never yet had an equal in size or dignity of bearing. It cost an immense sum, but proved a great attraction, and lived quietly and peaceably in the Gardens for many years. On the whole it was considered a very amiable animal, for a tiger.

A great many of the wild animals in all Zoos have most interesting histories. Some have been captured at the risk of the capturer's life; some captured under the most unique circumstances; others have been petted darlings - in this case I am not speaking of the carnivora - such as chimpanzees, monkeys of all kinds, parrots and macaws, even some of the smaller reptiles.

In one case a noted actress, who had kept a little bear as a pet for some years, was at last firmly refused admission to any hotel. Not to be outdone, she took a furnished house, in order to have her pet with her. But when the pet bear got out in the night, and took a little walk on his own account, broke open several out-houses of various farms, and nearly frightened the inmates and the animals to death, she concluded it was time to get rid of him. Even while she was corresponding with one or two likely places to which she thought of sending him, the bear suddenly turned extremely savage, and attacked one of her servants, injuring him so severely that he was laid up in hospital for several weeks.

But at last one of the Zoological Gardens agreed to take him; so the bear was securely crated, and sent to his final home. Having been in captivity so long, and also having been such a pet, it was thought that the animal would be quite easy and good-tempered to deal with; but he proved to be one of the most savage and vindictive wild animals ever kept in captivity. When put in a cage with two other bears of his own kind, thinking he would be glad of companionship, he promptly fought first one and then the other. He inflicted such severe injuries that it was considered wise to put him in an enclosure by himself, and there he is at the present day. But even the keeper who feeds him daily, and looks after all his comfort and welfare, has to be extremely careful, for this bear is always ready to attack.

One lady, in presenting a pet monkey to one of the Zoos, asked particularly that each night he should have a bowl of hot bread-and-milk, and be carefully covered up with blankets. Also she would provide two hot-wator bottles, if the keepers would not mind filling them every night! Needless to say, the keepers objected, as the Primates' house was kept at a good, uniform heat, and such measures were not needed. As it happened, the monkey sickened and died, and the lady, furious at her commands not having been carried out, insisted that it was because the poor little thing had not had his hot-water bottles, and wrote long letters to the papers about it.

As a matter of fact, wild-animal "pets" are rarely an acquisition to any Zoological Gardens. In the first place, they are not sent there until they are either out of condition or, worse still, out of bounds. Having had absolute freedom and unnecessary pampering for several years, they very naturally feel the loss of their liberty and their many little dainties and luxuries very acutely. Also, very often, they grieve and pine for their owners. It is never very kind or well to make pets of some of the wild animals; there comes a time when the wild nature asserts itself, the owner gets frightened or nervous, or in many cases tired of the pets, and the poor animals are suddenly sent to a strange place, with strange people, surrounded by all sorts of strange animals which they are not accustomed to see in their native haunts, and certainly never see when kept as pets.

Although in all Zoos these animals have the very best of care and attention, it stands to reason that it is a cruel thing suddenly to turn them out into absolutely different environments and expect them to be happy. It would be far kinder to have them killed in some humane manner. Also the directors and superintendents of Zoological Gardens find these "pet" animals most unsatisfactory. They are either so shy and timid that they hide themselves all day long, making it impossible for the public even to look at them, or they appear, when they do come forward, so sulky, miserable, and wretched that they are a reproach to all the care which is lavished on them, and they are a great and useless expense to the zoological societies. One of the chief objects of all zoo-logical societies is to show wild animals for the public to see and study. When these animals appear before the public in a miserable, forlorn condition, or, worse still, refuse to show themselves, it seems a waste of time, energy, and funds to keep them at all.

Many a director or superintendent has found himself in a great difficulty owing to having received one of these wild-animal "pets." He cannot very well return the animal to its owner, he cannot give it away, if he has the animal killed the owner generally makes a great fuss, and in many eases there is very great unpleasantness to all concerned. This is the reason why so many people are greatly surprised when offering to give a wild animal to some Zoological Gardens, to find, instead of the offer being accepted with grateful thanks, that various excuses are made and the offer refused.

Of course, in many cases the gift of a wild animal is greatly appreciated, as in the recent case when the Duke of Bedford presented the London Zoological Society with another pygmy hippopotamus. This is a most valuable animal, and a very rare one, and not only means a saving of great outlay of money, but also provides a most interesting exhibit for the general public. The King has often presented wild animals to the London Zoological Gardens; the President of the United States, too, when receiving complimentary presents of wild animals, sends them on to one of the many large Zoological Gardens, where they are received with much pleasure and many thanks; But these wild animals have not been coddled, not been kept in unnatural surroundings long enough to make them unfit for anything else, and are not only valuable exhibits, but great acquisitions.

So few people, when visiting any Zoological Gardens, ever realise the vast expense which is incurred in keeping them up. One of the heaviest items of expenditure is the erection of the many houses. The reptile house, for instance, in the London Zoological Gardens cost £10,000, the zebra house £1,000, and the new hospital and prosectorium £6,000. Just the rewiring of the parrots' aviary on the canal bank cost over £200. The water supply alone for the Polar bears' pond, hippopotamus pond, sea-lions' pond, pygmy hippopotamus, flamingos, wading birds, and innumerable wild-duck ponds costs almost a small fortune. But it is a necessity to have plenty of water, and in order to reduce these expenses the Society sank a well in the Gardens to supplement the supply from the water company.

Another great expense is heat. Many of the tropical wild animals require a certain amount of heat; not, perhaps, a very great heat, but it must be uniform, and kept as nearly as possible to the same degrees as the climate of their native homes. Also, there must be no cold spots or draughts. This means either hot-water pipes or steam heat, and both not only require big furnace fires, but several men constantly to attend to them, for it is imperative that the fires be kept up night and day. Let the houses get cold, and perhaps several valuable animals will get chills, which might eventually mean death. Constant changes also are made in all the best Zoological Gardens, old buildings removed and new ones built in their place, marshy places drained on account of the health of the animals, cages and dens made specially to suit the habits of the various inmates.

Then unexpected repairs have to be made. A bad storm will occasionally cause great damage. Fires - a fire broke out in the giraffe house in the London Zoological Gardens in 1866, resulting in the death of one old female and her little one - break out, pipes burst, roofs leak, etc. These are only a very few of the hundred-and-one items which occur constantly. An explosion of gunpowder being carried by a barge on the Regent's Park Canal once damaged the Society's grounds so badly that it cost £300 to put things right again.

In the last chapter we spoke of the cost of feeding wild animals, which is one of the most expensive items in any Zoological Gardens. We now come to the cost of the wild animals themselves. It is almost impossible, however, to state definitely what each wild animal costs; it all depends on the circumstances, whether the market supply is high or low, and under what conditions the animal might have been captured. Supposing three wild animals had been captured, and that after deducting the expenses of the expedition, wages, transport, and keep of the men and animals, with various other items, it was found that £300 would be a fair price for each animal, this would perhaps just give a fair profit to the wild-animal dealers, and so would be satisfactory all round.

But suppose that towards the end of the journey two of those animals died, this would mean that in order to obtain a fair profit the same price would be asked for the one animal, which in a great many cases the would-be purchasers would refuse to give. This would mean that either the dealer must cut down his prices and charge almost the same amount for one animal as he had stipulated when expecting to sell the three, or else lose the sale, and have the animal on his hands to keep, perhaps, until every penny of the profits had been eaten up. After consideration, the wild-animal dealer generally decides to sell the animal for what he offered it at first. So that instead of receiving £900, in return for all the expenses of his expedition, transport, cost of food, etc., he only gets £300, which not only does not pay him, but in a great many cases leaves him considerably out of pocket.

A great many people imagine that the profits of a wild-animal dealer are simply enormous. So they would be in a few rare cases, if the arrangements all went off as expected. But in many cases, as I have already explained, the animals arrive tired and weary after all their journeyings, and in some cases die almost as soon as they arrive. As, naturally, no director or superintendent cares to run any risks of laying out large sums of money belonging to the Zoological Society unless he is sure that the animal is well and in good condition, it sometimes is agreed that a few days at least shall pass after the arrival of a some-what sick animal, to see how things will turn out. Should the animal recover, which is more often the case, the deal is carried through and everything is quite satisfactory. But should the animal die, then the dealer gets nothing for all his output, his months of hard work, worry, and perhaps many dangers. But in this trade, as in every other, great chances have to be taken.

It is, in fact, almost impossible to give any exact idea of the cost of each wild animal. But we can give some idea. Lions, for instance, cost anything from £5 to £100 each. A good trained lion or tiger will often fetch as much as £500, but that, as in all cases, depends on a great many things. Elephants vary in price like spring chickens in a country market. Some will fetch as much as £500 each, others only £100 or £200 or even less. It all depends on whether they have been well trained, whether in a "confine" or a wild-animal show, whether it is a male or a female, whether young or old, and whether elephants are much called for or are a drug on the market.

Jaguars cost anything from £30 to £200. Leopards from £20 to £50. Black leopards, generally called panthers, from £50 to £70. Bears from £7 to £10. The black American bears are more expensive, while a good Thibet sloth bear, one of the most ugly, uncouth creatures on the face of the earth, will sometimes fetch as much as £25 to £40. Many years ago the late Mr. Carl Hagenbeck sold a giraffe for £60. Now, owing to the merciless shooting of these beautiful creatures by so-called hunters, their value is more than trebled. A fine Nubian giraffe was purchased by the New York Zoological Society quite recently from Carl Hagenbeck for $3,000 (£600), and the Society seemed to consider itself extremely fortunate to have obtained such a valuable animal delivered in New York for that sum of money.

It sounds a big sum, but in these days it is an exceedingly difficult thing to obtain a giraffe at all. Abnormally shy and timid creatures, through the brutality of men, they have become so scarce and so scared that their first impulse is to hide. Blending so wonderfully with their native foliage, and keeping so deadly still, it is most difficult even to find out their haunts. Having found their haunts, it is far more difficult to capture them alive, and then bring them safely home to their destination. In some cases it does not even pay the costs, but it is "all in the business," and risks have to be taken.

$6,000 were paid also by the New York Zoological Society for a baby rhinoceros from India, $5,000 for an African two-horned rhinoceros, and $6,000 for a fine four-year-old chimpanzee. Snakes vary very much, according to their size, species, and the countries from which they come. Anything from £10 to £50 will buy snakes of various kinds. But here again there are serious losses. In a great many cases snakes die from the cold in transit. In some cases they have become so torpid from cold that their owners, quite believing them dead, have in many cases left them lying about in some place where they ultimately recovered, to the great danger of those concerned. In cases of this kind the owners may have to pay very heavy damages.

Of course, in some cases, enormous deals are carried through, as, for instance, when the late Carl Hagenbeck supplied 2,000 dromedaries to South Africa for the German Government. This was undoubtedly a "tall order," but it was carried through quite successfully. But even with a big deal like this the corresponding expenses were, naturally, also proportionately big, so that the actual profits were not so large as may be imagined.

In such a place as Stelligen Park it is almost impossible to estimate approximately the actual cost of the upkeep of the Zoo. But the following facts kindly given me by Dr. Hornaday, taken from the Maintenance Budget of the New York Zoological Park for 1914, will give a fair idea of the cost of keeping up a large and important Zoo:

Salaries and wages, care of collections - $56,080
Food for animals - 40,135
Fuel - 10,409
General administration, salaries - 24,820
Care of 264 acres of ground, salaries - 45,280
Salaries of temporary employees - 2,070
Electric lighting - 1,900
Uniforms - 1,423
Medical and surgical supplies - 294
Miscellaneous equipment - 1,576
Miscellaneous materials - 7,402

There are 139 employees engaged in taking care of the ground and collections of this Park, and in general administration. The food bill is enormously high, because during the past ten years everything that the animals eat has doubled in selling price. Some idea of this expense may be gathered from the fact that the total of the maintenance appropriation for the year ending 1914 was $200,000.

It would, of course, be impossible to give more than a rough estimate of the cost, trouble, and unending care and attention so necessary to the upkeep of any Zoological Gardens, but some idea will, I hope, have been gathered from this book of the ways, means, dangers, expense, patience, and undaunted courage necessary to procure and transport wild creatures of all sorts and conditions from the Jungle to the Zoo.