Elephants often feign death when captured, in order to gain their liberty. Animal catchers tell many interesting tales of elephants feigning weakness from which they fall to the earth and later apparently die. In many instances the fastenings are removed from their legs and head and the carcass is abandoned as useless, when to the utter astonishment of all—before the captors get out of sight—the animal springs up and dashes away to the forest, screaming with joy at the triumph of its deception.

Many animals deliberately assume a frightful, terrifying or grotesque appearance. This they do by inflating their bodies, by erecting hair, skin, or folds, or by unusual poses. Darwin speaks of the hissing of certain snakes, the rattle of the rattle-snake, the grating of the scales of the echis, each of which serves to frighten or terrify the enemy.

Bluffing is another form of defence that many animals use. The cobra, for example, when disturbed, raises its immense hood in a most terrifying attitude! Many of the lizards use the same tactics; while the horned toads of America when disturbed actually eject blood from their eyes. Every one is familiar with the cat's habit of raising the fur on his back when molested by a dog. All bluffing animals, when in danger, try to assume a pose that will make them look most dangerous and impressive to their enemies, and there is little doubt that in most cases they succeed very well, for we have all seen a dog slink away from a menacing cat.

The elk or moose, whose home is in the northern part of America and Europe, is a powerful and large animal, sometimes seven feet in height, and is able to endure much cold. He has many enemies among animals and mankind, and during the summer season he is quite able to protect himself, but in winter there is considerable danger from hordes of wolves. This is especially true just after a heavy snowstorm, if the snow is wet and melting. When it is dry and frozen, he can travel over it with great speed, and this he does by a most unusual trot which carries him along much faster than the trotting gait of a horse. Thus he is able to escape the hungry, carnivorous wolves, whose courage increases with appetite. If crowded too close, he is able also to protect himself by the most terrific blows of his fore-feet.

But when the spring weather sets in, and the snows begin to melt underneath, leaving the upper crust sufficiently strong to support the weight of lighter and smaller animals, such as wolves, especially when they travel swiftly, he is in great danger. For with every step he sinks to the belly in the snow, while his enemies can walk right up to his head and shoulders without his being able to strike or paw them with his dangerous hoofs. The advantage seems to be with the wolves, and if ever they bring the moose to bay in the snow, his life is doomed. For they care little for his arrow-like horns, but boldly jump at his throat and kill him. Herein comes the elk's wisdom—he deliberately sets to work, before the snow melts, and builds for himself and family an elk-yard, which is nothing more than a large space of ground on which the snow is smoothed or trampled down until it becomes a hard surface on which he can walk; it is also surrounded by a high wall of snow, through which are certain exits that allow him to pass out, if he desires. All the enclosed space is not smoothed down, but parts of it only are cut up into roads through which he may pass very swiftly. Woe unto the daring wolves that enter his snowy fortification—his "No Man's Land"—- for sure death awaits them!

A sense of law, order, government; the sacredness of family ties—all these aid in the protection of animals. Family life with them originated just as it did in the human world. The social instinct and the moral sentiments which arise from social relations in man and animal are the same. Moral obligations, especially in relation to family ties and conjugal unions of animals, are in many cases sacred binders to such ties. The bear, for example, is proverbial for his conjugal faithfulness. The married life of most animals is strictly moral, and most of them are monogamists and have reached the highest form of family association and life.

In those places where they live promiscuously, it gives them the same protection in herds as it does among our lower savages. Cattle, sheep, and horses unite for mutual protection; wolves band together in packs; and after they have been domesticated there is still not only a strong desire to band together for social purposes, but also to hold courts of justice. It sometimes happens that an angered husband takes the law in his hands, like uncivilised men, and beats his wife.

In the development and organisation of social and civil life the horse and the goat hold the foremost position. It corresponds to that of man among the lower animals. They do not believe in monarchies, but strictly in republics, or rather, a democracy where all power comes from the working class. The claims of the working class to the exercise of supreme control in all political affairs are practically realised. Among a herd of wild Arabian horses, the leading stallion, or so-called king, is really only the father of the tribe; his functions are paternal rather than regal. If he may be said to reign in a certain sense, the true workers rule, and his scouts and sentinels obey his wishes which the workers have influenced and formulated.

The existence of but one king leaves no room for dynastic troubles and rivalries which disturb, so often, our human countries and empires with such dreadful results. If two rival kings arise at the same time in a herd of horses, instead of forming factions in the state which end in civil war, they fight it out personally until one of them is killed or defeated. Once in a great while the other horses intervene, and drive the less desirable, or the false-claimant of power, away from the herd and its grazing territory. In these troubles the real king has little or no power, all activities are carried on by the workers.

If by chance he dies or is captured, another king, chosen by the herd, immediately assumes the kingship. It is a well-known fact that if the king of a herd of wild horses is caught, it is not uncommon for his herd to remain as near him as possible, and in their attempt to release him are often trapped themselves. The king has no heirs, either apparent or presumptive, and no right of succession is recognised. Any member of the herd, provided the workers choose him, may become the king, as every American school boy is a possible president of the United States.

Among many animals there is a perfect social and industrial organisation in which the division of labour is far better adjusted than in many human organisations. This, of course, is the result of gradual growth and evolution just as it is in the human species. This can easily be proved among animals by their more primitive and savage habits. Monkeys, for example, in civilised monkey communities, differ very greatly from those of wilder and less trained districts. They are constantly changing their habits, becoming more and more civilised by improving their methods of work and their moral and religious life as well. In many cases they have ceased to kill members of their own tribe for small offences for which they used to kill, and the cleanness and beauty of their home lives seem to increase with the years.

It oftentimes happens, however, that powerful ape and baboon colonies relapse into barbarism, and roam, plunder, rob and murder, like a pack of uncivilised wolves or hyenas. They seem all at once to forget their peaceful industries and lose all desire for clean and right living. And strangely enough, when they once turn bad, they seldom reform. Some naturalists believe that they are led astray by a wicked king or ruler who comes into power; the natives believe the evil spirits have suddenly taken possession of them.

There is unquestionably, in the life of many tribal animals, a definite historical connection between the mother tribe and its colonies. This relation extends to the tribes of tribes, and thus there is an international relationship between the various members of a large number of tribes. These communities share the same likes, dislikes, hatreds, and aspirations. A missionary friend told of his experience with monkey folk, and how once, when hunting, his gun was accidentally discharged, instantly wounding a large semi-tame baboon near his home. He hastened to help the injured animal, but saw that the relatives had crowded around and were terrorised, as they thought it was intentional. They not only followed him to his home, but returned in the night and actually tore his fence down. For months he was afraid to leave his wife alone during the day. And the natives reported that large tribes of monkey folk immediately came into the community from remoter regions and were distinctly on the war path. It was evident that their unjust antipathy was extended to all the kinspeople.

This is evidence of hereditary enmity, such as is common among families, tribes, and clans, and it often takes the form of feuds, which are still in vogue in the mountainous counties of the South. The baboons had suffered wrongs and never forgot it, and it was transmitted to their offspring.



The ability to use weapons, tools, and war instruments is not exclusively human. Even fish are capable of reaching their prey at a long distance. The toxotes jaculator, which lives in the rivers of India, and feeds upon insects, cannot afford to wait until the insects which thrive upon the leaves of aquatic plants fall into the water. So as he cannot leap high enough to catch them, he fills his mouth with water and squirts it at an insect with such aim and force that he rarely fails to knock the insect into the water where he can easily catch it. Many other animals squirt various liquids, occasionally in attack, but most times in defence. The fish makes a veritable squirt-gun of his mouth.

Beavers use sticks, chips, and even stones in building their dams; and their engineering abilities are astounding. They are also capable of meeting emergencies, as shown by the following incident. A farmer in Michigan discovered one morning, just after a flood, that all his potato sacks, which had been hung on a back fence to dry, had suddenly disappeared. A few days later he found them in a nearby beavers' colony, used in rebuilding their dam, which had suddenly overflowed. The beavers wasted no time, when they discovered their danger, in meeting the emergency by using the sacks to prevent the destruction of their home.

Monkeys make skilled use of clubs and stones in capturing their prey and fighting their enemies.

The skill with which some of them throw pebbles would lead us to believe they have already reached the degree of civilisation that many tribes of savages had reached only a few years ago, when they learned to use the boomerang and lasso. Some naturalists claim that monkeys actually set pitfalls for their enemies and lie in wait for them to be caught, just as a hunter would do.

Elephants also know the value of clubs in warfare, and will often use a broken limb of a dead tree as a weapon of defence. The story is told and vouched for by Mr. William B. Smith that on his farm, near Mount Lookout, a few years ago a donkey grazed in the same pasture with a ferocious bull. He was frequently attacked by the bull, and always got the worst of the fight. His feet were no match for the bull's horns, but one day the mule grabbed a long pole in his mouth, and, whirling it about, almost killed the bull, and henceforth the two lived on the best of terms in the same pasture.

I have a friend who owns a cow that knows exactly how to lift an iron latch to the barn door with her tongue and open the door. Innumerable times she has opened a gate in the same way to permit her calf to go free with her. So skilled is she in the manipulation of doors and latches that we are tempted to believe in some previous state of existence she was a professional lock-picker!

Cats and dogs are famed for their ability to open doors by pulling latch-strings. And not a few cats show a strong desire to study music by walking up and down the keyboard of a piano!

Monkeys who live near the seashore show wonderful aptness in opening oysters and shell-fish with sharp stones, exactly as a man would do. Monkeys have already reached the degree of civilization where they select the stones best suited for their work, and from their progress in the past it is reasonable to believe that in the near future they will not only be able to make their own tools—thus placing themselves on a mental footing with our flint-chipping ancestors of the early stone age,—but will also learn the use of fire and eventually the use of guns and ammunition, which marks one of the most important epochs in the evolution of the human species.

The chimpanzees, gorillas, and apes of the African forests have many times been observed in the act of piling brushwood upon the fires left by travellers, and though they do not know how to kindle a fire, they have learned how to keep it burning. The tame ones soon learn how to ignite matches, and often do great harm by starting forest fires.

But they show quite as much intelligence about the use of fire as the average small child. In fact, it has been thought by a number of great scholars that man had not yet made his appearance upon the earth in the miocene age, and that all the marvellous chipped flints of that age belong to semi-human pithecoid apes of wonderful intelligence. There is surely nothing in the facts of natural history, nor in Darwin's theory of evolution, that makes such a supposition unbelievable.

Baboons use poles as levers, stones as hammers, and seem to understand the more simple mechanical devices. Prantl claims that man is the only animal capable of using fire but not a few baboons know how to strike a match, heap dried leaves over the blaze to make it burn, and then heap on dead wood to feed the fire. This knowledge with them, exactly as with primitive peoples, is a product of long experience and does not show any mathematical truths or principles any more than making a direct cut across a field implies "knowledge of the relation of a hypothenuse to the two other sides of a right-angled triangle." This is what Prantl calls "spontaneous mathematical thinking."

I knew of a tame ape in Chicago that learned to swing from the end of a clothes-line and seemed to enjoy it very much. The line was just the right length and properly hung so as to allow the ape to swing out from a kitchen window and touch the ground. Just for fun, some one cut a piece from the line so that he could not reach the ground; immediately the ape hunted another piece of cord, tying it to the end of his line so as to increase its length, and much to his delight, continued to swing on the line.

The distinctive features of animal protection and home government, especially in the higher groups, may compare favourably with any of the methods used by civilised man. This is true both of their offensive and defensive contrivances and for their monarchies and republics. They use shells, scales, plates of every kind, with innumerable modifications for various purposes—spines and allied armaments—all shapes and sizes; poisonous secretions, deadly odours, strong claws and teeth wielded by strong muscles, and form colonies that are more than a gregarious association. In most cases, they have communities composed of individuals living individual lives, yet which act in cases of need as one unit.



X

ANIMAL ARCHITECTS, ENGINEERS, AND HOUSE BUILDERS

"The heart is hard that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own."

The most popular and perhaps the most interesting department of natural-history study is that which treats of the manner in which animals utilise the various materials of the universe for purposes of protection, for war and defence, for raiment, food, and even the luxuries of life. Man, by his superior power of adaptation, excels the lower animals in providing for the comforts of life; but, on the other hand, in such practical arts as engineering and domestic architecture man frequently finds himself an amateur in comparison. With all man's inventions he has not been able to equal some of the remarkable results produced by some animals. The beaver, for example, shows a more profound knowledge of hydraulics than man himself. The power possessed by these craftsmen, not only in felling trees, but in duly selecting the best places for making homes and in appropriating substances suitable for their needs, is a never-ending marvel!

Nowhere can we find a greater animal-workman than the beaver. He belongs to the great burrowing family, and is also extremely graceful in the water. Long ago he learned the advantages of co-operation, and he unites with his fellows in building dams of felled trees, which have been cut up into suitable length for use in damming up water places. These are skilfully placed, and with the aid of mud, control the level of the water in selected places as efficiently as man could do. As a social animal, the beaver should be ranked among the first; of course, the various marmots are extremely sociable, but they ordinarily live quite independently of each other, except in cases where they chance to congregate because of favourable conditions. The beavers, on the other hand, thoroughly understand the benefits of united labour, and work together for the good of the community.

Beavers, if their skill were generally known, would have a great reputation among their human friends. Recently, at the New York Zoological Gardens, a visitor was pointing out different animals to his little son, and when he came to the beaver pond, referred to two of these dam-builders and tree-cutters, which were swimming through the water with large sticks in their mouths, as big rats!

Young beavers make their appearance in May, and there are usually from four to eight to a family. These kittens, as they are called, are odd looking little fellows, with big heads, large sharp teeth, flat tails, like little fat paddles, and delicate, soft, mouse-like fur, not at all coarse like that of their parents. If taken at an early age they make nice pets and are easily domesticated. In the early days of American history it was not uncommon to see one running around an Indian lodge, playing like a child with the little Indians, and frequently receiving with the papoose nourishment from the mother's breast. Strangely enough, the cry of the young beaver is exactly like that of the baby child. One of my friends in Michigan recently stopped at an Indian's house to see a real live baby beaver. "He cry all same as papoose," remarked the squaw, as she brought the young beaver out of the house, giving him a little slap to start him crying—and cry he did!

The body of a grown beaver is usually about thirty inches long, and something over eleven inches wide; it weighs about sixty pounds. The fore-paws are quite small in comparison with the rest of the body; the hind feet are larger, webbed like a duck's feet, and are the principal motive power in swimming. The most unique feature of the animal's body is the famous mud-plastering tail, which is oft-times a foot long, five inches in width, and an inch in thickness. The colour of the beaver varies; there are black beavers, white beavers, and brown beavers. The black are the best known.

The beaver is well equipped for defending himself, and for carrying out his architectural schemes. His jet black tail, which is like a large paddle, covered with horny scales, he uses in many ways. With it he turns the body in any desired direction while swimming and diving, and, in time of danger, employs it as a sound board, or paddle. When alarmed at night, he dives into the water, and, by means of his tail, splashes so violently as to give warning to all beavers within a half-mile distance. The stroke of the tail sounds not unlike a pistol shot. As soon as a beaver sounds the alarm all others dive underneath the water. His teeth are expressly suited by nature for cutting and chiselling out trees.

The dam is the beaver's masterpiece. In the alder or birch swamps, where he usually lives, he oft-times builds from six to eight little dams from knoll to knoll, and in this way makes a pond sufficiently large for his purposes. The average beaver dam is from twenty to thirty feet long; but they differ greatly in size. There is one on a branch of Arnold's River in Canada, where the stream is twenty-one feet wide and two feet deep, which is especially well built. The dam is seven feet high, and rises five to six feet above the pool. It is constructed mainly of alder poles, which are arranged side by side, and their length is parallel with the direction of the current. To create a pond for himself and provide against drought is the chief aim of the beaver in building his dam.

Just how these dams are built; who plans the job; who sees that it is carried out; whether each works under his own impulse or whether they co-operate; when they begin and how they finish; all these things are unknown to man. The investigation of such questions is almost impossible. It is generally believed, however, that beavers work in gangs under a common "boss" or "overseer," and it is a known fact that they work only at night. During a dark, rainy night they accomplish twice as much as on a moonlight night. No doubt the darkness gives them a sense of security which aids their work. Anyway, in the completed job, we see the evidences of a skilled engineer and architect, and one who knew thoroughly what he was about.

The size of a dam depends entirely upon the wishes of its builders and location and general conditions of land and water. Sometimes the more ambitious beavers build a dam a quarter of a mile in length. They employ exactly the same principle as is used in making a mill-dam. Beavers, however, were building dams long before millers came into existence, and their methods are fully as scientific as those of man. Mill-dams usually run straight across a stream, while beaver-dams are so curved that the water is gently turned to each side. In this way the beaver-dams are capable of resisting immense quantities of water which in its impetuous rush would carry away the ordinary mill-dam. Many scientific thinkers claim that the beaver employs this principle of construction without knowing it. How absurd! Who can be sure that he doesn't know it? Scientists of the old school desire proof before they will accept anything as a fact, yet they themselves repeatedly make wild statements without proper substantiation.

It is not unusual for a beaver family to select a home on the bank of a pond, lake, or stream whose waters are sufficiently deep and abundant for all their needs. In such a case dams are not needed, and regulation beaver houses are rarely constructed. Instead, apartment houses are hollowed out from the banks. But in the ease of a town-site on shallow, narrow waters, dams are absolutely necessary to insure sufficient depth to conceal the beavers, and to prevent obstruction by ice. The entrance to the beaver's home is almost always under the water. This arrangement safeguards the home from predatory enemies.

During the summer months, beavers are inclined to live alone, except when a new home occupies their attention; but when autumn comes, the various families of a neighbourhood meet and remain together through the following spring. In the latter part of August the busy season begins, and each and every beaver, old and young, aids in repairing the dam and dwellings, which have been allowed to fall into decay. The cutting and felling of trees is the first important work to be done.

These interesting "tree-cutters" usually work in pairs, and are sometimes assisted by younger beavers; thus the family works together in cutting and felling the trees, but in other forms of labour it seems that several families work together. If only two are engaged in felling a tree, they work by turns, and alternately keep guard; this is a well-known practice of many animals both in work and play. As soon as the tree begins to bend and crack, they cease cutting and make sure of their definite direction of escape, then they continue to gnaw until it begins to fall, whereupon they plunge into the stream, usually, where they remain for some time lest the noise of the falling tree attract the attention of enemies.

Their next work is to cut up the tree into sections which they can remove. If the tree is not too large and has already fallen in the water, they take it as it is, otherwise it must be cut up and conveyed to the dam. No professional lumberman better understands how to transport lumber to a desired place than beavers. They realise the value of water transportation and thoroughly appreciate that trees can only be removed downhill. From tame beavers we have learned that they remove smaller limbs by seizing them with their teeth, throwing the loose end over their shoulder, and then dragging them to their destination.

These water-loving animals rely mainly upon their native element for the movement of lumber and food, and to aid this they employ engineering skill that is rivalled only by their feats of tree-cutting and dam-building. This constructive faculty is shown largely in their canal-digging. From one small stream to another, or from one lake to another, they excavate canals from three to four feet in width, with a water depth of two feet, and occasionally one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet in length. The amount of labour they perform is almost unbelievable; every particle of dirt is carried away between their chin and fore-paws. This earth is sometimes used in plastering up a nearby dam or repairing their winter home. Small and tender twigs are transported to the vicinity of their lodges, and then sunk for winter food.

Mr. Morgan has made a close study of these canals, and in speaking of them he says that when he first saw them, and heard them called canals, he doubted their artificial origin; but upon examination he found that they were unquestionably beaver excavations. He considers these artificial canals, by means of which the beavers carry their wood to their lodges, the supreme act of intelligence on the part of these wise animals. Even the dam, remarkable as it is, does not show evidence of greater skill than that displayed in the making of these canals. No one who has ever understood the ways of the beaver can believe that he is not exceedingly intelligent. The banks of these canals soon become covered with growing plants and moss, and they look not unlike slow sluggish streams winding through the marshy lands.



The beaver huts, or "lodges" as they are usually called, look not unlike beehives, somewhat broader at the base, with thick walls and roof, four to six feet in thickness. They are formed of numbers of poles, twigs, and small branches of trees, woven together and plastered with mud, in the same way that the dams are made. Inside the house are circular chambers formed of mud, which have been smoothed and polished like waxed floors by the feet of the occupants. Around the outer border of each polished floor is dry grass used for Mrs. Beaver's nursery, and here the young beavers sleep and play.

From the outside these beaver huts resemble Esquimaux snow-houses, being almost circular in form, and domed. The walls are quite thick enough to keep out the cold, but with all the beaver's ingenuity, he is helpless against trappers. Summer and winter they are hunted, until now they are fast becoming extinct. How few people seem fully to realise and care what is being done to wild animals! They do not seem to know that it is a crime to take the life of a being unnecessarily. Only human life is sacred to them! To realize the wonderful work of beavers, and then to act as we do toward them is unworthy of our civilisation.

An interesting cousin of the beaver, the musquash or muskrat, and called by the Indians the beaver's "little brother," is also a house-builder and engineer of no mean abilities. He is at home throughout the greater part of North America, and, like the beaver, frequents the regions of slowly flowing streams and large, reed-bordered ponds. Here he mingles in groups of his own kin, and together they build houses, work and play, dive and swim, with almost as much skill as their big beaver brothers.

The muskrat is a skilled engineer, and delights in tunnelling. His home consists of a large rounded chamber which is reached by a long burrow from the side of a stream. From his main living-room are oftentimes found a number of smaller chambers or galleries, and these are used to store food in the form of delicate roots and bits of bark. Some of the more ambitious muskrats build large houses on piles of mud which rise out of the water. These houses are usually made of heaps of dead grass and weeds which are cemented together with mud and clay; at other times they contain no mud or clay, and seem to be only piles of tender roots and swamp grasses to be used for food during the long, cold winters.

From his physical appearance, the muskrat is well prepared to do his work: he is stoutly built, with a body about a foot in length, not including the tail; has small eyes, and tiny ears, partly covered with fur. In the winter, as food gets scarce, he begins to eat even the walls of his house, and by the time his home is gone—spring has arrived!

A most unusual family of skilled house-builders are the brush-tailed rat-kangaroos, or Jerboa kangaroos of Australia and Tasmania. They are no larger than an ordinary rabbit, but they have cousins who are as large as a man. These rat-kangaroos have most interesting tails, covered with long hair which forms itself into a crest near the tip. Their homes are found among small grassy hills, where there are a few trees and bushes. They scratch out a small hole in the ground, near a tuft of tall grass, and so bend the grass as to form a complete roof to the house, which is rather poorly constructed, and whose chief interest lies in the unusual way the kangaroos have of carrying all the building materials, like tiny bundles of hay, held compactly in their tails. There is no other workman among the animals that employs quite this method of transporting materials.

The rat-kangaroos have a dainty little brown cousin that lives in Africa, and who is occasionally seen jumping around on the ground, underneath bushes, and near damp springs. He is very small, not over three inches in length, and is like a miniature kangaroo, except for his long tail. Like their great cousins—the kangaroos—Mrs. Jerboa often carries her babies on her back when she goes out to seek food.

In the Great Sahara Desert, parched and dry, are found numerous cities of these little animals. With the exception of a few birds, reptiles, jackals and hyenas, they are the only inhabitants of this barren and desolate land. From the Arabs we learn that these little animals have extensive and intricate burrows, consisting of innumerable passages tunnelled out in the hard, dry soil. And these tunnels are the result of combined labour on the part of the entire community. The least alarm causes them to scuffle away into their underground homes.

One of the larger species of Central Asia employs a stratagem that is remarkable. Like their cousins of Africa, they live in a great underground city which is a perfect network of burrows which end in a large central chamber. From this chamber a long winding tunnel terminates very near the surface of the ground, and it is a long distance from the other burrows. No sign of its existence appears from above the surface of the earth, but if an enemy invades the burrow, away the jerboas rush for this secret exit and break through to the surface out of reach of the trouble, and escape.

These African jerboas are exceedingly odd in appearance, and they are two-legged in their habits of walk, and never go on all-fours. They walk by placing one hind foot alternately before the other; and they run in the same way. They can leap an extraordinary distance.

Frogs and toads, as a class, are not so skilled in house-building as some of their higher relations, but there is one of their number—the Hyla faber—that is remarkably gifted in building mud houses. He lives in Brazil, and the natives call him the ferreiro, or smith, and he is indeed the master-builder of his family. Mrs. Hyla is really the gifted member of the tribe, and it is during the breeding season that she diligently dives underneath the water, digs up handfuls of mud, and builds on the bottom a small circular wall, which encloses a space about ten to fourteen inches in diameter. This wall is continued until it reaches about four inches above the surface of the water. It looks not unlike a small volcano, and the inside is skilfully smoothed. This has been done by Mrs. Frog's artistic hands. When the house is entirely completed, Mrs. Frog lays a great number of eggs, and here they are quite safe from enemies both as eggs and baby tadpoles.

Mr. Frog seems little concerned in the building of the home, but he does take pleasure in croaking for Mrs. Frog while she works. Perhaps this is to her heart genuine music, and his faithful attention to their children makes up for his love of idleness!

Perhaps the strangest animal engineer in the world is found in Madagascar and Australia. It is the duckbill or duckmole, and is scientifically known as the Ornithorhynchus paradoxus. The natives of Australia call it by several names: Mallangong, Tambreet, and not a few call it, Tohunbuck.

This odd little aquatic engineer digs long tunnels of great intricacy in the bands of lazy rivers, and because of its paradoxical nature and appearance has caused many strange stories to originate about its habits and methods of propagation. It has the beak of a duck and waddles not unlike this bird, but, like other mammals, it gives birth to its young, and does not lay eggs, as is so often claimed for it. When swimming it looks like a bunch of floating weeds or grass.

Its home is always on the banks of a stream, and is always provided with two entrances: one below the surface of the water, and the other above. This insures escape in case of enemies. The main tunnel or road to the home is sometimes fifty feet in length, and no engineer could devise a more deceptive approach; it winds up and down like a huge serpent, to the right, and to the left, and is so annoyingly variable in its sinuous course that even the natives have great trouble in digging the duckbill out of its nest.

The nest is oval in form, and is well-carpeted with dry weeds and grass. Here the young reside on soft beds until they are large enough to care for themselves. There are from one to four in each nest.

There are no greater architects in the universe than may be found among the coral-polypes. These interesting little animals of the deep have been much misunderstood, and have sometimes had the erroneous designation of "insect" bestowed upon them. The word "insect" has been applied in a very loose and general sense in other days; but naturalists and scientists should see to it that the use of this term be corrected in reference to these wonderful coral-architects, and that no informed person refer to them except as animals. Even poets have been guilty of propagating the most erroneous ideas about the nature and works of these sea-builders. Montgomery, in his Pelican Island, makes statements that are shocking to an intelligent thinker, and which no scientist can excuse on the ground of poetical license. "The poetry of this excellent author," says Dana, "is good, but the facts nearly all errors—if literature allows of such an incongruity." Think of coral-animals as being referred to as shapeless worms that "writhe and shrink their tortuous bodies to grotesque dimensions"! These deep-sea builders manufacture or secrete from their own bodies the coral substance out of which the great reefs are built. It is a part of their life work and nature, as a flower produces its own colours and shapes; it is amusing to know that it has only been about one hundred and fifty years since it was discovered not to be a plant but an animal! Even Ovid states the popular belief of the classic period when he speaks of the coral as a seaweed "which existed in a soft state as long as it remained in the sea, but had the curious property of becoming hard on exposure to the air."

These strange coral-producing animals of the deep demand two especially important conditions only under which they will thrive: namely, a certain depth of water and a certain temperature. Thus it is seen that the warmth of the sea determines the distribution of the corals; the geography of these animals is defined by degrees of temperature. Only in equatorial seas may reef-building corals be found; and if we select the "Equator as a natural centre of the globe, and measure off a band of 1800 miles in breadth on each side of that line," we will find that it will include the chief coral regions of the earth.

The work of the corals is most interesting. Small as are these tiny workmen, each and every one does his bit and, speck by speck, adds his minute contribution to the growing mass of coral until entire islands are surrounded by extensive reefs. Tahiti, for example, is surrounded by a barrier reef which is really an immense wall. The large barrier reef on the northeast coast of Australia extends in a continuous line for 1,000 miles, and varies from 10 to 90 miles in breadth. Some reefs are mere fringes which simply skirt the coast lands, and seem to be mere extensions of the beach. Still another variety of reef is known as the "atoll" or "lagoon" reef. This latter form is seen in circular rings of coral of various breadths which enclose a body of still water—the lagoon. There are many of these coral islands in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Keeling or Cocos Atoll, of the Indian Ocean, is 9-1/2 miles in its greatest width; Bow Island is 30 miles in length, and 6 miles wide; while in the Maldive Archipelago one island measures 88 geographical miles in length, and in some places is 20 miles wide. When one beholds a large coral ring, covered with rich soil and tropical vegetation, and "protecting a quiet lake-haven from the restless ocean without, it is little to be wondered at that the earlier voyagers recorded their surprise that the apparently insignificant architects of such an erection are able to withstand the force of the waves and to preserve their works among the continual attacks of the sea." As Pyrard de Laval truly said, "It is a marvel to see each of these atollons surrounded on all sides by a great bank of stone—walls such as no human hands could build on the space of earth allotted to them.... Being in the middle of an atollon, you see all around you this great stone bank, which surrounds and protects the island from the waves; but it is a formidable attempt, even for the boldest, to approach the bank and watch the waves roll in, and break with fury upon the shore."

As to the explanation of the modes of formation of these coral-reefs, the scientists have long been propounding theories which are sometimes amusing. Strangely enough they have nearly all explained that coral-polypes aggregate themselves in the forms of atolls and barrier-reefs by a mysterious "instinct," mediocrity's only term for screening its ignorance, and which is also given as the cause for their secreting lime. Flinders says that they form a great protecting reef in order that they may be protected by its shelter, and that the leeward aspect of the reef forms a nursery for their infant colonies.

Thus we see that these same scientists are accrediting these little architects with the possession of a great intelligence, and they are thought to co-operate together in a manner expressive of the greatest degree of efficiency and brotherly feeling. Each of these scientists gives a theory that leaves untouched the essential question of the causes for coral-reefs assuming their various shapes; and it is reasonable to believe that they work according to a divine wisdom and plan, and that mankind does not yet understand their strange ways, which give us a higher conception of the universe than that held by the ancients. Science has come to the point where it must recognise the perfect unity of all life, and that our fellow-architects, engineers, and house-builders in the animal world also fill an important place in Nature's great scheme.



XI

FOOD CONSERVERS

"He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all."

—COLERIDGE.

It can almost be said that there is no industry or profession of the human world that is not carried on with equal skill in the animal world. This is especially true of merchandising and store-keeping; animals, however, have different methods of merchandising than men, although these methods are none the less real. They give and take instead of buy and sell and have co-operative shops which they operate with great success. They unite for a desired end, and demonstrate their ability to work together in a common enterprise in a way that might teach man a good lesson.

Food and shelter are the first needs of animals. In order to obtain these, they group themselves into foraging parties in the most ingenious manner. Like mankind, they sometimes co-operate for dishonest ends; they form "trusts" and organise into gangs for purposes of mutual aid.

Deer, monkeys, rabbits, foxes, and numerous others conduct their dining-rooms on a co-operative principle. Some watch and wait while others dine. The same is true where they go to watering places to drink and bathe.

Perhaps the most unique and clever food conserver is the American polecat. He not only provides for himself, but prepares a larder for his young, so that they will have plenty of food. The nursery is usually comfortably embedded in a cave, and is lined with soft, dry grass. Adjoining this nursery is a larder, which often contains from ten to fifty large frogs and toads, all alive, but so dexterously bitten through the brain as to make them incapable of escaping. Mr. and Mrs. Pole-cat can then visit or hunt as they please, so long as their children have plenty of fresh meat at home!

Another interesting food conserver is the chipping squirrel, or chipmunk, so named because his cry sounds like the chirp of little chickens. His method of dress is most unusual; he is brownish grey in colour, with five stripes of black and two of pale yellow running along the back of his coat; the throat and lower part of his body is snowy white. These colours occasionally vary, when the grey and yellow are superseded by black.

His home is underground, usually under an old wall, near a rock fence, or under a tree; his burrow is so long and winding that he can easily escape almost any enemy, except the weasel, which is not easily outwitted. His nursery and living-room is quite pretentious, but his lateral storeroom is a marvel! He is a miser indeed, and stores up every acorn and nut he can find, even many times more than he can ever eat. His variety of food is almost unending—he loves buckwheat, beaked nuts, pecans, various kinds of grass seeds, and Indian corn. In carrying food to his home he first fills his pouches to overflowing and then takes another nut in his mouth; he thus reminds the classical reader of Alemaeon in the treasury of Croesus.

The hedgehog is a regular Solomon in her methods of collecting fruit. Plutarch had a very high opinion of her. He says that when grapes are ripe, the mother hedgehog goes under the vines and shakes them until some of the grapes fall; she then literally rolls over them until many are attached to her spines, and marches back to her babies in the cave. "One day," says Plutarch, "when we were all together, we had the chance of seeing this with our own eyes—it looked as if a bunch of grapes was shuffling along the ground, so thickly covered was the animal with its booty."



Alpine mice not only form comfortable winter homes in the earth, but combine into small winter colonies, each colony numbering about ten to twelve inhabitants, all of whom are under the direction of a leader. Thus organised, they proceed to lay up provisions for the winter. They use their mouths as scythes and their paws as rotary machines. Surely their wisdom and foresight call forth our greatest admiration. The jerboas or jumping mice are not only skilled athletes in the art of jumping, but they are gifted food conservers and producers as well. They lay up complete storehouses of food, which they do not consume altogether as their appetite may direct; but conserve it carefully for the times when nothing can be obtained from the fields. Then, and then only, do they open the closed magazines. Such acts of intelligence cannot be recorded under the head of "instinct"! They demonstrate the ability to plan for the future, and meet all emergencies.

Certain food hoarders and robbers, like the vole, are so very greedy and become such misers that they often threaten total destruction to large areas of grain. They were so plentiful in the classic land of Thessaly, the vale of Tempe, and the Land of Olympus that the old Greeks established what they called an Apollo Smintheus, the Mouse-destroying God. In the early spring, according to Professor Loeffler, who has made a special study of their invasions, they begin to come down from their homes in the hills to the cultivated fields. They seem to follow regular roads, and often travel along the railroad embankment. They travel very slowly, and when at home live somewhat on the order of prairie dogs, that is, in underground dwellings with numerous winding passages and tunnels.

These wise little food conservers are nocturnal in habit, and are rarely seen except by careful observers. When they once determine to rob a field, they do it with amazing rapidity and completeness. In a single night hordes of these workers go into a cornfield and by daylight not a stalk of corn remains. The field is as empty as if a cyclone had struck it. They work with great system, and while a part of their number cut the stalks down, others cut it up into movable sizes, while still others superintend its systematic removal. Storehouses are usually provided before the grain is even cut. They make long voyages throughout a country, storing away tons of grain and food in these various granaries. To these they come for supplies whenever necessary. All poverty-stricken voles are also fed from these storehouses, since it is the product of the community as a whole. Aristotle wrote at length about their wise and destructive ways.

Not the least ingenious of food conservers are the hamsters, members of the great rodent family. They have made their dwellings most comfortable and even luxurious in arrangement and furnishings. Like wealthy farmers, they are not satisfied with comfortable dwellings only, but they too must have spacious barns adjoining their homes. Their home, or burrow proper, consists of two openings: one, which is used as an entrance, and which sinks vertically into the ground; the other, which is used as an exit, with a winding slope. The central room is beautifully carpeted with straw, moss, and dry leaves, which makes it a very pleasant living-room and bedroom. A third small winding tunnel leads from this room to the barns and storehouse. Thus, Mr. and Mrs. Hamster and the children have no need to go forth in the cold and wet weather to seek food—they can remain at home perfectly protected and well-fed. They are very liberal, and in case of need or poverty, will always share their food with their neighbours.

I once found the nest of a harvest mouse, which was woven of plaited blades of straw of the oats and wheat. It was perfectly round, with the aperture so ingeniously closed that I could scarcely tell to what part of the nest it belonged. It was as round as a marble and would actually roll when placed on a table, although within its walls were six tiny mice, naked and blind. As they increased in size day by day, the elastic wall of their small home expanded, and thus served their need until such time as they were old enough to live independent of this specially provided shelter.

There is a larger animal, known as a "rat-hare" or the harvest rat, which gathers piles of hay for winter use, sometimes to the height of six or eight feet in diameter. They begin harvesting in the early part of August, and after having cut the grass, they carefully spread it out to dry before placing it in their barns. These barns are usually located in holes or crevices of mountains. They are found in immense numbers in the Altai Mountains.

The California woodrat is not only a food hoarder but a notable thief and robber. A nest was found that was a veritable tool chest and pawn shop! It contained fourteen knives, three forks, six small spoons, one large soup spoon, twenty-seven large nails, hundreds of small tacks, two butcher knives, three pairs of eye-glasses, one purse, one string of beads, one rubber ball, two small cakes of soap, one string of red peppers, several boxes of matches, with numerous small buttons, needles, and pins. Apparently these woodrats are as ambitious for unnecessary and useless possessions as is man himself. Their big storeroom did, however, contain a larder in which they had some of their favourite food, such as seeds and nuts.

Some animals have learned not only to acquire, but also to defend and protect, all their property. We see in the human world how strong is the impulse to collect, and children will invariably collect anything from pebbles to peach-pits, if they see other children doing the same thing.

Most animals that do not hoard are those that forage for food, or fish, and rarely have permanent homes. The orang-outangs, for example, are regular gipsies, and go from place to place wherever food is plentiful. They take life easy, and sometimes during their journeys select a suitable spot near the seashore and have a real picnic. A scout has already discovered the right spot for getting big oysters, of which they are exceedingly fond, and when they have assembled, certain ones proceed to dig up the oysters, which they hand to others on the shore and they, in turn, place them on big stones, and proceed to open them for the feast. If one of the fishermen-monkeys discovers an oyster open, he will not insert his hand to remove the meat until first placing a stone between the valves. This assures him protection against the closing of the oyster. In most cases, they open the oysters by first placing them on stones and then using another stone as a hammer. These facts are vouched for by no less authorities than Gamelli Carreri, Dampier, and Wafer.

It is only a matter of time until many animals will understand the use of man-made tools. Some have already learned to use such tools as they make and shape for themselves. Monkeys and apes are already gifted in this art. Of course, under domestication, they use knives, forks, spoons, and dishes not so much from intelligence as from imitation. This, however, might be said of many human beings. I have seen an immense chimpanzee sit in a chair, set his own dinner table, use his knife and fork correctly when eating, and take great delight in the use of his napkin, which he always carefully refolded when his meal was over.

The human-like qualities of apes and monkeys, however, need scarcely be told. They are so very similar to man in most ways that there are few things they cannot do. Aelian tells of an ape which learned to drive horses skilfully. He knew just when and how to use the whip, how much slack to allow in the reins, and when to tighten them! They greatly resent any intrusion on their hunting-grounds, and make use of sticks and clubs to protect them. The chief is always armed with a club, and is thoroughly skilled in the use of it. It sometimes happens that an elephant will come to the same tree to seek food that apes frequent, and although they have no enmity towards each other, they like the same kind of food. As soon as the ape sees the elephant reaching his trunk among the branches, he immediately slips near the elephant, and when an opportunity presents itself, he whacks him over the trunk with his club! The infuriated elephant runs away in terror!

A story is told of a party of foraging apes who went into a cornfield with the purpose of robbing it, and discovered two men. They immediately rushed upon them and attempted to poke their eyes out with sticks and would have succeeded but for the intervention of two other men who chanced to be near. The extreme cleverness of apes in applying their reason and judgment is shown in Vosmaer's account of the female orang-outang, who tried to open the padlock of her chain with a small stick. She had seen her master open it with a key, and she exactly imitated the motion of his hands in the attempt.

Man shows a disposition to deny animals all traits and characteristics which are similar to his own. This reminds us of a remark that Cardinal Newman once made that men know less of animals than they do of angels. Why should we show such foolish pride and delusion, and try to baffle one of God's great facts? When men attempt to extinguish the idea of animal intelligence and sentiment by referring to it as instinct, we are reminded of the desert ostrich, which buries its head in the sand and thinks it cannot be seen. We should proudly acknowledge the wonderful human-like methods of these food conservers of the animal world, and recognise in all this a guiding Providence who provides for and protects all his creatures, be they great or small.



XII

TOURISTS AND SIGHT-SEERS

"Every night we must look, lest the down slope Between us and the woods turn suddenly To a grey onrush full of small green candles, The charging pack with eyes flaming for flesh. And well for us then if there's no more mist Than the white panting of the wolfish hunger."

The desire to travel and see the great world is by no means peculiar to the human race. It is found among animals to such a degree that groups of them will often leave their homes in one country and journey to another. These strange wanderlust habits are noticed even by the casual observer, and no special insight is required to see that these wise creatures have their annual tours excellently arranged and marked out. Their route is possibly as definitely arranged before starting, as is the route of a human traveller. They have their selected eating places arranged, know every danger spot and the enemies they are likely to encounter.

The members of these co-operative tours take life tickets, and each tour lasts about one year. One of the most unusual instances of such co-operation is that of the lemmings of the Scandinavian countries. These are animals of the mouse tribe, which live in the mountainous districts. They live upon roots and grasses. They breed very rapidly. At certain times they go from the centre of Norway to the east and west, crossing valley, hill, and river in great masses. Many are destroyed by birds and beasts of prey, but finally the survivors reach the Atlantic on the Gulf of Bothnia and, for some strange unknown reason, plunge in and die. Only enough remain from one season to another to propagate the species. It is an immense co-operative suicide society.

Rivers and valleys are sometimes effectual barriers. On the plains of the Amazon great numbers of animals are found on one side of the river only; these have not been able to cross to the other. On the north side of the Rio Negro are two varieties of monkeys, the brachiurus conxion and the jacchus bicolor, which are unknown on the south side. Of course, water-loving animals, such as seals, whales, and porpoises are at home in the water and can swim for days without stopping. Quite a few animals can swim for a short distance, but comparatively few for long distances. In the early days in North America it was not uncommon for buffalo to swim across the Mississippi River. Rats and squirrels often migrate in great numbers. It oftentimes happens that Arctic animals travel from one place to another on floating ice. In the South American waters it is a common sight to see floating islands covered with plants and trees upon which there are live animals; and while these animals are likely to perish, they are oftentimes carried safely to land. Eagles have often been instrumental in bringing new species of animals to islands where they had previously been unknown, their purpose being to provide food for their own young. Some of these animals would escape and henceforth become citizens of their new habitation.

An interesting division of migrants is that of the casual travellers, like the men and women who always remain at home except when special business calls them away. Sudden climatic changes, or the scarcity of food, often cause stay-at-home animals to make tours into new territories. As a good instance, I might cite the case of three wolves, which I saw entering Jackson Park in Chicago, during very severe weather when Lake Michigan was frozen over. The morning papers stated that because of forest fires in Michigan, and the extreme cold, which not only made food scarce for the wild animals of Michigan, but froze the Lake, many of them had come across the ice into the great Chicago parks seeking food and shelter.

The subject of animal travel is full of interesting and difficult problems, and not the least interesting nor the least difficult is the question of just how they find their way to and from various places. Many naturalists tell us that these animals are led by inherited instinct along the migration lines followed by their forefathers. But even if this were true, what made them originally follow such a course?

Wild horses when travelling always have a leader as well as several sentinels for each herd. By some unknown code this leader makes known his wishes and directs the movements of the herd. No human army could have greater order or more perfect obedience to commands; and under him there is absolute unity by means of which the carnivorous animals, such as the wolf, the jaguar, and the puma, are repelled. Wild deer invariably have a leader, and while we do not know how he obtains his position, nor how he directs his followers, we do know he is highly successful in his efforts.

No act in the animal world bespeaks more intelligence than that of placing sentinels, especially during a journey. Horses show striking skill and ingenuity in the choosing and placing of their sentinels. Any one who has been fortunate enough to have seen them travelling in the forests of South America, where the wild horses are gregarious, and travel in herds of five hundred to a thousand, has noticed that sentinels are always stationed around the herd. These animals are not well prepared for fighting, and experience has taught them that their greatest safety is in flight, and so, when they graze or sleep, sentinels are always on the look-out for enemies. If a man approaches, the sentinel at first walks toward him, as if to make sure what the enemy is, and what he desires, if the man goes nearer to the herd, the sentinel neighs in a most peculiar tone. Immediately the herd is aroused, and gallops away, not in confusion, but perfect order, as though its members were human soldiers.

The same is true of the white-legged peccaries, so plentiful in Guiana. They congregate by the thousands, choose a leader whose position is always at the front, and travel for hundreds of miles through the great forests. If they come to a river, the leader halts, as if to make sure that all is well for crossing, then he plunges into the water and is followed by his immense army. The sureness of the leader would suggest that he has been over the same route many times before—perhaps this is why he has been chosen! If an enemy appears, or any form of danger is approached, they carry on an immense amount of chattering and proceed only when they have talked it out. Any hunter that should be foolish enough to attack them, unless he were already up a tree, would be torn to pieces with their terrible teeth and tusks. They are as bloodthirsty as the wild boars of the Black Forest of Germany, and will sometimes actually tear down a tree up which an enemy has escaped, that they may kill him.

The African apes have an interesting way of sending their sentinel to the top of an adjacent rock or tree, that he may look over the surrounding valleys and plantations before they go to plunder a garden or field. If he sees any danger, he utters a loud shriek, and the entire troop immediately runs away. The monkeys of Brazil post a guard while they sleep; the same is true of the chamois and other species of wild antelope.

A few years ago, many of the sheep in the northern part of Wales had become quite wild, and they usually grazed in parties of twelve to twenty, always having a sentinel so stationed as to command a prominent view of the surrounding territory. If any animal or person came near, he would give a peculiar hiss or whistle, repeating it two or three times, at which the whole herd would scamper away to places of safety.

One of the most striking facts about migration is its never-failing regularity and success. Most animals migrate at the recurrence of the breeding season. Of these, the great sea-turtle, which seeks the shallow water and deep sandy hills when ready to lay her eggs, is well known. Notwithstanding the great risks that practically all travelling animals assume, they are successful as a whole in their travels, and many return to bear testimony to a successful trip even across continents and sometimes the ocean. They migrate, for a variety of reasons. When it is not for a more desirable climate, nor more food, nor even better breeding grounds, we must either believe it is because of the natural desire to travel, or frankly admit that we do not understand it.

The Icelandic mice have probably the most curious methods of travelling of all migratory animals. Dr. Henderson, an authority on Iceland, not only verifies the fact himself, but gives the names of many prominent investigators who have seen the mice crossing small rivers and streams on thin pieces of dry board, dragging them to the water, launching them, and then going aboard their little rafts. They then turn their heads to the centre, and their tails, which hang in the water, are used as paddles and rudders until they reach the destined shore.

Among travellers none are more famed than the camels. In their sphere and use they are supreme, and Nature has prepared them especially for travelling on the dry, hot, and barren deserts. They are truly the "ships of the desert" for they travel on a sea of sand, and their pad-like feet, so poorly adapted for travel on moist soil, is admirably suited to the desert sands. They are capable of travelling many days without food or water, and are used extensively in the desert regions of the East not only as beasts of burden but for their milk, which is an important article of diet in those countries where the camel is at home.

Animals that do not migrate, especially those living in cold climates, change their clothing at regular intervals. Their hair or fur increases in thickness in winter. If we compare the Indian and African elephants of to-day, whose delicate thin hair is scarcely noticeable, with the great extinct mammoth, which had an enormous amount of woolly fur, we readily see the great difference in their clothing. Yet these animals are members of the same great family. The same difference may be noted with horses: the Arabian horse, for example, has short, glistening fur, while those of Iceland and Norway have very thick fur; the same is true of Northern and Southern sheep. Animals which live in temperate regions, put on much thicker coats in winter, and shed them as summer approaches.



The love of their original homes is one of the most striking features of certain animal travellers. The fierce struggle for existence and the territory required for an animal's home largely determine the amount of effort they make to seize and hold certain possessions. A pair of wildcats, for example, require a comparatively small hunting ground. But this they will defend against invasion even to the point of death. There are many more evidences showing the animals' love of home, and that they also know the meaning of home-sickness.

Not a few animals have learned definitely to lay out and obtain recognition for the boundaries of their respective ranging-grounds. This is amply proven by their respect and recognition of rights of way. Animals of certain farms seem to know the exact boundaries of their grazing lands and pastures, and to teach this knowledge to their young. In addition they often police their lands and pastures against intruders. Woe unto any traveller found on the wrong highway! It is not uncommon for the transgressor to be pushed from a right of way to the rocks below. More than once a court's decision regarding disputable territory has been based on the sheep's recognition of boundary; those sheep slain in battle or otherwise injured while trying to invade the questionable territory have been paid for by the owner of the transgressing sheep.

It is easy to understand how sheep can recognise their rights of way, but somewhat difficult to account for their knowledge of boundaries. Sheep and goats have for ages been the greatest mountain-path and road-makers. Whether or not they have engineers, we are not sure, but they seem to select the shortest, easiest, and best route across the trackless hills, and never seem to change the way. In these localities, the sheep are almost in a primitive condition, and "not the least interesting feature of their conduct in this relapse to the wild life is that, in spite of the highly artificial condition in which they live to-day, they retain the primitive instincts of their race."

That this "peremptory and path-keeping" instinct is shown by the habits of the musk-ox, is clear. He is as much akin to the sheep as to cattle, and in habits more like those of the great prehistoric sheep as we imagine these to have been. The musk-ox naturally assembles in large flocks, and is migratory, just as the domesticated flocks of Spain are, and those of Thrace and the Caspian steppe. These flocks always return from the barren lands in the far north by the same road, and cross rivers by the same fords. Nothing but too persistent slaughter at these points by the enemies who beset them, induces them to desert their ancient highways. Pictures and anecdotes of the migrations of these animals, and of the bison in former days, represent them as moving on a broad front across the prairie or tundra. The examples of all moving multitudes suggest that this was not their usual formation on the march, and their roads prove that they moved on a narrow front or in file. On the North American prairie, though the bison are extinct, their great roads still remain as evidence of their former habits. These trails are paths worn on the prairie, nearly all running due north and south (the line of the old migration of the herds), like gigantic rabbit tracks. They are hard, the grass on them is green and short, and, if followed, they generally lead near water, to which a diverging track runs from the highway.

How interesting must have been the life on this great animal highway, before the Indian made the deadly arrow to destroy these nature-loving travellers! There is no doubt but that, in their own way, these animals felt all the emotions known to a human traveller; that they enjoyed the flowery road, rested and played when weary, looked forward with joy to their favourite watering and bathing places, and recognised old watering places that they had visited for years.

The great roads and highways made by graminivorous animals, from those which the hippopotamus cuts through the mammoth canes and reeds of the African streams, to the smaller rabbit highways of England and America, all tell their own story of how these animals live and travel. The principal roads of rabbits over hills are as permanent as sheep and buffalo roads. These roads, however, should not be confused with the little trails that lead to their play and feeding grounds.

My friend and fellow-naturalist, Ralph Stuart Murray, in writing to me from Quebec, says: "In speaking of animal road builders, I might say that the rabbit or hare of the north woods deserves much attention, for greatly interesting are his highways. The life of the north woods brings one constantly in touch with these roads, which, after generations upon generations of constant use, are worn deep and smooth into the moose grass and muskeg through which they run. At places, several distinct paths intersect, and it is curious to note that while these roads wind in and out underneath the low hanging evergreens, the 'cross-roads' will invariably be located in a clear open space, often on the top of some small hillock.

"The great age of these roads is very evident when compared with the newer, shallower paths of more recent years. So deep are the old ones, in fact, that the quiet watcher in the woods will occasionally see two large, upright ears—unmistakably those of a rabbit, seemingly sticking out of a hole in the ground—yet moving at a rapid pace, and all the while no rabbit in view. For all the world these vertical ears belonging to an unseen owner resemble in use and appearance the periscope of a submarine—the difference being that the rabbit uses his 'periscopes' for hearing, in order to locate and avoid his foe, the submarine its periscope to locate and attack its enemy."

The sheep terraces, which are so common on the sides of hills, though made by sheep, are not roads, but feeding grounds. Sheep, when walking on a hillside, invariably graze on the upper side, as they cannot reach the lower grass. Therefore they walk backwards and forwards on the slope, just as a reaping machine is driven over a hillside wheat-field. As the sheep takes a "neck's length" each time, the little ridges or roads correspond exactly with the measurements of the sheep's neck.

There are as many kinds of roads and terminals in the animal world as there are in the human, and lest our pride make us forget, we should remember that even the Panama Canal is dug according to the plan of a crawfish's canal, such as may be seen near any muddy stream. It is strange that no animal has learned to build elevated roads, though animals that live in trees, like flying squirrels, monkeys, and flying foxes, are very skilled in going from one tree to another. They have regular aerial highways, and some of the tree frogs are veritable wonders in the accuracy of their leaps from tree to tree. Even more skilled than these are the agamid lizards of India, whose chief means of travel is a folding parachute, which at a moment's notice can be erected and carry to another tree its lucky possessor. In Borneo is an aviator tree-snake which is able to so spread his ribs and inflate his body that he can actually sail from branch to branch in the tree-tops.

There are night travellers as well as day travellers; in fact, there are more animals that roam around in a great forest at night than in the daytime. They sleep during the day, when the day animals are roaming about, and go forth to roam when it is night. It is then they seek for prey, and are much feared by day animals. They see well in the dark, and travel so lightly that their footsteps cannot be heard.

On the Island of Java are found a family of strange, dwarfish little beings, which are called by the natives malmags, or hobgoblins. And they are well named, for they look like creatures of a distorted imagination more than real, living animals. They travel only at night, and so superstitious are the natives of their evil influence that if one of these uncanny little creatures appears near their rice fields, the plantation is immediately abandoned. However, these small creatures are no larger than squirrels, and are perfectly harmless. They are very rare even in their native lands—the Oriental Archipelago and the Philippine Islands. They rear their young in the hollow roots of bamboo trees, and to disturb their nests means to incur the evil of all the land.

Night animals do not go forth to travel and seek prey until the night is far advanced, and their prey is soundly sleeping. They seem to know the exact time of the night, as if they had watches or clocks, and they usually go forth to hunt about midnight and return to their homes about four o'clock. Only in cases of extreme hunger do they vary from this rule.

How marvellously skilled are they in finding their way! They pass through a crowded forest as though it were daytime, and strangely enough know just how to return to their lairs. This special sense or gift is not possessed by man; he must have marks and signs to return to a definite place.

These night-travellers number among their lot bats, flying squirrels, leopards, and prowling snakes.

Bats are not only the most interesting of the night-travellers, but by far the most curious and wonderful animals in the world. They are hideously ugly, reminding one more of a miniature, closed-up umbrella than an animal! They are coarse, awkward, when not in flight, and repellent; yet they have such highly developed senses that they have no rivals in the animal world. They excel most birds in flight, are able to make long nightly journeys, in which they use their wings not only for flight, but as air-bags in which they catch all kinds of flying insects. Their sense of touch as we know it is really a combination of touch, sight, and hearing.

A bat is a paradox par excellence! Nature seems to have started to make a little bear or fox, and suddenly forgot how and changed it into a winged freak, with tail, claws, fur, sharp teeth, small ears that stand up, and tiny, half-buried eyes. Its queer angular-edged wings look like an umbrella, with the cloth stretched over steel ribs; but in the case of the bat, this framework is made of delicate bones which are covered with a thin skin. The skin contains numerous little sense organs dotted over its surface, which give the bat his strange power.

Bats look more like mice than they do like birds, and they are sometimes called flittermice. But they are mammals, and the young are fed with milk by the mother, just as a cow feeds her calf. There is no danger that a bat will ever fly against you in the dark; for they can avoid all mishap even when their eyes are put out. They have special sense organs that tell them when they are nearing an object, and can fly at headlong speed with the accuracy of a rifle bullet directly into a small opening. This power is all due to the mysterious sense located in their wings and ears, which causes even man to consider his senses weak in comparison.

Bats are sociable creatures and huddle together and sleep in vast numbers during the day, but when night comes on they come forth for their nocturnal travels and sport by the millions. I have seen them leaving caves just at dusk in such numbers as to look like one immense volume of smoke, twenty to thirty feet wide, and lasting for more than five minutes. Mrs. Bat often takes her babies with her on these nightly travels. I found one with two young clinging to her breast. How they must enjoy these lovely trips!

There are many kinds and varieties of bats, ranging in size from the flying foxes of the tropical world, with wings five feet in length, to the wood bat of North America, which is not over six inches long. These interesting friends of man are his greatest scavengers of the air. They are doing much to check the mosquitoes throughout the regions of the world, and in more civilized communities man makes shelters for them, that they may eradicate mosquitoes.



XIII

ANIMAL SCAVENGERS AND CRIMINALS

"A warning from these pages take, And know this truth sublime— Each creature is a criminal When he commits a crime."

No more remarkable creatures exist in the animal world than those that play the role of Nature's scavengers and criminals. They are as numerous and varied in their methods of working as they are interesting. The only things they have in common are their profession and their appetites. As individuals they are ugly, unattractive and apparently void of personality and charm. Nevertheless, they have an important part to play in the scheme of things.

One of the most noted of these scavengers is the jackal—the Bohemian of the desert—whose territory extends from the Gulf of Persia to the Strait of Gibraltar. He is equally at home in Arabia, Persia, Babylonia, Syria, Egypt, and the entire North Coast of Africa, and no country from Barbary to the Cape of Good Hope is ever out of reach of his ghostly and uncouth howls. He travels only by night, and very rapidly.

When suffering with extreme hunger, he will attack man, but this he will do only in very rare cases. As he lives entirely upon dead animals, he is more of a thief and glutton than a robber and murderer. He depends mostly upon flight and darkness for his protection, and rarely ventures a direct attack. With all his unlikable habits he is truly valuable as an agent of public salubrity, and an important officer of the desert "commission of highways."

These public scavengers, while especially fond of carcasses and putrid flesh, are not averse to a little fresh meat occasionally. The jackal is truly the follower or purveyor for the lion, and oftentimes they work together. Jackals will gather in large numbers near a lion's den and howl and scream until the lions come forth to disperse them. As soon as a lion appears they stop their noise, but when he is out of sight, they immediately begin again. This is done because game is near, and the wise jackals wish the lion to kill the game. When this is done, and the lions have eaten all except the bones, the jackals have their small feast of scraps.

These weird night prowlers have ways all their own, as any one who has spent a night in a tropical desert can attest. Imagine yourself on the Syrian plains between Bagdad and Damascus; a small white tent, and a starry sky: the silence is appalling, and you are just about to have your first sleep in the desert. Away, away from the distance comes a mournful, ghostly cry. Suddenly it ceases and like myriads of echoes it is repeated in hideous intensity—a babel of cries weird beyond description—so fierce and screeching as to be almost blood-curdling. It seems to come from all directions and distance out of measure! Vibrating over the sands and through the rocks, filling the immense void, crying out as it were for the sphinx, a veritable de profundis of the wastes. The vultures, who hold the fort during the day have given way to the night shift, the jackals. These come from all directions; from the caves in the earth, from among the rocks, from here, there, and from everywhere to take up their hygienic services where it has been left off by the day scavengers.

If you were near an oasis in the desert at the close of day, you would suddenly hear from the hot, barren sands a deep and peculiar sound. It swells and grows as an approaching wind, growing louder and louder as it comes nearer. Suddenly by the light of the camp fire, you see myriads of horrid green eyes, like ghost torches in a graveyard, and hear gnashing teeth, greedy in anticipation of the garbage you have thrown away.

These hyena hordes are frightfully ugly, but rarely dangerous to man. They visit every oasis settlement in immense numbers, howling, yelping, and fighting for any bit of offal they may find. Not a particle of garbage remains. At the first sign of dawn, they disappear like rats from a burning building, and seek their caves to digest their ignoble banquets.

No human street-cleaner could ever excel their work. No matter how large the garbage pile, no matter how many dead dogs, cats, and donkeys in a village street, no matter how unspeakable the offal, it all vanishes as completely as though it had been burned. Not a piece of bone, not a single chicken feather remains. The natives have no fear of the hyena; a small child armed with a stick can put to flight a dozen of them. They are the lowest of cowards, and will flee from their own shadows.



In spite of their valuable services, mankind hates the hyenas. This is probably because of their absolute cowardice, for they will never attack a living creature unless it is weak from illness. Sometimes they steal a baby, never killing it outright, but carrying it away to their dens to starve it to death before mutilating its body. If the courage of this beast equalled his strength, he would be the despot of the desert. But he is like his fellow workman, the jackal, cowardly to the last degree.

Neither of them ever attempts to put an enemy to flight by legitimate means. They resort to fakery: one howls, and the other wrinkles his face in great anger. The jackal's greatest asset and protection, when he meets with an enemy, is bluff. He raises his ugly mane, lifts his ungainly shoulders and assumes the look of a Jason, while in reality he is as harmless as a mouse, and the smallest child could drive him away with a twig. His bravery is all pose—a make-believe game—which he plays over and over again with every one he meets.

A noted American scavenger is the peccary, a species of wild hog, whose home ranges from Texas to the Pampas of South America. He is a devourer of creatures more obnoxious than himself. He moves with great rapidity, is always on the alert, and stops at nothing from mountains to a flowing river. When he attacks an enemy he makes short work of him.

Bands of these hogs are led by a chief, who is the swiftest and fiercest of the herd. This aggressive leader is followed by successive lines of males, behind which come the strong females, while the rear is brought up by the old, the sick, and the young. In marching, they have the discipline of a trained army, and turn neither to the right nor to the left but go straight ahead. If the leader, for any cause, decides to change his route, the fact is quickly made known in some way to his followers, and the turn is made at a direct angle, with the accuracy of a surveyor, and the peccaries go forward again directly toward their new destination. This is another evidence of a special sense unknown to man.

But whenever a stop is made, or wherever they go, they do their work as scavengers. Fallen fruits, dead animals, insects, snakes, and worms are their prey. Thus they are valuable forest sweepers.

Strangely enough, in the animal world, as in the human, the lower professions are filled with those of less mentality than the higher, and as a result we find scavengers are nearest allied to criminals. The idea of one creature killing and eating another seems terrible. Yet they do, and most often do human beings commit the same crime. Cannibalism among wild animals is a common occurrence. The demand for food usually causes one animal to kill and devour another. But in captivity there are other causes for cannibalism: fear and excitement will oftentimes cause a mother to destroy her offspring.

It is a case of dog eat dog! Badgers often kill and devour their young. Wolves, in cases of extreme hunger, will eat their puppies; and Arctic travellers, when food for their dogs is scarce, have to guard constantly against the stronger eating the weaker. I once caught a mother field mouse with her two young and placed them in a cage; the next day the young had strangely disappeared, but I am not sure that the mother had eaten them. Hogs, cats, and rabbits will sometimes kill and eat their young even when food is plentiful. Crocodiles show an occasional cannibalistic tendency, while water-shrews are very pugnacious and oftentimes fight until one is killed. The victorious one eats his enemy! Thus it appears that Nature does not entirely disapprove of cannibalism, or she would not allow so many of her creatures to practise it.

Theft is a common vice among these various criminals. Monkeys and baboons form regular bands to rob and plunder. They have a chief who sees that a sentinel is posted at each dangerous post. The plunderers then line up in a long row, and the leader gets the booty and passes it along the line until it reaches the last of the band—the receiver. He deposits it in a safe place. If the sentry sounds an alarm, they all flee away, each with as much booty as he can grab. If the enemy presses too close, all booty is thrown away.

Passion, especially of love, causes much crime among animals as it does among men. Jealousy burns fiercely even in the breast of a beast. It is a common heritage of the fiercest lion and the gentle gazelle alike, and is capable of perpetrating the most dreadful crimes.

There are types of ugly dispositioned animals, who are always in a ferocious mood, just like certain ill-tempered human beings, who believe everything and everybody is trying to injure them. The common shrew, for example, is noisy, bold and fussy. He seems to delight in calling attention to himself by his grunty, squeaky voice. He advertises himself as a bad animal; and bad he is, for his terrible odour prevents other animals from coming near. Horses and mules are at times quite ferocious, and kick and bite, with no idea of obedience or kindness. They, of course, like our human criminals, are mentally unbalanced. Skilled horse trainers can detect at a glance a criminally inclined horse.

Rogue elephants are common in India. Even their trumpeting shows a ferocity and unbalance that terrifies the natives. Often these criminal elephants are sufferers of mental ailments. A respectable, law-abiding elephant herd will not allow a thug or rogue to live in their midst. They recognise him as dangerous for their society, and combine to force him entirely away from their homes.

Certain criminal animals have a strange antipathy for members of their own tribe, or for other kinds of animals. Such is common among monkeys, cats, horses, and dogs, and many terrible crimes are committed because of these antipathies. Every one has witnessed the terror of a dog that has been insulted, and elephants will carry an old grudge for fifty years and finally seek the most terrible revenge.

Often violent outbursts of temper on the part of a tame animal are caused by a change in the temperature or atmosphere. Even animals have days when they feel ugly and grouchy. Those that live in very hot climates are especially subject to fits of rage and anger. The approach of an electrical storm causes many of them to lose their self-control: herds of cattle often stampede just preceding a cyclone. They, like human savages, seem terrorised at the unknown. Not a few wild animals have actually run in the way of an automobile or passing train to attempt to stop it. Fear and rage are often caused by the appearance of a curious object. A bull, for example, when he sees a red rag, will madly rush at it, seemingly altogether oblivious of the man holding it. The matadors are safe only because the bull is insane from rage.

Many scientists of fame, like Lombroso, have demonstrated that strong drink is the cause of much crime among animals, the same as it is among men. In the pastures of Abyssinia the sheep and goats get on regular "drunks" by eating the beans of the coffee plants. They fight and carouse at such times like regular topers. Elephants are incorrigible when drunk, while dogs and horses have to be put in strait-jackets to prevent them from killing themselves.

Wicked animals always seek their own kind, and often band together for evil purposes. Figuier tells of three beavers that built for themselves a nice little home near a stream, and they had as a neighbour a respectable hermit beaver. The three called on their neighbour one day, and he received them cordially, and hastened to return their visit, when they pounced upon him and slew him, like human murderers, who had trapped their victim.

From all these we learn that Nature is filled with life-saving and life-furthering adaptations. Just as in the human drama we find deceit, disguise, mask, trickery, bunco and bluff, all forms of cheating and clever deceptions, so it is precisely the same in the animal world, though man is little informed on Nature's real ways.



XIV

AS THE ALLIES OF MAN

"Who, after this, will dare gainsay That beasts have sense as well as they? For me—could I the ruler be— They should have just as much as we, In youth, at least. In early years, Who thinks, reflects, or even fears? Or if we do—unmeaning elves— 'Tis scarcely known e'en to ourselves. Thus by example clear and plain, We for these poor creatures claim Sure sense to think, reflect, and plan, And in this action rival man: Their guide—not instinct blind alone, But reason, somewhat like our own!"

The wonderful world in which we live is full of animal life. In the great forests, under the ground, on the steep mountainsides, in the depths of the oceans, rivers, streams, from the frigid north to the torrid south, in the parched deserts, are animals of every size, colour, and form, all of which are, in their general form, adapted to their peculiar places in nature. Their lives and habits undeniably demonstrate proofs of divine wisdom, intelligence, and beneficence. In fact they show an aptitude in many arts and sciences second only to that shown in man.

The reason that animals are often held in such low esteem by the world of science, is because people are apt to look upon them as natural mechanisms and overlook what they are doing and feeling. The propounders of false statements which attribute every act of an intelligent animal—second only to man and his faithful ally—as due to instinct only, deal with metaphysical reasoning. They have never considered the innumerable and irrefutable facts of animal life which no acuteness of analysis and pure thinking can ever explain. Most of these narrow, bookish men deny to animals capabilities which every country schoolboy knows they possess. It is no exaggeration to say that animals exist which sing, dance, play, speak a language, build homes, go to school and learn, wage warfare, protect their homes and property, marry, make laws, build moral codes, in fact, do everything that is generally attributed to man.

In comparing man and animals scientists are prone to ascribe to man as a whole the faculties which only the best trained and most talented possess. They fail to consider our cannibal brethren, such as are found among the Dyaks on the Island of Borneo, whose chief articles of adornment in the house are heads of murdered men, and whose savage and fiendish ways would put to shame a civilised animal. They forget how long man lived on this earth before he even learned to make fire by chipping flints.

Since the beginning of time animals have been the friends and allies of man. From the very earliest ages they have in innumerable ways been associated with historical events, and with the laws, customs, superstitions, and religions of all nations of the universe. Love, devotion, gratitude, the sense of duty, as well as all the lower passions of hatred, revenge, distrust and cunning are their heritage. Only an egotist who has known them in books only, and knows nothing of their mentality and brain power, would dare say that they are governed solely by instinct. Cases of animal suicide, following some deep disgrace among them, are not uncommon.

From the Bible we learn that God frequently employed animals as agents to dispense His providence. Bullocks, sheep, goats were used by the Jews in their religious services, while a disobedient prophet was killed by a lion. Balaam was rebuked for his cruelty by an ass; and David even called upon the animals to aid in praising Jehovah! That we may learn real gratitude for common mercies Isaiah says: "The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib," etc. When the city of Nineveh was threatened, God had pity on it, because there were many cattle there. The Saviour compared his own earthly condition with that of certain animals: "The foxes have holes," etc. He called himself the 'Good Shepherd,' and his followers were sheep who knew his voice. John the Baptist referred to Him as the 'Lamb of God'; while John, the beloved disciple, when on the Isle of Patmos, saw the "throne of God in heaven, and before it a lion, a calf, a man, and a flying eagle."

The first beginnings of co-operation between men and animals must have begun by the approach of certain less timid animals, which felt that better conditions for them and more food could be obtained near human habitations, and perhaps, more protection from dangerous animals. Or it may have begun through the stupidity of certain animals who failed to realize the danger of man's proximity.

It seems that the secret ambition of all animals is to become the allies of man. This is demonstrated by the fact that most of them have gone near the villages and towns, and, consequently, there are comparatively few remaining in the heart of the big forests. Under the true state of conditions man should live in harmony with these animal brothers, with mutual trust and respect existing between them. That would mean, of course, that man would have to show a little more kindness to them. For while he is their true sovereign, he abuses the privileges of his sovereignty in untold ways, and up to the present time only a few animals, like the dog and horse, have been fully recognized as his allies.

All the others, with few exceptions, have shown a desire to become more closely united with man, and yet during the thousands of years of man's rulership over the beasts, he has been able to make allies of only about sixty. This regrettable fact speaks for itself—showing that man has long abused his trust.

Warfare, as it is waged to-day, demonstrates that notwithstanding man's vast number of scientific aids, animals are still invaluable. The innumerable mechanical and electrical devices unknown ten years ago, such as enormous rapid-firing guns, walking "Willies," wireless machines, traction engines, smokeless and noiseless powder, silent-sleepers and tear-bombs, all of these have greatly increased man's power of offence and defence, yet with all these ultra-modern improvements, animals are absolutely essential in waging a successful war.

In military circles there is an ever-increasing demand for well-trained army horses, sound in mind and body and educated in modern campaigning. Above all, an army horse must be dependable, must love his soldier-master and must know absolute obedience to orders. Every army horse has to pass an examination and prove his worth before he is enlisted into the service.

The largest of the mountain guns used in Italy against the Austrians were drawn up the steep mountains by mules. Another 75-millimetre gun for mountain warfare is taken to pieces, into four parts, and each piece is separately packed on a mule.

The United States cavalry has the best trained war horses in the world; many of them actually understand the complicated commands of their masters. These horse soldiers have the insignia, U. S., branded on the hoof of the left forefoot, and the other animals in camp, on the shoulder.

When a horse arrives at a regiment he is assigned to a troop according to colour, size, weight and mental efficiency, and later he is permanently assigned to a man. Under no conditions is he interchanged or even ridden by another than his master, and it is astonishing the tremendous affection that oft-times springs up between the two; in many instances horses have been known to seek out their masters among hundreds of soldiers.

On the European battlefields, near which there are few or no railroads, animals have been the principal means of transportation, elephants, camels, horses, mules and oxen being chiefly used for this purpose. The Italian armies have used numerous teams of mountain-trained bullocks to draw loads up the mountains, and, while they cannot ascend roads as steep as those which the mules climb, they are very valuable for heavy loads. These bullocks work faster than an army mule, for a mule will never hurry. As the old darkey once said, "De mule warn't born fer to hurry; not even a torpedo would make him move one step farster!"

Elephants have been used to a small degree in the armies of Europe. While they are splendid workmen, they are dangerously subject to stampede, and one stampeding elephant can do much harm in an army.

The British army has used quite a few trained elephants from India in their ranks. They are especially employed to rout the enemy from small forests. Breaking through bushes, crushing underbrush, and pulling up small trees is their specialty. They make splendid bulwarks for soldiers, and when an army is marching through a forest, are invaluable in clearing the way. A British officer declared that one trained elephant is more valuable than a half-dozen traction engines.

Far the most interesting and curious use to which an animal is subjected is the use of camels chosen and trained because of their strange colouring and height. Small groups of them have been stationed among clumps of acacia trees with a spy mounted on the animal's neck. This is the safest place a person could be, for the camel or, in like manner, the giraffe, standing with only his head above the small trees, looks precisely like a bit of the foliage in the distance.

Camels are especially good for desert warfare, because they can go without water so long and can easily carry loads weighing from 400 to 500 pounds. In the last Afghan campaign the British lost over 50,000 camels and in the Great War they have had more than 60,000 in army service in Egypt. Camels are especially used for transportation purposes. The British capture of Jerusalem was greatly aided by these desert allies. Large numbers of oxen have been used in the French army. They do not balk at autos and know no fear of shells.