Book: The Human Side of Animals

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Their near kin, the chimpanzees, are equally clannish, but more musical.
They come down from the branches of the trees, seating themselves on the
dry leaves and assembling like an orchestra. After all are ready, they
begin beating the leaves with their hands, at first very slowly, like
the quiet prelude to a symphony, and gradually increasing in tempo until
the grand crescendo is reached. Then, as if by the direction of an
invisible leader, the music suddenly ceases. To deny that this is to
them a real concert would lead us into extreme absurdities. In this
connection it is interesting to note that when a baby is expected in the
village, all music ceases until after its birth, when they again resume
their periodic musical festivals. Hensel verifies this observation, and
tells us of having seen apes come from their shelter in the early
morning and congregate for a musical concert. "They repair," he says,
"to the shelter of some gigantic monarch of the forest whose limbs offer
facilities for walking exercises. The head of the family appropriates
one of these branches and advances along it seriously, with elevated
tail, while the others group themselves about him. Soon he gives forth
soft single notes, as the lion likes to do when he tests the capacity of
his lungs. This sound, which seems to be made by drawing the breath in
and out, becomes deeper and in more rapid succession as the excitement
of the singer increases. At last, when the highest pitch is reached, the
intervals cease and the sound becomes a continuous roar, and at this
point all the others, male and female, join in, and for fully ten
seconds at a time the awful chorus sounds through the quiet forest. At
the close the leader begins again with the detached sounds."

Perhaps the most remarkable evidence of animals showing a comprehensive
intelligence of musical pitch is demonstrated by cavalry horses. That
they thoroughly understand it is clearly demonstrated by the fact that
they will obey the calls of the bugle for cavalry evolutions without a
moment's hesitation and with no suggestion from outside sources. These
bugle calls are produced by a combination of four notes, each of a
different pitch, and it is rarer to find a horse making a mistake in the
musical orders given than it is for their masters.

Rats and mice have a decided liking for music, as is attested by the
fact that they appear as uninvited guests and also come as near the
performer as possible. Mice, one would believe, love church music, for
they often build their nests in pipe organs, thus being able to rear
their children in both a musical and religious atmosphere! There is more
truth than imagination in the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, which
illustrates how they respond to the simple charms of music.

Even donkeys betray tendencies toward musical efforts, and seem to be
aroused by music at least temporarily to a higher mental plane than
Balaam was inclined to ascribe to his wise ass. Not all of them sing
equally well, but in Arizona the donkey is known as the "desert canary."
If you were to spend a few glorious days in the Hopi village of Araibi,
you would hear through the still, silent night their long nasal bray or
song, and you would be convinced that the term is quite appropriate. You
may not exactly like the tune, but you will concede that they sing!

Society is just awakening to the joy and the significance of community
art. This is everywhere indicated by the great growing group of people
who come together for a common music, either as a chorus or an orchestra
or both. But in this field man has not yet attained such unity of
communal effort as have the frogs. In the great swamps of the world
myriads of them gather from miles around, conscious of one purpose, and
by a marvellous understanding and co-operation create for themselves a
symphony with beauties and harmonies of its own, and such as to stand
unrivalled in man's musical world. In the great chorus are voices from
the lowest bass of the croaking bullfrog, squatting in the marshes, to
the myriads of tiny green tree tenors, between which are millions of
altos, contraltos, sopranos, coloraturas and other voices not yet in our
musical vocabulary. These are accompanied by all the sounds of our
orchestra and innumerable others of such delicate shades and gradations
as to defy the ear of man. If we listen to one of these concerts, we
will quickly recognise the tones of every familiar instrument, such as
the drum, pipe, horn, trombone, oboe, piccolo, 'cello, and violin. The
greatest of these musical festivals directly precedes the mating season,
and is a dramatic instance of a manifestation of an inner rhythm which
corresponds to an external periodicity.

Among the oldest traditions of the Eastern world are those of
snake-charming by means of music. I have long been interested in this
strange phenomenon of Nature, and in company with a brilliant young
violinist visited a zoological park recently, and after securing
permission from the head keeper, entered the snake-house. The violinist
began by playing a few most sympathetic chords, first delicate and soft,
then sad, then gay, slow or tremulous. Near us, coiled in his immense
cage, was a large cobra--the snake which all legend claims is most
easily influenced by music. Almost immediately after the music began,
the cobra raised himself in a listening attitude, steadily gazed at us
as though he were viewing the future, spread his immense hood, and
slowly began to shake his head from side to side, as if he were trying
to keep time to the music. As soon as the music would change, his
attitude changed accordingly. Only after the music had ceased did he
resume his normal position.

The Indians agree that under the influence of various musical
instruments, especially bagpipes, snake-charmers are able to get the
snakes to come out from their homes among the old rocks and walls, and
when they appear they seem perfectly dazed so that they can be easily
captured.

It is not well to have any kind of musical instrument played, when in a
forest at night where there are dangerous snakes, lest they come to hear
it. Snake-hunters always carry with them some kind of musical
instrument, depending upon the kind of snakes they wish to capture. It
seems that all are not equally fascinated by it. I have experimented
with little effect upon a large rattler; it may have been that he was
deaf. But he gave little evidence of being interested.

We need not feel humiliated, then, for our animal kinspeople with their
primitive music: we were monkeys, and before them we were reptiles,
birds, fishes, even worms. But that was ages ago, and we have grown up
and become better musicians. Evolution has chosen us as its favourites
and given us every advantage in the struggle up the ladder of life. Our
musical rivals of yesterday are as chorus people compared to
Metropolitan Opera stars, with us. On this earth we reign supreme, we
have conquered the earth, air, and water, annihilating time and
distance. What more is there for us to learn of Nature's secrets? Only
an understanding of our lower brothers, the animals.




III

ANIMALS AT PLAY

_"... _About them frisking, played
All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase
In wood or wilderness, forest or den;
Sporting the lion romped, and in his paw
Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards,
Gambled before them; the unwieldy elephant,
To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed
His light proboscis."_

_--Paradise Lost._


That "one touch of Nature makes the whole world kin" is shown in no
clearer way than by the games and play of animals. Recreation is as
common among them as it is among our own children; and they seem always
to be artistic and even skilled in their play. Young goats and lambs
skip, jump, run races, throw flips in the air, and gambol; calves have
interesting frolics; young colts and mules have biting and kicking
games; bears wrestle and tumble; puppies delight in biting and tussling;
while kittens chase everything from spools of thread to their own
tails.

But animal children grow up, and stop playing to a certain extent as age
advances, precisely as human children do. Each settles down into a more
practical condition of life. They dislike to have their games and play
disturbed, and if the mother dog growls because her playful son has
continuously tumbled over her while she was sleeping, or the cat-mother
slaps her kitten because he plays with her tail--it is a display of the
same kind of emotion that prompts a human mother to rebuke her child in
the nursery for making too much noise, or for throwing toys out of the
window. Animals, like ourselves, feel every sensation of joy, happiness,
surprise, disappointment, love, hope, ambition, and through their
youthful games an entire index of their future lives may be obtained.

This play has much to do with the physical and mental development of the
animals; and it is strange indeed that so few writers have considered
the subject of play in the animal world. Most of those who have noticed
the subject at all, drop it with a few remarks, to the effect that it is
"highly amusing," or "very funny," or "unbelievable," or "so like the
play of children," without even a word of explanation of the whys and
wherefores of it.

All animals have some kinds of play. Plutarch speaks of a trained
elephant that often practised her steps when she thought no one was
looking. No one who has ever visited a zoological park and seen the
crowded monkey and baboon cages can have failed to note the wonderful
play of these animals. Seals seem never to tire of chasing one another
through the water; while even the clumsy hippopotamuses have diving
games.

Kittens begin to tumble and play before they are two weeks old. They
will roll and toss a ball, hunting it from the dark corners, lay in
silent wait for each other, and suddenly spring upon an unsuspecting
fellow-cat-baby's back, just as they will do later in life, when seeking
their prey. I have seen them play with a catnip mouse for hours at a
time, just as the mother cat plays with a real mouse.

Brehm says that this is noticed in their earliest kittenhood, and that
the mother cat encourages it in all ways possible, even to becoming a
child with her children from love of them, as a human mother does in the
nursery with her child. The mother cat begins the play by slowly moving
her tail. Gesner considered her tail as the indicator of her moods. The
kittens, while they may not understand what this means, are greatly
excited by the movement, their eyes sparkle, their ears stand erect, and
slowly one after another clutches after the moving tail. Suddenly,
one springs over the mother's back, another grabs at her feet, while a
third playfully slaps her in the face with his tiny, soft, cushioned
paw. She, patiently and mother-like, lovingly submits to all this
treatment, as it is only play.

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

DRYPTOSAURUS. THE PREHISTORIC ANIMALS, TOO, UNDOUBTEDLY HAD THEIR PLAY
TIME, WITH GAMES AND "SETTING UP" EXERCISES.]

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

A HAPPY FAMILY OF POLAR BEARS. THE YOUNG CUBS WRESTLE AND TUMBLE, AS
PLAYFULLY AS TWO PUPPIES. THIS PLAY HAS MUCH TO DO WITH THEIR PHYSICAL
AND MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.]

Many scientists have claimed that this so-called instinct should not be
classed as real play. However, such an authority as Darwin thought it
was play, and Scheitlin said that the cat let the mouse loose many times
in order that she might have the experience of catching it each time. No
mercy is shown the helpless mouse, which is the same to her as the toy
ball--in the same way as a real beetle and a toy beetle are the same to
a small child. Evidently the cat does not play with the mouse for the
delight in torturing it, but purely for practice that she may become
skilled in the art of catching it. The cat also exercises in springing
movements, and by studying the mouse's probable movements, learns to
acquire a knowledge and skill in mouse-ways otherwise impossible.

The same cruel practice is found among leopards, panthers, and wild
cats. Brehm verifies the observation that many members of the cat family
practise torturing their victims in a horrible manner, pretending to
liberate them, until the poor creatures at last die from their wounds.
Lenz tells of a marten that would play with its prey for hours when not
hungry. Especially was this true when marmots chanced to be his victims,
and around these he would leap and spring, dealing them terrific blows
first with one paw and then with the other. When hungry, however, he
proceeded differently, devouring them at once from teeth to tail.

All the cat family, it seems, are fond of human companionship, and take
almost as much delight in playing with human beings as with their own
kind. This is especially true of the puma. Brehm tells of a tame one
that delighted in hiding at the approach of his master and springing out
unexpectedly, just as the lion does. Hudson claimed that the puma, with
the exception of the monkey, was possibly the most playful of all
animals. Travellers tell many interesting tales of the play of these
animals, especially on the Pampas of South America.

Gross relates the experience of an Englishman who was compelled to spend
the night outdoors on the Pampas of the La Plata. At about nine o'clock,
on a bright moonlight night, he saw four pumas coming toward him, two
adult animals and two young ones. He well knew that these animals would
not attack him, so he quietly waited. In a short time they approached
him, chasing one another and playing hide-and-seek like little kittens;
and finally leaped directly over the man several times. The mother cat
would run ahead, calling to the little ones to follow her. But she never
disturbed him.

At times an animal at play with another uses the same tactics and
methods employed on its prey. Of course, the value of such practice for
the tasks of later-life is evident. Dogs play hide-and-seek, tag, and
various chasing games for hours without resting. Among the negroes of
the South it is not uncommon to see a hound playing hide-and-seek with
the little pickaninnies. I have seen a hound peeping in and out among a
pile of brush to discover where the little ones were hiding, and at the
first sight of a little black face, he would lay low in anticipation of
a playful spring, or a sudden dash-away, with the expectation of being
chased by his friends. At times he would suddenly disappear toward his
home, and slyly slip around and approach the playground from an opposite
direction.

Every one who has owned fox terriers knows how they will crouch in the
open grass and remain motionless, with quivering expectation for the
other playfellow to arrive, and when the one in ambush sees the other
coming he springs toward him, as though he were going to destroy him!
And when the two come together, they attempt to seize each other by the
necks, as they would do in a real conflict. A wrestle and tussle ensues
and when utterly exhausted from this play, the tired dogs, like two
fatigued children, run to their homes.

Dogs are fond of playing ball, and will readily bring a ball or stick to
their master when he has thrown it. They will also go into the water to
bring out sticks that may have been tossed in for amusement. Eugene
Zimmerman had a young fox terrier that would set a ball in motion, when
there was no one to pitch it for him, by seizing it in his mouth and
tossing it up in the air. Monkeys and jaguars will also play ball, and
tame bears take great delight in wrestling, playing ball, and fighting
mock battles.

[Illustration: _American Museum of Natural History, New York_

THE MOTHER OPOSSUM IS NEVER HAPPIER THAN WHEN SHE HAS HER LITTLE ONES
PLAYING HIDE-AND-SEEK OVER HER BACK.]

[Illustration: THIS YOUNG FOX CAME FROM HIS HOME IN THE WOODS DAILY TO
PLAY WITH A YOUNG FOX-TERRIER. HE IS NOW RESTING AFTER A ROMP.]

Beckmann wonderfully describes the play of a badger, whose only playmate
was an exceptionally clever dog, who from his earliest youth had been
taught to live with different kinds of animals. "Together they went
through a series of gymnastic exercises on pleasant afternoons, and
their four-footed friends came from far and near to witness the
performance. The essentials of the game were that the badger, roaring
and shaking his head like a wild boar, should charge upon the dog, as
it stood about fifteen paces off, and strike him in the side with its
head; the dog, leaping dexterously entirely over the badger, awaited a
second and third attack, and then made his antagonist chase him all
round the garden. If the badger managed to snap the dog's hindquarters,
an angry tussle ensued, but never resulted in a real fight. If Caspar,
the badger, lost his temper, he drew off without turning round, and got
up snorting and shaking and with bristling hair, and strutted about like
an inflated turkey-cock. After a few moments his hair would smooth down,
and with some head-shaking and good-natured grunts the mad play would
begin again."

Young animals are strikingly like children in their craving for
amusement. A young bear will lie on his back and play with his feet and
toes by the hour, while a young pup can have a great game with only a
dry bone, or by chasing his shadow on the wall. Rabbits come out in
evenings on the sand-hills to play hide-and-seek with their young, and
squirrels never weary of this universally popular game. I know of a
young fox that used to come from a nearby woods every evening to play
with a young fox-terrier. They became great friends and were often seen
in the woods together.

A friend who owns a ranch in Texas once raised two young wolves that
romped and played with the neighbour's dogs just as if they were dogs
themselves. There are other animals, like the weasels, that will also
play with strange friends. But they prefer their own kind as playmates.
They take the greatest delight in playing with their parents, and
nothing is more beautiful or strange than to see several of them playing
in a valley on a sunny day. Out pops one little head, with twinkling
eyes glancing from side to side, and then as if from nowhere, the little
brothers and sisters begin to appear, chasing each other as though they
were playing tag. These exercises give them much agility which they will
need in later life.

I once owned a tame raccoon, and often kept him chained in the back
yard. When he could not find a young chicken or duck to torment, he
devised all kinds of schemes to relieve the monotonous hours. He would
pile up a number of small stones, and carefully await his chance to
fling one into a group of young chickens. He seemed to understand that
he was more apt to make a hit when he threw into a crowd than when
aiming at a single chick. At other times he would lie on his back, madly
waving his tail as though he were signalling for some one to come near.
If we chanced to pass by without speaking, he would growl or whine in
some way to attract attention. After hours of self-amusement he would
lie down as if life were useless, and wait until something or somebody
came along to amuse him. His greatest delight was in fishing things out
of a pan of water, and he would wash every pebble or plaything that he
owned and carefully lay it out to dry. One day he pounced upon a rooster
who insulted him by drinking from his water vessel, and plucked a long
feather from his tail so quickly that we could hardly realise what had
taken place. He then had great fun in attempting to stick the feather in
his head or by planting it upright in the ground. Another day, in
winter, he broke his chain and made straight for the kitchen, where he
found a snug warm place in old Aunt Moriah's kitchen oven. The old
negress came to cook dinner and when the raccoon suddenly sprang out of
her oven, she vowed, "I'se nevah gwine to cook in dis heah kitchen
again; dis place is hoodooed fo' life!"

Once we gave him a pail of hot milk, and it was evidently hotter than we
realised; he started to drink it, and suddenly stopped, and in anger
grabbed at a very young puppy that was following us, and before we could
stop him, dipped the puppy's head into the hot milk. Fortunately,
however, the milk was not hot enough to injure the puppy. But the
raccoon had taken his revenge out on the little animal, and was
evidently satisfied.

It is interesting to note that all animals seem to play games and take
exercises that will be especially helpful to them in later life.
Badgers, for example, delight in turning somersaults; deer like to jump
and leap; foxes and raccoons practise stealing upon one unnoticed;
tapirs and crocodiles play in the water as night approaches; mountain
goats, sheep, horses and mules run, leap, jump, and play follow-leader.
Animals that live in the high mountains practise all kinds of
high-jumps, which would be unnecessary if they lived on level ground,
but are highly essential in mountainous countries.

Brehm claims that in summer the chamois climb up to the everlasting snow
and take much delight in playing in it. They will drop into a crouching
position on the top of a very steep mountain, work their four legs with
a swimming motion, and slide down on the surface of the snow for a
hundred and fifty metres. As they slide down the snow flies over them
like a fine powder. As soon as they reach the bottom, they jump to their
feet, and slowly climb up the mountain-side again, while many of their
comrades silently stand by and watch their coasting approvingly, first
one and then another joining in the sport, like human coasters would do.
It is not uncommon for a number of them to tumble together at the
bottom, like romping children. This coasting is very remarkable, and
through skill in it, no doubt, the lives of many chamois are saved from
frightful accidents later in life. Alix tells us that dogs of
mountainous countries are also often skilled in the art of coasting.

Our tame fawn used to delight in playing with our old rabbit-dog,
Nimrod. They were the best of friends, and the fawn would begin the
chase by approaching Nimrod as though he were going to stamp him into
the earth, and then suddenly leaping quickly and safely over the dog, he
would run away. At this signal for a game, if Nimrod was in the mood, he
chased the fawn, who would delight in jumping over fences and hedges and
waiting for poor Nimrod to get over or under just in time to see his
playmate leap to the other side.

Wolves, if taken when quite young, have a most unique way of showing
their affection at the appearance of their master. They will spring into
the air, tumbling over, with whinnying cries of delight, falling to the
ground they pretend to bite and snap at everything, until their friend
finally comes very near them.

Prairie dogs are fond of all kinds of races and jumping games; they will
each appear at the entrance to their underground homes, and will play a
simple form of prisoners'-base for long periods of time. With defiant
calls at each other, one finally approaches the home of the other, which
is a signal for the third to attempt to slip into the entrance to the
second one's home before he can return. Many join in the game and it
usually ends in a regular roll-and-tumble for their respective homes.

Perhaps the strangest of all forms of play is that in which young
duckbills indulge. They are slightly like puppies in their methods of
roll-and-tumble, but the way in which they grab one another with their
strange bills, as they strike with their fore-paws is quite original.
They seem to have an unusually good disposition, and if one little
playfellow falls in the game, and desires to scratch himself before
arising, the other patiently waits until he arises, when the mock battle
begins anew.

Antelopes have chase and marching games which are beautiful. They seem
rapidly to follow an invisible leader over the plains, suddenly forming
themselves into pairs, fours, eights, sixteens, until the entire herd
thus form one line, like an army of soldiers marching. While this game
is progressing, certain of their number stand as sentinels and
spectators, and the slightest approach of an enemy is the signal for all
play to cease, and for them to disappear over the plains.

When we witness these abundant evidences of the need and prevalence of
recreation in the animal world, we are confronted with one more argument
for the existence of real mental and moral faculties among our
four-footed friends.




IV

ARMOUR-BEARING AND MAIL-CLAD ANIMALS

_"The spectacle of Nature is always new, for she is always
renewing the spectators. Life is her most exquisite invention;
and death is her expert contrivance to get plenty of life."_

--GOETHE'S _Aphorisms_ (trans. by HUXLEY).


Civilised nations throughout the world at different times in their
country's history have protected their soldiers and warriors with coats
of armour or mail. This practice prevailed extensively during the Middle
Ages; but it has almost entirely disappeared. The German breastplates of
to-day are an attempted revival. The coats of mail of the ancient
warriors underwent an evolutionary process, until they were indeed
brought to a high pitch of perfection and beauty. It was at this period
that they were abandoned as too burdensome to be of practical value.

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