MY STRANGE PETS
ANDOther Memories
of Country Life
BY
RICHARD BELL
OF CASTLE O'ERWILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MCMV
MY STRANGE PETSANDOther Memories
BY
| |
I HAVE all my life been a lover of pets, and during my younger years these consisted of specimens most easily obtained, and most conveniently and surreptitiously kept in a bedroom or outhouse.
| Emus and Rheas |
In the year 1874 I thought I would try my hand at breeding both species of these birds; and eventually I was enabled to state, in a weekly journal devoted, among other articles, to Natural History, that I claimed to be the first person who had succeeded in breeding emus in Scotland, and challenged contradiction. As none was forthcoming, I think I may safely repeat the boast, and give credit to my own county of Dumfries as the first one in Scotland where these birds were bred.
It is well known that the emu is a native of Australia, where, on its vast plains, they might have been seen in great numbers when our colonists first settled there; but they are daily becoming scarcer in the more inhabited parts of that country, owing to the ruthless way in which they have been hunted down by men and dogs, and are now only to be found, in diminished numbers, at a safe distance from the settlements.
Owing to this increasing scarcity, emus are rather an expensive stock to "lay in." This, however, did not deter me from purchasing a pair, as I hoped, if successful, to recoup myself the initial outlay of £20, which was the figure charged me by Mr Charles Jamrach, of 180 St George Street, East, London, the world-famed dealer in wild animals. When they arrived home the children named them "Tommy" and "Jenny," and by these names they will be distinguished in the course of my narrative.
In the above hope I was not disappointed, as my readers will understand when I tell them that not only did my breeding experiment succeed, but that I sold my young birds, thirty-one in number, at from £8 to £10 per pair, without guaranteeing the sexes; and that when I sold off all my birds in 1885, I received £16 for the original pair, or only £4 less than I paid for them; and, besides this, for ten years I reaped the profit from the sale of eggs not required for hatching purposes.
The eggs of emus and rheas are worth 5s. each; and as, between them, both species laid 260 in all, it must be allowed that these birds are fairly profitable -certainly more profitable, in proportion, than sheep, in which I am also interested; but I would not advise sheep-farmers in this country, even in those times of depression, to introduce on their runs this novel Australian and South American stock. It would not pay on a large scale; and even as an amateur I was more fortunate than many of my brethren in my small venture, and would here warn any one attempting to follow in my footsteps, that to procure a breeding pair, or even a male who will "sit" on eggs, is a risky and difficult matter.
The distinction of sex in the emu can only be ascertained by an expert, the plumage of both sexes being of the same colour and general appearance in the adult state, or at least so nearly identical as to deceive a beginner. The young birds are beautiful little things, striped black-and-brown on a grey groundwork, and their heads are nicely mottled. There is a decided difference in the colour when they are "in the down," some having the stripes much darker than others,- and at this stage colour may mark the sexes, but so soon as feathers are put on this distinction is lost. It is only after long and minute observation that an amateur can be certain that he is in possession of a male and female emu,- at least, until they are of mature age.
I am told by one who has lived in South America that the sexes of the rhea are easily distinguished even at a distance, the male being much darker than the female, and altogether more robust in appearance. My first two rheas were sold to me as a breeding pair at a time when I was ignorant of this difference in, colour; but in course of time I discovered they were both females. Until adult, rheas are quite as difficult to distinguish with regard to sex as emus, and if an amateur purchases young birds, the chance is he will be disappointed.
I purchased three different birds, guaranteed as males, with no better result than adding to my stock of females. This guarantee of sexes is of little value, and for this reason - that although you may purchase a bird at or near one breeding season, it frequently happens that, owing to its inborn restlessness and its new surroundings, it will not settle down in its new home, and it may be a year before you can tell which sex you have got,- too late to return it to the sellers, without difficulties.
As I have always failed in my attempt to procure a male rhea, I have no experience to enable me to distinguish their sex.
After having had them in my possession for some time I had not the same difficulty with my emus. There is a difference in their "countenance" with which, after close observation, one becomes familiar; but the peculiar and loud drumming noise of the female - which can be heard at a long distance - leaves no doubt. This sound is quite wanting in the male, whose voice is a loud hoarse grunt. When the male is excited this sound has a very terrifying effect upon strangers, though I myself, owing to my familiarity with it, was not afraid of Tommy.
When he had a young brood with him he would "come for me" from the farthest corner of the field, grunting, hissing, and striking out his feet in front, as if he meant mischief; but I had only to stand my ground, and seize him by the neck gently, when he at once stopped his fuss, though continuing, when released, to run round and round me in a great state of excitement. A man, who had seen how I stopped the bird, having entered his enclosure, was attacked by Tommy. In defending himself he seized the poor bird by the neck, and pressed so hard that he nearly choked him: for days afterwards he could not swallow food, and had such a large and suppurating lump in his throat that for a long time I thought he could not recover.
I must confess that this standing firm, and showing a bold front, required some nerve at first; but the truth of the saying, "Familiarity breeds contempt," was vividly impressed on my mind, and Tommy and I continued to be good friends.
On one occasion a lady visitor, fearing I was going to be annihilated on the spot, nearly had a fit of hysterics when she witnessed one of his apparent attacks, and was only consoled when she learned that his seeming ferocity was mere bounce. There would have been a different state of matters if she herself had been in the field; and I never allowed strangers to approach the birds, during the breeding season, without my being with them, and never allowed a lady to enter the field at that time, whether accompanied by me or not.
I have read somewhere that a gentleman who had entered the park at Government House, Sydney, to look at some emus kept there, was killed by one of the birds kicking him on the back, and so lacerating his lungs. The kick of an emu is a serious if not a dangerous one, and is delivered in a forward direction, and not from behind like the kick of a horse. When sporting they spring up in the air, kicking sideways and backwards, more like a cow. In addition to the blow, their large strong claws make a lacerated wound.
When any one has occasion to catch these birds, he should always be provided with a shield of wickerwork, so as to guard himself against serious, if not fatal, injury: one of those flat baskets in which nurserymen send out plants makes a handy protection for the purpose.
As previously stated, I purchased my parent birds from Jamrach in October 1875 ; but as they fought so persistently on their arrival home, I was afraid at first that they were both of one sex. The one I came to know as the female was so much harassed by the other that she could get no food; and the points of her wings - or rather bones, which represent wings in other birds - were so lacerated by dashing against a stone wall in her endeavours to escape from her mate, that they bled for about ten days, and I thought she would bleed to death. I bound them up with rags, but she always managed to rub them off. I therefore ran a fence across the field and separated them. They remained so all the winter of 1875-76, and this caused me to lose a brood that year.
In April 1876, on my return from Edinburgh, where I had spent the winter, I again allowed them to run together. I was afraid they would again fight, but was gratified to find that they were most peaceably disposed towards each other. Possibly this fighting was a favourable sign of future success in breeding. I think it proved that they were strangers to each other - not members of the same brood; and, consequently, being unrelated, a greater number of eggs would be fertile: the progeny might be more robust, and be better able to stand the climate.
During all that summer, and up till February 1877, there was nothing in the appearance or otherwise to enable me, in my then ignorance, to distinguish their sex; but on February 17 my shepherd, under whose special care the birds were placed during my absence in town, found three eggs lying together in a corner of the field.
I had been in the country on the previous day, and being on the look-out for eggs, had, as I thought, looked into this very corner when searching the field unsuccessfully for them, and I concluded, from the fact of three eggs being found at once, that both birds were laying. I was glad to find, from what the gardener observed later on, that I was wrong, and that my birds were certainly male and female. The interest now increased, and I had great hopes of acquiring a brood. I was sorry that my absence from home prevented me from studying the habits of the birds at such an interesting time, and that I could not give them that amount of personal supervision which the occasion required; but the shepherd and gardener spared no trouble, and most assiduously and intelligently carried out all my wishes.
Jenny laid for some time regularly every third day till towards the end of March and beginning of April, when sometimes a period of four and five days elapsed between the deposit of each egg, and the last one was laid ten days after the male began to sit- viz., upon April 10.
Altogether, nineteen eggs were laid that season; the second year Jenny laid forty-two eggs. During a great part of the time the eggs were being laid hard frost prevailed, and I much feared their fertility would be destroyed. I therefore directed the man, during my absence from home, to lift them as they were laid and put them into a wooden shed in which the birds were nthe habit of sheltering at night.
Jenny immediately began to cover up the eggs with straw, but as Tommy appeared to take no notice of them I thought he had not discovered them, though be paid particular attention to the corner where most of the eggs had been laid. Thinking this was the place where he desired to "sit," I formed an artificial nest by hollowing out a space of ground about 2½ feet in diameter, gradually sloping it down to about 8 inches deep. I then laid a slight wall of turf round the margin, to ensure the eggs from falling out by the movements of the bird, and filled the nest with soft hay and dry leaves. Over this I built a bower formed with paling bars and spruce-fir branches, and, after admiring my handiwork, I began to wonder if Tommy, who had assisted by looking on all the time, would regard his intended retreat with the same favourable eye as I did. To test this I placed eleven eggs in the nest. Scarcely had they been put in than Tommy, resisting all Jenny's attempts to help him, began to cover them up, and hope again prevailed. He did not desire to incubate, however, for a fortnight after this, and during all that time Jenny continued laying eggs at intervals.
At last, however, Tommy displayed symptoms of becoming broody, and the eggs, which had been removed so as to save them from the frost, were again given to him.
I may here say that the symptoms of a male emu desiring to incubate are - sitting on the same spot for some time, with his neck stretched out flat on the ground; snapping right and left at any one coming near him; picking up blades of grass, dried leaves, &c., and placing them under him as if he were making a nest, though no eggs are within his reach.
Upon April 1 - not a very auspicious day - he sat down on the nest; but until the 5th he never allowed twenty-four hours to pass without having the eggs all scattered round him outside the nest, and I was afraid their fertility would be destroyed owing to the prevailing cold weather.
This displacement of the eggs was disappointing, but upon the latter date he commenced to sit close; and from then till May 28 - upon which day the first young were hatched - he never left the nest except on one or two occasions, when he took a race round the field for about three minutes and then returned. He did not touch food or water during the whole period of incubation, which lasted for fifty-eight days in this instance, though both were kept constantly beside him.
I may say that the principal events of incubation here described were those which took place during all subsequent times of hatching, and need not be repeated.
Three young ones were hatched upon May 28, and next day three more; one egg, ready to hatch, was crushed by Tommy, and two were stale, which proved that though they failed they had at one time been fertile. As before stated, he had eleven eggs to begin with, so two had disappeared bodily, no one could tell where.
When the young ones had left the nest Tommy was naturally very thin after his long fast, but was quite hearty, and was most determined to murder his wife if possible, who, I forgot to mention, had been fenced off the day he commenced to sit. He twice jumped over this fence, which was 4 feet 6 inches high; but, excepting a severe beating, no great harm was done to Jenny. The rheas, who were in the same enclosure as Jenny, were too fleet of foot, and Tommy could not catch them.
I added 18 inches to the fences all round, making them 6 feet high; still he succeeded in scrambling on to the top, but owing to his weak state he was unable to get over altogether. The young ones soon began to eat herbage of all kinds as eagerly as their parents, and were specially partial to Plantago major and crow's-foot,- a plentiful supply of both being in the field.
At Billholm, her first residence, Jenny laid her eggs anywhere about her small enclosure, but when she was removed to Castle O'er and had more space to roam in, her habits changed.
Her enclosure there was bounded on one side by a hedge 300 yards long, and was visible from the front windows of the house. When her day for laying arrived - which was generally about every third one - her preparations were of a most peculiar description. Almost exactly at 3 P.M. she began running along the hedge from end to end at full speed, and in the highest state of excitement, shortening her journey at each end by a few yards. This continued the whole afternoon, and the journey got shorter and shorter at each turn till, towards the finale, it consisted of a few steps only each way, and eventually degenerated into a mere swaying of the body from side to side for a few minutes, as if she were "ringing in," after which she sat down and, pressing herself up against the hedge, dropped her egg.
As this took place generally, if not invariably, at 6 P.m., she had run without ever ceasing for three hours; and, judging from her gaping mouth and heavy panting, she must have been very much exhausted. The laying season commenced in January or February, and as hard frost often prevailed, I generally went to the field at the time I expected the egg was due, or had been already laid, to secure it from being frozen.
The first time the weather was cold enough for me to go, Jenny left the hedge and came up to me, walking round and round, at the same time pressing against me in a peculiar manner. I did not know what she meant, though she evidently did want something; so I put my arm round her body, upon which she sat down, and, pressing harder against me, dropped her egg. I now saw that her desire was to have a better purchase than that afforded her by pressing against the yielding hedge.
The colour of an emu's egg is well known to many people. They, however, vary a good deal, some being vivid green and others darker, and when freshly laid the tints are beautifully clear and bright, but soon become toned down till the colour is quite dull: any one who has noticed the difference, say, of a garden seat newly painted green and after it has been exposed to the light for some time, will understand what I mean. I have one of quite a blue colour, and the shell is perfectly smooth, not granulated as they generally are. When the eggs are exposed to full sunlight for some time they become a dirty grey colour.
The laying season of emus lasts from January till April in this climate, but in 1877 Jenny began to lay a second time on 28th December, and laid her forty-second egg on 11th May 1878.
I sent eight eggs to Mr Hearson, maker of incubators, Regent Street, London, as I thought if he was successful in hatching them with his machine and rearing the young, it might be a good advertisement for him, especially if the young ones were seen by the public among the chickens in his shop-windows. He told me he had failed as the eggs were infertile; but I think his non-success must be attributed to some other cause, as I had very few infertile eggs: I do not think six out of all my "settings" remained clear. All the others which failed with me were rotten, proving that they had been originally fertile.
At Castle O'er the rheas had two large fields to roam in, as well as the grounds round the house. They laid their eggs sometimes in strange places, as will be seen farther on.
When they laid in the fields I never noticed any preliminary symptoms, and their laying seasons being in summer, and the eggs being free from the risk of frost, they were not so particularly looked after as those of the emus; but when one was expected to be due, the whole family turned out to look for it. We walked in a line along the fields ; and as, owing to their colour, they were easily seen, I do not think we ever missed one.
As a corbie could not easily carry one away, and as we never found a sucked one, I presume these robbers either did not know what they were, or, suspecting that they were "made in Germany," despised such foreign produce. Their eggs when newly laid are almost of a pale orange colour, but very soon fade to pale cream when exposed to the light, and the shell is smooth, covered with small pit-holes, instead of being granulated: when one lay over-night the upper surface was cream-coloured, whereas the under half retained the darker yellow, being shaded from the light by itself and the grass upon which it lay.
The average weight of rhea eggs is just upon 1 lb. 9 oz.; to be exact, 1 lb. 8 5/6 oz.,- at least, that is the result obtained from six average-sized ones which I weighed together.
I have found written notes of the weight of emu's eggs for two seasons, and find that thirty-seven averaged 1 lb. 8 oz. each. I weighed one against fourteen hen's eggs, and they just balanced each other.
A gentleman who was for many years a settler in Australia told me that those laid by my birds were, on the whole, larger than those he ever saw in that country, and expressed his surprise, as he expected they would be smaller. Perhaps extra and good feeding may have something to do with this.
I measured twelve emu and twelve rhea eggs, and found their average size to be as follows: emu 55/8 in. by 35/8 in.; rhea 53/4 in. by 35/8 in. One extra long-shaped rhea's measured 61/4 in. by 31/2 in., and weighed 1 lb. 91/2 oz. Those of the rhea appear to the eye rather longer in shape and as much in circumference as the emu, but by actual measurement they are very nearly the same.
I have seen some beautiful carved emu eggs, which are cut like cameos. Not only is the green covering cut away altogether in places, down to the white shell beneath, but in other parts the green itself is only reduced slightly, until it becomes of a much paler shade than the body of the egg, and the result is a beautiful picture. Many scenes are represented: those I saw were hunting scenes, with natives chasing emus and kangaroos. Two eggs with both ends cut off formed candle-shades; and they are lovely when the candles are lighted. The finished picture is very pretty, and soft in the extreme.
In February 1897 I read a paper at a meeting of the Dumfriesshire and Galloway Natural History and Antiquarian Society, of which the principal part of my present remarks about emus and rheas is a resume. For the purpose of illustration at the meeting, Mr Bartlett, Superintendent of the Zoological Gardens, London,-whose lamented death occurred three months later, - kindly lent me a cassowary's egg, which measured 51/4 in. by 31/2 in. Since then, I purchased one from Mr Jamrach, the measurements of which were 61/8 in. by 35/8 in. Its size, therefore, is considerably greater than Mr Bartlett's, which was labelled "common cassowary."
Mr Jamrach informed me that he thought the one he sold me was that of an "Australian cassowary," and that it was laid in the Antwerp Zoological Gardens fifteen years previously. A friend presented me with an African ostrich's egg. On doing so he told me he had had it in his possession for thirty years; that his father got it from an Indian surgeon, and he hoped it might remain under my "roof-tree" as long as it had been under his: he also stated that he had compared it with all the ostrich eggs in Gordon Cumming's collection, and found it was larger than any of his. I have now kept it safely for forty-seven years. Possibly the Indian surgeon might have had it in his possession as long as my friend or I have had it, and, if so, it may have first seen the light of day zoo years ago. It measures as follows: ellipses 171/2 in., and circumference 151/2 in.
Along with the cassowary's eggs, Mr Bartlett kindly sent me some feathers from the body of the same bird, and two of the curious black quills from the wing. The use of these quills is not very obvious, unless they are used for defence. There are five on each wing, and they are quite capable of inflicting a nasty wound on any enemy receiving a stroke from the bird. The feathers from the body are double shafted, like those of the emu, black-game, and grouse.
As previously stated, the rheas, when they had access to the grounds, sometimes picked out strange places to lay their eggs.
On one occasion a lady was on a visit, and on our going to sit out on the lawn she spread a tartan shawl on the ground, but preferring to sit on the grass she did not make use of it: great was her astonishment when a rhea joined the party and laid an egg upon the shawl.
Again, a gentleman who had just returned from China was staying with us: among his paraphernalia he had brought with him a pair of Chinese slippers, made of plaited grass. One morning, when going out for a day's shooting, he was putting on his strong boots at the front door. He sat on the doorstep and placed his slippers on the gravel in front of him, when, to his amazement, a rhea dropped an egg in one of them.
Once more, two of my men were engaged on some work near the glass range. They went into the potting-shed to eat their dinner, leaving the door open. They sat on the floor, with their backs against the wall, when presently a rhea entered the shed and, crushing herself in between the men, laid an egg on the floor. These men had no fire handy, or probably that particular egg would not have been added to my collection, considering that it arrived at a hungry and tempting moment.
I do not relate the above anecdotes as trivial reminiscences only, but rather to bring home to the minds of my readers the contrast between these wild and wary birds kept in confinement here, familiar with man, and their roaming at large on the pampas of South America. They would not probably find or take advantage of tartan shawls, Chinese slippers, or even potting-sheds there as nesting-places; and I am certain they would give a wide berth to two "gauchos" sitting eating their dinner of dried meat, each with his "bolas" or lasso lying handy by his side.
I have been told by friends who have lived in South America that a dainty meal is made by cutting off the top of a rhea's egg, putting in herbs and spices, and roasting it on a fire. I once gave the cook one, and told her to make an omelette with it: the result would have been good had she not used the whole egg,- the omelette tasted of little else. I never felt valiant enough to tackle a plain boiled one for breakfast, but my shepherd once tried a fried emu's one, and he told me he got quite a "fricht" when he broke it and suddenly saw the whole bottom of the fryingpan covered with egg.
The laying season of rheas in this country is from June to August,- but one season it continued to 1st October.
The maternal duties of emus cease so soon as the female has finished laying, and then become paternal; and I generally shut the lady off from the nest when the male began to incubate, as I found that she only disturbed him by laying more eggs in the nest than were wanted.
The male sat from fifty-eight to sixty-two days, and during all that time he never touched food or water, though he always had a supply of both beside him. Besides the incubating he does all the rearing, and it is an interesting sight to see such a huge bird striding along with a brood of tiny young ones among his feet, and he never treading on one of them. My experience is that emus are more careful in this respect than poultry.
I fed the young for the first few days with hard-boiled egg mixed with biscuit or bread-crumb, rice, oatmeal, lettuce, and greens; but they begin at once to graze like their parents, so their "keep" is not a very expensive outlay. The old ones graze like geese; but I always gave them, in addition, a feed of such mixture as the pigs got, varying this with dog-biscuits or- maize.
The bores of emus bred in confinement are apt to become very brittle if the young birds are not supplied with lime, and many losses are sustained by breeders who are not aware of this fact.
I discovered for myself the necessity of giving them lime by observing them picking some off a wall. Ever afterwards I had lime-rubbish in their run, of which they consumed a great quantity. I only lost one from brittle bones: in running through a hole in a hedge, while frolicking, it broke its thigh-bone when just six months old. I put its leg in splints, but it was no use; so I destroyed it, got it stuffed, and presented it to the Museum of Science and Art, Edinburgh (now the Royal Scottish Museum), where it is still to be seen by any one interested or desirous of studying a young emu of that age.
As a proof of the hardihood of these birds, I may say that out of thirty-six reared, none ever died a natural death. The male crushed one or two in the nest when they had just emerged from the shell, but I only lost five after leaving the nest, all from violence- viz., the one which broke its leg, three starved to death owing to neglect, and one which was killed by a log of wood falling upon it when a week old: none died from the rigour of the climate alone.
Young emus are most amusing creatures, as from a few weeks old they perform all sorts of antics, such as throwing themselves on their backs, then leaping a considerable height off the ground, meanwhile kicking in the same way as the adult birds do when they are indulging in a game of romps. I have frequently seen both old and young, when engaged in such high-jinks, kick out too far when in mid-air, and, overbalancing themselves, come down with a crash on the ground.
One performance which they went through was of another character, being admirable from its solemnity and the graceful attitudes of the performers. It consisted of a dance in the nature of a quadrille. They would go through some preliminary steps, then all meet in a common centre, with their breasts brought close together and their heads and necks stretched straight up in the air; then they would "open out," change places, and repeat the manoeuvre over and over again. The ridiculous contortions before described afforded to spectators amusement only, but they gazed upon the dance with sober wonder and admiration.
Baby emus, however, are endowed with the same cantankerous nature as human babies when mamma wishes them to "show off" before female visitors - they sometimes won't "work" : and when I wished to "set the machinery going" I had frequently to call in the aid of my own children, who knew what to do. This consisted in throwing themselves about on the grass in the same convulsive throes in which the birds were in the habit of indulging. The hint was generally taken by the birds, and the visitors were delighted, though no "extra charge" was made for the exhibition.
It is a familiar saying that some folks have the "digestion of an ostrich," and as the subjects under discussion are of the same order of birds, their powers of digestion are equally good. A good appetite and good digestion are blessings to poor suffering humanity, but we must not be jealous if the miscellaneous substances in which emus delight are beyond our powers.
One day the carpenter came to repair the fence, and he excitedly informed me that he had seen "thae queer birds the a-moos" busy swallowing chips of wood. He intimated his discovery with as much pride as Columbus might have shown when he discovered America, but I, being quite aware of this propensity, was not much astonished.
A few minutes later he proceeded to the place where he had deposited his "bass" of tools to get some nails, a paper parcel of which he had previously opened and placed beside his bass. He found the paper had been emptied of its contents, and evidently strongly suspecting me of kleptomania, asked me if I had taken his nails. When I asked him if he had seen the a-moos near his tools, he said he had, and I very soon told him where his nails had gone. He seemed to think I was e-mus-ing myself at his expense, and stared at me incredulusly, as much as to say, "I'm no' sae easy gulled as a' that" ; but when I pointed out Tommy, at that moment struggling in the vain endeavour to swallow his chisel,- which he had left unguarded when going for the nails,- he was convinced, and remarked that "there micht be something in't"; but whether he meant in the fact or inside the bird I failed to learn.
Everything is "grist that comes to their mill," whether it be nails, coals, potsherds, small china dolls, or collars and cuffs: many a tear has been dropped by members of the household over the loss of the last, as well as other small articles of female attire, when the birds got access to the bleaching-green.
Dr Bennett, in his 'Gatherings of a Naturalist in Australasia,' records that a cassowary which he possessed had the same taste for carpenter's tools and lady's "small clothes" as my emus had. A carpenter had come to his house to make some repairs, when the cassowary actually swallowed the man's oil-stone,- perhaps the man had left a good deal of oil upon it; and on another occasion the bird took a lady's cuff out of a dish of starch, where it had been placed by a servant, and swallowed it. The doctor warned the man "that if he did not take care the bird would swallow his hammer, nails, and chisel" also.
It is somewhat curious that such a peculiar taste of our pets should have come under the observation of both Dr Bennett and myself. In Tommy's case he only attempted to swallow a carpenter's tool, whilst it was a fait accompli in the case of Dr Bennett's cassowary; still the two incidents are not dissimilar. Who has not heard the lines-
The curiosity of emus- or I should say their inquisitiveness- equals their voracity; and I could give many instances of this propensity, generally, though I believe wrongly, attributed to the human female, but one will suffice.
- "There was once a cassowary
- On the plains of Timbuctoo
- Who ate up a missionary
- Carpet-bag and hymn-book too."
On one occasion the nurse was crossing their enclosure, carrying in her arms one of the children, then a baby in long clothes. This was too much for Jenny, who wished to see what the "bundle" consisted of. The nurse was already sufficiently alarmed by the proximity of the "two monsters" as she styled them, but her terror was increased when Jenny proceeded to pull the veil off the baby's face; and, taking to her heels, she offered up a prayer of gratitude when she found herself - she could not tell how - at the outer side of the fence, whilst the "two monsters" were fortunately still in the field, grunting and drumming a fond farewell.
I took advantage of this vice at the time a photograph was being taken of the birds. It is almost impossible to "take" them except by "snap-shot," as they are never at rest a moment when any one is near, and more especially if strangers are present. I threw down a white handkerchief on the ground, and directed the operator to "fire" the moment they stopped to investigate the attraction, and the result was a fairly good picture.
These birds have many peculiar traits in their character, but to enumerate half of what I have observed, even if I could remember it, would be a heavy task.
One or two, however, are impressed upon my memory, and may be of interest to some of my readers.
The trough from which they fed was placed outside the fence, and they had to put their heads through between the bars to reach their food. These bars were wide enough to permit the young birds, up to a certain age, to get out of the field. When any of them did so, the parents got into a great state of excitement, running backwards and forwards along the fence, hissing, grunting, and drumming, which was their way of scolding their babies. So soon as these entered the field again the old ones proceeded to inflict corporal punishment, which consisted of a good pecking, and, like children of another species, they appeared very contrite, and did not do it again - till the next time.
They derived much amusement at my expense, and one of their tricks was repeated frequently. This consisted of snatching off my hat, and many a start I got by feeling my hat suddenly jerked off my head, when the practical jokers had approached me from behind so quietly that I did not perceive their presence. To give those who may never have seen these birds some idea of their stretch of neck, I may state that my height is 6 feet 2½ inches.
In the same field were both cows and fallow-deer; and many a battle-royal has taken place over the question of food. When the feeding-trough was first put down, the paling bars were wide enough apart to allow both cows and deer to put through their heads and consume the food intended for the emus, and they resented this robbery. They could drive off the deer at first more easily than the cows, owing to the greater timidity of the former. When a cow was attacked she naturally turned round and showed her horns: one bird would keep her at bay, while the other slipped behind her and administered some hard kicks, which soon caused the poor beast to beat a retreat. But when the deer were at fault the events were changed. When they first began to steal the food they were timid and afraid of the birds, and allowed themselves to be driven off easily. The birds, proud of their victory, followed up their advantage by chasing one or two of their enemies round and round the field for a considerable while, during which time another fight was going on in front of the trough between the cows and some of the other deer. Gradually, however, the deer plucked up courage and showed fight in return. Their attacks then became so serious that I was afraid they would kill the birds with their horns, and was therefore obliged to separate them. Peace between the emus and the cows was only restored after I made the spaces between the bars narrow enough for an emu only to put its head through.
Tommy once escaped from Billholm, and he probably would not have gone very far from Jenny, but when the man in charge tried to drive him into the field again he became excited, and his temper was not soothed when his keeper sought assistance.
Tommy promptly took to the hills, and when the hue and cry was raised that he was off, all the men and collies in the neighbourhood joined in hot pursuit. I was from home at the time, but the run was described to me as a most brilliant affair, and certainly equal to any fox-hunt on record up to that day.
The ground covered was about twenty miles, and it was many hours before he was run "to earth" at Castle O'er, five miles from home: having had quite a nice outing, he had reached this point on his way home to Billholm.
Men and dogs had enough of it, and a cart was requisitioned in which he was carried home in triumph to his paddock, from which he never again tried to escape unless pressed.
Another escape took place, but it was a rhea this time, and happened at Castle O'er. She, wishing to have a more extended view of the country, "climbed" the fence, and copying Tommy as her example, carried out her intentions by also taking to the hills. I heard of her from time to time as having visited sundry farmhouses and shepherds' cottages - many of them several miles away - as also of many a good hunt after her with collie dogs. Eventually, having been about fourteen days "at large," she appeared at Crurie, two miles from Castle O'er.
I enlisted the aid of one of my servants whom, in case he may read these lines and not like them, I shall call "John," and we started off to try to catch the delinquent.
We found her in one of the fields, and I sent John to the farmhouse to borrow a piece of "scone" as bait. The following plan of campaign was arranged: as the bird knew me well, I was to feed it; when busy with the bread, I was to run treacherously in, and seizing her suddenly, throw her down, when, if the feat was successfully accomplished, John was in his turn to make a dive and get hold of her legs, I at the same time warning him to "look out for squalls" and hold firm. He gave me a look of scorn mixed with pity, remarking that there was "gangin' to be an unco fuss to catch sic a wee beast as that."
The operation was successful, and having caught her round the body before she had time to kick, I threw her over and lay on the top of her.
John seized her legs, and a fierce struggle ensued on the part of all three. In a few minutes John, with the perspiration streaming from his face, gasped out that the "sma' cratur had the strength and spite o' the deevil": he was quite ignorant of the mass of muscle in the thigh of one of the large "cursores."
I sent him to the farm for a wool bag, consenting to remain lying on the bird till his return. This consent I would not have given had I not been aware that she was pumped out with the struggle to a perfectly safe degree; still, I hoed John would hurry up. When he returned with the bag we shoved the "beast" in, and, rolling it up into a very decent "parcel," sat down to take a rest after our exertions.
In the meanwhile the parcel had rested also, and presently we heard a series of rents taking place in the cover, and saw "legs and airms a-wallopin'" through many holes in the bag, which was thin and worn from much use.
John was now despatched for another bag, and again I "reclined upon my feather-bed." The bundle was repacked in a double envelope, and the question arose, how was it to be conveyed home, the farm -hands and carts being all out at work? John offered to carry it on his back if I would help to "heez't up"; this done we proceeded on our way. We had not gone half a mile till another "screed" was heard, and a leg, but fortunately one only this time, was seen waving in the air in a most menacing manner, and ominously near John's head.
Having seen and felt a fair sample of the "beast's" powers, he cried out, "For gude sake, sir, tak' hand o' that leg, or it'll hae aff ma lug." This I did, and we reached home without further mishap, though my arm was much cramped "wi' haudin'" that struggling leg for a mile and a half.
Emus and rheas are deprived by nature of the power of flight, but the enormous amount of thigh muscle, combined with long legs, provides them with a ready means of escape - by running. In the emu the wings are quite rudimentary, being merely bones about 10 inches long, though consisting of the usual joints of a bird's wing; but they appear as if they had been arrested in their growth. These bones are covered with the same sort of feathers as those which cover the body, and are of no use for enabling them to escape from their enemies. The feathers are quite unlike any we see on other birds. They are very ugly in appearance, are harsh to the touch, and have two shafts rising from a single quill. When one of the birds shakes itself, the sound produced is as if it were covered with straw.
Some other birds have bipennated feathers - black-game and grouse, for instance; and I well remember that during the visit of one of my nieces a discussion arose upon the question of such feathers. I remarked that I knew of no other bird which possessed them except grouse, but she said they were to be found on black-game also. I declared that they were not, and added that as a sportsman I should know better than she. The discussion became animated, to say the least of it, and as my sporting credit was at stake, I offered her a guinea for every double-shafted blackgame feather she could produce.
The shooting-season being over we could not settle the quarrel by producing the bird itself, but she invited me to accompany her to a fence on the hillside near, on which black-game were wont to sit. There she picked up a handful. I did not stay to count them, but a compromise was entered into as to payment, which saved me from ruin, but not from the chagrin of being beaten by a lady on a question connected with sport.
The rhea, unlike the emu, has long wings covered with large feathers, but as they are long and soft, they also are quite unsuited for flight. They use their wings as rudders; and it is marvellous how, by raising one in the air, the bird can shoot off from its course at a sharp tangent when going at the speed of a race-horse.
In 1879, when I left Billholm and came to reside at Castle O'er, I flitted my birds along with my other "furniture," and here, they led a happier life than they had previously done. They had more space to roam about in, and in addition had access to a plantation, in which they could shelter in cold weather - at least in cold rain or sleet: they did not seem to mind any other sort of weather, and their bonne bouche was a piece of ice.
I will now give my readers some idea of the amount of cold both species can suffer, and the information will be better appreciated if the climate of South America, or even of Australia, is mentally compared with the winter temperature of the highlands of Dumfriesshire.
The rheas arrived upon the 17th November 1874, when the first few days were wet and cold. I put them in a small enclosure, in which there was a wooden shed, but they never entered the shed unless driven in.
By the 28th I had fenced in a larger space of ground as a run for them; at the same time the weather had changed to snow, followed by severe frost.
On that day I gave them their liberty in their new enclosure, not without considerable misgiving, I must confess, as to how they would stand the cold.
I watched them all day, and up till 11 P.M., when I retired for the night. It was bright moonlight, and I could see them stalking up and down among the snow, and I was afraid their feet, at least, would be frostbitten.
That night the thermometer fell to 26°. I was up by daylight next morning, and was much relieved to find they were still alive, and moving about with complete composure. I could see from their tracks that they had never entered the shed.
The weather continued to increase in severity for some time till the thermometer reached 13°, and as they showed no symptoms of suffering, my mind was fairly well set at rest with regard to their standing the rigours of a Scottish winter.
I got my emus upon 20th October 1875, or just a year after the rheas, and any further remarks upon cold apply to both species.
The pair of old emus sometimes, though not always, went into a shed at night, but I have seen them oftener "roosting" in the snow.
Before finding out how hardy these birds are I used to shut up the first brood I had in a shed at night, but one night after they were housed a loaded cart passed the back of the shed, which was built with wood only. The "rumpus" which took place inside when the birds heard the noise was terrible; and when I opened the door I found they were mad with fear, and were dashing themselves against the walls in their efforts to escape, and very like committing suicide. After this experience I never shut up any of my subsequent broods, and none of them ever entered a shelter willingly. Frequently I have seen them on hard frosty mornings with the tips of their feathers frozen to the soil: when they were disturbed they would rise up suddenly, leaving a ring of torn-out feathers all round the spot of their night's restingplace.
When I say that both emus and rheas survived the terrible winter of 1880-81, it is pretty certain that these birds will suffer any amount of cold they are likely to encounter in this climate provided they are well fed.
That winter, however, did not pass without disaster, though entirely owing to the cruel neglect of the man charged with the duty of feeding them. The ground was covered with snow, more than a foot deep, during several months; and the thermometer, which stood for many days at 1° only above zero at mid-day, with a cloudless sky, fell on one night to 10° below zero.
During the coldest period I found three of the young birds, then not quite half-grown, dead, and the others in a very weak state, and I feared I would lose all. On offering the survivors food they ate it greedily, and my suspicions were roused as to my man's fidelity. On "putting him to the question" he confessed, with great reluctance, that for more than a week the weather had been "ower coorse for him to gang and feed them," though their feeding-trough was no more than 100 yards from the dwelling-house.
The rheas were in much the same plight, though none died, and good feeding put them all to rights.
I put the latter in a stall of the stable for a few days only till they regained the strength lost by their long fast. They were then turned out again, and withstood the prolonged and rigorous winter with impunity.
The question has been put to me whether I noticed any modification in the plumage of the birds owing to change of climate, but this, I think, could only be observed after two or three generations had been bred in this country; and as I never kept any of my young ones to breed from, I am unable to give an answer. I noticed no change in the adult birds, and indeed I do not think any could be looked for.
I cannot refrain from narrating an incident which happened during the visit of a certain legal friend who shall be nameless, as, I am glad to say, he is still alive and in robust health, and might resent my exposure, in public, of the chagrin he must have experienced. He came to see the birds, accompanied by a handsome and valuable collie.
Before entering the enclosure I suggested the propriety of his leaving the dog outside. He, evidently thinking I was alarmed for the safety of my pets, said his dog was very gentle and would not harm them.
I told him that I had no fear for my pets if he had none for his, and invited him to "come on." No sooner had the dog leaped over the stile than Tommy and Jenny - who had a young brood beside them - "went" for the poor beast; and the scene that followed would have been ludicrous enough had it not been for the mortal terror of poor "bow-wow." He rushed round and round the enclosure, too closely followed by the whole pack to have time for a spring over the fence, but in his mad endeavour to escape tried to get through the bottom rails. The fence was an ordinary barred paling 6 feet high, but backed at the bottom with 3 feet of wire-netting to confine the young ones.
After trying in vain at every point to find an exit, and never getting a moment's respite, he became quite exhausted, and sought refuge in a corner where the fence joined a shed. Here Tommy promptly began to "perform the war dance" on the top of his vanquished foe; and had I not seized Tommy by the neck and pulled him away, the said foe would have been a dead dog in a very few minutes.
The only brood I ever weaned from Tommy was my first one, but it was a painful experience. I put papa into the larger enclosure, then occupied by Jenny and the rheas, leaving the young ones in the smaller one where they were bred. They were then, I think, about three months old: I am not certain about their age, but they were quite small. So soon as they found themselves deserted by their parent, they commenced running up and down the side of the fence which formed the division of both enclosures, and through the bars they could see the old birds, though the wire-netting prevented their getting through to them. Here they kept running for about a fortnight, apparently without ceasing day and night. I presume they must have rested some time during the night, but I never saw them still a moment. They certainly did run all day, and as they went on till my bed hour, and were still pegging away at daylight, I concluded they never took any rest. They reminded me of Weston whom I left in Edinburgh on a Saturday walking round his path, and whom I still found at work when I returned to town upon the Saturday following.
I was sorry for them, but I considered this separation necessary, and the right thing to do, and I could not conceive how such young birds could undergo so much violent and prolonged exertion and survive the ordeal. After this I never separated them, but allowed them to wean themselves: when they grew up they did not mind being put in another field nearly so much.
| Antwerp Zoo. |
Fortunately a native appeared who knew enough of English to understand what I wanted, and he volunteered - for a "consideration"- to fetch a cab for me. He was away for nearly half an hour; and when he at last returned with the coach, I offered seats to a lady and her husband with whom I had "chummed" on board.
I dropped them at their hotel, and proceeded to mine - the Hotel St Antoine.
I felt very miserable landing in a foreign country for the first time at such a late hour, and with no knowledge of the language. I rung up a sleepy waiter - it being past midnight before I reached my destination, owing to baggage inspection and want of cabs - and he conducted me to a bedroom without either of us uttering a word.
What with the novelty of my situation, the striking of innumerable clocks, and ringing of bells in the town, I passed a sleepless morning.
To my great delight, when I came down to breakfast, a "kenned" face entered the room in the shape of my friend Mr Jamrach.
I was really glad to meet some one with whom I could converse, and as he had come from London to purchase live stock also, we both proceeded to the Zoological Gardens.
I noticed on nearly all the enclosures and cages the words "en vente," and remarked that apparently the whole collection was going to be disposed of; but Mr Jamrach told me this was not the case, as only those birds and animals which would bring more money than was paid for them would be sold.
When we were walking through the gardens a lady accosted Mr Jamrach, and they entered into a long and animated conversation, during which I had retired to a respectful distance, and of which I only caught the words "têtes rouges" several times repeated,- perhaps the only words I understood.
After the lady departed Mr Jamrach told me she was the Princess "Somebody," and that they were discussing the possibility or impossibility of procuring a pair of birds so rare that he had failed, for some years back, to fulfil an order given him by his noble customer.
Having informed Mr Jamrach as to the purpose of my errand, he told me I had better be careful how I went about my intended purchase, stating many reasons for this, and, among them, the slight knowledge I had of the language used by the auctioneer, which was French.
The sale was by auction, and having discovered two fine adult rheas, of which one was undoubtedly a male, my friend advised me to permit him to purchase both birds, as he wanted the female. To this I agreed, and he told me to stand opposite to him with my umbrella held over my shoulder, and when the bidding reached the sum I was inclined to pay, to drop my umbrella.
The birds were duly knocked down to him, and I accepted his kind offer to see them packed and conveyed to England along with his other purchases. In the course of time I received a letter from him telling me that two birds had reached London, but that they were both young ones, and certainly not the pair he had purchased. How such a mistake arose, and how he got out of the difficulty, I do not know; but, unfortunately for me, I once more failed in adding a male rhea to my collection.
Mr Jamrach made a great many purchases at the sale, among which were four young giraffes. He told me that these arrived in London with their necks broken, owing to a rough passage. This was a serious loss to him, as the price of such animals is as long as their necks.
I visited the Zoological Gardens at Rotterdam, Amsterdam, and The Hague, as well as that at Antwerp, and all were very interesting; though I considered that the one at Amsterdam quite outstripped the others, owing to its containing a better collection, and to the cleanliness and health of the inmates. I remember the snakes there were larger than any I had seen up to that time in London.
Since writing the above lines I have read that very interesting work, 'The Vivarium,' by the Rev. G. C. Bateman, in which he mentions that there was in the London Zoo a reticulated python which was supposed to weigh 18 stones, but it is a new addition to the Gardens since I last visited them.
| Mongoose Hall. |
| Monkeys. |
I had long wished to add a certain kind of monkey to my collection, and so I started off without telling any of my friends the object of my journey, having serious and cowardly misgivings as to what they would say if they knew I intended to invest in a "puggy." On arriving in Dumfries I went straight to the saleroom, and among the "pugs" was the very species I wanted - to wit, a Sooty Mangabey.
As its name implies, the colour of this animal is black, or nearly so, all over, - something similar to a "faded chimney-sweep"; the face is jet black and its eyelids are white. As the colour has some connection with the dénoûment of the story, it should be remembered. This "lot" was duly knocked down to the person whose determination to possess it defied all competitors, and that person was myself.
I proceeded to the nearest grocer's shop and borrowed an empty soap-box, in which Jacko was securely confined. I hailed a cab, and, with my sable friend on the front boot, drove to the railway station. Here I handed the box to the first porter I saw, telling him to be sure and put it in the van when my train arrived. He deposited it on the platform, maliciously as I thought, and it had not been long there till a jeering crowd was attracted by unwonted sounds proceeding from inside the package, and two black paws protruding through chinks of the lid.
The remarks of the crowd were, to say the least of it, sarcastic in the highest degree; and when a nasty small boy wished to know "wha owned the puggy"? and when I saw several inquiring faces searching among the spectators for some indication of ownership, I nearly sunk into my boots, and pretended that it "wasna me that owned it"; and, further to ensure myself against identification, I also ventured to utter a few disparaging remarks such as I had heard, and specially addressed to the unknown " bauldy," who was so weak-minded as to wish to possess such a nonsensical and villainous beast.
When the train entered the station I hastily secured a seat, with the risk of leaving poor Jacko behind, but trusting at the same time that the porter would be true to his charge. I had previously "tipped" him, and this foresight on my part saved me the discomfiture of my ownership being exposed at the last moment, by the man coming to the carriage door, putting in his hand in a way we all know, and exclaiming, "The puggy's a' richt in the van, sir."
When the train reached its destination I found the porter had been faithful, and fairly earned his "tip." It was now dark, and I escaped any further public demonstration under the cover of night.
It was 10 P.M. when I reached home, and my assistant and "fidus Achates" in matters zoological was in bed. I did not care to rouse him in case he also "smiled," and I was at a loss as to where I could house Jacko for the night. The heating-apparatus of the greenhouse was in the potting-shed, and I resolved to put him in there, as it was warm. The apparatus consisted of a hot-water boiler encased in a square building of brickwork, with a flat top projecting from the back of the greenhouse wall.
Jacko was already provided with a chain, one being included 'in the "lot" when knocked down to me at the sale. With a nail I secured my purchase to a post, put down some straw on the top of the brickwork, and went to bed satisfied that he would have a warm bed for the night.
Next morning my man, who was gardener as well as menagerie-keeper, met me with his face as white as a sheet, saying he had seen something "awfu'" in the stokehole. He had gone to stoke the fire in the morning twilight, and when he was stooping to open the furnace door he heard an unusual noise overhead. On looking up, his gaze met what he described to me as the "Deevil glowerin' doon o' the top o' him." He was so terrified that he did not remain to verify the fact of its really being "his Satanic Majesty," but rushed out of the shed to call for my assistance to exorcise the "fiend of darkness."
Upon my explaining matters he said nothing, but I could see from his face that he thought some of the gibing remarks I had heard at the Dumfries railway station.
Some monkeys have a bad habit - generally supposed to arise from idleness - of nibbling their tail, which becomes so sore that it causes them much pain.
Jacko was addicted to this habit, and the resulting sore became so bad that the tail broke through at one of the joints about six inches from the "far end," and kept dangling about in a most uncomfortable looking manner. This loose piece became " dead," and it required cutting away, but I did not like to perform the operation myself, simple though it was.
It happened, however, one day that the local doctor had been assisting to amputate a poor man's leg in the neighbourhood. He called on me on his way home, and I asked him, "as his hand was in," would he cut off the monkey's "tail-piece," and he readily consented. Jacko was placed in a sack, with his tail outside, and I held him under my arm. When the piece was amputated, the stump was seared with a red-hot iron. The doctor stayed to dinner, and after the meal was over I went to see how the "patient" was, and brought him into the dining-room.
As was his wont, he sat on the fender bar. I suggested he should have a glass of wine to freshen him up after the operation, and as his medical adviser had no objections, I handed him a good bumper of sherry.
He held the glass in one paw and the tail-stump in the other. He would first look at his stump, emitting at the same time a most melancholy whimpering sound, and then take a sip of wine, repeating the action over and over again. The scene loses in the telling, but the whole thing was so ludicrous, and still so human-like, that the worthy doctor nearly fell off his chair with laughing.
Monkeys are sometimes very treacherous; and it is difficult to understand what leads them to show spite to certain members of the human family who, in the opinion of their friends, do not deserve it, and again to be quite affectionate with others. The one just described was very tame generally, and most peaceably disposed to all visitors except two. One was a young lady with a most pleasing countenance - really a pretty girl, and a great lover of pets. Whenever she entered the room where the monkey was kept, the latter flew into a perfect paroxysm of rage, and dashed himself against the bars of the cage in the vain endeavour to reach her. He jabbered and sputtered in a most menacing manner, and it would have been a serious thing for the girl if he had managed to escape.
The other visitor was a lady of a "certain age," but possessing also a most benign countenance, and was not devoid of good looks. The monkey did not display so much rancour towards her as to the younger lady, but he evidently did not like her. She approached the cage fearlessly, and at that moment Jacko put his arm through the bars, and gave her a sounding smack on the face with the palm of his hand, or rather fore-paw. These were the only two people to whom he showed animosity, and it is difficult to understand why he picked out these two ladies from among all his visitors on whom to vent his spite.
Other monkeys are very spiteful towards their own species. I had a pair of Talapoins, which are, unlike many monkeys, very pretty animals. I never kept ugly monkeys, and could never admire the common Macaque or Rhesus. Mine were male and female, and for a long time they lived on very friendly terms, till one morning I found the female lying dead on the bottom of the cage. To console the widower I gave him another mate, and they seemed very friendly for a day or two, but this one also died mysteriously.
I purchased a third,- a male this time,- and after putting it into the cage I remained a while in the room; during this interval they were quite peaceful. When I shut the door on leaving the room I heard a tremendous row in the monkey's cage, so opening the door suddenly, I was just in time to see the Talapoin attacking the other most savagely. He had got him down on the floor of the cage, and though not then dead, he died very soon afterwards, evidently from a broken spine.
I did not care to keep the savage any longer, so sent him as a present to Mr Jamrach, who acknowledged receipt in due course, and in the following terms: "The small monkey has arrived safe, and is at this moment on board a steamer, with a lot of comrades, bound for New York." I wonder how many of his "comrades" reached New York alive?
I have frequently had reason to be astonished at the agility of monkeys, but that of my Talapoins exceeded any others I had observed. When I started my small menagerie I put up a partition, covered with fine wire-netting, across one end of the room, so as to form an aviary. When I gave the monkeys liberty to have a run they rushed about like boys escaped from school, chasing each other round and round, and making most surprising leaps from cages, &c. It was wonderful how they escaped injury; but they never fell, nor missed landing safely on any spot aimed at in their wild career. They loved to swarm all over the wire-netting of the aviary, making such a noise that the feathered inmates were much disturbed.
From this netting to an aquarium in the centre of the room, was one of their favourite "dives," and I often wondered how they got sufficient purchase from the yielding wire to make the leap. I have no note of the distance, but it was much more than any one would have thought to be within the power of such small monkeys; but they always managed to land on the edge of the aquarium without accident.
In my collection I had another monkey named after the goddess Diana. Its colours were most varied and pretty; its face was jet black, and it had a long peaked white beard, as well as a white crescent on the forehead. It owed its name to the latter ornament, as it was supposed to represent the silver crescent borne by Diana of the ancients.
Its disposition was mild, very different from the one before described; but it managed to do a lot of damage when it was at liberty in the room. Its agility almost equalled that of the Talapoins, and sometimes it ran "amuck" among my curiosities, dashing them off the tables and shelves with its hind feet, at the same time never for an instant halting in its wild rush round the room. Many a time I had the desire to let it loose in the drawing-room, but, being a married man, I never dared to even express that wish.
At this time I had a large tortoise, and it was most amusing to see the creature plodding along the floor, with the monkey riding on its back eating an apple. All its mischief was done good-naturedly, and merely for the fun of the thing. It once snatched off my spectacles and tried them on, but it found them rather wide. When I endeavoured to recover them it commenced to rush round the cage, and all over the tree put in as a perch; then it dropped them among the straw, and, being gold ones, they were to my blind eyes much of the same colour. When I crept in at the door of the cage, and was groping among the straw, Diana, who had never lost them from sight, was down like a shot, and, seizing the specs, the same game was renewed over and over again, till it was quite exhausted and allowed me to recover them.
On another occasion it got hold of my hook-book - goodness knows how, as it was at the time confined to its cage. When I came upon the scene it had every hook of a large collection scattered among its straw, except one roll of sea-trout flies, which it was examining with as much interest as a connoisseur. We had a big fight over those in its hand, during which it danced all over the others lying on the bottom of the cage, but, wonderful to relate, it had not a single hook in any part of its body.
This species of monkey is a native of Guinea, and though it is not very rare in its native country, it is not commonly imported, which is curious, considering that it really is a beautiful creature, and becomes very tame and affectionate. I have often regretted since that a tempting pecuniary offer induced me to part with it.
A dealer once sent me a monkey with no further comment than "I might pay him what I liked for it." On opening the box in which it was sent the poor beast was lying among the straw apparently dead, but when I lifted him out there was an absence of rigor mortis, and I thought he might be still alive. He was quite limp, in fact, and helpless; but after lying on the rug in front of the fire for a while he began to twitch, and I then had hopes of saving him. The warmth of the fire worked wonders after a time, and he revived so much that he was able to take food administered with a spoon, and besides food I gave him, by degrees, a full bumper of sherry, the effects of which were magical. Next day he had so far recovered that he was able to walk about, and with the generous treatment he received became, in about a fortnight, quite strong and well.
Poor beast, his fate was a sad one, as, after all my trouble bringing him back to life, he was number three who became a victim to the murderous Talapoin above Mentioned.
The following letter received from Frank Buckland may be of interest, and of use to those who keep monkeys :-
"The proper name of your monkeys is Talapoin. They come from West Africa. You should treat them as you do children. They must have a run about the room at least twice a-day. If you keep them in the cage always, they are pretty nearly sure to die. Let them drink as much water (or milk) as they will take. Bread dipped in strong soup is a very good thing for them. Give them anything they will eat, especially onions.
"Meal-worms are good, earth-worms bad; above all, make them green baize jackets, which should be sewn on behind, so that they cannot unpick them. At night they must be put in a cage with a sleeping compartment, with lots of hay, like a rabbit-hutch.
"If they were my monkeys I would have them down every day at dinner, and give them a bit of everything.-Yours ever," &c.
| Marmosets. |
A pair I had were very tame and gentle, though they were always timid; but with patience they became very familiar with me, though on the approach of strangers they always retired into their sleepingbox, placed in an upper corner of the cage, from whence they kept popping out their quaint faces, at the same time giving vent to their feelings of alarm by a peculiar chirping sound.
I fed them much in the same way as my other monkeys, adding an occasional meal-worm or two. Flies they caught for themselves, but they were particularly fond of grapes, and nothing would entice them on to my knee quicker than this fruit.
Each chose a knee, and very comical indeed they looked when sitting there, sucking a grape, at the same time blinking up in my face with their beautiful limpid eyes, and with an expression of intense satisfaction,though they made a terrible mess of themselves, owing to the grape-juice running through their small black fingers and up their arms. Had they been able to speak I have no doubt they would have said, "Oh! how good that is."
Their fate was the fate of most pets; and I regret to say death, on this occasion might have been prevented.
I had occasion to be from home a whole day, and when I left the morning was warm, so I raised the ventilator of the room to allow some of the hot air from the pipes to escape. A sudden change in the weather took place during the day, and it became very cold. As I had not foreseen this change, I left no directions to have the ventilator closed, and when I returned home in the evening I found them both lying on the bottom of the cage quite benumbed with cold. The sudden shock had been too much for their delicate constitutions, and they succumbed, notwithstanding all the pains I took to counteract it.
| Lemur. |
There are several species of lemurs; but the one I possessed is known as the ring-tailed lemur, and for colour had various shades of grey, and its long bushy tail was marked with alternate circles of black and white, hence its descriptive name.
" Lemur," in the language of Madagascar, means "Night-wandering Ghost," owing to the rapid and noiseless way it flits among the branches and from tree to tree in the moonlight; and I can quite understand, from my own observation, the reason why it gets this name. He frequently had his liberty on the lawn in front of the house, which is bounded by fir-trees. A large one standing by itself was the one most to Charlie's liking, and in it he would amuse himself for hours on end; and the rapidity with which he could ascend or descend the high tree, and the immense springs he could take without making the least noise, were quite astonishing: if I were sitting underneath, a sudden flop on my shoulder from a considerable height would startle me as much as if he had been a true ghost.
The way he came into my possession was this: Whenever I go from home I look out for something interesting, especially in things connected with natural history. Being on a visit to London, I wandered one evening into the Westminster Aquarium to see the fishes. I was not long in finding myself near the stall or shop where pets of all kinds were sold. On approaching I saw a considerable crowd collected round a central object. This was a lemur, and he was being handed from one person to another, particularly by ladies and children, each one being anxious to have it in their arms to cuddle and kiss.
I "spotted" it as my own the moment I saw it. The stall-keeper informed me that the same scene took place every night, and that one little girl in particular had been brought by her father every evening for some time back to play with the animal.
Next evening the crowd, including the little girl, were disappointed to find their pet gone. Its absence resulted from a little private conversation which the man and I had in a secluded corner of the shop the evening before. I was sorry to disappoint the visitors to the Aquarium, and especially the little girl, but I wanted the animal badly. I have no doubt the directors of the show owed me a grudge, as the man told me that the presence of the lemur increased the receipts considerably during its sojourn there, many people, particularly children, coming specially to see it.
At home he was kept in the kitchen, chained to the heavy centre-table; but one day the cook, who was embarrassed by Charlie's solicitations for "cake and pudding," unchained him and fastened him to a lighter side-table: this he managed to upset, and in its fall the poor animal's arm was broken.
I sent for the doctor, who reduced the fracture and encased the arm in plaster of Paris.
No sooner had the doctor left the house than Charlie had pulled off all the dressing. Again I sent for the doctor, who came this time accompanied by an assistant, and they reset the arm with no better result,- the bandages were off next morning.
As the dressing was no easy business, we were obliged to confine the creature in a large earthenware dish, and after putting chloroform inside we fixed on the cover. Not caring to repeat the chloroform business a third time, I resolved to leave the healing process to nature. The bones very soon were knit together, but the arm had a nasty twist. When the table fell on him I suspect he received some internal injury, for though the arm healed he never recovered his wonted spirits, and died soon afterwards.
| Snakes. |
I never could induce the boa to feed, though I tempted it with all the delicacies I could think of, such as fowls, pigeons, rabbits, and rats.
Snakes are subject to a fungoid growth on their gums which prevents them from feeding, and probably mine had the disease, but for obvious reasons I never cared to examine its mouth.
The teeth are very slight, and when the reptile bites they are apt to break and cause a nasty festering wound.
I kept the two snakes in a large box - the front, ends, and top being glazed with plate-glass -and inside were a pair of blankets.
Though the room was heated I thought this refusal to feed might be owing to want of sufficient warmth rather than to diseased gums. All tropical snakes should be kept in a temperature of 90°, and this I could not easily afford them. To give them as much heat as I could, I introduced hot-water tins below their box: with this view I made another shallow box or frame, open at the top, in which the tins were placed, and I put their cage on the top of the frame.
In order to allow the heat from the hot water to ascend to the snakes, I bored holes in the bottom of the cage. To facilitate the work of boring the holes, I turned the cage containing the snakes on its side. As soon as I did so I was startled by hearing a sound as if a railway engine were letting off steam. This sound proceeded from the boa, who was in a furious temper, and was rushing about hissing loudly.
When he saw me looking at him he struck at me with such force that one might have heard the sound of his "snout" striking the glass at a considerable distance away. I was never afraid of his breaking the thick glass, but often thought he would break his own neck. This did not happen: but ever afterwards he was so fierce that he never failed to dash himself against the glass whenever I or any visitors approached his cage.
Before this change of temper I had been in the habit of "acting showman" before visitors, by taking him out of the cage and allowing him to twine himself round my neck and body, having at the same time a tight hold of his neck, and taking care that he got no purchase by coiling his tail round any piece of furniture. When his temper broke I never ventured to touch him again, and prevailed upon myself to believe that his performance was much more entertaining than mine, and infinitely safer for myself.
He cast his skin more than once, and when he emerged from his old one, "beautiful for ever," one would have imagined that he had paid a recent visit to the famous Madame Rachel. The fresh and bright colours of the new skin were in vivid contrast to those of the old faded one: he looked as if he had been newly "painted."
When the skin is ready for casting it first splits along the sides of the lips, and the reptile begins operations by pushing his nose among the herbage,- if at freedom, or among the blankets if in confinement,- until the old skin is stripped backwards over his head: he then glides through the herbage or blankets, which pushes the skin still backwards, and when the snake emerges altogether the skin is left, turned inside out; even the eyes are covered with skin, and in the cast-off one the eye-scales are to be seen, which gives the impression that a snake must always be looking out of a window or pair of spectacles.
The cast-off skin is not devoid of beauty, and one which my snake shed was so fine and perfect that Frank Buckland, who was on a visit to me, asked me to give it to him, which I did with pleasure; and he told me afterwards that he had produced it at a wedding- breakfast in London, where it was very much admired, especially by Mr Rolfe the artist, who took it away to have the pattern on it worked out in lace by a lady friend of his.
This boa lived in my collection for 360 days without touching food, and how long he had fasted before coming into the hands of Mr Cross of Liverpool, from whom I purchased him, who can say?
But to return to the python: one evening I put a rabbit of about two months old into the box, intending it for the boa. As neither snake seemed to be hungry I went to the house to write some letters. As I was shutting the door of the menagerie- which was in the garden and detached from the dwelling-house - I heard the rabbit squeal, and going back I found it was the python who had seized it. It had merely the nose of the rabbit in its mouth, and I went away with the mental remark that it was attempting a difficult task.
I returned in about half an hour, when, to my amazement, the feat was accomplished, and the python reduced from 2½ feet in length, to about 18 inches, with a large bulge in the middle, which bulge was the rabbit's tomb. I could distinctly trace the shape of poor "bunny" underneath the distended skin of the snake.
A few days afterwards I was going to show this wonderful sight to some visitors, but on opening the lid of the cage a disagreeable odour rose from inside, and I found the rabbit among the blankets in an advanced stage of decomposition, and the python appeared as if it had recently undergone the "Banting treatment."
The swallowing was a heavy undertaking, but the disgorgement must have been as bad, if not worse, considering that a snake's teeth point in the direction of the throat, and are hooked at the points.
I am sorry that my visitors missed the sight, as they might have corroborated my assertion. Witnesses were not wanting among my own family and servants, but some independent testimony would have been more satisfactory. If any person had told me that that snake had swallowed that rabbit, I could not have swallowed his story: I would simply not have believed him.
To give an example of how the imagination or an association of ideas may strike some people, I may say that before being put in the large box beside the boa I kept the python in a fern case. One morning I was going to arrange the ferns, and at the moment my hand appeared within the door of the case the python struck at and bit my finger. The pain was slight, or perhaps my fright deadened the feeling; but though I knew the snake was non-poisonous, I am certain that for a few minutes I suffered the same agony of mind that any one goes through when bitten by a venomous reptile. I received a sharp shock at the moment, and it was some time before I recovered from my fright.
In the same fern-case were some large green Jersey lizards, one of which bit me under exactly similar circumstances; but on that occasion I felt no fear, as I did not associate the idea of poison with a lizard. I do not think either of these reptiles bit in anger; possibly they were merely hungry, and thought I was introducing food into the case. Both attacks were made so quickly that I think they seized the first thing they saw moving.
This reminds me of a story told me by the late Mr Bartlett of the Zoological Gardens, London. He had got from abroad a couple of snakes of a variety new to him. Wishing to know to what species they belonged, he had the snakes put in a bag, and proceeded to the British Museum to consult Dr Gunther. When he showed them to the doctor, the latter said he knew quite well what they were, and that they were quite harmless. Upon this Mr Bartlett took the snakes out of the bag, placing the latter upon a table. He handed one to Dr Gunther, and kept the other in his own hand.
They stood thus for some time discussing the merits of the snakes, who meanwhile behaved themselves very well. All at once Dr Gunther exclaimed, " Oh! by-the-by, Bartlett, I have just remembered that there are two kinds of these snakes almost exactly alike, of which one is poisonous and the other harmless, and I am not sure which we have got hold of." Upon this Mr Bartlett reached out his hand to get the bag in which to confine the snakes, but the moment he did so, and as if the snakes knew they were going to be again imprisoned, one bit Dr Gunther on the thumb and the other Mr Bartlett on a finger.
They both promptly dropped the snakes and stared at each other for some time, their faces being as white as a sheet: at length Dr Gunther found his tongue first and said, "Bartlett, do you feel anything?" The latter replied that the only thing he yet felt was that Dr Gunther was a confounded fool for having, by his forgetfulness, brought them both into such a scrape.
Eventually, however, after they considered that time enough had elapsed for the working of the poison, and feeling no bad effects, Mr Bartlett picked up the reptiles, and returning them to the bag, got them safely into their case in the Gardens. He told me he never would forget the terror he suffered for some time after being bitten, and I can quite sympathise with him.
The stroke of a snake is instantaneous. I once put a rabbit beside a boa, and so soon as it was introduced into the cage the snake raised its head and about a foot of its body, its eye meanwhile having a most sinister expression. It struck the rabbit with a motion as quick as the crack of a whip. This stroke, and the subsequent coiling of the body round the rabbit, were so rapidly performed that the eye could scarcely follow the movements. The constricting power of the snake is so strong that I am sure the poor rabbit felt very little pain.
We are told by writers on natural history that snakes have the gift of fascination, and that all birds and animals have an instinctive fear of them: certainly the eye of a snake has a horribly malign appearance, and this always gave me "a fit of the creeps." This power may be possessed when the creatures are in a wild state, but confinement and partial domestication may modify it.
I once put a pigeon into the snake's cage: the fluttering of the bird roused the snake, who, on seeing the pigeon, slid round and round the cage in excited alarm. The pigeon was equally alarmed for the snake, but not more so, I think, than it would have been for any other creature moving at such close quarters. In a few minutes the snake coiled itself up to renew the sleep from which it had been roused, and the pigeon actually roosted on the back of the reptile and began preening its feathers. This action did not express much instinctive fear on the part of the pigeon.
Notwithstanding the abhorrence most people have for snakes - fault of education I think - these reptiles are easily tamed, and to those whose taste lies in that line make very interesting, nay, even affectionate, pets.
Mr Holland, formerly keeper of the snake-house at the Zoo, told me that a gentleman came to him to purchase a lacertine snake. This species is not poisonous, but the specimen in question had a bad character, so much so that Mr Holland refused, at the gentleman's request, to lift it out of the cage without some preliminary preparation. The purchaser then asked Holland to at least unlock the cage-door: on this being done the gentleman, after being again warned of the danger he ran of being bitten, put in his hand fearlessly, pulled forth the snake, and allowed it to coil round his body under his coat and waistcoat. He held it by the neck, which protruded from inside his coat-sleeve, and walked in this fashion through the streets of London to his home in Chelsea.
This gentleman may have had the mysterious faculty of subduing animals with which some people are endowed, an instance of which I will give farther on when speaking of Arctic foxes.
I subsequently learned from the late lamented Frank Buckland that the name of the gentleman spoken of by Holland was Dr Mann. He told me that Mrs. Mann as well as her husband was an enthusiast over snakes, and that one of the prettiest sights he ever saw was this lady dressed in a black velvet gown, with her favourite boa-constrictor "Zoe" coiled round her body: the contrast of colours was, as described by him, simply lovely. Through Buckland's agency I had some correspondence with Dr Mann regarding reptiles. I wrote and asked him if he would kindly give me, a beginner, some hints as to the keeping of snakes. He courteously replied at length, and I found his instructions of very great use to me. I have lost trace of him or his family for many years, and after numerous attempts have failed to learn if any of them are now alive.
As I am sure that Dr Mann, if still alive, would not object to allow others, as well as myself, to have the benefit of his great experience in snake keeping, I scarcely think I will commit a grave breach of courtesy if I publish two letters received from him. The first is dated 20th August 1872, and is as follows:-
"4 CHEYNE WALK, August 20, 1872.
"DEAR SIR,-I should have great pleasure in giving you any information that would assist you in keeping your snakes in flourishing condition, but I ought to tell you that my experience is limited, and I can only speak with any degree of certainty as to what I have myself seen.
"As to the boas, I think that the principal and undoubted necessity is that they should be kept permanently warm. The blankets of course will keep them warm when once they have acquired heat; but of course a cold snake cannot become warm by putting it under a blanket: and though this appears a truism, it is one which is constantly forgotten not only by snake-owners, but by the snakes themselves, who will crawl under a blanket in the hope of finding warmth.
"As to bathing. My snakes rarely care to bathe; in fact, I have to put them into tepid water myself, and then they will not always remain. On their emerging from the water they should be placed in a hot place near a hot-water bottle, and covered with a blanket.
"A boa of even five feet long will eat a large pigeon, or a half or three-quarter grown rabbit or guinea-pig. But almost every snake has its own fancy in the way of food, and having found what the creature will take most willingly, it is better to adhere to that sort of food for that individual snake.
" I think the prey should not be too large. Although the snake may eat it, the animal's mouth sometimes gets broken round the lips.
"After a snake has fed it should not be moved for a day or two, but should have tepid water to drink a few hours after its meal.
"I had a beautiful boa some three years ago, and although tame, affectionate, and apparently happy, it would not feed. I afterwards discovered that it had a diseased mouth, but the discovery was made too late to save the creature.
"It is very necessary to ascertain if a snake has no disease. On buying one examine its mouth, which is easily done, taking care not to bend the creature's neck backwards; hold the head firmly but lightly in one hand. If the snake flushes forward through the hand, it is easily stopped without force. If it backs hold it firmly, but meanwhile tickle it gently on the stomach about eighteen inches from the neck; it will then come forward again, and will soon learn to rest its throat on your hand, which indeed a snake is always willing to do. When you examine the mouth raise the lips gently on the side - it will never attempt to bite while you hold its head, though it may dash its tail against you (which won't hurt) - see if there be any inflamed swelling on the gums, especially towards the throat.
"If it is all clear white and red, with no swelling or spots, you need not be apprehensive; but if there are swellings or a number of inflamed-looking red spots, examine it again after a few days, and if the red spots have enlarged, and especially if white and yellow spots appear in the inflammation, then keep the snake warm; and when the swellings appear to have come to a head foment them with warm water, and as soon as any white marks appear, or any slimy yellow skin forms, remove it with a quill feather dipped in tepid water. The snake may rebel at first, but if you are firm and gentle, and especially talk gently to the creature, it will, after two or three trials, allow you to treat it much as you will. With all this care a diseased snake may die.
"I have just lost a most beautiful lacertine. The disease had reached the brain, but I think must have been lurking sometime in the creature's head.
"I do not think, however, that the most healthy boa will thrive in captivity unless it be made a friend of. They are most affectionate creatures, even when of a wild and timid temper.
"I have a python whom a stranger might suppose savage; yet it is gentle and affectionate, although I have given as yet but little attention to it. I have no doubt of it rapidly becoming as tame as one could wish.
"But the South American boas are most easily tamed. They generally prefer pigeons to any other food. My present boa, which I have had about two years, invariably sleeps in my bed, round my feet. He is perfectly clean, lies still, and very seldom disturbs me; occasionally he crawls to my face to lick it. I frequently take the python to bed; but at present she is timid, and if she cannot find my feet in the night, becomes scared and walks out of bed, curling herself on the floor. The evil result is that she becomes cold.
"Their power of hurting is, I think, limited, and there is no probability that they would exert their force to injure one. In any case, by taking them by the head and tail both they are easily managed; even a powerful snake may be conquered in this way. Gently remove any coil they may have laid upon you (they will not attempt really to constrict); take care not to hurt the creature, and do not bend it backwards or forwards as you may easily break or injure the spine - only sideways, and do not twist the body: but, in fact, gentleness and confidence is the great thing.
"I do not myself believe that any python or boa is savage, but they are dreadfully timid, especially from the ill-treatment they receive on being first caught, and the misery and terror they endure on the voyage.
"There is another thing - they have no eyelids, and on being suddenly uncovered or dragged forth to the light, suffer from the glare very acutely: it is best, therefore, to let them hide their heads in your hand or under your dress.
"Handle them frequently, and give them water, pressing their heads gently into it. I feed my boas frequently from my hand. But the last time I offered the python a guinea-pig the prey escaped from my hand at the moment of attack, and the python took in the whole of my hand instead. He soon discovered his mistake and disengaged himself, but was greatly distressed, rubbed his head against my hand, and appeared to dread some sort of punishment.
"Since that time I have had great difficulty in persuading him to eat unless I nurse him or take him to bed, when he will lie the whole night with his head in my hand. But at present I allow no one to touch him except myself and my wife.
"The result to my hand of the above adventure was of so trifling a nature that I did not even wash or wipe it, but proceeded within a few minutes to the piano, having occasion to play to some friends, from which you may judge that my hand was not hurt: even the puncture of a boa's tooth leaves a wound which is hardly worth wiping,- much less than the prick of a pin, and not unhealthy, unless the snake's mouth was badly diseased, when I would recommend careful washing.
"If within a reasonable time - say four or five days - after food your boa should be let loose and show a determination to get to the floor and hide, allow it to do so for a short time, as there may be a natural reason for its doing so.
"If there appear after a few minutes to have been no such reason, take it up lest it should get cold, and either replace it in a warmer corner or allow it to sit upon your knees or shoulder. Mine crawls inside my coat, causing me to look a very extraordinary shape. She is shy of strangers, and especially of strange voices, and puts her head in my face to inquire if the strangers are friendly or not: when I have reassured her, she stares at her new friends, and after some coaxing will sometimes condescend to put a few inches of herself on the hand or arm of some people.
"When you take up a boa, even if savage, put your hand under its throat, and then take the head by closing the same hand lightly, and don't appear to use force, only hinder the creature from escaping; with the other hand lift it by the body and allow it to coil its tail on your arm, or, better still, round your leg, or even in a corner of your pocket.
"When feeding a boa, I would first get it thoroughly warm, then place it in a moderate-sized box, say 3 feet by 2 by 2, put a blanket with it, and shut it down. Then immediately after take a pigeon or rabbit, put it in the box, and withdraw the blanket and shut the box. When you wish to know (after say two hours) if the creature has fed, take the blanket in one hand and open the box quietly, speaking gently to the snake all the time (and before you open the box). If the snake is not eating, and looks lively, shut the box again; but if the snake is coiled up sullenly, and takes no notice of the prey (whether alive or dead, for sometimes they will kill, and afterwards find the appetite fail), then give the creature ten minutes more or thereabouts, and if then there is no sign of its eating, put the blanket on it, and by manipulation with the blanket you may easily get the snake's head in your hand. Hold it there very gently, not as if to constrain the creature but as if to caress it, and remove the prey.
"If the snake has eaten, cover it with the blanket and talk gently to it, but don't touch it, unless you very slightly caress the head behind the ears. After a little while the snake will learn to feed, and you can dispense, if you think well, with many of these precautions. Still, I would advise that the most affectionate snake be fed something after the above manner,- not from any fear that the snake would inflict injury, but because they are not greedy creatures, and a very little thing interferes with their disposition to eat, and thus they get weak and ill.
"I should not keep a snake in a box with glass unless I had means frequently to cover the glass. The dashing of the head against the glass is not uncommon in the tamest creatures: they do not always see it, and are always more or less timid, and trying to hide their heads in a confined space when frightened, they would knock their heads against the glass. Even an open mouth, rare as it is, is no proof of bad temper, only of fear, which frequent handling and gentleness will allay.
"They cannot eat when nearly about to change their skin, therefore the instant you perceive a dimness about the stomach (before the eyes turn white), offer food; if they don't eat it almost at once, you must forego feeding them till the skin is off; but give them a bath to help the skin off, and warm water to drink immediately they are out, and food about six hours later.- Believe me," &c.
On thanking Dr Mann for his letter I gave him some account of my small menagerie, and asked for further information. His reply was as follows:-
"4 CHEYNE WALK, CHELSEA, S.W.,
27th August 1872.
"DEAR SIR,- I was much interested by the account of your menagerie. I fancy still there must have been some reason, either of a temporary nature or else arising from previous circumstances, for the irritability of your boa, as although I have frequently seen signs of a savage state of temper in boas, I still am of opinion that it is not in the nature of the beast, but arises first from fear, and is aggravated by the misery they suffer after their capture and during the voyage. I possess, for example, a fine python, who still retains the marks of sword-cuts inflicted at the time of its capture, and what little irritability there may be in the disposition would be aggravated by fear and resentment. The effect remains equally inconvenient, whatever may be the cause; but I should not, from what I have above said, despair of taming even a savage boa after a time. Perhaps in feeding it, it would be better to keep the snake in the dark.
"There is another thing: they are frequently very sensitive to noise, and I would not take the creature out in the presence of the birds, as their chatter might irritate it - at first I mean, and until it is quite tame.
"Moreover, as the mongoose is an animal who feeds on snakes, and kills them with great ferocity, I would take care not to handle them immediately before dealing with the snakes, as the smell might alarm it, and, as I have before said, what most people call rage on the part of a boa - the eye dilated, the mouth open, and the noise of a steam-engine (as you justly compare it to) - all this my own observation leads me to attribute to an agony of fear, and not at all to ferocity: the latter quality I believe is never really overcome in any individual creature. It may be appeased, but the tranquillity cannot be trusted; but all the boas I have ever seen, I believe, if once they trust you, may themselves in turn be thoroughly trusted.
"I believe it may be true that with many animals I am at first acquaintance a favourite. Up to the present time I have never suffered any sort of injury from any creature - not even an attempt to injure - with one exception, which was that of a cat, who, making a shot at a rival tabby, missed his aim and encountered my arm and wrist, inflicting severe wounds. But both myself and my wife find ourselves on good terms with many animals reputed dangerous, and especially with many of the snakes at the "Zoo," but I think it is more from our habit of handling them very gently and yet firmly, and allowing them to coil upon us as they like : they find support by this means, and very soon understand our friendly disposition.
"I forget if I told you that I obtained a large lacertine a short time since. Mr Holland (of the Zoo) warned me that the creature was savage, and, like its companions for the time, would both strike and bite; and so I was afterwards informed by another gentleman who had seen it there, and confirmed its bad character. I took it, however, and while Mr Holland was preparing a bag for me to carry it in, I caressed it, kissing its head, and before five minutes had elapsed the creature was rubbing its nose against mine.
"Finally it put its head into my waistcoat, concealed its entire length under my clothes, and at length ran its head down my sleeve and laid it in my hand, resting it there, with an expression of content in its face that was quite comical.
"I walked home from the Zoo - some four miles through the streets - with the creature in this position: no one, of course, suspected it. On arriving at home I drew it out and gave it to my wife, who, after caressing it, gave it to the children, with whom it was instantly on friendly terms, and indeed with almost every one who sees it. Almost, I say, for there are a few voices and hands which it appears to dislike, showing its dislike by a preliminary hiss, and then by rushing to me or my wife and burying itself in our dress, but on no occasion showing anger; but I think were it permanently kept in a hot box with glass front, it might show temper, for I fancy myself that the glass provokes them, and the continual hot air in a small space is not quite so good as in a large one; and an occasional walk about the room, or a climb over their owner and his chair, will let off the spare steam.
"I have written you another long rigmarole, but I am really interested in the taming of these creatures. I shall be extremely glad if you will let me know how you succeed.
"I have some faint hope of getting a holiday, and taking my mother and wife, my children and my snakes, down to Edinburgh by sea. If we should find ourselves located for a day or two anywhere within reach of you, I should take the liberty of running over for an hour to ask you for a sight of your pets.- Believe me," &c.
I regret to say that my hopes of a visit from Dr Mann and his snakes were never realised.
I also was a purchaser of snakes at the Zoo, but very harmless ones they were - common English grasssnakes; but Holland, the above-mentioned keeper, charged me a long price for them, and a lady friend nearly lost a good servant owing to my purchase.
I had been in the country, near Bath, and on my way north to Scotland I accepted the offer of a friend's hospitality in London. I arrived there furnished with a large can containing creatures of all sorts suitable for stocking two or three aquariums, fished out of ponds near Bath. The can was put under the charge of a servant, whose fear for my insects was so great that she dared scarcely carry the can to an outhouse, where it was to be deposited for the night.
When, next day, I purchased the snakes, I put them in a bag, and when I arrived home to my friend's house I hitched it on to a hook outside a press door in my bedroom, the intended use of which was whereon to hang clothes. On coming into the room next morning with hot water, the servant's attention was attracted by the noise of the bag bumping on the press door, caused by the wriggling of the snakes inside. When she saw the bag in motion she suspected it contained something uncanny. When I told her they were only innocent snakes she was not satisfied, but beat a hasty retreat, and informed her mistress that if the house was to be filled with such "creepy" beasts she would no longer remain in her service. She "tholed" the newts and tritons in the outhouse, but she bogled at snakes in a bedroom. She was soothed, however, when she learned that I was to take my departure that day.
These snakes require to be fed on frogs; and Holland laughed at me when I told him that I must also purchase from him some frogs to take home with me for their use, thinking that these batrachians could be procured anywhere; but I had always great difficulty in keeping up a supply for my snakes, though I live in a very moist district. I have wandered evening after evening through bogs on the hills looking for them, and sometimes only got one, sometimes two, but oftener got none; and if not specially searched for, very few would be met with during a whole year: and still I have a large fountain basin, sunk below the level of the ground, where frogs in great numbers congregate during their breeding season, and I often wonder where they all come from.
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