"The stomachs of all half- and full-grown walrus taken in Whale Sound were without exception well filled with freshly opened clams, with very few fragments of sh.e.l.ls in evidence; the removal of the clam from the sh.e.l.l being as neatly accomplished as though done by an expert oysterman.

"In most cases these segregated herds of walrus were in charge of a large bull who generally occupied a central position in the ma.s.s of animals. Upon approaching such a herd for the first time, and when within about 200 feet, a large bull would lift his head, sniff audibly in our direction and give a loud grunt which apparently struck a responsive chord in the other sleeping animals. They would grunt in unison, in more subdued tones, after which the old walrus would drop his head to resume his interrupted nap. Their contempt for us was somewhat disconcerting.

"At the first crack of a rifle, however, the animals immediately aroused, and then during the fusillade which followed there occurred what might be called an orderly scramble for the water.

In the first place the young ones were hustled to the edge of the ice-pan, and there, apparently under the protection of the mother's flipper, pushed into the water, immediately followed by the mother. The young bulls followed, and I recall no exceptions where the last animal into the water was not the big bull, who before diving would give our boat a wicked look and a roar of rage.

"The animals would immediately dive, and then we first became aware of a remarkable phenomenon. We found that when excited they would continue their roaring under water, and these strange sounds coming to us from below added considerably to the excitement of the chase. Although the cows and young animals would generally swim to places of safety, the other full grown animals would hover beneath our boat and from time to time come to the surface and charge. These charges were in all cases repulsed by the discharge of our rifles in the faces of the animals. The b.a.l.l.s, however, from our .45 calibre carbines would flatten out under the skin on the ma.s.sive bony structure of the animal's skull, and cause only a sort of rage and a sneeze, but it however had the effect of making them dive again. It is my belief that when enraged the walrus if not resisted would attack and attempt to destroy a boat. Icquah, one of our native hunters, showed me in the deck of his kyak two mended punctures which he told me were made by the tusks of a walrus that had made an _unprovoked_ attack upon him.

"On more than one occasion I have seen two strong uninjured animals come to the a.s.sistance of a wounded companion, and swim away with it to a position of safety, _the injured animal being supported on both sides_, giving the appearance of three animals swimming abreast. The first time I witnessed this I did not comprehend its real meaning, but on another occasion in McCormick Bay I saw a wounded animal leaving a trail of blood and oil, supported on either side by two uninjured ones. They were making a hasty retreat and would occasionally dive together, but would quickly return to the surface.

"We found the most effective exposed spot to place a bullet was at the base of the animal's skull. A walrus instantly killed this way generally sinks, leaving a trail of blood and oil to mark the place of his descent. When hunting these animals it is well to have an Eskimo along with harpoon and line in readiness to make fast; otherwise one is apt to lose his quarry.

"In the early winter we usually found the walrus in smaller groups up in the bays. This was after the ice had begun to make, and in coming to the surface to breathe the animals found it necessary to b.u.t.t their noses against the ice to break it. I have seen this done in ice at least four inches in thickness. In some instances I have seen a fractured star in the ice, a record of an unsuccessful attempt to make a breathing hole." Around these breathing holes we frequently found fragments of clam-sh.e.l.ls, sections of crinoids and sea-anemones. It is evident that after raking the bottom with his tusks and filling his mouth with food, the walrus separates the food he desires to retain and rejects on his way up and at the surface such articles as he has picked up in haste and does not want.

"From the fact that the walrus is easily approached it is a simple matter to kill him with the modern high power rule. It is therefore to be hoped that future expeditions into the arctic seas will kill sparingly of these tremendous brutes which from point of size stand in the foremost rank among mammals."

The Elephant, Rhinoceros and Hippopotamus. _Individual Elephants_ vary in temperament far more than do rhinoceroses or hippopotami, and the variations are wide. In a wild state, elephants are quiet and undemonstrative, almost to the point of dullness. They do not domineer, or hector, or quarrel, save when a rogue develops in the ranks, and sets out to make things interesting by the commission of lawless acts. A professional rogue is about everything that an orthodox elephant should not be, and he soon makes of himself so great a nuisance that he is driven out of the herd.

The temperament of the standardized and normal elephant is distinctly sanguine, _but a nervous or hysterical individual is easily developed by bad conditions or abuse_. Adult male elephants are subject to various degrees of what we may as well call s.e.xual insanity, which is dangerous in direct proportion to its intensity. This causes many a "bad" show elephant to be presented to a zoological garden, where the dangers of this mental condition can at least be reduced to their lowest terms. Our Indian elephant who was known as Gunda was afflicted with s.e.xual insanity, and he gradually grew worse, and increasingly dangerous to his keepers, until finally it was necessary to end his troubles painlessly with a bullet through his brain.

_The Rhinoceros_ is a sanguine animal, of rather dull vision and slow understanding. In captivity it gives little trouble, and lives long. Adults individually often become pettish, or peevish, and threaten to prod their keepers without cause, but I have never known a keeper to take those lapses seriously. The average rhino is by no means a dull or a stupid animal, and they have quite enough life to make themselves interesting to visitors. In British East Africa a black rhinoceros often trots briskly toward a caravan, and seems to be charging, when in reality it is only desiring a "close-up" to satisfy its legitimate curiosity.

_Every Hippopotamus_, either Nile or pygmy, is an animal of serene mind and steady habits. Their appet.i.tes work with clock- like regularity, and require no winding. I can not recall that any one of our five hippos was ever sick for a day, or missed a meal.

When the idiosyncrasies of Gunda, our bad elephant, were at their worst, the contemplation of Peter the Great ponderously and serenely chewing his hay was a rest to tired nerves. Keeper Thuman treats the four pygmy hippos like so many pet pigs,--save the solitary adult male, who sets himself up to be peevish. The breeding female is a wise and good mother, with much more maternal instinct than our chimpanzee "Suzette."

It may be set down as an absolute rule that hippos are lymphatic, easy-going, contented, and easy to take care of _provided_ they are kept scrupulously clean, and are fed as they should be fed. They live long, breed persistently, give no trouble and have high exhibition value.

_Giraffe_ individuals vary exceedingly,--beyond all other hoofed animals. Each one has its own headful of notions, and rarely will two be found quite alike in temperament and views of life. Some are sanguine and sensible, others are nervous, crotchety, and full of senseless fears. Those who are responsible for them in captivity are constantly hara.s.sed by fears that they will stampede in their stalls or yards, and break their own necks and legs in most unexpected ways. They require greater vigilance than any other hoofed animals we know. Sometimes a giraffe will develop foolishness to such a degree as to be unwilling to go out of its own huge door, into a shady and comfortable yard.

III

THE LANGUAGE OF WILD ANIMALS

Language is the means by which men and animals express their thoughts. Of language there are four kinds: vocal, pictured, written and sign language.

Any vocal sound uttered for the purpose of conveying thought, or influencing thought or action, is to be cla.s.sed as vocal language.

Among the mammals below man, _speech_ is totally absent; but parrots, macaws, c.o.c.katoos and crows have been taught to imitate the sound of man's words, or certain simple kinds of music.

The primitive races of mankind first employed the sign language, and spoken words. After that comes picture language, and lastly the language of written words. Among the Indians and frontiersmen of the western United States and Canada, the sign language has reached what in all probability is its highest development, and its vocabulary is really wonderful.

The higher wild animals express their thoughts and feelings usually by sign language, and rarely by vocal sounds. Their power of expression varies species by species, or tribe by tribe, quite as it does among the races and tribes of men. It is our belief that there are today several living races of men whose vocabularies are limited to about 300 words.

Very many species of animals appear to be voiceless; but it is hazardous to attempt to specify the species. Sometimes under stress of new emergencies, or great pain, animals that have been considered voiceless suddenly give tongue. That hundreds of species of mammals and birds use their voices in promoting movements for their safety, there is no room to doubt. The only question is of the methods and the extent of voice used. Birds and men give expression to their pleasure or joy by singing.

In the jungle and the heavily wooded wilderness, one hears really little of vocal wild-animal language. Through countless generations the noisiest animals have been the first ones to be sought out and killed by their enemies, and only the more silent species have survived. All the higher animals, as we call the higher vertebrates, have the ability to exchange thoughts and convey ideas; and that is language.

At the threshold of this subject we are met by two interesting facts. Excepting the song-birds, the wild creatures of today have learned through instinct and acc.u.mulated experience that silence promotes peace and long life. The bull moose who bawls through a mile of forest, and the bull elk who bugles not wisely but too well, soon find their heads hanging in some sportsman's dining- room, while the silent Virginia deer, like the brook, goes on forever.

a.s.sociation with man through countless generations has taught domestic animals not only the fact of their safety when giving voice, but also that very often there is great virtue in a vigorous outcry. With an insistent staccato neigh, the hungry horse jars the dull brain of its laggard master, and prompts him to "feed and water the stock." But how different is the cry of a lost horse, which calls for rescue. It cannot be imitated in printed words; but every plainsman knows the shrill and prolonged trumpet-call of distress that can be heard a mile or more, understandingly.

And think of the vocabulary of the domestic chicken! Years of life in fancied security have developed a highly useful vocabulary of language calls and cries. The most important, and the best known, are the following:

"Beware the hawk!"--"Coor! Coor!" "Murder! Help!"--"Kee- _owk_! Kee-_owk_! Kee-_owk_!" "Come on"--"Cluck!

Cluck! Cluck!" "Food here! Food!"--"Cook-cook-cook-cook!"

Announcement, or alarm--"Cut-cut-cut-_dah_-cut!" But does the wild jungle-fowl, the ancestor of our domestic chicken, indulge in all those noisy expressions of thought and feeling? By no means. I have lived for months in jungles where my hut was surrounded by jungle-fowl, and shot many of them for my table; but the only vocal sound I ever heard from their small throats was the absurdly shrill bantam-like crow of the c.o.c.k. And even that led to several fatalities in the ranks of _Gallus stanleyi_.

Domestic cattle, swine and fowls have each a language of their own, and as far as they go they are almost as clear-cut and understandable as the talk of human beings. Just how much more is behind the veil that limits our understanding we cannot say; but no doubt there is a great deal.

But it is with the language of wild animals that we are most concerned. As already pointed out, wild creatures, other than song-birds, do not care to say much, because of the danger of attracting enemies that will exterminate them. Herein lies the extreme difficulty of ascertaining how wild beasts communicate.

In the Animallai Hills of southern India I hunted constantly for many weeks through forests actually teeming with big game. There were herds upon herds of elephants, gaur, axis deer, sambar deer, monkeys by the hundred, and a good sprinkling of bears, wild hogs and tigers.

We saw hundreds upon hundreds of animals; but with the exception of the big black monkeys that used to swear at us, I can almost count upon my fingers the whole number of times that we heard animals raise their voices to communicate with each other.

Ape Voices. Naturally it is of interest to know something of the voices of the animals that physically and mentally stand nearest to man.

The wild gorilla has a voice almost equal to that of the chimpanzee, but in captivity he rarely utters any vocal sound other than a shriek, or scream.

The baby orang-utan either whines or shrieks like a human child.

The half-grown or adult orang when profoundly excited bellows or roars, in a deep ba.s.s voice. Usually, however, it is a persistently silent animal.

The chimpanzee has a voice, and vociferously expresses its emotions.

First and most often is the plaintive, coaxing note, "Who'-oo!

who'-oo! who'-oo!"

Then comes the angry and threatening, "Wah', wah', wah-!

_Wah'_-hool _Wah'_-hool"

Lastly we hear the fearful, high-pitched yell or shriek, "Ah-h-h- h!" or "E-e-e-e."

The shriek, or scream, can be heard half a mile, and at close range it is literally ear-splitting. Usually it is accompanied by violent stamping or pounding with the feet upon the floor. It may signify rage, or nothing more than the joy of living, and of having a place in which to yell. It is this cry that is uncannily human-like in sound, and when heard for the first time it seems to register anguish.

In its Bornean jungle home, the orang-utan is nearly as silent as the grave. Never save once did I hear one utter a vocal sound.

That was a deep ba.s.s roar emitted by an old male that I disturbed while he was sleeping on the comfortable nest of green branches that he had built for himself.

Concerning the chimpanzee, the late Mr. Richard L. Garner testified as follows:

"Not only does the chimpanzee often break the silence of the forest when all other voices are hushed, but he frequently answers the sounds of other animals, as if in mockery or defiance. ...

Although diurnal in habit, the chimpanzees often make the night reverberate with the sounds of their terrific screaming, which I have known them to continue at times for more than an hour, with scarcely a moment's pause,--not one voice but many, and within the area of a square mile or so I have distinguished as many as seven alternating adult male voices.

"The gorilla is more silent and stoical than the chimpanzee, but he is far from being mute. He appears to be devoid of all risibility, but he is often very noisy. Although diurnal in habit, he talks less frequently during the day than at night, but his silence is a natural consequence of his stealth and cunning. There are times, however, when he ignores all danger of betraying his whereabouts or his movements, and gives vent to a deluge of speech. At night his screams and shouts are terrific."

The gibbons (including the siamang) have tremendous voices, with numerous variations, and they love to use them. My acquaintance with them began in Borneo, in the dense and dark coastal forest that there forms their home. I remember their cries as vividly as if I had heard them again this morning. While feeding, or quietly enjoying the morning sun, the gray gibbon (_Hylobates concolor_) emits in leisurely succession a low staccato, whistle-like cry, like "Hoot! Hoot! Hoot!" which one can easily counterfeit by whistling. This is varied by another whistle cry of three notes, thus: "Who-ee-hoo! Who-ee-hoo!" also to be duplicated by whistling. In hunting for specimens of that gibbon, for American museums, I could rarely locate a troop save by the tree- top talk of its members.

But all this was only childish prattle in comparison with the daily performances of the big white-handed, and the black hoolock gibbons, now and for several years past residing in our Primate House. Every morning, and perhaps a dozen times during the day, those three gibbons go on a vocal rampage and utter prolonged and ear-splitting cries and shrieks that make the welkin ring. The shrieking chorus is usually prolonged until it becomes tiresome to the monkeys. In all our ape and monkey experience we never have known its equal save in the vocal performances of Boma, our big adult male chimpanzee, the husband of Suzette.