Part 6
The group to which Brontosaurus belongs, including Diplodocus and Morosaurus, is distinguished by a large, though rather short, body, very long neck and tail, and, for the size of the animal, a very small head. In fact, the head was so small and, in the case of Diplodocus, so poorly provided with teeth that it must have been quite a task, or a long-continued pleasure, according to the state of its digestive apparatus, for the animal to have eaten its daily meal.
An elephant weighing 5 tons eats 100 pounds of hay and 25 pounds of grain for his day's ration; but, as this food is in a comparatively concentrated form, it would require at least twice this weight of green fodder.
It is a difficult matter to estimate the weight of a live Diplodocus or a Brontosaurus, but it is pretty safe to say that it would not be far from 20 tons, and that one would devour at the very least something over 700 pounds of leaves or twigs or plants each day--more, if the animal felt really hungry.
But here we must, even if reluctantly, curb our imagination a little and consider another point: the cold-blooded, sluggish reptiles, as we know them to-day, do not waste their energies in rapid movements, or in keeping the temperature of their bodies above that of the air, and so by no means require the amount of food needed by more active, warm-blooded animals. Alligators, turtles, and snakes will go for weeks, even months, without food, and while this applies more particularly to those that dwell in temperate climes and during their winter hibernation practically suspend the functions of digestion and respiration, it is more or less true of all reptiles. And as there is little reason for supposing that reptiles behaved in the past any differently from what they do in the present, these great Dinosaurs may, after all, not have been gifted with such ravenous appetites as one might fancy. Still, it is dangerous to lay down any hard and fast laws concerning animals, and he who writes about them is continually obliged to qualify his remarks--in sporting parlance, to hedge a little, and in the present instance there is some reason, based on the arrangement of vertebræ and ribs, to suppose that the lungs of Dinosaurs were somewhat like those of birds, and that, as a corollary, their blood may have been better aërated and warmer than that of living reptiles. But, to return to the question of food.
From the peculiar character of the articulations of the limb-bones, it is inferred that these animals were largely aquatic in their habits, and fed on some abundant species of water plants. One can readily see the advantage of the long neck in browsing off the vegetation on the bottom of shallow lakes, while the animal was submerged, or in rearing the head aloft to scan the surrounding shores for the approach of an enemy. Or, with the tail as a counterpoise, the entire body could be reared out of water and the head be raised some thirty feet in the air.
Triceratops, he of the three-horned face, had a remarkable skull which projected backward over the neck, like a fireman's helmet, or a sunbonnet worn hind side before, while over each eye was a massive horn directed forward, a third, but much smaller horn being sometimes present on the nose.
The little "Horned Toad," which isn't a toad at all, is the nearest suggestion we have to-day of Triceratops; but, could he realize the ambition of the frog in the fable and swell himself to the dimensions of an ox, he would even then be but a pigmy compared with his ancient and distant relative.
So far as mere appearance goes he would compare very well, for while so much is said about the strange appearance of the Dinosaurs, it is to be borne in mind that their peculiarities are enhanced by their size, and that there are many lizards of to-day that lack only stature to be even more _bizarre_; and, for example, were the Australian Moloch but big enough, he could give even Stegosaurus "points" in more ways than one.
Standing before the skull of Triceratops, looking him squarely in the face, one notices in front of each eye a thick guard of projecting bone, and while this must have interfered with vision directly ahead it must have also furnished protection for the eye. So long as Triceratops faced an adversary he must have been practically invulnerable, but as he was the largest animal of his time, upward of twenty-five feet in length, it is probable that his combats were mainly with those of his own kind and the subject of dispute some fair female upon whom two rival suitors had cast covetous eyes. What a sight it would have been to have seen two of these big brutes in mortal combat as they charged upon each other with all the impetus to be derived from ten tons of infuriate flesh! We may picture to ourselves horn clashing upon horn, or glancing from each bony shield until some skilful stroke or unlucky slip placed one combatant at the mercy of the other, and he went down before the blows of his adversary "as falls on Mount Alvernus a thunder-smitten oak."
A pair of Triceratops horns in the National Museum bears witness to such encounters, for one is broken midway between tip and base; and that it was broken during life is evident from the fact that the stump is healed and rounded over, while the size of the horns shows that their owner reached a ripe old age.
For, unlike man and the higher vertebrates, reptiles and fishes do not have a maximum standard of size which is soon reached and rarely exceeded, but continue to grow throughout life, so that the size of a turtle, a crocodile, or a Dinosaur tells something of the duration of its life.
Before quitting Triceratops let us glance for a moment at its skeleton. Now among other things a skeleton is the solution of a problem in mechanics, and in Triceratops the head so dominates the rest of the structure that one might almost imagine the skull was made first and the body adjusted to it. The great head seems made not only for offence and defence; the spreading frill serves for the attachment of muscles to sustain the weight of the skull, while the work of the muscles is made easier by the fact that the frill reaches so far back of the junction of head with neck as to largely counterbalance the weight of the face and jaws. When we restored the skull of this animal it was found that the centre of gravity lay back of the eye. Several of the bones of the neck are united in one mass to furnish a firm attachment for the muscles that support and move the skull, but as the movements of the neck are already restricted by the overhanging frill, this loss of motion is no additional disadvantage.
To support all this weight of skull and body requires very massive legs, and as the fore legs are very short, this enables Triceratops to browse comfortably from the ground by merely lowering the front of the head.
These forms we have been considering were the giants of the group, but a commoner species, Thespesius, though less in bulk than those just mentioned, was still of goodly proportions, for, as he stalked about, the top of his head was twelve feet from the ground.
Thespesius and his kin seem to have been comparatively abundant, for they have a wide distribution, and many specimens, some almost perfect, have been discovered in this country and abroad. No less than twenty-nine Iguanodons, a European relative of Thespesius, were found in one spot in mining for coal at Bernissart, Belgium. Here, during long years of Cretaceous time, a river slowly cut its way through the coal-bearing strata to a depth of 750 feet, a depth almost twice as great as the deepest part of the gorge of Niagara, and then, this being accomplished, began the work of filling up the valley it had excavated.
It was then a sluggish stream with marshy borders, a stream subject to frequent floods, when the water, turbid with mud and laden with sand, overflowed its banks, leaving them, as the waters subsided, covered thickly with mud. Here, amidst the luxuriant vegetation of a semi-tropical climate, lived and died the Iguanodons, and here the pick of the miner rescued them from their long entombment to form part of the treasures of the museum at Brussels.
Like other reptiles, living and extinct, Thespesius was continually renewing his teeth, so that as fast as one tooth was worn out it was replaced by another, a point wherein Thespesius had a decided advantage over ourselves. On the other hand, as there was a reserve supply of something like 400 teeth in the lower jaw alone, what an opportunity for the toothache!
And then we have a multitude of lesser Dinosaurs, including the active, predatory species with sharp claws and double-edged teeth. Megalosaurus, the first of the Dinosaurs to be really known, was one of these carnivorous species, and from our West comes a near relative, Ceratosaurus, the nose-horned lizard, a queer beast with tiny fore legs, powerful, sharp-clawed hind feet, and well-armed jaws. A most formidable foe he seems, the more that the hollow bones speak of active movements, and Professor Cope pictured him, or a near relative, vigorously engaged in combat with his fellows, or preying upon the huge but helpless herbivores of the marshes, leaping, biting, and tearing his enemy to pieces with tooth and claw.
Professor Osborn, on the other hand, is inclined to consider him as a reptilian hyena, feeding upon carrion, although one can but feel that such an armament is not entirely in the interests of peace.
Last, but by no means least, are the Stegosaurs, or plated lizards, for not only were they beasts of goodly size, but they were among the most singular of all known animals, singular even for Dinosaurs. They had diminutive heads, small fore legs, long tails armed on either side near the tip, with two pairs of large spines, while from these spines to the neck ran series of large, but thin, and sharp-edged plates standing on edge, so that their backs looked like the bottom of a boat provided with a number of little centreboards. Just how these plates were arranged is not decided beyond a peradventure, but while originally figured as having them in a single series down the back it seems much more probable that they formed parallel rows.
The largest of these plates were two feet in height and length, and not more than an inch thick, except at the base, where they were enlarged and roughened to give a firm hold to the thick skin in which they were imbedded. Be it remembered, too, that these plates and spines were doubtless covered with horn, so that they were even longer in life than as we now see them. The tail spines varied in length, according to the species, from eight or nine inches to nearly three feet, and some of them have a diameter of six inches at the base. They were swung by a tail eight to ten feet long, and as a visitor was heard to remark, one wouldn't like to be about such an animal in fly time.
Such were some of the strange and mighty animals that once roamed this continent from the valley of the Connecticut, where they literally left their footprints on the sands of time, to the Rocky Mountains, where the ancient lakes and rivers became cemeteries for the entombment of their bones.
The labor of the collector has gathered their fossil remains from many a Western canyon, the skill of the preparator has removed them from their stony sepulchres and the study of the anatomist has restored them as they were in life.
_REFERENCES._
_Most of our large museums have on exhibition fine specimens of many Dinosaurs, comprising skulls, limbs, and large portions of their skeletons. The American Museum of Natural History, New York, has the largest and finest display. The first actual skeleton of a Dinosaur to be mounted in this country was the splendid Claosaurus at the Yale University Museum, where other striking pieces are also to be seen. The mounting of this Claosaurus, which is 29 feet long and 13 feet high, took an entire year. The United States National Museum is particularly rich in examples of the great, horned Triceratops, while the Carnegie Museum, Pittsburgh, has the best Diplodocus. The Field Columbian Museum and the Universities of Wyoming and Colorado all have good collections._
_The largest single bone of a Dinosaur is the thigh bone of a Brontosaurus in the Field Columbian Museum, this measuring 6 feet 8 inches in length. The height of a complete hind leg in the American Museum of Natural History is 10 feet, while a single claw measures 6 by 9 inches. The skeleton of Triceratops restored in papier-maché for the Pan-American Exposition measured 25 feet from tip of nose to end of tail and was 10 feet 6 inches to the top of the backbone over the hips, this being the highest point. The head in the United States National Museum used as a model is 5 feet 6 inches long in a straight line and 4 feet 3 inches across the frill. There is a skull in the Yale University Museum even larger than this._
_Articles relating to Dinosaurs are mostly technical in their nature and scattered through various scientific journals. The most accessible probably is "The Dinosaurs of North America," by Professor O. C. Marsh, published as part of the sixteenth annual report of the United States Geological Survey. This contains many figures of the skulls, bones, and entire skeletons of many Dinosaurs._
VII
READING THE RIDDLES OF THE ROCKS
"_And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read._"
It is quite possible that the reader may wish to know something of the manner in which the specimens described in these pages have been gathered, how we acquire our knowledge of Brontosaurus, Claosaurus, or any of the many other "sauruses," and how their restorations have been made.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when fossils were looked upon as mere sports of Nature, and little attention paid to them; later their true nature was recognized, though they were merely gathered haphazard as occasion might offer. But now, and for many years past, the fossil-bearing rocks of many parts of the world have been systematically worked, and from the material thus obtained we have acquired a great deal of information regarding the inhabitants of the ancient world. This is particularly true of our own western country, where a vast amount of collecting has been done, although very much remains to be done in the matter of perfecting this knowledge, and hosts of new animals remain to be discovered. For this information we are almost as much indebted to the collector who has gathered the needed material, and the preparator whose patience and skill have made it available for study, as to the palæontologist who has interpreted the meaning of the bones.
To collect successfully demands not only a knowledge of the rocks in which fossils occur and of the localities where they are best exposed to view, but an eye quick to detect a piece of bone protruding from a rock or lying amongst the shale, and, above all, the ability to work a deposit to advantage after it has been found. The collector of living animals hies to regions where there is plenty for bird and beast to eat and drink, but the collector of extinct animals cares little for what is on the surface of the earth; his great desire is to see as much as possible of what may lie beneath. So the prospector in search of fossils betakes himself to some region where the ceaseless warfare waged by water against the dry land has seamed the face of the earth with countless gullies and canyons, or carved it into slopes and bluffs in which the edges of the bone-bearing strata are exposed to view, and along these he skirts, ever on the look-out for some projecting bit of bone. The country is an almost shadeless desert, burning hot by day, uncomfortably cool at night. Water is scarce, and when it can be found, often has little to commend it save wetness; but the collector is buoyed up through all this with the hope that he may discover some creature new to science that shall not only be bigger and uglier and stranger than any heretofore found, but shall be the long-sought form needed for the solution of some difficult problem in the history of the past.
Now collecting is a lottery, differing from most lotteries, however, in that while some of the returns may be pretty small, there are few absolute blanks and some remarkably large prizes, and every collector hopes that it may fall to his lot to win one of these, and is willing to work long and arduously for the chance of obtaining it.
It may give some idea of the chances to say that some years ago Dr. Wortman spent almost an entire season in the field without success, and then, at the eleventh hour, found the now famous skeleton of Phenacodus, or that a party from Princeton actually camped within 100 yards of a rich deposit of rare fossils and yet failed to discover it.
Let us, however, suppose that the reconnaissance has been successful, and that an outcrop of bone has been found, serving like a tombstone carven with strange characters to indicate the burial-place of some primeval monster. Possibly Nature long ago rifled the grave, washing away much of the skeleton, and leaving little save the fragments visible on the surface; on the other hand, these pieces may form part of a complete skeleton, and there is no way to decide this important question save by actual excavation. The manner of disinterment varies, but much depends on whether the fossil lies in comparatively loose shale or is imbedded in the solid rock, whether the strata are level or dip downward into the hillside. If, unfortunately, this last is the case, it necessitates a careful shoring up of the excavation with props of cotton-wood or such boards as may have been brought along to box specimens, or it may even be necessary to run a short tunnel in order to get at some coveted bone. Should the specimen lie in shale, as is the case with most of the large reptiles that have been collected, much of that work may be done with pick and shovel; but if it is desirable or necessary to work in firm rock, drills and hammers, wedges, even powder, may be needed to rend from Nature her long-kept secrets. In any event, a detailed plan is made of the excavation, and each piece of bone or section of rock duly recorded therein by letter and number, so that later on the relation of the parts to one another may be known, or the various sections assembled in the work-room exactly as they lay in the quarry. Bones which lie in loose rock are often, one might say usually, more or less broken, and when a bone three, four, or even six feet long, weighing anywhere from 100 to 1,000 pounds, has been shattered to fragments the problem of removing it is no easy one. But here the skill of the collector comes into play to treat the fossil as a surgeon treats a fractured limb, to cover it with plaster bandages, and brace it with splints of wood or iron so that the specimen may not only be taken from the ground but endure in safety the coming journey of a thousand or more miles. For simpler cases or lighter objects strips of sacking, or even paper, applied with flour and water, suffice, or pieces of sacking soaked in thin plaster may be laid over the bone, first covering it with thin paper in order that the plaster jacket may simply stiffen and not adhere to it. Collecting has not always been carried on in this systematic manner, for the development of the present methods has been the result of years of experience; formerly there was a mere skimming-over of the surface in what Professor Marsh used to term the potato-gathering style, but now the effort is made to remove specimens intact, often imbedded in large masses of rock, in order that all parts may be preserved.
We will take it for granted that our specimens have safely passed through all perils by land and water, road and rail; that they have been quarried, boxed, carted over a roadless country to the nearest railway, and have withstood 2,000 miles of jolting in a freight-car. The first step in reconstruction has been taken; the problem, now that the boxes are reposing on the work-room floor, is to make the blocks of stone give up the secrets they have guarded for ages, to free the bones from their enveloping matrix in order that they may tell us something of the life of the past. The method of doing this varies with the conditions under which the material has been gathered, and if from hard clay, chalk, or shale, the process, though tedious enough at best, is by no means so difficult as if the specimens are imbedded in solid rock. In this case the fragments from a given section of quarry must be assembled according to the plan which has been carefully made as the work of exhumation progressed, all pieces containing bone must be stuck together, and weak parts strengthened with gum or glue. Now the mass is attacked with hammer and chisel, and the surrounding matrix slowly and carefully cut away until the contained bone is revealed, a process much simpler and more expeditious in the telling than in the actuality; for the preparator may not use the heavy tools of the ordinary stone-cutter: sometimes an awl, or even a glover's needle, must suffice him, and the chips cut off are so small and such care must be taken not to injure the bone that the work is really tedious. This may, perhaps, be better appreciated by saying that to clean a single vertebra of such a huge Dinosaur as Diplodocus may require a month of continuous labor, and that a score of these big and complicated bones, besides others of simpler structure, are included in the backbone. The finished specimen weighs over 120 pounds, while as originally collected, with all the adherent rock, the weight was twice or thrice as great. Such a mass as this is comparatively small, and sometimes huge blocks are taken containing entire skulls or a number of bones, and not infrequently weighing a ton. The largest single specimen is a skull of Triceratops, collected by Mr. J. B. Hatcher, which weighed, when boxed, 3,650 pounds.
Or, as the result of some mishap, or through the work of an inexperienced collector, a valuable specimen may arrive in the shape of a box full of irregular fragments of stone compared with which a dissected map or an old-fashioned Chinese puzzle is simplicity itself, and one may spend hours looking for some piece whose proper location gives the clew to an entire section, and days, even, may be consumed before the task is completed. While this not only tries the patience, but the eyes as well, there is, nevertheless, a fascination about this work of fashioning a bone out of scores, possibly hundreds, of fragments, and watching the irregular bits of stone shaping themselves into a mosaic that forms a portion of some creature, possibly quite new to science, and destined to bear a name as long as itself. And thus, after many days of toil, the bone that millions of years before sank into the mud of some old lake-bottom or was buried in the sandy shoals of an ancient river, is brought to light once more to help tell the tale of the creatures of the past.