Chapter 9

The intelligence of the wild elephant is probably in good part to be accounted for by the fact that the creature possesses in its trunk an instrument which is admirably contrived to execute the behests of an intelligent will. It is easy for us to see how, in the case of man, the hands have served to develop the intelligence by providing him with means whereby he could do a great variety of things which demanded thought and afforded education. The elephant is the only large mammal which has ever acquired a serviceable addition to the body such as the trunk affords. In their ordinary life the trunk does almost as varied work as the human arm. With it they can express emotions in a remarkable way; they caress their young, gather their food by a great variety of movements, or defend themselves from assailants. To the naturalist who has come to perceive the close relations between bodily structure and mental endowments, it is not surprising to find that these creatures have attained a quality of mind which is found nowhere else among the mammals except in man and in some of his kindred, the apes.

The most peculiar mental quality of the elephant, a feature which separates him even from the dog, is the rational way in which he will do certain kinds of mechanical work. He appears to have an immediate sense as to the effects of his actions, which we find elsewhere only among human beings. From a great body of well-attested observations, showing what may be called the logical quality of the mind of these creatures, I may be allowed to select a few stories which have a singular denotative value. An acquaintance of mine, a British officer who had served long in India, told me that in taking artillery over very difficult roads, certain of the abler elephants could be trusted to walk behind each piece, where they would in a fashion control its movements, steadying or lifting it as the occasion demanded without any directions from the driver.

Elephants can be trained to pile up sticks of timber, such as railway ties, placing the layers alternately in opposite directions, as is the custom in such work. There is an excellent and well-attested story of an elephant who, without a driver, was bearing a stick of timber through a narrow wood path. Meeting a man on horseback, and perceiving that the way was not wide enough for both himself and the oncomer, the sagacious animal deliberately backed his huge body into the chaparral so as to clear the way, and then trumpeted as if to signal the horseman that the path was free.

The emotions as well as the intelligence of elephants are singularly like those of human kind. It is said by those who know them well that if when in their stubborn fits they are brutally overborne, they are apt to die of what seems to be pure chagrin. Their states of grief, despair, and rage much resemble those which are exhibited by violent children or men unaccustomed to control. Their affections and animosities have also a curious human cast. They readily form attachments which appear to be quite as enduring as those exhibited by dogs, and their memory of injuries remains quick for years after they have received the harm. Well-verified anecdotes showing the likeness of these emotional qualities to our own exist in such numbers that it would be easy to fill a volume with them. They are, however, not necessary to show the likeness of the creature to ourselves. This is sufficiently exhibited by their daily behavior under domestication. In noting this we should remember that the male elephant is the only large mammal the males of which it has proved safe to use in the ordinary work of life. Even our bulls and stallions, though they belong to species which have been domesticated for thousands of years, are so violent and untrustworthy as to be of little value except for breeding purposes. Bulls, even of the tamer breeds, are a constant menace to the lives of their masters; yet an adult male elephant recently made captive may, except when seriously diseased, be trusted to obey the mere signals of the driver, who has no such control over him as the bit affords in the case of horses. The creature has the strength to overcome all control save that of a moral nature. To this he submits in a way which is only equalled by our well-bred dogs.

As yet the utility of the elephant to man has, measured by his qualities, been but small. The creature has a marvellous strength, great intelligence, and remarkable docility. In proportion to the power which he can apply to a task, he is not an expensive animal to maintain. He can endure a considerable range of climate, and enjoys a tolerable immunity from disease. The reason for the relatively inconsiderable use of these creatures is probably to be found in the fact that they are not adapted for ordinary draught purposes, nor are they well suited to the needs of the caravan, for which the camel or the pack-mule is much better fitted. In ancient warfare, before the invention of gunpowder, elephants carrying archers or javelin-men upon their backs were greatly valued for the effect of their charge against an enemy and for the fright with which they inspired horses. Against the unsteady ranks of Oriental armies they were often most efficient in breaking a line of battle. Even the Roman troops, when they first encountered them and before they knew how to meet their charges, found them very formidable. It was soon learned that if their onset was stoutly resisted, they were likely to become unmanageable in the uproar of the fight, and to do as much damage to friends as to foes. It is only in certain peculiar tasks that, in modern days, the elephants have any economic value, and in the most of this work their strength is likely to be replaced by various engines.

The two existing species of elephants are, as before remarked, the survivors of a long lineage, represented in the geological record by the remains of many extinct forms. Some of these lost species were far smaller than those of to-day; one at least was no larger than our heavier horses. If by the breeder's art the existing varieties could be caused so to change as to give us once again this relatively diminutive form, the creature would be sure to find a place of importance in our ordinary arts. The trouble is that the very long life of this animal is naturally associated with a slow growth. It requires indeed almost the lifetime of a generation to bring the individual to an adult age. It is therefore not surprising that, as the wild forms can readily be won to domestication, these creatures have not been the subject of any of those interesting processes of selection which have so far affected for the better the characteristics of nearly all the other domesticated animals.

In every other regard than those mentioned above, the elephant appears to be an excellent subject for improvement by choice in breeding. The individuals vary much as regards their physical and mental qualities. Probably no other wild mammal exhibits such differences in the mental features as does this highly intellectual creature. The physical individuality does not seem to be as striking as the mental, but even here we note a range, at least as regards size, which is unusual in the wild forms bred under similar conditions. The general elasticity of the group is shown by the considerable differences which may be traced in the herds which occupy different parts of the field over which the species range. As yet these local peculiarities have not been carefully studied; but from an examination of the tusks in the ivory warehouse at the docks in London, I have found that those shipped from particular ports in Africa and Asia differed both in form and texture, so that the experts were able to tell from which district they came. The evidence, in a word, appears to show that the creature tends to vary; and it is a safe presumption that the forms would prove as responsive to the breeder's art as those of our horses, cattle, sheep, or dogs.

As a whole, the elephant has been almost as little associated with the life of our own race as the camel. Neither of these creatures has ever played any considerable part in European affairs. From the disappearance of the last of the mammoths in the closing stages of the Glacial time until the invasions of Italy by Pyrrhus and by Hannibal, elephants were practically unknown in Western Europe. They have never been used in peaceful occupations on that continent, and have had only a trifling place in its military arts. It was probably due to this separation of our eminently experimental race from the realm of the elephants that no efforts have been made systematically to breed them in captivity, and thus to win varieties in which the form might become better adapted to economic needs, and the remarkable mental powers of the creature be brought to their utmost development. As yet the only Europeans who have had much to do with elephants are the British, who in their civil and military service in India have been thrown in contact with these animals. Generally, however, these people have been only temporarily domiciled in Asia, and probably on this account have not become interested in the problems which this noble beast presents to all those who appreciate the animal world. We lack, indeed, the observations which might have been made with admirable effect by British observers in India during the two centuries in which that people has had to do with the lands in which elephants abound.

The elephant of Africa is still a tolerably abundant animal. Its numbers, though doubtless diminished by more than one-half within this century, are probably to be counted by the hundred thousand. Nevertheless, in less than a hundred years the field which they occupied has been greatly reduced; and between the ivory hunter and the sportsman of our brutal race armed with guns of ever-increasing deadliness, it will certainly not require another century of free shooting to annihilate the African species. In view of the present condition of the life of these noble beasts, it seems in a high measure desirable that a thorough-going effort should be made to extend the domestication to the point where the form will not only be won from the wilds, but will be a permanent element in our civilization, in the manner of our common flocks and herds. It will be an enduring shame if, by neglect of our opportunities, the utmost is not done to attain this end. It appears fit that this task should be undertaken by the British Government, which in modern days has displayed a skill and forethought in the administration of its Indian provinces unexampled in the history of colonies. Owing to the slow breeding-rate of the elephant, it may require more than a century for experiments to attain any definite result, so that the task is clearly beyond the limits of individual endeavor.

Among the humbler helpers of man, the pig holds an important place. He has had no small share in the betterment of the estate of his masters. One of the large questions which beset men in their unconscious endeavors to lay the foundations of civilization was that of food-supply. No sooner does a population become sedentary than the wildernesses about its dwelling-place are rapidly cleared of the large game, so that the chase affords but little save amusement. Therefore a provision in the way of meat has to be obtained from domesticated animals. The flocks and herds supply this need, though in a costly way. Sheep have a value for their wool; horned cattle develop slowly, and are, moreover valuable, the oxen for their strength and the cows for their milk. Horses are too valuable to be used for food, save in times of exceeding stress; and none but the lowest savages are willing to send their faithful dogs to the pot. From the beginning of his experience with man the pig has been found the cheapest and most serviceable domesticated animal as a source of food-supply.

We can trace the origin of our domesticated pigs more clearly than in the case of the most of the other subjugated animals. The creature is evidently descended from the wild boar of Europe and Asia; and though long under domestication and greatly varied from its primitive stock, it readily reverts to something like its original form when allowed to betake itself once more to the wilds. The domestication of the species appears to have been accomplished at several different points in Asia and Europe. The forms which are found in eastern Asia differ from those which are kept in the western portion of the great continent, and may have their blood commingled with that of another species which is native in that part of the world.

Among our domesticated animals the pig is exceptional in the fact that it has been bred for its flesh alone; for although the hide is valuable and the hair serves certain purposes, as in the manufacture of brushes, these uses are only incidental and modern. They have not affected the plan of the breeder, whose aim has been to produce the largest weight of flesh in the shortest time, and with the least expenditure of food. In this peculiar task the success has been remarkable, the creature having been made to vary from its primitive condition in an extraordinary manner. In its wild state the species develops slowly, requiring, perhaps, three or four years to attain its maximum size. It never becomes very fat, but remains an agile, swift-footed, and fierce tenant of the wilds. Under the conditions of subjugation the pig has been brought to a state in which its qualities of mind and body have undergone a very great change. In the more developed breeds, even the males, when kept about the barnyard, are quiet-natured and not at all dangerous. The creatures have become slow-moving; they attain their full development in about half the time required for the growth of their wild kindred, and when adult they may outweigh them in the ratio of four to one.

The effect arising from the food-supply which our pigs afford is well seen in the use which is made of their flesh in all the ruder work of men, at least in the case of those of our race. Our soldiers and sailors are to a great extent fed on the flesh of these creatures, which lends itself readily to preservation by the use of salt. So rapidly can these animals be bred, owing to the number of young which they produce in a litter and the swiftness of their growth, that sudden demands for an increase in the supply, such as occurred at the outbreak of our civil war, can quickly be met. If the need should arise, the quantity of pork produced in this country could readily be doubled within eighteen months. This is the case with no other source of flesh-supply, and this fact gives the pig a peculiar importance.

Owing to the remarkably complete domestication of this animal, and also to the fact that it is omnivorous, the creature has ever been a favorite with the cotter class. Those folk, who can afford neither sheep nor horned cattle, can often provide the food for pigs, and thus, in turn, be much better fed than they would otherwise be.

It is only within two centuries that our pigs have attained to anything like the domestication in which we commonly find them. Of old they were allowed to range the forests, much as they do in certain parts of our Southern States at the present day. In some parts of Europe, particularly in the southern portion of the continent, this method of rearing and feeding is still common. It was and is advantageous, for the reason that the creature, by its remarkably keen sense of smelling and its singular capacity for overturning the ground, is able to provide itself with abundant food in the way of grubs and roots which are not at the disposition of any other animal. It was only as the public forests disappeared that pigs came to receive any considerable part of their provender from the products of tilled fields. In this stage of our agriculture, when all the land was possessed, the life of the pig was necessarily more restricted, and he became the denizen of a pen. In the earlier state there was no cost for his keeping; in the latter, except so far as he could be fed from the waste of a household, he is an expensive animal.

It is with this last state of the pig, when he became the most housed of our domesticated animals, that the work of the breeder really began. The aim of those who have developed the pig has been, as we have said, to obtain the most rapid growth along with the greatest weight of fat, and to accomplish the results with the least expenditure in the way of food. Although the animal has been subjected to selective experiments, looking to these ends, for not more than a century, or say about forty generations of the species, the amount of variation which has been attained is singularly great, the form and habits having been changed more rapidly, and in a larger measure, than in the case of any other of our domesticated animals. It may fairly be said that this creature is more obedient to the will of the practical selectionist than any other with which we have experimented.

It is commonly assumed that our pigs are among the least intelligent of the creatures which man has turned to his use. This impression is due to the fact that the conditions in which these animals are kept insure their degradation by cutting them off from all the natural mental training which wild animals, as well as the other tenants of the fields, receive. In the state of nature or in the condition of domestication which existed before pigs became captives in their pens, they were among the most alert and sagacious animals with which man has come in contact. Their wits were quick and their sympathies with their kind remarkably strong. Trainers have found these creatures more apt in receiving instruction than any other of our mammals, and the things which they can be made to do appear to indicate a native intelligence nearer to that of man than is found in any other species below the level of the apes.

As there is little in the books of anecdotes of animals concerning pigs, I venture to give an account of a learned individual of this species whose performances I had an opportunity of observing in much detail. The creature, an ordinary specimen about three years old, had been trained by a peasant in the mountain district of Virginia who made his living by instructing animals for show purposes. He stated that in selecting pigs for education it was his practice to choose those characterized by a considerable width between the eyes and whose skulls projected in this part of their periphery to a more than usual degree. He said that from many experiments he was satisfied that there was a very great difference in the capacity of the animals to receive training, and that the above-mentioned indices afforded him sufficient guidance in his choice.

In the exhibition about to be described there were but three persons present, myself, another spectator, and the showman. A score of cards were placed upon the ground, each bearing a numeral or the name of some distinguished person. These cards were in perfect disorder. I was allowed, indeed, repeatedly to change their position and to mix them up as I pleased. The pig was then told to pick out the name of Abraham Lincoln and bring it to his master. This he readily did. He was asked in what year Lincoln was assassinated. He slowly but without correction brought one by one the appropriate numerals and put them on the ground in due order. Half a dozen other questions concerning names and dates were answered in a similar way. Each success was rewarded with a grain of corn, and for his failures the creature received a reasonable drubbing. It was evident that the animal had to consider in making his choice of the cards. At times he was evidently much puzzled and would indicate his perplexity by squealing.

It seemed clear that the master of this learned pig did not guide the movements of the animal by other indications than words. The questions, in some cases, had to be reiterated in a loud voice in order to insure attention. Several times during the performance the pig rebelled, broke from the tent, and was with difficulty recaptured. The creature disliked this task in the manner of a lazy school-boy, and at the end of an hour of exercises seemed utterly overcome by his labor. He ran into the box where he was ordinarily confined, and when dragged forth, neither rewards nor punishments would quicken him to further work.

The above-described exhibition made it plain to me that the pig can be taught to understand a certain amount of human speech and to associate memories with phrases substantially as we do ourselves. It is perfectly clear that the performance which I witnessed was not a mere routine action, for I had a number of questions asked over again so as to make it sure that the creature acted with reference to each separate inquiry. The behavior of the animal during the performance seemed clearly to indicate mental effort and not mere automatic memory. His attitude when trying to determine which of two cards to take distinctly showed that he was intently viewing the figures and endeavoring to come to a decision. I am aware it has been suggested that learned pigs discriminate between the cards by peculiarities of odor which have been given to these bits of paper. I sought carefully to find if such was the case, and though I have a very keen sense of smell I found nothing which led me to suspect that this device was used. Even if such were the case, the rationality of the animal's action would be none the less clear. The showman assured me that he never used any such means in training pigs. He seemed, indeed, to treat the suggestion with contempt.

Although experiments in the training of pigs show that they have rather remarkable intellectual capacities, the most human feature in their mental organization is found in the keen sympathy which they exhibit with the sufferings of their own kind and the willingness with which they encounter danger in protecting their comrades. It usually requires close observation for the naturalist to determine the existence of this motive among the other wild or domesticated mammals. In fact, the traces of it are very slight indeed, and are generally to be attributed to the care of parents for offspring or of the males for their harem--a disposition which, though akin to the defence of the kind, is nevertheless of a special and peculiar nature. Even among our domestic dogs, whose sympathies have been developed in a remarkable degree and who will sacrifice their lives to defend or rescue the human beings with whom they are familiar, there appears to be but little disposition to support members of their species who may be assailed. With pigs, however, as is well known to all those who have observed their habits, the characteristic cry of distress of their fellows proves very exciting and stimulates all the adults, both male and female, who hear it to hasten in defence of their kinsmen. It is a noteworthy fact that while most other animals when in danger utter no distinct or continuous cry, the pig gives voice in a vociferous and insistent manner, as if he had a right to expect the sympathy and help of his species. The cry goes with the custom of defence which in this species has attained a better foundation in the sympathetic motives than in any other mammal below the level of man.