Chapter 6

The strength of the lion is so prodigious, that a single stroke of his paw is sufficient to break the back of a horse; and one sweep of his tail will throw a strong man to the ground. Kolbein says, that when he comes up to his prey, he always knocks it down dead, and seldom bites it till the mortal blow has been given. A lion at the Cape of Good Hope was once seen to take a heifer in his mouth; and though that animal's legs dragged on the ground, yet he seemed to carry her off with as much ease as a cat does a rat.

One of the residents in South Africa--according to the Naturalist's History--shot a lion in the most perilous circumstances that can be conceived. We must tell the story in his own words. "My wife," he says, "was sitting in the house, near the door. The children were playing around her. I was outside, busily engaged in doing something to a wagon, when suddenly, though it was mid-day, an enormous lion came up and laid himself quietly down in the shade, upon the very threshold of the door. My wife, either stupefied with fear, or aware of the danger attending any attempt to fly, remained motionless in her place, while the children took refuge in her lap. The cry they uttered immediately attracted my attention. I hastened toward the door; but my astonishment may well be conceived, when I found the entrance to it barred in such a way. Although the animal had not seen me, unarmed as I was, escape seemed impossible; yet I glided gently, scarcely knowing what I meant to do, to the side of the house, up to the window of my chamber, where I knew my loaded gun was standing, and which I found in such a condition, that I could reach it with my hand--a most fortunate circumstance; and still more so, when I found that the door of the room was open, so that I could see the whole danger of the scene. The lion was beginning to move, perhaps with the intention of making a spring. There was no longer any time to think. I called softly to the mother not to be alarmed; and, invoking the name of the Lord, fired my piece. The ball passed directly over the hair of my boy's head, and lodged in the forehead of the lion, immediately above his eyes, which shot forth, as it were, sparks of fire, and stretched him on the ground, so that he never stirred more."

Nothing is more common than for the keepers of wild beasts to play with the lion, to pull out his tongue, and even to chastise him without cause. He seems to bear it all with the utmost composure; and we very rarely have instances of his revenging these unprovoked sallies of cruelty. However, when his anger is at last excited, the consequences are terrible. Labat tells us of a gentleman who kept a lion in his chamber, and employed a servant to attend it, who, as is usual, mixed blows with his caresses. This state of things continued for some time, till one morning the gentleman was awakened by a noise in his room, which at first he could not tell the cause of; but, drawing the curtains, he perceived a horrid spectacle--the lion growling over the man's head, which he had separated from the body, and tossing it round the floor! He immediately flew into the next apartment, called to the people without, and had the animal secured from doing further mischief.

We are told of the combat of a lion and a wild boar, in a meadow near Algiers, which continued for a long time with incredible obstinacy. At last, both were seen to fall by the wounds they had given each other; and the ground all about them was covered with their blood. These instances, however, are rare; the lion is in general undisputed master of the forest.

It was once customary for those who were unable to pay sixpence for the sight of the wild beasts in the tower of London, to bring a dog or a cat, as a gift to the beasts, in lieu of money to the keeper. Among others, a man had brought a pretty black spaniel, which was thrown into the cage of the great lion. Immediately the little animal trembled and shivered, crouched, and threw himself on his back, put forth his tongue, and held up his paws, as if praying for mercy. In the mean time, the lion, instead of devouring him, turned him over with one paw, and then with the other. He smelled of him, and seemed desirous of courting a further acquaintance. The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess of his own family dinner. But the lion kept aloof, and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and inviting him, as it were, to be his taster. At length, the little animal's fears being somewhat abated, and his appetite quickened by the smell of the food, he approached slowly, and, with trembling, ventured to eat. The lion then advanced gently, and began to partake, and they finished their meal very quietly together.

From this day, a strict friendship commenced between them, consisting of great affection and tenderness on the part of the lion, and the utmost confidence and boldness on the part of the dog; insomuch that he would lay himself down to sleep, within the fangs and under the jaws of his terrible patron. In about twelve months the little spaniel sickened and died. For a time the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that his favorite was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, and then would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paws. But finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to end, at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and drooping regard, and again lift up his head, and roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant thunder. They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcass from him. The keeper then endeavored to tempt him with a variety of food, but he turned from all that was offered, with loathing. They then put several living dogs in his cage, which he tore in pieces, but left their carcasses on the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he would grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged at his restraint from tearing those around him to pieces. Again, as if quite spent, he would stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his paws upon him, and take him to his bosom; and then utter his grief in deep and melancholy roaring, for the loss of his little play-fellow. For five days he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any sustenance or admitting any comfort, till, one morning, he was found dead, with his head reclined on the carcass of his little friend. They were both interred together.

A lion, when about three months old, was caught in the forests of Senegal, and tamed by the director of the African company in that colony. He became unusually tractable and gentle. He slept in company with cats, dogs, geese, monkeys, and other animals, and never offered any violence to them. When he was about eight months old, he formed an attachment to a terrier dog, and this attachment increased afterward to such an extent, that the lion was seldom happy in the absence of his companion. At the age of fourteen months, the lion, with the dog in company, was transported to France. He showed so little ferocity on shipboard, that he was allowed at all times to have the liberty of walking about the vessel. When he was landed at Havre, he was conducted with only a cord attached to his collar, and attended by his favorite play-fellow, to Versailles. Soon after their arrival, the dog died, when the lion became so disconsolate, that it was found necessary to put another dog into his den. This dog, terrified at the sight of such an animal, endeavored to conceal himself; and the lion, surprised at the noise, killed him by a stroke with one of his paws.

M. Felix, some years since the keeper of the national menagerie at Paris, added two lions to the collection, a male and a female. He had become endeared to them by kind treatment, so that scarcely any one else could control them, and they manifested their regard in a great many ways. The gentleman, however, was taken very sick, and was confined for some time to his bed. Another person was necessarily intrusted with the care of these lions. From the moment that M. Felix left, the male sat, sad and solitary, at the end of his cage, and refused to take food from the hands of the stranger, for whom, it was evident, he entertained no little dislike. The company of the female seemed to displease him. In a short time he became so uneasy, that no one dared to approach him. By and by, however, his old master recovered, and with the intention of surprising the animal, he crept softly to the cage, and showed only his face between the bars. But the male lion knew him at once. He leaped against the bars, patted him with his paws, licked his hands and face, and actually trembled with pleasure. The female also ran to him; but the other drove her back, and was on the point of quarreling with her, so jealous was he lest she should receive any of the favors of M. Felix. Afterward, however, the keeper entered the cage, caressed them both by turns, and pacified them.

Sir George Davis, who was English consul at Naples about the middle of the seventeenth century, happening on one occasion to be in Florence, visited the menagerie of the grand duke. At the farther end of one of the dens he saw a lion which lay in sullen majesty, and which the keepers informed him they had been unable to tame, although every effort had been used for upward of three years. Sir George had no sooner reached the gate of the den, than the lion ran to it, and evinced every demonstration of joy and transport. The animal reared himself up, purred like a cat when pleased, and licked the hand of Sir George, which he had put through the bars. The keeper was astonished and frightened for the safety of his visitor, entreated him not to trust an apparent fit of phrensy, with which the animal seemed to be seized; for he was, without exception, the most fierce and sullen of his tribe which he had ever seen. This, however, had no effect on Sir George, who, notwithstanding every entreaty on the part of the keeper, insisted on entering the lion's den. The moment he got in, the delighted lion threw his paws upon his shoulders, licked his face, and ran about him, rubbing his head on Sir George, purring and fawning like a cat when expressing its affection for its master. This occurrence became the talk of Florence, and reached the ears of the grand duke, who sent for Sir George, and requested an interview at the menagerie, that he might witness so extraordinary a circumstance, when Sir George gave the following explanation: "A captain of a ship from Barbary gave me this lion, when quite a whelp. I brought him up tame; but when I thought him too large to be suffered to run about the house, I built a den for him in my court-yard. From that time he was never permitted to be loose, except when brought to the house to be exhibited to my friends. When he was five years old, he did some mischief by pawing and playing with people in his frolicsome moods. Having griped a man one day a little too hard, I ordered him to be shot, for fear of myself incurring the guilt of what might happen. On this a friend, who happened to be then at dinner with me, begged him as a present. How he came here, I do not know." The Grand Duke of Tuscany, on hearing his story, said it was the very same person who had presented him with the lion.

Part of a ship's crew being sent ashore on the coast of India for the purpose of cutting wood, the curiosity of one of the men having led him to stray to a considerable distance from his companions, he was much alarmed by the appearance of a large lioness, who made toward him; but, on her coming up, his fear was allayed, by her lying down at his feet, and looking very earnestly, first in his face, and then at a tree some little distance off. After repeating these looks several times, she arose, and proceeded toward the tree, looking back, as if she wished the sailor to follow her. At length he ventured, and, coming to the tree, perceived a huge baboon, with two young cubs in her arms, which he immediately supposed to be those of the lioness, as she crouched down like a cat, and seemed to eye them very steadfastly. The man being afraid to ascend the tree, decided on cutting it down; and having his axe with him, he set actively to work, when the lioness seemed most attentive to what he was doing. When the tree fell, she pounced upon the baboon, and, after tearing her in pieces, she turned round, and licked the cubs for some time. She then returned to the sailor, and fawned round him, rubbing her head against him in great fondness, and in token of her gratitude for the service done her. After this, she carried the cubs away one by one, and the sailor rejoined his companions, much pleased with the adventure.

A French gentleman relates a remarkable anecdote about a combat which he saw on the banks of the Niger, between a Moorish chief and a lion. The prince took the Frenchman and his company to a place adjoining a large wood which was much infested with wild beasts, and directed them all to climb the trees. They did so. Then, getting upon his horse, and taking three spears and a dagger, he entered the forest, where he soon found a lion, which he wounded with one of the spears. The enraged animal sprang with great fury at his assailant, who, by a feigned flight, led him near the spot where the company were stationed. He then turned his horse, and in a moment darted another spear at the lion, which pierced his body. He alighted, and the lion, now grown furious, advanced with open jaws; but the prince received him on the point of his third spear, which he forced into his throat. Then, at one leap, springing across his body, he cut open his throat with his dagger. In this contest, the Moor's skill was such, that he received only a slight scratch on the thigh.

Allow me, in concluding these stories about lions, to recite one from the French. It is fabulous, as you will perceive; but fables are not to be despised. The design of the fable is to illustrate the truth that in a community, every one may be more or less useful. "War having been declared between two nations of animals (for, notwithstanding their instinct, they are as foolish as men), the lion issued a proclamation of the fact to his subjects, and ordered them to appear in person at his camp. Among the great number of animals that obeyed the orders of their sovereign, were some asses and hares. Each animal offered his services for the campaign. The elephant agreed to transport the baggage of the army. The bear took it upon him to make the assaults. The fox proposed to manage the ruses and the stratagems. The monkey promised to amuse the enemy by his tricks. 'Sire,' said the horse, 'send back the asses; they are too lazy--and the hares; they are too timid, and subject to too frequent alarms.' 'By no means,' said the king of the animals; 'our army would not be complete without these. The asses will serve for trumpeters, and the hares will make excellent couriers.'"

The Galago.

From a recent English periodical, I have obtained some interesting facts in relation to an animal to which naturalists have given the name of the Galago. In the picture on the opposite page you have a portrait of the animal, drawn from life. He is a very singular looking fellow, as you perceive. Not long ago he was brought to England from Zanguebar, in Africa. The specimen, now being exhibited in London, is the first of this race of quadrupeds which has ever been introduced from its native country into any part of Europe, and it is exciting a great deal of interest among naturalists. Very little is known of the genus to which the animal belongs, all its species being found only in the barbarous countries, very little known, on the eastern coast of Africa. They all climb upon trees, like the squirrel. Their habits are strictly nocturnal. They never venture from their retreats while the faintest gleam of daylight is visible; but at the approach of night they become exceedingly active, springing from tree to tree with all the dexterity of the squirrel. In the day time, they remain, for the most part, in the holes of decayed trees. Their food is gum and pulpy fruits. The country where they live is one of the hottest regions on the globe. On this account, the animal sent to England is very sensitive to the sudden changes of that comparatively northern latitude, and it requires much care to preserve him from the influence of the cold. One of the striking peculiarities of the animal is the appearance of his feet. They resemble the hands of a man, as will be seen by the engraving. This peculiarity admirably fits the galago for the life it leads, as it spends a great part of its time in leaping on the boughs of trees. The specimen in England is remarkably tame and frolicksome, and does not seem altogether happy except when he is fondled and petted, when he enjoys himself immensely. During the night he delights in active motion, climbing and playing like a kitten, often uttering a loud, clucking noise, which ends with a sharp, shrill call, of astonishing volume. The animal is not so large as a fox.

The Bear.

That distinguished author, Oliver Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," has given a most interesting account of the habits of the bear, which I wish, for the benefit of my readers, might be embodied in this chapter, though, on the whole, I think the entire account is too long, and I am forced to omit it. Besides, I suppose it would hardly be just to accord such a civility to the bear, while it is denied to the other animals. According to the description of this eminent practical naturalist, the bear is not by any means the unamiable monster he has been represented to be; but has, on the contrary, a great many good traits of character. He has been slandered, grossly slandered, if we may credit Mr. Goldsmith; and for one, I do credit him. He is exceedingly reliable in most of his statements. Now that I am speaking of Mr. Goldsmith, I can scarce refrain from adding that I have been greatly assisted, in the preparation of this volume, by the work of his above alluded to. It is, and ever will be, a valuable book in the library of those who are interested in becoming acquainted with nature, in her varied aspects.

There are three species of bears--the black, the white, and the brown or Syrian bear. The latter, represented in the engraving on the opposite page, is the one to which allusion is made in Scripture.

The bear is capable of strong and generous attachment. Many years ago, Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, in Europe, owned a bear which had become very tame, and which was remarkable for the strength of his love for those whom he happened to fancy. In the winter of 1709, a poor Savoyard boy had been placed in a barn to stay over night. This boy, finding that he was near the hut occupied by the duke's bear, took it into his head to go and pay the bear a visit. It was a singular fancy, to be sure. But as the old proverb says, "There is no accounting for tastes." He had no sooner formed the determination, than off he started to see Marco--for that was the name of the bear. He was cold, I think; and not having any other way of warming himself, he thought he would see if Marco could not be prevailed upon to let him share in the benefit of his shaggy coat for awhile. So in he went, and he and the bear were soon on the best of terms. Marco took him between his paws, and warmed him, by pressing him to his breast, until the next morning, when he allowed him to depart, to ramble about the city. In the evening, the young Savoyard returned to the bear's den, and was received with the same marks of kindness and affection. For several days, the boy made this den his home. The bear saved a part of his food for his companion, and they lived together on the most intimate and friendly terms. A number of days passed in this manner, without the servants knowing any thing about the circumstance, the boy not being in the den when the bear's food was brought. At length, one day, when some one came to bring the generous animal his supper, rather later than usual, the boy was there. The servant then saw the fondness of the bear for the young Savoyard. The boy was asleep. The bear rolled his eyes around, in a furious manner, and seemed to intimate that as little noise as possible must be made, for fear of awaking the child, whom he clasped to his breast. The bear did not move when the food was placed before him. This extraordinary circumstance was related to Leopold, the owner of the bear, who, with a good many others, went to the bear's hut, where they found, with surprise, that the animal never stirred as long as his guest manifested a disposition to sleep. When the little fellow awoke in the morning, he was very much ashamed and alarmed to find that he was discovered, thinking that he should be punished; and he begged the duke's pardon for the liberty he had taken with the bear. The bear, however, caressed his new friend, and tried to prevail upon him to eat a part of the supper which had been brought the previous evening, and which seemed untouched.

Bruin is famous for hugging his enemies so desperately, that they are glad to get clear of him. But in these hugging fights, he sometimes gets the worst of it, as in the following instance. Some years since, when the western part of the State of New York was but slightly settled, some enterprising emigrant from New England had built a saw-mill on the banks of the Genesee river. One day, as he was eating his luncheon, sitting on the log which was going through the sawing operation at the time, a huge black bear came from the woods, toward the mill. The man, leaving his bread and cold bacon on the log, made a spring, and climbed up to a beam above, to get out of the way of the bear, when the latter, mounting the log which the sawyer had left, sat down, with his back toward the saw, and commenced eating the man's dinner. After awhile, the log on which he sat approached so near the saw, that he got scratched a little, and he hitched away a few feet from the saw, and resumed his dinner. But the saw scratched him again soon, of course, and this time rather more seriously. Bruin got angry, and his anger cost him dearly. He wheeled about, and throwing his paws around the saw, he gave it a most desperate hug. In this position he remained, until he was sawn into two pieces, as if he had been a log. Poor fellow! we ought to pity him, I suppose; but it is pretty difficult to avoid a hearty laugh over his misfortunes.

Here is a story of an encounter between a bear and a bull, which is also rather laughable, although there is a good deal of the tragic in it. A bull was attacked in the forest by a rather small bear, when, striking his horns into his assailant, he pinned him against a tree. In this situation they were both found dead; the bull from starvation, the bear from his wounds.