They assemble in great numbers in the villages about the end of the wet season, and are then ravenous with hunger. My cook could not leave the open kitchen at the back of the house for a moment whilst the dinner was cooking, on account of their thievish propensities. Some of them were always loitering about, watching their opportunity, and the instant the kitchen was left unguarded, the bold marauders marched in and lifted the lids of the saucepans with their beaks to rob them of their contents. The boys of the village lie in wait, and shoot them with bow and arrow; and vultures have consequently acquired such a dread of these weapons, that they may be often kept off by hanging a bow from the rafters of the kitchen.[184]Mrs. Lee, in her 'Anecdotes', says that one day her gardener was struck by the strange conduct of a robin, which the man had often fed. The bird fluttered about him in so strange a manner—now coming close, then hurrying away, always in the same direction—that the gardener followed its retreating movements. The robin stopped near a flower-pot, and fluttered over it in great agitation. It was soon found that a nest had been formed in the pot, and contained several young. Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a meal of the brood.
They assemble in great numbers in the villages about the end of the wet season, and are then ravenous with hunger. My cook could not leave the open kitchen at the back of the house for a moment whilst the dinner was cooking, on account of their thievish propensities. Some of them were always loitering about, watching their opportunity, and the instant the kitchen was left unguarded, the bold marauders marched in and lifted the lids of the saucepans with their beaks to rob them of their contents. The boys of the village lie in wait, and shoot them with bow and arrow; and vultures have consequently acquired such a dread of these weapons, that they may be often kept off by hanging a bow from the rafters of the kitchen.[184]
Mrs. Lee, in her 'Anecdotes', says that one day her gardener was struck by the strange conduct of a robin, which the man had often fed. The bird fluttered about him in so strange a manner—now coming close, then hurrying away, always in the same direction—that the gardener followed its retreating movements. The robin stopped near a flower-pot, and fluttered over it in great agitation. It was soon found that a nest had been formed in the pot, and contained several young. Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a meal of the brood.
The following appeared in the 'Gardener's Chronicle' for Aug. 3, 1878, under the initials 'T. G.' I wrote to the editor requesting him to supply me with the name of his correspondent, and also to state whether he knew him to be a trustworthy man. In reply the editor said that he knew his correspondent to be trustworthy, and that his name is Thomas Guring:—
About thirty years ago the small market town in which I reside was skirted by an open common, upon which a number of geese were kept by cottagers. The number of the birds was very great. . . . . Our corn market at that time was held in the street in front of the principal inn, and on the market day a good deal of corn was scattered from sample bags by millers. Somehow the geese found out about the spilling of corn, and they appear to have held a consultation upon the subject. . . . .From this time they never missed their opportunity, and the entry of the geese was always looked for and invariably took place. On the morning after the market, early, and always on the proper morning, fortnightly, in they came cackling and gobbling in merry mood, and they never came on the wrong day. The corn, of course, was the attraction, but in what manner did they mark the time? One might have supposed that their perceptions were awakened on the market day by the smell of corn, or perhaps by the noise of the market traffic; but my story is not yet finished, and its sequel is against this view. It happened one year that a day of national humiliation was kept, and the day appointed was that on which our market should have been held. The market was postponed, and the geese for once were baffled. There was no corn to tickle their olfactory organs from afar, no traffic to appeal to their sense of hearing. I think our little town was as still as it usually is on Sundays. . . . . The geese should have stopped away; but they knew their day, and came as usual. . . . . I do not pretend to remember under what precise circumstances the habit of coming into the street was acquired. It may have been formed by degrees, and continued from year to year; but how the old birds, who must have led the way, marked the time so as to come in regularly and fortnightly, on a particular day of the week, I am at a loss to conceive.
About thirty years ago the small market town in which I reside was skirted by an open common, upon which a number of geese were kept by cottagers. The number of the birds was very great. . . . . Our corn market at that time was held in the street in front of the principal inn, and on the market day a good deal of corn was scattered from sample bags by millers. Somehow the geese found out about the spilling of corn, and they appear to have held a consultation upon the subject. . . . .From this time they never missed their opportunity, and the entry of the geese was always looked for and invariably took place. On the morning after the market, early, and always on the proper morning, fortnightly, in they came cackling and gobbling in merry mood, and they never came on the wrong day. The corn, of course, was the attraction, but in what manner did they mark the time? One might have supposed that their perceptions were awakened on the market day by the smell of corn, or perhaps by the noise of the market traffic; but my story is not yet finished, and its sequel is against this view. It happened one year that a day of national humiliation was kept, and the day appointed was that on which our market should have been held. The market was postponed, and the geese for once were baffled. There was no corn to tickle their olfactory organs from afar, no traffic to appeal to their sense of hearing. I think our little town was as still as it usually is on Sundays. . . . . The geese should have stopped away; but they knew their day, and came as usual. . . . . I do not pretend to remember under what precise circumstances the habit of coming into the street was acquired. It may have been formed by degrees, and continued from year to year; but how the old birds, who must have led the way, marked the time so as to come in regularly and fortnightly, on a particular day of the week, I am at a loss to conceive.
Livingstone's 'Expedition to the Zambesi, 1865,' p. 209, gives a conclusive account of the bird called the honey-guide, which leads persons to bees' nests. 'They are quite as anxious to lure the stranger to the bees' hive as other birds are to draw him away from their own nests.' The object of the bird is to obtain the pupæ of the bees which are laid bare by the ravaging of the nest. The habits of this bird have long been known and described in books on popular natural history; but it is well that the facts have been observed by so trustworthy a man as Livingstone. He adds, 'How is it that members of this family have learned that all men, white and black, are fond of honey? 'We can only answer, by intelligent observation in the first instance, passing into individual and hereditary habit, and so eventually into a fixed instinct.
Brehm relates an instance of cautious sagacity in a pewit. He had placed some horsehair snares over its nest, but the bird seeing them, pushed them aside withher bill. Next day he set them thickly round the nest; but now the bird, instead of running as usual to the nest along the ground, alighted directly upon it. This shows a considerable appreciation of mechanical appliances, as does also the following.
Mrs. G. M. E. Campbell writes to me:—
At Ardglass, co. Down, Ireland, is a long tract of turf coming to the edge of the rocks overhanging the sea, where cattle and geese feed; at a barn on this tract there was a low enclosure, with a door fastening by a hook and staple to the side-post: when the hook was out of the staple, the door fell open by its own weight. I one day saw a goose with a large troop of goslings coming off the turf to this door, which was secured by the hook being in the staple. The goose waited for a minute or two, as if for the door to be opened, and then turned round as if to go away, but what she did was to make a rush at the door, and making a dart with her beak at the point of the hook nearly threw it out of the staple; she repeated this manœuvre, and succeeded at the third attempt, the door fell open, and the goose led her troop in with a sound of triumphant chuckling. How had the goose learned that the force of the rush was needful to give the hook a sufficient toss?
At Ardglass, co. Down, Ireland, is a long tract of turf coming to the edge of the rocks overhanging the sea, where cattle and geese feed; at a barn on this tract there was a low enclosure, with a door fastening by a hook and staple to the side-post: when the hook was out of the staple, the door fell open by its own weight. I one day saw a goose with a large troop of goslings coming off the turf to this door, which was secured by the hook being in the staple. The goose waited for a minute or two, as if for the door to be opened, and then turned round as if to go away, but what she did was to make a rush at the door, and making a dart with her beak at the point of the hook nearly threw it out of the staple; she repeated this manœuvre, and succeeded at the third attempt, the door fell open, and the goose led her troop in with a sound of triumphant chuckling. How had the goose learned that the force of the rush was needful to give the hook a sufficient toss?
Mrs. K. Addison sends me the following instance of the use of signs on the part of an intelligent jackdaw. The bird was eighteen months old, and lived in some bushes in Mrs. Addison's garden. She writes:—
I generally made a practice of filling a large basin which stands under the trees every morning for Jack's bath. A few days ago I forgot this duty, and was reminded of the fact in a very singular manner. Another of my daily occupations is to open my dressing-room shutters about eleven o'clock of a morning. Now these said shutters open almost on to the trees where Jack lives. The day I forgot his bath, when I opened the shutters I found my little friend waiting just outside them, as though he knew that he should see me there; and when he did he placed himself immediately in front of me, and then shook himself and spread out his wings just as he always does in his bath. The action was so suggestive and so unmistakable, that I spoke just as I would have done to a child—'Oh yes, Jack, of course you shall have some water.'
I generally made a practice of filling a large basin which stands under the trees every morning for Jack's bath. A few days ago I forgot this duty, and was reminded of the fact in a very singular manner. Another of my daily occupations is to open my dressing-room shutters about eleven o'clock of a morning. Now these said shutters open almost on to the trees where Jack lives. The day I forgot his bath, when I opened the shutters I found my little friend waiting just outside them, as though he knew that he should see me there; and when he did he placed himself immediately in front of me, and then shook himself and spread out his wings just as he always does in his bath. The action was so suggestive and so unmistakable, that I spoke just as I would have done to a child—'Oh yes, Jack, of course you shall have some water.'
Mr. W. W. Nichols writes to 'Nature:'—
The Central Prison at Agra is the roosting-place of great numbers of the common blue pigeon; they fly out to the neighbouring country for food every morning, and return in the evening, when they drink at a tank just outside the prison walls. In this tank are a large number of fresh-water turtles, which lie in wait for the pigeons just under the surface of the water and at the edge of it. Any bird alighting to drink near one of these turtles has a good chance of having its head bitten off and eaten; and the headless bodies of pigeons have been picked up near the water, showing the fate which has sometimes befallen the birds. The pigeons, however, are aware of the danger, and have hit on the following plan to escape it. A pigeon comes in from its long flight, and, as it nears the tank, instead of flying down at once to the water's edge, will cross the tank at about twenty feet above its surface, and then fly back to the side from which it came, apparently selecting for alighting a safe spot which it had remarked as it flew over the bank; but even when such a spot has been selected the bird will not alight at the edge of the water, but on the bank about a yard from the water, and will then run down quickly to the water, take two or three hurried gulps of it, and then fly off to repeat the same process at another part of the tank till its thirst is satisfied. I had often watched the birds doing this, and could not account for their strange mode of drinking till told by my friend the superintendent of the prison, of the turtles which lay in ambush for the pigeons.
The Central Prison at Agra is the roosting-place of great numbers of the common blue pigeon; they fly out to the neighbouring country for food every morning, and return in the evening, when they drink at a tank just outside the prison walls. In this tank are a large number of fresh-water turtles, which lie in wait for the pigeons just under the surface of the water and at the edge of it. Any bird alighting to drink near one of these turtles has a good chance of having its head bitten off and eaten; and the headless bodies of pigeons have been picked up near the water, showing the fate which has sometimes befallen the birds. The pigeons, however, are aware of the danger, and have hit on the following plan to escape it. A pigeon comes in from its long flight, and, as it nears the tank, instead of flying down at once to the water's edge, will cross the tank at about twenty feet above its surface, and then fly back to the side from which it came, apparently selecting for alighting a safe spot which it had remarked as it flew over the bank; but even when such a spot has been selected the bird will not alight at the edge of the water, but on the bank about a yard from the water, and will then run down quickly to the water, take two or three hurried gulps of it, and then fly off to repeat the same process at another part of the tank till its thirst is satisfied. I had often watched the birds doing this, and could not account for their strange mode of drinking till told by my friend the superintendent of the prison, of the turtles which lay in ambush for the pigeons.
As a still more remarkable instance of the display of intelligence by a bird of this species, I shall quote the following observation of Commander R. H. Napier, also published in 'Nature' (viii., p. 324):—
A number of them (pouters) were feeding on a few oats that had been accidentally let fall while fixing the nose-bag on a horse standing at bait. Having finished all the grain at hand, a large 'pouter' rose, and flapping its wings furiously, flew directly at the horse's eyes, causing the animal to toss his head, and in doing so, of course shake out more corn. I saw this several times repeated—in fact, whenever the supply on hand had been exhausted. . . . . Was not this something more than instinct?
A number of them (pouters) were feeding on a few oats that had been accidentally let fall while fixing the nose-bag on a horse standing at bait. Having finished all the grain at hand, a large 'pouter' rose, and flapping its wings furiously, flew directly at the horse's eyes, causing the animal to toss his head, and in doing so, of course shake out more corn. I saw this several times repeated—in fact, whenever the supply on hand had been exhausted. . . . . Was not this something more than instinct?
The following display of intelligence on the part of swallows is communicated to me by Mr. Charles Wilson.It can scarcely be attributed to accident, and does not admit of mal-observation. My informant says:—
Two swallows were building a nest in the verandah of a house in Victoria, but as their nest was resting partly on a bell-wire, it was by this means twice pulled down. They then began afresh, making a tunnel through the lower part of the nest, through which the wire was able to act without doing damage.
Two swallows were building a nest in the verandah of a house in Victoria, but as their nest was resting partly on a bell-wire, it was by this means twice pulled down. They then began afresh, making a tunnel through the lower part of the nest, through which the wire was able to act without doing damage.
Another gentleman writes me of another use to which he has observed swallows put the artifice of building tunnels. Being molested by sparrows which desired to take forcible possession of their nest, a pair of swallows modified the entrance of the latter, so that instead of opening by a simple hole under the eaves of a house, it was carried on in the form of a tunnel.
Linnæus says that the martin, when it builds under the eaves of houses, sometimes is molested by sparrows taking possession of the nest. The pair of martins to which the nest belongs are not strong enough to dislodge the invaders; but they convoke their companions, some of whom guard the captives, whilst others bring clay, close up the entrance of the nest, and leave the sparrows to die miserably. This account has been to a large extent independently confirmed by Jesse, who seems not to have been acquainted with the statement of Linnæus. He writes:—
Swallows seem to entertain the recollection of injury, and to resent it when an opportunity offers. A pair of swallows built their nest under the ledge of a house at Hampton Court. It was no sooner completed than a couple of sparrows drove them from it, notwithstanding the swallows kept up a good resistance, and even brought others to assist them. The intruders were left in peaceable possession of the nest, till the two old birds were obliged to quit it to provide food for their young. They had no sooner departed than several swallows came and broke down the nest; and I saw the young sparrows lying dead on the ground. As soon as the nest was demolished, the swallows began to rebuild it.[185]
Swallows seem to entertain the recollection of injury, and to resent it when an opportunity offers. A pair of swallows built their nest under the ledge of a house at Hampton Court. It was no sooner completed than a couple of sparrows drove them from it, notwithstanding the swallows kept up a good resistance, and even brought others to assist them. The intruders were left in peaceable possession of the nest, till the two old birds were obliged to quit it to provide food for their young. They had no sooner departed than several swallows came and broke down the nest; and I saw the young sparrows lying dead on the ground. As soon as the nest was demolished, the swallows began to rebuild it.[185]
The same author gives the following and somewhat similar case:—
A pair of swallows built their nest against one of the first-floor windows of an uninhabited house in Merrion Square, Dublin. A sparrow, however, took possession of it, and the swallows were repeatedly seen clinging to the nest, and endeavouring to gain an entrance to the abode they had erected with so much labour. All their efforts, however, were defeated by the sparrow, who never once quitted the nest. The perseverance of the swallows was at length exhausted: they took flight, but shortly afterwards returned, accompanied by a number of their congeners, each of them having a piece of dirt in its bill. By this means they succeeded in stopping up the hole, and the intruder was immured in total darkness. Soon afterwards the nest was taken down and exhibited to several persons, with the dead sparrow in it. In this case there appears to have been not only a reasoning faculty, but the birds must have been possessed of the power of communicating their resentment and their wishes to their friends, without whose aid they could not thus have avenged the injury they had sustained.[186]
A pair of swallows built their nest against one of the first-floor windows of an uninhabited house in Merrion Square, Dublin. A sparrow, however, took possession of it, and the swallows were repeatedly seen clinging to the nest, and endeavouring to gain an entrance to the abode they had erected with so much labour. All their efforts, however, were defeated by the sparrow, who never once quitted the nest. The perseverance of the swallows was at length exhausted: they took flight, but shortly afterwards returned, accompanied by a number of their congeners, each of them having a piece of dirt in its bill. By this means they succeeded in stopping up the hole, and the intruder was immured in total darkness. Soon afterwards the nest was taken down and exhibited to several persons, with the dead sparrow in it. In this case there appears to have been not only a reasoning faculty, but the birds must have been possessed of the power of communicating their resentment and their wishes to their friends, without whose aid they could not thus have avenged the injury they had sustained.[186]
That birds sometimes act in concert may also be gathered from the following observations recorded by Mr. Buck:—
I have constantly seen a flock of pelicans, when on the feed, form a line across a lake, and drive the fish before them up its whole length, just as fishermen would with a net.[187]
I have constantly seen a flock of pelicans, when on the feed, form a line across a lake, and drive the fish before them up its whole length, just as fishermen would with a net.[187]
The following is extracted from Sir E. Tennent's 'Natural History of Ceylon,' and displays remarkable intelligence on the part of the crows in that island:—
One of these ingenious marauders, after vainly attitudinising in front of a chained watch-dog, that was lazily gnawing a bone, and after fruitlessly endeavouring to divert his attention by dancing before him, with head awry and eye askance, at length flew away for a moment, and returned bringing a companion which perched itself on a branch a few yards in the rear. The crow's grimaces were now actively renewed, but with no better success, till its confederate, poising itself on its wings, descended with the utmost velocity, striking the dog upon the spine with all the force of its strong beak. The ruse was successful; the dog started with surprise and pain, but not quickly enough to seize his assailant, whilst the bone he had been gnawing was snatched away by the first crow theinstant his head was turned. Two well-authenticated instances of the recurrence of this device came within my knowledge at Colombo, and attest the sagacity and powers of communication and combination possessed by these astute and courageous birds.
One of these ingenious marauders, after vainly attitudinising in front of a chained watch-dog, that was lazily gnawing a bone, and after fruitlessly endeavouring to divert his attention by dancing before him, with head awry and eye askance, at length flew away for a moment, and returned bringing a companion which perched itself on a branch a few yards in the rear. The crow's grimaces were now actively renewed, but with no better success, till its confederate, poising itself on its wings, descended with the utmost velocity, striking the dog upon the spine with all the force of its strong beak. The ruse was successful; the dog started with surprise and pain, but not quickly enough to seize his assailant, whilst the bone he had been gnawing was snatched away by the first crow theinstant his head was turned. Two well-authenticated instances of the recurrence of this device came within my knowledge at Colombo, and attest the sagacity and powers of communication and combination possessed by these astute and courageous birds.
This account, which would be difficult of credence if narrated by a less competent author, is strikingly confirmed by an independent observation on the crows of Japan, which has recently been published by Miss Bird, in whose words I shall render it. She writes:—
In the inn garden I saw a dog eating a piece of carrion in the presence of several of these covetous birds. They evidently said a great deal to each other on the subject, and now and then, one or two of them tried to pull the meat away from him, which he resented. At last a big strong crow succeeded in tearing off a piece, with which he returned to the pine where the others were congregated, and after much earnest speech they all surrounded the dog, and the leading bird dexterously dropped the small piece of meat within reach of his mouth, when he immediately snapped at it, letting go the big piece unwisely for a second, on which two of the crows flew away with it to the pine, and with much fluttering and hilarity they all ate, or rather gorged it, the deceived dog looking vacant and bewildered for a moment, after which he sat under the tree and barked at them inanely. A gentleman told me that he saw a dog holding a piece of meat in like manner in the presence of three crows, which also vainly tried to tear it from him, and after a consultation they separated, two going as near as they dared to the meat, while the third gave the tail a bite sharp enough to make the dog turn round with a squeak, on which the other villains seized the meat, and the three fed triumphantly upon it on the top of a wall.[188]
In the inn garden I saw a dog eating a piece of carrion in the presence of several of these covetous birds. They evidently said a great deal to each other on the subject, and now and then, one or two of them tried to pull the meat away from him, which he resented. At last a big strong crow succeeded in tearing off a piece, with which he returned to the pine where the others were congregated, and after much earnest speech they all surrounded the dog, and the leading bird dexterously dropped the small piece of meat within reach of his mouth, when he immediately snapped at it, letting go the big piece unwisely for a second, on which two of the crows flew away with it to the pine, and with much fluttering and hilarity they all ate, or rather gorged it, the deceived dog looking vacant and bewildered for a moment, after which he sat under the tree and barked at them inanely. A gentleman told me that he saw a dog holding a piece of meat in like manner in the presence of three crows, which also vainly tried to tear it from him, and after a consultation they separated, two going as near as they dared to the meat, while the third gave the tail a bite sharp enough to make the dog turn round with a squeak, on which the other villains seized the meat, and the three fed triumphantly upon it on the top of a wall.[188]
These two independent statements by competent observers of such similar exhibitions of intelligence by crows, justifies us in accepting the fact, remarkable though it be. As further corroboration, however, I shall quote still another independent and closely similar observation, which I find in a letter to me from Sir J. Clarke Jervoise, who says, while writing of rooks which he has observed in England:—
A pheasant used to come very boldly and run off with large pieces of food, which he could only divide by shaking, and he was closely watched by the rooks for the pieces that flew out of his reach. He learned to run off into the shrubs, followed by the rooks, who pulled his tail to make him drop his food.
A pheasant used to come very boldly and run off with large pieces of food, which he could only divide by shaking, and he was closely watched by the rooks for the pieces that flew out of his reach. He learned to run off into the shrubs, followed by the rooks, who pulled his tail to make him drop his food.
I shall next quote a highly interesting observation which seems to have been well made, and which displays remarkable intelligence on the part of the birds described. These are Turnstones, which, as their name implies, turn over stones, &c., in order to obtain as food the sundry small creatures concealed beneath. In this case the observer was Edward. Being concealed in a hollow, and unnoticed by the birds, he saw a pair trying to turn over the body of a stranded cod-fish, three and a half feet long, and buried in the sand to a depth of several inches. He thus describes what he saw:—
Having got fairly settled down in my pebbly observatory, I turned my undivided attention to the birds before me. They were boldly pushing at the fish with their bills, and then with their breasts. Their endeavours, however, were in vain: the object remained immovable. On this they both went round to the opposite side, and began to scrape away the sand from beneath the fish. After removing a considerable quantity, they again came back to the spot which they had left, and went once more to work with their bills and breasts, but with as little apparent success as formerly. Nothing daunted, however, they ran round a second time to the other side, and recommenced their trenching operations with a seeming determination not to be baffled in their object, which evidently was to undermine the dead animal before them, in order that it might be the more easily overturned.While they were thus employed, and after they had laboured in this manner at both sides alternately for nearly half an hour, they were joined by another of their own species, which came flying with rapidity from the neighbouring rocks. Its timely arrival was hailed with evident signs of joy. I was led to this conclusion from the gestures which they exhibited, and from a low but pleasant murmuring noise to which they gave utterance so soon as the new-comer made his appearance. Of their feelings he seemed to be perfectly aware, and he made his reply to them in a similar strain. Their mutual congratulations being over, they all three set to work; and after labouringvigorously for a few minutes in removing the sand, they came round to the other side, and putting their breasts simultaneously to the fish, they succeeded in raising it some inches from the sand, but were unable to turn it over. It went down again into its sandy bed, to the manifest disappointment of the three. Resting, however, for a space, and without leaving their respective positions, which were a little apart the one from the other, they resolved, it appears, to give the work another trial. Lowering themselves, with their breasts pressed close to the sand, they managed to push their bills underneath the fish, which they made to rise about the same height as before. Afterwards, withdrawing their bills, but without losing the advantage which they had gained, they applied their breasts to the object. This they did with such force, and to such purpose, that at length it went over, and rolled several yards down a slight declivity. It was followed to some distance by the birds themselves before they could recover their bearing.[189]
Having got fairly settled down in my pebbly observatory, I turned my undivided attention to the birds before me. They were boldly pushing at the fish with their bills, and then with their breasts. Their endeavours, however, were in vain: the object remained immovable. On this they both went round to the opposite side, and began to scrape away the sand from beneath the fish. After removing a considerable quantity, they again came back to the spot which they had left, and went once more to work with their bills and breasts, but with as little apparent success as formerly. Nothing daunted, however, they ran round a second time to the other side, and recommenced their trenching operations with a seeming determination not to be baffled in their object, which evidently was to undermine the dead animal before them, in order that it might be the more easily overturned.
While they were thus employed, and after they had laboured in this manner at both sides alternately for nearly half an hour, they were joined by another of their own species, which came flying with rapidity from the neighbouring rocks. Its timely arrival was hailed with evident signs of joy. I was led to this conclusion from the gestures which they exhibited, and from a low but pleasant murmuring noise to which they gave utterance so soon as the new-comer made his appearance. Of their feelings he seemed to be perfectly aware, and he made his reply to them in a similar strain. Their mutual congratulations being over, they all three set to work; and after labouringvigorously for a few minutes in removing the sand, they came round to the other side, and putting their breasts simultaneously to the fish, they succeeded in raising it some inches from the sand, but were unable to turn it over. It went down again into its sandy bed, to the manifest disappointment of the three. Resting, however, for a space, and without leaving their respective positions, which were a little apart the one from the other, they resolved, it appears, to give the work another trial. Lowering themselves, with their breasts pressed close to the sand, they managed to push their bills underneath the fish, which they made to rise about the same height as before. Afterwards, withdrawing their bills, but without losing the advantage which they had gained, they applied their breasts to the object. This they did with such force, and to such purpose, that at length it went over, and rolled several yards down a slight declivity. It was followed to some distance by the birds themselves before they could recover their bearing.[189]
I shall now bring this chapter to a close by presenting all the evidence that I have been able to collect with regard to the punishment of malefactors among rooks.
Goldsmith, who used constantly to observe a rookery from his window, says that the selection of a site for the building of a nest is a matter of much anxious deliberation on the part of a young crow couple; the male and female 'examining all the trees of a grove very attentively, and when they have fixed upon a branch that seems fit for their purpose, they continue to sit upon it, and observe it very sedulously for two or three days longer:'—
It often happens that the young couple have made choice of a place too near the mansion of an older pair, who do not choose to be incommoded by such troublesome neighbours; a quarrel, therefore, instantly ensues, in which the old ones are always victorious. The young couple, thus expelled, are obliged again to go through their fatigues—deliberating, examining, and choosing; and, having taken care to keep their due distance, the nest begins again, and their industry deserves commendation. But their activity is often too great in the beginning; they soon grow weary of bringing the materials of their nests from distant places, and they very early perceive that sticks may be provided nearer home, with less honesty indeed, but some degree of address. Away they go, therefore, to pilfer as fast as they can, and, whenever they see a nest unguarded, theytake care to rob it of the very choicest sticks of which it is composed. But these thefts never go unpunished, and probably, upon complaint being made, there is a general punishment inflicted. I have seen eight or ten rooks come upon such occasions, and, setting upon the new nest of the young couple, all at once tear it to pieces in a moment.At length, however, the young pair find the necessity of going more regularly to work. While one flies to fetch the materials, the other sits upon the tree to guard it; and thus in the space of three or four days, with a skirmish now and then between, the pair have filled up a commodious nest, composed of sticks without, and of fibrous roots and long grass within. From the instant the female begins to lay, all hostilities are at an end; not one of the whole grove, that a little before treated her so rudely, will now venture to molest her, so that she brings forth her brood with perfect tranquillity. Such is the severity with which even native rooks are treated by each other; but if a foreign rook should attempt to make himself a denizen of their society, he would meet with no favour, the whole grove would at once be up in arms against him, and expel him without mercy.
It often happens that the young couple have made choice of a place too near the mansion of an older pair, who do not choose to be incommoded by such troublesome neighbours; a quarrel, therefore, instantly ensues, in which the old ones are always victorious. The young couple, thus expelled, are obliged again to go through their fatigues—deliberating, examining, and choosing; and, having taken care to keep their due distance, the nest begins again, and their industry deserves commendation. But their activity is often too great in the beginning; they soon grow weary of bringing the materials of their nests from distant places, and they very early perceive that sticks may be provided nearer home, with less honesty indeed, but some degree of address. Away they go, therefore, to pilfer as fast as they can, and, whenever they see a nest unguarded, theytake care to rob it of the very choicest sticks of which it is composed. But these thefts never go unpunished, and probably, upon complaint being made, there is a general punishment inflicted. I have seen eight or ten rooks come upon such occasions, and, setting upon the new nest of the young couple, all at once tear it to pieces in a moment.
At length, however, the young pair find the necessity of going more regularly to work. While one flies to fetch the materials, the other sits upon the tree to guard it; and thus in the space of three or four days, with a skirmish now and then between, the pair have filled up a commodious nest, composed of sticks without, and of fibrous roots and long grass within. From the instant the female begins to lay, all hostilities are at an end; not one of the whole grove, that a little before treated her so rudely, will now venture to molest her, so that she brings forth her brood with perfect tranquillity. Such is the severity with which even native rooks are treated by each other; but if a foreign rook should attempt to make himself a denizen of their society, he would meet with no favour, the whole grove would at once be up in arms against him, and expel him without mercy.
Couch says ('Illustrations of Instinct,' p. 334et seq.):—
The wrong-doers being discovered, the punishment is appropriate to the offence; by the destruction of their dishonest work they are taught that they who build must find their own bricks or sticks, and not their neighbours', and that if they wish to live in the enjoyment of the advantages of the social condition, they must endeavour to conform their actions to the principles of the rookery of which they have been made members.It is not known what enormities led to the institution of another tribunal of the same kind, called the Crow Court, but according to Dr. Edmonson, in his 'View of the Shetland Islands,' its proceedings are as authoritative and regular, and it is remarkable as occurring in a species (Corvus Cornice) so near akin to the rook. The Crow Court is a sort of general assembling of birds who, in their usual habits, are accustomed to live in pairs, scattered at great distances from each other; when they visit the south or west of England, as they do in severe winters, they are commonly solitary. In their summer haunts in the Shetland Islands, numbers meet together from different points on a particular hill or field; and on these occasions the assembly is not complete, and does not begin its business for a day or two, till, all the deputies having arrived, a general clamouror croaking ensues, and the whole of the court, judges, barristers, ushers, audience, and all, fall upon the two or three prisoners at the bar, and beat them till they kill them. When this is accomplished the court breaks up and quietly disperses.In the northern parts of Scotland (says Dr. Edmonson), and in the Faroe Islands, extraordinary meetings of crows are occasionally known to occur. They collect in great numbers, as if they had all been summoned for the occasion; a few of the flock sit with drooping heads, and others seem as grave as judges, while others again are exceedingly active and noisy; in the course of about one hour they disperse, and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot. These meetings will sometimes continue for a day or two before the object, whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon as they have all arrived, a very general noise ensues; and, shortly after, the whole fall upon one or two individuals, and put them to death. When the execution has been performed, they quietly disperse.
The wrong-doers being discovered, the punishment is appropriate to the offence; by the destruction of their dishonest work they are taught that they who build must find their own bricks or sticks, and not their neighbours', and that if they wish to live in the enjoyment of the advantages of the social condition, they must endeavour to conform their actions to the principles of the rookery of which they have been made members.
It is not known what enormities led to the institution of another tribunal of the same kind, called the Crow Court, but according to Dr. Edmonson, in his 'View of the Shetland Islands,' its proceedings are as authoritative and regular, and it is remarkable as occurring in a species (Corvus Cornice) so near akin to the rook. The Crow Court is a sort of general assembling of birds who, in their usual habits, are accustomed to live in pairs, scattered at great distances from each other; when they visit the south or west of England, as they do in severe winters, they are commonly solitary. In their summer haunts in the Shetland Islands, numbers meet together from different points on a particular hill or field; and on these occasions the assembly is not complete, and does not begin its business for a day or two, till, all the deputies having arrived, a general clamouror croaking ensues, and the whole of the court, judges, barristers, ushers, audience, and all, fall upon the two or three prisoners at the bar, and beat them till they kill them. When this is accomplished the court breaks up and quietly disperses.
In the northern parts of Scotland (says Dr. Edmonson), and in the Faroe Islands, extraordinary meetings of crows are occasionally known to occur. They collect in great numbers, as if they had all been summoned for the occasion; a few of the flock sit with drooping heads, and others seem as grave as judges, while others again are exceedingly active and noisy; in the course of about one hour they disperse, and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot. These meetings will sometimes continue for a day or two before the object, whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon as they have all arrived, a very general noise ensues; and, shortly after, the whole fall upon one or two individuals, and put them to death. When the execution has been performed, they quietly disperse.
Similarly, the Bishop of Carlisle writes in the 'Nineteenth Century' for July 1881:—
I have seen also a jackdaw in the midst of a congregation of rooks, apparently being tried for some misdemeanour. First Jack made a speech, which was answered by a general cawing of the rooks; this subsiding, Jack again took up his parable, and the rooks in their turn replied in chorus. After a time the business, whatever it was, appeared to be settled satisfactorily: if Jack was on his trial, as he seemed to be, he was honourably acquitted by acclamation; for he went to his home in the towers of Ely Cathedral, and the rooks also went their way.
I have seen also a jackdaw in the midst of a congregation of rooks, apparently being tried for some misdemeanour. First Jack made a speech, which was answered by a general cawing of the rooks; this subsiding, Jack again took up his parable, and the rooks in their turn replied in chorus. After a time the business, whatever it was, appeared to be settled satisfactorily: if Jack was on his trial, as he seemed to be, he was honourably acquitted by acclamation; for he went to his home in the towers of Ely Cathedral, and the rooks also went their way.
Lastly, Major-General Sir George Le Grand Jacob, K.C.S.I., C.B., writes to me that while sitting in a verandah in India, he saw three or four crows come and perch on a neighbouring house. They then cawed continuously with such peculiar sound and vigour as to attract his attention. His account proceeds:—
Soon a gathering of crows from all quarters took place, until the roof of the guard-house was blackened by them. Thereupon a prodigious clatter ensued; it was plain that a 'palaver' was going forward. Some of its members, more eager than others, skipping about, I became much interested, and narrowly watched the proceedings, all within a dozen yards of me. After much cawing and clamour, the whole group suddenly rose into the air,and kept circling round half a dozen of their fellows, one of whom had been clearly told off for punishment, for the five repeatedly attacked it in quick succession, allowing no opportunity for their victim to escape, which he was trying to do, until they had cast him fluttering on the ground about thirty yards from my chair. Unfortunately I rushed forward to pick up the bird, prostrate but fluttering on the grass which was like a lawn before the building. I succeeded only in touching it, for it wriggled away from my grasp, and flew greatly crippled and close to the ground into the neighbouring bushes, where I lost sight of it. All the others, after circling round me and chattering, angrily as I thought, flew away, on my resuming my seat, in the direction taken by their victim.
Soon a gathering of crows from all quarters took place, until the roof of the guard-house was blackened by them. Thereupon a prodigious clatter ensued; it was plain that a 'palaver' was going forward. Some of its members, more eager than others, skipping about, I became much interested, and narrowly watched the proceedings, all within a dozen yards of me. After much cawing and clamour, the whole group suddenly rose into the air,and kept circling round half a dozen of their fellows, one of whom had been clearly told off for punishment, for the five repeatedly attacked it in quick succession, allowing no opportunity for their victim to escape, which he was trying to do, until they had cast him fluttering on the ground about thirty yards from my chair. Unfortunately I rushed forward to pick up the bird, prostrate but fluttering on the grass which was like a lawn before the building. I succeeded only in touching it, for it wriggled away from my grasp, and flew greatly crippled and close to the ground into the neighbouring bushes, where I lost sight of it. All the others, after circling round me and chattering, angrily as I thought, flew away, on my resuming my seat, in the direction taken by their victim.
[Since going to press I have seen, through the kindness of Mr. Seebohm, some specimens of cuckoo's eggs coloured in imitation of those belonging to the birds in the nests of which they are laid. There can be no question about the imitation, and I add this note to mitigate the criticism which I have passed upon Professor Newton's theory of the cause. For Mr. Seebohm has pointed out to me that the theory becomes more probable if we consider that a cuckoo reared in the nest of any particular bird is likely afterwards to choose a similar nest for the deposition of its own eggs. Whether or not the memory of a bird would thus act could only, of course, be certainly proved by experiment; but in view of the possibility that it may, Professor Newton's theory becomes more probable than it is if the selection of the appropriate nest is supposed to depend only on inheritance.I most also add that Dr. Sclater has been kind enough to draw my attention to a remarkable description of a species of Bower-bird, published by Dr. Beccari in theGardener's Chroniclefor March 16, 1879. This species is called the Gardener Bower-bird (Amblyornis niornata), and inhabits New Guinea. The animal is about the size of a turtle-dove, and its bower—or rather hut—is built round the stem of a tree in the shape of a cone, with a space between the stem of the tree and the walls of the hut. The latter are composed of stems of an orchid with their leaves on—this particular plant being chosen by the birds apparently because its leaves remain long fresh. But the most extraordinary structure is the garden, which is thus described by Dr. Beccari:—'Before the cottage there is a meadow of moss. This is brought to the spot and left free from grass, stones, or anything which would offend the eye. On this green turf flowers and fruits of pretty colour are placed, so as to form an elegant little garden. The greater part of the decoration is collected round the entrance to the nest, and it would appear that the husband offers these his daily gifts to his wife. The objects are very various, but always of a vivid colour. There were some fruits of a Garcinia like a small-sized apple. Others were the fruits of Gardencias of a deep yellow colour in the interior. I saw also small rosy fruits, probably of a Scitamineous plant, and beautiful rosy flowers of a new Vaccinium. There were also fungi and mottled insects placed on the turf. As soon as the objects are faded they are moved to the back of the hut.' There is a fine-coloured plate of this bird in its garden, published in theBirds of New Guinea, by Mr. Gould Part ix., 1879.]
[Since going to press I have seen, through the kindness of Mr. Seebohm, some specimens of cuckoo's eggs coloured in imitation of those belonging to the birds in the nests of which they are laid. There can be no question about the imitation, and I add this note to mitigate the criticism which I have passed upon Professor Newton's theory of the cause. For Mr. Seebohm has pointed out to me that the theory becomes more probable if we consider that a cuckoo reared in the nest of any particular bird is likely afterwards to choose a similar nest for the deposition of its own eggs. Whether or not the memory of a bird would thus act could only, of course, be certainly proved by experiment; but in view of the possibility that it may, Professor Newton's theory becomes more probable than it is if the selection of the appropriate nest is supposed to depend only on inheritance.
I most also add that Dr. Sclater has been kind enough to draw my attention to a remarkable description of a species of Bower-bird, published by Dr. Beccari in theGardener's Chroniclefor March 16, 1879. This species is called the Gardener Bower-bird (Amblyornis niornata), and inhabits New Guinea. The animal is about the size of a turtle-dove, and its bower—or rather hut—is built round the stem of a tree in the shape of a cone, with a space between the stem of the tree and the walls of the hut. The latter are composed of stems of an orchid with their leaves on—this particular plant being chosen by the birds apparently because its leaves remain long fresh. But the most extraordinary structure is the garden, which is thus described by Dr. Beccari:—'Before the cottage there is a meadow of moss. This is brought to the spot and left free from grass, stones, or anything which would offend the eye. On this green turf flowers and fruits of pretty colour are placed, so as to form an elegant little garden. The greater part of the decoration is collected round the entrance to the nest, and it would appear that the husband offers these his daily gifts to his wife. The objects are very various, but always of a vivid colour. There were some fruits of a Garcinia like a small-sized apple. Others were the fruits of Gardencias of a deep yellow colour in the interior. I saw also small rosy fruits, probably of a Scitamineous plant, and beautiful rosy flowers of a new Vaccinium. There were also fungi and mottled insects placed on the turf. As soon as the objects are faded they are moved to the back of the hut.' There is a fine-coloured plate of this bird in its garden, published in theBirds of New Guinea, by Mr. Gould Part ix., 1879.]
MAMMALS.
I shalldevote this chapter to the psychology of all the Mammalia which present any features of psychological interest, with the exception of the rodents, the elephant, the dog and cat tribe among Carnivora, and the Primates—all of which I shall reserve for separate treatment.
In the 'Transactions of the Linnean Society,' Major Mitchell gives an interesting account of the structure reared by a small Australian marsupial (Conilurus constructor) for the purposes of defence against the dingo dog. It consists of a large pile of dry sticks and brushwood, 'big enough to make two or three good cart-loads.' Each stick and fragment is closely intertwined or woven with the rest, so that the whole forms a solid, compact mass. In the middle of this large structure is the nest of the animal.
The marsupials are as low in the scale of mammalian intelligence as they are in that of mammalian structure: so that, except the above, I have met with no fact connected with the psychology of this group that is worth quoting, except, perhaps, the following, which appears to show deliberation and decision on the part of the kangaroo. Jesse writes:—
A gentleman who had resided for several years in New South Wales related the following circumstance, which he assured me he had frequently witnessed while hunting the kangaroo: it furnishes a strong proof of the affection of that animal for her young, even when her own life has been placed in themost imminent danger. He informed me that, when a female kangaroo has been hard pressed by dogs, he has seen her, while she has been making her bounds, put her fore-paws into her pouch, take a young one from it, and then throw it as far on one side as she possibly could out of the way of the dogs. But for this manœuvre her own life and that of her young one would have been sacrificed. By getting rid of the latter she has frequently effected her escape, and probably returned afterwards to seek for her offspring.
A gentleman who had resided for several years in New South Wales related the following circumstance, which he assured me he had frequently witnessed while hunting the kangaroo: it furnishes a strong proof of the affection of that animal for her young, even when her own life has been placed in themost imminent danger. He informed me that, when a female kangaroo has been hard pressed by dogs, he has seen her, while she has been making her bounds, put her fore-paws into her pouch, take a young one from it, and then throw it as far on one side as she possibly could out of the way of the dogs. But for this manœuvre her own life and that of her young one would have been sacrificed. By getting rid of the latter she has frequently effected her escape, and probably returned afterwards to seek for her offspring.
The following is quoted from Thompson:—
In 1811, says Mr. Scoresby, one of my harpooners struck a sucker, with the hope of leading to the capture of the mother. Presently she arose close to the 'fast boat,' and seizing the young one, dragged about 600 feet of line out of the boat with remarkable force and velocity. Again she rose to the surface, darted furiously to and fro, frequently stopped short or suddenly changed her direction, and gave every possible intimation of extreme agony. For a length of time she continued thus to act, though pursued closely by the boats; and, inspired with courage and resolution by her concern for her young, seemed regardless of the danger's which surrounded her. At length one of the boats approached so near that a harpoon was hove at her; it hit, but did not attach itself. A second harpoon was struck, but this also failed to penetrate; but a third was more successful, and held. Still she did not attempt to escape, but allowed other boats to approach; so that in a few minutes three more harpoons were fastened, and in the course of an hour afterwards she was killed.[190]
In 1811, says Mr. Scoresby, one of my harpooners struck a sucker, with the hope of leading to the capture of the mother. Presently she arose close to the 'fast boat,' and seizing the young one, dragged about 600 feet of line out of the boat with remarkable force and velocity. Again she rose to the surface, darted furiously to and fro, frequently stopped short or suddenly changed her direction, and gave every possible intimation of extreme agony. For a length of time she continued thus to act, though pursued closely by the boats; and, inspired with courage and resolution by her concern for her young, seemed regardless of the danger's which surrounded her. At length one of the boats approached so near that a harpoon was hove at her; it hit, but did not attach itself. A second harpoon was struck, but this also failed to penetrate; but a third was more successful, and held. Still she did not attempt to escape, but allowed other boats to approach; so that in a few minutes three more harpoons were fastened, and in the course of an hour afterwards she was killed.[190]
Mr. Saville Kent communicates an article to 'Nature' (vol. viii., p. 229) on 'Intellect of Porpoises.' He says:—
The keeper in charge of these interesting animals is now in the habit of summoning them to their meals by the call of a whistle; his approaching footsteps, even, cause great excitement in their movements. . . . . The curiosity attributed to these creatures, as illustrated by the experiences of Mr. Matthew Williams, receives ample confirmation from their habits and confinement. A new arrival is at once subjected to the most importunate attention, and, advancing from familiarity to contemptif disapproved of, soon becomes the object of attack and persecution. A few dog-fish (AcanthiasandMastelus), three or four feet long, now fell victims to their tyranny, the porpoises seizing them by their tails, and swimming off with and shaking them in a manner scarcely conducive to their comfort or dignified appearance, reminding the spectator of a large dog worrying a rat. . . . . On one occasion I witnessed the twoCetaceaacting evidently in concert against one of these unwieldy fish (skates), the latter swimming close to the top of the water, and seeking momentary respite from its relentless enemies by lifting its unfortunate caudal appendage high above its surface—the peculiar tail of the skate being the object of sport to the porpoises, which seized it in their mouths as a convenient handle whereby to pull the animal about, and worry it incessantly.
The keeper in charge of these interesting animals is now in the habit of summoning them to their meals by the call of a whistle; his approaching footsteps, even, cause great excitement in their movements. . . . . The curiosity attributed to these creatures, as illustrated by the experiences of Mr. Matthew Williams, receives ample confirmation from their habits and confinement. A new arrival is at once subjected to the most importunate attention, and, advancing from familiarity to contemptif disapproved of, soon becomes the object of attack and persecution. A few dog-fish (AcanthiasandMastelus), three or four feet long, now fell victims to their tyranny, the porpoises seizing them by their tails, and swimming off with and shaking them in a manner scarcely conducive to their comfort or dignified appearance, reminding the spectator of a large dog worrying a rat. . . . . On one occasion I witnessed the twoCetaceaacting evidently in concert against one of these unwieldy fish (skates), the latter swimming close to the top of the water, and seeking momentary respite from its relentless enemies by lifting its unfortunate caudal appendage high above its surface—the peculiar tail of the skate being the object of sport to the porpoises, which seized it in their mouths as a convenient handle whereby to pull the animal about, and worry it incessantly.
In a subsequent number of 'Nature' (vol. ix., p. 42) Mr. C. Fox writes:—
Several years ago a herd of porpoises was scattered by a net which I had got made to enclose some of them. . . . . The whole 'sculle' was much alarmed, and two were secured. I conclude that their companions retained a vivid remembrance of the sea-fight, as theseCetacea, although frequent visitants in this harbour (Falmouth) previously, and often watched for, were not seen in it again for two years or more.
Several years ago a herd of porpoises was scattered by a net which I had got made to enclose some of them. . . . . The whole 'sculle' was much alarmed, and two were secured. I conclude that their companions retained a vivid remembrance of the sea-fight, as theseCetacea, although frequent visitants in this harbour (Falmouth) previously, and often watched for, were not seen in it again for two years or more.
The horse is not so intelligent an animal as any of the larger Carnivora, while among herbivorous quadrupeds his sagacity is greatly exceeded by that of the elephant, and in a lesser degree by that of his congener the ass. On the other hand, his intelligence is a grade or two above that of perhaps any ruminant or other herbivorous quadruped.
The emotional life of this animal is remarkable, in that it appears to admit of undergoing a sudden transformation in the hands of the 'horse-tamer.' The celebrated results obtained by Rarey in this connection have since been repeated with more or less success by many persons in various parts of the world, and the 'method' appears to be in all cases essentially the same. The untamed and apparently untamable animal has its fore-leg or legs strapped up, is cast on its side and allowed tostruggle for a while. It is then subjected to various manipulations, which, without necessarily causing pain, make the animal feel its helplessness and the mastery of the operator. The extraordinary fact is that, after having once felt this, the spirit or emotional life of the animal undergoes a complete and sudden change, so that from having been 'wild' it becomes 'tame.' In some cases there are subsequent relapses, but these are easily checked. Even the truly 'wild' horse from the prairie admits of being completely subdued in a marvellously short time by the Gauchos, who employ an essentially similar method, although the struggle is here much more fierce and prolonged.[191]The same may be said of the taming of wild elephants, although in this case the facts are not nearly so remarkable from a psychological point of view, seeing that the process of taming is so much more slow.
Another curious emotional feature in the horse is the liability of all the other mental faculties of the animal to become abandoned to that of terror. For I think I am right in saying that the horse is the only animal which, under the influence of fear, loses the possession of every other sense in one mad and mastering desire to run. With its entire mental life thus overwhelmed by the flood of a single emotion, the horse not only loses, as other animals lose, 'presence of mind,' or a due balance among the distinctively intellectual faculties, but even the avenues of special sense become stopped, so that the wholly demented animal may run headlong and at terrific speed against a stone wall. I have known a hare come to grief in a somewhat similar fashion when hotly pursued by a dog; this, however, was clearly owing to the hare looking behind instead of before, in a manner not, under the circumstances, unwise; but, as I have said, there is no animal except the horse whose whole psychology is thus liable to be completely dominated by a single emotion.
As for its other emotions, the horse is certainly an affectionate animal, pleased at being petted, jealous ofcompanions receiving favour, greatly enjoying play with others of its kind, and also the sport of the hunting-field. Lastly, horses exhibit pride in a marked degree, as do also mules. Such animals, when well kept, are unmistakably pleased with gay trappings, so that 'in Spain, as a punishment for disobedience, it is usual to strip the animal of its gaudy coronal and bells, and to transfer them to another' (Thompson).
The memory of the horse is remarkably good, as almost every one must have had occasion to observe who has driven one over roads which the animal may have only once traversed a long time before. As showing the duration of memory I may quote the following letter to Mr. Darwin from the Rev. Rowland H. Wedgwood, which I find among the MSS. of the former:—
I want to tell you of an instance of long memory in a horse. I have just driven my pony down from London here, and though she has not been here for eight years, she remembered her way quite well, and made a bolt for the stables where I used to keep her.
I want to tell you of an instance of long memory in a horse. I have just driven my pony down from London here, and though she has not been here for eight years, she remembered her way quite well, and made a bolt for the stables where I used to keep her.
A few instances of the display of intelligence by members of the horse tribe may bring this section to a close.
Mr. W. J. Fleming writes me concerning a vicious horse he had which, while being groomed, frequently used to throw a ball of wood attached to his halter at the groom. He did so by flexing his fetlock and jamming the ball between the pastern and the leg, then throwing the ball backwards 'with great force.'
I myself had a horse which was very clever at slipping his halter after he knew that the coachman was in bed. He would then draw out the two sticks in the pipe of the oat-bin, so as to let all the oats run down from the bin above upon the stable floor. Of course he must have observed that this was the manner in which the coachman obtained the oats, and desiring to obtain them, did what he had observed to be required. Similarly, on other occasions he used to turn the water-tap to obtain a drink, and pull the window cord to open the window on hot nights.
The anecdote books contain several stories very much alike concerning horses spontaneously visiting blacksmiths' shops when they require shoeing, or feel their shoes uncomfortable. The appended account, vouched for as it is by a good authority, may be taken as corroborative of these stories. I quote the account from 'Nature' (May 19, 1881):—
The following instance of animal intelligence is sent to us by Dr. John Rae, F.R.S., who states that the Mr. William Sinclair mentioned is respectable and trustworthy. The anecdote is taken from the 'Orkney Herald' of May 11:—"A well-authenticated and extraordinary case of the sagacity of the Shetland pony has just come under our notice. A year or two ago Mr. William Sinclair, pupil-teacher, Holm, imported one of these little animals from Shetland on which to ride to and from school, his residence being at a considerable distance from the school buildings. Up to that time the animal had been unshod, but some time afterwards Mr. Sinclair had it shod by Mr. Pratt, the parish blacksmith. The other day Mr. Pratt, whose smithy is a long distance from Mr. Sinclair's house, saw the pony, without halter or anything upon it, walking up to where he was working. Thinking the animal had strayed from home, he drove it off, throwing stones after the beast to make it run homewards. This had the desired effect for a short time; but Mr. Pratt had only got fairly at work once more in the smithy when the pony's head again made its appearance at the door. On proceeding a second time outside to drive the pony away, Mr. Pratt, with a blacksmith's instinct, took a look at the pony's feet, when he observed that one of its shoes had been lost. Having made a shoe he put it on, and then waited to see what the animal would do. For a moment it looked at the blacksmith as if asking whether he was done, then pawed once or twice to see if the newly-shod foot was comfortable, and finally gave a pleased neigh, erected its head, and started homewards at a brisk trot. The owner was also exceedingly surprised to find the animal at home completely shod the same evening, and it was only on calling at the smithy some days afterwards that he learned the full extent of his pony's sagacity."
The following instance of animal intelligence is sent to us by Dr. John Rae, F.R.S., who states that the Mr. William Sinclair mentioned is respectable and trustworthy. The anecdote is taken from the 'Orkney Herald' of May 11:—"A well-authenticated and extraordinary case of the sagacity of the Shetland pony has just come under our notice. A year or two ago Mr. William Sinclair, pupil-teacher, Holm, imported one of these little animals from Shetland on which to ride to and from school, his residence being at a considerable distance from the school buildings. Up to that time the animal had been unshod, but some time afterwards Mr. Sinclair had it shod by Mr. Pratt, the parish blacksmith. The other day Mr. Pratt, whose smithy is a long distance from Mr. Sinclair's house, saw the pony, without halter or anything upon it, walking up to where he was working. Thinking the animal had strayed from home, he drove it off, throwing stones after the beast to make it run homewards. This had the desired effect for a short time; but Mr. Pratt had only got fairly at work once more in the smithy when the pony's head again made its appearance at the door. On proceeding a second time outside to drive the pony away, Mr. Pratt, with a blacksmith's instinct, took a look at the pony's feet, when he observed that one of its shoes had been lost. Having made a shoe he put it on, and then waited to see what the animal would do. For a moment it looked at the blacksmith as if asking whether he was done, then pawed once or twice to see if the newly-shod foot was comfortable, and finally gave a pleased neigh, erected its head, and started homewards at a brisk trot. The owner was also exceedingly surprised to find the animal at home completely shod the same evening, and it was only on calling at the smithy some days afterwards that he learned the full extent of his pony's sagacity."
In 'Nature,' also (vol. xx., p. 21), Mr. Claypole, of Antioch Cottage, Ohio, writes as follows:—
A friend of mine is employed on a farm near Toronto, Ontario, where a horse, belonging to the wife of the farmer, isnever required to work, but is allowed to live the life of a gentleman, for the following reason. Some years ago the lady above mentioned fell off a plank bridge into a stream when the water was deep. The horse, which was feeding in a field close by, ran to the spot, and held her up with his teeth till assistance arrived, thus probably saving her life. Was this reason or instinct?
A friend of mine is employed on a farm near Toronto, Ontario, where a horse, belonging to the wife of the farmer, isnever required to work, but is allowed to live the life of a gentleman, for the following reason. Some years ago the lady above mentioned fell off a plank bridge into a stream when the water was deep. The horse, which was feeding in a field close by, ran to the spot, and held her up with his teeth till assistance arrived, thus probably saving her life. Was this reason or instinct?
Mr. Strickland, also writing to 'Nature' (vol. xix., p. 410), says:—
A mare here had her first foal when she was ten or twelve years old. She was blind of one eye. The result was, she frequently trod upon the foal or knocked it over when it happened to be on the blind side of her, in consequence of which the foal died when it was three or four months old. The next year she had another foal, and we fully expected the result would be the same. But no; from the day it was born she never moved in the stall without looking round to see where the foal was, and she never trod upon it or injured it in any way. You see that reason did not teach her that she was killing her first foal; her care for the second was the result of memory, imagination, and thought after the foal was dead, and before the next one was born. The only difference that I can see between the reasoning power of men and animals is that the latter is applied only to the very limited space of providing for their bodily wants, whereas that of men embraces a vast amount of other objects besides this.
A mare here had her first foal when she was ten or twelve years old. She was blind of one eye. The result was, she frequently trod upon the foal or knocked it over when it happened to be on the blind side of her, in consequence of which the foal died when it was three or four months old. The next year she had another foal, and we fully expected the result would be the same. But no; from the day it was born she never moved in the stall without looking round to see where the foal was, and she never trod upon it or injured it in any way. You see that reason did not teach her that she was killing her first foal; her care for the second was the result of memory, imagination, and thought after the foal was dead, and before the next one was born. The only difference that I can see between the reasoning power of men and animals is that the latter is applied only to the very limited space of providing for their bodily wants, whereas that of men embraces a vast amount of other objects besides this.
Houzeau (vol. ii., p. 207) says that the mules used in the tramways at New Orleans prove that they are able to count five; for they have to make five journeys from one end of the tramway to the other before they are released, and they make four of these journeys without showing that they expect to be released, but bray at the end of the fifth. This observation, however, requires to be confirmed, for unless carefully made we must suppose that the fact may be due to the mules seeing the ostler waiting to take them out.
Mr. Samuel Goodbehere, solicitor, writes me from Birmingham the following instance as having fallen under his own observation:—