I used to open the gate in the railings round the pond, and call out 'Tommy' (the name I had given it), and the frog would jump out from the bushes, dive into the water, and swim across to me—get on my hand sometimes. When I called 'Tommy,' it would nearly always come, whatever the time of day, though it was only fed after breakfast; but it seemed quite tame.
I used to open the gate in the railings round the pond, and call out 'Tommy' (the name I had given it), and the frog would jump out from the bushes, dive into the water, and swim across to me—get on my hand sometimes. When I called 'Tommy,' it would nearly always come, whatever the time of day, though it was only fed after breakfast; but it seemed quite tame.
A very similar case is recorded by Mr. Pennent[132]of a toad which was domesticated for thirty-six years, and knew all his friends.
There is no doubt that frogs are able to appreciate coming changes of weather, and to adapt their movements in anticipation of them; but these facts show delicate sensibility rather than remarkable intelligence.
The following observation of Edward, the Scottish naturalist, however, shows considerable powers of observation on the part of frogs. After describing the great noise made by a number of frogs on a moonlight night, he says:—
Presently, when the whole of the vocalists had reached their highest notes, they became hushed in an instant. I was amazed at this, and began to wonder at the sudden termination of the concert. But, looking about, I observed a brown owl drop down, with the silence of death, on to the top of a low dyke close by the orchestra.[133]
Presently, when the whole of the vocalists had reached their highest notes, they became hushed in an instant. I was amazed at this, and began to wonder at the sudden termination of the concert. But, looking about, I observed a brown owl drop down, with the silence of death, on to the top of a low dyke close by the orchestra.[133]
Like the other cold-blooded Vertebrata, the reptiles are characterised by a sluggishness and low development of mental power which is to some extent proverbial. Nevertheless, that some members of the class present vivid emotions is not to be questioned. Thus, to quote from Thompson:—
The common guana (Lacerta iguana) is naturally extremely gentle and harmless. Its appearance, however, is much againstit, especially when agitated by fear or anger. Its eyes then seem on fire; it hisses like a serpent, swells out the pouch under its throat, lashes about its long tail, erects the scales on its back, and extending its wide jaws, holds its head, covered over with tubercles, in a menacing attitude. The male, during the spring of the year, exhibits great attachment towards the female. Throwing aside his usual gentleness of character, he defends her even with fury, attacking with undaunted courage every animal that seems inclined to injure her; and at this time, though his bite is by no means poisonous, he fastens so firmly, that it is necessary either to kill him or to beat him with great violence on the nose, in order to make him quit his hold.[134]
The common guana (Lacerta iguana) is naturally extremely gentle and harmless. Its appearance, however, is much againstit, especially when agitated by fear or anger. Its eyes then seem on fire; it hisses like a serpent, swells out the pouch under its throat, lashes about its long tail, erects the scales on its back, and extending its wide jaws, holds its head, covered over with tubercles, in a menacing attitude. The male, during the spring of the year, exhibits great attachment towards the female. Throwing aside his usual gentleness of character, he defends her even with fury, attacking with undaunted courage every animal that seems inclined to injure her; and at this time, though his bite is by no means poisonous, he fastens so firmly, that it is necessary either to kill him or to beat him with great violence on the nose, in order to make him quit his hold.[134]
Several species of snake incubate their eggs and show parental affection for their young when they are hatched out; but neither in these nor in any other of their emotions do the reptiles appear to rise much above the level of fish. The case, however, which I shall afterwards quote, of the tame snakes kept by Mr. and Mrs. Mann, seems to show a somewhat higher degree of emotional development than could be pointed to as occurring in any lower Vertebrata. Moreover, according to Pliny, so much affection subsists between the male and female asp, that when the one is killed the other seeks to avenge its death; and this statement is so far confirmed—or rather, its origin explained—by Sir Emerson Tennent that he says when a cobra is killed, its mate is often found on the same spot a day or two afterwards.
Passing on to the general intelligence of reptiles, we shall find that this also, although low as compared with the intelligence of birds and mammals, is conspicuously higher than that of fish or batrachians.
Taking first the case of special instincts, Mr. W. F. Barrett, in a letter to Mr. Darwin, bearing the date May 6, 1873, and contained among the MSS. already alluded to, gives an account of cutting open with a penknife the egg of an alligator just about to hatch. The young animal, although blind, 'instantly laid hold of the finger, and attempted to bite.' Similarly, Dr. Davy, in his 'Account of Ceylon,' gives an interesting observation of his own on a young crocodile, which he cut out of the egg,and which, as soon as it escaped, started off in a direct line for a neighbouring stream. Dr. Davy placed his stick before it to try to make the little animal deviate from its course; but it stoutly resisted the opposition, and raised itself into a posture of offence, just as an older animal would have done.
Humboldt made exactly the same observation with regard to young turtles, and he remarks that as the young normally quit the egg at night, they cannot see the water which they seek, and must therefore be guided to it by discerning the direction in which the air is most humid. He adds that experiments were made which consisted in putting the newly hatched animals into bags, carrying them to some distance from the shore, and liberating them with their tails turned towards the water. It was invariably found that the young animals immediately faced round, and took without hesitation the shortest way to the water.
Scarcely less remarkable than the instincts of the young turtles are those of the old ones. Their watchful timidity at the time of laying their eggs is thus described by Bates:—
Great precautions are obliged to be taken to avoid disturbing the sensitive turtles, who, previous to crawling ashore to lay, assemble in great shoals off the sand-bank. The men during this time take care not to show themselves, and warn off any fisherman who wishes to pass near the place. Their fires are made in a deep hollow near the borders of the forest, so that the smoke may not be visible. The passage of a boat through the shallow waters where the animals are congregated, or the sight of a man or a fire on the sand-bank, would prevent the turtles from leaving the water that night to lay their eggs; and if the causes of alarm were repeated once or twice they would forsake the praia for some other quieter place. . . . . I rose from my hammock by daylight, shivering with cold—a praia, on account of the great radiation of heat in the night from the sand, being towards the dawn the coldest place that can be found in this climate. Cardozo and the men were already up watching the turtles. The sentinels had erected for this purpose a stage about fifty feet high, on a tall tree near their station, the ascent to which was by a roughly made ladder of woody lianas. They are enabled, by observing the turtles from this watch-tower, to ascertainthe date of successive deposits of eggs, and thus guide the commandante in fixing the time for the general invitation to the Ega people. The turtles lay their eggs by night, leaving the water, when nothing disturbs them, in vast crowds, and crawling to the central and highest part of the praia. These places are, of course, the last to go under water when, in unusually wet seasons, the river rises before the eggs are hatched by the heat of the sand. One could almost believe, from this, that the animals used forethought in choosing a place; but it is simply one of those many instances in animals where unconscious habit has the same result as conscious prevision. The hours between midnight and dawn are the busiest. The turtles excavate with their broad webbed paws deep holes in the fine sand: the first comer, in each case, making a pit about three feet deep, laying its eggs (about 120 in number) and covering them with sand; the next making its deposit at the top of that of its predecessor, and so on until every pit is full. The whole body of turtles frequenting a praia does not finish laying in less than fourteen or fifteen days, even when there is no interruption. When all have done, the area (called by the Brazilianstaboleiro) over which they have excavated is distinguishable from the rest of the praia only by signs of the sand having been a little disturbed.[135]
Great precautions are obliged to be taken to avoid disturbing the sensitive turtles, who, previous to crawling ashore to lay, assemble in great shoals off the sand-bank. The men during this time take care not to show themselves, and warn off any fisherman who wishes to pass near the place. Their fires are made in a deep hollow near the borders of the forest, so that the smoke may not be visible. The passage of a boat through the shallow waters where the animals are congregated, or the sight of a man or a fire on the sand-bank, would prevent the turtles from leaving the water that night to lay their eggs; and if the causes of alarm were repeated once or twice they would forsake the praia for some other quieter place. . . . . I rose from my hammock by daylight, shivering with cold—a praia, on account of the great radiation of heat in the night from the sand, being towards the dawn the coldest place that can be found in this climate. Cardozo and the men were already up watching the turtles. The sentinels had erected for this purpose a stage about fifty feet high, on a tall tree near their station, the ascent to which was by a roughly made ladder of woody lianas. They are enabled, by observing the turtles from this watch-tower, to ascertainthe date of successive deposits of eggs, and thus guide the commandante in fixing the time for the general invitation to the Ega people. The turtles lay their eggs by night, leaving the water, when nothing disturbs them, in vast crowds, and crawling to the central and highest part of the praia. These places are, of course, the last to go under water when, in unusually wet seasons, the river rises before the eggs are hatched by the heat of the sand. One could almost believe, from this, that the animals used forethought in choosing a place; but it is simply one of those many instances in animals where unconscious habit has the same result as conscious prevision. The hours between midnight and dawn are the busiest. The turtles excavate with their broad webbed paws deep holes in the fine sand: the first comer, in each case, making a pit about three feet deep, laying its eggs (about 120 in number) and covering them with sand; the next making its deposit at the top of that of its predecessor, and so on until every pit is full. The whole body of turtles frequenting a praia does not finish laying in less than fourteen or fifteen days, even when there is no interruption. When all have done, the area (called by the Brazilianstaboleiro) over which they have excavated is distinguishable from the rest of the praia only by signs of the sand having been a little disturbed.[135]
The same naturalist says of the alligator,
These little incidents show the timidity and cowardice (? prudence and caution) of the alligator. He never attacks man when his intended victim is on his guard; but he is cunning enough to know when this may be done with impunity. Of this we had proof a few days afterwards, &c.[136]
These little incidents show the timidity and cowardice (? prudence and caution) of the alligator. He never attacks man when his intended victim is on his guard; but he is cunning enough to know when this may be done with impunity. Of this we had proof a few days afterwards, &c.[136]
Of the alligator, Jesse writes:[137]—
But a most singular instance of attachment between two animals, whose natures and habits were most opposite, was related to me by a person on whose veracity I can place the greatest reliance. He had resided for nine years in the American States, where he superintended the execution of some extensive works for the American Government. One of these works consisted in the erection of a beacon in a swamp in one of the rivers,where he caught a young alligator. This animal he made so perfectly tame that it followed him about the house like a dog, scrambling up the stairs after him, and showing much affection and docility. Its great favourite, however, was a cat, and the friendship was mutual. When the cat was reposing herself before the fire (this was at New York), the alligator would lay himself down, place his head upon the cat, and in this attitude go to sleep. If the cat was absent the alligator was restless; but he always appeared happy when the cat was near him. The only instance in which he showed any ferocity was in attacking a fox, which was tied up in the yard. Probably, however, the fox resented some playful advances which the other had made, and thus called forth the anger of the alligator. In attacking the fox he did not make use of his mouth, but beat him with so much severity with his tail, that, had not the chain which confined the fox broken, he would probably have killed him. The alligator was fed on raw flesh, and sometimes with milk, for which he showed a great fondness. In cold weather he was shut up in a box, with wool in it; but, having been forgotten one frosty night, he was found dead in the morning. This is not, I believe, a solitary instance of amphibia becoming tame, and showing a fondness for those who have been kind to them. Blumenbach mentions that crocodiles have been tamed; and two instances have occurred under my own observation of toads knowing their benefactors, and coming to meet them with considerable alacrity.
But a most singular instance of attachment between two animals, whose natures and habits were most opposite, was related to me by a person on whose veracity I can place the greatest reliance. He had resided for nine years in the American States, where he superintended the execution of some extensive works for the American Government. One of these works consisted in the erection of a beacon in a swamp in one of the rivers,where he caught a young alligator. This animal he made so perfectly tame that it followed him about the house like a dog, scrambling up the stairs after him, and showing much affection and docility. Its great favourite, however, was a cat, and the friendship was mutual. When the cat was reposing herself before the fire (this was at New York), the alligator would lay himself down, place his head upon the cat, and in this attitude go to sleep. If the cat was absent the alligator was restless; but he always appeared happy when the cat was near him. The only instance in which he showed any ferocity was in attacking a fox, which was tied up in the yard. Probably, however, the fox resented some playful advances which the other had made, and thus called forth the anger of the alligator. In attacking the fox he did not make use of his mouth, but beat him with so much severity with his tail, that, had not the chain which confined the fox broken, he would probably have killed him. The alligator was fed on raw flesh, and sometimes with milk, for which he showed a great fondness. In cold weather he was shut up in a box, with wool in it; but, having been forgotten one frosty night, he was found dead in the morning. This is not, I believe, a solitary instance of amphibia becoming tame, and showing a fondness for those who have been kind to them. Blumenbach mentions that crocodiles have been tamed; and two instances have occurred under my own observation of toads knowing their benefactors, and coming to meet them with considerable alacrity.
With regard to the higher intelligence of reptiles, I may quote the following instances.
Three or four different correspondents tell me of cases which they have themselves observed, of snakes and tortoises unmistakably distinguishing persons. In one of these cases the tortoise would come to the call of the favoured person, and when it came would manifest its affection by tapping the boot of this person with its mouth; 'but it would not answer anyone else.' A separation of some weeks did not affect the memory of this tortoise for his friend.[138]
The following interesting observation on the intelligence of snakes shows, not only that these animals are well able to distinguish persons, and that they remember their friends for a period of at least six weeks, but also that they possess an intensity of amiable emotion scarcely to be expected in this class. Clearly the snakes in question were not only perfectly tame, but entertained a remarkable affection for those who tended and petted them. The facts were communicated to me by Mr. Walter Severn, the well-known artist, who was a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Mann, the gentleman and his wife to whom the snakes belonged. Mr. and Mrs. Mann having got into trouble with their neighbours on account of the fear and dislike which their pets occasioned, legal proceedings were instituted, and so the matter came before the public. Mr. Severn then wrote a letter to theTimes, in order to show that the animals were harmless. From this letter the following is an extract:—
I happen to know the gentleman and lady against whom a complaint has been made because of the snakes they keep, and I should like to give a short account of my first visit to them.Mr. M., after we had talked for a little time, asked if I had any fear of snakes; and after a timid 'No, not very,' from me, he produced out of a cupboard a large boa-constrictor, a python, and several small snakes, which at once made themselves at home on the writing-table among pens, ink, and books. I was at first a good deal startled, especially when the two large snakes coiled round and round my friend, and began to notice me with their bright eyes and forked tongues; but soon finding how tame they were, I ceased to feel frightened. After a short time Mr. M. expressed a wish to call Mrs. M., and left me with the boa deposited on an arm-chair. I felt a little queer when the animal began gradually to come near, but the entrance of my host and hostess, followed by two charming little children, put me at my ease again. After the first interchange of civilities, she and the children went at once to the boa, and, calling it by the most endearing names, allowed it to twine itself most gracefully round about them. I sat talking for a long time, lost in wonder at the picture before me. Two beautiful little girls with their charming mother sat before me with a boa-constrictor (as thick round as a small tree) twining playfully round the lady's waist and neck, and forming a kind of turban round herhead, expecting to be petted and made much of like a kitten. The children over and over again took its head in their hands and kissed its mouth, pushing aside its forked tongue in doing so. The animal seemed much pleased, but kept turning its head continually towards me with a curious gaze, until I allowed it to nestle its head for a moment up my sleeve. Nothing could be prettier than to see this splendid serpent coiled all round Mrs. M. while she moved about the room, and when she stood to pour out our coffee. He seemed to adjust his weight so nicely, and every coil with its beautiful marking was relieved by the black velvet dress of the lady. It was long before I could make up my mind to end the visit, and I returned soon after with a friend (a distinguished M.P.[139]), to see my snake-taming acquaintance again. . . . .These (the snakes) seemed very obedient, and remained in their cupboard when told to do so.About a year ago Mr. and Mrs. M. were away for six weeks, and left the boa in charge of a keeper at the Zoo. The poor reptile moped, slept, and refused to be comforted, but when his master and mistress appeared he sprang upon them with delight, coiling himself round them, and showing every symptom of intense delight.[140]
I happen to know the gentleman and lady against whom a complaint has been made because of the snakes they keep, and I should like to give a short account of my first visit to them.
Mr. M., after we had talked for a little time, asked if I had any fear of snakes; and after a timid 'No, not very,' from me, he produced out of a cupboard a large boa-constrictor, a python, and several small snakes, which at once made themselves at home on the writing-table among pens, ink, and books. I was at first a good deal startled, especially when the two large snakes coiled round and round my friend, and began to notice me with their bright eyes and forked tongues; but soon finding how tame they were, I ceased to feel frightened. After a short time Mr. M. expressed a wish to call Mrs. M., and left me with the boa deposited on an arm-chair. I felt a little queer when the animal began gradually to come near, but the entrance of my host and hostess, followed by two charming little children, put me at my ease again. After the first interchange of civilities, she and the children went at once to the boa, and, calling it by the most endearing names, allowed it to twine itself most gracefully round about them. I sat talking for a long time, lost in wonder at the picture before me. Two beautiful little girls with their charming mother sat before me with a boa-constrictor (as thick round as a small tree) twining playfully round the lady's waist and neck, and forming a kind of turban round herhead, expecting to be petted and made much of like a kitten. The children over and over again took its head in their hands and kissed its mouth, pushing aside its forked tongue in doing so. The animal seemed much pleased, but kept turning its head continually towards me with a curious gaze, until I allowed it to nestle its head for a moment up my sleeve. Nothing could be prettier than to see this splendid serpent coiled all round Mrs. M. while she moved about the room, and when she stood to pour out our coffee. He seemed to adjust his weight so nicely, and every coil with its beautiful marking was relieved by the black velvet dress of the lady. It was long before I could make up my mind to end the visit, and I returned soon after with a friend (a distinguished M.P.[139]), to see my snake-taming acquaintance again. . . . .
These (the snakes) seemed very obedient, and remained in their cupboard when told to do so.
About a year ago Mr. and Mrs. M. were away for six weeks, and left the boa in charge of a keeper at the Zoo. The poor reptile moped, slept, and refused to be comforted, but when his master and mistress appeared he sprang upon them with delight, coiling himself round them, and showing every symptom of intense delight.[140]
The end of this python was remarkable and pathetic. Mr. Severn tells me that some years after he had published the above letter Mr. Mann was seized with an apoplectic fit. His wife, being the only other person in the house at the time, ran out to fetch a doctor. She was absent about ten minutes, and on returning found that the serpent during her absence had crawled upstairs from the room below into that where her husband was lying, and was stretched beside him dead. Such being the fact, we are left to speculate whether the double seizure of the man and the snake was a mere coincidence, or whether the sight of its stricken master, acting on the emotions of a possibly not healthy animal, precipitated its death. Looking to the extreme suddenness of the latter, as well as to the fact of the animal having pined so greatly for his friends while it was confined at the Zoological Gardens, I think the probability rather points to the death of theanimal having been accelerated by emotional shock. But of course the question is an open one.
So much for the power of reptiles to establish such definite and complete associations as are required for the recognition of persons—associations, however, to which, as we have seen, frogs, and even insects may attain. As for other associations, a correspondent writes to me:—
I believe tortoises are able to establish a definite association between particular colours on a flat surface and food. Only the day before reading your article on animal intelligence I noticed the endeavours of a small tortoise to eat theyellowflowers of an inlaid writing-table, and I have often remarked the same recognition with regard to red.
I believe tortoises are able to establish a definite association between particular colours on a flat surface and food. Only the day before reading your article on animal intelligence I noticed the endeavours of a small tortoise to eat theyellowflowers of an inlaid writing-table, and I have often remarked the same recognition with regard to red.
Lord Monboddo relates the following anecdote of a serpent:—
I am well informed of a tame serpent in the East Indies, which belonged to the late Dr. Vigot, and was kept by him in the suburbs of Madras. This serpent was taken by the French, when they invested Madras in the late war, and was carried to Pondicherry in a close carriage. But from thence he found his way back again to his old quarters, which it seems he liked better, though Madras is distant from Pondicherry about one hundred miles. This information, he adds, I have from a lady who then was in India, and had seen the serpent often before his journey and after his return.
I am well informed of a tame serpent in the East Indies, which belonged to the late Dr. Vigot, and was kept by him in the suburbs of Madras. This serpent was taken by the French, when they invested Madras in the late war, and was carried to Pondicherry in a close carriage. But from thence he found his way back again to his old quarters, which it seems he liked better, though Madras is distant from Pondicherry about one hundred miles. This information, he adds, I have from a lady who then was in India, and had seen the serpent often before his journey and after his return.
Considering the enormous distances over which turtles are able to find their way in the season of migration, this display of the homing faculty to so great a degree in a serpent is not to be regarded as incredible.
Mr. E. L. Layard, in his 'Rambles in Ceylon' says of the cobra:[141]—
I once watched one which had thrust its head through a narrow aperture and swallowed one (i.e.a toad). With this encumbrance he could not withdraw himself. Finding this, he reluctantly disgorged the precious morsel, which began to move off. This was too much for snake philosophy to bear, and the toad was again seized; and again, after violent efforts to escape, was the snake compelled to part with it. This time, however, a lesson had been learnt, and the toad was seized by one leg, withdrawn, and then swallowed in triumph.
I once watched one which had thrust its head through a narrow aperture and swallowed one (i.e.a toad). With this encumbrance he could not withdraw himself. Finding this, he reluctantly disgorged the precious morsel, which began to move off. This was too much for snake philosophy to bear, and the toad was again seized; and again, after violent efforts to escape, was the snake compelled to part with it. This time, however, a lesson had been learnt, and the toad was seized by one leg, withdrawn, and then swallowed in triumph.
Mr. E. C. Buck, B.C.S., says in 'Nature' (vol. viii., p. 303):—
I have witnessed exactly a similar plan pursued by a large number of Ganges crocodiles, which had been lying or swimming about all day in front of my tent, at the mouth of a small stream which led from some large inland lakes to the Ganges. Towards dusk, at the same moment every one of them left the bank on which they were lying, or the deep water in which they were swimming, and formed a line across the stream, which was about twenty yards wide. They had to form a double line, as there was not room for all in a single line. They then swam slowly up the shallow stream, driving the fish before them, and I saw two or three fish caught before they disappeared.
I have witnessed exactly a similar plan pursued by a large number of Ganges crocodiles, which had been lying or swimming about all day in front of my tent, at the mouth of a small stream which led from some large inland lakes to the Ganges. Towards dusk, at the same moment every one of them left the bank on which they were lying, or the deep water in which they were swimming, and formed a line across the stream, which was about twenty yards wide. They had to form a double line, as there was not room for all in a single line. They then swam slowly up the shallow stream, driving the fish before them, and I saw two or three fish caught before they disappeared.
An account of reptile psychology would be incomplete without some reference to the alleged facts of snakes charming other animals by 'fascination,' and being themselves charmed by the arts of music, &c. The testimony on both subjects is conflicting, and especially with regard to the fascination of other animals by snakes. Thus:—
Mr. Pennant says that this snake (rattle-snake) will frequently lie at the bottom of a tree on which a squirrel is seated. He fixes his eyes on the animal, and from that moment it cannot escape; it begins a doleful outcry, which is so well known that a passer-by, on hearing it, immediately knows that a snake is present. The squirrel runs up the tree a little way, comes down again, then goes up, and afterwards comes still lower. The snake continues at the bottom of the tree with its eyes fixed on the squirrel, and his attention is so entirely taken up, that a person accidentally approaching may make a considerable noise without so much as the snake turning about. The squirrel comes lower, and at last leaps down to the snake, whose mouth is already distended for its reception. Le Vaillant confirms this fascinating terror by a scene he witnessed. He saw on the branch of a tree a species of shrike, trembling as if in convulsions, and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another branch, a large snake that was lying with outstretched neck and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal. The agony of the bird was so great that it was deprived of the power of moving away; and when one of the party killed the snake, it (i.e.the bird) was found dead upon the spot—and that entirely from fear; for, on examination, it appeared not to have received the slightest wound. The same traveller adds that a short time afterwardshe observed a small mouse in similar agonising convulsions, about two yards from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on frightening away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his hand.[142]
Mr. Pennant says that this snake (rattle-snake) will frequently lie at the bottom of a tree on which a squirrel is seated. He fixes his eyes on the animal, and from that moment it cannot escape; it begins a doleful outcry, which is so well known that a passer-by, on hearing it, immediately knows that a snake is present. The squirrel runs up the tree a little way, comes down again, then goes up, and afterwards comes still lower. The snake continues at the bottom of the tree with its eyes fixed on the squirrel, and his attention is so entirely taken up, that a person accidentally approaching may make a considerable noise without so much as the snake turning about. The squirrel comes lower, and at last leaps down to the snake, whose mouth is already distended for its reception. Le Vaillant confirms this fascinating terror by a scene he witnessed. He saw on the branch of a tree a species of shrike, trembling as if in convulsions, and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another branch, a large snake that was lying with outstretched neck and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal. The agony of the bird was so great that it was deprived of the power of moving away; and when one of the party killed the snake, it (i.e.the bird) was found dead upon the spot—and that entirely from fear; for, on examination, it appeared not to have received the slightest wound. The same traveller adds that a short time afterwardshe observed a small mouse in similar agonising convulsions, about two yards from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on frightening away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his hand.[142]
Many other observations, more or less similar, might be quoted; but, on the other hand, Sir Joseph Fayrer tells me that 'fascination is only fright;' and this appears to be the opinion of all persons who have had the opportunity of looking into the subject in a scientific manner. The truth probably is that small animals are occasionally much alarmed by the sight of a snake looking at them, and as a consequence of this more easily fall a prey. In some cases, it is likely enough, strong terror so unnerves the animal as to make it behave in the manner which the witnesses describe; in making half-palsied efforts to escape, it may actually fall or draw nearer to the object of its dread. Perhaps, therefore, Dr. Barton, of Philadelphia, is a little too severe on previous observers when he says that—
The report of this fascinating property has had its rise in nothing more than the fears and cries of birds and other animals in the protection of their nests. . . . . The result of not a little attention has taught me that there is but one wonder in the business—the wonder that the story should ever have been believed by any man of understanding and observation.
But, be this as it may, it is certainly remarkable, as Sir J. Fayrer in his letter to me observes, 'how little fear some animals show until the moment that they are seized and struck.'
As for snake-charming, the facts seem to be that cobras and other serpents are attracted by the sound of a pipe to creep out of their hiding-places, when they are captured and tamed. It is certain that the fangs are not always drawn, and also that from the first moment of capture, before there has been time for any process of training, a real snake-charmer is able to make the reptile 'dance.' Thus, for instance, Sir E. Tennent publishes the following letter from Mr. Reyne. After describing all hisprecautions to ensure that the snake-charmer had no tamed snakes concealed about his person, Mr. Reyne proceeds to tell how he made the man accompany him to the jungle, where, attracted by the music of a pipe which the man played, a large cobra came from an ant-hill which Mr. Reyne knew it to occupy:—
On seeing the man it tried to escape, but he caught it by the tail and kept swinging it round until we reached the bungalow. He then made it dance, but before long it bit him above the knee. He immediately bandaged the leg above the bite and applied a snake-stone to the wound to extract the poison. He was in great pain for a few minutes, but after that it gradually went away, the stone falling off just before he was relieved.[143]
On seeing the man it tried to escape, but he caught it by the tail and kept swinging it round until we reached the bungalow. He then made it dance, but before long it bit him above the knee. He immediately bandaged the leg above the bite and applied a snake-stone to the wound to extract the poison. He was in great pain for a few minutes, but after that it gradually went away, the stone falling off just before he was relieved.[143]
Thus the only remarkable thing about the charming of a freshly caught snake seems to be that the charmer is able to make the animal 'dance'—for the fact of the snake approaching the unfamiliar sound of music is not in itself any more remarkable than a fish approaching the unfamiliar sight of a lantern. It does not, however, appear that this dancing is anything more than some series of gestures or movements which may be merely the expressions, more or less natural, of uneasiness or alarm. Anything else that charmed snakes may do is probably the result of training; for there is no doubt that cobras admit of being tamed, and even domesticated. Thus, for instance, Major Skinner, writing to Sir E. Tennent, says:—
In one family near Negombo, cobras are kept as protectors, in the place of dogs, by a wealthy man who has always large sums of money in his house. But this is not a solitary case of the kind. . . . . The snakes glide about the house, a terror to the thieves, but never attempting to harm the inmates.[144]
In one family near Negombo, cobras are kept as protectors, in the place of dogs, by a wealthy man who has always large sums of money in his house. But this is not a solitary case of the kind. . . . . The snakes glide about the house, a terror to the thieves, but never attempting to harm the inmates.[144]
Thus, on the whole, we may accept Dr. Davey's opinion—who had good opportunities for observation—that the snake-charmers control the cobras by working upon the well-known timidity and reluctance of these animals to use their fangs till they become virtually tame.
BIRDS.
Adequatelyto treat of the intelligence of birds a separate volume would be required; here it must be enough to deal with this class as I shall afterwards deal with the Mammalia—namely, by giving an outline sketch of the more prominent features of their psychology.
The memory of birds is well developed. Thus, although we are much in the dark on the whole subject of migration—so much so that I reserve its discussion with all the problems that this presents for a separate chapter in my next work—we may at least conclude that the return of the same pair of swallows every year to the same nest must be due to the animals remembering the precise locality of their nests. Again, Buckland gives an account of a pigeon which remembered the voice of its mistress after an absence of eighteen months;[145]but I have not been able tomeet with satisfactory evidence of the memory of a bird enduring for a longer time than this.
As it is a matter of interest in comparative psychology to trace as far as possible into detail the similarities of a mental faculty as it occurs in different groups of animals, and as the faculty of memory first admits of detailed study in the class which we are now considering, I shall here devote a paragraph to the facts concerning the exhibition of memory by birds where its mechanism best admits of being analysed; I refer to the learning of articulate phrases and tunes by talking and musical birds. The best observations in this connection with which I am acquainted are those of Dr. Samuel Wilks, F.R.S., and therefore I shall quotein extensothe portion of his paper which refers to the memory of parrots: other portions of this paper I shall have occasion to quote in my next work:—
When my parrot first came into my possession, several years ago, it was quite unlettered, and I therefore had an opportunity of observing the mode in which it acquired the accomplishment of speech. I was very much struck with its manner of learning, and the causes for its speaking on special occasions. The first seemed to resemble very much the method of children in learning their lessons, and the second to be due to some association or suggestion—the usual provocative for set speeches at all periods of human life. A parrot is well known to imitate sounds in a most perfect manner, even to the tone of the voice, besides having a compass which no human being can approach, ranging from the gravest to the most acute note. My bird, though possessing a good vocabulary of words and sentences, can only retain them for a few months unless kept constantly in practice by the suggestive recurrence of some circumstance which causes their continual utterance. If forgotten, however, they are soon revived in the memory by again repeating them a few times, and much more speedily than any new sentence can be acquired. In beginning to teach the parrot a sentence, it has to be repeated many times, the bird all the while listening most attentively by turning the opening of the ear as close as possible to the speaker. After a few hours it is heard attemptingto say the phrase, or, I should say, trying to learn it. It evidently has the phrase somewhere in store, for eventually this is uttered perfectly, but at first the attempts are very poor and ludicrous. If the sentence be composed of a few words, the first two or three are said over and over again, and then another and another word added, until the sentence is complete, the pronunciation at first being very imperfect, and then becoming gradually more complete, until the task is accomplished. Thus hour after hour will the bird be indefatigably working at the sentence, and not until some days have elapsed will it be perfect. The mode of acquiring it seems to me exactly what I have observed in a child learning a French phrase; two or three words are constantly repeated, and then others added, until the whole is known, the pronunciation becoming more perfect as the repetition goes on. I found also on whistling a popular air to my parrot that she picked it up in the same way, taking note by note until the whole twenty-five notes were complete. Then the mode of forgetting, or the way in which phrases and airs pass from its recollection, may be worth remarking. The last words or notes are first forgotten, so that soon the sentence remains unfinished or the air only half whistled through. The first words are the best fixed in the memory; these suggest others which stand next to them, and so on till the last, which have the least hold on the brain. These, however, as I have before mentioned, can be easily revived on repetition. This is also a very usual process in the human subject: for example, an Englishman speaking French will, in his own country, if no opportunity occur for conversation, apparently forget it; he no sooner, however, crosses the Channel and hears the language than it very soon comes back to him again. In trying to recall poems learned in childhood or in school days, although at that period hundreds of lines may have been known, it is found that in manhood we remember only the two or three first lines of the 'Iliad,' the 'Æneid,' or the 'Paradise Lost.'[146]
When my parrot first came into my possession, several years ago, it was quite unlettered, and I therefore had an opportunity of observing the mode in which it acquired the accomplishment of speech. I was very much struck with its manner of learning, and the causes for its speaking on special occasions. The first seemed to resemble very much the method of children in learning their lessons, and the second to be due to some association or suggestion—the usual provocative for set speeches at all periods of human life. A parrot is well known to imitate sounds in a most perfect manner, even to the tone of the voice, besides having a compass which no human being can approach, ranging from the gravest to the most acute note. My bird, though possessing a good vocabulary of words and sentences, can only retain them for a few months unless kept constantly in practice by the suggestive recurrence of some circumstance which causes their continual utterance. If forgotten, however, they are soon revived in the memory by again repeating them a few times, and much more speedily than any new sentence can be acquired. In beginning to teach the parrot a sentence, it has to be repeated many times, the bird all the while listening most attentively by turning the opening of the ear as close as possible to the speaker. After a few hours it is heard attemptingto say the phrase, or, I should say, trying to learn it. It evidently has the phrase somewhere in store, for eventually this is uttered perfectly, but at first the attempts are very poor and ludicrous. If the sentence be composed of a few words, the first two or three are said over and over again, and then another and another word added, until the sentence is complete, the pronunciation at first being very imperfect, and then becoming gradually more complete, until the task is accomplished. Thus hour after hour will the bird be indefatigably working at the sentence, and not until some days have elapsed will it be perfect. The mode of acquiring it seems to me exactly what I have observed in a child learning a French phrase; two or three words are constantly repeated, and then others added, until the whole is known, the pronunciation becoming more perfect as the repetition goes on. I found also on whistling a popular air to my parrot that she picked it up in the same way, taking note by note until the whole twenty-five notes were complete. Then the mode of forgetting, or the way in which phrases and airs pass from its recollection, may be worth remarking. The last words or notes are first forgotten, so that soon the sentence remains unfinished or the air only half whistled through. The first words are the best fixed in the memory; these suggest others which stand next to them, and so on till the last, which have the least hold on the brain. These, however, as I have before mentioned, can be easily revived on repetition. This is also a very usual process in the human subject: for example, an Englishman speaking French will, in his own country, if no opportunity occur for conversation, apparently forget it; he no sooner, however, crosses the Channel and hears the language than it very soon comes back to him again. In trying to recall poems learned in childhood or in school days, although at that period hundreds of lines may have been known, it is found that in manhood we remember only the two or three first lines of the 'Iliad,' the 'Æneid,' or the 'Paradise Lost.'[146]
The following is communicated to me by Mr. Venn, of Cambridge, the well-known logician:—
I had a grey parrot, three or four years old, which had been taken from its nest in West Africa by those through whom I received it. It stood ordinarily by the window, where it could equally hear the front and back door bells. In the yard, by the back door, was a collie dog, who naturally barked violently at nearly all the comers that way. The parrot took to imitating thedog. After a time I was interested in observing the discriminative association between the back-door bell and the dog's bark in the parrot's mind. Even when the dog was not there, or for any other cause did not bark, the parrot would constantly bark when the back-door bell sounded, but never (that I could hear) when the front-door bell was heard.This is but a trifle in the way of intelligence, but it struck me as an interesting analogous case to a law of association often noticed by writers on human psychology.
I had a grey parrot, three or four years old, which had been taken from its nest in West Africa by those through whom I received it. It stood ordinarily by the window, where it could equally hear the front and back door bells. In the yard, by the back door, was a collie dog, who naturally barked violently at nearly all the comers that way. The parrot took to imitating thedog. After a time I was interested in observing the discriminative association between the back-door bell and the dog's bark in the parrot's mind. Even when the dog was not there, or for any other cause did not bark, the parrot would constantly bark when the back-door bell sounded, but never (that I could hear) when the front-door bell was heard.
This is but a trifle in the way of intelligence, but it struck me as an interesting analogous case to a law of association often noticed by writers on human psychology.
The celebrated parrot that belonged to the Buffon family and of which the Comte de Buffon wrote, exhibited in a strange manner the association of its ideas. For he was frequently in the habit of asking himself for his own claw, and then never failed to comply with his own request by holding it out, in the same way as he did when asked for his claw by anybody else. This, however, probably arose, not, as Buffon or his sister Madame Nadault supposed, from the bird not knowing its own voice, but rather from the association between the words and the gesture.
According to Margrave, parrots sometimes chatter their phrases in their dreams, and this shows a striking similarity of psychical processes in the operations of memory with those which occur in ourselves.
Similarly, Mr. Walter Pollock, writes me of his own parrot:—
In this parrot the sense of association is very strongly developed. If one word picked up at a former home comes into its head, and is uttered by it, it immediately follows this word up with all the other words and phrases picked up at the same place and period.
In this parrot the sense of association is very strongly developed. If one word picked up at a former home comes into its head, and is uttered by it, it immediately follows this word up with all the other words and phrases picked up at the same place and period.
Lastly, parrots not only remember, but recollect; that is to say, they know when there is a missing link in a train of association, and purposely endeavour to pick it up. Thus, for instance, the late Lady Napier told me an interesting series of observations on this point which she had made upon an intelligent parrot of her own. They were of this kind. Taking such a phrase as 'Old Dan Tucker,' the bird would remember the beginning and the end, and try to recollect the middle. For it would sayvery slowly, 'Old—old—old—old' (and then very quickly) 'Lucy Tucker.' Feeling that this was not right, it would try again as before, 'Old—old—old—old—old Bessy Tucker,' substituting one word after another in the place of the sought-for word 'Dan.' And that the process was one of truly seeking for the desired word was proved by the fact that if, while the bird was saying, 'Old—old—old—old,' any one threw in the word 'Dan,' he immediately supplied the 'Tucker.'
As regards emotions, it is among birds that we first meet with a conspicuous advance in the tenderer feelings of affection and sympathy. Those relating to the sexes and the care of progeny are in this class proverbial for their intensity, offering, in fact, a favourite type for the poet and moralist. The pining of the 'love-bird' for its absent mate, and the keen distress of a hen on losing her chickens, furnish abundant evidence of vivid feelings of the kind in question. Even the stupid-looking ostrich has heart enough to die for love, as was the case with a male in the Rotund of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, who, having lost his wife, pined rapidly away. It is remarkable that in some species—notably pigeons—conjugal fidelity should be so strongly marked; for this shows, not only what may be called a refinement of sexual feeling, but also the presence of an abiding image in the mind's eye of the lover. For instance,—
Referring to the habits of the mandarin duck (a Chinese species) Mr. Bennett says that Mr. Beale's aviary afforded a singular corroboration of the fidelity of the birds in question. Of a pair in that gentleman's possession, the drake being one night purloined by some thieves, the unfortunate duck displayed the strongest marks of despair at her bereavement, retiring into a corner, and altogether neglecting food and drink, as well as the care of her person. In this condition she was courted by a drake who had lost his mate, but who met with no encouragement from the widow. On the stolen drake being subsequently recovered and restored to the aviary, the most extravagant demonstrations of joy were displayed by the fond couple; but this was not all, for, as if informed by his spouse of the gallantproposals made to her shortly before his arrival, the drake attacked the luckless bird who would have supplanted him, beat out his eyes, and inflicted so many injuries as to cause his death.[147]
Referring to the habits of the mandarin duck (a Chinese species) Mr. Bennett says that Mr. Beale's aviary afforded a singular corroboration of the fidelity of the birds in question. Of a pair in that gentleman's possession, the drake being one night purloined by some thieves, the unfortunate duck displayed the strongest marks of despair at her bereavement, retiring into a corner, and altogether neglecting food and drink, as well as the care of her person. In this condition she was courted by a drake who had lost his mate, but who met with no encouragement from the widow. On the stolen drake being subsequently recovered and restored to the aviary, the most extravagant demonstrations of joy were displayed by the fond couple; but this was not all, for, as if informed by his spouse of the gallantproposals made to her shortly before his arrival, the drake attacked the luckless bird who would have supplanted him, beat out his eyes, and inflicted so many injuries as to cause his death.[147]
Similarly, to give an instance or two with regard to other birds, Jesse states the following as his own observation:—
A pair of swans had been inseparable companions for three years, during which time they had reared three broods of cygnets; last autumn the male was killed, and since that time the female has separated herself from all society with her own species; and, though at the time I am writing (the end of March) the breeding season for swans has far advanced, she remains in the same state of seclusion, resisting the addresses of a male swan, who has been making advances towards forming an acquaintance with her, either driving him away, or flying from him whenever he comes near her. How long she will continue in this state of widowhood I know not, but at present it is quite evident that she has not forgotten her former partner.This reminds me of a circumstance which lately happened at Chalk Farm, near Hampton. A man, set to watch a field of peas which had been much preyed upon by pigeons, shot an old cock pigeon which had long been an inhabitant of the farm. His mate, around whom he had for many a year cooed, whom he had nourished from his own crop, and had assisted in rearing numerous young ones, immediately settled on the ground by his side, and showed her grief in the most expressive manner. The labourer took up the dead bird, and tied it to a short stake, thinking that it would frighten away the other depredators. In this situation, however, the widow did not forsake her deceased husband, but continued, day after day, walking slowly round the stick. The kind-hearted wife of the bailiff of the farm at last heard of the circumstance, and immediately went to afford what relief she could to the poor bird. She told me that, on arriving at the spot, she found the hen bird much exhausted, and that she had made a circular beaten track round the dead pigeon, making now and then a little spring towards him. On the removal of the dead bird the hen returned to the dove-cote.[148]
A pair of swans had been inseparable companions for three years, during which time they had reared three broods of cygnets; last autumn the male was killed, and since that time the female has separated herself from all society with her own species; and, though at the time I am writing (the end of March) the breeding season for swans has far advanced, she remains in the same state of seclusion, resisting the addresses of a male swan, who has been making advances towards forming an acquaintance with her, either driving him away, or flying from him whenever he comes near her. How long she will continue in this state of widowhood I know not, but at present it is quite evident that she has not forgotten her former partner.
This reminds me of a circumstance which lately happened at Chalk Farm, near Hampton. A man, set to watch a field of peas which had been much preyed upon by pigeons, shot an old cock pigeon which had long been an inhabitant of the farm. His mate, around whom he had for many a year cooed, whom he had nourished from his own crop, and had assisted in rearing numerous young ones, immediately settled on the ground by his side, and showed her grief in the most expressive manner. The labourer took up the dead bird, and tied it to a short stake, thinking that it would frighten away the other depredators. In this situation, however, the widow did not forsake her deceased husband, but continued, day after day, walking slowly round the stick. The kind-hearted wife of the bailiff of the farm at last heard of the circumstance, and immediately went to afford what relief she could to the poor bird. She told me that, on arriving at the spot, she found the hen bird much exhausted, and that she had made a circular beaten track round the dead pigeon, making now and then a little spring towards him. On the removal of the dead bird the hen returned to the dove-cote.[148]
As evidence of the intensity of the maternal instincteven in the case of barren birds, I may quote the following from the naturalist Couch. I do so because, although the instance is a trivial one, and also one of frequent occurrence, it is interesting as showing that a deeply rooted instinct or emotion may assert itself powerfully even in the absence of what may be termed its natural stimulus or object:—
I was once witness to a curious instance of the yearning for progeny in a diminutive bantam hen.There was at this time a nest of the common hen in a secluded part of the garden, and the parent had been sitting on its eggs, till compelled by hunger she left them for a short time. This absence was fatal; for the bantam had in the meantime found its situation in a covered recess in the hedge, and I saw her creep into it with all the triumph of the discoverer of a treasure. The real mother now returned, and great was her agony at finding an intruder in her nest. The expression of her eye and the attitude of her head were emphatic of surprise at the impudence of the proceeding. But after many attempts to recover possession she was compelled to resign her rights, for the bantam was too resolute to be contended with; and though its body was not big enough to cover the whole of the eggs, and thus some of them were not hatched, yet in due season the pride of this audacious step-mother was gratified by strutting at the head of a company of robust chickens, which she passed off upon the feathered public as a brood of her own.[149]
I was once witness to a curious instance of the yearning for progeny in a diminutive bantam hen.
There was at this time a nest of the common hen in a secluded part of the garden, and the parent had been sitting on its eggs, till compelled by hunger she left them for a short time. This absence was fatal; for the bantam had in the meantime found its situation in a covered recess in the hedge, and I saw her creep into it with all the triumph of the discoverer of a treasure. The real mother now returned, and great was her agony at finding an intruder in her nest. The expression of her eye and the attitude of her head were emphatic of surprise at the impudence of the proceeding. But after many attempts to recover possession she was compelled to resign her rights, for the bantam was too resolute to be contended with; and though its body was not big enough to cover the whole of the eggs, and thus some of them were not hatched, yet in due season the pride of this audacious step-mother was gratified by strutting at the head of a company of robust chickens, which she passed off upon the feathered public as a brood of her own.[149]
As evidence of sympathy I shall quotein extensoan interesting case which has been communicated to me by a young lady, who desires her name withheld. There are several more or less corroborative cases in the anecdote-books,[150]so that I have no doubt as to the substantial accuracy of the account:—
My grandfather had a Swan River gander, which had been reared near the house, and had consequently attached himself to the members of the family; so much so that, on seeing any of them at a distance, he would run to meet them with all possible demonstrations of delight.But 'Swanny' was quite an outcast from his own tribe; and as often as he made humble overtures to the other geese, sooften was he driven away with great contempt, and on such occasions he would frequently run to some of his human friends, and laying his head on their laps, seem to seek for sympathy. At last, however, he found a friend among his own species. An old grey goose, becoming blind, was also discarded by her more fortunate companions, and Swanny lost no opportunity of recognising this comrade in distress. He at once took her under his protection and led her about. When he considered it well for her to have a swim, he would gently take her neck in his bill, and thus lead her, sometimes a considerable distance, to the water's edge. Having fairly launched her, he kept close by her side, and guided her from dangerous places by arching his neck over hers, and so turning her in the right direction. After cruising about a sufficient time, he would guide her to a convenient landing-place, and taking her neck in his bill as before, lead her toterra firmaagain. When she had goslings, he would proudly convoy the whole party to the water-side; and if any ill-fated gosling got into difficulties in a hole or deep cart-rut, Swanny with ready skill would put his bill under its body, and carefully raise it to the level ground.My grandfather had also another gander who attached himself to him, and would follow him for hours through fields and lanes, pausing when he stood still, and waddling gravely by his side as he proceeded. This gander was not, like the other, discarded by his kind, but would leave them any time to walk with his master, and was exceedingly jealous of any one else who tried to share this privilege, excepting only his mistress. On one occasion, a gentleman venturing to place his hand on my grandfather's arm, the gander flew at him, and beat him severely with his wings, and it was with great difficulty that he was induced to let go.
My grandfather had a Swan River gander, which had been reared near the house, and had consequently attached himself to the members of the family; so much so that, on seeing any of them at a distance, he would run to meet them with all possible demonstrations of delight.
But 'Swanny' was quite an outcast from his own tribe; and as often as he made humble overtures to the other geese, sooften was he driven away with great contempt, and on such occasions he would frequently run to some of his human friends, and laying his head on their laps, seem to seek for sympathy. At last, however, he found a friend among his own species. An old grey goose, becoming blind, was also discarded by her more fortunate companions, and Swanny lost no opportunity of recognising this comrade in distress. He at once took her under his protection and led her about. When he considered it well for her to have a swim, he would gently take her neck in his bill, and thus lead her, sometimes a considerable distance, to the water's edge. Having fairly launched her, he kept close by her side, and guided her from dangerous places by arching his neck over hers, and so turning her in the right direction. After cruising about a sufficient time, he would guide her to a convenient landing-place, and taking her neck in his bill as before, lead her toterra firmaagain. When she had goslings, he would proudly convoy the whole party to the water-side; and if any ill-fated gosling got into difficulties in a hole or deep cart-rut, Swanny with ready skill would put his bill under its body, and carefully raise it to the level ground.
My grandfather had also another gander who attached himself to him, and would follow him for hours through fields and lanes, pausing when he stood still, and waddling gravely by his side as he proceeded. This gander was not, like the other, discarded by his kind, but would leave them any time to walk with his master, and was exceedingly jealous of any one else who tried to share this privilege, excepting only his mistress. On one occasion, a gentleman venturing to place his hand on my grandfather's arm, the gander flew at him, and beat him severely with his wings, and it was with great difficulty that he was induced to let go.
The solicitude which most gregarious birds display when one of their number is wounded or captured, constitutes strong evidence of sympathy. As Jesse observes,—
There is one trait in the character of the rook which is, I believe, peculiar to that bird, and which does him no little credit; it is the distress which is exhibited when one of his fellows has been killed or wounded by a gun while they have been feeding in a field or flying over it. Instead of being scared away by the report of the gun, leaving their wounded or dead companion to his fate, they show the greatest anxiety and sympathy for him, uttering cries of distress, and plainly provingthat they wish to render him assistance by hovering over him, or sometimes making a dart from the air close up to him, apparently to try and find out the reason why he did not follow them. . . . . I have seen one of my labourers pick up a rook which he had shot at for the purpose of putting him up as a scarecrow in a field of wheat, and while the poor wounded bird was still fluttering in his hand, I have observed one of his companions make a wheel round in the air, and suddenly dart past him so as almost to touch him, perhaps with the last hope that he might still afford assistance to his unfortunate mate or companion. Even when the dead bird has been hung,in terrorem, to a stake in the field, he has been visited by some of his former friends, but as soon as they found that the case was hopeless, they have generally abandoned that field altogether.When one considers the instinctive care with which rooks avoid any one carrying a gun, and which is so evident that I have often heard country people remark that a rook can smell gunpowder, one can more justly estimate the force of their love or friendship in thus continuing to hover round a person who has just destroyed one of their companions with an instrument the dangerous nature of which they seem fully capable of appreciating.[151]
There is one trait in the character of the rook which is, I believe, peculiar to that bird, and which does him no little credit; it is the distress which is exhibited when one of his fellows has been killed or wounded by a gun while they have been feeding in a field or flying over it. Instead of being scared away by the report of the gun, leaving their wounded or dead companion to his fate, they show the greatest anxiety and sympathy for him, uttering cries of distress, and plainly provingthat they wish to render him assistance by hovering over him, or sometimes making a dart from the air close up to him, apparently to try and find out the reason why he did not follow them. . . . . I have seen one of my labourers pick up a rook which he had shot at for the purpose of putting him up as a scarecrow in a field of wheat, and while the poor wounded bird was still fluttering in his hand, I have observed one of his companions make a wheel round in the air, and suddenly dart past him so as almost to touch him, perhaps with the last hope that he might still afford assistance to his unfortunate mate or companion. Even when the dead bird has been hung,in terrorem, to a stake in the field, he has been visited by some of his former friends, but as soon as they found that the case was hopeless, they have generally abandoned that field altogether.
When one considers the instinctive care with which rooks avoid any one carrying a gun, and which is so evident that I have often heard country people remark that a rook can smell gunpowder, one can more justly estimate the force of their love or friendship in thus continuing to hover round a person who has just destroyed one of their companions with an instrument the dangerous nature of which they seem fully capable of appreciating.[151]
The justice of these remarks may be better appreciated in the light of the following very remarkable observation, as an introduction to which I have quoted them.
Edward, the naturalist, having shot a tern, which fell winged into the sea, its companions hovered around the floating bird, manifesting much apparent solicitude, as terns and gulls always do under such circumstances. How far this apparent solicitude is real I have often speculated, as in the analogous case of the crows—wondering whether the emotions concerned were really those of sympathy or mere curiosity. The following observation, however, seems to set this question at rest. Having begun to make preparations for securing the wounded bird, Edward says: 'I expected in a few moments to have it in my possession, being not very far from the water's edge, and drifting shorewards with the wind.' He continues:—