CRIMINAL ANIMALS.
“Mr. Gladstone narrowly escaped a serious accident when taking exercise in Hawarden Park. A cow, which had escaped from its owner when being driven to market, had taken refuge in the park, and attacked Mr. Gladstone when passing. Fortunately, though knocked down, Mr. Gladstone escaped unhurt.”—Daily Paper.
Thegeneral view of good or bad in animal disposition is, no doubt, mainly determined by their behaviour to ourselves. That is the fixed opinion of the moral relation of animals to man. But there is every reason to believe that there are a few individuals among the many in all species which have some pronounced and inborn bias towards mischief and ferocity, which almost entitles them to a place in the “criminal classes” of animal society. No excuse, for instance, can be found for the cow which so nearly ended the hopes of Home-rule by knocking down the greatest of all Home-rulers, after spending a week or more in the hospitable security afforded to her by the park at Hawarden, after she had broken loose from her owners on the way to market. She was, in fact, a heifer, not a cow; and so had no calfhidden in the fern whose protection might have been urged as an excuse for her ferocity; and her conduct must be ascribed to some such ancient and inbred malignity as possessed the “dun cow of Warwick.” No doubt the last animal, if legend be true, was possessed by a deeper and darker instinct of hatred to the human race; for she used to mingle with the herds and entice the milkmaids to perform their kindly office by all kinds of endearments known to her race, and then most cruelly kill them, until the renowned Guy of Warwick rid the country of the monster, avenged the milkmaids, and earned himself a place in story. But the cow of Hawarden may in time win its way to the marvellous, and have a place in the great Gladstone myth by the side of “Joe”—or “Io”— once the friend, now the foe of the hero, whose legend is in after-ages to be identified with the rationalistic record of the promise of “three acres and a cow.” The danger to which Mr. Gladstone was exposed, which was a very real one, suggests the question whether there is not some ground for supposing that, apart from questions or our own convenience, there are not some desperately wicked animals which are not only wickedper se, but quite conscious that they are doing actions which place them outside the pale both of human and animal consideration? We believe that there is not the least doubt of it, any more than there is a doubt whether certain so-called “criminal lunatics” richly deserve hanging. If animals had no power of self-control,it would be nonsense to speak of them as either good or bad. But they have the power of self-control when domesticated. That we know. It is only the knowledge that they have such power that induces a man to trust himself in a dog-cart behind a young horse, or to ride in a howdah on an elephant. But they must always have the same power when wild. If they had not, they could not be gregarious—a condition which could only be maintained by submission to a law of “live and let live,” which is perhaps better understood by wholly wild animals than by semi-civilized man. Gregarious animals not only exhibit self-control to the extent of not showing temper towards each other, but even obey the command of their leader, when obedience to the command must be extremely irksome—witness Major Skinner’s account of the elephant leader posting live videttes around the tank, at which the herd was then, and not till then, allowed to drink. The “rogue” elephant, which exhibits such unusual and malignant ferocity towards men as well as his own kind, may be, and often is, an animal driven from the herd by a stronger rival; sometimes he is merely suffering from excitement, which passes away after a certain period. But this, though affording a reason for some of the abnormal conditions found in the actions of the “rogue” elephant, does not account satisfactorily for the strange reluctance of its own species ever to re-admit it to their society.
The “rogue” elephant, even when driven from oneherd, is never admitted to another; and though Saunderson found them occasionally in company with another solitary of their own species, Sir J. Tennant records that, even when driven into the keddah, a “rogue” elephant was never allowed to enter the herd of captives with which he was enclosed. Good-temper is the fundamental condition of animal society, and it is probably to the lack of this, and the growing conviction that the “rogue” is an unclubable, unsociable fellow, that his exclusion is due. When separated from the wholesome discipline of society, his temper goes from bad to worse, and he joins the ranks of criminal animals. The wanton ferocity then developed is, perhaps, best shown by Colonel Saunderson’s description of the state of things on the main road between Mysore and Uznand, caused by a creature called the “rogue of Kakankote.” Policemen were planted at the entrance of the jungle to warn travellers to proceed only in parties, and even then the wretched Kurrabas who lived in the forest were from time to time caught, and pulled to pieces limb by limb, to gratify the ill-temper of the elephant. When mastered, the naturally ferocious elephant has been known to die of sheer fury. A noosed “rogue” in the keddah lay down and died, though those suffering from the excitement of “must” are often reclaimed. The ferocity of the “rogue” buffalo and “rogue” hippopotamus must probably be accounted for in the same way. They are individuals which have become intolerable to their own species, and,being outlawed from society, revenge themselves by the indulgence of their criminal bent.
Instances of this homicidal mania among the animals at the Zoo are by no means common. The tact and good management which prevails in all the dealings of the keepers with their charges is largely responsible for this. But one unquestionable example of this type of animal aberration occurred some years ago, which might have had very serious consequences. The temper of all the wild asses is very uncertain, or rather very unreliable. This natural surliness took the form of absolute ferocity in the case of a very fine male zebra. The object of its especial dislike was not so much the occasional visitors to its stable, as the keeper whose duty was to feed it and arrange its stable. The viciousness was such that it would endeavour to climb the railings of its loose box in order to attack them. There was absolutely no ground for this animosity, for it had met with the same kind treatment and attention as the other creatures in the stalls. It was clearly a case of the “criminal instinct” prevailing. One Sunday morning, a Frenchman who had some work to do in the Zebra House accidentally left open the door which led into the box of this striped savage, and when another keeper advanced to drive it back it rushed at him open-mouthed, knocked him down, knelt on him, and would most probably have killed or maimed him if it had not been driven off by some of his fellowemployéswho most fortunately came to the rescue.
Among domesticated animals, the consciousness of evil-doing is far more clearly existent than among their wild relations, where it can only be matter for probable conjecture and surmise. Perhaps the most convincing instances of the gratification of a consciously criminal instinct are to be found in the cases in which dogs, especially sheep-dogs, have been detected in the habit of going away to considerable distances at night and worrying the sheep in other folds, returning before daybreak to their own flock. In one case, a collie was seen by a shepherd to slip away from the fold early in the morning, and plunge into a stream, where he swam for a short time, came out, shook himself, and then galloped off in the direction of another farm, to which, on inquiry, the dog was found to belong. In the fold which it had just left, several sheep were found dying and dead, and it was surmised that the dog’s bath had for its object the removal of the traces of its sanguinary amusement. In another case, two dogs were found to have been in the habit of slipping away at night, and returning quietly to their kennel after killing sheep at a distance of ten or twelve miles. In both instances, the flock of which they were the natural guardians was uninjured.
The secret gratification of the criminal instinct is not confined to sheep-dogs. In one case, a mastiff ran wild, and lived among the Cheviot Hills, killing sheep at night, and retiring to the roughest and most difficult ground during the day. Though more than once hunted by a pack of foxhounds, he alwaysprevailed on them to spare him, lying down on his back and putting up his feet, as a puppy will when a big dog approaches him.
It is more difficult to account for the extreme viciousness of certain horses, creatures which have no hereditary tendency to cruelty, like the dog, whose ancestor, the wild hunting dog, is perhaps the most ferocious creature in the world. What, for instance, are we to say of an animal like “General Chassé,” which commenced the day, when being led to York, by kneeling on his groom and trying to tear him to pieces, until a squad of labourers charged him, armed with sticks and forks? Or of “Merlin,” who was obliged to be double chained to the rack in the painting-room when his portrait was taken by Mr. Herring, and afterwards made use of his liberty by killing his groom? Another horse could only be groomed during several seasons by a series of well-timed dashes with a birch-broom.
“King Pippin,” a celebrated Irish horse, which ran early in the century, had a habit of rushing at and worrying any person who came within reach as he was being saddled, and if he had a chance would get his head round, seize his rider by the leg, and pull him off his back. When brought to the Curragh to run, no one would put a bridle on his head. A countryman volunteered to do so, when the horse caught him by the chest, shaking him as a dog does a rat. “Fortunately for the poor fellow,” wrote an eye-witness of the scene, “his body was very thicklycovered with clothes, as an Irishman on great occasions is fond of displaying the resources of his wardrobe, and if he has three coats will put them all on.”
The celebrated “Whisperer,” an old man named Sullivan, who had a strange power of taming vicious horses, was sent for. He remained shut up with the horse all night, and next day exhibited him on the course as quiet as a sheep. He won his race, and for three years remained docile. Then he suddenly gave way to his criminal instincts, and killed a man, for which he was shot.
But considering the great number of horses on training, and the accuracy with which their disposition and temper is known, the instances of homicidal tendency in the horse are singularly few. It will probably be found that bulls, and often cows, are responsible for nearly all the deaths deliberately caused by animals in this country. It is the fashion to laugh at people who are nervous about cattle. This is hardly fair or sensible. There can be no two opinions as to the power of full-grown cattle to catch or kill any person who has not some shelter at hand, though the owners who drive them along the roads never are willing to admit the possibility. An amusing instance of this, as well as of the local jealousies which ramble between people of different counties, even if only separated by an imaginary border-line, occurred to an acquaintance of the writer, just within the border of Cornwall where it marches with Devon. A farmer was driving cows down a narrow lane, when some foot-passengersremonstrated. “Don’t ’ee be a-veared, m’am,” shouted the owner, “’em be a deal better behaved here than ’em be in Devon.” In the case of the bull, a period of savageness generally occurs once or twice in its life, and in the number of fatal gorings inflicted by these brutes on the old labourers and boys who usually attend on them, a fair case could be made out for making compulsory some precautions in their transport along public roads.