NAOSAURUS
NAOSAURUS AND DIMETRODON, TWO EXTINCT ARMOUR-BEARERS WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN WELL ABLE TO PROTECT THEMSELVES.
ARMOUR-BEARER
AN ARMOUR-BEARER OF PREHISTORIC TIMES WHOSE SHIELD WAS AN EFFECTIVE PROTECTION AGAINST ENEMY HORNS.
It is well to remember that the pangolins and armadillos are the last survivors of a great and ancient family of armour-bearers. Many of their remote ancestors have been found in the rocks and hills of South America, and all of their representatives of to-day are small animals—the last of a doomed race—creatures of yesterday. The glyptodon is known to have been more than eleven feet in length, and his near-kinsman, the chlamydothere, was even larger. He was nearly the size of our present-day rhinoceros. These extinct giants carried on their backs huge domes of bony plates, that must have rivalled our much-feared tanks, of trench war fame. One would think they were invulnerable, yet the glyptodon and the chlamydothere, with many other equally well protected creatures, have long ago disappeared from the earth, but how and why nobody knows. This total disappearance of these marvellously protected giants, which seemed capable of defending themselves against any and all kinds of enemies that might have arisen, is one of the strangest and most unsolvable problems of science.
Another mail-clad animal of importance is the armadillo of the tropical and temperate regions of South America. He is nocturnal in habits, sleeping in his underground home during the day, and coming out at night to seek for food. This underground home is rather large, and the nursery is well protected from enemies by its location. In it the mother armadillo rears her young until they are large enough to care for themselves.
All species of the armadillos are powerful burrowers, and they are well equipped for their tunnelling in the earth with strong fore limbs. They feed upon all kinds of insects and animal substances. It is claimed that the giant armadillo is a veritable grave-robber and sometimes digs up dead bodies for the purpose of eating them.
These animals are plentiful upon the savannas of South America, and they feast upon the bodies of dead cattle. So hard are their coats of armour that the Gauchos sharpen their Spanish knives, which they always carry, upon them. Should the armadillo be attacked by a man on horseback, he will burrow so rapidly that only by the quickest movements of the man can he be caught; and if he is, watch out for his terrible claws!
No animal is better protected by nature from its enemies than the pichiciago, whose scientific nameischlamyphorus truncatus. This strange little mantle-bearer wears a coat of mail which is as flexible as the human-made coats of armour of olden times, and he is as safe under its cover, which allows him perfect freedom, as if he were under the ground. He is about the size of the ordinary mole, and his general habits are not unlike those of the mole. He is an underground-dweller, with enormous fore-paws, palm-shaped, upon which are five powerful claws. These he uses to great advantage in digging in the earth for insects and for building his home. He has a small snout, reminding one of that of a pig; while his piercing little eyes are deeply hidden in his fur. He is a native of Chile, and because of his shy nature and subterranean habits is rarely seen.
The most interesting feature about this little creature is the cuirass which so perfectly protects his body. Its formation and arrangement is quite unusual; it appears like a number of squared plates of horn, tightly united to short strips of tape, which are sewed together. The cuirass is not connected with the entire body of the animal, but only on the top of the head and along the spine. It covers the entire back, and when it reaches the tail, turns downward, forming a perfect flap, which protects the hindquarters.
The various species of manis are famed for their powerful coats of armour. They, also, belong to the great group of burrowers, and their coats of mail assume both offensive and defensive characters. These mail-bearers are covered with numerous sharp-edged scales, like miniature horns, which entirely overlap one another, like shingles on a house. They are of great hardness, and form a belt which no animal of their regions can penetrate. A revolver shot will produce not the slightest effect upon the body of this iron-protected animal.
These animals are plentiful in India, and when they are molested, they deliberately wind themselves up, coil their tails over their bodies, and remain in conscious security against the fruitless blows of their enemies, who soon weary of the wounds caused from the prickly scales of impenetrable armour.
Instead of wearing heavy coats of mail, certain animals, such as the hedgehog and porcupine, prefer to wear coats covered with needles and pins. Of course, a coat of spines is used purely for protection. And against the attacks of such enemies as dogs, it proves all-sufficient, but it is a well-known fact that pumas and leopards will kill and eat porcupines at all times, paying small attention to their spines, as is shown by the number which are sometimes found sticking in the body of a porcupine-eating animal.
There are several species of this great spine-bearing family; and many of them, especially the true porcupines and the echidnas, have burrows in the ground and thus have a double means of protecting themselves. But others, such as the hedgehog, depend for their protection upon their ability to roll up into a ball, thus presenting a barbed wire protection. Still others live largely in the trees and seek by other means to protect themselves.
One of the most interesting coats of armour is that worn by the porcupine ant-eater—oft-times erroneously called porcupine or hedgehog. He is a native of Australia, and is a powerful burrower. He is marvellously protected by means of a coat of needles or spines which inflict painful wounds on the dog or other enemy that ventures to attack him. In case of danger, he curls himself up into a ball, and defies any one to come near. Not only does he possess the coat of prickles with which he defends himself, but he also has a large perforated claw or spur on each hind foot through which pours an ill-smelling liquid, and these also aid in protecting him. There are several varieties of porcupines which inhabit Asia, Africa, Southern Europe and America.
When a porcupine wishes to attack an enemy, he rushes at it backwards, and usually leaves the enemy literally covered, like a living pin-cushion, with his spines. These animals have convex skulls, short tails, and live chiefly in the warmer regions of the Old World. Those of America are different in one particular—the soles of their feet are covered with hard, bone-like tubercles, instead of being soft and smooth; there are also a number of hairs that are intermingled with the spines. The Canada porcupine has more hairs than the American, and a shorter and stumpier tail.
Another animal whose methods of defence are by means of his spines, is the hedgehog. His spines do not terminate in sharp points, like those of the porcupine, but end in tiny knobs. These are placed beneath the skin, and are like pins stuck through a cushion. The hedgehog, like the porcupine, rolls himself into a ball when attacked by enemies, and he has the additional ability of throwing himself down a hillside, like a rolling ball, and thus escaping his enemies without injury to himself. It would seem that the hedgehog, rolled into a ball and covered with prickles, would be protected from all enemies. But this is not true, for the clever fox knows just how to make him unroll. This one secret of the hedgehog's weakness very often causeshis loss of life. His weakness is a terror of being wet or dropped into water; and when the fox finds him all rolled up, he carefully rolls him into a pond of water and, when he unrolls, quickly drowns him. Notwithstanding the shortness of the hedgehog's spines, he is the most highly specialised of all spine-bearing animals. In the lower order of animals there are spiny mice and spiny rats, and even the horned toad uses his horns as a means of protection against his enemies.
One of the most peculiarly armoured animals is the horned lizard, commonly known as the "horned toad" of America. His body is covered with small spiny scales, while the chisel-shaped head has a circlet of miniature horns. These he uses when attacked by enemies to shield himself against bites and knocks. The Indians claim that if a snake swallows the horned lizard whole, the lizard will immediately work his way through the snake. This would not be without a parallel, however, for it is generally known that box-fishes, when swallowed by sharks, bite their way out!
Nature has been especially kind to horned lizards, and that is the reason there are so many of them. They well know the secret of the Gyges ring, and can put on the garment of invisibility in a very short time. They especially frequent thedesert regions of the South and West; and those that dwell in black sandy regions are black; those of red clay regions are red; those of grey regions, grey; those from the variously coloured regions of blue and red are precisely the colour of the earth. But not satisfied with all their protections of armour and camouflage, they actually, when hard-pressed by an enemy, feign death, like an opossum! And if the enemy persists in his attack, and Mr. Lizard cannot escape, as a final effort he spurts tears of blood from his eyes. The Mexicans call him the "sacred toad." The phenomenon of blood-shooting has been explained in various ways, all of which seem equally unsatisfactory. So far it is one of Nature's secrets. Perhaps some day we may understand it.
The tortoises are among the best examples of creatures which to-day protect themselves with armour. They are, of course, reptiles, yet in the general formation of their armour, they are strikingly like armadillos. The tortoise has his armour so arranged over his body that it forms one big box. He draws his head and limbs into this whenever danger is near. In Texas recently I found a small land terrapin, and as soon as I came near, he closed his house. I picked him up, and then carefully laid him upside down on the ground, and stepped behind some nearby bushes to see what he would do. Immediately he poked his head out, and then his feet, and then he began to wave his feet wildly in air, and finally threw himself in the right position and hastened away through the grass.
The turtle protects himself in the same way, and draws his head, feet, and tail under his own house-roof where nothing can get him.
Lobsters and crabs are excellent types of armour-bearing animals. Lobsters wear marvellous coats of mail, very similar to those worn by human warriors during the age of chivalry. Their jointed structure assures them perfect ease and security. Crabs, however, believe, as the tortoise, in the strong-box protection. When resting, crabs tuck their legs beneath them, so as to shelter themselves under the hard covering. Upon crabs Nature has bestowed twin protective characteristics: namely, they are armoured, and also mimic their surroundings. The latter protection is especially needful, because certain big fishes, like the cod, are in the habit of swallowing crabs whole. In this case the armour is of no use, while the protective resemblance saves the crab.
To discuss in detail all the various kinds of armour and mail that the different groups of animals have used and developed for offensive and defensive purposes since the days of the prehistoric gigantic armadillos to the present, would require a book of itself. It is sufficient to know that armour and mail and spines are among Nature's most common forms of protection, and that each age develops new and ever more efficient methods of defence. This simply means that the age-long drama of evolution is always changing. Everything that is came out of that which was, and throughout the ages the ever-evolving organisms have been developing out of the past, that they might ever be new.
"When the cold winter comes and the water plants die,And the little brooks yield no further supply,Down in his burrow he cosily creeps,And quietly through the long winter sleeps."—(The Water Rat.)
There are many ground-dwellers in the animal world, and foremost among them is the mole. This remarkable little creature is not only gifted as a digger of canals and tunnels, but plans and makes the most extraordinary subterranean homes. Sometimes he unites with his fellow creatures and establishes whole cities with winding passages, chambers, exits and entrances. In fact, he has not only an exquisitely arranged home, but highways and roads that lead to his kingly hunting-grounds which are as elaborate as that of a modern man of wealth and culture. Indeed his subterranean network of tunnels excels in complexity our modern city subways. His engineering calculations never fail, and a cave-in of his hallways is unknown. This little gentleman with the velvet coat is a genius of varied accomplishments!
But this is only true when the mole is in his proper sphere or home. There he can fight like a tiger, catch his prey both below and above ground, build wells to collect and retain water, swim like a fish, and do many things which would seem impossible, judging from his awkward and clumsy manner above ground.
His apparent awkwardness while out of his natural habitat is largely due to the peculiar formation of his limbs, and the stupid appearance of his small half-hidden eyes. These features seem to mark him to the casual observer as a dull animal, yet in reality he is very active and bright, and when at home displays his marvellous genius in many ways! His upturned hands become powerful shovels, and by the aid of an extra bone, the sickle, which belongs to the inside of the thumb, he is enabled to work like an athlete. His velvet-like hair stands straight up, like the pile on velvet, and his tiny eyes are so hidden by hair that they do not get injured. The eyes are not well finished from an optician's point of view—but they serve admirably all the needs of the mole's life. As dull and stupid as he appears, he is, considering his size, the fiercest and most active animal in existence. Imagine him the size of a wild cat! He would be a beast of exceeding ferocity. Even a lion would find him a formidable antagonist. With such an animal tunnelling in his fields and cellars, man would have a terror hard to exterminate.
The mole is an engineer and miner who seems to have a strange sense of direction practically unknown to many other animals. How he manages to form tunnels and burrows in lines of such unusual straightness is unknown; he always works in darkness, unless it is that he can see in the dark. His little hills are not deliberate structures; they are only shaft ends through which this miner throws out the earth that he has scooped from subterranean depths, and in most cases smoothed out so that if an observer examines the burrow he will find only solid earth, and a road into his tunnel which leads to his real habitation.
The home of the mole is usually beneath a tree or hillock, and reminds one of a miniature city of tunnels and engineering feats. The main, or central, room is shaped like a great dome, the upper part of which is level with the earth around the hill, and therefore nowhere near its apex. Mr. Wood has verified the observation that around the keep are two circular passages, one of which is level with the ceiling, while the other is above. The uppercircle is decidedly smaller than the lower; and there are five ascending passages which connect the galleries with each other. There is only one entrance, however, and from it three roads lead into the upper part of the keep. When a mole enters the house from one of the tunnels, he must go through the basement in order to get to the upper part of the house and so descend into the keep. There is still another entrance into the keep from below. One passage leads downward directly from the middle of the chamber, then curving upward, leads into a larger tunnel or subway.
Throughout the vast network of tunnels every inch of wall space seems quite smooth and polished. This is due to the continuous pressure of the mole's fur against the walls. Thus there is little danger of the walls collapsing even after a rain-storm. No human being knows just why the mole has such a complex system of underground streets and tunnels; perhaps it is because he finds that a greater feeling of safety surrounds his home when he knows that in case of danger he can escape in a dozen directions. Surely he is the original builder of labyrinths!
How marvellous that so tiny a creature can build such a fortress! The complex chambers and circular galleries do justice to an artist. The spaceof ground covered by a single mole's roads and galleries is almost unbelievable; in every direction from the fortress they run, and are sunk at various depths, according to the condition of the mole's hunting-grounds, which are really the spaces of ground through which he tunnels. Worms and underground insects are his chief food. Sometimes he ploughs along the surface of the ground, and exposes his back as he works; but if the weather is dry, he ploughs deeply into the earth for worms. He fills his storehouse with earth-worms for winter use, and he finds it necessary to bite their heads off, which leaves them inert but not dead. This cannot be done in the summer months without the heads re-growing and the worms crawling away. The mole knows the exact temperature best suited for keeping his meat fresh!
A most interesting and beautiful family of miner-cousins of the moles are the shrews. They are excavators of great ability, and because of their nocturnal habits are rarely seen alive. They are very similar to the mole, though much more handsome. Their domicile is built of dry grass at the end of a tunnel.
The shrew mole of North America is a ground-digger of great ingenuity. He is second only to the mole in the extent and pretensions of his engineering and tunnelling. His eyes are very small and deeply hidden in his fur. During the day he constantly comes to the surface of the earth, and one may catch him by driving a hoe or spade underneath him.
Another underground-dweller is the elephant shrew of South America. He has a long nose, thick fur, short ears, and, unlike his cousins, he loves to bask in the warm sunshine. At the least signal of alarm he darts away to his subterranean home. As a mining engineer he is unexcelled; he sinks his tunnels by first boring an almost perpendicular shaft, and then making his burrows at an angle. It is a sad day for earth-worms when he decides to locate in their vicinity!
It is not an easy task to classify the homes of animals. Many of them have characteristics that entitle them to be placed under several groupings. The otter, for example, might be classed as a cave-dweller, as he seeks refuge in caves; yet he also rears his young in underground nests as a burrowing animal. But few naturalists believe that he does his own digging. This is not surprising when we remember that there are many other animals that live in caves and grottoes, and like the otter, seek ready-made homes for their convenience. Among these may be mentioned three Americansalamanders, bats, and a few strange mice, who seek darkness and constant temperature, and therefore find caves best suited to their needs.
The same is true of the weasel, who is thought to be a great burrower, but in fact, like our remote cave-dwelling ancestors, makes his home only in caves, in rocky crevices, and under the gnarled roots of old trees. He is a bright-eyed little creature, with a slender snake-like neck and red body. He is a great friend of mankind, as he does more toward eradicating mice and other nocturnal depredators than all the rat-catchers in the land. His home is quite ordinary compared to that of the more ambitious underground-dwellers.
A near cousin of the weasel, and a most ingenious engineer and miner, is the badger. He is a tenement-dweller and builds his home in the deep, shady woods. His home is rather pretentious with several chambers, and a most delightfully furnished nursery which is warmly padded with dry grass and moss.
The badger, once so plentiful in England and America, is fast passing away because of the increase of towns and cities. As soon as the forest in which he dwells is drained and converted into farm land, the badger disappears. He is driven from the soil where he once held sway, and is oneof those unfortunate animals which are eliminated by man-made civilisation.
The fox of the Far North is a famous excavator, and his underground home which shelters and protects him from the extreme cold is most spacious. It is a strange fact that these cunning little animals rarely make their homes away from others of their kind. Sometimes twenty to thirty are found in close proximity. And their owners are unquestionably the smartest, keenest, and quickest creatures that roam the wilds. While some of their deeds are questionable, their quick wits and nimble bodies excite our admiration.
These arctic foxes really build small cities, and their semi-social life may be accounted for by the peculiar suitability of the place which they select for a habitation. Their homes are usually in a sandy hill, where it is very easy for them to burrow; and the strangest part of the whole city is that each burrow is complete and entirely independent in itself. There are many winding paths and tunnels in each house, but each belongs exclusively to its owner and never winds into a neighbour's house. In case of danger the fox has many directions in which he may escape.
The nursery is the most carefully arranged of all the rooms. It is rather small and is directly connected with the main outer chamber somewhat like the nursery of the mole. So skilfully is it situated that it sometimes happens a hunter will dig into a fox's burrow and never discover the nest of young, and later the clever mother will return to carry away her babes, which are usually five to six in number. Adjoining the nursery are two or three storage rooms filled with food for the winter. The number of bones usually found in the basement indicates that a great variety of ducks, fish, hares, lemming, and stoats are regularly eaten, and that the average fox family does not want for food.
The arctic fox is not only a beauty in his coat of pure white, but is unusually brainy. Persecuted animals, like persecuted human beings, become very wise. Nature is kind to the fox in his arctic home, and in the winter turns his coat snow white so that he may easily escape his enemies—especially men, who seek his beautiful fur and edible body. He is skilled in his distrust of wires, sticks, guns and strings! No man knows better than he the meaning of foot-tracks in the snow, and how long they have been there, and which way they lead; thus, those that survive their enemies have acquired extreme wisdom, and keep carefully awayfrom everything that is at all suspicious to their eyes and nostrils.
The Siberian fox is one of those wise creatures that has defied in a most extraordinary way his handicaps, and, refusing to admit them, has boldly selected the strangest dwelling-place known to the animal world—the horn of the mountain sheep. This unique dwelling-place has been the home of the Siberian fox for ages, and his ancestors have known no other. The mountain sheep, which are giants among their kind, have the longest horns in proportion to their size of any animal in existence. The argali of Siberia is the largest of all sheep, and is equal in bulk and weight to an average-sized ox, with horns proportionally large. The horns of these animals are strikingly like those of the Rocky Mountain sheep of America, except they are much larger. They spring up from the forehead, tilt backward, then boldly curve below the muzzle, before finally again pointing upward and tapering into a sharp and delicate point. They are hollow, though exceedingly stout and elastic, and strengthened on the outside by a number of ridges or horny rings set very close together. They are found in large numbers in this land of perpetual ice and snow, and it is thought that they break from the sheep's heads very easily.
It is not uncommon to find them lying in a spot which has been a battlefield, where two sheep in attempting to settle some dispute have fought and fallen. It is not long after they have thus fallen before they are utilised by Mr. Fox. He stores himself carefully away in these roomy horns, one of which Mrs. Fox uses as a nursery, finding it a snug, safe, and warm place to rear her little family.
The other varieties of foxes, especially the grey and red, are not so skilled in home-making. This may be due to the fact that they do not have need of such elaborate houses as their arctic cousins. Again, it may be that the existence of numerous deserted homes of badgers, or even rabbits, makes it unnecessary for them to spend their time in building homes of their own. It is much easier to enlarge the ready-made burrow of a rabbit than to dig a new tunnel, of course.
If there is no ready-made burrow to be had, then the wise fox sets to work and scoops out his own. Herein he sleeps all the day, and comes forth only at night. A small chamber from the main room serves as the nursery, and here the babies are born and nurtured. Nothing is more beautiful than to see the entire family—mother, father, and children—come forth at evening to play. The young areas sportive as pups, but they never wander far from home. Their broad heads, grey coats, short tails and awkward appearance would lead no one to think that they were the children of handsome, nimble-limbed, intelligent Mrs. Fox!
Woe to the dog that enters Mrs. Fox's home! She is a pugilist of the first order, and knows how to fight far better than the average bull terrier. It requires a very savage dog to kill her, and he is apt to be minus an ear when the battle is over.
Red and grey foxes are similar in intelligence, but differ in many other ways: the former are like the gipsies in always moving about from place to place, while the latter stick to one general locality, although their hunting-grounds may range for several miles in all directions. Red foxes seem actually to enjoy being hunted by dogs; in most cases they will outrun the dogs, and rarely seek protection from caves or rocks.
The grey fox, on the other hand, cares little for racing, but seeks protection among rocky cliffs where the dogs are at a disadvantage. Here none but the smallest canines may enter the holes and crannies, and they are usually wise enough to stay out. Hunters are thoroughly familiar with the tactics of the fox family, and therefore select the red ones for their sport.
The foxes are truly famed for their cunning, and when other animals try to play tricks on them, the trick usually turns out in the foxes' favour. During the winter season these wise creatures are sometimes hard pressed for food. Birds and small animals are hard to catch, and the farmers' chicken houses are closed. It is then that the wise fox needs all his wit and wisdom, for he oftentimes becomes the hunted as well as the hunter. His chief enemies are the puma and the timber wolf, but they are seldom able to get him.
The prairie-dog is so talented that he might be classed under several headings; he is sociable, a burrower, and especially gifted in the art of constructing underground "dog towns." He is rarely called by his Indian name,Wish-ton-wish, and we know him only as the prairie-dog. Evidently he was given this name because of his yelping bark, which resembles the cry of a young domestic dog.
He is a good-looking but rather curious little animal. He has a round, flat head, and garish-red fur, and a stout little body. He makes an affectionate pet, and loves the society of human beings. When he decides to start a town, he usually succeeds, for he is an exceedingly prolific animal, and his extensive burrows seem to have noends. They are rather large, and run to great depths. In the western part of the United States, especially on the big prairies, the prairie-dog towns often cover large areas. They are usually dug in a sloping direction, and descend four to six feet in depth, and then suddenly rise upward again. Hundreds of these little tunnels are dug in such close proximity to each other that it is quite unsafe for cattle and horses to pass over them. This is the chief reason why ranchmen do not like the otherwise harmless little animals of the prairies.
These dog towns are most curious, and a visit to one of them well repays the traveller. Strangely enough, the prairie-dog is exceedingly inquisitive and this very quality often costs the little animal his life. Mr. Wood, in describing the prairie-dog's habits, says that this wise little Westerner, when perched on the hillocks which we have already described, is able to survey a wide extent of territory and as soon as he sees a visitor, he gives a loud yelp of alarm, and dives into his burrow, his tiny feet knocking together with a ludicrous flourish as he disappears. In every direction similar scenes are enacted. The warning cry has been heard, and immediately every dog within a hundred yards repeats the cry and leaps into his burrow. Their curiosity, however, cannot be suppressed, and no sooner have they vanished from sight than their heads are seen protruding from their burrows. Sometimes hundreds of them will be peeping from their homes at one time, their beautiful eyes sparkling as they cautiously watch the enemy's every movement.
The prairie-dog is truly a tenement dweller, and his home is occupied not only by his own kind, but by owls and rattlesnakes. Most naturalists believe that these incongruous families live in perfect harmony; but it is a well-known fact that the snake occasionally devours the young prairie-dogs, and he must be considered by them as an intruder who procured board and lodging without their consent. The owls, on the other hand, are supposed to do no harm, although it may be that they also occasionally feast on a tender young pup.
The magnificent little animals known to scientists as vizcachas, and whose homes are on the pampas of South America, are the most skilled builders of underground cities in the animal world. Their villages or cities are called "vizcacheras" and are provided with from ten to twenty mouths or subway entrances, with one entrance often serving for several holes. If the ground is soft, it is not uncommon to find twenty to thirty burrows in a vizcachera; but if the ground is rocky and hard,only four or five burrows are found. These wide-mouthed, gaping burrows are dug close together, and the entire town usually covers from one hundred to two hundred square feet.
The vizcacheras are different from other underground animal cities; some of the burrows are large, others are small. Most of them open into a subterranean main-street at from four to six feet from the entrance; from this street other streets wind and turn in all directions, like a man-made subway, and many of them extend clear into other streets or subways, thus forming a complete network of underground passageways. All the tunnelled-out dirt is brought to the surface and forms a large mound to prevent the water from entering the cities.
According to W. H. Hudson, inThe Naturalist in La Plata, "in some directions a person might ride five hundred miles and never advance half a mile without seeing one or more of them. In districts where, as far as the eye can see, the plains are as level and smooth as a bowling-green, especially in winter when the grass is close-cropped, and where the rough giant-thistle has not sprung up, these mounds appear like brown or dark spots on a green surface. They are the only irregularities that occur to catch the eye, and consequently forman important feature in the scenery. In some places they are so near together that a person on horseback may count a hundred of them from one point of view."
Unlike some burrowing animals, the vizcacha does not select a spot where there is a bank or depression in the soil, or roots of trees, or even tall grass; knowing that they only attract the opossum, skunk, armadillo, and weasel, he chooses an open level plot of ground where he can watch in all directions for enemies while he works.
The great or main entrance to some of these underground cities is sometimes four to six feet in diameter. A small man stands shoulder deep in them. The going and coming of these little vizcachas would almost lead one to believe that they have a primitive city government, and are ruled according to definite laws. Their cities stand for generations, and many of the old human inhabitants tell of certain vizcacheras around them which existed when their parents were living. The founder of a new village is usually a male; and he goes only a short distance from the other villages to establish his new colony.
These cities are by no means occupied by their builders alone, but have their undesirables within their borders. The unique style of burrowingwhich the vizcachas employ benefits several kinds of birds, especially the Minerva, and one species of the swallows, which build their nests in the bank-like holes in the sides of the vizcacha's cities. Several insects, among which may be mentioned a large nocturnal bug, with red wings and shiny black body, also seek the same shelter; another foreign inhabitant is a night-roaming cincindela, with dark green wing-cases and pale red legs, which remind one of oriental jewels. There are also no less than six species of wingless wasps, beautifully coloured in red, black, and white. Dozens of spiders and smaller insects that live in and near the vizcacheras, which are everywhere sprinkled over the pampas, pass in and out among the streets recognising their respective friends and enemies.
The home life in these communities is most interesting. The burrowers remain indoors until late in the evening during the winter, but in summer appear before the sun sets. One of the larger males is the first to appear, as if to see if everything is safe from danger; if it is, others immediately pop up and take their places at the entrance to the burrow. The females are smaller than the males, and stand up that they may see everything that happens. Curiosity struggling within them for mastery is often the cause of their death. Tinyswallows hover over the entrances, like myriads of large moths, with never-ending low, mournful cries.
Of all the incongruous inhabitants of the vizcacheras, the fox is the most dreaded and the least welcome. To appease his growls and snarls the vizcachas are sometimes forced to let him occupy one of their rooms for a season, or even permanently. During a part of the year he appears quite unassuming and indifferent to the general affairs of the household, and he really goes quite unnoticed, even though he may be sitting on the mound in the family group. But when the vizcachas appear in the spring, the fox begins to become interested in the nursery and as soon as the older animals are away he devours the young. Occasionally, if the fox is hungry, or if he has another friend to aid him, he will hunt the vizcachera from end to end, battling with the old, and usually killing all the young. It often happens that the mother vizcacha, when her babes are large enough to follow her, will take them away to another place that is safer.
The language of these city-builders is most unusual; the males frequently utter the most varied and astonishing cries. They are jarring in the extreme, and are produced in the most leisurely manner, growing louder and louder and finally ending with a slow quaver. At other times, they grunt like small pigs. Hudson says that any quick noise, like the report of a gun, produces a most startling effect among these little animals. As soon as the report is broken on the stillness of the night a perfect furore of cries issues forth from every direction. In a few seconds it ceases for a momentary lull, and then suddenly breaks forth again, louder than before. The tones of the different ones are so different that the cries of nearby individuals may be plainly distinguished amidst the babel of voices coming from the distance. It sounds as if thousands upon thousands of them were striving to express every emotion with their tiny tenor voices. No words can describe the effect that these sounds produce. One of the most peculiar calls is the special alarm-note, which is sharp, sudden, and shrill. It is reported from one to another until every vizcacha is safe in his burrow.
But with all the kind and sociable qualities of these little animals, they have characteristics which seem rather paradoxical, and chief among these is their resentment of any intrusion of neighbours into their burrows. Although a number of individuals may reside in adjoining compartments in the same burrow, yet if one enters a burrow not his own—woe is he! Even when pursued by fierce dogs a vizcacha will rarely enter a room of another. If he does, he is immediately pounced upon by the angry owner, and is usually driven clear out of the burrow. These animals are undoubtedly far the most versatile and intelligent rodents in the world.
A most unusual miner and underground dweller is the pocket gopher of North and Central America. He is a rat-like animal, and is most plentiful on the plains of the Mississippi region. He is unusual in appearance, dressed in brown and grey fur, with tiny white feet, small eyes and ears, and a short stubby tail. His feet are wonderfully strong, and his fore-paws are armed with strong, curved claws. But he is famed for his wonderful fur-lined pouches which open inside his cheeks and serve a peculiar use.
His entire life, with rare exceptions, is spent underground. There he makes long tunnels for the purpose of securing tender roots for food; these tunnels are about twelve to eighteen inches below the surface, and usually wind under the foot of a tree where a sinking passage goes down four to five feet further and leads to a large living-room. This is the family nest and nursery, lined with grass and soft fur which Mrs. Gopher has taken from her own body. Adjoining the living-room is a storagebin filled with nuts, dried bits of roots, tobacco, and potatoes.
Much that is exaggerated has been said in regard to the adaptability of the gopher for his work. But it is a fact that he is of all the diggers best suited for his task. He uses his strong teeth, like a trench-digger uses a pick, to loosen the earth; and while his fore-feet are kept constantly at work in digging and pressing the dirt back under the body, the hind feet also aid in shovelling it still farther back. When a sufficient amount has heaped up behind him, he performs the strangest of all his feats—he turns around, and places his hands vertically against his chin, thus forcing himself backwards, pushing the dirt ahead of himself until it is forced out of the tunnel. At the outer end of the tunnel is formed a little hillock.
Dr. Merriam has made a special study of the gopher, and in speaking of the strange habit of running backwards, he says that even in carrying food to one of his barns or storehouses the gopher rarely turns round but usually runs backwards and forwards, over and over again like a shuttle on its track.
The gopher uses his pouches for carrying food, not dirt. When he has eaten a sufficient amount of food, he fills his pouches. If a potato is too largeto be carried in this way, he trims it off to the right size. His method of emptying his pouches is most interesting; with his two tiny paws he delicately presses the food from his cheeks.
The woodchuck is an American basement-dweller of considerable renown. His peculiar whistling cry has won for him from the French the name ofsiffleur; and we sometimes call him by the very inappropriate name of ground-hog. He is a skilled weather prophet, and his appearance in the early spring signifies that the winter is over. He never shows himself until the cold is gone.
The home of the woodchuck is usually found under a hill, with a sheltering rock to protect the entrance, which leads into a tunnel, from twenty to thirty feet in length, finally ending by entering his home proper. The tunnel descends obliquely for several feet, and again rises towards the surface. His nest is rather large, and nicely lined with dry grass and leaves, which serve as a carpet for the young woodchucks when they come into the world. The young remain in the underground home until they are about five months old, then they go out into the world for themselves.
The ground squirrel long ago decided that he would rather have a dwelling under the ground than in the tree-tops, for in an underground homehe would have more protection, a better place for storing food, and a far safer nursery for rearing his precious babes. So snug, cosy and hidden are the tiny quarters to which his runs or subways lead that his family is quite safe against most enemies. The ingenuity and skill shown in the construction of his home entitles him to rank among the leading animal miners and excavators.
The most unusual of all the underground and basement dwellers is the polar bear. This wise inhabitant of the Far North has long ago learned that no animal needs to freeze to death in the snow. To him the snow is a constant means of warmth and protection, and as winter approaches, he seeks a position, usually near a big rock, where he digs out a hole of small dimensions, and allows the snow to cover his body. Strangely enough it is only the female bear that seeks this permanent snow hut; the males do not care to spend so much time in seclusion. The same is true of the unmated females. But the mated females always have snow huts in which they give birth to their young, and where they reside until early spring; then the mother bear comes forth with them to seek food and teach them the ways of the world.
POLAR BEAR
TO THE POLAR BEAR THE ICE AND SNOW OF THE FAR NORTH MEAN WARMTH AND PROTECTION. THE MOTHER BEAR DIGS HERSELF INTO A SNOWBANK, WHERE SHE LIVES QUITE COMFORTABLY THROUGHOUT THE WINTER.
GROUND SQUIRREL
THE SHARP CLAWS OF THE GROUND SQUIRREL ARE EFFICACIOUS TOOLS IN DIGGING HIS COSY UNDERGROUND BURROW.
There is no danger that the bears will stifle for air under the snow, because the warmth of theirbreath always keeps a small hole open at the top of the snow-cell. This snow-house increases as time goes on, the heat exhaled from their bodies gradually melting the snow. Often Mrs. Bear's home is discovered by means of the tiny hole in the roof around which is collected quantities of hoar frost.
Hibernation is one of the strangest phenomena of the animal world, and bears, especially the white bear of the polar regions, the black bear of North America, and the brown bear of Europe, agree in the curious habit of semi-hibernation. In the late fall of the season, the bears begin to eat heavily and soon become enormously fat, preparatory for the long winter of semi-sleep.
During the winter, at least for three months, the polar bear takes no food, but lives entirely upon the store of fat which her body had accumulated before she went into retirement. The same is true of many hibernating animals, but in case of the bears it is more remarkable because the mother bear must not only support herself but nourish her young for a long period without taking any food for herself.
Another good example of a ground-dweller is the aard vark of Southern Africa. He is as curious as his name, and scoops out immense quantities of earth to form his home. This dwelling might be termed a cave, as he heaps up the earth in the shapeof a mammoth artificial ant-hill; on one side is the entrance, which is so skilfully formed that it looks far more like the work of man than of an animal.
His name is Dutch and means earth-hog. It is applied to him because his head looks somewhat like that of a pig. His claws are powerful and enormous, and with them he is able to dig into the hardest soil, and to destroy the giant ant-hills which are dotted over the plains of South Africa, and which can withstand the weight of a dozen men.
This strange creature sleeps during the day, and comes forth at evening to seek his food. The first thing he does is to burst a hole in the stony side of an ant-hill, to the utter dismay of its tiny inhabitants. As they run among the ruins of their fallen city, he throws out his slimy tongue and catches them by the hundreds. In a short time only the shell of a half-destroyed wall remains.
These once stately ant-homes metamorphosed into caves, form homes for the jackals and large serpents of the plains. The Kaffirs of Africa use them as vaults into which are thrown their dead. The aard vark outrivals, with his great claws, the most skilled burrowing tools of man. These animals are therefore rarely captured. It is not uncommon for a horse to fall into their excavations and be killed.
Miners, excavators, and underground dwellers teach us the great lesson that, while many of them sought the ground as a protection, and found there many difficulties to overcome, they not only have won in the great struggle of life but have so skilfully adapted themselves to their environment and surroundings as to become entire masters, even artists, in their methods of living.
"But what a thoughtless animal is man,—How very active in his own trepan!"—Prior.
Among the special senses of animals none seems more human than their knowledge of mathematics. A recognition of this quality in animals is encouraging because the new scientists are earnestly trying to build up a true knowledge of animal behaviour by studying them in the light of the new psychology. This will fill the place of the vast amount of misinformation which those skilled only in book-knowledge, without really knowing the ways of Nature, have builded. It will also record all the strange and curious facts about animals and their ways without insisting too much on rigid explanation. These new scientists are far different from their predecessors who tried to explain everything they did not understand about an animal's behaviour in terms of the scanty information gained by studying a few museum specimens. Wemight as well attempt to explain human nature from the study of an Egyptian mummy. The new method is simply to give the facts about an animal, and frankly admit that in many cases, such as are found in their knowledge of counting and numbers, we must leave complete explanation to the future when we shall have a greater fund of scientific data on which to base our conclusions.
It is an established fact that some animals can count, and that they have the faculty of close observation and keen discrimination. They learn to count quickly, but they do not fully appreciate the value of numerical rotation. Most of the arithmetical feats of trained animals are hoaxes regulated by their sense of smell, sight, touch and taste. But no one doubts their ability to count. I have known a monkey that could count to five. He played with a number of marbles, and I would ask for two marbles, one marble, four marbles, as the case might be, and he would quickly hand the number requested.
Another incident that will illustrate the point is the case of a mule owned by an old negro near Huntsville, Texas. The regular routine work of this mule was to cart two loads of wood to the town every day. One day the negro wished to make a third trip, but was unable to do so. When askedthe reason, he replied, "Dat fool mule, Napoleon, done decided we had hauled enough wood fo' one day!"
Prantl claims that the time-sense is totally absent in animals, and that it belongs only to man, as one of the attributes of his mental superiority. However, many facts go to show that animals have not only a specific time-sense, but also a sense of personal identity which reaches back into the past.
Time-sense is very highly developed in dogs, cats, hogs, horses, goats, and sheep. They apparently are able to keep an accurate account of the days of the week and hours of the day and night, and even seem to know something of numerical succession and logical sequence. A friend in Texas had an old coloured servant, whose faithful dog had been trained to know that just at noon each day he was expected to carry lunch to his master. I have seen the dog on more than one occasion playing with children in the streets, suddenly break away without any one calling him, or any suggestion on our part as to the time, and rush for the kitchen just at the proper moment. No one could detain him from his duty. This same dog, however, would on Sundays continue to play at the noon hour. Surely, if any explanation is to be offered in such a case as this, it will imply as strict a sense of time as it does of duty.
A friend relates a case of a dog that went each evening to meet a train on which his master returned from the city. On one occasion the train was delayed two hours, and it was exceedingly cold, but the devoted companion remained until his master arrived. Innumerable instances of such all-absorbing affection, showing at the same time a sense of time, might be cited.
Dr. Brown gives a most remarkable example of a dog's ability to distinguish time. The story is of a female dog, though named Wylie, which was purchased by Dr. Brown when he was a young man, from an old shepherd who had long been in his employment. Wylie was brought to his father's, "and was at once taken," he says, "to all our hearts; and though she was often pensive, as if thinking of her master and her work on the hills, she made herself at home, and behaved in all respects like a lady.... Some months after we got her, there was a mystery about her; every Tuesday evening she disappeared; we tried to watch her, but in vain; she was always off by nine P. M., and was away all night, coming back next day wearied, and all over mud, as if she had travelled far. This went on for some months, and we could make nothing of it. Well, one day I was walking across the Grass-market, with Wylie at my heels, when two shepherds started, and looking at her, one said, 'That's her; that's the wonderful wise bitch that naebody kens.' I asked him what he meant, and he told me that for months past she had made her appearance by the first daylight at the 'buchts' or sheep-pens in the cattle-market, and worked incessantly, and to excellent purpose, in helping the shepherds to get their sheep and lambs in. The man said in a sort of transport, 'She's a perfect meeracle; flees about like a speerit, and never gangs wrang; wears, but never grups, and beats a' oor dowgs. She's a perfect meeracle, and as soople as a mawkin'.' She continued this work until she died."
Another most striking instance, showing animals' sense of time, is that related by Watson in which he tells of two friends, fathers of families, one living in London and the other at Guilford. For many years it was the custom of the London family to visit their friends in Guilford, always accompanied by their spaniel, Cæsar. After some years a misunderstanding arose between the two families. The usual Christmas visits were discontinued; not, however, so far as the spaniel was concerned. His visits continued as before. On the eve of the first Christmas following the misunderstanding, the Guilford family were astonished to find at their door their London friend, Cæsar. Naturally, they expectedthat he had come in advance of the family, and were happy in the thought of this unexpected reconciliation. All evening they awaited their friends, but none arrived. Nor did they the next day. Cæsar had come of his own accord at the accustomed time, and remained with his friends for the usual number of days. This naturally led to a correspondence between the families, who thereupon resumed their former friendly relations. We do not believe, of course, that this dog counted the exact number of days to know when to start to Guilford, but he doubtless saw something to remind him of the past.
Sir John Lubbock once related before the British Association at Aberdeen how cards bearing the ten numerals were arranged before a dog, and the dog given a problem, such as to state the square root of nine, or of sixteen, or the sum of two numbers. He would then point at each card in succession, and the dog would bark when he came to the right one. The dog never made a mistake. If this was not evidence of a mentality at least approaching that of men, we do not know what to call it.
If there is any difference between an animal and a human mathematician, it depends upon special training. The animal never has the same opportunities to learn as the man. Many savages, for example, cannot count beyond three or four. SirJohn Lubbock gives an anecdote of Mr. Galton, who compared the arithmetical knowledge of certain savages of South Africa and a dog. The comparison proved to the advantage of the dog.
There is no reason that a dog should not be taught arithmetic. And if one wishes to do so, it might be well to begin by making the dog distinguish one from two, allowing him to touch both once at the word one, and twice at the word two. Then he might pass on to six or seven. After he had progressed to ten, he might begin addition. At least the experiment would be interesting and conducive to learning the truth. Surely a knowledge of mathematics is no more wonderful than that of the ordinary pointer dog's ability to distinguish different kinds of birds. Certain of those wise dogs are trained to hunt only quail, while others hunt several varieties of game.
It should be remembered that all degrees of arithmetical aptitude are found in the human races, from the genius of a Newton and a Laplace to the absolute inability of certain of the Hottentots to count to three. These inequalities in the mathematical notions of different people should make us very cautious about saying that animals cannot count and have no sense of numbers. It is extremely probable that if we had a way of choosingthose animals with a special gift for arithmetic, they would surprise us with their learning.