The Minds and Manners of Wild Animals Part 31

These spells of hysteria (without real cause) at last became so frequent that they seemed likely to injure the growth of a valuable animal, and finally the bogey bear was removed to another den.

XXIII

FIGHTING AMONG WILD ANIMALS

Quarrels and combats between wild animals in a state of nature are almost invariably due to one of two causes--attack and defense in a struggle for prey, or the jealousy of males during the mating season. With rare exceptions, battles of the former cla.s.s occur between animals of different Orders,--teeth and claws against horns and hoofs, for instance; and it is a fight to the death.

Hunger forces the aggressor to attack something, and the intended victim fights because it is attacked. The question of good or ill temper does not enter in. On both sides it is a case of "must,"

and neither party has any option. Such combats are tests of agility, strength, and staying powers, and, in a few cases, of thickness of bone and hide.

How Orang-Utans Fight. Of the comparatively few animals which do draw blood of their own kind through ill temper or jealousy, I have never encountered any more given to internecine strife than orang-utans. Their fighting methods, and their love of fighting, are highly suggestive of the temper and actions of the human tough. They fight by biting, and usually it is the fingers and toes that suffer. Of twenty-seven orang-utans I shot in Borneo, and twelve more that were shot for me by native hunters, five were fighters, and had had one or more fingers or toes bitten off in battle. Those specimens were taken in the days when the museums of America were one and all dest.i.tute of anthropoid apes.

A gorilla, chimpanzee, or orang-utan, being heavy of body, short of neck, and by no means nimble footed, cannot spring upon an adversary, choose a vulnerable spot, and bite to kill; but what it lacks in agility it makes up in length and strength of arm and hand. It seizes its antagonist's hand, carries it to its own mouth, and bites at the fingers. Usually, the bitten finger is severed as evenly as by a surgeon's amputation, and heals quite as successfully.

I never saw two big orang-utans fighting, but I have had several captive ones seize my arm and try to bring my fingers within biting distance. The canine teeth of a full grown male orang, standing four feet four inches in height, and weighing a hundred and fifty pounds or more, are just as large and dangerous as the teeth of a bear of the same size, and the powerful incisors have one quality which the teeth of a bear do not possess. A bear pierces or tears an antagonist with his canines, but very rarely bites off anything. An orang-utan bites off a finger as evenly as a boy nips off the end of a stick of candy.

When orang-utans fight, they also attack each other's faces, and often their broad and expansive lips suffer severely. My eleventh orang bore the scars of many a fierce duel in the tree-tops. A piece had been bitten out of the middle of both his lips, leaving in each a large, ragged notch. Both his middle fingers had been taken off at the second joint, and his feet had lost the third right toe, the fourth left toe, and the end of one hallux. His back, also, had sustained a severe injury, which had r.e.t.a.r.ded his growth. This animal we called "The Desperado."

Orang No. 34 had lost the entire edge of his upper lip. It had been bitten across diagonally, but adhered at one corner, and healed without sloughing off, so that during the last years of his life a piece of lip two inches long hung dangling at the corner of his mouth. He had also suffered the loss of an entire finger. No.

36 had lost a good sized piece out of his upper lip, and the first toe had been bitten off his left foot.

All these combats must have taken place in the tree-tops, for an adult orang-utan has never been known to descend to the earth except for water. In some manner it has become a prevalent belief that in their native jungles all three of the great apes-- gorilla, orang, and chimpanzee--are dangerous to human beings, and often attack them with clubs. Nothing could be farther from the truth. According to the natives of West Africa, a gorilla or chimpanzee fights a hunter by biting his face and fingers, just as an orang-utan does. I believe that no sane orang ever voluntarily left the safety of a tree top to fight at a serious disadvantage on the ground; and I am sure an orang never struck a blow with a club, unless carefully taught to do so.

WILD ANIMALS ARE NOT QUARRELSOME. As a species, man appears to be the most quarrelsome animal on the earth; and the same quality is strongly reflected in his most impressionable servant and companion, the domestic dog. Nearly all species of wild animals have learned the two foundation facts of the philosophy of life-- that peace is better than war, and that if one must fight, it is better to fight outside one's own species. To this rule, however, wolves are a notable exception; for wherever wolves are abundant a wounded wolf is a subject for attack, and usually it is killed and eaten by the other members of the pack.

I have observed the daily habits of many kinds of wild animals in their wild haunts, but in the field I never yet have seen either a fight between animals of the same species, or between two of different species. This may seem a very humiliating admission for a hunter to make, but it happens to be true. In the matter of finding big snakes, having exciting adventures, and witnessing combats between wild animals, there are some men who never are in luck.

Now there was the "Old Shekarry,"--whose elephants, tigers, bison, bears, and sambar always were so much larger than mine. In his book, "Sport in Many Lands," he describes an affair of honor between a tiger and a bull bison, which was a truly ideal combat.

The champions met by appointment,--by the light of the moon, in order to be safe from interference by the jungle police,--and they fought round after round, in the most orthodox prize ring style, under the Queensberry rules. So fairly did they fight that neither claimed a foul, and at the finish the two combatants retired to their respective corners and died simultaneously, "to the musical twitter of the night bird."

Another writer has given a vivid description of a battle to the death between a wild bull and a grizzly bear; and we have read of several awful combats between black bears and alligators, in Florida; but some of us have yet to find either a black bear or an alligator that will stop to fight when he has an option on a line of retreat. When he has lived long,--say to the length of twelve feet,--the alligator is a hideous and terrorizing beast; but, for all that, he knows a thing or two; and a full grown, healthy black bear of active habit is about the last creature on earth that a 'gator would care to meddle with. Pigs and calves, fawns, stray dogs, ducks and mud hens are antagonists more to his liking.

The Fighting Tactics of Bears. In captivity, bears quarrel and scold one another freely, at feeding time, but seldom draw blood.

I have questioned many old hunters, and read many books by bear hunters, but Ira Dodge, of Wyoming, is the only man I know who has witnessed a real fight between wild bears. He once saw a battle between a cinnamon and a grizzly over the carca.s.s of an elk.

In attacking, a bear does three things, and usually in the same order. First, he delivers a sweeping sidewise blow on the head of his antagonist; then he seizes him by the cheek, with the intention of s.h.i.+fting to the throat as quickly as it is safe to do so. His third move consists in throwing his weight upon his foe and bearing him to the earth, where he will have a better chance at his throat. If the fighters are fairly matched, the struggle is head to head and mouth to mouth. After the first onset, the paws do little or no damage, and the attacks of the teeth rarely go as far down as the shoulders. Often the a.s.sailant will seize his opponent's cheek and hold on so firmly that for a full minute the other can do nothing; but this means little.

In combats between bears, the one that is getting mauled, or that feels outcla.s.sed, will throw himself upon the ground, flat upon his back, and proceed to fight with all four sets of claws in addition to his teeth. This att.i.tude is purely defensive, and often is maintained until an opportunity occurs to attack with good advantage, or to escape. It is very difficult for a standing bear to make a serious impression upon an antagonist who lies upon his back, clawing vigorously with all four feet at the head of his a.s.sailant.

Tiger Versus Grizzly Bear. Often is the question asked, "If a grizzly bear and a tiger should fight, which would whip the other?" One can answer only with opinions and deductions, not by reference to the records of the ring; for it seems that the terrors of the occident and the orient have never yet been matched in a fight to a finish.

One of the heaviest tigers ever weighed, prior to 1878, scaled four hundred and ninety five pounds, and was as free from surplus flesh and fat as a prizefighter in the ring. He stood three feet seven inches at the shoulder, measured thirty-six inches around the jaws, and twenty inches around the forearm. Very few lions have ever exceeded his weight or dimensions. So far as I know, a wild grizzly bear of the largest size has never been scaled, but it is not at all certain that any California grizzly has weighed more than twelve hundred pounds. The silvertip of the Rocky Mountain region is a totally different animal, being smaller, as well as different in color.

In a match between a grizzly and a tiger of equal weights, the activity of the latter, combined with the greater spread of his jaws and length of his canine teeth, would insure him the victory.

The superior attack of the tiger would give him an advantage which it would probably be impossible to overcome. The blow of a tiger's paw is as powerful as that of a grizzly of the same size, though I doubt if it is any quicker in delivery. The quickness with which a seemingly clumsy bear can deliver a smas.h.i.+ng blow is astonis.h.i.+ng. Moreover, nature has given the grizzly a coat of fur which as a protection in fighting is almost equal to chain mail.

Its length, combined with its density, makes it difficult for teeth or claws to cut through it, and in a struggle with a tiger, protective fur is only a fair compensation for a serious lack of leaping power in the hinder limbs. Though the tiger would win at equal weights, it is extremely probable that an adult California grizzly would vanquish a tiger of the largest size, for his greater bulk would far outweigh the latter's agility.

The Great Cats as Fighters. Tigers, when well matched, fight head to head and mouth to mouth, as do nearly all other carnivora, and at the same time they strike with their front paws. One of the finest spectacles I ever witnessed was a pitched battle between two splendid tigers, in a cage which afforded them ample room.

With loud, roaring coughs, they sprang together, ears laid tight to their heads, eyes closed until only sparks of green and yellow fire flashed through four narrow slits, and their upper lips snarling high up to clear the glittering fangs beneath. Coughing, snarling, and often roaring furiously, each sprang for the other's throat, but jaw met jaw until their teeth almost cracked together. They rose fully erect on their hind legs, with their heads seven feet high, stood there, and smashed away with their paws, while tufts of hair flew through the air, and the cage seemed full of sparks. Neither gave the other a chance to get the throat hold, nor indeed to do aught else than ward off calamity; and each face was a picture of fury.

This startling combat lasted a surprisingly long time, without noticeable advantage to either side. Finally the tigers backed away from each other, and when at a safe distance apart dropped their front feet to the floor, growling savagely and licking their lips wherever a claw had drawn blood.

Of all the wild animals that are preyed upon by lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars, and pumas, only half a dozen species do anything more than struggle to escape. The gaur and the wild buffalo of India are sufficiently vindictive in dealing with a human hunter whose aim is not straight, but both fly before the tiger, and count themselves lucky when they can escape with nothing worse to show than a collection of long slits on their sides and hind quarters made by his knife-like claws. They do not care to return to do battle for the sake of revenge, and seek to put the widest possible stretch of jungle between themselves and their dreaded enemy.

The same is true of the African buffalo and the lion. As to the antelopes of Africa and the deer of India, what can they do but make a desperate effort to escape, and fly like the wind whenever they succeed? Of course many of these defenseless animals make a gallant struggle for their lives, and not a few succeed in throwing off their a.s.sailants and escaping. Even domestic cattle sometimes return to the hill country villages of southern India bearing claw marks on their sides--usually the work of young tigers, or of rheumatic old ones.

Here is a deer and puma story. In the picturesque bad-lands of h.e.l.l Creek, Montana, I saw my comrade, Laton A. Huffman, kill a large mule deer buck that three months previously had been attacked by a puma. From above it, the great cat had leaped upon the back of the deer, and laid hold with teeth and claws. In its struggle for life the buck either leaped or fell off the edge of a perpendicular "cut bank," and landed upon its back, with the puma underneath. Evidently the puma was so seriously injured that it could not continue the struggle; but it surely left its ear-marks.

One ear of the buck was fearfully torn. There was a big wound on the top of the neck, where the puma jaws had lacerated the skin and flesh; and both hind legs had been badly clawed by the a.s.sailant's hind feet. The main beam of the right antler had been, broken off half-way up, while the antlers were still in the velvet, which enabled us to fix the probable date of the encounter.

In the great Wynaad forest I once got lost, and in toiling through a five acre patch of gra.s.s higher than my head, and so dense that it was not negotiable except by following the game trails, my simple old Kuramber and I came suddenly upon the scene of a great struggle. In the center of a s.p.a.ce about twenty feet in diameter, on which the tall gra.s.s had been trampled flat, lay the remains of a sambar stag which had very recently been killed and eaten by a tiger. The neck had not been dislocated, and the sambar had fought long and hard. Evidently the tiger had lain in wait on the runway, and had failed to subdue the sambar by his first fierce onslaught.

Now an angry stag with good antlers is no mean antagonist, and it is strange if the tiger in the case went through that struggle without a puncture in his tawny skin.

In South Africa, Vaughan Kirby once found the dead bodies of a "patriarchal bull" sable antelope and a lion, "which had evidently been a fine specimen," lying close together, where the two animals had fallen after a great struggle. The sable antelope must have killed its antagonist by a lucky backward thrust of its long, curved horns as the lion fastened upon its back to pull it down.

Mr. Kirby's dogs once disturbed a sanguinary struggle between a leopard and a wild boar, or "bush pig," which had well-nigh reached a finish. The old boar, when bayed by the dogs, was found to be most terribly mauled. Its tough skin hung literally in shreds from its neck and shoulders, presenting ghastly open wounds. The entrails protruded from a deep claw gash in the side, and the head was a ma.s.s of blood and dirt. "On searching around,"

says Mr. Kirby, "we found unmistakable evidence of a life and death struggle. The ground was covered with gouts of blood and yellow hair, to some of which the skin (of the leopard) was still attached. Blood was splashed plentifully on the tree stems and the low brushwood, which for a s.p.a.ce of a dozen yards around was trampled flat." The leopard had fled upon the approach of the dogs, leaving a trail of blood, which, though followed quickly, was finally lost in bad ground. It is no wonder that from the above and many other evidences equally good, Mr. Kirby considers the bush pig a remarkably courageous animal. He says that it was "never yet known to show the white feather," and declares that "a pig is never defeated until he is dead."

The Combats of Male Deer. The sable antelope is one of the few exceptions to the well-nigh universal rule against fighting between wild animals of the same species. Of this species, Mr.

Kirby says: "Sable antelope bulls fight most fiercely amongst themselves, and though I have never actually witnessed an encounter between them, I have often seen the results of such, evidenced by great gaping wounds that could have been made by nothing else than the horns of an opponent. I once killed a large bull with a piece of another's horn tip, fully three inches long, buried in its neck. In 1889 I shot an old bull on the Swinya with a terrible wound in its off shoulder, caused by a horn thrust."

During the jealous flashes of the mating season, the males of several species of deer fight savagely. After a long period of inaction while the new antlers are developing--from April to September--the beginning of October finds the male deer, elk, or moose of North America with a new suit of hair, new horns, a swollen neck, and all his usual a.s.sertiveness. The crisp autumn air promotes a disposition to fight something, precisely as it inspires a sportsman to "kill something." During October and November, particularly, it is well for an unarmed man to give every antlered deer a wide berth.

At this period, fights between the males of herds of mule deer, white-tailed deer and elk are of frequent occurrence, but in a wild state they rarely end in bloodshed or death, save from locked antlers. Many times, however, two bucks will come together, and playfully push each other about without being angry. Many pairs of bucks have been found with their antlers fast locked in death--and I never see a death lock without a feeling of grim satisfaction that neither of the quarrelsome brutes had had an opportunity to attack some defenseless man, and spear him to death.

The antlers of the common white-tailed deer seem peculiarly liable to become interlocked so tightly that it is well-nigh impossible to separate them. And whenever this happens, the doom of both deer is sealed. Unless found speedily and killed, they must die of starvation. While it is quite true that two deer playing with their antlers may become locked fast, it is safe to say that the great majority meet their fate by charging each other with force sufficient to spring the beams of their antlers, and make the lock so perfect that no force they can exert will release it. A deer cannot pull back with the same power it exerts in plunging forward.

All members of the deer family that I know follow the same natural law in regard to supremacy. Indeed, this is true of nearly all animals. Leaders.h.i.+p is not always maintained by the largest and strongest member of a herd, but very often by the most pugnacious.

Sometimes a herd of elk is completely tyrannized by an old doe, who makes the young bucks fly from her in terror, when one prod of their sharp antlers would quickly send her to the rear.

When bucks in a state of freedom fight for supremacy, the weaker does not stay to be overthrown and speared to death by the victor.

As soon as he feels that he is mastered he releases his antlers at the first opportunity, flings himself to one side, and either remains in the herd as an acknowledged subject of the victor, or else seeks fresh fields and pastures new.

Battles in Zoological Parks. In captivity, where escape is impossible, it is no uncommon thing for elk to kill each other.

In fact, with several adult males in a small enclosure, tragedies may always be expected in the autumn and early winter. The process is very simple. So long as the two elk can stand up and fight head to head, there are no casualties; but when one wearies and weakens before the other, its guard is broken. Then one strong thrust in its side or shoulder sends it to the earth, badly wounded; and before it can rise, it is generally stabbed to death with horn thrusts into its lungs and liver. But, as I said before, I have never known of a fatal duel between elk outside of a zoological garden or park.

One of the most novel and interesting fights that has yet taken place in the New York Zoological Park was a pitched battle between two cow elk--May Queen and the Dowager. A bunch of black fungus suddenly appeared on the trunk of a tree, about twelve feet from the ground. My attention was first called to this by seeing May Queen, a fine young cow, standing erect on her hind legs in order to reach the tempting morsel with her mouth. A little later the Dowager, the oldest and largest cow elk in the herd, met her under the tree, whereupon the two made wry faces at each other, and champed their teeth together threateningly. Suddenly both cows rose on their hind legs, struck out viciously with their sharp pointed front hoofs, and, after a lively sparring bout, they actually clinched. The young cow got both front legs of the old cow between her own, where they were held practically helpless, and then with her own front hoofs she fiercely rained blows upon the ribs of her a.s.sailant. The Dowager backed away and fled, completely vanquished, with May Queen close upon her heels; and thus was the tyrannical rule of the senior cow overthrown forever.

During the breeding season, our wild buffaloes of the great vanished herds were much given to fighting, and always through jealousy. The bulls bellowed until they could be heard for miles, tore up earth and threw it into the air, rolled their eyes, and often rushed together in a terrifying manner; but beyond b.u.t.ting their heads, pus.h.i.+ng and straining until the weaker turned and ran, nothing came of it all. I have yet to find a man who ever saw a wild buffalo that had been wounded to the shedding of blood by another wild buffalo. It is probable that no other species ever fought so fiercely and did so little damage as the American bison.

Elephants, Wolves, and Others. In ordinary life the Indian elephant is one of the most even-tempered of all animals. I have spent hours in watching wild herds in southern India, sometimes finding the huge beasts all around me, and in dangerously close proximity. Several times I could have touched a wild elephant with a carriage whip, had I possessed one. So far from fighting, I never saw an elephant threaten or even annoy another.

Elephants, being the most intelligent of all animals in the matter of training, have been educated to fight in the arena, usually by pus.h.i.+ng each other head to head. A fighting tusker can lord it over almost any number of tuskless elephants, because he can pierce their vitals, and they cannot pierce his. A female fights by hitting with her head, striking her antagonist amids.h.i.+ps, if possible. Once when the late G. P. Sanderson was in a keddah, noosing wild elephants, and was a.s.sulted [sic] by a vicious tusker, his life was saved by a tame female elephant, whose boy driver caused her to attack the tusker with her head, and nearly bowl him over by the force of her blows upon his ribs.

In captivity, wolves are the meanest brutes on earth, and in a wild state they are no better. As a rule, the stronger ones are ever ready to kill the weaker ones, and eat them, too. One night, our male Russian wolf killed his mate, and ate nearly half of her before morning. A fox or a wolf cub which thrusts one of its legs between the part.i.tion bars and into a wolf's den almost invariably gets it bitten off as close to the body as the biter can go. In the arctic regions, north of the Great Slave Lake, "Buffalo" Jones and George Rea fought wolves incessantly for several days, and every wolf they wounded was immediately killed and devoured by its pack mates.