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Training of Wild Animals

<h1 class="vspace wspace">THE TRAINING OF WILD ANIMALS</h1> BY FRANK C. BOSTOCK <hr /> <h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> <table id="toc" summary="Contents"> <tr class="small"> <td class="tdl" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td> <td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">I </td> <td class="tdl">In Which I Become “The Boy Trainer”—A Lion Hunt in a Sewer</td> <td class="tdr">3</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">II </td> <td class="tdl">Origin and History of Wild-Animal Training</td> <td class="tdr">23</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">III </td> <td class="tdl">Housekeeping for Wild Animals</td> <td class="tdr">34</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">IV </td> <td class="tdl">The Feeding of Snakes and Elephants</td> <td class="tdr">61</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">V </td> <td class="tdl">Characteristics of Different Animals</td> <td class="tdr">76</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">VI </td> <td class="tdl">“Going Bad”—Animal Instinct</td> <td class="tdr">97</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">VII </td> <td class="tdl">How Wild Animals are Captured</td> <td class="tdr">109</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">VIII </td> <td class="tdl">The Wild Animals’ Kindergarten</td> <td class="tdr">120</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">IX </td> <td class="tdl">How Wild Animals are Taught Tricks</td> <td class="tdr">143</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">X </td> <td class="tdl">An Animal Show at Night</td> <td class="tdr">166</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">XI </td> <td class="tdl">The Principles of Training</td> <td class="tdr">182</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">XII </td> <td class="tdl">The Animal Trainer—Some Famous Trainers</td> <td class="tdr">202</td></tr> <tr> <td class="tdr top">XIII </td> <td class="tdl">Guarding Against Accidents</td> <td class="tdr">226</td></tr> </table> <hr /> <h2 id="EDITORS_NOTE">EDITOR’S NOTE</h2> Before editing this book, I took the opportunity offered by Mr. Frank C. Bostock of practically living in one of his animal exhibitions for a few weeks, in order to see things as they were, and not as I had always heard of them. I was allowed to go in and out at all times and all hours; to enter the training-schools whenever I liked; to go behind the runways and cages,—a special privilege given to the trainers only, as a rule,—and to be a spectator of whatever happened to be going on at the time. The thing which interested me most, and to which I paid special attention, was that at no time in this exhibition did I once see the slightest act of cruelty in any way. Each one of the trainers and keepers had pride in his own special animals, and I had many proofsxii of their kindness and consideration to their charges. The sick animals were most carefully looked after and doctored, and in one case of a lion cub having convulsions, I noticed dim eyes in more than one keeper when the poor little animal was convulsed and racked with suffering. Had I seen the least cruelty or neglect in any way, I need scarcely say nothing would have induced me to edit this book. Ellen Velvin. New York City, June 8th, 1903. <hr /> <h2 id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> The big and little men and women of the jungle have ever fascinated me. As a child, I used often to romp with cubs attached to the traveling menageries of my parents and grandfather. Most of my boyhood, and virtually all of my youth, was passed in the almost daily companionship of wild animals. At no time have these far-traveled aliens failed to interest me. Indeed, I believe the subject engrosses me more to-day than it ever did. No two members of a species are alike. Their individualities are as clearly marked as are ours of the bigger life. I early learned that certain traits of my animal acquaintances were easily to be likened to qualities of real men and women. Longer acquaintance ripened my knowledge and understanding. Many and many a lion and tiger have I known that were quite as mean andxiv untrustworthy as men. Others I met in plenty who would scorn an unfair advantage. Most of them I found to be fair, considerate, friendly, and genuinely affectionate. In time I learned to understand my fellows of the cages, got as close, perhaps, as it is possible for man to get to mute creatures, and enjoyed the assurance that they understood and appreciated me. In my earlier years, I didn’t, I fear, altogether appreciate the good fortune of this companionship; but later, when maturity and reflection illumined my way, I was duly grateful for these friends, and, from being fond of but some, gradually grew to love all. Recognizing as I did with my broadening life the limitations of their knowledge of us, I learned not to blame the slow or the rebellious. At about this period of my career as a trainer and exhibitor, it occurred to me that perhaps I was wrong in being the jailer of these friends; that doubtless their original freedom of forest, desert, and jungle was their right,—one that could not be trespassed upon with honesty. The question of whether Ixv was wrong or right bothered me for a long while, and many an ache I had while wrestling with it. I saw these untamed men and women back in their own; saw them crouching at night in hidden fastnesses, awaiting the coming of prey; saw tragedies of the jungle; recalled too frequent ravages of human life, sometimes from hunger and again through sheer lust. I traced to authentic sources long records of these acquaintances of mine found on their own playgrounds dying and dead from hunger and thirst or the shot of the hunter of sport or gain. I thought, in these reflections, of the horse in his first wild state, of the zebra and the elephant; how these had been reclaimed from truculence with benefit to themselves and humanity. I considered, too, the demands of modern education, the obligations of natural historians, the incalculable value of living objects for study. I knew my friends of the jungle suffered no discomforts with me. My problem then resolved itself to this: Should I recommit my charges back to their own, and cease abetting further captures, orxvi should I continue to guard and cherish my friends, thus saving them and their weaker neighbors from the certain evils of the wilds? Surely, I reasoned, their better welfare is assured here with me; they never hunger, thirst, suffer violent deaths, nor administer any. Incontestably they show that captivity is not a hardship. Feeling thus, can I conscientiously abandon them, where by continuing I may benefit them and others. The result of these and like deliberations was a decision to continue the work of my forebears. The training of my dumb companions is never cruel,—less so, perhaps, when the difference of organization is considered, than the firmness exercised occasionally in the correction of an evilly disposed child. Kindness is the whip used to lead wild animals to obey. Without it none can be made to understand. With confidence, established and maintained by kindness and gentleness, the most savage beast may be transformed into a willing and even eager pupil. Of course, there are limitations to the intelligence of wild animals.xvii These limitations are pretty clearly established. The pupils are invariably capable of greater understanding and achievement than they are ever called upon to display. It is quite probable that other generations will carry wild-animal training further, but at the stage at which I have stopped I am content. I understand my associates, and know they understand me. I should be sorry to learn that the thoughtful of the public denied to my devotion the instructive and humane incentives that have sustained it. For some of the matter of the volume, incorporated from an article† on wild-animal training, written after an interview with me, I wish to express my thanks to Mr. S.H. Adams. F. C. B. <div class="footnote"> † “The Training of Lions, Tigers, and other Great Cats,” by Samuel Hopkins Adams, “McClure’s Magazine,” September, 1900. </div> <hr /> 3 <h2 id="THE_TRAINING">THE TRAINING OF WILD ANIMALS</h2> <hr /> <h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I IN WHICH I BECOME “THE BOY TRAINER”— A LION HUNT IN A SEWER</h2> Although my family was one of animal trainers and exhibitors, my father did not wish me to follow so hazardous a profession, and decided that I should become a clergyman of the Church of England. My early education was carefully looked after, and having completed my preparatory course under private tutors, I finally went to Kelvedon College in Essex, England, where I did well. I was fond of study, had good masters,—who always impressed upon me the fact that “he who would hope to command must learn to obey,”—and gained some honors. But during one vacation I went home and4 saw my father’s wild-animal exhibition, and there all the glamour and fascination of the show came upon me. There is no doubt I had inherited my father’s instincts. The lion-tamer my father had at that time was the great feature of the show. It struck me, however, that he was extremely cruel, and being very fond of animals myself, this aroused my indignation. I spoke to my father about it rather warmly, but he, evidently thinking it a boy’s impetuosity, laughed it off, saying the man was only protecting himself. That same evening, however, the trainer handled the lion so roughly that, enraged at the injustice and indignities to which he was subjected, the animal suddenly turned upon him, and would certainly have killed him had not prompt assistance been rendered. Wrought up and excited by the occurrence, I begged my father to let me take his place, but he would not hear of it. The next day I took the law into my own hands, and it was in the lion’s cage that my father found me, to his horror, when casually going the rounds of the show. He watched me for a while in fear5 and trembling, and then said, his voice quivering with anger and fright: “If ever you get out of there alive, my lad, I’ll give you the biggest thrashing you ever had in your life.” But he didn’t. He was so overjoyed at my safety and so proud of my success, that after much persuasion I got him to allow me to take the place of the incapacitated trainer. I was fifteen at this time, and was called “The Boy Trainer.” From that time my college days were over, and I knew there could never be any other life for me than that of a trainer and showman. I have never regretted this step; but I often look back upon my peaceful college days with great pleasure, for they laid the foundation of good principles, self-control, and discipline; and I have always made it my chief endeavor never to allow anything the least vulgar or offensive in my exhibitions. There is a fascination about wild-animal training which few who have once felt it escape. The constant presence of danger calls for quick judgment and promptness in meeting6 an emergency. A thrilling experience of mine in Birmingham, England, in 1889, may show the critical situation in which a wild-animal showman is sometimes placed. A country fair was being held at the time, very similar to the fairs held in America, which bring into the city country people from all parts, most of whom look upon them as events in their lives. We had a remarkably fine specimen of an African lion at that time; well formed, well grown, with a handsome head and shoulders covered with a fine darkish mane. He had been much admired, and had been referred to by several naturalists as a typical king of beasts for his haughtiness and dignified bearing. This lion was, however, one of the greatest worries and anxieties I have ever had. He had killed one man, and wounded several attendants, so powerful were his paws, and so quick his movements in reaching out of his cage. He required the most careful watching at all times, and was a very difficult animal to manage, in spite of unlimited time and patience7 spent on him. Kindness had no effect on him whatever. Special dainties he took with a growl, watching all the time for the least opportunity to grab and tear the giver. To attempt any sort of punishment or discipline with him would have been fatal; he was far too dangerous an animal to risk arousing his wild nature, and the only thing we could do was to keep him perfectly quiet, see that he was not irritated in any way, and was made as comfortable and happy as was possible, with good food, a clean house, and another lion for companionship. The second lion was removed from the malcontent by an iron partition, as it appeared a little doubtful how he would be received. We intended transferring both lions on the opening day to a much larger cage, where they would have more space and comfort, and also have a much better opportunity of being seen. The opening day was remarkable for its fine weather; crowds of people were flocking into the city from all parts, and everything promised to be a huge success. We ran one of our big cages on wheels up to the cage containing8 the two lions, and placing the cages door to door, dropped a lasso over the quiet lion’s neck, and by gentle twitches induced him to enter the big cage. Then we tried the same tactics with the African lion, but with very different results. Time after time he slipped the noose from his great body and tore madly up and down the cage, as though possessed of the strength of twenty lions. We waited a few minutes until he stopped to roar, and then once more slipped the rope over him. With a terrific wrench and twist he got himself free, and with such a wild bound that the cages shook again he sprang into the next cage so suddenly, and with such terrific force as to cause the wagon to move away upon its wheels; and before the attendants could close the door, he sprang over their heads and into the street, where for the time he was as free and untrammeled as when in his native wilds. <div id="ip_9" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 38em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_029.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="359" alt="" /> <div class="caption">MR. BOSTOCK AND HIS EIGHT LIONS</div> </div> To approach him probably meant death, but in spite of this we tried to capture him with ropes and the lasso, but without success. Suddenly he turned back, dashed through the11 lions’ tent to the rear of the building, pushed himself through a rift, and made off for the city of Birmingham, which contained at that time over two hundred thousand people. On his way he came to one of the openings of the many sewers which empty the waste of the city, and down he sprang, looking up at the crowd of people and roaring at the top of his voice. In about twenty minutes nearly every person in Birmingham knew what had happened, and the greatest consternation prevailed everywhere. The fear was intensified by the fact that as the lion made his way through the sewers, he stopped at every manhole he came to, and there sent up a succession of roars that echoed and reverberated until the very earth seemed to be full of weird sounds, driving some of the people nearly wild with terror. I was at my wits’ end. There was the danger of the lion escaping from the sewer at any moment and killing some one, for which I should be responsible, while there was also the greater danger that there would be a riot among the crowd. Something must be done12 to allay their fears, and quickly. People were beginning to flock toward the menagerie in thousands, with anything but complimentary speeches. After one of the worst quarters of an hour I ever spent, I gathered as many of my men as could be spared from the show, put a lion into a large shifting-cage, and covering the whole thing with canvas, in order that the lion should not be seen, we set off for the mouth of the sewer, all armed with as many ropes, pitchforks, pistols, etc., as we could carry. On arriving, we placed the cage at the mouth of the sewer, with the door facing it. I knew perfectly well that the lion would much prefer to remain in his cage than to enter the darkness of that evil-smelling sewer, and so it proved. Then, with three of my attendants, I went three blocks back, lowering ropes down each of the manholes on our way until we pretended we had found the lion, and then I lowered myself into the depths through the third manhole. The next thing was to fire blank cartridges, blow horns, and shout as loudly as possible,13 and, owing to the peculiar echo, the noise was deafening. One of the attendants had been instructed at a given signal to lift the iron door of the cage up and down quickly, and then suddenly clap the door down with a shout. Everything went off well. At the sound of the door closing, a shout went up from the crowd: “They’ve got him! They’ve got him! They’ve got the lion!” The cage containing the lion was then driven quickly toward the menagerie, with myself and attendants seated on top, followed by an admiring crowd of thousands of people. When we finally reached the front of the exhibition, some of the men in the crowd rushed forward and carried me in victory on their shoulders into the menagerie, while the cage containing the bogus lion was restored to its original place in the menagerie. Over forty thousand people filed into the show, until we were positively obliged to refuse admission to any more. Meanwhile I was in a perfect bath of cold perspiration, for matters were extremely serious,14 and I knew not what to do next. The fears of the people were allayed for the time, and a probable riot had been stopped only just in time, but the lion was still in the sewer. He might get out at any moment—might be out even then, for all I knew—or he might roar again and so let his whereabouts be known and my deception, which would cause a greater riot than before. As soon as possible I placed trusty men with iron bars at the mouth of the sewer; and as, fortunately, the lion stopped his roaring, and contented himself with perambulating up and down the sewer through the narrow miles of tunneling, things were quiet for the time. When everything had been done that was possible I went to bed, but as that was the most anxious night I have ever had, it is scarcely necessary for me to say that sleep was out of the question. On the afternoon of the following day, the chief of police of Birmingham came to see me, and congratulated me on my marvelous pluck and daring. This made me feel worse than before, and I at once made a clean breast of15 the whole thing. I shall never forget that man’s face when he realized that the lion was still in the sewer: it was a wonderful study for any mind-reader. At first he was inclined to blame me; but when I showed him I had probably stopped a panic, and that my own liabilities in the matter were pretty grave possibilities to face, he sympathized with me, and added that any help he could give me, I might have. I at once asked for five hundred men of the police force, and also asked that he would instruct the superintendent of sewers to send me the bravest men he could spare, with their top-boots, ladders, ropes, and revolvers with them, so that should the lion appear, any man could do his best to shoot him at sight. We arranged that we should set out at five minutes to twelve, midnight, so that we might avoid any crowd following us, and so spreading the report. At the appointed time, the police and sewer-men turned out, and I have never seen so many murderous weapons at one time in my life. Each man looked like a walking arsenal, but every one of them had been sworn to secrecy,16 and there was determination and desire for adventure on the face of each one. Among so many, and with so much ammunition, the danger had diminished to a minimum, provided the lion did not get one man at a time cornered in some narrow place. The police and sewer-men were to be stationed at every manhole in every district in which the lion was believed to be, within a radius of a mile. The empty cage was brought and placed at the mouth of the sewer, the other end of which had been blocked up so that the lion’s only means of exit was the open door of the cage. Then three trusty men and myself, accompanied by my giant boar-hound, Marco, lowered ourselves into the manhole, crawling on our hands and knees, and not knowing at any moment when we should come upon the lion. With such suddenness that we all jumped, Marco gave a sharp bark, followed by a curious throaty growl, and I knew that the faithful creature had found the scent and was giving warning of the enemy’s whereabouts. This boar-hound of mine had been trained17 to perform with wild animals and lions, and was a stanch and game fighter. He was not to be cowed by any lion on earth, but if he could only once get a hold, would hang on like grim death. As we went slowly and cautiously along, I suddenly saw two gleaming eyes of greenish-red just beyond, and knew we were face to face with the lion at last. I at once sent one man back to shout the location of the runaway to the others, and then, dropping on all fours, blowing horns, firing off blank cartridges, and letting off Roman candles,—which spat and fizzed in a most uncanny manner in the tunnel,—we went cautiously forward, hoping to drive the lion to his cage, only two blocks away. But at this juncture a terrific fight took place between the boar-hound and the lion, and it is needless to say that the danger to all parties under these circumstances in that narrow, dark sewer was extremely great. It was not until the boar-hound had been severely slashed and torn by the lion on his shoulders and hind quarters, and his head badly bitten in several places, that he left his savage antagonist18 and came to me with a whimper for protection. He had held on until he was at his last gasp, and had let go only just in time to save his life. I sent him back to the men to be taken care of, and then went on with the fight myself. Taking off my big jack-boots, I put them on my hands and arms, and going up close to the lion, was fortunately able to hit him a stinging blow on the nose with one of them. Fearing that he would split my head open with a blow from one of his huge paws, I told one of my men to place over my head a large iron kettle which we had used to carry cartridges and other things to the sewer. While he was trying to fix this, the kettle tipped and rolled over and went crashing down the sewer, making a noise and racket which echoed and resounded throughout the whole length of the narrow tunnel in the most appalling manner. The lion, who had resisted everything else in the way of capture, at once turned tail like a veritable coward, and, racing down the sewer at a mad gallop, was soon lost to sight, as though the earth had suddenly swallowed him.21 We wondered where he could have gone, as he had not had time enough to run far, but following him up, we found him in a sorry plight. <div id="ip_20" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 38em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_040.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="452" alt="" /> <div class="caption">HERMAN WEEDON AND HIS GROUP OF LIONS, TIGER, BROWN, TIBET, AND SLOTH BEARS, SILESIAN BOARHOUNDS, AND HYENA</div> </div> There was an eight-foot fall in the rear of the sewer, and this was evidently his reason for being so reluctant to turn back until frightened by the kettle. We did not know of this, and consequently tumbled headlong into it. We were not hurt, and as the lion was now roaring terrifically, we followed him up and soon found out the cause of his trouble. In the act of falling he had caught his hind legs and quarters in one of the slip-nooses which had been dropped down the manhole to secure him, and was hanging head downward from the manhole. Other strong ropes were let down immediately, for he would soon have died in that position, and we were fortunate enough to secure his head and fore paws. The cage was then placed at the manhole, and when we had run the ropes through the cage and out over the sidewalk, the men began to haul, and in this unkingly fashion the king of beasts was22 dragged out of his prison and into his cage once more, where he never again had an opportunity to escape. So I got the lion out of the sewer, as the people of Birmingham supposed I did, only their praise and applause were a little previous. But I hope never to have such another terrible experience. <hr /> 23 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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