REHEARSING IN WINTER QUARTERS.

“It is a pretty thing to say, and that is all,” he said. “The man who wants to subdue a wild beast has to be fearless and go about his task in a courageous way, and of course the eye plays its part. The man who attempted to handle a wild beast that was not chained, with nothing else than a fearless eye would be in a pretty bad hole, though. What the man must have is a good heart, plenty of pluck and lots of sand. The secret of successfully handling wild beasts is to become imbued with a confidence that all wild beasts are really cowardly, especially if they belong to the cat family. If you are not afraid and you know how to do it, it is easy enough.

“A circus man once determined to put the question whether the human eye has power over wild animals to the test. Approaching a large ostrich he gazed fixedly at it, and to his delight the mesmeric glance seemed to meet with instant success. The bird crouched and flapped its wings nervously. Some hours later, however, the man’s body was found with the ostrich alternately sitting and jumping upon it. The negro guide of a circus expedition, it is told, was more successful, although there is some doubt as to whether it was the power of the eye that gave him victory. He surprised two lion cubs at play and began to play with them. They liked it so much that when he would take his departure they refused to let him go. Their cries of enjoyment finally brought the mother lioness. The negro was paralyzed with fear, and kept his eyes glued to those of the lioness. Man and beast kept steadily watching each other. The lioness moved around the negro several times but he never shifted his gaze. Several times the lioness crouched as if to spring, but finally after what seemed an age to the negro she called her cubs to her side and disappeared in the forest. This is the story brought home from Africa.

“A man once experimented with a wildcat in our circus, and only the bars of the cage prevented him from being badly scratched for his pains. As soon as he looked into the eyes of the wildcat the animal sprang fiercely at him.

“Some interesting experiments were made at our winter quarters in Bridgeport one year with the object of ascertaining the exact influence of music on animals. That animals like to hear a violin played seems to be clearly proved. A zoologist played in the menagerie many times, and found that the music pleased them. A puma, at the sound of the violin, stretched himself at full length in his cage and listened quietly as long as the music was soft and low, but the moment it became loud and fast he sprang to his feet, lashed his sides with his tail and began to pace nervously up and down his cage. A jaguar at the sound of lively music showed great uneasiness, but became quiet when soft music was played. He thrust his paws through the bars of the cage to detain the violinist. On leopards the music made hardly any impression. A lioness and three cubs seemed somewhat disturbed, but as soon as the player started to go to the next cage they came forward and lay down. He then played soft music which seemed to please them. He followed it with a lively dance, at the first sound of which the cubs sprang up and gambolled wildly about the cage. On the other hand, two striped hyenas, when they heard the music, drew back to the other end of their cage and tried to get out through the bars.

“I remember well the year 1889,” he continued, “because then the question of electrocuting, instead of hanging, prisoners condemned to die came up. A party of scientists came on to our winter quarters and conducted a series of electrical experiments upon the animals. Mr. Bailey placed the entire menagerie at the service of the scientists, and twenty of us keepers assisted in the work. The instruments employed were a powerful battery of forty-two Leclanche cells and a resistance box of one hundred thousand ohms. The experiments began at eleven o’clock in the morning and continued until nightfall.

“The first animal experimented with was a savage baboon, which fought furiously before he was tied. He bit one keeper severely and tore the clothing off another. A sponge, that was used as the end of one wire, was forced into his mouth. A second sponge was fastened on one of his paws. A current of two cells was then passed through the simian and was promptly resented by a fierce attempt to break his bonds and escape. The baboon’s irritation increased with the current until twenty-eight cells had been used. When forty cells had been used, the animal became lethargic and almost comatose, looking for all the world like a man overcome by strong drink. The highest point of resistance was eight thousand ohms, a surprisingly large figure. When finally released, the baboon became wild with rage and attacked the nearest keeper, inflicting a dozen scratches on him. A tame seal was next operated on. It allowed the experts to fasten one roll of copper wire around its neck and a second around its tail flippers. The moment the current was applied it snapped viciously in every direction. The savants sprang right and left, upsetting chairs and writing materials in their haste to get out of reach. When the current was increased the seal gnawed at the wires and succeeded in disengaging itself from both. The resistance could not be ascertained on account of its wet coat acting as a conductor to the electric fluid.

“The gnu or horned horse, did not take kindly to science. When one of the savants entered its cage it attacked him so savagely, that three keepers were obliged to go to his assistance. The animal showed a resistance of eleven thousand ohms and seemed paralyzed the moment the current was turned on. The small monkeys behaved very much like little children. The moment they felt the current they screamed and seemed to be undergoing agony. When the wires were removed, they appeared puzzled and three of them took up the electrodes as if to study them. A large blue monkey was so interested that when released he seized the large sponge and began to tear it apart as if to see what it contained that hurt him so. The monkeys offered a resistance of from five thousand to seven thousand ohms. The hippopotamus and sea lion took the full force of the current without wincing; but a dog, after having a moderate current passed through his brain, showed signs of hydrophobia and had to be killed. The wild carnivora showed much sensitiveness to the electric current, manifesting every symptom of rage and distress when only a single cell was employed. A wolf to which a mild current was applied, stood upon its haunches and cried piteously.

“But the elephants proved the star attractions. They actually enjoyed the sensation in every instance, except when a strong current was passed through the trunk. When only a few cells were employed, the huge beasts did not seem to observe the fact, but when the full battery was employed, they rubbed their legs together, caressed savant and keeper alike and squealed their pleasure. No odder sight was ever seen than an elephant with mouth wide open, with one scientist holding a sponge to the huge tongue and a second another to the root of his tail, and manifesting every sign of glee.

“The manner in which animals endure pain always awakens our sympathies. Horses in battle are a striking example of power of endurance and unyielding courage. After the first stinging pain of the wound, they make no sound, but bear their agony with mute, wondering endurance. Elephants also suffer agonies without flinching. When they are shot in a vital spot they sink down on the ground with a low cry, and silently pass away. A dog will go for days with a broken leg without complaint, and a wounded cat will crawl to some quiet place and brood silently over agonies which humans could not endure. A stricken deer will go to some thick wood and there in pitiful submission await the end. Lions, tigers and other beasts will do the same. Seldom do they give utterance to cries of pain. Cattle will meet the thrust of the butcher’s knife without a sound, and a wild dove, with shot from a hunter’s gun burning in its tender flesh, will fly to some high bough or lie on the ground to die, and no sound will be heard save the dripping of its life blood upon the leaves. The eagle, stricken high in air, will struggle to the last, but there will be no sound of pain, and the proud defiant look will not leave the eyes until the lids close over them and shut out the sunlight they love so well.”Sunday is fast-day in the menagerie tent, and every occupant, caged or uncaged, knows when the day arrives. When the week-day feeding hour—five o’clock in the afternoon—approaches, not one of the animals betrays the feeling of eager desire on Sunday which characterizes them all the other six days. They understand instinctively that there will be no meal. Then on Monday the “cat” animals begin to pace their cages nervously and peer through the bars awaiting the coming of the keepers. They are well aware that liver, which they relish keenly and which keeps them in good physical condition, will be the food. The Sunday abstinence is deemed by the trainers an aid to good health, as copying to some extent the habit of beasts in their native haunts, where food is not obtainable every day. There is little sickness in the menagerie. The animals are studied closely and given assiduous attention if the slightest indisposition is manifested.