VISITS TO THE ZOO.
THE LION-HOUSE.
We are glad to observe that in spite of the general depression in trade and agriculture, and the many counter-attractions for pleasure-seekers which have sprung up in and around London in recent years, the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, still maintain their popularity with the British public. On Easter-Monday, no fewer than thirty-one thousand visitors paid at the gates; thus clearly proving that the love of natural history is not dying out among us. An expedition to the Zoo is always the more pleasant when we are accompanied by the young, eager to compare the Jumbos and tigers of their Noah’s Ark and picture-book with the living realities to be seen in the Society’s collection. But there are others besides our children who may gain a useful knowledge in natural history by a stroll through the Zoological Gardens; and one hopes for a still more profitable effect in the ideas of many; for when studying the structure, the form, and the habits of even the meanest of creatures, it is hardly possible for the reflective mind to resist feeling a sense of the power and wisdom of the Creator.
Before speaking individually of the many interesting animals to be seen in the Zoological Gardens, it is right to point out, for the benefit of the uninitiated, or to those who have never visited a foreign land, and consequently have not had the opportunity of seeing wild creatures in a state of nature, that though the great majority of the prisoners we see there doubtless give a true idea of their habits when roaming in their native jungles, yet many of the quadrupeds, more especially those bred in the Gardens, cannot altogether be relied upon in this respect; for instance, many of the bears from the Himalaya Mountains, or other cold climes, which, we know, hibernate during the depth of winter, are unable to indulge in their lengthened sleep from force of circumstances. There are no hollow trees or snug caves wherein to curl up comfortably and pass the winter in a state of somnolence. Again, it is often most difficult, if not impossible, to provide the natural food for some of the creatures from tropical countries, and these animals have of necessity to subsist upon whatever their keeper places before them, and that sometimes of a kind which they would hesitate or even refuse to devour in a state of freedom.
Perhaps the most interesting spot in the Zoo to the general visitor is the well-known Lion-house, though children almost invariably show a predilection for the monkeys. The Lion-house was erected some few years ago, and is a great improvement upon the former structure, now used for the bears, wolves, and hyenas; but though fairly roomy and comfortable for the larger felidæ inhabiting it, yet, considering their ever increasing number, and the importance which these carnivora hold in the animal kingdom, it is unfortunate that a still larger space and more commodious building could not have been spared for the purpose. The Lion-house contains not only several fine specimens of African lions, but also almost every known species of the larger Cat tribe, the snow leopard of the Himalayas (Felis uncia) alone excepted.
In our changeable climate, more especially during the long dreary winter-months, when the ground is often covered with snow and hard frosts prevail, animals like the lion, the tiger, and the leopard, accustomed to tropical climates and a more equable temperature than ours, necessarily require their dens to be artificially heated, and great care taken to guard against their suffering from the extreme cold. In spite of every precaution having been taken, several valuable animals succumbed to the rigours of our late almost arctic winter. But ample space and outdoor exercise are also great desiderata, and in this respect it must be confessed that the Lion-house of our own Zoological Gardens does not compare favourably with buildings intended for a like purpose to be seen at Berlin and other continental collections. At the Thiergarten, Berlin—where may be seen a magnificent troop of seven or eight lions all in one large inclosure—there is a rocky hill—made secure, so far as the public are concerned, by a circle of high iron railings, and connected by doorways with the ordinary winter dens. So soon as summer appears and the weather becomes warm, the lions are permitted to roam about at will over this hill; and it is a pleasing sight to observe the creatures really enjoying themselves, and for a time forgetful of their present captivity. Here may be seen a shaggy veteran with his wife and cubs lying together in a group upon some slabs of rock, and basking in the rays of the mid-day sun; there, an old lioness asleep under the shade of an overhanging boulder; while her two half-grown sons, full of health and spirits, are busily engaged in a romp of hide-and-seek.
But to return. The row of elevated seats provided for visitors to the Lion-house, and facing the long line of fourteen cages, affords an excellent view of the inhabitants of the different dens. On the left we see two fine male lions in separate cages; and close to them several lionesses, one with a pair of handsome cubs. To the extreme right are three tigers—two from continental India; and a third, a young, very quiet, and peculiarly dark fulvous-marked animal, recently obtained from Turkestan. It must be confessed, however, as every old Indian shikary will testify, that no one of the three before us conveys a true idea of the enormous size, strength, and muscular power which the royal tiger attains to in a wild state. It would be no exaggeration to say, that a well-fed specimen from the Bengal Sunderbunds or Central India would reach nearly twice the weight, and measure twice the thickness round the shoulders, of any one of the three narrow-chested, hollow-flanked creatures before us. Next in importance and size comes the jaguar from America—a single specimen, but a remarkably fine, powerful animal, and, to all appearance, quite a match for any one of the three undersized tigers from the Old World. The puma or cougar of South America—a pair of beautiful grayish-red cats, but wanting in the brawny limbs and muscular neck and chest of the jaguar. Three beautiful leopards in one den. Many good naturalists would pronounce one of them to be a panther, and a distinct variety from the remaining two; but this is an undecided point among zoologists, so we will not touch upon it, merely remarking upon the extraordinary dissimilarity in the colour and marking of the skins of the three specimens before us, and which fully accounts for the difficulty so many naturalists have found in classifying these felidæ. Lastly, we notice the cheetah, or Indian hunting leopard, said to be the ‘pard’ of the ancients, common to various countries in Asia, and also throughout Africa, but not found in Ceylon, where the common leopard has erroneously gained the title of cheetah. This interesting animal has been rightly placed as a separate subgenus from the true cats, on account of the claws being only partially retractile, with the tips always visible. It is a high-standing, slender creature, thin across the loins like a greyhound, and carrying the tail more after the manner of the dog than the true cat.
As being the largest of the group before us, the lion and the tiger naturally attract our chief attention. These champions of the Old World have many a time in the days of ancient Rome been pitted the one against the other in mortal combat; but there is still a difference of opinion which of the two is the more formidable animal. Probably the tiger, on account of his more muscular hind-quarters, would have most friends; but many experienced travellers and sportsmen who have witnessed the extraordinary strength and ferocity of the lion, hold the contrary opinion. In parts of Central India, as also in Kutch and Guzerat in the Bombay Presidency, the Asiatic lion and tiger are still found in the same jungles; but we never hear of the two animals quarrelling and coming to blows. Formerly, the lion of India, on account of the male having a shorter mane, was considered to be of a different species from his African brother; but more recently, our scientific naturalists have rightly come to the conclusion that the two are identical. It must be allowed, however, that the Asiatic lion is altogether a less courageous and dangerous beast than the animal inhabiting the African continent; and our experienced Indian hunters assert that the former, even when fired at, wounded, and driven to bay, seldom turns on his pursuers and fights to the death after the manner of the royal tiger.
It is somewhat extraordinary that neither lion nor tiger has the power of climbing trees. They can make prodigious springs and bounds, but cannot clamber up a tree ‘hand over hand,’ so to speak, like the bear; and this is the more surprising when we remember that the jaguar, the puma, and the leopard, like all the smaller cats, are active, expert climbers. True, both lion and tiger are far larger and heavier than any other of the felidæ; and undoubtedly their great strength lies in the massive proportions of the shoulder and forepart of the body, as compared with the hind-quarters; yet, when we consider the general symmetry and graceful movements of these two gigantic wild cats, we cannot help feeling disappointed that they are wanting in one of the chief characteristics of the tribe.
Most of us probably who are in the habit of constantly visiting the Zoological Gardens have heard the roar of the lion—that grand, deep-toned, terrible voice, which seems to make the very air in close proximity to the king of beasts vibrate and quiver. We also frequently read and hear tales of the roar of the tiger; but the writer ventures to say that this impression is erroneous. The Bengal tiger, when going his nightly rounds, often makes a low yawning kind of whine or sigh, ending with a subdued grunt sounding like distant thunder; and a highly unpleasant cry it is to the belated traveller on foot as he hurries along the jungle path. But this night-moan of a prowling tiger has no resemblance whatever to the deep, grand, resounding roar of the lion. Again, every tiger-shooter who has witnessed the scene can readily recall to mind that never-to-be-forgotten moment when a royal tiger worthy of the name—perhaps wounded and goaded to fury and desperation by his eager pursuers—at length turns to try conclusions with them, and with open jaws, ears laid back, flashing eye, and tail on end, a truly terrible object, bounds towards his enemies. At such times he makes the jungle resound with a succession of deep-drawn coughing growls, evidently delivered with the intention of striking terror into the hearts of his foes. But again we say, these murderous snarls of an enraged tiger are altogether dissimilar in character to the roar of the king of beasts.
The wild tribes of Central India have often told the writer that at certain seasons of the year they are made aware of tigers being in the neighbourhood by horrible ‘caterwauling’ sounds emanating from the jungle; and doubtless this is correct, for we all know the agony of mind we often labour under when a conclave of our domestic cats are holding a palaver on the garden wall.
There is an almost universal belief that the lion roars when he is hungry, and in a wild state when in search of prey; but the writer ventures to say that, like the bear’s hug and other almost proverbial expressions of the kind, the idea is altogether erroneous. Probably certain verses in the Bible, more especially in the Psalms, such as ‘The lions roaring after their prey, &c.,’ and passages of a similar nature, have given rise to this impression. But, let it be asked, would so cunning an animal as the lion, when hungry and in search of his dinner, betray his approach and put every living creature within miles of the spot thoroughly on the qui vive, by making the forest echo again with his roaring? Assuredly not; for a more certain method of scaring his prey he could not possibly adopt. All quadrupeds, more especially the deer tribe, well know and dread the voice of their natural enemy. Even domestic animals instinctively recognise and show fear on hearing the cry of a wild beast.
In India, the sportsman when out in camp during the hot-weather months, often finds himself far away from towns and villages, in some wild spot in the depths of the jungle. Here, the stillness of the night is constantly broken by the calls of various creatures inhabiting the neighbouring forest—the deep solemn hoot of the horned owl, the sharp call of the spotted deer, or the louder bell of the sambur. But these familiar sounds attract no notice from the domestic animals included in the camp circle. But should a panther on the opposite hill call his mate, or a prowling tiger passing along the river-bank mutter his complaining night-moan, they one and all immediately show by their demeanour that they recognise the cry of a beast of prey. The old elephant chained up beneath the tamarind tree stays for a moment swaying his great body backwards and forwards, and listens attentively. His neighbour, a gray Arab horse, with pricked-up ears, gazes uneasily in the direction the sound appeared to come from; while the dogs, just before lying panting and motionless in the moonlight, spring to their feet with bristling back and lowered tail, and with growls of fear disappear under the tent fly.
Some few years ago, one of the dens allotted to the tigers was tenanted by a fine specimen named ‘Plassey.’ The writer first made the acquaintance of this animal many years ago when quartered with his regiment at Lucknow; and there is a story connected with Plassey’s history, the account of which should read a good lesson, and yet another warning, to too eager sportsmen when tiger-shooting on foot. Two officers of the Irish Lancers, then stationed at Lucknow, were out shooting in the Oude jungles. Captain T—— fired at and mortally wounded a tigress with two cubs. She dropped apparently dead, but with just sufficient life left in her to strike a last blow; and becoming aware of the near approach of her enemy, she suddenly recovered her legs, and in a moment sprang upon him and inflicted the most terrible injuries on the unfortunate sportsman. The tigress was speedily despatched, and the wounded man carried into the nearest station, where everything that could be done for him was done, but in vain, for after lingering several weeks, he succumbed.
Plassey and his brother-cub were taken to Lucknow and reared in the lancer messhouse, where they became great favourites. But time passed; the small harmless cubs grew into large powerful animals—and, as is usually the case, on attaining to a full size they speedily became troublesome and dangerous, so were first chained up, and later on confined in cages. Eventually, Plassey was brought home and presented to the Regent’s Park Gardens, where he died somewhat suddenly in the prime of life. Many valuable and rare animals brought from foreign countries, at great expense and trouble, to our shores, though at first, to all appearance, in the best of health, yet before even reaching middle age, gradually pine away and die. Nor is this to be wondered at when we remember how unnatural it is for them to be cooped up in cages, in place of a wild, unrestrained life, with liberty to wander where they will.
J. H. B.