From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

Highlands and plain, sea and air, offer a much wider field than the mountains, and therefore the migrations of the animals inhabiting, or temporarily traversing these can be more easily observed, and they are more appropriately termed migratory animals than the dwellers among the mountains. In the tundras of Russia and Siberia, the reindeer, which, in Scandinavia, never leaves the mountains, migrates to a great distance every autumn and returns the following spring to his former summer haunts.[57] About the same time it leaves Greenland, and, crossing the sea on a bridge of ice, reaches the continent of America, where it spends the whole winter, only returning to the hills of its native peninsula the following April. In both cases, dread of the approaching winter does not seem to be the sole cause of migration; there is at the same time a further incentive supplied by a plague much feared in the far north. For the short summer on these expanses calls to life an insect-world poor in species, but endlessly rich in individuals, particularly an indescribable number of mosquitoes and bot-flies, which make life a burden to the reindeer, as well as to man. To escape these the reindeer forsakes the marshy tundra, over which dense clouds of mosquitoes hover during summer, and hies to where the scourge is less severely felt—to the Alpine heights, which, in the summer season afford their most fragrant pasturage. From inherited habit, the reindeer migrate not only at the same time, but along the same paths, thus forming tracks which may be distinctly traced, traversing the tundra for many miles, and crossing streams and rivers at definite places. At the beginning of the journey, the cows with their calves arrange themselves in herds of from ten to a hundred, and precede the young stags and hinds, which are followed again by the old stags. One troop follows directly behind another, and the observer can count thousands as they pass. All hurry incessantly on, turning aside neither for the mountains nor the broad streams which cross their path, and resting only when they have reached their winter-quarters. Packs of wolves, bears, and gluttons follow close on their heels and often pursue them no small part of the way. In spring, on the return journey, the animals keep to the same order, but the herds are much smaller, and they travel in a much more leisurely fashion, and keep less strictly to the paths by which they went.

Journeys still longer than those of the reindeer are taken by the American bison, the “buffalo” of the prairies.[58] What distance individual animals travel cannot be stated with certainty, but herds in course of migrating have been met from Canada to Mexico, from the Missouri to the Rocky Mountains, and it may be assumed that a single herd traverses a considerable part of the country lying between these limits. The bisons have been seen in summer scattered over the boundless prairie, and in winter in the same places, but assembled in many thousands; their migrations have been observed, for they have been followed for hundreds of miles along the tracks—the so-called “buffalo-paths”, trodden out straight across plains and over mountains. We learn from eye-witnesses that a stream a mile wide is to them no barrier, scarcely even a hindrance, for they throw themselves into it like an irresistible avalanche, so that the water is covered with the dark, moving throng; that the animals associate and separate again, the herds increase and diminish; that old, surly, tyrannous, malevolent bulls avoid the other bisons, having perhaps been expelled from the herd, and compelled, probably only after protracted struggles, to live in hermit-fashion until the following summer; and that, during heavy snowfalls, the herds take shelter in the forests or on the slopes of the mountains. From July onwards they begin their migrations from the north towards the south. Small companies, which, till then, have been leading a comfortable summer life, combine with others and set out on the journey with them; other troops join the band, which grows as it presses on, until there is, at length, formed one of those extraordinary herds which, united till the next spring, moves and acts as if animated by one soul. When the winter is safely past, the army gradually breaks up, probably in exactly reverse order, into herds, and these divide more and more until at length only small companies are left. This breaking-up takes place during the course of the return journey. Both in going and returning, one herd follows another at some distance, but more or less along the same paths. Specially favourable places, such as low grounds covered with rich grass, cause a temporary damming up of the living stream. In such places incalculable herds assemble together, spend days in the same spot, and break up only again when all the grass has been eaten, and hunger urges them to continue their journey. As they march the wolves and bears follow their track, while eagles and vultures, birds of ill omen, circle over their heads.

Fig. 36.—A Herd of American Bison or Buffalo.

Scarcity of water, as well as of food, is often a cause of regular migrations. When winter approaches in the south-east of Siberia, more particularly in the high Gobi steppe, all the non-hibernating mammals are compelled, by the peculiar circumstances of these highlands, to seek refuge in lower-lying regions. The winter in these high grounds of Central Asia is not more severe than in districts lying further to the north or north-east, but it is usually almost snowless, and such pools of water as have been formed by the extremely slight fall of rain or snow, are covered with a thick sheet of ice. As soon as this sheet becomes so strong that the animals inhabiting the Gobi are unable to break it, they are obliged to change their quarters, and they travel not only to southern but to northern lands, whose only advantage is that they are covered with snow, for this affords ready refreshment to the parched tongues of the wanderers, and offers less resistance to their weak feet than the hard, unbreakable, and less easily melted ice. This is the explanation of the fact that the antelope, of which great numbers are found in the Gobi, forsakes a land which, save for the lack of snow and therefore of available water, is exactly the same as that which it chooses for its winter quarters. Not hunger, but thirst, drives it from its home. At the beginning of winter, the antelopes, at all times gregarious, assemble in herds of many thousands, spreading over all the low grounds around their native plateau; they often travel at the rate of fifty or sixty miles in a single night, and extend their wanderings many hundreds of miles beyond the boundaries of their proper habitat. The observer who follows them can detect their tracks everywhere, and in such numbers that it seems as though vast herds of sheep, far exceeding in number any ordinary flock, had just passed by.

Fig. 37.—Wild Horses crossing a River during a Storm.

Before the Chinese antelope begins its migration, restlessness seizes the kulan or dziggetai, probably the ancestor of our horse, and certainly the most beautiful and the proudest of all wild horses. The foals of the summer are by autumn strong enough to be able to endure a long journey with quick marches, and to bid defiance to all the accidents and dangers of a wandering life. The young stallions attain their full strength at the end of their fourth year, and towards the end of September they leave the parent-herd and press forward. Finally, the impulse to mate begins to animate the older stallions and mares, and with it comes unrest and the desire to wander. Thus the fleet, enterprising animals begin their annual migration long before winter has set in, before even its approach has become at all apparent; and on this account their migrations at first lack steadiness and regularity, and have something of the character of journeys in search of adventure. With the intention of shaking off the burdensome yoke of the leader and absolute lord of the herd, and of becoming independent and in their turn equally despotic, the young stallions forsake the herd, and thenceforward traverse the sandy steppes singly. All the younger mares who are mature, and even many of the older ones, seem to be animated by the same feeling as the young stallions, and they attempt to escape from the rule of their tyrant and join his young rival, to fall immediately under his dominion. But not without a struggle does the new candidate for leadership gain his troop of mares; the old leader does not readily relinquish his rights. For hours together the stallion stands on the top of a hill or on the shoulder of a ridge, keenly scanning the country around. His eye wanders over the desert, his dilated nostrils are turned towards the wind, his ears are directed forwards on the alert. Eager for battle, he rushes at full gallop towards every herd which approaches, every adversary who shows himself; and a furious struggle takes place for the possession of the mares, who always attach themselves to the victor. Such combats and strife set the herd in motion, detach it from the place where the summer has been spent, and lead on to migrations which become gradually regular, prolonged, persistent, and almost uninterrupted. In the course of these, if not before the end of the combats just described, the kulan troops assemble in ever-growing numbers, until at length herds of more than a thousand head set out together for fields which give promise of pasturage. They do not break up while in their winter quarters, and they are thus compelled to be continually on the move in order to find sufficient nourishment. The combined tread of the army, as they gallop on in their usual furious fashion, rings dully out, and more than once, in Russia, the sound has called the Cossacks of the military cordon to arms. No wolf ventures to attack such a herd, for the courageous wild horses know so well how to use their hoofs against him that he soon gives up any attempt; it is only the sick and exhausted horses which become his prey, as he follows the wandering herd. Even man can do them no great damage, for their caution and shyness render them difficult of approach. But winter, especially if much snow falls, brings them much suffering. The pasture, at all times scanty, is exhausted the more quickly the more numerous the herd which feeds on it. Then the animals devour indiscriminately all the vegetable substances they can find. For months together they have to maintain life on leafless shoots. Their bodies cease to be fat and plump, till at length they are like wandering skeletons. The mother, herself starving, is no longer able to nourish her foal, for the milk-yielding udder dries up in times of such need. Many a one whose tender youth is unable to endure the hard fare dies of starvation. Even the old horses suffer from the poverty and treachery of the winter. Snow-storms blowing over their feeding-ground for days at a time depress their usually cheerful courage, and increase the boldness of the wolves, which, even if they do not fall upon the already exhausted horses, persecute and annoy to the utmost those who are not yet worn out. But as soon as circumstances begin to improve, the wiry, weather-hardened, enduring creatures recover their high spirits, and, when the snow begins to melt, they set out on the return journey, reaching their summer home in about a month’s time. There they break up into single herds, recuperate among the luxuriantly sprouting, fragrant pasture, and, in a surprisingly short time, become fat and plump again. Soon the want and misery of the winter are forgotten.

Great as are the distances often traversed by all the mammals already mentioned, they can scarcely be compared with those covered by seals and whales. The water favours all the movements of animals adapted to aquatic life, and offers everywhere the same general conditions of life and the same amenities. Thus it renders the migrations of its inhabitants easier, less toilsome and hazardous than those of any other wanderers. Nevertheless it is somewhat surprising to learn that many sea-mammals, and particularly the whales, are among the most nomadic of all creatures; in fact that many, if not most of them, pass their whole life in travelling. Strictly speaking, no whale has a permanent place of sojourn for the whole year, but passes singly, in pairs, with its young, or in more or less numerous companies—the so-called schools—from one part of the ocean to another, visiting certain favourite haunts in regular order, and choosing different haunts in summer and in winter. The seas inhabited by the same species of whale in winter and in summer often lie farther apart than people seem to suppose, for some whales travel, twice a year, more than a quarter of the earth’s circumference; they are to be found in summer among the ice-floes of the Arctic Ocean, and in winter on the other side of the Equator. The female whales, who are in the highest degree sociable, and attached to their young with the tenderest, most devoted love, assemble together in surprising numbers, and under the guidance of a few males, traverse the ocean by definite routes and at definite times, some keeping to the open sea, others making their way along the coasts. Storms may force them to change their route, or delay in the appearance of the animals on which they feed, whose occurrence and disappearance is obviously the chief cause of their migration, may to some extent influence their course and the time of their visiting certain spots; but, as a general rule, their migrations are so systematic that on northern and southern coasts people look for the arrival of the whale on a particular day, and place watches so that they may be able to begin the long-desired chase without loss of time. Whales, which are recognized by the dwellers on the coast by some mark, such as mutilated fins, and which have been several times pursued in vain, have been known to appear several years in succession at the same time and at the same place; and the chase after these most valuable and therefore increasingly persecuted animals takes place with the same regularity as do hare-hunts on land, though at any other time of the year it would be vain to look for them. “After Twelfth Day,” says old Pontoppidan, “the Norwegians watch from all the hills for the whale, whose arrival is announced by the herring.” First appears the killer, then, three or four days, or at the most a fortnight later, the rorqual, though, apparently, one comes from Davis Straits and the other from Greenland. On the south coasts of the Faroë Islands, and especially in the Qualbenfjord, from three to six bottle-nose whales still appear every year about Michaelmas, as they did a hundred and ninety years ago. In a Scottish bay there appeared twenty years in succession a rorqual, which was generally known by the name of “Hollie Pyke”, and was pursued every year and finally captured. On the coast of Iceland single whales choose the same bays for a temporary sojourn every year in the same months, and even weeks, so that the inhabitants have got to know them individually, and have given them special names. Certain well-known mother-whales visit the same bays every year to bring forth their young, and they themselves are spared, but they have to purchase their own lives, dearly enough, at the cost of that of their young ones, which are regularly taken captive. It is very unusual for the migrating whales to keep neither to time nor to route; in general, their journeys are as regular as if they were arranged according to the position of the stars, and as if they took place along laid-out paths bounded on both sides. No other mammal migrates more regularly; indeed, their wanderings may be compared with the migrations of birds.

The seals, like the whales, migrate every year, on the whole with great regularity, though not to such a distance. Those species which inhabit inland seas cannot, of course, leave these, but they traverse them every year in regular order, or at certain times ascend the rivers flowing into them; all the ocean species, on the other hand, set out every autumn and spring, by definite routes, to certain regions or localities. All the seals in the far north, as well as those in the seas about the South Pole, are forced to migrate by the extension of the ice in winter, and may travel with it towards temperate zones, returning towards the poles again as the ice melts. But they, like all other members of their order, are impelled to travel for another not less weighty reason; they require the mainland, or at least large, spreading, fixed masses of ice, on which to bring forth and nurture their young, until these are able to follow them into the water, there to shift for themselves. Thus every year thousands and hundreds of thousands of seals appear on certain islands and ice-banks, covering some of these birth-places of their race in such crowds that every available spot must be utilized in order to secure space for all to bring forth their young. They pass weeks, even months, on land or on the ice without hunting, descending into the sea, or taking food; they suckle their young, then mate, and by degrees break up their great assemblage, distributing themselves over the wide ocean to resume their former manner of life, or setting out with their young, who still require training, on more or less extensive foraging expeditions.[59]