In spite of the deaths of the three tigers, of “Duke,” the old lion, and of a jaguar and puma, the years 1892-1894 have seen an increase in the numbers of the inmates of the Lion House greater than at any period since the return of the Prince of Wales from his Indian visit, and the collection of so many fine young animals gives a good idea of the difference in “points” and form in creatures of the same species. There is as much difference in lions as in horses or in dogs of the same breed, and they are by no means uniformly noble or impressive to look upon. Some are “down at heel,” some narrow-chested, others have Roman noses, a very ugly feature in a lion; some, on the other hand, are all that a lion should be.
Lion and Lioness. From a photograph by Gambier
Bolton.
By far the finest pair in the Gardens are the lion presented to the Queen by the Sultan of Sokoto, and the pale lioness bred in the Amsterdam Zoological Gardens. Those in the “fancy” say, that if the Sokoto lion had a black mane it would be the finest in Europe, except that in the Clifton Zoological Gardens. Its coat and mane are the colour of red gold-dust, its head twice the size of that of the lioness, its eyes a clear brown, and its gaze steady and tranquil. Its body is compact, its limbs straight, and its attitudes unconsciously striking and magnificent. The lioness is a very pale fawn, almost cream colour, and the damask spots of cub-hood were still visible on her legs and feet when she was three years old. In temper she is as savage and ferocious as her partner is gentle. As far as points go she is almost perfect, with a long straight back, round black-tipped ears, short strong legs, square head, flat forehead, rounded, cushioned feet, and a chest like a bull-dog’s.
The only other creature which is equally ferocious is a very old tigress, called “Minnie.” The writer has seen her “stalk” a keeper, when his back was turned, and there is little doubt that the scene was an exact reproduction of what takes place in an Indian jungle. She crouched down on the floor of the den, her body gradually flattening out until she seemed all head. The jaw was flat on the ground, and the tail also, with only the tip moving, and the profile of the head seemed flattened as well as the body. Thus she remained for a minute or more, the only movement besides that in the tip of the tail being the rush of dust upon the floor, as a blast of growls sent the sawdust flying which strewed the planks. This was followed by the spring, which was of course interrupted by the bars. But the whole performance was an instructive lesson in tiger tactics.
Over-feeding in youth is almost as bad for the future health of a tiger or lion as starvation. In 1893 three very fine tiger cubs, about five months old, arrived as a present to the Princess Henry of Battenberg from an Indian prince. They had been so lavishly fed on mutton during the voyage, that they were immensely fat and heavy when they reached the Gardens. A few months later they all developed weakness in the hind-quarters, and though they may in time recover, the effects of over-stimulating food taken too early are very noticeable.[[2]]
[2]. One has since died.
In the last cage of the house, at the eastern end, took place the celebrated fight in November 1879, between a tiger and a tigress, which resulted in the death of the latter. An account of this scene, derived from Sutton the keeper’s description of what took place, is almost the last thing written by Frank Buckland, who himself died in the December of the next year. The description of the fight as it appears in the collection of Notes and Jottings from Animal Life, selected and arranged by Buckland shortly before his death, and edited by Mr. G. C. Bompas in 1882, agrees very closely with the description given verbally by Sutton himself. But the most curious point in Buckland’s account is, that he apparently forgot that the tigress died from her wounds, though he himself paid his last visit to the Lion House in order to see the suffering animal. The tigress began the quarrel by sticking one of her claws through the tiger’s nostril. The male tiger immediately pulled back his head with a jerk, and the claw cut its way through the nose, causing great pain and bleeding. The only people in the house at this time—Sunday morning—were Sutton the keeper and a Frenchman, and the two tigers at once joined battle with very little chance of interference by outsiders. The male used his feet, and throwing the female down, gave her several heavy blows and scratches, and then, having asserted its power, gave up the combat. The tigress got up, followed him, and bit him in the thigh. This made the tiger furious. He rushed at the other, and bit her through and through the neck, while the most fearful growls and screams came from both. This set a lion (Duke) and lioness fighting at the opposite end of the house, while the Frenchman, shouting and gesticulating, rushed up and down, and further excited the animals. Sutton quieted the lions, and then managed to drive the tiger off his victim. The moment he let go his hold the blood spouted from the tigress’s throat up to the roof, and she fell down apparently dying, while the tiger was driven into one of the sleeping compartments. The tigress was also moved into a room at the back. Buckland in his short account says, that “though of course her nerves were considerably shaken, she was soon all right again.” As a matter of fact, she died ten days later, having been unable to swallow food during that time, and being dreadfully exhausted from her wounds. The strangest thing in connection with this encounter and Buckland’s note is, that his visit to see the wounded tigress was his own last day in the Lion House. He was anxious to do what he could for the creature, and volunteered a visit, though so ill himself that he had to be pushed into the passage between the dens and the outdoor runs in a bath-chair. But his nerves were so shaken by illness, that when the iron shutter was about to be opened which led into the tigress’s sick chamber, he begged that it might be kept closed; and though assured that the animal could not move, he would not see it or have the door unclosed. A year later he himself was dead, by no one more regretted than by the keepers of the Zoo.
The paragon of the Lion House at the present moment is the snow leopard. It is a most lovely creature, and deserves all the praises lavished on it. It is exactly like a grey but spotted Angora cat, six feet long from its pink nose to the tip of its bushy tail, and of an exquisite pearly tint, just dashed and spotted with black. Its eyes, liquid and large, with swimming black pupils, are the colour of a greenish-grey aqua-marine, and its expression as gentle as its ways. It was a lady’s pet in India, and still remains the same gentle, aristocratic, languid creature that it was when the favourite of the “Mem Sahib’s” drawing-room. Its neighbour, the pure black leopard from Singapore, sent to England by the Duke of Newcastle, is a strange contrast in colour and character. It is so ferocious, that when let loose in the cage it sprang at the bars with such force as to bulge the steel netting with which they had been covered, by the mere shock of contact with its head. It sulks day and night, and is no more admirable in appearance than a morose and gigantic black tom-cat.