Animals of the Past

by Frederic A. Lucas

There was a time, not so very long ago, when fossils were looked upon as mere sports of Nature, and little attention paid to them; later their true nature was recognized, though they were merely gathered haphazard as occasion might offer. But now, and for many years past, the fossil-bearing rocks of many parts of the world have been systematically worked, and from the material thus obtained we have acquired a great deal of information regarding the inhabitants of the ancient world. This is particularly true of our own western country, where a vast amount of collecting has been done, although very much remains to be done in the matter of perfecting this knowledge, and hosts of new animals remain to be discovered. For this information we are almost as much indebted to the collector who has gathered the needed material, and the preparator whose patience and skill have made it available for study, as to the palæontologist who has interpreted the meaning of the bones.

To collect successfully demands not only a knowledge of the rocks in which fossils occur and of the localities where they are best exposed to view, but an eye quick to detect a piece of bone protruding from a rock or lying amongst the shale, and, above all, the ability to work a deposit to advantage after it has been found. The collector of living animals hies to regions where there is plenty for bird and beast to eat and drink, but the collector of extinct animals cares little for what is on the surface of the earth; his great desire is to see as much as possible of what may lie beneath. So the prospector in search of fossils betakes himself to some region where the ceaseless warfare waged by water against the dry land has seamed the face of the earth with countless gullies and canyons, or carved it into slopes and bluffs in which the edges of the bone-bearing strata are exposed to view, and along these he skirts, ever on the look-out for some projecting bit of bone. The country is an almost shadeless desert, burning hot by day, uncomfortably cool at night. Water is scarce, and when it can be found, often has little to commend it save wetness; but the collector is buoyed up through all this with the hope that he may discover some creature new to science that shall not only be bigger and uglier and stranger than any heretofore found, but shall be the long-sought form needed for the solution of some difficult problem in the history of the past.

Now collecting is a lottery, differing from most lotteries, however, in that while some of the returns may be pretty small, there are few absolute blanks and some remarkably large prizes, and every collector hopes that it may fall to his lot to win one of these, and is willing to work long and arduously for the chance of obtaining it.

It may give some idea of the chances to say that some years ago Dr. Wortman spent almost an entire season in the field without success, and then, at the eleventh hour, found the now famous skeleton of Phenacodus, or that a party from Princeton actually camped within 100 yards of a rich deposit of rare fossils and yet failed to discover it.

Let us, however, suppose that the reconnaissance has been successful, and that an outcrop of bone has been found, serving like a tombstone carven with strange characters to indicate the burial-place of some primeval monster. Possibly Nature long ago rifled the grave, washing away much of the skeleton, and leaving little save the fragments visible on the surface; on the other hand, these pieces may form part of a complete skeleton, and there is no way to decide this important question save by actual excavation. The manner of disinterment varies, but much depends on whether the fossil lies in comparatively loose shale or is imbedded in the solid rock, whether the strata are level or dip downward into the hillside. If, unfortunately, this last is the case, it necessitates a careful shoring up of the excavation with props of cotton-wood or such boards as may have been brought along to box specimens, or it may even be necessary to run a short tunnel in order to get at some coveted bone. Should the specimen lie in shale, as is the case with most of the large reptiles that have been collected, much of that work may be done with pick and shovel; but if it is desirable or necessary to work in firm rock, drills and hammers, wedges, even powder, may be needed to rend from Nature her long-kept secrets. In any event, a detailed plan is made of the excavation, and each piece of bone or section of rock duly recorded therein by letter and number, so that later on the relation of the parts to one another may be known, or the various sections assembled in the work-room exactly as they lay in the quarry. Bones which lie in loose rock are often, one might say usually, more or less broken, and when a bone three, four, or even six feet long, weighing anywhere from 100 to 1,000 pounds, has been shattered to fragments the problem of removing it is no easy one. But here the skill of the collector comes into play to treat the fossil as a surgeon treats a fractured limb, to cover it with plaster bandages, and brace it with splints of wood or iron so that the specimen may not only be taken from the ground but endure in safety the coming journey of a thousand or more miles. For simpler cases or lighter objects strips of sacking, or even paper, applied with flour and water, suffice, or pieces of sacking soaked in thin plaster may be laid over the bone, first covering it with thin paper in order that the plaster jacket may simply stiffen and not adhere to it. Collecting has not always been carried on in this systematic manner, for the development of the present methods has been the result of years of experience; formerly there was a mere skimming-over of the surface in what Professor Marsh used to term the potato-gathering style, but now the effort is made to remove specimens intact, often imbedded in large masses of rock, in order that all parts may be preserved.

We will take it for granted that our specimens have safely passed through all perils by land and water, road and rail; that they have been quarried, boxed, carted over a roadless country to the nearest railway, and have withstood 2,000 miles of jolting in a freight-car. The first step in reconstruction has been taken; the problem, now that the boxes are reposing on the work-room floor, is to make the blocks of stone give up the secrets they have guarded for ages, to free the bones from their enveloping matrix in order that they may tell us something of the life of the past. The method of doing this varies with the conditions under which the material has been gathered, and if from hard clay, chalk, or shale, the process, though tedious enough at best, is by no means so difficult as if the specimens are imbedded in solid rock. In this case the fragments from a given section of quarry must be assembled according to the plan which has been carefully made as the work of exhumation progressed, all pieces containing bone must be stuck together, and weak parts strengthened with gum or glue. Now the mass is attacked with hammer and chisel, and the surrounding matrix slowly and carefully cut away until the contained bone is revealed, a process much simpler and more expeditious in the telling than in the actuality; for the preparator may not use the heavy tools of the ordinary stone-cutter: sometimes an awl, or even a glover's needle, must suffice him, and the chips cut off are so small and such care must be taken not to injure the bone that the work is really tedious. This may, perhaps, be better appreciated by saying that to clean a single vertebra of such a huge Dinosaur as Diplodocus may require a month of continuous labor, and that a score of these big and complicated bones, besides others of simpler structure, are included in the backbone. The finished specimen weighs over 120 pounds, while as originally collected, with all the adherent rock, the weight was twice or thrice as great. Such a mass as this is comparatively small, and sometimes huge blocks are taken containing entire skulls or a number of bones, and not infrequently weighing a ton. The largest single specimen is a skull of Triceratops, collected by Mr. J. B. Hatcher, which weighed, when boxed, 3,650 pounds.

Or, as the result of some mishap, or through the work of an inexperienced collector, a valuable specimen may arrive in the shape of a box full of irregular fragments of stone compared with which a dissected map or an old-fashioned Chinese puzzle is simplicity itself, and one may spend hours looking for some piece whose proper location gives the clew to an entire section, and days, even, may be consumed before the task is completed. While this not only tries the patience, but the eyes as well, there is, nevertheless, a fascination about this work of fashioning a bone out of scores, possibly hundreds, of fragments, and watching the irregular bits of stone shaping themselves into a mosaic that forms a portion of some creature, possibly quite new to science, and destined to bear a name as long as itself. And thus, after many days of toil, the bone that millions of years before sank into the mud of some old lake-bottom or was buried in the sandy shoals of an ancient river, is brought to light once more to help tell the tale of the creatures of the past.

One bone might convey a great deal of information; on the other hand it might reveal very little; for, while it is very painful to say so, the popular impression that it is possible to reconstruct an animal from a single bone, or tell its size and habits from a tooth is but partially correct, and sometimes "the eminent scientist" has come to grief even with a great many bones at his disposal. Did not one of the ablest anatomists describe and figure the hip-bones of a Dinosaur as its shoulder-blade, and another, equally able, reconstruct a reptile "hind side before," placing the head on the tail! This certainly sounds absurd enough; but just as absurd mistakes are made by men in other walks of life, often with far more deplorable results.

Before passing to the restoration of the exterior of animals it may be well to say something of the manner in which the skeleton of an extinct animal may be reconstructed and the meaning of its various parts interpreted. For the adjustment of the muscles is dependent on the structure of the skeleton, and putting on the muscles means blocking out the form, details of external appearance being supplied by the skin and its accessories of hair, scales, or horns. Let us suppose in the present instance that we are dealing with one of the great reptiles known as Triceratops whose remains are among the treasures of the National Museum at Washington, for the reconstruction of the big beast well illustrates the methods of the palæontologist and also the troubles by which he is beset. Moreover, this is not a purely imaginary case, but one that is very real, for the skeleton of this animal which was shown at Buffalo was restored in papier-maché in exactly the manner indicated. We have a goodly number of bones, but by no means an entire skeleton, and yet we wish to complete the skeleton and incidentally to form some idea of the creature's habits. Now we can interpret the past only by a knowledge of the present, and it is by carefully studying the skeletons of the animals of to-day that we can learn to read the meaning of the symbols of bones left by the animals of a million yesterdays. Thus we find that certain characters distinguish the bone of a mammal from that of a bird, a reptile, or a fish, and these in turn from one another, and this constitutes the A B C of comparative anatomy. And, in a like manner, the bones of the various divisions of these main groups have to a greater or less extent their own distinguishing characteristics, so that by first comparing the bones of extinct animals with those of creatures that are now living we are enabled to recognize their nearest existing relative, and then by comparing them with one another we learn the relations they bore in the ancient world. But it must be borne in mind that some of the early beasts were so very different from those of to-day that until pretty much their entire structure was known there was nothing with which to compare odd bones. Had but a single incomplete specimen of Triceratops come to light we should be very much in the dark concerning him; and although remains of some thirty individuals have been discovered, these have been so imperfect that we are very far from having all the information we need. A great part of the head, with its formidable looking horns, is present, and although the nose is gone, we know from other specimens that it, too, was armed with a knob, or horn, and that the skull ended in a beak, something like that of a snapping turtle, though formed by a separate and extra bone; similarly the end of the lower jaw is lacking, but we may be pretty certain that it ended in a beak, to match that of the skull. The large leg-bones of our specimen are mostly represented, for these being among the more solid parts of the skeleton are more frequently preserved than any others, and though some are from one side and some from another, this matters not. If the hind legs were disproportionately long it would indicate that our animal often or habitually walked erect, but as there is only difference enough between the fore and hind limbs to enable Triceratops to browse comfortably from the ground we would naturally place him on all fours, even were the skull not so large as to make the creature too top-heavy for any other mode of locomotion. Were the limbs very small in comparison with the other bones, it would obviously mean that their owner passed his life in the water. For a skeleton has a twofold meaning, it is the best, the most enduring, testimony we have as to an animal's place in nature and the relationships it sustains to the creatures that lived with it, before it, and after it. More than this, a skeleton is the solution of a problem in mechanics, the problem of carrying a given weight and of adaptation to a given mode of life. Thus the skeleton varies according as a creature dwells on land, in the water, or in the air, and according as it feeds on grass or preys upon its fellows.

And so the mechanics of a skeleton afford us a clew to the habits of the living animal. Something, too, may be gathered from the structure of the leg-bones, for solid bones mean either a sluggish animal or a creature of more or less aquatic habits, while hollow bones emphatically declare a land animal, and an active one at that; and this, in the case of the Dinosaurs, hints at predatory habits, the ability to catch and eat their defenceless and more sluggish brethren. A claw, or, better yet, a tooth, may confirm or refute this hint; for a blunt claw could not be used in tearing prey limb from limb, nor would a double-edged tooth, made for rending flesh, serve for champing grass.