Pigs.
There can be no doubt that pigs exhibit a degree of intelligence which falls short only of that of the most intelligent Carnivora. The tricks taught the so-called 'learned pigs' would alone suffice to show this; while the marvellous skill with which swine sometimes open latches and fastenings of gates, &c., is only equalled by that of the cat. The following account of pigs in their wild state shows that they manifest the same kind of sagacious co-operation in facing an enemy as that which we have just seen to be manifested by the bison and the buffalo, although here it seems to be displayed in a manner still more organised:—
Wild swine associate in herds and defend themselves in common. Green relates that in the wilds of Vermont a person fell in with a large herd in a state of extraordinary restlessness; they had formed a circle with their heads outwards, and the young ones placed in the middle. A wolf was using every artifice to snap one, and on his return he found the herd scattered, but the wolf was dead and completely ripped up. Schmarda recounts an almost similar encounter between a herd of tame swine and a wolf, which he witnessed on the military positions of Croatia. He says that the swine, seeing two wolves, formed themselves into a wedge, and approached the wolves slowly, grunting and erecting their bristles. One wolf fled, but the other leaped on to the trunk of a tree. As soon as the swine reached it they surrounded it with one accord, when, suddenly and instantaneously, as the wolf attempted to leap over them, they got him down and destroyed him in a moment.[202]
In Bingley's 'Memoirs of British Quadrupeds' (page 452) there is an account drawn up at his request by Sir Henry Mildmay, concerning the docility of the pig. The Toomer brothers were King's keepers in the New Forest, and they conceived the idea of training a sow to point game. This they succeeded in doing within a fortnight, and in a few more weeks it also learnt to retrieve. Her scent was exceedingly good, and she stood well at partridges, black game, pheasants, snipes, and rabbits, but never pointed hares. She was more useful than a dog, and afterwards became the property of Sir Henry Mildmay. According to Youatt,[203] Colonel Thornton also had a sow similarly trained. The same author says that a sow belonging to Mr. Craven had a litter of pigs, one of which, when old enough, was taken and roasted, then a second and a third. These were necessarily taken when the mother returned in the evening from the woods for supper. But the next time she came she was alone, and, 'as her owners were anxious to know what was become of her brood, she was watched on the following evening, and observed driving back her pigs at the extremity of the wood, with much earnest grunting, while she went off to the house, leaving them to wait for her return. It was evident that she had noticed the diminution of her family, and had adopted this method to save those that remained.'[204]
Mr. Stephen Harding sends me the following as an observation of his own:—
On the 15th ult. (Nov. 1879) I saw an intelligent sow pig about twelve months old, running in an orchard, going to a young apple tree and shaking it, pricking up her ears at the same time, as if to listen to hear the apples fall. She then picked the apples up and ate them. After they were all down she shook the tree again and listened, but as there were no more to fall she went away.
The proverbial indifference to dirt attributed to the pig seems scarcely to be justified; the worst that can be said is that the animal prefers cool mud to dry heat, and the filth which swine often exhibit in their sty is the fault of the farmers rather than of the animals. Or, to quote from Thompson's 'Passions,'—
A washed sow in the hot season of our temperate climate, and in almost every season of such a climate as that of Palestine, 'returns to her wallowing in the mire' simply because she feels scorched, and blistered, and sickened under the ardent sunshine; and hence, when she receives from man the aid which is due to her as a domesticated animal, she demands not dirt all the year through, nor any day at all, but shade in summer, shelter in winter, and a clean, dry bed in every season.
Cheiroptera.
Mr. Bates says of bats: 'The fact of their sucking the blood of persons sleeping is now well established; but it is only a few persons who are subject to this bloodletting. . . . . I am inclined to think many different kinds of bats have this propensity' ('Nat. on Amaz.,' p. 91). The particular species of bat, however, which has been most universally accredited with this habit, viz., the vampire, is perfectly harmless.