At Peel's River, on one occasion, a very old carcajou discovered my marten road, on which I had nearly a hundred and fifty traps. I was in the habit of visiting the line about once a fortnight, but the beast fell into the way of coming oftener than I did, to my great annoyance and vexation. I determined to put a stop to his thieving and his life together, cost what it might. So I made six strong traps at as many different points, and also set three steel traps. For three weeks I tried my best to catch the beast without success; and my worst enemy would allow that I am no green hand in these matters. The animal carefully avoided the traps set for his own benefit, and seemed to be taking more delight than ever in demolishing my marten traps and eating the martens, scattering the poles in every direction, and câching what baits or martens he did not devour on the spot. As we had no poison in those days, I next set a gun on the bank of a little lake. The gun was concealed in some low bushes, but the bait was so placed that the carcajou must see it on his way up the bank. I blockaded my path to the gun with a small pine tree, which completely hid it. On my first visit afterwards I found that the beast had gone up to the bait and smelled it, but had left it untouched. He had next pulled up the pine tree that blocked the path, and gone around the gun and cut the line which connected the bait with the trigger, just behind the muzzle. Then he had gone back and pulled the bait away, and carried it out on the lake, where he lay down and devoured it at his leisure. There I found my string. I could scarcely believe that all this had been done designedly, for it seemed that faculties fully on a par with human reason would be required for such an exploit if done intentionally. I therefore rearranged things, tying the string where it had been bitten. But the result was exactly the same for three successive occasions, as I could plainly see by the footprints; and what is most singular of all, each time the brute was careful to cut the line a little back of where it had been tied before, as if actually reasoning with himself that even the knots might be some new device of mine, and therefore a source of hidden danger he would prudently avoid. I came to the conclusion that that carcajou ought to live, as he must be something at least human, if not worse. I gave it up, and abandoned the road for a period.
With so much for the tricks and the manners of the beast behind our backs, roaming at will in his vast solitudes, what of his actions in the presence of man? It is said that if one only stands still, even in full view of an approaching carcajou, he will come within fifty or sixty yards, provided he be to windward, before he takes the alarm. Even then, if he be not warned by sense of smell, he seems in doubt, and will gaze earnestly several times before he finally concludes to take himself off. On these and similar occasions he has a singular habit—one not shared, so far as I am aware, by any other beast whatever. He sits on his haunches and shades his eyes with one of his fore-paws, just as a human being would do in scrutinising a dim or distant object. The carcajou, then, in addition to his other and varied accomplishments, is a perfect sceptic—to use this word in its original signification. A sceptic, with the Greeks, was simply one who would shade his eyes to see more clearly.
Bears.—There is no doubt that the intelligence of these animals stands very high in the psychological scale, although the actual instances which I have met of the display of their intelligence are few. The tricks which are taught performing bears do not count for much as proof of high sagacity, as they for the most part consist in teaching the animals to assume unnatural positions, or display grotesque antics—performances which speak indeed for the general docility of the creatures, but scarcely for their high intelligence. Still even here it is worth while to remark that all species of bears would probably not lend themselves to this kind of education, for the emotional temperament manifested by the different species is unquestionably diverse. Thus, making all allowances for exaggeration, it seems certain that the grizzly bear displays a courage and ferocity which are foreign to the disposition of the brown bear, and indeed to that of most other animals. The polar bear likewise displays much bravery under the influence of hunger or maternal feeling, although under other circumstances it usually deems discretion the better part of valour. The following incident displays considerable intelligence on the part of this animal.
Scoresby, in his 'Account of the Arctic Regions,' gives the instance to which I allude:—
The animal with two cubs was being pursued by a party of sailors over an ice-field. She urged her young to an increase of speed by running before them, turning round, and manifesting, by a peculiar action and voice, her anxiety for their progress; but finding that her pursuers were gaining upon them, she carried, or pushed, or pitched them alternately forward, until she effected their escape. In throwing them before her, the little creatures placed themselves across her path to receive the impulse; and when projected some yards in advance, they ran onwards until she overtook them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for a second throw.
As the polar bear is not exposed to any enemies except man, this method of escaping is not likely to be instinctive, but was probably an intelligent adaptation to the particular circumstances of the case.
Mr. S. J. Hutchinson writes me as follows with regard to this same species:—
One Sunday, at the 'Zoo,' some one threw a bun to the bears, but it fell in the water in that quadrant-shaped pond you will remember. The bun fell just at the angle, and the bear seemed disinclined to enter the water, but stood on the edge of the pond, and commenced stirring the water with its paw, so that it established a sort of rotatory current, which eventually brought the bun within reach. When one leg got tired it used the other, but in the same direction. I watched the whole performance with the greatest interest myself.
In corroboration of this most remarkable observation I quote the following from Mr. Darwin's 'Descent of Man' (p. 76), which is so precisely similar, that the fact of bears reaching the high level of intelligence which the fact implies can scarcely be doubted. 'A well-known entomologist, Mr. Westropp, informs me that he observed in Vienna a bear deliberately making with his paw a current in some water which was close to the bars of his cage, so as to draw a piece of floating bread within his reach.'