BARNUM'S SHOW IN WINTER-QUARTERS.
BY J. C. BEARD.
Last week, boys, I was too busy to tell you anything myself about my experiences among the birds and beasts so snugly located in the "Winter-Quarters." This time I am able to talk to you a little, as well as draw you some pictures.
Suppose we take a look at this party of cranes and pelicans and other queer birds. In spite of his long legs and clumsy bill, the pelican has more or less beauty to recommend him. The prevailing color of his feathers is a lovely rose shading off to white, while his breast wears an orange tinge. The cranes are also really handsome birds, in spite of their long thin legs. They have soft gray plumage, with snow-white crests, and two gracefully flowing plumes besides on the head.
But if you want to see a homely bird, look at the adjutant. Certainly the one that roams so confidently about the inclosure is the most hideous creature I ever saw. A great clumsy body, long legs, thick bare neck, and bare, ragged head make up a sum total of amazing ugliness. The adjutant's beak is the most remarkable feature about him, being nearly a yard long, and thick in proportion. This huge beak is strong enough to kill a man with one blow. As you see in our illustration, the keeper when feeding these birds is obliged to carry the dish of food upon his head; if held in his hands, those enormous beaks would make short work of dish, meat, and all. The adjutant acts the part of watch-dog, and cats and other stray animals that value their lives are careful to avoid this yard.
One of these birds reminded me of an expert at base-ball. Especially is he a good "catcher." The keeper stood fully fifteen feet from him, and tossed great pieces of meat toward him. Each time the bird's great beak opened exactly at the right moment, and closed with a snap upon the huge piece of raw meat. The bird seemed to enjoy the sport fully as much as the by-standers.
The adjutant in the lower sketch, whom we see apparently holding a confidential chat with his keeper, is a little fellow, quite tame, and even socially inclined. This position upon the keeper's knee, as the latter sits by the fire, is a favorite one with him.
The monkeys in Mr. Barnum's collection are well worth seeing. They are of various kinds. A blue-faced baboon named Napper is evidently the leader of monkey society at Bridgeport. He is a brilliant object to look at, for his cheeks are blue, his nose and eyebrows are bright scarlet, while his pointed beard is yellow. He is not a monkey of good character, and has actually been known to get intoxicated. Mr. Hodges, the keeper, is very fond of Napper, who seems to return affection. He will sit for hours upon his friend's knee before the fire, turning himself from side to side that he may receive the full benefit of the welcome heat. The monkeys suffer dreadfully from cold draughts, and are very apt to die of consumption.
Mr. Hodges assured me that most if not all of the cageful of monkeys would be dead before spring, and seemed much affected by the loss of his pets. Some of them seemed to be in the last stages now, coughing violently, and holding their slender hands affectedly to their chests. If the monkeys could be clothed, they would better endure the cold; but a jacket in the cage would remain whole on the back of the wearer just about five seconds.
A keeper fed the monkeys while I was there, and it was a funny sight. He put the pan of rice and sugar inside the cage, and I expected a general scramble, but instead of this I found the distribution of food to be a most orderly process. The big fellows calmly served themselves first. They ate as much as they could, then crammed their cheeks full, and grasping as much as their hands would hold, retired to a corner to finish at their leisure. The smaller monkeys now modestly proceeded to dine in the same fashion. They follow the example set them by their elders, and all is done in the most orderly manner.