Tigers being more treacherous and less influenced by kind treatment than lions, tamers generally prefer to have as little to do with as possible. This rule, however, is not without an exception; the natives of India tame tigers more frequently than lions, and the tame tigers of the fakirs, the celebrated “royal tigers,” natives of Hindoostan, naturally the most powerful and ferocious in the world, exhibit great gentleness and confidence—attributable doubtless to the ample way in which they are fed. In this country tigers are principally kept merely as objects of curiosity and few efforts are made to tame them. When taming is deemed desirable, resort is generally had to intimidation. An old tiger can seldom be subdued except by brute force; a crowbar is more effective with him than kindness, though when once rendered tractable, kindness succeeds severity in his treatment.
Tigers are not, however, entirely destitute of affection, and this is sometimes manifested toward the person who has reared them. An example of this kind, a tigress in the town of London, may be familiar to the reader. This animal on its arrival in London grew very irascible and dangerous, from the annoyance of visitors and the bustle on the Thames. After she had been here some time her old keeper visited the tower and desired to enter the cage. So sulky and savage had the beast become that the superintendent feared to grant this request, but was finally prevailed on to do so. No sooner, however, did the animal catch sight of her old friend than she exhibited the utmost joy and on his entering her cage, fawned upon and caressed him, showing extravagant signs of pleasure, and at his departure cried and whined for the remainder of the day.
The cowardice of the tiger is well known. This characteristic is illustrated in the contests between buffaloes and tigers exhibited in India. The tiger seems to menace the spectators, swelling his fur, displaying his teeth, and occasionally snarling and lashing his sides with his tail. As soon as the buffalo enters the enclosure, the tiger “sinks into the most contemptible despondency, sneaking along under the palisade, crouching and turning on his back, to avoid the buffalo’s charge. He tries every device his situation will admit, and often suffers himself to be gored, or to be lifted from his pusillanimous attitude by the buffalo’s horn before he can be induced to act on the defensive. When, however, he really does summon up courage to oppose his antagonist, he displays wonderful vigor and activity, although he is generally conquered.”
Perhaps the cowardice of the tiger in the above instance is due to the consciousness of his inability to cope successfully with his adversary, and may be a specimen of “discretion being the better part of valor,” but the following incident related of a tiger kept at the British residency in Calcutta, gives an amusing example of absurd terror from a most insignificant cause: “What annoyed him far more than our poking him up with a stick, or tantalizing him with shins of beef or legs of mutton, was introducing a mouse into his cage. No fine lady ever exhibited more terror at the sight of a spider than this magnificent royal tiger betrayed on seeing a mouse. Our mischievous plan was to tie the little animal by a string to the end of a long pole, and thrust it close to the tiger’s nose. The moment he saw it he leaped to the opposite side; and, when the mouse was made to run near him, he jammed himself into a corner, and stood trembling and roaring in such an ecstasy of fear that we were always obliged to desist in pity to the poor brute. Sometimes we insisted on his passing over the spot where the unconscious little mouse ran backward and forward. For a long time, however, we could not get him to move, till, at length, I believe, by the help of a squib, we obliged him to start; but, instead of pacing leisurely across his den, or making a detour to avoid the object of his alarm, he generally took a kind of flying leap, so high as nearly to bring his back in contact with the roof of his cage.”
Tigers will not submit like lions to the intrusion of idle strangers into the cages, but any professional trainer can ordinarily enter the cage and exhibit any properly broken tigers without special risk. There are men ready to accept engagements for performing with animals whom they may never have seen before the day of exhibition; fear being the controlling influence with the beasts, it is only requisite that the man shall show no timidity, and compel obedience by whatever severity may be necessary. The statement that belladonna or the leaves of datura stramonium are put in the food of tigers to act on their nervous system and create hallucination and terror, is, we believe, unfounded; no hallucination equals the simple reality of a heavy iron bar.
The tiger’s cage is not altogether without its dangers. A story told of Tom Nathan, once well known in connection with circus exhibitions, gives one illustration of the feelings attendant upon non-success. He began public life as a clown. In his later years his hair was snowy white, but he relates that it became so, not in consequence of his years, but from an alarming accident which befell him during his career in the sawdust. There was a tiger in the show with which he was connected, and the man who bearded the tiger in his den having, on one occasion, struck for higher wages, Nathan volunteered to take his place. Boldly he entered the cage, but as soon as he did so, the animal resented the intrusion and seized him by the fleshy part of the body immediately below the small of the back. The fear of being chewed, the pain of the laceration of his flesh, and disappointed ambition combined, blanched his hair in a moment. He went into the cage a fair haired youth, and was taken out, as soon as he could be secured, a white headed old man.
The following is a bit of experience, related to an English correspondent, by an old English tamer named Norwood, long employed by Jamrach, an extensive animal owner of London:
“Whenever I ’ave a few words with Mr. Jamrach, which I had a few not many weeks ago, I takes to the show business, and am allers ready to go in. This ’ere scar,” (baring an arm and showing a deep flesh wound, recently cicatrized) “I got on the Kingsland road, on the 20th of this month. A Bengal tiger it was, and I was a-performing with the same beast as was at the Crystal Palace a short time arterwards. Me and Mr. Jamrach ’ad ’ad a few words, we ’ad, and I took up with the performing, which I’d been accustomed to. Well, I see the tiger for the first time at four in the arternoon; and I goes into her den, and puts her through her anky-panky at eight. As a matter o’course I ’ad to giv’ her the whip a bit, and she not knowing my voice, don’t you see, got fidgety and didn’t like it. To make matters worse moresumever, this tiger bein’ fond of jumpin’, they went and shortened the cage, so that when I giv’ the word she fell short of her reg’lar jump, and came upon me. I don’t believe she meant mischief; I only fancy she got timid like, and not being accustomed to what she ’ad under ’er, she makes a grab and does wot you see. The company got scared like; the ladies screamed, and the performance was stopped for a time. What did I do?—why, directly they came in with iron bars and made her loose her hold, I jest giv’ her the whip agen, and made her go through the jump till she got more satisfied like; but she was timid, very timid, to the last, and tore off the flesh right to the elbow here. No, sir, I never stopped the performance after the first time, though I was being mauled above a bit, while the people was a clapping their ’ands, and ’ollering ‘angcore,’ It don’t do with beasts to let ’em think you’re uneasy, so each time she tore me with her claws, I just giv’ her the whip, till she saw it wouldn’ do.”
Leopards and panthers, although sometimes confounded even by naturalists, are strictly different animals, though so near alike that any statements in regard to the training of one will be equally applicable to the other. They are both quite common in menageries, and are often among the dwellers in the “den of beasts.” Leopards—and what we say of the leopard’s character or training applies equally to the panther—are of a comparatively gentle disposition, and, unless hungry or annoyed, are generally harmless. Even in a wild state a person may come across them without being harmed, though it is said they are more dreaded at the Cape of Good Hope, than the lion, for they steal silently and treacherously upon their prey while he gives warning of his approach by terrific roarings.
Illustrative of the leopard’s peaceful disposition an amusing story is told of a Cape farmer who once surprised a group of seven leopards reposing on a clump of scattered rocks. In the excitement of the moment, with scarcely a thought as to the probable consequences, he fired his single-barreled gun at them. Instead of returning this attack, the leopards seemed more surprised than angry at the report of the gun, and instead of turning their attention to the imprudent intruder some of them leaped on their hind legs, and pawed the air as if trying to catch the bullet which had gone whistling by their ears.