Two questions that came into public notice concerning the voices of two important American animals have been permanently settled by "the barnyard naturalists" of New York.
The Voice of the American Bison. In 1907 the statement of George Catlin, to the effect that in the fall the bellowing of buffalo bulls on the plains resembled the muttering of distant thunder, was denied and severely criticized in a sportsman's magazine. On October 4 of that year, while we were selecting the fifteen bison to be presented to the Government, to found the Wichita National Bison Herd, four of us heard our best bull bellow five times, while another did the same thing four times.
The sound uttered was a deep-voiced roar,—not a grunt,—rising and falling in measured cadence, and prolonged about four or five seconds. It was totally different from the ordinary grunt of hunger, or the menace of an angry buffalo, which is short and sharp. In discussing the quality of the bellow, we agreed that it could properly be called a low roar. It is heard only in the rutting season,—the period described by Catlin,—and there is good reason to believe that Caitlin's description is perfectly correct.
The Scream of the Puma. This is a subject that will not lie still. I presume it will recur every five years as long as pumas endure. Uncountable pages of controversial letters have been expended upon the question: "Does the puma ever scream, like a woman in distress?"
The true answer is easy, and uncontestable by people whose minds are open to the rules of evidence.
Yes; the adult female puma DOES scream,-in the mating season, whenever it comes. It is loud, piercing, prolonged, and has the agonized voice qualities of a boy or a woman screaming from the pain of a surgical operation. To one who does not know the source or the cause, it is nerve-racking. When heard in a remote wilderness it must be truly fearsome. It says "Ow-w-w-w!" over and over. We have heard it a hundred times or more, and it easily carries a quarter of a mile.
The language of animals is a long and interesting subject,—so much so that here it is possible only to sketch out and suggest its foundations and scope. On birds alone, an entire volume should be written; but animal intelligence is a subject as far reaching as the winds of the earth.
No man who ever saw high in the heavens a V-shaped flock of wild geese, or heard the honk language either afloat, ashore or in the air, will deny the spoken language of that species. If any one should do so, let him listen to the wild-goose wonder tales of Jack Miner, and hear him imitate (to perfection) the honk call of the gander at his pond, calling to wild flocks in the sky and telling them about the corn and safety down where he is.
The woodpecker drums on the high and dry limb of a dead tree his resounding signal-call that is nothing more nor less (in our view) than so much sign language.
It was many years ago that we first heard in the welcome days of early spring the resounding "Boo-hoo-hoo" courting call of the cock pinnated grouse, rolling over the moist earth for a mile or more in words too plain to be misunderstood.