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Training of Wild Animals

<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XIII ACCIDENTS</h2> Every man or woman who trains animals has what are termed “accidents.” Animals differ in temperament, mood, and nature as human beings do, and the trainer learns to read the intent of each in his eye, in the motions of his tail, in his walk and movement. Animals are erratic and uncertain at times, and one can never tell just what the animal will do. He may have done the same things a great number of times easily and willingly, and yet may, without any warning, suddenly refuse to do anything further. He comes out with a plain, blunt refusal, without any apologies, either in voice or manner, and he usually makes it pretty clear that he means what he says. He has grown rebellious; his sense227 of wrongs, his hate, and his desire for revenge appear to have culminated suddenly, and his only wish is to get even with those who have been making him do things which made him look ridiculous. In a case like this there is generally an accident, and if the trainer is not alert and self-possessed he is apt to lose his life. Again, an animal may lose his temper suddenly, and in one of those swift rages or frenzies into which all wild animals are liable to fall at any time try to kill his trainer, and a few moments afterward crawl back and show his repentance. It is most unwise to punish an animal when this happens. He will probably do the same thing again, and may succeed in killing his trainer the next time, but to punish him when he is repentant would only make him vindictive and revengeful, and wild animals do not forget easily. Of course, no animal is ever to be trusted until he is dead; but if the trainer is in a cage and gets cornered, experience teaches him what to do. He learns to think and act quickly, to retain a natural sobriety and coolness,228 never to lose his temper with a wild beast, and to make him obey every time, at all costs. It is never the physical force of the trainer that conquers; that is impossible. It is his coolness, determination, and untiring patience. More minor injuries are received in training, without any evil intent on the part of the animal, than in any other way. The lion, for instance, is always clumsy, and is at any time likely to misplace a paw armed with claws that could not be more effective if they were fashioned from so much steel. If that paw passes along the body of the trainer, the unlucky man goes to the hospital, where he may be laid up for six or seven weeks. Such an accident happened to Mme. Pianka one night at Buffalo. An admirer had sent her a bouquet of red roses, and in place of her heavy riding-whip she carried it into the arena for her performance with the lions. It is a fallacy to suppose that any change in the dress of the trainer will make a difference with the animal. All trained animals know their trainers, and even should another man229 come in dressed in the same clothes as their own trainer, they would recognize the difference instantly. But all animals will jump for meat, no matter where that meat may be. There can be no doubt whatever that in this instance the lions at the first glance mistook the bunch of red roses for red meat. One lion had not yet reached his pedestal when Mme. Pianka entered, or possibly he might not have sprung. But, being on the floor of the arena, the moment he caught sight of the red mass in her hand he sprang forward, and in the wide sweep of his paw to get the supposed meat, struck the trainer’s cheek, and the blow, glancing to her arm and chest, tore her flesh and dress. Instantly Mme. Pianka tossed the flowers from her, and she was only just in time, for every one of the lions pounced upon them, sniffed and smelled them with evident surprise and disgust, found they were not what they had expected, and in their usual slow, deliberate manner remounted their pedestals and waited passively for their act. Mme. Pianka, who is an extremely plucky woman230 and possesses great nerve and self-possession, put them through their usual performance, although her face, neck, and arms were bleeding profusely, and then, as she left the arena, fainted. Again, what begins by accident may be quickly turned to murderous account by the animals. The most perilous thing a man can do is to lose his footing, for it is more than likely, the moment he falls, the animal will spring upon him. An English trainer was almost torn to pieces once because of a pair of heavy top-boots he wore. One of his tigers slipped, and in trying to save himself got one of his claws entangled in the trainer’s leg. It was a purely accidental blow, and the tiger, alarmed, tried to get away, but the keen claws had penetrated through the stiff leather, and in endeavoring to extricate them the animal threw his master down. Quick as a flash the two other tigers in the cage were on the prostrate trainer, and but for the prompt action of an assistant who pluckily sprang into the cage and beat them back, the trainer would never have come out233 alive. It is a vital article in the code of every trainer never to lose his temper in a case of this kind or to punish the innocent cause of it. Often the animals themselves are as much frightened as the trainer, and their only resource when frightened is to fight, and to fight with all their inherent fierceness and strength. <div id="ip_232" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 38em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_252.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="443" alt="" /> <div class="caption">“CONSUL,” THE CHIMPANZEE</div> </div> Therefore, to punish an animal for what is perfectly natural to him would not only be the height of absurdity, but most unwise and dangerous. Wild animals can never be punished by chastisement; a few harsh words are generally sufficient, and even then there is the danger that it may be too much. Anger the animal or irritate him, and he is likely to seek revenge with a prompt spring or a sweeping blow. The apparent lashes given with the whip during performances are mere pretenses, part of the daily program, and known to the animals as such. True, these supposed lashings call forth growls and snarls, but this is because the animal knows it is a signal for him to do something, and he does not often feel234 inclined to do it. He generally does it, but he always protests a little if he can, and growls and snarls form his speech. Expert, indeed, must be the trainer, for if one of these light blows should go wrong and land on some part of the animal’s body where it would hurt, there might well be an attack; almost certainly there would be a fit of sulks on the part of the animal struck while doing his best that would not only put an end to any further effort on his part for that day, but even mean lifelong resentment and hatred, which would simply wait for a favorable opportunity for injuring the trainer who had given the blow. To illustrate this. A trainer was one day exercising his animals, and in using the whip accidentally caught a lion on the tip of his nose. For a moment the animal paused, as though too surprised to do anything else; then he rubbed his nose reflectively, as though still trying to solve the problem. The trainer, who had at first grown rigid with fear of what might follow, kept a careful eye on the lion; but as he appeared quiet and only puzzled, and235 as the trainer concluded the blow could have hurt him only slightly, he thought that was the end of it. The animals were driven back to their cages, and nothing happened to show that the injured lion remembered it in any way. But that same evening, when the time came for the performance, and the trainer flicked his whip toward the lion whom he had accidentally struck, the animal, instead of taking it as his cue, promptly roused himself, gathered himself together, and in another moment had sprung full at the trainer. Fortunately, the trainer had noticed the dangerous symptoms,—for a lion generally gives a little warning before he springs, a tiger never,—and had leaped aside with such agility that the lion landed a little to the right, and this time received a stinging blow which sent him back for a moment, giving the trainer just time to escape. But from that time it was found absolutely impossible to make that lion perform. He would go into the arena, and would even mount his pedestal, but at the very first flick236 or lash of the whip in his direction he would prepare to spring. Therefore, through a very slight accident,—a little blow which one would think such a big brute would not mind,—we lost one of our best performers. Some very serious accidents have also occurred from the playfulness of animals. A playful animal is always dangerous; he may be in the best of moods and tempers, and simply wish to have a romp, but his strength and power are too overwhelming for a man to have anything to do with him. The wisest course to pursue with an animal in a playful mood is to get out of his way and leave him alone. This is easy enough at rehearsal, but in the performance it is another matter. The animal must be put through his paces day after day, or he will expect to take it easy all the time. A good trainer will always try, when possible, to let the animal have his play out before urging him to perform; but sometimes this play will go on until the audience becomes impatient, and then comes the risk to the trainer. The animal is comfortable and enjoying himself,239 and to be forced to get up on a pedestal and do other things in the middle of it must naturally be irritating and annoying, and the animal generally vents this annoyance and irritability on the one who forces him to act. In some cases he will not be forced, and then more trouble still arises for the trainer. <div id="ip_238" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 38em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_258.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="457" alt="" /> <div class="caption">CAPTAIN BONAVITA CARRYING A LION WEIGHING FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS</div> </div> I was once working with a group of lions at Indianapolis, when an incident occurred which will show how one small playful action on the part of a wild animal may sometimes lead to serious results. I was in the training-school when Young Wallace, one of my fiercest lions, but for whom I had a great affection, which, in a way, he appeared to return, jumped from his pedestal for a piece of meat which I had thrown on the floor. While eating the meat, I stood watching him, and thoughtlessly tapping the leather leg of my training-boot with my whip. Wallace had been accustomed to playing with the whip, and to feel the gentle stroking of it down the muscles of his back. One of the tricks which he had been taught was to ask for the stroking by reaching for the whip240 with his paw when it was held suspended over him. A lion’s paw is no plaything. A cat’s paw, with its sharp, incisive claws hidden in the velvet, is sometimes a fierce and effective weapon. Imagine a cat’s paw enlarged twenty times, propelled with a proportionate increase of muscular energy, and with the same lightning-like rapidity, and you can gather some little idea of what a lion’s paw means when it strikes. In this instance, Wallace struck at me merely in play and with little of the strength that he would have displayed in a wilful attack. The stroke was a part of the trick he was used to, and he made it with good animal intention, but it was none the less direful. The claws fastened deep into the fleshy part of my leg, through boot and underclothing, and there stuck. A lion’s claws would not be nearly so dangerous were they sharp and straight; but they have a sharp curve, and go in like a cant-hook, penetrating the flesh at an acute angle. The lion has not the sense to draw them out, as they went in, by the curving process, but pulls them straight out. 241 Wallace found his claws in farther than he intended, and, slightly frightened, promptly drew them out, not backward but forward. Needless to say, with them came a good-sized piece of flesh, which caused me excruciating pain. Painful as it was, I did not move, knowing as I did that to show any signs of fear or trepidation would cause alarm, and, probably, not only be the spoiling of the lion, but the signal for an attack. But when a second or two had elapsed, and Wallace had returned to eating his meat, I at once ordered the animals back to their cages, and in this way Wallace, picking up the remains of his meat and taking them with him, was soon in his cage again, without having been given time or opportunity to realize that he had hurt his trainer or drawn blood—two things which always have bad effects on animals. A great many accidents occur, and always will occur, either through carelessness or through mistakes on the part of those in attendance on the animals. It is not only the trainers who suffer from the claws and teeth242 of the animals: there are numerous other men and boys in an exhibition who are constantly running into danger, very often when there is not the slightest occasion for their doing so. The duties of these attendants are numerous. Besides helping to keep the animals and cages clean, they have to attend to watering the animals, see that no bones or other small articles are in the cages,—for the smallest object, no matter how worthless, may be the means of leading two animals to quarrel for its possession,—and do a hundred and one other things which crop up from day to day. Many of these attendants also help the trainers, which is almost as dangerous as the duties of the trainer himself. Properties and other things have to be passed in to the trainer during the rehearsals and performances, doors and gates have to be opened and fastened after them, and there is always the possibility that an animal may turn and spring on the attendant, although with trained animals this rarely happens. It is nothing for a man to close a door, but if an animal springs243 back at it, it would require more than the strength of six to do so. An attendant was holding the door open, after a performance, for some bears to return to their cages. All but one bear—a big Kadiak—had gone quietly in, when, without the least warning, the bear turned, inserted his claws round the edge of the door, tearing it out of the hands of the attendant, and in a second had him down. In spite of the promptest assistance given by Mr. Stevenson, who risked his life in so doing, the man’s arm was terribly torn, and it was months before he was able to leave the hospital. To this day his arm has remained stiff, and he can only hold it in an unnatural way. A terrible accident took place entirely through a mistake on the part of an employee. Albert Neilson by name and a good, hard-working young fellow, and a great favorite with the show, nicknamed “Curly,” was sent one morning with some food in a basket to feed some young lion cubs. The cubs were in a cage next to Rajah, the big tiger. All the employees had been repeatedly warned about244 taking care in going anywhere near this tiger—a special little trick of his being to feign sleep and then suddenly throw out a paw with claws extended. Whether “Curly” was careless and mistook the cage will never be known, but the other attendants were appalled by terrible screams issuing from Rajah’s cage, and on rushing forward saw to their horror that the man was being held in the tiger’s mouth by his head. The details are too terrible to go into, but here again Mr. Stevenson, who has earned for himself the name of the Guardian Angel of the Show, rushed into the cage, and, at the peril of his life, did his best with iron bars to force the tiger to let go. But nothing would induce the beast to relax his hold, and in the midst of his growling the man was calling piteously for help. After this, pistols were fired at him; but, when warned to come out, Sam Stevenson would not leave the man, although he was surrounded by bullets, each one of which was likely to strike him at any moment. Rajah was hit once or twice, but he only let go his245 hold on the man’s head to take a firmer one round his waist. Neilson was eventually drawn out, but he died soon afterward, to the deep grief of all in the show. Most trainers are superstitious, and great attention was drawn at the time to the fact of the number thirteen playing so prominent a part in the boy’s history. He was born on the thirteenth, had thirteen letters in his name, and so forth. It is, perhaps, the living in this perpetual state or atmosphere of danger which causes indifference and, in some cases, neglect on the part of the attendants. Each man and boy knows perfectly well that he is daily exposed to bites and scratches, and, perhaps, fearful mutilation; for all this is carefully impressed on every newcomer,—sometimes so much so that they depart with a shiver, which proves them totally unsuitable. The treachery of the animals is almost daily demonstrated in some way or another; the attendants are often witnesses of what terrible things wild animals can do, and yet I have seen them pass close to the cages, or stand indifferently by them,246 when every moment they were risking the loss of a limb, and, perhaps, their lives. I am always afraid of accidents with an extremely quiet man,—a man, that is, who never speaks to or appears to take any notice of the animals. All wild animals are very sensitive, and seem to know instinctively when people are interested in them. A friendly word or a little interest goes a long way with them. Captain Bonavita, for instance, never speaks to his lions when performing, but he loves his animals and takes the greatest interest in them, and when in their cages talks to each one by name. Whenever I notice an attendant who evidently takes no interest whatever in the animals, I invariably get rid of him. He may be in the show for some time, but one of these days the animals will get him; so, to prevent a bad “accident,” I consider it wise to let him go. <div id="ip_247" class="figcenter bbox" style="max-width: 17em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_267.jpg" width-obs="272" height-obs="456" alt="" /> <div class="caption">MR. SAM STEVENSON Whose bravery in saving lives has earned for him the sobriquet of “The Guardian Angel” </div> </div> A very small error is often the cause of a serious accident, and this I experienced myself at one time with Rajah, the tiger who killed Albert Neilson. I had been putting this249 animal through his rehearsal one day, and was returning through the runway to shut him in his cage. By an error on the part of an attendant, the door was not shut as it should have been, and Rajah had an opportunity to jump on my defenseless back. It was an opportunity he did not hesitate to seize immediately. The indiscretion of this attendant nearly cost me my life. Rajah got his fangs inside the head-protector I wore, and his claws into my body. After the first terrible sensation of tearing, I remember nothing more, for I became unconscious, and, in addition to other injuries, had concussion of the brain afterward. A similar accident happened to Captain Bonavita. He was putting his lions back, when one door, which had not been properly fastened, was pushed open by one of the lions, who sprang upon the trainer and nearly killed him. Another time, when Bonavita was in the runway behind the cages exercising his lions, the electric lights suddenly went out. This was a fearful predicament. Owing to the hubbub which immediately ensued in the250 building, it was impossible to make any one hear, and even had he done so, it would have taken a very brave man to go into a dark runway with several lions. As it was, Captain Bonavita did the best he could. He kept swinging about him the heavy club he had in his hand. He could hear one of the lions coming toward him in the dark and breathing heavily. He knew only too well that the momentary pause was the signal either for creeping nearer to him or for a spring. As long as he was able to keep the club swinging he knew the lion was at a certain distance, but in an instant it came in contact with something soft, and as this was followed by a fierce growl, the trainer knew he had probably struck the lion on the nose just as he was creeping close up to him. His arms were beginning to ache terribly, and he realized that he would be unable to keep it up much longer, but when he struck the soft substance a second time, and knew that the lion had again crept closer, he determined to sell his life dearly, and kept up the swinging movements, although he was beginning251 to get faint and dizzy from the exertion. As long as he could keep this going he was comparatively safe, but there was always the danger that, instead of creeping nearer, the lion might spring, and in that case nothing could save him. Just as he was about to give up and take the consequences, the lights suddenly came on again, and disclosed the lion in the very act of preparing for a spring. The sudden glare of the light, however, and the appearance of the trainer standing there with his club, appeared to confuse him; and when Bonavita, with a supreme effort, ordered him back, he turned round and went submissively into his cage. The trainer walked to the end of the runway, where he was found by the attendants soon afterward in a state of collapse from exhaustion. It takes so little to turn a trivial incident into a serious matter, that the greatest care is always necessary. In moving round the arena at one performance, Mme. Morelli in some way touched one of the leopards with the lace of her dress. This was before they252 had all mounted to their pedestals. The lace of the dress caught him in the eye, and in an instant the leopard sprang, and had she not been so fortunate as to catch him with her whip as she sprang aside, there would probably have been a very serious accident. The spring of a leopard is a serious thing; it can bound ten or twelve feet in the air, and although it is the lightest and most graceful jumper of all the wild animals, it is also the strongest, and it was only the agility and prompt action of Mme. Morelli which saved her. At another time, a slight oversight on Mme. Morelli’s part resulted in a very serious accident. She had concluded her performance, and was leaving the arena, thinking all the leopards were in front of her, when an attendant called out that one leopard was staying behind and creeping toward her. Quick as the attendant had been in warning her, and quick as Mme. Morelli was, they were neither of them quick enough that time; for before she could turn round, the leopard sprang, and, unfortunately, catching her just255 as she was in the act of turning, landed on her neck and shoulders, tearing them fearfully. <div id="ip_253" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_273.jpg" width-obs="538" height-obs="600" alt="" /> <div class="caption">POLAR BEARS AT PLAY</div> </div> In this instance it was Captain Bonavita who rushed in and saved her, beating the leopard back and keeping it at bay until Mme. Morelli was safely out of the way, and the animal could be sent back to its cage. This was one of the most serious accidents she ever had, and great persuasion was brought to bear on her afterward to give up that leopard, but she would not hear of it. She was ill for some time, but as soon as she was able she re-entered the arena and made each leopard obey her as before. It is always a matter of wonder to see leopards perform, but to see four or five do so with one small woman is a marvelous sight, and proves what can be done in the way of mastering even such treacherous and vindictive creatures as leopards and jaguars. In taking up the business of an animal trainer, a man, if he has the qualities of which I have already spoken, runs no more desperate chances than thousands of other men who follow their various callings. The physician256 risks his life daily from infectious diseases, but beyond taking a few precautions, such a thing as thinking of the danger never occurs to him. The soldier knows he may be called to give up his life for his country in time of war, but when face to face with the enemy, he only nerves himself to think of his duty, and not of the danger to himself. There are hundreds of occupations, such as mining, building, tunneling, and driving railway engines, where men also run daily risks, and an animal trainer runs no more than any of these, provided he is careful and cautious. Animal trainers are no different from other men. They all have the same capacity for fear that every man has in time of great danger, but they have schooled themselves, by good habits and self-control, to meet the danger calmly.   <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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