Part 10

The effect arising from the food-supply which our pigs afford is well seen in the use which is made of their flesh in all the ruder work of men, at least in the case of those of our race. Our soldiers and sailors are to a great extent fed on the flesh of these creatures, which lends itself readily to preservation by the use of salt. So rapidly can these animals be bred, owing to the number of young which they produce in a litter and the swiftness of their growth, that sudden demands for an increase in the supply, such as occurred at the outbreak of our civil war, can quickly be met. If the need should arise, the quantity of pork produced in this country could readily be doubled within eighteen months. This is the case with no other source of flesh-supply, and this fact gives the pig a peculiar importance.

Owing to the remarkably complete domestication of this animal, and also to the fact that it is omnivorous, the creature has ever been a favorite with the cotter class. Those folk, who can afford neither sheep nor horned cattle, can often provide the food for pigs, and thus, in turn, be much better fed than they would otherwise be.

It is only within two centuries that our pigs have attained to anything like the domestication in which we commonly find them. Of old they were allowed to range the forests, much as they do in certain parts of our Southern States at the present day. In some parts of Europe, particularly in the southern portion of the continent, this method of rearing and feeding is still common. It was and is advantageous, for the reason that the creature, by its remarkably keen sense of smelling and its singular capacity for overturning the ground, is able to provide itself with abundant food in the way of grubs and roots which are not at the disposition of any other animal. It was only as the public forests disappeared that pigs came to receive any considerable part of their provender from the products of tilled fields. In this stage of our agriculture, when all the land was possessed, the life of the pig was necessarily more restricted, and he became the denizen of a pen. In the earlier state there was no cost for his keeping; in the latter, except so far as he could be fed from the waste of a household, he is an expensive animal.

It is with this last state of the pig, when he became the most housed of our domesticated animals, that the work of the breeder really began. The aim of those who have developed the pig has been, as we have said, to obtain the most rapid growth along with the greatest weight of fat, and to accomplish the results with the least expenditure in the way of food. Although the animal has been subjected to selective experiments, looking to these ends, for not more than a century, or say about forty generations of the species, the amount of variation which has been attained is singularly great, the form and habits having been changed more rapidly, and in a larger measure, than in the case of any other of our domesticated animals. It may fairly be said that this creature is more obedient to the will of the practical selectionist than any other with which we have experimented.

It is commonly assumed that our pigs are among the least intelligent of the creatures which man has turned to his use. This impression is due to the fact that the conditions in which these animals are kept insure their degradation by cutting them off from all the natural mental training which wild animals, as well as the other tenants of the fields, receive. In the state of nature or in the condition of domestication which existed before pigs became captives in their pens, they were among the most alert and sagacious animals with which man has come in contact. Their wits were quick and their sympathies with their kind remarkably strong. Trainers have found these creatures more apt in receiving instruction than any other of our mammals, and the things which they can be made to do appear to indicate a native intelligence nearer to that of man than is found in any other species below the level of the apes.

As there is little in the books of anecdotes of animals concerning pigs, I venture to give an account of a learned individual of this species whose performances I had an opportunity of observing in much detail. The creature, an ordinary specimen about three years old, had been trained by a peasant in the mountain district of Virginia who made his living by instructing animals for show purposes. He stated that in selecting pigs for education it was his practice to choose those characterized by a considerable width between the eyes and whose skulls projected in this part of their periphery to a more than usual degree. He said that from many experiments he was satisfied that there was a very great difference in the capacity of the animals to receive training, and that the above-mentioned indices afforded him sufficient guidance in his choice.

In the exhibition about to be described there were but three persons present, myself, another spectator, and the showman. A score of cards were placed upon the ground, each bearing a numeral or the name of some distinguished person. These cards were in perfect disorder. I was allowed, indeed, repeatedly to change their position and to mix them up as I pleased. The pig was then told to pick out the name of Abraham Lincoln and bring it to his master. This he readily did. He was asked in what year Lincoln was assassinated. He slowly but without correction brought one by one the appropriate numerals and put them on the ground in due order. Half a dozen other questions concerning names and dates were answered in a similar way. Each success was rewarded with a grain of corn, and for his failures the creature received a reasonable drubbing. It was evident that the animal had to consider in making his choice of the cards. At times he was evidently much puzzled and would indicate his perplexity by squealing.

It seemed clear that the master of this learned pig did not guide the movements of the animal by other indications than words. The questions, in some cases, had to be reiterated in a loud voice in order to insure attention. Several times during the performance the pig rebelled, broke from the tent, and was with difficulty recaptured. The creature disliked this task in the manner of a lazy school-boy, and at the end of an hour of exercises seemed utterly overcome by his labor. He ran into the box where he was ordinarily confined, and when dragged forth, neither rewards nor punishments would quicken him to further work.

The above-described exhibition made it plain to me that the pig can be taught to understand a certain amount of human speech and to associate memories with phrases substantially as we do ourselves. It is perfectly clear that the performance which I witnessed was not a mere routine action, for I had a number of questions asked over again so as to make it sure that the creature acted with reference to each separate inquiry. The behavior of the animal during the performance seemed clearly to indicate mental effort and not mere automatic memory. His attitude when trying to determine which of two cards to take distinctly showed that he was intently viewing the figures and endeavoring to come to a decision. I am aware it has been suggested that learned pigs discriminate between the cards by peculiarities of odor which have been given to these bits of paper. I sought carefully to find if such was the case, and though I have a very keen sense of smell I found nothing which led me to suspect that this device was used. Even if such were the case, the rationality of the animal's action would be none the less clear. The showman assured me that he never used any such means in training pigs. He seemed, indeed, to treat the suggestion with contempt.

Although experiments in the training of pigs show that they have rather remarkable intellectual capacities, the most human feature in their mental organization is found in the keen sympathy which they exhibit with the sufferings of their own kind and the willingness with which they encounter danger in protecting their comrades. It usually requires close observation for the naturalist to determine the existence of this motive among the other wild or domesticated mammals. In fact, the traces of it are very slight indeed, and are generally to be attributed to the care of parents for offspring or of the males for their harem--a disposition which, though akin to the defence of the kind, is nevertheless of a special and peculiar nature. Even among our domestic dogs, whose sympathies have been developed in a remarkable degree and who will sacrifice their lives to defend or rescue the human beings with whom they are familiar, there appears to be but little disposition to support members of their species who may be assailed. With pigs, however, as is well known to all those who have observed their habits, the characteristic cry of distress of their fellows proves very exciting and stimulates all the adults, both male and female, who hear it to hasten in defence of their kinsmen. It is a noteworthy fact that while most other animals when in danger utter no distinct or continuous cry, the pig gives voice in a vociferous and insistent manner, as if he had a right to expect the sympathy and help of his species. The cry goes with the custom of defence which in this species has attained a better foundation in the sympathetic motives than in any other mammal below the level of man.

It is perhaps due to their relatively high intellectual organization that the excessively domesticated pigs are liable to suffer from attacks of mania. This is most commonly exhibited by the sows, which at times will destroy their young shortly after they are born. The sight of their progeny seems to infuriate them in a curious manner. One sow which I owned killed three successive litters; another fine animal of the Berkshire breed, a very amiable, indeed affectionate, creature, was carefully watched at the time she first bore young, precautions being taken to prevent her from harming them; she would willingly allow them to suckle, provided she did not see them, but the moment she laid her eyes upon them she was seized with the strange fury.

Although this singular perversion of the natural instincts of maternity sometimes occurs among the pigs which are allowed to roam together in herds, it seems to be far more common in those conditions where the animals are confined in pens without contact with their kind, and where they have no chance to recognize the young as members of their species or to acquire that interest in them which they would gain in the society of the herd. It is also clear that this maniacal habit is inherited; according to my observation it is common among the Berkshire, and relatively rare in other less specialized varieties.

The intelligence of the pig is also shown in the readiness with which the creature changes its habits to meet varied environments. Thus the pigs which range the woods in the western and southern parts of the United States have learned to catch the crawfish which abounds in the shallow streams in those parts of this country. They will wade up a brook, turning over the stones and driftwood as they go, catching with a quick movement the crustaceans which they have thus dislodged from their cover. Along the shores of the Bay of Fundy, the pigs, accustomed to follow the tide out, picking the chance food which is thus exposed to them, have learned carefully to avoid the risk of being caught by the returning waters. With the first splash of the turning tide they hasten inshore until they have attained safe ground.

One of the best evidences of the mental state of these animals is found in their actions when assailed by dogs or other beasts of prey. Pigs, though wary and sensible of danger, seem exempt from the extreme fear which leads to panic, and fight, even before being brought to bay by long chasing, in a discreet and valiant manner. Where a number of them are attacked by dogs or other enemies, they will form a circle with their heads out, each supporting the other in such a manner that the ring cannot readily be broken. Their thick-skinned forequarters and stout tusks provide them with excellent instruments with which to resist an assault.

The sagacity of the pigs is probably, in part at least, to be attributed to the fact that in their native state they are communal animals, all the species of their family being accustomed to live gregariously, so that for ages they have had the training which every social organization, however simple, affords. They are, moreover, omnivorous feeders, accustomed to subsist on a great variety of food--a habit which seems in all cases to promote the development of the intelligence in animals.

Although the pigs by their nature afforded the best opportunity for developing an intellectual animal which has come to us through our domesticated creatures, no effort whatever has been made by selection to develop the latent mental capacities of this species. It is perhaps the only form of those which man has subjugated which by his treatment he tends to degrade. In the time to come, when men will be held to a better accountability for the treatment of their captives, the condition of these animals will afford a fair field for the reformer's care.

The geologist who is acquainted with the mammalian life of the Middle Tertiary period readily notes the fact that the variety in genera and species appears to be much greater than it is at the present time. A great number of forms, differing somewhat widely from those now in existence, then abounded in the Americas and the Old World. It may at first sight seem unfortunate that man did not have the chance to essay his domesticative arts on that older and apparently richer life. A closer examination, however, leads us to see that the species of that time, though more numerous than those of the present, were on the whole less fitted for our use than the fewer but more completely differentiated kinds with which we have had to deal. The multitude of kinds which we find in the Mesozoic period indicates that the life was in a state more experimental than that to which it has attained. A host of forms on their way towards the specialization which has now been attained have been removed from the sphere, in the manner of a scaffolding from a completed structure. That which has been left remains because it has successfully accomplished the task of reconciliation with environment, or, in simpler phrase, because it has learned to do things which were useful and profitable in a more perfect manner.

As an illustration of the fact that the animals of to-day are better fitted to be the help-meets of man than were their ancestors of an earlier time, we may note the state of the horse at the time when that genus was undergoing its development in the region about the upper waters of the Missouri. As may be imagined, the long and difficult passage from the five-toed to the single-toed form was slowly accomplished, and to its doing went a great many temporary forms, which served, we may say, as stepping-stones for the ongoing. So far as we can judge, these intermediate forms were small, rather frail creatures, which probably could not have been made to serve any purpose useful to man. It was not until the mechanical system of the large single toe with the wonderfully developed nail, which makes up the foot and hoof of the horse, had been attained, that the creature becomes fit for the wonderful work we have persuaded him to do in our civilization.

A comparison of the skulls of the Tertiary mammals and those of our own day indicates that in certain of the important series, and presumably in them all, the brain has increased in size from the earlier to the later times. This increase in brain capacity has doubtless been attended by a decided gain in the measure of intelligence, a gain which has doubtless served to make the modern representatives of the series fitter for man's use than their ancestors were. For, while the number of our very useful domesticated forms may seem at first sight to be dull of wit, none of them are really low in the intellectual scale as we apply it to the brute; in fact, a considerable measure of intelligence is absolutely required as a condition for true subjugation. This is seen by the fact that nothing like a real adoption into our social system has ever been accomplished except with a few of the higher orders of mammals and birds, species which have an intellectual capacity that we recognize as akin to our own. Thus, so far as we can see, man's appearance on this stage was, so far as it relates to the possibility of companionship with the lower life, exceedingly well timed. He came at a period when the life was ready to give him and to receive from him a large measure of help. If his advent had been much earlier, he might have had less trouble in his contests with the larger carnivora; but if there had been a lack of beasts to obey his will, it is doubtful whether he could himself have won his way above that primitive life.

DOMESTICATED BIRDS

Domestication of Animals mainly accomplished by the Aryan Race; Small Amount of Such Work by American Indians.--Barnyard Fowl: Mental Qualities; Habits of Combat.--Peacocks: their Limited Domestication.--Turkeys: their Origin; tending to revert to the Savage State.--Water Fowl: Limited Number of Species domesticated; Intellectual Qualities of this Group.--The Pigeon: Origin and History of Group; Marvels of Breeding.--Song Birds.--Hawks and Hawking.--Sympathetic Motive of Birds: their AEsthetic Sense; their Capacity for Enjoyment.

It is an interesting fact that about all the work of domestication which has been done by man has been accomplished by the peoples of Asia and mainly by the Aryan race. The American Indians tamed the llama and alpaca and a few species of native plants; even where their habits were prevailingly sedentary they domesticated no birds. It was left for Europeans to make use of the wild turkey. Our primitive people had the same chance to tame ducks and geese as the folk of the Old World. They appear, however, to have lacked all capacity for such endeavors. The same lack of disposition to capture and tame wild creatures is noticeable among the characteristic peoples of Africa; all of which serves to show that the domesticating art, at least as applied to animals, is peculiar to the higher-grade folk of the Old World.

Of all the birds which have been domesticated, our common barnyard fowl has been by far the most useful to man. It has become in a way interwoven with his life to a degree found only in a few of our barnyard animals. Next after the pigeons and the pigs it has been most deeply impressed by the breeder's art. The wild species whence it sprang is a small creature, laying but few eggs and with but a slight tendency to accumulate fat. From this parent stock varieties have been bred which attain in some cases to eight or ten times the weight of the ancient form. They have, moreover, lost the fierce combative spirit which characterizes their ancestors and which by selection has been preserved and intensified in our breeds of game-cocks.

It is an interesting fact that our barnyard fowl is the only species of a large family of birds which has been truly domesticated. The kindred pheasants and grouse, though abounding in the Old World and the New, and much disposed to abide about the cultivated fields, appear to be rather untamable. However well cared for, the wilderness motive seems never to have been eradicated. The domesticability of the cock, as is that of most other wild animals, is doubtless to be explained by the conditions of the life in which it has dwelt for ages before it was introduced to the society of man. In its wild state this bird had already to a great extent lost the power of flight, using its wings only for escaping from four-footed pursuers or to attain the branches of the trees in which it sought safety in the night time. With this measure of loss of the flying power, the creature abandoned the habit of ranging over a wide field, and thus was made more fit for domestication. Moreover, in their wilderness life these birds dwelt in more established communities than their kindred species. The most of these wild forms do not keep together through the year, but scatter after the young are able to shift for themselves. The Indian species of Gallus, however, from which our cocks and hens descend, have organized their life so that the individuals remain associate in a friendly way throughout the year.

A part of the fitness of this creature to cast in its lot with man arises from the fact that they have very sympathetic natures. This is shown by the way in which the cocks will fight for their hens, even against their dreaded enemies, the hawks; and by the manner in which the mother, overcoming her natural fears, will do battle for her brood. It is shown also in the curious mingling of gallantry and kindliness with which the cock will call a hen to give her some choice bit of food which he has captured. As he grows older and becomes Philistinish, we may note that, after the manner of unfeathered bipeds, he is often disposed to indulge his selfishness, and summons his flock only to see him devour the morsel. Even in old age, however, the males of the varieties which are nearest the parent stock maintain their helpful motives and will struggle with infirmity to beat off a bird of prey.

The sympathetic and affectionate quality of our barnyard fowl is perhaps best indicated by the singular variety and denotative value of their various calls and cries. Those who know these birds well will find no difficulty in recognizing about a score of diverse sounds, each of which indicates a particular turn of their mind. Almost all of these different notes have slight variations of expression which fit particular situations. Thus the crow of these birds, which may seem to the unobservant a very unvaried sound, discloses to those who have lovingly studied them at least half a dozen distinct modifications. In the fledgling male who just begins to feel the spirit of his kind, and who goes through his performance in the adolescent way, it is a cheap and often pitiful call. From the open roost in the trees, where the birds are gradually aroused by the slow-coming day, we can often hear the note of the half-awakened cock, as full of the sense of slumber as the speech of a sleeping man. As the creature gradually awakens, his cry becomes more resonant until it has the true morning ring. Brave as is this note of the full day, it is not to be compared with the crowing of a game-cock, the most splendid braggart sound of all the animal world.

The really sympathetic notes of our fowls are uttered in their ordinary intercourse. Here the gradations of sounds have a range and fineness which, it seems to me, we can observe in no other creature below the level of man. Attention, astonishment, fear, commonplace distress, exultation, and agony are all set forth with cries which we, in a way, recognize as appropriate. Although some of these sounds relate to the larger experiences of the creatures, the most instructive of them are uttered in their ordinary intercourse, where they clearly maintain a kind of consensus in the flock by unending small bits of emotional speech, the notes being shaded in a wonderful way. These fine variations of utterance can sometimes be observed to be related to slight differences of situation. Thus the cackle of a hen when she leaves her nest after laying an egg is quite different from that which is made by the same hen when, during the period of incubation, she quits her eggs in search of food and water.

It is not unlikely that the eminent domesticability of our common fowls is in a way associated with the singular variety of their notes. This variety indicates that the creatures are in constant and effective communication with one another; in a word, they are very sympathetic. With this intellectual helpfulness naturally goes the love of the domicile and a disposition to submit to control.