SCIENCE 



NEW YORK. AUGUST 26, 1892. 



IS THERE A SENSE OF DIRECTION ? 



BY J. N. HALL, M.D. 



Although it seems to me beyond dispute that among- the 

 lower animals there is an instinct which teaches them to 

 find their way to a given point regardless of darkness or of 

 previous Ijuowledge of the locality, I do not believe, as I 

 formerly did, that man possesses a similar sense, if we may 

 so term it. I believe that man"s ability to find his way to a 

 given point is dependent solely upon a habit of observation, 

 almost unconscious, to be sure, in many cases, but neces- 

 sary to the end in view. I shall not discuss the truth or 

 falsity of the ingenious theory advanced a few years ago, 

 that the pineal gland in the brain is the seat of such a sense 

 in animals, and that they find their way by means of some 

 perception by this portion of the brain of the direction of 

 terrestrial electric currents. All reasonable men, I believe, 

 are satisfied that animals have this ability to find their way. 

 Thus, most of us are familiar with instances in which a cat, 

 for example, has been taken in a box or satchel for ten, 

 twenty, or even fifty miles from home, and has returned in 

 such an incredibly short time that we may be certain she 

 has travelled by the most direct route. Carrier pigeons 

 transported in closed cars or in ships have no difficulty in 

 determining their direction of flight, even when liberated 

 out of sight of land. I have repeatedly, when in doubt as 

 to my direction upon a prairie without roads or paths, given 

 my pony his reins, as riders commonly do in such circum- 

 stances, and never yet knew one to come out at Ihe wrong 

 place. The cowboys of this region make it a rule to pick 

 for night-herding well-broken horses that are known to be 

 anxious to reach camp when given the reins. Such ponies, 

 even if obliged to follow the herd away from camp for sev- 

 eral miles, will find their way back in safety in spite of the 

 darkness. This selection of certain horses for night-work 

 does not in the least vitiate our conclusion. They are not 

 chosen for their power of finding their way back, but for 

 their known inclination to do so. Even these horses some- 

 times fail, as, for instance, in the face of a severe storm, for 

 they drift with the wind at such times rather than face 

 it. Thus I once started for home at midnight from a ranch 

 four miles away. For the first mile my road led westward 

 to a road that ran in a northerly direction to town. Upon 

 this first portion, with nothing to guide him, for it was dark 

 and the ground was covered with new fallen snow, the 

 horse found his way easily. As I struck the road and 

 turned his face fairly to the storm, he would hardly face it. 

 As the thermometer fell to 27 below zero that night, and the 

 wind was strong, it was not strange. In this ease the pain 

 in his eyes from the cold and the driving snow more than 

 counterbalanced his desire to get to his stable, and so he 

 preferred to drift with the storm rather than face it. 



As I cannot conceive that a horse or pigeon should guide 

 himself by the position of the sun or of the north star, even 

 if we eliminate from the problem the well-known fact that 

 darkness seems to make no difference in the exercise of this 



homing instinct, I think that we may take it for granted 

 that animals and birds have this sense of direction, for ex- 

 amples similar to those given above might be given by the 

 score. It might be supposed that this instinct had formerly 

 existed in man, but had been lost during his progress toward 

 his present state of civilization. Writers speak of the " un- 

 erring instinct '' which guides the red man through the vast 

 stretches of pathless forest in which he resides. But we are 

 also told of the accuracy of observation of the individuals of 

 this same race. The Indian is familiar with the path of the 

 sun and the position of the heavenly bodies. lie observes 

 every thing within his horizon, the mountain ranges, promi- 

 nent peaks, and passes; he notes every stream, its size, 

 character, and general course; he sees all the prominent ob- 

 jects along his trail. If the sun is obscured, and he is tem- 

 porarily lost, he accomplishes his orientation by observing 

 the rougher bark on the north side of some varieties of for- 

 est trees; or he finds the wild morning-glory facing eastward 

 at day-break, for the faithful Moslem is not more certain to 

 look toward the rising sun. He no doubt observes, also, 

 that the warping action of the sun's rays detaches the bark 

 sooner from the south side of the standing dead timber than 

 from the other sides. These and a hundred similar signs 

 are to be read by the student of nature. Such a student, 

 most emphatically, is the Indian. I have had occasion to 

 note his wonderful powers of observation, and those more 

 familiar with his habits than I am, inform me that only 

 after years of experience, if at all, does the white man ac- 

 quire his proficiency in this direction. We are told by trav- 

 ellers that it is much the same with other primitive races, 

 the necessary qualities being intensified by inheritance 

 through long generations of nomadic ancestors. But as we 

 have advanced in civilization, and sign-posts have taken the 

 place of the signs which the Indian reads, we have retro- 

 graded in these matters until the civilized man, despite his 

 knowledge, is lost more easily than his barbaric ancestors, 

 unless he takes especial precautions to note those things which 

 they observed without effort. 



It seems to me that our proposition, viz., that we keep our 

 direction by observation, conscious or unconscious, of sur- 

 rounding objects, will be established if we are able to prove 

 these three things: — 



First, that those lacking in the power of observation are 

 most easily lost. 



Second, that those in whom this faculty is well developed 

 are rarely lost. 



Third, that the latter are easily lost when they lose sight 

 of all external objects, as in fog or darkness, or when their 

 attention is concentrated upon something else to such an ex- 

 tent that they do not observe their surroundings. 



I trust that my term " power of observation "' is plain to 

 all. In this connection I mean that faculty which enables 

 one to note surrounding objects, and to bear in mind their 

 relations to each other and to himself. I take it that the 

 power which enables one to look at a landscape and say that 

 it is familiar is the same as that which permits some of us 

 to look at a word and determine whether or not it is spelled 

 correctly; for I have long believed that notoriously poor 

 spellers were such, not from poor memories necessarily, but 



