412 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 14, 1888 



their claws and limbs are much stronger compared with 

 t he weight of their bodies than is the case with our com- 

 mon house cat, which climb trees easily enough. L. S. 

 Baied, McCloud River, California. 



Editor Forest and Strram: 



In regard to panthers climbing trees, I would say they 

 can climb. In 1861 Stephen Ward and myself bought all 

 of Charles Marsh's wolf and panther traps. Marsh and 

 myself started on the 18th of April to go around where 

 he had them set. One was on top of Cat Mountain, near 

 the bluff. There had been a panther in this trap the 

 fall before. The marks were plain. He went about five 

 rods and jumped down on the next shelf or ledge, 

 some 20ft. Here there was a spruce tree about 18in. 

 through and about 20ft. to the lowest limb. The pan- 

 ther climbed into the limbs with the clog and trap. By 

 the marks on the tree he must have been there several 

 hours, then tearing loose, left trap and clog in the tree. 

 We cut the tree down to get the trap and found three of 

 his toes between the jaws. The same year in June Ward 

 and myself got one at the Toad Hole on the carry be- 

 tween "Grass Pond and Mud Lake. This was a very 

 heavy trap weighing 221bs. and the clog weighed probably 

 lOOlbs. besides. The first jump from where the trap was 

 set measured 23ft. The panther went down to the 

 right of the trail into a thicket of tamaracks and climbed 

 one of them, perhaps 25ft., carrying trap and clog with 

 him. He then apparently slid back down the tree. We 

 got him the next day. The marks of his claws are still 

 to be seen upon the tree. Fhilo Scott. 



Fine, N. Y., May 20. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



To add my mite to the tree shinning business: A year 

 ago a friend of mine summered in camp about twenty 

 miles from Albuquerque, N. M., with a queer old bald- 

 headed genius from Massachusetts as guide. One night 

 there was a row outside and the guide running out could 

 see nothing definite, but thought he saw a black some- 

 thing high in the tree above him. He incontinently 

 blazed away, for luck, and down came a huge mountain 

 lion, shot dead. If that lion didn't climb that tree for 

 fun what did he do it for? John Preston True. 



Boston, Mass. 



A TROUP OF EDUCATED ANIMALS. 



THERE has recently been a Forest and Stream show 

 at one of the big New York theaters. And it was 

 more of a real bona fide Forest and Stream concern 

 than any of the previous stage exhibitions which have 

 received a mention in the paper, exhibitions mostly — 

 these last were — of unerring marksmanship with fire- 

 arms and an athletic agility in smashing glass balls. 

 But this particular Forest and Stream show of the 

 present is of interest to every sportsman and naturalist, 

 because it shows to what a point of cultivation the so- 

 called brute creation may be educated. At the Star 

 Theater, Broadway and Thirteenth street, where Henry 

 Irving has trod the boards with his halting ball-and- chain 

 tread, and where more recently O'Conor reeked tragedy 

 and dodged stale vegetables at one and the same time, 

 has been a theatrical company of dogs, monkeys, horses 

 and a goat, which, in ability to imitate the ways of that 

 higher animal, man, has surpassed anything of the kind 

 ever attempted. Professor Henry Brockmann, a pleasant, 

 happy-looking German, is the pedagogue who has suc- 

 ceeded in teaching his brute pupils the clever things that 

 they do on the stage, and never before did a professor 

 have scholars of whose accomplishments he could be 

 more justifiably proud. 



To enumerate in detail all the attainments of this high 

 school of animals would consume more space than For- 

 est and Stream can spare. But to particularize some of 

 the most remarkable features the first scene when the 

 curtain goes up will do. Four monkeys, dressed in the 

 same sort of clothes that we descendants of monkeys are 

 now wearing daily on the street, are sitting in chairs 

 about a table, which is laid for dinner. They are appar- 

 ently out for a famous lark, for they turn to each other 

 and make believe to chat, they gesticulate to one another 

 as does he who is telling a wonderful yarn, and they are 

 meanwhile too well bred in table etiquette'to loll upon 

 the board, to place their elbows on the cloth or to yawn. 

 Presently, after the diners have adjusted to their satis- 

 faction the white napkins that are tied under their chins, 

 from the wings there trips a neat waitress in gown and 

 pantalettes, a monkey Hebe, who jumps upon a vacant 

 chair by the table and looks inquiringly from one guest 

 to the other, as if taking then- orders for consomme or 

 other potage. As she scurries away toward the make-be- 

 lieve kitchen after receiving the orders one droll, rakish- 

 looking monkey follows her figure with his eyes, and 

 then nudges his" neighbor and winks diabolically, for all 

 the world as if he were saying, "Nice gal that, old chap- 

 pie I" The waitress returns bearing the portions for the 

 first course, and is assisted by a young monkey in knee- 

 breeches and roundabout. This monkey is a mischievous 

 little imp. While the guests are dining he steals bits 

 from their plates, which he eats with a grin of enjoyment, 

 and after he has brought in a basket of wine, and the 

 professor has filled glasses all round, this precious young 

 rascal slyly grabs a half empty bottle and gets under the 

 table to drain it. 



The second pantomimic comedy introduces some of the 

 dogs. A white poodle walking on her hindlegs is dressed 

 as a modern belle; a tailor-made poodle, indeed, with 

 white fluffy bangs, faultless attire, even to the bustle, and 

 a walk that fairly imitates that of some of the tailor- 

 made girls of Fifth avenue. She is accompanied by a 

 discreet duenna in the person of an old-maidish-looking 

 monkey, who is as prim and precise as duennas in caps 

 and spectacles always are. A coal-black poodle dude, in 

 a suit perhaps by Poole, enters from the left, walking 

 very erect and Englishy on his hindlegs, and flirts a little 

 with the tailor-made miss. The duenna is properly 

 shocked, and tries to draw her charge's attention from 

 the ' 'horrid man ;" but the young miss boldly encourages 

 the dude's attentions, and finishes by walking lovingly 

 off the stage with the young masher, while the duenna 

 follows meekly behind. 



The most interesting pantomime of the performance 

 occurs when a liveried coachman monkey drives out his 

 monkey master and monkey mistress in a minature open 

 coach, with a liveried monkey "boots" sitting in solemn 

 state behind. The "horses" are two dogs running on all 



fours, and they are as skittish and restless as thorough- 

 breds. The coachman has some difficulty in guiding 

 them, and indeed they eventually run away, during 

 which event the off hind wheel of the coach comes off, 

 the hind axle of the coach breaks, and footman, master 

 and mistress are tumbled out. The master is not hurt, 

 neither is the mistress, and as soon as the former has 

 used his weight to balance the coach back to a semi- 

 upright position, he attends to the poor footman, who is 

 sprawled out his full length, evidently seriously injured. 

 His master feels his ribs, listens to his heart beats, and 

 goes through some hocus-pocus which resuscitates the 

 poor footman. Meantime the coachman has chased and 

 captured the runaway team, and it is very amusing to 

 see the monkeys as they all stoop with their hands on 

 their knees, exactly as men would, and examine the 

 broken axle and wheel very critically. 



Besides the above dramatic bits there are dogs that 

 jump forward and backward, on four feet and on two 

 feet; dogs that walk on their forelegs alone, and dogs 

 that stand on their heads; dogs and horses that dance 

 waltzes and polkas and square dance movements, and 

 that keep accurate time to the music in doing it, too; a 

 monkey that walks a tight rope, and a monkey clown 

 that trundles a wheelbarrow, makes funny failures on the 

 tight rope and imitates the well-known characteristics of 

 the human circus clown; a dog that rides a bareback 

 horse around a ring and jumps through hoops, on 

 and off the horse, and shows the highest judgment in 

 balancing and jumping: a goat that climbs to the top of 

 a pyramid of bottles and balances himself there on two 

 legs; and ponies that do all manner of tricks, such as 

 waltzing on their hindlegs, marching in time to music, 

 leaping and forming intricate and beautiful figures on 

 the stage. 



Now, I am something of a dog training crank myself, 

 and I watched this performance, therefore, with great 

 closeness and interest. The feature that surprised me 

 most was the fact that Prof. Brockmann gave very few 

 audible commands to the animals, and when the monkeys 

 and dogs were performing their most wonderful parts he 

 apparently said nothing to them and made no gestures to 

 guide them. The brutes seemed to go through their per- 

 formance as if they understood perfectly the roles they 

 were expected to fill. I was positive that certain of the 

 dogs were able to count, because in a scene where several 

 of them at once were executing fancy movements, leaps 

 and sommersaults together, an "act" in which the en- 

 semble would be entirely lost if one single animal had 

 forgotten on which turn to execute his leap or his som- 

 mersault, not one dog failed to put in his particular act 

 at just the right period, although he had perhaps been 

 placed in the same relative position to the other dogs 

 three or four times before. And their trainer was natur- 

 ally unable to count for all of them at once and issue his 

 commands to all at the same time. 



After the performance I had a talk with Prof. Brock- 

 mann on the stage. He is a fine looking German of about 

 forty-five years, with a pleasant face and manner. "The 

 whole secret of training animals," said he, "is to first get 

 so thoroughly acquainted with your animal that you 

 understand his every mood and temper. Do not treat 

 him as if he were a dunce and unable to reason or think. 

 Every animal can think and can reason, too. In train- 

 ing my dogs and monkeys I always let them suggest 

 tricks and little acts to me. I give them a rudimentary 

 education, first in comparatively simple things, such as 

 walking on their hindlegs, carrying articles, jumping, 

 and so forth. Then the rest seems to come naturally and 

 easily to them, and as I five right among all my animals 

 the greater part of the time and talk with them — " 



"Talk with them?" 



"Certainly. I don't talk to them as I talk to you and 

 they don't talk to me as you do, but we understand each 

 other just the same, and we like each other, sympathize 

 with each other and share one another's griefs and joys, 

 I may say. 



"When I say I let my animals suggest tricks to me I 

 mean that they are constantly at one time or another 

 adding a little act to those I have taught them, and I 

 then make the animal who has accidentally added some- 

 thing clever to his performance do the act over and over 

 again until he understands that his new trick is a part of 

 every performance. The clown monkey in the tight-rope 

 performance, you noticed, chalked his feet, just as the 

 tight-rope walker does, and then very comically chalks 

 his nose. That always causes a laugh, but it wasn't done 

 in the programme until one day when we had some new 

 and queer-smelling chalk, and the clown, after he had 

 chalked his feet as usual, put it to his nose and smelled 

 it. I made him do it again and again after the perform- 

 ance and lie has done it at every performance since. At 

 the first rehearsal of the runaway coach act, after I had 

 taught the monkey footman to lie still on the stage after 

 the upset, the big monkey on the seat, who has a great 

 affection for the little footman monkey, ran to him in 

 real unfeigned concern, thinking he was truly hurt. I 

 saw that this little act would be a good addition to what 

 I had already taught, and it has been done at every per- 

 formance. 



"Do I use the whip in training? Almost never. I have 

 a different method of teaching each act, and I could not 

 explain to you all the ways I go about the education of 

 the animals without consuming too much time. But I 

 never break the spirit of a dog or other animal, and I 

 exercise my will power over them so that my mind has 

 an influence on their minds. Oh, yes, brutes have minds, 

 and good minds, too. And I always reward the animal 

 when he does anything to my satisfaction with something 

 that he likes to eat. I use the whip only to punish my 

 pupils when they have failed in their lessons, and they 

 understand so well this fact that if I see a dog or monkey 

 is neglecting some part of his performance I have only to 

 point the whip which I carry in his direction and he will 

 use his brains to remember in what he is making a mis- 

 take, and generally with success if I can myself discover 

 his error in time. If he fails I do not whip him before 

 the audience, because that would spoil the performance, 

 but after the show is over I whip him, and then make 

 him go through that portion of his act in which he failed 

 until he is perfect in it." 



"Do you use poodles instead of other dogs because you 

 consider them the most intelligent?" 



"Oh no. When a poodle is nicely clipped he makes a 

 finer appearance on the stage than any other dog. That 

 is the only reason I use them. I consider the poodle, 

 however, to be as intelligent and easily trained as any 



other dog. You think a setter or spaniel or pointer is 

 more intelligent, perhaps, because they learn to hunt and 

 point and find game so readily, but you must remember 

 that all those attainments are natural to these dogs, be- 

 cause they come by instinct and generations of breeding 

 hunters." 



"Do you begin teaching the dogs when they are pup- 

 pies ?" 



"No. A dog's nervous organization and brain are not 

 fully developed until he is one year old, and until that 

 age I never teach a dog anything except to know his 

 name. There is no way of ascertaining the age of a mon- 

 key, and I find them tractable to learn at whatever age 

 I happen to get them. The same is true of horses and 

 goats as of dogs. They learn most readily and retain 

 their educations best when their instruction begins at the 

 age of one year. 



"I do not give orders or signals to the animals on the 

 stage. They have gone through their performances so 

 often that they understand what they have to do with- 

 out direction. 



"Can dogs count? Certainly, and so can other animals. 

 And they are very appreciative of music, too. I train 

 them and rehearse them with, an orchestra playing at the 

 same time, and they associate certain acts with "certain 

 melodies, and are guided by those melodies. If my 

 orchestra leader should start an act with the wrong tune 

 it would break up the performance." 



Prof. Brockmann says his monkeys do not stand the 

 strain of acting so well as the dogs. It is a severer task 

 for a monkey to perform on his hindlegs alone than it is 

 for a dog, and the former are subject to back-ache and 

 other ills to which the dogs are strangers. 



The animals are fed but once a day. Their daily meal 

 is given them each mght after the evening's performance. 

 The dogs are fed on rye bread, over which is poured the 

 liquor from boiled beef, and each canine is also allowed 

 a portion of the boiled beef containing considerable bone, 

 the meat and bones having been chopped into pieces 

 about the size of an egg. In feeding them the dogs are 

 formed in line and are called up to the festive board — or 

 rather the festive bowl— in turns. When the Professor 

 thinks one dog has eaten enough he orders him back to 

 the ranks and calls out the next in line. 



Prof. Brockmann has one poodle who does not act now. 

 He is old and lame, blind and deaf. When I asked the 

 Professor why he carried this old and useless dog about, 

 the pleasant German's face lit up with an expression of 

 great tenderness. "Ah," said the Professor, "Fritz is no 

 longer useful, but the old fellow has served me faithfully 

 and made much money for me. and shall I turn him out 

 to die when he is old? No; Fritz will be my welcome 

 pensioner so long as he lives." And then the old dog 

 limped up to the speaker's side and put his gray muzzle 

 in the Professor's hand. 



I am beginning to believe that perhaps dogs can talk 

 after all. Seneca. 



BITE OF THE GILA MONSTER. 



BY DR. H. C. YARROW. 



[This is Part VI. of Dr. Yarrow's series of papers on "Snake Bite 

 and Its Antidote.] 



ON Feb. 7, 1883, Drs. S. Weir Mitchell and Edward T. 

 Reichert read a paper before the College of Physi- 

 cians of Philadelphia, entitled "A Partial Study of the 

 Poison of Heloderma suspectum Cope, the Gila Monster," 

 in which the statement was made that after several ex- 

 periments with the saliva of this reptile, they had come 

 to the conclusion that it possessed strongly venomous 

 properties. This had been suspected by some naturalists, 

 from the fact that this lizard possessed anterior decidu- 

 ous grooved teeth, which communicated by ducts with 

 large glands near the angle of the lower jaw. All sorts 

 of conflicting reports have been published from time to 

 time regarding this reptile, some observers claiming that 

 it is deadly venomous, others believing it perfectly harm- 

 less; in fact, in some parts of the Southwest it was kept 

 as a household pet. Bocourt and Dumeril mention the 

 bad name it has in Mexico, and Suinichrast states that 

 the natives hold it in the utmost terror, and consider it 

 as more fatal than any serpent. A fowl bitten by it died 

 in twelve hours, with bloody fluid exuding from its 

 mouth, the wound being of a purple tint. A cat bitten 

 was very ill, but recovered, remaining thin and weak. 

 Sir John Lubbock reports that a Heloderma sent him 

 killed a frog in a few minutes, a guinea pig in three 

 minutes. Dr. R. W. Shuf eldt, of the United States Army, 

 reports serious symptoms after having received a bite on 

 the right thumb, but no permanent disability followed. 



The writer has for several years endeavored to trace 

 out an authentic account of death residting from the bite 

 of a Gila monster, and the following is all the evidence 

 in his possession. The first account was secured through 

 Dr. S. P. Guiberson, of Ventura county, Cal., and is as 

 follows: 



"G. J. Hayes, a miner in from the Frazer mine, says 

 that in 1878, or '80, in Tip-Top Mining Camp, Arizona, he 

 saw a Gila monster bite a man by the name of Johnny 

 Bostick, who at the time was under the influence of 

 liquor. That he took hold of the Heloderma and shoved 

 his finger at it, and the reptile seized his finger, and its 

 jaws had to bepried open before he could disengage his 

 finger. The Heloderma was 22in. long and lay on the 

 card table. It was also seen by a man named Lou Smith, 

 and a lot of Italian miners. Immediately Mr. John Bos- 

 tick drank large quantities of liquor, and from the effects 

 of the bite one side was paralyzed, and he died in about 

 three months, April 19, 1878. I hereby certify that the 

 above statement is correct. (Signed) G. J. Hayes." 

 Subscribed and sworn to before me. a notary public, this 19th day 



of April, 1888.— S. P. Guibehsox, Notary Public for Ventura 



county, Cal. 



The second affidavit, which follows, differs somewhat 

 from the first, but relates to the same individual. The 

 query is, was the Heloderma bite the cause of death or 

 was it the whisky so lavishly administered. 

 State of California, County of Ventura.— R. C. Carleton who 

 first being duly sworn, deposes and says that he was present 

 at the time, and knows of his own knowledge, that Johnny 

 Bostick, of Tip-Top, Arizona, was bitten by a Gila monster, 

 from the effects ot which he afterward died. That the Gila 

 monster seized one of the fingers or thumb of the said Johnny 

 Bostick, and that in order to disengage the reptile the boys 

 cut its head off, that deponent thinks it occurred in 1888. 

 Subscribed and sworn to before me this first day of December, 

 1886.— R. C. Cahleton. 

 S. P. Guibebson, Notary Public. ( A true copy.) 



In conversing with Dr. F. V. Ainsworth, U. S. A., who 

 has bad a large experience in Arizona, upon the subject 



