Animal Heroes(动物英雄)

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Animal Heroes

by Ernest Thompson Seton

Animal Heroes

Note to Reader

A hero is an individual of unusual gifts and achievements. Whether it

be man or animal, this definition applies; and it is the histories of such that

appeal to the imagination and to the hearts of those who hear them.

In this volume every one of the stories, though more or less composite,

is founded on the actual life of a veritable animal hero. The most

composite is the White Reindeer. This story I wrote by Utrovand in

Norway during the summer of 1900, while the Reindeer herds grazed in

sight on the near uplands.

The Lynx is founded on some of my own early experiences in the

backwoods.

It is less than ten years since the 'Jack Warhorse' won his hero-crown.

Thousands of "Kaskadoans" will remember him, and by the name

Warhorse his coursing exploits are recorded in several daily papers.

The least composite is Arnaux. It is so nearly historical that several

who knew the bird have supplied additional items of information.

The nest of the destroying Peregrines, with its owners and their young,

is now to be seen in the American Museum of Natural History of New

York. The Museum authorities inform me that Pigeon badges with the

following numbers were found in the nest: 9970-S, 1696, U. 63, 77, J. F.

52, Ex. 705, 6-1894, C 20900. Perhaps some Pigeon-lover may learn from

these lines the fate of one or other wonderful flier that has long been

recorded "never returned."

Animal Heroes

THE SLUM CAT

LIFE I

M-e-a-t! M-e-a-t!" came shrilling down Scrimper's Alley. Surely the

Pied Piper of Hamelin was there, for it seemed that all the Cats in the

neighborhood were running toward the sound, though the Dogs, it must be

confessed, looked scornfully indifferent.

"Meat! Meat! "and louder; then the centre of attraction came in view--

a rough, dirty little man with a push-cart; while straggling behind him

were a score of Cats that joined in his cry with a sound nearly the same as

his own. Every fifty yards, that is, as soon as a goodly throng of Cats was

gathered, the push-cart stopped. The man with the magic voice took out of

the box in his cart a skewer on which were pieces of strong-smelling

boiled liver. With a long stick he pushed the pieces off. Each Cat seized on

one, and wheeling, with a slight depression of the ears and a little tiger

growl and glare, she rushed away with her prize to devour it in some safe

retreat.

"Meat! Meat!" And still they came to get their portions. All were well

known to the meat-man. There was Castiglione's Tiger; this was Jones's

Black; here was Pralitsky's "Torkershell," and this was Madame Danton's

White; there sneaked Blenkinshoff's Maltee, and that climbing on the

barrow was Sawyer's old Orange Billy, an impudent fraud that never had

had any financial backing,--all to be remembered and kept in account.

This one's owner was sure pay, a dime a week; that one's doubtful. There

was John Washee's Cat, that got only a small piece because John was in

arrears. Then there was the saloon-keeper's collared and ribboned ratter,

which got an extra lump because the 'barkeep' was liberal; and the rounds-

man's Cat, that brought no cash, but got unusual consideration because the

meat-man did. But there were others. A black Cat with a white nose came

rushing confidently with the rest, only to be repulsed savagely. Alas!

Animal Heroes

Pussy did not understand. She had been a pensioner of the barrow for

months. Why this unkind change? It was beyond her comprehension. But

the meat-man knew. Her mistress had stopped payment. The meat-man

kept no books but his memory, and it never was at fault.

Outside this patrician 'four hundred' about the barrow, were other Cats,

keeping away from the push-cart because they were not on the list, the

Social Register as it were, yet fascinated by the heavenly smell and the

faint possibility of accidental good luck. Among these hangers-on was a

thin gray Slummer, a homeless Cat that lived by her wits--slab-sided and

not over-clean. One could see at a glance that she was doing her duty by a

family in some out-of-the-way corner. She kept one eye on the barrow

circle and the other on the possible Dogs. She saw a score of happy Cats

slink off with their delicious 'daily' and their tiger-like air, but no opening

for her, till a big Tom of her own class sprang on a little pensioner with

intent to rob. The victim dropped the meat to defend herself against the

enemy, and before the 'all-powerful' could intervene, the gray Slummer

saw her chance, seized the prize, and was gone.

She went through the hole in Menzie's side door and over the wall at

the back, then sat down and devoured the lump of liver, licked her chops,

felt absolutely happy, and set out by devious ways to the rubbish-yard,

where, in the bottom of an old cracker-box, her family was awaiting her. A

plaintive mewing reached her ears. She went at speed and reached the box

to see a huge Black Tom-cat calmly destroying her brood. He was twice as

big as she, but she went at him with all her strength, and he did as most

animals will do when caught wrong-doing, he turned and ran away. Only

one was left, a little thing like its mother, but of more pronounced color--

gray with black spots, and a white touch on nose, ears, and tail-tip. There

can be no question of the mother's grief for a few days; but that wore off,

and all her care was for the survivor. That benevolence was as far as

possible from the motives of the murderous old Tom there can be no doubt;

but he proved a blessing in deep disguise, for both mother and Kit were

visibly bettered in a short time. The daily quest for food continued. The

meat-man rarely proved a success, but the ash-cans were there, and if they

did not afford a meat-supply, at least they were sure to produce potato-

Animal Heroes

skins that could be used to allay the gripe of hunger for another day.

One night the mother Cat smelt a wonderful smell that came from the

East River at the end of the alley. A new smell always needs investigating,

and when it is attractive as well as new, there is but one course open. It led

Pussy to the docks a block away, and then out on a wharf, away from any

cover but the night. A sudden noise, a growl and a rush, were the first

notice she had that she was cut off by her old enemy, the Wharf Dog.

There was only one escape. She leaped from the wharf to the vessel from

which the smell came. The Dog could not follow, so when the fish-boat

sailed in the morning Pussy unwillingly went with her and was seen no

more.

The Slum Kitten waited in vain for her mother. The morning came and

went. She became very hungry. Toward evening a deep-laid instinct drove

her forth to seek food. She slunk out of the old box, and feeling her way

silently among the rubbish, she smelt everything that seemed eatable, but

without finding food. At length she reached the wooden steps leading

down into Jap Malee's bird-store underground. The door was open a little.

She wandered into a world of rank and curious smells and a number of

living things in cages all about her. A negro was sitting idly on a box in a

corner. He saw the little stranger enter and watched it curiously. It

wandered past some Rabbits. They paid no heed. It came to a wide-barred

cage in which was a Fox. The gentleman with the bushy tail was in a far

corner. He crouched low; his eyes glowed. The Kitten wandered, sniffing,

up to the bars, put its head in, sniffed again, then made toward the feed-

pan, to be seized in a flash by the crouching Fox. It gave a frightened

"mew," but a single shake cut that short and would have ended Kitty's nine

lives at once, had not the negro come to the rescue. He had no weapon and

could not get into the cage, but he spat with such copious vigor in the

Fox's face that he dropped the Kitten and returned to the corner, there to sit

blinking his eyes in sullen fear.

The negro pulled the Kitten out. The shake of the beast of prey seemed

to have stunned the victim, really to have saved it much suffering. The

Kitten seemed unharmed, but giddy. It tottered in a circle for a time, then

Animal Heroes

slowly revived, and a few minutes later was purring in the negro's lap,

apparently none the worse, when Jap Malee, the bird-man, came home.

Jap was not an Oriental; he was a full-blooded Cockney, but his eyes

were such little accidental slits aslant in his round, flat face, that his first

name was forgotten in the highly descriptive title of "Jap." He was not

especially unkind to the birds and beasts whose sales were supposed to

furnish his living, but his eye was on the main chance; he knew what he

wanted. He didn't want the Slum Kitten.

The negro gave it all the food it could eat, then carried it to a distant

block and dropped it in a neighboring iron-yard.

III

One full meal is as much as any one needs in two or three days, and

under the influence of this stored-up heat and power, Kitty was very lively.

She walked around the piled-up rubbish, cast curious glances on far-away

Canary-birds in cages that hung from high windows; she peeped over

fences, discovered a large Dog, got quietly down again, and presently

finding a sheltered place in full sunlight, she lay down and slept for an

hour. A slight'sniff' awakened her, and before her stood a large Black Cat

with glowing green eyes, and the thick neck and square jaws that

distinguish the Tom; a scar marked his cheek, and his left ear was torn. His

look was far from friendly; his ears moved backward a little, his tail

twitched, and a faint, deep sound came from his throat. The Kitten

innocently walked toward him. She did not remember him. He rubbed the

sides of his jaws on a post, and quietly, slowly turned and disappeared.

The last that she saw of him was the end of his tail twitching from side to

side; and the little Slummer had no idea that she had been as near death to-

day, as she had been when she ventured into the fox-cage.

As night came on the Kitten began to feel hungry. She examined

carefully the long invisible colored stream that the wind is made of. She

selected the most interesting of its strands, and, nose-led, followed. In the

corner of the iron-yard was a box of garbage. Among this she found

something that answered fairly well for food; a bucket of water under a

faucet offered a chance to quench her thirst.

The night was spent chiefly in prowling about and learning the main

Animal Heroes

lines of the iron-yard. The next day she passed as before, sleeping in the

sun. Thus the time wore on. Sometimes she found a good meal at the

garbage-box, sometimes there was nothing. Once she found the big Black

Tom there, but discreetly withdrew before he saw her. The water-bucket

was usually at its place, or, failing that, there were some muddy little pools

on the stone below. But the garbage-box was very unreliable. Once it left

her for three days without food. She searched along the high fence, and

seeing a small hole, crawled through that and found herself in the open

street. This was a new world, but before she had ventured far, there was a

noisy, rumbling rush--a large Dog came bounding, and Kitty had barely

time to run back into the hole in the fence. She was dreadfully hungry, and

glad to find some old potato-peelings, which gave a little respite from the

hunger-pang. In the morning she did not sleep, but prowled for food.

Some Sparrows chirruped in the yard. They were often there, but now they

were viewed with new eyes. The steady pressure of hunger had roused the

wild hunter in the Kitten; those Sparrows were game--were food. She

crouched instinctively and stalked from cover to cover, but the chirpers

were alert and flew in time. Not once, but many times, she tried without

result except to confirm the Sparrows in the list of things to be eaten if

obtainable.

On the fifth day of ill luck the Slum Kitty ventured forth into the street,

desperately bent on finding food. When far from the haven hole some

small boys opened fire at her with pieces of brick. She ran in fear. A Dog

joined in the chase, and Kitty's position grew perilous; but an old-

fashioned iron fence round a house-front was there, and she slipped in

between the rails as the Dog overtook her. A woman in a window above

shouted at the Dog. Then the boys dropped a piece of cat-meat down to

the unfortunate; and Kitty had the most delicious meal of her life. The

stoop afforded a refuge. Under this she sat patiently till nightfall came

with quiet, then sneaked back like a shadow to her old iron-yard.

Thus the days went by for two months. She grew in size and strength

and in an intimate knowledge of the immediate neighborhood. She made

the acquaintance of Downey Street, where long rows of ash-cans were to

be seen every morning. She formed her own ideas of their proprietors. The

Animal Heroes

big house was to her, not a Roman Catholic mission, but a place whose

garbage-tins abounded in choicest fish scrapings. She soon made the

acquaintance of the meat-man, and joined in the shy fringe of Cats that

formed the outer circle. She also met the Wharf Dog as well as two or

three other horrors of the same class. She knew what to expect of them

and how to avoid them; and she was happy in being the inventor of a new

industry. Many thousand Cats have doubtless hung, in hope, about the

tempting milk-cans that the early milk-man leaves on steps and window-

ledges, and it was by the merest accident that Kitty found one with a

broken lid, and so was taught to raise it and have a satisfying drink.

Bottles, of course, were beyond her, but many a can has a misfit lid, and

Kitty was very painstaking in her efforts to discover the loose-jointed ones.

Finally she extended her range by exploration till she achieved the heart of

the next block, and farther, till once more among the barrels and boxes of

the yard behind the bird-man's cellar.

The old iron-yard never had been home, she had always felt like a

stranger there; but here she had a sense of ownership, and at once resented

the presence of another small Cat. She approached this newcomer with

threatening air. The two had got as far as snarling and spitting when a

bucket of water from an upper window drenched them both and

effectually cooled their wrath. They fled, the newcomer over the wall,

Slum Kitty under the very box where she had been born. This whole back

region appealed to her strongly, and here again she took up her abode. The

yard had no more garbage food than the other and no water at all, but it

was frequented by stray Rats and a few Mice of the finest quality; these

were occasionally secured, and afforded not only a palatable meal, but

were the cause of her winning a friend.

Kitty was now fully grown. She was a striking-looking Cat of the tiger

type. Her marks were black on a very pale gray, and the four beauty-spots

of white on nose, ears, and tail-tip lent a certain distinction. She was very

expert at getting a living, and yet she had some days of starvation and

failed in her ambition of catching a Sparrow. She was quite alone, but a

new force was coming into her life.

Animal Heroes

She was lying in the sun one August day, when a large Black Cat came

walking along the top of a wall in her direction. She recognized him at

once by his torn ear. She slunk into her box and hid. He picked his way

gingerly, bounded lightly to a shed that was at the end of the yard, and was

crossing the roof when a Yellow Cat rose up. The Black Torn glared and

growled, so did the Yellow Tom. Their tails lashed from side to side.

Strong throats growled and yowled. They approached each other with ears

laid back, with muscles a-tense.

"Yow-yow-ow!" said the Black One.

"Wow-w-w!" was the slightly deeper answer.

"Ya-wow-wow-wow!" said the Black One, edging up half an inch

nearer.

"Yow-w-w!" was the Yellow answer, as the blond Cat rose to full

height and stepped with vast dignity a whole inch forward. "Yow-w!" and

he went another inch, while his tail went swish, thump, from one side to

the other.

"Ya-wow-yow-w!" screamed the Black in a rising tone, and he backed

the eighth of an inch, as he marked the broad, unshrinking breast before

him.

Windows opened all around, human voices were heard, but the Cat

scene went on.

"Yow-yow-ow!" rumbled the Yellow Peril, his voice deepening as the

other's rose. "Yow! " and he advanced another step.

Now their noses were but three inches apart; they stood sidewise, both

ready to clinch, but each waiting for the other. They glared for three

minutes in silence and like statues, except that each tail-tip was twisting.

The Yellow began again. "Yow-ow- ow!" in deep tone.

"Ya-a-a--a-a!" screamed the Black, with intent to strike terror by his

yell; but he retreated one sixteenth of an inch. The Yellow walked up a

long half-inch; their whiskers were mixing now; another advance, and

their noses almost touched.

"Yo-w-w!" said Yellow, like a deep moan.

"Y-a-a-a-a-a-a !" screamed the Black, but he retreated a thirty-second

of an inch, and the Yellow Warrior closed and clinched like a demon.

Animal Heroes

Oh, how they rolled and bit and tore, especially the Yellow One!

How they pitched and gripped and hugged, but especially the Yellow

One!

Over and over, sometimes one on top, sometimes another, but mostly

the Yellow One; and farther till they rolled off the roof, amid cheers from

all the windows. They lost not a second in that fall to the junk-yard; they

tore and clawed all the way down, but especially the Yellow One. And

when they struck the ground, still fighting, the one on top was chiefly the

Yellow One; and before they separated both had had as much as they

wanted, especially the Black One! He scaled a wall and, bleeding and

growling, disappeared, while the news was passed from window to

window that Cayley's Nig had been licked at last by Orange Billy.

Either the Yellow Cat was a very clever seeker, or else Slum Kitty did

not hide very hard; but he discovered her among the boxes,

and she made no attempt to get away, probably because she had

witnessed the fight. There is nothing like success in warfare to win the

female heart, and thereafter the Yellow Tom and Kitty became very good

friends, not sharing each other's lives or food,--Cats do not do that way

much,--but recognizing each other as entitled to special friendly

privileges.

September had gone. October's shortening days were on when an event

took place in the old cracker-box. If Orange Billy had come he would have

seen five little Kittens curled up in the embrace of their mother, the little

Slum Cat. It was a wonderful thing for her. She felt all the elation an

animal mother can feel, all the delight, and she loved them and licked

them with a tenderness that must have been a surprise to herself, had she

had the power to think of such things.

She had added a joy to her joyless life, but she had also added a care

and a heavy weight to her heavy load. All her strength was taken now to

find food. The burden increased as the offspring grew up big enough to

scramble about the boxes, which they did daily during her absence after

they were six weeks old. That troubles go in flocks and luck in streaks, is

well known in Slumland. Kitty had had three encounters with Dogs, and

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摘要：

AnimalHeroes1AnimalHeroesbyErnestThompsonSetonAnimalHeroes2NotetoReaderAheroisanindividualofunusualgiftsandachievements.Whetheritbemanoranimal,thisdefinitionapplies;anditisthehistoriesofsuchthatappealtotheimaginationandtotheheartsofthosewhohearthem.Inthisvolumeeveryoneofthestories,thoughmoreorlessco...

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