Eventually, about midday, we reached our destination, a certain spot in the savanna, at which Francis halted his horse and told us it was in this area that the ant-eater was living. He said it would be best for us to spread out in a line and ride through the long grass, making as much noise as possible so as to frighten the ant-eater out of its sleeping-hollow. We could then drive it on to an area of savanna with short grass, which lay to our left, and we could overtake the animal more easily on horseback. We plunged into the long grass which was as high as our horses’ chests and made our way shouting and creating as much noise as possible.
The earth under the grass was baked as hard as a brick by the sun and split with great cracks and holes, so our horses often stumbled and almost threw us over their heads. Suddenly, I heard a loud yell from Francis, and looking towards him I saw a dark shape hopping about in the grass just ahead of his horse. My companion and I turned our mounts and rode down to help our hunter. The ant-eater, for that was what I presumed it to be, was trying to get still deeper into the long grass but we managed to cut him off and drive him out on to the open patch of ground. He galloped along, his thick stubby legs thumping the ground, his long icicle-shaped head swinging from side to side and his great tail fluttering out behind him like a banner.
We rode after him as quickly as possible and I went to one side to prevent him from getting back into the long grass while Francis took the other side, uncoiling his lasso as he urged his horse on. Gradually he drew level with the galloping ant-eater, and whirling his lasso he threw it. He had, unfortunately, made a mistake in the size of the horse. It was too big and so, although it was well in front of the ant-eater, the animal just simply galloped through it and continued on across the grass, snorting and hissing. Francis halted his horse, re-coiled the rope and set off in pursuit once again. He drew level with the animal and threw his lasso again. This time he was lucky, and drew the rope tight round the ant-eater’s neck.
He was off his horse in a moment, hanging on grimly to the end of the rope while the angry ant-eater rushed on across the grass, dragging him with it. I jumped off my horse and ran over and laid hold of the rope as well. It was quite amazing the strength the ant-eater had in his stubby legs for he dragged us to and fro across the savanna until we began to feel quite exhausted and our hands were being cut by the rope. Francis, looking over his shoulder, grunted with relief. Looking round, too, I saw that our struggle had brought us fairly close to a small tree about twelve feet high. This was, in fact, the only tree to be seen for miles.
Sweating and panting we dragged the reluctant ant-eater towards this, and then wound the loose end of the rope round and round the tree trunk and tied it fast. I had just tied the last knot when Francis glanced up into the branches of the tree above and gave a yelp of dismay. Looking up, I saw about two feet above our heads a large circular wasps’ nest about the size of a football. The ant-eater, tugging on the end of his rope, was making the tree sway and bend, and the wasp colony was not at all pleased with this and they were swarming out on the outside of the nest, buzzing angrily. Francis and I retreated with all speed.
Now that we had the ant-eater safely tied up (or so we thought) we went back to the horses to collect the various items that we had brought with us – some strong twine and some large sacks for carrying the quarry in. When I returned to the tree I was just in time to see the ant-eater claw off the last loop of rope, shake himself like a big dog, and start off plodding across the savanna in a slow and dignified manner. Leaving Francis to retrieve his lasso from the wasp infested tree, I ran after the ant-eater on foot, fashioning a slip knot at the end of a length of twine as I ran.
I rush up to him and flung my amateur lasso at his head, but not being as skilful as Francis I naturally missed. The ant-eater kept plodding on; I tried again with equal lack of success and then a third time, but the ant-eater had become a little irritated with my constantly flinging yards of twine at him and he suddenly stopped, faced round, and rose up on his hind legs. In this attitude his head was on a level with my chest and I looked warily at the great curved six-inch claws on his front feet that he held at the ready.
He snuffled and sniffed, waving his long, slender snout from side to side and swinging his forearms so that he looked rather like a boxer. As I did not fancy having a rough and tumble with a creature that was obviously capable of doing considerable damage with his front claws, I decided that it would be better to wait until Francis had joined me and then one of us could attract the animal’s attention, while the other tried to capture him. I walked round the ant-eater to see if I could take him unawares, in the rear, but he merely revolved like a top, always keeping his big claws pointed menacingly at me. So I sat on the ground to wait for Francis.
The ant-eater, realizing that there was a break in hostilities, decided that it would be a good chance for him to repair the damage done to his person by his fight with us. As he had run about the savanna, hissing and snorting, great streams of saliva had been pouring out of his mouth. This was thick and sticky, and normally the ant-eater uses it for coating his long tongue, in order to pick up his food. However, these long strands of adhesive saliva had run out of his mouth; as he ran they flapped to and fro picking up bits of stick and grass and eventually getting stuck across his nose. He now sat on his haunches and with great care cleaned his long snout with the aid of his claws. Then he gave a deep sigh, stood up and shook himself, and started to plod off across the savanna once more.
When Francis joined me, carrying his lasso, we approached the ant-eater once again, and hearing us he stopped, turned round, and sat up on his hind legs, but with two of us to deal with he was at a disadvantage. While I attracted his attention, Francis crept round behind and threw the lasso neatly over him. As soon as he felt the noose tighten once more round him he set off at full tilt, dragging Francis and myself with him, and for the next half an hour we struggled our way to and fro over the savanna until we managed to get so many loops of rope round the ant-eater’s body and legs that he could not move. Then trussing him up with an extra length of fine twine to make sure, we pushed him into one of the big sacks so that only his long head and nose protruded.
We were just congratulating ourselves on having captured him when a fresh difficulty became apparent. When we picked him up in his sack and carried him towards the horses they all decided that, while they did not mind carrying us, they disapproved strongly of carrying a strange creature in a sack, which was hissing and snuffling in such a fierce manner. For a quarter of an hour we tried to soothe them, but it was no good. Every time we approached them with the ant-eater they would throw back their heads and shy wildly.
Francis decided that the only thing to do was for me to lead the horse while he walked behind, carrying the ant-eater on his shoulders. I was a bit doubtful as to whether this would be successful, for we were a great many miles from the ranch and the sun was scorchingly hot, and the ant-eater was no light-weight. However, it seemed to be the only thing to do, so I mounted on my horse and led Francis’s, while he staggered along behind with our capture on his back. The ant-eater made everything as difficult as possible by wriggling about in his sack, so that it was extremely uncomfortable to try to carry him. After about an hour we had only progressed a couple of miles across the grass, for every two or three hundred yards Francis was forced to put down the sack and have a rest.
Eventually, we decided that it would take us about a week to get the ant-eater back to the ranch at this rate, so Francis suggested that my companion, or myself, should remain there with the ant-eater while the other rode with him to the out-station, a distant speck on the horizon which he pointed out to us. Here, he assured us, we would get something called a ‘draftball’. As our hunter’s English was none too good, we could not make out what a ‘draftball’ was, but Francis seemed convinced that it was the only way out of our difficulties, so my companion stayed with the ant-eater in the shade of a small bush while Francis and I galloped off across the gras
s towards the out-station.
When we arrived there, we found a charming old Indian in charge who gave us a most welcome cup of coffee. Then Francis took me outside and showed me the ‘draftball’. It was in fact a draught bull, that is to say, a bull that is used for carrying loads or pulling carts in certain parts of the world.
Francis’s wife then appeared on the scene and Francis told me that she would ride the bull out on to the savanna while we galloped on ahead on our horses. This tiny Indian woman jumped up on to the enormous bull’s back and sat there side-saddle, her long black hair hanging down to her waist, so that she looked rather like Lady Godiva. Then she gave the bull a whack on the rump with a large stick and he set off at a brisk trot over the grasslands.
When Francis and I arrived back at the place where we had left my friend and the ant-eater, we found that the ant-eater had succeeded in making things difficult for us. He had managed to climb halfway out of his sack, which was now hanging round his hind quarters like a pair of rather baggy trousers, and he was scuttling to and fro across the grass hotly pursued by my friend. We caught and pushed him into a new sack and tied him up even more securely, while my friend recounted the difficulties he had undergone during our absence.
Apparently, first of all his horse, which we thought was securely tied up, had suddenly wandered off across the grass and my friend had pursued it for quite a long time before he managed to catch it. When he got back, he found the ant-eater had succeeded in wriggling free of some of his cords and had ripped open the sack with his claws and was half out of it. My friend, frightened that he might escape, rushed forward, pushed him back into the sack and tied him up once again. When he looked round he found that his horse had seized the opportunity to wander away once more.
By the time he had captured his mount and returned to the ant-eater, the beast had broken out of his sack for the second time. It was just at this point that we had arrived back on the scene.
Presently, Francis’s wife galloped up on the bull’s back and she helped us to load the ant-eater on to it. The bull was very quiet about the whole business and did not seem to mind whether the sack on his back was full of potatoes or rattlesnakes, and although the ant-eater hissed and struggled as much as he could, the bull plodded steadily onwards, taking not the slightest notice.
We reached the ranch just after dark and there got our capture out of the sack and untied him. I made a rough harness out of the rope and tethered him to a big tree; also, a large bowl of water was placed there for him and he was left to have a good night’s sleep.
Very early the next morning I crept out to have a look at him, and at first glance I thought he had managed to escape in the night, for I could not see him. I realized after a while that he was lying between the roots of the tree, curled up in a tight ball, and had spread his tail over himself, like a great grey shawl, so that from a distance he looked less like an ant-eater and more like a pile of old cinders. It was then that I realized how very useful his big tail must be to him. In the grasslands he scrapes himself a shallow bed in among the big tussocks of grass, curls himself up in this and spreads his tail over himself like a roof, and only the very worst weather could succeed in penetrating this hairy cover.
My problem now was to teach Amos, as we called him, to eat a substitute food, for he could not be fed on a diet of white ants at the zoo in England. The mixture was composed of milk, raw egg, and finely minced beef, to which was added three drops of cod-liver oil. I filled a large bowl with this mixture and took it along to a big white ants’ nest, which was not far from the ranch-house, and, making a hole in the nest, collected a handful of the creatures and scattered them over the surface of the milky substance in the bowl. I carried the whole lot back and placed it where Amos could reach it.
I thought it would be some time before he would take to this new food, but, to my surprise, on seeing the bowl, he rose to his feet and ambled forwards. He sniffed carefully and flipped out his long snake-like tongue and dipped it into the mixture. Then he paused for a moment, musing over the taste, and having decided that it was to his liking he stood over the bowl, his long tongue flipping out and in with amazing rapidity until it had been licked quite clean. The ant-eaters, of course, have no teeth and rely on their tongues and the sticky saliva to pick up their food.
Occasionally, as a special treat, I would give Amos a bowlful of termites which were, naturally, all mixed up with lumps of their clay nest. It was amazing to watch his long tongue come out and dip into the pot so that the white ants and the bits of clay stuck to it like flies to a flypaper. But then as he drew his tongue back into his mouth again, the bits of clay would be knocked off by his lips, so that only the white ants were sucked inside. He was really extremely clever at doing this.
Not long after I arrived back at our base camp in Georgetown, and Amos had settled down in his new pen, I succeeded in getting a wife for him. She arrived one day tied up in a snorting bundle and crammed into the boot of a taxi-cab. The person who had captured her had not been very careful about the job and she had several nasty cuts on her body and was extremely exhausted through lack of food and water. When I took the ropes off her, she just lay on her side on the ground, hissing in a very feeble manner, and I did not think that she was going to live. I give her a bowl of water to drink, and no sooner had she sucked it up than she revived most miraculously and got to her feet and started attacking everyone in sight.
Amos had got used to being the only ant-eater in the place and did not receive his mate very kindly. When I opened the door of his pen and tried to push the female inside with him, he gave her a loving greeting by bashing her on the nose with his claws and hissing furiously. Eventually I decided that they had better share adjoining cages until they had got used to one another. Amos’s pen was very large, so I just simply divided it down the middle with stakes. Now, whereas Amos had been no trouble at all about his food, his new wife was extremely difficult. She refused point-blank even to sample the mixture that I gave her in a bowl, and for twenty-four hours she was on this hunger strike.
The day after her arrival, however, I had an idea. When I was feeding Amos, I pushed his bowl close to the wooden bars that separated him from the female. Amos’s table manners were not of the very best, and anyone standing within thirty feet of him, when he was having his food, was made well aware of the fact, even if they could not see him, by the sucking snorting, and snuffling sounds that he produced. The female ant-eater, attracted by the noises of Amos enjoying his breakfast, went over to the bars to see what it was he was eating. She stuck her slender nose between the stakes and sniffed at his bowl of food, and then very slowly and cautiously she dipped her long tongue into the mixture. Within a couple of minutes she was gobbling it down with the same speed and enthusiasm that Amos displayed. And for the next fortnight, she ate all her food like this, with her neck stuck through the bars and her long tongue sharing the bowl with Amos.
At last, by constantly feeding out of the same pot, they became quite used to each other and it was not long before we removed the bars in between and allowed them to share the pen. They became very affectionate and would always sleep close together, their tails carefully spread over themselves. For the voyage home, however, I could not get a cage big enough to hold the two of them, so they had to travel in separate boxes. When we were on board ship, however, I pushed the two cages close together, so they could stick their long noses out and sniff at each other.
When they eventually arrived back in England and went off to the zoo, they used to amuse crowds of visitors by giving boxing matches. They would stand up on their hind legs, their great noses swinging from side to side like pendulums, clouting and slashing at each other with their long, murderous-looking claws, their tails swishing and sweeping on the ground.
These boxing matches looked fast and furious, but never once did they hurt each other.
The second biggest ant-eater found in Guiana is the forest-loving tamandua. This looks not unlike the gi
ant; it has the same long curved snout and small beady eyes and the powerful front feet with great hooked claws. It is clad in short, light-brown fur and its tail is long and curved. Whereas the giant ant-eater uses its tail as a form of covering, the tamandua cannot do this with his, but he uses it as the tree porcupine or the monkeys in Guiana use theirs, to assist him in climbing up trees. The tamanduas were the most stupid creatures we ever caught in Guiana.
In the wild state they clamber up the tall forest trees and work their way out along the great branches until they find a large earth nest of the tree ants. Using their great hooked claws, they break open the ant fortress and proceed to lick up the ants with their long sticky tongue. Every now and then they will break off a little more of the ants’ nest and go on with their licking. In captivity they find it difficult to rid themselves of this habit and, when you present them with a pot of minced meat, raw egg, and milk, they dip their long claws into it, lick up a bit and then scrape at it again with their claws. It would usually end with them overturning the pot on the floor of their cage. They were under the impression that the pot was a sort of ants’ nest that had to be broken in order to get at the contents, and it was only by fixing their food dish to the wire that I could prevent them from splashing their food all over themselves and the cage.
The first of the pygmy ant-eaters that I obtained was in an Amerindian village in the creek islands. I had been travelling all day by canoe, visiting various settlements and buying whatever animals they had for sale. In this particular village I found quite a good haul of pets and spent an entertaining hour or so bargaining with the villagers. As they could not speak English and I could not speak their language it all had to be done in sign language.
Presently, through the thick of people surrounding me, a small boy of about seven or eight years of age pushed his way, carrying in one hand a long stick, on the end of which was something that at first glance I thought was a giant chrysalis of one of the big forest butterflies. However, on looking more closely I discovered that it was a pygmy ant-eater, clinging to the branch with its eyes tightly closed. I bought it off the boy and found that there were a lot of interesting points about the little animal which I had not seen mentioned in any book on natural history.
The New Noah Page 8