by Jack London
CHAPTER XXXIII
For two years Michael sang his way over the United States, to fame forhimself and to fortune for Jacob Henderson. There was never any timeoff. So great was his success, that Henderson refused flattering offersto cross the Atlantic to show in Europe. But off-time did come toMichael when Henderson fell ill of typhoid in Chicago.
It was a three-months' vacation for Michael, who, well treated but stilla prisoner, spent it in a caged kennel in Mulcachy's Animal Home.Mulcachy, one of Harris Collins's brightest graduates, had emulated hismaster by setting up in business in Chicago, where he ran everything withthe same rigid cleanliness, sanitation, and scientific cruelty. Michaelreceived nothing but the excellent food and the cleanliness; but, asolitary and brooding prisoner in his cage, he could not help but sensethe atmosphere of pain and terror about him of the animals being brokenfor the delight of men.
Mulcachy had originated aphorisms of his own which he continuallyenunciated, among which were:
"Take it from me, when an animal won't give way to pain, it can't bebroke. Pain is the only school-teacher."
"Just as you got to take the buck out of a broncho, you've got to takethe bite out of a lion."
"You can't break animals with a feather duster. The thicker the skullthe thicker the crowbar."
"They'll always beat you in argument. First thing is to club theargument out of them."
"Heart-bonds between trainers and animals! Son, that's dope for thenewspaper interviewer. The only heart-bond I know is a stout stick withsome iron on the end of it."
"Sure you can make 'm eat outa your hand. But the thing to watch out foris that they don't eat your hand. A blank cartridge in the nose justabout that time is the best preventive I know."
There were days when all the air was vexed with roars and squalls offerocity and agony from the arena, until the last animal in the cages wasexcited and ill at ease. In truth, since it was Mulcachy's boast that hecould break the best animal living, no end of the hardest cases fell tohis hand. He had built a reputation for succeeding where others failed,and, endowed with fearlessness, callousness, and cunning, he never lethis reputation wane. There was nothing he dared not tackle, and, when hegave up an animal, the last word was said. For it, remained nothing butto be a cage-animal, in solitary confinement, pacing ever up and down,embittered with all the world of man and roaring its bitterness to themost delicious enthrillment of the pay-spectators.
During the three months spent by Michael in Mulcachy's Animal Home,occurred two especially hard cases. Of course, the daily chant ofordinary pain of training went on all the time through the working hours,such as of "good" bears and lions and tigers that were made amenableunder stress, and of elephants derricked and gaffed into making the head-stand or into the beating of a bass drum. But the two cases that wereexceptional, put a mood of depression and fear into all the listeninganimals, such as humans might experience in an ante-room of hell,listening to the flailing and the flaying of their fellows who hadpreceded them into the torture-chamber.
The first was of the big Indian tiger. Free-born in the jungle, and freeall his days, master, according to his nature and prowess, of all otherliving creatures including his fellow-tigers, he had come to grief in theend; and, from the trap to the cramped cage, by elephant-back andrailroad and steamship, ever in the cramped cage, he had journeyed acrossseas and continents to Mulcachy's Animal Home. Prospective buyers hadexamined but not dared to purchase. But Mulcachy had been undeterred.His own fighting blood leapt hot at sight of the magnificent striped cat.It was a challenge of the brute in him to excel. And, two weeks of hell,for the great tiger and for all the other animals, were required to teachhim his first lesson.
Ben Bolt he had been named, and he arrived indomitable andirreconcilable, though almost paralysed from eight weeks of cramp in hisnarrow cage which had restricted all movement. Mulcachy should haveundertaken the job immediately, but two weeks were lost by the fact thathe had got married and honeymooned for that length of time. And in thattime, in a large cage of concrete and iron, Ben Bolt had exercised andrecovered the use of his muscles, and added to his hatred of thetwo-legged things, puny against him in themselves, who by trick and wilehad so helplessly imprisoned him.
So, on this morning when hell yawned for him, he was ready and eager tomeet all comers. They came, equipped with formulas, nooses, and forkediron bars. Five of them tossed nooses in through the bars upon the floorof his cage. He snarled and struck at the curling ropes, and for tenminutes was a grand and impossible wild creature, lacking in nothing savethe wit and the patience possessed by the miserable two-legged things.And then, impatient and careless of the inanimate ropes, he paused,snarling at the men, with one hind foot resting inside a noose. The nextmoment, craftily lifted up about the girth of his leg by an iron fork,the noose tightened and the bite of it sank home into his flesh andpride. He leaped, he roared, he was a maniac of ferocity. Again andagain, almost burning their palms, he tore the rope smoking through theirhands. But ever they took in the slack and paid it out again, until, erehe was aware, a similar noose tightened on his foreleg. What he had donewas nothing to what he now did. But he was stupid and impatient. Theman-creatures were wise and patient, and a third leg and a fourth legwere finally noosed, so that, with many men tailing on to the ropes, hewas dragged ignominiously on his side to the bars, and, ignominiously,through the bars were hauled his four legs, his chiefest weapons ofoffence after his terribly fanged jaws.
And then a puny man-creature, Mulcachy himself, dared openly and brazenlyto enter the cage and approach him. He sprang to be at him, or, rather,strove so to spring, but was withstrained by his four legs through thebars which he could not draw back and get under him. And Mulcachy kneltbeside him, dared kneel beside him, and helped the fifth noose over hishead and round his neck. Then his head was drawn to the bars ashelplessly as his legs had been drawn through. Next, Mulcachy laid handson him, on his head, on his ears, on his very nose within an inch of hisfangs; and he could do nothing but snarl and roar and pant for breath asthe noose shut off his breathing.
Quivering, not with fear but with rage, Ben Bolt perforce endured thebuckling around his throat of a thick, broad collar of leather to whichwas attached a very stout and a very long trailing rope. After that,when Mulcachy had left the cage, one by one the five nooses were artfullymanipulated off his legs and his neck. Again, after this prodigiousindignity, he was free--within his cage. He went up into the air. Withreturning breath he roared his rage. He struck at the trailing rope thatoffended his nerves, clawed at the trap of the collar that encased hisneck, fell, rolled over, offended his body-nerves more and more byentangling contacts with the rope, and for half an hour exhausted himselfin the futile battle with the inanimate thing. Thus tigers are broken.
At the last, wearied, even with sensations of sickness from the nervousstrain put upon himself by his own anger, he lay down in the middle ofthe floor, lashing his tail, hating with his eyes, and accepting theclinging thing about his neck which he had learned he could not get ridof.
To his amazement, if such a thing be possible in the mental processes ofa tiger, the rear door to his cage was thrown open and left open. Heregarded the aperture with belligerent suspicion. No one and nothreatening danger appeared in the doorway. But his suspicion grew.Always, among these man-animals, occurred what he did not know and couldnot comprehend. His preference was to remain where he was, but frombehind, through the bars of the cage, came shouts and yells, the lash ofwhips, and the painful thrusts of the long iron forks. Dragging the ropebehind him, with no thought of escape, but in the hope that he would getat his tormentors, he leaped into the rear passage that ran behind thecircle of permanent cages. The passage way was deserted and dark, butahead he saw light. With great leaps and roars, he rushed in thatdirection, arousing a pandemonium of roars and screams from the animalsin the cages.
He bounded through the light, and into the light, dazzled by thebrightne
ss of it, and crouched down, with long, lashing tail, to orienthimself to the situation. But it was only another and larger cage thathe was in, a very large cage, a big, bright performing-arena that was allcage. Save for himself, the arena was deserted, although, overhead,suspended from the roof-bars, were block-and-tackle and seven strong ironchairs that drew his instant suspicion and caused him to roar at them.
For half an hour he roamed the arena, which was the greatest area ofrestricted freedom he had known in the ten weeks of his captivity. Then,a hooked iron rod, thrust through the bars, caught and drew the bight ofhis trailing rope into the hands of the men outside. Immediately ten ofthem had hold of it, and he would have charged up to the bars at them hadnot, at that moment, Mulcachy entered the arena through a door on theopposite side. No bars stood between Ben Bolt and this creature, and BenBolt charged him. Even as he charged he was aware of suspicion in thatthe small, fragile man-creature before him did not flee or crouch down,but stood awaiting him.
Ben Bolt never reached him. First, with an access of caution, hecraftily ceased from his charge, and, crouching, with lashing tail,studied the man who seemed so easily his. Mulcachy was equipped with along-lashed whip and a sharp-pronged fork of iron.
In his belt, loaded with blank cartridges, was a revolver.
Bellying closer to the ground, Ben Bolt advanced upon him, creepingslowly like a cat stalking a mouse. When he came to his next pause,which was within certain leaping distance, he crouched lower, gatheredhimself for the leap, then turned his head to regard the men at his backoutside the cage. The trailing rope in their hands, to his neck, he hadforgotten.
"Now you might as well be good, old man," Mulcachy addressed him in soft,caressing tones, taking a step toward him and holding in advance the ironfork.
This merely incensed the huge, magnificent creature. He rumbled a low,tense growl, flattened his ears back, and soared into the air, his pawsspread so that the claws stood out like talons, his tail behind him asstiff and straight as a rod. Neither did the man crouch or flee, nor didthe beast attain to him. At the height of his leap the rope tightenedtaut on his neck, causing him to describe a somersault and fall heavilyto the floor on his side.
Before he could regain his feet, Mulcachy was upon him, shouting to hissmall audience: "Here's where we pound the argument out of him!" Andpound he did, on the nose with the butt of the whip, and jab he did, withthe iron fork to the ribs. He rained a hurricane of blows and jabs onthe animal's most sensitive parts. Ever Ben Bolt leaped to retaliate,but was thrown by the ten men tailed on to the rope, and, each time, evenas he struck the floor on his side, Mulcachy was upon him, pounding,smashing, jabbing. His pain was exquisite, especially that of his tendernose. And the creature who inflicted the pain was as fierce and terribleas he, even more so because he was more intelligent. In but few minutes,dazed by the pain, appalled by his inability to rend and destroy the manwho inflicted it, Ben Bolt lost his courage. He fled ignominiouslybefore the little, two-legged creature who was more terrible than himselfwho was a full-grown Royal Bengal tiger. He leaped high in the air insheer panic; he ran here and there, with lowered head, to avoid the rainof pain. He even charged the sides of the arena, springing up and vainlytrying to climb the slippery vertical bars.
Ever, like an avenging devil, Mulcachy pursued and smashed and jabbed,gritting through his teeth: "You will argue, will you? I'll teach youwhat argument is! There! Take that! And that! And that!"
"Now I've got him afraid of me, and the rest ought to be easy," heannounced, resting off and panting hard from his exertions, while thegreat tiger crouched and quivered and shrank back from him against thebase of the arena-bars. "Take a five-minute spell, you fellows, andwe'll got our breaths."
Lowering one of the iron chairs, and attaching it firmly in its place onthe floor, Mulcachy prepared for the teaching of the first trick. BenBolt, jungle-born and jungle-reared, was to be compelled to sit in thechair in ludicrous and tragic imitation of man-creatures. But Mulcachywas not quite ready. The first lesson of fear of him must be reiteratedand driven home.
Stepping to a near safe distance, he lashed Ben Bolt on the nose. Herepeated it. He did it a score of times, and scores of times. Turn hishead as he would, ever Ben Bolt received the bite of the whip on hisfearfully bruised nose; for Mulcachy was as expert as a stage-driver inhis manipulation of the whip, and unerringly the lash snapped and crackedand stung Ben Bolt's nose wherever Ben Bolt at the moment might have it.
When it became maddeningly unendurable, he sprang, only to be jerked backby the ten strong men who held the rope to his neck. And wrath, andferocity, and intent to destroy, passed out utterly from the tiger'sinflamed brain, until he knew fear, again and again, always fear and onlyfear, utter and abject fear, of this human mite who searched him withsuch pain.
Then the lesson of the first trick was taken up. Mulcachy tapped thechair sharply with the butt of the whip to draw the animal's attention toit, then flicked the whip-lash sharply on his nose. At the same moment,an attendant, through the bars behind, drove an iron fork into his ribsto force him away from the bars and toward the chair. He crouchedforward, then shrank back against the side-bars. Again the chair wasrapped, his nose was lashed, his ribs were jabbed, and he was forced bypain toward the chair. This went on interminably--for a quarter of anhour, for half an hour, for an hour; for the men-animals had the patienceof gods while he was only a jungle-brute. Thus tigers are broken. Andthe verb means just what it means. A performing animal is _broken_.Something _breaks_ in an animal of the wild ere such an animal submits todo tricks before pay-audiences.
Mulcachy ordered an assistant to enter the arena with him. Since hecould not compel the tiger directly to sit in the chair, he must employother means. The rope about Ben Bolt's neck was passed up through thebars and rove through the block-and-tackle. At signal from Mulcachy, theten men hauled away. Snarling, struggling, choking, in a fresh madnessof terror at this new outrage, Ben Bolt was slowly hoisted by his neck upfrom the floor, until, quite clear of it, whirling, squirming, battling,suspended by his neck like a man being hanged, his wind was shut off andhe began to suffocate. He coiled and twisted, the splendid muscles ofhis body enabling him almost to tie knots in it.
The block-and-tackle, running like a trolley on the overhead track, madeit possible for the assistant to seize his tail and drag him through theair till he was above the chair. His helpless body guided thus by thetail, his chest jabbed by the iron fork in Mulcachy's hands, the rope wassuddenly lowered, and Ben Bolt, with swimming brain, found himself seatedin the chair. On the instant he leaped for the floor, received a blow onthe nose from the heavy whip-handle, and had a blank cartridge firedstraight into his nostril. His madness of pain and fear was multiplied.He sprang away in flight, but Mulcachy's voice rang out, "Hoist him!" andhe slowly rose in the air again, hanging by his neck, and began tostrangle.
Once more he was swung into position by his tail, jabbed in the chest,and lowered suddenly on the run--but so suddenly, with a frantic twist ofhis body on his part, that he fell violently across the chair on hisbelly. What little wind was left him from the strangling, seemed to havebeen ruined out of him by the violence of the fall. The glare in hiseyes was maniacal and swimming. He panted frightfully, and his headrolled back and forth. Slaver dripped from his mouth, blood ran from hisnose.
"Hoist away!" Mulcachy shouted.
And again, struggling frantically as the tightening collar shut off hiswind, Ben Bolt was slowly lifted into the air. So wildly did he strugglethat, ere his hind feet were off the floor, he pranced back and forth, sothat when he was heaved clear his body swung like a huge pendulum. Overthe chair, he was dropped, and for a fraction of a second the posture washis of a man sitting in a chair. Then he uttered a terrible cry andsprang.
It was neither snarl, nor growl, nor roar, that cry, but a sheer scream,as if something had broken inside of him. He missed Mulcachy by inches,as another blank cartridge explo
ded up his other nostril and as the menwith the rope snapped him back so abruptly as almost to break his neck.
This time, lowered quickly, he sank into the chair like a half-empty sackof meal, and continued so to sink, until, crumpling at the middle, hisgreat tawny head falling forward, he lay on the floor unconscious. Histongue, black and swollen, lolled out of his mouth. As buckets of waterwere poured on him he groaned and moaned. And here ended the firstlesson.
"It's all right," Mulcachy said, day after day, as the teaching went on."Patience and hard work will pull off the trick. I've got his goat. He'safraid of me. All that's required is time, and time adds to value withan animal like him."
Not on that first day, nor on the second, nor on the third, did therequisite something really break inside Ben Bolt. But at the end of afortnight it did break. For the day came when Mulcachy rapped the chairwith his whip-butt, when the attendant through the bars jabbed the ironfork into Ben Bolt's ribs, and when Ben Bolt, anything but royal,slinking like a beaten alley-cat, in pitiable terror, crawled over to thechair and sat down in it like a man. He now was an "educated" tiger. Thesight of him, so sitting, tragically travestying man, has beenconsidered, and is considered, "educative" by multitudinous audiences.
The second case, that of St. Elias, was a harder one, and it was markeddown against Mulcachy as one of his rare failures, though all admittedthat it was an unavoidable failure. St. Elias was a huge monster of anAlaskan bear, who was good-natured and even facetious and humorous afterthe way of bears. But he had a will of his own that was correspondinglyas stubborn as his bulk. He could be persuaded to do things, but hewould not tolerate being compelled to do things. And in thetrained-animal world, where turns must go off like clockwork, is littleor no space for persuasion. An animal must do its turn, and do itpromptly. Audiences will not brook the delay of waiting while a trainertries to persuade a crusty or roguish beast to do what the audience haspaid to see it do.
So St. Elias received his first lesson in compulsion. It was also hislast lesson, and it never progressed so far as the training-arena, for ittook place in his own cage.
Noosed in the customary way, his four legs dragged through the bars, andhis head, by means of a "choke" collar, drawn against the bars, he wasfirst of all manicured. Each one of his great claws was cut off flushwith his flesh. The men outside did this. Then Mulcachy, on the inside,punched his nose. Not lightly as it sounds was this operation. Thepunch was a perforation. Thrusting the instrument into the huge bear'snostril, Mulcachy cut a clean round chunk of living meat out of one sideof it. Mulcachy knew the bear business. At all times, to make anuntrained bear obey, one must be fast to some sensitive portion of thebear. The ears, the nose, and the eyes are the accessible sensitiveparts, and, the eyes being out of the question, remain the nose and theears as the parts to which to make fast.
Through the perforation Mulcachy immediately clamped a metal ring. Tothe ring he fastened a long "lunge"-rope, which was well named. Anyunruly lunge, at any time during all the subsequent life of St. Elias,could thus be checked by the man who held the lunge-rope. His destinywas patent and ordained. For ever, as long as he lived and breathed,would he be a prisoner and slave to the rope in the ring in his nostril.
The nooses were slipped, and St. Elias was at liberty, within theconfines of his cage, to get acquainted with the ring in his nose. Withhis powerful forepaws, standing erect and roaring, he proceeded to getacquainted with the ring. It certainly was not a thing persuasible. Itwas living fire. And he tore at it with his paws as he would have tornat the stings of bees when raiding a honey-tree. He tore the thing out,ripping the ring clear through the flesh and transforming the roundperforation into a ragged chasm of pain.
Mulcachy cursed. "Here's where hell coughs," he said. The nooses wereintroduced again. Again St. Elias, helpless on his side against andpartly through the bars, had his nose punched. This time it was theother nostril. And hell coughed. As before, the moment he was released,he tore the ring out through his flesh.
Mulcachy was disgusted. "Listen to reason, won't you?" he objurgated,as, this time, the reason he referred to was the introduction of the ringclear through both nostrils, higher up, and through the central dividingwall of cartilage. But St. Elias was unreasonable. Unlike Ben Bolt,there was nothing inside of him weak enough, or nervous enough, or high-strung enough, to break. The moment he was free he ripped the ring awaywith half of his nose along with it. Mulcachy punched St. Elias's rightear. St. Elias tore his right ear to shreds. Mulcachy punched his leftear. He tore his left ear to shreds. And Mulcachy gave in. He had to.As he said plaintively:
"We're beaten. There ain't nothing left to make fast to."
Later, when St. Elias was condemned to be a "cage-animal" all his days,Mulcachy was wont to grumble:
"He was the most unreasonable animal! Couldn't do a thing with him.Couldn't ever get anything to make fast to."