encouraged to the attack; but by this time all the baboons had
reascended the heights, excepting a young one, about six months old,
who, loudly calling for aid, climbed on a block of rock, and was
surrounded. Now one of the largest males, a true hero, came down again
from the mountain, slowly went to the young one, coaxed him, and
triumphantly led him away the dogs being too much astonished to make an
attack. I cannot resist giving another scene which was witnessed by
this same naturalist; an eagle seized a young Cercopithecus, which, by
clinging to a branch, was not at once carried off; it cried loudly for
assistance, upon which the other members of the troop, with much
uproar, rushed to the rescue, surrounded the eagle, and pulled out so
many feathers, that he no longer thought of his prey, but only how to
escape. This eagle, as Brehm remarks, assuredly would never again
attack a single monkey of a troop. (10. Mr. Belt gives the case of a
spider-monkey (Ateles) in Nicaragua, which was heard screaming for
nearly two hours in the forest, and was found with an eagle perched
close by it. The bird apparently feared to attack as long as it
remained face to face; and Mr. Belt believes, from what he has seen of
the habits of these monkeys, that they protect themselves from eagles
by keeping two or three together. The Naturalist in Nicaragua, 1874,
p. 118.)
It is certain that associated animals have a feeling of love for each
other, which is not felt by non-social adult animals. How far in most
cases they actually sympathise in the pains and pleasures of others, is
more doubtful, especially with respect to pleasures. Mr. Buxton,
however, who had excellent means of observation (11. Annals and
Magazine of Natural History, November 1868, p. 382.), states that his
macaws, which lived free in Norfolk, took an extravagant interest in
a pair with a nest; and whenever the female left it, she was surrounded
by a troop screaming horrible acclamations in her honour. It is often
difficult to judge whether animals have any feeling for the sufferings
of others of their kind. Who can say what cows feel, when they surround
and stare intently on a dying or dead companion; apparently, however,
as Houzeau remarks, they feel no pity. That animals sometimes are far
from feeling any sympathy is too certain; for they will expel a wounded
animal from the herd, or gore or worry it to death. This is almost the
blackest fact in natural history, unless, indeed, the explanation which
has been suggested is true, that their instinct or reason leads them to
expel an injured companion, lest beasts of prey, including man, should
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