The Strange White Doves Page 5

  The next morning the Hanley was plowing westward through the Pacific, well on her way to Japan. When Kildall came off duty, he was surprised to find Hector curled up in the corridor by the captain’s cabin. The dog had chosen to go to sea on his ship and had managed to slip aboard unnoticed.

  The reason for Hector’s presence became clear eighteen days later, when the Hanley finally dropped anchor in Yokohama harbor and began unloading lumber. A short distance away another vessel was also unloading lumber. It was the S. S. Simaloer. At the sight of her, the dog, who had remained quiet and aloof all during the voyage, showed sudden excitement. Presently a sampan put out from the Simaloer, carrying two men ashore. As it neared the Hanley’s stern, Hector barked wildly and leaped into the water. One of the sampan’s passengers began shouting and joyfully pulled the dog aboard. It was Willem Mante, his master.

  Like the travels of Tom and Clementine, the voyages of Joker and Hector are matters of historical record and a great deal has been written about them. It can be argued, of course, that Hector was such a smart dog that he was able to listen to conversations and pick another vessel bound for the same destination as his own. But somehow I do not believe that. I think Hector’s knowledge of the right ship to take came from another source—the same source that guided the other pets, the same source that helped Zan’s second dove find its mate.

  11

  THE BARRIER OF SPEECH

  EVERY TIME I GLANCE OUT of the studio windows and spot one of the wild folk going about his daily business, I wonder if he is only an ordinary member of his tribe, or someone quite super. There are super ones around, I’m sure. There are some, I believe, with abilities so extraordinary that many humans will find it hard to accept the truth about them.

  Otters have first-rate brains, and so have skunks and a number of nocturnal visitors like the foxes and raccoons, that I seldom see. Woodchucks are supposed to be very dull fellows, though I do not find them so. There is a woodchuck living directly across the creek from the studio, and the very fact that he is old, fat, and still very much alive in spite of the odds—wildcats, dogs, and trigger-happy humans—speaks highly for the quality of his gray matter.

  I even suspect the raven of having a super brain. The ones in my valley have everything a crow has, plus something extra. Crows are smart enough, but whenever I find myself under the inspection of one of their glittering-eyed big brothers, my ego suffers. The only way I can account for it is that some of them are really smarter than I am and know it.

  Anyway, be it woodchuck, fox, or raven, or one of a dozen other creatures, I’m certain that somewhere in these forested mountains there exists a wild mentality with incredible powers. Even though I am absolutely convinced of it, I cannot prove it, but neither can anyone disprove it. Study the wild all you wish, and you will learn only that wild creatures are much more intelligent than tame ones.

  What’s wrong with studying a caged animal? Practically everything. It’s a sad story. Have you ever thought how you would feel if you were locked in a small enclosure, month after month, away from everything in the world that mattered to you—friends, relatives, home, your special foods, and even the privacy that every creature must have part of the time? A wildcat in the wilds is a happy, playful fellow, full of cunning and with a great love of life. Caged, he is a snarling, demented wretch.

  If some of our pets and domestic animals are capable of breathless mental feats, it is reasonable to assume that nature has endowed certain wild animals with the same abilities. But since wild creatures are much smarter than tame ones of the same species—nearly a third smarter, according to some estimates, and they actually have larger brains—then it is safe to assume that most wild geniuses must be truly extraordinary.

  Frankly, I believe that there are many more super-intelligences among our pets than anyone dreams. Most owners of these animals never suspect what they have and fail to put their pets through a test.

  Chris, a famous dog owned by the Woods family of Warwick, Rhode Island—he was known as the Mathematical Mongrel—was five years old before his talents were discovered. Yet Chris himself said he would have been able to do the things he did three years earlier if anyone had asked him. Communicating by taps of his paw, he could quickly solve intricate problems involving large numbers that would stump people like me for hours. Once, when being tested by a pair of top engineers from the Du Pont Company, he solved an involved calculation in four minutes that took both men ten minutes to work out on paper.

  The thing that really staggers me about Chris was his incredible foreknowledge. He knew exactly what the weather would be long ahead of time. He could predict the outcome of races, and he even foretold the day of his death several years before it happened. Curiously, he missed this last prediction by twenty-four hours.

  There have been many genius dogs on the order of Chris, as you will find by checking the pet books at almost any large library. Nearly always their abilities were discovered by accident, and though their talents vary, many of them have two things in common: they are mathematical wizards, and they can foretell future events. Some are clever conversationalists, communicating by paw taps or barks to indicate numbers and the letters of the alphabet. This, of course, is a terribly slow method of responding to the spoken question, and it is a wonder that any animal would have the patience to bother with it. So it is not surprising that a few dogs have managed to get around this difficulty by actually learning to speak.

  Now, I believe that many of these animal geniuses, along with their other talents, have an exceptional ability to read minds. I’m certain this was true of Jim, the Wonder Dog of Sedalia, Missouri. Jim, a setter owned by Sam Van Arsdale, was not only an incredible prophet (he predicted Kentucky Derby winners for seven straight years, along with the winner of a presidential election, as well as scores of other happenings), but he could always give correct answers to questions put to him in foreign languages.

  How was this possible for a dog that knew only the English that was spoken around him?

  No one could understand it at the time, for in Jim’s day few people realized that dogs were mind readers. Now the truth is evident. The only way Jim could have understood a question in French or German was to know the thought behind each one. Languages are only systems of symbols that stand for thoughts. The symbols change with every language, but the thought remains the same.

  That there must be thousands of geniuses and near-geniuses in the animal world, existing practically under our noses, is borne out by the experience, early in this century, of Karl Krall, of Elberfeld, Germany. In 1909, Krall inherited a horse named Hans from his friend, Wilhelm von Osten, a mathematics teacher. Hans had become famous all over Europe because Von Osten had taught him simple mathematics, as well as how to spell and compose sentences. Immediately upon inheriting Hans, Krall, who loved animals, bought four more horses and began to train them. The new horses, who were not known to have had any special abilities, were soon the equals of Hans. In six months all the horses had leaped into a far higher mental realm and were actually doing difficult mathematical problems and rapidly stamping out conversations with their hooves.

  One of them, an Arabian named Muhamed, became impatient with the stamping method and tried his best to learn to speak. However, he gave it up as soon as he discovered that a horse’s mouth is not properly shaped for making human sounds. Other than dolphins, only a rare dog can manage it, and a few birds. But for this barrier of mouth shape, I expect we would be constantly startled by dogs and horses giving us the benefit of their wit—for some of them, to judge by recorded conversations, have sharp wits indeed and a fine sense of humor. Surely there are great numbers of them, undiscovered, with an intelligence level far higher than we mighty humans have ever guessed.

  The Elberfeld horses, as they were called, became famous the world over, and a great deal has been written about them. But since their day, no doubt because the automobile has replaced the family horse, and few of us ever come into contact
with horses, I can find no record of anyone taking the time and trouble to do what Karl Krall managed to do, and so the only animal geniuses that have come to light are those that have been discovered by accident.

  Among the incredibly brilliant ones of more recent years, whose achievements will never be forgotten, are two horses: Black Bear, a little Shetland pony from Briarcliff, New York, and Lady Wonder, the famous “talking horse” of Richmond, Virginia.

  Lady Wonder could not actually talk. But her owner, Mrs. Claudia Fonda, rigged up an apparatus something like the keyboard of a giant typewriter, which saved the mare all the extra work of tapping that slowed other animals in their communications. She had only to touch her muzzle to the lever, and the right number or letter would be flipped up for everyone to see. Black Bear was given a similar arrangement with numbered or lettered tabs hung on bars.

  Many famous people—writers, scientists, and psychologists—came to study these horses and test them with hundreds of questions. Their almost miraculous accomplishments would fill a thick book. Black Bear, besides being able to read cards, face down, and reveal the contents of unopened letters, could always tell what a stranger was thinking. Lady Wonder was even more astounding. Her mind-reading ability left people shaken, but of far greater importance was the accuracy with which she could locate lost valuables and solve the fate of vanished children. Whatever was lost might be a thousand miles away, but no matter. She did not have to leave her Virginia stall to tell you exactly where to find it. Ask her, and she would consider the matter a few seconds. Then she would begin nudging the levers, and letter by letter the answer that may have baffled hundreds of people would be spelled out for all to read.

  Morey Bernstein, author of The Search for Bridey Murphy, is one of many people who have good cause to remember Lady Wonder. On a plane trip from Denver to Houston, his bags, containing valuable business papers, were lost. The airline looked long and hard, but was unable to find them. Later, while Bernstein was in the East, a friend suggested that Lady Wonder might be of help. She was. Though it seemed impossible that the lost bags could be in a New York airport as she told him, that is where they were found. When an airline official asked if there was anything they could do to make up for all the trouble, Morey Bernstein said yes, he would like a letter from them admitting the fact that it had taken Lady Wonder, the clairvoyant horse, to find his luggage. They gave him the letter.

  How did Lady Wonder do it?

  12

  EVEN THE TREES

  ONCE, IN A SMALL ITEM buried in the back of a newspaper, I read of a doctor in India who had made a wonderful discovery about trees. The rest of the world paid little attention to him, and both his name and his work have long been forgotten. But I’ll always remember what he said and did.

  Trees, he wanted people to know, are sensitive and have feelings just as all other living things have. When hurt, they are subject to shock, just as people are. And shock can kill.

  Moving a tree, even when it is dormant, or pruning it drastically, is a great shock. Many trees die from such treatment, and all of them suffer for a long time afterward. So, he thought, why not give them an anesthetic to put them to sleep before any sort of operation? Wouldn’t they recover more quickly and grow faster?

  The very idea that a tree might have feelings has long been considered laughable to a great many people. But the doctor was sure that trees—in spite of having no sign of a nervous system—are extremely sensitive and would benefit tremendously if a pain-killer could be found for them. After much experimenting, he came up with an anesthetic that would actually put a tree to sleep. Trees anesthetized before surgery, or before being moved, recovered in a remarkably short time and grew much faster than trees that had not been treated this way.

  So the Indian doctor proved that trees and plants are able to feel, and that they are as sensitive as many other forms of life. However, we still go on whacking away at trees with never a thought that they may be silently screaming every time we approach them with an ax.

  Yet how can a tree know anything? It has no brain. And how can it possibly know ahead of time that someone is going to harm it?

  The astounding evidence really gave scientists a jolt. It was the sort of thing they have always scoffed at. According to their rules, if you are unable to detect something through one of the five senses, or if you cannot put it through a repeatable laboratory test, then it doesn’t exist. That’s why ESP has had such rough going in the scientific world. Like quicksilver, it is hard to put your finger on it.

  Then along came a man named Backster, who said, in effect, that a tree not only is highly sensitive, but it also can read the human mind.

  If he had not been Cleve Backster, it is doubtful that anyone would have listened to him. Backster happened to be one of the world’s top polygraph experts, and he proceeded to back up his statement with rolls of polygraph charts from a series of experiments that could easily be repeated under laboratory conditions. By the time he had repeated them, with witnesses, the scientific world was goggle-eyed.

  It all came about in this way: Cleve Backster was watering a plant in his office one morning when he suddenly wondered how long it would take for the moisture to travel from the dirt to the ends of the leaves. Would the electrodes on one of his polygraph machines be able to make the test?

  A polygraph is more commonly known as a lie detector. It is a complicated electrical apparatus used in measuring the breathing, pulse, and blood pressure of a person being questioned. The resulting record made on a moving paper chart shows the person’s emotional reaction to each question.

  Cleve Backster thought that by attaching two electrodes to a leaf he would be able to tell when the water reached that area. Since water is a good conductor of electricity, he reasoned that the resistance should go down. If it did, then the inked graph line on the moving paper chart would go up.

  However, it didn’t work out that way. For reasons still unknown, the resistance increased when he watered the plant, and the graph line went down. Stranger still, the graph line showed a peculiar movement that should have come from a human instead of a plant. Cleve Backster, an expert in these matters, recognized it instantly as the result of an emotional reaction.

  An emotional reaction in a plant? Something must be wrong!

  He decided to test the plant thoroughly. If he threatened its existence in some manner, for instance by burning, perhaps the danger would trigger an emotional response—that is, if the plant really could respond. There must be a mistake somewhere.…

  Backster was forced to leave the room for a few seconds to find a match. Returning, he lit the match and held it near the leaf with the electrodes. Instantly the moving chart showed a reaction. The reaction was automatically timed on the chart itself, which is marked off in five-second sections.

  This exact timing is very important. When Cleve Backster stopped to examine the chart, he was thunderstruck to discover that the plant’s main reaction had already taken place. It had happened before he had left the room to get the match. In fact, it had come the very instant he decided to burn the leaf.

  The plant had read his mind.

  This incredible event took place on February 2, 1966. The scientific world, which for so long had refused to credit ESP, was given a rude shaking, for this and later experiments give proof of a mysterious power that is entirely beyond the sphere of established science.

  How this knowledge may actually affect our future is anyone’s guess, for man is a curiously selfish creature. But it brought a complete change in Cleve Backster’s life, for he knew he had stumbled upon something tremendous that should be carefully investigated. Before announcing what he had learned, he spent three years devising new experiments and putting scores of plants through an exhaustive series of tests. When he was finished and told in a detailed statement what he had learned, scientists were staggered.

  Plants, he found, are mind readers and have ESP to a high degree. If anything happens around them that af
fects the emotions, they know it instantly. The killing of a living creature in their area, even though it is smaller than a fly and the killing takes place beyond thick walls, will produce a violent reaction on their chart. They also have memories, for if another plant is destroyed in their presence, they know who did it for long afterward and can actually pick this person out of a crowd.

  But most incredible of all is the feeling plants have for certain people, especially those who love and care for them. Distance seems to have no effect on their awareness. If a plant’s owner is nervous about making a long flight on a plane, the plant knows it. Likewise it knows immediately when the plane lands and its owner is safe on the ground. These reactions have been timed and checked over and over on the charts of many plants.

  Of course, it has been known for a long time that plants—and by this I mean all plants from tiny grasses to trees—respond to love and prayer. Countless tests both here and abroad have shown that a well-prayed-over garden always has a remarkably higher yield than another exactly like it that has been given only an equal amount of ordinary care.

  It is also a fact that a much-loved plant or tree often withers and dies when its owner dies. When I first heard this I thought it was just a silly superstition, the sort of thing old mountaineers whisper to each other after a funeral. But I have learned better. I have seen it happen a number of times, and now I know the staggering truth behind it.

  The green holly beyond my terrace, the big sycamore tree near it, and the potted oleanders here in the studio—they are not just woody growths, dull and insensitive. They are living creatures. That is how I have come to think of them.