answer is, by constant and intelligent practice while young. A year or
two ago I had frequent opportunities for observing a pair of young
cassowaries patiently, yet playfully, performing martial exercises. They
were about the size of a full grown bustard (say, 28 lb. weight); but if
their bulk had been in ratio to their lightheartedness and playfulness,
they would have loomed large as bullocks.

Their favourite spot was round and about a stout post about three feet
high, the ground encircling which had been beaten down by constant use to
polished smoothness. That the ruling passion of the young birds during
their idle hours was determination to acquire skill and alertness there
can be no doubt. Invariably the game began in a particular way. One of
the pair striding round the post--apparently oblivious of its
existence--would lurch against it as a man inspired with rum might treat a
lamp-post intent on getting in his way. Leering at the post for a second,
the bird would march round again to shoulder it roughly a second time.
Then a queer look of simulated petulance and indignation would spread
over its features, and, taking in its measure, the bird would lash out at
the post with grim earnestness. A cyclonic attack ensued. With many
feints and huddling up of its neck, and dodges, and ducks, and lateral
movements of the head quick as thought, the post was chastised for its
insolence and stolid stupidity. It seemed to be hit in several places at
one and the same moment. Its features bore ever increasing scores and
furrows, for it was used for hours every day as a punching-ball.

When one bird grew tired the other imitated most laughably the antics of
its brother, first ignoring the presence of the post, and then, having
lurched dreamily against it, assaulting it with unrestrained fury. Play
and significant offensive tactics were undoubtedly blended in the
pastimes of the cassowary.