Part 12

There are a number of narratives of like import with this, but neither in these, nor in the accounts we have of conflicts with other wild beasts, has anything been said concerning the principle upon which they fight. Briefly, no brute deliberately engages in conflict without thinking that the advantage is altogether on its own side. They may be, and often are, mistaken, but brutes never fight fairly with intention. Only man does that, civilized not savage man, whose motives are such as other creatures know nothing about.

Inglis (“Work and Sport on the Nepaul Frontier”) relates an experience of his own with a leopard--it may as like as not have been what is here called a panther--that includes a good many points which have been touched upon,--the much talked of eye power, this brute’s instinctive avoidance of man, etc.,--and it is therefore inserted by way of illustration.

“I was camped out at the village of Purimdaha, on the edge of a gloomy Sal forest, which was reported to contain numerous leopards. The villagers were a mixed lot of low-caste Hindus and Nepaulese settlers. They had been fighting with the factory, and would not pay up their rents, and I was trying, with every prospect of success, to make an amicable arrangement with them.... It was the middle of April. The heat was intense. The whole atmosphere had that coppery look that betokens extreme heat, and the air was loaded with a fine, yellow dust which the west wind bore on its fever-laden wings, to disturb the lungs and temper of all good Christians. The Kanats, or canvas walls of the tent, had all been taken down for the sake of coolness, and my camp bed lay in one corner, open all round to the outside air, and only sheltered from the dew. It had been a busy day. I had been going over accounts, and talking with the villagers until I was hoarse.

“After a light dinner I lay down on my bed, but it was too close and too hot to sleep. By and by the various sounds died out. The tom-toming ceased in the village. My servants suspended their low-muttered gossip around the cook’s fire, wrapped themselves in their white cloths, and dropped into slumber. Toby, Nettle, Whiskey, Pincher, and the other terriers looked like so many curled-up hairy balls, and were in the land of dreams. Occasionally a horned owl would give a melancholy hoot from the forest, or a screech owl raise a momentary and damnable din. At intervals the tinkle of a cow-bell sounded faintly in the distance. I tossed restlessly, thinking of various things, till I must have sunk into an uneasy, fitful sleep. I know not how long I had been dozing, when of a sudden I felt myself wide awake, but with my eyes yet tightly closed.

“I was conscious of some terrible, unknown, impending danger. I had experienced the same thing before when waking from a nightmare, but I knew that the peril was now real. I felt a sinking horror, a terrible and nameless dread, and for the life of me I could not move hand or foot. I was lying on my side and could hear distinctly the thumpings of my own heart. A cold sweat broke out behind my ears, and over my neck and chest. I could analyze every feeling, and knew there was some Presence in the tent, and that I was in instant and imminent danger. Suddenly in the distance a pariah dog gave a prolonged melancholy howl. As if this had broken the spell that bound me, I opened my eyes, and within ten inches of my face there stood a handsome leopardess gazing steadily at me. Our eyes met, and how long we confronted each other I know not. It must have been for some moments. Her eyes contracted and expanded, the pupils elongated, and then opened out into a lustrous globe. I could see the lithe tail oscillating at its extreme tip with a gentle waving motion, like that of a cat when hunting birds in a garden.

“Just then there was a movement among the horses. The leopard slowly turned her head, and I grasped the revolver that lay under my pillow. The beautiful spotted monster turned her head for an instant, showed her teeth, and then with one bound went through the open side of the tent. I fired two shots, which were answered with a roar. The din that followed would have frightened the devil. It was a beautiful, clear night with a moon at the full, and everything showed as plainly as at noonday. My servants uttered exclamations of terror. The terriers went into an agony of yelps and barks. The horses snorted and tried to break loose, and my chowkeydar, who had been asleep on his watch, thinking a band of Dacoits had come upon us, began to lay about him with his staff, and shout, ‘Chor! Chor! lagga! lagga! lagga!’ that is, ‘thief! thief! lay on! lay on! lay on!’

“The leopard was hit, and was evidently in a terrible temper. She halted not thirty paces from the tent, beside a Shanum tree, and seemed undecided whether to go on or return and wreak her vengeance on me. That moment of hesitation decided her fate. I snatched down my Express rifle, which was hanging in two loops above my bed, and shot her right through the heart.

“I never understood how she could have made her way past dogs, servants, horses, and watchman, into the tent, without raising some alarm.”

Thus far, whether in courage, enterprise, and skill, whether in sagacity, or desperation of attack and defence, nothing has been found to traverse W. H. Lockington’s opinion (“Riverside Natural History”) to the effect that panthers, “relatively to their size, are the fiercest, strongest, and most terrible of beasts.”

In ancient Egypt and modern Abyssinia lions formed part of the royal paraphernalia. Marabouts lead around sacred animals of this species in North Africa, and if they occasionally kill somebody, the public in those parts understand that he was a sinner who deserved his fate. Leashed tigers also were not uncommon in the courts of Hindu rajahs, but since the time of the Indian Bacchus, whose car they drew, panthers have rarely appeared in parades. These savage brutes do not lend themselves to peaceful pageants. From all accounts they are the most intractable and untrustworthy of creatures--the least susceptible of instruction, says Sanderson (“Thirteen Years among the Wild Beasts of India”).

Panthers have often been seen associated in families, but they do not display what Professor Romanes calls “the collective instinct in hunting.” They can supply their needs without resorting to these manœuvres, and therefore have not formed the habit of practising them.

It sometimes happens that Felis pardus in all its forms has to give up spoil. The lion takes its prey away, and so does the tiger. Occasionally some blundering, black rhinoceros comes upon the scene and puts the panther to flight, or a herd of wild hogs does the same. Kuon rutilans, the wild dog, is reported to be in the habit of appropriating their supplies, and J. Moray Brown (“Shikar Sketches”) states that he had personal knowledge of this fact. Upon the whole, however, the beast in question is not much molested.

Over-boldness is disadvantageous to any animal, and panthers suffer from their temerity in the way of getting trapped more frequently than other members of their family. General Morgan (“Memoirs”) remarks that “it is a very common thing to catch a panther,” but nobody has said the same of other Felidæ. The difficulty lies in comparing these species so as to assign the phenomenon to its real cause. The question is, how does it happen that a panther walks into a pit more frequently than a tiger? It cannot be said that it is because the latter has the more intelligence; facts do not sustain such an explanation, and yet the absence of deliberation stands in a direct relation with incompleteness of mental development.

It might be argued that the dissimilarity was due to temperament, and that while neither could be absorbed by one idea--that of committing a murder, for instance--without some temporary disregard of everything else, the panther was more liable to this state of mind than its relative. In ordinary parlance such a tendency would be called courage, and its opposite timidity, although that is rather a loose manner of speaking. However the truth may be, there is no doubt that a tiger will often come up to a bait fixed over a pitfall, examine it carefully on every side, and finally walk off with that pleasant grin of his, while the panther precipitates himself into the cavity.

This beast is very partial to dog meat, and the canine population of countries where panthers abound have an abiding fear of them. Sir Samuel Baker (“The Rifle and Hound in Ceylon”) says that his dog “Smut,” who weighed a hundred and thirty pounds, and was “a cross between a Manilla bloodhound and some big bitch at the Cape,” made a practice of hunting leopards on his own account. This was a very unusual thing, however, since the largest breeds of the East, Poligar dogs and Tibetan mastiffs, would certainly be at a great disadvantage in such an encounter. While the latter was encamped upon the Settite River, an Abyssinian tributary of the White Nile, one of these animals sprang into the midst of a circle of men resting around a watch fire and carried off a dog. To invade a hunters’ camp on this kind of an errand is quite common with the panther, and many exploits of his under such circumstances have been put on record. In India the villanous pariahs that swarm in every village are his constant victims. If one of them goes into the jungle, there is apt to be a momentary scuffle in the dry grass, a stifled yelp, and the dog vanishes. So in rice fields and around cattle camps where the Gwallas build their temporary residences. Principally, however, the panther gets game of this kind from permanent settlements infested with “curs of low degree.” Panthers know them well, and act accordingly. During the night one approaches the outskirts of a village and so far reveals his presence as to show the dogs, who are always prowling about, that some strange animal is near. Now they in turn are well aware of the tricks that panthers play, but on the other hand can by no means resist their ingrained propensity to make a display of courage, which they probably possess in a less degree than any carnivora. As soon as these pariahs discover something that conceals itself, the idea which naturally takes possession of their minds is that this cautious conduct is due to a fear of themselves. The pack instantly darts forward, and stops. These brutes endeavor to get self-encouragement out of absurd antics; they leap, they howl, they ramp and rave, until one of them, more excitable than the rest, so far forgets itself as to approach the intruder too closely. A shadowy form bounds upon it, and all is over.

If panthers were contented to kill these animals only, no reasonable objection to their deeds could be made. Unfortunately this is not the case; sheep, goats, pigs, horses, cattle, and their owners, all are destroyed; and when some casualty more exasperating or tragic than usual occurs, public opprobrium descends upon the hereditary huntsman of the commune with true Asiatic violence and unreason. Is he, the accursed, supported in ease and affluence in order to snore like a swine while people and their property are thus devoured? Oh Ram! Ram! Ram! May the choicest curses light upon him, may he be beset by all devils whatsoever! Then the official, who is wholly blameless, and except by accident cannot hope to do anything against a beast like this, curses the panther, his fate, his fellow-citizens, and himself; after which everybody forgets the matter.

No prudential reflections interfere with a panther’s singleness of purpose when on the prowl. Blood is his object, and blood he intends to have, so the upshot is that he often finds himself at the bottom of a pit shaped like an inverted pyramid that it is impossible to dig out of. What subsequently happens depends upon the demand for wild beasts. If an agent of Jamrach’s has left an order for panthers, or some native ruler signified his will that they be forthcoming immediately, the captive’s life is safe. Men arrive in the morning with something that looks like a magnified crate. It is inverted over the pit’s mouth, earth is thrown in, the floor rises and with it the captive, until the animal is forced into this temporary cage. Bamboo crosspieces are then slipped under and secured, and very shortly he is en route. If the destination be a zoölogical park or menagerie, it is said that the beast will live longer and develop physically more completely in captivity than it would in a state of freedom. This is, to say the least, doubtful. Much might be advanced upon the subject, but biological discussions are out of place here, and it is enough to point out the fact that this opinion must be purely arbitrary, since no vital statistics exist from which such a conclusion could be legitimately drawn.

Returning to the subject of traps, they are not always constructed alike. Besides excavations there are enclosures that must be entered intentionally or not at all. These are made by driving palisades deep in the earth, roofing them, and cutting a sliding door in the side. It is connected with the bait by a string in such a manner as to drop when this is touched. Tigers are seldom taken in by these inventions, but the panther is frequently caught, especially if a live animal be placed in the trap. How he reasons upon the unusual circumstances then presented we do not know. Perhaps there is little or no deliberation upon what he ought to do, and the brute merely acts in obedience to its immediate impulses. But if we examine the behavior of panthers that go into villages to kill men, in all instances of this kind the animal’s conduct is marked by a union of skill and daring with cunning and circumspection. What makes him lose his prudence in face of a trap? Except himself, there is not a great cat in Asia that would not be apt to see into this device and keep out of danger. The panther, however, enters the enclosure. Such appears to be a fair statement of facts relating to the brute’s character and habits in this connection, but no attempt is made towards explaining them.

In certain parts of India panthers are netted. That is, nets are hung about ten feet high behind which the hunters stand with spears. It is not jouer de rigueur to use rifles unless these defences are leaped.

In the event of the barrier being bounded over, the result to the huntsmen depends greatly upon the way in which the beast attacks. Some animals of this species have a curious habit, under such circumstances, of trying to kill all their enemies at once. Much the same has been said of tigers. Sir J. E. Alexander (“Expedition into Africa”) speaks of the spotted cats of that country as flying about among a crowd of enemies, striking first at one and then at another. In such a skirmish nobody might be seriously injured. On the other hand, they cannot be counted upon to act in this manner, and if, like Barras’ panther, one singled out a particular man and fastened upon him, nothing, it is likely, could save his life except prompt interference upon the part of his companions.

With regard to its attack upon game, the mode in which this animal takes its prey has been definitely settled in several different ways, as is the case also in respect to the manner in which its prey is eaten. Colonel Pollok (“Sport in British Burmah”) remarks that “there is a peculiar and singular distinction, with regard to the mode of breaking up their prey, between the tiger and the panther, the latter invariably commencing upon the fore quarters or chest.” General Shakespear, nevertheless, came unexpectedly upon a panther that had just killed a cow in the Bootinaut correa, and it was feeding upon one of the hind quarters, “a large piece of which had already been consumed.” Colonel Barras and Captain Forsyth consider the throat to be the part first fastened upon, Baker states that the body is at once torn open to get at the viscera, and Inglis, Leveson, and others explain that panthers suck the blood of their victims before anything else.

Similar dogmatic opinions and exclusive views of the way in which a panther or leopard kills game have been advanced. They are said to break the neck with a blow of their forearm; and also never to do so, not being able in the case of large animals, and with small ones this being unnecessary. Some authorities maintain that the cervical vertebræ are dislocated by twisting the head; others, that the head is bent backward till the neck breaks.

Hon. W. H. Drummond (“Large Game and Natural History of South and Southeast Africa”) says that “leopards and panthers are very numerous in that country.” He likewise apparently regards these varieties as distinct species, and writes about the “ingwe” or Felis leopardus, the “N’gulula” or maned leopard, and Felis pardus, the true panther, as if two of these, at least, belonged to different groups.

Strangely enough to anyone acquainted with the characteristics of the Asiatic panther, Drummond asserts that the leopard, which is a comparatively rare animal, is, although of smaller size, the fiercer and more dangerous of the two. He explains that its rarity is more apparent than real, and depends upon the creature’s “nocturnal habits and the thickness of the jungles they lie in,” so that sportsmen only “occasionally come across them by accident.”

It is singular, however, that a hunter who had passed a number of years in a country where they abound, should have been so little impressed by the prowess of a beast which, at least in Central and West Africa, is very destructive to human life. It must be the case that the brute’s character varies somewhat with locality, yet Drummond’s narrative portrays a condition of things under which its native ferocity and aggressive nature should have been developed and not diminished. However this may be, the pale, almost white-skinned panther, whose light color is very conspicuous in its rosette, was plainly regarded by Drummond as a much less formidable foe than its congener of the Indian jungles, or even than its relations which Baker and others found in the northern parts of Africa.

Still, he admits that “common leopards, i.e. the two forms locally known under the name of ingwe, are much to be dreaded when brought to bay, and that anecdotes innumerable might be related of instances where they have killed or seriously injured both white and black hunters. The virus of their bite is very great. I remember once seeing seven men belonging to a Zulu village awfully torn and mangled by a single animal, and the wounds remained open for a long time, and ultimately left great scars. On the other hand, I know of several who have died where the injuries received were not such as to have been generally fatal.” Sir W. C. Harris mentions it as a peculiarity of the leopard’s attack that it strikes at the face; Drummond says nothing about this trait, and the former author probably fell into some confusion of ideas, caused by the well-known tendency of this species to tear open the great vessels of the throat.

Panthers and leopards are only varieties of the same species, yet while the reputation of the former is such as has been stated, hunters often speak of the latter as if it were nearly harmless so far as human beings are concerned. Leopards are described as having been shot right and left in the jungle, treed by dogs and killed on limbs without difficulty, pelted from the doorways of deserted huts, and speared in the open from the saddle. Leveson, Drummond, and Baker relate experiences of this kind, but the literature of the subject contains many very different accounts of their prowess. Both in Asia and Africa they have often been found to be extremely dangerous and destructive animals. There is good reason why in heraldic blazonry the leopard should be represented as passant gardant. The designers did not know it, but the fact is that no animal capable of doing so much harm, and that has as many evil deeds to answer for, is at once so enterprising, so stealthy, and so full of cunning. Compared with him, the greater Felidæ, on the one hand, and that much-abused assassin and robber, the fox, upon the other, are “mild-mannered,” and might be called bunglers.

When a tiger--and the same may be said of the lion--attempts to carry out a scheme he has formed for the surprise and murder of some man whose whereabouts he has ascertained, the design is often more complete than the execution. His heavy yet muffled tread is sometimes heard, he breaks dry sticks, rustles as he moves through parched herbage, waves long grass in passing, so that any experienced eye can tell he is there, puts his head out of cover prematurely, is apt to cross open spaces when a circuit ought to be made; again, he cannot keep his tail still, and as the moment approaches for making an end of his victim, anticipation of the pleasure of putting the man to death and devouring him overcomes his caution, and he begins to purr. This is not a loud sound, but it is a very impressive one, and has been frequently heard. But no creature’s senses can give warning of a panther’s or leopard’s approach. Few people ever heard or saw one of these beasts while coming. They steal upon their prey with the silence and certainty of death. Their stalk is the perfection of skill. The attack is rapid and fierce beyond comparison; and afterwards, unless the ground is such as will retain a trail, this animal cannot be followed. It is the most difficult to mark down of all beasts of prey, the hardest to track on account of its many tricks. No kind of game is so often hunted unsuccessfully.