Part 19

“It was almost dusk, when we were a few miles from home, passing along the road we had marched by the former day, and the same by which we had come out in the morning, when one of the men who was walking behind the elephant started and called a halt. He had seen the footprint of a tiger. The elephant’s tread had partly obliterated it, but further on where we had not yet gone it was plain enough,--the great square pug of the man-eater we had been looking for all day! He was on before us, and must have passed since we came out in the morning, for his track had covered that of the elephants as they came. It was too late to hope to find him that evening, and we could only proceed slowly along on the track, which held to the pathway, keeping a bright lookout. The Lállá [Forsyth’s famous tiger-hunting shikári] indeed proposed that he should go on a little ahead as a bait for the tiger, while I covered him from the elephant with my rifle. But he wound up by expressing a doubt whether his skinny corporation would be a sufficient attraction, and suggested that a plump young policeman, who had taken advantage of our protection to make his official visit to the scene of the last kill, should be substituted--whereat there was a general but not very hearty grin. The subject was too sore a one in that neighborhood just then. About a mile from the camp the track turned off into a deep nálá that bordered the road. It was now almost dark, so we went on to camp, and fortified it by posting the three elephants on different sides, and lighting roaring fires between. Once during the night an elephant started out of its deep sleep and trumpeted shrilly, but in the morning we could find no tracks of the tiger near us. I went out early next morning to beat up the nálá, for a man-eater is not like common tigers, and must be sought for morning, noon, and night. But I found no tracks save in the one place where he had crossed the ravine the evening before, and gone off into thick jungle.

“On my return to camp, just as I was sitting down to breakfast, some Banjárás [carriers, and probably gypsies] from a place called Déckná--about a mile and a half from our camp--came running in to say that one of their companions had been taken out of the middle of their drove of bullocks by the tiger, just as they were starting from their night’s encampment. The elephant had not been unharnessed, and securing some food and a bottle of claret, I was not two minutes in getting under way again. The edge of a low savanna, covered with long grass and intersected by a nálá, was the scene of this last assassination, and a broad trail of crushed-down grass showed where the body had been dragged down to the nálá. No tracking was required. It was all horribly plain, and the trail did not lead quite into the ravine, which had steep sides, but turned and went alongside of it into some very long grass reaching nearly up to the howdah. Here Sarjú Parshád, a large government mukna [tuskless male elephant] I was then riding, kicked violently at the ground and trumpeted, and immediately the long grass began to wave ahead. We pushed on at full speed, stepping as we went over the ghastly half-eaten body of the Banjárá. But the cover was dreadfully thick, and though I caught a glimpse of a yellow object as it jumped down into the nálá, it was not in time to fire. It was some little time before we could get the elephant down the bank and follow the broad plain footsteps of the monster, now evidently going at a swinging trot. He kept on in the nálá for about a mile, and then took to the grass again; but it was not so long here, and we could make out the trail from the howdah. Presently, however, it led into rough, stony ground, and the tracking became more difficult. He was evidently full of go, and would carry us far; so I sent back for more trackers, and orders to send a small tent across to a hamlet on the banks of the Ganjál, towards which he seemed to be making. All that day we followed the trail through an exceedingly difficult country, patiently working out print by print, but without having been gratified by a sight of his brindled hide. Several of the local shikáris were admirable trackers, and we carried the line down to within about a mile of the river, where a dense, thorny cover began, through which no one could follow a tiger.

“We slept that night at the little village, and early next morning made a long cast ahead, proceeding at once to the river, where we soon hit upon the track leading straight down its sandy bed. There were some strong covers reported in the river-bed some miles ahead, near the large village of Bhádúgaon, so I sent back to order the tent over there. The track was crossed in this river by several others, but was easily distinguished from all by its superior size. It had also a peculiar drag of the toe of one hind foot, which the people knew and attributed to a wound he had received some months before from a shikári’s matchlock. There was thus no doubt that we were behind the man-eater; and I determined to follow him while I could hold out, and we could keep the trail. It led right into a very dense cover of jáman and tamarisk in the bed and on the banks of the river, a few miles above Bhádúgaon. Having been hard pushed the previous day, we hoped that he might lie up here; and, indeed, there was no other place he could well go to for water and shade. So we circled round the outside of the cover, and finding no track leading outside, considered him fairly ringed. We then went over to the village for breakfast, intending to return in the heat of the day.

“About eleven o’clock we again faced the scorching hot wind, and made silently for the cover where the man-eater lay. I surrounded it with scouts on trees, and posted a pad-elephant at the only point where he could easily get up the high bank and make off, and then pushed old Sarjú slowly and carefully through the cover. Peafowl rose in numbers from every bush as we advanced, and a few hares and other small animals bolted out at the edges--such thick green covers being the midday resort of all the life in the neighborhood in the hot weather. About its centre the jungle was extremely thick, and the bottom was cut up into a number of parallel water-channels among the strong roots and overhanging branches of the tamarisk.

“Here the elephant paused and began to kick the earth, and to utter the low tremulous sound by which some of these animals denote the close presence of a tiger. We peered all about with beatings of the heart; and at last the mahout, who was lower down on the elephant’s neck, said he saw him lying beneath a thick Jáman bush. We had some stones in the howdah, and I made the Lállá, who was behind me in the back seat, pitch one into the bush. Instantly the tiger started up with a short roar and galloped off through the jungle. I gave him right and left at once, which told loudly; but he went on till he saw the pad-elephant blocking the road he meant to escape by, and then he turned and charged back at me with horrible roars. It was very difficult to see him among the crashing bushes, and he was within twenty yards before I fired again. This dropped him into one of the channels, but he picked himself up, and came on as savagely, though more slowly, than before. I was now in the act of covering him with the large shell rifle, when suddenly Sarjú spun round, and I found myself looking the opposite way, while a worrying sound behind me, and the frantic movements of the elephant, told me I had a fellow-passenger on board I might well have dispensed with. All I could do in the way of holding on barely sufficed to prevent myself and guns from being pitched out; and it was some time before Sarjú, finding he could not kick him off, paused to think what he would do next. I seized that placid interval to lean over behind and put the muzzle of my rifle to the tiger’s head, blowing it into fifty pieces with the large shell.”

In Assam and other parts of Indo-China, and in the interior of Malacca, the natives are treated by tigers much after the same manner as those of India were in the days before modern inventions had modified the views of these brutes upon mankind.

A pit is an effectual device for taking tigers, but most descriptions of the way in which it is arranged are evidently incorrect. Malays, however, procure most of the animals they export by means of pits, which are constructed after the manner of those oubliettes or “dungeons of the forgotten,” where in the good old times captives were placed who had no hope of release.

What is the tiger’s temper? Conventionally, and according to common misapprehension, he is the furious and insatiable savage that Buffon paints--“sa ferocité n’est comparable à rien.” He is full of base wickedness and inappeasable cruelty, loves blood and carnage for their own sake, and longs continually to fly at unfortunate creatures with that tremendæ velocitatis of which Pliny speaks.

“What immortal hand or eye, Framed thy matchless symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies, Burned that fire within thine eyes?”

writes William Blake, and then he asks, “Did He who made the lamb make thee?” The French naturalist and English poet looked at the subject from the same standpoint. It was not necessarily seen wrongly on that account, but it happened that the view taken by both was an imperfect one. Deeper insight or more profound research would have resolved uncertainty in the one case, and checked extravagance in the other. Had they read the runes of nature aright, the answer to such questionings, the rebuke to such exaggerations, would have been found stamped upon the organization of everything that lives. Physical constitution is never an accident or a mistake; it is at once the consequence of special modes of existence, and the cause of their continuance. Bodily conformation and its correlates in mental structure are to brutes absolutely determinative.

“Most carnivorous of the carnivora,” writes W. N. Lockington (“Riverside Natural History”), “formed to devour, with every offensive weapon specialized to the utmost, the Felidæ, whether large or small, are relatively to their size the fiercest, strongest, and most terrible of beasts.” The tiger stands at their head. He must needs appreciate his destructive power and feel the desire to exercise it. Inherited tendencies and the pressure of necessity put his capabilities into action. Their exercise, transmitted traits, and those experiences implied in habit, make him what he is,--audacious, treacherous, wary, cunning, ferocious. These characteristics answer to the anatomical specialties by which his frame is distinguished,--his convoluted and back-reaching forebrain, protective coloring, differentiated and perfectly innervated muscles, his simple digestive tract, formidable armature, and padded feet.

THE PUMA

What is true with regard to the present geographical distribution of the cats, has been true always; throughout their fossil history the greater and more formidable Felidæ have been confined to the Eastern Hemisphere. A number of American species exist, however, ranging from among the smallest and most beautiful forms contained in this family, up to animals that in destructive power, only give place to their great African and Asiatic allies. The puma and jaguar have not filled so large a space in zoölogical literature as the lion and tiger; they have not attracted so much general attention, and are less known. But this is, to a considerable degree, the result of accident. For the most part, those who encountered them were men of a different stamp from the famous hunters whose adventures in Asia and Africa have made the animals of their forests and plains familiar and full of interest to so large a portion of the public in civilized lands.

It is seldom that the throngs that pass before cages in which wild beasts are confined, contain a spectator who knows how perfect a creature a cat is. As a class these forms are adjusted to their place in nature better than other creatures, and also much better than the human race. Their distinctive characteristics are all strongly marked, and have persisted from a period so incalculably remote, that the Felidæ may in this respect be said to stand by themselves. “We have as yet,” remarks A. R. Wallace (“Geographical Distribution of Animals”), “made little approach towards discovering ‘their origin,’ since the oldest forms yet found are typical and highly specialized representatives of a group which is itself the most specialized of the carnivora.” No one acquainted with the evidence upon which this statement rests is likely to gainsay it, and its meaning is not obscure. The fact carries with it a necessary implication that animals of the species referred to, having followed a definite way of life longer than the rest, are more fit in every way to meet its requirements.

Perhaps the most striking illustration that could be given of the reality of what has been said, is the small difference actually existing between wild and domesticated cats. Domestication is so great and radical a change from the feral state, that the entire constitution of an animal is affected,--mind and body, temper, intelligence, form, color, fertility and physical capacity, are all modified. But it is not thorough enough to do away with the traits engendered in the Felidæ, and therefore it happens that after thousands of years, the house cat varies from the wild one so little in important and distinctive characteristics. Cattle and sheep were domesticated before the dispersion of the Aryan tribes; linguistic evidence places that fact beyond question. Cats, however, though introduced into Europe from Asia, as was the case also with the horse, ass, and goat, were no doubt first reclaimed from savage life in Egypt. On the Lower Nile domestic cats were sacred to Pasht, whom the Greeks called Bubastis, and identified with Artemis. She was represented with the head of a cat or lioness, as was Sechet also, a divinity equivalent to the Phœnician Astarte.

These personifications were not meaningless. Bast or Sechet was the patroness of the baser passions and more destructive vices. It was her part, likewise, to torture the condemned in the lower world. Naturalists (Pastophori) belonging to the faculties established at “the hall of the ancients” in Heliopolis, and “the house of Seti” in Thebes, knew much more, and also much less, about zoölogy and its allied sciences than is popularly supposed.

Felis concolor, the puma, cougar, panther, mountain lion, etc., is more correctly called by the last of these names than by that of panther, under which he is commonly known throughout the northern part of this continent. In its habits the puma is said, but not with any great degree of appropriateness, to resemble the leopard more closely than any feline species. Buffon called it the American lion, but he knew very little about this animal, and his opinion upon its character is of no special importance. E. F. im Thurn (“Among the Indians of Guiana”) remarks that in the southern part of America, and particularly in Guiana, all varieties of feral cats take their titles from the kind of game upon which they principally subsist. Thus Felis concolor is called “the deer tiger,” Felis nigra the “tapir tiger,” and Felis macnera the “peccary tiger.” Such may be the case when aborigines are forced to particularize; but in common parlance one hears only the sobriquet “león” bestowed by all classes of people on the puma.

There is but one true species found in America, and this is distributed in all parts of the continent. The average length from tip to tip may be given at about six and a half feet. In maturity the skin is of a uniform tawny hue on the back and sides, with some deepening of shade in the case of individuals. Cubs are born with dark stripes upon the body, and spots on the neck and shoulders. Garcilasso de la Vega (“Royal Commentaries”) speaking of this beast as the tutelar of certain noble Peruvian families, and probably their eponymous ancestor, says: “A Spaniard whom I knew killed a large lioness (female puma) in the country of the Antis, near Cuzco. She had climbed into a high tree, and was slain by four thrusts of a lance. There were two whelps in her body which were sons of a tiger (jaguar), for their skins were marked with the sire’s spots.”

Like all Felidæ except the cheeta or hunting leopard, the limbs have little free play; they are not adapted to continued rapid locomotion, being short and massive, very powerful, but somewhat limited in variety of action, and more capable of extreme and spasmodic efforts than of persistent use. The animal is very arboreal in its habits, and its climbing powers and general dexterity are not surpassed by any species belonging to this family.

Like true panthers, these cougars, carcajous, catamounts or pumas (the native title is sassu-arana or false deer) are, according to H. W. Bates (“The Naturalist on the River Amazon”), accustomed to live in cliffs and caves, and they seem able to do without the constant supply of water that some others among the Felidæ require.

It is said that here, as in India, the representatives of the tiger and lion do not live together. While this may be true in a general way, there is not the same separateness of range as in Asia; and the author, in common with other explorers, has found them in similar localities on several occasions. No accounts have been given, so far as the present writer is aware, of actual conflicts occurring between the puma and jaguar, and, in fact, there could be little hope for the former in such a contest, as his adversary would be much heavier and more powerful, equally active, and better armed. With respect to the grizzly bear, there is little doubt that common report among frontiersmen, to the effect that he is often assailed by the puma and frequently worsted, has some foundation in fact. From two to four young are born together, and by the end of the first year these whelps lose their spots and stripes. They are lively and playful during infancy, and although in them, as in all animals so highly organized, a decided individuality displays itself from the first, personal experience has convinced the author that they possess a great degree of intelligence, are easily taught those things which their faculties enable them to acquire; and, so far as their own interest and convenience influence conduct, that they exhibit ludicrously strong preferences and dislikes.

Great strength and activity are combined in the puma, its armature is formidable, the brute is habitually silent, stealthy in the highest degree, and full of the so-called treachery of its race. Besides this, it is very enterprising when occasion warrants a display of audacity, as well as extremely ferocious and blood-thirsty. More frequently, perhaps, than any of the great cats, it kills for the mere gratification of its cruel impulses. Dr. Merriman (“Mammals of the Adirondacks”) states that on level ground “a single spring of twenty feet is not uncommon for a cougar,” and Sheppard records the measurement of a distance twice as great when the leap was made downward from a ledge of rock upon a deer.

Padre José de Acosta (“Historia natural y moral de las Indias”) says that neither the puma nor the jaguar “is so fierce as he appears to be in pictures,” though both will kill men. There are, however, many places where the puma has been so cowed by ill success in his attacks upon human beings, that he avoids them as much as possible. Cieza de Leon and Garcilasso de la Vega express themselves to the same effect. Humboldt found whole villages abandoned by their helpless inhabitants in consequence of the ravages of the two great American cats, but Emmanuel Liais (“Climats, Géologie, Faune, etc. du Brésil”) asserts that both “l’une et d’autre fuient l’homme et les chiens; même un enfant à cheval leur fait peur.” This is a mere repetition of what has been asserted without qualification, proper inquiry, or adequate experience with the larger Felidæ in Asia and Africa.

There is no need to argue the question whether or not pumas can or will kill men; that has been affirmatively settled by facts. This creature’s personal courage is a different matter. It is only a brute; yet if any one studies what has been said with regard to this trait, it will appear that most denunciations of the animal’s cowardice rest upon circumstances under which it did not conduct itself like a gentleman. A cougar’s padded foot, its short massive limbs, which prevent it from chasing prey, the brute’s great powers of concealing itself, and perfect physical adjustment to sudden and violent attacks, are recapitulated as though they had no necessary connection with its behavior, and were not inseparably associated with corresponding peculiarities of character and habit.

A beast of prey passes the active portion of its existence in projecting or executing acts of violence. Habitual success means life, and failure death. Under such circumstances, under the influence of an experience in which by far the larger part of those enterprises undertaken resulted favorably, a self-confidence, incompatible with cowardice, will ensue.

At the same time there seems to be some general preconception with respect to the character of wild beasts, such as converts every manifestation of prudence into poltroonery. The clash of opinions expressed about all the more imposing animals witnesses to the crude and arbitrary manner in which they have been formed. With respect to this one, not the tiger himself has been the subject of more irreconcilable statements.

Stories of puma hunting and of the animal’s exploits depend, so far as their style is concerned, upon the place where they are told, and the experiences of the narrator. No hunter of large game thinks it anything of a feat to shoot a cougar, yet the author has known these brutes to fight desperately when brought to bay, and in two instances their resistance was sufficiently formidable to cause, in the one case loss of life, and in the other injuries from which men never entirely recovered. Many such examples might be gathered, but they are nevertheless exceptional. A puma is not difficult to kill, and if it is seen in time, a properly armed man must either be very unfortunate or very unfit for the position in which he finds himself, if the result is not favorable. What is said of the panther and leopard, however, by Captain Forsyth (“The Highlands of Central India”) and by Sir Samuel Baker (“Wild Beasts and their Ways”) is peculiarly applicable to this animal: it is almost always met with unexpectedly, and no mortal can say beforehand what it will do. If taken at advantage and by surprise, as commonly happens, a single man would not usually have much chance at close quarters. The writer has, however, known them to be killed with knives, though not without severe injury to the victor.

The average native of tropical America, while fully appreciating how much more dangerous is the beast he calls a tiger, is quite enough impressed with the prowess of its smaller, though sometimes equally ferocious ally, to have his mind saturated with superstitions concerning pumas. Tapuyo or Mameluco guides will sit by a camp fire and talk in a way to put Acuna or Artieda in the background. Almost equally with the jaguar this creature has supernatural and diabolic connections. When its rarely heard cry or scream, as any one may choose to call a sound so difficult to describe and which varies so greatly, floats through the forest, these natives never know whether they hear a prowling cougar, or the voice of that god from whom its race descended. Botos, a demon of woodland lakes, guides the beast to his prey; the basilisk worm Minhocao is somehow connected with it in its designs against human beings, and the deadly man-like Cæpora shrieks in concert with pumas as they roam through the darkness. W. A. Parry (“The Cougar”) says that its cry “can only be likened to a scream of demoniac laughter,” and that the female’s answer to her mate’s call resembles “the wail of a child in terrible pain.”