Part 20

James Orton and Prince Maximilian of Nieuwied have severally settled it that cougars are all abject cowards. Speaking from personal recollection, the author feels no hesitation in saying that it required great singleness of mind to come to this conclusion, and much dexterity to go where they did and avoid seeing things which might have modified this conclusion.

It does not follow, for reasons which have been explained at length, that because a puma attacks a grizzly bear he must be dangerous to a man; or because numbers of men have undoubtedly been killed in some places, that it should be formidable to human beings everywhere.

“When hungry,” says Theodore Roosevelt (“Hunting Trips of a Ranchman”), “a cougar will attack anything it can master.” Audubon, however, supposes that it never ventures to assail such large animals as cows or steers. William B. Stevenson (“Twenty Years in South America”) tells us how destructive this creature is to horses, and also how the more than half-wild cattle of the pampas form into rings to defend themselves. Captain Flack (“A Hunter’s Experience in the Southern States of America”) relates an incident in which his horse was stalked by a cougar. S. S. Hill (“Travels in Peru and Mexico”) informs us that “this animal always flies at the sight of man.” G. W. Webber (“The Hunter Naturalist”) declares that he “knows hundreds of well-authenticated instances in which the cougar or panther attacked the early hunters--springing suddenly upon them from an ambush.” Many writers affirm that calves, colts, sheep, goats, swine, are the only domestic animals ever preyed upon, and a deer the largest wild creature which is destroyed. But a traveller like Charles Darwin was certain to observe that, although in La Plata “cougars seldom assault cattle or horses, and most rarely man,” living principally on ostriches, deer, bizcacha, etc., in Chile, they killed all those animals they are said never to touch, including man.

Moreover, we read dogmatic assertions to the effect that pumas always leap on their victims from behind, and break their necks by bending back the head. Another authority decides that this is so far from being the case that death commonly arises from dislocation caused by a blow with the paw; still another insists that the vertebræ are not disjointed at all, but bitten through, which is again denied by those who are convinced that cougars invariably kill their prey by cutting the throat. Much the same statements are made about everything the beast does or is said to do, and the conclusion, which one familiar with this kind of literature comes to, is that these conflicting statements are not all false, but in a restricted sense all true. That is to say, the several ways of destruction mentioned are practised as occasion requires or suggests.

One point at least with regard to the puma’s disposition in certain directions is more clearly set forth than has been the case in respect to other beasts of prey, and this is the fact that the creature’s temper has been greatly changed by contact with mankind. The same thing has happened everywhere with all game hunted successfully for a long period; but this fact is ignored, and brutes whose natures are different in some minor traits from what they once were, are discussed as if the special features now exhibited had been always the same.

C. Barrington Brown (“Canoe and Camp Life in British Guiana”) relates an incident which occurred while he was exploring the upper courses of the Cutari and Aramatau rivers. “One evening, while returning to camp along the portage path that we were cutting at Wonobobo Falls, I walked faster than the men, and got some two hundred yards in advance of them. As I rose the slope of an uneven piece of ground, I saw a large puma (Felis concolor) advancing towards me, along the other side of the rise, with its nose close to the ground. The moment I saw it I stopped, and at the same instant it tossed up its head, and seeing me also, came to a stand. With its body half-crouched, its head erect, and its eyes round and black from the expansion of their pupils in the dusky light, it was at once a noble and appalling sight. I glanced back along our wide path to see if any of the men were coming, as at that moment I felt that it was not well to be alone without some weapon of defence, and I knew that one of them had a gun; but nothing could be seen. As long as I did not move the puma remained motionless also; and thus we stood, some fifteen yards apart, eyeing each other curiously. I had heard that the human voice was potent in scaring most wild beasts, and feeling that the time had arrived for doing something desperate, I waved my arms in the air and shouted loudly. The effect on the animal was electrical; it turned quickly to one side, and in two bounds was lost in the forest.”

Now why did this brute thus behave? The narrative gives not the least explanation of its conduct. Brown thought it was frightened by his gestures, because a few days before he had come upon a jaguar basking on a rock by the river, whose serenity was not at all disturbed by the voices of a boat full of men. But that was merely a guess. Very probably this animal had never seen a man previously, and almost certainly not a white man in civilized costume. There was then the profound impressiveness of absolute strangeness in the sight, and this alone would have been more likely to alarm a human being or intelligent brute than any other cause we know of. Perhaps the puma had just devoured a peccary and was gorged; or possibly its keen senses revealed the approach of Brown’s party, who in fact appeared almost immediately. One may see in a narrative like this, which is a fair specimen of those relations from which most dogmatic conclusions upon the character of wild beasts have been drawn, how arbitrary and unjustifiable they generally are.

Roosevelt states that a slave on his father’s plantation in Florida was passing through a swamp one night, when he was attacked by a puma. The negro was “a man of colossal size and fierce and determined temper.” Moreover, he carried one of the heavy knives that are used in cutting cane. Both parties were killed after a long and desperate struggle, whose traces were plainly impressed upon the spot. But here it appears that a man was assailed, and that the beast continued its attempts to kill him after discovering that he was armed, and persisted in its attack as long as life lasted.

One evening as the author was riding towards a hacienda in Sinaloa, and was about half a league distant from it, a girl rushed to the edge of a thicket and began to scream for help. Galloping up, it appeared she had just discovered the body of her father, killed apparently by a puma, who lay dead beside him. Life was not extinct, however, although he was very badly wounded. He said that while passing, the bellowing of an ox, mingled with the cries of some kind of beast, induced him to make his way to the scene of action. There he found a large lion, as he called it, engaged in a fight with a steer, whom he had injured severely, and who was rapidly losing blood. As soon as the man appeared, the beast left the ox and made at him. There was scant time to roll his serape around his left arm, and draw the long knife which every ranchero wears in the bota on his right leg, before he found himself in deadly conflict.

In these three anecdotes we have a very clear refutation by facts of several points with regard to this brute’s character, which have been generally accepted as settled.

Wariness and an entire absence of all the sentiments that produce recklessness in man, are as distinctly marked characters among the Felidæ as their peculiar dentition or retractile claws; yet the author was informed by Colonel W. H. Harness that last summer (1893) a very large panther, as the animal is called in West Virginia, walked into an extensive logging camp near the town of Davis at midday; traversed one wing of the long building in which the men employed slept, and without making any demonstration of hostility towards those who fled before him, entered their dining-room and helped himself to the meat on the table; after which he quietly passed out of a side door, and was shot from a window. If this beast had been broken down with age or disabled by accident so that it could not hunt, or if the season and weather had been such as to banish game from the vicinity, its conduct might be comprehensible. This happened with an animal in perfect physical condition, and at a season when the mountains were full of game. The brute also must necessarily have connected all the men it knew anything about with death-dealing firearms, and that it then should have walked into a crowd, and lost its life in this act of seemingly idiotic bravado, simply sets at naught everything that is known of the creature’s character and habits.

Pumas, like Asiatic panthers, are easily caught in traps, but independently of this form of incapacity, they are far from being wanting in sagacity. Cougars are most accomplished hunters, and it has been explained how much that means. One of them, for example, will sometimes trail a human being for a day’s journey without finding what it considers to be a suitable opportunity for making an attack.

The best and most intimate acquaintance with the character of a wild beast comes from those associations involved in domestication. When you have brought up an animal and been with it constantly day by day, the chances of finding out what it is like are better than they could be under any other conditions whatever. Prince Maximilian of Nieuwied, states that the puma is “peculiarly susceptible of domestication.” It does not appear, however, that he made any experiments in this direction, and it may be suspected that if he had, certain reasons for modifying his views upon the animal’s character would have suggested themselves during their course. A cougar is a cat, and in virtue of that fact is, as has been said, of all animals the least susceptible of radical change. Sanderson and Barras make a wide distinction between feline species, considered as amenable or refractory to such influences; and nothing is offered in the way of disparagement to their opinions, provided it be admitted that a young tiger may be a much more amiable and interesting infant than a panther cub, and, according to Gérard, a lion whelp attaches all hearts by its good qualities. But there soon comes a time at which traits inherent in them all are developed, and when they become strikingly alike in all their essential characteristics.

The writer bears in affectionate remembrance a pet “panther” who, from earliest life until his complete and splendid maturity, lived with him upon terms of the closest companionship. Every one who seriously studies anecdotes of brute intelligence and character must necessarily distrust them. Their authors always, either directly or by implication, put inference in the place of observation, or they start with a hypothesis, the tendency of which is to assimilate evidence, and often, no doubt unconsciously, fit facts to their own preconceptions. It is hoped that the records of daily observation here made use of for the purpose of sketching traits of character, may not prove to be without some interest and value, and that their fragmentary and incomplete form will witness to the fact that nothing is given which seemed to be either speculative or unauthentic.

One sultry morning as the author sat at ease in his sala, an Indian entered and said he had heard that the Señor delighted in wild beasts, so that having by the help of God, some saints, and several friends, slain the mother of this little lion in the Golden Mountains, he had brought it there as a mark of respect, and would like to have seven Spanish dollars. Here he unrolled his serape and deposited a ball of indistinctly striped and spotted fur upon the floor. In that manner this puma of pumas came into the keeping of his guardian.

The latter impressed with a sense of the responsibilities attaching to the position in which he was placed, at once sprinkled the cub with red wine and called it Gato,--a procedure it resented as if the spirit of Constantine Capronymus himself had entered into its sinful little body. The rage of infancy, however, does not endure, and Gato shortly “serened himself,” to use the idiom of the country, where these things took place. He inspected his new acquaintance, rubbed up against him, had his head scratched with much complacency, and graciously ate as much as he could hold. Thus we made friends, and the compact was ever after kept by both parties, each in his own way.

The panther’s way was a very simple one. It consisted in looking to the being he had come in contact with for everything he wanted, and resolutely refusing to enter into intimate communications with any one else. Nobody who knew him could say that the least feeling of affection ever warmed his heart, but it was plain enough that while he contemned the human race, one man was tolerated, and a distinction made between him and all others. Some individuals he detested at first sight, and resented the slightest approach to familiarity. For the remainder he entertained a quiet contempt; but as for fearing them, nothing was further from his thoughts. So far as that went, it is very doubtful whether he ever felt any real dread of his guardian. Some feeling akin to respect may have existed in his mind. His powers of observation were keen and quick, he saw that this particular person differed in appearance from those about him, acted differently, and was somehow or other not the same as they. If he got into difficulties, and was likely to suffer the consequences of misconduct, hostilities against him ceased when his friend appeared upon the scene; he understood this perfectly, and took refuge with him when danger threatened. As was said, Gato had no affectionate impulses so far as could be certainly known. When he wanted to be stroked, or was hungry, or wished to play, or felt insecure, he came to his guardian, followed him about, and lay beside him. Moreover, the little savage was jealous. If he beheld a dog it always put him in a passion to see it coming towards his master to be caressed. He would fly to get ahead, dance about, jump on his knee, and growl and show his teeth with every sign of anger against the intruder upon his rights.

Colonel Julius Barras (“India and Tiger Hunting”) speaks of the jealousy shown by tiger cubs in his possession, but whereas he was satisfied that this was an expression of tenderness towards himself, the writer thinks it more likely to have been an exhibition of selfishness. Gato manifested at a very early age an appreciation of his own possessions, and a determination to do things after his own fashion. So far from checking this by force, his guardian encouraged it, and after having come to a clear understanding with him on the subject of biting and clawing, left him alone to follow his own devices. He was a very sagacious personage, and there was not a drop of cowardly blood in his whole body. When he was a baby there was little to distinguish him, while at rest, from some domestic cats, but he no sooner began to move about than his free wild air, the unmistakable style of savagery that stamped every action, showed him in another way. It may be added that, being left free to exhibit his individuality, and not having his family and personal characteristics marred or masked by enforced restraint until the creature grew dull, apathetic, and half imbecile, he was as pretty a specimen of feline peculiarity as any one could expect to see. Nothing was clearer to him than that the many-colored rug he was accustomed to lie on was his own. He had favorite places in which to sleep, meditate, and make observations. It would have been disagreeable indeed for any servant about the establishment to take off his bright silver collar after he grew to any size, and when he captured anything and put it away, that article became his private property, and he had no notion of giving it up.

Candor compels the admission that flattering as would have been some tokens of disinterested affection, he never gave any. What he did was to please himself. When he had no desire to be taught, which was often the case, a more stupid, sulky, and unsatisfactory pupil could not be imagined; but when his interest happened to be excited he was quickness itself, and he seldom forgot. One might as well have caressed a stuffed cat, or tried to romp with a dead one, as to have expected any recognition of advances in these directions when Señor Gato felt disposed to contemplation, and if compelled, as of course was the case sometimes, to do anything against his humor, he was not accustomed to leave any doubt about the disgust and anger which possessed him. From first to last, always, and under all circumstances, he like Richard, was “himself alone,” and never stooped to the snobbishness of pretence. Thus it happened that although under fostering care and paternal rule the creature grew in grace continually, he never became fitted to adorn general society. The asperity of his nature easily showed itself; the wild beast broke through the habitual dignity of his demeanor on small provocation. Not even that to him, extraordinary person with whom he was most intimate, and whose resources so powerfully impressed his mind, might pull his ears or twist his tail after he grew up. This was to pass the proper limits of familiarity, and whenever it happened he crouched and glared with glistening fangs. That was all, however; no act of hostility followed.

Gato began to stalk his guardian at an early age, but soon learned that a statue of St. John the Evangelist was not alive, and gave up his practices against the Apostle. He discovered likewise the illusory character of shadows, which at one time were taken to be substantialities, and somehow or other satisfied his mind about his own reflection in a fountain when the wind ruffled its surface. This gave him much concern for a while. Being accustomed to look at himself in a glass, and to stand with his fore-paws on the edge of the basin and see his reflection in still water, what perplexed and excited him was the fact that it sometimes looked as if it moved while he was motionless. Whether he found out about the ripple, nobody knows, but he stopped tearing round the fountain and peering into it to see this thing from different positions.

It was not until he was quite a good-sized animal that the pretence of killing his guardian was given up. As the gravity of age grew upon him, and those engaging pastimes of his childhood gave way before the development of inherent traits, these playful hunts became more rare and finally ceased. Both of us fully understood that this stalking business was nothing but fun. In fact, Gato never fully entered into the spirit of his part or displayed his powers to their greatest advantage, unless he was closely watched. Then, however, his acting was perfect. He got as far off as possible in the long, gallery-like room, fastened his glowing eyes upon the pretended victim, and from first to last showed how complete are the teachings of heredity, both in all that he did and avoided doing. Nothing that could favor his approach was neglected, no mistake was made. The furniture might be differently arranged with design, lights and shadows changed, new places of concealment, from which he could make his mimic attack, constructed; but the animal’s tactics never failed to alter in accordance with these arrangements, and to be the best that circumstances admitted of. There is no doubt that he admired himself greatly, and, so far as it was possible to judge, commendation was very pleasing. He always expected to be complimented and caressed after darting from an ambush which had been reached with much precaution, and he reared up and rubbed his head against his friend, asking for praise as plainly as possible.

This account is not intended to convey any principles of zoöpsychology, but to record special facts relating to an animal whose family the author looks upon as exceptional in respect to their savagery, and who was himself, so far as the closest observation will warrant one in making a sweeping statement about a wild beast, not recognizably different in his characteristics from other members of the race he belonged to, or average individuals of allied species. “Magnum hereditatis mysterium” is a truth relating to the process of heredity alone; it has nothing to do with the fact that like produces like, or that traits, from the most generalized to those which are special, are undoubtedly transmitted. Here was a creature developed through immemorial generations into a typical state of body and mind. So far as the result is concerned, it does not make the least difference whether this end was attained in the manner pointed out by Darwin, or Galton, or Weismann. In Gato the whole personality, every faculty and feeling, the functional and structural peculiarities of all his tissues and tissue elements, were stamped with that impress which the entire life of his savage ancestry entailed. On what grounds can it be supposed that such perfectly superficial influences, as were brought to bear upon him while under restraint, produce any radical change? The alteration in demeanor manifested towards one person, and probably effected through that self-interest which, in its general aspect, is exhibited by all the higher animals, did not show that he had been, so to speak, inoculated with civilized sentiments. On the contrary, he gave a flat denial to that opinion every day, and was as essentially a puma, pure and simple, at the hour of his death, as if he had never seen a man.

It would, however, be a singular course of reasoning by which the inference that all pumas were the same was drawn from this statement. Besides the congenital variation that, to conceal our ignorance, we say is involved in the plasticity of life, every organism has certain acquired differences. Life is no more than a state dependent upon continuous adjustments, and it can never exist in an identical degree in separate beings, because neither the conditions themselves, nor the power to fit body or mind to circumstances, is ever the same in different individuals. Evolved structures, functions, and qualities in groups, will be similar; for animals of all kinds must resemble their direct progenitors; but individuality is not extinguished, and as the race rises in capacity, or its members vary from an average, personal traits become salient, and those dissimilarities produced by alterations in the process by which existence is maintained, appear more prominently.

Almost the entire body of emotions which Gato possessed as a beast of prey, as well as his moral and intellectual traits, were beyond the reach of any modifications that could be made artificially. He was morose, cruel, treacherous, and blood-thirsty; but, it does not follow that he was absolutely so, or that, when compared with other pumas, these characteristics of his species were equally pronounced. Observation enables the writer to say that this animal was more intelligent, tractable, responsive, and reliable than any other beast of the same kind with which he ever was brought into close association.

A direct parallel between men, even barbarous men, and brutes will always fail. We do not know enough of the mental organization of either even to apply terms justly; and more than this, the difference between them in developmental states is so great that while the phenomena of both are of the same order, and the language used in describing one is applicable to the other, there are not close enough likenesses between them to make comparisons possible. Those who have attempted to frame psychological schemes, vitiated their work for the most part by a false method, or invalidated the conclusions arrived at, in consequence of preconceptions which biassed the temper in which evidence was examined. Dr. W. L. Lindsay (“Mind in the Lower Animals in Health and Disease”) recognized the relationship between psychical manifestations wherever they took place, yet the influence, as in his case, of this, among many other hypotheses, was almost certain to make itself felt in the manner in which facts were regarded. On the other hand, Professor Prantl (“Reformgedanken zur Logik”) excogitated a metaphysical system for beasts from the standpoint of an assumption that the chasm which separated them from humanity was impassable. He admits their resemblance in essential nature. He agrees that the dissimilarities which they exhibit are results of a difference in evolutionary degree, and then his whole argument goes to show that this is not the case, and that brute mind and human intellect are radically distinct in structure and function. As this analysis of the intelligence in mankind and inferior beings was made without reference to facts, it is not surprising that they should be traversed by these in all directions, and that almost everything which the Professor asserts to be impossible, is well known to naturalists as a matter of actual occurrence.

Gato himself set at naught many of his conclusions. He may not have exhibited either love, gratitude, sense of duty, or that spirit of self-sacrifice which dogs frequently, and other animals sometimes, display, and there was no opportunity for judging of his social instincts; but he certainly possessed the “time sense” that Prantl attributes exclusively to man. His account of periods and seasons was as accurate as possible; he measured intervals and knew when they came to an end. Whether the ability to count beyond three existed, it was impossible to determine. The three copper balls he used to play with were exactly alike, and if one was missing, its absence never failed to be noticed at once. If it occurred to him that it had been taken away intentionally, he got angry or sulky, as the case might be. During one part of his wardship, the periodical absences of his only friend put him out greatly, because, so far as actions revealed the creature’s feelings, they interfered with his comfort. He became dangerous when grown, and occupied a room by himself, from which he was not removed while his guardian was gone. Under ordinary circumstances he was released for several hours every night, and when the time came, if there was any delay, he began to call upon his comrade to let him out, and grew fierce if not attended to. No one ever knew him to take any violent exercise in this apartment, but the gymnastic performances he went through outside were worth seeing. After being confined in solitude a couple of days, which was the length of time his friend generally remained absent, his eagerness to see him back became excessive, according to all reports. He was restless, savage, and sometimes refused to eat on the last evening. The servants said that long before they themselves heard the horse’s tread, it might be known from Gato that his liberator was coming. But he never welcomed him as a dog or horse will do. He was full of exuberant vitality, endowed with an intelligent interest in the strange things around him, which he studied with continued interest, and inspired with an inherited passion for liberty. This always showed itself first. No sooner was the door opened than he darted out, intoxicated with being free, and it was not until nervous tension had been relieved by violent muscular motion, that he bethought himself of other matters.

To sit and watch a man take himself to pieces was pleasing but puzzling. It was evident that boots were part of the body, because his nose told him so. How could they be taken off, and why had these feet their claws behind? A sword and pistol did not perplex his mind, apparently, as much as the foot gear and spurs. The rapier he admired, like all bright objects, but the firearm excited distrust as being, perhaps, capable of going off spontaneously. He knew about revolvers, but placed no confidence in them whatever. Having presided over the strange process of taking off one skin and putting on another, inspected the articles of clothing removed, and assured himself that those assumed had really become part of the incomprehensible being who did these things, he was ready for his own toilet, which was confined to a gentle brushing of the head. This was expected, however, and was suggested if it did not come soon enough. Then he was ready to go to dinner, a pleasing interlude during which his manners were marked with the greatest elegance and discretion. It was not appetite that moved Gato--he had gratified that before; it was the performance itself.

Forks, for instance, those queer talons that were picked up and laid down, excited his curiosity. He examined them, he ate from one with propriety, their glitter attracted him, but he did not understand the rationale of such devices, and their use never failed to fix his attention. Moreover, on occasions when the amenities of social intercourse were in order, he was peaceable enough; not affable by any means, for he never noticed the attendants or appeared to be conscious of their presence. Smoking afforded this observant creature much satisfaction. Smoke itself, if puffed in his face, displeased him, but the preliminaries, striking a match, and the wreaths that floated away and vanished, all this he liked and pondered upon, as he did on certain pictures hung around, and everything that for reasons which can only be guessed at, excited wonder. Professor Prantl lays down the law that a beast cannot think logically; nevertheless, and apart from other facts which refute that decision, it was perfectly plain that Gato solved some problems implying this power. After a course of observations and experiments, it was discovered by him that shadows were not alive because they moved, and then these ceased to be pursued. Much study was requisite to arrive at a conclusion that the sunbeams reflected from a mirror were of the same inanimate nature. This was settled to his satisfaction only after great research. The creature saw this thing done time and again before convincing himself of the resemblance between those luminous shadows and the dark spectra which had formerly deceived him.