The red book of animal stories/Pumas and Jaguars in South America
PUMAS AND JAGUARS IN SOUTH AMERICA
No one can have read Captain Mayne Reid’s stories about America without being struck by the part played in them by an animal called the ‘painter,’ which is of a tawny colour, with a black stripe down its back. Now the ‘painter’ is really the panther, and the panther is the creature that we call the puma, which, next to the jaguar, is the biggest of all the American cats, and has a wider range than any other mammal. The puma is to be met with in British Columbia, or in the Adirondack mountains not far from New York State; it is to be seen in the hot unhealthy swamps that lie along the northern shores of the Gulf of Mexico; it lies in wait for its prey in the river forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco; it tracks the wild and cunning huanaco ten thousand feet high on the Andes, and it is the dreaded enemy of colts and sheep on the cattle runs of the Argentine Republic. With wonderful skill it makes the best of circumstances; if horses, its favourite food, are not to be had, it puts up with ostriches; if it happens to live in Mexico, or Arizona, it makes its dinner off wild turkeys; further north still, the puma will be content with porcupines or even snails, while if its chosen haunts along the river banks of the Amazon or the Orinoco are overwhelmed by a sudden inundation, it takes to the trees and feasts upon monkeys.
As sometimes occurs in families, the puma has a particular hatred for its cousin the jaguar, and seldom indeed does it fail to get the better in any light. It also has a violent dislike to dogs, and in South America can never see one without flying out to attack it, while the grizzly bear is its deadly foe. But, on the other hand, in the great continent of South America it shows its best qualities. It loves man, and even when attacked by him will not defend itself, while in puma-haunted districts children may even sleep all night alone, without fear of harm. And not only children, for travellers tell us a puma has never been known to attack a sleeping man.
It is a great pity that pumas are so fond of killing tame and useful beasts, as they have many delightful qualities as pets. Pumas are very playful, and very affectionate and gentle to people and children; but they are rapidly being hunted down, as farmers find it quite impossible to keep any cattle in their neighbourhood. Between their courage and their wonderful powers of jumping, no animals are safe from them. Some witnesses have declared that pumas have been seen, when pursued by dogs, to spring a clear twenty feet into the air for shelter in a tree, while another leap of forty feet was measured on the ground. In Patagonia, a farmer who had suffered much from a puma’s appetite shut all his sheep into a huge fold, surrounded by a wooden paling fifteen feet high. The only entrance was by a six-foot gate, and, to make all secure, men and dogs were told off to watch. But the puma was too clever for them all! He seized his chance when any clouds came up to make the darkness thicker, and every morning one sheep at least was found with a dislocated neck, and its breast eaten, for this is the way a puma always kills its prey, and, except when very hungry, it never eats the whole carcass. One night, the naturalist[1] who tells the story was passing by the gate, when the robber sprang right over his head, but it was too dark to give chase, so the puma got away safely. Afterwards, it was found that it had been in the habit of hiding till dark in the pen with some calves, which it never tried to touch, as it knew it was sure of the sheep.
In many places in Patagonia, where horses are bred, farmers have been obliged to turn their attention to something else, as the colts invariably fall victims to the pumas. They will he patiently in wait for them to pass, and, never caring for the man, or men, who may be bringing the drove back from pasture, will spring out from behind a bush right on the back of the colt, place one paw on its head, and the other on its bosom, and bring the head back with a jerk. Then, before the driver has had time to come up, the puma is deep in the bushes again.
There is nothing mean about a puma; it is all the same to this great big cat whether the beast it is hunting is large or small, fierce or tame. It will trot, or rather bound, after a peccary, a jaguar, or a grizzly bear, quite as cheerfully as if it were stalking a colt or a sheep. Only one animal has been known to get the better of a puma, and that is the last you would ever expect—a donkey. It is the fable of the hare and the tortoise over again. The puma may jump on his back as much as it likes, the donkey puts down his head, so that the puma cannot seize his neck, and kicks so hard that the puma is at last shaken off; or if that does not do, the donkey takes to bucking, and anybody who has ridden much knows very well what the end of bucking is likely to be.
But when pumas can be kept away from all other beasts, and be seen only with man, or with each other, what charming and graceful creatures they show themselves! Fancy watching pumas chasing butterflies for the pure fun of it; or playing with their babies as if they were so many kittens, rolling them over and stretching out their tails for the little ones to catch, or having a game of hide and seek behind the rocks and bushes. It seems almost absurd to think that a puma could ever want to hurt any living thing—and if you had not seen a cat’s eyes when it looks at a bird, you might say the same about him!
But many are the stories told in South America of the attachment of the puma to man, and the kindness it has shown him. One day, a band of men went out to hunt, and scattered in search of game all over the plains or pampas. In the evening, when they all assembled to ride home, one of the number was missing; but on reaching the farm, his horse was found quietly standing outside his stable. It was too late and dark to do anything that night, but at dawn next morning the rest set forth, and after some hours they found their missing comrade, lying on some ground, with his legs broken. The poor man had spent a terrible night, for the voices of jaguars were often heard in the distance, and most likely would have come a good deal closer, had it not been for a puma, who had never ceased walking about as if to guard him. When the jaguar’s voice became louder than usual, the puma crawled silently and noiselessly away, and sounds of battle came through the darkness. No more was known of that jaguar.
There is an old legend which is to be found in every history of the Spanish settlers in South America, that seems almost like one of the stories of the early martyrs. In the year 1536, says Ruy Diaz de Guzman, the Spanish settlers in the town of Buenos Ayres were closely besieged by Indians, and, after suffering frightful hardships from hunger and thirst and sickness, eighteen hundred of the unfortunate people died, and were buried, by the six hundred that were left, just outside the wooden palisade that defended them from their enemies. The graves were dug hardly below the surface of the ground, for the diggers looked up with fear between the turning of every sod to see if the Indians were approaching, and the smell of the dead bodies soon attracted swarms of wild beasts from the country round, so that on every side the Spaniards were beset with dangers.
At last, most of the few who were left declared they could bear this state of things no longer. It was a choice of evils, and they made up their minds that they would prefer to fall into the power of beasts rather than of men. So, when the darkness had fallen, a little company crept out from the palisade, and stole away to the woods.
How they fared we are not told; but one girl, called Maldonada, after wandering about till dawn, fell in with some Indians, who carried her off to their village in the heart of the forest, and treated her with great kindness.
Some months later, Ruiz, the deputy-governor of Buenos Ayres, heard where she was, and—being by this time free from his enemies—sent to the friendly tribe to beg of them to give Maldonada up to him. When the poor girl was brought back to the city she found that it was only to be accused as a traitor to her own people, and to be condemned to be fastened to a tree in the forest, so that savage beasts might devour her.
So Maldonada, who had passed unhurt amidst the hungry animals, whose midnight wars she had heard when flying from the besieged city, was now to be delivered over to a fate from which no escape was possible. How a girl living quietly in an Indian village could have betrayed her people, Senor Ruiz did not say, and it is not clear why he was so anxious for her destruction; but sentence was given, and the soldiers called in. They led Maldonada three miles into the heart of the forest, and there tying her tight to a tree, according to their orders, left her to her death.
For two nights and a day no one troubled their heads about her; either she had no friends, or they were poor people who were powerless against the governor; but on the third day, soldiers were again sent out, to collect her bones. To their immense surprise, they found Maldonada quite unhurt, but very hungry, and awaiting, as bravely as she could, the death that could not be far off, whether it came to her by starvation, or by the jaws of wild beasts. During the terrible hours she had spent there savage
MALDONADA GUARDED BY THE PUMA
creatures of all sorts had tried to get at her, but had been driven off by a puma, which had stood by her side, and defended her from every enemy, and, according to one writer, dead and dying jaguars were scattered round.
When the soldiers came up, the puma retreated to a little distance, fearing two or three men more than any number of wild beasts. But when, moved to pity by Maldonada’s wonderful deliverance, they unbound the ropes that fastened her, the puma drew near again, and jumped about her, and rubbed its head on her shoulder, and showed how pleased it felt that all its battles had not been fought in vain. ‘And in this way,’ ends up the old chronicler, ‘she who had been offered up to wild beasts became free. I knew her well, and think that, instead of being named “Unlucky,” she should rather have been called “Lucky,” and the things that happened to her show plainly that the punishment meted out to her had in no manner been deserved.’
A jaguar is a very near relation to a puma, though they are deadly foes; and it is the biggest of all the cat tribe throughout the continent of America, measuring over six feet from nose to tail. Its skin is yellow, spotted with black, and, like the puma, it is a very clever climber, and can manage quite well to dine off the monkeys that live up on the trees, if the solid ground is flooded. It is, perhaps, the fiercest of all the wild animals of South America, and it is certainly one of the noisiest. The puma goes silently about its business, but the jaguar is always shrieking and screaming, so its prey has plenty of warning, and can often get safe out of the way.
The jaguar is found all through America, from Texas to Patagonia—an immense tract of country, that of course contains a great many different climates, to which it has to adapt its food and habits. In the forests which border the Amazon, and some of the huge rivers of Brazil, they make their lairs along the banks, or in the reedy shores of the lakes. Here they feast—for a change, or when nothing else is to he had—on fish, eggs, and even turtles, which they scoop neatly out of their shells with a paw. Sometimes they inhabit the islands scattered about the great streams; but when the rivers suddenly rise, and their homes are flooded, and no food is to be had, they swim on shore in search of it, and it is at these times the jaguar becomes unusually dangerous, for, as a rule, it never attacks man first. On one occasion, a half-starved jaguar hid itself in a church at Santa Fé, and as the priest entered to celebrate mass, it sprang out and gnawed the poor man, till there was hardly a scrap of him left to tell the tale. Then the murderer stole stealthily back to its hiding-place, with its appetite still keen, waiting till the second priest should come in and fall a victim, exactly as the first had done. And even two priests would not have made a meal for this hungry creature, but that fortunately the third priest, whose ears were quick, heard the sound of crunching through the open door, and stopped outside in time.
He rushed back and collected some men, but no one could be found rash or daring enough to advance into the church in order to shoot the monster. It was found that the only safe way to get at it was to go up on the roof of the church, and to lift off a part, so as to take aim from a safe distance.
When goaded by hunger, jaguars will eat tame cattle and horses; but they much prefer wild game, which they kill in the same way as the puma, by dislocating the neck. If they are disturbed during a meal they will hardly ever return to the half-eaten body, but begin a fresh hunt—and in the level pampas of Argentina and Patagonia, game is very plentiful and easily seen. In the southern parts of Brazil man-eating jaguars are not at all uncommon, and one will be heard (or seen) tracking a party during a whole day, stopping when they stop, and moving when they move.
THE JAGUAR BESIEGED BY PECCARIES
In his ‘Pioneering in South Brazil,’ Mr. Bigg-Wither tells a curious story of a tight between a jaguar and a herd of wild pigs, witnessed by some friends of his who were exploring the country. One evening the two men had come in very tired after a long day’s work, during which they had eaten nothing but fruit and honey, and set up their camp in a belt of forest between two rivers. They were sitting round their fire feeling very hungry and longing for a good meal, when suddenly a great noise of grunting and squeaking close by betrayed the presence of pigs, and the men seized their guns and pricked up their ears, thinking that here at last was their chance of a dinner.
Going cautiously in the direction of the sound, they came upon a clearing. In the midst of the clearing was an anthill, about rive feet high, and on the top of the anthill stood a large jaguar. Bound the foot of the anthill were a herd of fifty or sixty wild pigs, grunting, squeaking, and bustling noisily about, but not knowing how to get at the jaguar, who stood balancing himself uneasily on the crest of the anthill, with his four feet well together, and his tail high in the air, out of harm’s way.
But it was plain to the two men who were watching that this state of things could not last long, and, indeed, very soon, either from forgetfulness or from laziness, the jaguar allowed his tail to drop a little. In an instant it was seized by a smart young pig, and the jaguar dragged right down among his enemies, who closed in a dense mass round him. In spite of the immense odds against him, the animal fought well and pluckily. Two or three times he actually struggled to his feet, and struck out fiercely with his paws; but the battle was against him, and little by little the noise began to cease.
Then the pigs slowly dispersed, and sauntered off by ones and twos and threes, some in this direction and some in that. When they were all out of sight the men came out from behind their tree, and walked quickly to the battlefield, where fourteen pigs lay dead or dying, but nothing was to be seen of the jaguar. Where could he be? was the question they asked each other, and the riddle was only guessed when one of the men, who was a Portuguese, picked up a bit of his skin. Whether he had been torn and eaten on the spot, or whether he had been carried off piecemeal to be enjoyed at home, was never known. Anyhow the men took one of the dead pigs back to the camp, and cooked it for supper.
Belt, the Naturalist, when travelling in Nicaragua, had some interesting encounters with jaguars, which might have ended badly for him. One day he had gone in search of some small birds that feed on foraging ants, and hearing their notes, he tied his mule to a tree, and went in search of them, as he was very anxious to obtain a specimen. He had only with him a gun loaded with very small shot, and holding this he pushed through the bushes to the thicket from which the birds’ song came.
But birds are restless creatures, and these must have fluttered from tree to tree, so that Belt had wandered a good way from the path, and had reached a space where the brushwood was thin, and the trees large and tall, when he heard a sound between a cough and a growl from the bushes on his left. He thought it was a tapir, and ran quickly towards it, as he knew that, with such small shot, he would have to be very close before he fired. Then, just in front of him, the bushes swayed, and out came a huge jaguar, lashing its tail and roaring with anger.
It was not easy to tell what had excited it so, for it had not seen Belt, and there was no animal in sight; but it crossed the clearing twenty yards in front of Belt and dashed on. The Naturalist was quite unarmed, except for his one little gun, and knelt down to steady his aim, in case he might have to fire at close quarters. The slight rustling attracted the attention of the jaguar, who paused for a moment, and then turned round. It lowered its head and stretched itself out, and Belt made ready to receive its spring, but the jaguar altered its mind at the last, and bounded off into the forest. It was much the best thing for everybody; but Belt never ceased being sorry that he had not fired, although, if he had, he would most likely never have come home to tell the tale.
In this part of the world, too, jaguars have a peculiar way of killing their prey, which certainly spares the victim any pangs of terror. A jaguar will sit quietly on a tree till a herd of wild pigs come by, and then, choosing out a nice fat one, drops straight on its back as it passes underneath, dislocates its neck with a jerk of its paw, and is up the tree again before the rest of the herd know what has happened. When they have disappeared, leaving their dead comrade behind them, the jaguar jumps down and eats him for dinner.
- ↑ Hudson.