The Lion—Conflicts with Travellers on Mount Atlas—The Lion and the Hottentot—A Lion taken in—Narrow Escapes of Andersson and Dr. Livingstone—Lion-Hunting by the Arabs of the Atlas—By the Bushmen—The Asiatic Lion—The Lion and the Dog—The Tiger—The Javanese Jungle—The Peacock—Wide Northern Range of the Tiger—Tiger-Hunting in India—Miraculous Escape of an English Sportsman—Animals announcing the Tiger’s Presence—Turtle-Hunting of the Tiger on the Coasts of Java—The Panther and the Leopard—The Cheetah—The Jaguar—The Puma—The smaller American FelidÆ—The HyÆna—Fables told of these abject Animals—The Striped HyÆna—The Spotted HyÆna—The Brown HyÆna.

The majestic form, the noble bearing, the stately stride, the fine proportions, the piercing eye, and the dreadful roar of the Lion, striking terror into the heart of every other animal, all combine to mark him with the stamp of royalty. All nerve, all muscle, his enormous strength shows itself in the tremendous bound with which he rushes upon his prey, in the rapid motions of his tail, one stroke of which is able to fell the strongest man to the ground, and in the expressive wrinkling of his brow.

No wonder that, ever inclined to judge from outward appearances, and to attribute to external beauty analogous qualities of mind, man has endowed the lion with a nobility of character which he in reality does not possess. For modern travellers, who have had occasion to observe him in his native wilds, far from awarding him the praise of chivalrous generosity and noble daring, rather describe him as a mean-spirited robber, prowling about at night-time in order to surprise a weaker prey.

The lion is distinguished from all other members of the feline tribe by the uniform colour of his tawny skin, by the black tuft at the end of his tail, and particularly by the long and sometimes blackish mane, which he is able to bristle when under the influence of passion, and which contributes so much to the beauty of the male, while it is wanting in the lioness, who, as everyone knows, is very inferior in size and comeliness to her stately mate.

His chief food consists of the flesh of the larger herbivorous animals, very few of which he is unable to master. Concealed in the high rushes on the river’s bank, he lies in ambush for the timorous herd of antelopes which at nightfall approach the water to quench their thirst. Slowly and cautiously the children of the waste advance; they listen with ears erect, they strain their eyes to penetrate the thicket’s gloom, but nothing suspicious appears or moves along the bank. Long and deeply they quaff the delicious draught, when suddenly, with a giant spring, like lightning bursting from a cloud, the lion bounds upon the unsuspecting revellers, and the leader of the herd lies prostrate at his feet.

During the daytime the lion seldom attacks man, and sometimes even when meeting a traveller he is said to pass him by unnoticed; but when the shades of evening descend, his mood undergoes a change. After sunset it is dangerous to venture into the woody and wild regions of Mount Atlas, for there the lion lies in wait, and there one finds him stretched across the narrow path. It is then that dramatic scenes of absorbing interest not unfrequently take place. When, so say the Bedouins, a single man thus meeting with a lion is possessed of an undaunted heart, he advances towards the monster brandishing his sword or flourishing his rifle high in the air, and, taking good care not to strike or to shoot, contents himself with pouring forth a torrent of abuse:—‘Oh, thou mean-spirited thief! thou pitiful waylayer! thou son of one that never ventured to say no! think’st thou I fear thee? Knowest thou whose son I am? Arise, and let me pass!’ The lion waits till the man approaches quite near to him; then he retires, but soon stretches himself once more across the path; and thus by many a repeated trial puts the courage of the wanderer to the test. All the time the movements of the lion are attended with a dreadful noise, he breaks numberless branches with his tail, he roars, he growls; like the cat with the mouse, he plays with the object of his repeated and singular attacks, keeping him perpetually suspended between hope and fear. If the man engaged in this combat keeps up his courage,—if, as the Arabs express themselves, ‘he holds fast his soul,’ then the brute at last quits him and seeks some other prey. But if the lion perceives that he has to do with an opponent whose courage falters, whose voice trembles, who does not venture to utter a menace, then to terrify him still more he redoubles the described manoeuvres. He approaches his victim, pushes him from the path, then leaves him and approaches again, and enjoys the agony of the wretch, until at last he tears him to pieces.

The lion is said to have a particular liking for the flesh of the Hottentots, and it is surprising with what obstinacy he will follow one of these unfortunate savages. Thus Mr. Barrow relates the adventure of a Namaqua Hottentot, who, endeavouring to drive his master’s cattle into a pool of water enclosed between two ridges of rocks, espied a huge lion couching in the midst of the pool. Terrified at the unexpected sight of such a beast, that seemed to have his eyes fixed upon him, he instantly took to his heels. In doing this he had presence of mind enough to run through the herd, concluding that if the lion should pursue he would take up with the first beast that presented itself. In this, however, he was mistaken. The lion broke through the herd, making directly after the Hottentot, who, on turning round and perceiving that the monster had singled him out, breathless and half dead with fear, scrambled up one of the tree-aloes, in the trunk of which a few steps had luckily been cut out to come at some birds’ nests that the branches contained. At the same moment the lion made a spring at him, but missing his aim, fell upon the ground. In surly silence he walked round the tree, casting at times a dreadful look towards the poor Hottentot, who screened himself from his sight behind the branches. Having remained silent and motionless for a length of time, he at length ventured to peep, hoping that the lion had taken his departure, when to his great terror and astonishment, his eyes met those of the animal, which, as the poor fellow afterwards expressed himself, flashed fire at him. In short, the lion laid himself down at the foot of the tree, and did not remove from the place for twenty-four hours. At the end of this time, becoming parched with thirst, he went to a spring at some distance in order to drink. The Hottentot now, with trepidation, ventured to descend, and scampered off home as fast as his feet could carry him.

On account as well of the devastation which he causes among the herds as of the pleasure of the chase, the lion is pursued and killed in North and in South Africa wherever he appears: a state of war which, as may well be supposed, is not without danger for the aggressive party. Thus, Andersson once fired upon a black-maned lion, one of the largest he ever encountered in Africa. Roused to fury by the slight wound he had received, the brute rapidly wheeled, rushed upon him with a dreadful roar, and at the distance of a few paces, couched as if about to spring, having his head imbedded, so to say, between his fore paws. Drawing a large hunting-knife, and slipping it over the wrist of his right hand, Andersson dropped on one knee, and thus prepared, awaited the onset of the lion. It was an awful moment of suspense, and his situation was critical in the extreme. Still his presence of mind (a most indispensable quality in a South African hunter) never for a moment forsook him; indeed, he felt that nothing but the most perfect coolness and absolute self-command would be of any avail. He would now have become the assailant; but as, owing to the intervening bushes and clouds of dust raised by the lion’s lashing his tail against the ground, he was unable to see his head, while to aim at any other part would have been madness, he refrained from firing. Whilst intently watching every motion of the lion, the animal suddenly made a prodigious bound; but whether it was owing to his not perceiving his intended victim, who was partially concealed in the long grass, and instinctively threw his body on one side, or to his miscalculating the distance, he went clear over him, and alighted on the ground three or four paces beyond. Quick as thought Andersson now seized his advantage, and wheeling round on his knee, discharged his second barrel; and as the lion’s broadside was then towards him, lodged a ball in his shoulder, which it completely smashed. The infuriated animal now made a second and more determined rush; but owing to his disabled state was happily avoided, though only within a hair’s breadth, and giving up the contest, he retreated into a neighbouring wood, where his carcase was found a few days after.

Dr. Livingstone once had a still more narrow escape, for he was actually under the paws of a lion, whose fury he had roused by firing two bullets into him. ‘I was upon a little height; he caught my shoulder as he sprang, and we both came to the ground below together. Growling horribly close to my ear, he shook me as a terrier-dog does a rat. The shock produced a stupor, similar to that which seems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of the cat. It caused a sort of drowsiness in which there was no sense of pain nor feeling of terror, though quite conscious of all that was happening. It was like what patients partially under the influence of chloroform describe, who see all the operation, but feel not the knife. This singular condition was not the result of any mental process; the shake annihilated fear, and allowed no sense of horror in looking round at the beast. This peculiar state’ (a fine remark) ‘is probably produced in all animals killed by the carnivora; and if so, is a merciful provision by our benevolent Creator for lessening the pain of death. Turning round to relieve myself of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of my head, I saw his eyes directed to MebalwÉ, who was trying to shoot him at a distance of ten or fifteen yards. His gun, a flint one, missed fire in both barrels; the lion immediately left me, and attacking MebalwÉ, bit his thigh. Another man attempted to spear the lion while he was biting MebalwÉ. He left MebalwÉ, and caught this man by the shoulder, but at that moment the bullets he had received took effect and he fell down dead. The whole was the work of a few moments, and must have been his paroxysm of dying rage. A wound from this animal’s tooth resembles a gun-shot wound; it is generally followed by a great deal of sloughing and discharge, and pains are felt in the part periodically ever afterwards. I had on a tartan jacket on the occasion, and I believe that it wiped off all the virus from the teeth that pierced the flesh, for my two companions in this affray have both suffered from the peculiar pains, while I have escaped with only the inconvenience of a false joint in my limb. The man whose shoulder was wounded showed me his wound actually burst forth afresh on the same month of the following year. This curious point deserves the attention of inquirers.’

In the Atlas, the lion is hunted in various ways. When he prowls about the neighbourhood of a Bedouin encampment, his presence is announced by various signs: at night, his dreadful roar resounds; now an ox, now a foal is missing from the herd; at length even a member of the tribe disappears. Terror spreads among all the tents, the women tremble for their children, everywhere complaints are heard. The warriors decree the death of the obnoxious neighbour, and congregate on horse and on foot at the appointed hour and place. The thicket in which the lion conceals himself during the daytime has already been discovered, and the troop advances, the horsemen bringing up the rear. About fifty paces from the bush they halt, and draw up in three rows, the second ready to assist the first in case of need, the third an invincible reserve of excellent marksmen. Then commences a strange and animated scene. The first row abusing the lion, and at the same time sending a few balls into his covert to induce him to come out, utter loud exclamations of defiance: ‘Where is he who fancies himself so brave, and ventures not to show himself before men? Surely it is not the lion, but a cowardly thief, a son of Scheitan, on whom Allah’s curse may rest!’

At length, the roused lion breaks forth. A momentary silence ensues. The lion roars, rolls his flaming eyes, retreats a few paces, stretches himself upon the ground, rises, smashes the branches with his tail. The front row give fire, the lion springs forward, if untouched, and generally falls under the balls of the second row, which immediately advance towards him. This moment, so critical for the lion, whose fury is fully excited, does not end the combat till he is hit in the head or in the heart. Often his hide has been pierced by a dozen balls before the mortal wound is given, so that sometimes, in case of a prolonged contest, several of the hunters are either killed or wounded. The horsemen remain as passive spectators of the fray so long as the lion keeps upon hilly ground, but when driven into the plain, their part begins, and a new combat of a no less original and dramatic character commences; as every rider, according to his zeal or courage, spurs his horse upon the monster, fires upon him at a short distance, then rapidly wheels as soon as the shot is made, and reloads again, to prepare for a new onset. The lion, attacked on all sides, and covered with wounds, fronts everywhere the enemy, springs forward, retreats, returns, and only falls after a glorious resistance, which must necessarily end in his defeat and death, as he is no match for a troop of well-mounted Arabs. After he has spent his power on a few monstrous springs, even an ordinary horse easily overtakes him. One must have been the witness of such a fight to form an idea of its animation. Every rider utters loud imprecations, the white mantles that give so spectral an appearance to their dusky owners, fly in the air like ‘streamers long and gay,’ the carbines glisten, the shots resound, the lion roars; pursuit and flight alternate in rapid succession. Yet, in spite of the tumult, accidents are rare, and the horsemen have generally nothing to fear but a fall from their steed, which might bring them under the claws of their enemy, or, what is oftener the case, the ball of an incautious comrade.

The Arabs have noticed that the day after the lion has carried away a piece of cattle, he generally remains in a state of drowsy inactivity, incapable of moving from his lair. When the neighbourhood, which usually resounds with his evening roar, remains quiet, there is every reason to believe that the animal is gorged with his gluttonous repast. Then some huntsman, more courageous than his comrades, follows his trail into the thicket, levels his gun at the lethargic monster, and sends a ball into his head. Sometimes even, a hunter, relying on the deadly certainty of his aim, and desirous of acquiring fame by a display of chivalrous courage, rides forth alone into the thicket, on a moonlight night, challenges the lion with repeated shouts and imprecations, and lays him prostrate before he can make his fatal bound.

Dr. Livingstone informs us that the Bushmen likewise avail themselves of the torpidity consequent upon a full meal, to surprise the lion in his slumbers, and shoot him with their poisoned arrows.

In ancient times, the lion was an inhabitant of south-eastern Europe. Herodotus relates that troops of lions came down the Macedonian mountains, to seize upon the baggage camels of Xerxes’ army, and even in the time of Alexander the Great, the animal, though rare, was not yet completely extirpated.

In Asia also, where the lion is at present confined to Mesopotamia, the northern coast of the Persian Gulf, and the north-western part of Hindostan, he formerly roamed over far more extensive domains. The Asiatic lion differs from the African, by a more compressed form of body, a shorter mane, which sometimes is almost entirely wanting, and a much larger tuft of hair at the end of the tail.

Africa is the chief seat of the lion, the part of the world where he appears to perfection with all the attributes of his peculiar strength and beauty. There he is found in the wilds of the Atlas, as in the high mountain-lands of Abyssinia, from the Cape to Senegal, and from Mozambique to Congo, and probably more than one species of the royal animal, not yet accurately distinguished by the naturalist, roams over this vast expanse.

While the lion reigns in Africa, the Tiger is lord and master of the Indian jungles. A splendid animal—elegantly striped with black on a white and golden ground; graceful in every movement, but of a most sanguinary and cruel nature. The lengthened body resting on short legs, wants the proud bearing of the lion, while the naked head, the wildly rolling eye, the scarlet tongue constantly lolling from the jaws, and the whole expression of the tiger’s physiognomy, indicate an insatiable thirst for blood, a pitiless ferocity, which he wreaks indiscriminately on every living thing that comes within his grasp. In the bamboo jungle on the banks of pools and rivers, he waits for the approaching herd; there he seeks his prey, or rather multiplies his murders, for he often leaves the carcase of the axis or the nylghau still writhing in the agony of death, to throw himself upon new victims, whose bodies he rends with his claws, and then plunges his head into the gaping wound to absorb with deep and luxurious draughts the blood whose fountains he has just laid open.

Nothing can be more delightful than the aspect of a Javanese savannah, to which clumps of noble trees, planted by Nature’s hand, impart a park-like character; yet even during the daytime, the traveller rarely ventures to cross these beautiful wilds without being accompanied by a numerous retinue. The horses frequently stand still, trembling all over, when their road leads them along some denser patch of the jungle, rising like an island from the grassy plain, for their acute scent informs them that a tiger lies concealed in the thicket, but a few paces from their path.

It is a remarkable fact that the peacock and the tiger are so frequently seen together. The voice of the bird is seldom heard during the daytime, but as soon as the shades of evening begin to veil the landscape, his loud and disagreeable screams awaken the echoes, announcing, as the Javanese say, that the tiger is setting forth on his murderous excursions. Then the traveller carefully bolts the door of his hut, and the solitary Javanese retreats to his palisadoed dwelling, for the tyrant of the wilderness is abroad. At night his dreadful roar is heard, sometimes accompanied by the peacock’s discordant voice. Even in the villages, thinly scattered among the grass or alang-wilds of Java, there is no security against his attacks, in spite of the strong fences with which they are enclosed, and the watch-fires carefully kept burning between these and the huts.

India, South China, Sumatra, and Java are the chief seats of the tiger, who is unknown both in Ceylon and Borneo, while to the north he ranges as far as Mandschuria and the Upper Obi, and Jennisei (55°—56° N. lat.). A species of tiger identical with that of Bengal is common in the neighbourhood of Lake Aral, near Sussac (45° N. lat.), and Tennent mentions that he is found among the snows of Mount Ararat in Armenia. As Hindostan is separated from these northern tiger haunts by the great mountain chains of Kuen-Lun (35° N.), and of Mouztagh (42° N. lat.), each covered with perpetual snows, mere summer excursions are quite out of the question, and it is evident that the animal is able to live in a much more rigorous climate than is commonly imagined. Even in India the tiger is by no means confined to the sultry jungle, for we learn from Mr. Hodgson’s account of the mammalia of Nepaul, that in the Himalayas he is sometimes found at the very edge of perpetual snow.

Tiger-hunting is a chief pleasure of the Indian rajahs and zemindars, who, anxious that their favourite amusement may suffer no diminution, forbid anyone else to chase on their domains, however much their poor vassals may have to suffer in consequence. But the delight they take in tiger-shooting never leads these cautious Nimrods so far as to endanger their precious persons. On some trees of the jungle a scaffolding is prepared, at a ludicrous height, for his Highness, who, at the appointed hour, makes his appearance with all the pomp of a petty Asiatic despot. The beating now begins, and is executed by a troop of miserable peasants, who most unwillingly submit to this forced and unpaid labour, which is the more dangerous for them as they are dispersed on a long line, instead of forming a troop, the only way to secure them against the attacks of the tiger. Thus they advance with a dreadful noise of drums, horns, and pistol-firing, driving the wild beasts of the jungle towards the scaffolding of their lord and master. At first the tigers, startled from their slumbers, retreat before them, but generally on approaching the scaffolding they guess the danger that awaits them and turn with a formidable growl upon the drivers. Sometimes, however, they summon resolution to rush with a few tremendous bounds through the perilous pass, and their flight is but rarely impeded by the ill-aimed shots of the ambuscade. Nevertheless, great compliments are paid to the noble sportsman for his ability and courage, and nobody says a word about the poor low-born wretches that may have been killed or mutilated by the infuriated brutes.

Our English tiger-hunters generally proceed on a very different plan. Provided with very excellent double-barrelled rifles, and accompanied by a troop of well-armed, well-paid drivers, and a number of courageous dogs, they boldly enter the jungle to rouse the tiger from his lair. In front of the party generally marches the shikarree, or chief driver, who attentively reconnoitring the traces of the animal, points out the direction that is to be followed. On his right and left hand walk the English sportsmen, fully prepared for action, and behind them the most trustworthy of their followers, with loaded rifles ready for an exchange with those that have been discharged. Then follows the music, consisting of four or five tambourins, a great drum, cymbals, horns, a bell, and the repeated firing of pistols, and convoyed by men armed with swords and long halberds. A few slingsmen make up the rear, who are constantly throwing stones into the jungle over the heads of the foremost of the party, and even more effectually than the noise of the music drive the tiger from his lair. From time to time, one of the men climbs upon the summit of a tree, to observe the movements of the grass. The whole troop constantly forms a close body. The tiger in cold blood is never able to attack a company that announces itself in so turbulent a manner. If he ventures, it is only with half a heart; he hesitates, stops at a short distance, and gives the hunter time to salute him with a bullet.

The tiger is particularly fond of dense willow or bamboo bushes on swampy ground, as he there finds the cool shade he requires for his rest during the heat of the day, after his nocturnal excursions. It is then very difficult to detect him, but the other inhabitants of the jungle, particularly the peacock and the monkey, betray his presence. The scream of the former is an infallible sign that the tiger is rising from his lair; and the monkeys, who during the night are frequently surprised by the panther or the boa, never allow their watchfulness to be at fault during the day. They are never deceived in the animal which slinks into the thicket. If it is a deer or a wild boar, they remain perfectly quiet, but if it is a tiger or a panther, they utter a cry designed to warn their comrades of the approach of danger. When, on examining a jungle, the traveller sees a monkey quietly seated on the branches, he may be perfectly sure that no dangerous animal is lurking in the thicket.

During the night the cry of the jackal frequently announces the tiger’s presence. When one of these vile animals is no longer able to hunt from age, or when he has been expelled from his troop, he is said to become the provider of the tiger, who, after having satiated himself on the spoil, leaves the remains to his famished scout.

The tiger, who on the declivities of the Himalayas tears to pieces the swift-footed antelope, lacerates on the desert sand coasts of Java the tardy tortoise, when at nightfall it leaves the sea to lay its eggs in the drift-sand at the foot of the dunes. ‘Hundreds of tortoise skeletons lie scattered about the strand, many of them five feet long and three feet broad; some bleached by time, others still fresh and bleeding. High in the air a number of birds of prey wheel about, scared by the traveller’s approach. Here is the place where the turtles are attacked by the wild dogs. In packs of from twenty to fifty, the growling rabble assail the poor sea animal at every accessible point, gnaw and tug at the feet and at the head, and succeed by united efforts in turning the huge creature upon its back. Then the abdominal scales are torn off, and the ravenous dogs hold a bloody meal on the flesh, intestines, and eggs of their defenceless prey. Sometimes, however, the turtle escapes their rage, and dragging its lacerating tormentors along with it, succeeds in regaining the friendly sea. Nor do the dogs always enjoy an undisturbed repast; often during the night, the “lord of the wilderness,” the royal tiger, bursts out of the forest, pauses for a moment, casts a glance over the strand, approaches slowly, and then with one bound, accompanied by a terrific roar, springs among the dogs, scattering the howling band like chaff before the wind. And now it is the tiger’s turn to feast; but even he, though rarely, is sometimes disturbed by man. Thus on this lonely, melancholy coast, wild dogs and tigers wage an unequal war with the inhabitants of the ocean.’39

After the tiger and the lion, the Panther and the Leopard are the mightiest felidÆ of the Old World. Although differently spotted, the ocelli or rounded marks on the panther being larger and more distinctly formed, they are probably only varieties of one and the same species, as many intermediate individuals have been observed.

Both animals are widely diffused through the tropical regions of the Old World, being natives of Africa, Persia, China, India, and many of the Indian islands; so that they have a much more extensive range than either the tiger or the lion. The manner in which they seize their prey, lurking near the sides of woods, and darting forward with a sudden spring, resembles that of the tiger; and the chase of the panther is said to be more dangerous than that of the lion, as it easily climbs the trees and pursues its enemy upon the branches.

The Cheetah, or hunting leopard (Gueparda jubata, guttata), which inhabits the greater part both of Asia and Africa, exhibits in its form and habits a mixture of the feline and canine tribes. Resembling the panther by its spotted skin, it is more elevated on its legs and less flattened on the fore part of its head. Its brain is more ample, and its claws touch the ground while walking, like those of the dog, which it resembles still further by its mild and docile nature. In India and Persia, where the Cheetahs are employed in the chase, they are carried, chained and hoodwinked, to the field in low cars. When the hunters come within view of a herd of antelopes, the Cheetah is liberated, and the game is pointed out to him: he does not, however, immediately dash forward in pursuit, but steals along cautiously till he has nearly approached the herd unseen, when, with a few rapid and vigorous bounds, he darts on the timid game and strangles it almost instantaneously. Should he, however, fail in his first efforts and miss his prey, he attempts no pursuit, but returns to the call of his master, evidently disappointed, and generally almost breathless.

The same radical differences which draw so wide a line of demarcation between the monkeys of the Old and the New World are found also to distinguish the feline races of both hemispheres, so that it would be as vain to search in the American forests and savannahs for the Numidian lion, or the striped tiger, as on the banks of the Ganges or the Senegal for the tawny puma, or the spotted jaguar. While in the African plains the swift-footed springbok falls under the impetuous bound of the panther—or while the tiger and the buffalo engage in mortal combat in the Indian jungle—the bloodthirsty Jaguar, concealed in the high grass of the American llanos, lies in wait for the wild horse or the passing steer.

The arrival of the Spaniards in the New World, so destructive to most of the Indian tribes with whom they came into contact, was beneficial at least to the large felidÆ of tropical America, for they first introduced the horse and the ox into the western hemisphere, where these useful animals, finding a new and congenial home in the boundless savannahs and pampas which extend almost uninterruptedly from the Apure to Patagonia, have multiplied to an incredible extent. Since then the jaguar no longer considers the deer of the woods, the graceful agouti, or the slow capybara as his chief prey, but rejoices in the blood of the steed or ox, and is much more commonly met with in the herd-teeming savannahs than in the comparatively meagre hunting-grounds of the forest.

Of all the carnivora of the New World, perhaps with the sole exception of the grisly and the polar bears, the tyrants of the North American solitudes, the Jaguar is the most formidable, resembling the panther by his spotted skin, but almost equalling the Bengal tiger in size and power. He roams about at all times of the day, swims over broad rivers, and even in the water proves a most dangerous foe, for when driven to extremities he frequently turns against the boat, and forces his assailants to seek their safety by jumping overboard. Many an Indian, while wandering through thinly populated districts, where swampy thickets alternate with open grass plains, has been torn to pieces by the jaguar, and in many a lonely plantation the inhabitants hardly venture to leave their enclosures after sunset, for fear of his attacks. During Tschudi’s sojourn in Northern Peru, a jaguar penetrated into the hut of an Englishman who had settled in those parts, and dragging a boy of ten years out of his hammock, tore him to pieces and devoured him. Far from being afraid of man, this ferocious animal springs upon him when alone, and when pressed by hunger will even venture during the daytime into the mountain villages to seek its prey.

The chase of the jaguar requires great caution, yet keen sportsmen will venture, single-handed, to seek the jaguar in his lair, armed with a blow-pipe and poisoned arrows, or merely with a long and powerful lance. The praise which is due to the bold adventurers for their courage is, however, too often tarnished by their cruelty. Thus, a famous jaguar-hunter once showed PÖppig a large cavity under the tangled roots of a giant bombax-tree, where he had some time back discovered a female jaguar with her young. Dexterously rolling down a large stone, he closed the entrance, and then with fiendish delight slowly smoked the animals to death, by applying fire from time to time to their dungeon. Having lost one-half of his scalp in a previous conflict with a jaguar, he pleaded his sufferings as an excuse for his barbarity.

To attack these creatures with a lance, a sure arm, a cool determined courage, and great bodily strength and dexterity are required; but even these qualities do not always ensure success if the hunter is unacquainted with the artifices of the animal. The jaguar generally waits for the attack in a sitting posture, turning one side towards the assailant, and, as if unconcerned, moves his long tail to and fro. The hunter, carefully observing the eye of his adversary, repeatedly menaces him with slight thrusts of his lance, which a gentle stroke of the paw playfully wards off; then seizing a favourable moment, he suddenly steps forward and plunges his weapon into his side. If the thrust be well aimed, a second is not necessary, for pressing with his full weight on the lance, the huntsman enlarges and deepens the mortal wound. But if the stroke is parried or glances off, the jaguar, roused to fury, bounds on his aggressor, and fells him to the ground with a stroke of his paw. Having his enemy now fully in his power, the jaguar looks at him quietly for a few moments as if enjoying his pangs, like a cat playing with a mouse, and this short delay has not seldom enabled the companion of the unfortunate hunter to save his life by a timely shot.

All those that have escaped from one of these death-struggles affirm that the breath of the enraged animal is of a suffocating heat, with a smell like that of burning capsicum, and that its pestilential contact produces an inflammation of the throat, which lasts for several days. Those who are less inclined to desperate conflicts destroy the jaguar by poisoned pieces of meat, or else they lay pitfalls for him, when they kill him without running any personal risk. Like the cayman, the jaguar, after having once tasted the flesh of man, is said to prefer it to anything else. During his first solitary journeys through the American wilds, the traveller’s sensations, on meeting with the fresh footmarks of the monster, are like those of Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the vestiges of the savage on the beach of his lonely island; but as the animal itself very rarely crosses the wanderer’s path, he at length becomes completely indifferent, and roams about the wilderness as unconcernedly as if no beasts of prey existed under the forest shade, or among the high grasses of the savannah. During his long residence in Yuarmangua, PÖppig met but one jaguar, who, not deeming it advisable to engage in hostilities, slowly retreated into the woods.

In the Brazilian campos great devastations are caused among the herds by the jaguar, who has strength enough to drag an ox to some distance. He frequently kills several bullocks in one night, and sucks their blood, leaving their flesh for a future repast. When, after having satiated himself, he retires to a neighbouring thicket, the vaqueros or herdsmen follow his bloody trail with their hounds; and as soon as the jaguar sees the pack approach, he seeks to climb the inclined trunk of a tree, and is then shot down from his insecure station. But the chase does not always terminate without accident or loss of life, as very strong jaguars will face the dogs, kill several of them, and frequently carry them away and devour them.

While Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied was travelling through the campos, he heard of the heroic conflict of three vaqueros with a monstrous jaguar that had never been known to retreat. One day, while following their herds through the woods, their dogs discovered the fresh foot-prints of the beast, and following the scent, soon brought it to a stand. Armed merely with their long lance-like varas, the bold men did not long deliberate, but resolutely advanced towards the jaguar, who stood confronting the dogs, and immediately bounding upon his new antagonists, wounded them one after the other, though not without receiving repeated thrusts of their lances and knives. The least determined of the three, appalled by his wounds, at first retreated, but seeing the boldest of his companions lying prostrate under the paws of the monster, his courage revived, and the attack being vigorously renewed, the jaguar was at length killed. The bleeding and exhausted heroes were hardly able to crawl home in the evening. They pointed out the spot where they had fought, and where the jaguar was found swimming in his blood, surrounded by the dogs which he had torn to pieces. It is a general belief among the Indians and the white inhabitants of Bengal that the jaguar has the power of fascination. Many accounts are given to prove this; among others, a person informed Mr. Wallace that he had seen a jaguar standing at the foot of a high tree looking up into it. On the top was a howling monkey looking down at the jaguar, and jumping about from side to side, crying piteously. The jaguar stood still, the monkey continued descending lower and lower on the branches, still uttering its cries, till at length it fell down at the very feet of the jaguar, who seized and devoured it.

There is a black variety of the jaguar, on whose dark skin the ring-formed spots are still visible, and which is said to surpass the common species in size and ferocity.

The Couguar, or the Puma, as he is called by the Indians, is far inferior to the jaguar in courage, and consequently far less dangerous to man. On account of his brownish-red colour and great size, being the largest felis of the new world, he has also been named the American lion, but he has neither the mane nor the noble bearing of the ‘king of animals.’ In spite of his strength he is of so cowardly a disposition that he invariably takes to flight at the approach of man, and consequently inspires no fear on being met with in the wilderness; while even the boldest hunter instinctively starts back when, winding through the forest, he suddenly sees the sparkling eye of the jaguar intently fixed upon him.

The puma has a much wider range than the jaguar, for while the latter reaches in South America only to the forty-fifth degree of latitude, and does not rove northwards beyond Sonora and New Mexico, the former roams from the Straits of Magellan to the Canadian lakes. The jaguar seldom ascends the mountains to a greater height than 3,000 feet, while in the warmer lateral valleys of the Andes the puma frequently lies in ambush for the vicuÑas at an elevation of 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. He can climb trees with great facility, ascending even vertical trunks, and, like the lynx, will watch the opportunity of springing on such animals as happen to pass beneath. No less cruel than cowardly, he will destroy without necessity forty or fifty sheep when the occasion offers, and content himself with licking the blood of his victims. When caught young, he is easily tamed, and, like the common cat, shows his fondness at being caressed by the same kind of gentle purrings. Tschudi informs us that the Indians of the northern provinces frequently bring pumas to Lima, to show them for money. They either lead them by a rope, or carry them in a sack upon their back, until the sight-seers have assembled in sufficient number.

Besides the puma or the jaguar, tropical America possesses the beautifully variegated Ocelot (Felis pardalis); the Oscollo (F. celidogaster); the spotless, black-grey Jaguarundi (F. jaguarundi), which is not much larger than the European wild cat; the long-tailed, striped, and spotted Margay or Tiger-cat, and several other felidÆ. All these smaller species hardly ever become dangerous to man, but they cause the death of many an agouti and cavy; and, with prodigious leaps, the affrighted monkey flies from their approach into the deepest recesses of the forest.

While the sanguinary felidÆ may justly be called the eagles, the carrion-feeding HyÆnas are the vultures, among the four-footed animals. Averse to the light of day, like the owl and the bat, they conceal themselves in dark caverns, ruins, or burrows, as long as the sun stands above the horizon, but at nightfall they come forth from their gloomy retreats with a lamentable howl or a satanic laugh, to seek their disgusting food on the fields, in churchyards, or on the borders of the sea. From the prodigious strength of their jaws and their teeth, they are not only able to masticate tendons, but to crush cartilages and bones; so that carcases almost entirely deprived of flesh still provide them with a plentiful banquet.

Though their nocturnal habits and savage aspect have rendered them an object of hatred and disgust to man, they seem destined to fill up an important station in the economy of Nature, by cleansing the earth of the remains of dead animals, which might otherwise infect the atmosphere with pestilential effluvia.

Among other fabulous qualities, a courage has been attributed to the hyÆna which is completely alien to his base and grovelling nature. Far from venturing to attack the panther, or putting even the lion to flight, as KÄmpfer pretended to have seen, he is in reality a most pusillanimous creature, and cautiously avoids a contest with animals much weaker than himself. Although his jaws are strong, he has not the sharp retractile claws of the felidÆ, nor their formidable spring, his hind legs being comparatively feeble, and thus he can hardly become dangerous to the herds, though Bruce assures us that the hyÆnas destroyed many of his mules and asses.

In Barbary, the Arabs pursue the hyÆnas on horseback, and run them down with their greyhounds, never thinking of wasting their powder on so abject a game. They are held in such contempt that huntsmen will fearlessly penetrate into the caverns where they are known to sojourn, first carefully stopping the opening with their burnous, to keep out the light of day. They then advance towards the snarling brute, address it in menacing language, seize and gag it, without its venturing upon the least resistance, and cudgel the animal out of the den. The rough and ugly hide of the hyÆna is but of little value, and in many tents its sight is not even tolerated, as if so unworthy a spoil could only bring misfortune to its owner.

The intractability of the hyÆna is as fabulous as his courage or his cruelty. On the contrary, he is very easily tamed, and may be rendered as docile as the dog himself.

The striped hyÆna is a native of Asiatic Turkey, Syria, and North Africa as far as the Senegal, while the spotted hyÆna ranges over South Africa, from the Cape to Abyssinia. Both species attain the size of the wolf, and have similar habits. As the shark follows the ship, or the crow the caravan, they are said to hover about the march of armies, as if taught by instinct that they have to expect the richest feast from the insanity of man.

The moonlight falling on the dark cypresses and snow-white tombs of the Oriental churchyards not seldom shines upon hungry hyÆnas busily employed in tearing the newly-buried corpses from their graves.

A remarkable peculiarity of the spotted hyÆna is that when he first begins to run he appears lame, so that one might almost fancy one of his legs was broken; but after a time this halting disappears, and he proceeds on his course very swiftly.

‘One night, in Maitsha,’ says Bruce, ‘being very intent on observation, I heard something pass behind me towards the bed, but upon looking round could perceive nothing. Having finished what I was then about, I went out of my tent, intending directly to return, which I immediately did, when I perceived large blue eyes glaring at me in the dark. I called upon my servant for a light, and there was a hyÆna standing nigh the head of the bed, with two or three large bunches of candles in his mouth. To have fired at him, I was in danger of breaking my quadrant or other furniture; and he seemed, by keeping the candles steadily in his mouth, to wish for no other prey at that time. As his mouth was full, and he had no claws to tear with, I was not afraid of him, but with a pike struck him as near the heart as I could judge. It was not till then he showed any sign of fierceness, but upon feeling his wound he let drop the candles and endeavoured to run up the shaft of the spear to arrive at me, so that in self-defence I was obliged to draw a pistol from my girdle and shoot him, and nearly at the same time my servant cleft his skull with a battle-axe.’

The brown hyÆna, which is found in South Africa, from the Cape to Mozambique and Senegambia, and has a more shaggy fur than the preceding species, has very different habits. He is particularly fond of the crustacea which the ebbing flood leaves behind upon the beach, or which the storm casts ashore in great quantities, and exclusively inhabits the coasts, where he is known under the name of the sea-shore wolf. His traces are everywhere to be met with on the strand, and night after night he prowls along the margin of the water, carefully examining the refuse of the retreating ocean.