CHAPTER XIXJAGUARS AND PECCARIES—A FOREST DRAMA—STRENGTH IN NUMBERS—RETALIATION.
JAGUARS AND PECCARIES—A FOREST DRAMA—STRENGTH IN NUMBERS—RETALIATION.
The little peccary that we have been speaking about is the wild boar of America—especially of South America—and though it is tiny compared to the Indian wild boar, and sometimes gets into trouble, as we have seen, yet it is a fierce and dangerous animal, and, generally, knows how to take care of itself. Its principal enemy is the jaguar, the largest, and, perhaps, the most destructive, of the cat tribe, after the lion and tiger of the Old World; feared by every animal that scours the plains, or glides through, or sports amongst, the trees of the great forests, in which it is equally at home with the monkeys; feared, too, by man himself. Except the puma and the great grizzly bear of the north, all living things whose size makes them worthy its attention stand in dread of this ferocious and destructive beast. That is why I have made the peccary swear by the jaguars, instead of by the gods, as people used to once, in the days of old; for what would a pig be likely to know about the gods? No more than the ancient Greeks did. He might swear by the alligators, though, sometimes, but not so often, as, on the whole, wild pigsin America suffer more through jaguars than alligators; so they would think them the strongest, and respect them accordingly.
I have said that the peccaries, though small animals—they are not more than about three feet long—are both fierce and dangerous. They are dangerous because they go in herds, and when any animal—such as a puma or a jaguar—threatens them, they form in a semicircle with all their heads turned outwards towards their foe, making an unbroken row of little sharp, curved tusks for him to leap upon, if he is so rash as to attack them. In that case he would, probably, never come from their midst again. They would surround him, squealing with rage, and though several of their number would, no doubt, fall victims to his teeth and claws, the rest—as many as could get near him—would soon have ripped him to pieces with their tusks. This need not be wondered at, since in India one wild boar alone is sometimes a match for the mighty tiger, and the two have been found lying dead together, the tiger almost disembowelled with the terrible slashing cuts delivered by the boar, and the latter with his back or neck broken. True, the Indian wild boar is himself a mighty beast, standing sometimes four feet high or more at the shoulder, and with tusks very much longer, even in proportion to his size, than are those of the peccary. Still, a herd of peccaries is worse than the largest single boar that ever stood, and all their tusks together are more effective still.
Besieged.The peccaries drove the large jaguar in terror up into the tree trunk.
Besieged.The peccaries drove the large jaguar in terror up into the tree trunk.
Besieged.
The peccaries drove the large jaguar in terror up into the tree trunk.
Occasionally, therefore, even the fierce jaguar itself, with all its sinewy strength and lithe agility—armed, too,with the weapons of its tribe, the long canine teeth and hooked, retractile claws—falls a victim to the fury of these fierce little pigs, when banded together in herds. Quite recently, as I understand, a party of travellers found themselves present, as spectators, at one of these tragedies of the wilderness, of which wild nature is so full, but which are so seldom witnessed by man, even by savage man. In a clearing of the forest they came, suddenly, upon a huge jaguar, maintaining with difficulty a precarious foothold on the highest point of a fallen tree-trunk; to which it clung like a shipwrecked mariner on the mast of a sinking vessel, whilst, all around, there tossed and raged and bristled the living waves of a tempestuous sea of peccaries. Though just beyond the reach of his foes, the jaguar was not so much so, but that individuals of the herd, by leaping into the air, could sometimes strike their tusks against the tree, so near to his feet as to oblige, or, at any rate, to cause him to move them; nor did the fierce beast, though growling horribly, dare to strike at them in return, for fear of slipping on the smooth wood, from which the bark that would have offered him a securer footing, had long ago rotted.
As it was, the embarrassed, yet still savage, tyrant of the forest slipped more than once, and was only enabled by desperate agility to recover its vantage ground, in time to avoid the fierce leaps of a dozen or more of the peccaries. The latter sometimes leaped upon the trunk, and ran along it as far as to a certain branch, which, by dividing the narrow causeway, presented an obstacle which it was beyond their utmost efforts to surmount. Whenthey essayed to do so, they invariably fell amidst their comrades below, and as the attempt was renewed again and again, there was, for some time, a constant stream of ascending and then falling pigs, which presented a comic appearance, in strange contrast to the serious nature of the drama enacting. It would, generally, have been impossible for any one peccary to return, after reaching the branch in question, on account of those behind; but this none of them tried to do, but uniformly endeavoured to pass the branch by a leap round one or other side of it, in which they as uniformly failed. The branch itself, being not much more than a stump, ending in a sharp point at the place of breakage, was of no use to the jaguar, who, isolated on a narrow yard or so of horizontal fallen timber, cast many a longing glance at stately trees surrounding him on every side, and not far off, could he only have leaped clear of the circle of white, gnashing tusks. In this position matters remained for a considerable time, during the latter part of which the peccaries stood much more still, as though resolved to maintain a dogged siege, yet filling the air continually with their fierce squealing grunts, which mingled in a horrid manner with the no less savage growlings of the jaguar. The whole, we are assured, made a never-to-be-forgotten scene, and produced a corresponding effect upon the interested observers, who for some reason—perhaps because they were not naturalists—were content, on this occasion, to watch nature without interfering with her.
At length the end came. The jaguar, who had for some time been stretched out, clinging to the trunk, madea slip with one hind foot, which for a moment, with the leg, hung down; and a peccary, leaping up at it, inflicted a slight gash. This seemed to determine the jaguar, for getting to its feet on the trunk, with a fierce roar, he took a rapid glance round the ring, and fronting the part where it seemed thinnest, crouched and then leaped suddenly out—a tremendous bound; but he did not succeed in clearing the circle. He fell amongst his enemies, several of whom, with fierce squeals, leaped up at him, and gashed him whilst yet in the air. For a moment it seemed as though he would struggle through; the next he was down, and the herd closed over him like the sea upon a yellow sandbank. From the mêlée came choked roars, and sometimes agonised as well as angry squealings, which, no less than the violent heaving motion above a certain central point, showed that a desperate struggle was still going on. But the jaguar was never seen again—only the wild tide of pigs, straining and struggling against each other, each eager to become a personal agent in the common act of death, the outer ones leaping on the backs of their companions in their anxiety to get within striking distance, whilst, ever and anon, one would appear struggling up from the confused tumbling mass at the centre of action, as though to avoid suffocation or urged by unbearable pain. These had to run down over the rest, and so join the outer circle, so closely were they packed; whilst one that appeared badly wounded was, for some time, tossed about on the unstable platform of its friends’ bodies, whilst lying struggling on its side.
At length all was over, though it was long before the jaguar ceased to struggle, and still longer before the peccaries trotted off. On repairing, then, to the scene of the occurrence, the fortunate spectators of it found eleven dead or dying peccaries, lying in an irregular circle on the ground, and, scattered amidst them, the shredded skin and torn and mangled carcase of the jaguar, which as an anatomic whole might be said to have disappeared; with such vindictive ferocity had its small but savage enemies continued to assault it, long after life had become extinct. The account, if I remember, goes still farther than this, but, not having it at hand, I will not risk repeating inaccurately a statement which might seem to some, very remarkable. One should, however, remember that our domestic pigs are omnivorous, or nearly so, and it would not be particularly surprising if they inherited this quality from their savage ancestry.
This incident of the peccaries and jaguar affords a good illustration of the familiar adage that union is strength, for individually the boldest of these fierce little pigs would fall an easy prey to their redoubtable enemy, as may be gathered from the havoc he was able to make amongst them, even when surrounded and almost smothered by their numbers. It may be said, however, that under similar circumstances a tiger could, probably, account for several of the big wild boars of India, though he may occasionally be driven off, or even wounded to the death, by one alone. The pressed mass of bodies, unable through their own numbers to retreat or guard themselves, must offer fatal facilities to the teeth and claws of a creaturecapable of using them with effect, almost up to the moment of death itself. It is conceivable, therefore, that even a single full-grown male peccary might, for some time, hold a jaguar at bay, if he were not taken by him unawares. This, however, the jaguar almost always contrives to do; and indeed it is essential that he should, and also have a stronghold to retreat to, since it is but seldom that a peccary is found alone.
The jaguar’s stronghold is a tree, and hismodus operandi, when a herd of peccaries come trotting through the forest, as follows. Stealing cautiously through the underbrush, he marks the direction in which the herd are going, and then climbs a tree in their line of march. Crawling out upon one of the lower boughs, he waits till one passes underneath it, and then, leaping on its back, dislocates the neck by a rapid wrench round of it with his paw, and bounds into the tree again, leaving it dead on the ground. The ill-fated animal’s companions rush up, excited and irritated, and vengefully surround the tree. The jaguar, however, within the ample domain of a large forest tree—for such he will have chosen—is entirely at home, and being, moreover, hardly discernible amidst the foliage and creepers, has seldom to stand a long siege. The restless little pigs, tired of inactivity and not having their anger whetted by the sight, and near proximity, of their enemy, soon go off, leaving their dead companion where it was slain; upon which the jaguar descends, and feasts upon it at his leisure. This is the account given by the inhabitants of Brazil and Central America of the way in which the jaguar procures a dinner of pork, nor,since it is in itself probable and in accordance with the habits of the animal, is there any reason to doubt it.
It need not be supposed, however, that the peccary must always pass just under the chosen bough, so that the jaguar can leap directly down upon it. This, no doubt, would be the ideal state of things, but it is not always, or, indeed, often, that things come up to one’s ideal. Failing this, no doubt, the jaguar would drop to the ground as near the peccary as he could manage, and develop a closer intimacy afterwards. A rapid bound or two, and with a growl or murderous roar, the “yellow peril” would be upon him, nor would his own pigtail avail him aught—caught unawares, all would soon be over. Still, even under these less favourable conditions, a wary member of the herd might, sometimes, save itself by making a dash to its nearest companions, or even, perhaps, in the case of a stout old boar, by resisting till these had run up. In wild nature there is continual competition between the attacking species and the one attacked by it, both attaining, by this means, to the perfection of aptitude in opposed directions.