The pig that has thus fallen a victim is most likely to have been the little South American peccary, for this habit of lying in wait upon the actual shore, and then striking suddenly with the tail, seems more developed in the American alligators than in the crocodiles of the Old World. The force of such a blow, when delivered by an alligator of any size, is tremendous, sufficient, says somebody, writing to one of the papers, to break the leg of an ox like a pipe-stem. According to this account, one of the fierce bulls, common in Florida, was attacked by an alligator, and his bellowings brought four other bulls to his assistance. Two, if I remember, had their fore or hind legs broken, but the other three succeeded, between them, in goring their enemy to death. It was an exciting story. I cut it out, and still keep it somewhere—I would quote from it if I knew where. As it is, it would take me a long time to find again, even if I knew in what paper to look for it, for though I think it was in the Field I am not quite sure—it was several years ago. However, there was nothing in it which seemed to me at all impossible, or even unlikely. I am not quite sure, now, how the fight began. It would seem as if the bulls must have found the alligator some way from the water, or probably he would have succeeded in throwing himself into it. Perhaps the bulls attacked him first, or perhaps he served the first one in the same way that that other alligator did the pig.
The more usual plan, however, adopted by these great amphibious reptiles for seizing their prey, is to lie just under the bank, in the water, with only their eyes and the breathing-holes of their nostrils above it, so that they are quite invisible amidst the sedge or rushes, which commonly fringe the shore. If an animal—an ox for instance—comes down to drink where they lie—and they are clever enough to select a good drinking-place—they spring up and seize it by the muzzle, and then, joining their strength to their weight, and with some powerful backward strokes of the tail, in the water, they endeavour to overbalance it, and make it topple down the bank. Whether they are successful, or not, will depend on the size and strength of the animal thus seized, and still more on how much it may be taken at a disadvantage. A powerful ox or a buffalo—except, perhaps, the giraffe, the two largest animals that are at all likely to be attacked—will, often, drag its assailant up the bank, retreating backwards, and succeed, at last, in getting free from the terrible jaws. But should it stumble, or make a false step, which is very likely, the chances will be greatly against it. Its own weight adds, now, to the drag of the crocodile upon it; it slides or rolls down the incline, and, once in the water, all is soon over—it is dragged beneath the surface and drowned.
All the crocodile family are hatched from eggs, and although the parent is so large—perhaps twenty or thirty feet long—the eggs it lays are no larger than those of a goose. Consequently, the young crocodiles and alligators, in spite of their great mothers who try to look after them, are preyed upon and devoured by a great number of creatures, birds, fishes, various mammals, and even sometimes their own fathers. But when they become large and strong, there is only one wild animal I know of that cares to interfere with them, and that is the savage jaguar of South America. How large an alligator has to get before the jaguar is afraid to attack it, I do not know, but as Mr. Bates disturbed the creature at his meal on one, which, he thought, had left the water to lay its eggs, I suppose it was a fair size. Why Mr. Bates does not, himself, tell us how large it was, and why he says nothing more upon such an interesting subject—only just that he frightened the jaguar and found the remains of the alligator—I really don’t know; but it is an irritating way which travellers sometimes have. They generally go on to talk of something not nearly so interesting, and never turn back to what you would like to hear more about. This particular alligator had left the river-bank, and crawled up into the forest which was some distance away from it. This would have given the jaguar a great advantage, and perhaps it is only under such circumstances that even he would venture to attack an alligator of any size, since, if the latter could get to the water, all his efforts would be in vain.
When the jaguar attacks the alligator, he is said to spring on its back, and then tear, with all his might, at the root of its tail. This, possibly, is with the idea of paralysing that member, thus rendering it incapable of those mighty sweeps from side to side which are more, almost, to be feared than even the great armed jaws. The fear of both these weapons may deter the jaguar from clawing the throat of the saurian, for were it to be jerked off in the latter’s struggles, it would be more exposed to either than if it fell farther back. But why not disembowel the creature, since that could be done—or attempted—from almost equally far down the back? However, as far as I am aware, we have no real evidence as to the modus operandi employed by the jaguar on these occasions, nor do I know anyone who has come nearer to witnessing such a scene than Mr. Bates, who, however, was just too late.
Besides alligators, the jaguar, like the common cat, is fond of a meal of fish, but unlike “the poor cat i’ the adage,” he is not afraid of wetting his paws to get it. Such, at least, is the story told by both natives and white men in South America, according to which he will climb out on the branch of a tree but just overhanging the waters of some forest river, and lie crouched there, with his paw suspended in air, till a fish swims by near the surface, when he dexterously jerks it up and catches it in his mouth. In Darwin’s Journal of Researches a picture is given of a jaguar thus employed, and when one sees it, one, of course, thinks that there will be a good description of it, with, perhaps, an anecdote or two. But the same disappointment is in store for us as in the case of the jaguar and alligator in Mr. Bates’ book, for the grand picture has hardly two lines of letterpress; which has vexed me so that I should call it unfair if I were quite sure Darwin had had nothing to do with it.
CHAPTER XIX
JAGUARS AND PECCARIES—A FOREST DRAMA—STRENGTH IN NUMBERS—RETALIATION.