Troops of monkeys skip from tree to tree, looking timidly around, and uttering mournful howls. Among them are swarms of the black marimonda (Ateles), with slender long arms and red-brown or black faces; in some the faces are encircled with white hair (Ateles marginatus, Geoff.), which gives them a striking resemblance to an old negro. Next is seen a group of silver-grey monkeys (Lagothrix Humboldtii, Geoff.), stalking over heaps of broken branches and twigs in search of a resting-place. These monkeys, which are the largest in South America, are about three feet high, and are bold and vicious. When wounded they take a position of defence against the hunter, struggling, and uttering loud cries, upon which their companions hasten down from the trees to assist them. But soon a short stifled cry is heard: it is the cry of mortal convulsion. That sound drives them instantly back, and they disperse in wild flight. The sly sayu ventures to approach the dwellings of men, where he plunders maize fields with incredible dexterity. The delicate silky-haired monkey, shivering at every cool breeze or shower of rain, and starting at the slightest noise, creeps for shelter into the thicket, where he lies peeping with his penetrating eyes in the direction of the apprehended danger.
At sunset swarms of bats flutter through field and forest in all directions, and greedily devour the insects which in the twilight awaken to full activity. Some of these bats (Phyllostoma hastatum, Geoff.) are remarkable for their expanse of wing, which measures nearly two feet. Others are distinguished for ugliness and for their offensive smell. These latter fly into the Indian huts at night and greatly annoy the inhabitants, who cannot get rid of them by fire or smoke, or any other means, until at the midnight hour they retire of their own accord. Not less troublesome are the leaf-nosed bats (Phyllostoma), which attack both man and beast. This bat rubs up the skin of his victim, from which he sucks the blood. The domestic animals suffer greatly from the nocturnal attacks of these bats, and many are destroyed by the exhaustion consequent on the repeated blood-sucking. The blood drawn by the bat itself does not exceed a few ounces; but if, when satisfied, it drops down to the ground, or flies away, the wound continues to bleed for a long time, and in the morning the animal is often found in a very weak condition, and covered with blood. One of my mules, on which a leaf-nosed bat made a nightly attack, was only saved by having his back rubbed with an ointment made of spirits of camphor, soap and petroleum. The blood-suckers have such an aversion to the smell of this ointment that on its application they ceased to approach the mule. These bats are very mischievous in the plantations of the forests, where beasts of burden and horned cattle are exposed to their attacks. Whether they venture to assail man has been a much disputed question. Several travellers declare that they do not. I may, however, mention a case which occurred within my own knowledge. A bat (Ph. erythromos, Tsch.) fastened on the nose of an Indian lying intoxicated in a plantation, and sucked so much blood that it was unable to fly away. The slight wound was followed by such severe inflammation and swelling that the features of the Cholo were not recognisable.
Many beasts of prey, and among them some of formidable strength and fierceness, make havoc among the other animals of the forests. In the lofty Montañas the black bear (U. frugilegus, Tsch.) roams as wild as his fellow-depredator of the Cordillera. He often enters the maize fields of the Indians, breaks the stalks of the plants and drags the green tops away to his hole. When this bear cannot obtain his customary vegetable food, consisting chiefly of the fruits of a pandanea (Phytelephas), he watches for the deer and wild boars, or attacks the oxen employed to turn the machinery in the sugar-mills: he has even been known to assail solitary travellers. The lively coatis traverse the forests in flocks. They collect round the roots of trees and search for the larvæ of insects; light-footed, they climb up bush and tree to find birds' nests, and feast on the eggs and the young. With a monotonous howl, not unlike that made by some dogs on a clear moonlight night, the yellow-breasted glutton (Galictis barbara, Wieg.), the omeyro of the Indians, announces his presence. But the most fierce of all these wild forest animals are those of the feline class. The spotless dark-grey yaguarundi, not much larger than the wild cat of Europe, pursues all kinds of birds, particularly the pigeon, the partridge, and the penelope. The oscollo (F. celidogaster, Tem.), the uturunca (F. pardalis, L.), and the long-tailed, yellowish-grey tiger-cat (F. macrourura, Pr. M.), all lie in wait, not only for the weaker mammalia, but sometimes they even venture into the plantations and kill dogs and poultry. The maneless Mexican Lion (the puma) roams through the upper regions of the forest, where he has almost undisputed hunting-ground. He fearlessly assails victims who cannot effectually defend themselves, such as the horse, the mule, and the ass, and he tears large pieces of flesh from their ribs; but he does not venture to meddle with oxen. He shuns men, and in the forest he even flies from the unarmed Indian. I fired at a very large puma, which immediately fled, roaring loudly. When severely wounded and driven into a corner, this animal frequently commences a combat of despair, and sometimes kills the hunter. The puma measures in length about four feet, and in height more than two feet. More direful than any of the felines mentioned above is the sanguinary ounce,[81] which possesses vast strength, and is of a most savage disposition. Though the favorite haunts of this animal are the expansive Pajonales, yet he frequently takes up his abode in the vicinity of villages and plantations, spreading terror among the inhabitants. Far from being intimidated at the sight of men, he often attacks individuals, and when pressed by hunger is not afraid, even in broad daylight, to slip into the forest villages in order to carry off food, and the booty, when once seized, is not easily recovered.
An amusing example of this occurred in the Montaña of Vitoc. An Indian one night heard his only pig squeaking loudly, as if in pain. He hastened to the door of his hut to see what was the matter, and he discovered that an ounce had seized the pig by the head, and was carrying it off. The Cholo, who determined to make an effort to recover his property, seized the pig by the hind legs, and endeavored to drag it from the grasp of the robber. This contest was kept up for some time, the ounce, with his eyes glaring in the darkness, holding fast the head of the pig, and the Indian pulling it hard by the legs. At length the Indian's wife came to the door of the hut with a lighted fagot, and the scared ounce, with terrible howlings, slowly retired to the forest. In general the Indians have a great dread of these animals, and seldom venture singly into the parts they frequent. The ounce hunter is the only one who ventures to approach them. He is armed with a long spear, with which he gives the ferocious animal a death-blow. He lets the ounce come within a few paces of him without making the least show either of flight or attack. If, however, the stroke he aims does not immediately reach the seat of life, the hunter, in general, becomes the victim of his bold attempt. Before he can stand on his defence, the wounded ounce drags him to the ground, and tears the flesh from his bones.
Sometimes the villagers collect their dogs together for a general hunt. They drive the ounce into a place from whence there is no escape, or often up a tree, where they shoot him with long arrows sent from their bows or blow-tubes. In a few places snares are laid, or large holes are dug, and a sharp-pointed stake is stuck in the middle, covered with stalks and branches of trees, on which the bait is laid. The ounce is, however, too cunning to be easily caught in traps, and it is only when pressed by hunger that he can be tempted by a bait. In some districts the ounces have increased so greatly, and done so much damage, that the natives have been compelled to remove and settle in other places. I need only refer to the Quebrada of Mayunmarca, in the Montaña of Huanta, near the road to Anco. There once stood the little village of Mayumarca, which has been abandoned for more than a hundred years, as it was found that the jaguars annually decimated the inhabitants; this Quebrada is still in such bad repute that not a single Indian will venture into it.
There is a black variety of the ounce, by many erroneously regarded as a distinct species. It has the identical marks of the common jaguar, or ounce, only its color is a dark, blackish-brown, whereby the whole of the black spots are rendered indistinct. On the lower banks of the Ucayali and the Marañon this dark variety is more frequently met with than in the higher forests; in the Montañas of Huanta and Urubamba it is also not uncommon. It is upon the whole larger, stronger, and more daring than the lighter kind, and I have actually seen many black skins which exceeded the usual length; but of specific distinctions there is no indication. The superstitious Indians assign extraordinary powers to everything that departs from the common course; the black ounce is, accordingly, supposed to possess singular properties. The yana chinca holds a prominent place in the religious ceremonies of some of the Indian races.
Turning from these fierce natives of the forest, we will now take a glimpse at the peaceful inhabitants of those umbrageous regions. In the hollow stems of trees, or among their canopied branches, are found the timid marsupial animals (Did. impavida, and noctivaga, Tsch.). These animals remain in obscure holes until the sun sinks beneath the horizon, when they slip out in search of insects and fruit. Not unfrequently they penetrate into the slightly guarded Indian huts, creeping into every corner, until at last they are caught in traps baited with pieces of banana and pine-apple. The lofty Terebinthaceæ, with their walnut-like fruit, are inhabited by swarms of squirrels, which strongly remind the European of his own woods. Numbers of the mouse family, from the small tree-mouse (Drymomys parvulus, Tsch.) to the large, loathsome, spinous rat (Echinomys leptosoma, Wagn.) swarm over all the Montañas, and love to approximate to the dwellings of man. These animals destroy the gathered harvest, and even in these remote regions they become a plague. It is a striking fact, that certain animals are almost inseparable from man. They keep with him, or follow him wherever he settles. The mouse genus is one of these. On the coast, mice are not the same as on the mountains, and in the forests they are again different. Everywhere they leave their original dwelling-places, which they exchange for an abode with man. As the mouse and the rat attack the gathered fruits of the earth, the agouti preys on those yet standing in the field. These animals are seldom found in the depths of the forest, but more frequently on its edge near the chacras of the Indians. Shortly before sunset they leave the thickets, and stealthily repair to the maize, yucca, and anana fields, where they scratch up the root and eat the grain and fruit; but the slightest noise drives them back to their holes. In the deeper recesses of the forest resounds the monotonous, drawling cry of the sloth. Here we have a symbol of life under the utmost degree of listlessness, and of the greatest insensibility in a state of languid repose. This emblem of misery fixes itself on an almost leafless bough, and there remains defenceless; a ready prey to any assailant. Better defended is the scale-covered armadillo, with his coat of mail. Towards evening he burrows deep holes in the earth, and searches for the larvæ of insects, or he ventures out of the forest, and visits the yucca fields, where he digs up the well-flavored roots. The ant-eater rakes up with his long curved claws the crowded resorts of ants, stretches out his long, spiral, and adhesive tongue, into the midst of the moving swarm, and draws it back covered with a multitude of crawling insects.
In the soft marshy grounds, or in the damp shady recesses of the forests, the heavy tapir reposes during the heat of the day; but when the fresh coolness of evening sets in, he roves through the forest, tears the tender twigs from the bushes, or seeks food in the grass-covered Pajonales. Sometimes a multitude of tapirs sally from the forests into the cultivated fields, to the great alarm of the Indians. A broad furrow marks the tract along which they have passed, and the plants they encounter in their progress are trampled down or devoured. Such a visit is particularly fatal to the coca fields; for the tapirs are extremely fond of the leaves of the low-growing coca plant, and they often, in one night, destroy a coca field which has cost a poor Indian the hard labor of a year.
Flocks of the umbilical hog, or peccary, traverse the level Montañas. If one of them is attacked by the hunter, a whole troop falls furiously on him, and it is only by promptly climbing up a tree that he can escape; then, whizzing and grunting, they surround the stem, and with their snouts turn up the earth round the root, as if intending to pull down the tree and so get at their enemy. The stag lurks in the thicket to withdraw from the eyes of the greedy ounce; but towards evening he leaves his hiding place, and sometimes strays beyond the boundary of the forest; he ventures into the maize fields of the plantations, where he tarries until night is far advanced.
The same diversity of nature and habits is seen in the numerous hosts of birds that inhabit the leafy canopies of the forest. On the loftiest trees, or on detached rocks, eagles, kites, and falcons, build their eyries. The most formidable of these birds of prey, both for boldness and strength, the Morphnus harpyia, Cab., darts down on the largest animals, and fears not to encounter the fiercest inhabitants of the forest. The owl (Noctua, Scops, Strix), and the goat-milker (Caprimulgus, Hydropsalis, Chordiles), fly with softly flapping wings to their hunting quarters to surprise their victims while asleep. In the hilly parts of the Montañas the black ox-bird (Cephalopterus ornatus, Geoff.), the Toropishu of the Indians, fills the forest with his distant bellow, similar to the roaring of a bull. The Tunqui[82] inhabits the same district. This bird is of the size of a cock; the body is bright red, but the wings are black. The head is surmounted by a tuft of red feathers, beneath which the orange bill projects with a slight curve. It lives sociably with other birds in thickets, or among Cinchona trees, the fruit of which is part of its food. Its harsh cry resembles the grunt of the hog, and forms a striking contrast to its beautiful plumage. Numberless fly-catchers and shrikes (Muscicapidæ and Laniadæ) hover on tree and bush, watching for the passing insects, which they snatch up with extraordinary dexterity. Finches twitter on the summits of the loftiest trees beyond the reach of the hunter's shot: they are distinguished, like the Ampelidæ, who, however, live amongst the lower bushes, by the lively and almost dazzling colors of their feathers. In modest plumage of cinnamon-brown, with head and neck of dark olive, the Organista[83] raises, in the most woody parts of the forest, her enchanting song, which is usually the prognostic of an approaching storm. The tender, melancholy strains and the singular clearness of the innumerable modulations charm the ear of the astonished traveller, who, as if arrested by an invisible power, stops to listen to the syren, unmindful of the danger of the threatening storm. On old decayed stumps of trees the busy creeper[84] and the variegated woodpecker are seen pecking the insects from under the loose bark, or by their tapping bring them out of their concealed crevices; while the red-tailed potter-bird (Opetiorynchus ruficandus, Pr. Max.) builds his dwelling of potter's clay, or loam, as firmly as if it were destined to last for ever. The pouched starlings[85] hang their nests, often four or five feet long, on the slender branches of trees, where they swing to and fro with the slightest breath of wind. Like a dazzling flash of colored light the colibri (humming-bird) appears and disappears. No combination of gorgeous coloring can exceed that which is presented in the plumage of the golden-tailed humming or fly-bird (Trochilus chrysurus, Cuv.) which haunts the warm primeval forests, but it is still more frequently found in the pure atmosphere of the ceja-girded Montañas. The silky cuckoo (Trogon heliothrix, Tsch.) retires into the thickest masses of foliage, from which its soft rose-colored plumage peeps out like a flower. The cry of the voracious chuquimbis[86] accompanies the traveller from his first steps in the Montañas to his entrance into the primeval forests, where he finds their relative, Dios te de.[87] This bird accompanies its significant cry by throwing back its head and making a kind of rocking movement of its body. The Indians, who are always disposed to connect superstitious ideas with the natural objects they see around them, believe that some great misfortune will befall any one who may shoot this bird, because it utters the sacred word, Dios. Long trains of green parrots fill the air with their noisy chattering. One kind of these birds (Ps. mercenarius, Tsch.) is remarkable for regular migrations. Every morning they sally forth in flocks from the upper to the lower forests, where they pass the day, and they regularly return before sunset to their roosting-places. From year to year these parrots leave their night quarters daily at the same hour, and return with equal punctuality before sunset. This regularity of departing and returning has caused the natives to give them the name of Jornaleros (day-laborers). From the depth of the forests sounds often arise which resemble human voices, and the astonished hunter then believes that he is in the vicinity of his companions, or, perhaps, of hostile Indians. He eagerly listens, and it is only when well acquainted with the sounds of the winged inhabitants of the woods that he can recognise the melancholy tones of the wood-pigeons (C. infuscata, Licht.; C. melancholica, Tsch.). When day begins to depart, groups of the pheasant-like Hachahuallpa[88] assemble, and with the cry of Ven acá, Ven acá,[89] summon their distant companions.