There is, however, one very interesting character about the “Northern Leopard” which, although by no means entitling it to rank as a species, yet makes it a very instructing instance of the way in which a breed or race is produced by the modifying influence of climate. The animal in question is found not only in Japan, but in Mantchuria, “extending probably to Corea, and the Island of Saghalien,” and is remarkable from the fact that its hair is long and shaggy, a condition of things evidently brought about by the cold climate it has to endure. Hence we see that the British climate need not have differed from its present condition to have been the home, as indeed it once was, of the larger beasts of prey.
Perhaps the most interesting variety of this species is the Black Leopard of Java. It has exactly the appearance of an ordinary Leopard painted black, the paint, however, not being laid on sufficiently thick to hide the spots, which are of a more intense black than the rest of the hide. The Black Leopard is sometimes described as a distinct species, and is called Leopardus melas, but there can be very little doubt that it is, in reality, a mere variety, differing only in colour—the most variable of characters—from the common kind. It is, however, so singular as to require the special notice which we have given it.
“Leopards frequent the vicinity of pasture-lands in quest of the Deer and other peaceful animals which resort to them; and the villagers often complain of the destruction of their cattle by these formidable marauders. In relation to them the natives have a curious but firm conviction that when a Bullock is killed by a Leopard, and, in expiring, falls so that its right side is undermost, the Leopard will not return to devour it. I have been told by English sportsmen (some of whom share in the popular belief), that sometimes, when they have proposed to watch by the carcase of a Bullock recently killed by a Leopard, in the hope of shooting the spoiler on his return in search of his prey, the native owner of the slaughtered animal, though earnestly desiring to be avenged, has assured them that it would be in vain, as, the beast having fallen on its right side, the Leopard would not return.
“The Singhalese hunt them for the sake of their extremely beautiful skins, but prefer taking them in traps and pitfalls, and occasionally in spring cages formed of poles driven firmly into the ground, within which a Kid is generally fastened as a bait, the door being held open by a sapling bent down by the united force of several men, and so arranged as to act as a spring, to which a noose is ingeniously attached, formed of plaited Deer’s hide. The cries of the Kid attract the Leopard, which, being tempted to enter, is enclosed by the liberation of the spring, and grasped firmly round the body by the noose.”[18]
There is a Scottish adage which says that “Hawks will not peck out hawks’ een;” but the Leopard, a Carnivore, has a confirmed liking for the flesh of the flesh-eating Dog. This fact has been observed by a writer who states that the Leopard has quite a mania for that sort of diet, and will not hesitate to penetrate into a tent at night in quest of his favourite game.
There is a rather curious habit of the Leopards which we have observed at the Zoological Gardens, though whether it holds good with all Leopards we are not prepared to say, never having seen the circumstance mentioned. The Lion and Tiger, when devouring their reeking bones at their four o’clock dinner, at Regent’s Park, lie down at full length, and hold the meat between their fore-paws, in this way steadying it while they take their tremendous bites. The Leopards, on the other hand, do not lie down, but squat on their haunches, the fore-legs being kept almost vertical, and the head, of course, correspondingly bent down to reach the food. The paws are rarely used to steady the piece of meat, and only, in fact, when the beast comes across a particularly fractious morsel which he finds it impossible to manage with his teeth alone. For this reason, a Leopard in the act of feeding is a far more awkward-looking beast than the Lion or Tiger, both of which hold their food in quite a civilised way.
In connection with the Leopard’s mode of feeding, we may mention a curious tale about its diet. There can be little doubt that it is a mere “yarn,” or rather a piece of folk-lore, but still it is interesting, especially when we think of the many tales of clay-eating men:—“The natives [of Ceylon] assert that it devours the kaolin clay, called by them kiri mattee, in a very peculiar way. They say that the Cheetah [Leopard] places it in lumps beside him, and then gazes intently on the sun, till, on turning his eyes on the clay, every piece appears of a red colour like flesh, when he instantly devours it.”
As a rule, the Leopard seems to be far more cowardly than the Lion or Tiger. Jules Gérard, the Lion-killer, holds the beast in the greatest contempt for its pusillanimity. Still, it often shows a good deal of pluck, chiefly, however, when in want of food. As to this matter, the actual experience of those who have observed the animal in its native land will convey a truer idea than any summing up of its good and bad points. “One night I was suddenly awoke by a furious barking of our Dogs, accompanied by cries of distress. Suspecting that some beast of prey had seized upon one of them, I leaped, undressed, out of my bed, and, gun in hand, hurried to the spot whence the cries proceeded. The night was pitchy dark, however, and I could distinguish nothing; yet, in the hope of frightening the intruder away, I shouted at the top of my voice. In a few moments a torch was lighted, and we then discovered the marks of a Leopard, and also large patches of blood. On counting the Dogs, I found that ‘Summer,’ the best and fleetest of our kennel, was missing. As it was in vain that I called and searched for him, I concluded that the Tiger [Leopard] had carried him away; and, as nothing further could be done that night, I again retired to rest; but the fate of the poor animal continued to haunt me, and drove sleep away. I had seated myself on the front chest of the wagon, when suddenly the melancholy cries were repeated, and on rushing to the spot, I discovered ‘Summer’ stretched at full length in the middle of a bush. Though the poor creature had several deep wounds about his throat and chest, he at once recognised me, and, wagging his tail, looked wistfully in my face. The sight sickened me as I carried him into the house, where, in time, however, he recovered. The very next day ‘Summer’ was revenged in a very unexpected manner. Some of the servants had gone into the bed of the river to chase away a Jackal, when they suddenly encountered a Leopard in the act of springing at our Goats, which were grazing, unconscious of danger, on the river’s bank. On finding himself discovered, he immediately took refuge in a tree, when he was at once attacked by the men. It was, however, not until he had received upwards of sixteen wounds—some of which were inflicted by poisoned arrows—that life became extinct. I arrived at the scene of conflict only to see him die. During the whole affair, the men had stationed themselves at the foot of the tree, to the branches of which the Leopard was pertinaciously clinging, and, having expended all their ammunition, one of them proposed, and the suggestion was taken into serious consideration, that they should pull him down by the tail.”
One of the most remarkable circumstances related about the Leopard is the way in which it is attracted by persons suffering from small-pox; the odour attending that disease seems to have an irresistible fascination for them. Sir Emerson Tennent says that the medical officers at small-pox hospitals have to take special precautions against Leopards, which invariably haunt the spot.