If such a thing were to happen now, in any portion
of southern South America, where the puma’s
disposition is best known, it would not be looked
on as a miracle, as it was, and that unavoidably, in
the case of Maldonada.
A WAVE OF LIFE,
For many years, while living in my own home on the
pampas, I kept a journal, in which all my daily observations
on the habits of animals and kindred matters were
carefully noted. Turning back to 1872-3, I find
my jottings for that season contain a history of one
of those waves of life—for I can think
of no better name for the phenomenon in question—that
are of such frequent occurrence in thinly-settled
regions, though in countries like England, seen very
rarely, and on a very limited scale. An exceptionally
bounteous season, the accidental mitigation of a check,
or other favourable circumstance, often causes an
increase so sudden and inordinate of small prolific
species, that when we actually witness it we are no
longer surprised at the notion prevalent amongst the
common people that mice, frogs, crickets, &c., are
occasionally rained down from the clouds.
In the summer of 1872-3 we had plenty of sunshine,
with frequent showers; so that the hot months brought
no dearth of wild flowers, as in most years.
The abundance of flowers resulted in a wonderful increase
of humble bees. I have never known them so plentiful
before; in and about the plantation adjoining my house
I found, during the season, no fewer than seventeen
nests.
The season was also favourable for mice; that is,
of course, favourable for the time being, unfavourable
in the long run, since the short-lived, undue preponderance
of a species is invariably followed by a long period
of undue depression. These prolific little creatures
were soon so abundant that the dogs subsisted almost
exclusively on them; the fowls also, from incessantly
pursuing and killing them, became quite rapacious
in their manner; whilst the sulphur tyrant-birds (Pitangus)
and the Guira cuckoos preyed on nothing but mice.
The domestic cats, as they invariably do in such plentiful
seasons, absented themselves from the house, assuming
all the habits of their wild congeners, and slinking
from the sight of man—even of a former
fireside companion—with a shy secrecy in
their motions, an apparent affectation of fear, almost
ludicrous to see. Foxes, weasels, and opossums
fared sumptuously. Even for the common armadillo
(Dasypus villosus) it was a season of affluence, for
this creature is very adroit in capturing mice.
This fact might seem surprising to anyone who marks
the uncouth figure, toothless gums, and the motions—anything
but light and graceful—of the armadillo
and perhaps fancying that, to be a dexterous mouser,
an animal should bear some resemblance in habits and
structure to the felidas. But animals, like men,
are compelled to adapt themselves to their surroundings;
new habits are acquired, and the exact co-relation
between habit and structure is seldom maintained.
