Майн Рид
Bruin: The Grand Bear Hunt
Chapter Forty One.
Cutting out the Bear
The question was, how he was to be got out? Perhaps by making a noise he might issue forth?
This plan was at once tried, but without success. While the negro rasped the bark with a pole, and struck the stick at intervals against the trunk, the hunters stood, with guns cocked, watching the hole, and ready to give the bear a reception, the moment he should show himself outside.
It was all to no purpose. Bruin was too cunning for them, and did not protrude even the tip of his snout out of his secure cavity.
After continuing the rasping, and repeating the blows, till the woods echoed the sonorous concussions, they became convinced that this plan would not serve their purpose, and desisted from it.
On examining the track more closely, they now perceived spots of blood mixed among the mud which the bear had rubbed off upon the bark. This convinced them that the animal was wounded, and therefore there would be no chance of starting him out from his hole. It was no doubt the wound that had led him to retreat to this tree, so near the place where he had been attacked, otherwise he would have led them a longer chase through the woods before attempting to hide himself. When, severely wounded, the black bear betakes himself to the first hollow log or tree he can find; and taking refuge in it, will there remain – even to die in his den, if the wound has been a fatal one.
Knowing this habit of the animal, our hunters perceived that they had no chance of again setting their eyes upon the bear, except by cutting down the tree; and they resolved to adopt this method, and fell the great sycamore to the ground.
The darkey was despatched to the plantation; and soon returned with half a dozen of his brethren, armed with axes – Pouchskin heading the sable band. Without further delay the chopping began; and the white chips flew out from the great trunk in all directions.
In about an hour’s time the sycamore came crashing down, carrying a number of smaller trees along with it. The hunters, who expected that the bear would at once spring forth, had taken their position to cover the mouth of the cavity with their guns; but, to their surprise, the tree fell, and lay as it had fallen, without any signs of Bruin. This was strange enough; for, as the negroes alleged, in all similar cases the bear is certain to charge out upon the fall of a tree that contains him!
A sapling was now obtained, and inserted into the cavity – at first with caution, but after a time it was punched in with all the force that Pouchskin could put into his arm. He could feel the bear quite distinctly; but poke the animal as he might, it would not stir.
It was suggested that they should cut into the trunk – at a place opposite to where the bear was encased – and then they could drag him out at will; and, although this would cost a good deal of trouble, it appeared to be the only mode of reaching the obstinate animal.
This course was followed, therefore; and a cross section being made of the hollow trunk, the shaggy hair was at length reached, and then the body of Bruin, who was found to be dead as a nail!
They no longer wondered that he had paid no heed to the punching of the pole. The bullet of Alexis had traversed his huge body in a longitudinal direction, until it had lodged in a vital part, and, of course, it was this that had deprived him of life. He would, therefore, have died all the same, and in his tree-den, too, whether they had pursued him or not.
Our hunters learnt from their negro assistants a singular fact in relation to the black bear: and that is, that the tree-cavity in which the animal often takes shelter, or goes to sleep, is rarely of greater width than his own body! In most cases it is so narrow, that he cannot turn round in it, nor has it any lair at the bottom wide enough for him to lie down upon. It follows, therefore, that he must sleep in a standing position, or squatted upon his hams. It is in this attitude he makes his descent into the cavity, and in the same way comes down the trunk of the tree, when at any time making his departure from his den. From this it would appear that the upright attitude is as natural to this animal, as that of resting on all-fours, or even lying prostrate on the ground; for it is well-known that, farther to the north – where the winters are more severe, and where the black bear hybernates for a short season – he often takes his nap in a tree-cavity, which his body completely fills, without the possibility of his turning round in it! One precaution he takes, and that is, to scrape off all the rotten wood around the sides of the cavity; but for what purpose he exercises this curious instinct, neither hunter nor naturalist can tell. Perhaps it is that the projections may not press against his body, and thus render his couch uncomfortable?
Our young hunters found this bear one of the largest of his species, and his skin, after the mud had been washed off, proved to be an excellent specimen.
Of course, they coveted no other; but for all that, they had the pleasure of being present at the death of several bears, killed in the great hunt that came off on the appointed day.
A deer-chase was also got up for their special entertainment – during which a cougar was “treed” and killed – an event of rarer occurrence than even the death of a bear; for the cougar is now one of the scarcest quadrupeds to be met with in the forests of North America.
Another entertainment which the planter provided for his guests was a “barbecue” – a species of festival peculiar to the backwoods of America, and which, on account of its peculiarity, deserves a word or two of description.
Chapter Forty Two.
The Squatter’s Bargain
As we have just said, the barbecue is a festival which especially belongs to the backwoods settlements, although it has now become known even in the older States, and often forms a feature in the great political meetings of an election campaign – losing, however, much of its true character in the elaborate adornments and improvements sometimes bestowed upon it.
When Alexis and Ivan strolled down in the early morning to the quiet glade which had been selected as the scene of this rural festivity, they found there a noisy and bustling crowd. A monstrous fire of logs, enough to roast not only a single ox, but a hecatomb of oxen, was blazing near the edge of the glade, while a half-dozen chattering negroes were busy digging a great pit close by. This pit, when entirely excavated, measured some ten or twelve feet in length, by five or six in width, and perhaps three in depth; and was lined with smooth flat stones. As soon as the logs had ceased to flame and smoke, and were fast falling into a mighty heap of glowing ruddy coals, they were shovelled hastily into the pit. Another party of negroes had been busy in the woods, searching out the tall slender saplings of the pawpaw (asimina triloba), and now returned, bringing their spoil with them. The saplings were laid across the top of the pit, thus extemporising over it a huge gridiron. The ox, which was to form the staple of the day’s feast, had been killed and dressed; and, having been split in halves after the fashion of the barbecue, was laid upon the bars to roast. Proudly presiding over the operation was the major-domo of the planter’s household, assisted by several celebrated cooks of the neighbourhood, and a score of chosen farm-hands, whose strength was ever and anon invoked to turn the beef; while the chef ordered a fresh basting, or himself sprinkled the browning surface with the savoury dressing of pepper, salt, and fine herbs, for the composition of which he had attained a grand reputation.
The morning wore swiftly on in the observation of these novel manoeuvres; and with the noon came the guests in numbers from the neighbouring plantations and settlements. Even the determined resistance of the toughest beef must have failed before the hot attack of such an army of live coals, as had lain intrenched in the deep fireplace; and the tender joints of the enormous boeuf roti were ready to bear their share in the festivities almost as soon as the invited company. Separated with great cleavers, and laid into white button-wood trays hollowed out for the purpose, they were borne rapidly to the shady nook selected for the dining-place, followed by vast supplies of sweet potatoes, roasted in the ashes, and of rich, golden maize bread. A barrel of rare cider was broached; while good old-fashioned puddings, and the luscious fruits of the region completed the bill of fare in honour of the day. Of course “joy was unconfined.” Everybody pronounced the roast a grand success; and the young Russians thought that they had never tasted so appetising a meal. With the exhilaration of the fresh, clear air, the encouragement of hearty appetite, and the full flavour of the meat – for it is well-known that the sap which exudes from the pawpaw, when thus exposed to fire, adds a new relish to whatever is cooked upon it – combined to make a dinner fit for the Czar himself; and they determined to attempt, at some time, an imitation of the Southern barbecue under the colder sky of Russia.
Merriment was unbounded; healths were drunk, songs sung, odd speeches made, and stories told.
One of the last in particular made an impression upon our heroes; partly, because it was a bear story, and partly because it illustrated a very characteristic phase of squatter life and practical humour. In fact, Alexis made a sketch of it in his journal, and from his notes we now reconstruct it.
Two squatters had occupied lands not far from each other, and within some eight or ten miles of a small town. Busied in clearing off the woodland, each bethought himself of a source of revenue beyond the produce of his tilled ground. He would occupy an occasional leisure day in hauling to the town, the logs which he cut from time to time, and then selling them as firewood. This unity of purpose naturally brought the two men into competition with one another for the limited custom of the settlement; and a rivalry sprang up between them, which was fast ripening into jealousy and ill-will, when a curious coincidence occurred.
Each owned a single yoke of oxen, which he used regularly in his farm labour, and also in dragging his wood to market. Within a week each lost an ox; one dying of some bovine distemper, – the other being so injured by the fall of a tree, that his owner had been obliged to kill him.
As one ox could not draw a wood-wagon, the occupation of both squatters as wood merchants was gone – and even farm operations were likely to suffer. Each soon heard of his neighbour’s predicament; and proposed to himself to make a bargain for the remaining ox, that he might be the possessor of the pair, continue his clearing prosperously, and command the wood-hauling business. But, as one might suppose, where both parties were so fully bent upon accomplishing their own ends, the trade was no nearer a conclusion when a dozen negotiations had taken place than at first. So matters stood in statu quo, the days rolled by, and our two squatters found their condition waxing desperate.
One fine morning, squatter the first started off to make a last attempt – determined to close the bargain peaceably if he could, forcibly if he must. Revolving project upon project in his mind, he had traversed the two or three miles of woodland which lay between him and his neighbour’s clearing, and was just entering it, when a sudden rustle and significant growl coming from behind broke in upon his reverie. Turning hastily, he saw almost at his heels a bear of the most unprepossessing aspect. To reach the cabin before Bruin could overtake him was impossible; and to turn upon the creature would be folly: for, in the depth of his deliberation, he had forgotten on leaving home to take any kind of weapon with him. Some dead trees had been left standing in the field, and to one of these he sped with flying steps, hoping to find shelter behind it till help could come. He did not hope in vain for this protection. He found that by pretty active dodging, he could keep the trunk of the tree between himself and the bear – whose brain could hardly follow the numerous shifts made by the squatter to escape the frequent clutches of his claws. Rising indignantly upon his hind legs, the bear made a fierce rush at the squatter, but hugged only the tough old tree, in whose bark he buried deep his pointed claws. An inspiration flashed through the squatter’s mind, as he saw the bear slowly and with some difficulty dragging out his nails; and seizing Bruin’s shanks just above the paws, he braced himself against the tree, resolved to try and hold the claws into their woody sockets until his neighbour could respond to his halloos for help.
The other squatter heard his cries; but instead of hastening to the rescue, he came slowly along, carelessly shouldering his axe. Perceiving his neighbour’s difficulty, a new solution of the ox question had entered his mind; and to the redoubled appeals for assistance, he calmly replied —
“On one condition, neighbour!”
“What is it?” anxiously inquired the other.
“If I let you loose from the bar, you’ll gi’ me up your odd steer.”
There was no help for it, and with a heavy sigh, the prisoner consented. “Stop!” cried he, ere the axe could fall; “this old brute has half plagued the life out o’ me, and I’d like nothing better’n the satisfaction o’ killin’ him myself. Jest you ketch hold here, and let me give him his death-blow.”
The second squatter, rejoicing beyond measure at having accomplished his long-desired purpose, unsuspiciously agreed, dropped the axe, cautiously grasped the sinewy shanks, and bent his strength to the momentary struggle. To his utter dismay, he beheld his neighbour quietly shoulder the axe, and walk away from the ground!
“Hold on!” he shouted; “ain’t ye goin’ to kill the bar?”
“Wal, not jest now, I fancy; I thought you might like to hang on a while?”
The tables thus turned, the deluded squatter had no resource but to make terms with his grimly gleeful neighbour, who at last consented to put an end to the wild beast’s life, if he might not only be released from the bargain he had just made, but, in addition, be himself the recipient of the odd ox. Sorely chagrined, the second squatter consented. But he was a little comforted at the idea of a slight revanche that had just entered his head. Watching his chance, as the other approached to deal the fatal blow, with a desperate effort he tore out the bear’s claws from the bark – setting the infuriated animal free – and then fled at full speed to his cabin, leaving the two original combatants to fight it out between themselves.
The particulars of the contest even tradition has not preserved – the sequel to the narrative only telling that half an hour later the first squatter, scratched and bloody, hobbled slowly up to the cabin, remarking satirically as he threw down the broken axe: —
“Thar, neighbour; I’m afraid I’ve spiled yer axe, but I’m sure I’ve spiled the bar. Prehaps you’d let one o’ your leetle boys drive that ere ox over to my house?”
After enjoying the hospitality of their planter friend for a few days longer, our travellers once more resumed their journey; and proceeded up the great Mississippi, towards the cold countries of the North.
Chapter Forty Three.
The Polar Bear
A few weeks after leaving the Louisiana planter, our hunters were receiving hospitality from a very different kind of host, a “fur-trader.” Their headquarters was Fort Churchill, on the western shore of Hudson’s Bay, and once the chief entrepôt of the famous company who have so long directed the destinies of that extensive region – sometimes styled Prince Rupert’s Land, but more generally known as the “Hudson’s Bay Territory.”
To Fort Churchill they had travelled almost due north – first up the Mississippi, then across land to Lake Superior, and direct over the lake to one of the Company’s posts on its northern shore. Thence by a chain of lakes, rivers, and “portages” to York factory, and on northward to Fort Churchill. Of course, at Fort Churchill they had arrived within the range of the great white or Polar bear (ursus maritimus), who was to be the next object of their “chasse.” In the neighbourhood of York factory, and even further to the south, they might have found bears of this species: for the ursus maritimus extends his wanderings all round the shores of Hudson’s Bay – though not to those of James’ Bay further south. The latitude of 55 degrees is his southern limit upon the continent of America; but this only refers to the shores of Labrador and those of Hudson’s Bay. On the western coast Behring’s Straits appears to form his boundary southward; and even within these, for some distance along both the Asiatic and American shores, he is one of the rarest of wanderers. His favourite range is among the vast conglomeration of islands and peninsulas that extend around Hudson’s and Baffin’s Bays – including the icebound coasts of Greenland and Labrador – while going westward to Behring’s Straits, although the great quadruped is occasionally met with, he is much more rare. Somewhat in a similar manner, are the white bears distributed in the eastern hemisphere. While found in great plenty in the Frozen Ocean, in its central and eastern parts, towards the west, on the northern coasts of Russia and Lapland, they are never seen – except when by chance they have strayed thither, or been drifted upon masses of floating ice.
It is unnecessary to remark that this species of bear lives almost exclusively near the sea, and by the sea. He may be almost said to dwell upon it: since out of the twelve months in the year, ten of them at least are passed by him upon the fields of ice. During the short summer of the Arctic regions, he makes a trip inland – rarely extending it above fifty miles, and never over a hundred – guided in his excursions by the courses of rivers that fall into the sea. His purpose in making these inland expeditions, is to pick up the freshwater fish; which he finds it convenient to catch in the numerous falls or shallows of the streams. He also varies his fish diet at this season, by making an occasional meal on such roots and berries as he may find growing along the banks. At other times of the year, when all inland water is frozen up, and even the sea to a great distance from land, he then keeps along the extreme edge of the frozen surface, and finds his food in the open water of the sea. Sea-fish of different species, seals, the young walrus, and even at times the young of the great whale itself, become his prevail of which he hunts and captures with a skill and cunning, that appears more the result of a reasoning process than a mere instinct.
His natatory powers appear to have no limit: at all events, he has been met with swimming about in open water full twenty miles from either ice or land. He has been often seen much further from shore, drifting upon masses of ice; but it is doubtful whether he cared much for the footing thus afforded him. It is quite possible he can swim as long as it pleases him, or until his strength may become exhausted by hunger. While going through the water, it does not appear necessary for him to make the slightest effort; and he can even spring up above the surface, and bound forward after the manner of porpoises or other cetaceae.
If any quadruped has ever reached the pole, it is the polar bear; and it is quite probable that his range extends to this remarkable point on the earth’s surface. Most certainly it may, if we suppose that there is open water around the pole – a supposition that, by analogical reasoning, may be proved to be correct. The daring Parry found white bears at 82 degrees; and there is no reason why they should not traverse the intervening zone of 500 odd miles, almost as easily as the fowls of the air or the fish of the sea. No doubt there are polar bears around the pole; though it may be assumed for certain that none of them ever attempts to “swarm” up it, as the white bear is not the best climber of his kind. The female of the polar bear is not so much addicted to a maritime life as her liege lord. The former, unless when barren, keeps upon the land; and it is upon the land that she brings forth her young. When pregnant, she wanders off to some distance from the shore; and choosing her bed, she lies down, goes to sleep, and there remains until spring. She does not, like other hybernating bears, seek out a cave or hollow tree; for in the desolate land she inhabits, ofttimes neither one nor the other could be found. She merely waits for the setting-in of a great snow-storm – which her instinct warns her of – and then, stretching herself under the lee of a rock – or other inequality, where the snow will be likely to form a deep drift – she remains motionless till it has “smoored” her quite up, often covering her body to the depth of several feet. There she remains throughout the winter, completely motionless, and apparently in a state of torpor. The heat of her body thawing the snow that comes immediately in contact with it, together with some warmth from her limited breathing, in time enlarges the space around her, so that she reclines inside a sort of icy shell. It is fortunate that circumstances provide her with this extra room: since in due course of time she will stand in need of it for the company she expects.
And in process of time it is called into use. When the spring sun begins to melt the snow outside, the bear becomes a mother, and a brace of little white cubs make their appearance, each about as big as a rabbit.
The mother does not immediately lead them forth from their snowy chamber; but continues to suckle them there until they are of the size of Arctic foxes, and ready to take the road. Then she makes an effort, breaks through the icy crust that forms the dome of her dwelling, and commences her journey towards the sea.
There are times when the snow around her has become so firmly caked, that, with her strength exhausted by the suckling of her cubs, the bear is unable to break through it. In a case of this kind, she is compelled to remain in an involuntary durance – until the sun gradually melts the ice around her and sets her free. Then she issues from her prolonged imprisonment, only the shadow of her former self, and scarce able to keep her feet.
The Northern Indians and Eskimos capture hundreds of these hybernating bears every season – taking both them and their cubs at the same time. They find the retreat in various ways: sometimes by their dogs scraping to get into it, and sometimes by observing the white hoar that hangs over a little hole which the warmth of the bear’s breath has kept open in the snow.
The hunters, having ascertained the exact position of the animal’s body, either dig from above, and spear the old she in her bed; or they make a tunnel in a horizontal direction, and, getting a noose around the head or one of the paws of the bear, drag her forth in that way.
To give an account of the many interesting habits peculiar to the polar bear – with others which this species shares in common with the Bruin family – would require a volume to itself. These habits are well described by many writers of veracity, – such as Lyon, Hearne, Richardson, and a long array of other Arctic explorers. It is therefore unnecessary to dwell on them here – where we have only space to narrate an adventure which occurred to our young bear-hunters, while procuring the skin of this interesting quadruped.
