Майн Рид
Bruin: The Grand Bear Hunt

Chapter Twenty One.
A Meeting with Muleteers

A little beyond the scene of their encounter with the woodcutters, the path entered among the gorges of the mountains, and the level plains of France were for a time lost to their view. The route they were following was a mere bridle-track, quite impracticable for carriages, but leading to one of the “ports” already mentioned, by which they could pass through to the Spanish side. Through this port a considerable traffic is carried on between the two countries – most of the carrying being done by Spanish muleteers, who cross the mountains conducting large trains of mules – all, except those upon which they themselves ride, laden with packs and bales of merchandise.

That such a traffic was carried over this route, our Russian travellers needed no other evidence than what came under their own eyes; for shortly after, on rounding a point of rock, they saw before them a large drove of mules, gaily caparisoned with red cloth and stamped leather, and each carrying its pack. The gang had halted on a platform of no great breadth; and the drivers – about a dozen men in all – were seen seated upon the rocks, a little way in advance of the animals. Each wore a capacious cloak of brown cloth – a favourite colour among the Pyrenean Spaniards; and what with their swarthy complexions, bearded lips, and wild attire, it would have been pardonable enough to have mistaken them for a band of brigands, or, at all events, a party of contrabandistas.

They were neither one nor the other, however; but honest Spanish muleteers, on their way to a French market, with commodities produced on the southern side of the mountains.

As our travellers came up, they were in the act of discussing a luncheon, which consisted simply of black bread, tough goat’s-milk cheese, and thin Malaga wine – the last carried in a skin bag, out of which each individual drank in his turn, simply holding up the bag and pouring the wine by a small jet down his throat.

They were good-humoured fellows, and invited our travellers to taste their wine; which invitation it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. Ivan and Alexis emptied some out into their silver cups – which they carried slung conveniently to their belts; but Pouchskin not having his can so ready, essayed to drink the wine after the fashion of the muleteers. But the goat-skin bag, clumsily manipulated in the hands of the old guardsman, instead of sending the stream into his mouth, jetted it all over his face and into his eyes, blinding and half-choking him! As he stood in his stultified attitude, wine-skin in hand, the precious fluid running down his nose, and dripping from the tips of his grand mustachios, he presented a picture that caused the muleteers to laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks; shouting out their bravos and other exclamations, as if they were applauding some exquisite piece of performance in a theatre.

Pouchskin took it all in good part, and the muleteers pressed him to try again; but, not caring to expose himself to a fresh burst of ridicule, the old grenadier borrowed the cup of one of his young masters; and by the help of this managed matters a little more to his mind. As the wine tasted good to the old soldier’s palate, and as the hospitable muleteers invited him to drink as much as he pleased, it was not until the goat-skin bag exhibited symptoms of collapse, that he returned it to its owners.

Perhaps had Pouchskin not indulged so freely in the seducing Malaga tipple, he might have avoided a very perilous adventure which befell him almost on the instant, and which we shall now relate.

Our travellers, after exchanging some further civilities with the muleteers, had once more mounted, and were about proceeding on their way. Pouchskin, riding his great French jennet, had started in the advance. Just in front of him, however, the pack mules were standing in a cluster – not only blocking up the path, but barring the way on both sides – so that to get beyond them it would be necessary to pass through their midst. The animals all seemed tranquil enough – some picking at the bushes that were within their reach, but most of them standing perfectly still, occasionally shaking their long ears, or changing one leg to throw the weight upon another. Pouchskin saw that it was necessary to pass among them; and, probably, had he squeezed quietly through, they might have remained still, and taken no notice of him. But, elated with the wine he had drunk, the ex-grenadier, instead of following this moderate course, drove his spurs into his great French hybrid, and with a loud charging yell – such as might have issued from the throat of a Cossack – he dashed right into the midst of the drove.

Whether it was because the animal he bestrode was French, or whether something in Pouchskin’s voice had sounded ill in their ears, it is not possible to say, but all, at once the whole Spanish mulada was perceived to be in motion – each individual mule rushing towards Pouchskin with pricked ears, open mouth, and tail elevated in the air! It was too late for him to hear the cry of the izzard-hunter, “prenez-garde!” or the synonym, “guarda te!” of the muleteers. He may have heard both these cautionary exclamations, but they reached him too late to be of any service to him: for before he could have counted six, at least twice that number of mules had closed round him, and with a simultaneous scream commenced snapping and biting at both him and his French roadster with all the fury of famished wolves! In vain did the stalwart jennet defend itself with its shod hoofs, in vain did its rider lay round him with his whip: for not only did the Spanish mules assail him with their teeth, but, turning tail as well, they sent their heels whistling around his head, and now and then thumping against his legs, until his leather boots and breeches cracked under their kicks!

Of course the muleteers, on perceiving Pouchskin’s dilemma, had rushed instantaneously to the rescue; and with loud cries and cracking of their whips – as muleteers alone can crack them – were endeavouring to beat off the assailants. But, with all their exertions, backed by their authority over the animals, Pouchskin might have fared badly enough, had not an opportunity offered for extricating himself. His animal, fleeing from the persecution of its Spanish enemies, had rushed in among some boulders of rock. Thither it was hotly pursued; and Pouchskin would again have been overtaken, had he not made a very skilful and extensive leap out of the saddle, and landed himself on a ledge of rock. From this he was able to clamber still higher, until he had reached a point that entirely cleared him of the danger.

The French jennet, however, had still to sustain the attack of the infuriated mules; but, now that it was relieved from the encumbrance of its heavy rider, it gained fresh confidence in its long legs; and making a dash through the midst of the mulada, it struck off up the mountain-path, and galloped clear out of sight. The mules, encumbered with their packs, did not show any inclination to follow, and the drama was thus brought to a termination.

The woe-begone look of the old guardsman, as he stood perched upon the high pinnacle of rock, was again too much for the muleteers; and one and all of them gave utterance to fresh peals of laughter. His young masters were too much concerned about their faithful Pouchskin to give way to mirth; but on ascertaining that he had only received a few insignificant bruises, – thanks to the Spanish mules not being shod, – they, too, were very much disposed to have a laugh at his expense. Alexis was of opinion that their follower had made rather free with the wine-skin; and therefore regarded the chastisement rather in the light of a just retribution.

It cost the izzard-hunter a chase before Pouchskin’s runaway could be recovered; but the capture of the jennet was at length effected; and, all things being set to-rights, a parting salute was once more exchanged with the muleteers, and the travellers proceeded on their way.

Chapter Twenty Two.
The Pyrenean Bears

It was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. These animals, although plenteous enough in the Pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. Such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer’s axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the Pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation – along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many Alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. He sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. Of truffles he is as fond as a Parisian sybarite, – scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and “rooting” them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced.

Like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. He is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. On this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the Pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, and larvae, – the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. The latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. The facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. The izzard-hunter’s opinion was that the Pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. The same remark will apply to the Pyrenean bear that is true of the ursus arctos, – viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. Hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice.

The izzard-hunter’s father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes – even men lost their lives in encounters with them! In modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. The hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of France.

He knew of no particular mode for taking bears. Their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. Then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs.

“So scarce are they,” added the hunter, “that I have killed only three this whole season; but I know where there’s a fourth – a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined – ”

The young Russians understood the hint. Money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a Pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. In an instant almost, the bargain was made. Ten dollars for the haunt of the bear!

The Pic du Midi d’Ossau was now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. The sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions – until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. It was, to all appearance, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the Amazon or amid the Cordilleras of the Andes. Neither track nor trail was seen – only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there.

The izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. With, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay.

The neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. He knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying – that is, he knew its cave. He had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. Some business had kept him at Eaux Bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. He had now brought his dogs – two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent – and with these Bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. But that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. The better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble, – a thing he would be sure to do, – then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. He would “not come home till morning,” said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations.

It seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when Bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl.

A roaring fire was kindled; and Pouchskin’s capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road.

Chapter Twenty Three.
The Izzard-Hunter

They passed the time pleasantly enough, listening to the stories of the izzard-hunter, who related to them much of the lore current among the peasantry of the mountains – tales of the chase, and of the contraband trade carried on between Spain and France, besides many anecdotes about the Peninsular war, when the French and English armies were campaigning in the Pyrenees. In this conversation Pouchskin took part: for nothing was of greater interest to the old soldier than souvenirs of those grand times, when Pouchskin entered Paris. The conversation of the izzard-hunter related chiefly to his own calling, and upon this theme he was enthusiastic. He told them of all the curious habits of the izzard; and among others that of its using its hooked horns to let itself down from the cliffs – a fancy which is equally in vogue among the chamois hunters of the Alps, but which Alexis did not believe, although he did not say so – not wishing to throw a doubt on the veracity of their guide. The latter, however, when closely questioned upon the point, admitted that he had never himself been an eye-witness of this little bit of goat gymnastics; he had only heard of it from other hunters, who said they had seen it; and similar, no doubt, would be the answer of every one who spoke the truth about this alleged habit of the chamois. The fact is, that this active creature needs no help from its horns. Its hoofs are sufficient to carry it along the very narrowest ledges; and the immense leaps it can take either upward or downward, can be compared to nothing but the flight of some creature furnished with wings. Its hoof, too, is sure, as its eye is unerring. The chamois never slips upon the smoothest rocks – any more than would a squirrel upon the branch of a tree.

Our travellers questioned the izzard-hunter about the profits of his calling. They were surprised to find that the emolument was so trifling. For the carcass of an izzard he received only ten francs; and for the skins two or three more! The flesh or venison was chiefly purchased by the landlords of the hotels – of which there are hundreds at the different watering-places on the French side of the Pyrenees. The visitors were fond of izzard, and called for it at the table. Perhaps they did not relish it so much as they pretended to do; but coming from great cities, and places where they never saw a chamois, they wished to be able to say they had eaten of its flesh. In this conjecture the izzard-hunter was, perhaps, not far out. A considerable quantity of game of other kinds is masticated from a like motive.

It was suggested by Ivan, that, with such a demand for the flesh, the izzard should fetch a better price. Ten francs was nothing?

“Ah!” replied the hunter with a sigh, “that is easily explained, monsieur! The hotel-keepers are too cunning, both for us and their guests. If we were to charge more, they would not take it off our hands.”

“But they would be under the necessity of having it, since their guests call for it.”

“So they do; and if there were no goats, our izzard-venison would sell at a higher price.”

“How?” demanded Ivan, puzzled to make out the connection between goats and izzard-venison.

“Goats and izzards are too much alike, monsieur – that is, after being skinned and cut up. The hotel-keeper knows this, and often makes ‘Nanny’ do duty for izzard. Many a hotel traveller at Eaux Bonnes may be heard praising our izzard’s flesh, when it is only a quarter of young kid he’s been dining upon. Ha! ha! ha!”

And the hunter laughed at the cheat – though he well knew that its practice seriously affected the income of his own calling.

But, indeed, if the truth had been told, the man followed the chase far less from a belief in its being a remunerative profession, than from an innate love for the hunter’s life. So enthusiastic was he upon the theme, that it was easy to see he would not have exchanged his calling for any other – even had the change promised him a fortune! It is so with professional hunters in all parts of the world, who submit to hardships, and often the greatest privations, for that still sweeter privilege of roaming the woods and wilds at will, and being free from the cares and trammels that too often attach themselves to social life.

Conversing on such topics, the party sat around the bivouac fire until after sunset, when their guide admonished them that they would do well to take a few hours of sleep. There was no necessity for going after the bear until a very late hour – that is, until near morning – for then the beast would be most likely to be abroad. If they went too soon, and found him still in his cave, it was not so certain that even the dogs could prevail on him to turn out. It might be a large cavern. He might give battle to the dogs inside; and big as they were, they would be worsted in an encounter of that sort: since a single blow from the paw of a bear is sufficient to silence the noisiest individual of the canine kind. The dogs – as the hunter again repeated – should only be used as a last resource. The other plan promised better; as the bear, once shut out of his cave, would be compelled to take to the woods. The dogs could then follow him up by the fresh scent; and unless he should succeed in finding some other cavern in which to ensconce himself, they might count upon coming up with him. It was not uncommon for the Pyrenean bear, when pursued by dogs and men, to take to a tree; and this would be all that their hearts could desire: since in a tree the bear would be easily reached by the bullets of their guns. Besides, they might have a chance, when he returned to his closed cave, to shoot him down at once; and that would end the matter without further trouble.

It was not necessary to go to the cave until near morning – just early enough to give them time to close up the entrance, and set themselves in ambush before day broke. On this account the guide recommended them to take some sleep. He would answer for it that they should be waked up in time.

This advice was cheerfully accepted and followed. Even Pouchskin required repose, after the rough handling he had received at the mouths of the mules; and he was now quite as ready as his young masters to wrap himself up in his ample grenadier great-coat, and surrender himself into the arms of the Pyrenean Morpheus.