Майн Рид
The Hunters' Feast: Conversations Around the Camp Fire
Chapter Nineteen.
Squirrel-Shooting
We were now travelling among the spurs of the “Ozark hills,” and our road was a more difficult one. The ravines were deeper, and as our course obliged us to cross the direction in which most of them ran, we were constantly climbing or descending the sides of steep ridges. There was no road except a faint Indian trail, used by the Kansas in their occasional excursions to the borders of the settlements. At times we were compelled to cut away the underwood, and ply the axe lustily upon some huge trunk that had fallen across the path and obstructed the passage of our waggon. This rendered our progress but slow.
During such halt most of the party strayed off into the woods in search of game. Squirrels were the only four-footed creatures found, and enough of these were shot to make a good-sized “pot-pie;” and it may be here remarked, that no sort of flesh is better for this purpose than that of the squirrel.
The species found in these woods was the large “cat-squirrel” (Sciurus cinereus), one of the noblest of its kind. Of course at that season, amid the plenitude of seeds, nuts, and berries, they were as plump as partridges. This species is usually in good condition, and its flesh the best flavoured of all. In the markets of New York they bring three times the price of the common grey squirrel.
As we rode along, the naturalist stated many facts in relation to the squirrel tribe, that were new to most of us. He said that in North America there were not less than twenty species of true squirrels, all of them dwellers in the trees, and by including the “ground” and “flying” squirrels (tamias and pteromys), the number of species might be more than forty. Of course there are still new species yet undescribed, inhabiting the half-explored regions of the western territory.
The best-known of the squirrels is the common “grey squirrel,” as it is in most parts of the United States the most plentiful. Indeed it is asserted that some of the other species, as the “black squirrel” (Sciurus niger), disappear from districts where the grey squirrels become numerous – as the native rat gives place to the fierce “Norway.”
The true fox squirrel (Sciurus vulpinus) differs essentially from the “cat,” which is also known in many States by the name of fox squirrel. The former is larger, and altogether a more active animal, dashing up to the top of a pine-tree in a single run. The cat-squirrel, on the contrary, is slow and timid among the branches, and rarely mounts above the first fork, unless when forced higher by the near approach of its enemy. It prefers concealing itself behind the trunk, dodging round the tree as the hunter advances upon it. It has one peculiarity, however, in its mode of escape that often saves it, and disappoints its pursuer. Unless very hotly pursued by a dog, or other swift enemy, it will not be treed until it has reached the tree that contains its nest, and, of course, it drops securely into its hole, bidding defiance to whatever enemy – unless, indeed, that enemy chance to be the pine-martin, which is capable of following it even to the bottom of its dark tree-cave.
Now most of the other squirrels make a temporary retreat to the nearest large tree that offers. This is often without a hole where they can conceal themselves, and they are therefore exposed to the small shot or rifle-bullet from below.
It does not always follow, however, that they are brought down from their perch. In very heavy bottom timber the squirrel often escapes among the high twigs, even where there are no leaves to conceal it, nor any hole in the tree. Twenty shots, and from good marksmen too, have been fired at a single squirrel in such situations, without bringing it to the ground, or seriously wounding it! A party of hunters have often retired without getting such game, and yet the squirrel has been constantly changing place, and offering itself to be sighted in new positions and attitudes!
The craft of the squirrel on these occasions is remarkable. It stretches its body along the upper part of a branch, elongating it in such a manner, that the branch, not thicker than the body itself, forms almost a complete shield against the shot. The head, too, is laid close, and the tail no longer erect, but flattened along the branch, so as not to betray the whereabouts of the animal.
Squirrel-shooting is by no means poor sport. It is the most common kind practised in the United States, because the squirrel is the most common game. In that country it takes the place that snipe or partridge shooting holds in England. In my opinion it is a sport superior to either of these last, and the game, when killed, is not much less in value. Good fat squirrel can be cooked in a variety of ways, and many people prefer it to feathered game of any kind. It is true the squirrel has a rat-like physiognomy, but that is only in the eyes of strangers to him. A residence in the backwoods, and a short practice in the eating of squirrel pot-pie, soon removes any impression of that kind. A hare, as brought upon the table-cloth in England, is far more likely to produce degoût– from its very striking likeness to “puss,” that is purring upon the hearth-rug.
In almost all parts of the United States, a day’s squirrel-shooting may be had without the necessity of making a very long journey. There are still tracts of woodland left untouched, where these animals find a home. In the Western States a squirrel-hunt may be had simply by walking a couple of hundred yards from your house, and in some places you may shoot the creatures out of the very door.
To make a successful squirrel-hunt two persons at least are necessary. If only one goes out, the squirrel can avoid him simply by “dodging” round the trunk, or any large limb of the tree. When there are two, one remains stationary, while the other makes a circuit, and drives the game from the opposite side. It is still better when three or four persons make up the party, as then the squirrel is assailed on all sides, and can find no resting-place, without seeing a black tube levelled upon him, and ready to send forth its deadly missile.
Some hunt the squirrel with shot-guns. These are chiefly young hands. The old hunter prefers the rifle; and in the hands of practised marksmen this is the better weapon. The rifle-bullet, be it ever so small, kills the game at once; whereas a squirrel severely peppered with shot will often escape to the tree where its hole is, and drop in, often to die of its wounds. No creature can be more tenacious of life – not even a cat. When badly wounded it will cling to the twigs to its last breath, and even after death its claws sometimes retain their hold, and its dead body hangs suspended to the branch!
The height from which a squirrel will leap to the ground without sustaining injury, is one of those marvels witnessed by every squirrel-hunter. When a tree in which it has taken refuge is found not to afford sufficient shelter, and a neighbouring tree is not near enough for it to leap to, it then perceives the necessity of returning to the ground, to get to some other part of the woods. Some species, as the cat-squirrel, fearing to take the dreadful leap (often nearly a hundred feet), rush down by the trunk. Not so the more active squirrels, as the common grey kind. These run to the extremity of a branch, and spring boldly down in a diagonal direction. The hunter – if a stranger to the feat – would expect to see the creature crushed or crippled by the fall. No danger of that. Even the watchful dog that is waiting for such an event, and standing close to the spot, has not time to spring upon it, until it is off again like a flying bird, and, almost as quick as sight can follow, is seen ascending some other tree.
There is an explanation required about this precipitous leap. The squirrel is endowed with the capability of spreading out its body to a great extent, and this in the downward rush it takes care to do – thus breaking its fall by the resistance of the air. This alone accounts for its not killing itself.
Nearly all squirrels possess this power, but in different degrees. In the flying squirrels it is so strongly developed, as to enable them to make a flight resembling that of the birds themselves.
The squirrel-hunter is often accompanied by a dog – not that the dog ever by any chance catches one of these creatures. Of him the squirrel has but little fear, well knowing that he cannot climb a tree. The office of the dog is of a different kind. It is to “tree” the squirrel, and, by remaining at the root, point out the particular tree to his master.
The advantage of the dog is obvious. In fact, he is almost as necessary as the pointer to the sportsman. First, by ranging widely, he beats a greater breadth of the forest. Secondly, when a squirrel is seen by him, his swiftness enables him to hurry it up some tree not its own. This second advantage is of the greatest importance. When the game has time enough allowed it, it either makes to its own tree (with a hole in it of course), or selects one of the tallest near the spot. In the former case it is impossible, and in the latter difficult, to have a fair shot at it.
If there be no dog, and the hunter trusts to his own eyes, he is often unable to find the exact tree which the squirrel has climbed, and of course loses it.
A good squirrel-dog is a useful animal. The breed is not important. The best are usually half-bred pointers. They should have good sight as well as scent; should range widely, and run fast. When well trained they will not take after rabbits, or any other game. They will bark only when a squirrel is treed, and remain staunchly by the root of the tree. The barking is necessary, otherwise the hunter, often separated from them by the underwood, would not know when they had succeeded in “treeing.”
The squirrel seems to have little fear of the dog, and rarely ascends to a great height. It is often seen only a few feet above him, jerking its tail about, and apparently mocking its savage enemy below.
The coming up of the hunter changes the scene. The squirrel then takes the alarm, and shooting up, conceals itself among the higher branches.
Taking it all in all, we know none of the smaller class of field sports that requires greater skill, and yields more real amusement, than hunting the squirrel.
Our Kentuckian comrade gave us an account of a grand squirrel-hunt got up by himself and some neighbours, which is not an uncommon sort of thing in the Western States. The hunters divided themselves into two parties of equal numbers, each taking its own direction through the woods. A large wager was laid upon the result, to be won by that party that could bring in the greatest number of squirrels. There were six guns on each side, and the numbers obtained at the end of a week – for the hunt lasted so long – were respectively 5000, and 4780! Of course the sport came off in a tract of country where squirrels were but little hunted, and were both tame and plenty.
Such hunts upon a grand scale are, as already stated, not uncommon in some parts of the United States. They have another object besides the sport – that of thinning off the squirrels for the protection of the planter’s corn-field. So destructive are these little animals to the corn and other grains, that in some States there has been at times a bounty granted, for killing them. In early times such a law existed in Pennsylvania, and there is a registry that in one year the sum of 8000 pounds was paid out of the treasury of this bounty-money, which at threepence a head – the premium – would make 640,000, the number of the squirrels killed in that year!
The “migration of the squirrels” is still an unexplained fact. It is among the grey squirrels it takes place; hence the name given to that species, Sciurus migratorius. There is no regularity about these migrations, and their motive is not known. Immense bands of the squirrels are observed in a particular neighbourhood, proceeding through the woods or across tracts of open ground, all in one direction. Nothing stays their course. Narrow streams and broad rivers are crossed by them by swimming, and many are drowned in the attempt.
Under ordinary circumstances, these little creatures are as much afraid of water as cats, yet when moving along their track of migration they plunge boldly into a river, without calculating whether they will ever reach the other side. When found upon the opposite bank, they are often so tired with the effort, that one may overtake them with a stick; and thousands are killed in this way when a migration has been discovered.
It is stated that they roll pieces of dry wood, or bark, into the water, and, seating themselves on these, are wafted across, their tails supplying them with a sail: of course this account must be held as apocryphal.
But the question is, what motive impels them to undertake these long and perilous wanderings, from which it is thought they never return to their original place of abode? It cannot be the search of food, nor the desire to change from a colder to a warmer climate. The direction of the wanderings forbids us to receive either of these as the correct reason. No light has been yet thrown upon this curious habit. It would seem as if some strange instinct propelled them, but for what purpose, and to what end, no one can tell.
Chapter Twenty.
Treeing a Bear
The doctor was the only one not taking part in the conversation. Even the rude guides listened. All that related to game interested them, even the scientific details given by the hunter-naturalist. The doctor had ridden on in front of us. Some one remarked that he wanted water to mix with the contents of his flask, and was therefore searching for a stream. Be this as it may, he was seen suddenly to jerk his spare horse about, and spur back to us, his countenance exhibiting symptoms of surprise and alarm.
“What is it, doctor?” inquired one.
“He has seen Indians,” remarked another.
“A bear – a bear!” cried the doctor, panting for breath; “a grizzly bear! a terrible-looking creature I assure you.”
“A bar! d’you say?” demanded Ike, shooting forward on his old mare.
“A bar!” cried Redwood, breaking through the bushes in pursuit.
“A bear!” shouted the others, all putting spurs to their horses, and galloping forward in a body.
“Where, doctor? Where?” cried several.
“Yonder,” replied the doctor, “just by that great tree. I saw him go in there – a grizzly, I’m sure.”
It was this idea that had put the doctor in such affright, and caused him to ride back so suddenly.
“Nonsense, doctor,” said the naturalist, “we are yet far to the east of the range of the grizzly bear. It was a black bear you saw.”
“As I live,” replied the doctor, “it was not black, anything but that. I should know the black bear. It was a light brown colour – almost yellowish.”
“Oh! that’s no criterion. The black bear is found with many varieties of colour. I have seen them of the colour you describe. It must be one of them. The grizzly is not found so far to the eastward, although it is possible we may see them soon; but not in woods like these.”
There was no time for farther explanation. We had come up to the spot where the bear had been seen; and although an unpractised eye could have detected no traces of the animal’s presence, old Ike, Redwood, and the hunter-naturalist could follow its trail over the bed of fallen leaves, almost as fast as they could walk. Both the guides had dismounted, and with their bodies slightly bent, and leading their horses after them, commenced tracking the bear. From Ike’s manner one would have fancied that he was guided by scent rather than by sight.
The trail led us from our path, and we had followed it some hundred yards into the woods. Most of us were of the opinion that the creature had never halted after seeing the doctor, but had run off to a great distance. If left to ourselves, we should have given over the chase.
The trappers, however, knew what they were about. They asserted that the bear had gone away slowly – that it had made frequent halts – that they discovered “sign” to lead them to the conclusion that the animal’s haunt was in the neighbourhood – that its “nest” was near. We were, therefore, encouraged to proceed.
All of us rode after the trackers. Jake and Lanty had been left with the waggon, with directions to keep on their route. After a while we heard the waggon moving along directly in front of us. The road had angled as well as the bear’s trail, and the two were again converging.
Just at that moment a loud shouting came from the direction of the waggon. It was Lanty’s voice, and Jake’s too.
“Och! be the Vargin mother! luck there! Awch, mother o’ Moses, Jake, such a haste!”
“Golly, Massa Lanty, it am a bar!”
We all heard this at once. Of course we thought of the trail no longer, but made a rush in the direction of the voices, causing the branches to fly on every side.
“Whar’s the bar?” cried Redwood, who was first up to the waggon, “whar did ye see’t?”
“Yander he goes!” cried Lanty, pointing to a pile of heavy timber, beset with an undergrowth of cane, but standing almost isolated from the rest of the forest on account of the thin open woods that were around it.
We were too late to catch a glimpse of him, but perhaps he would halt in the undergrowth. If so we had a chance.
“Surround, boys, surround!” cried the Kentuckian, who understood bear-hunting as well as any of the party. “Quick, round and head him;” and, at the same time, the speaker urged his great horse into a gallop. Several others rode off on the opposite side, and in a few seconds we had surrounded the cane-brake.
“Is he in it?” cried one.
“Do you track ’im thur, Mark?” cried Ike to his comrade from the opposite side.
“No,” was the reply, “he hain’t gone out this away.”
“Nor hyur,” responded Ike.
“Nor here,” said the Kentuckian.
“Nor by here,” added the hunter-naturalist.
“Belike, then, he’s still in the timmor,” said Redwood. “Now look out all of yees. Keep your eyes skinned; I’ll hustle him out o’ thar.”
“Hold on, Mark, boy,” cried Ike, “hold on thur. Damn the varmint! hyur’s his track, paddled like a sheep pen. Wagh, his den’s hyur – let me rout ’im.”
“Very wal, then,” replied the other, “go ahead, old fellow – I’ll look to my side – thu’ll no bar pass me ’ithout getting a pill in his guts. Out wi’ ’im!” We all sat in our saddles silent and watchful. Ike had entered the cane, but not a rustle was heard. A snake could not have passed through it with less noise than did the old trapper.
It was full ten minutes before the slightest sound warned of what he was about. Then his voice reached us.
“This way, all of you! The bar’s treed.”
The announcement filled all of us with pleasant anticipations. The sport of killing a bear is no everyday amusement, and now that the animal was “treed” we were sure of him. Some dismounted and hitched their horses to the branches; others boldly dashed into the cane, hurrying to the spot, with the hope of having first shot.
Why was Ike’s rifle not heard if he saw the bear treed? This puzzled some. It was explained when we got up. Ike’s words were figurative. The bear had not taken shelter in a tree, but a hollow log, and, of course, Ike had not yet set eyes on him. But there was the log, a huge one, some ten or more feet in thickness, and there was the hole, with the well-beaten track leading into it. It was his den. He was there to a certainty.
How to get him out? That was the next question.
Several took their stations, guns in hand, commanding the entrance to the hollow. One went back upon the log, and pounded it with the butt of his gun. To no purpose. Bruin was not such a fool as to walk out and be peppered by bullets.
A long pole was next thrust up the hollow. Nothing could be felt. The den was beyond reach.
Smoking was next tried, but with like success. The bear gave no sign of being annoyed with it. The axes were now brought from the waggon. It would be a tough job – for the log (a sycamore) was sound enough except near the heart. There was no help for it, and Jake and Lanty went to work as if for a day’s rail splitting.
Redwood and the Kentuckian, both good axemen, relieved them, and a deep notch soon began to make its appearance on each side of the log. The rest of us kept watch near the entrance, hoping the sound of the axe might drive out the game. We were disappointed in that hope, and for full two hours the chopping continued, until the patience and the arms of those that plied the axe were nearly tired out.
It is no trifling matter to lay open a tree ten feet in diameter. They had chosen the place for their work guided by the long pole. It could not be beyond the den, and if upon the near side, of it, the pole would then be long enough to reach the bear, and either destroy him with a knife-blade attached to it, or force him out. This was our plan, and therefore we were encouraged to proceed.
At length the axes broke through the wood and the dark interior lay open. They had cut in the right place, for the den of the bear was found directly under, but no bear! Poles were inserted at both openings, but no bear could be felt either way. The hollow ran up no farther, so after all there was no bear in the log.
There were some disappointed faces about – and some rather rough ejaculations were heard. I might say that Ike “cussed a few,” and that would be no more than the truth. The old trapper seemed to be ashamed of being so taken in, particularly as he had somewhat exultingly announced that the “bar was treed.”
“He must have got off before we surrounded,” said one.
“Are you sure he came into the timber?” asked another – “that fool, Lanty, was so scared, he could hardly tell where the animal went.”
“Be me soul! gintlemen, I saw him go in wid my own eyes, Oil swear – ”
“Cussed queer!” spitefully remarked Redwood.
“Damn the bar!” ejaculated Ike, “whur kid the varmint a gone?”
Where was A – ? All eyes were turned to look for the hunter-naturalist, as if he could clear up the mystery. He was nowhere to be seen. He had not been seen for some time!
At that moment, the clear sharp ring of a rifle echoed in our ears. There was a moment’s silence, and the next moment a loud “thump” was heard, as of a heavy body falling from a great height to the ground. The noise startled even our tired horses, and some of them broke their ties and scampered off.
“This way, gentlemen!” said a quiet voice, “here’s the bear!”
The voice was A – ’s; and we all, without thinking of the horses, hurried up to the spot. Sure enough, there lay the great brute, a red stream oozing out of a bullet-hole in his ribs.
A – pointed to a tree – a huge oak that spread out above our heads.
“There he was, in yonder fork,” said he. “We might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble had we been more thoughtful. I suspected he was not in the log when the smoke failed to move him. The brute was too sagacious to hide there. It is not the first time I have known the hunter foiled by such a trick.”
The eyes of Redwood were turned admiringly on the speaker, and even old Ike could not help acknowledging his superior hunter-craft.
“Mister,” he muttered, “I guess you’d make a darned fust-rate mountain-man. He’s a gone Injun when you look through sights.”
All of us were examining the huge carcass of the bear – one of the largest size.
“Your sure it’s no grizzly?” inquired the doctor.
“No, doctor,” replied the naturalist, “the grizzly never climbs a tree.”
