PREPARATIONS FOR MY SECOND MARRIAGE.—DANGEROUS ADVENTURE.—MY WIFE’S
NOCTURNAL VISITOR.—WE PREPARE FOR THE RECEPTION OF OUR UNINVITED
GUEST.—BRUIN’S UNWELCOME VISIT TO AN IRISH SHANTY.—OUR BEAR HUNT.—MAJOR
ELLIOTT’S DUEL WITH BRUIN.—HIS WOUNDS AND VICTORY.
I spent the spring of 1827 very pleasantly in the company of my new
friends. I used to go down to my farm every morning, and return in the
evening to a cheerful fire-side and agreeable society, which rewarded
me for the toils of the day. I had fenced in my fields, planted my
spring crops, Indian corn, and potatoes, which looked promising; and I
had my house nearly finished. I, therefore, considered it was time I
should go and reside in it, and not trespass any longer on the
hospitality of my kind and generous friends. As, however, I did not
like the thought of living the life of a hermit, and my little boy; for
whom I had sent, was weaned, and growing healthy and lovely under the
kind hospitality of my friends, required now a watchful parental care,
I proposed to, and was accepted by, my friend’s eldest daughter, in
whom I found what I sought—a faithful mother for my child, and the most
devoted and affectionate wife for myself. A better woman, indeed, never
existed. For upwards of twenty-two years she shared my various
fortunes, and formed my greatest earthly blessing. A few days before my
marriage—an event to which I naturally looked forward for an increase
of happiness—an accident occurred, which might have been attended with
fatal results to myself, and actually was so to a lad who was in my
service. A kind Providence, however, watched over my life, and
delivered me from this danger.
My farm was situated on the east shore of the Otonabee river, the town
of Peterborough being on the west of that line; and there was no bridge
communication between us and that place, so that we were obliged to
cross in skiffs, canoes, or any other craft we could get. When the
river is flooded in the spring, it is dangerous for persons crossing,
unless they are well acquainted with the management of a canoe. Several
fatal accidents have indeed happened to the inexperienced at that time
of the year, from this cause. Such was the state of the river, when I
had to cross it to reach the store, where I wanted to purchase some
articles for my intended marriage. The stream was then at its greatest
height, running with extreme rapidity, and I had, to contend with its
force, only a small log-canoe, about twelve feet in length, by thirty
inches at its greatest breadth, in which three of us ventured upon the
turbid water, namely, John Fontaine, a French boy; Michael Walsh, and
myself. We crossed a little above the new mill-dam, which had been
constructed at the expense of the Government for the Irish emigration,
and we managed to get over pretty well. Not so, however, on our return.
I was near the middle of the canoe, with a pair of small oars, one of
the boys at each end, and all seated at the bottom for greater
security. In this manner we got over the main channel; but owing to the
swiftness of the current, we were carried down much nearer the dam than
we intended. This alarmed the boys a good deal. I begged them to sit
still, assuring them I should be able to fetch the canoe into an eddy a
little lower down the stream. We were at this time close to an island,
which was deeply flooded, owing to the raising of the water by the
construction of the dam. From the point of this sunken island, a cedar
tree had fallen into the river. It was therefore necessary that we
should drop below this, before we could make the eddy. In the act of
passing, the boy Walsh—I suppose from fright—caught hold of the tree,
which caused the canoe to swing round broadside to the current, and it
instantly filled and upset.
A large quantity of timber had been cut on the island, for the use of
the mill and dam. The workmen had piled the tops and limbs of these
trees in large heaps, which now floated above the surface of the
island. To one of these I immediately swam, and succeeded in getting
upon it. I then perceived that Walsh had been swept from the tree to
which he had clung, by the force of the current, into the middle of the
river, and close to the edge of the falls. I saw at a glance, that his
only chance was to swim for the opposite side, which I called on him to
do, but he appeared to have lost all self-possession; for he neither
swam for one shore nor the other, but kept his head facing up the
stream, uttering wild cries, which, in a few seconds, were silenced for
ever.
In the meantime, John Fontaine, the French boy, had succeeded in
getting partly across the canoe, which was floating past the heap on
which I had taken refuge, and only a few yards from where I was
standing. I immediately plucked a long stick from the brush-heap, and
swam near enough to the lad for him to grasp one end of the pole,
bidding him leave the canoe, which I told him would be carried over the
dam to a certainty, and him with it, if he did not abandon his hold.
He, with apparent reluctance, followed my directions, but I had a hard
struggle to regain my former place of refuge, with the boy’s additional
weight. I had some trouble to persuade him to trust himself again in
the water. And no wonder; for darkness was fast approaching, and both
the island and a narrow channel of the river had still to be crossed.
However, trusting to the mercy of God, we again committed ourselves to
those wild, swollen waters, which, by the providence of the Almighty,
we successfully accomplished. I was obliged to hold the stick between
my teeth whilst crossing the channel, drawing along with me my
terrified companion, it being necessary for our preservation, that I
should have the free use of both my arms. I had on at the time a
velveteen shooting coat, the large pockets of which were filled with
things I had just purchased from the store; among which I remember
there was a dozen cups and saucers, which added no inconsiderable
weight to the swimmer.
As soon as we made the shore, we ran down to the falls, to see if we
could hear anything of the poor boy. We shouted, for it was now quite
dark, but all in vain; indeed, I had not the slightest hope, as I had
seen him carried backwards over the dam into the boiling rapids below,
where the best swimmer would not have had the least chance. We failed
to discover his remains then, but found his mangled body six days
afterwards in a small lake, a mile and a half below the dam.
I was much concerned at the fate of my poor young servant, but felt
deeply grateful for my own preservation and that of Fontaine.
A few weeks after my marriage, I was detained one night from home by
business, leaving my wife, her little sister, and a small dog, called
Suffolk—so named by me in honour of my native county—the sole occupiers
of my house, of which the kitchen was still in an unfinished state,
part of the floor only being laid. We, however, had to make use of it,
until I could procure more boards to finish it, which, in those days,
were not very easy to obtain.
In the middle of the night, my wife and her sister were awakened and
dreadfully alarmed by a terrible noise in the kitchen, accompanied by
the sharp barking of the little dog. They were quite sure by the low
growls and the fury of Suffolk, that it was some wild animal, but
whether a bear or wolf they could not tell. Towards morning, this
unwelcome visitor took himself off, to their infinite joy. When I came
home, they told me the story, at which I laughed very heartily, for I
thought their fears had magnified the visit of some neighbour’s dog
into a bear, or some other wild beast; but they appeared unconvinced,
being both frightened and positive. My wife declared, that in the
morning she found some of the salt-pork had been abstracted from the
barrel, which stood in one corner of the kitchen, by the savage guest.
Now, I knew very well that master Bruin was fond of fresh pork, and I
thought it possible that he might think the salt an improvement. At all
events, I resolved to be prepared, in case he should pay us a second
visit. Accordingly, before going to bed, I loaded my gun with ball, and
tied Suffolk up in the vicinity of the pork-barrel. At midnight we were
suddenly awakened by the piteous howlings of the poor dog, and by a
noise, as if everything in the room had been violently thrown down. I
jumped out of bed instantly, and seizing my gun, crept cautiously along
the passage, till I came to the kitchen-door, which I threw open,
whereupon some large dark-looking object made a rush for the unfinished
part of the floor. I immediately fired; but it was so dark, and the
beast so quick in its movements, that I had little chance of hitting
him. Whether or not, it had the effect of scaring him so much that he
never resumed his nocturnal visitation. Indeed, I stopped his supplies
from my larder by finishing the floor and building up the hole between
the lower log of the house and the ground.
But to return to my story. As soon as the beast had made his exit, we
lighted a candle and examined the room, which we found in confusion and
disorder. The barrel of pork was upset and the brine running in
miniature rivers over the floor, while poor little Suffolk was bleeding
from his wounds—indeed nearly killed. From what I could make out of the
footprints outside I am inclined to think my unwelcome visiter was a
bear; but this, of course, will for ever remain a mystery.
I have heard many stories of their boldness, to some instances of which
I have been an eye-witness. Not very long after the occurrence I have
just related, the wife of an Irish emigrant saw a large bear walking
very deliberately towards the shanty, which no doubt he mistook for a
pigsty, and the inmates for pigs, for they were quite as dirty,
therefore it was no great mistake, after all. The woman and her three
children had barely time to get into the potato-cellar and shut down
the trap-door, when his bear-ship made his forcible entrance through
the feeble barrier the door opposed to his strength, much to the dismay
and terror of the subterranean lodgers, who lay shaking and quaking for
more than an hour, till the dying screams of their fatted pig told them
he was after game of a more savoury nature.
In the fall of the year it is no uncommon thing for farmers to have
their pigs killed by the bears, particularly in the new settlements.
Bears are, we know, very fond of good things. They are epicures in
their way. They like honey, and love pork, and, you may be sure, often
pay the settler a visit for the sake of his pigs. As Bruin makes very
good eating himself, these visitations are sometimes made at the risk
of his own bacon; his warm jacket, which makes comfortable robes for
the settler’s sleigh, keeping him warm during his journeys on pleasure
or business throughout the long Canadian winters.
One day, I was assisting my father-in-law and his sons in logging up
his fallow, when we heard a great outcry among the pigs in a belt of
woods between Mr. Reid’s and Mr. Stewart’s clearing, when, suspecting
it was a bear attacking the swine, we ran for our guns, and made the
best of our way towards the spot from whence the outcry proceeded.
Near the edge of the clearing we met Mr. B——, who was on a visit to his
friend and relative Mr. Stewart, driving before him Mr. Reid’s sow,
which he had just rescued from the grip of an immense bear, that,
alarmed by his shouts, dropped his prey and made off in the direction
of a small cedar-swamp. We immediately proposed surrounding the place,
as there were three of us provided with double-barrelled guns. Mr.
B——took up his station behind a large tree, close to where a small
creek ran into the swamp. My brother-in-law John and myself went round
to the opposite side, which we entered a few yards apart. We had not
proceeded far, when an enormous brute popped up his head from behind
some fallen logs and brush, for we had disturbed him in the act of
devouring a pig. We both fired at the same instant, but apparently
without effect; for he scampered off, passing within a few feet of
where B—— was hid, who fired only one of his barrels, reserving his
second in case the bear should turn on him. We ran as fast as we could
to the river, for we knew he had gone in that direction. Indeed, Bruin
took to the water in fine style, swimming across gallantly. Before we
could get another shot at him he had gained the opposite bank. There we
gave him a second volley, which did not appear in the least to retard
his ascent, so we concluded that it was a regular miss all round. B——
maintained, however, that he had hit him, and wanted us to cross the
river and follow the track. We only laughed at him for not firing his
second shot, and returned home very much crestfallen at the ill success
of our expedition.
Had we but complied with B——’s wish, we should have found our hunt had
been more successful than we imagined, for eight or ten days afterwards
John Morison was going on the opposite side of the river to
Peterborough, when, upon crossing a small creek, he came quite
unexpectedly on the carcass of a large bear, not thirty yards from the
bank we had seen him climb. No doubt B——’s shot was the fatal one, as
he was not more than five or six yards from him when he fired. The
stream, where the beast was found, is in the township of Smith, about a
mile and a half from Peterborough, on the river road, and is well-known
by the name of Bear Creek to this day.
There is very little danger of being attacked by Bruin, unless you
first molest him. An old she-bear, with cubs, is the most dangerous
customer to meddle with.
Major Elliott, of the Canadian Militia, a gentleman with whom I was
well acquainted, residing near Rice Lake, in the township of Monaghan,
was out one day in the woods partridge-shooting, near the big swamp on
the boundary line between Monaghan and Cavan, when he fell in with
several old bears and their cubs. He had only one ball with him which
he fired at the biggest fellow he could see among them, and wounded him
very severely, though not enough to stop him from following his
companions. But Elliott was not the man to be baulked without an effort
to capture his wounded adversary; so, being in want of a ball, he cut
of from his waistcoat some open-work brass buttons, with which he
loaded his gun, and followed the track of the wounded bear, which he
soon overtook.
Bruin, however, being possessed of considerable pluck, immediately
faced about and attacked the major, who gave him a taste of the
buttons, as he advanced. But the bear, nothing daunted, returned to the
charge, which Elliott met with a blow from the butt-end of his gun,
that was instantly struck from his hand by his formidable antagonist,
who immediately closed with him. It now became a regular stand-up fight
between Major Elliott and Ursus Major. For a long time it was doubtful
which would come off victorious. Elliott was severely wounded about the
breast and arms; notwithstanding which, he boldly maintained his
ground, and ultimately succeeded in rolling the beast over the trunk of
a large pine tree which lay on the ground beside them. Bruin was too
much exhausted to climb over the tree, to renew the combat.
Luckily, Elliott received no internal injury, though his flesh was
severely lacerated in the contest, which only ended with the bear’s
life. Ireland, indeed, never sent from her shores a bolder hunter,
braver man, or more active backwoodsman, than Major Elliott.[1]
[1] This gentleman was afterwards returned as Member of the Provincial
Parliament for the county of Durham.