The sergeant used to commence his story as follows:--

"In the autumn of the year 1846 (being then only seventeen years old), I

was encamped with a party of gold-diggers upon the head of the

Sacramento River, at the western base of the California range of

mountains. Our party consisted of a dozen men, myself being about the

youngest; we were living in a small cabin constructed of poles and logs,

and a happy, merry lot we were. All were engaged in washing the

glittering gold-dust from the bed of the river, save a friend and

myself, who were assigned the duty of victualling the camp with game and

fish, now and then making a trip of four or five days' duration to a

trading port about sixty miles down the river, for tea, sugar,

ammunition, etc. My friend, a young Irishman, generally went with me;

we rode a couple of mustangs (horses bred in a wild state), and led or

drove two pack-mules.

"The `Emeralder' and myself had formed a project to secure a menagerie

of wild native animals, and adjoining our lodge we had a large cage, in

the compartments of which were wolves, foxes, California lions, pumas,

panthers, and a host of smaller fry, including birds. These we had, for

the most part, secured when very young. We had long been most anxious

to get a specimen of the `grizzly,' but all our efforts in that way had

failed. One morning, while we were at breakfast, a Mexican hide-dealer,

who lived in a cabin a few miles from us, and from whom we had purchased

several animals, called on us accompanied by four or five half-naked

Indians, and told us that a large `grizzly,' called by the natives

`Mountain Thunder,' had come down from the hills during the night and

made a supper of a fat ox belonging to the Mexican. The Indians we had

met in our hunting excursions had frequently told us of this monster.

According to their reports he must have been near one hundred years of

age, and of a size that a bear had never before attained. Their fathers

had known that he lived years before they were born. This was not

unlikely, for bears live to a great age; even in captivity they have

been known to live a hundred years. We set out for the cabin of the

Mexican. Near the house was the cattle-yard, the scene of the last

night's affair. The yard covered an area of about an acre, surrounded

by a stout fence formed of large poles or stakes driven into the ground,

and about ten feet high; within this the stock were all driven at night

to preserve them from the attacks of bears, wolves, etc. On the side of

the yard farthest from the dwelling, Bruin had made his entrance and

left full proof of his strength behind him. Three or four large posts,

about twelve inches in diameter, were torn from the earth in which they

had been firmly planted to the depth of four feet; one had been broken

at the surface of the ground, apparently by a stroke of the bear's paw,

as the indentures of his claws were an inch deep in the solid timber.

"After seizing the ox, he had thrown him on his back and decamped. We

followed his track up the banks of a small stream towards the mountains

for some miles. I measured the prints of his hind-feet in the soft

clay, and found they were eighteen inches in length from the heel to the

mark of his claws, and a little over nine inches wide.

"As we ascended the stream the course became more narrow and rocky, with

a dense thicket of rough bushes clothing the hills on each side. Here

the bear had made his feast; a few bones, horns, and hoofs, were all

that was left, the wolves having eaten what the bear had left; some of

the larger bones had been crushed like straws by his powerful grinders.

After his brief banquet he had taken to the hills, where the party, with

the exception of the Emeralder and myself, declined to follow him.

After a brief consultation we determined to capture the `grizzly' alive,

if possible, and we set out on our return to our own cabin to complete

our arrangements. The idea was scouted by our companions, but we

determined to make the attempt. We felt sure, from the many footmarks,

that the ravine was a favourite walk of the bear, and that he would

return to the cattle-yard again in the course of a few nights. Loading

our mules with tools at the lodge, we returned to the ravine and

selected a suitable place where timber was plentiful. We then set about

felling trees, and constructed a pen of logs about twenty feet square

and six feet high, covering it with large poles, all firmly pinned

together, and lashed with the bark of the `leather wood.' It was

midnight when we completed our task, and we could take no further

proceedings that night. The next morning we returned, bringing with us

a yearling heifer as a bait. We now raised one side of the pen about

four feet, and placed a `figure four,' or what is there termed a

`dead-fall' trap, beneath it, so arranged that, by pulling a cord

attached to the `spindle,' the edifice would come down with a run. We

next staked the yearling under the cage, giving her plenty of grass, and

led our cord out several yards down the stream, making it fast to a

small tree which commanded a view of our trap, and in the branches of

this tree one of us was to remain, ready to pull the cord, each night,

until Bruin was captured. We fitted up a dry cave with buffalo-skins,

near by, as a sleeping apartment.

"We watched two nights without success, passing a portion of our time in

the day, when not sleeping, in fishing, cooking, and cutting grass for

the heifer. About the middle of the third night, I was perched in my

tree--the Emeralder had just retired to rest--when I heard a rustling of

the bushes on the hill-side above me, and a low growl, which was

unmistakably a signal of Bruin's approach. My companion heard it as

well, and put his head out of the cave. I motioned him to remain quiet.

Soon the bear came slowly down into the ravine below me, and walked

into the water-course to drink. When he emerged from the shelter of the

bush into the bright moonlight, I was astonished at his size; he seemed

like an elephant cut off at the knees. He took a drink, snuffing the

water and the air around him, as if his instinct told him all was not

right. I was fearful that he would go down the stream towards the

Mexican's cattle-yard, and thus we should lose him.

"The proximity of the bear alarmed the yearling; as if from instinct,

she gave a low bellow of terror. Bruin caught the sound, and started

off in a trot in the direction of the trap. He passed directly under my

perch, stopping for a moment as if he scented me, which he no doubt did;

and if I was not frightened, I certainly felt better when he moved on.

I watched him until he reached the cage, around which he walked to

reconnoitre. His love of veal soon overcame whatever scruples he might

have had as to the nature of the structure, and my heart went pit-a-pat

as I saw him stoop and crawl under the raised side.

"I waited until I heard the doomed calf's bellow of pain; then I gave

the cord a strong pull. With a crash, the machine came down; and the

bear gave such a roar as I never heard before, or care to hear again.

He made good his Indian title of `Mountain Thunder.'

"The terrible sound rolled down through the ravine, and was echoed from

hill to hill like the reports from a battery of artillery. Wolves,

panthers, and hundreds of birds answered the sound with screams of

terror in every direction. In a trice my mate and myself were on the

spot, shouting with delight at our good fortune. We drove some large

stakes, which we had previously prepared, into the earth, and lashed our

cage firmly to them.

"Meanwhile, the bear was rushing about the trap, tearing and crushing

the poor yearling to atoms, biting and breaking the timber which had

formed the `figure four,' as if he knew it was the author of his woes.

We made a fire, and watched by him until morning. By this time he had

found all his efforts to escape futile, and he stood in a corner of the

cage with his nose to the ground in sullen silence.

"At daylight my mate left me on guard, while he returned to the cabin to

make arrangements for moving him. Towards mid-day the bear ate up what

was left of the calf, and laid himself down, first scratching a large

hole in the ground, in which he wallowed like a pig. I had a visit

during the day from the Mexican and Indians, who were much astonished

and rejoiced at our success.

"The second day after the capture, the Emeralder returned with our

friends from the cabin, who were wonder-struck at the huge size of our

prize. They brought with them a large cage constructed, at the cabin,

of heavy bars of lancewood, rudely but strongly secured with iron. It

was mounted upon one of the heavy waggons we had brought from Saint

Louis across the plains, and drawn by six oxen.

"We managed to fasten the bar into one side of the trap by shoving poles

through; then we cut an opening in the other side big enough for his

egress. We then sank the wheels into the soil, bringing the door of the

cage down to the opening of the trap; then, by using burning firebrands,

we forced Bruin into the cage on the waggon, and secured him.

"Over a bottle of whisky we christened him, in our style, after his

Indian name, `Mountain Thunder,' by which title he was afterwards well

known throughout California. We gave him some water, which he drank

eagerly; and, after satisfying himself of the strength of his new

lodgings, he lay sullenly down, and gave no further trouble. On

reaching the cattle-yard, we gave him the carcase of a sheep, which he

soon ate up, bones and all. In a few days after our arrival at the

camp, the bear appeared perfectly reconciled to his new position. He

ate, drank, and slept well, and at times appeared inclined to gambol, if

he had room enough.

"The Emeralder and myself, a few weeks after the capture of the bear,

bade adieu to our gold-seeking friends, and with a small train of

wild-beast waggons took our line of march for Sacramento City, where we

made plenty of money by exhibiting our menagerie.

"While there a Mexican butcher made a wager that his six large bull-dogs

could `flax out' `Mountain Thunder.' A huge amphitheatre was

constructed, and Bruin turned loose; we had over one thousand visitors

that day, at one dollar per head. The six dogs, of the largest size,

trained and used to throwing wild cattle on the plains for the butcher's

knife, were turned in and resolutely attacked the bear with great pluck.

In about six minutes six mangled masses of dog's meat were strewed

about the amphitheatre, while the bear had not a visible scratch.

`Mountain Thunder' was weighed at Sacramento, and found to pull down

eighteen hundred and sixty pounds.

"We next went to San Francisoo, where we reaped a rich harvest, and

afterwards shaped our course for the city of Mexico, where `Mountain

Thunder' fought a battle with a fierce Spanish bull in the bull-ring.

The bull gored him slightly in the mouth, which enraged him to the

highest pitch of ferocity, and giving him one blow of his paw he sent

him flying across the ring, with his back and shoulder broken and his

ribs crushed in. The bear performed a similar fete at Vera Cruz, where

he was shipped for New Orleans. Here we chartered all the ferry-boats

plying between New Orleans and the opposite side of the Mississippi for

one day, and leased the race-course at Algiers for the same period. We

then advertised that `Mountain Thunder' would fight a bull on that day,

and the speculation turned out a success. I first thought the bear

would be killed, he appeared so very slow and stupid. The bull, a large

and fierce black one, plunged his horns against his ribs, nearly

upsetting him; even then he did not seem disposed to resent it, and not

till he came again did he show signs of pluck; then as the bull came

bellowing on, with eyes flashing fire and head to the earth, Bruin

coolly raised one paw and struck him between the eyes. The blow was

terrific; blood and brains flew from his ears and nose, and on

examination it was found that the entire front of his skull was crushed

in and his neck broken.

"The Emeralder and myself finally sold `Mountain Thunder' to winter in a

museum at Cincinnati; the various other animals and birds were also

taken at a good price by the Curator. We divided the money equally, and

found ourselves in possession of thirteen hundred pounds each."

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