Boone hunts the bear—Hounds and terriers—Sneak Punk, the
Hatchet-face—Another stump—The high passes—The bear roused—The chase—A
sight—A shot—A wound—Joe—His meditations—His friend, the bear—The bear
retreats—Joe takes courage—He fires—Immense execution—Sneak—The last
struggle—Desperation of the bear—His death—Sneak’s puppies—Joe.
By the time the first streaks of gray twilight marked the eastern
horizon, Boone, at the head of the party of hunters, set out from the
encampment and proceeded down the river in the direction of the place
where Joe had been so roughly handled by Bruin. All, with the exception
of Glenn and his man, being accustomed to much walking, were on foot.
Glenn rode his white steed, and Joe was mounted on his little black
pony. The large hounds belonging to Boone, and the curs, spaniels, and
terriers of the emigrants were all taken along. As they proceeded down
the river, Boone proposed the plan of operations which was to guide
their conduct in the chase, and each man was eager to perform his part,
whatever it might be. It was arranged that a portion of the company
should precede the rest, and cross the level woodland about two miles
in width, to a range of hills and perpendicular cliffs that appeared to
have once bounded the river, and select such ravines or outlets as in
their opinion the bear would be most likely to pass through, if he were
indeed still in the flat bottom-land. At these places they were to
station themselves with their guns well charged, and either await the
coming of the animal or the drivers; the first would be announced by
the yelping of the dogs, and the last by the hunters’ horns.
Glenn and one or two others remained with Boone to hunt Bruin in his
lair, while Joe and the remainder of the company were despatched to the
passes among the hills. There was a narrow-featured Vermonter in this
party, termed, by his comrades, the Hatchet-face, and, in truth, the
extreme thinness of his chest and the slenderness of his limbs might as
aptly have been called the hatchet-handle. But, so far from being unfit
for the hardy pursuits of a hunter, he was gifted with the activity of
a greyhound, and the swiftness and bottom of a race-horse. His name was
Sneak Punk, which was always abbreviated to merely Sneak, for his
general success in creeping up to the unsuspecting game of whatsoever
kind he might be hunting, while others could not meet with such
success. He had been striding along some time in silence a short
distance in advance of Joe, who, even by dint of sundry kicks and the
free use of his whip, could hardly keep pace with him. The rest were a
few yards in the rear, and all had maintained a strict silence,
implicitly relying on the guidance of Sneak, who, though he had never
traversed these woods before, was made perfectly familiar with the
course he was to pursue by the instructions of Boone.
Although the light of morning was now apparent above, yet the thick
growth of the trees, whose clustering branches mingled in one dense
mass overhead, made it still dark and sombre below; and Joe, to divert
Sneak from his unconscionable gait, which, in his endeavours to keep
up, often subjected him to the rude blows of elastic switches, and many
twinges of overhanging grape vines, essayed to engage his companion in
conversation.
“I say, Mr. Sneak,” observed Joe, with an eager voice, as his pony
trotted along rather roughly through the wild gooseberry bushes, and
often stumbled over the decayed logs that lay about.
“What do you want, stranger?” replied Sneak, slackening his gait until
he fell back alongside of Joe.
“I only wanted to know if you ever killed a bear before,” said Joe,
drawing an easy breath as Pete fell into a comfortable walk.
“Dod rot it, I hain’t killed this one yit,” said Sneak.
“I didn’t mean any offence,” said Joe.
“What makes you think you have given any?”
“Because you said _dod rot it_.”
“I nearly always say so—I’ve said so so often that I can’t help it. But
now, as we are on the right footing, I can tell you that I wintered
once in Arkansaw, and that’s enough to let you know I’m no greenhorn,
no how you can fix it. And moreover, I tell you, if old Boone wasn’t
here hisself, I’d kill this bar as sure as a gun, and my gun is as sure
as a streak of lightning run into a barrel of gunpowder;” and as he
spoke he threw up his heavy gun and saluted the iron with his lips.
“Is your’s a rifle?” inquired Joe, to prolong the conversation, his
companion showing symptoms of a disposition to fall into his habit of
going ahead again.
“Sartainly! Does anybody, I wonder, expect to do any thing with a
shot-gun in sich a place as this?”
“Mine’s a shot-gun,” said Joe.
“Dod—did you ever kill any thing better than a quail with it?” inquired
Sneak, contemptuously.
“I never killed any thing in my life with it—I never shot a gun in all
my life before to-night,” said Joe.
“Dod, you haven’t fired it to-night, to my sartain knowledge.”
“I mean I never went a shooting.”
“Did you load her yourself?” inquired Sneak, taking hold of the musket
and feeling the calibre.
“Yes—but I’m sure I did it right. I put in a handful of powder, and
paper on top of it, and then poured in a handful of balls,” said Joe.
“Ha! ha! ha! I’ll be busted if you don’t raise a fuss if you ever get a
shot at the bar!” said Sneak, with emphasis.
“That’s what I am after.”
“Why don’t you go ahead?” demanded Sneak, as Joe’s pony stopped
suddenly, with his ears thrust forward. “Dod! whip him up,” continued
he, seeing that his companion was intently gazing at some object ahead,
and exhibiting as many marks of alarm as Pete. “It’s nothing but a
stump!” said Sneak, going forwards and kicking the object, which was
truly nothing more than he took it to be. Joe then related to him all
the particulars of his nocturnal affair with the supposed stump,
previous to his arrival at the camp, and Sneak, with a hearty laugh,
admitted that both he and the pony were excusable for inspecting all
the stumps they might chance to come across in the dark in future. They
now emerged into the open space which was the boundary of the woods,
and after clambering up a steep ascent for some minutes, they reached
the summit of a tall range of bluffs. From this position the sun could
be seen rising over the eastern ridges, but the flat woods that had
been traversed still lay in darkness below, and silent as the tomb,
save the hooting of owls as they flapped to their hollow habitations in
the trees.
The party then dispersed to their coverts under the direction of Sneak,
who with a practised eye instantly perceived all the advantageous posts
for the men, and the places where the bear would most probably run. Joe
had insisted on having his revenge, and begged to be stationed where he
would be most likely to get a shot. He was therefore permitted to
remain at the head of the ravine they had just ascended, through which
a deer path ran, as the most favourable position. After tying Pete some
paces in the rear, he came forwards to the verge of the valley and
seated himself on a dry rock, where he could see some distance down the
path under the tall sumach bushes. He then commenced cogitating how he
would act, should Bruin have the hardihood to face him in the daytime.
Boone and his party drew near the spot where the bear had been seen the
previous night. The two large hounds, Ringwood and Jowler, kept at
their master’s heels, being trained to understand and perform all the
duties required of them, while the curs and terriers were running
helter-skelter far ahead, or striking out into the woods without aim,
and always returning without effecting any thing. At length the two
hounds paused, and scented the earth, giving certain information that
they had arrived at the desired point. The curs and terriers had
already passed far beyond the spot, being unable to decide any thing by
the nose, and always relying on their swiftness in the chase when they
should be in sight of the object pursued.
Now, Glenn perceived to what perfection dogs could be trained, and
learned, what had been a matter of wonder to him, how Boone could keep
up with them in the chase. The hounds set off at a signal from their
master, not like an arrow from the bow, but at a moderate pace, ever
and anon looking back and pausing until the men came up; while the
erratic curs flew hither and thither, chasing every hare and squirrel
they could find. As they pursued the trail they occasionally saw the
foot-print of the animal, which was broad and deep, indicating one of
enormous size. Presently they came to a spot thickly overgrown with
spice-wood bushes and prickly vines, where he had made his lair, and
from the erect tails of Ringwood and Jowler, and the intense interest
they otherwise evinced, it was evident they were fast approaching the
presence of Bruin. Ere long, as they ran along with their heads up, for
the first time that morning, they commenced yelping in clear and
distinct tones, which rang musically far and wide through the woods.
The curs relinquished their unprofitable racing round the thickets,
attracted by the hounds, and soon learned to keep in the rear,
depending on the unerring trailing of the old hunters, as the object of
pursuit was not yet in sight. The chase became more animated, and the
men quickened their pace as the inspiring notes of the hounds rang out
at regular intervals. Glenn soon found he possessed no advantage over
those on foot, who were able to run under the branches of the trees,
and glide through the thickets with but little difficulty, while the
rush of his noble steed was often arrested by the tenacious vines
clinging to the bushes abreast, and he was sometimes under the
necessity of dismounting to recover his cap or whip.
It was not long before the notes of Ringwood and Jowler suddenly
increased in sharpness and quickness, and the curs and terriers,
hitherto silent, set up a confused medley of sounds, which reverberated
like one continuous scream. They had pounced upon the bear, and from
the stationary position of the dogs for a few minutes, indicated by
their peculiar baying, it was evident Bruin had turned to survey the
enemy, and perhaps to give them battle; but it seemed that their number
or noise soon intimidated him, and that he preferred seeking safety in
flight. How Boone could possibly know beforehand which way the bear
would run, was a mystery to Glenn; but that he often abandoned the
direction taken by the dogs, turning off at almost right angles, and
still had a sight of him was no less true. No one had yet been near
enough to fire with effect. The bear, notwithstanding his many feints
and novel demonstrations to get rid of his persecutors, had continued
to make towards the hills where the standers were stationed. Boone
falling in with Glenn, from whom he had been frequently separated, they
continued together some time, following the course of the sounds
towards the east.
“This sport is really exciting and noble!” exclaimed Glenn, as the deep
and melodious intonations of Ringwood and Jowler fell upon his ear.
“Excellent! excellent!” replied Boone, listening intently, and pausing
suddenly, as the discharge of a gun in the direction of the hills
sounded through the woods.
“He has reached the standers,” remarked Glenn, reining up his steed at
Boone’s side.
“No; it was one of our men who has not followed him in all his
deviations,” replied Boone, still marking the notes of the hounds.
“I doubt not our company is sufficiently scattered in every direction
through the forest to force him into the hills very speedily, if,
indeed, that shot was not fatal,” remarked Glenn.
“He is not hurt—perhaps it was not fired at him, but at a bird—nor will
he yet leave the woods,” said Boone, still listening to the hounds. “He
comes!” he exclaimed a moment after, with marks of joy in his face; “he
will make a grand circle before quitting the lowland.” And now the dogs
could be heard more distinctly, as if they were gradually approaching
the place from which they first started.
“If you will remain here,” continued Boone, “it is quite likely you
will have a shot as he makes his final push for the hills.”
“Then here will I remain,” replied Glenn; and fixing himself firmly in
the saddle, resolved to await the coming of Bruin, having every
confidence in the intimation of his friend. Boone selected a position a
few hundred paces distant, with a view of permitting Glenn to have the
first fire.
The bear took a wide circuit towards the river, pausing at times until
the foremost of the dogs came up, which he could easily manage to keep
at bay; but when all of them (and the curs did good service now)
surrounded him, he found it necessary to set forward again. When he had
run as far as the river, and turned once more towards the hills, his
course seemed to be in a direct line with Glenn, and the young man’s
heart fluttered with anticipation as he examined his gun, and turned
his horse (which had been accustomed to firearms) in a favourable
position to give the enemy a salute as he passed. Nearer they came, the
dogs pursuing with redoubled fierceness, their blood heated by the
exercise, and their most sanguine passions roused by their frequent
severe skirmishes with their huge antagonist. As they approached, the
strange and simultaneous yelpings of the curs and terriers resembled an
embodied roar, amid which the flute-like notes of Ringwood and Jowler
could hardly be heard. Glenn could now distinctly hear the bear rushing
like a torrent through the bushes, almost directly towards the place
where he was posted, and a moment after it emerged from a dense thicket
of hazel, and the noble steed, instead of leaping away with affright,
threw back his ears and stood firm, until Glenn fired. Bruin uttered a
howl, and halting with a fierce growl, raised himself on his haunches,
and displaying his array of white teeth, prepared to assail our hero.
Glenn proceeded to reload his rifle with as much expedition as was in
his power, though not without some tremor, notwithstanding he was
mounted on his tall steed, whose nostrils dilated, and eyes flashing
fire, indicated that he was willing to take part in the conflict. The
bear was preparing for a dreadful encounter, and on the very eve of
springing towards his assailant, when the hounds coming up admonished
him to flee his more numerous foes, and turning off, he continued his
route towards the hills. Glenn perceived that he had not missed his aim
by the blood sprinkled on the bushes, and being ready for another fire,
galloped after him. Just when he came in sight, Boone’s gun was heard,
and Bruin fell, remaining motionless for a moment; but ere Glenn
arrived within shooting distance, or Boone could reload, he had risen
and again continued his course, as if in defiance of everything that
man could do to oppose him.
“Is it possible he still survives!” exclaimed Glenn, joining his
companion.
“There is nothing more possible,” replied Boone; “but I saw by his
limping that your shot had taken effect.”
“And I saw him fall when you fired,” said Glenn; “but he still runs.”
“And he _will_ run for some time yet,” remarked Boone, “for they are
extremely hard to kill, when heated by the pursuit of dogs. But we have
done our part, and it now remains for those at the passes to finish the
work so well begun.”
Joe’s imagination had several times worked him into a fury, which had
as often subsided in disappointment, during the chase below, every
particle of which could be distinctly heard from his position. More
than once, when a brisk breeze swept up the valley, he was convinced
that his enemy was approaching him, and, every nerve quivering with the
expectation of the bear coming in view the next instant, he stood a
spectacle of eagerness, with perhaps a small portion of apprehension
intermingled. At length, from the frequent deceptions the distance
practiced upon him, he grew composed by degrees, and resuming his seat
on the stone, with his musket lying across his knees, thus gave vent to
his thoughts: “What if an Indian were to pounce upon me while I’m
sitting here?” Here he paused, and looked carefully round in every
direction. “No!” he continued; “if there were any at this time in the
neighbourhood, wouldn’t Boone know it? To be sure he would, and here’s
my gun—I forgot that. Let them come as soon as they please! I wonder if
the bear _will_ come out here? Suppose he does, what’s the danger?
Didn’t I grapple with him last night? And couldn’t I jump on Pete and
get away from him! But—pshaw! I keep forgetting my gun—I wish he
_would_ come, I’d serve him worse than he served me last night! My face
feels very sore this morning. There!” he exclaimed, when he heard the
fire of Glenn’s gun, and the report that succeeded from Boone’s,
“they’ve floored him as dead as a nail, I’ll bet. Hang it! I should
like to have had a word or two with him myself, to have told him I
hadn’t forgotten his ugly grin. The men must have known I would stand
no chance of killing him when they placed me up here. I should like to
know what part of the sport _I’ve_ had—ough!” exclaimed he, his hair
standing upright, as he beheld the huge bear, panting and bleeding,
coming towards him, and not twenty paces distant!
Bruin had eluded the dogs a few minutes by climbing a bending tree at
the mouth of the valley, from which he passed to another, and
descending again to the earth, proceeded almost exhausted up the
ravine. Joe’s eyes grew larger and larger as the monster approached,
and when within a few feet of him he uttered a horrible unearthly
sound, which attracted the bear, and fearing the fatal aim of man more
than the teeth of the dogs, he whirled about, with a determination to
fight his way back, in preference to again risking the murderous lead.
No sooner was the bear out of sight, and plunging down the dell amid
the cries of the dogs, which assailed him on all sides, than Joe
bethought him of his gun, and becoming valorous, ran a few steps down
the path and fired in the direction of the confused melée. The moment
after he discharged his musket, the back part of his head struck the
earth, and the gun made two or three end-over-end revolutions up the
path behind him. Never, perhaps, was such a rebound from overloading
known before. Joe now thought not of the bear, nor looked to see what
execution he had done. He thought of his own person, which he found
prostrate on the ground. When somewhat recovered from the blow, he rose
with his hand pressed to his nose, while the blood ran out between his
fingers. “Oh! my goodness!” he exclaimed, seating himself at the root
of a pecan tree, and rocking backwards and forwards.
“What’s your gun doing up here?” exclaimed Sneak, coming down the path.
Joe made no answer, but continued to rock backwards and forwards most
dolefully.
“Why don’t you speak? Where’s the bar?”
“I don’t know. Oh!” murmured Joe.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Sneak, seeing the copious effusion of
blood.
“I shot off that outrageous musket, and it’s kicked my nose to pieces!
I shall faint!” said Joe, dropping his head between his knees.
“Faint? I never saw a _man_ faint!” said Sneak, listening to the chase
below.
“Oh! can’t you help me to stop this blood?”
“Don’t you hear _that_, down there?” replied Sneak, his attention
entirely directed to that which was going on in the valley.
“My ears are deafened by that savage gun! I can’t hear a bit, hardly!
Oh, what shall I do, Mr. Sneak?” continued Joe.
“Dod rot it!” exclaimed Sneak, leaping like a wild buck down the path,
and paying no further attention to the piteous lamentations of his
comrade.
Ere the bear reached the mouth of the glen, the hunters generally had
come up, and poor Bruin found himself hemmed in on all sides. He could
not ascend on either hand, the loss of blood having weakened him too
much to climb over the almost precipitous rocks, and he made a final
stand, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. The dogs
sprang upon him in a body, and it was soon evident that his desperate
struggles were not harmless. He grasped one of the curs in his deadly
hug, and with his teeth planted in its neck, relinquished not his hold
until it fell from his arms a disfigured and lifeless object. He boxed
those that were tearing his hams with his ponderous claws, sending them
screaming to the right and left. He then stood up on his haunches, with
his back against a rock, and with a snarl of defiance resolved never to
retreat “from its firm base.” Never were blows more rabidly dealt. When
attacked on one side, he had no sooner turned to beat down his sanguine
foe than he was assailed on the other. Thus he fought alternately from
right to left, his mouth gaping open, his tongue hanging out, and his
eyes gleaming furiously as if swimming in liquid fire. At times he was
charged simultaneously in front and flank, when for an instant the
whole group seemed to be one dark writhing mass, uttering a medly of
discordant and horrid sounds. But determined to conquer or die on the
spot he occupied, Bruin never relaxed his blows, until the bruised and
exhausted dogs were forced to withdraw a moment the combat, and rush
into the narrow rivulet. While they lay panting in the water, the bear
turned his head back against the rocks, and lapped in the dripping
moisture without moving from his position. But he was fast sinking
under his wounds: a stream of blood, which constantly issued from his
body and ran down and discoloured the water, indicated that his career
was nearly finished. Yet his spirit was not daunted; for while the
canine assailants he had withstood so often were bathing preparatory
for a renewal of the conflict, Boone and Glenn, who had approached the
immediate vicinity, fired, and Bruin, echoing the howl of death as the
bullets entered his body, turned his eyes reproachfully towards the men
for an instant, and then, with a growl of convulsed, expiring rage,
plunged into the water, and, seizing the largest cur, crushed him to
death. Ringwood and Jowler, whose sagacity had hitherto led them to
keep in some measure aloof, knowing their efforts would be unavailing
against so powerful an enemy without the fatal aim of their master, now
sprang forward to the rescue, both seizing the prostrate foe by the
throat. But he could not be made to relinquish his victim, nor did he
make resistance. Boone, advancing at the head of the hunters, (all of
whom, with the exception of Joe and Sneak, being there assembled,) with
some difficulty prevented his companions from discharging their guns at
the dark mass before them. He struck up several of their guns as they
were endeavouring to aim at the now motionless bear, fearing that his
hounds might suffer by their fire, and stooping down, whence he could
distinctly see the pale gums and tongue, as his hounds grappled the
neck of the animal, announced the death of Bruin, and the termination
of the hunt. The hounds soon abandoned their inanimate victim, and its
sinewy limbs relaxing, the devoted cur rolled out a lifeless body.
“How like you this specimen of our wild sports?” inquired Boone,
turning to Glenn, as the rest proceeded to skin and dress the bear
preparatory for its conveyance to the camp.
“It is exciting, if not terrific and cruel,” replied Glenn, musing.
“None could be more eager than yourself in the chase,’ said Boone.
“True,” replied Glenn; “and notwithstanding the uninitiated may for an
instant revolt at the spilling of blood, yet the chase has ever been
considered the noblest and the most innocent of sports. The animals
hunted are often an evil while running at large, being destructive or
dangerous; but even if they were harmless in their nature, they are
still necessary or desirable for the support or comfort of man. Blood
of a similar value is spilt everywhere without the least compunction.
The knife daily pierces the neck of the swine, and the kitchen wench
wrings off the head of the fowl while she hums a ditty. This is far
better than hunting down our own species on the battle-field, or
ruining and being ruined at the gaming-table. I think I shall be
content in this region.”
“And you will no doubt be an expert hunter, if I have any judgment in
such matters,” replied Boone.
“I wonder that Joe has not yet made his appearance,” remarked Glenn,
approaching the bear; “I expected ere this to have seen him triumphing
over his fallen enemy.”
“What kind of a gun had he?” inquired Boone.
“A large musket,” said Glenn, recollecting the enormous explosion that
seemed to jar the whole woods like an earthquake; “it must have been
Joe who fired—he had certainly overcharged the gun, and I fear it has
burst in his hands, which may account for his absence.”
“Be not uneasy,” replied Boone; “for I can assure you from the peculiar
sound it made that it did nothing more than rebound violently; besides,
those guns very rarely burst. But here comes Sneak, (I think they call
him so,) no doubt having some tidings of your man. It seems he has not
been idle. He has a brace of racoons in his hands.”
The tall slim form of Sneak was seen coming down the path. Ever and
anon he cast his eyes from one hand to the other, regarding with no
ordinary interest the dead animals he bore.
“I did not hear him fire,” remarked Glenn.
“He may have killed them with stones,” said Boone; and as Sneak drew
near, he continued, with a smile, “they are nothing more than a brace
of his terriers, that doubtless Bruin dispatched, and which may well be
spared, notwithstanding Sneak’s seeming sorrow.”
Sneak approached the place where Boone and Glenn were standing, with
the gravest face that man ever wore. His eyes seemed to be set in his
head, for not once did they wink, nor did his lips move for some length
of time after he threw down the dogs at the feet of Glenn, although
several men addressed him. He stood with his arms folded, and gazed
mournfully at his dead dogs.
“The little fellows fought bravely, and covered themselves with glory,”
said Glenn, much amused at the solemn demeanour of Sneak.
“If there ain’t more blood spilt on the strength of it, I wish I may be
smashed!” said Sneak, compressing his lips.
“What mean you? what’s the matter?” inquired Boone, who best understood
what the man was meditating.
“I’ve got as good a gun as anybody here! And I’ll have revenge, or
pay!” replied Sneak, turning his eyes on Glenn.
“If your remarks are intended for me,” said Glenn, “rely upon it you
shall have justice.”
“Tell us all about it,” said Boone.
“When I heard that fool up the valley shoot off his forty-four pounder,
I ran to see what he had done, and when I came near to where he was,
his gun was lying up the hill behind him, and he setting down whining
like a baby, and a great gore of blood hanging to his nose. I wish it
had blowed his head off! I got tired of staying with the tarnation
fool, who couldn’t tell me a thing, when I heard you shooting, and the
horn blowing for the men; and knowing the bar was dead, I started off
full tilt. I hadn’t gone fifty steps before I began to see where his
bullets had spattered the trees and bushes in every direction.
Presently I stumbled over these dogs, my own puppies—and there they lay
as dead as door nails. I whistled, and they didn’t move; I then stooped
down to see how the bear had killed ’em, and I found these bullet holes
in ’em!” said Sneak, turning their limber bodies over with his foot,
until their wounds were uppermost. “I’ll be shot if I don’t have pay,
or revenge!” he continued, with tears in his eyes.
“What were they worth?” demanded Glenn, laughing.
“I was offered two dollars a-piece for ’em as we came through Indiana,”
replied Sneak.
“Here’s the money,” said Glenn, handing him the amount. After receiving
the cash, Sneak turned away perfectly satisfied, and seemed not to
bestow another thought upon his puppies.
This affair had hardly been settled before Joe made his appearance on
Pete. He rode slowly along down the path, as dolefully as ever man
approached the graveyard. As he drew near, all eyes were fixed upon
him. Never were any one’s features so much disfigured. His nose was as
large as a hen’s egg, and as purple as a plum. Still it was not much
disproportioned to the rest of his swollen face; and the whole
resembled the unearthly phiz of the most bloated gnome that watched
over the slumbers of Rip Van Winkle.