THE FIGHT WITH THE GRIZZLY.
The New World has no reason to envy the Old in the matter of ferocious
animals of every description and every species. The family of the
plantigrades has obtained an enormous development in America, and
possesses races of a ferocity before which all the wild beasts of our
continent turn pale.
We will speak here of the animal endowed with a prodigious strength,
blind courage, and unbounded cruelty, which the learned call _ursus
cinereus_, and the Americans the grizzly bear. Most travellers draw a
terrific feature of this animal, saying that it combines with the
stupidity of the Polar bear the ferocity and courage of the great
carnivora. Though a traveller myself, I am forced humbly to confess that
the stories of these gentry must be accepted with some reserve, who,
often placed in perilous situations, or ill-disposed mentally and
bodily, have seen badly, and, in spite of themselves, yielding to the
influence of the moment, have unconsciously indulged in exaggerations,
which have gradually become articles of faith, and are now accepted as
such.
I have no intention to rehabilitate the grizzly bear in the minds of my
readers; still, I will ask them not to be more unjust to it than they
are to other animals sent into the world by the Creator. Hence, laying
aside all exaggerations, and confining ourselves to the strictest truth,
we will, in a few words, describe the grizzly bear and its habits.
During our long stay in America, we saw enough of these animals, and in
sufficient proximity to be accepted as a credible witness.
My readers will see from the portrait of this animal, correct, if not
flattering though it be, that it is naturally ugly enough, both morally
and physically, not to require to be rendered more hideous and converted
into a monster. The grizzly, when it has reached its full growth, is
about ten feet in length; its coat is woolly, very thick, and perfectly
grey, excepting round the ears, where it is brown. Its face is terrible;
it is the most ferocious and dangerous of all the American carnivora. In
spite of its clumsy shape and heavy appearance, its agility is extreme.
It is the more to be feared, because its indomitable courage emanates
from the consciousness of its prodigious strength, and is always akin
to fury. The grizzly attacks all animals, but chiefly the larger
ruminants, such as buffaloes, oxen, &c. What has probably given rise to
the exaggerated stories of travellers, is the fact that the grizzly bear
does not hibernate, and as during winter it starves among the
snow-covered mountains, it descends to the plains to find food. The
redskins carry on a deadly warfare with it, in order to obtain its long
sharp claws, of which they form collars, to which they set great value.
It was with one of these formidable animals that Valentine suddenly
found himself face to face. The rencontre was most disagreeable; still
when the first emotion had passed off, the hunters boldly made up their
minds.
"It is a combat to death," Valentine said laconically; "you know the
grizzly never draws back."
"What shall we do?" Don Miguel asked.
"See what he does first," the hunter continued. "It is evident that this
animal has fed, else it would not return to its lair. You know that
bears go out but little; if we are lucky enough to deal with a bear that
has had a good dinner, it will be an immense advantage for us."
"Why so?"
"For the simple reason," Valentine said with a laugh, "that, like all
people whose meal hours are irregular, when bears sit down to dinner,
they eat with extreme gluttony, which renders them heavy, sleepy, and
deprives them, in a word, of one half their faculties."
"Hum!" Don Miguel observed; "I fancy what is left them is quite enough."
"And so do I; but, quiet, I fancy the beast has made up his mind."
"That is to say," Don Pablo remarked, "that it is making its
arrangements to attack us."
"That is what I meant to say," Valentine replied.
"Well, we will not let it make the first demonstration."
"Oh, don't be frightened, Don Miguel, I am used to bear hunting; this
one certainly does not expect what I am preparing for it."
"Providing you do not miss your shot: in that case we should be lost,"
Don Miguel observed.
"By Jove! I know that: so I shall take my measures in accordance."
Curumilla, stoical as ever, had cut a piece of candlewood, and concealed
himself in the shrubs only a few paces from the wild beast. The bear,
after a moment's hesitation, during which it looked round with an eye
flashing with gloomy fire, as if counting the number of foes it had to
fight, uttered a second growl, as it passed a tongue as red as blood
over its lips.
"That is it," Valentine said with a laugh; "lick your chops, my fine
fellow; still, I warn you that your mouth is watering too soon--you have
not got us yet."
The bear seemed to notice the bravado, for it made an effort, and its
monstrous head entirely appeared above the level of the platform.
"Did I not tell you it had eaten too much?" the hunter went on. "See
what difficulty it finds in moving. Come, sluggard," he said, addressing
the terrible animal, "shake yourself up a little."
"Take care," Don Miguel shouted.
"The brute is going to leap on you," Don Pablo said in agony.
In fact, the bear, by a movement swift as lightning, had escaladed the
platform with a gigantic bound, and was now scarce twenty yards from the
intrepid hunter. Valentine did not move, not one of his muscles shook:
he merely clenched his teeth as if going to break them, and a white foam
appeared at the corner of his lips. The beast, surprised by the
intrepidity of the man, cowed by the electric fluid that flashed from
the hunter's haughty eye, fell back a step. For a moment it remained
motionless, with hanging head; but it soon began tearing up the ground
with its formidable claws, as if encouraging itself to begin the attack.
Suddenly it turned round. Curumilla profited by the movement, of the
torch he held in readiness for the purpose, and at a signal from
Valentine, made the light flash before the bear. The animal, dazzled by
the brilliant glare of the torch, which suddenly dissipated the darkness
that surrounded it, savagely rose on its hind legs, and turning toward
the Indian, tried to clutch the torch with one of its forepaws, probably
in order to put it out.
Valentine cocked his rifle, stood firmly on his legs, aimed carefully,
and began whistling softly. So soon as the sound reached the bear's
ears, it stopped, and remained thus for some seconds as if trying to
account for this unusual noise. The hunter still whistled: the witnesses
of the scene held their breath, so interested were they in the strange
incidents of this duel between intellect and brute strength. Still they
kept their hands on their weapons, ready to hurry to their friend's
help, should he be in danger.
Valentine was calm, gently whistling to the bear, which gradually turned
its head toward him. Curumilla, with the lighted torch in his hand,
attentively watched all the animal's movements. The bear at length faced
the hunter; it was only a few paces from him, and Valentine felt its hot
and fetid breath. The man and the brute gazed on each other; the bear's
bloodshot eye seemed riveted on that of the Frenchman, who looked at it
intrepidly while continuing to whistle softly.
There was a moment, an age of supreme anxiety. The bear, as if to escape
the strange fascination it suffered under, shook its head twice, and
then rushed forward with a fearful growl. At the same instant a shot was
fired.
Don Miguel and his son ran up. Valentine, with his rifle butt resting on
the ground, was laughing carelessly, while two paces from him the
terrible animal was uttering howls of fury, and writhing in its dying
convulsions. Curumilla bending forward, was curiously watching the
movements of the animal as it rolled at his feet.
"Thank Heaven," Don Miguel eagerly exclaimed. "You are safe, my friend."
"Did you fancy that I ran any danger?" the hunter answered simply.
"I trembled for your life," the hacendero said with surprise and
admiration.
"It was not worth the trouble, I assure you," the hunter said
carelessly; "grizzly and I are old acquaintances; ask Curumilla how many
we have knocked over in this way."
"But," Don Pablo objected, "the grizzly bear is invulnerable; bullets
flatten on its skull, and glide off its fur."
"That is perfectly true; still, you forget there is a spot where it can
be hit."
"I know it, the eye; but it is almost impossible to hit it at the first
shot; to do so a man must be endowed with marvellous skill, not to say
admirable courage and coolness."
"Thank you," Valentine replied with, a smile; "now that our enemy is
dead, I would ask you to look and tell me where I hit it."
The Mexicans stooped down quickly; the bear was really dead. Its
gigantic corpse, which Curumilla was already preparing to strip of its
magnificent coat, covered a space of nearly ten feet. The hunter's
bullet had entered its right eye; the two gentlemen uttered a cry of
admiration.
"Yes," Valentine said, replying to their thought, "it was not a bad
shot; but be assured that this animal enjoys an usurped reputation,
owing to the habit it has of attacking man, whom, however, it hardly
ever conquers."
"But look, my friend, at those sharp claws; why, they are nearly six
inches long."
"That is true; I remember a poor Comanche, on whose shoulder a grizzly
let his paw fall, and completely smashed it. But, is it an interesting
sport? I confess that it possesses an irresistible attraction for me."
"You are quite at liberty, my friend," said Don Miguel, "to find a
delight in fighting such monsters, and I can account for it; the life
you lead in the desert has so familiarised you with danger, that you no
longer believe in it; but we dwellers in towns have, I confess, an
invincible respect and terror for this monster."
"Nonsense, Don Miguel, how can you say when I have seen you engaged in a
hand-to-hand fight with tigers?"
"That is possible, my friend; I would do so again, if necessary--but a
jaguar is not a grizzly."
"Come, come, I will not tease you any longer. While Curumilla prepares
our breakfast, I will go down into the ravine. Help my friend to roast a
piece of my game, and I am sure when you have tasted it, the exquisite
flavour will make you quite alter your opinion about friend Grizzly."
And carelessly throwing his rifle on his shoulder, which he had
reloaded, Valentine then entered the chaparral, in which he almost
immediately disappeared.
The game, as Valentine called the grizzly, weighed about four hundred
weight. After flaying it with that dexterity the Indians possess,
Curumilla, aided by the two Mexicans, hung up the body to a branch, that
bent beneath its weight; he cut steaks from the loin, and took out the
pluck, which regular hunters consider the most delicate part of the
beast; and then, while Don Miguel and Don Pablo lit the fire, and laid
the steaks on the ashes, the Indian entered the cave.
Don Pablo and his father, long accustomed to the Araucano chief's way of
behaving, made no remark, but went on with the preparations for
breakfast actively, the more so because the night's fatigues and their
long privations had given them an appetite which the smell of the
cooking meat only heightened.
Still, the meal had been ready some time, and Valentine had not
returned. The two gentlemen were beginning to feel anxious. Nor did
Curumilla emerge either from the cavern in which he had now been upwards
of an hour. The Mexicans exchanged a glance.
"Can anything have happened?" Don Miguel asked.
"We must go and see," said Don Pablo.
They rose; Don Pablo proceeded toward the cave, while his father went to
the end of the platform. At this moment Valentine arrived on one side,
Curumilla on the other, holding two young bearskins in his hands.
"What does that mean?" Don Pablo in his surprise could not refrain from
asking.
The Indian smiled. "It was a she-bear," he said.
"Are we going to breakfast?" Valentine asked.
"Whenever you like, my friend," Don Miguel answered; "we were only
waiting for you."
"I have been gone a long time."
"More than an hour."
"It was not my fault. Just fancy, down there it is as dark as in an
oven. I had great difficulty in finding our friend's body; but, thanks
to heaven, it is now in the ground, and protected from the teeth of the
coyotes and the other vermin of the prairie."
Don Miguel took his hand and pressed it tenderly, while tears of
gratitude ran down his cheeks.
"Valentine," he said, with great emotion. "You are better than all of
us; you think of everything; no circumstance, however grave it may be,
can make you forget what you regard in the light of a duty. Thanks, my
friend, thanks, for having placed in the ground the poor general's body;
you have made me very happy."
"That will do," Valentine said, as he turned his head away, not to let
the emotion he felt in spite of himself, be noticed; "suppose we feed? I
am fearfully hungry; the sun is rising, and we have not yet quitted that
frightful labyrinth in which we so nearly left our bones."
The hunters set down round the fire, and began sharply attacking the
meal that awaited them. When they had finished eating, which did not
take long, thanks to Valentine, who continually urged them to take
double mouthfuls, they rose and prepared to start again.
"Let us pay great attention, caballeros," the hunter said to them, "and
carefully look around us, for I am greatly mistaken if we do not find a
trail within an hour."
"What makes you suppose so?"
"Nothing, I have found no sign," Valentine answered, with a smile; "but
I feel a foreboding that we shall soon find the man we have been seeking
so long."
"May heaven hear you, my friend! Don Miguel exclaimed.
"Forward! Forward!" Valentine said, as he set out.
His comrades followed him. At this moment the sun appeared above the
horizon, the forest awoke as if by enchantment, and the birds, concealed
beneath the foliage, began their matin hymn, which they sing daily to
salute the sun.