at?" might imply the possibility of having missed, and so might hurt his
feelings. "Nothing but a buck." "And where is it?" "Oh, it has taken a
jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball struck,
and must have gone through his heart." We arrive at the spot where the
animal had laid itself down among the grass in a thicket of grape-vines,
sumach, and spruce bushes, where it intended to repose during the middle
of the day. The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the Deer have
left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies produced by
its wound; but the blood that has gushed from its side discloses the
course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot. There lies the buck,
its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath exhausted; it is dead. The
hunter draws his knife, cuts the buck's throat almost asunder, and
prepares to skin it. For this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a
tree. When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the
rest of the carcass to the Wolves and Vultures, reloads his gun, flings
the venison, enclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with a
strap, and walks off in search of more game, well knowing that, in the
immediate neighborhood, another at least is to be found.
Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have sought for the buck
along the _shadowy_ side of the hills. Had it been the spring season, he
would have led us through some thick cane-brake, to the margin of some
remote lake, where you would have seen the Deer immersed to his head in
the water, to save his body from the tormenting attacks of mosquitoes.
Had winter overspread the earth with a covering of snow, he would have
searched the low, damp woods, where the mosses and lichens, on which at
that period the Deer feeds, abound; the trees being generally crusted
with them for several feet from the ground. At one time he might have
marked the places where the Deer clears the velvet from his horns by
rubbing them against the low stems of bushes, and where he frequently
scrapes the earth with his fore-hoofs; at another he would have betaken
himself to places where persimmons and crab-apples abound, as beneath
these trees the Deer frequently stops to munch their fruits. During
early spring our hunter would imitate the bleating of the doe, and thus
frequently obtain both her and the fawn, or, like some tribes of
Indians, he would prepare a Deer's head, placed on a stick, and creeping
with it amongst the tall grass of the prairies, would decoy Deer in
reach of his rifle. But, kind reader, you have seen enough of the _still
hunter_. Let it suffice for me to add that by the mode pursued by him
thousands of Deer are annually killed, many individuals shooting these
animals merely for the skin, not caring for even the most valuable
portions of the flesh, unless hunger, or a near market, induce them to
carry off the hams.
The mode of destroying deer by _fire-light_, or, as it is named in some
parts of the country, _forest-light_, never fails to produce a very
singular feeling in him who witnesses it for the first time. There is
something in it which at times appears awfully grand. At other times a
certain degree of fear creeps over the mind, and even affects the
physical powers of him who follows the hunter through the thick
undergrowth of our woods, having to leap his horse over hundreds of huge
fallen trunks, at one time impeded by a straggling grape-vine crossing
his path, at another squeezed between two stubborn saplings, whilst
their twigs come smack in his face, as his companion has forced his way
through them. Again, he now and then runs the risk of breaking his neck,
by being suddenly pitched headlong on the ground, as his horse sinks
into a hole covered over with moss. But I must proceed in a more regular
manner, and leave you, kind reader, to judge whether such a mode of
hunting would suit your taste or not.
The hunter has returned to his camp or his house, has rested and eaten
of his game. He waits impatiently for the return of night. He has
procured a quantity of pine knots filled with resinous matter, and has
an old frying-pan, that, for aught I know to the contrary, may have been
used by his great-grandmother, in which the pine-knots are to be placed
when lighted. The horses stand saddled at the door. The hunter comes
forth, his rifle slung on his shoulder, and springs upon one of them,
while his son, or a servant, mounts the other with the frying-pan and
the pine-knots. Thus accoutred, they proceed towards the interior of the
forest. When they have arrived at the spot where the hunt is to begin,
they strike fire with a flint and steel, and kindle the resinous wood.
The person who carries the fire moves in the direction judged to be the
best. The blaze illuminates the near objects, but the distant parts seem
involved in deepest obscurity. The hunter who bears the gun keeps
immediately in front, and after a while discovers before him two feeble
lights, which are produced by the reflection of the pine-fire from the
eyes of an animal of the Deer or Wolf kind. The animal stands quite
still. To one unacquainted with this strange mode of hunting, the glare
from its eyes might bring to his imagination some lost hobgoblin that
had strayed from its usual haunts. The hunter, however, nowise
intimidated, approaches the object, sometimes so near as to discern its
form, when, raising the rifle to his shoulder, he fires and kills it on
the spot. He then dismounts, secures the skin and such portions of the
flesh as he may want, in the manner already described, and continues his
search through the greater part of the night, sometimes until the dawn
of day, shooting from five to ten Deer, should these animals be
plentiful. This kind of hunting proves fatal, not to the Deer alone, but
also sometimes to Wolves, and now and then to a horse or cow, which may
have straggled far into the woods.
Now, kind reader, prepare to mount a generous, full-blood Virginian
hunter. See that your gun is in complete order, for hark to the sound of
the bugle and horn, and the mingled clamor of a pack of harriers! Your
friends are waiting for you, under the shade of the wood, and we must
together go _driving_ the light-footed Deer. The distance over which one
has to travel is seldom felt when pleasure is anticipated as the result;
so galloping we go pell-mell through the woods, to some well-known place
where many a fine buck has drooped its antlers under the ball of the
hunter's rifle. The servants, who are called the drivers, have already
begun their search. Their voices are heard exciting the hounds, and
unless we put spurs to our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and
thus lose the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting game as it
passes by. Hark again! The dogs are in chase, the horn sounds louder and
more clearly. Hurry, hurry on, or we shall be sadly behind!
Here we are at last! Dismount, fasten your horse to this tree, place
yourself by the side of that large yellow poplar, and mind you do not
shoot me! The Deer is fast approaching; I will to my own stand, and he
who shoots him dead wins the prize.
The Deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently cracked a dead stick with
its hoof, and the dogs are now so near that it will pass in a moment.
There it comes! How beautifully it bounds over the ground! What a
splendid head of horns! How easy its attitudes, depending, as it seems
to do, on its own swiftness for safety! All is in vain, however; a gun
is fired, the animal plunges and doubles with incomparable speed. There
he goes! He passes another stand, from which a second shot, better
directed than the first, brings him to the ground. The dogs, the
servants, the sportsmen are now rushing forward to the spot. The hunter
who has shot it is congratulated on his skill or good luck, and the
chase begins again in some other part of the woods.
A few lines of explanation may be required to convey a clear idea of
this mode of hunting. Deer are fond of following and retracing paths
which they have formerly pursued, and continue to do so even after they
have been shot at more than once. These tracks are discovered by persons
on horseback in the woods, or a Deer is observed crossing a road, a
field, or a small stream. When this has been noticed twice, the deer may
be shot from the places called _stands_ by the sportsman, who is
stationed there, and waits for it, a line of stands being generally
formed so as to cross the path which the game will follow. The person
who ascertains the usual pass of the game, or discovers the parts where
the animal feeds or lies down during the day, gives intimation to his
friends, who then prepare for the chase. The servants start the Deer
with the hounds, and by good management generally succeed in making it
run the course that will soonest bring it to its death. But, should the
Deer be cautious, and take another course, the hunters, mounted on swift
horses, gallop through the woods to intercept it, guided by the sound of
the horns and the cry of the dogs, and frequently succeed in shooting
it. This sport is extremely agreeable, and proves successful on almost
every occasion.
Hoping that this account will be sufficient to induce you, kind reader,
to go _driving_ in our western and southern woods, I now conclude my
chapter on Deer Hunting by informing you that the species referred to
above is the Virginia Deer, _Cervus virginianus_; and that, until I be
able to present you with a full account of its habits and history, you
may consult for information respecting it the excellent "Fauna
Americana" of my esteemed friend Dr. Harlan, of Philadelphia.
THE ECCENTRIC NATURALIST
"What an odd-looking fellow!" said I to myself, as, while walking by the
river, I observed a man landing from a boat, with what I thought a
bundle of dried clover on his back; "how the boatmen stare at him! sure
he must be an original!" He ascended with a rapid step, and approaching
me asked if I could point out the house in which Mr. Audubon resided.
"Why, I am the man," said I, "and will gladly lead you to my dwelling."
The traveller rubbed his hands together with delight, and drawing a
letter from his pocket handed it to me without any remark. I broke the
seal and read as follows: "My dear Audubon, I send you an odd fish,
which you may prove to be undescribed, and hope you will do so in your
next letter. Believe me always your friend B." With all the simplicity
of a woodsman I asked the bearer where the odd fish was, when M. de T.
(for, kind reader, the individual in my presence was none else than that
renowned naturalist) smiled, rubbed his hands, and with the greatest
good-humor said, "I am that odd fish I presume, Mr. Audubon." I felt
confounded and blushed, but contrived to stammer an apology.
We soon reached the house, when I presented my learned guest to my
family, and was ordering a servant to go to the boat for M. de T.'s
luggage, when he told me he had none but what he brought on his back.
He then loosened the pack of weeds which had first drawn my attention.
The ladies were a little surprised, but I checked their critical glances
for the moment. The naturalist pulled off his shoes, and while engaged
in drawing his stockings, not up, but down, in order to cover the holes
about the heels, told us in the gayest mood imaginable that he had
walked a great distance, and had only taken a passage on board the
_ark_, to be put on this shore, and that he was sorry his apparel had
suffered so much from his late journey. Clean clothes were offered, but
he would not accept them, and it was with evident reluctance that he
performed the lavations usual on such occasions before he sat down to
dinner.
At table, however, his agreeable conversation made us all forget his
singular appearance; and, indeed, it was only as we strolled together in
the garden that his attire struck me as exceedingly remarkable. A long
loose coat of yellow nankeen, much the worse for the many rubs it had
got in its time, and stained all over with the juice of plants, hung
loosely about him like a sac. A waistcoat of the same, with enormous
pockets, and buttoned up to his chin, reached below over a pair of tight
pantaloons, the lower parts of which were buttoned down to the ankles.
His beard was as long as I have known my own to be during some of my
peregrinations, and his lank black hair hung loosely over his shoulders.
His forehead was so broad and prominent that any tyro in phrenology
would instantly have pronounced it the residence of a mind of strong
powers. His words impressed an assurance of rigid truth, and as he
directed the conversation to the study of the natural sciences, I
listened to him with as much delight as Telemachus could have listened
to Mentor. He had come to visit me, he said, expressly for the purpose
of seeing my drawings, having been told that my representations of birds
were accompanied with those of shrubs and plants, and he was desirous
of knowing whether I might chance to have in my collection any with
which he was unacquainted. I observed some degree of impatience in his
request to be allowed at once to see what I had. We returned to the
house, when I opened my portfolios and laid them before him.
He chanced to turn over the drawing of a plant quite new to him. After
inspecting it closely, he shook his head, and told me no such plant
existed in nature; for, kind reader, M. de T., although a highly
scientific man, was suspicious to a fault, and believed such plants only
to exist as he had himself seen, or such as, having been discovered of
old, had, according to Father Malebranche's expression, acquired a
"venerable beard." I told my guest that the plant was common in the
immediate neighborhood, and that I should show it him on the morrow.
"And why to-morrow, Mr. Audubon? Let us go now." We did so, and on
reaching the bank of the river I pointed to the plant. M. de T., I
thought, had gone mad. He plucked the plants one after another, danced,
hugged me in his arms, and exultingly told me that he had got not merely
a new species, but a new genus. When we returned home, the naturalist
opened the bundle which he had brought on his back, and took out a
journal rendered water-proof by means of a leather case, together with a
small parcel of linen, examined the new plant, and wrote its
description. The examination of my drawings then went on. You would be
pleased, kind reader, to hear his criticisms, which were of the greatest
advantage to me, for, being well acquainted with books as well as with
nature, he was well fitted to give me advice.
It was summer, and the heat was so great that the windows were all open.
The light of the candles attracted many insects, among which was
observed a large species of Scarabaeus. I caught one, and, aware of his
inclination to believe only what he should himself see, I showed him
the insect, and assured him it was so strong that it would crawl on the
table with the candlestick on its back. "I should like to see the
experiment made, Mr. Audubon," he replied. It was accordingly made, and
the insect moved about, dragging its burden so as to make the
candlestick change its position as if by magic, until coming upon the
edge of the table, it dropped on the floor, took to wing, and made its
escape.
When it waxed late, I showed him to the apartment intended for him
during his stay, and endeavored to render him comfortable, leaving him
writing materials in abundance. I was indeed heartily glad to have a
naturalist under my roof. We had all retired to rest. Every person I
imagined was in deep slumber save myself, when of a sudden I heard a
great uproar in the naturalist's room. I got up, reached the place in a
few moments, and opened the door, when to my astonishment, I saw my
guest running about the room naked, holding the handle of my favorite
violin, the body of which he had battered to pieces against the walls in
attempting to kill the bats which had entered by the open window,
probably attracted by the insects flying around his candle. I stood
amazed, but he continued jumping and running round and round, until he
was fairly exhausted, when he begged me to procure one of the animals
for him, as he felt convinced they belonged to "a new species." Although
I was convinced of the contrary, I took up the bow of my demolished
Cremona, and administering a smart tap to each of the bats as it came
up, soon got specimens enough. The war ended, I again bade him
good-night, but could not help observing the state of the room. It was
strewed with plants, which it would seem he had arranged into groups,
but which were now scattered about in confusion. "Never mind, Mr.
Audubon," quoth the eccentric naturalist, "never mind, I'll soon arrange
them again. I have the bats, and that's enough."
Some days passed, during which we followed our several occupations. M.
de T. searched the woods for plants, and I for birds. He also followed
the margins of the Ohio, and picked up many shells, which he greatly
extolled. With us, I told him, they were gathered into heaps to be
converted into lime. "Lime! Mr. Audubon; why, they are worth a guinea
apiece in any part of Europe." One day, as I was returning from a hunt
in a cane-brake, he observed that I was wet and spattered with mud, and
desired me to show him the interior of one of these places, which he
said he had never visited.
The cane, kind reader, formerly grew spontaneously over the greater
portions of the State of Kentucky and other western districts of our
Union, as well as in many farther south. Now, however, cultivation, the
introduction of cattle and horses, and other circumstances connected
with the progress of civilization, have greatly altered the face of the
country, and reduced the cane within comparatively small limits. It
attains a height of from twelve to thirty feet, and a diameter of from
one to two inches, and grows in great patches resembling osier-holts, in
which occur plants of all sizes. The plants frequently grow so close
together, and in course of time become so tangled, as to present an
almost impenetrable thicket. A portion of ground thus covered with canes
is called a _cane-brake_.
If you picture to yourself one of these cane-brakes growing beneath the
gigantic trees that form our western forests, interspersed with vines of
many species, and numberless plants of every description, you may
conceive how difficult it is for one to make his way through it,
especially after a heavy shower of rain or a fall of sleet, when the
traveller, in forcing his way through, shakes down upon himself such
quantities of water as soon reduce him to a state of the utmost
discomfort. The hunters often cut little paths through the thickets with
their knives, but the usual mode of passing through them is by pushing
one's self backward, and wedging a way between the stems. To follow a
Bear or a Cougar pursued by dogs through these brakes is a task the
accomplishment of which may be imagined, but of the difficulties and
dangers accompanying which I cannot easily give an adequate
representation.
The canes generally grow on the richest soil, and are particularly
plentiful along the margins of the great western rivers. Many of our new
settlers are fond of forming farms in their immediate vicinity, as the
plant is much relished by all kinds of cattle and horses, which feed
upon it at all seasons, and again because these brakes are plentifully
stocked with game of various kinds. It sometimes happens that the farmer
clears a portion of the brake. This is done by cutting the stems--which
are fistular and knotted, like those of other grasses--with a large
knife or cutlass. They are afterwards placed in heaps, and when
partially dried set fire to. The moisture contained between the joints
is converted into steam, which causes the cane to burst with a smart
report, and when a whole mass is crackling, the sounds resemble
discharges of musketry. Indeed, I have been told that travellers
floating down the rivers, and unacquainted with these circumstances,
have been induced to pull their oars with redoubled vigor, apprehending
the attack of a host of savages, ready to scalp every one of the party.
A day being fixed, we left home after an early breakfast, crossed the
Ohio, and entered the woods. I had determined that my companion should
view a cane-brake in all its perfection, and after leading him several
miles in a direct course, came upon as fine a sample as existed in that
part of the country. We entered, and for some time proceeded without
much difficulty, as I led the way, and cut down the canes which were
most likely to incommode him. The difficulties gradually increased, so
that we were presently obliged to turn our backs to the foe, and push
ourselves on the best way we could. My companion stopped here and there
to pick up a plant and examine it. After a while we chanced to come upon
the top of a fallen tree, which so obstructed our passage that we were
on the eve of going round, instead of thrusting ourselves through
amongst the branches, when, from its bed in the centre of the tangled
mass, forth rushed a Bear, with such force, and snuffing the air in so
frightful a manner, that M. de T. became suddenly terror-struck, and, in
his haste to escape, made a desperate attempt to run, but fell amongst
the canes in such a way that he looked as if pinioned. Perceiving him
jammed in between the stalks, and thoroughly frightened, I could not
refrain from laughing at the ridiculous exhibition which he made. My
gayety, however, was not very pleasing to the _savant_, who called out
for aid, which was at once administered. Gladly would he have retraced
his steps, but I was desirous that he should be able to describe a
cane-brake, and enticed him to follow me by telling him that our worst
difficulties were nearly over. We proceeded, for by this time the Bear
was out of hearing.
The way became more and more tangled. I saw with delight that a heavy
cloud, portentous of a thunder gust, was approaching. In the mean time,
I kept my companion in such constant difficulties that he now panted,
perspired, and seemed almost overcome by fatigue. The thunder began to
rumble, and soon after a dash of heavy rain drenched us in a few
minutes. The withered particles of leaves and bark attached to the canes
stuck to our clothes. We received many scratches from briers, and now
and then a switch from a nettle. M. de T. seriously inquired if we
should ever get alive out of the horrible situation in which we were. I
spoke of courage and patience, and told him I hoped we should soon get
to the margin of the brake, which, however, I knew to be two miles
distant. I made him rest, and gave him a mouthful of brandy from my
flask; after which, we proceeded on our slow and painful march. He threw
away all his plants, emptied his pockets of the fungi, lichens, and
mosses which he had thrust into them, and finding himself much
lightened, went on for thirty or forty yards with a better grace. But,
kind reader, enough--I led the naturalist first one way, then another,
until I had nearly lost myself in the brake, although I was well
acquainted with it, kept him tumbling and crawling on his hands and
knees until long after mid-day, when we at length reached the edge of
the river. I blew my horn, and soon showed my companion a boat coming to
our rescue. We were ferried over, and on reaching the house, found more
agreeable occupation in replenishing our empty coffers.
M. de T. remained with us for three weeks, and collected multitudes of
plants, shells, bats, and fishes, but never again expressed a desire of
visiting a cane-brake. We were perfectly reconciled to his oddities,
and, finding him a most agreeable and intelligent companion, hoped that
his sojourn might be of long duration. But, one evening when tea was
prepared, and we expected him to join the family, he was nowhere to be
found. His grasses and other valuables were all removed from his room.
The night was spent in searching for him in the neighborhood. No
eccentric naturalist could be discovered. Whether he had perished in a
swamp, or had been devoured by a Bear or a Gar-fish, or had taken to his
heels, were matters of conjecture; nor was it until some weeks after
that a letter from him, thanking us for our attention, assured me of his
safety.
SCIPIO AND THE BEAR