active, vigilant, and persevering; possesses great strength, courage,
and address; and undergoes with little injury the greatest fatigues and
hardships in avoiding the pursuit of the hunter. Like the Deer, it
changes its haunts with the seasons, and for the same reason, namely,
the desire of obtaining suitable food, or of retiring to the more
inaccessible parts, where it can pass the time in security, unobserved
by man, the most dangerous of its enemies. During the spring months, it
searches for food in the low rich alluvial lands that border the rivers,
or by the margins of such inland lakes as, on account of their small
size, are called by us ponds. There it procures abundance of succulent
roots, and of the tender juicy stems of plants, upon which it chiefly
feeds at that season. During the summer heat, it enters the gloomy
swamps, passes much of its time in wallowing in the mud, like a hog, and
contents itself with crayfish, roots, and nettles, now and then, when
hard pressed by hunger, seizing on a young pig, or perhaps a sow, or
even a calf. As soon as the different kinds of berries which grow on the
mountains begin to ripen, the Bears betake themselves to the high
grounds, followed by their cubs. In such retired parts of the country
where there are no hilly grounds, it pays visits to the maize fields,
which it ravages for a while. After this, the various species of nuts,
acorns, grapes, and other forest fruits, that form what in the western
country is called _mast_, attract its attention. The Bear is then seen
rambling singly through the woods to gather this harvest, not forgetting
meanwhile to rob every _Bee-tree_ it meets with, Bears being, as you
well know, expert at this operation. You also know that they are good
climbers, and may have been told, or at least may now be told, that the
Black Bear now and then _houses_ itself in the hollow trunks of the
larger trees for weeks together, when it is said to suck its paws. You
are probably not aware of a habit in which it indulges, and which, being
curious, must be interesting to you.
At one season, the Black Bear may be seen examining the lower part of
the trunk of a tree for several minutes with much attention, at the same
time looking around, and snuffing the air, to assure itself that no
enemy is near. It then raises itself on its hind-legs, approaches the
trunk, embraces it with its fore-legs, and scratches the bark with its
teeth and claws for several minutes in continuance. Its jaws clash
against each other, until a mass of foam runs down on both sides of the
mouth. After this it continues its rambles.
In various portions of our country, many of our woodsmen and hunters who
have seen the Bear performing the singular operation just described,
imagine that it does so for the purpose of leaving behind it an
indication of its size and power. They measure the height at which the
scratches are made, and in this manner can, in fact, form an estimate of
the magnitude of the individual. My own opinion, however, is different.
It seems to me that the Bear scratches the trees, not for the purpose of
shewing its size or its strength, but merely for that of sharpening its
teeth and claws, to enable it better to encounter a rival of its own
species during the amatory season. The Wild Boar of Europe clashes its
tusks and scrapes the earth with its feet, and the Deer rubs its antlers
against the lower part of the stems of young trees or bushes, for the
same purpose.
Being one night sleeping in the house of a friend, I was wakened by a
negro servant bearing a light, who gave me a note, which he said his
master had just received. I ran my eye over the paper, and found it to
be a communication from a neighbor, requesting my friend and myself to
join him as soon as possible, and assist in killing some Bears at that
moment engaged in destroying his corn. I was not long in dressing, you
may be assured, and, on entering the parlor, found my friend equipped
and only waiting for some bullets, which a negro was employed in
casting. The overseer's horn was heard calling up the negroes from their
different cabins. Some were already engaged in saddling our horses,
whilst others were gathering all the cur-dogs of the plantation. All was
bustle. Before half an hour had elapsed, four stout negro men, armed
with axes and knives, and mounted on strong nags of their own (for you
must know, kind reader, that many of our slaves rear horses, cattle,
pigs, and poultry, which are exclusively their own property), were
following us at a round gallop through the woods, as we made directly
for the neighbor's plantation, a little more than five miles off.
The night was none of the most favorable, a drizzling rain rendering the
atmosphere thick and rather sultry; but as we were well acquainted with
the course, we soon reached the house, where the owner was waiting our
arrival. There were now three of us armed with guns, half a dozen
servants, and a good pack of dogs of all kinds. We jogged on towards the
detached field in which the Bears were at work. The owner told us that
for some days several of these animals had visited his corn, and that a
negro who was sent every afternoon to see at what part of the enclosure
they entered, had assured him there were at least five in the field that
night. A plan of attack was formed: the bars at the usual gap of the
fence were to be put down without noise; the men and dogs were to
divide, and afterwards proceed so as to surround the Bears, when, at the
sounding of our horns, every one was to charge towards the centre of the
field, and shout as loudly as possible, which it was judged would so
intimidate the animals as to induce them to seek refuge upon the dead
trees with which the field was still partially covered.
The plan succeeded. The horns sounded, the horses galloped forward, the
men shouted, the dogs barked and howled. The shrieks of the negroes were
enough to frighten a legion of Bears, and those in the field took to
flight, so that by the time we reached the centre they were heard
hurrying towards the tops of the trees. Fires were immediately lighted
by the negroes. The drizzling rain had ceased, the sky cleared, and the
glare of the crackling fires proved of great assistance to us. The Bears
had been so terrified that we now saw several of them crouched at the
junction of the larger boughs with the trunks. Two were immediately shot
down. They were cubs of no great size, and being already half dead, we
left them to the dogs, which quickly despatched them.
We were anxious to procure as much sport as possible, and having
observed one of the Bears, which from its size we conjectured to be the
mother, ordered the negroes to cut down the tree on which it was
perched, when it was intended the dogs should have a tug with it, while
we should support them, and assist in preventing the Bear from escaping
by wounding it in one of the hind-legs. The surrounding woods now echoed
to the blows of the axemen. The tree was large and tough, having been
girded more than two years, and the operation of felling it seemed
extremely tedious. However, it began to vibrate at each stroke; a few
inches alone now supported it; and in a short time it came crashing to
the ground, in so awful a manner that Bruin must doubtless have felt the
shock as severe as we should feel a shake of the globe produced by the
sudden collision of a comet.
The dogs rushed to the charge, and harassed the Bear on all sides. We
had remounted, and now surrounded the poor animal. As its life depended
upon its courage and strength, it exercised both in the most energetic
manner. Now and then it seized a dog, and killed him by a single stroke.
At another time, a well administered blow of one of its fore-legs sent
an assailant off yelping so piteously that he might be looked upon as
_hors de combat_. A cur had daringly ventured to seize the Bear by the
snout, and was seen hanging to it, covered with blood, whilst a dozen or
more scrambled over its back. Now and then the infuriated animal was
seen to cast a revengeful glance at some of the party, and we had
already determined to despatch it, when, to our astonishment, it
suddenly shook off all the dogs, and, before we could fire, charged upon
one of the negroes, who was mounted on a pied horse. The Bear seized the
steed with teeth and claws, and clung to its breast. The terrified horse
snorted and plunged. The rider, an athletic young man, and a capital
horseman, kept his seat, although only saddled on a sheep's-skin tightly
girthed, and requested his master not to fire at the Bear.
Notwithstanding his coolness and courage, our anxiety for his safety was
raised to the highest pitch, especially when in a moment we saw rider
and horse come to the ground together; but we were instantly relieved on
witnessing the masterly manner in which Scipio despatched his adversary,
by laying open his skull with a single well-directed blow of his axe,
when a deep growl announced the death of the Bear, and the valorous
negro sprung to his feet unhurt.
Day dawned, and we renewed our search. Two of the remaining Bears were
soon discovered, lodged in a tree about a hundred yards from the spot
where the last one had been overpowered. On approaching them in a
circle, we found that they manifested no desire to come down, and we
resolved to try _smoking_. We surrounded the tree with a pile of
brushwood and large branches. The flames ascended and caught hold of the
dry bark. At length the tree assumed the appearance of a pillar of
flame. The Bears mounted to the top branches. When they had reached the
uppermost, they were seen to totter, and soon after, the branch cracking
and snapping across, they came to the ground, bringing with them a mass
of broken twigs. They were cubs, and the dogs soon worried them to
death.
The party returned to the house in triumph. Scipio's horse, being
severely wounded, was let loose in the field, to repair his strength by
eating the corn. A cart was afterwards sent for the game. But before we
had left the field, the horses, dogs, and Bears, together with the
fires, had destroyed more corn within a few hours than the poor Bear and
her cubs had during the whole of their visits.
A KENTUCKY BARBECUE
Beargrass Creek, which is one of the many beautiful streams of the
highly cultivated and happy State of Kentucky, meanders through a deeply
shaded growth of majestic beechwoods, in which are interspersed various
species of walnut, oak, elm, ash, and other trees, extending on either
side of its course. The spot on which I witnessed the celebration of an
anniversary of the glorious proclamation of our independence is situated
on its banks near the city of Louisville. The woods spread their dense
tufts towards the shores of the fair Ohio on the west, and over the
gently rising grounds to the south and east. Every open spot forming a
plantation was smiling in the luxuriance of a summer harvest. The farmer
seemed to stand in admiration of the spectacle; the trees of his
orchards bowed their branches, as if anxious to restore to their mother
earth the fruit with which they were laden; the flocks leisurely
ruminated as they lay on their grassy beds; and the genial warmth
of the season seemed inclined to favor their repose.
[Illustration: JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON, 1853.]
The free, single-hearted Kentuckian, bold, erect, and proud of his
Virginian descent, had, as usual, made arrangements for celebrating the
day of his country's independence. The whole neighborhood joined with
one consent. No personal invitation was required where every one was
welcomed by his neighbor, and from the governor to the guider of the
plough, all met with light hearts and merry faces.
It was indeed a beautiful day; the bright sun rode in the clear blue
heavens; the gentle breezes wafted around the odors of the gorgeous
flowers; the little birds sang their sweetest songs in the woods, and
the fluttering insects danced in the sunbeams. Columbia's sons and
daughters seemed to have grown younger that morning. For a whole week or
more many servants and some masters had been busily engaged in clearing
an area. The undergrowth had been carefully cut down, the low boughs
lopped off, and the grass alone, verdant and gay, remained to carpet the
sylvan pavilion. Now the wagons were seen slowly moving along under
their load of provisions which had been prepared for the common benefit.
Each denizen had freely given his ox, his ham, his venison, his Turkeys
and other fowls. Here were to be seen flagons of every beverage used in
the country; "la belle riviere" had opened her finny stores, the melons
of all sorts, peaches, plums, and pears, would have sufficed to stock a
market. In a word, Kentucky, the land of abundance, had supplied a feast
for her children. A purling stream gave its waters freely, while the
grateful breezes cooled the air. Columns of smoke from the newly kindled
fires rose above the trees; fifty cooks or more moved to and fro as they
plied their trade; waiters of all qualities were disposing the dishes,
the glasses and the punch-bowls, amid vases filled with rich wines. "Old
Monongahela" filled many a barrel for the crowd. And now the roasting
viands perfume the air, and all appearances conspire to predict the
speedy commencement of a banquet such as may suit the vigorous appetite
of American woodsmen. Every steward is at his post ready to receive the
joyous groups that at this moment begin to emerge from the dark recesses
of the woods.
Each comely fair one, clad in pure white, is seen advancing under the
protection of her sturdy lover, the neighing of their prancing steeds
proclaiming how proud they are of their burden. The youthful riders leap
from their seats, and the horses are speedily secured by twisting their
bridles round a branch. As the youth of Kentucky lightly and gayly
advanced towards the barbecue, they resembled a procession of nymphs and
disguised divinities. Fathers and mothers smiled upon them as they
followed the brilliant cortege. In a short time the ground was alive
with merriment. A great wooden cannon bound with iron hoops was now
crammed with home-made powder; fire was conveyed to it by means of a
train, and as the explosion burst forth, thousands of hearty huzzas
mingled with its echoes. From the most learned a good oration fell in
proud and gladdening words on every ear, and although it probably did
not equal the eloquence of a Clay, an Everett, a Webster, or a Preston,
it served to remind every Kentuckian present of the glorious name, the
patriotism, the courage, and the virtue of our immortal Washington.
Fifes and drums sounded the march which had ever led him to glory; and
as they changed to our celebrated "Yankee-Doodle," the air again rang
with acclamations.
Now the stewards invited the assembled throngs to the feast. The fair
led the van, and were first placed around the tables, which groaned
under the profusion of the best productions of the country that had been
heaped upon them. On each lovely nymph attended her gay beau, who in her
chance or sidelong glances ever watched an opportunity of reading his
happiness. How the viands diminished under the action of so many agents
of destruction, I need not say, nor is it necessary that you should
listen to the long recital. Many a national toast was offered and
accepted, many speeches were delivered, and many essayed in amicable
reply. The ladies then retired to booths that had been erected at a
little distance, to which they were conducted by their partners, who
returned to the table, and having thus cleared for action, recommenced a
series of hearty rounds. However, as Kentuckians are neither slow nor
long at their meals, all were in a few minutes replenished, and after a
few more draughts from the bowl, they rejoined the ladies and prepared
for the dance.
Double lines of a hundred fair ones extended along the ground in the
most shady part of the woods, while here and there smaller groups
awaited the merry trills of reels and cotillons. A burst of music from
violins, clarionets, and bugles gave the welcome notice, and presently
the whole assemblage seemed to be gracefully moving through the air. The
"hunting-shirts" now joined in the dance, their fringed skirts keeping
time with the gowns of the ladies, and the married people of either sex
stepped in and mixed with their children. Every countenance beamed with
joy, every heart leaped with gladness; no pride, no pomp, no affectation
were there; their spirits brightened as they continued their
exhilarating exercise, and care and sorrow were flung to the winds.
During each interval of rest refreshments of all sorts were handed
round, and while the fair one cooled her lips with the grateful juice of
the melon, the hunter of Kentucky quenched his thirst with ample
draughts of well-tempered punch.
I know, reader, that had you been with me on that day you would have
richly enjoyed the sight of this national _fete champetre_. You would
have listened with pleasure to the ingenuous tale of the lover, the wise
talk of the elder on the affairs of the State, the accounts of
improvement in stock and utensils, and the hopes of continued
prosperity to the country at large, and to Kentucky in particular. You
would have been pleased to see those who did not join in the dance
shooting at distant marks with their heavy rifles, or watched how they
showed off the superior speed of their high bred "Old Virginia" horses,
while others recounted their hunting exploits, and at intervals made the
woods ring with their bursts of laughter. With me the time sped like an
arrow in its flight, and although more than twenty years have elapsed
since I joined a Kentucky barbecue, my spirit is refreshed every Fourth
of July by the recollection of that day's merriment.
But now the sun has declined, and the shades of evening creep over the
scene. Large fires are lighted in the woods, casting the long shadows of
the live columns far along the trodden ground, and flaring on the happy
groups loath to separate. In the still, clear sky, begin to sparkle the
distant lamps of heaven. One might have thought that Nature herself
smiled on the joy of her children. Supper now appeared on the tables,
and after all had again refreshed themselves, preparations were made for
departure. The lover hurried for the steed of his fair one, the hunter
seized the arm of his friend, families gathered into loving groups, and
all returned in peace to their happy homes.
And now, reader, allow me also to take my leave, and wish you
good-night, trusting that when I again appear with another volume,[58]
you will be ready to welcome me with a cordial greeting.
A RACCOON HUNT IN KENTUCKY
The Raccoon, which is a cunning and crafty animal, is found in all our
woods, so that its name is familiar to every child in the Union. The
propensity which it evinces to capture all kinds of birds accessible to
it in its nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their
flesh, induces me to endeavor to afford you some idea of the pleasure
which our western hunters feel in procuring it. With your leave, then,
reader, I will take you to a "Coon Hunt."
A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the "far west." The
woodland choristers have disappeared, the matron has cradled her babe,
and betaken herself to the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and
"the stranger," are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise
reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are to come.
Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her head to the keen blast of
approaching winter; the corn, though still on its stalk, has lost its
blades; the wood-pile is as large as the woodsman's cabin; the nights
have become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual change in
the dews, which now crust the withered herbage with a coat of glittering
white. The sky is still cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect
their light from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the
forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. In the
cheerful cabin all is happiness; its inmates generously strive to
contribute to the comfort of the stranger who has chanced to visit them;
and, as Raccoons are abundant in the neighborhood, they propose a hunt.
The offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves her wheel,
for she has listened to her husband's talk; now she approaches the fire,
takes up the board shovel, stirs the embers, produces a basket filled
with sweet potatoes, arranges its contents side by side in front of the
hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. All this she
does because she "guesses" that hungry stomachs will be calling for food
when the sport is over. Ah! reader, what "homely joys" there are in such
scenes, and how you would enjoy them! The rich may produce a better, or
a more sumptuous meal, but his feelings can never be like those of the
poor woodsman. Poor, I ought not to call him, for nature and industry
bountifully supply all his wants; the woods and rivers produce his chief
dainties, and his toils are his pleasures.
Now mark him! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet; his sons and the
stranger prepare for the march. Horns and rifles are in requisition. The
good man opens the wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud
enough to scare a Wolf. The Raccoons scamper away from the corn-fields,
break through the fences, and hie to the woods. The hunter has taken an
axe from the wood-pile, and returning, assures us that the night is
fine, and that we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle to
ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts a feather
into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung at his side is attached a
powder-horn; his sheath-knife is there also; below hangs a narrow strip
of homespun linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his teeth
the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the ball on one hand, and
with the other pours the powder upon it until it is just overtopped.
Raising the horn to his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and
restores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the tube;
springs the box of his gun, greases the "patch" over with some melted
tallow, or damps it; then places it on the honey-combed muzzle of his
piece. The bullet is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with
the handle of the knife, which now trims the edge of the linen. The
elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, smoothly pushes the ball to
its bed; once, twice, thrice has it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it
were into the hunter's arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole,
the powder fills the pan, which is closed. "Now I'm ready," cries the
woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly more than a minute has
elapsed. I wish, reader, you had seen this fine fellow--but hark! the
dogs are barking.