CHAPTER X
A PERILOUS BEAR-HUNT – A DEBATING SOCIETY – PANTHER HUNT – DISASTROUS EVENTS – DEATH OF ERSKINE – DEPARTURE
The winter sleep of bears – The she-bear and cubs in the cave – Our perilous hunt – Erskine – Debating society in the woods – Questions discussed – My proposition – Adventure with a panther – Our wounds – Bad sport – Hunting with the Indians – The skeletons in the cave – Erskine’s fatal encounter with the bear – My wounded shoulder – Indian surgery – I decline settling in the woods – sorrowful leave-taking.
We had no trifle to carry, and were very glad to reach home; but our feet were hardly out of the stirrups when we heard that some Indians had looked in. They had discovered a cave which certainly contained a bear, but the Cherokees, who had first found it, had not ventured to penetrate far, as it was deep and narrow. This was grist to our mill. The skins and meat were stowed away, the rifles discharged and cleaned, horses fed, and all prepared for a regular hunt. We passed the evening in telling stories about bears; among others Conwell related the following anecdote respecting their winter sleep: “In this southern climate, the bear generally lays up about Christmas, or the beginning of the year, and remains till the end of February; if the weather is then mild he comes out occasionally, and sometimes he does not return to his winter-quarters, but prepares a new lair by biting down branches, and making a bed for himself in the most secluded and thickest jungle, as far removed as possible from the haunts of man. If they go into a cave, they do not take any provisions with them, but keep sucking their paws, whining all the time; when they become torpid, they lie with their head doubled under them, and their fore-paws above it. I myself have crawled into a cave, and poked bears with the end of my rifle, to make them raise their heads, so that I might conveniently fire into their brains; and the bears were always cowardly in a cave, except they had young, when they fight furiously – but even then, only when they have no other choice. When the weather is warm and they come out to drink, it is extraordinary how exactly they always step in the same place; but as the marks are thereby made so much deeper, these ‘stepping paths,’ as they are called, are easily discovered.”
The night was bitter cold; the day broke as fine as a sportsman could wish. One of Conwell’s married sons, who lived in the neighborhood, joined our party, and another young man named Smith, and as we rode by the school, the master dismissed all the boys and girls, as the temptation to accompany us was too strong to be resisted. We took plenty of fir splinters for torches, and our guide was young Smith, who was one of the party who had tracked the bear, but not ventured very far into the cave.
We reached the entrance about two o’clock in the afternoon, and prepared a good dinner to strengthen us for the exertions in prospect. While the meat was roasting, I took a survey of the outside, which presented a wall of limestone rock, about thirty feet high, and about 300 feet long, with four openings. After having well fortified the inner man, we prepared to enter the cave. We took only one rifle with us, but each had his large hunting-knife, and I buckled my powder-horn close to my side; then with my rifle in my right hand, and a torch of at least twenty inches in my left, we entered a dark passage about four feet high and two feet wide; young Conwell came next to me with another torch, followed by his father with a bundle of splinters to replace the torches as they burnt out. For about eighty yards it was all hard rock, and we advanced easily enough. But now came a sudden turn to the right, and the cave was so low that we were obliged to crawl on our hands and knees; the bottom was stiff clay, with numerous marks of bears, some quite fresh. As we advanced the passage became still smaller, and we were obliged to crawl on our stomachs. Thus far the Indians had penetrated, as we found by splinters of fir, and marks of their elbows and knees in the clay. The passage was now so small that I was obliged to lie quite flat, and push myself along by my feet assisted by my left elbow, holding the torch in my left hand, and the rifle in front with the right. The aperture was quite round, and rubbed smooth by the passing in and out of wild animals, who may perhaps have made this their winter-quarters for hundreds of years. Here and there we found stalactites, which were a great hinderance, and we often had considerable difficulty in pushing ourselves through.
Apparently, we were the first whites, indeed the first men, who had ever ventured into the place, for the ground retained every impression that had been made in it. In some places the marks of the bears were petrified, having perhaps been left centuries ago. Once the thought occurred to me: should we ever get out again, or perish here from hunger? I went on however, all my senses on the stretch, to discover the sleeping bear.
We disturbed immense numbers of bats with our torches, and found also several crickets and a few bluebottle flies. When my torch was nearly burnt out, I stopped for a supply from young Conwell; the moment I remained quite still, I thought I heard a low whining not far off; and listening attentively, I distinctly heard the sound bear cubs make in sucking, and a low deep growling; so there was no longer any doubt but that we were near a she-bear with cubs.
The place where I had stopped was rather more roomy, so that I could sit up, and I turned to the two Conwells and asked if they heard the sound, which they answered with a whispered “Yes;” – and we held a short council as to further proceedings. In the first place, the cave was smaller further on – secondly we had only expected a sleeping bear, instead of a she-bear awake and with cubs, for which it was rather early in the season; though C. told me afterwards, that in Arkansas he had occasionally met with bear cubs as early as January. Whoever has seen a she-bear defend her young, with ears laid back and open jaws, may form some idea of our feelings. We were all bear-killers, and knew well enough the danger we were encountering in a space almost too narrow to admit of any movement. But at all events there we were, and there was the bear – and no one even hinted at a retreat.
I examined my rifle closely to see that all was right, and as we slowly worked our way forwards, the elder Conwell warned me to make sure of my shot, adding drily, by way of comfort, that it would be all the better for me; for if I missed I should be the first to suffer from the animal’s fury.
We came nearer and nearer to the growling bear, who certainly must long since have heard us, and was now listening with all her might. At length the mingled whining and growling appeared to be quite close, and holding the torch behind my head, I plainly saw fiery eyeballs. I now halted, cleared the sight of the rifle, which had got clogged with the clay, refreshed my torch, and crept as silently as possible towards the dark mass.
The decisive moment was come; and as I could now distinguish the animal’s head, through the surrounding darkness, I put myself in an attitude to take aim. The bear had risen on her hind-legs, and sat with their usual swinging motion; as I was trying to fix one of her eyes with the rifle, she suddenly disappeared through the almost palpable darkness.
Following her up, we came upon three cubs, nice little things, which roared lustily when for the first time they saw a light. These sounds were by no means agreeable to us, for we had reason to fear that the cries of the cubs might still more enrage the dam. We wished to save them alive, and asked old Conwell to stay with them and quiet them and to make a fire, while we went after the old one. Conwell sat down, and soon quieted them by giving them a finger to suck.
About ten feet from the lair the cave divided into two passages of equal size. The fresh marks showed that the bear had taken the one to the right. Presently the cubs began to cry again with renewed force, which rather alarmed us, for we should have been in an awkward predicament if the bear had endeavored to hasten to their help, and found the way blocked up by our bodies; for, with the best will in the world, she could neither pass over us nor by our sides, and there was no other way left than to kill us, and eat her way through. While we were consulting together about this matter, in a low voice, the cry suddenly ceased, and we pushed on silently in better spirits; for, from all that we had seen, this bear was rather more cowardly than usual.
We went on and on, to the great annoyance of our ribs and elbows, and there seemed to be no end to the cave. There was a peculiarity about it, which I never found in any other, namely, several flat stones about one and two inches thick, which rang like steel when slightly struck with the finger. One place was very remarkable. It was about fifty or sixty feet long, with similar flat stones on each side, approaching to within six inches of each other in the middle, so that one could have passed through in a sitting posture, with the neck in the narrow part, and the head in the upper compartment; but to say the least, this would have been a rather inconvenient position for receiving the attack of an enraged bear.
After clearing this double passage, we arrived at a spring, which had worn itself a channel of about eighteen inches deep, and eight or nine wide. After working our way through another difficult pass, as I was in the act of drawing a long breath, I heard a deep growl very near me. Although I had been listening for this sound every foot of the way for several hours, yet, on hearing it so suddenly and so close, I was rather startled, and nearly let fall the torch; but quickly recovering, and raising the torch as high as possible, to the discomfort and horror of several innocent bats, I could make out Mrs. Bruin, about ten yards off, sitting upright, gnashing her teeth, digging into the ground with her sharp claws, and apparently in the worst possible humor.
Young Conwell, who was close behind me, laid his hand lightly on my foot, and whispered that he heard the bear. As I had obtained this intelligence for myself, I whispered to him to be quiet, and creeping forward a couple of paces, I came to a place from whence I thought I could fire with effect. I placed my right foot in the channel of the stream, raised myself as well as I could on my left knee, and brought up the rifle. Young Conwell, who was anxiously watching all my motions, whispered me for God’s sake to aim carefully, for if I made a bad shot we were both done for. Although I was nearer the danger than he was, I would not have changed places with him, as he could not see what was going on, and must naturally fear the worst; and in such cases, it is preferable to be in the post of danger, than to remain in a state of suspense.
The bear, by no means pleased with our intrusion, laid back her ears, snapped her teeth, and kept constantly swinging to and fro; as she did not sit quite upright I had no other choice than to aim at the head, in the hope that if I missed my aim, the ball might pierce the breast. As I was taking aim, the thought crossed my brain for a moment (why should I deny it?) how helpless I was if the shot failed; but it lasted only a moment, and, in the excitement of the present, I forgot both past and future.
I took a long aim, and yet, as the bear was not still for one second I pulled the trigger too soon. The cave was filled with thick smoke; a fearful groan announced that the beast was wounded; we did not wait to examine the state of affairs, but crept back as fast as the narrow space would allow, to a spot where there was more room to move, in order to reload, and return to the attack.
We had retreated, backwards, for about a hundred yards, and had halted in a more convenient part of the cave, when we heard the bear coming towards us, snorting and snapping her teeth, till the cave echoed with the sound. My first thought was “Good-by to the light of the sun.” But I had not much time for consideration, and called to young Conwell to make haste if he valued our lives, for the old one was coming. He did not require much pressing, and I never saw crabs crawl backwards quicker than we tried to do; yet, however great our hurry, and imminent our danger, it was very slow work, and the snorting came nearer and nearer.
I had dropped my rifle, as it very much hindered my retreat, and keeping a sharp look-out in front, where I constantly expected to see the bear, I suddenly discovered the glowing eyes only a few paces off. Just at this moment, my left elbow struck against a projecting bit of rock; the torch fell out of my hand, and all was dark as pitch; for although young Conwell had a second torch, my body filled up the space so completely that not a ray of light could pass. I took up the glimmering splinter, and threw it at the bear, which checked her, but only for a moment. Suddenly young Conwell stopped, and said he could not find the passage; and making a slip with his right hand, which held the torch, he dropped it in the water. I could not answer for the bear, who had followed us slowly, as if she knew that we were doing our best to get out of her way; she must have been so near, that I felt sure that if I stretched out my arm to its full extent I should touch her; for I could feel her hot breath on my face. With my left arm a little in advance, the right with the hunting-knife drawn back, I awaited, with every stroke of the pulse, the beast’s attack, thinking of nothing else than selling my life as dearly as possible; for I had no hopes of getting out alive.
Meantime, young Conwell had not been idle. Aware that we could do nothing without a light, he had felt for his tinder-box, and the noise of his flint and steel was the only sound that broke a silence like that of the grave; for at the first blow the bear had ceased growling to listen to the strange sounds.
After a painful and anxious pause, he called out, “I have got a light, give me the powder-horn and a rag.” I cut away the first from its sling, then tore off a piece of my hunting-shirt, and passed them behind me. In a few minutes he recovered his splinter; this gave us, or rather me, new hopes; for he had no fear – firstly, because he could not know how near the bear was; and, secondly, because, as he assured me afterwards, he was so intent on striking a light, that he could think of nothing else. He had also succeeded in turning himself round, and his voice sounded to me like an angel’s song when he called out that he had found the passage. He had now the advantage of creeping forwards, while I was still obliged to show front to the bear; but he gave me a few more splinters of fir, and a light, and we again began our slow retreat towards the entrance.
As I held the torch forwards, the bear gave a deep growl, gnashed her teeth, and retreated a pace or two, but followed again as soon as she saw that I was retiring. Necessity sharpens invention; I laid a couple of burning sticks crosswise on the ground, and saw, to my inexpressible delight, that she did not venture to pass them. Shuffling back as fast as I could, I heard Jim (young C.) call out to his father to go back, as the bear was coming. No other words were spoken, and indeed the growling came nearer; the fire had probably gone out on the moist ground, and then she followed us again.
I now crawled over the place where we had first discovered her, and found out the reason why the cubs had so suddenly ceased their cry. When we stopped, uncertain what to do, old C. had dashed their heads against the rock, and thus most likely saved our lives; for a cry from the cubs when our torches had gone out, would have enraged the wounded animal so much, that she would certainly have attacked us, and we should have been either killed, or so dreadfully crippled that we must have perished miserably in the cave.
At about a hundred paces from the lair, I stopped to listen again, but could hear nothing. I now called to the others to wait for me, and when we came to a more roomy place, which had also been the retreat of a bear, we held a consultation. Old C. thought that the bear had lain down by her dead cubs, and that one of us had better return to the mouth of the cave and fetch another rifle, as it was out of the question trying to pass the furious animal to get at mine. However, before attempting the long and difficult way back to the entrance, I resolved to creep again to the lair and see if she was not dead, for I could not but think that my ball must have had some effect. When I got there I could see nothing of her. My shout brought the others to the spot; so, advancing a little, and examining closely, we saw thick dark blood, and found that, instead of returning to her lair, she had taken the left-hand passage. I instantly proceeded to regain my rifle, which I found, covered with blood and slime, about three hundred yards off. I returned as fast as I possibly could, cleaned it, and reloaded, when we all started again for a fresh attack.
The left-hand passage was as bad as the right; but luckily the bear had not gone far. We soon reached the place, where, grinding her teeth, she awaited our approach. I halted about eight or nine feet from her, raised myself as high as the space would allow, laid the rifle over my left arm, in which I held the torch, and, seizing the time when her head was quiet for an instant, I fired. Again the cave echoed the crack of the rifle, and all was enveloped in thick smoke. I heard the bear groan and move, but stood my ground, as this time I knew that my ball had struck the right place: as the smoke cleared away, she lay dead before me.
Young Conwell and I were half dead from our exertions, and it would have been impossible for us to get the bear out: – for the time we had been crawling in the close air of the cave and smoke of the torches, and the long-continued excitement of constant danger, were almost too much for the constitution of any man; so we decided on returning to the fresh air as fast as we could. It took us about half an hour to do so, and I shall never forget the effect of the delightfully cool night air, as I drew it in in long inspirations, and gazed on the bright-blue starry skies.
Young Smith and the schoolmaster were fast asleep, but as the dogs barked they both jumped up, and almost fell down again from fright, for they swore that they had never seen such horrible figures as we looked in the red light of the torches, covered with blood and slime, and blackened with smoke. Judging by the stars, it must have been about two o’clock in the morning. Although as hungry as lions, we were too exhausted to touch any thing; so we lay down and slept till daybreak. We made a good breakfast, and then, leaving old Conwell behind, who had done rather too much for his time of life, we four again entered the cave to bring out our prizes. We fastened a cord round the old bear’s neck; I squeezed past, and shoved from behind, while Smith and the schoolmaster pulled, and young Jim Conwell held the light. We gained ground inch by inch, and about noon, amid a general hurrah, we cast down the carcase by the camp fire, where it was instantly taken possession of by Bearsgrease, who laid himself growling by its side.
As we had some way to go home, we only opened and cleaned her, and broke the spine, so that the carcase might lay better across a horse. We reached home by the evening; I took a plunge in the river, and then settled down to sleep.
We rose refreshed the next morning ready for further efforts, and concluded to try some caves that old Conwell knew of. We provided ourselves with cords and food, and made two large wax candles, which are less disagreeable in a close cave than pine torches, give a better light, and are not so liable to go out. We arrived at the place in the afternoon, and found eight or nine caves, from forty to eighty feet deep, but all empty. We now separated to try different paths, and agreed that as soon as any one found a trail, he was to make a signal so that all might join in the chase.
I found a small cave with fresh marks, but no bear. On returning to the mouth, I heard the dogs, and listening attentively for a minute or two, I felt sure they were coming towards me. Presently the noise of rushing through breaking branches was very distinct, and at last a bear broke cover. Throwing himself without hesitation down a precipice of about ten feet, he came towards me as fast as his legs would carry him. I stood still to see how near he would come. At about fifty paces distance he winded me, stopped short in his career, snuffed the air for an instant, and then made off in a different direction. I seized the opportunity offered, and sent him a ball; but I was not quite cool enough, and only wounded him in the hip. Meantime, the dogs having been stopped by the bluff which Bruin had so unceremoniously disposed of, he gained a good space in advance; but the wound checked his speed, and I could soon distinguish by the dogs’ bark that they had come up with him again, but were keeping out of reach of his paws. A young man named Erskine, who was shooting near us, attracted by the report of my gun and the barking of the dogs, came up and gave the mortal wound. The two Conwells joined soon after, and we broke him up together.
Erskine told us that he had found a cave, which he was sure contained a bear, and asked one of us to go with him and try it, as he had neither torches nor wax candles. I was ready at once, took one of the candles, and explaining to the others where they might find us, we set off, and reached the place about sunset. We first made a large fire before the entrance of the cave, and then crept into it, E. preceding. Further on, the passage grew larger, so that we could walk upright, side by side. After going some distance, we heard the regular low whine of the bear, who was sucking his paws, and Erskine, also a regular bear-hunter, asserted that he was fast asleep. Passing a sharp turn in the cave, we discovered him at our feet, and, as my comrade had stated, fast asleep, his head between his paws, uttering a low monotonous whine. Erskine set the muzzle of the rifle to the back of his head, and fired; he gave a convulsive start, and lay dead. I probed the wound with my fore finger to see how far the ball had penetrated; the rifle threw a ball of twenty-two to the pound; the skull was completely shattered.
We now decided on getting out of the cave for a little repose and refreshment, and to await the Conwells. We found them sitting by the fire, and young C. offered at once to take the cord and fasten it round the bear’s neck, and try and pull him out alone. Lighting one of the candles, he soon disappeared in the cave. They had examined several other caves, but had not found any more signs. Extraordinary to relate, we had not seen a single deer during the course of our hunt; the forest seemed deserted, excepting by a bear or two in the caves, and a very few turkeys.
We had rested and talked for about half an hour, when young C. reappeared without the bear, having found it too heavy, and requiring help. We went, one and all, taking fresh torches with us, to the scene of action, and dragged him out, though with considerable difficulty, as many parts of the route were ill adapted for the transport of such a mass of flesh. Lying down by the fire, we slept comfortably till late next morning. It was near noon ere we could tear ourselves away from our couches of soft leaves, but as we all agreed that we must move sooner or later, we got up, loaded the horses with our prizes, and moved off towards Conwell’s dwelling in as direct a line as the nature of the country would allow. We kept no look-out for game on our way home, having meat enough, and being almost tired to death.
We received a hearty welcome from Conwell’s family, and we resolved to enjoy a little repose after all our hard work. In spite of the bears and bats that I encountered in my dreams, I awoke quite refreshed, and did full justice to the beautiful breakfast of bear-collops, milk, and maize bread. Perhaps the wild outdoor life which we had been leading may have lent more charms to the quiet life of this happy home, than under other circumstances I should have been sensible of; but, be that as it may, I shall never forget this amiable family. Old C. and I sat the whole day by the fireside, mending our leggings and moccasins. He was certainly the last man in the world to neglect spinning a yarn when he had a good opportunity, and he told me so many anecdotes, and related so many adventures, that the day passed away only too soon.
About an hour before sunset, a neighbor came in to inquire whether we would go with him to the debates. “Debates!” I asked, quite astonished, “what does that mean?” He seemed still more astonished at my ignorance, and explained that, on every Friday, it was the custom to hold a meeting at the school-house, about two miles off, to debate on any subject which might be proposed, and in which the scholars took part. The account excited my curiosity still more, and I decided on no account to miss such an opportunity. Old C. had frequented these meetings too often to be induced to leave his comfortable fireside; but I saddled a horse at once, and was soon at the school.
Imagine a large smoky building in the midst of a forest, with dark, dusty windows; a broad, well-worn door-stone; a heavy iron-bound door; and rules and regulations pasted up here and there in the room. A number of horses, fastened to the surrounding trees, showed that several of the debaters were already assembled. A bright fire burned in the chimney, the room was nearly full, and almost everybody was talking. At length order was established, and the company proceeded to the business of the evening. Two judges and two leaders were selected. The judges took their places in the centre, while the leaders stationed themselves on opposite sides, each taking it in turns to choose a follower from the persons present. The question to be decided was this: “In a thickly inhabited district, where much cattle was reared, there was only one parish bull. The district was on the bank of a broad river, and the inhabitants were obliged to cross it very often, as all the mills and tanneries were on the other side – but there was only one ferry-boat, passed to and fro by a single rope. The bull got down to the ferry, and on board the boat, and gnawed the rope in two; the boat floated down the river with the bull, and boat and bull were never seen again.” These were the facts, now comes the question, “Who is to pay the damage for the loss? The owner of the boat for carrying off the bull, or the owner of the bull, because, from some malicious though undiscovered intention, he stole the boat?”
It was highly amusing to see one after another stand up, and seriously defend the cause of the bull, or the boat; others again talked all sorts of nonsense for a quarter of an hour, and then sat down with the remark that it was unnecessary to say more, as the case was so clear that the judges could not do otherwise than give a decision in their favor. After all had been heard, myself included, the judges consulted together, and the owner of the bull was condemned to pay the expenses. The next question was: “Which is better, a single or a married life?” The judges were not quite impartially chosen. The wife of one had run off with a young man to Texas, three years ago; the wife of the other had three times borne twins. I was chosen on the married side with the schoolmaster, three or four other young men, and six or seven of the scholars. We defended our cause with glowing animation – but one judge thought of Texas, and the other of the twins, and our scale kicked the beam. Several other questions were discussed; among them, “Which is worse, a smoky chimney or a scolding wife?” Left undecided. At last I was invited to propose a subject, but I would not consent until I received assurance that it should be discussed: “Which enjoys life most, has fewer cares, and lighter sorrows – a short or a long-tailed dog?” But by this time it was late, and time to adjourn; so the house was soon left to its solitude in the forest, and the party dispersed in all directions to their dwellings.
On the morning of the 22nd January, Old Conwell and I shouldered our rifles, and each provided with meat and bread, we wandered towards the waters of the Richland. Lucky was it that we took provisions, for not a shot did we fire. Next day was almost as bad, and if Conwell had not knocked over a turkey, we should have been reduced to chew sassafras. At length on the third day, he shot a deer and I a turkey, which put a little life into the dogs. Disgusted with our bad luck, we decided on returning home next day; besides, the weather was bad, and threatened to be worse. To our inexpressible joy, snow fell during the night, and all thoughts of return vanished. We took different directions, with the agreement to return to camp in the evening. I had not gone far when I saw footsteps of a young buck in the four-inch deep snow, followed him up and shot him. I heard the report of Conwell’s rifle about the same time. Hanging up the deer, I walked on. After lounging along slowly for above an hour, without seeing any thing, I came across the track of Conwell, who, with his dog, had been following up the bloody trail of a panther; I gathered from the signs that he had broken his left hind leg. I followed it up on the instant, as fast as my legs could carry me; in rather more than an hour I arrived at the mouth of a cave, where Conwell was awaiting me, knowing that I should cross his trail, and follow it up as soon as I saw the marks of the panther.