At one period the missions of the Napo were both numerous and powerful. That was while they were under the superintendence of those active apostles, the Jesuit fathers; but most of their settlements have long ago disappeared; and now only a few sparse stations exist along the borders of the great Montana.

In ascending the Napo, our travellers had an opportunity of visiting some of these old missionary establishments; and observing the odd rigmarole of superstitions there practised under the guise, and in the name of religion—a queer commingling of pagan rites with Christian ceremonies—not unlike those Buddhistic forms from which these same ceremonies have been borrowed.

One advantage our travellers derived from the existence of these stations: they were enabled to obtain from them the provisions required upon their long riverine voyage; and without this assistance they would have found it much more difficult to accomplish such a journey.

Beyond Archidona the rest of the journey to Quito would have to be performed on horseback, or rather muleback; but they were not going direct to Quito. Between them and the old Peruvian capital lay the eastern Cordillera of the Andes, and it was along its declivities, and in the valleys between its transverse spurs, facing the Montana, they would have to search for the haunts of the bear.

On the Napo itself, still higher up than Archidona—where the stream, fed by the snows of the grand volcano of Cotopaxi, issues from the spurs of the Andes—there were they most likely to accomplish the object of their expedition, and thither determined they to go.

Having procured mules and a guide, they proceeded onward; and after a journey of three days—in which, from the difficulty of the roads, they had travelled less than fifty miles—they found themselves among the foot-hills of the Andes—the giant Cotopaxi with his snowy cone towering stupendous above their heads.

Here they were in the proper range of the bears—a part of the country famous for the great numbers of these animals—and it only remained for them to fix their headquarters in some village, and make arrangements for prosecuting the chase.

The little town of Napo, called after the river, and situated as it is in the midst of a forest wilderness, offered all the advantages they required; and, choosing it as their temporary residence, they were soon engaged in searching for the black bear of the Cordilleras.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

EATING A NEGRO'S HEAD.

According to their usual practice, they had hired one of the native hunters of the district to act as a guide, and assist them in finding the haunts of Bruin. In Napo they were fortunate in meeting with the very man in the person of a mestizo, or half-blood Indian, who followed hunting for his sole calling. He was what is termed a "tigrero," or tiger-hunter—which title he derived from the fact that the jaguar was the principal object of his pursuit. Among all Spanish-Americans—Mexicans included—the beautiful spotted jaguar is erroneously termed tigre (tiger), as the puma or couguar is called leon (lion). A hunter of the jaguar is therefore denominated a "tiger-hunter," or tigrero.

There are no puma or lion-hunters by profession—as there is nothing about this brute to make it worth while—but hunting the jaguar is, in many parts of Spanish America, a specific calling; and men make their living solely by following this occupation. One inducement is to obtain the skin, which, in common with those of the great spotted cats of the Old World, is an article of commerce, and from its superior beauty commands a good price. But the tigrero could scarce make out to live upon the sale of the skins alone; for although a London furrier will charge from two to three guineas for a jaguar's robe, the poor hunter in his remote wilderness market can obtain little more than a tenth part of this price—notwithstanding that he has to risk his life, before he can strip the fair mantle from the shoulders of its original wearer.

It is evident, therefore, that jaguar-hunting would not pay, if there was only the pelt to depend upon; but the tigrero looks to another source of profit—the bounty.

In the hotter regions of Spanish America,—the Brazils as well—there are many settlements to which the jaguar is not only a pest, but a terror. Cattle in hundreds are destroyed by these great predatory animals; even full-grown horses are killed and dragged away by them! But is this all? Are the people themselves left unmolested? No. On the contrary, great numbers of human beings every year fall victims to the rapacity of the jaguars. Settlements attempted on the edge of the great Montana—in the very country where our young hunters had now arrived—have, after a time, been abandoned from this cause alone. It is a well-known fact, that where a settlement has been formed, the jaguars soon become more plentiful in that neighbourhood: the increased facility of obtaining food—by preying on the cattle of the settlers, or upon the owners themselves—accounting for this augmentation in their numbers. It is precisely the same with the royal tiger of India, as is instanced in the history of the modern settlement of Singapore.

To prevent the increase of the jaguars then, a bounty is offered for their destruction. This bounty is sometimes the gift of the government of the country, and sometimes of the municipal authorities of the district. Not unfrequently private individuals, who own large herds of cattle, give a bounty out of their private purses for every jaguar killed within the limits of their estates. Indeed, it is not an uncommon thing for the wealthy proprietor of a cattle-estate (hacienda de ganados) to maintain one or more "tigreros" in his service—just as gamekeepers are kept by European grandees—whose sole business consists in hunting and destroying the jaguar. These men are sometimes pure Indians, but, as a general thing, they are of the mixed, or mestizo race. It need hardly be said that they are hunters of the greatest courage. They require to be so: since an encounter with a full-grown jaguar is but little less dangerous than with his striped congener of the Indian jungles. In these conflicts, the tigreros often receive severe wounds from the teeth and claws of their terrible adversary; and, not unfrequently, the hunter himself becomes the victim.

You may wonder that men are found to follow such a perilous calling, and with such slight inducement—for even the bounty is only a trifle of a dollar or two—differing in amount in different districts, and according to the liberality of the bestower. But it is in this matter as with all others of a like kind—where the very danger itself seems to be the lure.

The tigrero usually depends upon fire-arms for destroying his noble game; but where his shot fails, and it is necessary to come to close quarters, he will even attack the jaguar with his machete—a species of half-knife half-sword, to be found in every Spanish-American cottage from California to Chili.

Very often the jaguar is hunted without the gun. The tigrero, in this case, arms himself with a short spear, the shaft of which is made of a strong hard wood, either a guaiacum, or a piece of the split trunk of one of the hardwood palms.

The point of this spear is frequently without iron—only sharpened and hardened by being held in the fire—and with this in his left hand, and his short sword in the right, the hunter advances with confidence upon his formidable adversary. This confidence has been fortified by a contrivance which he has had the precaution to adopt—that is, of enveloping his left arm in the ample folds of his blanket—serape, roana, or poncho, according to the country to which he belongs—and using this as a shield.

The left arm is held well forward, so that the woollen mass may cover his body against the bound of the animal, and thus is the attack received. The jaguar, like all feline quadrupeds, springs directly forward upon his prey. The tigrero prepared for this, and, with every nerve braced, receives the assailant upon the point of his short spear. Should the jaguar strike with its claws it only clutches the woollen cloth; and while tearing at this—which it believes to be the body of its intended victim—the right arm of the hunter is left free, and with the sharp blade of his machete he can either make cut or thrust at his pleasure. It is not always that the tigrero succeeds in destroying his enemy without receiving a scratch or two in return; but a daring hunter makes light of such wounds—for these scars become badges of distinction, and give him eclat among the villages of the Montana.

Just such a man was the guide whom our young hunters had engaged, and who, though a tiger-hunter by profession, was equally expert at the capturing of a bear—when one of these animals chanced to stray down from the higher slopes of the mountains, into the warmer country frequented by the jaguars. It was not always that bears could be found in these lower regions; but there is a particular season of the year when the black bear (ursus frugilegus) descends far below his usual range, and even wanders far out into the forests of the Montana.

Of course there must be some inducement for his making this annual migration from his mountain home; for the ursus frugilegus, though here dwelling within the tropics, does not affect a tropical climate. Neither is he a denizen of the very cold plains—the paramos—that extend among the summits of eternal snow. A medium temperature is his choice; and this, as we have already stated, he finds among the foot-hills, forming the lower zone of the Eastern Andes. It is there he spends most of his life, and that is his place of birth, and consequently his true home. At a particular season of the year, corresponding to the summer of our own country, he makes a roving expedition to the lower regions; and for what purpose? This was the very question which Alexis put to the tigrero. The answer was as curious as laconic:

"Comer la cabeza del negro." (To eat the negro's head!)

"Ha, ha! to eat the negro's head!" repeated Ivan, with an incredulous laugh.

"Just so, senorito!" rejoined the man; "that is what brings him down here."

"Why, the voracious brute!" said Ivan; "you don't mean to say that he makes food of the heads of the poor negroes?"

"Oh no!" replied the tigrero, smiling in his turn; "it is not that."

"What then?" impatiently inquired Ivan. "I've heard of negro-head tobacco. He's not a tobacco chewer, is he?"

"Carrambo! no, senorito," replied the tiger-hunter, now laughing outright; "that's not the sort of food the fellow is fond of. You'll see it presently. By good luck, it's just in season now—just as the bears fancy it—or else we needn't look to start them here. We should have to go further up the mountains: where they are more difficult both to find and follow. But no doubt we'll soon stir one up, when we get among the cabezas del negro. The nuts are just now full of their sweet milky paste, of which the bears are so fond, and about a mile from here there are whole acres of the trees. I warrant we find a bear among them."

Though still puzzled with this half-explanation, our young hunters followed the guide—confident that they would soon come in sight of the "negro's head."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE TAGUA TREE.

After going about a mile further, as their guide had forewarned them, they came within sight of a level valley, or rather a plain, covered with a singular vegetation. It looked as if it had been a forest of palms—the trunks of which had sunk down into the earth, and left only the heads, with their great radiating fronds above the ground! Some of them stood a foot or two above the surface; but most appeared as if their stems had been completely buried! They were growing all the same, however; and, at the bottom of each great bunch of pinnate leaves, could be seen a number of large, roundish objects—which were evidently the fruits of the plant.

There was no mystery about the stems being buried underground. There were no stems, and never had been any—except those that were seen rising a yard or so above the surface. Neither was there any longer a mystery about the "negro's head;" for the rounded fruit, with its wrinkled coriaceous pericarp—suggesting a resemblance to the little curly knots of wool on the head of an African—was evidently the object to which the tigrero had applied the ambiguous appellation.

What our hunters saw was neither more nor less than a grove of Tagua trees—better known as the "vegetable ivory."

This singular tree was for a long time regarded as a plant of the Oycas family; and by some botanists it has been classed among the Pandanaceae, or screw-pines. Growing, as its leaves do, almost out of the earth, or with only a short trunk, it bears a very marked resemblance to the cycads; but for all this, it is a true palm. Its not having a tall trunk is no reason why it should not be a palm, since many other species of palmaceae are equally destitute of a visible stem. It is now, however, acknowledged by the most expert botanists, that the "Tagua"—or "Cabeza del Negro," as the Peruvians style it—is a palm; and it has been honoured as the representative of a genus (Phytelephas), of which there are but two species known—the great fruited and little fruited (macrocarpa and microcarpa). Both are natives of the hot valleys of the Andes, and differ very little from each other; but it is the species with the larger fruit that is distinguished by the figurative title of "negro's head."

The Peruvian Indians use the pinnate fronds of both species for thatching their huts; but it is the nuts of the larger one that have given its great celebrity to the tree. These are of an oblong triangular shape; and a great number of them are enclosed in the pericarp, already described. When young, they are filled with a watery liquid that has no particular taste; though regarded by the Indians as a most refreshing beverage. A little older, this crystal-like fluid turns of a milky colour and consistence; and still later it becomes a white paste. When fully ripe, it congeals to the whiteness and hardness of ivory itself; and, if kept out of water, is even more beautiful in texture than, the tusks of the elephant. It has been employed by the Indians from time immemorial in the construction of buttons, heads for their pipes, and many other purposes. Of late years it has found its way into the hands of civilised artisans; and, since it can be procured at a cheaper rate, and is quite equal to the real ivory for many useful and ornamental articles, it has become an important item of commerce.

But however much the vegetable ivory may be esteemed by the Indians, or by bipeds of any kind, there is one quadruped who thinks quite as much of it as they, and that is the black bear of the Andes (ursus frugilegus). It is not, however, when it has reached the condition of ivory that Bruin cares for it. Then the nut would be too hard, even for his powerful jaws to crack. It is when it is in the milky state—or rather after it has become coagulated to a paste—that he relishes it; and with so much avidity does he devour the sweet pulp, that at this season he is easily discovered in the midst of his depredations, and will scarce move away from his meal even upon the appearance of the hunter! While engaged in devouring his favourite negro-head, he appears indifferent to any danger that may threaten him.

Of this our hunters had proof, and very shortly after entering among the tagua trees. As the tigrero had predicted, they soon came upon the "sign" of a bear, and almost in the same instant discovered Bruin himself browsing upon the fruit.

The young hunters, and Pouchskin too, were about getting ready to fire upon him; when, to their surprise, they saw the tigrero, who was mounted on a prancing little horse, spur out in front of them, and gallop towards the bear. They knew that the killing of the animal should have been left to them; but, as they had given their guide no notice of this, they said nothing, but looked on—leaving the tigrero to manage matters after his own way.

It was evident that he intended to attack the bear, and in a peculiar fashion. They knew this by seeing that he carried a coil of raw-hide rope over his arm, on one end of which there was a ring and loop. They knew, moreover, that this was a celebrated weapon of the South Americans—the lazo, in short; but never having witnessed an exhibition of its use, they were curious to do so; and this also influenced them to keep their places.

In a few minutes the horseman had galloped within some twenty paces of the bear. The latter took the alarm, and commenced trotting off; but with a sullen reluctance, which showed that he had no great disposition to shun the encounter.

The ground was tolerably clear, the taguas standing far apart, and many of them not rising higher than the bear's back. This gave the spectators an opportunity of witnessing the chase.

It was not a long one. The bear perceiving that the horseman was gaining upon him, turned suddenly in his tracks, and, with an angry growl, rose erect upon his hind legs, and stood facing his pursuer in an attitude of defiance. As the horseman drew near, however, he appeared to become cowed, and once more turning tail, shambled off through the bushes. This time he only ran a few lengths: for the shouts of the hunter provoking him to a fresh fit of fury, caused him to halt again, and raise himself erect as before.

This was just the opportunity of which the hunter was in expectation; and before the bear could lower himself on all-fours—to charge forward upon the horse, the long rope went spinning through the air, and its noose was seen settling over the shoulders of the bear. The huge quadruped, puzzled by this mode of attack, endeavoured to seize hold of the rope; but so thin was the raw-hide thong, that he could not clutch it with his great unwieldy paws; and by his efforts he only drew the noose tighter around his neck.

Meanwhile, the hunter, on projecting the lazo, had wheeled, with the quickness of thought; and, driving his sharp spurs into the ribs of his horse, caused the latter to gallop in the opposite direction. One might have supposed that he had taken fright at the bear, and was endeavouring to get out of the way. Not so. His object was very different. The lazo still formed a link of connection between the hunter and his game. One end of it was fast to a staple firmly imbedded in the wood of the saddle-tree, while the other, as we have seen, was noosed around the bear. As the horse stretched off, the rope was seen to tighten with a sudden jerk; and Bruin was not only floored from his erect attitude, but plucked clear off his feet, and laid sprawling along the earth. In that position he was not permitted to remain: for the horse continuing his gallop, he was dragged along the ground at the end of the lazo—his huge body now bounding several feet from the earth, and now breaking through the bushes with a crackling, crashing noise, such as he had himself never made in his most impetuous charges.

In this way went horse and bear for half a mile over the plain; the spectators following after to witness the ending of the affair. About that there was nothing particular: for when the tigrero at length halted, and the party got up to the ground, they saw only an immobile mass of shaggy hair—so coated with dust as to resemble a heap of earth. It was the bear without a particle of breath in his body; but, lest he might recover it again, the tigrero leaped from his horse, stepped up to the prostrate bear, and buried his machete between the ribs of the unconscious animal.

That, he said, was the way they captured bears in his part of the country. They did not employ the same plan with the jaguars: because these animals, crouching, as they do, offered no opportunity for casting the noose over them; and, besides, the jaguars haunt only among thick woods, where the lazo could not be used to advantage.

Of course, the skin of this particular bear was not suitable for the purpose for which one was required; and the tigrero kept it for his own profit. But that did not signify: another bear was soon discovered among the tagua trees; and this being despatched by a shot from the rifle of Alexis,—supplemented, perhaps, by a bullet from the fusil of the ex-guardsman,—supplied them with a skin according to contract; and so far as the ursus frugilegus was concerned, their bear-hunting in that neighbourhood was at an end. To find his cousin with the "goggle eyes," they would have to journey onward and upward; and adopting for their motto the spirit-stirring symbol "Excelsior!" they proceeded to climb the stupendous Cordilleras of the Andes.

In one of the higher valleys, known among Peruvians as the "Sierra," they obtained a specimen of the "Hucumari." They chanced upon this creature while he was engaged in plundering a field of Indian corn— quite close to a "tambo," or traveller's shed, where they had put up for the night. It was very early in the morning when the corn-stealer was discovered; but being caught in the act, and his whole attention taken up with the sweet milky ears of maize, his "spectacled" eyes did not avail him. Our hunters, approaching with due caution, were able to get so near, that the first shot tumbled him over among the stalks.

Having secured his skin, they mounted their mules, and by the great Cordillera road proceeded onward to the ancient capital of northern Peru.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

NORTHWARD!

After resting some days in the old capital of Quito, our travellers proceeded to the small port of Barbacoas, on the west coast of Equador; and thence took passage for Panama. Crossing the famous isthmus to Porto Bello, they shipped again for New Orleans, on the Mississippi. Of course, their next aim was to procure the North American bears— including the Polar, which is equally an inhabitant of northern Asia, but which, by the conditions of their route, would be more conveniently reached on the continent of North America. Alexis knew that the black bear (ursus americanus) might be met with anywhere on that continent from the shores of Hudson's Bay to the isthmus of Panama, and from the seaboard of the Atlantic to the coast of the Pacific Ocean. No other has so wide a range as this species—with the exception, perhaps, of the brown bear of Europe—which, as we have said, is also an Asiatic animal. Throughout the whole extent of country above defined, the black bear may be encountered, not specially confining himself to mountain-ranges. True, in the more settled districts he has been driven to these—as affording him a refuge from the hunter; but in his normal condition he is by no means a mountain-dwelling animal. On the contrary, he affects equally the low-wooded bottoms of ravines, and is as much at home in a climate of tropical or sub-tropical character, as in the cold forests of the Canadas.

Mr Spencer Baird—the naturalist intrusted by the American Government to describe the fauna of their territory, and furnished for his text with one of the most splendid collections ever made—in speaking of the genus ursus, makes the following remarks:—

"The species of bears are not numerous, nor are they to be found except in the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere. North America possesses more species than any other part of the world, having at least four, and perhaps five."

With the exception of the very idle assertion that "the species of bears are not numerous," every idea put forth in the above categorical declaration is the very reverse of what is true.

Is the polar bear found only in the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere? Is the ursus arctos of Europe confined to these limits? Are the bears of South America?—the sloth bear of India and Ceylon?— the bruang of Borneo?—and his near congener, the bruang of Java and Sumatra? Why, these last are actually dwellers among palm-trees—as the cocoa-planters know to their cost! Even Mr Baird's own American black bear is not so "temperate" in his habits; but loves the half-tropical climate of Florida and Texas quite as much as the cold declivities of the Alleghanies.

And how does North America possess more species than any other part of the world? Even admitting the doubtful fifth, on the continent of Asia there are six species at the very least; and, if we are allowed to include the Oriental islands, we make eight Asiatic. There are three species in the Himalaya mountains alone—unquestionably distinct, dwelling in separate zones of altitude, but with the territory of all three visible at a single coup d'oeil.

Mr Baird is a naturalist of great celebrity in America. He is a secretary of the Smithsonian Institution: he should make better use of the books which its fine library can afford him.

The United States' Government is extremely unfortunate in the selection of its scientific employes—more especially in the departments of natural history. Perhaps the most liberal appropriation ever made for ethnological purposes—that for collecting a complete account of the North American Indians—has been spent without purpose, the "job" having fallen into the hands of a "placeman," or "old hunker," as the Americans term it—a man neither learned nor intellectual. With the exception of the statistics furnished by Indian agents, the voluminous work of Schoolcraft is absolutely worthless; and students of ethnology cannot contemplate such a misappropriation without feelings of regret.

Fortunately, the American aboriginal had already found a true portrayer and historian. Private enterprise, as is not unfrequently the case, has outstripped Government patronage in the performance of its task. In the unpretending volumes of George Catlin we find the most complete ethnological monograph ever given to the world; but just for that reason, Catlin, not Schoolcraft, should have been chosen for the "job."

Knowing the range of the black bear to be thus grandly extended, our young hunters had a choice of places in which to look for one; but, as there is no place where these animals are more common than in Louisiana itself, they concluded that they could not do better than there choose their hunting-ground. In the great forests, which still cover a large portion of Louisiana, and especially upon the banks of the sluggish bayous, where the marshy soil and the huge cypress trees, festooned with Spanish moss, bid defiance to all attempts at cultivation, the black bear still roams at will. There he is found in sufficient numbers to ensure the procuring of a specimen without much difficulty.

The hunters of these parts have various modes of capturing him. The log-trap is a common plan; but the planters enjoy the sport of running him down with dogs; or rather should it be termed running him up; since the chase usually ends by Bruin taking to a tree, and thus unconsciously putting himself within reach of the unerring rifle.

It was by this means that our young hunters determined to try their luck; and they had no difficulty in procuring the necessary adjuncts to ensure success. The great Czar, powerful everywhere, was not without his agent at New Orleans. From him a letter of introduction was obtained to a planter living on one of the interior bayous; and our heroes, having repaired thither, were at once set in train for the sport—the planter placing himself, his house, his hounds, and his horses at their disposal.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

THE NORTHERN FORESTS.

On their arrival, the hospitable planter sent to his neighbours, and arranged a grand hunt, to come off at an early day specified in the invitation. Each was to bring with him such hounds as he was possessed of—and in this way a large pack might be got together, so that a wide extent of forest could be driven.

Among the planters of the Southern states this is a very common practice: only a few of them keeping what might be called a regular kennel of hounds, but many of them having five or six couples. In a neighbourhood favourable to the chase, by uniting a number of these little bands together, a pack may be got up large enough for any purpose.

The usual game hunted in the Southern states is the American fallow-deer (cervus virginianus), which is still found in considerable plenty in the more solitary tracts of forest all over the United States. It is the only species of deer indigenous to Louisiana: since, the noble stag or "elk," as he is erroneously called (cervus canadensis), does not range so far to the south. On the Pacific coast this animal is found in much lower latitudes than on that of the Atlantic.

Besides the fallow-deer, the fox gives sport to the Louisiana hunter. This is the grey fox (vulpes virginianus). The bay lynx also—or wild cat, as it is called (lynx rufus)—and now and then, but more rarely, the cougar (felis concolor), give the hounds a run before taking to the tree.

Racoons, opossums, and skunks are common enough in the forests of Louisiana; but these are regarded as "vermin," and are not permitted to lead the dogs astray.

With regard to the other animals mentioned, they all rank as noble game—especially the cougar, called "panther" by the backwoodsman—and the pack may follow whichever is first "scared up."

The grand game, however, is the bear; and the capture of Bruin is not a feat of everyday occurrence. To find his haunts it is necessary to make an excursion into the more unfrequented and inaccessible solitudes of the forest—in places often many miles from a settlement. Not unfrequently, however, the old gentleman wanders abroad from his unknown retreat, and seeks the plantations—where in the night-time he skulks round the edges of the fields, and commits serious depredations on the young maize plants, or the succulent stalks of the sugar-cane, of which he is immoderately fond. Like his brown congener of Europe he has a sweet tooth, and is greatly given to honey. To get at it he climbs the bee-trees, and robs the hive of its stores. In all these respects he is like the brown bear; but otherwise he differs greatly from the latter species, so much indeed, that it is matter of surprise how any naturalist should have been led to regard them as the same.

Not only in colour, but in shape and other respects, are they totally unlike. While the fur of the brown bear is tossed and tufty—having that appearance usually termed shaggy—that of the American black bear is of uniform length, and all lying, or rather standing, in one direction, presenting a smooth surface corresponding to the contour of his body. In this respect he is far more akin to the bears of the Asiatic islands, than to the ursus arctos. In shape, too, he differs essentially from the latter. His body is more slender, his muzzle longer and sharper, and his profile is a curve with its convexity upward. This last characteristic, which is constant, proclaims him indubitably a distinct species from the brown bear of Europe; and he is altogether a smaller and more mild-tempered animal.

As the grand "chasse" had been arranged to come off on the third day after their arrival, our young hunters determined to employ the interval in ranging the neighbouring woods; not with any expectation of finding a bear—as their host did not believe there was any so near—but rather for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the character of the North American sylva.

That of South America Alexis had carefully observed and studied in their long journey across that continent. He had noted the grand tropical trees—the palms and pothos plants—the mimosas and musaceae—the magnificent forms of the lombax and bertholletia—the curious cecropias and fig-trees—the giant cedrelas and the gum-yielding siphonias. On the Andes he had observed the agaves, the cycads, and cactaceae—all strange to the eye of a Russian. He was now desirous of making himself familiar with the forests of North America; which, though of a sub-tropical character in Louisiana, contained forms altogether different from those of the Amazonian regions. Here he would meet with the famed magnolia, and its relative the tulip-tree; the catalpa and flowering cornel, the giant cypress and sycamore, the evergreen oak, the water-loving tupelo, and the curious fan-like palmetto. Of these, and many other beautiful trees belonging to the North American sylva, Alexis had read—in fact, knew them botanically; but he wished to cultivate a still pleasanter acquaintance with them, by visiting them in their own native home.

For this purpose he and Ivan set out alone, with only a negro for their guide; the planter being engaged, visiting his different friends, and warning them for the grand hunt.

Pouchskin remained behind. He had been left at the house—to do some necessary repairs to the travelling traps both of himself and his young masters, which, after their long South American expedition, needed looking to. At this work had Pouchskin been left, surrounded by a circle of grinning darkies, in whose company the old grenadier would find material to interest and amuse him.

It was only for a stroll that our young hunters had sallied forth, and without any design of entering upon the chase; but they had become so accustomed to carrying their guns everywhere, that these were taken along with them. Some curious bird or quadruped might be started—whose fur or feathers they might fancy to make an examination of. For that reason, both shouldered their guns.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

THE LONE LAGOON.

They were soon beyond the bounds of the plantation, and walking under the dark majestic woods—the darkey guiding them on their way. They had heard of a curious lake or lagoon, that lay about a mile from the plantation. There they would be likely to witness a spectacle characteristic of the swamps of Louisiana; and thither they directed their steps.

Sure enough, on arriving at the borders of the lagoon, a singular scene was presented to their eyes. The whole surface of the lake appeared alive with various forms of birds and reptiles. Hundreds of alligators were seen, lying like dead trees upon the water, their corrugated backs appearing above the surface. Most of them, however, were in motion, swimming to and fro, or darting rapidly from point to point, as if in pursuit of prey. Now and then their huge tails could be seen curling high up in air, and then striking down upon the water, causing a concussion that echoed far through the forest. At intervals a shining object, flung upward by their tails, could be seen for a moment in the air, amidst the showery spray that was raised along with it. It was easy to see that the glittering forms thus projected were fishes, and that it was the pursuit of these that was causing the commotion among the huge reptiles. Aquatic birds, of a great number of kinds, were equally busy in the pursuit of the fish. Huge pelicans stood up to their tibia in the water—now and then immersing their long mandibles and tossing their finny victims high into the air. Cranes and herons too were there—among others the tall Louisiana crane—conspicuous among the smaller species—snow-white egrets, the wood ibis, and others of white and roseate hue—the snake-darter, with long pointed beak and crouching serpent-like neck—the qua-bird, of lugubrious note and melancholy aspect—and, fairest of all, the scarlet flamingo.

Other birds besides those of aquatic habits took part in the odd spectacle. Hovering in the air were black vultures—the carrion crow and the turkey-buzzard—and upon the tops of tall dead trees could be seen the king of the feathered multitude, the great white-headed eagle. His congener, the osprey, soared craftily above—at intervals swooping down, and striking his talons into the fish, which the alligators had tossed into the air—thus robbing the reptiles of their prey, to be robbed in turn by his watchful cousin-german upon the tree. The spectacle was far from being a silent one: on the contrary, the confused chorus of sounds was deafening to the ears of the spectators. The hoarse bellowing of the alligators—the concussions made by their great tails striking the water—the croaking of the pelicans, and the clattering of their huge mandibles—the doleful screaming of the herons, cranes, and qua-birds—the shrieks of the osprey—and the shrill maniac laughter of the white-headed eagle, piercing through all other sounds— formed a medley of voices as unearthly as inharmonious.

A shot from the gun of Ivan, that brought down a splendid specimen of the white-headed eagle—together with the appearance of the hunters by the edge of the water—put a sudden termination to this grand drama of the wilderness. The birds flew up into the air, and went soaring off in different directions over the tops of the tall trees; while the huge reptiles, that had been taught by the alligator hunters to fear the presence of man, desisted for a while from their predatory prey, and retreated to the reeds upon the opposite shore.

The spectacle was one well worthy of being seen, and one that cannot be witnessed every day—even in the swamps of Louisiana. Its occurrence at that time was accounted for by the drying up of the lake, which left the fish at the mercy of their numerous enemies.

Having taken up the eagle which Ivan had shot, the young hunters continued their excursion along the edge of the lagoon.

They had not gone far when they came upon a bank of mud, that had formerly been covered with water. So recently had the water dried from it, that, in spite of the hot sun shining down upon it, the mud was still soft. They had not gone many steps further, when they perceived upon its surface, what at first they supposed to be the tracks of a man. On getting a little closer, however, they doubted this; and, now recollecting the resemblance which they had noticed in the snows of Lapland—between the footsteps of a human being and those of a bear—it occurred to them that these might also be bear-tracks—though they knew that the tracks of the American bear would be slightly different from those of his European cousin.

To satisfy themselves, they hastened forward to examine the tracks; but their negro guide had anticipated them, and now called out, with the whites of his eyes considerably enlarged—

"Golly, young mass'rs! dat be de tracks ob um ba!"

"A bear!"

"Ya, ya, mass'rs! a big ba—dis child know um track—see'd um many de time—de ole coon he be arter de fish too—all ob dem a-doin' a bit ob fishin' dis mornin'—yaw, yaw, yaw!"

And the darkey laughed at what he appeared to consider an excellent joke.

On closely scrutinising the tracks, Alexis and Ivan saw that they were in reality the tracks of a bear—though much smaller than those they had followed in Lapland. They were quite fresh—in fact, so recently did they appear to have been made, that both at the same time, and by an involuntary impulse, raised their eyes from the ground and glanced around them; as if they expected to see the bear himself.

No such animal was in sight, however. It was quite probable he had been on the ground, at their first coming up to the lake; but the report of Ivan's gun had alarmed him, and he had made off into the woods. This was quite probable.

"What a pity," reflected Ivan, "that I didn't leave the eagle alone! We might have got sight of Master Bruin, and given him the shot instead. And now," added he, "what's to be done? There's no snow,—therefore we can't track the brute. The mud bank ends here, and he's gone off it, the way he came? Of course he wouldn't be out yonder among those logs? He wouldn't have taken shelter there, would he?"

As Ivan spoke, he pointed to a little peninsula that jutted out into the lake, some twenty or thirty yards beyond the spot where they were standing. It was joined to the mainland by a narrow neck or isthmus of mud; but at the end towards the water there was a space of several yards covered with dead trees—that had been floated thither in the floods, and now lay high and dry, piled irregularly upon one another.

Alexis looked in the direction of this pile as Ivan pointed it out.

"I'm not so sure of that," he answered, after scrutinising the logs. "It's a likely enough place for an animal to lurk. He might be there?"

"Let us go and see, then!" said Ivan. "If he's there he can't escape us, without our having a shot at him; and you say that these American bears are much easier killed than ours. The South Americans were so, certainly. I hope their northern brothers may die as easy."

"Not all," rejoined Alexis. "We may expect some tough struggles when we come to the great grizzly, and to him of the polar regions; but the black bears are, as you conjecture, not so difficult to deal with. If wounded, however, they will show fight; and, though their teeth and claws are less dangerous than the others, they can give a man a most uncomfortable hug, I have heard. But let us go, as you say. If not yonder, he must have taken to the woods. In that case there is no way of following him up, except by dogs; and for these we must go back to the house."

As they continued talking, they advanced towards the narrow isthmus that connected the little peninsula with the mainland.

"What a pity," remarked Ivan, "that that great log is there! But for it we might have seen his track in the mud crossing over."

Ivan referred to a prostrate trunk that traversed the isthmus longitudinally—extending from the mainland to the higher ground of the peninsula, to which it formed a kind of bridge or causeway. Certainly, had it not been there, either the bear's tracks would have been seen in the mud or not; and if not, then no bear could have passed over to the peninsula, and their exploration would have been unnecessary. But, although they saw no tracks, they had started to examine the wood pile; and they continued on, climbing up to the log, and walking along its top.

All at once, Alexis was seen to pause and bend his body forward and downward.

"What is it?" inquired Ivan, who was behind, on seeing his brother in the bent attitude, as if he looked at something on the log.

"The bear's tracks!" answered Alexis, in a low but earnest tone.

"Ha! you think so? Where?"

Alexis pointed to the dead-wood under his eyes—upon the bark of which were visible, not the tracks of a bear, but dabs of mud, that must have been recently deposited there, either by the feet of a bear, or some other animal.

"By the Great Peter!" said Ivan, speaking cautiously, notwithstanding his innocent adjuration; "that must be his tracks? It's the same sort of mud as that in which we've just been tracing him—black as ink nearly. It has come off his great paws—not a doubt of it, brother?"

"I think it is likely," assented Alexis, at the same time that both looked to the locks of their guns, and saw that the caps were on the nipples.

A little further along the log, the bark was smoother, and there the track was still more conspicuous. The print was better denned, and answered well for the footmark of a bear. There was the naked paw, and the balls of the five toes, all complete. They no longer doubted that it was the track of a bear.

It was just a question whether the animal had gone over the log and returned again. But this was set at rest, or nearly so, by a closer scrutiny. There was no sign of a return track. True, he might have washed his paws in the interval, or cleaned them on the dead-wood; but that was scarce probable, and our hunters did not think so. They felt perfectly sure that the bear was before them; and, acting upon this belief, they cocked their guns, and continued their approach towards the wood pile.



CHAPTER FORTY.

A DARKEY ON BEAR-BACK.

Both the young hunters succeeded in passing over the log, and had set foot on the peninsula; while the negro, who was following a little behind, was still upon the prostrate trunk. Just at that moment a noise was heard—very similar to that made by a pig when suddenly started from its bed of straw—a sort of half snort, half grunt; and along with the noise a huge black body was seen springing up from under the loose pile of dead trees, causing several of them to shake and rattle under its weight. Our hunters saw at a glance that it was the bear; and levelled their guns upon it with the intention of firing.

The animal had reared itself on its hind legs—as if to reconnoitre the ground—and while in this attitude both the hunters had sighted it, and were on the eve of pulling their triggers. Before they could do so, however, the bear dropped back on all-fours. So sudden was the movement, that the aim of both was quite disconcerted, and they both lowered their guns to get a fresh one. The delay, however, proved fatal to their intention. Before either had got a satisfactory sight upon the body of the bear, the latter sprang forward with a fierce growl, and rushed right between the two, so near that it was impossible for either of them to fire otherwise than at random. Ivan did fire, but to no purpose; for his bullet went quite wide of the bear, striking the log behind it, and causing the bark to splinter out in all directions. The bear made no attempt to charge towards them, but rushed straight on— evidently with no other design than to make his escape to the woods. Alexis wheeled round to fire after him; but, as he was raising his gun, his eye fell upon the negro, who was coming on over the log, and who had just got about halfway across it. The bear had by this time leaped up on the other end, and in a hurried gallop—that had been quickened by the report of Ivan's piece—was going right in the opposite direction. The negro, who saw the huge shaggy quadruped coming straight towards him, at once set up a loud "hulla-balloo," and, with his eyes almost starting from their sockets, was endeavouring to retreat backwards, and get out of the way.

His efforts proved fruitless: for before he had made three steps to the rear, the bear—more frightened at the two adversaries behind him than the one in front—rushed right on, and in the next instant pushed his snout, head, and neck between the darkey's legs!

Long before this the negro had lost his senses, but now came the loss of his legs: for as the thick body of the bear passed between them, both were lifted clear up from the log, and hung dangling in the air. For several feet along the log was the negro carried upon the bear's back, his face turned to the tail; and no doubt, had he preserved his equilibrium, he might have continued his ride for some distance further. But as the darkey had no desire for such a feat of equestrianism, he kept struggling to clear himself from his involuntary mount. His body was at length thrown heavily to one side, and its weight acting like a lever upon the bear, caused the latter to lose his balance, and tumbling off the log, both man and bear fell "slap-dash" into the mud.

For a moment there was a confused scrambling, and spattering, and splashing, through the soft mire—a growling on the part of the bear, and the wildest screeching from the throat of the affrighted negro—all of which came to an end by Bruin—whose body was now bedaubed all over with black mud—once more regaining his feet, and shuffling off up the bank, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Alexis now fired, and hit the bear behind; but the shot, so far from staying his flight, only quickened his pace; and before the darkey had got to his feet, the shaggy brute had loped off among the trees, and disappeared from the sight of everybody upon the ground.

The grotesque appearance of the negro, as he rose out of the mire in which he had been wallowing, coated all over with black mud—which was a shade lighter than his natural hue—was too ludicrous for Ivan to resist laughing at; and even the more serious Alexis was compelled to give way to mirth. So overcome were both, that it was some minutes before they thought of reloading their guns, and giving chase to the bear.

After a time, however, they charged again; and crossing back over the log, proceeded in the direction in which Bruin had made his retreat.

They had no idea of being able to follow him without dogs; and it was their intention to send for one or two to the house, when they perceived that the bear's trace could be made out—at least, for some distance— without them. The inky water, that had copiously saturated his long fur, had been constantly dripping as he trotted onward in his flight; and this could easily be seen upon the herbage over which he had passed.

They determined, therefore, to follow this trail as far as they could; and when it should give out, it would be time enough to send for the dogs.

They had not proceeded more than a hundred yards; when all at once the trail trended up to the bottom of a big tree. They might have examined the ground further, but there was no need; for, on looking up to the trunk, they perceived large blotches of mud, and several scratches upon the bark, evidently made by the claws of a bear. These scratches were, most of them, of old date; but there were one or two of them quite freshly done; besides, the wet mud was of itself sufficient proof that the bear had gone up the tree, and must still be somewhere in its top. The tree was a sycamore, and therefore only sparsely covered with leaves; but from its branches hung long festoons of Spanish moss (tillandsia usneoides), that grew in large bunches in the forks—in several of which it was possible even for a bear to have stowed himself away in concealment.

After going round the tree, however, and viewing it from all sides, our hunters perceived that the bear was not anywhere among the moss; but must have taken refuge in a hollow in the trunk—the mouth of which could be seen only from one particular place; since it was hidden on all other sides by two great limbs that led out from it, and between which the cavity had been formed by the decaying of the heart-wood.

There could be no doubt that Bruin had entered this tree-cave; for all around the aperture the bark was scraped and worn; and the wet mud, lately deposited there, was visible from below.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

CUTTING OUT THE BEAR.

The question was, how he was to be got out? Perhaps by making a noise he might issue forth?

This plan was at once tried, but without success. While the negro rasped the bark with a pole, and struck the stick at intervals against the trunk, the hunters stood, with guns cocked, watching the hole, and ready to give the bear a reception, the moment he should show himself outside.

It was all to no purpose. Bruin was too cunning for them, and did not protrude even the tip of his snout out of his secure cavity.

After continuing the rasping, and repeating the blows, till the woods echoed the sonorous concussions, they became convinced that this plan would not serve their purpose, and desisted from it.

On examining the track more closely, they now perceived spots of blood mixed among the mud which the bear had rubbed off upon the bark. This convinced them that the animal was wounded, and therefore there would be no chance of starting him out from his hole. It was no doubt the wound that had led him to retreat to this tree, so near the place where he had been attacked, otherwise he would have led them a longer chase through the woods before attempting to hide himself. When, severely wounded, the black bear betakes himself to the first hollow log or tree he can find; and taking refuge in it, will there remain—even to die in his den, if the wound has been a fatal one.

Knowing this habit of the animal, our hunters perceived that they had no chance of again setting their eyes upon the bear, except by cutting down the tree; and they resolved to adopt this method, and fell the great sycamore to the ground.

The darkey was despatched to the plantation; and soon returned with half a dozen of his brethren, armed with axes—Pouchskin heading the sable band. Without further delay the chopping began; and the white chips flew out from the great trunk in all directions.

In about an hour's time the sycamore came crashing down, carrying a number of smaller trees along with it. The hunters, who expected that the bear would at once spring forth, had taken their position to cover the mouth of the cavity with their guns; but, to their surprise, the tree fell, and lay as it had fallen, without any signs of Bruin. This was strange enough; for, as the negroes alleged, in all similar cases the bear is certain to charge out upon the fall of a tree that contains him!

A sapling was now obtained, and inserted into the cavity—at first with caution, but after a time it was punched in with all the force that Pouchskin could put into his arm. He could feel the bear quite distinctly; but poke the animal as he might, it would not stir.

It was suggested that they should cut into the trunk—at a place opposite to where the bear was encased—and then they could drag him out at will; and, although this would cost a good deal of trouble, it appeared to be the only mode of reaching the obstinate animal.

This course was followed, therefore; and a cross section being made of the hollow trunk, the shaggy hair was at length reached, and then the body of Bruin, who was found to be dead as a nail!

They no longer wondered that he had paid no heed to the punching of the pole. The bullet of Alexis had traversed his huge body in a longitudinal direction, until it had lodged in a vital part, and, of course, it was this that had deprived him of life. He would, therefore, have died all the same, and in his tree-den, too, whether they had pursued him or not.

Our hunters learnt from their negro assistants a singular fact in relation to the black bear: and that is, that the tree-cavity in which the animal often takes shelter, or goes to sleep, is rarely of greater width than his own body! In most cases it is so narrow, that he cannot turn round in it, nor has it any lair at the bottom wide enough for him to lie down upon. It follows, therefore, that he must sleep in a standing position, or squatted upon his hams. It is in this attitude he makes his descent into the cavity, and in the same way comes down the trunk of the tree, when at any time making his departure from his den. From this it would appear that the upright attitude is as natural to this animal, as that of resting on all-fours, or even lying prostrate on the ground; for it is well-known that, farther to the north—where the winters are more severe, and where the black bear hybernates for a short season—he often takes his nap in a tree-cavity, which his body completely fills, without the possibility of his turning round in it! One precaution he takes, and that is, to scrape off all the rotten wood around the sides of the cavity; but for what purpose he exercises this curious instinct, neither hunter nor naturalist can tell. Perhaps it is that the projections may not press against his body, and thus render his couch uncomfortable?

Our young hunters found this bear one of the largest of his species, and his skin, after the mud had been washed off, proved to be an excellent specimen.

Of course, they coveted no other; but for all that, they had the pleasure of being present at the death of several bears, killed in the great hunt that came off on the appointed day.

A deer-chase was also got up for their special entertainment—during which a cougar was "treed" and killed—an event of rarer occurrence than even the death of a bear; for the cougar is now one of the scarcest quadrupeds to be met with in the forests of North America.

Another entertainment which the planter provided for his guests was a "barbecue"—a species of festival peculiar to the backwoods of America, and which, on account of its peculiarity, deserves a word or two of description.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

THE SQUATTER'S BARGAIN.

As we have just said, the barbecue is a festival which especially belongs to the backwoods settlements, although it has now become known even in the older States, and often forms a feature in the great political meetings of an election campaign—losing, however, much of its true character in the elaborate adornments and improvements sometimes bestowed upon it.

When Alexis and Ivan strolled down in the early morning to the quiet glade which had been selected as the scene of this rural festivity, they found there a noisy and bustling crowd. A monstrous fire of logs, enough to roast not only a single ox, but a hecatomb of oxen, was blazing near the edge of the glade, while a half-dozen chattering negroes were busy digging a great pit close by. This pit, when entirely excavated, measured some ten or twelve feet in length, by five or six in width, and perhaps three in depth; and was lined with smooth flat stones. As soon as the logs had ceased to flame and smoke, and were fast falling into a mighty heap of glowing ruddy coals, they were shovelled hastily into the pit. Another party of negroes had been busy in the woods, searching out the tall slender saplings of the pawpaw (asimina triloba), and now returned, bringing their spoil with them. The saplings were laid across the top of the pit, thus extemporising over it a huge gridiron. The ox, which was to form the staple of the day's feast, had been killed and dressed; and, having been split in halves after the fashion of the barbecue, was laid upon the bars to roast. Proudly presiding over the operation was the major-domo of the planter's household, assisted by several celebrated cooks of the neighbourhood, and a score of chosen farm-hands, whose strength was ever and anon invoked to turn the beef; while the chef ordered a fresh basting, or himself sprinkled the browning surface with the savoury dressing of pepper, salt, and fine herbs, for the composition of which he had attained a grand reputation.

The morning wore swiftly on in the observation of these novel manoeuvres; and with the noon came the guests in numbers from the neighbouring plantations and settlements. Even the determined resistance of the toughest beef must have failed before the hot attack of such an army of live coals, as had lain intrenched in the deep fireplace; and the tender joints of the enormous boeuf roti were ready to bear their share in the festivities almost as soon as the invited company. Separated with great cleavers, and laid into white button-wood trays hollowed out for the purpose, they were borne rapidly to the shady nook selected for the dining-place, followed by vast supplies of sweet potatoes, roasted in the ashes, and of rich, golden maize bread. A barrel of rare cider was broached; while good old-fashioned puddings, and the luscious fruits of the region completed the bill of fare in honour of the day. Of course "joy was unconfined." Everybody pronounced the roast a grand success; and the young Russians thought that they had never tasted so appetising a meal. With the exhilaration of the fresh, clear air, the encouragement of hearty appetite, and the full flavour of the meat—for it is well-known that the sap which exudes from the pawpaw, when thus exposed to fire, adds a new relish to whatever is cooked upon it—combined to make a dinner fit for the Czar himself; and they determined to attempt, at some time, an imitation of the Southern barbecue under the colder sky of Russia.

Merriment was unbounded; healths were drunk, songs sung, odd speeches made, and stories told.

One of the last in particular made an impression upon our heroes; partly, because it was a bear story, and partly because it illustrated a very characteristic phase of squatter life and practical humour. In fact, Alexis made a sketch of it in his journal, and from his notes we now reconstruct it.

Two squatters had occupied lands not far from each other, and within some eight or ten miles of a small town. Busied in clearing off the woodland, each bethought himself of a source of revenue beyond the produce of his tilled ground. He would occupy an occasional leisure day in hauling to the town, the logs which he cut from time to time, and then selling them as firewood. This unity of purpose naturally brought the two men into competition with one another for the limited custom of the settlement; and a rivalry sprang up between them, which was fast ripening into jealousy and ill-will, when a curious coincidence occurred.

Each owned a single yoke of oxen, which he used regularly in his farm labour, and also in dragging his wood to market. Within a week each lost an ox; one dying of some bovine distemper,—the other being so injured by the fall of a tree, that his owner had been obliged to kill him.

As one ox could not draw a wood-wagon, the occupation of both squatters as wood merchants was gone—and even farm operations were likely to suffer. Each soon heard of his neighbour's predicament; and proposed to himself to make a bargain for the remaining ox, that he might be the possessor of the pair, continue his clearing prosperously, and command the wood-hauling business. But, as one might suppose, where both parties were so fully bent upon accomplishing their own ends, the trade was no nearer a conclusion when a dozen negotiations had taken place than at first. So matters stood in statu quo, the days rolled by, and our two squatters found their condition waxing desperate.

One fine morning, squatter the first started off to make a last attempt—determined to close the bargain peaceably if he could, forcibly if he must. Revolving project upon project in his mind, he had traversed the two or three miles of woodland which lay between him and his neighbour's clearing, and was just entering it, when a sudden rustle and significant growl coming from behind broke in upon his reverie. Turning hastily, he saw almost at his heels a bear of the most unprepossessing aspect. To reach the cabin before Bruin could overtake him was impossible; and to turn upon the creature would be folly: for, in the depth of his deliberation, he had forgotten on leaving home to take any kind of weapon with him. Some dead trees had been left standing in the field, and to one of these he sped with flying steps, hoping to find shelter behind it till help could come. He did not hope in vain for this protection. He found that by pretty active dodging, he could keep the trunk of the tree between himself and the bear—whose brain could hardly follow the numerous shifts made by the squatter to escape the frequent clutches of his claws. Rising indignantly upon his hind legs, the bear made a fierce rush at the squatter, but hugged only the tough old tree, in whose bark he buried deep his pointed claws. An inspiration flashed through the squatter's mind, as he saw the bear slowly and with some difficulty dragging out his nails; and seizing Bruin's shanks just above the paws, he braced himself against the tree, resolved to try and hold the claws into their woody sockets until his neighbour could respond to his halloos for help.

The other squatter heard his cries; but instead of hastening to the rescue, he came slowly along, carelessly shouldering his axe. Perceiving his neighbour's difficulty, a new solution of the ox question had entered his mind; and to the redoubled appeals for assistance, he calmly replied—

"On one condition, neighbour!"

"What is it?" anxiously inquired the other.

"If I let you loose from the bar, you'll gi' me up your odd steer."

There was no help for it, and with a heavy sigh, the prisoner consented. "Stop!" cried he, ere the axe could fall; "this old brute has half plagued the life out o' me, and I'd like nothing better'n the satisfaction o' killin' him myself. Jest you ketch hold here, and let me give him his death-blow."

The second squatter, rejoicing beyond measure at having accomplished his long-desired purpose, unsuspiciously agreed, dropped the axe, cautiously grasped the sinewy shanks, and bent his strength to the momentary struggle. To his utter dismay, he beheld his neighbour quietly shoulder the axe, and walk away from the ground!

"Hold on!" he shouted; "ain't ye goin' to kill the bar?"

"Wal, not jest now, I fancy; I thought you might like to hang on a while?"

The tables thus turned, the deluded squatter had no resource but to make terms with his grimly gleeful neighbour, who at last consented to put an end to the wild beast's life, if he might not only be released from the bargain he had just made, but, in addition, be himself the recipient of the odd ox. Sorely chagrined, the second squatter consented. But he was a little comforted at the idea of a slight revanche that had just entered his head. Watching his chance, as the other approached to deal the fatal blow, with a desperate effort he tore out the bear's claws from the bark—setting the infuriated animal free—and then fled at full speed to his cabin, leaving the two original combatants to fight it out between themselves.

The particulars of the contest even tradition has not preserved—the sequel to the narrative only telling that half an hour later the first squatter, scratched and bloody, hobbled slowly up to the cabin, remarking satirically as he threw down the broken axe:—

"Thar, neighbour; I'm afraid I've spiled yer axe, but I'm sure I've spiled the bar. Prehaps you'd let one o' your leetle boys drive that ere ox over to my house?"

————————————————————————————————————

After enjoying the hospitality of their planter friend for a few days longer, our travellers once more resumed their journey; and proceeded up the great Mississippi, towards the cold countries of the North.



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

THE POLAR BEAR.

A few weeks after leaving the Louisiana planter, our hunters were receiving hospitality from a very different kind of host, a "fur-trader." Their headquarters was Fort Churchill, on the western shore of Hudson's Bay, and once the chief entrepot of the famous company who have so long directed the destinies of that extensive region— sometimes styled Prince Rupert's Land, but more generally known as the "Hudson's Bay Territory."

To Fort Churchill they had travelled almost due north—first up the Mississippi, then across land to Lake Superior, and direct over the lake to one of the Company's posts on its northern shore. Thence by a chain of lakes, rivers, and "portages" to York factory, and on northward to Fort Churchill. Of course, at Fort Churchill they had arrived within the range of the great white or Polar bear (ursus maritimus), who was to be the next object of their "chasse." In the neighbourhood of York factory, and even further to the south, they might have found bears of this species: for the ursus maritimus extends his wanderings all round the shores of Hudson's Bay—though not to those of James' Bay further south. The latitude of 55 degrees is his southern limit upon the continent of America; but this only refers to the shores of Labrador and those of Hudson's Bay. On the western coast Behring's Straits appears to form his boundary southward; and even within these, for some distance along both the Asiatic and American shores, he is one of the rarest of wanderers. His favourite range is among the vast conglomeration of islands and peninsulas that extend around Hudson's and Baffin's Bays— including the icebound coasts of Greenland and Labrador—while going westward to Behring's Straits, although the great quadruped is occasionally met with, he is much more rare. Somewhat in a similar manner, are the white bears distributed in the eastern hemisphere. While found in great plenty in the Frozen Ocean, in its central and eastern parts, towards the west, on the northern coasts of Russia and Lapland, they are never seen—except when by chance they have strayed thither, or been drifted upon masses of floating ice.

It is unnecessary to remark that this species of bear lives almost exclusively near the sea, and by the sea. He may be almost said to dwell upon it: since out of the twelve months in the year, ten of them at least are passed by him upon the fields of ice. During the short summer of the Arctic regions, he makes a trip inland—rarely extending it above fifty miles, and never over a hundred—guided in his excursions by the courses of rivers that fall into the sea. His purpose in making these inland expeditions, is to pick up the freshwater fish; which he finds it convenient to catch in the numerous falls or shallows of the streams. He also varies his fish diet at this season, by making an occasional meal on such roots and berries as he may find growing along the banks. At other times of the year, when all inland water is frozen up, and even the sea to a great distance from land, he then keeps along the extreme edge of the frozen surface, and finds his food in the open water of the sea. Sea-fish of different species, seals, the young walrus, and even at times the young of the great whale itself, become his prevail of which he hunts and captures with a skill and cunning, that appears more the result of a reasoning process than a mere instinct.

His natatory powers appear to have no limit: at all events, he has been met with swimming about in open water full twenty miles from either ice or land. He has been often seen much further from shore, drifting upon masses of ice; but it is doubtful whether he cared much for the footing thus afforded him. It is quite possible he can swim as long as it pleases him, or until his strength may become exhausted by hunger. While going through the water, it does not appear necessary for him to make the slightest effort; and he can even spring up above the surface, and bound forward after the manner of porpoises or other cetaceae.

If any quadruped has ever reached the pole, it is the polar bear; and it is quite probable that his range extends to this remarkable point on the earth's surface. Most certainly it may, if we suppose that there is open water around the pole—a supposition that, by analogical reasoning, may be proved to be correct. The daring Parry found white bears at 82 degrees; and there is no reason why they should not traverse the intervening zone of 500 odd miles, almost as easily as the fowls of the air or the fish of the sea. No doubt there are polar bears around the pole; though it may be assumed for certain that none of them ever attempts to "swarm" up it, as the white bear is not the best climber of his kind. The female of the polar bear is not so much addicted to a maritime life as her liege lord. The former, unless when barren, keeps upon the land; and it is upon the land that she brings forth her young. When pregnant, she wanders off to some distance from the shore; and choosing her bed, she lies down, goes to sleep, and there remains until spring. She does not, like other hybernating bears, seek out a cave or hollow tree; for in the desolate land she inhabits, ofttimes neither one nor the other could be found. She merely waits for the setting-in of a great snow-storm—which her instinct warns her of—and then, stretching herself under the lee of a rock—or other inequality, where the snow will be likely to form a deep drift—she remains motionless till it has "smoored" her quite up, often covering her body to the depth of several feet. There she remains throughout the winter, completely motionless, and apparently in a state of torpor. The heat of her body thawing the snow that comes immediately in contact with it, together with some warmth from her limited breathing, in time enlarges the space around her, so that she reclines inside a sort of icy shell. It is fortunate that circumstances provide her with this extra room: since in due course of time she will stand in need of it for the company she expects.

And in process of time it is called into use. When the spring sun begins to melt the snow outside, the bear becomes a mother, and a brace of little white cubs make their appearance, each about as big as a rabbit.

The mother does not immediately lead them forth from their snowy chamber; but continues to suckle them there until they are of the size of Arctic foxes, and ready to take the road. Then she makes an effort, breaks through the icy crust that forms the dome of her dwelling, and commences her journey towards the sea.

There are times when the snow around her has become so firmly caked, that, with her strength exhausted by the suckling of her cubs, the bear is unable to break through it. In a case of this kind, she is compelled to remain in an involuntary durance—until the sun gradually melts the ice around her and sets her free. Then she issues from her prolonged imprisonment, only the shadow of her former self, and scarce able to keep her feet.

The Northern Indians and Eskimos capture hundreds of these hybernating bears every season—taking both them and their cubs at the same time. They find the retreat in various ways: sometimes by their dogs scraping to get into it, and sometimes by observing the white hoar that hangs over a little hole which the warmth of the bear's breath has kept open in the snow.

The hunters, having ascertained the exact position of the animal's body, either dig from above, and spear the old she in her bed; or they make a tunnel in a horizontal direction, and, getting a noose around the head or one of the paws of the bear, drag her forth in that way.

To give an account of the many interesting habits peculiar to the polar bear—with others which this species shares in common with the Bruin family—would require a volume to itself. These habits are well described by many writers of veracity,—such as Lyon, Hearne, Richardson, and a long array of other Arctic explorers. It is therefore unnecessary to dwell on them here—where we have only space to narrate an adventure which occurred to our young bear-hunters, while procuring the skin of this interesting quadruped.



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

THE OLD SHE SURROUNDED.

They had been for some days on the lookout for a white bear; and had made several excursions from the Port—going as far as the mouth of the Seal river, which runs into Hudson's Bay a little farther to the north. On all these excursions they had been unsuccessful; for, although they had several times come upon the track of the bears, and had even seen them at a distance, they were unable in a single instance to get within shot. The difficulty arose from the level nature of the ground, and its being quite destitute of trees or other cover, under which they might approach the animals. The country around Fort Churchill is of this character—and indeed along the whole western shore of Hudson's Bay, where the soil is a low alluviom, without either rocks or hills. This formation runs landward for about a hundred miles—constituting a strip of marshy soil, which separates the sea from a parallel limestone formation further inward. Then succeed the primitive rocks, which cover a large interior tract of country, known as the "Barren Grounds."

It is only on the low belt adjoining the coast that the polar bear is found; but the females range quite across to the skirts of the woods which cover the limestone formation. Our hunters therefore knew that either upon the shore itself, or upon the low alluvial tract adjoining it, they would have to search for their game; and to this district they confined their search.

On the fifth day they made a more extended excursion towards the interior. It was now the season of midsummer, when the old males range up the banks of the streams: partly with the design of catching a few freshwater fish, partly to nibble at the sweet berries, but above all to meet the females, who just then, with their half-grown cubs, come coyly seaward to meet their old friends of the previous year, and introduce their offspring to their fathers, who up to this hour have not set eyes on them.

On the present excursion our hunters were more fortunate than before: since they not only witnessed a reunion of this sort, but succeeded in making a capture of the whole family,—father, mother, and cubs.

They had on this occasion gone up the Churchill river, and were ascending a branch stream that runs into the latter, some miles above the fort. Their mode of travelling was in a birch-bark canoe: for horses are almost unknown in the territory of the Hudson's Bay Company, excepting in those parts of it that consist of prairie. Throughout most of this region the only means of travelling is by canoes and boats, which are managed by men who follow it as a calling, and who are styled "voyageurs." They are nearly all of Canadian origin—many of them half-breeds, and extremely skilful in the navigation of the lakes and rivers of this untrodden wilderness. Of course most of them are in the employ of the Hudson's Bay Company; and when not actually engaged in "voyaging" do a little hunting and trapping on their own account.

Two of these voyageurs—kindly furnished by the chief factor at the fort—propelled the canoe which carried our young hunters; so that with Pouchskin there were five men in the little craft. This was nothing, however, as birch-bark canoes are used in the Territory of a much larger kind—some that will even carry tons of merchandise and a great many men. Along the bank of the stream into which they had now entered grew a selvage of willows—here and there forming leafy thickets that were impenetrable to the eye; but in other places standing so thinly, that the plains beyond them could be seen out of the canoe.

It was a likely enough place for white bears to be found in—especially at this season, when, as already stated, the old males go inland to meet the females, as well as to indulge in a little vegetable diet, after having confined themselves all the rest of the year to fish and seal-flesh. The voyageurs said that there were many bulbous roots growing in those low meadows of which the bears are very fond; and also larvae of certain insects, found in heaps, like anthills—which by Bruin are esteemed a delicacy of the rarest kind.

For this reason our hunters were regarding the land on both sides of the stream, occasionally standing up in the canoe to reconnoitre over the tops of the willows, or peering through them where they grew thinly. While passing opposite one of the breaks in the willow-grove, a spectacle came before their eyes that caused them to order the canoe to be stopped, and the voyageurs to rest on their oars.

Alexis, who had been upon the lookout, at first did not know what to make of the spectacle: so odd was the grouping of the figures that composed it. He could see a large number of animals of quadrupedal form, but of different colours. Some were nearly white, others brown or reddish-brown, and several were quite black. All appeared to have long shaggy hair, cocked ears, and large bushy tails. They were not standing at rest, but moving about—now running rapidly from point to point, now leaping up in the air, while some were rushing round in circles! In all there appeared to be thirty or forty of them; and they covered a space of ground about as large as a drawing-room floor.

There was a slight haze or mist hanging over the meadow, which hindered Alexis from having a clear view of these animals; and, through the magnifying influence of this sort of atmosphere, they appeared as large as young oxen. Their form, however, was very different from these; and from their pointed ears, long muzzles, and full bunching tails, Alexis could think of nothing else to compare them to but wolves. Their varied colours signified nothing: since in these northern lands there are wolves of many varieties from white to black; and wolves they really were—only magnified by the mist into gigantic proportions.

Alexis had not viewed them long before perceiving that they were not all wolves. In their midst was an animal of a very different kind— much larger than any of them; but what sort of a creature it was the young hunter could not make out.

Ivan, who had risen to his feet, was equally puzzled to tell.

It appeared as large as half a dozen of the wolves rolled up into one, and was whiter than the whitest of them; but it looked as if it had a hunch upon its back; and altogether more like a shapeless mass of white bristly hair than a regularly-formed quadruped. It must be an animal, however, as its motions testified; for it was seen to be turning round and round, and at intervals darting forward a pace or two, as if working its way in the direction of the river.

Whatever the animal was, it soon became clear that it was battling with the wolves that surrounded it; and this accounted for the singular movements that these last were making, as well as for their fierce barking and growling that, in confused chorus, filled the air. At intervals, and still louder, could be heard a different sort of cry— shrill and plaintive, like the hinny of a mule—and evidently proceeding not from the wolves, but from the huge white animal which they were assailing.

The voyageurs at once recognised the cry.

"A bear!—a sea bear!" exclaimed both together.

One of them stood up, and looked over the plain.

"Yes," said he, confirming his first assertion. "An old she it is, surrounded by wolves. Ha! it's her cubs they're after! Voila, messieurs! She's got one of them on her back. Enfant de garce, how the old beldam keeps them at bay! She's fighting her way to the water!"

Guided by the words of the voyageur, our hunters now perceived clearly enough that the white object appearing over the backs of the wolves was neither more nor less than a large bear; and that which they had taken for a hunch upon its shoulders was another bear—a young one, stretched out at full length along the back of its mother, and clinging there, with its forearms clasped around her neck.

It was evident, also, as the voyageur had said, that the old she was endeavouring to work her way towards the river—in hopes, no doubt, of retreating to the water, where she knew the wolves would not dare to follow her. This was evidently her design: for, while they stood watching, she advanced several yards of ground in the direction of the stream.

Notwithstanding the fierce eagerness with which the wolves kept up the attack, they were observing considerable caution in the conflict. They had good reason: since before their eyes was an example of what they might expect, if they came to very close quarters. Upon the ground over which the fight had been raging, three or four of their number were seen lying apparently dead—while others were limping around, or sneaked off with whining cries, licking the wounds they had received from the long claws of their powerful adversary.

It was rather an odd circumstance for the wolves to have thus attacked a polar bear—an antagonist of which they stand in the utmost dread. The thing, however, was explained by one of the voyageurs; who said that the bear in question was a weak one—half-famished, perhaps, and feeble from having suckled her young; and it was the cubs, and not the old bear herself, that the wolves were after—thinking to separate these from their mother, and so destroy and devour them. Perhaps one of them had been eaten up already: since only one could be seen; and there are always two cubs in a litter.

Our young hunters did not think of staying longer to watch the strange encounter. Their sole idea was to get possession of the bear and her cub; and with this intent they ordered the voyageurs to paddle close up to the shore and land them. As soon as the canoe touched the bank, both leaped out; and, followed by Pouchskin, proceeded towards the scene of the conflict,—the voyageurs remaining in the canoe.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

A WHOLE FAMILY CAPTURED.

The party had not gone more than a dozen steps from the water's edge, when a new object coming under their eyes caused them to halt. This was another quadruped that at that moment was seen dashing out from the willows, and rushing onward towards the scene of the strife. There was no mistaking the character of the creature. Our hunters saw at a glance that it was a large white bear—much larger than the one surrounded by the wolves. It was, in fact, the male; who, wandering in the thicket of willows—or, more likely, lying there asleep—had not till that moment been aware of what was going on, or that his wife and children were in such deadly danger. Perhaps it was the noise that had awaked him; and he was just in the act of hastening forward to the rescue.

With a shuffling gallop he glided over the plain—as fast as a horse could have gone; and in a few seconds he was close up to the scene of the conflict—to which his presence put an end right on the instant. The wolves, seeing him rush open-mouthed towards them, one and all bolted off; and ran at full speed over the plain, their long tails streaming out behind them. Those that were wounded, however, could not get clear so easily; and the enraged bear, charging upon these, rushed from one to the other, knocking the breath out of each as he came up to it, with a single "pat" of his heavy paws.

In less than ten seconds the ground was quite cleared of the ravenous wolves. Only the dead ones remained on it; while the others, having got off to a safe distance, halted in straggling groups; and, with their tails drooping upon the grass, stood gazing back with looks of melancholy disappointment.

Bruin, meanwhile, having settled his affair with the wounded wolves, ran up to his mate; and, throwing his paws around her neck, appeared to congratulate her upon her escape! And now did our hunters perceive that there were two cubs instead of one—that which still clung fast upon the mother's back, and another which was seen under her belly, and which she had been equally protecting against the crowd of assailants that surrounded her.

Both the little fellows—about as large as foxes they were—now perceived that they were out of a danger—which, no doubt, they had perfectly comprehended. That upon the shoulders of the dam leaped down to the earth; while the other crawled out "from under;" and both coming together began tumbling about over the grass, and rolling over one another in play, the parents watching with interest their uncouth gambols.

Notwithstanding the well-known ferocity of these animals, there was something so tender in the spectacle, that our hunters hesitated about advancing. Alexis, in particular, whose disposition was a shade more gentle than that of his companions, felt certain qualms of compassion, as he looked upon this exhibition of feelings and affections that appeared almost human. Ivan was even touched; and certainly neither he nor his brother would have slain these creatures out of mere wanton sport. They would not have thought of such a thing under ordinary circumstances; and it was only from the necessity they were under of procuring the skin that they thought of it at all. Perhaps they would even have passed this group; and taken their chances of finding another, that might make a less powerful appeal to their compassion; but in this they were overruled by Pouchskin. The old grenadier was afflicted by no such tender sentiments; and throwing aside all scruple, before his young masters could interfere to prevent him, he advanced a few paces forward, and discharged his fusil, broadside at the biggest of the bears.

Whether he hit the bear or not, was not then known. Certain it was that he in no way crippled the animal; for, as soon as the smoke had cleared out of his eyes, he saw the huge quadruped part from the side of his mate, and come charging down upon him.

Pouchskin hesitated for a moment whether to withstand the attack, and had drawn his knife to be ready; but the formidable appearance of the antagonist, his immense size, and fierce aspect, admonished Pouchskin that in this case discretion might be the better part of valour, and he yielded to the suggestion. Indeed, the two voyageurs in the canoe were already shouting to all three to run for it—warning them of the danger they were in by the most earnest speech and gesture.

Ivan and Alexis stood their ground till Pouchskin had returned to where they were, and then both fired upon the bear. They may have hit him or not; but the huge monster showed no sign, and only appeared to charge forward the faster.

All three together now ran for the boat. It was their only refuge; for had it been a trial of speed, and much ground to go over, the bear would certainly have overtaken them; and a few wipes from his paw would have ended the life of one or the other—perhaps of the whole trio.

It was fortunate they had the boat to flee to: else Pouchskin's imprudence, in provoking the bear, might have led to a fatal termination.

Quick as their legs could carry them they made for the canoe; and one after the other leaped into it. Without even waiting for them to seat themselves, the two voyageurs pushed off from the bank, suddenly shooting the craft out into the middle of the stream.

But this did not stay the pursuit of the infuriated bear, nor even delay him for a moment.

On reaching the bank, he did not make halt; but, launching out, sprang down with a plunge upon the water. Then, stretching his body at full length, he swam direct after the canoe.

The craft had been turned head down the stream; and, what with the help of the current and the impulse of the oars, it swept onward with arrow-like rapidity. But for all that it soon became apparent that the bear was gaining upon it—his broad paws enabling him to swim with the velocity of a fish—while every now and then he rose above the surface, and bounded forward to a distance of several feet through the air!

The voyageurs plied their paddles with all their skill and energy; there was the dread of death to stimulate them to the utmost exertion of their strength. They knew well, that, if the bear should succeed in coming up with the canoe, he would either mount into it, and drive all of them into the water; or, what was more probable, he would upset the craft, and spill the whole party out of it. In either case, there would be the danger of coming in contact with his claws; and that, they knew, was the danger of death itself.

The hunters were all three busy reloading their guns; and getting ready to fire before the enemy should be up to them.

They were not in time, however. With the motion of the boat, and the constrained attitudes in which it placed them, the loading was a slow process; and, before any of the three had a bullet down, the bear was close astern. Only Ivan had a barrel loaded; and this, unfortunately, was with small shot, which he had been keeping for waterfowl. He fired it, nevertheless, right into the teeth of the pursuer; but, instead of stopping him, it only increased his rage, and roused him to make still greater efforts to overtake the canoe.

Pouchskin, in despair, threw down his gun, and seized upon an axe, that by good luck had been brought in the boat. With this firmly grasped in his hands, and kneeling in the stern, he waited the approach of the infuriated swimmer.

The bear had got close up to the boat—in fact was within the length of his own body of touching it. Believing himself now near enough, he made one of his prodigious bounds, and launched himself forward. His sharp claws rattled against the birch-bark, tearing a large flake from the craft. Had this not given way, his hold would have been complete; and the boat would, in all likelihood, have been dragged, stern foremost, under water. But the failure of his clutch brought the head of the monster once more on a level with the surface; and before he could raise it to make a second spring, the great wedge of steel descended upon his crown, and went crashing through his skull.

Almost in the same instant, he was seen to turn over in the water; his limbs moved only with a spasmodic action; he gave a feeble kick or two with his long hind legs; and then his carcass floated along the surface, like a mass of white foam.

It was soon secured, and drawn out upon the bank—for the purpose of being stripped of its snow-white robe.

Our young hunters would have been contented to have left the others alone—neither the female nor her cubs being required by them. But the voyageurs—who were desirous of obtaining the skins of all three on their own account—proposed returning to effect their destruction; and in this proposal they were backed by Pouchskin, who had a natural antipathy to all bears.

It ended in the killing of the dam, and the capturing of her cubs alive; for, encumbered as the old she was with her offspring, she was soon overtaken, and fell an easy victim to the volley of bullets that were poured into her from all sides at once.

With the skins of the old bears, and the cubs tied in the bottom of the canoe, our hunters started back down stream; but they had scarce parted from the place, before the ravenous wolves returned—not only to devour the carcases of the bears, but also those of their own comrades that had fallen in the encounter!



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

THE BARREN GROUNDS.

The "Barren Ground bear" was next to be sought for; but to reach the haunts of this animal, a long and toilsome journey must be made. That tract of the Hudson's Bay territory known as the "Barren Grounds," extends from the shores of the Arctic Sea as far south as the latitude of the Churchill river; bounded eastward by Hudson's Bay itself, and westward by a chain of lakes, of which the Great Slave and Athapescow are the principal.

This immense territory is almost unexplored to the present hour. Even the Hudson's Bay trappers have a very imperfect knowledge of it. It has been crossed in one or two places, and skirted by exploring parties, but it is still almost a terra ignota, except to the four or five tribes of Indians who dwell around its borders, and the Esquimaux, who venture a little way into it along the coast of the Arctic Sea.

Before proceeding to hunt the Barren Ground bear, let us say a word about his species. By writers, both old and modern, he has been variously classed. Even the ablest naturalist who has written about him is puzzled as to his species. We speak of Sir John Richardson, the companion of the lamented Franklin, and himself one of the great men of the earth. Sir John first regarded this bear, though very doubtfully, as a variety of the ursus americanus, or American black bear. Later observations influenced him to change this opinion; and again with modest doubtfulness—characteristic of the man—he suggests his being a variety of the ursus arctos.

We shall make bold to affirm that he is a variety of neither; but a distinct species of bear.

We shall give our reasons—and first, as to his distinctness from the ursus americanus. He is not like the latter, either in colour, shape of body, bulk, profile, physiognomy, length of feet or tail. In all these respects he bears a greater resemblance to the ursus arctos, or even to his nearer neighbour, the grizzly (ursus ferox). He differs from both these, however, in other points—as will presently be seen. Again, he is of a fiercer disposition than the black bear, and more dangerous to the hunter—almost as much so as the grizzly, and quite as much as the brown. Moreover, he dwells in a country in which the black bear could not make his home. To the existence of the latter, the forest is essential; and he is never found far out of it. It is not the higher latitude that keeps him out of the Barren Grounds, but the absence of timber. This is proved by the fact of his being found quits as far northward as any part of the Barren Grounds, but where the limestone formation favours the growth of trees; whereas, among the primitive rocks to the north of Nelson river, the black bear does not exist—the very region that appears most favourable to the existence of the Barren Ground species—who cares not for trees, and cannot climb them.