Still another material difference may be pointed out. The black bear, in his normal state, is altogether frugivorous—a true vegetable feeder. The other is carnivorous and piscivorous—at one season killing and eating marmots and mice, at another frequenting the sea coast and subsisting upon fish. In a word, the two bears are as unlike as may be—they are distinct species.

To compare the Barren Ground bear with the ursus arctos. The former is certainly much more like this species, than he is to the ursus americanus; but again we encounter notable points of difference; and were it not for a certain resemblance in colour, it is possible the two kinds would never have been brought into comparison. It is easy, however, to prove them also distinct species—by simply observing that their habits are altogether unlike. The ursus arctos is a tree-climbing wood bear: the Barren Ground species is not. The former prefers a vegetable diet—the latter likes better fish, flesh, and insects—though he will also fill his stomach with a farrago of vegetable matters.

But to say nothing of the very different habits of the two animals, there is a yellowish tinge over the fur of the American species, that is not observed in the brown bears of European countries—except, perhaps, in those of the Pyrenees—and at certain seasons this tinge turns so pale, as to give a whitish appearance to the animal: hence, by the Indians, they are often termed "white bears."

It is, besides, altogether improbable, that the brown bear of Europe should turn up in the "Barren Grounds" of the Hudson's Bay territory—an isolated, treeless tract—quite unlike his habitat in the Old World; and to which no line of migration could be traced with much probability. We might suppose such a migration through Siberia and Russian America; and certainly there is some probability in this view: for although it has been hitherto stated that the Barren Ground bear is only found within the limits of the peculiar district so called, it is very certain that his range extends beyond these boundaries. The brown bear of Russian America and the Aleutian Islands appears to be identical with this species; and there is a suspicion, that the brown species of Kamschatka is no other than the Barren Ground bear of the Hudson's Bay. The fishing habits of the former go some ways towards an identification of the two species—at the same time separating both from the ursus arctos of Scandinavia.

It needs hardly to be argued, that the Barren Ground bear is quite a distinct animal from the grizzly though writers have often confounded them. They are different in size and colour. Though the grizzly is sometimes brown, it is always with a mixture of white tipped hairs; but the most essential distinction is to be found in the greater ferocity of the latter, and his far longer and more curving claws. Many other points might be mentioned—showing them to be animals of two separate species—besides, their range is altogether distinct.

The Barren Ground bear, then, is not the ursus arctos, americanus, or ferox. What then? Has he received no specific name from the naturalists? Not yet. Alexis, however, bestowed one upon him. He named him after the man who has given the clearest account of his country and his habits; and whom Alexis deemed most worthy of the honour. In his journal we find the record. There it is written, that the Barren Ground bear is the ursus Richardsonii.



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

BRUIN TAKING A BATH.

To seek the haunts of this new species of bear, I have said that our hunters would have a long journey to make—even so far as the Great Slave Lake—for although the Barren Grounds extend many degrees to the south of this water, the ursus Richardsonii; rarely wanders to a lower latitude. Upon the shores of the Slave Lake, however, they would be certain to encounter him; and thither they repaired.

They were fortunate in the time of the year. The annual "brigade" of boats belonging to the Great Fur Company was just setting out from York Factory, for Norway House on Lake Winnipeg; and thence a division of it would proceed to the posts still further northward—on Lake Athapescow and the waters of the Mackenzie River—passing through the Slave Lake itself. Their object, of course, in their annual journey is to distribute at the fur stations, the goods, brought from England by the Company's ships, and in return bring back the peltries collected throughout the winter.

With the brigade, then, went our hunters; and after enduring, in common with the others, the hardships and perils incidental to such a long inland voyage, they at length found themselves at the point of their destination—Fort Resolution, on the Great Slave Lake, near the mouth of the river bearing the same appellation. The canoe of an Indian fisherman—of which there are many dwelling around the shores of this great inland sea—was soon pressed into service; and with the fisherman (who of course was a hunter also) for their guide and companion, they could make convenient excursions along the shores of the lake, land whenever they pleased, and search for Bruin in the localities where he was most likely to be encountered. In this they were assisted by their hired guide; who was not long in putting them upon the trail of a bear. In fact, in the very first excursion which they made, one of the true breed was discovered and captured.

The circumstances attending his capture were of no very particular interest; but as they illustrate one of the habits of this species, we shall give them as recorded in the journal of Alexis.

They were paddling gently along the shore—through water that was as calm as a pond—when, at a great distance ahead of them, the Indian observed a slight rippling upon the surface, and pointed it out. It was not caused by the wind; for there was not a breath stirring at the time; and it was not like the whitish curl which a breeze casts upon the surface of water. It resembled more a series of little wavelets, such as proceed from a stone plunged into a deep pool, or from a disturbance of the water caused by the movements of some animal. The Indian said that it was a bear: though there was no bear, nor any living thing in sight!

As the canoe moved nearer, our hunters perceived that there was an indentation on the shore—a little creek or bay out of which the ripples were proceeding. The guide knew that there was such a bay; and believed that the bear would be found somewhere within it, swimming about in the water.

The hunters did not stay to inquire the reason why Bruin should be thus bathing himself? There was no time: for just at that instant the Indian beached his canoe; and desired them all to disembark and follow such further instructions as he might give them. Without hesitation they accepted his invitation; resolved to act according to his counsel.

The Indian, after making his boat fast, took the route inland, followed by the other three. After going some three or four hundred yards, he turned to the left, and conducted the party around the shore of the bay—which trended in a semicircular or horse-shoe shape. He did not take all of them around; but only one, whom he stationed on the opposite side. This was Pouchskin. Ivan he had already placed on the nearer side, and Alexis at the bottom—so that they were thus set at the three angles of a triangle, nearly equilateral.

On assigning to each of them his station, the Indian further instructed them to creep forward among the bushes—which still separated them from the water—and to do so without making any noise, till they should hear a "whoop" from himself. This would be the signal for them to show themselves around the edge of the bay—in the water of which the Indian hunter was confident a bear was bathing himself. He himself returned to his canoe.

Agreeably to his instructions, the three hunters crawled forward—each on his own line of approach, and all observing the greatest caution and silence. As soon as their eyes rested upon the water, they perceived the correctness of the Indian's conjecture. A bear there was, sure enough!

They saw only his head; but this was sufficient for Bruin's identification: since no similar cranium could have been encountered in such a place.

As the Indian had apprised them, the bear was swimming about in the bay; but for what purpose it was at first difficult to make out. To their astonishment, he swam with his mouth wide open—so that they could see the interior of his great encarmined palate, while his long tongue flapped out at intervals, and appeared to sweep the surface of the water. At intervals, too, he was seen to close his mouth—the huge jaws coming together with a "clap-clap," the noise of which could be heard echoing far over the lake!

He did not go long in one course; but ever and anon kept turning himself, and quartering the bay in every direction.

It was a long time before the spectators could find any explanation of these odd manoeuvres on the part of the bear. They might have fancied he was merely taking a cool bath to refresh himself: for the day was exceedingly hot, and the air was filled with mosquitoes—as our hunters had already learnt to their great discomfort. It might have been to get rid of these tormentors that Bruin had submerged his body in the water; and so Pouchskin concluded, and also Ivan—though both were puzzled by the odd behaviour of the bear, in swimming open-mouthed, and at intervals snapping his jaws as he did. Alexis, however, was a better reasoner; and soon discovered the why and the wherefore of these mysterious demonstrations. Alexis saw that the surface of the water was thickly coated with something; and, on scrutinising it more closely, he made out this something to be a swarm of insects. There appeared to be more than one species of them—two indeed there were—both about the size of ordinary gadflies; but altogether different from each other in colour and habits. One was a sort of water-beetle that swam near the surface; while the other was a winged insect that occasionally rose into the air, but more generally crawled along the water—making short runs from place to place, then stopping a moment, and then darting on again. The whole surface of the bay—and even out for some distance into the lake—fairly swarmed with these creatures; and it was in pursuit of them that Bruin was whisking his tongue so rapidly about, and bringing his jaws together in such sonorous concussion. The animal was simply indulging in a favourite meal—which in summer is furnished him not only on the shores of the Great Slave Lake, but most of the smaller lakes throughout the Barren Grounds.

Alexis had scarce finished making the observation, when a loud "whoop" was heard from the direction of the lake; and almost at the same instant the canoe of the Indian was seen shooting through the water, right for the entrance of the bay!

Obedient to the signal, the three hunters rushed out from their cover, and ran forward upon the beech—each holding his gun in readiness to fire. The bear, seeing himself thus suddenly and unexpectedly surrounded, at once gave over his fly-trapping; but, irresolute in which direction to retreat, he turned round and round in the water, first swimming a bit one way and then another. At length, rearing himself high above the surface, and showing his sharp teeth, he uttered a deep growl of rage, and dashed recklessly towards the shore.

It was to Ivan's side he first directed himself; but Ivan was upon the watch; and, advancing close to the edge of the water, he took aim and fired.

His bullet struck the bear right upon the snout, and it appeared to have spun him round—so quickly was he seen heading in the opposite direction.

It was now Pouchskin's turn; and in a second after the loud report of the grenadier's gun went booming over the lake, while the ball splashed the water right into the eyes of the bear. Though it did not hit any part of his body, it had the effect of half-turning him—so that he now swam towards Alexis, stationed at the bottom of the bay.

Alexis took the matter more coolly. There was a convenient tree behind—to which he intended to retreat in case of missing—and this influenced him to hold his ground, till the bear should come near enough to ensure a certain aim.

The bear swam straight on, until within some ten yards of where Alexis was standing; when all at once he appeared to take the rue, and was turning off to one side. This was just what Alexis desired: it brought the head of the animal broadside towards him, and, taking steady aim, he planted his bullet a little under the left ear.

It was a dead shot. The huge creature, loaded with fat, sank instantly to the bottom; but fortunately the water was shallow; and the Indian now coming in with his canoe, soon fished up the carcass, and towed it out upon the beach—where its fur coat was stripped off in a trice.



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

THE GREAT GRIZZLY.

The grizzly bear (ursus ferox), the fiercest and most formidable of the ursine family, was the next to be captured and skinned.

The range of the grizzly, though wider than that of the Barren Ground bear, is still not so extensive as that of the ursus americanus. The great chain or cordillera of the Rocky Mountains may be taken as the axis of his range—since he is found throughout its whole extent, from Mexico to its declension near the shores of the Arctic Sea. Some writers have asserted that he is confined to these mountains, but that is an error. To the west of them he is encountered throughout all the countries lying between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific coast— wherever circumstances are favourable to his existence; and to the east he extends his wanderings for a considerable distance into the great plains—though nowhere so far as to the wooded countries near the meridian of the Mississippi. In these the black bear is the only forest-ranger of the family.

Woods are not the favourite haunt of the grizzly bear; and although in youth he can make a sort of scramble up a tree, when full-grown his enormous claws—always blunted at the tips—hinder him from climbing. Low bushy thickets, with open glades intervening—and especially where the underwood consists of berry-bearing bushes—are his chosen retreats. He often sallies out into the open ground; and on those prairies where grows the pomme blanche, or "Indian turnip" (psoralea esculenta), he may be seen tearing up the earth with his claws, and leaving it turned into furrows—as if a drove of hogs had been "rooting" the ground. On the bottoms of the streams he also digs up the "kamas" root (camassia esculenta), the "yampah," (anethum graveolens), the "kooyah" (Valeriana edulis), and the root of a species of thistle (circium virginianum). Many species of fruits and berries furnish him with an occasional meal; and the sweet pods of the mesquites (species of acacia), and the cones of the pinon tree (pinus edulis) form portions of his varied larder.

He does not, however, confine himself to a vegetable diet. Like most of his kind, he is also carnivorous, and will dine off the carcass of a horse or buffalo. The latter animal, notwithstanding its enormous bulk and strength, frequently falls a prey to the grizzly bear. The long masses of hair that hang over the eyes of the buffalo, hinder it from perceiving the presence of an enemy; and, unless warned by the scent, it is easily approached. The bear, knowing this, steals up against the wind; and, when within safe distance, springs upon the hind quarters of the ruminant, and cramping it in his great claws, succeeds in dragging it to the ground. He is even able to transport the huge carcass to a considerable distance—for the purpose of concealing it in some thicket, and devouring it at his leisure.

The grizzly bear is more like to the brown bear of Europe than to any other species of the genus. His fur is long and shaggy—not presenting the even surface which characterises the coat of the black bear. It is generally of a dark-brown colour—the hair being whitish at the tips, more especially during the summer season, when it becomes lighter-coloured. The head is always of a grizzled grey; and it is this appearance that has obtained for the animal its specific name. There are brown, reddish-brown, bay or cinnamon—coloured, and white-breasted varieties of the black bear; but the Indians can distinguish all these from the true grizzly at a glance. In all of the latter, where there are white hairs intermingled with the fur, it is always observable that these odd hairs are white to the roots; whereas the hoary appearance of the grizzly is caused by only the tips of the hair being white. This characteristic is constant; and would of itself justify a distinction being made between the species; but there are many other points of greater importance. The ears of the grizzly are shorter, more conical, and set wider apart than in either the ursus americanus or arctos. His claws are white, arched, far longer, and broader than those of the other bears—their greatest breadth being across their upper surface. Underneath they are chamfered away to a sharp edge; and projecting far beyond the hair of the foot, they cut like chisels when the animal strikes a blow with them. His huge paw is both broader and longer than that of other bears; while his tail, on the other hand, is short and inconspicuous—being completely buried under the fur of his buttocks. So characteristic is this appendage for its extreme shortness, that it is a standing joke among the Indians—when they have killed a grizzly bear—to desire any one unacquainted with the animal, to take hold of its tail!

This appendage in the ursus americanus and ursus arctos is conspicuous enough; and in the Barren Ground bear is still longer than in either.

There could be no possibility of mistaking an old or full-grown grizzly for any of the kindred species. Both in size and aspect he is different. It is only in the case of young or half-grown specimens where a mistake of this kind is likely to be made. The enormous size of the old males—often weighing 1,000 pounds, and quite equalling the largest individuals of the ursus maritimus—renders them easy of identification; though it is certain that under favourable circumstances the ursus arctos often attains to a similar bulk.

In ferocity of disposition, however, in carnivorous inclination, and in strength and power to carry out his mischievous propensities, no bear, not even the ursus maritimus, appears to be a match for this monster of the Rocky Mountains. The hunter never thinks of attacking him, unless when assisted by a number of his comrades; and even then it may be a fatal encounter for one or more of them. Were it not for the advantage obtained by their being mounted on horseback, the grizzly would always have a wide berth given him: but fortunately this fierce quadruped is unable to overtake the mounted hunter—although he can easily come up with a man on foot.

As to fearing or running away from a human antagonist, the younger grizzlies may sometimes do so; but when an old male has been attacked the case is quite different. A full-grown individual will stand his ground against a crowd of assailants—charging from one to the other, and showing fight so long as there is breath in his body.

The number of Indian and white hunters, who have either been killed or badly mutilated by grizzly bears, is almost incredible. Were it not that these men are usually mounted on good horses the list would have been still greater; and his intended victims often find another means of escaping from his claws—by taking to a tree.

Fortunate it is that nature has not bestowed upon the grizzly the power of tree-climbing; else many a pursued hunter, who has succeeded in gaining the branches of a friendly cottonwood, might have found his refuge anything but a secure one.

In fact, climbing into a tree—when one can be reached—is the common resource of all persons pursued by the grizzly bear; and by this means did our hunters themselves escape from a brace of infuriated grizzlies, while engaged in hunting these formidable animals.



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

A FUR-TRADER'S FORT.

Having settled their accounts with Bruin of the Barren Grounds, our travellers proceeded down the Mackenzie river to the Hudson's Bay post of Fort Simpson. Thence they ascended a large tributary of the Mackenzie, known as the "River of the Mountains,"—or as the Canadian voyagers call it, Riviere aux Liards. This large stream has its sources far beyond the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains: thus exhibiting the curious phenomenon of a river, breaking through a chain of mountains in a transverse direction; though the same occurs in several other parts of the Rocky Mountain range, and also in the Andes of South America. On the Riviere aux Liards the Hudson's Bay Company have several posts—as Forts Simpson, Liard, and Halkett—the last-mentioned being far up among the mountains. Westward again, upon the Pacific side, they have other trading stations—the most important of which is that of Pellyss Banks, situated at the junction of Lewis and Pelly rivers. These rivers, after joining, run into the Pacific, not far from Mount Saint Elios—long noted as a landmark to the navigators of the North Pacific ocean.

From Fort Halkett, a route has been established to the post at Pelly's Banks by means of Dease's river—which is one of the effluents of the Riviere aux Liards—and partly by canoe navigation and partly by "portage;" the continent can be crossed in this northern latitude. From Pelly's Banks to the Pacific coast the route is still easier—for not only do the Russians visit these parts, but there are native Indian traders who go twice every year from Pelly's Banks to Sitka—the entrepot of the Russian Fur Company—and the Lynn channel, a little to the north of Sitka, is also visited by the steamers of the Hudson's Bay Company itself.

Our travellers would therefore have no difficulty in reaching Sitka; and thence crossing to the peninsula of Kamschatka, on the Asiatic coast. On their way over the Rocky Mountains, they would be certain to fall in with the grizzly; and in the countries lying along the Pacific, they could obtain that variety of the ursus americanus, known as the "cinnamon bear"—for it is to the west of the Rocky Mountains—in California, Oregon, British Columbia, and Russian America—that this spice-coloured species is most frequently met with.

A party of fur-traders and trappers were just starting from Fort Simpson to carry supplies up to the posts of Liard and Halkett; and along with them our travellers went.

On reaching the last-named station, they came to a halt, for the purpose of hunting the grizzly.

They were not long in starting their game—for this fierce monster of the mountains is far from being a scarce animal. In fact, in those districts which they choose for their "beat," the grizzly bears are more numerous than most other quadrupeds; and not unfrequently half a dozen or more of them may be seen together. It is not that they are gregarious; but simply, that, being in considerable numbers in a particular neighbourhood, accident thus brings them together. To see troops of four associating together is very common; but these are merely the members of one family—male, female, and yearling cubs—for two is the number of the progeny—the grizzly bear in this respect resembling his congener of the ursus maritimus, and differing as essentially from the black and brown bears—with whom three is the usual number of cubs at a birth.

There are good reasons why the grizzly bears are not in much danger of being exterminated. In the first place, their flesh is of inferior quality. Even the Indians will not eat it; while they relish that of the black species. Secondly, their robe is of scarce any value, and fetches but a trifling price in the fur-market. Thirdly—and perhaps the most powerful reason of all—is that the hunter cares not to risk his life in an encounter with these animals, knowing that there is no adequate reward for such risk. For this reason "Old Ephraim"—as the trappers jocosely style the grizzly—is usually permitted to go his way without molestation, and, therefore, instead of being thinned off by an exterminating chase—such as is pursued against the buffalo, or even the black bear, whose robe is marketable—the grizzly maintains his numerical strength in most places where he is found.

At Fort Halkett—in consequence of a scarcity of hands, and the great pressure of business, in forwarding the brigade onward to the Pelly Station—our young hunters were unable to obtain a guide; and therefore started out for the chase alone—Pouchskin, of course, being one of the party.

The trading post of Fort Halkett being situated in the midst of the wildest region—without any cultivated ground or other settlement around it—they would not have far to go before finding a grizzly. Indeed, they were as likely to meet with one within sight of the Port as anywhere else; and from the moment of passing through the gate of the stockade they were on the lookout.

They had not the good fortune, however, to meet with one so very easily, for although they came upon the traces of bears, and saw numerous signs of them, they could not set eyes upon them; and returned from their first excursion rather disheartened with their day's work.

In one thing, however, they had their reward. They had succeeded in shooting one of the rarest animals of America, a creature only met with in the more northern districts of the Rocky Mountains—that is, the "Rocky Mountain goat" (capra americana). This rare quadruped—whose long, snow-white, silky hair renders it one of the most attractive of animals—is a true wild goat; and the only species of the genus indigenous to America. It is about the size of the common domestic breeds, and horned as they; but the shining hair over its flanks and body is frequently so long as to hang down almost to its hoofs—giving the animal the appearance of having a much heavier body and much shorter legs than it really has. Like the ibex of Europe, it is only met with on the loftiest summits of the mountains, upon peaks and cliffs inaccessible to almost every other quadruped—the mountain sheep alone excepted. It is much shyer than the latter, and far more difficult of approach—the consequence being, that its beautiful skin, though highly prized, and commanding a good price, is but rarely obtained, even by the most expert hunters.

Having succeeded in bringing down one of these precious animals, our young hunters were satisfied with their day's work—almost as well as if it had been a grizzly they had killed.

On their second day's excursion, however, this feat was also accomplished—as we shall now proceed to relate.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

TREED BY OLD EPHRAIM.

They had got about a mile from the Fort; and were proceeding cautiously along through a hilly country, where thicket-like groves grew interspersed with patches of open ground, forming park-like scenery. There are many scenes of this character in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains; and in the more northern latitudes these groves often consist of berry-bearing bushes—such as wild currants, bird and choke cherries, the amelanchier and hippophae canadensis. Of all these fruits the grizzly bear is known to be exceedingly fond; and as the thickets among which our hunters had entered contained many trees of the above kinds— at that season drooping under their ripe fruit—it was but reasonable to expect they might find some of the grizzlies engaged in gathering them. They had been told at the fort that this was a favourite browsing-place of the bear; and, as they passed along they had evidence of the correctness of the information by seeing the cherry-trees with their branches broken—and some of the stems pulled down into a slanting position,—evidently done by the bears to enable them to get conveniently at the fruit. From the trees that had been treated in this rough manner all the fruit had been stripped off as clean as if a party of "cherry-pickers" had passed that way.

The ravages exhibited a very recent sign. Most of them must have been done within a week; and one tree looked as freshly torn, as if it had been pulled about that very morning.

Of course, with such indications before their eyes, our hunters were advancing on the qui vive.—not knowing the instant that Bruin might break out.

It would not be correct to say that they were proceeding with caution. Had they been sufficiently cautious, they would not have been there afoot. Of course they were on foot—since no horses could be procured in these parts. To go afoot in pursuit of such game as grizzly bears was the height of indiscretion; and the traders had told them so; but they made light of what they had been told, for two reasons,—first, because it was absolutely necessary they should kill a grizzly and strip him of his skin; and secondly, because our young hunters, Pouchskin as well, had but a very indefinite idea of the risk they were running. They had heard that the grizzly was one of the fiercest of its kind; but because it was called a bear, and they had now hunted and killed so many other bears, they fancied this one might be as easily conquered as any of its congeners. They had heard that these animals often turn tail and run away at sight of man; but these stories are deceptive. The bears that do so are either juvenile grizzlies or brown individuals of the versus americanus—which are often mistaken for the grizzly.

With "old Ephraim" himself the case is quite different, as we have already said. On sight of a human enemy, instead of running away, the grizzly more frequently runs towards him, charging forward with open mouth, and often without having received the slightest provocation.

Of this fact our hunters had proof almost upon the instant. They had entered a wide tract, sparsely covered with trees; but such small trees, and so thinly standing over the ground, that the hunters might have fancied them to have been planted; and that they were entering within the boundaries of some old orchard. The tract thus characterised was about five or six acres in superficial extent; and surrounded by the same kind of coppice that covered most of the face of the country.

Under the thin trees there was neither underwood, nor long grass; and they could see between their trunks in every direction, to the edge of the jungle that grew around.

While walking quietly along, a singular noise reached their ears, that caused them suddenly to halt in their tracks. It caused them to turn also: for the noise appeared to come from behind them. It resembled the hurried breathing of a person badly afflicted with asthma; but so much louder, that if it had proceeded from human lungs, they could only have been those of an asthmatic giant!

It was, in reality, a gigantic creature that produced the noise: since it was neither more nor less than a grizzly bear. Not one alone, but a brace of these monstrous animals—a male and female, no doubt—were seen at that moment by the edge of the thicket, out of which the hunters had just emerged. Both were standing on their hind limbs, and both uttering the strange snuffing noise that had attracted attention to them. Other noises were now mingled with these—sharp querulous grunts—and, by the gestures which the bears were making, it was evident they not only saw the three hunters in the open ground, but were reconnoitring them perhaps with an intention to make an attack upon them!

Our hunters were quite taken aback. They had expected, at least, to have been allowed the initiative in any conflict that might occur; but they now saw that, instead of being the assailing party, they were likely to be the assailed!

They had no time for deliberation; for the brace of bears, apparently having satisfied themselves with their threatening demonstrations, dropped down on all-fours, and came galloping onward—almost as fast as horses could have done!

The three hunters fired at once; and not with out effect: for one of the bears fell to their shots. It was the smaller one, and that which had been foremost. Acting without concert, they had all aimed at the same animal—choosing that which was nearest; and this was unfortunate, for had some one of them sighted the other and bigger bear, they might have given him a wound that would have, at least, crippled him.

As it was, he had neither been shot at, nor touched; and the fall of his mate—for it was the male who survived—now so completely exasperated him, that he rushed on with the full determination to deal death among the enemies who had bereaved him.

It was fortunate that he stopped a moment over his fallen companion. He did so as if to convince himself that she was dead. It was only for an instant; but a precious instant that was to all three of the hunters. It gave them sufficient time to take to a tree—each springing up to the one that was most convenient. Alexis and Ivan being young and nimble, easily accomplished this feat; but it cost Pouchskin an effort; and he came very near making it in vain. He had got his arms over a branch, and was drawing his great booted legs after him; but, before he could raise them to a sufficient height, the bear had arrived upon the ground, and reared upward to seize him.

Ivan and Alexis uttered a simultaneous shout of alarm. They saw the shaggy forearms of the quadruped doubled around the legs of their faithful follower; and were looking to see Pouchskin in another moment pulled down from the tree. What was their delight, as well as astonishment, on seeing the bear fall "slap" back to the earth—with one of the ex-grenadier's great boots fast clutched between his paws—while Pouchskin himself was seen gliding upward to the top branches of the tree!

A shout of joy followed the cry of alarm, to which they had just given utterance; and without another word all three hastened to reload their guns.

Meanwhile the disappointed bear appeared determined to revenge himself on the boot; and for some seconds continued to tear it—both with teeth and claws—till nothing of its original shape remained. Then, scattering the fragments over the ground, he desisted from this idle employment; and rushed back to the trunk of the tree up which Pouchskin had climbed. He knew—from having often made the experiment—that he could not climb it; nor did he attempt to do so; but seizing the slender trunk in his powerful grasp, he shook the tree backward and forward, as if endeavouring to drag it up by the roots or throw it to the ground.

For some time our hunters were not without apprehensions that he might succeed. The tree was not bigger than an ordinary pear-tree; and its trunk vibrated from side to side, and bent over to such an extent, that its roots could be heard cracking beneath the ground.

Pouchskin, far up in the top, was tossed backward and forward—as if he had been a shuttlecock between two battledores—and it was just as much as he could do to keep his hold among the branches, much less finish the loading of his fusil, which he had only half accomplished when the rocking began. Had he been alone, his position would have been one of great danger: for no doubt, in process of time, the bear would have torn down the tree. But the efforts of Bruin were brought to a sudden termination; for Ivan and Alexis, having now reloaded, took careful aim, and sent both their bullets into the body of the beast. One of the shots must have hit him in a mortal part: since, on receiving it, the bear let go his hold, dropped down from his erect attitude, and doubling himself up at the bottom of the tree, looked as if he had suddenly gone to sleep! But the red stream, pouring out from his still distended jaws, told that it was the sleep of death that had overtaken him.

Our hunters, assured that both bears were dead, now descended from their respective perches; but the sight of Pouchskin, with one leg in stocking, and the other buried up to the thigh in a great horse-skin boot, would have been too much for the gravity of a judge, and his young masters were once more merry at his expense.

Having skinned the bears, they returned to the fort with their spoils— to the no slight astonishment of some of the old trappers stationed there. They could scarce believe that these young strangers were capable of accomplishing such a feat as the conquest of a couple of full-grown grizzlies. The thing had been done, however—as the trophies testified—and it is needless to say that our hunters, by this gallant action, gained golden opinions from the "mountain men."

They had no desire, however, to try another contest of the kind. They had become perfectly satisfied of the great peril to be expected in an encounter with "Old Ephraim;" and were only too well pleased of having it in their power, on all future occasions, to imitate the example of other travellers, and give the grizzly a "wide berth."

Indeed, they would have had no opportunity, had they desired it, to hunt the bear any longer in that neighbourhood: for the "boat" brigade, with which they were travelling, started the next day for Fort Pelly; and it was necessary for them to accompany it, as the journey could not otherwise be accomplished.

They arrived at this last-named place in safety; and, with some native traders, that chanced to be at the fort, they were enabled to proceed onward to the Russian settlement of Sitka—where the magic cipher which Alexis carried in his pocket procured them the most hospitable treatment that such a wild, out-of-the-way place could afford.

They had been fortunate, upon their route, to procure a skin of the "cinnamon" bear—as well as one of black colour with a white breast, both of which Alexis was able to identify as mere varieties of the ursus americanus. These varieties are sometimes seen to the east of the Rocky Mountains; but they are far more common throughout the countries along the Pacific—and especially in Russian America, where the cinnamon-coloured kind is usually termed the "red bear." They occur, moreover, in the Aleutian islands; and very probably in Japan and Kamschatka—in which country bears are exceedingly numerous—evidently of several species, confusedly described and ill identified. Unfortunately, the Russian naturalists—whose special duty it has been to make known the natural history of the countries lying around the North Pacific—have done their work in a slovenly and childlike manner.

Bruin—by Captain Mayne Reid



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

THE KAMSCHATDALES.

The bear of Kamschatka had to be skinned next. But it was necessary to catch one before he could be skinned; and also necessary to go to Kamschatka before he could be caught. To get to Kamschatka was not so difficult as it may sound to the ear. Our travellers were just in the place, from which it was possible to, proceed direct to this Asiatic peninsula. Vessels belonging to the Russian Fur Company every year collect the furs along the north-west coast of America, and among the Fox and Aleutian islands—Sitka being their port of rendezvous. Thence proceeding to the harbour of Saint Peter and Saint Paul (Petropaulouski), on the coast of Kamschatka, they complete their cargoes with the "skin crop" that during the winter has been collected throughout the peninsula. Thence to China a portion of these furs are taken—especially skins of the sable, which the Chinese mandarins use extensively for trimming their costly robes; and for which, teas, silk, lacquer-ware, and other articles of Chinese manufacture are given in exchange.

The Japanese also, and other wealthy Oriental nations, buy up quantities of costly furs; but by far the greater portion of this produce is consumed by the Russians themselves—in whose cold climate some sort of a fur coat is almost a necessity. Even most of the furs collected by the Hudson's Bay Company find their way into Russia: for the consumption of these goods in Great Britain is extremely limited, compared with that of many other articles de luxe.

In the fur ship our travellers proceeded from Sitka to the port of Petropaulouski, which is situated on Avatcha bay, near the southern end of the peninsula.

As Avatcha bay is nearly land-locked, it forms one of the most sheltered harbours on that side of the Pacific; but unfortunately during winter the bay freezes over; and then ships can neither get into nor out of it.

The vessel which carried our adventurers arrived at Petropaulouski late in the spring; but, as the winter had been unusually prolonged, the bay was still blocked up with ice, and the ship could not get up to the little town. This did not hinder them from landing. Dog-sledges were brought out upon the ice by the inhabitants; and upon these our travellers were carried to the town, or "ostrog" as it is called—such being the name given to the villages of Kamschatka.

In Petropaulouski, many curious objects and customs came under the observation of our travellers. They saw no less than three kinds of houses—first, the "isbas," built of logs, and not unlike the log-cabins of America. These are the best sort of dwellings; and belong to the Russian merchants and officials, who reside there—as well as to the Cossack soldiers, who are kept by the Russian Government in Kamschatka.

The native Kamschatdales have two kinds of houses of indigenous architecture—one for summer, the "balagan," and another to which they retire during the winter, called the "jourt." The balagan is constructed of poles and thatch upon a raised platform—to which the Kamschatdale climbs up by means of a notched trunk of a tree. There is only one story of the house itself—which is merely the sloping thatched roof—with a hole in the top to give passage to the smoke—and resembles a rough tent or hayrick set upon an elevated stand. The space under the platform is left open; and serves as a store-house for the dried fish, that forms the staple food of all sorts of people in Kamschatka. Here, too, the sledges and sledge harness are kept; and the dogs, of which every family owns a large pack, use this lower story as a sleeping place.

The winter-house or "jourt," is constructed very differently. It is a great hole sunk in the ground to the depth of eight or ten feet, lined round the sides with pieces of timber, and roofed over above the surface of the ground—so as to look like the rounded dome of a large bake-oven. A hole at the apex is intended for the chimney, but it is also the door: Since there is no other mode of entrance into the jourt, and the interior is reached by descending a notched tree trunk—similar to that used in climbing up to the balagan.

The curious fur dresses of the Kamschatdales; their thin yellowish white dogs, resembling the Pomeranian breed; their dog-sledges, which they use for travelling in winter; the customs and habits of these singular people; all formed an interesting study to our travellers, and enriched their journal with notes and observations. We find it recorded there, how these people spend their time and obtain their subsistence. Very little agriculture is practised by them—the climate being unfavourable to the growth of the cereals. In some parts barley and rye are cultivated; but only to a very limited extent. Cattle are scarce—a few only being kept by the Russian and Cossack settlers; and horses are equally rare, such as there are belonging to the officials of the Government, and used for Government purposes. The common or "native" people subsist almost entirely on a fish diet—their lakes and rivers furnishing them with abundance of fish; and the whole of the summer is spent in catching and drying these for their winter provision. Several wild vegetable productions are added—roots and berries, and even the bark of trees—all of which are eaten along with the dried fish. Wild animals also furnish part of their subsistence; and it is by the skins of these—especially the sable—that the people pay their annual tax, or tribute, to the Russian Government. From animals, too, their clothing is chiefly manufactured; and many other articles used in their domestic economy. The peninsula is rich in the fur-bearing quadrupeds, and some of these furnish the very best quality of furs that are known to commerce. The sable of Kamschatka is of a superior kind as also the many varieties of the fox. They have, besides, the wolverine and wolf, the ermine and Arctic fox, the marmot and polar hare, and several smaller animals that yield furs of commercial value. The sea otter is common upon the coasts of Kamschatka; and this is also an object of the chase—its skin being among the costliest of "peltries." The great argali, or wild sheep, and the reindeer, furnish them both with flesh and skins; but one of the chief objects of the chase is that great quadruped for which our young hunters had come all the way to Kamschatka, the bear. Into his presence they would find no difficulty in introducing themselves: for perhaps in no country in the world does master Bruin's family muster so strongly as in this very peninsula.



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

FISHING-BEARS.

Previous to starting forth in search of the Kamschatkan bear, our hunters collected all the particulars they could in regard to the haunts and habits of this animal.

They learnt that there were at least two varieties known to the Kurilski and Koriac hunters. One of them was the more common kind—a brown bear, closely resembling the ursus arctos; and the other also a brown bear; but with a whitish list running up from the under part of his throat, and meeting like a collar over the tops of his shoulders. This latter kind was undoubtedly the species known as the "Siberian bear" (ursus collaris); and which has an extensive range throughout most of the countries of Northern Asia. The native hunters alleged that the two kinds were of nearly similar habits. Both went to sleep during the winter—concealing themselves cunningly in caves and crevices among rocks, or among fallen timber, where such could be found in sufficient quantity to afford them shelter.

One remarkable habit of these bears indicates a very marked difference between them and the ursus arctos, with which they have been usually classed; and that is, that they are fishing-bears—subsisting almost exclusively on fish, which they catch for themselves. During their winter sleep, of course they eat nothing; but in spring, as soon as they emerge from their retreats, they at once betake themselves to the numerous streams and lakes, with which the country abounds; and roaming along the banks of these, or wading in the water itself, they spend the whole of their time in angling about after trout and salmon. There, fish, thanks to their immense numbers, and the shallowness of the water in most of the lakes and streams, the bears are enabled to catch almost at discretion. They wade into the water, and getting among the shoals of the fish as they are passing to and fro, strike them dead with their paws. The fish are killed as instantaneously as if impaled upon a fishing spear; and in such numbers do the bears capture them, at certain seasons, that the captors grow dainty, and only eat a portion of each fish! They show a strange preference for that part, which is usually considered refuse, the head,—leaving the tail, with a considerable portion of the body, untouched. The rejected portions, however, are not lost; for another animal, still hungrier than the bears, and less skilful in the piscatory art, is at this time also in search of a meal of fish.

This creature is the Kamschatkan dog—not a wild species, as you may suppose, but the trained sledge-dogs of the Kamschatdales themselves; which at this season forsake the "ostrogs," or villages, and betake themselves to the borders of the lakes and rivers. There they remain during the whole period of summer, feeding upon fish—which they also know how to capture—and eating up such portions as have been refused by the bears. In fact, this is the only food which these poor dogs can get; and, as they are not needed during the summer season, they do not think of returning home until frost sets in. Then, strange to say, one and all of them go voluntarily back, and surrender themselves up to their old masters—hard taskmasters too, who not only work them like slaves, but half starve them throughout the whole winter. This voluntary submission to their "yoke" has been quoted as an illustration of the high training and faithful disposition of the Kamschatkan dogs; but it has its origin in a fur different motive than that of mere fidelity. Their return to the snug shelter of the balagan is simply an instinct of self-preservation: for the sagacious animals well know, that in winter the lakes and streams will be completely frozen over, and were they to remain abroad, they would absolutely perish either from hunger or cold. Even the wretched winter allowance of heads and entrails of fish—the only crumbs that fall to their share—is better than nothing at all; which would be their portion were they to remain abroad among the bare snow-clad hills and valleys of Kamschatka. The Kamschatdales have various modes of taking the bear. In early winter they sometimes find his track in the snow; and then pursue him with a gun and a bear-spear, killing him as they best can. Later still, when he has gone to sleep in his den, he is often found—by similar indications as those which guide the Laplanders, North American Indians, and Esquimaux—such as the hoar caused by his breath showing over the spot, or by their hunting-dogs scenting him out, and barking at the entrance. The log-trap, or dead-fall, is also in use among the Kamschatkan hunters; and the penn formed around the mouth of the bear's cave, shutting him up, until an entrance can be dug into it from above.

In the summer time the mode is different. Then the hunter lies in ambush, with his loaded rifle—for the Kamschatdale carries this weapon—in such places as he expects the bear to pass. These are on the banks of the streams and lakes that abound in fish; and as the bears ramble along the edge of the water, or are even seen swimming or wading into it, the patient hunter is pretty sure of getting a shot. Should he fail to bring down Bruin at the first fire, the game becomes uncertain; and sometimes dangerous: since the animal often charges upon the hunter. Even though the latter may be concealed among the long reeds and bushes, the sagacious bear, guided by the smoke and blaze of the powder easily finds out his assailant. The hunter, however, never fires without taking a deliberate aim. He carries a forked stick, over which he rests his piece, and never fires off-hand. To miss would not only endanger his life and the loss of his game, but what is also of consequence to a Kamschatdale, the loss of his powder and bullet—costly articles in this remote corner of the earth. In case of missing, he has still his bear-spear and a long-bladed knife to fall back upon; and with these he defends himself as well as he can—though not unfrequently Bruin proves the victor, and the hunter the victim.

There are certain times when the Siberian bears become exceedingly dangerous to approach. The season of rut—which occurs in the latter part of the summer—is one of those; but there is another period of danger—which, however, does not happen every year. When the spring chances to be late—on account of a prolonged winter—and when the lakes and streams remain frozen over, after the bears have come forth from their hiding-places, then "ware Bruin" is a caution which it is prudent to observe. The fierce animals, half-famished for want of their usual diet of fish, roam over the country in all directions; and fearlessly approach the "ostrogs," roaming around the balagans and jourts in search of something to eat. Woe to the Kamschatdale that gets in their tray at such a time—for the bear, instead of waiting to be attached, becomes himself the assailant; and, as great numbers of these quadrupeds often troop about together, of course the encounter is all the more perilous.

It was just in such a spring that our young hunters had arrived at Petropaulouski; and stories of numerous bear conflicts, that had recently occurred in the neighbourhood, were rife in the village; while the number of fresh skies every day brought in by the Kurilski hunters, showed that bears could not be otherwise than plentiful in the country adjacent.

Guided by one of these hunters, our party set forth upon a search. The snow still covered the ground; and, of course, they travelled in sledges—each having one to himself, drawn by five dogs, as is the custom of the country. The dogs are harnessed two and two abreast, with the odd one in front. Each has his collar of bearskin, with a leather thong for a trace; and five of them are sufficient to draw the little sledge with a man in it. The sledge, called saunka, is less than four feet long; and, being made of the lightest birch wood, is of very little weight.

A curved stick, called the oschtol—with an iron point, and little bells at the other end—is used to direct the dogs; and, urged on by this and by well-known exclamations of their driver, they will go at a speed of many miles an hour.

In this slight vehicle, hills, valleys, lakes, and rivers are crossed, without such a thing as a road being thought of; and when the dogs are good, and have been well cared for, an immense distance may be passed over in a day.

In less than an hour after their departure from Petropaulouski, our hunters had entered amid the wildest scenery—where not the slightest sign of either cultivation or human habitation was to be seen, and where at any moment they might expect to come in sight of their great game.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

DOG-DRIVING.

The guide was conducting them to a stream that ran into the bay some ten or twelve miles from the "ostrog." On that stream, he said, they would be pretty certain to find a bear, if not several: since at a place he knew of the water was not frozen, and the bears might be there trying to catch fish. When questioned as to why this particular stream was not frozen like the others, he said that some distance up it there were warm springs—a phenomenon of frequent occurrence in the peninsula of Kamschatka—that these springs supplied most of the water of the stream; and that for several hundred yards below where they gushed forth, the river was kept open by their warmth during the severest winters. Not throughout its whole course, however. Farther down, where the water became cool, it froze like in other streams; and that this was the case, was evident to our hunters, who had entered the mouth of the rivers from the icy surface of the bay, and were gliding in their sledges up its frozen channel.

After having gone three or four miles up this icebound stream, which ran through a narrow valley with steep sloping sides, the guide warned our hunters that they were close to the place where the water would be found open. At this point a low ridge ran transversely across the valley— through which the stream had, in process of time, cut a channel; but the ridge occasioned a dam or lake of some half-dozen acres in superficial extent, which lay just above it. The dam itself was rarely frozen over; and it was by the water remaining in it, or flowing sluggishly through it—and thus giving it time to cool—that the stream immediately below got frozen over.

The lake lay just on the other side of the ridge, and was now only hidden from their view by the rise of the ground. If not frozen over, as the guide conjectured, there was likely to be a bear roaming around its edge; and therefore they resolved to observe caution in approaching it.

The sledges were to be taken no further. Our hunters had learnt how to manage both dog-sledges and dogs. Their experience in Finland, as well as in the countries of the Hudson's Bay territory, had taught them that; and made them skilful in the handling of these animals—else they would have made but poor work in travelling as they did now. In fact, they could not have managed at all: since it requires a great deal of training to be able to drive a dog-sledge. This, however, they had received—both the boys and Pouchskin—and fortunate it had been so; for very shortly after they were placed in a predicament, in which their lives depended on their skill as sledge drivers.

The dogs were left under cover of the ridge, near the bottom of the little slope; a sign was given to them to keep their places—which these well-trained creatures perfectly comprehended; and the hunters—the Kurilski with the rest—holding their guns in readiness, ascended towards the summit of the slope.

There was no cover, except what was afforded by the inequality of the ground. There were no trees in the valley—only stunted bushes, not half the height of a man's body, and these nearly buried to their tops in the snow. A few, however, appeared growing along the crest of the ridge.

The hunters crawled up to these on all-fours, and peeped cautiously through their branches.

It was the impatient Ivan that looked first; and what he saw so surprised him, as almost to deprive him of the power of speech! Indeed, he was not able to explain what he saw—till the other three had got forward, and became equally eye-witnesses of the spectacle that had astonished him.

As the guide had conjectured, the lake was not frozen. There was some loose snow floating over its surface; but most of the water was open; and the stream that flowed slowly in on the opposite side was quite clear of either ice or snow.

The guide had also predicted hypothetically that they might see a bear— perhaps two. It had not occurred to this man of moderate pretensions that they might see twelve—and yet no less than twelve bears were in sight!

Yes, twelve bears—they were as easily counted as oxen—were around the shores of this secluded lake, and on the banks of the little stream that ran into it—all within five hundred yards of each other. Indeed, it would have been easy to have mistaken them for a herd of brown heifers or oxen; had it not been for the various attitudes in which they were seen: some upon all-fours—some standing erect, like human beings, or squatted on their hams like gigantic squirrels—others in the water, their bodies half submerged—others swimming about, their backs and heads only visible above the surface; and still others, prowling leisurely along the banks, or over the strip of level meadow-land that bordered the lake.

Such a sight our bear-hunters had never witnessed before, and might never witness again, in any other country, save Kamschatka itself. There it is by no means uncommon; and twenty bears instead of twelve have been often seen in a single drove—at that season when they descend from their mountain retreats to their favourite fishing-grounds upon the lakes and streams.

Our hunters were perplexed by so unexpected a sight; and for some moments unresolved as to how they should act. Fortunately, the bushes already mentioned served to conceal them from the bears; and the wind was blowing towards the hunters—otherwise the bears, who are keen of scent, would soon have discovered their presence. As it was, not one of them—though several were close to the ridge—seemed to have any suspicion that an enemy was so near. The huge quadrupeds appeared to be too busy about their own affairs—endeavouring to capture the fish—some of them greedily devouring those they had already taken, and others wandering restlessly about, or eagerly observing the movements of the fish in the water. One and all of them looked fierce and famished, their bodies showing gaunt and flaky, and their enormous limbs having a lank angular appearance, that gave them a still greater resemblance to heifers—only heifers that had been half starved!



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

A SLEDGE-CHASE.

I have said that our hunters were for some time irresolute about how to act. The Kurilski was inclined to withdraw from the spot and leave the bears alone; and this of course was his advice to the others. He said there might be danger in disturbing them—so many clustered together, and in such a mood as they appeared to be. He had known them to attack a large party of men under such circumstances, and give chase to them. They might do the same now?

Our hunters, however, did not give full credit to this story of their guide—thinking it might have its origin in the fears of the Kurilski, whom they knew to be of a timid race; and therefore they determined not to back out. The chance was too tempting to be surrendered for so slight a reason, and without a struggle. There were several bears within easy shot of the ground where they were kneeling!

It would never do to let such an opportunity pass. They might not meet with so good a chance again; or, at all events, they might be delayed a good long time before another would turn up; and a residence in Petropaulouski, even in the "isba" of the governor—who was himself only a sergeant of Cossacks, and his dwelling a mere hut—was not so pleasant as that they should wish to prolong it. They had now been a great while journeying through countries covered with frost and snow; and they were longing to reach those tropical isles—famed for their spices and their loveliness—which were to be the next stage in their grand tour round the globe.

Influenced by these thoughts, then, they resolved to run all hazard, and try a shot at the bears.

The Kurilski, seeing them determined, gave in; and, joining his gun to theirs, a volley of four shots was simultaneously discharged through the bushes.

Two bears were seen to drop over and lie kicking upon the snow; but whether they continued their kicking for any considerable length of time, was a question about which our hunters could give no definite information. They did not stay to see: for the moment the smoke had cleared off, they saw the whole gang of bears in motion, and rushing towards them from all sides of the lake. The shrill fierce screaming of the animals, and the hurried pace in which they were making towards the ridge, declared their intentions. They were charging forward to the attack.

The hunters saw this at a glance; and thought only of retreating. But whither could they fly? There were no trees; and if there had been, the bears could have climbed them even better than themselves. There were steep rocky cliffs on both sides of the ravine; but these would afford them no security—even had their ice-coated slope permitted of their being scaled. But it did not, and if it had, the bears could have scaled the rocks too!

Our Russian hunters were in a complete state of perplexity, and perhaps would not have known how to save themselves, had it not been for their Kurilski comrade. He, however, had conceived an idea—or, rather, had drawn it from old experience; and just at this moment he rushed down the slope, as he did so calling to the others to take to their sledges, and warning them that it was their only chance of escape.

Of course none of them thought of disputing his advice, or even calling it in question; but one and all of them yielded obedience on the instant. Without saying a word, each rushed to his sledge, leaped upon the runners, seated himself in double quick time upon the little crescent-like cradle, seized the "ribbons," and straightened his team to the road.

Had the dogs not been well-trained, and their drivers equally well used to the management of a sledge, their peril would have been extreme. As it was—though all came into their places in good style, and without confusion—they had not a second to spare. The bears were already galloping down the slope; and as the last sledge—which was Pouchskin's—moved off from the bottom of the ridge, the foremost of the roaring pursuers had got within less than six yards of it!

It was now a trial of speed between bears and sledge-dogs—for the latter knew that they were in as much danger as their masters; and needed neither the exclamation Ah! nor the oschtol to urge them forward. On swept they over the frozen crust, as fast as they could go—handling their limbs and claws with the nimbleness peculiar to their race.

The bears followed in a sort of lumbering gallop; yet, notwithstanding their uncouth movements, they kept for a long time close in the rear of the fugitives.

Fortunately they did not possess the speed of the canine race; and at length—seeing that they were being distanced—one after another gave up the chase, and commenced returning towards the lake, slowly, and with apparent reluctance.

Just at this crisis an accident occurred to Pouchskin—or rather Pouchskin committed a mistake—which, had it been made five minutes sooner, would most assuredly have cost him his life. The mistake which Pouchskin made, was to drop the iron end of his "oschtol" on the snowy crust between his sledge and the two dogs nearest to it—the "wheelers" as we may call them. The effect of this, with Kamschatkan sledge-dogs, is to cause the whole team to halt; and so acted the dogs that Pouchskin was driving—all five suddenly coming to a dead stop! Pouchskin endeavoured to urge them forward—crying out the usual signal, Ha; but, in his anxious eagerness, Pouchskin placed the accent after the vowel, instead of before it; and instead of Ha! his exclamation sounded Ah! The latter being the command for the dogs to halt, of course only kept them steady in their places; and they stood without offering to move a leg. By good fortune, the bears had already given up the pursuit, and were not witnesses of this interruption: otherwise it would have gone ill with the ex-grenadier.

In due time the dogs were once more started; and Pouchskin—putting them to their highest rate of speed—soon overtook the sledge-train; which did not come to a halt until a good mile of snow-covered country was between it and the bears.

The hunters only paused then, for a short while, to breathe their panting dogs; and this done, they resumed their seats on the sledges, and continued on to the ostrog—without a thought of going back after the bears.

They had no intention, however, of giving them up entirely. They only drove home to the village—in order to get assistance; and, as soon as their report was delivered, all the men of the settlement—Cossacks, Kurilskis, and half-breeds—turned out armed to the teeth for a grand battue, and proceeded towards the lake with the Governor himself at their head.

The bears were still upon the ground—both the living and the dead—for it was now seen that two of their number had fallen to the shots of our hunters—and upon the former a general fusillade was at once opened, which ended in their complete discomfiture. Five more of them were killed upon the spot; and several others that took to flight were tracked through the snow, and destroyed in their hiding-places. For a week after, there was very little fish eaten in the ostrog of Petropaulouski—which for a long period previous to that time had not witnessed such a carnival.

Of course our Russian hunters came in for their share of the trophies; and, choosing the skin of one of the bears they had themselves shot, they left it with the Governor, to be forwarded via Okhotsk and Yakoutsk, to the distant capital of Saint Petersburg. Shortly after the fur ship carried them to Canton,—whence they might expect to find a passage in a Chinese trading vessel to the grand island of Borneo.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

THE SUN-BEARS.

There are colonies of Chinese settled in different parts of Borneo— whose principal business there is the working of gold and antimony mines. These Chinese colonial settlements—along with numerous others throughout the Oriental islands—are under the protection and direction of a great Mercantile Company called Kung Li—somewhat resembling our own East India Company. In Borneo, the headquarters of this commercial association of the Chinese, is the port and river of Sambos, on the western coast; though they have many other settlements in different parts of the island. Of course, between these colonies and Canton there is a regular traffic; and our travellers found no difficulty in proceeding to Borneo in a Chinese junk which traded direct from Canton to Sambos. At Sambos there is also a Dutch settlement, or "factory," belonging to the Dutch East India Company; and this Company has also two other stations in the island—all, however, occupying a territory of limited extent, compared with the large surface of the island itself. No other European settlements exist in Borneo, if we except an English "agency" lately established at the little island of Labuan; and a settlement at Sarawak, under an English adventurer, who styles himself "Rajah Brooke."

The "rajah" rests his claim to the title and territory of Sarawak on a grant from the Sultan of Borneo (Bruni); and the quid pro quo which he professes to have given, was the having assisted the said Sultan in putting down the "Dyak pirates!" This is the pretence hitherto put forth to the British public; but on a closer inquiry into the facts of this transaction, the story assumes quite a different colour; and it would rather appear, that, instead of assisting to put down piracy in the Bornean waters, the first act of the philanthropic Englishman was to assist the Malay Sultan in enslaving several tribes of inoffensive Dyaks, and forcing them to work without pay in the mines of antimony! This appears to have been the nature of the services that purchased Sarawak. It was, in fact, aiding the pirates, instead of putting them down: since the Bornean Sultan was himself the actual patron and protector of these sea robbers, instead of being their enemy!

The patriot and statesman Hume endeavoured to procure an inquiry into these acts of Oriental filibusterism; but the underhand influence of an unprincipled Administration, backed by an interested commercial clamour, was too strong for him; and the shameful usurpation has been justified.

Notwithstanding that Europeans have been settled for hundreds of years in the islands of the Indian Archipelago—ruling them, as we may almost say—it is astonishing how little is yet known of the great island of Borneo. Only its coasts have been traced, and these very imperfectly. The Dutch have made one or two expeditions into the interior; but much knowledge need not be expected from such trading hucksters as they. Their energies in the East have been expended throughout a period of two centuries, with no other apparent object than to promote dissension, wherever it was possible; and to annihilate every spark of freedom or nobility among the races who have had the misfortune to come in contact with them.

Notwithstanding their opportunities, they have done little to add to our knowledge of Borneo—which was about as well-known a hundred years ago as it is at the present hour.—Never was a subject more ripe for illustration than this magnificent island. It courts a monograph—such as has been given to Sumatra by Marsden, by Tennant to Ceylon, and to Java by Sir Stamford Raffles. Perhaps some one of my young readers may become the author of that monograph?

Teeming with the most gorgeous forms of tropical life—so rich in fauna and flora, that it might be almost regarded as a great zoological and botanical garden combined—it will well repay the scientific explorer, who may scarce find such another field on the face of the earth.

Our young hunters, in contemplating the grand tropical scenery of Borneo, were filled with admiration. The sylva was quite equal to anything they had witnessed on the Amazon; while the fauna—especially in quadrupeds and quadrumana—was far richer.

To one quadruped was their attention more especially directed; and I need hardly say that this was the Bornean bear—by far the most beautiful animal of the whole Bruin family. The Bornean bear is also the smallest of the family—in size, being even less than his near congener, the Malayan bear; though resembling the latter in many particulars. His fur is a jet black, with a muzzle of an orange-yellow colour, and a disc of still deeper orange upon the breast, bearing a certain resemblance to the figure of a heart. The hair is thickly and evenly set over his whole body—presenting the same uniform surface which characterises the black bear of North America, the two species of South America, and also his Malayan cousin—who inhabits the neighbouring islands of Sumatra and Java. For the latter, indeed, he is often taken; and many naturalists consider them as one species—though this is certainly an error. The Bornean bear is not only much less in bulk; but the deep orange-colour on his breast offers a permanent mark of distinction. In the Malayan bear there is also a marking on the breast; but it is of half-moon shape and whitish colour. Besides, the colour of the muzzle in the latter species is only yellowish, not yellow; and the animal altogether is far from being so handsome as the bear of Borneo.

Dr Horsfield, who had good opportunities of observing them both, has pointed out other essential characteristics, which prove conclusively that they are separate species; but the Doctor, guided by his love for generic distinctions, could not rest satisfied, without further ornamenting his task—by constituting for them a new genus, under the title of Helarctos. There is no reason whatever for this inundation of generic names. It has served no good purpose; but, on the contrary, renders the study of natural history more complicated and obscure; and to no family of animals do these remarks more pointedly apply, than to that of the bears. So similar are all these quadrupeds to one another— so perfect is the family likeness between them—that to separate them into different genera is a mere pedantic conceit of the anatomists. There are about a dozen species in all; and the systematic naturalists— who do not even admit that number—have formed for the bears nearly as many genera as there are species,—among which may be mentioned the ridiculous titles of Prochilus, Melursus, Helarctos, and the like.

The Bornean bear is as much a true species of ursus as either the brown bear of Europe, the black bear of North America, or the black bears of the Cordilleras; and, indeed, to these last his habits assimilate him very closely—being, like them, a vegetarian in his diet, and a great lover of sweets.

Of his penchant for honey our young hunters had proof: for, it was while actually engaged in plundering a hive they first saw the Bornean bear. They were at the same time successful in effecting his capture— which is now to be described.



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE TALL TAPANG.

On their arrival at Sambos, our young hunters according to their usual custom, procured a native guide to direct them to the haunts of their game.

In this case it was a Dyak who became their conductor—one of those who follow the business of bee-hunters; and who, from the very nature of their calling, are often brought into contact with the bears as well as the bees.

Under the direction of the Dyak, our hunters made an excursion to a range of wooded hills, not far from Sambos, where the sun-bear was known to exist in great numbers; and where one was likely to be found almost at any time.

As they were passing through the woods, they observed a very singular species of tree—indeed many species, that might be styled singular; but one pre-eminently so, that strongly arrested their attention. These trees did not grow in any great numbers together; but only two or three in one place; and more generally they stood singly—apart from any of their own kind, and surrounded by other trees of the forest. But though surrounded by other sorts, they were overtopped by none. On the contrary, their own tops rose above all the others to a vast height; and, what was most singular, they did not put forth a branch from their trunks until the latter had shot up to some feet above the "spray" of the surrounding forest. It was this peculiarity that had drawn the attention of our hunters. They might not have noticed it, had they kept on under the trees; but, on crossing a slight eminence—where the ground was open—they chanced to get a view of a number of these tall trees, and saw that they towered to a vast height, above all the others.

Even their tops had the appearance of tall trees, standing thinly over the ground—the ground itself being neither more nor less than the contiguous heads of the other trees, that formed the forest. Had this forest been a law jungle, there would have been nothing extraordinary in what they saw; but our hunters had already observed that it was a true forest of grand trees—most of them a hundred feet in height. As the trees which had attracted their admiration rose full fifty feet above the tops of the others, it may be imagined what tall individuals they were. They were slender, too, in proportion to their height; and these stems rising two hundred feet, without a single offshoot or branch upon them, gave the trees the appearance of being still taller than they actually were—just as a thin clean spar, set upright, looks much taller than a hill or a house of the same elevation.

We have said that there were no branches for the first hundred feet or so up the stem. Beyond that there were many and large limbs; which, diverging only slightly, and in a fastigiate manner, carried the tree nearly as much higher. These branches were regularly set; and covered with small, light, green leaves, forming a beautiful round head.

The bark of this tree was white, and by piercing it with a knife, our hunters perceived that it was soft and milky. The wood, too, for some inches below the periphery was so spongy, that the blade of the knife penetrated into it almost as easily as into the stalk of a cabbage.

The wood near the bark was of a white colour. Inwards it became harder; and had they been able to reach the heart, they would have found it very hard, and of a dark chocolate colour. On exposure to the air, this heart-wood turns black as ebony; and is used for similar purposes by the native Dyaks and Malays, who manufacture from it bracelets and other bijouterie.

On asking their Dyak guide the name of this remarkable tree, he said it was called the tapang. This, however, gave no information regarding its species; but Alexis, shortly after, in passing under one, observed some flowers that had fallen from its top; and having examined one of these, pronounced the tree a species of ficus—a very common genus in the islands of the Indian Archipelago.

If our young hunters were filled with admiration at sight of this beautiful tree itself, they shortly after observed something that changed their admiration into wonder. On advancing towards one of the tapangs, they were struck with a singular serrated appearance that showed along the edge of its trunk—from the ground up to the base of its branching head. It looked as if a tall ladder was laid edgeways along the trunk of the tree—one side of it bidden under the bark! On drawing nearer, this appearance was explained. A ladder in reality it was; but one of rare construction; and which could not have been removed from the tree, without taking it entirely to pieces. On closer examination, this ladder proved to be a series of bamboo spikes—driven into the soft trunk in a slightly slanting direction, and about two feet apart, one above the other. The spikes themselves forming the rounds, were each about a foot in length; and held firmly in their places by a bamboo rail—to which their outer ends were attached by means of thin strips of rattan. This rail extended the whole way from the ground to the commencement of the branches.

It was evident that this extemporised ladder had been constructed for the purpose of climbing the tree, but with what object? Upon this head their Dyak guide was the very man to enlighten them: since it was he himself who had made the ladder. The construction of such ladders, and afterwards the climbing of them, were the most essential branches of his calling—which, as already stated, was that of a bee-hunter. His account of the matter was as follows. A large wasp-like bee, which is called lanyeh, builds its nests upon these tall tapangs. The nest consists of an accumulation of pale yellowish wax—which the bees attach to the under-side of the thick branches, so that these may shelter the hive from the rain. To reach these nests, the bamboo ladder is constructed, and the ascent is made—not for the purpose of obtaining the honey alone—but more on account of the wax, out of which the combs are formed. The lanyeh being as much wasp as bee, produces a very small quantity of honey; and that, too, of inferior quality; but the wax is a valuable article, and of this several dollars' worth may be procured from a single hive.

It is dearly earned money—very dearly earned, indeed; but the poor Dyak bee-hunter follows the calling from motives not easily understood—since almost any other would afford him a living, with less labour and certainly with less pain. Pain, indeed! he never succeeds in plundering the store of the lanyeh, without being severely stung by the insects; and though their sting is quite as painful as that of the common wasp, experience seems to have rendered the Dyak almost indifferent to it. He ascends the flimsy ladder without fear—carrying a blazing torch in his hand, and a cane basket on his back. By means of the torch, he ejects the bees from their aerial domiciles; and, then having torn their combs from the branches, he deposits them in his basket—the incensed insects all the while buzzing around his ears, and inflicting numerous wounds over his face and throat, as well as upon his naked arms! Very often he returns to the ground with his head swollen to twice the size it was previous to his going up! Not a very pleasant profession is that of a Bornean bee-hunter!



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

THE BRUANG.

As the party proceeded onward, they observed several other tapang-trees, with ladders attached to them; and at the bottom of one of these—which was the tallest they had yet seen—the guide made a halt.

Taking off his kris, and throwing to the ground an axe, which he had brought along, he commenced ascending the tree.

Our hunters inquired his object. They knew it could not be either honey or wax. There had been a bees' nest upon this tree—as the ladder told—but that had been removed long ago; and there now appeared nothing among the branches that should make it worth while to climb up to them. The answer of the bee-hunter explained his purpose. He was merely ascending to have a lookout over the forest—which in that neighbourhood could not be obtained by any other means than by the climbing of a tapang.

It was fearful to watch the man ascending to such a dizzy height, and with such a flimsy, uncertain support beneath his feet. It reminded them of what they had seen at the Palombiere of the Pyrenees.

The Dyak soon reached the top of the ladder; and for some ten minutes or more clung there—screwing his head around, and appearing to examine the forest on all sides. At length his head rested steadily upon his shoulders; and his gaze appeared to be fixed in one particular direction. He was too distant for the party at the bottom of the tree to note the expression upon his countenance; but his attitude told them that he had made some discovery.

Shortly after he came down; and reported this discovery in laconic phrase, simply saying:—

"Bruang—see him!"

The hunters knew that "bruang" was the Malayan name for bear; and the coincidence of this word with the sobriquet "Bruin" had already led them to indulge in the speculation, as to whether the latter might not have originally come from the East?

They did not stay to think of it then: for the guide, on regaining terra firma, at once started off—telling them to follow him.

After going rapidly about a quarter of a mile through the woods, the Dyak began to advance more cautiously—carefully examining each of the trunks of the tapangs that stood thinly scattered among the other trees.

At one of these he was seen to make an abrupt halt, at the same instant turning his face upward. The young hunters, who were close behind him, could see that there were scratches upon the soft succulent bark, as if caused by the claws of some animal; but, almost as soon as they had made the observation, their eyes were directed to the animal itself.

Away up on the tall tapang—just where its lowest limbs parted from the main stem—a black body could be distinguished. At such a distance it appeared not bigger than a squirrel; but, for all that, it was a Bornean bear; and the spot of vivid orange upon its breast could be seen shining like a coal of fire. Close by its snout a whitish mass appeared attached under the branches. This was the waxen domicile of the lanyeh bees; and a slight mist-like cloud, which hung over the place, was the swarm itself—no doubt engaged in angry conflict with the plunderer of their hive.

The little bear was too busy in the enjoyment of his luscious meal—that is, if the stings of the lanyehs allowed him to enjoy it—to look below; and for some minutes the hunters stood regarding him, without making a movement.

Satisfied with their inspection, they were at length preparing to fire at him; when they were hindered by the Dyak—who, making signs to them to be silent, drew them all back from the tree.

When out of sight of the bear, he counselled them to adopt a different plan. He said—what was true enough—that at such a height they might miss the bear; or, even if they should hit him, a bullet would scarce bring him down—unless it should strike him in a vital part. In the contingency of their missing, or only slightly wounding him, the animal would at once ascend further up into the tapang; and, hidden behind the leaves and branches, might defy them. He would there remain till hunger should force him down; and, since he was just in the act of having his meal, and had, no doubt, been eating from the time he was first espied— or longer, perhaps—he would be in a condition to stay in the tree, until their patience should be more than exhausted.

True, they might fell the tree: they had an axe, and could soon cut the tree down—as the wood was soft; but the Dyak alleged that the bruang in such cases usually contrives to escape. The tapang rarely falls all the way, but only upon the tops of the trees that stand thickly round; and as the Bornean bear can climb and cling like a monkey, he is never shaken out of the branches, but springs from them into some other tree— among the thick leaves of which he may conceal himself; or, by getting to the ground, manage to steal off.

His advice, therefore, was, that the hunters should conceal themselves behind the trunks of the surrounding trees; and, observing silence, wait till the bruang had finished his mellifluous repast, and feel inclined to come down. The Dyak said he would make his descent stern foremost; and, if they acted cautiously, they might have him at their mercy, and almost at the muzzles of their guns.

There was only one of the three who was not agreeable to this plan; and that was the impatient Ivan; but, overruled by the advice of his brother, he also gave his consent to it.

The three now took their respective stands behind three trees—that formed a sort of triangle around the tapang; and the guide, who had no gun, placed himself apart—holding his kris in readiness to finish off the bear, should the animal be only wounded.

There was no danger to be dreaded from the encounter. The little bear of Borneo is only dangerous to the bees and white ants—or other insects—which he is accustomed to lick up with his long tongue. The human hunter has nothing to fear from him, any more than from a timid deer—though he will scratch, and growl, and bite, if too closely approached.

It was just as the Dyak had predicted. The bruang, having finished his meal, was seen coming down the tree tail foremost; and in this way would no doubt have continued on to the ground; but, before he had got halfway down the trunk, Ivan's impatience got the better of him; and the loud bang of his fowling-piece filled the forest with its echoes. Of course it was a bullet that Ivan had fired; and it appeared that he had missed. It was of little use firing also his shot barrel, though he did so immediately after.

The effect of his shots was to frighten the bruang back up the tree; and at the first report he commenced ascending. Almost as rapidly as a cat he swarmed upward; and for a moment the chances of losing him appeared as two to one. But Alexis, who had been watching the restless movements of his brother, had prepared himself for such an issue; and, waiting till the bruang made a pause just under the branches, he fired his rifle with deadlier aim. The bear, in clutching to one of the limbs, had extended his body outward, and this gave the rifleman the chance of aiming at his head. The bullet must have told: for the bear, instead of ascending higher, was seen hanging down from the limb, as if he was clinging to it with enfeebled strength.

At this moment the cannon-like report of Pouchskin's fusil filled the woods with its booming echoes; and Bruin, suddenly relaxing his grasp, came bump down among the hunters—missing Pouchskin by about the eighth part of an inch! Lucky for the old grenadier there was even this much of a miss. It was as good as a mile to him. Had the bear's body descended upon his shoulders, falling from such a height, it would have flattened him out as dead as the bear was himself; and Pouchskin, perceiving the danger from which he had so narrowly escaped, looked as perplexed and miserable as if some great misfortune had actually befallen him!



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

THE CABBAGE-EATER.

Our heroes now, having accomplished their mission to Borneo, were about to cross over to the island of Sumatra; in which—as well as in Java, or upon the mainland of Malacca—they would find the other sun-bear, known as the ursus malayanus; but previous to their departure from Sambos, they obtained information that led them to believe that this species also inhabited the island of Borneo. It was more rarely met with than the orange-breasted variety; but the natives, generally better guides than the anatomists in the matter of specific distinctions, stoutly maintained that there were two kinds; and the Dyak bee-hunter—whose interest had been secured by the ample reward already bestowed upon him—promised them, that if they would go with him to a certain district of country, he would show them the larger species of bruang. From the man's description of it Alexis easily recognised the ursus malayanus— the species they had killed being the ursus euryspilus.

Indeed, had there been any doubt about this matter, it would have been set at rest, by what our travellers saw in the streets of Sambos. There both species were exhibited by the itinerant jugglers—for both the sun-bears can be easily tamed and trained—and these men stated that they had procured the "big bruang," in the woods of Borneo.

Since, then, he was there to be found, why go to Sumatra in search of him? They had still travelling enough before them; and they were beginning to get tired of it. It was natural that—after so long an absence and the endurance of so many perils and hardships—they should be longing for home, and the comforts of that fine palace on the banks of the Neva.

They resolved, therefore, to accompany the Dyak guide on a new expedition.

They were a whole day upon the journey; and just before nightfall reached the place, where the man expected to fall in with the big bruangs. Of course, they could not commence their search before morning. They baited, therefore, and formed camp—their Dyak guide erecting a bamboo hut in less than an hour, and thatching it over with the huge leaves of the wild musaceae.

The place where they had halted was in the midst of a magnificent grove, or rather a forest, of palms; of that kind called nibong by the natives, which is a species of the genus arenga. It is one of the "cabbage" palms; that is, its young leaves before expanding are eaten by the natives as a vegetable after the manner in which Europeans use cabbage. They are of a delicate whiteness, with a sweet nutty flavour; and, in point of excellence, are even superior to those of the cocoa-nut, or even the West India cabbage palm (areca oleracea). But the nibong is put by the Borneans and other natives of the Indian Archipelago to a great variety of uses. Its round stem is employed as uprights and rafters for their houses. Split into lathes, it serves for the flooring. Sugar can be obtained from the saccharine juice of its spadix, which also ferments into an intoxicating beverage; and sago exists in abundance within the trunk. Pens and arrows for blow-guns are also made from the midribs of the side leaves; and, in fact, the arenga saccharifera, like many other palms, serves for an endless variety of purposes.