Complete Writings of Charles Dudley Warner - Volume 3 , livre ebook

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. So many conflicting accounts have appeared about my casual encounter with an Adirondack bear last summer that in justice to the public, to myself, and to the bear, it is necessary to make a plain statement of the facts. Besides, it is so seldom I have occasion to kill a bear, that the celebration of the exploit may be excused.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819942429
Langue	English

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IN THE WILDERNESS HOW SPRING CAME IN NEW ENGLANDCAPTAIN JOHN SMITH POCOHANTAS
IN THE WILDERNESS
HOW I KILLED A BEAR
So many conflicting accounts have appeared about mycasual encounter with an Adirondack bear last summer that injustice to the public, to myself, and to the bear, it is necessaryto make a plain statement of the facts. Besides, it is so seldom Ihave occasion to kill a bear, that the celebration of the exploitmay be excused.
The encounter was unpremeditated on both sides. Iwas not hunting for a bear, and I have no reason to suppose that abear was looking for me. The fact is, that we were both outblackberrying, and met by chance, the usual way. There is among theAdirondack visitors always a great deal of conversation aboutbears, — a general expression of the wish to see one in the woods,and much speculation as to how a person would act if he or shechanced to meet one. But bears are scarce and timid, and appearonly to a favored few.
It was a warm day in August, just the sort of daywhen an adventure of any kind seemed impossible. But it occurred tothe housekeepers at our cottage— there were four of them— to sendme to the clearing, on the mountain back of the house, to pickblackberries. It was rather a series of small clearings, running upinto the forest, much overgrown with bushes and briers, and notunromantic. Cows pastured there, penetrating through the leafypassages from one opening to another, and browsing among thebushes. I was kindly furnished with a six-quart pail, and told notto be gone long.
Not from any predatory instinct, but to saveappearances, I took a gun. It adds to the manly aspect of a personwith a tin pail if he also carries a gun. It was possible I mightstart up a partridge; though how I was to hit him, if he started upinstead of standing still, puzzled me. Many people use a shotgunfor partridges. I prefer the rifle: it makes a clean job of death,and does not prematurely stuff the bird with globules of lead. Therifle was a Sharps, carrying a ball cartridge (ten to the pound), —an excellent weapon belonging to a friend of mine, who hadintended, for a good many years back, to kill a deer with it. Hecould hit a tree with it — if the wind did not blow, and theatmosphere was just right, and the tree was not too far off— nearlyevery time. Of course, the tree must have some size. Needless tosay that I was at that time no sportsman. Years ago I killed arobin under the most humiliating circumstances. The bird was in alow cherry-tree. I loaded a big shotgun pretty full, crept up underthe tree, rested the gun on the fence, with the muzzle more thanten feet from the bird, shut both eyes, and pulled the trigger.When I got up to see what had happened, the robin was scatteredabout under the tree in more than a thousand pieces, no one ofwhich was big enough to enable a naturalist to decide from it towhat species it belonged. This disgusted me with the life of asportsman. I mention the incident to show that, although I wentblackberrying armed, there was not much inequality between me andthe bear.
In this blackberry-patch bears had been seen. Thesummer before, our colored cook, accompanied by a little girl ofthe vicinage, was picking berries there one day, when a bear cameout of the woods, and walked towards them. The girl took to herheels, and escaped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed with terror. Insteadof attempting to run, she sat down on the ground where she wasstanding, and began to weep and scream, giving herself up for lost.The bear was bewildered by this conduct. He approached and lookedat her; he walked around and surveyed her. Probably he had neverseen a colored person before, and did not know whether she wouldagree with him: at any rate, after watching her a few moments, heturned about, and went into the forest. This is an authenticinstance of the delicate consideration of a bear, and is much moreremarkable than the forbearance towards the African slave of thewell-known lion, because the bear had no thorn in his foot.
When I had climbed the hill, — I set up my rifleagainst a tree, and began picking berries, lured on from bush tobush by the black gleam of fruit (that always promises more in thedistance than it realizes when you reach it); penetrating fartherand farther, through leaf- shaded cow-paths flecked with sunlight,into clearing after clearing. I could hear on all sides the tinkleof bells, the cracking of sticks, and the stamping of cattle thatwere taking refuge in the thicket from the flies. Occasionally, asI broke through a covert, I encountered a meek cow, who stared atme stupidly for a second, and then shambled off into the brush. Ibecame accustomed to this dumb society, and picked on in silence,attributing all the wood noises to the cattle, thinking nothing ofany real bear. In point of fact, however, I was thinking all thetime of a nice romantic bear, and as I picked, was composing astory about a generous she-bear who had lost her cub, and whoseized a small girl in this very wood, carried her tenderly off toa cave, and brought her up on bear's milk and honey. When the girlgot big enough to run away, moved by her inherited instincts, sheescaped, and came into the valley to her father's house (this partof the story was to be worked out, so that the child would know herfather by some family resemblance, and have some language in whichto address him), and told him where the bear lived. The father tookhis gun, and, guided by the unfeeling daughter, went into the woodsand shot the bear, who never made any resistance, and only, whendying, turned reproachful eyes upon her murderer. The moral of thetale was to be kindness to animals.
I was in the midst of this tale when I happened tolook some rods away to the other edge of the clearing, and therewas a bear! He was standing on his hind legs, and doing just what Iwas doing, — picking blackberries. With one paw he bent down thebush, while with the other he clawed the berries into his mouth, —green ones and all. To say that I was astonished is inside themark. I suddenly discovered that I didn't want to see a bear, afterall. At about the same moment the bear saw me, stopped eatingberries, and regarded me with a glad surprise. It is all very wellto imagine what you would do under such circumstances. Probably youwouldn't do it: I didn't. The bear dropped down on his forefeet,and came slowly towards me. Climbing a tree was of no use, with sogood a climber in the rear. If I started to run, I had no doubt thebear would give chase; and although a bear cannot run down hill asfast as he can run up hill, yet I felt that he could get over thisrough, brush-tangled ground faster than I could.
The bear was approaching. It suddenly occurred to mehow I could divert his mind until I could fall back upon mymilitary base. My pail was nearly full of excellent berries, muchbetter than the bear could pick himself. I put the pail on theground, and slowly backed away from it, keeping my eye, asbeast-tamers do, on the bear. The ruse succeeded.
The bear came up to the berries, and stopped. Notaccustomed to eat out of a pail, he tipped it over, and nosed aboutin the fruit, “gorming” (if there is such a word) it down, mixedwith leaves and dirt, like a pig. The bear is a worse feeder thanthe pig. Whenever he disturbs a maple-sugar camp in the spring, healways upsets the buckets of syrup, and tramples round in thesticky sweets, wasting more than he eats. The bear's manners arethoroughly disagreeable.
As soon as my enemy's head was down, I started andran. Somewhat out of breath, and shaky, I reached my faithfulrifle. It was not a moment too soon. I heard the bear crashingthrough the brush after me. Enraged at my duplicity, he was nowcoming on with blood in his eye. I felt that the time of one of uswas probably short. The rapidity of thought at such moments ofperil is well known. I thought an octavo volume, had it illustratedand published, sold fifty thousand copies, and went to Europe onthe proceeds, while that bear was loping across the clearing. As Iwas cocking the gun, I made a hasty and unsatisfactory review of mywhole life. I noted, that, even in such a compulsory review, it isalmost impossible to think of any good thing you have done. Thesins come out uncommonly strong. I recollected a newspapersubscription I had delayed paying years and years ago, until botheditor and newspaper were dead, and which now never could be paidto all eternity.
The bear was coming on.
I tried to remember what I had read about encounterswith bears. I couldn't recall an instance in which a man had runaway from a bear in the woods and escaped, although I recalledplenty where the bear had run from the man and got off. I tried tothink what is the best way to kill a bear with a gun, when you arenot near enough to club him with the stock. My first thought was tofire at his head; to plant the ball between his eyes: but this is adangerous experiment. The bear's brain is very small; and, unlessyou hit that, the bear does not mind a bullet in his head; that is,not at the time. I remembered that the instant death of the bearwould follow a bullet planted just back of his fore-leg, and sentinto his heart. This spot is also difficult to reach, unless thebear stands off, side towards you, like a target. I finallydetermined to fire at him generally.
The bear was coming on.
The contest seemed to me very different fromanything at Creedmoor. I had carefully read the reports of theshooting there; but it was not easy to apply the experience I hadthus acquired. I hesitated whether I had better fire lying on mystomach or lying on my back, and resting the gun on my toes. But inneither position, I reflected, could I see the bear until he wasupon me. The range was too short; and the bear wouldn't wait for meto examine the thermometer, and note the direction of the wind.Trial of the Creedmoor method, therefore, had to be abandoned; andI bitterly regretted that I had not read more accounts of o