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Chapter Twenty Two
Such the ungentle sport that oft invites
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain.
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights
In vengeance gloating on another’s pain.
Byron.
When I first joined the army, we had a drill sergeant who had been in the Queen of Spain’s service, a most intelligent and agreeable fellow, as I afterwards found out when I was myself promoted and allowed to associate with him; but, while I was a recruit, I would freely have given one of my ears, on one or two occasions, to have been fairly out of his clutches. We were sergeants together, and I, in common with the rest of my brother non-commissioned officers, have been often amused and interested by the relation of his experience in the Spanish service, which by his account is immeasurably inferior to our own; indeed, the treatment to which private soldiers in the Spanish army are subjected, would soon incite the British army to open mutiny. My friend was a commissioned officer in Spain, but I have frequently heard him say that he would much prefer to be a private dragoon in the British army. He was about thirty-five years of age when I enlisted, standing about 5 feet 9 inches high, with jet-black curly hair and an olive complexion set off by a handsome soldier-like figure. His word of command to young recruits was divested of that croaking harshness and fierce demeanour so predominant with drill-corporals, sergeants, and adjutants generally; still he was very severe and very exacting, for the slightest appearance of carelessness or inattention he would report a recruit and get him punished. This, however, arose from excessive zeal more than an unkindly disposition, and he never made an enemy who remained so for many hours. He never alluded to his family, and his name – which I forbear to mention – was generally understood to be assumed, but it was evident he was well bred and well educated. After my promotion to the rank of full sergeant, I was necessarily thrown more into his society, particularly at the sergeants’ mess (for sergeants have a mess and dine together as well as officers), where I have often listened with a great degree of interest to his stories of bull-fights in the amphitheatres of Madrid, which I do not particularly remember to repeat, but his relation of a fight between a full-grown Bengal tiger and three bulldogs at Havana I perfectly well remember. He said, “I took my seat in the amphitheatre, in front and within forty feet of the tiger, who was perfectly quiet in a cage about twenty-four feet long and fifteen feet wide, at times walking about, apparently indifferent to the noise which the multitude made around him. Some circus performances were first introduced, after which a couple of trained elephants went through some novel antics, one of them turning the handle of a barrel-organ, while the other danced to a lively Spanish air. These performances occupied about an hour; the three dogs matched to fight the tiger were then introduced, and the instant they caught the eye of the tiger he gave a loud roar, and lashed his tail angrily from side to side. The dogs were of the purest bull breed. One was a brindle, with his ears and tail cut, and of large size; the second dog had neither his ears nor tail trimmed, but he had a very ferocious look – he was all white, and looked as if ready to fight to the death; the third dog was black, with long tail and ears, but had nothing very striking in his appearance beyond a powerful frame and a set of blackguard-looking teeth, always visible through the shortness of his upper lip. I had anticipated seeing the large bloodhounds of the island, one of which weighs as much as all these three, and when I saw these I felt that the tiger would easily conquer them. Boards being placed through the bars of the cage as a partition, the dogs were put in one part, while the tiger was in the other.
“The moment the dogs were put in the cage, all the combatants became infuriate. The tiger, with the hair on his back bristling, rushed to the partition, and the dogs were anxious to get at him. While removing the boards to give them the satisfaction of meeting, the tiger thrust his paw under the board, which was at once seized by the white dog; the board was immediately withdrawn, all pitched in, and the fight grew fast and furious. The white dog was most active, and attacked his monster adversary with great pluck. The tiger vented his first act of anger upon him, giving him a bite in the back of the neck which injured him severely, but, pressing on with a courage which could not be exceeded, he received another wound which evidently touched his spine, and rendered him almost entirely hors de combat, as he could not do any further damage, but he was game to the last. While the blood was flowing from his neck, and he staggering and constantly falling from the injury to his spine, he still endeavoured to assist his brothers in the fray. At the time the white dog was engaging the attention of the tiger, the black had fastened his teeth in his flank, and the brindle was assailing him about the neck. He did not notice the black, but gave the brindle an ugly stroke with his paw. The tiger appeared surprised at such rough treatment, he leaped over all the dogs, and would have run off, if he could have got away; but the dogs followed him up, and now a regular ‘rough-and-tumble’ fight ensued, the black again fastening on the flank of the tiger. The fight had lasted about five minutes, and the tiger began to show signs of giving up. He lay down apparently exhausted, the white dog was disabled, but the black was busily engaged worrying the tiger’s flank, and the brindle was tearing away at his neck and shoulders, but presently he rallied, and gave the brindle a crushing blow with his paw, which, although it did not kill the dog outright, so disabled him that he had nothing more to do with the fight. Black was all this time worrying at the tiger’s flank and hind-legs.
“At length the tiger sprang into a corner of the cage, when the dog caught him by the under jaw and gave him a severe bite, but the tiger shut down his upper jaw upon the dog’s head, and gave him a severe wound. At this time active hostilities ceased. The tiger was evidently willing for an armistice, and quietly lay down in a corner of the cage to lick his wounds; the dogs, however, disabled as they were, staggered up to him and vainly attempted to renew the contest, but the tiger after a snap or blow of his paw ran to another part of the cage.
“There was much excitement evinced by the owner of the dogs, who claimed the victory on the ground that the tiger had run and would not continue the fight. True, he had run, and would probably have run away soon after the fight commenced, could he have done so, but he was not beaten – he was still in good condition, while all the dogs were more or less disabled.
“The nature of all the cat species is to run away, and fight on the defensive; they will spring upon an enemy, fight, run off, and steal back again to spring, fight, and run away. The bulldog has no such traits – he knows only to stand up and fight, to conquer or die. It was decided a drawn battle by the referee.
“The dogs were taken out of the cage, the brindle and the white being carried out of the amphitheatre on a litter, the tiger never taking his eyes off them all the time. The black dog was able to walk away, though sadly mangled. The tiger, after the departure of his visitors, walked about his cage in his ordinary way, as though nothing had happened to him, although he must certainly have felt sore about the flanks and hind-quarters. The fight lasted altogether about twenty minutes.”
Chapter Twenty Three
There through the piny forest half absorbed,
Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear
… stalks forlorn;
Slow-paced and sourer as the storms increase,
He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift,
And with stern patience scorning weak complaints
Hardens his heart against the assailing storms.
Thomson.
My friend the sergeant had, at some period prior to his enlistment into our corps, been to the gold diggings in California, probably from Mexico, where I believe he was born of English parents, though nothing could be ascertained in regard to his origin. The stories he told at various times would have filled a tolerable sized volume, and, had I ever thought of writing these pages, I would have preserved notes of his most interesting adventures, which he was ever ready to relate to us, either in barrack, camp, or on the line of march.
One particular story, in reference to trapping a grizzly bear, I have heard him relate so often that I can repeat it in almost his own words.
My readers should first be informed that the grizzly bear is the largest and most powerful wild beast that ranges the wilds of North America. The early pioneers of the route across the Rocky Mountains to Oregon and California, told of the wondrous size of these animals, and their reports were looked upon as fables until later research confirmed their truth.
The grizzly is found throughout the whole range of the Rocky Mountains from Mexico to British Columbia, but he attains the largest size in New Mexico and Upper California. Unlike most other bears, the grizzly cannot climb a tree; the method of hunting him is mostly with dogs trained for the purpose – a pack, consisting of a dozen small terriers and four large mastiffs or bull-dogs, being best suited for the sport, if sport it can be called, which involves so great a risk of life. This bear, being a heavy limbed and sluggish brute, seldom travels far from his wonted haunts, although he can go very fast when pressed or in pursuit of his prey, of which he is not very particular in the selection. Buffalo, wild horses, deer, or man, are alike acceptable to him. He will crush in the head of the largest buffalo with a single stroke of his paw, and, throwing it across his back, carry it for miles to his lair.
The sergeant stated that the Indians talk of bears of this species that have inhabited the same region for many years, and, as they live in deadly fear of the monsters, the advent of a party of grizzly-hunters is most welcome to them, and they willingly render all the service in their power in the hunt, but retire in fear when the game is brought to a stand. When pressed by hunters, the bear generally takes refuge in a thicket of bushes among the rocks, where it is hardly possible to get a shot at him; and, indeed, it is of little use shooting at this stage of the hunt, for, unless you can hit him in the eye, his skull will turn an ounce bullet as if it were a putty-ball. The skin is so thick, and so well covered with hair and fur, that it is almost impenetrable, and, unless you can hit him just beneath and behind the shoulder, you might as well spare your powder.
When his retreat is discovered, the large dogs are held fast and the little terriers turned into the thicket; they yelp, snap at his heels, then fall back to avoid the strokes of his paws. Thus they worry and tease him for hours. Meanwhile his roars of anger, loud as thunder, seem to shake the very earth; sometimes the small dogs approach too near his head, and receive the penalty of their temerity in the form of a stroke which leaves them a mangled and lifeless mass, bearing little resemblance to the canine species. When the bear becomes completely tired, he seats himself upon his haunches, and turns this way and that, so as to always keep his face to the dogs. Now a hunter creeps stealthily up and endeavours to plant a ball in a vulnerable spot. If he succeeds in getting a clear sight of the bear, he generally wounds him, and he then breaks cover. The large dogs are now loosed, and fasten on him in the rear; the riflemen drop their shot at him, taking care to miss the dogs.
It often requires hours to overcome the monster, whose tenacity of life is most wonderful. This is accounted for by the fact that the heart of the bear is thickly covered with fat, which prevents its bleeding; there is also a coat of fat just beneath the skin, which closes after the passage of the ball and prevents the blood flowing.
The sergeant used to commence his story as follows: —
“In the autumn of the year 1846 (being then only seventeen years old), I was encamped with a party of gold-diggers upon the head of the Sacramento River, at the western base of the California range of mountains. Our party consisted of a dozen men, myself being about the youngest; we were living in a small cabin constructed of poles and logs, and a happy, merry lot we were. All were engaged in washing the glittering gold-dust from the bed of the river, save a friend and myself, who were assigned the duty of victualling the camp with game and fish, now and then making a trip of four or five days’ duration to a trading port about sixty miles down the river, for tea, sugar, ammunition, etc. My friend, a young Irishman, generally went with me; we rode a couple of mustangs (horses bred in a wild state), and led or drove two pack-mules.
“The ‘Emeralder’ and myself had formed a project to secure a menagerie of wild native animals, and adjoining our lodge we had a large cage, in the compartments of which were wolves, foxes, California lions, pumas, panthers, and a host of smaller fry, including birds. These we had, for the most part, secured when very young. We had long been most anxious to get a specimen of the ‘grizzly,’ but all our efforts in that way had failed. One morning, while we were at breakfast, a Mexican hide-dealer, who lived in a cabin a few miles from us, and from whom we had purchased several animals, called on us accompanied by four or five half-naked Indians, and told us that a large ‘grizzly,’ called by the natives ‘Mountain Thunder,’ had come down from the hills during the night and made a supper of a fat ox belonging to the Mexican. The Indians we had met in our hunting excursions had frequently told us of this monster. According to their reports he must have been near one hundred years of age, and of a size that a bear had never before attained. Their fathers had known that he lived years before they were born. This was not unlikely, for bears live to a great age; even in captivity they have been known to live a hundred years. We set out for the cabin of the Mexican. Near the house was the cattle-yard, the scene of the last night’s affair. The yard covered an area of about an acre, surrounded by a stout fence formed of large poles or stakes driven into the ground, and about ten feet high; within this the stock were all driven at night to preserve them from the attacks of bears, wolves, etc. On the side of the yard farthest from the dwelling, Bruin had made his entrance and left full proof of his strength behind him. Three or four large posts, about twelve inches in diameter, were torn from the earth in which they had been firmly planted to the depth of four feet; one had been broken at the surface of the ground, apparently by a stroke of the bear’s paw, as the indentures of his claws were an inch deep in the solid timber.
“After seizing the ox, he had thrown him on his back and decamped. We followed his track up the banks of a small stream towards the mountains for some miles. I measured the prints of his hind-feet in the soft clay, and found they were eighteen inches in length from the heel to the mark of his claws, and a little over nine inches wide.
“As we ascended the stream the course became more narrow and rocky, with a dense thicket of rough bushes clothing the hills on each side. Here the bear had made his feast; a few bones, horns, and hoofs, were all that was left, the wolves having eaten what the bear had left; some of the larger bones had been crushed like straws by his powerful grinders. After his brief banquet he had taken to the hills, where the party, with the exception of the Emeralder and myself, declined to follow him. After a brief consultation we determined to capture the ‘grizzly’ alive, if possible, and we set out on our return to our own cabin to complete our arrangements. The idea was scouted by our companions, but we determined to make the attempt. We felt sure, from the many footmarks, that the ravine was a favourite walk of the bear, and that he would return to the cattle-yard again in the course of a few nights. Loading our mules with tools at the lodge, we returned to the ravine and selected a suitable place where timber was plentiful. We then set about felling trees, and constructed a pen of logs about twenty feet square and six feet high, covering it with large poles, all firmly pinned together, and lashed with the bark of the ‘leather wood.’ It was midnight when we completed our task, and we could take no further proceedings that night. The next morning we returned, bringing with us a yearling heifer as a bait. We now raised one side of the pen about four feet, and placed a ‘figure four,’ or what is there termed a ‘dead-fall’ trap, beneath it, so arranged that, by pulling a cord attached to the ‘spindle,’ the edifice would come down with a run. We next staked the yearling under the cage, giving her plenty of grass, and led our cord out several yards down the stream, making it fast to a small tree which commanded a view of our trap, and in the branches of this tree one of us was to remain, ready to pull the cord, each night, until Bruin was captured. We fitted up a dry cave with buffalo-skins, near by, as a sleeping apartment.
“We watched two nights without success, passing a portion of our time in the day, when not sleeping, in fishing, cooking, and cutting grass for the heifer. About the middle of the third night, I was perched in my tree – the Emeralder had just retired to rest – when I heard a rustling of the bushes on the hill-side above me, and a low growl, which was unmistakably a signal of Bruin’s approach. My companion heard it as well, and put his head out of the cave. I motioned him to remain quiet. Soon the bear came slowly down into the ravine below me, and walked into the water-course to drink. When he emerged from the shelter of the bush into the bright moonlight, I was astonished at his size; he seemed like an elephant cut off at the knees. He took a drink, snuffing the water and the air around him, as if his instinct told him all was not right. I was fearful that he would go down the stream towards the Mexican’s cattle-yard, and thus we should lose him.
“The proximity of the bear alarmed the yearling; as if from instinct, she gave a low bellow of terror. Bruin caught the sound, and started off in a trot in the direction of the trap. He passed directly under my perch, stopping for a moment as if he scented me, which he no doubt did; and if I was not frightened, I certainly felt better when he moved on. I watched him until he reached the cage, around which he walked to reconnoitre. His love of veal soon overcame whatever scruples he might have had as to the nature of the structure, and my heart went pit-a-pat as I saw him stoop and crawl under the raised side.
“I waited until I heard the doomed calf’s bellow of pain; then I gave the cord a strong pull. With a crash, the machine came down; and the bear gave such a roar as I never heard before, or care to hear again. He made good his Indian title of ‘Mountain Thunder.’
“The terrible sound rolled down through the ravine, and was echoed from hill to hill like the reports from a battery of artillery. Wolves, panthers, and hundreds of birds answered the sound with screams of terror in every direction. In a trice my mate and myself were on the spot, shouting with delight at our good fortune. We drove some large stakes, which we had previously prepared, into the earth, and lashed our cage firmly to them.
“Meanwhile, the bear was rushing about the trap, tearing and crushing the poor yearling to atoms, biting and breaking the timber which had formed the ‘figure four,’ as if he knew it was the author of his woes. We made a fire, and watched by him until morning. By this time he had found all his efforts to escape futile, and he stood in a corner of the cage with his nose to the ground in sullen silence.
“At daylight my mate left me on guard, while he returned to the cabin to make arrangements for moving him. Towards mid-day the bear ate up what was left of the calf, and laid himself down, first scratching a large hole in the ground, in which he wallowed like a pig. I had a visit during the day from the Mexican and Indians, who were much astonished and rejoiced at our success.
“The second day after the capture, the Emeralder returned with our friends from the cabin, who were wonder-struck at the huge size of our prize. They brought with them a large cage constructed, at the cabin, of heavy bars of lancewood, rudely but strongly secured with iron. It was mounted upon one of the heavy waggons we had brought from Saint Louis across the plains, and drawn by six oxen.
“We managed to fasten the bar into one side of the trap by shoving poles through; then we cut an opening in the other side big enough for his egress. We then sank the wheels into the soil, bringing the door of the cage down to the opening of the trap; then, by using burning firebrands, we forced Bruin into the cage on the waggon, and secured him.
“Over a bottle of whisky we christened him, in our style, after his Indian name, ‘Mountain Thunder,’ by which title he was afterwards well known throughout California. We gave him some water, which he drank eagerly; and, after satisfying himself of the strength of his new lodgings, he lay sullenly down, and gave no further trouble. On reaching the cattle-yard, we gave him the carcase of a sheep, which he soon ate up, bones and all. In a few days after our arrival at the camp, the bear appeared perfectly reconciled to his new position. He ate, drank, and slept well, and at times appeared inclined to gambol, if he had room enough.
“The Emeralder and myself, a few weeks after the capture of the bear, bade adieu to our gold-seeking friends, and with a small train of wild-beast waggons took our line of march for Sacramento City, where we made plenty of money by exhibiting our menagerie.
“While there a Mexican butcher made a wager that his six large bull-dogs could ‘flax out’ ‘Mountain Thunder.’ A huge amphitheatre was constructed, and Bruin turned loose; we had over one thousand visitors that day, at one dollar per head. The six dogs, of the largest size, trained and used to throwing wild cattle on the plains for the butcher’s knife, were turned in and resolutely attacked the bear with great pluck. In about six minutes six mangled masses of dog’s meat were strewed about the amphitheatre, while the bear had not a visible scratch. ‘Mountain Thunder’ was weighed at Sacramento, and found to pull down eighteen hundred and sixty pounds.
“We next went to San Francisoo, where we reaped a rich harvest, and afterwards shaped our course for the city of Mexico, where ‘Mountain Thunder’ fought a battle with a fierce Spanish bull in the bull-ring. The bull gored him slightly in the mouth, which enraged him to the highest pitch of ferocity, and giving him one blow of his paw he sent him flying across the ring, with his back and shoulder broken and his ribs crushed in. The bear performed a similar fête at Vera Cruz, where he was shipped for New Orleans. Here we chartered all the ferry-boats plying between New Orleans and the opposite side of the Mississippi for one day, and leased the race-course at Algiers for the same period. We then advertised that ‘Mountain Thunder’ would fight a bull on that day, and the speculation turned out a success. I first thought the bear would be killed, he appeared so very slow and stupid. The bull, a large and fierce black one, plunged his horns against his ribs, nearly upsetting him; even then he did not seem disposed to resent it, and not till he came again did he show signs of pluck; then as the bull came bellowing on, with eyes flashing fire and head to the earth, Bruin coolly raised one paw and struck him between the eyes. The blow was terrific; blood and brains flew from his ears and nose, and on examination it was found that the entire front of his skull was crushed in and his neck broken.
“The Emeralder and myself finally sold ‘Mountain Thunder’ to winter in a museum at Cincinnati; the various other animals and birds were also taken at a good price by the Curator. We divided the money equally, and found ourselves in possession of thirteen hundred pounds each.”
