The Hunters' Feast: Conversations Around the Camp Fire

Chapter Twenty Two.

The Trapper Trapped

“Well, then,” began Redwood, “the thing I’m agoin’ to tell you about, happened to me when I war a younker, long afore I ever thought I was a coming out hyar upon the parairas. I wan’t quite growed at the time, though I was a good chunk for my age.

“It war up thar among the mountains in East Tennessee, whar this child war raised, upon the head waters of the Tennessee River.

“I war fond o’ huntin’ from the time that I war knee high to a duck, an’ I can jest remember killin’ a black bar afore I war twelve yeer old. As I growed up, the bar had become scacer in them parts, and it wan’t every day you could scare up such a varmint, but now and then one ud turn up.

“Well, one day as I war poking about the crik bottom (for the shanty whar my ole mother lived war not on the Tennessee, but on a crik that runs into it), I diskivered bar sign. There war tracks o’ the bar’s paws in this mud, an’ I follered them along the water edge for nearly a mile – then the trail turned into about as thickety a bottom as I ever seed anywhar. It would a baffled a cat to crawl through it.

“After the trail went out from the crik and towards the edge o’ this thicket, I lost all hopes of follerin’ it further, as the ground was hard, and covered with donicks, and I couldn’t make the tracks out no how. I had my idea that the bar had tuk the thicket, so I went round the edge of it to see if I could find whar he had entered.

“For a long time I couldn’t see a spot whar any critter as big as a bar could a-got in without makin’ some sort o’ a hole, and then I begun to think the bar had gone some other way, either across the crik or further down it.

“I war agoin’ to turn back to the water, when I spied a big log lyin’ half out o’ the thicket, with one eend buried in the bushes. I noticed that the top of this log had a dirty look, as if some animal had tramped about on it; an’ on goin’ up and squintin’ at it a little closter, I seed that that guess war the right one.

“I clomb the log, for it war a regular rouster, bigger than that ’n we had so much useless trouble with, and then I scrammelled along the top o’ it in the direction of the brush. Thar I seed the very hole whar the bar had got into the thicket, and thar war a regular beaten-path runnin’ through the brake as far as I could see.

“I jumped off o’ the log, and squeezed myself through the bramble. It war a trail easy enough to find, but mighty hard to foller, I can tell ye. Thar war thistles, and cussed stingin’ nettles, and briars as thick as my wrist, with claws upon them as sharp as fish-hooks. I pushed on, howsomever, feelin’ quite sartin that sich a well-used track must lead to the bar’s den, an’ I war safe enough to find it. In coorse I reckoned that the critter had his nest in some holler tree, and I could go home for my axe, and come back the next morning – if smoking failed to git him out.

“Well, I poked on through the thicket a good three hundred yards, sometimes crouching, and sometimes creeping on my hands and knees. I war badly scratched, I tell you, and now and then I jest thought to myself, what would be the consyquince if the bar should meet me in that narrow passage. We’d a had a tough tussel, I reckon – but I met no bar.

“At last the brash grew thinner, and jest as I was in hopes I might stumble on the bar tree, what shed I see afore me but the face o’ a rocky bluff, that riz a consid’able height over the crik bottom. I begun to fear that the varmint had a cave, and so, cuss him! he had – a great black gulley in the rocks was right close by, and thar was his den, and no mistake. I could easily tell it by the way the clay and stones had been pattered over by his paws.

“Of coorse, my tracking for that day war over, and I stood by the mouth of the cave not knowin’ what to do. I didn’t feel inclined to go in.

“After a while I bethought me that the bar mout come out, an’ I laid myself squat down among the bushes facing the cave. I had my gun ready to give him a mouthful of lead, as soon as he should show his snout outside o’ the hole.

“’Twar no go. I guess he had heard me when I first come up, and know’d I war thar. I laid still until ’twar so dark I thought I would never find my way back agin to the crik; but, after a good deal of scramblin’ and creepin’ I got out at last, and took my way home.

“It warn’t likely I war agoin’ to give that bar up. I war bound to fetch him out o’ his boots if it cost me a week’s hunting. So I returned the next morning to the place, and lay all day in front o’ the cave. No bar appeared, an’ I went back home a cussin’.

“Next day I come again, but this time I didn’t intend to stay. I had fetched my axe with me wi’ the intention of riggin’ up a log trap near the mouth o’ the cave. I had also fetched a jug o’ molasses and some yeers o’ green corn to bait the trap, for I know’d the bar war fond o’ both.

“Well, I got upon the spot, an’ makin’ as leetle rumpus as possible, I went to work to build my trap. I found some logs on the ground jest the scantlin, and in less than an hour I hed the thing rigged an’ the trigger set. ’Twan’t no small lift to get up the big log, but I managed it wi’ a lever I had made, though it took every pound o’ strength in my body. If it come down on the bar I knew it would hold him.

“Well, I had all ready except layin’ the bait; so I crawled in, and was fixin’ the green yeers and the ’lasses, when, jest at that moment, what shed I hear behind me but the ‘sniff’ o’ the bar!

“I turned suddently to see. I had jest got my eye on the critter standin’ right in the mouth o’ his cave, when I feeled myself struck upon the buttocks, and flattened down to the airth like a pancake!

“At the first stroke I thought somebody had hit me a heavy blow from behind, and I wish it had been that. It war wusser than that. It war the log had hit me, and war now lying with all its weight right acrosst my two leg’s. In my hurry to git round I had sprung the trigger, and down comed the infernal log on my hams.

“At fust I wan’t scared, but I war badly hurt. I thought it would be all right as soon as I had crawled out, and I made an attempt to do so. It was then that I become scared in airnest; for I found that I couldn’t crawl out. My legs were held in such a way that I couldn’t move them, and the more I pulled the more I hurt them. They were in pain already with the heavy weight pressin’ upon them, and I couldn’t bear to move them. No more could I turn myself. I war flat on my face, and couldn’t slew myself round any way, so as to get my hands at the log. I war fairly catched in my own trap!

“It war jest about then I began to feel scared. Thar wan’t no settlement in the hul crik bottom but my mother’s old shanty, an’ that were two miles higher up. It war as unlikely a thing as could happen that anybody would be passing that way. And unless some one did I saw no chance of gettin’ clar o’ the scrape I war in. I could do nothin’ for myself.

“I hollered as loud as I could, and that frightened the bar into his cave again. I hollered for an hour, but I could hear no reply, and then I war still a bit, and then I hollered again, an’ kept this up pretty much for the hul o’ that blessed day.

“Thar wan’t any answer but the echo o’ my own shoutin’, and the whoopin’ of the owls that flew about over my head, and appeared as if they war mockin’ me.

“I had no behopes of any relief comin’ from home. My ole mother had nobody but myself, and she wan’t like to miss me, as I’d often stayed out a huntin’ for three or four days at a time. The only chance I had, and I knew it too, war that some neighbour might be strayin’ down the crik, and you may guess what sort o’ chance that war, when I tell you thar wan’t a neighbour livin’ within less than five mile o’ us. If no one come by I knew I must lay there till I died o’ hunger and rotted, or the bar ate me up.

“Well, night come, and night went. ’Twar about the longest night this child remembers. I lay all through it, a sufferin’ the pain, and listening to the screechin’ owls. I could a screeched as loud as any of them if that would a done any good. I heerd now and then the snuffin’ o’ the bar, and I could see thar war two o’ them. I could see thar big black bodies movin’ about like shadows, and they appeared to be gettin’ less afeerd o’ me, as they come close at times, and risin’ up on their hind-quarters stood in front o’ me like a couple o’ black devils.

“I begun to get afeerd they would attack me, and so I guess they would a-done, had not a circumstance happened that put them out o’ the notion.

“It war jest grey day, when one o’ them come so clost that I expected to be attacked by him. Now as luck would have it, my rifle happened to be lyin’ on the ground within reach. I grabbed it without saying a word, and slewin’ up one shoulder as high as I could, I was able to sight the bar jest behind the fore leg. The brute wan’t four feet from the muzzle, and slap into him went wad and all, and down he tumbled like a felled ox. I seed he war as dead as a buck.

“Well, badly as I war fixed, I contrived to get loaded again, for I knowed that bars will fight for each other to the death; and I thought the other might attack me. It wan’t to be seen at the time, but shortly after it come upon the ground from the direction of the crik.

“I watched it closely as it shambled up, having my rifle ready all the while. When it first set eyes on its dead comrade it gave a loud snort, and stopped. It appeared to be considerably surprised. It only halted a short spell, and then, with a loud roar, it run up to the carcass, and sniffed at it.

“I hain’t the least o’ a doubt that in two seconds more it would a-jumped me, but I war too quick for it, and sent a bullet right plum into one of its eyes, that come out again near the back o’ its neck. That did the business, and I had the satisfaction to see it cowollop over nearly on top o’ the other ’n.

“Well, I had killed the bars, but what o’ that. That wouldn’t get me from under the log; and what wi’ the pain I was sufferin’, and the poor prospect o’ bein’ relieved, I thought I mout as well have let them eat me.

“But a man don’t die so long as he can help it, I b’lieve, and I detarmined to live it out while I could. At times I had hopes and shouted, and then I lost hope and lay still again.

“I grew as hungry as a famished wolf. The bars were lying right before me, but jest beyond reach, as if to tantylise me. I could have ate a collop raw if I could a-got hold of it, but how to reach it war the difeeculty.

“Needcesity they say is the mother o’ invention; and I set myself to invent a bit. Thar war a piece o’ rope I had brought along to help me wi’ the trap, and that I got my claws on.

“I made a noose on one eend o’ it, and after about a score o’ trials I at last flung the noose over the head o’ one o’ the bars, and drew it tight. I then sot to work to pull the bar nearer. If that bar’s neck wan’t well stretched I don’t know what you’d call stretchin’, for I tugged at it about an hour afore I could get it within reach. I did get it at last, and then with my knife I cut out the bar’s tongue, and ate it raw.

“I had satisfied one appetite, but another as bad, if not wusser, troubled me. That war thirst – my throat war as dry as a corn cob, and whar was the water to come from. It grew so bad at last that I thought I would die of it. I drawed the bar nearer me, and cut his juglar to see if thar war any relief from that quarter. Thar wan’t. The blood war froze up thick as liver. Not a drop would run.

“I lay coolin’ my tongue on the blade o’ my knife an’ chawin’ a bullet, that I had taken from my pouch. I managed to put in the hul of the next day this away, now and then shoutin’ as hard as I could. Towards the evenin’ I grew hungry again, and ate a cut out o’ the cheek o’ the bar; but I thought I would a-choked for want o’ water.

“I put in the night the best way I could. I had the owls again for company, and some varmint came up and smelt at the bars; but was frightened at my voice, and run away again. I suppose it war a fox or wolf, or some such thing, and but for me would a-made a meal off o’ the bar’s carcass.

“I won’t trouble you with my reflexshuns all that night; but I can assure ye they war anything but pleasant. I thought of my ole mother, who had nobody but me, and that helped to keep up my spirits. I detarmined to cut away at the bar, and hold out as long as possible.

“As soon as day broke I set up my shoutin’ again, restin’ every fifeteen minutes or so, and then takin’ afresh start. About an hour after sun-up, jest as I had finished a long spell o’ screechin’, I thought I heerd a voice. I listened a bit with my heart thumpin’ against my ribs. Thar war no sound; I yelled louder than ever, and then listened. Thar war a voice.

“‘Damn ye! what are ye hollowin’ about?’ cried the voice.

“I again shouted ‘Holloa!’

“‘Who the hell’s thar?’ inquired the voice.

“‘Casey!’ I called back, recognising the voice as that of a neighbour who lives up the crik; ‘for God’s sake this way.’

“‘I’m a-comin’,’ he replied; ‘’Taint so easy to get through hyar – that you, Redwood? What the hell’s the matter? Damn this brush!’

“I heard my neighbour breakin’ his way through the thicket, and strange I tell ye all, but true it is, I couldn’t believe I war goin’ to get clar even then until I seed Casey standin’ in front o’ me.

“Well, of coorse, I was now set free again, but couldn’t put a foot to the ground. Casey carried me home to the shanty, whar I lay for well nigh six weeks, afore I could go about, and damn the thing! I han’t got over it yet.”

So ended Redwood’s story.

Chapter Twenty Three.

The American Deer

During our next day’s journey we fell in with and killed a couple of deer – a young buck and doe. They were the first of these animals we had yet seen, and that was considered strange, as we had passed through a deer country. They were of the species common to all parts of the United States’ territory – the “red” or “fallow” deer (Cervus Virginianus). It may be here remarked that the common deer of the United States, sometimes called “red deer,” is the fallow deer of English parks, that the “elk” of America is the red deer of Europe, and the “elk” of Europe is the “moose” of America. Many mistakes are made in relation to this family of animals on account of these misapplied names.

In North America there are six well-defined species of deer – the moose (Cervus alces); the elk (Cervus Canadensis); the caribou (tarandus); the black-tail or “mule” deer (macrotis); the long-tail (leucurus); and the Virginian, or fallow deer (Virginianus). The deer of Louisiana (Cervus nemoralis) is supposed by some to be a different species from any of the above; so also is the “mazama” of Mexico (Cervus Mexicanus). It is more probable that these two kinds are only varieties of the Genus Virginianus– the difference in colour, and other respects, resulting from a difference in food, climate, and such like causes.

It is probable, too, that a small species of deer exists in the Russian possessions west of the Rocky Mountains, quite distinct from any of the six mentioned above; but so little is yet known of the natural history of these wild territories, that this can only be taken as conjecture. It may be remarked, also that of the caribou (Cervus tarandus) there are two marked varieties, that may almost be regarded in the light of species. One, the larger, is known as the “woodland caribou,” because it inhabits the more southern and wooded districts of the Hudson’s Bay territory; the other, the “barren ground caribou,” is the “reindeer” of the Arctic voyagers.

Of the six well-ascertained species, the last-mentioned (Cervus Virginianus) has the largest geographical range, and is the most generally known. Indeed, when the word “deer” is mentioned, it only is meant. It is the deer of the United States.

The “black-tails” and “long-tails” are two species that may be called new. Though long known to trappers and hunters, they have been but lately described by the scientific naturalist. Their habitat is the “far west” in California, Oregon, the high prairies, and the valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Up to a late period naturalists have had but little to do with these countries. For this reason their fauna has so long remained comparatively unknown.

The geographical disposition of the other four species is curious. Each occupies a latitudinal zone. That of the caribou, or rein deer, extends farthest north. It is not found within the limits of the United States.

The zone of the moose overlaps that of the caribou, but, on the other side, goes farther south, as this species is met with along the extreme northern parts of the United States.

The elk is next in order. His range “dovetails” into that of the moose, but the elk roves still farther into the temperate regions, being met with almost as far south as Texas.

The fourth, the common deer, embraces in his range the temperate and torrid zones of both North and South America, while he is not found in higher latitudes than the southern frontier of Canada.

The common deer, therefore, inhabits a greater area than any of his congeners, and is altogether the best-known animal of his kind. Most persons know him by sight. He is the smallest of the American species, being generally about five feet in length by three in height, and a little more than 100 pounds in weight. He is exceedingly well formed and graceful; his horns are not so large as those of the stag, but, like his, they are annually caducous, falling off in the winter and returning in the spring. They are rounded below, but in the upper part slightly flattened or palmated. The antlers do not rise upward, but protrude forward over the brow in a threatening manner. There is no regular rule, however, for their shape and “set,” and their number also varies in different individuals. The horns are also present only in the male or buck; the doe is without them. They rise from a rough bony protuberance on the forehead, called the “burr.” In the first year they grow in the shape of two short straight spikes; hence the name “spike-bucks” given to the animals of that age. In the second season a small antler appears on each horn, and the number increases until the fourth year, when they obtain a full head-dress of “branching honours.” The antlers, or, as they are sometimes called, “points,” often increase in number with the age of the animal, until as many as fifteen make their appearance. This, however, is rare. Indeed, the food of the animal has much to do with the growth of his horns. In an ill-fed specimen they do not grow to such size, nor branch so luxuriantly as in a well-fed fat buck.

We have said that the horns fall annually. This takes place in winter – in December and January. They are rarely found, however, as they are soon eaten up by the small-gnawing animals.

The new horns begin to grow as soon as the old ones have dropped off. During the spring and summer they are covered with a soft velvety membrane, and they are then described as being “in the velvet.” The blood circulates freely through this membrane, and it is highly sensitive, so that a blow upon the horns at this season produces great pain. By the time the “rutting” season commences (in October), the velvet has peeled off, and the horns are then in order for battle – and they need be, for the battles of the bucks during this period are terrible indeed. – Frequently their horns get “locked” in such conflicts, and, being unable to separate them, the combatants remain in this situation until both perish by hunger, or fall a prey to their natural enemy – the wolf. Many pairs of horns have been found in the forest thus locked together, and there is not a museum in America without this singular souvenir of mutual destruction!

The hair of the American deer is thickly set and smooth on the surface. In winter it grows longer and is of a greyish hue; the deer is then, according to hunter phraseology, “in the grey.” In the summer a new coat is obtained, which is reddish, or calf-coloured. The deer is then “in the red.” Towards the end of August, or in autumn, the whole coat has a blue tinge. This is called “in the blue.” At all times the animal is of a whitish appearance on the throat and belly and insides of the legs. The skin is toughest when “in the red,” thickest “in the blue,” and thinnest “in the grey.” In the blue it makes the best buckskin, and is, therefore, most valuable when obtained in autumn.

The fawns of this species are beautiful little creatures; they are fawn-coloured, and showered all over with white spots which disappear towards the end of their first summer, when they gradually get into the winter grey.

The American deer is a valuable animal. Much of the buckskin of commerce is the product of its hides, and the horns are put to many uses. Its flesh, besides supplying the tables of the wealthy, has been for centuries almost the whole sustenance of whole nations of Indians. Its skins have furnished them with tents, beds, and clothing; its intestines with bowstrings, ball “raquets,” and snow-shoes; and in the chase of this creature they have found almost their sole occupation as well as amusement.

With so many enemies, it is a matter of wonder that this species has not long been extirpated; not only has man been its constant and persevering destroyer, but it has a host of enemies besides, in the cougar, the lynxes, the wolverine, and the wolves.

The last are its worst foes. Hunters state that for one deer killed by themselves, five fall a prey to the wolves. These attack the young and feeble, and soon run them down. The old deer can escape from a wolf by superior speed; but in remote districts, where the wolves are numerous, they unite in packs of eight or ten, and follow the deer as hounds do, and even with a somewhat similar howling. They run by the nose, and unless the deer can reach water, and thus escape them, they will tire it down in the end.

Frequently the deer, when thus followed in winter, makes for the ice, upon which he is soon overtaken by his hungry pursuers.

Notwithstanding all this, the American deer is still common in most of the States, and in some of them even plentiful. Where the wolves have been thinned off by “bounty” laws, and the deer protected during the breeding season by legislative enactments, as is the case in New York, their number is said to be on the increase. The markets of all the great cities in America are supplied with venison almost as cheap as beef, which shows that the deer are yet far from being scarce.

The habits of this creature are well-known. It is gregarious in its natural habitat. The herd is usually led by an old buck, who watches over the safety of the others while feeding. When an enemy approaches, this sentinel and leader strikes the ground sharply with his hoofs, snorts loudly, and emits a shrill whistle; all the while fronting the danger with his horns set forward in a threatening manner. So long as he does not attempt to run, the others continue to browse with confidence; but the moment their leader starts to fly, all the rest follow, each trying to be foremost.

They are timid upon ordinary occasions, but the bucks in the rutting season are bold, and when wounded and brought “to bay,” are not to be approached with impunity. They can inflict terrible blows, both with their hoofs and antlers; and hunters who have come too near them on such occasions have with difficulty escaped being gored to death.