The Hunters' Feast: Conversations Around the Camp Fire

Chapter Thirteen.

A ’Coon-Chase

“My ’coon-chase took place in Tennessee, where I was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. It was the first affair of the kind I had been present at, and I was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. My companion and inductor was a certain ‘Uncle Abe,’ a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own Jake here.

“I need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the Western States every neighbourhood has its noted ’coon-hunter. He is usually a wary old ‘nigger,’ who knows all the tricks and dodges of the ’coon. He either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master’s, in that peculiar line. It is of little importance what breed the dog may be. I have known curs that were excellent ‘’coon-dogs.’ All that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a ’coon when taken. This a very small dog cannot do, as the ’coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. Mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best ‘’coon-dogs.’

“Uncle Abe was the mighty hunter, the Nimrod of the neighbourhood in which I happened to be; and Uncle Abe’s dog – a stout terrier – was esteemed the ‘smartest ’coon-dog’ in a circle of twenty miles. In going out with Uncle Abe, therefore, I had full confidence that I should see sport.

“On one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered ‘bottom’, through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a ‘creek.’ This bottom was a favourite habitat of the ’coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. Moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (Vitis Labrusca), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond.

“To this bottom, then, we directed our course, Abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, Pompo, in the leash Abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while I had armed myself with a double-barrel. Pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free.

“We had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. Between this and the timber was a zigzag fence – the common ‘rail’ fence of the American farmer. For some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek ‘bottom,’ where the ’coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place.

“We did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. Abe knew better than that. The young corn was just then ‘in the milk,’ and the ’coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. It was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field.

“It was now night – two hours after sundown. The ’coon-chase, I have already said, is a nocturnal sport. The raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. He often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. I have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. Perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. We had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. During the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or ’coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. The dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. Nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. A view of a ’coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls.

“Pompo was now let loose in the corn; while Abe and I walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. Abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high – a regular ‘ten rail, with stalks and riders.’ A ’coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help.

“We had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from Pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field.

“‘A varmint!’ cried Abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. I could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers.

“‘A varmint, massa!’ repeated Abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself.

“I knew that in Abe’s vocabulary – for that night at least – a ‘varmint’ meant a ’coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, I felt all the excitement of a ’coon-chase.

“It was not a long one – I should think of about five minutes’ duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. On hearing this, Abe quietly announced —

“‘The varmint am treed.’

“Our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the ’coon taken shelter in?

“This was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. If a very large tree, we might whistle for the ’coon. Abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result.

“The bark of Pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. It was not likely, therefore, that the ’coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. Our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not ‘hollow.’ In that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. Abe had but little hope.

“‘He hab reach him own tree, massa; an’ that am sartin to be a big un wi’ a hole near um top. Wagh! ’twar dat ar fence. But for de dratted fence ole Pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. Wagh!’

“From this I learned that one point in the character of a good ’coon-dog was speed. The ’coon runs well for a few hundred yards. He rarely strays farther from his lair. If he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. There is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous ’coon-hunter would not think of attempting. The labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen ’coons. A swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree – often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. Sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below.

“In Abe’s opinion Pompo would have ‘treed’ his ’coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now —

“‘Told ye so, massa!’ muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Look dar! dar’s de tree – trunk thick as a haystack. Wagh!’

“I looked in the direction indicated by my companion. I saw Pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. Before I had time to make any farther observations Abe’s voice again sounded in my ears.

“‘Gollies! it am a buttonwood! Why, Pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake – de varmint ain’t dar, ’Cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood – nebber – you oughter know better’n dat, ole fool!’

“Abe’s speech drew my attention to the tree. I saw that it was the American sycamore (Platanus Occidentalis), familiarly known by the trivial name, ‘buttonwood,’ from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. But why should the ’coon not ‘tree’ upon it, as well as any other? I put the question to my companion.

“‘’Cause, massa, its bark am slickery. De varmint nebber takes to ’im. He likes de oak, an’ de poplum, an’ de scaly-bark. Gosh! but he am dar!’ continued Abe, raising his voice, and looking outward – ‘Look yonder, massa! He had climb by de great vine. Dat’s right, Pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga’s a fool. Hee – up, ole dog! hee – up!’

“Following the direction in which Abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. This had no doubt been the ladder by which the ’coon had climbed.

“This discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. The ’coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. The trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it.

“We left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field.

“The dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another ‘varmint’ might have stolen into the corn.

“Our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. Pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second ’coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods.

“Pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this ’coon was also ‘treed’ in a few minutes.

“From the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the ‘varmints’ had taken to the same tree!

“With some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third ’coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber.

“Pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game.

“We ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. If our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. The identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! The third ’coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity.

“‘Wagh! massa!’ ejaculated Abe, in a voice of terror, ‘its de same varmint. It ain’t no ’coon, it’s de debil! For de lub o’ God, massa, let’s get away from here!’

“Of course I followed his advice, as to get at the ’coons was out of the question.

“We returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of ’coons. It was still early, however, and I was determined not to give up the hunt until I had assisted in killing a ’coon. By Abe’s advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. Some ’coon might be prowling there in search of birds’ nests. So thought Abe.

“He was right in his conjecture. A fourth was started, and off went Pompo after him. In a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. This time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree.

“It proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground.

“We were now sure of him, as we thought; and I had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the ’coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with Pompo veiling in his track.

“Of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber.

“We hastened forward, guided by the barking. To the extreme of my astonishment, and I fancy to the very extreme of Abe’s terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood.

“Abe’s wool stood on end. Superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but I am satisfied that he believed, that all the four ’coons were one and the same individual, and that individual ‘de debil.’

“Great ’coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if I had let him. But I had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. I was roused by the repeated disappointment. A new resolve had entered my mind. I was determined to get the ’coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. The tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it.

“With this determination I caught hold of Abe’s axe, and struck the first blow. To my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. I repeated the stroke. The sharp axe went crashing inwards. The tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where I had commenced chopping, it was but a shell.

“A few more blows, and I had made a hole large enough to put a head through. Felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and I saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. The tree must come down.

“Abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. Abe was a ‘first hand’ at ‘chopping,’ and the hole soon gaped wider.

“‘If de hole run clar up, massa,’ said he, resting for a moment, ‘we can smoke out de varmint – wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. S’pose we try ’im, massa?’

“‘Good!’ cried I, catching at Abe’s suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds.

“The smoke soon did its work. We saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the ’coon hole – at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. We heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. Another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward!

“The scene that followed was indescribable. I had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a ‘squirrel’s jump.’ Two of the ’coons came to the ground, badly wounded. Pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while Abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner.

“The other two ran back into the ‘funnel,’ but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. We succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what Abe declared to be the greatest ‘’coon-chase on de record.’

“As it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the ‘back track to hum.’”

Chapter Fourteen.

Wild Hogs of the Woods

Next day while threading our way through a patch of oak forest – the ground covered thickly with fallen leaves – we were startled by a peculiar noise in front of us. It was a kind of bellows-like snort, exactly like that made by the domestic swine when suddenly affrighted.

Some of the party cried out “bear,” and of course this announcement threw us all into a high state of excitement. Even the buffalo itself would be but secondary game, when a bear was upon the ground.

The “snuff” of the bear has a very considerable resemblance to that of terrified hogs, and even our guides were deceived. They thought it might be “bar” we had heard.

It proved we were all wrong. No wonder we fancied the noise resembled that made by hogs. The animal that uttered it was nothing else than a wild boar.

“What!” you will exclaim, “a wild boar in the forests of Missouri? Oh! a peccary I suppose.”

No, not a peccary; for these creatures do not range so far north as the latitude of Missouri – not a wild boar, neither, if you restrict the meaning of the phrase to the true indigenous animal of that kind. For all that, it was a wild boar, or rather a boar ran wild. Wild enough and savage too it appeared, although we had only a glimpse of its shaggy form as it dashed into the thicket with a loud grunt. Half a dozen shots followed it. No doubt it was tickled with some of the “leaden hail” from the double-barrelled guns, but it contrived to escape, leaving us only the incident as a subject for conversation.

Throughout the backwoods there are large numbers of half-wild hogs, but they are usually the denizens of woods that are inclosed by a rail-fence, and therefore private property. One part of the year they are tamer, when a scarcity of food renders it necessary for them to approach the owner’s house, and eat the corn placed for them in a well-known spot. At this season they answer to a call somewhat similar to the “milk oh!” of the London dairyman, but loud enough to be heard a mile or more through the woods. A traveller passing through the backwoods’ settlements will often hear this singular call sounding afar off in the stillness of the evening.

These hogs pick up most of their subsistence in the forest. The “mast” of the beech-tree, the nut of the hickory, the fruit of the Chinquapin oak, the acorn, and many other seeds and berries, furnish them with food. Many roots besides, and grasses, contribute to sustain them, and they make an occasional meal off a snake whenever they can get hold of one. Indeed it may be safely asserted, that no other cause has contributed so much to the destruction of these reptiles, as the introduction of the domestic hog into the forests of America. Wherever a tract of woods has been used as the “run” of a drove of hogs, serpents of every kind become exceedingly scarce, and you may hunt through such a tract for weeks without seeing one. The hog seems to have the strongest antipathy to the snake tribe; without the least fear of them. When one of the latter is discovered by a hog, and no crevice in the rocks, or hollow log, offers it a shelter, its destruction is inevitable. The hog rushes to the spot, and, bounding forward, crushes the reptile under his hoof’s. Should the first attempt not succeed, and the serpent glide away, the hog nimbly follows, and repeats his efforts until the victim lies helpless. The victor then goes to work with his powerful jaws, and quietly devours the prey.

The fondness of the hog for this species of food proves that in a state of nature it is partially a carnivorous animal. The peccary, which is the true representative of the wild hog in America – has the very same habit, and is well-known to be one of the most fatal enemies of the serpent tribe to be found among American animals.

The hog shows no fear of the snake. His thick hide seems to protect him. The “skin” of the rattle-snake or the “hiss” of the deadly “moccasin,” are alike unheeded by him. He kills them as easily as he does the innocent “chicken snake” or the black constrictor. The latter often escapes from its dreaded enemy by taking to a bush or tree; but the rattle-snake and the moccasin are not tree-climbers, and either hide themselves in the herbage and dead leaves, or retreat to their holes.

It is not true that the hog cats the body of the snake he has killed, leaving the head untouched, and thus avoiding the poisoned fangs. He devours the whole of the creature, head and all. The venom of the snake, like the “curari” poison of the South-American Indians, is only effective when coming in contact with the blood. Taken internally its effects are innoxious – indeed there are those who believe it to be beneficial, and the curari is often swallowed as a medicine.

Most of this information about the half-wild hogs of the backwoods was given by our Kentucky comrade, who himself was the proprietor of many hundreds of them. An annual hog-hunt was part of the routine of his life. It was undertaken not merely for the sport of the thing – though that was by no means to be despised – and the season of the hog-hunting is looked forward to with pleasant anticipation by the domestics of the plantation, as well as a few select friends or neighbours who are invited to participate in it.

When the time arrives, the proprietor, with his pack of hounds, and accompanied by a party mounted and armed with rifles, enters the large tract of woodland – perhaps miles in extent, and in many places covered with cane-brakes, and almost impenetrable thickets of undergrowth. To such places the hogs fly for shelter, but the dogs can penetrate wherever hogs can go; and of course the latter are soon driven out, and forced into the more open ground, where the mounted men are waiting to receive them with a volley of bullets. Sometimes a keen pursuit follows, and the dogs in full cry are carried across the country, over huge logs, and through thickets and ravines, followed by the horsemen – just as if an old fox was the game pursued.

A large waggon with drivers and attendants follows the chase, and in this the killed are deposited, to be “hauled” home when the hunt is over.

This, however, often continues for several days, until all, or at least all the larger hogs, are collected and brought home, and then the sport terminates. The produce of the hunt sometimes amounts to hundreds – according to the wealth of the proprietor. Of course a scene of slaughtering and bacon-curing follows. A part of the bacon furnishes the “smoke-house” for home consumption during the winter; while the larger part finds its way to the great pork-market of Cincinnati.

The Kentuckian related to us a curious incident illustrating the instinct of the swinish quadruped; but which to his mind, as well as to ours, seemed more like a proof of a rational principle possessed by the animal. The incident he had himself been witness to, and in his own woodlands. He related it thus: —

“I had strayed into the woods in search of a wild turkey with nothing but my shot-gun, and having tramped about a good bit, I sat down upon a log to rest myself. I had not been seated live minutes when I heard a rustling among the dead leaves in front of me. I thought it might be deer, and raised my gun; but I was greatly disappointed on seeing some half dozen of my own hogs make their appearance, rooting as they went along.

“I paid no more heed to them at the time; but a few minutes after, my attention was again drawn to them, by seeing them make a sudden rush across a piece of open ground, as if they were in pursuit of something.

“Sure enough they were. Just before their snouts, I espied the long shining body of a black snake doing its best to get out of their way. In this it succeeded, for the next moment I saw it twisting itself up a pawpaw sapling, until it had reached the top branches, where it remained looking down at its pursuers.

“The snake may have fancied itself secure at the moment, and so thought I, at least so far as the hogs were concerned. I had made up my mind to be its destroyer myself, and was just about to sprinkle it with shot, when a movement on the part of one of the hogs caused me to hold back and remain quiet. I need not tell you I was considerably astonished to see the foremost of these animals seize the sapling in its jaws and jerk it about in a determined manner, as if with the intention of shaking off the snake! Of course it did not succeed in this, for the latter was wound around the branches, and it would have been as easy to have shaken off the bark.

“As you all know, gentlemen, the pawpaw – not the pawpaw (Carica papaya), but a small tree of the anonas or custard apple tribe, common in the woods of western America – is one of the softest and most brittle of our trees, and the hog seemed to have discovered this, for he suddenly changed his tactics, and instead of shaking at the sapling, commenced grinding it between his powerful jaws. The others assisted him, and the tree fell in a few seconds. As soon as the top branches touched the ground, the whole drove dashed forward at the snake; and in less than the time I take in telling it, the creature was crushed and devoured.”

After hearing the singular tale, our conversation now returned to the hog we had just “jumped.” All agreed that it must be some stray from the plantations that had wandered thus far from the haunts of men, for there was no settlement within twenty miles of where we then were.

Our trapper guides stated that wild hogs are frequently found in remote parts, and that many of them are not “strays,” but have been “littered” and brought up in the forest. These are as shy and difficult to approach as deer, or any other hunted animals. They are generally of a small breed, and it is supposed that they are identical with the species found throughout Mexico, and introduced by the Spaniards.