Chapter 5 - The Grand Bear Hunt by Mayne Reid
Tracing the Route
“In the first place,” said Alexis, “there is the brown bear (ursus arctos). Him we might find in many parts of our own country—since he is emphatically our ‘Russian bear’; but there is also a black bear, which some naturalists say is a variety of the ursus arctos, while others believe it to be a separate species, having given to it the specific name of ursus niger—ursus ator it is sometimes called. Now, whether it be a species or only a variety, we must get a skin of it all the same—since papa has definitely expressed it so.”
“This black bear is to be found in our own northern forests, is it not?”
“Yes; it has been observed there; but more frequently in the mountains of Scandinavia: and, as we might wander through all the north of Russia without finding one, our best plan will be to proceed at once to Norway or Lapland. There we shall be certain also of finding the brown bear, and thus kill two birds with one stone.”
“Say Lapland: I should like to see the little Laps, but where next? To North America, I suppose?”
“By no means. There is a bear in the Pyrenees, and other mountains of Spain—in the Asturias especially. It is also deemed by most naturalists to be only a variety of the ursus arctos, but it is certainly a distinct species; and papa thinks so. Some naturalists would have it that there are only three or four distinct species in the whole world. They might just as well say there was but one. I think it better to follow papa’s views upon this subject, and regard all those bears which have permanent marks of distinction—whether it be in size, colour, or otherwise—as being so many separate species, however much they may approximate in habits or disposition. Why, some naturalists even call the American black bear merely a variety of our brown; and, as I said a moment ago, Linnaeus himself believed the Polar to be the same species. This is now known to be an erroneous theory. Since papa has given as much time to the study of the bears as perhaps any one else, I shall follow his theory, and regard the Spanish bear (ursus pyrenaicus it is called) a distinct species.”
“You propose, then, to go next to Spain, and kill the Spanish bear?”
“We must. Having started in a westerly course by going to Lapland, we must keep on in that direction.”
“But how about the white bear of the Alps?”
“You mean the ursus albus of Lesson?”
“Yes. To reach the Alps, where it is said to be found, we should have to recross a meridian of longitude?”
“We should, if there were such an animal to be found in the Alps; but there is not. The white bear of Buffon and Lesson (ursus albus) was only a mere accidental variety or albino of the brown bear; and papa does not mean that we should collect the skins of such as these. He has said so. Indeed, Ivan, were that task imposed on us, we should both be old men before we could complete it, and return home again. It is only the skins of the permanent varieties we are to procure, and therefore the ursus albus is scratched out of our list.”
“Out with him then! where go we next? To North America, then no doubt?”
“No.”
“Perhaps to Africa?”
“No.”
“Are there no bears in Africa?”
“That is a disputed point among writers, and has been so since the days of Pliny. Bears are mentioned as having been exhibited in the Roman circus, under the name of Numidian bears; and Herodotus, Virgil, Juvenal, and Martial all mention Libyan bears in their writings. Pliny, however, stoutly denies that there were any of these animals in Africa; but it must be remembered that he equally denies that stags, goats, and boars existed on the African continent: therefore his statement about the non-existence of the Numidian bears is not worth a straw. Strange enough, the point is as much disputed now as in the days of Pliny. The English traveller Bruce, states positively that there are no bears in Africa. Another English traveller to Abyssinia, Salt, makes no mention of them; while the German, Ehrenberg, says that he has seen them in the mountains of Abyssinia, and heard of them also in Arabia Felix! Several French and English travellers (Dapper, Shaw, Poncet, and Poiret), bear testimony to the existence of bears in different parts of Africa—in Nubia, Babur, and Congo. In the Atlas mountains, between Algiers and Morocco, according to Poiret, bears are common enough; and this writer even gives some details as to their habits. He says that they are exceedingly fierce and carnivorous, and that the Arabs believe they can lift stones in their paws and fling them at those who may be in pursuit of them! He relates that an Arab hunter brought him the skin of one of those bears; and also showed him a wound in his leg, which he had received by the animal having launched a stone at him while he was pursuing it! Monsieur Poiret, however, does not vouch for the truth of the stone-throwing, though he stoutly maintains the existence of African bears.”
“What does papa think about it?” inquired Ivan.
“That there are bears in Africa—perhaps in all the mountainous parts of Africa—but certainly in the Atlas and Tetuan ranges. Indeed, an English traveller of veracity has put the question beyond a doubt, by giving some points in the description of these African bears. Naturalists thought that if such an animal existed in Africa, it would be the same species as the Syrian; but although the bears reported in the Arabian and Abyssinian mountains are likely enough to be of that species, those of the Atlas are evidently not only distinct from the Syrian bear, but from all other known kinds. One that was killed near Tetuan, about twenty-five miles from the Atlas mountains, was a female, and less in size than the American black bear. It was black also, or rather brownish black, and without any white marking about the muzzle, but under the belly its fur was of a reddish orange. The hair was shaggy and four or five inches long, while the snout, toes, and claws were all shorter than in the American black bear, and the body was of thicker and stouter make. The Englishman had learnt something of its habits too. The Arabs said it was rarely met with near Tetuan; that it fed on roots, acorns, and fruits, but was only an indifferent climber. Indeed it would be very improbable,” continued Alexis, “that the great ranges of the Atlas and Abyssinian mountains should be without these mammalia, since they exist in nearly all the other mountains of the globe. Moreover, it should be remembered that it is only a few years since the bears of the Himalayas, of the Great Andes of America, and those of the East-Indian islands—and even the bear of Mount Lebanon—became known to the scientific world. Why, then, should there not be a species in Africa—perhaps more than one—though civilised people are yet unacquainted with it?”
“But you say we are not going to Africa?”
“No; our instructions relate only to every variety of bear known to naturalists; and the African bear does not come under this category—since it has not yet been described by any naturalist. For that reason we shall have no errand into Africa.”
“Then, surely North America is our next stage?”
“Certainly not—you are aware that there is a South American bear.”
“Yes, the ‘spectacled bear,’ as he is called.”
“Just so—the ursus ornatus. I think we shall find two species in South America, though that is also a disputed point.”
“Well, brother, what if we should?”
“Why, both will be found in the Andes of Chili and Peru, and not in the eastern parts of South America.”
“And how should that affect our route of travel?”
“Very essentially indeed. Were we to go first to North America, we should find no less than five species, or four species and one well-marked variety. To reach the native haunt of one of these—I mean the grizzly (ursus ferox)—we should have to go farther west than any part of the South American Andes: how, then, could we afterwards reach the spectacled bear without doubling back on our meridian?”
“True, brother—I see that, by looking on the map. You propose, then, steering first to South America, and afterwards to the northern division of the American continent?”
“We are compelled to do so, by the very nature of our contract. Having procured the skins of ursus ornatus and another variety we shall find in the Andes, we can then travel almost due north. On the Mississippi we shall be able to pick up a skin of the American black bear (ursus americanus), and by the help of the Hudson’s Bay voyageurs we shall reach the shores of the great gulf in which that territory takes its name. There the ‘polar bear’ (ursus maritimus) can be found. Farther westward and northward we may hope to capture the ‘barren ground bear,’ which the English traveller Sir John Richardson thinks is only a variety of our European brown bear, but which papa—and good reasons he has—believes to be nothing of the kind. Crossing the Rocky Mountains, we shall be able, I hope, to knock over the famed and formidable grizzly (ursus ferox), and in Oregon, or British Columbia, we shall strip his hide from the ‘cinnamon bear’ (ursus cinnamonus), believed to be a variety of the American black. That will finish with the bears of America.”
“Asia next, I suppose?”
“Yes, straight across to Kamschatka. There we shall meet with the ‘Siberian,’ or ‘collared bear’ (ursus collaris). Of these, two varieties are said to exist, one of which, specified by the name ursus sibiricus, is also found in Lapland and Siberia.”
“Go on, brother! Where next?”
“From Kamschatka we shall make a long traverse to the south-west. Our best hunting-ground will be Borneo.”
“Ah! the beautiful little bear with the orange-coloured breast!”
“Yes; that is the ‘Bornean bear’ (ursus euryspilus), or ‘Bruang,’ as he is called by the Malays.”
“But there is another Bruang?”
“Yes—the ‘Malayan sun-bear’ (ursus malagenus). This we shall encounter in Sumatra or Java, whichever we choose to visit.”
“Well, the list is much larger than I expected; certainly it has been wonderfully lengthened since the days of the good old Linnaeus.”
“We have not reached the end yet.”
“Where next, brother?”
“Up the Bay of Bengal, and on to the Himalayas. First in the foot-hills of these mountains we shall have to search for the curious ‘sloth bear,’ or ‘juggler’s bear’ (ours de jongleurs) as the French writers term him. He is the ursus labiatus of naturalists; and we may find him in the plains of India, before reaching the Himalayas. Having skinned him, we shall proceed to climb the great mountains, and higher up we are certain to come across the ‘Thibet bear’ (ursus thibetanus)—by some very erroneously described as being one of the numerous varieties of the European brown bear! Still higher up we shall, I hope, have the good luck to encounter and kill a specimen of the ‘Isabella bear’ (ursus isabelinus), so called from his colour, but termed by Anglo-Indian sportsmen the ‘snow bear,’ because he frequents the declivities near the snow-line of these stupendous mountains.”
“That is all, is it not?”
“No, Ivan—one more, and that will be the last.”
“What is he?”
“The ‘Syrian’ (ursus syriacus); and though the last in our catalogue, this is the very first on record: for they were bears of this species that came out of the wood and ‘tare forty and two’ of the mockers of the prophet Elisha. We shall have to visit Syria, to procure a skin of the ursus syriacus.”
“Well, I hope their ferociousness has been tamed down since Elisha’s time, else we may stand a fair chance of being served in a similar fashion.”
“No doubt we shall have many a scratch before we encounter the bears of Mount Lebanon. When we have obtained a robe from one of them, there will be nothing more for us to do but take the most direct route home. We shall then have gone once round the world.”
“Ah, that we shall!” said Ivan, laughing; “and all over it too. Great Czar! I think by the time we have captured one of Elisha’s bears, we shall have had a surfeit of travel.”
“No doubt of it; but now, brother, that we know where we are going, let us waste no more time, but signify our acceptance of the conditions, and be off at once.”
“Agreed,” said Ivan; and both returning into the presence of the baron, announced their readiness to take the road.
“Are we to travel alone, papa?” inquired Ivan; “I think you spoke of an attendant?”
“Yes, one attendant. You must not be encumbered with too many servants to wait upon you. One will be quite sufficient.”
“Who is it to be?” asked Ivan.
The baron rang the bell, and a servant entered.
“Send Corporal Pouchskin to me!”
Shortly after, the door reopened, and a man of about fifty appeared. The tall well-balanced form and erect attitude—the close-cropped hair and enormous grizzled moustache—combined with great gravity of features, denoted a veteran of the Imperial Guard,—one of those grand and redoubtable soldiers who have seen service in the presence of an emperor. Though no longer wearing the military uniform, but dressed somewhat as a park or game keeper, the silent salute and attitude of “attention” were sufficiently indicative of the profession which Pouchskin had followed: for it was the veritable Pouchskin who had entered the apartment. He said not a word, nor did he look either to the right or left,—only directly forward, and at the baron.
“Corporal Pouchskin!”
“General!”
“I wish you to make a journey.”
“I am ready.”
“Not quite, corporal. I will give you an hour to prepare.”
“Where does the general wish me to go?”
“Round the world.”
“Half an hour will suffice.”
“So much the better, then. Prepare to start in half an hour.”
Pouchskin bowed and retired.