Chapter 22 - The Grand Bear Hunt by Mayne Reid
The Pyrenean Bears
It was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. These animals, although plenteous enough in the Pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. Such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer’s axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the Pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation—along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many Alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. He sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. Of truffles he is as fond as a Parisian sybarite,—scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and “rooting” them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced.
Like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. He is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. On this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the Pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, and larvae,—the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. The latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. The facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. The izzard-hunter’s opinion was that the Pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. The same remark will apply to the Pyrenean bear that is true of the ursus arctos,—viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. Hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice.
The izzard-hunter’s father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes—even men lost their lives in encounters with them! In modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. The hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of France.
He knew of no particular mode for taking bears. Their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. Then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs.
“So scarce are they,” added the hunter, “that I have killed only three this whole season; but I know where there’s a fourth—a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined—”
The young Russians understood the hint. Money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a Pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. In an instant almost, the bargain was made. Ten dollars for the haunt of the bear!
The Pic du Midi d’Ossau was now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. The sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions—until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. It was, to all appearance, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the Amazon or amid the Cordilleras of the Andes. Neither track nor trail was seen—only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there.
The izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. With, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay.
The neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. He knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying—that is, he knew its cave. He had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. Some business had kept him at Eaux Bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. He had now brought his dogs—two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent—and with these Bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. But that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. The better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble,—a thing he would be sure to do,—then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. He would “not come home till morning,” said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations.
It seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when Bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl.
A roaring fire was kindled; and Pouchskin’s capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road.