A quarter race in Kentucky and other sketches, illustrative of scenes, characters, and incidents throughout "the universal Yankee nation." |
 |
BOB HERRING, THE ARKANSAS BEAR
HUNTER. |
 | A quarter race in Kentucky |  |
BOB HERRING, THE ARKANSAS BEAR
HUNTER.
BY T. B. THORPE, ESQ., OF NEW ORLEANS.
As the author of "The Mysteries of the Backwoods," and a
series of sporting sketches in the "Spirit of the Times," of
which "The Big Bear of Arkansas," and "Tom Owen, the
Bee Hunter," are perhaps best known, Mr. Thorpe has acquired
the most enviable reputation on both sides of the Atlantic.
It is not so generally known that he is, by profession,
a painter; and his abilities as an artist are cheerfully acknowledged
by his contemporaries. Since the breaking out
of the war with Mexico, Thorpe has visited its theatre, and
the result has been a very interesting volume, containing
many illustrations from drawings by himself, made on the
spot. It is called "Our Army of Occupation;" the publishers
were Carey & Hart, of Philadelphia; and the work
may be obtained at any book-store for half-a-dollar, though
worth five times that amount.
It is not expected that a faithful description of the
Devil's Summer Retreat, in Arkansas, will turn the current
of fashion of two worlds, from Brighton and Bath,
or from Ballston or Saratoga, although the residents in
the neighbourhood of that delightful place profess to
have ocular demonstration, as well as popular opinion,
that his Satanic Majesty, in warm weather, regularly
retires to the "retreat," and "there reclines in the
cool." The solemn grandeur that surrounds this
by Milton; its characteristics are darkness,
gloom, and mystery; it is composed of the unrivalled
vegetation and forest of the Mississippi Valley. View
it when you will, whether decked out in all the luxuriance
of a southern summer, or stripped of its foliage
by the winter's blasts; it matters not, its grandeur is
always sombre. The huge trees seem immortal, their
roots look as if they struck to the centre of the earth,
while the gnarled limbs reached out to the clouds.
Here and there may be seen one of these lordly specimens
of vegetation furrowed by the lightning; from
its top to the base you can trace the subtle fluid in its
descent, and see where it shattered off the limb, larger
than your body, or turned aside from some slight inequality
in the bark. These stricken trees, no longer
able to repel the numerous parasites that surround them,
soon become festooned with wreaths and flowers, while
the damp airs engender on living tree and dead, like
funeral drapery, the pendant moss, that waves in every
breeze, and seems to cover the whole scene with the
gloom of the grave. Rising out of this forest for ten
square miles, is the dense cane-brake that bears the
name of the "Devil's Summer Retreat;" it is formed
by a space of ground, on which, seemingly from its superiority
of soil, more delicate vegetation than surrounds
it has usurped its empire. Here the reed, that the
disciple of Izaak Walton plays over the northern streams
like a wand, grows into a delicate mast, springing from
the rich alluvium that gives it sustenance with the prodigality
of grass, and tapering from its roots to the
height of twenty or thirty feet, there mingling, in compact
of this brake is interwoven with vines of all descriptions,
which makes it so thick that it seems to be
impenetrable as a mountain. Here, in this solitude,
where the noon-day sun never penetrates, ten thousand
birds, with the instinct of safety, roost at night, and at
the dawn of day, for a while, darken the air as they
seek their haunts, their manure deadening, for acres
round, the vegetation, like a fire, so long have they
possessed the solitude. Around this mass of cane and
vine, the black bears retire for winter quarters, where
they pass the season, if not disturbed, in the insensibility
of sleep, and yet come out in the spring as fat as
when they commenced their long nap. The forest, the
waste, and the dangers of the cane brake, add to the
excitement of the Arkansas hunter; he conquers them
all, and makes them subservient to his pursuits. Associated
with these scenes, they to him possess no sentiment;
he builds his log cabin in a clearing made by his
own hands, amid the surrounding grandeur, and it looks
like a gipsy hut among the ruins of a Gothic cathedral.
The noblest trees are only valuable for fence-rails, and
the cane-brake is "an infernal dark hole," where you
can "see sights," "catch bears," and "get a fish-pole,
ranging in size from a penny whistle to that of a young
stove-pipe."
The undoubted hero of the Devil's Summer Retreat,
is old Bob Herring; he has a character that would
puzzle three hundred metaphysicians consecutively.
He is as bold as a lion, and as superstitious as an
Indian. The exact place of his birth he cannot tell, as
he says his parents "travelled" as long as he can remember
nearest point to the Retreat, and there erecting a rude
cabin commenced hunting for a living, having no prospect
ahead but selling out his "pre-emption right" and
improvements, and again squatting somewhere else.
Unfortunately the extent of Arkansas, and the swamp
that surrounded Bob's location, kept it out of market,
until, to use his own language, he "became the ancientest
inhabitant in the hull of Arkansaw." And
having, in spite of himself, gradually formed acquaintances
with the few residents in this vicinity, and grown
into importance from his knowledge of the country and
his hunting exploits, he has established himself for life,
at what he calls the "Wasp's diggins," made a potato
patch, which he has never had time to fence in, talked
largely of a corn-field, and hung his cabin round with
rifle pouches, gourds, red-peppers, and flaming advertisements
with rampant horses and pedigrees; these
latter ornaments he looks upon as rather sentimental,
but he excuses himself on the ground that they look
"hoss," and he considers such an expression as considerably
resembling himself. We have stated that
Bob's mind would puzzle three hundred metaphysicians
consecutively, and we as boldly assert that an equal
number of physiologists would be brought to a stand
by his personal appearance. The left side of his face
is good looking, but the right side seems to be under
the influence of an invisible air-pump; it looks sucked
out of shape; his perpendicular height is six feet one
inch, but that gives the same idea of his length, that
the diameter gives of the circumference; how long Bob
Herring would be if he was drawn out, is impossible
tall a scale for this world, and that he was shoved in,
like the joints of a telescope. Poor in flesh, his enormous
bones and joints rattle when he moves, and they
would no doubt have long since fallen apart, but for
the enormous tendons that bind them together as visibly
as a good-sized hawser would. Such is Bob Herring,
who on a bear hunt will do more hard work, crack
more jokes, and be more active than any man living,
sustaining the whole with unflinching good humour,
never getting angry except when he breaks his whisky
bottle, or has a favourite dog open on the wrong
trail.
My first visit to the Devil's Summer Retreat was propitious,
my companions were all choice spirits, the weather
was fine, and Bob Herring inimitable. The bustling
scene that prefaced the "striking the camp" for
night lodgings, was picturesque and animated; a long
ride brought us to our halting place, and there was
great relief in again stepping on the ground. Having
hobbled our horses, we next proceeded to build a fire,
which was facilitated by taking advantage of a dead
tree for a back-log; our saddles, guns, and other necessaries
were brought within the circle of its light, and
lolling upon the ground we partook of a frugal supper,
the better to be prepared for our morrow's exertions,
and our anticipated breakfast. Beds were next made
up, and few can be better than a good supply of cane
tops, covered with a blanket, with a saddle for a pillow;
upon such a rude couch, the hunter sleeps more
soundly than the effeminate citizen on his down. The
crescent moon, with her attendant stars, studded the
destroyed the chilliness of a southern December
night.
The old adage of "early to bed and early to rise,"
was intended to be acted upon, that we might salute
the tardy sun with the heat of our sport, and probably
we would have carried out our intentions had not Bob
Herring very coolly asked if any of us snored "unkimmonly
loud," for he said his old shooting iron would
go off at a good imitation of a bear's breathing! This
sally from Bob brought us all upright, and then there
commenced a series of jibes, jokes, and stories, that
no one can hear, or witness, except on an Arkansas
hunt with "old coons." Bob, like the immortal Jack,
was witty himself, and the cause of wit in others, but
he sustained himself against all competition, and gave
in his notions and experience with an unrivalled humour
and simplicity. He found in me an attentive
listener, and went into details, until he talked every
one but myself asleep. From general remarks, he
changed to addressing me personally, and as I had
every thing to learn, he went from the elementary to
the most complex experience. "You are green in bar
hunting," said he to me, in a commiserating tone, and
with a toss of the head that would have done honour to
Mr. Brummel in his glory; "green as a jinson weed—
but don't get short-winded 'bout it, case it's a thing like
readin', to be larnt;—a man don't come it parfectly
at once, like a dog does; and as for that, they larn a
heap in time;—thar is a greater difference 'tween a pup
and an old dog on a bar hunt than thar is 'tween a malitia
man and a riglar. I remember when I couldn't
only requires time, a true eye, and steady hand, though
I did know a fellow that called himself a doctor, that
said that couldn't do it if you was narvious. I
asked him if he meant by that agee and fever? He
said it was the agee without the fever. Thar may be
such a thing as narvious, stranger, but nothin' but a
yarthquake, or the agee, can shake me; and still bar
hunting ain't as easy as scearing a wild turkey, by a
long shot. The varmint aint a hog, to run with a
w—h—e—w; just corner one—cotch its cub, or cripple
it, and if you don't have to fight, or get out of the way,
then thar ain't no cat-fish in the Mississip. I larnt that,
nigh twenty year ago, and perhaps you would like to
know about it." Signifying my assent, Bob Herring
got up in his bed, for as it was the bare ground he could
not well get off of it, and approaching the fire, he threw
about a cord of wood on it, in the form of a few
huge logs; as they struck the blazing heap the sparks
flew upwards in the clear cold air, like a jet of stars;
then fixing himself comfortably, he detailed what follows:—
"I had a knowing old sow at that time that would
have made a better hunter than any dog ever heerd
on; she had such a nose,—talk 'bout a dog following
a cold trail, she'd track a bar through running water.
Well, you see, afor' I know'd her vartu', she came
rushing into my cabin, bristles up, and fell on the floor,
from what I now believe to have been regular sceare.
I thought she'd seen a bar, for nothing else could make
her run; and taking down my rifle, I went out a sort
a carelessly, with only two dogs at my heels. Hadn't
standing beside a small branch—it was an old he, and
no mistake. I crawled up to him on my hands and
knees, and raised my rifle, but if I had fired I must
have hit him so far in front, that the ball would have
ranged back, and not cut his mortals. I waited, and
he turned tail towards me, and started across the branch;
afeerd I'd lose him, I blazed away, and sort a cut him
slantindicularly through his hams, and brought him
down; thar he sat, looking like a sick nigger with the
dropsy, or a black bale of cotton turned up on eend.
'Twas not a judgmatical shot, and Smith thar" (pointing
at one of the sleeping hunters) "would say so."
Hereupon Bob Herring, without ceremony, seized a
long stick, and thrust it into Smith's short ribs, who,
thus suddenly awakened from a sound sleep, seized his
knife, and looking about him, asked, rather confusedly,
what was the matter? "Would you," inquired Bob,
very leisurely, "would you, under any circumstances,
shoot an old he in the hams?" Smith very peremptorily
told his questioner to go where the occupier of the
Retreat in Summer is supposed to reside through the
winter months, and went instantly to sleep again.
Bob continued,—"Stranger, the bar, as I have said,
was on his hams, and thar he sot, waiting to whip
somebody and not knowing whar to begin, when the
two dogs that followed me came up, and pitched into
him like a caving bank. I knowed the result afor the
fight began; Brusher had his whole scalp, ears and all,
hanging over his nose in a minute, and Tig was laying
some distance from the bar, on his back, breathing like
a horse with the thumps; he wiped them both out with
well as I did, that he was not obliged to the dogs for
the hole in his carcass, and thar I stood, like a fool,
rifle in hand, watching him, instead of giving him another
ball. All of a sudden he caught a glimpse of my
hunting shirt, and the way he walked at me with his
two fore legs was a caution to slow dogs. I instantly
fired, and stepped round behind the trunk of a large
tree; my second shot confused the bar, and he was
hunting about for me, when, just as I was patching my
ball, he again saw me, and, with his ears nailed back
to his head, he gave the d—t w—h—e—w I ever
heerd, and made straight at me; I leaped up a bank
near by, and as I gained the top my foot touched the
eend of his nose. If I ever had the `narvious' that
was the time, for the skin on my face seemed an inch
thick, and my eyes had more rings in them than a mad
wild-cat's. At this moment several of my dogs, that
war out on an expedition of their own, came up, and
immediately made battle with the bar, who shook off
the dogs in a flash, and made at me agin; the thing
was done so quick, that, as I raised my rifle, I stepped
back and fell over, and thinking my time was come,
wished I had been born to be hung, and not chaw'd
up; but the bar didn't cotch me: his hind quarters,
as he came at me, fell into a hole about a root, and
caught. I was on my feet, and out of his reach
in a wink, but as quick as I did this he had cut
through a green root the size of my leg: he did it in
about two snaps, but weakened by the exertion, the
dogs got hold of him, and held on while I blowed his
heart out. Ever since that time I have been wide
being my motto. I shall dream of that bar to-night,"
concluded Bob, fixing his blanket over him; and a few
moments only elapsed before he was in danger of his
life, if his rifle would go off at a good imitation of a
bear's breathing.
Fortunately for me, the sun on the following morn
was fairly above the horizon before our little party was
ready for the start. While breakfast was being prepared,
the rifles were minutely examined; some were taken
apart, and every precaution used to ensure a quick and
certain fire. A rude breakfast having been despatched,
lots were drawn, who should go into the drive with the
dogs, as this task in the Devil's Summer Retreat is any
thing but a pleasant one, being obliged at one time to
walk on the bending cane—it is so thick for hundreds
of yards that you cannot touch or see the ground—then
crawling on your hands and knees, between its roots,
sometimes brought to a complete halt, and obliged to
cut your way through with your knife. While this is
going on, the hunters are at the stands, places their
judgments dictate as most likely to be passed by the
bear, when roused by the dogs. Two miles might on
this occasion have been passed over by those in the
drive, in the course of three hours, and yet, although
"signs were plenty as leaves," not a bear was started.
Hard swearing was heard, and as the vines encircled
the feet, or caught one under the nose, it was increased.
In the midst of this ill humour, a solitary bark was
heard; some one exclaimed, that was Bose! another
shrill yelp that sounded like Music's; breathing was
almost suspended in the excitement of the moment;
succession; in a minute more, the whole pack of thirty-five
staunch dogs opened! The change from silence to
so much noise made it almost deafening. No idea but
personal demonstration can be had of the effect upon
the mind, of such a pack baying a bear in a cane-break.
Before me were old hunters; they had been moving
along, as if destitute of energy or feeling, but now
their eyes flashed, their lips were compressed, and their
cheeks flushed; they seemed incapable of fatigue. As
for myself, my feelings almost overcame me, I felt a
cold sweat stealing down my back, my breath was thick
and hot, and as I suspended it, to hear more distinctly
the fight, for by this time the dogs had evidently come
up with the bear, I could hear the pulsation of my heart.
One minute more to listen, to learn which direction the
war was raging, and then our party unanimously sent
forth a yell that would have frightened a nation of Indians.
The bear was in his bed when the dogs first
came up with him, and he did not leave it until the pack
surrounded him; then finding things rather too warm, he
broke off with a "whew" that was awful to hear. His
course was towards us on the left, and as he went by,
the cane cracked and smashed as if rode over by an
insane locomotive. Bob Herring gave the dogs a salute
as they passed, close at the bear's heels, and the noise
increased, until he said "it sounded as if all h—l
was pounding bark." The bear was commented on as
he rushed by; one said he was "a buster." "A regular
built eight years old," said another. "Fat as a candle,"
shouted a third. "He's the beauty of the Devil's Summer
Retreat, with a band of angels after him," sang out
greatest exertions scarcely enabled us to keep within
hearing distance; his course carried him towards those
at the stands, but getting wind of them, he turned and
exactly retraced his course, but not with the same speed;
want of breath had already brought him several times to
a stand, and a fight with the dogs. He passed us the
second time within two hundred yards, and coming
against a fallen tree, backed up against it, and showed
a determination, if necessary, there to die. We made
our way towards the spot, as fast as the obstacles in our
way would let us, the hunters anxious to despatch him,
that as few dogs as possible might be sacrificed. The
few minutes to accomplish this seemed months, the
fight all the time sounding terrible, for every now and
then the bear evidently made a rush at the dogs, as
they narrowed their circle, or came individually too
near his person. Crawling through and over the canebrake
was a new thing to me, and in the prevailing
excitement, my feet seemed tied together, and there
was always a vine directly under my chin, to cripple my
exertions. While thus struggling, I heard a suspicious
cracking in my rear, and looking round, I saw Bob
Herring, a foot taller than common, stalking over the
cane, like a colossus; he very much facilitated my progress,
by a shove in the rear. "Come along, stranger,"
he shouted, his voice as clear as a bell, "Come along,
the bar and the dogs are going it, like a high pressure
nigger camp-meeting, and I must be thar to put a word
in sartin." Fortunately for my wind, I was nearer the
contest than I imagined, for Bob Herring stopped just
ahead of me, examined his rifle with two or three other
through the under-growth, we discovered, within thirty
yards of us, the fierce raging fight. Nothing distinctly,
however, was seen; a confused mass of legs, heads, and
backs of dogs, flying about as if attached to a ball,
was all we could make out. A still nearer approach,
and the confusion would clear off for a moment, and
the head of the bear could be seen, with his tongue
covered with dust, and hanging a foot from his mouth;
his jaws were covered with foam and blood, his eyes
almost protruding from their sockets, while his ears
were so closely pressed to the back of his head, that he
seemed destitute of those appendages; the whole indicative
of unbounded rage and terror.
These glimpses of the bear were only momentary;
his persecutors rested but for a breath, and then closed
in, regardless of their own lives, for you could discover,
mingled with the sharp bark of defiance, the yell
that told of death. It was only while the bear was
crushing some luckless dog, that they could cover his
back, and lacerate it with their teeth. One of the
hunters, in spite of the danger, headed by Bob Herring,
crept upon his knees, so near that it seemed as if another
foot advanced would bring them within the circle
of the fight. Bob Herring was first within safe shooting
distance to save the dogs, and waving his hand to
those behind him, he raised his rifle and sighted, but
his favourite dog, impatient for the report, anticipated it
by jumping on the bear, who throwing up his head at
the same instant, the bear received the ball in his nose.
At the crack of the rifle, the well-trained dogs, thinking
less caution than otherwise necessary, jumped pell-mell
in the Devil's Summer Retreat ensued; the hunter,
with Bob, placed his gun almost against the bear's side,
and the cap snapped; no one else was near enough to
fire without hitting the dogs.—"Give him the knife!"
cried those at a distance. Bob Herring's long blade
was already flashing in his hand, but sticking a living
bear is not child's play; he was standing undecided,
when he saw the hind legs of Bose upwards; thrusting
aside one or two of the dogs with his hand, he
made a pass at the bear's throat, but the animal was so
quick, that he struck the knife with his fore paw, and
sent it whirling into the distant cane; another was instantly
handed him, which he thrust at the bear, but the
point was so blunt that it would not penetrate the skin.
Foiled a third time, with a tremendous oath on himself
and the owner of the knife "that wouldn't stick a
cabbage," he threw it indignantly from him, and seizing,
unceremoniously, a rifle, just then brought up by
one of the party, heretofore in the rear, he, regardless
of his own legs, thrust it against the side of the bear
with considerable force, and blowed him through; the
bear struggled but for a moment, and fell dead, "I saw
snakes last night in my dreams," said Bob, handing
back the rifle to its owner, "and I never had any
good luck the next day, arter sich a sarcumstance;
I call this hull hunt about as mean an affair as damp
powder; that bar thar," pointing to the carcass, "that
thar, ought to have been killed, afor he maimed a dog."
Then, speaking energetically, he said, "Boys, never
shoot at a bar's head, even if your iron is in his ear,
it's unsartin; look how I missed the brain, and only
fellow would be ripped open in a powder flash; and I
say, euss caps, and head shooting; they would have
cost two lives to-day, but for them ar dogs, God bless
'em."
With such remarks, Bob Herring beguiled away the
time, while he, with others, skinned the bear. His
huge carcass, when dressed, though not over fat, looking
like a young steer's. The dogs, as they recovered
breath, partook of the refuse with relish; the nearest
possible rout out of the Devil's Retreat was selected,
and two horse loads took the meat into the open woods,
where it was divided out in such a manner that it
could be taken home. Bob Herring, while the dressing
of the bear was going on, took the skin, and on its
inside surface, which glistened like satin, he carefully
deposited the caul fat, that looked like drifted snow,
and beside it the liver; the choice parts of the bear, according
to the gourmand notions of the frontier, were
in Bob's possession; and many years' experience had
made him so expert in cooking it, that he was locally
famed for this matter above all competitors. It would
be as impossible to give the recipe for this dish, so that
it might be followed by the gastronomes of cities, as it
would to have the articles composing it exposed for
sale in the markets. Bob Herring managed as follows:
he took a long wooden skewer, and having
thrust its point through a small piece of bear fat, he
then followed it by a small piece of the liver, then the
fat, then the liver, and so on, until his most important
material was consumed; when this was done, he opened
the "bear's handkerchief," or caul, and wrapped it
Like all the secrets in cookery, this dish depends for its
flavour and richness upon exactly giving the proper
quantities, as a superabundance of one or the other
would completely spoil the dish. "I was always unlucky,
boys," said Bob, throwing the bear skin and its
contents over his shoulder, "but I've had my fill often
of caul fat and liver; many a man, who thinks he's
lucky, lives and dies ignorant of its virtue, as a 'possum
is of corn cake. If I ever look dead don't bury me
until you see I don't open my eyes when its ready for
eating; if I don't move when you show me it, then I
am a done goner, sure." Night closed in before we
reached our homes, the excitement of the morning
wore upon our spirits and energy, but the evening's
meal of caul fat and liver, and other similar "fixins,"
or Bob Herring's philosophical remarks, restored me to
perfect health, and I shall recollect that supper, and its
master of ceremonies, as harmonious with, and as extraordinary
as is, the Devil's Summer Retreat.
| A quarter race in Kentucky | |