Chapter Seventeen.
On Shore for a Run—Noontide on the Seashore—A Natural Harbour—The Land of Adventure and Sport—After the Antelope—Face to Face with a Grizzly.
Yes, yonder lay the land. A mere cloud-land as yet, though; a long streak of darkish blue, higher at some places than at others, and running all along one half of the southern horizon. There was much speculation on board as to what the country they were approaching would turn out to be, whether or not they would find inhabitants in it, and what their reception would be, what their adventures, and what their chance of sport. Judging from his latitude and longitude McBain put it down as some portion of the northern shores of British America, and old Seth “guessed” and “calculated” that if there were any inhabitants they would be “blueskin Injuns,” and they would have to make a welcome for themselves if they wanted one.
Before many hours were over, however, they had sailed near enough to scan the coast with their glasses. The foreshore was low and rocky; beyond that was a wilderness of wood and forest as far as the eye could reach, but no signs of smoke, no signs of human life. Everything seemed as peaceful and still as though it were a world newly evolved from the hands of its Creator.
“I’m very much mistaken,” said McBain, “if this isn’t just the kind of country you boys wished to find.”
“The land of our dreams,” said Rory.
“The land,” said Ralph, “on which the ubiquitous Englishman has never yet set foot. There is nothing hackneyed about this country, I’ll wager.”
“Well, then,” said Rory, who was always the first to suggest something new, “if Captain McBain will call away a boat, Allan and I will go on shore for a walk, and if we do find anything hackneyed we’ll come on board and let you know, Ralph.”
McBain laughed.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “We came out from England bent on enjoying ourselves, so off you go, but mind you don’t get lost this time. You won’t find a trapper Seth everywhere to look after you. I’ll give you four hours, and expect you to bring something fresh and nice for dinner.”
Allan and Rory were delighted to find themselves once more in their own little boat, and bounding away shore-wards over the blue and rippling sea. It was a gladsome and joyous day, and its joy seemed to instil itself into their hearts, and cause them to feel in unison with all nature.
When near the shore they pulled in their oars, and allowed the boat to drift or float as she pleased, for, on rounding a point of land they came upon a scene of animation that, although I have gazed on many like it, I never could find words in which to describe. It was noontide on that peaceful seashore, and both beasts and birds were enjoying themselves to the full, each in his own fashion. Although they must have wondered what species of animal Rory and Allan were, and where they had dropped from all of a sudden, of fear they evinced not the slightest vestige. Here, in the foreground, a pair of young seals gazed at them with their marvellous eyes, but seemed hardly to care to move.
“They are curious-looking creatures, I admit,” one seal seemed to be whispering to the other; “but they are just as tame as we are, and I’m sure they won’t harm us.”
Malleys and gulls came floating around them, nearer and nearer, tack and half tack, so close at last that they could have stretched out their hands and touched them on their beautiful breasts. Fulmars trotted about, nodding their heads and looking for the little fishes the tide had left in the pools. Looms, love-making on stone tops, stared at them with a kind of sleepy surprise. Great auks and penguins, that lined the shore in rows, flapped their apologies for wings, but never dreamed of making their escape. High in air, too, circled their friend and namesake the snowbird; and not far off the restless allan and the jet-black boatswain bird; while on the land itself were dozens of strange fowl that they could not even name.
The very tameness of all these creatures seemed proof, that they had never before been disturbed in their haunts by the presence of man.
Allan and Rory rowed into a beautifully-wooded bay, and inland along a quiet, broad-bosomed river. They landed on many parts of its banks, but remembering McBain’s words, they did not venture too far into the forest, but nevertheless they found track of deer, and trace, too, of heavier and wilder game. They did not make much of a bag, only a few birds and a hare or two (probably the Lepus Americanus, or Jack Rabbit), but they were quite satisfied with their four hours on shore, and were off to time, much to McBain’s joy and satisfaction.
In the saloon that day, while the Snowbird lay quietly at anchor in-shore, there was a dinner-party, at which were present not only the two mates belonging to the yacht, but the mate of the unfortunate Trefoil.
“Farther to the west,” McBain observed, “the land gets much more wild and hilly, and with the glass I can from the crow’s-nest see rugged mountains covered with snow. To the west, then, I purpose going; but I have not forgotten,”—this to the mate of the Trefoil—“that you, Mr Hill, and your men, are passengers. I would fain send you home, but how can I do so?”
“You can’t, that is evident,” said Mr Hill, “and both myself and my men have made up our minds to stop in your ship as long as you’ll let us—all the voyage, indeed, and return with you to England.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,” McBain said, “it relieves me of all anxiety.”
So it was arranged that both Mr Hill and the rest of the shipwrecked mariners should sign articles, and become part and parcel of the crew of the Snowbird. It must be remembered that she was a roomy yacht, and that the addition of twelve or thirteen new hands could hardly crowd her.
Ralph’s father was right when he advised our heroes to seek for adventures in the far west before journeying onwards to the more desolate and mysterious regions of the far north. He was a man of experience, and as such knew well that the sportsman, unlike the poet, is not born but made. But the wild land in which the travellers found themselves a day or two after their little dinner-party in the saloon, was just the place to brace the nerves and steel the muscles, for here was game of every kind, and it only wanted a certain amount of daring to bring it to bag.
The Snowbird was brought to anchor in a land-locked arm of the sea, a natural harbour large enough for the combined fleets of the whole world to ride with safety in. As there would be barely three months before the onset of the severe Arctic winter, McBain lost no time in preparing for the rigours they would doubtless have to encounter, before spring would once more return and release them from their self-chosen imprisonment. The vessel was anchored as close to the shore as was compatible with her safety. Here she could ride and here she could swing, until King Frost descended from the distant mountains and locked her in his icy embrace.
About half a mile from where she lay there fell into the sea a broad and placid river. They found this navigable, even to the cutter, for many miles inland, and the scenes that lay before them, as reach after reach and bend after bend of it was opened out, was romantic and beautiful in the extreme. The stream ran through the centre of a lovely glen or gorge, “o’erhung,” as the poet says, “by wild woods thickening green.” Here was every variety of foliage—trees, and shrubs, and flowers. At times it would be a dense forest all around them, but in the very next reach perhaps, the banks would be green-carpeted with moss and grass, with rocks rising upwards here and there be-draped with wild vines. On the higher lands commenced a forest of pines; far beyond these weird-looking trees the snow-clad peaks of rugged mountains could be seen. In exploring this river they were much struck at the multitude of tributaries it had, little streamlets that stole down through bosky ravines, following the course of any of which brought the travellers to the table-land above. Here was the forest, and here too were broad tracks of a kind of prairie land covered with a carpet of buffalo-grass.
In a country like this it would be patent to any one that there existed unlimited scope for sport of all kinds, for while the woods and jungles and plains abounded in game of every sort, from the strange little rock rabbit to the lordly elk and bison, the rivers they soon found out teemed with fish. They were not long, however, in making a discovery of not quite so pleasing a character. This was due to Seth’s sagacity.
“I guess,” he said one evening, “we’ve got some of my old friends here.”
“What! not Indians?” asked Rory, opening wide his eyes.
“I don’t allude to them ’xactly,” said Seth; “but I does allude to the grizzlies.”
“Oh! I should like to have an adventure with one of these chaps, shouldn’t you, Ralph?”
“I don’t know,” replied Ralph, with a quiet smile; “I think I should rather run from one than fight him, if all stories I’ve heard about them be true.”
“What is your opinion of their character?” asked McBain of Seth.
“They’re the all-firedest fellows to fight, when they do fight,” said Seth, “in creation! I’ve had a bit of fun in my time with pumas and panthers both, down south, but I’d rather fight a dozen o’ either than one grizzly after he turns rusty.”
“Do you mean rusty in coat?” asked Rory.
“No, sir,” said the Yankee, “I guess I means rusty in temper. But then it ain’t often that that occurs, for he’ll run like a deer if he gets a chance; but just wound him, then is the time to see him with his birse on end, I can tell you! But I don’t like ’em. Down in Texas a companion o’ mine, when out shooting, ran right agin one o’ these gentry; a great she one it was, with two cubs alongside of her. That was what made her so touchy, I reckon. Howsomever, she didn’t give my poor friend Obadiah Johnson much time to prepare. I never seed such a sight in my life! She was on to him, and downed him before you’d say ‘bullet.’ One great claw had gone right over his shoulder and ripped his side clean open. With the two hind claws of her she just about tore his legs into piecemeal. I fired right down her throat. Then she was on to me, and my knife was into her. But she didn’t seem to have a kill. I don’t remember very much more o’ that fight—kind o’ fainted, I reckon. Anyhow, we were all found in a heap, maybe an hour afterwards. Obadiah was dead, and so were the b’ar, and trapper Seth had only as much life in his body as saved him from being buried. ’Twere two months ere I got over that skivering, and I guess I’ll bear the marks to my grave unless I loses both arms and legs afore I goes there.”
Little thought Ralph when frankly confessing that he would rather run from than fight a grizzly, and listening to the story of old Seth’s adventure, that not two days thereafter he himself would be the subject of an attack by one of these terrible monsters. But so it turned out, and well was it for him that assistance was at hand, or one of my heroes would have dropped out of the tale.
They had enjoyed an unusually fine day’s sport, principally among the antelope, away up among the plains. I allude, of course, to the North American antelope, that saucy little fellow, so sprightly and graceful, yet so curiously impudent withal as to sometimes bring himself needlessly into trouble. With the exception of the saddle-back seal of the Greenland seas, I know of no wild animal that evinces a larger degree of inquisitiveness. Perhaps it was this very trait of antelope character that led to the size of our heroes’ bag on the day in question. They had found the animals principally in spruce and cedar thickets, and here one or two fell to their guns, while others escaped into the open, across which there was nothing in the world except their inquisitiveness to prevent their having got clear away, but they must needs stop to have a look at their hunters.
“I reckon they hav’n’t been shot at all their little lives before,” said Seth. “Now you just creep round behind while I keep their ’ttention occupied.”
One way or another, Seth had managed to “keep their ’ttention occupied,” and so venison had been the result, and plenty of it too.
It was near evening, the men had already shouldered their game and had begun the homeward march; McBain himself, with Allan and Rory, had also had enough of hunting for one day, and were preparing to follow. Ralph and Seth were invisible, so was their little companion the Skye terrier. No dog, I daresay, ever enjoyed sport more than did this little morsel of canine flesh and fury. Even before the adventure I am going to relate it had been the custom to take him out with the shooting party almost constantly, but after the adventure it was constantly, without any almost.
While they were yet wondering where Ralph and his companions were, bang went a rifle from the wooded gorge beneath them.
“They’ve got another of some kind,” said McBain.
“I expect,” said Allan, “it is a black tail, for if it were antelopes some of them would be already seeking the open, and Seth tells me the black tails prefer hiding when in danger.”
(The black-tailed or “mule” deer is one of the largest and most gracefully beautiful animals to be found in the hunting-grounds of the far west.)
A few minutes afterwards there came up out of that gorge a sound that made our heroes start, and stand to their rifles, while their hearts almost stood still with the dread of some terrible danger. It was not for themselves but for Ralph they feared. It was a deep, appalling, coughing roar, or bellow—the bellow of some mighty beast that has started up in anger. A minute more, and Ralph, breathless and bareheaded, with trailing rifle, rushed into the open, closely followed by an immense grizzly bear. He was on his hind legs, and in the very act of striking Ralph down with his terrible paw.
The danger was painfully imminent, and for either of his friends to fire was out of the question, so close together were bear and man. But lo! at that very moment, when it seemed as if no power on earth could save Ralph, the grizzly emitted a harsh and angry cry, and turned hastily round to face another assailant. This was no other than Spunkie, the Skye terrier, who had seized on Bruin by the heel. Oh! no mean assailant did the bear find him either. But do not imagine, pray, that this little dog meant to allow himself to be caught by the powerful brute he had tackled. No; and as soon as he had bitten Bruin he drew off far enough away to save his own tiny life. You see, in his very insignificance lay his strength. A dog of Oscar’s size would have been at once grappled and torn in pieces. Feint after feint did the terrier make of again rushing at the grizzly, but meanwhile Ralph had made good his escape, and next minute bullets rained on the grizzly, for Seth’s rang out from the thicket, and McBain’s and Rory’s and Allan’s from the open, so he sank to rise no more.
Ralph determined to learn a lesson from this little adventure; he made up his mind that he would never follow a wounded deer into a thick jungle without, at all events, previously reloading his rifle.