The sergeant stated that the Indians talk of bears of this species that have inhabited the same region for many years, and, as they live in deadly fear of the monsters, the advent of a party of grizzly-hunters is most welcome to them, and they willingly render all the service in their power in the hunt, but retire in fear when the game is brought to a stand. When pressed by hunters, the bear generally takes refuge in a thicket of bushes among the rocks, where it is hardly possible to get a shot at him; and, indeed, it is of little use shooting at this stage of the hunt, for, unless you can hit him in the eye, his skull will turn an ounce bullet as if it were a putty-ball. The skin is so thick, and so well covered with hair and fur, that it is almost impenetrable, and, unless you can hit him just beneath and behind the shoulder, you might as well spare your powder.
When his retreat is discovered, the large dogs are held fast and the little terriers turned into the thicket; they yelp, snap at his heels, then fall back to avoid the strokes of his paws. Thus they worry and tease him for hours. Meanwhile his roars of anger, loud as thunder, seem to shake the very earth; sometimes the small dogs approach too near his head, and receive the penalty of their temerity in the form of a stroke which leaves them a mangled and lifeless mass, bearing little resemblance to the canine species. When the bear becomes completely tired, he seats himself upon his haunches, and turns this way and that, so as to always keep his face to the dogs. Now a hunter creeps stealthily up and endeavours to plant a ball in a vulnerable spot. If he succeeds in getting a clear sight of the bear, he generally wounds him, and he then breaks cover. The large dogs are now loosed, and fasten on him in the rear; the riflemen drop their shot at him, taking care to miss the dogs.
It often requires hours to overcome the monster, whose tenacity of life is most wonderful. This is accounted for by the fact that the heart of the bear is thickly covered with fat, which prevents its bleeding; there is also a coat of fat just beneath the skin, which closes after the passage of the ball and prevents the blood flowing.
The sergeant used to commence his story as follows:—
“In the autumn of the year 1846 (being then only seventeen years old), I was encamped with a party of gold-diggers upon the head of the Sacramento River, at the western base of the California range of mountains. Our party consisted of a dozen men, myself being about the youngest; we were living in a small cabin constructed of poles and logs, and a happy, merry lot we were. All were engaged in washing the glittering gold-dust from the bed of the river, save a friend and myself, who were assigned the duty of victualling the camp with game and fish, now and then making a trip of four or five days’ duration to a trading port about sixty miles down the river, for tea, sugar, ammunition, etc. My friend, a young Irishman, generally went with me; we rode a couple of mustangs (horses bred in a wild state), and led or drove two pack-mules.
“The ‘Emeralder’ and myself had formed a project to secure a menagerie of wild native animals, and adjoining our lodge we had a large cage, in the compartments of which were wolves, foxes, California lions, pumas, panthers, and a host of smaller fry, including birds. These we had, for the most part, secured when very young. We had long been most anxious to get a specimen of the ‘grizzly,’ but all our efforts in that way had failed. One morning, while we were at breakfast, a Mexican hide-dealer, who lived in a cabin a few miles from us, and from whom we had purchased several animals, called on us accompanied by four or five half-naked Indians, and told us that a large ‘grizzly,’ called by the natives ‘Mountain Thunder,’ had come down from the hills during the night and made a supper of a fat ox belonging to the Mexican. The Indians we had met in our hunting excursions had frequently told us of this monster. According to their reports he must have been near one hundred years of age, and of a size that a bear had never before attained. Their fathers had known that he lived years before they were born. This was not unlikely, for bears live to a great age; even in captivity they have been known to live a hundred years. We set out for the cabin of the Mexican. Near the house was the cattle-yard, the scene of the last night’s affair. The yard covered an area of about an acre, surrounded by a stout fence formed of large poles or stakes driven into the ground, and about ten feet high; within this the stock were all driven at night to preserve them from the attacks of bears, wolves, etc. On the side of the yard farthest from the dwelling, Bruin had made his entrance and left full proof of his strength behind him. Three or four large posts, about twelve inches in diameter, were torn from the earth in which they had been firmly planted to the depth of four feet; one had been broken at the surface of the ground, apparently by a stroke of the bear’s paw, as the indentures of his claws were an inch deep in the solid timber.
“After seizing the ox, he had thrown him on his back and decamped. We followed his track up the banks of a small stream towards the mountains for some miles. I measured the prints of his hind-feet in the soft clay, and found they were eighteen inches in length from the heel to the mark of his claws, and a little over nine inches wide.
“As we ascended the stream the course became more narrow and rocky, with a dense thicket of rough bushes clothing the hills on each side. Here the bear had made his feast; a few bones, horns, and hoofs, were all that was left, the wolves having eaten what the bear had left; some of the larger bones had been crushed like straws by his powerful grinders. After his brief banquet he had taken to the hills, where the party, with the exception of the Emeralder and myself, declined to follow him. After a brief consultation we determined to capture the ‘grizzly’ alive, if possible, and we set out on our return to our own cabin to complete our arrangements. The idea was scouted by our companions, but we determined to make the attempt. We felt sure, from the many footmarks, that the ravine was a favourite walk of the bear, and that he would return to the cattle-yard again in the course of a few nights. Loading our mules with tools at the lodge, we returned to the ravine and selected a suitable place where timber was plentiful. We then set about felling trees, and constructed a pen of logs about twenty feet square and six feet high, covering it with large poles, all firmly pinned together, and lashed with the bark of the ‘leather wood.’ It was midnight when we completed our task, and we could take no further proceedings that night. The next morning we returned, bringing with us a yearling heifer as a bait. We now raised one side of the pen about four feet, and placed a ‘figure four,’ or what is there termed a ‘dead-fall’ trap, beneath it, so arranged that, by pulling a cord attached to the ‘spindle,’ the edifice would come down with a run. We next staked the yearling under the cage, giving her plenty of grass, and led our cord out several yards down the stream, making it fast to a small tree which commanded a view of our trap, and in the branches of this tree one of us was to remain, ready to pull the cord, each night, until Bruin was captured. We fitted up a dry cave with buffalo-skins, near by, as a sleeping apartment.
“We watched two nights without success, passing a portion of our time in the day, when not sleeping, in fishing, cooking, and cutting grass for the heifer. About the middle of the third night, I was perched in my tree—the Emeralder had just retired to rest—when I heard a rustling of the bushes on the hill-side above me, and a low growl, which was unmistakably a signal of Bruin’s approach. My companion heard it as well, and put his head out of the cave. I motioned him to remain quiet. Soon the bear came slowly down into the ravine below me, and walked into the water-course to drink. When he emerged from the shelter of the bush into the bright moonlight, I was astonished at his size; he seemed like an elephant cut off at the knees. He took a drink, snuffing the water and the air around him, as if his instinct told him all was not right. I was fearful that he would go down the stream towards the Mexican’s cattle-yard, and thus we should lose him.
“The proximity of the bear alarmed the yearling; as if from instinct, she gave a low bellow of terror. Bruin caught the sound, and started off in a trot in the direction of the trap. He passed directly under my perch, stopping for a moment as if he scented me, which he no doubt did; and if I was not frightened, I certainly felt better when he moved on. I watched him until he reached the cage, around which he walked to reconnoitre. His love of veal soon overcame whatever scruples he might have had as to the nature of the structure, and my heart went pit-a-pat as I saw him stoop and crawl under the raised side.