Not long after coming to this settlement, the youthful Meshack had his first adventure with a bear. While milking a cow one day, he heard a great deal of noise at the house, and inquiring what it all meant, was told by one of the girls who lived there that a bear had just gone by. Running to the front portico he there found that four or five gentlemen, who had come to visit the owner of the house (bringing with them their bird-guns, and several little dogs), had gone in pursuit of the beast. The dogs were so small that two of them would have made about a mouthful for Brother Bruin.
The owner of the house, Mr. Caldwell, was a successful bear hunter and had two fine dogs which were well trained to fight these animals. Meshack called them, took the old man’s gun, and ran in the direction of the noise, until he overtook the party of huntsmen, who had halted just as the bear reached a clump of woods. The little dogs would not leave their master, for they seemed to be afraid that the bear would tear them to pieces. But as soon as Mr. Caldwell’s animals scented the bear, off they went, heads down and tails up. Meshack followed on behind.
On, on, coursed the dogs: on, on, went Meshack. Hastening towards the sounds of the fray, the young hunter saw both bear and dogs turning somersaults down a very steep hill. Over and over they rolled, Meshack after them as hard as he could tilt, and the way that the fur flew was most interesting. The fight became desperate, and the bear found that his hindquarters were suffering severely; so severely, in fact, that he determined to climb a large tree. When halfway up to the lowest branches, he saw Meshack come puffing and blowing down the hill. This frightened him and he attempted to descend to the ground.
As he crawled slowly towards the sod, Meshack let drive and sent a small rifle ball through the middle of his body. The bear plunged to the earth, making two or three somersaults as he did so, but finding the dogs too ferocious for him, he immediately ascended a large oak tree. The oak being forked and very high, he went up to the first branch, and, lying down on it, refused to move. By this time the gentlemen who owned the little dogs had come up, and as many of them had never seen a bear before, they began to consult among themselves about what was to be done. Meshack had no more balls for his little rifle and they had nothing but small shot.
After a lengthy discussion it was agreed to try and see what a load of shot would do for Mr. Bruin. Meshack agreed that it was impossible to kill the bear with that and told the other huntsmen to let the beast alone until he fetched some more balls, or else secured some one else to come and shoot him.
“Stand back and keep your counsel to yourself,” cried one of the men. “We know how to handle this rascally bear. Let us finish him off!”
Taking aim at the animal’s head, one of them again fired, but this only made the bear snort, scratch his face, and climb up the tree as far as he could go. Here he seated himself upon another fork, and, although repeatedly shot at, would not budge.
The bear hunters were feeling very much discouraged. After a long parley they decided to send for a certain pioneer called John Martin, who could shoot a squirrel off the highest tree in the woods. A scout was dispatched for him, and, at about nine in the evening, he returned with the famous marksman, who brought a rifle shooting an ounce ball. After the trapper had had full time to recover his breath, which climbing the high hill had rendered rather short, he placed himself in a good position and let drive. Mr. Bear remained in his place unscathed. Several more shots were fired by the old fellow, but Bruin simply hugged the limb in apparent comfort.
“Here, boys,” cried one, “is a Mr. Morris—a Revolutionary officer—who has killed many an English soldier. Let him have a crack at this elusive mark!”
“Yes! Yes!” called several. “Give some one else a chance.”