“Old Mr. John Elwell, Sam’s father, had a hive of bees: they swarmed, and took for the woods, and got on a tree; he followed them and hived them. There were two maple trees, that grew within three feet of each other; so he put a plank between them, and set a hive on it, meaning to carry them home in the fall, when it was cold and the bees got stiff.
“One night he was going after his cows, and thought he would take a look at the bees. He found the hive on the ground all stove to pieces; every drop of honey licked clean out of it. The bears had got well stung, for the bark was torn off the trees all around where they had bitten them in their rage and anger. But a bear is so covered with fur, that only a small part of him is exposed to the sting of the bees; and no matter how much anguish it causes them, they will have the honey.
“They plagued us terribly that fall; you couldn’t get a wild grape, nor a choke-cherry, for them, and it kept us at work all the fall watching the cattle and corn, and setting spring-guns and dead-falls. There was one old she bear that father swore vengeance against. We had the sheep for safety in a log sheep-house in the yard, but she climbed over the fence, tore off the roof, and carried away the old ram. She had two white stripes on each side of her nose, and was well known; she had been hunted again and again, and once had been wounded by a spring-gun and tracked by the blood; but she could not be overtaken, nor could her den be found. We had six hogs that year, that lived in the pasture, and every day at low water went a clamming. We had put them up for fear of the bears. One old sow was in a pen by herself, fatting. We were going to kill her in a week. We had just fed the cattle, and set down to supper, when we heard a terrible squealing, all the hogs squealing as if to see which could squeal the loudest, and the rooster crowing. We ran out. There was that old white-nosed bear, with the sow hugged up in her fore paws, walking off on her hind legs, just as easy as a man would walk with a baby. Father ran back, caught the gun out of the bracket, but before he could load, the bear was in the woods. It had got to be dark, and the old sow’s cries could no more be heard. He raised the neighbors. They took firebrands and searched the woods; but the ground was froze too hard to find the trail, and so the bear got off with her booty. You may well think father was greatly enraged, not only at the loss of his property, but he was greatly vexed that so distinguished a hunter as he was should be thus insulted by a bear. He did nothing else but scour the woods for that bear, and as nearly all the neighbors had some cause of complaint against her, he had assistance enough, but all in vain. He had set a steel bear-trap, dead-falls, and spring-guns for her, but she was too knowing to be caught. She sprung the steel-trap, which he had baited and covered up in chaff, by going all round the bait and trap in a circle, and thumping on the ground with her fore feet, coming nearer and nearer till she jarred it off.
“On the last of that winter there came a great thaw, and took off all the snow on the open ground. It was so warm the old bear came out, and begun her depredations. Father went and borrowed three steel bear-traps, set one in the middle, and baited it, and the others round it, and put no bait on them, covered them up in dirt, and put a long chain to them, with a grapple to it.
“The second night one of the outside traps was gone—chain, grappling, and all. The bear, too cunning to go into the trap where the bait was, had stepped into one of those that was covered up, while trying to jar the other off. Father sent me right off for John Elwell, while he loaded his gun and got ready. Uncle John came, and with him Black Cæsar. Cæsar was a master powerful man, and as spry as a cat. I cried and roared to go, but father refused, saying I might get hurt, and there was no knowing how far they might have to go, nor when they should get back; but Cæsar, with whom I was a great favorite, said he would take care of me, and that he didn’t believe the bear could carry that chain and grappling a great way. Finally father yielded. There was no trouble in tracking the bear, for the grappling had torn up the ground where it had hitched into the cradle-knolls and bushes. Sometimes they lost the trail for a good while, when it was evident that the bear had taken up the grappling, when it got fast, and carried it; and father said she must be caught by her fore paws, as he knew by her track that she walked on her hind legs, sometimes half a mile—trap, grappling, and all. They followed her into the woods nearly two miles, Cæsar helping me over the windfalls, and sometimes taking me on his shoulder, till finally, at Millbrook, we lost her track altogether. In vain they searched the woods. There was no sign of bear or trap. Discouraged, they gave it up, and sat down on the bank of the brook.
“Uncle John said she had got the grappling caught trying to swim the river, and was drowned, and he hoped she was. They had all about come to that conclusion, when I, who was playing on the bank, was attracted by some beautiful white and yellow moss growing at the roots of a black ash, and going to get some, saw the grappling hooked over the main root of the ash. I instantly ran back, crying with fright, and feeling in fancy the bear’s claws on my throat. It was the most singular place for a den you ever saw. You might have gone within three feet of it, and never suspected its existence.
“The stream, which had formerly flowed under a high bank, had shifted its channel in some freshet, and the frost, working on the bank after the water was gone, had thrown down a great rock, which, catching one corner on the butt and the other on the roots of the big ash, was thus held up, while the earth beneath crumbled away. Under this shelf, with a very little work, the bear had made her den; and there she was, with her right fore leg in the trap, on a bed of pine boughs, with the grappling,—which she had not had time to bring in, we had followed her so closely,—caught in the roots at the mouth, which, had it not happened, we should never have found her. Father, with the greatest satisfaction, put two balls through her head, and then, taking hold of the chain, they dragged her out. When they found three cubs, you may well think I was delighted. I hugged, kissed, and patted them, and thought they were the prettiest things I ever saw in my life. They were less than a foot long, had no teeth, and had not got their eyes open. O, how I begged to carry them all home! Father wouldn’t hear to it, but allowed me to have one, and take my choice. I took the one that had a white face, like the old one, and cried well when they knocked the others on the head. Cæsar carried the cub home for me, and in gratitude I called him after him. How I loved that cub! I got some cow’s milk, put it in a pan, and then put my finger in his mouth, and he would suck it, and thus suck up the milk. We carried him out to the barn, and tried to have him suck like a calf; but as soon as the cow smelt him, she was half crazy with fear, kicked, roared, broke her bow, and ran out of the barn. We never tried it again.
“He soon began to have teeth, and then would eat bread and potatoes, and most anything, but sugar and molasses was his great delight. He soon made friends with the dog and cat, and would play with them by the hour together.
“In the summer he would catch mice, frogs, and crickets, and get into mud-holes in the woods, and roll over till he was covered with mud; and when the wild berries, acorns, and hazel-nuts came, he lived first rate. In the first part of the spring he would eat the young sprouts and tender leaves of the trees,—anything that was juicy,—and would rob birds’ nests. As mother used to make me churn, I learned him to stand on his hind legs and help me, which he would sometimes do for half an hour, at other times but a few minutes. He would haul me on the sled as long as he liked, but when he thought he’d done it enough, there was no such thing as making him do any more. If I tried to force him, he would take me up in his paws and set me on a log, or leave me and run up a tree. He was very quick to imitate, and seeing me one night carrying in the night’s wood, he took up a log in his paws, and, standing on his hind legs, walked in with it, and laid it by the fireplace. Ever after that he brought in all the night’s wood,—that is, all the logs,—but he wouldn’t touch the small wood, seeming to think that beneath him. He would take a log that three men couldn’t move, and walk off with it. Indeed, I believe a bear is stronger on his hind legs than in any other way, for they always stand up for a fight.
“It was no small help to have him carry in the great logs, three feet through, that I used to have to haul on a sled, and the backsticks and foresticks; but I hated to do chores as bad as any boy ever did, and used to try to coax him with bread and molasses, and even honey, to carry in the small wood, but it was no use. He would eat the bread and honey, but wouldn’t touch the wood.