off the dogs, and meet us. Seizing his opportunity, my comrade ran his steel into his side. The bear turned on him like lightning, and seized him; he uttered a shrill piercing shriek. Driven to desperation by the sight, I plunged my knife three times into the monster’s body with all my force, without thinking of jumping back; at the third thrust the bear turned upon me. Seeing his paw coming, I attempted to evade the blow, felt a sharp pang, and sunk senseless to the ground.
When I recovered my senses, Bearsgrease was licking the blood from my face. On attempting to rise, I felt a severe pain in my left side, and was unable to move my left arm. On making a fresh effort to rise, I succeeded in sitting up. The bear was close to me, and—less than three feet from him lay Erskine, stiff and cold. I sprang up with a cry of horror, and rushed towards him. It was too true; he was bathed in blood, his face torn to pieces, his right shoulder almost wrenched away from his body, and five of the best dogs ripped up and with broken limbs lying beside him. The bear was so covered with blood that his color was hardly discernible. My left arm appeared to be out of the socket, but I could feel that no bones were broken.
The sun had gone down, and I had hoped that the other hunters might have heard our shots and the barking and howling of the dogs. It grew dark. No one came. I roared and shouted like mad; no one heard me. I tried to light a fire, but my left arm was so swelled that I gave up the attempt. But as it would have been certain death to pass the night under these, circumstances without a fire, I tore away part of the back of my hunting shirt, the fore part being saturated with blood, sprinkled some powder on it, rubbed it well in, all with my right hand, shook a little powder into my rifle, and placing the muzzle on the rag, I fired, when it began to burn immediately. Blowing it up to a flame, I piled on dry leaves, twigs, &c., and succeeded in making a good fire, though with great pain and trouble. It was now dark. I went to my dead comrade, who was lying about five yards from the fire. He was already stiff, and it was with great difficulty that I could pull down his arms and lay him straight; nor could I keep his eyes closed, though I laid small stones on them.
The dogs were very hungry, but as it was impossible for me to break up the bear, I only ripped him up, and fed them with his entrails. Bearsgrease laid himself down by the corpse, looking steadfastly in its face, and went no more near the bear. In the hope of obtaining help, I loaded and fired twice, but nothing moved: the forest appeared one enormous grave.
I felt very ill, vomited several times, and my shoulder was excessively painful. Winding my blanket round me as well as I could, I laid myself down beside the fire, and lost all consciousness of my wretched situation; whether I slept or fainted is more than I can tell, but I know that I dreamed I was at home, in bed, and my mother brought me some tea and laid her hand on my breast; I heard the children in the street making a noise, and saw the snow on the roofs of the houses, and thought it must be very cold out of doors.
Such an awakening as I had was worse than I could wish to my bitterest enemy. Bearsgrease had pressed close to my side, laying his head on my breast; the fire was almost out, I was shivering with cold, and the wolves were howling fearfully around the dead, keeping at a distance for fear of the living, but by no means disposed to lose their prey. I rose with difficulty, and laid more wood on the fire. As it burnt up, the face of the corpse seemed to brighten. I started, but found it was only an optical delusion. Louder and fiercer howled the wolves, and the dogs, of whom five were alive besides Bearsgrease, answered them; but the answer was by no means one of defiance—rather a lament for the dead. Partly to scare away the wolves, partly in the hope of finding help, I loaded and fired three times; my delight was inexpressible as I heard three shots in return. I loaded and fired till all my powder was expended. As morning broke, I heard two shots not far off, and soon after, a third. A shipwrecked mariner, hanging on to a single plank, could not raise his voice more lustily to hail a passing ship, than I did then—and, joy upon joy, I heard a human voice in answer. The bark of the dogs announced a stranger, and Wachiga advanced out of the bush. “Wah!” he exclaimed, starting at the shocking spectacle. He felt poor Erskine, and shook his head mournfully. He then turned to me. I showed him my swollen arm, which he examined attentively, without speaking. Forming a hollow with his two hands, and placing them to his lips, he gave a loud piercing shout. The answer came from no great distance, and in a few minutes my dear old Conwell, and most of the Indians, were at my side. I grasped Conwell’s hand sorrowfully, and told him in few words how it had all happened. The old man scolded, and said it served us right; there was no great danger in sticking a knife into a bear’s paunch, when he is falling, with the dogs upon him, but if he has been thrown, and then catches sight of his greatest enemy, man, he exerts all his force to attack him, and woe to him who comes within reach of his paws. It was all very well talking; he had not been present, and seen one dog after another knocked over never to rise again; five minutes more, and not one would have been saved, and who knows whether the enraged beast would not have attacked us, then.