Better Than Men

by Rush C. Hawkins

In addition to the usual attractions of such a resort, there was a circular pen with a pole planted in the centre of it to which was attached a certain two-thirds grown specimen of the common American black bear. When the merest mite of a cub he had been captured in the wilds of Michigan, and afterwards sent to “Captain Dan” as a present by one of his old friends of the lakes.

“Tim” was a great pet and altogether comical. He found a comic side to every incident which came under his observation, and, seemingly, never had a serious thought or an unhappy moment. It might be said of him that he was reared in luxury, for during his infancy he had a pleasant corner of the bar-room for his abode, where he became the pet of the patrons and the recipient of all kinds of good things from the larder, with now and then a taste from the bottle arranged in a way to fit his appetite, and very much to his liking.

In the interests of truthful history, it must be recorded that “Tim,” within a short time after his first julep, became enamored of the bottle, and, very much after the manner of the old style Southern bar-room tippler, would watch the patrons of the bar, looking wistfully into their faces for an invitation to “smile.” At the beginning of his career as an habitual drinker, it took about six or seven “treats” to put him in a state of good-natured inebriation. When in that condition, he was the incarnation of animal happiness; lying upon his back with all four feet in the air, head to one side, tongue half out of his wide-open mouth, with eyes half closed, he was the perfect personification of good nature and indifference to earthly happenings. Kings might rule the world, but Tim’s happiness was supreme. He envied no other bear, and if a tree trunk filled with the most delicious honey had been within easy reach he would not have raised a paw for a barrel of it. The things of this world troubled him not, and he possessed only one phase of the great passion of avarice—he always, when sober, wanted enough strong drink to make him happy. He had the appetite of the habitual human drunkard, but, when in his cups, differed from his human confrère in one important particular; he was good natured and kind and never quarrelsome or cruel like the human brute in a similar condition.

Sometimes, when he was floored, a friend would try to coax him to another drink by temptingly placing a well-filled glass near his nose, an invitation that would generally excite in him an effort to rise and a very comical and unsteady attempt to follow the lead of the disappearing glass; usually he would wobble over, but would right himself enough to sit up and gaze intently after the fascinating beverage beyond his reach. In respect to demeanor or quantity, he was quite human; he never knew he was making a beast of himself, or when he had enough. I do not pretend to say that Tim’s habits of drink were not reprehensible; for the purposes of this true story he must have the blame. It was certainly not the fault of his master; he simply suffered the usual penalty of having too many thoughtless and convivial friends.

In course of time, Tim became quite a bear, altogether too large for a bar-room pet, and was removed to a specially prepared pen and chained to a pole with a platform rest at the top. The change for Tim was not a success. He spent his time in running around and climbing up and down his pole, all the time whining, pleading, and scolding; he grew thin, and looked and acted as though he regarded life as a failure. Occasionally, a friend, pitying his unhappy condition, would unchain him and lead him to his old haunt. In fact, it was nearly impossible to lead him in any other direction. As soon as released from his pole he would start for the bar-room, dragging his friend with him, nor would he stop until he reached his favorite room, when, standing up with his hands on the counter, he would mumble out in his most intelligible bear-language a peremptory demand for a drink. Sometimes he was indulged to an extent which would enable him to catch a glimpse of his lost paradise, but usually he was returned to his pen after having disposed of only enough of his favorite beverage to give him an appetite for more.

It had often been suggested that if Tim could have a congenial occupation his grief for his lost liberty would not be so acute. Accidentally, an employment for all his spare time was forced upon him.

One day, during a great thunderstorm, when the wind was blowing strong from the east, a small alligator, about six feet long, was carried by a wave to a part of the piazza near where I was sitting. He undertook to get back into the lake with the receding water, but, being determined to detain him, I caught him by the end of the tail. Within half of a second the problem of extremes meeting was solved. As soon as he felt my hold he doubled himself around, brought his jaws to-together with a savage snap, and came within an infinitesimal measure of catching my hand. By that time my blood was up, and I made up my mind to effect a capture of my belligerent caller. With the use of a strong chair for a weapon, I succeeded in preventing his return to the lake. Soon assistance with a rope arrived, and a tight-drawn noose around the upper jaw did the rest. “De ’gater swished dat tail a’ his awfully Massa, but we done got him sure,” was the announcement that conveyed to “Captain Dan” the information that he was the owner of a “’gater.” Our captive was put in a safe place for the night, and the next morning what to do with him became the burning question.

After considerable discussion a valuable suggestion came from one of the colored spectators. He said: “I reckon if dat ’gater and Tim had a chance dey’d make fust-rate frens inside a week.” A unanimous vote approved of the proposition, and in five minutes “de ’gater was in de pen” and the gate closed.

It was Tim’s custom whenever he heard company approaching his place of abode to meet them at the threshold. Upon this occasion, as usual, he was ready to bestow the hospitalities of his establishment, but the manner of his receiving was neither urbane nor graceful. His front door was suddenly opened and an unwelcome guest unceremoniously thrust upon the hospitality of the unsuspecting Tim, who was wholly unprepared for such a visitor. It was his first experience with a Saurian. He had never seen one before, and it took only a second for him to make up his mind to pass the act of non-intercourse. He scampered to his pole and climbed to his platform at the top, where, during the next twenty-four hours, he remained an anxious and frightened observer.

The new arrangement was no more satisfactory to the guest than to the host. He missed his shore promenades and bathing accommodations; could not imagine why he was shut up in a small enclosure, and spent his first day and night in searching for an opening large enough for him to crawl through. By noon of his second day of confinement he gave up his fruitless search and settled down to a midday repose.