“I see him!” he shouted at last; and bits of bark, leaves, and rotten twigs came rattling down, while the loud whacks of his stick reached our ears. Presently there was a “flop;” the raccoon had been compelled to evacuate its stronghold. The dogs once more gave chase; and I, torch in hand, followed them. In less than a minute I came up with the dogs, and found the creature at bay, its eyes flashing fire, while it bravely faced the pack, which, with gnashing growls and savage yells, were about to dash upon it, though each seemed unwilling to receive the first bite from its sharp teeth. But, hearing the voices of their masters, they gained courage, and in another instant had the poor animal struggling vainly in their midst; while our blows came rattling down, to finish its sufferings, and prevent them tearing its skin to pieces.
Such was one of several raccoon-hunts in which I took part.
The raccoon is about the size of a spaniel, and its colour is a blackish grey. Its tail is short and bushy, and is marked with five or six blackish rings on a grey ground. When the animal walks slowly, or sits, it plants the soles of its feet upon the ground; but when in a hurry it runs along on the tips of its toes. It hunts for its prey chiefly at night, when it devours any small animals it can catch. It has no objection, however, to a vegetable diet; and, indeed, its teeth show that it is capable of feeding on both descriptions of food.
I once caught a young raccoon, which soon became domesticated—being quite as tame as a dog. It possessed, however, a habit of which I could not cure it; that of seizing any fowls it set eyes on, and biting off their heads. It having treated two or three of Aunt Hannah’s in this way, I was compelled to carry it into the forest and set it at liberty. It enjoyed its freedom but a short time, however, as it was soon afterwards hunted and killed by some of our boys.
Having got so far from home, our party were not inclined to return without something in addition to the unfortunate animal we had slaughtered. Mike, too, announced to us that he had seen a brown bear at a spot a little further on; so it was at once agreed that we should “knock up the quarters of Mr Bruin.”
It was necessary to proceed with caution; for though the “musquaw” or brown bear will seldom attack a human being unless first assaulted, our friend, if unceremoniously disturbed at night, would probably not be in a good-humour. Our three well-trained dogs kept at our heels, but the other curs went yelping away through the forest; nor could their masters’ voices succeed in calling them back. We feared, therefore, that they would rouse up the bear, and thus give it time to escape before we could reach its dwelling.
“Faix, though, I am not sure that the noise outside won’t make the old gentleman keep quiet in his den,” observed Mike. “He will be after saying to his wife, ‘Sure, what would be the use, Molly, of turning out to go hunting thim noisy spalpeens of dogs? I’ll sit snug and quiet till they come to the door; and thin, sure, it will be toime enough to axe thim what they want.’”
Mike’s notion encouraged us to go on; and at length Pop, Snap, and Yelp gave signs of uneasiness, and showed a decided inclination to rush forward.
“Let dem go!” exclaimed Quambo.
“Off with you!” we cried at once; and the dogs darted on, barking furiously, until they stopped before the decayed trunk of a huge tree, round which several smaller trees, once saplings, had grown up—a well-selected natural fortification. As the light of our torches fell on it, we fully expected to see Mr Bruin stalk forth and inquire what we wanted.