“As I was pretty nigh famished, thinks I to myself, ‘I’ll have some steaks out of you, old gal, at all events;’ so I cut three or four fine steaks out of her rump (saving your pardon, Mrs Kelson, and ladies all), and precious juicy and nice to look at they were; but how to dress them was the job. At first I thought that I should have to eat them raw, as I had often done salt beef; but on hunting about on a higher part of the cave, I found a quantity of dry sticks and leaves which had served the bears for a bed, I suppose. Piling up some of them, I struck a light, and made a fire to dress the steaks, while the young cubs kept rubbing against me, and couldn’t make out whether I was their mother or their daddy I believe. I gave them each a bit of steak, which they seemed to think not bad sucking.
“You see I was inside the cave, though there was just room to look out over the body of the dead bear, but scarcely space enough for me to have squeezed myself out if I had wished it. I didn’t just then wish to go out, for I was very comfortable; I had a dry roof over my head, and company too, and plenty to eat; only I should have liked a glass of grog to wash down the food.
“Well, as I was eating the bear’s steak, I thought to myself, ‘It would have been better for Abraham Coxe if he had stuck to his old shipmate instead of running away at sight of danger.’
“I had just finished supper, and was thinking of turning in for the night, when I heard a loud growl at the mouth of the cave. I made sure that it was the she-bear come to life again, for I was getting drowsy, and I began to think what she would say to me for having stolen her steaks. However, at last I got up and looked out, and there I saw a great big he-bear walking about in front of the cave, and I have no doubt scolding his wife for not getting out of his way to let him in. At last he began to back astern, but he couldn’t make her move.
“‘Growl away, my bo’,’ says I. ‘If you keep on at that game, I’ll make steaks of you before long.’
“I sat as quiet as possible, picking my teeth with the point of my knife, for the steaks were rather tough, you may guess. The little bears, playful like, were running about round me, while the old bear was grumbling away outside, thinking maybe that his wife had taken a drop too much, and couldn’t get up. All of a sudden I heard a great hullabaloo, and several shots were fired, and down came the old bear as dead as a door nail in front of the cave.
“Among other voices, I recognised that of Abraham Coxe. ‘My poor mate is killed, and eaten by the bears,’ says he; ‘but I may as well have his knife, and his baccy-box and buttons, if they ain’t eaten too.’
“‘No, I ain’t eaten nor dead either, you cowardly rascal, and I hope a better man nor you may have my traps when I do go,’ I sings out, for I was in a towering rage at being deserted.
“At first the people were going to run away, thinking it was my ghost that was speaking; but when I sang out again, and told them that I was a living man, some of them took courage, and came and dragged the two old bears out of the way. At last I crawled out, followed by the young cubs, to the great astonishment of all who saw us. To make a long story short, this was the way how the people had come to my rescue. When Coxe ran away, not knowing where he went, he ran right into the village, which was all the time close to us. When the villagers heard what had happened, they all came out to have a shot at the bears, not expecting to find me alive. They seemed very glad I had escaped, and carried me back in triumph to the village. As it was through our means they got two bears and a number of cubs, they treated us very kindly, and pressed us to stay with them. When, however, we found that we should never reach America by going over the mountains, and as we had no fancy to spend a winter in this outlandish sort of a place, seeing that the summer wasn’t very pleasant, we judged it best to go back to our ship and give ourselves up. We got three dozen a-piece, which I can only say we richly deserved, and neither of us ever attempted to desert again. ‘Let well alone,’ I used to say. ‘If I do get away, I shall only find myself before long on board another ship, and worse off than before, probably.’”
Jerry’s advice was very sound. Many a man deserts to obtain an uncertain good, and finds, when too late, that he has secured a certain ill.