Chapter Nineteen.The Pyrenees.Speaking geologically, the Pyrenees extend along the whole north of Spain, from the Mediterranean to the province of Galicia on the Atlantic; and in this sense the chain may be regarded as between six and seven hundred miles in length.More properly, however, the term “Pyrenees” is limited to that portion of the range which lies directly between France and Spain; in other words, along the neck or isthmus of the Spanish peninsula. Thus limited, the range is less than half the above length, or about three hundred miles; while its average breadth is fifty.Though less elevated than the Alps, the Pyrenees mountains are no molehills. Their highest peak, Maladetta, towers above 11,000 feet; and several others are of nearly equal height—while more than forty summits reach the elevation of 9,000!The most elevated peaks are near the centre of the Pyrenees, the range gradually dipping downward as the extremities are approached. For this reason the most practicable passes are found near the eastern and western ends; though many also exist in the central part of the chain. In all, there are fifty passes or “ports,” as they are called, leading from the French to the Spanish side; but only five of these are practicable for wheeled vehicles; and a large number are only known (or at all events only travelled) by the smugglers—contrabandistas—a class of gentry who swarm on both sides of the Pyrenean frontier.The superficial extent of these mountains is about 11,000 or 12,000 square miles. Part of this is French, and the remainder Spanish territory. As a general rule, the “divide,” or main axis of the ridge forms the boundary line; but in the eastern section, the French territory has been extended beyond the natural frontier.The geological formation of the Pyrenees consists both of primitive and secondary rocks—the latter being greater in mass, and composed of argillaceous schist, grauwacke (schistose and common), and limestone. Mines of lead, iron, and copper are found in this formation—the lead containing a proportion of silver. The primitive rocks are granite; and run in zones or belts, extended lengthwise in the direction of the chain; and it is in the rupture between these and the transition strata, that the chemical springs, for which the Pyrenees are so famous, gush forth. Of these remarkable fountains—many of them almost at boiling heat—no less than 253 have been discovered in different parts of the range. A great number of them are celebrated for their medicinal virtues, and are the favourite summer resorts of invalids, as well as the votaries of pleasure, from all parts of the world—but more especially from France and Spain.The botany of the Pyrenees is full of interest. It may be regarded as an epitome of the whole Europeanflora: since scarcely a plant exists, from the Mediterranean to the Arctic sea, that has not a representative species in some part of this mountain chain. In the valleys and lower slopes of the mountains the forest is chiefly composed of Lombardy poplars and sycamores; a little higher, the Spanish chestnut, oaks, hazels, and alders, the mountain ash and birch trees abound; and still farther up you enter the region of the pines—thepinus sylvestrisgrowing in dense continuous forests, while the more graceful “stone pine” is seen only in isolated groups or scattered trees. Everywhere a richflorameets the eye; flowers of the most lovely hues reflected in crystal rivulets—for the waters of the Pyrenees are pure beyond comparison, such a thing as a turbid stream being unknown throughout the whole range.Above the pine forests the mountains exhibit a zone of naked declivities, stretching upward to the line of congelation—which in the Pyrenees is higher than upon the Alps. The former has been variously estimated: some fixing it at 8,300 feet, while others raise it as high as 9,000; but, indeed, it would be more just to say that the snow-line depends greatly upon the locality of the particular mountain, and its southern or northern exposure.In any case, it is more than 1,000 feet higher than on the Alps; the superior elevation being accounted for, by the more southern latitude of the Franco-Spanish chain. Perhaps the proximity of the sea has more to do with this phenomenon than the trifling difference of latitude?Upon the higher declivities and summits, snowfields and glaciers abound, as in the Alps; and even in some of the passes these phenomena are encountered. Most of the passes are higher than those of the Alps; but in consequence of the greater elevation of the snow-line, they remain open throughout the winter. At all seasons, however, they are by no means easy to traverse; and the cold winds that whistle through them are scarce to be endured. The Spaniards, who have a proverbial expression for almost every idea, have not neglected this one. In the ports (puertos) of the Pyrenees, say they, “the father waits not for his son, nor the son for his father.”If the passes across these mountains are higher than those of the Alps, the transverse valleys are the reverse; those of the Pyrenees being in general much lower. The consequence is, that from the bottom of these valleys the mountains themselves appear far loftier than any of the Alpine peaks,—the eye taking in at one view a greater angle of elevation.Thefaunaof the Pyrenean chain, though less full and varied than itsflora, is nevertheless of great interest. In the more densely wooded solitudes, and higher declivities of the mountains, a large bear is found, whose light fulvous-coloured body and black paws pronounce him a different animal from theursus arctos. If he be the same species, as naturalists assert, he claims at least to be a permanent variety, and deserves his distinctive appellation ofursus pyrenaicus.Wolves abound; Spanish wolves, long famed for their fierceness; the common whitish-brown wolf (canis lupus), and a darker and still larger variety—in short, a black wolf, designated the “wolf of the Pyrenees,” though it is equally a denizen of the other mountainsierrasof Portugal and Spain.The European lynx (felis lynx), and the wild cat, both skulk through the Pyrenean forests; the former now only rarely seen. Along the naked cliffs leaps the “izzard,” which is identical with the chamois of the Alps (antelope rupicapra); and in the same localities, but more rarely seen, the “bouquetin,” or “tur” (aigocerus pyrenaicus)—a species of ibex,notidentical with thecapra ibexof Linnaeus and the Alpine mountains.Birds of many European species frequent the lower forests of the Pyrenees, or fill the sheltered valleys with their vocal music; while, soaring above the mountain summits, may be seen the great vulture-eagle, or “lammergeyer,” watching with greedy eye the feeble lambkin, or the new-born kid of the ibex and izzard.With such knowledge of their natural history, it was with feelings of no ordinary interest that our young hunters turned their faces towards that vast serried rampart that separates the land of the Gaul from the country of the Iberian.It was by the Val d’Ossau, literally the “valley of the bear,” that they made their approach to the mountains,—that valley celebrated as the residence and hunting-ground of Henri of Navarre: but now, in modern days, noted for its valuable thermal springs ofEaux BonnesandEaux Chaudes.Up this mountain gorge went our heroes, their faces turned southward, and their eyes carried high up to the Pic du Midi d’Ossau—the mountain of the bears—an appropriate name for that beacon which was now directing their course.
Speaking geologically, the Pyrenees extend along the whole north of Spain, from the Mediterranean to the province of Galicia on the Atlantic; and in this sense the chain may be regarded as between six and seven hundred miles in length.
More properly, however, the term “Pyrenees” is limited to that portion of the range which lies directly between France and Spain; in other words, along the neck or isthmus of the Spanish peninsula. Thus limited, the range is less than half the above length, or about three hundred miles; while its average breadth is fifty.
Though less elevated than the Alps, the Pyrenees mountains are no molehills. Their highest peak, Maladetta, towers above 11,000 feet; and several others are of nearly equal height—while more than forty summits reach the elevation of 9,000!
The most elevated peaks are near the centre of the Pyrenees, the range gradually dipping downward as the extremities are approached. For this reason the most practicable passes are found near the eastern and western ends; though many also exist in the central part of the chain. In all, there are fifty passes or “ports,” as they are called, leading from the French to the Spanish side; but only five of these are practicable for wheeled vehicles; and a large number are only known (or at all events only travelled) by the smugglers—contrabandistas—a class of gentry who swarm on both sides of the Pyrenean frontier.
The superficial extent of these mountains is about 11,000 or 12,000 square miles. Part of this is French, and the remainder Spanish territory. As a general rule, the “divide,” or main axis of the ridge forms the boundary line; but in the eastern section, the French territory has been extended beyond the natural frontier.
The geological formation of the Pyrenees consists both of primitive and secondary rocks—the latter being greater in mass, and composed of argillaceous schist, grauwacke (schistose and common), and limestone. Mines of lead, iron, and copper are found in this formation—the lead containing a proportion of silver. The primitive rocks are granite; and run in zones or belts, extended lengthwise in the direction of the chain; and it is in the rupture between these and the transition strata, that the chemical springs, for which the Pyrenees are so famous, gush forth. Of these remarkable fountains—many of them almost at boiling heat—no less than 253 have been discovered in different parts of the range. A great number of them are celebrated for their medicinal virtues, and are the favourite summer resorts of invalids, as well as the votaries of pleasure, from all parts of the world—but more especially from France and Spain.
The botany of the Pyrenees is full of interest. It may be regarded as an epitome of the whole Europeanflora: since scarcely a plant exists, from the Mediterranean to the Arctic sea, that has not a representative species in some part of this mountain chain. In the valleys and lower slopes of the mountains the forest is chiefly composed of Lombardy poplars and sycamores; a little higher, the Spanish chestnut, oaks, hazels, and alders, the mountain ash and birch trees abound; and still farther up you enter the region of the pines—thepinus sylvestrisgrowing in dense continuous forests, while the more graceful “stone pine” is seen only in isolated groups or scattered trees. Everywhere a richflorameets the eye; flowers of the most lovely hues reflected in crystal rivulets—for the waters of the Pyrenees are pure beyond comparison, such a thing as a turbid stream being unknown throughout the whole range.
Above the pine forests the mountains exhibit a zone of naked declivities, stretching upward to the line of congelation—which in the Pyrenees is higher than upon the Alps. The former has been variously estimated: some fixing it at 8,300 feet, while others raise it as high as 9,000; but, indeed, it would be more just to say that the snow-line depends greatly upon the locality of the particular mountain, and its southern or northern exposure.
In any case, it is more than 1,000 feet higher than on the Alps; the superior elevation being accounted for, by the more southern latitude of the Franco-Spanish chain. Perhaps the proximity of the sea has more to do with this phenomenon than the trifling difference of latitude?
Upon the higher declivities and summits, snowfields and glaciers abound, as in the Alps; and even in some of the passes these phenomena are encountered. Most of the passes are higher than those of the Alps; but in consequence of the greater elevation of the snow-line, they remain open throughout the winter. At all seasons, however, they are by no means easy to traverse; and the cold winds that whistle through them are scarce to be endured. The Spaniards, who have a proverbial expression for almost every idea, have not neglected this one. In the ports (puertos) of the Pyrenees, say they, “the father waits not for his son, nor the son for his father.”
If the passes across these mountains are higher than those of the Alps, the transverse valleys are the reverse; those of the Pyrenees being in general much lower. The consequence is, that from the bottom of these valleys the mountains themselves appear far loftier than any of the Alpine peaks,—the eye taking in at one view a greater angle of elevation.
Thefaunaof the Pyrenean chain, though less full and varied than itsflora, is nevertheless of great interest. In the more densely wooded solitudes, and higher declivities of the mountains, a large bear is found, whose light fulvous-coloured body and black paws pronounce him a different animal from theursus arctos. If he be the same species, as naturalists assert, he claims at least to be a permanent variety, and deserves his distinctive appellation ofursus pyrenaicus.
Wolves abound; Spanish wolves, long famed for their fierceness; the common whitish-brown wolf (canis lupus), and a darker and still larger variety—in short, a black wolf, designated the “wolf of the Pyrenees,” though it is equally a denizen of the other mountainsierrasof Portugal and Spain.
The European lynx (felis lynx), and the wild cat, both skulk through the Pyrenean forests; the former now only rarely seen. Along the naked cliffs leaps the “izzard,” which is identical with the chamois of the Alps (antelope rupicapra); and in the same localities, but more rarely seen, the “bouquetin,” or “tur” (aigocerus pyrenaicus)—a species of ibex,notidentical with thecapra ibexof Linnaeus and the Alpine mountains.
Birds of many European species frequent the lower forests of the Pyrenees, or fill the sheltered valleys with their vocal music; while, soaring above the mountain summits, may be seen the great vulture-eagle, or “lammergeyer,” watching with greedy eye the feeble lambkin, or the new-born kid of the ibex and izzard.
With such knowledge of their natural history, it was with feelings of no ordinary interest that our young hunters turned their faces towards that vast serried rampart that separates the land of the Gaul from the country of the Iberian.
It was by the Val d’Ossau, literally the “valley of the bear,” that they made their approach to the mountains,—that valley celebrated as the residence and hunting-ground of Henri of Navarre: but now, in modern days, noted for its valuable thermal springs ofEaux BonnesandEaux Chaudes.
Up this mountain gorge went our heroes, their faces turned southward, and their eyes carried high up to the Pic du Midi d’Ossau—the mountain of the bears—an appropriate name for that beacon which was now directing their course.
Chapter Twenty.An Odd Avalanche.It is needless to say that the young Russians were delighted with the scenes that met their eyes in this fair southern land; and many of them are found faithfully described in their journal. They noted the picturesque dresses of the Pyrenean peasantry—so different from the eternal blue blouse which they had met in northern and central France. Here was worn the “barret,” of scarlet or white, the rich brown jacket and red sash of the peculiar costumes of the Basque and Béarnais peasants—a fine race of men, and one, too, historically noble. They saw carts drawn by large limbed cream-coloured oxen; and passed flocks of sheep and milch goats, tended by shepherds in picturesque dresses, and guarded by numbers of large Pyrenean dogs, whose chief duty was to protect their charge from the wolves. They saw men standing knee-deep in the water, surrounded by droves of pigs—the latter voluntarily submitting themselves to a process of washing, which resulted in producing over their skins a roseate, pinky appearance. It could be seen, too, that thesepachydermsnot only submitted voluntarily to the operation, but with a keen sense of enjoyment, as evinced by their contented grunts, and by their long tails, hanging “kinkless” while the large calabashes of water were poured over their backs. Perhaps to this careful management of the Pyrenean pigs are the beautiful “Bayonne hams” indebted for their celebrity.Further on, our travellers passed aplumire, or “hen-bath.” Here was a tank—another thermal spring—in which the water was something more than “tepid.” In fact, it was almost on the boil; and yet in this tank a number of women were ducking their hens—not, as might be supposed, dead ones, in order to scald off their feathers, but live fowls, to rid them, as they said, of parasitical insects, and make them feel more comfortable! As the water was almost hot enough toparboilthe poor birds, and as the women held them in it immersed to the necks, thecomfortof the thing—so thought our travellers—was rather a doubtful question.A little further on, another “custom” of the French Pyrenees came under the eyes of the party. Their ears were assailed by a singular medley of sounds, that rose from a little valley near the side of the road. On looking into the valley, they saw a crowd of forty or fifty women, all engaged in the same operation, which was that of flax-hackling. They learnt from this that; in the Pyrenean countries the women are the hacklers of flax; and that, instead of each staying at her own home to perform the operation, a large number of them meet together in some shaded spot, bringing their unhackled flax along with them; and there, amidst jesting and laughing and singing, the rough staple is reduced to its shining and silky fineness.Still another curious custom was observed; but this was further on, and higher up the sides of the mountains. Their observation of it was attended with some degree of danger, and therefore came very close on being an “adventure.” For this reason it found a place among the events recorded in their journal.It should be remarked, that all three were mounted—Alexis and Ivan upon stout, active ponies, of that race for which the Pyrenees,—especially the western section of them,—are celebrated. Pouchskin’s mount was not of the genusequus, nor yet anasinus, but a hybrid of both genera,—in short, a mule.It was a French mule, and a very large one: for it required a good-sized quadruped of the kind to make an appropriate roadster for the ex-grenadier of the Imperial guard. It was not a very fat mule, however, but raw-boned and gaunt as a Pyrenean wolf.Of course these animals were all hired ones—obtained at Eaux Bonnes, and engaged for the trip across the Pyrenees to the Spanish side—as also to be used in any deviations that the hunters should think proper to make, while engaged in the pursuit of the bear.From the nearest village on the Spanish side, the animals were to be sent back to their owner; for it was not the intention of our travellers to return to the French territory.Having crossed the mountains, and accomplishing the object for which they had visited them, their course would then be continued southward, through Spain.Along with them—also mounted on muleback—was a fourth individual, whose services they had secured. Hismétierwas manifold—on this occasion combining in his single person at least three purposes. First, he was to serve them as guide; secondly, he was to bring back the hired horses; and, thirdly, he was to aid them in the “chasse” of the bear: for it so happened that this man-of-all-work was one of the most noted “izzard-hunters” of the Pyrenees. It is scarcely correct to say ithappenedso. Rather was it a thing of design than chance; for it was on account of his fame as a hunter, that he had been engaged for the triple duty he was now called upon to fulfil.The four travellers, then, all mounted as we have described, were ascending a very steep declivity. They had left the last hamlet—and even the last house—behind them; and were now climbing one of the outlying spurs that project many miles from the main axis of the mountains. The road they were following scarcely deserved the name; being a pack-road, or mere bridle-path; and so sleep was the ascent, that it was necessary to zigzag nearly a dozen times, before the summit of the ridge could be attained.While entering upon this path, and near the base of the ridge, they had noticed the forms of men far above them, moving about the summit, as if engaged in some work. Their guide told them that these men were faggot-cutters, whose business was to procure firewood for the towns in the valley.There was nothing in this bit of information to produce astonishment. Whatdidastonish our travellers, however, was the mode in which these men transported their firewood down the mountain, of which, shortly after, they were treated to an exhibition. As they were zigzagging up the mountain-path, their ears were all at once saluted by a noise that resembled a crashing of stones, mingled with a crackling of sticks. The noise appeared to proceed from above; and, on looking up, they beheld a number of dark objects coming in full rush down the declivity. These objects were of rounded form—in fact, they were bundles of faggots—and so rapidly did they roll over, and make way down the mountain, that had our travellers chanced to be in their track, they might have found some difficulty in getting out of the way. Such was their reflection at the moment; and they were even thanking their stars that they had escaped the danger, when all at once a fresh avalanche of faggots was launched from above; and these were evidently bounding straight towards the party! It was impossible to tell which way to go—whether to rush forward or draw back: for what with the inequality of the mountain-side, and the irregular rolling of the bundles, they could not tell the exact direction they would take. All therefore drew up, and waited the result in silent apprehension. Of course they had not long to wait—scarce a second—for the huge bundles bounding on, each moment with increased impetus, came down with the suddenness of a thunderclap; and before the words “Jack Robinson” could have been pronounced, they went whizzing past with the velocity of aerolites, and with such a force, that had one of them struck either mule or pony it would have hurled both the quadruped and its rider to the bottom of the mountain. It was only their good fortune that saved them: for in such a place it would have been impossible for the most adroit equestrian to have got out of the way. The path was not the two breadths of a horse; and to have wheeled round, or even drawn back upon it, would have been a risk of itself.They rode on, again congratulating themselves on their escape; but fancy their consternation when they found themselves once more, and for the third time, exposed to the very same danger! Again came a set of bundles rolling and tearing down the slope, the billets rattling and crackling as they rolled; again they went swishing by; again, by the merest accident, did they miss the travellers, as they stood upon the path.Now, it might be supposed that the faggots were being launched all along the ridge of the hill; and that, go which way they might, our party would still be exposed to the danger. Not so. The bundles were all rolled down at one particular place—where the slope was most favourable for this purpose—but it was the zigzag path, which every now and then obliqued across the line of the wood-avalanche, that had thus repeatedly placed them in peril.As they had yet to “quarter” the declivity several times before they could reach the summit, they were more careful about approaching the line of descent; and whenever they drew near it, they put their ponies and mules to as good a speed as they could take out of them.Though all four succeeded in reaching the summit in safety, it did not hinder Pouchskin from pouring out his vial of wrath on the heads of the offending woodcutters; and if they could have only understood his Russian, they would have heard themselves called by a good many hard names, and threatened with a second pursuit of Moscow. “Frog-eating Frenchmen!” was the very mildest title which the ex-guardsman bestowed upon them; but as his Russian was not translated, of course the phrase fell harmless—else it would have undoubtedly been retaliated by a taunt about “tallow.”The “izzard-hunter” swore at them to more purpose; for he, too, having undergone equal risk with the rest of the party, had equally good reasons for being angry; and giving utterance to a long string of execrations with all the volubility of a Béarnais, he further threatened them with the terrors of the law.As the woodcutters, slightly stupefied by this unexpected attack, submitted with tolerable grace, and said nothing in reply, the izzard-hunter at length cooled down, and the party proceeded on their way; Pouchskin, as he rode off, shaking his clenched fist at the staring log-choppers, and hissing out in angry aspirate another Russian shibboleth, which neither could nor should be translated.
It is needless to say that the young Russians were delighted with the scenes that met their eyes in this fair southern land; and many of them are found faithfully described in their journal. They noted the picturesque dresses of the Pyrenean peasantry—so different from the eternal blue blouse which they had met in northern and central France. Here was worn the “barret,” of scarlet or white, the rich brown jacket and red sash of the peculiar costumes of the Basque and Béarnais peasants—a fine race of men, and one, too, historically noble. They saw carts drawn by large limbed cream-coloured oxen; and passed flocks of sheep and milch goats, tended by shepherds in picturesque dresses, and guarded by numbers of large Pyrenean dogs, whose chief duty was to protect their charge from the wolves. They saw men standing knee-deep in the water, surrounded by droves of pigs—the latter voluntarily submitting themselves to a process of washing, which resulted in producing over their skins a roseate, pinky appearance. It could be seen, too, that thesepachydermsnot only submitted voluntarily to the operation, but with a keen sense of enjoyment, as evinced by their contented grunts, and by their long tails, hanging “kinkless” while the large calabashes of water were poured over their backs. Perhaps to this careful management of the Pyrenean pigs are the beautiful “Bayonne hams” indebted for their celebrity.
Further on, our travellers passed aplumire, or “hen-bath.” Here was a tank—another thermal spring—in which the water was something more than “tepid.” In fact, it was almost on the boil; and yet in this tank a number of women were ducking their hens—not, as might be supposed, dead ones, in order to scald off their feathers, but live fowls, to rid them, as they said, of parasitical insects, and make them feel more comfortable! As the water was almost hot enough toparboilthe poor birds, and as the women held them in it immersed to the necks, thecomfortof the thing—so thought our travellers—was rather a doubtful question.
A little further on, another “custom” of the French Pyrenees came under the eyes of the party. Their ears were assailed by a singular medley of sounds, that rose from a little valley near the side of the road. On looking into the valley, they saw a crowd of forty or fifty women, all engaged in the same operation, which was that of flax-hackling. They learnt from this that; in the Pyrenean countries the women are the hacklers of flax; and that, instead of each staying at her own home to perform the operation, a large number of them meet together in some shaded spot, bringing their unhackled flax along with them; and there, amidst jesting and laughing and singing, the rough staple is reduced to its shining and silky fineness.
Still another curious custom was observed; but this was further on, and higher up the sides of the mountains. Their observation of it was attended with some degree of danger, and therefore came very close on being an “adventure.” For this reason it found a place among the events recorded in their journal.
It should be remarked, that all three were mounted—Alexis and Ivan upon stout, active ponies, of that race for which the Pyrenees,—especially the western section of them,—are celebrated. Pouchskin’s mount was not of the genusequus, nor yet anasinus, but a hybrid of both genera,—in short, a mule.
It was a French mule, and a very large one: for it required a good-sized quadruped of the kind to make an appropriate roadster for the ex-grenadier of the Imperial guard. It was not a very fat mule, however, but raw-boned and gaunt as a Pyrenean wolf.
Of course these animals were all hired ones—obtained at Eaux Bonnes, and engaged for the trip across the Pyrenees to the Spanish side—as also to be used in any deviations that the hunters should think proper to make, while engaged in the pursuit of the bear.
From the nearest village on the Spanish side, the animals were to be sent back to their owner; for it was not the intention of our travellers to return to the French territory.
Having crossed the mountains, and accomplishing the object for which they had visited them, their course would then be continued southward, through Spain.
Along with them—also mounted on muleback—was a fourth individual, whose services they had secured. Hismétierwas manifold—on this occasion combining in his single person at least three purposes. First, he was to serve them as guide; secondly, he was to bring back the hired horses; and, thirdly, he was to aid them in the “chasse” of the bear: for it so happened that this man-of-all-work was one of the most noted “izzard-hunters” of the Pyrenees. It is scarcely correct to say ithappenedso. Rather was it a thing of design than chance; for it was on account of his fame as a hunter, that he had been engaged for the triple duty he was now called upon to fulfil.
The four travellers, then, all mounted as we have described, were ascending a very steep declivity. They had left the last hamlet—and even the last house—behind them; and were now climbing one of the outlying spurs that project many miles from the main axis of the mountains. The road they were following scarcely deserved the name; being a pack-road, or mere bridle-path; and so sleep was the ascent, that it was necessary to zigzag nearly a dozen times, before the summit of the ridge could be attained.
While entering upon this path, and near the base of the ridge, they had noticed the forms of men far above them, moving about the summit, as if engaged in some work. Their guide told them that these men were faggot-cutters, whose business was to procure firewood for the towns in the valley.
There was nothing in this bit of information to produce astonishment. Whatdidastonish our travellers, however, was the mode in which these men transported their firewood down the mountain, of which, shortly after, they were treated to an exhibition. As they were zigzagging up the mountain-path, their ears were all at once saluted by a noise that resembled a crashing of stones, mingled with a crackling of sticks. The noise appeared to proceed from above; and, on looking up, they beheld a number of dark objects coming in full rush down the declivity. These objects were of rounded form—in fact, they were bundles of faggots—and so rapidly did they roll over, and make way down the mountain, that had our travellers chanced to be in their track, they might have found some difficulty in getting out of the way. Such was their reflection at the moment; and they were even thanking their stars that they had escaped the danger, when all at once a fresh avalanche of faggots was launched from above; and these were evidently bounding straight towards the party! It was impossible to tell which way to go—whether to rush forward or draw back: for what with the inequality of the mountain-side, and the irregular rolling of the bundles, they could not tell the exact direction they would take. All therefore drew up, and waited the result in silent apprehension. Of course they had not long to wait—scarce a second—for the huge bundles bounding on, each moment with increased impetus, came down with the suddenness of a thunderclap; and before the words “Jack Robinson” could have been pronounced, they went whizzing past with the velocity of aerolites, and with such a force, that had one of them struck either mule or pony it would have hurled both the quadruped and its rider to the bottom of the mountain. It was only their good fortune that saved them: for in such a place it would have been impossible for the most adroit equestrian to have got out of the way. The path was not the two breadths of a horse; and to have wheeled round, or even drawn back upon it, would have been a risk of itself.
They rode on, again congratulating themselves on their escape; but fancy their consternation when they found themselves once more, and for the third time, exposed to the very same danger! Again came a set of bundles rolling and tearing down the slope, the billets rattling and crackling as they rolled; again they went swishing by; again, by the merest accident, did they miss the travellers, as they stood upon the path.
Now, it might be supposed that the faggots were being launched all along the ridge of the hill; and that, go which way they might, our party would still be exposed to the danger. Not so. The bundles were all rolled down at one particular place—where the slope was most favourable for this purpose—but it was the zigzag path, which every now and then obliqued across the line of the wood-avalanche, that had thus repeatedly placed them in peril.
As they had yet to “quarter” the declivity several times before they could reach the summit, they were more careful about approaching the line of descent; and whenever they drew near it, they put their ponies and mules to as good a speed as they could take out of them.
Though all four succeeded in reaching the summit in safety, it did not hinder Pouchskin from pouring out his vial of wrath on the heads of the offending woodcutters; and if they could have only understood his Russian, they would have heard themselves called by a good many hard names, and threatened with a second pursuit of Moscow. “Frog-eating Frenchmen!” was the very mildest title which the ex-guardsman bestowed upon them; but as his Russian was not translated, of course the phrase fell harmless—else it would have undoubtedly been retaliated by a taunt about “tallow.”
The “izzard-hunter” swore at them to more purpose; for he, too, having undergone equal risk with the rest of the party, had equally good reasons for being angry; and giving utterance to a long string of execrations with all the volubility of a Béarnais, he further threatened them with the terrors of the law.
As the woodcutters, slightly stupefied by this unexpected attack, submitted with tolerable grace, and said nothing in reply, the izzard-hunter at length cooled down, and the party proceeded on their way; Pouchskin, as he rode off, shaking his clenched fist at the staring log-choppers, and hissing out in angry aspirate another Russian shibboleth, which neither could nor should be translated.
Chapter Twenty One.A Meeting with Muleteers.A little beyond the scene of their encounter with the woodcutters, the path entered among the gorges of the mountains, and the level plains of France were for a time lost to their view. The route they were following was a mere bridle-track, quite impracticable for carriages, but leading to one of the “ports” already mentioned, by which they could pass through to the Spanish side. Through this port a considerable traffic is carried on between the two countries—most of the carrying being done by Spanish muleteers, who cross the mountains conducting large trains of mules—all, except those upon which they themselves ride, laden with packs and bales of merchandise.That such a traffic was carried over this route, our Russian travellers needed no other evidence than what came under their own eyes; for shortly after, on rounding a point of rock, they saw before them a large drove of mules, gaily caparisoned with red cloth and stamped leather, and each carrying its pack. The gang had halted on a platform of no great breadth; and the drivers—about a dozen men in all—were seen seated upon the rocks, a little way in advance of the animals. Each wore a capacious cloak of brown cloth—a favourite colour among the Pyrenean Spaniards; and what with their swarthy complexions, bearded lips, and wild attire, it would have been pardonable enough to have mistaken them for a band of brigands, or, at all events, a party ofcontrabandistas.They were neither one nor the other, however; but honest Spanish muleteers, on their way to a French market, with commodities produced on the southern side of the mountains.As our travellers came up, they were in the act of discussing a luncheon, which consisted simply of black bread, tough goat’s-milk cheese, and thin Malaga wine—the last carried in a skin bag, out of which each individual drank in his turn, simply holding up the bag and pouring the wine by a small jet down his throat.They were good-humoured fellows, and invited our travellers to taste their wine; which invitation it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. Ivan and Alexis emptied some out into their silver cups—which they carried slung conveniently to their belts; but Pouchskin not having his can so ready, essayed to drink the wine after the fashion of the muleteers. But the goat-skin bag, clumsily manipulated in the hands of the old guardsman, instead of sending the stream into his mouth, jetted it all over his face and into his eyes, blinding and half-choking him! As he stood in his stultified attitude, wine-skin in hand, the precious fluid running down his nose, and dripping from the tips of his grand mustachios, he presented a picture that caused the muleteers to laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks; shouting out theirbravosand other exclamations, as if they were applauding some exquisite piece of performance in a theatre.Pouchskin took it all in good part, and the muleteers pressed him to try again; but, not caring to expose himself to a fresh burst of ridicule, the old grenadier borrowed the cup of one of his young masters; and by the help of this managed matters a little more to his mind. As the wine tasted good to the old soldier’s palate, and as the hospitable muleteers invited him to drink as much as he pleased, it was not until the goat-skin bag exhibited symptoms of collapse, that he returned it to its owners.Perhaps had Pouchskin not indulged so freely in the seducing Malaga tipple, he might have avoided a very perilous adventure which befell him almost on the instant, and which we shall now relate.Our travellers, after exchanging some further civilities with the muleteers, had once more mounted, and were about proceeding on their way. Pouchskin, riding his great French jennet, had started in the advance. Just in front of him, however, the pack mules were standing in a cluster—not only blocking up the path, but barring the way on both sides—so that to get beyond them it would be necessary to pass through their midst. The animals all seemed tranquil enough—some picking at the bushes that were within their reach, but most of them standing perfectly still, occasionally shaking their long ears, or changing one leg to throw the weight upon another. Pouchskin saw that it was necessary to pass among them; and, probably, had he squeezed quietly through, they might have remained still, and taken no notice of him. But, elated with the wine he had drunk, the ex-grenadier, instead of following this moderate course, drove his spurs into his great French hybrid, and with a loud charging yell—such as might have issued from the throat of a Cossack—he dashed right into the midst of the drove.Whether it was because the animal he bestrode was French, or whether something in Pouchskin’s voice had sounded ill in their ears, it is not possible to say, but all, at once the whole Spanishmuladawas perceived to be in motion—each individual mule rushing towards Pouchskin with pricked ears, open mouth, and tail elevated in the air! It was too late for him to hear the cry of the izzard-hunter, “prenez-garde!” or the synonym, “guarda te!” of the muleteers. He may have heard both these cautionary exclamations, but they reached him too late to be of any service to him: for before he could have counted six, at least twice that number of mules had closed round him, and with a simultaneous scream commenced snapping and biting at both him and his French roadster with all the fury of famished wolves! In vain did the stalwart jennet defend itself with its shod hoofs, in vain did its rider lay round him with his whip: for not only did the Spanish mules assail him with their teeth, but, turning tail as well, they sent their heels whistling around his head, and now and then thumping against his legs, until his leather boots and breeches cracked under their kicks!Of course the muleteers, on perceiving Pouchskin’s dilemma, had rushed instantaneously to the rescue; and with loud cries and cracking of their whips—as muleteers alone can crack them—were endeavouring to beat off the assailants. But, with all their exertions, backed by their authority over the animals, Pouchskin might have fared badly enough, had not an opportunity offered for extricating himself. His animal, fleeing from the persecution of its Spanish enemies, had rushed in among some boulders of rock. Thither it was hotly pursued; and Pouchskin would again have been overtaken, had he not made a very skilful and extensive leap out of the saddle, and landed himself on a ledge of rock. From this he was able to clamber still higher, until he had reached a point that entirely cleared him of the danger.The French jennet, however, had still to sustain the attack of the infuriated mules; but, now that it was relieved from the encumbrance of its heavy rider, it gained fresh confidence in its long legs; and making a dash through the midst of themulada, it struck off up the mountain-path, and galloped clear out of sight. The mules, encumbered with their packs, did not show any inclination to follow, and the drama was thus brought to a termination.The woe-begone look of the old guardsman, as he stood perched upon the high pinnacle of rock, was again too much for the muleteers; and one and all of them gave utterance to fresh peals of laughter. His young masters were too much concerned about their faithful Pouchskin to give way to mirth; but on ascertaining that he had only received a few insignificant bruises,—thanks to the Spanish mules not being shod,—they, too, were very much disposed to have a laugh at his expense. Alexis was of opinion that their follower had made rather free with the wine-skin; and therefore regarded the chastisement rather in the light of a just retribution.It cost the izzard-hunter a chase before Pouchskin’s runaway could be recovered; but the capture of the jennet was at length effected; and, all things being set to-rights, a parting salute was once more exchanged with the muleteers, and the travellers proceeded on their way.
A little beyond the scene of their encounter with the woodcutters, the path entered among the gorges of the mountains, and the level plains of France were for a time lost to their view. The route they were following was a mere bridle-track, quite impracticable for carriages, but leading to one of the “ports” already mentioned, by which they could pass through to the Spanish side. Through this port a considerable traffic is carried on between the two countries—most of the carrying being done by Spanish muleteers, who cross the mountains conducting large trains of mules—all, except those upon which they themselves ride, laden with packs and bales of merchandise.
That such a traffic was carried over this route, our Russian travellers needed no other evidence than what came under their own eyes; for shortly after, on rounding a point of rock, they saw before them a large drove of mules, gaily caparisoned with red cloth and stamped leather, and each carrying its pack. The gang had halted on a platform of no great breadth; and the drivers—about a dozen men in all—were seen seated upon the rocks, a little way in advance of the animals. Each wore a capacious cloak of brown cloth—a favourite colour among the Pyrenean Spaniards; and what with their swarthy complexions, bearded lips, and wild attire, it would have been pardonable enough to have mistaken them for a band of brigands, or, at all events, a party ofcontrabandistas.
They were neither one nor the other, however; but honest Spanish muleteers, on their way to a French market, with commodities produced on the southern side of the mountains.
As our travellers came up, they were in the act of discussing a luncheon, which consisted simply of black bread, tough goat’s-milk cheese, and thin Malaga wine—the last carried in a skin bag, out of which each individual drank in his turn, simply holding up the bag and pouring the wine by a small jet down his throat.
They were good-humoured fellows, and invited our travellers to taste their wine; which invitation it would have been ill-mannered to refuse. Ivan and Alexis emptied some out into their silver cups—which they carried slung conveniently to their belts; but Pouchskin not having his can so ready, essayed to drink the wine after the fashion of the muleteers. But the goat-skin bag, clumsily manipulated in the hands of the old guardsman, instead of sending the stream into his mouth, jetted it all over his face and into his eyes, blinding and half-choking him! As he stood in his stultified attitude, wine-skin in hand, the precious fluid running down his nose, and dripping from the tips of his grand mustachios, he presented a picture that caused the muleteers to laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks; shouting out theirbravosand other exclamations, as if they were applauding some exquisite piece of performance in a theatre.
Pouchskin took it all in good part, and the muleteers pressed him to try again; but, not caring to expose himself to a fresh burst of ridicule, the old grenadier borrowed the cup of one of his young masters; and by the help of this managed matters a little more to his mind. As the wine tasted good to the old soldier’s palate, and as the hospitable muleteers invited him to drink as much as he pleased, it was not until the goat-skin bag exhibited symptoms of collapse, that he returned it to its owners.
Perhaps had Pouchskin not indulged so freely in the seducing Malaga tipple, he might have avoided a very perilous adventure which befell him almost on the instant, and which we shall now relate.
Our travellers, after exchanging some further civilities with the muleteers, had once more mounted, and were about proceeding on their way. Pouchskin, riding his great French jennet, had started in the advance. Just in front of him, however, the pack mules were standing in a cluster—not only blocking up the path, but barring the way on both sides—so that to get beyond them it would be necessary to pass through their midst. The animals all seemed tranquil enough—some picking at the bushes that were within their reach, but most of them standing perfectly still, occasionally shaking their long ears, or changing one leg to throw the weight upon another. Pouchskin saw that it was necessary to pass among them; and, probably, had he squeezed quietly through, they might have remained still, and taken no notice of him. But, elated with the wine he had drunk, the ex-grenadier, instead of following this moderate course, drove his spurs into his great French hybrid, and with a loud charging yell—such as might have issued from the throat of a Cossack—he dashed right into the midst of the drove.
Whether it was because the animal he bestrode was French, or whether something in Pouchskin’s voice had sounded ill in their ears, it is not possible to say, but all, at once the whole Spanishmuladawas perceived to be in motion—each individual mule rushing towards Pouchskin with pricked ears, open mouth, and tail elevated in the air! It was too late for him to hear the cry of the izzard-hunter, “prenez-garde!” or the synonym, “guarda te!” of the muleteers. He may have heard both these cautionary exclamations, but they reached him too late to be of any service to him: for before he could have counted six, at least twice that number of mules had closed round him, and with a simultaneous scream commenced snapping and biting at both him and his French roadster with all the fury of famished wolves! In vain did the stalwart jennet defend itself with its shod hoofs, in vain did its rider lay round him with his whip: for not only did the Spanish mules assail him with their teeth, but, turning tail as well, they sent their heels whistling around his head, and now and then thumping against his legs, until his leather boots and breeches cracked under their kicks!
Of course the muleteers, on perceiving Pouchskin’s dilemma, had rushed instantaneously to the rescue; and with loud cries and cracking of their whips—as muleteers alone can crack them—were endeavouring to beat off the assailants. But, with all their exertions, backed by their authority over the animals, Pouchskin might have fared badly enough, had not an opportunity offered for extricating himself. His animal, fleeing from the persecution of its Spanish enemies, had rushed in among some boulders of rock. Thither it was hotly pursued; and Pouchskin would again have been overtaken, had he not made a very skilful and extensive leap out of the saddle, and landed himself on a ledge of rock. From this he was able to clamber still higher, until he had reached a point that entirely cleared him of the danger.
The French jennet, however, had still to sustain the attack of the infuriated mules; but, now that it was relieved from the encumbrance of its heavy rider, it gained fresh confidence in its long legs; and making a dash through the midst of themulada, it struck off up the mountain-path, and galloped clear out of sight. The mules, encumbered with their packs, did not show any inclination to follow, and the drama was thus brought to a termination.
The woe-begone look of the old guardsman, as he stood perched upon the high pinnacle of rock, was again too much for the muleteers; and one and all of them gave utterance to fresh peals of laughter. His young masters were too much concerned about their faithful Pouchskin to give way to mirth; but on ascertaining that he had only received a few insignificant bruises,—thanks to the Spanish mules not being shod,—they, too, were very much disposed to have a laugh at his expense. Alexis was of opinion that their follower had made rather free with the wine-skin; and therefore regarded the chastisement rather in the light of a just retribution.
It cost the izzard-hunter a chase before Pouchskin’s runaway could be recovered; but the capture of the jennet was at length effected; and, all things being set to-rights, a parting salute was once more exchanged with the muleteers, and the travellers proceeded on their way.
Chapter Twenty Two.The Pyrenean Bears.It was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. These animals, although plenteous enough in the Pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. Such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer’s axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the Pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation—along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many Alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. He sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. Of truffles he is as fond as a Parisian sybarite,—scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and “rooting” them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced.Like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. He is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. On this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the Pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, andlarvae,—the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. The latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. The facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. The izzard-hunter’s opinion was that the Pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. The same remark will apply to the Pyrenean bear that is true of theursus arctos,—viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. Hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice.The izzard-hunter’s father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes—even men lost their lives in encounters with them! In modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. The hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of France.He knew of no particular mode for taking bears. Their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. Then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs.“So scarce are they,” added the hunter, “that I have killed only three this whole season; but I know where there’s a fourth—a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined—”The young Russians understood the hint. Money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a Pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. In an instant almost, the bargain was made. Ten dollars for the haunt of the bear!ThePic du Midi d’Ossauwas now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. The sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions—until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. It was, to allappearance, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the Amazon or amid the Cordilleras of the Andes. Neither track nor trail was seen—only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there.The izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. With, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay.The neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. He knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying—that is, he knew its cave. He had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. Some business had kept him at Eaux Bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. He had now brought his dogs—two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent—and with these Bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. But that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. The better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble,—a thing he would be sure to do,—then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. He would “not come home till morning,” said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations.It seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when Bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl.A roaring fire was kindled; and Pouchskin’s capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road.
It was well they had the izzard-hunter for a guide, for without him they might have searched a long time without finding a bear. These animals, although plenteous enough in the Pyrenees some half-century ago, are now only to be met with in the most remote and solitary places. Such forest-tracts, as lie well into the interior gorges of the mountains, and where the lumberer’s axe never sounds in his ears, are the winter haunts of the Pyrenean bear; while in summer he roams to a higher elevation—along the lower edge of the snowfields and glaciers, where he finds the roots and bulbs of many Alpine plants, and even lichens, congenial to his taste. He sometimes steals into the lower valleys, where these are but sparsely cultivated; and gathers a meal of young maize, or potatoes, where such are grown. Of truffles he is as fond as a Parisian sybarite,—scenting them with a keenness far excelling that of the regular truffle dog, and “rooting” them out from under the shade of the great oak trees, where these rare delicacies are inexplicably produced.
Like his near congener, the brown bear, he is frugivorous; and, like most other members of their common family, he possesses a sweet tooth, and will rob bees of their honey whenever he can find a hive. He is carnivorous at times, and not unfrequently makes havoc among the flocks that in summer are fed far up on the declivities of the mountains; but it has been observed by the shepherds, that only odd individuals are given to this sanguinary practice, and, as a general rule, the bear will not molest their sheep. On this account, a belief exists among the mountaineers that there are two kinds of bears in the Pyrenees; one, an eater of fruits, roots, andlarvae,—the other, of more carnivorous habits, that eats flesh, and preys upon such animals as he can catch. The latter they allege to be larger, of more fierce disposition, and when assailed, caring not to avoid an encounter with man. The facts may be true, but the deduction erroneous. The izzard-hunter’s opinion was that the Pyrenean bears were all of one species; and that, if there were two kinds, one was a younger and more unsophisticated sort, the other a bear whom greater age has rendered more savage in disposition. The same remark will apply to the Pyrenean bear that is true of theursus arctos,—viz., having once eaten flesh, he acquires a taste for it; and to gratify this, of course the fiercest passions of his nature are called into play. Hunger may have driven him to his first meal of flesh-meat; and afterwards he seeks it from choice.
The izzard-hunter’s father remembered when bears were common enough in the lower valleys; and then not only did the flocks of sheep and goats suffer severely, but the larger kinds of cattle were often dragged down by the ravenous brutes—even men lost their lives in encounters with them! In modern times, such occurrences were rare, as the bears kept high up the mountains, where cattle were never taken, and where men went very seldom. The hunter stated, that the bears were much sought after by hunters like himself, as their skins were greatly prized, and fetched a good price; that the young bears were also very valuable, and to capture a den, of cubs was esteemed a bit of rare good luck: since these were brought up to be used in the sports of bear-baiting and bear-dancing, spectacles greatly relished in the frontier towns of France.
He knew of no particular mode for taking bears. Their chase was too precarious to make it worth while; and they were only encountered accidentally by the izzard-hunters, when in pursuit of their own regular game. Then they were killed by being shot, if old ones; and if young, they captured them by the aid of their dogs.
“So scarce are they,” added the hunter, “that I have killed only three this whole season; but I know where there’s a fourth—a fine fellow too; and if you feel inclined—”
The young Russians understood the hint. Money is all-powerful everywhere; and a gold coin will conduct to the den of a Pyrenean bear, where the keenest-scented hound or the sharpest-sighted hunter would fail to find it. In an instant almost, the bargain was made. Ten dollars for the haunt of the bear!
ThePic du Midi d’Ossauwas now in sight; and, leaving the beaten path that passed near its base, our hunters turned off up a lateral ravine. The sides and bottom of this ravine were covered with a stunted growth of pine-trees; but as they advanced further into it, the trees assumed greater dimensions—until at length they were riding through a tall and stately forest. It was, to allappearance, as wild and primitive as if it had been on the banks of the Amazon or amid the Cordilleras of the Andes. Neither track nor trail was seen—only the paths made by wild beasts, or such small rodent animals as had their home there.
The izzard-hunter said that he had killed lynxes in this forest; and at night he would not care to be alone in it, as it was a favourite haunt of the black wolves. With, such company, however, he had no fear: as they could kindle fires and keep the wolves at bay.
The neighbourhood, in which he expected to find the bear, was more than two miles from the place where they had entered the forest. He knew the exact spot where the animal was at that moment lying—that is, he knew its cave. He had seen it only a few days before going into this cave; but as he had no dogs with him, and no means of getting the bear out, he had only marked the place, intending to return, with a comrade to help him. Some business had kept him at Eaux Bonnes, till the arrival of the strangers; and learning their intentions, he had reserved the prize for them. He had now brought his dogs—two great creatures they were, evidently of lupine descent—and with these Bruin might be baited till he should come forth from his cave. But that plan was only to be tried as a last resource. The better way would be to wait till the bear started out on his midnight ramble,—a thing he would be sure to do,—then close up the mouth of the cave, and lie in ambush for his return. He would “not come home till morning,” said the izzard-hunter; and they would have light to take aim, and fire at him from their different stations.
It seemed a feasible plan, and as our adventurers now placed themselves in the hands of the native hunter, it was decided they should halt where they were, kindle a fire, and make themselves as comfortable as they could, until the hour when Bruin might be expected to go out upon his midnight prowl.
A roaring fire was kindled; and Pouchskin’s capacious haversack being turned inside out, all four were soon enjoying their dinner-supper with that zest well-known to those who have ridden twenty miles up a steep mountain-road.
Chapter Twenty Three.The Izzard-Hunter.They passed the time pleasantly enough, listening to the stories of the izzard-hunter, who related to them much of the lore current among the peasantry of the mountains—tales of the chase, and of the contraband trade carried on between Spain and France, besides many anecdotes about the Peninsular war, when the French and English armies were campaigning in the Pyrenees. In this conversation Pouchskin took part: for nothing was of greater interest to the old soldier thansouvenirsof those grand times, when Pouchskin entered Paris. The conversation of the izzard-hunter related chiefly to his own calling, and upon this theme he was enthusiastic. He told them of all the curious habits of the izzard; and among others that of its using its hooked horns to let itself down from the cliffs—a fancy which is equally in vogue among the chamois hunters of the Alps, but which Alexis did not believe, although he did not say so—not wishing to throw a doubt on the veracity of their guide. The latter, however, when closely questioned upon the point, admitted that he had never himself been an eye-witness of this little bit of goat gymnastics; he had only heard of it from other hunters, who said they had seen it; and similar, no doubt, would be the answer of every one who spoke the truth about this alleged habit of the chamois. The fact is, that this active creature needs no help from its horns. Its hoofs are sufficient to carry it along the very narrowest ledges; and the immense leaps it can take either upward or downward, can be compared to nothing but the flight of some creature furnished with wings. Its hoof, too, is sure, as its eye is unerring. The chamois never slips upon the smoothest rocks—any more than would a squirrel upon the branch of a tree.Our travellers questioned the izzard-hunter about the profits of his calling. They were surprised to find that the emolument was so trifling. For the carcass of an izzard he received only ten francs; and for the skins two or three more! The flesh or venison was chiefly purchased by the landlords of the hotels—of which there are hundreds at the different watering-places on the French side of the Pyrenees. The visitors were fond of izzard, and called for it at the table. Perhaps they did not relish it so much as they pretended to do; but coming from great cities, and places where they never saw a chamois, they wished to be able to say they had eaten of its flesh. In this conjecture the izzard-hunter was, perhaps, not far out. A considerable quantity of game of other kinds is masticated from a like motive.It was suggested by Ivan, that, with such a demand for the flesh, the izzard should fetch a better price. Ten francs was nothing?“Ah!” replied the hunter with a sigh, “that is easily explained, monsieur! The hotel-keepers are too cunning, both for us and their guests. If we were to charge more, they would not take it off our hands.”“But they would be under the necessity of having it, since their guests call for it.”“So they do; and if there were nogoats, our izzard-venison would sell at a higher price.”“How?” demanded Ivan, puzzled to make out the connection between goats and izzard-venison.“Goats and izzards are too much alike, monsieur—that is, after being skinned and cut up. The hotel-keeper knows this, and often makes ‘Nanny’ do duty for izzard. Many a hotel traveller at Eaux Bonnes may be heard praising our izzard’s flesh, when it is only a quarter of young kid he’s been dining upon. Ha! ha! ha!”And the hunter laughed at the cheat—though he well knew that its practice seriously affected the income of his own calling.But, indeed, if the truth had been told, the man followed the chase far less from a belief in its being a remunerative profession, than from an innate love for the hunter’s life. So enthusiastic was he upon the theme, that it was easy to see he would not have exchanged his calling for any other—even had the change promised him a fortune! It is so with professional hunters in all parts of the world, who submit to hardships, and often the greatest privations, for that still sweeter privilege of roaming the woods and wilds at will, and being free from the cares and trammels that too often attach themselves to social life.Conversing on such topics, the party sat around the bivouac fire until after sunset, when their guide admonished them that they would do well to take a few hours of sleep. There was no necessity for going after the bear until a very late hour—that is, until near morning—for then the beast would be most likely to be abroad. If they went too soon, and found him still in his cave, it was not so certain that even the dogs could prevail on him to turn out. It might be a large cavern. He might give battle to the dogs inside; and big as they were, they would be worsted in an encounter of that sort: since a single blow from the paw of a bear is sufficient to silence the noisiest individual of the canine kind. The dogs—as the hunter again repeated—should only be used as a last resource. The other plan promised better; as the bear, once shut out of his cave, would be compelled to take to the woods. The dogs could then follow him up by the fresh scent; and unless he should succeed in finding some other cavern in which to ensconce himself, they might count upon coming up with him. It was not uncommon for the Pyrenean bear, when pursued by dogs and men, to take to a tree; and this would be all that their hearts could desire: since in a tree the bear would be easily reached by the bullets of their guns. Besides, they might have a chance, when he returned to his closed cave, to shoot him down at once; and that would end the matter without further trouble.It was not necessary to go to the cave until near morning—just early enough to give them time to close up the entrance, and set themselves in ambush before day broke. On this account the guide recommended them to take some sleep. He would answer for it that they should be waked up in time.This advice was cheerfully accepted and followed. Even Pouchskin required repose, after the rough handling he had received at the mouths of the mules; and he was now quite as ready as his young masters to wrap himself up in his ample grenadier great-coat, and surrender himself into the arms of the Pyrenean Morpheus.
They passed the time pleasantly enough, listening to the stories of the izzard-hunter, who related to them much of the lore current among the peasantry of the mountains—tales of the chase, and of the contraband trade carried on between Spain and France, besides many anecdotes about the Peninsular war, when the French and English armies were campaigning in the Pyrenees. In this conversation Pouchskin took part: for nothing was of greater interest to the old soldier thansouvenirsof those grand times, when Pouchskin entered Paris. The conversation of the izzard-hunter related chiefly to his own calling, and upon this theme he was enthusiastic. He told them of all the curious habits of the izzard; and among others that of its using its hooked horns to let itself down from the cliffs—a fancy which is equally in vogue among the chamois hunters of the Alps, but which Alexis did not believe, although he did not say so—not wishing to throw a doubt on the veracity of their guide. The latter, however, when closely questioned upon the point, admitted that he had never himself been an eye-witness of this little bit of goat gymnastics; he had only heard of it from other hunters, who said they had seen it; and similar, no doubt, would be the answer of every one who spoke the truth about this alleged habit of the chamois. The fact is, that this active creature needs no help from its horns. Its hoofs are sufficient to carry it along the very narrowest ledges; and the immense leaps it can take either upward or downward, can be compared to nothing but the flight of some creature furnished with wings. Its hoof, too, is sure, as its eye is unerring. The chamois never slips upon the smoothest rocks—any more than would a squirrel upon the branch of a tree.
Our travellers questioned the izzard-hunter about the profits of his calling. They were surprised to find that the emolument was so trifling. For the carcass of an izzard he received only ten francs; and for the skins two or three more! The flesh or venison was chiefly purchased by the landlords of the hotels—of which there are hundreds at the different watering-places on the French side of the Pyrenees. The visitors were fond of izzard, and called for it at the table. Perhaps they did not relish it so much as they pretended to do; but coming from great cities, and places where they never saw a chamois, they wished to be able to say they had eaten of its flesh. In this conjecture the izzard-hunter was, perhaps, not far out. A considerable quantity of game of other kinds is masticated from a like motive.
It was suggested by Ivan, that, with such a demand for the flesh, the izzard should fetch a better price. Ten francs was nothing?
“Ah!” replied the hunter with a sigh, “that is easily explained, monsieur! The hotel-keepers are too cunning, both for us and their guests. If we were to charge more, they would not take it off our hands.”
“But they would be under the necessity of having it, since their guests call for it.”
“So they do; and if there were nogoats, our izzard-venison would sell at a higher price.”
“How?” demanded Ivan, puzzled to make out the connection between goats and izzard-venison.
“Goats and izzards are too much alike, monsieur—that is, after being skinned and cut up. The hotel-keeper knows this, and often makes ‘Nanny’ do duty for izzard. Many a hotel traveller at Eaux Bonnes may be heard praising our izzard’s flesh, when it is only a quarter of young kid he’s been dining upon. Ha! ha! ha!”
And the hunter laughed at the cheat—though he well knew that its practice seriously affected the income of his own calling.
But, indeed, if the truth had been told, the man followed the chase far less from a belief in its being a remunerative profession, than from an innate love for the hunter’s life. So enthusiastic was he upon the theme, that it was easy to see he would not have exchanged his calling for any other—even had the change promised him a fortune! It is so with professional hunters in all parts of the world, who submit to hardships, and often the greatest privations, for that still sweeter privilege of roaming the woods and wilds at will, and being free from the cares and trammels that too often attach themselves to social life.
Conversing on such topics, the party sat around the bivouac fire until after sunset, when their guide admonished them that they would do well to take a few hours of sleep. There was no necessity for going after the bear until a very late hour—that is, until near morning—for then the beast would be most likely to be abroad. If they went too soon, and found him still in his cave, it was not so certain that even the dogs could prevail on him to turn out. It might be a large cavern. He might give battle to the dogs inside; and big as they were, they would be worsted in an encounter of that sort: since a single blow from the paw of a bear is sufficient to silence the noisiest individual of the canine kind. The dogs—as the hunter again repeated—should only be used as a last resource. The other plan promised better; as the bear, once shut out of his cave, would be compelled to take to the woods. The dogs could then follow him up by the fresh scent; and unless he should succeed in finding some other cavern in which to ensconce himself, they might count upon coming up with him. It was not uncommon for the Pyrenean bear, when pursued by dogs and men, to take to a tree; and this would be all that their hearts could desire: since in a tree the bear would be easily reached by the bullets of their guns. Besides, they might have a chance, when he returned to his closed cave, to shoot him down at once; and that would end the matter without further trouble.
It was not necessary to go to the cave until near morning—just early enough to give them time to close up the entrance, and set themselves in ambush before day broke. On this account the guide recommended them to take some sleep. He would answer for it that they should be waked up in time.
This advice was cheerfully accepted and followed. Even Pouchskin required repose, after the rough handling he had received at the mouths of the mules; and he was now quite as ready as his young masters to wrap himself up in his ample grenadier great-coat, and surrender himself into the arms of the Pyrenean Morpheus.
Chapter Twenty Four.The Ambuscade.True to his promise, the izzard-hunter awoke them about an hour before dawn; and having saddled and bridled their animals, they mounted and rode off. Among the great tree trunks it was very dark; but the hunter knew the ground; and, after groping along for half a mile farther, and somewhat slowly, they arrived at the base of a cliff. Keeping along this for some distance farther, they came at length to the place of their destination—the mouth of the cave. Even through the gloom, they could see a darker spot upon the face of the rock, which indicated the entrance. It was of no great size—about large enough to admit the body of a man in a stooping attitude—but the hunter was under the impression that it widened inward, and led to a grand cavern. He drew his inference, not from having ever explored this particular cave, but from knowing that there were many others of a similar kind in that part of the mountains, where the limestone formation was favourable to such cavities. Had it been only a hole just big enough for the den of a bear, he would have acted very differently—then there would have been a hope of drawing Bruin out with the dogs; but if the place was an actual cavern, where the beast might range freely about, she hunter knew there would be no chance of getting him out. Their presence outside once suspected, the bear might remain for days within his secure fortress; and a siege would have to be laid, which would be a tedious affair, and might prove fruitless in the end.For this reason, great caution had been observed as they drew near the cave. They feared that they might come upon the bear, by chance wandering about in the woods,—that he might hear them, and, taking the alarm, scamper back to his cavern.Acting under this apprehension, they had left their animals a good way off—having tied them to the trees—and had approached the cave on foot, without making the slightest noise, and talking to each other only in whispers.The izzard-hunter now proceeded to put his designs into execution. While the others had been sleeping, he had prepared a large torch, out of dry splinters of the stone pine; and now quietly igniting this, set it in the ground near the base of the cliff. The moment the bright flame illuminated the entrance to the cave, all stood with their guns in hand ready to fire. They were not sure that Bruin had gone out at all. He might still be a-bed. If so, the light of the torch might wake him up and tempt him forth; therefore it was best to be prepared for such a contingency.The izzard-hunter now slipped his dogs, which up to this time he had held securely in the leash. As soon as they were free, the well-trained animals, knowing what was expected of them, rushed right into the care.For some seconds the dogs kept up a quick continuous yelping, and their excited manner told that they at least scented a bear: but the question to be determined was, whether the brute was still in his den.The hunter had surmised correctly. The aperture conducted to a real cavern, and a very large one—as could be told by the distance at which the yelping of the dogs was heard. Out of such a place it would have been hopeless to have thought of starting a bear—unless it should please Bruin to make a voluntary exit. It was, therefore, with no little anxiety that the hunters listened to the “tongue” of the dogs, as it echoed within the cavernous hollow.They all knew that if the bear should prove to be inside, the dogs would soon announce the fact by their barking, and other fierce sounds characteristic of canine strife.They were not kept long in suspense; for, after an interval of less than a minute, both dogs came running out, with that air of disappointment that told of their having made an idle exploration.Their excited movements, however, proved that the scent of the bear was fresh—that he had only recently forsaken his den—for the dogs had been heard scratching among the sticks and grass that composed it; but this only showed clearly that his habitation was untenanted, and Bruin was “not at home.”This was just what the izzard-hunter desired; and all of them laying aside their guns, proceeded to close up the entrance. This was an easy task. Loose boulders lay around, and with these a battery was soon built across the mouth of the cavern, through which no animal could possibly have made an entrance.The hunters now breathed freely. They felt certain they had cut off the retreat of the bear; and unless he should suspect something wrong, and fail to return to his cave, they would be pretty sure of having a shot at him.Nothing remained but to place themselves in ambush, and wait for his coming. How to conceal themselves became the next consideration. It was a question, too, of some importance. They knew not which way the bear might come. He might see them while approaching, and trot off again before a shot could be fired? To prevent this some extraordinary measure must be adopted.A plan soon presented itself to the practised hunter of the Pyrenees. Directly in front of the cliff grew several large trees. They were of thepinus sylvestris, and thickly covered with bunches of long needle-shaped leaves. If they should climb into these trees, the leaves and branches would sufficiently conceal them, and the bear would hardly suspect their presence in such a situation.The suggestion of their guide was at once acted upon. Ivan and Pouchskin got into one tree, while the izzard-hunter and Alexis chose another; and all having secured places where they could command a view of the walled-up entrance without being themselves seen, they waited for daylight and the coming back of the bear.
True to his promise, the izzard-hunter awoke them about an hour before dawn; and having saddled and bridled their animals, they mounted and rode off. Among the great tree trunks it was very dark; but the hunter knew the ground; and, after groping along for half a mile farther, and somewhat slowly, they arrived at the base of a cliff. Keeping along this for some distance farther, they came at length to the place of their destination—the mouth of the cave. Even through the gloom, they could see a darker spot upon the face of the rock, which indicated the entrance. It was of no great size—about large enough to admit the body of a man in a stooping attitude—but the hunter was under the impression that it widened inward, and led to a grand cavern. He drew his inference, not from having ever explored this particular cave, but from knowing that there were many others of a similar kind in that part of the mountains, where the limestone formation was favourable to such cavities. Had it been only a hole just big enough for the den of a bear, he would have acted very differently—then there would have been a hope of drawing Bruin out with the dogs; but if the place was an actual cavern, where the beast might range freely about, she hunter knew there would be no chance of getting him out. Their presence outside once suspected, the bear might remain for days within his secure fortress; and a siege would have to be laid, which would be a tedious affair, and might prove fruitless in the end.
For this reason, great caution had been observed as they drew near the cave. They feared that they might come upon the bear, by chance wandering about in the woods,—that he might hear them, and, taking the alarm, scamper back to his cavern.
Acting under this apprehension, they had left their animals a good way off—having tied them to the trees—and had approached the cave on foot, without making the slightest noise, and talking to each other only in whispers.
The izzard-hunter now proceeded to put his designs into execution. While the others had been sleeping, he had prepared a large torch, out of dry splinters of the stone pine; and now quietly igniting this, set it in the ground near the base of the cliff. The moment the bright flame illuminated the entrance to the cave, all stood with their guns in hand ready to fire. They were not sure that Bruin had gone out at all. He might still be a-bed. If so, the light of the torch might wake him up and tempt him forth; therefore it was best to be prepared for such a contingency.
The izzard-hunter now slipped his dogs, which up to this time he had held securely in the leash. As soon as they were free, the well-trained animals, knowing what was expected of them, rushed right into the care.
For some seconds the dogs kept up a quick continuous yelping, and their excited manner told that they at least scented a bear: but the question to be determined was, whether the brute was still in his den.
The hunter had surmised correctly. The aperture conducted to a real cavern, and a very large one—as could be told by the distance at which the yelping of the dogs was heard. Out of such a place it would have been hopeless to have thought of starting a bear—unless it should please Bruin to make a voluntary exit. It was, therefore, with no little anxiety that the hunters listened to the “tongue” of the dogs, as it echoed within the cavernous hollow.
They all knew that if the bear should prove to be inside, the dogs would soon announce the fact by their barking, and other fierce sounds characteristic of canine strife.
They were not kept long in suspense; for, after an interval of less than a minute, both dogs came running out, with that air of disappointment that told of their having made an idle exploration.
Their excited movements, however, proved that the scent of the bear was fresh—that he had only recently forsaken his den—for the dogs had been heard scratching among the sticks and grass that composed it; but this only showed clearly that his habitation was untenanted, and Bruin was “not at home.”
This was just what the izzard-hunter desired; and all of them laying aside their guns, proceeded to close up the entrance. This was an easy task. Loose boulders lay around, and with these a battery was soon built across the mouth of the cavern, through which no animal could possibly have made an entrance.
The hunters now breathed freely. They felt certain they had cut off the retreat of the bear; and unless he should suspect something wrong, and fail to return to his cave, they would be pretty sure of having a shot at him.
Nothing remained but to place themselves in ambush, and wait for his coming. How to conceal themselves became the next consideration. It was a question, too, of some importance. They knew not which way the bear might come. He might see them while approaching, and trot off again before a shot could be fired? To prevent this some extraordinary measure must be adopted.
A plan soon presented itself to the practised hunter of the Pyrenees. Directly in front of the cliff grew several large trees. They were of thepinus sylvestris, and thickly covered with bunches of long needle-shaped leaves. If they should climb into these trees, the leaves and branches would sufficiently conceal them, and the bear would hardly suspect their presence in such a situation.
The suggestion of their guide was at once acted upon. Ivan and Pouchskin got into one tree, while the izzard-hunter and Alexis chose another; and all having secured places where they could command a view of the walled-up entrance without being themselves seen, they waited for daylight and the coming back of the bear.
Chapter Twenty Five.A Bear in a Bird’s Nest.For the light they had not long to wait. The day broke almost as soon as they had got well settled in their places; but the bear was likely to delay them a little longer—though how long it was impossible to guess, since his return to his sleeping quarters might depend on many contingencies.Formerly the Pyrenean bears—so the izzard-hunter said—were often met with ranging about in the day-time; but that was when they were more numerous, and less hunted. Now that they were scarce, and their skins so highly prized—which, of course, led to their becoming scarcer every day, and more shy too—they rarely ever left their hiding-place except during the night, and in this way they contrived to escape the vigilance of the hunters. As to the one they were waiting for, the hunter said he might return earlier or later, according to whether he had been much chased of late.The exact time of his return, however, was soon after ascertained, by the bear himself making his appearance right under their noses.All at once, and in the most unexpected manner, the great quadruped came shuffling up to the mouth of the cave. He was evidently moving under some excitement, as if pursued, or alarmed by something he had seen in the woods. It was perhaps the sight of the horses, or else the scent of the hunters themselves—on whose track he appeared to have come. Whatever it was, the party in the trees did not take time to consider, or rather the bear did not give them time; for, the moment he reached the entrance to his cave, and saw that it was blocked up, he gave utterance to a terrific scream expressing disappointment, and turning in his tracks, bounded off, as rapidly as he had come up!The volley of four shots, fired from the trees, caused some of his fur to fly off; and he was seen to stagger, as if about to fall. The hunters raised a shout of triumph, thinking they had been successful; but their satisfaction was short-lived: for, before the echoes of their voices died along the cliff, the bear seemed once more to recover his equilibrium, and ran steadily on.Once or twice he was seen to stop, and face round to the trees—as if threatening to charge towards them; but again resigning the intention, he increased his speed, went off at a lumbering gallop, and was soon lost to their sight.The disappointed hunters rapidly descended from their perch; and letting loose the dogs, started off on the trail. Somewhat to their surprise, as well as gratification, it led near the place where they had left their animals; and as they came up to these, they had proofs of the bear having passed that way, by seeing all four, both ponies and mules, dancing about, as if suddenly smitten with madness. The ponies were “whighering,” and the mules squealing, so that their owners had heard them long before coming in sight of them. Fortunately the animals had been securely fastened—else there was no knowing whither they would have galloped, so panic-stricken did they appear.Our hunters believed it a fortunate circumstance that the bear had gone that way; for the guide assured them that there was no telling where he would now stop; and as the chase might carry them for miles through the mountains, they would have been compelled to take to their saddles before starting upon it. The direction the bear had taken, therefore, was just the one most convenient for his pursuers.Staying no longer than to untie their animals, they once more mounted, and kept after the dogs, whose yelping they could hear already some distance in the advance.As the izzard-hunter said, the Pyrenean bear, like his Norwegian cousin, when started from his lair, often scours the country to a great distance before making halt—not unfrequently deserting the ravine or mountain-side, where he habitually dwells, and making for some other place, where he anticipates finding greater security.In this way he often puts his pursuers at fault—by passing over rocky shingle, along ledges of cliffs, or up precipitous slopes, where neither men nor dogs can safely follow him. This was just what they now had to fear; for the guide well knew that the forest they were in was surrounded on almost every side by rocky cliffs; and if the bear should get up these, and make to the bald mountains above, they would stand a good chance of losing him altogether.But one hope the hunter had. He had perceived—as indeed they all had—that several of their shots had hit the bear—and that he must be severely wounded to have staggered as he had done. For this reason he might seek a hiding-place in the forest, or perchance take to a tree. Cheered by this hope, the pursuers pushed onward.The conjecture proved to be a just one; for before they had gone half a mile farther, a continuous barking sounded on their ears, which they knew to be that of the dogs. They knew, moreover, by this sign, that the bear had done one of three things—either taken to a tree, retreated into a cave, or come to a stand in the open ground, and was keeping the dogs at bay. Of the three conjectures, they desired that the first should prove the correct one; and from the manner in which the dogs were giving tongue, they had reason to hope that it would.In effect, so it did; for, on getting a little closer, the two dogs were seen bounding about the roots of an enormous tree, at intervals springing up against its trunk, and barking at some object that had taken refuge in the branches above.Of course, this object could only be the bear; and under this belief, the pursuers approached the tree—each holding his gun cocked and ready to fire.When they had got quite up to the tree, and stood under it, no bear was to be seen! A large black mass was visible among the topmost branches; but this was not the body of a bear: it was something altogether different. The tree was one of gigantic size—the very largest they had seen in the whole forest; it was a pine, of the speciessylvestris, with huge spreading limbs, and branches thickly covered with fascicles of long leaves. In many places the foliage was dark and dense enough to have afforded concealment to an animal of considerable size; but not one so bulky as a bear; and had there been nothing else but the leaves and branches to conceal him, a bear could not have found shelter in that tree without being visible from below. And yet a bear was actually in it—the very same bear they were in pursuit of—though not a bit of his body—not even the tip of his snout, was visible to the eyes of the hunters!He was certainly there: for the dogs, who were not trusting to their eyes, but to that in which they placed far more confidence—their scent,—by their movements and behaviour, showed their positive belief that Bruin was in the tree.Perhaps you will fancy that the pine was a hollow one, and that the bear had crept inside. Nothing of the kind: the tree was perfectly sound—not even a knot-hole was visible either in its trunk or limbs. It was not in a cavity that Bruin had been able to conceal himself.There was no mystery whatever about their not seeing him: for as soon as the hunters got fairly under the tree, and looked up, they perceived, amidst its topmost branches, the dark object already mentioned; and as the bear could be seen nowhere else in the tree, this object accounted for his being invisible.You will be wondering what it was; and so wondered our young hunters when they first raised their eyes to it. It looked more like a stack of faggots than aught else; and, indeed, very good faggots would it have made: since it consisted of a large mass of dry sticks and branches, resting in an elevated fork of the tree, and matted together into a solid mass. There were enough to have made a load for an ordinary cart, and so densely packed together, that only around the edges could the sky be seen through them; towards the centre, and for a diameter as large as a millstone, the mass appeared quite solid and black, not a ray of light passing through the interwoven sticks.“The nest of a lammergeyer!” exclaimed the izzard-hunter, the moment his eye glanced up to it. “Just so!—my dogs are right: the bear has taken shelter in the nest of the birds!”
For the light they had not long to wait. The day broke almost as soon as they had got well settled in their places; but the bear was likely to delay them a little longer—though how long it was impossible to guess, since his return to his sleeping quarters might depend on many contingencies.
Formerly the Pyrenean bears—so the izzard-hunter said—were often met with ranging about in the day-time; but that was when they were more numerous, and less hunted. Now that they were scarce, and their skins so highly prized—which, of course, led to their becoming scarcer every day, and more shy too—they rarely ever left their hiding-place except during the night, and in this way they contrived to escape the vigilance of the hunters. As to the one they were waiting for, the hunter said he might return earlier or later, according to whether he had been much chased of late.
The exact time of his return, however, was soon after ascertained, by the bear himself making his appearance right under their noses.
All at once, and in the most unexpected manner, the great quadruped came shuffling up to the mouth of the cave. He was evidently moving under some excitement, as if pursued, or alarmed by something he had seen in the woods. It was perhaps the sight of the horses, or else the scent of the hunters themselves—on whose track he appeared to have come. Whatever it was, the party in the trees did not take time to consider, or rather the bear did not give them time; for, the moment he reached the entrance to his cave, and saw that it was blocked up, he gave utterance to a terrific scream expressing disappointment, and turning in his tracks, bounded off, as rapidly as he had come up!
The volley of four shots, fired from the trees, caused some of his fur to fly off; and he was seen to stagger, as if about to fall. The hunters raised a shout of triumph, thinking they had been successful; but their satisfaction was short-lived: for, before the echoes of their voices died along the cliff, the bear seemed once more to recover his equilibrium, and ran steadily on.
Once or twice he was seen to stop, and face round to the trees—as if threatening to charge towards them; but again resigning the intention, he increased his speed, went off at a lumbering gallop, and was soon lost to their sight.
The disappointed hunters rapidly descended from their perch; and letting loose the dogs, started off on the trail. Somewhat to their surprise, as well as gratification, it led near the place where they had left their animals; and as they came up to these, they had proofs of the bear having passed that way, by seeing all four, both ponies and mules, dancing about, as if suddenly smitten with madness. The ponies were “whighering,” and the mules squealing, so that their owners had heard them long before coming in sight of them. Fortunately the animals had been securely fastened—else there was no knowing whither they would have galloped, so panic-stricken did they appear.
Our hunters believed it a fortunate circumstance that the bear had gone that way; for the guide assured them that there was no telling where he would now stop; and as the chase might carry them for miles through the mountains, they would have been compelled to take to their saddles before starting upon it. The direction the bear had taken, therefore, was just the one most convenient for his pursuers.
Staying no longer than to untie their animals, they once more mounted, and kept after the dogs, whose yelping they could hear already some distance in the advance.
As the izzard-hunter said, the Pyrenean bear, like his Norwegian cousin, when started from his lair, often scours the country to a great distance before making halt—not unfrequently deserting the ravine or mountain-side, where he habitually dwells, and making for some other place, where he anticipates finding greater security.
In this way he often puts his pursuers at fault—by passing over rocky shingle, along ledges of cliffs, or up precipitous slopes, where neither men nor dogs can safely follow him. This was just what they now had to fear; for the guide well knew that the forest they were in was surrounded on almost every side by rocky cliffs; and if the bear should get up these, and make to the bald mountains above, they would stand a good chance of losing him altogether.
But one hope the hunter had. He had perceived—as indeed they all had—that several of their shots had hit the bear—and that he must be severely wounded to have staggered as he had done. For this reason he might seek a hiding-place in the forest, or perchance take to a tree. Cheered by this hope, the pursuers pushed onward.
The conjecture proved to be a just one; for before they had gone half a mile farther, a continuous barking sounded on their ears, which they knew to be that of the dogs. They knew, moreover, by this sign, that the bear had done one of three things—either taken to a tree, retreated into a cave, or come to a stand in the open ground, and was keeping the dogs at bay. Of the three conjectures, they desired that the first should prove the correct one; and from the manner in which the dogs were giving tongue, they had reason to hope that it would.
In effect, so it did; for, on getting a little closer, the two dogs were seen bounding about the roots of an enormous tree, at intervals springing up against its trunk, and barking at some object that had taken refuge in the branches above.
Of course, this object could only be the bear; and under this belief, the pursuers approached the tree—each holding his gun cocked and ready to fire.
When they had got quite up to the tree, and stood under it, no bear was to be seen! A large black mass was visible among the topmost branches; but this was not the body of a bear: it was something altogether different. The tree was one of gigantic size—the very largest they had seen in the whole forest; it was a pine, of the speciessylvestris, with huge spreading limbs, and branches thickly covered with fascicles of long leaves. In many places the foliage was dark and dense enough to have afforded concealment to an animal of considerable size; but not one so bulky as a bear; and had there been nothing else but the leaves and branches to conceal him, a bear could not have found shelter in that tree without being visible from below. And yet a bear was actually in it—the very same bear they were in pursuit of—though not a bit of his body—not even the tip of his snout, was visible to the eyes of the hunters!
He was certainly there: for the dogs, who were not trusting to their eyes, but to that in which they placed far more confidence—their scent,—by their movements and behaviour, showed their positive belief that Bruin was in the tree.
Perhaps you will fancy that the pine was a hollow one, and that the bear had crept inside. Nothing of the kind: the tree was perfectly sound—not even a knot-hole was visible either in its trunk or limbs. It was not in a cavity that Bruin had been able to conceal himself.
There was no mystery whatever about their not seeing him: for as soon as the hunters got fairly under the tree, and looked up, they perceived, amidst its topmost branches, the dark object already mentioned; and as the bear could be seen nowhere else in the tree, this object accounted for his being invisible.
You will be wondering what it was; and so wondered our young hunters when they first raised their eyes to it. It looked more like a stack of faggots than aught else; and, indeed, very good faggots would it have made: since it consisted of a large mass of dry sticks and branches, resting in an elevated fork of the tree, and matted together into a solid mass. There were enough to have made a load for an ordinary cart, and so densely packed together, that only around the edges could the sky be seen through them; towards the centre, and for a diameter as large as a millstone, the mass appeared quite solid and black, not a ray of light passing through the interwoven sticks.
“The nest of a lammergeyer!” exclaimed the izzard-hunter, the moment his eye glanced up to it. “Just so!—my dogs are right: the bear has taken shelter in the nest of the birds!”