THE BLACK BEAR
(Ursus Americanus, Pallas.)

This species has a most extensive range in North America, is common in all wooded districts from the mouths of the Mississippi to the shores of Hudson’s Bay, from the Labrador, Newfoundland, and the. islands of the Gulf, to Vancouver, and is found wherever northern fir-thickets or the tangled cane-brakes of more southern regions offer him a retreat.

In the Eastern woodlands the black bear (here the sole representative of his genus) is the only large wild animal that becomes offensive when numerous, as he is still in all the Lower Provinces. He is a continual source of anxious dread to the settler, whose cattle, obliged to wander into the woods to seek provender, often meet their fate at the hands of this lawless freebooter, who will also burglariously break into the settler’s barn, and, abstracting sheep and small cattle, drag them off into the neighbouring woods. And he is such an exceedingly cunning, wide-awake beast that it is very seldom he can be pursued and destroyed by the bullet, or deluded into the trap or snare ; and hence he is not so often killed as his numbers and bad character might warrant.

Compared with the U. Arctos—the common brown bear of Europe—the black bear shows many well-marked distinctions, the grizzly (U. horribilis) claiming a much closer relationship with the former. Professor Baird points, however, to important dental differences between them ; and considers the invariably broader skulls of the brown bear conclusive as to identity. Perhaps the greater size of the grizzly might be merely regarded as owing to geographical variation; but, taken in conjunction with the above and other osteological differences, and the longer claws and shorter ears of the American, we can only regard them as representative species.

The black bear grows to some six feet in length from the muzzle to the tail (about two inches long), and stands from three to three and a half feet in height at the shoulder. The general colour is a glossy black, the sides of the muzzle pale brown; there is no wool at the base of the hair. In many specimens observed in Nova Scotia I have seen great differences both as regards colour of the skin and length of leg—even in breadth of the skulls. Some animals are brown all over, others glossy black, and wanting the cinnamon patch at the muzzle. There are long and low bears, whereas others have short bodies and great length of limb. The settlers, of' course, as they do in the case of other animals, insist upon two species: my own conclusion is that the species is very susceptible of variation. They have a mythical bear called “the ranger," which does not hybernate, and is known by length of limb, and a white spot on the breast. This latter peculiarity I have seen in several skins, but have only noticed tracks of bears on the snow in winter, when a sudden and violent rainstorm, or a prolonged thaw has flooded their den, and sent them forth to look for fresh shelter, as they cannot endure a wet bed during hybernation.

The bear is very particular in choosing a comfortable dormitory for his long winter’s nap. In walking through the woods, you will find plenty of caves—likely looking places for a bear’s den—but “Bruin,” or rather “Mooin,” as the Indians call him (a name singularly like his European sobriquet in sound) would not condescend to use one in a hundred, perhaps. He must have a nice dry place, so arranged that the snow will not drift in on his back, or water trickle through; for he grumbles terribly, when aroused from his lair in mid-winter, either by the hunter’s summons or unseasonable weather. And then he is so cautious—the Indians say “he think all the same as a man”—that he will not go into it if there are any sticks cut in the vicinity by the hands of man, or any recent axe-blazings on the neighbouring trees. Another thing he cannot endure, is the presence of the porcupine. The porcupine (Erethizon dorsatus) lives in rocky places, full of caves, and often takes possession of large roomy dens, which poor Mooin, coming up rather in a hurry, having stopped out blueberry picking rather later than usual, and till all was blue, might envy, but would not share on any account. The porcupine is not over-cleanly in his habits, besides not being a very pleasant bedfellow apropos of his quills; but to which of these traits the bear takes objection I cannot say— perhaps both. The quills are very disagreeable weapons, and armed with a little barbed head; when they pierce the skin they are very difficult of extraction, and a portion, breaking off in the wound, will traverse under the surface, reappearing at some very distant point.

Having determined on his winters residence, and cleaned it out before the commencement of winter (the extra leaves and rubbish scraped out around the entrance being a sure sign to the hunter that the den will afford him one skin at least, when the winter’s snow shall have well covered the ground), Mooin, finding it very difficult to procure a further supply of food, and being, moreover, in a very sleepy frame of mind and body—fat as a prize pig from recent excessive gorging on the numerous berries of the barren, or mast under the beech woods—turns in for the winter; if he has a partner, so much the better and the warmer. He lies with his fore-arms curled around his head and nose, which is poked in underneath the chest. Here he will sleep uninterruptedly till the warm suns late in March influence his somniferous feelings, unless his sweet mid-winter repose be cut short by a sharp poke in the ribs with a pole, when he has nothing for it but to collect his almost lost power of reflection, and crawl out of his den— saluted, as he appears, by a heavy crushing blow over the temples with the back of an axe, and a volley of musket balls into his body as he reels forward, which translates him into a longer and far different state of sleep.

There has been great uncertainty as to what time the female brings forth her young; some say that it is not until she leaves her winter quarters in the early spring, and that though the she-bear has been started from her den in winter, and two little shapeless things found left behind, these are so absurdly small as to appear premature. And then comes the old story of the little ones being produced without form, and afterwards licked into shape in the den. Even the Indians possess many different ideas on this subject, often affirming that the old bear has never been shot and discovered to be with young. Now all this is great nonsense, and as I know of an instance in which a bear was shot, a few years since, on the 14th of February, suckling two very little ones in an open primitive den, formed merely by a sheltering windfall, and also have consulted the testimony of travellers on the habits of hybernating bears of other descriptions, capping all by the reliable evidence of my old Indian hunter, John Williams, I am convinced that the following is the true state of the case :—The she-bear gives birth to two cubs, of very small dimensions —not much larger than good-sized rats—about the middle of February, in the den; and here she subsists them, without herself obtaining any nourishment, until the thaws in March. A few years ago a cub was brought to me in May by a settler, who had shot the mother and kidnapped one of her offspring; it was a curious little animal, not much larger than a retriever pup of a few weeks old, and a strange mixture of fun and ferocity. The settler, as I handed him the purchase money—one dollar—informed me that it was as playful as a kitten ; and, having placed it on the floor, and given it a basin of bread and milk, which it immediately upset—biting the saucer with its teeth as though it suspected it of trying to withhold or participate in the enjoyment of its contents—it commenced to evince its playful disposition by gambolling about the room, climbing the legs of tables, hauling off the covers with superincumbent ornaments, and tearing sofa covers, until I was fain to end the scene by securing the young urchin. But I got such a bite through my trowsers that I never again admitted him indoors. I never saw such a little demon; when fed with a bowl of Indian meal porridge, he would bite the rim of the bowl in his rage, growling frantically, and then plunge his head into the mixture, the groans and growls still coming up in bubbles to the surface, whilst he swallowed it like a starved pig. I afterwards gave him to a brother officer going to England, and whether (as is the usual fate of bears in captivity) he afterwards killed a child, and met a felon's death, I never heard.

The growth of bears is very slow; they do not reach their full size for four years from their birth. On entering his den for hybernation the bear is in prime order; the fat pervades his carcase in exactly the same manner as in the case of the pig, the great bulk of it lying, as in the flitch, along the back and on either side ; this generally attains a thickness of four inches, though in domesticated specimens, fed purposely by North American hairdressers, it has reached a thickness of eight inches. It is by the absorption of this fat throughout the long fast of four months that the bear is enabled to exist. Of course evaporation is almost at a stand-still, and a plug, called by the Norwegians the “tappen,” is formed in the rectum, and retained until the spring. Should this be lost prematurely, it is said that the animal immediately becomes emaciated.

A large bear at the end of the fall will weigh five and even six hundred pounds; this has been increased in domesticated specimens by oatmeal feeding to over seven hundred.

Having awoke at last, the genial warmth of a spring day tempts him forth to try and find something to appease the growing cravings of appetite. What is the bill of fare? A meagre enough generally, for the snow still covers the dead timber (where he might find colonies of ants), the roots, and young shoots and buds ; but he bethinks himself of the cranberries in the open bogs from which, unshaded by the branches of the dark fir-forest, the snow has disappeared, disclosing the bright crimson berries still clinging to their tendrils on the moss-clumps and rendered tender and luscious by the winter s frost. Even the rank marsh-grass forms part of his diet; and, as the snow disappears, he turns over the fallen timber to look for such insects as ants or wood-lice, which might be sheltered beneath. Although so large an animal, he will seek his food patiently; and the prehensile nature of his lips enables him to pick up the smallest insect or forest berry with great dexterity. The runs between the forest lakes also afford him early and profitable spring fishing; and he may be seen lying on the edge of the ice, fishing for smelts (Osmerus), which delicate little fish abound in the lakes, near their junction with harbours, throughout the winter, tipping them out of the water on to the ice behind him in a most dexterous manner with his paws. Later in the spring he continues his fishing propensities, and makes capital hauls when the gaspereaux, or alewives (Alosa vernalis),—a description of herring— rush up the forest brooks in countless multitudes, carrying an ample source of food to the doors of settlers living by the banks in the remotest wilds. Works on natural history supply abundant evidence of his general conformation as a member of the plantigrade family, of the adaptation of the broad, callous soles of his feet for walking, sitting on his haunches, or standing erect, and of the long but not retractile claws fitted for digging, by which he can easily ascend a tree, or split the fallen rampike—like a Samson as he is—striking them into its surface, and rending it in twain, in search of ants; and what a fearful weapon the fore-hand becomes, armed with these terrible claws, when they are sent home into the flesh of an enemy or intended victim, whenever the rascal takes a notion of laying aside his frugivorous propensities to satisfy a thirst for stronger meat!

Having noticed his tastes as a herbivorous and piscivorous animal, we have yet to mention this, in which, though it has been but slightly implanted in him by nature, he sometimes indulges, and which, once indulged in, becomes a strong habit, and stamps him as being also carnivorous. Poor Mooin ! still unsatisfied, and halfstarved—perhaps unsuccessful in his spring-fishing, or in berrying—hears the distant tinkling of cattle-bells as the animals wander through the woods from some neighbouring settlement. Nearer and nearer they come ; and he advances cautiously to meet them, keeping a sharp look-out in case they might be attended by a human being, of whom he has a most wholesome dread. By a little careful manoeuvring he drives them into a deep, boggy swamp where he can at leisure single out his victim, and, jumping on its back, deals it a few such terrific blows across the back and shoulders, that the poor animal soon succumbs, and falls an easy prey. Stunned, torn, and bemired, it is then dragged back to the dry slopes of the woods and devoured. The settlers say that the bear, while killing his victim (which moans and bellows piteously all the while he is beating it to death in the swamp), will every now and then retire to the woods behind and listen for any approaching signs of rescue, prior to returning and finishing his work. This wicked appetite of his often leads to his destruction; for a search being entailed for the missing beast, and the remains found, the avenger, on the following evening, armed with a gun, goes out to waylay the bear, who is sure to revisit the carcase. It would never do to remain in ambush near the spot, for the villain always comes back on the watch, planting his feet as cautiously as an Indian creeping on moose, with all his senses on the qui vive. So the man, finding by his track in whi^h direction he had retreated from the carcase, goes back into the woods some quarter of a mile or so, and then secretes himself; and Mooin, not suspecting any ambuscade at this distance from the scene of his recent feasting, comes along towards sundown, hand over hand, and probably meets his just fate. Young moose, too, often fall victims to the bear, though he would never succeed in an attempt on the life of a full-grown animal.

The bear is conscious of being a villain, and will never look a man in the face. This I have observed in the case of tame animals, and marked the change of expression in their little treacherous black eye) about the size of a small marble) just before they were about to do something mischievous. In their quickness of temper, and in the suddenness with which the usually perfectly dull and unmeaning eye is lighted up with the most wicked expression imaginable, immediately followed by action, they put me much in mind of some of the monkey tribe.

The strength of the bear is really prodigious, fully equal to that of ten men, as was once proved by a tame bear in this province hauling a barrel which had been smeared with molasses, and contained a little oatmeal, away from the united efforts of the number of men mentioned, who held on to a rope passed round the barrel. The bear walked away with it as easily as possible. The same bear, having nearly killed a horse, and scalped a boy, was afterwards destroyed by his owner. The way he tried to do for the animal was curious enough; he approached the horse, which was loose in the road, from behind; on its attempting to kick, the bear caught hold of its hind legs, just above the fetlocks, with the quickness of lightning; the horse tried to kick again, and the bear, with the greatest apparent ease, shoved its hind legs under till the horse was fairly brought on its haunches, when the rascal at once jumped on its back, and, with one tremendous blow, buried its powerful claws into the muscle of the shoulder, and the horse, trembling and in a profuse perspiration, rolled over and would have been killed if the affair had not been witnessed and the bear at this juncture driven away.

I have been told by an Indian of a scene he once witnessed in the woods when resting on the shore of a lake before proceeding across a portage with his canoe. A crashing of branches proclaimed the rapid advance of a large animal in flight. In a few moments a fine young moose, about half grown, dashed from the forest into the lake, carrying a bear on its shoulders, and at once struck out into deep water. The two were soon separated, and the Indian at the same time launching his canoe, succeeded in wounding the bear, which, seeing the man, had turned back for the shore. The moose escaped on the opposite side.

In the spring the old she bear, accompanied by her-brace of little whining cubs, is almost sure to turn on a human being if suddenly disturbed, though, if made aware of coming danger in time, she will always conduct them out of the way. I have known many instances of settlers, out trouting by the lakes near home, being chased out of the woods and nearly run into, by the she bear in springtime.

In June, likewise, in the running season, it is not safe to be back in the woods unarmed or alone. A whole gang will go together, making the forest resound with their hideous snarling and loud moaning cries. Hearing the approach of such a procession, the sojourner in camp piles fuel on the fire, and keeps watch with loaded gun. In old times, before they acquired the dread of fire-arms, the Indians say these animals were much bolder.

The bear is readily taken in a dead-fall trap with a bait composed of almost anything: a bundle of birch-bark tied up, and smeared over with a little honey, molasses, or tallow, answers very well.

They travel through the woods and along the waterside in well defined paths, which afford excellent walking to the hunter. Bear-traps are placed at intervals in the vicinity of their roads, and many a rascal loses his jacket to the settlers in summer time in return for his audacious raids on the cattle, to obtain which he will sometimes break in the side of a barn.

The skin realises from four to twelve dollars, according to size and condition.

The fall is the best time for bear hunting—“the berrying time,” as it is designated by the settlers, when he is .engaged in laying in a stock of corpulency, the material whereof shall stick to his ribs during the long fast of the coming winter. So intent is he now on his luscious feast on blue and whortle berries, that he does not keep as good a look-out for foes as at other times, and may be easily detected in the early morning by the observant hunter, who knows his habits and meal times, and hunts round the leeward edges of barrens.

Later still, in a good season for beechmast, he may be hunted in hard-wood hills. A little light snow will not send him home to bed, whilst it materially aids the hunter in tracking the animal. Sometimes the bear will go aloft for the mast, and even construct a rough platform amongst the upper branches, where he can rest without holding on. I have seen many such apparent structures, and could in no other way account for their appearance, and to this I may add the testimony of the Indian.

The bear takes a deal of killing, and will run an incredible distance with several mortal wounds. A singular trait, approaching almost to reflective power, is his habit of stopping in his flight- to pick up wet moss in a swamp wherewith to plug up the wound.

I but once surprised a bear in the wood in the act of feeding, unconscious of my approach. My Indian saw a portion of his black hair moving just above the side of a large fallen tree, and in a moment we both lay prostrate.

The animal presently rose from his hitherto recumbent position and sat up, munching his mouthful of beech-nuts with great apparent satisfaction—a magnificent specimen, and black as a coal.

We should now have fired, but at this juncture, as luck would have it, a red fox, which our tracks below had probably disturbed, raced up behind and induced us to look round. The bear at once sank quietly down behind the log, and, worming along, bounded over a precipice into a thick spruce swamp before we were aware that we were discovered. This fox must have been his good genius.

Notwithstanding the value of the skin and the standing grievance between the settler of the back-woods and the black bear, the latter is apparently increasing in numbers in many parts of the Lower Provinces. In Nova Scotia there is no bounty on their noses, though the wolf (a rare visitor) is thus placed under a ban. In Anticosti bears are exceedingly numerous, and a well-organised bear hunt on this island would doubtless show a wonderful return of sport; but then—the flies !

THE CANADA PORCUPINE
(Erethizon dorsatus, Cuvier.)

This species is common in the woodland districts of Eastern North America, from Pennsylvania to the Arctic Circle. West of the Missouri, according to Baird, it is replaced by the yellow-haired porcupine (E. epixanthus).

A cave-dwelling animal, choosing its residence amongst the dark recesses of collocated boulders, or the holes at the roots of large trees, it spends much of its time abroad.

It is sometimes seen sluggishly reposing in tree tops, where it gnaws the bark of the young branches; and is often (especially in the season of ripe berries) found in the open barren, though never far away from its retreat. A porcupine’s den is easily discovered, both by the broad trail or path which leads to it, and by the quantity of ordure by which the entrance is marked. From the den the paths diverge to some favourite feeding ground—perhaps a grove of beech, on the mast of which the animal revels in the fall; or, if it be winter time, to the shelter of a tall hemlock spruce. The marks of the claws on the bark are a ready indication of its whereabouts ; and as the Indian hunter passes in search of larger game, he knows he is sure of roast porcupine if venison is not procurable, and probably tumbles him down on return to camp by a bullet through the head.

The spines of the Canadian porcupine are about three inches long, proceeding from a thick coat of dark brownish hair, mixed with sooty-coloured bristles. They are largest and most abundant over the loins, where the animal, when brought to a stand, sets them up in a fan-like arc, and presents a most formidable array of points always turned towards its opponent. It endeavours at the same time to strike with its thick muscular tail, leaving, where the blow falls, a great number of the easily-detached quills firmly sticking in, rooted by their barbed points.

A porcupine can gallop or shuffle along at a good pace, and often, when surprised in the open, makes good its retreat to its rocky den, or gains a tree, up which it scrambles rapidly out of reach.

The spines are of a dull white colour, with dusky tips.

To the forest Indians of Acadie the porcupine is an animal of considerable importance. It is a very common article of food, and its quills are extensively employed by the squaws in ornamentation. Stained most brilliantly by dyes either obtained from the woods or purchased in the settlements, they are worked in fanciful patterns into the birch-bark ware (baskets, screens, or trays), which form their staple of trade with the whites.

All the holes, hollow trees, and rocky precipices in the neighbourhood of an encampment are continually explored by Indian boys in search of a porcupine’s den.

The Indians commonly possess little cur dogs, which greatly assist them in discovering the animal’s retreat; they will even draw them forth from their holes without injury to themselves—a feat only to be accomplished by getting hold of them underneath.

It is a curious fact that the settler’s dogs in general evince a strong desire to hunt porcupine, notwithstanding the woeful plight, about the head and forelegs, in which they come out of the encounter, and the long period of inflammation to which they are thereby subjected. The Indian’s porcupine-dog, however, goes to work in a far more business-like manner—seldom giving his master occasion to extract a single quill. “The Old Hunter” tells me as follows:—“I once knew an instance of an Indian’s dog, quite blind, that was particularly great on porcupines, so much so, that if they treed, the little animal would sit down beneath, occasionally barking, to inform its master where lodged the ‘ fretful ’ one. Another dog belonging to an Indian I knew, was not to be beaten when once on porcupine. If the animal was in den, in he went and, if possible, would haul it out by the tail. If not strong enough, the Indian would fasten his hand-kerchief round his middle, and attack to it a long twisted withe. The dog would go in, and presently, between the two, out would come the porcupine.”

The porcupine becomes loaded with fat in the fall by feasting on the numerous berries found on the barrens. The latter half of September is their running season. The old ones are then very rank, and not fit to eat. Their call is a plaintive whining sound, not very dissimilar to the cry of a calf moose. At this season, when hunting in the woods, I have frequently found old males with bad wounds on the back—the skin extensively abraded by, apparently, a high fall from a tree on the edge of a rock. My Indian says with regard to this, “ he make himself sore back, purpose so as to travel light, and get clear of his fat.”

The female brings forth two at a birth in the den very early in the spring.

It is a remarkable fact that, though abundant in Nova Scotia, the porcupine is not found in the island of Cape-Breton, separated only by the Gut of Canso in places but a few hundred yards across. Frequent attempts have indeed been made by Indians to introduce the animal in Cape Breton by importation from the south side, but have always ended in failure. Though the vegetable features of the island are identical with those of Nova Scotia proper, the porcupine will not live in the woods of the former locality. This is a well-ascertained fact, and no attempt at explanation can be offered.

Again, though it is found on the Labrador, and at the Straits of Belle Isle, the great island of Newfoundland, which is thus separated from the mainland, contains no porcupine. .

The marmot of the eastern woodlands (Arctomys monax), and the striped ground-squirrel, or “chipmunk” (Tamias striatus, Baird), are more properly burrowing animals than cave-dwellers, under which heading we can class only the bear and the porcupine.