The Charlotte Journal

AN ANECDOTE FROM LIFE IN THE WOODS.

Among the earliest settlers in the wilds of Salmon River, was a Vermonter, by the name of Dobson—a large, resolute, and athletic man. Returning one evening from a fruitless hunt after his vagrant cows, which, according to custom in the new countries, had been turned in the woods to procure their own subsistence from the rank herbage of the early summer; just before emerging from the forest upon the clearing of his neighbor, the late worthy Joseph Sleeper, he saw a large bear descending from a lofty sycamore, where he had been in quest, probably, of honey. A bear ascends a tree much more expertly than he descends it being obliged to come down stern foremost. My friend Dobson did not like very well to be joined in his evening walk by such a companion; and without reflecting what he should do with the "varmint" afterwards, he ran up to the tree on the opposite side from the animal's body, and just before he reached the ground, seized him firmly by both of his forepaws. Bruin growled and knashed his tusks: but he soon ascertained that his paws were in the grasp of paws equally iron-strung with his own. Nor could he use his hinder paws to disembowel his antagonist, as the manner of the bear is, inasmuch as the trunk of the tree was between them. But Dobson's predicament, as he was endowed with rather the most reason, was worse yet. He could no more assail the bear than the bear could assail him. Nor could he venture to let go him, since the presumption was, that Bruin would not make him a very gracious return for thus unceremoniously taking him by the hands. The twilight was fast deepening into darkness, and his position was far less comfortable than it would have been at the same hour, surrounded by his wife and children at the supper-table, to say nothing of the gloomy prospect for the night. Still, as Joe Sleeper's house was not far distant, he hoped to be able to call him to his assistance. But his lungs, though none of the weakest, were unequal to the task; and, although he holloed and bawled the live-long night, making the woods and the welkin ring again, he succeeded not better than old Glendower, of old, in calling spirits from the vasty deep. It was a wearisome night for Dobson: such a game of hold fast he had never been engaged in before Bruin, too, was probably somewhat worried, although he could not describe his sensations in English, albeit he took the regular John Bull method of making known his dissatisfaction—that is to say, he growled incessantly. But there was no let-go in the case, and Dobson was therefore under the necessity of holding fast, until it seemed to his clenched and aching fingers as though the bear's claws and his hand grown together.
As daylight returned, and the smoke from Mr. Sleeper's chimney began to curl up gracefully, though rather dimly in the distance, Dobson again repeated his cries for succour; and his heart was soon gladdened by the appearance of his worthy but inactive neighbor, bearing an axe upon his shoulder. Dobson had never been so much rejoiced at seeing Mr. Sleeper before, albeit he was a very kind and estimable neighbor.

"Why don't you make haste, Mr. Sleeper, and not be loitering along at that rate, when you see a fellow Christian in such a kettle of fish as this?"

"I run! Is that you, Mr. Dobson, up a tree there? And was it you I heard hallowing so last night? I guess you ought to have your lodging for nothing if you've stood up against that there all night."

"It's no joke, though, I can tell you, Mr. Joe Sleeper; and if you'd had hold of the paws of a black varmint all night, it strikes me you'd think you'd paid dear enough for it. But if you heard me calling for help in the night, why didn't you come and see what was the trouble?"

"Oh, I was going tired to bed after laying a log-fence all day, and I thought I'd wait till morning, and come out bright and early. But, if I'd known 'twas you

"Known 'twas me!" replied Dobson bitterly, "you knew 'twas somebody who had flesh and blood too good for these plaguy black varmints; and you know there's been a smart sprinkling of bears about the settlements all the spring

"Well, don't be in a huff, Tommy. It's never too late to do good. So hold tight now, and don't let the 'tarnal critter get loose, while I split his head open."

No, no," said Dobson, "after holding the beast here all night, I think I ought to have the satisfaction of killing him. So, you just take hold of his paws here, and I will take the axe and let a streak of daylight into his skull about the quickest."

The proposition being a fair one, Mr. Sleeper was too reasonable a man to object. He was no coward either; and he therefore stepped up to the tree, and cautiously taking the bear with both his hands, relieved honest Dobson from his predicament. The hands of the latter, though sadly stiffened by the tenacity with which they had been clenched for so many hours, were soon brandishing the axe; and he apparently made all preparations for giving the deadly blow—and deadly it would have been had he struck, since, like the sons of Zeruiah, Dobson needed to strike but once. But, to the surprise of Sleeper, he did not strike: and, to his further consternation, Dobson swung the axe upon his shoulder, and marched away, whistling as he went, with as much apparent indifference as the other had shown when coming to his relief.

It was now Sleeper's turn to make the forest vocal with his cries. In vain he raved, and called, and threatened. Dobson walked on and disappeared, leaving his friend as sad a prospect for his breakfast as he himself had had for his supper.

To relieve the suspense of the reader, it is right to add, that Dobson returned and killed the bear in the course of the afternoon.